This story was written for Round 5 of the Dramione Remix over on LJ. My original couple was Elphaba/Fiyero from the novel (not the musical!) version of 'Wicked' by Gregory Maguire. The title, however, was taken from the musical, and was the name of the romantic duet Elphaba and Fiyero sang in the second act. The story is complete, four chapters long, and will be posted as I complete minor edits.

A big thank you firstly to mccargi over on H&V who helped me narrow down just where in Wiltshire Draco might have been from, and to the wonderful kanames_harisen who beta'd for me again.

WARNINGS: (In no particular order) profanity, torture (implied, on-screen and discussion of), implicit sex, discussion of religion, violence.

DISCLAIMER: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.

Salisbury; January 13, 1998

Wiltshire in winter was a depressing sight to behold; cold, wet, dreary and grey, as though all the colours of the landscape had been completely washed out by the rains.

Draco Malfoy welcomed the rain. He would stand out under the showers and smile as it washed the evidence of his sins from his skin, and he felt with grim, roundabout satisfaction that he added some colour back to the world with the trails of red-tinted water that slid down his arms, legs and puddled at his feet.

He was tired. Tired of the unending death and the perverted glee of the sick fucks that reveled in it, tired of having a madman swan about in his home as though he owned it, tired of walking on eggshells whenever he so much as went to take a piss in case that happened to be treasonous, too. The sound of Nagini's scales sliding along the carpeted hallways was enough now to send him into cold, sweating shakes, and the sight and stench of Fenrir Greyback, of sweat and dirt, of blood and exposed flesh, fuelled his nightmares to the point that peaceful sleep was little more than a distant memory.

He could hear the screams of the prisoners in the dungeons when he closed his eyes at night, too. Screams of pain, of terror, pleas for mercy and compassion, but the loudest of all was the mere echo of Granger on the drawing room floor some week and a half ago. With most of the other prisoners, Draco had the benefit of distance, both personal and physical, but not with her. He could still hear too the echo of his aunt screeching at him to take note of what she was doing to the Mudblood's arm, to watch closely and carefully, because he would be carving up the other one when she was done, as was his reward.

Draco shoved his hands in his pockets and kept his head down as he ducked and weaved through the sparse crowds that decorated High Street. Each occasion he'd had to visit the nearby city of Salisbury as of late, the population seemed to have halved, then halved again. He supposed even the Muggles felt the ominous chill and the sense of foreboding the Dark Lord trailed in his wake. Draco wished he had been half as smart as the Muggles and left when he'd had the chance, too.

For how long or how far he walked he was not sure; he had barely looked where he was going, keeping his eyes on the road as he turned left down the Walk and continued on. A cry of a bird in the distance caught his attention, and he turned towards the sound, finding himself facing the tall, stone façade of the imposing Muggle cathedral to his right.

Draco had never before given much thought to Muggle religion, or their houses of worship. The extent of his religious experiences stemmed both from his mother taking him along occasionally to services at the church of The Order of Merlin when he was a boy, and his father's reverent, solemn retellings of the Dark Lord's glory days, only slightly edited for the younger audience. Perhaps it was simply his desire for a respite from the rain, or perhaps it was a deeply buried need for spiritual intervention or redemption or something else, but Draco found himself inexplicably pulled towards the cathedral, and began a long, slow march towards it.

The air was thick with history and reverence as he stepped inside, and scented strongly with incense and just-snuffed Muggle matchsticks. The door echoed loudly as it swung back on its hinges, and his footsteps reverberated in the cavernous space.

He stopped in the middle of the aisle and gazed down the immense length towards the altar. Structurally speaking, for that was the extent of his appreciation, the building was awe-inspiring; high, vaulted ceilings, tall marble pillars supporting pointed arches on each side of the nave. The stain-glass windows behind the altar were the tallest he had ever seen.

Draco took slow steps down the aisle and was almost knocked over by a soaking wet woman rushing up from behind him. Her eyes were cast down, and she barreled headlong into his back, knocking him off balance.

