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“Mate, you listening?”

Ron’s voice pulls Harry out of his reverie. He’d been running lists of supplies, calculating how much gas he’d need for the trip and tallying how many nights he’d have to spend out in the open, tuning out Ron and Hermione’s domestic talk. Their ordered kitchen makes his skin feel too small for his body. The children’s happy chatter, audible from the yard, reminds him of everything he’ll never get to have.

“Yeah, course I'm listening,” Harry lies, feeling sheepish. The fingers of his right hand instinctively go to trace the scar on the back of his left one. His tell is well known to his friends, even when his hands are hidden under the table.

Ron sighs, dejectedly saying, “Sure you were, mate”.

“We were telling you how excited Rose is that you’ll be here for her birthday,” Hermione says from behind them. Turning toward her, Harry can see she’s been looking out the window. If it weren’t for the lines on her forehead and the strands of white in her hair, Harry could fool himself that they’re having tea at the Burrow. It makes his heart clench. There hasn’t been a Burrow in more than a decade.

“Yeah, about that, Hermione. I won’t be here actually, I have a run to do.” Hermione tenses and he knows that Ron, sitting next to him, is doing the same. His friends look at each other, speaking wordlessly in that way people do when they’ve been together for so long. Harry feels like absolute shit.

“You guys give her my present and my love for me,” he soldiers on.

“When were you going to tell us? ” Ron asks, standing up and walking to join his wife at the window.

They’re putting up a united front against him and Harry doesn’t like it. He’s still pretzeled in his chair, trying to face them, so he takes a second to re-situate himself before answering. “I’m telling you now, aren’t I?”

“And if I hadn't brought it up? You’d have run into the night, isn’t that right?” Hermione sounds angry and that’s never good. “Wouldn’t be the first time you ran off to go chase zombies.”

“You know that's not what I do. Hermione—“

“No, Harry. I think you’d better go sleep in the barracks if all you want is a bed. The sooner you go, the sooner Rose will get over her disappointment so she can enjoy her birthday.”

Harry looks to Ron for support, but Ron just puts his arm around Hermione and juts his chin out at him.

“Yeah, mate, sorry. Been bartering for weeks to get enough sugar for a cake and I’m not letting you ruin it for my daughter cause she’s busy crying after you.”

“I could’ve gotten you the sugar—“ he tries to say, but the looks they give him convince him to shut up.

Harry looks at them, leaning on each other, for a few seconds more, then nods as he stands up. Luckily he’d never unpacked when he’d arrived that morning, so he just needs to grab his backpack from the corner. He pulls a package from one of its numerous pockets, lays it on the table with another nod to Ron and Hermione, then goes to leave by the front door so Rose and Hugo won’t see him.

It's not the first time his friends have been mad at him for his choice of occupation, frustrated that he'd rather spend time driving between magical and Muggle settlements, but this time has an air of finality to it. As he walks to the barracks, he wonders if he'll be back here anytime soon.

Harry spends that night feeling unsettled and sorry for himself. The barracks themselves aren't too bad. Only one other guy was there and he was sleeping when Harry arrived and gone by morning. Still, he wanted to get on the road as soon as possible. It was to do with putting distance between him and his friends, sure, but also discomfort with magical people paying him too much attention, even now. People's nostalgia for the days before the world went to shit is probably more of a factor than Harry himself, but still, it makes him uncomfortable. A thought briefly comes that Ron and Hermione might also have been putting up with him for so long out of nostalgia for simpler days but he quickly shuts it down.

The idea of driving for an entire day across the UK with nary a soul to distract him should probably feel more unsettling, but Harry’s used to it at this point. He gets going as soon as he wakes up and gets a bite to eat. A day driving alone is better than actually meeting any of the souls ambling around, anyway. It was a surprise, realizing he quite enjoys driving, back when the world ended and he started smuggling goods between magical and Muggle camps. The Ministry wanting to keep secrets from Muggles worked out in his favor for once, with Apparition being kept tightly under wraps by everybody and wizards pretending like driving cars was always their normal.

Even with the drive lengthened by the terrible state of the roads and despite the short winter day, he makes it to his destination with daylight to spare, so he gets a good look at the compound from the distance. It looks like most of the other camps Harry’s seen over the years: surrounded by a wire fence which protects several squat, gray buildings mostly made out of prefab blocks, though some seem to be reclaimed brick. There used to be a town nearby so that’s probably a good source of building materials if people are brave or crazy enough to risk it. The camp itself looks like it should house no more than around 500 people, though that’s no guarantee. Sometimes entire camps fall and people need to relocate, usually to other existing compounds which then have to stretch to accommodate hundreds or even thousands of new inhabitants.

Behind the camp, he can see fields of corn and potatoes. Harry wonders if the Ministry had anything to do with helping crops grow in the middle of winter on what clearly used to be grazing land. It doesn’t really matter, but he cheers every time he comes across a community that manages to subvert the Ministry's asinine rules and gets magical help from underneath their bureaucratic noses.

As he reaches the fence and gets out of his car, he realizes that the place is unusually quiet. People are moving around, visible from behind the fence but there’s no sound of children playing or any indication that any animals are kept on this compound. There’s not much time to look around once he realizes the sentinel standing above the gate has a gun trained on him.

“Who’re you and what do you want?”

Putting his hands up in the air to show he’s harmless, he says “I’m Gawain, just making a delivery.” The guy looks suspicious so he adds, “Morgana sent me. With the medicine.” This doesn’t seem to alleviate the guy’s distrust; maybe he’ll actually be the first one to call him out on the weird names wizards use when introducing themselves to Muggles. Or not, since the guy simply harrumphs and presses a button, opening the gate for Harry to drive through. This camp is organized enough that it even has marked parking spots so it’s easy enough for him to figure out where to leave the car. As he gets out again, a woman meets him, skinny and gray looking. She wastes no time on introductions.

“You’ll be wanting to see Michael, I suppose. Follow me.”

Muggles are usually more excited to see him, not just because he brings them useful things, but also because magic still tends to have a certain mystique, even in the Apocalypse. This woman looks about as unimpressed with him as McGonagall was during Transfigurations. It makes Harry smile. He walks to catch up to her, ignoring the furtive glances from the few people milling about the yard. The majority of the camp must be out working the fields, though that still doesn’t explain how quiet it all is.

The woman leads him to a building at the back of the yard, somewhat taller and more imposing than the others, clearly meant to show that whoever inhabits it is important. Well, as important as you can be in a village of 500 people living in a prefab house, but that’s just the way humans are, in the end.

Once inside the building, the woman takes him up a flight of stairs and down a short corridor to a heavy wooden door on which hangs a crucifix, something Harry hasn’t seen in years. She knocks, cracks the door open so she can confirm that whoever that is inside isn’t busy, then holds it open for Harry to enter. As soon as he's stepped into the room, she closes the door behind him without another word.

Harry’s still looking back at the closed door when someone clears their throat behind him. He turns to see a man standing behind a desk, probably the Michael the woman had mentioned. Michael looks to be middle aged, though the apocalypse might be making him look older, with thinning brown hair and an impressive mustache. He’s wearing the standard uniform these days, a gray shirt that probably started out an actual color twenty years ago. On the desk, there are what look to be pictures of religious figures, unfamiliar to Harry. Looking around the white washed room, he sees more religious imagery, including more crucifixes like the one on the door.

“Well, who do we have here?” Michael asks in a raspy voice. Straight to business, Harry appreciates that. This place unsettles him.

“Hi, I was sent by Morgana to make a delivery. You can call me Gawain.”

“Oh, can I now? I take it that’s not what your friends call you?”

Harry doesn’t know how to respond, but it’s not necessary since Michael is suddenly guffawing and pointing at a chair for him to sit. “I’m just messing with ya, bless your soul. Call me Mike.” It dawns on Harry that Mike is speaking in what’s left of an American accent.

As Harry sits down, Mike continues, “We’ve been expecting you. Our infirmary’s gotten pretty bare, and you folks always have better disinfectants and painkillers than what the so-called government provides.”

“Yeah, production was a bit delayed, but I brought extra to tide you over.”

“Ah, excellent! God provides as usual,” Mike says, spreading his hands as if he’s blessing the room. Harry abstains from explaining that George isn’t God, no matter what he claims.

“So you’ve had contact with wizards before,” he asks instead.

“Indeed I have, in my previous camp. It’s first contact for this one, we haven’t been here long.”

“I see. Did you get overrun?” Harry asks.

“In a manner of speaking, sure.”

The man doesn’t seem intent on saying more, and Harry would like to get going. He usually likes spending more time in Muggle camps, but something about this one feels slightly off. Mainly, it's how quiet everything is, but the crucifixes don't help.

It's better that he follow his instincts. He’ll take a night out in the open if he needs to. Trying to move things along, he says, “Well, alright then. Just tell me who will take things off my hands and pay me, then I can be on my way.”

“You want to leave so soon? What’s the rush?”

“No rush,” Harry lies, hand going to his scar, “just that others might benefit from my wares.”

The man laughs. “Oh, you have a big heart, I see.” Noting Harry’s discomfort, he explains, “I’m just messing with you, son. Actually, your big heart is something I’m counting on. You see, we’re hoping you might find it in you to help us with something before you go.”

“Help you? With what?”

“Well, as I mentioned, this camp's pretty recent. We split off for lack of space from all the blessings God has been sending us, in his great wisdom and mercy.” Harry tries not to shudder at this way of putting things as Mike continues, “It’s been a few weeks since the big camp hasn’t been answering our radio calls. We’d like you to help us by going over there and having a look at what’s going on.”

