Chapter 93: Tenetur Extra Tempus*

18 June 1980

The Shelter

It was past noon on a Wednesday and Hermione was still in bed when a raven waddled through her open window. They stared at each other, unblinking, before it cocked its head to the side and opened its beak.

"Come to the wall."

No.

She sat up in bed. No. Not him, not now, not here. She had enough sense to grab her wand before moving to peak outside the window. No. She tried to remember how long ago Sirius had left. What if he came home? What if he saw him? She ran for the stairs, taking the last three in a jump, and headed out the door to the little wall that marked the edges of her wards.

She ran until his silhouette betrayed his identity, only slowing to delay the inevitable, but he was just standing there when she approached, her wand firmly grasped in her hand. He didn't even look at her, his eyes busy tracking something unseeable in the air. She took the moment to assess him. He looked the same, but older around the eyes and he'd cut his hair short. His fingers moved constantly, as if playing out the notes of some melody. She wasn't scared of him, not yet, but she was glad all the same he was on the other side of the wards.

"Good, you got the bird. Did you laugh?" He smiled at her, a spark of joy in his eyes as they met her own. Merlin, was he happy to see her? "You speak their language, and I spoke through its mouth. Eh? A bit heavy handed maybe, but wolves and ravens, you know."

"Dolohov, what are you doing here?" She couldn't even begin to unravel what he was saying.

Antonin sighed. "These wards, Птичка," he tapped his fingers against his thigh, shaking his head. "Please tell me these wards were not your doing."

"What are you doing here?" She crossed her arms as she repeated herself, realizing she'd run out still in her sleepwear, a pair of shorts and a shirt stolen from Harry. She hoped she sounded brave.

"These wards, Птичка." He mimicked her repetition, running a hand through his hand and gripping for a moment at the roots. "They are so ugly. Strong, yes, but where is the complexity, huh? Where is the heart? The mind? What is strength if there is no finesse?" He leveled his full gaze on her, something darker in the spark. "Not just walls of force. Webs, yes? Little mazes of magic, something to puzzle the mind. A true challenge. Not—" He waved his hands in the air above them. "You know better than this."

Hermione shivered, but didn't respond.

"I am going to send you some books. Next time, okay? We—we need to fix this, but next time. Okay?"

"Dolohov, what are you doing here? How did you get here?"

His eyes shifted from her face, distracted again before coming back to her. This time he seemed to see something more interesting in her face. "Oh, but where have you been, little bird?"

She grit her teeth. "How do you know where I live?"

"Лев told me."

"What?" Her stomach dropped.

"Told me to keep an eye on you." He shook his head. "And oh, he would not be happy, no. I mean, these wards!" He stepped to her, over the unseeable boundary that was meant to keep him out, that should have kept him out.

Hermione's eyes widened. Now, she was afraid. Her wards, all of them, he'd just—She stepped back, her wand arm ready, waiting. "Stop. Dolohov, stop. Don't move."

"Птичка." He held his hands up, his face turning down, truly hurt by her aggression. "I admit I've been distracted, but I'm here now, okay? Okay. We'll fix your wards, but we don't have time to do it right now. Another day. Right now we have somewhere to be, okay? Let's go. Show me your home, Птичка. We'll just be a moment. Let's go."

Hermione could barely breathe as he walked past her, starting up to the house, her house. Antonin Dolohov, invading her shelter. She stared at him for so long she had to run to catch up, only getting past the real shock of him in her home when he stood staring at her in the kitchen.

"Please answer me, Dolohov. What are you doing here?"

He still didn't answer instead he started digging around in the cabinets. "Where do you keep your liquor? We'll need bottles." For some reason, she opened her mouth to tell him, but he'd found their stash before she could speak. He cursed under his breath. "Too much whiskey, but we can make do."

He pulled out one of the bottles of fire whiskey, the one Hermione knew burned the most, and a bottle of vodka she couldn't remember ever having. Dolohov arranged the bottles on the table, shifting them and arranging them against some invisible design. It was weirdly domestic, him in her kitchen, in an unnerving and itchy sort of way.

"Go put on something nice, Птичка." He looked up toward where he shouldn't know her room was. "You should dress up for him."

For a moment, she thought he wanted to take her to Voldemort, but a blush rose to her cheeks in humble embarrassment. That villain had no idea who she was right now. No, but she remembered now. She remembered just what she had been doing before Dolohov's voice broke her solitude. She remembered the shadows that had sat on her chest as she'd stayed in bed long after Sirius left for the day. She remembered the way she had clung to the little black rabbit, how she had pulled out Regulus' sealed letter just to see his handwriting again. It was one year today. She knew why Dolohov was here now and some strange kindred part of her was thankful.

