A/N: I want to thank everyone that has left reviews. They are awesome, and I appreciate every single one of them. I also want to apologize for some mistakes I went back and found and fixed. I had switched twins from Parvati to Padma and missed a few. I also misspelled Patil. I fixed the glaring mistakes, but if you see any more, please let me know. I want to add that I'm really sorry it took so long for me to update. I will try to do better, I promise.

Whisky Tango

There's a fever burning deep in my bones

Even when I'm with you

I'm on my own

Forget what I have done

Sometimes I've lost you

Sometimes I've won

Just let me do

Everything I can

'Cause everything I do is for you.

Chapter Six

It hurt her more than she thought, losing the baby.

Not her husband's death. Right now, Hermione couldn't afford the luxury of grief. Instead, she took the potions from the nurse. Straightened her cloak, pulling it tight against her. Thankfully, the nurse cleaned the blood from her pajamas with a Tergeo charm before leaving the room. Too tired and shaken to even clean herself. Damned muggle drugs, Dolohov was right. She could have been killed.

Her thoughts went back to her interactions with Dolohov. Who would have thought the Death Eater had such a great bedside manner. Her fingers closed around the slip of paper with his address, she found it odd that it brought her comfort. Feeling that somehow he was on her side. That was something she wasn't used too. She risked a glance back down the hall where Ron lay, wondering if they had moved him, hoping Molly would be gone. Instead, she found Dolohov staring back at her from his desk, she nodded in acknowledgment, quickly turning on her heel. She wanted to get out of there before she was seen by Harry or the rest of the Weasley clan.

Apparating to the back garden in the early morning drizzle. Hermione hesitated at the back steps. The house sat silently in the darkness, the backdoor creaking as she opened it. She turned on the lights. The drip, drip, drip of the leaky faucet echoed in the too clean kitchen. As much as she wanted to crawl into bed, she knew she needed to set the living room to rights. People would be flooding in once the sun came up. She folded her cloak, laying it over a chair. She went to the door that led to the living room, part of her wondering if Ron would be passed out on the couch, and this was all just a bizarre dream. She flinched when the door creaked as she pushed it open.

Streetlights glowed with sodium orange, burning through the heavy drapes setting the bloodstains on the couch ablaze. How Harry missed it, she would never know. The dark carpet spread before her like the night sky, glittering with broken glass. Air still heavy with the copper tang of violence. Hermione caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Darker than a shadow, it hung in the corner as small as a bird, watching, perched waiting for her. Its tendrils creeping from the shadows, slithering down the wall…

"Lumos," A choked whisper escaped her lips. Her wand was out, trained on the thing lurking in her house. Light-filled the room and whatever had been waiting in the darkness disappeared with the light. Ronald wasn't on the couch, yet a nightmare just the same. Blood stained the floor, soaking the couch's cushions where Ronald had sat just a few hours ago. Empty bottles cluttered about. She could still feel his anger hovering in a toxic cloud.

Fanfuckingtastic, she thought. After everything she had been through, all of Ronald's shite she had to deal with his angry ghost. Or at least she hoped it was just his angry ghost. That was something she could deal with. She had used dark magic, Unforgivables that ended in death. That sort of thing attracted dark energy. She couldn't worry about that right now. The first thing Hermione knew she needed to do was to fill her wand with mundane spells to cover her use of the forbidden ones. A nagging feeling still tugged at her, that the questioning was not over.

Clean-up needed to be done the muggle way and quickly. Hermione gathered her supplies and set her wand to folding laundry, making tea, all the normal spells one would find on a working witches wand. All while she scrubbed the stains of the previous night into a bucket and down the drain.

The sun broke through the clouds, streaming in the kitchen window. Hermione finally sat at her kitchen table. She used her wand to make eggs and toast, a strong cup of tea, and maybe she could get a little sleep before Harry and Ginny showed up. She knew they would. Harry had questions without a doubt. She lay her head down on her arm for just a moment… her eyes closed, and she drifted off.

Hermione's eyes fluttered open as a warm tickling sensation slithered down her leg. She was bleeding again, Dolohov told her to expect this. She slept long enough, anyway. The house was put to rights. All that was left was a long hot shower. As good a job as Dolohov did in healing her, she was still sore.

