July 11th

A new morning brought a fresh perspective to Hermione. After a surprisingly pleasant morning and then an even more interesting early afternoon alone with her husband, she felt that she had enough confidence to march back into the Ministry of Magic without fear. Rabastan was simply an overgrown child. She'd been able to manipulate him for years. Not just with sex, of course. There was much more to it than that. If one knew how to wind him up in just the right manner, they could control him. That was a lesson she actually learned from his elder brother. Rodolphus was almost as helpful in guiding her through the treacherous waters of her life as a Death Eater as her husband.

She wouldn't let Rabastan intimidate her or let him feel like he could control her any longer. Even before her irritating alarm went off, she was ready to get out of bed. But, her husband had other ideas. Before she could set her feet down on the ground to head to the bathroom, Antonin's arms snaked around her waist, keeping her stationary. He wasted no time seeking out the sensitive place on her shoulder that he loved to kiss. Every time he did it he was guaranteed to get both a sigh and a rash of encouraging goosebumps all over her flesh.

"What are you doing, Antonin?"

There was no accusation in her tone. No, she found his surprising actions to be amusing. He couldn't keep his hands to himself. Instead of offering her a verbal answer, he decided to show her what he wanted with nothing more than nonverbal gestures and touches that had her panting for air. More passion existed in him that morning than she'd seen in a long time. Not even the night of their anniversary, passionate and moving as it was, could compare. As enjoyable as it quickly became, she couldn't deny the terrible feeling in the back of her mind that something was off. She was worried. Why did he feel like he was trying to put every bit of feeling and emotion into that one encounter? Was he trying to sear that memory into both of their minds? If so, he was succeeding.

"I don't think you have any idea how much I love you."

His words were spoken softly as they tried to catch their breath in the aftermath of an unexpectedly passionate and poignant bout of lovemaking. Hermione knew that her husband loved her, of course, but he was never one to be so open and honest about that fact. It just simply wasn't done in their social circle. Wizards, in general, were more serious than their Muggle counterparts, more likely to ignore their feelings. For Antonin to boldly tell her how he felt, something must have been dreadfully wrong. His hand moved through her curls one last time and his lips sought hers out again.

"I wish I'd been able to make you happy."

She didn't know what to say. It was all so raw, so out of character for the man. So, she said nothing. It was past time she started getting ready for work as it was. By the time she was downstairs and ready to leave, he was back to being the same overly serious man she'd always known. After a quick breakfast, he pulled her into his arms for another kiss. There was such sadness in his eyes that she almost couldn't breathe.

It was decided as she sat behind her desk later that morning attempting to decipher what her husband was up to that she couldn't stay there any longer. She'd completed her mission. Aberforth was safely ensconced in the Resistance's village in Devon resting and recovering from his ordeal. All signs seemed to indicate that he would be at full strength in no time. She was no longer an official target of the Resistance. All she had to worry about was a loose cannon like William Wood. And she knew she could handle him. Perhaps her lingering too long in Hogsmeade was giving her husband funny ideas about their future. Like the possibility that they had one.

Taking a blank piece of parchment out of her desk, she began to make a list. She needed to organize her thoughts and plans. The last time she took off on the run she had to do so very quickly. There was a lot she neglected to do before she had to escape following her attack on her own husband. Money ran out almost immediately. Food was difficult to find. With no set plan of where she was going to go next, she almost failed dozens of times. This time would be different. Before she walked out of her front door forever, she would know exactly where she was going and exactly what she was doing.

Half of the parchment was filled with her frantic scribblings when Rabastan finally made the effort to come into the office. Not wishing to have the horrible man see what she was working on, Hermione carefully rolled up the parchment to slide it into the pocket of her robes. Moments after sitting down at his desk, Rabastan turned his attention on the other occupant of the room.

"I'm surprised to see you here today, pet. When you didn't come in yesterday, I assumed that we'd seen the last of you."

"Are you disappointed that I came back?"

He was, but he would never come right out and admit so. That wasn't how he chose to play his ridiculous game. No, he would plaster an insincere smile on his face simply to assure her that he longed for nothing more than to see her across the room every single day.

"Not at all. But, I will admit to being curious where you were. You weren't ill again, I hope?"

Hermione snorted softly. He was such a liar. Maybe to others he was convincing, but she knew him too well. Two people couldn't work so closely together in such close quarters without learning more about each other than they desired.

"I actually spent the day in bed with my husband. Work hardly seemed as important as that. Haven't you done the same before with our idiot assistant or one of your other slags?"

