PRECEDENT : Draco Malfoy II

65

Draco lied to me and I've never been happier. He doesn't come twice. After he stays with me on the floor for an hour, he comes again the next day with more books. I count the total out. 187. It's an insane amount, but I have fun while he is gone sorting them by author, and then by colour, and then by title. I settle by author, like a proper library.

The next night, he brings an actual warm meal. Potatoes and chicken and vegetables. Neither of us say anything except hello. I am the most excited to eat the cooked carrots and broccoli. I try to eat slowly even though my stomach is ravenous. Then afterwards, he leis in bed with me, on his side, the side I have still left empty throughout all of hiding. Of course he leaves, but it's better.

Draco comes the next day, and we play wizards chess. Calling out the moves is at least good practice for speaking. I beat Draco and I know somewhere, my brothers are proud. Afterward, I'm able to actually talk to him. I make words come from my vocal cords, come out of my mouth and he hears them and understands them.

"You said you picked where next," Draco says. He turns his head to look at the atlases stacked where I left them in a pile, shocked at his arrival.

I glance at them, "yeah. I'm think east coast of Canada."

"Canada?"

I look back at him and nod, "well, I was torn between that and the west coast, since I wanted a harbour town. There's too many people out west so I thought east. I wanted somewhere wet. You know, like English weather."

"Won't it be cold?" he asks.

I shrug, probably, "I don't think you can complain, after what we've done in the boat house."

Draco straightens his back, tilting his jaw up. It's just a stretch, the way he tilts his neck. Still, my eyes go to the muscles in his neck, glance at how they flex. If he hadn't called me out for being distracted by him before, I might try to convince myself it's the captivity that's got me looking at him so intently.

Draco looks at me. He blinks once, and then once again, smirking. He doesn't need to say what he's thinking, because we both know, "well, MACUSA is less likely to get involved if the war starts to head into other countries. The wizarding community in Canada has stronger ties to Britain."

"MACUSA requires all witches and wizards to register wands," I point out. "Besides, I don't imagine I'll get deported from a small Canadian town."

He smirks, "you have one picked, do you?"

It's easier to talk about my research. We pour over the books, muggle and magical ones alike, while I explain the towns I've scoped out. I considered Halifax, but St. John's in Newfoundland looks older, and has colourful houses in parts of it like Brighton. From the pictures, Halifax looks more like a proper city. I knew I had to leave the continent, and I wanted to go somewhere that people spoke English.

"We'd have to come up with fake names," I point out. "Something that would make your head turn if you heard it but wasn't your name. And, they'd have to sound more muggle."

Draco scoffs.

I lean over and kiss his cheek, but roll my eyes, "if you had this much of a problem about it, you shouldn't have brought me muggle books. Besides, it's safer."

"Doesn't mean I have to be happy about it."

Then I laugh, and it's good enough.

Draco comes the next night. We talk more and more. We begin by looking at houses in St. John's in a photobook he had Mopsy procure after he got back the night before. It's easy to start talking there. We skim through the book, picture after picture.