A/N: Plot bunny shout-out goes to HwaetWeGardena and the TikTok video that made this story happen.
Tiktok that started it all: because you know you want to watch it: michielhuismanedits/video/7051643439783513390
In just five clicks, Hermione had ordered dinner. She had a few favourite places that she rotated through when she got home too late to cook. Or when she just didn't feel like it. Or when… ok, there was never a bad time to order in. This time she ordered from a new Greek place just across town. Uber eats was wands down one of the best of modern inventions. She didn't even have to call anyone!
She took a quick shower in the meantime, eager to rid herself of the day's grime. She'd spent a cold Spring day out in a marsh gathering samples of magical microscopic life for the Department of Magical Creatures, the latest outing in a series of field studies on lesser-known species. She had just gotten dressed and thrown her hair into one of those "frizz-free" towels when the doorbell rang. She looked at the clock. Bang on time.
She hurried to the door, thankful she didn't have to hunt for bills as she'd already paid online. She cautiously opened it and a cool autumn breeze blew in. Before her stood a rather handsome bearded man with grey eyes that looked vaguely familiar apart from his Adidas jacket and trainers. He stared at her in a similarly curious way.
"Order for Hermione Granger," he said in a lightly accented voice. Where had she heard that voice before?
"That's me," she said with a nervous titter.
He handed her a small white bag bearing the logo of the restaurant.
"Sorry, you look familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?" she inquired.
A nervous smile broke out on the man's face.
"Our paths have crossed before, Miss Granger."
"May I be impertinent then and ask your name?"
"You've already paid for your food, so I suppose so."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I do not think you wouldn't pay otherwise."
"I'm an honest citizen! How dare you say such a thing?" She was getting extremely annoyed by Mister Who-the-heck-ever. "I have a mind to report you."
"Please don't," he said in earnest. "I need the money. I'm just doing my job. And if you don't mind, I need to go make another delivery."
She spotted his delivery bike just in front of her house with a large cloth box attached to the back with 'Uber Eats' emblazoned on the sides. He was right. She was being a real Umbridge.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to hold you up. Take care." She backed away and was about to close the door when she decided to watch him a moment more.
He hurried away towards his bike when he paused and turned back.
"The name is Dolohov."
And then he jumped on his bike and pedalled as fast as he could.
Hermione stood there, floored.
She eventually went back inside, worry twisting at her as she inspected her dinner. Just to be sure, she cast a charm to see if there was any trace of dark magic. After all, Dolohov was more known for his charms prowess than poisons. To her relief, there was none.
True, he had been reluctant to even give his name. But now he knew where she lived! And she knew where he worked. One of those was easier to change than the other. Her first inclination was to Floo-call Harry, but then she thought better of it. Harry would overreact. And like Dolohov said, he was just doing his job. Working for a Muggle food delivery service. The whole idea of it just seemed so bizarre that she decided to just let it go.
A few days passed and she placed another delivery, this time for somewhere different, an Italian place that she had grown to love since settling into this part of Harlow. The bell rang at precisely the minute she expected. She hurried to the door and flung it open. It was a young girl, barely out of university from the look of her, smiling and holding out a bag. Hermione thanked her and brought it inside. Was she disappointed that it wasn't Dolohov? Deep down in her heart, there was the faintest whisper that said "yes".
She ordered again the next night and had another young person driving a [scooter] bring her Indian. She realised it must have just been chance that first time, that it was a silly thing to expect to have the same person all the time regardless of the day or hour. She decided to place another order from the Greek place, at the same time as the week before. She was ready ten minutes before the bell rang. She jumped, startled, when it sounded and she chided herself. Deep breaths, Hermione.
It was Dolohov again. He gave her a very nervous sort of smile.
"Delivery for Miss Hermione Granger."
"Cheers," she said, accepting the bag.
He stood there for a moment, just staring at her.
"Yes?"
"You gave me five stars."
"You did your job, Dolohov, and the food was still hot. I had nothing to complain about."
"Well. Have a good evening, Miss Granger."
He turned to go back to his bicycle.
"You, too, Dolohov. Cheers."
He looked over his shoulder, surprise on his face. And then he winked at her and hurried away as fast as possible.
