Chapter Forty-Four
June 7, 1973
11:53 am
A light rain shower seemed to pop up out of the sky above Hermione's head the moment her feet touched down in Diagon Alley. It was the appropriate weather for her mood. Thursday luncheon with Uncle Regnault was an appointment she was never able to cancel or avoid. Perhaps if there was something life-threatening she might be allowed to stay home. Even then he would still send her a strongly worded owl that would make her feel guilty and eager not to disappoint him in the future. How had so much changed between them that she actually cared what the haughty Pureblood wizard thought of her?
Regnault was reaching for the door to their usual restaurant at the moment she arrived. Her uncle greeted her with a half-smile that was as warm as any other expression was likely to be and a kiss to her cheek. They were led through the restaurant to their usual table to begin the meal that was almost an exact copy of the one the Thursday before and a dozen other Thursdays before that.
They each ordered from the menu and waited patiently for their glasses of wine to be filled before beginning any sort of conversation. Hermione thought it strange that she intimidated her uncle every bit as much as he intimidated her. Perhaps he was not used to strong women asserting their opinions. Aberforth told her that it was remarkable how much like Roesia Lestrange she resembled even though they were completely unrelated strangers. More than once her adoptive father made it clear that she was more like his former love than not.
"How is everything in the shop?" Regnault asked over salads. Though he continued to pretend like he was unaware that his eldest owned a pet store for Rodolphus' sake, he never forgot to inquire after it when he was with Hermione. Secretly she thought that he was fascinated and rather proud of his son. "Last week you said there was an issue with the kneazle kittens. Was that resolved?"
"Oh, yes, it was. Roddy is amazing with the animals. Well, except for the owls. It's honestly a miracle he hasn't lost an eye or a finger yet."
Regnault chuckled softly into his napkin. He was of the similar opinion and shared it once with his niece. His eldest had always been frightened of even their most docile of post owls. Rodolphus had been spending a great deal of his time since the morning after Nymphadora Tonks was born at the shop. Hermione wasn't sure what happened after she left a short time after arriving. Rabastan and Igor both thought it best that she leave him alone in Igor's capable hands once their discussion over his lost love hit a certain point. She had initially been insulted when Rabastan offered to take her home. As time had gone on, however, she realized that they had a point. Whatever Igor was able to say to the grieving man had worked wonders.
Over their main course Regnault seemed to fidget just a slight bit. Hermione thought the action strange. Her uncle was usually a self-possessed man who rarely seemed unnerved. Well, unless she was refusing arranged marriages and standing alone in her bedroom with a young wizard she wasn't married to, of course. He cleared his throat a couple of times before speaking. Clearly it was a topic he was not looking forward to discussing.
"I will be throwing a rather large social engagement later this summer."
Hermione thought his declaration was rather anti-climactic. He had "social engagements" on a regular basis. It was an almost constant complaint of Rodolphus' and something that Rabastan enjoyed whole-heartedly. Thankfully as just a secondary member of the family she was able to avoid most of the stuffy, boring dinner parties. Why her uncle was trying to make this into a large, uncomfortable announcement was beyond her.
"It will be a combination 'Welcome Home' and official engagement party."
"'Engagement party'?"
"Yes, your cousin has finally agreed to set a date for his nuptials. It's only taken five years."
Her stomach dropped. Yes, she knew that they were all living on borrowed time. Rodolphus would marry Bellatrix at some point whether she liked it or not, but realizing that the day was coming sooner rather than later made her a bit ill. Foolishly she hoped that Roddy would take longer before binding his future with the horrid Black girl. Bellatrix and the rest of the travelers were scheduled to return the next month barring any unforeseen events. Hermione was more than a little worried what would happen. The war had clearly begun if one knew where to look. Most of the tragic events had been taking place behind the scenes out of the view of all but the most observant. She knew that once Voldemort returned to the country to begin further recruiting for his cause that it would begin in earnest.
"Rodolphus and I met with Miss Black's parents earlier this week. They will be married next June on the manor grounds. Traditionally the bride's parents would host the wedding, but since Rodolphus is the Heir and our home is much larger, we will."
"What does Roddy think about all of this?"
"He has always known what was expected of him. He has been betrothed to Miss Black for most of his life. This may come as a surprise to you, Hermione, but I am not an unobservant man. I'm well aware of the feelings that Rodolphus believes he has for Cygnus' middle daughter. If he had come to me about them earlier before she was disowned, I may have been able to convince Cygnus to change daughters. All he really cares about is that one of his girls becomes a Lestrange. He's never been particular which one."
