He had arrived, tanned and increasingly freckled, a fortnight after Draco had sent the cards, dragging a small, weather-beaten rucksack that held only clothes that had seen far better days, a few loose coins of varying currency, and two crumpled photos – one of his family, taken the summer before everything had gone to shit, their matching red hair glowing warmly in the bright sun; the other of the Golden Trio, sitting outside Hagrid's hut, each laughing at whoever was behind the camera. Ron passed it to Draco with a too-blank glance, and Draco felt something churn in his gut for a few moments. He tried very hard to look at everything else in the photo – the uniforms, sleeves rolled up; Hagrid's drooling dog, its chin resting on Harry's fully-functioning legs; even the ramshackle haircut Ron had sported at the time. It did not matter. He looked at what he tried not to look at, and the churning grew sharp and painful. Still no response. He handed the photo back and turned to put the kettle on.

The flat had been cramped and uncomfortable with only Harry and Draco sharing; it was bloody unbearable now Ron had arrived, too. The three bumped into each other every few minutes it seemed, like dodgems at the fair. Harry and Ron continued to smile about it, both still awash the glow of their reunion, occasionally hugging each other tightly, both ignoring the whimpers that were then forced from Harry's broken form.

Draco, on the other hand, was less than enthusiastic.

The lone benefit of this flat, small and freezing and ramshackle as it was, was that occasionally there was a quietness to be found - the hours when Harry was too exhausted to talk anymore, shuffling off to sleep, stubbornly shrugging off Draco's offers of help; the early, early part of the day when even the most zealous Death Eaters weren't quite ready to be torturing muggles streets below, their screams no longer drifting through the air like a poison, if only for a short while. These moments were precious to Draco, moments where he could remember the smell of fresh parchment, knotted curls and small feet tucked under his. He clung to these times, though he never spoke of them. Never. What good would that ever do?

This particular morning the quiet was broken, though he couldn't say what from. Weasley's snores had - finally - petered out, his journey taking its toll. He lay stretched out on a spare blanket in the tiny kitchen, one foot braced on the wall. Draco could still make out the sand on the hem of his trousers, and wondered (not for the first time) how Weasley kept his talents as a wizard hidden; to have travelled so far without raising the alarm in Voldemort's ranks took skill indeed. He had asked Ron, but all the redhead would say was that he'd "called in a favour." His freckled face had paled as he spoke, though, and he looked away. Draco got the sense that the person who granted the favour had perhaps not been as fortunate as Weasley in going undetected. He pressed the subject no further.

As Ron continued to sleep, Draco listened for what was amiss: the streets were still quiet; Harry was shut in his minute room, a place he sometimes joked made him miss the space in his first room with the Dursleys; even the tap that dripped mockingly from the sink had stopped, fixed swiftly by Ron the Muggle way (opening up the cupboard below and banging on a pipe or two had simply not occurred to Draco).

It took Draco almost twenty minutes to realise what was so wrong about this particular morning.

There was someone else standing very quietly outside the door.

Draco slid his wand from under his greying, limp pillow and sat up. If he hadn't been so scared, he would have rolled his eyes. He did loathe speaking to people in the morning.

He sat up silently, and inched his way to standing, remembering his training – "No sudden movements, boy, not if you want to keep your head" – and glided slowly, calmly towards the door. There were three boards that creaked, and he ensured he avoided them, his bare feet catching on the rough edges of the wood. He breathed slow, shallow breaths, and fisted the hand that did not hold his wand when he felt it shake slightly.

The door had no peephole, but there was crack in one of the panels, wide enough to make out a sliver of the darkened stairwell. Draco pressed himself towards it, holding his breath. The person on the other side of the door sighed loudly.

"Malfoy, can you just open the sodding door?"

Draco huffed as he pulled open the door to the still beautiful face of Ginny Weasley. She fixed him with a steady glare, and Draco felt himself wince internally.

"Is there are reason you didn't call 'til now, Malfoy?"

Draco averted his eyes, as he began to sense movement in the tiny space behind him, seemingly woken by Ginny, who made no effort to keeper voice down, nor tread lightly as she pushed past him into the flat.

"Or is it because he told you not to?" Her stare and tone took on a more brittle edge, only for a second.

Draco closed the door and leaned against it, folding his arms then pinching his nose.

"I'm not sure what you could have done until now. He's not been…ready. Not until now," he replied, not unkindly. Ginny looked away.

"I know," she whispered. "But…" She did not continue, and Draco did not press her.

There was the soft scramble of movement, then a flurry of red, arms outstretched, as Ron enveloped his sister. Draco thought he saw a tear run down the other man's face, but could not bring himself to taunt him for it. Confronted with the people he loved, Draco wasn't convinced he would be able to stop himself from openly sobbing, which was a terrifying prospect in itself.

"Have you seen her?" he found himself blurting out instead, then immediately regretted it as both Weasleys turned to him with identical smiles. Ron looked back towards Ginny, as she said softly:

"She's coming up the stairs now."

Draco immediately stood up straight, then froze, before turning towards the door and yanking it open. There in front of him stood Hermione Granger, clad in worn black and grey, her famous curls now cropped close to her head. And she was furious.