A/N: Hi guys! Your response to the first chapter has been amazing! Thank you so much to everyone who has followed, favourited and (especially) reviewed this fic!

I wasn't intending to get this next chapter out so soon but you were all so awesome I couldn't help myself!


Hermione tightly gripped a fistful of the front of her cloak against her chest, digging her fingernails into the soft fabric.

"Are you sure about this, Hermione?" Kingsley's voice rumbled soothingly next to her. "If you've changed your mind, we can go back."

She shook her head. "No, I'm ready," she maintained in a forceful voice. "Let's go." She tore her eyes away from the imposing exterior of Azkaban and focused instead on the door in the metal wall a few yards away that would grant them entry into the dreaded prison. Her otter Patronus gambolled along happily next to Kingsley's panther and Hermione wished she could feel even a fraction of the animal's untroubled joy at that moment. In fact, she was mildly surprised that she was even able to cast the tricky charm given the state of her mood ever since she'd regained consciousness in the Hospital Wing a couple of nights ago, with the same man beside her as he was now.

It had been a slow and painful process. Her whole body had ached terribly and just opening her eyes had been exhausting. Kingsley had been quick to notice her return to consciousness and he carefully administered a number of potions. At first, her throat had burned horribly at the sensation but then the healing effect of the potions had begun to kick in and she gradually returned to a state of body and mind that was far more bearable, but still some distance from comfortable.

She frowned up at Kingsley, struggling to see him in the darkness. "I don't…" she began in confusion. "Where's… What happened?"

Kingsley retook his seat in a chair beside her bed and fixed her with a calming expression. "You had a relapse in your fight against Dolohov's curse," he explained gently. "You were," he paused, seeming to choose his words carefully, "unresponsive from late on Sunday evening and it is now in the early hours of Wednesday morning."

"Oh," she said simply. "A relapse."

Kingsley frowned, looking uncomfortable. "There was slightly more to it than that but it would obviously be better for Madam Pomfrey to speak with you about your medical condition."

Her head felt very much like it had been stuffed tightly with cotton wool – angry cotton wool, if that was possible – and she was forced to process his words slowly. "Why are you here?" The question was a little blunt but she had neither the energy nor the brain power for social niceties at that moment.

Luckily, Kingsley looked, if anything, lightly amused by her question. "You were hit with a dark curse, Hermione. Part of my job, as an auror, is to investigate the repercussions of dark magic. Madam Pomfrey can attend to your needs during the day but she must rest at some point, and so I volunteered to watch over you whilst she sleeps. She gave me very strict instructions about the potions I must administer should you have wake when she wasn't here, and I am very pleased that I will be able to tell her I adhered to her orders perfectly."

Hermione stared at him for a long moment but he gazed back unaffected. "I'm a repercussion," she said eventually, quoting his term back to him.

Kingsley grimaced. It was small and fleeting but it was definitely there. "For want of a better word," he said apologetically.

Another pause.

"But I felt fine," she told him, thinking back to the last time she could remember being awake, "relatively speaking." Her chest had still been very sore but, considering that was the part of her body to be struck by Dolohov's curse, that was hardly surprising.

He nodded. "I know."

She watched him closely. "It's not over, is it? That's why you're here."

He shifted in his seat, looking decidedly unhappy with the course of the conversation. "I told you, Madam Pomfrey is much better suited to – "

"Madam Pomfrey isn't here," she interrupted, anxiety creeping into her body at the prospect that he was keeping something important from her. "Please, Kingsley; I need to know."

"You should rest, Hermione," he suggested gently.

She let out a huff of annoyance. "I am resting," she said, mustering up the best indignant tone she could when her body ached like a hippogriff was sitting on it. "Tell me."

Still looking displeased and though he was doing so against his better judgement, Kingsley relayed back to her the information she sought. His profession as an auror meant that he was used to giving reports containing all the key information but she suspected he spoke much more gently with her than he did to his superiors and colleagues. But, given the horrifying news that her body had entered into such a troubled, frantic state which had only been broken by the touch of the very man who had cursed her, Hermione understood the necessity of the sensitivity in Kingsley's tone.

She had listened to Kingsley's account mutely, feeling oddly disconnected to her body. How could all that have happened without her knowledge? She'd been to St Mungo's and Azkaban – Azkaban! – with absolutely no recollection of events. Not even when Dolohov had, had touched her. Despite its current leaden properties, her leg had involuntarily jerked in disgust at the mental image that thought created.

"Is it over?" she asked Kingsley, her voice very small in the wake of all she had been told. "Has the curse been broken?"

