May 11th

Hermione wasn't sure how long they stood over the threshold of the home they'd shared for the better part of twenty years with Antonin's arms wrapped tightly around her frame. Several minutes at least. Long enough to hear the midnight hour rung in with the obnoxious German cuckoo clock of her husband's she loathed. If anyone dared to tell her the reception she would receive from Antonin at any point in the previous year, she would've laughed and rolled her eyes at their ignorance. Her husband wanted her dead after she attacked him so viciously and humiliated him in front of so many within their elite social circle.

But, for a reason she couldn't understand if her very existence was at stake, Antonin continued to hold her, whispering nonsense words about how relieved he was to see her in a thick, emotional tone that didn't sound the least bit like the man she knew. Where was his rage? Where were the curses he liked to throw? His hands were gentle with her, nothing like they'd been before. Not once did he grip her arms painfully or crack the back of his palm against her mouth. Had so much about her husband changed in her long absence?

No, she finally decided. Antonin was playing a part, attempting to lure her in with a false sense of security. He was a master manipulator, one who knew just how to make a target think and act the way he wished. She couldn't afford to trust him even for a second. Give him an inch and he'd consume her body and soul. She would play along, pretend like she believed him, but she refused to fall back into his trap. He was a man with a long memory who liked to hold grudges. Trusting anything he said would make her a fool.

"Come inside. I'll make us some tea."

At his invitation to enter her own home, Hermione pushed past her husband to head straight for the kitchen. If he thought she was trusting enough to accept anything he gave her to eat or drink, he was the fool. It would be just like him to try to slip one of those horrible potions in her tea when she wasn't looking. She had to be on her guard and clear-headed.

"I will make it."

Antonin knew enough not to argue once she set her mind to something. He took a seat at their kitchen table to watch every move she made, disbelief that she was there still plastered on his face. Hermione picked up the kettle to fill it with water from the tap. She was halfway through the entire brewing process before she remembered she didn't have to hide her magic any longer. Not even a cloaked spell was necessary. Removing her old wand from her pocket, she pointed it at the kettle to speed up the heating of the water.

A loud 'pop' only steps away startled both occupants of the room. Still dressed in the clothes he no doubt wore to bed, a frazzled and frantic Corban Yaxley sought out Antonin. Ordinarily a calm and collected wizard, Hermione hardly recognized her next door neighbor.

"She's using magic again. You should still be able to track her location."

Antonin calmly nodded his head and gestured in Hermione's direction. Their late-night guest seemed on the verge of demanding why his old friend wasn't rushing off into the night to search for his missing wife. Confused by Antonin's reaction, Corban turned his gaze toward Hermione. His bright blue eyes widened when he saw her standing near the cooker.

They hadn't seen each other since he chased her through the village gates following her attack on her husband. Over the years, Hermione developed a comforting, albeit odd, friendship with the older wizard. Part of her worried what his next actions would be now that he knew she was back. Would he yell at her and berate her for all of the misery and stress she caused over the past twelve months? Would he deliver an impassioned lecture about how she ruined the lives of everyone damned to associate with a monster like her? Maybe he would stun her and drag her off to face the Dark Lord and answer for her crimes.

Crossing the length of the kitchen in a few strides of his legs and throwing his arms around her wasn't at all what she expected. Corban had never been a terribly demonstrative man. She knew that he cared about her, but never once would she have dreamed he would be so evidently relieved to see her home again.

"I'm so glad to have you back home where you belong." Corban lowered his voice to a whisper that only she could hear. "Antonin had a tough time of it without you here. Please don't run off again. I've been worried about him."

Corban had never been one to lie to Hermione. It had been one of his traits she liked best. In the past, especially when she was still heavily in her training and considered untrustworthy by the other Death Eaters, he never bothered to keep the truth from her. Not even when it was ugly or he wanted her to know that he didn't have much use for Harry Potter's best friend. She always appreciated candor. As their lives became more intertwined and they were able to form a tentative friendship that eventually became much warmer, he continued to tell her the truth when it was hard to hear. Even knowing those facts couldn't bring Hermione to actually believe what he was saying about her abandoned husband.

"I will just leave you to it then."

Their neighbor made a hasty exit with a promise that all monitoring of her magic would be stopped. The implication that it could be resumed at any time hung in the air. There was no need. At least for the immediate future, she wasn't planning on going anywhere. She had a mission, one she had to confirm was impossible before she was willing to give up.

