And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin?
- The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, T.S. Eliot
A solid ball of momentum hits Draco in the midsection, a cloak falling to the sand at their feet. Potter's left standing exposed in the middle of the beach, looking as stunned as Draco feels, but Draco doesn't have eyes for Potter.
His earlier indignities with sand are shoved aside and he collapses to the ground beneath her hurtling enthusiasm.
"Are you real?"
She says it but it could have been him. They're both nodding and saying, "Yes," like either of them said it. Hermione's tiny hands are on his cheeks, her thumbs brushing his cheekbones, and tears are on her face. How did those get there? How long have they been there? Draco rests his forehead against hers, clutching her to his chest. His arse is squashing a pile of sand that could have been some child's creation yesterday, and his girl is crying, but they're good tears.
He hopes so, anyway. His tears are good ones. He hadn't even realised they were on his cheeks until one drops down and he feels the landing. That shouldn't even be possible but he's aware of himself - and of her - in ways he never could have anticipated. She's living and breathing and tucked under his chin. Her hair is back in his face and he's encased in lilac. How does she still smell like lilac, after all this time in the woods? Draco can't inhale deeply enough. His fingers clutch her opposite shoulders, wrapped so tightly around her that he can feel every inhale.
He's forgotten about Potter entirely, who clears his throat.
"Sorry, mate, but... how are you here?"
He's not Potter's mate and probably never will be, but this does break through to some necessary discussion - and probably some eventual deflection from the obvious degradation Draco experienced at Hogwarts, where the Carrows had ensured Draco's damnification and -
Fucking Salazar, can't he think normally? He reverts back to the obvious offence, looking up from Hermione at last to glare daggers at Potter. "I'm not your 'mate.'"
"How about you tell us how you got here, anyway?"
It requires an obnoxious amount of shifting around for his hand to retrieve the Deluminator from his bag. This process is complicated by Hermione, who's solidly set on his lap and clutching his shirt in her fists, her head still tucked beneath his chin. Her breathing pattern indicates tears, something Draco would like to address, but Potter still has his wand out.
"I'll tell you up front, I can't explain how. But Dumbledore left me this. It didn't come with directions, but Snape told me he invented it. And a few hours ago, from that thing - whatever it is - I heard Hermione's voice say my name."
She looks up at last. "You heard... me?"
Draco presses his lips to her hairline, squeezing her to him. "Your voice, coming from that. It was faint and you didn't say much. But you'd say my name and I knew if I apparated, I'd come out where you were. I don't know how, like I said -"
Potter looks ready to contest the whole thing, and Draco tries to forestall it. "- but Dumbledore gave it to me. I guess you'd say he left it to me, because it arrived - over the summer," he finishes lamely, trying to avoid the phrase, 'after he died.' He's not sure why because he doesn't give a toss about Potter's feelings on the matter, but it might upset Hermione and that won't do. She's upset enough and it seems disproportionate to his arrival here, though he can't explain why. He'd love to believe she'd be this overwhelmed by Draco showing up, but this seems like more.
Potter still doesn't look convinced and Draco tries to change the subject. Gripping Hermione tighter and feeling her breathe along with him, he asks, "Where are we? Is this... Tankerton Beach? In Kent?"
The name comes to him out of nowhere, but he feels it's right. Hermione had mentioned it as one of her favourite holiday destinations with family and he knows he's hit the mark when she starts to cry harder.
For his part, Potter's eyes narrow. If Draco were in a more charitable mood, he'd be impressed with Potter's ability to stay discerning and sceptical. Maybe tomorrow, he will be - when he's part of the group. Right now, however, it's annoying. Draco could do with less of it.
"How would you know? Hermione, is that where we are?"
"It's deduction, not divination -" Oh, for fuck's sake. He's addled. "This is her favourite holiday spot."
"How do you know that?" It's clear by his befuddled tone that Potter did not know that, which gives Draco a severe surge of pride. This is his witch. His, no matter how often he wondered if she'd be tempted by Potter. The way she's clinging to him now tells him all he needs to know.
"I know quite a lot about her. More than you do, it seems. Get your wand out of my face."
Hermione's muffled voice contributes for the first time since she tackled him. "Stop it, Harry. Put it away."
Harry splutters, "How do you know I'm pointing it at him at all? You aren't even looking at me point it!"
"But you are pointing it," Draco points out, growing more annoyed by the second. "Should I bother asking where the other twat is? Does he have a wand on me, too?"
He can't have, though, because the invisibility cloak they were under is right next to his shoe. Bemused by this puzzle, he doesn't notice at first that Hermione's begun crying again.
"Never you mind. It's been a rough couple of days, Malfoy."
