A/N Merry Christmas! Just dropping off a present for you all. Enjoy!

* When I posted this yesterday, I totally forgot to mention that some of you might be missing alerts because of this site's new settings. You now have to opt-in if you want to receive email alerts. If that's still not working, I do reply to signed reviews to let you know when the next chapter is out. I'm working to a roughly 7 week update schedule at the moment - if it's been two months and you haven't had an email, you might want to check on here if one has passed you by.*

The sight of Azkaban tower was very familiar by now, but it still sent a shiver down Hermione's spine that had nothing to do with the frigid North Sea wind whipping across her form. After all, she could barely feel the iciness. She was primarily there because she was burning up with Dolohov's curse - no, not primarily, only, she was only there because she needed him to touch her so that she wouldn't die. The fact that her days at the Burrow were currently as miserable and bleak as the ashen skies and oddly-colourless waves that stretched endlessly to the horizon didn't mean that she wanted to be there.

How screwed up did her life have to be for Azkaban to be something of a refuge?

That would be a depressing thought if it were true…

And yet she could breathe a little easier away from the stifling atmosphere at the Weasley family home. The mood was depressing enough with Mrs Weasley frequently weeping over Percy's brief and cruel appearance whilst the rest of the family barely held back angry mutters over the renewed heartache he'd caused. But while Percy's transgressions were like a throbbing wounded presence in the house, the fallout that Scrimgeour had caused in relation to Hermione was more akin to a vacuum. No one really understood what had happened except that a rent had been torn between Hermione and the boys in their friendship. And so it was as though she lived in a bubble of silence. Life seemed to be sucked out of whatever room she entered. None of the adults nor the Weasley siblings knew how to talk to her even though nearly all of them had tried. She could feel them looking at her with confusion and concern, like she was a broken little puzzle that they wanted to fix but didn't know how. She knew they were indignant on her behalf about Scrimgeour's demands but the fallout between herself and the boys, how she was avoiding them at all costs, was an additional complication that they couldn't figure out.

Hermione had confused Harry and Ron, too. She knew that they were still hurt from the revelations on Christmas Day and understandably so, but they didn't understand why she had pushed them away in the first place and why she was still keeping her distance.

But how could she tell them? How could she attempt a reconciliation with Harry and Ron; ask for their forgiveness for keeping secrets from them when there was so much she wasn't telling them and never would? It was because she valued and respected their friendship and what it had stood for across so many years that she couldn't be their friend anymore.

They tried to speak to her more than once - both together and individually - but she'd cut them off with an, "I'm sorry but I don't wish to talk to you," or something similar that requested space or privacy.

To all appearances, she was calm and controlled. And she was, but only because she'd frequently resorted to Occlumency to manage and distance the pain. When she was within her mental defences, her emotions felt duller, her head was emptier. Life in the Burrow was easier. Bearable. So she maintained her shields for longer and longer stretches of time, only relenting when she was safely on her own so that she could cry undisturbed.

But her Occlumency shields weren't in place as she entered Azkaban's entrance even though she knew they should be. It wasn't that she had over-exerted herself in that regard - she could summon her mental defences so easily now and they didn't strain her mind as much as they used to. No, she'd left them down on purpose so that when she was with Dolohov she could feel something other than the guilt, pain and depression that dogged her every step if she didn't shut them out. She would be able to lose herself in the pleasure he gave her and forget everything beyond that sensation - even the Death Eater himself.

Hermione knew she had been foolish last time, encouraging the intimacy between them, purposefully trying to make him jealous to boost her piteous self-worth. That damned love bite had itched at her skin for days afterwards even though she had covered it with make-up and magic. Despite the fact that it had completely faded, she could still feel a phantom tingle where he'd marked her. Irritating as the itch was, she welcomed it because it served as an apt reminder not to get carried away again. The safest course of action was obviously to distance herself behind her shields but the prospect of a momentary escape was too great. She needed it.

The aurors in the guard station didn't look pleased to see her but they never did, no matter who was on rotation for the week. Her arrival meant that one of them had to leave the warded chamber and escort her through the freezing, distressing prison and past its inmates as well as the occasional dementor.

