February 3rd

It was either very late when Hermione woke up again or very early. All of the lights in the room were extinguished, no sounds could be heard wafting from the public room downstairs, and Augustus' soft snores on the other side of the large bed were easily heard. She smiled at the once-familiar sound. There was a time that she would tease him about being difficult to sleep next to and he'd argue until he was angry that he absolutely did not snore. He was a deep sleeper, a train could go through his room while he slept and he wouldn't even notice.

Careful not to jostle the bed too much, she rolled over on her side to take a look at the wizard who had, once again, taken it upon himself to keep her protected from the dangers of the world outside. It had been a shock to her when she discovered that the man who selflessly sat outside her broom cupboard was none other than one of the most feared escapees from Azkaban Prison. She remembered seeing his face the first time in the edition of the Daily Prophet issued the morning after the mass breakout. He'd looked just as deranged as Bellatrix and Antonin in his portrait. If she had known what an impact he would've made on her life and in such a positive manner, she wouldn't have believed it.

Old enough to be her father, she knew their relationship hadn't made a lot of sense to those on the outside looking in. She'd always been attracted to men that were much older. Even in second year she had that embarrassing crush on Gilderoy Lockhart and she still cringed when she thought about what a fool she made of herself the next year when she had Remus Lupin as her professor. There was something about older men that she preferred to the boys her age. Maturity, no doubt, but also something else. She felt more comfortable with them, freer to be herself. How many times in her adolescence had she been shamed by Ron or any of the other boys for being too interested in reading and not interested enough in silly pursuits like Quidditch or makeup charms?

Augustus made her feel like an equal from the first day they spoke. He made her feel valued. Perhaps that was something that young wizards, and witches too, needed to learn as they grew older. Too often she simply felt like she was annoying or exasperating or simply a convenience for the boys she took a fancy to in school. She was an afterthought. The assumption was that she would always be available when they needed her. No one appeared to care much about her well-being and security until she was locked in a broom cupboard with a Death Eater bodyguard.

They would've driven each other completely mad if their relationship had been allowed to continue. At first, it was fun to sneak around. She would cherish the weeks they spent in France for as long as she lived. When they thought no one was aware of what they were doing, they'd sneak down to his house on the coast of Cornwall. They'd spend the days exploring the countryside, picking bouquets of the bluebells that came to symbolize their limited time together, and the nights tangled in the sheets calling out for more, more, more of the other. As much as she loved him, even to that very day, she knew that daily interactions would ruin the novelty of their relationship. He tended to leave his socks laying about the house and it was always possible to tell when he'd made himself something to eat in the kitchen based on the crumbs and rubbish he left behind. She was sure that would frustrate her and he wouldn't appreciate her annoying habits as well.

Perhaps it was best that he was ordered to France to repair his marriage. Her memories sustained her at times when she feared nothing else would. How miserable would it have been to have ruined what moments she held precious because of prolonged close proximity? It had been heartbreaking to have their engagement nullified and for her choice of husband changed, but she recognized that it all could've been so much worse. What was the old trite Muggle saying? 'Better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.' It was, however, small comfort.

"You're staring. Why?"

Though Augustus' voice was gruff and heavy with sleep, his amusement was still evident. Hermione had been so lost in the memories of her mind that she hadn't even realized he had stopped snoring. She could only just see the small smile on his lips as he looked back at her. It was mildly embarrassing to be caught staring, but she didn't worry about it too much. After all, she had been doing exactly as he accused.

"I was just thinking how bizarre it is to be back in the same bed as you are again."

His chuckle made her smile again. If she ignored the screaming in the back of her mind that she was in danger and this wouldn't last, she could almost imagine that no time had passed since the days when she used to sneak out of her teacher's house, long before they were married, to meet Augustus for a clandestine meeting at The Three Broomsticks or The Leaky Cauldron or one of a dozen other little inns they liked. There had been whole weekends spent entirely in bed. Not just for sleeping or for more pleasurable activities, but for long, deep conversations that she cherished.

"Remembering the good old days, are you?"

"It's difficult for me to think about life before I ran away from Antonin, to be honest."

