Don't own it, it belongs to J.K., and I make no money off it.

AN: There are maybe five chapters left? Something like that.

They made it through the night after all, with the help of a medi-witch sympathetic to Harry's secret cause. Hermione and Draco had both insisted on no hospitals, especially not St. Mungo's. Even a muggle facility apparently would've been preferable, but fortunately between the medi-witch's arrival and Ginny's first response care-giving, it was deemed unnecessary.

Unnecessary like hell, Draco thought as he sat by his father's bedside the next afternoon, watching the older man's chest rise and fall so bloody slowly. The truth was that they all should've gone to Mungo's, but they were so terrified of what the results might be, especially with an escape imminent…they didn't have time for bureaucracy and red tape. They had planning to take care of. Immediately, in fact. And so they'd been transported back to the house, into their proper rooms, and the spaces had been set up like sickrooms. Then they'd all been force-fed potions and sleeping draughts, with the exception of himself.

Draco was the best off of all three of them. It was his father who was barely responsive last night, who'd had to be revived by some of Hermione's muggle resuscitation. And it was Hermione who- well, look at her, he thought. She was nearly in as bad of shape as his father; one shoulder torn all to hell; lost so much blood she shouldn't have been able to stand last night, let alone duel. Let alone kill a man…for him. To save them.

And there was the next problem. Draco and his father had brought that to her. The tragedy, the loss of so many horses she'd loved like people, like the friends they were. Then her injuries- and on top of that the knowledge that she'd killed someone, murdered him quite deliberately…she shouldn't have had to deal with any of that. Yet, simply by being there on the farm, in her care, they'd done that to her.

"My fault," he mumbled, hanging his head, closing his eyes against that painful knowledge. He felt his father's fingers squeeze his briefly and Draco looked up quickly to find Lucius' eyes were open and he was staring straight at his son. The thrill of seeing his father awake was tempered by the emotion he saw in his eyes.

He'd heard Draco, and he understood.

"Dad," Draco said in a strangled voice.

"I know," Lucius breathed, not looking away. His eyes bore into Draco, clearing away everything else.

Draco shuddered, hunched over again.

"You're alive, at least," he said. "Thank Merlin you're alive. I can't do this, otherwise."

Lucius didn't respond, just continued to watch his son. A second later, Draco called for the medi-witch.

Hermione's eyes cracked open and she hissed in pain. A shadow crossed her face and in the next moment the shades were drawn, the light dimmed.

"Better?" came Ginny's voice. Hermione thought she nodded, but her neck felt afire, so it was hard to tell.

"No, don't move. I shouldn't have asked. Can you talk at all?"

"Think so," Hermione rasped. Bloody hell, was that her voice? She soldiered on. "Last night-"

"What do you remember?"

Hermione closed her eyes again and felt the bed dip as Ginny sat down beside her.

"Everything," she murmured. She managed to open her eyes again. Ginny looked fuzzy to her. "How many?" she asked.

Ginny knew immediately what she meant, and hesitated. Hermione licked her lips, opened her mouth again.

"How-"

"Five," Ginny said softly, interrupting her. "Two more escaped when the walls started to fall in. Harry found the oldest one still alive last night too, but he had too much smoke damage to his lungs. We couldn't save him, and he passed on early this morning."

"Jonah," Hermione breathed.

"Yes, him," Ginny said. She held Hermione's good hand, though even it was swaddled in bandages and salve. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. Harry and the others are handling all the paperwork and they're fixing it with your muggle insurance as well. So you don't have to worry about the business aspect, I guess. And they're nearly done cleaning things away. You'll be able to put up a new barn in no time-"

"Gin-" Hermione gave her head a small shake. That seemed manageable.

Ginny shut up, understanding. It was too much to take in just then. Hermione didn't want to think about the damages, the paperwork, the reality of rebuilding. Ginny bit her lip.

"Right. Sorry. Oh, Lucius woke up."

Hermione's eyes widened. Hell. That hurt. She shut them again.

"Up," she said and began struggling. Ginny pursed her lips and pressed Hermione back down gently.

"You're in no condition. Stay right where you-"

"It's my shoulder, not my legs," Hermione rasped. "Help me up, damn it-"

There was a sigh and then Hermione was sitting up, leaning heavily on Ginny. A knock came on the door and it opened slightly. The medi-witch stuck her head inside.

"The elder Mister Malfoy wants to speak with Miss Granger," she said in a quiet voice and Hermione forced her eyes open again, gave Ginny a sideways look of triumph.

"Ha," she croaked. Ginny frowned, but helped her stand anyway and the med-witch opened the door wide for them as they passed through.

It took them ten minutes to make it up the stairs, even with the medi-witch's help, and once they reached the top Hermione had to stop and catch her breath. Draco opened the door of the bedroom and stood there, staring at the unlikely trio. Well, staring at Hermione.

