They walked back in the direction from which they came and he found himself quickly adapted to the light system that directed the muggle transportation. Though walking directly in front of a car still put him off.

Some drivers gave him odd looks as he peered at them through their large automobile windows. One man even revved his engine at them. He flicked his eyes to Hermione beside him. She paid the car no heed, continuing her brisk steps to the other side of the street. He looked around again, hands finding his pockets as he glanced into another vehicle between steps. The driver was distracted, animatedly talking to nobody from behind the driver's seat; another woman seemed to be in a screaming match with herself as he passed by her silver minivan; the next car had a man leering at him from behind a pair of dangling dice; and another stuffed his face with an oversized veggie wrap, its contents spilling over into his lap as he went.

His upper lip pulled up into a sneer and he focused back to the approaching sidewalk.

Merlin, they're animals.

Hermione's pace sped up, her tangled hair bouncing with every step as she zigzagged in front of him. It was obvious she was unfazed by the people, the sounds, or the lights; completely oblivious to the ruckus that was muggle London.

Cars blared their horns as some remaining stragglers jaywalked onto the street behind them, and he was forced to raise his voice and shout from behind her.

"Where to Granger?"

"I can't very well tell you everything," she spat back as they took their first steps onto the sidewalk.

His eyes narrowed, lips pressing into a thin line. He'd let her preach her sermon back in the store – but this was enough. He didn't feel like putting up with her little attitude anymore.

He stopped walking, grabbing her elbow and pulled; making her almost lose her balance mid-stride as he swung her around to face him, his grip strong enough to steady her as he did.

"You said we were going to figure this out together. Drop the cheekiness. "

Exhaling through her nose, she shot him a dirty look.

Mirroring her glare, he let her go and crossed his arms, piercing his gaze into hers.

Following his lead she crossed her arms too, plastic bag crumpling against her shirt as she did, but diverted her gaze and looked to the rolling traffic beside them, considering her answer.

She had said that they'd figure the plan out together. But thinking back it probably hadn't been the best suggestion. He had a quick temper, and a nasty habit of saying what came to mind, and overall still held a historical and stereotypical dislike for her.

"Holy shit Granger, I almost forgot you had tits."

Out of all the things that could come to mind, that's what came up first. Not his sexual innuendos or his constant need to remind her of her muggle-born blood status, but his incapacity to see her as a person. Her jaw shifted to the side as the flashback reminded her of how his eyes had widened in genuine shock as he'd stared at her towel; like he really wasn't expecting a woman to be underneath the fabric. Her frown deepened at the memory.

Jerk.

It was like he had the uncanny ability to pick someone apart and just know how to set them off. Didn't seem to have any remorse about it either. He truly appeared taken aback when she'd chastised his behavior back in the pharmacy. As if she'd been acting like the crazy one.

How was she supposed to strategize with someone like that?

Glancing back up to him, she watched his frown pinch as he waited for her response.

In some ways, she thought, he made her think of Ron. Would Ron have reacted the same way to the cashier in the pharmacy? No. Would he have reacted the same way about seeing her in a towel? Definitely not. Ron and Harry were perfect gentlemen. She knew that because being on the run and camping with two men meant they'd occasionally have awkward run-ins. Her two friends had seen her in a bra more than once. But both Ron and Malfoy could be considered insensitive, proud, and irritable by nature and in that way…they were similar.

She could only imagine Mrs. Weasley's reaction finding out her son had belittled someone's little old granny out of vindictiveness. He'd most likely receive a nasty tongue lashing. Maybe even a slap if she was mad enough. To Hermione, she was the epitome of an empathetic and courteous person (most days), and it showed that she strived for the same in her children.

Hermione focused on Malfoy, whose eyebrow practically twitched in impatience, as she deliberated a response.

Sighing, she recognized Malfoy didn't have the same upbringing as Ron or herself. In fact, he hadn't even had the same upbringing as Harry, which hadn't been the greatest, and even Harry grew up to be a decent person. Malfoy's values and morals were certainly different. One encounter too many with Malfoy senior made it bluntly obvious that condescending behavior was normal, encouraged, and possibly even glorified.

