"How long can we stay here?"

"As long as have food to eat and each other to hold, I suppose."

He shifted in the little camp bed, wrapping his arm around her waist. Outside the wind howled, and the walls of the tent pulsated.

"But what happens when we don't?" she whispered.

"Have any food left?"

"No. Have each other."

He didn't respond and she didn't say anything more, and after a long while he felt her grow heavier in his arms as she drifted to sleep. He stared up at the pitched roof, his brow furrowed. Her bones were sharp against him, and the fear that always lurked in his brain was growing.

He couldn't have told you how long they had been hiding, but he might have guessed that it had been 4 months or so. There was a time, at the beginning, when they had tried to keep track of the days like they had before, but it had become far too stressful, just one more task upon their already burdened shoulders. Now all that mattered was the sun and when it rose and when it set and how long they could continue to live. They would eat, sometimes, very early in the morning and then decide if they should move on or not. It would have been easier if they knew where they were going, but there wasn't really anywhere to go. Everywhere was treacherous territory and there was an enemy around every tree in the forest and every bend in the road. Each day was an anywhere but here day; no campsite was really better than any other. There wasn't very much food, not ever, and they would liked to have said that love sustained them but it couldn't, they needed more than that. Their skin began to grow taught across their bones, and it hurt them to look into each other's eyes and see the growing emptiness within.

The light of the small fire they had built in the clearing flickered across her hollow face, and he remembered the beginning of all this. The last battle had gotten desperately out of hand, the bodies of Death Eaters mixed in with those of the Order members, blood flowing biblically through the corridors. Then the sound of an explosion rang out through the castle, and fire began roar through each room and every hall. Screams echoed in the ears of those about to die, and almost everyone simply gave up hope. All except for the two figures darting across the lawn and into the woods, the heat of the flames pushing them to run faster than they knew possible. One was farther ahead of the other, a man with a ripped cloak trailing behind him. The other was smaller but seemingly more determined, clenching something in her hand and not stopping even when her foot caught in the grass and she tumbled down. Neither so much as dared to glance back at the hell they were leaving behind. Their paths didn't cross until they were well into the forest, each arriving at the same clearing independently, neither seeing the other right away. When they finally took notice of each other, they couldn't bring themselves to be as standoffish as they would have liked, regarding each other with trepidation but not malevolence.

"I don't have a wand," he finally announced with a sigh.

"Neither do I," she admitted, almost wanting to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. "I want to hate you right now," she continued, "but I think I'm too tired, and too sad to hate anymore."

He didn't respond, but instead stared up above her head, apparently horror struck. She noticed a green glow on his face mixed with the orange she had almost grown accustomed to, and turned slowly to see what he saw.

It was the Dark Mark, floating huge and high above the wreckage of the castle, tinting everything below it a sickly green. He grabbed her hand, and she whipped around to face him, tugging against his grip.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, fear glinting in his eyes behind the reflection of the Mark. She opened her mouth to say no but stopped halfway through the word. There was no going back now anyway; she might as well run with someone else. She swallowed the pain and fear and tried to forget their past and nodded, trusting that the sadness in his tone was genuine.

So he pulled her into the night with him, praying that they would not leave a trace behind.

"Would you do it?" she questioned, holding his hand tightly in hers. "Would you kill me if I asked you to?"

They were standing on the banks of a perfectly clear forest stream, regarding it with resignation. Neither of them had quite grown used to the feeling of ice cold water on their bodies, despite the many times they had experienced it in the past months, but they had gone too long without bathing and this was a good as it was going to get.

"No," he said, sighing heavily and beginning to strip off his shirt. "I absolutely would not."

"Even if I wanted to die?" she pleaded, watching him remove his socks and neatly fold them up on the leaves.

"Even then."

