July 14th

Hermione's headache hadn't yet abated by the next morning. After spending the entire day in bed with the windows covered with thick curtains, she hoped that it would be better. When Antonin returned home just before midnight to find his son awake and worried about his mother, he'd begged her to take a potion for the pain. She continued to refuse. The world was too unsettled to be vulnerable enough to attack. Under the influence of the potions that were designed to supposedly settle her confused mind, she was defenseless.

Part of her wished that she'd taken Antonin's advice when she discovered that Saturday afternoon was to be Lord Voldemort's lavish funeral. Still tight-lipped about his activities since he killed their master, all she knew was that at least a temporary truce had been called in the fight for the succession to allow for the proper burial of the Dark Lord. None of the power players wanted to appear to be overly excited about the death of the wizard many of them had followed for decades. To show too much excitement might've been taken as a sign that they'd been in league with the Resistance or any of the other rebellion groups since long before the tragic death of their beloved master. No one wanted to be accused of disloyalty. Not yet. Not until they knew which way the winds would blow.

All of the Death Eaters and their spouses were expected to attend the funeral held on the castle grounds. To not show the proper amount of respect would've been tantamount to openly declaring they were rebels themselves. Hermione had no desire to go and pretend that she wasn't internally jumping for joy at the knowledge that she would never have to see the Dark Lord's face ever again. Some of the fear that had become part of who she was since the day she was dragged from her broom cupboard and tossed at his feet was beginning to disappear. For more than twenty years she lived in terror of the wizard. If only he could've been killed instead of Harry… how much better would their world have been?

Just before noon on the Saturday following the tragic demise of their master, Hermione and Antonin moved around their bedroom, dressing in their finest and most somber robes, and prepared themselves for the event they were sure to never be able to forget. Though she'd been furious to know that she was expected to attend, she could see the reasoning behind the demand. They had to be seen as being not only loyal to the Dark Lord, but loyal to each other. The days ahead were sure to be fraught with danger. It would be easier if they faced it together.

"You're not expecting Oliver to come, are you?"

"Of course not, Hermione. It might be dangerous. He'll stay here. Alain will come get him if something happens to us. We've already made a plan."

She felt a little bit better knowing that her brother-in-law was involved. At least there was someone she could trust that wouldn't be at the funeral. The Rowles and the Yaxleys would be right there with them publicly mourning the death of the man none of them were sorry to see go. There was no one else she trusted to keep her son safe if something terrible were to happen at the funeral. Alain would probably smuggle Oliver out of the country and back to Africa with him. Oliver would like it there. He hated being cold and he'd always been fascinated by the animals from that continent. A little adventure might help him get over the loss of his parents.

Never had the walk to the castle taken so long. The dread of approaching the place where many of their enemies would be gathering was choking. It would be just like the Resistance to attack in the middle of the Dark Lord's funeral. The ultimate in disrespect. They would all have to be on their guard. As she passed through the gates with the crush of other mourners, Hermione squeezed her husband's hand tightly. She needed the reassurance of knowing that she wasn't alone. Antonin wouldn't let anything happen to her if it was in his power to stop it. The gentle squeeze of his hand in return helped.

Memories of the last funeral she attended on the grounds of the school were fresh in Hermione's mind. There were so many similarities to Albus Dumbledore's funeral that she wondered if that was on purpose. Was that another parting insult to the monster their master was? Antonin was generous enough to at least explain that the highest ranking Death Eaters put aside their own desires to plan the final event before they all descended into violence and mayhem. A shaky truce existed on that day and only that day. The real struggles would begin soon.

Everyone who was anyone within the regime was present. Keeping to her husband's side and not relinquishing her grip of his hand, Hermione looked around at all of the supposed mourners. Augustus was alone. No doubt his wife refused to cross the Channel to attend. Without the Dark Lord alive to give the orders to remain together, perhaps they both believed they would finally have their freedom. Draco stood with his parents, his stormy grey eyes focused on the Forbidden Forest. She longed to speak to him, to find out what he was going to do next, but she knew that the middle of the funeral was the worst place to do so. It would look suspicious. She didn't need to give her husband any further ideas on keeping her imprisoned in their home. Rabastan played the doting husband. Like Augustus, she wondered if he would continue to keep up the farce of his marriage with the Dark Lord dead. It wasn't exactly a secret that he only married Gemma Farley because he was ordered to find a bride and she was the least objectionable one available at the time. Maybe he would set her aside too. Possibly many of the marriages that were ordered by their dead master would no longer matter.

"Hermione, darling, where have you been? I haven't seen you in so long."