"Watch it," he snapped at the woman as he made a big show of dusting off his damp coat. The woman opened her mouth – to retort, he assumed, but he would welcome it, pulled taut and wired from stress as he was – but she froze suddenly and immediately cast her gaze downwards.

"Sorry," she muttered. Without looking back, she adjusted her darkened red shawl over her long, curled, soaked head of hair and continued on, leaving a trail of drips in her wake.

Draco tensed; he knew that voice…

Shaking his head, he continued down the aisle, deftly avoiding the small puddle. There were few people to hinder his path, bar the oddly familiar woman, so he took brief moments to admire the building, looking up at the majestic stained glass windows, trying to make sense of the stories they told. He read over the names on the plaques that adorned the stone tombs that lined the nave, recognising some from his previous studies of the history of Wiltshire.

He walked further up to where a series of wooden benches were arranged in careful lines leading up to an altar. The odd woman was kneeling at one, her hands braced on the bench in front of her as she muttered to herself. Her hair was still covered by the knitted shawl, pulled close to cover her face. Her head was bowed low, her forehead resting against her clasped hands. She held in her hands a string of blue beads that ended in a cross which she held between her entwined fingers. Something about her, the way she carried herself, it was all painfully familiar.

Draco stood to the side and simply observed, hoping for something that would give the woman away. Her mannerisms weren't unusual or distinctive; a hand reaching up to brush away a stray strand of hair, a roll of her shoulders, a scratch of an itch on her neck. And then, he saw it; she quickly rolled and flicked her wrists, then pulled each individual finger down to the palm by the second knuckle with her thumb until the joints cracked, then she flicked her wrists again. Both gestures he had witnessed many a time before at their shared potions bench and in the library. Habits born, he had observed, from an innate inability to hold a quill correctly. He supposed if anyone would be unable to properly hold a quill, it would be her. He took a tentative step forward and tapped her on her shoulder.

"Granger?"

The hooded figure stiffened and tilted her head slightly to survey him. "Sir, I believe you are mistaking me for someone else," she chastised in a soft, poorly feigned Irish accent that she hadn't used earlier.

"Not bloody likely, Granger. I'd know you anywhere."

She was quiet for a moment, contemplative. "You are interrupting my private meditation, sir," she whispered, clutching her beads so tightly in her fists that her knuckles turned white. "Do I need to call for someone to remove you?"

"Stupidity is not a good look on you, Granger, feigned or not," he muttered as he slipped into the seat behind and leaned forward her so only she could hear him. "We both know it's you, so drop the act."

She shook her head and faced the front, her lips forming words but not sound. Draco waited patiently for her to finish.

"What are you doing here, Granger?"

Her lips curled in a small, annoyed growl. "Why do you keep calling me that?"

"Because apparently you need reminding. So tell me, why are you here?"

"To pray, sir," she replied, her voice strained and her teeth clenched. "Nothing more, so please leave! Again, do I need to call for someone to remove you?"

"Hardly necessary, Granger. Just tell me what it is you are doing still in Wiltshire and I will leave you alone."

There was a long pause, a nearly three minute stretch where neither spoke, and he swore he could hear the cogs in her head turning, weighing up the possibilities. "Twenty minutes, enough to finish my prayers," she finally relented, sounding weary and tired. "Twenty minutes and I will show you that you are making a mistake. Not a large one, but certainly an increasingly annoying one."

"Twenty minutes," he confirmed as he rose, holding his hands behind his back as he turned to leave. "Granger."

He supposed it was possible that Granger might have lost herself in her exposure to the Cruciatus curse – it seemed a sick sort of hobby for Bellatrix to torture the strongest she could find into insanity, simply for the satisfaction that she gained in knowing she had completely ruined a brilliant mind under her wand – but it simply didn't seem like her. For what he understood of Granger and her passion and dedication to her causes, capture and torture seemed nothing more than a pesky inconvenience to be brushed off and forgotten as soon as possible, not something she would give in to for anything.

