A/N: Hello lovely people. And here is the second part. Thank you for the follows/favorits and reviews. They mean the world!
WARNING: It countains smut. It isn't really graphic (or really good, meeh), but it's there.
Prompt words:
"Antonin Dolohov, Pumpkins, Hermione Granger, "You can't live off whiskey and candy"
#betalove: A huge thank you to Gryffinkitty and kabg01. For their support, encouraging words and honesty.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
She knew it was a dream because the pain filled cries came from a younger self. Her younger self. She watched her, writhing on the ground. She shouldn't feel ashamed but seeing her younger self piss herself in pain, her hair sticky with her own vomit and blood made her feel it nonetheless. Maybe an even older self of her would be proud that she survived the cuts. The Cruciatus. The whip. But the Hermione now, watching herself being tortured was ashamed. Ashamed because they took her dignity away, made her appear as nothing more than an animal. They even made jokes, the young witch remembers.
The torture didn't take up a lot of her dream, though. Not like it otherwise did. And she knew this dream inside and out. She knew the exact sequence of events, knew who and when entered the "celebration" of finding the mudblood. Who put her in her place.
But not this time. This time the dream shifted and she tasted the texture shift however that was possible. She didn't see only herself anymore.
"Dolohov." That snake-like voice she would recognize everywhere. And suddenly he was in front of her. She shuddered, tried to back away as sudden fear propelled her flight or fight instincts forward. But she didn't feel her limbs move, didn't feel her muscles flex in reflex.
Before she could scream in terror, another person entered her view. He was large in comparison to her. Though, the detached part of her observed, he was probably just average in height. His shoulders were pulled back, his head held high and she marveled at his pride. And she wanted to snort at his stupidity. He didn't bow, didn't address the monster called Voldemort with the respect she saw many followers display.
"Take her away and clean her up. She should be prepared for tonight." Voldemort demanded, his blood red eyes probably singling in on the younger Hermione twitching on the floor behind Dolohov.
"Yes, my Lord." The man answered, his voice heavily accented. Hermione couldn't remember if it was his normal tone or if it was influenced by things she couldn't even begin to understand.
Without her own doing she was following the man, watched fascinated and in shock how he not used his wand to levitate her but knelt down and lifted her battered body without batting an eyelash. The background was filled with whispering, with shocked murmurs. But Hermione couldn't stay and find out what was happening, if it was normal behavior for Dolohov or not because she was pulled along with him, if she wanted to or not.
They flashed into a chamber. A bed stood in one corner, a simple desk and chair in the other. Dolohov placed her body down on the bed. Hermione moved closer, watched him while he cleaned her, careful to not disturb her in her comatose state. He dressed her wounds with practiced ease.
Suddenly he turned away and stormed over to the other corner. He slid down, his hands buried in his hair. He pulled at his strands and by the look of it it seemed painful.
"What are you doing…" He muttered angrily, his eyes erratically flittered from her younger self to the door.
"Get a grip. What do you think you are doing…" Hermione wasn't sure but she got the impression he was battling with himself. She asked herself what was going on. A gasp pulled both of them out of their thoughts. Dolohov pushed himself up in a hurry and moved with elegance she hadn't expected him to be cable of to his bed. Hermione herself couldn't remember this situation, couldn't remember being awake or even being taken care of. The drama was probably too much to deal with for her malnourished and beaten body and mind.
"Don't move." Dolohov grunted and pushed her younger self down into the bed. If Hermione could, she would have snorted. Dealing with victims of torture wasn't his strong suit. Just to prove that thought the younger Hermione tried to scurry away from the man, but her wounds were too severe and her muscles too ripped to support her. Dolohov cursed and turned away again, only returning seconds later with a flask in his hand.
"Drink this. It'll help you." He commanded more than explained and the younger Hermione couldn't look more like a doe in the headlights. She shook her head, clamped her mouth shut until her lips were as pale as her cheeks.
"Don't be stupid, girl. I won't kill you. If I had wanted to, I wouldn't have risked my life carrying you here instead of just handling you like the people out there wanted me to." He sounded frustrated. Angry even. Maybe, the older Hermione thought, the severity of his actions finally caught up to him.
When her younger self still declined the flask, going so far as to turn her head away when he approached her, he growled loudly and with a biting tone exclaimed:
"You will obey me." Tears started to stream down her cheeks, the dark brown of her eyes becoming watery and lighter. Dolohov sighed, one of his hands going through his unruly hair. The older Hermione watched how he took a deep breath, eyes closed. Just like she did when she was trying to deal with Harry and Ron's stupidity.
"Hermione…" He said and a sudden shudder run down older Hermione's spine. The way he tasted her name while uttering it, the syllables perfectly aligned though spoken with a thick accent awoke something in her she was too afraid and distracted to name.
"I'll get you out of here. We'll make it look like one of the younger Death Eaters betraying us and taking you with him. You'll be safe from them. And from me." The last part took older Hermione by surprise. What did he mean by that?
She quickly thought, as excited as she seldom was these days. One possibility could be that he knew he was unstable. That his sudden caring side could turn against her in the blink of an eye and he would hurt her. Schizophrenia would be the natural response of the mind to trauma. And she wasn't stupid enough to think that Dolohov lead a life of sunshine and flowers.
The other possibility opened a whole closet of what ifs for her. She shied away from it, only for her logical side to take over. Maybe he isn't as convinced of this ghastly cause. Maybe he would have to act against his believes if he kept you here. Had to prove himself by torturing you especially because he carried you.
Before she could spin that thought to its full potential, a raspy, broken voice - sounding childlike and so forlorn - pulled her out of her musings. The older Hermione wanted to be deaf in that moment. She prided herself for being strong, for not breaking in the face of danger. But that one sound, that one word showed Dolohov a very different story. Showed him how she really felt.
"Ok…" But the Death Eater didn't comment. He instead knelt down, a gesture that put Hermione so far out of her depth that she was frozen. Carefully, he lifted her head and placed the vial carefully against her lips.
"It will make you sleep. When you wake up, you'll be back with your friends." Uncomfortable, as if she was intruding on two strangers, she watched the way her younger self and Dolohov locked eyes. It seemed to her as if a whole conversation took place in that one moment.
Suddenly darkness surrounded her and the scene and everything else bled away into her mind.
At first the noise was far away. Just a background sound in the roaring storm. But it was demanding her to listen. To carefully pay attention. She wasn't sure if it was from inside of her - the feelings and impressions of the dream carrying over - or if something was making this awful sound.
