GUYS! 12 reviews is amazing, I'm glad you liked it. Oh, and kudos to MacaqueAttack713 for guessing through a suggestion what is partially going to happen. Enjoy!

Draco woke feeling stiff and sore, with his face inches from a musty, wet-smelling canvas. His nose wrinkled, and then he remembered. He was in the middle of nowhere, with Granger. Christ. If somebody had told him that this was where he would be forty-eight hours ago, he would have escorted them to St Mungo's. Or perhaps put them in there himself. Either way. Sunlight was streaming in through the cracks in the tent and he squinted, knowing that he would, inevitably, have to get up at some point. A small sound from the opposite side of the tent made him flinch. Granger groaned quietly, muttering incomprehensible things as she slept. Curiosity got the better of him, and he turned over, hoping she wasn't awake. He was in luck- she wasn't. Her face was barely visible under a tangled mass of golden brown curls, but the expression he could just make out was one of complete serenity. He decided very quickly he preferred her when she was sleeping. Or rather, any time when she wasn't talking.

Before he realized it, Draco was studying the sleeping woman in detail. Her features had improved rather a lot since their Hogwarts days, he thought to himself- she had gained some weight and her face was fuller, her skin clear and slightly stained with a smattering of golden freckles and a light blush. Her eyes, though shut tight, were accentuated by long eyelashes and a delicate brow, her fine features that suggested intelligence, kindness and determination framed by tumbling waves of shiny hair. Her lips were looked a natural, darkened pink that no makeup could copy, pursed into what seemed almost like a soft smile. With her features unblemished by stress or irritation, Granger seemed almost pretty. Yes, the Gryffindor princess had grown up rather a lot, he decided, but then caught himself in that thought with horror. Gryffindor princess? Rather pretty? Where the hell had that come from?

Draco shook himself awake, rising too quickly and stumbling out of the tent and into the cold morning air. He cursed McGonagall for doing this. He cursed that bloody senior cursebreaker for scheming up this terrible plan. He cursed Granger for being so bloody…well, Granger. As he stared out at the countryside, he tried to get a grip on himself, to rationalize, to be logical. Five days. All he had to do was live through five more days of hell, at the most, and then he would never have to speak to her again.

And although Draco told himself this, in his heart of hearts, he knew that it was not true, and he hated her for it.

TWO HOURS LATER

"Just admit it, Granger," Malfoy drawled from behind her. "You are completely and utterly lost."

"I am not," she gritted. "If you would just give me a minute to think uninterrupted by your prattling nonsense, maybe I could-"

"Get un-lost?" He supplied.

"Exactly," she huffed, but then groaned, knowing he had caught her out.

"Well, becoming un-lost would suggest you are lost in the first place. Which you have, up until this point, so vehemently denied, but now acknowledge as true." She could hear him smirking, and her usually-cool temper was very close to fraying indeed.

"Well, if I'm lost, Malfoy, then what are you?" She challenged. "You're following me. I'm lost. You're lost."

"This isn't about me," he shrugged.

"First and last time you'll ever say that," Hermione snapped, and his eyes flashed with amused irritation. She noted that Malfoy wasn't taking himself so seriously. Why? Because he doesn't want to get eaten by bears, Hermione's little voice told her.

"This is about you, and your inability to read simple instructions," he said coolly. "Isn't that what muggle men say? That their women are incapable of reading maps or following-"

"Oh, piss off!" She snapped, so loudly that a few nearby birds took off in fright. Malfoy paused in surprise, but then smirked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his denim muggle jeans.

"Did little miss Gryffindor just swear at big bad old me?" He drawled tauntingly. She sneered back.

"The fuck I did, Malfoy." Satisfied that he was sufficiently shocked by his goldfish impersonation, Hermione went back to perusing her map. It had been a long time since she'd had to use one, and the symbols and distance scales were rather confusing.

"Okay," she said briskly. "I think I've got it. If we go north-east for another two miles, then we can take a shortcut across there-"she pointed to a large forest- "and camp the night in the forest. Then we should reach that town by the night after, and get a train into London from there."