Draco turned from the benches and made his way back up the aisle, past the stained glass windows and the stone tombs. Walking past a middle-aged Muggle woman lighting a series of candles, he asked, "Pardon me, but are there any other entrances to this church besides the main one?"

The woman jumped and glanced over, apparently surprised to have been spoken to. "There's the North Porch," she told him, her voice dry and gravelly, as she extended a hand to point towards a nondescript wooden door to his left. "There's another exit out there. May I ask why you wish to know?"

"Simply curious," he replied. He shot her his most charming smile, and felt gratified to see the older woman blush. "Thank you for your assistance."

The woman murmured something unintelligible in response and turned back to her candles.

He knew Granger wasn't going to wait the twenty minutes. He also knew she wasn't going to use the main entrance either; she would expect him to be waiting for her. No, Granger would make her escape as soon as she could, and she was going to do all she could to throw him off in the process.

Draco inched the door to the North Porch open and found himself facing a rolling expanse of green grass and the nearby museum, blurred only slightly by the grey sky and rain. He glanced quickly behind him and squinted up the nave towards the altar at the far end, still spying Granger folded in on herself in her seat. Grinning to himself, Draco slowly closed the door, careful not to make a sound, and moved to settle himself in the downpour behind the outer wall of the grand archway, quickly soaking through his clothes to his skin.

The door opened not long after, and he peered behind the wall to see the familiar red shawl barely covering her unruly mop of hair. She was surveying her surroundings carefully, no doubt looking for him, before taking off at speed. He chuckled at her predictability; Granger hadn't even waited five minutes before trying to leave!

Draco waited thirty seconds before trailing after her. She was difficult to see in the heavy showers, but not impossible to track, not with the shawl acting as a brightly coloured beacon. She moved between hedges that lined the roads, ducked off down small alleys, crossed into the sparse crowds and moved freely within the throngs until she reached the bank of the River Avon and began to follow the length of it downstream.

He followed her along the river for close to half an hour before she slowed to a pause and began to veer off the bank towards a bare paddock with a lone barn at the centre. She came to a stop in front of the old barn, probably long abandoned judging by the rotting walls and rusted roof and hinges. He watched for a moment as she fumbled with a lock. Odd, he thought to himself. Why she wasn't casting an Alohomora?

He rumbled in his throat to lower his register and called out loudly and roughly, "Hermione!"

She turned to face him before she could stop herself. Her features schooled to one of extreme annoyance and she slammed a hand into the door-frame, shaking her head. Turning just slightly to shoot him a scornful look, she beckoned with her hand for him to follow her into the barn.

As he walked in, the door was slammed shut and he was pushed up against the wall with her hands braced against his shoulders.

"Why are you following me, Malfoy?" she hissed before he could begin. "Are you here to take me back? I swear, I'll fight you!"

Draco took hold of her wrists and forcefully guided them back to her sides.

"I'm not going to take you anywhere, Granger," he snapped. "For Merlin's sake, calm down."

"Why are you following me, Malfoy?" she repeated, her teeth grinding so forcefully that he could hear the scrape of bone on bone. "How did you find me?"

"My own pitiful fucking luck, that's how I found you," he spat with a sneer. "I wasn't out looking for you, nor do I plan on taking you back. I was just…" He paused and let out a deep sigh. "I was curious."

"Curious?" she asked, a brow raised. "Of what, exactly?"

"Of what, exactly?" he parroted, incredulous. "Fuck me, Granger, you were brought to my house and tortured to within an inch of your life not even a bloody week ago! Potter and his merry band of pains in my arse managed to flee, and as far as I knew, you were with them! And now you're here and…" He stopped with a worrying thought, doubt and suspicion taking root in his mind. "Are you spying on us, Granger?"

"Sure," she retorted in a sarcastic deadpan, leaning one shoulder against the wall. "I'm spying on the lot of you. That's why I'm living here, having to steal, with no buggering heat or magic and no conceivable way of passing along the information I find. I hide out in Muggle churches on the off chance you Death Eaters have a change of heart and come in to pray for redemption, that way I can ambush you when you're at your absolute lowest." She shoved a hand against his chest. "How dense are you, Malfoy? Really?"

