A/N - WARNING: This story will deal with major themes such as depression, anxiety, and ptsd. It's a story of healing, however, so I can promise you a happy ending.

She didn't know where they were. That was the one thought that kept echoing in her head even as she ran between bodies and sent spell after spell at Death Eaters who were running out of Hogwarts; she didn't know where they were. Harry had disappeared some time after Voldemort's message and some of the Death Eaters were making a rather slow retreat and she didn't fucking know where he was nor did she have any idea where Ron was and all she could think about was Fred, dead Fred under that pile of stones and she saw people dragging his body into the Great Hall and her vision became blurred with her tears. Fred, who with his twin always managed to coax a smile to her face. Fred, who along with his brother, had shown her that being smart wasn't just about good marks. Fred, who was the first person to find out about her crush on his younger brother and who dried her tears when he caught her crying over him last summer. George was still making miserable noises in the back of his throat, she could hear him from where she standing, and she tore her eyes away.

The best thing I can do for them is find their brother, she thought, the best thing is to find and keep Ron safe.

And then she spotted his red hair and her face brightened because Ron was alright, and he saw her too, and he rushed towards the Great Hall and he gave her a tortured smile and —

He paused as Voldemort sent out another message. Harry was dead.

They locked their eyes. Time itself seemed to slow down, she felt as if she had just twisted a time turner and this was the moment right before the world started to spin and time started to reverse and then there was a light —

A Death Eater, who hadn't quite left yet despite their hour of cease fire, hit Ron with a green light right before all hell broke loose and she lost him from her vision. He missed, dear Merlin tell me he missed!

All of sudden she was outside. She'd gotten caught in the crowd rushing out and she hadn't seen Ron. And Harry was lying limp in Hagrid's arms. And she was doomed. She wasn't thinking about them now, no, now her massive brain was in overdrive because she had to survive — she had to. She could grieve and cry and shriek until she coughed out blood later — blood, it all came back to that — but now she had to worry about herself, she was still alive, she had to survive, she had to worry about the living.

She felt eyes on her, burning through her, and she turned and burned right back and she saw, she recognized her thoughts in someone else's pupils and if she had to be the hero, well, here was someone she'd save.

But she'd had it. She'd had it fighting a war that wasn't hers, not really, she'd had it being a hero and being loyal and sacrificing and fuck it, she was allowed a moment of selfishness. Ron had run, she was allowed a moment of fucking humanity.

She made her way slowly through the crowd gathered outside, and he moved towards her as well, and they met in the middle, everyone too focused on Voldemort to notice how two enemies — two broken children from opposing sides grabbed each other's hands and disappeared from the battle.

. . . . . . . . .

Nobody noticed him as he moved through the chaos, but he was there, and he saw. He saw the green light. He saw it go towards Weasley and though he didn't see it hit, he saw Weasley's body on the floor. And he saw Granger, beaten, bloody, broken Granger, her jaw slack and her mouth parted and the tears formed in her eyes but too frozen from shock to fall.

He saw it in her eyes, as if a switch had gone out and he recognized the look, that moment where the light in someone's eyes dies, where there's no hope, where faith won't keep you going and he knew that she'd seen too much.

And that made him itch for a chance to run. If Granger — good, golden Granger — had lost hope, had lost her fire, than what in Merlin's name did a spineless coward like Draco Malfoy hope to achieve?

Find your parents, then run.

He couldn't help thinking, as he ran through the Great Hall, ignoring glares and tears and the bodies — oh fuck, the bodies — that this was all his fault. This madness — he'd chosen to help the man who was responsible. It was his fault, all this pain and torture that not only he was feeling, but countless others, he was the bad guy.

So his suffering, in the end, would amount to nothing.

Because he was the monster in this story.

Or, he wasn't even that. He wasn't that important. Simply a coward who did nothing for anyone.

The Hero had just died. He hadn't been the good guy. And he couldn't even say that his horrible actions were to keep himself safe, because the Dark Lord no longer cared for the Malfoy's nor their many sacrifices. Draco had nothing to speak for what he'd done.

