December 23rd

After another day stuck in the freezing cellar trying to keep warm, Hermione could understand her husband's obsessive need to build up the fires in their home to a stifling degree. It was an annoyance that she'd learned to live with. Fifteen years in the wizarding prison Azkaban made it so Antonin's biggest fear was never being warm again. She'd only suffered for a few days in conditions that were surely not really as extreme and she worried about the same. How could he have survived such an existence for so long with all of his wits intact?

The truth of the matter was the former inhabitants of Azkaban never truly got over their experiences. Especially those who'd been subjected to years underneath the constant assault of the dementors. One could easily point out the former inmates if they just knew the signs. More than just the distinctive neck tattoo they were all forced to wear, there was a haunting in their eyes. Not present at every moment, but often Hermione could see the faraway expression and know that her husband was back inside the damned fortress reliving the worst years of his entire life. Once it used to annoy her, made her think he was weak for dwelling on a past he could not change. A lot had happened since then. She hoped that she still had the opportunity to be a more thoughtful, caring person for those she loved in the future. Being selfish was a false protection from being hurt by reality. She would've given anything to make better choices.

Rodolphus stole her beaded bag when she was unconscious so any hopes of using one of the extra blankets tucked inside were dashed. She hated that there was once a time in her life when she trusted the monster enough to divulge the secret of her bag. It was just one more confidence he used against her. Would his treachery never end? Still dressed in her thin nightgown she wore when she ran after Lizzie, she was glad that she'd stolen a cloak before she stepped outside. If she hadn't, she feared all of her teeth would've chipped with their chattering. How much longer was she expected to be subjected to the cold without answers?

There was no escape from her prison. She'd looked and found nothing. Although unable to tell time in the dark, she knew at least a day had passed since she last spoke to her captor. As soon as the door slammed shut, she went on a search for a way out or something she could use as a weapon. She'd been unsuccessful on both counts. As much as it pained her to admit the depressing truth, she was at Rodolphus' mercy. Her only hope was a rescue attempt and even that was faint.

Almost as if she summoned the bastard with just the power of her thoughts, the door opened. A wave of magic washed over the space. Prepared with a powerful shielding charm in case she tried to attack him when he entered, Rodolphus needn't have bothered. She was too cold to move out from underneath the inadequate blanket she had wrapped around her body. Carrying a tray with a plate of food in the middle, Rodolphus set it down on a table next to the camp bed.

"You don't seriously expect me to eat or drink anything you give me, do you?"

Rodolphus acted offended, but Hermione just rolled her eyes. What did she care if he had his feelings hurt? The way his eyes moved over her body made her uncomfortable. Not wishing to give him any ideas, she threw off the blanket to sit up.

"I would never harm you, my dear."

Whether he was referring to doing something to her food or forcing himself on her, she wasn't sure. Not that it really mattered. She wouldn't have believed him either way. Even the thought of him never hurting her made her laugh out loud in an almost hysterical manner. Unbothered, Rodolphus ate some of her food to prove it had not been tampered with. Still she didn't eat. She didn't have the stomach to swallow a bite.

"What do you think the villagers have done to Antonin in your absence? What the Jordans have done?"

Hermione didn't want to have the conversation about her husband. Not when she was still so worried about the mess that she left behind. She'd hoped that following the physical struggle she had with Tiberius that some clues might be left behind indicating that she'd not been a willing participant. When she considered the fact that her wand had been broken in two and perhaps the pieces were found in the aftermath, she shook her head and groaned. Rodolphus wasn't stupid nor was he careless enough to not sweep the area while she was unconscious for anything that might indicate she wasn't the one who committed murder. He'd been planning to use Lizzie to his advantage for months. The man was disgusting. She was glad that the Jordans only moved to the Resistance's village in February. What sort of havoc could he have created if he'd had access to young Lizzie for years? As it was, mere months was bad enough.

"What are you planning to do with me, Rodolphus? I'm exhausted of all of these secrets and intrigue."

His smile made her nervous. It usually did. So much changed between them. Every time she thought about the past where she believed he actually cared about her only made her more embarrassed. How could she have been such a fool for so long? She could only blame her potions for a small portion of her poor choices.

"Do you mean you haven't figured it out yet? I thought you were smarter than that."

She was exhausted of everyone always expecting her to know all of the answers to every question. When did she become some sort of superhuman who was all-knowing and all-seeing? Just because she was clever and unafraid to do research in dusty books most wouldn't didn't mean she was somehow this perfect genius who could solve every riddle. She was human. Imperfect, flawed, normal. Were there people out there that believed that she was somehow a perfect creature who could do no wrong and knew everything? Because that was just ridiculous and unnatural. She'd been forced to prove herself over and over again since she was eleven years old entering into a strange world that she didn't even know existed a short time earlier. While she had some suspicions of what the madman was up to, she didn't believe they were even possible. Perhaps there was a simple explanation.

"No, Rodolphus. I haven't figured it out. None of my theories even seem plausible."

With a smirk, he closed the short distance between them. Hermione feared to take a breath. He reached out his hand to gently tug on one of her curls.

"You know, the first time I got a really good look at you, I thought I'd lost my mind."

Forgetting some of her fear in the wake of his statement, she scoffed. He was undeterred.

"It was several weeks after the Dark Lord killed your little mate. Sure, I'd seen you before, but in battle or in unflattering photographs in the Daily Prophet. I walked into Antonin's kitchen and I saw you sitting at that table… I thought I was looking at a ghost."

