February 15th

As much as Hermione knew it was dangerous to remain where she was, something she didn't understand was compelling her to stay with Malfoy. After several days alone with the wizard in her tent, he had yet to satisfy all of her curiosities. In fact, he hadn't explained himself at all. She hoped he would explain more about his association with the Resistance and why he seemed so friendly with the military leader of the rebel group that had been a thorn in their master's side since almost immediately after the war ended. Or, rather, the end of the official war.

The Resistance had been the regime's fiercest opponent for an entire generation. Countless witches and wizards had been born into a world that had continually been in some state of conflict. There were always bursts of activity, of course. After careful planning and hoarding of resources, the members of the undisciplined rebel group could wreak a little havoc in their country. Never too much. They were usually subdued before they were terribly successful.

Most of the time the Dark Lord's followers didn't meet the Resistance members in open combat. The largest of their cells were cleared out in the early days of their government. Hermione had been present at a few of what Antonin referred to as 'cleansings'. He never allowed her to go to the really dangerous of them, the ones that her safety couldn't be guaranteed. Even as nothing more than his student and a potential puppet for the Dark Lord, she had been protected. Killing her would've been a boon to the morale of the ragtag group of dissidents who needed to be squashed. He wanted her safe. At the time, she hadn't been aware that his reasonings behind the decision were more personal than professional.

Over time, the Resistance grew smarter, more cunning. No longer filled with just brash Gryffindors who dreamt of glory and didn't give a damn about effective battle plans. When their ranks began to swell with former Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws and even a surprisingly large number of Slytherins, their tactics became much more effective. They began to rely more on guerrilla warfare, on being sneaky and secretive.

Trackers like Malfoy became a necessary part of the regime. The Dark Lord needed people who could fade into the background, who could find that which had been hidden. Spies were usually uncovered. How they seemed to always be found was still a mystery. Rumors existed that they had one amongst them that could read the essence of a person's very soul with only a quick glance. It was an archaic form of magic that hadn't been used in centuries. Whoever this mystery sort-of Seer was had never been discovered. When a broken and battered people searched for a savior, it wasn't unusual for them to make legends from fantasy.

Hermione was more apt to believe the Resistance had just gotten lucky. Or that the spies sent by the Dark Lord's forces were simply incompetent. It was difficult to fully immerse someone in another culture, another society without there being a few noticeable hiccups. She wouldn't have lasted long with them. Not even if she claimed that she'd renounced her previous life with the Death Eaters.

Not long after Ginny and William Wood exited the tent, a much calmer Draco climbed into his bunk and went to sleep. His anxiety from earlier in the evening when he feared that their planned meeting would not happen disappeared. Despite Hermione still sitting up at the kitchen table wondering what in the bloody hell had just happened, he was back to softly snoring in his sleep within a short time. She sat up longer, an hour or so, just sipping at her cold chamomile tea and staring at the enigmatic wizard.

Somehow he managed to ignore every single question Hermione asked the entire next day after the visit. And she asked a lot. Either he had the patience of a saint or he enjoyed torturing her. She was more inclined to believe the latter. Each time she would ask a question he wouldn't answer, an infuriating smirk would creep up on his face. The expression helped soften his too-serious visage, but she still hated it. Besides, what did it matter that she found the almost-smile handsome? It was a ridiculous thought, one she needed to stop.

Almost an entire day after Ginny left, Hermione was no closer to understanding what was happening than she had been days earlier. As she laid in her own bunk deciding what she was going to do next, she listened to the sounds the wizard made preparing himself for bed. Nothing he'd done since he constructed the tent had been completed with much haste. It was as if he was simply taking the opportunity to move slowly. She could understand the appeal. When she was living in Hogsmeade with her family and doing all that she could to be a 'good, little Death Eater', she constantly felt like there was never enough time, like she was moving constantly. It had almost been a pleasant change of pace when she went on the run.

"May I ask you a question?"

Draco's unexpected request startled Hermione enough that she wasn't sure how to answer. After almost constant questions from her that he refused to answer, it was tempting to tell him 'no'. But, perhaps it could also be a way for her to finally get at least some answers. She hadn't gotten as far as she had without using her brain or begging for information. In a similar manner to his, Hermione felt the corner of her mouth curl up into a smirk.

