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Summary
In the five years since the Battle of Hogwarts was won, Hermione Granger had learned everything she could about the magical creature she had become.
From within the pages of books, long hidden away on the dusty shelves of Grimmauld Place, to stories whispered to her in dark corners of their world, under the hush of something ancient. They all spoke of him, their magic connected in a time before either of their conditions ever existed. He lurked in the shadows of trees that spoke in tongues neither could understand.
But their leaves sing of others, monsters that skulk and slink through the undergrowth. Waiting for the moment to strike and unravel all of their carefully kept secrets.
The Wizarding World thought him long dead but she knew the truth. He waited, there in the belly of that forest as old and wise as the magic that coursed through their veins, for her to come.
And Antonin Dolohov was a patient man.