November 19th

After the excitement in Diagon Alley, Hermione only had just enough magical energy left to Apparate her back to the Lestrange family estate in Norfolk before she collapsed. How she made it from the gates to the bed across the corridor from Rodolphus' room, she wasn't sure. Based on the fact that she'd been changed into a soft nightgown and her body cleansed of all traces of the acrid smell of Fiendfyre smoke, she assumed it was one of the army of house-elves that catered to the needs of the family. Rodolphus might not miss a chance to see her naked, but he wasn't the sort to take such thorough, gentle care of anyone.

She didn't wake up until midday. The amount of magical energy that was required to not only create the initial containment field, but then to conjure up Fiendfyre she could hold in her hand even for a few moments was astronomical. There was a very valid reason why so few ever wanted to attempt such a spell. Also, the fact that Vincent Crabbe wasn't able to control it when he was a foolish teenager proved that not everyone understood that energy had to come from somewhere.

It was all too easy to assume that because a person had the ability to use magic that they had an infinite supply ready to be used on a whim. That simply wasn't the case. Some witches and wizards were stronger, more powerful than others. Part of that had to do with genetics. As much as it infuriated Hermione to recognize that there were indeed some Pureblood families out there who were just naturally more gifted at casting magic, she knew it was the truth. Much like there were Muggle families that just naturally were more athletic than their fellow Muggles without needing to train incessantly. A Muggle couldn't run a marathon and then bounce back after a few minutes of rest just to run another one. There was a finite amount of energy that they had to consume. The same went for magic.

Hermione could spend all day sitting on a sofa levitating a feather without expending much magical energy at all. But, if she tried to cast a series of powerful spells for many hours, she would eventually be too tired and depleted to continue. One could train themselves to undergo a rigorous routine of high-energy magical spells. It took patience and determination and even then they would have to rest at some point to replenish. Some witches and wizards had to work twice as hard as others to be half as good. It was a cruel twist of fate. Blood status didn't always determine a person's magical competency, no matter how many bigoted, misguided Purebloods claimed it so. A Muggle-born might be inherently more powerful than a Pureblood who could trace their magical heritage back a thousand years. These were facts that many Purebloods fought wars to prevent getting out. It was all madness that Hermione had little time or energy for. Maybe in a different world she would've been glad to fight against the pro Pureblood laws, not in the current universe she was forced into living.

Fiendfyre would zap the magical energy stores of anyone who tried to sustain it. That was a lesson hard-learned by Hermione during the months she trained to cast it with confidence with Felix. Considering she hadn't cast the spell in a long time, years possibly, she was fortunate that it worked at all. Conditioning was just as important in magic as it was in physical exercise. If she wanted to cause more devastation in the future with the same powerful energy, she needed to keep practicing. Energy didn't just magically appear out of nowhere. It had to be taken from somewhere. Endurance was key.

When she could not lay in her bed for another moment longer, Hermione forced herself to get up to face what remained of the day. She worried that if she lingered in her bed for too long, Rodolphus might choose to come seek her out. The last thing she wanted was him anywhere near her bedroom. He might get ideas she wasn't ready to carry through with just yet. After a long shower left her feeling more human than when she woke up, she dressed and headed downstairs.

Rodolphus was already busy at work behind his desk in his study. The moment her shadow crossed in front of his door, he called out for her to join him. She'd been hoping foolishly that she would be able to slip unnoticed into the tiny kitchen to find something to eat before he knew she was awake. Likely there would be lots of questions about her activities the day before. He wasn't a dumb man in the slightest. The fate of Albert Runcorn and the London offices of the Daily Prophet would be attributed to her wand. Would he be angry? She never could tell how he would react.

In the end, she needn't have worried. One step inside his study and Rodolphus was nothing but smiles. Hermione felt instantly at ease. While there were certainly times that his laughter and joy put her on edge, he didn't seem like he was going to be angry with her for her previous day's activities. He gestured to the empty chair in front of his desk.

"I wasn't sure how long you would stay asleep today. Are you well-rested?"

"Yes, thank you."

"You missed an exciting day while you were asleep."

All at once she felt exhausted again. How was it possible that the man could have that effect on her with just the sound of his voice? She longed to crawl back under the covers, pull them over her head, and pretend like the rest of the world didn't exist. No longer did she want to remain in Rodolphus' house. Her plan to get him to trust her long enough to tear down his defensive walls seemed like a terrible idea. But, she knew that leaving wasn't an option yet. She hadn't learned anything useful and she hadn't been able to poison him. While she was well aware of the fact that if properly motivated, she could kill the wizard even in his own home, she wanted more than that. She was desperate to know what he'd done to her mind. Until she learned for certain that he couldn't control her again, she had to remain right where she was.

"What happened?"

"I'd give you a Daily Prophet to read all about it, but I'm afraid the Daily Prophet is no more. Burned into nothing by an impressive display of Fiendfyre according to eyewitness reports."

