The coin had a new arc of numbers for its serial. Hermione touched the raised gold numerals as though reading them with fingertips, committing them to memory both by touch and eye. She imagined it was still warm from the change, but it was more likely her body heat, having held it for minutes now. Had it been cold when she checked it to find the change? She couldn't remember.

This was it, the day Hermine was expected to act.

Her eyes darted toward the clock, noting that only hours remained. She still had not decided her course of action and it weighed on her like stones in a river. Could she kill the monster that held her captive? The man who held her in his arms and called her his love?

The boy who'd mourned the loss of his unborn siblings with a woman lost to the world. It was no wonder he longed for a family of his own.

Hermione wanted freedom more than the air in her lungs, but she knew she was lying to herself if she thought she was capable of premeditated murder.

As cruel as Antonin might be, he was also a tender lover when the sadistic beast inside him was sated. He enjoyed providing for her, had a quick wit as well. There were days they'd while away reading in companionable silence, hours they'd discuss something one or the other had read. He could be thoughtful, leaving potions at her bedside to ease cramps or setting aside books on topics she'd mentioned previously.

He thought he loved her.

He was a murderer. He'd killed people she knew, cared about. One of Voldemort's lieutenants, he was the first to lead in the fight against insurgents. And he delighted in the pain and death granted at the end of his wand.

She should kill him. Avada him when his back was turned. But a vice tightened around her heart at the thought, a sick feeling stirring in her stomach.

Hermione didn't love him. She was as sure of that as she was of her love for her parents. But he was human to her and it was hard to gun down that which wore a human face, especially when you'd been privy to all the little quirks of their humanity. She was not a snake, had never cast an Unforgivable, and did not think she could begin with that one, not even on him.

Watching Harry cast the Imperius at Gringotts had curdled her stomach, and that was perhaps the gentlest of the three.

That left her with incapacitation.

Antonin would not suspect it. Life had fallen into a disarming pattern since Samhain; even before they'd found a rhythm of a sort. He had his wand on him, of course, but he didn't use it for mundane tasks. It usually remained securely up his sleeve. At times he even set it on a tabletop, content that his charge could not touch the dark handle. As warm and welcoming as hers was, his wand was all piercing thorns and disdain. Worse than ruining her spells, it simply refused to cast at all.

Was it best to disarm him first or attempt to knock him out? On the one hand her disarming charm was among her best, and would surely work whether the other managed or not; on the other, it was not incapacitation. It would leave him with options.

Either might start a duel. She held her head in her hands, the whirlpool of arguments chasing downward in a frenzied ache that threatened to tear apart her mind. Incapacitate. Disarm. Kill. Torture. Incapacitate or disarm.

She had cast so little recently, a few of the weakest, easiest spells sans wand lest Topsy or Antonin come in unexpectedly and see her beloved focus. She couldn't bear to lose it again.

Without it her magic was too wide a net, too flimsy, uncertain and directionless. Hermione's magic had always been a precision tool, but that was honed and trained from the start.

Perhaps if she could catch him without his wand… though the guaranteed times were while he bathed, slept, or engaged in sexual acts; two out of three of those would have her underneath or beside him. He often undressed her and kept clothed or stripped after. Hermione would have to hide her wand before that and anticipate his actions well enough it would be where she needed it, when she needed it. That was too risky.

Was she clever enough, she wondered, to spoil his clothes and send him to clean up?

That might be her only option. After all, cleaning charms just did not work as well on clothing and tended to leave an unpleasant sensation of still not being clean when it came to skin. Nothing beat a bath.

Hermione tucked her wand in her dress and the coin in her slip-on shoes.

You're a Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake. You can do this. You must do this.

She straightened up and slipped through her door, padding to the dining room for lunch.

"Might we have tea?" Hermione was curled against his chest with a book tucked tight to her body. It was his favored way to read and she'd eventually begun taking her own comfort in the warmth and stability of his presence. His book was propped against the back of the settee and her shoulder.

Antonin nuzzled his chin on the top of her head. "I suppose we might. Topsy. What would you like, my love? Your spiced chai?" She hummed, a nauseating bitter-sweetness twisting her stomach. "You're looking a touch tired. Your chai always perks you up."

Topsy bowed low when she popped in, silently watching and taking note of her master's words. This was a common enough occurrence; the little elf kept herself out of the way during the couple's more domestic moments, drinking them in with a loving glint in heavily lidded eyes the size of orange slices.