It explained a lot.

Looking away once more, she visibly deflated, loosening her arms and dropping her shoulders, finally replying.

"Yes, I know I did."

He looked at her expectantly, cocking an eyebrow, "well?"

Her gaze returned to his, noting the hair that fell over his brows, gleaming in the morning light.

She frowned, "we need to hide that hair of yours."

"That's your ingenious plan? Camouflage? Is that what that box was for?" He asked, pointing to the bag. "If you think I'm about to let you insert some preservative-filled, muggle trash-"

"This," she exhaled, arms flailing in his general direction, "is why I didn't want to tell you-"

"Well I would've bloody found out eventually," he hissed, eyes suddenly narrowing. "Or were you thinking of making me do it?"

"No," she said, drawing out the 'o', and twirling around to resume her stride, quickly tiptoeing around a fire hydrant all while keeping her head held high. "I would've paralyzed you and done it myself."

Son of a- he snarled and pursued her.

"Why you vile, conniving, filthy little-"

Hermione made a sudden one-eighty and whipped back around. The motion stopping him dead in his tracks with her arm bent and raised, wand drawn to his chest level and pointed at his face.

"Don't you say it," she warned, calm and steady. "Don't you dare."

He looked down his nose to her as she struggled to keep her breathing even; suddenly thinking she was wrong about the breasts. Mudblood was by far his best insult.

A crowd of pedestrians streamed around them on the sidewalk, a few people giving them funny looks as they passed.

Both their chests silently heaved as she stepped closer to him, almost menacingly, so zoned in she didn't notice the top of her foot accidentally stepping on the tip of his shoe. She stretched her arm higher and stopped the tip of her wand just before it touched the adam's apple she'd earlier woken up to.

Eyes flickering between hers, he faintly dropped his head, challenging her warning as he pressed his neck into the vine wood.

Her head gave a bristled tilt, but she stood firm, fixedly adding pressure to the top of his foot.

He glanced down, the crushing of his big toe dancing on the edge of pain, momentarily distracting him from their standoff.

When he'd had enough, he huffed, twisting his toes out from under hers and looking back up to her, finally decided on the appropriate word to end on.

"Bitch."

She let out a heavy breath through her nose and quickly inhaled another. She waited. Mudblood bitch, filthy mudblood bitch, maybe even filthy, vile, repulsive mudblood bitch. Whatever follow-up he planned, she braced for it.

But he didn't continue.

And after a beat, she gave him a soft nod, dropping her arm a little.

"I'll work with that."

Tension partly dissipated, his eyes shifted between her once more. "You have no right-"

"Draco, can we jus-"

"I told you not to call me that."

Sighing loudly, her eyes fluttered closed in frustration, unaware that in doing so she loosened her grip, accidentally letting the tip of her wand fall between her fingers onto his chest. He flinched, taking a step back from her and quickly glancing down, immediately losing his bravado.

"What'd you do?" he panicked, hands racing over his torso, assessing the damage.

"Nothing," she drawled, rolling her eyes and pocketing her wand away.

He'd just stepped into the thing not ten seconds ago. Whatever size his tank of courage was, it was now clearly empty.

His eyes shot up and glared at her, eyebrows furrowing in distrust. But he slowly dropped his hands back to his sides.

She sighed again.

"No, honestly," she reassured, holding her hands up and hushing her tone.

When it was obvious he still didn't believe her, she boldly took a step forward into his personal space as before and looked up at him in what she hoped to be an open expression.

"Really. I didn't."

He frowned in response but didn't say anything.

Crossing her arms, she brought a hand up to massage her temples.

She needed to create a common goal. Something they both needed and could work together that held the least possible amount of conflict.

"Look, we're still short some supplies. I have a few wizarding coins left but it's not much. After that, we'll need to figure something out."

Pulling her hand from her eyes, she looked up at him, daring to crack a lopsided smile.

"Any chance you gabbed a pouch full of gallons from the Malfoy reserve?"