"The forest?" Malfoy said, arching an eyebrow.

"Scared?" Hermione asked with a little smirk. He snorted.

"Of course not. But it's illogical to camp in the forest when we could go the longer way, and stay in an inn or something. I was under the impression we were trying not to get ourselves killed by wild animals."

"I was under the impression we wanted to get back to London as soon as possible," Hermione said pointedly.

"Forest it is," Malfoy muttered, and there was no further discussion.

As they neared the edge of the forest, Hermione's breath caught in her throat. Oh, no. How had she not realized where they were? The forest's name hadn't been mapped, but she should have recognized it from the surrounding villages. The forest of Dean was the last place on earth Hermione ever wanted to return to, and now she'd be spending the night there, with Malfoy, even more. She steeled herself, trying to get a grip on her raging emotions. She would conquer this. She would not allow fear to be her master. But as they entered the shady, cool forest, her heartbeat began to pick up and she recognized the familiar symptoms of a panic attack. No, she willed herself. Not here, not now. Just breathe.

"Isn't this where the World Cup was held, back in fourth year?" Malfoy called back, a few meters in front of her. "Forest of Sean, or something?"

"Dean," Hermione managed, fighting the emotions that were attached to this place. Camping with her mum and dad. The World Cup. The search for the horcruxes. Ron leaving. Getting caught by the snatchers. Suddenly, Malfoy halted, turning around to face her with a strange expression.

"This is where…" he trailed off, looking lost in a memory. She gave him a look of indifference and walked past him, but within a few strides, he caught up.

"Granger."

"What?" She demanded, a little more angrily than was probably necessary. His face was completely blank of emotion as he gazed steadily at her.

"This is the place they caught you and Weasel and Pothead." It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

"Mmm," Hermione managed, turning to walk on, surprised when a strong hand caught her shoulder.

"We don't have to go this way," he said slowly, a strange look in his eyes. "Not if you're going to freak the fuck out about it."

"I'm not freaking out," Hermione snapped as her chest began to constrict and she felt her face heat up. Malfoy heaved a long-suffering sigh, and, still with her shoulder in his grip, steered her back towards the edge of the forest.

"C'mon. It's not even that much farther," he muttered. "I'm not sharing a tent with you again, anyway." Hermione sighed in defeat, knowing he was in one of those moods where absoloutely nothing anybody said would budge him. Which was pretty much always.

"Malfoy?" She ventured, after a pause of five or so minutes. He didn't turn to look.

"What?"

"Thank you," she said quietly, her face burning, and he pretended not to hear, but his eyes flickered in acknowledgement. The time passed quietly as they trudged along the dusty path towards the town, which came into view at about midday. Hermione was glad for once that her calculations had been slightly off- they ended up reaching the little town by about six in the evening: they hadn't stopped all day, thus covering more ground than she had anticipated. There was only one inn in the entire place but thankfully, seeing as this was the off season, it was only half-full, and they managed to- thank the lord-get two rooms with separate beds.

"So," Hermione said as they reached their perspective rooms. Malfoy sneered a little.

"So, what, Granger?" He unlocked the door and stepped inside. "Why don't you run along and play with the muggles?"

"Not so civil once your life doesn't depend on mine, are you?" Hermione snapped, her eyes flashing. He gave her an over-the-shoulder devil-may-care smile capable of freezing…well, pretty much anything.

"Of course not." He arched an eyebrow. "Why? Did you think we were going to be friends, Granger?" Hermione snorted.

"I wouldn't be friends with you if you were the last wizard in Europe, Malfoy." He shrugged.

"Sticks and stones, mudblood." She flinched as the old insult, which she hadn't heard for so long, packed more of a punch than usual. She quickly recovered herself and gave him a scathing glare.

"I hate you." He shrugged, leaning up against the door.

"Then why are you standing here?" He said coldly, and without so much as a further word, Hermione turned and stomped into her own room, unable to resist the temptation of slamming the door once she was within the safety of its walls.