"Okay, Antonin."

His eyes narrowed at the sudden change in her demeanor. She was soft now. He nodded. "Don't take too long or I'll come find you."

She didn't need to be told twice. Hermione half-ran up the stairs, putting distance between her and Dolohov. The second she was in her room her eyes caught on the treasure trove of gifts she'd piled on her dresser. The coin from the woods sat amongst them now. What was he planning? Hermione didn't know what Dolohov had in mind, but she was willing to go with him if it meant getting him out of the house. The last thing she needed was Sirius coming home to find a Death Eater in their kitchen. She closed her eyes at the thought. No, but Dolohov was here about Regulus. She was sure of it. It was the only real thing that linked them together now. Her chest twinged. It's the only thing he knew that linked them together. Right? Hermione pulled on a green dress, leaning into the fact she was about to run off to Merlin knew where with a Slytherin. It was a bit too heavy and dark for June, but it was nice. And she thought Regulus would have liked it.

Her hands moved to do up the zipper and the hairs on the back of her neck rose. Hermione spun to see Antonin right behind her.

"Turn around." His eyes stayed on hers until she obeyed. When he pulled up her zipper, he didn't touch her at all.

A fierce blush heated her cheeks when she faced him again, but he wasn't watching her. His eyes darted around her room, his fingers twitching again at his side, a loose smile on his lips. It grew into a devilish grin when he saw her vanity and the shrine to his obsession. The little lion, the frozen flowers, the coin. And every single note. Hermione clenched her jaw. Dolohov reached out to touch the cards stacked within the black porcelain box, but he stopped himself.

"Have you noticed improvement?" He sounded almost nervous.

"Improvement?" She didn't understand.

"Да." He blushed. She couldn't believe he was blushing. She couldn't believe Antonin Dolohov was in her house, in her room, and he was blushing. "Да, конечно. Not enough. I'll do better. I am working on it though, I promise."

"Working on what?"

"Your spell." He tapped his chest with two fingers.

The fear was back. Hermione reached out a hand to brace her weight against the wall. She almost slipped. "My spell?"

"Да. Yes." He shook his head. "I've had to start over so many times already." He looked at her, mistaking her fear for disappointment. "No, but this is good, Птичка. It's good, I promise. Yes. I'm—I'm perfecting, finding the right way, the way you deserve. It's just—It's fragile, you know. I have to take a softer approach because there's only so much experimenting I can do. I'm kept very busy, but I have not forgotten, I swear. I just—It's time, right. I just need time." He trailed off for a moment, lost in his own head, his eyes tracking his thoughts. "Time, but the right time. The right crossing of magic like paths, yes? Folding into itself? Maybe."

"Antonin." Her voice was soft. Merlin, she felt like she was tempting something horrible. "What spell are you designing?"

He blinked, back in the present once more. He smirked at her. "Are you testing me? Trying to piece it together on your own? It's supposed to be a gift."

"Antonin." She took a more forceful tone, like he was a wayward puppy.

He rolled his eyes. "I know, I know, it's your spell."

"But what does that mean? What are you doing?"

He blushed again. It still looked weird on his face. He averted his gaze and reached once more for his personal shrine, testing his finger against the thorns of the frozen roses. He shrugged and turned back to her, pointing at her before tapping his chest again.

"You carry my magic, right here. I can hear it, singing, singing like little bells or—" He winked. "Like little birds, huh? But it's a challenge, getting so much of my magic contained. Like a glass cannon. I almost think it's beyond me. I don't tend to be delicate, but you carry it so well. I must have my moments, rare as they are."

Yes, this was definitely something horrible. "Are you talking about my scar?" She rubbed a hand against her chest. The dress covered it, but they both knew the faints purple tendrils that stained her.

Dolohov smiled, playful almost. "I'm working on it."

She couldn't talk about this anymore. It was too much and too close to the truth, but her wrist didn't burn. Still, she didn't want to think on it, to think on that night and what else had happened in the depths of the Ministry. She looked Antonin over. She knew—well, she was pretty sure—he wouldn't hurt her, not yet at least. And if it was designing the spell he one day cast her way that kept him from pointing his wand at her now, she'd allow it. She would survive that.

"We have somewhere else to be, don't we?"

"Да." The moment was broken and he was solemn again. He moved to her side, holding out a hand for her to take. "Close your eyes."

