A/N: Sorry about the wait. Thanks to those who read and review.

xx-Kitten


Firewhiskey Nights

By Kittenshift17


CHAPTER TEN


Thorfinn disapparated from within the house, twisting away to land inside his own. He curled his lip when he spotted Toshka sprawled on the couch with some witch he didn't recognise bouncing herself on the bastard's cock. The witch shrieked in surprise at the sight of Thorfinn.

"If you expect me to believe that wasn't faked, I'm going to laugh," Toshka chided the witch on his dick.

"There's someone here!" the witch protested, squirming when Toshka grabbed her hips, refusing to let her loose. Thorfinn shook his head when Toshka looked over and spotted him before grinning.

"Thorfinn," Toshka smirked. "Home at last?"

"You better use strong cleaning charms on that couch, you twisted bastard," Thorfinn told him before stomping off to his bedroom to change. He should probably shower, he supposed, but he really couldn't be arsed. Changing his jeans and digging a fresh shirt from inside his wardrobe, he reapplied his deodorant and his cologne before digging some muggle money out of an old coffee tin he kept in the wardrobe for emergencies. He didn't often actually need muggle money, in the past he'd have disdained having to associate with muggles at all, before his imprisonment. Now, however, he found it was often easier to shop for food and certain, non-magical supplies in the muggle world because no one hissed or spat at him when he was shopping for groceries.

Disapparating with a sharp crack, he landed in an alley behind his usual supermarket, and hurried inside, thinking quickly about what to feed Granger and her parents for brunch. He was leaning towards a full breakfast with pancakes, bacon, eggs and all the trimmings. Having no idea what Granger had in her pantry, he bought everything he thought he'd need, shrinking the bag and putting it in his pocket when he was out of sight before apparating back to Granger's flat.

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

Hermione sighed heavily when she exited her bedroom to be confronted with the sight of her mother sitting at the kitchen table, looking through a magazine she'd obviously bought with her as a less than subtle hint. It was a wedding magazine. Hermione was not in the mood for her mother being pushy. Especially not with Thorfinn sniffing around and making a nuisance of himself.

Worse was the sight of her father, pacing up and down the length of her living room, muttering to himself about dangerous men as though he'd pegged Thorfinn for the criminal he was the minute he'd laid eyes on him.

"Feeling a little more refreshed, love?" her mother asked conversationally, eyeing her over the top of her magazine.

"I am, actually," Hermione admitted. "Dad, are you going to have a cup of tea, or are you determined to wear a hole in that patch of carpet?"

"Who is he?" Arnold Granger demanded, converging on her immediately when he realised she'd joined them.

"Thorfinn?" Hermione confirmed. "He's..."

"Your boyfriend," her mother finished for her, smiling widely.

"I..." Hermione opened her mouth to deny the claim before recalling the reaction she'd likely get if she told her parents she was causally shagging Rowle and wasn't at all sure she wanted to date him.

"If he's some one-night-stand, he's not welcome at brunch," he father warned.

"Arnold dear, Thorfinn said he'd cook the brunch. Must you fill yourself with such bluster over such a handsome young man?" Genevieve wanted to know.

"Do we have to have this conversation?" Hermione asked, her cheeks flushed pink in embarrassment to know her parents were discussing her sex life and her romantic prospects.

"I don't trust him," Arnold announced.

"Because he's bigger than you and cheeky enough not to feign a wince when you tried to crush his hand?" her mother needled.

"Mum," Hermione protested.

"Because he saunters about in my daughter's flat like he owns the place, despite making it obvious that he's never been here before, and he didn't even have the decency to dress properly before introducing himself to us."

"I hardly find that something to complain over," her mother said and Hermione sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose and using her wand to fix herself a nice cup of tea. She didn't have the patience for this. She was tired and she wanted to go back to bed. Her most recent orgasm had certainly improved her mood, but she wasn't in the mood for her parents' bickering and she certainly didn't like the idea that they were doing so over Thorfinn.

"No, you wouldn't, would you?" Arnold growled at his wife.

"Must we have this argument?" Hermione put to the pair of them.

