The next morning, Hermione did not get dressed. She woke up with blood staining her underwear and a foreboding, still faint ache in her lower belly. After taking as many pain killers as physically possible without blacking out later in the day, she merely sat in the kitchen in her pajamas, nursing a cup of coffee and blearily watching the sun move shadows across the surface of the table.

Today's newspaper was discarded on the kitchen counter. The headline 'Another five dead in Bavaria, Germany – when will the danger stop?' would have usually promised a good read but now left a faint aftertaste of disgust.

It felt odd, she noted, to lose her purpose. The initial shock had worn off, and a veil of vague indifference was now draped over the drunken pain she'd felt on the stone steps two days ago. Maybe because she hadn't truly aspired to the things she'd worked for; they had just been things she'd been told to work for. Just a week ago, she'd been happily… doing nothing.

No friends, not really, she had no time for that. She'd been too busy working for a job that turned out to be pointless. She had never even really worried about what happened to Obscurials once she delivered them to the Ministry. They got removed from society, but after? What then?

How had she never thought about it once?

And why did she feel a prick of jealousy, thinking about the true reason Malfoy was here?

The thought tugged at her, poked and tickled. Hermione looked over to the living room, cleaned up, only their jackets thrown over the couch. She knew he kept his cigarettes in his pocket. Drinking, smoking, all the vices she'd denied herself to keep that perfect image.

She didn't hesitate to steal his cigarettes again.

Outside, Hermione cast a warming spell around her and promptly felt unsatisfied with the front steps; she wanted to be closer to the water. When she reached the pier and repaired it with a discreet wave of her wand, she listened to the slow waves sloshing around the shore. The water was calm and deep.

The fresh wood creaked underneath her feet, foul planks resurrected from abandon and rot, and returned to their original state. Hermione sat down at the very end, feet dangling, when she finally lit the cigarette. The clear water underneath her, reflecting a shifting, flickering mirror. And she returned to that thought.

And Malfoy. His words, his eyes, his actions.

"Anette Knudsen is her fucking name!"

The way he was looking at Anette from across the room. It was something akin to hunger, fascination and curiosity all at once, but none of them strong enough not to be overshadowed by something bigger. Hope.

"Look at them, Granger. They're children."

"I'm sorry. About Hogwarts."

He cared; of all people, he cared - so much - and it seemed to eat him up inside. He cared, for some reason, so deeply. He cared, as if his life depended on it.

The sea was tired and still. The mountains loomed large on the horizon. And Hermione realized then, shakily inhaling another drag from the cigarette, that this was the difference between them.

There was nothing back in England to hold her there. Ron had a new girlfriend. Harry was busy being Harry. They'd last shared lunch three months ago, a quick ten minutes only filled with work talk. Ginny was a successful Quidditch player. Her only female friend and the rare meetups they'd practiced had fizzled out at least two years ago.

Even her London apartment was cold and empty. She'd given away Crookshanks years ago with Ron's encouragement, and after Ron moved out, she was glad for it. She was gone too much to properly take care of a pet. But it had left the flat lifeless and empty. It was a place she sometimes slept at, before the next job whisked her away to another foreign country or when the late evenings in her office at the Ministry turned into early mornings. Like a hotel, not a home. And Hermione, she was going to get a promotion at a worthless division, built on lies. None of them had ever taken a second look at her, her life, and wondered if she was actually okay.

They encouraged it.

Ron left her for it.

Her hand tugged at her necklace, fingers looping through the ring. Holding onto that life.

"Sometimes, you have this wild look in your eyes. Like you're going to break out; I don't know out of what, or what into. I'm tired of pretending it's not there."

He laid the ring onto the table gently. He reached up, placing his hand on the back of her head and pulled her forward, placing a soft kiss on her forehead.

"I'm sorry."

The thought that in the end, it was Malfoy who noticed her, who hated her enough to pull her out of it – it was a sweet irony in a sense.

Because she couldn't even pretend to care.

She envied him for it.

"Someone told me once, those things will kill you."

Hermione flinched at his voice, ringing clear in the morning air, the cigarette almost slipping from her fingers.. He was a few steps behind her, standing in the middle of the pier, relaxed with his hands in his pants, expressionless. She hadn't even heard him approach.

