July 19th

The world continued to change outside while Hermione was forced to remain locked inside her home. Antonin was convinced that he was acting in her best interest, keeping her safe from those who meant her harm. Maybe he was. But, it didn't make the situation any less unbearable. Once again, just as she did when she was cooped up in her hidden tent on the edge of the Resistance's village, she was frustrated that no one was telling her anything.

Antonin spent less and less time in their home. Always exhausted and reluctant to give her any indication of what was happening, he was coming back late or not at all. Even when they were both tucked into their bed where so many private conversations were shared over the years, he would brush any of her inquiries away with a kiss and an assurance that he was doing only what was necessary to keep them safe. No further elaboration was offered.

She wished she understood what that meant exactly. Was he already in charge? Or was that fact still undecided? In the past, he'd made mention that it was important that the regime be cleared of those who meant it harm. At the time, she assumed he was simply repeating empty rhetoric. The Dark Lord was eternally paranoid that everyone around him was out to get him. Enemies were perceived to be everywhere. It was possible, however, that her husband actually meant what he said.

Had another wave of purges already begun? It had been years since the last, but everyone in their society lived in perpetual fear of another one. No one was ever safe. Even she had been scared in the past that her name would be called. Dark shadows in the night could've easily been bumbling Snatchers ordered to come take her away. Rarely had any suspected enemies survived a purge.

She was worried about Augustus. He believed that the Dark Lord recalled him from France just before he died, but was unaware of the fact that Antonin had been the one behind the orders and summonses for months. Once the Dark Lord grew too weak, he gave his orders through Antonin and if her husband used his trust to his advantage, there was no one in a position to figure that out or call attention to his misdeeds. As much as she hated to think it was possible, Antonin might have ordered Augustus to return for his own selfish reasons.

From the earliest days of her training and reprogramming after the war ended, Augustus had been Antonin's biggest rival for her affections. Long before she even considered looking at him as more than just her teacher and a man she was learning to trust as a respected friend, Antonin's feelings about Augustus were clear. Their friendship didn't stand the test of time. Not with a bushy-haired Muggle-Born witch in their midst that intrigued them both. Following their mission to France, Antonin had been almost hostile to her new lover.

If he wanted to use a purge to finally rid himself of Augustus' presence, Hermione couldn't see her husband choosing not to use the opportunity. There was a deep-seated insecurity in Antonin that he'd struggled with since his relatively unhappy childhood. Usually able to hide it well, Hermione could often see it manifest itself in his jealousy. Augustus would be a sore subject forever, especially considering the fact that she hid with him at his home in Cornwall when Antonin was desperate to find her.

She was worried that Antonin already ordered him killed. There would only be one way to know for certain. She would have to go to him because Antonin wasn't going to tell her the truth. And, if he hadn't yet had Augustus killed, she didn't want to give him any ideas. Mentioning Augustus at all could destroy the fragile peace they'd created in their marriage since her return. Even if she tried, she knew she wouldn't be able to convince Antonin that she had no interest in ever opening the door to a future with Augustus again.

As she sat in the lounge with her son trying to read a book that held no interest for her for yet another day, Hermione's thoughts moved on from Augustus' fate to Draco's. When had she last seen him? She couldn't remember. Other than at the funeral, of course. It was best that she push all hated memories of that day aside. Was it the Sunday afternoon she visited his flat? How long ago was that? It was difficult to tell time when every day was exactly like the other. Especially when Antonin would tell her nothing. Being coddled like a helpless child was unacceptable.

Draco's part in the crumbling of Lord Voldemort's regime and the rebuilding of the next was uncertain. He walked a thin line as a spy for the Resistance. Truthfully, it was incredible that he'd lasted as long as he had in his position. She'd personally killed many spies over the years. Although she knew that he was involved with the Resistance, she highly doubted anyone else in the disbanded Inner Circle knew. Did Antonin see him as an asset? Or would he want to get rid of the Malfoys the first chance he could? He never had much use for Lucius and probably saw his son as just as useless. She hated that she was worried about the tracker she was almost certain she couldn't afford to trust.

"I'm tired of being inside all day."

Oliver's irritated complaint startled Hermione out of her thoughts. She could sympathize with her son. They both were getting sick of their prison. It was hard enough for an adult bored out of her mind, but to expect a growing boy with entirely too much energy to sit quietly in their house all day was unreasonable. She'd tried to explain that to Antonin in one of his short visits home to shower and sleep. All he did was assure her that soon the protective wards wouldn't be necessary. So far there had been no explanation of when soon actually was.

"I want to go over to Hugo's house."

Ron's family lived on the other side of the village. Wishing to distance himself as much as possible from his family, Pro-Resistance and Pro-Regime members alike, he built a house in Hogsmeade when he married and it was no longer appropriate to continue living in Rabastan's manor. Despite being in the same village for over fifteen years, there were few occasions where the Dolohovs encountered the Weasleys. If they weren't Sorted into the same House, their boys likely would've continued to be practical strangers.