“Me? Why can’t your people go?”

“You wouldn’t be going alone, son. You see, I lied when I said this camp hadn’t seen wizards yet, God forgive me. There’s one of you living here with us for a couple of weeks. He’s good with fortifications—wards, is that what you call them?—but he can’t drive, he made it here on foot, poor thing. I was thinking two of you would do a better job if the camp needs help, plus you have supplies they might need.”

“You have a wizard? Here on camp?”

“Sure do,” Michael says. “We’re all God’s lambs.”

“And you want me to drive him there? Because two wizards are better than one?”

“We’d pay extra, of course.”

Payment isn’t what concerns Harry; he doesn’t actually need anything from these people, but pretending makes it easier. The request is strange and the man’s excuse seems flimsy. He wonders what poor sod is living here with these people and their crucifixes.

“Could I meet this wizard—before making a decision?”

Michael smiles, “Oh, sure, you’d wanna know who you’re going to face the wilderness with.” Pressing a button, he says, “Miriam, can you bring Bill to my office?" Turning back to Harry he asks, "Would you like tea? Sorry for not offering earlier.” Hoping it’ll remove the need for conversation, Harry accepts and settles back into his chair as Michael busies himself with preparations.

Who could this Bill be? Unless Bill Weasley came back from the dead to live with Muggles, Harry assumes it must be someone he never knew nor paid attention to in school. Maybe someone older? Or younger? Must be pretty bad at magic if he’s living with Muggles. He wonders if Bill came up with the idea of having another wizard accompany him on this outing to hide his incompetence.

As Michael is setting tea, milk and sugar in front of Harry, the door opens behind him and a voice he’d know anywhere says, “You wanted to see me, Michael?”

Harry turns to see none other than Draco Malfoy, in the flesh, standing there. Apparently he goes by Bill these days. The “No fucking way” comes out of Harry's mouth before he can engage any filters. As Malfoy’s eyes fall to him, his eyebrows go up and, clearly possessing more self-restraint than Harry, he says, “Indeed”. Harry can read the expletives on his face loud and clear.

“You two know each other?” Michael asks.

“In a manner of speaking,” is all Malfoy says. His voice is still incredibly posh, not at all dulled by the Apocalypse. At Michael’s curious look, Harry confirms, “Yeah, you could say we’ve met before.”

“Well, well, God works in mysterious ways. Bill, how bout you sit down next to Gawain so we can talk for a bit?”

Malfoy’s left eyebrow goes up upon hearing what Harry calls himself, but he doesn’t comment on it as he settles into the chair next to Harry.

“So, Bill,” Michael says as he resettles in his own chair from where he’d been fiddling with the tea set, “I found you a wizard.”

Malfoy eyes Harry as curiously as Harry is surely eyeing him. “Yes, I can see that, Michael. What do you propose I do with him?”

“Well, go to the camp, of course. You said you didn’t want to go alone, so here’s a partner for you.”

Having barely had a chance to go down, Malfoy's eyebrow climbs back up into his hairline at Mike's use of 'partner'. “All I meant was that someone else should drive me, not that it has to be another wizard. I’d be happy to go with Susan.”

“Now, Bill, anyone who could drive you is busy in the fields, and I can’t spare them, nor do I want to wait any longer than I have to in order to know what’s going on at the big camp. Besides, two of you are better than one, right? And, since God was kind enough in his wisdom to send another one of you our way, I think this is a sign that you should go and see what’s up.”

Harry really doesn’t want to go to wherever Mike’s sending him. But also, he’s incredibly curious as to why Malfoy, of all people, is living with Muggles. And made it here on foot? That sounds like a lie to Harry—bastard probably Apparated to within five hundred meters from the camp and put on the weary, starved traveler act with these people.

“I’m not really someone who believes in signs,” Malfoy says.

Mike looks to Harry. No words are needed for Harry to get that Michael wants to know what he thinks about the matter. What Harry thinks is that Malfoy is being cagey and probably up to something. Doesn’t make any sense that he’d be living among Muggles otherwise.

Harry takes his time analyzing Malfoy, who’s surely doing the same to him. Probably wondering how come the smuggler they had been expecting is none other than Harry Potter. It doesn’t feel as if he hasn’t seen Malfoy in nearly twenty years, probably because the bastard has barely aged. The only noticeable changes are that he’s gotten noticeably broader through the shoulders and that his hair is longer, falling to just below his shoulders. Otherwise, Malfoy’s forehead is still perfectly smooth, his gray eyes still glittering, and his mouth is as full and mocking as ever. Harry wonders if Malfoy is also impressed with how well Harry’s aging. He snorts self-deprecatingly, knowing that his forever skinny frame and messy hair are no more impressive at nearly forty than they were at twenty. Michael’s cough pulls him out of his thoughts. Right, he was supposed to be giving an opinion on Michael’s request.

“Well, what I think, Mike, is that Bill here is a bit of a scaredy cat,” he finally says, emphasizing the ‘Bill', because really, was that the best name Malfoy could come up with? "Always was, to be honest."

Malfoy's shoulders go rigid. “And I think Gawain is being reckless as ever.” By how he pronounces ‘Gawain’, Harry takes it that Malfoy is just as unimpressed by Harry’s fake name as Harry is with 'Bill'.

Harry settles into the bit, “Come now, Bill, where’s your sense of adventure? We leave tomorrow at dawn, and we’ll be back by dinner. Or are you scared?”

“I’m not scared, I’m cautious, not that your tiny Gryffindor brain would know the difference.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Harry says, feeling a grin overtake his face. He hasn’t had anyone to needle like this in years. A full day with Malfoy, figuring out what he’s up to and potentially irritating him some more? Suddenly, it feels like Christmas came early. If Christmas still existed.

“Well, it seems like Gawain has made up his mind, so what do you say, Bill? Now, remember we’re happy to have you, but you do have to prove yourself useful to us,” Mike says, bringing his hands together in a prayer pose on the desk. His eyes don’t look anywhere near as pious as his bearing would suggest.

Malfoy spends a few seconds looking between Mike and Harry before dropping his shoulders, sighing, and accepting defeat. “I’m grateful to the camp for having me, Michael. If that’s what you want, I’ll go with Gawain here and see what I can do.”

“Hallelujah!” Mike exclaims, standing up and coming to shake both Harry’s and Malfoy’s hands. “God has listened to my prayers, praise be to him!” The elation of getting one over on Malfoy nearly leaves Harry, because really, all this religious fervor is getting on his nerves.

“Alright, it’s settled then. Bill, show Gawain to the visitors' quarters, then go tell Jack what supplies you need for tomorrow. He’ll get everything ready for you two by six, so you can be off bright and early. Gawain, Miriam will bring your dinner later. You should get some rest.”

Having been dismissed, Harry stands up and waits for Malfoy to lead the way. They go back nearly the way Harry initially came, the visitors' quarters being another gray, squat building right by the gate. Malfoy doesn’t say anything, but he looks tense and very annoyed with Harry as he leads him through the door and into a large dormitory not too dissimilar from the one Harry spent the previous night in, emptiness blessedly included. Suddenly, Harry finds himself slammed into a wall.

“Potter, you fucker, I know you think this is a funny joke, but you'd better take tomorrow seriously, or I will let the Runners have at you.” Malfoy is grabbing the front of Harry’s shirt, while looking down at him. Those eyes really are very gray.

“Well, I don’t think we’ll be working well together if we start out with you threatening me, Malfoy.”

“That wasn’t a threat, it was a warning. Also, you started it by showing up here and forcing me into doing something I'd really rather not do.”

“Yeah, Malfoy, so sorry for existing. Let’s just get through tomorrow, and then I promise I’ll try to do it as far away from you as possible.”

Harry’s a bit embarrassed to be nearly forty and bickering like this. He must have some sort of arrested development when it comes to Malfoy, on account of not seeing him in so long. If Malfoy’s embarrassed, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he gives Harry’s shirtfront one last pull before stepping away.

“Fine, Potter, I’ll behave if you do. See you tomorrow.”

By the time Harry lets out a “Fine” of his own, Malfoy’s back is to him and he’s nearly out of the dormitory. As Malfoy slams the door, Harry registers that it’s gotten dark outside. He hears the workers from the fields coming into the yard, dispelling some of the eerie silence from the camp. Tomorrow will be an interesting day. Harry smiles to himself as he lies down on the nearest bed.

The camp felt more lively during the evening, but not enough that it should have interfered with Harry’s sleep. After the skinny woman who’d met him at the gate, Miriam, had brought him dinner, the only disturbances had been people walking around and speaking in low voices. The loudest noise he’d heard had been what sounded like hymns about an hour after dinner, and then it had all gone back to being as quiet as when he’d arrived. So the fact that he spent the night tossing and turning, thinking about Malfoy like it’s 1996, was all on Harry.

After a quick breakfast delivered once again by Miriam, he gets dressed and goes outside at six on the dot to find that the culprit for Harry’s lack of sleep is waiting for him. It's still dark, but there's a flashlight set on the bonnet of Harry's car. Malfoy's hair is reflecting the light like a second moon. He’s standing by the car, quietly going over a map together with a short, stout man who must be the Jack that Mike mentioned the previous evening. The map gets folded up as the two men catch sight of Harry, who goes to stand next to Malfoy. Trying to be polite, he gives a “Good morning” to both men. Malfoy seems to have lost his manners since he responds with, “Ah, so Sleeping Beauty decided to join us.”

