Disclaimer: Please see previous chapters.

Please Read A/N: Now we begin Part IV: Not Yet Certain. To be honest, it's the part I have been most nervous to post as it will be the most original and drastically different of the parts of this story. I really hope you all continue to read and enjoy. My goals with this story remain the same: to keep everyone as in character as possible and develop true love in its most honest form. As always, there are many twists, turns, and surprises left in the plot to come! Warning: dark at times.

Stolen

"The heart has its reasons reason knows nothing of."-Blaise Pascal

Part IV: Not Yet Certain

Chapter 31: Worse

It was worse than he thought.

The scrap of paper in his had hand read: "Give her the antidote," which meant that she wasn't really dead. Of course, he did not think that was possible at the moment. First all, because death had become more real than life and second because it appeared that the only thing he could trust were his senses, which told him she was undoubtedly dead. Skeptical as he was, he could not help but feel he faintest twinge of hope, for if this were possible then perhaps anything was possible. Perhaps his mother too could be raised from the dead. Perhaps things would magically go back to the way they had been. Perhaps he could love Granger, and she him, but he doubted it.

So, he had given her the potion. When he had poured the antidote into her mouth it had begun to work immediately. In utter disbelief he watched color gradually light her face, her chest begin to fall and rise, and then her eye lids fluttered. If ever in his life he had truly glimpsed magic, this was the moment. Low and behold, she had awoken and startled the hell out of him. That would teach him to doubt professor's Snape's skills and her cleverness and resourceful nature.

The world as he knew it had taken an awful downward spin in the last twenty four hours and now it had flipped over on its arse. At this point there was no figuring it out; he was just holding on for dear life. As far as he was concerned, he knew nothing, absolutely nothing, anymore, so when she said they had to run he had ran. He hadn't thought once why. He had followed, like a sheep to the slaughter. He had left his house and inheritance, his grieving father to the wrath of the Dark Lord, his pets, his only home, and his not-yet-buried mother on Christmas day. Now he was standing in his bathrobe in a snow covered forest with his former sworn enemy, clueless, without his family, and without a single knut or possession on him, save his wand. Now he began to think why.

He had thought it was over. He had thought she was dead. He had thought he had nothing else to be frightened of because honestly, how could it get any worse? Now it was so much worse he surmised as the truth set in, the scenery registered. He was about to ask where they were, but they were there for so short a time he could not. Hermione had grabbed his wrist and taken off and at a dead sprint further into the woods, making many sudden turns. Already tired from the tombs and having not had breakfast, Draco finally stopped running. Hermione seemed to think the stopping place satisfactory, for the time being anyway. Keeled over, they both panted. Through his heavy breathing Draco finally managed to speak logically.

"Okay. We ran. So what do we do now genius?" he threw at her sharply.

She looked at him with mild surprise, her face flushed. "We hide," she told him breathlessly.

"Look, as fun as this game sounds I," he began, but she cut him off in quiet but serious tones.

"It's not a game Draco."

"Excuse me?" He knew that of course, but he hated it when she did that.

"If they find us they'll kill us so it's not a game." There was a pause as fear and reality crept into his chest. He felt like running again, like looking over his shoulder.

"Us? You're the one they want to kill-"

"No they don't. They think I'm dead, for now anyway. You, on the other hand, are a deserter."

"What? I only ran because- because, well because I thought something was going on, something you knew about that I didn't. You mean that was all your part of your get away plan?" His anger began to rise.

"Yes. A rather good one, if I do so myself. And you did beautifully."

"How so?" he demanded smartly.

"You reacted just how I had counted on. You ran like a bloody coward."

"Like a what?!" How dare she? He had just left his home and his family, or what was left of it. His mother was not even buried yet. He'd left everything knowing they could be caught on the way out just to give her a chance at surviving and now he'd been hoodwinked. She dared to call him a coward?! He did not see her staying to fight. She was the one running.

"Is that really the only reason you came with me? You thought I knew something you didn't?" She was being too honest now; her eyes were wide open and slightly hurt. No one was that honest, he thought with a pang of both guilt and anger, no one.

"We- what? Well, yeah. I mean of course it is." He faltered. Perhaps he should have been honest too, but he was so taken off guard by her, so angry at being tricked and insulted. Let her think that. "But why take me? How did I get roped into this? You have friends that would hide you, you can sure bloody well 

take care of yourself, and you know our way along our grounds. What purpose could I possibly serve in your great getaway?"

