It was weeks before Hermione again met her erstwhile adversary. Dolohov returned to the library with a wariness she associated with any man near her, though he came alone. However, his air was soon explained.
"You will join me tonight at Malfoy Manor. The Dark Lord wishes to have the pleasure of your company." His eyes gleamed between thick, dark lashes. "Come; we will Floo there directly." His fingers gripped her arm rather than reaching to escort her, digging into the muscle like overripe fruit.
The halls were empty, echoing with their footsteps. Hermione's were clipped and anxious beside the longer, hollow strides of Antonin. She darted glances around the silent paintings and barren walkways; though it was not yet curfew, no students were in sight. Hogwarts had become a halfway house to uneasy children, and they did not dare tiptoe the halls when there was greater safety in their dormitories.
The gargoyle sprang aside with a hesitance Hermione recognized as the castle's suppressed desire for protection against threats, but if Antonin noted it, he said nothing. Snape was the only being awaiting them in the office itself, no snoozing portraits in sight, nor any thingamabobs whirling or doodads daddling. Just crisp angles, sorted stacks of parchment, neatly ordered books and the dour headmaster.
"Professor," she said by way of greeting, and the pallid man gave a single nod in reply before Antonin tossed a handful of powder in the blazing hearth and called out the destination, pushing her gently but emphatically inside.
Spinning, sooty worlds blurred by before crashing onto the sight of the Malfoys' upper study. Lucius Malfoy himself extended a hand to assist her from the fireplace so that Antonin could enter after.
"Good evening, Miss Granger."
"Good evening, Mister Malfoy." He guided her toward a chair circled around for the occasion. "Good evening, my lord, gentlemen." Draco, Rabastan Lestrange, and Blaise Zabini were all present as well, though the oddity of one Lestrange brother without the other struck her gut like one of those pills that bubbled when it met liquid.
"Ah, the clever little mudblood! Welcome, Miss Granger." Garnet eyes shone at her, his white flesh almost warm in the orange embrace of firelight. Before she could say anything, foolish or otherwise, the fire roared to sound the coming of her Death Eater companion.
Fingertips against the small of her back preceded him drawing her away from Lucius and to himself. When he sat and tugged as though to pull her onto his lap, the dry his of Voldemort's voice washed down her spine. "Ah, Antonin. I would like Miss Granger to sit in the chair beside you so that I may more easily speak to her and Severus both."
"My lord." His fingers tightened on her smaller hand until her bones shifted, then he released her to amble beside him.
"After all, we must discuss the upcoming N.E.W.T.s, isn't that right?" His voice was as clever as his eyes, sharp as his teeth.
Her heart stuttered in her chest as she looked between her old professor and the Dark Lord. "I can take my N.E.W.T.s? Truly?"
"We are allowing Draco the luxury of the same; you will come to Hogwarts during the examinations to take them with this year's cohort. Do you think you can be ready in six months' time?"
"Yes," she breathed, adding eager nods at Snape. "Yes, thank you! Thank you both." Lest he react negatively, Hermione laid a hand across Dolohov's own. "Thank you, Antonin." Before she could lift it, he took it in his own and raised it to kiss.
"Draco raised an excellent point," the Dark Lord drawled. "His own results and those of your yearmates cannot be put in context without your own. Even Lucius insisted he needed to see how his son compared to the mudblood swot."
She glanced to see the pale man salute with the beret rise of his tumbler. "I am appreciative whatever the reason." Her eyes widened as a realization dropped into her thoughts and washed her mind momentarily clean of all else. "I've got to make a study schedule! Only six months. I'll be up all night. And books. I'll need-"
"I am sure you have plenty of time," Snape cut in. "I daresay you could have passed your N.E.W.T.s along with your O.W.L,s with how you're known to burn your candle at either end."
"That's the understatement of the fucking century," rumbled Blaise, invoking Draco's muffled laughter.
Hermione was pink to her ears. "I got an E on my Defense O.W.L.," she remarked. "I'm hardly the perfect student."
"Somehow." The obsidian of Snape's gaze flitted to her. "I doubt that will be the case this time. Your practical was your drawback then, and I daresay you've had cause to improve."
