Hermione wasn't sure how long they stood over the threshold of the home they'd shared for the better part of twenty years with Antonin's arms wrapped tightly around her frame. Several minutes at least. Long enough to hear the midnight hour rung in with the obnoxious German cuckoo clock of her husband's she loathed. If anyone dared to tell her the reception she would receive from Antonin at any point in the previous year, she would've laughed and rolled her eyes at their ignorance. Her husband wanted her dead after she attacked him so viciously and humiliated him in front of so many within their elite social circle.