AN HOUR LATER

It was seven thirty, and Draco was hungry. After staring up at the cracks on the ceiling for a good forty minutes, he sighed, realizing it was probably better to-what was that muggle saying? Bite the bullet, and try and find some decent food. He pulled on his long coat and ventures out into the slightly smoky, cold air, searching out anywhere that might sell food. He eventually settled on an Italian restaurant about half a mile from the inn, and although the quality was terrible, the familiarity of the dishes gave him some comfort, remembering the many times he had frequented the Italian restaurants around his mother's home, how he and Blaise and him mother would spend nights sitting up and talking…Blaise. Would he be wondering where he was? Aimlessly, Draco wondered who Blaise had been Matched to. He doubted it was a Veela. More probably Pansy Parkinson, the slytherin girl they had been friends with in school. Blaise had always fancied her. He finished his meal quickly, paid rather too much and decided to take a walk around the town. He had no intention of going back to the inn and possibly having another run-in with Granger. His mood, which was already grim, darkened even more as he thought of her. Whatever attempts at civility they had been making he had shattered within the space of three sentences. His habit of pushing almost everyone away came back when he was uncertain or angry or stressed, and Granger managed to elict all three of those moods from him, simultaneously. Lost in thought, Draco realized far too late that there were people following him, and cursed his lack of observation, especially since he was usually so paranoid about everything, He turned and saw three shadows advancing on them, and although he was certain he was taller than two of them, they were much larger- Draco had filled out, but he was still on the slighter side of things.

"What do you want?" He asked coldly, and all of them laughed. Christ. How had he not noticed this street was a dead-end? His heart was racing. Who were they? Aurors, Death Eaters, drunk =, violent muggles? All three alternatives were problematic, especially since he was without a suitable weapon to deal with a wizard.

"Give us'yer wallet," one of them growled, and Draco smirked.

"Wallet? Can you even spell that, you moron? I doubt you could even figure out how to open one." As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized he had gone too far. These idiots might have more giant than human in them, but insulting them still wasn't the best way to go when he was outnumbered.

"Get 'im!" The tallest one snarled, and the two others pounced on him. Draco could fight- he'd long since known that physical combat techniques were as useful as wand ones, but he was outnumbered, outstrengthed. He saw the steel bat that one of them wielded far, far too late, and gave a yell, trying to wriggle his way out from under them. Two had him pinned up against the wall whilst he could feel the other one going through his pockets, and he gritted his teeth. What he would give to hex them all into oblivion right now.

Suddenly, there was a clatter of garbage bins, and one of the people behind him gave a yell. Draco saw out of the corner of his eye that they fell heavily, seeming unconscious. A fourth person stood in the shadows, and one of his captors let him go, trying to deal with the attacker. Draco craned his head to see the shorter person strike out with lethal speed, outmaneuvering the larger opponent within four or five moves. Draco went cold. Who was this? A person who could fight like that was capable of killing. Draco had come to terms with his past, but he was fully aware that there were still people-people like this one-who wanted to hurt him very, very badly. He had escaped the cauldron, and landed in the fire.

"Scat," I cold voice spat to the final assailant, and Draco was released, and stumbled as the mugger ran off quickly, leaving his two friends unconscious. Draco stared at the figure, squinting to make out the features in the dim streetlight. He recognized her red sweatshirt, her hair tied in a ponytail, and his mouth fell open.

"Granger?" He asked, incredulous. "What-what the hell was that? Were you following me?" She laughed, but the normally-tinkling sound was short and abrupt. She raised a bag he decided contained groceries.

"Don't flatter yourself," she said coldly. He scowled, knowing that what he had said probably wasn't the correct way to speak to somebody who had just saved his hide.

"Look," he began uncomfortable. "I should say than-"

"You've said enough, Malfoy," she interrupted, fire in her eyes. "I know where we stand. I'm leaving at six tomorrow." And with that, she turned on her heel and walked back down the street, leaving Draco Malfoy behind feeling confused, frustrated and, for the first time in a very long time, somewhat guilty.

Thoughts? Questions? Criticisms/Encouragements? You know what to do!

Em xx