I've been looking so long at these pictures of you
That I almost believe that they're real

Pictures of You - The Cure [1989]

Relocation to Grimmauld Place had not been easy. Given their current circumstances, wanted by the Wizarding world as a whole, being somewhere safe, warm and dry, with a literal roof over their heads, was somewhat better than they could have expected, but it did not make the transition any smoother. Hermione often felt that the very building itself was rejecting their presence. Apparating to the only place they could think of, they had not prepared themselves to enter the home. Dust and decay had set in fast; you would have been forgiven for thinking that the townhouse had been empty for years, not the few months it had been since they had been there last. Hermione wondered if the regression had been helped along by Kreacher, anxious as the elf may have been to remove any evidence of their former occupation. The ancient house elf largely stayed out of their way, Harry concluded he had finally gone completely round the bend, following the fall of the House of Black, but given the amount of times Hermione heard him mutter Mudblood under his breath, she thought Harry a little off the mark. Kreacher had enough faculties remaining to know exactly where he was, and who they were, and he didn't like it.

She was reminded, as she walked the deteriorating halls, of her mother saying it was inhabitants that made a house a home, and this house had never been a home for any that had passed through its doors. How could it only have been two years ago that she had been here following commands from Molly, to get the house fit for the Order? Dodging a disinterested and disheartened Sirius as he pounded the floors, lost in the waking nightmare of his past.

The house wasn't the only thing that had regressed; Harry was struggling. The weight of the war, Dumbledore's death, and the total lack of direction they had were sitting heavily on him. That would have been enough for any one person, but living here, the former home of the closest person he'd ever had to a parent, was even more damaging. He wallowed for a solid week while Hermione grew increasingly despairing, then, without warning, something changed. Harry woke up one morning and came into the library, where she had set up her research base, and sat at the table without fanfare or explanation.

"Where do you want me to start?" he asked, looking over the tomes and parchments she had arranged in piles all over the table.

Hermione nearly cried with relief. Relief that he was talking again, and relief that she wouldn't be going it alone anymore. She took him through everything she had discovered so far on the Horcruxes, her first theories on what some could be, and ideas over where to start looking. For the next four days, they worked diligently, side by side, and Hermione felt like they were getting somewhere for the first time. With Harry helping go through the books and adding his thoughts to what they discovered, the pace of work trebled. In their quiet time of debating ideas Harry also imparted more details Dumbledore had told him during their session. They discussed all he knew about Voldemort's upbringing and the path he walked to becoming who he was now, all of it was important, nothing could be overlooked.

It appeared that Voldemort was a man, or rather had been a man that valued ceremony and trophies. Hermione considered that if she were to create a Horcrux, heaven forbid, she would make it out of the most inconspicuous and reason-less object she could find, using the same rationale adopted for portkeys. An old boot was not likely to be tracked down, however hard a group of people searched for it. But Riddle was not the same as her, years of deprivation and being denied his heritage had made him covetous of power and status, the rest of the items would be as significant as the three they knew about had been.

The research continued. Hermione found herself more at peace than she had been since before the night of the attack on Hogwarts, the situation was dire, but she was now operating inside of her element. In the months leading up to this, Hermione had felt like her life was on pause, at least now she could start work on something to help. She was good at the academics, but Harry was a natural leader, and despite his penchant for getting into trouble he couldn't quite get himself out of, he had good instincts. Working together they learnt all they could about the creation of objects so dark they weren't even readily found in books in the Black Family library.

Ron was finding the adjustment to being 'on the run' the most difficult. Although he had never had money, Ron had grown up with a particularly diligent mother, who ran the Burrow like a war-time vessel. Molly Weasley had raised her children well, but had not exactly done so with the express intention of making them independent. Molly had always struck Hermione as a mother that was in no rush to have the apron strings cut, and as a consequence Ron was next to useless with household chores, and often got frustrated when things weren't to the standard he expected. He didn't mean it; he just hadn't been used to any level of discomfort in his life. Harry, by contrast, had been used to far too much. After several meals where they risked Kreacher's cooking, they unanimously agreed to take it on themselves. Harry had an aptitude for housework that made Hermione uncomfortable, she knew how those skills had been obtained, and they hadn't come from any active interest. She had not been used to discomfort either, but she was a practical girl, raised by sensible people that had strived to raise a self-sufficient daughter. Hermione had helped her mother in the kitchen from a young age, Jean Granger was a working mum, and that meant a lot of the meals that Hermione was accustomed to would probably seem simple to a family like the Weasley's, but she was satisfied with them.