"The dogs would have given me away."

"That's not it Granger." He shook his head. Then he knew. Mocking her with a smirk, he told her, "I was part of the plan. You're still trying to save me aren't you? You didn't want to leave me behind. You love me. Damnit Granger you can't just, just hijack someone into being a good person you know?" He finished at a shout.

"You're right Draco." She replied calmly.

"I am?"

"Yes. You were part of the plan. I hijacked you. You are my safety net. I'm returning the favor."

"How's that?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

"There's only one person besides you and I who knows I'm alive and it's not to his advantage to say. Therefore, there's only one person other than me who can tell the Order you aren't responsible for my death, or the ministry for that matter. There's only one person that knows I tricked you into doing this and he's not going to give his life to save you by saying that, so once again that leaves just me. So,"

"So let me get this straight." He said through gritted teeth. "The Order wants to kill me because they think I killed you. Death Eaters want to kill me because they think I'm a traitor. The ministry, a mix of Death Eaters and Order, want me dead for those reasons,"

"Basically," she gloated.

"So I have no where to go, nothing to do, and no one in the world except someone who everyone else thinks is dead?" he yelled again, dropping his arms.

"Exactly, only you better make sure I stay alive if you ever hope of clearing your name with anyone. I couldn't get through to you playing on your terms, so we'll just have to play on mine for a while." It was her turn to look cocky now and it really didn't flatter her, he decided.

"How long do you think we can run before someone catches up with us?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said seriously, looking off in the direction from which they had come. "But for both our sakes you better hope my people are better than yours and the Order finds us first."

"AHH!" he exclaimed, kicking a tree in frustration. "Fine!" he shouted, throwing up his arms in surrender, then he pointed an accusing finger at her, "But I swear if you die on me Granger, I'm going to kill you!"

"I'll keep that in mind." She told him sassily.

"And what do you plan to do while we're running?" He asked her as she picked up the train of her wedding gown to move on once again.

"I'll think of something…" she said nonchalantly. There was something else to all this, something she wasn't saying yet. He could feel it. This was so much worse than he could have expected.

"Well what are we going to eat?"

"We'll see." She told him, as if it were of little consequence.

"And where are we going to sleep?" he asked her stiffly.

"Why? Are you tired?" she threw back.

He growled. "You didn't think this through entirely did you?"

"Well, you see I only had this one night to come up with it,"

"When do you really think they'll catch on?"

"Well, if we are lucky they'll all get drunk and no one will think to go looking for you until the Dark Lord gets suspicious. He'll discover the body is gone and so are you and then he'll send everyone out to look for us. He'll probably assume at first that we've gone to the Order."

"Why don't we?"

"Excuse me? Did I just hear what I think I heard?" her happiness was really making him sour.

"Well, if what you said about them is true they won't kill me and they'll hide us. Why not go to them then?"

"I'm glad to see you're willing, but no, we have to go it alone for a little while." He didn't ask why. There was nothing especially appealing in going crawling to Potter.

"You know they can follow our portkey, right?"

"Yes," she sighed, subconsciously rubbing her arm where it had been cut unknown to her, "But they'd have been alerted the moment we apparated on the property, possibly put a ministry trace on us since Voldermort is in control there. We can apparate from here though, what are the chances they'll find the exact spot and trace it?"

"Pretty good if they use my dogs to track us." He informed her with a hint of pride in his voice. Her face fell. She had not thought of that. He felt sorry for poor Porthos as he thought of him lying in the cottage when they had escaped…Hermione's brilliant plan. He could hear the resentment in his own voice as he half-mumbled, "I still don't understand how Voldermort didn't think of the Draught of the Living Dead…"

"He did of course and he addressed the possibility in the same way we hoped he would. He wanted me buried, locked away under his nose. I think part of him hoped my friends would come to save my body. I was the bait for a trap all along. That's why he told you to bury me in your family vaults. What he didn't count on was you helping me or your family's secret escape route. What I'm worried about is whether or not he'll buy that I made the potion myself, even with the elf's memory modified. The last thing we need is more suspicion put on Snape. Look, I'd love to discuss my resourcefulness in times of distress, but we really must be going." She tugged his arm.

"To where?" he asked, interest peaked. She shrugged. "I don't think it matters too much today. Since its Christmas all the stores will be closed and anywhere we turn up we'll look suspicious. I do have a plan for later, but as for now… I think it's best we just lay low for a few days, really low."

