It had been nearly four months. Four months of being completely on her own, of searching through the wilderness relentlessly, and finding very little.

She never could have imagined that she would be separated from Ron and Harry for this long. Even immediately after she had lost them, she assumed that she would find them again by nightfall, and when that didn't happen, she thought surely by the end of the week. And now it was going on four whole months.

She couldn't know exactly what they had been doing without her, but she worried about it constantly, and hoped sincerely that they had continued with their task rather than averting their attentions and looking for her. And most desperately of all, she hoped that nothing bad had happened to either of them in the time they had been apart.

The concept plagued her, and she tried to force her way past it each time the worry flickered through her mind.

She didn't even want to go there. They would be fine on their own, she was sure of it. Both boys were perfectly capable of keeping themselves out of harms way, even in the face of the danger they were all inevitably avoiding. But she couldn't help the nagging feeling of dread that clung to every thought she had, especially because they hadn't just lost her; but all of the important supplies they had come to rely on. And perhaps even worse than this was the timing of it all; Ron had just recovered from splinching enough for them to move on to their next location, and they were about to do just that, their first Horcrux in hand, when they had been attacked.

They had been hiding out in the deep mountains of western Scotland when it happened, about a week after their attack on the ministry. They were standing together, all of their things assembled and ready, their hands joined in preparation for them to disapparate. And just as they were about to, Hermione had heard a familiar sound, snapping her head towards it, and losing her concentration on the traveling spell. It took her a split second to realize that what she had heard and now saw, was the dancing light of an oncoming curse, whizzing in their direction at top speed. She barely had time to retract her wand and counter it, stopping it just before it hit them. However, within the very brief moment it had taken her to block the spell, there was a tremendous crack! from behind her that sent a wave of warm air over her shoulder, emanating from where the two boys should have been.

And just like that, they were separated. They had gone and she had not gone with them. But she hadn't had the time to consider it, to panic; she had to face off against a group of snatchers, which had been a difficult and narrowly unsuccessful task, one that Hermione still shuddered to think about. It was only after she had finally escaped that a sense of horror began to sink in. Still, she had remained hopeful, and immediately disapparated to where Harry and Ron should have ended up after they had unintentionally left her behind.

When she got there, they were no where to be seen. She had searched in those woods for hours and hours, hoping that they were stationed somewhere nearby, waiting to hear her through the thick layer of their protective spells. She looked for most of the night, calling out to them and getting nothing but silence, grappling with the fact that if they weren't there, then most likely they had been forced to flee. Even so, she searched further, until the sun began to rise; because she had to be sure.

And then, after about 10 hours of looking, she finally was. She was sure of the simple truth that they weren't there, and that she had no idea where they could be. She tried to rack her mind for a place that they might have gone to meet her, but realized that there were no obvious ones. In the beginning, they had mapped out different spots that they could go to if they ever got separated, but slowly and surely, all of these locations were discovered or made unsafe, until there had been no one place that they could pinpoint as reliable. So they had just stuck together, becoming even more cautious, if possible, and never leaving one another's sides. Merlin she wished that they had talked more about it, and come to some sort of a concrete solution, because in that moment she hadn't been able to think of a single thing that would get her closer to finding them. She had set up camp and waited for a week, thinking that at some point they were bound to return. But they hadn't, and Hermione had felt like a sitting duck, dodging around in that same patch of woods.

So, once it had become apparent that finding them would be an altogether difficult task, she had set her self to continuing on with an ever present sense of urgency, deciding to logically and methodically do all she could to get back to them. First, she searched in places they had been before. The most recent ones, and then the most frequent ones, and then doubling back and doing it over again, nearly getting herself killed on multiple occasions.

Still, she couldn't find them, and the sinking feeling of doubt that came from every failure was unbearable. How could she even know if they were alright, if they had gotten attacked, or if they were trying to find her? It was like being shrouded in total darkness. And, as much as she wanted to be consistently brave and determined, she felt so isolated and paranoid on her own, having been abruptly stripped of all companionship.

