A/N This is the SECOND chapter of a double posting today. Make sure you read chapter 29 before reading this one!
As Antonin stared at her in frank astonishment, Hermione was able to push aside her exhaustion and bask in the pride, excitement and anticipation that bubbled inside her. It made the heated desire that was now almost her constant companion in this cell all the more thrilling.
"What do you mean?" he asked, his confusion making his voice rasp pleasantly in her ears. He was still a few feet away from her, frozen in place from her announcement mere seconds after the door had shut behind her. It wasn't often that she could wrongfoot him and (helped by her happiness at her achievement) she found herself laughing at the sight.
"I've worked out the spell," she repeated, more slowly this time to show that he hadn't misheard her. "I know how to manipulate the time flow within a closed space. I've already tested it. It works."
He was suddenly on her, hands at her shoulders, eyes boring into hers. "It works?" he echoed. "Truly?"
"I swear," she said solemnly, her heart thudding at the way he dominated her view. "I've brought my notes to prove it - I knew you'd want to see them. And I can do it here. Today."
He continued to stare at her in clear disbelief. "How?" he asked after a few moments of silence. "I've been working on it ceaselessly since you left and it's been driving me crazy because I still haven't - "
"You didn't have the right rune," she interrupted. "For 'time'."
His brow furrowed. "What? How?" He half turned his head towards the table where Hermione could see the large parchment piles indicating his work. "I used a few different translations of 'time'. You saw them. Were none of them correct?"
She shook her head. "No. They couldn't have been."
He frowned at her wording. "Couldn't have been?"
"Because the translation we needed has been censored from typical rune collections and dictionaries," she explained.
Comprehension dawned in his eyes and he gave a humourless bark of laughter. "To prevent curious and ambitious spell creators from doing exactly what we have - experimenting with time-based magic." He shook his head ruefully. "I suppose that makes sense."
"And it's a wise precaution too," Hermione added. "They don't want anyone other than the highly regulated Unspeakables studying time and potentially creating chaos."
"Fuck - no wonder I've been stuck for days," he muttered, throwing another glance at his stacks of parchment before returning his gaze to her, looking puzzled. "But how did you find it?"
She smiled, enjoying the (slightly smug) satisfaction that she had been able to achieve something so difficult, that she had his admiration in relation to spell crafting. She knew it was only chance that she had the answer but it was her work ethic that had put her in that position in the first place plus her focus and ability to recall the tiniest detail from years ago that she had retained the knowledge. "Because I've seen it before."
She knew that she was teasing him by turning away at that moment with an air of mystery, letting her words hang in the air, so that she could remove her cloak. She blamed the heady and heightened emotions produced by both the man and the situation, along with her almost delirium-level of exhaustion for her out of character behaviour.
She removed his dreamless sleep potion and her own large collection of notes from her pocket, placing everything on his desk before unclasping her cloak.
"You saw it last summer, in the Department of Mysteries?" Antonin asked as she put the fabric to one side.
She paused. Her mood temporarily dampened at the memory of that night and their fateful encounter. "No, I didn't," she replied, turning back to face him. "Though I'm sure it was heavily present in that time room." As it was a Saturday, she was wearing her own clothes once again: a pair of wide-leg polyester trousers and a plain black short sleeved t-shirt that were keeping her just cool enough from the burn of the curse. She saw his gaze dart quickly over her form, evoking a small thrill within her despite the seriousness of their current discussion.
"Well, milaya, are you going to tell me or not?" he asked in dry amusement, raising an eyebrow.
Hermione started, realising that she'd simply been staring at him for the last few seconds. She averted her gaze in embarrassment and cleared her throat. "I was given a time-turner, in my Third Year, to make it possible for me to attend all my lessons."
Any amusement on his face at catching her staring vanished as his disbelief returned. "They gave a time-turner to a thirteen year old?" he said derisively.
"Yes."
"A fucking time-turner?" he asked, clearly struggling to accept the possibility. "One of the most closely-guarded, intricate and dangerous magical objects in existence?"
"Yes," she repeated, feeling defensive.
"Just so that you could take extra classes?"
"Yes," she said, throwing her arms wide and then bringing them against her thighs in frustration. "Does it matter? I thought you'd be more interested in how I've made your spell work."