"Hide?" he asked.

"Right," She nodded. "Have any bright ideas?"

"I thought that was your department." He sneered, at a loss of anything truly clever.

"Well you certainly saved me back there." She admitted easily.

"Well I-what?"

"Your idea with the tunnels, without it we would have been trapped just as the Dark Lord planned. It was rather brilliant." He shook his head in disbelief and then, very gradually and very slyly, smiled. She looked suddenly nervous. "What?"

"I saved you." He felt triumphant at last. Magically, she owed him her life. She knew what that meant.

"Yes, I know and I am returning the favor." He rolled his eyes. It's not like he had much of a choice to do things her way.

"Isn't there anywhere we can lay low with food?" he grumbled, his stomach reminding him of the fest he was missing out on.

"Anyone who helps us we put in danger."

"Then can't we just steal it?"

"No!"

"Come on Granger, we can't do anything if we starve. Even beggars eat on Christmas." He grumbled.

"Draco that's it!" she gasped, smiling.

"I'm not begging Granger." He was quick to object.

"I know where we can apparate!" she said excitedly.

"Where?" he inquired, puzzled.

"To London, the muggle side!" She declared enthusiastically.

"What? You mean apparate into an alley of one of the busiest cities in the world to avoid detection? Is one of the side effects of that potion temporary daftness?"

"No, it makes perfect sense. In third year when we needed somewhere for the D.A., we met in Three Broomsticks because fewer people frequented it. But Sirius pointed out to me that if we didn't want to be overheard we should have gone somewhere busy, somewhere that didn't look the least bit suspicious and where it would be more difficult to spot us as well. The last place they'll be expecting us to go is somewhere public, and if they found us we'd have a better chance of getting away because of panic and commotion. There are few Death Eaters that are familiar with the muggle side, correct?"

"You know, you may be on to something here. They'll be expecting us to hide in some remote forest, but if they do manage to track us down to such a deserted spot, we'll be helpless, hunted down. There are so many people in London. And you're right. That will be the last place they'll be expecting. I'll need your help though. I don't think I know that side well enough to apparate out of sight of muggles."

"Good. I need to keep an eye on you anyway. We can do side along."

"Aren't we going to look more appropriate for Halloween than Christmas?" Draco asked, examining their dress critically, a bathrobe and wedding gown.

"Oh yes, I suppose you're right." She mused, pausing and chewing her lip. She extracted her wand and tapped it to her chin thoughtfully. With a swish she managed to make his coat pass for a jacket. Taking a pine cone from the thick, white carpet of ground, she transfigured it into a smart little hat to keep his head warm. Then she turned his clothes grey, making him high inconspicuous. Even still she stood before him shivering in elegant wedding gown. She examined it herself with a skeptical humorless laugh.

"Now this one will be a bit more difficult."

Just the sounds of a breaking twig somewhere behind them made them both jump and whip around. "I've had an idea." She said. "Will you stay here for a moment?"

"Sure," he replied bitterly, shrugging. "Where am I going to go? Home? Oh that's right I don't have one of those anymore do I?" She gave him a sad look, as if she was almost going to apologize but thought better of it. She took off to go do whatever it was she was up to now. He was left alone with his thoughts, which hastened to remind him of the danger hot on their heels. "Hey hurry up! Don't leave me out here alone!" he shouted her retreating figure. She waved to say okay.

He looked around to make sure he was quite alone then he laughed another miserable, weak laugh. Alone? He had never been more alone, never in his whole life.

There in the snow, dazzling under the bright morning sun, Draco Malfoy relished his privacy and he cried. He cried because his mother was dead and because he had failed Hermione, and they both knew it. He had lied, betrayed her and that was something on one would ever be able to forget. He cried because he was just afraid, and cried because he had suddenly lost everything he held dear. Draco sobbed because if he wasn't a Slytherin, and he didn't live in Malfoy Manor, and he wasn't a Death Eater or a member of the Order, then he wasn't Draco Malfoy. He wasn't anyone. Just a boy alone and crying the wilderness. Mostly- though he hardly dared admit it to himself- he wept because in this new light he began to think maybe he didn't really love her, not like he thought he did.

The soft crunch of snow behind him made him leap to his feet, wand at the ready. There stood Hermione in a wool sweater with snowflakes on it and a pair of jeans. "Draco," she began cautiously.

