Author's Note: First, a huge thank you to my beta, Evan! Secondly, this piece was written for Round Two of the Dramione Remix on LiveJournal. It was inspired by Peter and Wendy from J.M. Barrie's (and, yes, Disney's) "Peter Pan." And - best of all - it received a Mod's Choice award! Yay!

Part One

This wasn't Draco's first battle.

His first had been at Hogwarts at the end of what should have been a trying yet productive seventh year. The plan was to master Potions, Transfigurations, Charms, Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy, and to finally nail down the youngest Greengrass girl as his future bride. His quality of life at Hogwarts seemed to degrade year by year, and he had wondered later why he thought seventh year would be any different. Instead of preparing for his N.E.W.T.s, Draco had spent most of his time under the Carrows's wands, learning how to resist the Imperius Curse, swallow the pain from the Cruciatus, and stare unflinchingly at the sight of his own blood. Forget about Greengrass's stares – even his closest friends, or the closest people he had to friends, could hardly bear to look him in the eye.

It was fair to say that Draco's seventh year had hardened him. Nothing but that hardening could have allowed him to take his first life.

The life of Luna Lovegood.

Draco remembered everything about that battle. The Quidditch Pitch had been all but destroyed – the stands burned down to nothing more than smoldering piles of memory and the smooth, meticulously landscaped grass gouged by curses. Only the hoops had remained, shrouded by smoke and ash. The air had been thick with it, burning the back of his throat upon each inhale. It was so dense that he couldn't see six inches in front of his own face.

She had come at him from the left. She had looked terrified and out of breath, clearly running from something. Her yellow hair streamed behind her, bright even amid the smoke. She hadn't noticed him. He raised his wand regardless and let fly the curse that ended her life in a simple flash of green light.

She had dropped like a stone, and Draco had fallen with her.

Three years later found him still waiting to hit bottom.

Maybe tonight would bring the blessed end.

The Dark Lord had sent them to these cursed Albanian woods to protect something. He never said what it was, but Draco had heard the rumors. Something in these woods was more powerful than the Dark Lord himself. The other Death Eaters in his squad had used the word 'weapon,' but Draco doubted that. The last 'weapon' the Dark Lord wanted was nothing more than a prophecy, and he had only sent a small, albeit powerful group of Death Eaters to retrieve it. Whatever was in these woods was obviously much more important than what had been in the Department of Mysteries. Why else would the Order want it? And why else would he have deployed every Death Eater, werewolf, and self-serving wand-bearer out here to protect it?

Draco's team, composed of young, hotheaded wizards, had been deployed to the fringes of the battle, just inside the anti-Apparition wards. He had ditched the group as soon as he could, making his way into the belly of the battle. He wanted to find what was hidden for himself. He was tired of being used, of watching his father and mother abused not at the hand of the Dark Lord, but at the wands of his lessers. Lessers that were once his family's iown/i subordinates. If there was anything that could get him out of this mess, it was what the Dark Lord wanted to keep hidden. Draco intended to expose it as soon as he could and use it as leverage for his family's escape.

It didn't work. He had no sooner reached the heart of the fray than he heard the Dark Lord's piercing scream, and a voice that sounded like Potter's yelling for them all to run.

Draco had listened – it was foolish not to – but now he was lost. Every so often, he heard footsteps at his back, but the quick glances he sent over his shoulder showed only more forest. The tree trunks were thin but densely packed, and there was more than enough scrub to fill in the spaces between. A witch or wizard could hide behind one easily, and brandished wands looked like twigs to someone running full tilt.

The only thing that kept Draco from tromping around in the brush himself was the old deer trail he had the good fortune to stumble upon. He could only hope it was leading him to the anti-Apparation boundary and not circling him back to the battle.

He took his eyes away from the trail for a moment to look at the sky. He couldn't see much of it through the canopy, but it was enough to make him swear. The sun was setting. It was autumn, and darkness would fall sooner than later in the dense wood. He'd either have to stop or use his wand to light his way. The latter option was completely out – he was asking to be cursed that way. However, stopping would give whoever was pursuing him the chance to catch up.

He couldn't run forever. Already, the adrenaline of battle was wearing off. His thighs and calves burned, and he fought for each lung-full of oxygen.

