(This fic is the third part to my Power and Control series. If you want full context behind this story, please go read Power and Control and then Strange Mercy before continuing to read this fic.)

Welcome back, everyone! I'm glad to get back to this at last. Please remember this story is M rated and as the story progresses, will earn its rating. Mature themes are incoming, and this will serve as my only warning. (Okay, I'll include a few here and there when they apply, but please spare me the complaints if you didn't heed them!)

As a reminder, if you want to keep up to date with me and see content ahead of updates for all my fics, you can find my blog on wordpress. My username there is inkyfeetprints but you can also find me on there by typing my username from this site into the searchbar.

Chapter One: How it Began

[five minutes after fleeing the Burrow]

Draco's hand was cold in her tight grip. Ron was panting on her side, clutching a stitch under his ribs. Harry was pulling him along urgently, following Hermione's lead as they plunged through foot traffic. Every shop and restaurant they passed was a blur of light and people. Music drifted along the street from some unknown source—it sounded vaguely familiar, but in her panic, Hermione couldn't place it.

"We should have stayed," Ron was muttering, his voice full of anguish. "I should have stayed. Who knows what's happening now—"

"You can't go back," Harry said, dodging a tourist with a camera. "You know you can't. It'll put you and them in danger if the Death Eaters are still there."

Ron was shaking his head.

"They'll be fine," Hermione tried to sound as reassuring as she could, narrowly avoiding tripping over someone else's foot. "The Order's with them."

But the look on Tonk's face before they'd left…

Distracted by her thoughts, Hermione knocked shoulders with a stranger by accident, and by sheer force of will barely managed to keep from falling backwards. Draco pulled her forward and she resumed walking quickly—Harry and Ron had hardly even noticed what had happened, and were several feet away by now. Her stomach sank as she and Draco hurried to catch up. There were so many other pedestrians, she didn't dare take her eyes off them for fear of losing them entirely.

"Harry, slow down," she tried to call out, but he was past hearing range.

The red glare of the crosswalk light and the blur of cars driving past forced them to stop. The sky was darkening, and as Draco fell in step beside her, the sound of the traffic and the chatter of the passerby hit her all at once. She hadn't realized she was panting, too, and looked around wildly, half expecting to still be in the tent at the Burrow, surrounded by Death Eaters.

But they were in the Muggle world now. She'd been too frightened to think properly and had apparated them to the first place she could think of: London.

"Why are we here?" Harry asked her.

The people waiting to cross on the other side of the street were staring at them curiously. Hermione realized with a start that they were still wearing their attire from the wedding, covered by their dress robes. She'd had the foresight to pack themselves several changes of clothes, blindly taking as much as she could from each of their clothing supply with a wave of her wand. They could stop to change clothes, but they had to find a bathroom, first.

"I don't know," she said, pressing a hand to her temple. "It was the first thing I could think of."

"Shouldn't we stop, then?" Harry asked.

The light changed at that moment, however, and pressured by the push of the crowd, they hurried across the street.

"Nice costumes," a friendly stranger said to them in passing.

"Show us a magic trick!" Someone called out from the other side of the street.

Ron was limping, his face twisting slightly.

"Ron, what's wrong?" Hermione asked.

"I think I splinched," he said, wincing. "I think I'm missing some toes. I can feel blood in my shoe."

Hermione felt her face drain of color. Draco's hand tightened around hers as he stared down at Weasley's shoes.

Harry's eyes were glued to hers. "What do we do?"

"I—" she looked around again. People were pushing past them to continue on their way, jostling them to the side. She caught sight of a local food mart and bit her lip. "Can you keep walking?"

Ron tested his foot gingerly. "Yeah, I think, if I don't lean too much on it."

"We're just going to cross the street," she said, pointing to the food mart. "There should be a bathroom in there. We'll heal your foot, and then leave. Harry, help him walk."

Harry hurried to Ron's side, and Ron wrapped an arm around his shoulders, gritting his teeth.

"We might as well get supplies, if we're not sure where we're going next," Draco suggested.

Harry nodded. "Be quick."

Hermione reached into her bag, her arm sinking in to the elbow, and rummaged for what felt like an eternity. They heard clattering and rustling coming from inside the relatively small bag, and when she pulled her arm out she was holding a wallet.

"This one's got the Muggle money, I think," she said, weighing it in her palm. "Draco and I will get the supplies. Head to the loo and do what you can to stop the bleeding. We'll meet you there as soon as we can, and we'll leave from there."

"Why?" Ron asked, frowning through his wince. An elderly woman pushed a cart around them, staring strangely at them. When Hermione noticed her and turned to look at her, the woman looked away abruptly and hurried away with her cart.

"So no one can hear us. Or at least see us."

