Babushka means Grandmother.

Hermione stared at the girl before them, mind still reeling from the recent events. It felt similar to when her memories had been suppressed by the virus, but not quite. This was… kinder, as if it were done out of concern. Like a guardian angel standing over her shoulder, silent, watchful, and ready to rain heavenly fire on those who would do her harm.

Now, that the initial shock had worn down, the feeling was pleasant, albeit confusing.

An impression of some mysterious object still burned in the palm of her hand. It was there – just out of grasp.

"You find him?!" Anastasia exclaimed. "You must tell everything, yes? Ven you leave, I vorry so much, and yet you give me no choice! Zen I depart for Kamchatka, and hear no news! I only come back veek ago."

Hermione shook her head, tearing off shackles of fog. Whatever had happened – whatever she had received – she could ponder it later. Right now, she had a decision to make, and a quick one at that.

Because, without a doubt, Anastasia knew her. But Hermione had no memory of ever befriending the raven-haired girl, so it must have happened during those weeks the virus had erased. But what was their relationship like? Was Anastasia an ally or a foe?

Logic dictated the former. By asking her question, Anastasia had already indirectly confirmed that it was Antonin Dolohov – her 'cousin' – spreading the virus. Additionally, her chummy demeanor hinted at some sort of kinship between the two of them.

Caution, however, urged Hermione to reveal nothing, and milk any information she could get her hands on. Use the girl, and be done with it.

For a moment, she was torn, vacillating between the two choices. Then, looking at Anastasia's open face - at her eyes, crinkled in happiness at seeing her; and at her hands, spread wide in an expressive gesture of camaraderie, she found herself incapable of lying. Somewhere deep inside, she trusted this girl, and it was just as simple as that.

She would explain her situation and hope for the best. But, first...

"Kamchatka?" Hermione asked curiously. Russia's far east was mysterious in the muggle world… so what could one say about the magical one?

Anastasia nodded eagerly.

"Yes! North of it, actually," she said. "I ended up on Ostrov Vrungelya, you know? Is island near Chukchi Sea. Germiona, if only you could see it!" She flung out her arms to the sides, articulating how vast and distant it was. "Not a touch of civilization, and ze nature, ze animals! I work zere almost five months, out of touch with ze world… is best time of my life!"

Hermione let her thoughts drift for moment, imagining what it would be like to go away for a while, travel somewhere far away. Oh, the places she would see...

Anastasia paused suddenly, and then threw an appraising glance towards Draco. "But enough about me," she said, tugging Hermione a little to the side and whispering in her ear. "How about you? Like, tell me, sestritza, who is zis fine young gentleman, ah?"

Hermione felt something clench inside at the sound of flirtatious notes in Anastasia's voice, and acted on pure instinct, something she couldn't even explain later on. It was deep, womanly and possessive, honed through millennia of natural selection. She put her arm on Draco's, shouldered him close to her, and gave Anastasia one of those faux toothy smiles that come naturally to girls in times of need.

A smile that, for all its apparent congeniality, really means: "Back off, bitch." Some things you don't share even with your best friend or sibling.

"My friend from England," she introduced him, "Draco Malfoy."

Anastasia's lips formed into an 'o' briefly, eyebrows rising at the emphasis on the first word, but then returned to normal.

Draco, who had been standing to the side, in that slightly awkward position of someone feeling left out of a conversation, tilted his head down and reached out for Anastasia's hand, bringing it up to his lips. A proud specimen of his sex, he remained completely oblivious to the silent communications passing between the two women.

"Enchanté," he said, in an archaic pureblood gesture of greeting that would have made even the late Walburga Black – a real stickler for these sorts of things – proud. Anastasia laughed, permitting the custom, and, while Draco's eyes were down, gave Hermione a sly wink. He's yours, her eyes danced with glee. I'm just happy for you.

Draco didn't notice this either. Men just don't pick up on such things. They're too blunt, too direct. The best route to capture a man's attention is through honesty, straightforwardness, or by smacking him over the head with some object. That last one is guaranteed to work.

"Malfoy?" Anastasia asked. "Of ze Wiltshire Malfoys?"

Draco nodded.

