June 14th

After yet another uneventful day at the Ministry of Magic pretending she was actually completing the work she apparently was still getting a paycheck for, Hermione was glad to exit the Atrium out into the streets of London. Waiting for the polyjuice potion to finish brewing might possibly be the one thing that finally pushed her over the edge of the cliff into complete insanity. How did she not remember how frustrating it was to check on the brew every single day and wait? Every single day that passed with the potion still bubbling away in the basement kitchen of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place was agony.

As soon as she was certain that there were no Muggles nearby to witness her disappear into thin air, she spun in place with the destination of the former Headquarters in mind. Even if it was just for a few minutes, she had to make a visit every day to check its progress. Some days she did nothing but ensure with her own eyes that it was still there. With enough gaps in her memory, she couldn't afford to rely on the shaky recollections of stirring it. She had to see it to believe it was happening. So much of her plan relied on the polyjuice potion. Enough that she'd woken up many times in the middle of the night to worry that it would all fail.

Yet again, there was no one waiting for her inside the house. She took her time descending the stairs. Once she was satisfied that it was progressing as it should and that she hadn't imagined the cauldron with its bubbling contents into existence, she lingered in the hope that Draco might pop in. They hadn't seen each other since the day William Wood interrupted their post-coital rest. The damned man might have even been responsible for her missing out on another round.

She didn't love Draco. No, even the very thought of that foolish idea made her laugh. Most of the time she could barely stand the sight of the wizard. Their relationship might have progressed to a more intimate level than she ever would have expected in the months since New Year's, but that did not mean her feelings for him were somehow reverting back to those of an adolescent schoolgirl who had yet to learn how the world operated. What they did was foolish and dangerous and exciting. Maybe it was the prospect of her husband catching them that made her so eager to keep hoping he'd show up when she stopped by. Or maybe she liked the idea of the Resistance uncovering what they'd been up to. Danger was exciting. It was half the reason she enjoyed her friendship with Fenrir over the years.

When it was evident that there was going to be no illicit liaison on top of the kitchen table or in one of the dusty bedrooms upstairs, Hermione resigned herself to another night alone in her house. Antonin hadn't even bothered to send her an owl to let her know when he would be back. She didn't want to even contemplate the sickening idea that she was maybe missing her husband a little. That was preposterous. She merely had gotten used to him being there. Apparating to the center of Hogsmeade, she walked slowly home in no rush to get there and tried to decide if she wanted to pick something up for another meal alone. Finally deciding that she didn't want to run the risk of running into someone she didn't care to speak with while out in public, she made straight for her front door.

Something about her house felt off when she entered. Perhaps as a result of needing to be on guard the entire time she was a fugitive, Hermione could tell when there was the slightest difference in her house. She stopped to listen to anything out of the ordinary. Footsteps upstairs caught her attention immediately. Whomever was inside her home didn't care in the least being quiet about it. She held her wand out, ready to attack, if necessary. Her heart beat rapidly against her chest. Each climb of another stair brought her closer to the danger. Who was up there? Was William Wood finally taking a reckless chance to get rid of her? Once she was inside her bedroom, she gently pushed the door to the bathroom open a crack to peer inside. Her shoulders sagged and she threw open the door in her anger.

"Fuck, Hermione!"

Antonin dropped the towel he was pulling out of a cupboard to point his wand in the direction of his annoyed wife. Realizing that she was walking in on her husband about to take a shower, Hermione wished she could've gotten out at least one painful curse before he was ready to block it with a shield.

"I thought you were an intruder. You could've warned me you were coming home today."

He turned the taps on the shower to let the water warm up. When he was finished, he crossed the bathroom to kiss his wife in a proper greeting. She still wanted to curse him for frightening her.

"Of course I came home today. Did you think I'd forget what day it was?"

Antonin kissed her again, lingering a little longer against her lips than the first kiss.

"I was going to take a quick shower and then take you to a nice dinner in Diagon Alley, but if you'd rather join me, we could just stay home to celebrate."

His fervent trail of hot kisses down her neck made his offer very tempting. Certainly there had been plenty of pleasurable evenings in their past that started with a shower together. But, she placed her hand on his chest to gently push him away. He was visibly disappointed at first. After another peck to her lips, he promised her that he wouldn't be long if she wanted to change.

"I'm partial to your deep purple dress if you're unsure what to wear."

