A/N: *slow, evil-villain walk amid flashes of lightning and wild cackling*
*presents the chapter to you on a silver platter*
*More evil laughter*
*Wants you all to vote on the contents of this chapter. Just Thorfinn? Or both of them? Together, or independently?*
*Clears throat when she begins to get parched*
*sips her tea while you watch, wide-eyed with a little confusion*
*More cackling ensues as she evil-villain slow-walks away once more*
xx-Kitten.
Firewhiskey Nights
By Kittenshift17
CHAPTER TWELVE
Antonin Dolohov was bored out of his mind long before Thorfinn Rowle made it home to the flat they shared. Despite the evening before and most of the morning spent shagging some witch he couldn't remember the name of – without protection, on the off chance that this one might be the one fated to carry his child to term – he was bored out of his mind and bouncing around the flat, full of energy.
He needed to see Granger. Thorfinn would undoubtedly have worn her out, by now, having spent all night and most of the day with her but for a brief change of clothes, and as such, it stood to reason to Antonin that he would be a welcome distraction, lest they actually fuck each other to death.
Yes. That was the answer to his boredom. Dressing himself quickly in fresh jeans and a comfortable sweater, Antonin Apparated directly to Granger's flat. He smirked when the cat rushed at him from under the couch, growling, before spotting that it was him and instead giving a little yowl of greeting.
"Hello, koshechka," he greeted the beast before crossing the room to Granger's kitchen cabinet and fishing the box of cat-biscuits from behind the wards.
Antonin was no fool. He'd bought the cat's friendship by bribing him with food. The beast rubbed himself against Antonin's ankles before lunging face-first into his now-full food dish and beginning to devour the biscuits with apparent glee. Antonin chuckled, ruffling the old cat's fur affectionately before looking around the flat, wondering what had become of Hermione and Thorfinn. He'd expected them to be fucking somewhere or pottering about the house acting all domestic.
He was well aware that his flat-mate had developed a particularly keen interest in the curly-haired witch, and he knew the bastard was intent on knocking her up and making her his witch for life. He'd known it yesterday when Thorfinn had been complaining that he'd wanted the girl to already be pregnant. Searching the flat, Antonin poked his head into the bedroom, surprised to find the sheets rumpled, but empty.
Searching the rest of the flat, he began to chuckle to himself when he came across the pair of them curled up in the bathtub together, Granger reclining against Thorfinn's chest and his arms curled around her securely. It was clear they'd put a stasis charm on the bath water to keep it warm, and they were both fast asleep.
"Trying to drown, are you?" he asked quietly, shaking his head and using his wand to begin levitating the pair of them out of the bath. He used his wand to dry them both off, uncaring about seeing both of them naked.
"Hmmmph?" Thorfinn grunted, coming awake when his body was levitated away from that of his witch.
Antonin grinned to himself taking care to lower his friend back onto his feet whilst continuing to keep Granger supported, noting that she slept on.
"Toshka?" Thorfinn asked, frowning at him and rubbing a hand over his chest.
"What's the big idea falling asleep in the tub, ditya?" Antonin asked, raising his eyebrows.
"What are you doing here? Oi, eyes off my witch, yeah?" Thorfinn grunted, uncaring about his nudity as he reached for his witch, snatching her out of the air and cradling her slim frame to his powerful chest.
"Just trying to keep you from drowning, and from fucking each other to death," Antonin smirked. "I see you've thoroughly worn her out."
Thorfinn smirked.
"What are you really doing here, Toshka?" he asked, carrying Granger out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, where he carefully tucked her between the sheets and pulled the covers over her body.
"I got bored," Antonin admitted.
"What happened to that bird you were shagging?" Thorfinn asked. "Wore her out, did you?"
"She left," Antonin shrugged. "She was boring."
"You wrap up?" Thorfinn wanted to know, pulling his jeans up and reaching for a shirt before the two of them left the bedroom to let Granger sleep for longer.
"Nope," Antonin shook his head. "Maybe this one will get pregnant."
"You better hope not, if she's boring," Thorfinn chuckled. "You hate boring. And you're psychotic. You'd start gaslighting the poor bitch just to keep yourself entertained."
"We all have our idiosyncrasies, Thorfinn," Antonin sniffed, shrugging his shoulders.
"Mmm, and yours include invading whatever area happens to be housing my witch," Thorfinn pointed out, folding his arms over his chest.
"Is she pregnant, yet?" Antonin asked, raising his eyebrows, not in the slightest intimidated, no matter what Thorfinn was trying to do.