The decision was taken out of his hands, however, as the trees thinned then terminated at the edge of a steep ravine. He gasped and skidded to a stop, barely three steps from taking what promised to be a very painful tumble through scrub, nettles, and rocks. To the right was more ravine and to the left was a sheer rock face, impossible to scale vertically or horizontally.

He stood panting for a moment, considering his options. It was a moment too long; his pursuer had caught up. The footsteps were clear now, as were exhales so loud that they were nearly sobs. Draco set his jaw and turned, wand drawn. If he had to take a life in order to preserve his own, he would.

Seconds later, bursting through the trees and looking like she had been through hell and back, was a witch it took him only seconds to identify.

Hermione Granger.

She stopped.

Draco hesitated.

So did she.

Then her eyes hardened. Her fingers stiffened around the handle of her wand, and she inhaled.

Suddenly, everything became clearer. Every detail was sharp and distinct, every color too vivid for the amount of sunlight streaming through the trees. She was covered in mud and gore. Great splashes of blood stained the sleeves of her jumper and the legs of her denims. Her face was dripping with it, too, from shallow scrapes on her cheek, chin, and brow. Her wild hair was somehow redder than he remembered, more chestnut than brown, and her eyes shone like dark amber.

Strange… Draco sincerely hated to kill her.

Before he could utter the last two words Hermione would ever hear, the world exploded.

Draco flew – soared – and, with giddy wonder, could not remember the last time he felt so free. Then the ground rushed up to meet him and the freedom turned into pain. He bounced, soared again, then lost his wind as his body slammed against the hard-packed earth. He rebounded once more and rolled the rest of the way down the ravine. When he finally came to a stop, it was at the base of a large boulder.

The pain in his back and neck was all that kept him from slipping into unconsciousness. He forced himself to breathe, open his eyes, wiggle his fingers and toes, and sit up. No sooner had he righted himself than did a terrible wave of nausea hunch him right back over. He vomited what little remained of his lunch onto the grass.

It was then that Draco realized that he did not hear the telltale splatter. In fact, he couldn't hear anything. Slowly, he brought his fingers to his ear. There was pain. Where wasn't there pain? When he brought his fingers back, they were bloody. He checked the other ear and swore. Whatever had sent him flying had also burst his eardrums. He was deaf.

He flirted with the prospect of the damage being permanent, but forced the thought away before it could fester. He had enough to worry about. Getting out of this blasted ravine, for one. Doing so without being ambushed, for another.

Slowly, so as not to bring on another round of vomiting, Draco pushed himself to his feet. He staggered his first two steps. Catching himself on the boulder, he waited a few minutes before shuffling further. He made it a few more yards when he spotted Hermione. He raised his wand, though he could not hold seem to hold it steady, and approached slowly.

Her ankle was twisted at an odd angle and both of her ears were bleeding. Worse, she was breathing. Normally, respiration was an encouraging sign, but seeing as Draco had been resigned to kill her only a few minutes ago, he felt significantly disheartened by the development.

The opportunity couldn't have been better for him, though. Despite her blood, Hermione was a terrific witch. In a fair fight, she might be able to beat him. This was about as unfair as the circumstances could get; he was practically guaranteed a win.

It'd be a kinder way to go, certainly, than her future would be if she were caught. The Dark Lord would kill her immediately. Or maybe he would give her to Greyback's pack as a plaything. He chuffed – better off dead, then.

He took careful aim, positioning his wand so that the curse would strike right above her heart.

He'd be doing her a favor.

The words were there, nestled snugly between his tongue and teeth.

Better off dead, certainly.

Why did she hesitate?

The thought lingered, then stuck. Draco swore and lowered his wand. He had already made several mistakes tonight. What was one more? He scanned the ravine edges quickly. There was a large, smoking crater near to where they had been standing. He didn't see anyone else, but it was only a matter of time before someone appeared. The explosion had to have come from somewhere.

He stormed away, looking at her one last time over his shoulder. The sight of her there, bleeding and broken with the forest debris, stopped him. Why did she have to look so pathetic?

Why did he bloody hesitate?

He growled and turned back. With a sharp swish-and-flick, he levitated her, charming her body to follow his to the cliff. He deposited her on the first nettle-free patch of ground he could find and started gathering brush to keep them covered. Then he saw a niche in the cliff face.

