"Onkle Nikolai?"
It was the in they needed. A Norwegian dictionary Granger had in her bottomless purse had told them exactly what they suspected; onkle meant uncle, and for some reason, Anette thought Draco was hers, one called Nikolai.
The thing about Obscurials, no matter how many lies the Ministry and press had told the world over the years – they were still fragile beings. And forcing them to do anything against their will was something Draco never wanted to risk. Anette would have had no reason to go with a random man, unless he'd miraculously convinced her that he'd adopted her – in the middle of the night, too – but thinking he was a relative made it all the much easier.
Also the fact that she was pretty much asleep could not be dismissed. Did it feel weird?
"Anette, it's me, uncle Nikolai. I've adopted you, isn't that great? But you need to come with me right now."
She'd listened to his words with half an ear, blinking through the sleep and stretching her arms above her head as she yawned. But she understood him, and only asked one thing, with a dreamy, soft voice.
"We're leaving?"
Draco nodded, hoping it was the right answer. And he saw how she could think that they were related; her light blue eyes flashed through the dark with clear recognition. Her light blonde hair, common with many Norwegians he'd seen, spread on the pillow, a golden halo around her face.
"Okay."
The best word he'd ever heard. Okay. Absolutely fucking glorious.
She'd muttered something about her things, turning towards the nightstand next to him, and Draco lulled her back to sleep as he shrunk the few books, loose play figures and a tiny pair of shoes, and crammed them into his pockets. And when he wrapped his arms around the hollow of her knees and the back of her shoulders, cradling her close as he stood up, his knees almost buckled when she snuggled closer and wrapped an arm around his neck.
Something in his throat made him choke and halt.
He hadn't felt this in years. That blindness. The absence of distrust. She had no reason to see anything malicious in him, his intentions, painted into every line of his being and who he was. He wasn't Draco Malfoy to her.
Just… some guy. Or in this case, her uncle.
Warmth spread behind his ribs, light and heavy all the same, weighing him down. He shuddered at it. Let it breathe. And his eyes swept over the room.
It was entrenched in darkness except for the light from his wand, throwing a soft glow onto the lumps in the duvets, children sleeping peacefully. They'd never know what truly happened to her.
Until everyone would.
Descending the stairs, he remembered Granger's part. She didn't like it; he'd seen it in her eyes when he asked if she could perform a false memory charm. Probably those pesky morals again. But Anette had never met her, and while a female presence would've probably been more affirming, he was Anette's uncle – or so she thought – and he couldn't quite do everything.
He'd seen the fear painted plainly into her expression, still wet, just minutes ago in the foyer before they separated. He'd almost patted her shoulder in reassurance, before he felt the thought scolding him hot.
Her wand's light greeted him, the single speck of a tiny sun hovering in the foyer. The next moment, he felt another silencing charm encompassing his feet. And then, when he approached, her wide, round eyes were fixed on Anette.
The true reason why he'd had to do this part. Because uncle Nikolai or not, Granger still had those quiet moments. Pulling back and away, into her mind, when those fatal doubts slipped through the cracks and appeared watery in her eyes. She was still afraid of Obscurials.
Draco could not find it in him then, holding Anette close and feeling her small, warm body curled against him in utter trust, to blame Granger.
"Come on," he whispered. "Touch her."
They had no time for this, he knew it, but he also knew how important this was for the future of this bloody mission. Because Granger had perhaps been more helpful so far than he could've imagined. And he watched the surprised, small O of her mouth as she stroked Anette's cheek, a breath of relief.
Anette slept still, but she shifted the earth. He felt it. That faint presence of something dark, something filthy, hidden deep within the concaves of her body, living and squirming in her chest. It pushed slowly at him, at his own magic, and forced him back. But it didn't react at Granger's touch; it merely continued in its persistent, venomous state of non-existence.
There was power deep within her, something greater than all of them, and just as destructive. It was mere breath; a most insignificant breeze of mortality brushing against his pounding heart. Made his lungs stop. A tremble in his parted lips, overwhelmed.
Reminding him, that time had been running out for years.
"Her bedroom is the third door on the right. There are three other children sleeping in there, the Muffliato should still be affecting them."
Draco maneuvered her into the backseat, careful not to wake her up, and when he found himself unable to buckle her in comfortably, he simply decided to stay with her and sit in the back.
Her even breaths fanned against the bottom of his shirt, warming him through the fabric. He watched her for a few minutes, eyes tracing along the serene, tranquil smoothness of her young face. Utterly innocent, in the way only children could be. So uncorrupted and undisturbed by the horrors of the world.
Draco felt an old urge rising, somewhere deep within the depths of his gut. To protect her at all costs. It soared somewhat similar to bile, a gag in the back of his throat, and he needed to look away. It pained him for a moment, to suddenly feel so responsible for her safety.
