There was a moment of confusion when she woke up, and for a second she couldn't remember where she was, or why the floor was so hard and her neck so sore. Then everything came rushing back and it was all she could do not to scream. She had done her part. She had fought her war. Surely that had earned her the right never to have to sleep anywhere other than her own bed.
Sitting up, she realised there had been something covering her. In the half-light of the cave she could barely make out the shape of Draco's jacket. Its owner was nowhere to be seen, which was a relief. Being around him was hard. It was exhausting and infuriating, and it brought out all the worst parts of her.
The light hurt her eyes when she crawled out of the empty cave. It was early morning, judging by the sun, and the whole forest seemed alive with the sounds of birds and other animals. It was a good sign. If there were still soldiers hunting them down, the animals would be quiet.
Finding a relatively dry spot on the muddy shore, Hermione knelt down by the edge of the lake and scooped up some water. It was cool and seemed unlikely to poison her, which under the current circumstances was enough to lift her spirits.
"Your hair seems to have developed a life of its own overnight," came the biting comment from behind her.
"And good morning to you too," she said without turning, trying to clean some of the dirt from her arms and neck.
"I found a road not too far away. We should get going."
She turned her head to look at him. Draco, who had never looked dishevelled a day in his life, resembled some sort of wild creature of the woods. He was entirely covered in dirt, which was particularly obvious due to his white shirt and light grey pants. His rolled up sleeves exposed his arms, which were covered in small cuts and bruises, much like her own. The only unaffected spot seemed to be the inside of his left arm, where the slightly faded black Mark was still visible.
Misinterpreting the direction of her gaze, he quickly rolled down his sleeves with a frown. Suppressing a sigh, Hermione propped herself up. "You have some gall commenting on my hair," she said. "The gossip columns would have a field day if they could see the great Draco Malfoy right about now. What would Astoria say?" Draco had been parading Astoria around London for weeks, and knowing he did it to spite her did not make it better.
"Don't talk nonsense, Granger." He sneered. "It ill-suits you. Let's go." He turned without waiting for a reply, making his way back up the hill, which in the light of day seemed not quite as steep, nor quite as high as it had the night before. With a sigh, she picked up his jacket and followed.
The silence between them was heavy with things unsaid, but she preferred it that way. Words had never done them much good, and lately the only words they could say to one another were meant to draw blood. And they knew each other too well to miss the mark.
Every now and then, Draco would look back to check that she was still behind him, though she was certain he could hear the crunching of leaves underneath her feet. It was hard to breathe every time their eyes met, which only reminded her of why it was just so much easier to stay away and to forget he even existed.
The road led them north, away from Umbridge and her army. It was as good a direction as any, and it had the advantage of leading them away from execution and certain death — into the great unknown and only probable death. They walked for most of the morning without seeing another living soul. Hermione was hungry and thirsty, and every step was agony, but she was too stubborn to be the first one to admit to being tired. Since Draco seemed no more likely to acknowledge the frailties of human condition, they both kept walking until reaching a crossroads.
"Which way now?" Draco asked.
"Doesn't matter," Hermione said, sitting down with a sigh on a boulder by the side of the road. "We don't know where we're going. It doesn't matter which road we take."
"Well, I'd rather we got somewhere," he said crossly.
"Oh, we're sure to do that." Hermione smiled, despite herself. "If we only walk long enough."
"Precisely what I keep telling people," came a voice out of nowhere. "Isn't it so, George?"
"Quite right, Fred."
Draco's hand immediately flew to his wand the moment Fred and George Weasley dropped down from a massive oak tree. Dressed in garish three-piece suits — Fred's purple and George's orange — both twins smiled from ear to ear, and Fred winked at Hermione, who had jumped to her feet, startled. She was too stunned to move for only a second, and then she ran to Fred, throwing her arms around him.
"Don't be jealous, George." He laughed, hugging her back. "I'm the handsome one, after all."
