A/N Sorry for the wait guys! I had a big load of work that I had to get out of the way before I could start thinking about updating my stories again but that's done now so hopefully you won't have to wait so long for the update after this one.
Thank you for all those supporting this fic!
I promised you Antonin last time so here he is...
For a few moments, Antonin was convinced he was experiencing a twisted dream – a pretty common occurrence for him. The face of the man who had burst into his room was shrouded in shadow but the strong features were reminiscent of ones that lurked in the recesses of Antonin's mind. He felt a jolt of alarm at the prospect of what the spectre wanted with him, what vengeance it sought, and the sight of the twisted, whimpering Granger in the figure's arms unsettled him further. Was she the vessel through which retribution was to be achieved? Was she the harbinger of his doom, just like the true zhar-ptitsa from the stories?
"The curse is burning her up," the young man said as he strode into the room. His announcement, combined with the sudden lighting of the torches, shattered the sleep-haze in Antonin's mind and he realised that this was all very real; the presence of the anxious Tonks standing in the doorway, wand drawn, confirming this further.
Antonin glanced up at the man carrying Granger over to him. The improved lighting only slightly diminished the man's resemblance to Antonin's past foes and he strove to hide that he had been disconcerted by his abrupt arrival.
Antonin climbed quickly out of his bed and, before he could protest, his place on the threadbare sheets was immediately taken by Granger as she was clumsily placed there by the red-haired man. He saw that her eyes were once more alight with purple fire and her appearance flushed. A number of scratches were visible across her bare arms and legs and there was even one on her cheek that was deep enough to have drawn blood. There were also welts in her skin where she was being restrained by ropes and, most curiously of all, a number of twigs were caught up in her unruly curls.
Antonin turned a withering expression on the auror and what was almost certainly a Weasley boy. "I see you're doing a quite admirable job of looking after her," he sneered at them, ignoring the whimpers of the mudblood. "Most commendable care the Order provides."
The auror opened her mouth, most likely to return with some sort of insult, but the sound of Antonin's voice had had a profound effect on Granger. Her body seemed to be working on some sort of survival instinct and, recognising the source of her cure, she automatically threw herself in his direction. Looking in the wrong direction and not expecting such an erratic and frantic move, Antonin wasn't able to ready himself, and the two of them tumbled to the floor in a tangle of limbs.
"Fuck!" Antonin grunted in Russian as Granger's flailing bony limbs struck various parts of his body. "Calm down!" He grappled with her for a moment until his hands closed around her bound arms. She became subdued at once, practically melting against him, and he let out a short breath of relief that she was under control. He was lying on his back with Granger's lower body lying flush against his own, her shoulders and head were forced away from his purely thanks to the grip he had on her arms. It was a distinctly uncomfortable position and her wild curls were obscuring his vision, leaving him feeling vulnerable. The purple flames in her eyes had calmed, like he'd expected them to, but they flared up again when he pushed her aside so that he could manoeuver his body into a position that was more bearable. He only had time to sit up before Granger stuck herself to his side again, her body finding relief as her head nestled below his chin, her cheek pressed against the bare skin at the top of his chest that was revealed by the neckline of the ragged night clothes that the Ministry had been kind enough to issue him.
He glared over at the two Order members. They were watching the encounter with almost comically shocked expressions on their faces at the sight of the little witch trying to bury herself into a Death Eater. "This will be a lot easier if you get rid of the ropes," he snarled at them, trying to portray that he was now in complete control of the situation.
Weasley glanced at Tonks and she nodded mutely. He muttered a counter curse and the ropes vanished instantly. With her limbs now free to move, Granger tucked her bare feet up so that they were meeting the skin of his exposed legs. One of her hands sought out his own and slid itself as far up his sleeve as it could go while the other curled around his neck and disappeared into the back of his head.
She was certainly doing a very good impersonation of a limpet and Antonin suspected he wasn't quite carrying off the air of haughty disdain that he was aiming for. Damned mudblood. He just wished he had some way of letting the self-righteous chit see exactly what lengths her body would go to when the curse took over. That would certainly knock the jumped-up brat down a place or two!
With Granger wrapped around him so tightly, he was able to stand easily and he carried her over to the armchair, sinking into it languidly as he glared at his 'guests'. "Are you just going to watch?" he sneered. "They have a name for people who get off on that."
