Chapter Four

By the time I boarded the Hogwarts Express, I was quite certain that any ties I'd had to Antonin were severed. The tiny bit of friendship he afforded me really wasn't worth the trouble of putting up with him, as far as I was concerned.

Unfortunately, the second his dark eyes met mine when I entered the compartment, I realized that no amount of telling myself to avoid him was going to succeed. I immediately looked away and took a seat next to Severus Snape, who was already having a conversation with Laurent Avery, so I wouldn't have to worry about talking to anyone until Lorraine turned up and rescued me.

Antonin, it seemed, wasn't about to start a conversation with me. As much as I wanted to be grateful for that fact, I felt slightly disappointed all the same, as if it was a personal insult that he didn't talk to someone who had been avoiding him for the past three months.

Before I completely destroyed my self respect by greeting him, Lorraine turned up, and I was able to turn my attention to discussing her recent trip to France instead.

---

Much to my consternation, it seemed the Fates had it in mind to torture me by making me have as much contact with Antonin as possible. It seemed everywhere I went, he was there.

In my exasperation one day at having run into him in the Owlery, I shouted, "Antonin! Stop following me!"

He'd laughed as though I'd made a joke. "Following you? Why would I want to do that?"

"B-because-" I sputtered, not really sure myself. "Because you want me to talk to you again." My logic may have been a tiny bit flawed, but I was trying to stop my childhood crush on him, and seeing his face almost constantly wasn't helping me do so.

"And why would I want that?" he asked again, smirking.

Insulted, I scowled, and he laughed softly.

"I'm only joking. I've missed you, a little," he assured me. As much as I knew better than believing anything he told me, I couldn't help but doing so, and I smiled at him, my anger abated.

"Oh, okay. Well... I've missed you, too."

"I knew you would. I was wondering how long you'd be capable of keeping up the charade of hating me- you lasted longer than I predicted." From him, that was basically a compliment.

I rolled my eyes. "Do you want something, or can I mail my letter?"

It had actually taken a lot more effort than I had thought to be as cruel to him as he made a point of being toward me. He looked slightly taken aback for a fraction of a second, and then bemused, as though I was even funnier trying to be tough than I was when being offended. I could feel my temper flaring at the fact that he wouldn't take me seriously.

"Seriously. I have homework to get to, Dolohov. Quit wasting my time."

"Quit pretending to hate me," he returned. "I can see right through it, Ally. You're only depriving yourself of my presence, you know."

"You say that as though your presence is something to be desired."

Honestly, he should have known that it was harder than a few egotistical words to calm me down once he'd gotten me worked up. Again, the taken aback look flashed across his handsome face, before a smirk replaced it. "You're such a darling girl," he told me, ruffling my hair before side-stepping and exiting the Owlery.

I glared after him, momentarily forgetting my purpose.

---

My next encounter with him was equally as frustrating, though not for the same reason. It was an outgrowth of my dismal marks in Transfiguration, which I had waited after class to discuss with Professor McGonagall- though who would hire her as a teacher in the first place. I only did so because she'd told me to at the top of the last essay I'd turned in- one which she didn't even bother giving me a mark on, presumably because I'd failed so miserably.

"Miss Carrow, your effort in my class seems to be lacking," she had informed me. Immediately after the words had left her mouth, the door opened and in walked none other than Antonin. It was as if they'd planned my ultimate demise together, and even had their timing synchronized...

"Sorry if I'm late, Professor," Antonin apologised, brown-nosing. I thought by her brief, withering glance at him that she saw through it, but I wasn't sure.

"You're not, Mr. Dolohov. I was just discussing our arrangements with Miss Carrow."

He smiled at me, obviously gloating; I looked back at McGonagall for the explanation she owed me.

"I've talked it over with him," she began, "And Mr. Dolohov has agreed to tutor you for my class. Seeing as he's in your house, it shouldn't be terribly difficult for you two to make the arrangements you need to, I trust?"

My eyebrows shooting up, I looked quickly between the two of them, and decided that no, this wasn't a joke, and yes, I was probably going to commit a murder by the end of the day if things continued in this manner.

