January 3rd

It had been a long time since Hermione had been able to sleep for ten hours straight. Not since long before she escaped her captivity. Her dreams were once the only place she felt truly free. In her awakened state, she had too many unpleasant tasks called upon her to complete. Or she saw the hateful faces of those she would kill without remorse. Only their much higher status in their newly reorganized society kept her hands off of her wand.

Dreams allowed her the opportunity to remember days that were gone and would never be seen again. She recalled moments in her past that occurred long before she ever got her letter explaining that she truly was different than all of the other children she knew. There were happy recollections of moments during her school years and then in that year leading up to the end of the war. Life was simpler in those fantasies. Harry was still alive and Ron… well, he was better left unthought about. It wasn't as if she could really judge her old boyfriend. She had been forced to make many less than palatable choices herself in the collapse of their world following Harry's murder.

Lingering in bed for as long as she did had been a terrible idea. She knew she shouldn't get too comfortable anywhere she landed. Complacency was her worst enemy. Perhaps that was why Malfoy was able to find her. She was too confident in her safety with the elderly couple set to be out of the country for another two weeks. In her mind, no one would ever think to look for her in their charming home in the middle of the small village. Thinking like that would get her killed. Or worse, captured.

Life had taught her the valuable lesson that some things were worse than death. Suicide was an act she had considered, but never seriously. There always remained that still small hope in the back of her mind that there would a change worth sticking around for. The Dark Lord couldn't remain in power forever, could he? Three teenagers who should have been in school were almost able to bring him down. Someone else might very well be able to succeed where they failed.

Living on hope and nothing else was no way to live. Hermione wished she could return to the hopeful young girl who believed that good would always prevail. She had been that girl once upon a time. An adolescence marked with tragedy and violence began to strip away that idealism. The events that transpired after her best friend was brutally murdered in front of her eyes removed the rest. She had seen the ugliness that human nature had to offer and it had not flinched in her judgement.

Thursday nights weren't the busiest night of the week for the pubs. She used that flimsy fact to talk herself into entering an establishment she probably should've stayed out of. There was no way to tell where he had his spies. Money was scarce, but she, like so many other women before her, knew a way to get what she wanted without paying.

A quick scan of the virtually empty pub showed there to be four other souls in the building: one man behind the bar organizing the bottles, a frustratingly flirtatious and happy couple in the darkest corner slobbering over each other, and a solitary man nearing middle-age at the end of the bar clearly just off work. Hermione willed herself to not get too cocky. Though she knew it was going to be all too easy, she couldn't allow her countenance to reveal her confidence. Half of the subterfuge required that she seem as innocent as her magical genetics would suggest.

She chose an empty seat at the bar only a few feet away from the man sipping slowly at his pint. As she climbed up onto the barstool, she caught his eye and gave him a small, shy smile. He seemed caught off-guard by the attention, but after a few owlish blinks of his eyes, returned a grin. Shortly after she reluctantly passed over enough money to pay for her first drink entirely in change, she tried to hide her bright red blushes in the glass.

Both men watched her with differing levels of clear sympathy on their kind faces. Part of her felt guilty that she was going to use her hard-earned skills against these men. Most of her, however, kept reminding herself that the world was a cruel and dangerous place for those who weren't willing to get their hands dirty. She didn't know anything about the men. Maybe they were running from something too. Maybe they wanted nothing to do with their children. Hated them for what they represented. Or maybe they were filled with rage that they took out on everyone they met because of a failed love affair that could never be more than just a handful of nights they lived to regret. They could be abusive husbands who could whisper sweet words into their wife's ear making her believe he actually loved her and things would finally change one second and then push her down the stairs the next.

No one really knew anyone. At least not their true self. In order to survive in the world, Voldemort or not, one had to present themselves a certain way to those they came into contact with. Weaknesses were deadly.

There was a continued silence between the three at the bar as Hermione sipped her drink. In the name of curiosity, she allowed her eyes to drift over to the man seated just a couple of seats down. He wasn't handsome in the most conventional of ways, but she could see how he might have turned a few heads when he was younger. She put his age as early to mid-forties. If he had been a wizard, he would still have had many more years to look forward to before anyone started to call him 'middle-aged'. His light green eyes and dark hair made for an almost startling combination. Funny how she always seemed to find the men that reminded her so much of…

Hermione shook her head. There was no sense thinking about the past if she could avoid it. She was running away from the past, not to it. 'Oh, that way madness lies.'

