Only a few days later found me sleeping fitfully, my rest interrupted by nightmares as it always seemed to be when Antonin was away. Suddenly, I woke fully to light flowing in from the hallway and a whump from the doorway.

I sprung out of bed, fully awake and grabbed the heavy silver candlestick off of the bedside table and raised it, ready to strike. However, there was nobody at the door. After a moment, I spotted a large body lying in the doorway. I crept closer, to see that it was wearing black robes and a silver mask. There seemed to be a pool of something dark spreading from it.

An icy fist clenched around my heart and I darted forward to rip the mask away. My fears were confirmed when I saw Antonin's face below it. Even in the low light coming from the doorway, I could tell that his eyes were swollen shut, and half of his face was caked with blood. His chest was rising and falling, but every breath made a horrible, wet wheezing sound.

I have an odd quality in emergencies, possibly bred of growing up in the middle of a war. Instead of panicking, a strange calm state overtakes me and I watch myself handle it as if I were watching a movie.

"Mopsy," I ordered calmly.

The elf appeared with a crack and gasped, pulling her bat like ears down to hide the horrible sight from her eyes.

"He is dead!" She wailed, "master Toni he is-"

"Not yet he isn't." I cut her off firmly, "Get Snape,"

With a whimper, she departed. The next few hours passed in a blur as I followed Snape's snapped instructions as he worked feverishly to heal my husband. A few times I felt my mind trying to process what had happened, but I shut it down quickly. No time to for thinking yet, not while there was still work to do.

As the first light crept in through the drawn shades, Snape at last departed with an admonishment to not let Antonin out of bed until the next day at least. Antonin was asleep in bed, his breathing labored but steady. His face already looked a great deal better, although there was still some residual swelling. The gaping hole in his sternum had vanished, and his leg had been returned to a natural angle. At last, I allowed myself to sit down in a chair by the fire and take a moment to think. Within seconds of sitting down, I broke.

Sobs wracked my body and I was crying like I hadn't cried in years. I was hiccuping, holding myself and rocking back and forth. I could feel my mouth twisting as I let myself process how close Antonin had been to death. I hadn't allowed myself to consider before now what Antonin had come to mean to me, but I couldn't deny the utter terror I'd felt when I'd thought that he was slipping away from me. At last, I cried myself to sleep, still sitting up in the chair.

When I woke up, Antonin was sitting up in bed, contemplating me with a worried look, his brows scrunching together in a way that added several years to his face.

"You were crying, malenkiy," he accused me softly.

"You were dying," I returned, my voice rough with sleep. I crossed the room and crawled into bed next to him, curling myself carefully into his side in order not to hurt him.

"No quite yet," he rejoined. He reached an arm up to stroke my hair.

"I don't suppose you'll tell me what happened?" I asked, more for form's sake than anything. As I expected, Antonin grunted a negative answer, but I felt it would have been in poor taste to not even ask why he'd almost been pulverized.

We were quiet for a bit, and then Antonin said,

"I am thinking, what will have happened to you if I died last night,"

I shrugged. Of course, I knew that Snape could help me escape at any moment if it became necessary. Realizing I wasn't going to respond, Antonin continued.

"I do not like answer. What is happening is you are being given to another of my brothers. Someone who will not treat you so carefully,"

I nodded against his hand, knowing that it was true. I was nothing more than a breeding vessel to Voldy.

"I have plan," Antonin said gently, "I think you will not like it, but it will keep you safe."

I rolled over to look at Antonin. His face was deadly serious. I nodded for him to continue explaining.

"In that chest there is a broomstick and money, wizard and muggle, both for English and Russia. If anything happens to me, the wards holding you here will all break. I think that you will feel through your ring if it happens. You must leave immediately, use the broom and muggle transport to get to my family in Russia."

"Antonin, that's sweet," I interrupted, "But I have friends right here in London that will take care of me."

