March 4th

Being forced to move about the country to keep out of the clutches of her husband had given Hermione an unexpected appetite for being outdoors. When she was freezing out in the elements, unable to find any shelter at all, she would make promises to herself that as soon as she found somewhere warm, she would never go outside if she didn't absolutely have to. Of course, as soon as she was confined for too long inside, she couldn't wait to get out in the fresh air.

Sarah and Lee had been better hosts than she could have hoped for. They seemed to be the only people in the small village that had any use at all for the former Death Eater. She was invited to share every single meal with them. In the evenings when they sat down in front of the fire to listen to the Wizarding Wireless together or help the girls out with their homework, she was encouraged to remain with them. A couple of nights she had. For a few moments, she was able to even forget about the strangeness of her life as she felt almost like a part of them.

There had been a few conversations over tea with Sarah in the kitchen and a few more with Lee in the small workshop in the back garden where he was working on getting another magical wireless station up and running again. After both of the Weasley twins were killed, he vowed to never broadcast a rebel program as long as he lived. Clearly, someone with the Resistance remembered how effective he had been once upon a time. Now that his family was all-in, he was trying to find his special niche, his part to further along the Cause. Hermione enjoyed the talks they had. In another time, another world, the sweet married couple could have been very good friends of hers. She wished life had been kinder to all of them.

Needing to stretch her legs, she walked out of the front door to take a walk around the village. It wasn't difficult to ignore all of the stares shot in her direction by the Resistance members who still loathed the very ground she walked upon. Hermione learned years earlier how to block out the negativity of those who despised her. She hadn't exactly been welcomed into the ranks of the Death Eaters with open arms by everyone. Some of them never accepted her and never would. Inside the village she was protected, but she was still an enemy. That was not likely to ever change either. Hierarchies were more difficult to break than most realized. Even if she was a favorite of the Dark Lord and married to his most trusted General, to some, she would never ascend higher than the rank of filthy Mudblood.

The weather was slowly turning towards the promise of spring. She could breathe easier in the crisp air. It was a time of year that was always filled with opportunities and hope for the future. New growth replaced the dead. New births were common. Life continued to go on around them, impending Revolution or not. Reaching the edge of the border of the small village, she was half-tempted to keep walking.

Her purpose for remaining hadn't yet been made completely clear. The leaders of the Resistance wanted her for something. What it was, she wasn't sure. Ginny hinted at it when they first met in the tent. Perhaps they believed she had enough influence to keep many of the seasoned Death Eaters from interfering in their plot to overthrow the government. If they believed that, they had more faith in her than was realistic. She might be able to keep a couple out. Fenrir clearly wanted the world to change back to some semblance of what it had once been. Theo Nott was possible. Over the years they had learned that they had a great deal in common. Much like her, he was growing weary of the politics and intrigue required to remain in the Inner Circle. Forced into it by his father, Theo wasn't likely to kick up much of a fuss.

If she could somehow get her husband to go along with the Resistance's plan, she might be successful. Antonin had a number of loyal followers who would do whatever he asked. There was a valid reason why the Dark Lord practically gave him everything his heart desired. Lord Voldemort was doing what he could to keep Antonin happy. The happier he was, the less likely it was that he would stage a coup d'état. Their master was painfully aware of his shortcomings. His time was eventually going to come to an end. He was wise to do what he could to make sure it wasn't hastened.

But, she didn't think it was possible to bring Antonin over to the Resistance. Not even as a passive bystander. If those who wished to crumble the current regime came into power, the Dolohov family would be ones with their heads in the guillotine immediately following the Dark Lord's execution. Their crimes had been too great to simply be forgiven. Exile to another country wasn't even possible. No, her husband would be killed and she would likely be as well. They might claim that she could redeem herself, but she knew better. No one would ever forgive her for her crimes. No one should.

"Did you know if you walk fifteen meters north of where you're standing, I'm allowed to kill you?"

