There was nothing in the world
That I ever wanted more
Than to feel you deep in my heart
Pictures of You - The Cure [1989]
Antonin allowed himself an almost silent sigh of relief as he crossed the threshold of the reception room, Hermione cradled against his chest. That place was fast becoming his least favourite room in the house. Making himself remain still, and say nothing, while watching Hermione break down was not the easiest task. She was so incredibly strong, but she was still human, how much more could she take?
Clutching the shivering witch closer, he began walking towards the large staircase; she still shouldn't be this light, he grumbled to himself. They were halfway up the first flight before she spoke, "What now?" she said, her voice small and hoarse.
"They will leave," Antonin replied firmly, totally resolved. His first task after securing Hermione's safety would be to ensure it.
"They will come back, though?" she said against the fabric of his shirt.
"Yes, they will come back," he reluctantly admitted. As much as he hated it, he knew it to be true, men like Rodolphus would always want to lay claim to family. Antonin was glad he had connected the dots a few days before, he honestly could care less who her parents were, but it would be easier for her to get over it, if he could help her process.
Hermione suddenly seemed to become aware of her surroundings, snapping away from her misery and twisting in his hold. "You don't have to carry me-"
"Does it not make you feel better?" He cut her off her protests, not even slightly willing to budge on this.
"It makes me feel better," she admitted softly, burrowing her head back into his shoulder. Antonin allowed himself a small smile down at her, how he revelled in her taking comfort from him. He carried her up into the bedroom, their bedroom, and deposited her in a small chair, at the side of the room, before lowering himself in front of her, gently wiping the tears that had cascaded down her pale cheeks, before pushing her hair behind her ears.
"Yaxley said he would send some food up, wait for me and we will eat together," he requested. What he meant was, wait for me so I can make sure you eat something.
Hermione nodded, clearly not ready to speak. Antonin hated to leave her, but this conversation had to happen, it was better to do it now, rather than wait till Rodolphus wound himself up further. After all, they had been working towards this confrontation since their last one, the night of the attack on Hogwarts. As much as Antonin would have loved nothing more at that moment than to blow off some of his mounting frustrations with violence, he knew it wouldn't help Hermione, and that meant it wouldn't help him.
He turned back to look at her as he reached the doorway, Hermione had pulled her legs up, so her knees were tucked under her chin, her expressionless face staring blankly out of the window.
Groaning, Antonin unwillingly walked out into the corridor, in time to see Rabastan quickly following a skipping Luna across the hall and into a room on the opposite side, the door hastily shutting behind them. He imagined the atmosphere behind that door was likely to be a good deal nicer than the one awaiting him. Antonin would have laughed at the sight of the impulsive Death Eater being pulled around by the tiny blonde if his situation wasn't startlingly similar.
Antonin entered the doorway he had recently departed, ready to accept his fate. Rodolphus was now stood in the centre of the room, his mouth set into a grim line. Reuben moved towards him as he entered. "Can you head up?" he asked immediately, "Hermione's in my room, but she's not herself," he said to his friend.
Yaxley nodded, "You will be ok here?" He queried.
"Yes," Antonin reassured under his breath, "if he were going to hex me he would have already done it, it will probably just be... uncomfortable."
As soon as Reuben closed the door, Rodolphus turned to look at him. "I suppose you finally know my interest Dolohov; I think it's time I found out yours."
Antonin folded his arms across his chest, settling himself in a wide stance as he pondered the question, he wasn't sure how best to answer it. His interest was in Hermione, having as much of her mind, heart and body as she was willing to give. Though that didn't seem to be the best response to give to her father. Their relationship may be newly discovered for her, but he suspected Rodolphus had probably been making plans concerning his witch for some time.
Rodolphus, it seemed, was in no mood to wait for an answer, "Are you courting my daughter?"
"Not sure I would call it that," Antonin answered flippantly, and Rodolphus' eyes retracted to slits
"Well, what would you call it? Because honestly, I can't get a handle on it. The last I knew you cursed her, and now she's staying with you, at your friend's house, so what the fuck is going on?!"
"I," Antonin felt himself sag, there was no point in lying to the man. He had known Rodolphus long enough to know that where matters of family were concerned, both brothers could be ruthless, and Antonin was serious about Hermione, he didn't relish having to tell someone else before he told her, but nothing about this was following a traditional path. "I have... feelings for her; we have been in contact for the last few months, while she has been on the run."
Rodolphus' eyed him sceptically for a few moments, events seemingly playing over in his mind. "You have been protecting her?" he asked finally.
Antonin winced, the issue of his failed protection at the manor was still raw. "I have done what I can, not enough as it turns out."
Rodolphus chewed the information over, "I don't like it Dolohov," he ground out.
"You don't have to," Antonin snapped, suddenly defensive. He hadn't come this far to be stopped now, and he knew he wouldn't be. Rodolphus was smarter than that; he must have picked up on Hermione's closeness with him, he was holding more cards than the older man.
