"So where are we going, Malfoy?"

To be perfectly honest, she had worn the question out. She had only asked it a few times to little response, but it still felt like she'd been trying to Crucio it out him all day. She felt considerably stupid and nagging every time, but she was finding it much harder not knowing anything at all, hence the cycle that had constituted the bulk of the day's otherwise monotonous march.

"You know, normal human beings do get tired eventually," Malfoy muttered as he put a smokeless charm over the small fire he'd started, "You'd probably be more convincing in trying to be one by shutting up for a change."

"Don't talk to me about being tired," she mutinously rubbed at her feet, "I'd just like to think that this little stroll isn't for nothing, that's all."

"No one's making you come."

Hermione snorted but couldn't think of a suitable retort.

Malfoy straightened himself up and stretched. He'd done an admirable job of setting up a discreet camp with what they had, but his mood had swung from moody silence into what now resembled moody conversation. Hermione still wasn't sure which one she preferred.

"Could it really hurt?" Hermione pressed again, reasoning to herself that she should take advantage of the present conversation, moody or not. "A direction, a vague destination? Or how about a point?"

Malfoy had his arms crossed and was looking off towards where the sun was setting, mostly obscured by the trees from their point of view. Hermione was about to speak up again when he suddenly took a step away from her.

It was so jerky and uncertain that she couldn't do anything more than watch as Malfoy took another. With the third step he didn't stop. He brought his foot up and sent one of his conjured chairs up in the air with a distinct crunch.

Hermione was on her feet immediately, though she froze as he whirled around in her direction. He didn't look at her, however. Instead, he started pacing back and forth, running one of his hands through his hair and muttering beneath his breath.

"How did I end up here!" he shouted after several solid seconds of this, his eyes blazing but still avoiding her as if she wasn't there. "How did I end up with you of all people? Is this supposed to be what irony is, because it's really not funny. I wish you'd never even thought of going for that stupid stone, or better yet, I wish I hadn't gone. Or wait, better yet—"

His eyes locked with hers, an unmistakable glimmer of surprise flashing through his expression before it hardened again.

"I wish I hadn't helped you, Mudblood." He took a few steps forward in her direction. "What do you think about that? I don't think we've talked about that yet. You've brought up everything else today. Would you like to talk about that? What would it have mattered if Leach had soiled you, it would've just been another Mudblood. And … and—"

And he'd gotten too close to her. They both realized it at the same moment. Hermione was going to move back and she may have without remembering it, but something in his eyes made her blood go cold, obliterating all but one horrible thought.

"But I will tell you what I'm going to do tonight, Granger," he'd already whirled away with his wand in hand. He already had a bottle conjured by the time he turned back and raised it at her. "I'm going to toast to our little pointless trip, as hopefully short as it will be."

------------------------------------------------------------

She had never had the opportunity to really watch him. She certainly had never had the inclination either, and that was still true. But there wasn't much else to occupy her as she watched him finish off two conjured bottles. His forced mirth didn't last, and he spent most of the time sitting opposite of her, watching the fire. It was a somber profile of him, his empty gaze lit by the flickering fire as the remains of daylight faded. At first he mostly complained about how conjured alcohol didn't taste as good. He remained silent in between these bouts, with only the occasional furtive glance over at her. She found she didn't like that at all.

But there came a point when she somehow knew that conversation with him would succeed where it hadn't for the rest of the day. Perhaps it was in the way she could feel his loneliness, as unapologetically intoxicated as it was. She had exhausted most of the available topics earlier, but conversation was much easier when he was actually contributing. As annoying as it was to put up with his insults and jeers, his mood was constantly swinging, so that at times he had the same geniality he had shown for a short while back at the manor. It was as though his side of the conversation was reflecting some kind of inner conflict.

"Says this whole new Granger, the Mudblood that has been revealed to be 'not that smart.'" He smirked and took another drought as he stared down into the fire.

"No, we were just friends, we still write to each other." Hermione didn't mind when the conversation had veered into uncomfortable territory. After all, at the rate Malfoy was going he probably wouldn't remember anything in the morning anyway.

"What a git," Malfoy said, shaking his head, "All of you. You three have to have the most pathetic set of love lives I've ever seen. You think you're all so wise because you've each had one."

Hermione looked away and threw as much venom into her voice as she could muster. "Well, how many girlfriends have you had? Does pug-faced Parkinson actually count?"

"Curious?" Draco flashed her a grin as he took another swallow from his bottle.

"Right," Hermione rolled her eyes.

Silence followed, and she had the unnerving sensation that he was staring at her, but when she looked back he was innocently gazing up at a patch of stars visible through the leaves. That was what finally put her fears to rest, most of them anyway.

Despite the chance of conversation, any conversation, being pathetically alluring, even with Malfoy, she was getting drowsy. She was about to stand up and pick out a place to sleep when he spoke up again almost hurriedly.

