Hermione gasped, inhaling sharply as the icy rain fell over her, slowly soaking into her transfigured clothing and chilling her to the bone. Even as she struggled with her breath, she smiled. The sensations were unfamiliar and shocking and yet she welcomed them. She closed her eyes, turned her face toward the dark sky, and let the rain fall onto her face and into her mouth as she laughed. She even held her arms out and took a spin or two, any pain she would have felt overpowered by the sheer ecstasy of liberation, of feeling the rain and the wind, of seeing the sky and smelling the grass and mud beneath her feet.

She was free.

A loud cry brought her crashing back to the urgency at hand. The pain in her body returned as her hand tightened around the hawthorn wand, a wordless lumos maxima cast to help her locate the source of the sound. About two meters away lay Draco Malfoy, on his back and grabbing at his left side. Wand at the ready, she marched toward him.

"Get up!" she demanded, wand pointed at his chest and her free hand wiping the water from her face. He propped himself up on his elbows, pain evident in his face. "Now!"

"I'm splinched," he cried, struggling to be heard over the storm around them. "I can't -"

His elbows collapsed and his head fell back to the ground. He shook and shivered as Hermione refocused her attention on his side, where blood was seeping through the crisp white fabric of his collared shirt and mixing with the rain and mud around him.

Cursing under her breath, she knelt beside him and pulled his arm from the sleeve of his coat. She used the wand to slice through the shirt, and sure enough a long and narrow, yet shallow, scoop was missing from his waist.

She ran her hands over her face, ignoring how familiar the situation felt. Thunder cracked overhead, followed by a bright flash of lightening; she knew the storm would only get worse. She transfigured the dead leaves from the ground around her into gauze, staunching the bleeding and using a charm to bind it to his stomach.

"We have to move," she said, standing up and wiping the blood and dirt from her palms and onto her thighs.

Malfoy let out a weak groan as he sat up, only to lose his balance and nearly fall over when he tried to get to his knees. Hermione watched, unsure of how to proceed. She saw him laying on the ground, soaked to the bone and covered in mud and tried to picture the arrogant little boy from their early years of school. She heard that snooty drawl he put on any time he spoke to her and saw him strutting down the halls flanked by those two dim-witted croneys, saw his smug face alternating from a perpetually disgust sneer to a conniving little smirk and couldn't help but wonder. What would that boy think if he saw the man before her now, broken and writhing amongst the mud and dead leaves?

Draco steadied himself and tried again, frustration showing in his face.

Another chorus of thunder and lightening reminded her of the impending storm. Sighing, Hermione tightened her grip on the wand and held it behind her as she reached her free hand out to him. He stared up at her from behind the soaked bits of hair clinging to his forehead for a moment before reaching up to accept her hand and her help.

"Where are we going?" he asked, shambling behind her as they continued further down the field. They'd been walking for almost an hour. She didn't answer.

The thunder and lightning crept closer together and the wind began to pick up as they followed the treeline of the forest beside them. It had been a long time since she'd visited this particular area, but she was positive they were on the right track and getting closer to their destination. Something in the air just felt familiar, felt right. She heard a thud in the grass behind her as Malfoy fell to his knees. If she were being honest, adrenalin was about the only thing keeping her off of the ground herself.

"We have to keep moving," she urged, hiding the fact that she felt as though she were trying to convince herself just as much as she was trying to motivate him. Water dripped from her hair to her face and rolled off her chin onto the ground, where her feet slowly sunk in the muddy grass as she stood there looking down at Malfoy. "We can't just sit here," she added, her voice quiet and almost defeated.

Malfoy winced as he reached for his coat pocket, but Hermione stopped him; pulling out his wand and holding it to his face. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Please," he grunted, and motioned toward the pocket. "My pocket… just -"

Hermione knelt and slowly reached for the pocket, keeping the wand trained on him at all times. Her eyes widened and her heart skipped a beat as her fingers grazed over the soft velvet and smooth beads of the bag she thought was long gone. She pulled it into her lap and looked up to him, but his eyes were closed and his chest heaved with his labored breathing.