Suddenly wide awake she recognized the noise. It brushed away the last shreds of sleep that wanted to cling to her. She could pick out her own ward alarm everywhere. Stumbling to her feet and throwing on her robe, she snatched her wand. It spewed some golden sparks as if to caution her about her own magical energy.
Hermione took a deep breath, tried to calm her fast beating heart. It just needed a little push for her logical mind to come to the forefront. Realization came soon that her magical core was pulsing like it never did before. The magic swelled through her in waves, pouring from her pores and she felt it eliminate the last remains of her cold. How that was even possible when the virus assimilated to her magic she couldn't start to comprehend.
Energy sparked at her fingertips, made her hair flutter like it was electrified. Hermione waved her wand once and shuddered at the sudden silence. She had expected to hear the intruder or even the wolves inside her cabin. If she was honest she had been afraid that disabling some of the wards would cause the whole system to shut down. But it didn't seem like it. The alarm wouldn't have sounded.
Slowly and carefully she walked to her bedroom door, which was slightly ajar. When she moved in she had memorized the creaking floorboards and was thankful for her meticulous nature.
Hermione used her foot to push the door open wider. Leaning forward a bit, she tried to see beneath the small space visible through the gap. Cursing softly she felt the cold air sweeping through it and immediately knew that something or someone broke into her hut.
Pressing a hand to her heart she prepared herself as good as possible. All the training, all the maneuvers she took part in, all the mental preparation. It came to mind so easily. But Hermione wasn't naive and all of this could mean nothing if just the wrong person stumbled across her hiding place.
She shook away those thoughts. She had to concentrate and it wouldn't help to start her own self-fulfilling prophecies. She was on the warpath when it came to them.
Brandishing her wand in front of her, muttering spells to protect her magical core against intrusion and steeling her mind with the Occlumency she taught herself, she took a first tentative step towards the gap of her door. Hermione was confused that she didn't hear any shuffling or any other sound that would indicate an intruder. She didn't let her guard down, though and in a flurry of movement stepped out of her bedroom.
Strategically, she had half placed herself behind the commode standing just outside her door. She realized only seconds later that she didn't have to be so careful.
The intruder - who ever he was - lay sprawled out, snow covering his legs barely laying inside her hut and with that inside her wards.
Throwing caution to the wind, she ran forward. A part of her cursed her too caring nature, her nurturing side, but she could easily ignore it when the stench of blood and dirt reached her nose.
Hermione didn't forget though that she was a witch and that at least taking minor precaution could tip the coin to one side or the other. Heads you die, tails you live.
She let herself sink down to her knees, felt his pulse. Not dead. Suddenly a bony hand wrapped around her wrist, the grip stronger than she would have expected.
"Help me…" He rasped, his eyes searching for her face and fell unconscious again before he could comprehend who was with him. Hermione worried her bottom lip. She should check his mind, make sure that he wasn't someone with dangerous intend in his thoughts. But something made her stop before she even started contemplating it. There was something that told her to do something she couldn't bring herself to do for anyone but Dean, Seamus and a few others - trust.
She swished her wand, though, effectively levitating the man inside her hut and with a wave of her free hand closed the door. She felt more than heard the wards sliding fully back into place. Fascination and curiosity battled for her full attention why that would happen but she pushed both back and fixed instead the man with both eyes.
His body looked more dead than alive. Blood was trickling in thick droplets down his leg and onto her floorboards. His clothes were stiff from the ice coating it. But it was already beginning to melt. Just like the ice sticking to his hair and his hands. She saw the first signs of freezing.
Contemplating that he probably walked through the storm for quite some time for him to be in this condition she had to act fast otherwise he would lose his fingers. Looking closely she added his nose and a part of his cheek, too.
Without a second thought she waved her free hand again and out of her bathroom steam started to crawl into the corridor. Hermione transported the unconscious man into the bathroom and placed him gently down on the thick rug in front of her tub. Mindful of his privacy she undressed him and just left his boxer shorts on his person.
He smelled even more awful than he did dressed. Urine, sweat and the certain smell of illness mixed together into a nauseating odor. She pressed a hand to her mouth to stop herself from vomiting.
You've had worse, girl. She reprimanded herself and used three different cleaning spells to at least vanish most of the dirt out of his boxer shorts. Hermione checked with a hand the temperature of the water. She had to make sure that it wasn't too hot or the damage already done to his beaten body could get worse.
To her the water felt luke warm at most, but when she levitated the man into the tube he hissed. She watched him a moment longer - maybe he would awake - but it seemed his exhaustion and his bad condition kept him in his comatose state.
Hermione knelt back when she was sure he wouldn't slip further into the water and drown. Chewing her bottom lip, she contemplated her next steps. Of course she knew charms to wash dishes by themselves and she could probably tweak the spell enough to work for a human as well. But she didn't want to risk agitating his already painful looking skin.
She sighed and rubbed her forehead. With a snapping of her fingers two washcloths - soft and pink - appeared in her outstretched hand. She placed them into her lap and snapped latex gloves on her hands. It wouldn't do to aggravate his obvious wounds with her own bacterias.
It felt uncomfortable to wash someone she didn't even know. Her cheeks clouded with a dusty pink and she couldn't stop herself from chewing her lip in acknowledgement when she saw how well built he was underneath all these bruises and wounds. Quickly thinking, she decided she would avoid that topic if he asked about it when he woke up. She set to work.
And scrambled back a second later. The Dark Mark - or what once was the Dark Mark - stood stark against his pale skin. Her heartbeat in her throat and for a moment she felt like she was suffocating. Then she relaxed. He was unconsciousness and in dire need of medical attention. Hermione cast a quick charm and choked when she saw his health chart. It just confirmed her observations. And it wouldn't do to think about morally accurate philosophy now. Help or not. And that was a choice she always stick to.
For good measure though she charmed him with a lighter form of a stunner. It wouldn't affect his organs, just stop his muscles enough that she had time to react to any sudden attack.
Hermione took a deep breath and knelt down next to the tube again. Her eyes automatically singled in on the Dark Mark. It was mangled beyond recognition. The flesh was burned black, blood seeping out of the few cracks. She only really knew it was the Dark Mark because she had seen it so often, studied it too much.