As if that eliminates his right to ask the question - or to know the answer to it. Draco's eyes narrow and he scans the dunes more thoroughly. Weasley has to be here somewhere.
Potter has lowered his wand but still hasn't pocketed it. It hangs loosely by his thigh. "So that thing led you here. The thing from Dumbledore." He stumbles over the name by the tiniest hitch and Hermione's whole body shifts with her snuffling inhale.
"Do forgive me for asking again, Malfoy - why are you here? Don't think I've forgotten about what's on your arm. Start talking or you can't stay."
"Harry!" Her sharp tone brings back flashes of his dazed recovery in the hospital wing, gleefully hearing Hermione chastise Potter. She lifts her head from Draco's collarbone (where it fits quite nicely, in his opinion) and glares at him. A nonverbal exchange ensues, one Draco isn't privy to.
"I'm not going anywhere without her. And I can't go back now, anyway."
Their silent argument gets sorted, in one direction or the other. Draco presumes Hermione wins it. The next one begins, verbally this time, while Hermione tries to stand off his lap.
"We need to finish casting the enchantments. We can talk once we have the camp set up."
"Why don't you go and finish that, Potter?" Draco winks at him with satisfaction, noting that Potter doesn't look very well. Unhealthy. Drawn and gaunt, with eye sockets so sunken and bagged that Draco could believe he has two black eyes. His hair is longer and he's got a scruff of a beard to boot. But the glasses are unmistakable, as is the self-righteous entitlement he reeks from every pore.
The 'Chosen One,' in the flesh, once again. Draco fights back an eye roll and hugs Hermione tighter. She's also thin. Far too thin. Why hasn't Potter been taking better care of her?
"What have you been eating?" he murmurs to her and she stiffens, as if this is a sensitive subject. Maybe it is. She fights to stand and he lets her, getting a good look at her for the first time.
"Not enough."
This is true. It's not the only change, but it's the most noticeable one. Her hair is also longer and the weight of it makes it less chaotic. But her weight loss is evident in her face (sharper, more angular cheekbones that bring out her eyes - gorgeous) and loss of general curvature (Draco is less a fan of this bit). But he can help with the food problem, if nothing else.
"Well, Whitstable is just a pop over that way, if I remember a map right. Why don't I go and find something?"
Hermione and Potter share another look, a mix of silent pleading and frustration.
"We don't just go... wandering into town, Malfoy. How do you think this works, being on the run?"
"No one knows I'm on the run at all, yet, so let me go. I can find a local deli or something. Snape is the only one who knows anything and he'll try to hide it for a few days, at least."
Hermione's eyes light with curiosity at this, but Draco won't be deterred until she's had some food. It's also hard to miss the blatant hunger on Potter's wan face and the way Hermione's tongue darts out to a chapped lip.
Yes, food has been a problem, but it looks like dehydration might have been, too. "So Potter can finish setting up camp while I get some food. No one's looking for me yet, and certainly not on the coast of Kent."
"Take the cloak, just in case," Hermione blurts out, fumbling at the opening of a fancy, decorative bag that's entirely out of place. "And this." Draco's eyes bulge as her arm disappears in it up to the elbow and she comes out with a handful of money he doesn't recognise.
"No cloak." Harry folds his arms over his chest. "He's not leaving here with that."
His witch openly bites back a retort and only snaps, "Fine, then. Like he said, he shouldn't need it."
Everybody's quite snippy around here. Draco doesn't argue for the cloak. He turns away and gets an eyeful of a nearby beach sign so he knows where to apparate back to, and pops off. Evidently it seems he's getting food for three, not four. Weasley hasn't been mentioned outright and he wants that story - but for now, Draco's content that he's only got one other prat to concern himself with.
He's got no intention of using the Muggle money, though. He's not about to fumble around for the right denominations in front of a shop clerk. He'll just obliviate them.
Two opportunities present themselves and Draco capitalises on both. One is a grocery where he picks out a wide assortment of things, overfilling a basket in minutes. He fills a second with bottled water. The other find is a small deli, where he purchases a half dozen different sandwiches and a few sides. The deli smells divine and his stomach is grumbling already.
That's nothing compared to the ravenous mouths he finds back at the beach. Hermione calls for him as soon as he arrives back, waving her arms wildly as if he could possibly miss her. Her hair blows lazily in the sea wind, but it's more of a blanket rippling, or the sail of a boat. It moves as a mass and that's probably an indication that it needs to be washed.
Maybe she'll let him help with that.
