A/N: Thank you all so much for your favorites, reviews and follows! And thank you all so much for going on this crazy dark Order journey with me! This is the last chapter, but I hope that you will read what I put out in the future. I have a lot of good ideas bubbling up and I am writing on a new one which I am sure will be a wild ride. You can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions.

Please let me know what you thought of chapter ten!

Hermione felt completely awkward once she was left alone with Anya Dolohov. With her stern look and lack of fluent English, it was difficult for Hermione to feel at ease with the woman. Still, she followed when the older woman ushered her up the staircase, that was surely grand at one time, but now was well worn and dusty.

Anya walked her all the way down the hall, turning into a very dusty room, which made Hermione sneeze. Still, a few well placed spells had the room brightly lit and freshly cleaned. Anya barely gave her any time to look around before she was ushering her into the little en suite. Hot water filled the tub and Antonin's grandmother began to pull at Hermione's clothes, before instructing her to get into the steaming water.

Although she didn't particularly want to strip in front of the woman, she couldn't very well argue with her and did as she was told, before stepping into the water. It was hot, not scalding, but Hermione could feel her muscles relax as she sank into the warmth. Anya called for a house elf to take her dirty clothes, and Hermione was glad that she had any extra clothes in her small beaded bag.

It seemed that this was not meant to be a bath for relaxing, and Anya began to try and pull Hermione for a tub, handing the girl a towel. She quickly dried and dressed in her pajamas, performing a spell to plait her hair. Antonin's grandmother then ushered her back into the bedroom, putting Hermione directly to bed.

Seeing Hermione's frightened yes, a moment of tenderness passes over the old woman. Pulling up the covers, she tucked Hermione into bed, an act that Hermione had not experienced for many years. The woman bid her goodnight - or at least, Hermione thought that she did - before stopping to stare at the wand on the nightstand.

Antonin's wand.

Then, she left Hermione alone with her thoughts.

Sleep did not come easy in an unfamiliar bed, despite the late hour and how exhausted Hermione felt. She didn't think that she'd ever been so tired, and yet, she couldn't stop her mind from spinning.

Tears, kept at bay during the day by the excitement of being smuggled out the country, could no longer be held back when she thought about Antonin. Looking around the room, she assumed that she was in Antonin's room. Had he grown up here? How awful she felt to know that he might never return her.

And it was all her fault.

Bitterly, she cried into the soft pillow, hating herself for leaving Antonin alone to fend for himself without a wand. He'd made her lots of pretty promises that she knew he couldn't keep even in the heat of the moment. She should have stayed, fought back against Greyback and Malfoy. If they went down, at least they would have gone down together.

And now...well, now she knew that was probably the last time she'd ever see Antonin.

The next morning was even more awkward than the night before when she'd let Anya mother her. She'd changed into some new clothes, scowling at herself in the mirror when she saw the absolute state of her hair. Then, she'd come down the stairs, timid as a mouse looking for another living human.

She found Anya sitting eating breakfast with a young man, maybe only a few years older than herself. He looked so much like Antonin, only with warm green eyes, and none of the dangerous aura surrounding him. When he noticed Hermione, he stood quickly and ushered her to the table.

"Hermo-ninny?" He asked, making her heart clench when she thought of Viktor. Tears sprung to her eyes again, but she blinked them away and nodded her head sullenly. "My name Dmitri. Babushka said you were friend of Dyadya - sorry, Uncle Antonin?" He stumbled over the words, and his cheeks turned slightly pink at the word friend.

"Yes." She said quietly, taking her place at the table, despite not being very hungry. Hermione was embarrassed, wondering just what they thought she was to Antonin. Surely, they must realize that their relationship had surpassed friendship.

"What happened?" Dmitri asked her. Hermione wondered if he was fond of his uncle, even though Antonin was unintentionally the reason that he was an orphan.

Still, she didn't know what to tell the two other Dolohovs. "There was a fight and...Antonin sent me away to protect me." Hermione said, stumbling on the words. "He said he would come find me, when he could." All three sets of eyes rested on the wand that Hermione had set next to her plate, all wondering how well he could fair without his wand.

