June 19th

By Tuesday evening, Hermione had lost all patience with her husband. After a day spent planning how to bring in Theodore Nott and his new in-laws and another afternoon visit to Number Twelve where Draco refused to make an appearance, she was exhausted and in no mood for the same sort of foolishness that had been plaguing their home for days. What happened since their surprisingly pleasant anniversary to put Antonin in such a foul mood? Trying to ignore it was no longer a viable option. He was driving her mad.

When she walked through the front door after returning from checking on her potion, she found Antonin sitting on the sofa in the lounge drinking yet another glass of fire whiskey. Because of his known issue of struggling to keep his thoughts to himself under the influence of alcohol, he rarely drank. Every single night since their anniversary she watched him drink at least a glass, but usually more than that. Something terrible was weighing on his mind. Based on how cool he was treating her, she knew that she was at least part of the problem.

"How long are you going to keep acting like a child, Antonin?"

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Once they were out, she discovered she was relieved. Walking on eggshells around her husband for days was exhausting. She couldn't remember how she used to be able to put up with his sour moods for so long. Maybe the potions she used to consume numbed her more than she realized.

"Excuse me?"

He narrowed his dark brown eyes, angry that she dared to speak to him at all. This went against their usual pattern. If she left him to his own devices, they would not speak until he was done being angry. Part of her was beginning to miss the effect that Andromeda clearly had on his life. At least when she was alive, he could vent to her about what an awful woman his wife was. That would usually help him to get over his anger faster.

"Exactly what I said. Everything was great Friday morning. What happened when I was at work that angered you so much? What could I have possibly done when I wasn't even home?"

Antonin stood to his feet. If they were going to have one of their passionate rows like old times, he wasn't going to do so seated. He liked to use his height to his advantage. Maybe there was a time in her life when he used to be able to intimidate her by looming over her, but no longer. Determined to prove that she wasn't afraid of him any longer, Hermione closed the space between them. There would be no shrinking away. Not again. He seemed every bit as determined as she to take control of the argument. After he took a deep breath, he stared with the same hard expression that terrified his would-be victims.

"Why were you in Cornwall on the very same day that Gus was back in the country?"

She was taken aback by his question. How could he possibly know where she'd been? There hadn't even been an opportunity to speak to him about her activities that day because he was already angry when she got home. Who would have told him? Was her idiot assistant spying on Antonin's behalf as well as Rabastan's? When she didn't immediately answer his question, he scoffed.

"Why would you leave the Ministry early, Apparate to Cornwall, and not come home for an entire hour? What were you and Gus doing in that time?"

It should have been obvious that jealousy was the emotion that was driving him. Too often it was. Their marriage was complicated, unconventional in every sense. She found it laughable to imagine that he hadn't known that she was unfaithful to him over the past thirteen years. While he might have alluded to her liaisons, never once did he outright ask her why she was with a man who might've been her lover. To demand to know why she was with Augustus went completely against his character. What other changes was she going to uncover about her husband as time went on?

"We were just talking."

"For a whole bloody hour?!"

Hermione stopped to consider what he was asking her. How did he even know in the first place that she'd left work early to go to Cornwall? Rachel might have been able to tell him that she left early after speaking to Augustus for a few minutes, but there was no way she would've known where she went. She remembered Draco's request from the day he took her to Number Twelve for the first time. He asked that she always cloak her magic when she was going to or from the house and while she was working inside. At the time, she thought his fear that Antonin was still tracking her every move ridiculous.

"Tell me, Antonin, did you ever stop tracking my magic?"

For the briefest second he looked ashamed. But only for a moment.

"How else am I supposed to find you when you run away again?"

She sighed, suddenly very exhausted. It was foolish of her to assume that he would eventually trust her again. He never would. No matter what she did, what she said, he would always be waiting for her to run away again. Not that she could exactly blame him. Perhaps that was why she was so upset. His distrust was only going to make starting over in a new life that much more difficult. He might even make it impossible.

"You're never going to stop, are you, Antonin?"

"Are you going to keep running?"

Whatever she said in response was likely to be a lie, so she said nothing. Her silence told him everything he needed to know. He scoffed again. She really hated that sound. It usually was followed by some sort of horrible, cutting remark. It was his pattern.

"Is that what you and Gus were doing? Talking about running away?"