Hermione stared at her uncle with wide, unblinking eyes. She was torn between affection for him because he would have been willing to alter the marriage agreement and anger that he had never thought to do it on his own initiative. So much unhappiness could have been avoided if he had simply approached Cygnus Black with a proposal to have Rodolphus marry Andromeda instead. Bellatrix would not have minded in the slightest.
"Of course it seems like I made the right decision in remaining silent on the subject. If the girl was willing to throw away everything all for a filthy Mudblood of no consequence, she clearly doesn't deserve to belong in any proper Pureblood family."
She clenched her hands into fists underneath the table. Arguing with her uncle over their lunch would serve no purpose other than to annoy them both. Ted and Andromeda were two of her very best friends. Her uncle was well aware of that fact. He knew that she continued to maintain a relationship with the disgraced Andromeda. Hermione took a few deep breaths before she said anything.
"My feelings on arranged marriages have not changed, Uncle. They are barbaric in my opinion."
"Yes, my dear, I am well aware of your opinion. It changes nothing. Rodolphus will marry Miss Black next year. There will be an engagement party where the official betrothal bond spells will be performed. You will be there acting as the female representative of our House to cast the required spells."
Hermione's confusion must have shown on her face. She had no idea what her uncle was talking about. Realizing her ignorance, Regnault sighed softly and rolled his eyes.
"What do you know about betrothal bonds?"
"Nothing." She hated to admit that there existed a subject she didn't know everything about.
"Oh, Si-si, of course you wouldn't educate your daughter properly," mumbled Regnault with a louder, more defeated sigh. "I will send a book over to you this evening. I know how much you value the written word. You will receive all the details then, but for now, I will tell you the basics. Every time a Pureblood marriage is arranged and agreed upon there is a betrothal bonding ceremony. It happens exactly one year and one day before the actual marriage is set to take place."
"Like a hand-fasting?"
Regnault's facial expression lightened considerably at her inquiry. With a small satisfied nod to his niece that wasn't completely hopeless, he continued.
"Yes, very similar in many ways. The couple agrees to be bound together for this time period. It's not as serious as the actual marriage, of course. Historically, this was an opportunity for an ill-suited couple to discover that they were not going to work. They continued for the betrothal period and then at the end of the time period they went their separate ways. Now the betrothal bonds are mostly symbolic. Rodolphus and Miss Black will not live together during their engagement period like it was done in the past."
"So what's the point?"
"We do not shirk our traditions just because they no longer seem to fit our lives, Hermione."
His tone was quickly becoming harsh. Hermione recognized the signs. If she continued to push her uncle, they could have one of their infamous rows right there in front of the other diners. Contrary to his belief, no doubt, she didn't actually enjoy arguing with him either. Knowing that she was pushing him too far, she attempted to relax before responding.
"You said that I have to perform the bonding spells?"
"Yes, your assistance will be required. Ordinarily it would be done by the Head of the House and his lady, but as your Aunt Elanor is no longer alive and you are quite literally the only female in our family, it will have to be you. It is a way for our family to welcome the witch into our family."
"Sounds fascinating."
She wasn't even lying. Customs and traditions had always interested her from a purely intellectual point of view. Hermione had no intention of following through on many of the same traditions in her own life.
"I think you will find that this next year will go by quite quickly with all of the excitement."
The rest of their meal passed by with discussion about the party. Much like her debut years earlier, it was shaping up to be the largest social event of the entire summer. Her uncle never did anything by halves. When she heard that Lord Voldemort would be there as an honored guest, she had to resist the urge to run out of the restaurant. She knew that she would be likely to cross his path again in the past, but hearing it confirmed made her palms sweaty and her heart-rate increase.
By the time she kissed her uncle's cheek in farewell outside of the restaurant, Hermione was feeling overwhelmed. He hadn't been kidding when he said there would be a number of events involved over the next year. Regnault gave a rundown of all of the traditional parties and ceremonies associated. It was enough to ensure that whenever she decided to get married in the future, she would do so by running away to the registrar's office or just forgo the ceremony completely. Pureblood wedding traditions were ridiculous and tedious in her opinion.