With a cheeky wink that actually made her smile, Antonin undressed and entered the steaming shower. Hermione went straight to the exact dress he was talking about. It was her favorite too, and as it had been hanging up in her wardrobe while she was on the run, there had been no opportunity to wear it for over a year. She was pleased to discover that it still fit. Her body had gone through some changes when she was practically starved. The time back in civilization helped her regain some of the slight curves she'd been proud of.

"Where are we going exactly?"

Antonin wouldn't give her any hints beyond the fact that they were going to a restaurant in Diagon Alley. When they were both ready to leave, he took her by the hand and Side-Along Apparated them to their destination. She wasn't sure what the occasion was and was reluctant to ask. It wasn't his birthday and it certainly wasn't hers.

They entered a small, intimate restaurant she'd never seen before. Clearly changes had been made in her absence to the wizarding shopping district. With his hand on the small of her back, Antonin led her to a private table in the back far from the other patrons. The small table was covered in candles creating the perfect corner for more than just conversation. A bottle of champagne was already uncorked and waiting.

"Good evening, Madam Dolohov, Mister Dolohov. Thank you for coming in tonight. Our chef has prepared a special meal for you that we are certain you will enjoy."

Hermione felt a small pang of pity for the nervous maître d'. They weren't exactly the most inconspicuous of couples. No doubt the poor man and the rest of the staff would be on pins and needles the entire time they were present in fear that they would do something to displease them. Once upon a time, Hermione found it amusing to witness how intimidating they could be to others. In that moment, however, she longed to assure him that there was nothing wrong. Before he rushed off to the kitchen to check on their first course, he poured them each a glass. Antonin held up his to toast his wife.

"Maybe those who are superstitious would call this an unlucky year, but I don't believe in that sort of nonsense. Neither do you. I think this will be the best year yet. Happy Anniversary, my darling."

They clinked their glasses and drank. Hermione felt silly that she didn't remember her own wedding anniversary. Thirteen years earlier she'd been practically dragged to the altar under duress. It was hardly the most beautiful day of her life. Still both heartbroken and slightly relieved that she wasn't able to marry Augustus, she'd not been thrilled by the prospect of becoming Mrs. Dolohov. She was still angry that she was being forced to marry anyone at all, let alone Antonin. Theirs was hardly the most joyful of weddings. Usually, she just tried to push memories of it out of her mind. There was little wonder that she'd neglected to remember the significance of the day or why her husband would rush back from his secret meeting abroad to plan a romantic dinner.

As far as anniversary celebrations went, theirs was fairly pleasant. Whether it was the liberal amounts of champagne flowing or something else entirely, they were able to keep up an enjoyable conversation. Each course was even more delicious than the last. Hermione raved over each dish to try to put the poor, nervous staff at ease. More alcohol was consumed as the evening progressed. Though there had been times since she returned to Hogsmeade that they'd been able to relax around the other, they had been few in number. By the time the second bottle of champagne was all but gone, her husband was in the best mood she'd seen him in in a very long time.

"Do you know what I wish we could do, Hermione?"

She smiled and shook her head. It had been a strange evening. Her face was almost sore from smiling more than she was used to. Evidently, she'd allowed certain muscles in her face to grow weak with disuse. Antonin leaned in closer and lowered his voice so no one else in the entire world but his wife could hear him speak.

"I wish we could take Ollie and run far away. Do you remember that island I took you to? Where we spent all day relaxing in the sun on the beach and all night making love?"

Her cheeks burned at the reminder. Of course she remembered their island vacation to the hidden magical island in the Bermuda Triangle. She would never forget what an enjoyable time they'd had. So enjoyable in fact that she had to make a trip to see the hag in Knockturn Alley soon after they returned.

"I wish we could run there. Never come back."

It was most unlike her husband to say such things. Especially out loud and in public. He might have been whispering, but there were ears everywhere. Hermione had no idea he felt that way. She'd assumed, like so many others, that he wanted nothing more than to be the next Dark Lord. Had she misunderstood his desires? Sliding his hand through her curls, Antonin pressed his lips against hers, not once caring that there might be an audience.

"I think we should go home, Antonin."

Their meal was over soon after his confession. Once the bill was settled, they rushed back to the privacy of their home. Maybe the champagne was to blame. They were hardly across the threshold before they were determined to recreate the nights they spent in Bermuda right in the middle of their Hogsmeade home.