A week later Hermione landed in a small village in southern Germany, with the assistance of a portkey. After regaining her bearings she followed the instructions she'd memorized to a small tent on the outskirts of the ramshackle village. She walked quickly to distract herself from the weight of her luggage and the memory of the heartfelt good-byes she'd struggled through the night before. But even then, walking just outside the perimeter of the village, following it to her destination, it was impossible for her to not slow and take in the conditions of her first assignment.

She could tell that the houses were really just huts, and many of them had been reduced to mere lean-tos held up by scrap wood. People milled around in worm old rags, toddlers wore nothing at all, the cloth instead used for other things, mostly to patch up other clothing. The people were downtrodden and covered in dirt, but Hermione could see there was still a spark of life in the town. It was obvious they did their best to keep everything looking pleasant and clean as possible and worked hard to help each other was well. She could immediately see why McGonagall had chosen to send her here – the living conditions were starting to get the best of people with all sorts of illness and ailments already running through the population, and more just beginning to take hold. Her partner's hands would be full brewing cures and treatments for everyone; she was glad she'd thought to pack a decent supply of basic potions, shrunken in her magically expanded purse.

When she reached the specified point, she turned and began to hike through the woods, guiltily glad for the exhausting hike that let her turn from the depressing sight. She couldn't help but be glad they weren't going to be staying in the town. It was policy to not stay in town despite the extra travel time to and from camp because it was safer, but she was just grateful she'd have a reprieve from the town at the end of the day.

The tingle of protective charms over her skin alerted her when she got close to the sight. Muggles wouldn't be able to enter thanks to charms similar to those on Hogwarts, and people wishing to harm them would set off alarms. It was still a good ten minutes before Hermione reached the clearing she was looking for. There were half a dozen fires set up outside, each with a cauldron filled with various potions at various stages of brewing. Undoubtedly there were charms placed over each to keep the fire steady and protect against weather or tampering. Just beyond the field of cauldrons was a dark green tent, about twice as large as a normal muggle tent. When she stepped inside she wasn't surprised to see that the interior had been charmed into a full, small apartment and she was currently standing in the kitchen, which her partner had obviously turned into a workshop. The sound of approaching footsteps attracted her attention to the hall. She dropped her luggage and straightened her cloths in anticipation of finally meeting her partner.

"Granger?"

"Malfoy?"


Draco and Hermione remain frozen, suspended in time as each slowly recovered from the discovery that the other was to be their lone ally in their work. Not bothering to address one another, they quickly parted – Hermione to settle in and Draco to gather herbs, each needing time to get their thoughts together. It was close to dusk before Draco returned to find Hermione in the kitchen preparing and organizing his potion ingredients for him, slowly bringing order to the chaos created by his distraction with his work.

"I know we've had our problems in the past," she began, turning from her work to meet his eyes directly. Immediately their eyes locked, focusing completely on each other. "I also know how your father forced you and your mother to serve Voldemort. And that without you both, we'd all be dead," Hermione continued, seeing Draco flinch at Voldemort's name. Almost as much as he flinched at the mention of his father. "What I mean is… I hope we can move beyond the past. We're both here for a reason, so let's do our jobs. Okay?"

Draco nodded quietly. He had been raised to look down on people like her, but he never wanted to hurt people the way his father did. After the war ended, and his father was gone, he'd finally been able to outgrow his misconceptions of non-purebloods, just as his mother had. So he was glad that Hermione seemed to realize the change and was willing to offer up and olive branch. There was no doubt that if she didn't, there was no way he'd be able to do the same. Not with a clear conscience, knowing what he'd put her through.


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