"You look tired, milaya," Antonin said with a frown. He'd greeted her with an eager kiss that had ignited her already burning body with a more carnal heat, leaving her breathless and a little disorientated. "Hermione," he pressed when she didn't respond, his thumbs brushing symmetrical paths over her cheekbones.

She made a questioning noise, unsure what he wanted from her.

"You look tired," he repeated, concern evident in his tone and expression.

He doesn't really care, she told herself. This is part of his manipulations to try and get you to trust him. She had known from her very first visit to this room that Antonin was scheming and plotting against her, but it had been expected from him and she had tried to pick her way through the traps without coming to serious harm. It was only in the last couple of weeks that it had begun to really bother her, that his words had seeped under her skin and twisted into something bitter inside her.

"Are you not sleeping well?" he asked. "You can't still be unwell."

Hermione gently pushed his hands away from her face to make it easier for her to concentrate. "No, I'm not ill - I got a potion from Madam Pomfrey as soon as I got back to school last week and I was fine by the morning."

He nodded. "So it is bad sleep then," he continued, like a dog with a bone. "Tell me," he urged softly, his fingers slotting through hers.

She let out an exasperated sigh at his persistence. "Yes, I'm not sleeping well. But it's just pre-exams stress. I never sleep well at this time of year - either thinking about how much revision I still have to complete or dreaming about the exams themselves and the various ways they can go wrong." He said nothing but just continued to watch her, waiting her out until she reluctantly admitted, "But it is worse than normal. I think that everything else that's going on, everything that I'm pushing away when I'm awake is plaguing me when I'm asleep instead." She frowned. "Every morning when I wake up, I don't remember most of what I dreamt about but I get the feeling that my sleep was turbulent, unsettled." She hadn't meant to tell him all that but he had asked.

He rubbed soothing circles into her palms. "I'm sorry to hear that, milaya. Unfortunately, I think you might be right about the weight of everything you're shouldering being the cause - your studies, your school responsibilities, your watchfulness for attacks from the Order and concerns about what the future will entail…" Yes, there was all that and other strains she was withstanding that he had no awareness of: their attempts to remove him from Azkaban and into the Order's possession, Harry's upcoming meeting with Scrimgeour to make that possible, her ignorance about how her parents' memory modification had taken, her complicated emotions regarding Antonin himself and the fact that she was deceiving every single person in her life. Frankly, it was a wonder that she could sleep at all. "Why not take dreamless sleep potion?" he asked. "It's easy for you to get your hands on some."

"I did take a dose a few nights ago," she said, "and I did sleep right through to the morning but I still felt out of sorts when I woke up." Besides, she knew that young adults shouldn't consume dreamless sleep more than once a week so she didn't want to rely on it. It wasn't at all healthy for Antonin to take it as frequently as he did but, well, that was up to him. If she'd spent the majority of her adult life in Azkaban without the protections from the dementors that he currently enjoyed, she would probably risk taking a sleep potion most nights too.

His expression still showed (faux) concern and he stroked his fingers down the side of her face, making her shudder at the relief. "Maybe you'll sleep better here with me."

"M-maybe," she agreed, a little breathless at his touch. She'd come to feel safer and more relaxed here with Antonin than she did anywhere else, shocking though that still was, and she did normally sleep better here than in her own bed (probably because of the curse) but she didn't know if that would continue now that her wariness of him had increased once more.

He glanced at the small window at the rear of his cell. Light was showing and would do for many hours yet (even beyond the slowing of time thanks to the rune at her neck) since they were only a couple of weeks away from the summer solstice. "You've come much earlier this week," he said. "Have you felt the curse pulling another day from you like last time?"

She frowned. "No, actually, I haven't." She'd been on alert since yesterday, assessing her body's needs because she didn't want to deteriorate as quickly as she had last week. But there had been no need for a hasty trip to Azkaban. She and Professor McGonagall had still made the trip a little earlier than usual by coming before dinner, just to make sure, but she felt no worse in terms of the curse's burn than she normally would at its peak. "Last week must have been an anomaly." It bothered her because she could normally fathom a reason why the curse symptoms altered, but this time the best she could come up with was that it was a reaction to them having sex for the first time. If that was the cause, then her body must have already adapted because they'd had sex last week as well and it wasn't impacting her today.