“I’m on time, Bill.”

“I was ready to go half an hour ago, but I suppose you can’t be proactive without your friends here to hold your hand?”

The memory of Ron and Hermione stings so he tries for a blow himself. “Yes, well, don’t let your father hear about it.”

Unimpressed, Malfoy rolls his eyes. “Ready when you are, Gawain. Shall we?”

“Don’t let me stop you.”

Jack had been looking between them as if following a tennis match, but upon hearing that they’re ready to leave, he shakes himself and says, “Now, remember what Mike said, Bill. If the camp needs help with the wards, you’re to stay and help. We’ll take care of things here.”

Malfoy tenses, but nods at Jack, who grabs the flashlight from the car and walks away to open the gate. Harry quickly steps away and opens the boot of the car. Turning on his own flashlight, he uses the light to settle on the various packs Jack left on the ground. Malfoy has his arms crossed over his chest and is tapping his foot impatiently, which Harry ignores. He bites his tongue and doesn't mention that Malfoy's welcome to help him if he's in such a rush.

Once everything is settled, he signals Malfoy to get in. As Harry's walking to the driver’s side, there’s a sudden shout of “Wait!” as a body barrels into Malfoy. Once Harry points his light towards the passenger side, it turns out to be a boy, looking like a clone of a twelve-year-old Malfoy, who softens as he says, “Scorpius, what are you doing awake?”

“Just wanted to see you off,” Scorpius says, voice muffled from having his face plastered to Malfoy's chest.

Harry wonders if the boy is Malfoy's son.

“Well, now you’ve seen me, so go back to bed. I’ll see you this evening, OK?”

The boy nods and steps back from Malfoy, which is when his eyes fall on Harry. “Bloody hell, are you—“

Malfoy cuts Scorpius off before he can say too much. “This is Gawain. He's my friend. He’s a wizard and he’s coming with me on the trip, so you’ve got nothing to worry about, you see?”

Scorpius manages to catch on that he shouldn’t talk about Harry Potter around Muggles. Since it's six AM, Harry thinks he might be a bit more on the ball than Malfoy—his father?— was at that age. Benefits of growing up in the Apocalypse, Harry supposes. The boy is still looking at Harry’s scar when he says, “You’ll take care of my dad, won’t you, sir?”

That's Harry's suspicion confirmed, then. Guilt washes over Harry as he realizes why Malfoy didn’t want to go on this trip. He hadn’t wanted to leave his son, and now Harry’s forced his hand. Still doesn’t explain why they’re living in a Muggle camp, but the possibility of Malfoy having nefarious intentions seems much lower.

Harry nods at the boy. “You can count on me”. And he means it.

A bright smile washes over Scorpius’ face at Harry’s words. Malfoy gets quickly hugged again, and then Scorpius is running off after shouting “Good luck!” at them loud enough for Jack to shush him from where he’s been standing by the gate, waiting for the goodbyes to be over.

Harry feels awkward.

He covers it up with a, “Well, shall we?” Finally getting into the car, closely followed by Malfoy, he waves goodbye to Jack. And then they’re off.

It doesn't take more than half an hour of driving for Harry's curiosity to get the best of him. Having someone accompany him is a rare treat and he wants to enjoy it, even if it is Malfoy.

"So… that was your son?"

Malfoy looks away from where he'd been gazing out the passenger window and sighs before saying, "We don't need to make conversation, Potter. "

"I'm not making conversation, I'm genuinely curious. He looked like your son and called you dad, and who else could have given him that name?"

"Scorpius is a perfectly fine and traditional name, I'll have you know."

"Be grateful I didn't conclude he's your half-brother or something."

"My half-brother?" Malfoy asks, confused.

"Yes, your father's love child with, say, Celestina Warbeck."

Malfoy laughs at that, which makes Harry feel rather proud of himself for some reason.

"Mother would have his balls, be serious."

"Well, I am serious. Either you're hiding him from her wrath, or why else would you two be living in a Muggle camp?"

Hearing that immediately makes Malfoy go tense. He turns again to look out the window, telling Harry to "Just shut up and drive.”

Harry obeys for a bit, then tries a different tack.

"Bit of a weird assignment, no?"

Malfoy tenses again, making Harry wonder even more what has him so on edge. When nearly a minute goes by without any response, Harry continues, "Mike sure seemed eager to get us both out of the camp, didn't he?"

With a sigh, Malfoy turns once again from the window to look at Harry, whose gaze keeps alternating between the empty, desolate road and his companion. Hermione wouldn't be happy with him looking away from the road, but it's not like there's any traffic. He's also not driving fast, since driving on tarmac that hasn't been maintained in two decades isn't exactly a smooth experience, even in a magically modified car. Making it float like Arthur's old Ford Anglia would let the Muggles know a bit too much about what wizards can really do. The ride is inevitably quite bumpy.

Malfoy sounds irritated as he asks, "Are you trying to tell me something, Potter?"

"No, I'm just consulting with you on something that concerns us both. You obviously know these people better than me, so you tell me if you think Mike is being suspicious or not."

"I've only known them for two weeks, but they seem like decent people. Bit weird, but I guess that's Muggles for you. Seem very obsessed with their crucifixes, but everyone takes comfort where they can," Malfoy says.

"So you don't think it's weird he wanted us to go together?"

"What, that he'd send two relative strangers on a potentially dangerous mission rather than risk his own people? I can understand that, even if being on the other end isn't fun. We'll be fine. Michael probably overestimates the risk for us. Muggles have no idea what we're really capable of, after all."

"And you're not worried about Scorpius?"

At that, Malfoy tenses again. So that's what has him on edge. It occurs to Harry that he has no idea who Scorpius’ mother is or if she’s also living in the camp. Mike had only mentioned one wizard among them. Could Malfoy be married to a Muggle?

"Yes, Potter, of course I'm worried for him. We've never been apart for more than a few hours. This is why I told you not to mess about, so we can get back as soon as possible. Now, can you please focus on driving and shut up already?"

Once more, Malfoy turns away to look out the window. Overgrown woods and fields must really hold a great fascination to him, Harry thinks. He drives in silence for a while longer, turning his own attention to the horizon. It's been some time since he's had any encounters on the road, but that doesn't mean anything. Runners can show up any time, any place, attracted by the noise of the car or just out of sheer bad luck, like what had happened to Charlie Weasley. Spending years working with huge dragons only to end up eaten by what basically amounts to an Inferi. Truly, nothing was safe or sacred in the Apocalypse.

Everything looks empty and eerily quiet, as always. Twenty years ago, the road he's driving on would have been a bustling motorway barely able to contain the flow of people, both dreading and excited about their destinations. These days, only crazy people would be on it. Crazy people like Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, going to some mysterious camp sent by some weirdo obsessed with crucifixes.

"So, Potter, how come you've become a smuggler?"

"Oh, now you want conversation?"

"I'm bored. As dashing as I look gazing out at the horizon, it stops being entertaining by the 10-minute mark. Distract me."

"Look at you, making it an hour before you caved."

"One and a half. And I've felt every minute of it. How much farther?"

"According to the map Jack gave us, we're about a quarter of the way? I think?"

"A quarter? We're supposed to be there and back in a day, Potter, can't you drive faster?"

Harry steals Malfoy's move by rolling his own eyes before saying, "No, I can't drive on this beat-up road any faster than I already am or we might crash and then what?"

Malfoy's scoff would have been enough to let Harry know how unimpressed he is with the whole thing, but he clarifies. "Muggle technology is shit."

"Aww. There's the Malfoy I know and love. Missed you."

At the odd look that gets him in response, Harry realizes what he's just said. Obviously, it was just a figure of speech; he hasn’t missed Malfoy. It's just that he appreciates seeing that he still has a personality other than 'anxious'. A stressed-out Malfoy is a bit too reminiscent of sixth year, which is top three on the list of worst years of Harry’s life.

"OK, Potter, whatever gets you going. Will you keep building anticipation, or are you going to tell me what you're doing being a smuggler? Is it just that you can't resist being a delinquent?"

Harry didn't nearly land in Slytherin for nothing, so he takes the opportunity to bargain. "I'll tell you why I became a smuggler, if you tell me why you're living with Muggles," he says. Malfoy doesn't like that because, once again, he tenses and turns his head to gaze out of the window. This time, though, there's less of a sense that he's ignoring Harry, so much as considering.

If the road weren't empty, Harry wouldn't be looking away from it so much. That would be a pity because this gives him a chance to notice that Malfoy has a nice side profile. Strong jaw, full lips, aristocratic nose, high forehead. Bastard really won the genetic lottery. With that thoughtful expression on his face and his arms crossed in front of him, as if to purposefully highlight his broad shoulders, he looks like an old school movie star. The identity of Scorpius’ mother is now a mystery Harry would dearly like to solve.

"Fine," Malfoy finally says as he turns back to look at Harry. "I'll show you mine, if you show me yours."

"You're not even taking me out for coffee first?"

At that, Malfoy surprises him by sighing mournfully. “I miss coffee. Mother tried to grow it, but the soil here is all wrong for it, even with all the magical help it could get."

Malfoy turns his body sideways in the passenger seat so he can face Harry, who can feel he's being studied. For some reason, he suddenly really doesn't want to turn his head from the road and meet Malfoy's eyes. He doubts that his own side profile is as compelling as Malfoy's was to Harry. His suspicion feels confirmed when, only a few seconds later, Malfoy says, "Alright, Potter, enough faffing about. Tell me, how did you become a smuggler?"