"Of course I am," he scoffed. "But you have to admit that handing you a time-turner was a questionable decision at best - and a fucking insane one at worst."
Hermione shrugged. "It's not like I misused it."
His expression was sceptical. "Not even once, zhar-ptitsa? Are you that straight-laced that you were never tempted?" He'd closed the distance between them and his hands reached out to hers, lifting them so that their entwined fingers were just below eye level. It was the first skin contact of the session and Hermione shuddered as the familiar waves of pleasure swept through her. "You never once took advantage of the power at your fingertips?"
She tried not to squirm at his words even though her conscience was clear in regards to the time-turner. "Only once," she admitted shortly and she saw the spark of victory in his eyes. "To save a life and a soul."
He let out a throaty chuckle and brought his hand up to her face to rub his thumb over her cheekbone. "Of course. A good girl like you would need a reason to bend the rules." She knew that he was teasing her but the sensation of his touch was too diverting and she couldn't stop herself from closing her eyes and leaning her head into his hold. His other hand started to trace a slow path down her throat and she let out a sigh of contentment. "Sounds like the makings of a very interesting story," he murmured and then his exploring fingers stopped a couple of inches below the hollow of her throat and she heard him suck in a quick breath. "But if this is what I think it is, it can definitely wait."
Hermione knew what he was talking about without even opening her eyes but she did so reluctantly because there would be plenty of time to bask in Antonin's touch later, and despite all the work she'd put in over the last few days to get to this point, her mind nagged at her that the task wasn't complete yet. His index and middle fingers traced symmetrical arcs around the indentation he could feel underneath her t-shirt. In her heated state, the metal was hot against her skin but not painfully so. Her breath stuttered in her chest as Antonin followed the lines of the black cord at the base of her throat to scoop his fingers beneath the neckline of her top and bring the pendant into the light. It was similar in size to a sickle but at least half its thickness.
"This is the key?" he asked, his gaze only briefly lifting from the metal disc resting gently against his fingers to meet her eyes.
"Yes." She could tell that he was cataloguing the runes she'd carefully etched into the silver with her wand, comparing them to his own notes. "You see how close you were? I didn't have to make many changes once I'd made the link to the censored rune."
He nodded and tapped his thumb underneath one particular rune. "This is it?"
Her view wasn't perfect but she could just about make out what he was referring to. "That's it. I was able to translate all the other runes that I could recall from my time-turner except that one. I scoured every relevant book I could think of in the library in an attempt to decipher it. I even obtained a pass to the restricted section from Professor Babbling - told her I wanted to source a book for some extra marks on my homework - so that I could check the books in there but it was still mysteriously absent. That coupled with the fact that none of the other runes on the time-turner actually had a direct link to time itself led me to believe that the rune had deliberately been suppressed."
Antonin was looking at her with open curiosity. "For someone who wasn't very keen the last time we spoke, it sounds like you took quite a risk on a hypothesis. What changed your mind?"
Hermione sighed, recalling their conversation eight days ago. She had spoken honestly then - she had thought the level of risk experimenting with time magic was unjustifiable. Yes, the prospect of spending more time with Antonin was surprisingly appealing: not because of the greater opportunities to be intimate (her feelings about increasing sexual activity were very mixed and she preferred not to dwell on them) but the benefit of having a longer stretch of time away from all the pressures and dangers beyond this cell was hard to deny. Yes, as crazy as it would have sounded to her a few months ago, she genuinely believed that she was safer here with Antonin than she was in Hogwarts, that she could let go in a way that wasn't possible anymore with the unspoken threat she felt from the Order. Since Antonin had stated his case for her need for refuge, she had felt the strain of her precarious position more and more. She felt eyes on her even when she was alone or in the safety of Gryffindor tower, every journey through the castle had her on edge and eating further away at her energy levels - even with the protection offered to her with Antonin's bracelet. The walks between the school gates and the castle now held a menacing undertone for her, and it made little difference whether she was accompanied by the Deputy Headmistress rather than Snape - her trust in members of the Order that were close with Dumbledore was all but gone. It was a painful potion to swallow because Hermione had long revered Professor McGonagall, and while she didn't believe that her Transfiguration professor would ever want to intentionally hurt her, it didn't mean that she couldn't be manipulated or misled into leading her to harm. And Snape? She didn't know where she really stood with him. If he had been ordered to dispose of her by Dumbledore, the moment clearly hadn't arrived yet, and she was determined that he wasn't going to take her by surprise. Constant vigilance. It was mentally and physically exhausting, and spirit crushing.
