September 27th

An ache in Hermione's head pulsed with each beat of her heart. She was afraid to open her eyes. Experience taught her that when she was in that much pain, light wouldn't help. Her limbs felt heavy. There was a lingering taste of something foul on her tongue. Emergency healing potions rarely tasted good. Flavoring wasn't important when one's life was at stake. She tried to remember what happened to her, why she was in such pain. Her memories were hazy. Bits and pieces floated to the surface of her mind, but she wasn't able to make sense of them just yet.

When she was finally brave enough to open her eyes, she knew that she was back in St. Mungo's. How many times in her almost forty years had she been inside the walls of that establishment as a patient? More times than she really could, or wanted, to recall. Only the occasion of Oliver's birth was a happy one. Even then, she didn't feel the joy herself for far too many years.

Antonin was asleep in the chair next to her bed. He might still be her husband, but she was surprised that he was there. Had he forgiven her? Or was this just an obligation he felt required to uphold because of their past together? She didn't care. It helped calm her anxiety ever so slightly knowing he was close enough that she could reach out and touch him. There was still some anger within her, no doubt. That was likely to not go away for quite some time. Still, he had a calming presence that worked wonders on her. She wasn't ready to face the reality of what got her put in the hospital to begin with.

He looked exhausted, mentally and physically. She pushed aside the uncharitable thought that he was simply tired because he had been engaged in inappropriate acts with one Resistance leader that she didn't want to even put a name to. There was more to it than that though. Dark circles under his eyes proved he'd been under strain. What had he been doing in their time apart? As much as she wanted to ask him questions, she didn't want to disturb him. Evidently he needed the rest.

The pain in her head gave her something that she could focus on. It would be time for more potions soon. She almost looked forward to the blissful numbness they would bring. Would that be her feeling for the rest of her dismal life? Craving potions made her sick to her stomach. She didn't want to be a slave to anything, even her own fucked up body and addiction. If she could go back in time with all of the knowledge that she held in that moment, she would make so many different choices. Maybe she'd even figure out a way to throw her lot in with Neville Longbottom or George Weasley and end her existence years before she had to endure the pain and degradation that the Dark Lord's regime brought to their world.

"Hermione?"

Her husband was struggling to keep his own fear out of his voice. She knew him well enough to know when he was at the end of his tether. Ordinarily he could project a fearless persona to those on the outside of his life. It was a skill that was necessary to keep at the top of the heap of Lord Voldemort's Death Eaters. Weak witches and wizards didn't last long. Just ask Peter Pettigrew, or rather, what was left of him after he dared to show compassion in his own moment of weakness so many years earlier. But, when the rest of the world faded away and they could be alone, Hermione had seen Antonin strip away the mask he usually wore.

"I didn't mean to wake you up. I'm sorry."

"You're apologizing to me, Hermione? You're the one in the hospital."

There was defensiveness in his tone as well. She didn't want to fight with him. Even the thought of having an argument filled her with such exhaustion that she wasn't even sure she'd be able to take another breath. Hadn't they done enough of that in thirteen years to last them the rest of their lives? While she knew that many women would be screaming at him and confronting him about what she witnessed days earlier in that damned cottage hidden away from the world, she didn't have the right. She'd done just as much and worse. Was it really a competition of who could hurt the other the most? If so, she wanted to concede and exit the contest immediately.

"How are you feeling?"

He was back to being all business. His earlier slip showing that he was emotional was gone. It was evident that he was concerned, but trying to keep his interactions with his estranged wife impersonal. Hermione didn't know whether to be offended or relieved. Even as her mind kept traveling back to what she witnessed when the damn ginger bitch crawled onto her husband's lap, she tried to remain calm. It was hardly the time to bring up such a sordid moment. Besides, he could fire back at her with a great deal more ammunition. A reminder of being tied up on Greyback's floor brought a deep flush to her cheeks she hoped he wouldn't notice in the dim light.

"Like I've been bashed over the head with something. What happened?"

"I was hoping that you would be able to tell me. We don't have a lot of details."

She closed her eyes to try to recall the scene. It all happened so quickly that she didn't even have much time to process what was going on before she was knocked unconscious. She had no idea how long she'd been in St. Mungo's. It was a recurring theme in her life apparently.

"I had to get out of your brother's cottage. It's suffocating and I couldn't stand being alone in it for another minute."