Harry decided after those first mornings in the library that they knew all they were going to know about Horcruxes in general, and it was time to act. They needed to know what the objects were, and how to destroy them. As the second didn't become a problem until they had managed the first they focused on locating one for now. They only had one real clue, the fake necklace and the accompanying note, addressing the Dark Lord, from a person who had been attempting to do the same as them. Once they stumbled across the initials R.A.B. on the door of a bedroom opposite Sirius' upstairs, the rest of the story came out rather quickly. A heart-breaking tale of a misunderstood pureblood prince who had decided to devote the last days of his life in an attempt to right what he saw as poor decisions of not only himself, but his family.

Reading the diary of Regulus Arcturus Black was difficult for all of them, Harry was especially moved as Sirius would never know the truth about his brother's loyalties. Hermione was privately glad of it. She didn't want to seem callous, but she wasn't sure Sirius had been stable enough towards the end to have learnt this news. To discover the fate of the brother he'd shunned would probably have broken him in a way that even twelve years in Azkaban hadn't managed.

After an early night where the trio all went to bed with heavy hearts, Harry awoke more determined than ever to get moving with their plans. He had added the responsibility of another person to be avenged to his shoulders, and he was resolved to finish what Regulus had started. It was time to locate the locket. The real one.

After managing to corral Kreacher into cooperation by the mere mention of 'dear Master Regulus' they discovered that Mundungus Fletcher had been in and out of Grimmauld Place rather frequently in previous months, taking whatever he felt like from Harry's inheritance. An enthusiastic Dobby and a surprisingly buoyed Kreacher were dispatched to locate him, and Hermione headed upstairs to go back to the books. Facing Mundungus was not on the list of things she wanted to do, ever again. One of the recurring images, from her more vivid nightmares, was seeing Mad-Eye Moody shot in the chest, plummeting to the ground. She wouldn't forgive Dung for his cowardice that day.

Hours later, a very pale Harry entered the library followed by a subdued Ron, Hermione looked up from her books. "Did they not find him?" she asked, confusion pulling at her brow.

"Oh no they found him, and they brought him back... very much against his will." Harry moved his hands to his neck, resting the back of his head on them momentarily. "He admitted taking it," he continued, and the room was silent, Ron was staring at the floor, scuffing the toes of his shoes against the edge of a worn rug, and Hermione sensed anxiety bloom in her stomach.

"Well… don't keep me in suspense Harry, have they gone to get it?"

He rubbed his face. "No, he's sold it."

She instantly deflated, but her mind started whirring, it was the only thing they had, they needed to make the most of whatever loose strands they could grasp. "Crap, ok, so I suppose we could try and-" she tried, her mind running a mile a minute in an attempt to concoct another plan, anything so that they weren't at yet another dead end.

"He knows who bought it," Harry interjected, not meeting her eyes.

"Harry, you're scaring me," she murmured.

He raised his head slowly to face her, an unreadable expression cast over his features. "It's Umbridge, she brought it... and she apparently wears it... all the time."

"Shit."

Hermione couldn't quite believe that in the month that was required to brew the Polyjuice Potion, they had come up with no better plan than to infiltrate the Ministry and steal the locket. They hadn't even managed to put more flesh on the very limited bones of the ridiculous plot they were going with. With an air of resignation, she dropped the last ingredient into the simmering cauldron and stirred. No more stalling time, tomorrow they would go to face Umbridge.

Hermione was once again forcibly reminded that she was not made for espionage as they were running for their lives through the halls of the Ministry, the jaws of death ready to close around them at any moment. Fortuitously, as herself and Harry rushed into the atrium, they met with Ron, almost colliding with each other in their haste to get out of the building. Harry ordered the security team that we're working on closing the exits to stop their progress and allow them through. They had realised earlier that the man he was disguised as, Albert Runcorn, seemed to be relatively senior, and they intended to use that to their advantage.