He furrowed his brows and pursed his lips in annoyance. "Fine. So you're not a spy."

Hermione huffed to herself and pushed away from the wall, taking with her on her sleeve a light dusting of rust. "No. I'm not a damn spy."

"Why are you here, then?"

She ignored him in favour of kicking off her shoes – huh, Granger had weirdly tiny feet – and took a towel from a hook on the wall to her left and began wringing the water out of her hair with it. She wrapped it tight around her hair in an intricate looking knot and shuffled towards a water filled plastic basin sitting upon a small, three-legged stool in the far corner.

"Pitiful fucking luck, I believe is what you called it," she spoke after a long moment, sounding sad and bitter. "Do you want something to eat?"

"Where did you get the food?" he questioned with caution as he took slow, tentative steps further into the barn. It was cold inside, his breath forming perfect puffs of steam as he spoke, and his voice and footsteps resounded off the walls.

"Where the bloody hell do you think I got it, you prat?" she snapped as she untied a small, beaded bag from a cord around her waist. She shoved her arm up to her elbow into the bag and began producing an array of fruits and vegetables which she tossed into the basin, then a flat board and a knife which she balanced on the stool. "I stole it all. I had to. There was nothing left."

"Well, yes. But –"

"But what?" she spat, stabbing the knife soundly into the board so it stood unassisted. She turned and rounded on him, the air around them crackling with unfocused magic. "But Hermione Mudblood Granger would never steal? Would never break the rules –"

Draco closed his eyes against the slur and shuddered. "Please, don't call yourself that," he whispered, so lowly he assumed she hadn't heard.

Hermione froze at his whispered words, fixing him with a glare packed with such hatred that he flinched. "You, of all the people in the world, do not get to say that to me, not ever," she seethed. "You, who tossed that insult around so bloody carelessly not even a year ago, do not get to tell me when and where I can say it!"

"I've seen your blood, Granger. It's no more muddy than mine. I was wrong to ever say it."

"So pleased it took seeing me bleeding under your bitch aunt's wand for you to realise that." She pulled the knife from the block of wood and attacked the fruit with violent, furious sweeps of her blade.

"Did you still want something to eat? Or is the prospect of consuming stolen food too much for your incredibly delicate and morally sound sensibilities?"

Draco glared at her, but nodded his assent. While she was busy, he occupied himself by glancing around the room; dry, concrete floors, rusted tin walls, two sleeping bags zipped together and rolled out on a damp pile of rotting straw in the corner. A small jar holding an iridescent blue flame flickered, and a grey slice of light cut through the barn from a high window, a heavy streak of dust dancing through it.

She pushed a plate of orange and apple slices towards him, a little too forcefully, and turned back to her board.

"Are you going to tell me how you ended up here?" Draco questioned after a tentative bite of the apple. "Or should I assume the worst?"

"We have already concluded that I am not a spy," Hermione replied without turning. "What more could you think about a person you so rudely accosted in a church while in the middle of her prayers?"

"I could assume that you've been abandoned," he taunted, peeling the rind away from the orange slice. "That your precious Order has left you to fend for yourself. Or I could assume that you've broken away from the war, either out of a sense of neutrality or your own cowardice that has you fleeing the scene with your tail between your legs."

"Like you?" she challenged with a quirk of her brow.

"My motivations are something you aren't likely to be privy to, Granger."

She let out a quick, forced laugh. "And you expect me to tell you mine?"

Draco leaned back against the wall, crossing one leg over the other. "I already know you wouldn't have fled, Granger. You're far too Gryffindor to even contemplate it, not to mention the fact that you do nothing by halves – if you were to flee, you'd go far. I also doubt the Order would have simply left you on your own, since you seem to be the poster girl for the organisation, but then again, here you are. And if you truly aren't a spy – though saying you aren't a spy would be the perfect way to throw me off the trail, wouldn't it? – I have to deduce that perhaps you aren't here by choice."

