July 15th

If there was ever a moment in Hermione's life when she had been more humiliated, she couldn't remember it. Waking up the day after Lord Voldemort's funeral with the recollection of what happened in front of everyone was enough of an incentive to start running again. She couldn't bear to see the faces of those who witnessed her very public confusion. No one would ever let her forget her screaming out for the dead while she kicked and tried to scratch her husband. Nor should they. It was evident that she was completely broken.

Her bedroom was bright and very warm when she finally opened her eyes the next day. Based on the fuzziness in her head, she knew that Antonin made her drink a potion despite her wishes to never touch another. She wasn't angry and she certainly couldn't blame him. After her public display he had to do what he thought was best. Her cheeks burned with mortification remembering the details again.

She didn't understand what the catalyst was for the incident. Was her headache caused by more than just tension and stress? Sometimes these episodes started off as an ache, but she used to always take potions to numb the pain. Had her refusal to swallow a potion been the reason why it had been so bad? Maybe if she'd taken Antonin's advice, she wouldn't have collapsed on the grass in front of every single Death Eater and every other influential person in their crumbling regime.

The door to the bedroom squeaked as it was gently pushed open. As soon as her husband realized that she was awake, he pushed it a little bit harder. Splashed across his weary countenance was his concern. Hermione felt her mortification all over again. Not only had she made a fool of herself, she'd made one of Antonin too. His transition to power wouldn't come easily after the previous day. If the roles were reversed, she would've imagined that she wouldn't want to be anywhere near him. Antonin, however, had different ideas. He crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed. Pushing her hair away from her forehead, he kissed the top of her head.

"I wasn't sure you were going to wake up today. In my panic yesterday, I think I gave you too much."

She reached for his hand to keep him from continuing to touch her hair. While she understood he did it as habit and to comfort himself that she was right there, it was distracting and she wanted him to tell her everything that happened. The moment the request slipped off her tongue, Antonin's shoulders sagged. He was trying desperately to be patient and upbeat with his wife, but she could tell that he was worried. Up until the day before, they'd been able to keep her episodes out of the public eye. There would be no denying them in the future.

"When you started kicking me and screaming, we had to act quickly. Pius stunned you. He's asked me to beg for your forgiveness."

"There's nothing to forgive. I was… out of control. Something had to be done."

"Yes, well, once you were stunned, I picked you up and carried you home. I was scared to rennervate you until you were able to swallow a potion. I wasn't sure if you would try to attack me again."

She hoped that Oliver wasn't aware of what was happening. Antonin was usually pretty good about keeping the worst of his mother's condition away from him, but he was a bright child. He knew there was something wrong even without knowing all of the details. It might have been traumatic for him to see his mother in such a pitiful state.

"I suppose it's too much to hope for that no one else saw or heard what I did."

His awkward silence was the only confirmation she needed. Years of hiding the truth proved to be in vain. Before the funeral, there were only rumors that she was unwell. After, there was no denying it was true. She couldn't imagine that the news of what happened at the funeral wasn't already spreading beyond those who were present to witness it firsthand. Antonin might still have some level of control over what Albert Runcorn printed in his propaganda newspapers, but he couldn't stop the whispers. Everyone was going to know about her shame sooner rather than later. It was just the incentive she needed to leave again. Having strangers and old acquaintances suspect she was insane was bad enough. Removing all doubt from their mind was infinitely worse.

"Do you think you could tell me what happened?"

Antonin's concern was starting to get on her nerves. How could he be so calm after the public spectacle his wife made of herself? If he was still planning on making his move to assume power over the regime, he would have to work much harder to push past the sting of embarrassment associated with his damaged wife. She was nothing but a burden to him. It might have been easier to deal with the entire humiliation if she didn't know how worried he was for her well-being. She was beginning to see the truth in the claim that she was his weakness. If he wasn't careful, she could very easily become his downfall.

"I'm not sure really. It was just like… well, just like all of the other times. I was fine one moment and the next I thought I was at Albus Dumbledore's funeral and we were under a Death Eater attack."