His smile indicated that he was amused and no doubt aware of her role in the conflagration. Even if he had been upset, she had no regrets. She did what was required. The newspaper had been printing too many lies about too many people for too many years. It wasn't just for herself that she got rid of the hateful place. Harry had been just as big a victim of their salacious lies. No longer would she allow the publication to make a profit with their attempts to ruin innocent lives.

"Albert Runcorn seems to be the only fatality."

Hermione couldn't even muster up enough false sympathy to put on a show. Nothing would ever make her pretend to be upset that the awful wizard was dead. It should've happened sooner, in her opinion. She thought it was a shame that she hadn't been able to kill him before she had to suffer the indignities of his hands and lips on her body. Just thinking about the day she killed Rita in his office made her entire body shudder. For once she was grateful that Rita Skeeter felt the need to be so nosy. If she hadn't taken it upon herself to sneak into her boss' office against his knowledge to eavesdrop on what was happening inside the room, Hermione wouldn't have had the perfect opportunity to bash the woman into a pulp with her shoe. And, even more disgusting, she would've actually had to go through Albert's seduction. The thought made her skin crawl.

"While I must admit to finding the entire situation amusing, you must be more careful, my dear. What if you'd been injured in the fire yourself? Or someone from the Ministry tried to arrest you?"

She shrugged her shoulders. There wasn't much that scared her those days. Being tied to a chair and sliced into ribbons until she was almost dead took a lot of her fear away. Maybe she was worried about her son's safety or what was actually happening in her troubled marriage, but she didn't fear a physical end for herself. Death would come for her one day. If it was soon, she didn't much care. Her life had been long enough. At times, it was too long.

"You're leaving a bloody path behind you and I fear that it could catch up to you eventually."

"I'm not worried, Rodolphus. If I die, I die."

The smile on his face disappeared in an instant. Rodolphus had always been known for his rather volatile mood swings. She could feel the entire atmosphere in the room shift as his face grew redder with his increasing anger. Standing to his feet, he leaned over the top of his desk until his face was in hers. Hermione held her breath, afraid to even move.

"I don't ever want to hear about you dying again. Is that understood?"

All she could do was nod her head. It had been a long time since she'd last seen him so discomposed. Ordinarily he was in better control of his emotions unless something major set him off. Speaking flippantly about her eventual demise was clearly not something she should repeat. Rodolphus seemed unhinged. She was afraid of him and wanted to get far away from him before he exploded.

"I'm very sorry. Excuse me."

His eyes watched her exit his study moments after she made her apology. Feeling him stare at her back as she left only made her more nervous. She would have to be careful speaking to him in the future if he was going to turn so quickly. No longer feeling hungry, but wanting to escape, she made her way to the small kitchen in the back of the house. She knew she would have to wait to approach him again after he'd calmed down.

The door to the kitchen wasn't even fully closed behind her when she could hear the heavy front door open and slam loudly. She peeked out the crack in the open door just in time to see Rodolphus' back. Perhaps he just wished to take a long walk to relax and steady his blood pressure.

Some of her boldness returned when the tyrant was no longer inside his house. Deciding that she would take it upon herself to find the answers she wanted, Hermione returned to the empty study. It was wrong to go through a person's desk without their permission, but she didn't care. Weren't they living in a perpetual state of war? All's fair and such.

The parchments he left lying on top of his desk were of no interest to her. Mostly personal correspondence from people she cared nothing about, she knew that even in the midst of his worst anger, he wouldn't be foolish enough to leave incriminating documents behind. No, she had to be more creative in her search.

Nothing caught her eye in any of the drawers of the desk either. All that she could find that seemed a little strange to her was a framed picture of Bellatrix from shortly before they were married. Still dressed in her Hogwarts robes, young Bellatrix looked almost innocent. Hermione ignored the similarities of some of their facial features. The idea that she shared anything in common with that madwoman always put her on edge. She ran her hands underneath his desk searching for any secret latch or compartment.

Just as she was about to give up her search entirely, she felt a slight indention in the wood. Pressing gently on it, she gasped when a hidden drawer popped open in the side of the large desk. Was this where Rodolphus kept the most damning evidence of his treachery? She couldn't wait to discover all that he held in his private hiding place. How important must it be to be kept so hidden?

More pictures of Bellatrix in varying stages of her relatively short life filled part of the drawer. Some of them were taken with a younger version of her husband. They both seemed so young, so happy. Did they know that their lives would be ruined by their decision to follow Lord Voldemort? It was depressing. Hermione kept digging through the pictures until she found a stack of letters tied with a green hair ribbon. Why was Rodolphus still holding on to the sappy letters he exchanged with his bride-to-be when she was still in Hogwarts? Afraid to keep digging in what was obviously an intensely private drawer, she put everything back where she found it.

She searched every inch of the rest of the house for anything that might be useful. Her search came up empty.