The truth of it rang as hollow as a graveyard bell. "Do you think…" Hermione turned toward Dolohov and back to him. "Do you think I could practice brewing? It has been some time, and when brewing on the run it was under less than ideal conditions."
Antonin raised a brow at his colleague who said, "We shall see."
"I'd be glad to do so under supervision, perhaps take over some of the more tedious potion brewing for the infirmary. Any practice would be a great help."
Her hand in her keeper's grip was stroked, drawing her attention to the brooding man. "He said, 'We shall see,' my love. I'm sure Severus is aware you are willing to work for it. We can save that discussion for another time."
"If she is this eager for a little brewing what would the girl do for a wand?" The tone was closer to what Hermione was used to hearing from the Malfoy patriarch: dark, mocking, amused.
"Prob'ly get down on her knees and suck every cock in the room." Lestrange hissed at the jinx sent his way, scowling at Dolohov. "I wasn't suggesting it."
"And if you had I'd have sent more than a little biting jinx," Antonin retorted. He nuzzled the back of her hand, stubble pricking at the thin flesh like the tongue of a cat. "Hermione is mine, and I will not entertain thoughts of others pawing at her."
Icy laughter slithered from Voldemort's lipless mouth. "So possessive, Antonin. No worries. The only ones here who would consider taking advantage of Miss Granger's charms are not foolish enough to go against you."
Dolohov's tumbler of whiskey pressed against her arm until she took it in her free hand to sip. Both of his now massaged the soft expanse of her palm, thumbs rubbing loving little circles while she drank.
Snape leaned closer to her, peering keenly from his tall chair. "Lucius asked an interesting question." His deep baritone was low, for her ears. "What would you do for a wand?"
"I think," she said carefully, slowly weighing her words. "There is little I would not do, depending on who is making the offer." And were it Severus Snape, no doubt what he asked would be for the Order, the resistance, whatever they were now.
He stared at her, into her, and Hermione wondered whether the prickling in the back of her head was Snape's bladelike mind delving into her mind with the precision of a surgeon. He nodded at last and sat back, turning toward the fire.
A wand. Her blood stirred in her veins, sending ripples of excitement through her. It wouldn't be her wand; Hermione was sure that was lost to the world now. But it would be a wand she could use or what would be the point.
"Are you alright, kitten?"
The glass sat against her thigh. She looked up, blinking. "Hm? Yes. I'm fine."
Antonin reached out and stroked the rough pad of his forefinger down her cheek. "You look lost in your thoughts."
"I'm trying to figure out what books I'll need to reread, and where they are currently. Do you think I should track down first year texts to review?" She worried at her lip, knowing this excuse was fully capable of her.
"I think you'll be fine without going that far back." His eyes glittered in amusement. "Celebrate tonight, love. You can worry your pretty little head about it tomorrow."
Condescending prick. Hermione smiled, nodded, sipped at the alcohol to keep from scowling instead. It burned a line straight into her stomach, sloshing heatedly there. Without having much for dinner, it soon created a pleasant buzz in her head.
Antonin ran his nails lightly over her forearm, tingles fanning outward in spirals. "You look pretty tonight, kitten."
He'd seen her fresh and clean that morning, had spent time throughout the day with her, had dragged her from the library this evening without giving her the grace of a moment to freshen up; Hermione knew her hair was an absolute disaster, frizzing curls defying gravity as they would, and that carried the daily odors of sweat and oil and whatnot. Her teeth usually felt ghastly in her mouth by this time of night. But sincerity wefted through the compliment, highlighted by expanding pupils.
"Thank you."
Fingertips danced to her throat, tickling against the length of her collarbone and thumbing her quickening pulse. She was falling into the lovely feelings when a familiar name tugged her from the bubbling of warmth.
"-Weasley cunt didn't stop screaming til 'er throat bled." Lestrange bared yellow teeth as he cackled. "Bitch shouldn't've tried shooting the Killing Curse at Bella if she didn't want to die by inches."
Hermione's head swam from whipping toward the horrid man. Dread splashed against the walls of her stomach. "What?"
