July 21st

Akingbade's sleeping potion proved to be just exactly what he said it was. Hermione hated that she was so distrustful of the man who was there to help her recover her memories, but she couldn't afford to be too careful. Others that she thought she knew and trusted had already proven that they were willing to do whatever it took to harm her. After her session ended and with her mind still reeling from the memory of the dinner party, she stood in her bathroom staring at the vial.

Sleep once was an escape for her. When she was on the run, she looked forward to those all-too-brief moments when she could disappear into her dreamworld. There was nothing to fear when she was asleep. Since returning to the life she ran from, sleep was no longer as comforting. Nor was it as easy to find. Often she laid up at night listening to Antonin's steady breathing, hoping and begging whatever deity might be listening to help her find her own rest. Her mind was too beleaguered with thoughts she shouldn't have had.

Her hope was that by allowing her body to relax and rest, the memories would come forth easier. Determination and grit could only get her so far. She knew without Mr. Akingbade telling her explicitly so that she was only endangering her progress by attempting to force the memories. At least twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep sounded like heaven. If she was relaxed enough that the binds he was breaking each session with magic began to fray even further on their own, she would be even happier.

Following a long, hot bath where she soaked her tense and tired muscles, Hermione dressed in her most comfortable nightgown, ignored her wet and dripping hair, and swallowed the contents of the vial. She could feel the potion begin to work almost at once. Moving to her bed, she was quite literally asleep before her head even hit the pillow.

With no way to tell time while she was in a drugged sleep, she couldn't be certain when the dreaming began. Only that she didn't feel like she had to wait long. Much like her dreams had been since the whole process of unraveling the memory charms began, they started off as disjointed images swirling around with bright colors that made no sense at all. People she'd known throughout her entire life drifted in and out. Antonin and her two best friends growing up were the most frequent repeats.

That is, until she first saw Rodolphus meander in. When he first made his appearance, she began to see him everywhere. In all of her memories, he seemed to be a part. She couldn't explain his presence. It was possible that she simply had him on her mind because he'd come up in her last session. There were plenty of explanations about him that didn't involve him being directly responsible for her being afflicted with the intricate network of memory charms.

Except, she kept remembering, even in her unconsciousness, bits and pieces of conversations they'd had. When she saw him in the Resistance village in Devon, she asked him how he hadn't been discovered yet. He told her that memory charms helped him when he was caught and then again to convince Tiberius Zeller that he'd already confirmed that his dog wasn't an animagus. Her old friend hadn't made it a secret that he was skilled at manipulating memories.

And how could she explain away the repeated flashes of him kissing her? To the best of her recollections, he'd never done anything more than just chastely brush his lips against her cheek in greeting or in a farewell. She definitely didn't remember him pushing her into a dark corner in Edinburgh to kiss her nor did she remember the heated moment in her kitchen. How else could she explain passionate embraces that she had no remembrance of? It had often frustrated her in the past that Rodolphus was never receptive to any of her embarrassingly obvious clues that she would go to bed with him in a heartbeat. She'd been insulted and even hurt on more than one occasion when he made it seem like he would rather die alone than touch her. Had that all been part of his act? His way of keeping the reality hidden? Was he afraid entering into a sexual dalliance and leaving her memories intact could act as some sort of trigger to remember what he'd been trying to hide?

The longer she dreamed, the more opportunity she had to see herself locked into passionate and debauched positions with the wizard she thought she'd never been able to successfully seduce. Snippets of memories of them lying in beds together that were unfamiliar or with him pressing her up against bricks in dark alleys invaded her dreamworld. They were too real, too vivid to simply be fantasies.

She stood in the middle of the packed lounge where her son was celebrating his eleventh birthday. The noise was already causing a headache. Why had Antonin insisted on having it in their home? And despite it being in the middle of the week, all of the little witches and wizards they invited were there. No one was foolish enough to turn down an invitation from the Dolohovs. Hermione wondered if her son knew the reason he was so popular was because all of the little children's parents were terrified to death of his?

The insistence of her husband that wine was inappropriate for a child's birthday party in the middle of the day made the entire event unbearable. Her time would've been much better spent in the Ministry. There was a case she was working on that was much more fascinating than whether or not worthless children brought her son more rubbish he didn't need in the form of offerings to appease his parents. Trying not to show her sour mood, she turned to look out the front window.

Her lips began to curl into a grin when she saw the large, furry dog sitting on his hind legs in her front garden. A single loud bark was the only signal she needed. Slipping into the kitchen, she was pleased that no one stopped her. No one was in the kitchen. All that remained in there were remnants of the lunch they served earlier to the ungrateful brats and their horrid parents and the large birthday cake that would come after Oliver finished opening his presents. Based on the table in the lounge overflowing with presents, she had plenty of time to meet with her visitor before her husband grew suspicious.

