A few Author Notes:
The character of Thorfinn Rowle is an interpretation of the Deatheater "Rowle". This interpretation was formed and fleshed out by the wonderful, beautiful, and talented Canimal. I have permission to use this character.
Chapter Two
Whatever Antonin Dolohov expected as he tore down the spell work threading through and around the neglected stone cottage, it was not what he was met with.
It seemed rather unlikely, when Bella first drug the old house elf in front of the Dark Lord, that anything would come of the witch's sporadic eccentricities. The pitiful creature struggled in the witch's grasp, its whimpers disrupting the already excruciatingly long meeting. As soon as he saw the crazed look on Bella's face, Antonin had shot Thorfinn and Rab an exasperated glance, from where he stood across the room, that made the latter of the two force down a laugh.
"Tell him what you told me!" The crazy cunt screamed, making the ancient elf cringe with fear.
"P-p-potter hid nastiness in Mistress' cottage-" The ugly little thing stopped at that and began hitting its head against the stone floor of the manor repeatedly. Antonin sneered, and leaned against the wall of the drawing room.
It was bad enough that they had already spent an hour listening to Rosier's drab reports on the potential whereabouts of the Order of the Phoenix headquarters, now they had to hear a house elf sob as well. Malfoy Manor was the last place he wanted to be, especially when he had work to do, and watching this spectacle only made it worse.
"Bellatrix, what is the meaning of this?" The Dark Lord's voice wafted across the room with a tone of disinterest, making the witch stop yanking at the creature who had fallen facedown on the floor.
"The mudblood, my lord! I believe she is alive. Disgusting. Hidden away like the pathetic thing she is. Hidden in my own family's cottage, at that-"
Antonin arched an eyebrow, and turned his full attention on the conversation. He remembered Potter's mudblood. Oh yes, he remembered her. Her dark curls tumbling across fierce eyes that seemed to burrow into his mind. The determined grimace of lips as she silenced him during that total failure of a mission. Antonin had to admit that, even back then, the little girl had astonished him with the quick-witted spell that had stopped him from gruesomely taking her life. And even now, the idea that a school girl had bested him infuriated Antonin.
"Thank you, Bellatr-"
"-which would make sense, as he inherited it from my blood traitor of a cousin. How dare Sirius think that such a thing was appropriate, allowing such filth-"
"Thank you, Bellatrix," there was a flash of warning in the Dark Lord's eyes this time, causing the witch to snap her mouth shut and back away.
The room fell into silence as their leader tapped his fingers against the armrest of his chair. The prospect that the missing girl could be alive and, even more so, attainable was an opportunity not lost on the gathered Death Eaters.
Antonin's hand clutched at the possibly. Missing for months, the mudblood girl had been assumed dead after the blood traitor's house, and surrounding land, had burned down. There had been enough charred bodies, that assuming hers was one of them wasn't beyond plausible. If he were being honest, he had been bitter that he wouldn't be able to meet her in battle once more. The little bitch may have escaped his curse once, but given a second chance he would not let that simple mistake happen again.
Seeming to have made a decision, the Dark Lord stilled his fingers.
"Dolohov, Rowle."
Antonin squared his jaw and stepped forward, from across the room the blonde wizard did the same.
"You will find out if these suspicions have any merit," there was another pause, "If they do, I want you to bring her back here... breathing,"
The warning was easily understood, tormenting her, if she was even there, was acceptable. But, the Dark Lord wanted her coherent.
Less than an hour later saw the two wizards standing in front of a small chateau in a secluded part of France. The fidelius charm was heavily flawed, making Antonin's job of breaking down the protective layer of spells on the door that much easier. Whoever had put them up was clearly not an expert.
"Do you think she's in there?" Thorfinn inquired, leaning against a tree trunk close to the cottage.
Antonin glanced at the younger wizard as he wove his wand along the threads of magic. While most people found Rowle to be volatile and unpredictable, Antonin knew better. Working with someone as long as they had been made it easier to read the other. The blonde wizard either had some sort of soft spot for the little bitch or a hard-on, probably both due to fact that they went to school together at one point.
