Chapter Nine – Pure Morning
Antonin saw the fear in her eyes as she clung to the bedside cabinet. She was almost on top of it, her bare legs shaking. When he had seen her reading one of his battered charity shop books, she had seemed at ease, almost comfortable. Her face had been lightly flushed, and now she was pale as snow.
"What do you want?" she whispered.
He couldn't help but smirk. She was the one standing in his bedroom, albeit fearful for her life, but she was making demands of him. So like a bloody Gryffindor. Her chin was raised in a challenging way, like a lion. Or more aptly, a lioness. Yes, a queen of all the lands she surveyed, a predator in her own right, the top of her pride…
"Tell me." Her voice broke through his thoughts.
"I thought you would care for some breakfast." He stepped into the room, laying the tray on the bed. He had toasted bread, scrambled eggs and even fried a few rashers of bacon, and a couple of sausages. On the tray was the orange spotty mug that she had used the evening before – tea how she had preferred it. Even a plastic tumbler of orange juice. "You need to keep your strength up."
"What for?" She had taken one step closer to the bed, but her eyebrow had raised. "What do you have planned for me?"
The truth was, Antonin did not even know. He wanted to talk to her, find out why she ran through his thoughts, why the mere thought of her turned his emotions upside down. There had to be something – no other girl had even made him like this. No one at Hogwarts, and certainly not any of the Dark Lord's followers. No one at home in Russia either.
Taking a deep breath, Antonin said quietly, "I want to talk with you."
"Why?" Her one word retort was sharp, almost like a knife.
Antonin didn't answer. Instead, he focused on the tea mug where steam was slowly rising.
"You should probably start on this, before it gets cold."
"Why did you buy me? What sick act are you planning? You can never bring Voldemort back, if that's what you're thinking – Harry made sure of that!"
"Don't say his name," Antonin said through his teeth.
"What? Harry? Or Voldemort?"
Antonin shivered at the name of his fallen master. He had followed him for so long, had seen everything great and terrible happen, but even to this day, he had never liked the name. The Dark Lord was a moniker that had suited him so much better – better than the name he had come to Hogwarts with.
He heard her step forward.
"Voldemort," she hissed, the name sounding snakelike through her lips.
Antonin leapt to his feet. His fingers itched to grab his wand, to turn it on her, but he resisted. That would not do to curse her – he would never get anything accomplished that way.
"You shiver like some kind of dog. You're meant to be a Death Eater, aren't you? Fearsome, terrible, and when that name is mentioned, it's like you turn tail. How cowardly." She had stepped closer. The fear in her eyes was still there, but there was something else as well. It was a fire, a burning intensity, like nothing he had ever seen. This was unlike any spell or curse. This was something else entirely.
Her stomach grumbling broke whatever it was between them.
"Eat your breakfast, Granger. Then we talk."
Antonin swept from the bedroom, slamming the door so hard behind him that the handle rattled.
He tried to concentrate on the page in front of him, but his eyes blurred. He hadn't slept well last night, and when he had finally dropped off, Thorfinn had bustled through on his way to work, slamming cupboard doors as he went. Finally giving up, Antonin dropped the paperback book onto the floor, where it thudded softly. The television that he had been watching was on a low volume – some competitive cooking programme that he had seen before.
He was about to make himself a coffee when the bedroom door creaked open. Hermione stood there, the tray in her arms, an expression of calm on her face. The plate that he had filled was empty – that was a good sign at least. She took a step into the room, and their eyes locked.
Her eyes instantly dropped to the tray, and she murmured, "Thank you for the food."
"It's not a problem." He crossed the room, taking the tray from her hands. "There's a bathroom through there, if you'd like to…" His voice trailed off and he realised how stupid that sounded. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I can get you a towel if you'd like to shower?"
Her gaze flicked to the door he had indicated, and she nodded. "Please."
Without waiting for the towel, Hermione swept into the bathroom, shutting it firmly behind her. As he put the plates in the sink and wiped the tray down, he heard the shower unit click, and the boiler starting making a racket.
His thoughts wandered as he heard Hermione in the bathroom. They had no feminine toiletries – she wouldn't smell floral and sweet when she came out of there. She would have the smell of his gels, his shampoos – she would smell like him… He had to hold onto the worktop surfaces to stop himself from doing something stupid. His thoughts had once been collective, calm, but every time she entered the frame, he turned into a hormonal mess.
Biting hard on his lip, reality flooded him once again. He busied himself tidying, and took several towels from the pop-up clothes horse. He also took a clean pair of black boxers and a plaid button-up shirt too. Those would fit her, he hoped, but sadly, there were no trousers or shoes. He made a mental note to find out her size for the next time he went to the charity shop.
Antonin knocked loudly, but there was no answer from within, except the still running water. Carefully, he opened the door a crack, and pushed his bundle through the gap to rest on top of the radiator, but a flash of skin caught his eye. Any raging hormonal thoughts he had went straight out of his mind as he gasped, and slammed the door shut. He fled to his bedroom, hiding away like a child.
He had seen the atrocities he had committed. He had seen the bodies, disfigured, cursed, maimed and dead, but this… He had never seen a mark like that, and yet he knew what had caused it. He knew who had done it. He felt sick, as he curled himself into a ball, body shaking.
Time passed. He did not know how long he had stayed like that, but it was only when a voice spoke that he was jolted from the replaying memory of that night in the Ministry.
"Mr Dolohov?" The door creaked further open. "Antonin?"
She had said his name for the first time. It sounded so strange on her tongue. Strange, but in a good way…
"Antonin?"
He heard her step closer towards him. Was that pity in her voice, as she saw a Death Eater cry? He opened his mouth to answer, but only a breath came out. What startled him most was when he felt the bed dip, and slowly, he felt her hand touch him. He very nearly jumped out of his skin, but her hand moved again. It glided up his body, resting at his shoulder. He heard her inhale shakily through her nose as her hand travelled to the shoulder that rested against the bed, and the rest of her arm pressed against him. She appeared to be getting closer towards him – the smell of his shower gel invaded his senses, and the tips of her hair tickled a patch of bare skin.
Hermione Granger held him gently as a small tear trickled slowly down his face.
