A/N Thank you for your support!

Severus was both impressed and concerned.

The level of progress that Miss Granger had just demonstrated in her Occlumency skills was remarkable. From what he had just observed in his tests, it seemed that Granger could now summon her shields at only a split-second's notice, maintain them for great lengths of time with little apparent effort, and carry out tasks faultlessly. He had tried his hardest to break through but she hadn't faltered an inch.

"I told you that I wouldn't forgo practising over the holidays, sir," she said, looking a touch proud of herself. Diligent student that she was, Severus hadn't expected her to neglect her practice over the Christmas break, but he hadn't anticipated this rapid acceleration in her skills either.

"Indeed," he said evenly. "You have progressed well." Her posture straightened a little more proudly at the comment. "You must have spent many hours practising."

"Yes, sir," she confirmed. "I had a lot of free time."

Severus was quite aware of that. He had been summoned to Albus's office just before the resumption of term and the headmaster expressed concern that Arthur Weasley had reported an apparent rift between Granger, Potter and Weasley. Severus had been ready with a sneering response about his complete disinterest in the teenagers' squabbles but before he could voice it, Dumbledore revealed that it was Granger who was pushing the boys away, avoiding them at all costs. A slither of unease had crept into Severus's stomach as it often did when the headmaster's attention turned to the Gryffindor girl. The sensation only increased as Albus shared that a visit from Scrimgeour had revealed that Granger's lack of auror escort was down to her choice to protect Potter, and that after an initial argument between the three Gryffindors, Granger had only been civil but distant from the boys.

"According to Arthur, Harry and Ron have been rebuffed every time they try to rekindle the friendship. Hermione refuses to talk to them or anyone else about her motivations for remaining estranged," Albus said.

"You think this has something to do with Dolohov?" Severus asked.

"As I'm sure you're aware, the minds of teenages are a complicated affair," he replied, with a hint of his previously typical lightheartedness. "So I would not presume anything. Ordinarily, I would not dream of prying into private disputes, but these are neither normal times, nor typical children. I would appreciate it if you could try and glean anything from Hermione in your forthcoming Occlumency sessions that might be of use in determining the cause of this rift in case it is a matter of concern."

"And if it is?" Severus asked. "If there is something you're concerned about?"

"We shall deal with it if and when the time comes. Hopefully it will be nothing and the children will return for the spring term with their normal camaraderie."

But they hadn't. Severus had picked up on it during the Sunday evening meal, where Granger sat alone a few seats from her friends. But it was even more evident in their Defence class with him yesterday. The three of them still sat in their usual seats and the boys occasionally glanced her way, but Granger acted as though she couldn't see them, like a giant, invisible barrier existed between them. Severus had expected her to be miserable and withdrawn, but her behaviour was normal, her hand still rising frequently to answer his questions, her work immaculate, and that was actually more concerning. What reason could there possibly be for her to act so out of character when she was normally utterly devoted to her friends?

Severus hadn't relished the prospect of spying on her, mostly because of his complete disdain for her friendship with the Gryffindor boys, but also because it didn't sit well with him to do so on Dumbledore's orders. Yet her Occlumency skills had improved so much that he had been prevented from gaining any insight. He had even resorted to a couple of unannounced attacks (something he'd sworn off since his last one had triggered an instant need within her to visit Dolohov) but Granger had always been ready for him. He suspected that she had simply maintained her mental defences for the entirety of their lesson, and he wondered whether she was similarly protecting herself during the school day. It would explain how she was able to keep herself so calm and collected around her friends and focused on her work.

The sense of unease that had persisted over the last few days gave a particularly unpleasant swirl in his stomach at the realisation that he would have to talk to Granger about all this. That had not been Severus's intention coming into this lesson because he'd hoped to pick up enough hints about her friendship issues during his tests to satisfy the headmaster and rid himself of any further responsibility. But that sense of responsibility remained - both because he was her legilimency teacher and had a duty of care towards her - but alongside it was an awareness that he had insights into a particularly private part of Granger's life that he suspected she'd shared with no one else. He held her confidence, she trusted him. Perhaps, as ridiculous as it would have sounded a few months ago, she would be more willing to open up to him than anyone else that she might normally turn to.