"Of course we must," Arnold retorted. "Your boyfriend is trouble, Hermione."

"Why didn't you tell us you were seeing someone, sweetheart?" Genevieve wanted to know.

Hermione sighed again. "It's a recent development," she offered. "Look, I really had forgotten that the two of you would be here this morning."

"In other words, we're lucky you were home and not off at his house, shagging him there instead," Arnold snapped.

"Pretty much," Thorfinn's voice intruded on the argument and Hermione squeaked when she looked over to find him in the kitchen, obviously having just arrived if the bag of groceries he clutched was any indication.

"Thorfinn!" Hermione hissed furiously.

"What?" he smirked at her wickedly. "He's trying to make you uncomfortable, Princess. My old man's the same way. You'll see when you meet him."

"I though your father was dead," she frowned at him.

Thorfinn frowned in return, obviously wondering why she thought so before recalling that he'd told her he was the last of his bloodline, hence being allowed out of prison to ensure the Rowle bloodline didn't die out. He seemed to realise quickly that she meant as much.

"Nah," he shook his head. "He's alive. That 'last of my bloodline' bit is more of a last of my bloodline of any respectable age to be siring kids, Princess. They aren't about to ask a man in his sixties to spawn more little shits like me, are they?"

Hermione's cheeks blossomed pink once more at the mention of children, noting the way her mother looked up, smiling widely at the prospect.

"You admit that you're shagging my daughter?" Arnold demanded at that moment, his face turning red with building rage.

Thorfinn smirked wickedly at the man.

"Course I am," he grinned. "She's my girlfriend."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up at the casual way he said it before he shot her a look, lifting one eyebrow as though asking her if she wanted to be his girlfriend. Hermione blinked at him.

"That's wonderful," her mother pronounced.

"It's bloody terrible," Arnold disagreed. "Look at him, Genevieve. If he's not a criminal, I'd reckon he's a psychopath."

Hermione wanted to bury her face in her hands when Thorfinn lost his wicked grin in favour of a less than friendly expression.

"Doesn't seem real wise provoking me on the off-chance that I am, now does it?" he asked her father coldly, his temper obviously flaring. The temperature in the room seemed to drop by several degrees with his frosty tone and Hermione was sure that her father was suddenly rather afraid, all things considered. Not that he showed it.

"If you are I'd reckon you'd better just stay the hell away from my daughter," Arnold growled in return, refusing to back down.

"Why don't we make brunch?" Hermione suggested, hurrying across the room to the kitchen before Thorfinn could do something drastic. She doubted he would break his parole over her father's rudeness, but she wasn't about to risk it.

"Arnold," Genevieve snapped, her voice sharp. "If you continue provoking your daughter's boyfriend, I'm going to do something you won't like."

"What I don't like is the idea of my little girl dating a criminal," Arnold growled at his wife.

"You don't know that he's a criminal. He's a perfectly polite young man who went out of his way to get supplies so we can have brunch with Hermione. And you are ruining it with your bluster. What have I told you about the blustering? You tried it with poor Ronald, as well and the boy ended up leaving Hermione. If you drive this one away, too, I'm personally going to maim you," her mother threatened.

"Weasley was a right foul git and he cheated on my little girl. I was right to warn that bastard away," Arnold argued.

Hermione shoved her hands against Thorfinn's chest when he stood, levelling a glare at her father. He dropped his blue eyes to stare at her for a moment, obviously noting how upset she was and Hermione blinked when he anger seemed to melt away.

"Sorry, Princess," he murmured, giving her a soft, repentant smile before he reached to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, smoothing his fingers along the length of her jaw. Hermione quivered a little at the caress.

"Try to avoid threatening my parents, please?" she whispered. He nodded in agreement, setting the groceries on the counter and curling his arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him and pressing a soft kiss to the middle of her forehead.

Hermione hated herself a little for the way she melted into the tender caress.

"Come on, Baby-girl, let's get some food into everyone before things turn nasty, yeah?" he asked, releasing her slowly and moving over to the bag of groceries.

Hermione's eyes widened when she saw the amount of food he'd purchased.

