When they arrived back at Nidum Serpentis, Hermione had handed the manuscript off to Tom and immediately retreated to her study with the excuse of a headache. She couldn't lie to the bastard so the headache was real enough, but that, of course, was not why she retreated.
She just could not stand the thought of looking him in the eye after witnessing him crucioing someone who was almost a friend to him, or crucioing anyone really. She could not stand to see him and not feel what she knew she should.
She REALLY could not stand to see him and feel things that she knew she should not.
On any other day, Hermione would have been far too enthralled with the opportunity to explore the manuscript about the Philosopher's Stone to think of anything else but her brain was just not set to the task. Even her hunger for academic knowledge couldn't quell the tide of emotional upheaval she could not set aside.
Tom had to have felt it; the empathy entreaty would have practically guaranteed that. Thankfully he seemed far too captivated by the manuscript to pay her any mind at all and if he shot her one or two annoyed glances whilst rubbing his chest before they parted ways, it's not as if it was unexpected.
Though Tom did not come to bed that night, he did invite her to sleep on the couch in his study whilst he continued his thorough examination of their pilfered parchment. Knowing she needed the contact whether she wanted it or not, Hermione had settled with her head on his thigh and willed unconsciousness to claim her. She had reveled in the smell of him and the feel of him, despising herself for how he soothed her and slept fitfully through the night.
The next morning, the Riddles sat down to breakfast as they did every morning. This time, however, the silence stretched between them like a chasm as her mind. She watched her husband grow increasingly agitated as he rubbed at his chest until he set his spoon down with a clang.
"What is this, Gaza?" He asked with barely concealed annoyance, eyeing her over the edge of the Daily Prophet that he was shaking out irritably with his other hand. "An incredibly brief torture curse at half strength cannot possibly come as a shock to your delicate sensibilities. Have we not discussed this sort of thing at length not a month past?"
When she hadn't answered, his eyes had flashed with rage before shuttering and he had set the paper down with painful carefulness.
"Do you know what Orion would do to you if he were to find out you were muggleborn and you were not under my protection?" Tom asked conversationally, picking up his coffee with precision and taking a long sip before continuing. "He would sneer, carefully put on his dragon skin gloves so as not to be sullied, and then drag you by the hair to the deepest depths of the Avery dungeons. Upon discovering your immunity to painful stimuli, Corvus would delight in exploring ticklish and itching sensations to discover how best to cause maddening discomfort."
"Orion, for his part," he continued, placing his mug back on the table and resuming taking small, practiced bites of his eggs, "would likely be the one to suggest forcing you to watch the torture of innocents after your display yesterday. He'd bring crup puppies and kneazles and perhaps a muggle child or two and suggest flaying as an alternative to the overused torture curse. He'd escort 'Wallie' there to watch you squirm and sob for a special anniversary present."
Hermione's eyes pricked as she stared down at her untouched beans and toast, willing herself not to cry and not to scream as Tom spoke.
He stood, abandoning his breakfast, and moved to leave the room to presumably finish getting ready for work. He paused at the doorway, rubbing a palm over his solar plexus once more before turning back towards where she sat with her head still bowed over her plate.
"None of that shall happen, of course," he said coolly, and she could feel his beautiful, frozen eyes boring into her skin as she refused to lift her own gaze to his. "Your heritage will not become known and even if it did, no one would dare harm you. You are mine, and I take care of what is mine. Is that not what we said, Little Gaza? 'You are mine, and I will be yours.' I've made no secret of who I am or what I do. On the contrary, I assured you that under no circumstances will I change to suit another's sensitivities. You know exactly what I'm capable of, and furthermore, Orion Black is far from an innocent."
Hermione swallowed heavily and stood on shaky legs, finally raising her head to stare at him across the table where she braced herself with her palms. She tried to muster up the hate she used to feel, the distaste: she could not find it. In its place, she found emotions she refused to name and self-loathing for feeling them.
