He stepped into the cottage, now bare and empty, shaking Granger's beaded bag with a smug smirk. He was met with a cool reception, however, and the glee on his expression wavered when faced with Granger's bloodshot eyes. She was clutching her head, fingers pulling at the hair on her scalp, looking at him as if she were a puppy he'd kicked.
"Did you get them?"
Draco felt her words, rough and raspy, bring goosebumps to his skin. After two weeks of her screaming through the night, he wasn't surprised her voice sounded so broken. Two nights in, and he'd started to put up silencing charms. He'd considered suggesting a potion to deal with her night terrors, but then that would mean acknowledging that he'd heard her, and he had a feeling she wouldn't appreciate his concern.
They skirted around each other, ignoring one another to the best of their abilities. When he'd sat at the breakfast table with short sleeves that showed off both his mark and the thin cuts — the clean, slow, lines that marked his right arm evenly, uniformed — she'd simply glossed over them, and then set her burning eyes back to her plate. He'd expected a comment — part of him even hoped for it, yearned for a confrontation, a fight — but it was like she didn't see them, like they didn't exist.
He'd done the same with her, though. She'd worn a sleeveless dress, her lips twitching and her face cold, showing off her own painful stain of the war. To him, that didn't exist, either.
A lot of things didn't exist.
Now, she looked at him, those wide, empty eyes staring up, he considered that maybe their approach hadn't been the smartest. The longer they pretended the worse it would be when they finally stopped.
"Yes, I got them," he threw the beaded bag to her, and she grabbed it out of the air, "As many pointless, expensive trinkets I could find, as well as any jewellery."
She didn't reply, opening the bag and pulling out an old necklace that looked as if it were made by trolls. "I hope the rest don't all look like this," she frowned, "I don't think anyone would buy it even if it were on the cover of Vogue."
He grimaced at the jumbled up piece of gold and poorly cut gemstones she held up with two of her fingers, privately agreeing with her assessment, though he had no idea what Vogue was. "That's from when my great grandmother Cecilia took up jewellery making as a hobby. Most of the others are goblin-made."
"Thank Merlin." murmured Hermione, dropping the horrid thing back into her bag.
He ran his fingers through his hair, "I assume your trip worked out as well?"
She held up another bag, one in an odd shape with two straps on one side and a multitude of zippers, "Nobody's found my house yet, apparently, so I managed to get anything we may need."
"Same charms as that one?" he asked, gesturing towards the beaded bag. She nodded, turning to check each item off the list she'd made. Her lips were still pursed and curved downward, brows furrowed and angry. He came up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Granger," he whispered, "We're ready. We're more than ready."
"We'll leave in a week—"
"We're ready to leave tomorrow." Draco cut in. He felt her tense underneath his fingertips and sighed. "They'd want you to live, Granger. If they could tell you that themselves, they would."
He saw her jaw clench, "You don't get to tell me what they'd want, Malfoy." she whispered, but the words had no bite behind them. She stood up, suddenly, brushing her palms on her jeans roughly, as if she meant to rub the skin off of them.
His fists tightened. Over time, Draco had grown accustomed, even fond, of Hermione Granger. She did not share in that experience; she was a cat and he was water, he brought out the worst in her.
. . . . . . . . .
Narcissa Malfoy straightened her robes, before sitting down across from him. Harry felt his fingers twitch, eyes moving towards the exit, the window, the fireplace — anywhere he could use to escape this uncomfortable situation.
She'd owled him, said that they had mutual interests and that perhaps they could discuss them over tea and biscuits. He'd considered sending her the ashes of that letter and a howler that told her where to stuff her mutual interests but she'd saved his life, in the end.
He sat there, rubbing his palms on his jeans. He'd worn muggle clothing, partly for their comfort in an otherwise extremely tense situation, but mostly for the brief expression of disgust that passed Mrs Malfoy's face when her eyes ran down his form.
"I assume your husband won't be joining us, then?" asked Harry, taking pleasure at the way her eyes hardened at him.
"Lucius was not as lucky as I," she answered, graciously, "Thank you, once again." She was referring to his testimony at her trial.
"Tit for tat, I suppose." Harry frowned, "But I hope you didn't call me here just to say thanks."
"No," she paused, her hands clenching, "Draco is missing. I thought you might know where he may be."
"I don't."
"You may think you don't," she agreed, "But I think he may have disappeared along with your friend, Miss Granger."
Harry laughed at that, a dry, unpleasant laugh. "If there's one thing I know about your son, Mrs Malfoy, is that he despises Hermione and she doesn't care for his existence either."
Narcissa pursed her lips, "Be that as it may, war makes strangers of us all, Mr Potter. I never thought I'd end up saving you, and yet I did. I also know that he prattled on about her endlessly since he first met her. You may not think he was fond of her, and he may not either, but a mother always knows."
Harry stood up, ready to walk out, but Narcissa rushed to her feet. "I will sponsor the search for both my son and your friend, Mr Potter. As long as you share your resources and your leads, I shall do the same."
He paused. "I suppose we can work something out."
. . . . . . . .
Draco felt as if something was crawling over his skin.