Even when the two boys had gotten on her nerves, which was inevitable and frequent after living in a tent with them for over a year, she had always known that their presence was crucial to her sanity. Now, with only the swaying trees to keep her company, Hermione was finding it to be the biggest test of willpower she had ever undergone, as she struggled with the chasm of her mind each and every night, forced to listen to every howl of the wind, barely ever hearing her own voice, and thinking; constantly thinking.

But it was all she could do to keep going, to keep thinking of her task, or else she would find herself in a desperate state of wanting; wanting to see someone she knew, to be touched, casually, in a way that wasn't violent or forceful, or even just to hear the sound of a voice, any voice, that didn't mean to do her harm.

She had to ignore this empty feeling at all costs. To skillfully avoid it with a constant fluctuation of planning and traveling, ignoring the extreme mental toll that her undergoing had taken. The first three weeks of trying to find Ron and Harry by retracing their steps had gone unsuccessfully, and Hermione realized that it was too much of a gamble to see if they would serendipitously return at the right time, focusing her intentions instead on meeting them halfway. If she knew one thing, it was that they were looking for the Horcruxes, and hopefully if she looked for them too, eventually she might intercept her friends again.

So that was what she had been doing for the last five weeks. Hunting Horcruxes on her own, avoiding other witches and wizards as much as possible, constantly traveling, and always in a state of either running or hiding. In truth, she hadn't made much headway on actually finding the boys, though she had indeed learned a decent amount more about the Horcruxes themselves. After all, she did have a lot more alone time, and when she wasn't moving around or fighting, she was studying and looking for anything that might help her in some small regard.

She had found and followed a couple of dead ends, some of which may have helped a little, but none which significantly progressed her goal. The first place she thought to check was the old riddle house, which had been a very somber task to do on her own, and one which rewarded her only with an intensely morose feeling, and some unnecessary insight into Voldemort's past. But no Horcruxes, and no Ron or Harry.

Then, she had looked at any other place that Voldemort had spent decent amounts of time in, (at least the ones she knew she could escape from) both from when he was a child, and places he had dwelled at the height of his power. The ones that that hadn't been crawling with death eaters proved to be desolate and unyielding of anything but that same sense of dread that crawled down Hermione's spine every time she was forced to interact with the traces of black magic that were there; still lingering after all these years.

And not once was there a hint that she had come any closer to the boys. Still, she had to try, with all of her strength and wit, she had to try. So she was moving North, deeper into the mountains, combing through the landscape and looking for anything, anything that could give her hope, and answers. But she had to admit that, despite the general stress and oppressive loneliness that clouded her journey, Hermione had found a steady and effective routine within the madness. It was exhausting, and ever adaptive, but a routine nonetheless.

She would walk for miles around a given area, using her mind and her magic to search for anything Potter, Weasley, or Horcrux related. She would pursue anything she thought was a lead, despite the consequences and apparent dangers they led her to. She would inevitably find herself in a lot of trouble, and eventually, impossibly, escape by the skin of her teeth. Sometimes, she was actually captured, and would have to fight and struggle doubly hard to get free again. But somehow, she always did. Then, she would continue on in a similar fashion, finding somewhere promising, and beginning to search.

Right now, she wasn't under any imminent danger, which was a slight relief. She had been camping decently south of where she had first lost track the boys, having investigated an old abandoned manor which was rumored to be a secret meeting place for Voldemort and his followers, before he had to go into hiding. Unfortunately, her efforts had once again amounted to nothing.

So now she was determined to move on, and though she was hard pressed for more logical options, she felt a strange pull to return to the mountains of Hogwarts, even though she knew they were fraught with danger. But she couldn't shrug off the twinge of intuition she felt whenever she thought of them, and at this point, it was enough for her to go on. Besides, she didn't have to enter the castle or even its premises if she got there and realized it was impossible; she could merely investigate the surrounding area to see if there were any signs that might point her in a more tangible direction.

This was her next plan, and if she was being honest with herself, it was not one she had much hope in. She she supposed it didn't matter though, she had to do something.

That morning she woke with the rising sun, despite having spent a long and exhausting night running from a group of snatchers. They hadn't actually seen her, but they had gotten far too close for her liking, and so she had to flee. She had hastily moved deeper into the forrest, and eventually set up camp in a thick cluster of woods that stood atop a craggy little mountainside, whispering her spells into the dead calm of the night. But just like always, she had woken up the moment the sky had begun to change from a pitch black to a deep and static blue.