"You are mine, and I will be yours," she repeated quietly, staring into his handsome face. "How could I have forgotten, when I made that claim, that I was claiming a monster?"
She meant the words to be cutting. The devotion entreaty wouldn't beat at her unless she undermined his welfare and so she may be compelled to fix the effect of her words, but she could still say them, and she wanted to. She wanted him to feel her disapproval, her disgust at his choice to not only torture another human being but to have no remorse for doing so. She wanted to hurt him, to poke a wound into what they had become. She wanted to kill that fond smile he sometimes sent to her, the warmth he held only for her, because what did it say about who she was that she was the only person to warm the heart of the Dark Lord?
Tom simply shrugged. "What is a monster but a creature larger and stronger than the rest, and unafraid to use those assets to meet its goals?" He asked. "You cannot shame me, little wife, and remorse is quite beyond my reach or interest. Orion questioned you, he ignored your directive, and he became suspicious of your sympathies. If anguish and manipulation are the cost of ensuring your safety, Deliciae, I will deal suffering out in whatever degree is required without compunction or hesitation. I will do so every single time I deem it wise, whether you approve or not."
What little anger she had managed to muster drained from Hermione's body, leaving her with only an ache in her heart and exhaustion. "Your brand of devotion is going to destroy me, Tom," she whispered hopelessly.
He crossed the kitchen, coming to stand beside her before pulling her into his chest. His lips caressed her forehead in a tender approximation of a kiss, scorching her skin just as he always did, and she felt tears finally leak down her cheeks as his hand buried itself in her hair.
"I suggest that you find a way to keep that from happening, Gaza," Tom breathed into the skin of her forehead. Her nerves sang at the contact and her soul reached for his all while her mind reeled backwards. "If you lose your way, I will have no choice but to lead you. If you allow me to destroy you, I will be compelled to remold the clay of your person and you might not like what I make of you."
He left her there, with tears streaming down her cheeks in the hearth of their home, to figure out how to do as he suggested. Hermione retreated to their bedroom after he left for work and opened the closet, pulling out the book of hair charms and a new set of hair combs as she slowly prepared to floo away from the house.
'I'm already lost,' she thought blankly as she pulled on her pureblood appropriate shoes and pureblood appropriate stockings and pureblood appropriate dress.
'I'm already lost,' she thought as she secured her wand in her hair and walked towards the main floo in the entryway.
'I'm lost,' she thought as the flames turned green and she stepped into them.
"Dolohov Manor," Hermione said softly.
She had been already been destroyed, she realized distantly as she stumbled out into the dark tea room of Antonin's house. She had misplaced every piece of herself, had decimated all the plans she had ever made, the moment she fell in love with a monster.
She sat slumped down on the stone floor in front of the fireplace for five minutes before Antonin found her.
"Kotik?" his voice rang out in the room. There was a pause, a muffled curse, and then the curtains that had been pulled tight opened seemingly of their own accord. Sunlight streamed in and Hermione looked up from her spot on the floor with wet eyes and a quiver to her lip.
Antonin crouched in front of her, reaching out to take her upper arms in his hands and pull her to her feet.
"My lady, are you injured?" He breathed, eyes roving over her form as if he expected to find some sort of wound. "I was not in residence this morning but the wards alerted me that someone with access had come through the floo."
Hermione swallowed and looked up at the Death Eater in front of her with red, swollen eyes. She didn't have Harry or Ron here. She didn't have her parents or McGonagall, or even Neville or Luna or Ginny. She thought she might have Calliope, maybe even Angua and Joce, but she wasn't sure.
The only two people she was sure of here, that she was sure were hers, were Tom Riddle and Antonin Dolohov.
With a wail that would not have been out of place coming from Hermione Granger ten years ago, she threw herself into his arms and crumpled. Antonin caught her with a startled sound, freezing momentarily before scooping her up in his arms and carrying her to the loveseat. He tried to settle her next to him and while she let him, she still clung like a small child, lost and overwhelmed in the tide of her upset. He allowed her to settle in the curve of his shoulder and wet his neck.
