Chapter Twenty

Someone was staring at Hermione when she woke up the next morning. Even without opening her eyes up first she could tell. There had been plenty of opportunities throughout her life, especially after the war ended and she was awarded a small bit of fame she didn't always care for, to learn what it felt like to be under the intense scrutiny of another person. Sometimes Crookshanks stared at her a little too intensely before bursting into a cacophonous chorus of meows when she was tardy with his breakfast. That hadn't been an issue since Igor took over the daily feeding of the cat.

She wasn't worried about feeling the sensation. Not at all. Rolling over onto her side towards the middle of the bed, she opened her eyes. It wasn't exactly a surprise to see Igor laying on his side staring at her, but it was odd. Other than the night they were in the hotel because her flat wasn't safe, they hadn't spent the night together in the same bed. Every other time they returned to their own beds to sleep.

The night before after he calmed her down enough to get the full story of what happened outside of the Ministry, they sat down for a dinner that wasn't truly ruined no matter how dramatic he had been when she first arrived. Neither of them knew what to say that hadn't already been said. Igor didn't want to bring up the fact that whomever was responsible for ransacking her flat was likely the same person waiting for her outside her office at the end of the day. It wasn't necessary. She knew it was the most likely explanation even if she initially tried to convince herself it was a simple attempted burglary. With nothing left to say, he encouraged her to take a hot bath and go to bed early while he cleaned up the kitchen. He waited for her outside the bathroom. One steamy kiss and one harsh tug on the flimsy belt tying her dressing gown later found them inside her bedroom doing just about everything else besides talking.

When she closed her eyes, she just assumed he wouldn't still be there when she woke up. What was so different? Why did he keep staring at her without saying a word? It was unnerving, very unlike his usual personality. Most of the time she couldn't get him to stop talking. When she could finally stand it no longer, she had to say something.

"What? Why are you staring?"

There was a hostile note in her tone that she didn't intend. Immediately she regretted it. She didn't want him to think she was on the verge of attacking him, verbally or otherwise. It was much easier with him when they were both calm and as kind as it was possible to be where the other was concerned. Why couldn't she speak to him calmly, like nothing was bothering her? His voice was soft, no proof that he was upset by her tone in the slightest.

"I've been thinking I should go."

Whatever she expected him to say, that wasn't it. Unlike all of the other times when he spoke at length about how he couldn't wait to remove himself from her home permanently, there was a hint of sadness behind his words. Or was she just imagining that because a small part of her buried deep down inside wanted him to regret leaving?

"Go where?"

"Anywhere. Away. You were attacked last night because of me."

"We can't know that for certain. Maybe they just wanted to rob me."

One look from him was all it took for her to recognize she was being ridiculous and he knew it. Of course it was all related to the damn ring. Everything that had been unpleasant in her life in recent days was directly related to the horrible piece of jewelry she almost wished she'd never picked up in the basement of that wretched shop. She sighed, unable to continue the denial neither of them were buying anyway.

"It's not your fault, Igor."

Across the bed Hermione reached to run her fingertips over the gold ring he wore at all times. Was he afraid to leave it unattended for fear that it would be taken? Not that she could blame him. There was still so much they didn't understand. If he hadn't been wearing it the night they went out searching for Crookshanks, it very easily could've ended up in the wrong hands. What would have happened then? It was frightening to imagine. Ignorance had never been a state she was comfortable being in.

"It wasn't your fault that you got dragged into this mess. You were given this ring by your grandfather and he understood its power far better than you did."

"He also underestimated how much my cousin truly hated me. I can't help but think he's somehow related to all that's been happening lately. Maybe it would've been better for everyone if Felix was given the bloody ring instead of me."

The more he spoke that morning, the more she couldn't help noticing that there was a definite change in the way he spoke to her. Usually he seemed much more guarded, careful in what and how he spoke. That morning he was nearly the exact opposite. He was more vulnerable, honest. For one of the first times since he appeared unexpectedly into her life, she thought she might be seeing a more genuine side of him. She liked it and hoped he wouldn't find a reason to shut her out again.

"But if you never had the ring, I wouldn't have been able to bring you back."

Igor sighed. Even that didn't sound the same.

"Maybe it would've been better if you hadn't."

"Are we going to start this again? This constant whinging for paradise? Because I don't have the energy to keep listening to it."

She was only partially joking, but he still chuckled. Slowly, he appeared less tense.