His frown dissipated at her expression, and one of the corners of his mouth turned up, "it certainly wasn't the first thing I reached for when I was called to the witch hunt."

She tilted her head towards him, almost playfully, her mood lifting with his cooperation. "Was it the second thing you reached for?"

He let out an amused huff, "no."

Pressing her lips together, her smile stretched as she nodded, "right. Well, it was worth a shot."

He hummed in response, a ghost of a grin on his lips.

Her eyes flickered to them, before darting away without missing a beat.

"Look," she tried again, "I wasn't kidding before. We need to start by changing your hair color. Not many wizards have platinum blond hair. Nor muggles for that matter. You can be recognized a whole street away. If we want to stay out of sight, we need to keep a low profile. So you," she emphasized, bringing her hand up and softly placing a finger to his chest. To her surprise, he let her. Feeling more confident in her action, she lifted her finger once more and gently brought it back down to give him a little tap, finishing her sentence, "need to blend in."

His eyes darted down to where her finger rested on his chest. A well-shaped eyebrow elevated and his gaze lifted back to hers.

She let her hand drop, not pushing her fragile luck.

"How about a hat then?" He offered, not making remark of it.

"No. That's insufficient."

He frowned and raised an eyebrow, shaking his head. "It's not happening Granger."

"Well, I'm open to other suggestions if you have some. Do you know any hair colour changing spells? Or perhaps an appearance changing potion that doesn't take three months to brew?"

"Why would I know that? There's nothing wrong with this," he boasted, throwing his head back and giving his hair a shake.

She held back her smile, giving him a look as any trace of residual anger dissipated. It wasn't even close to the immaculate state in which his hair usually held, and it ended up looking rather comical instead of the debonair magnetism she was sure he expected to pull off.

"Besides, the hat can work," he added.

"It's too risky, there's the issue of the hat falling off-"

"So we'll charm it to stay on."

"Your hair can still be seen. We don't want to risk a strand falling out just as…oh I don't know; a bad guy looks our way."

He broke into a real smile, his eyebrow arching with it.

"Bad guy? Really?" he said, uncrossing his arms and letting his hands easily rest on his hips. "That's what you call us? Like a villain in a storybook?"

She smiled back at him, quickly smacking a hand to his naval. "No, that's not what we call them."

His lip turned up in a charming sort of way, and his gaze held hers a moment before it shifted to meet those of a few random strangers as they brushed past.

"…is it permanent?"

"No."

She followed his gaze as he glanced back to the passing cars.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not at all, I promise. My mom did it about once every three months."

His eyebrows knitted. "What on earth would compel her to do that?"

She shrugged. "Solid, non-greying colour represents youth and beauty I suppose. Lots of muggles do it. Some even do it for fun."

He crinkled his nose, eyes returning to hers. "Really."

"Really, really," she said, nodding her head and rolling her eyes. She could've been schooling a toddler. "It's not that different from the wizarding world."

"Opposite actually."

"No, not at all," she said matter-of-factly, readjusting her grip on the plastic bag and turning on her heel, continuing her walk down the street.

He followed her.

"Prove me wrong, Granger," he started as they walked. "Sagacity and knowledgeability are valued in wizarding society."

Her eyebrows shot up at his vocabulary.

"They're associated with old people with grey hair and long beards. It's admired. Just look at the famous witch and wizard cards from the chocolate frogs. Merlin, Alberiv Grunnion, Armande Dippet, Artemisia Lefkin. It's all old people. And kids get excited about them because the wizarding community highly values the experience of the aged," he stated rather pompously, and when she looked back at him he looked every inch like the prideful peacock she remembered from school.

Stopping, she turned to him completely, eyebrow rising as she put her hands on her hips, not bothering to squash her smile.

"Draco, your mom dies her hair."

Either by the persisted use of his name or by her audacity to call out his mother, his smugness instantly vanished, eyes growing wide and eyebrows beginning to knit together as if she'd slapped him square in the face. It was most likely both.

