She couldn't say that she was suprised. Voldemort had obviously pulled strings to make this happen. The Ministry couldn't honestly believe that Dolohov was a smart match for her! He was a deranged psychopath! He had tried to kill her! Unable to believe her eyes, Hermione closed the file. He should not be that good looking for a murderer, she thought. Shaking her head of the thought, she reopened the file; this time ignoring his smirking face.
Name: Antonin Dolohov
Age: 33 and 8 months
Nationality: Russian
Blood Status: Pureblood
Height: 6ft 2inches
Personality: Extrovert
Educational Qualifications: Received masteries in Ancient Runes and Arithmancy
Occupation: Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries.
She couldn't fault that her future husband was intelligent. She shuddered, but hardly knew what his temperment was. Would he always be angry? Or easily frustrated? Either way, she would rather spend the minimum amount of hours with the Deatheater. Hermione was seething. As the only student in sixth year eligible for law, she was left feeling isolated - Harry and Ron would never understand. She was underage, she was too young to marry! It wasn't the Dark Ages anymore! Closing the file once again, she poked at her scrambled eggs on toast. They had gone cold now. Collecting her books and bag, the muggle-born witch left for her favourite place in Hogwarts. The library.
Alone in the book stacks, Hermione breathed deeply, the scent old parchment strong. The smell of old tomes always calmed her. Their words would never change, and that ground her whenever the world spun around her. It always terrified her when the Wizarding world changed around her, she couldn't just leave it though - the muggle world never understood her. Running wasn't an option, it would just see her in Azkaban and married regardless.
A looming shadow approached her from behind a stack of books. "Miss Granger," came the dark tones of Professor Snape. Turning sharply, Hermione looked up at the brooding teacher; she hadn't heard him approach. "Yes, Professor?" Hermione queried. He gestured to the chair across from her, silently asking to sit down - she nodded an affirmative. "Dolohov has written to the Headmaster..." Snape began, looking almost uneasy, "he has expressed an urgent request to have the wedding by the end of the week. He will be coming to Hogwarts tomorrow."
"What? But...that's too soon! I can't see him!" Panic began setting into Hermione's psyche. Her regular breathing quickened, her eyes filled with tears - Snape recognised the signs of a panic attack.
Withdrawing a small vial from his pocket, he walked around the table and knelt down in front of the hyperventilating young witch. Handing her the Calming Draught, he patiently waited for her to calm down.
The young witch had always reminded Snape of Lily Evans, with her intellect and protective nature. He didn't want to see her bound by to a Deatheater for the rest of her life - yet, there was nothing the Order could do. He vowed to protect her to the best of his ability. As Hermione looked up at Snape, the panicked tears having left her eyes, she asked "Why me? Why are I stuck with a murderer?"
"Because the Dark Lord wishes to have you away from Dumbledore, the Order and Mr Potter - your intelligence is famed."
"But Dolohov?"
"Dolohov was 'rewarded' with you as being one of the Dark Lord's most loyal. He has developed a...fascination with you." Snape chose to withold that he had seen some of the fantasies Dolohov had about the young witch - they had made him shudder in disgust. How could Dolohov fantasise about having sex with a 16 year old witch? Snape thought. Hermione didn't say a word. Simply stood from her chair, walking past Snape and out of the library.
Hermione didn't see anyone on the way to the Gryffindor Common Room, she was on auto-pilot. Approaching the Fat Lady's portrait, she quietly uttered the password, "Samhain" to enter. Walking through the portrait, she was greeted by a deserted Common Room. Good, she thought, they're probably going to be gone away. Pulling a piece of parchment from her bag and grabbing her quill, and settling in the armchair by the fire, Hermione began writing to Harry and Ron.
Dear Harry and Ron,
I hope your Halloween is going better than mine. No doubt you've heard about the new marriage law from Mr Weasley...I don't think I've ever been more alone; not having you guys here to give me a hug as I cried when I found out my match. It was daunting, opening that letter, praying it was someone I at least knew...I'm familiar with my future husband all right. Antonin Dolohov. The same Deatheater who tried to kill me. Just my luck.
Snape came to see me in the library earlier. Apparently, Dolohov wants to have us married by the end of the week and is coming to Hogwarts tomorrow...I don't think I can face him. Wish you guys were here to give me some support, but I suppose I'll have to make do alone this time.
Hope I'll see you guys when you get back, if my bigot of a future husband doesn't pull me out.
Love you both,
Hermione.
The next day;
The next morning, Hermione awoke after 9am to an empty dormitory. Crookshanks sat at the end of her bed, flat-faced like always. Climbing out of bed, she made her way to the bathroom for a shower. The witch brushed her teeth, her hair and got dressed - a dark blue blouse and white skinny jeans. As she completed her look with a dap of lipgloss and a little mascara, it hit her. She was meeting her future husband today...I hope he doesn't try to kill anybody, she thought, especially me.
Antonin arrived through the Headmaster's Floo immaculately. Not one speck of dust or ash on his pressed robes. Looking at Professor Dumbledore, he smirked before taking a seat in one of the armchairs. "When will my lovely bride get here?" Antonin questioned in his slightly Russian accent. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, the twinkle in his eye dull with defeat. There was no way to get the young witch out of Deatheater hands - just as planned by Lord Voldemort. A knock on the office door drew the attention of both wizards. "Enter," Dumbledore called. The heavy oak door opened slowly, before revealing Professor Snape and Hermione Granger. Antonin restrained himself from licking his lips at the uncomfortable look on her beautiful face.
Physically, she hadn't changed much since the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. Her hair had calmed marginally in its wildness; whiskey eyes still held that passionate fire - yet, he could see things up close that he hadn't noticed in the battle. Her face was devoid of any overly made up areas, just mascara on her long, thick eyelashes. Freckles dusted across the bridge of her little button nose, giving her an innocent look; whilst her lips were made for sin, that bottom lip begging to be bitten in its plumpness. She was also tiny, only 5ft 4inches according to her file - he dwarfed her. Antonin smirked. She was the epitome of what he was looking for in appearance, as well as nature. It was obvious that she was scared, but she held her head high and schooled her face to hide that fear - taking on a look of indifference.
Rising to his feet, he took her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist - as was expected of a man when meeting a woman. Smooth skin met his lips. She tastes like strawberries, he thought, delicious. "Good to see you again, Hermione," Antonin purred, smirking. She looked as if she would curse him. She remembered him, and would always be reminded everytime she looked at her torso. "Hello...Antonin," Hermione replied, looking anywhere but his face. Oh, little lioness...you'll have to do more than look at me at the end of the week, he thought, sinisterly smirking to himself.