Remembering you standing quiet in the rain
As I ran to your heart to be near
And we kissed as the sky fell in
Holding you close
How I always held close in your fear
Pictures of You - The Cure [1989]
Hermione was sat cross-legged on the floor in the middle of the decrepit tent. She had reached that point of deep concentration wherein everything, including her surroundings, had fallen away, which was a relief, as the very sight of the burnt orange tarpaulin walls were beginning to give her anxiety. Whenever the fabric fluttered in the breeze, Hermione felt like it was moving to close in on her. Panic attacks were regular now.
But today she had laser focus and was surrounded by the extensive Horcrux notes they had made since the beginning of summer. Directly in front of her rested a parchment with a list of the six objects they believed to be housing parts of Voldemort's soul, some of them, thankfully, crossed through. That should have been it, destroy the objects, kill the Dark Lord and everyone goes home for ice cream. It should have been, but it wasn't. Something wouldn't gel. Every time Hermione would try to fixate on how to obtain the remaining Horcruxes an itching would start at the corner of her senses. At first, she had thought it was just her mind wandering, sick of the repetition, but the longer it continued gnawing at her, the greater her concern.
Hermione picked up the parchment, resting it on her legs. After constant chats with Harry where they rehashed all of his meetings with Dumbledore, and raked over Tom Riddle's life story, they were as certain as they could be that the items listed were correct.
Diary, Ring, Locket; gone, Diadem, Cup, Snake; remaining.
Professor Snape had come through; Harry had yet to make any peace with that, Hermione supposed there were bigger things to worry about for now. After all, she hadn't known that he would help, she had merely hoped. Receiving the Sword had unfortunately been overshadowed by the rage that consumed her following Ron's return. When the red mist dissipated, she wanted to be able to thank the Potions Master, who was somehow still on their side, or at least was making sure he would get out of this alive, and as free as it would be possible to be. Hermione had gotten to a point where she wasn't sure she cared which it was anymore. Her strict morals and principles had guided her all of her young adult life, often putting her at odds with those closest to her. Right now, in this tent, malnourished and fading, she just wanted it to be over.
At least the Locket was gone.
Antonin needed to come through with the Diadem now. Despite Professor Snape's actions, Harry was still very cynical about the chances of that happening. Hermione couldn't blame him, if she were looking at her situation from another's eyes she would probably scoff as well. Trusting Antonin, a Death Eater, that was without remorse was objectively stupid, though that didn't stop her. Her mother had taught her it was pointless to fight against the way you feel about something, even if you knew it wasn't rational, Hermione had no intention of doing that. What did it matter if she was going to die anyway?
Her eyes fell back to the worn pieces of parchment and scattered ratty tomes in front of her. The objects that had been bequeathed by Dumbledore didn't fit; it was like an otherwise completed puzzle with one piece sticking out awkwardly. The more she looked, the more she considered that the piece might belong to an entirely different jigsaw. Hermione let her mind go clear as she pondered over all of the facts. The Deluminator had worked, revealing its real purpose to Ron when he had needed it. Dumbledore must have known, not only that Ron would leave, but also that he would want to come back. Ron had apparently made that connection, though he did not seem to reflect on the news for long. Hermione would have taken it a lot harder, having always struggled with criticism, especially from adults. When Sirius Black had told her she 'had a lot to learn in their fifth year'; it had taken a week for the sting those words brought to abate.
People that thought they had the measure of her would probably guess Hermione valued her intelligence above all things, but that wasn't entirely accurate. Of course, her mind was something she prized, it wasn't a gift, it was something she had worked for. Nevertheless, her loyalty was the character trait she put above everything, and was what she rated highest in others. Hermione had never had many friends, those she did have she treasured, and would do anything for. If she had discovered Dumbledore had foreseen her leaving when the situation got difficult she would have found it very painful to swallow. It was one thing to have a failing; it was another to have someone else read it so clearly they had made a provision for it.
At least since his return Ron was back to being the best version of himself, he had stopped complaining, mostly, and had taken over the lion share of the work while Harry and Hermione studied. He even interjected his ideas while they were discussing their options. Which, despite her initial scepticism, actually helped, the benefit of fresh eyes was not to be overlooked.
Hermione's own eyes were a long way from gleaming, she and Harry were severely depleted. She didn't have a mirror, but as she could detect the hollowness of Harry's face, she was sure it was reflected in hers. Maybe even more so. Hermione had noticed the boys eying her critically in their impression of stealth movements while she was dressing, the looks were not unkind, more concerned, she didn't want to give them additional things to worry about, but she could not hide the weight she had lost anymore. Hermione cared even less about her appearance than usual, however, when clumps of her too tangled hair started to fall away as she ran her fingers through the ends she wondered how long it would be before they starved.
Ron being back also meant limited time alone with Harry. They had unanimously agreed not to let Ron in on the plan with Antonin and Yaxley, 'for now' Harry had said, in case they don't come was what he had meant. Harry had explained they would confess all later, in the very slim possibility that the Death Eaters would deliver. Hermione, trying to her best to be uncharacteristically positive, hoped the Diadem would soften the blow to Ron.
