July 3rd

The polyjuice potion was ready. It was perfect. As Hermione stared at the completed potion still bubbling away in the cauldron, she felt an enormous sense of relief. The end was just within her grasp. She would have to find a perfect time to use it, of course, but she could almost taste her freedom. Once Aberforth was gone, she would leave too. Maybe not right away. It wouldn't do to seem too eager about it. But soon. Very, very soon.

And it wouldn't come a moment too soon. Following the interrogation of Theodore Nott the day before, she knew that she wasn't capable of remaining any longer at the Ministry. She stepped out of the side room, sticky with the drying blood of the man she just murdered, and hated what she had become. She was grateful for cleansing spells and a fresh change of clothes in her office upstairs. Knowing that she had a drawer full of potions just waiting for her to swallow tantalized her almost beyond her endurance. She'd opened the compartment, stared at the vials, wishing that she wasn't so weak.

It would've been too easy to ignore the promises she made to her husband, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and to herself. Just a tiny vial wouldn't really hurt. They weren't dangerous unless she used them in large quantities. Like three or four. That's when she needed to worry. Her hand closed over one. She swirled the liquid around the closed vial dreaming of the moments of bliss she would experience when it made its way down her belly. The hand that held the wand that ended Theodore Nott's life hadn't stopped trembling since the act was completed. One dose of the potion would end the tremors. Unstopping the vial, the pungent aroma of the addictive potion assaulted her nose. She could practically taste the cinnamon on her tongue, feel the calming of her muscles.

In the end, she upended the vial until its contents splashed onto the expensive rug underneath her desk. She repeated the same action with every single vial left in the secret drawer until a puddle of her temptation soaked through the fibers. A spell shattered every empty vial into minuscule pieces of glass she was then able to vanish with another flick of her wrist. The stain, however, remained. She wanted to see the evidence that at least that day she was stronger than the pull of the poison.

She went into the Ministry the day after the interrogation acting as if there was nothing out of the ordinary. The bloody torture of the man she'd loathed since that horrible party seventeen years earlier didn't upset her as it probably should have. No, she was pleased that the world was free from the influence of that man. His young widow would never have to worry about him hurting her again. Thanks to the man's large estate that she was entitled to at least half of thanks to there being no will due to his expectation that he would soon have a son to become his sole heir, Rosalind wouldn't have to worry much about anything for the rest of her life. Even less when her wretched parents were dispatched.

Rabastan didn't once taunt or torment her throughout the day about her performance in Level Eleven. If anything, she'd impressed him with her ability to return back to the very place she'd been before she ran away. Not once in the room did he have to scold her or order her about like she was unsure or unwilling to do what was necessary. All he'd done was ask her what she meant by the last words she spoke to Nott before she slit his throat. He'd been disgusted to hear what the wizard told her even if he didn't try to lie that there was truth in what he said. He knew all too well that that was exactly what would become of her in a world where men like Nott were in charge. The mere fact that Rabastan was still wanting her to be on his side when the Dark Lord fell proved that he'd at least come to have a new appreciation for her over the years they'd known each other. She was more than just a filthy Mudblood useful for nothing more than fucking and killing. There was a compliment in there somewhere if she could stomach it long enough to search.

Hermione left the Ministry in the early afternoon before anyone else. No one tried to stop her, not even her Co-Head. He merely told her that there was no rush to interview the Plunketts. They weren't going anywhere and he preferred to let them sit longer in their terror. Apparently after speaking with his daughter Julia, he discovered the upsetting truth that Rosalind was only a year older than his daughter. They'd both been in Slytherin House together. Friends, even. It bothered him all the more that they'd sold their daughter in marriage to someone so horrible.

No one came to visit her at Number Twelve. She wasn't sure if she wanted to see Draco or not. The filth of the previous day's activities still clung to her skin no matter how long the shower she took when she got home was. Perhaps it would never fully go away. As much as she wanted the parents of the poor girl to suffer, she wanted no part in any future interrogation. One more would break her. She wasn't entirely certain that the last one wouldn't do that anyway. Antonin understood when she admitted to him in the privacy of their bathroom that Nott would no longer be a problem for him that she needed some time before she could be touched again. It was an old habit, a routine that they'd gotten used to because they had to. Usually lasting no more than a day or two, she didn't like to be touched when she still felt so dirty. Draco might not understand. He hadn't been forced to kill like the Dolohovs had. Though she couldn't explain why exactly, she didn't want him to know what she was capable of. Not really.

