Firstly, thanks to everyone who wrote back. It quite brightened my day, especially because Madea was being terribly grumpy about some of my ideas ( His ideas all involve singlehanded winning the house cup while Ron gets eaten by the giant squid-MR). They don't either. One of them involved the Triwizard Cup and a pack of rabid selkies.

Second, a special thank you my darling Countess Black. She tends to be a moderating influence on the author's wilder excesses, besides treating me the way I deserve.

Thirdly: April, my dear, Father sends his regards. And I know precisely what you mean. She was really very mean about the improvements I made to that essay-is it my fault her Professor is a humourless git? ( No, he isn't. He just didn't like the fact you changed my essay to reflect your belief that muggle history is 'a waste of bloody time, now let her alone so she can write'. MR)

Finally, I'd love to hear from you. And Madea would as well, I suppose-she absolutely pouts if she doesn't get reviews.

Draco

Draco stretched out on his bed, shoes off, and sighed with joy. It was so good to be home. His own rooms, his own bed, his parents down the hall, and his little girl in the room next to Mother's for the time being. He could go to any of them any time he liked and they would be there, ready to have a conversation or share a snack or just be together. He wasn't sure he'd ever been so happy. He flashed on being tiny, really tiny, and waiting for Father to come home.

First the door would open, and Father would step through, dropping his cloak on a chair so the elf could hang it up. Draco would rise giggling from his place on the floor and run to be picked up, yelling for Mother to come and see. Father would swing him up, kissing his cheek, and settle him against his chest. Father was the tallest, strongest person in the whole world in those days, and nothing bad could ever, ever happen while he was there. Draco smiled, remembering that, and rolled on his side.

That felt a bit like this, he supposed, the overwhelming joy at someone else's presence. He rose and, donning his shoes, went to find Hermione. Mother and Father had gone to Andromeda's to see how she was getting on and try to convince her to leave the muggle hovel she was living in and come stay in the manor where she belonged. As a widow, her place was properly with Lupin's family, but as the man's parents and siblings had fled to Australia after the first War, Lucius felt responsible for her.

Draco walked down the hall, savoring the smell of beeswax and incense and cake baking from the kitchens and silk and perfume. Roses, most of all. The sterling vases were stuffed with them, all kinds, white and mauve and Titian red-golds and the Tyrian velvets that looked black in some lights and deep purple in others.

He knocked at Mother's door and got no answer. He eased it open and found her sitting in a chair by the fire, reading, the only think visible her cloud of wiry hair. Draco felt overwhelmed for a moment by the emotions that seeing her like this brought forth and blinked back tears, of all the foolish things. He was turning right sentimental in his old age, he thought with a smirk.

Draco knew he ought to creep out quietly, leaving Hermione to rest. Mother had decided she would be taking it very gently the next few days; moving had been quite traumatic, the thinking went, and the poor little thing needed time to acclimate herself to finally living in a proper home.

Draco snorted. 'If only they knew…'. He'd decided to have that little chat with Granger before they'd left, and quite a good one it had been, too. It had to last them a while, since it was very unlikely that they'd have a chance to …discuss things…before they were married. And Granger had made great strides in what seemed to be her life goal, giving Draco the fright of his life at least once a day.

He'd woken to find only Mother in the bed. He rose, not bothering with slippers, and came down the stairs, all sorts of horrible images in his head. As soon as it made it to the landing, he'd seen the flash of wiry hair and that absurd blue dressing gown she wore sometimes.

Relief pounding in his veins, Draco came onto the landing prepared to give Granger the sharp side of his tongue. "Granger, what the hell are you about? No, don't tell me, just get upstairs and straight back to bed before I wallop you until you can't sit for a m—morning, Father. You're looking well." Draco's face had gone a deep pink, as had Granger's, but Lucius only smirked and gestured for Draco to come fully down the stairs.

"Hermione indicated she couldn't sleep and I gave her permission to sit up with me. I take it you disapprove?"

"No, Father. I wouldn't gainsay you in this." Draco squirmed. He felt it was bad for Granger to see him getting scolded, no matter how gently or subtly, but it wasn't as though he could say anything, Merlin knew. So he contented himself with a meaningful look at Granger and took up a place on the divan.

A moment later, more footsteps. "Hermione, get back into bed this instant. I have half a mind to tell Father and he'd—oh, hello, Lucius." Narcissa came down the stairs at a rapid clip, not a hair out of place despite her lawn nightgown and the sleep she was blinking from her eyes.