Antonin shook his head, "You don't know what is happening out there. Your side is losing,"

I knew from Snape that this was far from the case, but I was sure that Modly-Voldy was feeding his Death Eaters propaganda to that effect. I couldn't say anything to Antonin without revealing how I knew, however, so instead I answered,

"I'd rather die with them than hide out in Russia,"

Antonin cupped my face in his hand, "Please," he said quietly, "Give yourself the option,"

I sighed, knowing I would ask him for the same thing if I were in his place.

"My friends will protect me if the Dark Lord comes looking," I argued, "I can't imagine that your family would feel obligated to do the same,"

"That is what I getting to," Antonin said, and his tone warned me that this was the part I wouldn't like. "We are married by British Law, but my family is part of an ancient clan. We have our own rituals, our on ways. For my family to protect you, you must get-" he seemed to struggle for words for a moment, "a mark,"

"A what?" My voice rose about an octave.

"Not like this one", Antonin raised his forearm with the Dark Mark.

"I bloody well hope not," I retorted.

"It is a good mark. It means you are one of us, that our fates are bound one to the other,"

"A tattoo?" I clarified.

"Yes, this is the word," Antonin sounded pleased.

"Abso-fucking-lutely not," I snapped.

Antonin's eyes narrowed, "You will,"

"You going to make me?" I snapped

"Yes, if it is for your protection. I am your husband, and I will not let you home to harm,"

I didn't feel terribly upset about it at the moment since he couldn't move anything but his arms.

"I'd like to see you try," I retorted.

"Just you wait," he whispered, and closed his eyes, his arm wrapped around me and I felt his exhausted body drop to sleep.

I however, was suddenly very not sleepy. I had absolutely no desire to get a tattoo marking me as property of the Dolohov family anywhere on my body. If they were anything like the Lestranges, I half expected them to stamp a family crest on my arse.

I cast a critical eye over the part of Antonin that was visible over the bedsheets. His entire torso was covered in abstract tattoos, all navy blue. I'd often traced my fingers over the intersecting patterns of lines and dots. He also had tattoos on the back of his calves that I knew to be Russian runes, and a lattice of interlocking knots around his right bicep. I wondered if any of these were his clan tattoos.

Although I was far from easy in my mind about this situation, in the end I didn't end up getting out of the bed. I resolved to tell Severus about it after a nap; maybe he could find a way to get me out of this. It didn't seem terribly urgent as I didn't imagine Antonin would be up and about for a week at least.

Therefore, rather than let the fear and worry occupy my mind, I chose instead to immerse myself in the book I had on my bedside table. Eventually, I drifted off into a thankfully dreamless sleep

Unfortunately for me, when Antonin awoke he was no less determined and much more mobile. The first thing he did upon waking was get stiffly out of bed and make a floo call through our fireplace. When he re-emerged, I asked him suspiciously what the call had been about.

"I am arranging for tattoo," he explained calmly as he pulled on a pair of thick gray robes. His movements were far too nimble for my liking, and I was torn between annoyance and awe at the efficacy of Severus's healing spells.

My eyes widened. I'd expected more time to form a plan, to cajole him into changing his mind.

"No," I said flatly. I didn't even bother reasoning with him since I knew that he was just as stubborn as myself.

"You are getting this tattoo and is final," thundered Antonin, growing annoyed again.

"Like hell I am!" I retorted angrily, crossing my arms.

"If I haf to put you in a full body bind to do it, I will," he snapped, "Now be sensible and put cloak on,"

I eyed the door. Could I make a run for it?

"Fine, get my cloak," I deadpanned.

Antonin raised an eyebrow at my bossiness but decided not to argue. The moment his shaggy blonde head disappeared into the closet, I ran lightly to the door and wrenched it open. I took off down the hall at top speed, bare toes digging into the plush carpets to try to find some purchase.

