Les Feuilles Mortes

"I suppose this is what Muggles call 'camping'," said Malfoy with contempt, huddled in his cloak in the relative shelter of the bushes.

"Oh, I thought it was called 'Hiding from the Death Eaters'," snapped Hermione, wiping the rain out of her eyes.

She resumed her fifth attempt at transfiguring a dead leaf into a tent. Had her wand been undamaged, it would have been a simple matter of visualising her father's tent and casting the spell. On the other hand, if her wand had been functioning, Hermione would have Stunned Malfoy and Apparated back to her own camp long ago.

The splintered wand sputtered a little and the leaf uncurled, growing larger, until it was about two meters in length. It still looked more like a giant leaf than any part of a tent, but it now had the waterproof consistency of a Macintosh square. Hermione added it to the pile of similar transfiguration mishaps beside Malfoy.

The former Slytherin was making no effort to help her. He was toying with the two pieces of his broken wand, holding the ebony splinters as if he wanted to stick them back together again. But a broken wand could not be repaired, even by magic; after a while, Malfoy tucked the pieces back into his robe and picked up one of the transfigured leaves.

"So what's your plan for this lot?" he asked, observing the large rubbery leaf. He didn't look impressed with Hermione's efforts.

"We're going to use them to make a tent," she explained. It was the only possible use that came to mind.

"Who's 'we'?" asked Malfoy, discarding the leaf. "You might be an expert on everything under the sun, but making tents isn't a Malfoy speciality."

"That's all right. I'm sure getting soaked in the freezing rain is right up your street." Hermione pointed her splintered wand at him. "Anyway, you're my prisoner and I'm the one with a semi-functional wand. You're supposed to do what I say."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure the Geneva Convention has something to say about that."

"It only applies to Muggles," said Hermione shortly, trying to transfigure another leaf. This one turned navy blue as well as increasing in size. Hermione continued casting the spell until she had a dozen odd-shaped sheets of rubberised leaf, then stood up. "If you want some shelter, Malfoy, you'd better get up and help me."

She expected Malfoy to protest, and maybe even throw a few insults at her. But he smiled with surprising good-nature and followed her instructions. Even with Malfoy's full cooperation, the task of turning the leaves into a tent proved difficult. Hermione's vague memories of camping as a child weren't quite enough to help her design a functional shelter. Their efforts kept collapsing under the weight of the pounding rain, and Hermione's wand alternated between casting correct spells and utterly sabotaging their hard work. Malfoy seemed to find this hilarious, though he didn't comment.

As they worked, Hermione noticed that Malfoy was favouring his right side. He said nothing about his injury, though, and she decided that making the tent was more important for the moment. It was a good couple of hours before they had constructed something that would stay standing while simultaneously resisting the wind and keeping out the rain. Hermione had a renewed respect for nomadic societies that built their homes every day.

"Bloody hell," exclaimed Malfoy, leaning his hands on his knees as he caught his breath again after the effort. His blonde hair was dark with rain and plastered to his face. "Remind me never to surrender to you again. That's pathetic."

"If you don't like it, Malfoy, you can always stay outside," said Hermione, too tired and cold to put up with his criticism.

Looking at the result of all their efforts, Hermione had to admit that it was indeed pretty pathetic. It looked like a brown and orange cross between an igloo and a tepee, while lacking the elegance of either. However, it was shelter, and Hermione crawled into it, unfolding the last remaining leaves to cover the ground. A cautious drying spell on her robes seemed to work fine, so she risked lighting a small magical fire in one corner. It warmed the air inside the tent to a comfortable temperature; Hermione removed her outer robe and rolled it up into a ball to serve as a pillow.

After a couple of minutes, Malfoy crawled in beside her, scattering dead leaves and water as he entered. There was barely enough room for the two of them and Hermione's supply bag, but it would have to do for the night.

"You look dry," commented Malfoy, wiping his wet hair out of his face. His thick, woollen robes were sodden with rain and mud. "I take it your wand has had one of its bursts of efficiency."

"Yes. Here, I'll dry your clothes."

Hermione cast the spell and Malfoy smiled for the first time that day. Observing him in the bluish light of the magical fire, Hermione was struck by how much Malfoy had changed. At school, he had resembled nothing more than a skinny, pale ferret, but as an adult, he had filled out and grown quite handsome. A neatly trimmed beard softened his sharp chin, and his full cheeks drew attention away from his pointed nose. Hermione had always thought that Draco Malfoy resembled his father, but in the soft blue light, his features seemed less severe.

