Thank you so much for the favourites/follows and especially reviews on the first chapter! I hope you enjoy chapter 2...I thought this one was really tricky to write, particularly the first half...like always I welcome any type of constructive critism :)

I'm sorry for any mistakes I've made, and if anything is particularly glaring, please let me know...

When they apparated in their new location, Hermione sprung away from the man who'd grabbed her, fully ready to curse him and run. Her heart was pounding hard in her chest, and fear completely washed over her, leaving her wand trembling in her hand. Rather than finding herself locked in a duel, like she'd expected, she was shocked to see that he'd crumbled back to the ground. After closer examination, he appeared as though he was barely still alive.

Just leave him and go. The sensible part of her hissed. Let the nasty death eater die, it's no less than he would do for you if your positions were reversed. Merlin help her though, she wasn't him. She couldn't just watch the man die, or even leave him knowing he would die. It would be different, of course, if he were attacking her. She could shove her conscience aside tolerably well and live with the consequences. For whatever reason though, Malfoy had managed to find himself alone in the forest, screaming in agony and at the mercy of a couple of snatchers. Even if her conscience hadn't been engaged, her curiosity certainly was.

She bent over, slinging his arm over her shoulder. It was almost a relief to her when she realized he was conscious. His efforts to stand made things easier for her, and she guided him towards the river a little ways away. It would be a good spot to set up camp.

"Don't you dare try anything, Malfoy, or I will kill you." she hissed, her heart still beating rapidly in her chest.

"As if you could." he scoffed.

She removed her arm from where it helped keep him in balance, letting him drop unceremoniously to his knees...They'd arrived to the riverside, anyways, and he was hardly prompting her to try and be gentle. Horrible man. "Don't test me, Malfoy. I doubt you'll find you like how it ends for you." she said, through gritted teeth.

How dare he be arrogant now, of all times, when he was reduced to this particularly pathetic state. At her mercy, even if he tried to delude himself otherwise. If she hadn't helped him, he would be dead twice over. She would be dead too, if it wasn't for him, she conceded, remembering with a shudder the loud cracks of apparition in their last location.

Careful not to turn her back to him, she began to set up wards. She should be warding him out, the cynical voice continued to shout at her, but she crushed it again. He'd apparated her away with him after she invoked the taboo. That counted for something, she decided. If he'd wanted her dead, he could have left her there. Whatever streak of gratitude led him to bring her along, she would trust in it a for just a little longer. Regardless, she needed to look over his injuries lest he die from an infection after she'd gone through this much trouble for him already.

Digging through her bag, she pulled out her bottle of dittany. There wasn't much. Enough to treat one injury completely, maybe two smaller ones. Before her resolve could be shaken, she squared her shoulders and walked over to him.

"I need to see your arm," she said, meeting his eyes. He looked utterly defeated, completely worn down, and as though he'd given up living. His response was to shrug, wincing as a result of the movement.

A frustrated sigh escaped her lips, and with a huff of air, she fell forward onto her knees to take a closer look at the injury. Pointing her wand at his arm, she freed it from the sleeve, and cleaned the wound. He was glaring at her; she could feel the look he was giving her boring into the side of her head, but she ignored it. Horrible, ungrateful man.

Dumping half of her precious potion on the wound, she watched it sizzle and knit itself back together. Without the other half, there would be a scar, but she found she cared very little. Not even out of spite, simply practicality. It made no sense to waste dittany on aesthetics while they were on the run with limited supplies.

Malfoy still wasn't speaking to her. Good. She hoped he felt the weight of his inadequacies, needing to be helped by her of all people, being helped by a mudblood. The more bitter it tasted to him, the less she would regret her decision. She sneered back in his direction, even as she began to construct some sort of a shelter by transfiguring nearby branches.

It was an unusually cold day, and even in her winter jacket the air seemed to chill her to the core. She would cast a hundred warming charms once she was out of the elements. Malfoy was shivering, and she noted he clearly hadn't dressed for this particular day. Another small surge of pity coursed through her, and she dug through her bag for one of Harry's sweaters. Once she pulled it out she transfigured it, then tossed it to the frozen looking man. He arranged the woolen blanket over himself, but there was still no acknowledgement of her kindness.