"You have a second chance with Pasha. That's worth it, isn't it? Me picking up the ring?"

"Yes, it is. He's… I'd like to think I could be a better father this time."

"Then it's best that your grandfather gave you the ring and not your horrible cousin."

He gave her a half-smile.

"And what about you?"

She could feel her brow furrow at his simple question.

"What about me?"

"It brought me into your life."

"You haven't been all bad."

His quiet chuckle drew a smile out of her that she failed to fight off. If he was able to be more genuine and open with her that morning, she could offer him the same in return.

"That's practically a compliment, Charodeyka. But I did rather upend your life."

"Yes, but like I said, it hasn't been all bad. Some of it has even been amusing."

Igor's laugh was a little louder and her smile grew a little wider.

"Amusing?"

"Yes, amusing and I still don't believe in soulmates, but you're starting to grow on me. I don't find your company all that unbearable any longer."

He couldn't resist laughing just a little bit more. It was nice to see such a relaxed side of him. Even she had to admit to like it.

"From you, that's practically an admission of love."

At his teasing statement, she had to roll her eyes with a smile. The laughter stopped immediately as it grew more serious between them again. He was the one to break the pause in the conversation. The worry in his voice was something she hadn't heard from him before.

"If something happened to you because of me, I don't think I could forgive myself."

"Nothing has happened to me."

"It almost did last night. We can't know what would've happened if you weren't able to get to your wand in time."

"But it didn't."

Though she was scared too, even just to think about the possibilities if the attack had gone any differently than it had, it meant a great deal to her to know he was so worried. When did that subtle shift between them happen? She didn't know. All she was aware was the fact that they couldn't go back even if they wanted to. They'd gone too far.

"Stay home today?"

Unable to argue with his request and truthfully wanting to do the very thing he suggested, she leaned over to kiss him. It was gentle, even sweet. Very unlike nearly all of the other kisses they'd shared since the night they fled the flat for the Muggle hotel. Igor was more than happy to respond. Sometimes it was easier to just not talk at all, especially when emotions were high.

A very pleasant morning continued when he gently pushed her down onto her back. There was a shift somehow between them that she couldn't exactly describe. It wasn't the same between them that it had been. She didn't fully understand what that meant. Honestly, as she happily gave in to the embraces and touches he offered, she tried not to think too much at all. They could worry about the future when it was actually the future. Nothing good came of premature panic.

Later that day, she thought perhaps it was already early afternoon, Hermione woke up from a deep nap to find the bed next to her empty. Realizing she was alone, she was surprised to find herself feeling a little disappointed. When did she start finding his absence a disappointment instead of a relief? Everything was strange.

He was easy to find in the kitchen sitting at the table staring at the stacks of books he'd stolen from his grandmother's library. None of them were open and he didn't appear to actual be reading any, just staring. At the sound of her entrance, he looked up to offer her a small smile.

"Reading again?"

"No, I think I've learned all I'm going to learn from these already."

"Now what?"

Igor sighed, a common sound they both were far too quick to make in recent days. Sadly, they weren't the pleasurable sort of sigh either though she had to fight back a proud smirk when she thought about the ones they made earlier.

"I have to return them. They aren't safe here. If someone breaks through your wards again and finds them…"

"Aren't you worried that they'll be found in your grandmother's library if you return them?"

"It's a risk, of course, but they were there for decades without being bothered. They were covered in a thick layer of dust when I took them."

Hermione had to concede he had a point. Lost amongst all of the other thousands of books in Cora's library, they could be easily missed. With her modest collection of books in her flat, they would stand out, especially if the intruder knew they weren't there the first time they were inside.

"Sneaking into your grandmother's house almost didn't work out for you last time. Pasha nearly caught you."

"Then I will need to simply be more careful and I won't go alone this time."

If Igor sat beneath Hogwarts' Sorting Hat at the age of eleven like she had, Hermione felt there was a good chance he would've been Sorted into Gryffindor. Maybe not for the cowardice he showed when he ran after his Dark Mark returned. But to be fair, Hermione had a hard time blaming him for doing that or thinking he was a coward. It just seemed like the logical move to make if he didn't want to get dragged back into the violence or face the comrades he'd helped put in Azkaban to save his own arse. There was, however, just enough brashness and recklessness in his actions to make her think he would've fit in splendidly with others in her House.

