September 24th

Hermione had never been so humiliated in her entire life. At least she didn't think she had. Weeks earlier when she and her damned husband had the entirely too honest conversation in bed about their respective extramarital affairs, she'd scoffed when he made it seem like it was so much worse to witness his wife's infidelity than to just know about it. She'd thought he was being an oversensitive fool. How wrong she was.

Actually watching her husband with Ginny Weasley, of all the fucking women in the world it could have been, was indeed infinitely worse than just knowing about it or suspecting it was happening. Part of her wished that she'd stayed behind to confront them both, but she knew that was the wrong decision. Blood would have been spilled and some of it might have even been hers. Not to mention she would have to come up with a suitable explanation as to why she was there at all. She wasn't ready to admit to her unusual partnership with Draco Malfoy just yet. Maybe she never would.

She'd only just been able to make it back to Aubin's suffocating cottage before her rage exploded out of her in a fiery torrent. Accidental magical outbursts weren't common in adults who had been properly trained unless in cases of emotional turmoil. Witnessing her husband actually fuck a woman that was supposedly their enemy for twenty years certainly qualified. Sparks caused her hair to stand on end. She could feel the presence of the magic building up inside of her. Focusing on a tall tree that had never done the least bit of harm in its entire existence, she directed her rage at it, demolishing it to splinters with hardly any effort. Still not feeling satisfied, she repeated it on another tree and then another and then another. Half the trees within a hundred meters were gone in no time. Only then was her body exhausted enough that when she laid down on the sofa in the damned cottage, she fell immediately asleep in a deep magical sleep that affected the magically drained.

It was dark inside the cottage and out when she woke up again. She didn't know how long she'd been out, but considering the last time she'd been so drained she slept for over a day, she assumed it was at least that long. While the rage she experienced at discovering her husband's affair was reduced to an echo of its previous intensity, the humiliation was still there stronger than ever. Never before, not even when she knew Antonin was rushing off to London to be with the wretched bitch Andromeda did she ever feel so mortified. What was different? Was it because she no longer had the numbness of the potions to protect her from the harshness of reality? Or was it because she'd finally grown to care for, possibly even love, the man she'd married so many years earlier?

The future that she'd allowed herself to foolishly dream over the previous several weeks hung in tatters. Brazil was just a fantasy that would never come true. No matter how much she wished for it, her family wouldn't be together again. If she'd known how precious the time she shared with her son and even her husband would become, she never would've taken it for granted. What a fool she'd been.

She felt no reason to rush getting up from the sofa when she finally woke up. There was nowhere for her to go, nothing for her to do. Lying there considering all of her failures was a depressing way to spend her life. Deciding that she refused to be one of those women who wallowed around in misery because her husband evidently didn't want her anymore, she dragged herself to her feet. Maybe she would feel better after a long, hot shower.

Thoughts and questions about her husband's activities plagued Hermione as she stood under the hot stream of water cascading down her body. How long had he been having an affair with Ginny? Even in just the few moments she could bear to witness, it seemed like they were comfortable with each other. It hardly seemed like a bumbling first attempt for either of them. They were experienced together. Was she just the one that he claimed he used for information? Or was there more to it than that?

All of those days that he disappeared and refused to tell her where he'd gone seemed much more suspicious. Was that just the excuse he used to sneak away and meet with the woman he'd openly admitted to admiring for years? He used to confide in his wife that he found her old friend a formidable and respectable opponent. Always claimed that he would feel guilty and a little sad when he finally had to defeat her. With so much spirit, she would be a great loss. Hermione just assumed he had a harmless crush on someone he shouldn't have. Never did she expect he would somehow end up in Ginny's bed.

Antonin told her the night she surprised him in the shower that he hadn't been with another woman since before she returned to Hogsmeade in May. She wasn't surprised to hear that he'd been with someone while she was on the run. Was it Ginny? Was she meeting her husband for clandestine meetings while Hermione lived with the Resistance? Or when she knew that Hermione was sharing a bed with Draco in his flat? Had Ginny been laughing behind Hermione's back or cursing her for abandoning her husband? She seemed devious enough that she would continue to fuck a man who was worried about where his wife was even if she already knew. Especially if it was Hermione's husband. Ginny had a mean streak in her that wasn't always on display.