She was uncomfortable, desperate for him to leave her alone in the freezing darkness again. It was much easier to be by herself than it was to look into his face when he was making such remarks. She didn't like how he continued to look at her.

"You don't even realize how much you two look alike, do you?"

"I think you're only seeing what you want to see."

Releasing his grip on her curl, he ran the tips of his fingers gently down her cheek. The touch made her want to scream and push him away. Only fear that his next touches would be painful kept her from doing what she wanted.

"Same skin, same hair, same little nose. Your eyes are different though."

Hermione never felt comfortable with the comparisons made between her and the late Bellatrix. Others mentioned it to her before over the years, but it never made it any easier to hear. Perhaps they simply shared common enough physical features. That's as far as she was willing to take it. Lots of people looked alike. It didn't mean anything special. Besides, Bellatrix was insane. She hated the comparisons because she worried they were always just one step away from calling her the same.

"I thought I could be content with you, but everything was wrong. I needed to change you. I hated that you lived alone with Antonin and I couldn't find out what poison he was whispering into your ears. He never wanted you to be a Death Eater."

"No, he didn't. He tried to persuade me over and over again to remain Unmarked, to stay out of the danger that would inevitably come my way as a Death Eater."

"He was only supposed to make you more amenable to the Dark Lord, not encourage you to join us. Lovesick fool wanted to keep you protected even then. I knew that I wouldn't be able to do what I wanted with you if he was always standing in my way. I encouraged you to want to be a Death Eater so I could be near you, so we could have reasons to be alone."

Rodolphus was even more insidious than she ever imagined. Had he been grooming her from the very beginning to become someone, something she didn't want to be? She hadn't realized what changes to her personality and her belief system came about naturally as a result of surviving the lost war and what was thrust upon her with memory charms, illegal potions, and questionable spells. Which thoughts were her own and which thoughts had been carefully and skillfully planted inside her mind? Hermione feared that she would never know the true scope of his treachery.

"I thought I could take away the parts of you that weren't like her, make you into her, but it never worked like I wanted it to. You're too different."

She could feel her skin crawl with each word he spoke. Was that why he cast so many spells in her mind? He was conditioning her to become the very last person she would ever want to be. It was sick and demented. The man should've cast an Avada to his own chest moments after Bellatrix died if that's what he really wished. She remembered what she learned from Marcus Flint right before she killed him.

"Is that what you meant about trying to wake me up?"

His light green eyes got hard at the question. He was angry.

"Who told you that?"

"Marcus Flint told me how he listened in on a conversation between you and Alecto right before I killed him."

"I'm not sorry to hear you were the one to kill him. I suspected as much."

Thanks to Albert Runcorn most of their country believed that she was responsible for the murders of the Flints. Even a broken clock was right twice a day. The more she stopped to consider the implications of 'waking her up', the more frightened she became. Was it possible? He might have failed in his previous attempts, but was he able to figure out how to replace all of Hermione's traits with Bellatrix's? She couldn't even imagine how that would work. It would still be her mind and her body, just she would think she was Bellatrix? Or would he just make her so she was nasty and even more insane like his late wife? There were so many questions she had that she knew he wouldn't be willing to answer. Of course it was also possible that the man was completely insane and speaking gibberish. He might believe he could do something and not actually be able to follow through. Until she knew the facts, she couldn't afford to discount him just because he seemed like he'd gone round the bend.

"You've been trying to make me more like your wife? Why?"

His anger was even more noticeable. She was glad that he was no longer touching her because his hands were both clenched in tight fists. One wrong move or wrong word and he could easily turn his anger around on her. She had to be careful as she sought more answers.

"I would think that was obvious. I miss her. I've actually taken a great deal of joy out of torturing the Weasley family because of what that bitch Molly did to my beloved wife."

The wizard's vendetta against the Weasley family made a sick sort of sense. No doubt he would see the remaining children born to his wife's murderer as enemies he needed to dispose of. Seeking out Ginny to utterly destroy her was genius in a demented kind of way. Making her murder her own brother was dastardly and exactly what he would do. Rodolphus played the long game. Most might have rushed out in their anger and pain to eradicate as many enemies as possible immediately. And in those first several chaotic and violent years, he might have been successful in taking down a few. But, that wasn't enough. He wanted them to suffer. He wasn't going to be satisfied with anything less than complete annihilation of his enemies. Hermione worried about the remaining members of the Weasley family. While she certainly had had her differences and disagreements with all of them at some point, she hated that they were all in danger. Shouldn't the world be safer with the Dark Lord dead and buried?

She hoped that she could trick Rodolphus into revealing more about his plans. Though it rarely happened, when he got emotional, he got sloppy. She had to use that against him in some way. It was dangerous, but it was the only weapon she had. What was the worst that could happen to her if he didn't appreciate her efforts? He would kill her? She didn't find that fate all that terrible. At least then it would all be over. Forcing out an amused laugh, the wizard was annoyed instantly.

"And you thought you could turn me into your wife? That you could mold me into her? You're as insane as she was, Roddy."

The back of his hand slammed against her mouth with a dizzying force. Even though her lip was bleeding and tears were forming in the corners of her eyes thanks to the pain of the blow, she laughed, refusing to be cowed. He was getting too emotional.

"You're pathetic. Bellatrix is dead. You can't change that."

He struck her again with his other hand on the opposite side of her face. Blood dribbled down her chin. Her heart raced with fear and expectation. Perhaps realizing that he was losing control, Rodolphus turned away to cross the room to the door. Before he exited the room, he looked over his shoulder to address her one final time.

"I can still try to bring her back."