"Antonin." She settled her bone china teacup on its matching saucer with the gentlest of clatters, bright umber eyes glancing at him askew.

"Yes, kitten?" He lowered The Prophet to meet her gaze.

She had to approach this delicately or it would be dangerous for her. "Professor Snape mentioned something a while back. He said they had a need for a new librarian at Hogwarts."

Dark brows tugged down to shadow his eyes as he considered her.

"I would not want to take the position full time if it bothered you," she rushed placatingly. "I only wondered if I might be allowed to assist in the reorganization and recategorization of it, what since the new school year is approaching and all."

"So you would be leaving me temporarily, and that is something you wish me to approve?" he scoffed.

Hermione shook her head. "Not at all. You could be there with me if you liked, and I would still come here in the evenings." She schooled her countenance to one properly scolded. "I would like to feel useful, and I have always loved the Hogwarts library. It would mean a great deal to me."

She could feel his eyes and she stared at her lap, hands folded delicately against the pale pink of her skirt.

"I will consider it."

"Thank you." Hermione smiled brightly, kissing his cheek before she disappeared into his own library.

She had thought it would require more persuasion before they reached that point and her heart fluttered lightly in her chest as she trailed the books with loving fingertips. It was a slow game she was playing, and too long she'd felt more pawn than rook.

An absent, bittersweet smile unfurled at the memory of stepping onto the giant chess board. Ron had truly been at his best that day, directing her and Harry which pieces to replace, where to go next, how to play the game. Game strategy was where he shone brightest; he'd have made a formidable general.

Hermione settled into her preferred chair, paging through the title page, the table of contents, the single blank page, all the while she imagined Ron holding tight to a stone mount.

No, she would no longer play pawn for Severus Snape and the remnant of the Order. She was Hermione Granger; she may not know chess, but she knew the players of this game and she would position herself somewhere she could make moves and countermoves of her own. Antonin would eventually decide she could be trusted in the library and under the watchful eyes of all the Death Eaters there. Or so she hoped.

Hogwarts was and had always been at the center of this war, thus it was where she needed to be. If she had to convince Dolohov of her devotion to him, she would. Harry sacrificed his life, as had Ron. Tonks, Lupin, Professor Dumbledore, Fred Weasley, Lavender Brown, Colin Creevy.

She pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes as faces of the dead flooded her mind, years of laughter and tears and ridiculous fights that she wished she could go back to. A giggle bubbled from her as she thought of watching Ron and Lavender snogging. It had cut her to the quick then, but now she would give anything for it to be possible again. The laughter shook the book from her hands, frothing from her lips down to her chest, shattering her until not even the leather binding of the book hitting the floor could pull her from her grief as tears spilled down her cheeks and incredulous joy became bottomless grief.

Snape arrived at nine on the dot, heavy boots thudding out from cool green flame. Hermione stood from her seat while Antonin looked on with sickle-bright eyes.

"Miss Granger, Antonin."

"Good evening, Professor." Her fingers interlocked against her body. "It's good to see you."

He stared down his nose from his lofty height, fixing her with a suspicious gaze. "Indeed?" He flicked and arced until pulsing lights glowed over her body. "I am impressed, Antonin. She is very nearly healthy." The familiar pale potion exchanged hands and she downed it before she could give anything away.

"Does she truly still need nourishment potions, Severus?" Antonin drawled from the side.

"Miss Granger was prone to neglecting her health in favor of her studies while at Hogwarts; a year on the run did her no favors," the younger man intoned. "It may take quite some time before her body has made up for the lack."

The lights faded from her and Snape turned. "Wait, professor." He turned and the lift of one black brow sent a skittering of residual student fear through her. Hermione wiped sweating palms on her robes. "Have you still not found a librarian?"

"Why do you ask?" His low voice once would have set off alarms in the back of her mind, but she'd experienced far worse monsters since then.

She glanced over at one of those monsters questioningly.

"She would like to assist in the recovery of the library, perhaps become librarian herself, should I allow it." Dolohov raised a black brow. "I am open to the first so long as I am present with her."

Snape's dark gaze flicked from captor to captive. "It will be a long and thankless task." The girl nodded. "Very well. You may Floo into my office at nine and work until six. As I need time without your presence, you will also take weekends off. And, should Dolohov not wish to escort you, I will have one of my trusted staff members do so."

"Thank you." She smiled, rare and bright.

The man glanced between them once more and took his leave, fire bathing the room in emerald.

"Come here." Hermione turned away from the flowering fire to find hunger swallowing up his expression. She placed her hand in his imprisoning grip and he tugged her onto his lap facing him, knees straddling his hips so her robe rode up on her thighs. "My beautiful little lioness." Dolohov stroked her cheek with rough knuckles. "This is something you want desperately, isn't it?"

"Yes," she murmured, studying his calculating lust.

The corner of his mouth ticked up and he combed his fingers through her curls. "There is something I desire. I want you to demonstrate your willingness to me, Hermione. Can you do that?"

Caution wormed through her anxiously. "What is it?"

His eyes dropped to her lips as one thumb rolled the bottom one down to expose the glistening inner flesh. Dread scoured the reaches of her stomach as she caught his meaning, his hands sliding to push gently at her shoulders.

Hermione slid to the threadbare carpet, caged by the black bars of his legs on either side. He was staring down at her with eyes to rival the shadows dancing on the wall behind him. Fingers trailed in her hair to direct her closer and onto her knees. She ran sweaty palms over her lap and looked down, cheeks flaring with discomfort.

"Well, kitten?" He tilted her chin up to see her uncertain expression.

"I've never…" Hermione gestured vaguely and was rewarded by a low, masculine chuckle.

