September 19th
Hermione hated birthdays. She never understood why they were necessary. So by some miracle a person was able to slither out of the birth canal? Didn't mean that the rest of the world had to celebrate. She was terrible at remembering when they were happening, even her own. Most years she completely forgot her husband's. She knew it was in late February… the 24th, perhaps? Or was it the 28th? Didn't really matter. Every year it came and went without her making much of a fuss about it. The only reason she remembered her son's birthday was because of the active role she played in his birth. Otherwise? She would probably forget it too.
Her birthday was the worst. All recognizing it did was force her to recall all of the years that she'd been alive on the Earth. Most of them hadn't been good. She felt older each passing year, sometimes too old for the number of years she'd actually seen. While some souls might see it as an excellent time to be thankful that they were still alive, she saw them merely as reminders that she was that much closer to death. Even witches and wizards didn't live forever.
Maybe she didn't much care for them because they were never big in her family. Sure, her mother would sometimes bake a cake to celebrate if she wasn't too busy with appointments in their dental practice that day. Once she was away at Hogwarts it was more often than not forgotten. So close to the beginning of school term, it was easy to forget. At first, she struggled with not feeling petulant about the date being ignored. Eventually, she tried not to think about it. There were more important matters to concern herself with than whether or not the people around her knew it was her birthday. So what if she'd managed to survive another year of living? It seemed like such an insignificant reason to celebrate.
Antonin was the one who always made a big deal out of the day. She would've preferred if he'd just forgotten too. Even on the first birthday she lived in his house he made it a special day that she wouldn't forget. It was important to him that she feel valued. At the time, she didn't understand it. Only later, when his feelings for her became clearer, did she know what his motivation was.
Only a little over four months had passed since she was ordered by the Dark Lord to move into the house of a complete stranger who'd tried to kill her twice. Every single part of her life was changed, turned upside down. She was still struggling to adjust. Antonin hadn't yet started the rigorous training schedule that would come later. Mostly, he just tried to strengthen her defenses and prepare her for what she could expect when she was finally ordered to be more heavily involved in the growing regime.
He'd baked her a cake. Though sunken a little in the middle as baking wasn't really his forte, it had been delicious and thoughtful. She remembered entering the kitchen at the smell of the cake baking and wondering why he was trying. It hadn't even occurred to her that it was her birthday. There had been no training that day. Not even a single lesson. He wanted nothing more than for her to relax and enjoy herself. One of the very first times he'd shaken off his formidable teacher persona to show her some kindness, she didn't know what to make of it. Finally, she decided that she liked this side of him. Before, she thought he was hard and cruel. Learning that there were more layers to the man helped her to begin to trust him. In the long run, the kindness helped. She stopped fighting him on every single issue and stopped fearing that he wanted to hurt her. It was amazing what a little kindness could do for a person who was drowning in sorrow and fear.
Every year after that he made certain that she felt special on her birthday. Or at least he tried. He couldn't exactly control the way the celebrations made her feel. While he could understand to some extent that marking the passage of another year made her feel like she was failing because she was never quite where she wanted to be when September the 19th rolled around again, he never failed to try to make it the best day of the year. Certainly after they were married and she found herself in his bed he had lovely new tricks in his arsenal to make the day pleasurable.
After she left the Rowles' house the night before, she tried to sleep alone in the empty bed. Exhausted and worried almost out of her wits, she hadn't been able to doze more than a few minutes here and there since the night before her son was attacked. Waiting and hoping for her husband to come to their temporary home so they could talk took more out of her than she realized. But even then, she wasn't able to fall asleep. She kept looking over at the empty side of the bed where Antonin should've been and worrying about where he was. Eventually she gave up even trying. Dragging a blanket to the front room, she laid down on the sofa, hoping that she could fall asleep there.
It was hardly the worst birthday she ever had. That distinction went to her thirtieth birthday nine years earlier. Fully aware that her husband had some elaborate party waiting for her back at home, she did whatever was necessary to stay at the Ministry. It was rude to leave their guests waiting, but she was angry that despite telling Antonin over and over again that she didn't want a party, he'd planned one anyway. Either he wanted her to know that it was happening or he was the worst surprise party planner she'd ever known. Thankfully, a known traitor to the regime was captured by Snatchers mid-afternoon. Although it was customary to leave their new arrests in Level Eleven for a day or two to sweat, and therefore make them more compliant inside the interrogation room, she'd ordered him placed in a locked side room immediately.
She wasn't as conscientious during that interrogation as she generally was. Perhaps her mind was still focused hundreds of miles away in Hogsmeade where she knew a party was being set up for her benefit. How many times did she have to beg her husband to just ignore the day? She didn't want presents or parties. If he insisted on doing anything, running her a hot bath and burying his face in her thighs until she couldn't remember how old she was would've been perfectly acceptable, even enjoyable. Why the man had to go all out for a day she loathed never made much sense to her. Did he simply enjoy making her miserable? Some days she believed that to be the case.
Because she wasn't as focused as she should've been, her prisoner wasn't the only one who bled during that interrogation. Somehow he'd managed to slip out of his bonds long enough to slam a fist in her face. It was the third time she'd broken her nose in thirty years. Thankful that she knew a Healer who could fix it without leaving any reminder that it ever happened, she'd still been angry enough to retaliate with great force. Unfortunately, she hadn't been able to get all of the information out of him that she needed before he succumbed to his injuries. She should've been more careful. It wasn't like her to allow them to die too quickly. Usually she was more effective.
When she finally got home long after midnight, Antonin was sitting on the sofa in their lounge with a half-empty bottle of fire whiskey. Based on the glassy expression in his eyes, he'd been drinking for awhile. She never could figure out what time he sent the guests home. He wouldn't talk about it again. Not after they'd had a blazing row that woke their son up from a sound sleep. It was difficult to get the distraught three year old back to sleep. Antonin was much better at it than she was, so she let him do it. She could vaguely remember knocking back two vials of her potion before climbing into the bathtub.
The fight continued in the bathroom with ample silencing spells coating the room. She'd slapped her husband and for once, she thought he might actually hit her back. Instead, he ripped his pillow off their bed and slept downstairs on the sofa. Apparently enduring a sore back was preferable to another moment in his wife's presence. She didn't care. Hermione took advantage of his absence to take up more of the bed than was absolutely necessary. Antonin never tried to surprise her with a birthday party again. They were all scheduled well in advance and he forced her to attend each and every one of them.
Only something very serious would keep Antonin from celebrating her birthday. With the exception of the year she was on the run, he'd done something every single year to make certain she felt special. Clinging to the hope that he would be able to forgive her and return to the cottage, she waited. She sat in the cottage waiting for him to come back. He never did.
There could be no bigger sign that he was serious about kicking her out of his life than not showing up for her birthday. Hermione didn't know how to feel about it. She was still in shock after the incident in Hogwarts. Part of her assumed that they would be able to work through anything. His suspicious absence made her worry that she'd been wrong. Maybe there wasn't hope after all.
Brazil began to feel like a pipe dream, a future that she would never get to experience.