"Accio tent," she mutter, reaching her hand into the bag. A rough canvas moved into her palm and she smiled as she stood and pulled it out.

Between the slight resistance Malfoy's wand had been giving her and her utter exhaustion, getting the tent up was no easy task but she managed.

The tent was different than it was when she'd been with Harry and Ron. It was smaller, only slightly larger than a muggle tent, and provided only two cots. There was no table in the middle, no rugs on the floor, and a significantly smaller fireplace. However grateful she was that it wasn't exactly the same, it didn't make her miss her friends any less.

Malfoy all but collapsed on one of the two cots, while Hermione, ever proactive, turned to face the door of tent, wand and free hand in the air.

"Protego Totalum," she said, her voice soft and low. She took a deep breath, focusing her thoughts and steading her shaking arm. "Repello Muggletum, Cave In-"

"What are you doing?" Malfoy asked, petulance hiding just behind his words. Hermione clenched her jaw and repositioned her hands.

"Cave Inimicum," she continued. After she was done, she went to the other side of the tent and repeated the spells.

Satisfied with her protective enchantments, she crouched by the small, metal fireplace and started a fire with his wand. As she took a moment to calm herself she realized just how tired she was, and her knees gave out as she let herself fall to the floor to sit.

"Granger?" Malfoy asked behind her, his voice cracking.

She ignored him, bringing her knees together and curling her legs under her bum. The fire warmed her face and she felt her eyes grow heavy. She was tired, so very tired. She inhaled through her nose, and the smell of the fire brought on a slew of memories. It brought her back to her living room fireplace, sitting next to the christmas tree with her parents while they drank hot chocolate and read The Night Before Christmas. It brought her back to the Gryffindor Common room, studying in front of the fire with Ron and Harry. It brought her to the Burrow, having hushed, late night conversations with Ginny by the light of the small fireplace in her room.

"There's Dittany," Malfoy said, his strangled words breaking the silence and bringing her out of her thoughts, "in the bag."

Hermione took a deep breath and swallowed before reaching for the bag and getting back on her feet. She reached her hand into the satchel and called for the Dittany, but the bottle that came out was not the same as the one she'd had before; it was a clear, finely cut crystal with a golden stopper, something much nicer than her vials.

"I - I added a few things," he admitted when she gave him a quizzical look. Resisting the urge to ask a mouthload of questions, she unstoppered the bottle and hovered the dropper over the slice in his shirt, where his wound lay exposed.

"It's going to sting, and I'm not sure how well it will stop the scarring," she said, trying to keep her tone very matter-of-fact.

Draco reached out and grabbed her wrist. "You first," he said, taking her aback as they locked eyes for just a moment. She shook her head and pulled her wrist from his hand.

"My wounds have already started healing, you need this more," her tone wavered, bordering on concern. Before he could argue she pushed his hand out of the way and removed the transfigured gauze from the slice, letting them turn back into dead leaves and crumble to the floor. She released the Dittany onto his side and continued to work silently until the wound was as good as it was going to get and then she charmed his shirt back together.

Even though he still almost looked a little green, she saw the relief in his face as he let out a breath and sunk further into the cot. She sat back, wincing at the pain in her ribs, and studied her legs. She knew she had to get to the wounds under her transfigured jeans, but she was trying to figure out the best way to go about it. In the end, she decided that letting them go back to their original form was the easiest option.

She stole a glance at Malfoy and was at least a little grateful that his eyes were shut and his head was turned from her, even if she knew he wasn't asleep. Taking a deep breath, she pointed the wand at her clothes and watched as the denim and wool faded back into the dirty old bedsheet she'd wore in the dungeons. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and bit down, trying to keep her emotions at bay and away from her face. It was such an odd feeling, to be relieved and happy and yet terribly, terribly sad. She was glad to be out, to be away from that place, but at the same time it was hard to think of all that she'd suffered there.

Thunder cracked outside and wind whipped at the canvas walls of the tent. The storm was showing its full ferocity, yet she still felt safer than in the impenetrable dungeons.