"Good morning, Narcissa." Lucius reached out to brush his wife's hand with his for a moment. Narcissa smiled, beautiful teeth flashing, and gave each of the children a kiss. "Darlings, are you aware it is 5.30 in the morning?"

"Yes, Mother. I kept hearing noises so I wanted to-"

"You came to Father to be comforted! Good girl, Hermione." Narcissa beamed and patted Hermione's shoulder. Draco, concealed from Mother's view, grinned too, but it was much less friendly than Narcissa's. 'Let's see you wiggle out of this one, Granger.'

Hermione looked right back at her. "I was sure I was just hearing things, but…"

Narcissa shook her head. "No, no, dearest, you needn't explain. Though Draco and myself would have been more than happy to help, wouldn't we, love?"

Draco, rather irked that things hadn't happened more amusingly, nodded his head. "Of course." Really, how did Granger always manage to get on like a cat amongst pixies? Bloody unfair, really.

It was getting light by the time breakfast was ready. Tibby had made lumpy porridge and toast burnt to resemble charcoal, with a thick glaze of marmalade frescoed atop it. They ate in silence, trying to force themselves to look happy as Tibby watched them, alternately pleased and heartbroken to be leaving the muggle house they had stayed in for so long.

After breakfast they congregated for the last time in the parlour. Narcissa had a word with Tibby and then came to sit next to her husband. "Hermione, my darling, you must promise me you'll rest today. Tibby will do all your packing, absolutely everything. You're only to rest, you've a very big day today."

"Draco, you'll see she rests, won't you?" Draco smiled winningly at his mother. "Of course, Mother. I know just how to get her to sleep, don't I, Hermione?" Granger had nodded and looked away. Licked her lips a bit.

As soon as the Malfoys had left, Draco had put Hermione over his shoulder and carried her to her room. "Malfoy! I can walk!"

"You heard Mother. I'm to see you don't strain yourself today, and I intend to do just that."

He put her down and sat on her bed, immediately flipping her over his knee and taking her skirt up. Studying her knickers clad backside, Draco heaved a huge sigh of contentment and gave his little girl a pat on the bum.

"Now then, Hermione Jane, you scared the life out of me this morning. Is there anything you'd like to say?"

"I didn't mean to, truly. I thought a heard a noise and-"

SMACK! "Went to investigate?"

Hermione tried to wiggle into a more comfortable position. "Well, yes, but I did go and get Father."

"Yes, you did, and that's why you're getting the spatula. If I thought you'd tried to go exploring, I'd send Tibby looking for a switch to use on you. Are you supposed to get up and go looking for trouble, Hermione?"

"No, sir. But like I said, it's my nature."

"I know. Are you supposed to get out of bed after you've been tucked in?"

"No, sir."

"I think you know the consequences for that kind of behavior."

Hermione found herself squirming hard as he smacked her. It had been a rather long time since she'd been punished last, and as much as she hated the humiliation and vulnerability the whole thing entailed, she was glad for the chance to purge the emotions from last night's conflict.

Draco pressed a hand to her back, rubbing soothingly. "Let it out, there's a love. You were awfully brave about everything that's happened, but you're only a very little girl, and it frightens me when my darling isn't where I think she is. She's awfully little to go wandering, isn't she? If she were in trouble, I wouldn't know."

Hermione felt embarrassed and loved and amused and slightly regretful all at the same time. She used to hate it when Draco talked to her this way, but now it made her feel safe. He only ever did this with her; she would always be protected with him. He accepted and even encouraged her need to release her emotions this way, and seemed to enjoy helping her achieve a state where that was possible.

"I didn't m-mean to scare you."

"Of course you didn't. But little girls don't stop and think, do they? They just get carried away." Draco felt a deep well of contentment inside himself. He was going home, Hermione was coming with him, and everyone he loved would be under the same roof. He could finally rest a little.

"There's my good girl. Can you be very brave and go and get the spatula, love, or shall I have Tibby bring it up?"

Hermione sniffled and stood, tugging her skirt down. "I'll go. Tibby has enough to worry about, with packing and all." She made her way out the door and quickly dashed down the stair, praying that Draco's parents didn't choose that moment to step through the Floo—she was quite fond of them these days, but that didn't mean they needed to see this element of she and Draco's relationship.

