I don't own diddly. I mean, Harry Potter. I don't own either of those things.

AN: Tired Margot is tired. If there are mistakes in this chapter, too bad; I'll fix them later. Right now, I'm going to bed. It's like, two in the friggin morning, here. Hot damn.

Draco stopped outside the bathroom door and knocked lightly. He heard the tap shut off and a second later his father's muffled, "Yes?"

"Dad, it's me," he said and his father opened the door, one hand on the knob and the other holding a towel to his face as he dried it. He raised his brows. "You shaved."

"Yes, I think I've finally gotten the gist of it. What do you say?" Lucius modeled his clean chin and neck for Draco, who crossed his arms and nodded approvingly, a weak smile on his face.

"That's brilliant, Dad."

"I rather thought you'd appreciate it," Lucius responded readily, then slipped the towel back over its bar. "Did you have a question, Draco?"

Draco shook himself and leaned in the doorway. "Yeah…I have an idea. About our choices. About Zabini."

Lucius nodded and gestured out the door; and Draco turned and started for their room, with Lucius following him closely.

The older man closed the door behind them after they reached the room and took a seat on his bed; while Draco began to pull on his clothing for the morning chores. Lucius watched his son quietly for a minute as he tugged on his jeans with shaking hands; and finally, feeling suddenly uncomfortable and admittedly concerned, he spoke.

"Tell me."

Hermione woke to bright afternoon sun streaming through her bedroom windows. When her eyes finally cracked open in the glare, she threw one belligerent look at the offending shades and curtains and then turned and burrowed back under her covers.

The shades on the windows pulled themselves down in response; and she peeked out from under the blanket again a second later, this time eyeing the windows warily.

What had just happened? Had the shades been down before? She shook her head sleepily, peering about herself with bleary eyes; and saw the cloth, bottle of ibuprofen, and water glass on the nightstand. Her eyes widened some and she finally sat up, rubbing at her face. She felt like she'd just slept for twelve hours; like she'd swallowed cotton; and, judging by the way her clothes were sticking to her in some places and stiff with dried sweat in others, like she'd run a marathon in her sleep. Never mind what had happened just now with the shades; what had happened last night?

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and shivered lightly, then reached for her robe that was lying over the footboard. Sliding her arms in and pulling it up over her shoulders, she felt a little better. She reached for the glass and swallowed some of the water.

Ok, she was almost on the way to human. But that still didn't answer her question about what had gone on last night. She could remember…the nightmare. And then…someone had come downstairs and woken her up, she thought. But she honestly couldn't recall if that had been a continuation of the dream, or not. Then she'd gone back to sleep…

Wait. Someone had woken her up. She squeezed her eyes shut, rubbed her face again. Who had woken her up? They'd held her, she remembered that.

Her eyes snapped open again. Oh, hell. It can only be one of two people, she told herself. Work it out, know-it-all.

Glancing up, she saw her bedroom door was only partially closed, and all hope that the night before had been a fever dream vanished. She took another determined drink of water and set the glass down hard on the nightstand. Then she pressed her feet into the floor and rose. She was pleased to find that although her legs felt a little weak, she wasn't having any trouble staying atop them.

Hermione pulled her robe tighter about her frame and eyed the doorway nervously, then cast another glance at her closed shades. It was afternoon and time she faced the day; and whatever had happened last night. Even if all she could remember was a strong pair of wiry arms and a head of blonde hair.

Her room did hold the lingering scent of Davidoff, but that didn't really tell her anything, considering both men smelled like it. Shaking her head, Hermione put one foot in front of the other and forced herself out of her bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen; from whence the smell of cooking food and coffee was wafting.

Had she taught either of them to make coffee? She couldn't remember.

But she could remember the feel of someone's lips upon hers, and she felt a sudden blush rise to her cheeks. She walked into the kitchen anyway. Lucius was standing at the counter, his back to her, his hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Oh, hell. That hair- she remembered that hair…didn't she?

Hermione cleared her throat. What did she say? How did she apologize for what had happened?

Lucius turned about briefly and smiled at her.

"Ah. You're awake. Good…afternoon?" He waved the paring knife at her and then turned back to the cutting board. Hermione shifted some and moved a little further into the kitchen.

"I…about last night…" Her voice trailed off. She felt less than thrilled over what she was about to say. And then Lucius spoke, interrupting her thoughts as she tried to gather her courage.

"Last night- yes, Draco told me what happened, although I must confess I never heard a thing. Those pills are quite effective. Keep me out the entire night."

"Draco," Hermione breathed, feeling as if she'd had the piss and air knocked from her in one go.

"That's right. I understand you were running a fever. Working too hard, not enough rest, I imagine," Lucius went on, turning about and setting a plate of some sliced fruit on the table in front of her. He waved the knife again.