Everything they had came from Hermione's little beaded bag, and that wasn't much, as it had spilled about half of her supplies out when she tripped fleeing the castle. She lost the big tent and most of the books and the essence of dittany bottle along with many of Ron and Harry's things. But that was probably better, as she didn't need reminders of her lost heroes haunting her every day. The memory of their faces at the very last was too much on its own. They slept in a smaller backup tent Hermione had brought, one with just a small cot and a stiff armchair inside. They had a few plates, a gas stove, a lamp, and some clothing left as well. Hermione would wear Harry's winter clothes to stay warm, and Lucius tried to squeeze into some of Ron's old jumpers, although they were built for a teenager. There were two books left, her old abused copy of Hogwarts, A History, and her sixth year Charms books, both of which were now completely useless. As for food, they would eat almost anything they could find, which was mainly mushrooms and fish, although sometimes they would dare to sneak up to henhouse and snatch a few eggs, running away at breakneck speed. They could never be sure if the people in the farmhouse were friend or foe.

There were times when they thought of joining Muggle society, entering a town as a couple from a faraway place and making a go of it. But they didn't have any money to get started with, and they suspected that the Muggle and Wizarding worlds were no longer as distant from each other as they had once been. The towns they occasionally dared to get close too often had a strange, lingering sadness poisoning the air, and although they were not sure why, they both felt it unwise to get any nearer. Sometimes she would beg him to go back to their world alone.

"You would be safe," she would say, "You could claim amnesia, and that you had been wandering and unaware of whom you were this whole time." But no was always his answer, even though it pained him to say it. He couldn't forget the sight of the bodies of his wife and son lying at his then Master's feet. He could never forgive that.

Their relationship had been platonic for a long time. They would walk in near silence all day, staying near to each other but never touching, and when they got to a stopping place he would set up the tent and build the fire and she would try to hunt down a meal. Survival was all either cared about, and neither was even really sure why they had bonded together to make this journey. Over time they began to talk, but usually just about books they had once read or places they had been. They never mentioned those they had left behind. They might as well have been the only two people to have ever lived; it hurt too much to remember that they weren't. She would sleep on the cot and he on the floor, and as they fell asleep they tried to pretend that they weren't listening to the other breathe.

"What will they do if they find us?"

"Nothing good. It would probably be worse than death, if I had to guess."

"I'm hungry."

"No kidding."

"I think we're going to have to try to stop in a town. Maybe if we go in at night we can scrounge something up."

"It'd be dangerous. Really dangerous."

"We're going to die either way then."

"Fine. We'll give the next one we see a shot." He still felt uneasy promising it, but he knew deep down that she was right. Either they would starve or they would be murdered, and he couldn't be sure which was worse. It had been three or four months since they started, and soon it would be winter, and then what?

"Do you think they're looking for us?" she asked, sitting down under a tree to have a sip of water from the bottle they had filled up earlier that day.

"I think they think we're dead."

"That's probably a good thing."

"Probably."

Later that day they crested a hill in the dim twilight, and what they saw before them was staggering. A little hamlet in a valley, perfect and quaint, except for the fact that nearly every building was on fire. No people were running out of the homes, and no one was trying to put down the flames. Above the church the Dark Mark reigned, casting the familiar green light over the town. They stood stock still at the sight, afraid to move or speak. After several minutes passed, they turned to one another, panic etched across their features. Then they both swiveled and began to run back into the woods, trying to put as much space between the terror and themselves as possible. Finally they fell into a little hollow at the bottom of a ridge, lying on the cushion of leaves and trying to catch their breath.

"Do you think they're still there?" Hermione finally dared to ask.

"No. I think they would have seen us if they had been."

"So they aren't hiding anymore."

"No, they certainly are not."

She rolled over and faced him, and there were tears in her eyes. He pulled her to him and let her sob into his chest.

Later they finally dared to leave their hiding place and set up the tent under the cover of the treetops, and since there was nothing to eat, they went straight to bed. He began to settle down onto the floor, but she reached out and stopped him. She took his hand and pulled him up and onto the cot with her.

"I'm tired of being alone," she said.