There was still enough to remind Hermione of Lucius Malfoy, however. Draco Malfoy had discarded his mask when he came barrelling out of the forest at her, but Hermione's eyes fell on the black Death Eater cloak he was still wearing. He was the enemy, just as he had been at school.

"It feels good to be dry again," said Malfoy, closing his eyes with relief. "You know, I haven't been dry all day. I think there should be rules against fighting in the pouring rain."

He removed his cloak and rolled it up as Hermione had done. She noticed a tear across the right side of Malfoy's robes.

"Malfoy, are you injured?"

"Not particularly." He gave her wand a wary look. "Not if you're planning to use that thing to heal me. I'd prefer not to grow an extra arm at this stage in my life."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Actually, I have some antiseptic and essence of Murtlap in my bag. Let me have a look."

After a moment's hesitation, Malfoy turned onto his left side. Hermione swallowed hard as he reached for the hem of his robes and started to pull them up. She'd nearly forgotten what pureblood wizards traditionally wore under their clothes.

"Malfoy, you're not--" she started, but he had reached his midriff. She was relieved to find that he was not, in fact, naked under his robes. Aside from his thick socks and shoes, he was wearing a pair of navy blue briefs. Hermione could feel the blood rushing to her face nonetheless.

"Not what?" asked Malfoy. Then he noticed her blush and laughed. "You thought I was starkers, didn't you?"

Hermione pursed her lips and covered her embarrassment by rooting around in the bag for the medical supplies. Most of her wizard colleagues put all their trust in their wands, but Hermione preferred to have some backup. She made a mental note to tell all her colleagues about this little adventure. It might prove to them that wands were not infallible, whatever they might have learned at Hogwarts.

Malfoy's injury was not serious. His side was grazed, and it was dirty where mud had seeped through the tear in his robes. Averting her eyes from Malfoy's underwear, Hermione dabbed some antiseptic on the wound.

"Ugh! Bloody hell, Granger, what are you doing to me?" exclaimed Malfoy, trying to twist away from her.

Hermione grabbed his leg to hold him still. "Shut up, Malfoy. You should be grateful I'm not just leaving it to get infected. Now stay still while I put the Murtlap on it. That will ease the pain."

Malfoy shot her a murderous look, but made no further effort to move away. As she applied the salve and dressed the wound, Hermione couldn't help noticing that Malfoy's body too had filled out nicely. His life as a Death Eater evidently involved a good diet and plenty of exercise. As her hands brushed against his warm skin, Hermione remembered that it had been a long time since she'd been this close to such a handsome young man.

"All done. How did this happen anyway?" she asked, dismissing her ridiculous thoughts.

"Oh, it was an injury I incurred during a brave battle with one of your centaur friends," said Malfoy, pulling down his robes. He grinned when Hermione cast an incredulous glance in his direction. "Actually, I was running to avoid a particularly nasty bunch of spells that were coming my way, and slipped in the mud. Does that sound more plausible?"

"Yes." Hermione remembered that Malfoy had never been particularly brave at school. It was reassuring to know that his physique was the only thing that had changed.

His robes now in place, Malfoy lay back on his left side and propped his head up on one hand. He watched Hermione put the medical supplies back in the bag, an amused smirk on his thin lips.

"What's so funny?" snapped Hermione.

"Oh, nothing." Malfoy's grey eyes were filled with mirth. "I was just thinking that's more action than I've had in months."

Hermione could guess what kind of 'action' he was referring to. She decided it wasn't a topic she wanted to discuss with Malfoy -- especially after she had had similar thoughts about him. Rooting around in her supply bag, Hermione pulled out her bottle of water and took a sip.

"I don't suppose you have some food in there?" asked Malfoy, his attention now focussed on her bag. "I haven't eaten since breakfast."

"I don't have a lot," said Hermione. "I didn't realise I'd be feeding fugitive Death Eaters."

Malfoy sat up and watched with interest as she pulled out the food. There were two ham sandwiches she had made in a hurry that morning, an apple and a tin that Hermione didn't even remember taking. She held out a sandwich, but Malfoy seized the tin instead.

"Spam? What's Spam?"