"I see. Is zis recent zen?" Anastasia pointed to the two of them. Draco looked confused; Hermione blushed. "I only ask because you never mentioned any... ah… special friends when you visited."

Hermione sent up a prayer of thanks to whatever deity had shrouded the moon with a cloud at that precise moment. Between the smoke and the darkness, the palpable redness on her cheeks was only vaguely noticeable.

"About that…" Hermione took a deep breath and jumped in, "when did I visit?"

Quirking an eyebrow, Anastasia turned to face her with a befuddled expression.

"Please," the Gryffindor witch implored and then explained in one big burst. "I believe I found Antonin, but my memory was wiped as a result. I remember nothing of the time that I left to search for him. He escaped, and we're–" she pointed to Draco and herself, "–trying to find him. Can you help us? We obviously know each other, and yet I can't recall ever meeting you. How did we meet, and what can you tell me about your relative?"

Anastasia looked taken aback for a moment at such news, but quickly regained her composure. She gave the Hogwarts graduate a look of sadness and then threw her arms around her. "I am so sorry," she said, holding her tightly. "Of course, I help as much as I can!"

Hermione, touched by the display of affection, returned the hug. Draco, again with some awkwardness, shuffled his feet and looked around while the two women embraced. They were both very pretty, he noted.

A chorus of wolfish howls suddenly rose from the direction of Bald Hill. Hermione and Anastasia broke away, glancing at its shrouded peak, where the sound was coming from.

"Were you planning on seeing the Fae Queen?" Anastasia asked suddenly.

Eagerly, Hermione nodded. "Yes! I would love to."

"Then, come! I tell everything I know, vile ve vait to see her! Yes?"

Hermione smiled. After everything that happened, it seemed like finally life was going her way.

. . . .

. . . .

The trio made their way to the foot of the hill, past the oak, to where a queue of people and beasts wove down all the way from the top. They joined in, getting into line behind a centaur and his mare. Hermione barely spared the duo a glance. As long as things were consensual – who was she to judge?

"So, ver I begin?" Anastasia mused as the line slowly shuffled forwards and up. "Do you remember anything of my home? Of how you stay vith us or vat I tell you about Antonin?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Zat bastard… to fink I share blood wiz him," Anastasia swore, shaking her head. "It happens ven people abandon zeir roots. Zat branch of our family left for England, left our mazerland, and look vat happens! Zey turn evil like fascist."

A group of centaurs got into line directly behind them. Reeking of ale, they stomped their hooves and shot murderous glares at the mare and her beau in front of the human trio. Hermione was fairly certain she heard the words 'animal fucker' spat several times, although their voices were promptly cut off as Draco cast a muffling charm to give their own conversation a modicum of privacy. Hermione noticed that after he finished casting the spell, he retained the wand in his hand, absentmindedly rolling it between his fingers.

Anastasia waited for the magic to settle around them, and then breathed a heavy sigh. "For me, it begins in… Spring, I believe. Yes, it was one of the last days of April…"

Anastasia's eyes became distant, as she recounted the events she had witnessed. Her voice was the only sound in the magical cocoon of silence Draco had summoned, and Hermione felt a shiver of anticipation crawl up her spine. Finally, another piece of the puzzle.

Raptly, she listened to what the Russian girl had to say.

"Before I begin, I must first explain where I come from. Dolohov lands lie deep in ze mountains of Ural, surrounded by spells of blood and earth. A thousand years my family has lived in that spot, and ze land has always treated us well. It guards us, conceals us…we feel it in our very bones. You must know what I speak of, yes, Draco?"

The Slytherin nodded. He knew exactly what she meant. Witches and wizards always leave a mark on the land they inhabit, and the land inevitably reciprocates that attachment. Over time (a span of generations, usually), such a bond can grow into something potent.

Draco felt that connection every time he was on the Malfoy family grounds; it was why, despite everything the ministry had put him through after the war, he had never left.

Satisfied with his assent, the Russian witch continued, "Our estate is difficult to find, and ze wards would never let a stranger in. So, you can imagine my surprise when I feel ze magic permit someone who I do not know pass unhindered! He introduce himself as Antonin, from the English side of our family. He ask to see babushka. You see," Anastasia explained, "my parents die when I very young, and she raise me. It is just me and her zere. Now, Antonin… I do not like him at once. Zer was this... madness at ze edges of his eyes. But, he is polite and he is blood, so I agree. I take him to babushka."

