I simply could not resist posting one more... Let's embark in this crazy journey, and witness our dear Dolohov's descent into madness.
Fancast is obviously Michiel Huisman because he is, after all, the perfect candidate.
The Taste of your Fear
Chapter 3
November 14th 2001
Antonin would have run away from Gringotts if that would have not been suspicious. But she would have guessed that he was acting weird, right? He could not afford to have his cover blown, not when he was so close to being fully reborn, like a phoenix from the ashes. He was Alexei Borisyuk. He was NOT a wanted criminal called Antonin Dolohov. Nope, never heard of him. No, no… Yes, he knew who Antonin Dolohov was, he just did not know the man personally. Right.
This was bad. Really bad. He knew that face, could pick it out from anywhere. He remembered her from that total of a disaster night in the Department of Mysteries. Not to mention, she was constantly in the newspaper, for one reason or another. She was a war heroine. She helped take down his Dark Lord. She was known for being smart, too smart. If anyone in all of Wizarding Britain could tell just who he really was, it was her. Fuck. FUCK. He needed a plan. A way to make sure she never even got a whiff of his true identity. He would go to great lengths to make sure he was never going back to rot in a cell in Azkaban, and that included getting rid of the little chit.
He realised then that he was just standing there, gaping at her like a man unhinged. Her brown eyes were looking at him curiously, one eyebrow quirked in a way that must indicate that she was onto him. That's it, she already suspected him. He needed to fix this. Fast.
"I'm sorry miss, I was just…" come on, say something "… taken aback by your beauty."
It was not a lie, the images on the paper never did her justice and it all paled to how she looked right now, her curls slightly ruffled, her clothes hugging her curves in the most delicious ways. He would never confess to having many shameless wanks to that one issue of her during a ball a few months ago, the gown she had worn left very little to the imagination and he will forever kick himself for not accepting the invitation to go. She was the embodiment of what he loved and sought out in a woman. Her smarts were legendary at this point, he was smarter, but she would probably be a very entertaining person to have debates with on Magical Theory. She was not the prettiest witch by anyone's standards, but she had that effortless type of beauty, the kind that made his cock strain in his trousers. She was classy and proper, but he would bet all the money in his vault that she could be a right little slut in the bedroom, with probably the filthiest of mouths. But wow, Antonin, aren't you a fucking dumbass? Stop fantasising!She is going to SLAP you.
She, in fact, did not slap him. She giggled prettily, not like some of those brainless bints he went to school with. No, this type of giggle was very… endearing. If there was a rank for how endearing a giggle could be, this would be at the very top. Why am I ranking giggles?
She pushed strands of her curls behind her ear and blushed. Nothing like the beet red type of blush she had when she knocked the air out of his lungs and embarrassed herself, no, this blush was… cute. Made him want to pinch her cheeks like his babushka used to do to him. Don't fucking start ranking blushes!
"Um… thank you, sir…?"
"Alexei, Alexei Borisyuk," he answered with a smile, it felt a bit strained, yet he did his best to hide his nervousness. She would see right through him, the smart little minx. "And who do I have the pleasure of meeting today?"
"Hermione Granger."
She stuck out her hand for him to shake it. She seemed a bit nervous herself if the little slight trembling of her hand was anything to go by. He held her hand in his and instead of shaking it, he brought it to his lips, barely touching her skin, his eyes boring into hers as he did so.
"It's truly a delight to make your acquaintance Miss Granger. Of course, you are no stranger to me, you do appear in the paper quite often," he said as he gave her back her hand, and immediately regretted letting go of that soft skin he had dreamed of for so fucking long.
"Well let's just hope you don't believe half the things that are being printed in them, The Daily Prophet and I don't necessarily… get along."
"I'm usually too captivated by the images to pay attention to the text."
It was his time to blush.
Firstly, that was the stupidest thing he has ever said, he made it sound like he didn't know how to read! This infuriating witch made him revert to being an absolute moron. What else did he expect of himself when meeting the literal witch of his dreams? Some decorum, his mind supplied.
Secondly, he had no idea if she was a Legilimens, and if she was, she would have picked out the memory of him ruining an issue with a picture of her with his come. He ran a hand on his face, scratching his beard in embarrassment. He was meant to be simply charming, not going all out in the flirting. He was totally content admiring her from afar, he did not want any strings to be attached. And especially not to her.
"You're flattering me, Mister Borisyuk. I would hate to keep you from your duties today, and my lunch break is almost over so I need to go back. Oh and, congratulations on the new position!" she said with a dazzling smile that travelled straight to his groin.
"Oh, thank you, Miss Granger, I'm looking forward to starting on Monday. Have a good rest of your day," he nodded to her, and she started walking out of Gringotts.
For some reason still unknown to him, he could not help the half-screamed words that left his mouth the second she started walking down the stairs to the street.
"Miss Granger! Dinner, on Friday?"