Hermione was baffled and stood outside longer than she meant to.
"Everything alright?" her neighbour called over who was just getting in from work. Hermione realised she'd been gaping like a fish and quickly nodded and gave the woman a smile.
"Just fine. Cheers."
The woman smiled back and the two of them went inside their respective houses.
Why had he winked at her? What was he on about? Everything was fine until then and she was content to let things lie, but now? Now? She was falling to pieces over a single stupid wink.
Antonin Dolohov knew it was foolish of him to act so familiar with her, to taunt her, to goad her into a reaction, but he couldn't help himself. She had grown up to become a beautiful witch, a beautiful, intelligent witch and he couldn't believe his good luck of having her on his delivery route not once, but twice! He could arrange for it to be a bit more often if he used a little charm here and there. He could manipulate things like he always did, making things go his way. Well, he could if he still had a wand. He could do some things without one and got along just find most times, but to do something as complicated as putting a charm attached to her name would take a bit more than he could manage without alerting the Ministry. He still had a modified trace that would report magic that exceeded a certain amount. It was meant to keep him from hurting people, but it also meant he couldn't do all the things he'd like. Like make sure he kept turning up on that witch's doorstep. He would just have to work more evening hours.
Hermione was almost intimidated now about ordering in. She had decided not to tell anyone about what happened aside from her grumpy half-kneazle who was ancient and didn't care about anything that happened so long as he was fed on time.
"Should I do it, Crooks?"
"Mrow."
"You're right, I'm just being silly, aren't I?"
"Mrow."
"Right. What should we have tonight? Fish and chips or chinese?"
Crookshanks flicked his ear and stared at his human.
"Fish and chips it is," she concluded. There was a great place not far from the Greek spot she ordered from. She finalised the order and went to the kitchen to open a tin of tuna for the orange menace, as her friends lovingly called him. A text message came in moments later. Her delivery would arrive in approximately twenty-five minutes. Just enough time to go through the owl post and browse the latest Witch Weekly that Ginny had foisted upon her the day before while they were out for drinks at the Leaky on Saturday night. She hadn't even made it to whatever article was supposed to interest her when the doorbell rang a full five minutes early.
On the other side of the door was Dolohov, slightly out of breath but seemingly happy about it.
"Delivery for Miss Granger," he said as politely as always.
"Cheers," she said as she accepted the bag.
He winked and turned to walk away, but Hermione grabbed the edge of his sleeve.
"What do you mean by that?"
"By what?" He looked completely confused by her remark.
"That… your… wink."
"Oh that."
"Yes that. Why did you do that?"
"Maybe I knew it would bother you," he replied, a cheeky grin stealing across his face.
"Well, stop it then."
He laughed and pulled away from her, hurrying to his bike.
Antonin laughed to himself the rest of the evening about it. She was so very predictable and it pleased him immensely. He didn't know what his end game was in all this, but if he could find a bit of enjoyment in his rather dull job, he would take it.
In fact, he decided to make a habit of it which nearly bordered on obsession. He began working almost every evening in the hopes of delivering dinner to her door. Every two or three days, he got lucky. And every time he gave her a crooked smile and winked at her.
After a few weeks, she began to laugh about it. Slowly she began to quirk an eyebrow at him, a smile tugging at her lips. Her smile was all he could think about now. It was radiant and he longed to bask in its warmth. Had he fooled himself into falling for Granger, the most formidable witch in all of the UK? Quite certainly. And it was becoming unbearable.
He'd been delivering to her door for months now, each time itching to say something more, do something besides deliver her food. Finally he gave in and picked a bouquet of wildflowers before his shift started, added a basic protection charm (he had worked those out at least), and strapped them onto the back of his bike, hoping that she would order tonight.
And she did. His heart raced like a spooked thestral the whole way to her house, a small house amidst of row of nearly identical ones. There was no outward sign at all that someone remarkable, even famous, even lived there. It was one of the things he found fascinating about her. He never knew what to trust in the papers, but from what he gathered, she kept her head down and worked hard, only appearing in a column when the war heroes had made a public appearance. He wondered if she had been coerced.
