December 11th

Antonin's expression after hearing Hermione's statement was one of complete shock. His jaw dropped open slightly and his eyes didn't blink. Part of her wished she could read his thoughts in that moment, but she was also afraid of what she would discover if she could. Would he grow violent again when the shock wore off? He'd never laid a hand in anger on her outside of his ordered punishments from the Dark Lord. Was this going to be the first time? Should she be prepared to fight her husband? She really didn't know what to expect next.

"My daughter? What are you talking about?"

The calm, soft tone he used to ask his questions should've put Hermione at ease, but it didn't. She could only imagine the intense emotions that were coursing through him. No matter how uncomfortable her world was about to get, she knew that she couldn't keep the details that she knew from him a secret any longer. He deserved better than that. Ginny deserved better than that. Pushing aside the very real concern that the violence she'd just witnessed could've been avoided if she'd only told him sooner about the child he didn't know about, Hermione took a deep calming breath.

"A few days after I was attacked in St. Mungo's I came here looking for Ginny. I thought I might find you here or at least learn where I could find you. She wasn't expecting me, of course, and seemed very nervous. At first I thought maybe you were in the bedroom or William Wood or someone else she didn't want me to know about, but when the door opened a little girl came out."

The guilt that she could've prevented the death of the woman still lying on the floor only feet away was choking. Hermione couldn't bear to look at the spot where Ginny's lifeless corpse fell.

"Rodolphus has been blackmailing Ginny since she was pregnant. That's why she's been helping him. At first he just threatened to tell you that Maisie existed and Ginny was afraid that you would take her or hurt her, I'm not really sure which. And then he started threatening to kill her if Ginny didn't do as she was ordered."

Her heart threatened to hammer out of her chest. Antonin stared at her, still unmoving, still hardly blinking. She knew she couldn't stop. Not there.

"She's four and her name is Maisie. She looks exactly like Ollie did at that age. Beautiful little girl. Big brown eyes just like yours. I knew she was yours the moment I saw her. Ginny tried to hide her, but it was too late."

"Why didn't you tell me about her? That was months ago."

It would've been too easy to lie and say that Ginny threatened her with violence if she spilled her secret. Or maybe she could've said she was forced into a vow that she couldn't reveal the truth. Before any suitable lie could be fully formed in her mind, she stopped herself. The secrets were exhausting and mentally taxing. And besides, he deserved to know. She couldn't keep a secret any longer simply because she was afraid of how the revelation might affect her. Hadn't she spent enough of her life being selfish? It was time she was fully honest, damn the consequences.

"Because I was afraid if you knew you had a daughter with Ginny you would take Ollie and leave me to go have a family with her."

Antonin's eyes opened even wider at her confession. She wasn't expecting what she said to come out of her mouth, but it was too late to take it back. Especially considering she meant every word. When her husband didn't say anything, she grew embarrassed. She had a nasty habit of rambling too much when she was mortified and nervous.

"I thought you wouldn't want me anymore if you could have her. It was wrong. I'm so sorry. I should've told you the moment I found out, but I was a coward and selfish. I don't want you to have a family with anyone but me. I love you."

Those three little words that were so easy for everyone else in the world to say had never come out of Hermione's mouth before when she was talking to her husband. The shock of their arrival stopped her rambling. Antonin, equally, if not more shocked than his wife, began to step closer. His eyes were dark and intense. She knew she couldn't take back the words she'd already said, but quickly decided she didn't want to.

"I think I always have and I just didn't know it."

He was still moving slowly towards her, close enough finally that all she had to do was reach out her hand to touch him. She was both exhilarated and frightened by the intensity of his gaze. Everything felt like they were existing in slow motion. There was an element of fear that he wasn't stalking closer to her for anything other than to cause her pain for keeping the secret of his daughter from him for so long, but somehow that was more exciting than it was terrifying. As much as she knew she wasn't a masochist, she could appreciate that she deserved some sort of pain for what she did. It was only fair that she be punished for her crimes.

She held her breath in anticipation. While she recognized the darkening of her husband's eyes to usually mean desire, she'd also known him to look the same moments before he ripped an enemy's throat out with a spell. Up until the moment Antonin pressed his lips hard against hers, she wasn't certain if she would be the second dead witch in the bedroom or not. She exhaled as the kiss grew more heated. One sharp tug at the towel that she wore uncovered her nakedness. Antonin's hands running up and down her bare back and arse proved that at least for the immediate future he didn't have plans to end her life.