He lit his wand and ventured inside cautiously. It was about ten feet deep, three across, and, for Draco's six-foot frame, an uncomfortable five feet tall. From the stench, he reckoned it was most commonly used as an animal den.

Still, it was the best they had. After few Scourgifys, Draco levitated Hermione across the threshold. Within a few minutes, he constructed a blind to cover the mouth of their hideout. From the outside, it convincingly resembled a thick collection of creeper vines. From the inside, it was semi-transparent and let in fresh air and light.

Backed uncomfortably against the stone wall, Draco's had little visibility of the ravine. He kept watch for a while nevertheless. Then Hermione stirred, and he found himself studying her instead.

War had changed her, stealing her curves and putting angles in their place. She was hard and lean now. A fighter. There was more stubbornness in the lines around her mouth, more worry in the furrows of her forehead and less laughter around her eyes, even unconscious. The sight made him wonder how he had changed. Did he look as unhappy and drawn as she did? Did he look worse?

She came back to awareness slowly. The twitch of her finger, her eye, her lip. Then a sigh, her head turning toward him. A groan, a cough, what he imagined to be a curse. He sat through it silently, hand gripping his wand, his entire body tense. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at the ceiling of their shelter in confusion. Then she looked at him.

Her eyes widened. Her mouth moved; Draco could only imagine the oaths emanating from it. He didn't move an inch as her confusion turned to fear, which turned to anger then rage. He remained calm, doing nothing more than staring at her, until she reached for her wand.

His hand darted from his side, grabbing her wrist and pinning it to the floor. Their gazes locked and Draco experienced an unsettling wave of power: his fingers wrapped all the way around her wrist, which felt entirely too fragile within his strong grasp. Slowly, he brought his hand to her ear. She flinched, but his touch lasted only long enough for him to gather her blood onto his fingertips. Her eyes widened as he showed them to her. Then, he turned his head and touched the blood caked beneath his own ear. When he next looked at her, confusion had turned to comprehension.

He nodded once and released her wrist, giving her room to sit up. She did so gingerly, wincing as she shifted her leg. She took her wand – Draco tensed again – and pointed it at the wall. She moved it slowly to the right.

'I think I broke my ankle.' Her uneven writing lasted ten seconds before she wiped it away. 'I don't think I can bind it on my own.'

There was a longer pause this time. Obviously, she was waiting for him to say something. He stared at her, uncomprehending.

'Do you know the spell to splint it?' she continued.

He passed his wand over the wall to write his reply. 'No.'

'It's Ferula. Watch my mouth to get the pronunciation.'

Reluctantly, he stared at her lips. It took him several tries to mimic the shape of her words, but it worked. She paled as the bandages snapped into place. She nodded gratefully at him, and he looked away. When he looked back up again, she was still staring at him.

'What happened?'

The writing on the wall surprised him; he hadn't expected her to want to carry on conversation.

'Explosion,' he replied. 'We were blasted down into this ravine.' He paused, then finished, somewhat lamely, with, 'I found a cave.'

'What do we do now?'

'Buggered if I know.'

'Should we leave?'

'You suicidal?' He accompanied the question with a pair of raised eyebrows, which earned him a glare. 'Can't hear a thing, can't keep my balance, can't keep my bloody lunch down. How the devil am I going to dodge spells?'

'Well, we can't stay here.'

'We? There is no we, Granger,' he wrote with a snap of his wrist. 'And be my guest.' He gestured with his free hand toward the blind. 'I'm not stopping you.'

Her chest rose and fell sharply; she was getting huffy. She didn't move, however, which made Draco felt oddly victorious.

'When should we leave?'

Draco thought for a moment, then smirked. 'Never.'

She rolled her eyes, as if running weren't even an option. For her, Draco supposed, it wasn't. She was tied to her friends. Even if she weren't, would she leave if she could? Would she run if it meant an easier life?

Draco studied her for a moment longer, then decided no. Hermione wouldn't run. Not if there was the slightest chance of fixing a broken system. And that, he decided, was the difference between them.

'What if we're found?'

He assumed she meant by Death Eaters. 'You can cast a Disillusionment Charm, I'm sure.'

'You won't-'

He erased her words before she could even finish the question, substituting it with one of his own.

