THIRTY-SEVEN

She could not deny that her heart was in her throat just a little bit as she pulled him into the deeper shadows beneath the eaves of Oksana's roof. It was late, yes, and she was well aware the road would be likely be deserted, but she couldn't help her anxiety.

Catching Antonin's crimson gaze in the darkness, she pressed a finger to her lips and nodded toward the corner of the building. He nodded in return, waiting. He could probably simply listen for any telling or suspicious noises, but he was rather certain his assurance would not do as much to steady her nerves as checking for herself would.

With a subtle, sobering shake, she leaned away from him. Her hand still in his, she used him for safe leverage to peer out, checking the expanse of the forest-lined road, the quiet little house on the other side.

Finding no one lurking about but them, she let got a breath she'd not realized she had been holding. The tense set of her shoulders eased and she straightened up.

He let her guide him around the side of the house, 'til they stood before her window.

"I was here," she said, her voice low. She turned, waving a hand in the direction of the feeling she remembered. "I was about to climb back through the window, and that's when I felt it … behind me, it seemed."

"All right." He nodded, letting her hand slip from his and drifting across the road on slow, measured footfalls. "Let' s see if I can discern anything."

Hermione nodded again, watching him. Dear Lord, she was suddenly acutely aware of his presence the further he stalked away from her. Suddenly acutely aware of her bed just on the other side of the wall at her back.

Wincing, the witch dug her nails into the palm of her hand, forcing herself to focus on the moment. On the importance of Antonin's impromptu investigation.

On the fact that her bed would still be after he uncovered whatever clue her mysterious watcher might've left behind.