Camping with the Insane

Not DH compatible.

First in what will probably become a collection of short Dramione stories. Obviously, I'm not JK Rowling. This is my disclaimer for the whole series. But isn't that the premise of fanfiction, anyway, that you aren't the author and not trying to take credit? I don't quite understand the need for disclaimers. Whatever, I didn't mean to ramble.

Draco Malfoy had adjusted to the fact that his life ended up nothing like he had pictured as a child. He had even come to like it. After five hours of sitting next to his depressed, exhausted and hormonal wife in the small confines of the car, though, he began to wonder if it really would have been so bad to marry some Pureblood prat he wouldn't have had to talk to ever.

"Hermione, dear, please let me drive," he coaxed his wife for the third time since embarking on the journey.

"Draco, dear, please show me your license," she replied in a similarly saccharine voice, giving a pointed look to her own license, suspended from the rearview window. She didn't drive the muggle car often, and although her husband claimed it was a stupid place to leave the identification, it was convenient.

He grumbled and glared at her. "You know bloody well, dear, that I don't need it."

"Please refrain from using that word in front of our children." Draco rolled his eyes and turned to look at his children. They were all asleep and dead to the world, just as he expected; the car was far too quiet to house waking children.

"They're all asleep, and you're acting like more of a petulant child right now than they are. Let me drive."

"You don't know how."

"I'll just magic it."

"You will do no such thing! This is a strictly muggle trip! Your wand is for emergencies only. That means no using magic to drive, no flying on broom sticks, no enchanted tents, and no slipping the children sleeping draughts!"

"Muggles have medicine that does the same thing, though!" Draco protested, and then the full effect of his wife's words hit him. "Wait, what do you mean, no enchanted tents! You can't possibly mean we're going to be sleeping in real muggle tents in real muggle sleeping bags!"

Her smile was a grim line. "With real muggle rain seeping in through the canvas as you sleep. You better believe it, Malfoy."

"No! No, you do not call me by my last name, and we are not sleeping in normal tents!" Glancing in the mirror to the backseat, he quickly added, "do you really want to subject our children to that?"

She refused to look at her imploring husband. "They'll live."

"I am not living like a complete muggle for three days."

"I did it for eleven years."

"Yeah, and look how you turned out!"

She refused the bait and merely glowered, her knuckles turning white on the steering wheel.

He took a breath before asking more calmly, "why?"

She hesitated to answer, because that was more than only semi-serious banter. "Because this is how she would have wanted it to be."

Draco didn't say anything. He knew he shouldn't have said anything in the first place, because he had known it would be an emotional weekend for her, but damnit if her terrible driving didn't make him forget.

They sat in silence. The children slept in the backseat, nestled between various pieces of camping equipment and their own toys. Draco alternated between looking at his stony wife, his placid children, and the dreary view of the rainy English countryside. It was altogether a rather inauspicious beginning to what was sure to be an equally unpleasant weekend. Could spreading the ashes of one's father-in-law ever be pleasant, though?

Draco tried to be unselfish and think of his wife, who was clearly stressed and quickly approaching her snapping point. He was beginning to find it difficult not to be snappish with her, though; her father's death had been nearly two years ago, and yet this trip had sent her regressing to the emotional dysfunction of severe grief. He could only deal with her pushing him away for so long.

It didn't help that he felt a twinge of bitter jealously; his own father had never loved Draco as much as her father had obviously loved her. No; his father had forced him to submission with abuse, and then made him to join the forces of the Dark Lord when he was old enough. His childhood had been marked with alternating neglect and loathing.

He looked at his children again, still sleeping peacefully. He couldn't imagine doing the things to them that his father had done to him.

That didn't mean that he had never let his temper get the better him. Once, after watching Scorpius push his sister down the small stone staircase in the garden at the Manor, he had slapped the boy. He'd cried more than his son, though, and had to be convinced that the best thing was not for her to take the children and leave him, because he was in fact not his father. He had been a bit emotional that day.

Parents had always been a bit of a problem in their relationship. When they had met, he had hated her because his parents told him to, meanwhile hers told her to be nice to everyone, which irritated him to no end. Then, six years later, his parents asked him to do the unthinkable; hers supported her decision to interfere. While he had fled from his parents, they had fled to hers together.

The last time Draco saw his father, the bitter old man had expressed his deep desire for the children of the "despicable marriage" to be squibs and die of cholera. Draco hadn't bothered to inform him that cholera hadn't been a problem in muggle England for decades.

