For two weeks, they moved around various places in the British landscape, each spot as secluded as the last. As the days wore on, the physical effects of the battle disappeared from their bodies, but the ghosts haunted them wherever they went. Every time they would apparate to a new place, Amelia would cry as Draco cast protective spells around the area. He would watch from the corner of his eye, his heart breaking for her. But he felt completely useless. All he could do was hold her as she silently cried until she'd eventually look up at him with a small smile and suggest making a fire. It was an odd routine they'd established as, any other time in the day, he could see her avoiding the topic of the war, instead talking determinedly about anything else.

Despite the desperate sadness and loss that they both felt, their companionship felt strong. Draco could tell that Amelia trusted him wholly and for the first time in his life he felt at peace with who he was and the decisions he had made.

It was a rainy afternoon, and Draco had snuck into the nearby village to steal away some food, when he discovered that it was a small wizarding dwelling. He immediately made to apparate, but saw a disregarded Daily Prophet on a nearby bench, and grabbed it before whisking away.

Him and Amelia sat at the opening of the small tent Draco had nicked a few days previous and carefully scanned the pages. Draco felt the same hunger that Amelia had in her eyes as they silently pored over each word of every article, absorbing any information from the world they were now so disconnected from.

"It sounds awful," Amelia mumbled as they read a full-page article on the success rate of rounding up any muggle born magic folk.

Draco nodded silently. As he read, he felt more and more confident in their decision to run; Voldemort and the Death Eaters had complete reign over the wizarding world, and by the sounds of things, many of those left alive after the Battle of Hogwarts were also in hiding.

Amelia was tracing her finger down a page containing a dense list of those who were deemed 'wanted' or 'dangerous'.

"If they're on this page – they're still alive, right?" Amelia said, an energy lifting into her voice.

Draco drew his attention to the columns of names on the page. "I suppose it does," he said. "Look – there's me," He added, pointing to his name next to other 'M' surnames. He smirked as he saw "blood traitor – wanted for treason" written next to his name.

"Congratulations," Amelia offered sarcastically. "I wonder if I'm… oh yes, there I am! Oh, I'm just a blood traitor though," she exclaimed in mock disappointment.

"They don't hand out a "treason" title to just anyone," Draco said with a smirk, pulling himself upright as Amelia laughed beside him.

They spent half an hour scanning meticulously over the names, stopping every time they saw someone and trying to recall whether they had seen them at the Battle of Hogwarts and wondering where they were now.

"My guess is that there are a lot of people doing exactly what we're doing right now, all over the country," Draco said as they came to the end of the lengthy list.

"Look here!" Amelia said, an excitement coming into her voice once more. 'Those found to be operating as part of an underground resistance against the Dark Lord will face immediate punishment by Dementor's Kiss.'"

Draco frowned.

"They wouldn't be saying this unless there already was a resistance, right?" Amelia said, sitting back to look up at Draco, who was still rolling these words over in his mind.

"It's possible…" he said.

"We have to find them! An underground resistance – maybe that means there's still a chance to win this war, Draco!" Amelia squealed, flinging her arms around his neck. Draco wrapped his arms around her, wondering what a resistance would mean, wondering if he'd ever be accepted into an underground society, presumably made up of surviving Order of the Phoenix members. If the Daily Prophet was anything to go by, Harry Potter was still alive, and Draco would've bet all his inheritance on it being Potter who was heading this resistance, and unfortunately, he and Draco didn't have the best track record. Still, he hadn't seen Amelia like this in ages, so did his best to share in her excitement.


It was a month since they'd come across the Daily Prophet newspaper, and they'd not heard another scrap of information since. Every morning they would pack up their tent and apparate somewhere new in the small, untouched corners of Britain. Draco guessed that it was coming up to July as the nights were longer and warmer. Often, he would start a small fire out the front of the tent and they would sit in front of it as it slowly dwindled, talking for hours until they could no longer stifle their yawns. It felt strange; they'd fallen into a routine on the run that was so filled with stress and anxiety over the unknown, where they constantly felt at risk and under threat, but running on a parallel was an overwhelming feeling of fulfilment and happiness that Draco did not know was possible. As he lay awake at night, unable to sleep in case they were ambushed, he would feel Amelia curled up beside him, a hand often cupping his arm or shoulder, and wonder if she felt the same.