She shook her head, trying to focus on the task at hand, and pulled the sheet up her thigh. She almost gasped at the sight of the wound. In the dungeon there wasn't light, or the will for that matter, enough to truly examine the damage that had been done to her body, but there by the fire and the light over head, it was all much too clear and grotesque.

She reached for the bottle and held the stopper over the end of the wound, just above her knee. Silently wincing at the pain, she slowly worked her way up, only to cry out when she reached the midway point. The stopper fell from her hand as it went to her ribs, grasping at a pain she couldn't see.

The cot creaked and there came a small thud next to her and when she opened her eyes Malfoy was knelt next to her, reaching for the dropped stopper. She pulled back as his hand reached out in front of her; his gaze fell to the ground.

"I - I'm just trying to help," He mumbled, then looked back up. She sighed and handed him the bottle; it wasn't as if they hadn't done all this before.

She tried not to whimper as the potion hit the worst of her wounds and sunk in. Slowly, the pain subsided and she let out of breath of relief. Her ribs still ached and it still hurt when she inhaled but she could set a healing charm to those later.

As they sat there in silence, Draco next to her staring at the bottle, and her back in that sheet, she realize just how vulnerable she felt.

xxx

Draco twisted the cut crystal bottle in his hands. He remembered the day he got it, with a set of eleven others that his mother bought him at the beginning of his fourth year. He hadn't thought twice about them then, but now he could see just how finely crafted they were.

He glanced back up at her, fidgeting with a bit of the sheet. A lump formed in his throat. Seeing her in the sheet, forcing her to put it on, was bad enough when they were in the dungeons, but when seen against the stark contrast of the warm, clean tent it was even more disturbing.

He inhaled to speak and saw her jump at the small sound. He swallowed. "Your clothes are still in that bag. I left them there, I mean."

He expected her to ignore him, to bind him up and turn him around so he couldn't see her change. What he did not expect was for her to whip around and jab his wand into his chest.

"Why?!" she demanded, her eyes wild and searching his face for answers.

He swallowed, pushed himself up on to the cot and away from the wand. "Look I- I just-"

A crash of thunder sounded and a streak of lightning briefly lit the room, creating a harsh and beautiful atmosphere all at once. "Why did you help me!?"

It was a question he'd been asking himself since they left. He had been trying to tell himself that he'd just let Snape rile him up, that he had just gotten scared and carried away and caught up in the moment, that he had just not been thinking straight and was under a lot of stress. But it had all been a vain and desperate attempt at holding the pieces of what was once his life together. He'd needed her, he'd needed to get out- and she had been the perfect excuse.

But Granger didn't need to know any of that.

"I wasn't helping you!" he answered, putting an emphasis on the last word and finally making eye contact. He took a deep breath. "I wasn't helping you, okay I was - I was helping myself." He let his gaze fall to the floor again.

Hermione let out a huff of air and slightly relaxed her arm. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

"I'm not going to tell you I regret it," he said, his voice strained as he tried to sit up, only to fall back to the cot and let out a noise of pain. Hermione sighed and knelt down, wincing in pain herself.

"Yeah, well, "she said, reaching for her bag on floor, "I'm out of your dungeon, aren't I?"

He didn't know what to say to that. He averted his eyes but was still keenly aware of her pulling out a change of clothes and crossing the room, getting as far from him as possible while still being able to keep and eye in him, he supposed. There was more movement, and the sound of legs sliding into trousers. Unable to stop himself, his gaze drifted toward her. She'd kept her back to him, and through his peripherals he watched as she pulled the sheet over her head. He grimaced at the sight of the marbled bruising and light pink lines that scarred her back. It appeared as though his aunt hadn't left any part of her untouched.

Hermione pulled on a shirt, and then a maroon jumper, and sighed.