It had looked like they would get away just in time, but then, Reuben Yaxley showed up. He countered the order Harry had given immediately, it was clear that while people may have been intimidated by Runcorn, they were positively terrified of the tall, dark Death Eater and his harsh Northern tones.

Scared with good reason as it turned out, Yaxley was a lot less dense than many of the Death Eaters they had encountered thus far, and he put together what was happening pretty quickly. Rushing forward he grabbed onto Hermione's arm as they disapparated. In her panic, Hermione attempted a Revulsion Jinx to get him to let go but it missed, and not only did Yaxley travel with them but in doing so she had unwittingly taken him through the protective wards around twelve Grimmauld Place.

Four bodies landed on top of one another in the dusty hallway, and the trio had no time to react to Yaxley's superior experience, and war honed reflexes. With one wordless spell, he stunned Ron and Harry, their bodies thrown into the wall of the corridor, their heads lolling to the side. Hermione went into a defensive stance, but he all but ignored her. Instead, Yaxley busied himself with his outer robe, and she watched shocked speechless as he produced a piece of parchment from an inside pocket and waved his wand over it before it disappeared. He turned to face her, eyeing her posture and raised wand, he seemed to regard her with a level amusement that would have made Hermione bristle if she wasn't so bloody scared.

"Put your wand down Hermione, it's too late, I've already called him," Yaxley said darkly.

She glanced down at his forearm and attempted to stop herself from throwing up.

Hermione was still fighting back bile when a loud pop resonated throughout the building; she raised her eyes slowly to see a dark looming figure, just not the one she had expected. Antonin Dolohov was standing in the hallway of the ancestral home of the Ancient and Noble House of Black, engaged in what looked to be an intense whispered conversation with Yaxley. Hermione kept still, and silent. She had close to a million questions, but her body wouldn't cooperate with the instructions her mind was giving. She couldn't run, the boys were on the floor, and she would never have made it over to them in time, but more than that, something, some part of her wanted to stay.

Antonin kept one eye on her the entire time he was speaking, and during a moment where Yaxley appeared to get rather animated about whatever he was passing on, Hermione stood transfixed as the Russian wizard swept his eyes from the top of her head right down to her trainer clad feet. She was reminded of how she had felt the last time that had happened, when Cormac Mclaggen had regarded her that way before Slughorn's party. She recalled how she had wondered at the time what that action would feel like if a man had done it. Well, she knew now, and just as soon as her brain unscrambled she would try to work out what she thought.

Hermione had thought of him a great deal since their last encounter in the cafe. She didn't exactly know what to make of him, but he intrigued her, and dark, brooding wizard or not he was unquestionably attractive. She tilted her head slightly to regard Yaxley, broader than his friend; she could just pick up the hushed edges of his gruff voice. Hermione imagined the sound would be rather pleasant if it weren't being yelled directly at you. Did he-who-must-not-be-named recruit only the most attractive purebloods? As if he could read her thoughts Dolohov followed the direction of her gaze and his eyes narrowed.

The spell was broken as the two men moved from each other's sides. Yaxley spoke, his words directed at Dolohov. "The Fidelus is broken, you have about ten minutes, those two will remain incapacitated for about thirty," he gestured a hand in Ron and Harry's direction and then turned to her. "Apologies Miss Granger, I think I was slightly overzealous in my casting, all that chasing you lot round the Ministry got my blood up," he said, sounding about as far from sorry as it was possible to be.

Hermione's brain was tripping over itself as it tried to catch up, when he made to leave the hall she called after him. "Wait… You… You called Dolohov?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes, who were you expecting?" Yaxley asked bemusedly.

"You're Lord," she whispered.

For the second time in her life Hermione was struck dumb by a fearsome Death Eater laughing loudly in her face, her fear quelled, for now, she could feel her irritation rising and he noticed.

