Her first excursion outside of the Manor without a disguise had been here, when it had still been normal (for Knockturn Alley, anyway), and Draco had first got the idea for these publicity stunts. The first one had been the worst. He had decided it was safe enough a time and that by then public opinion/interest in her vanishing had dried up. His power and influence had grown thanks to that final battle--who would be so bold and foolish enough to accost him now? He had all but dragged her to Diagon Alley and then to the Ministry to run some minor errands that he really could have done on his own. But he had dressed her up and threatened her with an Imperius or worse if she didn’t play along or try to make a break for freedom. She remembered how countless eyes had lingered on her, recognizing, disbelieving, even joyous—only to turn to fear and suspicion when they saw Draco’s arm around her, his ring on her finger. There had been rumors, she knew. Whispers, probably. And they had probably doubted or dismissed them. And she got to see the exact moment it all clicked in their minds as they had stared at her. She had felt so overwhelmed, just being there, being out of the manor, surrounded by so many people again. She had scanned the faces of those crowds to see if there was anybody she recognized--and then remembered with a sinking of her heart that most of them had been killed in that battle, and that the man gripping her tightly was responsible. There was no opportunity to run. Draco would have punished her, probably lashed out at the innocent folk around them. The media had hardly dared approach them, but snapped their photographs from afar and only asked their questions when Draco deigned acknowledge their presence.