Looking so long at these pictures of you
But I never hold on to your heart
Pictures of You - The Cure [1989]
June moved into July, and it was finally time to retrieve Harry from Privet Drive. Hermione had spent all summer preparing; she hadn't let the fact that they weren't exactly sure what they would be doing phase her, they had survived thus far on luck and little concrete information it would have to do. After numerous attempts, she had finally perfected an extension charm on a small beaded bag her mother had brought for her, before their trip to Rhodes, the spell was, in the eyes of the Ministry at least, more than a little grey, though Hermione considered that probably no longer mattered now. She had so far managed to get most of the books and research materials packed up. Clothing and as much food as she could gather would be next, followed by discretely taking the tent that they had used for the Quidditch World Cup. Hermione didn't expect Mr Weasley would mind her borrowing it, but she could hardly ask, no one knew their plan, and they intended to keep it that way.
Once all of the Order members cleared for the mission had arrived at the leafy suburban house, Ron and Hermione made their way to the front and knocked on the door. When it opened, Harry all but flung himself out, and the three friends embraced for a moment, giving little thought to the Order members piling into the house around them.
"Thank you for coming," Harry breathed into her hair, and they all ignored the slightly choked sound of his voice. Hermione understood he was conflicted, he was finally getting to leave the place that had housed some of the worst moments of his life, for good, but leaving it severed the last of his ties to the Muggle world, and to any blood relation he had. No matter how undeserving they might have been of the title family. Harry was free to go, but Sirius wasn't waiting for him. Hermione understood perfectly; he just didn't know how much she could empathise.
"Couldn't let you have all the fun could we," Ron laughed out, immediately alleviating the tension. Hermione smiled at him kindly; they really couldn't do it without him.
They moved into what must have been the living room, though no furniture remained it was easy to deduce from the lines, the now long gone three piece suite, had dented into the pristine carpet. Hermione found her eyes locking on those markings, innocuous as they were it put her in mind of the gaps that were now in her parent's photographs, dents that had been made over time, that not even the best magic could remove. The Order had seen to it that the Dursley's were protected of course. Hermione swallowed down her bitterness, her vitriol, should she release it, would seem out of character, why would she be against them helping out a defenceless Muggle family after all? She wanted to yell, scream that none of them had even inquired about her parents, it was only important that she was available to assist Harry. She patted her friend on the shoulder and moved to the back of the crowd, to rest against a wall.
Alastor Moody walked to the front of the rabble and began gruffly lecturing on the plan for the evening, plans that Hermione had already heard too many times to count. She had never warmed to the war-ravaged Auror, though she could concede that a lot of that wasn't even his fault. Barty Crouch Jr's presence in their lives had not left happy memories. What Hermione hadn't expected, when meeting the 'real' Moody for the first time, was to struggle to tell the difference between him and the psychotic Death Eater that had been playing him for a year.
Instead of paying any kind of attention, Hermione stood with her eyes shut trying to regulate her breathing, she jumped when she felt a hand lay softly on her shoulder and opened her eyes to see Kingsley Shacklebolt standing before her.
"I don't think I've ever seen you afraid Miss Granger," he said kindly.
"You should spend more time with me Mr Shacklebolt, perpetual fear has become one of my defining characteristics," she said dryly, and the imposing man regarded her wide-eyed. At first, Hermione thought he was looking at her sternly, until she noticed him trying to suppress a smile at her retort. "I apologise," she said immediately, feeling slightly silly, "anxiety makes me crabby."
He smiled, before joining her in leaning back against the wall and folding his arms across his chest. When he spoke again, he had lowered his voice, presumably so as not to embarrass her. "You don't have to do this you know, there is still time to pull out. Not all of us are fighters, Miss Granger. Even if you don't change your mind, it's perfectly natural to be frightened before combat, and please, for the last time, call me Kingsley," he finished with a broad smile that Hermione couldn't help returning, feeling some of the jitters melt away. If she was glad of one thing, it was that this plan meant she would be paired with him, and Kingsley Shacklebolt made her feel safe. Hermione was always relied upon to think, to make plans, to be Harry's right hand. Having Kingsley, as he insisted she called him, as a partner meant she had someone looking out for her.
"Ah… I wasn't thinking about that, the battle I mean. Well, I mean, I am scared of that as well... but it's the flying," she admitted, cheeks flaming with self-consciousness. "I don't think I'm over the last time I rode on a thestral."
Kingsley stared at her for several seconds until she muttered, "Why does everything need to be airborne?" and he broke into boisterous laughter so loud that it brought the attention of the whole room.
"When you have quite finished," Moody interrupted testily, "there's a mission to be getting on with. Miss Granger get yourself to the front," he grouched pointing in front of him.
Kingsley bumped his shoulder into hers, "No worries Miss Granger, I've got your back."
Hermione nodded, grateful for his distraction before sighing as she registered Moody's grumbling and walked forward dutifully to stand between Ron and Fleur, in the line of pretend Potters. When the hip flask got to her, she drunk down the potion before passing it on and tried her best to keep the foul liquid down. Polyjuice, as it turned out, had not got any better tasting, but at least she was fairly sure she wasn't going to turn into a cat this time.