"Oh." He nudged Harry. "Let's go. The inside of this damn shoe is soaked." He was turning paler and paler.

Upon entering the store, they separated at once, each group heading in opposite directions.

Hermione grabbed a basket and pulled Draco along with her other hand as he looked around hesitantly.

They rushed from aisle to aisle, dodging carts and other shoppers. Unsure of where to begin, Draco looked around, mystified at the numerous aisles. Bright red signs hung from the ceiling, indicating what goods could be found in each aisle. Hermione walked right past the refrigerated aisles, lit up like Hogwarts at night, and Draco followed her quickly, fighting back a shiver.

"What do we need?" he asked.

Hermione sighed. "Food. Water, maybe. I'm not sure what else. Maybe a first-aid kit."

"For healing?" Draco touched her shoulder. "You are a witch, you know."

She paused at the start of the canned goods aisle. Draco was struck at the bleakness in her expression.

"I'm no good at healing spells," she confessed. Her eyes darted to where the bathroom was, where Potter was probably trying to heal his friend. "I can only do the most basic ones. Since we can't go back to get Ron's toes, and we don't have Skelegro…There's only so much I can do. I'd rather have the muggle version, in case I can't…"

She turned and rushed down the aisle, grabbing cans with the barest of glances at the labels and then dropping them into the basket.

"Grab whatever you like," she said, looking over her shoulder. "Nothing perishable. And grab plenty enough to share. I don't know when we'll be able to shop again. Maybe another basket, too."

The aisle loomed in front of him; two endless lanes of brightly colored cans. It was new, and it was strange—he'd never seen such an array, much less ever stepped inside a Muggle food store. The lights overhead were weak and buzzing loudly. More than once he spied a too casually dressed customer wearing clothing that was better worn only at home. There was tinny, modern music being played somewhere. It was all like a large tapestry woven through with the brightest, loudest colors. He felt slightly disoriented.

Canned foods—he'd only ever seen food come fresh from the vendors and straight into the kitchen at home, where it had been washed and dressed and cooked or put into pickling jars by the House Elves.

He picked a can at random and stared at it. Clam chowder, the label read. The picture on the label showed a steaming bowl of it, but the can was cold, and he was doubtful anything out of it would taste as good as the picture looked. He shook it gently, hearing a rather sickening sounding slgg slgg sound from inside.

"Draco," came her voice.

Draco looked up. She was at the end of the aisle, her basket already full of cans to the point where it looked too heavy to carry. She jerked her head, trying to appear casual, but he saw the urgency in her eyes.

"We don't have much time," she said.

"Right."

He dropped the can into his basket, and hurried down the aisle, grabbing cans at random along the way.

The girl at the register was taking too long scanning everything. She had given them an amused sidelong glance at their arrival, but said nothing as she began to scan their items. Hermione crossed her arms tightly over herself, shifting from foot to foot. Draco was staring intently at the scanner, secretly fascinated by the red glare from the scanner and the electronic little 'blip' that was emitted upon the registering of every item.

"Did we get enough?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I don't know. I don't know how long we'll be—" she trailed off and pushed her hair from her face. Draco watched, and tucked in the strand that she'd missed. She stared up at him, her face gentle and tired. She was cupping her elbows in her hands, a crease between her brows, and he thought back to less than an hour ago when he'd been straddling her in the dark of Weasley's garden, his hand between her legs, her mouth parted and panting her release. Her eyes traveled upwards briefly to look at him, and then widened a fraction. She opened her mouth to speak when the cashier interrupted her.

The cashier told them their amount then, and Hermione brought out her purse again and fished through it, hiding it from view as she picked out bills. Draco peered inside and frowned.

When the transaction was finished, Draco took the cart and pushed it, albeit a little clumsily, to the back of the store, following Hermione as she led him to the loo.

"Quickly," she whispered, slowing down to clutch at his arm. Her eyes were on his hair again. "Your hair's going back to its regular color."

Draco ran a hand through it quickly, as if he could feel the change as it was happening. His eyes were glued onto hers, and he was distracted by the sight of her hair growing longer, to the point that he tripped over something on the ground and the cart swerved.

"Your hair's changing, too."

Luckily, by then they had reached the bathrooms at the back of the store, located beside the frozen foods. Hermione rushed ahead.

"Wait," he hissed, and she turned around. "We can't just take all this in there..." he frowned. "Can we?"

She glanced around. "It doesn't matter. There's no one here."

She went to the men's room (a single occupancy) and knocked. The door opened a crack, and Draco caught a flash of Potter's eye as he peered outside.

"Let us in," Hermione whispered, and then it opened wide.

As he was pushing the cart in, someone came into the area and caught sight of him. They wore a tidy uniform and Draco guessed they must be a worker. The person halted in their tracks, dumbfounded, watching as he closed the door behind him, putting the laden cart out of view. He supposed it didn't matter. They would be gone soon, hopefully.