She looked at him straight and took a slow drag. It burned her lungs, but it was worth it. He raised an eyebrow and she couldn't help but quirk a smile, turning back towards the sea. He sat down beside her, lighting one for himself. They smoked in silence for a few moments. Hermione studied the reflection of his slippers in the water.

"What was your plan?"

He hummed curiously.

"I mean, originally. If I hadn't forced you to tell me. What was your original plan?"

For a moment, she thought, he was going to deny everything, or maybe, refuse to tell her. She looked at him, the perfectly smooth expression of his face. Only his eyes moving, slowly tracing the horizon. Then, with a deep breath, he spoke.

"I'd have obliviated you. Sent you back to England and taken Anette. Maybe steal the car. Set up somewhere in a hotel room to cure her."

Hermione let his words soak in for a moment. Thought them through. And threw them away.

"They would've caught you within days. You can't just steal a kid and send your partner back with the Obscurial nowhere to find, and you gone. Also, the car is tracked."

"I don't care. I would've found a way." He looked at her with stern eyes. Hermione shook her head.

"You were going to kidnap a child. "

"Firstly, your words, not mine, and secondly, I'd have convinced her to go voluntarily. Pretend I had adopted her. Maybe actually adopt her."

"They'd never let a 23-year-old adopt a third grader."

He curled his nose. "I'd have found a way," he repeated, stubborn.

Hermione squinted in thought. She had seen many Obscurials in the past years. Anette was no different from any of them. Except in the fact that Hermione was different now.

There was a tiny, lively energy in her chest, pushing her forward, into an insane and perfectly reasonable little idea. So enticing and neat and the words came tumbling out of her mouth.

"I have a deal."

"I've had enough of your deals, Granger." He began to sound unpleasant again.

"I know the Ministry's procedures better than anyone else, Malfoy. I know what they will come looking for. Where, and how. I know what they'll try and do to find you. You don't."

He was scowling at his lap. A low sigh, eyes squeezing shut. "I'm too tired for this."

"We don't have to call it a deal. But I want to help you."

She had turned forwards as she spoke, lifting the cigarette to her lips again, a rather poor attempt to ignore his eyes suddenly burning into the side of her face. The smoke burned in her lungs, just right.

"You want to help . 'Kidnapping' a child, as you said."

Well surely, there were worse things in the world than that. Everything to save the children, right?

"Whatever me helping you encompasses, you need it. Doing this alone would be horribly exhausting, and would probably go wrong. So don't pretend like it's the worst idea you've ever heard."

"I have no reason to trust you. You threatened to call the Ministry just yesterday." His voice was low, just a bit sinister.

"And I didn't. Look, Malfoy, I'm not forcing you anymore, I'm just offering. And you know you'd… it'd be wise to accept my help."

She looked at him again, and found him looking rather constipated, jaw clicking and nose wrinkled.

"I don't need anyone's help. Least of all yours. I know you're having your big breakdown moment, but helping me isn't what you think it'll be. This is going to be dangerous. And I won't entertain coddling you when you realize that." His voice was a low hiss, chock full with venom. Hermione tensed up. Choosing to ignore most of what he'd said, laying out her next words carefully.

"Of course you need my help, don't be ridiculous. Would you really risk something going wrong just to protect your pride?"

He sneered and lifted the cigarette to his lips again. His cheeks hollowed around it, sucking in as much of it as possible and white smoke puffed out of his parted lips when he spoke. His eyes were still fixed on the horizon.

"Is the car really tracked?"

Hermione nodded. "They didn't write it into protocol, Harry told me."

She thought about it for a second. Of course, she'd never wondered about why exactly they wouldn't be truthful about it, but now, it made much more sense.

"Probably to keep situations like this from happening."

"Situations like this," he echoed her words, taking another drag. Almost as though he wanted to suffocate the air out of his body. Slow and deliberate.

He was defeated, they both knew it, but he didn't want to accept it just yet. Slain by his own treacherous diligence.

"You're a bloody menace, Granger," he muttered, his eyes drooping with annoyance when he glanced at her. Hermione smiled at the mountains.

The jealousy in her chest had stopped squirming.

"Fine. Fine. Fuck. But I call the shots this time. I will kill myself if you boss me around again."

Hermione chuckled. Thinking of something he'd said to her a few days ago. "Let's call it a… fair fucking partnership."

"Piss off."

