February 2nd

A slight buzzing in Hermione's ears finally woke her up from her deep sleep. Hardly loud enough to be heard, it was just harsh enough to be annoying. She didn't want to open her eyes. The bed was so warm and soft. She hadn't realized until that moment how much she missed the simple pleasure of sleeping in a bed every night. Moving just a fraction to stretch her stiff limbs, she realized at some point in her ordeal, Augustus dressed her in one of his soft, well-worn vests. It made her smile to herself. Leave it to Augie to not waste an opportunity to see her naked.

She snuggled deeper into the covers, relishing the familiar scents that clung to the fabric: the oranges he ate every day, the sweet tobacco from the cigars he smoked when he was alone, the peppermint he used unsuccessfully to hide the fact that he'd been smoking. Though she hadn't had cause to be close enough to smell him since before her son was born, she would never forget his scent or how it always seemed to calm her down.

The more inured to the faint buzz she became, the easier it was to pick up on the other sounds in the room. A soft cough. The rustling of pages. The crunch of a loud bite. Breathing. She'd heard them all before. If she closed her eyes again and forgot all of the events of the last little more than a decade, she could almost imagine she was back in the small seaside house in Cornwall. Almost.

Carefully, she rolled over on to her side to look at the other half of the large bed. Augustus sat propped against several pillows taking bites from a bright red apple as he read a tattered, old book. He read every free moment he could find. It had been one of the traits of his that endeared him to her the most. Where she preferred to read books about magic to increase her knowledge, he devoured every single Muggle mystery novel he could find. Sometimes he read for academic reasons, but more often than not, he preferred using his skills of deduction and logic to attempt to solve the myriad of murders committed by fictional people in a world without magic that he didn't fully understand. Based on the ratty cover depicting an aristocratic-looking family around the turn of the twentieth century, she highly doubted he was studying a new spell.

"The butler did it."

Augustus jumped slightly at the unexpected sound of her voice. Hermione bit back a smile. He also had a terrible habit of getting far too engrossed far too easily. Maybe his time away in France had been a detriment to his self-preservation instincts. Thinking over what she said, he gave her an indulgent smile and scoffed.

"No, I highly doubt that. He's been a loyal, old chap. Wouldn't even hurt a fly."

"Trust me. He did it."

Determined to prove her wrong, he flipped to the back of the book. After a quick perusal of the end contents, he visibly deflated. She fought the urge to laugh at his disappointment. Hadn't he read enough of his silly mysteries to know that if there was a butler anywhere involved in the plot, the likelihood that he was the murderer was almost absolute? Augustus slammed the book shut with a scowl.

"Is there anything you don't already know, love?"

It was said in jest and likely without much thought, but Hermione's heart clenched at the harmless endearment. She didn't bring attention to how strange it was to hear him say that word after so many years. The moment they were having was far too enjoyable to ruin. It didn't really matter anyway. So many years had passed. Neither of them were even the same person they used to be. Instead of focusing on the particular word he used, she responded to his entire question.

"Yes. I don't know how long I've been here. What day is it?"

"It's Friday evening. I brought you up here just after midnight on Wednesday."

Almost three full days. Hermione tried to sit up. It was dangerous to stay so long in the same place. And Antonin had been there just a short time earlier. What if he came back? No matter how many years passed, no matter how long they remained married, he would always suspect Augustus first. Certain jealousies didn't diminish with time, they grew stronger. Augustus tossed his book and the core of his apple on to the side table next to the bed. His strong hands gently pushed her back onto the mattress long before she had a chance to move far.

"You stay right where you are. You're not well yet."

"I can't stay, Augie. It's not safe."

"And where do you plan to go from here?"

She couldn't answer his simple question because she didn't have the first clue. The only plan she had was to try to figure out a way to get out of the Leaky Cauldron without being discovered. It seemed impossible. Augustus' quick thinking might have gotten her in, but she highly doubted a similar plan would work to get her out. She was afraid that Antonin was waiting outside the door to the room. What if his suspicious mind thought she was in there? Of course, there was the very real possibility that he would've already kicked the door down or blasted it off its hinges if he even suspected.

