Finders Keepers

At first Hermione had nothing in her lungs to scream out with – she was completely breathless at what Malfoy had done. Then adrenaline kicked in as wind whipped around her falling body. They had separated slightly when they went over the cliff and Hermione couldn't help but panic – she had no parachute, no winged bodysuit; no rubber raft to inflate before hitting the ground. She may as well have been Wile E Coyote with an anvil strapped to her back.

Hermione had skydived before, mainly to get over her fear of heights and this was not helping with her overall terror – but she knew the position to get into. Face down with arms and legs extended to slow her descent, Hermione was sure her heart was about to jump out of her throat.

Then suddenly she felt a hard wall of body slam into her back and strong muscled arms loop themselves around her waist. Vaguely Hermione felt straps being hastily wound around her through the relief which flooded her body at Draco not forgetting she was there. Literally within seconds one arm left her body as his legs wrapped around hers tightly, and suddenly they were jerked as Draco pulled the rip-cord of his parachute and the large dark green chute came flowing out above their heads.

Hermione gasped in pain as her body was jolted back into a reasonable pace from the free-fall. The straps which Draco managed to wind around her bit into her stomach and she knew she'd have a huge bruise there in a few hours. But a bruise was a small price to pay – she could've been flatter than a pancake.

As they slowly whirled in lazy circles towards the forest floor beneath them, Hermione started to get angry. How dare Draco steal the relic which she clearly deserved more than him, then throw her off a cliff and have the audacity to save her life. She did not want to owe him for her life, which he'd jeopardised in the first place. Hermione didn't think about what might have happened if he hadn't been there when the Finnish speaking men appeared. But surely she would have somehow figured a way out of the situation. In the end, Hermione decided everything was Malfoy’s fault – including the polar ice caps melting.

“Lift your feet up,” Draco yelled just before they hit a small clearing. Hermione followed his instructions, purely because she didn't want a broken leg and not because he told her to.

The landing was very smooth and Hermione wondered how many tandem skydives Draco had actually done in his time – she quickly dismissed her curiosity as she really didn't care what Draco did in his spare time – although he clearly spent lots of time on his hair.

Whirling on Draco after they had disentangled themselves from the parachute, Hermione punched him directly on the jaw. The look of shock was worth the pain in her fist.

“What the hell, Granger,” Draco growled as he rubbed the red blotch which appeared on his face, his eyes dark grey and livid. His entire being stood still, like a viper about to strike as he watched her through hooded assessing eyes. She gulped once, wondering if she'd gone too far, but then her anger kicked in.

“Don't ever pull a freaking stunt like that again.”

“Which one?” he said through clenched teeth as he cut the ropes away from the parachute, stuffing them in his backpack. “Stopping a hostile group of people from stealing an artefact slated to change the world – or saving your bloody life? You are so unfuckingbelieveably ungrateful, Granger. You know what - it's a deal, I'll never save your life again, you're too much of a pain in my arse.”

Hermione's face screwed up in what she knew was probably one of her more unattractive looks and started to tell Draco Malfoy exactly every fault she knew he had – if she had the time, when something black caught her attention above their heads in the distance. She squinted through the fine mist which was still spraying them and saw a gleam. A pinging noise shattered the small copse of trees they were sheltered in. Hermione watched as the bark of a nearby tree splintered. Draco swore again and immediately pulled her into a tight embrace, slinging them sideways.

They landed in the thick underbrush of a tree, Hermione grunted as the wind got knocked right out of her lungs. Malfoy was a lunatic – throwing her around as if she were a suitcase at the airport, the anger which only ever rested near the top of her emotions when Malfoy was around peaked. Then Hermione thought about the actual backpack strapped on her – she had the relic, all she needed to do was lose Malfoy. Another round of pinging noises hit the trees and it finally dawned what was happening - they were being shot at. The black things floating in the air were parachutes, and obviously some of their pursuers were carrying guns. This was getting serious. What she had overheard in the cave between the men stayed in her mind. A wizard called Raul, a name she’d never heard before, wanted to put The Grindle Chest together again to change his past, that’s all she could discern before she knocked one of them out. It was enough to know the Chest couldn’t fall into this Raul’s hands – but what exactly did they find in the Altar? It didn’t appear to be a key – but it seemed Raul thought it was worthy of being in his possession. Hermione suddenly wanted to make sure he didn’t get what he wanted – not until she knew more about him. The note Herbert Owled her was also in her mind – one line kept blaring out at her – trust no-one.

