A/N: I'm so overwhelmed by the amount of love you all gave this fic for the first chapter and by how much you wanted to read more. So, here I am, giving you more. I have a problem, alright? I'm addicted to posting new WIPs. And to writing Thorfinn/Hermine. They are my new OTP. =)

Much love! xx-Kitten.


Firewhiskey Nights

By Kittenshift17


Chapter 2


Hermione woke to the feel of a man crawling between her thighs. Groaning softly at being woken at all when she'd had next to no sleep - thanks to one utterly insatiable Viking - Hermione made a half-hearted noise of protest. She couldn't do it. Not again. Not when he had such a huge cock. Not when she'd been celibate so long before that night that she hurt in places she hadn't even realised existed.

A low chuckle of wicked amusement emitted from the blond git crawling between her legs. When he ducked his head under the covers and kissed his way over her chest, across her stomach and then lower, Hermione sighed, resigned to the fact that she was obviously going to have to come again. It may kill her, but she knew he would make her.

"Do you never rest?" Hermione protested weakly as he used his shoulders to nudge her thighs further apart. "Oh, Gods!"

His hot mouth and wicked tongue practically cured her of what little hangover she might've been suffering. She was sure she'd sweated the rest of the alcohol she'd consumed last night right out of her system, so she felt surprisingly good, considering how much she'd had to drink before landing herself squarely on Thorfinn Rowle's cock. He lapped at her lazily, taking his time about working her towards orgasm again. Hermione kind of hated him for that. He just eased her into it, waking her up so nicely, yet asking so much of her fatigued body at the same time.

"Rowle, I'm gonna..." Hermione sighed, one hand peeling back the sheets to better see him.

His bright blue eyes watched her over the rim of her pelvic bone and Hermione's insides squirmed delightfully at the lustful heat in his gaze even as she arched under his wicked tongue. Her free hand tangled in the sheets and Hermione looked away from his intense gaze, her head tossing from side to side at the onslaught of pleasure.

"Hermione, are you... oh, my Merlin!" Ginny Weasley's voice suddenly intruded on the moment and Hermione hissed in surprise, her fist tightening in Thorfinn hair even as her thighs attempted to snap closed to protect her dignity.

"Oi!" Thorfinn protested, chuckling even as he pried her legs apart just far enough to continue right on licking her core and driving her mad.

"Bloody hell, Hermione! I'm so sorry! I should've knocked," Ginny was saying from the doorway.

"Ginny, get out!" Hermione hissed at her friend where she was leaning in the doorway.

"Who are you shagging?" Ginny asked, rather than following the directive.

"Weasley?" Thorfinn asked, sliding his hand between Hermione's legs and slipping his fingers into her abused sex, making Hermione groan. "Either get in here sit on Granger's face, or kindly fuck off."

Hermione cried out when he kept on working her over before shoving her into orgasm with Ginny right there in the doorway and looking gobsmacked.

"Oi, Ginny, what's taking so bloody long? Where's Hermione?" Ronald Weasley's voice asked and if it weren't for the fact that Thorfinn Rowle was particularly gifted between the sheets, Hermione was certain she'd have died of shame.

Especially when Rowle picked that moment to crawl back up her body, his lips closing over one of her nipples even as he thrust into her surely, catching the tail end of her orgasm and making a high-pitched whine tear from her throat. She'd have been grateful to Rowle for protecting her modesty when his burly frame hid her petite one from view, if her ex-boyfriend and her best female friend weren't in the doorway.

"What the fuck is this?" Ron demanded. "Hermione? Is that Hermione? Seriously? Who the hell is she… she's shagging…. Hermione!"

"Get out!" Hermione shouted at the siblings.

"Why bother?" Ron demanded, sounding disgusted. "You obviously enjoy fucking for an audience. What's two more?"

"An audience?" Hermione squeaked, stilling against Rowle as he ceased his driving rhythm to glance around the room in concern regarding Ron's words and trying to determine his meaning.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Rowle growled suddenly, his eyes darting back to Hermione.

He looked like he knew things were about to go to shit and Hermione felt her stomach clench in concern. Twisting her head on the pillow, Hermione looked in the direction Thorfinn had glanced and she felt the pit drop out of her stomach when she locked eyes with Antonin Dolohov reclining in the armchair across the room. His dark eyes were locked onto her as Thorfinn impaled her on his huge cock, pinning her to the mattress and preventing her immediate escape. He looked hungry, as though he'd only just woken up recently, but like he was only too thrilled by what he'd opened his eyes to.