Draco woke with a sense of discomfort lodged in his stomach. An instant reminder of yesterday's events. He'd apologized. He could barely think about it without getting a headache. He'd told her the truth.

The only person to ever know. A defeat he felt both comforted by, and angry about. An oddity.

"You're going to tell me what you came here for, or I'll call the Ministry."

He wanted to believe that she wouldn't do it. But for the life of him, he couldn't trust her not to. And then also the look in her eyes when she said it; like she was really just pleading. Beaten to the ground with nowhere to go but up, and he was standing right above her with a hand and pity burning in his chest.

Her misery had given him comfort; no longer because he caused it, but because he wasn't alone with this feeling. To see her so vulnerable two nights ago; so open and honest. It was weakness, something a coward would do. But not her. Somehow, with her it seemed different. Almost brave.

It was sickening.

He climbed down into his suitcase and sifted through the box of old Daily's Prophets besides his desk. He'd kept them all; especially those with her on the front cover. Waving and smiling, words of praise and admiration hanging above her head. For the first time ever, he saw the lack of expression in her eyes for something different.

So he hid the box far away, in an unseen corner of the lowest shelves. He didn't want to see them anymore.

Another newspaper greeted him when he entered the kitchen. So he left, back into the living room, and through the window, he noticed the hunched figure sitting on the pier. He didn't even hesitate, but he should have stayed inside.

If Granger had offered to help him three days ago, Draco would have gone into hysterics at the mere thought. And then dreamed about strangling her. Maybe even actually done it.

And today, he begrudgingly admitted that accepting her help was maybe a smart course of action. Even though he could not quite believe that she was truly ready to face all the challenges of the adventure they were about to embark on. This was just a symptom of her breakdown. It would pass.

She was going to leave at some point. When it got too much, too dangerous, too real. He didn't even worry about it. Until then, he could use her knowledge.

"Also, the car is tracked."

Sneaky and vile Ministry hadn't written that into the protocol. Apart from her useful knowledge though, there was something else that made him agree, at least for now. It was that look in her eyes. Thinly veiled, glassy desperation.

They were not so different after all, in so many unexpected ways.

In a horrid display of involuntary domesticity, they soon discovered that they had run out of food almost entirely. Little more was left than the butchered can of beans – a stark reminder of their bender that Draco still felt uncomfortable about – and while Granger ranted about the tens of thousands of things they needed to do now, he decided that they would go grocery shopping first.

"… And the Ministry is expecting us back in ten days. We have until then to figure out how to do this. There's a lot we have to consider," she ranted as they drove out of Jøvik. Draco had an empty report form in his lap, filling it with vague lies about the observations they hadn't done. It still all felt too surreal, reality shifted just a bit too much.

When he opened that ancient chest he found in the attic of his cottage in Collobrières, he'd merely found an outlet for his grief in the centuries old, indecipherable diaries and parchments. Today, he was going grocery shopping with Hermione Granger as she dictated to him what lies to tell their superiors.

"We need to keep it as natural as possible. Once we know how to avoid them, we can sprinkle in information to mislead them," she spoke with the confidence of someone who did this every day.

"By mislead, you mean faking our deaths? Stop driving so fast, I can't write."

The car slowed a bit.

"I thought about that, but they'll just send Auror's sniffing around. I think it's best to stay in the house, we should avoid moving Anette around too much. She might still be unstable after what happened."

"The house is Ministry owned. That's the first place they'll come looking," Draco argued, frowning at her side profile. She winced.

He still had not gotten used to the short hair. The curls were lighter, not weighed down by length anymore, and bounced with every move. They looked like a halo around her head.

"They will, but when they find it empty, they'll move onto whatever trail we lead them on. They won't come back to it. Harry told me they have limited manpower in our divisions. We'll just have to make them believe that we've left for good."

"That's far too complicated. We should just go find someplace else."

She sighed loudly. "We can tackle that later again. But for now, I can tell Harry something. Maybe that Anette died, so they won't come looking for her, and that we took off."

"Does he know yet that you're partnered with me?" Draco asked, flipping the pages to the next report form.

"No, but when we disappear, he'll find out."

"If you tell him that we left, he'll probably think I'm holding you hostage. If we fake my death, they won't come looking."

Granger glanced at him, an unsettled look.