"All that good breeding and no one managed to teach you that staring was rude?" she said sharply, turning around as she pulled her wild and tangled curls into a hair tie on the top of her head. Her arms crossed defiantly as they locked eyes for little more than a second before he sighed and turned over in the cot, lying on his left arm. He heard her moving around, but didn't look back. His hand went to his right coat pocket, to her wand that he was keeping as a security measure.

"How much stuff did you add to my bag," she asked behind him, making more noise. Carefully, he sat up and turned towards her. She had begun to empty out the bag, to sorting things into piles of like items. Scattered around her were more empty vials and a few with potions in them, a pile of clothes, and more books than Draco thought were necessary.

His breath caught when he saw the book closest to him, a Muggle Studies textbook. He swallowed, the memory of Professor Burbage suspended above his dining room table, only moments before being made snake feed, rising in his throat like bile. Hermione'd taken Muggle Studies, she'd have known Professor Burbage, probably even liked her.

Hermione scoffed, breaking Draco from his thoughts. She pulled her arm out of the bag's opening and her brow wrinkled at what was wrapped in her fist. "Silk pajamas? Really? Only one vial of dittany but you brought all the creature comforts of home!?" She held them out towards him, disbelief and anger in her features.

"I -" he started, but she scoffed and threw them into fire next to her. Draco looked to the ground and took a deep breath and tried to quell his anger. It wasn't as though he'd picked out his best set, it was just all he ever wore.

Hermione sat up right and huffed, pushing stray baby hairs out of her face, then narrowed her eyes at him. "Why were you so prepared?" she asked, motioning to the sea of things around her. He swallowed. "Did you plan all of this?"

"No. Well, not exactly."

"What was going on when we left?"

Draco sighed. He couldn't tell her that he was nearly sure it was the Order, come to rescue her. If he did then he'd have to tell her how he knew, and he definitely couldn't do that. He set his brow. "Look, Granger, I don't know what was happening alright?" he snapped, "I just saw an opportunity and took it. You should be grateful." He turned, slid back down the cot, and pulled up the covers from the foot of it.

From behind him he heard, "Comfortable?"

"Not in the slightest," he huffed.

"Good."

Before he could register anything else, rope sprung up and wrapped themselves around him, binding him to the bed.

"Is this really necessary?"

"In the unlikely event that you do get free, there's an alarm ward on the tent. Good luck running away… again."

His heart turned into a weight led and sunk to his stomach. That's what he did, ran away. He had ran away and just left his mother in that house. With that man. His throat tightened as he thought about how defenseless she was, his father was. He inhaled deep in an attempt to steady himself, his chest pushing against the ropes around him. What would become of her? How long would being Bellatrix's sister keep her safe? Would the Dark Lord punish her for his disappearing act?

Images of his mother, alone and shivering on the floor of the manor, screaming out in pain and contorted into horrific shapes flashed through his mind as tears glossed his eyes.

What had he done?

He'd nearly fallen asleep, his energy spent and his emotions drained, when he heard her. There was a small whimper, and huffing coming from her direction. He craned his head until he could see her figure, facing the wall on her cot. His heart quickened. If she was up, had she heard him crying? He didn't think he'd made any noise but he couldn't be sure.

"Granger?" he whispered, but there came no answer. She was asleep. She was asleep and crying. She whimpered again, and this time he realized that it sounded more like a whimper of fear.

He thought he'd already gotten all of his tears out, but he has wrong. As he sat there, listening to her nightmares, the weight of what she'd been through finally sank it.

She would never be the same.

Even if Voldemort is defeated and the world goes back to normal and a decade passes, she would never not have those memories and experiences in the back of her mind. She would live with what was done to her for the rest of her life.

He wiped his cheek on his shoulder and took a deep breath. It was going to be a long night.

xxx

Hermione wasn't sure she would be able to sleep at all, but before she knew it she was waking to the early morning sun shining through the top of the tent, with no distinct memory of falling asleep or sleeping through the night. The storm had ended, the air was fresh and peaceful with its lingering moisture of torrential rain. She stretched on her cot, her cuts and bruises and aching bones screaming in protest. She put her feet on the floor and reached under the pillow for the wand. Glancing at Malfoy, she saw that he was still bound, but awake and staring at the wall. With a flick of his wand, she removed the ropes and she saw his chest rise as he took a deep breath.