Rodolphus seemed to weigh his response, "Her staying here is highly inappropriate." Antonin regarded him blankly, determined not to give anything away. "I am assuming she isn't in her own room," Rodolphus continued and in spite of his earlier resolve, Antonin was worryingly aware that he may have flushed ever so slightly at the correct observation. Though he had not yet shared a bed with his witch, he wouldn't be unable to state, convincingly, that he had no designs in that area, because he did, each more inappropriate than the last.
"More improper than staying with two boys in a tent for weeks on end?" Antonin countered, attempting to avert the course of conversation from the sleeping arrangements in the house. Rodolphus raised his eyebrows, "I thought not," Antonin said smugly. "Well, what would you suggest? She is hardly going to agree to go back with you."
The older Lestrange looked to be full of impotent rage, but Antonin didn't feel as if the heat of it was directed at him, it was the situation. Rodolphus had been raised to be the head of an ancient pureblood house, while he was nowhere near as austere as his father had been, he would have been used to wielding a certain level of power. Dealing with the position he was now in, finding he had a daughter he hadn't known about, and realising he might not be able to assume any role in her life must have been difficult. Even so, Antonin struggled to sympathise; the blond wasn't his priority, his priority, was currently upstairs trying to make sense of the life that was in tatters around her.
"You will not take advantage of her?" Rodolphus questioned sternly, and Antonin fought down his rage at the presumption.
"No," he answered firmly, he would never do that, his plans were more... worship orientated.
"Then there seems to be very little else for us to discuss." Rodolphus moved to leave the room.
Against his better judgement, Antonin placed an arm out in front of Lestrange's path, sucking in a large breath. "Give her time, she's angry but she is also smart, and possibly the most compassionate person I have ever met, she is dealing with a lot right now, but I believe she will come around," he said before moving back out of the older man's way.
Rodolphus nodded, without meeting his eyes and moved towards the door before turning back, "About the attack-"
"Scabior, Greyback, Lucius, Narcissa and Draco," Antonin listed off automatically.
"I suppose-"
"Greyback is mine," Antonin answered tightly, he was working on the perfect scenario for the wolf.
"Then I will take care of the Malfoys, they are family after all," Rodolphus settled with a full smile that most who knew him would have known to be afraid of.
Antonin found Hermione in much the same position he had left her in. Reuben got up from his chair and shrugged, despite his own worry being clear on his face before leaving the room. Antonin picked the witch up, and placed her securely in his lap, frowning at the untouched food. Noticing his expression Hermione set her face stiffly.
"You told me to wait," she muttered petulantly, and he almost smiled at her bossy little face till she whispered, "How did it go?"
Antonin sagged into the chair, holding back a groan, "I think I just got the concerned father chat, for the first time, at the age of forty-three, from a man only three years older than me."
"My dad is eleven years older than you," Hermione whispered, and he held her tighter. They remained there quietly for a while, until he gestured towards the food. Hermione merely sighed, and Antonin attempted to get her to eat something before getting aggravated at her tiny bites and gave in.
"Come back to bed," he instructed, standing up without breaking the hold he had on her, it was as much for his comfort as hers.
"But it's daytime," Hermione protested, and Antonin fought down his irritation as much as possible.
"Hermione, you need rest."
After some more back and forth she went into the bathroom to change, and Antonin stripped off his boots and belt, he could do with a bit of sleep himself. Hermione emerged back into the room, and he watched her little face, still scrunched into a frown and tried not to laugh openly at her childlike defiance.
Hermione settled herself onto the bed, as close as possible to the edge, and as far away from him as it was feasible to be without being on the floor. Ignoring her behaviour, Antonin climbed in under the covers and dragged her towards him, pulling her back against his chest. He smiled to himself when, after a few seconds, she placed her hands over his, and shuffled back slightly to settle more firmly against him. It was the most relaxed he'd felt in months, and he had almost drifted off to sleep when he heard her faint whisper, "Why were you not surprised?"
"He killed his wife," Hermione spoke into her hair, moving his hand to rub her arm. She was so warm. "There had to be a reason, not that he needed one by that point."
"I don't know how to process this," Hermione admitted brokenly, and she moved forward, turning around in his arms.
"You need to give yourself time, and you need sleep."
She rolled her eyes, and Antonin went to chastise her, but she covered his mouth with one of her small hands. "You do too," she replied, her huge brown eyes looking up at him. "Did you get any last night?" she asked, moving her warm fingers away.
"Not much," he said while yawning, proving her point. He pulled her tighter again, so she was resting under his chin, her mad hair tickling the skin of his arms.
"Tell me about your parents," she asked against his chest, "you said you would tell me one day, but be warned, Luna told me an amazing 'fairy story' last night, it will be a hard act to follow."
Antonin smiled into her hair, "What story?"
"Her and Rabastan, how they met."
Antonin snorted, "I shudder to think of what that entailed, but I will tell you." He smiled at the memory of the story he had heard a thousand times, "It was winter in Russia, and that meant is was snowing, well, it is always snowing in Russia, but this was a frigid day."