Changing into Harry's clothes in front of everyone was not fun, and it was a singularly bizarre experience to look down at her body and see someone else's features. Bill growled when the Twins moved behind her and Fleur to ping the straps of their now pointless bras, and Hermione shared an eye roll with the part Veela before hurrying her changing.
All too soon they took off into the sky, and Hermione couldn't stop herself from clinging to Kingsley, tighter and tighter before burying her face in his shoulder.
All lingering thoughts of the height and speed they were travelling at, deserted her when they had flown high above the house to discover Death Eaters surrounded them. Hermione had never seen that many at once, there must have been at least thirty. Their presence was no chance mission or stake out; they had to have known this was happening. The assembled fighters for the Dark had all donned their robes and masks, and Hermione realised that their purpose was not just to conceal identity, but also to intimidate and that they did an amazingly good job of both.
From that moment the battle began in earnest, and Hermione clamped herself as securely as she could to Kingsley and fought as hard as possible to keep them alive, this was no time for fear, they had to provide the distraction necessary to get Harry to safety, then they could travel to their secure destination.
Over to her left, enormous clouds of billowing smoke appeared, and from their centre, Voldemort flew, actually flew, into the combat. After a few moments where he seemed to revel in the shocked faces of the assembled Order, he went after Mad-Eye Moody. Hermione watched on helpless as Mundungus Fletcher apparated away immediately, upon sighting who was on their tail, before Voldemort aimed a curse at the old Auror, striking him in the centre chest. The whooshing of the air and the crackling of spell fire was lost to the dull pounding in her ears, as he plummeted to the ground.
Hermione had no time to think, as Voldemort changed course, and came right for her and Kingsley, flanked by at least five Death Eaters. She had never seen Voldemort in the flesh before, if that was even an expression that could be applied to him; he looked so reptilian Hermione believed he was more snake and dark magic than man now. She sent two stunning spells in quick succession, not considering how immobilising someone while they were fifty feet in the air was likely to end up, and Kingsley sent a slicing hex that she was pretty sure had killed that opponent.
Suddenly Voldemort paused his combative stance, his head turning from them until he smiled, a grim sight, and rocketed off in another direction, he must have known she wasn't Harry! Distracted from her panic by the unmistakable cackling of Bellatrix Lestrange, and the sight of more Death Eaters heading in their direction, Hermione gritted her teeth and flexed her fingers around her wand. They were going to make it out of there alive.
When Hermione and Kingsley eventually port keyed into the Burrow, the normally rambunctious family home was gripped by a different type of chaos than the norm. Before her feet had even landed entirely on the ground Professor Lupin, pointed his wand at Kingsley's chest and they recited their agreed security questions. Kingsley released her from the grip he had on her arm once they made it to the garden, and Hermione moved through the thick grass covering the Weasley's grounds to make it to the house. Harry was there, safe, but emotional about having lost Hedwig during the fight, Ginny was comforting him, and for once he was too distressed to push her away. Hermione worriedly eyed the drawn face of her friend; how much more could he take?
George was stretched out on the sofa, blood covering one side of his face, Professor Snape Sectumsempra curse had lacerated his ear. Mrs Weasley had tried to mend it, but the nature of the wound repelled any healing magic. Hermione knew, from what Harry had told her, that there was a way of healing those cuts, if there hadn't been Draco Malfoy wouldn't be alive, but the Potion's Master must have specially designed a counter curse to go with it, and none of those present was likely to know it. Molly was nearly hysterical at the thought of a man that had been in her home (as part of the Order, not as an expressly invited guest) had been close to killing her son. Hermione considered that if the former professor had been close enough to fire a spell that hit George's ear he had probably been close enough to kill him, and evidently hadn't, though judged that her musings would not have been well received.
She walked over to George giving him a murmured 'hello', and attempted to draw him into a conversation. If there was anyone who could lift the mood of the room it would be one of the Twins. Hurt as he was, his playful banter remained, and for once Hermione allowed his teasing with total forbearance.
Shortly after she had arrived, been checked over and issued a firewhisky laced tea by Molly, Arthur and Fred burst into the Burrow. The Weasley patriarch pushed Professor Lupin out of the way when he attempted to interrogate him, so he could see his son, apparently having seen him take the hit earlier and had assumed the damage was far more severe. Hermione had never seen Arthur so forceful, a usually quiet man; she had stood back in shock as he had all but flattened both Remus and Kingsley, who were both far bigger than him.
They fell into tense silence as Ron and Tonk's timeslot came and went. A full twenty minutes after their allotted time a clattering outside alerted the Burrow inhabitants of their arrival. After several muttered curses Tonks appeared at the doorway first. "Sorry, sorry…" she apologised, pushing Ron through the door before her. "Got into a bit of sticky situation and missed our portkey."
Everyone was 'treated' to watching Professor Lupin's werewolf instinct take hold, as he roughly pulled his wife to him, slowly and methodically assessing every part of her, running his nose over her neck and face while moving his hands over her body firmly. Hermione was bright red, Ginny was delighted, and even Mrs Weasley looked slightly overcome.
