Following his less than successful plea behind a tent on the first day of his 'trial' in the resistance, Draco did not make another attempt to speak to Amelia. It was clear that she needed more time to process his arrival and everything he was claiming. Still, keeping his distance was torturous when she was so close.
His week living amongst the resistance had come to an end and had proved to be a much more apparent success than his progress with Amelia; Henry continued to act encouragingly towards him and even those most sceptical of Draco's intentions couldn't deny his value in the resistance. Even still though, he remained to be a complete outsider, eating meals in abject silence and spending most of his time pacing the perimeters of his own small tent. But for the few hours a day that he was proving useful to the resistance efforts, he felt electric. He'd not felt a sense of purpose since he was on the run with Amelia, and even then their purpose didn't go much further than basic survival, and he'd certainly never felt part of a team. It didn't even bother him that he was such an outcast: he'd developed a passion for this side of the war.

It was Draco's second week living among the resistance and late on a Tuesday evening as he, Henry and Harry sat in the small tent he had once been interrogated in, poring over a map of the Ministry of Magic Draco had sketched for them. The Ministry, now obviously in complete control of the Death Eaters, had changed remarkably since the fall of the wizarding world four years ago and Henry nor Harry even knew some of the new departments which had popped up.

"Lads – it's late. We should grab something to eat before it's all gone," Henry said, stifling a yawn.

Draco flicked the cigarette which had been dangling from his lips and nodded, following the two others out of the tent.

He had yet to see the dining hall so quiet; he had assumed it was always chaotic and busy, but he much preferred it like this. The four long tables were practically empty, save for a couple of small groups talking in hushed voices, or a lone person here or there reading a book or writing on some parchment as they quietly ate a plate of food. Draco walked between the rows of tables a few steps behind Henry and Harry, his hands deep in his jacket pockets. The few conversations he passed stopped dead as he walked by, and he felt the usual disapproving glare on the back of his head as he approached the kitchen area.

"Was beginning to think you lot were skipping dinner," a cheery voice called out from behind the kitchen. Ginny Weasley emerged, a hand-towel flung loosely over her shoulder. She came out to greet them, flinging her arms around Harry and pecking his nose as he screwed his face up.

"Didn't realise it was you cooking tonight," Henry said, looking suddenly a lot more excited at the prospect of dinner.

"Yep – me and Amelia. The dream team," Ginny said back. "And – we've just finished cleaning, so if you are all done talking business, we'll come join. Don't worry – there's still plenty of food left."

The three men sat down and Ginny waved her wand as if she were a conductor. Five plates and sets of cutlery flew obediently out from a long shelf along the far kitchen wall to land gracefully atop the wooden table.

"Amelia – the boys are here!" Ginny called out towards the kitchen. Draco felt a jolt of nerves pulse through him as he sat down, feeling like an intruder. Perhaps Henry sensed this as he flashed Draco a small smile.

A large pot emerged from the back of the kitchen, carried by Amelia. She wore a stained apron and had her hair tied back and out of her face. She placed the pot in the middle of the table with mock ceremony and a smile, which disappeared as she sat down and saw that it was Draco sitting opposite her.

"What's on the menu?" Henry asked eagerly.

"Mushroom stew – there's plenty left over so I hope you're all hungry," Ginny said as she dished out portions on everyone's plate.

Amelia and Draco held each other's gaze, unaware of the interactions around them. He watched as Amelia blinked and realised she was still wearing the stained apron, before hurriedly taking it off with a blushing face.

"None for me, Gin," Amelia said hastily as Ginny took her plate for serving. "I can't stay actually…"
"Where could you possibly need to go?" Henry asked amusingly. "Surely you want to hear all of the Ministry secrets Malfoy's been divulging to us?"
Ginny poured a serving of stew on Amelia's plate and she admitted defeat, slowly sitting back down.

She looked over to Draco with a cocked eyebrow. "And how is it that you know all of these Ministry secrets?" She asked pointedly.

"Worked there for the last four years, so it's not too difficult to learn what's going on," Draco replied. He could've sworn that Amelia was amused by his dry tone.

"What did you do there?" Ginny asked.

Draco looked down at his plate and mumbled, "Just a quill-pusher, really."

"He worked in the Department of Mudblood Re-Homing," Henry said, with the air of someone knowing he was revealing something interesting.

"Mudblood Re-Homing?!" Ginny echoed with wide eyes.

"It's just about as awful as it sounds," Henry said.

"Like I said, I was mostly downstairs sorting through the paperwork – a lot of which would often mysteriously go missing," Draco mumbled in a weak defence of himself, shame washing over him as he felt like even more of an intruder. He felt Amelia's inquisitive gaze upon him as he quietly ate and wanted to defend his position further, but knew he could not.

Beside them, Henry and Harry were filling Ginny in on all of the changes to the Ministry that Draco had told them earlier, as she listened intently. Draco let his eyes flick up to Amelia to catch her gaze upon him; she gave a small jump and averted her eyes. Draco had to suppress a smirk.

After dinner the group walked slowly out of the kitchen. Amelia sent the empty plates into a stack atop the kitchen bench on the far side of the room with a flick of her wand. Draco let the others walk slightly ahead, rolling a cigarette from his small silver tin. Henry and Harry were complimenting the cooking as Ginny said, "it was mostly Amelia, to be honest."

"You're cooking is even better than I remember it," Draco said in a low voice as Amelia walked past him to catch up with the others. She whipped around and gave him a wide-eyed glare.

