It's been a long time, but I have finally managed to return to properly writing. Before starting, I'd like to apologize for leaving End Without Sorrow hanging for such a long amount of time. I hope I can return to it soon to at least close the ongoing arc where it was left hanging.

I'd like to thank you for reading this story, particularly given how long it has given since I last wrote properly. I have a lot of plans for things I'd like to write over the coming weeks, so rest assured this isn't the last you'll see of me.

This story was written for Silver Lioness in The Fairest of the Rare's Love Fest 2020 (#LF2020). Should there be an interest in seeing a continuation, I would be more than happy to write one out.

Edit #1: Given the response to the story, I have decided to go ahead and continue it. It likely won't be too long (with either one or two long 5-8k chapters more), but I'll be updating it as soon as I can.

A bell rung as Hermione pushed the inn's door open. She entered the establishment swiftly, right hand close to the wand held by the holster strapped to her forearm. Looking away from the witches and wizards crowding at the inn's door, she made her way through the crowd towards the bar at the front. Clenching the strap of her leather messenger bag, she took a seat on one of the few empty stools up front and readjusted it so it rested on her thighs.

It wasn't long before a bartender, a young wizard dressed in bright traditional robes, approached her. He was young—younger than her, by the look of it—and did a poor job of hiding the open disregard with which he looked at her muggle clothes as he addressed her in a thickly accented English.

"Gillywater, please."

The wizard nodded and walked to the other end of the bar. Picking up a bottle and a clean glass, he quickly returned and set them in front of her. Hermione glanced at the bottle he placed in front of her curiously. Its label was completely different from the familiar green dragon often depicted in the brands in England. Instead it depicted a red mermaid as she swam gently across a river, jumping above the painted water of the label upon touch.

She smiled. "Thank you."

The young wizard walked away, and Hermione was left alone in her seat, with only her messenger bag and the gillyweed for company. Opening the bottle carefully, she poured the transparent liquid into her glass and drank deeply, marvelling at the coolness of the drink. Slowly, she allowed herself to recline against the low back of the stool slightly and observe the disreputable-looking inn she had been told to meet her contact at.

It was old, probably as old as the Leaky Cauldron, though its decoration was as different as everything she had found so far in the different wizarding communities of Tirana. It was built almost entirely out of wood, with a patterned mosaic flooring expanding across its single large room. A plethora of tables were arranged throughout it, beyond the bar, all seemingly occupied by the strange assortment of traditionally dressed witches and wizards. A number of sconces hung upon the walls, their flames only managing to dimly illuminate the hall-like room. The majority of the light brightening the room, instead, came from the few windows at the inn's front. They were tall, spanning almost from the patterned floor to the roof, and allowed a clear view of the crowded street at the heart of the Albanian capital's wizarding community.

Sighing, Hermione glanced back at her messenger bag. It had been an odd affair, her arrival to the reclusive wizarding country; and one which her remaining friends back in England hadn't particularly liked even when she had mentioned her intention to travel to undertake her research. Yet, here she was. Pursuing her research in one of the same places Tom Marvolo Riddle had travelled to in his youth.

Hermione straightened her back at the thought, and drank again from the cool, tasteless drink. Ron hadn't liked it at all, as had his family—a reaction she was sure Harry would have likely mirrored, had he had the chance. Ginny had been all but outraged, much as she had been about a lot of things since the end of the war. Her parents, meanwhile…

A wave of something dull and poisonous rose to Hermione's throat, and she painfully swallowed it down. Her lips trembled, and she clenched her hand around the glass, taking a deep breath. Her parents didn't care, much as they had about anything concerning her after she had managed to fix their memories, three years after the war. Dimly noticing the bell at the inn's door ringing again, she looked down at her messenger bag again; the ever-present companion which had accompanied her through her decision to quit the Ministry and pursue a Mastery. Ever useful and present throughout the travels she had undertaken after her award of the title with its undetectable extension charm.

The empty stool at her side, suddenly pulled back, scraped loudly against the floor. Hermione's head snapped up. Her eyes widened as she saw the nearly forgotten visage of a man she hadn't seen since the year Voldemort had been in power.

She felt herself pale. Antonin Dolohov, she thought hysterically, but how?

Clenching her jaw, she reached for the wand at her forearm and brushed her fingers against the base of the crooked wand she had been forced to keep at the war's end. "You," she snarled, feeling her heartbeat start to pick up. He had almost killed her once, long ago, leaving her with a scar too large to ever ignore.

The Russian wizard clicked his tongue in disapproval and gestured at her nearly fully drawn wand. "That won't be necessary" he said, slowly taking a seat.

Hermione breathed in sharply, not moving her hand away from her wand. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"I believe," he said, enunciating slowly, "that I reached an agreement to meet a potential employer at this location."

Hermione huffed, and met a pair of cold, fathomless dark eyes. "You?"