Finally, Fleur and Bill arrived, barely a hair out of place on either of them, and they brought the news that Mad-Eye Moody had indeed fallen, and was dead. Harry's breath hitched, and he moved out of the kitchen, quickly pursued by Ginny.
Two days later it was if the latest battle had never happened. Molly had obviously decided that activity was the best thing for everyone, and had doled out tasks to all those currently under her roof, ostensibly to get the house ready for the upcoming wedding. But Hermione knew there was a secondary reason, Molly was an observant woman, and she must have noticed Hermione, Harry and Ron locked in conversation on several occasions since the school year had ended. Every opportunity she got, the matriarch set them up with different tasks, dispatching them to work the furthest they could be from each other in the house. Which was how Hermione found herself in the kitchen that morning, helping to prepare some of the food from the monumental list Molly had of what was 'essential' for the wedding.
"Hermione I've meant to get you on your own," Molly began once everyone else had cleared the room.
Hermione was briefly apprehensive, worried that she was going to be asked what her conferences with the boys had been about, but the softness in Molly's eyes suggested that topic would not come up for discussion until later.
"The Twins they told me what you asked them to do, in exchange for helping them with the shop and I… I'm very grateful. I love all my children equally, and it wasn't that I was disappointed they didn't do the same thing as their brothers, but I was upset they didn't do as well as they could have, you see?"
Hermione nodded, she did understand. When agreeing to 'consult' for the Twins, she asked them to go back and take some of their exams by owl correspondence. They had only ever got three O.W.L's apiece, and while Hermione knew she was requesting they do it for their own sakes, they had taken it as something that would appease their mother. They didn't need the exam results, not with a successful business empire, but Hermione was tired of people underestimating them, and thought it might make them understand how bright they were. It also had the added benefit of helping them brush up on the skills they required to develop items for the shop, thus alleviating the need for her services.
Molly excitedly relayed that they had added to their already obtained Transfiguration, Charms and DADA O.W.L's, by getting E's in Potions and Herbology and were now looking to pursue Potions and Charms N.E.W.T's. "Well, I expect they will have to wait now, until this is all over," Mrs Weasley finished, her eyes darkening briefly.
"Yes, when this is all over," Hermione agreed, laying a hand on Molly's arm for a mere moment before going back to her designated whisking.
Hermione watched the retreating form of the Minister for Magic as he walked towards the edge of the Burrow wards, and wondered if they would ever meet anyone from the Ministry that would inspire some confidence. It didn't bode well for her first choice of profession. Once he disappeared, she looked down at the book she had been bequeathed, now that there was no need to mask any reaction she may have had, not that any of them had the recognition the Minister was apparently expecting to see in their faces.
Hermione turned the book over in her fingers, Tales of the Beedle and The Bard. Ron had mentioned it was a favourite compendium of stories for children in the Wizarding world, and as such Harry and herself had never heard of it, why give it to her? Ron had simply shrugged at that. A cursory glance had revealed the pages were covered in Runes; it must have been a dreadfully old copy. Under normal circumstances, a find such as this, with an ambiguous task to complete, would have filled Hermione with unparalleled delight, but not this time. Could Dumbledore not have been a little more specific with the details regarding these 'gifts'? Or at the very least, clued Harry in during all of their private lessons together? Something about this, coupled with Harry's snitch made her uneasy.
"We go after the wedding," Harry said suddenly, his voice was firm and full of resolve. Hermione was relieved in a way, although she was scared, Harry had been dragging his feet a little over setting a date, and at least now she could make the final preparations.
Ron sighed, his voice betraying the same hint of relief as Hermione's thoughts. "Thanks, Harry, I don't think my mum would have forgiven me if we had gone before."
Hermione nodded, not taking her eyes of the new book. "We'll be ready."
The wedding, though arguably poorly timed, was exceptionally beautiful. The bride looked unquestionably stunning, not that it could be considered a surprise, Fleur would have looked radiant in a bin bag. As it was, in her ball gown style dress, she looked almost regal. The outfit was a little flashy for Hermione's taste, too many elements and flounces. Not that she had ever given much thought to her wedding, but she believed, if it ever happened, she would prefer something infinitely simpler. As much as the Burrow looked fantastic, and it did, the sight of Fleur's pained grimace at every attention from her new mother in law made Hermione more confident that she had made the right decision regarding her potential future as a member of the family.
She attempted to enjoy the day as much as possible, although the entire affair reminded her strongly of the Muggle expression 'rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic'. She was, however, genuinely pleased to see Luna and her father, who were in fine fettle having come in matching buttercup yellow robes. When they came over to greet her, it was apparent Harry's polyjuice disguise as a Weasley cousin apparently had no effect on the younger girl; Luna quietly greeted him warmly. No longer bewildered by incidents like this, after having been close to Luna for two years Hermione just filed it under the 'interesting, think on later', section of her brain.
