September 8th

Even though she knew it had to be killing him to not know any of the details, Hermione wouldn't tell her husband anything about her early morning visit. Antonin didn't like being left out of the loop. As the once righthand to the Dark Lord, he was used to knowing just about everything that was happening within the regime. What was happening within his own family was another matter entirely. When she returned to their borrowed home after being gone for just under thirty minutes, he didn't pry or plead, though she knew he was fighting with himself to do just that.

Her meeting with Draco had been a bust, a mistake. Nothing she learned there was really of any value, not in the grand scheme of things. His personal feelings about her hardly mattered in the upcoming war. Nor did she really need a reminder of what an excellent kisser he was. All that knowledge did was confuse her more than she already was. Perhaps it was best that she stay away from the man. Clearly her days as a successful interrogator were behind her. So much about their meeting could've gone terribly wrong. If Draco meant her harm, she would've been in a world of trouble.

Possibly out of hopes that she might divulge her activities if he lingered long enough, Antonin didn't rush out of the cottage on any mysterious missions for most of the day as he usually did. He remained very close to his wife, as if there was any other option in the too-small house, waiting to see if she would let anything slip. It would've been amusing if it wasn't also frustrating. By mid-afternoon, he gave up long enough to visit their friends in St. Mungo's. When he asked if she wanted to come with him, Hermione shook her head. Visiting anyone in the hospital was depressing enough, but she feared Rodolphus might have a trap set for her if she tried. Antonin seemed to accept her explanation even if it wasn't that convincing.

Mafalda Yaxley was going to live. No permanent damage was done to her in the attack. Only a serious concussion that the Healers were positive she would recover from. Corban, on the other hand, was still a mystery. Temporarily housed in the Janus Thickey ward, no one was quite sure what was wrong with him. Spell damage to his brain was obvious, but they weren't even sure where to begin their treatments. Specialists had been called in. Somehow Hermione found what was done to him so much worse than just outright killing him. Taking away one of Antonin's fiercest allies, it was a heavy blow indeed.

By the evening after her disastrous visit, the second full night since their home was destroyed and the Yaxleys attacked, Antonin was in a terrible mood. He'd taken the entire attack very personally, exactly as it was meant. If it hadn't been for him, neither of their friends would be stuck in the wizarding hospital. For twenty years, at least, he'd relied on Corban's wise counsel. It was a toss-up between Corban and Thorfinn who was his best friend. Feeling helpless and angry, he sat on the sofa staring into the fire he insisted on having even in the last few weeks of summer drinking straight from a bottle of Ogden's Finest.

Not knowing what to say or do for her husband, Hermione sat next to him to offer her silent support. They took turns passing the bottle back and forth. She hoped with the alcohol in her bloodstream she might feel less stressed and worried, but it didn't help. Not like her potions used to. If she had a vial or two and she hadn't made promises to never use them again, she could be numb, unafraid of what was happening. Some days she worried that she would never stop craving them. Did that make her weak? Or simply a broken human?

Her guilt was threatening to eat her alive. Almost every moment since she left Draco's flat, she'd thought of nothing and no one else. Even as she talked with her husband about their dear friends whose lives were irrevocably changed and possibly ruined because of their association with them, she could only think of how relaxed Draco looked when he was first awake, how his lips felt against hers, how she'd been so tempted to stay. The wizard bewitched her in a way she couldn't recall ever being bewitched. Usually she was the one making her conquests think of nothing else. It was disconcerting to be on the other side.

In an attempt to assuage her guilt and because she didn't know of any other way to distract her husband from his morose mood, Hermione set the bottle of fire whiskey down on a side table. Furrowing his brow in confusion at the act, Antonin hardly had time to react before her lips were pressed against his in a heated kiss. It didn't take him much encouragement to give in to the affection. They both needed a distraction, a tangible purpose. Even for just a short period of time, at least they knew what they could do to push aside the worries and fears of the day.

His mouth tasted strongly of the fire whiskey they'd both been consuming. Likely hers was the same. As her husband dipped his tongue in her mouth to caress hers in a passionate, needy swirling dance, Hermione thought about the first kiss she shared with Draco. That, too, had tasted of fire whiskey. On his sofa, they'd pawed each other like two lust-filled teenagers desperate to feel everything they could as quickly as they could. It was much the same with Antonin.

