I don't own this crap, why you gotta keep askin'?

AN: I just have to say, there needs to be a Draco/Hermione video to Queen's "Who Wants to Live Forever" from Highlander. Why doesn't this exist yet? WHY. If you want to make one, let me know because I totes have the mp3 and will email it to you, for reals like whoa.

It is only one, tonight, but it's something. Chapter!

The ride back to the farm was quiet, punctuated by soft sighs from Hermione and the rustle of Harry's things as he scribbled notes into a small book. Hermione had insisted on a window seat; and Harry had decided that Draco didn't need to sit next to her; so he was sitting squashed between them in the backseat of the cab. Although Draco felt more squashed than Harry probably did, considering Harry was sitting halfway in his lap because, quote, "Hermione needs space." Which Harry had hissed in his ear right before 'accidentally' jabbing him with his wand a few times. Hermione hadn't noticed any of this, of course.

Draco sighed again, tried to get comfortable, decided it was impossible, and finally turned his face to the window and stared out quite determinedly. The ride would be over soon, he could count on that much.

The cabbie drove like Hermione.

Harry paid the driver as Draco and Hermione started up the driveway they'd run down only a few agonizing hours ago. The three of them marched along in continued silence, one behind the other, until the house came into view. That was about the time that Lucius stood up from his place on the steps and waved a hand before making his way out to them. Draco jogged ahead of Hermione to greet his father, who embraced him in a surprising hug.

"Nice to see you too, Dad," he said and Lucius cuffed him one after he'd let go, though there was no force behind it.

"I am you father. I was concerned."

"Yeah, I can tell," Draco responded.

"And Miss Granger-" Lucius began, addressing Hermione as she came abreast of them.

"It's Hermione," she said, cutting him off. "Since Ginny's not here to scare the piss out of you anymore. I'm going out, to the horses, and I don't want to be bothered. By any of you," she added, with a toss of her head and a quick glance at Harry.

Draco stared at the ground as she passed them and then at her back as she walked up the steps and into the house, presumably to change. Lucius watched his son watch her.

"What happened?" he asked and Draco shook his head quickly as Harry walked up.

"Tell you later."

"Tell him now," Harry recommended, catching his words. "You have a lot to discuss, anyhow. Best to just get it all out there. Look, I really have to get back now, but all the wards are still in place out here, so you should be fine. Just…keep an eye on Hermione."

"I thought you said she needed space," Draco replied coolly and Harry glared at him.

"I said keep an eye on her, not follow her into the shower, yeah? Merlin, Malfoy. Get a fucking grip."

"We're never going to like each other," Draco said and it was almost a question. Harry let out a bark of laughter.

"I don't reckon we will, no. But I can tolerate you as long as Hermione can. Go on, then- talk to each other. I'll phone later. One of you be sure and pick up if Hermione doesn't feel like answering."

"And what if we don't feel like-" Draco began, but Lucius cuffed him again.

"You didn't learn your manners from me," he said and nodded politely at Harry, who raised a brow.

"Really? I thought he was doing his best imitation of you, just then."

Lucius sniffed. "Good-bye, Potter."

"You too. And remember, answer the damn phone- and not on the tenth call!"

Lucius waved a hand and Draco glared at after Harry's form before turning said glare on his father.

"Thanks for making me feel about ten again, Dad."

"Thank you for being an eternally grateful boy, son," Lucius replied mildly. "Now, come inside and let's sit down and discuss whatever it is you have to tell me." He put an arm around Draco's shoulders, leaning on him some as they walked up the steps and into the house together. He tried to smile reassuringly at Draco as he held the door open.

"I've been sitting out here all afternoon and it's gotten rather hot."

Draco paused and looked at him, thought of all the heat of their own he and Hermione, Ginny and Harry, had just endured.

"I think I know what you mean," he said sadly, then turned and went inside.

Lucius looked after him, puzzled, before raising his brows in dismissal and following his son into the cool shade of the house.

An hour or so later, Lucius sat back from the kitchen table and regarded his son seriously.

"I…see," he said. Draco lifted his head, met his father's eyes.

"Glad one of us does."

Lucius didn't respond to that, just continued to watch Draco. Yes, he rather felt he saw a lot of things, just then. Finally, after some minutes of silence, he pursed his lips and then spoke again.

"And what do you want to do?"

Draco crossed his arms and shrugged. "It's up to you, too."

"Yes, but I'm not the one who actually has any sort of future to look forward to. It's your life we are deciding now, Draco. So, what do you want to do?"

Draco frowned. "I wish you'd stop talking that way. You're recovering, you're in your early fifties- you're far from dead. You have a future too, Dad. It's not just me-"

"I have no future without your mother, Draco," Lucius replied softly. "And if you continue to make plans that include me, I will only be a weight about your neck."

"That's not true, Dad."

