Antonin unlaced his shoes and sat hesitantly on the old four-poster bed in the Shrieking shack. Hermione had siphoned as much dust as possible, but the sheets still had a distinctly musty smell. Despite Hermione's assurances that it was not, in fact, haunted, Antonin still felt ill at ease in the big drafty mansion.
His reception from Hermione's friends hadn't helped matters. Although Hermione had pretended to be unaffected by their sideways glances at him and the looks they exchanged when the two of them had excused themselves to go to bed together, he was certain it had to have bothered her as much as it did him. During the long hours that they had plotted and planned, not one of them had acknowledged his presence except when it was strictly necessary to solicit information from him. He supposed that if he were in her friends' shoes, he would also be a mite suspicious as to the nature of their relationship.
In addition to that, he hadn't liked Potter, Black and Weasley's familiarity with her at all. Rationally, he knew that Brits were just more touchy-feely than Russians, but that didn't an angry knot forming in his stomach whenever any of them touched her. More than that, it annoyed him that she allowed them to be so overly-familiar.
Antonin pulled off his robes and laid down on the bed, staring moodily at the wall. Behind him, he heard Hermione come back from the bathroom and felt the bed dip as she crawled in next to him. When he didn't turn to embrace her as he usually did, she placed a soft hand on his arm.
"Are you okay, Antonin?" she whispered.
"Fine," he grunted.
"You don't sound fine," she pressed quietly.
"Stunners," Antonin replied tersely. Hermione rubbed his back sympathetically.
"I'm so sorry about that. You have to understand, they've faced you on a battle field dozens of times. It's hard to fight that reflex."
Antonin grunted noncommittally. Hermione continued rubbing his back for a few moments, and then finally sighed and turned out the light. Despite the smelly bed and the anger still coursing through him, Antonin was asleep in moments.
. . . . . . .
The next morning dawned far too early, and Antonin rolled over to find the other side of the bed cold. Where could Hermione possibly have gone? And why would she leave him alone in a house filled with his enemies?
All the annoyance from last night came flooding back again. Deciding he didn't give a fuck about being polite, Antonin opted to forgo a shirt and stopped only long enough to pull on a pair of sweatpants. He stalked angrily through the house and followed the smell of brewing coffee to the kitchen. He found Hermione seated on the counter, laughing and chatting with Sirius and Tonks. Her tanned legs were crossed alluringly, showing what Antonin considered to be an absurd amount of skin in her little pajama shorts.
They all stopped abruptly as he came in. Black's face instantly closed off and he eyed Antonin warily. Tonks, on the other hand, ran her eyes up and down Antonin's bared torso, clearly enjoying the sight of his well-muscled arms and defined abs. She seemed to have warmed up much more quickly than her cousin, and even offered him a friendly "Wotcher!" as he stumped into the kitchen.
"Morning," he snarled, not quite able to shake the manners that his mother had painstakingly instilled in him. Hermione waved her wand and removed the stasis charm from a cup of coffee and an omlette on the table that she'd clearly been saving for him. She gave him a friendly smile, which he did not return. Antonin took a long sip of coffee and flopped down in the chair.
After a moment, Hermione prompted Black to continue his story about the Weasley twins' latest antics and in moments all three of them were in stitches again. Antonin seethed as Hermione had to clutch Black's arm for support. All three were practically crying with laughter at the image of Auntie Muriel presiding over Christmas dinner in a tiara whose pearls had been rearranged to read "Butthole".
In that moment, Antonin was not just jealous that Black had made Hermione laugh, or that she was touching his arm with such ease. He was jealous of the close friendship and intimate trust that the three clearly shared. Antonin could count his true relationships of trust one one hand, and clearly Hermione was the only person in that category. Selfishly, it pained him to know that the converse was not true for her.
After a few more anecdotes, Black and Tonks excused themselves to get started on the preparations. Hermione was still picking at her plate of eggs, perched precariously on the counter.