"Let's go," he snapped, turning his back to her and wiping his face. "We're wasting time." He could not stop the sniffling that followed, but she thankfully ignored it, leaving him with some dignity at least. She took his hand and abruptly they found themselves in an alley of London, just off the street he had been on the previous night. The night he had spent inside the building to their left while his mother…his mother...

"Where did you get those?" he asked her as he cast a look at her change of clothes. He followed her lead as she led him away from the theatre, looking straight ahead.

"We were in a place in France near where my parents and I once stayed while skiing. I snuck up to the lodge and took them from a visitor."

"You stole them." Hypocrite.

"No! Well, not exactly. I exchanged them. I could have transfigured the dress, but it was so lovely I didn't want to ruin it. I didn't really want to keep it either really, all things considered."

He nodded.

"So I left it for this other woman. Oh! It wasn't cursed or anything was it?" she suddenly thought, a bit horrorstricken.

"No."

"It was lovely." She said faintly.

"Quite." He swallowed.

"But I just couldn't keep it either, I" she sighed.

"I understand." He told her.

"I left a note like I was a runaway bride, thanked her and apologized for taking her sweater and jeans. At least, I think I did. My French isn't the best…"

They walked on in silence several blocks until they came to a large and rather nondescript building in slight disrepair adjacent to Cathedral whose name he could not see. "Where are we?" he asked as she proceeded to walk right into the establishment.

"A soup kitchen."

"For whom?" he raised an eyebrow, confused. What was a soup kitchen and could they just stagger in there uninvited?

"The poor." He stopped dead in his tracks. This was too much. She had asked him to sacrifice everything and now she wanted him to swallow what was left of his dignity. He was not some filthy beggar on the street, some charity case like the damned Weasleys. He was rich!

"No," he told her firmly. She only sighed, as if she had expected this kind of argument and thought little would come of it.

"Draco, I know it's embarrassing, but we don't have any choices. I'm not entirely comfortable here either, but we'll be safe. No one will suspect it," she stressed.

"This is ridiculous. We have money in the bank!" he protested.

"Do you think they're not watching the bank? They'll get you the moment you enter Diagon Alley! You won't even make it that far." She reminded him with surprising heat.

"But you-"

"Am dead," she finished promptly for him. "I can't go waltzing in anywhere."

"What about muggle banks?"

"No! Not unless you want the Order hunting us already."

"We don't?"

"No."

"Why not?" he demanded, sick of games.

She huffed. "Look Draco, just this once, we'll do this and then I promise we'll get some money. Just pretend you're someone else. We'll pick out another name for both of us. That's probably wise anyway. You want to eat, don't you? Well, this is the only way it's going to happen." She said resolutely as she cast look at the building behind her. He looked too. It was simple, a large structure, one of the city's older establishments. He instantly hated it.

Gritting his teeth, he tried to remain calm. "I'm not agreeing to anything until you tell me everything that is truly going on here."

She looked at him with great clarity marking her features, as if truly seeing him. It was that look he had gotten before, when he was crueler than she expected or more cunning. He was not sure what she was seeing this time and so he did not smirk. Unnerved, he still managed to stay stoic, unyielding.

"Okay." She nodded, her recalculations taking place evident on her face. "Okay, I'll tell you after we eat. You show me you're willing to go that far with me-not for me, but with me- and I'll tell you everything. But I promise you," she added sadly. "You don't really want to know."

What sort of secrets could she be hiding? Was it worth throwing away the tattered remnants of his pride, his identity, to find them out?

"What are your options, Draco?" She was right really, though he tried not to show it. He was trapped, as she had been. His only other option was to go it alone from here, and they both knew he wouldn't last.

"What's my name?" he said at last.

Confused at first, she smiled sadly. "Sean."

"And you're Mary-Margaret."

"Okay," she said and extended her hand to him. Though he was surprised, he took it. Both drew in a deep breath as they crossed the simple threshold into another world.

They were in dimly lighted cafeteria of some kind, covered here and there by holiday decorations. It had an odd smell, one not altogether pleasant. It smelled like cleaning products, stew, peas, bread, cheap alcohol, wet dogs, and, in certain places, garbage. Reacting naturally, they grimaced. The place looked clean enough though crowded, so where was the smell coming from? Then it dawned on him, some of the human beings.

Hermione's sharp intake of breath beside him was due to the realization, he knew, that there would be so many people, so many with nowhere in the world to go on Christmas morning, people who had not a soul who would feed them, no family, no friends who could, or would, help.

