Following her unexpected but brief meeting with Fred in Hogwarts, Hermione sat at the bar in the Three Broomsticks and drank until she could almost forget how wretched her life was thanks to the fucking worthless Dark Lord. She'd wanted to be numb, like she always felt when she drank a vial of her favorite potion. Alcohol was a poor substitute. Not caring that those behind her back were celebrating the holiday, she continued to drink. She only had a very vague recollection of a large, muscular body carrying her up the stairs over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and dropping her on top of the mattress with hardly any care or gentleness. At least she didn't have to worry about Thorfinn taking advantage in her intoxicated state. He wanted nothing to do with her. Likely a sense of responsibility because of her husband or nostalgia because of their past friendship was the only reason he bothered to make certain she made it back to her room safely.