May 13th

What ever the potion was that Antonin offered Hermione after their son left to return to Hogwarts wasn't nearly as potent as the one she took the first night she was back home in Hogsmeade. It calmed her down immediately after imbibing and though she felt her eyes grow heavy with exhaustion, she only slept for several hours instead of more than a day. She knew she was being contradictory about her feelings when it came to her husband giving her potions. Not trusting him to make her tea when she first arrived out of fear that he would potion her was a valid concern. She didn't want to be fuzzy-headed for their first meeting, especially if he suddenly flipped the concerned husband routine to attack her in anger.

From the first day he came home from wherever it was he found them, Hermione had a love-hate relationship with the tonics and drugs he gently insisted she take when she got confused. Paranoia convinced her in the beginning that he was simply trying to find another way in which to control her. There was a constant power struggle in their marriage. She wasn't content to just be one of those women who looked to her husband to make the decisions for her. That wasn't how her Muggle mother operated and she would be damned if she would just let Antonin keep her from being her own person. Even when she heard a small voice in the back of her mind trying to convince her that he was only trying to help her because he loved her, she was afraid to take what was offered. And then, after a while, there were times when she craved the potions. Like a Muggle addict desperate for another hit of their vile drugs to keep existing in a fucked up, painful world, she sought out and begged for the sweet release they gave her.

She wasn't sure when the confusion really began, when her mind really started to feel the strain of a difficult life. Some would argue that her issues started when she was locked for so long in that broom cupboard. While Hermione would be the first to admit that she struggled in her confining prison with fear and desperation, she never felt confused. Each moment that passed she knew exactly where she was and why she was there. When she was taken out of the cupboard and presented to the Dark Lord, she wasn't confused. Terrified beyond all belief, naturally, but not confused. Even when she stayed in the same spot in Antonin's kitchen for forty-eight hours, she wasn't confused.

Antonin's task was to reprogram her to become more favorable to the regime, loyal to Lord Voldemort. It had been an arduous process and one that Hermione was aware of every second he was engaged in completing his orders. When it was all over, when she was sympathetic to the plight of those around her who were just simply trying to create a better world for witches and wizards to live and be prosperous, she wasn't confused. She certainly never woke up in the middle of the night thinking she was back in the Forest of Dean with Harry and Ron.

Her life hadn't been easy on her mental health. Hannah Rowle was convinced that after Oliver was born her friend was suffering from what the Muggles termed 'post-partum depression'. Hermione had to roll her eyes every time the concerned witch's amateur diagnosis for her lack of joy about motherhood came back around to Muggle psychology. Just because Hannah experienced a difficult time after their third daughter was born didn't mean that every woman felt the same way. Besides, Hermione was a special case. She wasn't depressed she was forced to breed for the regime when she had no desire to be a mother. She was fucking angry. Of course, she wasn't suicidal enough to actually admit so out loud to anyone else. That would be tantamount to saying that the Dark Lord's orders were wrong and he was a fool. She was smarter than that.

During her time on the run, she managed to stumble upon an article in a Muggle magazine about the dangers of concussions on a person's mental capabilities. Professional athletes were often at risk of long-term damage when they were in the boxing ring or playing on the American football field. It had been fascinating and upsetting all at the same time. Hermione tried to remember all of the times she'd experienced some damage to her head over the course of her life. There were too many to identify. Certainly being petrified by a basilisk and the better part of a year of constant time traveling couldn't have helped. The tumble down the stairs most definitely resulted in a hurt head. Years of raids and physical violence made pinning down every incident where long-lasting damage could have been done to her head impossible.

As she slowly became more aware of her surroundings after waking in the middle of the night, Hermione could feel eyes on her again. Turning her eyes over to the other side of the bed, she wasn't surprised to discover her husband was awake and staring. Since she returned to their home she'd been avoiding the man with sleep. She knew she couldn't keep that up for much longer. They needed to talk, to get everything out in the open.

