Chapter Ten

Thorfinn realized he must've drifted off only when he opened his eyes a few hours later. Hermione wasn't in the bed with him, and he could hear the water running in the tub of his en-suite bathroom.

With a sigh, he pulled himself up, resting his weight on his elbows. "Princess?"

"Running you a bath. You're starting to need it."

Shaking his head, he uttered a chuckle in spite of himself. Then his attention fell to the letter from Reina, where Hermione had left it on the bedside table.

Against his better judgement, he reached out and picked up the slip of folded parchment. He was well aware what she'd written, but he still braced himself as he opened it, his gaze tracing over his sister's familiar writing.

He didn't read the words, he only weighed the steadiness of the quill strokes, the even and perfect lines and loops.

Thorfinn thought that perhaps if she'd been in distress when she had written these words, she might change her mind. Yet the handwriting displayed a picture of perfect calm. She'd been at peace with her decision when she made it.

Dropping the letter back down, he shut his eyes, his head shaking. She would never return while she was still in danger . . . she would always be in danger while he remained under the thumb of the Dark Lord. And one did not simply get out from under from under the Dark Lord's thumb—not while they still breathed.

As long as he ruled, Thorfinn might never see his sister again.

"Are you all right?"

He turned his head, casting his gaze over his shoulder toward Hermione, but not actually looking at her. "I don't know."

Pursing her lips thoughtfully, she nodded. "Well, um, the bath is ready, and neither of us has eaten since yesterday afternoon, so I'm going to pop down to the kitchen and put something together. Should probably bring something to Uncle, too. I'm just hoping he snoozed long enough that he didn't even notice the missed meals."

Thorfinn pulled himself to sit up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to plant his feet on the floor. "Sounds good."

Nodding once more, she walked around the bed toward the door. His hand shooting out to catch her wrist stopped her midstride.

Hermione turned back to face him. "Thorfinn?"

He forced a gulp down his throat as he lifted his gaze to hers. For a few strained heartbeats, it seemed he couldn't find his voice.

Shoulders drooping, she stepped back toward him.

"I, um . . . ." Shaking his head, he looked to the floor as he ran his tongue across his lips in a nervous gesture. "It's strange to say this, given our unique circumstances, but if you hadn't been here . . . ." He forced another hard gulp before he brought his eyes to hers, once more. "I really don't know what I'd have done."

The utter seriousness of the moment tore at her heart. She wasn't even sure how much heart she had left to rend just now after Reina's farewell.

Plastering on a small grin, she said, "Thorfinn Rowle, are you actually thanking me?"

He simply stared at her a few seconds before he breathed out a chuckle. "You sure know how to ruin a moment, Princess."

With a soft laugh, she shook her head at him. Against her own better judgement, Hermione lowered herself to kneel before him. The rather serious look of shock clouding his features as he waited to see what she would do was nearly enough to make her laugh again.

Cupping his face with her hands, she held his gaze for a breathless moment. She could swear her heart was beating so hard and fast it might burst right out of her rib cage. Her logical brain attempted to remind her that the man she was being so gentle with was Death Eater Thorfinn Rowle, famed for his temper, for his destructive behavior and tendency toward violent outbursts.

Yet, those things had ceased to define him for her—she supposed it probably helped that he never really showed that side of himself anymore.

Had Reina been correct in her assertion the other night? Was Hermione's presence responsible for the change in him?

Leaning closer, she let her eyes drifted closed and pressed her lips to his. She held herself there until she felt him respond, the pressure of his mouth against hers increasing just a bit, and then she pulled back again.

Her forehead touching his, she kept her eyes closed as she breathed out from between pursed lips. "Thorfinn?"

"Yes, Princess?"

"Do me one favor?"

There was a smirk in his tone as he asked, "What's that?"

Opening her eyes, she waited for him to open his, as well. Crinkling the bridge of her nose as she held his gaze, she said, "Brush your teeth."

Dropping back his head, he let out a sound that was half self-derisive laugh, half pained groan.

Biting back a grin, Hermione extracted herself from his arms and finally left the room. All along the staircase and through the quiet house, she tried to get her pulse under control and steady her breathing.

Not a simple feat when she knew she'd wanted so much more than that chaste kiss.

