a/n: Thank u so much for the lovely readers who reviewed and everyone else who followed/faved.

Disclaimer: Trigger warnings...for shoe polishing...or maybe more? Idk but is Antonin that evil or is he a gentleman is his own wildly archaic way? hmm...idk

~o~

Antonin's eyes were hardened, steely cold, as if he wanted to punish her for screaming at him and discouraging his plans to keep her. As if to remind his captive bird of the iron cage around her and who really held the power and could do such at his whim. With or without her consent.

"Take it v'off," he repeated.

His tone of voice left no room for argument.

Hermione bit down hard on the inside of her cheek.

She knew full well if she didn't comply Antonin might try to do something even more atrocious, especially given the influence of the vodka...and did she want to take that risk? Bloody hell, she had no options for escape here, did she? And dammit, why had she even thought for a second, that she might've cared for him, or he for her? This was clearly some twisted game for him.

"Fucking bastard," Hermione swore under her breath.

Antonin lifted her chin with his hand so that she was forced to look into his eyes. Mesmerizing, fucking, evil eyes. "More defiance, ptitsa?" Antonin cooed mockingly.

She narrowed her eyes at him and swallowed down her chagrin. "No, I'm clearly enjoying this," she hissed so there was no possibility of him missing her sarcasm.

"Good," Antonin chuckled and let her chin go. She bristled at the loss of contact and hated that her body still responded to his touch like that. She realized also her cheeks were flushed red with heat.

Antonin raised his brows at her as he examined and read her every facial expression.

Damn him. He was enjoying every second of this, wasn't he? And he didn't even technically have to violate her body to make her feel this way, which was the worst of it. There were stories of Death Eaters doing far far worse things to muggle and muggleborn women. While Antonin merely had to seduce her and then make her polish his shoes to make her feel absolutely bottom of the barrel...how was that even possible. Is it because she felt something for him? Well she certainly hoped her brain recovered from its temporary insanity and woke up to smell the coffee and awful reality of a bigot with a fetish for treating his women like literal servants.

Antonin tapped his foot and she was drawn out of her thoughts.

"I'm v'waiting, ptitsa," he reminded her, leaning in close so she could still smell the sweet vodka on his lips as he breathed deeply.

'I'm waiting to punch you in the face,' she thought to herself and wished she had said it aloud.

"Is there reason for v'your delay, ptitsa, or v'you just like being on your knees before me?" Antonin purred into her ear and laughed...in a sort of husky way that made her both want to punch him in the face and kiss him. Damn, why couldn't he be ugly? It'd be so much easier to hate him. Not love him, or lust after him. Why couldn't their enemies all look like orcs, or noseless freaks like Voldemort, at least then the outside matched the inside.

Hermione drew in her breath and tried to regain her composure, though she knew her cheeks must've been as red as the beets he adored so much. "Oh, no," she replied with as much spunk as she could manage. "I've been looking forward to polishing Death Eaters boots all my life. It was on my bucket list actually," she said through gritted teeth.

Antonin laughed and she was reminded of the softer, more likeable side of him...that was now hidden.

She narrowed her eyes. "Do you really want me to do this?"

"Da! Get on v'with it." He scratched at the stubble around his beard impatiently now.

When she delayed undressing herself for a second longer, his sunny disposition dimmed and the darkness returned to his eyes.

Swallowing her nerves, she wasted no time to abate his anger further.

Shakily, she complied and slowly lifted the shirt off her body, leaving her completely naked, as she sat on her knees before his feet.

Antonin watched her every move as if he could not look away and despite herself, she could not deny she found his rapt attention slightly erotic. She was attracted to him alright, but not like this...though the worst thing is her body's response felt like a betrayal.

Her hairs immediately raised on end in the cooler air and despite herself, a chill ran up her spine.

Antonin breathed in sharply and she made the mistake of meeting his smoldering eyes. Her heart immediately skipped a beat.

She'd never felt so humiliated in her life.