Her hand touched the door leading to the living room, Hermione froze, the hair on the back of her neck prickled. She pressed her ear to the wood straining to hear, drawing her wand she cast a revealing charm that revealed… nothing. Her nerves were frayed, her shower called to her. That room was scrubbed from top to bottom, and she had found nothing just a few hours prior. She took a deep breath and pushed the door open, shoving the fear aside, daring whatever lurked to make itself known.

Sunshine chased the shadows into hiding. In the light of day, the room hid all the horrors of the night. She stood in front of the couch, staring at the spot where Ronald had sat. Still unable to conjure up tears or any grief for that matter. With the blood scrubbed away, and the living room now looking like it did on any other day. But that's how her entire marriage to Ron played out. He made the mess, and she cleaned it up. She kept the secrets. Always hiding the ugly truth. Even with his death.

The brutal reality of the abortion was sliding down her leg once more, reminding her that she needed to head to the loo. Never in a million years did she ever consider an abortion, but that's what she had done, popping those muggle pills without a second thought. She padded quietly to bath, stripping off her clothes as she went. Feeling numb, running on autopilot.

The hot water washed away some of the exhaustion and the blood from what was beginning to feel like a mistake that she couldn't take back. Losing track of time in the steam-filled shower, she went over last night in her head. She needed to. As painful as it was, she had to get her story straight, consistent with what she had spewed to Dolohov. She closed her eyes, and the memories of last night rushed back. All the things that were said and done. It all seemed to come back to her. It was all her fault. Ronald knew it, with his accusing glare, locking eyes with her as he died Dolohov knew it, the minute she walked into the room. It was her fault.

She left the shower when her fingers began to prune. Pulling on her fluffiest robe, a towel wrapped her wild curls. Potions that Dolohov sent home with her stared at her from the dresser. She took the one for pain and the other to slow the bleeding. Her thoughts returning to how gentle he had been, most of all his discretion. He could have left her there in that room. Bleeding all over the floor next to Ronald and his screeching mother. She could have kissed him for his kindness. Harry should have been that kind, but that would be her fault for not telling him the truth about Ron.

She trusted her instincts, feeling that Harry just wouldn't ever take her side.

Hermione sat in front of the mirror at her vanity table, admiring Dolohov's work on her face. Her gaze drifted to the reflection of her bed, a bed she shared with Ron. The hollow pit in her stomach seemed to grow larger, throbbing pain behind her eyes threatened to turn into a full-blown migraine if she didn't get some sleep. Hermione crawled into her bed, sliding beneath the heavy duvet. She pulled the covers over her head and shut her eyes. Ron's stale scent clung to the blankets, her fingers drifted over his side of the bed, dipping as she followed the curve where he would have been. She pulled his pillow tight against her chest, inhaling deeply. Regretting it instantly. Her mind might have felt nostalgic, but her body remembered the abuse.

Hermione rolled over in time to vomit on her bedroom floor. Stale body odor and cheap beer did not bring back happy memories. She vanished the sick with a quick cleansing spell. Brushed her teeth, washed her face with cool water, and threw Ronald's pillow to the other side of the bedroom. Changing the sheets of her bed before climbing back under the covers. She would have slept on the couch, but the bastard's scent seemed to be everywhere.

Hermione lay on her side, staring out her window, every time she shut her eyes, Ron's face stared back. The slip of paper with Dolohov's address lay on her nightstand, and her fingers reached for it. Holding that slip of paper gave her a bit of hope. Maybe she would be alright, someone out there knew the truth about Ron, someone believed her. She drifted off once more, this time with the memory of dark eyes and a steady hand holding hers.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Antonin watched Hermione as she exited the Emergency Department. Trouble, complicated, way too much baggage, trouble. All wrapped up in a soft grey cloak. He knew he shouldn't look at her that way, but he did. It wasn't her physical appearance that caught his attention. It was her strength and grace under pressure. Or at least that's what he was going to tell himself.

"Really, Antonin?" Padma's amused tone pulled him from his thoughts, "Hermione Weasley? I thought you had better taste?"

