The moment she exited the fireplace in the kitchen with a sooty whoosh, Hermione knew that her time avoiding her husband was up. Seated at the familiar table they'd shared countless meals at, Antonin was waiting. Continuing to avoid him was impossible. With a sigh, she took a seat across from him without saying a word. Perhaps it was better that they just get it all out in the open and over with. What was the worst that could happen? She'd been expecting him to murder her since the moment she crossed over the threshold on Oliver's birthday.