April 22nd
There was no easy way to tell exactly how long Hermione had been asleep. Based on the stiffness in her limbs and the aching in her back, it had to have been longer than she was used to being able to remain asleep while sleeping on the ground. The sun was high in the sky, beating its warm rays down on her face. Whatever Draco had given her to take for the pain of her pounding headache must have kept her unconscious for a long time. Far from being the pleasant strawberry flavor she'd gotten used to with the potions Antonin made her take after she got confused, the bitter aftertaste still clung to her tongue hours after she swallowed it. Draco's potion also wasn't nearly as gentle. Probably some variation of dreamless sleep with an extra element to dull pain. Whatever it was, it was potent. She almost longed for another vial just for the chance to be asleep again.
It had been foolish to trust the wizard. Especially after collapsing into her most weakened state. He could have poisoned her or incapacitated her to a dangerous degree. Hermione was humiliated that anyone had to witness her when she was confused. Knowing that Draco Malfoy, of all the people in the world, saw it firsthand enraged her. It was bad enough that the episodes of disorientation happened at all. She loathed when they'd occurred in the privacy of her own home with her husband the only one present. Even knowing that Antonin would be in just as much danger from outside enemies if it was discovered the extent of the damage to her mental faculties that a life filled with violence and degradation brought upon her, she didn't want him to see her at her worst. Those moments shifted the power of their relationship even further to his side than it already was.
Allowing any sort of power shift in Draco's direction was dangerous. He was playing his own game. She had yet to figure out the rules. If it would suit his purposes and assist his quest to bring respectability back to his disgraced family, she knew he wouldn't hesitate to use whatever knowledge he had against her. They might have developed an odd sort of friendship, but that would change nothing. His goal and reasons for aligning himself with the Resistance took precedence over everything else. She didn't blame him. If anything, she harbored an odd sort of respect for the man's convictions. Turning away from the Dark Lord and the life he'd known was a perilous gamble. He could end up dead just as easily. Perhaps, even more so.
Carefully paying special attention to the aching in her heavy limbs, Hermione sat up. There was no sign of the wizard. Part of her feared that he was already figuring out just how he could use his newfound knowledge to his benefit. Maybe he was in the midst of the Resistance leaders that moment telling them everything that he saw. Somehow imagining people like Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood knowing that she'd lost a bit of what used to make her Hermione Granger bothered her tremendously. Maybe the odd Ravenclaw and her father were already printing up an article in their ridiculous publication about how the Dark Lord's favorite pet had lost her mind.
Hermione wasn't crazy. She knew that just as she knew how to inhale and exhale. For the vast majority of the time, she was completely coherent and her mind worked just as it should. Yes, the periods of confusion and disorientation seemed to be getting much more frequent and perhaps even a bit worse in their intensity, but she was not crazy. Thoughts about her parents and whether or not they were dead or alive came suddenly to the forefront of her mind. When she stopped to try to work out the answer to the question of her parents' fate, she struggled to separate reality from lie. Somewhere deep inside her mind, she knew the truth. Why wasn't she able to remember which it was? Flashes of memories, either true or false, of spending time with her parents with her small family mixed in with memories of learning they were dead. Why was it not possible to determine which was true? The answer had to be locked away in her brain.
Unfortunately, the only person she knew who could answer that question for her definitively was her husband. Antonin would know if they were killed soon after the war ended or if they'd gone on to live a long life to die of an advanced age. Or if they were still living in her childhood home enjoying visits from their only child and her family. He could help her figure out where the truth was buried inside her mind. Of course, getting close enough to him that he could actually answer wasn't a possibility. She wanted to stay as far away from the man she once shared a bed with as she could.