Oddly, he didn't need the beach sign. The little ball of light is still in there somewhere. Draco isn't sure if he thought it would go away or not. He hadn't thought about it at all, in fact, and now that he has, he hopes it stays. Maybe Hermione wouldn't want Draco to always be able to find her - but he's not going to pass up the chance.
Hermione practically drags him into the tent by her hand and Draco tries not to grimace at his new surroundings. Yikes. Is this it? Bleak. Drab taupe everywhere and hardly enough room to swing a Kneazle.
He sets out the sandwiches first, letting the pair of them pick whatever they want and dig in. After watching this rabid feast commence, Draco restrains from selecting one himself. Let Hermione eat - and Potter, he supposes, if he must. Draco can run back and get more, and will definitely be doing this sooner or later. Sooner, by the look of things.
She downs half a bottle of water in one go and Draco sets the handful of money back on the table.
Hermione swallows to speak and takes another bite instead, talking around her sandwich. "Why didn't you pay for anything? Draco!"
"I couldn't figure out what meant what," he shrugs. "I obliviated the bloke. It's fine."
"It is not fine!" she sputters, covering her mouth in the nick of time. Her hazel eyes blaze at him. "It is not fine. You can't go around obliviating random Muggles!"
This seems a disproportionate reaction to Draco, who shifts uneasily. "...sorry. I'll leave the money next time."
Potter glares at him too and Draco grows irritated. "You're welcome for the food."
That thaws Potter, if not Draco's girlfriend. Potter looks down and mutters, "Thanks," to the sandwich.
Outside being nearly knocked down on the beach, this hasn't been the welcome Draco expected. Not that he'd spent much time imagining it, as it had all happened father fast, but this wouldn't have been it. Suddenly, he's swamped with internal questions and he isn't sure whether to let them finish eating. Probably should, though - right? He settles in to wait.
While the ragtag pair before him struggle to find a balance between chewing and swallowing (at least inasmuch as not choking on rye), he casts furtive looks about. Odds and ends strewn around, largely consisting of outerwear: scarves, hats, a pair of gloves. He sees no books, which is probably most surprising.
Two bunks; no, three. But only two are mussed, with lumpy pillows and blankets piled askew. Rather than assuming Hermione's been sharing with Potter, Draco is now fairly confident the bare one is yet another indication of Weasley's unexpected absence. Well, it can stay bare. He doesn't intend to sleep in that one.
There's a small kitchenette with a half dozen chipped plates and bowls to the side of a shallow, square sink. A heavy canvas drape hangs to the floor in the corner, and that must be the loo. Gods. Draco's afraid to see that closer up.
Hermione and Potter each polish off three sandwiches, leaving only a bag of crisps for Draco - but he'll remedy that later. They needed it worse than he thought, which is concerning, but not as concerning as the general mood in this tent.
* * *
No matter what he asks, their eyes dart to that little beaded bag. It's a purpley blue, a hue Pansy could no doubt name with specificity, but it's also dirty and worn. It's difficult to say what colour it was in its original state. If Draco had to guess, Hermione takes it everywhere, whether that's convenient for her or not. And whatever question comes to mind, the answer seems to lie (at least partially) in that bag.
It rests on a side table, innocuous enough except for its distinct fanciness in this random locale and the wary looks they both throw at it - frequently, as if checking for its continued presence. That's not it, though, not quite. That would imply a sense of relief that it's where it ought to be, and instead, the overarching feeling is one of resentment and loathing. Can one loathe something so nondescript? It seems these two can. Draco squints at it, trying to discern anything notable, and can't. But every time his attention falls on it, both Potter and Hermione seem to tense.
They don't want him to ask about it. It takes a while for him to figure this out, because why would they care? Why would he care about a tiny ladies' handbag thing, aside from the bizarre visual of Hermione dipping half her arm into it to retrieve random bits and bobs? Okay, so it's been expanded. So what? They have to travel somehow. If anything, he'd compliment her extension charms.
Draco chooses something different. He thinks he's asking something simple - sensitive, maybe, but simple.
"So... where is Weasley?"
Even this proves difficult and he battles down a wave of aggravation. He's trying to hold Hermione's hand and her fingers clench around his, but he thinks they'd be doing that whatever she was holding. It's not about him. He's not providing any sense of comfort.
Persistent as ever, he runs his thumb over her knuckles, feeling the tension there. Why does Potter have to be here? Can't Draco just be alone with her for the first time in six months? She's so on edge that he doesn't even know if she's really glad he's here. He hasn't had a moment alone with her since he arrived.
And it's hours and hours until a reasonable bedtime, when he could expect to curl up with her and have some privacy. What do they do all day? This is obviously not a normal day, so what the hell counts as 'normal'?