Finally, she managed to complete the shelter, and half dragged Malfoy in next to her. The warming charms were helping, but not nearly as much as she would have hoped. It was as though it was nothing more than an artificial warmth, keeping her body temperature high enough to ward off any danger of hypothermia, but nothing more. She dug through her bag again, pulling out some tea and transfiguring a couple mugs out of spare utensils. She wished that she was back in the smelly tent. She would take the pungent cat odour over being huddled with a Death Eater under a pathetic shelter, one that certainly wouldn't make McGonagall proud, any day.

Hermione filled the two mugs with tea, sticking one of them in the snow next to Malfoy. "Here, at least it's warm." she said, shrugging.

"I don't need your pity, mudblood." he sneered at her. She rolled her eyes, it was exactly what she'd expected from him. Still though, she hated that word. She'd done her best to hide it every time his son taunted her with it, but she'd worked twice as hard to be absolutely sure she would beat him in every class. Just to rub it in his stupid, arrogant, pureblood face that she was better than he was.

"You do need my pity," she said, seething, "and you better remember it."

He picked up the mug, and took a sip of the hot liquid. Frankly, she was surprised he hadn't rejected either the transfigured blanket, or the drink...He must be even colder than she was. They finished drinking it in silence, it was better than any type of conversation that could occur between them. Try what she might, with her hands shaking from the cold, she hadn't been able to get the door even on the top. Through the narrow crack, she now watched the light outside dimming. The sun must be setting, it was signal enough for her to go to sleep.

She considered casting a petrificus totalus on Malfoy before going to sleep. She considered binding his wrists and ankles, and even considered slipping him a strong sleeping draught. In the end, after observing him sit and stare at the door for a while, she decided he wasn't a threat. It was a stupid decision to come to, but the truth was that at that particular point in time, after everything that had happened; Ron walking out on them, the hopeless Horcrux hunt, her separation from Harry, the names of the dead that the radio listed off each day, she didn't want to fight anymore. Even if she didn't wake up the next morning, she wasn't entirely sure she could bring herself to care.

If ever there was an ironic show of pathetic fallacy, it was the birds chirping merrily from outside their crude shelter the next day. She could hear each and every one of their chirps, drilling into her the fact that they led careless lives while she was stuck in hiding with Malfoy. The warming charms had been recast before she awoke, causing her to feel a trickle of joy that she was still alive. Malfoy hadn't seen fit to kill her in her sleep and steal her supplies. It was a small wonder.

He was, however, gone. She wasn't sure if he just couldn't stand to be in the presence of a mudblood a moment longer and had stepped out of the shack she'd made, or if he'd gone for good. She hoped it was the second option, it would spare her the decision of sticking around with him or running away herself. There was a certain safety in numbers that couldn't be denied, but she wasn't sure that she was entirely safe with him. If the man himself wanted her dead, then it certainly negated the purpose.

She stretched, and stood, walking to the door and shoving it open. She was surprised, when she stepped through, to find Malfoy skinning a rabbit by a fire. It still looked like a rabbit, she thought, staring in wide eyed horror at the thing. She was going to be sick.

Looking at the dead, furry little animal all she could think of was finding her first pet, Mr White Rabbit, dead one morning. She thought of the snatcher she'd watched Malfoy kill the day before, and she did throw up. The entire contents of her stomach was spilled at her feet, and she could feel tears running down her cheeks in consequence.

"You killed her…" she said, more to herself than to Lucius, although technically it was to him she was speaking.

"Yes," he said, in his clipped, aristocratic pompous drawl, as though he was agreeing to something far more banal than having killed the woman. He just kept on skinning the rabbit.

Hermione looked at him, her eyes round with horror. Disgust, too, if she were being honest. He could have stunned the woman. He didn't have to murder her in cold blood. At the very least, he could feel some guilt. Some remorse. She wondered how many pieces his soul had been torn into.