It had been a particularly sunny day that they had apparated down to a deserted cliffside in Dover. Amelia had remembered going there as a child to visit a great-aunt of her father's, so they apparated into the small town, careful to stay hidden. The village was empty anyhow, save for a couple of fishermen trudging about the winding cobblestoned streets. Draco managed to levitate a few loafs of bread from a small bakery as the shop assistant chatted to a customer before he and Amelia set off for the nearby cliff. They walked for most of the day, eager to get away from any trace of society until they reached the top of a rocky cliff. For miles and miles atop the cliff were long stretches of grass dotted with small, swaying daisies lining the landscape. As Draco looked out to the sea, surrounding every angle of the jagged cliff, he felt Amelia's arms slip around his waist. He cupped the back of her head and pressed it to his chest, absently stroking her hair as it whipped in the salty sea breeze. Despite the wind on the cliff, the sea looked calm. In the distance, he spotted a small beach protected completely by the cascading rocks. Draco watched as a family played on the sand: a mother chasing her toddler as he ran, unafraid, towards the lapping waves on the shore. Further out: a small fishing boat, moored a few metres from shore, bobbing along with the waves. Draco had grown up with extravagant wealth; his family holidays had consisted of private chateaus in the French countryside or a villa in the valleys of Italy; he'd never been without the aid of house elves in his house; had never wanted for anything material as he'd grown up. The thought of a simple existence had bored him in the past; he felt destined to follow in his father's footsteps and work with the elite in the wizarding world, and be sure that everyone knew who he was and what he was. Be feared, and be respected – those were the only two attributes he cared much for. As he looked at the mother on the beach, now happily splashing in the waves with her toddler, he imagined how simple her life must be in this small pocket of England. Presuming she were a muggle, she'd likely have no clue about the war waging on her own doorstep. He thought of her going home to a husband, perhaps a local fisherman, and cooking dinner, sitting with him by the fire – much like how he and Amelia did now in their tent – night after night, and understood now how that could mean success and happiness.

"Shall we have some dinner?"

Draco was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of Amelia's voice. Her arms were still looped around his middle as she spoke, and he planted a small kiss on her lips before nodding.

Dinner consisted of a vegetable broth and some of the bread they'd managed to grab that morning. A typical conversation around the fire at dinner time had become a nostalgic listing of their favourite Hogwarts meals. It felt so bizarre that they had been living in the same castle, attending the same classes and having the same experience for seven years without encountering each other outside of a vague awareness of who each other were. Albeit, the more Amelia spoke about her friends at Hogwarts, and her attitude towards the classes and teachers, he realised how polarising their experiences actually had been.

They watched as the sky slowly turned a deep pink, and a dark blanket covered the crystal blue water. Amelia was wearing a sweater of Draco's, rolled at the sleeves and oversized on her frame, her head resting on his shoulder as they gazed out at the sunset.

"Maybe… if we don't find the resistance, we should just leave," she said, clearly thinking out loud.

"Leave?"
"England, I mean. Just start out somewhere else." She looked up at him and linked her arm through his.

"Sound good to me," he shrugged.

She nudged him. "You don't think I'm serious!"

Draco smirked. "I don't, no."

"And why not?" She asked with a playful frown.

"Because I know you. And I know that you don't like running away," he said matter-of-factly.

Amelia sighed. "That's true, I suppose. But the longer we're on the run, the more I like the idea of just starting fresh, with you." She was gazing out at the ocean again.

Draco looked at her; stray strands of hair whipped her face as her eyes revealed thousands of thoughts floating around in her head. He loved how she always looked as if there were a fire in her brain. Truthfully, there was nothing Draco wanted more than to leave Britain with Amelia, and start again somewhere far away from the war and Voldemort and their past. He knew that she'd never be truly happy though, that deep down she'd rather die fighting for what she believed in, than run away from it all. And he loved that about her too.

