Author's Note: Hey everyone, welcome back to this story. I do realise I've been away for a year, but there has been a lot happening with university, my health, my family... In short, there's been a lot of personal stuff, as well as just releasing a new book on Amazon... I have wanted to continue this story, but finding the time has been like finding a needle in a haystack. Thank you to everyone who continues to favourite, alert and review this story. I'm back and fingers crossed, I'm staying!

Chapter Twelve – Babushka

As soon as Hermione's bare feet made contact with the cold wooden flooring, she wrenched her arm from Antonin's powerful grip. She surged forwards, trying to run, although she had no idea where she was, or even where she was going. Dizziness made her head spin wildly, and she collapsed onto the floor. Her knees stung, although it was the least of her worries right now.

"Here," she heard him say, but she smacked away the hand he offered. Trying to muster what energy she had left in her body, she began to crawl forwards. Her vision wasn't the best at the moment, but she thought she could just make out a doorway. She tried moving towards it, although the feeling of nausea was still within her. She wobbled sideways, unsteady, her hand groping wildly for something – anything. Luck was with her as she grasped a bitterly cold iron handle. Pulling herself into standing position, she threw a glance over her shoulder.

Antonin stood, arms relaxed by his side in the centre of the room. He didn't make a move to stop her, although he still had his wand raised slightly. All he did was blink.

"Goodbye Mr Dolohov," she said, well aware that her voice did not sound as strong as she hoped it would. She pressed down on the handle. A breeze swept through, and Hermione ran.

The door was wide open behind her as she fought against the cold air. Her bare feet stung as she crushed frozen strands of grass. She wanted to get away – to get to the woods that were just beyond an icy wooden fence, but her body wouldn't let her, and she crumbled to the ground. A sob was wrenched from her throat and tears pricked the corners of her eyes. Her body shook against the unfamiliar climate.

"You will need this."

A thick deep purple cape was lowered onto her shoulders. The musty fur on the collar tickled her nose, but she found herself drawing the material closer to her. She didn't say anything as she felt him put one arm around her shoulders, and one at the back of her knees. She let herself be lifted, savouring the warmth of his body against hers. Her eyes closed, as his boots crunched over the ground, and she didn't open them again until she had been placed on a sunken old sofa.

"Incendio," she heard him mutter, and within seconds, the small room was filled with warmth. She watched as he placed logs onto the now burning fire, and began to light chunky candles on the mantelpiece with his wand.

The room had not been used in a while, that much was clear. There was a layer of dust on everything, and it needed airing. Above the mantelpiece was a mirror, half concealed with a black sheet. There was a thin bookshelf with leather bound volumes on each shelf, sandwiched between two door frames. There was a small end table near Hermione's end of the sofa. It held a very old, faded newspaper, and a framed moving picture.

Antonin moved into another room, and she took the opportunity to reach for the photograph.

Using the cloak as a duster, Hermione cleaned it as best as she could. Underneath the muck, the frame was silver, but it was the picture that interested her the most. An older woman was sitting on a leather wingback armchair. She was very elegant, with dark hair coiffed on top of her head, a Gothic fascinator pinning some loose curls back from her face. Her cheekbones were sharp, but she did not have a severe face. In fact, the woman was smiling and her eyes held laughter. Dressed smartly in dress robes, she swatted playfully at the young boy chasing around her chair.

His brown hair was tied back with a neat ribbon, although several strands escaped and fell into piercing eyes. Eyes that had not seen the horrors of the world. He was wearing a brand new set of school robes and he stuck his tongue out at the woman as he continued to run and avoid her feeble attempts to stop him.

"Antonin," she whispered, stroking the glass of the frame.

"That was taken after my first visit to Diagon Alley."

Hermione nearly dropped the frame. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–"

"You would have found it sooner or later. Babushka was very proud, as you can tell." Antonin placed a teacup on the end table, a tiny silver spoon on the side of the saucer.

"That means grandmother, doesn't it?"

"Da. This was her second home. When the Dark Lord threatened the world, she decided to move somewhere a little more remote than Moscow." Antonin sipped his tea – and it looked strange. A wild Death Eater, using a china teacup. "My parents and I are the only ones who are aware of this place."

"And now me?"

"And now you."

"Why did you bring me here, anyway?" Hermione stared down at the frame, hoping that if she stared hard enough her fingers would stop shaking. "Why didn't you leave me behind? What did Thorfinn mean about-" she paused, "about everything?"

"It's getting late," Antonin said. "I will try and find something substantial for us to eat in the morning, but for tonight I'm afraid, you may have to go hungry."

"I've been used to it." Hermione wasn't likely to forget about those long hard months camping with Harry and Ron. How difficult it had been to find food, even when they had been near villages or towns. Turning it into something edible had been another matter altogether.

She thought of her friends now – the famous Auror Harry Potter with his pretty, sporty wife and trying for a baby, and equally famous Auror Ron Weasley, who longed for a family that Hermione could not (and did not) want to give him. In his last letter, Ron mentioned that he was planning on taking an old school friend on a date sometime soon. He also said that George wanted him to work the joke shop too, although Ron knew it was to fill the void after losing Fred all those years ago.

What would they think of her situation now?

"Hermione?" Antonin's voice was calm. When she felt his hand on her knee, she leapt to her feet. His face seemed to change as he said, "I'm sorry for startling you."

"I… I… I think I'd like to get some sleep now, please," she said weakly.

babushka - grandmother

da - yes