January 10th

Hermione didn't wait to wonder if Aberforth's warning was sincere. The first moment she could, she left Edinburgh. Even though her store of money was rapidly depleting, she bought another ticket out. Her next destination took her back to the south, but not to a city of any measurable size. She randomly selected a village name from a list at the ticket counter, somewhere lovely and Welsh-sounding. To the best of her knowledge, there weren't any large Resistance cells in Wales. All she had to worry about was a stray Death Eater here or there. Death Eaters she knew how to handle.

All day as her bus made its way to the stop she was required to get out at, Hermione's mind kept returning to the events of her kidnapping. Clearly, Albus Dumbledore's younger brother had a great deal of control over those that followed him in the Resistance. William Wood had plenty of time to exact his revenge on her when they were alone. She doubted that any of the other members of their group would be all that much upset if he'd succeeded either.

She was a traitor. Not necessarily a traitor to the Resistance itself. She'd had enough sense from the very beginning to stay out of groups like that. Most of them crumbled within weeks of the end of the war. Their leaders were brutally dispatched in mass public executions that all of wizarding Britain was required to attend. She'd been forced to watch as childhood friends like Neville Longbottom and George Weasley were murdered to make a point that there was no escaping their new reality.

No, she wasn't a traitor to the Resistance, but she was a traitor to her ideals. Any last remnant of hope for a better world was crushed in the days immediately following the Final Battle. Lord Voldemort's surviving Death Eaters made certain of that. As she was confined to a small broom cupboard in the castle that had miraculously avoided any kind of damage, she'd been given the opportunity to think about what she was going to do next.

Maybe if she'd been able to fight her way out of the castle like so many others she would've come to a different conclusion. But, she hadn't and there was no use dwelling on what she could not change. As one of Harry Potter's best friends and his rumored lover, she was a high priority capture. She would never forget the powerlessness she felt watching her wand fly out of her hand across the Great Hall and two of the largest Death Eaters tackle her to the ground. With her tearstained cheeks crushed against the stones of the castle, she watched Ron suffer the same fate. He hadn't even bothered to try to run when he saw her captured. His first instinct was to try to save her.

How much time passed with her locked in a cupboard was still a question she didn't have the answer to. A long time. Many, many days. Long enough that the light hurt her eyes for a long time after she was released. She could hear the sounds of frightened shrieks outside in the corridors of the castle her entire stay. What was happening to those poor souls out there was a mystery to her. The isolation and the fear of the unknown was horrible enough. Her imagination ran wild with the possibilities of why she kept hearing high-pitched screaming and then sobbing.

There had been kindness in those days that she hadn't expected. As a prisoner of the Death Eaters, Hermione imagined that she would be at best beaten and at worst… a victim of her own screams of agony. A few times she heard arguments outside her door.

"Step out of the way! She's our prisoner too!"

The door knob had even been rattled and turned. She huddled in the corner of the cupboard, making herself as small a target as possible, and waited for her fate. Each and every time this happened, she heard the same masculine voice tell them to bugger off and leave her in peace. If they didn't immediately leave, Hermione heard muttered curses and angry obscenities. But, without fail, she would be left alone.

She had a new mystery to concern herself with that allowed her the chance to keep her thoughts occupied on something other than the echoes of screaming. Who did that voice belong to? Certainly she could never remember hearing it before. Not once did she ever hear him mentioned by name and when she finally worked up the courage to speak to him through terrified whispers at the keyhole, he never offered it.

Without the ability to tell time in the dark, Hermione could only assume that two or three days had passed before she spoke again. There were no cries to be let out of the room. Those, she was certain, would've been ignored and would've made her feel weak. A prisoner she might be, but she didn't have to become a craven, blubbering mess too. Even if she was dragged in front of Lord Voldemort himself and forced to endure another round of torture, she would do so with pride. They would not break her.

"Have you been here the entire time I have?" She'd asked the question in one of the rare moments when she couldn't hear any noise outside in the corridor.

"Yes, I have," he replied back, amusement clear in his voice.

Having a Death Eater threaten to chuckle in her presence wasn't necessarily a good thing. Hermione briefly worried that she was making a mistake engaging the man in a conversation, but she quickly ignored any misgivings. If she was going to die, she was going to die. The sitting in complete darkness and solitude was going to drive her mad. She was a fool not to take the opportunity to try to prevent that fate from coming to pass.

"Why?"

"What do you mean 'why', Miss Granger? Would you have preferred that I allow those drunken idiots to break through the enchantments on your cupboard? I assure you, you wouldn't appreciate their intentions."

Even reminding her gently that the other Death Eaters had nefarious designs on her person, Hermione found herself inexplicably calmer. Whoever was stationed outside of her door made her feel safe. Made her feel protected. It was a feeling she hadn't experienced in longer than she could remember. Maybe isolation was making her go round the bend, after all. Who had ever heard of a Death Eater being kind? Perhaps she had created a fantasy in her own madness.

"Thank you."

They spoke many more times before the door was finally opened and she was presented to the Dark Lord. Mostly about inconsequential topics that were safe. Nothing about what was happening around them or what was going to happen next. She might not have known his name, but he kept her calm and each time one of his comrades tried to force open the door, Hermione felt confident that he would prevail.

The abrupt stop of the bus at the Welsh village she'd purchased a ticket for broke Hermione out of her memories. She was grateful for the interruption and the respite. Not much in her past was much of a comfort any longer. With a nod to the driver of the bus, she hopped off. Instantly, her gaze focused on an elderly woman loading a suitcase into the boot of a small car.

"Just for a few days." Her voice carried over the quiet village to a woman standing just a few feet away. "I'll be back on the 16th."

At least now she knew a place she could spend a few nights.