And while all that was true, she had never considered any of it a justification for her risky (and no doubt illegal) work on the time flow magic.
So why had she done it?
"Because I couldn't stop thinking about it," she told him simply. "It was just constantly nagging away at the back of my mind, demanding attention, especially when I recalled that unaccounted for rune on my time-turner. It was a puzzle that I had to solve."
His answering smile was accompanied with understanding in his gaze, and the hand at her face moved down to her waist, tugging her closer to him ever so slightly. "Ah, milaya, you have fallen under the curse which all magic-creator's suffer. The need to know, to understand, to fix, to solve. The exhilarating, maddening chase to get to the truth."
Hermione stared at him, almost dismayed. "This is what it's always like for you?"
He nodded, still smiling. "When an idea really takes hold."
She let out a noisy breath. "Then consider this my retirement from the art - it was time-consuming enough with the protection charm but this was something else. It's been driving me absolutely crazy." She laughed but it came out a little hysterical. "I haven't been able to sleep properly for days because my brain just wouldn't switch off. It was alright when I had my lessons and homework to distract me but the moment my mind was free the time magic would jump right back to the forefront of my thoughts. I could barely hold a conversation, my friends had to drag me to the Great Hall to eat, or push me towards my dormitory to sleep and I had to use dreamless sleep more than once because it was that bad." His fingers had started rubbing soothing circles into her back and she unconsciously stepped forwards to give him easier access.
"But think of what you've achieved," he told her, raising the disc ever so slightly.
She shook her head. "You came up with the concept of manipulating the time flow, and you had it mostly figured out - I was just fortunate to have the piece of the puzzle that you were missing."
"Exactly. Without you I would've been thwarted, and you've been able to move the project forward to its completion, creating something truly exceptional. Manipulating the flow of time," he emphasised and if she hadn't tested it for herself she probably wouldn't believe that she'd managed to create something so incredible. "Don't sell yourself short," he told her, looking her clear in the eyes, "you're a remarkably intelligent and talented witch, Hermione."
She jerked minutely at the shock of hearing her name on his lips for the first time and she broke eye contact immediately. She felt strangely disconcerted, which was ridiculous because she'd been calling him Antonin for a couple of months now. But it did feel more intimate than his Russian firebird or sweetheart - probably because she knew that those were meant to tease. Using her first name felt as though he was treating her as an equal, as the remarkably intelligent and talented witch he'd just claimed she was. Him. Antonin Dolohov.
Or was that just his latest manipulation?
She bravely raised her eyes back to his face but she could detect no evidence of truth nor deception. His expression appeared clear and open, his fingers still rubbing at her back, leaving her unsure what to think.
Which option would she prefer to be true: that Antonin was playing games with her emotions or that he was beginning to genuinely regard her in such a positive way? Obviously, it should be the latter because she'd been trying to connect with him and overcome his prejudices for months, but for some reason she found that possibility scary. A manipulative Antonin she knew how to handle but she didn't know what to do with this potential new version. And she was acutely aware that a genuine Antonin was just as much if not more a danger to her than if he was solely scheming.
Either way, she had to be very careful to protect her head, heart and emotions from this man.
"Thank you," she murmured, fighting not to drop her gaze again. Was that the first time she'd ever thanked him? She couldn't recall another occasion.
His body language was still relaxed and open, implying that the significance of the moment meant a lot less to him than it did to her. He tapped the metal rune disc with his thumb. "And once we get this working you'll have time to catch up on some of that sleep you've missed if you want."
There should probably be a more exciting way to celebrate successfully implementing a new and exciting piece of magic, but she was so very tired that if she was to remain here for a few more hours then sleep seemed inevitable. "You won't be offended?"
Both hands were lifted to cup her face, making sure that he was staring deep into her eyes again, and his touch made her want to whimper. "You've brought me the most incredible gift, milaya. You can do whatever you want and you'll get no complaints from me."
Her heart thudded deeply in her chest but she ignored it. "Can I get that in writing?"