"Excuse me, sir," she began with shy, downcast eyes, catching the attention of the pub's proprietor as well as the man seated nearby. "Can you tell me if there's any place nearby a room could be had for the night?"

She listened to the man recite the number of hotels in the area that were likely to have vacancies. Each suggestion she politely thanked him for with another round of furious, red blushes that she'd learned to time perfectly. Most men, especially Muggles, were practically powerless in the presence of a poor girl who looked like she needed help. It was a weakness Hermione was only too happy to exploit.

"Thank you. I'm certain I will figure something out."

The bottom of her almost-empty glass suddenly became the most interesting specimen to examine. Even without looking up for positive confirmation, she could tell that the men were at the very least exchanging concerned glances with the other. If she continued to play her cards right, she might end up with both targets being a success instead of just one. But, she reminded herself again, cockiness would get her nowhere but flat on her arse outside on the pavement.

When the last drops of her pint trickled down her throat, the barkeep asked her if she wanted another. Before she would commit to an answer one way or the other, she pulled a small coin purse out of her bag. Doing a purposefully terrible job of keeping her actions hidden from view, she clinked her remaining coins together as she silently counted them. She looked up at the man with an embarrassed smile and shook her head 'no'.

"Jack, give her another one on me."

With watery eyes and flushed cheeks of shame, Hermione stared into the kind eyes of the man a few seats away. He was one of those creatures uncomfortable with overt emotional displays. All the better, in her opinion. He nodded silently to her, clearly wishing that she wouldn't make a big deal out of his gesture.

A fresh glass was placed in front of Hermione. Moments later, a steaming bowl of soup followed. She feigned shock at the gesture from the generous soul behind the bar.

"Thank you, but I can't…"

He waved off all concerns with a single motion from his hand.

"Slow night. Someone needs to eat it. I made too much and you look like you could use a bite…"

Realizing he said too much and was in danger of mortifying the poor girl, he cleared his throat loudly and moved to the end of the bar to wipe up a non-existent spill. Hermione tucked into the delicious smelling meal. Truthfully, he wasn't wrong. It had been a couple of days since she was certain she'd had a proper meal. Money was so scarce that she tried to use it as little as possible. Proper nutrition often fell to the wayside when one was on the run from evil wizards who wanted to drag her back into her cage.

She made polite, if somewhat stilted, conversation with the man who bought her a drink. Mostly inquiries were made about where she had been and what brought her to their city. It was obvious she wasn't a permanent resident. When the last bite of the soup was gone and she drank the last of her pint, she knew it was time to go. A free meal and a bit of sympathy was all she was looking for that night. Once her task was complete, it was best to move on.

"Thank you both for, well, for everything."

Hermione quickly rose to her feet and headed straight for the door. Night had fallen while she enjoyed the warmth of the comfortable pub. The small part of her humanity that identified as the idealistic girl who once tried to free an entire species from their slavery was still there somewhere, deep, deep inside. That Hermione was embarrassed at the lows she'd fallen to and her humiliation in the face of those two men as she ran away was genuine.

"Miss, wait!"

Three steps outside onto the pavement and her drinking companion stopped her. He allowed the door to slam shut behind him. The few people that were out in the cold January night paid them no mind. Before she realized what he was doing, the man slipped a few folded bills into her gloved hand.

"Get yourself somewhere warm tonight. And in the morning, go home. This isn't a place you want to be without any money or somewhere to stay."

The tears that began to roll out of her eyes were mostly real. If only going home was an option… She would've given just about anything to be back in her parents' home, safe and secure in the knowledge that she wasn't alone. The only 'home' she had to look forward to wasn't warm and inviting at all. It was dangerous and even lonelier than being on the run.

She didn't expect the warm hug that the man offered. It had been so long since someone had touched her for no other reason than to provide her comfort. At first, she didn't know how to respond. Her entire body tensed, but he did not release her. When she allowed herself the vulnerability to melt into the embrace, the tears she was ordinarily so good at holding in came bursting out in a torrent. He patted her back and whispered soothing words of 'there, there' and 'it'll all look brighter in the morning'.

"I'm so sorry. That was… thank you."

Hermione didn't linger long in the area when she pushed the man away. She was embarrassed that anyone had been able to break through the thick wall she'd constructed around her emotions. Weakness would get her killed.

Besides, it was better that she put as much distance between herself and the man before he realized she'd lifted his wallet.