When the door was locked behind him, and the cart was pushed against the wall, he stopped to catch his breath. He and Hermione had been rushing through the store—the whole ordeal had taken no longer than twenty minutes.

"How are you?" he asked Weasley, who was sitting on the ground, legs stretched out in front of him as he leaned against the tiled wall.

"Bleeding's stopped," he said, shrugging. "I don't think I'll be getting my toes back, though."

Hermione rushed forward. "Let me take a look."

There was a knock at the door, and they froze.

"Who's got a cart in here?" said a loud, authoritative voice. "That's not allowed. Bring it out!"

"Let's go," Potter said. He helped Weasley stand from the floor.

There was another, harder knock at the door.

"Grab the bags," Hermione said, and she and Draco lunged for the cart, grabbing the handles by the fistful. There were too many of them. Hermione was opening her bag, and as he watched, its mouth yawned open as if it were a large sack instead.

He understood and eased the bags inside as quickly as he could, his hands shaking.

"Open this door! Do it now, or we're calling the police!"

"That's all of them," he said to Hermione, and she closed the bag. It immediately shrank back to its regular size. She adjusted it on her shoulder and grabbed his hand.

"Is it heavy?" he asked. "I can carry it."

"It's fine," she insisted. She hooked her arm through Weasley's. He looked faint. Sweat beaded his temple.

"I'll take a look at it once we're safe," she promised. He nodded.

"Ready, Harry?"

"Yeah."

Draco squeezed her hand, and she turned and Apparated them away.

[two hours later.]

Once they had set up the tent and after Hermione had frantically thrown up the wards they had almost dragged Ron to the center of the tiny, cramped sitting room. Hermione had sent Harry out with his invisibility cloak to gather firewood, and Draco to search through her small purse for their shopping bags in order to find the first-aid kit.

Her hands had been shaking as she'd taken Weasley's shoes off, turning almost as pale as he was already. Draco had returned some minutes later with the kit held tightly between his hands, and found Weasley passed out on the couch with Hermione sitting on a wobbly stool, holding his bloody foot in her lap, her wand held over the wounds.

"Tergeo."

The bloody mess on his foot vanished.

She let out a shaky sigh and uttered a healing spell, but she was so nervous and agitated that she flubbed the pronunciation without realizing, and nothing happened. She frowned, and tried again, to the same result: nothing.

"No, no, no," she'd whispered, frowning.

Hopeful, she'd tried again. Nothing.

"The wounds aren't closing," she'd said, and noting the panic in her voice, Draco rushed over, abandoning the kit and plasters he'd managed to pry out of the plastic box.

"These are the only spells I know, and nothing's happening," she had said quickly, wiping at tears rolling down her cheeks. "I don't know what to do! He's passed out, what if he loses his foot? And I can't do anything!" She stared down at her hands in total frustration. "We can't even go back for his toes!"

The sight of Hermione Granger breaking down was as rare as finding a Unicorn in the wild. He remembered once, in third year, hearing about her having a break down after encountering her boggart in their final exams. There was the shameful memory of what he had reduced her to almost a year and a half ago, when he'd had her trapped against him in Umbridge's office, and she, who had always seemed to confident and capable, had shown that his words did hurt her, and that he had opened up an insecurity inside her that never should have been there.

"It's okay," he said, reaching down to squeeze her hand. He leaned down beside her, wrapped his hand around hers, still clutching her wand.

Make it right.

He would be thinking those words to himself for the rest of his life. To prove he was worthy. To atone for his sins.

Merlin knows how many more there'll be.

"Repeat after me, okay?"

She nodded, and concentrated again.

"Vulnera Sanentur."

She repeated it and held her wand close to the wounds.

"Say it again," he encouraged. "Get to the other ones, too."

Her eyes had turned wider, staring in awe and relief as the flesh began to close itself back together.

Where there had been five toes, there were now only three. All the blood had been cleared away but she had still gotten some on her hands. She let them go limp on her lap as she steadied her breathing, staring at the now healing foot.

She turned to look at him. Her unspoken question hung in the air between them.

"I got into a lot of trouble, when I was younger," was all he said.

She pulled him down by the front of his robe to kiss him. Her cheeks were wet with tears, and she hiccuped loudly when they broke apart.

"Thank you," she whispered through her smile.

She wiped at her eyes and stood, gently set Weasley's leg over the arm of the couch, careful not to jostle his foot.

"Tergeo," she said, pointing her wand at the dried blood. It vanished, and then she looked at Draco.

"Help me lie him down," she said, "but keep his foot elevated."