Only steps outside the back door she felt strong, possessive hands grab her and push her up against the side of the house. Rodolphus could be gentle when he wanted. He simply rarely wanted to. She didn't mind. A little pain mixed in with her pleasure was exactly what she liked. His lips covered hers, dominant and bruising. When he made it clear that he was in charge, he stopped his welcome assault on her mouth.

"What are you doing here? You could get caught."

"I was careful."

He followed up his assurances with playful nips to her sensitive neck. The flick of his tongue on her flesh pulled a throaty moan out of her mouth against her will and best judgment. They were playing with fire. Every time they met over the previous four years since he made his very public declaration that he wanted nothing to do with the regime or his master any longer, they'd been in danger. If she was found to be aiding him in any way, she'd be on the execution block right after him. Not even Antonin would be able to use his influence to save her from that fate. Rodolphus was too hated and wanted by the Dark Lord.

"Antonin is inside, Roddy."

"Makes it all the more exciting, doesn't it?"

As much as she hated to admit so, it absolutely did. Rodolphus kissed her again. His hands tugged the skirt she was wearing up and over her hips. Knowing that they were outside in the middle of broad daylight while at least forty people were inside pretending to enjoy her son's birthday party did indeed make it all the more thrilling. Maybe a part of Hermione desired to get caught. Especially with one of the most infamous fugitives. He could give her just the escape she needed but was too cowardly to provide for herself.

Rodolphus' large hands ripped at the lace knickers she wore. Pieces of the ruined fabric fell to the grass. She didn't care. There wasn't time to worry about the impropriety of what they were about to commit. Nor could she afford to worry that her jealous husband might find them. Opportunities for the two of them to meet were getting scarcer the longer he was gone. She knew that a day would come when they wouldn't see each other again. It physically pained her chest to think of that day. Not that she was in love with him. No, he simply knew how to manipulate her body in ways no one else ever could.

With one possessive hand on her hip pulling her leg around his waist, he used his other to free himself from the confines of his suddenly too-tight trousers. She gasped at the feel of his hard tip sliding through her slick folds, teasing every nerve ending in her entire body. He would make her say it before he took her. He always did. She was never strong enough to resist him for long.

"Tell me, Hermione. Tell me who you belong to."

"You, Roddy. I belong to you."

A sharp snap of his hips seated him deep inside her body. She had to bite down on his shoulder to keep from screaming out. He didn't wait for her body to adjust to him. Once inside he began a punishing pace that threatened to be her undoing.

"Yes, you're mine. Only mine."

Grabbing a handful of her hair, he pulled her head back, forcing her to look him in the eyes. His pace never slowed. She could feel her orgasm building up, ready to push her over the edge.

"You don't belong to Antonin. Or to the monster Greyback. Or to my worthless little brother. You don't belong to any of the disgusting, weak men you let crawl between your thighs. You. Are. Mine."

She bit her lips to keep from crying out. Only he was able to ever get the right combination of pain and pleasure. His grunts morphed into a low growl as he spilled his seed inside of her. He didn't loosen his grip on her hair or release his bruising grip on her hip until the last tremors of his sated body subsided. Before he removed his hands from her frame completely, he lowered his lips to the outside of her ear.

"You're going to forget about our past in a few minutes, but when I'm ready for you to remember again, I'll unlock your mind. I'll be coming back for you."

He kissed her lips again, much more tender than any of his previous kisses. Short minutes later found her standing in her kitchen, her clothes readjusted and repaired, unsure what she was doing there. Her mind felt hazy, fuzzy, and she couldn't concentrate on anything. She reached into her pocket to remove a small vial. Knocking back the cinnamon-flavored contents in one swallow, Hermione took a deep breath and returned to the party.

"Where have you been?"

"I was checking on the cake."

The lie came tumbling out of her mouth easily. Spoken much louder than she meant, the host and hostess of the birthday party drew stares from around the room. The urge to curse her husband right in his face became overpowering. She knew that if she didn't get away from him in that moment, she was going to do something drastic that she would come to regret. Storming off into the privacy of the kitchen, she waited for Antonin to follow behind. He always did.

Hermione didn't need to dream the rest of that day to know what happened next. The attack was still fresh in her mind, the details matched up exactly to what Antonin told her happened. Why she was able to remember those details wasn't clear. Maybe Rodolphus' spell wasn't designed to exclude every memory from that day? She couldn't be sure. When she reached the moment that she knew she was going to reach for that fork to shove in his eye, she forced herself awake. She sat up in her bed breathing hard, hoping she didn't wake up Antonin. He would want an explanation and she wasn't sure she had one to offer.

For the time being, she'd had her fill of dreams.