August 8th

And yet another quiet morning crept up on the inhabitants of the seaside safe house. Hermione could see the beginnings of the bright rays of sunshine hitting the water. She could almost see the rest of her life stretching out before her, one purposeless day after another until she finally met her sticky end. Unending boredom was causing her to grow entirely too macabre in her thinking. She shook her head to try to knock some of the worst thoughts out. Glancing up, she noticed the window she'd opened before she went to bed hadn't been touched. Though the weather there was rarely unbearably warm, she insisted on going to sleep the night before with the window opened just a crack. Waking up to the smell of the ocean was something she was sure she would never tire of. Huddled under all of the covers, Antonin was of a different opinion about the wisdom of leaving the window open. Left up to him, they would be sealed shut, never to be opened again.

Taking pity on her husband who always seemed to be cold, Hermione carefully climbed out of bed to close the window. Even she had to admit that he wasn't entirely wrong. Snuggled underneath the warm covers after crossing the chilled room felt heavenly. As much as she was beginning to miss their bed in Hogsmeade, she was getting used to the accommodations. Once she was back in the bed, she resisted the urge to place her cold feet on her husband's legs.

"Thank you."

His voice was muffled and heavy with sleep. It had been yet another late night for him. She wasn't even sure when he returned as she was already in bed and asleep. Waiting up for him to return from whatever he was out there doing every day wasn't a good use of her time. She might end up as exhausted as he was if she tried. Knowing that it was unlikely that he would fall back asleep immediately, she rolled over onto her side to stare at him. It didn't take him long to realize he had an audience.

"What?"

"I told Ollie about what Rodolphus did to me yesterday."

Antonin's dark brown eyes opened at her admission. There was confusion in them. Rolling over onto his back, he held open his arm for her to snuggle into his side. He could tell that she wanted to talk. To his credit, he very rarely was bothered by serious discussions in bed when he would rather sleep. She laid her cheek on his chest, appreciating the feel of his arm tightening around her back. For as much as she didn't like him at times, there were others that she did very much. Inside their bed, no matter what happened outside of it, she always felt safe with him.

"How did he take it?"

"Understandably, he was very upset. I censored what he didn't need to know, but I explained about the potions and the memory charms, how I'm afraid that he was able to control me. Maybe he still could."

She appreciated the feel of his lips against the wild curls on the top of her head. There hadn't been an opportunity to really discuss how they were going to handle what they told Oliver. All they'd told him up until that point was there were some bad people who wanted to hurt their family. Sometimes it was all too easy to forget he wasn't a small child any longer. They could blink and he'd be a man.

"I'm glad you told him. He deserves to know… at least some of it. Other parts of it I wish I didn't even know."

There was no reason to ask him which parts he meant. She knew enough. It felt awkward being held in her husband's arms while both of their minds travelled to thoughts of her being with another man. Since learning about her affair with Rodolphus, Antonin had been cool, much cooler than usual, each time the wizard's name was mentioned. Even reminders of Augustus wasn't as successful in bringing up such a strong reaction. She wanted to change the subject, or at least veer it away from Rodolphus as much as possible.

"I never wanted Ollie to know what sort of monsters his parents were."

"Neither did I."

Rarely did they ever admit, even to each other, what horrible people they were. Sure, just like anyone else, they had their good qualities and their moments when they weren't completely horrible. There was still some humanity left in the Dolohovs even if one had to look very, very closely to find it at times. Those who weren't willing to get their hands dirty with blood didn't last long as a Death Eater. They certainly didn't rise to lofty positions within the regime either.

"He was going to find out eventually. Even if it was just hearing from his little mates at school."

Her husband was right. Perhaps it was better to lay it all out for their son, tell him their side before he had the opportunity to hear less than truthful information from outside sources. Likely he'd already learned more about his parents in just his single year of schooling than he had all of the years of his life prior. Away from their parents, children would've been more comfortable sharing what they knew. Oliver could've been hearing nothing but lies. The moment would come soon where they would have to tell him just about everything. Some details of their actions they would take to their graves. Probably best to do it before he went back to Hogwarts for his second year.

"Do you think he will hate us?"

