Scabior had spent the night outside, sitting on the bench that backed onto the quaint pub. The coldness of the air he was hoping would clear his mind. That had been the hope, but try as he might, he couldn't get Miones reaction out of his head. It played through his mind, over and over, like a movie on repeat. She had seemed so crestfallen over his telling her of his son. Though she had tried to hide it. It is what had kept him away for over twenty four hours.

Stepping inside the main door, she was back in her little cubby hole, pouring over parchments, maps if his eyes didn't deceive him. He paused in the doorway, toying with the bull ring on his hand, she was still the slim lithe beauty she always had been. Her hair was much more tamed these days, something he wasn't too keen on. He liked the wild look, the bushiness that spoke of days out in the open. Or nights of wildness within his bed. Clearly Weeselboy wasn't cutting it. He watched her for a while, the way she brushed the hair away from her face when she found something interesting. How she tapped her quill on the ink stand as she read. The thing he found most interesting was how she kept looking at her watch.

"'ello beautiful." He spoke, sauntering into the room, as if nothing had happened. She looked up at him, distinctive relief washing through her eyes, before she ventured a small hi.

For over a day, Hermione had been looking at the maps, the plans. The information the Ministry had given her about what they were out to accomplish. Though no matter how much she tried, it wasn't the only thing on her mind. She couldn't stop wondering where he was. More troubling was that if he was spotted without her right now, no matter what she did, she wouldn't be able to help him again. Until at least one war criminal was taken in, he was still on the Aurors list. And he would remain so. Still though, she couldn't not do anything. Even if she was failing miserably, she wouldn't have fared much better do nothing. So she tried again to concentrate on the task at hand, and hope he returned sooner rather than later.

Her head whipped up as he spoke, giving a small hi, in return to his greeting. She shuffled a few papers out of the way, bringing her almost stone cold cup of tea closer to her, but she lifted it anyway as he settled down on the chair across from her. Taking a small sip, she didn't know where to begin, she wanted to apologise about her reaction last night, explain that it had been foolish of her to think that she had been the only woman that mattered to him. Like he was for her. But clear enough, she wasn't. And it was that, that little shattering of a dream that had made her react last night. "About last night…" She started.

"Don't worry love. No need to go over it." He cut her off, waving his hand in his normal flamboyant way. He knew she wanted to. Give him hour long explanation that would take most people three words. Knowing her, she had a whole presentation laid out. "So, are you going after the wolf?" He asked, moving the conversation

Hermione took the hint, seeing that he didn't want to talk about. She straightened herself up, pulling one leg up to rest on the seat of the chair. "Yes. I think I have an idea of where he might be staying."

"You want me to go with you?" His tone, though questioning, was sardonic.

"Umm… I have figured out a way, that you don't have too. You have too much to risk. Your family." She offered quietly. "As long as you are there when he is taken in the pardon will stand. And we keep that between us." She didn't want to leave him now, but then again, she couldn't happily go in with him there. If he was seen by his old cohorts, he would be putting his family at risk.

"No." He stated quickly. "You can't win against 'im love. 'e would chew you up in 'eart beat. Do you forget the forest?" It was cold of him, to bring that up. The time the wolf had pinned her to floor intent of ruining her. Not only her spirit, but her body as well. And he would have, had the Snatcher not been able to stop him.

"Never." She whispered, her head sinking low. "But that alone is more reason to go after him. To save any one else from suffering at his hand." She lifted her head, trying to seem as determined as she could. "It has to be done and if it can help you out as well. Then I'll face the wolf alone."

"And do you feel this way, this sure about all the ones you 'ave to 'unt down? What if it were Bellatrix?"

"She's dead." Hermione retorted quickly. She had been able to move forward from what Fenrir had done, but she would never be able to forget what Bellatrix had done.

"You still 'ave the mark?" He pushed, the relentless side of him not letting up.

Her throat constricted, she didn't know where any of this was leading, but it had to have been going somewhere, but to speak now, when the past was rearing its head, reminding her of the pain she had gone through, because he had had no choice. Did he want her to hate him? She pulled up her long sleeve, something she had taken to wearing ever since that day. Showing the scarred word on her arm. "Nothing will get rid of it." Her voice was meek and hoarse.

He hand reached out, the tip of his finger tracing along the word on her arm, the one that told the world what she was. What she was to the rest of the magical community. "Cursed blade love. Nothing will remove it. You're stuck with it." He felt his own pang of guilt. He had left her there, he had heard her screams and while she was being tortured, he was drinking himself into a stupor to forget about it. "Why are you doing this for me 'Mione?" He asked before the controlled part of his mind could stop him.

Gently she pulled her arm back, tugging the sleeve back down, she had known it was a cursed blade but it hadn't stopped her from trying. Everything she could think of. Slowly, she gathered up her things, trying to formulate a normal response. She stood and looked him dead in the eye, no pretence on her face. "Because you deserve it. You helped me. So I am returning the favour." She smiled, leaning down and placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. Pulling back quickly and making for the door.

"'Mione!" He called, standing so quickly he pushed the chair over behind him, it clattered to the floor as he strode over to her, his frame pinning her against the wall.

"This other man you feel for…. Is it me?" His sharp mind had caught the look in her eyes the night before, the pain he had seen when she had learned of his son. The way her face softened when he was civil to her. He had seen it all before. When she had been in his camp. He was seeing it again now. He knew she did, he was certain of it. But he wanted to hear her say it. He wanted the satisfaction of her admitting it.

Hermione looked up at him, from under her lashes, she was terrified. If he realised that she still cared for him, life would become infinitely more difficult. Even still, her mouth betrayed her mind. "Yes." She whispered, in this moment, Hermione felt more vulnerable than she ever had in her life before.

He wanted to smirk, there it was, the answer. He was oddly proud, that even after all this time she still cared for him. His bright blue orbs bore into her chocolate gaze. In a selfish, possessive manner, his hand lifted to her cheek. Brushing her hair away from her face as his own leaned into her.

"Can I just…." He began…