He laughed and then brought his face close to hers, their lips only separated by a couple of inches. "Sure thing." His kiss was disappointingly brief, leaving her yearning for more, but she knew she was only minutes away from getting all the time she could want.
Steeling herself for the final push, she stepped out of his hold and got to work.
Her tests in the castle had been thorough and she'd come to Azkaban well-prepared to seamlessly put the spell into practice here. Returning to her cloak, she retrieved six tiny boxes. Inside each one was a location marker: another rune disc similar to the one she wore that would need to be fixed to one of the walls, floor and ceiling to isolate the area where the time flow would be disrupted. She had trialled the spell firstly in a broom cupboard and then a disused classroom, and both attempts had been successful, much to her immense relief. She refused to think about what could have gone wrong if she'd miscalculated somewhere.
"The reverse has a sticking charm," Hermione told Antonin as he peered down at the first disc that was revealed. "The touch of skin activates it, that's why they're all separate. I had to think a bit to get around the lack of wand use in here. They'll also turn invisible when attached to a surface, so the aurors won't have any chance of seeing them. With the key already here, the flow will be altered the moment the last disc is placed."
He looked impressed and eager. "It sounds like you've thought of everything, zhar-ptitsa. You were able to procure more high-quality silver without raising any suspicions?" he asked with a side glance at her bracelet.
"Yes - I haven't been stealing it," she said with a little scoff as she took the box out of his hand so she could place the first marker. He looked at her inquiringly, waiting for her to reveal her source of precious metals but she gave a small shrug and walked to the closest wall. "Everyone's allowed some secrets, aren't they?"
He gave a little grunt. "Some people obviously have more than others," he muttered but she ignored him. It wasn't as though telling him about the Room of Requirement was particularly dangerous but it felt like the Room was one of Hogwarts' secrets rather than her own. When Antonin had given her a list of suitable metals to create her charmed bracelets, she had pondered over where to find them without having to resort to transfigurations because unaltered materials always produced a stronger result. It was only when Harry had once again bemoaned their ignorance about what Malfoy was doing in the Room that she realised she could use it for herself. She couldn't proclaim that she understood how exactly the extraordinary room worked and when she'd opened the door upon her request for somewhere to craft spells using metals and she had found small boxes of copper, silver, brass, tin and everything she could possibly need, she did wonder where exactly it had all come from. Were they transfigurations of what already existed within the Room or had they been provided through another method? She had run tests on the metals and the results suggested that they were in their true form - the Room had come through for her. And again, when she had sought to unlock Antonin's new time spell she had returned, luckily finding moments when Malfoy wasn't occupying it, to discover additional books on runes or time (but still none with the mysterious symbol on her time-turner) and more silver for her to create her discs.
The first marker disappeared in front of her eyes as she attached it to the wall, soon followed by the second, third and fourth. After placing the penultimate disc in the centre of the floor, Hermione looked up at the ceiling pensively. It was higher than she'd remembered and she wasn't sure she'd reach even if she stood on Antonin's desk as she'd planned. She handed the final box to him. "I think you're going to have to do this one." He obliged, clambering onto the desk and balancing the disc on his fingertips as he reached upwards. Hermione's heart was racing, her head throbbing as she waited with baited breath to see whether the culmination of all her hard work was successful.
The final marker disappeared and then a split second later the runes placed strategically around the room all glowed brightly (as did the ones on her pendant). A moment later they were gone.
It had worked.
She sank into the nearest chair as a wave of relief and exhaustion swept over her.
Antonin jumped down from the desk and stared around the room. "Is that it?" he asked. "Is that the same as your tests?"
"Yes," she said wearily, rubbing her fingers into her aching brow. "Time will pass at a tenth of the speed in here. Though it will feel like an hour has passed for us, it will only have been six minutes outside this cell."
He pulled her to her feet, his touch energising her a little. "We did it, milaya." He was grinning, the happiest she'd ever seen him. I did that, she thought and the sensation that realisation created in her chest was impossible to describe. How odd that additional time with her should make him so happy when they'd so obviously loathed each other less than a year ago. All other thoughts were abruptly cut off as he kissed her, his enthusiasm finding an outlet in the heated way he moved his lips against hers and the quick, eager touches he delivered to all the available skin he could find - her cheeks, her arms, her neck, sliding under the hem of her t-shirt. She didn't have the mental capacity to realise that it was disorientating and overwhelming before she found herself blinking dazedly at his chest. It took her a couple of seconds to realise that his arms were the only thing holding her up, that her legs had given way.
