January 13th

It was dark outside when Hermione woke up again from her place on the old lady's sofa. Spending hours in agony had taken a lot out of her physically. She was out of practice enduring mass amounts of pain in a short period of time. Her conditioning had once been thorough enough that she was able to withstand her master's displeasure with a protracted Cruciatus Curse, sleep like a baby, and still manage to wake up promptly at five the next morning for her customary morning run. Jogging through the forests around Hogsmeade was sometimes the only opportunity she got to ensure she had some time alone. Now, she had more alone time than she knew what to do with. She was almost tempted to seek out other human beings at times.

Her stomach quietly protested its lack of food when she was fully conscious. Sleep had been more valuable than sustenance the day before. She hadn't expected to find much inside the kitchen cupboards. Her unwitting hostess appeared to be a woman of limited means if the threadbareness of her linens was any indication. Women like her often subsisted on the bare minimum of food to keep their expenses down. And, they usually didn't eat much to begin with.

She was pleasantly surprised to find more food than she expected. The cupboards were filled. Of course, she was always aware that any time she cleaned out a person's stockpile of food, her presence would be noticed. It didn't matter if the Muggles discovered she'd been staying there as long as she wasn't there when they did. The longer she was away from the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters, the more bits and pieces of humanity began to creep back into Hermione. She knew that she should feel guilty about stealing from people who had very little, but somehow, she still repressed her feelings. Whatever was necessary to stay alive was hers to take.

Once her stomach was appeased and she felt almost too full, she filled her beaded bag with every can or jar in the kitchen that wouldn't spoil. Anything that needed to be cooked or kept cool would be consumed before she left. When she was thinking clearly, she would fill her bag with food minutes after breaking into a house. That way, if the homeowners returned earlier than she anticipated, she would already have their food stashed in her pockets. Between Malfoy and Aberforth Dumbledore and meeting Oliver Wood's older brother, she had been out of sorts. If she wasn't careful, she would be captured again. Next time, she probably wouldn't be released with just a warning.

Being unable to use magic for fear that she would be traced left Hermione in a difficult position. She was fairly certain that she had been cautious in her exit from Edinburgh. Her escape was witnessed by at least one member of the Resistance. It might not have been clear who that person was, but every moment she was in the bus station purchasing her ticket and waiting for departure, she felt eyes on her. If they belonged to anyone else Marked like she was, they wouldn't have allowed her to climb on the bus and leave the city. But, even if she felt confident no one who could do her any harm knew where she was, she didn't like the vulnerability she felt in being in an unsecured home. Antonin taught her more than she dreamed possible about wards, both building them up and tearing them down. Living any length of time in a structure without them went against her highly suspicious nature.

As best she could manage on her own physical power, Hermione stacked furniture in front of the front door and the back door. No one would be able to push either door open without making a loud racket across the wooden floor. Windows she couldn't do anything about. Even closing all of the drapes was a foolish idea. If the neighbors suspected that anything was odd about the house, she might be forced to fight her way out. Muggles were entirely too nosy.

Deciding that she should take advantage of the small bathroom connected to the women's bedroom, Hermione closed the battered old door and used the latch. It wasn't sturdy enough to withstand too much pressure if someone was inclined to knock it down, but at least she would have a few moments to prepare herself if they tried. Showering in a strange place was as vulnerable a position as she could find herself in. Sleeping might have had its own dangers. At least then she wasn't completely naked and the ambient sounds of the house weren't drowned out by the fall of water in her ears.

She knew better than to linger too long under the stream. Hot water ran out quickly in old homes and it was better to finish as quickly as possible. Still, she stood under the hot water taking deep, calming breaths ignoring her valid concerns. Sometimes it felt better to be warm than it did to feel safe. She would sacrifice her sense of security for a little more warmth. Unable to build a fire in the fireplace, the cozy, old house was quite cold. Very little heat poured out of the vents.

