February 5th

The Muggle running the front desk of the inn was true to her word. At least for the first full day that Hermione made use of her establishment. She didn't even bother getting out of bed until her body was wide awake and she could no longer keep her eyes shut. The rest had been good, refreshing. Perhaps her illness had been nothing more than a simple cold or a mild flu. Augustus forced her to drink several foul-tasting potions in her stay in his room. Perhaps, with his help, she wouldn't have to worry about a relapse.

She wasn't sure of the exact time when she forced herself to get out of bed. Late. The sun had been down for awhile. Most of the ambient noises one expected to find within and around a small inn were mostly silent. If there were other guests, they seemed to be in bed themselves or at least kind enough to keep their noise down to a minimum. Only vaguely remembering taking a shower at Alecto's flat, she peeled off of her clothes to climb into the shower in the bathroom.

Some of her fear had dissipated in the previous week. Not entirely, of course, but at least partially. Being so close to Antonin and not being discovered was a heady feeling. She pushed aside the reminder that he had, in fact, approached Augustus' room to demand what was happening within. He'd been only meters away from his wife and hadn't even realized it. They hadn't been that near to the other since the day she stabbed him in the eye. Not since their son's birthday. It felt a lifetime ago.

There were times she knew she was unfair to Antonin. For years, they were simply trying to make the best out of a difficult situation. Neither one of them could be completely happy with their living arrangements. She loved another and he was daily faced with the mortification that the woman he loved didn't reciprocate the feelings. It didn't take a genius to figure out why he often took his frustrations out on her. Perhaps if she'd been better about creating the illusion that she loved him, they might have both been happier. At minimum, she might have come away with less scars and fewer bruises. But, she often had to remind herself, she couldn't control another person's actions.

As her teacher and her former mentor, Hermione respected no one else as much as she respected Antonin. That was, perhaps, why their relationship was so damned complicated. If they could have only kept their interactions on a professional level. He was, without a doubt, the best teacher she'd ever had. Even the brilliant professors she was fortunate to study under at Hogwarts were no match for his intellect and his teaching. None of them, not even Professor McGonagall, encouraged her to strive as hard as he did. There were no topics that were taboo, no spells he wouldn't let her attempt, no question he wouldn't answer. Instead of being frustrated with her seemingly endless desire to learn, he appreciated it and cultivated it.

She knew he thought of her as more than just a student early on living in his house. Beyond the remark that he wouldn't force her into his bed, but she might find herself there of her own free will, she picked up the subtle hints and clues that he was leaving. Nothing would've made him more pleased than for them to forge a permanent alliance. They could have been the ultimate Death Eater power couple or whatever foolish term she'd heard a thousand years earlier when she was a young Muggle-born. Living under the same roof had its pitfalls. Long hours and close proximity was bound to become a problem at some point.

Part of her wished that she could have loved Antonin as he loved her. Maybe their lives would've been less chaotic, less miserable. There were times that she tried to transform her feelings for him into something more. Each time she failed. He frightened her more than he excited her. When she thought about the person she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, he hadn't been a contender. She loved Augustus and foolishly believed that getting to be with him would make her happy. Years after the choice was taken out of her hands, she understood that she had been too young and naive at the time to truly understand.

One of the first times she had any inkling that her teacher desired her was only weeks after she was removed from the broom cupboard and placed in his care. He'd already begun the laborious task of reprogramming her mind. Hermione was no idiot. She knew that she had been manipulated, possibly even brainwashed. Thoughts she would never have had before when she was still a young Gryffindor with two best friends who believed she could do her part to make the wizarding world a better place often took root inside her mind.

Survival was a funny thing. Those who didn't have to worry constantly about whether or not their next action or their next statement would result in their cruel and painful death really had no room to judge. She knew there were those living within the bosom of the Resistance who despised her very existence. Aberforth Dumbledore called her a traitor weeks earlier. He wasn't wrong. She became a traitor, not to the Resistance, but to the person Hermione Granger used to be.

Antonin had been pleased with her progress that day. Not once did he have to punish her for questioning his authority over her body and her mind. They had been working on physical sparring. No wands. Only hands and feet. He had the unpopular opinion amongst the members of the Inner Circle that magic wasn't the only weapon they had at their disposal. There were times when a wand could be easily removed from a person's hand or even damaged beyond repair. If a person relied too heavily on their wand, they could easily end up defeated.

She wasn't nearly as strong as her teacher. He was several inches taller and outweighed her by several stone. There were tricks to competing with an opponent of a larger size. He'd been pleased when she was able to catch him off-guard enough to kick him in the back of his knee. Antonin went sprawling to the ground. Just as she was threatening to grow a little too cocky in celebration, his hand grabbed her ankle and he pulled her on top of his body. She hadn't been entirely innocent in the ways of men. There had been a few stolen encounters in the privacy of the castle with Viktor and then with Cormac. Seeing his eyes grow almost black and feeling the swelling in his trousers, Hermione knew that she held her own sort of power over the man. His voice grew deeper and husky.

"Just say the word, Hermione."

Turning the taps off of the shower, she tried to forget how easy it had almost been to allow Antonin to possess her in more ways than one. She didn't want to think about the past, but without much to look forward to in her future, she struggled not looking backwards. It was sheer madness to get wrapped up too much in events she could not change. If she allowed herself to think back on the more pleasant aspects of her life with Antonin, she feared that the hardships she was experiencing on the run would encourage her to turn back to him. Maybe he wouldn't kill her. Maybe he wouldn't even hurt her, but she wanted so much more from life than what he could offer.

Wrapped in a towel, she exited the bathroom to retrieve her beaded bag in the other room. She was only a couple of steps out the door when she caught sight of the smirking blond lounging on the side of the bed she hadn't slept on. Rolling her eyes, she didn't say a word. Simply opened her bag to pull out clean clothes.

"I'm really surprised you haven't gotten rid of that coat yet, Granger. It's almost as if you want me to keep finding you."

She wasn't in the mood for his teasing, slightly-flirtatious tone. Finding what she needed, she returned to the bathroom to dress in private. Emerging a couple of minutes later, she was annoyed to find that Malfoy hadn't moved from the bed yet.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Rookwood said you had some questions for me. So, here I am. What do you want to know?"