He couldn't bear to sit idly by just waiting for the next incident to happen. As soon as he had the books back in the leather satchel he brought them home in, he was ready to storm off to his grandmother's home. Content to make up the plan as they went along, he wasn't acting like the Slytherin or even Ravenclaw she might have assumed he would've been in the early days of their acquaintance. Just as had been the case so many other times in her past, Hermione was the one to come up with the plan.

While she knocked on the ornate front door, Igor hid behind a shrub. She would distract Cora as he snuck back inside to replace what he took. It seemed simple enough. When the door opened and his grandmother was pleased to see Hermione standing there, she felt even more confident that it would work.

"I hope you don't mind that I just popped by, Cora, but you did tell me I should feel free to come visit whenever I was ready to answer all of the questions you have about Pasha's love life that he won't answer for you."

Maybe Hermione's laughter was a little too forced. Or it was written all over her face that she was nervous. Cora wasn't fooled. Even as she smiled at her unexpected guest, it was obvious immediately that she suspected something strange was happening.

"Oh, dear, I may be old but I'm not a fool. Please tell my grandson to meet me in the morning room for tea. And when he comes out from behind my shrubs, please return the books he borrowed to the library and then join us. I would like a few minutes alone with him first."

Cora left the front door open but disappeared into the grand house. Turning to head towards Igor's hiding place to relay the message, Hermione wasn't even able to take a single step before he was at her side. His hearing was excellent. Likely he heard every word they said.

"Somehow she always knows. I could never get away with anything as a child."

"She could've also seen us walking towards the house. It's not as if the driveway is short."

Hermione took the leather satchel out of his hands. After a quick explanation as to where she could find both the family library and where exactly in the bookshelves the journals belonged, Igor took a deep breath and stepped inside. It was obvious that he was nervous to come face to face with his grandmother again. She couldn't even begin to understand what that would be like.

Finding the library was just as simple as he assured her it would be. One step inside and she knew exactly why Pasha used the room as the excuse for bringing Hermione by to meet his grandmother. It really was impressive. Over two stories, it was the sort of room she would expect to find in a proper English country home. She could spend a lifetime trying and never finish reading every volume inside. Though she was very tempted to spend the next several hours exploring the room and discovering everything she could about the collection, she felt like she should rush back to Igor's side. He seemed to need her there with him. The thought was bizarre, but one she quickly decided she was all right with feeling.

Igor's instructions to find the exact shelves that the journals belonged was just as good as the ones to find the room itself. She only missed the exact row of shelves by a couple before she found the one she needed. There was indeed a section of very dusty books that looked just like the personal journals of generations of Travers family members. Arranged by year, a fact that pleased her need for organization, it didn't take her more than a few minutes to slip each leather journal right in the spot they belonged.

An uneasy feeling came over her as she reshelved the borrowed books. Being alone in the library no longer felt like a good idea. Was it the manor house itself? She knew from her years at Hogwarts that there was no doubt that old buildings and houses were often haunted by the ghosts of previous residents. There was no reason to believe that Igor's grandmother's house was any different. It was the stereotypical spooky house from the gothic novels or horror movies. She wouldn't have been surprised to look up to see a silvery spirit floating several meters above the floor staring down at her wondering who she was and why she dared to be there where she didn't belong. Why didn't she insist on simply waiting outside the morning room while Igor had his private conversation with his grandmother instead of exploring an unknown mansion?

A chill filled the immediate air and a shiver went straight up her spine. Startled by the change in the atmosphere, the last book she was holding slipped out of her hand to the hardwood floor. The loud thunk of the journal hitting the ground reverberated throughout the otherwise silent library. It did not help dispel any of the spooky, uncomfortable vibrations of the large room. Determined that she would not allow her own imagination to run away with her good senses, Hermione took a deep breath and picked the book up with her trembling hands. Later, when she was in a brighter room with more light and Igor standing next to her, she would laugh at her overreactions.

Seeing the empty spot where the last journal belonged right at her eye level, she slid the book in place. As she attempted to pull her hand back, another hand reached through an empty spot from the other side of the shelf to grab her wrist. Frightened out of her wits, she didn't even scream. No sound would've come out of her mouth if she tried, she thought. She looked up, expecting to see the silvery ghost from her fears. Instead, the hand that held its tight grip on her was very much a solid, living form.

Felix Travers did not look happy to see her there.