When they had finished, Draco had looked up and felt his stomach jolt in surprise at finding Potter there, watching them. How long he'd stood there, Draco didn't know, but he was still holding a heap of twigs and thick branches in his arms, and his invisibility cloak was slung over his shoulder.

Hermione had noticed him, too, and rushed to him. She took a few of the smaller pieces of wood, and two logs Harry had managed to find, and then knelt at the fireplace, arranging them carefully.

"Is he alright?" Potter asked at last, setting the rest of the wood down by the fireplace.

"We think so," Hermione had said shakily. "He's unconscious."

"Won't someone see the smoke?" Draco asked, nodding towards the fireplace, in which Hermione had successfully lit a fire with a tap of her wand.

"Not with the wards up," Hermione said. "This kind has a charm built into it to dissipate the smoke quickly and without much detection. Mr. Weasley told me about it in fourth year, when we were all using this tent at the Quidditch World Cup."

"I can't believe you remembered that," Potter said. He had taken off his dress shoes and left them in a distant corner of the tent. Draco felt an impulse to toss his out the window, if it could open. They likely would not be needing those for a long time.

"If it's giving us an advantage now, then I'm glad I did," Hermione replied, yawning.

A wind howled loudly outside.

Potter had gone to sit at the entrance of the tent, his eyes distant and troubled. Draco sat down on a slightly smelly armchair by the fire, beside Hermione. She was dozing off in her armchair, though fighting to stay awake. When Draco got up to go to the loo, she jerked awake, and asked where he was going.

"Oh," she said, snapping fully awake when he told her, "I've got our toothbrushes and some extra toothpaste. Accio."

Her bag flew into her lap, and she used another Accio to summon the hefty bag of toiletries she'd brought.

Draco took it, wide-eyed.

"What didn't you bring?" He asked.

"Is that a complaint, or a compliment?" She asked, the corners of her lips turning upwards.

Draco placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly. "Thank you."

"Well, as a daughter of dentists, the importance of personal hygiene was made very clear to me from a young age, and as much as I care about you all, I don't want to have to pitch someone outside of the tent for not washing up."

There—some of the tension had gone from the atmosphere. Potter laughed outright at that. Grinning, Draco made his way to the loo.

After he'd left, Harry sat closer to Hermione.

"I think I could warm up to him," he admitted quietly, sounding rather surprised to hear himself saying it aloud. "The git really has turned it around."

Hermione leveled a look at him, but he was smiling.

"He clearly cares about you. I was worried he'd refuse to help around with the menial stuff, but he did, and he helped Ron…he didn't have to."

"His snark's still there," she warned. "Don't think he won't bite back if you or Ron bite first."

"As long as he doesn't threaten or harm anyone, I'm fine with that," Harry replied, then paused. "I still have some reservations about him being here. I'm not implying he will, but if you ever even think or find evidence that he's going to try to cross us, or go off on his own, do whatever it takes to stop him, and let me know, so we can all deal with him together."

Harry's green eyes were earnest. She traced his scar with her eyes, and nodded.

What good is there in trying to contact a family who would know you'd betrayed them the instant they found out you aren't dead? Hermione thought. She knew beyond a doubt Malfoy, though worried sick over them, wouldn't do something as hazardous as that. He had severed his ties, and knew it fully well. She recognized that in the weighted, stiff lines of his shoulders, in the haunted look of his eyes.

Harry was right to have his suspicions, though. They had been crossed before. Crossed, and deceived. If it happened now, when the stakes were higher, who knew what disaster they'd face this time?

"I will."

There was a loud creaking as Ron awoke groggily, sitting up in his bunk. He was still pallid, and he blinked at them through bloodshot eyes.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing."

Draco emerged from the loo, pushing a hand through his hair. He had taken his robe off, and his dress clothes were rumpled and creased, shirt untucked. Hermione was struck by how tall he looked.

"What time is it?"

Harry glanced at the watch Mrs. Weasley had given him. "Nearly three in the morning."

"Fancy that," Ron croaked from his bunk.

"Time for bed," Hermione said, rising from her seat.

"Fine by me," Ron said. He flopped back down without another word.

Hermione tapped her wand once more against the lip of her bag. "Accio clothes."

Four neat stacks of folded clothing emerged from the cavernous bag, and she lay them down on the little table for everyone to claim their pile. She took hers and changed and brushed her teeth speedily in the loo, then let Harry take his turn. Draco went in after Harry came out to change, too.

When he came out, everyone was lying down. He looked around, unsure. The bunk below Hermione's was empty. He crawled into it, feeling for the threadbare blanket he'd seen earlier at the foot of the thin sleeping pad. Despite the small fire Hermione had lit, the tent was still cold, and the howling winds outside only made it feel colder.

