"Malfoy?"

He turned his face away from her, concealing his eyes, ringed with dark circles and puffy from tears. He hadn't slept properly in days.

"Go away," Draco bit out, but her shadow lingered in the doorframe.

"Leave," it took all of his strength to keep his voice from cracking. He had Granger's pity. He was pathetic. He rolled gingerly on his side, his body sore from hours of torture, facing away from her. He heard her come closer and clenched his fists in anger.

"I know what it must feel like." She placed a hand on his shoulder. His reaction was immediate; he sat up and grabbed her wrist in one move.

"Really, you know what it's like, to watch your parents beg for forgiveness as their tortured to death?" He was shaking now. And so was she, he realized. She was terrified. Draco felt a surge of pleasure and shoved her away roughly.

She stumbled backwards and fell against the wall. He was surprised at how easily she fell. The thrill he'd felt from scaring her a minute ago was replaced instantly by shame. He turned away again, but Hermione didn't leave immediately. He heard her take a few breaths. "I'm sorry," she whispered shakily. He heard her walk outside and he bit his shirt so she wouldn't hear him cry.

Hermione rubbed her wrist tearfully and willed herself not to start sobbing. She stared out across the yard vigilantly, but tears kept blurring her vision. She wiped them angrily away. Now was not the time to break down. She needed a plan, she needed to keep perspective, she needed Ron, and Harry too.

If only Dobby had apparated a fraction of a second sooner, she would be with them now. But Greyback's grip had been so strong; she slipped away from her friends and Dobby. She sat in the prison for two days, waiting to be rescued or tortured again. But no one had come for her…no one except Greyback …and so the knife Bellatrix had thrown had hit its mark, she presumed.

When Voldemort came, from what she deduced, he'd tortured and killed most of the deatheaters as they'd let Harry and Ron get away. And Draco, after deciding he was done being a deatheater, snuck down to the cellar and apparated them away to god knows where.

They were in an abandoned house, a muggle house. They had been there for five days and she was beginning to lose sense of time. She had no idea what to do and no thoughts to distract her from the looming memory of Greyback's rough pawing, rank breath, or haunting features looming in the dank darkness of the Malfoy dungeons. She was lucky Voldemort ordered more than one deatheater to guard her and they didn't have much of tolerance for Greyback's abuse, or were too terrified of the consequences to allow it. Draco only wanted to be left alone and she didn't know how to contact any of the order. Sooner or later, they would be found. She sat at the kitchen table with borrowed pen and paper.

She wrote everything she knew about the Deathly Hallows, the Horcruxes and the clues Dumbledore had left them. She read over everything she'd written twice, repeated it back to herself and then burned the paper. She repeated it all again. It was comforting; she could have been studying for test. Then she wrote it all out again, hoping this would bring about an epiphany. A gut wrenching scream cut through the cold air. She froze. Adrenaline coursed through her body and her heart pounded against her ribcage. She shoved the paper into her pocket and crept slowly into the living room, where Malfoy was sleeping. He cried out again. She sank against the wall and a few tears of relief leaked down her cheeks. She made herself comfortable on a large chair across from Malfoy, watching him twitch and quiver, occasionally he would cry out again, usually when she approached the barrier between dream and reality, making it impossible to fall asleep. She stared out the window at the moon. It was full. She shivered as she thought again of Greyback.

For the next couple days, Malfoy's presence changed from menacing to almost comforting, though they rarely spoke, and his nightmares never ceased.

One morning, sleep-deprived and nervous, she suggested they move.

"Why?"

"For a change of scenery,"

Malfoy blinked at her. She rolled her eyes. "It's best not to stay in one place for too long."

"What kind of logic is that?"

"If we stay in one place, there's an easier chance of them finding us."

"We're safe here."

"Fine, do what you want, you have the wand."

She sat in the chair, grabbing an enchanted atlas that sat on the coffee table. She flipped it open. Australia. Fuck. She started to cry and he was coming. She wiped her face roughly and moved her hands away to reveal him, standing over her and looking at her in that infuriating way. Like he didn't know what to do with her. She burst into tears.

"I-I'm not cr-" she hiccupped, "crying because of you, it's the book," she gestured at the map of Australia as if it explained everything. Fuck. Maybe Granger really was insane. Draco just nodded and wished he hadn't followed her. He hated when girls cried, he never knew what to do with himself. He couldn't comfort her; he'd never even touched her, apart from third year when she slapped him and then apparating here. He patted her on the back softly, awkwardly, but that only seemed to make it worse. She was hysterical. He tried not to look disgusted as she blubbered and sniffled. He noticed her wrist was fully encircled by a nasty looking bruise. A fresh wave of sickening guilt overtook him.

"Maybe we should leave…" he tried amicably.

Hermione nodded. Draco suddenly lost his patience.