Draco shifted against her, pulling Hermione from her thoughts. No chance of her trusting anyone at the moment anyway she thought as grey eyes found hers, they both scowled. Abruptly she realised he was half on top of her body - almost as if he were shielding her. She felt a strange sensation rise up, was Draco protecting her? Surely not – he’d just made it abundantly clear she meant less to him than a petri-dish full of mould. Draco gazed down at her, his expression unreadable, his blonde fringe fell into his line of sight, and Hermione inhaled sharply, not understanding the concept of finding Draco anything but abhorrent. Their eyes stayed locked.

“What are you doing, Hermione? There’s a lot of heavy breathing going on and it doesn’t belong to just you,” a distorted voice asked into her ear, followed quickly by a robust laugh. “Oh god, you didn’t pick up a bearded bushranger and are now having a sordid dirty afternoon of finding out how good a beard-rash can be?”

Hermione jumped up and swore; Christopher’s smugness filtered through her ear piece, the Comm must have switched back on during the excitement of the last ten minutes, she switched it off. Draco pulled himself around and looked up at the parachutes which were starting to circle, oblivious to her reddening face and quickening heartbeat. Why in Merlin’s name was she suddenly imagining Malfoy with a blonde shaggy beard? Bloody Christopher.

“It looks like we are in this together for the next few minutes, Granger - any bright ideas which way to go? I can’t contact my guide anymore.” Draco asked clearly unhappy with their situation as he looked at a broken earpiece in his hands. Damn it, it wasn’t her bloody doing that a bunch of foreign Finnish men were chasing them down a mountain, why could he always make her feel everything was somehow indirectly her fault? Because she let him, was her minds smart reply – toughen up.

Hitting the small button on her earpiece she barked out an order, “Christopher – we need to get out of here, don’t ask anything – just send me something on this bloody mapping system I spent hundreds of thousands of Galleons on. Now.”

For once Christopher didn’t argue, seconds later a beep went off on the screen Hermione held. Draco grabbed it before she could look at the map; she angrily tried snatching it back.

“Give it back.” She leant across him and he raised his forearm blocking her grab attempt. She punched his upper arm, a small grunt escaped him but other than that he didn’t move. It made her more frustrated than ever. She scrambled to his other side to be met with the other elbow in her way; she literally could feel her blood boil. “Do you know how much that bloody thing cost me? I want it…”

“Of course I do – we manufactured it. I know the EMS inside out; this way.” He slammed the backpack containing the artefact on his back and took off into the underbrush still carrying her mapping device and pack. Hermione was left standing stunned at what he’d just said – what did he mean he manufactured it? Suddenly Hermione heard another ping and realised she was in real danger of being shot; she scrambled after Draco’s form cursing the day he walked into her life.

“What’s happening, Hermione?” Christopher’s panicked voice filtered through cutting in and out slightly with static. “Was that gunshots?”

“Christopher, we need an extraction pronto – can you get a read on our position using the GPS?” Hermione heard more static, then nothing. “Christopher?”

The Comm was dead, and Hermione had no idea if Christopher had heard her or not – she would assume not. Feeling cut off from the world, she quickened her pace to keep up with Draco’s long strides and tried ignoring the shouts she heard from behind them. This was the scariest position Hermione had been in since the war. Sure, relic hunting sometimes became hairy – but it usually came in the form of cave-ins, large animals or magical booby traps – never had she been shot at with Muggle guns before and never had she been on the run with someone she couldn’t trust. She felt a nervous energy bursting in her stomach at the thought she may not survive this, how could she when hostile men were after them and Draco now held the mapping device and the artefact – he could quite easily leave her behind. It was as she thought this that Hermione realised she couldn’t see Draco’s tall frame in front of her anymore and her stomach dropped. Oh shit.

