May 14th

Early Monday morning Hermione couldn't stand to be in her bed for another moment. Since her return, she'd only left it a few times to bathe or join Antonin downstairs for quiet, awkward meals. For someone who had grown used to being on the move during her year as a fugitive, she knew she wouldn't be able to spend any more time hiding in her bedroom. There was a reason she came back to Hogsmeade and it wasn't to remain under her covers dead to the world intoxicated with potions.

It felt strange to go through the motions of her regular morning routine. Thanks to the fact that he had always been an early riser, Antonin wasn't in the room to encourage her to stay in bed. The odd nurturing side of him always came out when she or Oliver was ill. He liked to hover, to feel needed. And, if she was honest, he likely felt more comfortable with her asleep in a bed knowing she wasn't likely to be running off into the big, wide world again. She was a flight risk.

Pushing aside her fears that she was making a giant mistake, Hermione washed quickly in the shower. Her hair was dried and pulled up in the severe style she started wearing it in years earlier when she was always in danger of a client of hers grabbing it and ripping it out. None of her clothes were removed from the closet she shared with Antonin. In fact, nothing about the house had been changed at all in her absence. It felt eerily like she'd never left. Dressing in the robes that all Ministry officials wore, she stood in front of the full-length mirror in the bathroom to view the result.

There had always been an expectation that she would end up working for the Ministry of Magic. When she was younger and full of the innocent idealism of one who didn't actually understand how the world worked, she imagined that when she left Hogwarts she would be able to do some actual good in the Ministry. She had plans for improving the rights of werewolves and freeing the house-elves from their enslavement. There were laws that existed on the books that weren't fair at all. She was going to fight with every ounce of spirit she had to make a world where everyone, regardless of their blood status, was equal.

The reality of working at the Ministry was much different than the fantastical, naïve dreams of her youth. Actually making any significant change was virtually impossible unless one was willing to slog through the muck and mire of a political bureaucracy. It wasn't a glamorous life by any stretch of the imagination. She was forced to make deals and alliances with people she wouldn't spit on if they were on fire. All done, of course, with a bright smile. If she'd known what the Ministry was actually like, she would've done something more worthwhile. Like study dragons in Romania like Charlie Weasley. At least with those creatures one knew to expect fire and danger. Her Ministry coworkers were just as deadly, but a great deal sneakier.

Antonin stood in the kitchen preparing his favorite simple breakfast of oatmeal. When she entered the room dressed for the day, his eyes widened and he appeared on the verge of demanding that she stay home. There was a definite war within himself whether or not he should allow his wife to leave the safety of their home. Hermione knew his expressions by heart. She gave him an awkward kiss to the cheek and promised him she would be home in time for dinner. If she didn't see for herself what sort of mess Rabastan left her department in, she would drive herself insane with worry. Her pinch of floo powder was in the flames and she was calling out her final destination before he was able to articulate a single word.

It was bizarre how easily she was able to slip back into the routine that she'd had for years and years. Once she emerged from one of the dozen or so Ministry fireplaces in the Atrium, she felt almost as if she had never gone on the run at all. Ollie's birthday party had gone off without a hitch the day before and she was coming back from her personal day off to continue what she hadn't yet finished. Only the shocked faces of the witches and wizards crossing her path destroyed that fantasy. None of them tried to make it seem as if they were overtly staring, but she knew they were. Whispers began all around her that she refused to pay attention to. She had a mission that would take her a while to complete. This was only the first day.

A few of the braver souls she encountered in her journey to the Ministry's Intelligence Division offered her a nod and a warm greeting. Hermione was polite with her nods of acknowledgment, but didn't allow anyone to engage her in a conversation. She was already feeling out of sorts as it was. Slipping into the role that she'd played for so many years as the formidable and terrible Madam Dolohov was a bit beyond her capabilities in the moment. She was out of practice. Besides, it was difficult to portray someone who had no fear when she was certain that everyone within a one kilometer radius could hear her heart frantically beating against her chest.

Just like her home, nothing about her office had been changed in her absence. She wasn't sure what she was expecting honestly. It felt strange to return to familiar, unchanged environs when she was far from being the person she used to be. A year on the run changed her. If that wasn't evident by the fact that she was seriously contemplating assisting a high-level prisoner escape from her division, she wasn't sure what else would.

Years earlier, Alecto convinced Hermione not to fire the twit that she hired as her assistant in an uncharacteristic fit of sympathy. She still couldn't remember why she took her friend's advice. Rachel Something-or-Other was a complete idiot who shouldn't have been allowed to serve tea in the canteen. Hermione didn't even bother learning her last name she was so insignificant. But, she chose to give her another chance. And then another chance. And then another chance. Staring at the wide eyes and red cheeks of her astonished assistant, she felt the urge to curse her first and fire her second. The blushing was new. Hermione hadn't seen that before. An obnoxious thought struck her. She found it almost impossible not to roll her eyes. Without bothering to address the witch, the Co-Head of the department brushed past her desk to enter the lavish office she shared.

Rabastan never expected his former coworker to enter the room so suddenly. A buttered muffin was halfway to his mouth when he caught a glimpse of her, almost dropping his breakfast in the process. Remembering himself, he removed all hints that he was less than pleased to see her and smiled.

"How long have you and Rachel been fucking at the office?"

She hated that her words were tinged with a suspicion of jealousy. It wasn't as if Hermione felt any claim at all to the younger Lestrange brother. On the contrary, she would've gladly seen the back of him for the last time without shedding a single tear. Maybe it was the hatred she felt for the idiot assistant. Hermione didn't like thinking about how easily she was replaced. She knew that given the chance, Rabastan wouldn't mind throwing her out of his department completely. He never had forgiven her for being appointed Co-Head. But, the man knew how to play the game. At her question, he set his muffin down on the top of his desk and roared with amused laughter.

"That began a few months after you so cruelly abandoned me without a word."

Hermione didn't bother hiding the rolling of her eyes in front of her peer as she had with her subordinate. They each knew the other was completely full of shite. That was half the fun of playing the game together. She took a seat behind her usual desk in an effort to make everything seem as normal as possible. Getting too eager would only result in failure. Immediately asking about Aberforth Dumbledore and his case would only invite suspicion. Rabastan was a very astute man. He had to be in their line of work. She knew him well enough to trust him only as far as she could physically throw him without magic. Remaining patient and careful was the only way she was going to be successful in helping the wizard escape. Assuming, of course, that it was even possible to escape.

All of the files of their current cases were located on Rabastan's desk. Hermione took a deep breath and crossed the room to where he was seated. They hadn't been in the same room since the incident at Fenrir's house. She tried to push away the thoughts of how helpless and terrified she was with the wizard only moments away from assaulting her, but it was difficult. Getting closer to the man wasn't a prospect she much relished. But, it was necessary. She had to keep playing her part if she wanted to succeed.

"Show me what you've been working on. I want to make sure you haven't completely ruined my department in my absence."

The moment she was standing next to him at his desk peering down at the stacks of parchment, she felt a familiar hand slide across her arse. There was a time that she suffered the indignities of his touch, even enjoyed them. She was determined not to open that door up again. When she slapped away his hand, Rabastan only laughed.

"You can get that from our idiot assistant outside."