"Jealous?" He teased. She was jealous, and it amused him far more than it should.

"Never, I'm not that type and especially of Hermione… she's so plain," Padma scrunched her nose.

"Really, Padma?"

"What?" Feigning innocence, "I'm sorry. That came out very petty. I apologize. Can we go to breakfast?" She took Antonin by the hand, pulling him from his seat.

Antonin draped an arm over his friend's shoulder, "After the night I had, I could use a fry-up."

"Can you tell me about it?" Padma leaned into him, slipping an arm around his waist.

Antonin had the feeling she wanted to be more than just friends. She was beautiful and brilliant, he had no doubt they would be a perfect match, "I might as well, it will be all over the Prophet by the time we get to the cafeteria." As much as the idea appealed to him, to take the exotic flower that was Padma and fuck her into the mattress. He refrained, she was more of a little sister to him, and he wanted to keep it that way. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, ruffling her hair as a big brother might do. He knew it would irritate her and maybe quell any romantic notions she was conjuring in her pretty little head.

With his full English in front of him, Antonin tucked in. Padma sat across from him with a dainty scone, sipping her tea. Antonin opted for more coffee. Padma teasing that he would never sleep. Little did she know that he could drink a pot of coffee and still sleep with the pills he was taking.

Padma broke the silence, "So, tell me the juicy gossip?" She leaned in, her fingers grazing his arm.

"Padma, you know I can't. That would be against the rules," He reached over and took a newspaper from the next table, "Here, it's already front-page news."

Her eyes scanned the headline 'Ronald Bilious Weasley KILLED BY MUGGLES!'

"Wow, fine, but it doesn't give any details… please, please, pretty please. I'll write a paper on the dangers of muggle transportation to make it relevant to my job." Her big brown eyes pleaded to him.

"Fine… as long as you write the paper. I can tell you." Throughout breakfast, Antonin told her of the double-decker bus and the damage it had inflicted. He gave her all the gory details and the treatment plan that failed, leaving out the alcohol and the domestic abuse. The less anyone knew, the better.

Antonin downed the last of his coffee, "I'm done with my charts and have the next four days off. I think I'll head home and enjoy some peace and quiet. "

"You should move closer to London, really Antonin. I think you would enjoy it." Padma's coy smile wasn't lost on him.

"You mean you might enjoy it," He smiled back. A bit of flirting never hurt, "Luv, I'm just a bit of a long-distance jump. I like Blyth. It's small, no one bothers me, and oddly, the sound of the sea is soothing." Antonin stood to leave, "Come by Friday night. I'll fix us dinner, and you can read me your paper on Weasley's tragic death." He leaned down and kissed her cheek, taking the newspaper with him. He knew he was leading her on and sending all kinds of mixed signals. Still, part of him wanted to know the big 'what if,' and he was beginning to have inappropriate thoughts about his friend and co-worker.

He left her sitting at the table, turning back just once to wink. By the time he reached the apparition point for employees, he had regretted all the flirting he had done with Padma. She was young, too young, and he would undoubtedly hurt her feelings, losing his only friend. He made up his mind to fix her dinner and sit her down for a serious discussion.

Apparating home Antonin reappeared in the side alley near his flat. Morning on the coast was far different than morning in London. Sun streamed through the hospital's windows where here the fog hugged the coastal town, cool mist and the sound of the waves had already begun to calm his frayed nerves. He wanted a hot shower, a wank, and a cup of tea, then he could process last night. Seeing Molly Weasley brought up too many bad memories.

"Good morning Mr. Dolohov," His landlady waved as he entered the side entryway, "Good morning Agnes."

"Rough night, dear?" She asked.

"Something like that," He called back, "I'm off for a few days, be right as rain with some sleep."

"Well, you have a good long lie-in, dear."