"Sit, eat," he said. "You need to regain your strength. Coffee?"

"No, thank you," Hermione replied, feeling confused, horrified, and relieved all at once. She sat and stared at the fruit. So, it had been Draco last night. His arms. His lips. Not Lucius.

She wasn't sure how she felt about that, about any of it. And Draco had told Lucius about her fever, about sitting up with her, but not about the kiss. There was no way Lucius would be behaving this way if Draco had said something- would he?

Then again, why would Draco say anything? He'd made it perfectly clear, despite their growing companionship, that he didn't like her, that his best wish was to have his freedom. That she was merely a means to an end. She sighed and picked at the fruit, took a few bored bites of it.

Lucius noticed her silence and turned to look at her more closely. Draco was right, the girl- woman, she's a woman, Lucius, he told himself again. No, not that, he added a second later. A witch. He smiled wryly and poured her a glass of water instead, setting it before her and then taking the seat opposite her. He watched her pick at her fruit listlessly and narrowed his eyes. Either way, Draco was right and she definitely was looking weary and ill. The excitement of the last day must have brought on the sudden illness, and added on top of her regular habits, it was no wonder.

Hermione noticed Lucius watching her and glanced up at him.

"So, why did you make coffee?" she asked suddenly, fishing for conversation.

"Draco needed something to keep awake," he replied. "He was up the better part of the night, then out to the barn again bright and early for his chores. I try to help, but I swear he has a hand with the beasts I simply cannot fathom."

"My horses, you mean?" Hermione asked, finally smiling some as well.

"Yes," Lucius said. "They respond to him- mostly, I suspect, because he always did make a rather convincing bully. But there's respect there, I think."

"You respond to them-"

"Exactly, Hermione," Lucius replied, raising a brow. "I respond to them, but not the other way round."

Hermione let that pass. She believed that given enough time anybody could make connections with the creatures, make progress. Forge relationships. It wasn't so different from human beings, after all. But she recognized that no matter what signs of life Lucius was displaying; no matter how lucid he was with them, how easy his speech came; that a part of him was still back in that shell. Back in that night he lost his all; and until he was ready to come back and really try, nothing she said or did would change his mind. He would only make a physical recovery, and never an emotional one. She only hoped, for Draco's sake, that he'd reach the right decision sooner, rather than later. Still, it was better to let him know that he was wanted, here.

She didn't reach out and take his hand, or anything corny like that. She simply looked at him seriously and murmured, "Your son needs you."

Lucius returned her gaze and looked as if he was about to respond, when a sound behind them ended the moment.

"Touching conversation?" came the slightly snide voice. Hermione flushed and turned her head to look up at Draco. Lucius stood, shaking his head slightly, and turned back to the counter.

"Just talking," Hermione replied, though her voice shook some. Not from fear. From the nearness of him, knowing what had happened last night. It all came flooding back the moment she saw him, albeit still hazy. She did recall rather clearly how he'd forced himself away from her; how he'd had the perfect opportunity to take advantage of her and hadn't. Her thoughts must have been clear in her eyes, because Draco's brows drew together and he brushed past her, unwilling to meet her eyes again. The set of his shoulders was accusing and it read, really? You think me capable of that? After knowing what your life has been? After living here, and crying on your shoulder and having you cry on mine, you can still think that of me?

It's not you, she wanted to tell him, Lucius' presence be damned. It's the fact that you're a man. And I know you can't help that, but it's been so long…

But she didn't say any of those things, and neither did he, and Lucius was definitely still in the room.

"Need help with anything, Dad?" Draco asked and Lucius shook his head.

"These cookbooks are quite clever," he replied. "And I did peel a potato or two in my youth. The house elves did not do everything, you know. So, if you would like to take a bath and change, or speak to Hermione about-"

"I'll shower," Draco said hastily, cutting his father off and then hurrying from the room with a last glance at Hermione. "Won't be a minute," he called over his shoulder and the door swung shut after him.

Hermione watched him go, confused again, but determined not to be left out of things this time.

"I need to get cleaned up, too," she said to Lucius and shoved back from the table herself, before scurrying out after Draco.

Lucius turned to see the back of her head as it disappeared behind the swinging door. He shrugged, then turned back to the onion he was chopping. Life was for the young. Let them have their strange squabbles and secret rendezvous. He had a casserole to make.

"Draco-" Hermione caught the hem of his shirt as he was climbing the stairs and he turned to look at her, exasperation plain in his eyes.

And something else quite plain, as well.

She ignored both. "Draco, what did your father mean? Speak to me about what?"