"Why wouldn't they come looking–"

"The Ministry never really liked me," he said matter of fact, almost adding 'That's why I left' , but no bother.

"That's ridiculous. You're their employee." She didn't even sound convinced. Her words were followed by a resigned sigh.

"You're right. Roberts told me himself," she continued before he could answer. Draco arched an eyebrow.

"What did he tell you?"

She looked deeply uncomfortable, the corners of her mouth pulled downwards.

"He told me that they had a laugh when your résumé came in. Your hiring was never… serious."

Coldness descended upon his rigid shoulders, oozing down his body. Draco stared ahead, unmoving, as the works sunk in. He knew he was hated in his homeland. He'd known since Sixth Year. But to hear it from Hermione Granger herself, was a mere twist of the knife long lodged inside of him, almost forgotten for its presence.

But no one could forget the stain upon their perfect Wizarding society that was Draco Malfoy.

"Exactly what I mean. And I promise you that if Potter thinks I was anywhere near you when you decided to leave, everyone will think I had something to do with it," he spoke casually after a few moments.

"Faking your death will still have them send Aurors. It's protocol."

Draco added today's date to the bottom of both reports and cast a spell to dry the ink, folding and sliding them into the envelope. Maybe he was just a bit disappointed. One didn't get a lot of chances to fake their own death, after all.

"Bloody hell, fine. You were supposed to get married two days ago so I honestly don't think anyone would be shocked if you went off to find yourself or some shite. Just tell Potter to not contact you and it'll be fine."

She grimaced again. Ah yes, he thought, maybe don't mention the almost wedding only two days after the fact. They drove the rest of the way in pensive silence.

The supermarket was a plain warehouse on the side of the road with a large red sign reading "coop marked" above the entrance. The inside was indistinguishable from any other store he'd been to; fluorescent lights that gave off an uncomfortable buzzing, narrow aisles and white, clean tiles that made shoes squeak.

They separated, each going off to find what they needed, and Draco soon gravitated towards the fresh produce section.

One of the perks of living in France for three years were the town square markets every Sunday, with the freshest local ingredients he could possibly ask for, and he'd soon found a passion for cooking. He'd never cooked or baked growing up, so he'd taught himself using recipes he found in old books in his cottage and magazines from shops. He could have summoned a house elf from England at any time to do the cooking for him, but he loathed the dependency.

Thinking of it, he hadn't seen Granger cook even once since they'd arrived. She'd only ever eaten prepped meals from rest stops or gas stations.

He looked up, over the counter brimming with apples and oranges and bananas, to the refrigerators on the other side. Granger had opened one and stood there, leaning into the glass frame, like she was searching for something, yet frozen in place.

He lifted a bag of potatoes into the metal carrier in his hand and when he looked back up, the refrigerator door bumped closed, and Granger disappeared into an aisle.

This continued on; every time he saw her from afar, she was leaning against things, her face a pale, wincing grimace. By the time they were paying, she was holding onto the belt conveyor for dear life, eyebrows scrunched in focus. Slowly whipping back and forth on the balls of her feet. The young cashier looked worried. The words got stuck in Draco's throat.

They finally jumped out when they got back into the car, two large bags of groceries thrown onto the backseat, and Granger was clasping the driving wheel, leaning her forehead against it and emitting a low groan.

They came out far softer than intended.

"Merlin, are you okay?"

She sat up at his words, manning a smooth expression. "Yes, I'm fine. Let's go."

The engine started and then she was grimacing again, a high-pitched groan squeezing out of her. Draco shifted in his seat, leaning towards her on instinct.

"Granger, if you just tell me what's bloody wrong, I can help you-"

"You can't help, it's not… It's just my period."

She had turned her face away, words getting quieter as she spoke. Draco stared at her sunken form, the slight shake in her shoulders, her arm curled around her stomach protectively. Instinct kicked in.

"Get out."

"What?" she breathed, head whipping, looking at him with wide eyes. Draco unbuckled his seat belt. More confident with every second.

"Get in the passenger's seat. I'm driving."

"You can drive? You never told me you can drive!"

"You never asked me. Get out."

Her protests faded as he got out of the car and walked around the hood, opening her door. Her objections stopped, but she did her best to glare at him while they switched places.

"I can't believe you can drive. You have a driver's license? And everything?" she drilled as he adjusted his seat. Granger had curled into the passenger's seat but had turned her head, watching him suspiciously.