"What?"
Draco was snapped from his thoughts and saw that Amelia was looking at him quizzically. "You're staring," she said suspiciously.

"I love you."

It hung in the air and Draco tried to find the words to take it back as soon as he'd said it, his body filling with dread and regret as he watched Amelia's expression drop.

"You… love me?" She repeated in a quiet voice.

The wind was suddenly muted, as if the whole world had stopped for this moment.

Draco sighed and looked at her. "Apparently."

Seemingly satisfied that he wasn't joking, her face slowly broke into a smile and she flung her arms around him. As he tried not to topple over, Draco let out a small laugh as she pressed her lips to his.

"Obviously I love you too," she said in between kisses.

"Good to know," Draco mumbled as he pulled her closer to him.

They sat, Amelia firmly on Draco's lap, on the edge of the cliff, protected from view by the enchantments Draco had put up earlier. He smiled against her kisses, feeling her giggling as he pressed her body closer to his. He was reminded of their first kiss – desperate and clumsy – and mused at how much had changed since that night.

He wrapped his arms securely around her, and lay her down on the grass, the glow of the moon hitting their faces as he hovered inches above her. She snaked her arms around his shoulders and pulled him down towards her.

"Say it again," she whispered with a small laugh.

"I love you," Draco murmured, his lips grazing hers.

She pressed his lips to hers, a deep and hungry kiss as she pulled his weight down on top of her. He pinned her hands above her head, entwining his fingers with hers, kissing down her neck and exploring the delicate curves of her body with his other hand. Her hands, more timid than his, traced his spine under his sweater, before unzipping the front of it and pulling it from his body. Draco always felt self-conscious when his Dark Mark was visible, but the moon cast convenient shadows over their bodies. In a few more clumsy, hungry moves, their naked bodies glinted in the moonlight as they celebrated their new admissions of love for one another.

Afterwards, they fell asleep under the stars, their bodies still intertwined.

It felt like barely a couple of hours before the sun began to rise over the cliffs, and Draco was stirred awake by the light. Beside him, Amelia was slowly blinking as she rose, quickly slipping on the oversized sweater of his she was using, clearly feeling shy in the daylight. Draco followed suit and pulled on his trousers. He ruffled Amelia's hair with a small laugh as she stifled a huge yawn.

"What shall we have for breakfast – bread, or bread?" She asked as she stood up and stretched. Draco looked at her, clad only in his sweater, and savoured visions of her from the night before.

"I'm bored of bread," he said, gently yanking her back down beside him, sweeping the hair from her face and kissing down her neck. "I'd rather something else…"

He felt her giggle and shiver slightly as he mumbled into her ear, his hand sliding up her bare leg. She gave in, resting her hand on his cheek and pulling his lips to hers.

"I've decided," she said softly, caressing his chest, "let's just go away – to Spain, or Italy…"

He knew she wasn't serious, he could tell from the dreamy tone she used as her hand moved up to rake his hair from his eyebrows.

"Can I interest you in a deserted English forest?" Draco asked jokingly.

Amelia laughed and kissed him. "We should go, it's getting late."

They never stayed too long into the morning in a place, fearful that they might somehow be tracked. Draco nodded and within ten minutes the tent was packed up and there were no traces they'd ever been there.

"Where to?" Amelia asked, her hand in Draco's as once again, they found themselves gazing out at the ocean below the cliffs.

"I have somewhere."

He closed his eyes, gripping Amelia's hand, and they vanished completely, landing in a small clearing surrounded by tall trees.

"Where are we?" Amelia asked, peering around at the shadowy forest.

"I came here with my cousins once – when I was much younger," Draco offered, putting the bag down and taking out his wand.

There was a loud crack. Immediately, Draco knew what had happened.

He ran back towards Amelia, his wand gripped in his hand, but a swooping black blur came between them. There was a yellow flash and Draco was knocked off his feet with an impact that threw him across the clearing, landing in a painful heap underneath a large tree. He quickly got to his feet, his heart thumping in his chest, and pointed his wand at whatever had just cursed him.