She loathed Rabastan. A part of her, even when he was tumbling in and out of her bed, always hated the man. There was something unnerving about him that she couldn't quite put her finger on. Like a snake in the grass, it felt like he was always watching and waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He was a complication that she knew to expect, but one that she wasn't completely sure how to outmaneuver. And her insipid assistant was right there hanging on every single word he spoke as if it was pure gold. Hermione knew the man well enough to know that it wouldn't take long before he grew tired of the witch. There was a reason why women never stayed very long in his life. Once he confided in her when he was very drunk that the great love of his life died when they were very young. No one would ever take her place.