The Black Family Crypt

The first thing that hit her was the smell. Fresh and clean and soft. Roses. Hermione smelled them before her eyes adjusted. The place was littered with white roses, huge stone vases holding hundreds of flowers in stark contrast to the darkness and cold stone. They'd apparated inside where no sunlight could reach them. The floor was a jet black marble. Hermione couldn't look too long without feeling like she was standing on nothing. Then she noticed the tombs.

"Where are we?" Hermione's stomach turned, bile rising in her throat. Antonin handed her the bottle of fire whiskey before walking away. With more questions than answers, Hermione pulled off the cap, drinking deep to replace one burn for another and hurried after him. She tried to keep Antonin in her sights as he led her deeper into the maze, torches along the wall igniting as he passed. The firelight illuminated names carved into the tops of each slab of stone. Hermione only had time to read them when he started to slow.

Phineus Nigellus Black.

She blinked, stumbling.

"This way, Птичка," Antonin called for her. She was falling behind.

Hermione hurried after him, focusing on the sound of his footsteps and taking glances when she could.

Pollux Alistair Black.

Antonin had slowed again.

Orion Rigel Black.

Antonin stopped. Hermione swallowed, her gaze passing over to the tomb beside him.

Regulus Arcturus Black.

R.A.B.

Hermione's breath caught. Her lip trembled. Her nose started to burn and her vision went wet and blurry. She reached out to touch the wreath of roses that sat across Regulus' tomb. The petals were soft with their whisper thin veins just barely visible in the dancing light.

"Rabbit." The word stolen from her breath.

"People were here already," Antonin said, taking the wreath from her and tossing it haphazardly onto Orion's tomb. "His family. Friends, the few of us. But you should see this, too." He pulled out his wand.

"What are you doing?" Hermione couldn't bring herself to do anything but whisper.

"It's not scary. There's no body inside. But I think you already knew that." Antonin took a swig from the bottle of vodka. There was a bit missing already. He must have started drinking as he led her through the dark. It was a long deep drink and if it burned, he didn't seem to mind. He moved his wand hand, a wordless swish and flick, and stone started to shift. The covering lifted and hovered in the air before floating to land with a heavy thud beside Antonin.

Hermione and Antonin looked into the emptiness of Regulus' tomb for a silent moment before Antonin moved, gripping the side and pulling himself over.

"What are you doing?" Hermione lunged for him, but he was already seated inside, taking another drink.

"He's not using it. Come sit with me, Птичка. Let us remember our lion."

She sighed. Of all the things she'd done, this might be the one to damn her. She drank from her bottle, letting the burn numb the rest of it, and followed Antonin into the pit.

They stayed there for hours, sat across from each other like lovers in a bathtub. It was crowded, but the proximity was good, needed. She wouldn't have asked Antonin to give her the physical touch she needed in this moment. Antonin finished the vodka and when Hermione offered a taste of the whiskey, he sneered. She was reminded of a young Draco Malfoy and laughed. He rolled his eyes and pulled out a flask. At some point, Antonin reached for her hand. She let him take it.

They were silent for most of the time, lost in thoughts and memories the other wasn't privy to. Occasionally, Dolohov started to mutter in Russian, but Hermione couldn't make out what he was saying. Even if she could, she wouldn't have be able to understand.

"What do you think he'd say if he could see us right now? You and me, sitting here and drinking together?"

"Ha." Antonin's laugh came like a sigh. "Я и ты? He'd wonder why I sought you out over Cissa or Yax. He'd caution you away from becoming my friend."

"Is that what we are? Friends?"

"Нет." He smiled at her, like they were in on the same joke. "But he wouldn't understand right away."

It may have been the liquor talking, but Hermione thought she was starting to understand. "But he's the same, in a way. There's something more there."

"Yes, but you were also his friend."

"And that's not the same or at least connected?"

He shook his head violently. "Oh, Птичка, didn't they tell you? That's not how the fates work. You can be bound to someone, filling your place in their story for a time, but there are bonds that transcend what little control destiny or fate or time has over us. Reaching, stretching, finding, over and over and over. They'll always find each other. It's too strong to avoid. It will have always happened."

"But that means there's no choice, no agency. No true heart."

"Нет." He reached out and cradled her face in his palms. "Listen to what I'm saying. It is a gift. To be bound in such a way, outside of time? It's a gift, a rare occurrence. It is powerful enough to fuck with fate, yes? Do you understand?"

"No." Hermione couldn't help but giggle.

Antonin rolled his eyes and sighed, leaning back against the cold stone. "Лев would wonder if there was anything we could agree on."

