When Hermione came to, the Death Eater was pumping into her- again or still, she wasn't sure. Her body was a molten landscape of pain, a buffet from deep and throbbing to sharp edges. And he still had that cruel spell on her, the one that made her quake with unbidden pleasure.
He sighed against her, mouth pressing the heat of his breath through her hood and she felt herself dripping with his fluids. He was speaking incomprehensible words to her, stroking her reverently as he came down from the orgasmic high.
The hood was pulled from her head and light blinded Hermione's swollen, red eyes. She blinked and narrowed them to see the world. Dolohov disengaged from her and more of his seed ran down her thighs.
"Welcome back." His own eyes were heavy-lidded, the gaze of a leopard sated after the hunt. "Have you had enough, then, katyonok ?" She nodded, wincing at the chain of pain any movement brought. "You will be a good girl for me? Ah, say it, kitten."
Dry tongue rent across dry lips. "I will be good." His eyes flashed. "Antonin. I'll be good, Antonin."
He stroked damp, frizzing curls from her cheek. "Let's get you cleaned up, hm?"
She was lowered slowly, toes scraping against the rough stone floor, and she hissed when her feet flattened on the floor. Her arches were on fire. And then the shackles on her wrists released and she collapsed.
The deeply masculine chuckle surrounded her as Antonin bent to gather her in his arms. She was shaking with the effort of controlling her own bodyweight, but he easily held her to his chest. He hummed Russian sentiments in her ear as he carried her up the stairs and to his ensuite.
He crouched and half-rested her weight on one knee as he turned the handle controlling the water. It spouted out in a steaming river of lilac scented water. He eased her into the tub and she wrapped her arms around her knees lest she fall apart, hissing as the hot water seeped into cuts and soothed deep bruises.
The water sloshed and then large arms tugged her between long legs. Antonin was holding her.
Hermione jerked away, lancing herself with the ghosts of her punishment.
"Shush, kitten. Let me take care of you." One hand flattened against her chest to tug her against his own. "I will not use magic to heal you, but I will take care of you regardless." He kissed her neck, rubbed raw from the hood, then took up a cloth and soap and began washing her from head to toe.
It was unscented soap, and he did not apply it to the burns directly, she noticed. His hands were thorough and tender, rubbing at stiff muscles and patting away bloody wounds. He hummed a strange song as he moved over her, tending to every part of her without hesitation, then he scrubbed himself efficiently.
"Hold tight, kitten. I will dry myself first." He did so with his wand, though he toweled her with a soft length of cloth, draping another around her shoulders after using it on her damp curls.
"Now sit still." Hermione sat back on the lid of the toilet as Antonin procured a tube of ointment and knelt before her. He smoothed the cooling gel over the burns of her feet as though he hadn't caused them himself. Between her toes and up her arches, little lines on her thighs, her chest. She had to stand, gripping one of his arms for dear life, for him to reach some,. But when he had catered to those and her knife cuts, he swept her up again and to his bed.
As Antonin pulled her to his chest and lavished affection upon her, Hermione's mind was curiously empty but for little thoughts that slowly swam to the surface. She found she could either ignore them so they sank below the surface once more, or she could reel them to her. It was peaceful but for the tenderness of her body.
"I thought you would be angry."
He trailed kisses from her ear to her throat. "I was." Fingertips skirted the damage on her thigh. "I find myself unable to remain angry at you. You look lovely in pain, and your cunt… like it was made for me." His hips pushed against her and her eyes widened. "No fear, katyonok . I have spent myself inside you enough tonight."
Tonight… her brows pinched at the niggling of the word and her mission cast a shadow beneath the surface of her thoughts. Her gaze flicked to the windows, where dim light was beginning to whisper at the edges. Twilight hour.
"How do you feel?"
Hermione considered, studying the softness of his expression. "Still."
His brows twinged upward. "How do you mean?"
"It's like…" She closed her eyes and the nimbus of her inner world permeated all. "It's like everything has been flooded and I float over it, staring down at the stillness of the lake where my thoughts reside. I can see the shadows of some as they swim below the surface, but it is so easy to push them away and continue floating. Continue being. "
He was pensive when she opened her eyes again. "Pain can do that. I know your mind is often a churning, boiling place. Enjoy the silence, pet." He tugged her to his chest and stroked her hair until she caved to deep exhaustion.
