It had been two weeks since Draco was forced into captivity with Hermione. His plan to contact his mother had fizzled to nothing as the days passed causing his frustration to mount. He had needed to get the witch's wand to break down the wards but one attempt he had made at obtaining the wand had left him with a nasty burn on his hand – she had placed a powerful repelling charm on it. His attempt coupled with the blazing row which ensued meant that Hermione had been especially vigilant about guarding it. He had been much too optimistic after that first shower and it had led him to underestimate her. He would certainly not make that mistake again in the future.

Draco lay on his bed, leg swinging back and forth as it dangled over the side. He fingered a small pile of books he had amassed next to where he slept; none of the titles struck a chord of interest. He had finished most within a day of beginning them but failed to return any to their shelves. Boredom began to seep into his bones as he tried to think of something to do. Even though they had moved to a new location every three or four days, Hermione had never extended the wards far beyond their tent. This meant that although the scenery around him changed, Draco was essentially confined to the tent. Besides books, the only thing he had to entertain himself with was Hermione. She had tried to be civil with him initially but he had soon broken down her resolve, using their arguments to keep him occupied. She wasn't one to hide her emotions and once he'd figured out what pushed her buttons Draco was usually able to get an argument going quite easily.

He perked up slightly at the sound of her returning from her errands. She had insisted on using as little magic as possible in order to avoid detection and as a result she would periodically venture into a muggle town to get supplies and do their laundry. Draco was appalled by the fact that he was forced to do so many things as a muggle would.

"Where have you been?" He snapped at her, flinging his other leg over the edge of the bed as he sat up. She seemed happier than she had in the last few days. Draco delighted at how his words replaced the smile on her face with the briefest spark of annoyance.

"You know perfectly well where I've been Malfoy. Doing your laundry and getting food for you to eat – like I'm a damn house elf." She started pulling things from her enchanted bag and dumping them on the desk. Her tone made him frown. Her words had no venom to them; it felt more like he was a lazy child being scolded by his mother.

Draco moved behind her, knowing his proximity would illicit an annoyed reaction. He bent his head down, his lips close to her ear and whispered into it, feeling her tense slightly as he did so. The faint, floral scent of her skin filled his senses.

"House elves can cook a proper meal."

"Well if my cooking is so appalling why don't you make your own dinner tonight?" She said as she moved away from him. Hermione picked up her clothing and started to neatly pack the items away as if she was having a casual discussion.

He stood and stared at the witch, unable to hide his frustration at her new tactics. She had been so consistent in her reactions during the last two weeks that this sudden change had taken him by surprise. He was about to retort when he felt a searing pain spread across his mark. His opposite hand snapped over the sleeve as a grimace crossed his features.

"Malfoy, what's wrong? Is it your mark?" She moved towards him, concern spreading across her face. "Let me see it."

She wrapped her fingers around his wrist and pushed the sleeve of his jumper up before he had time to react. He made to move away from her but another powerful surge of pain radiated from his forearm. He fell to his knees as it felt like every fibre in his body had been set on fire. A pained moan escaped him before he could stop it. He ripped his arm from Hermione's fingers and gripped it close to his chest. Then as quickly as the pain had started it disappeared. Draco let out a grunt of relief as he closed his eyes. Gentle fingers wrapped themselves around his exposed arm; they felt comforting against his tingling skin.

"Malfoy."

He didn't respond. He could only focus on the ache of his muscles, the feeling of exhaustion spreading through his being; the pain had been brief but his body felt as if he had been put under the Cruciatus Curse.

"Malfoy."

Her voice was gentle and soothing. Draco kept his eyes closed and his head down, his breath coming in short ragged bursts.

"Draco."

The sound of his name brought Draco back to his senses. He lifted his head and opened his eyes onto Hermione's; they were filled with a deep concern, a concern that spread from her eyes across her features. Draco stared at her face, eyes slightly unfocused, for a brief moment. He noticed for the first time that Hermione had the faintest smattering of freckles on her nose; they were so small and light that you would never have noticed them unless you were looking for them. He closed his eyes once more as he felt her gentle touch against his cheek. His eyes snapped open at the realisation of who was touching him. He was filled with a sudden and urgent disgust as he pushed her away from him.

"Get the fuck away from me!"

