Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. No copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: I am so sorry for the long wait! Inspiration for this segment unexpectedly waned at the same time I was overwhelmed by classes. I have been admitted to the honors program which gives me another three hours a week class time, but it also means I will get to study abroad! As you can imagine this makes finding time for writing extremely difficult. Please bear with me as I try hard to continue and I apologize that I lack the time to reply to each review, but I can't tell you how much they each mean to me. Thank you all SO much and thanks for reading!

Stolen

Part IV: Not Yet Certain

Chapter 33: A Dangerous Business

The window had a crack in it. That's why the room they were staying in wasn't taken up by guests. The window had a crack and by morning the freezing air outside had filtered into the room. Despite the system of heating Hermione had explained, where the heat came out of something called a furnace rather than a burning fire, he could see his breath before him when he awoke. He shivered. It was very cold even for this time of year.

Already in a foul mood, he nudged Hermione to wake her. It took a few moments for her to wake completely a reluctantly abandon warm covers, pulling on her hodgepodge of clothes.

"Here," she said with her voice thick and scratchy with sleep as she threw him a pair of pants that did not fit. He had to roll up the bottom of the legs so he didn't step on them. Without a belt he had to cast a spell on the pants so they would stay in place. Biting back his remarks, he reluctantly accepted the ugly sweater she forced him to wear. He donned the hideous outfit without question mainly because too afraid of the possible response to ask where she had gotten them. They smelled odd, but were clean enough. Silently, he smoothed back his hair and pulled on the hat she had transfigured for him, pulling it down to obscure his face. As if this wasn't grotesque enough, she had also mended them each a scarf that did not really match their outfits, but he did not mention this either.

Instead, he went into the bathroom without a word and examined his reflection in the hotel mirror once he had shrugged on his transfigured coat. He wanted to know what he would look like to someone meeting him for the first time. Staring back at him was a fraction of his own face along with a sweater of a hideous color and the ill fitting pair of pants with a patch on the knee. Disgusting. He would look poor, like a damn Weasley. He sighed, biting back his complaint yet again which he was really rather proud of. After all, he reasoned, she looked as bad off as he did and he was certain she could be no more thrilled about it than he was.

However different from his taste they may be, these muggle clothes would help conceal their identities, especially his since he normally wouldn't be caught dead in something like this. It was sadly obvious that Hermione had put a lot of effort into their disguises from the look of it. She donned a hot pink cap, light pink turtleneck, white scarf, and white corduroy skirt and wool leggings. Her distinctive hair was pulled back in a bun low on her neck. Unless someone really knew her nose, there wouldn't be much to indentify out in the cold street.

With a sigh he shifted his gaze to the window with the crack in it. There was no snow or rain outside, only ice everywhere the dew had frozen solid and slicked it all over. He stared out into the grey, gloomy streets crawling with hordes of muggle while she gathered the few small things they had.

They left the key on the tray and shut the door behind them, leaving it unlocked. She had wished they had enough money to spare to leave him some, but he had protested that they were even. As for what he meant by that, she didn't really need to know, just as he did not need to know where they were going now.

They were out in the early morning chill in no time and Draco was following Hermione onto a muggle double-decker bus. She put in a few coins and he followed her to the seat. They sat still, quiet, apprehensive near the front. He had wanted to retreat to the far back but she was adamant they stay close to the front where fewer people would see their faces and they could get off quickly. He watched Hermione dig in her jeans pocket and extract a piece of paper, the same piece of paper that had read: "Give her the antidote." Only now it read instead: "Waterloo station, platform 10. 9:00 a.m."

She angled the paper so he could read it, then crumpled it up and shoved it back in her pocket. Their bodies did not even brush against one another on the ride. They did not look at one another. A few times he dared a glance around at the sleeping morning commuters sharing their bus only to find them occasionally staring back. Great, now he was paranoid. They got off at Waterloo station and took little notice of the lovely stone outer face of the building. Within they saw the observed the time was only 8:00a.m. What were they to do for the next two hours all while not being seen? He sighed, already bored.

Next to him, Hermione fingered the few pounds she had collected in tips the rest of the way. He was afraid she would tear them in her enthusiasm. The pair of them made their way inside the lovely old stone face of the building and towards Platform 10, but Draco felt uneasy. Surely this place was teeming with wizards and witches as well as muggles. There was no telling who they might run into. Where they being watched followed? He could not shake the feeling eyes were trained upon him, he secrets perhaps somehow showing through his clothes.