He was in a building full of muggles for the first time in his life and while he knew, logically, that what he'd been taught was nothing more than the spiel of a racist elitist society, the whisper in his ear that muttered filth powered through his reason. He gripped Granger's hand tighter in defiance of that whisper. She didn't seem to care, eyes flicking back and forth around the room, scanning everyone and everything with eyes that she'd charmed to look blue. Golden blonde hair cascaded out of an odd hat with what looked like a duck's bill on one end, her curls transfigured straight and short.
By contrast, his hair was a thick brown, curling past his ears, and his chin itched from the facial hair she;d given him. He wanted to scratch it with his hand, but if he did then he'd have to look at it and it was covered with freckles. Freckles that made his stomach lurch every time he looked at them. Freckles that had made Granger's eyes sheen when she'd look at them, and so she'd taken to not looking at him for the duration of this adventure.
He'd always despised freckles, simply for their connotation with the Weasley's, but now his disdain for them went deeper, somehow. Maybe because she won't look at you with those on your skin, muttered his conscience, but then, she never really looks at you.
"We're boarding," she told him, yanking him by the arm. He let her pull him along, if only to feel wanted, in some way, let her hand the tickets to the muggle and let her spin the story of how they'd just gotten engaged, giggling and smiling in his direction. Blend in, she'd told him, Act as different from ourselves as we can. If the smile he gave the muggle seemed a little wan, Granger's acting seemed to make up for the both of them and the man congratulated them and wished them a good trip, not taking notice of the way neither of their smiles reached their eyes nor the weariness in their expressions.
. . . . . . . . .
He feels small, as he boards the plane and leaves the crowded airport, and then the metal machine takes off and he sees the endless city and the endless land. He's felt small a lot, this past year, more than he had in his lifetime. He feels small when he considers the muggles, the multitude who live in England, who lived in the same time and place as a war and never really knew. Never really saw. It didn't exist to them.
And that makes him feel smaller. All the suffering he went through doesn't exist to these people, even less than it did to his own. He's certain Hermione Granger, who sits next to him and who'd suffered through plenty more, would scoff at his pain. She might even say it was justified. But at least she knew it happened. These people didn't. And it baffled Draco, because what didn't exist to them was everything in the world to him right now.
He feels even smaller when the plane flies higher — feels ill, as well, but Granger tells him to calm down and it works, somewhat — and he wonders how that dreadful man who isn't even a man, anymore, thinks he can actually win everything. The world is huge, much bigger than Draco understood. The Dark Lord can fly without a broom, but Granger told him that muggles have inventions that could wipe out a city. She tells him it's okay, really, that they don't have to stay. That they are just two people and they can't make a difference anymore and it'd be better to live and keep the memories of their loved ones alive. The muggles will be fine, she says. Other countries have powerful magical communities, she says. It won't get out of hand, she says. emWe're not running away/em, she doesn't say. He know it must kill the Gryffindor in her, but Hermione Granger has always been smart, and staying in England would be stupid.
Hermione Granger has never been stupid. And Draco Malfoy, well, he's always been a coward.
. . . . . . . . .
"Wake up, I think we're almost there," he says, and she groans. Her back aches in protest at the way she'd fallen asleep, upset that after two weeks of emfinally/em sleeping on a proper bed it's being subjected to this torture, and she cringes at the way her neck cracks.
The boy next to her clutches onto the armrest, still uncomfortable at the sensation of landing despite this being his fourth time this week. "Why do we have to stop at so many places?" he'd whinged when she'd explained to him what connected flights were. She'd rolled her eyes, ignored the way he swallowed whatever other complaint he'd had at her obvious contempt towards him, and muttered that she was just trying to be safe.
They landed finally, and Draco's face, which she'd charmed to look tanned this time, had a slight green tint to it.
"Canada," said Draco, "It's not that far from England, really. Why not somewhere else?"
"The Wizarding community here is on bad term with the British ministry. When the first settlers came, the witches and wizards here had a good relationship with their muggle counterparts. Most of the magical folk who came from Europe simply joined their Magical community, but the European muggles were awful with the aboriginal muggles and the native magical folk couldn't stand for that. They appealed to the British Ministry of Magic for help but they refused to get involved. To this day they haven't forgiven them." said Granger, lecturing him as they exited the airport. "The Magical community is extraordinary here; muggleborns are celebrated, there's less magical regulations and students are encouraged to learn both muggle subjects and magical ones. Makes me wish I was born here instead of in England."
The two of them made their way out, into a bus. They spent over an hour on the road, switching buses and then a subway, and then a train. She saw Draco stare at everything in awe and confusion, running into her when she stopped suddenly in front of a building.
"We're here." she said, grabbing his hand and ignoring the way her heart tightened at the feeling. "Time to get ourselves an apartment."
A/N - Sorry for the long wait, but unfortunately school has just begun and the waits may get longer. I have an idea of where this will go, and I think there'll be a total of five chapters, but who knows? Maybe check out my other story while you wait for an update on this, because I'm planning on updating that next by the end of the week. As always, reviews do motivate me to write faster and I would love to hear from anyone who reads my writing! Until next time.