The moon had banished the darkness, beaming upon the orphanage. It seemed ghostly this late hour, like a flash into an abandoned future. Dark windows and deserted childhoods.
And leaned against the door stood Granger, her head tilted back, the sweet moonlight illuminating her face. Draco opened the door a smidge. The sickness, the urge, it spewed out of him.
"Granger, stop wasting time!"
She shot him a nasty look, just as he'd expected. As she climbed in, he couldn't help but look down at Anette again. She was like a magnet, pulling him in.
His body, his eyes, his lids were tired. But his mind was wide awake, and it kept him alert on the somber drive home.
He wondered if it was a bad omen, that by the time they got to their cottage by the sea, the sky was truly plain and black, flaunting the stars of the universe, no northern lights in sight. Anette was sound asleep all through the drive and he carried her to bed, tucked her in tight and made sure to apply all the alert spells they had chosen, that wouldn't pose any danger at triggering the Obscurus. They had a vague plan for what to do and say once she woke up in a completely unknown environment; circumstances not known to calm any child, and especially not a child hosting a vile, destructive force inside.
Granger was pouring herself a cup of coffee when he entered the kitchen.
"It's half past one in the morning," he stated in a slow, monotone voice. She turned sideways, glancing at him but continuing to fill the cup to the brim.
"Yes, and I won't be able to sleep. I'm far too excited," she spoke with the conviction and speed of someone high on rather potent drugs. Draco's wand slipped from his sleeve into his hand, and he pointed it at her mug just as she lifted it to her lips. With a muttered spell, he made the coffee sweep out into a moving body of liquid hovering in the air. "Try to drink that then."
She sputtered.
"Malfoy, put it back!"
He directed the coffee to hover above the sink. She put her emptied mug onto the counter and her hands on her hips, eyebrows drawn and mouth opening and closing, bobbing, searching for the words. Only sounds of utter exasperation could be produced.
"You're absolutely no use if you stay up all night. Tomorrow might be the beginning of the worst part of this, and we need to be rested for it. You'll be exhausted, and that'll put us in jeopardy."
His voice was steady and stern, and as he spoke, her angry stance turned into a sulking one. Crossed arms and pouting lips.
Oh, how he loved being right. He raised a cocky eyebrow at her. Giving his wand, and the blob of coffee, a little whirl.
And then with a low swoop, he filled the coffee back into her mug. She didn't even glance at it. Rather looking like she was going to curse him. His lips curved into a nasty smile, rather pleased with himself.
"You're insufferable," she seethed.
"And you need to go to bed."
"How are you so calm? You've worked what, three years for this? And you're just going to go take a nap like nothing happened? Like we don't have an Obscurial upstairs?" she whispered, stepping closer with every question and pointing at the ceiling as she finished. Her eyes were fire.
She was right, but he'd never admit that. Draco's nose twitched, and he stepped forward too, towering above her.
"I am not calm, but I realize how difficult tomorrow is going to be! Whether Theo decides to help us or not is going to decide the entire rest of all this, the next few months, and since you're so bloody keen on telling him about the cure, we need to be as rested as possible!"
"Truth is absolutely crucial in this case, of course we have to tell him if we want to have any chance of getting his help–"
"…And to make sure we make no mistake when we tell him, nor when, or if, we have to obliviate him if he refuses to help!"
It was a ridiculous match of hissed whispers, a hushed sort of yelling, a ritual parents would perform so as to not alert their child, an irony that didn't escape him. By the end of it, the air had grown hot with breaths and pants, raspy voices and seething words. Granger's hands wrung in the air between them, and for a moment, he thought she was to curl them into fists and hit his chest. But at the last second, she opened them flat, pushing through the air towards him. Sarcastic obedience inscribed into her tightlipped smile and the tilt of her head, a brisk nod.
"I'll just go to bed, of course, after bloody kidnapping a child, you're right, Malfoy. I forgot you do this every weekend!"
"If you stop calling it kidnapping you might worry about your morals less!" She pushed past him then.
"Just shut up!" she hissed and then lunged up the stairs on her toes, making not a single sound. Draco almost stomped after her, anger soaring out, but no words to accompany it.
"No – you shut up!" he said lamely, and immediately cringed.
"Ha!"
And with that last triumph, she was gone.
Draco pulled faces at the ugly carpet. His hands curled into fists and opened flat, sweaty palms rubbing over his trousers. His heart was pounding. Merlin, she was useful, but bloody insufferable sometimes.
He chucked the coffee down the drain and followed her up the stairs to go to a restless sleep.
It had been exactly a week since they'd arrived in Norway. It was the second thing Draco thought of when he woke from a light sleep only four hours later.