Antonin trudged up the stairs to his flat. Gummy from three straight night shifts. Kicking off his shoes at the door, he continued to shed clothes as he made his way to the loo. He loved his shower. Hot water a luxury not given in Azkaban. Shedding his trousers on the floor of his bedroom. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He had gained weight and muscle; his face no longer had the gaunt and haunted appearance of a prisoner. He wasn't a bad looking bloke minus the network of scars covering his torso. The Dark Lord was fond of drawing blood. He frowned at his reflection, he could use a bit more muscle, maybe take up running. Nightshift had a tendency to put on the pounds. He reminded himself of his age. Maybe flying would be a better option.

The idea of being with Padma was starting to appeal to him. The bantering over his fry-up with her still lingered in his mind. She was fun to flirt with, he enjoyed her company. He couldn't think of a good reason not to date her. She was sexy as hell. Thinking about his cute little co-worker had him half-mast. The dark wizard in him grinned wickedly, as he thought of Padma's huge black eyes and her pouty lips. His cock was rock hard in a second. Turning on the taps to just below scalding, he stepped into the tub, ducking his head beneath the stream. Washing away the remnants of the night.

It had been a rough three shifts, and he was looking forward to sinking into his bed, and not moving for at least twelve hours. He groaned as the water hit his shoulders. Squirting a bit of soap into his hand, he massaged his scalp, working away the kinks in his neck. More of that exotic beauty trickled into his thoughts, black doe eyes, her plump little mouth. He knew just where he would like those lips… her on her knees, his fingers threaded through those long dark locks. Antonin tipped his head back, rinsing the shampoo from his hair, soap ran in rivulets down his lean torso following the old scars etched across his skin. Padma's dark sensuality gave way to whisky colored eyes, caramel locks, the soft hum of her magic as he held her hand in his. Leaning his forehead against the cool tiles of the shower, he closed his eyes. Her orange blossom scent hiding the tang of violence. Sweet, intoxicating, it lured him in, drawing him to her. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, leaving him spent, panting, head-spinning like some teenager.

It took several minutes under the hot stream to catch his breath. Chastising himself, he was too old for teen fantasy. Wanking in the shower, thinking of a girl half his age. Merlin's hairy bollocks, both girls were half his age and one he considered a close mate.

Stepping out, he dried himself off and pulled on his favorite flannel nightclothes. He found the Daily Prophet, where he dropped it on the kitchen counter. He had come a long way with his wandless culinary skills in the last few months, not needing his wand anymore for simple spells. His tea was ready for him. Taking both to his favorite chair that overlooked the bay.

He noticed the headline, 'Ronald Bilius Weasley KILLED BY MUGGLES,' and his first thought was what a load of graphorn shite. Total propaganda by the Ministry, people wondered why there were so many followers of the Dark Lord. With all the muggle blaming hatred being pumped into the public, it had made it easy for him to gain power. The entire article blamed muggles as if they purposely targeted Mr. Weasley. Not a single word about his drinking or that he stumbled into the roadway and into the path of a double-decker. All of this was good for Ms. Hermione Granger, he refused to even think of her as a Weasley. No one suspected anything nefarious had happed to the late Weasley boy. As far as he was concerned, everyone could go on believing muggles were responsible.

Padma had taken his mind off the notorious Ms. Granger, however brief. Now she was back, and he couldn't get the young woman out of his head. Why he was thinking of the now-widowed Ms. Granger in that way, he didn't know. One thing he was certain of, she had a whole lot of baggage. He chuckled at that as if he had none of his own. If he was honest with himself. Being with Padma was a nice idea, but one that would never happen. He stared down at the ink, staining his left arm. It no longer writhed or burned. The skull and the snake lay frozen, ordinary, unmoving. The sinister air it once produced disappeared with the death of the Dark Lord. It tingled on occasion if it felt dark magic, and it had tingled last night when he touched Ronald Weasley.

Exhaustion began to creep into his bones while he sipped at his tea. Drizzling rain gave way to a downpour, rain pelleted the window, and Antonin lit his fireplace before pulling the blinds. He didn't use blackout spells on the drapes preferring not to be in complete darkness. The nightmares crept in on occasion. Being able to open his eyes and see kept things from turning into a full-blown panic attack. As much as he liked to think he had his shit together, he, in fact, did not. Months of therapy, he had to remind himself that he had come a long way in a short amount of time. His therapist was proud of him, his supervisors had all written stellar reviews to the parole board. He was being released from parole earlier than was planned, due to Alice Longbottom. Yet all of this would not have been possible if it weren't for Mrs. Granger-Weasley. Maybe that's why he kept her secrets. He owed her a debt.