She had nowhere else to be for the rest of the day. No one was expecting her at either the store or back in Hogsmeade at the pub. The rain had not let up during her prolonged meal with Regnault, but she didn't care. Hermione ignored the downpour to stroll down the almost empty Alley. Everyone else, it seemed, had more sense than she did to come in out of the rain. The walk was exactly what she needed to clear her head. She felt reasonably calm when she arrived at the front steps of Gringotts. It had not even been her intention to walk towards the bank. Afraid that she would run into Antonin, she avoided the place as much as humanly possible.
Antonin had not even tried to contact her since the day they ended their relationship. Hermione assumed that at least part of him was embarrassed by how petty he was in the end. If Andromeda could be believed, he was still curious about her wellbeing. She rolled her eyes at the thought. Surely if he cared about her in the slightest he would not have been such an arse. Wanting to put as much distance as possible between herself and the bank, Hermione turned away from the marble monstrosity to continue down the Alley.
Her mind had been on less positive subjects when a door to one of the shops opened abruptly as she passed. A smirking Igor stepped out into the rain. She stopped walking when she saw him. He reached for her arm to carefully pull her inside the warm, dry apothecary.
"I saw you through the window when I was bringing up some potions from the back. What are you doing walking outside in this kind of weather?"
Hermione shrugged her shoulders.
"Needed to clear my head."
"Did it help?"
"No."
She laughed, causing the elderly wizard at the front counter to glare in her direction. Hermione had been inside the apothecary a couple of times before since Igor earned his Mastery, but the shopkeeper had never been particularly friendly. Igor wrapped his arm around her shoulder and led her to the back of the store.
"Ignore him," Igor said loud enough for the man to hear. "He's only jealous that he doesn't have a young, desirable witch here to visit him."
She rolled her eyes which in turn only made him laugh. Igor's private potions laboratory was filled with numerous familiar scents. Hermione took a deep breath to savor the smells. Half-convinced he had a cauldron of calming potion gurgling away in the corner, she could feel all of her leftover anxiety from lunch melt away. Igor dropped his arm from her shoulders to check on one of his copper cauldrons. The large room was filled with many tables covered in dozens of cauldrons of varying sizes and materials. How anyone could keep so many different potions straight in their heads was a mystery to Hermione. Igor had to possess a well-ordered mind to even remember everything he was working on. She supposed that one didn't earn a Potions Mastery without picking up a few skills.
"What's in that one?" she asked, carefully looking around him at the bubbling turquoise potion.
"Nothing terribly exciting, I'm afraid. Order from St. Mungo's for a disinfectant."
"Oh. Well, it's a pretty shade."
She pulled out the chair at the desk covered in parchment. Though his mind might have been well-organized, his desk was far from it. Hermione resisted the urge to start piling the discarded paper into neat stacks.
"You have quite a few going. I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
"You are never an unwelcome interruption, Hermione," he replied with a wink. "Most of these are under stasis charms or are just waiting to cool off."
Igor returned his full attention to the turquoise disinfectant. Not wishing to disturb his concentration, Hermione sat as still as possible in the chair to watch him. Brewing potions was something of an art. Not everyone was capable of making it look as easy as Igor did. She remembered the times she was privileged enough to witness Professor Snape brew. Though she could certainly follow instructions better than anybody, Hermione lacked something of the intuition every Master needed. Her talents were in other disciplines. She wasn't sure how much time passed with neither of them speaking.
"See something you like?" Igor asked, smirking over his shoulder. "You've been staring at my arse for a long time, Charodeyka."
Hermione rolled her eyes yet again.
"I wasn't staring at your arse, you idiot. I was watching you brew. It's impressive."
"That's not all I have that's impressive."
His waggling eyebrows made her snort out a laugh.
"You're incorrigible."
"You're not arguing with me, so I'll take that to mean you are just as impressed with some of my other talents."
She knew that it was unlikely that she would ever spend any amount of time alone in a room with Igor without him making crude remarks to try to get some kind of reaction out of her.
"If your head grows any larger, Igor, you won't have enough room in here for your cauldrons."
They were interrupted by the elderly wizard from the front. He had several questions. Annoyed that he was being disturbed, Igor sighed and told the man he would be up front shortly.
"Do you mind stirring this while I deal with whatever ridiculous crisis Felix has imagined up front?"
Hermione laughed as she rose from the chair. Igor handed her a glass stirring rod.
"If you'll give it three counter-clockwise stirs and then four clockwise stirs. Hopefully this won't last long."