In fact, most nights she slept very little, getting up once the sun rose and starting the process of unpacking her things before she even ate. Which wasn't to say that she particularly looked forwarding to eating; every day for the past month her breakfast had consisted solely of baked beans.

But today in particular she was hasty, much hastier than she needed to be if she stopped to let herself think about it, which she didn't.

She was flicking her wand and watching the tent disassemble itself as things likes books, a lamp, her bedding, and other such necessities simultaneously flew from its collapsing frame and into her little beaded bag. She removed the signs of there having ever been a fire where she had cooked her food, and began searching the ground for any evidence of footprints, or things she may have missed. The sun was still rising at a lazy pace, and the chill of the morning was biting as it rolled off the mountain and through Hermione. She didn't seem to mind though, it kept her awake and alert, it told her to keep moving because her life and possibly other lives depended on her not hesitating.

It took all of five minutes to remove her presence from the place, to turn and to start walking as if she had never even been there, as if she had never even stopped.

She decided she would recollect herself later within the day in order to eat and get her bearings, but for now settled on conjuring the metal canteen from her bag, and taking light swigs of water as she walked. The birds were waking up too, and announcing it to one another; she could hear them calling out sweet lilting tunes, waiting for a multitude of responses that would blend together in a chorus of soft chirps.

It should have comforted her, but instead it reminded her of how lonely she was.

She hadn't really talked to anyone since she had been separated from Harry and Ron. Sure, there had been a couple of sentences exchanged between her and an unassuming stranger now and then, only when it was necessary for the purpose of orienting herself correctly. But other than these few moments, which were occurring less and less, the only time she spoke aloud was when she was hurling curses or defending herself from them, and there was a stirring feeling that was growing within her because of this. Maybe it was insanity, maybe it was hopelessness, she couldn't tell, but the more she kept it from her mind the better.

But despite her efforts to keep herself relentlessly occupied, she knew that no matter where she went or how fast she moved, that sinking feeling would return with a dull ache to her chest, and she would be tormented by a desperate desire for someone, anyone, that could provide her with a momentary sense of relief, of companionship, or understanding.

Ironically, and unbeknownst to Hermione, someone she knew was having a very similar experience, and could understand exactly what it was she felt. Someone who was also searching, searching through the mountains and through the trees, all by themselves, and for the very same things as her.

.

.

.

After his sixth year, Draco Malfoy had stopped going to school. Everyone had assumed that he and his mother had gone into hiding or were working alongside the Dark Lord after the assassination of Albus Dumbledore, and they weren't entirely wrong. But what Draco knew, what only Draco, Voldemort, and a few select followers knew, was that he had been on a secret mission to find and capture Harry Potter.

He knew about the Horcruxes too, that Potter may have found one already, and that he would have to return this to the Dark Lord as well. And he was hellbent on it, working day and night to find him, barely sleeping and rarely stopping. He had gotten so close on several occasions, only to lose him once he disapparated, or he would show up to a scene of utter chaos and discover that Potter had left seconds before hand. And it was infuriating. Draco was constantly on edge, battling with both his body and his mind to keep pushing forward, even though it seemed that the further he went the less progress he made. Still, he couldn't stop. It was vital, more important than his own life, that he succeed, and so he would.

When he was first assigned the task, there had been multiple Death Eaters that spoke up, outraged that it was him chosen for such an important endeavor. His aunt Bellatrix for one, had become completely volatile, saying she should be the one to deliver Potter, that this mission was far too important to be trusting it in the hands of a teenager.

Malfoy scoffed at this even now, because of course he had wished for the very same thing himself; for anyone else to have been chosen. Besides, he doubted they would have been as enthusiastic if they truly knew what it entailed; walking in the woods for months on end, punishing his body and gaining very little for it, chasing what felt like ghosts across the countryside.

And it wasn't as if he was on such an important mission because he was desperate to aid the Dark Lord, or because he was the best suited for the job, or even because Voldemort trusted him. It was because the Dark Lord had seen the most weakness in Draco, the young boy who wouldn't look him in the eyes, who wouldn't dare to speak in his presence, who collapsed and vomited profusely when Charity Burbage was devoured by Nagini.