"Bloody hell, yes. I had a car while I lived in France. There's no need to shit your trousers over it–"

"And you let me drive this entire time without thinking to tell me even once–"

"Because you didn't bloody ask!"

Finally done adjusting, Draco just noticed that this wasn't an automatic car. He'd never really paid attention when she drove. The car was a stick shift.

Which he'd driven once, three years ago.

Granger stared at him with squinting eyes. Breathing low to still the pain, he thought.

What was it again? Clutch pedal, then start the car? And what about the handbrake? He froze.

"You know how to drive manual, right?" a wary voice came from his right. He sneered.

"Of course I do."

"Well, then drive."

Right then, the car shrieked and screamed, jumping and throwing them in their seats. He'd accidentally released the clutch pedal. Granger knocked her head into the window.

"Oh, Merlin's fuck, you don't."

"I only drove automatic! Stick shift makes no sense!" he hissed, ramming the gear stick into first and restarting the engine. And releasing the handbrake this time.

"No, I don't trust you. I'm driving." She moved to open the door. Draco reached over her and slammed it shut again.

"You'll kill us, you can't even stand."

"You'll kill us too, you can't even drive!"

"I can! I drove manual when I first took driving lessons. I can figure this out. Just – rest, or something, I'll get us home."

"Can't we just Apparate home?" she whined silently, eyes closed as if in prayer.

"Apparating gives the Ministry information on where we are. You said they need longer to track the car. It's best they know as little as possible," he said as he slowly released the clutch, pushing the acceleration. The engine cried, making the car rattle and heave, but they inched forward slowly.

"See, I'm doing it."

"Yes, at this pace, we will arrive home just in time for breakfast tomorrow."

They crept through the car park. An empty plastic bag flew by them. Then the car jolted again, throwing them forward and dying underneath him. Blood rose into his neck, hot and fast, and he tried to swallow it down. Granger sighed.

"Push the clutch again and release it while pushing the accelerator."

The car ached and shook, and almost died on him again, but soon, they were rolling down the street at a comfortable pace, the car wheezing. Not only was manual, in his opinion, a sure death trap, but the car was so shitty, he felt convinced that the floor would fall down underneath them and leave him running over the road. He'd never admit it, but he was terrified.

"I'm never letting you drive again. Push the clutch again and switch into second, and repeat."

Draco switched into second gear, slowly, still terrified of the car's language. He felt like it almost died underneath him again. With one hand on the wheel he reached into the back seat, shoveling through the grocery bags.

"What are you – Fuck!"

She curled into herself with a pained moan and a shaky pant, her entire form trembling and twisting. Draco grimaced, an uncomfortable sensation spreading in his gut. Why did it feel so bad to see her in pain when just a few days ago, he was high on it?

"I got these… Norwegian candy, I think. My mother always liked this kind of stuff when she had her period. Suck on these and let me drive," he said when he finally found the bag of hard caramel candies and he handed it to her. She said nothing, tearing open the crackling bag.

"Shift into third," she mumbled a minute later, mouth full with candy. Draco did.

They got home after twice as much time as usual. When Draco threw the car into park and laid his forehead against the wheel in utter exhaustion, he promised himself to never do this again. He'd only done it this once because he wasn't keen on dying because of Granger's cramps running them into the sea.

And when he looked over at Granger, she had fallen into what had to be an uncomfortable sleeping position, her face contorted into a focused expression. Frowning in her sleep.

Trying to make her go lie down was like getting blood from a stone. It should not have concerned him this much whatever kind of predicament she was in, he knew it, but for the life of him he couldn't stand to see it. Her poorly masked pain, the low wheezes of hurt, the shaky breaths.

It was just that pathetic weakness of his again.

She compromised to lay on the couch, watching him through bleary eyes as he stored away all of their groceries and contributed little to his loud brainstorming.

An hour later, the door knocked. Draco stormed past the couch door before she could even attempt to get up. It was Theo, shaking his boots from the snow.

"Just here to get the reports," he greeted him. Draco nodded mutely. Realization descended upon him as he retrieved the envelope from where he'd thrown it onto the living room table. Granger was awake and as he turned back towards the door, their eyes locked for a moment.

Wide open, stunned. She realized it, too.

What were they going to do about Theo?