The shout dumped her into consciousness, hand reaching for a wand no longer existent before she came into the present. The bed was empty beside her, covers mussed where Dolohov had lain before. The door was cracked, no doubt left that way for her. That was where the voices seeped through.
Hermione tossed aside the blankets, sliding her feet into the slippers at the side. There was a dressing gown laid out for her as well and she wrapped it around herself securely and ventured down the hall, wincing at her first few steps. That's right , she thought. I'm battered from head to the very soles of my feet.
" Your bloody house elf should be punished!" There was something about that voice, but she couldn't place it exactly.
" My house elf was following my instructions." That was Antonin, his voice a menacing growl. "Nothing short of the Dark Lord himself was to interrupt me."
Hermione had drawn close enough to peek through the doorway; Rodolphus Lestrange stood nearly toe-to-toe with Dolohov, of a similar enough height that neither exactly loomed over the other, though Dolohov had filled out more since Azkaban. Rabastan stood near the hearth, watching like a reed caught in the wind of their fury. In the shadows the pale flesh of Professor Snape gave away his presence.
The elder Lestrange sneered. "Yes, I'm sure playing house with your precious mudblood is far more important than helping your brothers in arms-"
"Brother?" Incredulity colored Dolohov's already sharp tone. "You are hardly worth the Mark on your arm. Your name and your wife are more responsible for your standing than your own worth."
"You absolute-"
"Gentlemen," cut in the detached voice of Snape, so used to silencing unruly crowds with a word or less. "Perhaps we could have a civilized discussion on our next course of action rather than fighting like schoolyard children."
Lestrange seemed about to retort, but his brother drew him back with a hand on his shoulder and a sharp shake. "Whatever. I am not in the mood to deal with this." He cast powder into the hearth and stepped through with a muttered destination.
Rabastan, gaunt and whipcord thin, shrugged helplessly and followed.
"Fucking cowardly arse." Dolohov dropped into his chair, snarling at the fire as though he could still see Lestrange in the embers.
Snape rolled his eyes but upon gazing forward, they trailed over her. A black brow rose and he gestured her forward. "We have company."
Dolohov's head snapped toward, features contorted until he realized who it was and they softened to fondness. "Come here, sweet girl." She padded to him as lightly as she could on her damaged feet and he scooped her into his lap, burying his nose in her hair. "Did we wake you?"
"It's fine." It stung where she sat on him and where his hand rubbed over her as though she were his touchstone. "Why is he so angry?"
It was Snape who answered, taking up the seat closest. "He was scurrying for help last night, called upon nearly every Death Eater he thought he might trust a knut, and Antonin did not even deign to hear his plea."
"Why?" Hermione tensed as the word flew out. She must have been mad; here Dolohov had tortured her for hours the night before and she was just speaking without thought. But he didn't look upset with her, instead stroking soothing fingers down her back.
"He lost his ward," the Death Eater said, possessive hands roaming her as dark humor underscored his meaning.
His ward? His ward, the Lestrange ward was Neville. Her eyes grew to Galleons and she turned to Professor Snape, who was cool as the Black Lake.
"Neville escaped." It was a breath, a hope, a wonderment.
Warm chuckling vibrated against her throat. "Indeed. And Lestrange hoped to recapture him before the Dark Lord was informed. The boy is still at large and he knows better than to let the Dark Lord find out through other means."
"Indeed." Snape's visage was neutral, but she knew he himself was not. "His lax security measures will ensure he never keeps such a valuable ward again. Fortunate for the survivors, as the whole family is twisted." As his tongue stilled, his brows twitched and black eyes roamed over her. She was mostly covered, but something must have levied the professor's suspicion. "Miss Granger, would you be so kind as to stand for me?"
Antonin's arms became a trap. "There's no need, Severus. Your monthly appointment just passed."
"Nevertheless, I would like to check her."
Dolohov's jaw firmed. "No."