She could see the truth in his remorseful eyes before he even spoke. "We cannot be sure," he admitted truthfully. "I'm afraid we are dealing with the unknown, Hermione."

And that was particularly galling. If it weren't bad enough that Dolohov had tried to kill her (and very nearly succeeded), the effects of surviving the curse had never been knowingly experienced before. She wasn't able to research the curse because it was one that Dolohov had invented himself. She wasn't able to get any answers; it was simply a matter of 'wait and see'.

"Well, that's not entirely true," Kingsley informed her when she'd voiced her frustration aloud. "Dolohov has agreed to look into his work on the spell."

Hermine made an inarticulate noise low in her throat that was a mixture of anger, disbelief and revulsion.

"Quite," Kingsley agreed darkly. "I won't pretend that he's agreed to do it in some attempt to make amends for his past actions – he had conditions."

"Which were?"

"A room in the fortress with minimal contact with the dementors which, as he stated, was a logical stipulation if we want his mind to be at its most productive," Kingsley allowed. "He's also to be granted access to his old notes and reading materials that were confiscated upon his original arrest during the first war."

Hermione nodded. Dolohov's demands weren't exactly unreasonable.

"I know what you're thinking," Kingsley said. "He originally demanded to be removed from Azkaban altogether but a few choice words from Remus and a reminder from Professor Dumbledore that we could always appeal for Dolohov's sentence for the attempted murder of a child to be changed to a Dementor's Kiss and he grudgingly settled for a new cell instead."

Hermione shivered, none too surprised that it should take the threat of having his soul sucked out to get a heartless Death Eater like Dolohov to help her.

Silence settled between them once more as Hermione attempted to accept the distressing revelations. She told herself not to get carried away, that it was pointless to assume the worst – that she was going to be affected by Dolohov's curse for the rest of her life or killed by it. That was an emotional response and she prided herself on primarily making decisions that were logical and informed. Informed. If only that were possible in this case.

"What do you need?" Kingsley asked her after a few minutes, and she was grateful that he didn't ask her if she was all right because she quite obviously wasn't – nobody would be in her condition. Instead, Kingsley had asked her what she needed; what did she need to make the situation better; to help her recover or come to terms with what had happened? It was a practical question for two practical people.

"I need to see Dolohov."

That wasn't the answer he'd been expecting and, even now, as he was escorting her up to the entrance to Azkaban two days later, Hermione knew that Kingsley wished that she had simply requested a glass of water. He'd tried to talk her out of it, telling her to get some sleep and she'd think differently in the morning. She'd done what he'd asked but her request was still the same. How was she to accept what was happening to her if she didn't have all the information available? Unfortunately, the only person who could begin to meet that need was a convicted murderer and Death Eater who had tried to kill her – who still might succeed in killing her if she couldn't rid herself of the curse.

Harry and Ron didn't understand.

Hermione hadn't really expected them to because it was very plain sometimes that they didn't understand her at all, despite them being her best friends. She didn't hold it against them; they were very different people and that was one of the reasons why their friendship was so strong. After all, she couldn't understand their utter obsession with quidditch but that didn't mean that she loved them any less. She didn't doubt that they cared about her very deeply in return, and she certainly got proof of that when they'd rushed to her bedside the morning after she'd regained consciousness with looks of immense relief and joy. She'd noted that they were very careful to avoid touching her skin as they hugged her but, before Hermione had gotten the chance to see for herself if their touch made her skin burn, Madam Pomfrey had scolded the boys for subjecting her body to any physical exertion that she wasn't yet ready for.

Ron hadn't stopped talking: telling her how worried they'd been, asking whether she was really alright and snarling about what he'd do to Dolohov if he ever got the chance. Harry was very quiet. Hermione could see that he was suffering, which was understandable given the events of the last few days. Wanting to comfort him, she reached out for his hand without thinking and gripped his fingers in her own. He gasped at the contact, his whole body tensing as his gaze flew up to her face.

She felt nothing.

Well, nothing unusual or painful, anyway.

She realised that all three of them were holding their breaths and she released hers with a small laugh. "I'm fine," she reassured them. "It doesn't hurt."

The tension markedly decreased after that, particularly in Harry, until she informed them of her wish to meet with Dolohov. Ron looked at her like she was stark-raving mad and Harry became very anxious again.

"Hermione, I know you have a lot of questions about what happened to you but I really don't think that's a good idea," Harry argued, his voice strained. "You didn't see what it was like there, you didn't see him."

"Lupin punched him in the face because he didn't want to help you," Ron said quickly. "Did they tell you that?"