His behavior the day he almost caught her still bothered her in the rare moments she allowed her thoughts to drift back to Cornwall. If he was so determined to drag her back to Hogsmeade, why hadn't he raised his wand to cast a spell once? From her perspective, all he'd done magically was erect the Anti-Disapparition ward. He didn't even send a stunner in her direction when she was running. It wouldn't have been difficult to hit her in the back. She hadn't even attempted to run in the same zigzag pattern she used when Corban Yaxley and the idiot guards at the Hogsmeade gates were pursuing her. Not only could he have easily stunned her, he could've done much worse to her if he'd only lifted his wand. Was this a new tactic? When had he ever not resorted to violence to get his way? It was almost as if the wizard who chased after her was a complete stranger. What had happened to her husband in the time that she'd been away?
She didn't want to linger any longer in the forest. Somehow, it no longer felt like a safe refuge. Too many memories from her previous times in the location were jumbling together and making her confused. She certainly didn't need another incident like she had with Draco around to witness. Only moments after folding her blankets and pushing them back inside her beaded bag, Hermione headed straight for the edge of the forest. It would take the better part of an entire day on foot to get where she wanted to go, but at least she was moving.
It was fruitless to worry about where Draco was or what he was doing with his newfound knowledge that she wasn't as mentally stable as she should be. The moment happened. He saw it. No amount of anxiety or wishing could change it. There was no sense worrying whether or not he would turn over the information to the Resistance. If he did, it would simply be another complication that she would work through. After all, she knew how to adapt to changes as they came to her. She'd been doing it for most of her life.
Mostly, if she was perfectly honest with herself, she was embarrassed. It was one thing to be confused and frightened when she was alone like the morning she woke up in her tent in the village unsure about her parents. That was bad enough, but to have someone else witness it was much worse. When she was by herself, she could talk herself into believing that everything was fine, normal even. With a witness, denial was much more difficult.
The first time she'd ever had a similar situation around Antonin, she had been humiliated when it was over. They had not been married very long. Maybe a month or two. Alone in their home, they were both trying to sleep after an eventful night. Her husband was bound and determined that she would get pregnant immediately. Hoping naïvely that he would be less interested in a sexual relationship with her when she was with child, Hermione had gladly gone along with succumbing to his urges when they suited him. A few weeks of inconvenience and annoyance for several months of freedom from his touch sounded ideal. Of course, she learned the hard way that the man's primal instincts only seemed to increase when she was pregnant. Rolling her eyes at the memory, she thought about that horrible night.
He hadn't known what to do when she started to call out for Harry. And then for Ron. At first, he thought she had just woken up from a bad dream. Antonin smoothed her hair away from her face and gently tried to shush her with calming noises and words. It helped at first… until she saw his face in the light of the bedside lamp he switched on. Forgetting that he was her husband, all she could think was the Death Eater who cursed her in the Department of Mysteries and then dueled her again in the Muggle cafe after Bill and Fleur Weasley's wedding somehow managed to make his way into her bedroom. She'd screamed and scratched at his face, drawing blood on his cheek. He tried to hold her arms down on the mattress and got a swift kick to his bollocks for the effort. To his credit, he never once got angry. Antonin had a discerning way about him that she didn't expect. He always knew when she was disoriented. Never once did he take out his frustrations on her when she was in that state.
Eventually, his physical strength was able to overpower her frame. When she grew tired of fighting, which didn't take very long, he was able to calm her down enough to understand that she wasn't in any danger with him. Bits and pieces began to come back to her until she was no longer confused. Humiliated and ashamed, she'd turned on her side to cry. Antonin begged her to let him take her to St. Mungo's, but she refused. Even with promises that he'd find a Healer that could be bribed or intimidated enough to keep their visit off of the official hospital records, she continued to say no. The thought of having a complete stranger root around in her brain looking for defects frightened her. Ignoring the possibility that there was something seriously wrong with her felt like a better option than finding out for certain she was cracked. Knowing he wasn't going to win that row, her husband disappeared the next day for several hours. When he returned, his pockets clinked with vials of various potions. He was prepared for the next time she had an incident.
Hermione pressed on through the forest. All she needed was a warm bed and a hot shower. Maybe even a fresh meal that tasted better than cardboard. She made the decision to dip into her funds to find a hotel that could provide all three.