"There really isn't that much to it. You know how after the bombs fell and people started to turn? The various Magical governments started revealing themselves to Muggles?"

"Of course I do, I'd only lived in fear of that moment my entire life. On balance, probably not the worst thing that ever happened to me," Malfoy says.

"Yes, well, while the Ministry decided they needed to intervene and offer help, they still set pretty strict limits on what we could tell or give Muggles."

"Which is why we're traveling in this contraption."

Harry turns his head to gaze towards the passenger seat. Malfoy's not looking at him, instead preferring to study the inside of the car and fiddling with the dials on the dashboard, most of which are broken.

"To be fair," Harry says, "I think if Muggles knew we could show up anywhere, anytime, without announcing ourselves, they'd be a lot more distrustful of us. They'd also probably hurt themselves trying to figure out ways to prevent it. Keeping Apparition a secret works in all our favor."

Going for his favorite move, Malfoy rolls his eyes again. "Yes, I feel so favored traveling in a car held together with prayers and spit. This is so much better than using a Portkey. How did we never think of it?"

"Hey, now, don't talk like that about my girl. Arthur's been working on making her as comfortable as possible for years; you have no idea how good she is. The seats even stretch into a nice bed for when I have to sleep in the open."

"That an invitation, Potter?"

Harry does turn his head this time. He meets Malfoy's gray eyes, which are very intent upon him. It's a blessing he can't maintain eye contact for long on account of driving, because looking at Malfoy is starting to make him feel rather fluttery. Ignoring Malfoy's intense gaze, Harry clears his throat and pretends he didn't hear.

"Anyway, the Ministry is still holding its cards close to its chest. If Muggles want help with fortifying their camps or getting magically altered seeds to improve their crop yields, they have to go through a ton of hoops to get it through official channels. Nevermind stuff like medicine and contraceptives. Sometimes, by the time requests get approved, it's too late."

Malfoy scoffs and raises a brow, seemingly unaffected by Harry's brush off. “And this is an injustice the great Harry Potter couldn’t bear to see, is that it? How predictable you are.”

Harry’s never really explained to Ron and Hermione what compels him to keep going, but for some reason, he wants to make Malfoy understand.

“No, not really. I mean, sure, it’s not right, and the Ministry's being as idiotic as ever, but I wasn’t looking for a cause to fight for. The people I care about aren’t affected by the Ministry limiting how many seeds the Muggles get.”

Malfoy tries to needle him by asking, “What, like Granger’s parents aren’t affected?”

“They live in Australia. It’s different. There are a lot more mixed communities over there, from what Hermione tells me. Makes one wonder how much longer until Apparition stops being a secret, with people living on top of each other.”

“It’s not like the Muggle government here didn’t know about magic, Potter. People get told what they need to know.”

Harry shrugs at that. “I guess. Maybe it’s some sort of open secret? I don’t know, it’s hard for information to travel these days.”

“Alright,” Malfoy says as he raises his arms above his head to stretch. The car isn’t tall enough for him to get a full stretch, but he makes do. “So you didn’t become a smuggler out of a desire to fulfill your dream of being Robin Hood. Then why?”

Ron and Hermione have asked him this many times, and Harry’s wanted to explain himself, but usually he just gets short with them as soon as the question comes up. The more they push, the less he wants to be around them. Why on earth he’s opening up to Draco Malfoy, of all people, completely escapes him. Maybe it’s due to not feeling like he’s burdening Malfoy with his troubles or just that they’ll part ways in a couple days and likely never see each other again. Whatever it is, it’s suddenly easy to put into words.

“I wanted to escape,” Harry says. He can tell he has Malfoy’s full focus, so he goes on. “After the war, before the world went to shit, there was so much attention on me, everyone wanted to shake my hand, thank me, just have my focus for a bit. It was exhausting.”

“Course it was,” Malfoy says with a snort. “Being loved and admired sounds awful.”

“Maybe you think you’d like it, but it was draining.” Harry’s tone is more cutting than he intended, but he hasn’t thought about those times in a long while and he suddenly feels very raw about it. “Everyone thought they owed me something or that I owed something to them, couldn’t go anywhere and just exist in peace. All I wanted was to leave Britain, travel, see new places where nobody would know me or care who I was.”

As he finishes speaking, he realizes his tone has risen and that his hands are clenched tight on the steering wheel. There are tears in his eyes. Malfoy gently reaches over the gear shift to touch his left arm.

“Hey—Potter, I think we should take a break. We’ve been driving for a long time, let’s get some air.”

Harry looks over at the passenger side and meets Malfoy’s unexpectedly gentle gaze. It seems important not to dislodge that elegant hand from his left forearm. Harry uses his right hand to wipe at his eyes and nods.

He spots a good place for stopping just by the side of the road and drives the car over there. Either out of awkwardness or because he realizes Harry needs to use his left arm to park the car, Malfoy removes his hand. Harry immediately misses the unexpectedly grounding touch.

As soon as the car is stopped, Malfoy’s out the door and stretching to his full height and then some.

“Fuck me, I haven't sat for so long since Hogwarts. I hate these contraptions. Muggles have no idea how rough they have it.”

Harry’s still feeling overwhelmed by the strength of his outburst, so he takes his time getting out of the car so he can compose himself. After doing some stretching of his own and taking a few deep breaths, he feels calmer. He walks around the car so he can stand next to Malfoy. “Imagine having to actually drive the car instead of doing contortions in the chair.”

“Yes, yes, you have my sympathies, Potter. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go for a piss.”

“Don’t go too far and be careful.”

“I’ll go as far as I need to so you don’t see me piss, Potter. Unless—?”

“Piss off, Malfoy, literally.”

He gets a genuine smile in response, for some reason, before Malfoy turns around and heads to a nearby cluster of trees that looks like it’ll be good for preserving his modesty. To busy himself with something, Harry opens the car's boot and takes his pack out of it. He pulls out some snacks and water and sets them on the bonnet, using it as a table for his makeshift picnic. By the time he’s done, Malfoy's walking back towards him. Harry can’t help noticing that Malfoy’s legs are very long and that he cuts a rather elegant figure, despite the gray and uninspiring scenery.

“Ah, excellent, I knew there had to be more to you than just driving skills,” Malfoy says as he gets near enough to see the spread Harry’s laid out. Compared to their Hogwarts days, it’s nothing very impressive, just dried meat, biscuits, and dried fruits. Still, he would have killed to have these back when he was camping with Ron and Hermione in seventh year.

By the time Harry’s invited Malfoy to help himself, his companion is already chewing through his second biscuit and starting on some of the meat.

They eat in silence for a few minutes, keeping an eye on the horizon for any Runners that might become attracted by the noise. It's been over two years since Harry met any Runners, but once you’ve seen one, the memory sticks with you. Anyone who’s survived an encounter isn't in any hurry to repeat the experience.

“So,“ Malfoy says once he’s eaten his fill, “you wanted to escape from your loving fans?”

Harry feels more settled now and he does want to finish explaining himself. “Yeah, I did. The plan was to travel the world for a few years but then—“

“—the bombs.”

“The bombs, indeed.”

Wizards never paid much attention to Muggle politics, so even now Harry’s not actually sure which country got into a snit with which country to the point where they decided that dropping nuclear weapons on each other was the best way to deal with it. Then a couple more countries got into the fun of it and next thing he knew, the sounds of Muggle sirens were audible even in Hogsmeade. Harry mostly remembers the convoys of refugees, gray-faced and terrified, spending days and days on the road so they could go five kilometers farther than they started.

Things got worse when people exposed to nuclear fallout began turning into mindless, ravenous creatures. The situation somehow continued to deteriorate when everyone realized that they were dealing with a contagious infection. Finally, the Ministry decided to intervene. With magical help, Muggles quickly created fortified camps to keep them safe from Runners. Rules were set in place for the kind of supplies the Ministry could provide and under what conditions.

“By the time the dust settled, the world was much smaller,” Harry says after a time. “Everyone was living in these small camps where there was nothing to do except survive. The magical enclaves are worse because everyone still knows me; it felt like I couldn’t breathe. I felt so trapped. When George mentioned that he needed someone to make a delivery without the Ministry knowing about it, I jumped at the chance to get out.”

Malfoy has been cleaning up the remnants of their meal, but he stops and turns to look at Harry. His brow is furrowed in confusion. “So you’re just going from place to place because too many people know and care about you, and you were denied your grand tour?”

Harry is suddenly angry, realizing the situation he's in. Why is he telling Malfoy his life story, and who is Malfoy to judge him, of all people? The tosser probably has to live with Muggles because nobody else can stand him. He’s stupid enough to have gotten himself roped into a mission nobody else wants, yet again. Never mind that Harry’s right along with him. He wouldn’t have been here if it weren’t for Malfoy showing up out of the blue.

“Think what you will, Malfoy,” he says, ignoring the surprised look he gets for his tone. “I think it’s time we get going if we’re going to make it there and back today.”

Malfoy must decide that indulging Harry’s bad mood isn’t worth it since no comfort is offered this time. He just nods, dumps what’s left of their meal into the boot of the car, and gets in. Harry takes a deep breath to center himself and gets inside as well. When he tries to start the engine, nothing happens.

He lets out a heartfelt “Bloody fucking hell” and bumps his fists on the steering wheel in frustration.