Weasley's jaw tightened angrily. "We're not leaving you alone with her."
Antonin let out a dark chuckle. The boy was as easy to wind up as the auror. "You think I'm going to have my way with her if you go?" he questioned deviously, smirk firmly in place as he slowly dragged the tips of his fingers up the length of Granger's exposed leg. He didn't even get as far as her knee before Weasley advanced on him, wand raised.
"She's sixteen and not even properly conscious, you sick bastard," Weasley snarled, jamming his wand into Antonin's cheek.
The auror appeared at his side and put a restraining hand on his arm. "Bill," she said warningly. Weasley glanced at her and then lowered his wand with a scowl.
Antonin smirked at them. "Thank you, Nymphadora." Her gaze narrowed and shoulders tightened, definitely aware that he was attempting to unsettle her, but she clamped down any other hint that it was working. "But the little mudblood is in no danger from me – as if I would stoop to such levels by degrading myself with such a filthy specimen!" They both looked at him furiously but his smirk widened. "Not that she wouldn't let me if I was so inclined. Even when she's fully awake, the effect of my touch has her begging and panting like the best Knockturn Alley whore." Much to his delight, Granger unknowingly chose that exact moment to let out a sigh of contentment and Antonin leered at the Order members, heartily enjoying their discomfort.
Weasley turned away from him with a look of utmost loathing and the auror turned after him. "Just ignore him, Bill; he's lying," Antonin heard her say lowly. "He likes to play games and manipulate because that's all he can do while he's shut up in here."
Antonin's lips twitched in amusement at her words. It suited him to have her believe that there was no truth to the words he'd spoken, for he knew that he wouldn't be allowed to see the mudblood alone if the Order suspected that he was taking some sort of sexual advantage of the girl. But he had been more accurate with his description of Granger's reaction to him than Weasley and the auror would be comfortable with. Antonin knew just how potent the effect of his touch was on Granger because it was written over every inch of her body when they came into contact; the dilation of her pupils, the quickness of her breath, the thrumming of her heartbeat and the complete surrender of her body to his ministrations.
For someone who had been subjected to over a decade of imprisonment in a living hell, someone who'd never had a say in his own life from the moment he was born, for him to have that much control over someone else was incredibly empowering – even more so considering the particular young woman involved. She might be a petite little thing but there was much more to Hermione Granger than met the eye. He had heard about some of it in his brief escape from Azkaban: her impressive school grades, her blood status, her Gryffindor recklessness and unswerving loyalty to Potter. He'd seen for himself the fight she'd shown at the Department of Mysteries where she'd nearly outwitted him. She was such a creature of the light that it practically shone from her when she'd first stepped before his cell; one of Dumbledore's baby Phoenixes, for sure. But she had fight in her too, that had been evident from the start. Each aspect of what made her who she was, a paragon of everything the light stood for, combined to make his hold over her even more satisfying.
It would only be a matter of time before he broke her spirit; had her utterly dependant on his touch, dancing to his tune and eating out of his hand like a good little zhar-ptitsa.
True, their previous encounter hadn't exactly gone to plan. He'd let his temper get the better of him and he'd been unable to stop himself from having to resort to aggressive means in order to enforce his superiority over the mudblood after she'd slapped him: him, a descendant of the prestigious Dolohov bloodline. He'd needed to put her in her place at once; his soft approach temporarily thrown aside in the light of her actions. It infuriated him that little upstart filth like her were still free to be part of the magical world while he and other purebloods, the rightful inheritors of magic, were condemned to imprisonment and left to rot out of sight. That wasn't how it was meant to be and the Dark Lord would soon put the world to rights – Antonin was counting on it. Physically hurting Granger would ensure some sort of retribution from the Order and Antonin preferred to keep the battle between the two of them, so he'd attacked her sense of self, her light and morality, instead. Fucking whore. If she wasn't so damned self-righteous, the blow wouldn't have stung her so deeply but he was also aware, as was Granger, that there was more to it than just the word. Saying it would be giving in to him, once again. Her body already did so whether she wanted it to or not, and she'd shown willingness to give him information for his touch, but she wasn't quite ready to degrade herself for him yet. The stubborn chit would come around.
Or would she?
He glanced down at the young woman nestled in his lap, speculating.