The Dark Lord had seen that there was fear and tenderness in the young death eater, and this is what made him the best candidate for the task.

Draco would never forget the overwhelming sensation of being in that long, dark hall; each Death Eater quietly watching the Dark Lord, who sat at the head of the slick table, cut from stone and as reflective as a mirror so that even when Draco looked down, he could still see his father's crumpled and still body, rotating above them.

"Draco" The Dark Lord had said, his voice coming out in a singeing whisper, one that was somehow violent, piercing into him in a way that seemed as if Voldemort were talking right against his ear, or even in his head, rather than across from him.

"Lucius died Draco, because he was weak. And you, I see that same weakness in you. This will not be tolerated if you are to serve me. You've failed me in the past, and now you must atone for your mistakes, as well as your father's. You must overcome this weakness Draco, and if you cannot, the consequences for you and the rest of your family will be dire."

His voice slowed and his eyes gleamed on the last word, placing a his long white fingers over Narcissa's shaking hand, who was seated next to him. When Malfoy's eyes had caught her stare, he felt another wave of nausea and panic rise within him. She looked like Voldemort's starved and kicked little pet. He would do anything to save her.

So his father's death had been the warning, the ultimatum, and his mother; his mother was the ransom. Voldemort knew that Draco could do nothing, nothing but what the Dark Lord willed him to do- that he would go to the end's of the Earth searching in order to save his mother from being held captive, and suffering the same fate as his father.

And so he had, and here he was. It was all that torturously simple. If he failed, she would die, a most horrible, excruciating death, most likely on display for all of the Death Eaters to watch.

Of course, he would die too, but that mattered very little to him at this point. No, nothing really mattered at all, except for his task. Everything else was filler, obstacles in the way of his goal. Even eating and sleeping became obstacles, things that delayed him, that forced him out of the relentless pattern he had carved for himself, moving until his feet hurt and bled, and then continuing on until they felt like nothing at all, like dead weight.

All because he was searching desperately for Harry Potter, a boy he had previously thought he couldn't hate more. But now, now Potter's existence was something else altogether; intangible, taunting, a sort of magnetic force he was doomed to follow, but one he could never quite reach. And this had begun to take its toll on Draco.

He was completely alone, and haunted by constant thoughts of what would happen if he didn't succeed. He wondered at points if his mother were even still alive, and if she were he shuddered to think of how she was living, constantly supervised and under threat of Voldemort's wrath.

And then, there was something else too.

The seed of some doubt that had been growing, maybe even for years, if Draco truly thought about it. It was this distant and foreboding feeling that even if he did succeed, even if the Dark Lord himself succeeded, he wouldn't be much better off for it.

However, there was simply nothing he could do about this persistent thought. If he started questioning himself now, he would fall apart.

So for the past two years he had stayed completely focused and immersed in his task, becoming a version of himself he barely recognized, a sort of fiend that tracked and stalked in silence, waiting for anything that would alert him to the movement of his prey.

What that meant for him now was continuing his tracking up North, where he had heard Potter was sighted by some snatchers, moving about with a redheaded boy.

Draco had been taken aback when he had first heard this little bit of information. He never would have believed that Weasley had the balls to follow alongside Harry, especially not for this long, not for years. Sure, when Harry, Ron and Hermione had all chosen to not return to Hogwarts for their seventh year, the general assumption was that they had gone off together. But talk of this died down not long after it had started. For one, Ron had been seen by multiple people, sick as a dog and hole up in his mother's house, and very much not gallivanting with Potter.

Then there was Hermione. Draco swallowed a down choked breath anytime he was forced to think of her, even if it was just her name, flashing across his mind.

As a general rule, he didn't think about Granger. He hadn't let himself go there, not for a second, because if he did, those same feelings would be drudged back up, those horribly conflicting thoughts that had tormented him for the greater part of his fifth and sixth year.

And he hadn't, he truly hadn't thought of her for even a moment, until he was given his task.

