February 4th
The hour was growing late when Hermione finally checked into her latest hotel room. No longer in London, she hoped that she could have the chance to enjoy a few more days of rest in a small inn just outside of the city. Thanks to Augustus' generous donation to her fugitive fund, she was able to splurge a little on a room that actually appeared as if it had been cleaned sometime within the last week. She knew it would be foolish to waste all of her funds staying in places she truly couldn't afford, but she was still a bit weak from her illness.
As she inspected the room to make certain there weren't any unpleasant surprises waiting for her, she thought back on her eventful day. When it was obvious Augustus wouldn't tell her anything more than what he already had, she'd rolled over on her side and gone back to sleep. It had been painfully obvious by the hopeful glint in his eyes that he wouldn't have minded them reacquainting themselves with the more pleasurable aspects of their previous relationship. Though her mind had gone straight to thoughts about how much she would've enjoyed ignoring the shouts of warning from her inner self, she didn't have the energy, physically or emotionally, to open that closed door once more.
When they woke up in mid-morning, neither of them in a huge hurry to get up, Augustus insisted she eat her fill of a large breakfast waiting outside the door to the room. He was expected back in France by his wife sometime that day, but he wanted to put off that unpleasant and odious task as long as possible. There had been a great deal of love in his marriage in the beginning. He used to believe that nothing would ever be so horrible that they couldn't remain as blissfully naive as they had when they first took their vows. Knowing that she wanted nothing to do with him following his conviction and imprisonment had been a blow. More than once he admitted that one of the few things keeping his mind and sanity intact in Azkaban was the depressing thoughts of how he'd disappointed his family and his worries that he would never have the opportunity to make it up to them. Those hadn't exactly been the cheerful, happy memories that the dementors favored.
While Hermione had to learn to navigate a completely different kind of relationship with her former teacher when she was ordered to marry him, Augustus had to learn how to exist with a woman who not only reviled him, but also taught their children to fear and hate him. The years had not been kind to either of them. Violetta Rookwood would rather die a painful death than to embrace her disgraced husband as she had when they were newlyweds. Only her fear of the Dark Lord allowed Augustus inside her home.
After breakfast, her protector gave Hermione a summary of his plans to get her out of the Leaky Cauldron without raising anyone's suspicions. A galleon in this hand and a galleon in that hand could potentially bribe any witnesses to remain silent if they realized who had been holed up in his room, but it was best that there not be any witnesses at all. Antonin already kept a suspicious eye on his comrade. Any reason at all to suspect that he'd been in contact with his wife would be disastrous. Augustus' loyalty to the Dark Lord would likely be called into question. Very few of the Inner Circle survived even the rumors of disloyalty. So, Augustus fashioned a plan that made Hermione roll her eyes even as she could respect the merits of his ideas.
He had thrown her over his shoulder again to bring her back downstairs. Days had passed since he was observed carrying her up to his room. If he didn't give anyone at least the opportunity to see her exit, his actions would be dissected and discussed. Anything at all that might make him seem disloyal had to be avoided. The Dark Lord was no longer just simply punishing his followers. He'd begun targeting their families as well. Augustus had three sons he loved dearly, even if they could hardly stand to be in the same room with their father. He couldn't bear the thought that they would be harmed. Or his growing brood of grandchildren.
Hermione didn't care for the bloodstained blanket she was wrapped in before she was hefted over his shoulder. It was confining and just a little too real for her tastes. Where Augustus had been able to procure the copious amount of blood with which he soaked the blanket, she didn't want to know. Lying perfectly still as he carried her, she appeared to be nothing more than the remnants of the Muggle girl he'd snatched off the street days earlier. It wasn't uncommon for those in their circle to spend several days with a chosen victim simply for the fun of it. Tom, the elderly proprietor of the well-known establishment, always turned a blind eye to the worst of the atrocities committed by his paying patrons. His life was safer that way.
Once outside in the hidden doorway to Diagon Alley, Augustus Disapparated them both far away to the living room of his Cornish home. His insistence that she stay there was ignored. She knew it would only be a matter of time before her husband or one of his blindly loyal associates came by for a peek around. She said her goodbyes to her former lover. The moment she was satisfied that he was truly gone, she walked out the front door and headed for the nearest village.
He wouldn't be happy to know that she bought a bus ticket back to the area they just left. But, Hermione didn't answer to any man any longer. She was her own person. Whether or not that got her killed or returned to a life of misery in Hogsmeade, wasn't the point of the matter. She wanted to make her own choices. Hadn't that been the very reason she risked the irrational wrath of her husband to run?
The kind Muggle woman running the inn had been pleased to accept enough money for Hermione to sleep in the same room for the next three nights. She didn't ask any questions. A solitary woman arriving with no luggage late at night must not have been an unfamiliar sight in her line of work. With a warm smile, she promised her that she would be left undisturbed during her stay. Maybe, like the woman with the small farm, she suspected Hermione's origins were less than happy.
She slipped beneath the covers of the bed with a grateful sigh. Even the short walk to the village bus station and then to the inn had worn her out. She had to start taking better care of herself. If she got ill again, there was no telling what would happen. Illness made her weak. Antonin could practically sense weakness. Her body needed more sleep to continue her recovery. Maybe, hopefully, once she was well again, she'd be able to come up with a better plan.