It was late afternoon when he awoke. Hermione and Weasley were already up, only having woken an hour before. The winds had died and Potter was gone, and when he'd asked where he was, Hermione told him Harry had gone out to find more firewood.

True to his word, Potter had come back within minutes, bearing another small load of kindle and cracked, mossy logs.

Weasley had limped to the loo and back to his cot, shaking his head grimly when Hermione had offered him help with walking.

Draco waited restlessly by the entrance. There were only two windows in the whole tent, and they were small and mostly decorative. It certainly had seen better days, too. But shelter was shelter, and Draco had to admit it was comfortable, at least. He hadn't known what to expect but this was as good as it got, he supposed, and was frankly thankful they didn't have to sleep under the bare sky. There was a deer walking around a short distance from the tent, grazing slowly. He watched it for a moment before turning to the others.

He hesitated before speaking.

"Well, what now?"

Hermione looked over at Harry.

"I've got no fucking clue," he said, wiping at his face. His shoulders slumped.

"Is anyone hungry?" Ron asked. His stomach growled loudly for emphasis and he winced.

Harry shook his head but stood up. "I'll heat up some soup."

"With what?" Draco asked, looking around. The tiny kitchen area was lacking in any utensils aside from two wooden bowls and a spoon.

"Hang on," Hermione said, and got up. They watched curiously as she went to the entrance of the tent, walked out, and came back in a moment later, holding a handful of rocks.

Ron stared at them dourly,

She set them down onto the small table and extracted her wand from her pocket. She tapped each rock with her wand, muttering a transfiguration spell each time.

Draco admired her as she worked, from the concentration in her gaze to the way she held her wand, rapping it gently against the rocks, every movement deliberate.

When she'd finished, there was a small steel pot, an array of cutlery and bowls, and some cups.

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said, squeezing her shoulder gently. He picked up the pot and took it to the wood-burning stove and went to the counter, where Draco had left all the canned goods he and Hermione had acquired from the store.

"We don't have running water," Ron said suddenly. "The chamber pots in the loo empty themselves, but the sink doesn't run, and neither does the one in the kitchen, I'll bet."

"There's a stream close to here," Potter said. "I've been walking past it to get wood."

"How close?" Hermione asked.

"Two minutes walking, probably."

"Do we have buckets?" Draco asked.

"There's one there," Hermione pointed to the corner of the tiny kitchenette, where a metal bucket stood.

"I'll go get water," he said, and grabbed the bucket. He took out his wand with the other, and tapped it, muttering a duplicating spell. He caught the new bucket mid-air before it crashed onto the ground.

"Need help?" Potter asked, as he slopped the contents of one of their many cans into the pot. He prodded his wand at the burner, and a small flame started there and began to warm the pot.

"No, I'll be back soon," Draco said.

"I'll go with you," Hermione said, and walked up to him, taking the second bucket. "If that's okay. I need to readjust the wards so we can get to the stream without anyone finding us."

"Of course it is."

They exited the tent and walked to the stream in silence, the sun glaring overhead in a slightly cloudy sky. The dense forestry around them rustled in the mild breeze. They reached the stream and dunked their buckets in. The water was somewhat clear—Hermione could see fish darting away from them as the came closer, their feet almost dipping into the stream itself.

"We'll have to purify it when we get back," Hermione said, looking into her bucket. "Just to be safe."

He nodded, lifting his bucket out of the water with straining arms to set it down onto the ground. A bit of water sloshed out at the motion.

"You said you came here once with your parents."

"Twice. Years ago," she said, looking around almost wistfully, as if expecting to see her parents walk out from between the trees. "It was nice."

She approached him and Draco wrapped his arms around her.

"I need to see them," she whispered. "I need to make sure they're okay."

"When?"

"I don't know," she paused to think. "Maybe sometime when Harry and Ron aren't with us."

He frowned. "You're not going to tell them?"

"No. I don't know," she admitted. He stroked her hair softly.

She pulled back slightly to look up at him, and Draco, sensing what she wanted, was ready. He kissed her, backing her up against a tree carefully. She gripped at the front of his sweater, pulling him back in again. He kissed her deeply, his hands cradling her head between them, his fingers caught in the thicket of her hair. She broke for air, and Draco's lips trailed down to her throat, sucking lightly, teasing with his teeth.

She moaned his name quietly, and a shiver of pleasure ran through him.

The air was cool; they'd both foolishly left their robes in the tent. He stepped a little closer to her, wanting to shield her from the chill. He belatedly realized they still had not changed out of their wedding outfits. In all their panic to leave the Burrow and then London, he had not noticed how lovely she looked in that red dress, as he'd wondered during the wedding.

Now, he had the best opportunity. He stepped back a little, keeping his hand on her waist. She watched him, her eyes questioning, but he said nothing as he took her in, his eyes dragging over her, from the dip in her neckline to her parted lips, her dark eyes shining bright.