He caught the look of confusion on her face has he stood and strode across the tent to his bed, ripping his dividers closed. Draco flung himself down onto his bed, rubbing his forearm. Voldemort was angry, at who or what he couldn't tell, but he was certainly furious at something if the pain Draco had experienced was anything to go by. He desperately hoped that the other Death Eaters had experienced the same pain. If not then it had been just for him. Shit, shit, shit! He closed his eyes and took deep breathes as he tried to calm himself. He couldn't think like that. He desperately hoped it wasn't true.

Draco was distracted from his thoughts by the sound of Hermione moving around in the tent. He thought of her touch against his skin. He was disgusted for allowing himself to enjoy it for those brief few seconds. It was bad enough that she had been present for a moment of such weakness, her compassion felt like insult to injury. Evidently she had decided to make herself dinner because within a few minutes Draco breathed in the luscious smell of something cooking. He hated that she probably knew his earlier insults about her cooking had been a lie. He had been pleasantly surprised at how adept she had been at preparing meals. He turned away from the sounds as his stomach gave a small grumble.

Her cooking skills just added to the list of things Draco had come to realise she was good at. At Hogwarts he spent enough time away from her to be able to convince himself that her success was just luck in disguise; that what his father said about mudbloods being inferior was true. Isolated out here with her, he couldn't hide from her skills. Even the limited magic she did perform served only to highlight her competency as a witch. It annoyed him even more that, unlike him, she seemed to get along just fine without it as well. If, as he had been told so often, she didn't deserve her magic then why was she so brilliant at mastering it? If she had no right to it because of her muggle heritage, why was she more proficient than many pure bloods he knew? It didn't make sense anymore. This isn't how things were supposed to be. Being in the tent for so long was clearly messing with his head.

Draco stared blankly at the wall of the tent and waited until he heard Hermione draw the privacy curtains around her bed. His pride wouldn't allow for any chance encounters so he stayed behind his own until he could hear the faint sounds of her falling asleep. He rose quietly and stepped around his dividers. Another small chip fell from his pride as he saw a plate of food waiting for him on the table. Steam still rose from the plate; evidently she had cast a warming spell on the food to ensure he would have a hot meal. He sat and picked up a small vial she had left next to the plate. It contained an ointment to treat inflammation. He looked down at his Dark Mark; it was still red and irritated. He uncorked the vial and rubbed the ointment over his tainted skin, cursing Hermione's considerate act as he did so. The inflammation around the skull and snake calmed slowly as he began to eat; she had made a simple pasta dish and it tasted fantastic so he finished it all greedily.

He returned to his bed and lay staring at his closed dividers. He thought once more of her touch against his skin, of what that touch might feel like elsewhere on his body. He let out a growl as he angrily shook the thought from his mind. He never thought he'd say it but Merlin how he wished the Order would call for them. He was so desperate to interact with someone other than her, to restore some form of normality to his thoughts that he even be happy to see the Weasel – maybe not that desperate. If they had been stuck together for this long Draco was confident they would have starved to death by now; that is if one of them hadn't successfully killed the other in their sleep.

The wind howled around the tent as Hermione finished corking her vial of dittany; she had been applying it to her leg regularly with reasonably good results. Ten days had passed since the incident with Draco and his mark. Ten days of avoidance and awkward silences. She knew she had pushed her luck, touching his face the way she had, but she had been so overcome with concern that she hadn't even thought the motion through. For the briefest moment she could have sworn he calmed against the feel of her before he had pushed her away. Whatever had transpired between them in that briefest of moments had evidently disappeared; every time Hermione had tried to ask about his mark she received a solid "fuck off, Granger" from him. The fallout from the incident had certainly put a cog in her plans to try and gain his trust or at the very least get him to realise she was his equal and not inferior due to birth. Neither would be an easy task to accomplish but with no one else to keep her company she needed something to do other than reading or research. Given that she hadn't heard anything more from the Order she could only assume that it could be some time before she was rid of him, so perhaps she might be able to accomplish one, if not both, of her goals. She had made then decision during her errand run the same day his mark played up.

