TRACK 4: Every Breath You Take
[Hermione Granger x Antonin Dolohov]
Every breath you take
Every move you make
Every bond you break
Every step you take
I'll be watching you
Every Breath You Take / The Police [1983]
Fan casts: Antonin Dolohov - Michiel Huisman
Hermione turned to the cashier, handing over the muggle coins she had grabbed, from her second purse, before sliding down the counter to bag up the rest of her shopping. She moved quickly, making way for the lady behind, who was balancing a too full basket while trying to remove the sweets her child had picked up from the offer bin from his determined chubby grasp.
As she shook out the paper bag, she felt it again, this time across her cheek. A tingling, prickling sensation that crept over her skin like an invisible finger. Quick as a flash she spun on her heel, darting her head to search the environment, but there was no one there. There never was.
Hermione turned back to the counter, her movements slower this time. She busied her trembling fingers with her shopping and tried to keep her breathing even, too many times when she'd had similar experiences she had attracted the attention of those around her; she didn't want to be forced to attempt an explanation, Hermione knew all too well how crazy she sounded. She had seen the worried look in her friend's eyes all too often, the pained expressions aimed her way at her jumpy behaviour, or grave concern raised when she would stop to scan the room wherever she went.
Squaring her shoulders, Hermione grabbed the now full paper bags and with a wave to the man behind the counter headed for the door.
The almost deserted street was still warm, despite the hour, and Hermione made the spur of the moment decision to walk back home, or well, back to the farmhouse. Apparating was always a bit risky in the tiny muggle village and as the evening was so pleasant Hermione found she couldn't be bothered to go meandering down the small network of alleys that would provide the only safe coverage to use magic.
The lack of magic in the last few weeks had been something of a relief, a homecoming of sorts. As her time at Hogwarts continued she had spent less and less time at home, with her family, in the muggle world. The impending war had quickly become her priority, keeping Harry safe the only thing she focused on. Now with her parents permanently staying in Australia, without any clue who she was, it felt like honouring them to reimmerse herself, at least for a time.
She smiled and waved to the locals as she passed them by; Mr Stonebridge who ran the bank, Charlotte who worked as a waitress in the cafe, the list went on. Three weeks had been plenty of time to get to know everyone in town, that Hermione enjoyed the familiarity had been a surprise to her at first. When she had drawn up a list of potential places to escape to 'Little Hampton' had been at the very bottom of her pile, Hermione had assumed that the curious locals would get on her nerves, as it turned out they weren't nosy at all, well, interested she would call it. In spite of herself she found it comforting, staying in such a big house on her own had left her longing for some company from time to time, company she quickly found as soon as she descended the hill into the cafe or one of the restaurants on the main strip.
The people were warm and courteous, and the depth of association seemed to be totally on her terms, just how she like it. Apart from a few stop bys and introductions in her first few days, no one came to the house; Hermione was left to get on with her work. Though she had added a few, light, muggle repelling charms, just in case. Though most of what she was undertaking was research based, she did have a few experiments to run, nothing dangerous but not something that she would easily explain to an unexpected guest either.
Her pace was quick due to the weight of the shopping in her arms and before long Hermione found herself at the little white wooden fence that lined the outside of the property. Ginny had laughed her arse off when she saw the house Hermione had picked and all of its 'homely features', compared to the sleek lines and metal finishes of her flat in Hogsmeade this place was so different, but that had been the point hadn't it?
After the war the trio, plus Ginny, had all moved into Grimmauld Place, Hermione had stayed less than two months. She loved all of her friends very much and in a way that was the problem, so much of her life had been devoted to Harry's needs that she felt it was essential to get some separation from him, enough for her to feel out her own life.
She had accepted a position within the Department of Mysteries and had thrown herself into the role with gusto, quickly finding her rhythm and relishing every moment of finally working amongst a group of peers that were as passionate about the quest to 'know more' as she was. As part of her contract employees could take off up to two months a year to pursue their own research projects, provided that the scope was signed off by the Department Head and would be seen as 'beneficial to the Magical Population'.
Hermione had not anticipated putting in request quite so soon, but, as it turned out, her manager had been impressed with both the speed and quality of her work and had strongly suggested she submit an application. It had not been difficult to come up with a topic, narrowing her options down was a much more challenging task.