"Off," Hermione demanded of the wizard ravishing her, feeling a wretched swoop of fear and sickening curiosity inside her stomach. "Get off."

"Trust me, Princess, I'm trying. It's not going so well with all these interruptions. Don't much go in for exhibitionism, see?" Thorfinn replied dryly, staring into her face and pulling an expression of slight discomfort, obviously not thrilled to find Antonin watching them or to have the Weasley siblings filling the doorway.

"I meant get off me," Hermione hissed at him, slapping at one of his bare shoulders and trying to cover her boobs with her free hand, trying to hide them from view so Dolohov wouldn't be able to see.

"Do you trust me?" Thorfinn asked rather than doing as she asked, his cock twitching impatiently inside her and making Hermione's eyes cross momentarily.

"No," Hermione retorted.

"Alright, good. Hang on, Baby-girl," he murmured as though she'd said yes instead of no before leaning down to cover more of her body with his own. His hand slipped under the pillow and scooped up both their wands as he secured her to him more firmly, his chest covering her own and protecting her from view.

Hermione squeaked in surprise a moment later when there was a jerk behind her navel and she realised Thorfinn Rowle had just apparated with her, his cock still buried deep inside her. The breath rushed from her lungs when she landed on something soft – softer than the bed at the Leaky Cauldron.

"Where are we?" Hermione demanded, blinking at the wizard and trying to get her bearings. Apparating mid-coitus was an extremely alarming feeling.

"My place. You alright?" he asked. "You didn't get splinched, did you? I've never apparated mid-fuck before."

"I don't think so," Hermione said. "It's a little hard to concentrate on the rest of my body with you doing that."

Thorfinn smirked at her as he picked up his rhythm once more.

"Is a bit, isn't it?" he agreed, chuckling wickedly at her as he drove himself into her deep and strong, making her thoughts scatter again immediately.

"Wait… wait," Hermione muttered when he lowered his mouth to her neck and began kissing her there, driving her wild. "We just left… and Dolohov was… and Ron and Ginny saw… and, oh Gods, don't stop, Thorfinn."

The wizard's amused laughter was pure sin as she arched underneath him, temporarily forgetting her cares regarding being walked in on. It was hard to think with him stroking her special spot so skilfully.

"Merlin, you're so bloody tight, witch," he muttered against her neck, fucking her harder until Hermione saw stars behind her closed eyelids.

"Thorf… Thorfinn… I'm… I'm gonna… ungh," Hermione panted, a low moan of ecstasy tearing from her throat when her insides clamped a short time later, her bare heels digging into his bare ass. She careened into orgasm quickly, her ravaged body so attuned to his touch after spending all night shagging him in more positions than she'd ever tried in her life that she broke once more.

"Fuck!" Rowle hissed between his teeth when Hermione dug her nails into his shoulders and buried her lips against his throat as she flew into the sea of bliss, dragging him in along with her.

The feel of his seed splashing against her womb, his cock emptying in heavy wet spurts, made Hermione sigh contentedly even as he collapsed on top of her. He was heavy but Hermione rather liked the feel of being so completely overwhelmed by him for a few minutes as he caught his breath. Kissing his neck a final time, Hermione carded her fingers through his long blond hair where it hung loose about the two of them.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

Thorfinn Rowle groaned as he rolled off the little witch a few minutes later. His whole body ached from their exertions throughout the night and he wasn't sure his cock would grow hard again even if he used potions to try and make it. Not after the abuse it had received as she rode him hard and let him fuck her into every flat surface they could find in that hotel room. To make matters worse, his hangover was making itself known, despite sweating out most of the booze throughout the night, and his head ached a bit.

"I need food," he complained at the witch who'd rolled with him and was now using the hollow of his shoulder as a pillow, her fingers trailing absently through his golden chest hair.

"I need sleep," she replied softly. "And we need to discuss the fact that we had an audience this morning."

"Not without food," he warned. "Come on, kitchen's this way."

Groaning again as he sat up, Thorfinn went in search of pants while the little witch stretched languidly on the middle of his bed. The sight she made had his traitorous cock twitching as though entertaining notions of another round and he decided right then that the bloody thing didn't know what was good for it. Shaking his head and thinking about wretched things to keep the snake inside his trousers from rearing its head again, Thorfinn bent and scooped up a shirt he'd discarded on the floor before tossing it to the witch.