She began stirring the disinfectant under his watchful eye. Satisfied that his difficult potion was being properly handled, Igor left her alone. He seemed to be gone for a long time. Whatever was happening up front must have been important. Or she had a terrible sense of time.
Three counter-clockwise stirs. Four clockwise stirs. Hermione repeated the mantra to herself as she counted out the stirs. It had been so long since she was behind a cauldron brewing. Somehow she did not expect that she would have missed it in all that time. Other than potions class her final year of Hogwarts, there had been no other times she needed to brew in the past. There was a sense of power inhaling the fumes from the copper cauldron that she almost feared she would begin to float off in the heady air.
Large hands grasped her hips. The initial gesture caught her enough off guard that she yelped and almost dropped the stirring rod. Igor pressed the length of his much broader body behind hers. The hammering in her heart and the gentle hands rubbing circles up and down her sides made her completely lose count. It didn't seem to matter. The Potions Master removed a hand from her body long enough to pull the stirring rod out of her trembling hand. He set it carefully next to the bubbling cauldron.
"That's enough stirring, Chardodeyka," he purred into her ear. "It needs to simmer for twelve hours before I add the next ingredient."
"Twelve hours?" she asked, horrified that her voice came out as more a squeak than her normal tone.
"Yes. Twelve hours. So much time. What should we do until then?"
She recognized the cheeky voice he was using. A smirk crossed her lips. It had been a long time since they had been alone long enough for him to use it. Igor's hand returned to her body, but instead of lightly resting on her hip like the other one, he brought his hand to her flat stomach. One careful pull of his hand and she could feel him cover every inch of the back of her body. If his tone had not been a good enough indication of how he wanted to spend at least some of the next several hours, then she could feel the physical evidence pressed into her back. It was always a powerful feeling to know when she was capable of making a man desire her.
Igor pressed his lips to the outside of her ear. Every breath he exhaled onto her flustered skin caused more and more goosebumps to prickle over her body. Did he understand the effect that he had on her? Was that why he was so quick to torture her? He slowly, deliberately traced the sensitive appendage with his sinful tongue. By the time his lips made it down to nibble on her ear, Hermione could hardly think straight. The moment his mouth traveled down her neck and his tongue swiped at her collarbone, she groaned. Igor's soft chuckle seemed to move in an electric current straight to her core. She wanted him.
But she was afraid. With the exception of the one night when Antonin tried to kiss her at his flat and she had to lock herself in his bathroom, she had not been touched since that horrible night she was trying to forget. Though over five months had passed, she still felt at times like it had just happened the night before. And then other times it felt like it was a moment in someone's else life that she had never experienced. Hermione struggled with the disturbing thoughts back and forth constantly.
The wizard's hands no longer were satisfied to remain in one place. His left found the bottom of her jumper. Slipping in slowly without waiting for permission, Hermione gasped when his hand went straight for her breast. He didn't seek to get under the lacy garment, but there really was no need. The simple act of his thumb tenderly brushing across her rapidly hardening nipple was enough to make her sigh. Emboldened by her response, Igor increased his kisses to her neck and found the waistband of her skirt with his free hand.
He hadn't even moved into her knickers before Hermione's heart clenched with terror. Her heart-rate increased and her breathing become more labored. Igor continued the slow descent of his hand until he felt her body tense. He had not become as skilled as he was in certain areas without paying attention to his partner's signals.
"Is this all right, Hermione?" he asked in a concerned whisper.
She barely managed to nod her head in the affirmative before he removed both of his hands from underneath her clothing. Clearly he did not believe her when she said she was all right. Hermione could feel tears forming in her eyes. Would she always feel this way every time a man tried to get intimate? She had no reason to believe that Igor would ever harm her, but yet the moment his touch grew bolder, the more frightened she became. There seemed to be no hope for the future.
"You know I would never make you do anything you were not comfortable doing, right?"
There was a note of desperation in his voice that just begged her to believe his words. While she appreciated his candor, Hermione wished there was no need for him to say anything at all. Igor carefully rotated her in place until they were face to face. She struggled for a moment to gather enough courage to look him in the eye. One look in his deep blue eyes and she could see the sincerity in them that she already expected. Igor might not develop into the best of men following his eventual following of Lord Voldemort and the marking of his left arm, but there was still good in him. If she had learned nothing else living in the past, Hermione knew that nothing was as simple as black or white. They were all living within their own individual shades of grey.
"I know, Igor."
"Then tell me when something is not all right. Don't lie to me."
