January 25th
As much as Hermione might have liked to, she knew that she couldn't remain a guest of the Jordan family forever. Not only were they in constant danger of being discovered hiding an operative of the Dark Lord guilty of dereliction of duty, she knew that beyond any potential legal ramifications for them, every day that passed meant it was more likely that a Death Eater would show up at their doorstep. Some of them still managed to possess a modicum of human decency. If one of those arrived, they might let the Jordans remain unmolested. But, if Antonin was the one to pursue the visit or one of his closest allies, there was a serious possibility that no one would escape without some form of physical pain. One or two of the Jordans might even be killed.
Hermione knew she couldn't have something that severe on her conscience. Not when they had been so kind. It had been a lovely respite from the horrors that had been her life for longer than she cared to think about. Though it had taken her a couple of days to warm up to the pace and novelty of a normal family again, she discovered that she could get used to it if she allowed herself. That had been her first clue that she needed to move on. Her second had been when she woke up in the middle of the night to find her back facing the door, her hand empty, and her wand laying on the floor where it had fallen. To relax even for a moment could mean her life. Or worse, one of her new friends' lives.
The third reminder that she needed to not linger much longer in the perceived safety of the house happened on her fourth night in the house. After another delicious dinner prepared by Sarah, she offered to watch the two young girls in the family's living room while the parents washed up. It seemed such a normal task, one that she'd performed a hundred times in the past for other families when she was young. Not that she was terribly good at minding children. There always seemed to be a knack to it that she lacked. But, she felt reasonably confident that she could sit in the same room while Lizzie and her younger sister Posy finished their homework for the next day.
She sat on the very edge of the sofa with a book in her hands, hardly reading the words. As much as she enjoyed reading and had discovered there was often very little else to do when she was on the run, she struggled that evening to make sense of any of the print on the page. Grateful to borrow one of Sarah's books, she had been pleased to discover a few books she hadn't yet read in her collection. The simple domesticity of sitting in front of the warm fire with a book while sounds of a quill scratching on parchment behind her and dishes being washed in the next room brought a flood of memories back to Hermione that she hadn't been expecting.
Most of her nights back home had been eerily similar. Her husband was one of those rarest of masculine creatures that not only enjoyed the act of cooking for his family, but also wanted to be the one to clean up. He said that tidying up the kitchen was a simple act that he could use to relax and calm his nerves after trying days. Washing up after his mother fixed their meals had been one of his childhood chores. Even as an adult he preferred doing everything in the kitchen by hand in the 'Muggle' way. Hermione never teased him for not using magic or for liking the simple task. What wife in their right mind would actually complain about her husband taking an active role in the household duties?
The quill scratching on parchment and the flip of the pages of the heavy book reminded her so much of her son completing his daily lessons that more than once she had to close her eyes tightly and breathe. Had to remind herself that she wasn't back in Hogsmeade. Her husband wasn't about to storm through the door of the kitchen to remind her how she had failed to live up to his expectations. She wasn't about to have to send her son away to his room with a silencing spell on the door to prevent him from witnessing the very worst of the rows between his parents.
"Are you sad?"
Hermione jumped when Posy's soft voice broke the trance she had been caught up in. When she opened her eyes, Lee's youngest daughter stood only inches away with concern written all over her tiny face. It had been evident from almost the first moment that she met the girls which of the two was the more sensitive. Lizzie bothered Hermione for a reason she didn't understand. Posy, on the other hand, hadn't failed to put a smile even on the war-hardened face of her Death Eater houseguest. If Hermione had had her way, she would have had a little girl just like Posy. It had been the plan. After her son, she and her husband immediately started planning for another child. Neither of them kept it a secret within the privacy of their bedroom that they wanted a daughter. Hermione hoped that a baby girl might even soften her husband's disposition. Make him less quick to anger.
