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Hermione returned to the cabin the next day to see that Malfoy wasn't there. It took her another three weeks for her to be able to track him down. This time he'd chosen to hole up in a run down muggle neighborhood. From what she could see, there was no one else around besides the two of them and Hermione wondered what spell he had cast to make sure none of the locals bothered him.

They were still relatively close to the woodlands. It made Hermione's skin itch with the feeling someone was watching. More often lately she'd intersected with hags and werewolves. They were tricky to get away from once spotted, so she had to be extra careful to cover her scent— walk with the wind and with her ankles in the river when possible. It was getting painful to do so, as fall turned into winter and ice chunks slid past her frozen, purple legs, but the alternative was a brutal death, so she took her chances with frostbite.

There were spells to counter this and keep her warm, and also spells to make herself nearly impossible to track, but these days she never felt too safe. The word paranoia echoed in her head, but she shook it away because it was either obsess over it or die. She'd chosen her side a long time ago.

When she reached the small, cracked house with chipped paint, she brought her knuckles to the front door.

She'd debated entering forcefully, but her mom had taught her manners. She could use them. Sometimes.

It took five minutes of incessant knocking before a muffled groan was heard from the other side. When Malfoy opened the door with narrowed eyes and crossed arms, she blew a large bubble and popped it loudly. He flinched against the noise, looking around the area before pulling her in roughly by her elbow.

"Hiding from someone, are we?" She snapped her gum, watching as his eyes fell to her lips for a moment before promptly rolling them. "And here I thought I was your only pursuer."

"I'm a man of many talents, Granger. I probably top more hit lists than you do."

Hermione scoffed, hands falling to her hips. "I'm a wanted fugitive. You're Tom's golden boy. I hardly see how you could think you're a hotter commodity than me."

"Hotter." Malfoy dragged his eyes up and down her form slowly, taking in her large blue jumper, stained pants and thick black boots. "Yes, I do think that's the appropriate term for me."

"Rich, coming from the guy who couldn't even get Pansy Parkinson to put out." She turned on her heel then, looking into the house for the first time.

It was as dimly lit as always, a few lamps and candles scattered around the small ground floor, a small couch and chair in the front sitting room, and a modest kitchen in the back, where she could see the tea kettle was set on the unlit stove. She looked back at Malfoy as she threw herself down on the couch.

"Waiting for me, were you?"

He scoffed, leaning against the door jamb and crossing his ankles. "I've had that set out for two weeks. Thought you were a bit smarter, but I suppose I'm constantly overestimating your ability."

"If you wanted more time to play, you didn't need to leave the last cabin." Her voice had a teasing undertone that she wished wasn't as forced as it felt.

She remembered that feeling, admonishing Ron in the common room for not working on his Potion's Essay sooner, taunting Harry when he stared at Ginny for a moment too long. It felt like a lifetime ago, and as if it had happened to someone else and she was just a spectator, watching on with apprehension because she knew what came next.

"You Order Members are so careless." He turned and headed towards the kitchen, wand pulled out. Hermione tensed for a moment, waiting for him to fire and already fingering the throwing knives in her pocket. She listened closely, keeping her eyes fixed in front of her, determined not to turn around and give him the satisfaction of knowing she was on edge. That wasn't what this was about, wasn't what she wanted to accomplish.