October 25th

Even a day after her unexpected visit with Rodolphus in her hotel bathroom, Hermione was still rattled. It seemed that no matter where she went, she would be unable to escape the reach of the horrible man. Part of her wished to know what his plans for her were, but for the most part, she wanted to remain in ignorance. Nothing he had planned could be good. She'd seen the way he looked at her, the malevolent spark in his crazed eyes. As if she needed further proof that the man was completely insane, the way he spoke about wanting her at his side made no sense.

He wasn't in love with her. She wasn't even sure that he had the capacity to love. Maybe once upon a time he did. Years before he was damned to a lifetime in Azkaban he might have been just like every other man, some lovesick fool with the insatiable desire to get up the skirts of a pretty witch and make a family with her. While it was hard to imagine that the wizard had ever snuck around Hogwarts castle snogging behind suits of armor, he must have. Once when she made an uncharitable remark about his late wife, he'd slammed his closed fist in her stomach. As she lay on the floor of whatever bedroom they were in with her arms around her aching body, she came to the realization that there were some topics that were off-limits.

The memory of Bellatrix hung over her widower like a choking, shadowy specter. Hermione never once imagined that the insane woman who had an obnoxious penchant for baby talk and who appeared to love the Dark Lord above all others could've ever been able to elicit such strong emotions from the man she married years after her death. There had been love between the Lestranges. Likely similar to the obsessive, unhealthy love that plagued many of the marriages between the Death Eaters, it had to have been powerful. Some of the Pureblood families, especially those that took the purity of their blood very seriously, were often arranged. Hermione simply assumed that had been the case with Rodolphus and Bellatrix. Only when she brought up the incident the next day with Rabastan did she learn otherwise.

So if Rodolphus wasn't in love with her, what was his obsession? She knew that the reason why so many of the Death Eaters were so eager to have her naked body crawl on top of theirs had little to do with who she was on the inside. Much younger than the vast majority of the wizards, she was a tight, firm body that made them feel like they were much younger men. It was a manipulation she learned early on amongst the ranks of Lord Voldemort's most faithful followers. Just as she threw herself into learning everything she could about most topics that interested her or she deemed beneficial, she learned what she needed to make her body a weapon. It had been effective. She was a great lay and she knew it. Why else would disgusting men like Temeritus Mulciber long to replicate a night that happened over a decade and a half earlier?

Sex wasn't enough of a reason for Rodolphus to manipulate her mind for years. She'd offered him what she had long before he ever cast the first spell. If all he wanted was a warm place to cram his cock, she'd already given it to him and would've continued to do so without hesitation. Why would he have his brother introduce her to the adulterated, illegal potions after she'd already climbed in and out of his bed more times than either of them could recall? There was something more, something that she feared she would never discover.

He'd been angry when he thought she'd spent the missing two nights he couldn't account for her location with Antonin. While he was absolutely correct in his assumptions, she felt mostly confident that she'd been able to convince him that her husband wanted nothing to do with her after the incident in the castle. But a nagging thought in the back of her mind bothered her. Draco made no secret of the fact that he tracked her on a regular basis. He must have known she was tucked away in some holiday cottage with Antonin. Wasn't he reporting back her whereabouts to his uncle?

She was frustrated enough with the tracker to almost be tempted to return to Draco's flat just to give him a piece of her mind. Or to steal back whatever it was that he'd been using to track her. She still wasn't sure what it was. Based on his lesson, it had to have been something that would hold the magic well. There wasn't much she possessed in the way of jewelry. In the early years of their marriage, Antonin tried to surprise her frequently with ornate jewels and beautiful gems, but they'd never meant much to her. He wanted to show her off to the other wizards, to prove that just because he didn't own an enormous manor house that he could still provide the finer things in life for his wife. When he came to the conclusion that all he was doing was wasting money on baubles she kept locked away in a box, he eventually stopped.

Knowing that she couldn't spend the rest of her life hiding away in her room in the Three Broomsticks, Hermione made the decision to step outside of it for the first time since her meeting with Rodolphus. Just in time to order a late breakfast from one of the witches behind the bar, she found a table in the opposite corner of the room from where Thorfinn was seated. Even though it was still morning, he was already drinking. She worried that he wasn't actually playing a part at all. Or maybe he was playing it too well. There was a great deal of pain in that wizard that broke her heart as well. She didn't think he would ever recover from Hannah's death, not completely. Never again would he be the carefree, overgrown child who was always so quick to laugh. Just as the better parts of Hermione died in her broom cupboard, the better parts of Thorfinn died with his wife.

