A/N Was contemplating whether to post this chapter today or not, and then I got a lovely shout-out on the Dolohoes Facebook page which gave me the encouragement I needed. This one's for you, Hwaet WeGardena, and all the other hoes - hope everyone enjoys it!

Sensing the shift in his wards, Antonin snapped his book shut in surprise and fixed his eyes on the door. Sure enough, Granger walked in a moment later looking distinctly ruffled and flushed. She was due for a visit today but he wasn't expecting her for hours yet, once she'd finished her lessons.

"Yes, I'm early," she all but snapped at him. "I know."

Her tone was somewhat of a surprise. He had become used to her arriving to their recent sessions in a more amiable mood, eager to chat about academic matters. Last time, of course, she'd been upset about that Weasley moron being poisoned but Antonin had expected her emotional state to revert to something more pleasant. This anger was a step in the other direction and he found himself intrigued more than anything. She hadn't been truly angry with him in a while so he couldn't help but wonder what had triggered it. Plus, there was the possibility that her fired up emotions would be harder for her to rein in, making it more difficult for her to push him away if he skirted close to the line. Desire - already automatically ignited at the mere sight of her - flared more intensely at the prospect of what he could get away with if he played her properly.

"I couldn't get through to lunch, let alone to the end of the day," she huffed, removing her cloak with agitated movements and putting the potion vial on the table more forcefully than necessary.

Antonin had already risen to his feet and he reached out to her, cautious restraint be damned. His fingers closed over her bare forearm. She whimpered beautifully, her shocked gaze flying to his face. "You're burning for me so badly, milaya?"

She shuddered, eyes falling closed as she clearly basked in the pleasure his touch was giving her. Fuck, he lived for moments like this, when he felt powerful beyond words. It was intoxicating. But just a grasp of her arm wasn't enough. He stared at her hungrily, mouth watering at the prospect of getting another taste of her - a true taste of her. His lips on hers, his teeth scraping over her breasts, his tongue slick between her folds. He'd lived it twice, but only in his charmed dreams, and it was taking everything within him not to break his resolve and claim her completely as his own.

"I'll take care of you," he murmured, taking another step towards her and ducking his head so that his mouth was near her ear. At the same time, he slowly stroked his hold up and down her arm and slid his free hand around to rest on the back of her neck, where his fingers pressed gently into the tension he always found there.

The combination of all of that had her letting out another exquisite whine. "Antonin…"

He didn't think he'd ever get tired of hearing her say his name like that. He kissed the edge of her jaw, just below her ear, intending to work his way closer to her lips. He had to make the most of this intimacy - he could find out why she was cross later. "My zhar-ptitsa," he whispered, mouth almost flush to her skin.

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say because it somehow broke through her pleasure-haze and she pushed him backwards, her chest heaving and her eyes fiery with anger again.

He attempted to ignore her emotion and resumed his hold on her arm. "You need relief," he pointed out.

She jerked her arm away. "That can wait."

"Obviously it can't, otherwise you wouldn't be here," he said. "I thought you'd be eager to return to your lessons."

"I am," she replied through gritted teeth. "But don't you see what this means?" She waited only a second before she said, "The relief I get from you isn't lasting for nine whole days anymore. I strongly suspect that I'll need to start coming once every eight days from now on."

For Antonin, that was certainly no issue - if anything, it was fucking good news! Less time to wait between visits, more chances to break her down and make her his.

"And once it's eight, how long until it becomes seven? Six? Five?" Granger asked, beginning to project more fear than anger now and he could see why she might feel that way. Because despite all the evidence that she craved his touch and her resistance to him was slowly being eroded away, Antonin knew that at this point if she was given the choice, she would still prefer to never see him again. Presumably her life was only minorly disrupted by her current trips to Azkaban, but that was unlikely to remain the case the more frequent they became. It had taken nearly ten months for them to drop from a cycle of ten days to eight. How long until the next drop? How long before she would need to see him every day? Surely it would take a few years to get to that point but Antonin was damn fucking sure that his circumstances would have changed before then - he had to believe that his Lord would release him soon. What sort of a future could await the two of them?

Before he could think about that in any depth, Granger asked, her whole posture tense, "Where are you with your research into the curse?"

That wasn't the question that she was really asking. What she truly wanted to know was whether he was any closer to finding a cure. Quite frankly he was surprised that she hadn't asked sooner. It had been months since she'd enquired after his progress. They had talked about the spell more recently but only in terms of her reading his notebooks and understanding the runes and arithmancy charts within.

"Will you be honest?" she added before he even had the chance to respond. Her hands were balled into fists at her side. "Please…I, I think I deserve that."

