May 21st

Returning to the Ministry after a surprisingly relaxing Sunday put Hermione in a much better mood than she had been at the end of the previous week. When she stepped into the fireplace on Friday to return home, she felt the heaviness on her shoulders of a person who wasn't sure they were ever going to accomplish what they set out to do. So many opportunities for failure stood between her and the goal of getting Aberforth Dumbledore released from the prison she was responsible for him wasting away inside. If she was unsuccessful, she might very well find herself inside a nearby cell or worse, executed in front of a public audience. She had to be very careful.

As she walked the familiar path to her office, she thought over the events of the previous twenty-four hours. Something shifted in her relationship with her husband after their moment in the kitchen. She wasn't sure the extent to how that would change her life, but she knew that it would, at least for the short-term. They weren't able to sit down and really have a long talk like they probably should. Antonin was very mysterious about why he needed to leave the house soon after waking. He didn't return until long after Hermione was in bed. Though she heard him tiptoe in, she pretended to still be asleep. They could have their big discussion later. If she was lucky, she could get Aberforth released from his cell, out in the free world, and she could run again before they had to have an uncomfortable chat.

No one greeted her when she entered her Division. It wasn't unusual for Hermione to be the first one in the department each morning. Many times in the past she was the first one there and the last one to leave. How she was able to maintain a schedule with so many punishing hours was something she didn't always like to consider. There was still a charmed drawer in the bottom of her desk filled with the sort of illegal potions one could find in the darkest corners of Knockturn Alley. Whenever she needed an extra boost to make it through another sleepless night, she would toss back a vial. The nasty, little wizard who sold them to her always warned her that she had to be careful with the number that she consumed. They would become less effective over time and require more to get the same effect. When she was in the midst of her most demanding work schedule, she didn't care. It was only as she began the arduous task of trying to stop drinking them that she discovered how dangerous her old habits really were.

Pushing thoughts of past events out of her mind that she couldn't change, Hermione sat down at her desk. Still piled high with files from cases she didn't care about, she was determined to make the impression that she was actually there to continue her job. Rabastan was far from being an idiot, but she hoped that she could lure him into a false sense of security long enough to get her mission completed. Spending hours poring over the files of the other cases helped with the subterfuge. Even though her Co-Head was usually late coming into the office on Monday mornings following usually quite eventful weekends, she forced herself to continue her reading if no one was there to witness.

Most of the files of the recent cases had to do with the Leaky Cauldron explosion. There was a large number of suspected perpetrators that they were trying to weed through. Even being out of the game for as long as she had been, Hermione could tell just by reading their files that at least ninety percent of them were innocent. Likely only brought to the Ministry because they were suspected of holding less than glowing opinions about the regime. It was how these things worked.

In the past when a great crime had been committed against the Dark Lord and the society he built, his faithful followers would use the opportunity to arrest as many suspected enemies of the regime as possible. Didn't matter if they weren't anywhere near the source of the crime. There weren't a great deal of civil rights within their country. Very little, in fact. What was the need for personal autonomy when the government was there to make certain you had all of your needs? Keeping the populace dependent on them for their survival was how the regime was able to pass through laws that stripped them from any remaining freedoms that still lingered. It was the Dark Lord's plan to one day smash out opposition and have an entire nation of witches and wizards who did exactly as he bid.

She was able to easily discern just by looking over the files that no one was close to figuring out who was actually responsible. Naturally the Resistance was denigrated in the media. If one couldn't tell the truth, it was permissible to spin a believable lie. At least that was the standards that the so-called respectable journalists of the day adhered to. Every publication allowed to be published was approved by the regime's propaganda department. Their standards were far from lofty. As long as the regime was portrayed in a positive light and the enemies of the state weren't, they were generally able to spin whatever lie they chose. It was only the very foolish amongst them that actually believed anything that was written about in the newspapers or spoken about on the approved Wizarding Wireless stations.

From her experience with the Resistance, she knew that they were vehemently denying any responsibility for the explosion amongst themselves. No matter how many different people claimed they weren't the perpetrators, Hermione had difficulty believing them. They had the most to gain, after all. The explosion put the entire regime into a state of chaos. If the Inner Circle of the Dark Lord's Death Eaters wasn't safe from harm, who was?

A light tap on the open doorframe pulled her out of her thoughts. Expecting to see her worthless assistant announcing that she'd finally made the effort to come into the office, Hermione was more than a little surprised to see Theodore Nott Senior standing only steps away. Rising to her feet, she gestured to the wizard to enter. Moments later he stood in front of her desk, his face wide with a discomforting grin.

She didn't like the man. Never had. Something about him always set her on edge. From her first days as a terrified but determined recruit, she was under the impression that Theodore was not a man to trifle with. Being in his presence made her ill at ease. His eyes lingered too long on parts of her body they shouldn't and his reputation was concerning. Though he'd never personally laid a hand on her, Hermione always had the feeling that he was just seconds away from misery. She couldn't imagine why he was stopping by her office. He'd never made the effort in the past.

"This is unexpected, Theodore."

"I was in the Ministry today."

He offered no additional explanation. This was not a wizard who freely gave information. Reminders of the night that Draco warned Hermione that her biggest threat in their world was likely to come from his best mate's father rushed to the very forefront of her mind. It was Draco's belief that Theodore was somehow responsible for the Leaky Cauldron explosion. Though he didn't offer her up much proof, she could understand why he felt so. Everything about the man was menacing even as he smiled and winked his way through life.

"I was very sorry to hear about your son's passing. Theo was a…"

She wasn't even able to offer the full extent of her condolences before the man was waving them off. It was no secret that the relationship between father and son in the Nott family was somewhat tense. Many families were difficult. Theo might not have been a close friend of hers, but she always had a great deal of respect for him. Much more so than she had for his father.

"Heirs are easily replaceable. I've already entered into negotiations for a new bride."

Hermione was made even more uncomfortable by his announcement. Theo was the kind of man who was overjoyed to have a home full of little girls. He was a proud papa, always sharing photos of his three daughters to anyone who stood still long enough in his presence. Fiercely in love with his wife Millicent, there had never been any reason to force him into marriage when the Dark Lord ordered his followers to do so. They did so happily. Granddaughters, however, were not desired by their terrifying grandfather. No doubt they would all be disinherited once their grandfather was able to procure another heir off a poor soul.

Likely the future Mrs. Nott was some innocent witch recently out of Hogwarts forced to marry a man old enough to be her great-grandfather. Theodore was not the sort of man to appreciate an intelligent, worldly woman. He would want one that he could rule over, intimidate and control. She did not envy the poor witch in the slightest. Just the fact that she was aware there were still pathetic families out there clamoring to align themselves with a Sacred Twenty-Eight family through the selling of their young daughters made her sick to her stomach. Would some traditions simply never die?

She wanted Theodore out of her office. The reason for his visit was still unclear. Never in the past did he just randomly drop by without having a solid reason to do so. She didn't want to believe Draco's warnings that the wizard meant her harm, but her instincts were about to convince her otherwise.

"Are you here to see Rabastan? Because I'm afraid I haven't the foggiest idea when he will be gracing us with his presence."

Theodore's grin grew even more feral. She could see the hatred in his eyes, the desire to reach across her desk and wrap his hands around her throat. Determined to not be intimidated by the horrible man, Hermione stood to her full height, pushing her chest out and squaring her shoulders. She kept a firm grip on the end of her wand.

"No, I'm not here to see him. I only wished to see for myself that the stories of you finally returning to us were true. I'm sure Antonin is overjoyed."

He left moments later, but the reminder of his visit remained much longer in the tension that continued to hang in the air.