'Would you?'

She bit her lip. He had the strangest urge to tell her to stop.

'You're better than them.'

The words disappeared quickly, but Draco was sure he'd seen them. One glance at her red cheeks confirmed it. She kept her eyes on the wall as she moved her wand.

'Harry told us about the Astronomy Tower. You lowered your wand.'

Draco felt like he had been punched in the gut. That night had changed so much. If only, if only… How often had he thought that way, dreamt of the differences, only to wake up to the cold, cruel reality?

'Doesn't matter.' His words even looked bitter, all small and sharp. 'Too late now.'

'It's not.'

'Don't be stupid.'

'Come with me.'

There was no mistaking his sudden exhale as a burst of incredulous laughter. He started to get up but stopped as the word 'Please' appeared. He stilled. More words followed, appearing quicker and more sloppily than before, as if she was thinking too fast for her wand.

'I'll vouch for you. That will get you through the Order's door, at least. Harry understands, so that will help, too. You'll have to convince Moody, of course. And Kingsley. And McGonagall. It won't be easy, but with time, they would accept you, I'm sure of it. Think of what an asset you could be! There are things you know that we don't. How they work, his plans, locations, safe houses, defenses-'

He cut her off. 'I have obligations.'

She caught on quickly. 'Your family, of course. We would-'

'If he found out I'd deserted-'

'We can fake your death.' He raised an eyebrow. 'It's not that hard.'

'You've done it before?'

She hesitated before answering. 'Join me and find out. We can keep you safe, and we can make considerations for your parents.'

'Stop it.'

'Malfoy, I-'

'I said stop!' She lowered her wand immediately and looked at him with a hurt expression, which he did his best to ignore. He was angry, and frustrated that she couldn't see why. 'You can't guarantee any of these things. He'll find out.'

'He won't.'

'He will. And when he does, things will be even worse than they are now.'

'You don't know that.'

'I know enough to make an educated guess. I'm surprised you don't see that, too. It's just…' He stumbled for the right word. 'It's just naïve.'

She erased the words immediately and her next words were written angrily. 'This is the second opportunity you've had to change things for the better.'

'It's none of your fucking business what I do with my life.'

'Are you really going to let it pass again?'

'Stay out of it.'

With a sharp flick of her wand, their conversation disappeared, and they sat in angry silence until the sunlight had mostly disappeared and the temperature had dropped. A short while after that, her writing reappeared.

'We have to move.'

'I said I wouldn't stop you.'

'I don't think I can go on my own.'

He glared at her, an expression she met with equal ferocity. 'Looks like you're staying, then.'

She huffed. 'I'm sending a Patronus.'

Draco shrugged apathetically, but watched closely as she closed her eyes. After a minute, her mouth moved, and a jet of silver shot from her wand and out of the cave.

'How did you do that?'

She looked askance at him. 'Summon a Patronus?'

He nodded.

'You've never learned?'

He glared at her. 'If I had, do you think I'd ask?'

Hermione frowned, then wrote the instructions out. 'The spell is Expecto Patronum. You have to think of a happy memory for it to work. Something that will fill you to bursting with joy.'

She must have guessed that his laugh was derisive. She glared at him and started to move her wand when a streak of silver zoomed through the blind. It materialized as a small dog. Hermione smiled gratefully.

'Won't be long now,' she wrote. 'Better switch positions and Disillusion yourself.'

They did so awkwardly, with Draco lifting himself over Hermione while she clumsily scooted herself nearer to the entrance. Draco rapped himself over the head with his wand as she was settling herself. She glanced toward the back of the cave and nodded.

'Looks good,' she wrote.

They sat in silence for a while, then another dog Patronus appeared. Hermione sent out her own in reply.

'What's your memory?' he wrote suddenly.

She looked in his direction with wide eyes, which shone despite the darkness. It was a minute before she replied. 'That's personal.'

Another small dog appeared before them. 'They're close,' she wrote. 'I'm going to go. Are you sure you don't want-'

He wiped her words away, grateful she couldn't read the regret in his eyes.

'Good luck, Granger.'

She sighed and shook her head. 'You too, Malfoy.' She eased her way out of the cave, and Draco put his head on his arms wishing, not for the first time, that his life were different.