FIFTY-FOUR
"Didn't expect to be at it this long, did you?"
Hermione hadn't jumped at his sudden presence behind her. Hadn't turned with her wand ready to strike at the unexpectedness of his voice.
Because his appearance wasn't sudden, nor unexpected.
As she did turn now, her wand still harmlessly conjuring a Lumos, she admonished herself for the way her heart leapt at the site of Antonin Dolohov. Not in fear, but in an annoyingly unbridled kind of joy.
He was correct, of course, she hadn't expected to be still searching after the sun had set. Long after Oksana had advised her was wise to be out 'alone'. But Hermione had assured the elder witch she would be careful, and keep herself safe, and that if she ran into trouble, not to worry, she knew how to send her patronus with a message for help.
Though these assurances seemed to calm the old woman a bit, she had still been wary about the idea of her guest's plan to spend the day investigating possible hiding places for the Book. Of course, Hermione had made it sound like there were several and had not been specific so that Oksana would not hold any information that could prove dangerous for her. She'd even—after checking that no one was watching her—slipped a note beneath the door of Antonin's shiny new little house telling him where he could find her if he she didn't come to him.
And so, here they were, back in Lychakiv after all.
It wasn't the idea that the Book of Veles might've been so close all along that troubled him, though the possibility that perhaps it had something to do with kindly—if cranky—old Sofiy sending him here in the first place did tickle at the back of his brain. No. It was the look on Hermione's face just now as she'd turned to face him.
"моя кошеня?" he asked in a whisper, drawing closer on cautious footfalls, something about her expression making him worry he might scare her somehow. "What is it?"
Much to his relief, she didn't step back or flinch from his touch as he reached out a hand to cup her cheek. In fact, it seemed quite the opposite as her eyes drifted closed and some tension visibly drained from her at the contact.
Giving her head a shake, she clasped a hand over his and gently pulled his palm from her jaw. It wasn't revulsion or fear in the gesture, but a desire to focus.
"I think something … more unusual than we considered before is happening here between us, Antonin."
His brows drew upward. Oh yes, he recalled distinctly a few nights ago thinking that she was tempting fate when she had said she didn't believe things could get stranger than they already were. As it was he was fighting with himself not to throw her on the ground and take her right here and now, but this was clearly serious.
Possibly as serious as locating the book.
He threaded his fingers through hers and placed her palm over his heart. "You have my attention," he said, assuring her as much as himself. "Tell me what you mean."
"Um, well, you noticed that I wasn't startled when you sort of popped up just now, all silent and upir-stealthy?"
A frown graced his lips. That was odd now that she mentioned it. "Yes?"
Her mouth opened and closed a few times, clearly fighting for just the right words to explain before she managed, "It's because … somehow I could feel you there."
His already lifted brows nearly disappeared into his hairline and his eyelids fluttered in a series of rapid blinks as he asked, "I'm sorry, what now?"
