THIRTY-THREE

Hermione wanted to be extra careful this time when she slipped from the house—though it helped that now she knew precisely where the cemetery was and was able to Apparate there directly. What didn't help was that Oksana had not wanted to talk further on what Hermione's nighttime stalker might be.

Though she knew perfectly well why the elder witch didn't want to divulge any speculations that might prove untrue, it still frustrated her. Yes, yes, Hermione thought as she appeared at the cemetery gates. Her host didn't want to frighten her, and just her luck, her host wasn't aware how little frightened a witch of Hermione Granger's caliber and experience.

No, it wasn't even what Oksana wouldn't say that burrowed beneath Hermione's skin and sat all day, itching at her like some wretched insect bite.

She Apparated again and again, flitting throughout the massive complex from one landmark she recognized to the next in spurts of motion and magic. Finally she was before Antonin's daytime resting place.

It was that the only clues she had—something that could hide its presence, something that … screamed—didn't leave her with much and whatever was in the books at her disposal didn't seem to have anything that might match up. There was a troubling sense that there was some deeper reason she could not find any pertinent information.

Something that was beyond her—something that far predated her presence in Wizarding Lviv.

Giving herself a shake, she thought about knocking on the metal doors, but that felt foolish. She thought if Dolohov knew she were here, wouldn't he even come out to meet her?

Or he was waiting for her deliberately.

Waiting to see if she was serious about letting him help her find the book. Serious about the chance of ending his curse. Serious about finding out whatever this might be between them.

Drawing in a deep breath, she opened the doors.

There he stood, a silhouette amongst the shadows. Those familiar crimson eyes gleamed at her from the darkness.

"There you are," he said, his voice pitched deep in a relieved whisper.

Hermione felt the breath she'd just taken escape all over again in a warm rush as she found her legs moving, seemingly of their own volition, to bring her closer to him.