She was blushing, noting the heat in his gaze, but it was in her eyes, too. The memory of what they'd done at the wedding flashed bright in his mind's eye. He knew she was thinking of it, too.

She pulled him closer and kissed him; her hands playing with the hair on the back of his head. It felt so good he shivered, letting his head fall back slightly into her hands, breaking the kiss without realizing.

She let out a soft, breathy laugh, one that had her checking herself after. Pictures, memories, of everything that had happened in the span of that same day flashed quickly in her mind's eye. She felt her shoulders slump slightly.

Draco watched her shift in mood intently.

"How do you feel?" He asked.

She let her hands down, leaned against the tree and sighed. Draco tried to not be distracted by her reddened lips.

"Scared, mostly," she admitted, a wry smile on her lips. "Not knowing what's coming next, what's our plan, how long we're going to be here…it's all very…" she gestured vaguely in the air, sighing. When a beat had passed and she still hadn't captured the right word, she shrugged. Draco frowned.

"I don't think I've ever seen you at a loss for words," he remarked.

A short burst of a laugh escaped her. "Well, that's how frightened I am," she said, crossing her arms. "Everything's so uncertain, now. Where will we be, a month from now? Two? Five? Will all this be over? Or will it just have begun? Will we even be close to having what we need?"

The Horcruxes, he realized. The hairs on his arms stood on end.

She was cupping her elbows now, holding her arms close to her middle.

"Ron says I worry too much," she said, looking away from him and onto the ground. "And he's right. I do. But I can't help it. I have to know things. Or else how can I plan what we need, and what to look up beforehand, so we're prepared?"

A dart of annoyance at Weasley speared through him as he realized she was right. Old, brief memories of hearing Weasley chide her for voicing her concerns. He couldn't imagine how many other arguments there'd been between them both, but knew it had to be numerous, knowing Weasley's (frankly) jealous nature, and his tendency to judge quickly.

"I understand," he said, his voice earnest.

She peered up at him, suddenly rather shy.

Draco leaned in to kiss her, drawing her in tight by the waist.

"We'll deal with it together," he said to her gently, after breaking the kiss. She let out a small breath and brushed her hair from her eyes. They were a little dazed. "All of us. Day by day, as long as it takes. If we're unprepared, then we'll still do our best."

She nodded, her eyes closing. Her hands were splayed on his back, pressing him closer to herself. The heady scent of him overwhelmed her; it was deep and dark and grounding, an intricate mix of comfort and arousal. She breathed it in deeply, not caring if he noticed. She felt the rest of her tension draining from her. He was holding her hand, its heat providing a sense of comfort she hadn't realized how badly she'd needed over the past several hours. Hermione stared at him.

"How do you feel?" She asked.

"The exact same." He stepped away, grabbed his bucket.

Nevermind that he was rather fearful of falling asleep in such close quarters with Potter and Weasley around, when his nightmares were still prominent. Nevermind that the question of where and how his parents were faring were still haunting him as surely as Weasley was now worrying about his own family. That he was secretly doubtful over this mission, over how much the four of them could accomplish with such limited knowledge.

What else is there for you to do? A cynical voice asked him from within. Go on your own? How well would you fare, then? What would you even do?

He tried to picture himself on his own. The voice was right. What could he do, alone? Walk right into the Manor, when everyone there believed he was dead?

That'll go well.

What else was there to do but for him to either stay with the Order and wait, and try to be useful, or what he was doing now, and hope that they could actually make a difference?

Hermione was still looking at him. She didn't seem convinced that he didn't want to talk further about his current state, but not wanting to push it, thankfully didn't pry, though he knew she would be waiting for when he was ready to speak more openly about it. Warmth enveloped his heart.

Hermione looked back toward where they had come from, the invisible path that led to the tent. Their new temporary home.

"We should get going," she said, her voice soft. "They'll wonder why we're taking so long."

He bent to grab her bucket, too.

"No, I'll carry it," she said, going to pick it up.

"I don't mind," he said. "Besides, you still need to fix the wards, don't you?"

"Oh, right." She took out her wand. She gave him a smile. "Thanks."

They had to move slowly as she extended the wards. Draco remembered he was capable of magic, too, and levitated the buckets to fly after him without losing a drop as Hermione set the wards to encompass a part of the river, large enough that they could bathe in it if need be, though the tent had a small tub. She was repeating the incantation in a low voice, her wand held aloft, brows furrowed in concentration.

When Hermione was satisfied she had got it right, they went back into the tent. Ron was just finishing his soup, slurping loudly as he drank the last of it, bowl tipped up to his mouth. Harry was still eating his, nodding at them in greeting. He pointed his spoon to the table, where there were two other bowls, still steaming.