They didn't speak for the entirety of the morning, and for that Hermione was glad. Limping and wincing, the two of them worked to pack up their small camp.

"What is this?" was the first thing Malfoy said to her. They'd packed up the tent and started off along the treeline again when Hermione reached into the bag, pulled out two granola bars, and handed one to him.

"Well it's not stale bread," Hermione quipped, remembering how the only time she'd had anything other than hard, stale, sometimes even moldy, bread in the past few week was after the worst of Bellatrix's sessions, when it was given to her as tool of manipulation in the hopes that she'd further cling to Malfoy. To her, the granola bar, the flavor she'd picked out herself and chosen to eat, was the most incredible meal of her life.

He didn't respond, but she heard him opening the package beside her.

As they walked, Hermione couldn't help but smile. The sun had come out in full force, its rays kissing her cheeks and warming her face. Of course they were trudging through mud, but as long as the sun was out and the gentle breeze continued to pass through the trees and tangle in her hair, she would smile.

It was just after midday when she spotted it; a familiar, twisted oak with a rotting plank swing hanging from it just few meters away. Leaving him behind her, she headed for the tree, stopping in front of it to run her hand along its gnarled branches. She could almost hear the sweet tinkling joy of her own childhood laugh, almost see her nine year old self swinging in the tree. As Malfoy caught up with her she moved on, heading towards the crumbling cottage she knew she would find just past the swing.

The cottage was half covered in ivy and lacked a front door. The window panes were mostly shattered, residual rain was dripping through the roof in multiple areas, and a thick layer of dust covered everything but Hermione could still feel her Gran's love coming from the tattered, floral arm chair in the living room, hear the joyful piano music playing in the dining room, and smell the homecooked food drafting in from the kitchen.

"What is this place? How did you know where it was?" Malfoy asked, his voice cracking and his weight resting on the door frame behind her. She took in a deep breath and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"It's shelter, and it's safe. That's all that matters. They won't find us here" she said as they shuffled further into the living room. It was more than safe, it was a safe house. One she, Ron, and Harry had set up early on in the horcrux hunt. She knew it would be empty, and out of the way. The three of them warded the place months ago, though they hadn't managed to make it inside.

Draco let his coat fall to the floor and let himself fall onto the couch, sending a cloud of dust into the air. Hermione pointed the wand at the ceiling. "Reparo," she muttered, slashing it through the air. The leaks sealed themselves and she set to drying the puddles in the floor, then sent out lights to the lanterns and candles scattered about.

Hermione walked toward the fireplace, her leg momentarily giving out on the way. She regained her balance and sent a fire into the firebox before the photos on the mantle caught her attention. They were old and faded, and some of them were even deteriorating a little. There was a photo of her grandmother and grandfather in their youth, one of her mother as a child riding a tricycle, and one of her parents holding her as an infant. They shouldn't have been there though, her aunt was supposed to have gathered them years ago; she was supposed to have taken care of all the furniture, all of her grandmother's belongings.

Her leg gave out again and she caught herself on the ledge of the mantle, her fingers slipping on the dust.

"Granger?" Malfoy exclaimed behind her, something dangerously close to concern hiding in his voice. She shot a glance back at him as she pulled herself up right. She took a breath and made sure her leg could hold her before stepping away from the mantle.

"What, no fifteen minutes of enchantments this time?" Malfoy sneered as she headed for the kitchen.

"Safe houses already have enchantments on them," she answered, not breaking her stride. If her aunt had been too lazy to clean up the photos, hopefully she'd forgotten the kettle as well.

The kitchen wasn't in much better condition than the living room- cracked windows, dust covered counters, and what looked like droppings that Hermione didn't want to think about. But there, sitting on the stove, was an old kettle. It took a scouring charm, and one for both fire and water, but in no time she'd made a pot of tea.

