Whisky Tango

Chapter Seven

You're the lighthouse when I'm lost at sea

You're my band-aid when I bleed

Am I hypnotizing you, like you're hypnotizing me

Forget what I have done

Sometimes I've lost you

Sometimes I've won

The storm in London paled when compared to the raging maelstrom on the North Coast. Driving rain pelted Hermione as she appeared on a darkened beach. The ocean roared; waves crashed onto the sea wall sending spray high into the air. Howling winds whipped at her cloak, knocking her off balance. She was soaked by the time she reached the boardwalk. This was the only place she could visualize in Blyth, and over a decade since she had been there. She stood for a moment staring out at the storm-battered coastline remembering a warm beach, her mother and father sitting side by side as they watched her play in the waves. Maybe one day, she thought, they could return here. For now, she needed to get out of the rain.

Streetlights flickered, beaten by the sheets of rain. Hermione made her way towards town, steps quickening, echoing on the boardwalk. The tingle of impending doom raised the little hairs at the back of her neck as a darkness crept closer. Just as panic began to raise its ugly head, she could make out a sign. Something was open. The lights were on at the Oddfellow Arms. Wrapping her cloak tightly, she hurried towards the pub. There she could get a drink and hopefully her bearings. Loud voices reached her ears as they drifted to the street.

Raucous laughter filled the establishment, and locals lined the barstools. All were staring up at the football game on the television. Hermione found an empty spot at the bar. She made eye contact with the bartender, "Can I get a pint and a shot of whisky."

The man returned with her drink, and Hermione slid the slip of paper with address towards him, "Do you know where I might find this house"

"Hmmm… Let's see…Croft Rd, Blyth NE24. Croft Rd will be just round the corner …From the looks of you, I'd say you're walking. You might want to ring for a taxi cab." He wiped the counter, nodding toward the rear of the bar, "You'll find a phone in the back."

"Thanks," A taxi would be simpler than wandering up and down the streets in the dark, in the pouring rain. She chuckled at the thought of showing up at Dolohov's door, looking like a drowned rat. She knocked back the shot of amber liquid savoring the burn. She'd need one more to gather enough courage. She raised a finger, getting the bartender's attention, "Another?"

He smiled at her while he poured, giving her a wink before moving on to new patrons. Hermione watched him while she downed the second shot. Sipping at her pint of lager. She wasn't really sure what she was going to say to Dolohov. She barely knew the man other than the one incident at the Ministry when he attempted to murder her and what she had learned from his case file. What she did know for certain was the Dark Wizard would have answers. She downed the second shot. Taking her pint with her, Hermione went to the back of the pub to call for a taxi cab.

The ride to Dolohov's flat was truly around the corner, and if not for the weather, Hermione could have walked. Before she could talk herself out of going, she found herself alone in the downpour, in a very dark alley.

Standing in front of the door, she began to have second thoughts. She couldn't remain there and think for too long. The wind howled, and the rain came in buckets. So, much she thought for not looking like a drowned bilge rat. She didn't want to apparate back so quickly. She was tired and ran the risk of splinching herself. Now soaked to the bone due to her indecisiveness, she mustered her Gryffindor courage and knocked on the door. Standing out in the rain with wind battering her, she began to wonder if he was home. He did say he had days off but that she was welcome to stop by if she had any problems, and technically she had a problem. Not a medical one but a problem just the same. She knocked again. Shuffling her feet, digging her hands deeper into her pockets, thinking this was a really bad idea. He didn't know her. Who was she to him? A patient, that's what she was. She started to turn around and attempt to apparate back home when the porch light came on.

Antonin poked his head out into the storm, "Did you forget that you're a witch?"

Hermione would have been offended if it weren't for the smile on the dark wizard's face, "I… I don't…" Stammering at him like a schoolgirl.

He opened the door and pulled her inside a warm, dry well-lit foyer, "Can't have you catching a cold now, can we?" Antonin motioned for her to follow him up the stairs. His hand went to the small of her back, "What brings you all the way out up here on a night even the sea monsters would stay home?"

