February 27th

Leaving the comfort of Fenrir's home had been difficult even though Hermione knew it was a necessity. Antonin and Rabastan stopped by the day before only to pass on a message that the Dark Lord requested the honor of his presence before the next Full Moon. Something about needing to discuss the might of the werewolf pack he had been growing over the years. He suspected he was about to have another restriction on his activities. Just another shorter leash for Lord Voldemort's pet werewolf.

The fact that her husband had been so close to capturing her and she had been so close to being physically violated by the cretin Rabastan were two more valid reasons why she needed to go. Fenrir's farce had worked that time, but there was no indication it could work again. Hermione had been impressed by his quick thinking even if being treated like nothing more than a common Muggle victim plucked off the streets for an evening of torture and debauchery humiliated her to her very being. Was that how their victims felt when they were facing death? It was enough to make her rethink ever participating in another evening of dark revelry.

By the time she was allowed to leave Antonin's house as a fresh recruit to the Death Eaters, she had been properly trained and conditioned to her new reality to not be bothered much by the horror and depravity she saw at the mass gatherings of the Dark Lord's followers. Her teacher kept her isolated from most of the worst acts. Though he had never shielded her from the violence, he hadn't allowed her to actually join in until he was satisfied that she was finished with her training. Or, rather, until he was satisfied that all of the parts of her mind and soul that made her into the bookish best friend of Harry Potter had been removed from her personality entirely. Once he knew that she was the exact puppet his master requested, he'd let her partake in the fun.

There were many rumors about what went on at Dark revels. Most of them were complete rubbish and tosh. Never had she seen any babies sacrificed or blood drunk from victims, unwilling or otherwise. Yes, there was a great deal of sex at the events, but with the exception of the Muggles and blood traitors they were planning to execute at the end anyway, all of it had been perfectly consensual. No gang rapes of female Death Eaters were in evidence though she wouldn't deny that it wasn't uncommon for the Marked witches to have several sexual partners in a single evening. Hell, she'd done the same.

Another rumor that seemed to persist for reasons she never understood was that they were under the influence of either the Imperius Curse or potions that took their will away. That was just absolutely untrue. She had no idea why that began. Likely it was a result of one of the more squeamish recruits who didn't want to readily admit to torturing and raping those that they might have known before the world changed. Every single person who participated in a revel did so because they wanted to. It was never a question of being forced. The Dark Lord did not demand that they participate. In fact, many of them chose not to. Those events were merely avenues for the devoted followers to let off some steam and get some of the blood lust out of their systems. Once Thorfinn finally put a ring on Hufflepuff Hannah's finger, he had always respectfully bowed out of any such gathering. It was a shame too. Hermione could remember many enjoyable evenings with his cock in her mouth while she had another nameless Death Eater taking her from behind. Marriage made him respectable and boring.

Being on the other end of the restraints made her rethink some of the actions in her past. If she was forced back into her old life by her husband, she wasn't sure she would have the stomach to kill again. Her exact number was unknown, just how she wanted it. Putting a name and face to every life she snuffed out was a nauseating prospect. She didn't know how others did it. There were particular names that she would never forget for varying reasons, of course, but she never strived to uncover them all. Some of them she regretted, like Oliver Wood. Others, she would commit again in a heartbeat. And still others she would recreate and make longer and more painful than the first time.

Salazar Selwyn was one that she would love to go back in time to improve upon. There was no love lost between the two of them. He was one of the three men that called for her death when she was thrown at the feet of the Dark Lord after spending weeks inside the broom closet at Hogwarts. His idea that she be locked in the dungeon of the castle to be used for both target practice and so-called 'tension release' was something she would never forget or forgive. He was one that she was determined would meet a sticky end by her hand.

Much like Walden Macnair, she had to wait and be patient for her opportunity. The wizard was suspicious and for good reason. Many others before her had attempted to snuff out his miserable existence. Each of them had not only failed, but brought about their own end instead. He was a man easily despised.

Despite having a pretty wife and a son who was his mirror image, it was no secret that his predilections were for members of his own sex. He might have suggested that she be tied up and raped repeatedly at the leisure of all Death Eaters who might have been interested, but he never would have participated in such a vile act. Hermione wanted to make his death memorable and painful. Amycus Carrow was already dead of the exact suggestion that he'd given for how she was to be dispatched. Macnair had died a gruesome death that had been almost what he wished for her fate. Selwyn's murder needed to be awful.

Sadly, she'd botched it up from the very beginning and almost gotten herself killed in the process. She wasn't able to lure him to her home with the promise of sex nor had she been able to maneuver a mission to get him alone with her and a trusted ally. It was only by sheer hate that she was able to end him. Even years after the fact she regretted how she'd almost failed. His death had been too quick, too painless. Much of her life was sprinkled with regrets. That moment was one of the worst.

Knowing that she was in danger of being caught by Antonin, Hermione made the only decision that she could once she kissed Fenrir goodbye and enjoyed one more instance of being bent over his kitchen table. She had to go to Devon. Even if death at the hands of the Resistance was waiting for her there, she had to keep going. Part of her was anxious to trust Draco, as ridiculous as that seemed. After so many opportunities to end her life and not taking them, maybe he really was trying to make the world a better place. It was an admirable goal, one that once upon a time she would have been willing to share.

Walking out in the open across the country was no longer a safe prospect. For all she knew, Antonin had his own spies set up to watch Fenrir's house after the incident the day before. She had rarely seen him so angry as he was when her lover implied that he'd never been bothered before fucking his wife after him. It had been a crass moment that made her cringe. Her husband was not a man who forgave such disrespect lightly. If he was the man she knew he was, Antonin was already planning how he was going to get rid of the werewolf once and for all. Yet one more reason to run. Fenrir's home wasn't safe anymore.

The trip to Devon didn't take nearly as long by coach as it would have if she'd kept to her feet. Even waiting at the stops along the way brought her to the area in question just as the sun was dipping out of the sky. She took her time seeking out the exact address. Knowing the Resistance, they were already aware she was there moments after she stepped foot on the ground.

Just before nine o'clock she stood in front of the door of the mysterious address. Calling up her reserves of courage, she knocked. Over a minute passed before the knob turned. She was half-convinced that she made a mistake. Perhaps this had all been some sick joke.

Of all of the people in the entire world she expected to see open the door, Lee Jordan would not have even made the top one thousand. To her knowledge, he was still locked away in Azkaban with a life sentence for murdering his wife and almost killing his daughters. Completely bogus allegations, of course, but when had that stopped their regime? His bright smile startled her into complete silence and shock.

"We've been waiting for you, Hermione."

The 'we' he was referring to became all too evident when Sarah, his supposedly dead wife, stepped to his side with her own dazzling smile.