He hadn't anticipated her or the Order allowing the curse to develop so far before paying another visit. Of course, they were still in the early stages of getting to grips with the curse's effects and there was every chance that it was unpredictable in nature, but he wondered whether there had been something else at play.
Antonin looked over at Weasley and Tonks, who were still watching him distastefully. "How did she come to be in this state again? Why wasn't she brought here sooner?"
Tonks looked mildly surprised. "You sound concerned."
"Of course I am," he confirmed, shocking them both further. "Without her, I lose this cell."
Weasley scoffed with contempt and muttered, "Prick."
There were a few moments of silence and then Antonin said, "Are you not going to answer my question? It wouldn't shock me to discover that it was purely incompetence from your side, but if the curse has erratic side effects then it would benefit my research to know."
"And how is your research faring?" Weasley asked, an eyebrow arching upwards to match his sarcastic tone. "Making good progress, are you?"
"Oh, yes, excellent progress," he replied, equally as scathing. "Not that I'd expect you to understand the intricate art of spell creation."
Weasley crossed his arms over his chest and his posture became more resolute. "I'm a curse breaker, actually."
"Am I supposed to be impressed just because you know a few counter jinxes?" Antonin sneered. "Any fool can take a hammer to an intricate work of art; you're nothing impressive."
"What, and you are, are you?" Weasley retorted, making a show of looking Antonin up and down. "Yes, mighty indeed! You've certainly achieved much in the last dozen or so years, and such glorious accommodation you live in! You're the envy of the wizarding world, Dolohov."
Antonin narrowed his eyes at him. "You know," he said softly, as though just making a realisation, "there is something very familiar about your features, boy. I feel as though I've come across them before, many years ago." Weasley stiffened at once and Antonin knew that he had him. "Are you related to the Prewetts by any chance?" Antonin knew the answer, of course, and had done almost as soon as seeing Weasley walk into the room.
"Yes," Weasley answered shortly. "You murdered my uncles when I was ten years old."
"And you'd do well to remember what I'm capable of, boy," Antonin snarled. "Now, tell me how you messed up with Granger."
Weasley glared at him and Antonin gazed back challengingly. They locked into a silent battle of wills, neither prepared to break the contact. Antonin's eyes were prickling with the need to blink but he refused to give way to the blood traitor. After a few more seconds, the victory was his when Weasley cast his eyes down to the floor with a sigh. "We didn't. There was no indication that this would happen."
"You rely on her to tell you when she feels the burn?" he questioned.
"Yes," the auror replied, frowning. "Last time, Hermione informed us the minute her skin started to prickle when in contact with other people's, and updated us regularly until it was severe enough to warrant a visit to you. She said nothing this time."
"How long did it take her skin to begin to burn after the preceding visit here?" he asked.
Tonks and Weasley glanced at each other thoughtfully. "About a week," she replied and Weasley nodded. "But it hasn't even been a week this time since we were last here," she pointed out.
"No, it hasn't," Antonin agreed thoughtfully. "And there were no other indications that the curse was working faster?"
"Like what?" the auror questioned.
Antonin lifted his hand from where it was resting on Granger's calf and indicated her revealing garments. "Did tonight's temperature require such attire? She says her body temperature rises when she is in need of my touch."
The Order members exchanged another look and there was definitely concern evident on each face. "I wasn't really paying attention at the time," Weasley muttered but it was loud enough for Antonin to hear. "I don't make a habit of looking at what she's wearing but… I think she was wearing something to keep her cool and it really wasn't hot tonight…"
"She could feel it coming," Tonks concluded gravely, glancing over at the witch in question. "But why didn't she tell us when she's been so open before?"
That was an interesting question and Antonin wondered if his first suspicions were correct. Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face because the auror had switched her pensive gaze over to him.
"What happened during her last visit?" she asked.
"That's between me and the mudblood," he sneered.
The auror scowled at him. "Something happened that made her walk out before she'd got a proper amount of relief from you, didn't it? That's why she's had to come back so soon after last time."
Antonin strongly suspected that the auror's theory was accurate but he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of telling her that.
"You really think Hermione would leave without getting the cure from him?" Weasley asked the auror.
Tonks looked at him flatly. "You see what he's like," she answered, jerking her head at Antonin.
