I really, really don't own Harry Potter.

AN: So, chapter 21 has arrived. And now the story takes off. Then again, I could be lying. :) Let the guessing continue! Mella Potter, I demand you hold up your end of the bargain. ;) Minx.

And so the days wore on. Ginny, eyeing Blaise suspiciously even as she was nicer to him; Blaise eyeing her in return and fishing for information on the Malfoys even while he tried to avoid answering any of her questions. Then there was Hermione, wondering why Draco left the room every time she entered one and seemed to avoid her touch so stringently; Draco, wishing he could just sink into a hole and die rather than endure this torture; and Lucius, who noticed everything and did nothing, except work on regaining his strength. Not even Ginny's visit to the farm, her riding lesson and subsequent sleepover, broke the monotony of their strange routines. Not even when she and Hermione drank a bottle and a half of wine between them; and Hermione woke up the next day to find they'd both passed out in the living room and someone had thoughtfully covered them with blankets. Not even when Ginny used that levitating spell to help Lucius up the stairs to his own bed again.

Nothing seemed to faze any of them. It worried Hermione.

The storm had to break sometime, after all. Things couldn't continue on with the uneasy truces and brief glances and unvoiced suspicions. Something would happen soon, she knew it. She just wished she knew what that something would be, because at least then the waiting would be over.

A phone call tore her from her thoughts and she jumped at the sound, then picked up.

"Hello?"

"I'm not going to tell Harry," Ginny said. Hermione frowned.

"What?"

"You know, you made me promise to tell Harry if I didn't learn anything new within a week? I can't. I don't want to bring him in on this. There's too much at stake."

"Ginny, it's a simple questioning."

"No, I can't."

"Ginny," Hermione said, sitting up straighter. "What's happened?"

"Nothing! That's just it, nothing has happened. He's not doing anything to provoke me, much, and I'm not doing anything to him aside from making him angry with all my direct questions. So you see, there's nothing the matter. It can't hurt to let it go another week."

"Ginny, no. You need to tell Harry. We agreed-"

"Oh, what, like you're going to tell him all about what Malfoy said?"

Hermione felt her face flush. "That's different."

"It's no different from Zabini. Well, are you?"

"No," Hermione finally said in a tight voice.

"There you are. Now, what are we going to do about it?"

"So first you insist you won't tell Harry and then you want me to help you plan something? I don't think so," Hermione replied. "All our planning sessions end with empty bottles of wine and passing out, or worse."

"Hermione," Ginny whined.

"Absolutely not. If I can't dignify the situation by talking to Harry about it, I'm certainly not going to discuss it with you any longer."

"Fine. It's not like I wanted your opinion anyway."

"Which is why you called me."

"You're being such a bitch, Hermione," Ginny muttered. "What's the matter, Malfoy got your knickers in a bunch?"

Hermione gasped. Her voice went cold. "Which one do you mean, Ginny?"

"Either would do, wouldn't they?"

"Fuck you," Hermione hissed.

Ginny sighed. "Hermione, I'm sorry-"

"No, you're not. Don't say another word, Ginny Weasley. You listen to me. You need to tell Harry about this and you're right, so do I. What you do on your own time is your business, but if you don't tell Harry in the next week, I will. We can't deal with this by ourselves. We're too close to the situation."

There was a long pause and Ginny sighed again. "Ok. So if I tell Harry about Zabini, you'll do the same from your end?"

"This isn't a bargain, but yes. I will. One more week, Ginny. Figure out what you're doing and when you know, call me again."

"Hermione-"

"No buts! This isn't just our lives," Hermione said. "It's theirs, too. We can't play around with information like this, acting like amateur detectives."

"You'd look great as Holmes, though," Ginny demurred and Hermione squeezed her eyes shut.

"I know you think I'm being a bitch," she said, "but there's nothing I can do about that. Now, is there anything else you wanted to discuss?"

"No," Ginny replied and this time her voice was sullen.

"Then I'll hear from you again soon, I hope."

Ginny hung up without responding and Hermione looked at the phone in her hand regretfully, then hung up and rested her head in her hands. She let out a long, noisy sigh. Ginny was right; she needed to tell Harry, too. It wasn't fair of her to be such a bitch to Ginny about it and not follow her own damned advice. But it was so hard, dealing with Lucius, who was still very close-lipped about everything; in addition to Draco, whose neuroses seemed to have doubled since his father's reentry. And then there was the farm, and her beloved horses, whom she'd been neglecting since Lucius' recovery had begun…

She shook her head. How did normal humans deal with it all? The strain of daily life, plus her own baggage, plus…then again, she had been sleeping better, lately. And last night- had she even had a nightmare last night? No, she'd been so exhausted she'd just collapsed into bed and gone straight to sleep. If she'd dreamed at all, she didn't remember them. And that was on top of the memory of Lucius lying in her bed- an incident which had kept her from getting to sleep right away the night after Ginny had moved him. The thought of his length spread out along her mattress, the way his arms and legs had felt in her hands as she'd massaged him had kept the breath high in her chest and her heart beat erratic.