"I know, sweet girl. But you're clever. I'm sure you understand the gist of it." Antonin waited until she nodded.

Her hands settled hesitantly on his thighs, smoothing over the cotton of his trousers. Her fingers touched the cool metal of his buckle and flinched away; she drew a deep, grounding breath and approached it once again, flicking the leather through its buckle with nervous rattles. His trousers had no zip, only buttons, and each felt like it was undoing her as well. She spread the material wide and squashed the urge to cry, easing her hand into the heated cave.

Hermione had normal teenage hormones and curiosity and had seen pictures, diagrams, descriptions. She'd even felt and seen this particular… penis before. But never up close. And she'd never handled it.

It was soft, like nothing she'd ever felt on the human body, almost velvety, and it twitched in her hand. She gawked at it in creeping fascination, her fingers attempting to find purchase on its changing length. It was growing at her uncertain touches.

"Like this." A larger hand encompassed hers and tightened the grip on his shaft, setting a steady pumping motion that corkscrewed as it rose. It pulsed and hardened further. "Now, you can use this in conjunction with that pretty mouth. Experiment. You will know what I enjoy and what I don't."

Her tongue darted wetly across nervous lips as her eyes skittered up to him helplessly. He merely watched with heated amusement, and resolve settled at last.

A quick dart of her tongue across the fat ridge of his head was her first taste; it was salty with the hint of sweat often present on human skin, but otherwise just the softness of flesh and the slight musk seemingly inherent in men. Surprisingly inoffensive, as Dolohov was keen on hygiene. He hummed at the sensation of her wet tongue, so she lapped at it again, her hand picking up its rhythm.

"Suck, katyonok." Fingers tightening on her curls emphasized the words and she stole herself before engulfing his tip between her lips. Her mouth was opened wide around him as she tested the waters, tongue swirling. At his encouragement she took him deeper, until his spongy head bluntly met her soft palate and she gagged. He hissed and her watery eyes darted up to see his own close in pleasure before becoming slits to watch her. "Use your lips to cover your teeth, and relax your throat."

She did as instructed, a furrow deepening between her brows. It was more intensive than she'd imagined, giving head. In the rare moments she spent thoughts on the idea, it had always consisted of vague images of bobbing a little up and down, little skill involved. Instead she found it was a complex activity.

Relaxing her throat was not easy when Antonin's thick cock was trying to press into it. He nudged gently with his hips, hands pressing at her scalp until she opened and he could slip past, but her body rebelled, tears and snot cascading from her as she stared helplessly up at him. And he exuded all the pleasure of a leopard playing with a little mouse.

"There we go, kitten, you're taking me so well." He guided her throat along his length with a steely fist and Hermione flooded with mortification as drool eased his way. When he tugged her mouth from him, it ran in long streams from her lips. He pumped himself with one large hand, traced her swollen lips with the tip. "My pretty little girl. Touch yourself."

She blinked dizzily up at him. "What?" His wand twitched in her periphery and she was suddenly nude at his feet, shivering as her hands curled protectively over her breasts.

"I want you to put your fingers up your cunt and rub your clit with your thumb while you suck my cock." Antonin ran the dribbling head of his length along her cheeks. "Now, kitten."

Hermione hesitantly did as he bade before swallowing the head of his length again. He immediately pushed toward the back of her throat and as she gagged, her whole body tightened, the two fingers inside of her squeezing and hitting her front wall. Slick gathered at her core and nauseating arousal permeated her veins.

Kneeling upward had made her oddly tight to her own touch, and her body was reacting in the strangest ways to this assault. Antonin slowly guided her throat along his cock so her mouth struggled to keep drool from pooling, each push down the back of her throat setting off a shameful chain reaction.

"That's it," he cooed down at her. "Keep fucking that pretty pink cunt for me. Doesn't it feel good when I gag you on my cock? Tighten your cunt around your fingers, hm?" Her body rebelled when he breached the back of her throat and kept pushing, hand flattening over the back of her head until her nose was buried in the curls at his base. Her free hand was pushing in futility at one black-clad thigh. "Fighting only makes it better for me, katyonok, relax." She was sputtering against him, around him, eyes swollen with tears and core pulsing at each torrent rippling down from her throat. A stream of Russian curses dripped from him until she finally stilled. "There. Good girl. Fuck yourself for me while I fuck your throat, hm?"

Before she could think through the meaning of his words, Dolohov once more fisted her hair and began maneuvering her head at a brutal pace. There was nothing she could do save try to keep her throat open, her mouth agape as drool slickened down her chin, neck, breasts. Wet gurgling noises betrayed her struggle and the hand inside of her pressed desperately as though to ground her by her center. Her walls fluttered helplessly, raw sensation bordering on pain sweeping through with each new thrust into her throat.

She could hardly hear the sick endearments from the man over her own gagging sounds, but by the stuttering of his hips and the pitch of his voice, she prayed he would soon finish. His testicles slapped at her chin, messing spittle further on her face, and then he finally held her head against him, pulsing in her throat, and thick semen spurted to coat her airway.

Antonin finally tugged her from his cock, head dribbling spend and spit across her bruised lips. His palm smeared the fluids across her face so even her eyelashes were sticky, then she was lifted to him, his mouth smashing into her own. "You did so well, katyonok. I am very pleased with you." He produced a kerchief and wiped and dabbed at the mess he'd made of her. He tipped her chin toward him, deep grey eyes burning into her own. "You are such a precious little thing, and beautiful when you submit to me." He kissed the corner of her mouth. "I will speak with Snape concerning the library and see if we can come to an accord."

Hermione smothered the roiling in her mind and nodded. "Thank you, Antonin." If the disgusting act had made him amenable to the idea perhaps it was almost worth it.