Unable to stand the silence, Hermione began picking at the porridge that appeared in front of her. She was still a jumble of emotions and feelings, so she found that she had almost no appetite. She'd killed three people in the past week and she'd lost the man she loved…

She was startled by Anya speaking in rapid fire Russian to her great grandson. Dmitri smiled and turned to Hermione. "Babushka wants to know if you ballerina? Says you look like...tiny bird. And eat like one too." She couldn't stop from herself from smiling, for the first time in a long time.

Shaking her head, Hermione corrected him. "No, I am not. I took classes when I was a child, but didn't have the talent for it." She had loved the class, but there got to be a point where you realized that you were not keeping up with the rest of the class. She'd cried when her mother told her they ought to find a different activity for her to join.

Dmitri relayed the information to his great-grandmother, Hermione noting a hint of disappointment on the older woman's face. "Babushka was prima ballerina when she was a young woman. Wizards would come from all over Europe to watch her dance. But then, it fell out of fashion with purebloods."

Hermione bit her lip, before nodding. She wondered if they knew that she was a muggleborn. She wasn't trying to hide it but she also didn't want to broadcast it unless they decided to throw her out. Then she really would have nowhere to go.

Harry had been so conflicted when he heard what had happened to Hermione. She'd gone missing from Grimmauld Place one day and they hadn't heard from her since that day. He wasn't blind that she'd been acting oddly for a while now. Perhaps, he'd failed her by not asking her what was going on, but he'd been so focused with Draco Malfoy that he hadn't bothered. And now...

Dumbledore told them that Hermione had been seduced by Antonin Dolohov and tricked into killing Sirius and Bill. It seemed so preposterous, especially because Dolohov had nearly killed Hermione just two years before and he couldn't imagine Hermione killing anyone. But it didn't change the fact that Bill and Sirius were dead and Hermione was to blame for their deaths.

He'd never seen Ron so angry before, Harry knowing that his best friend had always held a torch for the bushy-haired brunette. To think that she'd not only given herself to a Death Eater, but that she'd killed his brother as well, had sent him over the edge into a rage which could not be quelled. Harry was angry that Sirius was dead, too, but he just couldn't seem to come to terms with the fact that Hermione was responsible.

He had to push Hermione from his mind. Sure, she was gone, but Voldemort wasn't.

She'd been unpacking when she found the broken little pocket watch in her beaded bag. She handled it carefully, knowing that Bill hadn't removed the curses. It wasn't on purpose, but she threw all of her emotions about Antonin into fixing up the watch. The little timepiece was a small connection that she still had to him. She wondered if he would have been upset to learn that she'd borrowed it. They hadn't had enough time together for her to ask him.

Dmitri had showed her the way to the library, and after seeing what a magnificent place it was, Hermione rarely left. She'd hole up in there all day, first carefully breaking the curses she'd placed on the watch. It was a bit more difficult because they'd had some time to really get hold of the object.

Then, she'd lovingly repaired the broken glass, before taking apart the little gears and mechanisms inside of it, trying to get it to run again. She needed to make this work again, for Antonin. It was silly, she knew. It wasn't as though fixing his watch was going to bring him back to her, but...she couldn't help but try. It brought her comfort.

She also spent her time attempting to learn Russian. She'd been there for a while now, and it was only right that she try to assimilate to her hosts. Having a really good memory, picking up the vocabulary wasn't difficult, though she stumbled over many of the pronunciations and the sentence structure.

Dmitri was patient with her, giving her small corrections to her pronunciation and cadence. She was grateful for his assistance, knowing that she probably wouldn't have been able to pick it up so quickly if she didn't have such a great teacher.

Anya was trying to learn more English as well, though Hermione found that she was usually too embarrassed to attempt to say the words, though she was usually correct. Anya was the first of the two Dolohovs to learn how to correctly pronounce her name, which was a surprise. Dmitri's English was steadily improving as he spoke more with Hermione, but he still sometimes stumbled over her name. She didn't mind, though, seeing as it was just nice to have someone, anyone really to talk to.

He pressed her for more information on her relationship with Antonin, though she never opened up on that topic. Hermione knew that he thought it was a bit unhealthy the amount of time that she spent working on that watch, but Hermione couldn't give it up. Besides the wand, it was the only thing that she had left of Antonin.

She didn't know what she expected, but when it was finally fixed and working, she didn't feel any closure. She just felt empty.

Hermione liked Dmitri. She just didn't like him the way that he liked her. He'd been invaluable to her in the month that she'd been staying with Antonin's grandmother, spending as much time with her as he could stand. He'd helped her so much with her Russian and he even made her start laughing every now and again.

