A/N: Thanks again to pgoodrichboggs for leaving the feedback about Orev. As to Orev recognizing Hermione—well, we'll see… ;)

Also, I know I'm going to go way over my initial estimate of 10 chapters. I'm having too much fun playing with these characters that are not actually mine.

Happy reading!

..

*********Chapter SEVEN*********

Hermione lifts her hair away from her face and holds up the mirror. Her roots are definitely lighter. She casts another charm to make them a dark brown, then frowns. There's no denying that her roots are also kinkier, her curls trying to force their way out again.

She's taken too long to check her appearance. Out here in the forest for weeks, with only the trees for company, Hermione hasn't bothered to keep up her disguise as well as she had in England. With a sigh, she casts another charm to tame the new growth, and puts down the mirror.

Orev is outside waiting on her. He's conjured a small fire inside the wards. It's flames cast blue shadows on the darkened trees. Hermione brings a mug of tea for both of them, handing him one before sitting beside the fire. The warmth of the fire and tea feels good in the cool night air.

"So you think," Orev says without looking up from the fire, "that the wizard you're seeking is the one I've been chasing around in this very forest."

Hermione had carefully filled him in on her mission, excluding names, dates, and places.

"The timeline fits," she says. "He committed a murder just over a year ago. And no trace of him was found." Hermione's voice grows quiet, even though she doesn't want to let on how much the death personally affected her.

"And no one saw him—"

"—or her—"

"—or her—enter the place that you won't tell me about and leave the object you won't be specific about in this room."

"Yes."

"You do realize that it could be anybody."

"I am aware. If we could have narrowed it down, we would have caught the murderer already."

"Who's we?"

Hermione doesn't answer.

After a moment, Orev smirks. The way the corner of his mouth sneaks up reminds her of someone. Who? Then the look is gone, and so is the resemblance.

"What?" she asks.

"I was just thinking. You did want my help. I told you I'd been searching for a rogue wizard for over a year. That's why you came after me."

Hermione flushes and tries to hide her gaze in the fire. "It was an impulse."

"Are you always so impulsive?"

She looks over at him. His dark eyes are staring back at her. Again, he reminds her of someone. She just can't place who. Hermione shifts in her seat. "When I need to be."

They sit in silence for a while. It's comfortable, sitting here with him. And she's only known him for what, less than a day? That she already feels so at ease around a complete stranger disturbs her.

"So," Hermione says, taking a sip of tea, "when did you first notice you weren't able to Apparate?"

"The first time I tried to do it after recovering from my injury."

"What happens when you try?"

"It's what doesn't happen that's the problem. That's why I'm telling you about it."

"So, no tingling, no dizziness . . ."

"Nothing. I just stand there like a complete fool, turning around on my heel like a ballet dancer."

"Ballet dancers turn on their toes."

"What?" A hint of annoyance crosses Orev's face.

There it is again! The way his face contorts looks just like . . . She can almost say who. If he just keeps that look a moment longer . . .

Hermione's almost tempted to annoy him some more, just to tease it out of him.

"Is that all you have to say?" he prompts.

"How old are you?" she asks.

Orev's eyes narrow. "I thought we agreed not to discuss particulars."

"Only particulars regarding your injuries and my friend's death."

"Still, I don't believe I'm going to answer that."

"In case you hadn't thought about this, sometimes older wizards don't recover completely from severe trauma."

"Just how much older do you think I am?"

"I don't know. That's why I asked."

"How old do I look, then?"

Hermione snorts. "What difference does it make how old you look?"

Orev shrugs. "I guess it doesn't. I'm just curious."

"You really want me to guess?" The whole question was ridiculous. How had they even landed on this conversation?

"Go ahead."

She turns to face him. No receding hairline. Dark hair with no gray. A few lines around his eyes—not many. A crease between his eyebrows. But that doesn't matter. She has those, too, from frowning too much. Yes, too much frowning over the years.

"Well?" he asks.

"Mid-thirties, forty maybe."

Orev nods. "Thirty-five."

"Hmm . . . Did you attend Hogwarts?"

"Yes."

"You know Bill Weasley, then? He's about your age, I think."

Orev makes an indistinct noise, somewhere between a snort and a cough. "I knew of him."

"What House were you in?"

