March 27th

Learning how to cloak her magic did not come as easily to Hermione as she hoped it would. For too much of her life she had taken for granted how quickly spells came to her. Even without much practice or thought, she was able to perform some of the most difficult magic there was. When she first joined the wizarding world as an obnoxious eleven year old intent on learning everything that she could, she made great strides to be successful as a way to prove to those around her that she deserved to be there. Likewise, in the years she was under Antonin's tutelage, she worked hard to prove that she was just as worthy of the Mark on her arm as anyone else. A thirst to show everyone what she was capable of had been her motivation for most of her life.

A different sort of mania overtook her as she stood in the empty countryside with Aberforth Dumbledore struggling to put into practice what he was teaching. No longer caring whether or not she could prove she was worthy in someone else's eyes, all she cared about was making certain that she learned for herself. It was her life on the line. Her future. If she had any hope for continuing her existence outside of her former home, she had to keep at it, keep practicing no matter how long it took.

Nothing about the kind of magic Dumbledore was using made the least bit of sense. Used to being able to feel magic and use it intuitively, what he required from her went against everything she had ever been taught. Not only was she stripped of the wand that she'd been using for longer than she could remember, she had to consciously think about her actions before she made them. In the past, she was able to just let the magic run freely from her body and out of the tip of her wand. She never had to worry that it wouldn't work when she needed it to. It always did.

Dumbledore taught her a mixture of meditation that felt ridiculous and ancient incantations that she'd never heard before. Everything about cloaking her magic felt weird and unnatural. She hated every second. More than a few times she was tempted to simply give it all up. Only her stubborn nature kept her from throwing the unregistered and supposedly 'untraceable' wand in the wizard's face. Well, that and the fact that he'd had to Side-Along Apparate her to the middle of nowhere to complete their training. She wasn't even sure she knew where she was. Practicing where a member of the Resistance might stumble upon them was not a good option. Nor was the very real fear that she would mess up and use the magic she wasn't supposed to. Antonin or one of the other loyal Death Eaters would come rushing to their location. If she was found anywhere near the Resistance stronghold, all hope that she could become an effective spy would be dashed.

She didn't like the disconnected feel of the magic when she was finally successful with her first spell. For far too long she had been used to magic being a part of her, an extension of her being. Actively working to suppress what was natural had been almost impossible. If she hadn't been so desperate, she wouldn't have continued. Cloaking her magic was her ticket to getting out of the village, getting out of the country even. She suspected strongly that Wood was just waiting for an opportunity to end her existence. He would never forgive her for the part she played in his younger brother's death. A man as tenacious and determined as he would eventually be able to discover her hiding place within the village wards. Draco's protection spells were helpful, but not infallible. Ginny's former lover would get to her one day.

So she kept working, kept trying the breathing exercises that felt like useless rubbish. Dumbledore might have made an effective teacher if he cared more about his student. Likely, he was much more patient and careful with those actual Resistance members whom he took under his wing. In many ways, he was a great deal like his older brother. In others, she couldn't imagine two relatives being any less alike. With Albus Dumbledore, one never knew where they stood. He was secretive and manipulative in how he moved people around his chess board. Aberforth had no issue with telling a person exactly what he thought of them. There was no wondering. He was much more honest and straightforward than his older brother.

"You're bloody hopeless! Why am I even bothering to waste my time to try to teach you something that you'll never get?"

The frustrated words came out of his mouth in a growl. Hermione considered throwing caution to the wind and Avada-ing him right in the chest. She would gladly risk being captured by Antonin just for the satisfaction of ending the existence of the man who had berated and insulted her for the better part of three hours. It was unlike her to be unable to work hard enough to grasp any magical concept. She wasn't sure what the problem was. Had she been away from magic for too long? Had her magic been dormant for too long? Whatever the issue, she was exasperated.

"I should've never agreed to this. You'll never get it. Too much Dark magic has tainted your soul. Just go back to Unforgivables. That's all you'll ever be good for."

Hermione was determined not to fail. Even if there was an element she struggled to understand. Aberforth said that if she was to be successful cloaking her magic, she would be able to feel it happening. So far, all she'd felt was a tension headache building up behind her eyes. His relentless insults did not help her mood either. She was discouraged, ready to give up.

"Maybe you should just give up, pack up your wee tent, and return to your husband. Forget any hope you might have to start a new life. It's never going to happen."

Every word that came out of his mouth only further inflamed Hermione's sense of inadequacy. Why was she even bothering? Even if she figured out what she needed to do, she didn't even know what she was going to do next. Running away would only solve her immediate problems in the short-term. Eventually they would catch back up with her again. Spying for the Resistance might bring about a different world where her child might be safe. She still wouldn't be allowed to live long enough to really experience the new world. Spy or not, she would have to face the executioners for her past crimes.

His suggestion that she just return to Antonin struck her harder than she realized it would. A reminder of the conversation she had with Sarah days earlier brought up a strange influx of emotions. The Dolohovs weren't the happiest family around, no matter how perfect they tried to make their façade. There might be a small chance that he would forgive her for running off and leaving him in a pool of his own blood. He'd almost killed her when he pushed her down the stairs, after all. Was it inconceivable to think that she had no chance for a life away from the wizard she was forced to marry?

"Your son would probably like to have you back. Boys need their mums. Even if they're complete shite and never done anything good a day in their life."

Bringing up Oliver was low, even for Dumbledore. Hermione lifted her eyes off of the ground to glare into the wizard's face. No longer defeated, she had an urge to rip the man to pieces. A wand wouldn't even be necessary. How dare he!

"Just go back to Hogsmeade. Tuck your tail between your legs and return to your family. It's not as if you will ever do anything good that Oliver could be proud of."

The magic came from within. Seeping out of her pores and traveling down her arm, Hermione needed an outlet for the bizarre energy. Concentrating on the unfamiliar wand in her hand, she willed a nonverbal stinging hex out of the end. Not caring that she was likely to be tracked down for the use of magic, she wanted to make Dumbledore hurt.

Aberforth hissed when the hex met his flesh. Hermione prepared herself to run. Antonin or one of his loyal comrades would pick up on her Trace in an instant. She didn't regret stinging the wizard for a second. After what he said to her and the imperious manner in which he stared down at her from the length of his nose, she wanted to do much worse. She waited for the tell-tale pops of Apparition.

They never came. At least a solid minute passed before she realized that Dumbledore was no longer in any pain from her hex. Counter spells were easy. At least another minute or two passed before she realized that no one from her old life had come to drag her back to the feet of her master. Only when she gathered up enough courage to look the man in the face again did she realize he was smiling.

"Knew you had it in you. Just had to find your motivation."

Hermione didn't know how to respond. When he was talking about her son, it all happened so quickly. She wasn't even aware that she'd been successful in finally cloaking what came naturally.

"You'll need to keep working on it. Practice until it comes to you without even a moment's hesitation."

She didn't argue when he ended their first lesson moments later.