The witch knew that she had to erase it. It would make any attempt at helping the man pointless. Voldemort was a genius when it came to things like that. She could recognize that. And he would continue to torture this man as long as his magic resided in the remains of the mark. Maybe even going so far as to undo everything she had to do to make sure the man survived.
But first steps first. Getting him cleaned up. And dressed. Though warm, even the smallest cold could bring him over the brink into death's arm. She wasn't sure he would greet it like an old friend.
Sighing she changed the bathing water for the third time. Hermione made sure to heat it every time a bit more. Color was slowly seeping back into the man's skin, but it still looked deathly pale to her. He was clean now, though and she had a good look at the injuries peppering his body.
The wound on his leg looked like it needed to be inspected first. The blood flow had stopped, but the veins surrounding the bite shimmered purple and blue through the skin. It appeared to be translucent.
There were a few cuts and the skin around his ribcage was purple and blue as well. She would check his lungs for further damage.
Her legs began to cramp after her concentration wasn't fully placed on her intruder anymore. Hermione pulled herself up, a sigh leaving her when pins and needles started to race along her limbs. She bowed her back backwards and forward, then swished her hand to levitate the man out of the tube. Tweaking her magic, he was soon dry and clothed in a bathrobe.
She was worried because he hadn't shown any sign of being close to consciousness. Biting her lip and transporting him to her big sofa she hoped that nothing was wrong with his head. A concussion? She wished with everything within her that that wasn't the case.
Sure, she could heal it, but using magic close to the brain was always risky. Especially if his magical core would reject hers. Taking a deep breath, Hermione decided that she would go down that road when she had to. The adrenalin that dominated her actions slowly ebbed away. The silence around them allowed her to hear him breath.
His inhales were deep and even, his exhales not as ill sounding as before. A small relief. Her eyes closed and her senses stretched to full capacity. Pushing aside the noises from outside, the sounds of her own body, the tendrils of her magic started coiling around her hands. She let them hover just above his chest.
On her command it slithered down onto his skin. In her mind's eye she saw the way her energy seeped into his pores. Hermione was confused why she didn't feel a barrier or a wall surrounding his magic - something to stop intrusion, but waved it away remembering his condition.
He probably couldn't defend himself at the moment. Suddenly her magic started purring like she remembered Crooks did when a belly scrub was exceptionally good. The whisper of it shuddered through her own body, the sound warm and soft in her ears. Her magic merged out of her control with the energy of the man before her.
Hermione gasped but kept the connection intact. She wasn't sure if she could even detached herself from him. She wasn't sure if she wanted to because with the purring came calmness she hadn't felt in years. Came longing and a strange affection that made her want to shut down any conscious thought.
She was pulled forward onto her knees. To not fall face first onto him, she braced her hands in front of her, her fingers digging into the muscles of his upper arm.
The feeling intensified with touching him. Electricity was racing through her veins straight to her magical core. It pulsed violently, making her gasp in wonder and fear. In response the man before her sighed, his upper body jerking upwards only to fall back again a second later. She wasn't sure if it was in pain or relief.
Hermione shook her head, her senses overloaded by her mind's impressions and the signals her body send along with it. She pried her eyes open and for the first time couldn't take them off of the man laying in front of her.
His face was hidden behind a thick dark beard. Impressive eyebrows and a head of long-ish curly hair dominated his face. There was something familiar, though. She wasn't sure if she remembered it from a dream or if she met him before. Without a conscious thought her hand went through his wet hair, pushed it away from his forehead. His eyes fluttered open, forming slits.
He didn't seem to see her though.
It all happened so fast she wasn't sure if it really was her decision to forgo her caution or not. She felt a bit possessed and utterly overwhelmed. Her heart and mind longed for balance, for a moment of quiet with just herself. But something else - and she could make out her magic - wanted her to stay. Wanted her to do everything in her power to heal this man.
So instead of pulling away, giving into her basic urge to run away, she started muttering under her breath, spells and charms she knew and surprisingly enough a few she didn't know. A light slowly started to emerge from underneath her hand, vibrated warm and soft against the tips of her fingers. It spread like thick honey over his skin. At first she thought it was running along his blood vessels. On further inspection she saw it flowing along other veins. Hermione blinked.
It seemed to crawl along the veins leading to his magical core. Fear overtook her wonderment. She never heard or read about anything like that - only that it could cause death, for both parties involved. Hermione wanted to stop, pull herself away. The tension rising within her made her breath fasten, her heart quicken its path.
She heard more than felt it when her magic flowed into his core. Her own voice - far away and like it was under water - pierced through her confusion in a loud scream. She wasn't feeling pain.
But her consciousness was leaving her, the pull too strong. She felt herself being swallowed along with her magic. Then she knew no more.
His pounding head was the only pain he felt when he woke up. Otherwise, and he marveled at it, he felt fine. Invigorated like he hadn't felt in years. And a lot younger. His eyes started to adjust to the dim light. The embers in the hearth were the only source of light. He wasn't sure where he was until he moved his leg. It wasn't a sharp pain traveling along his nerves. Instead it was just a minor uncomfortable feeling - like an aching after overdoing it while training.
He tried to use his arm to push himself up. Years of being holed up and afterwards in constant hiding made him paranoid to some degree. And being in a foreign environment, suddenly fully healed wouldn't assure him even a little bit.
He couldn't use his arm, though. Something heavy was laying on it, making it impossible to move. His eyes singled in on the person. A wild head of curls was the first thing he saw. The silhouette against the dim light was all he really needed to put two and two together.
Next to him, fast asleep and seemingly not going to wake up was Hermione Granger. The girl he… couldn't describe his bond to. A nervous flutter spread nausea through his stomach. He gulped.
He took another look around, and not far from him found a few candles. Contemplating if using his magic now after coming back from the brink of death was really a good idea, he decided that it was his only possibility. He closed his eyes and took a breath - relief filling him when he felt no hindrance while doing so. She even repaired his lung damage from years in Azkaban…
With a wave of his free hand the candles ignited, their small flames hungrily consuming wax and air. He scoffed when he saw the lit pumpkin beneath it, its carved face painfully crooked and scary to look at. Such a mundane decoration for someone who was hiding the last few years, he thought to himself. Maybe, his consciousness muttered back, she needed some comfort. He shook his head and pushed the thoughts away. Too random to really be helpful to figure out what to do. It gave him a sense for the date though. Halloween was approaching, he gathered.
