Three figures materialized on a silent hill beneath a sprawling oak tree.

The hill overlooked the cathedral city of Carlisle, not far from the seaside estate the Malfoy family had once considered purchasing. Draco had been seven years old when his father brought him here to explore the grounds. Ultimately, the deal had not been struck, but Draco still remembered that sunny day and the serene expression on his father's face as he strolled beside him, teaching the future head of the glorious Malfoy family what it meant to bear the name.

"If you follow your ambitions, Draco," his father had said, "you can own this world."

It was funny that, of all places, Draco now chose this one to escape to. Funny or bitterly ironic.

Draco's contemplations were disrupted by a shriek.

"What did you do?"

The girl jumped two feet away from him, a dark look of apprehension on her face. Her short, black curls were in disarray, and she was dirty from ash. It reminded Draco of his own need to Scourgify himself.

"Uh." How was he supposed to answer that question? "I Apparated us."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you not even know what Apparition is?" Draco was exasperated. "What do you know?"

She snapped.

"What do I know?! What I know is that my brother and I were minding our own business when a bunch of psychos appeared out of nowhere and—and—"

Her voice shook, and she looked as if she might break into sobs again. Despite his better judgement, Draco felt something inside him quiver. He averted his eyes from the lifeless body lying on the ground between them.

They're only muggles, he told himself. They're nothing. He was lowering himself by the mere act of speaking to her.

Despite knowing all that, he couldn't help but feel guilty. He was the one who had led the Death Eaters to this girl. He was the one who had chosen her name.

Was she a mudblood, though? Her magic had killed three of the deadliest Death Eaters. Could mudbloods even possess such power? He was still trying to wrap his head around what had happened. Trying and failing. Could it be possible that her parents were wizards who chose to live as muggles for some reason? But then, why hadn't they taught her how to use her magic?

When he spoke, his voice was softer. "Look, we are now in the north of England, near Carlisle. I Apparated because it wasn't safe to stay there. Other Death Eaters would come looking for you—" He trailed off.

Oh crap.

He had Apparated her.

He had performed magic near her. And she was still sixteen.

"The Trace!" he exclaimed, suppressing the urge to slap his forehead. "Never mind what I said. This location is also compromised."

"What's the Trace?"

"It's how we were able to find you," he explained to her, keeping his voice calm and hoping it would steady his frantic mind. "All magical children are Traced until they turn seventeen. Every time you use magic or someone uses it near you, the Ministry knows."

It was well past midnight. Ministry officials were sleeping soundly in their beds. No one was keeping a close eye on the Trace files of some unknown mudbloods, he was sure of it. What Yaxley had given them was a copy, obviously; the originals were at the Ministry. How did they update the documents? Was it done automatically, or was there someone tasked with this? Either way, they wouldn't find out until morning.

But what if an explosion like that had attracted the attention of the Aurors? Surely, they worked around the clock. In that case, they could reach him even faster than the Dark Lord. Draco couldn't let that happen, especially with the Ministry on the verge of being taken over in a matter of weeks.

But Aurors on site probably wouldn't be able to connect this incident to a certain underage mudblood. It wouldn't occur to them to look up her file. They wouldn't be able to track them all the way here, not right away.

He needed to Obliviate her and flee. He needed to erase the entire thing from her memory, so no one could find out anything about Draco's whereabouts. But it seemed cruel. She was in more danger now than ever, and not knowing about it would make her an easy target.

But what did he care?

He should just Obliviate her and Apparate somewhere far away.

And then what?

Walking away from everything he knew was a decision. It was not a plan.

He didn't know where to go, where to hide. Going back to Magical Britain would be foolish. His safest bet was Muggle Britain, but he knew nothing about it.

The girl could be useful. He needed to find out more about that black weapon and the means by which she was travelling. He'd better not use Legilimency on her: the less magical interaction he had with her, the better. No, there was no need for magic here. After all, threats and bribery could be just as effective.

Draco turned to her, only to find her sitting by her brother's side once again. She said something, but her whisper was lost in the wind. Before he could ask her to repeat herself, she whispered again.

"Why?"

He froze.

"Why did you do this to us?"