"Milaya?" he asked, concern in his tone as he began pulling her upwards. "Hermione?"
Still unused to him using her name, it had a reviving effect and her limbs started working for themselves once more. "Sorry," she murmured, finding her feet, but he maintained his strong hold and more or less carried her towards his bed.
"Time to rest," he murmured, helping her to settle over the covers. "You don't have to think about the spell anymore, you've done it."
He made no move to join her on the bunk, taking her a little by surprise because he was normally so eager to be touching her. But, of course, now there would be time later thanks to the spell. "What are you going to do?" she asked, laying back to rest her head on the thin pillow.
He sat on the bed, the fingers of one hand tracing a pattern on her palm, and nodded his head towards the desk. "I've got all your notes to read, don't worry about me."
In her fatigue, her smile was barely a twitch of her lips. "Alright."
He stood, brushing some hair away from her eyes and rested his hand at her cheek. "We'll soothe the curse later. Sleep for a couple of hours."
She made an assenting noise low in her throat and her heavy lids dropped closed.
When her eyes blinked open later, she sat up with a start, uncertain of her surroundings. Antonin was sitting at the desk, his chair repositioned to keep her in sight, and his face briefly wore an expression of surprise and then he laughed. "You slept like the dead, didn't move a muscle the whole time. You gave me a shock shooting up like that. Feel better?"
Hermione lifted her arms over her head, relishing the luxurious stretch of her muscles. "Much," she said truthfully, not missing the way his gaze strayed down to the slither of skin that was exposed as her t-shirt rode up - her head was starting to feel more like itself once more but her body was still burning for his touch, and his attention fired up her senses. It suddenly hit her then just how much remaining time they had together, how long they would be in each other's company if she appeared to stay for approximately an hour on all her forthcoming visits. She'd spent the last few days just focusing on completing the spell and the reality had her questioning her choices. What on earth were they going to do for all that time?
Antonin had returned his gaze to her notes, not noticing her internal alarm. "I can't believe you did all of this in eight days whilst you still had classes and homework." He shook his head in apparent disbelief. "No wonder you've had to catch up on some sleep."
Hermione told her inner worries to quieten down and pushed herself off the bed. "Does it all make sense though, what I've written?"
"Yes, it's quite clear."
She sat in the chair next to him and they spent some time comparing her work to his, him explaining how he'd reached a deadend in the last few days and her adding in anything that she hadn't committed to parchment. Her anxiety had settled down with the reminder that she was able to converse with Antonin on a wide range of academic subjects, just as they had before these weeks focused on spell creation. Even though she'd thoroughly prepped to carry out the spell, she hadn't given any thought to the hours beyond it. Next time she'd be fine as long as she remembered to bring some homework with her, a couple of books maybe (though that wasn't wholly necessary because Antonin had plenty of his own) and perhaps figured out how to bring some food (because ten hours was a long time to go without eating). He could help her with her Russian studies too.
A weight suddenly dropped in her stomach as she realised that it had been over three weeks since she had spent some time going through his notes in an attempt to continue his work on finding a cure for the curse. How had she let that happen?
"Milaya?" Antonin's hand on her arm at that precise moment, coupled with her body's automatic reaction, was galling. "Is the curse burning too strongly for you?" There was hope in his voice no matter that he'd tried to make it sound concerned, and she couldn't do this right now. Obviously she was going to have to let him touch her before she left but not yet - she needed to stall him, to talk about something else, something that would distract him from his eagerness.
"No, it's fine," she said, sliding her arm away from his touch. "There's something I wanted to talk to you about," she bluffed, racking her brain for a suitable topic. And then she remembered that there was something she'd been wanting to discuss with him for a little while.
He was surely disappointed in her reaction but he hid it well, nodding encouragingly. "What's that?"
