A/N: Well what do you know, two chapters in two nights. Man, figuring out where and how to add in background is an absolute bear. I don't know what I'll do when the exposition is all used up and I'm forced to start writing actual character interactions and real-time plot movement, but hey, we'll see how it goes.

I'm taking this one chapter at a time, and I don't really have the story outlined. Some notes for future checkpoints and twists and a list of possible locations for their adventure, but other than that I'm flying by the seat of my pants. (My writer brother-in-law told me this approach makes me a "pantser" and quite honestly I thought that made me sound like a schoolyard bully, but I suppose if the pants fit...) I am committed to making this something, but exactly what is still unclear. I appreciate those who have read, favorited, and/or followed so far. I hope you enjoy the trip. We can be surprised together as it goes!


The second morning of the expedition dawned cool and misty, which was to be expected in early spring. Hermione woke naturally to the brilliant sound of birdsong, glancing over to Malfoy's sleeping bag and allowing herself a luxurious stretch and satisfied moan when she saw it was empty. Her muscles were slightly knotted from sleeping on the ground, but overall she felt rested and loose. Two things she was sure Malfoy was not, if his tossing and turning the night before had been any indication.

The day before had been their first navigating the woods and forests of Great Britain, posing as graduate students performing field research on reclusive woodland populations. So not a total lie, Hermione had thought to herself, feeling only a small twinge of guilt as she made the arrangements to book local muggle guides along their various scheduled stops.

The fact of the matter was, the magical community was woefully underpopulated across the UK. This was, unsurprisingly, mostly due to the war she had grown up and dedicated much of her childhood to fighting in. Those who hadn't died in Death Eater raids or on the battlefield had been faced with the choice to stay or flee the country, and many opted to do whatever it took to protect their families. Even when the war had been won, with Harry defeating Voldemort and sealing his title as The Boy Who Lived, Lived, Lived, Lived, Lived, Lived, Died, and Somehow Lived Again, years of Ministry mismanagement (to put it as delicately as possible) had wrecked the local wizarding population's trust in their government. Those who had already sought asylum elsewhere saw no reason to return, and many who had stayed through the war's end were forced to pack their bags if they wanted to have any chance of leaving the ghosts of their trauma behind.

So, collaboration with muggles it was. Over the two-week period, the team would hire local guides, share research with muggle scientists, set up at public campsites, and generally try to integrate with muggle communities—something Hermione was decidedly good at, and Malfoy was decidedly not. As a contracted hire who depended on his genial relationship with the Ministry to maintain his neutral-to-positive standing in society, Malfoy hadn't raised any complaints about the arrangements or planned integrations. But he didn't have to. Hermione had experienced enough of his whining, condescending, blood-purity bullshit in the years since their first encounter to know that they were headed for two weeks of hell, and she was likely to end up his verbal punching bag.

The day she'd learned he would be joining her, Hermione had begun making lists: things that would be challenging to do the muggle way, things that would be manageable, and things that absolutely required concessions to be made. Once each list was complete, she sat down with a full pot of tea and began brainstorming solutions, workarounds, or last-resort actions to keep the peace (or at least the quiet) should Malfoy start causing trouble. Ultimately, her list of requested concessions was short and sweet, and she had presented it to her department head the following morning.

Unfortunately, her prepared rational requests did not return the anticipated Granger-level results. From the dwindling comfort of her sleeping bag, Hermione rolled her eyes with a huff, still sore—figuratively and literally—that only two of four concessions had been agreed to: They were allowed self-filling water bottles and extension charms on their packs, since they would be carrying two weeks' worth of supplies (muggle and magical) but only spending up to three days with each muggle guide, researcher, or community. Fortunately for Hermione, she had long ago traded her war-ragged beaded bag for a practical rucksack and told the department head she could "supply her own." He had graciously nodded and not asked questions.

But extension charms for the tent interior? Cushioning and heating charms for sleeping on the hard, cold ground at night? "Nonsense!" the department head had practically chortled, and Hermione was sure he'd have clapped her heartily on the shoulder had she been a man. "What's the fun of camping without roughing it a little?" She'd bitten back the reply that sparked on her tongue, that this was a research trip that just so happened to include overnights in a tent, and fun wasn't really the main objective here, as he'd continued: "Besides, what if one of your muggle compatriots finds their way into your tent? No, no, better to be safe than sorry. It's only two weeks, Granger, chin up!"

Chin up, indeed. Hermione only had so much cheerful countenance to force, which she was planning on deploying when Malfoy was in a particularly foul mood. She assumed that would be quite often.

On the morning of the first day, they had met with her department head in the Ministry atrium, where the man had once again reinforced his innate inability to read the bloody room as he prattled on happily about the expedition timeline, research objectives, and the importance of avoiding magic when muggles were nearby. "Starting now!" he had grinned, handing Hermione two train tickets. "Off you pop!" And off they had gone.

They had taken a blessedly silent train ride from Paddington Station to Millbrook, followed by an awkwardly silent quick cab ride to Stagsden, the closest village to Hanger Wood. It was agreed that for their first stop, at least, they would not have to rely on muggle guides: the ancient woodland had no public access points (likely due to anti-muggle wards protecting the budding centaur colony), and the muggle-free kickoff would give Hermione and Malfoy the chance to acclimate to their tasks without the fear of slip-ups around non-magical folk.

It had taken Malfoy nine hours and thirteen minutes to speak to her after they had left the Ministry. Hermione knew, because she'd been gratefully logging every second of silence between them and only passively worrying, in the back of her mind, when the peace would finally break.

"So… where does the ink come from?"

