Chapter 20

Hermione was still getting used to the fact that the air smelled different, the light was different. It had a relaxed quality. Although that could be her. She was getting used to the sound of Spanish being spoken, and also that they assumed she spoke it. She tried. Shopping in the market was getting easier.

Buenos Aires was alive. It was busy and people went about their business. They had a way of being chilled no matter what happened. Like her, they were a people who'd been through a lot.

Once her Spanish was sufficiently good, she would blend in better. She wasn't sure it could ever be so good that people didn't notice she was a foreigner. But here in her suburb, people were getting more used to her. At lengths did she try not to stand out, and her wardrobe was looking increasingly local. Everything foreign has been discarded. And with it, her old life. New life, new her.

Memories were a little harder to discard, but she was trying. It was actually possible to focus on the here and now, but she would catch herself going back. Not so much the horrible time after the war, or during the war. But there was the clear distinction between being a child then, and an adult now.

There was a magical community here, but she didn't go anywhere near them, or let on that she was one of them. Then again, who knew what prejudices they had. She might be as lowly regarded in this magical community as she was back in Britain.

Maybe one day, when things died down, and people in Britain forgot about her, she would move somewhere else. For now, though, she had to stay as hidden as possible. No trace. Maybe when her Spanish was better, she'd adopt an Argentinian identity.

It was difficult for her to see the future. Maybe it was scary to consider it. Would she marry and have children? Would this be where she lived? It was fair to say she wasn't fully living. She was hiding. It wasn't the same thing. That wasn't to say she didn't enjoy it.

A part of her particularly enjoyed that she'd won, but equally, it wasn't a feeling she entertained, because it drew from the past. She didn't have a past. A line had been drawn the day she'd arrived here. She was no longer Hermione Granger. She was someone else.

The cobbled street gave to the square where the market was, which was bright and colorful. This suburb was old and run down. Things hadn't changed substantially since it was built over a hundred years ago. The buildings were the same, the streets were the same. It was like Europe, and not, at the same time.

The fruit was nice. Fresher than in the supermarkets back home. The meat was spectacular and the bread was good. The art was interesting. There wasn't anything to not like about the market.

Today she was buying ingredients for a stew. Cooking for herself was something she was enjoying too. Especially with the local flavors. So she walked to the vegetable seller she normally used, and checked out the leeks by picking up a stalk of buttery denseness.

A flash of blond caught her attention when she looked up, but it was gone before she could do more than register it. Blond wasn't unusual, but that was an icy blond that was near impossible to achieve by dyeing. No, it must have been something else. It could be anything.

"Quando?" she asked.

The seller took the leek, carrots and onion from her and weighed them all separately. Unease had crept up her spine and she tried to dismiss it, forcing herself to not scan the market for blond hair. Too much of her time had been spent being afraid and paranoid. She'd done a good job hiding her tracks. Looped back, changed course, and had meandered her way down here over land. No one was here looking for her.

"Gracias," she said when the vendor handed over her vegetables in a brown paper bag. Now she needed bread.

As she walked down along the lane between stalls, people parted and she saw him. For a moment, she didn't believe it. He looked straight at her. Black suit, blond hair, look of hatred in his eyes. It was him.

How? How could this be? Obviously, he'd found her, and he was here to…

Dropping her bag, she ran in the opposite direction. Her heart was in her throat and adrenalin coursed through her system. Sheer panic drove her, while at the same time she tried to rationalize this, and plan what she was going to do. She had plans in place—backup plans. There was a package of emergency things she'd stored with the owner of a tobacco store, but she had to get there.

Did he know where she lived? Where was her passport? In her flat. If he found her here, the chances were he'd found her flat too.

Turning swiftly, she tried to spot him, but couldn't. That had been him, though. It wasn't a figment of her imagination. Maybe she was asleep and was having a nightmare. Please be a dream, she told herself.

Quickly, she reached the end of the market, aware she was attracting attention—which normally abhorred her, but the reason for keeping a low profile was in the market right now.

Stopping, she turned again, but she couldn't see him. Her jarring vision desperately canvassed the scene before her, but the crowd was too thick. She searched for a blond head, but she couldn't see him.

That had been him. The image of him standing there was seared into her mind.

Every part of her body felt the blood pumping through it, her pulse roaring in her ears. She started running again, not entirely sure where she was going. What she needed was to put distance between herself and him. Then she would think about how to get herself out of this situation.

But then she heard the searing sound and she knew badness was coming her way. It struck her as she ran, sending her through a glass window into a café. People screamed and she landed hard on the floor. He's struck her. Had used magic to strike her, in public, with people seeing it. That wasn't allowed.

Grabbing onto a table, she tried to get up.

"Crucio."

The pain hit her immediately, and she writhed in it. It blinded every thought out of her mind. A sea of pain she was drowning it. Finally it gave.

People were still screaming.

"Get out!" he yelled at them and they did as he said, running out the door, leaving only the two of them. He stood there with his wand in his hand, a look of murder in his eyes. Maybe he was here to murder her. Honestly, she didn't care why.

"Crucio," he said again, almost softly. The power of his intent wasn't soft. This was a spell he was good at. Again pain overtook her, torturing every part of her until she didn't know where she was, or even who she was. Finally it gave, and it left her panting and unable to move. Her muscles had residual tension and wouldn't respond.

"It was very clever," he said. "Getting my father do to you bidding."

"He wanted me out of the way."

"And what did you do in return for such an act of charity?"

"What?" Is that was thing was about? "Nothing, I gave him what he always wanted—my absence. According to your own words, that's always been what you wanted too. So why co—"

"Crucio."

The pain seared again, and she felt it more keenly now, which meant she was weakening. It seemed to go on for an eternity. Her body was weak when it finally gave way.

"How'd you find me?" she croaked. Maybe he would be stupid enough to tell her so she could do a better job next time. If there was a next time. She might not survive the next ten minutes.

"The muggles record everything. You can't go anywhere without being recorded."

That would involve an insane amount of searching. Finding her would have involved enormous effort, which wasn't justifiable. Why would he go to so much effort to find her?

He was insane. It was the only conclusion she could draw.

Her living clearly upset him so much, he'd dedicated himself to finding her. And something inside her knew it wouldn't be to her benefit to ask why he'd done it.

Crawling along the floor, she tried to see a way of escaping him, but she'd either have to get past him, or down the vast length of the café to hope there was a backdoor. She'd never make it, and she had no wand to combat him. Right now, she was at his mercy, and the coldness in his eyes showed that he wasn't done. In fact, those eyes looked dead.

The movement of his wand showed he was about to strike her again, maybe to not relent this time. There was only one place where he couldn't reach her. Within arm's length.

With all her remaining strength, she scrambled up and leap to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. This was where he couldn't reach her, and he clearly hadn't expected it.

"What are you doing, mudblood?"

Holding onto her wrist behind his back, she refused to let go. "We need to talk. Make some kind of agreement."

He chuckled. "Why would I do that?"

Surprisingly, he felt solid. She, kind of, hadn't expected it. Truthfully, he's always been more of a concept in her mind than a real person.

"Get off me."

"No."

If she let go now, it would be the end of her, and he wasn't strong enough to unhand her without putting away his wand, or else putting it near enough to her hands to break it.

A/N I know, you hate me. Cliff hanger. Ugh.