She removed the potion from the heat once she was certain that there was nothing left to do to it. By her estimation, it was perfect, but she wasn't about to be foolish enough to test it on herself. That was what Dolores Umbridge was for. What was the purpose of having the bitch under the Imperius Curse if not to be her test subject? Bottling the polyjuice potion into a large bottle made it all seem real. Her plan had been going well so far. There was still hope that she would be successful. The pessimist in her refused to believe that there would be no complications or hiccups to the plan. Arrogance could be a person's downfall.

With all evidence that there had ever been an illegal potion brewed in the basement kitchen gone, Hermione exited the front door of the house she truly hoped she would never have to step foot in again. It held too many memories for her. Some good, but mostly the sort that she wanted to push to the back of her mind and forget. The potion in her pocket represented the hope that she could have a future worth living for. It had been too long since she'd had that.

Only moments after stepping outside she felt eyes on her again. Just like days earlier, she didn't feel any hostility or fear from the knowledge that she was being watched. Likely it was just Kingsley Shacklebolt returning to surveil the former Headquarters. What the man's true purpose was still baffled Hermione. Why would he disappear for twenty years, make a life for himself in amongst the Muggles, and still return just as it appeared that the violence would begin again? She was sure that that would be enough of an incentive to stay away.

Whatever his reasons for watching her were, she didn't care. He hadn't proven to be a roadblock yet. It was possible that he would slip out of her life just as swiftly as he'd slipped in. Knowing that he was following her even after walking away from Grimmauld Place, she directed her steps to an overgrown garden she'd seen before during her walks through the neighborhood. They would have some privacy to speak.

"You're acting very suspicious, Hermione. I don't like it."

She bit her tongue before she blurted out to Kingsley just how little she cared about his opinion. It would never do to insult a dangerous man when she was alone. Considering she was carrying enough polyjuice potion in her pocket to ensure that she had a very short life sentence in Azkaban before her execution, she thought it best that they try to bring as little attention to themselves as possible. Magic would bring Ministry officials to the area and she couldn't afford to have her actions scrutinized.

"Are you using again?"

"What are you… my bloody sponsor?"

Confusion was written all over his face. Hermione rolled her eyes. Just how assimilated to the Muggle world had he become? Clearly not enough. She waved her hand dismissively.

"It's a Muggle thing."

Kingsley still possessed the impressive reflexes that were required for a man who once chased dark wizards for a living. His hand was in the pocket of her robes before she could stop him. A curse was ready on her lips when he pulled the potion she was risking her life to carry out. Reaching for it to grab it out of his hands, the wizard used his height to his advantage to keep it out of her grasp.

"I thought you said you weren't taking any potions the other day. Was that a lie?"

"It's not what you think."

"That's always what a guilty person says."

He pulled the cork out of the top of the bottle to take a deep sniff of the contents. Hermione couldn't help but laugh when the aroma of the potion almost made the wizard gag. Polyjuice potion didn't just taste disgusting. Knowing exactly what he was holding and wanting nothing do with it, he put the cork back in and pushed it back into her hands. She didn't waste a moment hiding it back in her robes.

"What do you need that for?"

Old habits were hard to break. Once upon a time she trusted Kingsley with her life. He represented integrity and strength to the sixteen year old girl she once was. Feeling like she could trust him, she was honest.

"I'm trying to get Aberforth free from the cells in the Ministry."

"Dumbledore?"

"Because that's such a common name?"

His bright smile told her that she'd hopefully done the right thing in confiding in him. She knew that Kingsley always had a good relationship with the former pub owner. There was a great deal of respect for each other.

"How can I help?"

She considered his words carefully. Her plan was already set in motion. Very little of it could be altered.

"I need you to create a distraction first thing tomorrow morning. Something big. Something that will get my husband to run after you."

He was practically rubbing his hands together in excitement.

"Not a problem. I've always hated your husband."

"You and a great number of others."

"There was an incident at Hogwarts. We were both interested in the same girl."

Rolling her eyes, she hoped again that she'd made the right decision to trust him.