Most men might have been offended by her words, but Rabastan wasn't most men. Instead of growing angry, his smile only became wider. He stood from his desk to cross the room to perch himself once again on the edge of hers. She hated how close he was. Since the day she fell victim to his manipulation after she tried to manipulate him, she didn't want to be anywhere near him. Perhaps sensing that fact was the exact reason he chose to invade her personal space.

"So does that mean you've finally made your decision? That you're going to follow your husband?"

"No, I haven't made up my mind yet, but you can't deny that it's a good way to get him to trust me, can you?"

It was partially the truth even if she hated herself just a bit for admitting it. Ignoring how Antonin always made her feel when they were together in the intimate manner that married couples were expected to be, she knew that she held a great deal of power over him too. If she made him feel like she loved him, he was more likely to believe that he had nothing to fear from her. Wasn't that mutually beneficial? Maybe it was a manipulation on her part, but it worked.

"You've always been most effective with that weapon between your legs."

She chose to ignore the anger bubbling up in her at his remark. If she'd been forced to use her body as a weapon in the past to keep herself alive, she was all right with that fact. The world was a cruel and scary place. Within the ranks of the Death Eaters, it was even more so. One had to get their hands dirty if they wanted to stay alive. She found something that worked. Anyone who would judge her for how she was able to survive twenty years in a society so dangerous could go fuck themselves. She wasn't ashamed. Deciding that she needed to turn the conversation to something a little less salacious, she thought of a topic that he was always so eager to discuss.

"How is your little rebellion group? Now that Nott is no longer in competition, do you think you'll actually be successful?"

"Do you mean successful in overthrowing your husband? In showing him exactly what the rest of us think of him?"

His hand slid up the outside of her arm. She hated the feel of his touch even through the fabric of her robes, but she didn't shrug him away. It wouldn't do to insult him right in the middle of him possibly admitting his faction's plans. Even if she was planning to run away, she didn't want to leave Antonin completely at their mercy. If she could tell him something that might save his life, she would. Perhaps she didn't love him like he always dreamed that she would. That didn't mean she didn't still respect him, didn't still care whether he lived or died.

"You haven't told me much about your plans. Wouldn't you think I would need to know more if I was to be persuaded in joining?"

"You've already proven that you're very dangerous with too much information, pet. You have a nasty history of…"

A sharp pain ran up and down Hermione's left arm. Rabastan's hiss and the manner in which he grabbed his own left arm with his right proved that she wasn't alone. Light pain, at first, it gradually grew more intense until neither one of them could keep from crying out at the sensations. Worse than any summons they'd ever felt, she wasn't sure she would be able to withstand the pain without blacking out.

One of the dangers of being a Death Eater was the constant threat that eventually they were going to be placed under a punishing Cruciatus Curse. Before the Dark Lord began to weaken, he enjoyed casting it on his followers himself. He loved the screaming and the begging for mercy. It always made him feel more powerful. In twenty years, Hermione lost count the number of times she writhed under the spell. Bellatrix might have been the first to cast it on her, but she was far from the last. Even that wasn't comparable to the pain coursing not just through her arm any longer.

Accompanying the sharp, indescribable pain was a churning in her stomach that she couldn't explain. When she was pregnant with Oliver she experienced a terrible case of morning sickness that seemed unable to tell time. Every moment she was awake she was nauseous… and it didn't miraculously stop at the beginning of her second trimester like everyone assured her it would. The griping in her guts was even worse than she could describe or had ever experienced before.

Almost as soon as the sickening feel of nausea began, she was expelling dark, viscous gunk out of her mouth. Coating the already stained rug under her desk, she feared that she would never be able to make it stop. Retching sounds from her Co-Head proved that she wasn't alone in whatever unexplained phenomena was happening within her body. Maybe it should've made her feel more comforted knowing she wasn't alone, but it didn't.

The vomiting and the pain stopped in the same moment. Bodies weak from the indescribable experience, Rabastan and Hermione both collapsed to the ground, not even caring if they landed in a puddle of their own blackness. Several minutes passed before either one of them was able to say a word. In a rare show of gentlemanly manners, Rabastan helped her up to a seated position. Each of them stared at the other with terrified, wide-eyed expressions unsure what they'd just experienced. He reached for her left arm, pushing up the sleeve of her robes. When he saw that the Dark Mark that once marred her skin was nowhere to be found, he repeated the same to his own arm. Smiling brightly, he dropped his arm.

"I think he's… I think he's finally dead."

Only sheer determination gave Hermione enough strength to stand to her feet. Ignoring the calls from Rabastan and everyone else she passed, she rushed to the Atrium's fireplaces. She needed to find Antonin immediately.