His late father-in-law had not been thrilled at his daughter's choice, but he, at least, had come around. Draco had not been unaffected by his passing, but had not been anywhere near as torn-up as his wife had been, which had been a sore spot between them that Draco suspected was less to do with his "not caring" and more to do with her anger at the world, and he was an easy scapegoat. Draco couldn't empathize from personal experience, as he'd given a testimony that helped hasten his own father's trip to the Great Beyond, but he had tried to sympathize.

He discovered that he wasn't very good at sympathizing, especially with a certain brunette who did not want sympathy.

A near-death experience involving a bend in the slippery road and an oncoming lorry snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Hermione, let me drive," he begged again, his fingers wrapped around the wheel.

She slapped the back of his hand and her knuckles turned a deathly shade of white. "Just sit there and shut up, Malfoy."

"What, are we 15 again, Granger?"

"Well right now I don't like you much more than I did when we were 15, so maybe, Malfoy."

"That's not funny. Pull over right now."

"Do not tell me what to do!"

"And what happens if I don't tell you what to do? You end up killing us all?"

"I am not going to kill us all!"

"Pull over!"

"Leave me alone! My driving is fine!"

"No, your driving is not fine, because you're not fine!"

"What are you trying to say? That I'm a psycho bitch?"

"Right now? Yeah, you are."

"Yeah, well you're a terrible husband! One long weekend, Malfoy, just three days, is all I wanted to say goodbye to my dad one last time! And I don't even want to do this, and I can barely stomach the thought of scattering his ashes over the lake where we used to go fishing, but my mum asked me to because she can't go, and she wants to make sure it's done before she's gone, because even she knows that she's not doing well, and that the tumors aren't responding to the chemo and that I'm going to have to say goodbye to her soon too!"

"Hermione…"

"No, don't you start with me! I get it, and I understand that my relationship with my parents makes you uncomfortable because it's not what you grew up with, but they're my parents and I love them and I'm not about to pretend that I'm not affected just to make you feel more at ease! Do you even care about my parents at all?" He knew he should have been concerned for her, but his most eminent concern was The Speedometer of Death. She was losing control, and he knew that there was no stopping the dam that was about to break; he just needed to keep his children out of danger of the flood.

"Hermione, I'm sorry, love. Now please pull over and let me drive!"

"No! Do you even love me, Draco, or did you just marry me because I was the first person who genuinely cared about you? God, you're just like Conn from The Sun Also Rises, aren't you? And I'm just the first wife that you have three children with and then never mention again!"

He knew he should comfort her, but she'd provoked his temper and he couldn't help retorting with the first thing that unfortunately came to mind. "Well, I don't know; are you planning to leave me? Because remember, Conn's first wife left him for a miniature painter!"

"So you're calling me a slut now!"

"Mummy, what's a slut?"

Draco turned to face his children and, to his consternation, found that all three pairs of angelic eyes were open. "Nevermind, sweetheart," Draco cooed to the middle child, Rose, wedged tightly between her brothers. "It's just a silly made-up word that mummy uses when she's upset."

He couldn't believe Hermione said it; she was always scolding him about language in front of the children—she must have been really upset.

"Hermione, please pull over," he asked softly, trying not to make a scene in front of his children.

"You haven't answered any of my questions. Do you even love me? Why did you bother to marry me if you so obviously can't stand me? Do you even care that I'm upset or are you too busy sulking because this ruins your long weekend of pointless quidditch matches and gambling with the boys?"

"Hermione, let's not do this now," he urged.

"No, Draco, let's do this now! Now's a good a time as any to discover that the man I married hates me! So tell me, when you said "for better or for worse" in your wedding vows, you only really meant "for better", didn't you? Because you don't like psychotic Hermione at all. It's not worth having all the STD-free sex you want if you have to put up with a crazy mudblood like me!"

"Stop it, just stop it! You know I love you, damnit! Stop pushing me away!"

"Oh, you haven't seen "pushing you away" yet!"

"Hermione, for Merlin's sake, pull the damn car over!"

"Why, because I'm in no shape to drive?"

"Yes!"

"Well you're an asshole!"

"Merlin, Hermione, not in front of the kids!"

"They might as well know that mummy and daddy don't like each other!"

"That's not true! Damnit, Hermione, pull over, right now!"

He was shocked when she slammed on the breaks suddenly. She unlocked the car door for him, then put the car in park.

"Fine, get out," she said quietly.