"I can imagine. Are you rethinking your decision to leave?"

She'd considered running back to Hogsmeade to beg her husband's forgiveness more times than she was comfortable admitting even to herself. Life as a fugitive had been difficult. No matter what she had done to Antonin, a part of her believed that he would always accept her back. Maybe at first she would have to endure his punishments, his cold, calculating hatred, but eventually, he'd be desperate for their life to return to normal. It was almost an attractive idea until she remembered that their normal was hardly healthy or safe. Their relationship would only grow more dangerous and toxic. As much as she longed to come in out of the cold, both figuratively and literally, she knew it was a terrible idea. Eventually, she'd end up dead at her demented husband's hands. Of that, she had little doubt.

"Not exactly. It might be easier to go back to him, but I just don't think I can live that way any longer."

Augustus' hand brushed her hair away from her face. She jumped at the unexpected touch. In the darkness, she hadn't even been aware that he'd moved his entire body closer to hers. Feeling him so close made her feel giddy and frightened all at the same time. Even contemplating returning to a semblance of their old relationship was a bad idea. She hoped that she hadn't given him the wrong idea. Despite the fact that her body was too tired from so recently being ill, she didn't want to open doors that had long ago been shut and bolted. Her heart couldn't take it again.

"I have to go back to France in a few hours."

"I wish you could take me with you."

The words came out of her mouth before she could put a halt to them. Augustus leaned across the space between them on the mattress to gently kiss her forehead. When she realized he wasn't about to try to escalate his affections any further, she was both relieved and disappointed.

"I wish I could too, but…"

"It's too dangerous and a terrible idea."

His nod was the only response he was willing to give. Wanting to get away from him before she made a move that she would most likely come to regret later, Hermione ignored the aching in her body to sit up and remove the covers. A clear sadness crossed Augustus' face when it was obvious she was leaving. Not caring that he was watching her every movement, she crossed the room to where her discarded clothing had been neatly folded and laid in a pile on a chair.

"I've stayed too long. I have to get moving."

"Where will you go?"

She shrugged her shoulders, not even the faintest hint of a clue what she would do next. Put as much distance between herself and the last known location of Antonin Dolohov was a certainty. Augustus moved to the edge of the bed to sit with his feet on the floor. He appeared as if he wanted to do nothing more than reach for her to bring her back into his bed, but he didn't make a move. With a wave of his wand, a small bag flew through the air straight into his hands. When Hermione met his eye again, he tossed it into her hand.

"I converted some money at the bank yesterday while you were sleeping. That should keep you in a warm bed for a little while at least."

If she could remember how to cry, she would've at his generosity. Several thousand Muggle pounds were rolled into a tight ball inside the bag. As long as she wasn't too extravagant in her choice of lodging, she could be sure of not needing to be out in the elements again for a very long time. No more barns, at least. A key caught her attention at the bottom of the canvas bag. She dug inside to pull it out to show Augustus.

"That's to my house in Cornwall. No one ever goes there. I wouldn't be surprised if Antonin's investigated to make certain I didn't already have you stashed away there. It should be safe."

"I don't know, Augie."

"Just think about it. It's protected and as long as I'm in France, no one would have any reason to suspect you were there."

It was too good to be true. She'd learned that lesson a long time ago. As much as she might have loved to sneak off to his small house and hide in the familiar environment, her husband wasn't ignorant enough of the location to not suspect she might be there eventually. She could see it being entirely too easy to get complacent and lazy there. Though she would hold on to the key, she didn't anticipate ever using it.

Wanting the answer to at least one of her questions before she snuck out of the building, she held out the dried bluebell. Augustus didn't seem surprised at all to see it. At least she was certain that it hadn't all been a lie.

"Why should I trust Malfoy?"

"I can't tell you all of the details yet, Hermione, but something is happening. Something that will make our lives better. When you see him next, listen to what Malfoy has to tell you."

"Is that all you're going to tell me?"

"That's all I know, love. But, you can trust him."

He would give her no more answers. When he set his mind to it, the former Unspeakable could be frustratingly tight-lipped.