The market was ghostlike, hazy – with morning light casting shadows along the boarded up stands. Few bodies moved about in the early hour. An elderly man was slowly detangling a fishing net near the dockside, sitting hunched on an old barrel. His comrades lifted their eyes to Hermione as she passed – visibly an outsider. She continued to wander through the quiet streets, her steps echoing down the steps, as even the morning waterfalls ran quieter. She’d hardly slept the night before, tossing and turning with the knowledge that Draco had left the villa. He’d donned a pair of dark trousers and shirt, disappearing into the evening. He’d returned hours later, a shadow walking up the stairs outside her window, heavy footfalls in the hallway. 