Thorfinn sighed. "I don't think so. Though not for lack of trying," he said. "I met her folks this morning."
"Bet that went well," Antonin chuckled.
"Her old man threatened to use something called a 'drill' on me, and said he'd rip every tooth out of my head if I did anything to hurt his little girl," Thorfinn said, smirking.
"He wasn't afraid of you?"
"Nah, he's got a temper, that one," Thorfinn chuckled. "Whole lot of bluster, especially for a muggle. Didn't even back down when he found out I was a Death Eater and a murderer."
Antonin raised his eyebrows.
"How did that go over?"
"Granger's still put out with me," Thorfinn admitted. "But I think I won her parents over with my honesty."
"Yeah, because parents just love knowing their daughters are being molested by criminals and psychopaths," Antonin rolled his eyes before helping himself to Granger's fridge.
"Better they find out now, rather than five years down the road when I've sired their grandchildren," Thorfinn shrugged his shoulders.
"They'll try to drive the two of you apart," Antonin warned, using his wand to reheat some sort of pasta dish he'd unearthed inside Granger's fridge and bringing over two forks, apparently intent on sharing.
"Probably," Thorfinn sighed. "Don't reckon she's too worried. Thinks she's barren, and that I'm wasting my time with her when I need an heir."
"Maybe she's right," Antonin said.
"You think so?" Thorfinn raised one eyebrow.
Antonin shrugged his shoulders, chewing thoughtfully.
"She won't let me get a good enough look at the scars on her to figure out why my magic is latched onto her like that," Antonin said. "Could be that the magic is affecting it so she can't get pregnant at all, or just not with people I approve of."
"Or not unless it's you who knocks her up," Thorfinn finished for him, looking conflicted at the very notion.
"Could be," Antonin mused, looking thoughtful. "Might explain my intrigue with her…"
"She's my witch, you great sod," Thorfinn protested.
"Not if I marked her, she's not," Antonin smirked. "Think you could be happy raising my son with her, then?"
"We're not going to find out," Thorfinn said, his brow furrowing and anger beginning to dance in his blue eyes.
"What if she wants to?" Antonin asked.
"She doesn't," Granger's voice intruded quietly on the discussion and both wizards jumped in surprise, turning toward the small, messy-haired witch as she exited the bedroom and wandered out into the living room dressed only in a too-long jumper than fell to mid-thigh.
Antonin knew he wasn't the only one appreciating the slide of the fabric over her silky skin as she crossed to the kitchen and put the kettle on.
"Don't be so hasty now, kulkolka," Antonin taunted. "Let's not forget the wet spot you left on my trousers the other day in your office."
"Why not?" she asked. "I already had."
"I never will," Antonin replied, and Thorfinn punched him on the shoulder, scowling at him.
"You alright, Princess?" Thorfinn asked of the witch when she rolled her eyes and turned away to dig three mugs out of the cupboard, along with a fresh teapot.
She didn't answer and Thorfinn traded a glance with Antonin, frowning worriedly.
"If you'd just let me get a look at your scars while you climax, zaichik, I'm sure we'd be able to solve the problem of you being childless," Antonin offered. "We are two incredibly smart people, after all. And Thorfinn really only has to keep rhythm. No smarts required to get you off, so we're good."
"Oi!" Thorfinn protested
"What?" Antonin looked over, clearly confused by his protest as though he hadn't just insulted his housemate.
"I'm not having sex for your amusement, Dolohov," Hermione said, her back still to the two of them. "I've accepted that I can't conceive, alright? Leave it alone."
"But you can. I know it," Antonin protested.
"You don't know it!" Hermione hissed, spinning and hurling an empty mug in his direction furiously.
Both ex-Death Eaters recoiled in surprise to see that her cheeks were damp with tears though her eyes were angry.
"Princess?" Thorfinn frowned, getting to his feet, obviously intent on comforting her.
She threw her hands up and stomped back into the bedroom. Thorfinn made to follow her, shooting another worried look at Dolohov. Before he could join her in the bedroom, she stomped back out clutching a manilla envelope. Thorfinn followed her back to the table when she stomped past him and over to where Dolohov sat, still idly feasting on reheated pasta and looking intrigued.
Hermione slapped the envelope down in front of the Russian, pointing at it angrily.
