June 2nd

Rarely had Hermione been so thankful to see the weekend arrive. In her past, she lived for her work. No longer. One more day within the Ministry walls trying to pretend like everything was all right would wreak havoc on her senses. She needed a break from the hostile glares shot her direction when it was assumed she wasn't looking.

After rising from an empty bed after another night without her husband home, Hermione sat at the kitchen table looking over the copies of Andromeda's file she smuggled out of the Ministry. If Antonin came home to find her reviewing the documents, she might be in for another row. She wasn't worried. Her husband no longer frightened her. The amount of time she spent away from him on the run morphed him in her battered mind as some sort of unrealistic monster of mythical proportions. In her worry and fear, she forgot that no matter what he was capable of doing, he was still just a man. He wasn't the Dark Lord yet, and besides, she knew him well enough to know that he had no aspirations for immortality. The insanity that plagued their master from the very beginning wouldn't color her husband's reign.

As much as Hermione hated the woman, she couldn't explain why she would resort to actually murdering Andromeda. And apparently in the middle of Knockturn Alley, no less! Sure, there were plenty of enemies and perceived enemies that she cut down outside of the safety of the Ministry of Magic. She knew she had a temper and a tendency to behave rashly without all of the information. It was a Gryffindorish trait that time and circumstances had only made worse. There had even been a couple that she knew of offhand that she killed just because she didn't like them. They were a threat to the peace in her life she craved. But Andromeda? Why? She'd known about Antonin's affair with the woman for almost the entire length of time she lived in his house. He'd tried to be faithful to her in the early years of their marriage. Just as she tried. Even if there was nothing sexual going on between them in that time, she knew that he still relied on her for support and advice.

An idea struck her on how to put to bed the mystery. It seemed completely crazy, but she didn't exactly have a lot of options. If she was lucky, it would work. Gathering the file in her arms again, Hermione headed for the basement. There had been no reason to go downstairs since she returned to Hogsmeade. Before she almost killed her husband and when she believed that what she was doing for the regime was her destiny, her calling, she spent a great deal of time down there. It was something like her home office.

At the bottom of the rickety stairs that she once led Walden Macnair down to his death, she made a sharp left turn. A locked and heavy door loomed ahead. Remembering the right combination, she was able to push it open. When Ollie started walking, she and Antonin both agreed that it was best that they keep the most dangerous artifacts and tools they possessed locked up in a room he couldn't access. Their son was only allowed in the room when he was supervised by one of his parents. They'd instilled a great amount of respect and fear for the space in their child. To the best of her knowledge, he'd never tried to break in on his own.

In the center of the room, taking up much of the space, was an elaborate pensieve. Her husband bought it for her as a gift ten years earlier in a selfish attempt to get her to stop working so much. If she was able to review her interrogations from home to be sure she hadn't missed any critical information instead of using a pensieve kept in the Ministry, he assumed that she would be able to participate more in the running of their home, more in the development of their only child. His plan failed, to his great disappointment. She might have been downstairs more often, but that didn't mean she took a more active role in their family. Work was much more important.

With the article announcing Andromeda Tonks' murder in one hand, Hermione thought about the date and willed her memories to the surface. Removing the thin, silvery strands with the end of her wand, she deposited the substance into the bowl. To the best of her knowledge, she had never been able to call forth a blocked memory. There had never been a reason before, never been an exact date she was certain she couldn't remember. It might all be for nothing. When she dipped her head into the bowl, she might see nothing but darkness. She had to try something. The only other option she could think of offhand was to try what the Muggles did with hypnosis. She had no desire to be completely under the control of another human being. Not again.

Slipping into a forgotten memory wasn't as fluid as diving into one she was aware of. Everything felt hazy in the beginning, like her brain was still trying to piece it all together. Dissimilar in many ways to how a deliberately altered memory felt, it was still just as unnerving and unnatural as being in one someone tried to change. She'd seen enough in her work to know the differences. It all felt so strange. Hermione pressed through the haze.

She was in Knockturn Alley. Dressed in her Ministry robes proving she'd likely just come from work, the Hermione in the memory was furious and on a mission. They stood in front of the same little shop Hermione had visited just days earlier. It was a place she had been many, many times over the years. Memory-Hermione pushed the door open so hard the bell above it threatened to fly off the wall. Her gaze focused on the hag and she immediately stomped across the room, ignoring everything else in the tiny shop, to confront the smiling, toothless, old hag.