Anastasia paused, taking a breath as the line advanced. Hermione glanced down at a path trodden by thousands of people and beasts. Impressions of feet, hooves, claws, and all sorts of animal prints were ground into the stone. Now hers, too, lay among them.

Anastasia's melodic voice resumed its tale, and Hermione listened on.

"Babushka does not live on main property; she has her own hut, in woods. She is old and powerful witch – more powerful than you or I. She know many things. I bring Antonin to her, and I instantly see that she not like him either. But, again, he is blood, so vat can you do? Babushka listen to him explain about some magical disease. He say zat zis Lord Voldemort put it inside him, and zat there are two parts: Ze Other, as he calls it, and Ze Key. He ask babushka's help in finding Ze Key, because he knows not where it is. He say zat, when ze two parts are combined, no witch or wizard will be able to withstand ze spell's influence. He promise babushka and me whatever power we want if we help him find it..."

The raven-haired girl shook her head in regret, and went on, expressively gesticulating with her hands during certain points.

"I have never seen my babushka so angry, and she is, by no means, a saint. She is… product of her times, you understand? She did things that I would call bad today, but zey were ze norm ven she was young. But zis… ze sky became dark! She yell at Antonin, asking if he think we are two idiotki, like we do not understand zat zis curse could be used against us. Then, she throw him out, and say zat if he ever show his vile mug here again, she will feed him to dogs."

Somewhat dreamily, Anastasia clarified: "We have six dogs, zey all cuddly, but he not know. Anyway, Babushka tell him zis thing inside him is perversion of nature, and only reason she not kill him herself is he share our blood. She still hex him though, and he run away, yelping like beaten pup. It was very funny, but babushka furious. She declare it shame a Dolohov fall like that..."

The last words were spoken quietly and with a hint of sadness, as Anastasia trailed off, thinking about the calamity that had befallen her relative. Hermione didn't say anything. Her own mind was busy digesting this new information. It confirmed most of what were only educated guesses by this point: that Antonin Dolohov, while spreading the virus, was actively in pursuit of its second half.

But where was it hidden? Neither she, nor Dolohov knew this Key's location, but whichever party would find it first could dictate the path the world would take. Dolohov would lead it toward destruction, and she… she would preserve the status quo.

Sighing, she felt her mind's deliberations waver as bits of noise broke through Draco's muffling charm. The spell was starting to fade, its fabric being torn apart by the sheer amount of unstable magic around them. It was everywhere: saturating the air and the sky, playing in the notes of the satyr orchestra, laughing with the merry voices of drunk revelers.

Hermione gazed out over the lands beneath them. They were noticeably higher now, the line steadily inching upwards. The shrouded summit was still a ways away, but her new vantage point offered her a broader vision of the fires below. Spread out in some haphazard pattern, Hermione felt like there was an otherworldly logic to their arrangement, one that she could only garner a glimpse of.

Her musings were cut short when Anastasia reached into a small purse on her hip. From its confines, she withdrew a carved wooden flask, which, Hermione noticed, was larger than the purse itself. The girl intercepted her appraising look and smiled. "You like?" she asked. "Ze extension charm on ze purse – it's your work. You make it for me before you leave."

"I did?"

"Yes. It come in very handy on my travels. So, again, thank you," she said and then added, offering up the flask to the two Brits. "You want?"

"It's not vodka, is it?" Draco asked suspiciously, looking a little green. He still vividly recalled his liquor-fueled antics at the birthday party. Dancing with bears was fun, but not something he was keen on repeating...

Anastasia broke out in a laugh. "Vodka?!" she exclaimed merrily. Vith vat alcoholics have you been spending time, ah? No, just water. Come from natural spring near my home. Here, try."

Draco took a sip and passed the flask to Hermione. The water was cool and refreshing against her tongue, laced with strands of wild magic. It was like that sizzle from a carbonated drink, but it went deeper, revitalizing her whole body.

Hermione, thirst quenched, handed the flask back to Anastasia, who took a drink herself and then put it away.

"So," Hermione prompted, "what happened next? Where do I come in?"