Antonin lay in his bed listening to the pattering of rain, remembering her soft brown eyes and the feel of her fingers entwined with his.

Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Late afternoon and the floo rattled, waking Hermione from a deep sleep. Someone was trying to come through. Hermione grabbed her wand, shaking off the fog, her heart pounding in her chest. She prepared for the worst, hoping it wouldn't be Molly. She wasn't ready for Molly. She took a deep breath and dropped the wards. Harry, followed by Ginny, stepped into the room.

Harry scooped her into his arms, "Hermione, we were worried! What in Merlin's name happened to you?" Harry pulled her into his arms in a tight hug, "Where did you go?"

Hermione hugged him back, stifling the sobs, "I had to get away… I can't believe he's gone, Harry…" Her tears were real, not for Ron but for the baby.

"Dolohov took you… I looked for you." The tone was more accusing than concerned.

"He took me to a private room and gave me a potion to help calm me," The lie came effortlessly. She wiped away the tears and glanced at Ginny.

"What did you do to my brother Hermione? What did you do to him?" Ginny hissed. Glaring at her, "Why was he out on the streets at some muggle pub in the middle of the night?"

Hermione was taken back by the other girl's venom, "You know I had no control over anything that Ron did." Still, she wasn't going to stand there and take any crap off the younger Weasley, "Ginny, I did nothing wrong. Bloody fucking hell Ginny, he was a grown fucking man!" She was losing her cool. With frayed nerves and little sleep Hermione was close to breaking.

The floo crackled to life as Molly stepped through. She didn't bother dusting herself off," How dare you raise your voice to my little girl! You bitch!"

"I'll remind you both that this is MY HOUSE!" She was tired of the Weasleys', most of all, Molly.

"This is just as much Ronald's, and I have every right to be here." Molly seethed with anger, "You have no right to bar the floo against me!" Wailing at Hermione, "I've been trying for HOURS…how dare you, keep me from my babies things."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. She would not be spoken down to in her own home, "Well, in case you forgot, Ronald is dead. This is my house, and you need to leave!" Being blunt was the only way to go with the matriarch.

Molly shrieked, diving at Hermione. Harry blocked her path, stepping in front of the charging witch., "Molly NO! … Hermione is right; this is her house! I f you can't be civil, you need to leave." He backed her up to the couch, "Molly sit down … please."

Molly collapsed to the sofa sobbing, Ginny at her side, "I'm sorry, Harry dear I just… I just need clothes to bury my babbby innnnnnn…"

Hermione was unimpressed by the theatrics, "I'm his wife, and I'll pick out his clothes."

"Really well, where the bloody hell did you go? You left… I was the one that signed all the papers and arranged for the coroner. Where were you?" Molly hissed. Dabbing at her nose with a kerchief.

After all that she went through to keep her pregnancy secret, she wasn't about to tell anyone now, "I had a bit of breakdown and required a calming potion…you'll forgive me. My husband had just died!" Hermione spit back at her, "Harry, get her out of my house!"

Ginny stood up," Don't talk to my mum that way!"

Molly struggled to her feet, "I will not leave… I want to know what your hiding …I want answers… I want to know why Ronald was at a muggle pub in the middle of the night. This is all your fault!" Spittle flew from her lips, her face as red as her hair, "Filthy, mudblood bitch… never did learn respect… I would have thought Ronald would have beat a little of it into you. But no, he was too soft-hearted."

Harry didn't seem as shocked as Hermione thought he should be. Stunned into silence, she glanced back and forth between her friend and her former mother-in-law. A glimmer caught her eye, just under the sofa. A shard of glass she must have missed. Panic squeezed her chest, catching in her throat, "Get…Out!" She wanted to send the nastiest of curses at both women. A surge of darkness flowed through her veins. A blood boiling curse sat coiled and ready to strike.

"Harry I want her investigated. She's hiding something! I just know it!" Molly snarled, "This house is too clean… When have you ever seen this house, this clean Ginny?"