"Poor kid," Weasley muttered, looking sympathetically at the witch in Antonin's lap. "You really are a piece of work, Dolohov."
Monster: intimidating a girl so thoroughly that she would rather slip under the effects of a dark curse than face him! He knew that's what Weasley and the auror suspected but Antonin knew that wasn't quite accurate.
He tried to intimidate Granger and he knew that he did, to a certain extent, but she wasn't scared of him – certainly not enough to avoid coming to see him through fear. No, if she was avoiding him it was because she was being stubborn and unwilling to lose face in front of him. He'd told her that the next time she came to him he would make her beg him for his touch on her hands and knees. He'd seen the look of inevitable defeat in her eyes and, if he was reading his obstinate zhar-ptitsa correctly, she'd put off telling the Order about the burning because she couldn't bear the idea of him being victorious in their battle. He doubted she'd intended for it to go quite this far but she'd obviously underestimated how quickly the curse would consume her after receiving an inadequate amount of contact from him a few days ago.
Antonin glanced down at her, smirking.
He really had gotten under her skin, hadn't he?
"Ah, Miss Granger, how good to see you're awake," a familiar voice said. Hermione had been blinking away the sleep from her eyes, taking in the familiar sights of Ginny's bedroom when she was startled from her drowsy thoughts by the sound of her Headmaster. She turned to her right sharply and her eyes confirmed what her ears had perceived: Professor Dumbledore was sat next to her bed.
The implication resonated with her immediately. "The curse pulled me under again, didn't it?"
"I'm afraid so, Hermione," he said gently, but a stone felt like it had been dropped into her stomach. "But, as you can see, you were taken to Azkaban in time and you seem to have recovered from your relapse."
She tried to keep herself calm as she asked, "What happened, sir?"
"In the early hours of this morning, the curse took hold of your body and some sort of instinct seems to have taken over your thought processes," Dumbledore explained and she listened, wide-eyed and fearful. "You left the Burrow, took one of the brooms from the shed and began flying in a north-easterly direction."
Hermione gasped and momentarily covered her mouth with her hands. "Sir," she said shakily, "I-I don't understand."
"We don't know for sure, of course, but I think we can safely speculate that your body, knowing what it needed to fight the effects of the curse, decided to seek it out."
"Are you saying I tried to fly to Azkaban?" Hermione asked, thunderstruck.
"That is what I believe, yes," Dumbledore replied. "Though you wouldn't have been successful even if you hadn't been intercepted; the prison is on an unplottable island. One cannot simply fly to it, I'm afraid. However, I'm sure you'll agree that that is mostly a good thing."
Hermione was still struggling to comprehend what he was telling her. She glanced down at herself, feeling oddly disconnected to her own body. How could she have run away from the Burrow, attempted to fly to Azkaban, and have some sort of encounter with Dolohov without any recollection of the events? "How did you stop me?" she asked in a small voice.
"Mr Potter heard you leaving the Burrow and gave chase on one of the other brooms," Dumbledore explained, much to Hermione's horror. "He was able to bring you both safely to ground just north of the village of Buckley St Mary, some thirty miles away from here. He signalled the Order, and Bill was able to get you to Azkaban before any harm was done."
She simply gaped at him for a few moments, struggling to form a response. "Harry chased me and, and performed magic because of me?" she asked, her voice coming out in a squeak.
Dumbledore held up a reassuring hand in the sight of her fear. "Mr Potter is perfectly well and faces no charges for performing magic underage."
"He shouldn't have done that!" Hermione cried. "It was so dangerous for him to be out there on his own." Her brain threw up terrible images of what could have happened to him if he'd been discovered by Voldemort's forces and it would have been all her fault! "I'm so sorry, Professor!"
Dumbledore smiled at her comfortingly. "My dear girl, you do not think yourself responsible for Harry's actions, do you? It was, I agree, a reckless decision on his part, especially in these troubling times, but his actions were indicative of the strength of the friendship between you. His only thoughts were of your safety – much like yours were only of his a few moments ago." He smiled at her again. "Instead of dwelling on what could have happened, we must be thankful that all has turned out well. The friendship between yourself, Mr Potter and Mr Weasley is something to be treasured, Hermione. The devotion you show each other is quite inspirational."