"I'm sure it's not what's you're used too," Hermione said as she reentered the living room, two cups in hand. "But it's tea." She handed him a mug with a picture of a cat on it, and sipped from hers, which read "World's Greatest Nan". Draco waited to sip his, she assumed to wait and she how she reacted to hers. It was all she could do not the cough and spit it out. It was beyond stale. But she kept a straight face, and moved toward the armchair by the fire.

She smiled into her mug as Malfoy coughed and choked on his tea.

"This is piss," he commented, setting his mug on the coffee table in front of him. Hermione reserved any comment and continued to manage through her tea in silence. It was piss, it was beyond stale and made with a kettle which had sat unused for a decade, but it still reminded her of her grandmother.

The longer she sat in an actual house, the dirtier she felt. The rain had washed away a lot of the dirt and grime, but her fingernails were still crusted and covered with blood, and there was the matter of her hair to deal with. When she finished with her tea she set her cup down on the table next to her and stood up, pulling the wand out of her pocket.

"Stand up, Malfoy," she said, firmly if not commandingly.

"What?"

"Up, now!"

Malfoy groaned and slowly rose to his feet, his arm pressing into his wound.

"Obscuro," she uttered, and a thick, dark blindfold wound itself around Draco's eyes. He nearly fell over.

"Fuck, Granger," he protested, but Hermione only cast the Muffliato charm on him in response. He started to speak again but stopped when she laid her hands on his shoulders, turning him toward the hallway and leading him toward the back bedroom. She left him just inside the door and shut it behind her, then made her way to the kitchen where she opened the long broken icebox. Hiding the wand was her best option. If she brought it with her, she'd have to lay it down where he could easily grab it, and she couldn't very well keep it on her. She removed the charms from Malfoy, and hurried to put the wand in the icebox, and get back to the bedroom.

He met her at the door.

"Just what are you playing at?" He stared down at her, but any threat he meant to portray fell short, and she rolled her eyes and turned around, heading for the back door. He followed.

"Not that I really have to tell you anything, Malfoy, but there's a river behind the house and if it's as clean as I remember then we're bathing in it." As she passed her bag, she swooped to pick it up and pull it onto her shoulder.

She heard him stop for a moment. "Bathe?"

"Yes," she said, pulling the door open. "I'm assuming you've at least heard of the concept?"

She saw the lines in his face lighten, the muscles in his jaw relax, and his ears perk ever so slightly. If it wasn't Draco Malfoy she was staring at, she might have thought he were about to smile.

Then it seemed as though he caught himself, and his frown returned. She turned on her heels and pushed through the door and onto the back patio.

They marched through the overgrown garden and she paused at the back gate, running her hand over the weathered wood and remembering childhood days spent running in and out of it. She felt Malfoy behind her and picked her pace back up. Not far from the gate, just past a cluster of trees, was a small creek. She smiled; the water was just as clear as she remembered, and the rain had only served to raise the water level and quicken its flow.

She stopped at the bank, inhaling deep to take in the scent of the fresh water, the clay of the bank, and the wildflowers growing around it. As Malfoy walked up next to her, she knew it was time. She would have to undress. It would be the third time he saw her do so, and while she doubted she'd ever be comfortable doing it, it at least made it easier. But… but he would have to undress as well. They would have to undress next to each other and get into the river together. For once, they would be on equal terms.

Reaching for her bag, she dug out a change of clothes for the both of them, two towels, two face cloths, and a bar of soap. She set them on a large rock by the bank and sighed. Pushing back her awkward discomfort and nerves, she pulled at the hem of her sweater. She knew she wasn't going to tiptoe into the river, so why tiptoe into her underwear?

"Well?" she demanded, unbuttoning her jeans, acting as though none of this were bothering her. "You can't bathe in your clothes." She glanced back at Malfoy, and he was staring at the river, his scowl holding more disdain than ever. He finally looked to her and she raised a brow to him. He sighed, and his hands went to the buttons of his shirt.

The water was icy and she felt the gasp she took vibrate throughout her entire body, sending a refreshing tingle to her fingertips and toes. She was knee deep before heard him cursing behind her, the water splashing as he yanked his foot out.