The proud, broad man who stood before her was a far cry from the one she had faced years ago. Whereas he had then been curled and weakened from years spent in Azkaban, the way he held himself now belied only a quiet sense of power. His jaw, no longer sporting the unkept beard she could remember, instead presented a short, neat cut. Dark hair waved to his shoulders, with a few, shorter strands falling just short of his eyes. The crazed and ragged-looking Death Eater who had haunted her nightmares was no more, having seemingly been substituted by a man in thick travelling robes and dark dragon hide boots; his shirt, buttoned up to his collar, visibly more expensive than any of the clothes she herself owned.

Dolohov raised his eyebrows and looked at her pointedly, and Hermione felt herself flush with anger. "How would you know about that?" she muttered.

The Death Eater cut straight to the chase. "A week ago, a notice for a job was posted within a local newspaper," he said brusquely, voice low and gravely. "Said advertiser, upon being contacted, agreed to hold a meeting here to explain the terms and conditions of the job. This is correct, no?"

Hermione ran a hand through her hair. "What if it is? Why are you here?" she pressed. "I want nothing to do with you."

Dolohov lowered his eyebrows and leaned forwards, towards her. "Be that as it may. Are you or are you not the witch who posted the advert?" he growled, eastern European accent curling over the syllables as they cut through the space between them.

Swallowing, Hermione pursed her lips. There could have been many ways in which the dark wizard before her could have learnt about the advert she had posted in a local wizarding newspaper. Further, should he have been interested in pursuing, her access to the correspondence she had engaged in with the sole individual to have replied to her advert could have similarly been gained. Antonin Dolohov was certainly capable of a feat like that no matter her precautions, with their enmity and previous confrontations only providing a suitable motive for the monster of a man.

A few moments passed in silence. Hermione brought her hands to her jaw, pressing at her lips with her thumb as she considered what little information she had. It was true that a wizard with the expertise that the Death Eater sitting beside her could have easily accomplished all of that, but the way he had chosen to approach her—by answering to her advert via a hired owl—made it difficult to believe. Particularly given how he had entered the inn and chosen to sit beside her and engage in conversation.

Turning away from the man, Hermione rested her elbows on the wooden surface of the bar and pressed her fingers together, steepling them upwards. "How did you know I was the advertiser?" she asked, focusing intently on the wizard besides her. "This inn is fairly full."

Dolohov let out a short huff of air and leant backwards. Crossing his arms, he seemed ready to answer when the bartender from before approached them. The young man who had looked at her with open disregard pointedly avoided meeting the dark wizard's eyes as he muttered something in his native language. Clicking his teeth, Dolohov scowled made a sharp gestured with his head that made the bartender pale and nod, quickly walking away from the both of them.

Looking on, Hermione felt a sense of unease slowly rise to her chest. Biting her lip, she slowly reached for her wand again. "Well?" she asked.

Leaning his head to the side, he looked at her up and down. Feeling anxious, Hermione brushed the angry red letters carved on her forearm, visible even beneath the simple holster she often chose to wear. The corners of the Death Eater's lips quirked up mockingly, and his eyes zeroed on the area just beneath her collarbone, where the upper tip of the purple-tinged scar he had once given her was plainly visible.

A rush of anger coursed through her, and Hermione grounded her teeth. "How did you know I was the advertiser?" she demanded again. "I imagined a murderer like you would have wound up dead after the war."

His nostrils flared, and Hermione quietly observed his hands as he fisted them painfully. "Careful," he growled, his accent slightly thicker in his anger. "I have had no interest in chasing a Mudblood like you so far, but don't forget who I am."

"I know perfectly well who you are," she snarled back. "Why are you here?"

Dolohov's muscles tightened. Narrowing his eyes even further, he raised a single hand and waved it carelessly. Magic descended upon them before Hermione fully managed to process what he had done. Her hand darted to her wand, very nearly drawing it completely.

Leaning back, Dolohov exhaled carefully and seemed to force himself to calm down. "The Muffliato charm," he explained tersely. "We wouldn't want anyone overhearing us, would we?"

Hermione allowed herself to relax minutely. Putting her wand back into the strapped holster, she met the Russian wizard's eyes again and forced herself to nod. "Thank you."

The Death Eater raised a hand to his face and rubbed his beard contemplatively. "I happen to frequent this inn often enough to be able to tell who is a stranger or not," he finally said. Turning more fully towards her, he lowered his hand and leaned forwards, resting his arms on his thighs. "Beyond that," he said gruffly, meeting her eyes, "it is obvious that you are a foreigner."

"Aren't you one too?" she asked, frowning.

The corners of Dolohov's lips quirked up slightly. He shook his head, eyes not leaving hers. "Perhaps, though, given my origin, not as much," he said conversationally. "The culture of wizarding communities here is rather unique, as you may have already noticed."

Hermione exhaled and, finally, nodded. Though she hadn't been in Tirana for long, she had encountered more difficulties than she had in the few other countries she had travelled through already. Contacting the different witches and wizards she had sought out to push her research on had been difficult, enough to make her question whether she would be able to properly find the information she needed.

"I didn't expect the wizarding community here to be as closed as it is," she finally said.

"It's more prominent in the north," Dolohov said, smiling lopsidedly. "I believe your advert mentioned travelling there?"

"It did."

"What for?" he asked with a curious lilt to his voice. "It is a rare request."