Somehow, these quiet words affected him way more than angry shouts or violent outbursts ever could. Guilt twinged in his chest. He couldn't speak. His previous thoughts, calculating and cunning, suddenly made him feel ashamed.

"What did we do to you?"

Nothing. They had done nothing. They lived peacefully in their muggle world, just as Draco and his family had always believed their kind should. They didn't mix with pureblood wizards, sullying their blood; they didn't take away their jobs; they didn't meddle where they didn't belong. But Death Eaters had gone after them anyway.

"You did nothing," he said, finally finding his voice. "A war is brewing in Wizarding Britain, and you, unknowingly, belong to the enemy side."

"What—Why?" She sounded incredulous. "We've never even heard anything about any such community."

"It doesn't matter to them, I'm afraid."

I'm sorry, Draco wanted to say but couldn't.

The girl was crying again. Acting on an unexpected and inexplicable impulse, he pulled a handkerchief from his cloak pocket and offered it to her. She hesitated, looking up at him and studying his face for a moment, then accepted it and used it to wipe the tears and soot from her face.

"It's not safe here," he whispered. "You should leave as quickly as you can."

She shook her head. "I'm not leaving him here."

"Do you—" The words came with great difficulty. "Do you, uh, wish to bury him?"

The girl nodded without turning.

"I can take you to your family graveyard," he said, despite knowing that time was running out and Apparating her somewhere else would leave another trail. A moment later, he realized muggles might not have family graveyards. How did they bury their dead, anyway? Did they burn them? Did they eat them?

"No," she said. "That wouldn't be wise. The cemetery where my parents are buried... I can't go back there."

Her words confused Draco, but he didn't ask any questions.

"It might be possible to bury your brother here in Carlisle. If I'm not mistaken, there should be a cemetery nearby."

"No. A new grave mysteriously appearing in the cemetery would raise questions. It needs to be someplace hidden. And no gravestone."

He didn't ask why, but his expression must have betrayed his confusion, for the girl felt the need to explain. "Your people are not the only ones who are after me. I also cannot afford to leave a trail."

That, he understood. He told her to choose a place where she'd like to bury her brother and advised her to walk at least ten paces ahead, so that he could levitate her brother without the magic being recorded as performed near her. The girl looked distrustful, which was also understandable: Draco, too, wouldn't turn his back on a stranger, especially given the circumstances under which they had met.

But as she glanced at her brother again, the look in her eyes changed. Wordlessly, she turned to descend the hill.

He soon followed her, the muggle's body floating beside him. The moon bathed the man's face in a soft, silvery light. It was uncanny how similar muggle corpses were to those of wizards. If it weren't for the clothes, Draco would never be able to tell the difference. The man's features, now peaceful and relaxed, were rather refined and sharp, much like his sister's. His skin and clothes were dirty, of course, but so were Draco's. He paused and thoroughly Scourgified himself, from head to toe. After a moment's consideration, he cast the same spell on the man's body.

The girl found a spot beneath the hill, concealed by trees.

"There," she said.

Draco told her to step aside, and she took ten big strides to the right. "Digging" a hole big enough for a grave took him less than a minute. He spotted a fallen tree not far away and transfigured it into a simple coffin. The hovering body fitted perfectly inside. Draco was about to close the lid and lower it into the grave when he heard, "Wait!" coming from the girl. He placed the coffin on the ground and waited for her.

She approached and knelt beside her brother. Brushing stray strands of hair from his face, she placed a kiss on his forehead. Draco turned away—the scene felt too intimate for him to witness.

When he looked back, the girl had risen. Her eyes were dry. She lingered over her brother's body before turning her gaze to Draco. With a brief nod, she stepped back and watched as he buried the coffin beneath several feet of earth. Once he had concealed the grave, the area looked indistinguishable from the surrounding ground.

When the girl approached him once more, her face was no longer sad or lost; it was set and determined, and her eyes were darker than the sky on the coldest winter night. She did not look at the grave again.

"Tell me everything there is to know about these wizards," she said, "where to find them and how to kill them."

"Are you mad?" Draco exclaimed, his eyes wide. "You need to run, not search them out! You're lucky to have survived."

"Lucky?" Rage simmered beneath her quiet voice. "They murdered my brother. I will seek them out and I will kill each and every one of them—"

"There is no way you'll stand a chance against so many experienced dark wizards when you don't know anything about magic!"