She reached for her flannel and walked toward the center of the creek, the water stopping just under her chest at its highest. After taking a deep breath, she bent at the knee and took a dive under the water; better get it over with all at once than to drag it out. The near icy water numbed her wounds, both internal and external, and when she finally felt the need for air she surfaced, inhaling deep as she stood.

"You're mad," Malfoy said behind her. She turned, the water was only barely passed his knees.

"You're the one prolonging your discomfort," she responded, bring the soap to her flannel. She looked to the bubbles, studying them in an effort to avoid looking to him, to avoid seeing him looking at her.

Eventually he was in as deep as she was, though the water only came to mid-chest on him, and she had to hand over the soap.

"This smells like…" he brought the soap to his nose only to yank it away, "honeysuckle," he drawled, glaring at her.

She shrugged. "It's what I use."

He sighed and soaped up his own flannel. She watched the muscles in his arms move under his pale skin, and couldn't help but notice the slight definition in his chest. Her forehead wrinkled as she realized it was a much different muscle than, say, Viktor Krum had. It wasn't muscle built up over working out that defined his chest, at least, not any more. It was more like a complete absence of body fat, leaving the skin to pull tight over any muscles that might be left over from playing Quidditch, and now that she was looking him, his bottom ribs were very much there.

"Now who's staring, Granger?"

She swallowed. He smirked, proud and cocky, like he'd won something by catching her staring.

"Didn't they feed you at that place?" she asked, trying to recover from the embarrassment. She was not gawking at him with any sort of attraction, it was purely out of curiosity, and she needed him to know that.

Draco's smirk faltered and he rolled his eyes. "Of course, the best there is."

Hermione didn't ask any more questions, and instead set about trying to find a balance between scrubbing herself clean and keeping her wounds from breaking open. Her arms weren't nearly as bad as her legs, and it was difficult trying to get the backs of them with what she was sure was at least a fractured rib, but she managed. Her fingers hurt the worst.

Then there was her hair. Normally she'd have special conditioner and comb for it, and she'd care for it in sections and take her time, but she didn't have any of that, so she did what she could to rinse and untangle it, and hoped for the best. Maybe if she dug deep into her bag she could find a hair tie for it later.

She chanced another glance at Malfoy only to find him already looking at her. She expected to squirm under his gaze, to feel vulnerable and exposed but she didn't. His brow was set and there was something going on behind his eyes.

"Where'd you get that scar, there, at the bottom of your stomach?"

She looked down, her fingers running over the old, deep pink scar running the length of her stomach. She nearly smiled.

"The Whomping Willow, Third Year."

Draco scoffed. "Fine, don't tell me."

She could have argued with him, convinced him she was telling the truth, but she honestly didn't care- she was too wrapped up in her memories.

When she felt as clean as she was going to get she headed for the bank, reaching for the towel as she climbed out of the creek. Draco followed suit. After setting a drying charm to her bra and underwear, she pulled on a fresh set of clothes and turned to see Draco pulling a sweater over his head and had to stifle a laugh.

The clothes she'd pulled out were Ron's and Harry's, and while seeing them in a green Weasley sweater, jeans, and a pair of trainers was completely ordinary, seeing Malfoy in them was not.

"Despicable," he mumbled, pulling at the jumper. "Couldn't you at least… charm it blue or something?"

"And here I thought green was your color?"

"That doesn't mean I can't like blue." He tugged at the sleeves and reached around to scratch his shoulder. She ignored his continued grumbling and grabbed her dirty clothes and shoved them in her bag, then she reached for his. She froze when she felt something solid, long, and slender tangled up in them.

"Um," she heard, and looked up to see Malfoy wearing a very guilty and worried expression. She fumbled with his slacks until her fingers found the smooth wood of her Vine wand. She glared up at him.

"You've had my wand this. Whole. Time?!"