A soft sigh next to him pulled his attention back to the girl beside him. He corrected himself. She wasn't a girl. Biologically, mentally and psychologically she had grown into a woman far too soon. Of that he was sure.
He closed his eyes again, aware that his magic and consciousness urged him to touch her, to gather her up in his arms and just enjoy her closeness. A heavy breath parted his chapped lips. This stupid urge was the reason why he was pushed into the snowstorm, tortured and beaten before that to begin with.
It all started with a curse. With a stupid curse he threw at her when she hadn't meant anything else to him than a hindrance to further his Lord's goals. But that changed when the feedback his magic send him made him breathless in pain. Just as she probably was when the curse took effect. He felt as if his own chest was cut open, like his own blood was flowing too fast out of an imaginary wound.
In that moment he realised, his magic and consciousness bound him to her. Maybe it was punishment for all his evil deeds back then. It was ironic, wasn't it. Looking at her now he couldn't feel of it as a punishment. Quite the opposite.
Sighing, he slowly started to raise his free hand, a levitation spell whispered from his lips. He was afraid to touch her and wanted to badly at the same time. But he needed to figure himself out first, had to make sure that he was in his right mind to explain everything to her. Salazar… he didn't even know where to begin. He hoped that the intelligence everyone saidt was her strongest suit wouldn't fail her then.
When she was floating next to the sofa, he stood up. At first he felt a bit light-headed but it soon dissolved into a warm and comfortable calmness running through his veins. He tested his limbs, then moved his hand slightly to let Hermione gently glide down on the sofa. He couldn't stop his hand from caressing her cheek. Surprisingly, she snuggled into the touch. With relief he watched her continue sleeping.
He pried his eyes away, their dark pupils taking in his surroundings. Her small hut looked homey and was filled to the brim with books, parchments and the scent of spices. A kitchen was hidden behind a corner. He raised an eyebrow seeing the potions kit in it. That would explain the scent.
Shaking his head he made his way into the corridor. The bath he found easily. With disgust he saw his clothes strewn over the floor. The remains of what once was a sturdy cloak, trousers, a thick shirt. It was tattered and dirty. He knew a few spells that could probably fix them at least a bit. The thought made him aware that he wasn't sure he still had his wand. There were many chances when he could have lost it. Sighing he gave up on it until he could ask the witch sleeping on the sofa.
With a sneer he pushed the remains of his clothes out of the way. If he was honest the face greeting him in the mirror astonished him. On the one hand he looked so different he wasn't sure he still was the same man. On the other hand, though he couldn't see much - his beard grown too long, his hair a messy mob on his head - what he could see left him in wonder. Clear eyes, a few less wrinkles around his eyes. He braced his hands against the sink, flexed his fingers and shuffled from one foot to the other. He felt healthy, strong even.
His eyes traveled to his arms. Blinking once, twice he recoiled and nearly fell backwards when he stumbled over his tattered clothes. Tentatively he reached his right hand out, probed the skin of his left underarm with cautious fingertips. The Dark Mark. Gone. His skin smooth as if he never had one. He couldn't wrap his mind around it for the next minute, had to sit down on the tub. His breath left his nose in sharp inhales and exhales.
He didn't care that his hands were shaking when he would have felt disgusted in every other situation. But this… Freedom. He was free. A mistake he made and lived with for the past decades of his life just erased. What had the witch done!
It was a miracle. She was a miracle. He couldn't even start to grasp how he would ever thank her. Leaning forward he let his head fall into his open hands. He felt like crying but no tear left his eyes. A part of him was thankful. The part that hated showing emotions, that sometimes hated feeling at all. He let his fingers glide into his hair and pulled at the strands to get himself under control again.
With a sigh he pushed himself up and stood in front of the mirror. He needed to get his hair cut. His beard too. Closing his eyes he concentrated on his magic, felt it pulsing in his veins. A moment later dark strands brushed his bare shoulders, fell onto his feet. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the changes more clearly. He didn't look like a twenty year old Adonis. But the years added to his normal age had vanished. Looking into himself he felt lighter as well - as if stress, torture and all the evil deeds he committed never happened, never left a stain on his soul.
His hand scratched at his chin, drew along the sharp contours of his face. It felt good to be himself again. He hadn't been for a long while. With a wave of his hand his cut off hair evaporated into dark fog, then he left the bathroom. Though it wasn't cold in the hut, he needed something to dress himself with. He wasn't uncomfortable with himself but something told him their talk - and he was sure they would talk and probably shout a lot too - couldn't take place with him dressed in boxer shorts only. Though, he had to admit, the thought held some humor.
A slightly ajar door caught his interest. He listened closely for any sign that the witch was awake yet but it seemed she was still fast asleep. With soft steps he made his way to the door and opened it with a gentle push. It creaked and he cursed under his breath. His muscles freezed and he stood stock still for a moment. Apart from a soft groan he didn't hear any other sound that would point to the witch rising. He thanked his luck for that. He couldn't face her. Not yet.
Even though he thought his quest for clothes would be hopeless, he started for the wardrobe and searched it for anything he could wear. Curiously enough he didn't have to look long. He found a pair of sweatpants he could transform easily. But no shirt. He wasn't the type of man that could pull off any color, except maybe black. He snorted at his own sarcasm and he remembered the bathrobe he left in the bathroom. Pulling on the pants, making them wider and longer he wanted to leave her bedroom, but a framed picture caught his eyes.
It was of her and Salazar she was so young. Her front teeth were too big, as was her school uniform and that hair. He chuckled. His heart squeezed lightly and he pressed his free hand against his bare chest. You could already see that one day she would blossom into something more. Maybe not perfect or beautiful, but pretty. A pretty that wasn't overwhelming or false. Just honest.
One of his fingers glided along the frame and transfixed he watched the photograph move. She was laughing with a redhead - probably a Weasley - and Harry Potter. The girl seemed happy and so, so carefree. He knew that only a few years later she would be a teenager fighting a war. That she would grow up knowing loss too soon, knowing hate too soon.
Bitterness transformed his features, made his mouth pull into a hard line. He wasn't sure if it was the bond making him regret the life she had. Or if deep down he still could feel compassion.
He shook his head, wanted to brush away the heavy thoughts. Sighing he let himself fall backwards onto her bed. Her scent lingered in the air around him. Clean and sweet, with a spicy undercurrent that made him hum. His magic coiled along his muscles, made them itch to move towards her.