"You look like hell," he said before he could stop himself, and then he was out of the doorway and holding her too him, pushing Ginny and the medi-witch away. Hermione wished she could relax against him, but her shoulder- she tried to say as much and Draco practically dropped her in his haste to stop causing her pain.

"Thanks," she managed to respond and he shrugged and then watched as the medi-witch whisked her into the bedroom. Ginny gave him a strange glance.

"Is he alright?" she asked.

"I don't know," Draco replied. "Is she alright?"

Ginny snorted softly. "Fair enough."

The medi-witch came back outside and pulled the door to. "They wanted to speak privately, but I'll stay right here. I'll know if either needs anything."

"Thank you," Ginny and Draco murmured at the same time. Ginny looked at him. "Well, are you hungry?" she asked him.

He shrugged again, looked longingly at the closed door. The two people he cared most for in this world were seated inside, saying god only knew what. He looked back at Ginny.

"I need to talk to Potter, if he's still here."

Ginny smiled sadly. "Where else would he be?" She gestured to the stairs. "I'll take you to him. Come on."

Inside the bedroom, Hermione sat beside Lucius' still form and gripped his hand gingerly. Her own still ached from the healing burns- she could imagine well how his must feel. He'd gone back inside long after the structure should have been abandoned. He'd gone back inside for her. To save those damned kittens. She felt like an idiot and sniffled some, wiping her fingers under her nose.

Her snot was still coming out black. She imagined it would for at least a week. Lucius opened his eyes again and looked at her.

"We only lost one of the kittens," she informed him. She'd checked them last night, before all the bustle of Harry's team had begun. "Thank you. It was stupid of me-"

"I wanted to," he breathed. "My choice."

"Your lungs- how are they-"

"Hermione," he said seriously and she shut up. "Neither of us has the luxury of long speeches right now, but you must allow me to try and make mine." He took a shuddering breath and spoke again. "Thank you for taking us in, Hermione. You have been so good- far too good- to us. We haven't deserved it and I wish we could make it up to you. Make this up to you. But we don't have the time for it, and I'm afraid that what happens now is probably for the best."

Her heart. There was something wrong with it, she was certain, otherwise it wouldn't be beating in that irregular manner. She gave her head a small shake, tried to crack a smile. Her cheeks burned with the effort.

"You're distraught- tired. We need a few days, is all, some rest-"

"I don't have a few days, Hermione," Lucius murmured. "But I am concerned about Draco."

"Draco? He's worried for you, Lucius. I know he is," she croaked. "So please, you can't leave yet. Please." The tears were coming faster, now. This was too sudden. They'd just survived the barn fire and she'd lost so many creatures. And now Lucius and Draco? It was too soon. "Just a few more days. We can stick with the original plan. You can't possibly be moved yet."

Lucius smiled at her wearily, weakly. He squeezed her fingers gently.

"Hermione. You know what I mean."

"Yes," she breathed. "I know you mean to leave me here, all alone. I know you mean to go on to your new lives. Where you won't have to worry about barn fires and milking cows and stupid reruns on the telly-"

Lucius' didn't blink, didn't look away. He squeezed her hand again as his eyes roamed over her face, as if memorizing it.

"Narcissa would be happy, at least," he murmured to himself. Hermione's eyes widened, more tears spilled out as a horrible thought dawned on her.

"Oh, no, Lucius…"

"Yes," he responded simply, air wheezing in and out.

"No. Just a few more days. You'll be right as rain."

"Hermione."

"No," she ground out. "No."

Lucius tried to speak again and broke into a coughing fit instead, and in an instant the door was open and the medi-witch was there, taking over, breaking the moment. Hermione felt desolate as she sat uselessly in the chair, watching pain contort Lucius' face as he attempted to breath.

Desolate, and utterly helpless.

Harry eyed Draco for a split second, then pulled out a chair at the kitchen table.

"Sit," he told the other man. Draco sat. "Now, start over."

"I just told you, Potter."

"Your father is extremely ill, Draco. Hermione is just as bad. And you honestly want to discuss your leaving now?"

"It's the best time. Maybe the only time. Besides," he added, "we did this to her."

"Zabini did this to her," Harry replied, "and it's not your fault."

"If we hadn't been here-"

"If you hadn't been here Hermione would have drifted along and probably killed herself in another five years."

Draco looked away. "We did this."

"Can't you just call it even?"

Draco decided to do worse. He decided to call it in.

"You said you'd support whatever decision I made," he said softly. "You promised. And I can't stay."

"And what do you plan on telling Hermione?"

"She doesn't need to know everything," he responded, shrugging. "She knows all the bits that count, anyhow."

"Does she?" Harry looked at him keenly, leaned over the table. "Damn it, Draco, I said I'd support you and so I will. But you'd better be absolutely certain. Because once you're out of her life, that's it. There's no coming back and hurting her even more. No second chances."

