Curled up under the corrugated sheeting that had once formed part of the roof, she slept fitfully, her hand clasped tightly to her wand.


Snow flurries slowed her progress. The howling winds marred her visibility and chilled her to the bone


She hadn't eaten in 3 days.


Something startled her awake. Somewhere in the distance she heard a twig snap. She pulled herself further under the fallen tree and listened.


Footstep could be heard treading slowly across the pine forest floor. She willed her heart to stop beating so loudly in her eyes for she feared it was audible to anyone approaching her hide.


Eyes wide in fear, she watched the hooded figures continue their path through the forest.


When they were faint specks on the distance she let out a breath she wasn't aware she had been holding.


A lone tear slipped down her cheek. She didn't move to brush it away.


"I miss you"


The man in the cardigan sat silently in the chair. Draco stared at nothing


"How long?"


"Today is 2nd February"


He tried to make sense of what he had been told. His mind was trying to force a realisation


"Bellatrix attacked the school just before the start of term. She was with me that night"


"She didn't come to the safe house. We don't know why"


He didnt want to ask his next question


The red haired woman came in with plate of food. Draco forced himself to sit up. He had been given potions to heal his wounds and replenish his blood. Physically he was ok. It was his mind that didn't want to comply.


"Why are you helping me?"


"No one knows the exact nature of what transpired between the two of you, but Hermione was able to warn me before she disappeared that the attack was coming. She told me someone she trusted had passed key information to her. When we found you in the Manor locked in the cellar with Harry, Ron and Luna, it was clear to me who had risked everything for her. Hermione wouldn't trust you lightly but clearly she does. That's enough for me"


The man in the cardigan was gone now. Draco placed his feet on the floor and braced his hands on the bed. Tentatively he stood up and moved to the desk in the corner of the room.


He couldn't remember the last time he had held a quill in his hands


He blew lightly across the ink to dry it, then traced his fingers lightly over the measured script.

He had written only one line.

"And miles from where you are, I lay down on the cold ground, and I pray that something picks me up and, sets me down in your warm arms"