"And that's why you root for Ireland." said Luna, grinning as an agitated Draco, clad in Bulgarian red, walked back to the Weasleys' tent with her.

"It was a fluke. Bulgaria was just unlucky. There was almost no chance they could have lost."

"Keep telling yourself that." said Luna. "Where did your parents go, by the way? I saw my dad in front of us but I haven't seen them anywhere."

"They probably stayed back to argue. It's one of their favourite ways to pass time."

Luna gave a disbelieving laugh. "If you don't mind me asking, how are they not divorced yet?"

"I...I honestly don't know, actually. I guess they just have that traditional mindset. Divorce is bad, unhappy marriages are better."

"Maybe they'll be proven wrong by the whole my-mum-dying thing."

Draco's expression wavered, and he was unsure whether he should laugh or comfort her, but luckily Luna decided it for him.

"It's a bit too soon to be joking about that, isn't it?"

He gave a slight laugh. "Yeah."

❆

Draco lay in the bed he and Hermione were still sharing, thinking about the conversation he had had with Luna earlier that day. He looked to his side, seeing that Hermione was fast asleep. Her pyjamas were rose-red, like her lips, and Draco could barely focus on his thoughts, because for some reason being reminded of Hermione's lips brightened him.

Alright, it's incredibly strange to watch someone sleep, he thought. To be so completely distracted by a girl he didn't even like made him feel like the smallest man who ever lived.

Draco blinked and returned to the conversation with himself, inside his head. The side that was his true self was essentially fighting with the idealised version of himself, the one he had created for his parents and friends.

I have to admit - I am most definitely not happy in my family.

But my family's well, my family! I can't hate them, that's just wrong.

The back and forth in his brain went on for a little while, but he was jerked back to reality when the Weasleys' father let out a panicked scream.

"Death Eaters! There are Death Eaters outside!"

Draco jumped out of bed as Hermione threw the blankets off herself. The Weasleys burst through their doors one by one, ears tinged red, and Draco would have thought it comical if everyone wasn't in danger. He raced to the front of the tent and peeked through the tiny hole Mr Weasley had unzipped. Sure enough, the uniforms Draco recognised from his father's closet, although significantly less tattered, were on practically every person wandering outside. One of them had their wand raised to the sky, glowing, and above, a woman Draco didn't recognise was levitating. And it wasn't just her. Her whole family was there, up in the air with her. Draco looked on in shock.

"So what do we do?" said Ron.

"Just- outside. Get outside now, everyone!"

The door of the tent burst open. Draco rushed outside, watching trees slowly go up in flames, the campground crashing down around him. Death Eaters were practically stampeding the place. And then Draco saw it. The Dark Mark.

A green, ominous, skull-shaped glow illuminated the sky. The chaos around him turned to silence.

Someone was dead. The symbol of the Dark Mark was never to be cast into the sky unless a Death Eater had killed someone.

The stunned silence held for a few seconds, before there was a sudden bang and the clamouring resumed. Draco ran farther into the trees, completely alone now. He had been separated from everyone, including his parents (although he wasn't complaining much about that).

And then he heard a faint sobbing sound.

He wasn't sure why he tried to follow the sobs. He had no idea who it was, and he didn't normally have empathy for people he didn't know. But now, for some reason, he just couldn't ignore it. Someone was scared, or in danger, or worse.

And of course it had to be Hermione.

Draco wasn't a hundred percent sure it was her, at first, in the dark, but it quickly became clear when he made out the precise structure of her face, so distinct it couldn't possibly be anyone else.

She was trembling, her eyes wide with panic, and her breathing was coming out in short, rapid gasps. Her hand, which was badly shaking, kept flitting to her chest and then falling back to the floor.

He hesitated for half a second, before he realised. It didn't matter.

It didn't matter, whatever was keeping him from going over to her. It didn't matter that they hated each other, because there were tears streaming down Hermione's face and he needed to help her.

Draco's mind raced. What was he supposed to do?

He walked over to Hermione, sliding down a tree trunk to sit next to her. She continued to panic, her breathing so fast she was practically hyperventilating, although he could clearly tell that she was trying to keep it quiet.

"Hey, you're- you're okay. You're safe." he said, trying to keep his voice as level as possible, despite what was going on around them. Shockingly, he found that he didn't really care. In this moment, it was just him and Hermione.

She nodded, seemingly trying to absorb what he was saying.

"Can I... hold your hand?"

That obviously had taken her by surprise, but Hermione nodded again.

He interlaced his fingers with hers, and throughout that painful, oddly terrifying hour, he continually whispered reassuringly to her. It would be okay, he said, even though he didn't fully believe it himself.

And somehow, it worked. It took what felt like hours, but eventually, Hermione's breathing calmed, and the two sat there, leaning against the tree, still holding hands.