I own no part of Harry Potter. None.

AN: In which your beloved author throws a tantrum and hopes you all feel suitably ashamed. (And perhaps feels slightly ashamed of her language.)

Oh, god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. If one more of you- even one!- whines about one eensy, weensy, stupid little kiss that a) I warned you about and b) afterwards reassured you many, many times that she was NOT going to end up with Lucius and will, in fact, end up with Draco and it will be hot as all fuck, I swear to Jesus Christ on his whole wheat cracker that I will abandon this story and leave you all shivering in my malevolent wake, begging for mercy. Do you hear me? COWER, minions. Cower. *stalks off*

Oh, and here's another chapter. God DAMN it.

(And yes, I am aware that these are all quite empty threats. But fuck all if I don't feel better.)

Lucius looked up at the sound of footsteps and craned his head to see who it was.

"It hasn't been half an hour," he called out. Draco walked into view. He relaxed and leaned back again. "So, she sent you after all, did she," he murmured. "I had wondered."

Draco stopped short of his father and stood in the middle of the aisle, staring at him. "Had wondered what?"

When Lucius didn't respond, merely pressed his lips together and closed his eyes, Draco waved a hand as if to say it didn't matter. There were more pressing questions to be asked anyway, like how was he, and had he seen Hermione, and-

"Wait, who sent me?" Draco asked. "You couldn't mean that Weasley, she just…got…" His voice trailed off as he worked that one out. Lucius cracked one eye open and began to feel rather sorry for him. Almost as sorry as he was feeling for himself.

"I meant Hermione. I take it she didn't send you, then?"

Draco shook his head and sat down beside his father. "She's busy being sick in her bathroom. I came out to see if you were alright."

"You mean to see if I knew what was the matter with her," Lucius corrected him with a sad little sigh.

"And do you?"

"What is wrong with the rest of us, Draco."

Draco frowned. That was no answer. His eyes narrowed and he came to an uncomfortable realization. "You've been crying. Is it talking about Mum earlier? Did that set you off?" Draco crossed his arms as an even more uncomfortable thought occurred to him. "Did you say something to Hermione because of it?"

Lucius thought about that. He hadn't said anything to Hermione because of that at first…in fact, she'd said more to him than he had to her. But just now, before she'd gone running off to be sick? Oh, yes. He'd definitely had some words for her. With her. Words that had torn all the stuffing from the comfort he'd given her. And then, perhaps because of that frustration and perhaps because he was feeling more than a bit guilty, he did something Narcissa would have said was rather stupid. He decided to provoke his son. Then again, he thought he might be doing Draco a favor with it; after all, the boy had no courage at the moment, only used comebacks and tired wit. He was going soft. And if he was really after their so-called savior of a captor, he'd need something more than kind words to win her. He'd need the will to act. Like he so clearly had in spades, himself.

Right, that's what kissing a vulnerable woman because she reminded him of his dead wife was called these days.

Lucius affected his best sneer, though it took a great deal of energy to do so.

"I can't be expected to coddle the girl."

"The grown woman, you mean," Draco supplied, his voice now frosty with suppressed and growing anger.

"Does it make a difference? She's clearly caught your eye."

"Dad," Draco said, and his voice broke a little. He was finding it hard to control himself. "This isn't like you."

"How do you know what is and is not like me, son? I've been absent for a long time. Things change."

"No," Draco said, clenching his hands into fists. "Even when you were serving Voldemort, you were kind to Mum and I. You loved us. You just told me that the other night-"

"Loving you and approving of your choice of infatuation are two different things, Draco."

"Dad, she's a good person- you said so yourself, not two days after we'd been here! And we should be grateful-"

"Grateful? When she dragged me back to this hell? Don't mistake me, son, I'm glad of your company and if I can be of some small joy to you, but life without your mother is wasted on me," he ended on an angry hiss and closed his eyes again. And though it had started as a mere provocation, he was ashamed to know that it was true; and he would rather be back in that shell Hermione had nothing but disdain for, than in a feeling, thinking world.