Hermione peered up at him from behind a curtain of wet hair. He was close. The heat from his hand on her back could be felt through her cloak as they climbed the staircase, "I…I…," Was all she could muster before her teeth began to chatter like the stupid muggle toy her parents kept in their office. Horrible chattering jumping teeth, and that's how she imagined she looked.

Antonin helped her remove her cloak at the top of the stairs, "Do you mind?" He held his wand out in an offer to dry her.

Hermione smiled, "Please," She shivered through her teeth.

He dried her with a simple charm and grabbed a heavy quilt from his couch, laying it over her shoulders, "Have a seat I'll fix us a cuppa. Milk? Sugar?"

"Bu…bu… both, please," She managed, slowly warming herself near his fire. She glanced around, surveying her surroundings. His cup sat on an end table of dark mahogany getting cold. She presumed his favorite, a deep brown leather chair, the book he'd been reading lay open, draped over the arm. She'd interrupted his evening.

She sank into the overstuffed couch covered in a dark blue and rich brown heavy upholstery. Books lined two of the walls, opening into a half wall to his kitchen where she could see him putting a kettle on the stove. The fireplace crackled with warmth. Hermione scrunched back into the deep cushions, wrapping the quilt tight. She yawned, and her stomach grumbled at the aroma coming from the kitchen. Her eyes closed, and she drifted off to sleep.

Antonin walked into the living room and sat across from her, placing two plates on his coffee table. Grinning at the sight of the little witch curled on his sofa. It was almost a shame to wake her. He knew she was exhausted. He levitated the tea and woke her anyway, "I thought you might be hungry, and as I was getting ready to fix myself something … Well, I thought you might like a cheese toastie." Antonin smiled as he poured her tea, "I take it you're not here because of some medical emergency then?"

"No, no medical problems," She startled awake, eyes blinking, "But yes, and thank you, I am hungry," She took her tea, watching him in wonder, the former Death Eater. His home was nothing like what she had expected. He was nothing like she expected. She nibbled at the crunchy cheese edges, peering at him through her drying curls and enjoying the comfortable silence between them.

Antonin sat back, balancing his cup on his knee. Finding a soaked Hermione Granger at his door on such a dark and stormy night proved to be a pleasant surprise. The girl had been at the forefront of his mind from the time he woke up. Now she sat across from him, picking at her cheesy toast through a curtain of dark curls. He didn't want to scare her, choosing to stay silent, letting her steer the conversation.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Dolohov … I shouldn't have interrupted your evening."

"We share secrets, Hermione… I think you can call me Antonin."

"Antonin then, I still shouldn't have interrupted your evening," Hermione shrugged off the blanket from her shoulders, setting her plate on the coffee table, "Really I don't know why I just showed up on your door." 'And fell asleep on your couch' her internal monolog reminded her.

"Something must have chased you into this storm. Do you want to talk about it?" Something had spooked her, and Antonin had a hunch that it had to do with the dark magic she had been dabbling in. He could smell it on her, sweet, intoxicating lingering just out of reach.

Hermione mustered what courage she had left, "Yes actually … something did chase me into this storm. How much did you see in Ronald's head?" The sound of his name felt like ash on her tongue.

"Enough to know that you're very good at hiding the abuse that you lived with. But that's not an issue anymore now, is it?" He watched her flinch, averting her eyes from his, "Besides it's more of a feeling I have than what I witnessed." Antonin leaned forward, placing his empty plate on the coffee table, "I'm the last person that would ever pass judgment, Hermione. I don't know the fine details of that night. But what I did find I kept them out of my injury report," He reached out a hand, placing it on her knee, "I have no intentions on divulging your secrets. I fully expected Potter to make his rounds at some point… I thought you were friends? But Potter didn't know, did he?"

