Antonin awoke in the morning to a warm body sprawled across his chest. Dorogaya. Her curly tresses tickled his muscles. A small smile came to his face before falling away. But something wasn't sitting right with him. Why did my little wife act so wanton? Antonin thought. He was pinned under her grounding weight. He thought back to last night. Her whiskey eyes had been hazy with desire, when she had exited the en suite bathroom; her mouth tasted like strawberries and champagne. He closed his eyes as the truth hit him. Lust potion. Hermione had taken a Lust Potion. She could only know one person capable of brewing such a complex potion. Snape.
Hermione stirred in his arms, burying her face in his chest. But he didn't want to acknowledge her presence at that moment. Putting her gently from his person, Antonin got out of bed and pulled on his boxers. Not caring that they had been worn, he slid the dress pants up his long legs before standing and rolling his shoulders. He couldn't believe he had tricked himself into believing, that someone that pure of mind and heart could want him in any way.
Before leaving the bedroom, he waved his wand to summon any magical objects she may have bought with her. Her undeniably beautiful wand flew into his outstretched hand, as did a galleon. Strange, he thought. Pocketing both, he exited the room and locked the door from the outside. His Dark Mark burned on his left arm; he was marginally confused, as to how his little wife had paid it no mind. Yet, Antonin found himself more curious as to the reasoning for summoning. Conjuring his Deatheater esemble, he quickly disapparated. The Dark Lord did not like being kept waiting.
Apparating outside Malfoy Manor, Antonin strode past the dying gardens and into the entrance hall. Kicking a house-elf out of his way, he entered the dining room to find himself the centre of attention. "Antonin, come. Sit with us," Lord Voldemort said as the Deatheater bowed. It wasn't a request. The Dark Lord's appearance didn't bother him as much as other Deatheaters; the quest for power had sacrifices. Lord Voldemort sacrificed his charming looks and previously his life; Crouch Jr had lost his sanity, as had Bellatrix - the crazy bitch.
Taking his seat between the Lestrange brothers, Antonin waited patiently. "I trust that your nuptials were consummated last night..." Lord Voldemort stated. Antonin nodded. Should I broach the potion matter with the Dark Lord, he thought. "Yes, my Lord. However, I suspect that Snape gave her a Lust Potion," Antonin decided to say. The Dark Lord raised an eyebrow and turned to Snape. "Is this true, Severus?" Voldemort questioned, demandingly.
Severus hid his confusion. He hadn't given Hermione any potions. Keeping his mental shield's up, he reflected on the wedding. Lust Potions only lasted an hour, so Hermione would have taken it after she and Antonin had disapparated. Unless, it had been Narcissa. She meant well, but she often forgot that he would be the first suspect if the potion was discovered. "It is, my Lord," Snape admitted, falsely.
"Explain."
"Mrs Dolohov would have fought too much for a marginally pleasant evening. So, I gave her a vial of Lust Potion to make the evening quicker and easier. I apologies, my Lord," Snape apologised. Silence met his unnecessary apology. It was a punishable offence to interfere in a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight's marriage. "Come here, Severus," the Dark Lord ordered. As Snape obeyed his the dark wizard, everyone knew what it meant. Bellatrix gleefully clapped her bony hands together, Yaxley smirked and so did Antonin.
Hermione awoke alone. Looking around the room, she noticed her wedding gown by the bathroom door; some of her husband's clothes folded on a chair, his pants and boxers missing. The lack of a warm body in the queen-sized bed, made her realised her new husband must have gone to do something characteristically dark. Deatheater stuff as Ron would call it. That was when it hit her. Last night had seen the consummation of her marriage. I acted like such a wanton slut! Hermione thought, tears rolling down her cheeks. It was so unlike her. What would Harry and Ron think?!
Wrapping the green silk bedsheet around her, Hermione manoeuvred herself off the bed; noticing a dull ache between her legs. A reminder of the previous night. How many times do I have to sleep with him? Hermione thought. Maybe she could brew a fertility potion to speed up the process, then she wouldn't have to go near him for a while, right? Walking to the bathroom, she approached the full length mirror. She gasped, the tears starting again.
Adorning her neck were little lovebites, as well as a large bruising bitemark. "Oh Merlin," she whispered, prodding the tender flesh lightly. Dropping the bed sheet, she evaluated the new marks. Large hand-shaped bruises decorated her hips and legs, more lovebites down her breasts and stomach. Remembering Narcissa's words, Hermione thought it safe to say last night had been gentle. And it was certainly memorable, even through her hazy mindset.
Unable to look anymore, Hermione climbed into the ornate shower before turning it on. Her tears mingled with the water. Washing herself with the male soap, she paid close attention to her thighs. Dried semen had riveted down during the night and now decorated her thighs. Disgusting, Hermione thought. Climbing out, and drying herself on a fluffy red towel; she left the bathroom, wrapped in the ironic towel. A Slytherin with a red towel, she laughed to herself. Due to returning to Hogwarts the later that day, she had forgone bringing any other clothes with her. Therefore she was stood naked, albeit covering her modesty, completely lost. "What am I meant to wear?" Hermione asked the empty bedroom.
Appearing on the bed with a pop, was a dress and underwear. They looked nice enough, so she put them on without question. Her dress fell mid-thigh, higher than she was used too - and revealed a little more clevage. Yet, she found they was her only quarms with it; a black dress that had three-quarter length sleeves, with light green accents along the hem. Deciding to try and find her husband, Hermione strode to the door. Only to find it locked. Banging on the door, she tried to open the it again. Running to where her dress lay, she checked the inner pocket up the skirt for her wand and D.A. galleon. Hermione found neither. Weaponless, she realised that she was now just a prisoner. The tears started once again. She was just a prisoner bound by marriage.