"About the way I assaulted you last night, clearly, since it's going to be a problem for our budding captive slash guardian relationship," he shot back.

Hermione glared at him. He rather missed the peacefulness he'd seen on her face that morning.

"You're much prettier when you smile," he added suddenly. "Although not much really helps, does it?"

Hermione's jaw dropped. She had very few pretensions about her appearance anymore, but for him to say that, and just because he was feeling sullen and insulted… She yanked hard on the shirt.

"You son of- you bloody-"

"Don't waste all your insults at once, Hermione," he went on and her eyes grew very large.

And very full of tears. Oh, shit.

"Hermione, I-"

"Shut it," she hissed at him. "You know, we don't have to make anything of what happened last night, but if you are going to insist on being such a ponce you can just go bloody hang yourself for all I care-"

She let go of his shirt, clapped both hands over her mouth. Draco stared down at her. And though he knew it was cruel, he opened his mouth again anyhow.

"Is that what you'd prefer?" he asked, his voice cool.

The tears started to slip from those big, sleepy cow eyes and she shook her head, hands still over her mouth. With an aggrieved sigh he didn't quite mean, Draco turned about, grabbed her by the upper arm, and marched her down the stairs and to her room. He sat her on the edge of her bed and tossed the tissues to her, then refilled her water glass for her. Then he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. He waited.

After a minute or so of quiet sniffling, he gave it another try.

"I didn't mean to- I shouldn't have snapped at you. You've every right to be angry with me. I intruded on your privacy last night, but you were ill. I thought I was doing the right thing. And the other thing…we don't have to talk about it. Ever. Or only if you want to. I didn't mean it to happen."

"I know you didn't want it," Hermione said softly. She bit her lip and tried to think of the best thing to say, to dismiss it. "I was just- ill, you're right, and I'd been dreaming of Ron. I guess it was a bad combination."

She glanced up at Draco and thought she saw a flicker of uncertainty, or even anger, there, but it was difficult to tell. Her head felt fuzzy from these latest tears.

For his part, Draco was threatening his traitorous heart with death. He swallowed, avoided her eyes.

"You're absolutely right," he replied quietly. "I mean, yeah, I'm a bloke, and you're a woman, but that's about the size of it. I apologize, Hermione. Nothing against you…"

"But this isn't exactly the best situation," she supplied. "And-"

"It's not that I don't like you alright," he interrupted. "I just don't like any of this. You understand. It's pretty damned humiliating, the entire thing."

Hermione agreed with her silence and after a minute Draco walked back to the door. He had to get out of there now, so he could take a shower and scrub the lies off his skin, the filthy sensation of having just betrayed a woman's trust and hospitality with utter garbage.

Not that any amount of soap would remove that sad tilt of her mouth from his memory.

"Oh, you never said, Draco, about your father-"

"That- it's just an idea I had, about, well. This thing with us and Zabini. I'd actually rather wait to talk to you about it with Potter here, too. Is that alright?"

"I…suppose so," Hermione said. "Would you like me to have him come over tonight?"

"Nah," Draco replied. "It's getting on towards night already and it's been a long day. Do you mind?"

"Not at all," she said, though he thought she might, actually. Might mind very much, in fact.

"Right. I'll just head upstairs, then. All the horses are in for the night, everything got done earlier, so you've nothing to worry about."

She nodded and he turned to go.

"Draco," she called after him. He stopped again.

"Yeah?"

That happy smile- the one he'd seen so rarely- filtered across her face again and he looked anywhere but at her. If he looked at her when she was smiling that way she'd be sure to know his secret. There was no way he'd be able to keep it out of his eyes, off his face.

Though the words she spoke were nearly enough to undo him, anyway.

"Thank you. Not just for the chores. For last night. For all of last night," she added in a quiet, fierce tone. Because, she thought, even if he didn't want it, not really, and it was just my messed up emotions playing tricks on me, it was a kiss worth thanking somebody for. If it meant nothing else, it meant that much- that it had awakened her in a way her kiss with Lucius in the barn had not.

Of course, that could have just been the effect of the fever.

Draco managed to recover himself long enough to nod at her, a wry expression on his face, and then make his escape.

For her part, Hermione continued to sit on her bed, shoulders straight and head bowed, until she heard the pipes overhead making noise. Then she slowly stood and closed her bedroom door, and went to take a shower of her own.

AN: I hope you all caught the delicate subtleties of the situation up there. If not, read it again. Tell me what you think. Can you smell what Lucius is cooking? ...that was totally a reference to an old wrestling thing and has no bearing on the plot. It was not in any way a hint of any kind. Ok? The Dramione should be pretty damn obvious at this point, you silly, silly, SILLY people. ...so tired. This AN has been brought to you by the letter sleep.