"You knew about this?!" I practically screamed when we'd left the classroom. "And you didn't even warn me about it?"

Surveying me with one raised eyebrow, he calmly responded, "I was under the impression that you hated me. Why would I have told you anything?"

"I never told you that I hated you," I retorted. "I think you just enjoy torturing me."

"That's a distinct possibility," he admitted, sounding as if he didn't even care that he was a great source of annoyance to me. Somehow, this succeeded in making me even more upset at him.

Grinding my teeth together in order to keep myself from using a few of Amycus's favourite words, I gave him a death glare. "So when are we starting?" I finally questioned, changing the subject. I couldn't afford to lose my composure- that would just be letting him win.

"Every Thursday at seven, in the library."

Without even asking for my input, he'd already decided when and where we would meet. Typical, really, I thought bitterly.

"Fine," I acquiesced, only because I knew I could never win an argument with him, so I shouldn't hurt my pride by trying. "I'll see you then." At that point, I really just wanted to get away from him, and so I turned around and went the opposite way down the corridor.

Thursday at seven, I was quite convinced, was going to be the beginning of many hours of hell.

---

Actually, apart from his smug attitude every time I did anything wrong, Antonin wasn't the worst teacher I'd ever had. More often than not, I found myself grasping concepts more quickly than I would have without him, and even if I'd never admit it, I really did appreciate his help.

All over again, I found myself admiring the subtle things about him. The way that sometimes, when he smiled, if you were very close, you could make out a shallow dimple on the right side of his mouth. The way that his fingers drummed on the table whenever he was waiting for me to give him an answer. The way he looked at me intently sometimes while I worked, and he thought I wasn't watching him.

And, once again, I became quite enamored with the boy. He knew, naturally, and would smirk whenever he caught me looking at him from across the Common Room or down the table at dinner.

"Ally," he smirked one week as I read some comments he'd made on the rough draft of an essay of mine, "you've gotten into the nasty habit of staring at me again."

I pretended not to hear him.

"I know it's hard not to," he continued, "but I'd hate for your brother to find out. Wouldn't you?"

"Pulling that card again, are you?" I questioned, not looking up. Maybe we were getting a long a tad better since I'd fallen back into a state of infatuation with him, but that didn't mean I was going to lick his shoes all the time.

"Only because we both know it's a card that works," he shrugged. I raised my eyes, smiling slightly; for being so infuriating, he sure was clever.

Pursing my lips, I admitted, "That's true."

After a moment, he added, "I don't mind if you stare so long as you don't get caught, though."

It would have almost been sweet, at least by Antonin standards, except for the fact that he went on to say, "I know girls who would kill for that privilege, so don't abuse it, darling."

---

Other study sessions, we actually were completely decent to one another. Though I never figured out the cause of it, on some occasions, he was inexplicably nicer than usual; he wouldn't make fun of me for getting something wrong, and any insults thrown were playful banter. On those days, I would bother Lorraine by recalling detailed accounts of everything Antonin had said and done. I was convinced that he was perfect. She was convinced that he was trouble.

"Gorgeous," she would tell me, looking over at him lounging on the Common Room sofa, "but trouble."

I would always roll my eyes and say something to the affect of, "You're just jealous." I think she might have been, actually, though back then it was just a feeble attempt to defend my crush on Antonin.

Maybe I should have taken her warnings more seriously, though. Despite the warning of my parents and companions against weakness, I had always maintained a shred of softness in my heart; there was always a bit of Romanticism tucked away in my naive heart, just waiting to be exploited.

Antonin, cruel and beautiful, was just the one to do that imminent exploitation. Even without intending to, he'd captured my affections. It was only a matter of time before the dangerous infatuation forced me to relinquish my childish ideas of love, to forget all of my dreams of him someday sweeping me off my feet, and to turn from a simple-minded girl into the cold young woman I was supposed to have been all along.

I was perfectly convicted, by the time the year was drawing to a close, that the tiny bits of decency I'd seen in his character were the "true" Antonin, and that his unpleasant, cutting side was just a mask. I've never been able to see why I was so determined to believe the best in people back then. Maybe it was just for him that I tried to see the greater underlying good; maybe my girlish longing for his attention created in me a foolish spirit of hoping that he had a kind, sensitive side that he chose to hide from the world but would someday expose to me, setting me apart from all of his other female conquests. Or maybe I was just stupid.