"Then teach me," she said, looking serious.

Draco stared at her. A Malfoy teaching a mudblood how to use magic? The idea was absurd. It would be easy to laugh in her face or simply refuse and walk away. But on the other hand... If the fool wanted to go and get herself killed, he had no problem with that. He could teach her a few spells in exchange for some tips on surviving among muggles. He'd get what he needed from her, and they would part ways; he would head toward his freedom, and she—toward her death.

Swallowing his pride, Draco said, "I might teach you. But if I do, you will also have to teach me something. For example, that weapon your brother used—"

"Deal."

"You don't make deals with people whose names you don't even know," he said with a superior look on his face. He had seen her name on the file but hadn't bothered to remember it.

A short pause followed.

"I'm Ruth," she said, her expression indecipherable.

After another pause—and another exhausting mental battle—Draco said with as much dignity as he could muster, "I am Draco Malfoy."

He didn't offer her a handshake, of course. That would be too much.

If Ruth had any thoughts about his name, she kept them to herself. "Well then, let's get out of here."

She turned and walked away, expecting him to follow. With gritted teeth, he did. It was her world, after all. If they couldn't use Apparition, he had no idea how they could possibly get anywhere, and he needed to know.

Ruth seemed confident as she strode toward the city. Draco was too tired to question the validity of her plan. The stars were beginning to fade. It would be dawn soon. He'd been on his feet all day and all night, and his body was starting to betray him. Each step felt heavier than the last.

After what felt like an eternity, but was likely only about thirty minutes, they reached the first cluster of muggle houses. Ruth came to an abrupt halt. She pulled up the hood of her strange, baggy black sweater and gestured for Draco to do the same.

"What for?" he asked.

"Security cameras," she replied in a hushed tone. Her eyes scanned the surroundings. "I don't actually see any, but just in case."

Her explanation did little to clear up his confusion, but he complied nonetheless, pulling his hood over his head, and then they resumed walking.

The dim glow of streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement as Ruth and Draco walked along the quiet suburban streets. They passed several tiny, unremarkable houses. Each one looked rather similar, with plain, boxy shapes and small trimmed lawns.

Ruth stopped again near one of the houses. It was a single-story building with a slightly overgrown front yard. She glanced around to ensure no one was watching. In front of the house was a patch of gravel with a grey metal object sitting upon it. The object had four round wheels beneath it and a long, narrow front.

"What are we doing here?" Draco asked.

"Stealing this car," Ruth replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

He was too drained to feel any irritation. He recalled the word and its purpose: Weasley's fiasco in their second year was hard to forget. So, this was their mode of transportation. Draco was unimpressed.

Ruth walked around the car and approached one of the windows. With a swift motion, she leaned her elbow against the glass and smashed it. Draco winced. That must have hurt.

Sticking her hand through the broken window, she managed to unlock the door and climb inside, instructing him to go to the opposite door. As he approached it, the door swung open. With a disgusted sneer, he climbed in and slammed the door shut, mimicking her action. The interior was filled with strange levers, additional seats, and many other oddities. He didn't like the situation he was in at all, but they had to get as far away as possible before morning.

Ruth spent another fifteen minutes removing a plastic cover with a tool she'd found in what she called a glove compartment—though there were no gloves inside—and fiddling with thin, coloured strands of something until she got it right. With a noise loud enough to make him jump, the "car" began to move forward, gliding along the gravel in a manner that defied Draco's understanding.

As they sped away, Draco glanced around at the unfamiliar surroundings, the many levers and buttons, and Ruth's set jaw. But it had been a very long night and, as bewildering as everything around him was, his eyes were closing.

Six hours later—with the sun high overhead and a completely different landscape outside the windows—Draco was jolted awake by a sharp pain in his arm.

The Dark Lord was calling him.

Back inside the walls of Malfoy Manor, Narcissa huddled on the floor of the dining room, surrounded by dozens of cowering hooded figures.

Her eyes were unseeing as they stared at the bloody floorboards, and her ears were deaf to a man's agonised screams.

But her heart... her heart was racing. For the stone she wore close to it kept it warm.