The female auror lost the staring contest with her partner and sullenly stepped out with a squirrel patronus scampering ahead of her to join Hermione's otter. As usual, there was no conversation on the way to the cell. Hermione had concluded weeks ago that they had been ordered not to speak to her and that suited her just fine.

The anticipation that had been building in her gut soared as Dolohov's door came into view and she tried not to let her emotions show on her face. She didn't want him to know that she had come in unprotected because that might produce questions she had absolutely no intention of answering.

Hermione nodded her thanks to the auror and opened the door, her eyes eagerly seeking Dolohov out. A surge of desire raced through her at the sight of him sitting on the bed, leaning against the wall with one leg bent at the knee for the book he was reading to lean on, dark curls of hair falling across his face even as he glanced up at her. She really, really wished that she didn't find him so attractive - well, a small part of her wished that - the rest of her was fairly humming with excitement and swallowing a sudden excess of saliva.

As ever, his gaze was intense, almost a physical force in itself. But, alongside the desire, she could detect that something else was burning within him as he carefully placed the book to one side and smoothly rose to his feet. To her surprise, he remained silent. Dolohov always had a comment for her when she arrived, usually laced with sarcasm or scorn, but today he said nothing. He just watched her.

Hermione took out the little potion bottle and laid it on the table with a quiet, "Here." She glanced back up at him, expecting a response, but he didn't acknowledge the potion in any way, just continued to watch her with that burning gaze. There seemed to be an edge of anger in his eyes but she couldn't think why. "Is anything wr- "

"How was the party?" he interrupted and she stared at him in confusion for a moment before she realised what he was referring to. Slughorn's Christmas party seemed so long ago now but in truth it had been barely more than a week.

Neither she nor Harry had been particularly enthusiastic about attending. Between her depression at dealing with bitchy comments from other girls for days and her mortification at her actions with Dolohov (as well as the ensuing love bite), Hermione had been lower than ever. Thankfully, spending time with Ginny to dress and prepare for the party had managed to lift her spirits enough that she felt like she could leave her negative thoughts behind and try to enjoy the night ahead. Harry had made no comment about her mood, only telling her that she looked pretty, but Hermione had noticed that he was much more preoccupied with Ginny's movements as she got ready to leave the Common Room with Dean. Hermione remembered having to hide a small smile at that observation, aware that Harry wouldn't want to talk about it with her.

The party itself had been… tolerable most of the time. It was certainly a different way to spend an evening and there was plenty to see and talk about with all the decorations, food and guests. She had been deeply unhappy that the Hogwarts house elves were being used to carry food around but she'd been cut off during her impassioned discussion with Harry on the matter by the arrival of an author who wanted to write a book about Harry, much to his displeasure. That awkward encounter was swiftly followed by Filch hauling in a gatecrashing Malfoy. Before Hermione knew it, Harry had practically dragged her out of the party so that they could hide under the invisibility cloak and eavesdrop on the conversation that had followed between Malfoy and Snape.

Hermione had been very surprised at the words that were exchanged (proving that Malfoy was, indeed, up to something on Voldemort's orders just as Harry had been claiming for months) and was even more shocked at the disrespect Malfoy showed to his Head of House - someone who had openly favoured him from their first Potions lesson. She and Harry had only just been able to dart aside from the previously-closed classroom door in time to prevent Malfoy from barging into them as he stalked away. Snape had coolly returned to the party moments later and Harry had spent the rest of the evening quietly arguing with her that the conversation they'd overheard had proved that Snape wasn't truly on their side - that the professor had been sincere when offering assistance to Malfoy in completing his task (whatever that might be). Hermione wasn't at all convinced. Surely Snape had been trying to get Malfoy to open up about his plans so that he could put a stop to it? She did have questions, and the Unbreakable Vow with Mrs Malfoy (the ritual explained to them the next day by Ron) was concerning, but in the end it boiled down to trust. Harry didn't trust Snape. Hermione did. Given everything that had passed between her and the Defence professor over the last weeks, with her secrets in his hands, how could she not?

Harry had brought up the incident daily to try and convert both her and Ron to his view. Perhaps he still did, but not to Hermione because she wouldn't let him talk to her anymore.