Hermione came to a stop and leant against a tree breathing heavily from running. She needed water, which was in her backpack – which of course was on Draco’s back. Fighting off a feeling of overwhelming despair she started to think about her options. She knew her camp was somewhere close to the mountain on the east side – she still had a compass on her watch, she should be able to navigate back to her supplies. Hopefully their pursuers were more interested in finding them then scouring the land for a campsite. Then she could make her way to the nearest road and hitch-hike back to the small local town where she had a room and a wand. After she was there – she would hunt Draco down and maim him – not a bad plan overall.

“Are you damn well deaf as well as stupid, Granger? I said keep up – not bloody rest against a tree – or did you not see the ten men with machine guns chasing us. Daft bint.” Draco’s words overshadowed any relief she might have felt at his returning, and her hand itched to slap his face once more – sensing her intent Draco took a step back and raised an eyebrow. “Are you ready to keep up now, Princess?”

Glaring at him she retorted, “I’m not the one with a personal dressmaker at my beck and call, Princess.”

“Alex is a tailor – there is a world of difference…why am I explaining myself to you of all people?” Draco ran a hand through his hair and Hermione tried very hard not to watch as the wet strands realigned themselves against his face. “What is it about…” he shook his head instead, “here.”

Hermione had no time to wonder what Malfoy was about to say as he thrust her water bottle into her hand. Momentarily stunned at his apparent kindness, she lost her words as cool refreshing water slid down her throat. Without thought Hermione closed her eyes and groaned at the wonderful taste of cool liquid. When she had her fill, she opened her eyes and saw Draco watching her with the strangest expression on his face. Without meaning to, she licked her lips slowly – wetting them. Draco took a step forwards – her breath caught in her too tight throat. Then a shout came from behind them, Draco’s face shuttered over and he motioned for them to run. She followed – heart pounding from who knows what.

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~

Draco cursed, he cursed a thousand times in his head, he cursed his luck, he cursed his situation and most of all he cursed the damn brown haired bint who was currently keeping up with him as they ran away from a group of men armed to the teeth. How did this happen? Surely Draco’s small part in the war was not enough of a reason the fates had dealt him such a harsh hand, stuck with the most annoying witch to walk the entire earth. He had a sudden visual of Pansy and re-assessed, second most annoying witch, he wasn’t sure why the Gryffindor came in second over his fellow Slytherin. He must have hit his head as they fell.

As they crashed through the underbrush, Draco kept glancing down at the EMS and the map which somebody had sent her, he admitted it was the perfect map for their situation. He would never say out loud that somebody Hermione knew had done the smart thing – it would somehow make him less manly – less Malfoy-like. Maybe she wasn’t all horrific hair and smart mouthed after all. Suddenly a thought came through unbidden – Granger’s mouth moaning around her water bottle, she had lips made for….oh no you don’t, he cut off the voice and took a deep breath in.

Enough folly, Granger was annoying, too abrasive and riled him up the wrong way constantly – she was beneath him in every way that mattered. Draco swore and looked down at the mapping device his subsidiary company created while he fended off thoughts of Granger beneath him.

Draco glanced behind to see the reason for his annoyance grim-faced but keeping up. He looked back at the small screen and saw a marking which meant a cabin or shed was only about two hours away. If they kept zigzagging trying to lose their pursuers they might make it by dark-fall. His legs were burning and he knew Granger’s would be worse; since she had climbed up the mountain – but he felt no pity, his life was at stake here too. She could either keep up or he would leave her behind this time.

It took a little over three hours to make it to what turned out to be a small log cabin. The rain had started to come down in earnest for the best part of that time and both he and Granger looked like drowned rats and felt like jelly wobbling around on a plate. Exhaustion threatened to overwhelm Draco, but he pinched his forearm to wake himself up and quietly snuck towards the dark cabin. He saw no smoke rising from the chimney and it appeared nobody was there, but you couldn’t be too careful. It looked to be a hunting cabin – crudely made and ramshackle, though it would be dry inside. The constant rain and misery had ensured they said no words to the other – well, nothing but snapped swear words at any rate. It was nice to be on solid familiar ground with Granger – mutual contempt.

When he was happy that the cabin was empty, Draco tried the door. It was locked. Growling in frustration he looked to the window and went to find a rock to break the glass. He heard a snort of laughter as a lock clicked. Turning, he saw Granger’s smug expression; a set of keys in her hand and an open door in front of her.