Honesty. It was something Antonin was very selective with. With his currently rather limited social circle, he only had the option to be truthful with Granger (or himself), but when he'd actually had a his life outside this fucking prison, most of those he associated with (fellow Death Eaters and Slytherins) knew that anything he did choose to share could not always be taken as truth - just as he was sceptical of what was revealed to him in turn.

There were only a few exceptions.

Respecting your parents was one of the key values of his upbringing and he had mostly been honest with his mother and father - only spouting little white lies in an attempt to avoid getting into trouble.

And then there was the Dark Lord. Antonin would never dream of lying to his master. For one thing, he had seen the punishments others had suffered at his hands for deceit. No matter how much the guilty had tried to hide their deeds, the Dark Lord had always found out and made them live to regret their cowardice and betrayal, or die in the process. All his followers feared him but that didn't mean that they didn't respect him too - at least in Antonin's case. Since the moment he was young enough to understand words, he was told about how the Dark Lord was going to change the world, to make it right, to put those with pure magic at their true place above everyone else, both magical and muggle kind. If Antonin was faithful to the cause, he would be chosen to serve their saviour and bring honour to himself and his name. The Dark Lord was the ultimate authority in Antonin's upbringing, superseding his parents. It was the Dark Lord who had the final say in where the young Antonin's life would lead, he would live to serve his master's wishes, to see his ideal world become a reality. Lying to the Dark Lord would have been an appalling show of disrespect towards the one he had pledged his life to.

But now Granger thought she deserved honesty from him - in regards to the curse, anyway. In spite of how much she had grown closer to him these last months, he didn't kid himself that she believed him to be honest with everything they spoke about. But not everything had been a deception. In fact, now that he thought about it, he'd spoken truthfully to her about many things - sometimes without even meaning to. His dishonesty was more prevalent in what was left unsaid: his motivations, desires and schemes. Those were private anyway, even if many of them did heavily involve her.

Did she deserve honesty from him about the curse? She was the one suffering from it. And he had been the one to both cast and create the spell. But he didn't owe her anything - they'd been in a fucking battle and she'd even cursed him first! Being deserving of honesty equated being worthy of respect, and he didn't respect her. There might be one or two aspects of her he respected - primarily her intellect - but wanting to manipulate her, control her and fuck her senseless certainly didn't equal respect.

So what was he going to tell her? If he did decide upon telling her the truth then that would only be because it was the best way to further his cause. The truth wasn't going to make her happy at all but 'being honest' with her and sharing such an unpalatable truth could make her think that she could appeal to his better nature, therefore making it easier to lie to her in the future when she again thought he was being honest.

Or he could just lie about his conclusions.

"Antonin."

Anger had returned to her tone and expression at his lengthy hesitation.

Fuck it, he thought. Let's just see how this goes.

"Your curse damage is irreparable."

She gave a start at the blunt words and then just stared. Her eyes scrutinised his face, perhaps looking for evidence of deceit or a tasteless joke, but he remained still.

"No." She shook her head. "No, that can't be true." Her voice was unsteady with repressed emotion. "I don't believe you - you're lying!"

"I'm not," he replied simply. "How many months since I started work on the curse, going through my notebooks? Do you really think it would take me longer than that to reach a conclusion? You told me you wanted honesty. I could have lied and given you false hope that one day a countercurse will be found. Is that what you want me to tell you?"

"You're lying!" she accused again with vehemence, her eyes glistening as tears started to form but didn't fall. "You just want me to be stuck with you forever, to use me for your own gain. There has to be a cure or a countercurse!"

"Magic cannot solve everything - even itself sometimes," he retorted, starting to get worked up himself. "Spell creation is dangerous, you know that, and spell damage can be permanent. Some of my magic was left behind when the curse was performed non-verbally. You and I have both felt it." He moved a hand towards her torso, where her school shirt hid the beautiful lightning scar from view, but she stumbled backwards. "The only way to rid you of the curse's side-effects would be to remove that magic from you, which isn't possible."

"How do you know?" she shot at him. "You haven't even tried!"

He forcefully grabbed her shoulders. "Do you want me to rip it out of you with my bare hands, milaya?"

She hitched in a breath at his sudden close proximity. "But if someone had a wand -" she began and he let out a groan of frustration.

"It cannot be done - wand or no," he told her firmly. "There is no spell that can remove pure magic like that from someone."

She pushed him away once more. "Invent one then!" she demanded. "That's what you're supposed to be good at, isn't it? I cannot be tied to you for the rest of my life."

"Do you think I haven't tried?" he posed angrily.