But he couldn't. Not yet. He needed some time to think about consequences and the best way to explain everything to her. Maybe fate had a little mercy and she already knew a bit about magical bonds and enough about magic itself to make sense about the rest.
Otherwise… well, he was at a loss to explain something he lived with for the last years after he realized what his curse set into motion. He had had the time to get comfortable with the idea, had had the time to think any and every possible outcome through. Ironically all his long nights spent playing through scenarios in his head didn't help him come up with an eloquent way to put what they had in words.
Listen closely, witch. You are mine and I am yours. Our magic wants it that way. And I don't feel like rejecting it.
Smooth, he thought sarcastically. A heavy sigh parted his lips. Frame forgotten next to him he rubbed at his face, wanted to chase away his worries that made his stomach twist. What was it about this whole situation that set him so on edge, for Salazar's sake.
He accepted their bond. If he was honest he couldn't wait to act on the pull he felt towards her. But he delayed their confrontation anyway.
The fast beat of his heart suggested fear. But it was a laughable thought at best. He wasn't afraid. Why would he be...
He gritted his teeth. If he wanted to admit it to himself or not, he was indeed worried, afraid even. Rejecting a bond wouldn't cause their bodies to implode or their existence to be ended. They wouldn't live half a life or could never be happy with anyone else. It was just an indicator that they could be good for each other, perfect even. In all regards.
And he wanted that. Wanted that commitment accepting the bond would mean. Wanted to stay with her because he never felt that good, whole or better about himself before. And deep down he wanted to leave something behind - a child continuing his line, a child he could teach all the crazy and amazing things he knew. And Salazar, he wanted a woman he could see eye to eye with. A challenging, arguing, sometimes completely mental and sometimes completely perfect woman.
He knew he couldn't have that as a Death Eater. Malfoy was a prime example. Though married and with an heir, his existence could only be pitied. That was one of the reasons why he rejected the Carrow woman. That and she was batshit crazy.
Maybe getting a glimpse of a possible future spoiled him. And maybe wanting it was fine. Pushing himself upwards into a sitting position, he steeled himself. He would fight for her if it came down to it. Fight with her, too.
Because bond aside and just remembering what he knew about her, saw in her mind when he healed her years ago, he knew they could be something. Something that could last forever.
"Dolohov!" She gasped and in a hurry of movement stood before him, only the sofa keeping them apart. In her hand he found her wand, brandished in front of her. She wasn't shivering and though surprised he couldn't find fear in her eyes. Even still disheveled looking from her sleep, she was a sight to behold. He swallowed.
"It was you?!" Hermione shook her head. Her hand was steadily pointed at him. Mentally she cursed herself. She knew that there was something familiar about him. She should have been more careful, more thorough and not forgo the search of his mind. Strangely enough she wasn't angry. Nor was she afraid. Why wasn't she?
"Hermione. Please. I won't hurt you." He rasped, his voice still slightly hoarse from disuse. It pulled her effectively out of her confusing thoughts. It felt good to hear her name fall from his lips. She shook her head to get rid of these crazy thoughts.
"Don't think I'm stupid. Just because you don't have your wand doesn't mean you can't do magic." Her eyes glinted with intelligence. Puzzlement, too.
"You have it?" He asked, a bit hopeful. She frowned.
"No, I couldn't find it in your… clothes." She answered, her hand still calmly pointed at him.
"Do you want me to swear an oath?" Dolohov changed the subject, his eyes looking from her wand to her eyes. He suppressed a groan when he saw her doe-like eyes and the way she chewed her lip in thought. A sudden epiphany seemed to run through her body because she relaxed, the hand with the wand falling down next to her. Hermione remembered then what happened when she wanted to heal him. How their magic merged, became one. She sighed.
"No… that won't be necessary." She finally muttered, a hand going through her hair. He raised an eyebrow and Hermione couldn't stop herself from marveling at this. It transformed his whole face, showing off a playfulness and approachable aura that weren't there before. She swallowed, her hand inviting him with a wave to her sofa. Hermione herself took the place near the hearth, the coffee table strategically placed between them.
She shivered again when they remained silent. His dark eyes seemed to see right through her. The witch was confused why it didn't make her uncomfortable. A sigh from him pulled her eyes towards his mouth. It looked inviting, transfixing... Surprised with herself, she looked away.
"You seem sure I won't attack you, suddenly." He muttered in observation, his hand going through his hair. Otherwise he sat slumped - like the dominant man he seemed to be - on the sofa. Without even trying he commanded attention. At least Hermione felt that way. Tension built inside her. With a deep breath she ignored it.
"That's because I know for sure now, you can't." The young witch answered, focused on the emotions rushing over his features. Her face pulled into a frown because saying it out loud made it all the more true.
"Why?" He wanted to know and Hermione swallowed.
"I didn't know it was you when I found you. I just thought you got lost in the storm and looked for shelter. Your injuries… I felt it was my fault that you were attacked by the wolves outside. They're here for me…" She didn't want to tell him too much - at least not about Dean. He didn't seem to be a Death Eater anymore - his bare left arm showing off as much, but she couldn't be sure without looking into his mind.
"When I wanted to make sure I knew all of the injuries to heal them something…" She swallowed, not sure how to explain it. "Something strange happened. Your magic and mine. It merged. Reading about it a while back I just have the feeling you can't hurt me." She punctuated her explanation with a single-shoulder shrug.
She hated how she felt - small and nervous. Hermione didn't grew out of her old life, constantly hiding and fighting, to be afraid in front of a Death Eater - former or not. Something told her though, that she wasn't shy because she was afraid. There was something else she couldn't grasp.
Her eyes focused back on the present, taking in his calm features. She frowned.
"You don't seem surprised." She muttered, confusion infusing her words with longing for knowledge and a bit of accusation. This time he shrugged. It endeared him to her. Hermione jumped back from that feeling, confused with herself. But it caught up to her and she couldn't stop herself from softening.
"Maybe we should talk. Do you care to join me?" His eyes, half-lidded and inviting, indicated for her to sit down next to him. Her body reacted before she could make a decision. In a short few steps she sat down next to him cross-legged. She gasped when she felt his hand in hers, big and strong and rough. Her magic and his were dancing across their intertwined palms. When she tried to pull away he just hold it more tightly.
"I…" He cleared his throat. "I need this to concentrate. You'll understand when I'm finished."