"For god's sake, Granger, pull yourself together. You're pathetic."

Hermione looked up at him, her eyes blank with confusion and then cloudy with anger.

"How dare you, I've listened to you moan and complain all week, you even do it in your sleep, and for one moment, I-"

"Indulge in undeserved self-pity?"

"You have no idea what I've had to do, what I've seen, all thanks to you and you're boss-"

"The dark lord is not my 'boss' anymore,"

"'the dark lord is not my boss anymore'" Hermione repeated in a ridiculous voice which Draco could only assume was used in attempt to imitate him, he would have smirked but he was too angry. "Only his followers call him that Malfoy, so you better get used to calling him You-Know-Who."

"Regardless, I'm not-"

"How am I to believe that really? Who knows where your allegiances truly lie. I doubt even you know. The only reason you're here now, the only reason I'm alive, is because he killed your pare-"

"You think you've got me all figured out Granger, but you don't know anythi-"

"I know you're either completely evil or you're a coward."

"And you're insufferable, naïve, self-important-"

"Self-important? That's rich coming from you Mr. Purebloo-" he clamped his hand over her mouth, and she struggled until she caught the fear in his eyes and froze. He strained his ears, but there was nothing. He could have sworn he heard a voice. His throat was dry and he could feel Granger's pulse against his body.

After a minute, she twisted out of his grip. "I've put up protective spells," she muttered quietly, "we would have known if they were broken." Still, she snatched his wand from his grip and before he could protest, muttered "Homenum Revelio." She closed her eyes and opened them a moment later. "No one's here." She whispered, relief heavy in her voice. Draco shrugged off the embarrassment and supposed paranoia was a side-effect of being tortured.

"We should leave." Draco muttered nervously and Hermione smirked-he said it as if it had been his idea. They were still standing, frozen with residual fear.

"When?"

Draco shrugged, "now." He drew his wand from her fingers gently and took hold of her arm.

She might have felt a little better if he at least pretended to put some thought into things.

She pulled away. "Where will we go?"

"Blaise's neighborhood. His neighbors, a couple, they were mudbl-muggle-born and I know the neighborhood was just cleared by the ministry, so they won't be there."

Hermione shrugged, it felt good not to have to plan everything herself.

Draco offered his hand and Hermione held it tightly and squeezed her tired eyes closed. She opened them to a small brick house covered in ivy.

"It's lovely." Hermione breathed, her breath swirling around her in the cold. It felt so good to breathe fresh air again. But he was ushering her through the gate, up to a large front porch and through the red front door. As soon as the door closed behind them, Hermione took Draco's wand and performed the enchantments she'd come to know by heart. Then she walked through the house. There was no sign of struggle; everything was in its place. Draco had discovered the pantry was still full of food. He broke a loaf of bread and tossed half to her, already ruffling through the fridge. She took a bite, swallowed, and suddenly realized just how hungry she'd been. They spent the morning in the kitchen, bickering good naturedly over nothing. The food had put them both in a better mood. Feeling tired and happier than she had in months, she began looking for a place to collapse. She scanned the shelves and found The Tales of Beedle the Bard. Taking a seat in a large chair, she began to read over the story of the three brothers, though she probably already knew it well enough to recite it all by heart. The large old armchair reminded her of the Gryffindor common room and before she could finish the story, she'd fallen asleep.

She awoke to the sound of muffled sobs, kept her eyes closed and tried hard to ignore him. But she couldn't. She was awake again. She sat up and sighed, rubbed her eyes of sleep and looked at Draco, tossing and turning almost comically. His face was a deathly pale and shining with sweat in the moonlight. He was bawling now. Tears streamed down his cheeks and he cried out fitfully. She had to wake him.

His mother's body, convulsing in pain next to his dead father. "I'm sorry, my lord, I'll make it up to you, I-I can do better. I know I can, please my lord." She was hysterical, eyes wide and bloodstained. A mixture of drool and blood dripped down her chin. Her beautiful blonde curls were matted and soaked with blood. She was shaking and twitching and as He raised his wand, his cold, terrible hand tightened its grip around Draco's shoulder. Draco closed his eyes but he couldn't block out the screaming.

"Draco, wake up." Warm fingertips. His eyes snapped open. He sat up and blinked. Large and kind hazel eyes, still heavy from sleep, were peering at him unsurely. As her warm breath met his cheeks, he realized he'd been crying. He sat up, his hands were shaking and he felt like he was going to vomit. It was freezing. He would have moved her hand off his arm if he wasn't so bloody cold. She looked concerned, not a trace of hate or anger or anything else in her eyes. She was worried about him. He put his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. He felt her hand shift to his back. He couldn't stop shaking. To his mortification, he began to cry. Silent tears fell from his eyes landed with a dull thud on the carpet as he tried to clear the horrific images from his head.