"Bloody hell, Rowle!" she exclaimed. "Are we feeding a small army? There are only four of us."

Thorfinn looked at the small mountain of food he'd bought before looking back at Hermione.

"You're going to need your strength, Princess. I've got a lot of energy-draining plans centred solely around you just as soon as your folks clear off," he smirked, not at all lowering his voice, obviously still trying to provoke her father.

Hermione blushed crimson when her father spluttered furiously from across the room.

"Thorfinn!" she hissed, swatting his arm in frustration.

"Mmmm, you'll be saying my name over and over again just like that when I get you alone again, Baby-girl."

Hermione groaned, dropping her face into her hands when she heard her mother giggle from the table while her father seemed to be having a conniption. Thorfinn laughed wickedly, pressing another kiss to her forehead before he began ferreting around in her cupboards and drawers, searching for the pots and pans he needed to fix them all something to eat.

A tense silence followed when Hermione gathered the courage enough to help him cook while Arnold was forced to drink a cup of tea and Genevieve went back to perusing the bridal magazine she'd brought along with her. Thorfinn in the kitchen was a dangerous thing. He was obviously comfortable cooking, but his huge stature meant that Hermione's tiny kitchen was not really big enough for the two of them. More often than not he ending up caging her in, pressing himself against her back while she leaned against the bench scrambling the eggs, while he was frying bacon around her as they both tried to use the stove at the same time.

She got the feeling from the lead pipe in his jeans that he rather liked being in such close quarters with her.

"Taste?" he offered a fork to her covered in some kind of homemade relish he'd been whisking up.

Hermione didn't even think about it as she leaned forward and took the relish covered bit of bacon from the fork. The flavours exploded across her tongue and Hermione groaned at the deliciousness.

"Thorfinn, that's amazing!" she praised, licking her lips.

"I love it when you make those sweet little noises of pleasure for me, Princess," he told her, stooping to kiss the side of her neck sinfully and Hermione blushed all over again when her father pointedly cleared his throat.

Elbowing Thorfinn in the ribs, Hermione tried to gather her scattered wits, hating him just a bit for his ability to so effectively scramble her thoughts. He was chuckling cruelly as he continued cooking, allowing her to duck under his arm when the toaster popped.

"Do you want a cup of tea?" she offered to him when she began carrying the veritable feast over to the table.

"Yes, please," he replied sweetly, flipping an omelette while he glanced over at her.

Hermione frowned when she reached the table. Her father had purposely sat directly opposite her mother at the four-seater dining table, ensuring that she and Thorfinn wouldn't be able to sit beside one another.

"So tell us, darling," Genevieve smiled, pretending not to notice her husband's lack of subtlety. "How have you been? How's work? Did you get the research grant you wanted?"

Hermione sighed.

"I quit," Hermione informed her parents quietly, watching both of them almost completely forget about Thorfinn to hear such an announcement form Hermione.

"You… quit?" her mother frowned. "Sweetheart, I don't think you've quit anything you set your mind to since you gave up on Divination and Muggles Studies in your third year. What happened?"

"I realised I'd wasted years working on that stupid project for my department. I didn't even think it was a viable topic to receive the grant, and I certainly didn't get the grant. So I quit. I'll find a better and more productive way to spend my time."

"Doing what, darling?"

Hermine shrugged her shoulders.

"I have no idea," she admitted. "Maybe something to do with the law system in the wizarding world? It needs to be brought up to speed and the current times, rather than being steeped in eighteenth century bollocks. Or maybe something to do with Arithmancy. I was always good at that. I haven't really put a lot of thought into it, if I'm being honest. I quit yesterday, and then I had dinner with Harry and we went to the pub."

"And you've been busy since," Thorfinn's low voice came cheerfully from behind her before he leaned around her, serving an omelette onto her plate before setting down a number of other dishes for their meal in the middle of the table.

"Must you?" she sighed, her cheeks flushing crimson once more at his obvious reference to the fact that she'd been so busy shagging him, she hadn't had the time or the energy to even think about career options.

"I must," he assured her, gently pulling on the hair at the back of her head until she tipped her head up.