"There's a student in my year that I'm worried about," she began a little tentatively. "I want to help him but I don't know the best way to go about it." Antonin's brow furrowed, as though he couldn't fathom why this was something she wanted to discuss with him, but he remained silent and waited for her to continue. "I thought maybe you might be able to advise me because…" She hesitated, took a breath, then said quickly, "because he's a Slytherin, his name is Theodore Nott and his father - "
"No." After a brief flash of surprise, his expression had hardened and his voice was firm. "Stay away from him."
Hermione had been expecting a negative reaction from Antonin so she was undeterred. "His father was one of the other Death Eaters captured at the Department of Mysteries."
"I know," Antonin said, his tone and expression dark.
"And we know because of the Malfoys that sons are being recruited to Vo- his cause," she corrected quickly at the flash of warning in his eyes. "Theodore Nott is smart, too, not far off me in terms of his academic scores, so he'd likely be seen as an asset, wouldn't he?"
"The boy is none of your concern," he said stonily. "Leave it be. Any interference on your part will only bring you trouble and possibly him as well."
"You don't know that," she replied. "Even though it makes me feel terribly guilty, I haven't done anything to help Draco because I think that really would be like kicking an acromantula's nest. But it's different with Theo - "
"It's not."
" - because I don't know whether he wants to follow his father's path or if he even believes in pureblood supremacy. He did call me a slur when I spoke to him but - "
"You spoke to him?" Antonin interrupted, looking both alarmed and angry. "Why would you do something so stupid?"
"You're overreacting," she said calmly. "I just recommended a book on Ancient Runes to help him with his homework when I came across him in the library. He didn't try to curse me or anything, just said that he wouldn't touch anything that had come into contact with someone like me."
Antonin rubbed his fingers into his forehead. "For fuck's sake, milaya, if he's calling you a mudblood then it's pretty damn obvious where he stands on the issue."
She shook her head. "No. Not necessarily because - " she emphasised in response to his scoff, "I know he did use that book, otherwise he wouldn't have got such a high mark on his homework. His use of the slur could be an act, just him playing the part expected of him."
"Even if that's true, it doesn't actually matter."
"Of course it does," Hermione insisted. "If I can build a little rapport, establish some trust, maybe I'll be able to help him escape - "
He stood abruptly, his chair scraping noisily along the floor, and loomed over her angrily. "There is no escape from the Dark Lord for the likes of Nott and me. How many fucking times do I have to tell you?" He shook his head in agitation. "You can solve bloody time magic in a week but this is too difficult for you to get your head around?"
Hermione had also gotten to her feet. Outwardly she appeared calm but her heart was racing. "I am trying to understand, Antonin. Please." Her eyes silently asked him to open up to her but he averted his gaze.
"I don't want to talk about this," he muttered.
His reluctance intrigued her. He had outwardly professed his devotion to Voldemort many times but if he was that committed to his cause then why did he get so agitated whenever she mentioned the possibility of an alternative? Was it because this was not the life he'd have wished for if he'd had the choice - a choice he insisted he'd never been afforded? Was this the adult realisation of an abusive childhood? She knew she had to tread carefully here. Poking however gently at his possible unresolved trauma could bring out the cruel and volatile side of him she really didn't like.
She attempted a smile but it felt strained and uncomfortable. "Well, you did say I could do what I wanted today and you wouldn't complain," she reminded him.
He grunted then said, "But you never did get that in writing, did you? Amateur mistake, milaya."
She nodded. "I'll remember for next time."
There was a long moment of tense silence then Hermione bravely forced herself to take a couple of steps to close the distance between them. She hesitated for a few seconds and then reached out for his hand, doing her best to repress the pleasure blooming from his touch. "Talk to me," she urged him, her voice unavoidably a little breathless. "Please. I want to understand."
"Why - because I'm like an arithmancy problem you don't know how to solve? Once you've got your answer you think you'll be able to fix me?"
Hermione willed herself not to flush because, in essence, she was seeking to bring him to her way of thinking, to remove him from Voldemort's grip. But she couldn't admit that. "That's not fair," she said instead. "You can't be angry with me for not understanding your perspective and then refuse to give me more of an insight. You're dooming us to go round and round in increasingly frustrated circles."
He stared over her shoulder. His thumb was rubbing a steady beat over the back of her hand but she wasn't sure that he was aware of it. She just watched him, waiting.