"That's what I thought. You're still weak, Hermione. It would be even more unsafe for you to try to leave without being well. You might get sick again and I wouldn't be there to take care of you."

Arguing with his solid logic was a waste of time and breath. She sighed, partly displeased that she wouldn't be leaving any time soon and partly upset with herself for not being as upset as she should've been. Running from Antonin all those months had been a lonely endeavor. She was enjoying the company of an old friend. Even if it did make her a bit sad. And remind her of all that had not been and could not be.

"How have you been able to keep me a secret up here? Has anyone bothered you?"

"No, not at all. Half of the ones at the meeting were already very intoxicated when I dragged you in. The other half doesn't care enough about anything beyond their own pathetic problems to worry about what I'm up to."

"What about Antonin?"

She hated saying her husband's name in front of Augustus. There had never been an opportunity to really bring closure to their past thanks to the man she was ordered to marry. It had been a sore subject, one that was simply easier to ignore than to address years later. Not long after Augustus was ordered by the Dark Lord to track down his estranged wife and turn his dysfunctional family into a model unit for the regime, he'd been given a temporary assignment in France to liaise with the French Ministry that had eventually turned permanent. Neither of them were ignorant of the fact that the permanence was likely as a result of Antonin's suggestion to their master.

Augustus sighed when she asked. Almost as if her utterance broke the spell that was around them, crashing them back to reality. He loathed Antonin for very different reasons than she did. Their history hadn't been kind long before Hermione was even born. She didn't know the full story and neither man ever seemed eager enough to share, but she knew there was something secret that shaped their hatred of each other decades earlier. Time had certainly not improved it either.

"He's the only one that bothered me."

Worried about his admission, she tried to sit up in bed. He, once again, carefully pushed her back down. Augustus gestured to the room with his hand.

"Can't you hear the infernal buzzing?" She nodded that she could. "I had to cast charms to block out the actual sounds inside this room and replace them with… well, ahem, something different."

She felt her cheeks burn as she considered the options. Was Augustus trying to make it seem like he was locked up in a room committing indecent acts? It almost made her laugh. There had been plenty of times in the past when they didn't need any charms to make it seem like something inappropriate was happening behind locked doors. Seeing the redness in her face, Augustus laughed.

"Not that, love. Anyone standing outside with their ear pressed against the door will hear screaming and pleas for mercy. Screams of passion would only encourage him to think you might be in here. When he knocked on the door the other night and demanded to know what was happening, I told him that I was simply enjoying one of the local Muggles. You know how protective France has become of their Muggle population. Can't hardly curse one without getting in some sort of bother with the Ministry."

He waved off the idea that there was anything wrong at all with being frustrated that he wasn't as free to commit a bit of torture as he liked. Once upon a time, Hermione might have been horrified by the very idea. Her feelings, however, had been altered remarkably. Though she never found the sport of Muggle hunting enjoyable, she understood the importance of releasing a bit of tension from time to time. They all had their vices. None of them were blameless.

She felt her eyes begin to grow heavy again even as her stomach rumbled at its lack of food. The desire to eat was keeping her awake, but not for much longer. Going as long as she had with infrequent meals, she knew how to turn her hunger signals off long enough to keep going a little bit further. Amused by the sound, Augustus pointed his wand at a nearby table to summon a tray with a hot, clear soup.

"Wasn't sure when you might wake up, but I knew you'd be hungry. Eat this and then you need to get some more sleep."

Arguing about the obvious was useless. Each spoonful of the delectable liquid grew heavier and heavier. By the end of the bowl, she had no more strength to lift the utensil. Augustus gently removed it from her hand and helped her hold a vial of some foul potion. Within moments of imbibing the medication, she laid her head down on the pillow and slept entirely without dreams.