I still don't own Harry Potter, omfg.

AN: Oh, gods, I was about to ramble in my AN. FT. Clearly I need sleep, as it is pine pollen season in VA. *flails* Also, I hope you like the latest chapter. If you don't, there's not a lot I can do about it. Here, have some more Lucius.

P.S. I have no idea how that Harmione got in there. It wasn't me, I swear. She will totally make the kissy face with Draco someday and then maybe all will be right with the world.

Hermione set the phone on its hook with a soft click and kept her hand there for several seconds, trying to calm herself for the second time that morning. She knew what Ginny had meant; she didn't even begrudge her friend the phone call or need for advice and reassurance. But she had not anticipated having those memories drudged up so soon after she'd just conquered them the night before. For ages she and Ginny had held an agreement between them: they would only talk around the trouble in question, and never for very long. The conversation they'd just had…it had shaken her. One of their problems had been just that: they'd never had any closure. One day they'd come to, realized their captors hadn't been in to see them in at least three days, and they tried the door. It had been unlocked. She and Ginny had struggled out of the cell, which had been quite makeshift; and turned out to be in the basement of some sort of ramshackle cottage- they hadn't hung around long enough to take a proper tour; and they'd found Ron and managed to make their escape, past the bodies of dead Death Eaters. (A fact which had nearly sent all three of them off into hysterics, at first.)

And that had been that. They'd had no idea where they were, but eventually made it to a road; and Ginny had gotten one of the wands they'd stolen to work long enough to glamour them for the trip to London; and they'd found their way into a ministry that had given them up for dead. Harry hadn't, of course. Harry had been in charge of the search for them since day one and when they'd seen his face, they'd each of them broken down right there, in the middle of the ministry. It had been as close to old times as it would ever be, she thought. That memory of arriving and him coming out and embracing them all…it had been the last taste of normalcy. Before he knew what had happened. Before they'd been poked and prodded by an endless stream of medi-witches and wizards. Before…

Hermione choked back a sob and bent over the counter, hands clutched to her sides.

"Hermione?" Draco asked from behind her and she jumped, managed to get herself upright. She stayed facing the window.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Do you need a minute?"

She nearly laughed aloud. "I've had a minute, thanks," she croaked and the sobs began in earnest. She'd had several thousand minutes, in fact, in the eight years since her escape. None of them had done any good.

She felt, rather than heard, him move closer and she turned her head slightly. "Don't touch me," she hissed and if it had come out as more of a threat than a request, she couldn't help it.

Draco let his hand fall back to his side. "My dad is still outside. I'm- I'll just join him. The food can wait."

Hermione shook her head, reached for a dish towel and began wiping frantically at her face, as if that would make the tears stop.

"No, no. You should come in, eat," she said, her voice shaking. With trembling hands, she made her way around the end of the counter and headed for the living room. "I'll be in my room for a bit."

And she made another, less glorious escape. Draco watched the kitchen door swing shut after her and he frowned. What exactly had Ginny said, that it had upset her so? He'd heard enough to know they were discussing Zabini and then their own imprisonment. His eyes suddenly widened and he darted back out the door and stared at his father, who had refused to get up from his bench moments ago; and was now sitting there, teeth grit, hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles were white. Draco could see the pain manifesting along his father's face and it made his heart ache.

So. A phone call that had upset Hermione and that his father could easily have heard, sitting on the back porch beneath a kitchen window. And now his father was agitated as well. He felt intrigued and confused at once and also guilty. What if, in addition to Zabini knowing something, his father knew something? He shook his head. No, that made no sense. What could his father have had to do with any of it?

He shook his head again and moved forward, to try and coax Lucius up and into the house. The man stayed where he was, even going so far as to shake his hand away when Draco tried to take his arm. No words, no expression aside from that now angry, pained one. Just a quick, violent jerk of his arm and Draco stepped back.

He felt his heart squeezed painfully. Seemed he couldn't help anyone this morning, despite his good intentions.

"Fine," he told his father. "I'll be just inside. Sit out here as long as you want, Dad."

There was no reason at least one of them shouldn't sit down to the breakfast Hermione had made. It had been years since Draco had enjoyed cinnamon toast.

Lucius trembled with the effort to control himself, to keep upright on the bench and not fall to the ground in pain. He'd been alright, for a while. After he'd finally managed to hide away upon waking, he'd followed the motions of the day that Draco dutifully led him through; and he'd sat out here on the bench and even caught the sound of Hermione's voice, earlier, though not what she'd said. Then his walls had broken down.