Just as he was considering how in Salazar's name he was to broach the matter in the right way, she said, "Do you think I'm ready, Professor?"

He fought to keep a confused frown from his face. "Ready?" he repeated.

"For you to teach me how to create false memories," she explained. "In our last session, you said -"

"Yes, I am perfectly aware, Miss Granger," he interrupted a little testily, annoyed with himself for getting lost in his train of thought. "Do you still believe it necessary to learn such a skill despite the recent development of your defences? Are you not able to shut Dolohov's touch out effectively even with your progress?"

She hesitated. "Not as much as I'd like," she replied. "Another layer of security will allow me to distance myself further, protect myself better."

"I see," Severus murmured, but he was disconcerted by her wording. He got the impression that she wasn't just talking about distancing herself from Dolohov. Was now the moment to bring up his concerns? They'd had uncomfortable discussions before. Why was he hesitating? "Miss Granger - "

"Professor, can I ask you something?" she abruptly talked over him, her face noticeably anxious. "It's not about Occlumency."

Fervently hoping that she was broaching her friendship issues of her own accord, he said, "You may."

She chewed her bottom lip for a moment then said, "How did Dolohov's parents die?"

Severus stared at her in surprise. That was definitely not what he had been expecting. "Why do you ask?" he replied carefully.

"It came up at one of my sessions over the holidays," she said, looking troubled. "Dolohov told me that the Prewetts had been sent to murder him and his family. Sent by the Order." She shook her head. "That's not true, is it?" But before he could answer she continued, "What he said has been plaguing me ever since I left but there was nobody at the Burrow that I could ask. I mean, I know you advised me to ask about his parents to try and reach him but that wasn't what I was meaning to do at the time. It just sort of happened."

She came to an abrupt halt and looked at him hopefully.

Severus rapidly considered his options. It would be easiest to feign ignorance of the incident but he doubted that she'd believe that. Even if she did, she would probably just seek the answer elsewhere. If he falsely proclaimed Dolohov a liar, he would be forced to concoct lies of his own to cover holes in the original story of the Dolohovs' deaths. Not to mention that it risked breaking the trust that Granger had in him. But if he confirmed the truth? He could only see a distrust of the Order growing within her, which was the last thing she needed when Dumbledore was already doubting her worth. On the other hand, if she kept her concerns hidden and looked at the war with more shrewd eyes, it might improve her chances of surviving it. Unfortunately, he had seen in the past that when Granger encountered something that wasn't right, she had no trouble speaking up about it.

In the end, the decision was mostly taken away from him. His lengthy pause hadn't helped but, more significantly, the unexpectedness of her enquiry must have loosened the strict hold he had over his emotions and demeanour because she clearly saw the truth on his face and gasped.

"It is true?"

Severus inclined his head just slightly. "There is no such thing as a good war," he told her but he wasn't sure that she was listening. He could practically see her thoughts tumbling through her mind, questioning the heart of the Order, questioning how it operated. He had to forestall her before she asked him anything that he couldn't risk revealing. "Though I was not a true member during the First War, I gather that there has been recognition that mistakes were made that will not be repeated." It was a vague enough statement but he knew that she would take from it what he wanted her to without him having to lie: she must never find out about Dumbledore's possible intentions.

Thankfully, he could see that she had taken reassurance from his words even though she still looked unsettled. She sighed. "I knew he was telling the truth," she murmured. "I didn't want to believe him but the way he spoke about what happened to them…" She trailed off and shuddered.

Severus felt another twinge of concern alongside a rare dose of guilt. He knew that the Prewetts had murdered Antonin's parents - that fact had been swiftly passed around the Death Eater circles immediately after the incident - but he had never had the full details. The rumours had spread rapidly, of course, but each version varied wildly in its description. He didn't doubt that the truth had been unpleasant for her to hear - provided that Dolohov had actually been honest with her (and Severus had no way of verifying that). "When I proposed that you ask after his parents, that wasn't what I had intended for you to discuss with him."

"It wasn't?" she asked in surprise.

"Not at all," he confirmed. "I was referring to his childhood, his upbringing. His parents were very strict, I believe."

"Yes, he mentioned that last night," she replied thoughtfully.