"I can't have children. Everything in there details how and why, and most of it is your fucking fault!" she hissed at the wizard who'd invaded on their intimate afternoon. "Because of you, my aspirations for motherhood have shrivelled to dust." She turned to look up at Thorfinn after that. "And I'm sorry, Rowle, but there's no two ways about it. This thing between us is never going to provide the child you need to remain un-incarcerated. I know what you said my parents, and what you've been saying to me, but there is no future here. If you want to stay free of prison, you go out, you find yourself some fertile witch, and you fuck your spawn into her. I can't pursue anything with you knowing that I will either be the reason you end up back in Azkaban or that I'll have to face some future where you stray and shag someone else to avoid it."
"Princess…" Thorfinn began as she stomped back toward the bedroom.
"No, I mean it, Rowle," Hermione told him, holding up her hands. "Merlin knows I could let myself get all tangled up in you, but I refuse to do that when it's only setting myself up for heartbreak when you cheat, or when you're locked up again. I can't do this. I won't!"
With that said, she turned away and rushed into her bedroom, crying all the more. Thorfinn charged after her, intent on stopping this madness before she could do something crazy. Before he could open the door that she'd magicked shut, he heard the resounding crack of her disapparating and he pounded first his fists, and then his head against her bedroom door in frustration.
"What did she give you?" he asked of Antonin when he heard the weird bastard clicking his tongue and humming with interest over at the table.
"Her medical file," Toshka told him. "It's quite extensive. She wasn't kidding about being told that she couldn't conceive. See here, look."
Antonin pointed to something on the parchment, beckoning Thorfinn closer. Thorfinn moved over, frowning.
FERITILITY STATUS: 99.98% Barren. Conception inadvisable, if not impossible.
"Ninety-nine point nine eight percent barren?" Thorfinn read aloud. "Conception inadvisable? Who the fuck wrote this?"
"Healer Oberitz," Antonin supplied. "Renowned fertility Healer from Germany. He's very good."
"How the fuck do you know?" Thorfinn demanded.
"I had to do a Healer rotation during my Charms Mastery to become a Curse Breaker," Antonin explained. "Charms for healing various infertility issues are some of the most complex, and therefore, some we're expected to master to earn our rune."
"Meaning?" Thorfinn asked.
"I worked with him," Antonin explained. "He's who I'd want helping me if I was shooting blanks."
"So, she's right? It's hopeless?" Thorfinn confirmed.
"Not hopeless. Not impossible. Just inadvisable," Antonin smirked, looking pleased.
"That makes you happy?" Thorfinn asked angrily. "She blames you for this. You heard her. You're the reason I can't have my fucking witch."
"Of course, it makes me happy," Antonin said, his grin growing even bigger. "I hated that mudak when I worked under him. I can't wait to stick it to him and prove his findings wrong. Where's the zaichik? I really need to see those flames dance, now. If they're the cause of this 'inadvisable' diagnosis, then that's where we need to start to heal her."
Thorfinn opened his mouth, prepared to tell Toshka he was the most insensitive, callous bastard on the bloody planet, but when the Russian rose to his feet looking determined and obviously unaware that Hermione had left the flat, Finn stopped. The glitter of determination in his friend's eyes was one he hadn't seen since their Death Eater days when Antonin was determined to outlast the likes of Bella and the Dark Lord when they got into one of their moods. He was entering his mindset of being an immoveable fuckhead, as Thorfinn and Snape had often jokingly called it.
Nothing he said would penetrate the git's crazy mind. He was determined to heal Hermione of this ailment – probably doubly determined since it was his fault and he'd get to spend inordinate amounts of time with her in the process. And since Thorfinn didn't at all like the thought of going back to prison for failing to produce an heir and he no longer had any inclination to try producing one with any other witch, he wasn't about to tell the shithead 'no'.
"What if the only way to heal her involves you fucking her?" Thorfinn asked, frowning when Antonin managed to open her bedroom door – which Thorfinn himself had struggled with thanks to the way she'd cursed it closed – with little trouble before he charged into her bedroom and turned in circles to find she was gone.
"I'm not opposed to such a sacrifice. And we've shared witches before," Antonin said, frowning to learn Hermione had left and seeming entirely clinical about the 'sacrifice' of potentially needing to shag her. "Would you rather me fuck your witch, or would you prefer to go back to prison?"
Thorfinn debated mentally over the answer for the sake of it because he really didn't like the thought of Antonin laying a finger on his witch. But in the end, there really was no contest. Hell, he'd beg the little witch to go along with that plan – if it came to that – if it would mean she could have kids of her own. He'd seen the raw longing for them in her eyes already in their time together. Avoiding prison by siring them with her would only be a bonus, at this point. Hell, even if he wasn't the one to sire them, Thorfinn wanted motherhood in Hermione's future because he knew it would make her happy.
And that thought, more than any other, scared the absolute fuck out of him.
