March 20th

Hermione's eventful stroll through the village the previous night discouraged her from wanting to leave the safety of her tent any time soon. Long after the sun rose in the sky the next morning, she remained in bed. It was a lazy act, she knew, but she couldn't find it in her to care much about that fact. Unlike days earlier when she felt the confusion and dizziness come over her entire being like it always did during one of her 'episodes', there was nothing but sheer stubborn rancor keeping her in bed.

What was the point of even trying to go about her life normally when there was nothing that made any sense? She knew she was feeling sorry for herself, succumbing to a depressive state that did her more harm than good. Still, she didn't stir from her bed. Sleep was an escape that she could afford. It took little effort and was completely free. And, if she was lucky, she might even be able to eke out a better existence inside her dream world. Nothing that she did mattered to anyone else alive. Better that she spend what time she had unconscious.

The sound of a soft voice calling out her name jarred Hermione out of a deep sleep. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up in bed to see what the commotion was about. None of the lamps were lit inside the tent. They weren't needed before she fell asleep again. At some point in the midst of her relentless self-pity, she'd managed to sleep away the entire day. Darkness had fallen outside. Realizing what time it was, the reason for her guest became clear.

Sarah Jordan mentioned more than once since the day she announced she was moving out of their home that she was always welcome to come back to share a meal with her family. Hermione was even sure that the charming witch actually meant it too. The invitation had been kind, but not once had she taken her up on it. Once she was out of their home, she felt a sense of comfort and relief that fell over her that she wasn't ready to give up just yet. To be certain that the woman who recently vacated her home didn't go hungry, Sarah made her a special basket of food each night that would keep her fed the entire next day. It was yet one more kindness Hermione didn't expect or deserve.

"Are you in here, Hermione?"

She was ashamed to be found in the state that she was in, but there seemed to be nothing for her to do than to admit she was still in bed. Calling out quietly from the curtained off section that held the beds, Hermione could feel her cheeks burn with humiliation with each step Sarah took closer to her refuge. There wasn't even time to get up and get dressed in an effort to make it seem like she hadn't been in there all day.

"Are you ill?"

The concern in Sarah's voice struck Hermione right in the chest. She wasn't used to other people caring about her well-being. At times, Antonin could be frustratingly obnoxious in his need to care for her, but even that was somewhat selfish. She was his ticket to the top of the regime. Without her by his side, he might have risen as high in the ranks as he had. It wasn't a sure thing, though. The Dark Lord kept her as his prized pet. Some of the influence that her husband gained was simply because of the woman he slept next to each night. Keeping her healthy and happy was a major incentive to the wizard who needed her to be successful.

"No, I'm not sick."

She wasn't sure how convincing she sounded. Based on how the slightly older witch crossed the room to check her temperature with the back of her hand, not very. Sarah did a cursory examination of her without being terribly intrusive. It was maternal instinct coming out. She was nothing if not an excellent mum. Much better on her worst day than Hermione had been on her very best.

"You don't feel warm to the touch. Did something upset your stomach?"

Hermione was touched that the woman appeared to genuinely care about her well-being. She had certainly done nothing to deserve it.

"I'm all right. Simply tired."

The basket that she always brought Hermione's meals in had already been set down on the kitchen table before she sought her out. With her arms unburdened, Sarah sat on the edge of her bed, an overly familiar gesture that made her feel ill at ease. Why the woman was seeking her out with so much concern was a mystery. Hermione wished she would just go away.

"You're not happy here."

It was not a question and certainly not something Hermione could deny. What would be the point? It was the truth. There was nothing to be gained by saying otherwise. She didn't nod her head or make any other show of agreement. There was no need. Sarah understood.

"Do you miss your son? Oh, what am I saying? That's ridiculous. Of course you do."

Hermione was in no hurry to contradict the other witch. Though she knew she should miss Ollie terribly, sometimes it was so much easier to not even think about him. Compartmentalizing her thoughts was sometimes the only way she was able to carry on with the nasty business of living. She knew she was too critical of her own failings as a mother at times. If she allowed herself the freedom to dwell too much on what she left behind in her haste to get away from the bloody mess she made of her husband, she struggled to keep from running back. Her son very likely wished that another woman was really his mum, but she still had a responsibility to care for him.

