Within moments, I felt the cold of the wet grass, which I had previously been oblivious to, start to penetrate my bare skin. Goosebumps popped up over my body, even Antonin's body heat unable to keep the wet chill at bay. I should have been feeling elated, relieved, victorious. Instead, all I felt was numb. I dragged my clothes back on, and Antonin beside me silently did the same. We avoided looking at each other, neither wanting to consider what came next.

To put off the moment of more serious conversations, I grabbed his hand and pulled him back to the manor with me.

"We'd better go see the aftermath," I suggested. "Think there's anyone alive in the ballroom?"

Antonin grunted, clearly not having regained full use of his faculties yet. However, he wrapped his hand around mine and allowed himself to be led back to the house.

The next few minutes passed in a haze of relieved hugs. Shockingly, no order members had been killed. Our plan had been more successful than we had dared to hope, and Voldemort had only been protected by a gang of poorly organized, barely of-age snatchers. A surprising number of his core followers had also survived, although we ended up having to release an aerosolized calming draft into the ballroom in order to safely take them into custody.

Word seemed to have spread quickly about Antonin's defection, but that didn't stop the order members present from regarding him with a mix of fear and hostility as he followed me through the rubble searching for friends. Nobody seemed quite sure what to do about him, but awkwardly avoiding his eye was certainly better than calling to have him locked up. I could tell that Antonin had regained his reason and was on tenterhooks, waiting for someone to slap a pair of handcuffs on him. I didn't know what to say to him, so I just held his hand tightly in mine, trying to make it clear that he was not to be bothered.

At last, Snape, in a very uncharacteristic display of emotional intelligence, requested Antonin's assistance in warding the dungeons of Malfoy Manor where the Death Eaters were being temporarily imprisoned. After receiving my assurance that I was quite capable of looking after myself for an hour, Antonin followed Snape downstairs with an unconcealed expression of relief on his face.

It was about that time that Fred and George, having at last cleared the ball room, found the bar that had somehow survived what would surely be remembered as the most disastrous ball in wizard history. Within minutes, they had persuaded the traumatized house-elves to circulate around the groups of fighters, serving wine in crystal flutes that were very much at odds with our dirtied, bloody appearance. For a moment, I was poised to tell them off for being inconsiderate to the elves, but as I watched the diminutive figures bustle about I realized that the elves were relieved to have a job to do and a sense of order restored.

Unfortunately, it seems to be an inevitability in my life that with alcohol comes Ron. I'd barely polished off my first glass when he plopped down next to Lavender and I. We'd been healing each others' minor scrapes and bruises while toasting each other in increasingly posh accents. After all, elf-made wine is strong and we'd skipped dinner. Plus, you know, the most evil wizard in history was dead. I was just starting to really feel relief, even elation, when Kill-the-moment Weasley popped up.

Completely ignoring Lavender, Ron launched right into an angry salvo,

"What the bloody hell are you going to do with Dolohov, Hermione?"

I groaned and Lavender, sensing a blowup, drifted off rapidly.

"What do you mean, Ron?" I deadpanned, not in the mood for his petulant tone.

"I mean how the fuck are you planning on playing housey with him?"

"That's really none of your business," I retorted angrily.

"I care about you, Hermy," he whined, using my least-favorite nickname, "He doesn't, not really,"

"Demonstrably false," I countered.

Ron leaned closer, the stink of alcohol on his breath, "Will he still care when he finds out you've been lying to him? I'll be here when he ditches you, you know. You'll come back to me,"

I stared at him in shock. In his characteristic way, Ron had laid bare the thing I least wanted to think about. Apparently this convinced Ron that he'd made his point because he turned and stomped unsteadily away. The meaning couldn't have been clearer.

I suppose I'd been holding out some vague hope that Antonin didn't have to find out what my true mission at Malfoy manor was. But, like a bucket of icy water being dumped on my head, two things suddenly became painfully clear to me. First, that I couldn't spend my whole life living a lie. And second, that Ron, vindictive bastard that he was, was going to tell Antonin if I didn't.

I buried my face in my hands. Harry had been right of course. The end of the war had seemed so unreal, so far off, that I hadn't bothered thinking through what would happen after. I should have known that there was no happy ever after in my future.

After a few moments, I snagged another glass of elf-made wine and downed it in one, then grabbed another for courage. I needed to find Antonin.

Several hours later, Antonin and I lay the dusty in bed side by side. I'd intended to bite the bullet and tell him straight to his face, but when I saw him I was overcome with the powerful urge to love him just one more time. Call me a coward, it's fair. But what I did next was even more cowardly.

I rolled stealthily out of bed and pulled on my clothes, discarded all over the ground for the second time that day. Setting my jaw, I conjured a vial and begin pulling strands of memory from my mind. I selected memories that would ensure that Antonin Dolohov never wanted to see me again.

Tears streaked down my face as I set the vial on the counter. I grabbed a spare bit of parchment and scrawled,

I'm so sorry, Antonin. I truly love you and I never wanted to lie to you. Goodbye.

-H

I stared at the note. It seemed so painfully inadequate to express the soul-wrenching despair I felt at knowing that he would never look at me again with love in his eyes, would never again proudly call me his wife. I grabbed the note and crumpled it, dropping it to the floor. Let him think it had all been a lie. I would be easier for him that way. I didn't let myself glance back at the man asleep on the bed, knowing that my control was hanging by a thread. All I wanted to do was to get back in the bed with him and go on pretending.

I stumbled out of the room, body shaking with silent sobs and apparated to Godric's Hollow. As soon as I stumbled in through the unlocked front door, I fell into Harry's arms and cried as if the world was ending.