Her approved request had come back almost immediately and Hermione, as ever desperate to impress, had taken it upon herself to rent a place far away from the distractions of town, to fully commit herself to the report. One more week and she could return to her office safe in the knowledge that she had done her best. Most of the fact finding was completed, now she just needed to pull all of the materials together.
As she jostled the bags cradled in her arms she felt subtle press against her awareness, and she reflexively turned her head to the side, the light was failing now, but she could still see clearly the whole way around her. There's nothing there Hermione.
She walked up the paved drive shaking her head, and opened the large blue door awkwardly, not wanting to put down the bags, as the wet ground, from the earlier inclement weather, would have soaked them the whole way through. Depositing the bags in the kitchen Hermione walked straight out of the rickety back door and into the overgrown garden, having remembered she'd left a book and some notes out there earlier. It wasn't unusual, since living on her own she had gotten used to depositing books and stacks of parchment all over the place so she could make a note whenever she felt like it. While back in her flat she attempted to keep the living room and kitchen in some order in case someone popped around, she had no need to here.
Standing out in the expansive garden Hermione felt a shiver crawl up her spine, languidly creeping before it settled on the back of her neck, she shut her eyes fighting back the tears. Would it ever stop? Would she ever stop feeling like someone was watching her? The war had cast a long shadow on them all, for Hermione she had never gotten over the feeling of needing to look over her shoulder. She worried, a lot, would she would end up as mad as Moody had been towards the end? Screaming about 'constant vigilance' and living alone as he couldn't bare to trust someone else. Against her nature she considered that when she got back, it was time to give in and go and see a Healer, Harry had found the process beneficial, and if they had managed to get someone as stubborn as him to open up maybe they would have a chance with her?
Stomping her foot in frustration Hermione gathered up all of the previously abandoned parchment and went back into the kitchen to unload her shopping. She had brought more than she would normally do as she was determined not to give into any temptation to leave the house for the weekend, she wanted to get a headstart on the report to accommodate the number of times she would want to edit it before handing it over. She had already spoken to Mr Green from the General Store to let him know not to expect her, in a town this small she would only end up with knocks on the door if she were unexpectedly absent.
The night passed like so many others had before it. Hermione made herself a small dinner and worked for several hours before floo calling Harry to update him on the minor goings on in her life. He was due for early completion of his training programme in a few weeks, and Hermione could not have been happier for him. She disconnected the floo at the end of the call, and after hesitating for a few moments shut it off completely. She wouldn't need it for the next few days, and if she left it accessible, she would only end up cursing herself when Ginny or Luna called idly, a distraction she would lose hours to.
As she looked up over the mantel, she saw the time was getting on for eleven thirty and so made up her mind to have a shower and get into bed before the chill of the night set in. The heating in the farm house was old and temperamental, serviced by creaky pipes and a reluctant water tank if she weren't in bed until the early hours she would feel the whole house get cold.
Ascending the narrow staircase Hermione collected up the scraps of parchment she found along the way and was going to put them in the study but paused at the door, she flipped the last piece over in her hand again, while gripping the doorknob. No, she thought resolutely, if she took them into the bedroom she could have one more read through before she fell asleep, those few moments before she committed herself to slumber could often produce her best thoughts. Resolved she removed her palm from the handle.
Shivering, she reached to close the hallway window and stepped into the bathroom. This room had ultimately sold her on the property, despite the design of the overall house not being in line with her personal aesthetic, whoever had lived here had put a lot of time into the bathroom selection. The piece de resistance was the large shower block in the corner; it could have fit five people at a time, not that Hermione had any idea of wanting that but, she did enjoy the four separate shower heads that were mounted on the walls, washing here was a new form of luxury.
Getting the water running Hermione quickly pulled off the practical clothing she had been wearing that day and ran out through the corridor into her room to put it in the laundry basket before moving back into the now slightly steamy bathroom. It didn't matter how long she had been living on her own; it still felt odd and slightly exhibitionist to walk around naked, and she couldn't help but give into the desire to run whenever she did so.
At the first touch of water, her thick curls slicked against her head, and Hermione stood out of the spray to reach for the shampoo and began the lathering process. She didn't wash her hair regularly, because of it taking so long to dry so she took her time coaxing the thick gel through her mop. The menial task occupying her hands allowed her mind to clear of the perpetual loop of facts and source documents it had been chewing over for the last few hours and just as she moved back under the spray she realised with a jolt that she hadn't opened the window in the hall.
