The castle was far cleaner now than when he'd arrived some months ago; windows had been scrubbed of centuries of grime, opened to clear away stale, dusty air. Golden sunlight poured like syrup through to stir the moth-eaten curtains. While the winged pests were gone away with, the trim and dressing of the property were still time-worn. That would have to be the next thing to change.
"Does Master wish to keep this tea set?" The elf popped into existence beside his chair and proffered the silver stacks. "Missy could not handle it."
It was his great-great-aunt's service, and while beautifully created, was unfriendly toward those of non-magical descent. Still, their children would not have that issue; it hadn't the same affliction toward halfbloods. "Store it where Hermione can't get to it."
The creature bowed til her ears swept the floor before disapparating
How many such items were hiding among the heirlooms, he wondered. He'd gone through the master suite the morning after arriving to ensure that would be safe for her arrival. It was easily contained up in the tower, so he could sequester her away in the worst cases. He had hoped to have her home sooner, but…
He paged through his correspondence, a frown twisting his lips.
There is, to my knowledge, no inkling of pregnancy, though I have not glimpsed the girl myself. It is still early on yet, but one would suppose she has had ample time to change the situation, and I do not doubt Severus would aid her.
My sympathies, friend. I know how you have longed for a family. Even if I disapprove of your chosen partner, it must come as a blow. Especially when coupled with the rumors of her living situation.
I have heard she is living in the manor of that traitor bastard. While the history between the two is hardly friendly, Lucius' wife has seemingly left him in favor of returning to her ancestral home. Lucius is not a man used to denying himself, and despite the girl's blood status, she is a toothsome thing. Still, you would know better than I whether she would be susceptible to such seduction. The few times I saw her, she was stubborn enough.
I am sorry I could not bear you gladder tidings, nor anything more concrete. Unfortunately, I am hidden away not unlike yourself despite the ignorance of my true position. Socializing is particularly difficult at the moment, and people are leery of disclosing information about your errant Mudblood.
I hope to have better news after the New Year.
Yours in friendship,
R.
His girl was locked away with Lucius Malfoy. He chuckled bitterly at the irony of it. The hatred between the Gryffindor and the Malfoy had been palpable at times; the man had subjected her to humiliation and torment in his dungeons. Yet she'd run to him to escape Antonin and was now trapped in his manor.
He wasn't a fool; he knew how Lucius' eye roamed even when he and Narcissa were on better terms. The man had an appetite.
But Hermione is no easy prey.
Antonin knew that as well as anyone. She would surely resist temptation for now. Though the longer she remained with the pale man, the more likely she would have a moment of weakness which Lucius could exploit.
He needed to get here, get her home.
Antonin peered out at the frigid, barren forest surrounding. It was difficult to maintain warmth on the lower floors the time of year. She would need a plethora of blankets, fleeces, furs to curl up in. Even in Britain she'd gotten cold regularly enough Tippy had taken to leaving blankets around the library and sitting room for her. She would also need good house slippers for the icy floors.
I could always keep her in the tower.
It had a little library itself, even a small observatory. It was a miniature home in itself, the result of several Dolohov men's possessive natures.
How she'd loathe it. Kept away like a fairytale princess. He hadn't wanted it to be this way, but what else could he do when she shunned his affections, ran away, refused to bear his children.
He would remedy what he could. She would be unable to run when he had her here, far from her home, no Floo connections and unable to apparate. And here the magic of his family was stronger. Come Spring he could invoke it in full, mixing their blood irreparably, binding them together as a family.
There was a stirring in his loins and he groaned. Months without her pliant body left him wanting, and he refused to slake the thirst with a lesser woman. She was what he desired, and he would settle for nothing less.
He leaned back in his seat, grey eyes fluttering shut as he recalled her body.
She was a goddess like this; wild curls splayed on the autumnal pillows, little breasts rounded so the curves of them were clear lines against her ribcage, limbs just imperfectly posed, suggesting innocence. The line of her stomach led to the sweet indent of her navel, drawing the eye to the swell of hips that set his blood aflame.
The warm light was kind to her, bathing her in shades of subtle gold and orange, velvet purple shadows hiding depths he regretted not plumbing to their fullest. She would be spring on his tongue, his blossoming deity brought to the underworld for his delight.
Her lips tasted of wine that night, and her skin had the slight hint of salt when he'd licked down to her breasts. He'd spilled himself on her like a school boy, and now he would do the same to memories.
That had been his tipping point; before then he'd tried to warm her slowly to his side (well, other than her punishment, but he had warned her of that when she came home). Not even a full day later he'd had her laid out before him in the library, a feast of pliant beauty.
He called to mind the moment her tears had crystalized, and he groaned, freeing his length from the confines of his clothes. His fist wrapped around his hard cock.
"Haven't I been kind, kitten? I've abstained from fucking you for weeks, letting you grow used to my touch. And you," he breathed hotly behind her ear, "have no idea how tempting you are. I have spilled myself to thoughts of your sweet cunt and pretty tears every night you've been under my roof, and it grows more difficult by the day. Would you rather I snap and take you at the breakfast table some morning? Or shall I continue slowly? Hmm? Oh, kitten, you know what your tears do to me." He plucked the book from her quaking hands and it disappeared from her narrow sight, then he spilled her onto her back and crawled above her, easing back her clinging curls, eyes filled with darkness that threatened to drown them both. "Sh, sh. Be a good girl. Let me touch you for a while; I won't take you yet."
He tugged down the immodest neckline of the pretty dress he'd chosen for her that morning, spilling her pert little breasts from their confines. "Beautiful, so beautiful, katyonok . Yes, my breakable girl." He burned his kisses into her flesh and dove into the soft velvet delight of her prurient nipples, suckling and biting until her back arched and cries accompanied her errant tears.
As his hips began to roll against her own, tucked between the warmth of her spread thighs, he encased her throat in one hand, the thrill of her life there in his palm sending a jolt to his groin. Her body was tightening against him, the tension singing from the arch of her neck to the curl of her toes, and he knew he had her there on the precipice. She parted her lips in a long, broken, silenced moan as she came and he felt his own undoing upon him, stuttering against her as his cock pulsed out his spend.
He could remember that perfect, beautiful flush across her cheeks, the lazy scarlet of tear-ridden eyes, the panting glean of her mouth. And it was all he needed before he was muffling groans of release.
Antonin collapsed back into his chair, running a hand through sweat-dampened curls. He needed his girl.
As he swished away the mess he'd made of himself, the river of thoughts was churning out details of a plan that would see her return.
Soon, lubimaya.
Notes:
Yep, so this is a fairly reminiscent chapter, but I wanted to finally give a hint as to what's going on with Dolohov. He'll be entering the story proper in not too long now. This is after the New Year, or pretty close to.