She moved again, trying to get more comfortable and rearranged her setting; laying the book, the Snitch and the Deluminator in front of her. Harry had said she looked mad like this, but visualisation helped. Her eyes continually came back to rest on the Snitch; it made her uneasy. Not like the sticky, corroding unease she'd felt with the Horcrux near her, with the locket she had felt the Dark Magic polluting the air around her, this was a different kind of magic. At times Hermione could almost believe it was taunting her.
Images of its shiny surface and fluttering wings were permeating her dreams, the engraved line 'I open at the close' tormenting her. In her dream state, it would call at her to look closer, and Hermione would feel the answer within her grasp before suddenly, everything would feel so much darker, the abstract dream giving way to a nightmare. She could never bear to stay there, and would run in retreat until she would wake in a cold sweat.
That left the book. Hermione had fully translated it now, and as far as she could tell the runes didn't reveal anything additional to the standard version. No prophecies or Dark Lord Destruction manuals hidden amongst its many pages, they were fairy stories and nothing more. Hermione picked the text up again; she had suspected for a while that there might have been some charm on the book, or a message contained within. Years of watching Star Wars with her dad had led her to fantasise about a message from Dumbledore popping up from a correctly translated page, 'Save us, Harry, you're our only hope'. Hermione had long since dismissed that idea as a delusion, not because it was ridiculous, frankly, everything they had done for the last seven years was absurd, this wasn't likely as that would have been too bloody helpful.
Harry could say what he liked about Professor Snape, Hermione had asked for a way to get rid of a difficult object, and he had delivered. She couldn't have risked saying anything more revealing, she had been testing his knowledge as much as his will to help, and he had sent the Sword straight away. Professor Snape didn't send a riddle or an obscure text, he just sent the bloody thing that would help. Hermione felt she had made her choices of authority figures to follow better than Harry, they could argue about light and dark until the end of time, but it didn't change the facts. If the last year had taught her anything, it was that there was a great deal of grey in the world around them. People of the so-called light often had a lot more questionable intent than the other side.
Hermione gently pushed at her mind to clear again, focus on the small things Hermione, you cannot solve everything, break the problem down. That was it, one issue at a time.
She picked up a sheet of parchment and wrote down all of the unanswered questions she had about Harry's Snitch and the book. Once the sheet had dried, Hermione laid it on top of the list of Horcruxes. Her eyes zeroing in on one of the questions immediately.
What is the significance of the rune on the front of the book?
With a jolt Hermione remembered where she had seen that rune before, how could she not have remembered? It had been at Bill and Fleur's wedding. Viktor had been so angry, explaining that it was the emblem Grindelwald's had used, it hadn't made any sense, why would it have been on his necklace?
She jumped up and started packing some things away, deliberating over what they might need planning to leave that to top. By the time the boys made it back, Hermione was almost ready to go and stood in front of them immediately.
"Hold up Hermione, where's the fire?" Ron said confused, looking at Harry who shrugged.
"No time now, come on," she panted, "we have to see Xeno Lovegood."
With the boys back the trio packed up the tent in record time, they wouldn't be coming back to the same location, having already stayed there for four days. If was longer than Hermione would typically like, but she had been too tired lately to push to keep moving. The days that they moved she didn't have the energy to concentrate, and that was more necessary than ever. Now though Hermione felt fully alert, thanks to the surge of adrenaline from having a new lead, well, more of a prompt, but it was better than nothing. As the boys ran around following her instructions in double time, shocked by her sudden vitality, Hermione drifted off into thought; she wondered if Luna would be there. She had no idea how things had been at Hogwarts, though she could imagine it had not been pleasant for her friend.
Before they apparated, Hermione pondered whether she could prevail upon them for a hot shower and some food, but those thoughts disappeared as the Rook shaped house came into view.
Xeno Lovegood was sat on the front porch, his back immediately stiffened as they appeared. He stood, ostensibly to greet them, and Hermione's enthusiastic greeting died on her tongue as she looked closer. He looked different, more… hollow. His long blond hair was lank, making it appear darker than its usual shade, and his clothes were muted and worn.
"Hello Xeno," she called to him with false cheer, as they walked through the gate and up to the house. "Sorry for dropping in unannounced like this, but we wondered if we might have a moment of your time?"
As soon as Hermione had seen him properly she wanted to apparate away; it was the same feeling she had gotten in Godric's Hollow at Christmas, a nudging in her brain that was screaming at her to leave and not look back. But she couldn't. They needed to ask about the rune, and now they were here she needed to know about Luna.
He smiled at her, the false, forced expression looking so strained on his face it made dread pool in Hermione's stomach, Xeno waved his hand at the door and invited them in, using a voice as brittle as the one Hermione had employed earlier. She directed the boys to sit in the circle of mismatched armchairs, where she had sat before laughing. There was no laughter here now. There was only one reason Hermione could think of that would reduce Xeno to this state, she pushed back the bile that was rising in her throat and followed him into the kitchen.
Xeno was stood with his back to her, and Hermione watched his hands shake as he poured tea.
"Where is Luna?"
She didn't bother to sound conversational, he knew she had seen through him. His body stilled for just a moment before he continued pouring, ignoring her. Tears pricked in the corners of her eyes. "Please," she implored.
He turned around to face her, holding the tray, with some unknown emotion flashing in his eyes. "Come on Hermione, let's have some tea," he said soothingly, and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.