As for gratitude…he had plenty of it for her, on behalf of his son. On behalf of himself was another matter entirely. Or perhaps that was only him fooling himself so that the ache of his own heart, knowing that nothing existed for him here, would ease a little.

Life was for the young, after all.

Seconds later, he felt the bench beside him ease and heard Draco walk away, presumably leaving the barn again.

Lucius let himself drift into the only nothing available to him now, and slept.

Draco stormed along the path, kicking weeds and throwing rocks and feeling very much like he was still in his first year at Hogwarts. But he wasn't and that thought only made him feel worse. It made him feel like punching his father in the face, was what it did; which was why he'd gone ahead and left. It wouldn't have ended pleasantly, him sitting beside his crippled father while he slept, stewing away at him and wanting to pound in his face. And for what? For another not so pretty face? For a woman he really barely knew?

He kicked another rock and sent it flying off the path. What had gotten into his father? What had gotten into Hermione? He had no doubt that his father had something to do with Hermione's distraught state; but he couldn't bring himself to interrogate the man, to push and prod him; and alienate him that way when he'd only just gotten him back.

It was fucking unfair and made him feel extremely angry and impotent, all in one go. Which in turn only made him angrier. He stalked all the way up to the back porch and was about to pound his way across it and to the door when it occurred to him that Hermione and Ginny were probably still in the house, and he ought to be quiet.

But why ought he to be quiet? Because he didn't want them hearing him and asking awkward questions he couldn't answer because he was too much of a coward to stand up to his father, still? And that after wiping the man's rear and feeding him for eight fucking years?

Merlin's balls.

Seconds later, from the comfort of the kitchen, Ginny and Hermione could hear him stomping his way up the back porch anyway; heard the slam of the screen door.

Ginny looked at Hermione only to find that her friend's eyes were glued to the doorway, as if expecting a fiery, furious Draco to appear there and smite her for her…and that was where the metaphor broke down. But it was a lovely image while it lasted, Ginny thought and sighed before taking another sip of her tea.

"Psst," she whispered to Hermione. "Pssssst."

Hermione jerked about and stared at her, eyes wide.

"I don't think he's coming in here," Ginny said in her best stage whisper.

Hermione frowned and stared at the door again.

"He told him," she said, her voice desolate.

"I doubt that," Ginny replied and pulled out some things for breakfast. It was high time Hermione and her strays ate. Their blood sugar had to be lower than Bellatrix in Voldemort's presence, which was probably what had set all this nonsense off in the first place.

Ginny might make a lot of cold salads and forget to eat a great deal of the time, but by god, she knew the importance of blood sugar levels when it came to living in the same house with someone.

"Why do you say that?" Hermione mumbled, still watching the door.

"Because if he'd told him, he would have come in here first thing and thrown a tantrum. And he would have been out in the barn a lot longer, either because he was pummeling his dad or having a big, fat girly cry. Where are your frying pans again?"

"In the cupboard," Hermione said, pointing lazily somewhere behind her. Ginny raised an eyebrow and began rummaging through them all. Hermione suddenly turned back to her. "You were right," she said.

"What?"

"About Lucius knowing something. About me needing to talk to Harry, too."

"That was all your suggestion," Ginny replied, still scrounging about.

"Look, he hasn't told me everything yet, because we…because I…"

"Because when you pressed him for answers he distracted you by asking you questions you really didn't want to answer, but felt compelled to, because for some bloody unfathomable reason you suddenly felt like you owed him. And then kissed you. And then probably claimed he didn't mean anything by it, and said something rude, and sent you off in a fit." She found the large frying pan and emerged triumphant, hoisting it in one hand.

"Thank you for that exposition," Hermione replied dryly. "It really doesn't make me feel any better."

"Too bad. Pancakes or omelets?"