"It's seasoned ham compressed into a can," said Hermione, suddenly remembering how it came to be in her bag. "I meant to give it to Ron. It was a joke."

"Not a very funny one, evidently." Malfoy held the tin so that the magical fire illuminated the small print. "I can tell it's a Muggle product. I have no idea what half this stuff is!"

"It's edible, that's all you need to know," said Hermione, snatching the tin can away from him. She had never actually tasted Spam, and neither the garish label, nor all the jokes about the product made her want to taste it now. But it was a Muggle product and she wasn't going to let Malfoy criticise it. "Do you want a sandwich or not?"

"Definitely. I'm starving!" Malfoy took the sandwich. "Thank you," he added after a pause.

They sat in silence as they ate their food. The autumn rain was beating down on their makeshift shelter, but none seemed to be seeping into the tent. Hermione decided that there was nothing wrong with her engineering skills after all. When he was finished, Malfoy helped himself to half of Hermione's water. He eyed the apple too, but she got to it first. Malfoy lay down on his back, obviously intending to sleep. Hermione watched him for while, and wondered what to do.

The day had been long and hard. It had not stopped raining since morning, making the magical battle even more arduous than usual. Combatants hit by simple Stupefy spells drowned in the mud and the incessant downpour made it hard to identify valid targets, even with the use of Impervious spells. Hermione's wand was damaged when someone else's spell hit it, and she had been obliged to retire to the sidelines. She had soon lost her way in the dense, wet forest; the two successive Four Points spells she had cast gave her wildly different results, leaving her completely disoriented and unable to return to her own camp.

It was at this point that Malfoy had come careening out of the forest at her. The terror she had felt at seeing a Death Eater turned to confusion when he threw away his mask and surrendered to her. His broken wand convinced her that Malfoy was relatively harmless, but Hermione still suspected a trap. Death Eaters didn't normally come stumbling out of forests, surrendering to the first Ministry soldier they saw.

Hermione threw the apple core out of the tent. Tomorrow, she would find her way back to the Ministry camp and hand Malfoy over to the Aurors. In the meantime, all she could do was keep a hold of her semi-functional wand and pass the time as best she could. And perhaps learn something from Malfoy in the meantime.

"Malfoy, why were you running away from the Death Eaters?"

He opened his eyes and paused before answering. "I'm not much of a fighter. It was cold, dark, and raining. I'd hurt my side and broken my wand. When I saw you, I thought you might help me get out of that battle alive."

"How did you know I wouldn't kill you?"

"You get worked up about house elves and hippogriffs," said Malfoy with a confident smile. "I really don't think you'd kill a wizard."

"In my experience, a lot more wizards deserve to be killed than hippogriffs." She said nothing about house elves; some of them were just as bad as humans.

"Either way, I wasn't wrong, was I?"

Hermione shrugged, conceding the point. "So what changed your mind about Voldemort?"

"Who says I changed my mind about Voldemort?" asked Malfoy, propping himself up on his elbows. "The main thing I've changed my mind about is getting hexes thrown at me when I'm cold, wet and miserable. On a more general note, I have to say I'm not a great admirer of the Dementors either."

"So that's it, you're switching sides just because you're a coward?"

Hermione was surprised by the earnest expression on Malfoy's face. "I'm realistic," he said. "I don't mind fighting for ideals and all that, but the bottom line is that my ideals will be worth sweet Fanny Adams if I'm dead."

Hermione couldn't help being suspicious of such flimsy motives. Malfoy must have read her dubious expression, because he smiled and continued.

"Okay, I'll tell you the truth," he said, turning onto his side and gesturing with a grandiose sweep of his hand. "I was living in France last winter. Rustling up support on the Continent and all that. But one day, something very strange happened; I met a girl, a Muggle girl, and fell in love. Amandine was just gorgeous. Clever, beautiful, fantastic in b--" He caught himself and glanced at Hermione. "Well, as I said, I fell in love. Of course, you can imagine how my family and friends reacted."

"Badly?"

"To say the least." Malfoy's pale eyes had a faraway look in them. "I came back to her place one day to find that she was dead. They'd waited until I wasn't around and just zapped her in her sleep."

"That's terrible!" exclaimed Hermione.

Malfoy laughed. "Yes. Of course, it's also a load of bollocks. But it's a better story than saying I just don't want to die."

Hermione stared at him in disbelief. "You made that up?"