Hermione followed him out of the ramshackle kitchen and took a seat beside Harry, as she collected herself Ron asked where Luna was idly, with nothing of the concern or understanding of the situation that Hermione had asked with seconds before.
"She's out in the fields; I suspect she will be along later," Xeno said, pointing out of the window behind them.
Liar.
Hermione's back was straight; she didn't rest into the chair, she eyed the cups critically, picking one up and holding it in her fingers but not drinking any of its contents. She saw from the corner of her eye when Harry had noticed her posture. She turned to face him, Xeno was still lying his arse off in conversation with Ron, 'stay alert' she mouthed at him and dropped her nose pointedly at the tea. Harry immediately went into defence mode, he casually placed his cup on the table, and the lines of his shoulders became more pronounced, Hermione was fairly sure he was gripping his wand in his sleeve. Good, now to get this done quick.
She passed Xeno the book, "What can you tell us about the rune on the cover?"
His eyes regarded the bequeathed tome, but he gave no indication that the book itself was of particular importance. Instead, he told them the story of the Three Brothers, much of which she had gotten from Ron, but the idea that the objects had existed that was… she wanted to say preposterous, but was it? There was no time for this now, Hermione filed away thoughts of the Hallows and took her book back.
When she looked back up Xeno was glancing around the room; his eyes had repeatedly wandered while he had recounted the tale. His gaze fell on two spots time and time again, the first was her, but there was another location, Harry had picked up on it to if the way his eyes darted were any indication. When Xeno's eyes moved again, Hermione followed his gaze and felt her heart sink to her shoes when she saw the clock on the wall behind them.
"Xeno what did you do?" Her voice was neutral, she needed to know as much as possible if they were going to get out of this alive.
His face crumpled, "I am so sorry Hermione," he said in an agonised whisper, "I had to tell them… they… they took her. They took my little Luna… I thought if I gave them… they would bring her back."
"It's ok Xeno," Hermione said as she locked eyes with him, no hint of censure in her voice. "We are going to get her back."
Xeno's eyes filled with tears, "Hermione I never… I'm sorry."
She nodded, it wasn't ok, of course it wasn't, but as she had told herself only hours earlier, the normal rules didn't apply anymore. If she thought for one second that Voldemort would order Luna's release if she were captured she would have turned herself in. Only a man who had lost everything, who was beyond desperate, would believe such a blatant lie.
"Hermione we need to get out of here now," Harry's yell broke her from her locked gaze with her friend's father.
She couldn't let him suffer any more than he was already. "Not yet Harry," she said firmly.
"What do you mean?" He called exasperated, "They're coming."
"I know… but, they need to see us. Need to know we were here," she said, willing him to understand.
Harry looked from her to Xeno and screwed up his face closing his eyes, when he opened them again he appeared resolved, "Okay, we do it your way," he bit out. Hermione knew he was reluctant, but she had banked on his compulsion to save everyone to force his hand.
They stood, and she put her hand on Xeno's arm, "I promise she will be back," she said with as much confidence as she could muster, in the face of what was ahead of them. Hermione knew she shouldn't make assurances, but she couldn't consider a world in which she couldn't make that true.
Water was spilling from his eyes and over his cheeks now, and he pulled her to him, in a much too hard hug and kissed the top of her head. "Survive Hermione, survive," Xeno murmured, and she nodded, before extracting herself quickly. He couldn't have known how it felt just then to be held by a parental figure, and Hermione couldn't process the emotions coursing through her before a fight, if she was to do as he asked, so she turned her back.
Then all hell broke loose.
The air was filled with scores of loud noises, and swooshing clouds of black signified the arrival of the Death Eaters. The crashes from upstairs telling them they had already begun attacking the house.
"So what's the plan?" Harry asked.
"Through the front door run as fast as we can?" Hermione offered.
"That doesn't sound like much of a plan."
"Why break with tradition?" she countered with no real humour in her voice.
Without any more time to debate they ran straight out of the door, linking hands to drag each other along. As soon as they could hear calls from the figures clad in black, indicating that were in pursuit, Hermione disapparated them.
Antonin apparated to the forest that Hermione had referenced in an agitated state. He had already known where to go. When he heard about the attack on the Lovegood home he had come to the place she had described. Antonin told himself it was to check he knew where the waterfall she had specified was, though he could have just looked at a map. Really, he wanted to see if they were already in the area. They weren't, or if they were, they were well hidden. He had taken some comfort from that.
While they didn't seem to be that adept at combat the trio certainly excelled at fleeing and hiding; they had been on the run for months, Antonin knew the other Death Eaters were surprised they had lasted this long, having gotten to know her he wasn't.
Antonin's hands twitched idly, and he moaned from the provocation. He had been restless all day, eventually giving himself up as a fool and leaving early. To say he was eager to see her was an understatement.
She was not safe; the thought kept repeating in his head. With every piece of news he heard, with every foiled plot set in their path, she was not safe. But she wouldn't let him protect her, he would ask again for her to come with them, but he already knew she would refuse. Antonin disliked the feeling of being out of control, not enough to reassess his desire for her, it was decidedly too late for that, though it did make him unsure of his next move.