"I'm not sure I would manage there," Hermione said lightly, and Antonin laughed.
"You are definitely not made for cold climates solnyshko," he moved one of his hands to trail up and down her spine, stilling to rest on the waistband of her pyjama bottoms, tucking the very tips of his fingers underneath the scrunched fabric ."But I would keep you warm," a bloom of light pink flush spread across her cheeks and he kissed her forehead.
"Anyway, it was a cold day, and my father was out with his friend running errands in town when a carriage rode passed them. It came to a stop a few metres away to pick up two women from the side of the road. As the second woman moved forward to get in the hood she was wearing fell back, and my father saw her face, he was instantly captivated by her dark hair and eyes, that were in stark contrast to her pale skin. Their gazes met for just a second before she readjusted her hood and got into the carriage. My father turned to his friend and declared that she was the woman he would marry."
"But he didn't know her? Her name or anything-"
"He just knew, it took him a year, but he eventually convinced her to marry him."
"How?" Hermione asked incredulously.
"Persistence," Antonin answered smugly.
"A family trait," she said cheekily, and he laughed at her before silence fell again.
"Thank you for rescuing me."
Antonin dropped his face to hers, moving his hands to each side of her face, "I thought you had died."
"I gave up," Hermione whispered her eyes filling with tears.
He stared at her confused, "What?"
"I accepted it, I knew... I thought I was going to die and I... I wanted to go," she breathed out raggedly. "I feel so ashamed of that now."
"There is no need to be ashamed of that, you survived," Antonin moved his head down to kiss her, sweeping his cheeks across hers and drying her tears. He had been holding himself back since she had woken, but now, her being so close to him, in his bed, he wanted her. She answered his kiss after a few seconds, and opened her mouth under his gentle probing. He wouldn't push her, as much as possible, he was sure that her experience was somewhat limited, or at least he told himself that to avoid adding names to his ever growing shit list. His hands moved slowly back, to her sides before slipping one around her back pinching the fabric of her top with one hand, sliding his other under at the same time to feel the comforting warmth of her skin.
Too soon he could feel Hermione tiring, she was still in recovery, and he didn't want to do anything to endanger that. Pulling away from her Antonin kissed her forehead before succumbing to sleep himself.
Antonin awoke to the pleasing sound of the sweet laughter of his witch, but to the less welcome sight of Luna sitting up with her, on the other side of the bed. He wasn't especially proud of himself for being jealous of the dreamy blonde, but he resented how close she was to Hermione. He wanted his witch to need him when things were going wrong, to want his comfort and guidance, only his. Ignoring both of them he pulled himself out of bed and stood, before slipping back into his boots, he needed a drink. He was aware that he was a grown man sulking, but he didn't care, he wanted to monopolise her time. He was grateful to Luna, for all that she'd done, but he wanted alone time with his witch. Conscious, in spite of his mood, that he did not want an argument he left the room with a wave of his hand and a grunt in response to the inquiring voices.
He found Reuben's study empty and immediately went to the side, to help himself to a firewhisky. He had just settled himself into a large chair with a substantial measure when the man of the house walked in, still wearing his Death Eater robes.
"Problem?" Antonin asked congenitally, looking to focus on someone else's issues for a while.
"Yes, our Lord is mad," Reuben answered while freeing himself from the expanse of fabric. Antonin laughed, they had been talking along the same lines for some time now. Reuben looked at him reproachfully, "This is no laughing matter Antonin, I thought he was going to kill Thorfinn tonight."
"No significant loss," he uttered, his bad mood seeping into his tone.
Reuben regarded him apparently taking in his disposition, "Maybe not, but it's making the others twitchy."
"Not a full meeting I take it?"
"No, I think he's too paranoid for those since Bella. There was about half of the inner circle there; I suppose you can expect to be called in the next few days." Antonin nodded, though now Hermione was awake he no longer longed for the distraction.
Yaxley finally shed his robe and poured his own drink, "Snape was there," he said quietly.
"What did he want?" Antonin sighed, this was not going to be something he wanted to hear.
"He wanted to know about Hermione... He was livid, and I may have told him that she wasn't dead," he admitted.
Antonin stilled, "Why? That was her protection; she could have stayed safe if no one knew."
"Her people needed to know. The Order needed to know," Reuben said calmly, but it did little to sooth Antonin's temper. Antonin couldn't have given a flying fuck about The Order; it wasn't like they had protected her properly up to this point. "He wants to come and see her... Tomorrow," Reuben continued, and Antonin scowled triggering Yax to slam his glass down on the table, "Do you think I enjoy bringing you this news?" he asked roughly, "we have to act as is best."
"This isn't a game."
"No, it's not, it's about surviving this war, anytime you no longer fancy that Antonin, let me know and I will stop my efforts on that score."
Antonin clenched his fists, "Fine… any more visitor requests, McNair? Perhaps The Dark Lord himself?"
