July 20th

Returning home following her quick trip to Draco's flat had been deceptively easy. Oliver never even knew that his mother was gone. Based on the way that he acted when he unexpectedly dropped in for dinner that night, neither did Antonin. Hermione knew that she couldn't be foolish enough to risk trying to same thing again. Next time she might not be so fortunate.

Later that night, she met with the memory charms expert. Her second session with Mr. Akingbade lasted well after midnight again. Despite his insistence that they take their time to prevent her from permanently injuring her weakened mind, Hermione continued to push herself, desperate to learn more about what was afflicting her memories. In his eighty years working with others in similar situations, the wizard understood the desire, the drive. He gently reminded her that they didn't have to uncover everything in one night, but didn't stop her before she was ready.

She ignored the sound of the midnight hour being marked with the village's bell tower. There was no reason to get into bed at a so-called 'reasonable' hour. Not when she spent her days trapped inside her home with nothing else to do but sleep and read and try not to go completely mad. She needed to know what was wrong with her, needed to know who was behind the network of memory charms. Somewhere out there in the world was someone who meant her harm. In order to remain alive and to have any sort of hope for a future, she had to figure out who it was.

Mr. Akingbade was still reluctant to decide whether or not Antonin was helping or hurting the situation. Though he'd spent a lot of time in her husband's presence, both in their home and in the mysterious safe house none of them were eager to discuss, he hadn't made up his mind about Antonin's motivations. On the surface he seemed like a loving husband who cared only for his wife's well-being, but he'd known many other husbands and wives just like him in the past who had anything but altruistic designs. Besides, his reputation as being Lord Voldemort's most trusted Death Eater put him at a disadvantage. The former Supreme Mugwump knew what sort of men and women followed the Dark Lord. He knew that some did so out of fear and obligation. Most, however, did so because they enjoyed being near those in power. Until he knew which of those followers her husband was, he wasn't likely to tell him anything about Hermione's sessions.

"Have you experienced any unusual dreams since the last time we were in this room?"

He paused the examination of her mind to discuss what happened in his absence. To his disappointment, there wasn't much to tell. Hermione admitted that she'd had some dreams that didn't make much sense, but she was unable to remember the details. Mostly they felt like disjointed images assaulting her as she slept. Finding any sort of logic or pattern to them was damn near impossible. She'd tried. Handing over the journal she was keeping next to her bed to write down what she saw as she slept, she was just as disappointed that there wasn't much more activity. If she could've gone to sleep one night confused and woken up the next with all of her lost memories restored, she would've been ecstatic. Unfortunately, as she'd had occasion to learn repeatedly over the years of her life, reality wasn't so simple.

"Don't be discouraged, Hermione. They will come with time and patience. If you try to force the memories, you will only succeed in making yourself frustrated."

She didn't want to hear that. Not again. Too much of her life had already been spent being patient. Picking up his wand again, he moved his chair closer to the edge of the bed where she was seated. Another tap to her temple with the tip and she could feel him peering inside again. She didn't think that she would ever get used to the sensation.

"I would like us to review the memory of the dinner party you had where you got confused. Can you begin telling me a little bit more about that?"

"I'm not sure what else I can tell you that you haven't already read in my list. It was an ordinary night. We had several people over for dinner. I ended up in the kitchen. Getting the dessert, maybe? I'm not sure why I was there. My husband and our friend Thorfinn came in when I'd been in there by myself for awhile."

"And then what happened?"

Everything had been so fuzzy. She remembered that she didn't recognize the room she was in. The kitchen where she'd spent countless meals over the years was unfamiliar. When she saw the two men standing just inside the doorway, she thought that she was back in Tottenham Court Road in the Muggle cafe she and the boys took refuge in after Bill and Fleur Weasley's wedding was interrupted by Death Eaters. Terrified out of her mind, she searched the room for Ron and Harry even though she knew he was under his invisibility cloak. Realizing she had no allies and she was completely alone, she started screaming and hurling curses at the men. Neither one of them knew what to do at first. Not until Thorfinn was struck in the arm with a stinging hex. Thankfully, even in her madness and confusion, she hadn't resorted to using deadly curses. If she'd thrown an Avada at him… she didn't like to consider the consequences.

"Let's explore what happened before they entered the kitchen. Can you try to focus on those moments?"

She tried, but nothing came through immediately. Only reminders of her standing alone in the kitchen wondering what she was doing there. Just as she felt before, a gentle tugging began in her mind. Unable to truly describe the experience with words, she tried not to overanalyze what he was doing. The tugging became more insistent, never too harsh or too much at once. And just as she felt the first time Mr. Akingbade was successful in bringing forth a memory that was blocked, she began to remember.