Even though she had been expecting it sooner or later, his voice had still startled her. She'd looked up from her guide to wizard-centaur relations to see what he was talking about (and maybe to check whether he'd noticed her jumpiness) and had found Malfoy staring at the ballpoint pen in his hand with what could only be described as hesitant fascination.

Hermione had blinked. "It's pre-packaged into each pen in a small chamber connected to the tip. As the ball of the tip rolls against parchment—er, paper, in this case—it gathers ink from the chamber and transfers it to the writing surface. They're terribly convenient and portable. It's the reason most muggles use ballpoint instead of fountain pens."

He'd narrowed his eyes, squinting to see the namesake ball within the pen tip.

"You can take it apart, if you'd like," she'd said, aiming for nonchalance through her absolute shock of having a civil conversation with Draco Malfoy about muggle writing devices, of all things. "It's pretty straightforward to put back together, but there are a few loose parts in there, so you'll want to keep track of all the pieces."

He'd looked up at her, and she'd realized it was the first time their eyes had connected since just after their Hogwarts days. She didn't like it.

"No, I was just curious," he'd mumbled, looking quickly away. She'd nodded curtly and resumed her reading.

They had spent the rest of the afternoon silently gathering field data on the centaur herd that was reported to live in these parts, knowing that if they could make a connection with the young group in the short time they were scheduled in Hanger Wood and learn some of their inter-colony communication customs, they would have a better chance of achieving their ultimate goal of revitalizing relations with the centaurs' distant and even-more-aloof cousins—the merfolk.

Later, when they'd set up an early camp and spread out around the fire with their respective notes from the day, Hermione had watched from the corner of her eye as Malfoy carefully unscrewed one of his pens, pushed the ink chamber up and down experimentally, and tipped the parts out onto his open notebook. She'd been suddenly reminded of Arthur Weasley, and couldn't help the small, fond smile that forced its way to her lips as she turned back to her writing.

/\ /\ /\ /\ /\ /\

After dressing and rolling up her sleeping bag, Hermione rummaged through her pack for her toothbrush and stepped into the crisp morning air. A quick scan of the campsite had told her that Malfoy was somewhere beyond the clearing. She was grateful to have this part of the morning to herself and brushed off the gut reaction to roll her eyes at what her mind happily jumped to classify as Malfoy's "irresponsible" absence.

Hermione brushed her teeth for the amount of time it took her to mentally list all of the runes she knew, then packed up the rest of her supplies. The tent would have to wait—she refused to do Malfoy's work just to move things along, and besides, she wanted him to be there the first time the tent came down so he could learn how it was done. The night before, he had watched closely as she set up their shelter, clinically laying out the steps as she went. It was a three-person tent to allow them each some dignity during the expedition, so not the simplest thing to construct on one's own, but Hermione felt confident that after the first night it would become more of a team effort.

As soon as the tent was in place, Hermione had ducked inside to establish her sleeping space. She'd backed out a few minutes later, having rolled out her sleeping bag as far to one side as she could without the slope of the tent ceiling touching her face (or, more likely, her hair) and lining the rest of her equipment near the center in a makeshift protective barrier.

Malfoy had taken quite a bit longer setting up his sleeping bag, clearly not used to operating in such a confined space. When he'd finally emerged through the tent flap, his face was flushed and his hair was the closest to disheveled Hermione had ever seen it. But she hadn't acknowledged his disarray, and he'd said nothing about the boundary she'd built around her space.

At least it worked, Hermione mused as she took long strides around the clearing, stretching her legs and reaching out her arms when her muscles announced the need. Her barrier had remained intact throughout the night despite Malfoy's frequent movements, and she had slept quite well, all things considered.

Looking around for that familiar shock of cringe-inducing hair, Hermione decided that Malfoy wasn't going to make an appearance any time soon and picked her way to the small stream they had passed on their way to the site. She heard the gurgling water before she saw it, unconsciously picking up her pace toward the sparkling sound. It was a thin little thing, forced to wind around stoic rocks that jutted into its path, but no matter the size, Hermione was always delighted by natural waterways. She felt, for now, at peace.

She knelt down at the water's edge and cupped her hands into the chilled flow. Bracing herself for the jolt that would come, Hermione took three quick breaths and splashed the water onto her face, letting out a short, blustering "Whoo!" as she recovered from the crisp shock to her cheeks. Her freshly cleared mind brought forward a photo from her parents' mantel of a much younger Hermione doing the same thing, captured mid-splash in just the moment that the girl registered the cold, expression sparkling with joy and rebellion and the pluck that comes with doing something reckless but worthwhile. She smiled at the memory and willed the image away before her thoughts could turn. She'd become quite adept at holding onto the good from her past without dwelling on the irreversible reality of the present.

Standing, Hermione brushed off her pants and meandered back to the campsite. Malfoy was there, his sleeping bag rolled up and his gear off to one side. He glanced up as she entered the clearing and gave a stiff nod. He looked exhausted.

"We should get going," he said. "I tracked the herd this morning to one of the spots we marked down yesterday, they looked like they were settling in." He scrunched his face and rubbed his jaw, clearly frustrated but keeping his tone surprisingly even. "I still don't know how we're supposed to make a connection with them in the next two days."

"Well, we'll figure that out as we go," Hermione replied briskly, barely repressing a shudder as the words left her mouth. In truth, the get-to-know-the-centaurs part of the plan was still a little hazy for her. Sure, centaurs and merfolk were distant relatives, but would establishing a camaraderie with a young and isolated herd in southern England really help them lay the groundwork for reestablishing communication with the residents of the Black Lake? "Ready to tear down?"

Malfoy looked at her apprehensively, eyebrows raised as he shifted focus to the tent.

"It's just a figure of speech," she sighed. "Come on, I'll show you how it's done."