The first thing was Anette. It wasn't as much his first thought, but rather the only thought that had kept him tossing and turning all night. It was the kind of feeling that would keep him up at Hogwarts; when there was an important exam the next day, and he wondered if he'd studied enough, what questions would come, if he'd forgotten anything. But here the study material was three years of preparation, and the exam was Anette.
It churned his stomach.
The entirety of it all, last night's mission and flawless success, it seemed unreal. But when he slid out his wand from under his pillow as he did every morning, he felt the alarm charm on Anette's bedroom on it, a low vibration. She was in there, and thank Merlin, still sleeping.
He didn't bother to get dressed. If they were lucky, they had maybe one, or two more hours to prepare for her waking up. The house was still dark.
It had been a week since they'd arrived in Norway, and Draco thought it odd that they had somewhat developed a routine now. Granger usually got up before him and by the time he trudged into the kitchen for his first coffee, she'd already prepared a pot and was reading the newspaper. And especially the past few days, since they stole the car, had… an ambitious air to them.
Draco knew that Granger's help was more than useful. Maybe he was even glad to have accepted her proposal. Yet, on the other hand, he still woke up in a cold sweat several times a night; how could he trust her? What if she decided to just leave and tell people? He wouldn't be able to stop her, not like he wanted to; but she knew things about him, the cure, and his plans. The thought overcame him like a tidal wave, crashing down and drowning him. What would happen if she decided to simply flee and tell people? How would he survive?
She stole a car for them, sure; but that didn't mean she was in it for the long run. He couldn't help those swaying doubts, nagging and eating at him so often, when the reality of his situation overwhelmed him and sent his heart into a staggering rhythm right in his throat, choking him with a whisper: 'You're trapped, this is it, you can't get out of this anymore, your life is in her hands'. And the glint in her eyes, the tight set of her lips when he had to walk away and gather himself; he knew that she noticed it.
Too bad that he was already at too full an emotional capacity to care.
This morning was no different. She was hunched over the table in a half-asleep position, holding up her head with one arm, elbow perched, dragging her eyes across whatever paper she was reading.
"Did you sleep?" she murmured, small, tired eyes flickering at him as he walked past.
"Like a baby." He poured himself coffee. She huffed.
"Any news?" he leaned against the counter, taking a sip. It was bitter and lukewarm and he grimaced.
She stared at him with zero understanding for a few seconds, until she glanced at the paper underneath her.
"This is Anette's folder, not the newspaper. I almost forgot about it, I found it in my coat pocket ten minutes ago," she yawned, and Draco lunged forward. How could he have forgotten?
"Well, what does it say?" He put his mug down on the table and leaned over to read as well. Granger rubbed her temples.
"She was born on October 12th, 1994, and her parents died in a car crash in '98. She was in the car too, but somehow remained unharmed. Her maternal grandmother took her in for a while but then handed her over to the orphanage for no reason, it seems."
He pulled the binder towards him as she spoke, his eyes racing across the information it offered. Pages upon pages of her life, summarized years of her school attendance, grades, visits, and papers of admission; the reason why she was at the orphanage in the first place.
"Here, her uncle. Nikolai."
Under the family relations tab, in broken English – she had used a basic translation spell, he could tell – there was only one sentence.
"Nikolai Knudsen, paternal uncle, could not be located for regarding potential adoption."
"Could not be located? Did they lose him or something?" Draco pulled a face. Granger hummed.
"No idea. We can probably find something if we visit a police station in Tromsø," she yawned again. Draco allowed her to pull the file back towards herself, perching closer to read over her shoulder, suppressing his own yawn.
"The process of being adopted by the Johanssen's had been ongoing for a year. She'd only been with them for less than a week until… Well, you know. The police put her back into the orphanage on a whim because they didn't know what else to do," she outlined the pages upon pages of yearlong reports of visits and adoption processes.
"It says she was very excited for her new family," she finished quietly. Knowing how the story ended. Draco turned away. Opening cupboards, looking at the food they had left, just for something to do.
And they spent the next few hours like this, in subdued silence, sometimes exchanging glances to make sure the other still knew. As though it was possible to forget.
With all the doubts Draco had of her, it turned out that her early joining of the division was rather useful; she had helped develop many of the spells and tools they used. The badges, for one, they had to send back for how useful they were, and as such, dangerous in the wrong hands. But all the more necessary to keep. Which was why they would be able to tell if they made copies of them; an issue Granger knew to evade in a manner he'd almost call smart.
They'd made duplicates, and would send back the copies. Because they could tell if copies had been made of the originals; the copies themselves hadn't been duplicated. She swore up and down that this would work, and he begrudgingly agreed that it made sense.
Draco was sat at the kitchen table and hunched over a school report of Anette's from Second grade. She was good at reading time, whatever that meant.