“What’s wrong, Potter?” Malfoy asks, as if it’s not obvious.

“Car won’t start,” Harry says, mentally cursing everything that's gotten him to this point.

Malfoy’s very helpful response is “Alright, so fix it? I expect you know about cars?”

“This car has so many protection charms on it, it's never broken on me before,” Harry says, feeling frustrated as hell and also embarrassed. He raises his head from the steering wheel to look at Malfoy, who's already looking at him.

Going by how red his face has gone, Malfoy's not happy with the situation. This is confirmed when he asks, "Are you bloody messing with me?"

Harry can only shake his head. "I—No, normally if I have car troubles, I just Apparate to Hogsmeade to look for Arthur. He's the one who knows this stuff. It's what he does now—"

"Brilliant, so do that then."

Harry thinks of how he ditched Rose's birthday to be here. He imagines showing up with Malfoy in tow, telling Ron and Hermione that this is what was more important to him, and would they be dears and let him borrow the birthday girl's grandpa for a few hours so he can continue his road trip? Shame and pride both light a fire in his belly. For nearly twenty years, he's been driving around. He's got this. He lets Malfoy in on it.

"I can't ask Arthur for help this time, Malfoy."

The look Malfoy gives him puts him in mind of that time Petunia wanted to go shopping for Duddykins, but the car wasn't starting, and Vernon was similarly clueless as to how to fix it. Malfoy cuts a much more attractive figure, of course, but the clenched jaw and the look of frustration are eerily similar. Must be the blond hair.

"Well, what are you planning to do, Potter?"

"A Reparo ought to do it."

"Are you trying to get us stranded here, Potter? With all the charm work on this contraption, a Reparo might cause it to spontaneously combust. Or God knows what else."

"Oh, so now you're an expert on cars?"

"I'm an expert on Charms, but no need to pay me any mind," Malfoy spits out.

Harry sighs and bumps his head on the steering wheel a few more times, just for good measure. Their bickering is only wasting time and prolonging the risk of an attack the longer they stay put. He takes a big breath and gets out, going to open the bonnet.

"Just shut up and let me have a look."

"Yes, please confirm that you have no idea what to do," Malfoy says as he comes to stand next to Harry.

Honestly, all this time his car has been running perfectly, and now it decides to die on him? He props the top of the car open and stares at its insides. It all looks in order to him. He scratches his chin and says, "Hmm", which makes Malfoy scoff and probably roll his eyes, but he stays blessedly silent.

"Listen, Malfoy, I'm going to have a look through the car's manual—yes, I can read, thank you. If I can't figure out the issue in, say an hour, we'll go and get Arthur to help, alright? Can you just keep an eye out in case anything shows up?"

Malfoy just nods at him and angrily starts stomping around the perimeter of the car, on the lookout for any Runners that might show up. Harry takes out the manual, and he tries to see if he can start the engine at all. After fiddling around for a few minutes, he decides that the car's interior isn't going to tell him much, so he gets back out to check under the bonnet, still going through the manual. Malfoy's steps are very heavy and frustrated, so Harry tries to get him talking to distract him.

"OK, Malfoy, fair's fair. I told you how I became a smuggler, now it's your turn to tell me why you're living in a Muggle camp."

"Shouldn't you be focusing on the car?"

"Your sweet voice is such a comfort, indulge me."

Malfoy stops stomping around and settles himself with his back to the passenger side of the car, since that's more exposed. The driver's side is towards a wooded area, so they'd hear anything moving through the trees. Probably. At the continued silence, Harry provides some more encouragement.

"So, are your parents alive then?"

With a deep sigh, Malfoy says, "Yes, they're alive and well, they made the Manor into its own enclave after—well, after. It's as busy and thriving as it was back when it was first built in the Middle Ages; they're actually very happy with that part, though not necessarily how it came to be."

"You're not living there, though."

Harry's fiddling with some cables, per the manual, trying to see if the insulation came off any of them. He may not be able to see Malfoy's face, but he knows by that posh voice that those gray eyes are getting rolled once more.

"Well spotted, Potter, no wonder you wanted to become an Auror."

"I didn't though. Wanted to travel the world, remember? Now, will you get to the point already?"

"As soon as you figure out how to fix the car."

Harry cranes his neck to get a look at Malfoy past the side of the car. Their eyes don't quite meet, but his body position indicates that Malfoy's also looking toward him.

"Malfoy—"

"Alright, yes, fine, don't get your knickers into such a twist. You may have inferred by Scorpius' existence that there has at some point been a woman in my life?"

Harry was expecting that, but his stomach still clenches at hearing it, for some unknown reason. He just 'hmmms' hoping Malfoy will continue without more prompting, and he turns out to be correct.

"Among the people who moved there were the Greengrasses. Perhaps you remember Daphne, she was in our year at Hogwarts?"

Not wanting to admit how little attention he paid anyone in school besides the Gryffindors in his year and Malfoy—with good reason—Harry bypasses the question and asks one of his own. "Is Daphne Scorpius' mother?"

"No, her sister. Astoria. She was two years below us at Hogwarts."

"Cradle robber."

"Hypocrite."

Harry does manage to meet Malfoy's eyes when he extends his head past the car this time. He raises his eyebrows in question.

"Was dating Ginevra Weasley very different?"

That's not a topic Harry wants to think about, so he uses Malfoy's tactics against him by rolling his own eyes. "Yes, alright, fine, you were well within your rights to date—Astoria was it? So you fell in love?"

Malfoy scoffs at that. He sits down on the ground by the car so it's easier to see Harry. The ground should be cold, but Harry assumes that Malfoy's trousers must have some warming charms woven in.

"No, Potter, we didn't fall in love. We were young and scared and liked having sex to take our minds off things. It worked well for us for years. Astoria's the one who got me into fortifying Muggle settlements. She's as fond of sitting still as you are. We'd go out on Ministry approved jobs, then get back to the Manor and study some more. In between all that, we fucked to relieve tension. Romance never factored into it."

It's strange for Harry, hearing a years-long relationship described in such utilitarian terms. Malfoy saying that Harry's not fond of sitting still also feels like he's been misunderstood, at least the current version of him. It's not that he doesn't want to sit still; it's just that by the time it occurred to him, he didn't have anyone to sit still for.

"So all that fucking resulted in Scorpius?"

"Ah, you know how babies are made, Potter? And here I was, worrying I'd have to give you the talk."

Not having forgotten that Malfoy did try to flirt with him earlier, Harry wants to get all this distracting talk about Malfoy having sex out of the way as soon as possible. It would also be nice to know if Astoria's still in the picture. For some reason.

"Arse. Stop trying to distract me by annoying me."

He manages to catch Malfoy's grin before turning back to the manual. It seems important, somehow, to prove that he can fix the car.

"Astoria didn't realize she was pregnant for a long time. She's never been very regular, and we were having a busy time fortifying some new settlements, so she chalked it up as normal. By the time we figured out what was happening, it was too late to end the pregnancy safely."

"You would've wanted that?"

"Astoria has a mind of her own, you know. It wasn't my call to make. She never wanted children and was furious that she couldn't do anything about it. Our parents were overjoyed, of course, hoping we'd finally settle down and marry."

"That didn't happen?"

"Not on Astoria's life. I stopped doing overnight jobs once Scorpius was born and eventually stopped working completely. Astoria flitted in and out of the Manor, but mostly out."

Harry doesn't mean to sound so affronted, but he can't help that it hits so personally to him as he asks, "She doesn't love her son?"

"Astoria cares for him in her own way, but she's always resented that the choice wasn't hers to make."

"And you?" Harry drops the pretense that he's doing anything with the car and goes to stand in front of Malfoy, who's looking up at him.

There's a fierce look on his face, and his hands are clenched on his knees. "I thought I'd never be able to kill—until they put my son in my arms."

Malfoy looks tense, and it makes Harry want to comfort him. Lowering himself to the ground, he puts his right hand over Malfoy's left, moving his thumb in soothing circles. Unexpectedly, Malfoy sobs and snatches both hands away to press them to his eyes.

"As Scorpius got older, we started noticing he wasn't showing many signs of magical ability—none at all in fact."

"He's a Squib?"

Nodding, Malfoy stands up and starts to pace.

"He is, yes, and the closer he got to Hogwarts age, the more it started to bother him. He could tell he was different from his friends. I can't believe Hogwarts is still open, but the day he didn't get his letter on his eleventh birthday, it hit him very hard. Didn't help that he was the only one not taking part in preparations for going away to school."

"Your parents—"

"His grandparents—all his grandparents—love him dearly, but they're awkward around him; they have no idea how to relate to him. Astoria's the worst about it, actually. I think she expected to finally bond with Scorpius over magic, and it only made her even more distant with him."

Malfoy's still pacing and rubbing at his eyes, clearly trying to stave away tears.

"So living with Muggles—"

"I'm trying to give Scorpius the chance to grow up with children who won't lord it over him that they can make a feather float."

At Harry's involuntary scoff, Malfoy drags him to his feet by his jacket and slams him against the side of the car, once again looking down furiously at him.

"Don't you dare mock my son, Potter."

"No, no—I wouldn't," Harry says, bringing his hands up to grab Malfoy's own, still clinging to his jacket. "I'm sorry, I just—it was a bit ironic hearing you, of all people, say that. But that's all. I didn't mean to make fun of either of you."