Spatula in hand, Hermione trotted back and sat, right side up, on Draco's lap. "Malfoy?"

"Hmmm?" Draco closed his arms around her and bounced lightly, relishing her squeal of faux-protest and the soft giggle that came after. Hermione secretly adored being played with this way, he thought with a smirk. He just had to show her that she liked it.

"Thank you."

"For what, precious?"

Hermione snuggled closer. "For convincing Father to let me stay."

Draco hugged her to him. "Didn't want you and Mother getting into a spat. She'd have won, you know."

"I know she means well."

"I think it rather startled her you didn't react a bit more about the… news."

Hermione swallowed. "Yes, well. Just because Mundungus—it doesn't mean we shan't find them. Is it horrible of me to not feel worse about poor Dung, though?"

Draco kissed her neck. "Way I see it, he knew the risks about the way he lived and made his choice anyhow. It's inexcusable that they chose someone like him to be Secret Keeper to start with. May as well've used Mrs. Norris."

Hermione considered. "She probably wouldn't have stolen as many spoons. Every time he came for a meeting, Molly would have to count the cutlery after."

Draco snorted, picturing the red headed Weasley matriarch jealously guarding the sterling against the predations of the smelly little man they'd chosen, in a wholly characteristic moment of total idiocy, as the Secret Keeper for Hermione's parents.

"No doubt. Are you going to be a big girl and bare yourself, or shall I help you?" Hermione stood and pulled her skirt up before lying across Malfoy's knee, wriggling herself into a more comfortable position.

"Well done, Hermione. If my little girl keeps this up, we might have to see about a later bedtime." Then he picked up the spatula and laid in.

SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT

SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT

SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT

After, Hermione shifted on Draco's lap, still sniffling a little. She slowly reached a hand back to rub and was intercepted with an amused "I see that, Granger." Hermione dropped her hand, smiling a little in embarrassment, and nuzzled into his shirt front.

"Why were you up so early, anyway?"

Hermione shrugged. "I kept hearing noises, is all. So I went downstairs and your father said I could stay." She reached up and cupped Draco's face. His cheek was slightly rough under her fingers and she smiled, stroking her thumb along the fine blond fuzz.

"Up you get, Granger, we're putting you down for your nap a bit early."

"May I have some lotion, sir? Before I nap?"

"What pretty manners we have once we've been reminded. Roll over, love, and I'll put some on." She did, and Draco carefully massaged the muggle lotion (last time they'd have to use it!) onto her flesh, making sure to lightly rub the sting away. Hermione sighed, relaxing, and Draco kissed the top of her head.

"Draco? Is everything all right?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, fine."

"How do you feel about all this? What happened, going home."

"I'm pleased, of course."

"That's all? You feel all right with what happened?"

"I'm not happy but I'm also not terribly surprised. Bellatrix was always vindictive, and Greyback…I'd rather like to finish what Weasley started."

He waited for the shocked denunciations, the protesting about second chances. Nothing came. Draco gently poked Hermione's ribs, producing a small grumble from the drowsing witch.

"No outrage from my little girl? No scolding about forgiveness?"

Hermione shook her head. "The war hardened all of us. I've seen what he's capable of, Draco, and I—I don't think he deserves a second chance."

Draco blinked. "I suppose that's good, then."

"You sound unsure."

Draco didn't know how to articulate what he was feeling. "It's different, is all."

"As different as you and Harry getting on?" Granger smirked at him, opening one eye, and Draco looked away.

"Yes, well, don't think I've gone soft. It's simply expedient for he and I to maintain civil relations. And I wouldn't want my little girl to think she couldn't have her friends over to play, as long as she asked nicely beforehand."

"Do you suppose we'll be married soon?"

"I should think, love. If I regret going home at all, it's because we'll have no opportunities to do things like this. Mother and Father have been very indulgent in the past, but they'll start enforcing the rules now that we all live together. Not that they shouldn't, but I do wish there was a way for us to have some time in private."

"There is."

"Why am I not surprised you've a plan? Go on, then."

"Teach me legilimency."

"Pardon?"

"You said you knew, and they should be satisfied that we need privacy and quiet."

"Granger…"

"Would it bring back unpleasant memories?"

Draco took two very deep breaths. "Darling, when one is learning, it's rather a…a two way process. There's things in my mind that I'd rather you never…" He looked as though he were scanning some inner wasteland, a dark and barren place where no sun would ever shine and the water was still and deep and poison.