"I'm a good actor," said Malfoy, still visibly amused. "Actually, there really was a girl called Amandine, but she was pure wizard stock and she dumped me when her ex turned up." His expression turned wistful. "I did like her a lot, though. She was really something."

Despite her irritation at his stupid joke, Hermione was intrigued by the sincerity in Malfoy's voice. "Something?" she prompted.

It seemed that Malfoy needed no further encouragement to talk about his ex-girlfriend. "Oh, she was brilliant. She knew so much about everything. She actually got the second highest grade in her year for the ASPIC exams."

After a moment of confusion, Hermione remembered that this was the Beauxbâtons equivalent of the Hogwarts NEWTs.

"She took me to the Louvre one day," continued Malfoy, lost in his memories. "I couldn't believe how much she knew about all the paintings, even the Muggle ones that didn't move. And she told me that Muggles also see wizard pictures frozen at a specific point that the artist chose. They're obsessed with the Mona Lisa's smile, for example, because they never actually see her smile fully. Not that she smiles much; she's in a glass box and constantly surrounded by people. It's lucky paintings don't go insane; I know I would in circumstances like that."

"I've seen the Mona Lisa too," said Hermione. "It was strange to see her moving after only seeing Muggle photographs. There are a couple of wizard pictures in the National Portrait Gallery in London too. That's actually how I first discovered that I was a witch. I could see them moving, but my parents couldn't."

Malfoy looked thoughtful, as if he were imagining the scene. "That must have been very strange. I can't imagine what it's like to be magical in family of Muggles. Did they lock you in a closet too?"

Hermione could see that Malfoy had been paying some attention to the recent stories about Harry's childhood in the Daily Prophet.

"No," she said firmly. "My parents accepted what I was. It was never a problem."

"It must have created a distance, though, not being able to share everything about your life with them."

More like an enormous gulf; Hermione rarely talked to her parents these days. She shrugged. "Not really. You can't always tell your parents everything anyway."

Malfoy didn't look convinced by her nonchalance, but apparently decided not to challenge her statement. "No, I suppose not," he said diplomatically. "I used to share quite a lot with my parents, my mother in particular. But I didn't tell them everything. I wish-- Well, I suppose you always have regrets when people are gone."

"I suppose so," said Hermione. She remembered Harry and Ron celebrating when they learned that Lucius Malfoy was dead; news of Narcissa Malfoy's death from cancer had reached them shortly afterwards. It hadn't occurred to Hermione then to wonder how this double blow had affected their only son.

For a while, Malfoy said nothing, his eyes staring at the mix of branches and transfigured leaves above him. Watching him blink, his expression intent on his memories, Hermione noticed how long his eyelashes were. She looked away.

"I never really understood my father," said Malfoy slowly. "I went through the motions of trying to be like him, but I never understood what made him tick. Mother used to say we were different because I wasn't raised by my grandmother." His lips twisted into a sad smile. "Now there's a woman who would have turned anyone into a homicidal maniac..." His voice trailed off and he continued to stare at the ceiling, lost in his thoughts.

"We heard that your father was killed by Voldemort," said Hermione. "Is that why you decided to surrender?"

Malfoy stared at her in disbelief. "No, because he wasn't. It was an accident, actually. I should know; I was there. There was a skirmish with some people from the Ministry last winter. It was a bit like today: really cold and wet, with fog so thick you could barely see your own hands. Father was killed by a spell from someone on our side." He looked bitter. "It was a stupid way to die after everything he'd lived through."

"I didn't know," said Hermione, touched by the pain in Malfoy's voice. "I suppose one of the Aurors saw it happen and assumed that he was murdered. It must have been very hard for you."

"Yeah. I... I went through a bad patch. That's when I went to France; I thought a change of scenery might help." He ran his hand through his hair. "It did. It helped me see how pointless it all is. Wizards fighting wizards when we should all be more worried about protecting ourselves from Muggles."

Hermione frowned. "Oh, and how do you think we should protect ourselves from Muggles?"

"Don't be so touchy," said Malfoy with irritation. "I'm not talking about Muggles, I'm talking about how silly it is that there are so few wizards to begin with, and we're busy killing each other. When I came back from France, I tried to pretend that nothing had changed. But it wasn't the same. Without my father, I realised I didn't care anymore, that I was fighting for something that wouldn't solve our problems anyway. I've been thinking about turning myself in for ages, but when I saw you, I thought 'sod it' and decided to just surrender. I thought it would at least keep me safe until this is over."