He'd heard that bloody little coward's name- the name of the mere boy who'd managed to ruin them all- and everything had come flooding back. Perhaps it had been the sound of the witch's voice as it shook with emotion; perhaps the fleeting memory of what he'd seen that one, dreadful night; brought back by the sound of her voice as she spoke the wizard's name.

Whatever had caused it, he was back now. He was as aware as he could be through the flood of pain in his system and the anger clouding his thoughts. He wanted to do something about it, anything, but he couldn't move. He couldn't even pull himself back into his shell, his system was so worn and overloaded. There was only one thing, in fact, he could do. It would likely mean the end of his retirement; and he'd have to join the rest of them in their hell, as that bloody woman had so delightfully phrased it; but it was his only option if he didn't want to end up on the floor of the porch, crying like a little child.

"Draco." The word escaped through his lips as a hiss. It wasn't enough to reach the ears of his son, inside the stone walls of the farm house. But if he opened his mouth any more…

A cry of pain escaped his lips as he managed to stand on his own. That, of course, brought Draco rushing out of the kitchen.

"Dad?" Draco stopped short to take him in, his father, standing hunched over like an old man, limbs wracked with cramping. "Dad!" He rushed forward then and slid his arms around Lucius, and the weight of him forced them both to the ground.

Draco was panicked. He'd never seen his father like this; by the time he'd found him all those years ago, he'd already been in his coma-like state. Blank and staring, but never seeing. Since then he could count on both hands the number of times his father had spoken to him; and on one hand the number of times he'd seemed troubled. He never called out when he was having a nightmare, never even gave indications he did have fits and nightmares. Not like Draco's, anyway. So to see this- it shook him deeply.

"Dad!" he called again and looked up from his father's huddled figure, glanced about rapidly. No one, nothing. But Hermione was inside, just a few steps away…it didn't take him any time at all to decide that his father's health was more important than any remaining dignity he might have left; and he opened his mouth again to call for her. His voice sounded hoarse to his ears, tense and scratchy, but he yelled for her rapidly, several times in a row. Until he heard the answering footfalls of her running through the house.

"Hermione!" he shouted again just as she burst onto the porch. She looked a mess, face streaked with tears, red and angry- no, that was terror on her face, not anger.

"Draco," she breathed in acknowledgement, and immediately dropped to her knees beside him. Her eyes and mind redirected themselves automatically and she focused entirely on Lucius. Draco felt for a brief moment as though he needn't be in the scene at all, but he shook himself from that thought and turned to his father as well. Hermione felt for his pulse, checked his forehead. She ripped at his shirt sleeve, tearing it away, and saw the muscles rippling beneath his skin. Her eyes still glued to Lucius, she finally spoke again.

"Muscle cramps, fever- Draco, we have to get him inside. Come on, up-" She suited her actions to her words and eased her arms beneath Lucius' shoulders before struggling to stand, herself. Draco followed immediately and together they got him inside. Draco nearly paused in front of the stairs once they'd made it through the kitchen, but Hermione shook her head.

"He'd never make it up the stairs and it will only cause him more pain. My room," she panted, still holding up her end of the wizard's contorting body. As if to punctuate her words, Lucius cried out and Draco felt tears of frustration snake from his eyes.

"Come on, Dad," he whispered. "Just a bit longer. Hermione can help you. Hang in there," he murmured once they'd deposited Lucius in the master bedroom. While he waited for Hermione to find whatever she was searching for, he felt for his father's pulse, as she'd shown him. "Hey," he called, feeling hopeful, "it's slowing! That's good, right?" He looked over his dad's face carefully. "And he seems in a little less pain-"

"Fuck!" he heard Hermione say and she raced back out of the bathroom. "That's bad. I know what you're doing, you damned coward," she hissed at the older wizard as he lay on the bed, looking decidedly ill, but calmer. "And if you think you're escaping me that easily, you're fucking mistaken."

Draco would've protested, but she was moving too fast for his senses, ignoring him too thoroughly. One knee on the bed, Hermione slid an arm behind his shoulders and hauled Lucius up, propping him against herself, before she forced his jaw open with the other hand and then slid something in his mouth.

