THIRTY-TWO

The next morning—or at least she thought it was morning—Hermione dragged herself out of bed feeling as though she'd not slept a wink. Putting the heel of her palm against her temple, she blindly lifted her wand with her free hand, testing her ward.

Still strong, untouched … or at least it seemed like it from what she could tell.

Wincing, she lowered her wand and stood, padding to the door on bare feet. It couldn't be Dolohov taking her blood that had her so—God, again with the puns—drained, as he'd taken so little.

Maybe how late she'd gone to bed? Yes, that could be it.

Yet, there was the nagging sense that there was more to it. Something she wasn't equipped to understand.

She made her way through the cozy house and took a seat at the kitchen table. Oksana glanced over from where she stood at the stove, her faint humming slowly and then stopping entirely.

"I wondered when you'd wake. Before you ask, it's lunchtime."

Of course she'd slept 'til noon. Bracing her elbows on the table, Hermione dropped her chin into her hands. "Sorry, I don't normally sleep so late."

"Didn't rest well?" the elder witch asked, concerned; the fuss she'd made the first night over the spare room being comfortable enough spoke to how highly she valued her guests' care.

Right, Hermione thought, reminding herself of what she meant to ask this morning. Maybe it was that unsettled sense she'd been left with as she'd drifted to sleep that was the cause.

"Well, I … I heard something outside my window last night. When I looked, there was nothing there." Shaking her head, she continued, "I shut the window and added a ward of my own for good measure, but …."

There was a snappy clunking sound of Oksana rapping her spoon against the soothingly bubbling pot before she turned and came to the table. Taking a seat across from the younger woman, she asked, "But?"

Hermione shrugged. "I can't put my finger on it, but there was something simply wrong. Like I should have been seeing something there, and I can't explain why I didn't. If it had been something as simple as someone using a concealment charm, I'd probably never have noticed to begin with."

Oksana frowned, the expression curving deep lines in her wrinkled face. "Did you notice anything else?"

Again Hermione shook her head. "I don't think so. Do you have any idea what it might've been?"

"Lurking at night and hiding where you can't see?" With a sigh, her host shook her head. "There are many things it could have been. If we only knew something more …." Reaching out, Oksana patted Hermione's arm gently. "Relax, soon you'll eat. Maybe in a little while, you'll remember more, hmm?"

Giving a nod of her own now, Hermione folded her arms on the table and lay her head against them. She watched as the old woman got up from the table and went back to her cooking.

As her eyes drifted shut a moment, Hermione heard something. Eyelids twitching, she tried to listen, scrambling at the memory.

"Screaming …" she whispered.

Oksana turned to face her once more, blue eyes narrowed in speculation under her heavy, furrowed brow. "What?"

Opening her eyes, Hermione repeated the word. "After I closed the window and tried to get to sleep … I think I dreamed of screaming."

"What sort of screaming?"

Hermione swallowed hard, the recollection odd, uncomfortable. Off, somehow. "Well, it sounded human, but …."

"But?"

"Well, you know how some animals can cry so that it sounds like a human scream? That was how hearing it it felt, like it sounded human, but I knew it … wasn't."

Oksana's expression closed down as she turned back to her cooking.

"What is it? Do you know?"

Though she shook her head, the elder witch replied, "Not for certain, but what I think is the sooner you complete your task and return home, the better for you."