I heard a roar of frustration behind me and heard Antonin's heavy footfalls behind me. I had absolutely no plan, but fuck all if I was going to make this easy for him. I took the steps down the great staircase two at a time. I nearly slipped at the bottom, but managed to regain my balance and pelted towards the cellar. I could hear Antonin's footfalls behind me growing closer and closer, as well as his labored breathing. For such a large man, he certainly could move fast when he wanted to. I rounded the final corner and barreled into Severus, sending us both flying to the floor in a tangle of limbs and black fabric. I was mildly dazed, which only increased the vertiginous effect of being picked up. Antonin was holding me aloft by the back of my robes, and I felt a bit like a kitten being carried by a larger cat.

"My most sincere apologies, professor Snape," panted Antonin, "My wife is acting absolutely ludicrously,"

"Help me, Severus," I begged.

I saw a look of concern cross Severus's face before he schooled it to stony calm. He carefully picked himself up off the floor and asked in an offhanded tone, "Whatever are you trying to do to her, Dolohov?"

At the same time that Antonin answered, "Nothing sinister, I assure you," I shrieked, "He's trying to brand me like a fucking animal,"

Snape raised an eyebrow but only commented, "You really shouldn't be lifting any heavy weights in this stage of your recovery". Heavy weight am I, I'll show you Severus Snape, I fumed internally. I was starting to lose some feeling in my feet from spending such a long time off of the ground.

"It is the tradition of my house, and more importantly it is for her protection. Without the tattoo, my relatives will not protect her as one of their own," Antonin explained to a mildly interested Snape.

"That sounds quite to your advantage, Hermione," said Snape with a shrug.

I couldn't believe that pompous piece of bat dung. To my advantage? How was it to my advantage to spend the rest of my life with a mark on my body saying property of Antonin Dolohov?

Deciding I wasn't going to get any help from Severus, I twisted in Antonin's grip and began attempting to kick him in the shins instead. With a petulant sigh, I saw his hand reach into his pocket and withdraw his wand. The last thing I heard before I lost consciousness was "stupefy".

When I awoke, I was in a dark, smoky room that smelled of sage and mallowort. There were low candles burning all around us, and the ceiling was draped with black velvet. In front of me sat a woman with three shining, navy lines down her chin. Her cheeks bore a complicated pattern of swirling dots and lines, forming a slash along each cheekbone. She had a red and yellow wrap around her head and was sitting sedately at a low table smoking a pipe and carefully winding a ball of silvery string.

"Nooooo," I groaned, sitting up in the wooden chair and staring at her openly.

"Do not worry," said Antonin in an undertone, "I already explained to her that you do not want the tattoos on your face,"

"Oh thanks," I hissed back sarcastically.

"Show some respect," He ground out, "She is the matriarch and shaman of our clan."

The scholarly side of my brain was intensely curious. I'd seen many northern witches and wizards with facial tattoos before, but always assumed that it was a stylistic choice. Before I could stop myself, I asked,

"What does that mean?"

I felt Antonin's beard twitch with a smile, before he answered, "Back in the days of the vikings, before the Statue of Secrecy, our clan lived together with muggle warriors. The matriarch shaman was the head of the village. She would use her Sight to shape the battle strategies, and cast charms on the muggle warriors to help us be victorious in battle. They would also train the witches and wizards who showed aptitude to become Berserkers."

"Vikings?" I asked amazed, "but your family is Russian?"

"After the statute of secrecy, we decided to withdraw from the area all together. Our people went up to the arctic tundra of Siberia where we could live without interference from wizards or muggles,"

I turned these facts over in my mind. I'd jokingly called him a viking before, but I had no idea that he was descended from actual Berserkers. It did make a lot of sense though. Regardless of how interesting these revelations were, I still was not going to be getting that tattoo. I decided to appeal directly to the matriarch.

"Madam, please. With no disrespect to your House or clan, I do not want this tattoo. I can protect myself," I plead

The old woman merely continued winding her ball of string. Antonin snorted.

"She doesn't speak English," he growled, "and anyway, I've explained my reasons to her and she agrees. It is final,"

"It is not. I won't hold still for it," I cried wildly, jolting to my feet and attempting again to flee.