It was tempting to tack on the phrase 'more than he already does' to her question, but Hermione stopped herself. She knew that Oliver loved his parents, despite what they'd been guilty of in the past. Never would she blame him for being ashamed of their deeds. It was human nature after all to despise those that caused ill to others, especially to the vulnerable and weak. Certainly she'd lost count over the years how many people she'd hastened on to a premature death. Thanks to Mr. Akingbade's trick during their last session, a day had yet to go by that she didn't see the faces of her victims rush through her mind. If she discovered that the wizard specifically charmed those memories to haunt her every day of her life, she wouldn't be surprised. It was nowhere near what she deserved. Not really.

"I think we should give Ollie the chance to make up his own mind about us before we decide he will hate us."

He had a fair point. Besides, his father was the most important person in Oliver's entire life. If he was able to forgive his mother for almost killing his father, surely there was some hope that he wouldn't hate them eternally.

"Do you think we deserve our son's love, Antonin?"

"Not in the slightest, but if love was given only to those who deserved it, no one would ever love anybody or be loved in return. We don't get to choose who we love."

Again, he had a fair point. It must have hurt him to say it out loud. She knew that he loved her and desired nothing more than for her to return it. If it was as simple as willing it into existence, she would've already fallen deeply in love with her husband. Since she returned from her year on the run, he'd done nothing but proven to her over and over again how much he cared about her, how far he was willing to go to ensure that she was protected. He'd murdered the Dark Lord for her sake! That was proof that he loved her, valued her presence in his life.

She didn't want to think about love or its consequences any longer. Wars had been fought over that fickle emotion. Why it caused men and women to lose their heads since the beginning of time was beyond her comprehension. She found even just describing the feeling to be damn near impossible. Or maybe it was because she wasn't sure that she understood it to begin with.

"We're not good people."

"We weren't always like this. Maybe there's hope for us in the future."

"I'm not sure we deserve a future."

Antonin kissed the top of her head again by way of responding to her depressing thought. It was normal to grapple with feelings of self-worth and self-doubt when engaged in a possible war for the very right to survive. Hermione had done a number of horrific deeds over the years to make certain that she continued to live for another day. She'd been a witness to the same with her husband. No, neither one of them started out evil, but that didn't lessen the black acts they'd committed.

"This is a much more serious discussion than I expected to have when first waking up. You've always been full of surprises, my darling."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I just keep thinking of Ollie's sad face when he told me yesterday that he liked me better since I've come back because I'm nicer and I don't hurt his papa anymore."

"You know I don't blame you for your actions? That they only happened because of the potions and the memory charms?"

"Maybe you should blame me."

They would never know if she was capable of getting angry enough all on her own to attack her husband. Perhaps that was best. She didn't want to know if she had enough rage inside to repeat her attempted murder. One of her greatest fears was to discover that she was more violent and unstable than she realized. Learning about the myriad of ways that Rodolphus fucked with her mind was helpful in dispelling some of her fears, but not all. There was always potential she was as warped and damaged as she thought.

"I made the decision when I was eighteen to follow the Dark Lord. Not because I was afraid for my life or because it was that or remain locked up in a pretty cage. Those were perfectly acceptable reasons for you to become a Death Eater. I became one because I lusted after the power that I thought I could find. The pull of the Dark Arts was… well, maybe there's more Dolohov in me than Fawley. My mum certainly never could understand the fascination. My father did."

Rarely did her husband mention his life as a Death Eater before the end of the last war. It was a subject that wasn't easy for him to discuss. She appreciated that he was confiding in her, telling her bits and pieces about his past that she never knew.

"It wouldn't have been hard for me to continue in my apprenticeship with Gringotts and make a respectable living and name for myself. Find a pretty witch to marry and start a family. But it wasn't enough. I thought I needed more to be happy. The Dark Lord offered that chance. By the time I understood what I was signing my life away for, it was too late. There was no turning back. He had me enthralled."

"Do you regret kneeling before him the first time?"

"Regret it? Of course I do. Every single bloody day of my life. Maybe that's what allowed me to keep my sanity intact when I was in Azkaban, my regret. Not a happy thought. The dementors never wanted that."

"Do you think we can ever be forgiven for the crimes we committed just fighting to stay alive?"

His deep sigh ruffled some of her hair. She was curious to know his answer. Part of her didn't believe she should be punished for what she did when it kept her from being executed. She wasn't like Neville or George. There wasn't an overabundance of selflessness inside of her. Even less after twenty years under the Dark Lord's influence.

"We did what was necessary, but I believe we'll pay for our crimes some day. Probably very soon."

The rest of their conversation was cut off by the sound of their son stomping down the stairs from his attic bedroom. It was time to start another day.