Draco was short of breath, striding through the castle at a brisk pace. His cloak was moving in the air behind him, clapping as if to cheer him on. His lips were numb, his tongue coated with her taste.

She tasted… divine. Spring and madness.

The best thing it could do was to put distance between them. Because if he didn't physically remove himself from her space, he would surrender entirely to her—his?—wants and needs. It wasn't the first time that the thought of Granger this way had slipped in his mind. He just never would have thought that she would have been the one to kiss him. To initiate Whatever-This-What.

She'd kissed him and his world had tipped over. She had shaken something awake inside him, something he knew had been there, hibernating, waiting to emerge at a spring that would never come. Spring could never bloom in the Empire.

But why did she taste like spring?

He wished she tasted winter like the two nameless women he had fucked since he was stuck here.

Why did she have to fucking precipitate things? Why did she have to intoxicate him, to make herself the gravity of his mind, the axis pulling each thought to her? She'd kissed him and had awoken something that had been dormant inside him for weeks, and he wasn't ready to see that Something shuddering to life, hungry and selfish.

She had changed everything. She had tipped the boat just as they had finally managed to be on still waters.

Why? Fucking why?

As his steps echoed on the marble, he blinked to forget the baffled look on her face when he broke the kiss. The more he tried, the less clothes she wore in his mind. He'd broke the kiss because if he didn't, he would have pinned her against that window, zipped down her uniform and probably fucked her excruciatingly slow.

He exited the castle just as the moans he wanted to pry from her mouth roared in his ears. He had to clear his mind, wash down her taste and drown the unholy images of her he was exuding.

He had taken Francine's body to Town Hall. Merlin knew why Voldemort requested the players' corpses in Town Hall. They were left in an empty, cold room in the basement, on stainless steel tables.

Draco's wildest theory? The Dark Lord was a necrophile, doing unspeakable things to corpses.

He briefly debated storming into the Great Hall for Flint during dinner and paste him on a table. He'd take a butter knife and wedge it into his witless skull, cracking it open like an oyster, then spread his brains on a piece of toast and make him eat it.

Draco entered the dorms and dashed for Theo's room. He had left Keela in his care while he had been summoned to bring Francine's corpse to Town Hall. She had been at the Hospital Wing, already under a sheet when he'd arrived.

Heart attack.

Theo wasn't in his room. He looked in his own room. Empty. On his way out, he bumped into another Scavenger—Millicent. She looked at him with surprise.

"Where's Theo?" he demanded as a way of saying hello.

"Oh, got summoned to Paisley. Apparently, a large group of Muggles were hiding in a church to ambush us."

Draco had too many questions. "Did he take Keela?"

Millicent frowned. "Who?"

"My dog," he snarled back. "Did he take my dog?"

"I… think so?"

"Fucking Theo," he mumbled. Now he didn't know if he should kill Flint or Theo first.Nobodywas supposed to disapparate with Keela but him.

"It's just a dog." Millicent rolled her eyes and Draco kindly suggested that she go fuck herself. He apparated the next second in the only Paisley neighbourhood he'd ever been to. The wind was stronger here, and the trees were bending like blades of grass.

Fear coiled in his guts as he imagined a thousand ways Keela could die. He drew his wand and kept it clutched at this side. He didn't know where he was supposed to go. Which church?

It had been years since he'd wandered the streets of an unknown city alone, without the click of claws at his side.

He walked and jogged, alternating paces. In a flash of enlightenment, he stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of a deserted street. He had to go up. Closing his eyes, he focused for an instant before the familiar black smoke wrapped around him, lifting him off the grounds.

He took flight, smoke swirling around him, as he surveyed the city under him. The cold wind roared in his ears and raked in his hair as he gulped down frosted breaths. It took about three minutes before he heard the gunshots. Looking down, he watched dozens of minuscule black silhouettes swarming the streets in front of a large church. He noticed flashes of various lights—mostly green.

He descended upon them at light speed, landing in the middle of the fight. Shouts and groans. Yells, spells, roars of pain. Exploding stone, earsplitting gunshots. The entrance to the church was made of three arches, and there was a slope right before it. Muggles were lurking in the shadows of the building, hiding behind pillars, and pointing guns at Scavengers.

Draco didn't know a lot about guns, but Dolohov had told them what they could do, and showed them different kinds of models, each offering a unique fire and damage rate. So, by looking briefly around, he noticed rifles, pistols and semi-automatics.

He casted a Protego just as a rain of bullets whistled past him, mere inches from him. The ground was scattered with bodies, a few of them from the Empire, and the rest of them Muggles.

