July 5th

When she ordered Aberforth Dumbledore to stun her and make it look real, Hermione didn't expect to end up in an uncomfortable bed in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Apparently, there was just a hint of hostility towards her that the elder wizard still felt. She couldn't blame him for being so aggressive when given the perfect opportunity. After all, a stunner was exactly how the entire mess began months earlier. What he had to endure living in one of those tiny cells in Level Eleven for so long couldn't have been easy. Maybe it was cathartic for him to use more force than was absolutely necessary.

No one would release her from the hospital until the Healers were certain that she had nothing more seriously wrong with her than yet another concussion. Nor would they let her go without her husband being there to pick her up. Whatever sort of distraction Kingsley cooked up to get Antonin out of the house that morning must have been very good if it was after midnight and she still hadn't seen her husband. He would be tempted to put family over his duties, but in the end, she knew that he would have to neglect her a little while longer.

It was standard procedure to transport all injured Ministry officials to St. Mungo's for a thorough examination whenever there was an accident within the Ministry walls. Something about liabilities and fear that they could be sued by their employees. Truthfully, it was a ridiculous concern. What sort of idiot would try something so foolish against a government agency that was backed by the Dark Lord's regime? But despite her repeated assurances that there was nothing wrong with her when she was Rennervated, she was taken against her will.

Corban Yaxley also insisted that she provide a full statement regarding her attack. She'd been happy to see the wizard walk through her hospital room shortly after the Healers decided that there weren't likely to be any lasting effects. It was her vain hope that he was there to take her back home himself. If Antonin was busy, he would've sent someone in his place that he trusted to care for his family. There was no one else alive that he trusted with his loved ones more than the Yaxleys.

The interview had been short. Or, rather Hermione was the short one when she found out she wasn't about to be released. Corban needed to know the details of the incident from her perspective. Why would Dolores Umbridge attack her so brutally and publicly? She shrugged her shoulders.

"Umbridge's hated me since my fifth year. It was bound to happen sooner or later. The bitch just snapped."

Whether he believed her version of events wasn't clear. When he was performing his official job for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, he was quite serious. None of the hints of the warm, funny man he could be behind closed doors were evident. He was all business.

No one had been able to find Umbridge since the incident. The attack apparently happened so quickly that there wasn't time to catch her before she ran out the exit. It all sounded so chaotic. Many of the witnesses were afraid that there was some sort of Resistance attack. Thanks to Albert Runcorn's well-oiled propaganda machine, there was a large number of people within their society who lived in perpetual fear that violence was only ever seconds away. When the stunner struck Hermione and she went crashing to the marble floor, the screams and running began. The horrible woman in the ghastly pink robes was able to escape.

Corban's department had been checking for any trace of Umbridge's magic since they were able to calm the immediate area down enough to find out who it was that attacked the notorious Madam Dolohov. So far there hadn't been any pings on their magical radar indicating where she might have gone. The consensus in his department was that she was simply laying low for the time being. Eventually she would get sloppy and start using magic again. When she did, they would find her and make her answer for the attack.

Hermione wished she could get confirmation from someone with knowledge within the Resistance whether or not Aberforth was able to make it out safely. Yes, Umbridge hadn't been caught, but nothing was mentioned about an escaped inmate. In fact, she found it odd, yet strangely encouraging that no mention was made of an escape at all. Perhaps with Rabastan back at home there was no one who had any reason to go down to Level Eleven. Not even house-elves were used to deliver meals to the prisoners. Each cell was fitted with a magical version of a dumb waiter that brought the barest rations down to the prisoners from a higher level.

Only when Corban thanked her for the information she provided and made his excuses to leave her hospital room did she really begin to calm down. Maybe it was all successful. Her ridiculous plan that should've failed a dozen different times actually worked! But, she stopped herself before she celebrated. It wouldn't do to get cocky and arrogant. There was still an opportunity for so much to go very wrong. She knew that if Aberforth wasn't able to get to a Resistance stronghold, her part in his escape from the Ministry would be moot. She would still be held responsible. There would be no hope for a future free from looking over her shoulder.