Tension in her body eased with the warmth of his hand on her leg, "No, I never said a word to Harry. No one knew. No one but you." She sighed, meeting his gaze. The fire crackled, and the storm raged, pelting the windows now with hail. She could feel the tickle of the dark shadow that had followed her—waiting for her, outside in the darkness. The very thought of it caressing her spine. Whatever it was couldn't push through the wards Antonin had in place.

Hermione reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his. She took a deep breath and blurted it out, "I used an Unforgivable."

The corner of Antonin's mouth twitched; his eyebrow raised slightly. He suspected she had used more than just one Unforgivable. But he would wait to see how much or how little she told him.

"Okay, okay, I may have used two… and more than once…, but I didn't mean for it to happen that way," Hermione stammered, "But I needed an appointment, and it seemed the best solution. I didn't hurt anyone…"

Antonin couldn't help but smile, "You're not the first Witch to use a little Imperio to get something you wanted. That doesn't make you a Death Eater."

She worried at her bottom lip, reaching for her tea. She couldn't bring her eyes back up to meet his. It was difficult for her to admit the catastrophic failure of her Obliviate, "I did something else besides the Imperio. But I need to explain. First, this isn't easy for me… Do you have anything stronger than tea?"

Antonin chuckled this time, "Of course I do," He still enjoyed an occasional drink. He stood and went back into the kitchen, going to the cupboard where he kept a bottle of Ogden's finest. He grabbed two glasses. He had a feeling he was going to need that now rare drink. This time he sat next to her on the sofa, poured two drinks, and handed her one before sitting back to listen to her sordid tale.

Hermione took a cleansing breath and knocked back her whisky in one gulp. She didn't shiver, nor did she grimace. She looked straight at Antonin, "I found out yesterday afternoon that I was pregnant," She held the empty glass toward Antonin, who held back the grin as he filled it.

"I used the first Imperio to get that appointment, where I preceded to use it again on the physician and then on the nurse. The worst part was that it got easier each time I used it. I had thought about Obliviating them as I was leaving … I didn't," She stopped to check Antonin's reaction. He had eased into the corner of the sofa, drink perched on his knee, reminding her of a cat, "That decision proved to be the one thing I managed to do right in the last forty-eight hours."

Compassion and empathy for the young woman tugged at Antonin. Having glimpsed at the horrors she had lived with, "I would never judge you for the things you did to survive, Hermione."

"I didn't want anyone to know about the baby. Ronald would have insisted we keep it… please don't get me wrong, under any other circumstances having a baby would have been wonderful, but, but not with everything as it was…" She stood up from the couch and moved to the window, "I wanted a divorce. I wanted to leave my husband and move far away from the Weasley family, and I couldn't do that with a baby. Fucking hell! I couldn't do that to a baby." She sat on the windowsill with her back to the storm, little hairs standing on end. She felt its presence watching her from the shadows. She knew she needed to move this story along before it got brave and made an attempt at Antonin's wards.

Hermione stood back up, rubbing her arms at the chill, glancing suspiciously at the darkness.

"Nothing will get through my wards Luv… Besides, "He said with a grin, "I'm scarier than anything lurking about out there."

Hermione paused in her pacing to stare at the man, a shy smile crept to her lips, and she let slip a chuckle of her own, "You are terrifying … I forgot…" She moved to sit next to him on the couch, holding her glass out once more for him to fill. "If someone would have told me even a year ago that I would be sitting in your living room having a drink and confessing all my sins. I think I would have had them committed to Saint Mungo's. Yet here I am… and you have been so kind to me," Hermione tossed back her third firewhisky. When Antonin didn't move to refill her glass Hermione filled it herself and pouring a far more generous portion. She cradled the bottle in the crook of her arm, leaning back to mimic his position at the other end of the sofa. Glass balanced on her knee, hoarding the bottle.

Antonin laughed out loud, "Are you going to share?"