The idea that Malfoy would be safe in the Ministry's care made Hermione shake her head. "That will depend on what the Ministry decides to do to you. As I said, the Geneva Convention doesn't apply."

Aurors still had the authority to torture and kill, and the Ministry was not above sending suspected Death Eaters to Azkaban without a trial. Since Dumbledore's death, there was no one powerful enough to speak out in favour of justice, and successive edicts had gradually restricted the rights of Death Eater prisoners.

"I don't know how well you'll be treated," admitted Hermione.

Malfoy looked disappointed. "Oh. I was hoping that was just our propagandists making up stories. I thought you were supposed to be on the side of goodness and light and all things Gryffindor."

"Voldemort is worse," said Hermione, though it was a poor excuse. "At least the Ministry doesn't attack innocent Muggles."

"No, they just attack innocent wizards instead." Malfoy sat up, warming to the subject. "One of the reasons Voldemort is so popular here is that wizards can't breathe without the Ministry jumping on them because of some daft statute or other. I'm actually amazed there are as many half-bloods as there are, considering how paranoid the Ministry is about keeping our world secret. We need special permission to live in Muggle areas; we can't walk the streets in our traditional clothes; we can't teach our children to do magic at home. British wizards have been stifled for decades, and Voldemort knows exactly how to use that to gather followers."

"So what's your solution?" exclaimed Hermione. "To kill all the Muggles?"

"Don't be silly. Voldemort is the one with the personal vendetta against Muggles. To be perfectly honest, I'm beginning to think it's time your precious friend Harry Potter got off his arse and got rid of him once and for all. Voldemort is giving the Ministry an excuse to stay exactly as it is, treating all wizards as criminals." Malfoy shook his head. "I was hoping it had changed. I suppose I remembered you soft-hearted lot at school and thought you might have had more influence."

"I--" Hermione tried to think of something reassuring to say, but couldn't. "It makes a difference if someone speaks in your favour," she said after a pause. It was another aspect of the system that made her uncomfortable. "I could do that." Not that anyone ever listened to her these days.

Malfoy's expression brightened a little. "Thank you. I also have a fortune at my disposal; they didn't get everything when they seized my family's assets. That might help too."

The thought of using bribery and favouritism to ease Malfoy's treatment made Hermione feel sick. There had been a time when she had protested the blatant injustice of the Ministry's tactics at every opportunity. But Hermione realised that she had become so involved in the interminable war that she had come to accept the status quo. The same was probably true of Harry and Ron. Malfoy was right; they should have stuck to their ideals and tried to change the Ministry.

"Why didn't you just run away?" she asked, surprising herself by suggesting such a thing to a Death Eater.

There was renewed amusement in Malfoy's expression as he looked around their makeshift shelter. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I wouldn't make a great fugitive." His expression sobered as he continued. "I don't have anywhere to go. My wand is broken and I have no idea how to live as a Muggle. I don't think it would be long before one side or the other caught me. I think I'll take my chances in Azkaban. The Dementors aren't there, and Aurors are still not allowed to use the Unforgivables, right?"

"That's true," agreed Hermione, though she knew that the Aurors had other tools at their disposal.

"So there you go. I'll deal with whatever they throw at me and wait for your mate to fulfil his destiny. I'm sure I can talk my way into a deal of some kind."

Despite his apparent confidence, Malfoy sounded as if he was having second thoughts about turning himself in.

"Anyway, how have things been with you, Granger?" he continued after a pause. "Still going out with Weasley, or have you finally found someone better?"

"That's none of your business!" exclaimed Hermione, startled by the abrupt change of topic.

"Ah. Just Weasley, then. You poor thing."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but didn't dignify that with a response. She could either lie, and Malfoy might accuse her of being easy, or she could tell the truth, and he would laugh at her for only having two boyfriends. And it really was none of his business. She lay down with her back to Malfoy, her head to his toes, and her wand clutched firmly in her hand.

"I was surprised you never actually went after Potter," continued Malfoy. "He's an ugly bastard too, but at least he's famous and powerful. I should think most women go for the hero type like him, rather than nobodies like Weasley. I mean, what did you ever see in him?"

"He's kind, funny and loyal," said Hermione, enumerating some of the qualities that made Ron a good friend. She couldn't remember why she had thought Ron was a suitable boyfriend; he was also stubborn, argumentative and sometimes slow on the uptake. But Malfoy didn't need to know that.