"Kingsley told me," Hermione replied evenly, though she couldn't picture her mild-mannered former Defence teacher acting so violently.

"Tosser," Ron spat, anger at Dolohov coursing through his body again. "That's the least he deserved. If I had a sickle to my name I'd buy Lupin a drink at the Three Broomsticks – hell, I'd get him a whole bottle of firewhiskey."

Hermione didn't bother to point out that wouldn't be possible until Ron became of age because she was still engaged in a silent battle with Harry over her decision to visit Azkaban.

"I – " Hermione began. "Harry, I have to find out what I can. Just sitting here doing nothing is killing me." He flinched at her choice of words and she gasped at her own callousness, covering her mouth with her hands. "I'm so sorry," she said, tears coming to her eyes. "I didn't mean – "

"It's fine," he said quickly, though it obviously wasn't.

Professor Dumbledore was politely surprised by her request. "I have often overheard my staff discuss why, given your exceptional intelligence and insatiable desire to learn, you were not sorted into Ravenclaw, Miss Granger," he commented lightly.

"Perhaps it's because I'm not very witty, sir," she answered him in an easy manner, earning her a twinkling from his eyes that seemed to have been absent for a long time.

"On the contrary, Miss Granger," he said warmly, "your very manner in the wake of everything you have been through is evidence of your own house's traits. There are very few who would be willing to go to such a place as Azkaban for the prospect of returning with so little."

"I think any insight he can give me into the curse would be worth it, sir," she replied.

"I don't doubt it, Miss Granger, though I pray you will not set your hopes very high," he warned. "Spell invention is a very unpredictable business, especially with those of a dark nature."

"I understand, sir, but I fear I will not be able to settle back into my life unless my curiosity is sated," she explained.

He nodded kindly. "I will see what I can do, Miss Granger."

The Ministry was still in uproar over the revelation that Voldemort was back after all, so Hermione assumed that Dumbledore had taken advantage of the chaos and pulled some strings to authorise her visit. He had offered to accompany her himself but she had begged him not to take time out of his busy schedule for her (especially now that the war with Voldemort was set to step up a number of gears and he was undoubtedly needed elsewhere) and she insisted that she was quite comfortable with simply having Kingsley escort her, as the presence of someone from the Ministry was required.

The door to the prison slowly ground open as they approached and Hermione felt the cold, depressing atmosphere surround her even with the protection afforded by the two Patronus charms.

"Hood up," Kingsley prompted her quietly as they stepped over the threshold. Hermione obediently did as suggested, grateful to be given a distraction as he spoke to the pair of dementors that floated just within the doorway. The hood had been Kingsley's idea to prevent the prison's inhabitants from getting a look at her. All the Death Eaters that had been captured in the Department of Mysteries were located within the fortress and Hermione didn't want them screaming or shouting at her as she walked past their cells.

"Let's go," Kingsley murmured, placing a guiding hand on her arm as he steered her to their destination. Unfortunately, it would take a few days for Dolohov's relocation to a new cell to be authorised. Just because Dumbledore had given his word that he would do everything in his power to give Dolohov new accommodation, that didn't mean it would happen instantly. Kingsley had informed her that the Ministry had grudgingly agreed that the change would go ahead but there was plenty of paperwork to see to first before anything practical was done – particularly given the current upheaval in magical Britain.

"Save me!" a desperate voice shrieked out of the very first cell they walked past and a hand thrust itself between the bars in an attempt to grab hold of her. She gasped, shrinking fearfully into Kingsley's presence. "Mother, please! Save me!"

Hermione couldn't stop a whimper escaping her lips as she took in the man's skeletal appearance and his inhumane stare. Kingsley turned her body forcefully away from the prisoner and she realised just how icy it was. Glancing along the corridor, she saw the reason for the sudden drop in temperature: her patronus was gone.

"It's OK," Kingsley told her quietly but she still heard him above the man's bone-chilling shrieks. "Just keep going."

Hermione nodded mutely and forced herself to put one foot in front of the other, her eyes focused on the sleek silver panther as it stalked ahead of them. Shouts and screams echoed from some of the other cells they passed but Hermione tried her best to ignore them and she certainly didn't look in any of them.

"Once we turn this corner, he's in the third cell along," Kingsley informed her and she appreciated the chance he gave her to mentally fortify herself for the encounter.

Her heart was beating furiously in anticipation and she forced herself to take a couple of calming breaths as they entered Dolohov's corridor, determined not to let him see her fear. The panther stopped in front of the third cell and sat upright and alert, staring coolly at the cell's inhabitant. Kingsley gave her arm a reassuring squeeze and then let his hand fall away as he stepped protectively in front of her, having reached their destination.