He swooped down to steal a kiss from her lips when she did so, apparently set on the attempt to give her father an aneurysm before the brunch could be over.

"What is it you do, Thorfinn?" Arnold wanted to know.

Hermione closed her eyes when Thorfinn released her, rounding the table to sit opposite her. He smirked at Hermione before turning to her father.

"I got fired yesterday, actually," he admitted. "But I've got an interview later today as a procurer of rare items for a growing business in the wizarding world."

"You got fired?" her father frowned. "What'd you do to get fired?"

"Beat the shit out of someone who spat on me," Thorfinn said casually, serving himself some food and looking entirely too cheery.

"You're a criminal, aren't you?" Arnold demanded.

"Dad, can we just eat breakfast without turning this into an interrogation or a pissing contest? Please?" Hermione asked, exasperated.

"It's fine, Princess," Thorfinn threw her a smile. "Yeah, I'm a criminal. Done hard time for it, too. They let me out on parole a couple of years back, though. And folk in the wizarding world don't take too kindly to murderers, so it's not real easy to get the best jobs on offer. As yesterday proved, people spit at murderers."

The whole table fell silent as both of her parents stared at Thorfinn, terrified. Hermione wanted to kick him but the table was too wide and she couldn't reach.

"You're making a terrible first impression, Rowle," she sighed, frowning at him.

"Would you prefer that we pretend?" Thorfinn asked, raising his eyebrows at her. "Let them get their hopes up thinking I'm a good guy for their little girl before dropping the quaffle on them that I am a criminal?"

"Hermione, you're dating a murderer?" her mother frowned, obviously confused and more than a little concerned.

"I… Mum, I told you about the war in the wizarding world. Technically, I'm a murderer, too," Hermione said softly, her eyes turning to meet her mother's.

"You didn't go to prison," she pointed out. "You only acted in self-defence."

"If you went to prison, you killed people in cold blood," Arnold accused softly, his gaze still on Thorfinn.

"I did," Thorfinn agreed quietly, holding her father's gaze before glancing over at Hermione. She made a face at him, not at all pleased with where this was going.

"Don't," she warned him.

"They've a right to know, Princess," he shrugged his shoulders at her. "I was a Death Eater."

"The people you said worked for the megalomaniac who tried to wipe out non-magic folk and people like you, Hermione?" her mother frowned.

Hermione nodded, sighing softly.

"You're… dating someone who could be involved in something like that?" her mother asked, aghast.

Hermione thought seriously about hexing Thorfinn and about throwing him out of her flat. She didn't think this was going to end well. She would probably have to modify her parents' memories after this just to keep them from arguing that she was a big girl who could make her own choices, even if they were bad ones.

"Mum… it's complicated," Hermione sighed heavily, suddenly losing her appetite and not wanting to sit there for the rest of the meal, not matter how good it smelled.

"Complicated?" Arnold scoffed. "Hermione's, it's barmy. I won't stand for it! You're dating a murderer? You're shagging a murderer? What are you going to do if you get pregnant, love? He's a murderer! For all we know he might turn on you – on all of us – at any given moment!"

"Keep talking and I'll certainly turn on you, mate," Thorfinn threatened, his temper flaring at being spoken about as though he weren't in the room.

Arnold punched him. Hermione blinked in shock, her mind reeling at the sight before her as her father lunged across the table and slugged Thorfinn across the jaw.

She expected fireworks. She expected an angry roar from Thorfinn and a swift Killing Curse aimed at her father.

She didn't expect Thorfinn to wipe at the blood that suddenly leaked from the split in his lip, his eyes on her father, his expression cool.

"Can we move on, now?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at the man.

"No, we bloody well can't! You stay away from my daughter, you hear me?" Arnold bolstered, leaping to his feet and looking like he might hit Thorfinn again.

"Dad!" Hermione bit out. "Enough! Thorfinn, I think I'd like you to leave. You're just making things worse! What is wrong with you? Why would you tell them about your past?"

Thorfinn's blue eyes snapped over to rest on her face and he stared at her hard.