Antonin grabbed me around the waist and dragged me into his lap. One arm clamped firmly around my hips, and the other caught both of my wrists together, pulling them into my chest.

"I said, show respect," he rumbled ominously. So far he'd been mildly annoyed by my defiance, but I could tell that now he was on the verge of becoming truly angry. I squirmed on his lap, but he had me in a steely grip.

"I would knock you out again," he growled, "but she says you must be awake for it to take to your magic."

The old lady at last finished winding her string and got up, beginning to speak to Antonin in Russian. They exchanged several sentences, and the arm around my waist grabbed my right hand instead, holding it in his own.

The woman and I studied each other for long silent moments, me glaring and she looking at me as if appraising a half-dead animal the cat had dragged in. At last, she seemed to come to a decision and nodded her head. She began to sing in a high, haunting voice. The rhythm undulated back and forth like the waves of the sea, and I felt the air around us begin to vibrate with energy. She took the silvery cord and began tying my arm to Antonin's in a complex pattern criss-crossing lines. I felt the lines grow cold on my arm, and I shivered, drawing back against Antonin's comforting warmth.

I was terrified, but knew that any disturbance to a ritual that released such quantities of latent magic would have potentially fatal consequences for us all. She gesture at Antonin with her head and he used the hand that was holding my other wrist to unclasp my robes to the waist, baring my stomach and silky black bra to the suddenly freezing air.

Antonin leaned both of our bodies back, stretching me up so my ribcage and chest were easily accessible to the still-singing witch.

From the table, she took a needle and a small hammer and set it against my skin. I screamed at the first puncture, gasping as she tapped the needle against me. As she continued, I grit my teeth against the pain, my breath coming in gasps. I could feel the marks burning across the middle of my chest and down across both sides of my ribcage.

My body filled with a sudden nervous energy, and I tried desperately to stay still. I couldn't help moving, grinding my hips back on Antonin. The pain was almost pleasurable now, like probing at a loose tooth. I was surprised to feel him hard beneath me, his steely length pressing between my legs as I tried to stop squirming.

The old woman was deep in concentration, her song growing in strength as the magic built inside me. The pressure in my face was almost unbearable when she stepped back at last, dropping the tools on the table as she collapsed back into her chair, her song ending in a long, echoing shriek. The pressure began to drain out of my body and Antonin groaned, and began to unwrap the cord binding our hands. I sank back bonelessly against him and closed my eyes, trying to process the tides of magic still rocking my body.

At last, our hands were connected and Antonin set me on my feet with surprising gentleness. He stood, up from the chair and stretched.

"Are you alright, adskiy kot?" he asked.

I shrugged and tried to look down at the tattoo. I could see that it came up between my breasts, but from my angle I couldn't see the part under my breasts. Antonin turned to the matriarch and bowed on one knee, taking her hand and brushing his lips across her knuckles.

She smiled tiredly up at him and said something in Russian. He laughed and replied,

"Spasiba, dos vidanya," which I recognized as a farewell. He shot me a meaningful look and I grudgingly sunk to one knee and kissed the bony, wrinkled hands. She smelled of forest and sage. Up close, I could see that her robe was made of some rough, blooded material and decorated with lines of tiny runes. As I raised my head and made to stand up, she shot out her other hand and cupped my face. She raised an eyebrow to me and gave me a small smirk. I could have been wrong, but the look in her eyes was something like affection.

Against my will, I returned her small smile. As I stood up to leave, I looked back at her to see her sitting in the chair, winding up her string again by the low candlelight. Outside the door, Antonin guided me down a long hallway made of rough-hewn tree trunks. The only light came from a roaring fire at the end of the corridor. As we walked down the long hallway, I my mind whirred. I was marked for life. The marriage I could have ended by killing Antonin (or so I liked to pretend myself), but I could tell that the tattoo's magic was irreversible.

