Chapter 2
Hermione shivered and checked her watch again, another icy wind gust tearing through her worn-thin jacket. She peered out from her hiding spot behind an old elm tree and resumed her vigilant watch of the clearing.
She had no idea if Malfoy would even arrive. Maybe the owl got lost, or intercepted. Maybe she had miscalculated the time it would take for him to receive her letter. Maybe he was bringing reinforcements and turning her in was to be his saving grace after refusing to identify them in the Manor.
But it had been precisely that moment which prompted Hermione to respond to his letter, and her reasoning for risking this meeting. If Malfoy were truly, unquestionably loyal to Voldemort, she could not imagine that he would have protected their identities from the Death Eaters. It was a flimsy hope, but if there were even a slight chance that he wanted out of Voldemort’s clutches, Hermione was not about to pass up a potential ally. Even if that ally was a bratty, prejudiced Slytherin.
Suddenly a loud crack echoed throughout the woods, and a hooded figure appeared in the clearing.
“Expelliarmus!” Hermione cried, leaping out from behind the tree. She caught the wand as it flew through the air and shoved it in her pocket, wand hand still outstretched and aiming at the individual.
“Reveal yourself,” she demanded, furiously trying to hide the slight shiver in her voice. She hadn’t eaten in two days and was starting to feel the effects.
The hood was thrown back, and Draco Malfoy stood there in front of her, wandless. His bloodshot eyes glared at her out of a skeletal face.
“What the hell, Granger? Did you drag me out here to bloody ambush me? If I wanted to be attacked, I would’ve just stayed put,” he snarled at her.
Hermione raised her eyebrows. “What would you expect instead, Malfoy? Should I have dropped my wand and given you a hug? I figured you’d understand the precaution. But if you’d rather have this back,” she held the wand up. “I can just leave, and you can go right back to your Manor.” She met his eyes, daring him to take his wand back and call her bluff.
He needed an out, and she knew it. Hermione wasn’t naive enough to think he was here to help her. He needed an escape, and she had evaded Voldemort’s detection for the better part of a year. With Harry and Ron who knows where and no way to contact them, she was his only option.
Dull grey eyes glared back at her, and finally, Malfoy looked away. “Whatever you need to do,” he responded in a hollow voice.
Hermione was taken aback. Gone was the snide bully she was used to, with a quick insult for every occasion and a constant arrogant attitude. She wondered if something had happened after the escape, or if he had already been this worn down prior to the incident. She blinked, refocusing, and straightened her back.
“Alright then,” she said brusquely. “I’m going to check that you’re not carrying any weapons, and then we’ll Apparate back to camp. If you even think about pressing your Mark, trust me, you’ll regret it,” Hermione scowled distrustfully.
Part of her brain was shouting at her not to trust him, that he was a Death Eater, a pure-blood maniac, and would turn her in to Voldemort the second she let her guard down. However, Hermione was a logical person, and logically it did not make sense for Malfoy to return to the Manor, even with her as a trophy. For she was nothing, nobody next to Harry Potter, and it had been Malfoy’s choices that allowed all three of them to escape. Returning with Hermione alone would do nothing but ensure both of their deaths. She knew Malfoy from their years at Hogwarts, knew how he valued his own survival above all else, and it was in the best interests of his survival to flee Voldemort permanently.
The only response Hermione’s words received was a quirked eyebrow and a shrug as Malfoy turned out the pockets of his cloak. Hermione cast a quick Revelio for good measure before approaching him, wand still aimed at his heart. Malfoy’s silvery eyes never left Hermione’s brown ones as she searched them, eyes narrowed, looking for any hint of devious intentions. Instead, all she saw was exhaustion and resignation as he gazed back at her from his skeletal frame, the usual cruel sparkle gone from his expression.
Merlin, she wished she were a Legilimens. She had no idea what to make of the shell that stood before her.
Malfoy raised his arm, linking it with Hermione’s outstretched one. Despite her lingering mistrust, Hermione was glad for the warmth of his body and clung perhaps unnecessarily tightly to him as they Disapparated from the grove.
***********
Draco fell to the snow-covered ground upon landing at the campsite. Muttering a string of curses, he brushed snow off his cloak as he stood up, turning to glare at his new companion.