She suspected something was wrong with her. He just reminded her of Ron, that was all. Despite the fact that his hair was pale blond where Ron's had been flaming red; and Ron had been the very best of men while Lucius-

"Alright there?" a quiet voice asked and she jerked her head up to see Draco standing in the doorway.

"Tea already?" she tried to joke, brushing off his question. "You're not even in your pajamas. Is it a preventative measure?" She stood and made for the stove top and her tea kettle.

Draco shook his head. "None for me, thanks. Are you ok?" he asked again stiffly.

Hermione shrugged. "As can be expected with two grown men eating me out of house and home," she replied, laughing slightly. When she didn't hear similar laughter from Draco, she turned about, one hand still on the kettle. There were spots of color high in his cheeks and his brows were drawn together angrily over his eyes.

"If we're that much trouble I wish you'd say so," he said softly. Hermione shook her head.

"It was a joke, Draco- Draco-"

But he'd already turned and walked away, out into the hall. She frowned. She couldn't win tonight. She'd snapped at her best friend; was hiding important information from her other best friend; and now she'd accidentally alienated the only other person in the house with whom she could have a normal conversation. With a sudden clank, she put the kettle back in its place and turned the gas off. She wandered back to the table and sat down again, crossed her arms in front of herself. Then she laid her head down on the table and had a good cry.

Lucius watched Draco stalk into the room, walk over to his bed, and sit down, facing the wall and the window outside. But Lucius didn't need to see his son's face to know when something was the matter. He could tell from the set of his shoulders, from the way he'd raked his hair back angrily seconds ago, the way the room sparked with tension. He may have been an all but absent father the last eight years, but his son hadn't changed that much.

He was tired and ready for sleep. After a week's worth of long days filled with walks; exercises for his legs; visits from specialists; and Hermione's prying eyes and questions, he didn't particularly have the energy to stay up and counsel his son. But he knew what his duty as a father was and his voice was quiet when he spoke.

"Something is bothering you."

Draco jerked some, as if startled. "You're awake," he said.

"The light is on," Lucius said dryly. Draco gave a sheepish laugh, raked a hand through his hair again.

"Got me there, Dad," he replied. "How are you feeling?"

"Better every day," he lied. While his physical pain was easing some, the ache in his heart, on his conscience, grew worse. Every time he saw Hermione's bright eyes, the smile that bridged those two halves of herself…it only reminded him what he'd lost and for what.

Not that it had been entirely in vain, after all. Not if his son was behaving like this.

"That's good to hear, Dad, really," Draco replied, but his voice trailed off at the end and his shoulders hunched more.

"Tell me," Lucius said.

"I…should really get to bed, too," Draco said suddenly, standing up and starting to strip.

Lucius pursed his lips and eyed his son as he walked over to the dresser and pulled out his pajamas. He was about to speak again when there was a timid knock on their door. Draco jumped and stared at the door guiltily, but he didn't move.

"Draco, are you asleep?" Hermione's muffled voice traveled to them and Lucius finally grunted.

"We're both awake," he called and ignored the annoyed glance his son gave him. The door opened and Draco was caught with his shirt off and pants hanging open off his narrow hips. Hermione didn't bat an eye as she took them both in.

It was obvious to them both that she'd been crying. Lucius watched as his son flushed, clearly upset, and then he gestured.

"Why don't you come in?" he asked. The glare from Draco was a fullfledged one this time. He merely raised an eyebrow in return. Draco lifted a hand to rake his hair back and his pants started to slip. He swore under his breath and caught them in time, turned and closed them again.

Hermione's face changed as she watched Draco's back and Lucius' face changed as he watched her watch his son.

It was definitely a complicated situation and he suddenly felt all of his fifty two years and then some.

"No," Hermione remarked, turning her gaze to him. Her features softened as she looked at him, sitting up in his bed, a book in his lap. Even her scars seemed to diminish when she looked at either of them that way. "How are you, Lucius?" she asked and he shook himself.

"Fine," he said lightly. "Very tired. I was about to go to sleep," he added, with an emphasis on the I. Hermione flushed.