"How did you sleep?" she asked.
"Oh, you are talk to me now?" Antonin replied waspishly. He felt a moment of guilty satisfaction when a hurt expression flashed across her face.
"Antonin, I never meant to leave you out!" she protested apologetically.
"It seemed like you were having a perfectly good time without me," he replied nastily, "perhaps I should just leave you alone with your harem?"
Hermione had the audacity to roll her eyes at him.
"Please," she scoffed, "It's not like that. They're my friends."
Antonin raised an eyebrow meaningfully. He was annoyed to see that Hermione did not even look abashed.
"Oh what, is Tonks supposed to be in love with me too?" She gave an unladylike snort, "Based on the way she undressed you with her eyes this morning, I'm quite confident she prefers blokes."
Hermione's casual attitude somehow made Antonin feel even more annoyed, and simultaneously more guilty about being annoyed.
"It is not appropriate," he growled.
Hermione scoffed again, "Seriously, Antonin? It's all strictly platonic. I'm married to you, remember?"
"And has always been plat- pat- friends?" Antonin spat out, growing more and more annoyed.
Hermione chose that moment to hop down from the counter and bused herself rinsing off her dish in the sink.
"Pretty much," she replied in a would-be nonchalant voice, still purposefully facing away from him.
Antonin's whole body tensed and he gripped the edge of the table.
"Pretty. Much. So, no. No it has not," he clarified in a low, angry voice.
Hermione turned around and faced him. He could tell from the way her curls were growing wilder and wilder that she was getting annoyed too.
Good. a little savage voice in his head said smugly.
"Antonin," she said with forced patience, meeting his glare steadily, "I had a friends with benefits arrangement with one of them. A long time ago. Before we were married. There were no romantic feelings involved and we were each quite happy to go our separate ways. End. Of. Story."
Antonin stalked closer, "Which one?"
Hermione stood up straight, not deigning to look abashed or back down from Antonin as he towered over her.
"It's really none of your business," she replied in a cool tone of voice, which the tiny rational part of Antonin's brain recognized as serious trouble. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself and then failed.
"It is my business!" He roared at her, both furious and impressed when she didn't even flinch, "It is absolutely one of my business. One of those little bastards, he is taking advantage of the fact that I am unarmed to take liberties that he certainly would not take were he properly afraid of me."
Hermione's hair was throwing off sparks now, and Antonin absurdly noticed that one of them had set the kitchen curtains to smoldering. Hermione was shouting back at him now,
"Taking liberties! That's a fat joke! You have no right to tell me not to hug my friends. You're not my jailer any more!"
Antonin stepped back, his eyes wide.
"When did I act as your jailer, hmmm? You know as well as I do that I could have treated you much, much worse."
"I know that, you big idiot! So stop acting like my jailer now!" Hermione shouted back, following him step for step.
"Hermione, I am trying to protect your honor!" roared Antonin, changing tack rather than admit defeat.
"As if, Dolohov!" she shouted shrilly back, "The only thing you're trying to protect is your wounded ego!"
The curtain fire was starting to catch the wallpaper now, but Antonin was too focused on the tiny, furious woman in front of him to care.
"YOU ARE MY WIFE!" He thundered, gripping her arms loosely. Even in that moment, he was hyper-conscious of how easy it would be to accidentally hurt her.
"NOT YOUR PROPERTY!" She roared back, attempting to poke him in the chest, but unable to move her arms from his iron grip, "I love you and I want to be with you. If that's not good enough for you then you can fuck right off!"
They both stared at each other for a moment, stunned. Neither of them had ever broached the "L" word before. Suddenly, Antonin tangled his hand in her curly hair, ignoring the burning of tiny sparks hitting his hand. She stared at him with wide eyes, fear entering her expression for the first time that morning.