“How on earth…?” he trailed off as she dropped the keys back under the welcome mat. “What a stupid place to leave keys – have they not heard of security?”

In truth Draco was pissed he hadn’t thought to look there. He didn’t like Granger besting him.

The inside of the cabin was as plain as the outside – although there was a fireplace, a cupboard with a few tins of Muggle food and a bed. But it was clean and dry. They only had limited time so he left the caving lights on to see by. He turned to tell Granger to check the food situation when she thrust a tin into his hands, a fork soon followed. Draco looked down at the mess of what appeared to be some kind of bean mix. “What is it?”

“Food,” Hermione snapped and sat on the edge of the table and ate with a gusto he’d never imagined of Granger. Where was her prissy small lady-like manners, the witch in front of him had no such social graces – for some reason this made his frosty opinion of her start to thaw – minutely. Draco heard her sigh loudly when she saw him eyeing the food warily, he still wouldn’t put it past her to drug him with strange tinned food. “It’s franks and beans – it’s better warm but it won’t kill you. Eat.”

Tentatively he tried it, it was not unpleasant, but he would have killed for a coffee to wash it down with. Granger took his empty tin and took it to the sink as he leant against the table, too afraid to sit lest he not get up again – they still had a long way to go. Weariness threatened so he made himself stand, they had no time for this.

“Grab as much food as you can – I’ll see what else we can use,” he said as he got up and went to a utilities cupboard. Opening it up he was pleased, there was a lot of gear they could use.

“Can’t we stay here?” an annoying voice asked, Draco exhaled slowly as he pulled out a small tent.

“Of course we can, I’d say we have an hour maybe two at best before they storm the door and kill us. I thought you were supposed to be the smart one – maybe I misjudged the Weasel…”

“Don’t be an arsehole…okay, I take that back – you can’t be anything but - but where are we going to go?”

Draco sighed again and ran his hand through his drying hair, scratching at the back of his neck – he really didn’t want to answer – she was annoying him by breathing the same air. He watched as she re-braided her hair, squeezing water out as she did, looking exhausted. He allowed himself a nano-second of pity for the tired witch then scowled; she was still bloody expecting an answer.

He pulled out the EMS and pointed to a small town a few hours away. Hermione looked at it for a while. Then pointed in the opposite direction, “We have to go here first though.”

Draco knew if a pin dropped in the room at that very moment it would have sounded like a bomb going off. “No, we don’t – we go this way – away from the bloody men who are trying to kill us. We are not going back the way we came – I was correct – Weasel was the brains behind the whole operation, who’d have thought.”

A stinging sensation hit the back of his head and he realised Granger had slapped him there. He growled and grabbed her hand – furious eyes met his and he felt something flare between them. He never knew hatred felt so electric.

“My wand is there, I need it.”

“You’re wand is where, exactly?”

“At the hotel,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Are you daft, leaving your wand in a damn hotel?” At her sharp inhale of breath, Draco realised something, he was enjoying making her angry, really enjoying it.

“It’s well hidden, but I can’t leave it behind, why - where’s yours?” Their eyes met and Draco knew he didn’t want to answer, he let her go with a rough push and she staggered back, rubbing her wrist – he wasn’t bloody holding her that tightly – over-reacting wench.

Finally he muttered, “In my hotel.”

Then she did something completely unexpected – she laughed. Draco expected the sound to be like nails down a chalkboard or at the very least make him shudder in revulsion. Unfortunately neither of these things were true – and he realised he had never heard Granger laugh – ever, and he never wanted to again – it did funny things with his gut. Yes, it must have made him sick he rationalised.

“Fine,” she eventually choked out. “We will go to your hotel as long as you promise we will Apparate to mine immediately.”

Draco didn’t want to promise this witch anything, but he found himself nodding; then wondered why he had agreed two seconds later. He definitely hit his head on something. They spent the next fifteen minutes grabbing supplies. Draco found some lightweight but insulated blankets, a tent, matches, two hunting knives and an ancient looking shotgun with four shells. Hermione stuffed a bag with food then they were off again.