Draco went to the counter and set the first bucket down, and then headed to the bathroom to set another there, too.

Ron summoned a short, beat-up stool to rest his leg on. He set it down with another wince. Hermione stared at his foot.

"How do you feel?"

"Sore. It hurts, a bit. Especially when I woke up and tried to get off my bunk." Ron sighed and shrugged. "I'm just glad I can still walk at all. Clumsily, but I'll live." He turned to her, reached over to press her hand. "Thanks, Hermione. I mean it."

"It's nothing," she said, blushing. "I'm sorry we couldn't go back and get your toes."

Ron made a face. He picked up his leg a little, rolling his ankle in a circle. "As long as I've still got some of them left, I don't mind. Better a few toes than my whole bloody foot, I guess."

"That's the spirit," Harry said, plunking his bowl down onto the table. "I know it's probably the last thing you want to hear, now, too, but I did tell you to try to pay more attention in the Apparating course, didn't I?"

"So you got good marks in Potions for once and now you think you're star pupil," Ron sniped back, rolling his eyes, but he was smiling. "You're right, though. Even if I want to hex you for it."

Laughing, Harry took their bowls to the sink and tapped them with his wand, muttering a cleaning spell.

There was a lull.

Ron tried to stand from the table, gritting his teeth.

"I want to try and contact my family," he said.

Draco went still.

"Ron," Hermione said carefully, "perhaps we should wait a few more days."

He frowned. "Why?"

"On the off chance that the Death Eaters are still there, waiting for us to go back," Draco said at the same moment Harry had opened his mouth to say the same thing. "We don't want to run into their arms, or get your family in trouble if we're somehow intercepted."

"We have to try," Ron insisted. "I need to know they're okay. I'm just asking for this one time."

"We're not saying no, Ronald," Hermione said, and sighed. "We're just asking you to wait another few days. Just to make sure the coast is clear. For their sake, and ours."

Ron deliberated, then nodded.

"Alright."

Harry glanced at Draco, who had occupied himself with taking his and Hermione's bowls to the counter, and cleaned them magically.

Ron took a few tentative steps from the table, grasping the back of a chair for support.

"It's not so bad," he mused, more to himself than the others.

"Does it hurt at all?"

"Not anymore," he said. "Just feels strange with the new skin on my foot. It's tight." He made a face again, and walked slowly around the room, trying to adjust to the feel of a three-toed foot. Along the way, he surveyed the drabness of the tent interior.

"Why didn't we go to Grimmauld Place?" he asked.

"As far as I'm aware, the Order was still using it," Hermione said. "If we want to be unseen, we can't stay there."

"And where are we now?"

"It's called the Forest of Dean, you said," Harry replied, looking to Hermione for confirmation. She nodded.

"How long are we staying here?" Ron asked.

"We don't know. At least not until we can contact Ginny and Pansy, and find out what's going on on their end."

"But we're not going back to stay with them, right?"

"Right."

Ron nodded. "Alright." He looked at Draco.

"You didn't splinch at all?"

"No."

"Lucky you."

Draco narrowed his eyes slightly, and turned away to look out the window.

Hermione and Harry watched them carefully from where they were.

"Do you think the Death Eaters can find us?" Harry asked. "Like they did at the Burrow?"

Hermione shook her head. "They knew we'd be there because we go there in the summer. They probably knew about the wedding, too. I highly doubt they'd have known about Draco or Pansy being there."

"The Minister's dead," Ron said in a startled voice from the other side of the room. His face had gone pale. "I forgot about that."

"I wonder who did it," Harry said, his voice dark.

"I'd kill for a Prophet right now," Ron muttered. "I need to know what's going on."

"Sure, let's go get some Butterbeers while we're getting your paper," Draco said, a slight smirk on his lips.

Ron threw a glare at him. "Funny, aren't you? Don't tell me you're not interested in what's happening outside of here."

"Of course I am," Draco snapped. "But I'm not going to risk exposing ourselves just for a paper. It's too dangerous. The Death Eaters are probably still looking for you lot, and if we fuck up just enough so that they find out Pansy and I are involved, then it's all over before we've even begun."

There it was. Their peace from earlier had fled at the tones in their voices, and Hermione found herself now irate and exhausted at the thought of having to listen to Draco and Ron bicker for the rest of however long they would stay here.

And God knows where else.

"Let's please try to get along," Hermione said, looking at Harry with an expression that said, I knew this would happen. Harry wore the same expression.

"Well, I'm going to go check on the wards," she said, and left the table. "You'd all better behave."

"Yes, mum," Ron called after her.

Hermione was half-tempted to show him his favorite vulgar gesture as she exited the tent.