Orev stares at Hermione. "Slytherin. What about you? Oh wait, let me guess . . . Gryffindor."

"I'm not going to apologize. Hagrid used to say 'there wasn't witch or wizard that went bad that wasn't in Slytherin.'"

He raises an eyebrow. "And we now know, don't we, after years of war, that traitors turned up in every House. Don't get all sanctimonious on me."

The more Hermione hears him speak, the more familiar he seems, and yet she's certain she's not seen his face before. Not like this, anyway. Who does she know that's about the same age as Bill Weasley?

"So who are you really?" she asks. She can't help it.

"Tut, tut, Wren."

"Maybe we met at the Ministry at one point?" she presses.

"And do you often have business at the Ministry?"

Hermione bites her tongue. She's said too much. Ever since the Battle of Hogwarts, she's been at the Ministry on an almost daily basis, for one reason or another. It's not until the last year that . . .

She sits back, looking back at the fire. Why does it even matter whether she's met Orev before? If she has, it was in passing at the Ministry or some other wizarding establishment. All that matters is that he seems to be willing to help, although why she can't imagine. Surely he could have done his own research into his loss of ability to Apparate?

"Okay, Orev, you win for now. But at least can you tell me what you've been up to in this forest?"

He sighs. "There is not much to tell. After the War, I made my way here. And don't look at me that way, I wasn't fleeing from punishment of any sort."

Orev stares into the fire again. "But I knew that others would. And these mountains surrounding the dragon preserve are some of the most remote on the planet. And the most magical. If Death Eaters wanted to run away to some place where they could perhaps band together again, I thought this would be the place."

"So you are hunting down the remains of the Death Eaters."

"I feel it's . . . necessary."

"Know a lot about Death Eaters, do you?"

"Don't you?"

Hermione takes in a sharp breath, but she doesn't answer.

Orev leans forward, his gaze holding hers. "You must have spent considerable time researching them to have ended up here. Why do you assume I haven't done the same?"

"I didn't assume any such thing."

"No, you just think you alone have the right to be here."

Hermione's cheeks warm in anger. "You don't know anything about me!"

"Oh but I do," his voice has turned silky soft.

Hermione suppresses a shudder. "What is it that you think you know?" she asks, matching his tone.

"It doesn't take a genius to figure out that the death of your friend was very personal. And you have obviously attempted to prepare yourself for whatever you might encounter in this forest. However, it's also painfully obvious you've had no real experience with the Dark Arts."

"How dare you!" Hermione's nostrils flare.

Orev shrugs.

He actually just shrugged at me, she thinks.

He presses on. "Don't be offended. You don't have to have actually used the Dark Arts to fight them, you know."

Hermione stands, her anger threatening to get the better of her. "Well, this has been a very enlightening conversation, Orev. I'm glad we could go ahead and get all our differences out in the open."

Orev stands, too. "Better to know now, than to figure it out when we're being attacked by a Dark wizard we wouldn't recognize if he threw himself into our fire!"

Hermione raises her hands in surrender. "Enough. I'm going to bed."

She stalks off, punching the tent flap aside so it looks angry, too.

"It's not polite to just leave in the middle of a conversation, you know," Orev calls to her.

Hermione fumes as she sets another ward on the inside of her tent; no way is she even taking the chance that Orev could get in here. She half thinks he could be the wizard she's searching for, after all. And why does his face bother her? Hermione learned long ago to never dismiss her gut feelings. If his face bothers her, it bothers her. She'll figure it out soon enough.

She sinks down onto the bunk and glances at the canvas tent flap. There really is no protection between herself and the man outside the tent.

Especially since he's already proved he can bring down her wards.

Hermione paces a bit, then pulls a couple of random books out of her bag. But after flipping through pages for a few minutes, she still can't settle down. She huffs and slams the book shut.

She can always Apparate out.

That's not an option, Hermione.

She grabs her wand, marching to the door. If she doesn't feel safe enough to sleep, then she'll make sure Orev doesn't, either. She yanks the tent flap open, ready to exchange words again. But the accusations die on her lips.

Orev is gone.

..

**********End Chapter*********

So… I think I need to say that "Orev" lied to Hermione about his age on purpose. He's older than he told her, of course. Why did he lie? We'll find out… ;)

Also, I may not get a chance to post again over the weekend. So look for another chapter on Monday or Tuesday.