"I can pour," Her words slurring. She smugly tipped her glass toward him, "Cheers." Settling back into the cushions before starting her story back up, "You tried to kill me once, no, twice… You've tried to kill me twice," She leveled him with her gaze, taking a sip of her drink without losing the contact.

Antonin smirked while he took a small sip from his glass, "No I didn't…" Draping his arm over the back of the sofa, he grinned back at her. Knowing full well what she was referring to.

Hermione stared back, slack-jawed, "OH! Oh, you most certainly did! I have a scar because of you," She exposed the top of a breast, giving him a peek at the thin purple scar that crossed her chest.

Antonin found her indigency hilarious, "I never tried to kill you, Little Bird. If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't be sitting on my sofa drinking all of my good whisky." He hadn't realized that his curse had left a scar. He kept his voice light, joking with her in her inebriated state, "Seriously, Luv I wasn't trying to kill you, just slow you down. You really think I wanted to kill a pack of cheeky monkeys," He had to laugh at that.

Hermione had finished off her glass and had started drinking straight from the bottle, "Be that as it may, I still have a very large hideous purple scar that you, Sir, are responsible for, and the second time you tried to kill me…"

"Was considered a battle," He cut her off, "And all is fair in love and war, besides I wasn't trying to kill you." Antonin scooted forward and snatched the bottle of whisky from his tipsy guest, "As we're comparing scars. I seem to remember getting quite a few because of you."

"I never tried to kill you…"

"I had a headache for two weeks because of that half-arsed attempt at an Obliviate, the Dark Lord almost turned me inside out because of that, and I should have killed you. But believe it or not, I don't kill children."

"He used Crucio on you? Of course, he did… I'm so stupid… I'm so sorry…"

Antonin set the bottle on the table, scooting further until he could grasp both her hands, "No, Little Bird, do not feel sorry for the things you had to do to survive. Suppose you had let us catch you. That mad man would have killed you all. You did what you needed to do."

It was Hermione's turn to smirk, "That damned Obliviate," She laughed, "It get's me in trouble …every… single… time."

Antonin held on to her hands, admiring the sparks dancing in her eyes. Flames from the hearth flooded the room in soft, warm light, highlighting the auburn streaks in her brown curls. The tip of her tongue darted out, licking her bottom lip. Antonin caught himself leaning into her. The urge to pull her into his lap was overwhelming.

Hermione leaned towards him, her face just inches away from his. She hiccupped and giggled, "Did my Obliviate work on you? It was rubbish, wasn't it?" Hiccupping again, she sat back, grabbing the bottle and flopping back into the cushions.

"Well it managed to scramble my brain for a few weeks, but that was about it. I remembered you… As for Rowle, it's hard to say he was always a bit of a prat." Hermione kicked off her shoes, plopping her feet in his lap, "Was that the first time you tried to Obliviate someone?"

"No," Her answer was sharp, "But that's a story for another time," She took a long pull on the bottle before looking at him again, "Let's just say I like to use Obliviate, and it tends to go tits up every time. Consider yourself lucky that you didn't end up in the Janis Thickey ward alongside Neville's parents… and speaking of. I heard about what you did for them."

Antonin flinched, "Not exactly something I wanted to get out. I didn't do it for recognition. I did it for the selfish reason of soothing my guilty soul." Antonin's hands went to her tiny feet, rubbing circles with his thumbs to the soles. "I'll let you in on a secrete of my own. I was never charged for attacking Alice and her husband. Barty and the Lestranges took the heat for that."

Hermione relaxed into his touch, the whisky soothing her nerves and loosening her inhibitions, "I Obliviated my husband," Her voice came out barely above a whisper. She took another swig from the bottle. "I Obliviated him twice, scrambling his brain… Like I said, I had just found out I was pregnant. I didn't want Ronald or his family to find out. So I went to a muggle clinic hoping to terminate it." Her words came in a flood. She knew if she hesitated, she would stop, "Ronald was drunk when I came home, and looking for a fight… bloody hell we fought before I left for work. It was my fault. I laughed at him when he forced himself on me in the shower that morning." Hermione couldn't look at Antonin, not wanting to see pity in his eyes. She took another sip of courage and powered on, "He attacked me, raped me in the kitchen and when he started to beat me I had to do something … I told him about the baby, of course, he called me a liar. I proved it to him, proved he was the father. He wanted to tell his mother. I couldn't let that happen. You don't know that woman she's horrid, and to bring a child into that kind of disfunction … I just couldn't do that."

