January 5th

Edinburgh carried far too many unpleasant memories for Hermione. Only the fact that she believed it to be the best location for her to regroup for a few days made her even consider the city. In the middle of the winter with nowhere to live, it would be assumed that she would keep as far south as possible. She even left clues that she was certain he would find giving every indication that she would be trying to leave for France.

The happiest weeks of her entire life were spent in the familiar country across the Channel. Not just when she was young and still living a somewhat idyllic childhood with her Muggle parents. When she grew a bit older, she loved to slip over for a few days here and there to relax. Life in Great Britain was never easy. She dreamed about leaving and never returning.

She used the last bit of money she'd stolen from the kind-hearted Muggle to pay for a room for the night in a dodgy part of the city. It was unfortunate that life on the run meant she had been forced to stay in some of the more disgusting hotel rooms all over the country. A person needed a great deal of money to be able to run away in style. She'd have to rob much more wealthy people to do so. That was a thought she didn't cherish.

Once inside the relative safety of her hotel room, she peeled off the clothes she had been traveling in and threw them in a pile on the floor. Laundry was getting to be a dire problem. If she planned on staying in the same hotel for more than a couple of days, she would just wash her clothes in the bathtub. That wasn't possible this time. She needed to find somewhere else she could sleep for no money. Her purse was too light. Staying in the same hotel room long enough for her clothes to dry on their own wasn't an option.

Long, hot showers were a luxury that she rarely experienced. She stood under the heat of the water with her eyes closed to simply savor the moment that most people in the world took for granted each day. Eight months had passed since she made the decision to start running. Though she'd regretted her rash choice a handful of times, she knew that she couldn't keep on living the way she had been. She had long ago become a person she didn't even recognize.

She had become dangerous. Unpredictable. Losing Harry and the hope that their world would ever return to what it once was had been a crushing blow. Decisions that she had made under duress had come back to haunt her later. If her best friend could see her now, he would be ashamed of what she had become. What she had willingly allowed herself to get involved in.

There had been plenty who had given their lives in the Cause. They stuck close to their principles and never wavered in their beliefs that Good would conquer Evil. She admired their steadfastness even as she pitied and hated them. Several, like Neville, had been given the option to pledge their lives to the new regime in exchange for their forgiveness and their renewed place in Voldemort's new society. Her round-faced friend had gone to the gallows with his head held high and the fierce determination in his eye that he would never surrender. His execution had been another nail in the coffin of the old idealistic Hermione Granger. She would never be the person who put others first again. All that did was get you an Avada straight to your heart.

Just before the water switched from lukewarm to cold, Hermione turned the taps off. There wasn't enough hot water in the world to cleanse her of her sins. A day would come when she would burn for them. She wasn't certain of a lot in her life, but that was something she knew without a doubt would come to pass. Drying quickly with a towel that was woefully inadequate for the job at hand, she tried to ignore all of the negative thoughts plaguing her. The more human she felt, the more wretched she felt.

Knowing that arriving at a public launderette without any clothes in hand would be suspicious, Hermione piled all of her dirty clothing on top of the hotel bed. She wrapped it all up in a large bundle with one of her blankets. A laundry room had been promised when she checked into the hotel, but one inquiry to the front desk clerk proved it hadn't been serviceable in the entire length of time he'd been employed. She didn't look forward to being out in the open, but seeing as it was middle of the afternoon, she hoped she could pass the time unnoticed.

Only a single elderly lady washing her bedding was present when Hermione pushed open the front door. The front desk clerk had given her directions to a place she could visit a few blocks away. Each step of the journey left her feeling exposed and vulnerable. It was not a safe city to be in. There were spies everywhere. She was relieved to have the place almost all to herself.

The other patron ignored Hermione. She may as well have not even existed. There had been a time when that kind of treatment would have bothered her, but not any longer. Invisibility was a superhero power she would have loved to have. Even simply borrowing Harry's invisibility cloak would have been enough. She wasn't sure where that ended up after the war. Likely some sycophant discovered it and turned it into Lord Voldemort for an extra measure of favor. It didn't really matter. The cloak was just another remnant of a past that was better left forgotten.

Just as the wash cycle finished and she began moving the dripping garments to the electric dryers, the door to the street opened for the first time since she entered. The guilty conscience of a woman on the run taught her to immediately examine the new arrival without making it obvious that that was what she was doing. A man, likely eight or ten years older than her, carried a large bag on his back like some kind of disappointing Father Christmas. He sought out a machine only steps from Hermione.

Ignoring strangers while also keeping a close eye on them was another survival skill that had come in handy. She didn't make it obvious that she was watching every move the Muggle made. One never knew just who was a spy and who wasn't. She'd learned that the hard way only days after first running when her path crossed an innocuous-looking child who had been paid to keep track of all of the comings and goings of visitors to their village. Perhaps the little girl was a Muggle-born already given her first taste of what life could be like if she simply fell in line with the Dark Lord's administration. Didn't really matter. Hermione almost didn't make it out of that village.

Hermione flipped through a discarded magazine several months old filled with tips on how to repaint old furniture next to advertisements about miracle drugs that were sure to cure any number of ailments Muggles were apparently afflicted with. She watched the man's movements in the corner of her eye. Several minutes passed before a broad grin crossed his face and he laughed.

"Are you judging me for not separating my whites from my colors? Or dare I hope you see something else you might like?"

Completely mortified that she had been caught staring, Hermione stuttered out a barely coherent assurance that she hadn't been judging. Only as the words tumbled out of her mouth did she realize she was implying that she had discovered something else about him to captivate her attention. Wanting nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow her whole, she checked on her clothes, hoping and praying they would be dry already. She was disappointed to find them still damp. There wouldn't be any chance for a sudden escape.

She sat in a plastic chair as far away from the man as possible without leaving the building. Even though she refused to look in his direction again, she knew that he wasn't shy about the fact he was watching her. Maybe he was hoping she would call him on it, but she was too stubborn to give him the satisfaction. Any other woman in the world would be somewhat flattered by the attention bestowed on her by an attractive man. Hermione missed being invisible. It was safer when no one paid any attention to her.

The moment she heard the dryer turn off, she jumped up from her seat to retrieve her clothes. She didn't even bother to fold them. That was a task that could be completed later when she was alone and away from the prying eyes of strangers. She wrapped her clothes in the same blanket she'd used to carry them in and headed for the door. Before she could make her exit, an arm reached out to block her escape.

"I didn't mean to scare you off."

"You didn't. I'm done."

"Maybe I can make it up to you?"

The man ran his fingertips up her arm. Hermione calmed her nerves down by feeling the end of her wand in her pocket. If circumstances became dire, she could use magic to get away. It would be dangerous and would likely lead to her recapture, but there were few things she absolutely would not abide. A man, Muggle or wizard, getting too free with his hands was one of them.

"Kindly remove your hand from me, sir."

"One drink. I'll buy."

She wrenched her arm away from his grasp. The fire in her eyes should have been enough to frighten him away. A more intelligent man, aware of her reputation or not, wouldn't have allowed the situation to boil up to the point it had. Hermione swore long ago that she would never allow anyone to touch her without her permission. Many had tried and every single one of them had paid the price.

"Get out of my way."

His face was still lit up in an amused smirk when he stepped aside to allow her passage. Hermione rushed out into the dark streets, taking the long way back to the hotel to make certain she wasn't followed.