"Do you… well, do you maybe miss your husband too?"

What should have been a fairly straightforward and innocuous question caught Hermione completely off guard. She hadn't told anyone in the village what she had done to her husband when she ran away from Hogsmeade. Even when she was staying in the Jordan home in Wales she hadn't divulged that awful story. It wasn't common knowledge. Any news of a high-ranking Death Eater being attacked and almost killed by another would have been immediately covered up. If there was even a hint of dissension in the ranks, their regime could become a target. They had to remain a united front. A salacious story of a wife stabbing her husband in the eye with a fork and then almost murdering him with a kitchen knife would've shown weakness.

"I shoved a fork in Antonin's eye and sliced him with a knife I used to carve a roast. That's hardly the act of someone who would miss her husband."

If she was horrified by the story, Sarah had the grace to pretend like it was every day that a friend admitted to such savagery. Hermione half-expected her to run from the tent in fear. She just shrugged her shoulders.

"I think most wives imagine all different kinds of gruesome ways they could murder their husbands. I learned the incantation and wand movements for an ancient blood-letting curse once when Lee was getting on my nerves. Never used it, of course, but it made me feel calmer when I imagined what it would feel like to try."

Hermione stared at the soft-spoken woman with wide, unbelieving eyes. Never in a thousand years would she have imagined there to be something so cold and calculating inside a kind-hearted woman like Sarah. Was she right? Did all wives fantasize about murdering their husbands from time to time? Realizing she'd shocked the hardened, dangerous Death Eater into speechlessness, a quirk of Sarah's lips quickly turned into a chuckle. The sound was infectious. Both women laughed until tears rolled out of their eyes and their sides hurt. Some of the melancholy Hermione felt earlier in the evening began to dissipate. Maybe she wasn't as different from other women after all.

"It's okay to miss your husband, Hermione."

"Our marriage was ordered. We weren't in love."

She didn't know why she was so quick to dismiss the very idea that she could be feeling lonely for the idea of her husband. It seemed ludicrous one second and all-too-apt the next. Emotions truly were complicated.

"Maybe not in the beginning, but it's almost impossible to stay so close to another person for so long without feelings developing. Something called the principle of propinquity, I think. You shared a home, a son, a life together. Feelings develop."

"We respected each other in the beginning. It might sound awful to you, but I even admired him. He's a very… well, he's a very charismatic man when he sets his mind to it."

"We don't always get to choose who we love. Sometimes it just happens. If I'd had my choice, I would've found a wizard from Wales who had no interest whatsoever in stepping outside the borders of the treaty. But, I fell in love with a man with a history of fighting impossible causes with friends who were involved with the very heart of the Resistance. I followed him here, not because I wanted to be a part of the Resistance, but because he believes in it so passionately, I didn't have the heart to say otherwise."

Arguing about whether or not she loved Antonin seemed an enormous waste of time to Hermione. Whatever her feelings for her husband were, or had been, didn't really matter. She couldn't ever hope to go back to any kind of life with him again even if she wanted to. That part of her life was over. It was best not to dwell on that which she could not change. Realizing that her companion wasn't interested in continuing the discussion, Sarah rose to her feet and changed the subject.

"Do you have everything that you need?"

"I believe so. Thank you."

"It feels strange to not have you at home. We're all missing you."

She didn't doubt the older witch's sincerity. Even if she didn't know that Sarah was a Hufflepuff, Hermione could discern that she wasn't a person who spoke without truly meaning what she said. As comfortable as she had grown living in their house, it was best that she stay away. She wondered if she shouldn't tell Sarah the concerns she had about Lizzie. They had a right to know what their daughter was showing too much interest in. Just as she was about to say something, she stopped herself.

Sarah extracted a promise before she left that she would come by for tea in the next few days. Though she said she would, Hermione had no intention of honoring the pledge. The further she stayed away from Lizzie, the better. Perhaps in time, the girl would find a new interest, something else to fascinate her instead of Death Eaters.