He fully expected her to laugh at him and politely decline. He did not expect her to blush so prettily as she suddenly found her hands extremely interesting. After what felt like a lifetime, she looked up at him with a heat in her eyes that made him nearly gasping for air.
"Oh… Yes, I'd love that. Owl me?"
And with that, she turned around and left. He kept his gaze fixed on her curls until she disappeared into the crowd. What the fuck have you done, Antonin? She must be onto him. This was a trap, and he fell in it with both feet. She was going to corner him, make him admit who he really was, and hand him over to the Aurors. He spent so long, so fucking long, working on this plan, only for it to be foiled by one tiny, annoyingly beautiful, and incredibly sexy little witch. She was smart, so smart, too smart. The whole tripping and falling were planned out, how else would she have tripped the way she did, she was meaning to knock into him. She had laid her bear trap and he got caught in it like a stupid firstie meeting Peeves for the first time! She wanted him to invite her for dinner, he played right into her cards, and he was FUCKED.
He could not wait for it to be Friday.
Dear Miss Granger,
I cannot wait for our dinner tomorrow night. I will take you to someplace nice, I hope you will like my choice of venue. I can come to pick you up at your place at, say, 7 pm? Will you be home from work by then?
The dress code is casual, I want you to be comfortable, as there will be some walking involved. No heels this time, we both know how much of a menace you are in those! Bring a warm coat.
Let me know how that sounds to you.
I am looking forward to getting to know you more.
Yours,
A. Borisyuk
November 16th 2001
Antonin had spent most of his day fretting over how he looked in the mirror. He just could not stop messing up his hair, making sure the wavy locks fell just right on his face, giving him a very dark, mysterious look. His hair was a rich brown colour, and it was silky soft, he did spend a lot of money on products for his hair. He had to make up for years living like a walking dumpster, after all. His beard was nicely trimmed, long enough to be deliciously scratchy between soft thighs, but short enough to look smart.
He still needed to settle on an outfit. One thing he loved about assuming this all-Russian persona, was that Russian wizards dressed a lot like muggles did, forgoing the stuffy robes in favour of a crisp suit instead. And shit, he looks dashing in a suit.
He knew he was good-looking; he was only 42 after all and was in his absolute prime as far as wizarding standards go. He got a lot of attention from witches, and even some wizards could not help but eye him appreciatively. The decades spent moulding himself to look like a literal rat did nothing to dampen his natural charms. He was quite skilled at wooing people, whether it was to have them in his bed or to achieve his goals for his great plans.
Hermione Granger was not part of his plans. Sure, she was the star that outshone every single witch in the world in his eyes, but she was never in his plans. He never thought she would be interested in him. And she probably was not, he was 99% sure that he was walking into a trap set by the DMLE, utilising his maybe not so discreet cock-stroking activities to newspaper issues of her on it. Did he leave one of those spaff-covered papers lying around when someone was over? Is that what gave her away as the secret weapon that could bring him to his knees?
He was not deluding himself. He wanted her. He had wanted her since that day in that café in Tottenham Court Road where she almost outwitted him and Thorfinn. She did not take into account the fact that he had so much control of his own mind that a simple Obliviate could never work on him. He still did not sell them out to the Dark Lord, they had won that round fair and square. But seeing her that evening, fighting with all her might, claws out and teeth bared… she was a true lioness. She was nothing but a tiny little lion cub in comparison to him, but she had so much potential. If he had not been who he was, he would not have hesitated to get down on one knee right then and there in that café and propose to her. Finally, a witch that met his standards. That was the turning point for him in the war. If the Dark Lord had won, he would have asked for her as a prize, and he would have had her, he was after all one of his old master's favourites. But seeing as the Light has won, he had to keep to the shadows, knowing she was never going to be his. But now? Well, now she might just become his of her own volition.
He decided to wear a crisp black shirt, and muggle black jeans. This was a date, to him at least, but he wanted to be comfortable in case it turned into a full-blown duel. And also, he did not want to look too desperate by wearing a full three-piece suit, although he did look incredibly good in those. He did mention in his letter to her that she should dress casually.
Putting on his black coat, he apparated out to a couple of streets off her address ten minutes before seven. He wanted to first canvass the area. He might be walking into a trap, but he was not going to take any chances and get caught by surprise.
Nothing seemed amiss as he walked up the driveway of her nice little house just outside London. He checked his watch as he stood in front of her door. 6:59 pm. Show time.
He knocked three times and waited for the curly-haired goddess to open the door. He could hear her scrambling to her feet and could see her moving towards him through the blurry window panel on the door. He took a deep breath just as the door opened.
And there she was. Blushing. Nervously running her hand through her curls as she greeted him and gestured him to come inside. Not knowing she had just let in the most dangerous criminal of all Britain into her home. From that moment onward, Hermione Granger was prey, and Dolohov was the most ruthless predator of all.
What do you think, Antonin's walking into a trap, or is he more unhinged and paranoid than he thinks himself to be?