"How strange," he said, switching to Russian and leaning down to brush his lips over hers. "So your scar isn't going to be too sensitive for my touch this week?" His splayed hand settled right over her scar and even though there were three layers of fabric separating their skin, she still gave a sudden start in anticipation.

She swallowed thickly and matched the shift in language. "I, I don't think so."

"Good."

She just had time to catch sight of his lustful gaze before he kissed her heatedly and she closed her eyes in an attempt to manage the scorching sensations sweeping through her, but the heat within only grew at his attentions and she pulled her mouth from him. "Too hot," she gasped, taking a step back and pushing him away from her. "Wait." She unclasped her cloak and threw it hastily at the nearby armchair.

"I've been waiting all day," he muttered, his fingers helping her to pull off her robes. "Been waiting all week."

There was a welcome rush of cool air on her bare legs and forearms, but then Antonin's hands were on her and she cried out at the intensity of the sensation. He slid his fingers up the back of her thigh and lifted her so that her legs could wrap around his waist, making them both moan as her heat met the firmness at his crotch. Hermione feverishly pulled his mouth to hers as she rolled her hips against him. Her body was alight in the most exquisite but maddening way. A cold, hard surface suddenly met her back and she realised he had backed her against the wall of the cell, and the firmness behind her meant that not only was she pressed even more tightly against him but his hands were also able to glide over her skin without the risk of her falling.

Antonin tugged her shirt from the waistband of her skirt and Hermione only had a split second to brace herself before her body was rocked with a wave of ecstasy as his fingertips found her scar. It overwhelmed every other sense and sensation. Her wild movements had him removing his hand so he could steady her against the wall, giving her enough of a respite from the intense relief to obtain a small amount of clarity. The last time that Antonin had touched her scar when her curse symptoms were nearly as strong, she had so lost control of her surroundings that she had revealed Snape's identity without even being aware that she had done so. With a sobering flash of alarm in her chest, she recalled the internal promise she'd made that she wasn't going to let herself down like that again. "It's too much," she panted, quickly grabbing onto the hand that was moving towards her scar once more. "Not there. Not yet." She brought his hand up to her lips to kiss down his palm to his wrist, and rolled her hips against him a couple of times, all in the hope of distracting him from the disappointment of temporarily losing access to her scar. "We have so much time."

He groaned, matching the movements of her hips, but his expression was almost pained as he shook his head. "You want to keep me waiting for hours again before I get to fuck you?" His hand was at her cheek. "Do you delight in torturing me, Hermione?"

"Don't be so dramatic," she breathed.

"Keep moving your hips," he grunted, continuing to grind into her core. "My cock can feel the heat from your cunt through my robes." Hermione repressed a whimper but did what he said anyway, gasping when their combined friction started to hit a particularly responsive part of her. "And I wasn't being dramatic - it can actually be painful to be hard for so long without release."

She was genuinely a little surprised, and then realised she probably shouldn't be because what he said did make sense. It wasn't safe or sensible for her to give in to the pull of sex whilst she was still so affected by the curse. She couldn't give him what he wanted but she didn't like the idea of hurting him - not when he'd been so attentive to her own needs these last couple of weeks. A thought occurred to her, instantly causing a flush to spread over her body along with nerves and a little excitement.

"Maybe," she tentatively began, matching his Russian again because she knew he liked it when she did. "Maybe I could help you now. We can be together later."

Antonin stilled against her but Hermione was unable to cease her own movements, it felt so good. He was staring at her intently. "You mean…" He brought a hand to her hip. "Stop, milaya, please," he urged hoarsely, caressing her rear. "I can barely think straight with your pussy rubbing against me." She complied and hoped that it was impossible for him to know that her walls had momentarily clenched together at his words. "Fuck - did you say you want to get me off?" he asked, his voice at the low pitch that had her toes curling.