"And who are you two supposed to be?" Draco asked, rolling his eyes as Hermione let go of Fred, who gently wiped a tear off her cheek.
"We are the Cheshire Cat, naturally," said George with an elaborate bow.
"You are not a cat." Malfoy sneered. "You're not even two cats. You're two idiots wearing cat ears."
"Mate, you need some whimsy in your life." Fred bent down, picking up his purple top hat and dusting it off before perching it on top of his head, in between the cat ears.
"We need to go home," Hermione said without wasting time. No one understood Wonderland like the Cheshire Cat. If there was a way out, they would know. "Can you help us?"
"Home… Do we know the way home, Fred?" George pulled out his pocket watch, quickly checking the time before putting it away again.
"Blimey, if we knew the way home, whatever would we be doing here?"
"Certainly, certainly," George agreed with a pensive look. "But do you not recall that one map with the—"
"The thing?…"
"Right."
"That was a treasure map, mate."
"Treasure! Right. No, home. Well, we could send them to old Rumps — he'd sort them out."
"And who would that be?" Hermione asked, sitting back down.
"Rumpelstiltskin," Fred explained. "Most powerful wizard there is. If there is anyone who can send you home, he can."
"Maybe this isn't a huge waste of time after all," Draco said with a pointed look at the twins.
George reached into a tree hollow and took out an orange top hat much like Fred's, and two walking sticks, tossing one to his brother. "There's only the small matter of payment."
"Ah yes, payment." Fred turned the walking stick between his fingers. "How attached are you to your first-born?"
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, looking pained. "This is giving me a headache."
"Rather attached, Fred," Hermione said with a frown.
"Well, that's no good, then." The twins walked up to each other, heads drawn together in a conspiratorial fashion. "The Blue Fairy?"
"Retired."
"Mother Dove?"
"Too small."
"Maleficent?"
"Too evil."
"The Fairy Godmother?"
"Not actually a fairy."
"She might do it, though." Speaking louder, as though the other two had until that very moment been unable to hear the twins' exchange, Fred asked, "By any chance, are either of you orphans, royalty or both? Both would be really good."
"Pity," George said as Hermione shook her head. Draco merely rolled his eyes, clearly reconsidering his stance on his previous time wasting assessment. "She might still do it, though. Too self-righteous not to, really. Sees a wrong in the world, has to go ahead and fix it, that one. Charming girl. Not at all fun at parties."
"And where exactly can we find this fairy person?" Draco asked curtly.
"Oh, you are lucky you came across us," Fred said. Draco's expression clearly indicated that he had a different opinion on the matter.
"Maps happen to be our speciality," George added. "Come, come. We'll show you our collection. You can even have some tea and meet our friends."
Fred offered his arm to Hermione, who took it with a smile, ignoring Draco's sneer. "I've changed my mind," Draco whispered on her other side as they moved towards the woods. "I want to go back to the cave. Death is sounding more and more appealing by the minute."
"You're funny," she said.
"Hilarious," he agreed dryly, hurrying his step to catch up to George, who had pulled ahead.
They didn't walk very far, but during the ten minutes that took them to go from the crossroads to where the twins were leading them, noon turned to dusk. It was not magic Draco was familiar with, but he still took some measure of comfort from it. They were in a strange land, under a strange sky, and not being able to use his wand felt much like missing a limb. But there was magic in this place, and for now that would have to be enough.
He tried his best to ignore Hermione and Fred Weasley. It wasn't jealously. If he had to be jealous of any Weasley — and hell would freeze over well before that day — it would not be of the dead one. He would've preferred jealousy. It weighed less than guilt and stung less than regret. Draco scratched his left arm, where the Dark Mark would forever be as a constant reminder of the cost of idiocy. Sometimes he wanted to scratch it till it bled.
The Weasley twins led them to a clearing where a large table covered with food and drinks awaited them. Lanterns hung from the trees and cheerful music blasted out of an old gramophone. Sitting on opposite ends of the table were none other than Blaise Zabini and Luna Lovegood.