"I'm sorry," he said, gasping for breath as he held hands up in front of himself. "I only just realised what that must have sounded like… I assumed from the horror you had on your face you really didn't want to see this one. With the stories, I heard of your last encounter it would hardly, have been surprising."

It appeared Hermione wasn't the only one not amused as Dolohov punched Yaxley firmly in the side. He stumbled around from the blow, but his laughter continued. "Oh Merlin that's priceless, do you have any idea how long it's been I laughed like this?"

Fed up with the spectacle, and not knowing what the hell was going on, Hermione raised her wand, Yaxley was once again unmoved. "Put your wand down Hermione, I haven't saved you twice to kill you now," he looked around the hall, disgust evident on his face, "especially in this shit hole."

Hermione's face twisted with disbelief. "You… you sent the note?" His only answer was to nod. With her mind in short circuit mode, her mouth went into autopilot, and she said the first thing she thought. "Your bloody owl attacked me."

"You think I would send my own owl?" Yaxley asked, slight scorn creeping into his tone. "I've been told you're intelligent little one, don't let me down now," he had stopped laughing at her though his eyes maintained a glint of diversion. "I believe the expression you're looking for is thank you, for which you owe me two. One for the warning and one for Hogwarts."

"The Death Eater in the corridor?" Hermione questioned and he nodded again. "I don't understand... why you are doing this for me?"

"I hate to break it to you sweetheart, but it wasn't for you, it was for him," he pointed at Dolohov. "Antonin requested that I keep you safe while he couldn't, and that's what I did," he explained matter of factly.

Hermione looked back to Dolohov who did not seem to be keen to take part in this conversation.

"But why?" she questioned again

"I didn't ask," Yaxley shrugged.

"What? You went to all that trouble, put yourself in danger, all without knowing why?"

"Yes, Miss Granger, the same as you would do, have done, for your… friends," Yaxley said the last world with a measure of disdain that Professor Snape would have been proud of. He fixed her a stern look and all traces of the laughing man from seconds earlier was gone. "I do not owe you an explanation, but I will give you one anyway, he and I owe each other our lives many times over. He is my brother in everything but blood, and I will support him in all of his… endeavours," he seemed to mull the word over from a second before nodding. Yaxley checked his watch again and made to leave the room.

"Wait," she called again, and he paused but did not turn around, regarding her from over his shoulder instead. "Thank you," she said earnestly. She might not fully understand it but he had tried to help her, if he hadn't put her and Luna behind that tapestry they would have been out in the open when Greyback got there, and given the gap of time before Rabastan had appeared, most likely dead.

"You're welcome," Yaxley answered so softly she almost didn't hear it, before he continued his progression out of the hall.

The air immediately grew awkward when Yaxley left, the atmosphere between herself and Dolohov seeming to thicken. At first, Hermione thought the reticent Death Eater was feeling uncomfortable too until she noticed his hollowed out cheeks from where he was biting on the inside of his mouth, and the smouldering fire in his eyes. He was suppressing anger and a lot of it. Hermione wondered whether she should speak, to try and head off whatever the problem was, but that option was taken from her when the lid that Dolohov had been holding on his emotions broke open.

"You broke into the fucking Ministry of Magic?" he raged, nostrils flaring. "That was the sum of your other plans? That was that what prevented you from coming with me? That was the reason you wouldn't let me keep you safe? Little did I know it was you I had to keep you safe from... you and your merry band of idiots," he seethed, his hands clenching.

"I appreciate it wasn't the best plan," Hermione countered in a small voice; she knew it was not a large enough show of contrition when Dolohov moved his hands through his hair as if he would tear lumps out

"Ty Che, Blad? Who decides your plans?" he said while looking at the ceiling.

Given his response to her last answer Hermione decided to take that as a rhetorical question, she kept quiet and still. Dolohov stepped back to lean against the wall, closing his eyes, and visibly tried to regulate his breathing. Hermione was shaking, he hadn't frightened her, not as such, but to say it had been a rough day was an understatement, then to get back here, their safe house now lost, and he was here again, she had no idea how to feel about that.