"No, I don't," she said, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why would you? Without this curse you don't get this room, you don't get the dementors kept away, you don't get me."

He let out an angry laugh. "True," he sneered. "I'm not going to pretend that I don't benefit from you continuing to suffer from the curse but you fail to fucking grasp two things. Firstly, this room and the dementors aren't going to matter when the Dark Lord frees me once more."

"That's not going to happen," she claimed but she didn't sound particularly convincing to his ears. "You're deluded."

Antonin ignored her comment and reached out for a large stack of parchment he kept between two old books and dropped it onto the table beside them. "Secondly, my curiosity about you and the side effects of the curse, coupled with the mind-numbing boredom of being locked up here had me looking into how to undo the damage for months even though it was to my own detriment." He gestured to the sheets and sheets of parchment. "Have a look for yourself, zhar-ptitsa. It cannot be fucking done. You're the one who needs to stop deluding themself."

Fingers trembling, she picked up the first sheet. Her eyes flew over it, though he knew that she wouldn't be able to comprehend it without studying it properly. She picked up another piece of parchment, then another, then started sifting through them rapidly but she wouldn't find the miracle cure that she was searching for. When she got to the final sheet, she froze. For a moment, he thought that she was going to scream and throw the whole lot into the air.

Instead, she looked up at him, her gaze both burning and wet. "I am not giving up. I'm going to keep looking for a solution no matter how long it takes." She slapped her hands down on the pile of parchment. "This is my life we're talking about."

"Oh, I'm perfectly aware," he replied, his voice softer. He took a step closer to her. She blinked a few times to clear her vision but she didn't move away as he positioned his hands near but not quite touching hers on top of the parchment. She was in a vulnerable state. Time to give a prod at her defences. "Your life is literally in my hands, milaya." She let out a little gasp at the words then shuddered as he traced his fingers over hers. He left one of his hands splayed there to cover hers and brought the other one up to cup the side of her face in a grip that was just shy of firm. He made sure that she was looking straight into his eyes as he said, "Mine."

She seemed to sway in his hold and he hadn't forgotten that she was burning hotter for his touch than normal. His fingers traced up and down her neck slightly, his thumb sweeping over her throat and she swallowed with difficulty through her ragged breaths. "Do you remember the last time I told you that?" he asked her huskily and he felt her fingers twitch beneath his hold as she squirmed. "When my mouth was on your scar. When we felt my magic in you. Remember how good that felt?"

She whimpered and closed her eyes but didn't pull away.

"Look at me," he commanded lowly and to his surprise she obeyed instantly. "There's no point hiding from this, milaya. Not anymore. Not now that you know the truth." Both hands were now at her head, keeping her gaze on him. "You are mine."

"Antonin," she gasped, her fingers digging into his biceps but still not pushing him away.

"There's only you and me," he continued. "Don't you see that? I'm the only one. There's no point fighting me anymore because this curse isn't going anywhere - you're only going to need me more and more."

He could see the truth of it in her eyes: the yearning and the turmoil.

"Do you think it makes any difference if you deny me for another month? Another three?" he asked, slowly circling his thumb around her lips. "We both know you can't fight this forever."

"Forever?" she rasped, pulling her head back far enough to lose his thumb. "Not if you break free. Don't pretend you're not going to be leaving me for dead."

He forced himself not to laugh. "You'd be willing to exchange your freedom for my life, zhar-ptitsa - is that what you're saying? Don't lie now - nobody likes a hypocrite."

She pressed her lips together for a few seconds then said, "I would try and save you."

He couldn't hold back the laughter this time. "Is that so?" He gave her an appraising look and chuckled, stroking up and down her neck. "You probably would, wouldn't you? Well, here's something that might surprise you but seeing as we're in the spirit of being honest…" He ducked his head even closer to her face and said, "I'm actually minded to keep you when I get out." She stared at him with wide eyes. "So forever might well last longer than you think. You still believe you can deny yourself what you want all that time?" He could see that she was still shocked by his earlier admission, probably distracted by thoughts of how exactly that would work - he didn't have much of a clue himself beyond vague notions of keeping her locked up in some Death Eater stronghold until the Dark Lord's victory was total. He needed to get her focus back on him, back on them, not the future. He kissed as low on her throat as her uniform would allow and she hitched in a breath, her fingers gripping his hair. "Will…you…" He kissed a little higher and higher, punctuating each word with a kiss. "...let...me…take…care…of…you…"

He was level with her lips now, barely an inch away from them, but he forced himself to resist temptation and not close the gap.