"You didn't have to come into the kitchen with me, Roddy. I'm not completely helpless."

Her stumbling gait proved that she'd been enjoying herself just a little too much that evening. Wine was flowing freely. Her husband never liked to skimp on the luxuries when they entertained. Antonin prided himself in being just as generous and sophisticated as the Purebloods who lived in manors twenty times bigger than the perfectly lovely, if modest, home he provided for his family. Neither of the Dolohovs were terribly ostentatious, but that didn't mean he didn't like to show off now and again when given the opportunity.

"And risk you dropping the dessert because you're too pissed to stand?"

Rodolphus always made her laugh, especially when she'd overindulged. When he was in the same intoxicated state, there was always even more fun to be had. She swatted at his arm, nearly tumbling off the ridiculous shoes she chose to wear for the occasion. Why Antonin insisted they dress up to entertain their closest friends in their own home was beyond her comprehension. Always the gentleman, Rodolphus was there to keep her from stumbling to the ground.

She wasn't the only one who was well on her way to being drunk. He'd been meeting her glass for glass in the other room too. Smirking after catching her, the wizard pressed his body against hers, effectively pinning her against the sink. Startled at first by the change in position, when Hermione looked into his darkened eyes she knew what to expect. There was always passion between the two of them when Rodolphus allowed himself to let go. Rarely happening, when it did, she took the opportunity to enjoy herself. His soft, practiced lips sought hers in a fiery moment. Lasting not nearly long enough to satisfy Hermione's ache, he pulled away with a sheepish grin plastered on his handsome features.

"I beg your forgiveness. It was the wine. It makes me act on thoughts I shouldn't have."

"I never mind when you lose control, Roddy. You should do it more often."

His second kiss was even more passionate than the first. Even despite knowing the fact that her husband was only in the next room and could interrupt them at any moment, they each gave in to the illicit sensations. She longed to drag him out of the house to somewhere they could be completely alone. The discreet clearing of a throat in the doorway forced the two apart. Alecto stood watching them with an amused grin. She held up her empty glass.

"We need more when you can spare a moment."

Hermione opened another bottle of wine. Rodolphus, again resuming his usual persona as the perfect Pureblood gentleman, took it from her hand and refilled Alecto's glass and then filled another for the hostess. She accepted it gratefully, knowing that she needed to calm down before she went back out into the party. Antonin would know something was up if she appeared with reddened cheeks that had nothing to do with the copious amount of wine she'd consumed over the course of the evening. He was always too damn perceptive.

"I'll take the dessert out."

He paired his offer with a wink. Picking up the decadent cheesecake she'd been tempted to devour entirely by herself before her guests arrived, Rodolphus exited the kitchen with Alecto giving her a few moments alone. Just as the door closed shut behind them, Hermione noticed the stack of small dessert plates still sitting on the table. They would need those. Setting her wine glass down, she picked them up in her free hands, suddenly feeling dizzy and disoriented. Had she finally reached the point where she'd had too much wine? The kitchen door opened again.

"Darling, we need the dessert plates. Thorfinn, do you mind getting the forks?"

Not understanding where she was standing, what the strange room was she was in, Hermione stared at the man that haunted her nightmares. He'd tried to kill her more than once. At least twice. And the other? He'd been with him the second time, but she first saw him when he was hurling curses at her friends and fellow Order members the night that Albus Dumbledore was murdered. Dropping the plates to the floor with a deafening crash, she whipped her wand out of her pocket, prepared to fight for her very life yet once more.

The memory was over, but Hermione still felt the effects of the fuzzy mind. Or maybe it was simply because she was reeling from the discovery that Rodolphus once again featured in her blocked memories. Once could be considered a coincidence. Twice would be strange. If it happened again, she would know there was a discernible pattern.

"Very curious."

Mr. Akingbade's voice brought her back to the present.

"What is?"

"The same man has now been present for two of these blocked memories. Who is he?"

All it took was saying his name and the wizard's eyebrows rose up almost to the top of his forehead. Rodolphus Lestrange was a name that was known throughout the world for his cruelty and his violence. She'd been able to see a different side of him that very few others got to see, but it was impossible to deny that he would always be infamous due to his activities at the end of the first war. The Longbottoms were still in St. Mungo's, blissfully unaware of their lost minds or the fact that their only son was an executed war criminal.

"I think that we've had enough for now. I would like you to take a sleeping potion tonight, Hermione."

He handed over a vial with a familiar label. In order not to insult the wizard, she would inspect it privately before she drank it. Not a Dreamless Sleep draught to her surprise, she knew that it was only one step more potent than Draught of the Living Death.

"Your mind must rest before we can resume."