The first time they'd met Hermione had been terrified of him, had watched on with fear as he had broken Neville's arm, then he'd hexed her. The next time he appeared, unexpectedly dropping into her life once more, he had said he wanted to talk. He'd apologised for his actions, begged her to let him take her to safety, and now here he was again, supposedly he'd made sure she was protected while he was in prison, and he looked on the verge of having a stroke because she had put herself in danger.

Dolohov rubbed his hands over his face roughly, and his eyes fell on her again. "You look smaller than the last time that I saw you," he said, his words sounding almost like an accusation though his voice was too raw from the recent shouting.

"I suppose it's an occupational hazard of being on the run," Hermione replied lightly, trying to relieve some of the remaining tension. "Why did he call you? Yaxley I mean."

Dolohov shuffled and looked distinctly uneasy for a second before folding his arms in front of his chest defensively. "He knew I wouldn't pass up a chance to see you," he answered softly, his tone losing a glimmer of the Russian accent he had when he had been yelling.

"You won't tell your Lord?" she asked warily.

"No Hermione, I told you could trust me," he said imploringly. "You are… I want to keep you protected."

"That's all?" Hermione asked sceptically, she was waiting to hear the catch, what he wanted in return, what she could negotiate for him with the Order, how she could help him play both sides.

"No," he said firmly. "I want you, to want me to keep you safe, and everything, and anything else you might want me for," he said looking straight into her eyes.

It was Hermione's turn to look uncomfortable; she was suddenly aware that this unbelievable conversation was occurring right in front of Ron and Harry, not that they were aware of it, and her eyes momentarily darted in that direction. How would she tell them about this?

Dolohov didn't miss the movement of her eyes and his mouth set into a grim line. "Are you with him?" he questioned roughly, some of his earlier temper leaking back into his tone as he pointed towards Ron with a jerk of his arm and stepped towards her.

Hermione followed his hand and frowned. "What? No, he's my friend."

When she turned back around, she realised Dolohov was standing much closer than he had been before, and she instinctively moved back.

"What of the boy?" he questioned, again stepping forward.

"What boy?" Hermione asked.

His eyes bore into hers, "The one that touched you, at the Ministry," he clarified.

Hermione had continued to unconsciously retreat backwards as he stalked towards her, and was surprised when she collided with the wall, it left her nowhere to escape to. Though her halt didn't stop Dolohov moving forward, he crowded her, only stalling when he was so close the toes of their shoes were touching, Hermione became all too aware of his height and form blocking her in.

"Hermione," he breathed into her ear, saying her name with a reverence that no one had ever given it before. "What about the boy?"

"The one… you… you attacked," she stumbled out. Hermione had meant for her tone to sound confrontational. Instead, she sounded like the overwhelmed teenager that she was.

"Yes," he answered simply, without a hint of remorse for the injury he caused.

"Neville is my friend," she said faintly.

That seemed to appease him, and he moved to straighten while still standing ridiculously close to her. Hermione forced her brain into action. "So what now? What do you want?"

"We would like to get through this war, and I will ensure you do as well."

His certainty derailed Hermione further, on someone else his attitude would have seemed arrogant, but his assertion seemed sincere. "But you don't know me," Hermione protested, "this is the only the second conversation we've ever had."

How could he feel, whatever it was that motivated him to protect her, to seek her out, without really knowing her?

"Remind me one day to tell you the story of how my parents met, solnyshko," Dolohov said, his voice darkening as he slipped in the Russian word, it was at odds with the way his face broke into an almost smile at the mention of his parents. Hermione felt her heart rate increase. "I'm not able to explain this to you properly, but I saw your picture and was drawn to you," he reached forward and grabbed a curl of her hair, tugging on it gently, the memory that action brought made Hermione still, the air leaving her lungs for an entirely different reason.

Dolohov leant down to her face and rubbed his knuckles against her cheek. "What's wrong?" he asked softly.

"I… I just remembered… Rabastan Lestrange."

Her mutterings changed Dolohov's face completely, before he had been staring at her with soft eyes, upon hearing the other Death Eater's name he stiffened, putting his large hands on her shoulders, bending his head until their eyes were level. "What about him Hermione?" he beseeched, with none of the ferocity he had questioned her with before.