As she waited for the meal she ordered to be served, she tried to keep her attention focused on anything other than the wizard glaring in her direction. Antonin might have claimed that he was just acting for the sake of being approached by Rodolphus again, but he hadn't actually seen the two of them in the same room together. He couldn't possibly understand that there was more to the supposed lie. Movement caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. It was impossible for a person of Thorfinn's size to move stealthily through a crowded room. Though light on his feet on missions when they were outdoors, stuck inside a space with so many tables and chairs didn't help. She looked up to see him heading straight for her table. Instinct told her to get up and run. Unfortunately, she was too slow.

"I thought I saw the last of you. Don't you have someone else's life to ruin?"

"Thorfinn…"

"Shut up, you fucking gash. You don't deserve to breathe the same air that I do. Fucking worthless Mudblood. You are the reason my Hannah is dead. What sort of fucked up world is this when she dies and you get to live? All Mudbloods are the same. Should've all been drowned at birth."

She was getting annoyed with his theatrics, especially considering she thought that most of them were sincere. Thorfinn was raised in a Sacred Twenty-Eight family with some fairly dubious origins. Many of them were nasty, known for their tempers and their fury on the battlefield. It wasn't unreasonable to assume that they were a family mired in the worst of the anti-Muggle-born hatred that seemed to permeate many of the other families. Though she'd never personally heard him insult Muggle-borns before in her presence and knew for a fact that his amorous affections prior to his courtship and marriage were hardly discriminatory, perhaps there was a Blood Purist inside him after all.

"Is there something you want from me, Thorfinn? Or are you just going to continue to be hysterical?"

He shoved a copy of a newspaper he had clutched in his hand under her nose. Taking it out of his grip, she had to laugh when she saw the front page. A large section on the front page was dedicated to an article written by Alecto claiming that not only was Hermione crazy, but she was responsible for the horrific murder of Rita Skeeter. It seemed that on the rare occasion, the Daily Prophet actually got something correct.

"You find that amusing? I recommend you read page six. There's an interesting article about why you collapsed in the middle of the Dark Lord's funeral."

Curious, Hermione flipped to the page in question. While there certainly was another article, also written by Alecto, with a no doubt, fantastical theory as to what really happened that day, her attention was drawn to the top corner of the page. Scribbled in her husband's distinctive handwriting was a simple message.

Shrieking Shack. Half-past midnight.

While it was an interesting method to pass a message on to her, she couldn't deny that it was effective. Once it was clear that she'd read what she was supposed to, Thorfinn ripped the paper out of her hands. He leaned down to speak just outside her ear. Though not a whisper, he wanted to make sure she heard him.

"One day you and your husband are going to have to pay for your crimes. I can't wait to see that. I'll be on the front row."

He stalked away, ignoring the concerned and frightened expressions on the faces of the others inside of the main room of the tavern. Wadding the paper into a ball, Thorfinn tossed it into the fireplace. Once the paper was burned away to nothing, he shot one final glare in her direction and stormed out of the building.

Antonin claimed he was just playing a part, but his performance was further evidence in Hermione's mind that that was only partially true. It saddened her to imagine that there would never be a day that she could sit and enjoy a long conversation with her old friend. Thorfinn used to be such a bright spot in her day. After Hannah's death, she feared that he wouldn't be able to come out of his grief. He would probably die long before he was supposed to. It was nothing more than yet another fucking tragedy in her life she was powerless to prevent.

She tried to push aside her worries for Thorfinn to focus on the message that Antonin sent. It was dangerous to meet so close to the village and in such an iconic location. What was going on? She would have to be very careful. Rodolphus made it clear that he had spies everywhere. Likely at least one of the people in that very room were eager to report back to the wizard to give their account of her interaction with Thorfinn. Someone on Rosmerta's staff was probably the spy. Possibly even Rosmerta herself. She wouldn't be the first person to turn.

Midnight could not come soon enough for Hermione. She wondered how she was going to possibly fill the hours of the day waiting to find out what was so important that her husband had to go to such lengths to get her attention.