If the trek was miserable before it was fifty times worse now, forked lightening flashed across the sky making the forest appear bleak and evil in the darkness. Looking at his watch he saw it was close to three in the morning and knew they should at least travel another hour or two before resting. Rain sleeted down in heavy drops stinging his face and hands, the cold began to bite through his bones and after forty minutes he knew they’d have to stop. The rain was so heavy it felt like they were traversing through thick molasses.

Thunder roared above their heads and a crack of lightening made Draco’s stomach jump as he heard trees being struck a few hundred metres away – it wasn’t safe in the woods – but they had no choice. He was blaming Hermione for their predicament. If she hadn’t bloody been on the mountain trying to steal his relic, then they wouldn’t be in this position. He would have climbed up to his waiting helicopter and could literally be sitting in his hotel room, sipping Fire Whiskey and getting a massage from one of the blonde room-service girls, among other pleasures. This was all her fault.

The tent thankfully went up reasonably quickly in the downpour, although at times he could see Granger looking at him while holding the sharp end of a tent peg – he watched his back not entirely uncertain she wouldn’t try and drive it between his ribs. The first ten minutes inside of the tent were some of the most awkward and fury invoking of his life. The witch would not move over enough so they weren’t touching.

“It’s the size of a broom closet, what do you bloody expect – it’s a Muggle tent not a freaking wizard one,” she snapped before infuriatingly going to sleep in three minutes flat, pushed right up against his side. He grumbled under his breath for another five before dropping off in exhaustion, not at all enjoying the press of another body against his.

~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~

Hermione awoke to two things. One, she thought she heard a noise from outside the tent, the second – she was wrapped tighter around Draco Malfoy’s body than cling-wrap gone wrong. Her nose was nestled against his chest, which instead of puffing out in ridiculous conceit was actually quite warm and comforting, two things she never ever would have thought Draco could be. The scent he wore still teased her nostrils, it was a Muggle scent she was sure, something expensive with an actor spruiking it – but it smelt wonderful…gross, nauseating and ill-suited to his skin type she quickly over-rode. His arm curled around her in a once more protective gesture and she was dismayed to find her leg tangled between his. It felt like the beginning of an awkward romance novel – horror story, Merlin, her mind was muddled.

A snapping noise made her jump up and a groggy Draco took one look at their position and immediately scowled and went to say something, she shushed him with a hand over his mouth; glad she could finally do it back to him. They listened for a good few seconds – nothing. Hermione let out a breath and let go of Draco’s mouth, accidently trailing her finger across his lip in the process. He stilled and she looked at him, his eyes were hooded from sleep and his warm breath tickled her fingers, but it was the intensity of his gaze which sucked the air from the tent. There was more electricity in the small space than in the London CBD, and Hermione didn’t want to know how that could be possible. They hated each other – intensely.

Suddenly the tent was ripped apart – literally. A large knife sliced through the side and Hermione found herself pulled from the inside into the cold drizzling rain, looking up at a man who felt so wrong it made her stomach lurch.

Draco was likewise subdued but with a little more fight, it took a few minutes before the other man had him pinned to the forest floor, Draco’s blonde head pushed into the wrecked tent. There were only three men, all had guns strapped to their backs and wands sheathed on their belts – why didn’t they use them? Surely a stunning spell would work better than brute force. Hermione’s stomach was still roiling, maybe the franks and beans were a bad choice – she never checked the ‘use by’ date. Holding the bile down, she looked over to Draco whose face was also white – was he feeling sick too? Oh god – she had killed them with bad tinned food. Hermione would never live this down.

“The pack – where is it?” the accent was thick and Hermione knew the man holding her was German not Finnish.

“Over here.” A man with a South African accent said holding up her pack, Hermione winced as the man pulled out the box. He didn’t open it though; and she had to wonder how many countries were in on this little expedition – she had heard three different accents so far – were they mercenaries or guns for hire? The German leant over her and she swallowed down vomit – what the hell was wrong with her?

“You didn’t run far away enough little witch,” and he smacked the back of her head with the butt of his gun. It didn’t knock her out but she fell to the ground, and threw up what remained of the franks. Through the tears in her eyes she watched as one of the men pulled Draco to his feet and strode him a few meters away before forcing him to his knees. The German above her was barking orders into a small device, she didn’t speak German – but she saw Draco’s head turn sharply – did he understand? Hermione knew the bump on her head had mangled her thought pattern when she found herself more shocked that Draco could understand a Muggle foreign language more than them being chased down like foxes on the great hunt.