Shame flickered on his face for half a second before he was able to push it back behind the facade he'd spent a lifetime perfecting. She knew it bothered him when the past was brought up. How many times over the previous twenty years had he asked her for forgiveness for the battle in the Department of Mysteries and then again in the Muggle cafe? More times than she could recall. He'd almost killed her, would've been happy to succeed.

"You said your headache was better. Was that a lie?"

There seemed no reason to keep the full truth from him. Not after all that happened. She nodded.

"Do you think the heat might've had something to do with it? We were out there under the sun for a long time. Maybe combined with your headache it made you confused?"

"It's possible, but the night in the kitchen I attacked you and Thorfinn because I thought we were back in that cafe? That was the middle of winter. Even with all of the wood you insist on putting on the fire, I wasn't overheated."

He stopped to consider her explanation. From the first night she tried to attack him in bed only a month or so after their wedding, he'd tried to explain away her episodes with anything other than the fact that she was probably insane. She appreciated the effort, but knew it was futile. Life cracked her brain. There was no other explanation.

"Carrow kissed your cheek. That was odd, wasn't it? I've never seen her be so affectionate with you before."

"Because Allie tries to avoid you whenever possible. A Carrow's hurt pride isn't easily soothed."

"That night was thirty-nine years ago! She's just being ridiculous if she's still holding on to hurt feelings. We were both practically children."

Hermione knew it was a waste of time to continue that line of discussion. Blood feuds were common amongst the Purebloods. Surely Antonin was aware of that. His mother had been a Fawley after all. Grudges between Sacred Twenty-Eight families were infinitely worse. His mother was a proper Pureblood witch engaged to a Parkinson when too much wine and a mysterious handsome Russian wizard made her commit an indecent act at a wedding reception. She ended up with a son, a hasty marriage, and the lifelong hatred of the family she wronged. Toying with the affections of a young witch from a poor, but proud Sacred Twenty-Eight family had been foolish on Antonin's part. Young man or not, his own family history should've been encouragement enough for him to behave more sensibly.

"Are you trying to suggest that Allie cursed me when she kissed me?"

"It's possible."

"No, Antonin, that's ridiculous. She's my friend. I know that's always bothered you, but she wouldn't have anything to gain by hurting me. Besides, she wasn't even there for any of my other… incidents. Why would you even think she was responsible?"

She knew he was grasping at straws to come up with any other explanation than simply that his wife was crazy. It was almost comforting to know she had a staunch ally on her side. Even though they had their differences, she was almost certain she could trust her husband. They'd shared so much over the years.

"All right, so you don't think Carrow had anything to do with this. Fine. I'll trust you, but has there been anything else unusual the past few days? Any unexpected package come in the post? Any strange visitors?"

The confession that she'd seen and spoken with Rodolphus the day before the funeral was on her tongue, but Hermione stopped herself before she said anything. He hadn't even been there long enough to do anything that Antonin would consider suspicious. All he wanted was to find out what her husband had been up to. When she couldn't give him any information, he kissed her cheek and left. It didn't seem right to blow his cover when he didn't do anything wrong. Rodolphus never once hurt her in the past and she highly doubted that would change.

"No, nothing strange happened, Antonin. Ollie and I have been locked inside the house for days. When would we have even had an opportunity to be around anything unusual?"

He appeared on the verge of continuing their discussion, but stopped himself. They could argue for days straight if they allowed it. Antonin kissed her forehead and stood up from the edge of the bed.

"I don't want you ever going back to the Ministry again."

Neither did Hermione. That wasn't a decision she would argue about. She'd already made it for herself as it was. There was no reason to ever return and after her performance writhing in the grass, she knew she was in trouble if she ever returned.

"I'm going to go check on Alain and our guest. They should be coming here in the next few days."

Hermione was glad that they were finally going to get to the bottom of her memory problems. After the incident at the funeral, it was never more important to discover what was happening in her damaged mind.