Rarely had Hermione been so thankful to see Antonin. When her exhausted spouse entered the room at half past one, she threw the itchy hospital sheets off of her body and stood up from the bed. In a move that should've surprised no one at all, he tried to get her to lay back on the bed.

"Antonin, stop. There is nothing wrong with me. I want to go home."

"Your Healer said that you hit your head very hard."

"Yes, well, maybe if we're lucky the impact of the fall will fix whatever's been wrong with it."

She didn't want to be reminded of the fact that there could be a correlation between her memory issues and her past head injuries. Like a Muggle athlete, she could be experiencing the side effects of a violently lived life. One more blow to the head might make it all even worse. She'd been reluctant to allow the Healers in charge of her care to scan her brain for any noticeable damage. There was a knot in her stomach the entire time as they looked for any potential internal wounds. Why she was afraid she wasn't sure. Maybe because she knew it was easier to pretend there was nothing wrong than it was to know there was.

"This is hardly the time for jokes, Hermione."

"I'm not joking. I want out of here."

Years of living with the stubborn witch taught Antonin that it was generally easy to give in to her wishes when he was able. Or when he cared to. Forcing a promise from her that she would remain seated until he returned, he left the room in search of an available Healer who could look her over one final time before releasing her.

It was close to three in the morning when they finally exited the fireplace in their kitchen. One of the longest days of her life, Hermione was convinced she would be able to sleep for days if allowed. Antonin helped her up the stairs regardless of the number of times she insisted that she was perfectly all right and not an invalid. Inside their bedroom he made her sit on the edge of the bed while he pulled her nightgown out of their wardrobe. To keep from growing even angrier at the way he insisted on treating her, she asked a question she suspected she already knew the answer to.

"Where were you all day?"

"Chasing Kingsley Shacklebolt across Glasgow, if you can believe it. The man's been in hiding for almost twenty years and he suddenly pops back up today. I thought he was dead."

"Did you catch him?"

His scowl was the only answer she needed. She was glad that Kingsley was able to distract her husband and get away safely. It might have been difficult to forgive herself if he'd been hurt in the process of doing her a favor. Not impossible, but difficult. Antonin handed her a nightgown.

"Do you need any help?"

"I bumped my head, Antonin. I didn't forget how to dress myself."

Her answer came out harsher than she intended. She was exhausted and irritable. Antonin didn't take her anger to heart. He'd been on the receiving end of it plenty of times in the past. When she was dressed and ready to slip under the covers, he handed her one of the blasted vials of potions the Healer insisted she take for the pain. It was tempting to throw it back at him. Hadn't she already been subjected to enough potions? But, she knew that was an argument she would never win. She covered the bottle with her hand and held it to her lips. Satisfied that she was doing as she was told, Antonin excused himself to enter the bathroom. The moment the door closed behind him, Hermione put a stopper in the still-full vial and slid it between the mattress and the headboard. She knew that she would be asleep within moments if she swallowed it and there was something very important that she needed to do first.

Pretending to be asleep when every cell in her body was screaming at her to give in to her exhaustion for real was no easy task. She listened to her husband return to the bedroom and climb into the bed next to her. Likely almost as tired as she, it didn't take him more than a minute or two to fall asleep. She listened to the sound of his slow, rhythmic breathing.

Only when she was certain that he was asleep did she carefully step out of bed. Tiptoeing across the floor, she reached into the pocket of the robes she'd flung across the back of a chair. If Antonin discovered she'd stolen the invisibility cloak, she was going to have to come up with a believable lie. His breathing was still steady. She twisted the doorknob to make her escape. A squeak of the mattress springs stopped her in her tracks.

"When you're finished putting the cloak back where you took it this morning, take your potion. You have a concussion."

Antonin offered no other words before he rolled over and fell back asleep.