The arrival of Viktor Krum was the first real surprise of the evening, Fleur had invited him, and as Hermione had been out of touch with her sometimes-correspondent for several months now, she had not heard of his planned trip to England. They danced together, at his polite request, and memories of the Yule Ball came flooding back as he twirled her around the floor. Viktor had grown into himself, Hermione thought, he was still tall and broad, but he seemed more self-assured in both himself and his footing. He wasn't an amazingly accomplished dancer, but he made her feel like a tiny ballerina in comparison to his impressive form, and Hermione once again found that she enjoyed that feeling. She wondered what it might have been like if they had met under different circumstances, had there been no war, had she already been over Ron. But such imaginings were pointless, there was a war, and they had met the way they had, it hadn't been meant to be. Though she could acknowledge that she liked his facial hair, it suited him, and in a moment of pure, 'we might all die anyway' daring Hermione told him so.
They chatted for a little while, but the conversation, given what she couldn't reveal, was stilted. Despite what the press and most of Hogwarts had thought of him, Viktor was no idiot, and after giving increasingly vague answers to his enquiries on her plans for next year, and following graduation, Hermione excused herself before he could drag her away to ask what was going on.
As she hastened off, Hermione just managed to dodge an angry looking Ron while heading to the other side of the tent to speak to Luna. Now that Harry had put their plans in motion she probably wouldn't get another chance to talk to her before they went into hiding. Luna wasn't hard to find, given her colour choice for the evening, and as soon as Hermione made it to her side, she cast a quick silencing charm around them. "Luna I," she began
"It's ok, Hermione," Luna interjected, gripping her fingers, "I know you won't be at school next term."
Hermione nodded, sometimes Luna's foresight made things a lot easier. "Stick with the DA," she requested seriously, "especially Neville and Ginny, it might not be safe for me to contact you for a while, so make sure you all watch out for each other." Hermione scoffed internally at how much she sounded like her mother, and couldn't hold back a wince at the pain that followed that thought.
"I have something for you, before you go off on your travels, after all, I think I will miss your birthday and probably Christmas," her friend said, rooting into a large pocket on the inside of her robes. Luna leant forwards and placed a thin chain around Hermione's wrist, the gold bracelet had ribbons of varying shades of red braided through it, and a circular charm that dangled from the clasp. Gently grasping it to see clearer, Hermione read the inscription 'I am more than what people think of me', as she let the circle fall it landed over the scratches cut into the back of her hand.
"Muggles call it a friendship bracelet," Luna said smiling, replicating Hermione's words from the year before, "and that," she pointed to the charm, "is in case you need reminding while I'm not around."
"Thank you," Hermione breathed. "Err...I have something for you as well," she said, recovering herself and digging into the beaded back she had over her shoulder. "I looked over some of the research your dad spoke about over Christmas, you know on the Blibbering Humdinger?" She handed a stack of papers over to Luna. "I think you've been focussing too much in Europe, given the evidence you had, I cross referenced the maps with the characteristics you had listed, and I believe it's much more likely to be found in a region of South America. I haven't had time to narrow down the completely-"
Hermione was cut off when Luna launched herself at her for a bone crunching hug, she returned it with equal force.
"You can come with us when you are back," Luna murmured.
Hermione nodded, right at that moment she couldn't have thought of a more appealing offer. "Stay safe," she whispered into her hair.
"You too, Hermione, you too."
Hermione was being dragged inexpertly around the dancefloor by Ron when the wedding reception was interrupted by the arrival a large Patronus. She watched, struck motionless, as a spectral lynx she had never seen before floated with purpose to the centre of the tent, before speaking in the familiar baritone of Kingsley Shacklebolt.
"Scrimgeour is dead. The Ministry has fallen, they are coming," his firm voice rang out.
The effect on the reception was immediate, the music stopped, and screams broke out before the sounds of apparition filled the air. Ron grabbed Hermione's hand, and they darted around to find Harry, keeping one eye on the black whooshing clouds, that indicated the Death Eaters had already begun to break through the extensive wards. Finally reaching Harry, Hermione took his hand in her free one and scanned the tent quickly, just in time to see Luna disappear with her father before she apparated them away.
Antonin stood, watching from outside the cafe. Their 'targets' were sitting around a table littered with long forgotten coffee cups, leaning in to talk to each other. It was just her and Weasley, where was Potter?
Thankfully she was facing out, towards the door, so that he could see her fully. He and Rowle had already disillusioned themselves before standing in front of the dilapidated building, the harsh lighting from inside illuminated most of the paved area, which made observing them a lot easier. They had dressed as Muggle maintenance men, a thin disguise that would likely only buy them a few seconds, but that would have failed if they had been visible in their lurking. It felt a little strange to be 'hoping' that someone recognised you while you were wearing a disguise, Antonin supposed it was more hope that the latest time in Azkaban hadn't made him unrecognisable. Her appearance had considerably changed since he saw her last. Her cheeks had slimmed down, and her eyes looked less comically large in her face. Her skin, which he had imagined in so much detail, still retained the faint tan colour that had drawn him to wonder whether it would be warm to the touch, how long would it be before he found out?