She stared at him, and he at her, both silently daring each other to crack first. She pursed her lips and he quirked a brow. He crossed his arms and she began to tap her foot. The sound of her tapping annoyed him immensely; it was out of rhythm, had no coherent beat, unpredictable and irksome. She then cleared her throat, and Draco looked up from her foot to find her smirking at him. He narrowed his eyes at her. There was another long, defiant pause, and then:

Draco slammed his fists against the wall behind him, watching with inward satisfaction as she flinched at the loud, echoing thud and barked, "Talk, Granger!"

She raised an eyebrow at him before she took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "Harry, Ron and I were separated after we escaped the Manor," she explained quietly, her eyes down as she focused on her task. "I think something happened to Dobby when he got us out of there, he couldn't keep a hold of me. I was dropped somewhere, not too far from your home I'd wager, and was splinched." She rolled up her sleeve and held her arm out for him to see. He cringed at the sight of her tightly wrapped, bloodied bandage. It was bright red and shining still, as though the bleeding had not yet been stemmed even a week after she had gained the injury. He could see too the outline of another bandage that wound from her elbow to her shoulder; he suppressed the urge to vomit all over again at the thought of what lay under that one.

"My wand is lost," she went on, far too casual for his liking given just how bloody dire her situation was. "I have no dittany left, so I can't heal myself properly. I have no idea where Harry and Ron are. I've moved around the area a bit, but this barn is the best place I've found. It's dry, and good shelter against the wind and rain, even if it is a bit chilly." She sighed and cast a forlorn glance around the room. "And now that you've found me, I'll have to move again."

"I'm not going to tell them where you are," Draco told her, and she let out a loud scoff of disbelief. "And I'm not going to take you back with me. Believe what you like, but I'm not exactly keen to get you back into my home."

"And why should I trust you?" she asked, her tone fierce.

"Because, Granger" – he reached into his cloak and pulled out a wand. Not his own, to be sure; the flimsy, unfamiliar length of Cypress barely obeyed him, but she didn't need to know that. Slowly, almost tauntingly, he twirled it between his fingers right in front of her face – "I have a wand. You don't. If I wanted you back in my house, believe me, you'd be there already."

She eyed the wand with an equal measure of caution and longing, and he could almost see the cogs turning at the back of her mind. Smirking, he stowed the wand away.

"That's not your wand."

"And how are you so sure of that?"

"You didn't refer to it as your wand, just a wand. Plus it's far too long to be yours. That one was twelve inches, at least. Your normal wand couldn't be any more than ten inches."

"I'll ignore for the moment the obvious thought you have put into my wand" – he smirked at the blush that rose on her cheeks – "but you would be correct. Since Saint bloody Potter saw fit to abscond with my wand, I've had to make do with this one."

"Harry has your wand?" she questioned with surprise.

"Stole it right out of my hand."

Her lips curled in a small smile. "You'll have to forgive him for that. I think he has a greater need of it than you at the moment."

As if that was any sort of excuse! "What was bloody wrong with his that he has to nick mine?"

"His… snapped. Last Christmas, when we were in Godric's Hollow. My fault, really."

"What on earth were the three of you doing to snap a damn wand?"

"The two of us," she corrected darkly, a flash of anger crossing her features. "And I think it would be best for me not to tell you why it happened."

"I have other ways of finding out, you know."

"Oh, please." She scoffed. "You might be a skilled Occlumens, but we both know your borrowed wand won't hold up long enough to use Legilimency, and I doubt your skill to cast it wandlessly."

"I might just surprise you on that count, Granger," he retorted, holding eye contact as long as he could.

She leaned forward on her makeshift seat, challenging him with her steely gaze as though inviting him in. "Go on, then," she goaded.

He smirked at her resolve and let out a chuckle, dropping his gaze and reclining back against the wall.

"You'll tell me one day," he promised, shooting her a quick wink to which she simply rolled her eyes. "So, why isn't Potter trying to find you, Granger? Why didn't anyone come back once they realised you were gone?"