"So where are they?"

"What?" she threw him an annoyed glare and barely concealed her suspicion. "Who?"

"Who do you think?" Malfoy murmured. "Your two hopeless gits."

"That's none of your business."

"You don't know, do you?" He gave a knowing smirk. "I'm shocked. You mean that they don't owl you even after tossing you out?"

"It's hardly necessary when we both know that they're chasing down your little Death Eater friends." Hermione spat.

"Hmm, but I don't think so," Malfoy continued undaunted, "They have a tendency to disappear for long stretches. They must be doing something important, though I don't think their egos could take anything less."

"Do they let little Malfoy listen in on meetings?" she felt the impulse to snigger until she remembered from whom she had heard that phrase last.

But Draco didn't seem to hear her. "But I'm honestly surprised that dolt isn't writing to you. Course he probably can't afford the parchment. You know … it's no fun when they're not around. But seriously, why hasn't the Boy Wonder written? He hasn't got any excuses, besides you flushing his brain with that stuff. Honestly Granger, what did you think was going to happen? But what have you got to worry about? Everything will turn around, after all. You'll all kiss and make up. They need me. Remember?"

Hermione couldn't recall exactly when she had gotten to her feet, but she distinctly felt her face flush almost unbearably hot. She let out a trembling breath, unsure whether she was more furious at her anger or his mocking use of her own words. Malfoy hadn't exactly shown any more restraint about what he said than he ever had before, but it had seemed unofficially established that they wouldn't use anything they'd said to each other since they'd … come together.

There didn't even seem to be an appropriate word for what they were doing together, and that only made her madder.

What right did he have to say anything like that?

Malfoy was still talking, but his voice had lowered to a contemptuous mutter that didn't sound like it was directed at her. She had trouble catching what he said between his swallows from the bottle.

"… bloody expect, and Potter … what did he expect … wanker think that they wouldn't know about her … Ginny and that stupid wanker—"

But Malfoy halted suddenly upon looking up and seeing the stunned expression on Hermione's face. He might have said something to her, but her mind was already a long ways away, a dozen snatches of conversations and guarded looks suddenly working their way together. She'd learned some time ago that random names of the opposite sex didn't just go around being said for no reason.

"You like Ginny Weasley." She said it, breathed it, as though it had always been obvious.

"What are you talking about?" But his frozen expression said it all.

"Ginny Weasley," Hermione repeated, almost accusingly. The odd thoughts connecting the two of them that she had always brushed aside were vivid now. It was obvious. No, not obvious, but she should have seen it sooner nonetheless. Now she was left teetering on the edge between outright triumph and shock at the almost complete lack of surprise she felt at the revelation.

And she was angry. She ironically noticed it in his expression before she felt for herself the undoubtedly disturbing mixture of emotions on her face. But why shouldn't she be angry? Malfoy had betrayed her with something she had foolishly thought was safe between them. But it was Malfoy after all, what had she been expecting? Just because he hadn't cursed her off yet didn't mean she should be foolish enough to trust him.

But she had trusted him, and she still did, really. It was hard to decide which made her angrier.

"So, was it Potter who said—" Malfoy was saying, almost to himself, looking like he was working frantically to come up with something to say. "Oh, of course not. So silly of me, I keep forgetting that you aren't the happy little trio anymore."

"Pretty hypocritical for a pompous Pure Blood, don't you think?" She spat, finding the necessarily venom within easy reach. "Going for a Blood Traitor? What would your father say?"

"I do not like that Weasel," Malfoy said distastefully, perhaps picking up how stupid it sounded now to say that he didn't like someone. It was as if they were back in school.

"If she's a Weasel," Hermione sneered, not really caring to stick up for her friend. It was Ginny who was responsible for all this, in more than one way. "Then I suppose you two are perfect for each other. The Weasel and the ferret, how touching."

"Oh, spare me," Malfoy rose to his feet unsteadily, looking as though he was annoyed at his lack of control on both fronts, "Feeling all high and mighty because you think you've figured something out? I swear you're so pathetic—"

"But am I wrong?" Hermione raised her eyebrows challengingly. "I'm not, am I? The truth is you're the one that's pathetic. Going on and on about your precious blood as long it benefits you, but then you go and—and— That's what I call pathetic, Malfoy. Pure Blood. You sure know how to pick them."

Malfoy froze, and for the first time since they'd run into each other in the forest Hermione saw a second's worth of unconcealed fear. "What does that mean?"

"I—what?" she stopped, shaken out of her building tirade despite herself. "What does what mean?"

"What you just said." Malfoy said loudly, accusingly.

It took Hermione another second to remember exactly what she had last said, intent as she had been on the next part. "What? Saying you know how to pick them? It doesn't mean anything. It was just something—it was just an expression. Why do you care?"

"That's just the point, Granger," he gave a disgusted shake of his head as he stalked off, "I don't."