Half hidden behind Kingsley and with her hood lowered deep over her face, Hermione had a few moments to survey Dolohov from under her eyelashes before he noticed her. He was sat on the rough stone floor of his cell, knees bent, his side leaning against the bars as he read a small, leather-bound book in the limited light available to him from the bracketed torches. This was the first time she'd seen his face clearly for herself. The picture released after his escape from Azkaban a few months ago showed a very different man from the one before her now but, she presumed, that's what access to both hot food and water did after over a decade with neither. He was still thin but didn't have the skeletal appearance of the other prisoner she had seen. His dark hair had been cut back from the long, matted tangle it had been in his picture. Now his hair came down in thick wavy, almost curly, strands to a length just below his ears but a few pieces fell across his eyes from where he'd lowered his head to read. Dark stubble covered his lower face and the flesh of one his cheeks still showed bruising from where Remus had punched him. There were lines etched into his forehead where he frowned at the panther before him. She watched as Dolohov's heavy gaze lifted from the Patronus up to Kingsley, catching a glimpse of the glittering, menacing eyes that had flashed so furiously at her in the Department of Mysteries and haunted her ever since. Then his gaze slid past Kingsley, directly into hers.

She was trapped.

Pinned under his intimidating stare, she couldn't move, she couldn't think, she couldn't even breathe.

Dolohov shut his book with a sharp snap, making her flinch, and the corners of his mouth lifted up ever so slightly. He got to his feet languidly, as though he didn't have a care in the world, his eyes never leaving her, and waited expectantly.

When a few moments passed and Hermione was unable to find her voice, Kingsley broke the heavy silence. "Miss Granger has some questions for you."

Dolohov showed no reaction to this statement but continued to stare at her. Hermione had the distinct impression she now knew what it felt like to be an animal's prey. All her instincts were telling her to flee from that predatory gaze but she was rooted to the spot.

"Are you sure?" Dolohov questioned silkily, raising an eyebrow when Hermione had only managed to go as far as slightly parting her lips in her attempt to talk to him. There was a note of amusement in his voice and in the curl of his lips and she flushed angrily, incensed that he had the gall to find anything about this even remotely funny.

She pushed back her hood and stepped forward in one fluid motion, lifting her chin defiantly as she fixed a steely expression on her face. "I – " she began but Dolohov cut across her, finally looking away from her to shoot a demanding glance at Kingsley.

"My new cell?" he questioned the auror.

"The paperwork is being processed," Kingsley replied calmly. "You should be moved within the next few days." Dolohov crossed his arms across his chest and leant against the wall of his cell, looking displeased, and the shift in his jaw definitely had a hint of stubbornness to it. "You already have your notes and books," Kingsley pointed out, indicating to the texts in the cell, "We're cooperating; your relocation is conditional on you doing likewise."

Dolohov continued to stare at him darkly for a few moments before fixing his gaze on Hermione once again. "You had questions."

"I want to know about the curse," she told him frankly, a little irked by how easily he had dismissed her earlier.

"That's not a question," he pointed out flatly. She bristled and let out a huff of irritation, making his eyes gleam at her bolder attitude.

"Did you invent it?" she asked.

"Yes."

"When?"

"Not long after I left Hogwarts."

"You've killed people with it?"

"Yes."

"You intended to kill me with it?"

"Yes."

She paused, unsettled by the lack of emotion in his answer. She'd known what he was going to say but it was still terrifying to hear someone admit so cold-bloodedly and unapologetically that they'd tried to end your life.

"Have you known anyone else survive it?"

"No."

"Why did I?"

He slowly ran his eyes down the length of her body and she forced herself not to squirm at the unpleasant feeling his actions created. It wasn't as though he could even see anything whilst she was wearing her cloak but he gave her the impression he could make out every line and curve of her body. "Your silencing spell forced me to perform the curse non-verbally. The intensity of the spell can't have been strong enough to kill you."

She nodded. That was certainly the opinion of everyone else she'd spoken to on the matter. "When you created the curse, did you know there would be side-effects if it wasn't carried out to completion?"

"No."

"Can you explain them now?"

"No. Not yet."

"Not yet?" she repeated, unable to keep a trace of hope out of her voice. "You think you'll be able to work out what happened?"

He laughed softly at her eagerness and gripped the bars with his hands, resting his head against them. "What do you know of spell invention, zhar-ptitsa?"

Hermione flushed, both at her silent admission that she knew very little on the subject and at the unknown Russian moniker he'd teased her with.

