I don't own Harry Potter and never, ever will.

AN: Seriously, y'all. Draco/Hermione video. Queen's "Who Wants to Live Forever." Let's make this happen, people. I have the song, one of you has the talent and media/technology. Do it. Make me an offer I can't refuse. Also need a Draco/Hermione vid to Billy Joel's "She's Always a Woman," which I can also provide music for. Come on, folks. You know you want to.

Oh, and please read through to the end of the chapter before spazzing on me, you crazy bitches. Um, and I'm pretty sure I love you? Maybe I love Ginger a little more than the rest, but that can't be helped. She hath captured mine heart, after all.

Also, this chapter may be complete drivel. :D

Draco was startled out of sleep by her cries of terror. He hadn't been expecting any that night; though he supposed that was rather stupid of him, considering what the day had brought them all; and he'd gone off to bed unnoticed by either his father or Hermione. He hadn't even registered his father's entry into their room, he'd been sleeping so soundly. But her cries? They could've waked the dead.

Now he looked over to where his father was apparently still in a deep sleep- perhaps it was the relaxant he was still taking before bed that kept him in his dreams. Draco didn't particularly care just then; he thought only of Hermione and how desperately he needed her to stop making those dreadful noises.

For they were dreadful, and the worst he'd heard since he'd been at the farm. Worse, even, than the night she'd found him and he'd suspected their relationship was changing. Those had been awful, they all had. These? They were heart rending. Long, keening moans that ended in a shout of hoarse terror; punctuated by guttural sobs and a strange thumping noise. She must have been banging about in her sleep- pounding the bed or headboard in her nightmare induced fear.

He couldn't take it any longer; he had to see her, wake her. He had to make them stop, because they pulled on something deep within him; made his own face crumple and choked him with feeling. He couldn't take it.

Slipping from bed, throwing one last glance at his father's still, breathing form, he opened their door and made his way down the hall, one hand on the wall for guidance. As he crept down the stairs, moonlight spilling through the windows lit his path and another cry filled the house. He froze, closed his eyes as he rode it out, then continued to her bedroom door, his spine tingling with anxiety for her.

She was dreaming of him- Ron. Of that morning she wandered out of their bedroom and found him two feet off the ground; dangling from a rope attached to a hook that had been transfigured on their ceiling of their living room. Of how she'd fallen back against the wall in her first shock, then gathered herself and run to him; tried to lift him up unsuccessfully, to ease the burden on the rope in the hopes…

Harry had arrived with aurors- she'd managed to call someone, even in her shock. He'd found her on the ground with his body, trying to breathe life into him. She knew CPR, after all. She was certified- her parents had seen to that a long time ago. She'd just never imagined she'd ever be using it on him…but of course, it hadn't worked.

And then she'd been alone. But in the dream, she was stuck in that moment of walking out, seeing him hanging, swinging gently in the morning sunlight. Stuck watching his dead face open its eyes and stare right back at her. And then the worst part began. Their captors, the faceless men who had ruined their lives, grabbed her from behind and proceeded to make his corpse watch everything.

And she couldn't wake up. She battled those men- who, in the nightmare, truly were faceless, with only black holes where their eyes, noses and mouths ought to be. She fought and kicked and screamed, even as her voice dissolved under a barrage of pain filled tears. And still, she couldn't wake up. She was lost in the darkness, the morning light blocked by the men and Ron's corpse and she knew this was it. This was the night she would truly go mad.

In the distance beyond the faceless bodies, that swinging figure, she could hear a voice trying to reach her. It was a man, and he was calling her name. She reached out, but the Eaters bound her hands. She cried out, but her mouth couldn't form the words. But the man kept calling to her. And then she felt, rather than saw, the morning sunlight seeping through the wall of bodies. Someone was pushing them all aside. Someone was letting in the light. She just needed to open her eyes and see him-

She woke up, gasping and choking on her tears. The man holding her brushed her hair back from her face, ran his hand along her scars, then held her to him.

"Hermione," he said. "Hermione. Are you there? Are you back? Shh, come back. It's not real. It's not real. Trust me. Hermione."

He put cool lips to her forehead and then held her to his chest; embraced her and pressed her cheek to his shoulder.

"Hermione," he said again and his voice was quiet and tearful.

"Y-yes," she finally stammered out around the erratic beating of her heart. She breathed deeply, trying to calm down.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'm so sorry."