Draco turned his silvery eyes on Harry and blinked slowly. They were full of immeasurable sadness.

"This was my second chance, Potter," he said and Harry drew back, frowning. Then he held out his hand and Draco took it, shook it weakly.

Harry held on a moment longer than necessary and returned Draco's curious gaze with penetrating equanimity. He'd support him, but he didn't have to like it, Harry was saying, and the distinction was one that did not escape Draco's notice.

Ginny moved into the guest room at the farmhouse, promising Harry she would be back at his flat as soon as Hermione was well. He shook his head, told her he understood and didn't mind. He couldn't stay away from work much longer, anyhow. There was a body to dispose of and paperwork to file and a particular request to take care of- all those things would keep him busy. But he promised Malfoy he would return in two days to finalize things. In the meantime, as Hermione recuperated and Draco moped about the house, alternately sitting at either sickbed, a steady stream of witches and wizards made their way in and out of the upstairs bedroom.

Hermione wasn't sure what was going on up there, other than Lucius must be making his preparations. She and Draco didn't really talk about it much. And when he did sit at her side and hold her hand, he looked so sad she could barely stand to see him, let alone speak. Besides, she had things to take care of on her end as well. Even though Harry's people had taken care of a great deal of the aftermath for her, there were still claims to sign and officers to speak with and orders to give about where she wanted her horses buried.

Ginny was her only real comfort, as she felt Draco pulling away. But what could she do?

The desolation swept on.

Harry came back, as he said he would, and there was a final rush of activity in the upstairs bedroom. Draco left her side and Hermione didn't see anyone except Ginny, until the medi-witch arrived downstairs and informed Hermione that Lucius wanted to see her again.

Somehow she gathered herself enough to make it up the stairs, and sit in the chair again.

Lucius looked terrible and she told him so, but there was no sting to her words. Besides, his cheeks had a flush of pink in them. He almost looked as though he was getting better, but she recognized it for what it was- that false health, that last rush of nervous energy before life was stolen away.

It would happen soon. But she didn't tell him that part.

She thought he probably already knew.

"You wanted to see me?" she asked. Her voice was better. His was still sore, wheezing.

"A last look," he murmured, a smile tilting his mouth. She felt the tears come and swallowed them down.

"I wish you wouldn't say that," she murmured. "Draco-"

"Draco and I have spoken," he murmured and squeezed her hand. His eyes bore into her as if he was trying to impress something upon her. Something he couldn't say.

"I know," she replied helplessly. "But this isn't it. I refuse-"

"It's not your choice," he whispered. "And I'm sorry for that."

"I'm better," she tried again. "I'd bring you back, Lucius. In fact, I'll nurse you myself, damn it. You can't just-"

"Hermione," he said, "no. I know you would, but I don't want you to. You must let me go."

Again, those eyes, staring at her…she looked away, wiped at her cheeks- still raw from the fire. The ruddy color made her remaining scars stand out. Some would never fade entirely, she knew, but she looked more herself than she ever had in the last eight years.

"Lucius…"

"Hermione," he said again, "I need you to know something, to prepare yourself. Malfoy Manor, and our fortunes- they are being signed over to you."

"What?"

"I have no use for them anymore. Neither will Draco. He understands. They are to be yours, to do with as you wish. Since we cannot stay-"

"My god!" she exclaimed. "You men and your paltry, earthly gifts! As if I care about any of that!" she finished with a harsh sob and bent over his hand, pressing her forehead to it, clenching her teeth against the tears.

Lucius seemed on the verge of saying something else, but he finally pressed his lips together and exhaled.

"I do believe you care for me, Hermione," he murmured.

She snorted and lifted her head, wiped her face again.

"What sort of goodbye is that?" she wept.

"The best sort," he replied, voice soft as his eyes swept over her face again. "The sort that's not a goodbye."

She stood up, pressed her lips to his forehead, brushed some hair from his face. She was trembling.

"Send Draco in," Lucius said, closing his eyes as she stood back and squeezed his hand tenderly. "Please."

"Alright," she responded quietly. "But this isn't over, Lucius. I'll see you in the morning."

His eyes remained closed and he merely smiled slightly. Then she walked from the room and met Draco at the top of the stairs. Ginny put an arm about her shoulder to help her down and she paused, looked to Draco.

"He wants to see you," she said. He nodded his thanks and one hand reached out as if to touch her tear stained cheek, but he drew away at the last second and turned to the open door. The medi-witch barely blinked, remaining on guard on a chair just outside. The door swung closed and Hermione only heard a solemn, "Dad?" before Ginny was hustling her down the stairs and towards the kitchen, in search of tea and tissues.

Another day passed.

Lucius didn't open his eyes again.

And desolation couldn't even begin to cover it.

AN: Sometimes there's nothing to say.