"It's possible," he replied. He murmured a few last spells as the protection fell away. Antonin didn't know much about the girl, only what he had witnessed. A spirited little witch with dirty blood. To him, that was all he needed to know.
And, that fiery slip of a girl was what he expected. The idea, the image of it caused a familiar shiver of sick anticipation to roll through him. His senses heightened, a feeling of excitement that only took hold of him before an especially gruesome torture. It was feeling that, through the years, he had learned to embrace, to savor.
He felt the wand clutched in his palm bite against his skin as Rowle kicked in the door, ready for nearly any thing that came their way.
It was silent, as Antonin's eyes adjusted quickly to the change of light.
It was dark, and dank. Glass crunched against the soles of his boots as Antonin walked in first, Rowle trailing behind. If not for the shallow light illuminating the Granger girl, he would have thought from the musky smell, and wrecked interior that the place had been abandoned long ago. A hum of magic thrummed through the air and her face scrunched from the suddenly intruding light.
He was not expecting a blue floral tea cup to be clutched in her hand. It rested on her pink lips as if she had been taking a sip as they broke their way through. After a moment she blinked and looked at the two imposing Death Eaters in front of her, as if she wasn't quite sure if they were real or a hallucination, and then set the absurd tea cup down.
Soft brown eyes met his own. They widened just the slightest amount.
She was smaller than he remembered, a lithe pale figure sitting calmly in the morning darkness. She wore a dirty sundress that, when she turned from her tea, clung to her curves and crept up her thighs. Yes, small, the wizard briefly mused, but matured since he had last seen her all those years ago.
The sound of the other wizard's bulking figure coming up behind him snapped the muggle born witch's stoic stare from his. Her large eyes seemed to only accentuate the dark circles that rung around the bottom of her eyes, and the pallid tone of her skin, as she moved her face the slightest amount to peer at the other Death Eater.
"Well, fuck me. It is the little Princess,"
Rowle's booming voice broke the momentary illusion of calmness, causing the witch in question to stand abruptly. The rickety wooden chair she sat in skidded and fell over backward. The noise of the wood echoed against stone, before she grabbed the leg and flung it towards the pair.
As Antonin stepped out of the way he heard Thorfinn grumble an irritated huff as the larger wizard batted the chair out of the air, causing the wreckage to fall apart on the ground. Dolohov took that moment of confusion to move forward and grab the witch by the shoulders
She didn't put up any more of a fight, as he expected she would, but rather continued to stare over his shoulder, giving him the opportunity to easily grab the wand that stuck out of her dress's shallow pocket. Her attention did not turn to him again until a bout of shivers seemed to wrack her body within his hold. She trembled and quickly glanced to him, then sharply over her own shoulder. Following her gaze, he found nothing but the table she had sat at. A mumble fell from her lips, causing Antonin to turn his gaze back on her just in time to feel the splatter of her spit on his cheek.
The little cunt...
A cool anger rose throughout his body, feeding the coiled anticipation until it seemed to snap. Clutching the witch by her arm, Dolohov brought a hand hard across her face.
"Watch yourself, little girl." He warned through clenched teeth after the noise had resonated away. She stilled, a red hand print blossoming on her skin. Resting a hand against her throat, Antonin swung her around and pushed her back until her body molded against the wall. He was close enough now to see the flecks of light green in her eyes, and the way they roamed around, unable to focus on one thing.
She wasn't all there, he realized slowly. For all the "brightest witch of her age" nonsense he had heard, he didn't see it.
She spat at him again, this time barely missing. A string of spit hung from where it had fallen on her lips. He wiped it off with his thumb, caressing her bottom lip, then hit the girl with another open palm. The dull sound of her head thunking against stone echoed against Antonin. It was a heavy sound that made him wonder if he had knocked her out, but then... then small laughter followed the wavering sounds of her collision.
The laugh was small, sickened. Twisted. A hollow laugh that the wizard suddenly felt was interesting. What he remembered of her was not neatly lining up with what he was seeing now.
With one hand resting on the wall behind her, he squeezed his hold on her throat.