"Hermione," he braved from the corner of his mouth. "Are you sure it's safe for us to be here, looking like ourselves?"

"Of course it isn't. This is a horrible place for us to be." He gulped.

"That's not exactly the reassurance I wanted to hear." He told her.

"Just act normal and stay in the crowd. The more people, the less likely it we are to be spotted. You with your hat down and dressed as a muggle with your face obscured you'll be nearly impossible to pick out in a crowd."

"And you?"

"I might duck into a bathroom." She said. Clearly, she was worried, very worried, maybe even scared. He had always wanted to see her scared, but now he wanted anything but that. He tired to act normal, but everything in him was screaming for him to run from the building.

"Are you sure this isn't a trap?"

"I'm sure."

"Well that's the first good news I've heard this morning." He sneered. Then he proposed, "Maybe we should leave and come back closer to 10."

"Maybe." She admitted. "Let's go ahead and get out tickets."

"To where?"

"Anywhere you've never been. Anyone following us won't think of it if we've never been there. Make sure whatever the train is that leaves at 10:15 a.m. Here's the money." Before he could say a word she had slipped into the women's restroom and he wasn't about to follow her. Trying to act as normal as possible, he stood found a seat nearby to be useless in. He had no idea where to go. He used a couple coins to purchase a newspaper behind which he hid his face, feeling rather sly and ridiculous at the same time. He glanced over the oddly stationary headlines out of boredom, feeling impatient for her to come back. Perhaps he would glance some place that seemed inviting to head towards, pretend it was a little vacation. What he found, however, was something else entirely.

On the front page of the muggle paper, his face stared back at him next to Hermione's. He stared at it for several seconds, totally shocked. Then, holding his breath, he read the headline below it. He sat there staring, unable to move or even blink. A few minutes later, someone sat down next to him.

"I almost didn't see you." Hermione told him. He did not respond. "Any sign of him?" He shook his head. "It's almost time," she bit her lip as the stared at the large clock looming over them. They both took deep breaths. He glanced sideways at her. Who were they kidding? Anyone looking for her, anyone who really knew her, would recognize her in a second. He handed her the paper.

"Thanks." She offered breathlessly, taking it and the remaining 50 pence. It wasn't much and Draco wondered what her plan would be from here. Even he, who was unfamiliar with muggle money, knew it wasn't enough for a room and meal in any establishment. Now, however, they had so much bigger problems.

It only took her a moment to gasp. She buried her face further into the pages. He wasn't sure if she was hiding or reading the story.

SEARCH CONTINUES FOR ALLEGED YOUTH TERRORISTS

Police are calling the derailment of a train en route to London, carrying mostly students, the result of a terrorist attack. The train was bound for Waterloo station yesterday morning where hundreds of parents eagerly awaited the return of their children for the end of the holidays. That simple wish however was tragically not to come true. We now count the total deaths of the crash at seventy five. The faces above are those of members of a secret terrorist cell, an extremist group of a movement of young people within our nation. Their names are Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. They have thus far eluded police custody. Despite their harmless appearances and clean records they are to be considered highly dangerous. If seen police should be notified immediately (continued on pg. 47).

"Oh my Lord. They'll all be after us. The Order is after you, the Death Eaters after us both, the ministry, and the muggle government."

"It was bloody brilliant on their part." He could not help but comment. She offered no argument on the point.

Her wide eyes peaked fearfully over the paper. "We are two of the most wanted people in the world. Even fleeing the country wouldn't work…"

"Cornered like rats." So those people were staring. Had they been spotted already? He followed her sudden move to the telly screens people were watching video of the horrible train wreck. Carnage came to mind. A woman was being interviewed, weeping for her daughter whose body had been identified. They melted into a group that transfixed and unified by horror. The woman's graying hair hung round her thin face in loose curls. She was a mess, but determined.

"We join Agnes Burth here, mother of one of the casualties her twenty year old daughter Gretta Burth. She said she spoke to her daughter just moments before the train derailed and knows the true story behind the horrific events. Mrs. Burth, tell us what your daughter said to you was going on?"

A disheveled but determined looking Mrs. Burth spoke into the microphone, a ridiculous contraption.

"It's not what they say. Those children up there, whoever they are, they weren't on that train. Gretta never saw them."

"MRs. Burth," attempted the reporter delicately. "Isn't it possible she did not see everyone on the train?"