She took her time preparing a fresh pot of coffee for them, a cup of tea for Uncle, and food enough for all three of them—she even brought the old man his meal at a leisurely pace. Convincing him that he'd had a lovely roast for dinner last night, and that when she tried to wake him for breakfast this morning he'd shooed her away to let him sleep longer had added a nice twenty or so minutes to her task.

Everything she could do to ensure Thorfinn'd had plenty of time to bathe and dress in fresh clothes, she did. Though Hermione was positive the resulting activities would be fun, she wasn't certain she was ready to walk in on him in the bath, or in any state of undress, just yet.

All the while as she'd been puttering about his bathroom and drawing his bath as she waited for him to wake, she kept turning over what had happened a few hours earlier in her head. Kept wondering how far things would have gone if Antonin's interruption hadn't stopped them before they could even get started.

The plain truth of it was that since waking in his arms that morning, she could think of little else but the sudden—though she'd hardly try to call it inexplicable—desire to climb Thorfinn Rowle like a tree.

Groaning, Hermione spared a moment from her task to bury her face in her hands. It hadn't helped in the least that with how close their bodies had pressed together beneath the covers, she could tell he was quite ready to take things however far she might've been willing to go.

She took a deep breath, exhaling slow and forceful as she wiped her hands over her face and carefully finger-combed her wild hair. Her initial plan had been to bring up a tray and dine with him in his room, but given the varying instances of emotional intensity that had passed between them in that very space today, she thought maybe having him come down to the kitchen to eat was the less pulse-quickening option.

Nodding to herself, she finally headed to Thorfinn's room to tell him the meal was ready. She—apparently forgetting her manners with the unexpected closeness between them since his return home—opened the door to his room just as he finished pulling on his robes.

She put in effort to maintain her focus, despite the wink he offered her as he informed her that if she was trying to catch peek, he'd be happy to disrobe and let her pretend to stumble in on him, as she told him to come downstairs for their horribly belated brunch. Although she wasn't certain how she managed, she mustered up a withering scowl—however, she could feel the slip of a half-grin that tempered the intended displeasure of the expression—and left the room in a feigned huff.

He was probably going to extend her title from Princess to Princess Mood-killer at this rate. She knew one of them had to be of a mind to stop them before things could start, as she had the feeling that once they did get started, they weren't going to stop until they were both breathless and sweaty and entirely spent.

Hermione rolled her eyes at herself as she preceded him down the staircase and through the house, trying to dismiss the mental picture of tangled bed sheets and clothes strewn across the floor that accompanied said feeling.

A week passed, and Hermione and Thorfinn were struggling to settle into a balance similar to what they'd had when Reina was still there. Whether it was simply her absence, or the changes to the dynamic between them that made the transition so difficult, neither was sure.

Though they still functioned in nearly the same way as they had before, there was a new level to each interaction. Lingering glances when they thought the other didn't notice, fleeting touches when they weren't necessary—her hand on his arm, his fingers through her hair, skin brushing skin when one held something for the other to take. There were long patches of silence during meals when they were painfully aware of one another's presence.

She had no idea how Thorfinn was handling the matter, but Hermione felt like she was ready to crawl out of her skin—never mind that she was the catalyst behind them not doing anything about the rise in tension between them.

On the eighth night of their time without Reina, the bell rang just as they were finishing up dinner. Quite without discussion, they'd come to the mutual decision just two days earlier to take meals in the kitchen instead of the dining room. The smaller, more cluttered space somehow made the clear fact that they were alone less woefully obvious.

Hermione noticed, as she went to peek out and see who was there, the layout of the house allowed for a better view of the entryway from the kitchen than from the dining room. She realized on that night that now seemed so long ago, Reina must've recognized Rabastan from his too-fine-for-any-occasion cloak and the way he held himself, because while she could clearly identify the two men waiting at the doors from where she stood, the dining room window's placement was at an angle that would've obscured his face.

She turned unhappy eyes on Thorfinn, her shoulders drooping and a pout tugging her lips downward. "It's Antonin—"

"So why the face?" he asked as he wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood from the table. "I thought you didn't mind him so much after everything."

Uttering an airy, nervous laugh, Hermione nodded. "Antonin I don't mind so much anymore, it's that he'd brought Rabastan Lestrange with him."