Draco searched the faces and the surroundings all the while evading the bullets like they were annoying flies. Panicked Scavengers bumped into him, others shouted at him when they realised he wasn't supposed to be here. But they were still glad for his presence, he could tell.

If by some misfortune Keela was behind these arches and inside the church, he would kill every single one of them, Muggles and Scavengers alike, to clear his path to her. He bent down to retrieve the wand of a fallen soldier when a hard mass tackled him to the ground.

His face smashed against the pavement, unable to move with the weight of the person covering his body.

"You fucking idiot," Theo snarled. A heartbeat passed before he disapparated them, dragging him in a dizzying, swirling Side-Along.

They landed on a carpeted floor in the middle of a restaurant, and the silence was deafening. Draco jumped on his feet although he was still dizzy and swivelled to Theo, who had an ugly gash on his forehead and a rip on his shoulder, shining with marred flesh and blood.

Draco's ears were still ringing with the whistles of phantom bullets. He stumbled in front of Theo. "Where is she?" he screamed.

Before he could even get close, a familiar growl stopped him. Keela had sneaked up to him from somewhere between the booths and jumped on her hind legs in front of him.

His knees buckled as every emotion drained out of him. He encircled his dog in his arms, smelling her fur, before inspecting every inch of her body.

"She's fine," Theo said platonically.

Draco glared up at him. "What the fucking hell were you thinking, bringing her here?" Keela nuzzled her head against his chest. He kept stroking her ears, relishing the sight of her slow wagging tail.

"I know you're mad, and I'm sorry," Theo answered. He gritted his teeth, probably to ignore the pain. "I knew you didn't want Keela to be left alone in the Empire, so I brought her when I got summoned. I didn't know it would be this ugly." He dabbed at the wound on his forehead, hissing in pain. "As soon as I saw how it was, I apparated her here and returned to help. Then I saw you."

Draco focused on slowing his heartbeat, adrenaline decreasing.

"I'd never put her in harm's way," Theo added, sighing deeply. "I'm real sorry, mate."

Keela raised her head and gazed at her master. Draco detailed her canine traits, the black fur on her elongated muzzle and around her eyes, reaching the tip of her ears, sliding on top of her spine. The camel-coloured fur on her cheeks, running to both sides of her underbelly to each of her strong paws.

"I'm sorry I yelled," he answered, standing. He looked around. The restaurant was dusty and chic, with burgundy-coloured leather booths and upward glass of wine, twinkling in the daylight seeping through the windows. It was getting dark. "Are you okay?"

"A bullet grazed me. I'll be fine." Theo frowned uncomfortably. "Hurts like a bitch, though."

"Where are we?"

"Still in Paisley."

"Can we get the fuck out of here?"


Draco and Theo were at the lodge in Yorkshire Dales. The cauldron brewing the Polyjuice was set on the floor and the ingredients on the table. Draco had managed to close both of Theo's wounds. At least the bleeding had stopped.

He was unbelievably thankful for the multiple things his mother had shown him in terms of healing. He had come in handy more than he thought it would.

"Did you ward the place?" Theo was sitting at the kitchen table, examining the different jars and vials.

"Made it Unplottable since I started brewing this, yes."

Keela was sitting in front of the living room window, gazing outside, hoping to catch the movement of a rodent.

Draco had already stirred the potion this morning. He didn't need to come back here and do it again. He just didn't want to go back to the castle, the dorms or Town Hall. First, because of Granger, second, because of—

"I'm gonna kill Flint," he blurted out, eyes burning a whirlwind in the potion.

Theo's brows quirked up. "What now?"

"He fucking touched Granger." The word tasted acrid on his tongue.

"… Touched her how?"

"Hit her. I believe."

Theo sighed deeply, and it sounded like 'fuck'. "Why?"

"Dunno."

"Malfoy—"

"She probably talked back to him or something. It doesn't matter." His voice had turned cold as steel, his eyes hot as the sun's core. "Reasons shouldn't matter." He resumed his stirring. "I'm telling you because you're supposed to prevent me from doing it."

Theo scoffed, an amused smile widening his face. "Sorry to disappoint, but I won't stop you from doing it. In fact, I'd like to watch."

Draco grumbled something incoherent, and his palms clammed up. He couldn't think about Flint without thinking of Granger, of the bruise on the side of her face, her bottom lip purple with the gash.

Her lips—

"What happened?" Theo asked, and his voice had shed its amusement.

"We kissed." The words tumbled out of him in a heap.