Compelling thoughts on getting his fingers lost in unruly chocolate curls were interrupted by concerns over how close her head was to Weasley's. Antonin was saved from acting rashly when Potter suddenly walked into his line of sight; he must have been in the bathroom, at his return she and the redhead quickly broke apart. Antonin studied them carefully; there did not appear to be anything guilty in their expressions, as he would have expected if Potter had interrupted a tendresse, he was appeased, for now.
As Potter settled himself, she stood from under the table, and Antonin fought to keep his breathing steady at the sight, so as not to alert Rowle that anything was amiss. At first, he thought she had only moved to allow Potter to sit back down, but she inclined forward and said a few words to the boys before proceeding towards the back of the cafe. Antonin panicked momentarily, believing she was leaving, before forcing himself to calm and view the scene again. They must have been changing clothes; they were supposed to have been at the wedding his colleagues had broken up earlier that evening.
Antonin watched with rapt attention as she swayed in an alluring fashion from view, he was sure she wasn't aware of the captivating picture she painted. Her deep red dress was demure, by most witch's' standards, on her it was just… lovely. The top half sat close to her form and the delicate straps of twisted fabric exposed her beautiful shoulders and collarbone. The bottom half of the dress was more voluminous, made of a soft looking, floaty material, that waved above her knees as she walked away, like gentle waters, lapping against a shore.
Once again Antonin had been caught unawares, a feeling he abhorred, but for her, that feeling of being off kilter was so worth it. He had not been expecting to see her that evening. He and Yaxley were not part of the planned action on the Weasley home, so he was at his Lord's disposal when someone had broken the taboo. He had been stunned when they apparated outside the awful looking cafe to see her sat there, looking radiant, she didn't belong in a dank place such as this.
Rowle had wanted to storm in as soon as they got there, and spoke of his desire to move again once Hermione had left the table. But Antonin had other plans. He had waited too long for this chance, he needed to speak to her, and he didn't care what he had to do to ensure it happened.
Gearing himself up to face her, Antonin commanded Rowle to focus on Potter, explaining that he would subdue the others, Rowle hastily agreed. The younger Death Eater so consumed by the kudos he would receive from their Lord for apprehending the boy, that he did not question Antonin's motives. Antonin did not care about Rowle or Potter, and even less about Weasley, but he was certain if the blond Death Eater touched her he would react brutally, and he did not want her to see that before they had spoken. Antonin wasn't planning to hide the truth of himself from her, there was little chance of that anyway, with so much of his life now being public knowledge. But he wanted the opportunity to gain her trust, at least to the extent that she would believe he would never hurt her, and nor would anyone else while he still breathed.
An eternity passed, and then, finally, she came back towards the table, no longer in the dress but in some blue trousers and a jumper. Antonin couldn't bemoan the dresses loss given the clingy fabric of the bottom half of her outfit. Yes, it would definitely be best if Thorfinn didn't touch her. He signalled to Rowle, and he took one last calming breath before they moved inside the cafe.
Even best-laid plans often go awry, Antonin thought to himself caustically as he battled against the growing frustration he felt. After ten minutes of exchanging spell fire, he had not managed to move any closer to Hermione. Every time he tentatively stepped in her direction he had to dodge increasingly aggressive casting from the ginger. Weasley clearly wanted to protect her, and Antonin had to shake away the nagging voices as they whispered that maybe there was more to their relationship, maybe he had touched her, perhaps she had enjoyed it. He calmed himself by remembering the audible crack of bone he had drawn from the last boy he'd seen with hands on her. Spurred on by his reimaginings Antonin launched a Reductor Curse in Weasley's direction and used the distraction to bound to the other side of the cafe, behind the counter. Despite his mounting irritation, he was pleased that she had managed to get to a position of relative safety. Helpfully, the area she was in would also afford them the most privacy they could get in their current environment to talk.
"You stay away from her!" The boy yelled. "You nearly killed her last time."
Antonin turned to Hermione, he was only several feet from her now, and directed his reply to her. "If I had wanted to kill you, you would be dead." He would later reflect that probably hadn't been the best start.
She was spared from responding to his blunder when Potter managed to stun Rowle, Antonin had no idea how, barring sheer dumb luck, something that the boy seemingly had in spades, the blond wizard was huge, and in the confusion, Hermione managed to slip past him. Seeing his partner's prone form on the floor a quick idea developed in Antonin's mind, it wasn't the best plan, but he thought it could work. He could have overpowered them all and then made her speak to him, but he didn't want to scare her, though he knew he would resort to that if he couldn't get what he desired by other means.
Weasley's casting wasn't particularly inventive if he had seen Potter be successful with a spell on Rowle, no doubt he would fire the same at Antonin. Mind made up Antonin stood, not hiding at all from view, and as expected a Stupefy was fired toward him the very next second. He shifted, only slightly, so it narrowly missed his arm then made a production of falling to the floor, when the room fell quiet he assumed he had done enough to make them believe he was out cold. From where Antonin was lying he could just see the three of them, standing around Rowle, their voices drifting over to him.
"You'll have to do it, Mione," Ron began.