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and let out a sigh. "He knows not to. I'm of no importance in this. If it had been Ron who was separated, we wouldn't go after him, either. As insensitive as it may sound, Harry is the priority. Perhaps, when it's safe again, someone will come for me. Until then, I just have to wait, and hope you aren't planning on stabbing me in the back."

Draco rolled his eyes heavenward. "How many times must I say it, Granger? I am not going to tell anyone where you are, I am not going to lead a pack of Death Eaters to your doorstep to kill you as you sleep. I have no desire for… any of this. I give you my word."

"And why wouldn't you?" she challenged. "The reward for you if you did would be spectacular, no doubt. My being Potter's little Mudblood, I'd imagine there's quite a healthy bounty on my head."

"For a myriad of reasons I'm not likely to divulge, Granger. But suffice it to say that I am getting rather tired of watching my former classmates get tortured on my drawing room floor."

"Is that why you didn't identify us when we were brought to your home?"

He shrugged, feigning indifference. "In part. It didn't really help you, though. For that, I apologise."

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she inspected him closely, as though he were a specimen of some kind. She must have been assured by what she had found, however, as she leaned back on her hands and gave a satisfied nod.

"So, Draco Malfoy does have a soul," she commented eventually, as though she had made an outstanding discovery, though there was an underlying hint of a tease in there, too. "Who would have thought?"

"I can't be all evil all the time, Granger. It would become dull after a while."

She gave a tiny smile and huffed a little laugh.

"You know, by staying here, I'm going against every instinct that tells me not to trust you, Malfoy, but if you're really not going to turn me in, you have to swear to me that you won't come back here. Someone might follow you next time, and I'm not willing to take that risk."

"And you'll what?" His disbelieving snort turned into a cynical sneer. "Hole yourself in here until the war is over? That could take months, Granger, maybe even years."

"Have you no faith in Harry at all?" Hermione snapped. "He will win."

"Maybe so, Granger, but when?" She opened her mouth to reply, but no sound came out. He pressed on. "I pray I am wrong, but I don't see this war ending quickly. In that time… Merlin, I don't even want to think about what might happen."

"Harry will win, and soon," she declared. "In the meantime," she went on, sounding nearly disappointed, "I think you should leave. I'm sure someone is bound to notice you're missing. And I doubt that is looked too fondly upon in your home at the moment."

Draco looked up to the high window and out at the darkening sky. His mother would surely be out of her mind with worry, and his father, if he was currently lucid enough to register the time, would almost certainly be in the midst of assembling a search party. "Perhaps," he answered vaguely.

"Perhaps," she repeated wryly. "The little Malfoy prince is missing and someone only might be worried."

He turned to glare at her, finding only a smirk on her lips and a sparkle of amusement in her eyes.

"Perhaps," he enunciated again. "I should go."

"Perhaps," she teased.

"Are you quite done, Granger?" he asked, exasperated.

"Are you really going to begrudge me the first real moment of amusement that I've had in almost a year?"

"I didn't come here for your amusement, you know."

"No, you came here looking for an escape, didn't you?"

He gave pause and looked over at her, seeing Hermione for exactly what she was at that moment; a small, frightened teenaged girl. Painfully thin, dull eyes, matted hair, a body tense and poised to spring from the constant threat of terror, war, death and violence. And yet, there was a certain hardness to her, too – an edge, something that glinted in her eyes and hinted at something more.

And he knew that he was no better. Maybe, he was even worse. His eyes didn't have that edge, there was no courage in him anymore. Draco knew he was the quintessential Slytherin, content to run and hide until the danger had passed.

"Perhaps," he whispered. Slowly, he stood from the little stool and silently walked towards the rusted tin door.

"Malfoy?"

He turned at the doorway and braced a hand on the frame, already half knowing what she was about to ask. "Yes, Granger?"

"I'm sorry for what is happening at your home," she told him, honest and earnest, "and that you feel the way you do; I honestly would not wish that kind of terror on anyone, but you can't come back. For my sake and yours, never come here again."

AN: I hope you're enjoying this one so far. The next chapter should be up within a few days. Til' then, leave a review and tell me what you think :)