"Quite possible, but according to the information released she was sitting right next to them. She said she and her friend Maggie were sitting next to two men in long black cloaks who rose at some point when the train was high-jacked and began making demands. They were shouting the background when she called."

"These men where they part of the youth circuit as well?"

"Well they were British, but they were grown men. She hung up just after they began killing people. She said her and her schoolmates were going to try to overtake them."

"So wait- startling new information here- you say whoever it was an adult and they actually opened fire on the passengers before the crash? Possibly trying to take hostages and high-jacking gone wrong?"

"Well they didn't open fire exactly,"

"I see, what was happening then?"

"Well they had wands-" Our jaws fought to stay closed. We eyed each other significantly.

"I beg your pardon Mrs. Burth, I thought you said…what was that?"

"Wands. They were attacking with wands. You know, magic. I know it sounds crazy-"

"Please excuse us, ladies and gentlemen. Mrs. Burth here is sadly distraught by her daughter's untimely death-"

"No! No I'm not-"

"Thank you Mrs. Burth and our condolences. Back to you at the-"

Bloody hell they were in trouble now. At that moment something highly inconvenient occurred to Draco. They were standing a meter away from their own faces labeled with the word "terrorists". Some of the people looking uneasily around were bound to recognize them if they stayed there looking like themselves much longer.

Thinking quickly, though not entirely rationally, he did the only thing he could think of to hide their faces. He placed a hand behind her head and brought it forward with as little force as was possible. He spotted the flash of anger in her eyes but closed his own, ignoring the protest. His mouth closed over hers, moved instinctively. She froze against him did not move. He angled his head, pressed against her, and wrapped his other arm around her back. Warmth. Damp. Smooth. Sweet?

She pushed him away. He knew it was coming, but it still wasn't a nice feeling. Why would she push him away? Was it his kiss? He'd certainly never had complaints before. Was it just the fact that it was him kissing her? Did she hate him that much? She looked furious, her fists clenched against his chest. She looked, well, attractive. He leaned in, pressing his lips to her ear so that his breath touched it gently as he whispered harshly, "Our faces. They're going to see our faces." Realization dawned on his companion visibly. Hesitant, almost blushing in that ridiculous way, she tilted her head back and opened her mouth ever so slightly. He found himself stopping halfway in, found himself almost smiling at his little trick, and found himself pretending this was a master scheme and not a last resort for both. It was brief and controlled, repressed, but all the same he couldn't believe she was kissing him back. It had barely begun before it was over. An arm around her, head tucked in intimately, they slid over to their bench and retreated behind their newspapers to separate identical blushes and shy smiles.

They watched the minutes ticked by mercilessly, eyeing the platform compulsively with longing, but at 9:58 he still saw no sign of Snape. Every moment was a roll of the dice. How many times could they be lucky? Abruptly, next to him Hermione squeaked and hid behind her paper. It startled him and he instantly cast glances all around, fingering his wand and anticipating an attack. His nerves couldn't take much more of this. As he wiped the cold sweat beads from his forehead and tried to quiet his pounding heart, he spotted what had made Hermione jump.

On the platform there was no greasy black hair, tall frame, or hooked nose. There was, however, a slightly shorter figure with flaming red hair, a rough looking coat with mismatched pants, and a dark expression.

"Weasley," he growled. Hermione nudged him hard in the ribs. She chose the biggest losers for friends. He dipped his hat further down almost covering his eyes an obscuring his vision. It would certainly not do to have Ronald Weasley recognize him and attack him in broad daylight.

"What was he thinking?" Hermione hissed in his ear. Ron, looking as confused as they were, sat on another bench opposite theirs that was close to the platform. Draco was momentarily taken back by his appearance now that Ron was facing them, so much so that he did not answer right away when Hermione hissed, "What's he doing?"

Weasley looked like he hadn't slept in days judging from the dark circles under his puffy, bloodshot eyes. He looked like he'd been crying too. He was even more thin and pale than usual. There was no fiery temper in his glare, nor any hint of that big, goofy grin. The only thing that looked like Weasely at all was the red hair and the freckles.

"I said what's he doing? I can't see!" she demanded, about to panic.