Hermione suddenly perked up. "Something's got into you."

Ginny nearly dropped the pan. "I have no idea-"

"No, no. Something's got into you. What is it? Zabini? No, you already told me he pissed you off. That's not it. It must be…ah ha!"

Ginny cowered.

"Harry!"

Ginny cracked several eggs into a bowl. "Omelets, I think," she said in a very small voice.

"It is Harry, isn't it? He's the only bloke you'd ever let kiss you now and get away with it!"

"Come off it," Ginny replied, feeling her temper rise. "You just have kissing on the brain. Stop fishing for…whatever!"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Something happened with you and Harry and I want to know what it is."

"What it was, you mean."

"Don't you distract me by correcting my grammar, Ginny Weasley."

"Would you prefer a distraction in the form of Draco Malfoy, then? Because he's standing in the doorway, finally."

Hermione whirled back around and stared at Draco, who in turn stared at the floor, face still pink and angry.

Ginny looked between the two of them warily for a moment, then set the bowl of eggs down and said coolly, "I think I'll take a walk to the barn and have a few words with Lucius, since someone clearly needs to take him in hand."

Hermione shot Ginny a dark look, but Draco, though his face flushed further and he set his jaw, didn't say a word. Seconds later the back door eased shut and they could hear Ginny's softer steps making their way across the porch and out into the yard. Hermione looked at Draco a little longer, but he didn't meet her eyes and she finally shrugged helplessly and turned to the abandoned eggs.

After a few more seconds of silence, she heard him speak.

"What did my father say to you?"

"He didn't say anything," Hermione began and suddenly Draco was behind her and reaching for the bowl and setting it down behind him, out of her reach.

"What did my father say to you?"

She looked up at him, almost cowed for one whole second, and then her brows drew together in ire and her nostrils flared and Draco began to wonder if he'd made a mistake.

"I already said, Draco. Or weren't you listening? He didn't say anything to me. And even if he had, what goes on between the two of us is our own private business."

Draco frowned. "And what does go on between the two of you?" he asked, his voice cool.

"Sod off, Draco," Hermione replied and started to reach around him. He stepped back, blocking the bowl again.

"What happened in the barn this morning?"

"Oh, for fuck's- Draco, nothing! We had some words, there, are you happy?"

"If he upset you-"

"He didn't upset me! You are!" Hermione shrieked. And it was almost true. It was perfectly possible to believe the kiss had been an accident, a mistake, and she had been more upset talking about Ron and that terrible time than by his lips on hers. She waved her hands in frustration. "You're upsetting me!"

Draco was so shocked that she was finally able to step around him and reach the bowl before he recalled himself.

"Me?" he sputtered. "What did I do? I've been a fucking angel the last week!"

"And what do you call this interrogation, then?" she shot back, and began beating the eggs madly. Salt and pepper flew from her hand and a small spray of egg caught him across the front of his shirt. He looked down at it almost sadly.

"Hermione, I-"

And just like that, her anger receded. She sighed and set the eggs down, then reached for the pan and put it on the stove. "Oh, save it, Draco. Dear god."

"Why are you protecting him?" Draco asked quietly. He felt like a heel for badgering her, but he was suddenly unable to let it go. As if he knew that since he couldn't drag the truth from his father then he'd have to drag it from her, instead. And she was an easier target, anyway, wasn't she? After all, he cared less about her than he did for his dear old dad.

At least, he thought he did.

"Don't," Hermione said. "Don't even try that with me. If I'm protecting anyone, it's myself. Maybe I don't want all this conflict. Maybe there are things that shouldn't be raked up more than once a day. Once a week, or month, even."

And although that sounded very fair to Draco, and deflated his anger considerably, he found himself stepping towards her again, unwilling to leave her.

"I want to help," he tried again.

Hermione whirled on him again, glared mightily, and then unceremoniously dumped the bowl of eggs in the hot skillet.