"Calm down Antonin, I'm not your enemy here," his friend sighed, and reluctantly Antonin admitted the truth of that statement and sat back in the chair, running a finger around the rim of his glass. "Where is Hermione?" Reuben asked.
"Upstairs with Luna," Antonin replied, trying to school his features though he was sure his friend would have already picked up on the lingering reason for his mood.
"So she's Rodolphus daughter?"
Antonin rubbed a hand over his face, "It would appear so."
Yaxley surprised him by laughing, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry it's just what next? You pick and inappropriate damsel, you find in reality she is so much more than you expected. You spend an inordinate amount of time acting the part of the brooding prince, you rescue her from the evil witch and then, just when you are crossing the drawbridge to wake her from her enchanted sleep, two gargoyles appear... Too much."
Antonin exhaled heavily and moved to the decanter again, "Still worth it?" Yaxley questioned cautiously
"Yes," Antonin responded honestly, it was.
A few hours, and several more glasses of whisky than he should have had later, Antonin stumbled back up the stairs to his bed. It was really quite late now, and the room was dim, only a few candles remained burning, giving off a soft glow. Hermione and Luna were both buried under the covers, and he felt the stirring of his earlier jealousy returning. Antonin moved into the bathroom to change, determined that tonight he would sleep in his bed with his witch. He stripped down and showered quickly, hoping to eliminate some of the clinging smell of the alcohol, before pulling on pyjama bottoms and a well-worn t-shirt.
He climbed into bed next to Hermione, trying to ignore the mass of room he had, down to the witches being huddled up closely in the middle of the bed. He didn't bother to be quiet, or rather if he were honest, he actively attempted to disturb them. As Antonin pulled the covers over himself roughly, he spied large blue eyes watching him. "Luna, haven't you got somewhere else to be?" he moaned gruffly.
Both witches burst into quiet laughter, and he felt his irritation rising. It was the only time he could ever remember not having a good time with multiple witches in his bed, and it was definitely was the first time they had been laughing at him. Antonin scowled as the little blonde rolled over and kissed a still giggling Hermione on the cheek before jumping out of bed with a small thump, padding out of the door, presumably to her much underused room.
"There was no need to be rude," Hermione said, once the door had closed, though she didn't seem to be chastising him from her tone.
"That wasn't rude," I could have thrown her, Antonin thought bitterly but wisely opted to keep such thoughts to himself.
"I suppose you and Yaxley wouldn't know, but yes that was." Antonin bit his lip; there was no way he was apologising.
Repeating his actions from earlier, though, with a little less grace, he reached forward and pulled Hermione into his chest, curling himself around her, ignoring the little yelp she made at the unexpected travel across the bed. He moved his hands to rest on her hip, his lip curling slightly at the feel of her flannel-clad form.
"You are wearing too many clothes," he huffed and heard her soft laughter in response. Desperate for skin on skin contact, and just about drunk enough not to overthink it, Antonin circled his hands around her, and gently raised the hem of her large pyjama top. Waiting a moment, and getting no resistance, he continued his progress, raising the offending article off her body, turning Hermione on her back in the process. When he had thrown the balled up top across the room he then swiftly removed his own and leant over her, crashing his lips to hers, kissing her fervently for a couple of seconds before she started coughing.
"Ah, Antonin, how much have you had to drink tonight?" Hermione complained with a grimace, and an animated smacking of her lips.
"Don't worry solnyshko, you definitely will not be taking advantage of me," She smiled at him, but he could see a tightness around her eyes. "What's wrong?" he asked, his ardour quelling.
She flushed, "Nothing... I'm fine," she stammered.
Antonin moved off her, propping himself up on one arm, "Don't lie, Hermione, above all else, you're terrible at it," he teased. "Is it because of today?" he moved back further, she had been through an awful lot in the last few weeks, it was selfish to want her now. But he was selfish, if not now then when? The war was coming to its culmination, Antonin could feel it. Though he wouldn't verbalise it, he knew the days of having her hidden away here were limited in number.
"No, it's not that," she answered smiling weakly at him, "I've never done... This," she gestured between them with her hand, "before."
Antonin was convinced his brain had just shut down, "What do you mean?" he asked huskily, fisting his hand in the sheet beneath him.
"I mean I've never… You know been with… Been with a man before." Her face was bright red now, and he felt sorry for her level of discomfort, but he needed to know exactly what she was saying.
"You're a virgin?" he qualified, and she nodded, Antonin released a shaky breath. "How far have you?"
"Kissing," she blurted, "Do we really need to talk about this?" Hermione whispered, staring resolutely at the ceiling over his shoulder.
"Actually, yes," Antonin forced his eyes to look away from the creamy skin of her torso that he had exposed moments before, and be the more mature person in this situation, Merlin knew he was old enough for it. "I knew you wouldn't be-" he paused thinking over the right thing to say, "-experienced. But I didn't realise you would be… untouched."
"Is that a bad thing?" Hermione asked quietly.