The Death Eater said nothing for a while, and Hermione hoped he had gone to sleep.

"I used to really fancy you, you know."

Hermione sat up. "What?"

Malfoy chuckled, still lying on his back with his head on his hands. "I used to be very jealous of Weasley."

"But you were odious to me in school!"

"Well, I couldn't exactly ask you out, could I? There was no way I could be seen to be mooning after a Muggle-born who was a notorious swat and Harry Potter's best friend to boot. I doubt your friends would have been too impressed to have me courting you either."

"No, I can't imagine that Harry and Ron would have liked it much." Hermione eyed him suspiciously. "You're joking, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not," said Malfoy, sounding hurt. "You were quite cute in seventh year." He looked her over. "Not looking too bad now either."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, I see. This is another attempt to get some 'action' before I turn you over to the Ministry. Well, I don't sleep with Death Eaters, Malfoy." She lay down and turned her back on him again. "Good night."

For all her irritation, Hermione thought it was a shame that this handsome young man was Draco Malfoy. Had she met him under different circumstances, she might have been tempted to respond more positively to his flirting. However, her heart sank when she felt Malfoy shift behind her, and found that he was now lying alongside her with his head just behind hers.

"Actually, the technical term is 'follower of the Dark Lord'." He bared his left forearm and held it above her head, just within her field of vision. "No Dark Mark, you'll notice. When his lordship calls, he doesn't want me to come."

Surprised, Hermione caught his arm and held it to the light. There was indeed no mark, just pale skin covered in light, straight hairs.

"But your file at the Ministry--" she started, before remembering that Malfoy didn't need to hear what the Aurors knew about him.

"Oh, I've been a loyal follower," Malfoy assured her. "Not that I've never had so much as a pat on the head for my efforts. But Voldemort doesn't brand just anyone these days. I think it's occurred to him that his meetings would get a bit unwieldy if hundreds of people turned up every time he called." Malfoy lowered his arm, letting it rest on Hermione's side. "Besides, it's a bit daft to brand all your followers so they're easily recognisable to the enemy."

"Your father had the Mark, though, didn't he?"

"It isn't hereditary, you know." Malfoy withdrew his arm and lay on his back. "Voldemort didn't think much of me, to be honest. He said I was only with him because I loved my father and hated Harry Potter. Apparently, those weren't good enough reasons to be allowed into his inner circle."

Hermione turned over to face him. "Why did you hate Harry so much anyway?"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at her as if it were obvious. "Well, he told me to sod off when I offered to be friends with him. It might sound silly now, but that kind of thing is pretty annoying when you're eleven. After that, we just seemed to fall on opposite sides. My father and Professor Snape didn't like him either, so I saw no reason to change. Anyway, you don't really need justifications when you're a kid. Sometimes you don't like people, and sometimes, you just fancy them." He gave Hermione a flirtatious smile. "You generally grow out of these things, though."

"So do you still hate Harry now?"

"Now?" Malfoy shrugged. "I've heard so much rubbish about Harry Potter, the Ministry's Hero, that I can't remember what kind of person he really was. In fact, I sometimes find it difficult to believe he's real, let alone that I was ever at school with him. So I don't hate him anymore. I do think I still fancy you, though."

"Um, thanks."

Hermione leaned her face on her hand and thought about what he had said. She knew Harry so well, and she had seen him in all his human frailty; crying over girls he liked, laughing at Ron's silly jokes, worrying about battles and spells and strategy. It was hard to imagine how he looked to the outside world, the infallible hero that the Daily Prophet had created over the years.

"So now we've discussed my love life, my parents, and my feelings about Harry Potter, are you going to tell me anything about yourself?" asked Malfoy. "Surely there must be something interesting going on in your life."

"Not really." Hermione liked to listen to other people and offer advice, but she had never enjoyed talking about herself.

"Well, let's see what I remember about you and you can tell me if any of it is wrong," said Malfoy, scratching his cheek. "Your parents are Muggles. Some kind of Muggle healers who earn a lot of money, if I remember correctly. You used to read anything you could lay your hands on, and you went out with Ronald Weasley in seventh year. Oh, and obviously, you're a member of the Order."

"That's pretty much all you need to know."

"Right."