"I want to make you feel pain, kukla*" Antonin murmured, feeling her pulse quicken. Her face was close to his now. Warm sweet shots of breath played against his jaw line as she looked up at him hovering so close. Restraining her from moving. She didn't blink as he stared at her, and Antonin felt a twist in his stomach from the closeness. "I want to watch you sobbing on the floor at my feet, begging me to end it."
"Just do what you were ordered to do," she softly replied, the words rolling around in her mouth, barely more than a whisper. The sound of her voice took him by surprise, it wasn't one of bravery. No, it was insouciance that coloured her tone.
She licked her lips, he squeezed her throat a little more.
"Dolohov. Come on, lets go." Thorfinn's voice interrupted Antonin's thoughts, and he felt a thrum of annoyance rumble though him.
He was getting carried away, something that was unwise when on a mission for the Dark Lord.
"Yes-" The mudblood sagged to the ground as he let go of her throat. But, just barely before he seized a handful of her limp curls. With a yank Antonin pulled her to her feet, and wrapped his hand around a small arm.
"I can be cruel, too." She raggedly whispered as she pulled at the fingers tangled in her hair, scratching her nails against his skin.
With one last glance around, and a nod towards the blonde wizard, Antonin pulled her to his chest and pushed her outside the cottage. He ignored the way she began to mutter to herself again as her nails continued to tear at him.
Still clutching her curls and arm, Dolohov apparated to the front gates of Malfoy Manor. His teeth clenched with irritation as she stumbled, her eyes bouncing around the immense building, as she whispered under her breath.
From the looks of the empty corridors, the meeting had ended while the two Death Eaters were away, thus leaving the manor deathly quiet. Their footsteps echoed back to them, and the mudblood had quickly become quiet in Dolohov's hands. Attempting to look at the many elaborately framed painting on the walls, the girl twisted her head around causing Antonin to pull just the slightest bit harder on her hair to prevent it.
They walked towards the Dark Lord's study, and Dolohov glanced at a hunched shadow standing in front of the heavy door. It turned as they got closer revealing the sharp features of Crouch. He flicked a tongue against the corner of his mouth as he watched them walk closer. A taunting smirk took over his face as he leered at the mudblood.
"Itty-bitty Granger." He rasped, hovering closely. Dolohov ignored the creepy little bastard, and instead entered the study.
The Dark Lord was waiting for them in his study, examining papers that were laid out on an ornate desk. When he didn't look up, the blonde wizard spoke.
"My Lord, Potter's mudblood," A hiss escaped the girl's lips, and Dolohov didn't miss the way she flinched from Thorfinn's words. Whether it was the mention of Potter, or the slur that affected the girl, Antonin couldn't tell. It was a pity she probably wouldn't last long enough to see her little boyfriend's demise. It would have been pleasure to watch her break even more than she already was.
He tightened his grasp, pinching her arm in his hand, before flinging her on the floor in front of them. She used her hands to catch herself from hitting the stone with her face, a ragged gasp escaping her throat.
"Ms. Granger, welcome."
"Beautiful again, I see," Granger sneered, still sitting on the floor from where he had thrown her. Antonin felt his eyebrows rise with shock. The careless, nearly drugged, tone that she had used earlier was gone, and in its place was a voice that was fearless, demanding. The wizard glanced up at his Dark Lord. Certainly, he wouldn't allow her to talk to him this way. There would be some form of torture, something to witness that would help ease the twisted anticipation in his gut.
Instead, with a smile that frightened the most nefarious of wizards, the Dark Lord dismissed the two Death Eaters with a flick of his fingers, his eyes remaining on the mudblood the whole time.
Outside the room, Dolohov watched the door shut, concealing the frizzing hair and straight posture of the mudblood with it. Whatever Antonin was expecting, it was most definitely not what he was met with. And, this surprising turn of events left him with an equally unexpected new sick sense of intrigue. Though he doubted he would see her alive again, it didn't stop some infuriated part of him from hoping differently.
Antonin felt Thorfinn's hand jostle him, and looked back to find his friend just as astonished, "Come on," the other wizard finally said, "let's go find Rabastan for a drink."