Thoughts of Antonin's fate annoyed her more than they concerned her. Their relationship had always been complicated. She would never make a foolish declaration that she had ever been in love with him. She hadn't. Feelings might have existing that were difficult to place and she might admit to feeling a kind of love for him, if and only if pressed. What sustained their marriage for so long was a mutual sense of respect and orders from their master. Left to make her own choices, Hermione would probably still be flitting from random bed to random bed trying to block out the screams and memories that kept her mind continuously flooded. Maybe she would already be dead, a victim of her own poor decisions. There had been a few nights in her past she could hardly remember because of her thirst for illegal potions or because of the curses shot at her by angry wives.