Hermione frowned, a battle raging inside of her. A part of her, the magical part had no objections at all and even her heart - the treacherous organ - beat a bit faster in anticipation. Her mind though, tried to calm her down. An image flashed in front of her eyes. Her dream… he could have killed her then, could have done anything he wanted. But he decided to heal her. To help her escape. To save her life. She bit her lip.
"Alright." She answered and squeezed his hand. He sighed in relief.
"This is just a theory, but evidence shows-" His eyes jumped to their joined hands, "that I accidently bound myself to you when you were only a teenager."
The air rushed out of Hermione. Her mind raced to a million questions and one, but she stayed silent. She wanted to give herself some time to think about his sentence. And she didn't want to fight. With difficulty she started to organize her thoughts, put her mind to rest to better concentrate.
"You mean when your curse cut me open from collar bone to hip?" She asked and watched him flinch. Hermione herself felt detached from that incident. It was just so long ago.
"Yes… I don't know how and I can only guess why… but I think it had and has something to do with the magic… our magic." He continued and avoided her eyes. Guilt clearly rippled across his features. She squeezed his hand.
"It was a long time ago…" Her voice quavered at the end and she didn't understand why she comforted him.
"It was." He acknowledged with a short nod.
"But it doesn't make it right. I won't say I'm sorry, though." Hermione raised an eyebrow at this. He smirked slightly, a bit arrogant. Then it faltered.
"I was taught that you deal with the consequences of your actions. You are responsible for what you do." He tried to explain, his eyes dodging hers.
"Better to be safe than sorry." She muttered and he nodded to this.
"At the time you were a hindrance. And I was still recovering from Azkaban. You triggered a violent reaction. If not muted the curse would have killed you." Dolohov explained in a sure tone. Hermione would never act like he did, but she could understand where he came from. She tried to be as open-minded as possible.
"So the curse that nearly killed me bound you to me. And me to you." Her words were a statement, not a question. Intrigued he looked to her. Hermione cleared her throat. Her free hand levitated a few logs into the hearth. She knew she just wanted to buy herself some time. Collecting her strength and courage, she fixed her eyes on his. Her cheeks flushed in a dusty pink.
"I just recognized it. That feeling. I couldn't place it. It's the feeling of a bond. Or I think it is. When I healed you, my mind was chaos. My magic urged me to heal you - a total stranger - and my logic told me to take a moment to calm myself down. And now this…" Half-heartedly she pointed to their joined hands.
"I think I couldn't feel it sooner. At first I was too young… when you healed me-" She was interrupted.
"You remember that?" He asked, wonder clouding his voice, letting it appear deeper. His eyes were intense.
"Probably not me directly. My magic did, I think. I had a dream…Anyway, I think it was just an unconscious feeling overridden by pain and fear." She took a deep breath to collect her scattered mind. She was interrupted when she felt a sudden jolt running through her veins. A gasped parted her lips, her eyes focussing on the nearly black orbs of the man next to her.
"What are you doing?" Hermione asked, breathless and with a pounding heart. He didn't react, just licked his lips once. Another burst of magic erupted between them, licking along their nerve endings. Dolohov shuddered next to her and closed his eyes.
"What's happening…" He groaned, pried his eyes open and felt the breath leave his lungs when another wave of magic coursed through his veins. It burned like fire, but was soothingly cool at the same time.
"I think … " Hermione swallowed thickly, out of her mind with the implication of what her magic was doing. She couldn't describe it, couldn't grasp in words what was going on.
"The bond. Do you think it…" Losing her words, she took a deep breath, felt herself move further forward, couldn't find it in herself to stop her actions. She felt his heat radiating into her every pore, could taste him on the tip of her tongue. She moaned softly, her senses overloaded with him.
When she opened her eyes again she found the older man above her and couldn't remember how they got in that position. With a sensual stroke of his fingers her eyelids fluttered. Half-lidded she felt the sparks of their magic dancing across her skin, saw its golden stars flittering across his face as well. A soft breath caressing her lips made her lean upward, capturing his lips with her own. He tasted bittersweet. Melancholy, longing and the swelling of their magic made them feel as if they were bursting at the seams.
He deepened the kiss, couldn't get enough of her scent and the movement of her tongue against his. Breathy moans left her mouth. To his ears it was pure perfection. He groaned and pulled away, the pants he found in her closet straining. Panting softly, he leaned his forehead against her cheek, taking deep inhales in the wish to breath her in.
Their magic hummed in pleasure and fulfillment. It drew them closer together on a metaphysical level until both thought that they stopped existing separately. Hermione felt like her heart was going to burst and her soul - that she thought would never be whole again after everything she went through - knitted itself together. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. She sniffed. Embarrassment coloured her cheeks in a dusty pink.
Until she felt droplets meeting her cheek and neck. Confused, she let one hand wander to Antonin's hair.
"What is it?" She inquired softly, mindful of his circumstances. She felt more in balance again, her head not filled with cotton. There was something new, though. A link that wasn't there before, threading through her magical core, heart and mind, keeping her together. Worry made her chew on her bottom lip. The man above her didn't respond, so she tried again.
"Antonin?" His name left her lips in a sigh when a strong current ran through her, making her feel as if her foundations were crumbling down and being rebuilt at the same time. He blinked, slowly, lazily when he lifted his head. His free hand, erratic, but soft caressed her cheek, the fingertips gathering the tears underneath her eye. He looked transfixed. His own tears were gone.
"Do say it again." He commanded, his voice hoarse. Hermione felt as if she would go cross-eyed if he spoke to her like this again. Her stomach curled in on itself, her limbs were tingling. The feeling was stronger than ever before, infused by his own emotions she could feel seeping into her through the new link.
BEGIN SMUT
"Antonin…" She repeated, a bit unsure. Their magic hummed between them, heated their skin and the air around them.
Suddenly the older wizard was standing above her and in a display of sheer strength pulled her to him and against his bare chest. Reflexively, Hermione wrapped her arms and legs around him. He leaned up and pressed his lips against her warm ones. She scraped her nails lightly across his skin, overwhelmed by the kiss and her physical response to it. He growled in response.
Antonin enjoyed her scent - sweet and spicy and womanly - enveloping him. Her body heat warmed him through, reaching parts inside him that he never knew were cold to begin with. Her mouth wandered to his neck, her hot tongue darting out, caressed his skin. The sharp pain penetrating his scattered mind let him concentrate and he found he loved the way her teeth left bite marks on his neck. To support her he grabbed the backside of her thighs and hoisted her higher up. The heat of her core pressed against his abdomen.