"You haven't been listening to me, Princess," he accused softly. "I mean it when I talk about you being the mother of my children. I mean it when I suggest that for all that you think you can't have them, you bloody well can, and I plan to plant a kid in you as surely as I plan to shag you again just as soon as your folks clear off."

"If that was the case," Hermione retorted. "It'd make more sense to do it before provoking my parents and telling them that you're a murderer who fought for the wrong side during the war. What would possess you to tell them that you were involved with a dangerous gang of criminals whose main agenda was to wipe muggles off the face of the Earth? How would that possibly endear them to you? More to the point, why would you follow that announcement with a plan to impregnate me?"

Thorfinn dabbed at the blood trickling from his lip.

"I'd rather clear the air now, Baby-girl. I have every intention of making you the mother of my children. Now since I reckon you're rather fond of your folks that means that one day these two would be in our kids' lives. I'd rather not drop it on them later that I fucked up in my youth. I'd rather have them know from the beginning that I fucked up hard, and that I paid my debt to society, and that they fucking let me the hell back out. You want to have them find out at our son's fifth birthday that I'm a murderer? Ruin the party with accusations then, rather than sorting that shit out now?"

Hermione spluttered at him.

"I can't even have kids, Thorfinn," Hermione reminded him. "I told you that right from the beginning. There will be no five year old son's birthday party to ruin because the likelihood of me falling pregnant and carrying to term is even slimmer than the likelihood of my parents ever approving of you now."

"I'm telling you that you're wrong."

"I'm never wrong!" Hermione snapped, her eyes flashing at him. "Don't you know that by now? I wasn't wrong about you at twelve and I'm not wrong about this, now."

"Wipe their memories, then," he shrugged his shoulders. "Obliviate them and they won't remember this even happened. It's not as though you don't know how, is it?"

He narrowed his eyes on her angrily, obviously annoyed with her.

"There will be no memory wiping," Genevieve spoke up sternly, having sat quiet as Hermione argued with the man she'd been shagging.

"There you go," Thorfinn pointed to her mother. "She gets it. And doesn't want you messing with their minds again."

"I'm not saying I approve of you or your methods, young man," Genevieve replied curtly.

"Would you prefer to go into this thinking I was a sweet, charming sod who was slowly stealing your daughter's heart, only to drop it on you later?" Thorfinn asked the woman, slanting a glance in her direction and raising one eyebrow.

"It might've made more sense to have showed a little more of your character to suggest you'd changed, prior to revealing the truth," Genevieve said. "Tell me, why were you a Death Eater? After all, the cat is out of the bag. I'm curious to know why you would advertise it and why you seem so interested in my daughter. If you went to war to fight for the idea that people like her and like us shouldn't be a part of your magical world, why do you want her? Why do you want us to accept your past?"

"I was a Death Eater because I was sucked into it by the people surrounding me and because I'd been taught most of my life that muggles and muggleborns, by extension, were lesser humans than wizards," Thorfinn shrugged. "I was young and impressionable and angry at the world for no good reason and I did what I was told. For the most part, my beliefs were confirmed by the people others around me associated with and by the muggle world, in general. When you're shown only the worst of something, you think the worst of it."

"Then why do you want to be with Hermione?" Genevieve asked, frowning.

"Because she's bloody brilliant," Thorfinn admitted. "Sitting in a prison cell going out of your mind has a way of altering your beliefs. I'd known for a while before the end of the war that people like Hermione weren't all I'd believed them to be when I signed on to be a Death Eater, but it's not something you back out of easily. Anyone who took the Mark and then deserted the cause was hunted down and butchered in the worst possible ways known to wizard-kind. I couldn't back out if I wanted to live."

"Why pursue her now, then?" Genevieve asked.

"Happenstance," Thorfinn admitted with a shrug. "We loathed each other at school and we were enemies during the war. Coming across each other whilst drunk when I'd been let out of prison was pure chance. Turns out that I'm a bit fond of her, though."

"A bit?" Genevieve scoffed. "Young man, you're professing your intent to sire her children."

Thorfinn shrugged. "Just telling it like it is."

"If you could go back to before you joined your Dark Lord and take it back, would you?" her mother asked, eyeing him now.