"Water!" she snapped at Draco, who immediately grabbed the glass he'd filled and handed it to her. She poured half the glass down Lucius' throat, not caring that it dribbled out the sides of his mouth and onto the bedclothes. Then she shoved the glass back at Draco and began to rub Lucius' throat, passing her hand in a gentle downward motion under his jaw and over his neck. Draco saw his father grimace, but swallow.

There were several tense minutes of silence, Hermione still propping the older wizard up, while Draco held one of his hands. Ripples of expression crossed the man's face, but eventually they seemed to be more emotionally charged than the results of physical pain.

And then, to Hermione's satisfaction and Draco's horror, his father rolled his eyes over to gaze up at his captor, from where his head lay on her breast. He spoke, and his voice was as hoarse as it had been days ago, when he'd miraculously stood up to those nosy parents in the barn.

"Annoying bitch," he said, quite clearly aiming the remark at Hermione. She gave him a cold smile.

"Don't you feel better now you've said it, at least?"

"More trouble than you're worth," he murmured in response, but his face softened as he said it, his eyes full of…something. Tenderness? Or sorrow? Draco couldn't tell and Hermione was still looking smug as anything.

"Yes, all my friends have often said so," she replied. "And I might say the same of you. How are you feeling?"

"Better," Lucius said slowly. "Drowsy."

"That'll be the relaxant. I gave you more than I should've, probably, but considering I've never tried muggle drugs on an untreated cruciatus, well. It'll have to do. And anyway, if it kills you that's what you want anyhow, right?"

Lucius rolled his eyes away from her and closed them. He exhaled softly and only when he inhaled again did Draco feel his own heart start back up.

"Dad?" he whispered, but the only response he got was a light squeeze of his fingers. Hermione suddenly stiffened, as if she'd just realized where she was and what she was doing, and she scooted from behind Lucius. As gently as she could, she laid him back onto her pillows and then stood there quietly, watching him a moment.

"Well," she finally said, "there goes those sleeping arrangements."

Draco let go of his father's hand and stood up, suddenly feeling quite angry.

"What the hell did you do to him?"

"Maybe saved his fucking life," she replied coolly, though there was confusion on her brow.

"He was getting better before you forced those damned muggle pills-"

"He was not getting better, as you so adroitly put it, Draco. He was forcing himself- that, or the pain was- back into his shell. Into that comatose state he's been living in. I imagine it was the only way he knew how to deal with the pain of a curse gone wrong."

"But if it worked-"

"It wasn't working at all," she snapped. "The longer damage like that goes untreated, silently crippling him because he can't bring himself to tell anyone about it…the whole thing still has the potential to go disastrously wrong. What I did is far better for him, believe me. I don't want him addicted to drugs any more than you do. But at least it will dull the pain long enough for him to live out here, for us to get some real therapy in; have him see a doctor; get a real diagnosis and course of treatment. And if he still wants to skulk back to his bloody cave after all that, fine," she finished. "See if I bloody well give a fuck. But I will not allow him to live here and immobilize you both when he stands a perfectly decent chance at recovery."

Draco rocked back on his heels, face ashen. He hadn't meant to…he clenched his fists. He could see now the value of her words, knew that she was right. He looked back down at his father.

"I…thank you for helping him, then," he finally managed. It wasn't nearly adequate for what he wanted to say; that he'd simply lashed out at her because he was terrified of losing his father. But somehow he thought she might realize that.

"I haven't helped him yet, Draco," she replied. "I've only tried. Now go eat. I'll stay here with him. I need to make some phone calls."

"I'd really rather not-"

"I'm not asking you to leave," she said quietly. "Go eat. I'm not going to murder him while you swallow some tea and toast."

"I know that," he murmured. "That's not what I meant." But he turned and left without another argument. Hermione watched him go, felt her own face relax into one of sadness that mirrored his voice. She looked back at Lucius.

Honestly, she wasn't sure she'd done the right thing. Forcing muggle drugs on a helpless victim of a magical malady? Still, it wasn't like she could just take him to St. Mungo's; and to be honest, she had more faith in the muggle system of science and medicine these days than in the wizarding one. Forgetting her injury from earlier, she bit her lip again and tasted blood once more.

"Oh, hell," she muttered and finally marched over to the bedroom door and closed it firmly. Then she turned to pick up the telephone.

Behind her, Lucius Malfoy drifted along aimlessly in the first pain-free sleep he'd had in eight years.