Voldemort came, parading Potter's corpse like a fucking trophy, and Draco saw his aunt dancing and cackling madly, making him feel ill, and then he noticed his parents, and they were alive and all of a sudden Draco didn't care anymore. He felt angry. Angry at his father for bringing this into their lives. Angry at his mother for letting him. Angry at their whole fucking family and their bloodline and their fucking legacy, fuck the Malfoy name, fuck it all to hell.

They were alive, not safe, but alive and there was no way he was going to stay wether their side won or not, and as if it were magic itself he turned his head, about to disapparate when he saw her, and she looked —

There was his chance.

To do something, anything, as a last ditch effort to not be the coward, at least in his own mind, to do something, anything that actually mattered.

He remembered the feeling of helplessness back at the Manor, when she was screaming and begging and he did nothing and good god he hated it, hated himself, his bitch of an aunt, hated Granger for getting caught and being filthy, and how he had longed to do something.

And then her eyes turned to him, burning with the same self-preservation his own had always burned with. Yes, he would run, but he'd do something, anything, to make up for it, to make up for everything.

And they both moved together, opposites attracting like magnets, until they collided in the middle and neither hesitated, she put her hand in his and he grabbed her and thought of a place they could hide, and run. I was wrong, so wrong, I need to do something right.

She had trouble opening her eyes that morning. Not because she didn't want to but because her eyes were glued together from all the tears she'd shed the previous night. Her head felt like it would explode, as if all the memories of yesterday's horror were wracking havoc in her head, making sure to leave a permanent mark in her brain.

. . . . . . . . .

She rubbed her bleary eyelids until she was able to pry them apart and stood up off the small bed she'd slept in, confused with her surroundings. She felt dizzy on her sore legs, as if she were a foal testing them out, and had to hold onto the wall for balance.

It was there, whilst she was focusing on the floorboards between her feet and clutching the wall that she remembered, that every detail came whirling back into her mind until she wasn't staring at floorboards anymore, no, but a small puddle of salty tears that dripped from her swollen eyes. She made a pained gasp as her knees made contact with the ground, but couldn't find the strength to stand again so she sat there, face buried in her hands.

. . . . . . . . .

He hadn't been able to fall asleep last night. He'd listened to her sobbing while she'd taken a shower and then he'd listened to it while she lay in the bedroom he'd pointed out to her and now, he was still lying in his bed not sleeping, but listening to her cry again.

He'd nearly dozed off, tired from the shock of it all about an hour after she'd finally passed out in her own bed but then she started screaming. He knew she was having night terrors, but hadn't woken her up to comfort her. I don't know her that well, he'd thought, I'd be intruding. Never mind the fact that the idea of touching her, of being near her still made him feel uncomfortable. It was hard to let go of his past prejudices, and though he finally knew blood purity was bullshit, he needed time. Rome wasn't built in a day, and Draco Malfoy couldn't destroy his prejudice in a night.

He wasn't even sure how he'd managed to grab her hand (unusually warm, though not clammy, not unpleasant), perhaps their combined adrenaline and the moment of it all, and then he'd somehow managed to apparate away, to an old Malfoy cottage everyone had forgotten about but that his mother had given him as a present on his fifteenth birthday.

"It's been warded," she'd said, in a neutral tone as she sipped her tea, "And only you can access it."

He hadn't appreciated it then, and the only thing that kept him from throwing a fit was how rigid her mother held herself, as if all the weight of the world rested on her shoulders, and he wondered now if she'd somehow known back then.

. . . . . . . . .

Harry had won.

He had won, and yet he had lost. He watched Ron run back into the Great Hall for the fourth time, scanning the room with his blue eyes and each passing second his newly found hope dissipated again.

"She's out there, Harry. She has to be out there." he said, when Harry came up to him. Harry felt his throat tighten and he grit his teeth. Ron looked at him and put a hand on his shoulder, "She has to be, Harry."

"What's your plan?"