"You can't help, Draco Malfoy," Hermione said. "And even if you could, I'd hardly call what you're doing right now helping, would you? Pestering me because you can't even sort things out with your own father, even though you're the only reason he's still alive? Bothering me for answers because you're afraid daddy won't love you anymore if you're too much of an annoyance? Fuck off, Draco."

The anger came back.

"Yeah? Well at least I'm not some fucking shut-in mourning over a dead man," he responded before he could think about what he was saying. Or maybe he had thought about it, and just didn't care. Hermione couldn't tell for the tears in her eyes.

"Go to hell, Draco," she hissed. "You want to know what happened? Fine. Your father-" But something stopped her, killed her angry reaction. Maybe it was the way his eyes darkened with sorrow, as if he'd known all along that his father was still a terrible man. Maybe it was the determined set of his jaw, as if he was saying, I can take it. Whatever it is, I'm strong enough to know.

Except she really didn't think he was, and besides which, the kiss hardly seemed to matter, anymore.

"-is a bloody infuriating man," she finished and attacked the eggs unnecessarily. "And he goaded me into telling him about Ron. That's all. And that's why I was sick."

Draco felt all the air leave him and then sagged against the counter in relief. So, it had just been words. Just his father lashing out because he was feeling his own ineffectiveness as a man. It was perfectly normal, even if it wasn't ok.

"I'm sor-"

"Don't you dare," she interrupted him, waving a knife at him before turning back to chop more mushrooms and cheese. "Don't you dare apologize for him. He can do it himself if he wants to. Besides, it's about fucking time I started talking about all that, anyway, isn't it?"

She was trembling inside, but her voice was relatively calm and she felt quite proud of herself.

"Only if you want to," Draco replied softly. "I won't ever goad you into it," he promised. She scoffed and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.

"Right. Thanks. I appreciate the sentiment, anyway."

"I mean it," he said, suddenly eager to prove that he and his dad were still worth it, even if one of them was a curmudgeon and the other had an unpredictable temper. That she didn't need to be afraid of him, at least; that she could still live with them here, on her farm.

He wondered if this was what a shelter dog felt like, begging to be kept.

"Draco, this isn't going to be smooth sailing," she responded. "I knew that signing on for you. We're going to continue to argue, and push each other's buttons, and annoy one another in a hundred little ways. We're housemates, even if I am in charge, and there's nothing any of us can do about the inevitable spats and rows that come with the territory."

"You're awfully philosophical about it," he murmured and she shrugged before passing the cutting board and its contents along to him to finish chopping.

"I have to be," she said. "I'd go insane otherwise."

Ginny stepped into the cool interior of the barn, grateful for its shade. There was a fine breeze up outside, but the sun was already heating the ground and it promised to be hot.

Her eyes adjusted to the light and she decided not to waste any time.

"Malfoy!" she called. She walked down the center aisle, waving to the horses still in their stalls for some reason or other, who greeted her with neighs of carrot-filled hope. Then she came to a halt.

Lucius wasn't very hard to spot. Not with that head of platinum blond hair going white and the perpetual sneer lines etched into his face. Although, she thought as she watched him sleep, she could see the attraction. Maybe. If one really liked old men. His face was rather dignified, after all, his jaw line strong, his shoulders broad.

His opened lazily, like a cat's, and he regarded her with weak disdain.

She wrinkled her nose. No, never mind. She couldn't see any attraction at all.

"Tell me what you know," she said to him and he blinked a few times, looked like he wanted to close his eyes again. She walked closer and kicked his foot.

He merely gave her an amused look, like she was a child trying to get his attention. She crossed her arms. Two could play at that game. And no one won against Ginny Weasley. Not anymore.

"I know what happened," she said and he gave a slight start and looked away. "Don't turn away from me, Lucius Malfoy. I'm not the one you should feel ashamed for. Hermione deserves your apology."