She nodded her head again except that time she actually meant it. Igor leaned down to kiss her forehead. His sigh went straight to Hermione's stomach like an arrow of guilt. Part of her worried that her fear and the lingering memories of what it had been like to have Greyback violate her would haunt her the rest of her life. For the briefest of moments, she thought she might have been ready to move on.
"Let's go back to my flat," he suggested. "I can make you some tea."
Igor grasped her hand to lead her to the large fireplace in the corner. His flat had a constant floo connection to the apothecary. He had to be there at odd hours to add ingredients, stir, or simply check on the progress of the potions he brewed. A pinch of powder turned the flames green. Igor lightly patted her arse to get in the fireplace first. Hermione called out his address and instantly felt the pull of the magic.
She stepped out onto the rug in front of his fireplace only moments before the tall Russian exited behind her. Igor's eyes held worry, but his bright smile was almost successful in distracting her from that fact. Hermione followed him into the spacious kitchen where he pulled out a kettle to begin the process of making tea. Their afternoon of flirty banter seemed to have taken a turn for the worse. All she wanted when she allowed him to pull her into his potions laboratory after her lunch with her uncle was someone to just be herself around.
She'd wondered why Igor seemed so different to everyone else several times when sleep eluded her. After careful consideration, she decided that the reason why she felt so comfortable around the man was not only because she never felt the need to perform, but also because she really did not have to worry about his opinion of her in the future. If she stopped to dwell on the fact that when, if, she returned to future he would be dead, she felt sadness. The Igor she knew would be gone long before his physical body ceased to exist. Her only consolation was the fact that Igor was murdered on Voldemort's orders during the time that Antonin was locked up in Azkaban following the debacle at the Department of Mysteries. At least she did not have to worry that her ex-boyfriend was the wizard who finally killed him.
"Do you think I'll ever be able to…"
As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Hermione wished she could pull them back in. Igor turned his full attention to his guest with a concerned expression on his features. He removed the kettle from the heat and crossed the kitchen to where she stood. Hermione dropped her gaze to the tiled floor only moments before he stepped into her line of vision. Her eyes began to fill with tears that she did not want him to see.
"What are you trying to ask me?"
His voice was so soft and so full of worry that her mind immediately went back to the night he woke her up from a nightmare. If she had already been brave enough to share her biggest secret with him, she shouldn't be afraid to be honest with him about her fears.
"Do you think I'll ever be able to be with a man without thinking about him?"
Igor exhaled the deep breath he had been holding. When he did not immediately respond, Hermione felt like running out the front door. Her host stepped closer to place both of his hands on the outside of her upper arms. Determined to be brave again, she ignored the tears rolling down her cheeks to meet his worried eyes.
"I can't even pretend to understand what it must be like for you after that, but I don't think you have to consign yourself to a tragic, sexless existence."
The emphasis he placed on the word 'tragic' made her chuckle. A pleased grin on his face also made her smile. She felt a lessening in the knots twisted in her stomach the more she was honest.
"Antonin tried to kiss me and I panicked. I had to hide in his bathroom. I couldn't breathe."
Igor pulled her into his chest. She rested her cheek against him in a very similar embrace to the night she was plagued with nightmares. He wrapped his arms around her back and just held her for a few quiet minutes.
"Did Dolohov know something happened to you?"
She shook her head, afraid to speak. Igor sighed.
"I don't like the boy, but how could he know he was upsetting you if you didn't tell him?"
Hermione did not know what to say, so she remained silent.
"Maybe you need a positive experience with someone you trust to prove to you that you aren't broken."
Her eyes shot up at his words. That had been her greatest worry. That she was somehow broken. Igor's sage statement proved that she was right in trusting him with the knowledge of what she experienced. When their eyes met she felt the rest of the knots in her stomach loosen. All that remained was a pleasant ache in her belly.
"You will be in control," Igor continued. "If at any moment you feel scared or uncomfortable, we stop. Just talk to me. I'll prove to you that you're still my Charodeyka."
His lips pressed against hers hesitantly. It was the antithesis of their first kiss when he pressed her up against the hedge in her uncle's garden. That had been nothing but fierce, almost angry passion. He had been so jealous that night after her dance with Lord Voldemort. Standing in his kitchen with Hermione pressed lightly up against the edge of his kitchen table, he allowed her to set the pace. She willed her rapidly beating heart to still before she deepened the kiss. They stood in the kitchen simply reacquainting themselves with the other's mouths. Neither of them rushed the action or tried to push the other any further. The kiss was so unlike Fenrir's bruising attack on her mouth that she found herself pleased to learn that she was enjoying the affection. Perhaps there was hope for her after all.
