May 10th

Waking up alone in bed was quickly becoming something that Hermione was getting used to again. Draco kept such odd hours that she couldn't ever guarantee that when she turned over in the morning that he would still be lying there. Though she appreciated that he was considerate enough to stay as quiet as possible when he was summoned away, she wouldn't have minded at least having the opportunity to say goodbye before he left. She knew better than most that returning home from a summons wasn't always promised.

After forcing herself to finally extricate herself from the luxurious linens that were piled high on Draco's bed, she rubbed her sleepy eyes. Tea was the first order of the day. The complete stillness of the flat indicated right off that she shouldn't expect her host to be in the kitchen preparing a large breakfast. If she allowed herself to imagine what a future life with Draco would be like, she felt certain that the loneliness and constant worry about his safety and well-being would be miserable. It was best that she not allow her mind to travel down that disheartening path.

As she waited for the tea to finish brewing, she thought back over the confession he made when they were finished making up from their second disagreeable row in two days. Draco fancied himself falling in love with her. She couldn't lie, even to herself, that the fantasy of giving herself permission to reciprocate his feelings was intoxicating. Her feelings about the man in that moment were nothing like they'd been only months earlier. When she was alone with him, she could dream up a world where they were safe and free to be together. That future was bright.

It was also a complete lie. There was no hope that they would ever be able to exist beyond stolen moments. Even if she completely forgot her marriage to another man, their world itself was unpredictable. Assuming that the Resistance was able to bring about this Glorious Revolution they were so obsessed with, what would her place be in this new world? Considering her crimes, she couldn't imagine anyone in power would just excuse her to go live a fresh start with Draco. No, her future was bleak and rightfully so. It was what she deserved. Draco, however, didn't deserve to pay for her crimes right alongside her.

In an effort to move her thoughts from her dismal future, she picked up the morning edition of the Daily Prophet on top of the kitchen table. The first sip of her tea almost burned her lips when she got a glimpse of the date. How could she have forgotten? Had she been so wrapped up in herself that she couldn't even remember that her son's birthday was coming? The tenth of May was usually spent spoiling her son in every way possible that Antonin could think up. He always made certain that their son had a special day even when she was too busy at work to give it much of a thought. Truthfully, Antonin was a better mum than she was. It was a sobering thought.

Ollie was twelve years old. She had officially been on the run for an entire year. Memories of his wretched eleventh birthday party ran through her exhausted mind. Sometimes the day felt like it just happened, other times it felt as if years had already passed. When she ran out the backdoor in her kitchen still covered in her husband's fresh blood, she never expected to make it as long as she did. She assumed that she would be swiftly captured and made to pay for the crimes against her husband. In her moment of madness, she'd almost killed the man. Just one more damnable offense in a long line of others.

Though it might not have been the most popular of opinions and certainly not one that she could ever express in front of the other mums who believed that the sun rose from the arse of their little terrors, Hermione was glad that Oliver didn't have her in his life at the moment mucking everything up. When she considered years earlier running with him, she hadn't thought it all through. Instinct would tell a mother that they had to protect their child at all cost. For some, that would mean taking them away from a dangerous situation or person and protecting them with the very breath from their body. But what about when the dangerous person they needed to protect their child from was their mother? She would bring the boy nothing but sorrow and pain. It was better that she not pollute his world with her presence. Antonin loved him more thoroughly than he loved anyone else. His temper might be easily lost with his wife, but with the exception of the time Oliver struck back at Hermione physically, he had always remained perfectly calm and even-tempered with his son. He would be the one to protect his child with the last breath from his body.

There were no easy choices to make in life. That was a lesson she didn't need Antonin to teach her years earlier. She'd already learned it on her own. It was normal to second guess decisions made even if there was nothing that could be done to correct them after the fact. She would just have to learn how to be content with what she decided about her son. He wasn't abandoned completely. There were other women in his life that were better suited for the role of being his mother. Maybe her husband would eventually give up on her ever returning and find love with someone who could be a better mum for Ollie. It wasn't wrong to hope for that, was it?