The older wizard groaned slightly as Hermione's teeth scraped his skin again. Her closeness did crazy things to his heart. It's erratic beating made his hands flex, squeezing her thighs. His hands slid upwards slightly until he could feel her heat at the tips of his fingers. Her jeans couldn't hide that she was as lost to these emotions as he was.
His magic was surging through his veins like a wild current. In his life he had enjoyed many women - he once was an attractive man and not opposed to some fun. Before Azkaban and dark tinted magic took that away. But holding her, feeling her tasting him, kissing him. It was on a whole different level and fulfilled him like nothing else could. At the same time he couldn't get enough of her.
Antonin felt his arousal coursing through him like lava. It gave him enough motivation to put half his mind on the task to carry them to her bed. He wanted to lay her out like a queen and worship her body, mind and soul. There was no question that she was his. And though it should make him afraid to be bound to another living being again, pride filled him thinking that he was hers as well.
He stumbled slightly but made sure to not let her fall. Her touches and kisses elicited growls from him and let his concentration waiver but she just felt too good. He couldn't make her stop. He didn't want her to ever.
Finally finding her bed, he carried her over to it and gently put her down. Without letting her realize that they moved out of her living room, he hovered over her, watched her fast breath push her breasts towards him, her pulse moving fast underneath her skin at her throat. The only light provided by her bedside lamp painted her in stark contrasts. Her soft curves and clear features glowed in the dim light.
The wizard leaned down, his nose traveling along her jaw, to her neck and took a deep breath. His tongue drew small circles just at her pulse point as if he tried to fill him up with her taste. Her breathy moans caressed the shell of his ear. Letting his teeth scrape along her jaw, he pulled back.
Hermione finally found Antonin's eyes. They were burning her with his desire. His breath hitched and maybe, she thought, her eyes burned him as well, made him breathless and weak. The deep frown between his brows let her realize that he was fighting with himself. That he didn't want his instincts taking over and throw caution to the wind.
Antonin couldn't grasp the whole situation and when her tongue darted out, the movement enticing his senses, to moisten her lips, he couldn't suppress a groan parting his lips. He felt that she didn't know how on edge he felt - couldn't fully understand the insanity lurking in the corners of his mind. Hermione's hands found his shoulders. A mixture of desperation and her own desire made her movements sloppy. Antonin caught her hands, though, pulled them in front of his face. He marveled at the direct contact skin on skin, watched the sparks of their magic flittering across their jointed limbs. Such feminine hands, gentle and soft, he thought adoringly.
Hermione shivered with a sigh when his lips brushed her fingertips. She didn't protest when he intertwined their hands and pushed them down into the cushion next to her head with a bit more force than necessary. In his eyes and through the link she felt him fight for control, for the calm to give this moment - they both understood its importance - the room it deserved.
Antonin shook his head slightly, wanted to detach himself enough to focus, but her scent lingered in the covers around them. It invaded his nose and made him groan deep in his throat. Memories swirled in his head, when he first met her, when he finally understood what was going on with him. He never believed he would be with her. It felt like a miracle. Her legs still around him she pulled him more against her core and tried to make him move, to find any friction to satisfy this urge burning in her mind and body.
"Lay still." Antonin commanded. His voice was rough and portrayed how on edge he felt. Hermione watched him struggle onto his knees, her legs falling away from him and then stand at the end of her bed. She could still taste his lips on her own, her pulse in her fingers and abdomen. Every conscious thought fled her as she watched him get undressed. She never thought that magic was something as physical as she momentarily experienced. Of course she felt her magic, saw it appear through and with her, but feeling that pull, that urge to become one with the man in front of her made her second guess her understanding of it.
Antonin smirked slightly when he discovered her huge dark eyes ordering him to undress fully. Instead of going with it, he pulled her forward a bit, his hands wrapped around her ankles. A small squeak escaped her and he couldn't suppress a chuckle. It seemed they didn't need words anymore because Hermione already started to unbutton her jeans. In a swift movement Antonin had her legs bare. He couldn't enjoy the view for long, because her pullover and t-shirt went next and his attention wandered.
Underneath her clothes he found her to be pale, with freckles peppered along her shoulders and a few even on her collar bone. He wanted to taste them, badly. Hermione swished her hand suddenly and the former Death Eater found himself naked in front of the witch. A laugh bubbled up out of his chest. Without a second thought he crawled onto the bed, enjoyed the way her eyes drank him in.
It seemed though that she wouldn't allow him to dominate her. He felt her hands brush against his shoulders, closed his eyes when it left behind a trail of her magic on his skin and scars. When Antonin opened his eyes again, he laid on his back with his beautiful witch straddling him. For his taste she still had too many clothes covering her, though he found the sensual knickers and plain bra endearing. Arousing. And definitely more pleasing for the eyes than anything in a racy color or real lingerie. It suited her gentle soul he felt binding his wild spirit, balancing it.
Hermione bit her lip, shy all of the sudden. Her eyes glinted with affection. Antonin used his thumb to free her bottom lip, caressed it and smiled encouragingly. Surprisingly for the older wizard she bit his thumb suddenly, her tongue darting out to soften the sharp pain, licking it sensually.
The witch herself enjoyed the view, enjoyed the power she felt straddling this man beneath her. The years after Azkaban treated him well, she saw. Probing she let her hand glide along his chest and down his stomach. His erection jumped at the gesture, pressed into her core. She groaned at the contact and Antonin blinked at the heat and wetness he felt.
It engulfed him and he closed his eyes. In a try to feel at least a bit in control he placed his hands on her hips and followed her movement when she started to rock gently above him. He groaned into the pillow next to him, his hands wandered upwards to the clasp of her bra and in a practiced fingersnap it fell open.
Antonin pried his eyes open, taking in her small breasts. The rosy buds stood to attention. He wanted to taste them, but Hermione had braced herself against his chest. Turning them around felt to him like a too great loss of view so he let her continue, fascinated by the way her breath and rocking moved her breasts just slightly.
Hermione closed her eyes, enjoyed the way his fingertips wandered down to her hipbones. Her breath hitched when Antonin's fingers wandered further down still, pushing away her knickers.
The older wizard groaned when her warmth greeted his hand. Wet and hot. So inviting. So eager. He was self-assured again when she shuddered at the contact, arching her back to give him better access. Without a conscious thought she lifted herself up a bit, circled her hips to scratch the itch the wizard could feel through their bond. His eyes traveled back and forth between his hand pleasuring her and to her face - so open with emotions and desire he couldn't get enough of the view.