Malfoy's gaze is still very intense, studying Harry's face. The moment suddenly feels charged with more than just anger. They're standing very close, practically breathing the same air. Harry's hands are still holding Malfoy's, and he once again starts rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs over the backs of Malfoy's hands. Harry realizes that Malfoy's basically confirmed that there isn't anyone in his life, and he did seem to be flirting at least once during the day. He's now sure that some of the looks he's caught Malfoy giving him were interested rather than suspicious or resentful.

Suddenly, Malfoy lifts his head to look towards the forgotten woodlands behind the driver's side of the car.

"What was that?"

They're silent for a few seconds. Harry's straining his ears to catch whatever it is that Malfoy heard. There's a noise of dead leaves being disturbed, and it's close. Pushing Malfoy away from him, Harry walks back to the front of the car. Fixing the puzzle of why it won't start now feels much more urgent.

"Potter—"

"Keep your eyes on the woods, let me—"

Before he knows it, he's slammed to the ground, on his back. Runners can get really fast when they know humans are close. This one must have been much nearer to them than they ever suspected. Harry curses himself for being distracted by Malfoy and hopeless with cars as he's enveloped by the smell of rotting flesh. He flails his left arm, hand connecting to the thing's chest, pushing it away from him to prevent it from biting him. The thing is skinny and covered in rags, but it's strong. Its jaws keep snapping toward Harry as it moves its head to try attacking Harry's throat from the side. He uses his left arm to fight it off, while the right is reaching for his thigh, trying to get at his wand holster. Only a little bit more —

"Sectumsempra!"

The thing on top of Harry practically explodes into a mess of pieces of what used to be a human body. Luckily for him, Runners have no blood, and the one that just attacked hadn't fed in a while, so there isn't a lot of gore, but he still feels shaken and disgusting. He's still breathing heavily as Draco's face appears above his.

"Potter, are you all right?"

"I—Yes, I—"

"Good, we need to get moving. One of them means more are nearby. Are you fixing the car or are we going to get Arthur?"

Harry takes a deep breath, then heaves himself up to sit, narrowly avoiding colliding with Draco's head, who moves away just in time. No noise is coming from the woods right now, but that's no guarantee. Harry looks at Draco, sitting on his haunches, looking impatient. Did he really just use—

"Potter," Draco says, snapping his fingers in Harry's face, "We don't have time for you to go into shock. Call it, what are we doing?"

Gathering himself with a shake of his head, Harry fully stands up, quickly followed by Draco. Letting out a frustrated breath, Harry walks the few steps back to the stupid car and looks furiously into the mess of cables that makes up its entrails. His brain makes the decision for him without conscious thought, wand arm raised before he can process how easy it was to reach his holster.

"Fuck it, Reparo!" he says, looking towards Draco just in time to see his shocked face.

"Are you bloody insane—"

"Get in the car, Malfoy!"

Closing the bonnet, Harry moves to follow his own instruction, so he can only hear Draco's frustrated breath and his heavy, annoyed steps as he gets in. Once inside, Harry turns the key in the ignition, which results in a beautiful purring noise that makes Harry exclaim, "Fuck yes!" before moving the car to get it back on the road.

There's a tense silence that envelops them, and Harry can only take it for a few minutes before he breaks it.

"Whatever you're thinking, shut up, it worked. And if it hadn't, we would've gone to get Arthur. Everything was under control."

He's keeping his eyes purposefully on the road, even if it's taking his hands clenching for dear life on the steering wheel to prevent him from turning his head to look at Draco.

"Yes, Potter, you looked very in control with that thing on top of you. Didn't know you were such a power bottom." Of course, he couldn't just let it go.

That makes Harry laugh, which in turn relaxes him. His hands on the wheel become a bit looser, and his shoulders drop from around his ears to settle back into the seat.

"You'd be surprised," Harry says, finally turning to look at Draco, who just raises an eyebrow in response. Coughing to clear his throat, because really, this must just be the leftover adrenaline talking, Harry goes on. "Umm—Anyway, thanks for saving my life."

Draco's brow lowers, and his face gets a serious look before he shrugs, attempting nonchalance.

"Just returning the favor, Potter, don't mention it."

Praying for no more trouble, Harry stops the car in the middle of the road and turns his body in his seat so he can fully face Draco.

"Shut up, you've saved my life before, you didn't owe me anything. Besides, I can't believe you used that spell—"

"They're enemies, aren't they?" Draco asks, looking right into Harry's eyes. His blond hair started out the day in a low ponytail, but it's come loose in the ensuing excitement. It frames his pale, aristocratic face in a way that Harry finds hard not to be distracted by.

"Malfoy—"

"Snape told me about the spell and who it was for. It's alright, Potter, I don't take it personally."

It would be easier for Harry to believe that statement if Draco hadn't brought his arms up to cross them over his chest as he said it. Sixth year feels like such a distant memory. The idea of him stalking Draco up and down Hogwarts for months, while Ron and Hermione got more and more frustrated, seems ridiculous now. Harry puts his right hand on Draco's left shoulder, massaging it in soothing circles and trying to ignore what feels like rather solid muscle underneath his jacket.

"That was over twenty years ago, Malfoy. Whatever you or I did back then hardly matters anymore. I don't think of you as an enemy now."

"Oh, joy," Draco says with yet another roll of his eyes, which means he's probably feeling better.

"Look, if you want me to apologize—"

"Oh, please. Much as I would have liked to see you crawling on your knees asking for forgiveness back then, it wouldn't have changed anything. Now it feels downright ridiculous. I have other things to worry about than you."

Draco dislodges Harry's hand from his shoulder, turning his body to face the road instead of Harry.

"If you do want me to crawl on my knees—"

"You becoming a pervert in the apocalypse wasn't on my bingo card. Will you just drive? Let's see what's up with this camp so I can get back to my son already."

The reminder of Scorpius makes Harry feel chastised. Turning away from Draco, he puts the car back into gear and drives away with a hidden sigh of relief.

"Alright, Malfoy, hold your horses. We should be there in two hours or so."

"That's good," Draco says, a teasing tone coming into his voice. "We can discuss punishment after."

Harry accelerates at that. He still wants to make sure, though, so he asks, "So, there's nobody in your life now?"

"Bloody hell, Potter, what do you think I'm flirting with you for? So I can ask if you're interested in joining me and Miriam as our third?" Draco asks, sounding unexpectedly offended.

The mental image of a severe-looking, seventy-year-old Miriam in bed with Draco makes Harry let out an involuntary shudder.

"Don't joke about stuff like that, Malfoy."

"Then don't ask stupid questions. If there were anyone in my life, would I really be here with you at all?"

"Yeah—Alright, sorry for offending. And, same, just to be clear. I don't have anyone in my life either."

Draco snorts at that. "No joke, Potter, would you be here if there were anyone for you? Besides, you've been looking for excuses to touch me all day. You're starved for it, aren't you?"

At that, Harry feels himself blush. He has taken Draco's initial attempt to calm him as permission to keep seeking his touch. And there really hasn't been anyone for him in a long time. Never had anything he might call a committed relationship, not even to the level of Draco's seemingly casual arrangement with Astoria.

His own lack of romantic endeavors aside, Harry knows he craves touch. Draco always had his parents. Harry remembers how they were all clinging to each other in the Great Hall after Voldemort finally fell for good. He only allowed himself a glimpse of it, or he might have been overcome by jealousy. It was different from the Weasleys's holding onto each other. They'd lost Fred after all. The protective way Lucius and Narcissa were clinging onto Draco, grateful to have him alive, reminded him too much of his own parents and what was taken from him.

A warm hand touches his on the steering wheel, massaging it in soothing circles. It shakes Harry from his dark thoughts, but he still feels raw.

"Potter, I'm sorry if—"

"It's alright, Malfoy, let's just get to where we're going and then we'll see, right?"

His voice sounds colder than he'd meant to, causing Draco to take his hand away, which feels like a great loss to Harry. He chases the hand to Draco's lap and grabs his fingers without looking away from the road, feeling a bit breathless. He waits for Draco's reaction. It's ridiculous that touching Draco Malfoy's hand, not even for the first time, would have him so giddy, but with the world being what it is, he decides not to question it.

Going by how he laces their fingers together and squeezes tight, Draco seems amenable to the hand holding. Harry feels relieved, deciding he'll just have to give up on shifting gears for the rest of the drive. Butterflies have taken residence in his stomach, possibly permanently. He wills his palm not to sweat, so he won't put Draco off.

Driver or not, Draco must realize that holding hands while in a moving car can't be a good idea. With another squeeze, he guides Harry's hand back to the wheel and lets go. There's no time to feel bereft, because Draco proceeds to settle his hand on Harry's thigh.

"Alright?" Draco asks, more tentatively than would be expected for how boldly he grabbed Harry's thigh.

"Yes, all good."

Harry quickly turns his head to catch a glimpse of Draco, who's looking ahead with his lips turned up in a smile. He can't help but follow suit, a grin of his own overtaking his face as they keep driving in contented silence.

They finally make it close to the camp around midday which is slightly concerning for their plan of making it back by nightfall. Harry doesn't say anything. He wasn't lying about how comfortable the bed in his car is, and if Draco's interested in finding out, he has no objection. He's unlikely to make that proposal, though. It wouldn't go over well, since Draco's main priority is getting back to Scorpius as soon as possible. Given the promise he made before they left this morning, it would feel wrong to Harry too. Whatever's brewing between him and Draco will just have to wait.