She cast a warming spell – no unnecessary magic be damned in this kind of storm – on the tent. She hoped the comfort of the warm would help her sleep more comfortably; that is if the wind allowed her to fall asleep. She settled into her pillows and tried to occupy her thoughts with something other than her reluctant camping partner. She spent so much of her waking time with him that she refused to allow the little sleep she accomplished to be filled with his presence as well. She thought of how Harry and Ron must be coping without her. A smile crossed her face at the thought of the two of them trying to cook for themselves. It would be beans on toast for breakfast, lunch and dinner without her. In Harry's defence he would always try and spice things up with a fried egg. The thoughts of her friends carried her, gently smiling, into a light sleep.

Draco felt the tent around him warm. The increase in temperature made him start to feel uncomfortable in the long sleeved shirt he was sleeping in so he pulled it over his head and threw it to the end of his bed. He knew the change in temperature coupled with the sound of the howling wind would make sleep an elusive mistress. He tossed and turned until he decided to deal with the issue – he wanted a good night's sleep for a change. He lifted the material surrounding his bed and ducked beneath it. He moved quietly across to where Hermione slept and drew back her own dividers. He frowned at the sight of Hermione spread across her bed, an awkward entanglement of limbs and blankets. He felt sorry for any wizard who had to sleep next to her. She exhaled a small, feminine sound as she rearranged herself into a position that looked even more awkward and uncomfortable. Draco's eyes followed the movement of her head as she turned her face towards her arm. His eye was drawn to something on her forearm, unable to make it out from where he stood. He kneeled next to her bed to get a closer look. Carved into her smooth skin was the word mudblood. Before he realised what he was doing his hand moved over her, fingers ghosting over the letters.

There was something sickening about seeing the word he was so familiar with being crudely etched into her skin. He may not have seen her as an equal, but he wasn't so barbaric as to believe she deserved the kind of torture creating such a wound would have inflicted upon her. Yes, he found her to be annoying and a bossy know-it-all at times but this? Judging by the fact that she was yet to successfully heal the cuts, it must have been inflicted by a cursed blade .He felt his stomach contract when he realised who must have been responsible for the word.

"A souvenir from your aunt."

He snapped his hand back as Hermione uttered the words in the barest of whispers. He had been so preoccupied by the reminder of her time at the manor that he hadn't noticed her wake. Her eyes were trained on the spot where Draco's hand had hovered seconds before. She turned to him, her facial expression failing to portray the obvious sadness that filled her eyes. Draco looked away from her, unwilling to acknowledge what he saw in her eyes.

"Do you need something, Malfoy?"

"Can you put a silencing charm on the tent?"

"No. If we can't hear the wind we also won't be able to hear if anyone is approaching the tent." He turned his attention back to her as she continued to speak, "Is there anything else? I'd like to go back to sleep."

Draco just shook his head. His eyes lingered on hers for the briefest second before he stood and turned to leave. He paused, hand ready to pull draw the divides.

"I'm sorry." The words tumbled from him before he could stop them. He felt his face flush with embarrassment at his lapse. No matter how genuine the words may have been, he knew he shouldn't have said them; they would give her the wrong idea about his feelings towards her. His father would have been appalled at him for apologising to the likes of her.

"Don't be." He heard her shift her body to face away from him, "It wasn't you who held the knife."

He pulled the dividers shut and moved swiftly to his bed. The sound of the wind died as he crossed under his own dividers – she must have cast a silencing spell around his bed. Why? Draco knew he wouldn't have offered her the same if she had come to him. He threw himself back onto his bed and rubbed his fingers over his eyes. He could still see her in his mind's eye, the sadness of her eyes, and the soft look of her lips. Draco's eyes snapped open as he swore to himself under his breath. This needed to stop, he couldn't think that way. A little voice niggled at him in the back of his mind.

She didn't move away from you.

She didn't shout at you to get away.

Wasn't that interesting?

No, no it wasn't. He really needed to stop thinking this way.

Across the room in her bed Hermione lay, eyes open wide, heart still racing. What just happened? She swore she could still smell the scent of Draco around her; he had been so close that she could feel the warmth of his skin radiating against her. She told herself that she should have reacted differently – pushed him away, yelled at him for invading her space and privacy but she knew that she hadn't wanted to do any of those things. The sound of his apology ran through her mind; she had never expected to hear those words grace his lips. It had all been so strange and it made her head throb with an impending headache. She closed her eyes and tried desperately to the solution to her confusion in sleep.