Perhaps it would seem strange to any outsider witnessing the exchange that a man would press his body against his woman's when there was a dead body only a short distance away. If Hermione allowed herself to think about the murder that she just witnessed, she would've pushed him away. But, the rules that Death Eaters lived by didn't always match up with those who hadn't taken the reckless and foolish step to pledge their eternal loyalty to Lord Voldemort. Their lives were more dangerous and chaotic than the average person's, especially in those first years of the regime. Death and sex often went hand in hand. One way to celebrate that a person was still alive following the uncertainty of battle was to indulge in the most carnal and selfish of acts.

Still, knowing that the dead woman was in the same room should have made Hermione ill at ease. The emotions that her confession created, however, were impossible to ignore. Antonin seemed intent on proving that he felt the same way just with the touch of his hands, the feel of his lips, and the press of his body. With the towel no longer hiding anything from his view, he led his wife over to the bed, ignoring the fact that he'd previously been reluctant to even consider any inappropriate acts because of the owner of the piece of furniture and the acts that had already been committed on it.

Every cell in Hermione's body was afire. He hadn't been gentle when he pushed her to top of the mattress. There seemingly wasn't time to be respectful and careful. She didn't care. Not when she could feel the flames threatening to consume her if she didn't have an outlet. Once she lay exposed on the bed, Antonin relinquished his hold on her long enough to divest himself of every stitch of clothing he had on. The anticipation of what was going to come next excited her more than she could ever remember feeling. Was it because she'd finally admitted to her husband and most importantly, to herself, of her true feelings? She'd been unwilling to see what was in front of her for so long that opening up the door to the possibility was overwhelming.

It was important to the wizard that every inch of his witch's body be explored with his lips and tongue. Tempted to shout at him to stop with the infernal teasing, Hermione knew better. He would only torture her more if she made demands. Antonin held all of the power in that moment, a truth that she was no longer afraid of. Despite everything they'd done to hurt each other in the past, they were somehow beyond those transgressions. Perhaps when they were no longer in the heat of the passionate moment they would need to stop and actually have a real conversation about their sins, but that could always wait. There was never a rush.

The heat of their two naked bodies pressing against one another was almost painful in its fervor. Both of them were breathing heavily, their hearts pounding against their ribcages begging for release. She could feel his as his mouth traveled down her torso just as she was certain he could feel hers. There was a desperation in him that she couldn't recall every sensing before. Had her words really been that powerful? Or was it just the effects of the kill he was already beginning to regret? She didn't know and decided that it wasn't important. Life was entirely too harsh and too cruel to focus on the insignificant bits that didn't really matter.

His intent was to worship the body of the witch. She screamed at the feel of his tongue sliding through her slick folds, reaching the sensitive bundle of nerves without hesitation. There was none of the teasing that he liked to employ when he wanted to remind her that he was in control. Somehow they were both in control in that moment. Or neither of them were. He devoured her, leaving no nerve untouched. As he combined the pressure of his mouth with two of his practiced fingers sliding inside her taut and ready body, she thought she would go mad with the pleasure. Her screams filled both of their ears, breaking the silence of the night.

He wrapped her still trembling legs around his waist and proved to her yet again the intensity of his own feelings with a single snap of his hips. She hadn't yet come down from the high of the first orgasm he'd given her when his frenetic pace and insistent touches in just the right places brought her to the pinnacle of pleasure again. Screams of his name and demands that he not stop were all that her incoherent mind could make her tongue utter. Her husband found his own moment of release just as she was finding hers again. They rode the waves together, pressing their lips against each other and wishing that the moment never had to end.

But it couldn't go on forever. With one final groan, Antonin released his seed inside his witch, and collapsed on top of her sweaty body. While they both struggled to catch their breaths, the reality of what they'd just done seemed to fall over them at the same time. Hermione tried to avert her eyes from the corner of the bedroom where the body of her old friend lay with her terrified eyes still wide open even in death. It all felt so wrong.

"We shouldn't have done this here."

Antonin simply nodded his head in complete agreement. There was something sick and disturbing about what they just did. The old rules of the Death Eaters could no longer apply to them. If they wanted to start over a new life without the yoke of the Dark Lord hanging around their necks, they couldn't be the same people they once were. Changes to the world first started in the hearts of the individual people living inside it. He kissed his wife's lips one final time before rolling off her body and then the bed. They couldn't linger in the house any longer. It was wrong. They couldn't continue being those same horrible people.