He ran his hand up and down her back, making soothing coos and clucks until, exhausted, Hermione sat simply hiccupping while she clung to his broad shoulders. He allowed her a few more moments to collect herself before Antonin finally spoke.
"Kotik. Should I call Tom?" he asked softly, still running his hand over her spine in the way one soothes a little one from nightmares.
"Please don't," she whispered, and he stiffened beneath her.
"Did he hurt you, my Lady?" Antonin queried, voice carefully controlled and hand never faltering despite the way his muscles had tightened.
Hermione sighed.
"And if he had?" she asked him, clearing her throat when the words came out thick and snotty. "You are as bound to him as you are to me."
Antonin paused, clearly unsure about whether to speak or not, before he slumped with a sigh. "I am not," he admitted, and Hermione lifted her head to look into his eyes even as her brow furrowed with confusion. "I assumed that is how this would work but..."
He trailed off before continuing. "Do you not feel it?" he asked with a frown. "Or, I suppose you would not, since you do not have the bond caused by the Dark Mark. The bond with the Dark Lord, it- well, it is to ensure loyalty. It ties us to him, allows him to call to us and find us, and should alert him to deception or someone turning traitor."
Antonin sighed again and rubbed his free hand across his forehead. "But it is imperfect," he explained. "The bond the Dark Mark creates is passive for the most part and therefore, if an active bond exists, it can usurp it. Without a higher bond, the mark would trigger as normal at the first sign of treason, but a higher bond disrupts the process. I did not know this, of course, until I pledged myself to you, but I am an expert of dark curses and the mark is very similar to a curse. Since I felt the shift within myself, I have been researching."
"So what would happen if you were to find your two vows to be in conflict with one another?" Hermione asked, momentarily pulled from her despair in the face of academic discovery.
"I would die," Antonin answered bluntly, and she shrunk backwards from him at the frankness of his answer. "That much I knew, Kotik, so worry not. You are the Dark Lord's wife, his very own, and so I doubt that I will ever find myself in such a position. What I did not know was that while I would die, yes, it would be in fulfilling my vow to you. I would not have a choice, as it were, as to who to betray. My vow to you requires that I give my life to protect you, so in such a circumstance, I would do what you asked. Though the mark would not immediately kill me, as it is my lesser bond, the Dark Lord's knowledge of the betrayal could potentially force it into activating. As soon as he knew, the Dark Mark's nastier attributes could be initiated from his side of it and I would die."
Immediately her soul, likely her piece of their bond, rebelled at the idea of his death and she placed a hand on the side of his head with her thumb at his temple. "I would not allow that to happen," she said firmly.
"I should hope you would not wish it," Antonin said with a small smile. "But I am, as they say, at your absolute mercy. So, I must ask once more Kotik: did he hurt you?"
Reminded of why she was here and so upset in the first place, Hermione immediately slumped, curling back into his shoulder. "No," she answered quietly. "He did not hurt me."
Antonin nodded, his hand moving to begin sweeping her spine again in that comforting, soothing motion, and her eyes pricked once more. "Will you tell me what happened then?" He asked.
And she did. Once Hermione began talking, it seemed she was unable to stop and she found herself telling him absolutely everything. Perhaps their bond created a false sense of intimacy and safety or perhaps she was just so tired of lying, of having no one to confide in except Lord Voldemort, but her mouth ran away with her and she pushed away every single warning signal that sprang up in her head.
She talked.
She talked about her timeline, the time she truly belonged to, and the war. She talked about Ron and Harry, in more detail than she had ever confided in Tom out of fear of what he would do with that information. She talked about Hogwarts, about rebuilding the time turner and coming back to 1955. She talked about her plans and her ambitions, the position Tom had offered her as well as the reason that she took it, and the repercussions of that choice in the form of the entreaties that chained her.
