They clinked their glasses and drank. Hermione felt silly that she didn't remember her own wedding anniversary. Thirteen years earlier she'd been practically dragged to the altar under duress. It was hardly the most beautiful day of her life. Still both heartbroken and slightly relieved that she wasn't able to marry Augustus, she'd not been thrilled by the prospect of becoming Mrs. Dolohov. She was still angry that she was being forced to marry anyone at all, let alone Antonin. Theirs was hardly the most joyful of weddings. Usually, she just tried to push memories of it out of her mind. There was little wonder that she'd neglected to remember the significance of the day or why her husband would rush back from his secret meeting abroad to plan a romantic dinner.