Being free to use the magic that came so naturally again threatened to intoxicate Hermione with its power. She was almost giddy feeling it rush through her body and out her wand. As she levitated the two cups full of steaming tea to the table where her husband waited, she understood for the first time how much she missed using magic, how much of a part of her it was.

Neither of them seemed to know what to say. Hermione sipped at the chamomile to give her an excuse to stay silent. When she imagined how her reunion with her husband would go, it was nothing like the reality. Antonin hadn't reached for his wand once and he hadn't threatened her with violence either. How could she almost kill him and he continue to act so calmly? His eyes never left her for even a moment, almost as if he was scared to look away and find her missing again. Hermione found his behavior to be odd, unsettling even. Had so much time apart changed him or was he simply continuing to play the part of the worried husband? She never could tell with him.

"I'm glad to have you home too."

Antonin's statement caught Hermione completely off-guard. There was something strange about how he said it, something that made her believe he wasn't serious. He wasn't the kind of man to be so open, so vulnerable. Thirteen years of marriage had given her a good idea about his character. She didn't recognize this man.

"Are you really?"

Even she could hear the nasty bark to her words. It hadn't been intentional, but nothing about that night made a bit of sense. Antonin grimaced, almost as if she'd struck him. It was yet another show of vulnerability, of weakness that she didn't understand. She didn't know this man. Antonin removed the hurt expression from his face and cleared his throat.

"I made sure to send Ollie a nice gift for his birthday. He's busy with lessons right now, but I wanted him to have something nice. It's his first birthday away from family."

Neither of them wanted to bring up the events of their son's last birthday. At some point they were going to have to have an uncomfortable conversation. Hermione hoped that she could delay that moment for as long as possible. It upset her to know that she'd ruined his eleventh birthday. Few birthdays were as exciting and important to a wizard, and she'd almost killed his father on his. Thanks to their dysfunction, it wasn't as if he had much in the way of family. If Hermione had succeeded in her hasty plan, she wasn't sure what would've happened to Oliver.

She was reminded of the night she had terrible dreams in her tent back in the village in Devon. Everything she thought she remembered about her Muggle parents muddled together with visions that she couldn't tell were actual memories or not. There seemed to be no sense in her mind what was real and what wasn't when it came to the fates of her parents. Weeks earlier she knew that the only person who could answer her question for her was the man seated across the table.

"Are my parents alive? Or did they die in Australia during the war?"

The moment the words tumbled out of her mouth, she wished she could pull them back in. She felt foolish that she couldn't remember something so important. Antonin seemed shocked by the question if his furrowed brow and rapidly blinking eyes were an indication. It was a familiar expression that she couldn't bear to see again. How he was always able to make her feel completely insane with just a look was beyond her comprehension. Rising to her feet, she didn't give him a chance to answer.

"Forget it. I'm going to take a bath."

If her suddenly overly attentive husband followed her into their large bathroom, Hermione wouldn't have been surprised. He didn't seem as if he wanted to risk her leaving his line of sight for even a moment. Perhaps he imagined that she would sneak out the back door and run off into the night. Though she was tempted, she was determined that she would stay. She didn't have anywhere else to go. Not until she could finish her mission.

To her relief, Antonin gave her privacy. Maybe he was standing inside their bedroom listening at the door. It didn't matter. She needed a few minutes to herself and she'd been dreaming about her bathtub for the better part of a year. Draco's might have been luxurious and wonderful, but it wasn't hers. That made all of the difference.

It felt as if time slipped away when she was laying in the familiar bathtub with the foamy water up to her chin. She reminded herself to keep taking deep breaths. While she wasn't sure what her next move would be, she had to believe and trust that it would come to her. Getting complacent and lazy now that she was home and it was clear that Antonin wasn't going to immediately kill her was something she had to be careful about. She had to keep her focus on her plan, whatever the fuck that was going to be.

Long after the water grew cold, Hermione forced herself to get out of the tub. She wasn't ready for what was waiting for her outside the bathroom door. Maybe she never would be. Once she was dry and dressed in an old familiar nightgown, she opened a drawer next to the sink. Bottles of various sizes and shapes clinked in a loud racket. Picking one up that Antonin always made her take when she was very confused, she drank it down in one swallow. It would make her sleep for a long time, long enough for her mind to clear. When she woke up, she hoped she would be ready to keep going.