Some of them were jubilant, sitting in groups, relishing the warm food, and singing along with carols playing from a crackly speaker of some kind he deduced. Others were crying or sitting in solitude depressed, missing someone, or something, or another life. The rest ignored these. There was an acceptance of it; their sadness had somehow become common place. Some were so out of it they barely recognized what they were eating as they inhaled it, hazy eyed, emptying flasks into cups of tea, trembling. Some still plopped lazily down to complain about the food they had been given and cast dark looks at every other tortured soul in the place, as if they alone were the cause of the misfortune that had led to take their Christmas dinner from a hard plastic tray.

He had worried about losing so much in his life, had so many things he had desired for Christmas. To think he had missed such things as silk pajamas and goose down pillows when there were people before 

him in little more than rags, some quite filthy and inadequate in such cold, who didn't even own their own pillow let alone a permanent place to lay it.

They were nameless to world, forgotten by those rushing forward. They were homeless. They were exactly like him he realized with a chill. These people really were alone, and for the first time he did not feel so much so. He squeezed his companion's hand. She smiled tearfully at them, no doubt moved by the scene in ways he couldn't guess.

The regulars watched the clean new guys warily. Some were nice, friendly even, but Draco moved from the clusters of strange faces as he spied one vaguely familiar. Hermione followed puzzled and uneasy in the midst of these type people of who watched them so closely. Draco too felt a wave of shyness as they skirted the room and he clutched his wand as well.

As he got closer, the man he had spotted raised his head and looked Draco in the eyes, clearly taken by surprise.

"Hello." Draco said as Hermione looked from one to other, baffled and concerned.

"Hello. Happy Christmas." He said simply, waiting to see what Draco was doing there, what he wanted.

"Mind if we join you?"

"No," he said hoarsely, shaking his head. "Get in line and the ladies will get you a plate."

Just like that, Draco got in line. Hermione still looked at him rather oddly, frowned.

"Do you know that man?" she finally inquired.

A smile tugged at the corners of Draco's mouth. "No. We've ran into each other before is all." She did not take kindly to being left out of the loop, but how was he supposed to explain that sort of connection anyway? It was the man from the street, the one from two days ago who he had both literarily and mentally looked down upon, and then, out of some spasm of goodwill, shown him charity.

They waited in line with the multitude of hungry others and, despite his worry, the busy women and man across the counter slid them a tray the same as anyone else without so much as a questioning glance. One even offered a faint smile. They were nuns he gathered by their clothes and crosses.

They sat with the man from Diagon Alley and ate in silence for bit, looking each other over a bit at a time. The food was not bad, some boiled beef and potatoes, bread, sweet peas and a cup of tea. It was no Malfoy Christmas feast, nor Hogwarts dinner, but it was much better than going hungry. Much better.

"Are you following me?" he asked gruffly, trying to hide his worry.

"No," Draco assured him. "We're just having some very bad luck."

"You in trouble?"

Draco looked at him, rather hard and replied honestly, "Quite frankly, we're dead." He looked at Hermione, then him again.

"You have any money?"

Draco swallowed hard and looking down told him, "No."

"I know a place, one you can stay if you had need." He told him simply.

"We have need." Hermione told the man. Draco cringed. The man saw it, but made no comment. He just sipped his tea. Hermione smiled warmly, offering him a hearty "Thank you, sir."

He didn't seem to see her, made no reply. He just took a swig from his tea again. After dinner, the nuns said an after meal prayer and ushered them towards the Cathedral. They followed because the man did and found themselves in a massive and breathtaking sanctuary complete with a towering ceiling, marble floor, frescos, and stained glass windows. It was not unlike the church his family and he would normally be attending for the holiday. Hermione, who had never been to mass, was perplexed though fascinated. He couldn't help but snigger at her uncharacteristic fumbles a few times as he followed the service routinely. Once dismissed in prayer, the man tugged at his sleeve and they followed him out silently. They walked what Draco swore had to be kilometers in the biting cold. The whole time, they kept a perceptive eye out for any form that might follow them, Draco kept his hat down and Hermione pushed her sweater up around her face.

Once, Hermione tried to make conversation. "What's your name again, sir? Draco didn't introduce us."