Hermione didn't know how to respond to that and she realised, after a moment, that she was just staring at the Headmaster. She looked away quickly, cheeks flushed, and started fiddling with a loose thread on her duvet cover. "I'm sorry to have caused so much trouble, sir; I- I know how busy you and the other adults are." She felt a sickening shame creep into her stomach that the man who was leading the fight against Voldemort had been interrupted from something highly important, no doubt, to pay her a bedside visit.
Dumbledore didn't say anything at first and she glanced up, despite herself, to find him watching her closely. Eventually, he sighed and said, "We are still in the very early stages of trying to understand this curse. Magic, as you know, can be very unpredictable, Miss Granger. You could not have anticipated that you would deteriorate so quickly."
She cast her eyes down, her heart thundering in her chest. He knew. She struggled to contain her emotions as she tried to come to terms with the fact that she had fallen way short of the high standards she set for herself. A tear trickled down her cheek. "I should have told someone," she whispered quietly, wiping the tear away. "The symptoms started showing when I woke up yesterday," she admitted to her knee, unable to bear to look at Dumbledore. He stayed silent, no doubt waiting for her to continue, to explain why she had been so foolish as to hide the burning from those who wanted to take care of her. What possible reason could she have for putting herself in such danger and setting off a chain of events that could have led to, not only the loss of her life, but that of her best friend, too? "But I wasn't ready to face him… it was too soon after the last one and I, I just needed a bit more time to prepare myself." The tears flowed freely now and she hid her face in her hands. "I'm so sorry for letting you down, sir."
"You have not let me down, Hermione," he denied at once, his tone just shy of firm. "You judge yourself too harshly. For your very survival, you have been put into a position that most fully grown adults would find unbearable." A box of tissues materialised in front of her and she pulled a couple free, dabbing at her eyes and nose as Dumbledore continued to offer her reassurances that she wasn't convinced she deserved. "You must remember, my dear, that you are human; a blessed race, to be sure, but certainly not perfect. We all make mistakes and it is from them that we learn our most important lessons." He raised his previously concealed right hand and the sight of the blackened, withered flesh shocked her so much that she stopped crying. "And mistakes will continue to happen even when you get to be as ancient as I am."
"S-sir?" she questioned uncertainly, looking at him in concern.
"Nothing to worry about, Hermione," he reassured gently. "What's done is done – a mantra I suggest you adopt: your curse has been soothed, once more, and the events of the last few hours have told us all that we cannot afford to be complacent about its effects. Even if you had informed one of the adults of the re-emergence of your symptoms, I believe I am correct when I say that the curse has never been so potent so quickly. Therefore it stands to reason that the residents here in The Burrow still would not have anticipated your night-time flight."
"No," Hermione agreed slowly, her voice still thick with emotion, "but I think, possibly, I should have foreseen something like this: I… Dolohov and I… last time I visited I didn't get much relief from him, sir."
"I doubt Antonin has been particularly accommodating," Dumbledore said disapprovingly.
Hermione shrugged. "It's to be expected from a man like that." Then she stiffened her shoulders and looked at Dumbledore sharply. "But it's nothing I can't handle, sir; I won't let his words and actions interfere with decisions that could affect my health ever again, I promise."
Dumbledore surveyed her closely. "It is not acceptable for one of my students to receive abuse from a convicted criminal, Miss Granger."
"With respect, sir, I don't think you or I have much say in the matter. By his very nature, Dolohov is going to try and get everything he can out of this situation – if he's already serving a life sentence in Azkaban, he doesn't have much to lose, does he? I need his touch to keep the curse at bay and it seems very likely that the only way I'll be completely free of it is through his research. If we take his touch by force, I am certain he will refuse to investigate his curse purely out of spite. Putting up with this curse for the rest of my life…" she shuddered at such a horrifying prospect. "If I have to listen to him insult me to keep him on side and myself alive, then that's a price I'm willing to pay."
"And that's all he's doing?" Dumbledore asked, his expression serious. "Insulting you?" He saw the hesitation in her response and his demeanour became even more solemn. "Miss Granger," he pressed.
She shook her head. "It's nothing serious, he just grabbed me too hard when I used Voldemort's name. I don't think he would physically attack me with intent, he's not that stupid."
"And apart from that his touch is always appropriate?" Dumbledore asked and Hermione's cheeks flamed instantly.