To his relief, she didn't look haunted by this recollection and he was eager to move her away from her distress about the Dolohovs' deaths at the Order's hands. "What did he say?"

"That they had planned out his entire life before he was born," she replied. "That he had to live up to their high standards. Nothing more than that."

Snape nodded. Many of the traditional Pureblood families were the same from what he could tell. "You are doing well to get these confidences out of him," he told her.

She pulled a conflicted face, as though unable to accept his praise (something he'd never known her to do before). "I'm not actually asking him directly though. It just slipped out."

"Good - he would be suspicious if you were more direct," Severus pointed out. He was relieved. If she had finally started to work on Dolohov, intentionally or not, that would give her an advantage that could save her life. "More will follow if you are patient."

Granger nodded. "I think so too." There was a slight pause and then she said, "Will you teach me how to create false memories now, sir?"

He considered her for a few moments and she gazed resolutely back. "Your abilities have progressed far enough," he conceded, prompting a note of triumph in her posture. "However, your evident estrangement from your friends is a concern."

Her eyes widened a little in shock, her formerly-pleased stance becoming more rigid. "I don't see why," she said tightly. "It hasn't affected my Occlumency skills."

"My concern wasn't in relation to that," he pointed out and then waited.

A range of emotions washed over her face: stubbornness, anger and dismay amongst them, until her shoulders slumped and her head dropped. "We fell out over Christmas because we found out that we've been hiding things from each other," she revealed quietly. "After that, I can't go back to Harry and Ron with all I keep from them about Dolohov. I can't be their friend with this all hanging over me. The guilt and all the lies would just eat away at me. The thought of it makes me sick."

"Hiding yourself - your pain and emotions - behind your mental shields is not the answer, Miss Granger," he rebuked her softly.

"But I can't tell them the truth!" The words burst emotively from her lips. "You know that I can't."

Severus gave a slight nod. "Indeed," he murmured. Relieved though he was that the reason behind the separation wasn't (in his opinion) particularly serious, he was unsure how to resolve the issue. Potter and Weasley wouldn't be able to handle the knowledge of the attraction that existed between their friend and Dolohov - nor would most members of the Order for that matter. Keeping that knowledge private was necessary. Severus would have had no trouble doing so were he in Granger's shoes, but he acknowledged that she was very different in nature to him.

To his dismay, he could see tears forming in her eyes. "Using my Occlumency barriers is the only way I can cope."

"Whether you're protecting yourself or think that you're protecting them, pushing others away is no way to live," he told her, his voice firm but not unkind. Regardless, her emotions flared again and he could practically see the accusation of hypocrisy ready to burst from her lips.

"But you -" she began, her boldness taking him by surprise.

"It is no way to live," he insisted, his tone brooking no argument.

So she wanted to be like him, did she? Severus resisted the urge to shake his head, to voice his frustrations with her. She had no idea what his life was like. How alone he was. How his life lacked any kindness or joy. How it had been roughly twenty years since anyone had looked truly pleased to see him. How he had foolishly pushed away someone he cared about (not even for noble reasons). How he had let his pain lead him down a path of hatred and, ever since, he had spent his days trying to atone for his mistakes.

But he wasn't going to tell her that.

It was personal. His weight to carry. His private pain.

Perhaps that was how to get her to see her sense. "Are Potter and Weasley entitled to know about every aspect of your life?" he posed.

"No, but - "

"Is there no privacy in your friendship?" he continued.

"Well, yes, but this isn't a small mundane detail," she argued.

"The things we keep most private very rarely are," he pointed out. "I see no reason for your friends to know the details about your interactions with Dolohov. What happens between you two is personal, and I only ask you about them out of concern for your safety."

"I know," she said after a loud sigh.

"You are not being deceitful," he told her. "You are not sullying your friendships by maintaining your right to privacy in your affairs. You should feel no guilt about effects that are beyond your control."

A tear trickled down her cheek and she quickly brushed it away.

"You face a hard fight in taking on this curse and its caster," he reminded her. "But it is not one that you are facing alone. Not if you allow those that care about you to give you support, regardless of what you choose to share with them."