“Kill him and take her,” the German finally said after a garbled reply came through his radio. Hermione felt her stomach revolt again – but not due to food – they were about to execute Draco. The man took out a gun from his belt and once again Hermione wondered why they didn’t use the killing curse with their wands – it was almost as if they forgot they were wearing them. She saw Draco stiffen and he glanced sideways at her. Hermione knew in that instant she didn’t hate him, probably never did – still disliked with a burning intensity, but not enough to see him die. The thought of never exchanging barbed criticisms at the other left her feeling cold; she had to do something.

Ignoring the sick feeling still compounding in her gut she jumped up so fast her skull knocked into the German’s chin – he yelped as blood spotted down on her face and she realised he’d bitten his tongue – she hoped it was clean off as she spun and punched him with all her might – the pain which ran through her fist made Hermione wonder if she’d splintered a bone in her hand, but the German fell holding his face.

The other two men looked at her in surprise, it was all Draco needed as he jumped up and began to kick and punch the wizard who moments before had held him at gunpoint. Adrenaline coursed through her body as the last man ran at her. Merlin, she’d only ever really done a little bit of self-defence at the behest of Ginny. Never had she been in a situation where arse-kicking was a reality, she crouched in what she hoped was some form of fighting stance and as he ran at her she raised her foot up and held it steady at the last possible moment – like she’d been taught. It caught him in the throat, his momentum and her rock-hard climbing spikes bit into the soft skin of his neck. Hermione felt the sickness rise again and thought it was due to the blood running down the man’s jugular. He fell. Aghast at what she’d done she dropped to her knees heaving, then looked at the man she’d killed – then realised he wasn’t dead. The spikes weren’t enough to do more than rip a few layers of skin off – he’d be fine, but sore when he came to. She saw the rock hidden on the ground near his head, slightly bloodied – that was why he didn’t get up. Thankful beyond belief she had no death on her conscience she watched as Draco fought with the South African. His movements fluid and precise – she realised with astonishment he’d studied under a Sensei. What other Muggle things had Draco gotten involved in – her mind couldn’t comprehend this man before her – fighting like he was a black belt. She flashed back to Hogwarts and his intolerance of anything Muggle – what had changed?

A blast of magic flew past her and almost cleaned Draco up, she realised they were no longer alone, and this new wizard had no compunction whatsoever at using magic. Grabbing the packs and ripping the wand from the prone man at her feet she ran for Draco.

Holding the wand out in front of her she yelled, “Expelliarmus…” nothing happened, a tingling down her arm was all she felt – nothing came from the wand tip at all. What in hell?

Another blast and a feeling in her stomach which almost brought her to her knees came about, Draco had landed one last blow and she saw the South African spin once then drop like a sack of potatoes. The bag she held flew from her hands as an ‘Accio’ spell took hold from behind her. And she could do no more than watch in horror as the bag disappeared through the trees and a blast of blue fly back at them. If she hadn’t had grabbed Draco’s leg at the last minute pulling him hard, the spell would have taken his head off – instead of a glancing blow to his temple. He yelled in pain as he dropped. Hermione shook him then slapped him when he didn’t immediately open his eyes. As she went to slap him again – he grabbed her hand tight – she winced – it was the same hand she punched the German with.

“Do that again and I will….”

“Get up, you Idiot – they have the backpack and are coming for us.”

Draco winced and flipped himself onto his hands and knees – Hermione helped him to his feet as he half limped, half ran for the thicker underbrush. She managed to grab the German’s gun as they went past him – then they disappeared into the thick lining of trees – hoping whoever was pursuing them got what they wanted in the backpack, she felt a little hopeless at inadvertently losing the relic. As they fled the sick feeling in her gut lessened – she realised after a moment, it might have been the wizards making her feel sick – but why?

She had bigger things to worry about as after an hour of fleeing, very slowly she might add – Draco dropped to the ground. She saw his head was bloodied worse than she originally thought, the wand blow had glanced off him, but it was still a bad hit. She heard no pursuit after a few moments so she grabbed a bottle of water from Draco’s pack and using a small bit of cloth from her t-shirt she wet it and began to wipe the blood from his face. The angle was awkward at first so biting the proverbial bullet she pulled his head into her lap while continuing her ministrations. Hermione couldn’t help but look at Malfoy’s face so peaceful and vulnerable in its unconscious state. It was so unlike his usual sneering arrogance he seemed to especially reserve for her.