Hermione sighed. A quiet walk where she had the chance to gather her thoughts and get some fresh air was all she wanted. Staying cooped up in her bedroom for too long wasn't healthy. Somehow she knew she should've expected the obnoxious William Wood to follow her. He had made it obvious the day before that he was not happy with her presence in the village. Again, she couldn't exactly blame him.

"As long as you are within our wards, you are untouchable. I made a promise. Made me sick to my stomach, but I promised."

"How noble of you."

She didn't want to engage him. In fact, she didn't even want to be on the same planet as him. From the moment she first met him in the launderette in Edinburgh, she'd been unnerved by him. That was a feeling that wasn't likely to go away at any point in the future.

"I wasn't in favor of you staying here. Too many innocents you could harm. What kind of influence are you having over the naive, impressionable Jordan girls?"

Turning away from the point in the distance she was staring at, she met the man's eyes with an expression that had left more powerful men than he shaking in their metaphorical boots. He, however, didn't even have sense enough to be afraid. Just smiled wider.

His question was demeaning and infuriating. As if she truly wanted those girls to turn out just like her! That had been one of the worst parts of being a parent in her experience. The fear that her son would one day become a mixture of the worst parts of her and the worst parts of Antonin was enough to keep her awake at night. What kind of human being had she brought into the world? Would she one day see him and be ashamed of who he had become? She desperately hoped that he was meeting the right people at Hogwarts, the kind of people who would make him question whether or not he should be like his parents, but she knew it was a futile hope. She'd already seen him around his mates. He was proud to be a Dolohov, proud of who his parents were. Much like Draco Malfoy had been so obnoxious when he was young, he probably strutted around the castle like he owned it.

"Have you been a good influence for your son? Aren't you worried what he's going to be like without you there to guide him?"

She refused to engage in a discussion of her son. As far as she was concerned, he was off-limits. Most of the time she felt like she was an inadequate and terrible mother. When someone she despised dared to speak disparagingly about him, she tapped into that primal maternal rage that all mothers possessed. The idiot didn't even understand how dangerous his words were quickly becoming.

"I have one question about your son."

"Stop."

Wood only laughed again. As he reached into his the pocket of his robes, Hermione grabbed the end of her wand. Just in case. He was amused by her evident attempt to protect herself. Instead of pulling out a weapon, he simply removed an old, yellowing newspaper. Pushing it into her hands, she realized what she was looking at with a sinking feeling in her gut. It was only ever going to be a matter of time before he brought up this uncomfortable subject. With her living amongst the rebels, he would have plenty of opportunity to confront her.

The Daily Prophet was nearing twelve years old. Printed on the day after her son was born, she wondered how he came to be in possession of that particular issue. Had he saved it from the day it was published? Or had he stumbled upon a copy at some point and decided to keep it for a moment like this? She didn't even need the red lines circled around the article in question to know what he wanted her to see.

Proud parents, Antonin and Hermione Dolohov, are pleased to announce the arrival of their firstborn son - Oliver. Born yesterday at approximately…

She didn't want to read anymore. Didn't want to remember the day her life changed forever. Pushing the paper back into the cretin's hands, she spun on her heel to walk away. Her walk had been ruined. It was time that she returned to the seclusion of her bedroom. Before she could get a single step away, William Wood asked the question that he'd been dying to ask.

"Why did you name your son after my little brother?"

Her feet wouldn't move another centimeter. Closing her eyes, she willed down the sudden influx of emotion that threatened to overpower her. How could she answer that question truthfully? Feeling her eyes burn with tears she didn't know she could still cry, she turned to meet the man's troubled gaze one more time.

"I didn't want to forget him. I wanted to remember him. Your brother was a good man. He didn't… he didn't deserve what happened to him."

A scowl marred the wizard's handsome features. Disgusted with her answer, he threw the old newspaper at her feet. He didn't say a single word in response. Just turned around and walked away.