"From the moment I took my first breath, I was his," Antonin said quietly, breaking the silence. Hermione's breath caught in her throat but she remained silent. "My life was sworn to the Dark Lord's service before I was even born. A promised foot soldier in the Dark Lord's noble war to right the wrongs of the world. That's what my life has only ever been for."
He was still looking over her shoulder but Hermione could tell that his gaze had turned inwards, caught up in the core of himself and his past. Even though his words were devastating, she barely breathed lest she break him out of this moment before he was ready.
"My father was amongst the Dark Lord's first small band of followers, there from the outset, right back in Hogwarts before the magical world had learned of the name they would come to dread."
A gasp escaped her lips but he didn't appear to have heard her. His father had been at school with Tom Riddle? She'd had no idea that the elder Dolohov had been tied to Voldemort right from the very beginning.
"Even then, the devotion the Dark Lord's followers had for him was total and unswerving. They knew he would usher in a new age and the most faithful would be rewarded so they pledged their lives and their bloodlines to him, their sons and daughters to take their place should they fall in the battle to come. It wasn't an unbreakable vow or legal blood contract, but it was no less binding in the eyes of the Dark Lord or those first faithful followers. As his power and influence grew and more disciples flocked to his side to swell his ranks, he had no need to make the same demand of these new followers. Only the earliest were thus honoured, including the fathers of Lucius Malfoy and Theodore Nott."
Hermione closed her eyes, struggling to take in everything that he was saying.
"I never questioned my destiny - I was being offered everything I'd ever wanted. I could see the path the Dark Lord was cutting through the filth that poisoned our world and I couldn't wait to take my place at his side. There was no choice in where my future lay but I wouldn't have wanted anything different. You could have laid a thousand different paths at my feet and the Dark Lord's was still the one I would have chosen. Perhaps young Nott is different. Perhaps he hopes to forge his own way. It doesn't matter. The Dark Lord will not let him. There is no freedom for those he claims as his own. He will make sure of it. There is the Dark Lord's path or there is death." He blinked and then his eyes were suddenly staring into hers. "Do you see now, milaya? Do you understand what I've been trying to tell you?"
She nodded, feeling sick and heartsore. "I see," she whispered truthfully, blinking quickly to prevent wetness forming in her eyes. The previous glimpses and insights into Antonin's past hadn't been enough to fully encapsulate how he'd been formed into the man before her. Now she understood. And he was right. She generally tried to have a positive outlook on life, she always wanted to fight to make things better but even she couldn't see how Antonin could have escaped from Voldemort's grip. And whilst she mourned the life he could have led, anger boiled in her gut towards the adults who had let him down: primarily his parents and Voldemort, but she also held Professor Dumbledore and Professor Slughorn in contempt for the failure in their duty of care towards him. Just like Snape and the headmaster were failing this generation.
Antonin gave a slight nod, seemingly satisfied with her reaction. His hands came to rest on her shoulders, his formerly pensive expression becoming more focused. "You need to leave the boy alone. His path is set, no matter whether you - or he - like it."
Hermione didn't like to admit defeat but to keep the peace between them she said, "I understand." However, the truth was that she still believed Nott had a chance if he really wanted to, if he hadn't already bared his arm to Voldemort. It would almost certainly require him to leave the country (because she didn't doubt Antonin's claim that Voldemort wouldn't relinquish his hold on what he thought was his) but maybe that was a price worth paying if Nott wanted a life and future of his own. Antonin may have never considered anything other than servitude but he had grown up only ever seeing Voldemort getting stronger and more powerful. Surely it was different for Nott, given that Voldemort had supposedly been defeated for the vast majority of his childhood. And Nott would have grown up with the knowledge of the death and imprisonment of many of Voldemort's followers. Nott seemed far too intelligent to have spent his childhood and adolescence wishing to emulate them. Of course, she didn't know what poison he'd been fed from his family, whether he'd been groomed to seek power and glory, whether he'd just been biding his time to take his honoured place in Voldemort's ranks. Just who was Theodore Nott behind his haughty expression? Was he worth further approaches from her?
Antonin relaxed a little at her answer, clearly not aware of what was brewing beneath her surface. "Good." He was still quite introspective. It was a side of him that she had very rarely seen and while she was always encouraged to see the humanity within him, she was alert, aware how quickly he could flip into hostility after feeling exposed and vulnerable. "I met him once, when he was a newborn."