Hermione sat and put her arms round his neck. "Let's forget I brought it up."

Draco shook his head. "It's a good plan, and perhaps you're right. If you should fall into the wrong hands, I'd want your mind to be protected. Let me talk to Father and see what he says."

"Not if it's going to make you uncomfortable."

Draco made himself ignore the cold stream of terror that the very idea evoked in him. He vividly remembered having his mind flayed open by his mad aunt, the violation of the thing. The thought of the same thing being done to Hermione, her mind shredded and torn and ripped to pieces, was too much.

He held her more tightly against him, and they lay down. Hermione slept. He did not. He was playing things over and over again in his mind, opening dark inner rooms where things writhed and shuffled and gibbered, and making himself look at them. Held her tighter and wept a bit, but looked, and did not blink.

The Malfoys came at 2.00. Narcissa embraced both children. "Are you ready, my darlings?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Was Hermione obedient about allowing Tibby to pack, Draco?"

"She was, Mother, though I did permit her to oversee the packing of her mementos."

Narcissa nodded. "Yes, of course. And you, love, are you well?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Have you said your goodbyes?"

Hermione nodded, eyes rather brighter than usual. "It isn't as though I'll never be back. And I'm rather looking forward to a whole new adventure."

"It is that.' Lucius leant over and patted the girl carefully, smiling. At some level, he was aware of his instinctive distaste at touching a mudblood and reflexively suppressed it. At another, he found he rather liked Granger; she'd been quite splendid in the fight the night before. Almost like a young Bellatrix, all cleverness and ferocity and ideals.

He hoped she would take a more…moderate…approach to things, of course, but he could see a million ways to help her use those skills to their advantage. And that was what he and Cissy were doing, wasn't it, guiding her?

Hermione dropped her head, slightly embarrassed. When she was answering a question in class, she never felt like the center of attention, exactly; the knowledge was the important thing and she was merely a conduit for it. She knew all the people in this room meant her well, but it was still strange, to be the center of so much friendly interest.

Tibby picked up the school trunk and muggle valise she was taking that night; they'd send elves back for her books and whatever incidentals had been missed. Hermione allowed herself to be helped into the Floo. Lucius threw in a handful of powder, and as the world began to spin, he called "Malfoy manor!"

Hermione blinked when she saw Malfoy looking at her from across the room. She'd smelled his cologne and looked up, smiling with pleasure at his presence.

"Draco?"

He would have answered but the oldest house elf Hermione had ever seen, even older than Kreacher, popped into view. The ancient thing was wrapped in an handkerchief, blinking rheumy eyes, skin hanging in green swags. It was so old that its gender was not apparent until it spoke.

"We is Lemmy. Madam is telling us we is taking care of Miss while she is being gone. How is Lemmy serving Miss?"

"It's nice to meet you, Lemmy. I'm sure I don't need anything right now, but-"

The wizened elf fixed Hermione with a gimlet eye. "Madam is saying Miss is resting quietly while she is being gone, unless she is needing something." Draco grinned, safely hidden from Lemmy's view. Granger had just made the easy mistake. This was going to be even funnier than watching Hermione and Mother.

"I feel very well, and Draco and I were just-"Lemmy turned and gave Draco a Look even more finely honed than Narcissa's.

"Madam is saying Miss is resting. Lemmy is thinking young Master is staying, as long as Miss is resting. Otherwise, Lemmy is telling Madam that Miss is not obeying." Nicely backed into a corner, Hermione allowed herself to be draped in a lap robe as another elf pulled up another a chair beside Hermione's for Draco to sit in.

"Well, my darling, how is it?"

"Beautiful. You must be thrilled to be back."

"I can't wait to show you everything. The grounds, the ball room, the solarium."

"Perhaps Mother will let us explore later."

Draco had an idea. "Lemmy, are you to chaperone Miss and I?"

"We is chaperoning, young Master."

"I should like to take Miss to see my things. Come with us."

"Miss is resting, young Master."

"Of course she is, but it's a very short walk. Or I could always just carry her."

Lemmy's propriety was offended at this, and so the three set off on foot, to make the grueling ten meter trek to the other suite of rooms. Hermione, stepping inside, felt much the same as Malfoy had on seeing her little yellow space; it was as Draco-like a room as there would ever be.