Antonin Dolohov had watched his Lord fall at the final battle, had watched the people he had fought with and suffered alongside for more than two decades fall, and he remained. He wasn't sure how many others had survived that day, but he doubted it was many, he had stayed long enough to see the Aurors arrive, then he had gotten out of there, they would have had to kill him to get him inside Azkaban again.
He had been planning on going back to Russia; the last few months had been filled with activity, but he had still found time to create a relatively decent exit strategy, 'just in case' he had said to himself, well now he would have to take that path. However, best-laid plans were just that, something before he left changed his course. As he was hastening through the crumbling castle walls, trying to get far enough away that he could apparate, Antonin saw Hermione Granger, she didn't see him, or at least he assumed she didn't. She was sat in one of the smaller walled courtyards, all by herself, battered and bloodied, and looking over to the lake. While she was still there was nothing serene about her, a turmoil of the deepest kind seemed to permeate the very air around her, bleeding from her small frame into the war-torn grass. He couldn't stay long; his mind yelled at him to keep moving, and he almost started when he realised he was hesitating. Shaking himself, he had run the rest of the way to Hogsmeade, apparating far away before anyone detected his presence.
Over the next few months, he thought about her and her blank, yet intense expression on that day, often. He supposed obsessional behaviour was nothing new for him; he had been following his Lord as if he had been his own personal due North since his late teens, maybe she just filled a hole that was too established to be overridden.
He was reading a book one afternoon when he felt his arm prickle, and his heart almost stopped, when Antonin looked down he watched completely spellbound as the entrenched black ink of his dark mark faded to a dull grey. Now he had nothing.
He idly wondered later, as he climbed into bed if the mark that he had left on her, from the savage curse at the battle in the Department of Mysteries was still there.
He would have to find out.
When he first started following her Antonin did something he had never done at any point in his life, he went into a situation completely without planning or preparation. He had decided momentarily to give in to his unceasing desires and as such had grabbed a robe and apparated before he could change his mind. She wasn't difficult to track, even though it was now months after the war the Golden Trio were still hot property in the press, and yet instead of joining the party circuit or relegating herself to a life of after dinner speaking she joined the Ministry, working in the Department of Mysteries. Where he had marked her, coincidence?
He saw her that first day, leaving from the main exit of a building that represented everything he loathed. She was carrying a large bag full of parchment and was cloaked in soft lavender robes; she smiled at someone leaving at the same time, he enjoyed the expression, and even if it hadn't been meant for him he drew in the warmth that radiated from her tiny frame hungrily. Absently he found himself smiling in her direction in return.
That night he reviewed every scrap of information he could find on Hermione Granger, he realised he didn't know the girl at all, outside of a few utterances from others and his limited interactions with her, that wouldn't do at all. Who was she underneath the persona?
He would have to find out.
It only took a few weeks for him to have locked down her entire schedule, she was a creature of routine, something they had in common. She liked to go to the same places for lunch, ordered the same sandwiches; she went to the bookstore each Thursday always setting herself a budget, which she would then amusingly give herself leave to ignore. She preferred vanilla scented bath products to anything else, though, when she was looking for a change, she would pick up something with pink grapefruit or pomegranate essence, and most obvious was that her whole life was dedicated to either her job or her best friends.
It didn't take Antonin long to deduce that she put herself last, preferring to sit on the sidelines and contribute to other people's happiness, she took so little for herself, what about her wants and needs? Could he make her more selfish? Or would he be willing to have that selflessness continue as long as he benefitted?
He would have to find out.
As the months went on he grew bolder, it was no longer enough to see her from afar; he had to get closer. Whereas before he would have waited across the street as she meandered about town, now he followed her into cafes, disguised of course, at least most of the time. He would sit a few tables from her and watch her eat, distracted as she always was, either by a book or a piece of parchment she would be scribbling on.
That's when she started to sense him; he hadn't been close enough before, but now she would occasionally spin around, or her hand would suddenly move to grip the back of her neck. The discovery was pleasing; he was glad that her war experience had given her reflexes. That she was aware of her surroundings meant she could protect herself. More selfishly, he liked being able to affect her, to know he put the goose bumps on her creamy flesh. How close could he get undetected he wondered?