"Sitting." Draco informed her watching, bored, as the subject did just that. Ron watched the clock until it hit 10 a.m., probably curious as to what he doing there exactly. Then, very nonchalantly- if Draco had not been watching him carefully he may not have spotted it- Ron slipped his hand under the bench for a moment, appeared to perform a spell, and stood to leave. He came towards them, but was so lost in thought he didn't notice them, or if he did he showed no indication he had. Without missing a beat, he passed right by them.

"But what-?"Hermione began. Then realization dawned. "Snape must have sent him to avoid suspicion. He probably had no idea who it was for. That's why he was looking around."

Without waiting, Draco rose, pulling Hermione along, and moved to the other bench where moments earlier one of her best friends had been. They sat there, still trying to hide their faces. Hermione pretended to read him something interesting from the boring muggle papers as he pretended to tie his shoe. He was bent over, his face completely hidden. Still if anyone had followed Ron they were taking an awful chance. His hands were shaking as he gripped under the seat in search of anything Ron may have left. At first, he felt nothing and began to feel a hot bubble of panic swell painfully in his chest. There had to be something!

Finally, his hand grazed a cool, smooth surface. They were cylinders, metal. Giving a quick glance around to see if anyone were eyeing them, he extracted them as surreptitiously as he could. Two thermoses were stuck to the bottom of the bench and it didn't take long for him to figure out what they held. He would bet anything they held polyjuice potion sent by Snape that would allow them to travel undetected. On them was stuck some form of paper. He handed Hermione one and they waited only a moment before rising and leaving the scene. The two walked past the nearest bathrooms even though time was running short, Draco guessed because she wanted to see if they were being followed. He had the strangest suspicion they were. Eventually, satisfied they had lost anyone who may have been tailing them, she indicated a bench where he could wait until she returned from the restroom behind. Ladies first. Let her try the stuff to see if it worked. It was her bloody idea after all.

He nervously tapped his foot as he waited several minutes for her to emerge, fingering his thermos and removing the paper. Taped to it were two ten pound notes. That would certainly help; good ole Snape. The clock's hands were getting close and closer to 10:15. Trains were rolling in, people bustling about, going in and out of the restroom. He was tired of sweating in fear and ready to be in complete disguise, breath a little freer. Why didn't she hurry up already? What if he were attacked out here?

Uh-oh. His eyes widened as a good looking woman with long strawberry blonde hair sat next to him. He looked over at her smiling face, perfect smile, blushing lips, to ask her to move because his wife was sitting there- the first lie that sprang to mind- but the woman startled him by showing him a metallic thermos identical to the one Hermione had held only moments ago. Hermione. He couldn't believe his eyes and couldn't resist his caddy smirk as he told her, "I could get used to this."

She gave him a death glare of course, but also handed him a seemingly empty vial which he took into the bathroom with him along with his thermos.

His shoes were unreasonably loud on the green tile as he found an empty stall and locked himself in. Taking a deep breath, he removed the thermos and the vial from his coat pocket. Perhaps he should have asked Hermione to explain this before, just to be certain. The tiny glass vial that had once held the antidote now showed two curly locks of very dark brown hair, almost black. He preferred blonde, but oh well. People stealing identities couldn't be choosers.

He put the hairs in the mud like potion inside the thermos with a grimace and a gag. That was revolting. He hoped he wasn't sick and lost the whole thing. When he thought it was ready he pinched his nose, tilted back his head, and poured the nasty mixture right down his throat. Two quick swallows and he was gagging, choking and retching over the toilet. Still, he remembered to be careful not to spill the precious liquid, however repulsive it might be.

Gradually his body began to change, but then the process sped up. It was a weird sensation that grew painful as hair pulled itself from his scalp, legs elongated, muscles adjusted and so on. He tried not to yell, but grunted more than few times. Out of breath and on his knees he found himself when the process suddenly stopped. It only took a minute for him to come to his senses and hurry to gather his things, conceal them in his slightly tighter clothes and burst from the stall. The reflection he caught sight of in the mirror warranted a moment's hesitation. He looked handsome, there was no denying that. He wondered if Hermione had chosen this man on purpose, if perhaps this tall handsome thing was her taste. It certainly looked nothing like him, he noted with disdain and maybe a twinge of jealousy. Although he had a strong desire to remove his shirt and inspect this new identity further, he didn't. Instead, he hurried out the door and met the blonde, Hermione, who was standing impatiently at the bench. She recognized him immediately.