The walls were dark wood, carved with such skill that she could not see a single seam. The bed matched them, draped in thick wool curtains. There was a desk, an open gardrobe which evidentially held Quidditch gear, and several shelves of books. Several inviting chairs sat before the fireplace, and the rug on the floor was thick and warm under her feet.

Hermione noticed something on one of the shelves. Looking to Draco, she crossed the room at his nod and plucked it from the shelves. It was a stuffed dragon, a Hungarian horntail, battered and well loved. Several of the feet looked as though they'd been gnawed on in the distant past, and the wings were creased.

"What's his name?"

"Basil." Draco came and took the dragon, haughtily straightening the wings and smoothing the worn plush of the dragon's belly, and then handed it—him—back. "Shall we make plans to formally introduce him to the badger, or should an informal get together be enough?"

Hermione laughed. "I don't know. There must be books of etiquette in the library."

"Mmm, yes, but I'm taking you there last of all. Won't get you out again for days."

A discreet cough at the door announced Lucius' presence. "Children, it's time to dress for supper."

Draco watched her go, feeling that bubble of happiness and excitement in his chest. Lucius saw the look in his son's eyes and blinked. His little boy had grown up somehow when he wasn't watching, and there were parts of Draco's life that belonged solely to him and the girl he was watching so warmly.

Draco turned to his father and the moment faded, lost in Draco's excitement at being home. Lucius smiled and cupped his son's shoulder. "I think it was wise, allowing Hermione to move in a bit early, don't you?"

"Yes, Father."

"Mother thinks she needs time to settle in."

"She seems to be doing well so far."

Lucius nodded. "Has she mentioned what happened last night?"

Draco summarized the conversation. Lucius frowned thoughtfully, pleasantly surprised at what he was hearing. "War changes us all, I expect. She was quite vicious in the garden." From Lucius, this was praise and Draco agreed whole heartedly.

"Do you suppose he's dead? Fletcher, I mean."

"Beyond question. Hermione's assessment was spot on, I thought. Although she forgot the third option, and I feel it's the likeliest."

"What is it?"

"He was selling them information and outlived his usefulness. They'd never let him join formally, you know that."

Draco thought on something he'd heard a year earlier. "He was the one who was finding them candidates to fill the ranks, wasn't he? Shumsley or Shocksley was a mate of his, is that right?"

"Shunpike, yes. Handed him over after Rookwood and Collins paid him a visit, as I recall. And any number of others."

"Is it possible that one of the ones he sold came after him?"

"Eminently. Wouldn't you?"

Draco nodded grimly, looking older and harder. "I'd cut out his liver and lights with a potions stirrer for a thing like that."

"Of course you would. Hurry along and get ready, there's the boy."

Lucius left, deep in thought. His son's tactical sense was coming along rather nicely. He was glad he hadn't shared any of this with Hermione; the poor child would be overcome with emotion at some point because of all this like it was. No point in making it worse than it had to be.

He wondered whether Fletcher's mangled corpse would ever be found. Probably not; Greyback's tastes might have led him to younger prey by preference, but he'd hardly forsake a meal because of them. Lucius wrinkled his nose and went to change, determined not to think about it much.

Dressed in semi formal robes, hair pinned neatly, Hermione met Draco on the stairs. "You look wonderful, love."

"You do as well. Blue suits you."

Draco smiled. "I like them, too. One of Father's that I borrowed to wear round the house." He led her into the dining room. His parents had yet to arrive and so they stole a kiss. Draco hugged his darling little girl, and murmured softly "Welcome home, Hermione. Welcome home."

The house in Darlington was quiet. Everything lay as though fallow, waiting for use again. A window in the attic had proved just opening enough for a small animal, a rat, say, to breech, and now, turned back into a man, the rat opened the doors for his compatriots.

They smashed whatever could be smashed, ripped open the furniture and tore the pages out of the many, many books which lay about. Greyback didn't care about any of that.

He followed her scent up the stairs and into the first bedroom on the left. She'd lain here recently, and young Malfoy with her. He could smell tears. Her hairbrush, with a few hairs in it, and a container of lotion which smelled like Lucius' spawn.

Seizing the pillow, he breathed deeply. It enraged him that he could smell the other male on it. Growling, he ripped it open, sending feathers everywhere in a shower of white.

He walked out without another glance. She wasn't here anymore. But he knew where to find her. Leaving the thoroughly ransacked house, he began the long journey to claim his prize.