"She'd never-"

"-You genuinely believe the blond of her hair, underneath the brown, grew out in two, single, straight patches? Her beautiful locks marred in a fashionable, symmetrical pattern?"

His mouth quickly snapped shut. She grinned brighter, eyebrow lifting even higher.

"And if it's good enough for mother dearest then I'm sure you can handle it for a couple of weeks."

Satisfied with his fish out of water expression, she re-entered the alley they'd apparated from.

Glaring daggers to the back of her head, he went in after her.

She stopped when she was far enough that pedestrians who passed the alley either ignored or no longer noticed their presence and crouched, dropping the plastic bag on the frosted ground beside her and moved to untie the beaded bag from her waist.

Draco stopped beside her, arms crossed, and practically looming as she squatted, arm so deep in her extendable bag her shoulder was nearly entirely engulfed within it.

"How do you even know where to grab if it's that deep?"

"Compartments," she said, voice strained as she tried to stretch herself further.

His turn to roll his eyes.

"And how exactly, can you tell one from the other?" He asked, stepping away and leaning back against the brick. Of course, she'd categorized the inside of a bag. How very typical of her.

"Texture," she quickly replied, and he watched as her mouth opened slightly, tongue coming out to touch the corner of her top lip as she shifted her arm around to the other side of the bag, reaching to its other side.

That was…new.

Averting his gaze, he found interest in a pebble near his foot, feeling he'd just witnessed something rather indecent. Or maybe he was just bothered by the fact that he'd even thought her tongue could be considerably provocative without her even trying. First her smile, then her tits, and now her tongue...sucking in a breath, he forced himself to redirect his thoughts before they turned into something he really didn't want to acknowledge.

"Wouldn't happen to be looking for a sleek piece of wood?" He piped up; voice slightly throatier than it was a moment ago. "You know, somewhat pliable, heated core, always gets the job done."

She looked up at him from her position on the ground and he couldn't' resist giving her a wink.

Her eyebrows shot up.

"Might want another wand fighting on your side in case we ever come across a…" He brought a finger to his chin. "Bad guy."

She rolled her eyes, resuming her search in the bag, "ha, ha, not going to happen."

"What? Coming across bad guys?"

"No, you getting a wand."

He sighed, throwing his head back against the wall behind him. Figures.

His gaze shifted down to the packaged goods beside her. Pushing off the wall, he sidestepped around her and reached down, snatching the plastic bag from its spot on the ground.

"Hey!"

Ignoring her, he reached his hand in and pulled back the box he'd gripped. "Relax, I just want to read about the monstrosity I'm about to impose on myself…What's this?"

Her gaze lifted to the box he'd pulled out, and she stood up quick as a flash, beaded bag opened and forgotten on the ground.

"Give it back," she ordered, cheeks turning crimson red.

"Is it edible?" He asked, turning it around in his hand.

"No."

"What is it?" He asked again, bringing his other hand up and swiftly opening the carton.

"Stop!" she said, reaching for it, but he pulled it out of her reach.

"Seems important," he snickered.

"It is," she said, extending her hand out once more and swiftly bending her legs and pushing herself off the ground for maximum reach. He quickly turned to the side, lifting his hand even higher and she ended up doing an awkward chest bump with his shoulder as gravity pulled her back down.

"Oh for Merlin's sake," she huffed, hands perching on her hips. "It's a feminine hygiene product."

He tilted the box down, still out of her reach, to peek inside, "you mean like the conditioner you should've bought?"

Her eyes rolled towards the heavens, but she couldn't fight the awkward tug behind her ribs and the fumbly smile that formed her lips. Who on earth did she piss off to have been put in this situation?

"For menstruation," she chuckled.

He brought the box down, taking a closer look. "For menstruation…" he repeated.

She half expected him to freak out and drop the dam thing.

"How does it work?" He asked instead, poking his fingers inside and taking out one of the wrapped tubes.

She raised an eyebrow, the red of her cheeks glowing brighter.

"You…unwrap it when you're menstruating and it's inserted into… the vagina."

If he wasn't spooked before, he would be now. Oh well, she thought, he did it to himself. Now he could suffer the consequences of his assholery.