In some ways, it would have been easy to fall into his arms. He was quite handsome, tall and broad, with dark wavy hair. He was quick to laugh and his green eyes reflected that. In some ways, he really was like a younger version of Antonin, unhindered by everything that life had thrown at the older man.

But she didn't want to replace Antonin.

Really, Hermione wasn't sure that she would ever want to move on from Antonin, and she was unwilling to even try. Her heart and mind were still consumed with thoughts of the man she'd left in England, and all of the things they hadn't been able to experience together. She wanted to stroll along the river that parted Omsk's city center, holding hands. She wanted to discuss spell creation with him. She wanted to wake up with him spooning her, one hand cupping her breast and the other delving into her center. She didn't know if she would be able to move on from all the possibilities.

That didn't mean that Dmitri didn't try at every moment to get her to forget.

It had started with small touches on her arm, while they were studying in the library. He'd stepped it up by trying to hold her hand one night before a fire while Anya played a Tchaikovsky record. She'd been too shocked to try and pull away.

He hadn't tried to kiss her until she'd been there for two weeks. He'd taking her horseback riding across their extensive property and Hermione found herself wondering how the wizarding world in Russia had dealt with the muggle communists taking over land. She'd turned to see him looking at her with such love sick eyes that she felt her heart stutter in despair. "Ptitska." He'd called her - little bird - with desire clearly on his face, before he bent over to try and catch her lips.

Hermione had turned away and he'd caught her on the edge of her jaw instead. When he pulled away, she'd looked up at him from beneath shy lashes, hoping that he wouldn't be too angry. But, he had been angry, annoyance clear on his face, before he began muttering in Russian. "What is so great about uncle? He may never come back."

She'd shuddered at his words, and wondered if he knew what Antonin had done for him. The way that Antonin had protected him, at the expense of his relationship with Dmitri's mother. She hated that he didn't know what a great man Antonin was. And she didn't need to be reminded that Antonin might not return to her. Her mind already did that quite enough.

Unable to answer his question, Dmitri had grabbed the reins of his horse, giving her a disgusted look, before turning and heading back towards the house, leaving Hermione alone with her regrets.

After she'd been staying with Anya and Dmitri for five months, Hermione had begun to help out around the estate more and more. There had been fields to harvest in the fall, even though their yield was meager.

In addition, Anya, who was getting rather up there in years, needed help with the upkeep of the house. Hermione had been glad to learn that they did not have a house elf, though Dmitri was always suggesting that they buy one, it meant that most of the household cleaning fell to the older woman.

By winter, her Russian was good enough that she was able to go into town to buy the groceries for their motley group. She'd certainly caused a bit of a stir the first time she'd gone into the wizarding center, causing her to have a bit of a panic. Was it possible that Voldemort or the Order had reach all the way here? To her relief, it seemed as if no one recognized her as being the Hermione Granger. She was just as anonymous there as she'd been before her first year at Hogwarts.

She would spend at least part of her days cleaning around the large estate house. As the years went by, and Anya got older, it was clear that more and more rooms had fallen into disarray. It was good for Hermione, she decided, to work through the rooms methodically, as it kept her busy mind at least a little bit preoccupied.

Even though it had been months, she still was consumed with thoughts of England and the War and Harry. What was happening? Was Harry able to track down the horcruxes that were keeping Voldemort alive? She often wondered if she should have given Antonin that little tidbit. Still, she wasn't even sure if he would want Voldemort gone. It was times like these that she lamented she hadn't been able to learn more about Antonin.

She wondered what the fall out must have been like in the Order with Sirius and Bill both killed. Did Harry ever wonder if the story they'd fed him about her being under Dolohov's control was true? It was pointless to worry about such things, though, as Hermione was sure that Harry would never have forgiven her for killing Sirius if he knew she'd done it of her own volition.

Mostly, she just hated waiting for news. How long would it take the wizarding world in Russia to learn the outcome of the dark wizard known as Voldemort? Only when he came knocking at their door, ready to invade the proud country? She always knew that Voldemort's determination would not stop at Britain's borders.

So, she waited, day after day, reading the Russian newspapers, hoping for a hint of what was going on at home.

