January 16th
The smartest action to take after leaving the unexpectedly kind woman's small farm was to go in the exact opposite direction of the women's shelter she suggested. Hermione knew it was dangerous to go anywhere someone else might be expecting her to go. That's how a fugitive got caught. By making simple mistakes or listening to seemingly kind-hearted people who might try to lead them astray. Even though neither of the women exchanged names, it wouldn't be too difficult for the wrong sort of people to discover Hermione's whereabouts. The Dark Lord's spies were everywhere. And, if she was honest with herself, Antonin's influence was far-reaching as well.
So, armed with the knowledge that she was likely making a very serious error in judgement, Hermione went straight to the nearest bus stop in the nearby village. She handed over the exact amount for the ticket to Cardiff and waited for the bus. Hours later, she arrived in the charming Welsh city she'd had the pleasure to visit a couple of times in the past. A helpful Muggle gave her directions to the address written down on the envelope.
It was the first night that Hermione ever spent in a Muggle women's shelter. Truthfully, in all of her travels, she never would've thought for a second that hiding behind walls amongst other women struggling with the aftereffects of dangerous relationships was an option. She didn't feel like she belonged there. Every single second that she sat inside the warm building she felt certain that someone was going to point her out for the fraud that she was. She was the kind of person that everyone else should be protected from. What right did she have to seek her own protection?
She only went at the suggestion of the Muggle because she thought it would seem strange if she followed up later to discover she never arrived. Maybe she had a dear friend who worked in the shelter and she would casually ring her up to check to see if Hermione ever made it. There might have been laws and societal expectations put in place to protect the identity of the poor souls seeking refuge, but Hermione knew enough about human nature to understand that even the most proficient and law-abiding person could sometimes bend the rules. If her unexpected savior suspected that her uninvited guest was on the run from something other than an abusive husband, Hermione might have found herself the person of interest in another search.
One night in a warm bed was all she wanted. One hot shower and one filling meal. She stayed long enough to get all three and to make it clear that she'd been there for at least a little while before slipping out the front door. The helpful Muggles in the shelter tried to get her to agree to remain a little bit longer. 'At least until you're on your own feet again.' They pressed pamphlets in her hands full of promises for a better life and warnings about the dangers of returning to an unsafe home. She was momentarily grateful for the illusion that someone out there might actually care what became of her. But, she couldn't stay. Every second she remained, she put more and more innocent people in danger.
Without much purpose, she roamed around the streets of Cardiff just looking for something to occupy her time. She had an overabundance of the stuff. It was strange to realize that it had not been that long ago that she was rushing through the castle with a time turner to make it to her ridiculous number of classes. In those days, she never had enough time. Even with the time turner from the Ministry, she rarely had enough sleep or remembered to eat. Her problems in those days were much simpler even if they felt more like life-and-death than actually worrying about whether or not she was going to live another day.
Some days when she allowed her mind to wander back to those relatively carefree days in the castle, Hermione wished she could travel back in time to appreciate what she had while she had it. There was very little of the same girl that strove to be the top of her year in every class in the woman that looked a little bit like her. Life had changed her in ways she couldn't even fully identify. Maybe it was best that she couldn't. One could only take so much heartache in a single lifetime. She forced her mind away from thoughts of life in the castle. Weeks in a broom cupboard had ruined the illusion of a happy, safe place. Not even the memories of the soft, kind voice outside the door made it better.
Cardiff was beautiful even if the rain that fell was incessant and cold. Hermione couldn't remember why she hadn't spent much time in the city in the past. Something about a treaty or an unspoken agreement with the magical community in the city. They weren't outright supporters of the Dark Lord and his regime, but they weren't openly in rebellion against them either. Not like the ones in Edinburgh or half of Devon. Enough energy had been expended by the Dark Lord's forces in those places that they were usually left relatively at peace. Until an enemy of the Resistance had the foolish idea to enter their boundaries, of course.
Hermione felt confident that if her presence was noticed in Cardiff, no one would say anything unless she started making trouble. Her defection had been a well-kept secret. Only those with direct access to the Dark Lord via his Inner Circle even knew that she had run. It would have been a massive blow to morale and to the illusion that Lord Voldemort's favorite pet was still in line with the regime if word of her escape got out. No one would want the country to know that she wasn't still being a dutiful puppet.
Her favorite of all the Death Eaters, if it was possible to actually like one of them, had made a very public decision to leave the organization he'd pledged his life to when he was a young, naive child chasing after a pretty witch's skirts. Rodolphus Lestrange had actually killed three members of the lower ranks of the Death Eaters in his rather dramatic resignation. Hermione struggled to keep the pride off of her face when she heard the tale secondhand. Her master wouldn't have appreciated her joy.
Roddy had been kind to her from the first day they met. Convinced at first that he was the voice outside her cupboard protecting her from his fellow debauched wizards and keeping her at least marginally sane, Hermione had been encouraged to learn he hadn't been anywhere near her cupboard. She was thankful to discover that there were at least two Death Eaters who weren't complete horrors. If the rumors were true, and she very much hoped they were, Roddy was out there somewhere living happily in his animagus form free from the violence he despised.
Once, as a guise of helping Antonin with her training, Roddy offered to teach her how to become an animagus. He was selective in the people he revealed his secret to and she'd felt honored when he was kind enough to offer her a possible escape from the life she had been forced into. Transfiguration had always been one of her best subjects in school. Not only had it been terribly fascinating, but she admired Professor McGonagall so much that she wanted to impress the witch. Training to be an animagus, however, took a great deal more concentration and patience than she possessed. Roddy understood. He smiled, squeezed her hand, and promised her that if the time ever came that she needed his assistance, he would be there. Some days, he had been the only person in the Inner Circle she didn't want to murder.
As she continued to walk down the snowy streets ignoring the happy Muggles around her going about their lives, Hermione thought back to the message she still held in her pocket. If it truly was from the person she thought it was and wasn't just some elaborate plan to duplicate his writing, why would he send Malfoy? Why would he ask her to trust him? He would've had a better chance of getting her to trust a Death Eater stalking her around the country if he'd chosen one she actually trusted. Like Roddy or even Corban Yaxley. They'd had their differences at times, but she knew underneath his rough exterior he was a good man caught up in impossible circumstances. Or, why didn't he come himself?
Exhausted from her walking and from her thoughts, Hermione set her attention to finding somewhere to sleep that night. The sun would be down soon and she needed a warm corner to collapse.