He moved uncertainly, afraid of doing the wrong this and provoking her fury once again, but afraid of getting out of the car. He didn't move.

Frustrated, she reached across him to open his door. Slowly, he got out. His foot was still in the door when she slammed the gear shift into drive and stepped on the accelerator, his open door slapping shut as he yelled at her in the distance.

Scorpius began to undo his seatbelt and scream, but she merely pressed down on the pedal harder and jabbed the childlock button.

"Scorpius, put your seatbelt back on." He didn't want to, but his mother's tone terrified him into submission.

"But mum, what about dad?" He asked, his lip trembling. Rose's eyes were already wide with tears, and Hermione knew that if the toddler understood what was happening, he would be crying too. They all were.

"Mum, what about dad?" Scorpius asked again.

"You will never see your father again!" Hermione snapped.

"No! No, mum, I want dad!"

When Scorpius began to sob controllably, Hugo, frightened, began to cry and scream as well. Like her mother, Rose sobbed silently.

Hermione's grip on the wheel loosened as she wept, and her foot forgot about the accelerator. Once the car had stopped again, she rested her forehead against the wheel as she held her head in her hands.

She wasn't sure how much later it was that she heard the footsteps outside her door, but she found that by the time she had mustered the common sense to panic about highway vagabonds and crazy serial killers, the door was already open.

Sopping wet from the rain, Draco pulled her out of the driver's seat. She didn't resist and fell into his open arms. He was surprisingly warm. Or maybe she was just surprisingly cold and numb.

"Sh…" he whispered into her hair as he kissed the top of her head. "It's alright."

But he was crying too, and damnit, Draco Malfoy did not cry!

They stood entwined by the side of the highway, her head on his shoulder as her tears purged all her anger and spite.

"I'm sorry," she whispered as she began to pull away.

"No, babe, I'm sorry, I should have shut up. I know I'm not good at being supportive, and I should be, because you need and deserve it."

"I'm sorry I left you on the side of the highway," she sniffled.

"I'm sorry I cursed at you and let you doubt that I love you," he whispered.

"I'm sorry I doubted that you loved me."

"I'm sorry I wasn't sensitive."

"I'm sorry I was a bitch."

"If you were a bitch, I was a complete asshole. I'm sorry, love."

She looked at him with the wounded puppy look and fell back into his arms. The embrace was almost painful and smothering, but nothing else would have sufficed. "I love you," she whispered.

"I love you too," he whispered back.

They stood on the highway another few minutes before Scorpius finally figured out how to climb into the driver's seat and escape the vehicle, and Rose followed.

"Daddy!" She yelled and tugged on his father's pants. Draco separated from his wife just long enough to pick up his son and then his daughter before Hermione wrapped her arms around the three of them.

They were still a family, and no amount of screaming and crying would change that.

When the family finally stopped to set up camp that night, Hermione had fallen into a silent sorrow. The children were awake, but strangely quiet; Draco guessed they were all a bit too traumatized for their normal antics.

Draco and Hermione pitched the muggle tents without another word or complaint from him. While her back was turned to start the fire, though, he cast wordless spells to protect the two little tents from the cold and the rain. He could do this her way to a certain extent, but letting his children and wife sleep in the rainy cold was where he drew the line. Her health was extra-important these days, whether or not she realized it. Besides, if she didn't know about the charms, there was no harm done.

They fed the children hot dogs but didn't have any appetites themselves. It was barely eight, but they put the children to bed. They didn't protest, though Scorpius refused to let his mother kiss him goodnight, which earned him a glare from his father. Apparently, Hermione was not quite completely forgiven yet.

Hermione and Draco barely cleaned up the campsite before falling into their own double sleeping bag. However, two hours later, they were both still very much wide awake.

"Hermione?" Draco murmured, his face in her hair as they spooned.

"Yes?"she whispered groggily, but he knew she hadn't been sleeping, just wishing that she had been sleeping. Sleep hadn't been coming easily to either lately.

"Are you okay?"

She shifted in his arms so she could rest her head on his chest. "I… I don't know. I'm just so exhausted, and worried, and emotionally drained, and I feel physically horrible because I know I'm letting down everyone: my mom wishes I had done this sooner so she could have come, and I know I keep hurting you, and Scorpius hates me right now, and Rose just feels betrayed, and god knows my dad would be disappointed if he knew how I was handling everything."