Then, he had realized that he was forced to consider what her involvement would be. She had always been fiercely loyal in a stubborn sort of way, and unlike Weasley, Draco could actually imagine her sticking it out and fighting alongside Harry to find the Horcruxes. Luckily though, for the first year and a half of his journey, there had been no reports of her being seen with Harry, which made it so Draco could go back to not thinking of her, to only thinking of his goal; of Potter and the Horcruxes.

That was, until about four and a half months ago.

Draco had been close on Potter's tail when he had infiltrated the ministry, but once again stumbled into the frustrating circumstance of being a just little bit behind him, coming to the scene right as Potter was fleeing. He had apparated there the second he heard over the radio that there was something explosive happening at the ministry, and had quickly come to find the place torn about and in a panic, people screaming and bewitched copies of the daily profit flying everywhere, the pages flashing black and white images of Potter's face a thousand times over.

He flew to the fireplaces, where he knew Potter would have to go if he weren't already there, his heart beating fast, knowing he must be close. As he ran, he could hear the loud crack of spells going off rapidly from a distance, and could see the glow they emitted reflecting off of the towering hall's polished marble.

And then he saw them, all three of them: Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

It was just for a moment, a split second; he saw them leap together, into the green flames, a fourth man reaching out to grab them as they went, catching hold of Hermione.

Then, they were gone.

And though Draco should have been thinking of going after them, or maybe even of the devastating results his efforts had once again produced, he was frozen, with only one thought in his mind.

She was with Potter.

She was who he was pursuing.

The realization shouldn't have floored him, but it had. It had stopped him dead in his tracks.

And even now, all these months later, he could hardly reconcile with the thought. In fact, he actively fought against it, inventing ways in his head that her presence could have been explained away. Maybe she was just helping him this one time, because he couldn't infiltrate the ministry alone. Draco could certainly believe that. But even then, he knew that her presence at the ministry had been noticed by others, that no matter what she was in an incredible amount of danger now, even more so than if it had just been her blood status that was against her.

And the haunting image of Yaxley, taking hold of her arm, and vanishing with them into the flames- he couldn't get it out of his head.

Draco would clench his fingers into his skin violently each time these facts intruded on his mind, physically trying to overpower the thoughts that were plaguing him. What disturbed him greatly was just how much it concerned him, because he really shouldn't have cared at all.

He hated Hermione Granger, truly hated her, and there was no logical reason why she should be occupying his thoughts more than the task at hand. But she did.

He found himself constantly reverting to her in his mind, to wondering frantically what had happened to her, and if she was fine then was she with Potter? What would he do if he came across the three of them, and she attempted to get in his way?

Well, actually, he knew the answer to that.

He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to stir up those old feelings again. He hated her, and if she got in his way, he would destroy her, just like he would anyone else.

It was as simple as that.

So why then, why was it that when he was lying awake at night, staring up at a dark, expansive sky, unable to sleep because of all the worries that played on repeat in his head- why was it that it was the passing thought of her that pushed him over the edge, that sent him into the deepest depths of his panic, and forced his body to jolt up, refusing sleep, demanding movement in order to keep his mind at bay.

And move he would. He would get up and leave, collect the few things he had in a flurry, and return to walking, to searching, desperately searching, trying to suppress the echoing thoughts that ricocheted across his brain in a frenzy of fear and fire.

And too many of those thoughts, far too many of them, were whispering the same name over and over again: Hermione, Hermione.

.

.

.

Hi guys! Thanks you for reading the first chapter of my story! This is my first ever fanfiction and it was inspired by all the great Dramione fics that I've been reading lately. I honestly never thought I'd publish it, but figured that even if one person read and enjoyed it, then it would be worth it to contribute to the fandom. That being said, the story isn't perfect, and I'm planning on editing it bit by bit as I go. Be warned, I am going to take significant liberties with the timeline, the biggest one which I'm sure you've noticed is that I stretch out the horcrux finding period into a two year event. I'm not really planning on using many original characters, probably none at all, but don't be surprised if some minor characters have been adapted to fit the story. Ok, whew, thanks for letting me get that out of the way.

Comments are always appreciated, and I'll definitely take any suggestions into account. Hope you guys enjoy it!