Hermione shrugged, her laughter dying. "We both love him."

Antonin's smile was slow and sad. "Да, Птичка, we do."

"I owe you some books." His voice was rougher as he helped her out of the tomb. They both swayed on their feet. "It's getting darker out there. You need to protect your light, Птичка. Your wards have to be better for what's coming."

"I know."

He looked her over, deciding she was telling the truth, and nodded. "I have to go now."

"Back to?"

"The cold. Домой. I have work to do."

"For him?" They both know she didn't mean Regulus.

"Да. I am kept busy, but you know I don't forget you. You'll hear from me."

"Stay safe." It was stupid. He was half-crazy already and on his way to becoming a murderer, but he was Regulus' friend. That was all it took.

"Да."

Hermione turned, about to leave when she spun to face Antonin Dolohov once more. For a moment, she wondered what he'd look like the next time she saw him. "The scorpion and the frog, right?" It had always bothered her. "You think I used him just to hurt him in the end? Did you ever consider you chose the wrong story? He's not a frog, Antonin. He's a lion." She looked him dead in the eye. "Maybe I was the mouse."

#0107 Bellume St.

Her apparition was messy, but she'd decided on a destination just as she'd turned. She smelled like Antonin, like whiskey and roses and death. Sirius would have caught it all and she was too exhausted for subterfuge and besides, she didn't want to go home just yet. It'd been a while since she'd been to Order Headquarters, but it was the only other place she knew that had a floo connection to Potter Manor. Well, besides the Lupins' home.

She was drunk but she didn't care. She just pushed the front door open and headed straight back to the fireplace.

"Miss Granger—"

"Not tonight," she called over her shoulder, because of course Dumbledore would be here.

"Miss Granger."

She turned. She may not have liked him in this lifetime, but she would still offer him respect. That didn't mean, however, she wanted to listened to what he said. She opened her mouth, sweet vicious mockery dying on her tongue. He looked tired. She knew she looked the same.

"Not tonight," she repeated. "Please."

He nodded. She wondered if he realized the mourning in her eyes was from another of his failures to protect. He sighed. "Take care of yourself, Miss Granger."

It might have been the kindest thing he'd said to her here.

She didn't bother nodding back. "Potter Manor."

Potter Manor

When Hermione stepped out of the floo, the house is quiet. It must have been later than she'd realized.

"James," she called for him softly. "Lily?" She started to walk through the room but she didn't leave. There was something about walking around their home in the dark she couldn't touch. "James?"

A light flickered on. He was fixing his glasses. "Merlin's bloody fucking—Hermione?"

"Hi."

He must have seen it in her face because he was crossing the room to hug her. "You all right, love?"

"Can I stay here tonight?"

"Of course." He didn't even hesitate. "Does Sirius know you're here?"

"No." She didn't elaborate.

"Okay, well, why don't you go get settled upstairs. I'll send up some tea and in the meantime, I'll get a hold of Sirius and let him know you're here and okay. How's that sound?"

Gods, when had she become so emotional. Hadn't she used to be more practical? But how could she not be when faced with this fierce kindness and loyalty.

"Thank you." It's what she said, but what she meant was Thank you, you're amazing. You're going to be an amazing father. I wish I could see it. I wish I could tell Harry. He's going to love you so much. "Thank you, James."

"Of course, Pup. We're pack, right? We look out for each other."

20 June 1980

The Shelter

Two days later, Hermione received a package from a familiar looking raven. A simple bundle of parchment, it seemed innocuous, but Hermione went through her ritual of safeguards anyway, not touching the newest gift until she was certain it harbored no ill will.

It was a stack of torn parchment, bits and pieces, large and small, with a note on top.

He'd want you to have these.

Hermione's heart lurched. This was something precious. She sank to the floor, her back buoyed against the bed, and started to thumb through the pages. Streaks of ink filled each one. The edge of the Forbidden Forest. The Great Hall. The shadowed corner of his room at Grimmauld Place. A series of eyes in various stages of emotion. A pair of lips. A rough sketch of his friends from afar. Hermione, before her eye was scarred. Angry clouds and lightning bolts. Snakes and daggers. Flowers. She held each sketch as if it would disintegrate under her touch. They were all a part of him and it hurt to look at, but the hurt was healing. She flipped through the pages again as if trying to pick a favorite, as if she hadn't chosen one the second she saw it. She pulled out a page and laid it to rest on top. A single self-portrait.

Chapter Title Translation: Bound Outside of Time

Да, конечно. - Yes, of course.

Я и ты - You and I

Нет - No

Домой - Home