She realised that Dolohov was still waiting for an answer, that intense emotions she didn't quite understand were still simmering beneath the surface. "It was… fine," she finished lamely.

If she thought that answer would satisfy him, she was quite mistaken. Instead of becoming disinterested by her lacklustre response, he scoffed, "Fine?" and then his expression was briefly calculating before his gaze narrowed more intently on her, clearly expecting her to give further details. But she didn't owe Dolohov anything so she ignored both his stare and the phantom itch at her wrist which she desperately wanted to rub.

"Do you want news about events in the world or are we just going to get on with it?" Hermione asked as casually as she could while she removed her cloak.

His fingers at her suddenly exposed forearm made her gasp and nearly drop her cloak before she could place it atop the chair. Then she quickly had to press her lips together to prevent her gasp turning into a sigh of pleasure as the effect of his touch rippled through her.

"Someone's in a hurry today," he murmured from behind her and she had to swallow around a tight throat at his sudden closeness. "Have you got somewhere to be, milaya?"

He trailed his hand up her arm and she tried not to fumble her cloak again as she placed it aside. "N-no," she breathed, wincing a little at her stutter but he couldn't see because her back was still to him. Dolohov liked to watch her, she knew that now, and she allowed herself a few seconds away from his heavy gaze to just bask in the bliss he gave her, a moment that was just hers and the release she so desperately needed.

His low chuckle was hot and humid through her hair and against her neck, and she realised just how closely he must be standing, which only excited her more. If she leant backwards even an inch, she knew her back would meet his chest, and it took all of her willpower not to do so. "I guess," he said quietly and he swept her hair to the side, leaving her neck half exposed, "you're just desperate for my touch then?"

Hermione couldn't hold back a whimper - the combination of his words, his touch at her arm and at the back of her neck, the low seductive voice by her ear and the uncertainty of having him out of her eye-line had heat sweeping through her and desire spiking between her legs.

And then he was gone.

The shock of his abrupt absence made her stumble, and she dug her fingers into the back of the chair to steady herself. Her mind was reeling and it took her a few seconds to compose herself before she felt ready to turn around and face him again.

Dolohov wasn't even looking at her but storing away the potion she'd brought. When he turned back, he crossed his arms over his chest expectantly but she had no idea what he was waiting for.

"So, do you have news for me or not?" he asked, his tone snappish. It was unlike him. Conversing with Dolohov was never pleasurable but his temperament was normally hot and scornful, not cold and irritable. Something was clearly off with him - it was right there, ready to burst from him, and Hermione could practically hear Snape telling her that this was the moment to take advantage of his unsettled emotions, to break through to whatever humanity lay within. But she wasn't in the mood to play games with Dolohov today to try and peel back any layers he possessed. She had more than enough on her own mind to start poking around in his past.

She just wanted to get what she'd come for from him and leave without a backwards glance.

The ruthlessness of that thought, the pure selfishness of it, produced a surprising bloom of guilt in her conscience that she immediately railed against. Why should she feel unsettled about that? Her visits to Dolohov had always been a necessity: in and out as fast as possible, take what she needed so that she wouldn't die. Why did the blunt admission that she just wanted to use him without any regard for his own feelings now give her pause? It wasn't as though she cared for him or his well-being beyond his ability to keep her alive. If it was possible for her to never see Antonin Dolohov again, she would be overjoyed. After all, much of her current depression and unhappiness was a consequence of him and his curse.

Unfortunately, the reality was that she did have to regularly spend time with him until the curse could be broken, and that didn't seem to be happening any time soon. And, even worse, the war was not going as well as she'd hoped. Voldemort's forces were growing stronger and the Ministry seemed to be having little success in capturing any of his followers or doing anything else to stop him. Her future was looking less certain by the day. If she wanted to survive, she needed Dolohov more than ever.

But digging into his emotions, asking after his past, trying to prise him open and win him over to her side was still a selfish act. She wouldn't be doing it for his sake but her own. Hermione tried to tell herself that it was a good thing - she couldn't afford to empathise with him and nor did she want to. He was in Azkaban for a reason. Even discounting his attempt on her own life, he was still an advocate of Voldemort and the Dark Arts. He was a convicted murderer.

