Chapter Twenty
"You and my sister?!"
Hermione winced at the sheer volume of Thorfinn's voice. Poor Antonin stood on the doorstep of the Rowle house, he'd not even made it into the foyer before his partner could no longer hold his tongue.
His first shock had been seeing the younger wizard without the trademark beard, of which he was typically so proud—the only other time he'd seen Thorfinn without it had been for his uncle's funeral. But . . . seeing as Thorfinn was bellowing at him over the one piece of information that was supposed to have been withheld from him for all their sakes, Antonin felt that inquiring about missing facial hair could wait.
Hermione knew, even before she cracked open one eye and looked toward the door, that Antonin as peering at her over Thorfinn's shoulder. His expression exasperated, that dark gaze fixed on hers as he huffed out a sigh.
"You had one job," the Russian wizard said, as though a distinctly unhappy Thorfinn Rowle was not stationed between them. "Keep him from finding out. What part of that was difficult to understand, kotyonok?"
Her little, rounded shoulders slumped as she frowned. "With all he's been through? He needed to know this. I couldn't keep it from him anymore, I just couldn't!"
Thorfinn looked from one to the other and back, again. "What did he just call you?"
She darted a glance at her Viking as she said with a distracted air, "It means kitten. And I'm sorry, Dolohov, I really am."
Thorfinn pressed his fingertips to his temples as he shook his head, his eyes squeezed shut. "Wait, wait. He's got a pet name for you? You gave her a pet name? Where was I when this happened? And sweet Merlin why?"
Antonin arched a brow as he chewed at the inside of his lip. The meltdown Thorfinn seemed on the verge of having was actually a bit entertaining. "You just found out I'm responsible for putting Reina into hiding, yet you're worrying about a nickname? And here I'd thought asking where your beard had run away to this time would be trivializing things."
The witch cleared her throat uncomfortably as she waved her finger in the air to get Antonin's attention. "He shaved it off 'this time' because he was so angry, he thought he might tear it out in a fit."
Eyes widening just a little, Antonin raised a protective hand to his chin, shielding his own beard.
Hermione bit her lip to hold in a laugh at his gesture. And, she could tell from the sudden, tensed hunching of Thorfinn's shoulders that he already knew her reaction to the scene.
"This isn't funny, Princess."
She tipped her head to one side and exhaled low. "It is a little funny. And besides, with how tense everything is, we could all use a bit of a laugh."
Thorfinn turned to look at her over his shoulder, his features folding into a scowl.
Jumping in place a little, she said, "Oh! Right, but, um, that's not . . . not really why we asked you here."
His hand dropping to his side, Antonin arched a brow, his expression suddenly quite serious. He had a feeling he knew what the petite witch was thinking, and if she'd filled in Thorfinn about his connection to Reina, then Thorfinn was probably thinking the same thing.
Nodding, he stepped inside and closed the doors behind him. "All right. What is it?"
Thorfinn puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled, knowing that if Hermione had been correct, then Antonin Dolohov had just done the world a huge favor. Also, he supposed it would mean having to let go of his anger over the idea of the older wizard courting his sister—to put the matter politely, of course, and he wasn't about to think of it any other way.
"Understand as I say this, we've no intention of turning you in, if it's true. Nor would we blame you—that vile beast certainly had it coming. We, um . . . ." He glanced toward Hermione, who chewed nervously at her lower lip as she gave an encouraging nod. "We suspect you're the one who offed MacNair."
A strained silence fell as Antonin looked from Thorfinn to Hermione, and back. After a moment, he dropped his gaze to the floor as he opened his mouth to reply.
He and Thorfinn both winced just then, each reaching to wrap their fingers around their left forearms. Frowning, the wizards exchanged a glance, the burning sensation of the Dark Lord's summons effectively tabling the issue for the time being.
"I have a bad feeling about this," Hermione said with a solemn shake of her head. There seemed no way a summons a mere three days after MacNair's murder could be a good thing.
His eyes drifting closed, Thorfinn nodded. There was an instant sour churning in the pit of his stomach—although he'd seemingly been cleared the night of the party, he was still under an inordinate amount of scrutiny. He couldn't help but feel that if their Lord could not identify the culprit, he'd put the blame, and the punishment, on Thorfinn anyway, to make a point about depriving him of his most loyal followers.
Clearing his throat, he gave himself a shake and turned to face his witch as he opened his eyes. He curled gentle fingers over her shoulders, noting—for how many times that would make this now he could not be certain—how large his hands seemed when wrapped around any part of her small frame. It was a good reminder, he supposed, as she stared up at him with those huge chestnut eyes of hers, of how fragile she actually was.
Not defenseless, not be any measure, no. She was a terrifyingly powerful witch in her own right, he knew. But fragile in other ways . . . . In ways that terrified him. Without her wand, she'd been nearly helpless, even then she'd had that fire of hers. But anyone could have hurt her—as MacNair nearly had.
She'd become so very important to him that the notion of losing her played on a loop of dull horror, always in the back of his mind. Ever since the moment she had set foot in his home, she'd been the one constant thing, giving him strength and comfort despite that he'd led a life that hardly saw to him deserving of such things.