Outside, the sun was setting. The forest was coated in the golden weight of its brilliance as it sank deeper behind the horizon, beams of its lights striking through the gaps in the foliage. Hermione admired it all briefly before taking out her wand to inspect the wards.

They were fine. For now. She had done the best she could, given what brief amount of time she'd had to learn them, but she harbored the secret fear that one day her spells would snap, and they would be left defenseless, and have no idea until they were surrounded by the enemy.

A twig broke loudly beneath her foot as she was taking a step back to look up at the sky, and she pushed it aside absently with her foot.

There was another snap nearby and she faced her left quickly, heart suddenly skipping a beat. She frowned, squinting, searching for the unseen threat.

There was a quieter snap, and she took a step back, her hand closing more tightly over her wand. There was an urge to call out, Who's there?, but she shut her mouth tight, knowing that through the wards she couldn't be heard, but she wasn't going to risk anything.

There.

A rustling in the tall grass, to the farther left. It was coming closer. Whatever it was, it was big. She took another half-step back, heart pounding in her throat.

Stay, and see what it is.

She took another step back.

Or run.

It was coming closer. There was a dark form there, behind the thick tall grass. It was massive, and it was close to the ground, as if it had its nose to the ground, or as if it was a person crawling along the earth.

It was almost at the perimeter of her wards. She raised her wand, a curse on her tongue.

It stopped. She held her breath, waiting.

Slowly, it veered away from the tent, and back in the direction it had come from, gradually picking up speed.

Hermione exhaled slowly.

Probably a fox.

Her stomach twisted.

Foxes don't run that big.

"Hey."

She sucked in a startled breath, jumping, and turned to find Harry at the tent flaps.

"Ron found a radio."

"Really?"

"Yeah. We're trying to get it to work." He scanned the area around them, then took in her still startled expression. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, though her eyes did another sweep of the area, in case the thing was coming back. "I thought I saw something."

"What?"

"I don't know. A fox, probably."

But now that doubt was there. She had the feeling it wouldn't go away.

They entered the tent, and the crackling sound of an antique radio had filled the tent. Draco stood, watching and occasionally offering advice as Ron prodded it with his wand, attempting to change the station.

"I think this was my grandad's, before he gave the tent to my dad," Ron said, as Hermione entered the tent.

"My father has one similar to it," Draco was saying. "He never used it. It was just for show."

"He sounds like a load of fun, your dad."

Draco paused. "Yeah, he's pretty shit."

Harry stopped cold in his tracks, and gave Hermione an incredulous look. Hermione, who was familiar with Draco's sentiments about his father, stared back grimly.

A split second later, old, merry music filtered through the tent. Ron beamed.

"Does anyone remember the news stations?" He asked.

They all shrugged.

"No problem. I'll find it." He took up his wand again.

"Wait—" Hermione said, and he paused. "Leave the music on. Just for a bit, please."

"Alright," Ron said, though he looked slightly confused as Hermione walked over to her bunk and sat down, leaning against the wall, hugging her knees to her chest. She felt Draco's stare on her and faced him where he sat in the kitchen. He looked at her curiously, silently asking if she was okay. She gave him a small, neutral smile, and then lied down, listening to the music as it played on, thinking of the happy occasions it must have been played at since it had been created. Harry, too, had gone to his bunk and sat on it's edge, the golden Snitch in his hands, staring at it with his brows furrowed.

The books. Why had Dumbledore given her those children's books? She had rifled through them before, but nothing had stood out to her.

It's worth looking at again. There's always something to find.

Hermione peeked over to the kitchen, where her bag still lay on the chair she'd occupied the night before.

Later, she thought.

They sat there listening to the music, contemplating their next move, processing what had happened the night before. Ron made more rounds around the tent. Harry continued to stare at the Snitch, pressing it to his mouth now and then to reveal its secret message, as if hoping having done it a certain amount of times was the key to unlocking its riddle.

An hour later, Ron finally remembered to change the channel, and he found a new station immediately after. The reporters were in the midst of talking about a series of break ins there had been in Godric's Hollow the week before. They listened raptly, their faces grave, as the report lasted a half hour, complete with interviews of some residents of the neighborhood. Now and then, a commercial played, or a minor breaking news segment was introduced. At the latter, they unconsciously leaned forward, listening, fearing they might miss it. Perhaps they already had, they worried in secret.

Then, in the span of four seconds, it happened. At the end of the burglary report, a report was delivered, so quick they almost missed it entirely had they not been paying such close attention. Hermione sat up, quick as lightning, her heart racing.

"The Prime Minister was found dead in his office late last evening. Pius Thicknesse succeeds him in office."

Then a commercial began to play, too quickly and too loudly to be coincidental.

They all looked at each other.

"What the fuck," Ron said.

A/N:

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