She had to be the one to kiss him. He wouldn't let her pretend that it was all his doing.

There was a tug at his hair - but not backwards. He could feel her urging him forwards but he still remained firm. She let out a little mewl of frustration, her gaze searching his. Come on, he silently urged her. Bend just a little so that I can break you.

Her face tilted upwards, her eyes closing, and her lips ghosted over his for just the lightest touch. Despite his euphoria, he still didn't move. It was too slight a move, he needed something more decisive from her. Barely a second later her soft lips pressed more firmly against his - he had finally fucking won this battle.

Mindful that he couldn't suddenly throw caution to the wind, he simply returned the pressure and caressed her cheek. After a couple of seconds, he started to move his lips against hers, finally able to get a proper taste of her - pumpkin. Probably from her juice at breakfast.

Fuck.

He'd forgotten how early in the day it was.

Fuck. He couldn't bloody well send her back to classes with swollen, clearly-kissed lips. For fuck's sake!

Contrasting emotions of frustration, desire, triumph and longing raged within him. His lust was screaming at him to push her as far as she would go, to deepen the kiss, to bring that scar out into the open, to trail his fingers over previously unexplored intimate parts of her body, to bring her flush against his crotch so that she could feel what effect she had on him. Afterall, she'd shown no sign of protest yet. How long would he have to wait to get a chance as good as this? He'd been so fucking patient. He deserved this. He wanted her so fucking bad.

But a cold, clinical and rational voice was boring through the lust-haze. He had undoubtedly won a major victory but he would face many further battles before their war was over. He must be smart if he wanted to win. It had been working for him so far - trespass over that line and then retreat. Leave her wanting more. Too big of an encroachment could ruin everything. He'd come too far to lose her now.

Fuck.

A compromise. It'd have to be a compromise because he couldn't tear himself away from her completely right now.

He shifted the placement of his mouth, kissing along her jaw and down her neck but reining in on his desire to nip and suck at the silky sensitive skin. Her hands were tight in his hair, keeping him close, and now her mouth was free to voice her pleasure through a series of whimpers and moans that did little to dispel his arousal.

"Feels so good," he whispered close to her ear, one hand at the small of her back to keep her steady while the other still caressed her cheek. "Wanted you for so long." He kissed down her throat. "So fucking long. Driving me crazy."

Her hands tugged at his hair but it wasn't until he felt her fingers move to pull at his face that he realised she was trying to bring his head back level with her own. Her neediness for him was such a good sign that he momentarily put aside his caution and eagerly allowed her to bring their lips together. She seemed to melt against him and he took the opportunity to reposition his arms so that one hand was cupped around the delicious curve of her arse. There were three layers of clothing between their skin but he still relished the feel of the rounded, prohibited flesh as he stroked his hand around it. Granger's own hands were running feverishly over his head and neck as she hungrily moved her mouth against his, her fingertips leaving delicious fissures of friction over his skin.

Before he lost a hold on his restraint, he reluctantly broke their kiss and she let out a cry of distress that had his cock twitching. Her hands were at his cheeks again, urging him back to her. Fuck - why was she making this so bloody hard? It was a good problem really, but damn if this wasn't one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do. He wrapped his fingers around her wrists, the potency of his touch instantly weakening her hold on him as her hands went limp.

Fucking hell if she wasn't the most gorgeous sight he'd ever seen: beautifully flushed and heated complexion, slightly-puffed kissed lips parted a little around her panting mouth, burning desire in her gaze with her head tilted up to his, hands in his hold and at his mercy. Yes, he'd seen her in more lewd and provocative acts but that was in his dreams. This was real. He had made this happen. And that made it all the more satisfying.

He shut his eyes against the erotic vision before he changed his mind. "No more, milaya," he said, voice rasping. "You're not ready."

He felt her flinch in his hold. "What?" Her voice was a confused gasp.

He risked opening his eyes. Her pretty pink mouth had dropped open as she stared up at him. Fuck, what he wouldn't give… He clamped down on that thought and moved one hand back to cup her face, returning her gaze. "I know you. You need time to come to terms with this. With everything."

She shook her head. "I don't want to think."

His thumb brushed back and forth along her cheek and her eyes momentarily closed. "I know," he told her. "But that's not practical."

She let out a whimper, probably reluctant to return to reality. She would need to be treated with tenderness and reassurance now, to see that the world hadn't ended because she'd finally kissed him, to sense that maybe he would look after her, to build that trust and dependence.

He tugged her closer, their chests meeting. One of her free hands curled around his neck and she turned her head so that it was nestled just beneath his own, her breath ghosting over his throat. His hand had returned to her back and began to slowly stroke up and down.