He had won this battle. As clearly as if the unspoken words 'checkmate' had passed between them. Because she knew somehow that he knew she was aroused, and that she knew he knew.

Yet Antonin did not seem pleased with his victory. A strange anger seemed to boil under his skin, disturbed perhaps that he would not let himself touch her.

"Get to v'work." His tone so cool it was like a splash of ice water on the raging, feverish heat of her skin.

Her blood boiled, with rage and something more...

Humiliated, she spat onto the shirt and used it as a rag to polish his boots, which were already shiny and impeccable. This had nothing to do with his shoes, and everything to do with a power play.

The greatest indignity was how his dark eyes took in her every curve, every freckle, every detail of her exposed body as she knelt before him completely helpless and servile. He could not take his eyes off her despite the indifferent air he attempted to assume.

Seconds seemed to pass by like hours, each grueling moment stretched out impossibly.

Every time she looked up from stroking his shoes, she would meet his eyes and he'd stare down at her as if he could see her soul naked too. That was the worst part. Like he had begun to own a part of her. No one else had seen her this way, so prostrate, so nubile, so fresh and...so wanting.

Her cheeks burned it felt like the sun had scorched her with cruel licks all over her body. Surely she was sunburnt. Of all places in Russia, in this cold cold place where the sun usually hid.

Yet she could not get Antonin's eyes out of her mind and she realized with a last loss of dignity, that at any moment, the wetness between her thighs might begin to show and then Antonin will truly have won. Her dignity forever lost.

Luckily, at that moment, Antonin decided to end the cruel task.

He made a clicking noise in his throat, the type of noise a master would make to his dog after a trick.

"Very good," he said and put his hand over her hand to make her stop.

Hermione didn't know why but she felt she could've continued on scrubbing at his shoes furiously, if only to stop herself from crying...or just, she didn't even know, what had overcome her...she felt lost.

Antonin patted her head and she finally dared look up at him.

"See?" He smiled cruelly as if this had all been a game. "V'you can be a good v'wife."

His eyes were softer, less dark now when he spoke.

So the old, nicer Antonin was back, was he? The man she had thought she felt something for.

Well she had enough already. She didn't care if he was back or not. She was out. She was done.

"I can't believe you, I can't believe I bothered to kiss a scumbag like you!" She stood up finally and threw the cloth at him. "I must've been out of my mind."

"No, v'you are succumbing to the inevitable. This v'was just v'your punishment for getting out of line." He smirked at her and spread his legs out from where he still sat comfortably on the chair. "V'why don't you come sit down on my lap now and we get along hmm?"

"You're absolutely vile!" She ran from the room, not even ashamed anymore she was naked. Dolohov had won and seen everything. Perhaps it was in his plans all along to get her to this stage, slowly forgetting her identity as he refurbished her a new one. Then her own mind had made the mistake of deciding to fucking fall in love, or fall deeply in lust, with her captor.

She went back to the closet she had found the shirt in and sat down in the closet and bawled her eyes out.

The worst part was how confused she felt. How topsy-turvy their relationship was. If it could even be called a relationship and not just an abduction. One moment they were speaking of love and she was actually kissing him willingly and wondering if a future of some sort was possible despite him being a Death Eater and asshole. The next moment she was insulting him, telling him she'd never be with him, and then he retaliated by humiliating her once again in some stupid misogynist way. Only this time he had truly won, because she hadn't hated it. She hated how she felt.

I can't do this, she thought. But no that wasn't the whole truth. She loathed his guts, lusted over his lips and that heavenly trail of hairs down his abs, wanted to strangle him in his sleep or throw a frying pan over his head so she could get away and, yes, even part of her was starting to love him for unfathomably deranged reasons. But she had to escape, she had to, before any of this got any deeper. She felt split in two. Torn between her lust for him and her heart that wanted to fight in the war, find Harry and get the hell out of here...and never be reminded of Russian again.

She buried her head in shame onto her knees. How could she have let this happen!

~o~