He'd apparated them without stopping to think that it would leave her without clothing.

"Do you have my wand?" she asked, catching the shirt and pulling it on over her head. It dwarfed her petite frame, falling to mid-thigh and hiding her delectable figure from view.

"By the pillows," he nodded in the direction of her weapon.

"Everything else is still at the hotel," she grumbled.

"You'd have preferred to stay there with the ginger idiots ogling my arse and Toshka looking like he might crawl into bed and join us?" Thorfinn asked, quirking an eyebrow at the witch as she got up and followed him toward the kitchen.

"I'd rather know how he got into the room in the first place," she retorted, her eyes scanning the kitchen of his flat with interest while Thorfinn used his wand to get some breakfast cooking and a pot of tea brewing.

"Pretty sure he's the one who put me in your room in the first place," Thorfinn said. "And he's a Curse Breaker when he's not being hounded for being an ex-Death Eater. I hardly think any of the common charms on a hotel room to keep people out would really stop him from getting into wherever he wants to be."

"Yes, which is why I had to move four times after the bastard was first released from Azkaban before making myself the Secret Keeper of the Fidelius charms on my flat," Hermione replied dryly. "Though I also recall losing my key last night, so it's possible he found it."

"Probable that he found it," Thorfinn corrected her, knowing how close an eye his friend tended to keep on the little witch before him. "If you dropped it, he'd have picked it up."

"Isn't he your friend?" she asked. "Won't he be upset with you for shagging me? He used to send Ron cursed objects and death threats when Ron and I were together."

"Actually those weren't aimed at him because he was seeing you," Thorfinn said, slanting a glance at the curly-haired witch when she clambered up onto his kitchen counter. "He uh… well, I don't know if you know…."

"Dolohov figured out Ron was cheating on me?" Granger sighed, looking bored.

Thorfinn nodded. "After that I was hard pressed keeping the git from murdering your ex-fiancé every bloody day. Toshka's very… protective of you, Granger."

"Protective?" she scoffed. "He breaks into my flat and stares at me while I sleep. Or he follows me around whenever I'm in public. I have no idea how the man maintains a job given that he's always stalking me."

"He's a freelance Curse Breaker," Thorfinn shrugged his shoulders. "The goblins at Gringotts won't hire him because he was a Death Eater. Not after what happened with the Dark Lord and that lot after you and your friends pinched whatever he had in the Lestrange vault. That, and Toshka's got sticky fingers, so they don't trust him."

"No?" she quirked an eyebrow. "An ex-Azkaban inmate is a thief? What is the world coming to that even the criminals are criminals?"

Thorfinn rolled his eyes at her. "You realise I'm one of those ex-Azkaban inmates, yeah?"

"I realise that, yes," she nodded accepting the cup of tea he handed her and not looking at all like she cared that she'd potentially insulted him. "What is it you do for work anyway? More to the point, how did you two even get let out of prison in the first place?"

"We were both a part of that group that the Ministry deemed not dangerous enough to continue posing a threat to society with the Dark Lord gone," he replied.

"You do realise you and Dolohov are two of the most volatile Death Eaters still living, don't you?" she asked. "What was the Ministry thinking letting you two loose? You lose your temper and set things on fire. Dolohov is a murderer."

"So are you," he reminded her coolly. "And so am I. Crimes of War carry a different sentence and you know it, otherwise you and your little Order buddies would have been sitting in those cells right next to all of us Death Eaters."

"Some of us probably should been," she replied with a shrug. "But I still don't see how any of you potentially being less dangerous than others earns you your freedom."

"It's not exactly freedom, Princess," he rolled his eyes at her. "We have to check in with the Ministry every week and have our wand activity monitored for potential misbehaviour. We're all on parole. We were also all selected because we're the last male descendant of our bloodlines. Meaning that unless names like Rowle, Dolohov, Lestrange, and a number of others are to be allowed to die out in the male line – something the Ministry doesn't like to see happening – we all have to carry on our bloodlines prolifically. Though we were all warned that if it would be investigated if we all only breed with pureblood witches from families affiliated with the Dark Lord. We were given express instruction to carry on our bloodlines with half-bloods, muggleborns or muggles."