Hours later, once Draco's need to check on his father every five minutes had been placated; and Hermione had made her string of phone calls; followed by a visit from the village doctor, who'd recommended specialists; Draco found himself back at his desk from the day before. He was nearing the end of the As and priding himself on being a fast reader when there was a rapid knocking on Hermione's front door. Lifting his head, he saw out the front screen easily enough and he immediately ducked his head again. Maybe the visitor hadn't noticed him-

"Malfoy, can you let me in?" Harry said, pointing to the small hook.

"Let yourself in," Draco responded readily. Old habits were hard to break, even in the face of time and tragedy.

"Can't," Harry replied. "Hermione had me set the spells against alohomora herself."

"I really-" Draco began to respond before he was cut off by the woman in question.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, appearing at the end of the hall. She hesitated. "What are you doing here?"

"Hermione, you had me set the spell yourself. Those extra failsafe ones, 'in case of grave pain or injury to any member of the household,'" he quoted. "I got an alert hours ago, but I had a hell of a time making it out of work. No one cares if one of the RATS has a complaint," he explained with an angry frown to round it off.

"It's nothing we can't handle," Hermione began and Harry cut her off.

"Like I'm going to go away now I'm here. Hermione," he said carefully, "are you ok?"

She glanced to Draco, who remained with his head buried in his text.

"I'm ok," she said slowly, "and everyone else will be, I think."

Harry's brows drew together. "Hermione. Let me in." His tone brokered no argument, but Hermione lifted her chin in defiance before she moved forward and, in excruciatingly slow motion, unlatched the door. Draco wanted to laugh, but he kept his mouth shut and settled for a smirk, instead. So, the golden boy was not so golden anymore? He had to admit to himself, though, that part of his pleasure came from seeing the old, snotty Hermione behind that fragile, yet forceful façade.

Harry yanked the door all the way open and strode inside. He glowered down at Hermione a minute and she up at him before his expression melted and he swept Hermione into a large hug.

Draco felt like an intruder.

"I was fucking worried about you, you ninny," Harry muttered into her hair. Hermione finally pulled free.

"I know. But I'm alright." She glanced at Draco again, who hastily turned back to his notes. She gazed at Harry again. "It's- well, it was Lucius. All those years ago he was hit with a particularly nasty curse, or curses, and it went untreated. I'm not sure exactly how it happened, but the reason he's been catatonic this whole time is because he was in so much pain otherwise."

Draco pretended they weren't discussing his father without him, but the end of his pencil broke anyway. Hermione looked to him again.

"I have to tell him, Draco," she said gently. "He's in charge of your case, personally."

"I know that," Draco ground out. He looked up at them both. "Has been since the beginning, hasn't he? In fact, you're the one who made sure we were caught, aren't you?"

Harry looked pained and Hermione glanced from one to the other, her eyes narrowing.

"What are you talking about?"

"What, didn't know your best mate was in charge of the- what do they call it- sting operation to smoke me and my dad out? Big surprise there."

Hermione frowned at Draco, who'd risen from his seat.

"Harry was an auror by then, Draco. He was in charge of bringing in dark wizards- as you both were proven to be. Or have our cozy chats made you forget that?"

Draco looked like he'd been slapped and he sat back down without another word, turned back to his work. If Hermione's gaze softened at his response, he missed it. Harry didn't, though. He looked back at Hermione.

"Er," he said. "We should talk."

"The kitchen," Hermione replied, her eyes still on Draco.

Once the door had swung shut, Hermione collapsed at the table. "Lord, I hate this. We take two steps forward and then three giant strides back. I'm never going to get anywhere with either of them, not if I can't control my mouth."

Harry took the seat across from her. "That's not true. He already seems better, never mind that you've earned the right to a sharp word or two. You're doing a wonderful job, just like you do with everything."

"Except for Ron," Hermione said, squeezing her eyes shut and laying her head down.

Harry stiffened, but didn't say a word. There was nothing to say about that, after all. Ron's note had said it all- something Harry still wanted to strangle him for, if he wasn't already dead. Then again, that was also probably a large part of his motivation.

Harry shook his head, reached out a hand and place it on Hermione's arms. "Come on, now. I didn't come here to open old wounds. Tell me what's going on with Lucius and maybe I'll tell you what a terrible auror I've been."