"It's a complicated art, requiring extensive study, planning and practise," he sneered at her. "If an answer can be found, it could take many weeks, maybe even months." She felt the back of her neck prickle at the passion in his voice and she saw that his deep brown eyes glittered more intensely than ever when he spoke about the subject. "Any more questions, mudblood?" he asked.

The breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding was released almost as sharply as if he'd punched her in the gut and she glared at the use of the all-too-familiar slur. "I want copies of your notes so I can research the spell myself."

He let out a hiss of laughter but when he saw that she wasn't joking he walked away from the bars chuckling to himself as he shook his head. Hermione was sure she heard him mutter, 'arrogant chit', under his breath as he bent to retrieve a small black leather notebook from amongst the tomes delivered to him from the Ministry. "Here," he said, thrusting the book through the bars at her. "Knock yourself out," he sounded darkly amused and she tried to ignore the searing heat coming from his gaze as she plucked the book from his grasp.

"So Dumbledore's got no problem with his little pet zhar-ptitsa studying dark magic?" he asked mockingly.

Hermione forced herself to move no more than was necessary as she performed a cloning spell on the book, denying her body's desire to shift at the uncomfortable feeling Dolohov's words created along her spine. "He understands my need to find the answers," she claimed semi-truthfully, holding the cloned book up to her eyes for inspection so she could avoid looking at him.

"And the Ministry's stance on little witches becoming corrupted by dark spells?" Dolohov asked Shacklebolt innocently.

Hermione glanced at Kingsley. She knew that what she was doing wasn't strictly legal but it wasn't as though she was going to practise the spell herself – only research it. The auror didn't give anything away in his expression. "Hermione's studies will be monitored closely but her past actions give me no cause for alarm."

Dolohov glowered at him and Hermione felt herself stand a little taller at Kingsley's vote of confidence, but that feeling quickly shrivelled away when she flicked through the first few pages of her copied book. There were lots of complicated arithmantic charts and series of runes which were going to be extremely difficult to make sense of. But that wasn't what made her face fall dishearteningly…

"Did I forget to say my work is in Russian?" Dolohov sneered at her. "Udachi, gryaznokrovka."

Recovering from that blow, she hid the depression from her face as she pocketed the clone and held out the original notebook to him. "I'll take copies of the rest of the notes you have on the curse," she said, spying other small books in the piles.

"That should be more than enough for you to be getting on with for now," he told her, nodding at the book she still held out to him. "You'll be back soon anyway."

His tone wasn't scornful anymore but had returned to its former menacing state and Hermione couldn't hold back a gasp. "What – "

"You need to work on your interrogation skills, zhar-ptitsa," he warned threateningly. "You missed out a few key questions… Do I think the curse is still within you?" He paused dramatically and Hermione stared at him with wide eyes. "Yes. Do I think the spell will kill you if we find no counter-curse? ...Yes. Do I think there's something that can be done to keep its effects at bay?" He yanked the offered notebook forwards so suddenly that she was pulled along with it and his other hand encircled her wrist. Kingsley raised his wand to Dolohov at once and Hermione whimpered at the contact. However, it wasn't a sound born of fear or pain… but pleasure.

It was a sensation like nothing she'd ever experienced before and it rippled throughout her entire body, not just in the place where her skin tingled so nicely where it met his. He traced his thumb along the inside of her wrist and she shuddered at the thrill it sent along her nerves. Even the way that Dolohov's eyes bored into hers wasn't enough to hide how wonderful and soothing his touch was. "Yes," he said softly, staring at her in fascination. "That's better, isn't it, mudblood?"

She came to her senses at once and wrenched her arm away from his grip, taking a few quick steps back. He chuckled darkly at her horrified expression but Kingsely suddenly stood in front of her, blocking the Death Eater from view.

"Did he hurt you?" Kingsley asked her concernedly. Tears came to her eyes and she shook her head, unable to trust that she wouldn't start sobbing should she attempt to speak. "OK. I think it's time we left."

"Final question," Dolohov called after their retreating figures. "Now that you know what my touch does to you, do I think you'll be able to stop your body craving it?" His dark chuckle was the answer to his own question. "See you soon, zhar-ptitsa."


A/N Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed Hermione and Antonin's first proper encounter. It was a lot of fun to write.

Translation - Udachi, gryaznokrovka = Good luck, mudblood

I would tell you what zhar-ptitsa means but we will find out later in the story anyway. But if you want to make an educated guess then drop your ideas in your review! (Or you could just paste it into a translation website!)

Anyway, I would LOVE to know what you think of part two!

Red