"Well, don't look at me," she held up her hands. "I don't care how good a shag you are, I don't do children."

"What?" he asked, frowning at her. "You – Hermione Granger, warrior for the Order and brightest witch of you age – don't plan on ever having kids?"

"Why does everyone say it like that?" the witch sighed, shooting him an annoyed look. "Everyone always hassles me about having bloody children. It's why Ron and I broke up. He wants an army of children and I can't give them to him."

Thorfinn narrowed his eyes on the way she said that final sentence.

"Can't?" he clarified. "Or won't?"

She glanced up at him sharply, a frown marring her brow. A number of expressions flashed across her face at his nosy question and Thorfinn suspected it was a touchy subject.

"Can't," she said after a long silence. "I can't have children. Dolohov's curse did something to me internally that I'm told means I will be almost completely incapable of carrying a child to term if – and it's a very big if – I can fall pregnant at all. Which has yet to occur. Ron and I tried for a few years after the War ended but it didn't happen."

She shrugged her shoulders as though it didn't matter to her.

"You wanted them though?" he asked. "Kids?"

She shrugged again.

"Yes and no," she admitted. "I wanted them eventually. After finishing school and developing my career. After getting myself set up and comfortable in my life. After finding someone to settle down with. For me, children were always on the 'someday' list."

"You were engaged to be married with Weasley," he pointed out. "Shouldn't they have been a little closer than 'someday'?"

Her expression pinched further.

"Yes, well, look how that turned out," she snapped. "He finds out I might not be able to have kids and rather than exploring the idea of adoption or having the decency to discuss his concerns with me, he just starts shagging other witches behind my back. Now I almost wish that one of Dolohov's cursed objects had done something to the bastard."

Thorfinn smirked at her answer.

"And why am I even telling you any of this anyway, Rowle? You're an arsehole and as soon as I'm fed, I'm leaving."

"Oh, that's nice," he scoffed at her. "I'm sure you'll have such a good time of finding some wizard willing to put up with that snark, let alone consider adopting with you when you've got that kind of attitude."

"Oh, bite me, Thorfinn," she snapped, picking an old copy of the Daily Prophet from his bench, scrunching it into a ball and lobbing it at him.

Thorfinn dodged the missile even as he stepped across the kitchen towards her, seized hold of her hips and pressed himself between her thighs once more before doing just as she'd ordered. Nuzzling his face into her neck, he bit down just hard enough to smart, making her hiss in surprise and annoyance.

"Get off, would you?" she shoved at his shoulders, squirming in his hold even as her legs coiled around his back and kept him prisoner against her. "I didn't say you could have me again."

"As though I do what you say, witch?" he rolled his eyes, nibbling her earlobe and feeling his masochistic cock stir at the idea of another round.

"I don't think I can do it again," she admitted even as she tipped her head to allow him better access to her neck, her hands smoothing down over his robust shoulders and her nails scratching lightly against his back.

"You can," he replied smugly. "I can make you."

"I know you could. I meant that I don't think I could survive it," she replied huskily and Thorfinn practically purred at her easy acknowledgement of his skill. "Everything down there aches after that last go."

"Yeah," he sighed against her neck. "Me too."

"And I'm angry at you anyway," she replied, though she was tangling her hands into his hair.

"What did I do?" he asked, pulling his face back to smirk at her.

"You brought up uncomfortable topics and pissed me off," she said. "And you're just a git, in general, you know? So it's hardly surprising that the very sight of you annoys me."

"Are you always this charming, Princess?" Thorfinn deadpanned at her, raising one eyebrow even as he slowly lowered his mouth towards hers, intent on snogging the little vixen again.

"Yes," she retorted, stretching up to close the distance between them and kissing him softly on the lips.

Thorfinn smirked against her mouth when a little whimper of sound escaped her as he slid his hands under her bare arse and tugged her to the edge of the bench. Despite her protests of soreness and despite his own aches, his cock was demanding that he take her again, one more time.

"I can't," she protested when he used his free hand to free his cock from the trousers he'd donned.

"But you want to," he replied knowingly even as she burrowed her face into his neck and began kissing his flesh hungrily.

"That's not the point," she argued. "Obviously my body doesn't know what's good for it."