With a sinking feeling, he wonders if maybe this is it: killing time without enough food or decent shelter until... what? They run into the Dark Lord by happenstance and have a duel? What exactly is the plan here?
Hermione has clammed up. She doesn't want to talk about Weasley and the tightness in her hand tells Draco something happened. His eyes narrow on Potter, willing his temper to stay down. His other hand reaches for the bag at his feet out of reflex, patting it once and drawing reassurance from its steadfast presence.
"Ron left. He didn't want to be here anymore."
It's obvious that that hardly scratches the surface of it, so how should he pursue it next? Try and get under Potter's skin? But that would only get under Hermione's, too, and Draco doesn't want that. Even so, Potter must know he won't accept something that meagre without a real explanation.
Draco looks around the tent and tries to seem commiserating rather than critical. "Well, it's not exactly the Savoy."
Potter only glances down at his hands and quietly says, "No, it isn't. But it is better after the lunch you brought, so thank you." Draco almost falls out of his chair when Potter looks him right in the eye next. "And I'm sorry. For the - the bathroom thing."
Hermione's mouth falls open and Draco can only blink. To be perfectly honest, he hasn't even thought about that scar and the implications of being here with Potter. For how many times he wanted a rematch with this prick last spring, he's had other things on his mind. It's not as if he doesn't see it every time he gets dressed, but it's ranked below other priorities for the last several months.
"...thanks."
Potter scratches the back of his neck, looking awkward, and blurts out, "If I was wrong about the Death Eater thing, I'm sorry. But help prove me wrong and tell us what's been going on since we left - since we left Hogwarts. Everything."
Whether it was an intended negotiation tactic or not, Draco agreeably takes the bait. He's just as curious about theirs but if this will get them both to open up, he can go first.
He runs through the lot: his cohabitation with Snape and Snape's instalment as Headmaster; Lucius's release and Narcissa's subsequent departure from the manor; Theo and Pansy appearing to have gotten away safely; Ginny seems fine; his charming aunt is rallying Greyback to lead gangs of Snatchers around the countryside.
That does provoke alarm, which is a relief. They'd been entirely too resigned to their circumstances here, in Draco's opinion.
"What have you been doing around full moons?"
"Camping as close to a Muggle town as we can get and crossing our fingers that our enchantments hide us well enough to squeak through."
That doesn't give Draco loads of confidence, but what would he suggest instead? He can't come up with anything off the top of his head and lets it go.
"What about Blaise?" Hermione asks next.
"Spending Christmas with his mother, out of the country. I owled him before I came and told him to stay there. I need to owl my mother, too, actually, but I don't know how to explain this in a letter."
"What is Snape up to?"
"I don't know. Does anyone ever know? When I left this morning, he implied he was also going to disappear. Maybe he's going to the Order. Either way, he can't cover for me and keep his own cover intact for long. He can lie about my whereabouts for the rest of the holiday break, maybe, but after I don't show back up at Hogwarts in January, it'll be obvious."
"Who will hold Hogwarts then?"
"Without Snape, it'll be the Carrows. They're already there, teaching, but the Dark Lord will elevate one of them to Headmaster."
This displeases her and she shoots Potter an unhappy look. Draco wishes he had better news, but there's not much of that going around. At length, she sighs. "Harry, you should get some rest. Come on, Draco. We'll sit outside and let Harry sleep. We do this in shifts."
Potter makes a funny head tilt that may or may not angle towards the bag on the table. Hermione picks it up and pockets it.
Once outside, she settles into the sand, leaning against the thick canvas fabric of the tent.
"Are you hungry again?"
She looks up at him, squinting against the daylight. "No, thank you. What you brought was lovely. I guess it was pretty obvious that we needed it."
Draco doesn't comment on this, but thinks this might be a good time to go gather some more food while he has a chance. He doesn't like to leave her here, exposed like this, but he must admit their wards were excellent. When he'd returned the last time, he couldn't see them at all. And as long as he has the Deluminator, he can find her again. He shoulders his bag and sets back out.
* * *
Hermione can't believe he's really here. It feels like a dream - or like a trick, the kind of intricate illusion the Horcrux might play on her. Maybe she collapsed from hunger and this is all a cruel figment of her imagination.
When he'd gone to get the first batch of food, she had agreed with Harry to keep the Horcrux a secret - for now. Harry's worried that Draco is here to spy, and from Harry's perspective, she can understand the fear. She was furious when he'd said it, but once she backed away from it a bit, she understood. The two of them will take time to come to an accord and she's mostly grateful there hasn't been any hexing.