"Never Mum, never," Ginny glared at her, "Seriously Harry, she's not telling us the truth. We want answers… and what is that smell? I smell something funny, don't you?"

"Ginny Luv,… Mum, why don't you go home," Harry took each by the arm, steering them toward the floo, "Hermione, don't go anywhere. I'm coming back, and I want to talk to you."

Harry spoke to her like an Auror, not a friend, "I'm serious, Hermione. I have a few questions myself… I need you to stay here," Harry kissed Ginny on the cheek, speaking low in her ear, "I'll look into this Sweetie don't worry."

Hermione stood transfixed. Frozen with fear, for one, two, three heartbeats. Harry was going to find out. She dropped to her knees, scrambling to the couch to reach underneath. She grabbed at the tiny piece of glass. Digging her fingers into the carpet, looking for any more stray shards. Finding two more before she heard the floo begin to rattle once more. Hermione shoved the pieces into her pocket, slicing her finger on the sharpest fragment. She jumped to her feet and bolted for the kitchen.

She was rinsing her finger in the sink when Harry stepped through.

"Hermione, come sit down … please." He walked to the table and pulled out a chair for her, "You're acting strange, and I want to know what's going on. It smells like bleach and hydrogen peroxide in here."

She stood with her back to Harry, fighting to control her breathing. She had managed to stop her bleeding finger covering it up by filling the teapot, "I need a cuppa, care for one?"

"No, just please sit, so I can get this over with."

"No, Harry. You can wait for me to fix myself tea before you barge into my home and demand audience with me." She was tired of people demanding things of her. Tired of doing everything everyone else wanted her to do, just to keep the peace, "Harry James Potter, you can sit down and wait." She took a steady breath, telling herself that Harry knew nothing. He was grasping at straws. She turned around and set the teapot on the stove, lighting the flame with her wand's tip. Methodically going about her ritual to prepare her tea. She took her time with the preparation, and only when she was finished did she pull out a chair and sit across from her childhood friend.

"Do you want to tell me what happened last night, Hermione?" Harry fiddled with the edge of the tablecloth, unable to make eye contact.

"Are you asking as my friend Harry of are you asking as an Auror?" Hermione sipped her tea, her confidence growing. A thought tickled the back of her thoughts. Just how hard would it be to Imperious her friend. For Harry she remembered, Imperious didn't work.

He let out a deep sigh, "As your friend. I know Molly can be a bit much… I needed to get her out of your house, and if you remember. I'm married to Ginny."

She brought the tea to her lips, blowing the steam from the surface, "Hmmmm… Yeah, well, you were in the room, Harry. I don't think I would describe that outburst as 'A bit much' how about we try that again?"

"Hermione I'm sorry… What the bloody fuck am I supposed to do? Ginny's' my wife. Molly is my bloody mother-in-law. I have to live with these women," Dark circles framed his eyes exhaustion lining his face, "Just tell me what happened, Hermione."

"What happened was the same thing that happened night after night, Harry. Ronald drank, every day, all day. Ronald drank," She kept her tone even, her eye contact steady, "I came home, and Ronald fought with me. We had a horrible row… he drank everything in the house, while I cleaned up the kitchen. So yes, I cleaned the house, dishes piled high in the sink, empty bottles of ale."

"Hermione why didn't you tell me he had gotten this bad?"

"Because I didn't want you to worry, you felt bad enough having to fire him." She would tell him the truth, omitting the irrelevant, or otherwise incriminating circumstances, "I went to shower, and when I came out he was gone… It wasn't unusual… Harry, he was a regular at that muggle pub. Ask them." She levitated the teapot and an extra cup, pouring for Harry and refilling her own.

"I'm going to have to question them… I have to speak to Dolohov as well," Harry took the offered tea from her, "Speaking of Dolohov, where did he take you?" Harry set his cup down, placed both hands on the table, and leaned towards her, "Hermione, before you answer, I'm going to tell you that I did notice the bruises and the blood. I'm not stupid; I am an Auror. Please tell me the truth."