"Oh, Luv, I know Molly, but right now I won't get into all the dirty little secrets I know about the Weasleys" He felt sorry for the little witch, wishing he could have prevented the horrors she had endured.

"So, in a panic, I Obliviated him. He must have hit his head when he fell. There was so much blood, and he had a seizure. I levitated him to the sofa and brought him around… but Antonin he wasn't right. Ronald babbled incoherently. Nothing made sense. I should have taken him straight to hospital, and I know that. But then everyone would know, and I couldn't let that happen," She paused. "No one would have believed me. His mother blamed me for his drinking, and she blamed me when Ronald lost his job. She blamed me for not giving her grandchildren. I was the mudblood that ruined her precious son." The heat from the fire, Antonin's hands, and half a bottle of Ogden's were lulling her to sleep, "Instead of doing what was right. I did the spell again. This time without anger." She stared into the flames and continued her story, "Instead of fixing the damage, I made it so much worse," Her eyes glistened in the firelight with unshed tears. "Ronald grabbed me by the throat… I fought … I fought, but I was losing, and it slipped out… the curse. I meant it when I said it, and I used it twice."

"What curse did you use, Hermione?" He knew which one. He just wanted to hear her say it. Crucio left a scent.

"When I said it for the first time when I unleashed it, it felt sooooo gooood to punish him." Hermione sat up and sipped at the dregs of whisky in her glass, "You know the curse Antonin, do I really need to say it out loud?" She reached for the bottle, "Gimmie, I need a refill if you want to hear about the rest of the shit show."

Antonin quirked an eyebrow but handed over what was left in the bottle, "You're right. I do know what curse you used, but that's not the end of the story, and I'm pretty sure not the last curse you used. Is it?"

Hermione chuckled, "I followed up with what appears to be my go-to curse," She smirked, "Imperio. I'm quite good at it… Ronald stopped fighting and did as he was told. Drinking everything in the house, and when that was gone, he left in search of more. I didn't lie about that part… I didn't know he had left. I was cleaning up the kitchen." Her voice drifted into the shadows of the room.

"When I was done, I went to check on him, and more I think to make sure he wasn't hiding from me… getting ready to attack me again. I couldn't take another round. But then you know that," Hermione leaned back, curling her hands around the glass, "I looked for him, even ran down the street. But he was nowhere in sight. I had an idea of where he might have gone, and I had no intention of dragging him from that muggle pub and back home for round four, to be used as some fucking punching bag." She shivered, even with Antonin's warm hands on her toes. She took a long pull from the bottle before filling her glass and handing it back to him. The whisky was not doing its job. It burned going down, leaving her numb and cold, "I didn't tell him to step in front of that bus. He did that all on his own." Hermione pulled her feet from his lap. Quickly standing, she dropped the blanket to the floor, making her way to the window. She needed air.

Antonin watched her casually. Recognizing the tendrils of panic rising in his pretty guest, "None of this makes you a Death Eater Hermione….Have you slept at all? Or, eaten anything besides what little you've nibbled at here?"

"No, not much," She leaned out the window, into the storm. Closing her eyes against the rain as it battered the side of the building. The cold sea air on her face held the growing panic at bay. She hated these attacks. They were becoming awkward and harder to hide. Hermione took a deep breath and stared out into the storm. The little hairs at the back of her neck stood on end, and a malevolence slammed against the wards.