"Though you do have a few more ingredients at your disposable now," Draco continued, bringing the cigarette to his mouth as he fell into step with her.

"Stop it," she hissed, throwing a cautious glance to the others to ensure they were well out of earshot.

Draco smirked as he lit the cigarette and took in a drag.

"Since when do you smoke?" Amelia asked in her best attempt at sounding judgemental but uncaring.

"Since I was torn apart from the woman I love and forced to live as a Death Eater," he offered in a dry and matter-of-factly tone. Beside him, Amelia sighed with what sounded like frustration, and he knew that he had caught her off guard.

"Goodnight," she said as she rolled her eyes, calling out to the others in front and veering off along a row of tents, presumably back to her own.

Draco stood and watched her leave – her ponytail bouncing behind her the way it always had done whenever she was frustrated. Progress. But he had to be patient.


The weeks continued on and with them, Draco established a routine in his new life. Each morning he would go to a duelling practice room, early enough so that it was guaranteed to be empty, and either sit and rifle through the spellbooks on the shelves, or use the space to exercise. Being without a wand was frustrating as hell, but he knew not to push asking for one. He knew he would have to wait until he was trusted enough. Spending the morning in the duelling room also allowed for the breakfast rush in the dining room to die down enough, so that he could go safely into the dining hall fairly undetected and keep the resentful glares to a minimum. His days varied between attending meetings he was invited to in order to give intel or an opinion, or reading in his room. In the evenings he would sit at the front of his tent, gazing at the clear sky and smoking, revelling in his freedom – as mundane and solitary as it was.

Though he and Amelia had crossed paths a handful of times, they had not spoken since they had accidentally eaten together weeks ago. Draco was reminded of when they were at Hogwarts, in the brief period where they had argued and weren't talking, and he would see her in the grounds or the classroom and want desperately to speak to her, but his pride always stopped him. Now, he'd been stripped of all his pride but she couldn't even look at him.

The early mornings and evenings were becoming colder, crisper and a grey drizzle hung perpetually over the shanty town. It was nearing Christmas and Draco was intrigued to see how the resistance community would approach a holiday – would it even be celebrated?

His curiosity was sated later that week, when Henry joined him for a cigarette after he too had been in the dining room for a late breakfast.

"Need to watch myself with these – they can't be good for you. Seems to be just about the only thing that calms me down though," Henry said as they stood side by side outside the dining hall. Henry nodded at passers-by as Draco averted his eyes to look at the ground.

"For me, they were just about the only feasible excuse to escape the Manor – and Pansy," Draco mused. Henry was always a captivated audience; he reminded Draco of a Labrador – excitable and eager, but then sharp as anything when something required it. Draco could tell that he would have been a fantastic auror before the war.

"That's mad that you had this pretend marriage," Henry said, said to himself, shaking his head and raising his eyebrows. "Do you think she was in love with you? Can Death Eaters even feel love?" He was half-joking.

Draco exhaled. "Perhaps… Though, I don't think I was a particularly easy person to love, so I would hope not."

"Mad," Henry said again. "Oh – by the way – the annual Christmas party is this weekend. Don't get too excited – it's just in the dining hall, but it's usually a pretty good night."

Draco nodded absently. "Thanks," he managed, stamping out his cigarette. "I've never been one for Christmas festivities."

"There's not a lot to get festive about around here so we take it where we can get it," Henry said with a small laugh, clapping Draco on the back and stamping out his own cigarette before vanishing the stubs with his wand.


The day of the party – which Draco had no intention of attending – he sat in the small meeting room, wedged between Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Harry and Henry sat opposite. Five year ago Draco would never believe that this image could ever exist, other than perhaps in his nightmares.

He could tell that Ron and Hermione were both incredibly sceptical of him, often exchanging loaded glances between them as he spoke. But what he offered was valuable, so there was no arguing with it.

As Harry rolled up the parchment they had been poring over, talk turned to the party.

"Well as usual Seamus has demanded he do all the decorations himself, so who knows what we'll be in for," Ron said.

Hermione gave him a small hit on the arm. "I didn't exactly see you offering up your assistance, Ron!"

Ron shrugged with a laugh, "I knew that he would've said no, so why bother?"

"You're uh, obviously welcome Malfoy," Harry said, in the least welcoming tone imaginable.

"Don't worry Potter, it will surprise you to discover that Christmas parties aren't really my thing," Draco said back.

"Well, if you change your mind," Henry said, before turning to the others. "As per tradition, Mills and I are going to have one drink at hers before we come to join."

That evening Draco sat at the front of his tent, as he usually did, rolling a cigarette and looking at the sun setting behind the mountains on the horizon. There was a buzz in the air tonight; he could hear others in their small tented homes around him getting ready, people strolling through the rows of tents towards the dining hall, and upbeat music carried on the wind. As he relaxed back into the chair, content in staying well away from the party, his ears pricked as a familiar voice carried along the cool evening breeze.

He looked up and saw, two rows along, Amelia walking arm in arm with Henry, both in fits of laughter as they made their way towards the dining hall. Even at a distance, Draco was captivated by her beauty.

She looked to her right, as if sensing that she was being watched, and caught Draco's eye. He waited for her expression to drop and the laughter to die on her lips, but it didn't. Perhaps she couldn't see who it was? Either way, Draco felt a beam of hope spark through him as she held his gaze for just a moment, a faint smile on her face.

It was enough for him to stamp out his cigarette and go back into his tent, pulling off the jumper he'd been wearing in favour of something more befitting of a party.