Like most men of his generation his model for a 'happy relationship' or 'domestic bliss', as some might say, had come from his parents. Alexei and Ekaterina Dolohov had been very much in love. His father from the very day he had first seen her, his mother not until some time later, as she was fond of reminding him over the years. His father had worshipped the ground his mother walked on, and while Alexei was not effusive in his declarations, his actions spoke for themselves. When his mother was sick, anything from a cold to a serious illness, his father would shadow her around the house, annoying her, until she would capitulate to his demands to convalesce. At which point Alexei would often carry her reluctant form up the stairs, and in one notable instance locked her in her room, though that was never repeated.
Like most pureblood families the Dolohov's had a private and public persona. In public his mother was polite and formal, in the manner that was expected of her, though no societal pressure ever took away the warmth from her face, or the softening of his father's eyes when they were in the same room.
Antonin, like his father, had been labelled stoic wherever he went, and that was faithful to an extent, but conversely, he was also a very emotional, passionate wizard. He noticed a similar thing in all of his fellow Death Eaters; it came from being educated while living out of the snake pit. They trusted few, and they cared for fewer, and those they loved were off limits. That code of honour may not have transferred precisely from the Slytherin common room to his Lord's table, but everyone knew what the expectations were.
Reuben had liked to poke at Antonin's propensity for jealousy when they were younger, and Antonin believed it stemmed from his being an only child. He didn't like people touching things that were his; not the shiny blue train set he had received at five, when his parents were trying to placate him, after announcing their looming move to England, and not witches as he had gotten older. Antonin was sure Hermione would not react well to his likening her to a train set, or something that was 'his', but her potential ire wouldn't make him any more in control of his actions.
He settled himself into the tree line, allowing his form to be covered almost entirely by shade. It would be a good vantage point to observe. A low pop sounded a second or so later, alerting him to Yaxley's arrival. Antonin shared a quick nod with his friend before Reuben stalked off to check their surroundings. The last thing they needed was unwanted company.
A rustling sound started in the bushes a few feet away and Antonin turned quickly. Hermione was walking wearily towards the clearing, her head moving side to side, his eyes widened as he saw Potter beside her, before they narrowed again when he registered the tight grip the boy had on her forearm as they navigated the uneven ground.
She must have told him.
Antonin released a breath he hadn't known he was holding. How much had she told her friends? Anything was more than he could have ever hoped for. He had found himself worried about the outcome of all of this, nights when he was in his room, drinking himself into an even earlier grave than he might already be fated too. Even if everything went to plan, he had no guarantee from her, no sign yet that she would return his feelings, not that he had confirmed to her, or even to himself what they were. Antonin knew he wouldn't leave her alone either way, if his father had passed on one lesson about his marriage to his mother it was that when you found the right witch, you kept trying, until she was in your house, in your bed, bore your children, and shared your life.
As the tiny figures got closer, Antonin took her in, after all this time apart he had spent a lot of time with his fantasy Hermione, an amount of time that a man his age, should be fairly ashamed of. He imagined this had not helped his reaction to her appearance, she looked terrible. Not that she wasn't beautiful, that was an unchanging fact, but he could see that the last month had been hard on her. Antonin looked over at Potter, he wasn't looking too great either, but Hermione looked worse. He wondered if Potter knew, or had even noticed, that she must have been skipping meals, no doubt to give him and Weasley her share. Antonin bit down on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from raging at her. The first time they met had been under spellfire, and the last he had yelled, he had promised himself, repeatedly, that he would control his temper this time.
Hermione wasn't making it easy, she looked so thin. The jumper she was wearing was thick, but even the excess wool wasn't doing much to hide her diminished form, her little face was hollow and her eyes rimmed with dark circles.
Before they had made it to a stop, he addressed her, in the most neutral tone he could manage. "You are fine?" His voice came out gruffer and more accented that he would have liked, but it was the best he could do given the circumstances.
She looked at him, as if noticing his presence for the first time. "Yes, I am... fine," she answered softly.
Before he could say anything else Yaxley appeared back in the clearing and nodded at him once, confirming they were alone. Antonin watched as Reuben took in their company, pausing over Potter briefly before concentrating on Hermione. Reuben moved to stand level with him, shoulder width apart and smiled at her.
"Hello again, little duck," he said brightly with a wink before turning his head to smirk at Potter. Hermione looked slightly startled by the warm expression on Reuben's face, coupled with the very familiar opening, but didn't call him on it, and merely said hello back.
Antonin fought down a laugh, they both liked to make sure they were in control, Reuben often achieved this by prodding the reactions he wanted out of people. Potter's presence wasn't something they banked on, and they would both want to make sure he knew where his standing was in this grouping i.e. none. As Yaxley moved closer, Antonin saw his friend's smile falter as he subtly looked Hermione up and down, his brows furrowed into a frown for a second before he shook it off.
They remained standing equidistant from each other for long moments, the only sound the breeze in the trees. Potter tried to look unreadable but his discomfort and simmering rage were evident in the tight lines of his face, he obviously was not happy to see them. Antonin understood the feeling, in his fantasies of reuniting with Hermione, varied and fantastical as they were, none of them had involved the Chosen One holding her in a vice-like grip.
"What happened at the Lovegood house?" Antonin blurted, unable to help himself.