"It isn't? Then please, tell me what I'm good for. I've been a wizard my entire life and a convict and catatonic for nearly the last decade. I ruined our family name and encouraged you to follow in my footsteps. I have no other skills and no capacity- or desire- for learning a new job, not at this point. Not while I'm still battling the effects of that curse. What exactly could I possibly be useful for, now?" He paused and watched Draco stare at him, disbelieving, valiantly shaking his head in the face of his father's self-deprecation.

"You, at least, have a chance, Draco. An opportunity to start over. If you want so badly to clear our family name, you should let me be the one they come after. Let me be the scapegoat. I can stay here and battle the ministry, if it means that much to you, but I won't let you throw away your chance at freedom. If Potter honestly thinks he can help you escape, you should go."

"I can't let you do that, Dad," Draco said. "You know I can't. Whatever you think you're good for, whatever you think of yourself, you're still my father. Nothing will change that. And trying to sacrifice yourself now won't change what happened back then. The best way for you to make it up to me, if you're going to insist on being so morbid, is to let me have this. Let me have my father back, for good." He started to reach across the table for Lucius' hand, stopped uncertaintly, and drew back again. "Please. All I want is my family back," he finished quietly.

"Are you sure that's all you want?"

Draco jerked his head up and stared at his father. Lucius smiled gently at him.

"I apologize, Draco. I'm getting fanciful in my old age."

"Dad, you really aren't that old. I'm sure there are a dozen witches and wizards who would agree with me on that much."

Lucius glanced away and found a speck on the tabletop suddenly fascinating as he thought of one particular witch who might agree. He felt ashamed.

"I can only imagine," he said cryptically, and lifted his eyes again. "But the real question is, Draco, no matter what you want me to be or do, am I willing to watch you sacrifice your chance at freedom and happiness just because you mistakenly believe we can ever be a family again?"

Draco drew back, his face full of confusion, full of hurt.

"I won't be happy, Dad," he said quietly. "Not if you stay behind and end up crucified by the ministry. I won't take that chance with you."

"And if I want to do that for you, take the chance, so that our name is cleared?"

"No," Draco said, pushing back his chair and standing up. "There has to be another way. I'll think of it. I'll think of something. This thing, all these revelations…they have me confused. I just need to clear my head for a bit, sort it all out. But I'll figure out something, Dad. And it won't involve you sacrificing yourself just because you think you're some old warhorse who needs to be put to pasture. I promise you that," he ended fiercely, then turned and stalked from the room.

Lucius watched him go, brows drawn together in empathy. He knew how his son was feeling; he did. He just wasn't sure if it was what was best for either of them- for any of them, Hermione Granger included. With a sigh, he stood up a few minutes later as he heard the ceiling above him creaking with Draco's footfalls. He changed direction from heading for the stairs. I may as well remain down here, he thought. After all, Hermione was at the barn, or the pastures. Draco had just taken over the bedroom. That left a quiet nap in one of the armchairs in the living room for himself. It made as much sense as anything else, just then.

Minutes later he was settled, his eyes closed, as the late afternoon sun crept through the windows and up the walls.

Ginny and her mother looked up from their tea at the same time as they heard the knock on the kitchen door, signaling Harry's arrival. Molly did not miss the way her daughter's eyes flicked back down to her cup of tea uncertainly, or the way the fingers which curled about her cup trembled.

"I'll just get that, shall I?" she murmured and stood, letting Harry in with a large hug and kiss to his cheek. Harry returned the embrace and then made his way straight for the table, and Ginny.

"Well?" he said. "How are you both?"

Ginny met his eyes after a long pause and gave him the smallest of smiles. "Mum is alright, at least," she said.

Molly snorted. "We're both a mess. Ginerva told me everything that's happened the last few weeks and we've been crying into our tea since. Would you like anything to drink, Harry? Or eat?"

"No, thank you," he said. "I'm not staying long. I just had to come by and see…"

"How we were," Ginny finished for him and shrugged weakly. "Alive. Which is better than Ron, at the moment."

"Ginny, I'm so sorry," Harry began. "I wish I could have spared you all that today."

"No, it's better to know," she replied firmly, certainty in her voice for the first time that day. "It is. Have you had the story from Malfoy yet, too?"

"No- I got there and found I couldn't…quite face it, just then. Besides, it seemed rather cruel to make either of them relive it for a second time in the same day. A third time, in Draco's case."

"Kind of you," Ginny said dryly. "And…Zabini?"

"I'm going to go question him after I've seen to things here and at the office." Harry leaned forward, took one of Ginny's hands. "I love you," he said.

Her head came up, eyes meeting his. The fear drifted from her expression and was replaced with a softness, a longing. Then she squeezed his hand suddenly.

"I'm glad," she whispered and Harry gave her the tiniest of smiles to match her own.

