It's been two whole weeks and we still didn't have a Goddamn clue where Harry and the others were. My father and I wandered around Britain aimlessly, two fugitives just trying to avoid snatchers and the occasional aggressive woodland creature.

My father definitely wasn't built for this lifestyle on the run, he grew up privileged and still into adulthood it was a rare occasion to see him without a designer suit on. I caught him on more than one occasion subconsciously reach for the label on his lapel, only to find it missing. He would try and touch cuff links that weren't there, he was frustrated and angry that he couldn't sleep in his bed.

I didn't mind as much, I loved listening to the sounds of nature at night, it kind or reminded me of Hogwarts. The silence in the night also made it easy to know when snatchers were around. I heard a clanging from inside the tent we had set up before hearing my dad's quiet, semi-restrained sob pass his lips.

I sighed before turning back towards the crackling fire, twiddling my wand that never got used between my fingertips. These days I used it as more of an eating utensil than anything else. My father suddenly slipped out of the tent and sat on the log across from me. He tried to wipe away his tears but I saw them all the same. I always did.

"It's Christmas Eve. Your Mom always loved Christmas." He mumbled, tossing some more wood into the fire.

"I know," I answered. "We'd be watching It's a Wonderful Life right about now while she made her famous hot cocoa."

"You know what made it famous, don't you?" He chuckled.

I smiled remembering my mother hiding her secret ingredient from us kids, but we always knew.

" Honey." I answered. "Mom was always terrible about hiding things."

"That's why she never knew where I hid the Christmas presents." He sighed, "God I miss her so much." My Dad started to tear up again, prompting me to walk around the fire and sit beside him, throwing my arms around him. He was quick to pull me into his side and kissing the top of my head.

"I miss her too." I whispered, embracing the warmth from my fathers side. "I miss all of them."

"I haven't seen the twins or your brother in a year. But I know they're strong."

"They're all probably at the Weasley's. I don't even know if Damian finished his last year at Hogwarts or not." I mumbled, placing my hands out to warm them against the small fire.

"I don't think it matters much anymore these days." He said.

An idea suddenly popped into my head, though I had no idea if my father would agree or not. "I think I know something that might cheer us up. I know theres a pub down in the village, maybe a nice warm meal will lift our spirits?" I suggested, hearing my father tense up against me.

"It's risky. But I am tired of eating rabbit."

We had been living off the random small animals that scurried across our paths. occasionally nibbling on plants. The hunger in my stomach hadn't been satisfied in so long, it was hard to forget about.

"We keep our hoods up, at the sign of any snatchers we get the hell out of there." He nodded his head in agreement.

After a quick pack up of our belongings, we were on our way.

~

For Christmas Eve, the pub was rather crowded. Large burly men surrounded the bar, shouting their drunken orders at the young flustered woman behind the counter. The dining area wasn't as busy, a couple people sipping on mugs of what I'm assuming was beer. My father and I tucked away at an empty table in the corner by the fireplace.

"I don't see any signs of snatchers, do you?" I asked quietly, enjoying the warmth from the fireplace beside me. My father shook his head in response, yet kept his hood up.

"What can I get for you, dears?" asked an older plump waitress who reminded me of Molly.

"Two of the stews and two ales." My father ordered. She wrote it down and nodded, not even questioning my age.

I raised my eyes at my father in question. "What?" he scoffed, "We're in a damn war, you deserve a fucking drink."

I snorted and reached across the table, squeezing his hand. It wasn't but a moment later the waitress set two mugs on the table and walked away.

"This is disgusting." I snorted after taking a long sip. It tasted like what I can only imagine dirty sink water would taste like. And I wiped my tongue on the back of my sweater.

"It really is." He snorted, doing the same. "I'll get you a better one when we go back to the states."

"I'll hold you to that."

Our stews came, piping hot and delicious. We scarfed them down in record time, I instantly felt a million times better and my stomach thanked me for feeding it something other than grass. My father and I made idle chit chat for a while, enjoying the atmosphere of not being out in the woods, and the still roaring fire.

In between reminiscing about our lives back in America and wondering what the rest of our family was doing, my fathers eyes suddenly went wide, watching as a hooded figure burst through the door breathing heavily.