His dark-gold brows shooting up, Thorfinn shook his head. "It's likely the other way around. No one brings Rabastan anywhere; he pretty much just does as he pleases and drags others with him."

Holding in a grumble, she trailed after him to the door to greet their not-necessarily-welcome guests.

As expected, the moment Thorfinn opened the door, Rabastan swept in, eager to greet Hermione. He wasn't quite as handsy as last time, however, instead holding her at arm's length to look her over. She had gotten so accustomed to her new wardrobe that she nearly forgot she was dressed like a proper witch more often than not these days.

"Well, now, don't you clean up nice?" He tugged her close and dropped a kiss on her cheek quicker than she could even voice a protest. "Makes me think I shouldn't have stayed away so long."

Just beyond him, she could see Thorfinn glowering at the man, and Antonin trying—and failing—the hide a scowl. But Thorfinn recovered quickly, giving her a stern look that reminded her of the charade they had to uphold around others.

Not that she'd really forgotten, but things had indeed been different between them the last time Rabastan had visited.

"How lovely to see you again, Mr. Lestrange," she said with a tight-lipped smile.

It seemed he was about to drop a completely unnecessary kiss to the back of her hand—which he had yet to relinquish—when Thorfinn clapped a hand on Rabastan's shoulder. From the way the dark-haired wizard stumbled just a bit under the weight, Hermione was guessing Thorfinn used a little more force than was strictly necessary.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Antonin bite back a grin; he'd clearly noticed, as well. Moments like this made her think she did rather like the imposing man's company.

"To what do we owe the pleasure of your company this evening?"

"You must've forgotten about our invitation to Malfoy Manor. Lucius is finally making good on his offer to have us over to sample some of the priceless spirits from his wine cellar."

Antonin rolled his eyes in a show of impatience that made Hermione think there was more to the story.

"Are you all right, Mr. Dolohov?"

Dark eyes narrowing at her—he thought he'd been subtler about his discomfort—he said, "I'm fine, Miss Granger, but Rabastan is playing coy about his true reason for insisting on a visit."

With an eye-roll of his own, Rabastan gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "All right, all right. I admit it, I want a look at Lucius' goddaughter. If she's even half the woman her mother was in her youth, then the young lady must be quite delectable, indeed."

Hermione tried to repress a shiver of revulsion. Whoever this other witch was, heavens help her. She did find it a little odd that Rabastan Lestrange was such a handsome man, as he exhibited the heavy-handed and insistent behavior of one overcompensating for a lack of physical charms.

Of course, she thought there was always a chance his bits didn't match his stature, but she really didn't want to think about Rabastan Lestrange's wand.

Hermione wasn't sure what she was going to do with an evening to herself, maybe she'd go and pester Uncle if she got really bored. Though, there was something, some fleeting memory that was nagging at her, but she couldn't put her finger on it just now—she was too relieved that her time with Rabastan tonight would be so short.

"Well, you gentleman have a lovely evening," she said with a smile.

Then Thorfinn's face fell, Antonin winced, and Rabastan turned the full force of his most syrupy grin on her.

And she remembered . . . . Oh, bollocks.

"Didn't your owner tell you, sweet little pet?" This time, as he captured her hand once more, he did place a kiss on it, warm and a little wet and entirely too long. "You are accompanying us."

She tried not to make it obvious how her frame drooped. As she extracted her hand from the wizard's unwelcome clutches, she nodded. "I suppose I'll get our cloaks, then."

As she left them in the foyer, she heard Rabastan's voice behind her, yet his words were not meant for her ears.

"As Miss Black might be unsettled by the presence of a known Undesirable, I'm afraid you'll have to leash her, Thorfinn."

Hermione's eyelids drifted down and she swallowed hard. A room full of Death Eaters and the other witch was supposed to find her threatening?

Rabastan really would cook up any excuse he could find to see her wear that bloody thing, wouldn't he?

She returned to the foyer, her cloak around her shoulders and Thorfinn's bundled neatly in her arms. For both their sakes, she pretended she hadn't overheard the other wizard's comment.

She also showed the good grace to pretend it didn't bother her when she was told she would be leashed. Though, after Thorfinn had clasped the leather collar around her throat, she had a bit more trouble pretending she didn't notice the appreciative gleam in Rabastan's eyes.

Rabastan led the way out the door for the four of them to Apparate to the gates of Malfoy Manor. After he was gone, the other two wizards turned their attention to her.