"He acted strangely the night of the Hogwarts break in," she explained, it was hard to relay what had unsettled her about Rabastan exactly, it had been as if he was familiar with her.

"Strangely how?" Antonin pressed, and for this first time she since he had hexed Neville, Hermione thought she was seeing a glimpse of 'notorious Death Eater' Antonin Dolohov. His tone had taken on a dark silky quality that did funny things to her stomach, and although Hermione didn't think his wrath would be directed at her, she was under no illusions that his questions were demands, not requests, for information.

"He called me by my first name and pulled on my hair," she said weakly, as other memories from that night came forward, and she shuddered.

"What Hermione? Did he touch you?" Dolohov's eyes had blown wide, and she rushed to clarify.

"No, no... I wasn't thinking of him, it was Greyback." His mouth set in a firm line and she heard his teeth clench.

"No," Hermione repeated, placing her hands on Dolohov's forearms where they rested against her chest, hoping to alleviate some fierceness from the grip that had become painful at the mention of the werewolf, why was she rushing to reassure him? "He didn't... he didn't touch me but he was there, we were scared."

Dolohov exhaled roughly. "We?"

"Myself and Luna, Yaxley… I didn't know it was him at the time, he hid us behind a tapestry, and then Greyback was there, but he couldn't see us."

Antonin nodded and stepped forward, moving one foot in between hers to achieve it. At this point, there was no gap between them anymore, and Hermione could feel the heat of his body tingle along her skin, he moved one of his hands to her back, between her shoulder blades and pulled her into him further. It wasn't until she was tucked under his chin that she realised she had been shaking. Dolohov's other hand dropped from her shoulder, to run rhythmically up and down her arm before finally looping around her wrist, and holding her hand. He rubbed circles over her fingers, his larger ones trailing up to the back of her hand, Hermione was pushed so close to him that she felt the minute hitch in his breath as his fingers reached the rough ridges of the scarring across the back of her hand.

Dolohov inched his body away from Hermione slowly, and his eyes fell to read the words etched there. Hermione didn't dare breathe, after a heartbeat or two he angled his body back towards her and kissed her forehead softly, the touch scorching her flesh so acutely Hermione wondered if he had marked her again before he placed his head over hers. He waited for her breathing to even out before he spoke.

"What happened to your hand?" he asked, his tone was gentle, soothing, he apparently wanted to provide some comfort, but Hermione wasn't fooled into believing that she could evade him, and for some reason, she found she didn't want to.

Her mind still centred on the heat remaining from his tender kiss, she answered absently, "Blood quill."

"Who?" Dolohov asked quietly.

Hermione considered her answer and bit her lip before finally, tentatively responding, "Dolores Umbridge." He nodded his head above hers once before he continued his rhythmic ministrations to the back of her hand.

They were interrupted from their silent embrace by Yaxley, coming back into the hall. Hermione tried to break away from Dolohov's hold, her cheeks suddenly flaming, but he held her firm.

"Antonin, we have two minutes, and she needs to be out of here," Yaxley said, clearly completely unfazed at having found Antonin all but pinning her against the wall.

The man above her sighed and broke away with more than a casual air of reluctance. Once her mind had cleared enough to focus on seeing properly Hermione was aware of the assessing stare she was receiving from the recently returned Death Eater. She summoned up as much courage as she could, given the situation, and returned his gaze. "Is there something you need?" she asked firmly.

Yaxley tilted his head to the side, seemingly impressed by her little display of bravado. "Outside of reasons Antonin might have for keeping you safe, our primary goal is to get through this war," he responded, watching her closely. Hermione felt like she was under a magnifying glass. "You're doing something at the moment... we need to know if it has a bearing on the outcome?"

"See if it's worth switching sides you mean?" she asked.

"No, not really, just want to keep alive," Yaxley replied, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Despite the return of her tinge of fear she squared her shoulders, "I can't tell you," she said, raising her chin.

"That's not very helpful Hermione, after all we've done for you as well," Yaxley replied coldly, his eyes narrowing at her.