"Would you like to move to the bedroom?"
Hermione still did not trust herself to speak. She settled for nodding her head. Igor took her hand to lead her towards the bedroom. Once inside all of her confidence seemed to have disappeared. Her palms felt sweaty for all of the wrong reasons. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Breathing was difficult. Her first instinct when Igor began to slowly pull her jumper over her head was to run away. Forcing herself to remain in place to prove she was strong enough not to allow one monster's actions color the rest of her life, she closed her eyes and tried to focus on the pleasant sensations of Igor's lips on her bare skin.
He seemed anxious to pick up right where he stopped inside his laboratory, but was respectful enough to slow his motions. Hermione allowed him to remove the rest of her clothing slowly. He stopped several times to ask her if she was okay, never wanting to rush her or make her uncomfortable. She returned the favor by undressing the wizard. Neither of them were in a hurry. As far as they were concerned, they had all of the time in the world.
Igor laid her on top of the plush comfortable bed to continue his careful and deliberate motions. So much of what he did was similar to their first night at The Leaky Cauldron that Hermione was almost able to close her eyes and pretend like they were back in the rickety bed two years earlier. His practiced hands and lips worked in tandem to bring pleasurable sensations to her body. Her mind was distracted. It was difficult to focus on much of anything with his face buried between her shaking thighs.
She had her first real jolt of fear the moment his languid licks with the flat of his tongue were sped up and a single finger inserted into her body to heighten the experience. Though he had been gentle, the initial intrusion startled her enough to make her tense up. Igor peppered the insides of her thighs with soft kisses between pleas for her to take deep breaths and open her eyes. He was patient, watching her face constantly for any hint that they needed to slow down or stop completely. Her first orgasm caught her completely by surprise. Relieved tears rolled down her cheeks as she laughed through the remaining tremors.
"I want you on top," Igor declared through heated kisses. "You'll be in control and I don't want to frighten you."
He laid down on the bed and stretched out his arms toward her. Once on her body again, his hands did not cease their tender caresses. Igor seemed determined to touch every square inch of her skin before they were finished. Hermione's nerves returned in full force as she hovered over the exceedingly patient man. She was trembling so hard that she was certain she was jostling the mattress. A surge of courage welled up inside of her. She hadn't been Sorted into Gryffindor the first time for nothing.
"You are so beautiful, Hermione. And so strong," Igor crooned. "Remember what I said? There's nothing about my charodeyka that is weak. Not even…"
His words ended in a loud hiss when she slowly lowered her form onto his large and rigid erection. Feeling him completely inside of her once again made every muscle she possessed stiffen. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to slow her breathing before she had a full blown panic attack. Igor sat up, cautious to keep from slipping out of her body. He placed both of his hands on her wet cheeks.
"Open your eyes. Look at me."
She did as she was told. All of the concern in his eyes washed over her in warm waves. There was no reason to be afraid of him. Hadn't he promised that he would never hurt her? With her eyes locked onto his and her hands on his shoulders, she experimented to find the most enjoyable rhythm for the both of them. Any time she felt her eyes begin to close, Igor's hand was on her cheek.
"Keep them open. Keep looking at me."
They both found their release soon after they began. Emotions had been running high the entire experience. Hermione crumpled onto Igor's sweat slicked chest and cried quietly into his shoulder. She would never forget what happened to her the night Greyback pushed his way into her father's pub, but she understood that it was possible to move on. There was no reason that she could not have healthy sexual experiences in the future. Her fears would always be there, tucked away in the back of her mind. She also wasn't naïve enough to believe that she would never be triggered again into another panic attack.
As Igor cradled her to his chest, her mind wandered to what she imagined would happen to her if she lived in the Muggle world. Mind Healers simply did not exist. If a spell could not be utilized, the poor witch or wizard continued to suffer. They did not have a good grasp on how the human brain worked. She knew that if she had been living amongst Muggles and forced into some kind of therapy, she would be advised that healing would be a lifelong process. That afternoon had simply been an important first step.
"How does a hot shower and a long nap sound?" Igor asked before kissing the top of her head.
"Heavenly."