Granger pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes to stem more tears and took a deep breath. Severus waited in silence for her to compose herself and he was glad to see that her gaze was less watery when she lowered her hands to her sides. "Thank you, Professor," she murmured.

"I think that it would be wise to bring this evening's session to a close," he said. "To give you time to think and reflect."

For a moment she looked like she was going to argue but then she nodded wearily. He suspected that she was exhausted.

"We will begin our work on creating false memories during Friday's session," he told her and she looked cheered by the news. Severus wasn't sure that he had definitely done enough to convince her to resume her friendships with Potter and Weasley, but he had given her a lot to think about. He was hopeful that she would see sense, hopeful that he had done enough to keep her safe for a while longer.

Antonin stared at the large number one stamped on the paper package that he held in his hand. He'd done the same thing every morning since Granger had gifted him the charms nearly three weeks ago, debating with himself whether it was the day to open it. The urge to release the spell had been very strong immediately after he'd received her gifts, eager as he was to get a new sense of freedom. But he'd told himself to wait, to show self-discipline: he only had three of these charms and he didn't want to run out too quickly. He was stronger than that.

Initially, he'd told himself to wait until after her next visit - he wanted to be able to prove to her that he hadn't desperately used her gift already in case she asked him. When that visit passed, he pushed himself to wait until after the next one, which had taken place last night. Now his patience had reached its limit - especially after her latest visits had been so disappointing compared to their eventful encounters over Christmas. Granger had returned to utilising her mental defences. Antonin had known she would but it was still deeply frustrating to have her before him and yet still distant. There were a couple of times on both visits that he got the impression that her shields were down, that she was more present in the moment, but then a few seconds later they had been restored. She seemed in complete control of what she was doing the whole time. He didn't know who was tutoring her but he had to grudgingly admit that they had done a good job.

Antonin told himself that this was only a pause in his progress - not a setback. His zhar-ptitsa would let him back in properly some time soon. She could only hold out for so long. (Surely).

Before he could question himself any further, he tore open the packet. There was a lurid pink flash so bright that he was forced to close his eyes. When he opened them again, he was standing in a forest clearing.

Antonin's mouth dropped open in shock.

He knew that he wasn't really there but fucking hell did it feel completely real. He turned on the spot, taking in the infinite details of the trees: their bent and bowed branches, the array of green hues on the leaves, the lichen-covered trunks, the gnarled roots that disappeared into earth. He bent his knees and trailed the fingers of one hand over the blades of emerald grass at his feet, marvelling at how each one left a soft tickle against his skin. He breathed in lungfuls of clean fresh air and soaked in the sensation of warm sunlight on his face.

Freedom.

The thought had him glancing down at his clothes, and he was pleased to find that he was wearing the finely worked garments he'd owned before his initial imprisonment. There was no way that Granger could have known about that so it had been the work of his own mind, providing him with what he wanted before he'd even consciously thought about it. That's what Granger had said, wasn't it? It'll take you to a starting location but then it's up to you what you do and where you go. It'll respond to your wants.

Before he could think more seriously about what he wanted his daydream to entail, he became aware of his wand pressing against the inside of his forearm where it was slotted in its holster just like it had once been. With a flick of his wrist, it shot into his grip and he let out an instinctive cry of triumph. No conscious thoughts followed for a while as he let his innate magical ability take over and the clearing was flooded with light, noise and destruction. Antonin came to a halt an indeterminate time later, his breath ragged as his chest heaved and burned with the exertion. All around him was black, smoking and twisted but he hadn't felt this alive for a long time.

Within a few racing heartbeats, the exhilaration started to fade. He frowned. How much time had he wasted? He only had sixty minutes to make the most of his freedom. As his body calmed even further, he waited for something to happen, for his mind to show him what he wanted. But he remained in the wrecked clearing, the smoke stinging his eyes and burning his throat. Perhaps there was only so much his mind could unconsciously decide for him. Maybe he now needed to be more proactive in his wants to make the larger decisions happen. He didn't know what he wanted the rest of his daydream to entail but he needed to go somewhere new, away from the smoke, to allow him to think more clearly. With a destination in mind, the unmistakable sensation of disapparation tightened around him.