Antonin swallowed, hard, not sure whether he was still reeling from her revelation or her honest naiveté. He gently trailed his fingers over her heated cheek until they rested under her chin, pulling it up, so she looked at him. "No, no of course not, it's just… I'm a very possessive man Hermione, and knowing that no man has touched you before does… Things to me, but I don't want to hurt you, or scare you," he pulled one of her curls between his fingers, "so you will tell me to stop if you want ok? We go at your pace." She nodded, and he shook his head, "I need you to say it, Hermione."
"Yes," she responded, "I will tell you."
Accepting that as his green light Antonin dropped back over her again. Lowering his torso to cover hers, he fought with himself to go slow, to relax her, and laid soft kisses on her mouth before trailing a path down her neck, stopping at the gentle swell of her breasts, accessible from the top of her green satin bra. He languidly brought his hands up her sides, revelling in the warmth under his fingers before raising her from the bed lightly, to unfasten it from her, softly pulling it from her body when the clasp sprang free.
Antonin arched back to look at the skin that was exposed, "You are so beautiful my Hermione," he whispered reverentially, he couldn't believe that they had got here, to this moment. Years he had waited, and not until that moment in the cafe had he started to think that she would ever be here, and now she was. He returned his weight on top of her, sucking on the dusky pink nipples he had imagined more times than was appropriate, and delighted in the fact that his rather vivid imagination had not done her credit. Hermione lightly gasped as he moved to her other breast and Antonin smiled against her skin, ready to catalogue every gasp and mewl she made. He wanted her responsive to his touch, to find out what she liked and disliked.
As his movements became more frantic her hands glided into his hair, pulling on the damp strands at the back of his neck, he moaned appreciatively, beginning to lick a path further down, it was a moment or two later when he accidentally nudged her forearm, and Hermione stilled.
Antonin looked up at her, through the haze of lust, and saw that her shoulders were tense and her eyes radiated strain. "What's wrong?" he questioned lightly.
"My scars," Hermione whispered, and it took Antonin a second to join the dots, when he did he sat back onto his haunches, gripping both of her wrists and moving her to sit up in front of him. He lowered his gaze to look at the word that had been 'applied' to her skin during torture. He hadn't so much as glanced at it since that first night they were back; he had assumed Hermione wouldn't want to talk about it, honestly, he didn't want to talk about it. Seeing what had happened to her still filled him with rage. Antonin had been almost mindless at the Department of Mysteries when he saw the angry bruises lining her throat; this was so much worse. He didn't want her to see that, but he realised, as she sat looking up at him, her body language radiating discomfort, that he had made a mistake. He hoped by ignoring it would not cause her further pain, but it would appear that she wanted to address it, so that was what they would do. He pulled on her arm slightly and bared the words to his closer gaze.
"Hermione, this means nothing to me, the word means nothing to me. It makes no difference to how I feel about you, or how beautiful I think you are," Antonin said firmly.
Hermione peered up at him through tear soaked lashes, "It's so ugly, though," her voice croaked.
Antonin let go of her hand and spun around, so she was facing his back, "You see this one here?" he said, gesturing to his shoulder. There was an ugly patch of skin, about the size of his palm, "That's from where Yaxley set me on fire during a practise duel in the sixth year." Hermione reached forward to touch it, running her hand over the uneven surface delicately. "The prick didn't think to mention he'd been experimenting with cursed fire, took three people over a minute to put it out, and by that time the skin underneath was unsalvageable." Antonin turned back around to face her again, "and that's not even the worst of it, I've seen a lot of scars, and yours is a horrible reminder of what happened to you, but that's all, it doesn't change who you are."
"Luna said something similar."
Antonin groaned, "No talking about Lovegood when we are naked."
"We're not naked," Hermione challenged shyly.
"We will be," he promised darkly.
Hermione looked thoughtful for a second before she surprised him totally by jumping forward to kiss him, her hands wrapping around his neck so tightly that their bare chests pushed together. Antonin carefully lowered her onto her back, without breaking their kisses and moved his hands rhythmically around her torso before gently tugging on her pyjama bottoms. She raised her hips slightly, and he took the opportunity to remove them.
He looked down to marvel at the sight of her; she was so petite and seemingly fragile but so strong and lush at the same time, Antonin felt almost uncomfortable in his desperation for her which was not helped by her small fingers moving down his chest to pull at the waistband of his own pyjama bottoms. He stood from the bed, staring intently at her and pulled down the trousers taking his boxers with them and, throwing them from his body. He watched with a heated stare as her eyes widened at the sight of him before she blushed and looked away rapidly.
In slow, deliberate movements, Antonin climbed back up onto the bed latching his mouth to hers, waiting to feel her relax again before gently moving his hand down her body.
"You are so soft," he spoke against the swell of her abused lips, trailing his mouth to her ear, whispering a continual flow of endearments as his fingers dexterously navigated the hem of her green satin knickers, circling the delicately stitched lace surrounding her thigh, before gently settling between her legs and sliding the tips of his fingers under the fabric. He felt her gasp at the intrusion, and pulled away from her ear to feast on her collarbone and shoulder. Antonin tormented her flesh until she began to writhe underneath him, her pupils dilating as her breaths became soft pants, only then did he slip his hands to the waistband and pull the fabric slowly down her legs.