Her hot tears soaked through his shirt quickly, and he realized that it was the pivotal moment for them, because she was once again vulnerable and in need of his strength and sympathy for the first time since Hugo's birth, right after her father's death. His reaction would determine whether or not she continued to push him away or not.

"Look, 'Mione, your mother loves and forgives you. I love and forgive you. The kids are young, and they'll forget soon enough, because you're a terrific mother and you love them. And your father would never be disappointed in you. It's understandable for you to be upset, but don't think you're close to losing any of us; we're not going anywhere."

She sniffled again and hesitated. "They screamed for you when I drove away, but I didn't listen. I'm a terrible mother. What kind of woman screams and cusses at her husband with her kids in the backseat of the car? They shouldn't have seen that. That's awful."

Draco privately agreed that it was fairly awful, but didn't think it prudent to say so. Years with Hermione had taught him that sometimes the first thing to pop into his head was not the best thing to say. "It's okay," he said. "They'll get over it. Everything will work out, Hermione. I promise."

It was quiet for another few minutes save the pitter pattering of rain on the tent. "I love you," she said suddenly.

"I love you too," he murmured into her hair as she kissed the top of her head. He almost felt like they were caught in time, repeating the same actions over and over again and getting nowhere.

She kissed the wet spot on his shirt and rolled back over, ready to fall asleep, but she didn't. It was another fifteen minutes before she spoke up again.

"Draco?" she whispered.

"Yes, love?"

"I'm pregnant."

He felt her nervousness and he hesitated. "I know."

She twisted in his arms again to look in his eyes despite the darkness. "What? How?"

"You're been pregnant three times before, dear. I saw the signs."

"Oh," she paused. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because I didn't think it would be wise to inform you that you were pregnant if you didn't know yourself, and I was afraid that if you did know, you weren't telling me for a reason."

"A reason like what?" It slipped out like an innocent question, but they both knew it wasn't.

He answered truthfully anyway, after a moment. "I was afraid you didn't want me to know. I was afraid you were still pushing me away. I was afraid… you were going to leave me."

She can't find the words to say. "I… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let you believe that."

"It's okay. Really, 'Mione. Just go to sleep. You need to rest." He wrapped his arms around her and counted the breaths it took her to fall asleep. It wasn't as many as he expected; she must have been terribly exhausted.

When the lightning and thunder began, she did not wake up. He didn't expect her to; she never did. He hadn't been able to fall asleep in the first place, and certainly wouldn't be able to fall asleep after the storm began.

He grabbed his wand when the silhouette of two people appeared with the crack of lightning right outside the tent, but then the flap unzipped and he saw Scorpius standing there, half-dragging and half-carrying his little brother with one hand and his sleeping bag in the other.

"I'm not scared, dad," Scorpius said quickly. "But Hugo was. So I brought him." Draco saw through the excuse and made room for his sons. Their sleeping bag dried magically as it entered the tent, and Draco was glad to have cast the spell. Hermione would understand, if she figured it out.

"You might as well stay, then," Draco told his older son, indulging in his son's false sense of courage, as he situated them in the now slightly cramped tent.

It wasn't until the boys were almost asleep that he realized something was wrong.

"Scorpius?"

"Yeah, dad?"

"Never leave your sister somewhere you're afraid to be alone yourself." With that, Draco got out of the sleeping bag and made his way across the tent, careful not to step on any fingers or toes. He grimaced at the cold outside the tent but drudged onwards anyway.

Rose was still sleeping in the tent, oblivious to the thunder that had woken her brothers. Draco smiled and thought about how much like her mother she was. He wouldn't have it any other way.

He bent to pick her up, sleeping bag and all. It was then that her little eyelids fluttered and she looked up at him.

"Daddy?" She whispered.

"Yes, baby?" He replied as he maneuvered them out of the tent.

"Are you and mummy going to break up?"

He kissed his daughter's forehead. "No, baby. Don't you worry, just go back to sleep."

"Mmkay," she murmured as her eyes drifted shut again. He set her down gently beside her mother before crawling back into his sleeping bag on the other side of Hermione. He wrapped his arms around wife, his palm flat against her stomach. He imagined he could feel the baby in her womb, just beneath the skin.

Four kids. They were about to have four kids. Somehow, he couldn't fathom anything better.

The sun was nearly at its zenith when they reached the middle of the lake. The day was surprisingly clear, and eerily still. They'd managed to get the small old motor boat to actually work, though it was exasperatingly slow.