"Course I would."

"Because you got caught?" she pushed. "Because you went to prison over it?"

Thorfinn shook his head.

"Because I was wrong," he said quietly. "Because though most of your non-magic gadgets make less sense to me than hieroglyphics, you're not all dirty, evil people bent on wiping wizards from the planet and you're not all wretched. Because people like Hermione aren't lesser than people with magical ancestry. In most cases, people like her are better at magic. Not in understanding the history, mind, but in terms of general power as witches or wizards, muggleborns and half-bloods are more powerful than some of the older pureblood lines. If I could go back, I'd have switched sides and seduced Hermione that much sooner."

Hermione blinked at him in shock, surprised to hear him say so. Shocked that he had so drastically changed the beliefs he surely must've held up to and during the war.

"How many people have you killed, Thorfinn?" her mother asked shrewdly.

"Not sure, to be honest. I was charged with six counts of murder, along with kidnapping, assault, trespass, vandalism, arson and a number of other, lesser charges."

"You don't even know how many people you murdered?" he father finally spoke, having fallen silent to let his wife speak.

"Most of the people I killed were done so in self-defence. It was kill or be killed during the war. Those who weren't were people I was ordered to kill under the threat of being killed myself if I disobeyed the Dark Lord or people who'd likely have tried to kill me, had they had the chance."

"Arson?" his mother asked. "Assault?"

"I have a temper," Thorfinn shrugged his shoulders. "I'm still on parole."

"How long have you been out of prison?"

"Couple of years, now. There are a number of us who were paroled. We all have to check in every week to ensure we're behaving. Our wands are scanned to ensure we haven't cast any unfriendly spells. We're closely monitored. I've been on my best behaviour."

"You got fired for beating someone up just yesterday," Arnold sneered.

Hermione winced when Thorfinn's eyes flashed, obviously not liking her father any more than Arnold liked him.

"Why don't I force you into a situation you want to back out of shortly after signing up, force you to do heinous things, lock you up for several years and then set you loose in a society where you can't hold a decent job because of all of you've done and where people sneer and spit and kick at you every chance they get to remind you what a dumb cunt you were and see how long it takes before you get tired of turning the other cheek whenever someone spits on you?" he growled at Arnold, his teeth clenched.

Hermione expected more fireworks. She expected her father to retaliate and she expected that Arnold would say something else to further antagonise Thorfinn. She didn't expect that he would pick up his tea cup and drink from it, regarding Thorfinn over the rim. He still didn't look like he approved, but he also looked like he wasn't going to continue arguing. Hermione held her breath as he lowered the tea-cup, waiting to see what he would do.

Hermione watched as her father took his eyes off Thorfinn, meeting his wife's mildly annoyed gaze for a long minute before he turned to Hermione. His eyes scanned over her tense face, noting the pinched expression of worry pursing her lips and the fact that she was palming her wand in her lap, ready to hex Thorfinn into next week if he lost his temper and tried to hex her parents.

"You call her 'Princess', correct?" Arnold asked, turning back to Thorfinn after regarding Hermione carefully for several long minutes.

Thorfinn nodded slowly, flicking a glance at Hermione, who eyed him in return, unsure where the conversation was about to go, but thinking that she probably wasn't going to like it.

Arnold nodded, too. "Well, boy, you better treat my daughter like Queen. If she ever turns up in my living room crying because of you; if you ever lay and unfriendly hand on her; or if you ever show even a hint of the person you used to be in her presence, they'll never find your body. You probably don't have any idea what a dentist is, but be warned that if you ever hurt my daughter, I'm going to rip out over single tooth in your head. And I'm going to show you my drill."

For a man in his late fifties, who was at least a foot shorter than Thorfinn, Arnold Granger managed to make a rather intimidating specimen of himself right in that moment. If the look on Thorfinn's face was any indication, he was more than a little terrified of being shown a drill and Hermione had to hide her giggle but stuffing a piece of bacon in her mouth when Thorfinn looked over at her, alarmed at such a barbaric threat.

She got the feeling that, had he not already been planning to treat her like a queen, he certainly would now.