"Pardon me, then," she replied and began to duck back out. "I just thought I'd check in. I'll see you both in the morning-"

Lucius glared at his son and nodded shortly in the direction of the door. Draco frowned and glared right back. Well. It was nice to see his son still had some sort of backbone. The door clicked closed.

"Bloody hell, Dad," Draco replied. "You trying to humiliate me?"

"I rather thought I'd already done that these last eight years. I can't imagine it was pleasant having to wipe my ass for me."

Draco frowned and looked very much like he'd like to cry. He turned about again and started on the pants once more. Lucius sighed and was about to speak when Draco cut him off.

"I never minded that, Dad," he said quietly. "I'd do it all again in a heartbeat. It was…not having you around I missed. Not talking, even when we fought, I…" He paused, leaned on the dresser. "I'd do it all again," he ended firmly.

Lucius' eyes pricked with tears and he set his book aside, then slid down under the covers.

"I love you, Draco," he murmured and felt, rather than saw, his son turn about. Felt the tension leave the room.

"I love you too," Draco replied, his voice gruff. Lucius reached out a hand and turned out the light.

"We'll talk again in the morning, shall we?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Dad. Goodnight."

Lucius murmured his own goodnight and heard his son take a few shaky breaths. Waited for the sound of him crossing the darkened room and crawling into the other bed. But it never came. Instead, he heard his son's quiet footsteps and then a door opening and closing. The sound made him smile softly.

He rolled over, closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep.

Hermione was just heading down the stairs after pausing at the top and debating with herself about walking back in there. But she'd won that battle and was halfway down when she heard a door overhead open and then click shut again. She paused. Maybe one of them was just headed to the loo-

"Hermione?"

Guess not. She turned and looked up the stairs.

"Draco?"

"Yeah, it's me," he replied and jogged down the stairs, t-shirt half on, his pajama bottoms hastily pulled up, their drawstring untied.

"That offer for tea still on?" he asked and regarded her quietly in the dim light of the stairwell, his face illuminated by the light from downstairs, hers in shadow. His shirt was still stretched across his arms, ready to pull over his head, but he lowered his arms as the silence wound on for several seconds.

Hermione was finding it difficult to breathe, actually, which was why she hadn't answered him right away. His lean muscles gleaming dully, his face serious, but hopeful, his hair falling back into his eyes; and to have it all topped off by that intoxicating smell…why had she ever bought them one of her favorite scents? In the closeness of the stairwell she felt more than a little strange when having her senses assaulted by so much fucking…stimuli. Ugh.

There was definitely something wrong with her. She turned away as quickly as she could and hoped he wouldn't say anything about her pause.

"Of course you can have some tea," she replied quietly and continued down the stairs.

He stared after her, puzzled, but he followed a second later. "Thanks," he said, ducking his head as he finished coming down the stairs. He jogged ahead and held the door to the kitchen open for her.

She turned her head away as she passed him, but it didn't keep her from smelling him.

Bloody hell, she thought, and put the kettle back on the burner with more force than necessary. Draco watched her pull mugs and tea down and generally make noise, ignoring him quite effectively, before he spoke again.

"I should apologize for what I said earlier," he began and she shrugged. He frowned. "No, please. I do. I apologize. It was…I've just been upset this last week and I can't, I shouldn't, take it out on you."

She gave a wry laugh. "I'm used to people taking things out on me, Draco," she said. "That's nothing to apologize for. I should apologize for not receiving it all better."

"That's bollocks," he replied. "You're the one in charge here. My father and I are here at your pleasure. You need to own that," he said.

"I do, sometimes," she admitted and turned around. She crossed her arms and leaned against the counter. "And then my friends get mad at me and eventually we all make up. But you're not my friend. You're in a very sensitive situation and I need to-"

"Oh, come off it, Hermione," Draco interrupted. "So I'm a little mental and my father is nearly a cripple, that doesn't make us made of fucking china, does it? You haven't hesitated to put my in my place before, but if you're treating me differently now that my dad is awake, or aware, or whatever you're calling it, I can tell you, there's no need. I can still take whatever you give me. I'm a grown man, for Merlin's sake," he finished with an angry toss of his head.

Hermione raised her brows at him and turned about to catch the tea kettle before it whistled. Honestly, she hadn't considered the situation that way. She'd been looking at it from her own perspective; that this was a new dynamic they all had to settle into; that Draco was as frustrated as she was; that they each felt the same stress she did. She'd never thought for a second that Draco might be feeling emasculated by all her small kindnesses and understanding. She wondered briefly if Lucius felt the same way and decided she'd better just ask him. After all, even if they were in her care, they weren't officially therapy patients. They were still reformed criminals, technically, and a lot tougher than she probably gave them credit for.