"It's none of your business what we were talking about."

"Oh, it's none of my business what my wife talks about alone with her ex-lover for an entire hour?"

There were certain buttons that when pushed, easily sent Antonin over the edge. He'd always had a problem with his jealousy. Sometimes it was irrational. Often, however, it was entirely justified. Like when it came to Augustus. She knew from the moment she returned back to her teacher's home after staying behind in France alone with Augustus that the former Unspeakable would be a hot button issue between them. Even when they weren't involved as anything more than teacher and student, he'd been jealous of his friend's relationship with Hermione. When she knew how much it affected him, she even thought it fun to make it worse. In that particular moment, however, she just wanted the row to be over with. It was already climbing to dangerous levels.

"Just drop it, Antonin. No, we weren't talking about running away together."

She regretted starting the argument in the first place. All she wanted was a long soak in a hot bath and maybe an early bedtime. Being awake and around the man she married was becoming too difficult. Before she was able to make it even a step away, he reached out to grab her arm. Not as hard as the day she stabbed him, but hard enough to anger her. She spun around to glare at him, wrenching her arm out of his grasp.

"Do not grab me. That didn't work out very well for you last time, did it?"

"I see no knives anywhere close."

He was truly committed to extending their row if he was willing to bring up such a sensitive subject in a callous manner. Well, if that's what he wanted, Hermione was wiling to give it to him. It had been a long time since their last. She was out of practice.

"You know, I kinda miss the days when that horrible bitch Andromeda was still alive. You could go to her flat when you were upset and leave me alone."

"Don't you dare speak of her like that."

It was a low blow. She knew that. He had always been sensitive about his mistress. Cared about her deeply or some such rubbish. The only reason Andromeda wouldn't marry him was because he was already in love with his student. She found it odd that he never asked her why she murdered the woman. Had they already had that discussion in the past and she just couldn't remember it?

"Gus was the one who told me that you were still in his house."

She didn't believe him. What did he have to gain by telling her husband where she could be found? He wanted her to be waiting for him when he was able to come back from France. Why else would he have told her on the beach that he was disappointed when he returned to Cornwall after a week and discovered she wasn't there any longer? Realizing that she didn't believe him, Antonin smirked.

"He didn't want to tell me you were there. But, he also didn't know how long he was going to have to stay in France. The Dark Lord's orders haven't exactly been terribly clear lately."

His smirk morphed into a grin she despised. She knew as well as he did that most of the Dark Lord's recent supposed orders were coming directly from him. If Antonin wanted to keep Augustus out of the country, it wouldn't take much effort. He had the power and influence. At least as long as Lord Voldemort still continued to breathe.

"He was worried that you would be in danger if left alone for too long. He didn't like the idea of you wandering around the countryside lost, alone, and insane."

The back of her hand cracked against his mouth at the the insult. She would not allow anyone to call her crazy in her presence ever again without feeling some sort of punishment. It felt good to strike him, even better than a curse. This was more personal, more real. Antonin's fingers immediately reached up to touch his newly split lip. She'd put every ounce of her anger in it and one of her rings might have snagged his skin. Blood clung to his fingertips. His eyes flashed with a fury she was all too familiar with.

She expected him to hit her back, expected him to show her how forceful he could be. When he didn't move to punish her, she was confused. He'd never been hesitant to hit her before.

A flash of a memory she'd forgotten appeared out of thin air. She gasped at the recollection of them standing in their bedroom having an argument at some point in the past. He'd said something that she didn't appreciate. In an almost exact reenactment, she split his lip with the back of her hand. He touched his lips, saw the blood, and did nothing. Just walked away without retaliating. Anger might have radiated from him, but he did not strike or curse his wife.

"Why aren't you hitting me back?"

It seemed strange to demand her husband explain his reasons for not being violent. The rage in his eyes was instantly replaced with confusion, concern, fear.

"Hermione, darling, I've never hit you. Not unless the Dark Lord ordered it."

He seemed almost hurt that she would accuse him of something so vile. His hand slid through her hair in a gentle, tender motion.

"And he's so weak now that if he did order it again, I'd kill him first."

She didn't know what to believe. Stepping out of the reach of his hand, she turned around and ran up the stairs. She didn't know what was the truth - her memories or his words?