Hermione stumbled back, falling on her bum; her instincts were spot on. She knew something had followed her. She wanted another drink, but the whisky wasn't doing its job, and she'd already drunk too much of it. Her head spun, pulse-pounding behind her eyes. Her mouth filled with saliva, stomach rolling. She spun around. Hiccupped and vomited onto Antonin's rug. She stood frozen to spot, mortified and wishing she could just apparate away.

"Oh, little bird… let's get you cleaned up," Antonin chuckled to himself. Now he really felt sorry for her, crumbled on his floor in a puddle of sick. She had put up such a strong front. Antonin took out his wand, vanishing the mess. Curious as to what had just tapped on his wards, Antonin approached cautiously. Whatever it was, it had slithered back into hiding.

A flick of his hand and the window slammed shut, cutting off the onslaught of the storm. He reached down and plucked her from the floor. Pulling her to her feet before he scooped her into his arms.

Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, doubt in her eyes, "Are you sure?"

"Am I sure of what Luv?"

"That I'm not slipping over to the Dark side… using the Unforgivables… killing Ronald."

Antonin sighed, "Oh, Little Bird there is a lot more that you would need to do before you become a Death Eater… and you didn't kill that sorry excuse for a husband."

Antonin carried her to his bedroom and into the loo. Standing her at the sink, he reached into the cabinet. It was time for a Sober-up potion, a spare toothbrush, and a flannel, "Here, Luv, shower if you wish. Towels are in the cabinet. I'll put something on the bed for you to sleep in… Don't even argue you're in no shape to be apparating. Let alone handle your little friend lurking around outside… I'll take the couch." Kissing her forehead before he turned and left her standing in front of the mirror.

Hermione stood in front of the sink, gripping the sides of the porcelain basin. She didn't dare look up at her reflection. She knew it was bad. There were tears and snot, her hair a knotted mess from the wind and rain. Even though Antonin had vanished the mess, she still reeked of vomit. However, tempting it was to glance in the mirror, she averted her eyes, peeled off her clothes, and stepped into Antonin's shower.

Where the whisky failed, the hot water was working, or maybe it was the Sober-up potion.

She felt better or at least smelled better. Toweling off her hair, she glanced into the bedroom. A comfortable-looking pair of flannel trousers and a t-shirt lay on the bed. She could have adjusted them to fit her smaller frame but found comfort in the larger size. Her tea and a fresh cheesy toast sat under a stasis charm on the bedside table. Hermione dressed, wrapped her hair in the big fluffy towel, and ran her hands under the down comforter. Slipping under the heavy covers and into the softest sheets she had ever felt. She propped herself up on the nest of pillows, curling her hands around the warm teacup. Antonin had pulled the heavy drapes for her. Obscuring the darkness, cocooning the room from the storm outside. Hermione's stomach grumbled, and she tucked into her snack, careful of crumbs. She had already vomited on the man's rug. Gods forbid she drip cheese on his beautiful comforter.

She was sober now, her tummy had ceased its complaining, but her head still buzzed from the amount of whisky she had drunk. Hermione dropped the towel to the floor and scooted down, enveloped in Antonin's scent. Reminding her that the Dark Wizard was just in the next room. She had confessed all of her sins, every horrible crime she committed in the last forty-eight hours. And he had rubbed her feet and teased her, cleaned her up and fed her. On any other night, she would have gone over the situation, over and over. Analyzing every detail until her head swam. Tonight, would be different. Tonight, she would snuggle into the nest of pillows and fluffy down and not overthink the evening's details or the fact that tomorrow she would need to see to her late husband's funeral details. The thought of Molly Weasley reared her ugly head, but she quickly smashed it down with the memory of Antonin's mischievous grin. Damn him, she thought, for smelling so good. Hermione yawned and checked the alarm clock on the bedside table. It was three am. She closed her eyes and drifted off to the sounds of rain tapping the windows.

Scowling, as he added layers to his wards, pacing the length of the room. There would be floo calls to make in the morning because he had gotten a better look at what had followed her. And it pissed him off.

.