At last her house drew near. It was the only order he decided to take that evening. His only delivery. He had no excuse to run away. Instead, he brought along his own dinner.
He rang the bell. He only had to wait a minute before she appeared, her curls bouncing with every movement as she opened her door and peered out at him.
"Delivery for Miss Hermione Granger," he said as usual. He sensed that it had become a ritual for them, even if it was standard format when making deliveries.
"Cheers." She smiled and moved to take the bag from his hands. And that was when he made his first move.
He pulled the bouquet out from behind his back.
"Something to decorate your table while you eat," he offered.
The dimples in her cheeks grew more prominent.
"Oh," she said, flustered, "thank you. They're beautiful, Dolohov."
"But not as beautiful as you, milaya. And, please. It's Antonin."
"Oh… well…"
Her mouth opened and closed a few times, clearly at a loss. She was completely adorable.
He chuckled.
"I, um, don't have any other deliveries except for my own."
"Oh, would you… um, would you like to come in?"
His plan was working so marvellously that it made him nervous.
"Thank you, that would be… lovely."
Dinner was far more easy than he'd supposed, and her overgrown cat seemed to tolerate his presence. They sat at the table and talked like new old friends, catching up like they hadn't once tried to kill each other. (Well, that was likely only him, though she did fight back rather stupendously.) He found out what exactly she did at the Ministry now and she learned about the terms for his parole and that he'd only recently gotten out of Azkaban.
"Does that bother you?"
"Strangely, no. You seem to be making better choices this time around."
He gave a small shrug.
"I spent twenty years of my life there. I would like to be free for a while."
She nodded.
"I notice that you order in a lot."
She laughed. "I'm not the best cook and I tend to work long hours. I'm doing good if I manage to bring lunch."
"Maybe I could cook for you sometime. I used to help my mama when I was young and now I cook for myself almost every night."
"This might sound rude, but… do you have any friends?"
"Some who have gotten out like me, others who probably won't. My friend circle was rather small, as I'm sure you understand. Even among Death Eaters, camaraderie was not encouraged." He shrugged. It was not painful to admit. It was the truth. "It is my turn to be impertinent. Do you have a boyfriend? Someone special?"
"I don't have time for relationships."
"But we are sharing this dinner now, yes?"
"Well, yes."
"And is it a hardship for you?"
"No."
Realisation was starting to dawn on her face.
"I'd like to court you properly. You know. Eat together, maybe go out sometimes. If you want."
"Can I think about it? It's rather… sudden, isn't it? We hardly know each other."
"True, though I know a lot about you. You are very smart, and have a kind smile. You're a very gifted witch and yet you do not shout it from the rooftops. You are responsible, hard-working and like to order in."
Hermione blushed and stared at her nearly-empty plate.
"But I know so little about you," she countered. "Aside from what you've just told me and, well, my memories of duelling you."
"Ah yes, you are as good as me. Perhaps better." He grinned. "Not to worry, remember, I do not have a wand. For the moment."
This made her chuckle. He was glad.
"Fine, we can try and see what happens."
The two of them continued chatting until the hour grew late and Antonin excised himself. "We both have to work tomorrow," he conceded.
She nodded in agreement. "But thank you for eating with me. I'm so used to eating alone in the evenings that I've forgotten what it's like to have someone over."
"The pleasure was all mine, milaya. I have but one request before I go."
"Which is?"
"May I kiss you goodnight?"
He knew he was moving fast, but he had been desperately wanting to kiss her for weeks and he was afraid that tomorrow she would change her mind.
To his delight, she nodded yes.
He tilted her jaw upward with his finger and looked down into those eyes that made him think of caramel sweets. Then he leaned down and pressed the gentlest of kisses to her soft lips. He felt his magic roar in him as if telling him that he was at last doing something very right.
She pulled back a moment later and smiled.
"Have a good night, Antonin. Dinner Friday night?"
"I wouldn't miss it."
That night, a goofy smile plastered on his face, he pedalled home as fast as he could, not because he was nervous or afraid, but because he couldn't wait. He was going to eat with her again, kiss her again, bask in her presence. He vowed to never take a single minute of it for granted. Now that he had her, he would do his level best to always keep her smiling.
milaya is Russion for "dear" or "sweet"