Thorfinn didn't need any further encouragement before he pried her thighs further apart and aligned himself at their junction. She whimpered in the back of her throat over the slight sting in the abused flesh there and Thorfinn was fairly certain he'd pulled all the muscles in his legs and his abs already from the way they protested the position, but neither of those things stopped him from sinking into her hot, slick welcome.

They both groaned at the feel of their bodies joined once more and Thorfinn took his time with her, trying to draw it out, knowing he might never get the chance to shag her again once she walked out the door. The breakfast he'd been cooking was beginning to burn, but he was too lost to the tight heat of the witch in his arms to care. She tipped her head back as he rocked into her surely, her eyes closed, her expression alight with ecstasy. Merlin, she was a sight when he fucked her, Thorfinn thought to himself, watching her wind tighter and tighter.

Lost to the ache in his muscles and the wet heat of her body gripping his, Thorfinn missed the pop of apparition as someone else joined them in his flat. When Granger tangled her hands in his hair and pulled his mouth to hers once more, he couldn't have cared less when someone removed the burning breakfast from the stove with a scrape of metal on metal. When her tongue slid deliciously against his while her pussy began to throb and pulse around his cock, making her groan as though the exertion were painful even as she was overcome with pleasure, Thorfinn wouldn't have cared even if they were fucking in the middle of the busy Ministry with everyone in the world watching them.

She tore from his lips to emit a soft whine of completion as he brought her to orgasm again and Thorfinn felt like his whole body was on fire, pulling energy all the way up from his toes to explode out the end of his cock and fill her once more.

"Fuck," she groaned softly, her head tipped back in pleasure as she took everything he had to give her.

"Bloody hell," Thorfinn sighed when the heat inside of him lulled once more, leaving him spent and more than a little weak in the knees.

She leaned against him, resting her cheek against his shoulder, her hands gripping him snugly. Thorfinn leaned into her too, breathing in the scent of her skin as he did so and noticing that though she smelled somewhat like him and like the cheap motel soap, underneath that she smelled like jasmine and lemons.

As the nut-blowing induced fog began to clear from his mind, Thorfinn slowly became aware of the soft sounds of someone else moving about the kitchen. The soft chink of china on the breakfast bar. The scrape of cutlery against crockery. The vague sounds of someone chewing. He felt a twist in the pit of his stomach when Granger tensed slowly in his hold, clearly hearing the sounds, too.

He didn't have to look to know who it was. The only other person with access to Thorfinn's flat was Antonin Dolohov because the twisted bastard lived with Thorfinn. Sighing against Granger's hair, Thorfinn slowly opened his eyes to glance over at the man leaning on the counter and eating the slightly burned bacon and eggs Thorfinn had been cooking before he'd gotten side-tracked.

"Toshka?"

The man was watching the two of them as though they were some sort of theatre display rather than his flatmate and the object of his… fascination. As though they were telling him some sort of enthralling story that he needed to pay full attention to in order to understand, rather than that they were his best mate and the witch he'd tried to kill ten years ago.

"Do you have no shame?" Granger demanded of the Russian wizard, pulling back from Thorfinn slightly to better glare at the man. "No sense of common decency?"

Antonin didn't bother speaking, though his lips twitched as though he were holding back a smirk of amusement.

"What is he doing here?" Granger asked, turning to look up at Thorfinn himself. "I thought you apparated us here to get away from having an audience."

"If you don't want me to watch you fuck, Zaichik," Antonin drawled at her, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Don't do it in my kitchen."

"Urgh, he lives here?" Granger asked, pulling a face both at the Russian endearment and the idea of him speaking to her.

"Well, yeah," Thorfinn admitted, pulling out of her and tucking himself back inside his trousers while the witch looked disgusted and began fussing to be let down from the bench where she was perched.

"Right. Well, on that delightful note, I no longer have an appetite. So, thanks for the memories, Rowle. I'm out of here," she said, slipping from the bench to stand on her own two feet once more.

Thorfinn watched the way her knees buckled slightly, trying to give way on her thanks to the mind-blowing sex. He didn't bother trying to protest her departure or trying to tell her she should stay for breakfast.

"Before you go," Toshka piped up and Granger speared him with a look so cold it was a wonder the bastard didn't get frostbite, not that he seemed concerned by her hatred. "Mind giving me another look at that scar on your ribs, Zaichik?"

