A/N: Hello everyone! Welcome back to another fic :) This round, we had to work together and the whole team had to parse out who got what prompts. :) I got lucky and got my first pick for this one. While the list had many popular characters that I would have loved to write for (Neville, Sirius, etc), I knew instantly when I saw Dolohov's name that I wanted that one. To be honest, while it took me a while to actually write this down (aka a whole week for me to get to my keyboard), it took me very little time to actually write this. I'm fascinated by Dolohov, and I'm so happy I'm able to get into his mind for this one.

For those of you wondering about a pairing, there isn't one. Why?

1. She's underage and he's old enough to be her grandfather.

2. The only time I would pair them together is if I make her time travel back to the 40s. Since that's not this, I'm sorry.

To be honest, I felt like his need to go after Hermione specifically must have had some reason. Sure, she's a muggleborn, and probably the most knowledgeable out of the group for spells and the like, but what made him single her out to try to kill her? This fic tried to answer that question.

This one is for Round 4 of The Houses Competition, where I'm in Slytherin House and writing for Transfiguration. This competition, we have to write a drabble (500-1000 words) as well as a standard (1000-3000 words). This fic is the Drabble of the two. I've chosen the prompt [Character] Antonin Dolohov.

Thank you kindly to Aya, Dhrish, and Ash for betaing this.

Word Count: 811

Disclaimers/Warnings: N/A

Summary: He had everything of her tuned in: her voice, her smell, the feel of her magic as it brushed up against his. He knew, even before meeting this witch, that she was his. His to capture, his to keep, his to kill.

"His"

Antonin Dolohov had been tuned in to her magic even before he had ever officially met her. While a direct order from his Master saw him at the Ministry of Magic after hours, with Malfoy and the Lestranges at his side, he knew the tugging of his magic would have brought him here eventually.

It had started out as a low burn, Antonin had realized one night while sipping on a Firewhiskey as his cohorts planned another raid on a Muggle town nearby. He hadn't felt it while in Azkaban, for the Dementors had sucked every little good feeling from him; had he had this burning feeling then, he would have flourished inside that prison, nearly as well as Black had before he had escaped.

But as soon as the Dark Lord had sprung them all out of that hellhole and they had finally made it back to the mainland, he had felt it. The tugging on his magic. It hadn't been very strong at first. Whatever it was, it was easy enough to ignore while at Malfoy Manor. The revels and the planning sessions had whet his appetite enough that Antonin was even able to forget about this low burning itch tugging at him.

But tonight? Tonight, there was a raging inferno inside of him, and he needed to let it free. He hadn't been entirely sure how he knew it would be tonight, as he stood in the Hall of Prophecies with his fellow Death Eaters at his side, half-listening to Malfoy issuing commands as if he were their leader. Something in the center of his chest drew him outside the room they waited in, and as the minutes ticked by, the feeling only grew stronger.

Merlin, did that peacock of a man flounce about. Antonin was old enough to be his father-he had gone to school with Malfoy's father after all-and it grated on him slightly that the Dark Lord had put enough trust in the blond to have him lead their little cell tonight. However, Antonin didn't particularly want to take his place. If this mission succeeded, the rewards would be beyond compare. However, if the mission failed…

All of a sudden, the world closed in on him. Antonin's vision seemed to tunnel, a loud roaring filled his ears, and he was vastly aware of his heartbeat in his throat. Whatever it was that his magic was tugging him towards, it was finally here.

And it was coming straight for them.

"They're here," he said quietly. Malfoy's gaze snapped to him, but he ignored the look as Bellatrix celebrated loudly beside him in excitement.

"We'll finally be able to see some action!" She cackled, bouncing from one foot to the other like a child. "Oh, it's been far too long!"

"Quiet!" Malfoy hissed, motioning with his wand for them to get into position. "Masks on. We must convince Potter to take the Prophecy and then hand it over. Take hostages if you must."

"Yes, yes, dear Lucy, we know the plan!" Bellatrix hissed back. Antonin blocked them both out as he focused on the feeling that burned strongly in his chest. Every second was agony as the burning increased, but its presence didn't hurt him. In fact, it felt like what he assumed phoenix fire would feel like: warm, embracing, passionate…

And then, peace.

The sound of a door quietly opening and then shutting filled the massive room they waited in, and all talking ceased as their prey wandered towards them. Instantly, Disillusionment spells were cast, and he could no longer see his cohorts. Moving from his designated position, Antonin silently moved forward and peered through the shelves to the next aisle over. He caught a glimpse of bushy brown hair as the group passed him by, and he hurriedly moved around the shelf to flank them.

Her.

The Mudblood.

It could only be her that had put him under this spell. His magic burned at him to go to her, to do something, and he knew immediately when he was close enough that her magic responded to his in kind. She startled, looking around, but was unable to see him despite how close he was at that moment.

In that moment, he had everything about her tuned in: her voice as she whispered worriedly to her friends, the wafting scent of her shampoo as she nervously ran her fingers through her hair, her magic as it brushed up against his. Somehow, even before meeting this witch, he knew that she was meant to be his. His to capture, his to keep.

And as Malfoy revealed himself to the Potter boy and chaos ensued, Antonin couldn't help but chuckle to himself as the children took off. He took off after them, but his target was the girl with brown hair.

She was, after all, his to kill.