Anastasia sighed. Somewhere ahead, a group broke out into a bouts of yelling and cheering. Above them, from the snowcapped peak, a wolfish prayer sang to the drunken moon. The story continued.

"I think about Antonin after he leave us. Such a waste of our name. As a month go by, however, I think of him less and less. Then, another month pass… It was late June when I feel another stirring of estate wards. Someone asking permission to enter. As I already say, we rarely get guests, so I become curious. I go see who it is… only find witch from England asking about my relative. You, Germiona."

Hermione recalled what she knew of her own movements at that time. "I was in Paris, at Lemmen's in the beginning of June," she remembered. "So, several weeks later I followed him to Russia, to Ural…"

"Indeed," Anastasia agreed. "You come to my home vith many questions. Ze fact zat you found its location was intriguing enough, so I take you to babushka too."

"And then?"

"You talk and talk and talk. Eventually, you come to agreement. Babushka brew potion on blood to find Antonin, and you put him out of his misery. Kvid pro kvo, as zey say."

"So that's how I found him." Hermione glanced towards Draco. "A blood connection. It's an obscure branch of magic, to be sure… Dark but immensely powerful. Did I leave immediately?"

"No," Anastasia replied with a grin. "Potion take two weeks to make, so you spend it at my place and help me with my vork. I have a… sanctuary on my lands for animals who are vounded by hunters or trappers. You like it very much!"

"Really?" Hermione asked disbelievingly. She had never been much for Care of Magical Creatures. Her domain was the library or an office; papers, parchment and stacks of books were the tools of her trade, not animal shears, splints or feed.

But Anastasia's eager nodding seemed to contradict that statement. "Yes!" she said excitedly. "You do great job! It therapeutic, you say. You like it so much, in fact, zat I even take you to fly on drakosha!"

"Drakosha?"

"My pet dragon," Anastasia replied nonchalantly and then looked away as if it were nothing. Just that moment, a brilliant display of firecrackers lit up the night sky. Winged shapes dove up and down between the colorful explosions. Hermione paid them no heed; she was stunned. She flew on a dragon? Again?! What had she been – drunk?!

"Oh, Sweet Merlin, Hermione, " Draco used the illuminatory distraction to whisper into her ear, "I just realized what she is."

"What?" the Gryffindor witch broke out of her stupor.

"She just said she has a pet dragon!" Draco exclaimed in a lighthearted tone. "And, think about this: who else do we know had a pet dragon as well as an unhealthy penchant for anything that bites, stings, burns or tries to eat you in your sleep, huh?"

Hermione scowled. She had a fairly good idea of where this was going.

Draco, undeterred by her disapproving mein, continued, "...She's a Hagrid!" His eyes became wide with feigned, teasing horror. "A young, pretty Hagrid! We have to take her out now before she decides to go into teaching and manages to terrorize several generations of schoolchildren!"

"Oh, shut it, you!" she snapped, elbowing him in the ribs. Draco, who had just broken out into a fit of chuckles, choked. "Hagrid was a perfectly fine–"

"Pfft." Draco rubbed his now aching side, looking with alarm at Hermione's limbs. For someone so small, she packed quite a wallop. "Three words, Granger: Blast-Ended Skrewts. You really wanna argue this?"

Hermione's scowl intensified. Disagreeing with Malfoy here was a matter of principle, but, alas, he had a point. Despite all of Hagrid's positive qualities as a person, the half-giant's teaching abilities were as good as his cooking, and there had been several occasions on which she had nearly broken her teeth on… well, she supposed she could call them 'cakes.'

The trio shuffled forward; the line of people and creatures evermoving. By this point, they had already circled the hill twice, and their destination – still concealed by a raging blizzard – was much closer.

Draco recast the muffling charm around them, and then cast it once again, just to show that he could. Hermione rolled her eyes. He treated his wand like a child would a new toy – always playing with it, eager to cast a spell, or two, or three. The wand seemed to never leave his grasp.

It made sense, of course, as he had been denied it for years. Also, Hermione could relate. The months before running into Draco on the train had forced her to live sans magic… and she was not eager to repeat that experience. Living as a muggle was dreadful.

So thinks the muggleborn, she lamented to herself, glancing down at the arm which bore Bellatrix's scar. What irony.