"Hm?" He stilled and squinted at her as though he had forgotten her existence, then a nasty grin unfurled. "Just discussing what happened when we managed to capture the Weasley broodmare. We had such fun torturing the blood traitor. It was a shame when she finally died. Heart burst during the Cruciatus." He sighed wistfully. "You were friends with that lot, weren't you? So sad, how they're dying off like gnats."
The glass clinked to the floor as she was plunged in deep, cold water. Molly Weasley was dead. She turned questioningly to Snape, but he had nothing for her.
"There, love." Antonin gripped her bicep to hold her upright and she just caught the motion of his wand righting the spilled drink. "Just hold a moment." He stood and tugged her to his chest, murmuring excuses she didn't care to hear.
Molly and Fred and Ron were all dead. How many other Weasleys had passed? How many other friends, fighters, others? And here she was drinking firewhiskey with Death Eaters, with Voldemort himself, discussing her bloody N.E.W.T.s of all things.
As they apparated back to Antonin's Hermione pulled back, laying a hand on the scratchy cheek to direct his gaze down into her serious oaken eyes. "How many others have died since I came here?"
"Kitten…"
"No, Antonin. I deserve to know. Tell me, how many of my friends have you helped kill? Of my classmates?"
He laid a hand over the one pressed to his face. "I don't know. I can't know for certain, can I?" When she trembled he curled an arm around her waist. "I had nothing to do with the Weasleys, not even your little boyfriend. There have been others, of course. A girl with long, dark hair and a twin. I believe that one was dead the moment her sister fell, she just hadn't stopped breathing yet."
"Padma and Parvati?" Hermione hadn't been close to Padma Patil, didn't know the Ravenclaw particularly well outside of classes, but while she and Parvati weren't friends, she'd lived with the other girl for six years of her life. She had learned alongside the Patils, fought alongside them. "You killed- you killed one of the Patil girls?"
"Hermione, my love, do you think I had a choice? They were our enemies. They fought well."
She shook her head. "How did you-"
"Do you really want to know?" Antonin cupped her cheek and leaned down to whisper tenderly over her. "Do you want to hear how the others ridiculed her, how they suggested ways to break her silence? Do you want to know whether she cried or begged? How she twitched, how she breathed her last breaths?" His lips trailed hers as tears overflowed. "No, love. You don't want to hear those things. I won't tell you."
Hermione shoved against him with all her might, hardly rocking the man. "And why not? It would hurt me. And you like hurting me. So go on and hurt me some more, why don't you. Just tell me all the horrible things you've done to people I care about and rip my heart to shreds." She pounded against his chest with futile fists. "Or, better yet, take me down to your dungeon and show me. Do the same to me, you bloody coward. After all, I'm a schoolgirl as much as they were." She hit again and again, raging at the man still against her. "I hate you. I hate you, you evil man. I will never, ever love you. I would rather-"
She coughed out the end of her word as Antonin shoved her into the wall, wrists captured in one of his own and hips pressing her flat. She struggled vainly for all of a second and then the well of sadness filled up and she broke down completely.
"I know," he murmured into her hair. "I know, my sweet girl. War is cruel and you are trapped here with a crueler man." When he released her she fell into waiting arms, scooped up and rocked against his chest as he sat. "I would spare you all of this knowledge if I could. Damned, bragging Lestrange. You shouldn't have heard that. You didn't need to." A thumb streaked away her still falling tears. "I would rather stay here and comfort you, help you study, watch you grow."
Hermione hid her face against him, the anguish twisting her stomach until it too was too knotted for her to feel ill; she had ventured beyond that point. She thought she might fall and fall and fall, thoughts of her parents and oh god, Harry, pummeling any turn away from her grief. Each lost face lanced her heart and she was going to choke on her sobs. She needed something, anything to keep from drowning.
She scrambled to her knees on Antonin's lap, shoving away his comforting hand. "Hurt me. Please." Lines appeared between his brows. "I can't stand it. Please hurt me. I can't- I don't want to feel this anymore."
"Are you sure, my love?"
Her laugh squeezed out of her tight throat. "Yes. Please."
His kiss was soft as the hiss of scales over desert sands. "Alright."
