April 14th

She wasn't entirely sure how she managed it, but at some point in the long night, Hermione was able to fall asleep in the unfamiliar bed. Augustus was an intelligent enough man to understand that the last thing she wanted from him that night was him to follow her and still not answer her questions. He remained in his own bedroom to stew in his own frustrations. Eventually, the exhaustion from the waiting around for his return overruled her desire to stay awake and be angry.

Only the feel of Augustus' lips on her forehead tore her out of her dreams. Startled at first by his sudden appearance while she was unconscious, it only took her a few moments to see the clear remorse spread across his handsome face. Like the proverbial dog, he was coming to her with his tail between his legs. She patted the side of the bed, silently demanding that he sit.

"I owe you an apology for how I behaved last night. Spent all night tossing and turning trying to understand why you got so angry."

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his confession. It was just like him to be completely clueless about anyone else's feelings but his own. Some allowances for his behavior could be made because of his long stint in Azkaban with the dementors, but only to an extent. At some point he needed to become more self-aware. Considering he at least seemed to be contrite, she kept her facial expression as neutral as humanly possible.

"It must be frustrating to not know what's going on outside the walls of this house. I should've been more aware of how isolated you no doubt are feeling."

She was impressed by his thoughtful insight. There were times she didn't believe him, or any other male for that matter, capable. Certainly her personal experiences always seemed to prove her beliefs.

"Thank you, Augie. Does this mean you are finally going to answer my questions?"

It would've been all too easy to accept his apology and not press him for information in the name of civility. Part of her suspicious mind wondered if that wasn't exactly why he did what he did. Augustus sighed. It appeared she was more on the mark than she gave herself credit for. Understanding that he'd placed himself in a dangerous trap, he finally relented.

"No one has seen the Dark Lord for weeks."

Whatever she expected him to say, that certainly wasn't it. His statement didn't make any sense. How could their Marks burn if their master wasn't calling for an audience with his most faithful? She had always considered herself to be a logical thinker. Perhaps Augustus was mistaken?

"But your arm burned last night. Mine burned too that first summons you got after I arrived. Surely that means the Dark Lord was calling."

"That's just it. No one's gotten a proper summons in a long time. Months, at least. He'd been sending out owls instead. Some of them weren't even in his own handwriting."

"No, Augie, that doesn't make any sense. We've both felt the call. Who's doing it if not the Dark Lord?"

He seemed reluctant to answer again. At first, she feared he was about to stop answering her again altogether. Just as she was preparing herself to yell at him once more, the pieces clicked into place.

"Antonin."

Augustus nodded.

"He's learned how to activate them. I tried to get Corban to explain how, but all he would tell me is that the Dark Lord showed him months ago how to summon everyone in case of emergency. Even taught him how to summon specific ones."

The night in January when the Mark burned all night long. At the time, she just assumed her master was toying with her, taunting her, daring her to come back. With this new revelation, she had no question in her mind that her husband was responsible. Why? Was he sitting in their home drunk on his favorite fire whiskey calling out to her? Did he imagine she would get so tortured by the pain that she'd willingly answer the summons? That she'd Apparate right into their bedroom begging him to make the pain stop? If so, Antonin was beginning to show his desperation for her return. Desperation was weakness. He'd taught her that a lifetime ago. Weaknesses could get a person killed.

"All right. Antonin can summon us now. What about the Dark Lord? What do you mean no one has seen him in weeks?"

"Exactly that, love. Only the castle's house-elves are allowed to enter his quarters. He's forbidden everyone else, including your husband."

There were likely a myriad of reasons why Lord Voldemort would shut himself up in the privacy of his own rooms in the castle, but only one stood out above all others. He was a being, certainly no longer just a human, who loathed weakness wherever he saw it. If he wasn't allowing his most faithful of followers to see him, the reasons were bad.

"He's dying, isn't he?"

Saying the words out loud was difficult. Even for Hermione and she hadn't been entrenched in the underbelly of their society for as long as Augustus had. It was a crime to speak disparagingly about their master, a death sentence to even hint at the possibility that he was mortal. Despite the difficulty, Augustus was able to nod his head in the affirmative.

"That's the assumption. You can see now why I didn't want to tell you everything?"

She could understand, but not excuse. It was her world that was threatening to crumble around their ears too. Perhaps the something big coming she felt in her gut wasn't a successful Revolution at all. Maybe she instinctively knew that the wizard she'd spent so many years serving was at the end of his murderous and violent existence. Most would be overjoyed at the news. All she could think of was the fact that the unknown was generally more frightening than the known.

"So these meetings that Antonin keeps calling everyone to… what are they? What happens there?"

"If it's even possible for the Dark Lord to die, there will be a power struggle when it happens. Antonin has been the logical and expected successor for the past decade, but that doesn't mean everyone is in support. You know better than I that he has a number of enemies who would rather see him dead than bow to him as the next Dark Lord."

Of course she knew his enemies. At times, she was at the very top of that long list. In yet another complication that came with marriage, she was also his fiercest ally. Many had been cut down over the years by her wand simply for daring to make their displeasure for her husband known. Likewise, he'd done the same when the roles were reversed. The number he'd murdered for insulting the mother of his child had to be staggering.

"Maybe all of this concern is premature. The last time I saw the Dark Lord he was looking quite well. He seemed to be even stronger."

"And how long ago was that?"

She had to stop and think. Before she ran off, still covered in Antonin's blood, she made at least weekly trips to the castle for an audience with the Dark Lord. He appreciated reports from her department in the Ministry to come straight from her mouth, a fact that made Rabastan Lestrange quite angry. To the best of her recollection, he'd looked fine, normal. Or, as normal as it was possible for him to look. She dimly recalled being summoned to the castle just a few days before the yearly celebration of the end of the war.

"Not quite a year ago."

"According to Corban, he'd been using powerful glamours to disguise himself for almost three years that he knew about. Could've been going on much longer."

Maintaining constant glamours was a tax on anyone's magic. Employing them for at least three years was unheard of. She wasn't sure of the toll it would take on his body, but knew it couldn't be good.

"Antonin's in trouble. If he's not able to gain the support of the majority, he will be killed and the regime will be in splinters."

Hermione didn't need him to spell it out for her. She had always known the danger of her husband ingratiating himself in the graces of their master. Setting himself apart as the heir apparent came with a price. Augustus was right. If the Dark Lord fell and there wasn't a clear leader to take over, everything would be for nothing. Antonin would be dead. Ollie would probably be dead. If she was caught, she would be dead. She could only hope that the reports of the Dark Lord weren't entirely accurate. Corban Yaxley was an intelligent, intuitive man, but he was just a man after all. Human beings were all apt to make mistakes now and again.

"I appreciate you trying to spare me news that would upset me, Augie. Don't ever do it again."

Her demand was sealed with a kiss. At least for the moment, their row was over.