"You're late," Zabini said, removing an elaborate golden watch from his waistcoat pocket.
"Nonsense," George said, waltzing to the end of the table and kissing Luna's hand. "It's precisely six o'clock."
"My dear fellow," replied their host, "it's always six o'clock. That is hardly a standard by which to measure one's lateness."
"Time and Mr Hatter had a bit of a disagreement," Luna said conversationally, pouring herself some tea.
"Have a seat." George pulled a chair for Hermione next to the Mad Hatter.
Draco was about to sit down across from her when Luna stopped him with a gasp. "Oh, not there, sir. You will disturb the Dormouse."
The wizard looked with distaste at the rat sleeping half inside a tea cup. He would have recognised him even had he not noticed the missing finger on his right paw. Hermione paled noticeably, and Draco was about to grab that poor excuse for a rodent when Fred covered Wormtail with a tea cosy. "Out of sight, out of mind," he said with a wink. "Move on, mate." Pulling a large suitcase from under the table, the twin opened it and started rummaging through it, pulling out scrolls at random.
"You mean 'move over'," Draco said, taking the chair next to Luna, away from all the commotion of parchment and Weasleys.
"Do I?" Fred asked softly, without looking up.
Hermione was pouring herself some tea and was already halfway through a scone, and Draco realised he was actually starving. Maybe that ridiculous tea party was not the worst place where they could have ended up. He would have preferred different company, but beggars couldn't be choosers. With a small nod at Loony Lovegood by way of greeting, he reached for a cucumber sandwich.
"Why is a raven like a writing desk?" the girl asked with an inquisitive expression.
"Ravenclaws have an obsession with both," he said dryly, adding two scones to his spoils.
Luna frowned. Smoothing a crease in her pinafore, she briefly considered his reply before conceding, "I don't know what that means."
Hermione smirked. "She's not actually Luna, you know?"
"This from the woman just now dangling from the neck of one half of the Cheshire Cat."
George, who was bent over his brother's chair perusing the maps Fred held for his inspection, glanced at Draco before looking back down again. "You're not a very pleasant individual."
The wizard reached for the nearest tea pot. "So I've been told."
Hermione chose to ignore him, focusing on Luna instead. "I know the answer, Lun— Alice," she said, ever the honour student. "A raven is like a writing desk because Poe wrote on both."
"Oh, that's quite clever." Luna clapped her hands excitedly. "Did you hear that Mr Hatter? Poe wrote on both. That's the answer!"
Blaise, who up until that moment had been half asleep with his feet on the table and a top hat over his face, sat up abruptly. "It most certainly is not!"
"How can you possibly say that?" demanded Luna-turned-Alice. "It is true that Poe wrote The Raven, and he most certainly did it on a desk. Hence, the answer must be true."
"Well, it is my riddle and I declare it not to be true." He stood up, straightening his jacket, and moved down the table, coming to a halt next to Alice's chair. "Of course, Miss Liddell, you may find some other means of persuading me to accept such a patently false answer to my very clever riddle."
"Nonsense," she said with a smile, taking his hand and letting him lead her closer to the gramophone. "You mustn't flirt, you know. It is not proper."
"You're absolutely right. It's perfectly disgraceful." With a sly wink, Blaise placed his left hand on Luna's waist, holding her right hand in his, and they both started turning in time with the music — Alice and the Mad Hatter, happily enjoying their never-ending six o'clock.
Draco hated the very sight of them with the petty fervour of one who had fallen too hard and given up too easily. He loathed their happiness. He despised their delight in one another. He hated the way Hermione made a point of avoiding looking at either them or him, instead choosing a random spot on the table while sipping tea.
"Ah, young love," Fred Weasley said dreamily. "But enough of that. Gather around, children. Here is the right map."
Draco put down the mostly uneaten cucumber sandwich and joined the twins and Hermione. He had no appetite anyway. The sooner they were out of there, the better.