Breathing in deeply, Hermione looked back at her messenger bag. "I presume you are interested in the job?" she asked, avoiding his question. "I need to confirm as much before giving away any more details than I already did."

The Death Eater raised his eyebrows. "I am," he said. "Why is irrelevant."

Hermione laced her fingers together and nodded once before opening the clasps of her messenger bag. Opening it, she started to look through its inside in search of one of the notebooks she always carried with her. Dolohov observed her with a muted interest, silently watching her rummage through the bag's contents. It didn't take long to find the hard exterior of one of a very particular muggle notebook, and she pulled it out with a gentle smile. Quickly offering the red casebound notebook to the foreign wizard.

"I have written inside many of the places and people I need to research and talk to within Albania," she explained. "I won't give details of what I am researching, but it involves regions located mainly within the Albanian Alps."

Dolohov took the notebook and opened it. He read through its pages quickly, turning the pages more frequently than she would have expected. "These are some very specific areas, far into the country," he stated, pointing at a specific list in the middle of a page. "Many aren't connected to a floo network or travel system of any sort. What are you researching?"

Hermione frowned. "Is that relevant?" she asked, looking at the dark wizard suspiciously. She hadn't planned to give away exactly what she was doing to anyone in her travels, and so far, had managed to avoid doing so. Sharing her research with the Death Eater who had tried to kill her, whether he was interested in the job she had offered or not, seemed counterintuitive.

He looked back up at her, sneering slightly. "If you want someone to act as a guide and bodyguard whilst travelling through the more reclusive wizarding communities in Albania, it is," he stated. "I am interested in the job, but travelling through the mountain ranges of the north without a clear sense of direction isn't something I am willing to do."

"If you find it that difficult, I can always hire someone else," she said bitingly, crossing her arms. "From what I understand there aren't that many dangers to be found, especially when compared to some of the things I have already seen."

Dolohov smiled mockingly. "If you wish to try your luck, I won't be the one to stop you." He raised his eyebrows and tapped on the notebook. "Though I don't think you'll manage to find anyone too willing to travel through the Valbona Pass and the towns in Theth with a foreign witch, much less to the Jezerca Peak."

Hermione glanced at the notebook in the Death Eater's hands. She was sure that she could eventually find someone else to hire, but the way in which she had only received a single reply to the advert she had posted had made her doubt her original plans. Taking much longer to hire someone to act as a guide and bodyguard would distract her away from her research too much and could potentially render some of what she had been able to find so far outdated.

Sighing, she looked back at Dolohov. "I am undertaking a certain piece of alchemical research," she explained succinctly. "I need to access certain information which can only be found amongst the communities I listed."

"I can't see how the north of Albania would be of interest. Is something related to the Ministry of Magic?" he pressed.

"Independent research. I have been awarded a Mastery in Alchemy, and haven't been affiliated with the Ministry since I quit around a year after the war."

The Russian wizard's eyes widened. "Who did you study under?" he asked, looking at her attentively. "There aren't very many alchemy masters left, and I can't think of many who would agree to teach others freely."

"Argo Pyrites," she quickly stated. She was sure that the man in front of her would know of him, if only due to his relation to one of Voldemort's Death Eaters rather than his volumes on alchemy. Convincing the old wizard to take her on, considering her affiliation to Albus Dumbledore throughout the war, had been a difficult endeavour.

The Death Eater smiled crookedly. Slowly, he raised his eyebrows and looked at her up and down again. He was impressed, that much was obvious, though she couldn't say she cared to know why. Sitting back silently, she pressed her lips together and awaited the wizard's final answer.

"Very well," Dolohov finally said. "I accept, subject to undertaking a vow."

Hermione crossed her arms. "Obviously," she spat, feeling disgust at the thought of having to undertake an unbreakable vow with the Death Eater. "Contract or no contract, I will never be able to trust someone like you."

Dolohov leant back and tilted his head again, the motion making some of the dark strands of hair fall over his eyes. "Exactly," he said laconically. "I assume what remains is only a matter of agreeing on payment?"

Sighing, Hermione pursed her lips and thought the offer through. That only someone like Dolohov had been the one to reply to her advert was unfortunate. She didn't trust the man at all, and would rather not have to see him again, but the fact that he was a known cursebreaker and charms master was an additional positive. If his company was the only thing that would allow her to get close to the panacea she sought, then so be it. Once her research was done, what she did concerning his potential location was another topic in its entirety.

"Yes," she replied tersely. "That is all that remains."

Dolohov leant back and raised his head, meeting her eyes again. "Very well then, Miss Granger. I believe we may have found ourselves in agreement." The man's eyes remained fixed on her even as he moved to stand up, and Hermione felt oddly flattered at the unwavering attention of the terrible and formidable man. "I believe we still have some points to discuss, but I presume you would be available to meet once again tomorrow?"

Hermione swallowed and clenched the strap of her messenger bag. She nodded slowly, trying to ignore the mixing feelings of elation and disgust welling up in her chest. Flattening her lips, she kept her eyes fixed on his and quashed the temptation to reach for her wand. "Yes. Would this same place work?"

Dolohov's crooked smile grew and turned crueller. "It would."