"What took you so long? Come on!" he frowned. He had to wait on her too after all. He followed wordlessly, feeling odd in his body, but much safer. As they rushed back toward the platform their train would be leaving from any minute, Draco ran into a man who seemed to come from nowhere and lost his grip on Hermione's hand. The man looked up in surprise and muttered an apology. Draco was frozen. It was Ron Weasley. For a second, Ron looked at him funny, almost as if he recognized him as well, but Hermione pulled him away.

"Come along Sean darling, or we'll miss our train!" her eyes were actually watering he noticed with instant contempt. How stupid, he thought resentfully as they clambered aboard at the last minute, nothing with them except a thermos, a vial, two concealed wands that couldn't be used except in an emergency, and a 50 pence piece.

Needless to say, he was in a foul mood and they shuffled in with all the post holiday traffic returning to their homes. He was hungry too. They hadn't had breakfast. At least, he supposed, they didn't have to worry about being recognized for a while, as long as they could get in to the W.C. every hour or so to drink some more of that God awful stuff. His gloom and Hermione's made them both bristly towards each other, snapping away with little or no provocation. Luckily the ride was only about two hours. They arrived at the much smaller station at. Security had been increased due to the terrorist attack. They had not had any bags to be checked early, but now they would have to pass through detectors and inspectors. Unless he was very much mistaken some of those police were wizards disguised as muggles, and doing a pretty poor job of pretending.

"We'll have to get rid of the polyjuice." She hissed in his ear.

"What?" They couldn't!

"Those sensors will beep when they detect the metal."

Without waiting for an answer, she opened the window and dropped them out onto the tacks with a clang. No one heard the sound through the commotion of exiting onto the platform. They passed the inspection with their strong false bravado. It lasted until they exited the station, smiling broadly, triumphantly with their handsome new faces. But not for long. They only had an hour until the disguise wore off and then they would be sitting ducks.

They hurried on until the pair found themselves soon enough wandering down the High Street of the small southern town. It would almost pass for a human place he thought it the cold mist that blanketed the streets. The street was not unlike those he was accustomed to. It was devoid of those dastardly automobiles screeching around like giant mice. He loathed those things. The decorated stores that were open lining said straight road not unlike his Diagon Alley, but a good deal wider. Roman he supposed. Here and there was a black ribbon in memoriam for the victims of the supposed terrorist attack. She, knowingly as ever, led him to a small pub just off the road, an Irish place the name claimed with a blue exterior. His stomach growled.

"I suppose it's too much to ask that we have reservations at some inn."

"No. No one could know we were headed, not even Snape. You don't have to look so cautious either. We don't look like ourselves remember?" she tried to cheer him up. He wasn't having it. The town was small and muggle, not his idea of an exciting destination to run away to, and this inn was definitely not his taste. He sighed and bit his lip.

"Not for long." He reminded her, not breaking his stoic visage for a moment as they entered the warm interior, the bell clinging above them. Their faces stared at them from the tellies behind the bar.

"I'll be right back." She went to the bar and placed a modest order with his half of the money and returned in only a few moments. He eyed a nice dinner a waitress carried to another table with longing, wishing he had something to smoke as he sat on the bench against the window. He was tired of sitting. She smiled then she returned. For now at least, they'd a have a decent meal and perhaps before they changed back into themselves they could ask where to find the woman from the news.

"What about tomorrow?" he asked sourly. "What about a bed tonight?" he asked sourly.

"Come on, let's have a bite to eat first, shall we?" And then she did it. Out of nowhere, she pecked him on the cheek.

His throat went oddly dry and in spite of himself he fancied himself a tall, dark handsome type sitting in a pub with a tall, lovely blonde on his arm. Of course he was just that, by all appearance anyway. His eyes as they caught sight of his reflection in one of the mirrors behind the bar certainly told him that he was, most especially that she was. Sadly, all the while he was very aware that they were, in fact, very much themselves.

Perhaps though, with nothing left to tie them down, in this new place with these new faces, perhaps they could begin to live a new life. And maybe, if they lived this new life long enough, they would become new people. In the future would he become Sean?

He had never imagined such a notion before, but considering the world had nothing left for Draco Malfoy, it was possible that this new prospect would make him happy again. Who knows what all they could do if neither were themselves…The unending possibilities were both thrilling and frightening. Forgetting one's self was a highly dangerous business. Electric lights twinkled still on tree by the road. At long last, he smiled.

A/N: So sorry again for the wait and the errors as this was quickly edited. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please leave a review so I know what you think. It will give me motivation to continue!