Scorpius had already pushed his sister into the water, which earned him a punishment he was equally unhappy with, and Hermione had reluctantly conceded to a drying charm for Rose, and then a silencing charm after the loud motor had terrified Hugo to tears.

"'Mione, do you want to say a few words?" Draco asked awkwardly. If there was a proper procedure for discarding the ashes of one's family, Draco did not know it.

"You go first," she said softly.

"Um… well, David was a great guy. He was a good father to Hermione, and a good father-in-law to me, even though I didn't deserve it, because we both knew that I didn't deserve his daughter. And he was a loving, doting grandfather. He lived a good, full life that most people only wish to have. He was humble, kind and caring. We were all lucky to have him in our lives." He squeezed his wife's hand and looked to his son. "Scorpius, do you want to say anything about your grandfather?"

The little blond boy nodded solemnly, his demeanor changed drastically from the petulant child he had been that morning. "Poppy was the best Poppy," he announced. "He told the best jokes and took me fishing once and it was really fun. And we made s'mores at his house when Hugo was borned. It was really fun too. He was really fun. I loved Poppy."

Not to be outdone, Rose stood up to talk about her grandfather next, although she'd been only two when he passed. "Poppy gave the best hugs," she said adamantly. "And Poppy told good stories. I was Poppy's favorite granddaughter, and he was my favorite Poppy."

"That's only 'cause you were his only granddaughter, stupid!" Scorpius cut in.

"Scorpius, do not use that word," Draco corrected his son. "Apologize to your sister."

"Sorry, Rose," he said dutifully.

"I forgive you," Rose told him simply.

"Hermione…" Draco prompted. They should have discussed how they planned to do this.

"Okay." She took a deep breath to steady herself, and then began. "David Granger was my father, and I can't imagine anyone else being a better father to me. He was also caring and supportive, and even when my becoming a witch and going to Hogwarts completely changed life as he knew it, he accepted it and he accepted me. He never thought I was a freak, like I did, and encouraged me to embrace the world I belonged to. He accepted my position in the war without fuss, and when I fell in love with someone I was supposed to hate, he accepted that too. He loved my children like he loved me. He was the kind of grandfather to my children that his father was to me, and I'm glad they had him in their lives, and if I could trade all my experiences with my grandfather so that they got have just one more day with theirs, I would, because they deserve it, and so does he.

"And my father was a good husband. He didn't forget birthdays and anniversaries, and he didn't like mum to brag about what a great man he was. He really cared about my mum, and he wasn't perfect, but he was close. I watched other couples fight and argue, but never them. I never worried they would break up like the other children's parents. They weren't boring or dull, they just discussed things without anger.

"And my father was a good son, and a good brother. He took care of his mother and father until they passed, and he had a relationship with his sister that makes me wish I had a brother. He loved the people in his life and treated them well, and I was lucky to have him in my life. I loved him, and he will forever be missed."

Draco leaned forward to wipe the tears from her eyes. "How do you want to spread the ashes?" he asked softly.

"I don't know!" She said tearfully as her voice cracked. "You do it!"

"Okay…" He took the urn from her hands unsurely, but then she grabbed it back.

"No, no, I should do this."

She stood tentatively in the little boat as she struggled to unscrew the cap. Draco put a hand on her waist to steady her, and then she took a deep breath and began to sprinkle the ashes into the dark, still water. He watched as the surface turned cloudy and the ashes sank into the darkness.

When the ashes were gone, Hermione screwed the cap back on and sat down on the bench between her two children and lifted the toddler into her lap. Rose wrapped her little pudgy arms around her mother, and Scorpius conceded to lean into her side. Draco left them alone and started the motor again to go to shore. Being in the middle of the dark, placid lake beneath the endless icy sky without a single outside sound was a bit disconcerting. The whole trip had been disconcerting.

When they got back to the camp much later, they fell into their normal routine as much as possible. The children were fed, then bathed in the creek, then set to dry and warm up by the fire while drinking some warm milk before going to bed. It was a tad early, but the children seemed to have agreed implicitly that arguing for an extra ten minutes or another bedtime story would not be in their best interests. Well, either that or they were really desperate to escape their gloomy parents.

Draco and Hermione had given up on the second tent, and instead had taken down what had been the children's tent. They packed what they could for the morning, when they'd leave nearly at the crack of dawn, before climbing into the cramped tent themselves.

The children had been sleeping, and in Scorpius's case, snoring, for nearly half an hour when Hermione finally prodded her husband back into consciousness. He hadn't been sleeping, though he had been close, but he refused to let himself be annoyed with her again. Instead, he rolled over and caught her shining eyes with his own.