"You are so dazzling," he crooned while sat back on his haunches reaching forward to part her legs a little further till he could rest comfortably between them.
"Are you OK?" he questioned, needing to hear that she wanted this as much as he did.
"Yes, err, I think so," Hermione said falteringly, her skin was flushed, and a faint line of perspiration moved across her brow.
He kissed her again, resting his body over hers and luxuriating in the feel of her supple flesh against his. Without breaking himself away, he shifted to the right enabling his fingers to trail back over her stomach, ghosting a barely there path down past her hips. When he reached centimetres away from where he wanted to be Hermione let out a little-frustrated cry, and he swept his fingers onto her, moaning himself when he felt how ready she was. Antonin worked her until she shuddered beneath him, almost losing his own composure as she writhed and clawed against his skin.
Antonin rested his heated forehead against hers as she calmed down before looking down at her face. "This will hurt a little, to begin with," he said roughly, and rested a hand on her stomach muttering a charm, watching as it lit blue for a couple of seconds. Without waiting any longer he slowly entered her, being as mindful as he could to her possible discomfort. When he was fully within, he peppered her slightly pinched face with gentle kisses, attempting to run the significant dates of the Goblin Revolution through his head to stop himself from thrusting forward like his mind was screaming at this to do.
"Antonin," Hermione whispered, and he winced at hearing her say his name in such a breathless voice, mentally filing away the moment, he dropped his face to look at her, "Please move."
"Oh thank Merlin," he wasn't sure how much longer he would have been able to remain still. He began thrusting into her then, almost with total abandon, he had waited so long to have her; her much smaller body being dominated by his form was totally intoxicating. He felt a surge of masculine pride as breathing became more laboured and a flush broke out on her cheeks
"Antonin… Antonin... I... I-"
"It's okay," he whispered into her ear before pulling himself up slightly so he could massage her, pushing her closer to the edge, as her eyes widened he could feel her fluttering around him. He leant forward and spoke directly into her ear, "Let go solnyshko, let go."
He felt her become almost impossibly tight around him and shuddered, if watching her before was intoxicating, seeing her come while he was inside her was almost maddening. "Fuck Hermione," he yelled before he gripped her hips tightly, slamming into her twice more before spilling inside her.
When his eyesight returned, Antonin gently moved to lay next to her, tucking her into his side and laying soft kisses on any skin he could get near enough to. He watched her in amazement until her eyes began to grow heavy, then with increasing amusement as she tried to fight the call of sleep. He moved to be eye level with her, speaking in a heavily accented tone, "I love you solnyshko, I can guarantee nothing that will happen, but I can give you that."
Hermione was suddenly alert, her eyes as big a saucers "Antonin I."
"Shh go to sleep we will talk in the morning."
Hermione pulled his chin down, "No I need to say this now... I love you too Antonin."
He felt his face split into a wide grin as she settled against him, as he was once again succumbing to sleep by her side, he felt the frayed edges of his mind start to knit together, she was safe, and she loved him, everything else they could work out along the way.
When Hermione stirred awake, she attempted to move, testing out her limbs and clenching her fists. Like the day before her body ached all over, though the pains felt different this morning. She blinked a couple of times and memories of the previous evening came rushing back to her. As she rolled over she found a sleeping Antonin Dolohov tucked under the covers, the downy quilt wrapped high around him, with only his closed eyes exposed. He looked infinitely younger in sleep; she supposed he would not care to be told how adorable he looked. Snuggled up into the bedding. Hermione shook her head at the absurdity of the situation; she was curled up in bed, recuperating with one the Dark Lord's inner circle. She belonged in St Mungo's and yet she wouldn't take it back. She had meant what she said; she loved him.
Hermione smiled to herself, remembering the previous night, how scared she had been, how gently he had treated her. She reached forward to brush some hair off his face, and only had time to dimly register the flickering of one of his eyes before he had grasped her wrist and pulled her into him. "Morning Antonin," she laughed out, forced to mumble as her face was pressed against his bare chest.
"Morning Hermione," he grumbled into the covers.
"We need to get up," she said brightly, clearly much more of a morning person than he was.
"Why?" he huffed, his accent even thicker than it had been the previous evening
"You mentioned something about another visit today," she said softly, hoping to jog his memory.
She felt more than heard his sigh. "Snape is coming," Antonin admitted reluctantly, "he knows you are here and has demanded to speak to you," he complained petulantly.
"Ah..."
"Yes ah… in a moment, though, we don't need to get up yet," he moved forward, pressing her more firmly against his skin. As silly as it seemed Hermione was nervous about him seeing her naked, in spite of their activities. She assumed Antonin had no such issues as he ran a hand firmly over her bum.