She let out a sound of frustration. "Under," she said quietly. To his surprise, she reached round with her spare hand to untuck her white shirt from her skirt and then guided his fingers underneath. "I'm still burning," she admitted quietly.

Antonin kissed her temple reassuringly and then resumed his stroking, relishing the feel of the smooth skin and the fact that she had put him there. Seemingly satisfied with what he was doing, her hand sought out his free one. Their fingers danced and teased across each other for a couple of minutes, before she slid hers between his and they remained still.

Although this was clearly not as arousing or pleasurable as their earlier actions, it was gratifying in its own way. He'd told her that she was his, and here she was in his hold, accepting it, encouraging it. Was he a fool for wondering if it could be this easy? Everything he'd observed and learned about Granger over the last months told him that she would retreat, spiral, try and shut him down - but what if she didn't? What if he'd broken through her final layers of resistance? Fuck, he hoped so.

He allowed himself to picture how future visits might go if that were the case but, after a while, his mind inevitably turned towards other possibilities. If Granger let slip that he was no longer working on the curse, if she told the Order there was no cure - what might happen then?

Would they remove him from this cell? He might have sneered about it when she'd brought it up earlier but he fucking dreaded that possibility - the smells and sounds of the other prisoners, the complete darkness at night, the eternal chill of the floor and walls, the haunting effect of the Dementors…

And if they didn't need his cooperation to work on a cure, would they even allow him to be conscious when his zhar-ptitsa visited? Or would they just stun him and let her fingers take the relief from his limp form?

And Granger? What would happen to her? Would those hypocritical cunts in the Order decide to cut their losses and put her out of her misery? Was he about to lose her when he'd only just made her his?

Had he been too rash?

"Antonin? What is it?" Her fingertips were at his face, her eyes peering up at him, and he realised he'd stilled and become tense.

"You are watching your back, aren't you?" he asked. "If they know there's no cure - "

She made a dismissive sound and manoeuvred herself so that she could see him better, almost dislodging him from her skin but he shifted his hold to keep her close. "I don't need to - I told you no one would hurt me."

"Maybe you wouldn't in that situation but not everyone is like you, milaya, not even in your Order," he argued frustratedly. How could she be so stupid? "I've seen it."

She shook her head. "Things are different now. They are," she insisted in response to his derisive scoff. "I even confronted someone about it, about me being a liability, and they absolutely promised I was safe no matter what."

"Well, they were obviously lying!" Antonin wanted to grip her arms and shake her until she saw sense.

She shook her head again. "He swore on his heart and his honour. You weren't there. He wasn't lying, I could tell."

"Who? Dumbledore?" he questioned. A high-ranking male member of the Order that she had easy access to - who else could it be? Besides, she had to be learning her mental barriers from someone: had the old fool seen to the job personally? That was one way to keep a close eye on her.

She momentarily pursed her lips together. "It doesn't matter who. I believe him."

"Just tell me exactly what he said, word for word," he requested. Whoever it was, this deceptive Order bastard was messing with his plans to keep his zhar-ptitsa safe. He refused to believe that there wasn't some contingency if Potter was somehow compromised through Granger.

She gave him an annoyed look and then closed her eyes for a moment. "Nobody in the Order wants you to come to any harm," she recited. "When I asked if he was lying, he said, On my heart and my honour, I am not."

She gave him a defiant look but he could only shake his head in wonderment at her naivete. Fuck, it was going to be difficult to keep his girl alive. He reached out, holding her head in both hands. She looked like she wanted to brush him away but after a moment's hesitation she relented.

"Oh, milaya, don't you see what he did?" he asked. "That sly bastard was so careful with his words and you just heard what you wanted to hear."

She blinked in confusion. "I don't…"

"Nobody wants you dead. Of course they don't want you dead but that doesn't mean they won't fucking do it if they think they need to," he pointed out and she could only stare at him. "He was manipulating you, keeping you on side and unsuspecting."

Her gaze dropped away and he could see thoughts racing through her mind but she still didn't pull away from his touch. "No. He wouldn't," she said softly.

"Confront him if you trust him so much," Antonin told her - his need for her to walk around with her eyes fully fucking open overcoming the relative sense of her challenging someone who could then endanger her life. "The next time you're alone together, call him out and you'll see the truth of it even if he denies it." She looked at him warily so he brought his forehead against hers, blocking everything else from sight. "It's you and me in this, milaya. Just you and me together…"

A/N I would really like to hear your thoughts on this one! Lots going on in this one but, most importantly, they finally kissed! Hope it lived up to expectation.