Hermione's POV

The night air was thick with tension, the kind that wrapped around my chest and made every breath feel heavy. My hands trembled as I gripped the silver key Draco had given me—the one that would lead us out.

This was it. No more waiting. No more second chances.

Either we escaped, or we didn't.

Draco moved quickly beside me, his wand tight in his grip as he dismantled the last layer of protective wards near the hidden passage. I could barely see his face in the darkness, but I could feel his urgency.

"We don't have much time," he murmured, his voice low but steady. "They'll realize something is wrong soon."

I swallowed hard, nodding. "Then let's move."

The moment he disabled the final lock, the old iron door groaned open, revealing a dark, narrow tunnel beneath the manor grounds. Without hesitating, I stepped inside, Draco close behind me.

Every step we took felt heavier, like the weight of everything we had endured was pressing against us. The air was damp and smelled of earth and stone, but I didn't care. I didn't care about anything except getting out.

After what felt like hours, we reached the other side—a clearing deep in the woods, beyond the manor's boundaries. The cold wind hit my face like a slap, and I gasped, my lungs flooding with real air.

Draco's hand brushed against mine, a silent reassurance.

"We're out," he whispered.

We didn't stop moving. We couldn't.

Draco had arranged for a safehouse, and I had only one place in mind.

My aunt's home.

She was the only family I had left who still lived a completely Muggle life. No connections to the magical world. No traceable ties to me.

We Apparated as soon as we reached a safe distance, my stomach twisting violently as the air compressed around us.

And then—

We landed.

The quiet hum of the Muggle neighborhood surrounded us, the sound of distant cars and flickering streetlights a sharp contrast to the suffocating silence of Malfoy Manor.

Draco exhaled sharply beside me, glancing around. "So this is it?"

I nodded, my chest rising and falling too fast. My aunt's house was small but familiar—two stories, with an overgrown garden and a dimly lit porch.

For the first time in months, I felt something close to safe.

I knocked.

Seconds later, the door opened, revealing my aunt, her face lined with sleep and confusion.

"Hermione?" she gasped, eyes widening. "Oh, my God—"

I barely managed a nod before I collapsed into her arms.

Draco hovered awkwardly behind me, shifting his weight, but my aunt pulled us both inside, slamming the door shut behind us.

We were free.

For the first time in so long, I could finally breathe.

And I wasn't alone.

Draco's POV

The warmth of the house was unsettling.

It wasn't just the heat from the radiators, or the way the floral-patterned furniture made the room feel strangely lived-in. It was the way everything felt—welcoming, familiar, safe.

I wasn't used to it.

I shifted awkwardly on the couch, fingers pressed against my knee as I listened to Hermione's aunt—Gertie, she had said—buzz around the kitchen, making tea. It was all so Muggle—the whistling kettle, the clinking of ceramic, the hum of a refrigerator in the background.

I had never actually sat in a Muggle home before.

And I hated how out of place I felt.

"You poor things," Gertie said as she bustled back into the sitting room, setting a tray in front of us. "You both look exhausted."

Hermione forced a small smile, reaching for a cup. "It's been… a long trip."

Gertie perched on the armrest of a chair, studying us both with an appraising eye. She looked like Hermione—same warm brown eyes, same determined set of her jaw—but she had a softness to her that Hermione had long since learned to hide.

"Well," she said, "I don't mean to pry, but—"

I stiffened.

Here it was. The questioning.

"What happened?" she asked gently. "Why are you here in the middle of the night looking like you've barely slept in a week?"

Hermione hesitated. I could see the calculations behind her eyes, the way she was choosing her words.

She's not going to tell her the truth.

I felt an odd mixture of relief and frustration at that.

"There was… an accident," Hermione said carefully, wrapping her hands around her tea. "Draco and I—well, we work together. Something went wrong, and it's complicated, but we needed a place to stay for a while."

Gertie frowned, clearly not satisfied with the vagueness of that answer. "What kind of accident?"

I tensed, feeling completely out of my depth. I had spent years lying to people—lying to myself—but this was different. This was a Muggle, someone who had no idea about the war, about magic, about any of it.

Hermione didn't flinch. "We just… can't go home right now."

There was something in her voice—something quiet and pleading.

Gertie studied her niece for a long moment before exhaling through her nose.