She was stuck in the wilds of lord only knew where in the company of a cold hearted murderer. In fact, she could only recognize that he had a heart because she'd seen the blood pouring out of his wound the day before. She pulled out her wand, clutching her beaded bag in her hand, ready to apparate away. She didn't want to stay near him a moment longer. What she'd done the day before was a mistake. An awful, terrible, horrible mistake.

Destination, Determination, Deliberation, she chimed in her mind, as was habit since she first learned to apparate. Before she could complete the spell, her wand flew out of her hand. Startled, she looked up to see Malfoy holding it, looking at her pityingly.

"What would you have done? Stunned the woman, taken her supplies and left her to starve to death? Freeze?" he drawled. That drawl disgusted her.

Hermione sneered again, she felt like she'd used the expression so frequently since accidentally-on-purpose saving his skin that she would wake up one day to find it permanently etched into her face.

Perhaps that was the reason Narcissa Malfoy perpetually looked like she was smelling something foul - the years spent with her husband. He did, actually, smell bad now that she thought about it...like he'd bathed in firewhiskey. So he was a drunk, to top it all off. She sneered again, quickly trying to return her expression to some semblance of a blank look. She wasn't supposed to sneer - sneering was reserved for petulant Weasleys and bratty Malfoy children. Circe, she hated the man.

He was tangible, he was real. He was a face she could associate a movement to, a person embodying everything she was fighting against. It should have been Voldemort, but somehow the father of her childhood bully fit the bill better. She'd seen him more often, interacted with him on more occasions, and she had personal injuries to resent. It was easier to hate a face you knew, someone concrete.

"Such a noble action that would have been on your part, mudblood." he taunted from his seat across the fire.

"You're a real bastard, Malfoy." she hissed. He looked unperturbed, wearing the same nonchalant, yet condescending look she'd seen him wear since she first met him nearly a decade ago.

"So I've been told before," he acknowledged, "although I can easily refute the claim - my parents were certainly married prior to my conception."

She didn't bother to reply. It wasn't original, it wasn't clever, and he was deliberately misconstruing a very clear statement. Go to hell, Malfoy, she kept that comment to herself, not wanting to deal with anymore of his replies.

"I want my wand back."

"Hmm, really now? And what makes you think I'll oblige you?"

"Just give it back, you owe me."

"Which witch or wizard did you steal this from, Miss Granger?" he asked, practically rolling his eyes at the question. It was the first time she'd heard any change of inflection in his voice that wasn't directly caused by pain. It was almost amusement, but definitely not. Maybe it was bitterness.

"Even you don't believe that tripe." Hermione answered, marching towards him and reaching for the wand, which he was carefully examining. He swiped it away.

If it wasn't seeped in a desire to prove his own superiority, the gesture might have had the appearance of something playful. As it was, Hermione simply felt more helpless, frustrated, and small than she had in a long time. Lucius felt a small amount of pity at the sight, finally handing it back to her.

Hermione walked back into the shack she'd transfigured the night before, collapsing into her makeshift sleeping bag. Lord only knew how much she wanted to cry in that moment. She was so bloody worried about Harry, wherever he'd escaped to. Had he even escaped? Without him, she wondered if there would even be a chance to win the war. He was the person people rallied around, the hope they held onto. Their icon, their mascot. Sometimes, she wondered if they realized he was just a kid who'd had a really awful life.

Laying back she rubbed her temples, trying to tell herself everything would be alright. All would turn out well, they had to win, because they were right. They couldn't let the wrong side win. She thought, once more, of what might have happened to all the eager little first year muggle borns who'd boarded the train to Hogwarts - what had the ministry done with them? Were they shipped off to Azkaban, obliviated and returned to the muggle world, or simply dealt with on the spot. Permanently taking care of the threat.

If they didn't win, would future muggle-borns simply never get their letters, or would they get a different kind of visit than the one she'd had? Bizarrely enough, it wasn't part of the propaganda that was being distributed in mass quantities to the wizarding population. And snatchers, who were they? Were they also victims of a sort? The bottom feeders in a new regime, trying to survive in the only way they could. Malfoy had killed a woman, she'd watched, and worse she'd been grateful that the woman was dead. The tears started to flow for real now, manifesting into sobs.