Granger didn't deign to answer him. From what Thorfinn had heard about the interactions between Antonin and the muggleborn witch, she never spoke to him. She simply hated him. Toshka seemed to prefer when he got a reaction from her, so a hex in the face or something equally rude would make his day, but Granger didn't give him that. She simply ignored his request, reached for her wand where she'd dropped it on the bench during their romp and nodded her head at Thorfinn in farewell.

She Disapparated with a crack and Thorfinn shook his head to himself before glaring at his friend.

"What?" Antonin asked, raising one eyebrow as though genuinely confused by Thorfinn's displeased expression.

"What is your fucking hang up on that witch?" Thorfinn demanded, "You obviously don't give a shit that I fucked her, so you can't be in love with her. What's your obsession?"

Antonin smirked at him crookedly and forked another mouthful of eggs into his mouth, chewed and swallowed before he answered.

"Tell me what her scar looks like," he commanded.

"Tell me why you stalk her. And don't bullshit me," Thorfinn told him.

"Like purple flames dancing over her ribs, right?" Toshka persevered as though Thorfinn hadn't spoken. "Do they move? Could you tell?"

"I know that whatever your curse did to her, it fucked her insides up so she can't have kids," Thorfinn informed the bastard, snatching his fork and pinching a piece of charred bacon from the plate.

Antonin tipped his head to one side thoughtfully.

"There was nothing in the spell I used on her that would cause infertility," he argued, seeming intrigued. "Did her scar move like a magical tattoo?"

Thorfinn nodded his head, recalling his alarm when the scar on her ribs had indeed flickered like a flame dancing in a fireplace.

"Made her hot to touch when the scar was moving," Thorfinn told him.

"They don't move constantly?" Antonin asked, his eyebrows lifting.

"Only when she gets worked up. Or at least they started to dance when she was close to orgasm," Thorfinn told his friend.

"That's interesting. That means she's fighting the curse and the effects unless her mind is otherwise distracted," Antonin mused to himself, looking thoughtful and all the more fascinated by Hermione Granger.

"Are you going to tell me why you've been stalking her since that day at the Department of Mysteries?" Thorfinn wanted to know.

"Isn't it obvious?" Antonin asked, quirking an eyebrow at Thorfinn as though he were stupid. "The witch survived a curse that I've killed others with. Even produced non-verbally, that curse should have burned her to a crisp from the inside. But it didn't. She's a mudblood with more magical ability than most purebloods, already making her something of an unexplained variant. On top of that she survives my signature curse? She's an anomaly, Thorfinn. And I'm intrigued by anomalies."

Thorfinn shook his head at his friend, wondering again why he tolerated the bastard with his obsessive nature and his preoccupation with magical inconsistencies. Of course, the trait was part of what made Antonin Dolohov such a good Curse Breaker and what had led him to inventing his own spells and curses in the first place, but that wasn't the point. The point was that the Russian prat was obviously neurotic and needed a good beating. Thorfinn was thinking he wasn't above giving it to him.

"She's a good fuck," Thorfinn informed him, smirking as he watched the man for his reaction, trying to figure out if the idiot was in love with Granger or just intrigued by her.

"I'm not surprised," Antonin nodded, still looking thoughtful about his spell rather than like he cared that Thorfinn had shagged her. Thorfinn frowned.

"You don't care that I fucked her? I'm not going to find you standing over my bed with a knife later?"

"Why would I care that you fucked her?" Toshka wanted to know, frowning at him in return.

"You're obsessed with her. And you used to break into her place and stand over Weasley with a knife. Figured you must be in love with her and want her for yourself. I don't want to wake up to a knife at my throat because you're a weird fucker."

"Weasley was no good for her," Antonin replied coolly, his lips pursing at the mention of the red-haired wizard he loathed and not looking all that pleased by Thorfinn's accusations or assumptions.

"And you think I am?" Thorfinn asked. "Not that it matters. I doubt we'll ever see her again."

"I will," Antonin disagreed and Thorfinn figured the bastard was twisted and obviously intended to keep stalking her.

"One day she's going to curse you back, Toshka, and I can't say I'll blame her when that day comes. You're a creepy bastard at the best of times, but with her you take it even further."

"She enjoys my attention," Antonin informed him.

Thorfinn doubted that. But he kept his opinions to himself on the subject, figuring for now that he would put Hermione Granger out of his mind other than a fond memory or wank-fodder. Making for the shower, he didn't bother arguing with Toshka about the witch again.