Hermione didn't really see the harm in letting her son cross the village in the middle of the day. Hogsmeade was still a safe village in her mind. Ron might have changed over the years, but she didn't believe he'd ever harm her son. But, she knew better than to disregard Antonin's orders when it came too their son. He would be furious if they were disobeyed and if anything happened to Oliver because of her carelessness, Hermione didn't doubt that he would make her pay dearly.

"I know, Ollie, but your father is doing what he knows is best to keep us safe."

He didn't want to hear her words any more than she wanted to say them. It was important, however, that the parents not undermine each other in regards to their son. She had to support Antonin's wishes even if they annoyed her too. With a scowl and a petulant huff, Oliver got up from the sofa. Every melodramatic stomp of his feet up the stairs threatened to make his mother laugh. Hermione was able to hold it in until she heard the slam of his bedroom door. Though neither one of them would ever admit it, Oliver inherited a touch of the dramatics from both of his parents.

Once Oliver was safely tucked away upstairs deep in a snit, Hermione couldn't bear to keep sitting where she was with her mind tearing off in a hundred different directions. She needed some answers or she would explode. Pointing her wand at the door her son just closed, she muttered a locking spell that would keep him inside until she was ready to release him. It wouldn't do for him to come out of his room only to find his mother was defying orders he was expected to follow. She did not plan on being gone long enough for him to even realize she'd left, but she had to be cautious. What she was about to do was likely very foolish.

She held her breath as she pulled down the wards covering the back door in the kitchen. While Antonin didn't appear to be aware that she'd pulled them down long enough to step into the back garden the day before the Dark Lord's funeral to talk to Rodolphus, she couldn't be certain that he wasn't paying close attention to them now. When her husband didn't immediately apparate into the back garden to yell at her, she exhaled. Not wishing to waste any more time, the second she was positive the wards were secure again behind her, she cloaked her magic and used her untraceable wand to disapparate to a destination hundreds of kilometers away.

Her hand was already knocking on the front door of Draco's flat before she stopped to consider how utterly reckless she was being. If he couldn't be trusted, she was just waltzing up to him in the middle of an uncertain time. She could be captured, used as leverage against Antonin or worse. Draco hadn't made it a secret that he wanted to restore some measure of pride to the Malfoy family. That was his priority. She knew that if he was able to use her to achieve that goal, he would. He would be a fool to ignore the gift.

No one answered the door. At her third knock, just as she was about to give up her dangerous mission, the door swung open on its own. Had Draco been expecting her to drop by at some point? Was that why he adjusted his wards to allow her entrance? The whispering in the back of her mind that sounded suspiciously like Rodolphus telling her that if it felt like a trap, it probably was, was pushed away and ignored. She wasn't some helpless damsel unable to defend herself against a foe. The majority of her life had been spent in some state of preparedness for one type of combat or another.

Hermione stepped into the empty flat, hearing only the rapid pounding of her heartbeat in her ears. What did she hope to discover by showing up unannounced? She looked around the space, checking everywhere she thought a person might be hiding, waiting to ambush her. When it was evident that no one at all was inside, she felt disappointed. Would she have to return to Hogsmeade without any answers?

"What are you doing here, Hermione?"

Draco did not sound the least bit pleased to enter his flat to find her standing inside. He swiftly closed the front door behind him, throwing up heavy wards to seal it shut. Whether it was to keep her in or keep others out wasn't clear. She suddenly wondered why she'd even bothered to come. He was alive. That was all she really needed to know to get her mind to stop traveling to the worst case scenario. Showing that she cared enough to seek him out was clearly a weakness. She hated feeling weak in front of anyone.

"I wanted to see for myself that you were still alive."

With that single sentence on her lips, she crossed the length of the flat to try to open the front door. She wanted to exit, wanted to get away from the confusing wizard before he made her do something she would regret. Rather something else she would regret. She already knew she'd been foolish to visit. His hand reached for her arm, gently grasping it, encouraging her not to move another step.

"Were you worried about me?"

His second question came out in a soft tone, much kinder than his first. Hermione looked up to get a better look at hime. Every cell in his body appeared to scream out that he was exhausted. Dark circles under his eyes proved that he'd been working too hard and too long. Sleep was just an afterthought. She worried that he would kill himself if he kept going at such a strenuous pace.

"I don't know what's going on. He won't tell me anything. I had to see if you were all right."

It wasn't exactly an answer to the question he asked, but he didn't seem to mind. Not when his lips sought out hers. Forgetting for the briefest of blissful moments that she couldn't leave her son alone for too long in their house, she gave in to the passionate embrace. Both of them would've loved to escalate their actions. It was simply not possible. They each had their own lives to lead. Trying to recapture what they shared those too-few days months earlier in the same flat was an impossibility.

"I have to get back."

He let her walk away, neither of them knowing when, or if, they would get a chance to see each other again.