Hermione gave a little start as she noticed both Thorfinn's and Antonin's gazes on her. "What?"

"Are you all right with this?"

At Thorfinn's question, she couldn't help but frown—she'd have to keep that in check once they were in front of prying eyes again. "No other choice but to be all right with it, have I?"

The wizards exchanged a glance. "I suppose not," Thorfinn said with a shake of his head.

"Just promise me one thing, both of you."

They mirrored one another's expressions as their brows drew upward in question.

"Whatever you do, do not leave me alone with that man." Leash or no leash, she wouldn't put it past that man to find a way to get her away from everyone else, if he were really of a mind to.

Both agreed emphatically before Hermione allowed them to take her to Malfoy Manor. It was bad enough she had to be here, she didn't need to couple that unpleasantness with any concern about Rabastan Lestrange's wandering hands.

"Welcome," Lucius said as he opened the door for them, he seemed in quite a hurry as he ushered them inside.

Once they were beyond the foyer, Hermione understood. Their minor delay had left Rabastan with Lucius' goddaughter.

She tamped down on her own feelings of ill ease as their cloaks were taken by their host—she thought it odd that he went and hung them, himself, rather than calling for a house elf to do it. Were she not so eager to have the evening over already she might've had the presence of mind to ask about it.

As he turned back toward them, his grey eyes fell on her leash. Hermione could swear there was a quick flash of irritation across his features at the sight, but he said nothing.

Turning, he led them to the drawing room. She flinched as they entered behind their host, pausing in the doorway for half a heartbeat.

Meeting her gaze, Thorfinn asked under his breath, "What is it?"

She shook her head and squared her shoulders. "Nothing, just . . . trying to not remember why I hate this place."

Recalling what she'd told him a few weeks ago, he frowned and nodded. There was nothing more comforting he could offer her in their current environment.

"Isla, come meet our other guests."

Hermione snapped her attention to the other witch, who appeared only a few years older than herself. A little taller than her, and noticeably curvy, Isla had long dark hair, the curled locks bit more manageable than Hermione's own. Her dark eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled at them.

Then she saw the leash and her expression soured. "Why is this woman leashed?"

Lucius' brows drew upward as he explained in a gentle, reminding tone, "I explained this to you, my dear. By order of our Dark Lord she must be leashed in public settings. Your presence turns this from a meeting of the Dark Lord's followers into a public setting."

Nodding in understanding, Isla pursed her full lips in thought for a moment. "Well, if that is so, then I shall excuse myself so that such a precaution is not necessary."

"But, Miss Black," Rabastan said, pouring it on thick as he offered a charming grin. "We were only just getting acquainted."

Hermione didn't miss it when Lucius said in a sing-song whisper, "Isla, my dear, you're being rude."

She cut him a sharp look. "I'm being . . . ." The witch took a deep breath and let it out slow. Shaking her head, she seemed to collect herself and forced a smile. "Do forgive me, I've just returned from a long stay across the pond. It's left me a bit unacquainted with proper Wizarding society's ways."

"Yes, her mother Eleanor insisted I take her under my wing to reintroduce her to our more civilized means." Lucius smiled. "Isla, this is Mr. Antonin Dolohov, Mr. Thorfinn Rowle, and Mr. Rowle's . . . ."

Their host looked honestly perplexed for a moment. "I am sorry, Miss Granger, I'm not certain how to introduce you."

"Miss Granger will do, Mr. Malfoy," she said with a grin that looked more like a snarl than any expression of nicety.

"Of course," he replied with an apologetic nod that quite surprised her.

"Call a spade a spade, Lucius," Rabastan practically shouted from across the drawing room—pouring a round for everyone as he started on what was rather obviously his second. "Mr. Rowle's pet. We should all be so lucky to have one just like her."

Hermione rolled her eyes so hard, her lids fluttered and Isla turned a disapproving look on the man.

Rabastan tsked and crossed the room to stand before her, holding a drink out toward her. "Understand, my sweet Miss Black, we are discussing a dangerous criminal here. Thorfinn is doing Wizarding Britain a great service by minding her so."

Isla grudgingly accepted the glass and returned to the other side of the room to sit. "She looks about as dangerous as an angry kitten."

