April 28th
If someone had told Hermione Granger Dolohov that she would've been worried about Draco Malfoy, of all people, just six months earlier, she would've imagined that she wasn't the only person suffering the mental effects of a violent life. Her mind would never be what it was when she was young and still so full of idealism and hope for the future, but she thought that she would at least be able to tell when another around her might be close to losing their grip on reality. In all of the years that she had known of the wizard, she hadn't cared one way or another what happened to him. At least that's how she felt after the war ended. Before, she might have been excited to hear that he'd been struck down in a duel or fallen off of his broom during a Quidditch match.
Once the war was over and he settled into his preferred place on the very edge of the Death Eaters, she didn't pay much mind to him. If they were ever in the same room together, she hardly even registered his existence. They moved in different social circles. Or, rather, she moved in social circles while he had only a couple of friends who even bothered to acknowledge him in public. It was no wonder that he'd sought out the Resistance as a potential ally. The signs were all there. He was ripe for the picking. With his only true friend within the ranks of the Dark Lord's followers dead, he had very little to tie him to the organization that Hermione had devoted her life and her being to for more than half her life. Even his disgraced father wasn't enough to ensure his undying loyalty. If it wasn't already evident to those within the Inner Circle that he was a very powerful enemy to have, it would be soon.
He did not return from his rather dramatic exit the night before. She wasn't sure how late it was before she finally decided that he wouldn't be back. Late. It felt strange to be alone in his flat, but soon sheer exhaustion forced her to find an empty bedroom. She searched for one that didn't have any of his personal effects inside it. No matter what their bizarre friendship or acquaintance had turned into, it would've been highly inappropriate to take his bedroom. Besides, it could grow quite awkward if he returned home in the middle of the night to slide in under the covers next to her without realizing his guest was there.
When she finally climbed into the bed in the lavish spare bedroom at the end of the corridor, Hermione didn't expect to fall asleep easily. Not only was she in a strange place, but she wasn't truly certain of Draco's thoughts or plans. He might have claimed that he was going to allow her to stay there until they came up with a suitable plan. She had heard enough sweet talk from wizards over the years to not immediately trust everything she heard. It had kept her safe a few times. Despite her fears that she would find no rest, the moment her head hit the pillow, she was asleep. One advantage she had learned getting involved with people who had vast amounts of wealth, their beds were usually unbelievable.
For a homeless fugitive who had been forced to sleep in less-than luxurious accommodations for the better part of a year, Hermione believed it to be almost a sin to not take advantage of a warm bed when it was offered. She wasn't sure what the sheets were made of, but she'd never slept under anything so soft and silky. The desire to strip completely naked and feel the unusual fabric slide over her bare skin was strong, but she controlled the urge. What if this was all some sort of trap? If Draco was out to alert the Resistance, she would not face them in the nude. There were few circumstances more humiliating and demeaning. She should know. Many of her reluctant informants over the years had been brought to her special department in the Ministry of Magic without a stitch of clothing on. She would be damned if that would be her fate.
As she remained in the bed enjoying the relative peace and comfort of Draco's flat, her mind wandered to thoughts of the owner. Where was he? Where did he run off to in such a rush the night she arrived? When he didn't immediately return and then an entire day passed without him coming back through his front door, she had to face the possibility that he was indeed out there betraying her. She couldn't blame him. One had to take care of themselves in a world like theirs. Those who sacrificed their own safety to protect strangers or mere acquaintances were fools who got exactly what they deserved.
For a reason she couldn't exactly explain even to herself, Hermione didn't get the impression that Draco was going to betray her to her husband. It wasn't just that he clearly had more loyalty to the Resistance than he did to anyone else who carried their own Dark Mark on their left arm. There was more to it than that. She was under the impression that the wizard wanted her as far away from Antonin as possible. How she knew that wasn't clear. Maybe it was because of the conversations they'd had in the months since he tracked her down to the Muggles' house on New Year's. Draco didn't care much for her husband. He was far from the only person who felt that way. If he was about to reveal the whereabouts of her hiding place, she knew it wasn't to the man who almost caught her in Cornwall.
When her body had had more than enough sleep and she couldn't ignore the rumbling in her stomach for a moment longer, Hermione forced herself to get out of the sanctuary of what might possibly be the most perfect bed in existence. She ignored the no doubt lavish bathroom connected to the guest room to walk back down the corridor to the large open room at the front of the flat. Part of her hoped that she had just not heard the wizard return. It was a foolish hope, of course. She had always been an exceptionally light sleeper. Even the sound of their cat with only three good legs moving around her home in the middle of the night usually woke her up from a sound slumber.
It occurred to her when she passed the front door that if Draco truly had plans to turn her over to someone else who might not have her best interests at heart, he would ensure that she couldn't actually leave his refuge. He would look terribly foolish if he announced that he had her stashed away in a safe place only to discover when he brought the interested party over to see her that she escaped. Cautiously feeling around the front door for any hints of unusual security wards, she found nothing out of the ordinary. Years as Antonin's student and then even more years as a wife provided her the opportunity to learn a great deal about wards. Her husband had been a cursebreaker for Gringotts straight after leaving Hogwarts. If the money had been better and he hadn't been forced to leave the country for long stretches of time, he might have continued in that same profession. Once he was recruited by their mutual master, he was needed in a position that allowed him to be closer to home at all times in case his particular brand of expertise was required by Lord Voldemort.
The absence of anything beyond the typical Muggle-repelling and basic security wards did not immediately put her mind at ease. There could be any number of other charms or spells used instead. She reached for the doorknob, her heart pounding in her ears. A turn and a pull didn't produce any negative effects. Outside of the front door she could see nothing but a single lift. Clearly, wherever Draco's flat was located, he was the only one on that particular floor. Just another advantage of having immense wealth. Hermione took a deep breath before placing a single step across the threshold.
She couldn't explain why exactly, but she was able to relax the moment she realized that there was nothing in place to prevent her from leaving the flat. If she didn't want to stay, Draco wasn't forcing her. It relieved her more than she could say that she wasn't his prisoner. Though a highly luxurious prison, she had no desire to be anyone's captive ever again.
Feeling a new sense of peace, Hermione returned to the interior of the flat and closed the door behind her. She felt her stomach gurgle once more in its protest from lack of food. Heading straight to the spacious kitchen, she prepared herself for finding nothing edible. A lifelong bachelor who already made it clear that he didn't spend much time at home, she couldn't imagine that Draco kept the kitchen well-stocked. When she opened the fridge, she fought the urge to gasp. Every single square centimeter was full of every kind of fresh food she could imagine. Pulling open the door to a single cupboard proved the same. Was his claim that he was never home a lie? Or had he thoughtfully stocked his kitchen in preparation for having her as his guest?
She did not understand the man.