She let herself be held, let him bunch his hands into her hair, because she was too weak to do anything else. But words were something she did have.

"I hate that word," she said and the phrase sounded achingly familiar.

"I know," he responded, and put his lips to her forehead again. "I know. But that doesn't make it any less true."

She rubbed her cheek- the scarred, awful half of her face- against his shoulder and then pulled back from him drowsily, looked up at his face. The moonlight was behind him, but she would know that pale blonde hair anywhere. He reached past her and turned on her table lamp.

Lucius' face was thrown into stark relief and she blinked rapidly in the sudden light. He looked down at her, his face sad. He felt her forehead.

"You're feverish."

"I was so frightened," she said suddenly, ignoring his words. She rather thought her cheeks were burning for an entirely different reason.

"I know you were. Stay here- I'll get you some water."

"No, don't leave," she begged, hanging onto him. "Please…stay."

He looked at her more closely and though she felt certain she was looking at him through a fog, and her ears were ringing, she knew what he intended.

She welcomed it.

His lips found hers again, but it was not like it had been that morning, at the barn. His lips were softer, this time. Fuller. He pulled away from her, almost in uncertainty.

"Hermione," he said. "This isn't right. Your fever-"

The rest of his response was lost to her lips as she covered his mouth with her own again. Yes, so it was different- it was better. At the barn, they were hiding. And yes, he still reminded her of Ron, and so what if she'd felt their relation that evening was almost familial? She was a woman, after all, and it was almost liberating to feel that, after everything she'd been through.

She was a woman, and she was alive, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd actually wanted a man to hold her to himself. To feel his skin and muscles warm and alive against her own. To feel his tongue battling for dominance with hers, his lips nipping gently at her cheek, her jaw, her throat. She shivered against him and pulled him closer into the curve of her arms. His torso was long and hard against hers and seemed to hum with nervous energy. His fingers slid along the curve of her spine, lighting up every inch of skin they touched.

The ringing in her ears grew louder, and it was the sound of him saying her name.

She did know who he was, didn't she? She held a lucid conversation with him after he'd woken her up; yet now she was putting her arms about his neck and drawing him close; her hands running down his back and up his neck into his hair…he shivered, feeling her hot skin against his own.

Draco reminded himself she probably had a fever and tried to pull away. Her lips covered his, enticing him to open his own and he did; felt her tongue slide against his, felt her draw one slender, muscular leg up alongside his waist.

Oh, Merlin. He hadn't had a woman kiss him any way since their imprisonment, let alone the way she was kissing him now. The way she was putting her entire body into it, as if her life depended on it. His heart felt like it was going to pound its way straight out of his chest if he didn't put an end to it now.

And then her hands slid under the hem of his nightshirt; and her fingertips ran across his scars almost seductively.

His eyes snapped open even as he made involuntary noises of pleasure, of desire. Of hunger. Even as his body clearly said, let her have her way with you, he was prying her arms away; and holding them at her sides; and then scrambling off the bed and backing up into the door.

Hermione's eyes opened slowly as her brain caught up with all the stimuli it was processing; just after Draco had pressed himself up against the edge of the door like it was his only chance at escape.

She turned and searched him out while still huddled in the middle of her bed, her jaw working as though she wanted very much to say something, but couldn't. She felt sluggish in her movements, as though her body wasn't sure she should move, even if her brain was sending the signal. Like her eyes had failed to pick up on the fact that it was Draco all along. And yet she'd felt something change in their encounter, had known it wasn't really Lucius she'd been kissing. Lucius had not answered her kiss earlier with the urgency she'd felt from this man, just now.

No, Lucius had been all languid questions. His son was all frenetic, if reluctant, answers.

Hermione had no idea which she preferred. She was having trouble focusing on anything in that moment; let alone the fact that there were two men under her roof who were both as confused as she was; one of whom had accidentally kissed her- the other whom she had accidentally kissed. And in the same twenty four hours.

She wondered if Ginny would be proud. Seconds later, mind fuzzy and ears still buzzing, she wondered why she'd thought of that in the first place.

Where was she again?

Draco was breathing hard and he knew his body had betrayed him the minute her eyes settled on him. Desperately ashamed and suddenly angry, he turned around, keeping his back to her. Twisted his head to speak to her.

"You have a fever," he said quietly, voice ragged. "You're burning up. I had to come down and wake you because you were screaming like a banshee. It was bloody horrid."