Molly turned about at the sink and began to refill the tea kettle noisily, hoping it drowned out the sound of her sudden sobs of hope and joy. Perhaps she would get her baby girl back, now. Perhaps she would return to them all, someday.

At the table, Harry and Ginny continued to watch each other in silence, years of misunderstandings and misdeeds passing away between them, driven back by the dangerous hope of a future.

Hermione led the last of the horses into the barn and brushed him down, giving him an extra scoop of feed before shutting the stall door and heading down the aisle. She paused at Echo's door and said goodnight one last time, apologized to the filly she and Lucius had…intruded upon earlier, and finally made her way from the barn. She flicked the lights out and pulled the door to, then stood there for a moment, breathing deeply of the early evening air. The last ray of the sun still lit up the western horizon, but the moon was full and hanging low in the dark blue sky.

She thought of what she'd told herself multiple times seventh year, when they'd been on the run, and Ron had just abandoned them. At least we're looking at the same moon, her mind said regretfully. Except that couldn't help her now. She didn't know what she believed about an afterlife- she didn't even know what she believed about the life she was in at that moment. But she had hoped with all her heart, once upon a time, that Ron was still out there, somewhere. Still watching over her in some way.

Which made the news she'd had today that much more unfair. She didn't have all the facts, but that seldom mattered. To know that Ron hadn't been responsible for all those months of torture, to know he'd killed himself for nothing…it was enough. Enough to drive her out of her mind with fresh grief, that was. Because not only did it make what he'd done, his own struggles, so unnecessary; it also meant that her torture had been that much worse. It meant all those times she'd told herself that it was ok, that at least it was Ron and not those Death Eaters…they were all lies. Because those Death Eaters had torn her apart, had toyed with her mind and body as surely as they had with Ginny.

And she felt dirty, and used, and utterly ill.

She was actually rather proud of herself, come to think of it. She could have easily been ill earlier, at Ginny's. She'd felt it, roiling her stomach, the muscles contracting on their own with the pain of the news. And now? Now that she'd seen herself through that moment, held it in, she felt…not better, exactly. But like she'd conquered some awful part of herself. The part that had been formed by those dead men. The part they'd twisted for their own sick purposes.

And the fact that she still didn't know who they were? Ginny was right, it didn't matter. Not now. She wasn't even sure it had mattered at the time. They'd both stopped caring who was doing it after the first two weeks of their imprisonment. The who didn't matter when they were flaying you alive, mentally and physically. It was only the what that mattered, after a while. And if they would ever stop doing it. That was all.

With a sigh, she put her hands in her pockets, gave the moon one more glance, and started up the path to the house. Perhaps, if she were lucky, she could avoid Draco and his father long enough to grab a quick bite to eat before holing herself up in her room.

Not that she felt like eating. But it seemed like a good idea. Sort of.

In a few minutes, she was pushing open the back door and making her way into the kitchen, where she found a tub of cold soup left over from a few days ago. She grabbed a spoon and some crackers, stacked them on top of the small tub, and was just shoving from the kitchen and through the living room when a small sound caught her ears. She peered into the dim room and then flicked on a light, identifying the source of the sound.

It was Lucius, peering at her with bleary eyes from where he sat in an armchair. He'd clearly just woken up from some sort of nap and he looked almost…harmless as he blinked up at her uncertainly, eyes filled with sleep and lines upon his face relaxed. That damned hair of his spilling over his shoulders and the back of the armchair, looking nearly alluring in the moonlight coming in through the windows.

She stopped short and eyed him in return, before making a decision. With absolutely no dignity, she plopped into the chair across from him and set the soup on the side table before tearing into the package of crackers with her teeth. He seemed to grow more aware as he took in her actions, slowly eyeing her with more interest. Even if it was a grim interest.

"Cracker?" she said and held the package out to him, taking one for herself. He gingerly reached out and took it from her, sliding a few into his hand. Hermione munched on hers, hunching over in her chair, and looked to the tub of soup. She made a small noise and stood up.

"I'll get another spoon," she said and disappeared back into the kitchen before he could protest. She was back a moment later, a second spoon in hand, and tossed it onto his lap. He looked down at it, bemused, and picked it up, setting it on the arm of the chair.

"Thank you," he murmured, and began to nibble on the crackers.

Hermione waved a hand, shoved another cracker- whole- into her mouth. Then she reached for the soup and pried the lid off. She held it out to Lucius first, who gave a small shake of his head and held up the handful of crackers in explanation. She shrugged and dug into the soup with her own spoon, giving it a good stir before taking a large first spoonful.

Straight from the tub.

Lucius wondered if she really expected him to eat from the same supply she was now dipping her germy spoon back into. He decided it didn't matter when she looked up at him a second later, one brow arched in question.

"What?" she said around a mouthful of soup and cracker.

"Absolutely nothing," he replied in a quiet voice.