She turned back around and handed the second mug to Draco.

"I hadn't thought of it that way," she admitted aloud. "Thank you for telling me."

"Yes, well," he muttered and took the mug. He settled back against the island and watched her over the top of his mug. She was watching him right back. He looked away.

"Draco," Hermione began, "can I ask you something?"

He flushed and hoped she'd attribute it to the steam. "Go ahead."

"Well, your father said that thing about Zabini…and I haven't wanted to really bring it up again until I felt he was stronger. Do you know anything about that?"

He shook his head. "No. It surprised me, too. I imagine it's what must have set him off in the first place, that day, but…"

"But," Hermione prompted. He glanced at her.

"Zabini and I were never more than acquaintances, really. We weren't close friends. But we still associated, because our families were expected to. So it wasn't normal for him to visit the Manor, but it wasn't unusual, either. Does that make sense?"

"Perfectly."

Draco nodded, warming to the theme. "I've been thinking about it, since Dad brought it up, and I remember Zabini definitely came to visit us that fall. You'd been…well. Anyhow, he came to see us while his mother was on trial. I guess he hoped that by associating with us more our promising reputation would rub off some? I never quite figured it out. But the one person Blaise liked best of all was himself. He was worse than I was, even," Draco said with a small laugh. It wasn't a happy sound and Hermione didn't comment. Draco went on.

"The reason I'm mentioning it is because his visit was just a couple weeks before my parents went missing and then all the trouble started in earnest."

And something clicked for Hermione. She set her mug down and approached him. He looked down at her and shifted uncomfortably.

"Draco, you said this was in the fall."

"Yes," he replied. "Is that important?"

"It depends," she said slowly, "on when during the fall."

"October," he replied easily. "I remember that much. You don't forget the day you find your father dying and give up your mother for dead," he said darkly and stared into his mug.

Hermione was suddenly very glad she'd already put her mug down, considering the way her hands were now shaking. Of course, she thought. Why didn't I put two and two together? But just as quickly she told herself it wasn't possible. It simply wasn't possible. And yet…she didn't even realize Draco was still talking, or that she was crying again, until he put his hands on her shoulders.

"Hermione?" His voice broke through the fog of memory and tears and she looked up at him, jaw set against the anger, eyes full of disbelief, body shaking under his touch. "Hermione, are you alright?"

"No," she whispered. "No." And she began to shake her head and then her shoulders and she collapsed against him with the weight of the discovery. It was impossible. It had to be. Everything couldn't be coming to a head, this long afterwards. It just wasn't fair. Not when they'd all tried so hard to survive and to build lives despite the pain…but then again, when had she ever truly believed she had succeeded in outrunning her demons?

Draco was very glad he'd pulled his shirt on, as he wasn't sure he could've held her this way if it had been her face against his bare chest, her breath on his skin. As it was, none of those feelings arose with his arms about her shoulders and her sobbing that way. That sort of sorrow killed any desire he could've had, except to make him want to murder whoever had done that to her in the first place. He wanted to injure the responsible parties in ways that before he'd only ever wanted to do to those who'd killed his mother and ruined his father. And still, he felt out of his element. Who would ever have dreamed he'd be holding Hermione Granger, one of the once Golden Trio, once his greatest enemies, in his arms and comforting her?

Not that he felt he was comforting her. And of course, the second he tightened his arms about her and tried to rub her back softly, she went stiff and pulled away. He let her go.

What else could he do? She was hurt in ways he didn't, would never, understand.

"I-" She stopped and wiped at her nose, then buried her face in her palms.

"Hey," Draco said. He knew that look. It was one that said, I'm sorry for crying. I should be stronger than this. You don't need to see this. It's my pain, no one else's. It was horse shit. He dared touch her again.

"Hey," he said again. "I don't mind." And to his surprise, he realized he didn't. As much as he didn't mind what he'd had to do for his father.

"Go away," she muttered through her fingers.

"Do you really want me to?" he asked her seriously.

There was a long moment where he could feel his heart beating its way from his chest, where every stifled sob she gave filled the whole house and echoed across the fields. And then, slowly, without saying a word or even shaking her head, she leaned into him again, her hands still covering her face. But it was enough. He slid his arms back around her shoulders and this time, when he rubbed her back gently, she didn't pull away.

AN: I tell you what, if I was Hermione, in that house with both those men...whew! *fans herself*