Hermione rolled over onto her side so they were facing each other. There was a calm to Antonin's features that relaxed her almost immediately. She knew him well enough to know when he was in danger of exploding. He wasn't anywhere near that point. Of course, she was his wife and as she'd learned over the years, spouses are quite adept at angering their significant other with just a single push of a familiar button. She resolved to remain as calm as he was.

The light from one of the lampposts on the street outside washed over them both. She found herself staring in Antonin's eyes truly for the first time since she arrived. There had been fear before. She didn't want to see what she'd done when she ran. His right eye was perfect. No hint that he'd once had a fork shoved in it courtesy of his mad wife. A desire to reach out and touch his face was quickly squashed. He might get the wrong impression if she tried.

"Your eye… it doesn't look like I ruined it."

She wasn't used to speaking in such an apologetic tone. Whether she would ever be able to form the words to beg forgiveness for her crime against him was uncertain. Where could she even begin? A smile crossed her husband's face that took her aback. Had he gotten to the point where he could treat what happened so casually? She doubted she ever would.

"The Healers weren't able to save my eye, I'm afraid. This is a replacement, an enhanced one even."

In her mind, she assumed that fake eyes would either look glassy and dead like the ones that some Muggles possessed or awkward and disturbing like Alastor Moody's. She would have never even suspected that his right eye wasn't real if he hadn't admitted it was. Her amazement must have showed all over her features. Antonin chuckled softly.

"They've been able to make a lot of improvements over the years to magical eyes. I'm glad too. Wouldn't want to be called Mad-Eye Dolohov or something equally foolish."

She realized he was trying to lighten the intensity of the mood by making a joke. When he smiled at her, she couldn't help but return it. One thing they had rarely lacked in their bed over the previous thirteen years was laughter. No one outside of their home would ever be able to guess how much either. Both of them were experts at giving off false façades.

The slightest shift of Antonin's body moved the sheet that was covering his bare chest. Even though the light from the lamppost was poor in the room, his scars were clear. A long, thin one crossed the length of his chest. On his side another thicker one stood out on his skin. Hermione didn't think twice about reaching across the space between them to run her fingertips lightly over the longer of the two scars. Every place she touched on his torso instantly broke out into a rash of goosebumps. The stillness of his chest proved that her husband was holding his breath. Hermione started to pull her hand away, but it was easily grabbed by Antonin. He refused to relinquish his hold.

Though she arrived at her home days earlier with only the barest of plans of what to do next, she knew that she wanted to avoid having the discussion about her attacking him for as long as possible. It was going to be uncomfortable. Running from it, however, was no longer an option. Perhaps it was best to just get it over with.

"I know that I can never hope that you'll accept my apology for what I did to you, but…"

Antonin pulled her hand up to his lips to kiss. It was such a gentle, affectionate gesture that Hermione wasn't able to finish her statement. Their eyes locked. She wanted to look away, but she forced herself to stop running… at least for a short time.

"I am the one who should apologize for that day. I'm very sorry for grabbing your arm so hard. It was never my intention to hurt you or lose my temper. I know I startled you and I'm sorry."

She felt her jaw drop with his apology. In a thousand lifetimes she would've never believed that he would be the one begging forgiveness for the day she stabbed him. Every word he said sounded genuine. Either he was completely serious or a much better actor than she knew. It was all so very confusing. What exactly happened when she ran away? She needed to know it all.

"What happened after I left?"

His sigh indicated that he wasn't excited about telling her what she missed. Knowing the tenacity of his wife, Antonin gave a summary of the days following the incident. He admitted that most of it was a complete blur to him due to being in and out of consciousness at St. Mungo's. Though he didn't come right out and say it, she knew that he was in serious condition.

"I expect that I'll have to be punished for my actions."

Without releasing the hand he was still holding, Antonin gently ran the fingers of his free hand through her curls.

"No one is angry with you, my darling. You won't be punished."

Yet another of his statements was hard for her to believe. How could he truly expect her to believe that she wouldn't have to answer for what she did? It was insane.

"A lot has changed since you've been gone. It's hard to explain, but soon you'll understand."

Their conversation ended there, each of them falling asleep only minutes later.