Lucius listened to the girl crying from outside the shelter, grinding his teeth over her inability to accept and move on. It had been necessary, and it was done swiftly. She'd felt no pain. It was more than he could say for many of the victims that were caught - he'd seen depravity amongst Death Eaters. The Lestrange family and Dolohov were prime examples of it. He'd often tried to get into the buildings first just to kill the targets before they could fall into the hands of people who like to play with their victims.

He wouldn't have treated a dog he didn't like in that manner. He remembered seeing the remains of Ted Tonks, he could barely refrain from vomiting, even after everything else he'd seen. They had butchered the man, his former friend's husband. He didn't even want to think what Andromeda must be suffering, who'd somehow loved him him enough to cut ties with her entire family, everyone who'd loved her. Lucius had never understood, not until it was far too late, and he'd been furious with her for doing as much - nonetheless, it was difficult not to remember the good times they'd had as children.

The mudblood crying for the snatcher irked him. She didn't know, the way he did, what those people were capable of. She hadn't seen the girls in Azkaban, waiting to see if they would die giving birth to their rapist's child, she hadn't seen the state in which they brought the captives to the ministry. The children being carted off of the Hogwarts express, the muggle borns branded and lined up to their fates - Azkaban or the Department of Mysteries, as room allowed. What was happening to the surplus was kept quiet, but he knew there were very few places on Malfoy Manor grounds he would ever want to dig up. It was one of the things that kept him awake at night, and that had been driving his short lived attempt at alcoholism.

Those few who managed to run...he could never begrudge freedom. Doubtless, his doubts were the cause for his fall from favour. At this point, he just continued to hold onto the hope that his son was safe, and cared very little for anything else.

But the crying. It was slowly driving him mad.

He walked towards the shelter, casting a quick cleaning charm on his hands. He was grateful, once more, for the stolen wand from the snatcher. Even if it felt wrong, the past few months without one had been hell to get through. The girl looked up at him for a moment when he opened the door, looking at him as though he were the devil incarnate.

"Stop crying, mudblood." he drawled, hoping that the command might be enough, but somehow doubting it.

"It's none," she hiccuped, "of your bloody business if I cry. If it bothers you, do us both a favour and leave."

"That woman doesn't deserve your tears." he added, much more quietly. He watched the girl blink at him, processing what he said. "She was a monster. I saw what she, personally, had done to people she snatched. She didn't deserve compassion."

Hermione snorted, "And this coming from a Death Eater."

She watched as he made to open his mouth, in what defence she didn't even want to know, "I don't know what high ground you think you have, Malfoy. You are only alive because of ill deserved compassion."

"Ted Tonks." he stated, noting she looked up sharply at the name, "his body was dumped in front of the manor by Greyback's group of snatchers. She was so proud, this woman, to say she was the one who'd brought him to justice. I've rarely seen that level of savagery...even in my sister-in-law."

He watched her glassy eyes widen, "they waved around the blood soaked picture of him and Dora's wedding to confirm they'd really killed him, because it was all that was left. I may have been a poor friend to her, but I won't feel any guilt for killing the bastard who killed her husband."

Hermione wasn't sure where to begin addressing his skewed logic. He was a Death Eater, he was one of the people fighting to keep this brave new world.

A swell of rage coursed through her, "You killed her husband. You fought for this, Malfoy. Twice. You fought to eradicate muggle-borns from the wizarding world. You're getting exactly what you wanted so don't you dare, for even an instant, pretend you're any better than that woman!"

Lucius turned away, swallowing the uncomfortable truth he'd been trying to avoid. Repressing the guilt he felt over that one death, in particular. "I don't think it was." he muttered under his breath.

Hermione luckily didn't hear. She glared at the back of his stupid blond head as he walked away, feeling a stronger urge to curse an opponent while their back was turned than she'd felt in a rather long time.