She nodded, feeling more than a little embarrassed. "Only on my arms," she confirmed.
He continued to survey her through his half-moon glasses and Hermione hoped she stood up to scrutiny. "I understand your wish to fight your own battle," he said eventually. "It is an admirable endeavour for someone in your situation and I believe the respect you have earned over your years at Hogwarts entitles you to your request. However, I do ask you to keep Nymphadora informed should Antonin overstep the mark in any way."
"Yes, sir," she agreed automatically and then quickly debated with herself over whether to tell him something else. In the end, her desire to get approval from authority figures won out and she said quickly, "Dolohov asks me to tell him of events in the outside world, the things he'd read in the paper and such. I wouldn't tell him anything to do with Harry or the Order, of course, but I, I did tell him about the new Minister…" She looked up at him, hoping that her fear of being reprimanded wasn't written all over her face.
"That is the price for his touch?" Dumbledore asked and she nodded. He didn't look surprised. "I would expect nothing less of Antonin: he always was a very inquisitive pupil. His thirst for knowledge was not far off your own, actually, and he achieved very impressive scores in his examinations. It's no wonder that Voldemort recruited him right out of school, though I imagine the boy had set his sights on such a path long before his graduation. Such a waste of talent," Dumbledore sighed, shaking his head, "but he was a Slytherin through and through; his ambition was ever the driving force behind his actions and it seems as though that part of him still prevails, pushing for more. Not satisfied with the return of his books and a new cell, he seeks to blackmail you too."
"Was I wrong to tell him about Scrimgeour, sir?" Hermione asked, her anxiousness about doing the wrong thing clear in her voice. "Should I refuse to tell him anything more?"
"I would not presume to insist on either option, Hermione: the choice is yours. After all, this is your battle. But I will, if you'll allow me, offer you some advice."
"Of course," she said eagerly.
"We cannot know what the future will bring in these dark times. As we have experienced in recent times, a life-sentence in Azkaban is no longer as final as it was once considered to be and, unfortunately, we cannot discount the possibility that Antonin will break free from the prison again. Should that happen, you can be sure that he will return to Voldemort's side. Anything you choose to tell Antonin has to be something you would be prepared to tell his master too. I know that you are aware that you have the backing of Hogwarts and the Order as you fight this curse and, as Harry showed, many are willing to go to great lengths to protect you, and so you need to be sure that the information you share with Antonin does not endanger those people in any way, that whenever you return from Azkaban, you can look them in the eye and feel no remorse. The coming months are going to be hard enough, Hermione, and you can't have that guilt eating away at you on top of everything else…"
Severus listened to Dumbledore's account of Miss Granger's close escape with an air of great indifference, though both men were aware that he was paying much closer attention than he let on.
"The recklessness of those children never ceases to amaze me," Severus said, disdain dripping from his voice. "It is a small miracle that Potter, Weasley and Granger have managed to survive this far." Dumbledore opened his mouth to respond but Severus cut across him. "Spare me your sentimental musings on the saving-power of friendship, Dumbledore: I seem to recall that Miss Granger got into this mess by following Potter to the Ministry in the first place. Why did you summon me? I presume you had some motive other than to give me an unwanted update on Potter's latest attempts to play the hero."
Dumbledore failed to look annoyed by his dismissive words, probably used to them from Severus where his least favourite pupil was concerned. "After speaking with Miss Granger this afternoon, I saw that there was more that could be done to assist her. Firstly, although she seems to be making good progress in her study of the Russian language, her ability to successfully ask for the location of the closest café is unlikely to help her interpret Antonin's notes on the curse."
"Indeed," Severus said dryly, though he doubted the headmaster expect him to be of any use in rectifying that situation.
Sure enough, Dumbledore continued, "Therefore I will endeavour to find a witch or wizard who can tutor in aspects of the language that she will find more useful."
"You'll let them see Dolohov's notes?" Severus questioned.
"It would be safer for all involved if that can be avoided," Dumbledore answered solemnly.
There was a pause in the conversation that forced Severus to ask, "And the second way you propose to assist Miss Granger?"
"Ah, yes," Dumbledore said, breaking free from his thoughts. "You will teach her Occlumency."
Severus stared at him, hoping that this was one of the headmaster's deeply unamusing practical jokes. The seconds ticked past in silence and he was forced to conclude that it wasn't. "Why would you think that's a good idea, Dumbledore? After all, it worked so brilliantly last time, didn't it?" he added sardonically.