Hermione sighed. "Well, a lot went wrong," she admitted looking at him apologetically.
He rubbed a hand over his face, suddenly feeling ten years older, you don't fucking say Hermione, he would leave that subject for now. It was probably time for a refresher on the importance of planning with his witch, but not with an audience. He dug into his pocket and handed over the parchment wrapped package from Snape, reluctantly, not only had the headmaster charmed it for only her to be able to open, but he had also refused to tell them what it was. They had tried every revealing spell they could think of, and a few they made up, and still detected nothing. Antonin couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right with the contents.
He was experienced with all kinds of magic, and Antonin sensed an unknown darkness oozing from the small parcel all week, it had felt at times like it had been calling him, whispering that he should find a way of opening it.
"Be careful, we don't know what's inside, and it could be dangerous," he warned her.
Hermione nodded in apparent understanding, though when her fingers reaching for the parchment caused both Death Eaters to instinctively raise their wands in anticipation, she paused, looking up at the hard lines of their faces with confusion. "Professor Snape completed the task I asked of him," she explained in a neutral tone. "He found a way to prove that he was reliable, I don't think I have anything to fear from this."
Well, that was bloody ambiguous, Antonin could feel Reuben getting irritated by the side of him. They couldn't leave without more answers.
Hermione opened the parchment and gasped softly before angling it towards Harry, and his eyes widened before nodding. Hermione wrapped it back up carefully before putting it in her bag. "Thank you," her eyes locked with his. "Thank you," she repeated, even more softly this time, more mouthing the words than speaking them.
"And you," she said, turning to Yaxley, who nodded once before her eyes fell on him again. They shone, and for a moment his breath hitched as he waited for whatever she was planning to say until, clocking her soft expression, Potter's own turned stormy, glaring at the both of them.
"Easy there Potter wouldn't want to strain your eyes; you've already got enough issues in that area," Reuben heckled. Despite everything Antonin was pretty sure Yaxley was enjoying himself, he had been positively jubilant since he had killed Umbridge, Antonin had returned that evening and been treated to watching the whole event in the study pensive. He would have to tell Hermione eventually, though not today.
He walked a couple of steps towards Hermione, ignoring Potter, who was now trading school ground insults with Yax, Malfoy Jr had been right about one thing; the kid was idiotically easy to rile up. "What now?" he asked.
"Now we carry on with our part of the plan," Hermione answered immediately, her teeth going into her bottom lip and one arm resting awkwardly in front of her body. Antonin didn't like the 'our', especially when that included Potter and Weasley, he needed that to be an 'us' a 'we'; one that meant her and him.
"What else do you need from us?" he asked.
She quietly conferred with Harry and Reuben used the opportunity to whisper to him. "I'm amazed you're keeping your cool, she's not yours yet… She's alone in a small tent, in various secluded spots around the country, with boy wonder, and look at them, they seem incredibly close," he taunted.
Antonin couldn't help but look over at the pair following Rueben's words, even though he knew that was playing into his hands. They were standing close together, with Harry speaking in hushed tones, from the way his mouth was moving Antonin was sure Hermione couldn't get a word in edgeways. He didn't like it, but he didn't feel out of control, their posture didn't speak of desire, he couldn't see any evidence that either was harbouring affection for the other, outside of their friendship.
Having sensed that he might need to work a little harder Yaxley spoke again, "Or maybe it's the ginger kid…. you know how those Weasley's breed, the next time we meet them there might be a whole family living in that tent."
Shit. Antonin had to focus on counting the leaves on the forest floor to not kill his best friend, and hers, before taking her to the top of some tower where no one would ever see her again. He was not jealous of a teenager, he was not, but he remembered the resentment he felt when, after discovering her picture all those months ago, Lucius had relayed information from Draco about her, a part had said there was an expectation she had been with Weasley… intimately, and was destined to marry him.
He was distracted by his murderous thoughts that Antonin was almost startled by the little witch addressing them. "If you truly want to help," she began falteringly, "there is something you can do for us," she said, and he noticed the stiffness in her posture.
"Name it," he responded automatically.
She looked at Harry one more time before sucking in a breath, whatever it was it was big. "Err… Kill the snake… Nagini," Hermione elaborated hesitantly.
Antonin had no idea what the expression on his face looked like, but it was enough to make her wince. The clearing was silent for a full ten seconds, Yaxley recovered himself first.
"I'm sorry Granger, I must have misheard you…. I was under the impression you just asked us to kill the Dark Lord's familiar."
"Look if you don't want to be invol-" Harry interjected angrily.
Reuben cut him off, "-A creature he sleeps with," Hermione and Potter paled but it wasn't enough to derail his friend, "and yet you will give us no more information-"
"It's not safe for you to know," Hermione implored.
"I will decide that," Yaxley snapped back.
"If he gets this information from your mind," she said shaking her head, "it could change the course of the whole war," she countered.
"Snape knows doesn't he?" Antonin asked, it was more accusation than a question, it was a petulant point, but one that had been nagging at him for weeks.
"Yes," Hermione admitted, looking up at him, her eyes soft.
"So you told him, but you won't tell us?" Antonin was fighting to keep his promise and not shout, but it was becoming more difficult.