It starts to rain, heavy clouds darkening the sky, making it feel more like early evening than the middle of the day. Raindrops immediately wash off the charmed windshield, but the sound of them hitting the glass is still audible, creating a comforting rhythm that, together with Draco's continued touch on his thigh, makes Harry feel more relaxed than he has been in months, possibly years.

It's hard to believe that they've only been on the road for a few hours. The level of comfort they've achieved makes it feel like they've known each other much longer. In a way, they have, of course. Awareness of Draco was part of his daily life at Hogwarts, even if he wasn't as loud or obnoxious about it as Draco himself. Except for sixth year. Draco feels like both a tether to his old life, as well as something completely new. Harry wonders if the sentiment is shared.

"God, this place looks creepy," Draco says, interrupting Harry's musings. Turning his head toward him, Harry can see him carefully studying the gray, nondescript buildings that have just become visible in the distance. If he squints, the structures blend into the clouds, creating an ominous effect of dark skyscrapers reaching up into the sky like eerie vines. As much as he dislikes the look of the place, Harry tries to be somewhat reassuring.

"They all look creepy. Architecture died in the apocalypse."

Harry ignores the bitter sound of Draco's snort because what is there to say? It's only a few more minutes until they stop front of the gate. There's nobody on the tower to ask them their business, or indeed anyone moving around the courtyard at all. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry can see his own sense of unease reflected on Draco's face. Opening the driver's side window, he pokes his head out of it, loudly asking, "Hello, is anyone here? Hello?"

They wait for a few seconds, but there's no answer. Draco quickly reaches a decision, removing his hand from Harry's thigh and getting out of the car.

"I'll jump the fence and open the gate for you to drive into camp, so we can have a look around."

Harry nods and watches as Draco conjures a ladder and sets it by the watch tower. Once inside, he locates the button that opens the gate, allowing Harry to drive through it. He leaves the car close to the gate, in case they need to make a quick exit, not wanting to be blocked by the other vehicles that are parked haphazardly around the courtyard.

Getting out, he takes a better look around. Buildings are set in a circle, with a slightly more formal-looking one in the center. That must be where the camp leadership lives. These buildings are all taller than those in Mike's camp, and there are more of them, suggesting a population in the thousands. Why isn't there anyone to greet them, then?

"Let's have a look around, what do you think?" he asks Draco, who simply nods in response.

They start with the building nearest to them, going in a circle, saving the main building for last. All the doors prove to be locked. Nobody answers their knocks, and there's no movement visible behind the windows.

"Where is everybody?" Draco asks. "This place looks abandoned."

"Except for all the cars still lying around. They would've taken them if they had to run."

Draco abandons knocking on doors and walks closer to where the cars were left, picking one at random to examine more closely. "Some of them are pretty rusted, though. If people ran off weeks ago, why aren't any of them at Mike's camp by now? And look—" he says, grabbing something from inside after a quick examination "— there's a bunch of guns in this car, who runs away without protection?"

"Think we should go into any of the buildings?" Harry asks, walking towards where Draco's standing with a rifle in his hands, studying it curiously. It's possible that Draco's never held a gun before. He raises his head at Harry's approach, looking at him with a furrowed brow.

"No, I don't want to go inside. This place is off. Let's just do another walk around the buildings and then head back to tell Mike that, unfortunately, nobody was home."

As he says this, Draco sets the gun next to the car and walks off to start knocking on doors again. Harry has no choice but to follow him.

"But what if there's someone—"

A loud bang coming from behind the door Draco's just knocked on cuts him off. They both hold their breath as they look at each other, straining their ears for any other sound. The bang repeats.

"Is anyone there? Do you need help?" Harry asks.

His only answer is more banging. The sounds overlap and repeat far too frequently for it to be a single source behind the door. Harry walks back a few paces from the building, then looks at Draco, who follows suit, coming to stand next to Harry.

"Wand out, " Harry says, taking his own out of its holster. "Let's walk a bit further, then hit the door with Alohomora. If anything comes out that's not human, we Apparate by those trees we saw five minutes away from camp. Alright?"

Draco looks worried but grins at Harry nonetheless. "I think maybe there is a bit of the failed Auror left inside you after all," he says, reaching for his own wand. The sight of that bit of Hawthorn is unexpectedly comforting for Harry. It has seen him through some of the worst times in his life after all. He's grateful it's found its way back to him, in a way, even if he hasn't thought about it since he unceremoniously sent it back by owl all those years ago.

The banging continues as they walk back a few more steps. They nod at each other before setting themselves to face the door. Harry centers himself with a deep breath and casts "Alohomora!" hard enough that the door flies off its hinges. He immediately regrets it.

There are bodies in the door, so many that they're preventing each other from stepping out. But they're not human. Standing in front of Harry and Draco, just a few steps away, is a deformed mass of formerly human flesh, desperate to reach them. So desperate that they can't even get out of their own way. The Runners are stacked on top of each other, every which way, unable to find the purchase necessary to make a run for Harry and Draco.

A memory hits Harry. A horde of misshapen Runners. Their ambling walk that turned deadly fast in the blink of an eye. Their rotting smell. He's assaulted by remembering them ripping into people. Back when everything went to shit. That's what will happen to him and Draco as soon as those things make it out the door.

He hasn't felt fear like this since he went into the Forest. It shocks him. The attack earlier was quickly shaken off, but seeing them writhe now, hearing the mass of them that must be hiding behind the door, imagining their numbers, it's all too much. He's rooted to the spot, unable to think.

"Harry—"

Draco's shouting shakes him enough to register that a Runner has ripped an arm off in order to free itself and has started moving towards them, gaining speed. The smell of rotting flesh gets stronger, the thing's broken jaw flapping uselessly as it runs toward him. He's going to die. And this time it'll be for real. He knows it.

A sob chokes him, and all of a sudden, he's being pushed to the ground. He feels himself reduced to a pinprick before coming to, lying on his back with Draco atop him, looking anxiously down at his face. Harry realizes what happened.

"You Apparated us—Draco, you—"

"Thank me later, Potter. We need to get back to Mike's camp, now!"

Draco stands, and Harry gives himself a few shakes, trying to piece together what happened. He takes deep breaths, wanting to remove the rotting smell from his lungs.

"Those were—"

"Former residents of the camp, yes, they must be. There were too many of them," Draco says, impatient. "Looks like they were trapped inside, then infected. Must have died trying to eat each other."

"You think Mike had them turned?"

"Yes, surely. He sent us into a trap, that's why he was so eager to get rid of us."

It hits Harry as he sits up, still feeling disoriented, "The car—"

"They fucked with it, expecting we'd get stranded and eaten. If nature didn't take its course and we did get here, then Mike's friends were supposed to deal with us."

"But why—"

"I don't care why, Potter. My son's with them," Draco chokes out, holding back tears.

It hits Harry that Draco had saved him twice in a matter of hours. He manages to get himself to standing, and he reaches for Draco, pulling him into a tight hug that's for both their benefits. He buries his head into Draco's neck.

"We're going back for Scorpius as soon as we both take a couple deep breaths. We're shaken, and it'll do us no good otherwise, alright?"

He can feel Draco nod as he puts his arms around Harry and breathes deeply into his hair. They hold each other for a few moments. With one last inhale of Draco's smell, Harry moves back a bit to look at him while holding onto his waist. Draco's arms are still around his neck.

"Ready?" Harry asks. Breathing in deeply, Draco nods at him.

Not willing to waste any more time, he separates from Draco, walks to grab his wand from where it landed on the ground when they Apparated, makes sure that the Hawthorn wand is still accounted for, then takes Draco by the hand and Apparates them into the middle of Mike's camp.

The camp is a lot more active than it had been the previous day. There are people walking around the yard, holding candles for some reason. They all stop and stare when Harry and Draco materialize in their midst. At least a couple shout, dropping their candles as they lift their hands to their mouths. The fire of the candles is quickly extinguished by the wet ground. Draco simply walks to the one closest to him, a woman, and grabs her by the front of her jacket, snarling into her terrified face.

"Where's my son?"

"I—"

"Tell me, or I swear to God you're about to learn a thing or two about what magic can really do," Draco says, shaking her. Harry walks to stand behind him and nods at her. The woman's eyes shift between their faces, not knowing who to focus on. Everyone else standing around them seems to be frozen to the spot. Expecting trouble, Harry carefully casts shield charms over both himself and Draco, as a precaution.

Draco shakes her again, looking murderous. The woman finally gathers her wits and says, "He's—With Mike, he's with—"

"Where?" Draco snarls again.

"Prayer hall, please don't hurt me."

Draco gives her one last disgusted look and pushes her away. She falls onto her knees, sobbing and praying to God.

"Follow me, Potter," he says and starts walking. He doesn't wait to confirm that Harry's following . They weave through terrified-looking people who put up their arms as they pass. Draco's walk is determined, and he never turns to look at anyone else as his long legs make quick work of the distance to a building sitting towards the middle of the yard. It doesn't look very big but, as they enter, it turns out to be just one room. Candles set up in sconces all around the walls allow Harry to see that they're covered in crucifixes and religious paintings.

Looking towards the middle of the room, Harry sees a circle of around twenty people, dressed in white, standing around a small body restrained to a chair, with its back to the door. The chair is facing an altar of sorts, a raised platform supporting a pulpit covered in out of season flowers. Behind the pulpit, predictably, stands Mike. Everyone is deep in what Harry assumes to be prayer. Neither the commotion outside nor the sound of his and Draco's steps as they enter causes them to stir.