She'd come into his life long before either of them had a reason to matter to each other, a wretched little busybody of wild hair and even wilder temperament.
Now she remained as the only thing in the world he thought he could not even breathe without.
He was taking so many heartbeats, merely staring down at her that his Mark burned again, more insistently this time, but he managed to ignore it somehow. He barely heard Dolohov's hissed breath as he was summoned once more, as well.
Yet, all Thorfinn could focus on was the tiny, amazing creature before him. Leaning near, he dropped his forehead lightly against hers as he let his eyes drift closed, again. He inhaled sharply, pulling in as much of her sweet, familiar scent as he could manage.
Dear God, he could not believe how much he loved her.
"Do not leave, all right? I'll have Dolohov lock the property with a charm so no one can enter unless you allow them."
Gasping at the unexpected sound of desperation in his tone, Hermione pulled back enough to meet his gaze. "Why are you talking like that? You've done nothing wrong."
"I just want—" Cutting himself off, he shook his head and tried again. "I just need you to be safe."
Trying to lighten the mood a little, she reached beneath neck of her dress, tugging on the chain of her locator charm to show him the glinting of silver in reminder. It was such a constant in her life to have that necklace around her neck, that it felt like a part of her by now.
"You'll know if I leave, remember?"
Nodding, he followed her fingers with his own, tugging the necklace out into view, entirely. Yes, he'd had it enchanted so she could not open it . . . .
Hermione could not hide the shock in her face as he reached around her neck, opening the clasp. She watched, feeling oddly detached for a split-second as he slid the chain down, holding the charm in one hand.
"What are you doing?"
"I want you to stay because you want to, not because I've trapped you here."
Her shoulders drooped as she held his gaze. Never had she thought a man like Thorfinn Rowle could look so positively helpless.
It hurt her heart to realize he was acting this way for only one reason—he was scared.
Forcing a small smile onto her lips, she took the necklace from his hand. She put it back around her neck, locking the clasp once more.
To his surprised expression, she said, "And I want you to always be able to find me."
Thorfinn's face absolutely crumbled as he pulled her to him then, covering her mouth with his own.
Antonin shifted uncomfortably in the backdrop a moment, not wishing to intrude. But then, if he did not, the next summons would be distinctly unpleasant.
"Thorfinn, we need to go."
The golden haired wizard reluctantly broke the kiss, leaning back to lock eyes with Hermione one last time before he released her and turned for the door.
Swallowing hard, she watched them go. She should be grateful for Voldemort's always suspect timing, she supposed. It had robbed Dolohov of his chance to answer their accusation, thus robbing Thorfinn of any solid knowledge of what that answer might have been.
Even if, in his desire to find the responsible party, the Dark Lord tried to pluck a sure answer from Thorfinn's mind, all the serpentine wizard would find was suspicion.
Somehow, though, reassuring herself he was not in danger—at least, not in this respect—did little to slow the sudden racing of her heart.
Thorfinn refrained from asking, directly. As he stood by and watched Antonin lay the enchantment to keep intruders away from the house, as they Apparated to the castle grounds, he held his tongue.
Unbeknownst to him, he'd had the very same realization as Hermione, once the front doors of the house had closed between them. It was better that he did not know for certain if Antonin was MacNair's killer. More so, it had been foolish of them to ask the question.
Surely, if Antonin Dolohov was responsible, he'd be wise enough to do something—anything—to throw suspicion as far from himself as possible. They could've waited this out, waited until someone was held accountable and then asked Dolohov if he'd had any involvement in the matter.
Bit late for all that now, he thought as they wound their way through the main floor, across corridors and up staircases toward the Headmaster's office.
Before they even set foot inside the room, they heard a series of hacking coughs. Pausing, they exchanged a look—the sound was equal parts unsettling and repugnant. His rasping breaths had become increasingly compromised as time wore on following the War.
As they entered, they found they were not the only Death Eaters called upon, they were simply the last to arrive. Rabastan arched a brow as everyone turned their attention on them.
"What the bloody hell took you two?"
Once more, Antonin and Thorfinn exchanged a look. "I had to go retrieve this one. He was a bit distracted, dallying with his little toy," Antonin said, his voice steady, his response not skipping a beat.
Thorfinn appropriately rolled his eyes and set his jaw. He'd never been one to care for airing business that hadn't taken place in full view of witnesses, so his reaction, as well, was perfectly in-character for the situation.
Ignoring whatever their comrades made of that, they both moved on to present themselves before the Dark Lord, giving sweeping bows before backing away once more. They all seemed to have been waiting in silence as it was.
Yet, as they backpedaled, Thorfinn noticed that upon the desk before Voldemort lay a wand. The wood snapped in two, he knew he'd seen it before, but could not immediately place the owner.
That was, until the Dark Lord waved a wasting-away hand. There was shimmering in the air then, and on the floor beside his desk appeared the crumbled form of Theodore Nott, Sr.
Yes, now that he saw the body, Thorfinn could connect it with the broken weapon.