It was exhilaratingly boring, but something to distract his brain from crashing down along the high rush. The doubts of what would happen when she woke up; if he could calm her down and make her believe that he wasn't here to hurt her, or if she was going to feel cornered. And possibly blow up. A rather nerve-wracking aspect. He could be dead within the hour.
Granger was spread out on the couch, squinting at a Norwegian dictionary.
It was then that the low hum of his always present wand, malleable wood nestled against his forearm began to climb into a strong vibration.
The chair screeched shrill over the kitchen tiles, but Draco was already at the foot of the stairs, feet scrambling, flying. Granger moved slowly, out of his dimension, peeking over the couch.
"She's waking up," was all he managed to say before taking the stairs three steps at a time.
How does one explain to a child why it got inexplicably adopted in the middle of the night and is now waking up somewhere she'd never seen before?
For starters, they'd decided, it was good for her not to wake up alone. And not surrounded by unfamiliar faces. So, while Draco stepped into the sparsely lit room and took place on a chair next to her bed – her small form was stirring awake, stretching and low hums – Granger stayed outside. Listening in with some sort of extendable ear she promised would allow her to hear everything. In case things went awry.
Draco leaned forward, spreading one hand on the duvet. Grounding his pounding pulse, his racing thoughts, right into this dim bedroom with a mountain view. He waited, watching, for the trenches of sleep to seep away and to truly meet her for the first time.
To speak those words he'd dreamt of for years.
"I'm going to heal you."
Slow breaths fanned past his parted lips. His mind was like a needle point: focused, a tunnel vision, on her. He watched the bundle of blonde hair peeking out from under the blanket, the duvet swaying with her every move.
And then her round face appeared, turned towards her window, towards the rising sun. Her eyes squeezed shut, and two little fists came up to rub the night away.
Could she even remember last night? How she'd gotten here?
The air was sealed behind his lungs. He stared at her, any indication of fear or panic on her face. But there was little more than post sleep confusion.
Until her hands fell away, and her eyes found him.
And the most amazing light spread in the sky blue of them.
"Uncle Nikolai!" she cried and lunged forward, throwing her arms around him, and Draco braced himself against the small body thrown at him with full force. He hugged her back just as energetically, but she knocked it out of him nonetheless.
The doubts that plagued his existence, they simmered out and dispersed into the solid grip she had on him; the slight trembling of her body, wiry arms holding on tight. Her face nuzzled into his shoulder and excited breaths accompanied her shaking form.
She must have really loved her uncle, a vicious voice whispered in the back of Draco's mind; reminding him that despite all, she only trusted him because she didn't know who he actually was.
"Where were you? I missed you, does this mean you adopted me?"
She let go of him and sat back on the bed, a huge grin, sparkling eyes, a smile to lighten the room. She was positively vibrating. Draco hesitated.
"I was – busy, you know? But I'm back now–"
"And you adopted me?" she interrupted him, a toothy grin spread across her bubbly cheeks. Draco nodded with a relieved smile.
"Yes, you'll live with me now. Isn't that great?"
And as if a switch clicked, she suddenly backed away. Grasping the sheets behind her and feet pushing into the mattress, to put distance between them. A quiver of fear shook her bottom lip; worry written into her frowning eyebrows. Draco wanted to reach out, pull her back towards him, but the sudden panic paralyzed him.
"Uncle, ever since you left – bad things have been happening, and I think – I think it's my fault," she said, and her voice ebbed and flowed with fear. She could barely bring the words out.
And that glassy look in her eyes, like she was preparing herself for something. So wide and chock full with doubt. Draco reached out the flat of his hand, palm facing up.
"I know. I'm here to help you."
A shadow of confusion ghosted across her face. Just barely enough to outweigh the fear, and Draco's heart cracked when he realized that she wasn't afraid of him.
It was the way she was pulling away from him, like he'd burned her, and yet there was that worry; no, like she'd burned him. She was afraid for him.
"You believe me?" she whispered, bright blue eyes wide with awe.
"I came back to help you," Draco forced out. "That's why I went away. To find… a medicine. I found it, so I adopted you."
It wasn't all lies, rights? He didn't come back because he was never here in the first place, sure; but she looked so hopeful. So open, so willing to believe. Maybe she wanted to believe the lie.
"You're going to help me?" she asked, so easy, so trusting, and Draco could have never denied her, even if he'd wanted to. His heart fluttered, watching her shoulders relax as she asked, and he knew that the worst was over.
She trusted him.
"Yes."
She smiled. Draco found himself smiling back almost immediately. To look at her and feel a blob of honey happiness seep through his bones, sticky sweet and soothing smooth.
For just a moment, that was all he needed. It was the easiest feeling in a world ridden with lies and corruption, sworn as much against him as it was sworn against the girl in front of him. They shared a side of the coin, and he felt ready to flip it.