She tried to push away thoughts of the other man while she was engaged in the beginnings of the sacred act with her husband, but reminders of the one she kissed the morning before kept creeping in to spoil the mood. If Antonin could tell that her mind was elsewhere, he didn't point it out. Nor did he stop. Considering where his mind had been for days, she wouldn't have been surprised to discover his mind was somewhere else too.

Not content to just kiss her mouth for very long, Antonin gently pushed her until her back lay on the cushions. As he hovered over her, alternating between kissing her mouth and the swathes of bare skin his hands were releasing from her restrictive clothing, Hermione closed her eyes to simply enjoy the feel of the act. Feeling his body laying on top of hers, kissing her mouth and drifting down to her sensitive neck, an image of the first night with Draco flashed into her mind. She could almost imagine that he was the one settling between her thighs, spurring on the throaty moans she couldn't stifle. Maybe it wasn't the first time she'd imagined that her husband was another man over the course of their marriage, but it felt very wrong to continue to fantasize about Draco when it wasn't him. Almost like she was physically inviting the man into her marital bed. It wasn't right. Pushing gently on Antonin's chest, Hermione moved to sit up and get him off of her.

"Not here, Antonin."

"All right. I have a better plan for you anyway."

Proving once again that he was still in the prime of his life thanks to his wizarding genes, her husband lifted her off the sofa. Carrying her in his arms, she gasped when he laid her across the top of the kitchen table steps away. A simple non-verbal spell divested her completely of every stitch of clothing she had on. He stared down at her hungrily, a predator about to devour its prey. The dark desire in his eyes excited her, covering every centimeter of her bare flesh in goosebumps. Practically ripping his own clothes off, he was close to the edge of losing control. She never could get enough of her husband when he was in that animalistic, primal state. Even when they hated each other she looked forward to those moments. She wouldn't have denied him for anything.

His strong hands gripped the back of her thighs. There was no need for him to tug them apart, she would've opened them herself if he'd only just waited. But, she never was one to be bothered by a passionate man who took control. Not when she was desperate to feel his touch, to feel him. Instead of taking her right there as she expected, Antonin dropped down into one of the chairs, burying his face between her thighs. There had been no teasing, no delightful torture before he sought out his goal. No, there wasn't time for that. He had a purpose. One flick of his tongue drew a scream out of his wife. Spurred on by the sound, he increased the pressure, the intensity.

Draco laid her out on top of a kitchen table on his birthday. With her eyes closed, even knowing it was her husband, all she could imagine was it was the other wizard and she was back in Number Twelve. How wretched of a person was she that she couldn't even enjoy the encounter with Antonin without thinking of Draco? She hated herself. Every second of pleasure that passed, she loathed herself even more. It was wrong. Antonin deserved better than that. In a paltry attempt to make up for her traitorous mind, she made certain that she screamed out her husband's name when she came.

To thank him and in a vain hope that she could get her mind focused on the right wizard, Hermione climbed off the table when her legs could work again to drop to her knees in front of Antonin. For the first few moments, as her husband ran his hand gently through her hair, careful not to snag his fingers on a curl, she was able to remember where she was and who she was with. When his enthusiastic encouragements morphed into mindless moans of pleasure, she thought of the day she knelt on the dusty floor in the musty bedroom the Weasley twins used to share in the Headquarters when a furry creature ran across her foot. Everything kept coming back to Draco. She was a terrible person. If Antonin only knew what was going on in her mind…

She was grateful when he dropped down onto the floor with her to press her against the hardwood floor. Though not good for either one of their backs or joints, he was lost in the heat of the moment. They could worry about the pain later. Neither of them lasted much longer when he slid into her ready and willing body. He deftly pulled another shaking orgasm out of his wife, the internal tremors bringing him right along with her. Collapsing on top of her, they both struggled to catch their breath.

Hermione wiped away the tears that rolled out of her eyes before Antonin could see them and worry that something was wrong. What was the matter with her? Why could she not stop thinking about the wizard that betrayed her? Each passing moment only made her feel worse and worse.