May 15th

Two full days at the Ministry where, oddly, no one seemed to be outwardly bothered by her long absence, put a strain on Hermione that she hadn't been expecting when she took a floo trip back to her home in Hogsmeade. Perhaps they were all too afraid to ask her too many questions. She was woefully out of practice for the life that she used to have before she ran off as a fugitive. The sheer exhaustion of simply spending most of the day in the same room with Rabastan Lestrange was difficult enough, but sitting still long enough to pore over the numerous files that had accumulated in their division in the year that she was gone threatened to damage her brain permanently. How was it possible that she used to not only endure, but enjoy sixty, seventy hour work-weeks in her former life?

Thanks to the mysterious explosion that leveled the Leaky Cauldron and killed five Death Eaters present at a meeting that no one was supposed to officially know about, there had been more work for their small department to complete than they knew what to do with. Because there was such a rush to figure out who the culprits were behind the devastating event that killed so many of their own and injured even more, the focus on their current investigations was, surprisingly, not Aberforth Dumbledore. At least a dozen poor souls were trapped down in their cells waiting for their interrogations. Some of them had already endured multiple sessions at the hands of her highly competent Co-Head.

Her name and countenance might have struck terror into the heart of those who dared fight or even speak out against the regime, but at least she didn't complete her tasks with a devastatingly handsome smile plastered on her face like Rabastan. It had been no surprise at all to learn that he was the main perpetrator behind the crimes against Frank and Alice Longbottom. Bellatrix Lestrange came up with the idea to attack the young aurors. Her husband Rodolphus and worthless Barty Crouch, Jr. assisted in uncovering their whereabouts. But, the real terror of that night was the man who sat only a few meters away from her each day at his own desk. Thankfully, he'd gotten much better with his interrogation methods than that horrific night so many years ago. Fewer of his subjects were broken quite so thoroughly. Hermione was grateful for his improvements. Filling out incident reports was quite tiresome and tedious.

She was anxious to see the man she was responsible, albeit accidentally, for getting locked up in the bowels of the Ministry. In the blessed few moments that she'd been conscious since she made the decision to leave Draco's flat and return to her former life to do what she could to save the wizard, she thought of little else. To her recollection, there hadn't been a successful escape in the entire time that she was Marked. Maybe in the beginning before she was in charge. Those were chaotic years after all. Since she and her Co-Head were able to streamline their department, there were few opportunities for errors. She would have to get creative to be able to do what the Resistance was demanding of her in exchange for her life.

Maybe Rabastan was aware there was something special about the wizard she helped capture. He never came right out and said it, but she just had a nagging feeling that he was waiting for her to bring him up. So, she remained silent. She began the arduous task of looking over every single case she missed in her absence. More than a few times throughout those first two days, she felt the wizard's eyes watching her, as if he was calculating what her true purpose was. It was unnerving, further proof that she had to be exceptionally careful.

Antonin hadn't even been home when she returned from the Ministry the first night. Whatever kept him away had to have been important. She knew there were rumors that he was the only one who was able to actually enter the Dark Lord's quarters in Hogwarts for private audiences. Of course, rumors were difficult to confirm. For all she knew, he was out drumming up support for his eventual takeover. She had a number of questions that she wanted to ask her husband about his activities, but she was certain she didn't really want to know the answers. He was a dangerous man involved in even more dangerous plots and schemes. If she satisfied her curiosity, she would probably come to regret it.

Somehow she knew that she wouldn't get lucky two nights in a row to go home and find the place empty. Her husband might have been better at hiding his prodigious curiosity than his wife, but she knew that he longed to know everything too. A time would come when they would have to lay all of their cards out on the table. The beginning of their conversation was begun in bed when she touched his scars. Only a fool would think there wasn't more to come.

The moment she exited the fireplace in the kitchen with a sooty whoosh, Hermione knew that her time avoiding her husband was up. Seated at the familiar table they'd shared countless meals at, Antonin was waiting. Continuing to avoid him was impossible. With a sigh, she took a seat across from him without saying a word. Perhaps it was better that they just get it all out in the open and over with. What was the worst that could happen? She'd been expecting him to murder her since the moment she crossed over the threshold on Oliver's birthday.