By the time that June rolled around, Hermione had begun to accept that Antonin was gone, and she needed to move on with her new life here in Russia. Anya and Dmitri had been so gracious in letting her stay with them, though they likely enjoyed having extra help around the house. Anya was mostly quiet, but one night, after too much vodka, she did ask Hermione to show off her ballet positions from childhood, before dissolving into laughter, telling her that she was beyond hope.

Dmitri...she was sure that something could happened between her and Dmitri, if only he'd give her time to heal. He never really let up on flirting with her - his ptitska - but he hadn't tried to kiss her again, except for a time around Christmas. She'd turned away again, and she knew that it hurt him. Maybe they would be together, but now wasn't the right time.

During the spring months, Hermione spent most of her time in their fields, helping to plant the fields. It was difficult work, but she embraced anything that kept her mind busy. It was on a particularily sunny day that her world finally turned. She had turned back to the house and saw someone walking towards her.

Initially, she thought it was Dmitri, but then she remembered that he had gone into the city that day. Her eyes widened when she realized that it was Antonin, come to get her finally after all these months. She ran towards him, calling his name, and jumped into his arms when she got close enough.

He fell backwards from the force of her tiny body colliding with his, laughing when she peppered his face with kisses. "I missed you, kitten." He said running his fingers through her hair, in what was without a doubt the most emotive he'd ever been.

Unable to wait a moment longer, Hermione pressed her lips against his, moaning into the feel of them together again, fitting against one another perfectly. His beard was a bit more significant now, but he felt like home to her. When she pulled away, Hermione had tears streaming down her face, her mind a jumble of emotions. "How can you just come back now? I thought you were dead."

Smiling at her from his place on the ground, Antonin pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. "That would be a question best answered inside." He stood from the ground, picking her up with him, before leading her inside, to where his grandmother waited.

Anya had poured each of them a ration of vodka, while Antonin spoke briefly with her in stilted Russian. His grandmother gave him a wry smile, before shaking her head. "Hermione speaks better Russian than you do now."

Antonin turned to look at her in surprise. "What, I had to learn to communicate if I was going to live here?" Hermione explained herself, thinking it would have been difficult not to pick up the language after being nearly immersed for months.

Then he told her everything that happened since she last saw him. "Malfoy and Greyback left me for dead, but Thorfinn came back for me. It was a month before all of my injuries were fully healed." He admitted, making Hermione cry. She knew that she should have just stayed with him, but instead, she'd left him alone to face the wrath of two sadistic Death Eaters.

When she pressed him about the war, he simply raised the sleeve of his left arm, revealing...just scarred flesh. The Dark Mark was no more, faded into obscurity. "Harry?" She'd asked while holding his hand, fingers tracing over his forearm.

"Potter won. Before I came here, I tried to tell him about what had happened with Black and Weasley, even gave him pensive memories." Seeing Hermione's hopeful face, he had to shake his head. "I'm sorry, Hermione. You could try to write, but...I think it's best if you keep plans to stay out of England."

"Are you going back to England?" She asked him, temporarily afraid that he was going to leave her alone after she only just got him back.

He laughed. "No, I just barely got out. You do remember that I am a Death Eater that escaped from Azkaban, right?" It was true that he was, but Hermione knew that there wasn't anyone that she would trust more than she trusted him. She couldn't have picked at better person to run into at Bottle & Glass nearly a year ago.

"Well, I only plan on going wherever you go." Hermione said cautiously, looking at him through sooty lashes. They had never defined what their relationship was, but she didn't plan on ever letting him go again.

He looked shocked, which made her slightly upset. "Are you sure, Hermione? I know...what you said before I left, but I won't make you honor the promises I made. It's been a long time, perhaps you've changed your mind."

She shook her head back and forth, wild hair moving around her face. "No, Antonin, I love you. I never stopped loving you, even when I thought you were dead, and you promised that we could build a home together. I still want that."

He caught her off guard by pressing his lips against hers, before capturing her lower lip between his. It made her shiver at all of the promises that kiss held. He finally broke it, grinning at her breathless expression. "Then I will give it to you."

There were so many things that they still had to work out, but Hermione couldn't find it in her heart to care about it at the moment. She had Antonin back and so that was all that mattered. She felt all her anger and guilt and pain slip through her fingers, the tumultuous storm that rage inside her dissipating. For the first time, she was excited at the possibilities of her future, without fighting, without war, just with love.