"Do what Ronald?" she replied, her voice soothing Antonin jagged thoughts more than the booze he had imbibed in vast quantities since his release.
"You need to Obliviate them, Mione," Ron replied.
Antonin clenched his fists, as white hot rage pricked at his skin, the feeling intensifying with each use of their nickname for her, their familiarity making him irrational. His attempts at managing the fury pushed out the sound around him, but he could still see them both speaking to her. Eventually, her face fell, and she nodded. What had upset her?
"You two watch Rowle, that guy is huge, I have no idea how quickly he will wear off a normal stunning spell."
Antonin would no longer question how Harry had lived this long; Snape had been right, she was the smartest of the three by a long shot. He watched with a growing sense of nervous anticipation as her legs moved wearily towards the back of the cafe, preparing to Obliviate him.
When she reached the patch of the floor behind the counter Antonin his eye open just a slither as she bent slowly to crouch in front of him. She moved gracefully as she sat back on her haunches, then raised her wand to his chest. Sensing his opportunity, Antonin reached forward, moving quickly to startle her, and grabbing her small wrist, pushing the aim of her wand upwards, placing his other hand over her mouth. Years of missions had perfected his agile, silent movements. He had no desire to draw the attention of what would have been a rather problematic audience for this conversation.
Her eyes widened in surprise before her brow settled into a frown, Antonin didn't think she would appreciate hearing how adorable she looked just then. He was momentarily distracted from his purpose by the feel of her impossibly soft, pouty lips, against his rough hand, and stopped to savour how close she was to him after all this time. She may have grown up since he last saw her, but she was still so small, one of his hands covered the bottom half of her face completely, and Antonin allowed himself a second's pleasure from the feeling her panting breath heating his palm.
Noticing her wobble slightly, as she was still perched on the back of her heels, Antonin slowly moved the hand holding her wrist to the ground, manipulating her fingers so she dropped her wand. Then he moved his hand, unhurriedly to her waist, before pulling her across his legs so she would be comfortable. The new position meaning he could speak right into her ear, keep telling yourself that Dolohov.
She fought against his grasp, and Antonin pushed his mouth to her ear. "Shh… I need to speak to you," he whispered gently but urgently, exposing his need.
She turned her head to face him, and their bodies were impossibly close together now. Antonin felt her mouth move against his palm and he realised he would have to release her for her to participate. Reluctantly, he moved his hand away, instead, resting it on her shoulder, the one that was not delightfully pinned to his chest. He watched her face as he settled into the feeling of her pushed against his body, both of his arms wrapped around her.
She didn't make to move or even yell, as he had feared, and Antonin considered loosening his grip but decided against it, it wasn't as if it was all to secure her anyway. They didn't break eye contact for several seconds, and Antonin was too busy delighting in the opportunity to regard her this close, to remember what he wanted to say. He was so near he could count the delightful freckles that scattered across her nose. Her brown eyes were burning into his.
"What about?" She whispered finally, her soft voice breaking Antonin from the spell he was under, it was only the second time she had ever directed speech at him, and he took a moment to steady his breathing. He had to get this right.
"About the last time I saw you," he hedged, delicately would be the way to go. Unfortunately, he wasn't sure that was a particular strength of his.
"When you tried to kill me you mean?" she snapped, and his eyes darted to her's, watching them dance with fire.
"No, well, at least... that wasn't exactly my intention," Antonin faltered out, having not expected her vehemence, though he couldn't say it was off-putting.
"Well, what was your intention?" she countered haughtily.
Antonin coughed a little before pushing her slightly away from his chest, though he instantly lamented the loss of her warmth, he didn't want her becoming aware of the effect her bouncing in indignation was having, it was unlikely to help this come to a satisfactory conclusion. Would she even know? Had she been this close to a man before? Had they... Stop!
Antonin exhaled. "I needed to create a diversion, Macnair was coming for you, and you were so busy looking for Luna you didn't even notice him. He is not a good man Hermione, and he would have... I don't even want to think about. I didn't have time to think."
"By not a 'good man' do you mean worse than you?" she asked.
Antonin bristled until he noticed the honest curiosity behind her enquiry, he considered his answer. He didn't want to lie to her, but there wasn't much honesty he could impart that wouldn't be objectionable at the very least. "I am not a good man Hermione, I am sure you already know that, but I will never be a danger to you." He stared into her eyes, imploring her to understand, he felt more than heard her breath hitch and forced himself to let her be the one to break the silence.
"Why couldn't you have stunned me? If you expect me to believe you were doing it to protect me, why not something safe?" she pushed.
"It would have made everything worse; he would have-"
She cut him off, "How could it have made it worse? My friends thought I was dead," she viciously replied.
Her fire had sparked his own, Antonin didn't take well to people snapping at him, and it had been several decades since anyone had taken that sort or tone. He sat forward, moving his hands to rest on her shoulders and gripped her roughly. "Better to have been thought of as dead, than stunned and laid before Macnair as a temptation he would not have ignored," Antonin said, his voice dripping with poorly concealed rage.