She forced herself to move past her depressing thoughts. There was nothing she could do to change the past. Didn't she already know that fact all too well? Very little in the morning newspaper was worth reading. It was difficult to read the Daily Prophet at face value. Every single article included within its pages had been thoroughly vetted and approved by Albert Runcorn. He was a master at spinning a lie until it read like the gospel truth.

Way back on the sixth page a tiny blurb caught her eye. Likely overlooked by just about everyone else who picked up the morning edition, she was drawn to the words. Aberforth Dumbledore was still waiting for his trial in an 'undisclosed location'. She knew without a doubt that that meant the cells in the lowest level of the Ministry where she spent much of her career. Rabastan was more than just an effective interrogator. There was a reason why he was chosen to help her lead the department. She might have been graced with some natural abilities, but so was he. Her Co-Head also had the benefit of more experience. If Aberforth was still alive, that meant that Rabastan wasn't finished with the arduous task of forcing the man to tell him everything he knew about the Resistance. With such a powerful position within the rebel organization, that wasn't something that could be accomplished over the span of an afternoon. Well over a month had already passed since she was responsible for accidentally getting him captured. For him to still be alive proved that he was both valuable and incredibly stubborn. Much younger witches and wizards were easily broken sooner than he was. She had to give the man his due respect.

She could hear Ginny's warning echoing through her mind. The only reason why the Resistance hadn't upped their efforts to capture her was because they still needed her to get their beloved member out of his captivity. They might have claimed that Augustus was the only Death Eater in a position of authority helping them, but she knew better. To reveal all of their cards was foolish. Whoever the other Death Eater or Death Eaters were assisting the Resistance, they weren't in the right place to accomplish that feat. That meant that Rabastan hadn't been turned. Not that that was a surprise, honestly. He would have to be convinced there was something in it for him to put his life at risk. No one else within Intelligence would be foolish enough to assist them either. She was quite literally their only hope to achieve their goal. She'd known Ginny long enough to understand that her threats weren't idle. If Aberforth died, they would be coming after her at full-force with no mercy.

The more she thought about the predicament she was in, the more she wanted to talk to Draco to see what his thoughts were. She was beginning to trust the man's judgement in all matters except for the heart. Anyone who would fall in love with her was dangerously naïve and reckless. Wishing there was some way that she could summon him home, Hermione waited impatiently for hours. No matter what she did to occupy her mind, she was unsuccessful. Time moved at a snail's pace and still he did not come home.

She wanted to protect him. Not just from the danger that he was in because of his association with her. While it was clear that Ginny at least was keeping his secret relationship with their most hated foe from the rest of the Resistance, Hermione knew that if he was discovered by the rest of them to be harboring her, he would be in serious trouble. From the moment of his whispered confession, she knew she couldn't stay. He deserved better than the misery she would bring him. All she was good for was ruin and destruction. Cutting off what they had before either of them could get too far down a path of no return was a kindness. She only hoped that he would see it that way.

When the midnight hour was approaching and he still hadn't come home, Hermione knew she couldn't wait any longer. He might be gone for days or even weeks. It would be easier to go without a long, emotional goodbye. She was afraid that if she allowed him, he would talk her into staying. Leaving in the middle of the night before he could return was better. Maybe he would forgive her one day. She hoped so even if it would be better if he hated her until the day he died.

She took one last look at the flat before she walked out the front door for the first and the last time. It tore at her heart to have to leave. Before she lost her nerve, she spun around on her heel and punched the button on the lift. Safely outside in the darkness of the night, she calmed herself down with deep breaths to the point she could trust herself to cloak her magic. There was only one place she could go. Spinning in place with her eyes closed, she kept her thoughts on her destination. The moment she landed, she took another deep breath and opened her eyes to see the heavy wooden door looming in front of her face. With more confidence than she really felt, she knocked.

Antonin had just woken up. Likely he'd fallen asleep in front of the fireplace again. He had a terrible habit of doing that. His dark brown eyes widened in complete surprise when he saw his wife standing only steps away. No words were spoken as he wrapped his arms around her and crushed her body against his chest. He seemed afraid to loosen his grip lest she float away. Finally, he spoke, the slightest hitch in his voice.

"I've been so worried about you."