"Only if I can ask you one first that you have to answer."

It was a fair enough request. If anything, she was being generous. She could've demanded he answer all of her questions first. Draco caught her eye from where he stood by the kitchen sink and granted her one of the first true smiles she thought she had ever seen from him. Even when they were hardly older than children running about the castle she hadn't seen him so open.

"All right, Granger. Ask one question and I promise to answer it."

He didn't even seem nervous about what she might ask. Perhaps after the continuous barrage of questions the previous day he wasn't worried. Likely he assumed that she would ask one that she'd already asked. If that was the case, it was apparent that he might one day be persuaded to answer them all. Before she blurted out the first inquiry that came to mind, Hermione considered her options.

"Why are you working with the Resistance?"

His smile never even faltered. Draco set the teacup he'd been washing down on a towel next to the sink to dry. The seconds it took to turn back around felt much longer than they probably were in reality. She was anxious for something. It didn't really matter what. Anything at that point would've made her feel like they were making progress in their unconventional relationship. Acquaintance? Partnership?

"I remember what the world used to look like, Hermione."

The use of her first name sounded strange to her ears, but she didn't dwell too much on it. She was more interested in the content of his statement. Far from answering the question, he did not seem as if he was finished.

"It wasn't perfect. There were plenty of problems, but it wasn't like it is now. People were freer to move around, freer to do what they wished, say what they wanted. No one had to worry that they would be executed if they had a different idea of how the Ministry should be run or what Hogwarts should teach."

She shifted in her bunk, suddenly uncomfortable. While it wasn't official policy to execute those who publicly, or privately, shared their own beliefs that might not match up with what was deemed 'correct', she knew there were severe consequences. Dissension was dangerous. People lost their jobs, their homes, their families. Those who were deemed especially problematic were imprisoned and even put to death, if the circumstances called for it. She hadn't ever had reason to question whether or not what they were doing was wrong. The Dark Lord's vision must be protected from those that would seek to destroy it.

"My family is a joke now. We're only allowed to even live because of the Dark Lord's mercy. Really, it's just a way to keep others in line who might decide to go against him. 'Look at the Malfoys. You don't want to end up like them, do you?'"

Draco shrugged his shoulders.

"I wanted more from my life than to be a joke."

It was perhaps the most honest answer she believed she would ever get from the man. Of course she could understand his attraction to the possibility of a life he could be proud of again. Deciding that he had more than answered her question, for the meantime anyway, she sighed.

"All right. Ask your question."

"Why does Will hate you so much?"

Even Muggles who had no clue about the history of the magical world and had never heard the name Hermione Granger would have been able to tell that the Scottish man so easily calmed by Ginny Weasley detested the very ground the fugitive Death Eater walked upon. It was no surprise that Draco caught on rather quickly to the animosity. Because he had been so honest, she made the decision to do the same.

"His younger brother was the first person I ever killed."

A low whistle escaped from Draco's lips. He didn't press her for details, but she found the admission to be freeing.

"Antonin trapped him in a cave in Hogsmeade during a raid. I'd been hanging back, trying to stay out of the thick of the fighting. Thought maybe I'd be able to make it through the entire raid without hurting anyone. Antonin made me kill him. It was… I didn't really want to do it, but I did. Now William Wood is just looking for an excuse to pay me back in kind."

"I never realized Will had a brother."

"He was the Quidditch Captain for Gryffindor our first three years at school."

"Oh! The one who was so passionate and easy to wind up?"

They both chuckled at the memory. It helped a little to remember the man she killed in a more innocent time.

"What was his name? I don't remember most of the students from the other Houses."

"Oliver."

Draco narrowed his eyes and stared at her when she muttered the name. Not caring for the scrutiny, Hermione climbed out of the bunk.

"Oliver? Isn't that your…"

She'd lingered too long with the tracker. Not even bothering to stop to pull them on, Hermione grabbed her boots in her hand and checked to make sure her beaded bag was still stashed in her pocket. The tent had been chilly enough even with a fire that she'd been wearing all of her heavy jumpers already. With no winter coat any longer, she didn't have to worry about grabbing it on her way out of the flap of the tent.

Ignoring Draco's pleas to stop, she continued walking away into the night. She needed to get as far away from him as possible.