"Dumbledore told him," she clarified.
"How do you know that?" Yaxley asked incredulously; his disbelief was one Antonin shared.
"I didn't ask specifically for what he sent, I asked him to send something that would help," she explained, as if speaking to two errant children and his mind finally caught up.
"He knew what it was?" He offered, following her train of thought, feeling somewhat appeased that at least she seemed to think the same level of security applied to all of them. She nodded her assent and Antonin shifted his weight.
"Why would he help you?" he asked, not letting the relief from the earlier revelation show in his face, there was still too much unsaid. Why, that was the bigger question, why would Snape put himself in the middle of all this?
"I don't know," Hermione replied, and this time Antonin was aware she was lying, or at least omitting something.
"Hermione, you need to give us something," he beseeched.
She looked back at Harry who dramatically shook his head, and her eyes became pleading. Antonin's heart lifted at that expression. Whatever else may happen, by bringing the parcel she at least trusted him to some degree. The silent communication between the two continued until Potter abruptly shouted "NO," at her, the unexpectedly, loud sound drawing the birds from the trees.
Antonin unconsciously lunged forward. "Watch your tongue Potter." His tone was like ice and Potter, even as dumb as he was, wasn't stupid enough to ignore the threat right in front of him and he backed away from Hermione slightly. His witch faced him, searching for something in his eyes before squeezing her own shut. "I'm… I'm sorry Harry, we have to give them something," she said not taking her eyes off Antonin.
"Hermione," Potter warned as she opened her mouth. "HERMIONE NO!"
The next minutes flashed by in a blink, Potter had leapt forward, wand in hand, towards her, and Antonin reacted on instinct. Yaxley had flicked his hand to disarm the Chosen One as Antonin stepped, barging straight into Potter's body, twisting his much larger form to bring his right shoulder up to collide with the boy's windpipe.
As Potter lay on the floor, gasping for air, Yaxley walked passed his crumpled form and reached down to Hermione, who had fallen next to her friend, giving her wand he had taken.
"He wasn't going to hurt me, just apparate us away," she said in a mildly chastising tone, while dragging Potter back up on his feet. Antonin nodded, he wasn't going to tell her he had been certain that was Potter's intention all along, harmful intent or not the boy had been trying to leave with her, and ever since Hermione had turned up looking like a famine survivor Antonin had really wanted to hit something. That it had been Potter, and that he had deserved it was the cherry on top.
Potter swayed on his feet as Hermione helped him sit back down, leaning him against a boulder, he still looked pretty dazed but otherwise fine, which was unfortunate. Antonin watched as she placed a firm hand on her friend's shoulder and released a shaky breath. "We are working on something that will make the Dark Lord... mortal."
The clearing once again was reduced to stunned silence; Antonin turned to look at Yaxley, this was bigger than they had anticipated.
"And... do you feel that this will be a success?" Yaxley asked, betraying nothing.
She nodded. "With the help, you have provided us. Today, I have real faith that we can get this done," she said confidently.
Yaxley stared at her before straightening out. "Right well consider the snake dead… Do we need to bring that to you as well?" he asked, with evident distaste.
"Oh... err…. no," her face screwed up, "Just dead... very dead, is enough."
Potter was coming back around and if Antonin was reading his agitated expression correctly he was done with this encounter. "Hermione we have to go," the boy began, rubbing his neck with a fierce look at Antonin. "Ron will wonder where we are," he demanded, like the petulant child he was.
"Wait a moment Potter, I need a word with Hermione," Antonin said, as he walked forward, "alone," he barked while looming over him.
"No bloody way," Potter spat.
"I'm sorry, I had not realised you were the Head of her House, excuse me," he strode past him and grabbed Hermione by the arm, pulling her into his side and walking them into the tree line. Once they were out of sight of the clearing, Antonin came to an abrupt stop and pushed her behind a tree. "You look shocking," he accused, running a hand across her cheek and pushing the limp hair out of her eyes.
"Thank you, Antonin, it's been lovely to see you too," Hermione replied sarcastically.
He rolled his eyes at her attitude. "You know what I mean Hermione; you aren't looking after yourself."
"I'm living on the run, with two boys," she said, as if that was a complete explanation for her appearance and he growled slightly, his arms tightening their grip on her slim shoulders, he was surprised when her face broke into a small smile.
"I'm glad this is funny to you," Antonin snapped with embarrassingly little heat.
He wanted to use the limited time he had to feel her, but he needed answers. The need to unburden himself from the nagging thoughts he had trailing him for weeks was overwhelming. He thought if she left that day, without clearing his head he might go finally mad.
"Why do you trust Snape?" Antonin asked, using his fingers to trace the freckles that lined the bridge of her nose.
"He helped me," Hermione answered quickly, apparently truthfully.
"There isn't something more?" he pushed, stepping forward till their faces were mere inches apart. The momentary flash of complete horror on her face was enough to convince him that there weren't feelings, at least from her direction.
"Why would you think that?" Hermione asked, clearly perplexed by his deduction.
"He… well, you would seem like his type," Antonin answered vaguely, the thought only having just occurred to him.
"I wasn't aware he had one," she replied cheekily.