"Hermione isn't Harry, Severus. You cannot deny that she is a diligent pupil – she achieved ten Outstanding grades in her OWLs."
"Just because she is a know-it-all that doesn't mean she has what it requires to master Occlumency," Severus pointed out angrily.
"No," Dumbledore agreed lightly, "but I think she has a better chance than most, and I'm sure she will put more effort into her studies than Harry did."
Severus brushed this aside. "I still don't understand why you wish her to learn. I fail to see how this will help her fight Dolohov's blasted curse."
"It would seem that she finds the effect of Antonin's touch very diverting," he replied.
"She told you this herself, did she?" Severus posed.
"Not exactly, but it would tie in with what Kingsley, Nymphadora and Bill have observed in their interactions," Dumbledore explained. "It is my belief that the practice of clearing her mind prior to her visits will help her keep her focus."
"I don't envy Miss Granger her time spent forced in that odious man's company, Dumbledore, but I can only anticipate that any improvement to her mental strength, if it is possible, would be minimal, and I think we can agree that my time and efforts are better spent elsewhere," Snape informed him unapologetically.
"On the contrary, Severus, your time spent with Miss Granger could be invaluable," Dumbledore said, a heaviness creeping into his voice for the first time that night, and Severus watched him carefully. "When attempting to break through her mental barriers, I will require you to glean what you can of her encounters with Antonin."
Severus's lip curled at the distasteful task. "What do you anticipate I will see?"
"If all is well it should be nothing more than a straight forward transaction of news of the outside world in exchange for Antonin's touch."
"And if all is not well?"
"I dread to think," Dumbledore muttered. "Antonin is a dangerous, slippery character and we must not underestimate him. Hermione wishes to fight his manipulations on her own terms but it would be remiss of me to not keep an eye on her welfare."
He glanced up at Severus and obviously saw the sceptical expression on his face. "You doubt the seriousness of the situation?"
"Unpleasant as it no doubt is for Miss Granger – " Severus began but, uncharacteristically, Dumbledore cut across him.
"You fail to see the wider consequences, Severus: the recklessness that Harry showed at flying, alone, across the country in the dead of night to ensure Hermione's safety, shows that the boy is too caught up in her fate. He blames himself for the events that led to the curse, of course, which doesn't help, but the fact remains that he would do anything to protect her. Such a glaring vulnerability could easily be taken advantage of. If Voldemort learned that the fate of one of Harry's best friends was utterly dependant on access to Antonin, he would seek to remove his loyal follower from custody – something I expect he is planning anyway, along with the rest of the Death Eaters. Should that happen, I fear what decisions Harry would make to ensure Hermione's survival."
"You believe the fates of Dolohov, Granger and Potter to be so intertwined?" Severus asked.
"Alarmingly so," Dumbledore confirmed.
"And if you view Granger's dependence on Dolohov to be too much of a risk?" Severus posed, holding his breath.
Dumbledore looked at him sadly, the damned twinkle noticeably absent. "Wars are brutal, Severus, as you well know, and impossible decisions sometimes have to be made to ensure darkness does not reign victorious…"
Severus watched him closely, daring the old man to say what he seemed to be insinuating.
"Harry is our priority," the headmaster said with quiet conviction and Severus resisted the urge to sneer at the man's cowardice: he was prepared to sacrifice the girl's life but he wouldn't let himself say the words.
Though he showed no outwards sign, Severus was appalled. Irritating know-it-all though she was, Granger was one of the most talented witches he had ever come across and she certainly didn't deserve to be killed just because Potter couldn't keep his head. Did the boy not realise how much had been sacrificed by so many for him? How Dumbledore could even consider brutally disposing of the girl when Potter relied so heavily on her brains was beyond him. As far as he could see, the boy didn't stand a chance without Granger, and the Dark Lord would triumph anyway. What a waste. Were the best amongst them always destined for pointless deaths?
"So, you'll teach Hermione Occlumency when school resumes?" Dumbledore asked and, if he was aware of Severus' displeasure, he chose to ignore it.
Severus met his gaze unflinchingly. "As you wish," he said curtly and then swept from the office without a backwards glance.
A/N Thoughts?