He noticed her face pale in realisation, but it was too late for him to stop "Do you understand Hermione? Understand what he would have done if he had found a stunned schoolgirl lying in his path, he would have ruined you. Abused your body until your spirit broke, your mind shattered, and that would have been his plan had you just been any ordinary girl. But you had already stunned him that night, he would have been motivated to make it even worse for you.
He doesn't kill the girls he takes, not outright anyway. Usually months after he has them, they die, from their injuries, bleeding out on whatever grotty bed he's left them in. Or there are the ones who can summon the strength and the means to take their own lives," he relayed, in increasingly savage whispers. Antonin hated to frighten her, but she needed to understand. Of course, he left out how he would have broken Walden into a million bloody pieces if he had done such a thing, one shock at a time.
Hermione had completely stilled listening to him, her eyes were huge on her too pale face, and Antonin felt his ire slip away, he moved his arms from her shoulders and pulled her back towards his chest, in a rather awkward show of comfort, she was in too much shock to protest.
"Why?" she asked softly, her voice sounding a little rough. "Why did you want to help me at all?"
The tips of Antonin's fingers absently drummed against the soft fabric of her jumper before he exhaled heavily. "Knowing the danger you were in, I sent a curse at you, one people wouldn't recognise," he replied, ignoring her question, he wasn't ready to answer that yet.
"What was it supposed to do?" she asked quietly.
"It was initially designed for myself and Yaxley as a kind of last resort during the first war, a way of faking death. It was based off a spell of my own design that would attack internal organs, it needed to look real. But we hadn't worked all of the details out, and we were in prison before we could test it," he admitted.
She turned to face him again. "You fired an experimental curse at me that you tried creating fourteen years before, scaring me forever, for my own good? Are you insane?" she hissed.
"The findings on that are somewhat inconclusive," Antonin mumbled in response, more to himself than to her, before he processed what she had said. "You have a scar?"
She shifted slightly on his lap. "Yes!" she answered in exasperation, before sagging slightly. "I mean, it's reduced, but it's still there."
"Where?" he answered tightly, it had never been his intention to mark her skin.
"On my hip," she whispered.
Antonin pressed a single enquiring finger against the hip sitting against him, and she made a tiny nod. Knowing he needed to see the damage, even if it was him who had inflicted it, he pushed her forward delicately and rested his hand on the bottom hem of her jumper. He lifted his eyes to get some indication of permission but her head was tilted down, her large caramel irises fixed on his hand, but she didn't throw him off, and that was enough. Slowly Antonin raised the jumper so that the smallest patch of skin was exposed. There, amongst her buttermilk shaded skin, was a faint lapis blue line, about five inches long, the scar tissue was lightly puckered as was common with all cursed scarring, and familiar to Antonin, he had enough of it lining his body, though he had never seen a wound that colour before.
Antonin pulled her jumper up further, and his other hand tentatively came forward to lightly brush against the skin of her hip with his knuckles, focusing all of his energies on remaining gentle. He delighted in her visible shudder at the contact, and with finally having evidence of just how warm her skin was to the touch, she was all sunshine; warmth, light, heat and spark all coarsed under her flesh, and danced in her eyes. Emboldened Antonin reached his hand forward, more deliberately this time, and grasped her hip tightly, rubbing his thumb in slow, gentle circles over her stomach.
"I had not meant for you to bear a mark," he spoke directly into her ear
He watched as she made another, almost imperceptible nod, her eyes not leaving his hand. Antonin didn't know if it was acceptance or signalling the end of the conversation, but at that moment, with her skin warming his fingertips he didn't care.
"I have to Obliviate you, you know," she said, her tone sounded resigned.
"No you don't," he answered, quickly shaking his head, he couldn't let her go, not now he had her here, not when she wasn't fighting to get away from him. "You could leave now, with me, and I could make sure you were safe."
Her body tensed as her head snapped up, her earlier temper returning. "No, you couldn't... and anyway what's your definition of safe? I'm not safe unless your Lord is gone, until then I will never be free."
Antonin opened his mouth to protest, but at that moment their little bubble was interrupted by Weasley moaning. "Mione come on." The effect of the words on the girl in his lap was immediate, she dislodged herself from his grasp and reached to grab her wand, flexing her fingers around it once it was back in her grasp.
"Where are you going?" he asked hurriedly, aware their time was coming to an end. "Hogwarts will not be safe for you in September."
"We know we have other... plans."
"Just you and the boys?" he asked incredulously.
"Yes," she answered shortly, with an expression that suggested she was daring him to challenge her assertion.
Antonin narrowed his eyes. "Do you think it is appropriate for a young woman to be travelling alone with two teenage boys?"
She narrowed her eyes right back at him. "Not that it's any of your business, but probably not, though things like propriety tend to take a bit of a back seat in life or death situations."
Antonin held his tongue, though he had to do it forcefully, with his teeth, he was not happy about this, but she would go soon, and he didn't want this encounter to end in an argument. "Come with me," he tried again, once she appeared to have calmed down, though he already knew it wasn't going to happen.
"I can't... I can't trust you," she said shaking her head.