And finally, she talked about the way she felt for him, the distaste she held for his actions that she desperately tried to cling to as her fondness for the man grew. She confided her fears that the need entreaty had dug deeper than she had ever anticipated, that she could no longer find loathing for him in spite of the atrocities he could commit. Lastly, she told him her greatest shame and the reason she had come to him, heart a flayed and open wound this morning as she wept on the stone floor of Dolohov Manor.
She had fallen in love with the Dark Lord and she still couldn't reconcile the evil that permeated his being with that truth.
When Hermione finished confessing her myriad of worries and sins, when finally she took a breath, she allowed the warning sirens in her head to crash into her consciousness as she pulled her wand from her hair. She needed someone she could trust, she needed someone to know her in this time, but she wasn't stupid. Tom had described Antonin as more open than the other Death Eaters, but he had joined the organization all the same. He was a morally ambiguous man at best and if she needed to obliviate him, she would.
She leaned back from her spot at his side, swiftly bringing her wand up to his temple where her thumb had been not so very long ago and stared into his eyes. Antonin looked back, steady and calm with a softness in his gaze and his hand limp on her back.
"Come, Kotik," he murmured, never breaking eye contact or moving to defend himself even with the tip of her wand pressed against his skin. "You know I cannot harm you. You know that I have sworn to love all that you love and shun all that you shun. I am yours, to do with as you see fit. If you need know my mind, that knowledge is yours for the taking."
Silently, Hermione ghosted into the depths of his consciousness and easily arrived at a heavily fortified iron gate. She watched the gate swing open and found herself awash in Antonin's thoughts, impressions, and emotions.
His devotion bathed her, his fondness overwhelmed her, but she softly set it aside. Emotions could be deceiving and could be used as subterfuge if one drowned in them. She pushed deeper.
There was not hatred of muggles, though no fondness either. Muggles, to Antonin, were inconsequential and outside his purview. Tom and he shared the belief that magical blood was magical blood, and a person ceased to be a muggle as soon as their core developed.
What drew him to the Death Eater's, she wondered. The impression of her question whispered into his consciousness and memories came to her in answer.
The smell of honey cakes in a kitchen in Russia. Antonin playing with a kneazle on a carpet in front of the floo while his mother pulls the pastry from the oven. His father comes in from the garden with a smile for him and plants a kiss on his mother's cheek...
The stench of pus and blood and the screams coming from his parent's room down the hall. A frazzled mediwitch's assistant runs into the hallway with her arms full of bloodied bandages. She sees him, a little boy huddled in the corner, and forces a smile...
A funeral...
Hermione frowned internally and her hand tightened on Antonin's arm. Her heart hurt for him.
Moving to Britain at 9 years old when his mother marries a poor but influential man with a good name. Finally seeing Dolohov Manor and learning he'll still be living amongst his blood's magical heritage. A little girl with auburn pigtails running down a long white hallway, hair streaming behind her as she giggles and Antonin watches. Her name is Christine. Always wishing for siblings and never having them; he loves his little 8-year-old half-blood, step-sister almost immediately...
Being thrilled to be accepted into Slytherin only to find that in Britain, Slytherins are considered DARK and this is a bad thing...
Asking his mother why dark magic is celebrated in Russia but reviled in Britain and the twinkle in her eye when she sends him to the library of his own home to find his answer...
His first real taste of blood prejudice when Christine arrives at Hogwarts in his second year and joins him at the Slytherin table. The jeers and the hatred that he can only sometimes shield her from...
Sighing, Hermione allowed herself to be pulled further along. She was painfully familiar with the effects of blood prejudice and her heart went out to the little first year in a pit of snakes where over half would despise her for her blood alone.
Starting to truly spend time with Tom Riddle and his group of friends. Being fascinated by the boy's knowledge and ability with magic. Antonin taking a chance and sharing his views on how limited what they are learning in classes is, how light-washed it is, and watching Tom smile...
