July 13th

Two days after the Dark Lord's death Hermione still was in something of a daze. Her world changed so rapidly that she was having trouble keeping up. There was so much uncertainty swirling around her that she could hardly focus on what was important. Even though she hadn't stepped foot outside of her warded home in Hogsmeade, she knew that chaos reigned. Should she take advantage of everyone being so consumed with the aftermath of the potential fall of the regime in power to run? Maybe no one would miss her at first. Antonin might even be too concerned with everything else to even worry about what happened to his wife.

The only thought that kept her from packing up everything she owned in her beaded bag and running was the reminder that there was a memory charms expert waiting in a safe house somewhere within their borders. He was there solely at Antonin's request to view her mind. She was desperate to know what was wrong with her, what caused the blocks in her memory. Maybe then she might even find out what made her so confused at times. She couldn't go the rest of her life wondering what was wrong with her. She had to know. Staying was the only option. At least for the immediate future, she wouldn't leave.

After making good on his promises to celebrate with his wife in bed following the death of the monster that had complete control of their lives for so long, Antonin only slept for a few hours. The morning after Voldemort was smothered with a pillow by his supposedly most loyal follower, her husband left the house again. Despite being exhausted, he wouldn't listen to his wife's pleas that he get more rest before rushing out into the fray. He knew that he would have to make some decisions very quickly. Without a clear leader, their world was about to get interesting.

He spent another day outside of their house doing only he knew what until after midnight again. No matter how many times she asked, Antonin wouldn't tell Hermione what he'd been doing. She was frustrated that he was keeping her at home protecting their son, but refusing to tell her anything else. Never in their history had he kept her in the complete darkness of what was happening. That was the only proof she needed to know that they were all still very much in danger. He wasn't the clear successor any longer. Hoping to keep his family protected, he assumed that keeping them ignorant was the best manner. Hermione wanted to strangle answers out of him.

Friday morning she lay next to her husband watching him sleep. She hadn't been able to string together more than an hour or two of sleep since the ordeal began. Her greatest fear for the past twenty years was to be caught asleep by her enemies and dragged away to face her torturous end. It was a scene she was able to witness play out in the lives of countless victims of hers. What she committed to other people she feared for herself. She knew she was a hypocrite and didn't care.

The shifting of the mattress just after the sun rose in the early morning sky put her immediately on edge. Antonin had only been asleep for four hours at the most. Going back out into the world with such little rest was just asking for trouble. She reached across the space between them to grab his arm. Understanding that his wife wished to speak with him, he turned over to face her.

"When are you going to tell me what's really happening out there, Antonin?"

His kiss to her forehead was as patronizing as his silence. She longed to slap him across his smug face, but stopped herself. An argument would only make matters worse. If he was angry with her, he would be even less likely to share his secrets.

"You and Ollie are safe inside this house. That's all that you need to worry about, my love."

"And will your family always be prisoners now?"

A slap across the face might have been less painful. He grimaced at her words.

"You are not prisoners. I'm simply doing what I know how to do to keep you safe."

Feeling his anger rising, Antonin chose to remove himself from the awkward conversation before it got any worse. Following a quick shower while his wife continued to stew in her anger in bed, he rushed out of the house for yet another morning. Perhaps this was going to be their life from now on. She and Oliver would be forced to hide under protective wards. Maybe not always in their Hogsmeade home. It was possible that after the foul stench of the dungeons quarters belonging to the deceased Dark Lord was eradicated, they would be moved into the castle on a permanent basis. As much as she once loved Hogwarts, making it into her prison again was going to be miserable. She hoped that this was all just temporary until the line of succession was decided. This was no way to live.

She stayed in bed until she could hear sounds coming down the corridor from her son's room. Antonin left her with the task of keeping their son as calm as possible in the midst of the chaos he was responsible for creating thanks to his violent act. It was important that they try to keep as normal a routine for Oliver as possible. Having a panicked child locked in the wards with her would only make it all so much worse. So, she put on her least annoyed face, dressed and descended to the kitchen to make breakfast.

Oliver was practically humming with the desire to ask all of the questions that were built up inside of him. Hermione could recognize the nervous trait as one she possessed as well. Under any other less-than-dire circumstances, she might have even been amused to see their similarities. When she was just as frustrated because she didn't know the answers either, it was obnoxious and a painful ache was forming in her head.