"Back again so soon, are we, dearie? How can I serve you?"

"You know bloody well what I need, you incompetent old bitch!"

The hag wasn't bothered in the slightest by the witch's outburst. She'd been made to suffer many of them over the years. Hermione wasn't exactly kind to her after all.

"You were paid, quite handsomely I might add, to make certain I had no further need of your services."

With a shrug of her shoulders, the hag replied.

"Your wizard's seed has proven to be quite strong. I never promised it would work."

"You are a liar and a fraud. Give me what I paid for or I'll report you."

Even those who were brave enough to refuse to show fear in front of Hermione would flinch at the idea of being reported. She was not an enemy anyone wanted to have. The hag's smile disappeared. Hermione understood what she was witnessing even if she didn't remember the specific day itself. She'd purchased many potions over the years from the hag to rid herself of more complications in her life that she didn't need. Though not necessarily something she was proud of, it was something she would do again.

Frightened with the threat of being reported, the hag rushed to the back room. It was only then that Memory-Hermione took a survey of her surroundings. In the heat of her anger, she wasn't always as careful as she knew she should've been. Hermione could remember that at least in those days, three years earlier, she was under an enormous amount of stress. The Resistance had popped up their ugly head to cause all sorts of headaches for the regime. She was drinking more of the potions she kept hidden in her desk than she knew she should've. She was getting sloppy, careless. If she continued in that vein, she would've been killed.

A rustling of heavy fabric from behind one of the shelves caught both Hermiones' attention. Emerging from the dark corner near the front of the ratty shop was a smirking Andromeda Tonks. There was no way she wouldn't have heard every single word that Hermione shouted at the hag.

"Is this why you've been unable to give Antonin more children? He was beginning to believe there was something wrong with him. Won't this be a relief?"

If Antonin knew what she had been doing over the years since their son was born, he would not hesitate to murder his wife. She'd grown weary of the constant prattling he went on and on about having a daughter. When she succumbed to his desire, she made the decision that she would have one more child for the man just to shut him up. The tumble down the stairs removed all chance that she would allow him to do so again. She was in danger. If Andromeda told her husband what she overheard, he would be so angry that she would be no match.

"Keep your mouth shut or you will regret it."

Andromeda's smile only grew wider. Her relationship with Antonin clearly had given her a false sense of security. She was a fool to not recognize the danger she put herself in by openly confronting Hermione. Eager to run off and share what she learned, the older witch rushed out of the shop. The wife of her paramour was hot on her heels. Hermione was able to grab her arm roughly to keep her from getting too far.

"If you tell Antonin, I'll…"

"You'll what? Kill me? I'm not afraid of you."

"You should be."

"He's always deserved better than to be married to a lunatic like you."

Memory-Hermione was just as prickly about being called crazy as Present Day-Hermione. The fury in her eyes at the insult was unmistakable. Andromeda wasn't even aware of what was happening to her until the blood from her throat began to gush. Unable to scream, the witch tried to cover the wound, but it was too late. She collapsed to the pavement moments later. Still covered in the blood of her victim, Hermione stormed back inside the shop. The hag's terror was evident. No doubt she feared that she was about to be another target of her anger. Ripping the potions out of the hag's hands, Memory-Hermione raised her wand. Her second victim closed her eyes, preparing for the moment of her death.

"Obliviate."

Satisfied that the proprietor of the shop wouldn't remember that she was there that day or what she saw when she reentered, Memory-Hermione left the shop quickly. With one last glance at the carnage on the pavement, she smiled. Reaching into the pocket of her robes, she removed a small vial filled with the familiar illicit potion that she used to swallow at every provocation. One vial, two, three, finally four dribbled down her throat. Her smile was still plastered on her face as she stepped over the bloody corpse of her husband's mistress.

Hermione had seen enough. She pulled herself out of the memory. Sitting on the cold floor of her basement, she tried for several minutes to calm her breathing and lower her heart rate. She firmly believed the potions she swallowed were the reason why she couldn't remember the events of that day. It was imperative that Antonin never learn them either. If he knew why she killed Andromeda, he wouldn't hesitate to kill her too.