Malfoy had his hands up, palms facing her. "I wasn't going to use it on you I - I was just -" Her wand was now digging into his chest, her having quickly closed the distance between them. His jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. "You think I wouldn't keep a bargaining chip?" he spat, looking down at the wand, and then back up at her.

She could feel her grip loosening. It was a smart move, and a very Slytherin thing to do at that… and he'd had every opportunity to use it and yet he hadn't. She sighed and dropped her arm. As she gathered the rest of her things, the soap and the towels, she twisted her wand in her hand. She never thought she'd be so happy to have a stick in her hand, yet here she was, holding back tears of joy at the familiar weight of it in her hand.

Back in house she fished out the last of the granola bars and they munched on them in silence.

"So Muggles just… eat this stuff?" Malfoy asked, letting the wrapper fall to the ground.

"Yes, and they also don't throw trash on the floor," she scolded. Malfoy rolled his eyes and moved the wrapper from the floor to the table.

"Is this just where we live now?" he drawled, looking around the dusty room.

Hermione bit at the inside of her cheek in response. She'd spent the whole day thinking about her next move and she'd come to realize that what she was that her decision rested on; whether or not she could trust Malfoy. She'd gone through everything; his behavior in the dungeons, his confession, his begging her to take him with her, over and over again. A voice in the back of her head kept poking and prodding at her, telling her it could all be some kind of elaborate trap.

She looked down at her wand, at the bag in her lap where his wand rested, then back up at him.

But she tried to remember everything she knew about him, tried to recall any interaction before the war. He was never that great at hiding his feelings from his face, he'd had plenty of opportunities to play it cool in front of Harry and he'd failed to do so with every one. Even last year, she'd noticed the change in his behavior, and colour, nearly right away.

She took a deep breath.

"Can I trust you?"

It wasn't as though she were looking at him for the answer, but she was curious as to what his response would be. She saw him swallow, frown, avert his eyes, and furrow his brow. He sat up, his eyes burning holes into floor in front of him.

"Malfoy?" Hermione reached out, but he pulled away.

"You shouldn't," he snapped.

She frowned. "Why, because of that mark on your arm?"

Her heart dropped when he looked up at her, his grey eyes dark and full of anger and hatred - but it wasn't directed at her.

"Because I'm a coward," he spoke through his teeth, his voice fighting to leave his throat. "And you should never trust a coward."

Hermione didn't know what to say. In all this time, she hadn't really thought of him as a coward at all. She'd seen boy given a dark and impossible task, doing everything he could to complete it. A coward wouldn't have denied Snape's help over and over, a coward would given up before they even tried and let someone else take the fall. Furthermore, a coward wouldn't have risked himself, his family, and everything they'd worked for to save the very thing they despised. He was a bigot, a bully, and a complete arse, but he wasn't a coward. Not to her, anyway.

"Actually," she said after a moment, "I've found you can trust a coward to do what's exactly what's in their best interest." She stood and pulled out her want. "And right now your best interest is with me."

She conjured a small orb of blue light and Draco's eyes grew wide.

"I've escaped," she spoke into it. "I've escaped, I'm at my safe house, and…" she paused to look back at Malfoy, "and I've got a prisoner."

The orb pulsed with every syllable, then flew through the wall and out towards its intended recipient.

"Was that…" Draco started, nearly breathless, "a Patronus Charm?"

Hermione moved to the mantle and began collecting the photographs. "Yes," she answered curtly.

"What's your corporeal?" His gaze was still fixed on the spot in the wall the Patronus left through.

The corners of Hermione's lips twitched. She could almost smell the mixture of earth and spice that was Ron, and if she concentrated, she could see his wide, goofy grin. But as more of his face formed in her mind, a flash of dark black curls and rotting teeth ruined it.

"It's an otter," she answered, her voice cracking. She shoved the photos into her bag and marched toward her grandmother's bedroom, to see if there were any other keepsakes worth gathering.

xxx

whew. well, here it is, one of my favorite chapters to write. mainly bc it's just the two of them, alone and on their own. i hope you enjoyed it, and if you did, please like and comment! it really means a lot when you do :) hope y'all are doing well!