His workroom looked exactly as he remembered it - but of course it did, it wasn't as though he was really there. This was all being drawn from his memory: the grand desk, the bookcase, the crumpled bits of parchment, the discarded quills, the twinkling pot of Iceberg Mints he'd consumed whenever he'd needed to concentrate, the various signs of spell damage around the room that he'd been unable to reverse, even the slightly musty aroma.

He wasn't sure what had become of this room now. It was attached to a property that his family owned in the Belgravia area of London, hidden behind a series of enchantments. It was where he'd come to work on his spells after leaving Hogwarts. His difficult projects had required quiet to aid his concentration, and his steady use of dark magic meant that it was safer if conducted away from the family home - both to avoid injuries to anyone else, and to keep himself and his work away from any snooping officials from the Ministry. Unfortunately, he knew that it had fallen into Ministry hands since then because this was where they had retrieved the notebooks with the details about Granger's curse. Most likely they had seized all the Dolohov family assets upon his initial imprisonment - he hadn't risked returning here during his few months of freedom last year.

It was disconcerting to be back. Like he'd travelled to a time before all had gone wrong. Instead of a sense of comfort or nostalgia, he felt haunted. That wasn't how he had planned to spend his daydream. But how did he want to spend it? It hadn't occurred to him that he would have such a say in how the dream played out, despite Granger stating so. Antonin had often imagined what would happen when the Dark Lord broke him out of prison once again - he would return to his master's side and enjoy receiving the rewards his loyalty had earned him, before resuming his place in the war. That was easy to picture because there wasn't an alternative. There never had been. His path was (and always had been) aligned with that of the Dark Lord. It wasn't a choice.

His view of the workroom swayed before his eyes, and he braced himself to be face-to-face with the Dark Lord, familiar fear spiking through his body. But then the room solidified once more, looking just the same as it had earlier. Heart still racing, he held his breath. He didn't think he'd made the active choice to dream himself before his master (and he was sure that was what had almost happened) but it seemed his subconscious had decided that it was not something he wanted in his dream. The realisation made Antonin swallow nervously. Surely it was his heart's and mind's greatest wish to see his Lord victorious? He did wish for that to come to pass because he had no future without the Dark Lord's triumph.

But this wasn't real life.

It was a self-directed dream.

And in here he had a choice.

A choice without consequences.

Here, he had true freedom. He wasn't replacing captivity with servitude, which was the best that he could hope for when he woke up. Here, for the first time in his entire life, he could genuinely do whatever the fuck he wanted - the Dark Lord and his parents be damned!

Fuck.

His mind spun. His hands shook. His chest felt strange - both loose and tight at the same time. It was terrifying and exhilarating to have those defiant thoughts about those who had held such a tight grip on his life.

But what was more heartstopping was the question echoing around his head: what did he want?

Without his need to fulfil his parents' expectations, without the claim the Dark Lord had on his life… What was there? That was all he'd ever known, all he'd ever been.

Who the fuck even was he?

This was turning into a nightmare but he couldn't shake the existential questions. He searched desperately for something to pull him from the abyss of his internal crisis, something he wanted for himself and not because he'd been told he wanted it.

For a few seconds he thought he'd woken up because he was suddenly back in his cell in Azkaban. His zhar-ptitsa was there, looking flushed. "I need you," she murmured, eyes hungry and teeth pulling at her bottom lip. "I'm burning for you."

"Milaya," he groaned, both annoyed and relieved that this was a dream. He wanted her. Wanted her so fucking bad and he had faith that his patience would one day be rewarded. Sure, he'd fantasised about this many times before but this would feel like as close to the real thing without being so. Was he cheating himself of the sweet taste of victory when it truly came?

"Please?" she begged him. She'd removed her cloak, leaving her standing in an outfit that seemed to comprise of a variety of different fastenings along the seams of her clothes: pearl-like buttons up her long sleeves, criss-crossing black ribbons that held her trousers together all the way up to her crotch, and a bodice of winding fabric that looked like it could be peeled off her in pieces. His simmering arousal shot upwards at the sight of her.

Fuck it, he thought, and within two strides he had closed the gap between them to bring his mouth hungrily against hers.