She popped out with the same lack of fuss and returned in exactly enough time to have steeped two cups of tea to perfection, a neat pile of biscuits accompanying the pot.

"Would you like to move to the sitting area?" His inquiry tickled the hairs on her cheek.

Hermione sighed and pressed her face to his chest, inhaling the comforting scent of him. "I'm comfortable here."

"Then here you shall remain." He Summoned her teacup, already prepared to perfection, and kissed the tip of her nose when she smiled up at him. As he took his own Hermione prayed that he didn't feel the thundering of her heart; she felt as though she could see it through the silk of her dress and in the fine tremble of her hands. "Wonderful idea, kitten. I never realize I want tea until I have it in my hands."

She couldn't do it too soon, she reasoned, half-listening to his contented murmurings. Antonin couldn't suspect this was all planned. One cup and then she would spill. Just one cup to soothe her frazzled nerves.

Halfway through her second, pages turning with regularity but no words seeping through the fog of anticipation, Hermione had her perfect excuse. As Topsy apparated into the library she jumped and spilled her cup across Antonin's scarlet shirt. Her book fell forgotten to the other side.

"Fuck!" His exclamation sent a thrill of fear through her and she hopped from his lap to press napkins to the spreading stain.

"I am so sorry, Antonin. I was just reading and not paying attention and… I am so sorry!"

A large, rough palm covered her own, drawing her attention to his face. "Relax, love. Accidents happen. As it is, I was going to shower this evening anyway. There's a meeting at the crack of bloody dawn." He tipped her chin as he stood, lips slotting with her own for a brief, tender kiss. "Would you care to join me?"

Warmth flooded her cheeks and he laughed.

"Another time then."

When his footsteps trailed away she stole a glance at the clock. Time was on her side.

Hermione checked through her mental list of wand, coin, equations (Merlin knew why she wanted those, but she refused to leave them even if they would soon be obsolete, and they were folded up and tucked away), and toed toward the master suite.

Steam fluttered the light streaming below the door to his bath, the whirling white in accompaniment to the rushing water in her ears. It seemed not at all muffled by the closed door.

A perfunctory scan told her what she needed; his shirt was not out here, nor was his wand. He must have stripped in there.

There was nothing for it. She would have to face him in the little room, couldn't even try to call him through to the bedroom lest he grab it on the way.

Hermione clambered onto the bed and pulled her knees to her chest and stared at the clock on his mantle, the second hand ticking in hollow imitation of her heart. Plodding moments dragged her along until she shakily rose to her feet. Soaked hands wiped along her legs, fingers dancing inelegantly. Soon. She would have her wand soon. Her wand hand darted to check its position again.

"I can do this. I can do this." Hermione swallowed through her terror. Had she been so afraid during the battle at Hogwarts? In the ministry? On the run with Harry?

No, that was different, she decided. Those were all in the moment and with her best friend. This was anticipated, alone.

Tap tap tap. Her fingers against her thigh trampled faster than the beat of her racing heart.

"Okay." Her palm curled around the knob. Okay.

It swung open before she realized she'd turned it, moist air rushing to greet her.

Antonin had turned off the flow, leaning back in the glistening water. Cool eyes flicked open at her approach and a lazy grin unfurled across his lips. "Did you decide to join me after all, kitten?"

Wide eyes darted to the sink, the little table of toiletries, the neat stack of his clothing, seeking out his wand.

It was across the large tub from him, but still much too close for comfort. She needed to do this carefully. Antonin, decades her senior and keenest dueler among the Death Eater ranks, would beat her unless it was all perfectly timed.

"Er, yes," she stammered, gathering her thoughts and intentions.

Hermione sat on the edge of the tub and slipped off her socks along with her shoes so he would not see the coin. She didn't want to do this but needed the moment it would buy to think.

As her right hand slipped behind her back to the wand tucked away, her left thrust palm out and she thought, Accio Antonin's wand, down to her magical root. His prickled at her hand even as she straightened her own and she snapped into a dueling stance.

Antonin shifted, water sloshing around him, and she sent a stunning hex over his shoulder. "Don't move."

Do it, do it, do it, do it.

"My, isn't this a surprise." He settled back, head tipped as he studied her with a predator's fascination in those pale eyes.

Her knuckles were white around both wands and her body nearly creaked with tension.

She did not miss the mocking lilt to his voice as he asked, "Well, kitten?"

A/N:

We have a chapter count. That's right, I've written to the end! It's about 100k words and 55 chapters, officially the longest fanfic I've ever written, and there is a sequel coming. I'll post details after the last chapter.