"I-" She floundered for words. She wasn't sure the bed should feel as though it was moving.

He turned a little further, once he was certain he could control himself, and watched her. Her eyes were glazed.

"I think you're right," she finally managed to breathe, then put a hand to her forehead, knowing it must be clammy. "I do feel sick," she added and started to lay down again.

Draco approached the bed again. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked stiffly and Hermione gave a small shake of her head, which was starting to throb.

"Some sort of pill?" he asked. "Or a trash bin? Some cool water?"

She shook her head again and set to shivering in earnest. Draco rubbed his forehead, suddenly feeling very tired. He didn't know a lot about muggle treatments, but he'd learned something in the time since he'd had to take care of his father. Between that, being on the run, and the last two weeks with Hermione, he thought he could manage something. And he clearly couldn't leave her here alone.

"I'll take care of you," he finally said quietly. "As long as you promise not to attack me again."

He couldn't tell if that was a glare she'd sent him, or a grimace of pain. So, he drew up a trash bin, went for some extra bags, a damp cloth, and a glass of water, and dug about in her bathroom for some pills. Once he'd acquired all those items, he settled himself on the edge of the bed, where she was curled on her side facing him.

And he began his vigil.

It was the morning sun burning through the window that woke Lucius up, and not the alarm clock on the bedside table, though that went off a minute later, anyway. He reached an arm over and smacked it off, as Draco had shown him, and then lay there for an extra minute, listening to the sounds of the birds.

Their songs no longer annoyed him. He hoped that was a good thing. He pulled his arms from beneath the covers and stretched lazily, then slowly sat up. That was when he realized Draco was not in the room. He had not been the one to shut off the alarm, after all. And there was no sign of him already having changed for the day. His bedclothes were rumpled; and Lucius could recall tiptoeing about the room last night; because Draco had gone to bed before him. But he was not there now.

Lucius took a deep breath and then gave a sigh. Well, wherever his son was, he couldn't be far. Perhaps he'd been unable to sleep and kept company with some tea in the kitchen, or living room. Or perhaps he'd gone out very early because he was still upset about yesterday. Either way, there was only one way of finding out.

He pulled himself from under the rest of the covers and placed his feet on the floor. His legs were feeling stronger every day, though he still enjoyed the habit of a cane. Reaching for it now, he made his way across the room to the door and then down the hall to the bathroom. Perhaps he could greet the day without his son's help in any activity- that would please Draco…and himself, in all honesty.

Shutting the bathroom door firmly, he set about his routine.

Draco woke to the sound of water rushing through the house's old pipes. He was lying on something soft…and something else was laying across his chest that was also very soft…he gave a soft, startled cry. Somehow, during the night, he'd lain down beside Hermione and fallen asleep; and now she had an arm over him even though she was snuggled under a blanket that covered the rest of her. And good thing for that blanket, too, because while it didn't block the feel of her equally soft body as she curled up against him; it at least meant he didn't have the temptation of seeing said body.

Her face was relaxed, though her hair and skin was slightly damp, and he knew before he even reached a stealthy hand up to touch her forehead that the fever had broken. So, it was probably nothing, and she'd just been emotionally overworked- weary and not eating or sleeping enough. Then again, that described her behavior the entire time he'd been at the farm.

He watched the morning light, diffused by the position of the windows and the curtains, play across her skin. And even though the left half of her face was scarred- pearly white in some spots and pink and ridged in others- in this light it didn't matter. It all melted away under the spell of the morning; of the birds outside the window; of the damp tendrils of hair that curled about her cheeks; of the pout of her pink lips as she murmured something in her sleep. The scars were there, yet they weren't, and he could see her as she was beneath them, under the peace of the moment.

As he wished she could be- as he wished she could see herself.

He felt something inside him shift, change and grow; and he knew he'd made a decision.

Very gently, he eased his head over and dared press his lips to her forehead as he had last night. Then he gingerly lifted her arm and tucked it back under the blanket. She made a small, dissatisfied noise, but in another second her brow had smoothed and she was sleeping peacefully once more. Draco rearranged the covers, adjusted the bin at the side of her bed, and refilled her glass of water. Then he slipped from the room and pulled the door partway behind him; and made his way up the stairs, towards the sound of the running tap.

AN: Hahaha! Take THAT, minions! I psyched you out! Muahahaha! *wanders off, laughing maniacally*