Hermione climbed out of the shower just as the hot water was beginning to run out. She had to do it quickly to keep from banishing the small bit of warmth she'd collected with a blast of icy water. Dressing quickly and wrapping her wet hair in a dry towel, she unlatched the door. Before she stepped back into the bedroom, she strained her ears for any sign or hint that anything unusual was happening within. Satisfied that she was still very much alone in her hideaway, she directed her steps towards the kitchen to make a pot of tea.

Of course, she should've considered the fact that wizards weren't going to be deterred by furniture stacked in front of the doors. A simple spell could get one into a structure without even needing to touching the entrance. And, a determined wizard could hide the sounds of Apparition if necessary. As well as make tea with little effort and without turning the taps on.

Draco Malfoy sat at the kitchen table covered in its floral tablecloth looking as if it wasn't unusual for him to pop up uninvited to the Welsh woman's home for tea. His wand lay in plain sight in the middle of the table next to the steaming teapot, proof that he wasn't there to harm her. Hermione wasn't so certain. He'd been taught tricks by the same master. At her entrance, he calmly looked up, met her eye, and nodded once in greeting. His silent offer to join him at the table was refused. She might be willing to listen to what he had to say if he said it quickly, but she was already planning to bolt.

"I think it wise that you not attempt any dramatic escapes like the other night, Granger. Your use of magic did not go unnoticed. Antonin was sorely disappointed to learn he'd missed you."

"I'm sure he was. How's his eye?"

His quiet chuckle sent chills up her spine.

"Perfectly all right, the last I saw. I believe the Healers at St. Mungo's were able to fix it before any permanent damage was done. But, if I may be honest, I'm not so sure Antonin is likely to forget you sticking a sharp fork in it. Something to keep in mind when you see him next."

"I don't plan on ever seeing him again."

"Yes, well, I suppose that remains to be seen. I know I'm not speaking out of turn when I say that neither one of us have always been able to see the fulfillment of our plans."

It felt bizarre chatting with Malfoy. Less than two weeks earlier he was intent on catching her and dragging her back to their Dark Lord. Nothing he said would convince Hermione otherwise. Maybe this was all just a different tactic he was trying to ensure she left with him. Wouldn't work.

"I'll kill you if I have to, Malfoy. Don't think your wand laying on the table will stop me. I'm not going back."

"Not even to see your…"

"No! I'm not going back."

She closed her hand over the handle of her wand. Every word she spoke, she meant. Killing her childhood bully wouldn't even be a hardship on her conscience. She'd killed many she hated less. Some she hadn't hated at all.

He raised both hands up, palms out. Just as he did a few minutes after midnight on New Year's. His apparent lack of a weapon didn't make her feel any safer.

"I'm not here to take you, Granger. Just here to leave you a message."

"You can tell Antonin that I want nothing…"

"It's not from him."

Draco held one hand up as he slipped the other into one of his pockets. She couldn't see what he pulled out in the dimness of the room. Whatever it was, he set it down on the table and picked up his wand. Preparing herself for a battle, Hermione had half a dozen brutal spells on the tip of her tongue waiting to be used against the wizard.

"Maybe it'll convince you I'm telling you the truth. I don't want to hurt you."

He spun in place, Disapparating from the kitchen in a swirl of his black robes. Not trusting that it wasn't an elaborate plan to catch her off guard, Hermione waited a solid minute or two before she moved her feet towards the table. Knowing him, he might have Apparated back in the room when she approached his 'message'.

A cut flower was all he left. She didn't understand. It was too dark to see even what kind of flower it was so she picked it up and carried it over to a window where the light of the moon was shining through brightly. Hermione gasped when she realized she was holding a single bluebell. In the light, she could see a tiny strip of parchment tied to the stem of the flower. The writing was so small it took a moment for her eyes to adjust enough to read. When they did, she felt her insides twist. She knew that handwriting very well. Only two words were scrawled in black ink.

Trust him.