Hermione lifted her head, smiled weakly at him. The look was enough to break his heart. Merlin, that was what had driven them together every other time, wasn't it? He felt an old stirring in his chest and reminded himself that Ginny needed him just as desperately and that Hermione, for her part, didn't want him anymore. Not like that, anyway.

"Lucius will be alright…I hope. I've actually…I've actually been contemplating pulling down my old schoolbooks to rifle about for an answer."

"Have you? Why not just let me take him to Mungo's?"

Hermione shot him a look that clearly said, idiot. He frowned.

"So, you're just going to keep him here and treat him with pills and a country doctor?"

"No. But I don't want to move him, either. If they get him back into Mungo's and the ministry system you know they'll just keep him there indefinitely, until they've picked his brain dry. And he's simply too fragile to survive that kind of poking and prodding right now. I can do better for him here. Oh, Harry," she said suddenly, grasping his hand. "You have to promise not to tell anyone else. Or, if the alert's already been filed, you have to promise to leave out the details. Just…say he had an accident with a horse, or something like that."

Harry looked at her strangely. "It matters to you that much?"

"I can help him here, Harry. Better than they can. You know that."

Harry extracted his hand from hers and sat back, regarding her quietly. "On one condition."

Hermione was suddenly wary. "What's that?"

"You have to allow me the right to question him if he presents knowledge of any information that could be pertinent to other cases, or even their own."

Hermione started to protest and he raised his hand. "Hermione, you have to trust that I'm not going to abuse that information. I…look, what happened with the Malfoys before was a mistake."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"What I mean is," he began, "that the sting operation wasn't a sting operation. Yes, I ended up pulling them in, but only because Malfoy panicked and it ended up causing a scene at the ministry. I couldn't very well avoid taking them in then, could I?"

"Harry," Hermione breathed, "are you trying to tell me you were going to help them escape?" He didn't respond and her eyes narrowed. "Are you trying to tell me that you've helped others escape?"

He glanced away, shrugged.

"Oh," she said. "So all those reports in the Prophet, about your cruelty and excessive force and the questionable deaths…I see."

"You do?" he asked and looked at her earnestly. She was taking it a lot better than he'd expected. "Really?"

"I think so," she replied. "It…makes sense. I kept asking myself where those reports came from and why- and that was after you'd started RATS-"

"After the trouble started with it, you mean," he interjected. "Anyway, look, it's strictly secret. I'd probably lose my job, or worse, get thrown in prison myself, with how bloodthirsty they are these days."

"It is quieting down some again though, isn't it?" Hermione asked and Harry nodded slowly.

"It is. That's partly why I'm more than happy to keep whatever happens with Malfoy quiet. I don't want to stir things up anymore, not when people are finally starting to calm down."

"I understand," Hermione said. "And I don't think I should tell Draco about any of this. At least, not just yet."

"That's probably a good idea," Harry replied. "He blames himself for a lot. That's never good for a bloke," he added, and he gazed past her to the window, his eyes clearly on some picture from the past.

"Know a lot about that, do you?" Hermione murmured and Harry pulled himself back. He looked her over.

"So do you," he replied softly. "But how I wish you wouldn't."

She gripped his hand tightly again before patting it and pulling away. "I'm alright. Or I will be. I have all sorts of new plans to work out, new distractions. It'll be as good as university was."

Harry was aghast. "Good for which one of us?" he protested. "If you call me at three in the morning, sobbing over your papers again-"

"Oh, sod off!" Hermione replied, but there was a smile on her face as she smacked his arm. He grinned back and was struck again by that yearning. He reached his hand out and placed it against the left side of her face, letting his thumb gently stroke the scarred skin. She was so surprised she didn't move at first.

"I miss you," he said simply.

Hermione swatted his hand away at that and then got up, turning from him in an attempt to hide her tears and shaking hands.

"You miss Ron," she said. "And so do I, and we always will. Haven't you figured it out, yet, Harry? That part of the reason you came to me was to keep him close?"

Her words stung, but his voice was level when he replied. "No," he said. "I miss you." Then he pushed back from the table and stood. "Now, you'd better take me to Lucius just so I can get a description for the report."

Hermione wiped her cheeks quickly and then turned and gestured to the door. Her hands were no longer shaking, Harry noticed with surprise.

"After you."

AN: Muahahaha! I do believe there was a little jealous Draco up there, don't you?