Malfoy seemed content to leave things at that. Hermione relaxed and closed her eyes, though she didn't think she would be able to sleep.

"I also know you don't have a boyfriend."

Hermione sighed with exaggerated exasperation. "And how did you work that out?"

"Because you said 'I don't sleep with Death Eaters', not 'I already have a boyfriend'. Big giveaway. So what happened to caring, sharing Weasley?"

Hermione observed him and considered saying nothing. On the other hand, he had volunteered information about his own private life -- even though she had a feeling that was more because he was incapable of shutting up.

"We went our separate ways," she said. "We found we didn't have the same interests after we left school."

"You didn't have the same interests when you were at school either," pointed out Malfoy. "I never understood what a girl who was top of the class in Arithmancy was doing going out with the Gryffindor Quidditch captain. They say opposites attract, but that was just silly. You were far too intelligent for him."

"There are more important things in life than being clever and reading books," said Hermione.

When Malfoy said nothing, Hermione closed her eyes, her head still resting on her arm, and remembered her time with Ron. For all their differences, he had an energy and emotional freedom that she had always envied. Ron acted on impulse, letting his heart guide him. Hermione, on the other hand, always needed to think things through before doing anything. They had made a good team, particularly when they were helping Harry. But when school ended and Harry had teams of people helping him, the differences became less complementary and more adversarial. The break-up itself had been easy, but the months leading to it rather less so.

"So you've never had anyone else?"

Hermione kept her eyes closed. "Malfoy, do you never shut up?"

"Only when I'm asleep. So Ron Weasley put you off for life, did he?"

"I never said that." She opened her eyes. "If you absolutely have to know, I had a... relationship with a friend of Charlie Weasley's. It ended a few months ago. Satisfied?"

"'A... relationship'?" mimicked Malfoy, leaning up on one arm. "The sort that involves talking and going places, or the type that only happens in bed?"

"It was fine," said Hermione with irritation. She wasn't about to tell him that it was indeed the kind that happened in bed. It had been an exciting, exhilarating experience, and it hadn't lasted very long. She didn't want to give Malfoy the idea that she might want the same thing with him, so she changed the subject. "How did things end with this girl Amandine? Did she finally tire of your incessant talking?"

Malfoy's expression darkened. "I told you. Her ex came back from Quebec and suddenly, I was history. You know how it goes. You win some, you lose some." Despite the flippant remark, Malfoy looked unhappy. He picked up one of the dead leaves still strewn around the shelter and muttered to himself. "Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle, les souvenirs et les regrets aussi."

"I see you learned French poetry while you were out there." Hermione had learned some French from her parents; it was just enough to guess that the poem referred to the leaves in autumn, likening them to an accumulation of memories and regrets.

"It's a Muggle song. She sang it sometimes." Malfoy stared at the brown leaf, then crushed it and threw it away. "Oh well, I suppose we should get some sleep. We have a hard day ahead of us tomorrow."

Malfoy closed his eyes, and after observing him for a while to make sure he wasn't going to start talking again, Hermione rolled onto her back and followed suit. She lay awake for some time, thinking about what she would say to the Aurors when she handed Malfoy over, and how she could convince the Ministry to adopt the Geneva Convention. Then she wondered what would have happened if she had met Malfoy under different circumstances, and drifted off to sleep.

When Hermione woke up, she was surprised to feel soft lips brushing against hers. Even confused by sleep, her mind knew who was kissing her, but the touch felt wonderful and she parted her lips. He kissed her more confidently and she responded, feeling a thrill run through her body when his hands caressed her face. Hermione had automatically slipped one arm around his neck when it occurred to her that she was not supposed to enjoy being kissed without her permission. Also realising that she could no longer feign sleep, she opened her eyes, and Malfoy drew away.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?" asked Hermione, struggling to control her breath.

"Something you like, evidently," he said with amusement. Then he bit his lip and gave her a sheepish smile. "I was going for a romantic farewell kiss. I didn't think you'd wake up."

"I hardly think a couple of hours in a makeshift tent qualifies as a romance," said Hermione, unable to control her rational side. "And kissing is a bit difficult to ignore..." She noticed that he was holding her supply bag. "I take it you changed your mind about running away."

"You didn't exactly paint a rosy picture of your Ministry friends. I decided to take my chances with the tin of Spam." Malfoy gave her an accusing look. "You were supposed to stay asleep."