He kissed her shoulder as his hands kept moving, "I meant to say to you last night, I greatly approve of your underwear choice, though obviously, I prefer you without it," he mentioned as he pointedly rubbed a palm against her breast. "Though I confess it was not exactly what I would have expected, I thought you might have been a bit too practical for green satin."
Hermione had to hold a hand over her mouth to smother the giggles that threatened. She had wondered how long it would take for him to mention them. "That's true; I am, if you remember you sent Yaxley to get me new clothes when I arrived here," she responded in as innocent a tone as possible.
She felt Antonin tense around her. "I'm not sure whether to thank him or kill him."
Hermione laughed, "Maybe let's keep it to ourselves that you have seen them until you can decide.
Antonin laughed into her hair "Maybe."
Hermione was glad that Yaxley had not instructed Professor Snape to wait in the front reception room, she had experienced enough revelations there to last a lifetime, it made the idea of any conversation being held in there oppressive. Instead, Hermione entered the lightly furnished, bright sunroom at the back of the property to find her old Potions Master skulking in the corner like the vampire that the younger children had often accused him of being. He looked so out of place in the bright room that Hermione almost felt sorry for him, almost.
She moved closer and sat in a chair in the centre of the room, before setting about pouring teas from a tray that had been left by one of the elves. After a lifetime of viewing them as put-upon servants it had been quite an eye opener to deal with one up close that wasn't totally mad, and find how demanding and exacting they were. Hermione found it was easier to go along with what they wanted, and want they wanted wasn't liberation.
As she started to pour her Professor moved further into the light, if it were possible he looked paler than the last time she had seen him, evidently life as the headmaster did not agree with him. He sat softly in the chair in front of her and took the cup she proffered him without comment.
"I'm glad to see you are alive Miss Granger," he started sarcastically, "though I can see that no matter the treatment you have no doubt been receiving here, you were not well a long time before your… ordeal," he drawled, and Hermione realised, in spite of herself, that she had missed his voice.
She thought of how to phrase what she wanted to say in the perfect Slytherin way, how she could acerbically and eloquently tell him to shove it up his arse without betraying a single emotion on her face. But she was Gryffindor to a fault, and she wasn't recovered enough yet to go an entire conversation exchanging thinly veiled barbs, especially when she was so outclassed. She wrung her hands in front of herself for a moment.
"Speak, Miss Granger, before you combust with the need to do so," he commanded, as he took a sip of his tea, raising a single brow in challenge.
Hermione sagged but glared at him at the same time, "Why have you been helping?"
The professor looked up at her, apparently not having expected that response, Hermione felt a small thrill at having been unpredictable, and he frowned at her. "What no curses, no hexes? No shouting the odds at me about my crimes? You do disappointment me Miss Granger, where is the little lion Minerva raised?"
She narrowed her eyes at him, "I'm giving you the opportunity to tell me your side… something seemed off, I've thought that since I found out. Why would you have done it then? Why did he not fight back? I'd like to hear your side before I come to my own conclusions."
Professor Snape stared at her unblinking for several moments before clearing his throat, "There was a time, Miss Granger, when I believed you to be one of the most predictable students I had ever taught." Hermione opened her mouth to gripe, but he glared at her, silencing her words. "Yet in the last couple of years, you have made some of the most miraculous choices… I find that I may have been wrong in my estimation of you," he huffed out a breath and set down his cup. "Well, I suppose there is nothing to be gained from subterfuge any longer… I pledged my allegiance to Dumbledore a long time ago."
"Why kill him then?" she asked plainly.
"A vow-"
"A vow you made to protect Draco?" She interrupted, and he fixed an icy glare on her, Hermione was forcibly reminded of the night he came to help with her parents. "Sorry," she whispered, "Harry overheard you," she said contritely.
"Yes," he replied with a sigh, "I made a vow, but I also made a promise to the headmaster. His arm was cursed when he tried to put on Gaunt's ring, I managed to stop it spreading but it would have eventually killed him, he asked me to… to do so instead, to save Draco's soul."
"What about your soul?" Hermione asked as loudly as she dared.
The headmaster's hands shook for a mere moment before he placed them on his kneecaps to steady them, and he exhaled a disbelieving, shaky breath. "I believe you may be the first person enquire about my soul for some time Miss Granger."
"Hermione, please," she encouraged.
He was still for a second, and she observed as he seemed to pull himself together. "Such informality is unnecessary, Miss Granger," he said with derision.
"Fine have it your way," she snapped back, and she thought she could see him suppressing a smile at her remark.
"Dumbledore wanted to be spared the indignity of death via Bella or Greyback, he didn't relish the idea of falling into either one of their hands, something you were not protected from," he said, and Hermione watched his fingers flex on his knee caps.
"But why tell no one?"
"He felt it would solidify my position as the Dark Lord's servant, and enable me to best protect the children remaining at the school as much as possible."
"But you're still on our side?"