Alecto Carrow was too cheerful for the occasion. Despite being her friend of many years, her mere presence was enough to get on Hermione's nerves. She didn't want to speak to anyone, especially not about why she hadn't been anywhere lately. Ignoring the narrowing of Antonin's eyes that made no secret about the fact that he loathed the woman, Alecto pressed her lips against Hermione's cheek in greeting.

"We must have lunch again soon. So much to talk about."

The older witch rushed away to find her seat before the ceremony began. Antonin led his wife to the front row of seats. Given his importance to the regime and his status as being the righthand of the Dark Lord, they were assigned prime seats. Everyone could see them. She was grateful to discover that on her left side was seated the Minister for Magic. Little more than a puppet who did as he was ordered, Pius Thicknesse could lay claim to having one of the longest terms as Minister. He was content to keep up the appearance that he was in charge despite the fact that the Imperius Curse Corban Yaxley placed on him during the last war was long gone. He'd gotten used to certain comforts associated with the position and wouldn't dream of giving it up without a fight. Far from being an odious man, Hermione rather liked him. A bit arrogant, he was also a terrible gossip. Many Ministry functions found her seeking him out to pass the time. The wizard knew everything and he was also surprisingly funny. At least with Pius on one side and Antonin on the other, she didn't have to worry about sitting next to Rabastan.

"How is your head?"

She assured her husband in a whisper that it was better. In truth, it was much worse. Having him worry about her would only get on her nerves, making it even more unbearable. Whether it was the bright sunshine or the crush of the people all around her, each second that ticked past only made the pain worse. She hoped that the funeral would be over quickly. Maybe she would even give in to the desire to drink a potion. Much more of the pain and she wouldn't worry about being left vulnerable.

Naturally, the ceremony wasn't over quickly. It droned on and on and on until Hermione was convinced that half of the mourners were asleep with their eyes open. Eulogy after eulogy was presented extolling the virtues of the monster they were all made to serve. Yes, it was ostensibly a choice to follow the Dark Lord, but most knew better. If they wanted to get ahead in life or simply wanted to ensure that their family remained safe, many felt they had no other option. Each speech that was given was full of complete lies. Everyone knew it. The farce of a funeral was pathetic.

A sharp ringing in her ears made her flinch. Covering her left ear with her hand, she hoped for some sort of relief. None came. Hermione closed her eyes and tried to take a deep breath. She hated the feeling of her body being out of her control. What was happening? Carefully glancing around, she saw that she appeared to be the only one affected. Maybe it was all connected to her headache that simply wouldn't go away. For over a day, it had lingered with no indication that it was going to get better.

"Are you all right, Madam Dolohov?"

Pius' whispered inquiry managed to cut through the pain. She tried to assure him with a silent smile that she was all right, but somehow doubted she came off looking sincere. The simple act of opening her eyes again increased the intensity of the pain in her head. She was afraid that she was about to scream out. That mustn't happen. Not only would she embarrass herself in front of everyone who mattered, she would make herself and by extension, Antonin look weak. No one would want to follow a man who had an unpredictable wife.

Hermione wasn't sure how she ended up on her back in the grass. Everything seemed to happen so quickly. Or perhaps it was because of the pain that she blacked out. She came to with the sun shining directly in her eyes. The speeches were halted. Murmurs of concern were all around. No one seemed to know what to do next, including the witch sprawled out in the grass. She hoped she hadn't caused a big scene. Headmaster Dumbledore was such a respected figure that it seemed a shame to ruin his funeral. And Harry and Ron would be so embarrassed! She could already hear the scolding she would get from them when they made it back to the common room.

"Darling, are you all right?"

She didn't recognize the voice that spoke. It sounded a little familiar, but she couldn't place it. Who would be so forward with her to use an endearment like that? Or to run their fingertips gently down the side of her face? She looked up to see the face of a man that haunted her nightmares staring back. They'd last been face to face in the Department of Mysteries. He tried to kill her. Maybe he was back to finish what he started. A scream ripped from her throat.

"Death Eaters! Run! There are Death Eaters here!"

She tried to reach for the wand she had in her pocket but a firm hand on her wrist kept her from grabbing it. Completely at the mercy of the evil man who longed to murder her, she lashed out with her legs kicking whatever she could reach. A grunt of pain told her that she'd made some contact. She continued to scream, to try to get out of his grasp. He was going to kill her right there in the middle of Albus Dumbledore's funeral. Why was no one stopping him? Were there other Death Eaters with him attacking the others?

"Harry! Ron!"

A flash of red light filled her eyes followed by darkness.