"There's cotton on the inside that soaks up the blood."

He said nothing a moment, then nodded, quietly sliding the tampon back into the box and held it out, gently handing it back to her. She couldn't hide her awkward smile as she took it from him.

"How's the… appliance removed?"

Her hands fiddled with the box a moment, really hating whomever held that grudge against her.

"Do muggle women go fishing for it, like with their fingers?"

Oh dear God.

If she was previously red she was absolutely sure her ears were now purple. Clearing her throat, she stuck out her chin and tried her best to sound professional.

"It's called a tampon," she explained as if she was teaching a class full of prepubescent teenagers. "There's a string attached to the end of it and when it's well used, you pull it out."

When she finished, she found she couldn't look him in the eye. But it was hard to stop herself from sneaking a peek at his reaction. And this time, he acted predictably; scrunching his nose and curling his lip in utter disgust.

"Why don't you just stick to potions, Granger? The tampon method" He said carefully, testing the word out. "Seems impractical and awkward."

"It's just something I've always done," she shrugged, crossing her arms to hug them around her waist, slightly blocking the box from his view. "My mother taught it to me when I was young, and I've done it so often now it almost seems…natural I suppose."

"Nothing natural about that," he quickly spat.

"Well, there's nothing natural about taking a potion that evaporates menstrual blood loss either," she blandly said.

"That's exactly what it does."

"I know, and I've just always found that to be bizarre."

He crossed his arms.

"I dunno, I think if I was a girl, I'd be more comfortable with a disappearing act over manual insertion and extraction. I imagine it'd be time-consuming, and on top of that I assume you'd need to remove yourself from social situations in order to do it."

"Well… you're not wrong," she said. But Hermione was at a loss, suddenly off-kilter. Not about the tampons, no, she was never going to change her habits about that. They were, for once, having a real conversation. It wasn't about the war, or the plan, or their prejudices.

It was about tampons.

He wasn't even being malicious about it. Just offering his remarks.

It was unbelievingly refreshing in the weirdest way.

She'd go so far as to say he was being surprisingly mature. Not something she usually associated with him.

"I suppose you have a point," she conceded once more and offered him a shy smile. "It's just a habit I'm comfortable with I guess."

He shrugged in return, "whatever Granger, do what you'd like."

Still smiling, she nodded, awkwardly giving the box a tap with the palm of her hand. Then she turned back to the beaded bag that'd been left on the alley floor and reached down into it once more, fingering the various compartments she'd once organized and quickly finding the ones she needed, and dropped the tampons inside. Then she proceeded to do the same with the other items in the bag until they were all stored and easily accessible.

This was good. Odd, but good. Malfoy's usual temperament seemed to calm for the moment. They were simply two people conversing: neither enemies nor spies with hidden agendas or opponents in a greater battle.

But it was hard to know how long the moment of peace would last.

Grabbing her bead bag, she stood, fastening it to her hip once more.

If they wanted the highest chance to make it out of this alive, it was best to have his voluntary cooperation. If she could establish a common goal, one that surpassed the need for supplies, and establish steps to accomplish such a goal, he'd be less likely to jump at the first opportunity he'd have to wipe her memory and leave her to Voldemort's dogs.

Sneaking a glance at him, she noted his eyes were fixed, staring back out in the street, lost in thought. She knew obliviation was still an option for him and he'd take the chance if it was presented to him.

He looked at her then, seemingly done with his line of thought, and waited for her next instruction.

After all, she thought, echoing his words to her, she still had the wand.

For now, she was still the boss, and he knew it.

Ok. Make a plan. Convince him it's the best possible option to stay safe and create achievable milestones along the way so he wouldn't lose faith in it.

Another memory hit her and he practically saw the moment the plan formed in her head.

She smiled at him, eyes glimmering with hope at the excitement of finally having a course of action that exceeded figuring out how to survive, or what to do next. She'd figured out a long term game plan that, if done right, would keep them both protected.

Knock on Gryffindor's sword that it would.

But first, the hair.

Then the plan.