Books on dark magic, books on curses, books on everything Antonin has ever been interested in. Drowning in magical theory on light, grey, and dark magics and loving it. Study groups with other, like-minded Slytherins and finally feeling like he belongs, like these boys are his intellectual equals...
Learning that Tom is less interested in theory and more interested in practice. Watching him demonstrate unforgivable curses on mice, then cats, then Nott and Avery. He feels his horror and how it diminishes each time he watches, replaced by academic curiosity. How does the Imperius Curse actually work? What makes someone actually compelled to follow the commands? After he interrupts a session to ask what the effects of combining a cruciatus and imperius concurrently might be, if a person could fight through the pain to follow orders or not, Tom inducts him officially into the Knights of Walpurgis...
Hermione choked, revulsion coursing through her, but Antonin pushed forward relentlessly.
Tom introducing the Knights to his basilisk. Myrtle Warren dies and Antonin recoils. Men are men and animals are animals, but you do not harm women or children. It's a belief that he cannot shake, a moral he cannot bury, and he pulls away from Tom...
Christine knocking on his dorm door, eyes unfocused with her dress torn and blood on her thighs. Dippet examining her, finding the telltale signs of obliviation. The headmaster equivocating. There is nothing he can legally do, obliviated memory restoration is inadmissible in the Wizengamot and with the school board, so what's the purpose of her remembering? The rage that consumes Antonin as his sister flinches from everyone, scared of every boy...
Tom spending hours staring into Christine's eyes, carefully and meticulously reassembling her memory. The care he takes with her, the gentleness he employs as he sifts through the spell and brings back just enough of that night so they know who hurt her...
Antonin pushed at her consciousness, willing her back and out of his head and she allowed him to. She was horrified by what he showed her, horrified at his choices and what had befallen his sister and-
"Tom found them," Antonin said, looking past her and into the flames in the fireplace as he spoke. "And when their blood ran and they screamed out in pain as I watched when he sought justice for me, I realized that there were only two sides to be had. Tom Riddle takes care of what's his; he's always said it and he proved it to be the truth."
His eyes moved back to hers and she was surprised that they could be so open and so warm and yet he could still discuss torture as one would discuss tea. It was exceedingly disconcerting, perhaps even more so than Tom's icy gaze.
"In the world we are building, women and children are going to get hurt," he continued, his eyes boring into hers as he willed her into understanding. "Half-bloods and muggleborns are going to get hurt. The only way to truly protect my women and children, my half-bloods and muggleborns, is to be on the side of the winners. The only way to protect them is to be one of Tom's. Christine is safe and married to a Goyle cousin who adores her in America. That is because of my association with Tom. Many women go to their marriage beds without their innocence intact, but everyone knew, beyond any doubt, that Christine was... 'ruined'."
His jaw clenched and he swallowed down anger before he continued. "Tom commanded Malfoy and Nott to elevate Charles Goyle to a level of wealth and influence which was deserving of Christine," he continued. "He's new money and they are new to American society, but no one knows how low born he is there and no one knows what happened to her. He did that for me, to secure my loyalty, and it worked. I am loyal."
Hermione opened her mouth to say something, what she was not sure, but Antonin cut her off. "Make no mistake, Kotik," he said firmly. "I am a bad man. I felt your horror, but torture and the pain of other men does not disgust me. My magic is dark, my interests are dark, and while I take no pleasure in inflicting pain, I am not averse to it either."
He closed his eyes and sighed. "But now I must love what you love and shun what you shun," he said quietly. "You may, if you choose, create that morality within me. It will greatly impede my ability to please the Dark Lord, but... as I said, I am at your mercy. You have shown me your secrets, and so I have shown you mine. Do with me as you will."