Hermione swallowed hard, deciding to reveal a bit more, "As I've said, we had a horrible row… Ronald struck me, several times … I struck him as well, he cut his head on the table. My lip was bleeding. I didn't want anyone to know," The tears she had mustered for Harry weren't working as well as she had hoped. She was going to have to tell him a little more truth, "I was pregnant, Harry… Ronald pinned me to the ground and … and I… I lost the baby. I lost Ronald, and then I lost my baby," The tears were real now, "Dolohov noticed me hemorrhaging all over his floor and scooped me up. He treated me, gave me potions, and told me to rest. You can confirm all of this with him." She wiped at the tears, pulling a kerchief from the pocket of her jumper.

"I'm so sorry, Mione," Harry came around the table, wrapping his arms around her, "I'm so sorry this happened to you."

"I know you have to investigate. This is the last thing I wanted, but I swear to you on the Sword of Gryffindor Harry that it was an accident."

Harry took his seat once more, refreshing both teacups. Offering one to Hermione, "I believe you, I still have to talk to people, mainly to placate Molly. She may be a bit more sympathetic when she finds out you were pregnant." He reached across the table, taking her hand in his, "Eat something, go back to bed, everything will be alright… I'll take care of Molly and Ginny."

Harry kissed her cheek and walked out. Hermione sat unmoving, staring at the tea leaves in the bottom of her cup. Giggling to herself at the thought of what Professor Trelawney would say. She was doomed. The clock chimed four, and Hermione's stomach grumbled. Harry was right; she needed to eat. Needing to eat and wanting to were two different things. Instead, she poured another cup of tea, spilling a few drops onto the table. Unconsciously reaching for the dark blue handkerchief. She had forgotten to return it. Her fingers toyed at the stitched edges of the fine silk that she'd wiped her tears with and her nose. Laying it on the table, she used her wand to give it a quick clean. Folding it neatly, she returned it to the pocket in her jumper. Fidgeting with her fingernails, nauseated, anxious, no control…

It was beginning to get dark, shadows lengthened in their hiding places, and the clock's tick the only other sound in the room. A million scenarios running through her head. What would the Healers have in their report? What would the muggles at the pub remember? Most of all, what would Dolohov have to say? Would he keep her secret? Antonin Dolohov was so different than the man she remembered.

How could she forget the man that tried to kill her ten years ago? Sitting alone in her kitchen, she brought back that vivid memory when he cast a silent spell towards her. She still carried that scar, thin, pale purple now running across her chest. Barely noticeable, Ronald mentioned it often. But then Ron mentioned a lot of things. Her finger toyed at the top of her collarbone, where the scar began. There was no hate in his eyes when he cast that curse. He simply looked in her direction. Like swatting at a fly.

Rain moved in, and the temperature in the house dropped. Hermione decided to get up from the table and force herself to eat. She rummaged through her refrigerator. Feeling fragmented and on edge, she took her outdated yogurt and went to the living room. Thinking a little mindless telly would calm her nerves. She flicked her wand to bring the fireplace to life and curled up in her chair. Tucking her legs beneath her bum, covering herself with a throw.

The sun quickly set this time of year, the flickering from the television, and the faint glow of the fire quickly became the only light in the room. Hermione began to doze off as the Evening news started. Laughter from an old sitcom was the first sound to reach her ears, but it wasn't what woke her from her deep sleep. There was a movement in the air around her, darkness to her shadow on the wall, watching her.

Her fingers curled around her wand, "Lumos." She whispered, her voice trembling. The hair on her neck stood on end, blood began to run down her legs.

Light flooded the room, forcing whatever it was back into hiding. She took a shaky breath, the air thickened, and Hermione flicked her wand at the window. Letting the cold night air inside. Curtains billowed, as the wind and rain raged. Something watched and waited.

This was getting old. She wasn't sure if this was the effect of using dark magic or Ronald's angry ghost. It was certain that it needed to stop before it escalated, and there was only one person who might know what was going on.

She closed the window with a silent spell and went to change into more suitable traveling attire, Blyth would be cold. She pulled on her heaviest winter cloak. Dolohov's address clenched in her fist. She stepped onto her back porch and apparated to Northern England's stormy coast.