We didn't speak until we had used the fireplace to floo back to our bedroom at Lestrange Manor. The magic was still running through my body in waves, and I felt an odd combination of intimately connected to him, but also very, very pissed off.

As soon as we stepped out, I turned and slapped Antonin full in the face. I grinned savagely at the shocked look on his face as my palm connected. However, a second later he had grabbed both of my wrists and slammed me against bookshelf, heedless of the books that were sent flying. His eyes were narrowed, and his arms were shaking with rage.

For the first time, I felt the fear that I'd seen others experience around him. I sensed that I'd finally pushed him too far. I closed my eyes and tried to disassociate from my body, trying to spare myself at least a little of the pain that was coming.

"You- you little-" he roared, but couldn't seem to find any words. Suddenly, I felt his bruising grip release my wrist and his hand tangled into my hair, jerking my head up. I reflexively opened my eyes and looked at him. Our eyes locked for a moment, and then he was kissing me, all his anger flowing into the kiss. He plundered my mouth, dominant and harsh. To my surprise, I found myself kissing him back, the magic flowing back and forth between us as I fought him for dominance. His hands found my thighs and he picked me up, forcing me to wrap my legs around his waist.

Antonin broke the kiss and attacked the junction between my neck and shoulder, biting and kissing aggressively. I could feel us moving, but I couldn't process anything else. Suddenly, my feet were on the floor and Antonin was spinning me around. His hands gripped my hips violently, slamming me back against his rock hard erection. I pushed my arse back against him, whining with desire.

"You want it?" he growled,

"Asshole," I responded, my voice sounding far needier than I'd intended. Antonin ripped my robes open and pulled them off my shoulders, leaving me in nothing but my underwear. In the mirror, I caught sight of the tattoo snaking between my breasts and wrapping around my ribs beneath my breasts. I had to admit, it was beautiful. I was frozen in shock for a moment, and then Antonin was ripping my underwear off, dragging me back to grind my bare pussy against the outside of his boxers. I didn't even know when he'd lost his robes.

"So wet," he growled.

"You just want to see your mark on me while you fuck me," I accused, as my traitorous body rocked against him.

His lips brushed the shell of my ear and he whispered, "Hell yes I do,"

His hands trailed over my ribs and up to cup my breasts, roughly flicking my nipples. Without waiting any longer, he kicked my legs apart and lined himself up to enter me. I felt the tip of his cock press against my folds and whimpered again.

He continued to torment my breasts, but didn't fully enter me. I realized that he was going to make me be the one to initiate.

With a growl I slammed myself back into his cock, my aching body getting the better of my pride.

I rocked myself back against him, eyes closed. I could hear the little moans coming out of my mouth, mingling with Antonin's string of Russian expletives. I felt so full, loving every inch of his cock as it slid in and out of me. I could feel his hands running over my ribs, and the waves of magic pulsing through me.

I opened my eyes again and saw us in the mirror. My tanned body, decorating with the shining navy lines, him wrapped around me possessively. My breasts were bouncing with every thrust, and the though flashed across my mind that I looked like a muggle porn-star. His teeth were gritted, eyes locked on me. As our eyes met in the mirror, I felt my orgasm rushing up on me.

Abandoning all pride, I whimpered, "I'm so close, please."

In response, Antonin placed a hand on my back, tilting me forward just enough for him to go even deeper, hitting that spot inside of me that made it impossible to hold on. An overwhelming wave of pleasure washed over me as I felt his come spurt in to me.

As my heart rate slowed, I felt my legs give out. I would have tumbled to the floor, but Antonin held me to him, his other arm braced against the sink. His body was sweating as he dropped his head down to kiss my hair. I didn't know what to say, but I couldn't find the anger that had possessed me earlier.

Antonin also didn't want to prolog the fight either. After a moment, he suggested, "Bath?"

I nodded my head against his chest and then disentangled myself, making my way to the tub on shaky legs. We sat down on the ledge together and as the warm water rose up past my calves, I leaned into his shoulder and fell asleep.