November 14th

Even with over a day to consider her next moves, Hermione wasn't sure what to do about Ginny. As much as she hated her, she couldn't help but pity the woman for the impossible situation she found herself in. What mother could blame another for being willing to sacrifice everything just to protect her child? Hermione might have been a shit mum, but even she knew she'd do the same for Oliver. If there was ever hope in the future for her to be better, she didn't know. Maybe if the world was kinder to her than it had already been. Though she knew she should be angry and out for Ginny's blood, it was difficult for her to summon up enough moral outrage.

The world was too cruel. Just the simple business of living and dying demanded too much out of people. Hermione could understand all too well why there were those people who existed that just wanted to find any out they could. As she sat in the chair next to her personal fireplace in her room at the Three Broomsticks the morning after her unexpected visit with Ginny, she felt more isolated and exhausted than she had in a long time. Was what she was doing even worth the energy? Was she making any bit of difference?

A knock at the door broke her out of her thoughts. Grateful for a respite from the increasingly morose and fatalistic imaginings, she was also annoyed. Who would dare to disturb her in her privacy? She'd already opened the door a short time earlier to accept the tray of breakfast from one of the useless barmaids. When she allowed the chit to levitate the tray onto the small table next to her chair, Hermione slammed the door in her face with explicit instructions that she be left alone for the rest of the day. She found the positive attitudes of the young witches that would flit in and out of her room to make her bed and tidy up grating. Did they not understand that soon their looks would fade and they would be faced with the true ugliness of humanity?

"Go away!"

The knocking at the door only became more frantic when she shouted. Angry that they would ignore her very clear wishes, Hermione crossed the room in just a few seconds to yank open the door. Prepared to scream at whomever it was that dared to disturb her solitude, the desire vanished at once when her eyes landed on a shivering, crying Rosalind Nott.

"I didn't know where else to go."

She did make the promise to her when she made that awful visit to the Nott family home that if she needed anything she could be found at the Three Broomsticks. It must have been something serious to encourage the young pregnant witch to seek Hermione out. Feeling an odd sense of protectiveness, she gently pulled Rosalind inside the safety of her room. Once the door was closed, she coated it in thick protective wards. She didn't want any curious souls who might have seen her enter the establishment to get too close to listen at the keyhole.

Rosalind was freezing. The weather outside was not conducive to a pleasant stroll. As her entire body shook and trembled with her shivers, Hermione carefully removed her wet cloak and wrapped a warm blanket around her shoulders. She led her over to the chair she'd just risen from next to the fire. While the girl tried to warm up, she reheated the pot of tea that she hadn't touched on her breakfast tray. She wished she could slip some calming potion into her cup, but it wasn't safe for pregnant witches to drink. Once Rosalind warmed up, she calmed.

"Millicent kicked me out of the manor."

The entire story came tumbling out of the girl's mouth moments later. Millicent Nott and her elder brother showed up at the manor to demand that Rosalind take her leave. Marius Bulstrode was nastier than many Death Eaters despite never becoming one himself. Hermione wasn't surprised that he was somehow involved in her eviction. As some sort of solicitor, she never cared enough about him to get the exact description of his chosen profession. He had immense knowledge of the law, especially the more archaic customs that the worst of the Pureblood families abided by. Every time their paths crossed in the previous twenty years, Hermione made it a point to avoid him. He didn't have much use for her either.

"I was ordered to leave the manor, but I wasn't allowed to take anything with me. He said those were the terms of my marital contract. I didn't really understand what he meant."

Hermione rolled her eyes. She knew exactly what the girl didn't. An antiquated feature of many Pureblood marriage contracts featured a clause that was to discourage young witches from straying from their usually much, much older husbands. If any infidelity was uncovered, they were to be thrown out of their husband's house and sent back to their parents with nothing. At least the Bulstrodes were generous enough to let the girl leave with her clothes on. Some witches believed to be in violation of the terms of their marriage were sent back to their parents in the nude.

"My parents are dead. They didn't have any money, just debts. That's why Theodore agreed to marry me. He paid their debts for me."

"So any property that might've belonged to you now belongs to Theodore's true heirs."

Sometimes she worried that she would never be able to stop rolling her eyes. When would the wizarding society evolve past the buying and selling of young witches? It was absolutely deplorable. They should've been well past the horrific custom that treated women like chattel.

"Do you have any other family? Siblings? Grandparents? Aunts?"