"Reuben enough," Dolohov turned to face her again. "You need to let us help you. Whatever you're doing, if it involves plans like today, you will not go long without being captured, let us help." She ignored Yaxley's scoff.

"I… I need to know I can trust you," she said, and Dolohov sighed. "No, listen, I understand what you have done for me, what you have both done for me, but this isn't just about me it's them as well," she gestured to the boys, "and they'll be a soft touch in comparison to the rest of the Order. I need to find a way to prove I can trust you… oh!" she said suddenly, "hang on!"

Hermione dropped to the floor and pulled her beaded bag off her shoulder, raising her wand to Accio writing materials. As the items she mumbled shot into her hands, she missed the impressed, raised eyebrows of the wizards in front of her. Hermione drew her lip between her teeth and drafted out the best letter she could, given the time constraints, and then stood, brushing the dust from herself and proffered the folded parchment to Dolohov.

"Please give this to Professor Snape," she insisted, in as resolute a tone as she could muster.

"Snape?" Antonin answered with disbelief.

"Yes, it is some instructions on an item I need, I hope he will give it to you, then you can pass it to me," she explained, endeavouring to sound as nondescript as possible. "If you can do this I think I will be able to trust you, and convince others to do so," she turned to face Yaxley, "and I suppose in the event of the Light winning the war, this won't hurt the case against you."

He gave her a small smile but looked far from appeased before he checked his watch again. "Antonin, we've stayed way over, time wrap it up," he said with a winding motion of his fingers before abruptly leaving the room again.

As soon as they were alone again Dolohov opened his robe revealing a large pocket on the inside, he collected a small sheaf of parchments from within and then tucked the letter she had given him amongst it. During his shuffling, a small square fell from his hand and Hermione bent down instinctively to pick it up, before she could grasp it between her fingers she noticed a tiny movement and her eyes widened as they beheld a magical photograph, of her, taken the night of the Yule Ball, dancing with Viktor Krum. The whiteness of the parchment suggested it had come from the Daily Prophet. It must have been from one of the articles during the Triwizard Tournament. Oh Merlin what must he have read about her? She looked up to see Dolohov looking slightly pink in the cheeks at her discovery, the bashful look was disconcerting, and Hermione found she couldn't help herself but feel a little sorry for his predicament.

"You weren't supposed to see that," he stated, not lifting his eyes. Hermione didn't know why but she didn't like seeing that side of him. The discovery at least explained how he seemed to know her when he saw her at the Ministry.

How long had he been carrying a picture of her in his pocket?

She put her hand into her little bag again and pulled out a scrap of the same white parchment, pausing a second before handing it to him. His head snapped up immediately staring at her aghast before looking back down at the photo of himself from the day of his imprisonment. "Not my finished hour," he uttered quietly.

"Not mine either, the article I mean," Hermione replied as she nodded towards the parchment. "Evening the score again Mr Dolohov?"

His mouth twitched, "Antonin, please call me Antonin." She nodded, and he coughed as the air became thick and tense once more. "When will I see you again?" he asked, pushing his parchment counterpart back between her fingers.

Hermione considered, she hated doing things like this, flying by the seat of her pants wasn't her style. "A month, the Forest of Dean, there's a natural waterfall in a bit of the wilder section, I'll meet you there at first dark."

"Ok… you'll need to Obliviate them you know," Antonin replied with a nod towards the pale boys slumped against the wall.

"No... I can't do that." Hermione was firm. Even performing the spell on Antonin had been difficult, she was sure she would have a lifelong aversion to memory charms of any kind.

Antonin huffed but didn't argue, "Is there any point in telling you to stay safe?"

She smiled, her first genuine one in his presence, "I'll try."

He moved forward again and placed both his large hands on her face. "Please do more than try solnyshko," he murmured before tilting her head back and placing the gentlest of kisses on her lips before pulling away, all too quickly, straightening up to press another to the top of her head.

"Time to go," he whispered, and she nodded against his chest incapable of speech. Hermione broke from him, surprised by her reluctance, and observed his sad smile before moving towards the boys. Once she had securely grabbed both of their hands, she apparated them away.