"John." He told her, and that was it. He did not ask hers nor proclaim it was nice to meet her. No one spoke again until they reached a hotel, a rather run down place, very old though not entirely without taste. It was definitely not the sort of place Draco would normally stay. It had probably been one of the nicer places fifty years ago, when it had first opened, navy carpet, wallpaper, fountain in the lobby from what he glimpsed from the back servant's entrance where they stood.

"I'm the bellhop here. They always have rooms vacant. Hold on, I'll find you one."

"Thank you John," Hermione told him.

"We'll pay you back." Draco assured him, not about to let his reputation die with the rest of him that had been recently destroyed.

"I thought you didn't have any money." He frowned.

"We will, one day, and we'll pay you back." He looked at her funny.

"Sure. We all will." He told her. Draco wasn't sure if that was supposed to be a joke or not. Maybe he was mocking them. Well, then he was mistaken. They were not going to be poor the rest of his life.

"We must pay you back." Draco insisted. Hermione shifted uncomfortably, no doubt not wanting him to scare away the only person giving out free hotel rooms.

The man sized up Draco but he stood tall under the appraising gaze. He could not imagine how, but he did. "I hate charity myself. Consider us even."

"What?" Hermione whispered to Draco. He was not perplexed. In truth that's why he had sought out the old man. Draco was an outsider, he knew nothing in this new world and so he needed to know someone who did know things. This man had received something from Draco before and he was a man with dignity still clinging to his eyes. Draco had known he would pay him back.

"One night's all I can do. Period. Understand?" he told them seriously. Hermione nodded. Anymore and he'd lose what work he had.

"We understand. We'll be gone in morning. You won't see us again."

"Promise?" his voice sort of growled. Draco thought that might be a sense of humor showing.

"Promise." Hermione agreed. It was. John laughed heartily then invited them in the side door of the hotel, led them up the worker stairs, and stopped at room 232, handed over the key.

"Jiggle the knob." He told them, and just like that he was gone. They did not jiggle the knob. They opened with alohamora and went inside. It was simple, empty. You could hear the tap dripping the in bathroom. It smelled stale, like old hotel rooms left vacant too long do, but it was very clean so there was not room to complain. It was very small as well, but it wasn't as if they needed much room. They had no luggage. Not one piece. There was only one bed. The man, John, had assumed they were together. It hardly mattered now. They would share it. No one said a word about it.

"If it weren't for that man we'd be…" she left the sentence unfinished, its weight hanging on the air.

"I know." They spoke softly, still in shock. There was one of those telly boxes muggles watch on a stand. Definitely, a muggle place he thought with contempt. He doubted anyone would look for them there. For good measure, she shut the door behind them, locked it magically, set an alarm on it, and cast a silencing charm. Vigilant as always, he noted. In fact, he began to think, if it wasn't for that man, Hermione's idea, the tombs, their timing, deciding to go in the soup kitchen…He had told that man they were having awful luck, but that wasn't true. There had been so much good luck that helped them actually make it to this old place. This was the luckiest unlucky day of his life.

"He reminds me of someone." Hermione wondered aloud as she surveyed the room before her.

"What?" he asked, his mind having drifted far from John.

"That old man, John was it? He reminds me of someone. He just looks like he's aged before his time or something, his grey maybe."

"Yeah," he said absentmindedly. "It was his hair or something. He looks rather rough, doesn't he? But he's a good guy," he mused, not really caring.

"Yeah," she sounds surprised. "Yeah, He is. Hey Draco, are you okay?" she knelt down by the bed where he plopped down without realizing it, her hand gently placed on his knee.

"No," he said breathlessly, numbly, almost laughing. "Feels like none of this is happening," He tried to express. "It feels as alien as my nightmare, like it is my nightmare and it keeps getting worse. And it's so confusing. None of it makes any sense. I don't, I don't know," he hesitated. "I don't know where one ends and the other begins. I don't understand what's happened and I'm afraid that-" He admitted with his throat unreasonably tight. "I'm afraid I don't want to know. I don't want to find out how alone I am."

"You're not alone. I didn't die. You helped save my life. We escaped. We ate dinner and now we have a roof over our heads. You've done great today, Draco. And you are not alone. We are still stuck together," she laughed.

"And what about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow we'll figure it out in the morning."

"But, I mean, you have some ideas, right?"

"Always," she smiled and he thought he felt just a tad bit better.

A/N: Well, I didn't leave a cliffhanger for once, happy? I hope so. This chapter is bit longer than the last couple chapters. I'm very excited to continue so let me know if you are too-leave a review! Please! Thanks for reading, as always!