“Thought you’d be a little smoother at that by now, being the Golden Girl and everything. What, you lose your touch when you don’t have Potter and the Weasel around to protect you?” he sneered. Granger huffed indignantly, and Draco noticed with a stab of annoyance she still had him at wandpoint.
“For your information, Malfoy, I’m the one responsible for the protective spells, not Harry and Ron. And the reason our Apparition wasn’t smooth enough for you was because I haven’t had time to eat for the past two days! I’d like to see your spell work when you skip breakfast, for Merlin’s sake.” she retorted. “And unless you’d prefer to build yourself an igloo to sleep in tonight, I’d recommend you keep your spoilt complaints to yourself.” She glared at him, daring him to argue.
Draco decided to keep his spoilt complaints to himself. The tent looked warm. Instead, he focused on a different part of Granger’s outburst. “Two days, Granger? What have you been doing that’s keeping you busy for that long?” He furrowed his brows, noting her expression as it shifted from annoyed to guarded.
“I’ve been… it’s not…” Granger hesitated, as if debating how much she could trust him with.
“I don’t have any money, and I don’t want to steal,” she finished. “Usually I’ll set up camp and then forage the surrounding area, but as it’s the dead of winter, there’s not much to find.” She lowered her wand and continued. “Besides, there are things I need to work on, even without Harry and Ron here to help.” Granger shook her head, perhaps realizing she shouldn’t admit too much about what she’d been up to.
Draco wasn’t very interested in what she was plotting. He didn’t give a damn at the moment about much of anything except being out of the Dark Lord’s reach, and as the adrenaline was beginning to wear off from his escape, he wanted nothing more than to get out of the cold and crawl into bed.
“As fascinating as your adventures are, Granger, I’m freezing my arse off out here,” he drawled. “Unless you’re trying to turn us both into ice statues, I’d very much like to move our conversation indoors.” Draco shivered, feeling the wet snow from earlier finally seeping through his cloak.
Granger blinked, as if she had forgotten they were still outside in the first place. “Oh! Yes, of course,” she said, turning and hurrying to the flap of the tent.
Draco followed eagerly, relief washing over him as he approached the golden glow emanating from the tent flap. He was so focused on the prospect of warmth that he promptly crashed into her wand tip when she turned around, glaring ferociously.
“If you try any funny business, Malfoy, I’m warning you,” she growled. “You might remember Ron was mysteriously attacked by a flock of birds in our sixth year? I recall hearing you snickering about that. I can conjure ten times the amount of birds now,” she threatened.
Draco raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Damn, Granger, if I had my wand, I’d conjure you some flowers,” he grinned. “I wanted to write a thank you to whoever cast that curse.” He made a mental note to avoid pissing her off too much while he was here. He thought he saw her eyes flash with amusement for a split second before she whirled around with a harrumph and led him into the tent.
Draco’s body wilted with relief upon entering the warm tent. Every cell inside of him was screaming at him to collapse on the worn, patched couch in front of the dancing fire, but he willed himself to pay attention as Granger gave him a tour of the place.
“...The kitchen is right over here, but it’s quite empty at the moment. And this one over here is my room, so you’ll be staying in the one on the left.” She opened a door to a small room mostly filled by a queen size bed, covered in red and gold bedding. There was a tiny wardrobe and a bedside table with a candle, but that was about it. He wrinkled his nose.
“Can I have my wand back?” he asked. Granger glared at him again.
“No, you may not.” She scowled.
“But I can’t sleep in here,” whined Draco. “At least let me get rid of the red and gold, it looks like Gryffindor threw up in here. Besides, I can’t just sleep in Potter’s bed – or worse, Weasley’s – that thing needs a thorough cleaning charm.” He felt a smug satisfaction seeing her roll her eyes. He could still get under her skin, it seemed. That would be good to know – he supposed entertainment would be scarce, and he had no idea how long he’d be stuck with her.
Grumbling, Hermione flicked her wand at the bedding, and Draco watched as it morphed to yellow and black. Meeting his eyes defiantly, she flicked it one more time, and he watched with amusement as a large stuffed badger appeared on the bed.