He laughed at that, allowing his hands to trail down her arms, landing at her waist slowly. "When will I see you again?" Antonin asked urgently, he knew they were already on borrowed time. He couldn't help himself from invading her personal space like he had a Grimmauld, dropping his forehead to hers, it wasn't even conscious, mostly, whenever he saw her a compulsion to get closer just took over.
"I don't know; we have a lot to do." Her response was breathy, and he drank in her darkening eyes and softening posture. "A month again?" she suggested, "to let us know about the snake?" and Antonin nodded against her hair.
She cleared her throat, her body straightening and he stepped back in response. "I… I need something else," she began.
"Anything," Antonin replied, before the full request had left her mouth.
"I need to find out where Luna is, Luna Lovegood, she's been taken… I need…. I need her to be safe Antonin."
His blood rushed south at hearing his name fall from her lips while they were stood so close together, Antonin fought against the clouding of his mind. "Your little blonde friend is okay," he soothed.
Tears began to form at the corners of her eyes, and Hermione exhaled a sharp breath, effectively ending his heated response. He caught her as her body collapsed slightly, in what he imagined was the relief, wiping tears that escaped her eyes before they could fall on her cheeks.
"She's in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor, she's not being interfered with," he murmured hoping to reassure her. He hated to see her sad and yet he was slightly mesmerised by her response at the same time. She was so tough, this little witch, battling against the world, sharp and caustic to him and yet, so fragile, so soft, so vulnerable at the same time.
"Thank you," she replied, her voice thick with emotion.
"I didn't… I would have," he tried to explain. "I already knew she was important to you, but Rabastan Lestrange got their first." Antonin was not thrilled to make the admission. Rabastan's presence in the dungeons had been something he was surprised by, something that he had decided to monitor, albeit from afar. At first, he had suspected his actions were linked to Hermione, but as time went on, he wasn't so sure.
"What?" she asked, her eyes widening in disbelief, Antonin cursed himself for mentioning the other man's name. If they had more time, he would have let the conversation derail, answered all of her questions, soothed her, but he had been holding himself back to long. And if she has questions you know she'll come back, his mind whispered, and Antonin suppressed a slight shiver at the truth of the taunt.
"No more questions," he commanded roughly.
He needed something that he could remember when she disappeared again, a memory that would chase away the paranoia that multiplied the longer she was gone from his life. Chaste kisses at Grimmauld Place weren't enough anymore. His lips crashed on top of hers, instantly registering the increased friction from the chapped surface of her mouth, and his hand moved to grip a handful of her curls, twisting them into what he hoped was the right side of painful. Her answering whimper fuelled him to nudge her mouth open gently, and she complied moments later. As Hermione moaned against him he seized the opportunity, his tongue thrusting into her mouth desperate to taste her. Antonin was lost, his mind conjured an image of the bleak nights of Azkaban as it stuttered in its attempt to find a comparison to the sensory retreat he felt. His perception of the world around them fell away as he hungrily explored her mouth. The comparison wasn't a good one, the prison had been deprivation on every level, and this was an explosion, the very opposite ends of the scale, and yet just as sure to drive him to the edges of his sanity.
Antonin felt her respond, her faltering movements revealed her inexperience, and he lost what remained of his control. He pushed her harder against the tree, hoisting her up from under her thighs and encouraged her to wrap her slim legs around his waist so that he could continue forcibly kissing her with their heads aligned.
When he felt her glorious little body begin to melt into him, Antonin moved his mouth to her neck, leaving a trail of wet opened mouth kisses along her collarbone hoping to leave his mark. "When this is over Hermione, you will be mine, and there will be no more Potter and Weasley in tents," he panted out.
"There will always be Harry and Ron," she countered, albeit breathlessly.
"Not in my house there won't be," he replied hotly, returning to her mouth and grinding against her, he gave himself over to the passion of the moment for a while, pushing back the knowledge of how fleeting this would be. He eventually pulled himself up, resting a hand on her face, and taking advantage of her being level with him to catalogue her features. Seeing her pale skin and tired eyes he felt his heart constrict.
"A month is too long Hermione I'm... You don't look well. Why not come back with us now, shower, have some food, some rest, then go back out?" He could see her swaying, felt her drawing to the plan; he wouldn't give her time to think, time to change her mind. "Come on solnyshko," he implored, laying gentle kisses along her jaw, "we'll go now, grab Potter before he has time to protest, and apparate straight there. One day, that's all, just one day."
Before she could respond a call sounded from the direction of the clearing, "HERMIONE!"
Antonin felt her stiffen at the sound and saw resolve creep into her expression, fucking Potter. Antonin's head dropped to her shoulder despondent until he could feel small, tentative hands working their way into the hair at the nape of his neck. He lifted his face to look at her while she continued her tender ministrations, revelling in the simplicity of her initiating touch.
"What if none of this works?" Hermione whispered, her eyes searching his. He basked in the breaking of her confident exterior, he didn't want her weak, she would have no appeal to him that way, but he took heart in her wanting to share her fears and hesitations with him. She was finally giving him something of what he needed, asking him questions, relying on him to answer, relying on him to take care of it.
"We're covering both sides; I told you my priority when I left Azkaban was that we get out of this alive and," he moved his hand to grasp her jaw softly, "...that includes you."