Hermione ignored the quiet chuckle Antonin sputtered behind her.

"Looks can be deceiving, Miss Black," Rabastan said in a reassuring tone as he sat entirely too close to her.

Pointedly turned her attention away from the wizard beside her, she nodded. "Yes, they certainly can."

Antonin stepped further into the room—only then did Hermione notice that they all still lingered in the entryway—to sit on Miss Black's other side. He, however, kept a respectable distance.

Isla took the opportunity to shift on the sofa so that she was more evenly seated between the two wizards. There was no way for Rabastan to shift closer, now, without forcing her closer to Antonin, and he clearly was in no mood for any imagined competition.

"You seem more tense than usual, Lucius," Rabastan observed as the silver-haired man walked to the collection of filled glasses. "Perhaps you should quit being so stubborn and come with me next time I visit Umbridge Home."

Hermione's stomach soured instantly and she thought she might vomit on the spot at the mention. Isla looked quite peaked, herself, her pretty face scrunching as she forced her gaze to the floor.

"I assure you, I have no need of such an establishment."

"Oh, stow the pride for one night, man." Rabastan polished off his second drink and started to pour his third.

Hermione realized she and Thorfinn hadn't even had their first round, and the Lestrange heir didn't seem to mind that he wasn't waiting for the other guests to catch up to him.

"Your son understands the finer points of such an establishment."

Her feeling of sickness in the pit of her stomach returned. Draco went to that place? Certainly she'd never had a good thing to say about him when they'd been classmates, but she'd thought she'd seen glimmers during the War, as though there was the potential for a better man inside the scared boy.

No better man would make use of a place like Umbridge Home.

Draining his own glass, Lucius spoke from between clenched teeth. "That seems an odd argument to use to compel me to visit the place, Rabastan."

"Honestly, Rabastan! Can't you see you're upsetting Miss Black?"

At Antonin's words, the already mildly inebriated wizard looked up. "Oh, my apologies, my sweet. I did not mean to offend."

"And, yet, you're so skilled at it," she muttered with a scowl.

"What?" Rabastan asked, his brows pulling together.

Lucius cut in, again with that soft, reminding tone, "Isla . . . ."

"I said I wasn't offended," she announced in a clear voice. "That place is simply enough to scare any upstanding witch. It's becoming something of a boggart under the bed, used to frighten us into being good little witches."

"I'm certain you're a very good little witch," Rabastan said, cuing Antonin to drop his head back and groan unattractively.

"Mr. Rowle," Lucius called as he cut back across the room.

Hermione glanced up at Thorfinn. Indeed, they'd both been standing in the entryway, still, simply watching the potential chaos unfold.

"Lucius?"

"It seems Rabastan is on a mission to single-handedly drain my wine cellar tonight, but here I'd only brought up the one bottle. Do you suppose I could borrow Miss Granger to help me bring up a few more?"

Hermione looked up at Thorfinn. He was weighing her expression from the corner of his eye, to see if she was all right with the request.

Honestly, after the conversation that had just taken place between Lucius Malfoy and Rabastan Lestrange, Hermione felt strangely at ease with the idea of escaping the room with the silver-haired wizard. She thought this evening could have been a pleasant experience, had Rabastan not been in attendance. Or, say, had he been gagged and stuffed in a wardrobe, or something.

She gave a minute nod.

Thorfinn slipped the cuff from his wrist and held it out to Lucius. "Remember, she's a dangerous criminal."

Hermione's expression hardened into a scowl.

"Oy! You would never allow me to borrow your pet," she heard Rabastan say, his words slurring, as Lucius led her away.

"Yes, well, perhaps that's because I trust Lucius to return her in the same condition he receives her in. Better, in fact. Malfoy'd probably send her back to me with a new set of gold hairpins and pet peacock."

She glanced back over her shoulder to see Thorfinn finally peel his side from the doorjamb and stomp further into the room. No doubt he needed a drink, himself, now that he was engaged in conversation with a drunken Rabastan.

As she was guided through the house, she realized how very odd it felt to be alone with Lucius Malfoy.

But then, as he led her through the cellar door and pulled it closed behind her, he very noticeably dropped the cuff attached to her leash. "Apologies for the display, Miss Granger. But, we must keep up appearances."

Hermione's brows shot up as she tried to understand precisely what was happening.