Antonin narrowed his eyes, and then tilted his head slightly and pulled her into a bruising kiss. Without hesitation, she wrapped her smooth legs around his waist and kissed him back with everything she had. He groaned as she opened her mouth and let him plunder it with his tongue. He pressed her body to him, needing to hold her as close a he possibly could. All of his anger, frustration and fear poured into the kiss.
When at last they broke for air, he felt all of the anger and tension drain out of his body, to be replaced with a new, pleasant sort of tension building in his lower belly. Their foreheads were pressed intimately together and he could feel Hermione's chest against his, breathing hard.
"I don't want to lose you," he whispered. Hermione nodded and brought one hand up to cup his cheek.
"Oh my god, you both deserve to burn to death!" At Potter's voice, both of them jumped and Hermione blushed furiously, uncurling her legs and tucking her burning face into Antonin's chest. "I was trying to wait to mention the fire until you two had stopped fighting," Potter continued, "But nooooo, you two needed to have a little make out session first and now the ceiling is on fire." To Antonin's intense confusion, Potter was smiling widely. Antonin hastily tried to surreptitiously adjust himself inside of his sweatpants. All he could think about was bending Hermione over the table, fire be damned.
Hermione disentangled herself from her husband, and upon seeing that the ceiling really was on fire, did some sort of intricate movement at her want that sent a wall of air rushing at the fire. To Antonin's surprise it was immediately extinguished.
Potter was still wearing a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin.
"You've never used the L-word before," he teased in a sing-song voice.
"Oh my god, shut up!" Hermione ripped the singed remains of the curtains off the rod and hurled them at Harry's head. Harry just laughed louder and ducked.
Antonin raised his eyebrow, and to his surprise found himself laughing as well.
"Do I want to know why he knows that?" he asked, amused.
Harry shrugged, still looking inordinately pleased, "I'm basically a mix of wise older brother and gossip-loving girlfriend," he joked.
Hermione rolled her eyes, "Wise my arse," she groused.
Potter stuck his hand out to Antonin, who looked at him with confusion.
"Congrats, then," Potter grinned at him. Antonin, still looking a bit dumbfounded, took Potter's hand and allowed the raven-haired man to shake it enthusiastically.
"You make Hermione happy", Potter explained at his confused expression, "which in turn makes me very happy. If anyone deserves a little happiness, it's her."
Antonin still felt very confused. "So you hear me rowing with Hermione, saying all sort of terrible things to her and suddenly you're good with me being with her?" he clarified, wondering if Potter had gone off his rocker at last.
"Yep!" Potter explained, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, "Hermione can't do without a good fight once in a while, but it's clear you truly care about her. And thank you, for being her husband instead of her jailer."
He grinned at Antonin again and then opened his arms to Hermione. As she hugged Harry and tried to duck his friendly tousling of her hair, Antonin found that he minded significantly less this time.
Further conversation was forestalled by the appearance of George in the kitchen. He looked around at the destruction and sniffed appreciatively.
"Smells like breakfast!" he quipped.
"Only if Harry's cooking," returned Hermione with a grin.
"Much as I'd love to stay for some grilled curtains we've got to get a move on!" George said in a business-like manner, "I'm going to try to get in touch with everyone today so we can attack as soon as possible.
Antonin perched himself on the table, drawing Hermione into his arms and resting his chin on her head. He would never have been so openly affectionate with her amongst the Death Eaters, but the openness and camaraderie of the Order seemed to be catching.
Hermione heaved a sigh. "I only wish I had my wand," she complained, "I can't just stand by being useless on the sidelines."
Antonin privately thought that he would have been perfectly pleased for her to stay safe and out of harm's way. However his hopes were dashed when Harry smacked himself on the forehead.
"Of course, I forgot!" he exclaimed, "Moody gave it to me for safe keeping. Hang on a tic," and began to rummage in the cupboard under the sink. Moments, later he emerged with Hermione's wand.
Hermione grabbed it, and the grin that gave Antonin the impression of dropping a flame into a pile of dry leaves crawled across Hermione's face.