It does mean that she and Harry will have to keep splitting shifts with the locket, twelve hours at a time. It would be nice to divide that into thirds again, but they'd have to explain the whole business. Maybe Harry will let them keep the locket in her bag for good. She can't deny its influence is far less severe when it's not hanging around her neck.
Maybe without a clear victim to target, the infernal thing has to spread its poison out. It's less concentrated.
And maybe it's more of the same, but she thinks the food is helping even more. Her thoughts are so much clearer after a full meal. It's astounding what a difference there is. Their mental degradation had been so slow, day after day, as they gradually starved. She knows they're thin but seeing it reflected on Draco's face was alarming. And now he's gone to get more food! Her stomach rumbles just thinking about it, even though it's still chock full from lunch. What will a day of excess feel like? What a luxury.
As before, he has no trouble locating them again.
"What's that?"
She holds up the cover to show him and his eyebrows raise. "Beedle? Looks like an old copy."
"It is, but I like it."
He sits down next to her and hands her a bag of crisps with a secretive smile on his face. Shuffling through his satchel, he withdraws a dog-eared copy of 'N or M?' by Agatha Christie and she gasps.
"You're reading it? What do you think?"
"I think Tommy would be lost without Tuppence."
The smile she gives him feels so good - aside from her shock at seeing him on the beach this morning, this is the first full, wide smile she's felt in months. "Tommy has his merits, too."
Draco shifts, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankles. "Do tell."
"Tommy is smart and resourceful. He's tenacious."
"And he'd still be lost without Tuppence."
Hermione can't believe he bought one of her books, and repositions to face him. Just as she opens her mouth to start a proper debate, three people appear over the dune in the distance. She tenses and he pulls his wand.
From here, it looks like two adults and a younger third, probably a child in their early teens. They don't notice the encampment, as they shouldn't, and Hermione slowly relaxes while they stroll along the waterline.
"Not exactly a pleasant day for that," comments Draco as the wind picks up, swirling Hermione's hair even with the windbreak of the tent. "Batch of masochists."
She starts to giggle and it feels like months since she's done that, either.
"I'm sorry I snapped at you earlier."
Draco's startled by this abrupt admission, and ignores the family now getting further away. He blinks, maybe trying to recall what it had been about. "It's alright. I probably shouldn't have been so cavalier about it. It just seemed harmless enough."
He gives a sheepish shrug and Hermione struggles with explaining why it struck such a nerve. She doesn't want to talk about her parents. The next topic isn't any better, as he asks again what happened to Ron.
She powers through a partial truth to this one. "He wasn't doing well out here. He's used to three meals a day and not cracking his elbow on the wall in the shower."
The walls of this shower are more canvas, but the point is the same. "He just couldn't bear up any longer."
She's grateful that Draco doesn't press her on the endless state of boredom, about what the bloody hell they're doing out here, about why Ron was so restless. In the end, they sit and watch the gentle waves lap at the shore. His bag rests against his hip. Her bag sits next to hers. They stay side-by-side, just like that, for hours.
* * *
Draco has no intention of sleeping while Hermione's asleep. Trusting the watch, which is of paramount importance, to Potter goes against the grain. Draco can't forget about his aunt and Greyback's packs of Snatchers. But he also has no intention of sleeping while Hermione is awake and missing the opportunity to spend the time with her. Neither does he want to kill time sitting around with Potter.
The maths of this doesn't compute, which he knows. Something will have to give.
Potter does seem in a better mood after sleeping all day, which ought to do it (in Draco's opinion). They split up another assortment of sandwiches for dinner in more normal portion sizes and Potter wordlessly grabs that little purple bag on his way outside. Draco flips through the copy of Beedle the Bard while Hermione takes a short shower and then it's time for bed.
No other fanfare. So this is the daily routine. Nothing else to it.
The bed is even tinier than the one he's slept in at Snape's, but Draco wouldn't have it any other way. Not now. He doesn't want space. He wants his girl right on his chest.
While she was washing her hair (something Draco had to regretfully admit he could not help with, judging by the size of the cupboard they're calling a bathroom), Draco revised his plan for the Eliot book. He's going to be spending Christmas with her, something he'd have never thought possible in his wildest dreams. Maybe they'll be in this shack of a tent for it, but he doesn't care.
And he has a present for her now. The perfect present. The crown, too. Hermione is the only acceptable recipient for something so fine. Even though she'll never wear it, even though Draco didn't buy it and it isn't a family heirloom, he's going to have such pride knowing he gave it to her - just like the little gold studs she's still got fixed in her earlobes.
It's only later, with his arms wrapped tightly around Hermione in her bed, that Draco thinks Potter's sudden apology over lunch might have been a deflection from a larger topic.