Rosalind shook her head, tears still rolling down her cheeks. Based on the state of her clothes and the dirt that she could see on her face, Hermione knew she'd been wandering a while before she finally sought her out. How many days did this pregnant child wander in the freezing temperatures with nowhere to go? Any number of unscrupulous monsters could've taken advantage of her naïveté and desperation. She took her beaded bag out of her pocket and rummaged around inside for a pair of clean, warm pajamas. They might be a little big on the tiny girl, but it would be better than staying in the filthy clothes she had on.

"Why don't you take a hot shower to get warm and cleaned up? I'll go downstairs to get you something to eat."

A hot shower and the promise of food was enough to stem the flow of tears for a short time at least. Once Rosalind was safely in the bathroom, Hermione headed to the main room of the tavern. Her breakfast tray had been picked at and it was hardly enough to fill the girl's belly. Likely it had been days since she last had a proper meal.

As she waited for her order to be made, she considered her options. Rosalind needed somewhere safe to go. For whatever reason, Hermione felt a profound sense of responsibility to the girl. Without her interference, Rosalind might have been the wife of a disgusting tyrant like Theodore, but at least she would've been somewhat protected. It was entirely too risky for her to take care of the girl herself. Considering her recent activities, it was possible that she could die soon. She refused to even consider Rabastan as an option. No, she had to keep the two of them as far apart as possible. She had a legitimate fear that Rabastan might prefer to simply kill her and the child instead of worry about providing for her.

She could feel eyes on her as she waited. Her location really was too exposed. Turning in the direction of the sensation, she was able to catch Thorfinn in the act of staring. He was at the tavern more than he was at home. Her paranoia made her believe that that was by design because she was there. Antonin was keeping tabs on his wife even if he wasn't interested in seeking her out himself. She would need to leave where she was staying soon.

Thankfully, because of the miracles of magic and food preparation, she didn't have to wait long for Rosalind's meal. Carefully levitating it in front of her as she returned to go up the stairs, she ignored the continued feeling of intense surveillance. Let Thorfinn look all he wanted. She wasn't doing anything wrong. For once she was even doing something good.

Rosalind was still in the shower when Hermione returned to her room. Not that she could blame the girl. It looked like several days had gone by since she was thrown out of her late husband's house. She couldn't understand why Millicent and her brother would be so cruel. Weren't they aware that she didn't have any choice in the matter of her marriage? Hermione had her differences with Millicent over the years, just as she did with most of the other wives of her fellow Death Eaters, but she still couldn't believe that she would be so hateful to a girl who had nothing.

She would have to be taken somewhere safe where she wouldn't be found by Rabastan. The horrible man hopefully wouldn't be long for their world. As she took care of her enemies, she looked forward to the day when she would be able to use all that she'd learned from Rabastan against him. His would not be a swift, painless death. No, she had plans for him. Plans to make him scream and suffer. It was only fair. Who did Hermione trust enough to care for the girl? There were few options.

"Thank you for being so kind to me."

A hot shower, clean clothes and the prospect of a hot meal changed the young witch's outlook completely. There was even a smile on her exhausted face when she sat down at the table to tuck into her meal. Hermione felt like she owed it to her after what she did. Funny how she'd never worried much about the family members she left behind after she got rid of an enemy. There used to be so much in her life that she could use to distract herself from the horrors of what she was actually doing. Maybe the universe brought Rosalind into her life to remind her what an awful human being she'd been for so long. What sort of person woke up each morning from their warm bed next to their husband who loved them to go to work where they murdered people? It was disgusting. She hated herself when she allowed her mind to think on what she'd done with her life. Harry would've been so disappointed in how she turned out.

When her relatively silent meal was finished, Rosalind's eyes grew heavy with fatigue. Hermione offered her the use of her bed which she gladly accepted. Within moments of crawling under the sheets and laying her head on the soft pillow, she was asleep. How was it possible that even after what she'd been put through that she could just fall asleep so quickly secure in the knowledge that she was safe? It had been a long time since Hermione felt the same. She'd been looking over her shoulder for years.

There were two options for Rosalind if Hermione couldn't get her tucked away somewhere safe. Neither of them were particularly good. She would either be killed by the father of her child merely for being an embarrassment and an inconvenience or she would have to grow tougher, stronger, harder to survive in the world. Much like Hermione had to do twenty years earlier. Was that why she felt such a strong desire to keep her safe? Usually she didn't care. She knew it was the truth whether she wanted to consider it or not. Rosalind was a chance to prevent what happened to Hermione from happening to another.

It became suddenly clear where she needed to take Rosalind. They would have to be very careful that no one saw them. When it was dark, Hermione would take her. There might not be any hope for the embittered, battle-weary woman, but there was still some for the girl.