The next two days passed with little said between the two of them. Hermione found herself surprised that they'd both stuck around, the sad truth being that neither of them had anywhere else to go. Being stranded with a Death Eater...former….maybe...Death Eater spoke volumes to her prospects.

She'd tried desperately to guess the password for PotterWatch both days, with little success. Instead, she was left glaring at the radio, and listening to the official ministry broadcast.

"We're left with yet another reminder of the importance of dealing with the Mudblood problem after the tragic demise of the Malfoy family at the hands of a small group of them." the news reporter stated the facts.

"With us in the studio is Pansy Parkinson, daughter of a sacred 28 family, and an inspiring young leader in the new Wizarding World. Welcome, Miss Parkinson."

"'Thank you, ma'am, it is, truly, an honour to be here.'

I know it's probably difficult for you to talk about so soon after the tragedy, but would you mind telling the listeners a little bit about the Malfoy family?

'Draco and I went to school together, but we'd been friends since we were in our nappies. He was barely seventeen, not even out of Hogwarts. Going back without him, it will be one of the hardest things I've ever done. Lucius and Narcissa were wonderful people, always so kind to me, so supportive of their son. Lucius, in particular, was always very involved in politics - in making our world a better, safer place for us all.'

Why do you think they were targeted?

'Well, like I said, Lucius's political involvement. He's been the face of our cause to a lot of people, he was vilified following the first war for his involvement with the Dark Lord, he went to Azkaban for standing up to dangerous political extremists. Draco was recently made a Death Eater, at only sixteen. He was so proud, as were his parents. I don't think I need to say any more.'

There were rumours that the Malfoys had fallen out of favour recently, and even that they were no longer entirely loyal to the cause. Was there any truth to this? Or was it merely a machination by the rebels to try and cause a stir?

'It was purely made up. Nothing could be further from the truth, and I beg that we don't let their sacrifice be wasted by giving credit to vicious rumour.'

Pansy should be an example to us all, showing such unadulterated strength at such a difficult time in her life. Such eloquence and feeling ought to be strived for, in purebloods and half-bloods alike. Pansy, before you leave, would you mind commenting on what you think people should do next?

'First and foremost, I want to say to be on your guard. What happened to the Malfoys could happen to any of us at any time until the Mudblood problem is effectively dealt with. While Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and other rebels are still out there, there can be nowhere safe. Might I remind you that Harry Potter is wanted not only for his ties to the Order, but for the questionable circumstances surrounding Albus Dumbledore's death? While many of us did not agree with the former headmaster's views, the Ministry of Magic is committed to providing justice for all.

If you suspect anyone, even family members or friends, of harbouring a mudblood or another undesirable, or even just having information regarding their whereabouts, I beg of you, for the safety of all of us, to come forward with your suspicions. Report to a ministry councillor, or to the leader of your young people's group. We have to work together, keep vigilant, in order to prevent any more massacres.'"

The voice came to an abrupt halt, and Hermione looked up from her corner of the tent to see Malfoy standing up after shutting it off. He looked down at where she sat, his face as impassive as ever.

"I'm so glad the media is committed to providing the public with the truth." Hermione said.

"The truth doesn't matter, as long as it confirms what people already believe."

"Does your death at the hands of a vicious group of Mudbloods confirm what you already believe?" she asked, her voice dripping in sarcasm. He turned around, ignoring her once again and walking back outside.

Bored, and emboldened by her boredom, she followed him out. "Where are we?" she asked.

"About a hundred and fifty kilometers west of Malfoy Manor." he replied, not bothering to look at her, but returning to a spell of some sort he seemed to be trying to cast.

"How did you know about this place?" she asked, deciding it was high time they had some sort of conversation.

Lucius heard the question, but thought it in their best interest to keep quiet. The story of the forest they were hiding in did not make for a good bedtime story, it made for some of the nightmares which haunted him since he turned seventeen years old. He continued with his project, casting additional wards around the small chunk of land they'd claimed as their hideout. Magic was a beautiful thing, but both sides had it and he was under no illusion that the Dark Lord actually believed he was dead.