When he searched the room with his gaze, he found the younger Nott wizard staring at his father's corpse. He looked . . . relieved, actually.
"It would seem that when I finally released Nott from his punishment . . . his first act was to strike out at me by depriving me of his fellow Death Eaters' servitude. Your numbers are few—" The Dark Lord paused, shielding another series of gut-churning coughs. "Disobedience of this caliber will not be tolerated. Let this stand as a warning to all of you. Cost me one of my most loyal, and you may well consider turning your wand on yourself, as it will be a far kinder fate than what I have in store for you."
Thorfinn did not know what to make of the entire thing as they were dismissed and filed out. However, a quick look—a split second of passing gazes and subtle nods—had him reconsidering the simple answer that had been placed before their Lord.
As the Death Eaters wound down toward the main floor, Thorfinn yanked Antonin and Theo out of the disjointed line of procession by their elbows.
The younger wizard seemed positively ready to leap out of his skin at the unexpected dragging. Antonin, on the other hand, simply sighed as he nodded and allowed himself to be pulled along. He thought he should've expected this, perhaps. Thorfinn played the lumbering idiot when it suited him for people to underestimate his intellect, but he was far from stupid.
When they were far out of earshot of any of their fellow Death Eaters, he released them. "Did you two do what I think you did?"
Theo opened his mouth, prepared to lie, but Antonin held up a hand. "Not here," he said, nodding toward the nearest door.
Thorfinn nodded, gesturing for the other two to lead the way. Finding the room empty, the three trooped inside, before locking the door and charming the area to keep from being overheard.
"Yes," Antonin finally said with a nod and a glance at Theo, and then returning his attention to his partner. "I did it. Walden MacNair was the worst of us, and the Dark Lord's recent decisions have only made him more vile. He needed to be stopped."
"And using Nott's wand?"
Theo forced a gulp down his throat before he could form the words. "I gave it to him. Father's mind was broken after his incarceration, but I knew . . . ." The young man shook his head, his lower lip trembling—indeed, he did not possess the necessary predisposition to be a Death Eater, the only conclusion Thorfinn could draw was that his father had decided that fate for him. "I knew that had he been there, he'd have happily taken part in what was done to your sister. I knew that if he had come out of confinement with his mind intact, he would happily do worse, had he the opportunity."
"After I saw Reina safely into hiding, Theo and I knew we needed a way to deal with MacNair, but that also meant needing a scapegoat." Antonin shrugged. "One who more than deserved whatever punishment the Dark Lord would deliver for this crime."
"My father was a terrible man. When Mr. Dolohov asked me to sneak him his wand, I knew it could only be for something like this. And that's exactly why I did it." Theo frowned, the first sparks of anger Thorfinn had ever seen from the young man flickering across his features, just then. "I'd probably have been better off being raised by a pack of rabid werewolves for how much that man cared for me."
Thorfinn nodded, processing the scenario. He didn't want any further information than what they'd already told him. He didn't need to know when, precisely Theo had slipped Antonin his father's wand after his release from incarceration, nor how he'd gotten it back into his father's possession—and he could easily imagine that Voldemort had been so enraged to learn the identity of the culprit, that he'd assumed Nott had only played at his mind being broken to escape suspicion of, or punishment for the act.
But that didn't alleviate the golden haired wizard's curiosity about one point.
With an exasperated sigh, he turned his attention unfalteringly on Dolohov. "Why not tell me all of this? MacNair hurt my sister. You think I wouldn't have helped?"
The other two shared a look. "Because he hurt your sister—because you would've jumped at the chance to help. You were the first suspect, as you'll recall. Even if you had no direct hand in it, you'd have been vulnerable to the Dark Lord's scrutiny by happenstance. The only way for this to work was for you to be kept out of it."
Thorfinn leaned backward against the nearest wall, letting his head tip back. He could feel the other two watching him for those few, silent heartbeats.
They'd done it, all by themselves. They'd eliminated not one, but two of their fellow Death Eaters, and pulled the wool over the Dark Lord's eyes. Either their Lord knew the truth and was lulling them into false sense of security by making a show of following their breadcrumbs, or their scheme had actually worked.
The Dark Lord was many things, all-knowing not among them. Perhaps it was time for them to all stop fearing that he was.
Finally, he lowered his gaze from the ceiling to meet Antonin's. "This had better not be some elaborate scheme just to get me to approve of you and Reina."
Antonin chuckled and shook his head. "Yes, as I clearly assumed this was the easiest way to do that."
"We should get back out to the main floor before too many people notice we're missing."
Antonin and Thorfinn nodded in agreement with Theo's words of caution. Dispelling the enchantment, they exited the room, only to hear a commotion in the heart of the castle.
Rushing to join their fellows, they managed to catch Alecto just as she was heading toward the ancient double doors.
"Hurry," she said in a hissing breath, shaking her head at them, clearly not understanding why they all looked confused by the flurry of motion as the other Death Eaters were leaving to get enough distance to from the castle to Apparate.
"What's happening?" Thorfinn asked through clenched teeth, having little patience for her lack of patience.
"The Undesirables. They've started a riot in Hogsmeade."