February 18th
Once that it was clear the Resistance was keeping tabs on her somewhat, Hermione avoided all forms of Muggle transportation. It was much more difficult to follow someone on foot without making it obvious. Magic was always theoretically possible, but if the Resistance was trying to avoid detection from the regime in charge, they would have to remain as Muggle-like as possible. Unregistered wands could still be traced because the wand itself wasn't what mattered. Just like the underage witches and wizards of old, the Trace was on the actual person. To try to avoid those she didn't wish to see, she kept walking.
In her travels, she was fortunate enough to stumble upon an empty house carelessly left unlocked. Before she went on the run as a fugitive, she would have never assumed there were so many people still alive trusting enough of their fellow man to not keep everything they owned under lock and key. It was so foolish. Even if she wasn't married to a renowned former curse breaker who could create and demolish wards as easily as breathing, she wouldn't have been so blasé about her own home. It was almost as if the poor Muggles were just begging complete strangers to come into their home and rob them blind. She had no tolerance for that level of stupidity.
But, one person's stupidity was another's good fortune. The house was quite cool inside, a definite sign that it had been unoccupied for a few days. Just before she began helping herself to the food left behind by the careless owners, she took a look around to see if she could get some sense of how long she might be able to stay without fear that she would be discovered. When she found the calendar stuck to the front of the fridge with a powerful magnet, she rolled her eyes. The overly trusting Muggles had the days they were going to be away from home clearly marked for anyone to see. She had at least another week to enjoy their stolen hospitality before they returned from their Caribbean cruise.
Content in the knowledge that she could relax for a short time, Hermione went through her mental checklist of what needed to be done each time she broke into a new house. A further inspection of the rest of the common areas on the ground floor did not turn up a note left with instructions for any potential caretakers. Of course, there was always the chance that someone would come by to water plants or check the post who did it so frequently that there wasn't any need to leave a message. She relaxed when she discovered all plants in the house were either silk or cheap plastic. There was a mail slot on the front door and at least a dozen envelopes littered the floor. No fish or birds or any other animals were present anywhere in the house. She felt confident that no one would disturb her as long as she stayed out of windows and didn't touch the lights.
Once the non-perishable food items were safely stowed away in her beaded bag, Hermione helped herself to what was left in the fridge itself. There sadly wasn't much. The Muggles were clearly not much for cooking. Or perhaps, they'd cleaned out their stores in anticipation of the trip they were no doubt enjoying. She envied their freedom. How she would enjoy being able to run away to a different country! Especially where it was warm.
Antonin took her once to a cloaked island near Bermuda that was a popular destination for witches and wizards around the world. It had been one of the few times she could remember actually enjoying being with her husband. As her teacher and mentor, she respected and liked him, but once he was ordered to be the man she married, there had been a shifting that had changed a lot more than just her last name. Their son was only a few years old, left behind in the care of the Yaxleys. She still recalled those ten days fondly. They'd even managed to conceive a child that trip that unfortunately, had ended up the same way as all of her other pregnancies, but one. Her stressful, dangerous lifestyle wasn't always conducive to proper maternal health.
And just as she always did when she saw the opportunity, she stripped down inside the luxurious bathroom connected to the master bedroom to take advantage of their massive shower. But only after she made certain that each door in the house was blocked with an arrangement of furniture that would be sure to catch her attention even if her head was under water. There was nowhere else she was more vulnerable than when she was stealing someone's hot water in their shower. If the small towers were knocked over, she would have to move quickly to keep from being captured.
It was easy to allow her mind to wander as she washed the grime off of her exhausted body. Once she was toweled off, she knew she would be asleep within minutes. Her stiff and achy muscles relaxed under the spray of almost scalding water. The events of the previous several days weighed heavily on her mind. For someone who had been able to move about the country for the better part of a year with only a few instances of near-capture and excitement, her year was shaping up to be quite eventful. She should have known that seeing Malfoy only a short time after the New Year began that she would have trouble.
She still found it quite strange to think back on the relatively civil conversation she had with Ginny in the middle of her father's old magical canvas tent. If her path ever crossed the youngest Weasley's again, she always assumed that there would be more fireworks than there were. It seemed inconceivable that the de facto military leader of the Resistance would ever entertain the idea of having a calm, rational discussion with Lord Voldemort's favorite Death Eater. Had the world truly turned upside down?
Dozens of questions still plagued Hermione's mind. Every free second that she had seemed to be overtaken with the wonderings of what was going to happen next. The Resistance had had only a few major victories and the time between them was always long. She knew it was unrealistic to believe that they would continue to be a non-issue within their society. Something big was coming. There was a definite shifting in their world that she had even felt coming long before she ran from Antonin's wrath. She might not know the details, but she knew their world would be changing again very soon. Part of her hoped that the Resistance might finally get a chance to rebuild the world how they always thought it should be. If for no other reason than they might actually discover running a country was much more difficult than harassing its citizens with pointless violence and rebellion.
It bothered her more than she was comfortable expressing that there was someone out there who insisted she be protected in the coming revolution. Who was the ally Ginny mentioned? Why would anyone care whether or not she was still standing when it was all over? She had committed many crimes that should have gotten her a minimum life sentence in Azkaban. Truthfully, much of what she had done was bad enough that she should've already been executed.
Late at night when she was alone or before she ran and her husband was sleeping next to her, she would lay awake and think about all of her sins. There were many. Some of them she had no regrets about. Others she would give anything for a time turner that would take her back far enough in the past that she could make changes. Antonin was one of those who claimed that he could remember the face of every single person he ever killed. Somehow, she doubted that was the truth no matter how much he insisted. Her husband was a ruthless man. If anyone crossed him, they were eliminated. She couldn't imagine it was possible to remember so many different people. The faces of all of those she killed weren't burned forever in her brain. As much as she could, she forced her memory to forget them. She couldn't keep going if she had to constantly think back on those she had murdered. There were some, however, that she would never forget.
How could the Resistance believe that she could somehow help them? Her tainted soul was in tatters. There had to be better people that could further their cause. Besides, she wasn't even sure that a complete revolution was needed. Sure, their society had some problems, but it wasn't a complete waste. They had done some good. The Dark Lord had revolutionized their world. Maybe some of it could stand some tweaking, a few adjustments. She wasn't ready to call her life's work a failure just yet.
As she suspected, only moments after she crawled beneath the covers of the comfortable bed in the master bedroom at the top of the stairs, Hermione fell asleep. There would be plenty of time to consider her next move after she rested. Besides, the world would keep turning no matter what she did.