Professor Snape tilted his head at her in a manner not dissimilar to one he may have used during Potions lessons, assessing her, but for the first time, his eyes were not totally cold. "I was called to a meeting following the fiasco at the Department of Mysteries; the Dark Lord was furious with the failure, and the subsequent arrests of several persons who were of use to him. I came back to the castle, a long time after you had returned, to learn that a few of you had been seriously hurt. I went to the Hospital Wing to help where I could.
Poppy is a good medi-witch, excellent even, but she is not a healer of the same level of proficiency and experience as you would find in St Mungo's, and she has had little to no experience with the darker end of the magical spectrum."
"Why did you want to help? You made no secret of the fact you hated us."
"You are, or at least were, a child under my care as a teacher, was that not enough reason?" he snapped, and Hermione placed her hands under her thighs and tried to force herself to remember not to interrupt lest he stop sharing.
"In any case, Albus intercepted me, said it was more important that he get the information regarding the meeting as quickly as possible. I protested, Poppy had relayed by that point that your condition, in particular, was considered very dire indeed. Albus plainly stated that Harry was well and implied that the rest of you were disposable, as long as the boy remained safe, not in so many words of course."
Hermione felt her heart sink, she had long suspected herself of having little value to certain members of the Order, and Dumbledore in particular, but to have it confirmed was still a little winding.
Professor Snape eyed her, plainly seeing her reaction like he always seemed to read every one. "I have been disposable to the war effort for over half my life Miss Granger, and as a young man, I stood by while the only person I had ever cared for was deemed the same. Something clicked in my mind that night, and I felt I had to do something for you, just one thing that would be a sort of retribution I suppose, and so as soon as I heard about the planned attack on your parents, I took my chance.
Also, vainly, with Dumbledore later talking through his plans to have me kill him to secure my place as a spy, I thought it would be nice to have at least one person that when they had more of the pieces, they might have been able to work out some of the whole puzzle."
Hermione was completely stunned for a few moments; it was probably the longest she had ever heard her former professor speak. She looked to find him staring at her covered forearm, and she instinctively pulled it towards herself as he swallowed thickly. "I heard about what happened," he said in a softer tone, "Yaxley gave me some information, I should point out he was fairly reluctant."
"I thought as much," Hermione said with a slight smile, she knew Yaxley's feelings concerning her were not yet settled, but she was grateful for his protection in any case.
"You should have told them I sent it." Hermione looked at him blankly, not understanding his meaning. "The Sword Hermione," he clarified, "you should have told them I sent it to you".
"I couldn't do that," she said shaking her head.
"Why ever not?" he demanded.
"Because, professor, you have earned my loyalty, whether you want it or not. I would have no sooner given you up than I would have Harry or Ron. You say you have been disposable to the war effort, but you have been imperative to both our survival and the success of our mission for months."
They fell into silence for several seconds until he seemed to snap out of it. "You should know that I have gotten word to Potter that you are fine, no doubt he is unable to function without you. I do hope you'll permit me to be present when you meet up with him again after you have spent the week in the home of a Death Eater, he does have such a charming view on the black and white nature of the world."
"My current location is the least of my worries at the moment," she replied tiredly and he raised an eyebrow at her, Hermione barely hesitated before carrying on, everyone would know soon enough in any case. "It would appear that I'm Rodolphus Lestrange's half-blood bastard."
Snape's eyes blew wide for just a second, but it was long enough for her to ascertain that in spite of his general perceptiveness, he had not expected anything of it. "Well," he said finally, "that explains some of the strange reactions they have had to you over the last few months," he said in his typically understated manner.
"Yes, but please no decelerations of pity professor," she said with amused sarcasm, and he gave her a half-hearted scowl. "We have other things to talk about; we are nearly done with the... items."
The headmaster leant forward, his thin arms resting on his knees, "What do you have left?"
"Snake and Cup," she answered immediately.
"You have been busy," he pronounced slowly, but there was a hint of pride in his tone that Hermione was embarrassed about how much she enjoyed.
"Antonin is taking care of Nagini and I have a plan for the cup."
"What have you told him about it?"
"That we have a way to make him mortal."
He nodded, "He will need to know more, it cannot be destroyed by conventional methods."
As if talking about him had summoned him, or more likely as if he was listening in, Antonin appeared through the door, pointedly not knocking, and walked towards where they were sat.
"Hold off on your plans for the snake, you need more information," Snape said immediately, looking no happier to see Antonin than he was to see him, "Come to see me first this evening, I'm coming with you," Professor Snape continued, his eyes fixed on Antonin coolly.
"We don't need your help," Antonin responded sharply.
"Yes you do, there are things you don't know."
"Why you?" Antonin argued, "Hermione could tell us, you need have nothing to do with it."
Professor Snape stood, his robes billowing around him as the temperature of the room seemed to drop several degrees. "I believe you were at the meeting when that creature ate my colleague… She was a pain in the arse of a woman, but she didn't deserve that."
Antonin reluctantly agreed.
Hermione ran through her mental count as had become a habit, five down one to go.