Their activities in Igor's decadently large shower only consisted of lingering kisses and helping the other soap up their hard to reach parts. Neither of them were in a hurry for round two. Once they were dried off and dressed in sets of his pajamas, they both easily fell asleep.
Hermione was the first to awaken. The clock on his nightstand showed they'd been asleep for a couple of hours at least. Igor continued to snore quietly. She wasn't ready to leave the flat just yet and didn't think that she could fall back asleep even if she tried. Remembering the large bookcases in the front room of his flat, Hermione carefully extricated herself from the sheets without disturbing the slumbering wizard.
Igor's collection of books had some volumes that Hermione was almost certain would have been outlawed by the Ministry in her time period. They focused a great deal on Dark Magic. She was not surprised considering he attended Durmstrang where their idea of Light and Dark Magic was considerably different than it was in Britain. Quite a few looked interesting enough to read regardless of the potential politics associated with each volume. When her fingers brushed the spine of a book on werewolves, she physically shuddered.
Almost an hour later, Igor emerged from the bedroom to find his guest curled up on his sofa with a large book about the dark creatures spread open on her lap. Hermione couldn't explain why it called out to her, but it did. Unlike many of the books available to her as a student, Igor's book appeared to have actual useful information about werewolves. It described many of their habits that she had never heard about before. Clearly there were parts of the world where there was more information about lycanthropes beyond the myths.
"That's a bit of heavy reading, isn't it?" Igor asked, settling down next to her to get a better look of the book.
"I was curious."
"From what I've learned talking to Rod, the Hogwarts curriculum is woefully lacking on the subject of Dark creatures. Almost like there's a mentality of they don't exist if no one actually talks about them. We are really open about werewolves in Russia and especially at Durmstrang. Fascinating creatures, if extremely dangerous."
"I'm afraid you're right. We learn next to nothing about them that is any use at all."
Hermione's mind went to the night she walked in on Antonin fucking his next door neighbor. She had been so focused on what she had just seen upstairs that when Greyback pulled her into the alley, she hadn't expected it. He had left her alone since that night, promising her that a day would come when he would mark her as his.
"What does it mean when a werewolf wants to mark someone as theirs?"
She hadn't intended for the question to come tumbling out like it did. Igor's eyes narrowed in suspicion. He didn't answer her right away. Just continued to stare at her as if she was some kind of puzzle he was anxious to solve. All at once a flash of fear crossed his face.
"Fuck. It was Greyback, wasn't it?"
August 8, 1998
3:20 am
It took Kingsley several long minutes to fully comprehend what message Iain's patronus was conveying. How was it possible that Dean had been arrested? He was a good kid who had never been in any kind of trouble beyond the war. Cursing inwardly once more at the interrupted dream, Kingsley rose from his bed to dress.
The arrival of the Minister for Magic to the Auror Office at the Ministry for Magic at almost half past three on a Sunday morning was cause for a small bit of excitement amongst the poor sods stuck on the graveyard shift. Proudfoot met the still quite confused Minister at the front of the office when he arrived.
"Where's Dean?" Kingsley asked immediately.
"I've got him in one of the empty offices in the back of the department," explained Iain.
Without waiting for any further explanation as to what crime his nephew was accused of committing, Kingsley headed straight for the office in question. Iain was of a similar height and just barely able to keep up with his long strides. He reached the door of the office being used as a temporary holding cell within moments. Dean could be seen through the glass door with his head lying on top of the empty desk.
"What was he arrested for?"
"Muggles picked him up in a dodgy section of London. He was drunk and causing a bit of a scene. There was minimal accidental magic involved. I sent an auror with one of our Obliviators just to make sure everything was all right. The moment he used magic, we knew we had to take him into our custody."
"That's it? He was drunk and accidentally used magic in front of a Muggle?"
That was hardly a reason to wake the Minister for Magic up in the middle of the night. Usually offenders of that sort of crime spent the night in a holding cell before being released the next day with a sizable fine. Of course, the Minister's nephew was probably a special case. Kingsley thanked Iain for his help before opening the door.
Dean's eyes opened at the sound of Kingsley's heavy boots striking the floor. Instead of widening in fear as his uncle expected them too, Dean's eyes immediately filled with amusement. His loud laughter caught the Minister off guard.
"Sorry they had to wake you up in the middle of the night, Uncle Kingsie," he slurred. "I didn't mean to use magic."
"Dean, what happened?"
"Nothing too serious. Nothing to get you up out of bed anyway. Just had too much to drink and had a disagreement with my godfather."