Hermione bowed forward then, leaned down to press her naked chest against his. Groaning Antonin felt her perked nipples brush against him. He scooted back, pulled her with him, hands on her behind and leaned against the headboard. His hands wandered to her waist. In reaction Hermione leaned backwards as if she knew - and he felt through his link that she nearly begged - that he wanted to pleasure her a bit more.
The witch braced herself against his thighs, arched her back when Antonin pinched her clit. With baited breath she felt one of his fingers sliding to her entrance. She shuddered above him, not caring that she showed him more than any other man in her life. Antonin was transfixed by the way her breasts moved from her shaky inhale.
Leaning forward he started to place open mouth kisses along her throat, down to her collarbone and even further down to her breasts. His free hand pushed her breast up to finally pull one of her nipples into his mouth. He bit down gently. Hermione hummed and mewed and the wizard had never heard something so arousing and at the same time adorable like this before. Her hips started to circle on their own accord again.
He continued to tease her, couldn't get enough of the soft sounds leaving her mouth and the feeling of his slightly rough hands feather lightly on her heated skin. The sparks prickled along his skin and he knew that it enhanced her pleasure as well.
His eyes were drawn back to her face when she bit her lip. The link sent him different signals, but all of them pleased him nonetheless. There was desire in it and the intensity with which she felt his ministrations. Her shivering body was a sight to behold. Antonin's hand brushed down her side, his thumb stroked under her breast, over her ribs before he pulled his hand away from her sex.
A swish of his hand vanished her knickers and finally he could admire her simple - some would say plain - beauty as a whole. Hermione pushed herself up to make room for him. When she positioned him at her entrance, she slowly sunk down.
Antonin threw his head back, too overwhelmed by the feeling to really care how he sounded or looked. The lights in the whole house seemed to flicker behind his eyelids or maybe it was just a trick of his brain, the sensors firing information from one nerve to the next in quick succession. He didn't care.
When Hermione hissed he jerked his head back up, his eyes searched for the source of her discomfort.
"Everything's alright." She just whispered, kept her eyes closed. His hands flexed and he saw red marks appear on her hips. Marks he left behind. A part of him was sorry to inflict pain to her. Another - the huger part, the dominating bastard part - couldn't be more happy. Mine, it whispered in his mind. When a breathy 'yours' was his response, he groaned again.
They took their moment, enjoyed the way he fit so fully inside her, how their magic, a wild current until this moment smoothed out into a free flowing river inside of them. Antonin, who learned and practiced magic from the young age of four had never felt so powerful. So in balance.
The seconds became minutes, their warm breath filling the small space between them. The older wizard wrapped his arms around her and pulled her forward to him. They both moaned at the friction it caused. Their lips found each other without really searching and both lost themselves in each other and the taste of their love and magic. It tingled down their spines, made Hermione jerk in pleasure.
She pushed herself away from him, her hands found leverage on the headboard. Her brown eyes - such impressive eyes, he thought - found his own and she held him when she finally started to move. Her movements were soft, gentle. To Antonin it appeared as if she wanted to feel every inch of him, wanted to memorize how their magic and bodies built up to become one. He could understand the notion because he felt the same.
With care he took one of her nipples between his fingers, rolled it from one side to the other and enjoyed the way her walls were fluttering around him at the added stimulation. A throaty moan was his prize. It vibrated through her chest and he could feel it in his fingertips.
Hermione steadily increased the rocking of her hips, grinding deeper, more violently against him. He gasped, barely able to stop himself from going cross-eyed. He grabbed her hips. She laid her hands down on his shoulders. Her fingernails pierced into his skin, not caring that she caused him pain. In fact it added to his own pleasure. Suddenly she angled her hips a certain way and all Antonin could do is rasped a deep Salazar in response.
The witch responded with moans and sighs which were accompanied by the sound of their skin meeting again and again and the creaking of the bed. He felt her muscles slowly cramping around him and knew that she was close. Her head landed on his shoulder, her face pressed against his neck. She licked and bit it and Antonin couldn't stop himself from moving with her, meeting her thrust for thrust. He knew he hit the right point when her teeth sank into his shoulder.
His hand entered her hair and used it to pull her back from himself, bared her throat to him. With teeth and tongue he left his marks along her pale flesh. His tongue ran back up, tasted the sweat on her skin and his own saliva. Her walls clenched around him sharply, making him gasp in pleasure and he knew he too was close. He couldn't hold out much longer. The desire to bring her to her own fulfillment coursed through his veins. Antonin pulled her hair a bit more, a groan the response he got. Her back was curved so far back that she was nearly laid on his knees then. And he could see where their bodies met.
His fingers found her clit easily and he pushed against it hard. The nearly silent scream made him moan. He kept up his ministrations and angled himself forward to reach her breast. Licking and sucking at the nipple he waited for the perfect moment to bite down on it. When a wave of fluttering muscles around him hit him, he did just that.
And suddenly nothing counted anymore. Not their past, not their present or their future. All they could think and feel was in that bed in the middle of Siberia. All they had was themselves. And oddly enough it was all they ever needed.
END SMUT
His fingers softly traced along the elevated skin on her chest. The scar was ugly, marring her otherwise perfect skin. It was the first mark on her body he was responsible for. He found out while exploring her in the aftermath of their love making that there were many others inflicted in fights for dear life with Death Eaters and overeager half-bloods that wanted to expose, even capture her and her friends. Antonin felt sick for being jealous because of that. A part of him knew that he shouldn't be proud of the scar running along her upper body.
But he was. And he told her as much. She just smiled in response - something he hadn't counted on and found a bit crazy as well. Maybe she wasn't as sane as he thought. Pondering it, the older wizard realized that no one would have stayed sane after everything she went through.
"What are you thinking about?" He asked her after a while, watching her breath gently. She sighed, her hand swishing once. A calendar appeared above them. A date glowed golden against the parchment. The 31st of October.
"That Halloween finally is something I can celebrate." She mumbled, drowsiness and calmness making her crisp tones slurred. He thought a moment about that. At last he laid his head down on her stomach.
"Happy Halloween then."
THE END
Thanks for reading. I hoped you enjoyed my take on things. I'm currently working on two other prompts - they are just soo, so good. So look out for more Death Eater / Hermione Fun!
Let me know what you think!