"Theodore Nott?" she asked in slight surprise because the mental image of Antonin around an infant-Nott appeared almost bizarre.
He hummed in agreement. "Our fathers were great friends. More like brothers, really. Old Malachi Nott had been waiting years and years for a child. They held a big party when Theo was born."
Hermione tried not to wrinkle her nose. Twenty minutes ago she might have thought that sounded like a touching celebration for a much-wanted baby, but now that she knew Nott's parents would have already pledged the child to Voldemort's cause the whole thing seemed sick and twisted.
"Then a couple of weeks later my life went to shit. I didn't see Mal again until I got out. He had an empty house after his wife died some years back so he took me in, helped bring me back to myself after…" His voice trailed off and his expression shuttered, and Hermione knew that he had reached his limit. In a pre-emptive move, she reached a hand to the back of his head and pulled his face down to hers so their lips met. She immediately whimpered at the sensation but it took him a couple of seconds to respond, and then she gasped at the sudden change in intensity. Her earlier exhaustion was long forgotten because now every brush of his fingers and the caresses of his lips and tongue sparked thrilling bursts of life within her before she floated in a state of bliss.
After a while, she dazedly realised that he was tugging her towards his bed and she instinctively pulled away from him.
"It's okay, milaya," he murmured, kissing along her jaw. "Nothing's going to happen that you don't want." He lifted his head to look her in the eyes. "With all the time that we've got, I thought that we might as well be comfy, hmm?"
He walked backwards, holding her hands, and she allowed herself to be pulled over to the bed as her awakened mind rapidly pondered over whether she was alright with his suggestion. It was just a bed. It didn't have to mean anything. Antonin had always respected her physical boundaries and she had no reason to suspect that that would now no longer be the case if he pushed for something else she wasn't ready for.
And maybe she was ready? she considered as she nervously sat beside him on the bed. Merlin, not the whole way, no, but something? Yes, increased physical intimacy - the prospect of actual sex - made her anxious and uncomfortable, but if she didn't push herself then she might get stuck and needlessly build up her worries into something bigger than they already were. Antonin had just been brave (though he wouldn't admit it) opening up about his past like that, surely she could match up to him and do the same…
"You're so stiff," he chuckled, running a soothing hand up her arm as he slid his hand around her jaw to pull her lips back towards his. "You're safe with me."
In here, she did feel safe with him and as he kissed and caressed her gently, she found herself relaxing. When he encouraged her to lay back a few minutes later, she obliged with a fluttering in her chest. Despite the smallness of the bed, he reclined next to her rather than on top, and her nerves were quickly soothed by his attentions.
She liked this new position, the feeling of being even closer to him, but it did make it difficult for his touch to reach her back. One hand was teasing the skin at her waist instead, his fingers so close to…
Hermione felt Antonin tense with shock as she grasped the hem of her t-shirt and lifted it a few centimetres to bare her midriff. He pulled back from her lips and gazed at her searchingly, silently asking if she was sure. Almost quivering with anticipation as she recalled the ecstasy his touch on her scar had produced all those months ago, she nodded. He kissed her eagerly and his fingers helped lift the t-shirt higher but she put her hand on his wrist when he tried to lift it over her bra. "No," she murmured against his lips and he let go of the fabric at once.
He sat up. For a second she was worried that he was displeased with her refusal, but he just stared down at her, taking her in. His fingers teased around the edge of her scar, careful not to touch it, and his gaze ran approvingly from her face, down to her waist and back again. "So beautiful," he murmured. "My beautiful, clever witch. I'm going to make you scream my name, Hermione."
She squirmed with fire and lust, and lifted a soft hand to his cheek. He nuzzled into it, kissing her pulse point.
She was content with this choice. It wasn't as though she was intentionally rewarding his emotional openness in reliving some of his unprocessed trauma by finally letting him touch her scar again but she wasn't not doing that either. It probably wasn't healthy for either of them but she knew he wouldn't care and, from the moment his tongue made contact with just the smallest part of her livid pink scar and her world disappeared in a rush of pleasure as his name erupted from her throat, she didn't care either.
A/N I hope you enjoyed these chapters!
FF feels like it has become a shadow of itself over the last year or so, or is it just me?