But a single tumble down the stairs of their home put all of that out of reach. She hadn't told her husband she was expecting yet. There had been other babies after their son was born that hadn't survived long. She was terrified that the pregnancy they had been hoping for would end like all of the others but one. Her mother struggled with miscarriages throughout her too-short life. Whatever was the cause of her misfortunes appeared to be passed on to her daughter.
Her husband was unpredictable at the best of times. One moment they could be laughing and enjoying each other's company. The next, he could be the very monster everyone knew him to be. Their marriage hadn't been a love match. At least, not on her part. It was something that was decided for her, something that she went along with because it was easier to comply than it was to die. She tried to throw herself completely into it in the beginning. Tried to convince herself that in time love could grow where respect already existed. He was on his best behavior until a month into the marriage.
It was easy to think once she was removed from the situation any length of time that she should have left him. Run away sooner from her entire life. Once a man became violent with his wife, it was always just a matter of time before it happened again. She knew there was no excuse for putting up with that kind of behavior even if it occurred so infrequently she could remember every time he was violent. It wasn't ten percent of the time or even one percent of the time. The number was so infinitesimal if she considered every day that they had been together that there wasn't even a percentage she could assign it. All she knew was that one time was too many.
Leaving was easier said than done. Especially after their son was born. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. Her master mandated the marriage. How could she possibly deny her orders? The Dark Lord wouldn't accept her reasons. Many times she lay awake imagining how she would commit the murder of the man snoring next to her. She never acted on any of her fantasies. Only her fear of Antonin after she attacked him finally gave her the strength to run. Of all of the men in the world to make an enemy of, he was the last she should have messed with. The man she married could keep his temper under control when it suited him. For a long time she thought he might have hurt her for the last time. It wasn't until a retort she made in jest at the wrong time angered him to the point she felt his push on her back at the top of the stairs that she realized she had been wrong.
While she recovered in St. Mungo's, he became a changed man. Always attentive, speaking in quiet tones, apologetic to the point she wanted to strangle him. She'd been numb her entire stay. Maybe it was the shock of losing her baby, maybe it was a side effect of all of the potions they kept insisting that she swallow. The only spark of emotion she experienced was when the Healer delivered the sad news that she'd been carrying the little girl they'd longed for. A tightening of her throat, a desire to cry, but no tears. They'd all been cried out those weeks in the broom cupboard. Her husband ran from the room and didn't return until the next morning still reeking of the fire whiskey he drank too much of. He didn't lay a hand on her in anger again for almost two years.
"Leave her alone, Posy. She's not sad."
The bossy tone of Lizzie's voice gave Hermione at least some clue why she was unnerved by the girl. She seemed to be a younger version of who she once was a million years earlier. Even their voices were alike. It might have been funny if she didn't feel a little sorrow at the loss of her own innocence. Hopefully neither of the girls would ever have to know the threat of war.
"Death Eaters can't be sad. They kill people."
Of course a clever girl like Lizzie would know who Hermione was. Or rather, what she was. Hermione could feel her heart rate increasing. She didn't care for the amused curiosity she sensed in the older girl. When she put her quill down to walk towards the sofa, she had to fight the urge to run away. What did the girl want? Little Posy stared at their guest with wide, frightened eyes. Just like all little girls should stare at a dangerous person. Lizzie, however, smiled wider and sat down next to her on the sofa.
"Can I see it? Can I see your arm?"
Lizzie reached for Hermione's left arm. Before she could grab it, she stood up abruptly. She needed to get away from the girls. It was frightening to see how excited Lizzie had been to get the opportunity to see a Dark Mark up close. She didn't stop until she was safely inside her borrowed bedroom with the door shut. It was abundantly clear that she had to leave the Jordan home.
A light tapping at the window startled her enough that she grabbed her wand, ready to use magic if necessary. There wasn't an owl or even a tree branch to account for the noise. Hermione crossed the room to find an intricately carved paper crane flying repeatedly into the glass. She lifted the window to retrieve the note.
Meet me outside when they've all gone to sleep. -DM
She could just barely see a flash of almost white hair moving in the back garden.