Clearly, Antonin had connections his wife knew nothing about. In a hundred years she would've never guessed that he was that mixed up with the Resistance or any of its leaders. How deeply did he go? Selfishly, Hermione hoped that he would be successful in finding allies that were known to be as tenacious and fearless as the Resistance. They would help their plan to end Rodolphus and his treachery. Only when Rodolphus was no longer a problem could Hermione relax and move on with her life. She thought that would be with Antonin and their son, but now, everything was uncertain.

Maybe he would be happier with Ginny. While the redhead certainly came with all sorts of her own complications, they didn't have the sordid, painful history that Hermione shared with him. And Ginny could probably give him more children. Hermione couldn't. After her confession in the castle, he would probably never want to speak to his wife again anyway. Not that she could blame him. There were only so many lies a person could take before their endurance ran out.

As she climbed out of the shower and began to towel off, Hermione thought back to the bizarre encounter she and Oliver had with her a month earlier in London. She couldn't understand at the time why Ginny seemed so fascinated by her son or how she seemed to know how closely he resembled his father. Her remark about his dimples struck her as odd. Thanks to the whiskers Antonin shaved only rarely when he felt like it, his dimples weren't usually easy to see unless he smiled. He wasn't in the habit of smiling much in public, so she would've had to see him in far more intimate settings.

At least Antonin's reaction when she told him that they'd seen Ginny that day finally made some sense. His entire body tensed when they were lying next to each other. Was he fearful that his mistress revealed their affair to his wife? It was enough to make anyone nervous. If it was just sex used to get information he needed, there would be no reason for him to be so nervous. There was more to his relationship with Ginny than she truly wanted to contemplate. Did he confide in Ginny the same way he used to confide in Andromeda? Did he love her?

She was going to work herself up into another explosive state if she didn't figure out some way to calm down. Allowing anyone to have such power over her was dangerous and foolish. Emotions truly did make one weak. Once she was dressed, she stepped outside to enjoy the cool night air. Hermione hoped that a long walk would help her clear her mind. If she wasn't careful, she was in danger of going completely mad. Wouldn't Ginny just love that if she found out?

The cottage was situated in a lovely, secluded area. She hadn't really taken the time to explore the area in the weeks she lived there. No neighbors were anywhere near. How much land came with Antonin's little brother's cottage was unknown. Enough that she didn't worry about wandering away on her own. A glance at the full moon encouraged her to be careful. All she needed was a full-grown werewolf to jump out and attack her to make her week just perfect.

A snap of a twig somewhere behind her caused her to jump in fright. Was it possible that she conjured her own danger just by thinking about it? Spinning around on her heel with her wand outstretched, she couldn't see anything out of the ordinary from the direction she heard the noise. It was entirely possible that her paranoia created the noise. She'd been perfectly safe in the location alone. There was no reason to believe that anything changed.

She waited several minutes until her heart stopped racing before she moved. There had been no other noises, no other signs that she was in danger. But, she couldn't shake off the unnerving feeling that she was being watched. There were countless dark corners to hide in. She trusted her instincts and they told her that she wasn't safe. Returning to the Secret-Kept cottage would have been the most logical choice. Unfortunately, whomever or whatever was watching her lay in the path back to the cottage. She would have to approach them, a realization that filled her with no small amount of fear.

Hermione was exhausted of being afraid. Every moment she was awake and her mind wasn't occupied, she was thinking over everything that could go wrong, how she wouldn't be able to protect her family, or even keep a grip on her sanity that often seemed so unstable. It had been many years since she last lived in constant fear. She wasn't conditioned for it any longer. Maybe she never would be again. Her life would stretch out in front of her one terrifying moment after another until she finally died, likely in a horrific, painful manner.

She longed for an escape, even if it was just a temporary one. Even an illusion would work for a little while. Just something to make her forget she was alone and in constant danger. Something that would make her numb to fear and uncertainty.

But, first, she had to get away from the danger lurking in the shadows. With a destination in mind, she Disapparated away from the cottage and unsafe land surrounding it. Her feet moved quickly from grass to ancient cobblestones. She glanced up at a sign hanging from a building declaring that she was about to enter Knockturn Alley. All she needed was to push down her fear for a little longer. Just a little bit longer and she would be free from the worry and stress that had been her constant companion for over a year.

She took her first step into the notorious Alley. She could almost taste the promised numbness. It wouldn't take much to help her forget.