"What is it, love?" He asked softly, almost afraid of what her answer would be.

"You're not allowed to do this to me," she told him, her voice quaking. "You are not allowed to die, ever, and you are not allowed to ask to be cremated, and you are not allowed to ask me, or anyone else, scatter your ashes. You can't do that to me; I won't be able to take it."

"Hermione…" he swiped his thumb under her eyes to catch the falling tears and then rubbed her arm soothingly.

"No, you listen to me, Draco Malfoy," she continued emphatically. "And I think maybe I'd like our ashes to be scattered together, but I am not doing this to any of our children. This is too difficult."

"Hermione, saying goodbye to the people you love was never meant to be easy, but we do it anyway because the people we love are worth it."

She sniffled and snuggled closer. "He was worth this," she whispered. "You're worth this. I'm not."

He kissed her forehead and pulled her closer. "Love, you've given me three beautiful, healthy children, and you're about to go through the agony of childbirth once more. Never mind your kind heart, nurturing ways, unwavering faith, endless hope, constant love, inexhaustible source of strength; that alone is enough to merit you all the heartbreak in the world."

She shook her head. "I don't want their pain. I don't want them to feel like this. I don't want to feel like this again in a few months, because my mother is dying, Draco, whether or not you'll believe it. I just… there was pain and heartbreak and loss and mourning after the war, but it was never like this for me. It was never this personal. I don't know how the wizarding community has gone on."

He kissed her tear-stained cheeks again and prayed that he would find the right words to say. "The same way you have, the same way you will. You're stronger than you know, love, and I'm always here for you."

"What about when you're not? What if you go first?"

He would have given up half his gold at Gringotts- and even half was a good deal- to stop that conversation. He didn't want to think about their deaths. Whenever his thoughts had turned to that, he forced himself to think about something else. He refused to think that one day she would be gone, irrevocably, forever torn from him, or that some day he wouldn't be there to argue with her for absolutely no reason but to have incredible make-up sex afterwards, or to prepare her tea exactly the way she liked it in order to coax her out of their warm bed on the cold mornings. Who would wake her up from her nightmares and then hold her as she cried? Who would give her flowers and books and chocolates randomly, just because she liked them? Who would –heaven forbid- put on her muggle dresses so she could make sure the hem was straight as she sewed it, and then insist she use magic instead of that blasted needle and thread after she pricked her finger (it'd only been once, but he'd be willing to repeat the experience if it meant he could escape the vile thoughts bombarding his mind). Who would love and care for her?

"I'm not going first," he decided first. "We're going to be like that couple from that horrible muggle movie you made us watch, The Journal or something, and we're going to die together and never live apart."

She tried to push away from him, despite the fact that his arms were keeping her locked in an embrace and he had no intention of moving. She was obviously annoyed, and he was not surprised to have said the wrong thing. "Really, Draco, please be serious."

He sighed, exasperated. "I am being serious, love: I refuse to imagine my life without you, because I have no life without you, and I refuse to believe that someday I will not be there to love and care for you."

And then she started crying all over again, tears of sorrow and fear and worry, and he rubbed her back in an attempt to calm her. For the first time, he decided he might have done something right, and that maybe, she would stop blocking him out on the topic of death. Maybe that godforsaken camping trip could be the turning point in their bout of marital depression.

The next morning, the sky was barely orange, the sun having only just appeared over the horizon, when they began to closing up their campsite to leave. They worked silently as a team, he taking the heavier pieces, she packing things into bags and boxes and keeping the children occupied. They were a well oiled machine.

When everything had been stowed in the car, Hermione lingered in front of the abandoned camp site, looking at everything distantly, a faraway look in her eye as she thought about life and death and everything in between. Once he got the children settled, still half-asleep, in the backseat, he wrapped his arms around her waist and rested her chin on her shoulder, trying to imagine what she saw when she looked at the landscape.

"We're never coming back here," she told him. "Never."

"No," he agreed. The place had too many bad memories attached to it now. They could change that, if they wanted to, if they needed to, but they didn't; they didn't need to be okay with going there again, and they wouldn't try to be okay with it.

When she was ready, she let him lead her to the car. She stopped short, though, and gave him a funny look. He was about to ask what she was thinking when she reached into her pocket to procure something metallic before placing it in his hands.

Keys in hand, Draco Malfoy drove his family home.

It was better in my head. Review anyway please!