Even if she lived a hundred lifetimes, Hermione was sure she would never understand the man she married. There was a time when she thought she knew everything about him, all of his mannerisms, his moods, his thoughts, his fears, his dreams, everything. To discover that the man she shared a child with was a complete stranger after thirteen years of marriage was disconcerting to say the least. Not once in the entire time that she'd been back in their home had he raised his voice. Not once. This was a man who shouted and roared at every tiny, little thing. Even when she was apologizing for the pain she caused him, the pain that almost killed him, he'd simply kissed her hand and assured her with a soft tone that no one was angry with her for what she'd done. Who was this man?