May 5th

Worrying about Draco's absence was a waste of Hermione's time. She knew that it wasn't uncommon for Death Eaters to be summoned to the side of their master and given orders that kept them away from their homes for days, even weeks at a time. It had been her life once upon a time. Hard work and long hours for many years establishing her special department in the Ministry of Magic eventually lessened the amount of time she was expected to be away from her family. Before she ran off after attacking and almost killing her husband, she and Rabastan worked practically a normal forty hour workweek. But, she could still remember what it was like to be stuck on a mission for a long period of time.

When he hadn't returned to his flat for over twenty-four hours, Hermione tried to ignore the sinking in her gut each moment she thought about Draco. This was part of his life. As a tracker, he could be gone for an even longer period of time than she was used to. If his travels took him out of the country, there was no telling when he would be expected back. With no way of knowing why they were summoned to the Dark Lord the day before, she couldn't even begin to estimate how long it would be before he crossed the threshold of his flat again.

She knew that he was a capable wizard who knew how to play the game well enough to stay alive. Being able to survive for over twenty years as one of Lord Voldemort's faithful followers wasn't an easy task. It certainly provided him with enough life experience to understand how best to navigate the treacherous waters. Still, despite knowing that this was likely just another normal day in his life, she was worried about his absence. Worried that he wouldn't return. Just as she experienced when she was staying in Augustus' home in Cornwall, she knew she wasn't meant to be one of those women who stayed home waiting for their wizards to return from danger.

Thinking about Draco in terms of being 'her wizard' wasn't a comfortable thought for the distracted witch. As much as she had enjoyed all of the physical experiences they'd had since their first drunken kiss on his sofa that led to so much more, she was still struggling to wrap her head around it all. Never would she have believed that a day would come when she would willingly and happily climb into Draco Malfoy's bed. It was inconceivable only a few short weeks earlier. When they were students together, her goal was usually to avoid him as much as possible. Hermione grew to loathe when their paths crossed. Later, when they were both adults and involved in the inner workings of their Dark Lord's rise to ultimate power, she wanted nothing to do with the man from the disgraced family. Not only had she not forgiven him for the pain he caused at Hogwarts, she didn't want to associate with someone who was only a tiny, baby step above being considered a traitor to the regime. Her position within the ranks was tenuous to begin with. Any hint that she was willing to strike up a friendship or even an association with a Malfoy was enough to put her position in jeopardy.

Assigning a label to what was happening between them was a dangerous notion. Life was too unpredictable. Nowhere she went was safe for long. Her husband had already proven he would stop at nothing to bring her back home. If she allowed herself to imagine the possibility that there wasn't an expiration date to her dalliance with Draco, she feared that her inevitable and inescapable disappointment would be too much to bear. She knew it was unwise to get attached, and yet, she felt herself doing it anyway. Perhaps it was a sign that she'd already stayed in his flat too long. Nothing good could come of her remaining much longer.

She was tired of running. Some part of her felt like she had been running from something for her entire life. Even as a child, before she knew she was a witch, she hadn't felt settled, hadn't felt like she was where she was meant to be. That feeling only increased when she was thrown into the wizarding world. After Harry was killed, she didn't want to keep running, didn't want to keep fighting. A weariness took root within her soul those dark weeks in her broom cupboard.

Those who claimed that giving herself over to the Darkness that had been inside of her from birth was somehow out of her character were fools who knew nothing. She hadn't been blameless when she was a child either. Marietta Edgecombe would carry the scars of her curse until the day that she died. Dolores Umbridge would never be able to enter a forest without dissolving into panic, never be able to see a centaur without remembering the scars she carried from that day a teenage Hermione led her into the Forbidden Forest. Neither of those acts had been done without conscious thought on her part. She knew what she was doing. She knew trapping a woman in an unbreakable jar wasn't a so-called normal act that a rational person would commit. It was calculated and designed to make the most impact.

One of her biggest fears, the one she would never give a voice to where anyone could hear, was that her son was filled with the same black malady of the soul. Perhaps that was the biggest reason why she couldn't bear to be around him for any length of time. As terrible as it should have been to admit, she actively searched for reasons to be away from Oliver. It might have hurt her feelings, but she knew that he was better off under the influence of women like Mafalda Yaxley and Hannah Rowle. If fate had been kinder to him, he would've been born one of their children instead of cursed and doomed to slither out of her wretched womb. It was why she didn't mourn the pregnancies she lost. Not even the daughter that didn't survive her violent push down the stairs. It was easier that they didn't last. They deserved better than to have her as a mum. No child should be at risk of being filled with the same darkness. She hoped that Ollie would be different, but she didn't have much faith that he would.

Exhausted from a second restless day of waiting for Draco to return, Hermione slid under the covers in the guest room bed early in the evening. It didn't feel right to sleep in the wizard's bed without him. She tried to push away her upsetting thoughts about her son and the children she would never have to no avail. Draco was the kind of man to want a family. Even if he wouldn't come right out to admit it, she knew that if he had his way, he would've been married with a house full of little Malfoys running around. The reminder of that fact was yet one more reason why she should leave the poor man in peace. He would never find that kind of existence with her. Not only had she made certain that no hope for a baby would take root inside her body again, she knew she wasn't the kind of woman he deserved. No one deserved to have her mucking up their world.

A fitful sleep claimed her eventually. Haunted by nonsensical dreams and subconscious fears about her unknowable future, she was never able to slip completely into the deep sleep her body craved. The slight dipping of the mattress behind her woke her up at half past eleven. Her eyes caught the clock sitting on the table next to the bed when they opened. Startled for half a second, she instantly relaxed when she felt Draco's arms envelop her. He sighed when he realized she was awake.

"I didn't mean to wake you up."

"You didn't."

"Liar."

She could hear his familiar smirk in his response. Finding the corners of her own mouth threatening to curl up into their own smile, Hermione turned over to face the wizard. A cursory glance proved that he was exhausted, but whole. Whatever adventures he'd been on in the previous forty or so hours hadn't been easy. Her fear kept her from demanding that he tell her everything that he'd done, everything he'd witnessed. She worried that if she knew the details of his job as the Dark Lord's tracker, she might not ever let him walk away from her again.

"Why are you sleeping in here? My bed's better."

"I didn't feel right…"

Draco cut off her response with a kiss. Perhaps he understood that he was asking her a question that didn't have an easy answer. Expecting her to make herself at home with him was no small request.

"You are always welcome in my bed, Hermione."

As if to prove the veracity of his words, the wizard put everything he had into a second kiss. It didn't take him any time at all to push the thoughts she'd been dwelling on in his absence to the back of her mind. In that moment, she had no desire to walk away.