Her eyes bore into his. "You should know my priority for now has to be Harry," she said with an air of regret, and Antonin huffed. "He needs to be here to end it, and he's my friend Antonin."
He dropped his forehead to hers again. "What about me Hermione? Where do I fall in your priorities?"
"Well, I've… I've thought about you, a lot, since we saw each other last. I haven't been able to sleep dreading that you wouldn't be here today… I…. It's not just about your help, there is something about you," she admitted quietly, studying his face as if searching for some reason she could find there to anchor her feelings onto. Had she felt something similar to the urgency that seemed to drive him?
"Hermione," he breathed and moved closer, laying a trail of worshipful kisses from her mouth, along her jaw, down her neck and back to her collarbone.
"We have to go back," she said, and Antonin instinctively pushed her against the tree vigorously, Hermione laughed a little at his reaction, and he smiled against the warm skin of her neck. "We can't leave Harry and Yaxley together much longer, or we might be both down a friend."
Antonin laughed and fought against every desire he had to apparate her away, while she was still in his arms. Eventually, he stepped back, letting her legs gently fall to the floor, before pulling her towards him again in a replica of their position at Grimmauld Place, her head tucked under his. He tried to ignore that his arms wrapped around her much further than they had the last time.
Sighing heavily Antonin pulled her hand, and they started walking back to the clearing, wrapping his fingers around hers, wondering if this would be the only time she would willingly follow him. As they approached their friends Antonin expected her to pull away from his grasp, he wouldn't have let her, but he was relieved when she maintained the connection. Potter looked angrier than he had ever seen him, and he watched the young boy eye his hand clasping Hermione's and was concerned that the Chosen One might do himself an injury if he continued to grind his teeth in that way. Yaxley was leaning against a tree, appearing without a care in the world. A quick wink indicated he had been having a little fun of his own at the boy's expense.
Antonin was reluctant for Hermione to go with Potter while he was in such a temper, until she squeezed his hand, letting go and rolling her eyes at Potter's steely glare.
"Bye," she called to Yaxley who gave her an amused smile and a casual salute. Hermione turned back around to him before she left, standing motionless for just a moment. "One month," she said, and then she was gone. Antonin stood, facing the direction they left in until long after she had disappeared from view.
He turned back around to face Reuben, who was still leant against the tree, exuding an air of casual indifference that Antonin knew was masking the piss-taking that he would be subjected to for at least two of the next four weeks.
"Well that was entertaining as ever," Reuben said with a lopsided smirk, "I used to think our lives were interesting, but Hermione certainly adds something doesn't she?"
"They can make the Dark Lord mortal?" Antonin questioned, he wanted to get this bit out of the way while they had no chance of being overheard, Hermione had been right to keep that information close to her chest. Though he was glad they knew, this changed everything.
Yaxley became serious, his hand coming up to rub his stubble lined jaw reflectively. "She wasn't lying, she might have been made to believe a load of shit, but whatever she's been told, she believes it," Reuben mused, and Antonin agreed.
"So we kill the snake?" he asked.
"Yes, we kill the snake," Reuben confirmed resigned, before kicking a stone with his boot. "Did it have to be the fucking snake though? Really? In the list of shit jobs that I have no desire to do that is now the clear top of the list."
Antonin allowed himself to shudder; they were going to have to re-plan somethings.
As they began to walk away Yaxley folded his arms across his chest. "Hermione? She looked…"
"I know," Antonin sighed, "next time, I'm taking her." He had resolved that he would take her back to Yaxley's townhouse at their next meeting, whether she was willing or not.
"That's... bold," Reuben replied with a slight frown. Antonin's eyebrows went up slightly at his friend's uncharacteristic solemnity, but he tried not to draw attention to it.
"Oh I know," Antonin huffed out a laugh. "She'll hate me, but you need to be alive to hate, and looking at her she could waste away out here."
"I'm not sure there has ever been a witch in my house that didn't want to be there, that should be novel," Yaxley uttered, attempting to keep a straight face, but his eyes gave him away. Not that he was being untruthful, Antonin had seen a fair few over the years that had been quite keen to outstay their welcome.
By silent agreement they walked further, moving past their original point of apparition, both needing more time to clear their heads before rejoining the real world. He was reluctant to leave the forest, knowing she was here somewhere. Both fell into their own thoughts, Antonin was agreeably entertained replaying his encounter behind the tree when a thought popped up.
"What did you say to Potter?" he inquired, remembering the young boy's temper.
"Well, you had been gone a couple of minutes, and he started to look upset," Reuben said casually, "he complained that Hermione was taking too long, and he was going to check on you. I didn't imagine your conversation was one you wanted to be interrupted, so I stopped him."
"How?" Antonin asked, brow furrowing, he didn't imagine anything would have permeated Potter's thick head enough to prevent him from acting.
"I told him you were fucking her against the tree, and that he probably didn't want to see that," Reuben deadpanned.
Antonin laughed so hard as he imagined Potter's face he had to kneel on the floor, he attempted to speak several times before the words would come out. "Well, that makes things easier, she won't even be angry with me for kidnapping her, she'll be glad of the extra time to tear strips off you."
"It worked, didn't it? And if life is a little less cosy in that tent for a few days well all the better for you."
Antonin couldn't argue with that.