"I seem to recall her returning the kiss," he replied and Ginny raised an eyebrow.

"Really? Sure about that, are you? It couldn't possibly have been she was so shocked to have a real man kissing her after all that time that she simply couldn't move?"

"Let us stop trifling, Miss Weasley," he said softly. "I do not care for Hermione. I think we both- rather, now the three of us- know it was a mistake."

"Oh, do we?" Ginny restrained herself from kicking his foot again. "The two of us know it, perhaps, but does she?"

"Considering it is you who is here now and not her, yes, I believe that is the case," he replied.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You're such a twat."

Lucius gave her an incredulous look and then a single bark of laughter escaped his lips. "Am I?"

"Yes. Now I believe you have some information that you owe myself and Hermione."

"I have told her what I know."

"Bollocks. Like I'm going to believe that. You played on her weaknesses and then thrust them back in her face, is what you did. I doubt she remembers half of what you said, you slimy git. Not after puking the way she did. So, what will it be?"

Lucius stared at her for a long moment and then sighed and gave a weary shake of his head. "You have me at a disadvantage, Miss Weasley. You're perfectly right. I abused Hermione very ill this morning."

"Miss Granger, you mean."

"What?"

"Miss Granger, to you," Ginny prompted him again. "It makes you sound like less of a dick about the whole thing."

Lucius raised another brow and looked away again. Ginny watched the wheels in his head turning and waited.

"What would you have me do?" he finally asked, after some minutes.

"Tell us both what you know and then leave her the hell alone," Ginny answered promptly.

"Ah, and by leave her the hell alone you mean…"

"You know what I mean, you wretched man," Ginny said and did kick at his foot again. He looked pained and disgruntled at the same time. She felt a vicious little thrill.

Lucius wondered when his patience would break.

"So leave her alone to wallow in her misery? To revel in the ghost of a man who didn't love her enough to overcome his own demons and blamed her for his completely unnecessary suicide?"

Ah, yes. There it went. Ginny turned a shade of red to rival her hair color.

"You unfeeling beast," she hissed. "How dare you-"

"What, has no one ever pointed it out, before? That your darling brother hung himself and left a note essentially telling Hermione- pardon me, Miss Granger- that it was her fault; and then had the gall to say that he hoped she could heal all her scars someday. Excuse me, Miss Weasley, but it all seemed rather obvious to me the minute I heard the sad tale."

Ginny slapped him across the face. He was sad he didn't feel it for all the protective spells. He rather thought he deserved it, after all.

"When you're quite finished having your own little self-pity party," Ginny seethed quietly, "come join us back at the house. And do remember your fucking manners, Malfoy," she finished, saying his name as if it were poison. Then she turned and stalked back up the aisle and left the barn.

"Miss Weasley," he called on impulse and was rewarded with her stopping and looking back at him.

"I have no intentions towards your friend," he offered.

Ginny raised a brow to mirror his own and smiled coolly. "I didn't think you had," she responded. Lucius frowned, and before he could ask the inevitable question, she spoke again. "I just hate you that much. Hermione may be taken in by all your posturing and your limping and your sad eyes, but I'm not. I like you even less now than I did back then, and mostly because you were a hell of a lot more obvious with your motivations in those days."

He inclined his head to show her he understood. But before she could turn on her heel again, he spoke to her once more.

"My motivations have changed, Miss Weasley. Quite frankly, I don't have any. I simply wish to be left alone to grow even older and die. Pureblood, halfblood, women, children- none of it matters to me any longer. I just wish to die in peace."

Ginny gave him a hateful look, as if she wanted to tear his throat out for evoking a feeling other than dislike for him in her breast and she finally turned and left, without another word.

Lucius watched her go for a moment, then laid his head back against the wall and groaned. Lovely. Perhaps Ginny would be so good as to relay his wishes to Hermione and then he could just sit here and turn to bones.

Dusty, lonely bones.

AN: Grouchy Margot is grouchy.