Draco Malfoy looked up from his cup of coffee, nearly spitting out the liquid in his mouth at her sudden appearence. He wiped his chin with a napkin, and swallowed to clear his throat. "What are you talking about?"

Granger sneered, and it felt a little disconcerting to see an expression he wore himself so often on her face. It was out of place, and looked a bit ridiculous, what with her wild, curly bedhead and the old nightgown she was wearing. Draco found his eyes pulled to the way the thin fabric stretched over her breasts and, with difficulty, tore them away so he could focus on her voice.

"— sitting ducks in this god forsaken villa —"

"It's a cottage, Granger —"

"Fuck off," she growled, before continuing, "We need to get out of this country and we need to do it now."

Draco narrowed his eyes at her profanity, momentarily taken aback, but he supposed she'd just finished with denial, and even if her anger was directed at him, well it wasn't as if he hadn't warranted it. He sipped his coffee, basking in the feeling of her fuming while she waited for him to finish. He dabbed his napkin at non-existent moisture on his lips and raised his eyebrows at her.

"How?" he said, finally, with a serious tone. "The Dark Lord has control over the Ministry, can't floo, can't portkey, and you can't apparate into another country without alerting someone, which will get back to him."

She laughed at him — actually fucking laughed. Now it was his turn to fume, his face turning a light shade of pink while she continued to snicker dryly and with condescension.

"Fucking wizards," she grinned at his irritation. "So close-minded, so dull. Muggles travel in and out of the country all of the time. And I assume the Dark Lord doesn't give two craps about that, now does he?"

Draco frowned, but she turned her back on him, continuing with her little spiel, "Of course nobody thought of using Muggle methods to get out, did they? Stupid bastards, all of you. That's how most of the other Muggleborns got out, you know? Flew out of the country, some actually decided to leave in style and took a cruise." She turned to him then, a spark in her eye as she checked off items on her fingers, "We need to pack, obviously we need money, and passports —"

"Passports?" She shook her hand at him, throwing herself into this plan.

"Muggle identification needed to cross the barriers between countries, no big deal, I have mine at home and we can transfigure one for you."

"Granger," he started, but she shook him off again.

"I still have some money in my muggle bank account, enough for two plane tickets and maybe a few nights in a hotel, and — and we can sell things!"

"Granger," he said, louder, she grabbed a stray piece of parchment and started scratching notes, "Granger —"

"The continent, maybe, or America? I think I have a cousin in New York —"

"Granger!" he yelled, and she looked at him, with wet cheeks and tears dripping down her face. Her hands were shaking and she gripped the quill until her knuckles were whiter than Draco's hair.

He looked at her, his face slack. He swallowed, clenching his jaw and his eyes betrayed his thinly veiled pity. She wiped her eyes with her palms, laughing under her breath, "I'm sorry, I just —I'm fine."

Draco didn't say anything for awhile, before opening his mouth, closing it and then opening again, "You aren't." She looked at him. "Fine, I mean. Nobody is — could be, and," he paused, licking his lips, "Neither am I, you know. But, throwing yourself into a job, it won't —"

"Don't." she turned her back on him again. He saw how her shoulders were shaking.

"Granger," he didn't know why, but he needed to make her feel better, for his own sake — this camaraderie he felt for for the girl which he couldn't understand, maybe because she was the only person he had —

Now that was a realization. True, but painful. His parents were out of the question, and though he had friends, none of them were trustworthy now, not when he'd denounced the Dark Lord and run off with Potter's mudblood.

She was still shaking, so he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Sometimes," she murmured, "Sometimes we just want relief, fuck the ramifications."

He started walking away, thinking that he could her a cup of coffee, or maybe food would calm her down, or he could simply hide since he really didn't know how to deal with crying women.

"I just want to be okay, even if for only a little while."

He understood the feeling, wanting to throw oneself into something, and maybe, maybe that was why he was busying himself with Granger. To focus on her demons was to hide his own.

. . . . . . . . .

A/N - I'm not sure how long this will be or how much I'll update, but I do find reviews to be motivating. I hope you enjoy it so far.