Once she started to look she found she couldn’t stop looking; pushing strands of hair behind his ear to better access the cut, she almost gasped out loud. His hair was like silk. Hermione ran her hand through it again without thinking. It fell through her fingers like a waterfall of soft white gold. She felt a momentary pang of jealousy – why was her hair so unmanageable, yet a Git like Malfoy had salon quality locks after being chased all over the forest in hail, rain and sleet?

Malfoy groaned and Hermione started, realising that she had been carding his hair for the last 10 minutes without once thinking about how much she loathed him. Hermione grumbled under her breath – okay, she didn’t loathe him, just disliked intensely – she’d already discovered this earlier – it shouldn’t be such a big deal – but it was. It was a shift in their relationship of sorts. Hatred was easy – dislike meant more work on her behalf as she might start justifying why Malfoy did things instead of immediately blaming it on him being a prick, just for the sake of it. Although the reasons why she hated him in the first place seemed to be slipping away when she tried to think on them. Quite frankly that scared her more than the men who just threatened her life.

He murmured something unintelligible and her eyes were drawn to his pink lips. Lips she really didn’t want to think about – as for some reason they looked completely soft and kissable – she remembered the look Draco gave her when her index finger trailed over his lips earlier, and she felt something tighten below her belt, this was ludicrous. Life and death situations were not good at keeping a straight head she decided.

Hermione held the damp cloth in place and let her other hand drop away from his cheek, thankful that his awakening inadvertently stopped her from thinking things she wasn’t sure she could come back from. Draco’s eyes started to open, and he winced in pain. “Bloody hell that’s wet and sloppy – get it off me.”

Hermione complied and felt like dropping his head back on the hard ground, but managed not to. She should get an award for congeniality.

“What happened?” he asked groggily as he slowly sat up away from her, a slight frown marring his features at the pain in his head or the fact it was in Hermione lap two seconds earlier she didn’t know.

“We were hunted down, almost killed by wizards who made me want to vomit the entire time, and then you got hit by a blast just as they stole the relic we were trying to keep from Raul.”

“Raul?” Draco questioned. She realised she hadn’t told him what she’d overheard the Finnish men talking about – she filled Draco in and his frown deepened. “I guess we’d better keep running then,” he finally said.

“What for – they have what they wanted.”

Draco grinned and she really didn’t feel the traitorous muscles in her stomach tighten at the boyishness of that one small upturn of his mouth. He lifted his shirt and she gasped.

The bloody bastard had the relic strapped to himself on what looked like a brace of some sort – she leant over without realising it and traced the lines of the brace – it was made of lead, just like her box – it should lessen the magical residue it leaked. Suddenly she realised she was leaning over him on her knees while Draco sat back his stomach exposed to the world, she flicked a glance down to his pale skin and saw his abdominal muscles clench – it made her gut quiver. Oh god, what was happening to her? Desire ran rampant through her veins; she needed to get away from him. Standing up quickly and ignoring the shortness of her breaths she finally realised what this meant.

“You were going to steal it from me?”

“To be fair – it was never yours to begin with.”

Hermione had no retort to that, anger made her mute, because all she would yell at him is what an arrogant thieving arsehole he was – it could possibly lead the bad guys to their location because she was sure she’d scream it at the top of her lungs. Consoling herself, Hermione knew all that really mattered at the moment is they had the relic; and they had to get away from this forest as soon as possible and try and get help. Herbert, her insider at the Ministry would have to have some idea what was going on. She tapped the Comm again; it was still dead; so Christopher couldn’t help them.

Malfoy held the EMS and pointed at a large river an hour or two away, “that’s where we head.”

Nodding in agreement, Hermione followed Draco into the forest, wondering the whole time how she was going to unstrap the relic from his chest in order to steal it back. The thought of touching Draco’s body filling her with nothing but shivers – of the bad kind she reasoned – ignoring the little ‘liar’ thrown in from the depth of her psyche.