The gasp she released quickly turned into a throaty moan that he happily swallowed down. Her lips were soft beneath him but she matched the intensity of his kiss, her fingers burying themselves tightly into his curls to keep him in place - as if he'd fucking want to go anywhere else. No, he needed this. All the months of patience and frustration needed to find a release, the unwelcome memories and questions she'd stirred up could be pushed aside and forgotten about as he poured everything he had into this moment with her.

"More," she urged breathlessly against his lips. "I need more."

With an answering growl of approval, Antonin kissed, nipped and sucked along her jaw and then down her neck, revelling in the plentiful vocal and physical reactions she gave him. She squirmed deliciously beneath him, her lower body flush against his. Normally he was careful to hide any evidence of physical arousal from Granger in case it scared her, but no such measures were necessary this time and he relished the feeling of her, warm and soft even through the layers of clothing, against his eager cock.

Granger let out a beautiful whine as he pulled back, taking a couple of steps away from her, and took a moment to admire the sight: the heaving, breathless chest, the pronounced flush up her neck and across her cheeks, the dilated pupils, the reddened and slightly swollen lips, the possessive marks forming on the smooth skin at the base of her throat and the aroused, hungry expression on her face. Fuck, she was beautiful. And she was his.

She mewled and reached for him but he caught her fingers and brought them softly to his lips. "Now, now, milaya," he teased softly. "Patience." Her frustrated moan was music to his ears and he turned his attention to the tantalising line of buttons on each sleeve that led well past her elbows. Watching her expressions as much as he could, he took his time to cherish the skin that was revealed with each fastening he loosened, frequently switching between arms and occasionally delivering scorching kisses to her lips that left her unsteady on her feet. When he had run out of buttons, he tore the remaining fabric away, leaving her arms and shoulders completely bare. He pulled her in for another kiss and started backing her towards the wall. But at the sight of the cold stone he realised that he was being a fool. Why the fuck were they still in his cell when he could take them absolutely anywhere?

After a brief moment of concentration, the scene around them shifted. He vaguely recognised its resemblance to a bedroom he had once seen when visiting his mother's family back in her ancestral home - the decadently patterned sapphire-blue wallpaper, the high, white arched ceiling with ornamental touches of gold, the deep lush carpet that his feet had already sunk into, the array of exquisitely crafted furniture and magical devices, and, most importantly, the large canopied bed. He gave it all no more than a satisfied glance before refocusing his eager attention on Granger.

Antonin backed her against the blue wall and forced her hands above her head so that he could sweep his fingers up and down the smooth, uninterrupted skin as he kissed her once more. One of her legs hooked itself around his hip, urging him in closer to her heat and they both moaned as she rolled her hips against him.

"Fuck, yes," he hissed, one hand moving down to cup her arse and then slide along her leg, his fingers rippling along the ribbons that held the skin-tight fabric together. Time to unwrap another part of his present.

Granger let out a noise of protest as he gently pushed her leg down and held her hips still. He removed his lips from her neck and cupped her cheek. "All in good time. I promise," he vowed huskily, delivering a short kiss before he dropped to his knees with a smirk. He both heard and saw her breath hitch in a gasp. He kissed a slow path in a line from between her bodiced breasts, down her chest. She twitched when he kissed the silky fabric over her scar but he continued downwards, only stopping an inch away from the juncture of her legs.

"Tease," she accused after letting out a noisy frustrated breath. He shrugged, amused, and slipped the ankle high boots from her feet. "Please, Antonin, you're driving me crazy." Two things occurred to him as he deftly undid the first ribbon at her right ankle: that was the first time that he had heard his name on her lips, and she had been speaking Russian to him for the entirety of the dream without him noticing, as had he. What was more, he found that he liked both of those things very much.

"Keep talking to me, milaya," he instructed as another ribbon was loosened, revealing more smooth skin. He lifted her foot onto his shoulder so that he could kiss and caress each glorious inch as it was freed. "Tell me how I make you feel."

She let out a shaky breath. "Where do I even begin? You, you have no idea, Antonin, you cannot understand how g-glorious your touch is against my skin," she told him, breath hitching as he ran his tongue up the back of her calf. "It sends ripples of ecstasy throughout my entire body."

"Go on," he urged gruffly. As she praised and lauded the sensations he evoked in her, he worked at unveiling her creamy thigh and after lavishing it with attention, he turned to her other leg.