Antonin wanted to yell at her, but a small voice in the back of his mind murmured that she was sensible and he forced his annoyance down. Somehow he had to convince her. "Hermione you can… I warned you about the planned raid on your parents' home."
Her brow furrowed. "No you didn't," she moved to resume her previous crouched position in front of him and poked his chest with a delicate finger. "You were in Azkaban; I'm pretty sure they don't have a mail service, unless conditions there have vastly improved without my knowledge."
"I didn't mean directly," Antonin replied, unable to keep the petulance he was feeling out of his tone.
"That's funny, because that is what you said," she snapped haughtily.
"You are behaving ridiculously," he spat.
"I am a famous Muggleborn, having a conversation with one of the Dark Lord's most faithful, in hushed tones on the floor of one of the worst cafes I have ever stepped into, so I think my responses are entirely reasonable."
Antonin laughed. He couldn't help it, Hermione was completely disarming, and he forgot himself for a moment. A moment too long it turned out, as the commotion apparently disturbed the boys and footsteps began to get closer.
She twirled her wand in her fingers for a moment before facing him, her mouth pulled in a self-satisfied smirk. "Well, Mr Dolohov, I believe it's time we even the score between us," she said smugly.
"Oh yes, and how exactly do you plan on doing that?"
Her expression had faltered for just a second before she squared her shoulders. "I've never performed a memory charm before… so I guess you could interpret this as somewhat experimental… Obliviate."
Hours later, Antonin was finally given the order to rise from the stone floor of the ballroom at Malfoy Manor, after an unknown amount of time under the Cruciatus Curse. His bones creaked, and he was vaguely aware of a copper tang in his mouth, but he stood before placing himself on his knees in front of the Dark Lord. His master had been very unimpressed at the report himself, and Rowle gave when it got back and had immediately sought to vent his frustrations.
Once he was permitted to leave Antonin apparated directly to Yaxley's townhouse, the wards allowing him to pass straight into Reuben's study. He had no interest in being at Malfoy Manor any longer than he had to.
As he had anticipated Yaxley was sat behind his grandiose desk, absently sorting through piles of parchment. "How did your mission go?" he asked without looking up.
"Could have been better," he answered as he sunk into the nearest chair, summoning the largest decanter of firewhisky to himself. Yaxley looked up and raised his brow in enquiry.
Antonin sighed. "It was Potter, Weasley... and Hermione."
Yaxley put his papers down and steepled his fingers in front of his face before summoning his own glass. "Am I to take it, as you have yet to corner me about accommodations, you did not bring back a stowaway?"
"She Obliviated me," he admitted reluctantly, taking a large swig of his drink, "at least partially… I'm not sure what she did exactly, but it feels like more of the memories are coming back the overtime."
Yaxley sat back in his seat eyes alive with mirth. "Now Antonin, just how did she get close enough to do that?"
Antonin sighed again, and Yaxley laughed in response, he glared at him, and Reuben raised his palms in contrition. "I'm sorry, it's just I've never seen you have trouble with a woman before, normally there all over your stiff Russian demeanour, and now this little witch has you tripping all over yourself."
"It wasn't the way I had planned for the evening to go-"
"You didn't let your guard the whole way down did you, little firebrand could have killed you."
"I had to take the chance to explain myself," Antonin defended, albeit weakly. He recognised the truth in his friend's warning and yet, something from that moment, beneath her incredulity and acquisition, there had been something.
"Do you think she understood?" Reuben enquired, his tone more serious.
"I'm not sure," Antonin replied as he refilled his glass, "I tried to tell her I had warned her about the raid on her parent's home, she shot that down."
"Well, she was right there, that wasn't you… directly," Reuben said, adding the qualifier in response to the sharp look Antonin sent him, "and at least she's smart. I hate the idea of spending my time with a stupid girl about the place."
"Why would you be spending time with her?" Antonin interjected, and Yaxley carried on as if he hadn't heard him.
"I still can't get over her Obliviating you tonight, and breaking your arm the last time, I wouldn't have thought she was heavy enough to have done that, even if she jumped on you, her and that blonde are so tiny it's ridiculous. Do you know I managed to lift both of them, at the same time, with ease, and they were both struggling?"
Antonin didn't care for the soft gaze that had fallen over Yaxley's countenance, at all. "I didn't realise you had been looking that closely," he bit out.
Yaxley shook his head and turned to face him. "Oh grow up Antonin, she's bright, lovely and seemingly does not bow in the face of your supposed charms, doesn't that sound like my type to you?" he questioned lightly.
Before Antonin could think he had stood from his chair violently, too violently, if his protesting joints were to be taken into consideration. Yaxley stood, in a much more relaxed way and navigated around the desk, putting both his hands on Antonin's shoulders.
"I'm kidding… brother," he said placatingly. Antonin felt himself sag, the constant raising of his blood pressure would probably kill him before the war did. "But you know if she's got a cousin?" Yaxley laughed out, but he didn't move away fast enough to miss Antonin's blow to his shoulder.
A/N a little glimpse in this chapter of one of my favourite pairings; Hermione x Viktor, if you like Vikmione check out my current WIP, Air.