"What are you doing here?"

It came out harsher than she intended. Malfoy stared up at her, a blank look on his pale, drawn face. His elbow rested on the forest floor where he'd fallen when she opened the door.

For a moment he held her gaze, his grey eyes lost. Then fury swept away the distant expression, twisting his mouth into a cold sneer.

"As if my life were any of your business," he spat. Hermione recoiled, startled at the venom.

"I -

"Don't bother," he looked away as he picked himself up, brushing bits of dry earth from his robes. "And don't even think—"

He paused, and for a moment Hermione thought he'd been Stunned. She looked around for some hidden assailant, but they were alone in the woods. Malfoy gazed deeper into the forest, looking as if he no longer even saw her. The night breeze slipped into the silence between them, making Hermione shiver.

She hesitated, but he seemed entirely blind to her presence. "Malfoy…"

"Where are we?"

"The Forest of Dean," she said simply, because she couldn't think of anything more to say.

Still moving like a sleepwalker, Malfoy wandered a few steps forward, letting the door fall closed behind him. The light from the corridor disappeared, plunging them into inky black.

"Malfoy," Hermione began again, "why are you here?"

She kept her voice firm, fixing her eyes on his back. They'd exchanged only a few words since they'd both returned to Hogwarts, and whenever they spoke he'd seemed…unchanged, for lack of a better word. Like the Battle of Hogwarts never happened. Like he was right back in fifth year, casting sneering looks at anyone who wasn't a pureblood. I know Harry said Malfoy was different after the battle, but…

He turned, a faraway look on his face. He seemed to switch between fury and vacancy at a moment's notice, not quite rooted anywhere. It made her stomach twist. This was Malfoy, he should look at her with disgust, there shouldn't be even a hint of doubt when he looked at her—

"Were you crying out there?" It was a bold question, almost cruel. For the first time in her life she didn't want to empathize. She wanted him to snap at her, wanted to provoke him into something resembling life. This vacant boy chilled her to her core, like something had died in him. She wanted the Malfoy she recognized.

A flash of fury moved across his brow like a storm cloud, then disappeared. The faraway look returned.

"Hmm." He didn't look at her, only wandered a few steps further into the woods. She walked after him.

"Why are you here, Malfoy?" Hermione regretted lifting the lock, regretted letting anyone disrupt her solitude. "You don't even know where we are, this place isn't for you."

The rush filled her chest again, the fire, the stinging that made long to reach for her wand. He'd come into her sanctuary and now he wouldn't even answer her.

"Get out," she said flatly.

When he turned, it was a moment before he met her gaze. Then finally, infinitesimally, a spark behind his eyes.

"Really, Granger? Think you own the Room of Requirement, do you?"

His voice was languid, drained, but it was something. She pushed further.

"You wouldn't even be here if I hadn't let you in. So yes, this is my room. Get out."

"Why did you let me in, then?"

He advanced as he spoke, strolling forward until they were only a few paces apart. She could see the rise and fall of his chest, the fog of his breath in the cool air.

Hermione froze. Why had she let him in?

"You—"

"I, what?" he sneered.

"You were begging to come in. Did you think I didn't hear you? Let me in, let me in." Hermione tried to mimic his drawl, but she knew it came out flat.

He faltered for the briefest moment, then advanced. His long legs covered the distance between them in two strides until they stood almost chest to chest, heat from his body the only thing alive in the frozen night. He met her eyes for the briefest moment, then his wand hand drifted to his robes.

Malfoy was quick, but she was faster. Her wand already in her hand, she fired the stinging hex, striking his wrist before he could even find his wand. Malfoy dropped to the ground, cursing.

"Merlin's beard, Granger! Fuck!" He shook his hand, red welts already blooming across his pale skin. Hermione lifted her wand to fire a second curse, but Malfoy held up his hands.

"I wasn't even—"

"Fight!" It left her lips before she could even think. "Fight back, you coward! Just fight! Why can't you—"

"No!" He cut her off, and for the first time in weeks he looked straight at her. Malfoy held her gaze, grey eyes unflinching. "No. Merlin's beard, Granger. I don't want to fight. I'm fucking tired."

He still knelt on the ground, cradling his hand against his chest. Even in the dim light, she could see the reddish burn spreading up his arm. The fire in her chest drained, leaving a cold hollowness in its wake.

"I'm…sorry."

"Right. Whatever." He got awkwardly to his feet, leaning his weight on his left side. Her stinging hex had glanced off his wrist and spilled onto his torso, burning a hole in the fabric of his robes. Angry red wheels glistened from beneath the torn fabric at his ribs.

Shame crept in, quelling the last of the buzzing fire. Hermione sighed, shifting uncomfortably. "You can stay, if you want." It was strangely difficult to meet his eyes.

"Where, in this empty fucking forest? Oh, very tempting." He laughed, but she didn't hear any humor in it.

"There's a tent. It's…" she waved her arm vaguely. "It's fine. It's not much."

Malfoy paused, looking back at the wooden door standing out of place against the dark forest. A thin line of light shone underneath. They stood in silence for a long breath; Malfoy seemed torn. Finally, he spoke.

"Is it quiet?" he asked softly.

"Yes. It's quiet."

The silence of the woods wrapped around them as if to confirm her words. The rich, loamy scent of earth rose up in the autumn air as they stood a few feet apart, neither willing to move or speak. Hermione felt instinctively that this moment was a crossroad; to decide would be to eliminate forever the possibilities that might have been.

It was Malfoy who moved first, walking slowly away from the door, deeper into the woods. He didn't look back at her, but Hermione understood. This was a truce, if it could be called that. At least, it was an understanding.

She turned to the path, the lights from the tent glowing almost imperceptibly in the distance.

"Come on. It's this way," she called over her shoulder, not turning to look back. Behind her, she heard him grumble in assent.