Even as fear shot through her at that bone-chilling truth, a memory resurfaced to ignite a tickle of curiosity in her brain. Before she'd even considered whether it was a good idea or not, she found herself saying, "What happened with the Prewetts?"

The shock on his face was plain to see before he could mask it. Unsurprisingly, the question didn't cheer him up but seemed to make him angrier. "What?" he asked, the menace clear in his tone.

Hermione was undeterred even though apprehension was trickling down her spine. "Your original sentence here. The Prewetts. I wondered what happened." During their first session together, he had told her that he'd only killed people that had tried to kill him first. She'd dismissed that comment at the time because of its falsehood in regards to her, but now she was intrigued. He'd been bluffing, surely? Just trying to win her over and generate some sympathy.

"Why?" Dolohov's gaze was as intense as she had ever experienced, but it was no longer smouldering with desire.

Hermione swallowed nervously. "I was curious." Her voice was weaker than she'd intended in the face of his black mood. She had no justification in asking such a personal question beyond her own curiosity, and heat bloomed in her cheeks.

Just before she lost her nerve and averted her gaze, he snarled with a voice brimming with anger, "They killed my parents."

Hermione's mouth dropped open as her mind reeled in shock.

"They broke into our home. I was out, called on at the last minute to do the Dark Lord's business," he continued. He was no longer looking at her but staring off into the distance as he relived the memories. "Those Prewetts had been sent to fucking kill us all, on the Order's business."

"No!" Hermione protested, unable to stop herself. "They wouldn't."

Dolohov walked towards her, fixing her with his volatile gaze. "What the fuck do you know about it? I was there. I saw them." Hermione gasped when his hand cupped her cheek both in surprise at his action and as a result of the sensation it created. "Your precious Order aren't as innocent and noble as you think, zhar-ptitsa," he told her, voice low and dangerous even though his touch was surprisingly gentle. She squirmed, uncomfortable with his words and the pleasure his touch was giving her when they were talking about something so shocking and dark.

Despite the distraction of having him so close, of the exquisiteness of his touch, her mind completely rejected what he was saying. "You're wrong," she breathed and tried to move her head away from him. "The Order doesn't kill. Dumbledore wouldn't send assassins."

His free hand moved to her other cheek, holding her in place, and she shuddered in sweet agony. He laughed humourlessly. "So fucking naive," he murmured, his eyes searching her face before they bored into her own. "And arrogant. Thinking you know better. I was fucking there, Granger. Not you. My parents were already dead when I got home. Wards had been set off when those bastards broke in and there was spell damage everywhere, so I know my mother and father put up one hell of a fight, but they were no match for the Prewetts. They were the Order's best, their secret hitwizards. Whispers had been passed around the Death Eaters about them for a few months - that they'd already killed off a number of the Dark Lord's followers. But mine was the first family they sought out."

Appalled and horrified, Hermione was forced to watch as he shared his past. Every word he said was a shattering blow in her tumultuous mind.

"They were setting a trap for me when I arrived. The bastards hadn't reset the wards so I knew that something was wrong straightaway. It gave me the couple of seconds' advantage I needed to stay alive. They fought dirty, those two - not with actual, classifiable dark magic - but there are plenty of spells that can become fucking sinister if you use them in the right way. But they didn't know about my spells. That's how I got them in the end. With my curse. First one, then the other followed soon after…"

Hermione closed her eyes, feeling sickened. That curse. Of course he'd used that curse.

"The house was in ruins when it was all over," he continued, his voice now strangely emotionless. "It took me a while to find my parents. That was my mistake. I don't regret killing those bastards for a moment, they deserved what they got," he said, voice suddenly harsh. "But I do regret staying. I should have run but I wanted to be sure. I wanted to see."

Against her better judgement, Hermione opened her eyes. He looked haunted. More vulnerable than she had ever seen him. He was looking at her but she could tell that he wasn't actually seeing her. He was locked in the past.

"I found my father in the drawing room," Dolohov said bleakly. "The Prewetts had bewitched the curtains to strangle him and hang him from the chandelier. His neck had been snapped with the force of it."