She held his gaze a moment longer, swallowed, licked her spoon again. Then she reached over and set it on the small table next to his own chair. She reached for the crackers again. Then she made her first thrust.

"Just like the absolutely nothing you knew about Ron?"

He glanced up at her, frozen by her question, then forced himself to finish chewing his food. He swallowed a moment later and sat quietly, trying to determine how best to answer her. She decided he was taking too long.

"I mean, when you decided what to tell us, how did you figure on leaving that bit out? I would've thought it was the perfect way to really make us crazy."

"Miss Granger…"

"Hermione," she corrected him and crossed her arms.

"Hermione," he started over, with a direct look at her that made her cheeks flush. "It wasn't until this afternoon, when Draco told me what had happened, what Zabini said, that I realized the significance of some of my own recollections. Remember, please, that I did not actually see much of the place, did not witness the torture, except through Zabini's mind and memories. Everything was second hand. Believe me, if I had thought of it at the time, I would have said something. I can only apologize now for not preparing you better for Zabini's revelations."

Hermione looked like she wanted to say something to that- several somethings, in fact- but knew he was right. She bit her lip and looked away, reached for more crackers. They sat dry on her tongue, but she forced herself to eat them anyhow. Lucius tentatively picked up the tub of soup, took a few wary spoonfuls. Finally, Hermione spoke again.

"I know you were only telling us what we asked, earlier," she said. "I don't really believe you meant any harm by it. And we- Ginny and I, at least, and for the short time Ron was still with us- well, we owe you and your wife our lives."

"Please do not say a word about repayment, or debts," he murmured in return. "I won't stand for it."

"I wouldn't dream of it," she replied snidely, though there was a curve to her lips belying her tone of voice.

"If anything, it is I who continues to owe you. If there is anything more you wish to know…please, ask. It will not be easy to speak of it, but it seems the least I can do. Especially after my gaffe this morning."

Hermione watched him sadly for a second, then exhaled noisily and snapped her fingers. "Soup," she said and Lucius smiled wryly and leaned across to hand the tub to her.

Their fingers brushed, but Hermione thought she did a rather good job of not jumping at the electricity she felt.

More time passed. Lucius closed his eyes again and leaned his head back as Hermione polished off the soup. He heard her get up, deposit things back in the kitchen. Come back out, sit down again. Then finally, just as he was convinced she would take him up on it some other time, her voice reached his ears.

"How exactly did they do it?" she asked.

His eyes snapped open again and he looked over at her.

"You mean…"

"Ron," she said. "How exactly did it happen? Do you know that much?"

He watched her carefully, not sure if she truly needed to hear such things. Not when they'd long ago ceased to matter. He spoke anyway.

"Polyjuice," he murmured. "He- they, rather- didn't stay in your cell afterwards, did he?"

Hermione shook her head- her whole body shook, really, but she held herself upright anyway. "He didn't, " she replied quietly. "I should have realized something was off because of that."

"You were out of your mind with pain, Hermione," he replied gently. "There is no way you can blame yourself for any of this." He went on. "I believe what they did…was use a pensieve. They would make him watch their memories of what went on and he…" He gathered himself and continued, despite the signs that she was now crying. "He was out of his mind in pain as well, so he could not differentiate what was real, what were his own memories, and what was not."

He stopped and gazed across at where his guardian- a young, world-weary witch- sat with a hand over her eyes, mouth contorted in a silent sob. Tears dripped off her chin.

"That is all I know," he added softly. "I am sorry."

"I hate that word," she gasped and Lucius grimaced.

"My apologies."

"Oh, hell," Hermione replied, waving a hand, eyes still covered with the other. "I just…I just need a moment."

"Let me give you your space, then," he said and started to leverage himself from the chair.

She lowered her hand and reached out to him. "No," she said suddenly, breathlessly. "Please don't. I just…you can stay. Please." Her voice was nearly a whisper. "Please stay. I'd like…the company, if you don't mind." She looked up at him, eyes pleading, and uncertainty and shame stole across her face, as if she couldn't believe she'd just asked that of him. She covered her eyes again and continued to cry quietly.

Lucius looked down at her, confusion along every line of his body. And then, slowly, he lowered himself back into his chair and sat in the dim living room with her, and shared in her quiet grief. The way he wished he had- the way he should've, earlier.

From the dark stairwell, Draco lowered himself onto a step, sitting, and hunched over his knees as the sounds from the living room reached his ears quite clearly. His heart was thudding loudly in his chest and his mind rushed with what he'd overheard.

And he felt all of ten years old again for the second time that day, damn his father. He clenched his hands into fists, drawing them up against his chest; as if he could still the rapid beating of his overwrought heart that would insist on feeling something he wasn't even certain he wanted to be feeling.

Damn, damn, damn.

AN: Jealous Draco is jealous? ...and evil Margot is still evil.