"Would you like some tea?"

She was still getting used to the man who was overly worried about her well-being and comfort. In the past, he'd only shown her such care and concern when she was very ill or when he was feeling guilty for something wretched he'd done. Having him wish to cater to her needs automatically put Hermione on edge. It was difficult to trust him.

"No, thank you. I assume that whatever it is we have to discuss will be better suited with something just a bit stronger."

Responding only with a single nod of his head, Antonin rose from the table to retrieve a bottle of his favorite fire whiskey from the cupboard. Neither of them said a word as he poured two liberal glasses. Only when they each were able to feel the first sips of the caustic liquid warming up their belly did he finally clear his throat to speak.

"Where did you go after you ran away from Hogsmeade?"

Even if she lived a hundred lifetimes, Hermione was sure she would never understand the man she married. There was a time when she thought she knew everything about him, all of his mannerisms, his moods, his thoughts, his fears, his dreams, everything. To discover that the man she shared a child with was a complete stranger after thirteen years of marriage was disconcerting to say the least. Not once in the entire time that she'd been back in their home had he raised his voice. Not once. This was a man who shouted and roared at every tiny, little thing. Even when she was apologizing for the pain she caused him, the pain that almost killed him, he'd simply kissed her hand and assured her with a soft tone that no one was angry with her for what she'd done. Who was this man?

"I went lots of different places. Tried not to stay too long in the same place."

For several minutes she gave him a brief history of her adventures over the past year. Naturally, she left out any mention of the Resistance or Draco Malfoy. She also didn't tell him about the Death Eaters she ran into along the way out of fear that they would be punished for failing to tell him about her whereabouts. They didn't deserve to be harmed simply because they were kind. There was also no hint that she'd ever been to Fenrir Greyback's home. That was an argument that they didn't need to have. It was bad enough that neither of them had exactly been discreet about their infidelities over the years. She didn't want to imagine how uncomfortable the discussion would be about the horrible day that he and Rabastan almost captured her.

"Why did you stay away for so long? Especially after you knew I was looking for you? You should have come home a long time ago."

Hermione scoffed at his question. Far from being an unintelligent man, her husband was one of the smartest men she'd ever known. Surely he couldn't be so dense as to not understand why she didn't come rushing back after she almost killed him. Especially not after considering their rather tumultuous history together. Realizing that he was indeed waiting for an answer, she rolled her eyes and gave him one.

"Because you wanted to kill me!"

"Why would you think that?"

His voice kept the same even tone he'd been using from the first moment that she came home. The fact that he was able to remain in this character he'd created for so long without faltering was more than a little impressive. She wondered what else about him changed since she was gone. What other surprises would she find the longer she remained?

"Why would I think that you wanted to kill me? Maybe because I almost killed you and you aren't exactly known for being a very forgiving man, are you, Antonin?"

He sighed.

"Have I really been such a terrible husband to you?"

There was no anger in his words. Only a tremendous amount of sadness that she didn't expect. How was he remaining so calm when she was fit to burst? Mustering up the most sarcastic tone she could manage, Hermione replied to his question with all of the anger she'd allowed to build up in her over the years.

"Oh, yeah, you've been wonderful all of the times you've cursed me and hit me."

Undeniable shame colored his features. Unable to look her in the eyes due to the guilt that he knew she was telling the truth, Antonin focused his gaze on the empty glass in his hands.

"You were a wonderful husband the night you pushed me down the stairs and I lost our daughter."

Antonin's eyes snapped up to meet hers. There was a mixture of complete horror and anger within their depths. She hadn't meant to say something so terribly shocking, but there was no taking it back. Maybe he needed to hear what she thought. More than once he tried to formulate a response and failed. Hermione was done talking. She'd had enough for the time being.

As she stormed out of the kitchen to head for the stairs, she didn't hear the man she married try to stop her once. Unused to his complete lack of reaction, the furious witch turned to take one last glance at him over her shoulder. He wasn't watching her leave. His empty glass refilled, Antonin continued to sit in silence staring at the flames in the fireplace. What he was thinking was a complete mystery to his wife.