Hermione couldn't prevent a small cry of distress escaping her own throat but he didn't appear to hear her.

"It took me longer to find my mother. I was hopeful that she was still alive or that she'd managed to escape. She wasn't a Death Eater." He paused and Hermione couldn't breathe in wretched anticipation. "She'd been crushed. They'd pulled an entire wall down on her."

Unable to bear it any longer, Hermione broke free of his hold and backed away, wrapping her arms around herself. Dolohov looked momentarily startled by her actions, and for a couple of seconds she swore she could see the little boy he'd once been. Her chest clenched in a very unwelcome way and she turned her face from him to give them both privacy to recover.

"I'd only just found her when a team of aurors arrived," he said quietly. "I put up a fight but I'd lost a lot of blood by that point. They caught me with a stunner. And that was that."

Hermione's head was spinning and the silence that followed his story made it no better as her thoughts were free to run uninterrupted. The Order sending secret hitwizards out to murder Death Eaters? Voldemort's followers may have done terrible things but was assassinating them any better? And what about killing their families? It was abhorrent. She couldn't believe that anyone in the Order had agreed to that. "But the reports said -"

"They fucking lied," Dolohov snarled, his anger flaring up again, and her eyes flew to him in alarm. But then he laughed darkly. "Of course they did. Couldn't have them telling the truth, could they? Wrote those cunts up as brave heroes instead. Said it took five Death Eaters to take them out." He laughed mirthlessly again. "It wasn't even three. Like I said, Mother wasn't a Death Eater even though she agreed with what we were doing. She was educated at Durmstrang, certainly knew her way around a curse. She definitely took some chunks out of them before they got her so that gives me some satisfaction."

Hermione held a hand to her head in consternation. Five Death Eaters to bring down the Prewetts, led by Antonin Dolohov, that was what she'd read. She couldn't recall seeing a location mentioned, no justification for the incident apparently happening on the Dolohovs' property. She didn't want to believe him, not before she'd ascertained the truth, but her gut was telling her that he wasn't lying.

"Wars aren't clean cut, milaya." He was suddenly before her but not touching. "Not in the way you want them to be. There are all different kinds of good and bad."

Hermione couldn't glare at him, not after what he'd just revealed, but her tone was aggravated when she said, "I prefer a kind of good that doesn't want a ruthless maniac to be in control of the country, that doesn't want to stop people like me from existing."

He shook his head. "I'm not trying to fucking justify the cause with you right now - I'm trying to warn you. You cannot be so fucking naive if you want to survive this war. You need to be alert to threats on your own side as much as your enemy's."

Hermione took a step back from him, eyes wide. "You're being ridiculous."

"Am I?" he replied with no hint of amusement, mockery or scorn.

Was this another one of Dolohov's games? It didn't feel like one. Unsettled, she said, "Why? What threat could I face from my own friends? From the people I trust?"

"You're a liability." He presented it as fact. "Your dependence on me is a weakness that could easily be exploited. What would your beloved Potter do for you, huh? What lengths would he go to in order to keep you safe?"

Hermione's heart thundered in her chest. He wasn't telling her things she didn't already know, didn't already fear. Harry had already proved that he would risk his own safety without a moment's hesitation to protect her. But there was more to Dolohov's words that she was almost too scared to ask about. "What are you saying?" she said, voice trembling.

"You can't be used against Potter if you're dead."

His hands at her waist prevented her from sinking to the floor but she barely noticed, too stunned to even think anything for a few moments.

"N-no," she eventually muttered. She looked up at him in denial, still unaware that he was literally holding her up. "They wouldn't do that. Nobody would, would - " She swallowed thickly, unable to bring herself to say the words.

"Kill you?" he supplied, his voice soft.

Hermione couldn't hold back the glare this time. "They wouldn't," she insisted.

He shrugged. "Depends how key your precious Potter is to their plans to defeat the Dark Lord," he sneered.

She froze, her whole body unintentionally going stiff. Harry was everything. Their only chance. The prophecy had said as much. As little as Hermione thought of Divination, she knew that what they'd retrieved in the bowels of the Ministry had been a true prophecy.