He would have to find out.
Despite his habit of following Hermione Granger increasing to at least three instances a week Antonin considered himself detached from his activity, she just interested him; I can give this up anytime I like, he told himself.
That all changed the day he watched her leave her flat in a tight fitting pencil skirt and heels to go to work. She never wore anything like that, on most people, it would have seemed like a fairly run of the mill outfit, but it was so out of her comfort zone he convinced himself she would only have worn it to be provocative. He followed her to work and then paced back and forward on the pavement cursing that he could not go inside to find out what was going on.
Anger made him break into her flat. Her wards weren't difficult for someone like him, and his mind whispered that it was deliberate, she could have kept him out if she wanted too. He searched through her things, looking for a sign of a man, something he missed, but here was nothing. Eventually, he found a calendar and a stack of parchments relating to her job. On the day's date in big letters was lunch with Ginny Weasley, Antonin thought back over her conversations that he had heard with, or about the red head, then he settled on it, Ginny was always complaining about Hermione's clothes, she must have dressed up to make an effort for her friend. He shook his head as the anger leaked from him, but he still didn't leave. Now he was there he couldn't resist going through her things. When he came across her employment contract an idea came to him, could he go that far?
He would have to find out.
It hadn't taken much to convince her boss, just a little compulsion, illegal of course but that kind of definition did not apply to him anymore, he had lived outside the law for so long it would be pointless to start becoming concerned now. He tried to convince himself that he had done it for her on some level, that it would make her happy to be away from work researching, the illusion wouldn't quite sit, however.
Now she was here, alone and firmly within his grasp… he slipped. He couldn't help himself, he had been watching her for so long, had gotten so close but as yet had no opportunity to interact with her, here was his opportunity. It was a reckless venture and one he shouldn't have even considered, but in a town of new faces what was one more?
Disguising his features and dressing as a muggle tourist he walked into the cafe she was sitting at, only this time he didn't skulk in the shadows. He had seen her chatting to various people in the time she had been there, animated conversations with strangers wasn't her usual style, though he supposed she must have been a little lonely at the house she had picked. He ordered some food and then made his way over to her table.
"I'm sorry is this seat taken?" he asked pointing opposite her, doing his best to mask his accent. He had considered spelling his voice, but Antonin found he didn't want to. If she couldn't see his real face, she could at least hear his words unhindered.
Her small dainty hand whipped to cover her mouth where she chewed quickly "no, please go ahead" she offered kindly before going back to her pasta.
"Are you from here?" he enquired as he settled himself into the seat.
She looked up at him, her warm brown eyes actually on his face, disguised or not, was electrifying. She shook her head, brown curls dancing in the back of her loose ponytail.
"No, just visiting for a while, you?"
"Just passing through" he replied looking around "it seems nice here, though, I wouldn't mind hanging around for a few days."
She courteously explained to him about all the attractions that were readily available from the small town, never once realising that the only one he was interested in was sitting in front of him. He threw a few kind compliments into his speech, gentle flirting at most and delighted in her flush, her innocence. She left too soon, excusing herself to get back to work at the farm house. It wasn't enough. Would it ever be?
He would have to find out.
Antonin watched from outside the small General Store as she brought her shopping, saw her whip around as she must have detected his presence. He batted away the urge to help her carry the heavy, awkward, brown paper bags. Soon, he told himself, just a little while longer.
When she went inside the house, he walked around to the back of the yard. It hadn't taken her long to establish a routine in her new environment, she wrote outside in the mornings with a big mug of tea, then would remember those lost parchments at the end of the day and come and collect them. Once she made it outside he allowed himself a few moments to gaze at her before walking around to the side of the house and with a quick spell opened the upstairs hall window. Waiting for the click to indicate the back door had been closed he crept into her study to wait. There was plenty there to occupy him after all.
He could barely contain himself as the hours wore on, when the old pipes that lined the house groaned he stood, stretching himself out before opening the door and making his way down the upper-level corridor. Standing outside the bathroom he concentrated on the sound of the running water, hoping to ease his beating heart. As he placed his hand on the doorknob, he could feel a slight heat in the metal from where it must have been gathering warmth on the other side, and holding his wand aloft he took a deep breath and turned the handle. Was he ready for this?
He would have to find out.