“Hufflepuff, Granger? Really?” Draco snorted.
“Maybe it’ll rub off on your whiny arse,” Granger shot back.
Draco stifled a laugh, impressed in spite of himself. First she not-so-subtly threatens him and admits to cursing Weasley last year, and now she swears? This new Granger was almost someone he could see himself getting along with. As soon as the thought entered his mind, Draco frowned.
You’re just here for shelter, he reminded himself. She’s a means to an end. You just have to survive the war and then it’ll be like none of this ever happened. To form a friendship with Granger would inevitably mean fighting the war again, this time on the opposite side, and Draco was sick of fighting the war. He needed to lay low, remain neutral, and, once the war ended, claim his fortune from his apparently soon-to-be-dead-or-imprisoned father and disappear from society. Friendship, especially with the Golden Girl, would smash that plan into pieces.
Besides, the thought of befriending her scared him. Apart from being dragged back into the war, Draco did not even want to think about the reckoning he’d have to have with himself if he befriended a muggleborn. His legacy, his identity… he’d never realized just how fragile they were, that a single friendship could shatter them both.
He’d lost everything else. The last thing Draco needed was to lose himself.
Granger had apparently sensed his shift in mood, and resumed speaking, the earlier teasing edge to her voice gone and her tone now brisk and businesslike. “You’re free to wander the tent and leave as you wish. I’m going to keep your wand until I can trust you, and I’ll be casting a Shield Charm around my room. I doubt there will be any emergencies, but just in case, there’s a mirror in the bedside table and if you say my name into it, I have a matching one in my room and will be able to see and speak to you through it. Like a Muggle video call,” she explained. The confusion must have registered on Draco’s face, because Granger rolled her eyes and grabbed a gilded hand mirror off the table. “Here, try it.” she offered.
“Granger,” Draco said sceptically into the mirror. She sniggered.
“No, not like that. You have to say my full name.”
Draco stared at his reflection, scowling. “Hermione Granger,” he growled into the mirror.
It glowed warmly in his hand, and Draco looked up at the brunette in surprise. She was looking up at him with a strange expression on her face.
“What’s it supposed to be doing?” Draco said warily.
Granger shook her head briefly. “Oh! Let me go grab mine,” she said as she rushed off. Draco heard her digging around in a drawer before she returned breathlessly, an identical mirror clutched in her hand.
“Draco Malfoy,” she told the mirror. It glowed in her hands, and Draco glanced back at his own mirror. His eyes widened with shock upon seeing her face in it, looking at him in a way that suggested she were quite proud of this system.
“Merlin, Granger. What kind of charm is that?” Draco asked, curiosity gnawing at him. “I’ve never seen this before. Of course, ‘brightest witch of our age’ and all, I guess I’m not surprised,” he admitted. The witch was bloody brilliant. Draco was feeling more confident by the minute in his choice to abandon the Manor.
“Thanks,” she replied shyly, looking pleased and surprised. “I modified a Protean Charm- Harry had a similar set a couple years ago and I figured it would be handy to know how to do it someday.”
Again, Draco was impressed. Damn, she was good. Protean Charms were NEWT level, and he knew from accompanying his father to the Ministry while growing up that experimenting with charms could lead to a lucrative career. He looked back down at the mirror in his hand, not willing to express that level of admiration.
“Again, it’s only for emergencies,” Granger repeated, trying to break the awkward silence that had descended upon them. “I don’t want to be woken up because the bed isn’t soft enough, or because you want a midnight snack, or… or… any other stupid reason you come up with,” She glared at him with her hands on her hips. Draco gasped in mock indignation.
“You mean to say I can’t call on you for a bedtime story?” he sighed dramatically. “Whatever shall I do without your melodic voice to lull me into a peaceful sleep?”
Granger rolled her eyes. “I’m going to sleep now, and I suggest you do the same,” she called over her shoulder as she marched toward the other end of the tent. “We’ll be up early tomorrow, I need you to find us some food while I work on my research.” She slammed her bedroom door, and the conversation was over before Draco could protest. Grumbling, he closed his door and kicked off his shoes before flinging himself onto the bed, asleep before he hit the mattress.