Draco shouting "Scorpius!" does get their attention. Scorpius must be sedated, as he doesn't react to his father's voice. Mike glares at them with a hateful look on his face.

"Back so soon?" he asks, trying to force a smile onto his face, but it's as convincing as Voldemort petting a dog.

Harry and Draco are standing side by side, facing the pulpit and the prayer circle that surrounds Scorpius. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry can see that Draco's fists are clenched white and that his face looks furious.

"Doesn't seem like you were expecting us. What's all this, Michael?" Draco asks through gritted teeth. "What are you doing with my son?"

Mike smiles benevolently at them. "Pity you'll never know. God only reveals Himself to the worthy. Jack, if you will?"

Jack, who had seen them off that morning, apparently comes prepared even to church. He quickly pulls a gun out of his belt and shoots at them. Harry doesn't have time to reassure Draco, but he feels very grateful to himself for thinking to cast those shields. The blast from the bullets knocks the air out of them, but there's no blood, and they don't go down. Harry quickly refreshes the protection charms as Jack lets loose a few more shots. Seeing that this has no effect, he drops his gun and falls to his knees, praying.

"God almighty, you're testing us, but we won't let these demons—"

Harry Petrifies him to get him to shut up, then looks threateningly at the rest of the circle. They all raise their hands, falling to their knees. Mike is still standing behind the pulpit, looking stunned. Memories of Dumbledore's Army come to Harry's mind as he looks at Draco, who hasn't really moved since the first gunshots were fired. With a meaningful look towards the Petrified Jack, Harry starts working on the rest of the circle. Draco quickly takes the hint and starts helping him.

Once that's done, Draco rushes over to look at Scorpius, who thankfully seems to be sleeping. Nobody else has dared to come into the hall, but Harry locks the doors with a flick of his wand before stalking towards the altar. Mike's shaking, staring between Harry and Draco. And the only thing keeping him on his feet is holding onto the pulpit.

"Why don't you explain to us what you were doing, Mike?" Harry asks as he comes to stand before the terrified man. Mike starts crossing himself desperately.

"No—God, save us—"

"Shut the fuck up with your God! Tell me what you did to my son!" Draco shouts from where he's working on Scorpius' restraints.

Trying to snap Mike up out of his shock, Harry hits him with a Stinging Hex. It's been years since he's used that one, and seeing Mike reach for his behind while yelping in pain is more fun than he'd like to admit.

"Mike," he says, trying to sound soothing, "you'd better tell my friend here what you were doing with his son, or I'm not responsible for his actions."

With a sob, Mike walks away from his pulpit and gets down from the raised platform. He comes closer to the prayer circle where his people are all Petrified. A dark look comes onto his face.

"You demons—You think we're stupid, that we don't know anything. Well, some of us do think for ourselves and can put things together. When the bombs fell, and we realized their effects, we all thought it was divine punishment for our sins, for how corrupted we had let the world become. And then you folks showed up—to save us, is what you said—and some people started worshiping you like gods and—"

"Get to the point already, Mike," Harry says, at his wits' end. This day has been far too long.

"You're not our saviors," Mike snarls, his voice rising. "You were sent here to test us. It's you who made the world into what it is, ain't that right? I wasn't sure before, but—If you can protect yourselves from bullets, you don't need to fear Runners, do you? You're here to tempt us with your trickery, sent by The Devil! But like Job, we will reject temptation and stay true to God, so we can reap our reward—"

Harry can't take any more of it, so he hits Mike with another Stinging Hex as Draco finally manages to get Scorpius free. After hitting him with a Lightening charm, he picks his son up. The boy settles in his father's arms, still asleep. Draco comes to stand in front of Mike, holding Scorpius.

"What does my son have to do with of this?"

"He's one of you, but untouched by your evil. His blood would have cleansed us all, so we could rebuild the world in God's image."

"You were going to sacrifice Scorpius?" Draco asks, squeezing his arms tighter around his son.

"I was going to save his immortal soul—"

Harry doesn't care to hear the rest. He's desperate to get Draco and Scorpius out of here, but there is one last question. He grabs Mike by the nape of his neck. Meeting his eyes, Harry lets him see all the anger he's feeling.

"Why is Scorpius sleeping? What did you give him?"

"It's one of those Sleeping Draughts you gave us. He had it with breakfast—been out for hours."

Draco's sigh of relief echoes the one Harry lets out. It would take half a liter of the stuff for Sleeping Draught to be fatal to someone of Scorpius' size. Harry is intimately familiar with the dosage, so he's sure the boy will wake up, even if it takes a few more hours. This all means that he will have no idea what happened to him. Protecting Scorpius is vital, despite barely knowing him. Part of that has to do with Draco, but mostly it's that children being caught up in adults' power games will always be a sore spot for Harry.

"Alright, Mike, you get to keep your life for that. What you will do with the rest of it is," Harry says, twirling his wand and starting a Memory Charm, "stop with this cult of yours. You'll tell everyone you were visited by—angels," he continues, ignoring Draco's bewildered snort, "who tested your faith and found you lacking."

Mike's eyes have gone glassy, and he's drooling onto his white shirt.

Draco comes to stand next to Harry, still holding Scorpius. "You'll tell them God was displeased by how you treated his emissaries, which is why he took them from you. If you ever want His help again, you won't ever hurt another human, magical or otherwise. And you'll never send anyone into that meat grinder of a camp ever again," Draco says.

"And lose the crucifixes, they're creepy," Harry adds.

"Figure out the rest yourself. You fooled these people once. You can fool them again," Draco concludes. Harry ends the charm and lets go of Mike, who immediately drops down to the ground. Neither Harry nor Draco care if he hurt his head.

"Let's get out of here. What do you think?" Harry asks. At Draco's nod, he stands behind him, ignoring the surprised intake of breath he gets when he hugs both father and son with his left arm, while Apparating them away with his right.

They land a few hundred meters away from camp. Draco crumples to his knees, holding Scorpius, who is stirring but still asleep. Letting out a sob, a mix of relief and anger, Draco starts rocking his son in his arms.

"I can't believe I left him—How could I not see—"

"Hey," Harry says, dropping down to kneel in front of them, "you don't know Muggles very well, you had no way of knowing how weird these ones were—"

"I knew something was off—I should've trusted my instincts, but I was so desperate to do something to make Scorpius feel better, I didn't think—"

"Draco, it was a mistake, yes, but it shows how much you care. Nothing happened. Next time you'll know better."

Harry touches Draco, while putting his hands on his shoulders. He tries not to disturb Scorpius as he massages Draco in what he hopes is a comforting manner. Being reassuring has never come easy to him, as Ron and especially Hermione can attest, but the way Draco has clearly been holding in so much for so long makes it feel easy. Harry can relate to that.

"It's just—I never wanted him to fear that I didn't love him or that I resent his lack of magic," Draco says, burying his face in Scorpius' hair.

"He won't. Stop worrying."

Draco raises his head to meet Harry's eyes. Harry tries to look encouraging while ignoring the creaky noise in his knees, protesting all the activity they've been forced to do on this endless day. Being nearly forty can be quite unpleasant. A calculating look comes into Draco's eyes.

"I think your car might be beyond rescue, Harry."

The use of his given name makes him pay extra attention, pulse instantly spiking. "It's probably been eaten by Runners, yeah. It'll take months to get one up to the same standard."

"Will it now?"

"Yeah, and that's if I can even get Arthur to do it. I'm not exactly popular with the Weasley's at the moment."

Draco smiles. "Sounds like you're in between places. Are you going back to—wherever the Weasley's are?"

"Hogsmeade. And—No, I don't think so. Not right away. I was thinking I might visit Luna in Ireland. Maybe someone in her camp can help set up a new car for me?"

"Ireland? Really?"

"Yeah, some place named Letterkenny that came out surprisingly unscathed. Luna says it's something about positive energies. I think it was just too far for the Runners to bother going."

Draco's gaze gets very intense for a second, as if he's gathering his courage. They're still awkwardly holding each other, trying not to disturb Scorpius. Draco takes a deep breath.

"You could go to Ireland, sure. But you could also come to the Manor—with us?"

"Are you asking me to meet the parents? Before we've even had a date?" Harry asks, grinning.

Draco's eye roll already feels endearingly familiar. "You've already met them. The Manor's huge, you don't actually have to talk to them if you don't want to. Scorpius loves stories about you. He'd be so excited to have you around, he'd probably quickly forget about this weird place he spent two weeks in because of me."

"And you?"

"There's a tavern of sorts on the grounds. Maybe we could go for a drink? I'm pretty good with Charms, too, maybe I can help you with—the car thing."

Draco's babbling. Harry had no idea he could ever become so fascinated by Draco Malfoy biting his lower lip, looking endearingly unsure of himself. Instead of words, he answers by planting a quick, chaste kiss on Draco's lips. It's neither the time nor the place for more, never mind that Scorpius could wake up at any time, but he hopes it counts as a promise of things to come.

"The car might take a while—you being so new at it," Harry teases.

"I'm not in any rush, Harry."

Hearing Draco use his given name again makes the decision easy for Harry. "Alright, Draco, I'll join you at the Manor. Mind Apparating us this time? I'm a bit tapped out after today."

Snorting, Draco stands up, resettling his son in his arms and indicating that Harry should grab his right forearm. Before he casts, he says, "I expect better stamina from you in the future, Potter."

Harry lets out a delighted laugh as he Disappears.