"Can I stay up until Papa comes home tonight?"

"You may, but if he's not happy about you being up so late, I'm telling him it was all your idea."

Her son gave her the first smile he'd had in days. When she was so consumed with her own worries and concerns, it was easy to forget what this was doing to her child. She really was a shit mum. Shouldn't Oliver be her first priority? Instead, it often felt like she was forgetting about him entirely. She dropped a kiss on top of his head as she cleared away the dishes on the table. Some of the tension that had become a normal part of their home began to lessen.

At the sink she tried to experience some of the peace Antonin always enjoyed washing the dishes in the Muggle way. She needed something to pass the endless hours stretching ahead. Sitting and waiting was likely to drive her completely round the bend. Did Antonin not care that telling her nothing was making her crazy? Probably not. He was always of the opinion that he knew best.

A flash of movement in the back garden caught her eye. She set the bowl she was washing back down into the soapy water. Not even bothering to wipe her hands dry, she reached for her wand. They were relatively safe inside their home, but it was never a good idea to get too complacent or cocky. There was always room for improvement. When she didn't see anything again for a full minute, she thought she might have imagined the first movement. Or maybe it was just an owl swooping through the garden. Just as she was about to give up her watch to return to finishing the rest of the dishes, she witnessed a large Saint Bernard emerge from the hedges.

She hadn't seen Rodolphus since before she ran away from the Resistance. In the almost five years since he defected, he had not once returned to Hogsmeade. At least not to her knowledge. For the animagus to appear in her back garden to sit calmly in the middle waiting to be recognized, something must be up. Her first thought was that something terrible happened to Draco. Why else would Rodolphus risk exposure to travel this far? Almost as soon as she thought it was Draco, she dismissed that idea. Rodolphus made it perfectly clear when they were in Devon that he wanted her to stay away from his nephew. A visit like this would go against his wishes. When it was evident that he wasn't leaving, Hermione turned away from the window to look at her son reading one of his books at the table.

"Ollie, take your book into the lounge… and stay there."

Twelve years of odd orders from his mother that made little sense kept Oliver from asking too many questions. For a little boy who lived in an adult's world, much like his mum had once upon a time, he was used to being dismissed by adults. He picked up his book and disappeared through the door to the lounge. When she was satisfied that he was gone, Hermione carefully pulled down the wards covering the back door. She wouldn't be out there long. Rodolphus wouldn't linger.

The wizard transformed out of his animagus form the moment he saw Hermione exit the back door. Looking every bit as exhausted as she felt, Hermione knew that the days hadn't been easy for the wizard either.

"What's Antonin been doing?"

He wasn't terribly friendly nor was he overtly rude. Just gruff and to the point. Much more like the man who trained her on missions almost two decades earlier. At least she could take comfort in the fact that he was less hostile than he was when they were still in the Resistance village. Perhaps he was no longer angry with her for being a bad influence on Draco. It was small, but she would take it.

"I don't know. He won't tell me anything."

It was the complete truth even if she hated to admit it out loud. Rodolphus examined her face, looking for any evidence that she was lying. When he found nothing there to be suspicious about, his features softened. He placed his hands on the outside of her upper arms. With a light squeeze of each hand, he leaned down to kiss her cheek.

"Promise me that you'll be careful, Hermione? We might've had our differences in the past, but I still care about you."

She promised him that she would try. It was as close as she could vow without telling a complete lie. Rodolphus transformed back into a dog before sneaking out of her garden. The entire visit lasted less than five minutes, but it left her uneasy. What could possibly be so important that he would risk exposure to seek her out? Antonin could've easily been home.

Once she was back inside her home and the wards reapplied, the pain in her head only grew worse. She didn't understand anything that was happening. Why was Rodolphus behaving so strangely? He had always been a bit odd, but this was different. Was he serious when he admitted that he cared about her? She would've thought that after his not-so-subtle warning to stay away from Draco that he would want nothing to do with her.

Trying to piece together the wizard's true motivations made her head pound even harder. Asking Oliver to be as quiet as possible, she ascended the staircase to return to bed. She would've loved to take a potion, but she was determined to remain strong enough without them.