Chapter Eleven – Bearer of Bad News
Antonin was surprised at the sudden change that had come over Hermione. She seemed at the very least a little bit more comfortable around him, but he wasn't fooled for a second. If she thought that this was the way to freedom, to an escape, then the little Gryffindor had another thing coming.
She was surprisingly good fun. They didn't talk about the auction. Instead, Antonin steered the conversation to topics that she would open up with. Books seemed the best way forward. They sat at opposite ends of the sofa, neither bodies touching, although if Antonin really wanted to, he could reach out and hold that small hand. He could just see her reaction now – she would swipe out at him, maybe scratch his face, thrash in his arms, before making a desperate bid for the door. And then she would be gone.
"Was Madam Pince still the librarian when you started?" Antonin asked, as he offered her another biscuit. He had piled the packet onto a plate, making things easier for the both of them. Cautiously, she took one, before answering.
"Yes. She always seemed like some kind of overbearing vulture."
"More like a bat, I thought. Swooping out of the stacks when you were least expecting her-"
"Ruining romantic liaisons?" Hermione smirked. The lift of her cheeks gave her a sort of hamster-ish appearance, but the overall effect was still rather cute.
"She only ruined one, I'll have you know. And I wasn't pursuing the girl, she was pursuing me!"
"So you hadn't got to the stage of buying women yet then?"
Antonin tried not to let the comment get to him. Instead, he steered it back to the unfortunate library experience.
"It was in my fifth year, just before my exams. I was looking for a text that I thought might help in Ancient Runes, and then this girl – tiny, little thing, third year, must have been – comes sidling up, pressing herself against my back, whispering that she would do anything if I wanted her to. I spun to push her off, and Bat Pince found us. Shooed us out, sending us to our heads of houses. Both Slughorn and Flitwick believed my version of events, especially when the girl had to take a drop of Veritaserum. She was given detention for a whole week. Needless to say, she didn't speak to me after that, although plenty of other girls started batting their lashes and pouting their lips at me."
"You must have been quite the handsome devil for that to have happened." Hermione seemed to realise what she had said, because she started stuttering and broke her biscuit in two, before lapsing into silence.
Antonin's head spun for a moment. Did Hermione actually think he was handsome?
"What about you? Did she ever catch good girl Granger in the low lights of the library?"
Hermione's cheeks flushed, and she snapped a piece of the biscut again, before stuffing it all in her mouth, crumbs splattering her bare legs. Something had happened then… He wondered who with and felt a bristle of jealously. He opened his mouth to speak, but the door smashed open, nearly breaking off its hinges.
Thorfinn stood in the centre of the chaos, clutching his ribcage. His breath wheezed out of him, and his blonde hair stuck up at odd angles. He was still wearing his Maintenance uniform, a deep navy jumpsuit and a pair of battered black shoes. His magical cuff sparkled in the light of the living room.
"Thorfinn, what the-"
"The Ministry knows."
"What? What do you mean?"
"I don't know how, but the Ministry is searching for her." Thorfinn pointed at Hermione, who was doing a very good impression of a rabbit caught in headlights. "Someone told. The Prophet's going mental, she's already becoming a front page story. You've got to get out of here!"
"Thorfinn, what do you-"
"Look Ant, you need to take her, and get the hell away him London. At least for a little while. Go somewhere else, anywhere. You'll never know the truth if you're separated and stuffed back into Azkaban."
There was an awkward silence, both men thinking of the terror they had experienced, before Hermione whispered, "What truth?"
Antonin didn't answer. Instead, he grasped her hand, hauled her from the sofa, and ushered her towards his bedroom. He nodded to Thorfinn, as he closed the door behind him. He pulled a large battered rucksack from under the bed, and started stuffing it full of clothes.
"What are you doing? I'm not going with you, if that's what you're thinking!"
"Yes, you are. Now, shut up and help pack."
"Why should I? You bought me as if I was something to keep." She launched a small paperback book at his head, but he ducked at the right moment so it only hit the pillows on the bed. "You've taken me from my family, my home, my friends – everything I could still have if you let me go!"
"Not going to happen."
"Why? Are you hoping that I'll develop Stockholm Syndrome and fall in love with you, or something? You're deluded – I will never love you! You killed my friends!"
"Just as they killed mine!" Antonin roared, zipping the rucksack so fast that the plastic casing broke off in his hand. "There are catastrophes of every war, printsessa, don't you ever forget that!"
"How dare you-"
Antonin whipped his wand from his back pocket, holding it towards her face. The sudden movement startled her so much that she jerked backwards and flinched. He advanced towards her, so she was against the door.
"We're leaving. Now." He summoned the bag, letting magic thrum through his veins. Oh, how he had missed it. It was like a drug – addictive as ever. How could he have been so blind and foolish all these years?
Grasping Hermione's arm so tightly that he would leave bruises, he pulled her close so that she was flat against his chest. He didn't have time to dwell on the sensation, not now at least. Focusing with all his might, he spun on the spot, and with a loud crack, and a scream from Hermione, they Disapparated.
printsessa - princess