The headmaster rose and flicked the diagnostic on her anyway, and riotous light kaleidoscoped across her. "This is how you spent your evening? This is what was more important than keeping one of the leading rebels under control?"
"Leading rebel? He's a child, a schoolboy." Dolohov tucked her against him, head under his chin. "And what I do with Hermione is not your concern."
"Have you forgotten my task?"
"No; you have performed your task for the month, and you can look in on her again next month. Otherwise, her care is my concern and mine alone." His heart was thrumming against her cheek.
"The girl is in a bad way, Dolohov." His voice was softer as he switched tacts. "Her ribs are bruised, as are other of her bones. Lacerations, burns. She could have had broken ribs, internal bleeding-"
"I appreciate your concern, but I am skilled in what I do," Antonin answered. "And I can also cast diagnostics. She was in no danger, or I would have taken further action."
Snape was silent a moment. "Allow me to heal-"
"No." Antonin's voice was polite, but firm. "This was a punishment. She will heal from it the muggle way until and unless I deem otherwise." He nuzzled his chin against her. "She knew that before she acted out.
"Very well." Hermione could feel the weight of Snape's obsidian consideration. "I will leave you to your day then."
Dolohov didn't speak as his guest left via Floo. For long moments he just held her, delighting in the warmth and weight of her. "Did you sleep well, love?"
No dreams swirled at the back of her mind, no memories of tossing and turning, or waking during the night. "Yes," she said truthfully, though her body ached in a denial of its own.
"Good." He kissed her forehead, shifting her sideways on his lap. "We'll eat here this morning. I allowed you to sleep in, as your body needed the rest. Tippy!" The elf popped in and bowed, sweeping her long ears low. "Breakfast service here today. Thank you." As the elf popped back away, Dolohov slipped off her soft shoes and summoned the burn ointment from his room and used his thumb to layer it over her arches. Hermione watched as he worked, slipping open her robe to slather those as well until the elf returned with food. His expression was tender, completely at odds with the monster she'd experienced the night before.
A spoon dipped into creamy porridge and floated to her mouth. She opened obediently when tapped her lip, and swallowed down the mouthful. When he had sufficiently layered her accessible burns, Antonin took up feeding her himself, occasionally taking a bite for himself. He kept her to soft foods mostly- the porridge and pumpkin juice, but toward the end took up a slice of orange. When juice spilled out the corner of her mouth, he wiped it away and kissed the spot. "There. Lovely. Would you like a book to read for the day, kitten? You're to stay off your feet until I'm satisfied they've healed enough."
"But the library, Hogwarts-"
"You will be abstaining from your duties until then as well." Hermione prepared an argument, but his knife-silver eyes sliced through it before it left her lips. "You should be glad I allow you anything, pet, after your stunt yesterday evening. I've half a mind to tie you down on my bed until you heal and then allow you shackles only long enough to relieve yourself."
Fear wound its shooting tendrils up the wall of her stomach. "I'm sorry, Antonin." Her throaty apology nearly locked in her vocal chords.
"Are you truly?" He tipped her chin up with one hooked finger, inspecting her eyes with his own sharp as an eagle. She nodded. "And are you grateful I am restraining myself from further punishments?"
The tendrils squeezed her heart painfully, images of herself struggling against manacled ankles flashing through her mind. "So grateful, Antonin."
"Hm. We shall see. The book, kitten?"
"Er, Hogwarts: A History , please."
a/n I know the last chapter probably lost a lot of people, but I've tried to be as open about the trajectory of the story (insofar as I knew myself, since this wasn't planned very far). ShadowSurfing commented about being disillusioned toward Dolohov through that chapter, and that's exactly what I wanted. Yes, though her time with Dolohov started with a horrible "punishment," he'd lowered everyone's guard with his romantic murmurings and seeming affection. He is, and was always meant to be, an irredeemable villain. Why? He made a choice to follow Tom Riddle, for power and for the ability to hurt others without consequence. Voldemort cultivated the worst in him and he allowed it... for decades. It was a choice he made over and over and over again and, at this point, is there any chance he'd change? Now I'll probably be posting more questions and indications of where the story is headed from here on Twitter and elsewhere. But yeah, we are headed toward an inevitable end one way or another.