"Well, that tells me all I need to know," Dolohov muttered. Alarmed by her accidental revelation, Hermione broke free of his hold. "You need to watch your back, milaya."

"You're wrong," she insisted, shaking her head.

"This is war," he reminded her. His tone wasn't unkind but steady, and she hated that he was being so calm and rational about her potentially being murdered. "Someone on your side has definitely thought about it - they can't afford not to. Even if they're not planning to kill you outright themselves, they can find a way to bring it about instead."

Hermione shook her head again in an attempt to ward off his words but it was pointless. Her mind was racing through Order members, wondering who, according to Dolohov, could possibly be planning her death.

Moody? The grizzled ex-auror certainly knew what it took to fight Dark wizards.

Kingsley had been the first to see the way she reacted to Dolohov and he was a logical, unemotional thinker.

Snape.

Her heart dropped.

She knew so little about his thoughts and motivations, but he had stood by her despite his knowledge of everything she was going through with Dolohov. Snape knew better than anyone how affected she was by her visits but he was the one that was encouraging her, urging her to find some way to reach the Death Eater. With a jolt of alarm she recalled what he'd said to her in their last Occlumency session. This is a fight for your life, Miss Granger. You must never forget that. She could picture the seriousness with which he'd said it, the intense look in his eyes. Was she being ridiculous in now second-guessing his intentions? Had he been trying to warn her?

Even more reluctantly, she turned her thoughts to Dumbledore. Although Harry may be the one who was foretold to defeat Voldemort, there was no denying that the headmaster was the one leading the fight, pulling the strings. He was the only one who seemed to know what was going on, who knew how they could win. He was the greatest wizard of their time. But, as she'd found out during her argument with Harry and Ron, he didn't trust her anymore. Of course, that didn't mean that he was plotting her death - this was Dumbledore, after all - but it made her uneasy.

And what if there was someone linked to the Ministry? Scrimgeour knew enough about her situation and had shown he was willing to do whatever he thought was necessary to get what he wanted. But he was already trying to manipulate Harry through her - her death wouldn't help the Minister right now.

Who else? But even as her mind frantically scrambled for another threat, pain lanced through her skull and she whimpered, screwing her eyes shut and holding her temple. This was too much, it was all too much.

"I told you," he said, apparently seeing her distress as confirmation of his claim.

"Stop, please," she said, her voice rasping in her throat as she struggled to draw in breath. "I don't want to think about this."

Alone.

If Dolohov was right, then she was completely alone, unable to trust anyone.

"I'm trying to keep you alive," he told her matter-of-factly.

She dropped her hands and shot him an annoyed glance. "Only for your own benefit," she huffed between strained breaths.

Dolohov rolled his eyes. "And you're only here for yours," he replied, sounding bored. "We've already established this." He frowned and watched her for a moment, before closing the distance between them. "Breathe," he told her.

"I'm trying," she replied through gritted teeth.

He half raised his hand and then hesitated. "I don't know if this will help," he muttered then slowly brushed the back of his hand down her throat as far as their skin could meet. Hermione nearly spluttered at the initial touch and though it still wasn't easy for her to draw breath, the pleasure of his touch was a good distraction, something else for her to focus on instead of the ruins of her life. "Relax, milaya," Dolohov said softly as he repeatedly caressed her throat and spread his fingers along her shoulder blades. Like her body was obeying his command, she found herself doing just that as the tightness in her chest disappeared. He slid his free arm bracingly around her back. "I've got you."

Those words shouldn't be a comfort but she found her eyes fluttering shut in relief as everything around her went quiet. This was what she'd come here for, what she craved, what she needed - blissful oblivion. She surrendered herself to it completely.

When her eyes blinked open an indeterminate time later, it took her a few seconds to figure out where she was. As soon as she realised that she was on Dolohov's lap, she let out a yelp and threw herself out of his arms so quickly that she fell to the floor in a rather undignified heap. She heard Dolohov snort in amusement from his seat on the armchair as she scrambled to her feet and started brushing herself down.

"You fell asleep," he explained, mirth still evident in his tone but she was too embarrassed to look at him. "I wasn't going to stand there and hold you all day. I thought you'd prefer the chair over the bed."