"… because only you can make me feel this way," she told him as he undid the last ribbon at the top of her left thigh. "Only you. I only want you, Antonin."

Feeling triumphant, he squeezed and massaged the satin flesh of both thighs. The ankle that had been atop his shoulder slid down his back and her hands darted to his head, both actions encouraging him closer. He obligingly kissed a path up the thigh next to his face and she began to tremble. But before he could reach where she wanted him most, he released his hold on her legs and yanked at what remained of her black lower garment. She cried out - in surprise or delight, he didn't know or care - and the material tore easily, fluttering to the ground to reveal the virginal white lace underwear beneath. His mouth salivated at the clear and obvious evidence of her arousal. Her cunt had soaked through the fabric, leaving a sizeable damp area, and the heady scent of her sex surrounded him. His hands stroked up her inner thighs as he stared at her, his fingers tracing close but never quite touching.

"Antonin, please," she begged but he dazedly shook his head.

"Not yet," he said hoarsely, lifting his head to her. "Not yet, milaya."

Antonin got to his feet and easily swept her into his arms. He carried her over to the bed and placed her down gently. She lay there, pliant and waiting for him, one foot moving backwards and forwards on the bed so that her knee lifted up and down to give him glimpses of the white lace. "Now who's a tease?" he asked and she smiled at him coyly.

In one smooth movement, he was above her, knees astride her hips, hands either side of her head. She pulled his face towards her eagerly but once their kisses had resumed, she started pulling at his clothes. He helped her pull the outer robe over his head, and the embroidered shirt was similarly pulled off without them even bothering with any of the buttons. Her hands eagerly explored his bare chest and back and he indulged her for a couple of minutes before he captured her hands and pinned them above her head. "Your turn," he told her huskily and turned his sights on her bodice. Leaving one hand to guard her wrists, he tugged experimentally at the topmost band of ruby fabric that ran beneath her collarbone. It melted away at once like it had never even been there and he groaned.

"Keep going," she urged. "I can't wait much longer."

Realising that she probably had a point - that he had no idea how much time he had left - Antonin plucked at the sections of material as though pulling petals from a rose, each one steadily gifting him with more of her to revere. First one breast, then another was caressed, kissed, licked and sucked until she urged him onwards. He had given up trying to keep her hands away and they delivered harsh tugs to his hair and scratches to his scalp that only heightened the experience further. With a few more pulls at the material, the bodice had melted away completely and he gazed in euphoria at her lightning scar. It was even more beautiful than he remembered - certainly more prominent despite her flushed skin.

"Yes!" she screamed the moment his fingers began tracing the pattern. "Oh, Antonin, please, please."

His magic thrummed and tingled beneath his touch and he followed his fingertips with his lips and tongue, Granger's cries of ecstasy fuelling his throbbing need for her. "Fuck, milaya," he cursed, watching her the best he could when he was bent over her chest. "You're so fucking beautiful, so fucking beautiful when you're screaming for me like this." She could only let out a keening cry in response. "Because you're mine. I've told you before. This scar, this magic, they prove it." He punctuated his words with light bites, licks and kisses over her breasts and scar, and she thrashed and moaned beneath him. "I know you've tried to fight it but it was inevitable." He lifted his head to hers, eyes boring into her own. "You know it now, I know you do - every part of your body screams it at me from the look in your eyes," he ran a finger across her brow, "to your dripping cunt." He delivered the ghost of a touch to her damp lace and her hips bucked as she let out a startled cry. "You are mine."

"Yours," she confirmed breathlessly, one hand clutching at his jaw, the other sliding feverishly up and down his back, and her legs wrapping themselves around his waist so that her hot, damp core was against his straining cock, making him hiss. "Only yours, Antonin. Have me, take me, please."

He didn't need telling twice.

A/N Um, thoughts? I know that many of you were hoping for something like this so I hope you're happy! I had seriously considered stopping the chapter when he kissed her but then I thought it wasn't enough to truly see Antonin's want. That scene was easily the most spicy thing I've ever written (so far ;-) ) and definitely outside my comfort zone, so I hope it was OK. Hope you liked the Snape scene too. Let me know!

Love,

Red