April 20th

Draco was nowhere to be seen when Hermione opened her eyes the next morning. She was thankful that she didn't have to talk to him again so soon after their unnerving evening. There was a great deal on her mind that she wanted to sort through before she was forced to endure another conversation with the wizard again. Despite not asking her if it was all right to do so and despite having a warm, comfortable home where he could find shelter instead, he'd slept on the ground only a few meters away. His reasons were still unclear for the late night visit. Her addled mind wondered if it was his own particular way of ensuring that she remained safe in the forest by herself. The man was a mystery she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to solve.

It bothered her that he tried to lie to her about Fenrir betraying her hiding place to her husband. There seemed no reason for it. Draco was playing a game she didn't know the rules to and she was frustrated. Was he still working for the Resistance? Or was he a renegade with no set loyalty to anyone but himself? She had to understand which it was in order to know how to act around him.

Some moments it felt like she had been playing a game every second of her entire life. It was difficult to remember what life was like before she was thrown into her broom cupboard. Of course there were flashes of memories that struck her from time to time, but for the most part, the person she was hadn't been born until the door slammed shut leaving her in complete darkness. Hermione Granger the Know-It-All Gryffindor Prefect who loved one of her best friends like a brother and the other as so much more died in that small space. What was left in her place when the light was finally in her eyes once more was not the same person. In order to survive her new reality, she had to learn the intricate rules of the game. Learn them and become the best damned player that had ever lived.

She found the challenges of being a Death Eater in the permanent service of the Dark Lord to be a bit trying at times, but she reveled in the moments when she got it right. Several choices were presented to her over the years. If she had said 'no', her arm wouldn't have been branded with her master's Dark Mark. She could have continued to exist in a subservient position somewhere within the regime. Other Muggle-borns would have given anything for just the option of becoming a Death Eater. But, they weren't allowed. Although Lord Voldemort might have seen the intrinsic value in all magical blood, not all of his followers felt the same. He'd exploited those with archaic Pureblood ideals and prejudices because they were the ones with the most power and influence when he was a young, aspiring Dark Lord. Once his position as ruler was absolute, he could afford to ignore some of his followers' most abhorrent demands.

Those who weren't as fortunate as she were relegated to the lowest rungs of society. They were well-fed and cared for, of course, but they would never be able to enjoy the luxuries and freedoms that she had. No matter how many of them might strive to prove their abilities and by extension their worth, she was the only Muggle-born who had ever been allowed to become a true Death Eater. It had been a controversial decision. Many of the more veteran Death Eaters had not been in favor. She was seen to be too much of a potential liability. But, she didn't care what they thought. She made the decision to extend her arm to her master. Antonin even tried to talk her out of it several times to no avail. By the time her training was complete, Hermione was ready to lay her life down for the Dark Lord and do his bidding.

As she cleaned up the small mess left behind by sleeping in the forest the night before, she tried to push any further thoughts of her past out of her mind. There was plenty of time to dwell on the worst of it all later. She could spend the rest of her life worrying about the choices she made when she was younger when she was somewhere safe.

Yet again in her time as a fugitive, she was at a loss as to where to go next. Most of her former safe places were no longer. With both Antonin and the Resistance actively seeking her out, she was in even more danger than she had been in previously. At least if she stayed out of the main Resistance strongholds, they'd mostly left her alone. She imagined that following the loss of one of their leaders, she would be hunted proactively from then on.

Her final decision was to simply wander through the forest for the day. It was peaceful and she felt safe there amongst the trees. There was no rush to get anywhere else. Few knew the significance of the forest. If she was lucky, she might be able to spend a few more days there without being spotted or captured. When the sun began to sink in the sky, she sought out another dark corner to set up camp for the third night in a row.

She wasn't surprised to hear the same footsteps meters away as she built her fire again. Part of her expected him to show up. He might not have given her any verbal indication that he would return, but she knew. Perhaps they were beginning to get to know each other much better than she ever anticipated. While she used the Muggle lighter she'd stolen months earlier from an unsuspecting smoker in a pub to light the fire she'd built, Draco dropped a paper sack of delicious smelling greasy takeaway next to her without saying a single word. Her stomach growled at the promise of hot food. He took his own sack to the opposite side of the campfire.

In a further repeat of the night before, neither of them were in a rush to speak. They sat on the ground eating their dinner with the sounds of the fire crackling in their ears. Only when she was finished consuming every morsel of her dinner did she choose to ask him the question that was still bothering her tremendously. Maybe if she asked it enough times, she might actually get him to answer.

"How'd you find me here, Draco? I didn't use magic."

His face lit up with an amused grin. Finishing off the mouthful of food still in his mouth, he took his time to answer, annoying her even further in the process. Losing her patience, she asked a second question before he could answer his first.

"Did you put another tracking spell on me?"

"No, Granger, I didn't. Only put one on that coat of yours because it was convenient."

"Then how do you do it? How do you keep finding me when I'm being very careful?"

She wanted to slap his smug face when he started chuckling. Why was he being so difficult? It was a simple question. He seemed like the kind of person that enjoyed bragging to anyone who would listen just how powerful and clever he was. She wanted to know his secrets. What made him such an excellent tracker?

"If I revealed my secrets, I wouldn't be necessary anymore, would I? My only value to the Dark Lord is as his best tracker. The moment I'm no longer necessary, I'll be killed. Once I'm dead, there will be no more Malfoys."

He might have been smiling, but she knew he was pained by the statement he made. The reality of knowing that he was considered disposable was a sad one that she knew was likely true. There was a valid reason why they hadn't interacted much in the years since they were at Hogwarts together. His family was quite simply a disgrace and an embarrassment to the regime. If they had been wiped out, no one would have shed a single tear.

"Why have you never gotten married?"

The impertinent question came tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop herself. It was an incredibly personal thing to ask, but one she was deeply curious about. Though they weren't highly respected any longer, the Malfoy family still possessed two very important qualities that many young witches would look for in a potential mate: good looks and lots and lots of money. Their vault continued to grow with Lucius' savvy business investments. Due to Narcissa rarely leaving the manor, she wasn't in the habit of spending a great deal of his money on new dress robes. No one could deny that they were still a very handsome family. Surely there was some shallow Halfblood or Muggle-born out there that wouldn't mind the stigma of their shame for a life free from worry of want.

It was apparent within moments of the words being spoken aloud that he was uncomfortable with her question. Part of her felt guilty, the rest wanted to know the truth. His reluctance to answer at first wasn't a surprise. Personal knowledge could be used against someone at any time. She didn't plan on holding whatever he said against him, but without an accurate view of the future, she couldn't be sure of what she would do if required. Finally, after at least a solid minute of tense silence, he spoke.

"Only woman I ever wanted to marry was denied to me. Married off to some worthless Rosier."

He didn't offer any details. They were unnecessary. Hermione vaguely remembered there being a major scandal not too many years after the war ended with him getting involved with young Astoria Greengrass. The witch had only been out of Hogwarts for a year or two. Despite the change in his circumstances following the end of the war, the feelings she had for him from their time together in Slytherin were still very much alive. They wanted to marry, but Astoria's father wouldn't allow the match. He wanted something better for his youngest daughter than a Malfoy. When they tried to elope, they were caught and a more suitable husband was found for her instead.

No one had seen Draco publicly with any other woman since the girl was married off. If he had relationships, they were very well hidden. It was evident that he did not want to talk about the failure of his love life any longer. Hermione carefully changed the subject to something less personal.