After a long, dismal day of doing nothing productive, Hermione went to bed early. It was strange how her new existence back in her old home felt just as lonely as some of the days she was out on her own on the run. Before she ran, she never felt alone. That was half the problem. Antonin hovered and consumed her every waking moment most days. He was an intense, complicated man. Being back home but feeling detached from it was bizarre. It seemed an even more compelling reason to complete her mission sooner rather than later. She was suffocating in her own home.