Hermione couldn't hold back a little squeak of mortification, her cheeks aflame. She'd fallen asleep?! For Merlin's sake! What a ridiculously foolish thing to do. She ran an eye down herself, checking for anything untoward, then forced herself to look at him with a silent accusatory question.

He smirked. "That's not how I get my kicks, zhar-ptitsa," he replied, smoothly rising to his feet. "I much prefer you awake." He deftly brushed his thumb across her cheek and she jerked her head away. To her surprise, she only felt a small tingle where his skin had met hers, which was a much more muted reaction than she was used to.

"How long was I asleep?" she gasped.

Dolohov shrugged. "I have no way of accurately measuring the passage of time. I'd estimate that it was closer to two hours rather than one though."

Hermione nearly choked on her breath. So long? She shivered, the coldness in the cell starting to seep into her skin now that she was away from Dolohov's warmth. "I- I didn't give you any news," she said, turning to grab her cloak to give her time to collect herself just as much as to put on an additional layer.

"And yet you told me plenty," he replied and she stilled her hands to glance sharply at him. She really, really didn't want to think about their earlier discussions but a trickle of anxiety was already flowing through her as she recalled his warning. She hadn't meant to tell him anything but her reactions had been too revealing. There was a power imbalance between them, it was almost tangible, but Hermione didn't want to leave here feeling so weak before him.

"Why were you angry with me?" she asked.

He frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"When I arrived here, you were angry with me," she explained. "Why? What have I done?"

She could see that the question displeased him and she took that as a small victory.

"I wasn't angry with you," he denied stiffly.

"Well, you were definitely upset about something," she replied, lifting her cloak over her shoulders. "And it seemed to be directed at me."

"It wasn't," he snapped. "I just hate being shut up in this fucking room. Wouldn't you?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I imagine I would." She could tell that he wasn't being completely honest with her. There was definitely more to his mood than he was prepared to reveal but whereas it had been bubbling just below the surface before, now Dolohov was locking it away. There was no point in pushing him when he was being stubborn.

It was time to return to the Burrow. That thought didn't make her feel as happy as it should, but it didn't leave her utterly depressed either. As embarrassing as it had been to wake up in Dolohov's arms, the rest had done her good. Despite their alarming discussions, her mind felt less strained than it had in days, her body didn't feel weighed down with all she was shouldering. Her inner strength to continue her fight had been renewed. Her mental and physical exhaustion had been wiped away.

Leaving Dolohov's cell was always awkward but today, with all that had passed between them swirling around in the air, it felt even more so.

Dolohov was glowering at a point on the floor and she felt a little bad that her question had brought about the return of his bad mood. Her guilt at making him relive his past trauma was even stronger and she knew she couldn't leave without acknowledging it. After tentatively clearing her throat, she said, "I'm sorry about what happened to your parents." She meant it. Whatever the Dolohovs' beliefs and past actions, they hadn't deserved what he claimed had happened to them. She had to repress a shudder just thinking about it.

Dolohov's gaze pierced through her like it often did, but again she saw a glimpse of the wounded boy within before his expression hardened. "You don't need to be," he said gruffly. "They wouldn't want your pity. They'd have absolutely hated you." He snatched a book from off the rickety table and sank back into the armchair, not giving her another glance.

Hermione released a small sigh and let herself out of the cell.

A/N I really hope you guys enjoyed this one. Lots of significant moments here, including some of the backstory lots of you have been looking forward to. It's not quite the way that Snape would have expected Hermione to bring it about though! Oh, and we all know why Dolohov was mad at the start, right?

Just FYI, I know some of you will be thinking that Hermione's itching wrist from the lovebite is somehow linked to the curse - it's not, she's just very embarrassed/conscious of it.

In our timeline, this visit takes place on the 29th December (I was originally going to post it then as a nice tie-in, but I prefer to give presents just before Christmas so you've got it a few days early) which places Hermione's next visit on the 7th January. Anyone know the significance of that date linked to our story?

Guys, I wish you all the happiest holidays and I'm so grateful for the support you've given me this year. Here's hoping that we all achieve and receive better things in 2023.

Love,

Red