"What is it?" I wondered, turning my head to catch a glimpse of fiery red hair peeking out under his large brown jacket.

"Ron." I whispered, my heart racing at the sight of him. I practically knocked my chair backwards as I stood up and started in his direction. My father called out to me, but I didn't stop, I was so excited to see him and hoped that Harry was with him as well.

"Ron." I whispered once more as I got closer to him. I could see his wand peeking out under his sleeve in my direction, and his normal bright blue eyes were ablaze in anger and frustration. He calmed down slightly once he saw it was me, and slowly pulled me out of the crowd and into a corner.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" He growled, his arm still gripping mine. "Harry told us you made off with the death eaters, but he said we should trust you. How the hell can I trust you won't turn me in?"

"We're friends, Ron! You never knew what the hell Harry was up to and you trusted him, you should do me the same courtesy." I whisper-shouted in his direction. "I am on your side, even if it doesn't feel like it."

He huffed, but finally let go of my arm. "Why are you here in a pub in Glasgow?" He asked.

"I'm with my Dad." I told him, waving to my dad who still seated at our table, he was keeping one eye on us and one eye on the door. "We were looking for you guys. He's on the run from snatchers and You know who thinks I'm still at Hogwarts. I plan to use that to my advantage."

Ron closed his eyes for a moment, seemingly swaying on his feet in distress. He looked as rough as we did. "Ron, Where's Harry?" I asked in hesitation at the lack of Harry's presence. 

His blue eyes opened in sadness and he hung his head. "I made a mistake." He whispered. He slowly leaned against the wall next to us and I could see the anguish built from within him. His internal turmoil coming out to play. "I left them, and I can't find them." 

With a sigh I pulled Ron's practically trembling frame into me, my arms wrapped rightly around him. His swaying body practically fell onto me and it took most of my energy to guide him in the direction of our table. 

"Hey son." My father greeted, helping me slump him into the chair beside me. Ron smiled grimly, grabbing my mug of ale and chugging it swiftly. It seemed to have no lingering effect on him like it did for me. My father summoned the waitress and ordered Ron something to eat and a drink of his own. 

"How long have you been out there?" My Dad asked him. 

"Too long." Ron mumbled with a shake of his head. His food came shortly after and he shoveled it down in record time. He seemed to be more alert with more energy, with something in his stomach. 

The three of us sat in comfortable silence before I sensed a change in the air. My Dad felt it too and, he began to slowly pull his wand out of his pocket, Ron stiffened beside me, his had never left his hand. I turned my head and saw them — Scabior stuck out with his long hair pulled back in a bright purple ribbon, his heard unkept and his eyes wild. Fenrir Greyback was beside him, breathing heavily. They were flanked by several other snatchers, and I knew every single one of them would recognize me instantly. 

"We need to get out of here." Ron mumbled quietly. Fenrir suddenly looked in our direction and he smiled. Shit. 

Soon the entire group was looking in our direction, and there was nothing I could do. There were too many innocent bystanders in the way. The waitress and bartender were oblivious to the danger in front of them and were walking about as if nothing was wrong. The drunken idiots were everywhere. Their beers sloshing around their mugs and onto the floor. 

"Is there a backdoor?" I whispered, turning back towards my father. "Dad?" 

"Ron, get her out of here." He said, standing from his seat. 

"What the hell are you doing?" I growled, jumping from my seat. "I can get rid of them in two seconds with the right opening."

"And you would have more blood on your hands." He responded. "I am not going to sit here and watch you become a murderer." 

"Too late." I growled. "I've told you what I've had to do —"

A spell cut me off, exploding the table beside us. The snatchers had lost their patience and were all rushing at us, the muggles getting tossed around in the process. The three of us ducked out of the way of the incoming debris. 

My father shot a spell at their feet, trying to avoid the muggles at the table behind us. This was turning into a bloody mess very fast.

"Ron, now! Get her out of here!" My father growled, watching as the snatchers were closing in. 

Ron grabbed onto my arm, his wand in his hand. "Don't touch me! I am not leaving without you!" I stood from my crouched position and waved a hand, sending them all flying across the room. 

I was able to grab both Ron and my father's arms and apperate us out of the pub. But not before hearing the killing curse pass the lips of Scabior, with the bright green flash following us through.