April 19th

Perhaps a small part of Hermione would always seek out refuge in the Forest of Dean. She was on the edge of the forest before she even realized were she'd run to. It was instinct that brought her to the same place she and her boys used to hide a lifetime earlier during the blasted horcrux hunt. Knowing that it wasn't safe to head straight into the forest until she knew for certain she had not been followed to the area by her husband, she spent the entire day after leaving Cornwall carefully skirting the edge looking for any indication she was about to be captured again. Only when the sun went down did she enter the forest completely.

As her first full day back inside her old hiding place came to an end and her second night began, Hermione finally began to feel calm again. It had been a close call with Antonin. If she had her way, they would never get that close again. He was a representative of her past that she didn't want to remember or be a part of any longer. Trying to manipulate her with mention of their son hadn't helped. Antonin already knew her insecurities when it came to her lack of abilities as a mother.

Unable to find shelter with the Resistance again and unwilling to return to her former life, she truly was at a loss as to what she should do next. Eventually, she wouldn't be able to run anymore. She would have to give up and allow one of the groups she was running from to catch her to end it all. Or, if she was truly lucky, some Muggle vagrant might murder her before they did. It was what she deserved after all. One couldn't spend years of their life engaged in violence and not expect it to eventually spatter back on them.

There was a time when she was happy living in Hogsmeade amongst the Death Eaters and serving the Dark Lord loyally. She didn't even mind sitting at his feet like his most trained and faithful pet. In fact, she rather enjoyed it. She was given certain privileges that no other Muggle-born witch or wizard was. If she was exploiting her position for a better life than those poor souls, could anyone really blame her?

Of course, she knew members of the Resistance and those who shared similar beliefs absolutely did despise her for making a choice that, to them, seemed easier. She should've died with Harry or sacrificed herself for her naïve ideals like Neville. She didn't care for either option. Both scenario ended up with her dead. Call her selfish, but she wanted to live longer than eighteen years. If there were those who still blamed her for making the wrong choice all those years ago, that was their issue, not hers. She had already made her peace with the choice she made. Strangers and old acquaintances could call her a monster or a coward or a traitor. She did not care. Her life was hers to do with as she wished. No one else could make the decisions for her.

Once upon a time, Hermione cared what others thought about her. When she was a student at Hogwarts, only recently aware that such beings as witches actually existed and that she was one, she felt at an extreme disadvantage to those who had grown up always knowing what they were. To make up for her deficit and to make her feel at least somewhat more equal to those with hundreds of years of magical heritage, she worked twice as hard as everyone else to be the best. If it was possible to be learned from a book, she did and she sought out even more knowledge. Having all of the answers would prove that she was just as good as any member of any Sacred Twenty-Eight family. At the time, she didn't understand that some had more powerful innate abilities that couldn't be learned from the inside of a book. It had been incredibly frustrating to watch others in her classes perform magic easily that she had to work hard at to produce the same result. She would set impossible tasks for herself in order to improve. For years, she studied and worked herself so hard it was a wonder she didn't completely burn out or tax her magic irrevocably. Her years at school were a waste, in her opinion, because she rarely took the opportunity to enjoy herself as she learned.

She was exhausted in a manner that she had never experienced when her broom cupboard was opened and she was taken to the Great Hall to face the Dark Lord. Not only physically, but in every other manner possible. To summon up enough energy to even think about rebelling was too much. At that point, she had nothing left to lose except for her own sanity. So, she made the decision to not balk or fight when she was ordered to move into Antonin's home to undergo intensive training and reprogramming. Some would call her weak. She would tell them that dying was easy. Surviving was much more difficult. As soon as she was capable of comprehending that simple fact, the opinions of others meant nothing to her.

The Resistance would never forgive her. Not for accidentally getting Aberforth Dumbledore captured or for being a notorious Death Eater who had killed many of their people over the years. No, the Resistance would never forgive her for being unwilling to die for a cause that was already lost. Like Ron, she would never be forgiven for not following the same fate as Harry or Neville. She was worth more as a martyr than she ever could've been as a spy. In Hermione's opinion, those who would rather she be dead than be still alive could go fuck themselves. Their thoughts of the matter of her existence did not matter. Just as she had no right to tell them how to live, they had no right to tell her the same.

She was grateful for the warmer weather. Sleeping in the forest was so much easier when she didn't have to worry about freezing to death. The night air still had a bit of a chill to it, however, so once she decided what dark corner of the forest would be her home for the night, she quickly set about building a small fire. The food she had in her little beaded bag didn't need cooking or even heating, but there was something comforting about having the small fire nearby.

Despite making every possible effort to approach her campsite as carefully and quietly as he could, Hermione sensed his presence before his fair features were revealed by the light of the flames. She wasn't afraid of him. There had been many opportunities for him to hurt her over the previous few months if he had a desire. Without even looking up from her task of feeding more fuel to the fire, she invited him to join her to share what little warmth there was.

Neither of them spoke for several minutes after Draco's arrival. It rankled her nerves that he was able to find her even when she'd been so very careful. What was his secret anyway? How did he manage to track her when she knew she wasn't using magic?

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

His chuckle set her teeth on edge. There seemed very little to be amused about by her current situation. Based on the fact that she was no longer hiding in Augustus' home, it must have been obvious that there had been a problem. Was he aware that Antonin was only heartbeats away from recapturing his wife? She got the impression that there was very little Draco didn't know about her. Dwelling too much on that idea upset her a great deal.

"Are we back to 'Malfoy' now? I was getting used to you calling me by my first name."

She wasn't in the mood for any sort of teasing banter. Though she much preferred this version of him to the angry, sullen one prone to throwing bottles, it made her very uncomfortable for reasons she still wasn't completely clear about. The definitive lines to their relationship were threatening to blur. Were they friends now? Or were they skirting the edge of friendship into something more, yet still undefinable? Either way, she didn't like it. He represented a complication that she did not need.

"What do you want, Draco?"

"Would you believe me if I told you I was concerned about you?"

She scoffed, unwilling to accept his words as the truth. If there was one lesson she'd learned in all her years as a Death Eater, it was to be careful who to trust. A few times she'd been forced to learn that lesson the hard way. Hearing her scoff, Draco's grin spread wider across his mouth. He found her amusing. She still couldn't be certain that she could trust him. Augustus might have urged her to, but she wasn't in the habit of blindly following suggestions from ex-lovers.

"Were you the one who told Antonin where I could be found? Is that why you claim you were concerned?"

His grin slipped. Clearly, he didn't care for the accusation she made. Hermione wasn't bothered by the change in his expression. What else was she supposed to assume? He visits one day and Antonin finds her the next. It was all very suspicious.

"I was not the one who told your husband."

There was always the possibility that Antonin's untrusting nature coupled with his jealousy of Augustus was the reason why he sought her out in Cornwall. If Hermione's instincts weren't telling her that Draco was holding something back, she would've believed that theory. But, she could always tell when someone was either lying to her or not telling her everything they knew. Her skills had come in quite handy running the Ministry department she worked in with Rabastan Lestrange. Draco sighed, prepared to tell her everything.

"Greyback was the one who told your husband where you were."

She didn't understand his motivation for lying to her. There was simply no way at all that Fenrir would betray their friendship. If he was willing to do that, why would he protect her the day Antonin and Rabastan came to his home? It didn't make sense. Besides, Fenrir was off in France. She knew how he operated. With the Full Moon at the end of the month, he would need a few weeks to stalk his intended prey. If Augustus was able to get him into France, he would still be there.

"Oh, I suppose that makes sense."

She wasn't ready to accuse him of lying just yet. Not until she understood his reasons for doing so in the first place.