Theo was speechless for a few moments, and Draco decided to sit in the chair in front of him. Waiting for the obvious scorn, reprimand, accusation. This hadn't been the plan. He was supposed to make Granger trust him, not kiss him. Although now he didn't know which he wanted more. Which mattered more.

She had tipped the fucking boat—

"Actually, she kissed me," he specified, unsure if it was useful information.

"Fuck," Theo muttered, but his features weren't hard or judgmental. In fact, he seemed to bite back a smile.

"What?" Draco drawled.

"Nothing, it's just—" Theo stopped to think. "Between the three of us, Granger has the most wits."

He didn't want to agree, but whatever. "So?"

"So she wouldn't do something witlessly."

Draco impatiently pulled at his messy hair. "That's the problem. I don't want her to want me this way." Even as he said it, he knew it was a lie but there was a morsel of truth in that statement. "Shecan'twant me this way."

"Why?"

Because even if she was ready to give him a leaf, he wanted to uproot the whole fucking tree and give it to her. If she'd want to kiss him again, he'd tear her apart like a fucking animal. He wouldn't leave anything in his wake, just the breathless shell of her naked body wallowing in his sheets, wondering what she did wrong to be fucked this way.

Yet he yearned to go back to her, just to see the shadow of her smile.

"She can't want something that keeps her prisoner." He said instead, which was another truth. "It's typical Stockholm syndrome."

Theo rolled his eyes. "You're so dramatic. You're not keeping her prisoner."

Draco punctuated each of his sentences with his finger on the table. "Icanbring her outside the Empire. I can apparate. I can deactivate her tattoo and give her a wand. Yet I don't do any of that."

Theo snapped his fingers in front of his face. "Hellooooo? We're all prisoners."

"It's not the same!" His voice was louder now. "We can't keep pretending we're in the same boat just because we hate the same fucking psychopath!"

Theo's mouth slowly closed until his lips formed only a line. His hazelnut eyes flitted between both of his, reading him.

"You're right," he said calmly.

They said nothing more for a few minutes, only the gentle bubbling of the potion filled the room.

"Are you gonna be a dick about this?" Theo asked. "With her, I mean."

Draco rubbed his eyes. "Probably."

"Come on."

"She can't want me this way, Theo," he repeated, locking gaze with his friend.

"You realise that physical attraction doesn't listen to reason? However—" His eyes hardened slightly as he leaned on the table, "I'll say this one thing about Flint. Kill him or don't kill him, Malfoy, it's up to you. I'm not gonna stand in your way, whatever you choose. But you have to know that if you kill him, you won't be able to come back from it. People will turn on you. You'll cause an uproar. You'll precipitate people into a war they refused to see coming. You'll force them to pick a side and the Empire will implode."

Draco kept staring at him, waiting a few seconds. "And I'm the dramatic one."

"You know better than anyone else that it's more complicated than to kill or not to kill."

"Is that what the Order told you?"

Theo's eyes flashed brightly and pinched his lips. "I've told them about you, you know."

"Why?"

"They're asking if Granger and Arthur are taken care of."

Draco scoffed. "They're in Numberland. Nobody's taken care of." He rose from his chair, wooden legs scrapping on the floor, and went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. "If they're so worried, then they just have to come and get them."

He didn't know why he tasted bile on his tongue. The idea of Granger being brought far from the Empire was filling him with a kind of hope—because she'd finally be safe. But he didn't want anyone but him to take her away.

"They've suggested it." Theo's voice broke the silence and the kettle started to blow steam. "They've suggested I bring them both to a location and they'd take care of them."

Draco swivelled around so quickly, he thought he heard one of his joints crack. "What did you say?"

"I told them we needed a better plan than this. I told them that bringing them out of the Empire while doing nothing else about what's going oninsidethe Empire wouldn't change a fucking thing. And it would kill us both, you and me. We need a big plan. A coup. Striking simultaneously from the inside and the outside."

The kettle whistled loudly and Draco poured some tea in a cup. He didn't know what to say, what to think. Everything was mixed together.

"I do have a question," he said, bringing his tea back to the table. "This big plan of ours. Does it mean breaking the players out, bringing the Empire down and killing the Dark Lord? All at once?"

"Something like that." Theo shrugged, seeming unbothered by the improbability of it all.

"That's not a coup, Theo." Draco burned his lips on his tea. "What you're planning is the Third Wizarding War. Or the fourth, if we're counting Hogwarts. And with the Muggles thrown into all this mess, that's a civil war."