"Well," she finally said, "if you can't go home, then you can stay here."

I blinked. Just like that?

Hermione nodded. "Thank you, Aunt Gertie. I mean it."

Gertie reached forward, squeezing Hermione's hand. "I don't know what's going on, and I won't push if you don't want to tell me. But if you're in trouble, you need to let me know."

"We're fine," Hermione assured her. "Really."

Gertie's eyes flicked to me, her lips pursing slightly.

"And you," she said, tilting her head. "Draco, was it?"

I swallowed, nodding stiffly. "Yes, ma'am."

Her gaze narrowed. "Where's your family?"

I hesitated. I could feel Hermione watching me, willing me not to mess this up.

"They—" I started, then exhaled. "They don't know I'm here."

That, at least, was the truth.

Gertie sighed, rubbing her temples. "You're both running from something," she muttered. "That much is obvious."

Hermione opened her mouth, but Gertie shook her head. "Never mind. I won't press." She stood up, brushing her hands on her skirt. "You both need rest. Hermione, you can have your old room. Draco—" She paused, eyeing me. "I suppose the guest room will do."

I nodded, still feeling completely out of my element. "Thank you."

She waved me off. "Get some sleep. We'll talk more in the morning."

As she left the room, I finally exhaled, dragging a hand through my hair.

"That went… better than expected," I muttered.

Hermione sighed, setting her tea down. "She's kind. And she doesn't ask too many questions if she knows she won't get answers."

I shook my head, staring at the flickering lamp in the corner. "You didn't tell her the truth."

"I can't tell her the truth," Hermione said firmly. "The less she knows, the safer she is."

I frowned but didn't argue. She was right.

Still, it felt wrong to sit here, drinking tea in a warm house while my father was out there, searching.

"We need to be careful," I said.

Hermione nodded. "I know."

I glanced at her, noticing the way her fingers curled into the blanket draped over the couch. She was exhausted. We both were.

But for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn't feel like I had to look over my shoulder.

And for now, that was enough.

Hermione's POV

For the first time in months, I felt normal.

Or at least, as close to normal as I could get.

After everything—the escape, the fear, the endless tension—I had expected my body to remain in survival mode, constantly braced for the next disaster. But sitting here, curled up on my aunt's old sofa, watching a Disney movie of all things, it was almost easy to forget.

Draco was beside me, surprisingly calm given the circumstances. He had been stiff and awkward at first, clearly out of his depth in a Muggle household, but after my aunt had gone to bed, he had reluctantly agreed to watch a film with me.

And of course, I had chosen Beauty and the Beast.

I wasn't sure why. Maybe because I wanted to see something familiar, something comforting. Maybe because I found a certain irony in it.

Draco had scoffed at the opening scene, muttering something about ridiculous animation, but as the movie played on, he had gone silent. His body had relaxed slightly, his sharp features softened by the dim glow of the television.

And somewhere between "Be Our Guest" and the ballroom scene, he fell asleep.

I hadn't noticed at first.

His shoulder had slumped against mine, his head tilting slightly until his hair brushed my cheek.

I turned carefully, hardly daring to breathe.

He was asleep.

Draco Malfoy, heir to one of the most powerful pureblood families in the world, was sleeping with his head resting on me, a Muggle-born witch, in a Muggle house, after watching a Muggle movie.

If I had told myself this a year ago, I would have laughed.

But now, with his slow, even breaths warming my skin, with the faint crease between his brows softened in sleep, I didn't feel like laughing.

I felt something else entirely.

Something I didn't want to name.

Carefully, I shifted slightly, just enough to get a better look at him. His features, so often hardened with tension and arrogance, looked… peaceful like this. Almost human.

It was strange, seeing him like this—unguarded, vulnerable.

I thought back to everything that had led to this moment. To the years at Hogwarts when we had been enemies. To the cold, awful days in Malfoy Manor. To the moment when he had chosen to help me instead of standing by.

And now we were here.

I sighed quietly, my own exhaustion catching up to me.

Maybe just for tonight, I could let myself trust him.

Maybe just for tonight, we could pretend that the world outside didn't exist.

As the movie played on, I leaned back against the cushions, letting my eyes flutter shut.

Draco didn't stir.

And for the first time in a long time, I let myself rest.