A flash of shame appeared on his countenance for the briefest of moments before he was able to brush it away and replace it with the same cold, indifferent mask he usually wore when he was upset and trying to hide it.

"I went to visit Hannah. Thought maybe they would've seen you and could tell me whether you were alive or dead."

He didn't bother hiding the roll of his eyes. She reminded herself to take a deep breath. The last thing either one of them needed was to get into a fight. They'd had enough of those.

"She suggested that we go for a walk through the village, but I didn't really want to. Seemed unsafe. Evidently, I was correct. We were talking and I felt someone behind us. I started to say something to Hannah and she screamed, trying to warn me. She was… is she?"

Somehow actually saying the words out loud were too painful. Of course she knew that Hannah was dead. It was an Unforgivable that took her down. Hermione had seen, and used, the same spell countless times in twenty years. There was no way to block it, no counter-curse, no hope once one was sent in someone's direction. Hannah didn't stand a chance. Antonin nodded. He couldn't trust himself to speak either. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes as they tried to compose themselves. Hermione wanted to cry. If she was alone, she might have even allowed herself to give over to the emotion. Antonin kept rubbing at his own eyes. The Rowles were practically family. He thought of Hannah like his younger sister. When he could trust himself again, he cleared his throat and took a deep breath.

"Did you see anything? Anything at all that might indicate who did this?"

"No, they attacked me from behind like a coward. But, it had to have been Rodolphus or someone on his side. Who else would want to kill Hannah? As far as I know, she didn't have any enemies whatsoever."

Anyone who chose to openly associate with either of the Dolohovs was in danger. Hermione hated herself for allowing Hannah to talk her into going for a walk. Their home would've been safer. At the very least, no one would've seen them so boldly out together. Hannah was just begging for a target to be placed on her back. Everyone Hermione associated with ended up regretting it eventually.

"I should have done whatever it took to get that damned list."

"Thorfinn and Hannah already knew that they were in danger."

"How is Thorfinn?"

"Inconsolable."

She didn't want to even imagine what losing his wife would do to Thorfinn. He worshipped the ground Hannah walked on. Learning what she did about Hannah's experiences following the end of the war, she could understand why he cared so much for her. It was a source of honor for the burly wizard in protecting the woman he loved. He hadn't been able to keep her from being hurt by the disgusting bastard Amycus Carrow, so he made it his life's mission to ensure she remain safe from anyone else who might wish her ill. Losing Hannah was going to destroy him. Hermione hoped that he was able to keep it together for their three daughters at least. They still needed him. Even more so now.

"We shouldn't have gone for a walk."

"No, you shouldn't."

There was such accusation in his tone that she felt like she'd been slapped across the face just with his words. Was every tragedy always going to be thrown at her feet? Feeling both defensive and guilty, she snapped at her husband.

"Are you blaming this on me?"

Antonin covered his face with his hands and groaned. There was no reason for him to respond. She knew what he thought of her. Knew that he thought she was responsible for what happened to Hannah. Sweet, innocent Hufflepuff Hannah didn't understand the dangers of the world outside her front door in his mind. It was up to the jaded, dangerous, evil Madam Dolohov to keep her from falling into a trap. Hermione was tired, exhausted to her very bones. She couldn't save everyone. Throwing Hannah's murder in her face like she was the one who held the wand that uttered the Avada was unfair.

"You know what, Antonin? Why don't you just go crawl back into whatever bed you've been hiding in and leave me alone."

He dropped his hands from his face and narrowed his eyes.

"It's not safe to leave you alone."

"Yes, well, I'd rather just take my chances than spend another moment with you sitting over there and blaming me for something that wasn't my fault."

"You're serious?"

"Deadly."

If he didn't leave soon, she resolved to start screaming until the Healers made him leave. He didn't want to be there. Only an obligation he felt as her legal husband and next of kin even made him come in the first place. It was clear that he would never forgive her for lying. Fine. She didn't need him. Hadn't she been wishing for freedom from him for years? Thirteen, to be exact?

"Hermione, I…"

"Just go, Antonin. You clearly don't want to be here and I don't want you here either."

He hesitated before walking out the door. At first she worried that she was going to have to cause a scene. She hated when the personal details of her marriage were witnessed by outsiders. An anonymous source within the hospital would love to share all of the sordid gossip with the Daily Prophet.

Taking one last look at his wife, Antonin stepped out of her room. She didn't know if she was supposed to feel relieved or not. That was something she could worry about later when her head stopped pounding.