Stupidity, unfortunately, didn't ameliorate the shock or pain I felt when I arrived in the Slytherin Common Room one night in late April, hours after curfew, to find Antonin and his latest simpering blonde lip-locked on the couch.

There weren't words to say. I felt uncomfortable, as if I'd just walked in on something I shouldn't have, as if by interrupting them I would be doing him wrong... But wasn't he already doing me wrong by breaking my heart? And who did that whore think she was, anyway, daring to put her delicately manicured hands all over my Antonin?

I watched for a minute, repulsed, and then darted up to my dormitory as swiftly and quietly as possible. Fiercely disappointed in the boy who I'd been convinced was perfect, I sobbed into my pillow until I fell into a sleep full of dreams as torturing as my reality, reliving the fierce stabs of jealousy and hatred and confusion over, and over, and over. When I awoke, I felt worse rested than when I'd gone to bed in the first place.

For the next few days, I was a zombie. I hardly ate, barely slept, and wouldn't look anyone in the eye.

Lorraine, naturally, was worried- she kept pestering me with questions such as "has someone hexed you?" or "Alecto, did you even think about brushing your hair this morning?", but eventually I think my sullen glares made her drop the subject.

Antonin, as observant as ever, didn't let my change in behaviour slide, either. It was that Thursday- I'd wanted to skip my weekly Transfiguration study session, but had thought better of skipping and getting in trouble with McGonagall if he told- that he finally confronted me about it.

"Ally, darling," he greeted me, in such a smooth tone that I very nearly forgot what he'd done to me, "what's wrong? You don't seem quite yourself."

And then, as quickly as I'd forgotten, I remembered, and scowled. "I'm fine. Why do you care, anyway?"

He leaned across the table toward me, his gaze intense. "Don't toy with me, Ally. You know I can see through your lies," he whispered; I could feel my blood run cold in my veins. "And I care because that which affects you affects me in turn."

I snorted with bitter, sarcastic laughter. Right, like the high-and-mighty Dolohov heir would ever be affected with the emotional trauma of a twelve-year-old.

"That is to say," he elaborated, leaning back in his chair, "when you look bad, and I'm around you, it makes me look bad, as well."

There it was- the edge I'd been expecting. It didn't even sting that time. I'd been dulled to pain from all of the other times it had happened. Or at least, that was what I tried to convince myself as I inwardly denied that I'd spent two seconds getting my hopes up that he cared about me.

"I'm glad you care so much about me," I spat, and shoved my book back into my bag- I couldn't face him after all. "I'll see you next week. I can't do this right now."

I think he might have called something after me, but I didn't hear it as I stormed out of the library.

---

That event sort of woke me up from my 'zombie' state, though I took to avoiding him as much as possible. Any response I had to give him during our Thursday evening sessions was brief and curt; I would avert my eyes if he walked into a room, and I never mentioned him to Lorraine or anyone else.

She certainly seemed happier about this arrangement. I don't think Lory was ever terribly fond of hearing about Antonin, and so when I stopped mentioning him, her attitude toward me was a bit warmer. We would discuss shoes, the latest wizard heartthrobs, and share pictures of dress robes that we admired in magazines; I found that her feminine flare on friendship was a welcome break from the suffocatingly masculine approach taken by the one who used to occupy my mind.

The end of the year came far too slowly for my liking. I couldn't have been happier for the end-of-term feast- things were far too awkward for my liking in the house of Slytherin. Because our social circles coincided so regularly, it was difficult to remain at odds with Antonin. Of course, he never seemed any worse for the wear because of it; nothing ever phased him, much to my chagrin. I, on the other hand, had to endure uncomfortable situations and conversations almost constantly, all the while hiding my feelings from the people around me.

Needless to say, the train ride home- though quiet- was quite a good experience for me. I slept most of the way, and blessedly, for the first time in a good month or so I didn't have any dreams about my tormentor.