Hermione had to agree that it would have been better if she had. As things currently stood, she had to choose between letting one of Voldemort's known associates run away, or doing something drastic to stop him. Looking around, she realised that he had taken her wand.

"I don't think I can stop you," she said, relieved that she didn't have to make the choice after all. "There's about seventy pounds in my purse; that should get you back to London if you find a train station. I'd like you to leave my driving licence and credit cards, though. They'll be a nuisance to replace."

Malfoy hesitated before handing her the bag. Her wand was sticking out of the top. Going through the contents of the bag, Hermione knew that the medical supplies would be useful to him, though she wasn't so sure about the Spam and an old, hairy stack of Post-It notes she found at the bottom. However, she retrieved her wallet and keys, emptied the money into the front pocket, and handed the bag back to Malfoy.

"Yes, I can see why Voldemort would want to make you his right-hand man," said Hermione with amusement. "You do know the Ministry can track wands, right?"

"Funnily enough, I noticed that when I was at school." Malfoy pointed at his robes. "I need to transfigure these into Muggle clothes. Knowing my luck, I'll end up in a tutu, but I thought it would be safer if I did it outside. Don't worry, I'll leave your wand, so your friends can find you. Mine is over there." He indicated the two pieces near the magical fire. "I remember the day I got it... I suppose everyone does."

Malfoy glanced at the entrance to the tent. "I should get going before the sun comes up. If things don't work out, I know where to find the Ministry."

Hermione wondered if she should say something to convince him to stay. After all, he had seemed resigned to the idea of spending the rest of the war in Azkaban the previous evening. And although he had said nothing about his activities as a follower of Voldemort, Hermione had to assume that Malfoy was responsible for several deaths on her side; it was only right that he be brought to justice. On the other hand, the Ministry's idea of justice seemed to move further away from hers every month, and she felt some petty satisfaction at the idea of helping one former classmate to evade the Aurors. She tried to convince herself that none of this was affected by the irrational attraction she felt for him.

"Yes, I think you should go," she said.

Malfoy nodded, but he was now looking at her, and Hermione felt an uncomfortable jolt in her stomach. He moved closer and kissed her again. This time, she made no effort to hide her response, wrapping both arms around him to pull him closer. It was stupid and irrational, but Hermione thought that after a lifetime of thinking with her head, she could be excused for following her emotions just this once.

When Hermione woke the second time, the autumn sun was shining through the tent's entrance. Someone was calling her name; Hermione straightened her robes and looked out. Harry and a group of Aurors were coming towards her.

"Hermione! Boy, are we happy to see you!" exclaimed Harry, wading through the leaves to reach her. "Is there something wrong with your wand? We had to use several spells to find you; we kept getting different locations."

"My wand was damaged in the fight last night," explained Hermione. Looking down, she found it just inside the tent, and held it out to show him. "I'll have to get a new one."

Harry nodded and observed the tent. "You didn't do a bad job if you made this thing with a damaged wand." He smiled at Hermione again as he continued. "We, um, also detected Draco Malfoy's wand in this area. Colin says he saw him talking to you during the fight last night, but then you both disappeared, so I thought-- We did the spell to find his wand too, just in case."

"I have his wand, but I don't have Draco Malfoy," said Hermione, surprised at how easy it was to look Harry in the eye. Not that she was actually lying. "I did see him last night. But he got away."

Hermione had heard Draco leave in the early hours of the morning. Part of her had wanted to open her eyes and say something silly like "Good luck" or "Be careful". But it might have delayed him further and she had kept her eyes closed. In the timid light of the autumn sun, Hermione wished she had said something after all. It might have been her last chance.

Much to her relief, Harry didn't seem too concerned by Draco's disappearance. He gave Hermione a friendly hug.

"Never mind. I'm just pleased nothing happened to you."

Hermione smiled, returning his embrace. "No, nothing happened," she said. But as she walked with Harry through the carpet of dead leaves, Hermione reflected that it wasn't entirely true.

 

 

 

Written for Priah in the "Fall In Love with Draco and Hermione" fic exchange. The request included the following items:
a. Normal things: D/Hr romance, conflict, love, struggles
b. Canned meats and bottled water. Not necessarily at the same time.
c. Antiseptic
d. Post-It notes (or something similar)
e. Leaves used in an unorthodox manner (i.e. something other than pressing in books or raking into piles. Be creative.)