These thoughts were gloomy and dark. Inevitably, they always led her to consider her own roots and to speculate on the location of her parents. She hoped they were happy, that they had maybe had another child, a little baby boy or girl who they could cherish and pamper.

She hoped for the best…but she would settle for them just being alive, and not unnamed victims of a war that they would have never been dragged into had their daughter not been a witch.

It was her all fault, she felt. Rationally, she understood the flaws in such reasoning, but then emotions rarely obey the laws of logic, don't they?

It was the sound of Anastasia's voice that broke her out of this despondent mood.

"You know," the Russian girl said, glancing away from the blooming fireworks, "you make friend zere."

"Mm? At your home?"

"At sanctuary," she smiled. "Little Boreal owl! He like you very much. Ven you leave, he go with you."

"Oh, Snows!" Hermione cooed, instantly aware of who Anastasia was referring to. She had only spent a little time with him, but Snows was already as dear to her as Crooks had been. "So that's where he comes from…"

"His ving had been broken," Anastasia told her gravely. "You sat vith him for ze whole two veeks, nursing him back to health vith your magic."

Thoughts of the little striped owl were enough to cheer her up. "I really like him," she admitted softly. "It's a shame he couldn't come with me here."

"He would have liked it, yes," Draco agreed. He, too, had met the little owl in Hermione's home and even fed him some meaty tidbits. After that, they had struck up a quick camaraderie.

Hermione smiled, inhaling a scent of frosty winter freshness. During their conversation, the line had edged on, and they had traveled high on the slopes of the hill. The blizzard was much closer now, and puffs of breath condensed in the nippy air, cooling into little pillows of cloud. A shiver of goosebumps cantered across Hermione's skin, but she wasn't cold. The refreshing bite in the air made her want to jump and dance, sing Christmas carols and tumble Draco down into a heap of snow, stuffing his pristine robes with white.

The last image made her heartbeat pulse with joy. It was possible, wasn't it? She shut her eyes closed, indulging in that fantasy for one brief moment, and then took several breaths to calm herself. Obligations come first; they always have…

"So," she asked, when her voice was steady. "Then, after two weeks, I left to confront Antonin?"

"Yes. I vanted to come vith you, but you absolutely forbid anything of ze sort! You say it is your war. I should not have let you go alone…" Anastasia lowered her gaze in shameful regret. "I am sorry."

"No, Nast'ya," the nickname came naturally to Hermione, as if she had used it many times before, "it's not your fault. I was too secretive in my mission, to consumed by the hunt. I'm paying a price for this now."

Anastasia shook her head, still blaming herself. "I zen leave for Kamchatka. I become locked away in my little vorld, vork only vith animals. I should have vent after you, check to see you okay. But I did not. I am not good friend."

"Stop this!" Hermione chided. "You're already a great friend by telling us everything. This fight, this war has been going on forever, and now you've given us a chance to finally end it! Your babushka…would she be willing to brew the same blood potion again, so we can track Antonin down? It won't be just me this time…my friends, Harry, Ron, Draco here, and you too! We can all finish this story, together, once and for all!

The Russian witch perked up at these words, a ghost of a smile tracing her lips. "I vould like zat," she said and then raised her eyes in contemplation. "Babushka…I think so, yes. She will make another potion if you and I ask, but not for free. You see, ven she make it ze first time, you make arrangement to kill my cousin in return. But he still alive; therefore, you do not uphold your side of bargain. So Babushka will ask for something. What it is… I cannot tell you, but ze price may be steep."

"Whatever she asks," Draco practically growled, "I'm more than ready to share the burden."

Hermione beamed. He had changed so much…and she had too. What would their school pasts think of them now?

"Yes," she agreed, taking his hand into hers. "We'll pay whatever is necessary."

The line took another step forward, and the pair in front of them – the centaur and the mare – disappeared into a raging torrent of ice and snow.

They had finally approached the summit. The blizzard was right in front of them, and the Fae Queen – just beyond.

Hermione shivered. This night would change something; she knew it in her very bones. Taking a deep breath, the Gryffindor witch stepped forward and became lost.

Lost in a sea of blinding white.

This came out a bit later than I anticipated. But I'm already working on the next partttttttttttttt!

If you review - thank you :)