Hermione's mouth snapped shut as she stared at the man in front of her. He kept his eyes closed, his hands relaxed where she still sat perched in the cradle of his arm, as he waited again for her judgment. And it was judgment because if she ruined Antonin's ability to be useful to Tom, the Dark Lord would have no compunction about killing him. She wondered who he had thought she was when he first pledged himself to her. How different was she from what he had hoped, from what he had planned? She could destroy him and he knew it, and yet he simply sat and waited for her to do so.
"Are you disappointed?" she found herself asking. "Now that you know who I really am?"
A small smile played on Antonin's lips, but he kept his eyes closed. "No, Kotik," he said with a chuckle. "I am not disappointed. Perhaps it is more dangerous for me that you are who you are, but I find myself glad that you are not like Tom, not like me. We have enough dark souls in the Death Eaters. Perhaps a lighter one will bring some stars to the night we plan to blanket Britain with. Perhaps in that darkness, you will be the moon that keeps us all from going blind."
Hermione bit her lip, charmed by his poetic answer in spite of herself. "Maybe," she ventured. "But you are part of that night, Antonin, and I doubt Tom would tolerate another moon. It would be unwise to create moral qualms within you that would quelch your ability to perform the tasks you are assigned, and I have sworn to care for you. I will keep my vow. Protect me, keep my confidences, and do what I ask of you when I seek you out. I hope you realize now that you truly know me how challenging our bond might be for you ultimately."
Antonin's eyes opened and he smiled at her. "Ah, but what is life without a challenge?" He teased. His smile faded away and he frowned slightly. "Perhaps when you tell the Dark Lord that you have told me your true identity, you could fail to mention you did so while seated practically on top of me."
Hermione laughed. "I'm hardly on top of you. Although, he has been strangely possessive when it comes to you," she allowed, moving to stand and smooth down her skirts. "It's almost as if he thinks you're going to try to steal me away."
"He thinks I'm falling in love with you," Antonin said bluntly, still seated on the loveseat. "And Tom does not share."
She paused, momentarily stunned before glancing out of the corner of her eye at the wizard. She didn't think she had misread this so badly, but-
"Worry not, Kotik," he said with a smirk. "You are, as they say, not my type. You are a beautiful woman, but I only find women pleasing in the aesthetic sense. My tastes run in other directions."
"Oh," Hermione said a bit blankly. She supposed when the Death Eaters had been shooting curses at her and trying to kill her in her time, she'd never really considered their orientation. The concerns for staying alive had been much more prominent.
"Where is Tom right now?" Antonin asked.
She startled, pulled from her musings on the past. "He's at work," she answered.
"Well, it looks to be early afternoon," he sighed, rising from the couch and moving towards the doorway. "And I think we got distracted from your original purpose. I don't suppose you got what you were looking for in reference to your emotional upheaval?"
Hermione groaned, feeling her stomach tighten as her thoughts turned back to her husband. "No, I did not," she grumbled. "I do feel better just for talking about it, but Tom will be home in a few hours and I'm still... confused."
Her head was already aching from the need entreaty, but she still had time before the problems really began and she'd take the pain over seeing Lord Voldemort before she had found some kind of temporary peace with her current emotional state.
"Come into the kitchen and we'll have some lunch," Antonin suggested, leading her out into a hallway.
Playlist for Chapters 11-20
Chapter 11: Bite Your Kiss by Diamonte
Chapter 12: You don't own me by Lesley Gore
Chapter 13: If I Had A Heart by Fever Ray
Chapter 14: Wicked Game Cover by Stone Sour
Chapter 15: Our Demons (feat. Aja Volkman) by The Glitch Mob
Chapter 16: All The King's Horses by Karmina
Chapter 17: Do You Really Want It? by Nothing More
Chapter 18: I'm a Ruler (feat. Ruby Amanfu)
Chapter 19: Hope is a Dangerous Thing for a Woman like Me to Have by Lana Del Rey
Chapter 20: From Eden by Hozier