Draco waited two days before bracing himself to see Granger again. Yesterday, he had crossed Francine's name in his notebook. By this time, he was expecting Granger to be absolutely furious with him, but he figured it was a good thing. She could channel that anger into her training. She definitely could tackle him on the mat.

So, two days after their kiss, he went to the castle at dawn. He slipped a piece of parchment under her door to let her know they would train right after breakfast. He wasn't even sure she would come.

She arrived five minutes late in the Room of Requirement after breakfast. Her uniform was crinkled and her unruly hair were undone. She looked like she hadn't slept in two days, but still—still—his heart jolted awake at the sight of her.

He was standing in the middle of the wrestling mat and waited for her, counting each of her strides.

"Good morning, Malfoy," she said. Her tone was filled with a generic politeness he knew all too well.

"Morning, Granger."

"Sorry for my tardiness. I had breakfast with Oliver. He's still pretty shaken up."

He nodded, detailing the numerous traits, angles and lines of her face. There was a greenish bruise spreading on her left cheek and temple, and he imagined Flint's flying hand landing right there. Anger started to simmer right beneath the surface, but he shoved it down. Flint was still roaming the grounds, training his band.

When his eyes fell on her mouth, his throat went dry and he blinked back to reality. They had to focus. He wouldn't be a dick. Even though she had tipped the boat. She had put them in this fucking situation, rendering them awkward like teenagers.

"It's fine," he replied. "I thought of a new move I can show you."

She opened her palm in front of her in an offering gesture. "Let's."

"Remember what I said about placing your foot behind one of your opponent's? This way, when you push them back, you block their foot and they're forced to fall."

"Yes." Her amber eyes weren't on his, but fixated on a piece of fabric on his right shoulder.

"It's especially useful if your opponent is in front of you, not just grabbing you from behind."

She nodded, frowning. Filing information like she always did. "Right."

"I'll demonstrate." He stepped into her space, closing the remaining foot of space between their bodies. The top of her breasts was merely grazing his chest, and she tipped her head back to look at him.

There wasn't enough air around them to chase herscent. She smelled of cherry blossoms and stone, not in a stenchy way. More like the smell of stone washed clean by rain.

"Strangle me," he ordered softly. An undertone of gravel in his voice.

She waited for a heartbeat before reaching both hands toward his throat quickly. Instantly, he grabbed her shoulders, pressing her body against his, while he anchored his right foot behind her left foot, locking his leg into place. The shift in the stance intertwined their bodies, her left leg between his, and her hands tried to find a grip on his back.

He pushed her. Not too hard—just enough to demonstrate.

Granger didn't resist. She fell backwards, stumbling on the foot he had nudged behind her left one. She hit the mat with a thud, cushioning her fall with her forearms.

"Okay," she said, clearing her throat and getting back up. Her cheeks were pink and she was still not looking at him. "I got it."

He lifted both his arms in a surrender gesture. "Do your worst."

She planted herself in front of him and hesitated, examining the placement of her foot, her hands hovering above his chest.

"You're quite taller than me," she frowned. "My leg isn't long enough to put my foot behind yours while the rest of my body stays in front of you."

"You don't have to stay exactly in front of me. The angle will be more… diagonal."

She drew a sharp breath and stepped closer, resting her palms on both his shoulders. Draco was tempted to count each of her long eyelashes as she gazed down at her footing. A rush of hot blood was coursing through his veins and he clenched his teeth. His hands almost flew to her hips, magnetised by the heat of her.

When she managed to finally nudge her foot behind his, their stance looked more like an interrupted tango move.

"It would be easier if you push me at the same time as blocking my foot," he commented, careful not to sound breathless even though he was.

She grumbled and pushed him.

He almost felt nothing and his body didn't budge.

"It's not working because you're expecting it," she snapped. "And because you must weigh a hundred more pounds than me."

He faked an offended expression. "A hundred, really?"

"Half of that is your ego." She grunted as she vehemently pushed him on the last word and Draco felt the force of it this time. His back arched and he lost his footing, his blocked knee bending to make him fall.

He almost took her out with his fall, but she unhooked her leg just in time. A fine coat of sweat was shining on her forehead. She looked proud and defiant, like a raincloud looming over him, her wild curls framing her delicate face. It took everything he had in him not to capture her lips this instant and drink her wildness.

He got back on his feet, his stare lingering on her bruise. All traces of amusement left him at once when he remembered something he should have thought about way sooner.

"Granger." He hoped she was trusting the seriousness of his tone."I have to tell you about Christmas."