May 19th

After the frustrating week she had at the Ministry, Hermione allowed herself the luxury of sleeping in when Saturday morning rolled around. She was grateful for the weekend and the opportunity to relax. The rapid changes in her existence were all too much, too quickly. She was afraid that she was setting herself up to fail in her mission. Maybe what the Resistance was demanding of her was too much.

Rolling over onto her side, she stared at the empty half of the bed where her husband should have been sleeping. Other wives might have been worried, but she was unique. Antonin was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. She chose to just enjoy the respite in the stress of their relationship. At least when he wasn't talking to her and he was sleeping in another woman's flat, she didn't have to worry about him bothering her. She had enough on her plate to have to worry about fending off her husband's sexual advances. If he reminded her how well their bodies always fit together and how easily they were able to feed off of the other for their own pleasure, she might have been tempted to stay. She wouldn't admit that Sarah Jordan was right about a kind of love developing in her heart for her husband over the years. No, that was just nonsense.

When she dressed and decided to head downstairs for either a late breakfast or an early lunch, Hermione stopped at the top of the stairs when she heard voices coming from the kitchen. She was surprised to discover that she wasn't alone. Thinking at first that it might be her son in the village for another Hogsmeade Saturday, she quickly dismissed that notion. It was rare that two Saturdays in a row were spent in the village. The students were likely enjoying the last few matches before the fate of that year's Quidditch Cup was determined. Knowing her son, he wouldn't miss the opportunity to watch a match just to visit his mother again.

She slowed and quieted her steps so no one would know that she was coming down the stairs. Though they were talking softly, one voice was unmistakably her husband's. For nineteen years before she ran away she lived with the man. She could pick out his familiar cadence in a large crowd. Carefully descending the stairs, she had to step over the board that creaked. In the back of her mind she thought it interesting how time away and her ever-more frequent periods of confusion didn't seem to affect how well she knew her own home.

Antonin hadn't yet folded the blanket on the couch. Evidently, he did not spend the night with his mistress. Or any other cheap slag, for that matter. It must have been another late night or she was so sound asleep that she didn't even hear the front door open. She wondered how long he was going to keep up the avoidance act. Would he continue to sleep on the sofa until she begged and pleaded with him to forgive her for her many transgressions? Because that wasn't going to happen. She felt zero guilt over what she said to him.

The voices continued speaking in their low conversation. When Hermione stepped to the outside of the door leading into the kitchen, she could easily tell that the other voice belonged to their next door neighbor Corban Yaxley. The wizard was several years older than her husband and because of that fact, she knew that Antonin often sought him out for advice. Once their acquaintance developed into an actual friendship, even she had been known to have serious discussions with the man.

Her stomach twisted into tight knots the first time she heard her name uttered by one of the men. It shouldn't have been a surprise that they were discussing her, but it was. Why couldn't they have their conversation somewhere other than her home where she could easily walk up and hear? She only had to listen for less than a minute to understand her husband was worried about her. It might have been endearing if it wasn't also frustrating and confusing. What sort of game was the man playing? She was encouraged to discover that Corban seemed to be on her side. At the very least, he wasn't insulting her name or assuring Antonin that he never did anything wrong.

"I don't know. I've seen her around the Ministry a couple of times this week and she seemed like herself."

"You know she's good at putting on a show when she's motivated. The night she arrived she asked me if her parents were still alive or if they died in the war."

A low whistle came out of Corban's mouth. Hermione wished she could see his expression, but didn't dare approach the tiny crack of the open door for fear that she would be spotted. If either of them knew she was just outside of the kitchen, they would stop talking or change the subject to something innocuous and boring. She was extremely curious to know what they couldn't bear to talk about to her face.

"What did you tell her?"

"She got up and left the room before I could answer. Said she didn't want to know."

It was only half-true that she didn't want to know about her parents' fate. Truthfully, when she allowed her mind to wander to thoughts of the Muggles who raised her, it mattered a great deal. Maybe it was her pride keeping her from asking the question again. She hated when Antonin looked at her with any sort of pity in his eyes. But, she knew that eventually she would have to swallow her pride and ask again.

"Is that all she's confused about?"

Antonin's sigh and initial refusal to answer the question proved that he was holding back. Even before she was an official interrogator for the regime, Hermione had already figured out his tells. Not that he was a terribly expressive man. No, she just knew how to read him. Once she discovered there was more behind the man than just the terrifying fury she'd seen in battle for her life, it was easy to tell when he was reluctant to speak.

"She accused me of pushing her down the stairs again."

Hermione jumped at the sound of Corban's fist slamming down on the top of the table. When the wizard grew angry, he was quite expressive. Many times she'd witnessed firsthand how he could break a glass in his grip when something set him off. His temper forced his voice to a higher decibel than the almost whisper they'd been using.

"Not that shite again! Did you correct her?"

"How can I? It wasn't as if I was completely innocent."

Corban's loud, exaggerated sigh proved the intensity of his frustration. Though she hated to recognize the fact, Hermione knew she wasn't understanding what they were talking about at all. What was there to correct? She had been there, not Corban. Why was he angry that she confronted her husband with the truth?

"Antonin, mate, you have got to forgive yourself for that day. You weren't at fault. No one was at fault. It was a horrible accident. Stop cursing yourself for it."

Her confusion grew even stronger. Nowhere in her recollection of that events of the day she took a tumble down the stairs could she recall anything being a 'horrible accident'. She could specifically remember feeling Antonin's hands on her back as she fell. What sort of lie would the wizard tell to explain that away? It was almost worth the aggravation to throw open the door and demand he tell her. Something, however, stopped her. She wasn't done listening to what the men were talking about.

"If she's confused, she really shouldn't be working, especially not in her job. Rabastan's likely to take advantage."

"I'd like to see you try to tell my wife to stop working."

Corban chuckled. The entire atmosphere in the kitchen shifted. No longer angry, the elder Death Eater grew very serious.

"You both have to be careful. This isn't a good time to be seen as a liability."

"Believe me, Corban, I understand what's at risk."

Hermione didn't have the first clue what they were talking about. Was it about the coup that everyone seemed so certain was going to happen? Or maybe something else entirely? There was so much intrigue in their world, it was impossible to keep it all straight. When they dropped their voices even lower where she couldn't make out what they were saying, she stepped closer to the door. Her hip bumped into a small side table pushed up against the wall. A framed copy of the last family picture the Dolohovs ever took together fell to the hardwood floor with a loud crash. Both men immediately stopped talking.

There was no way either of them would just go back to having their private conversation now that it was clear someone else was in the next room. Hermione bent over to pick up the fallen picture frame and stepped through the kitchen door like nothing was strange or out of the ordinary with her behavior. Each of them looked up to meet her eyes, but her husband quickly dropped them back to the top of the table.

"Good morning, Corban. I didn't know you were here."

"Just dropped in for a minute, lass. Best I go home now."

He dropped a hasty kiss on her cheek before exiting through the backdoor. Their families were casual enough that no one ever used the more formal front door on either of their houses. When she was alone with her husband again, she wondered if he would finally speak to her. She had even more questions that she wanted answers to after listening outside the door.

But, he wasn't ready to bring down whatever wall it was that still existed between them. Without saying a single word, Antonin followed their neighbor's retreat. She stood at the sink for several minutes watching him putter around in his garden, wondering how much longer this mood of his was going to last.