She pressed her lips together and nodded. "You've already done it for me more than once. It only seems fair to return the favour while we wait for the curse to be soothed. Our skin will still be touching."

His thumb was rubbing over her hip as she spoke, his eyes still fixed on her intently. "You want to make me come with your hands, moya mechta?"

Hermione nodded again, recalling the feel of him - hot and hard beneath her fingers - when she had stroked him last week. She had enjoyed knowing that her actions were exciting him, making him lose some of his control, and she wanted to see it again. But this time she was curious to see him completely come undone because she'd always been wrapped up in her own pleasure when he'd come inside her the last two weeks. She unhooked her legs from his waist and he helped lower her feet to the floor. "I haven't really done this before," she said, even though he was perfectly aware. "We didn't see it in the dream." She didn't know why she was telling him things he already knew but if she had to guess it was probably to do with anxiety about not doing a good job in comparison to how perfectly he'd attended to her. "You said you'd tell me what you like," she reminded him, trying not to wince at the slightly nervous note in her voice.

Antonin lifted both hands to her cheeks and kissed her slowly and softly. "There's nothing to fret about, zhar-ptitsa," he said soothingly. "You nearly had me coming over your hand last week, remember?"

"But you will tell me, won't you?" she pressed.

"I will tell you what I want you to do, my perfect witch," he confirmed, still cupping her face. "Tap my thigh if I say something you don't want to do tonight so I know not to push you on it. Do you understand?"

Hermione felt most of her concerns fade away at the prospect of clear instructions and she appreciated that Antonin wasn't poking fun at her. "Yes."

"Good girl." Her insides thrummed at his approval and she eagerly kissed him back when he lowered his head again. "Uniform off," he ordered against her lips. "Can't have you walking around the castle with my cum on your clothes."

She hitched in a breath at the mortifying mental image, her cheeks flooding with heat, and he let out a small laugh, kissed her again, then removed his hands from her cheeks so that he could pull his robes over his head. Her hands trembled slightly as she undid her tie with a mixture of anticipation, lust and a small amount of nerves but his fingers came back to her help unbutton her shirt, kissing along her jaw and down her neck as she was gradually revealed to him.

"Are you sure, milaya?" he asked, running his hands up her bare sides and brushing his thumbs over her bra to deliver a teasing touch to her nipples. "You really want to wait before I have you falling apart? It'd feel so fucking good with the curse still so strong."

His voice was sinful, tempting her to break her resolve with the promise of such exquisite, delectable pleasure. Her body called for him, her skin tingling and her core throbbing with need. She temporarily closed her eyes and summoned her inner strength. "It's too much," she ground out, her fingers faltering on the zip of her skirt. "I don't want to lose myself. I want to be here."

His hand returned to her cheek, his hold firm and his voice possessive when he said, "With me."

Hermione whimpered. That wasn't what she meant but she couldn't tell him the truth. She buried the uncomfortable twinges of her conscience at her continuation in allowing him to think that she was so under his sway - why did Antonin keep trying to bring greater emotions into this? Why couldn't it just be about pleasure and release? Why did he have to try and ensnare her completely, to pretend that he cared for her, when all he'd previously focused on was capturing her body?

"My perfect witch," he murmured, kissing heatedly down her body (but avoiding her scar) so he could help her pull down and step out of her skirt. His face was level with her scar, and she shivered as his hot breath fanned teasingly across the sensitive markings. Despite all her misgivings about his manipulations, her body was overwhelmed with lust at the sight of him crouched before her, remembering the night when he had first explored her scar so many months ago. Her hand gripped his bare shoulder, giving her something to ground herself to so that she didn't get lost in a sea of desire. "So fucking beautiful," he murmured, his gaze reflecting the covetousness he probably saw in hers as he ran his hands over her legs and waist, skirting her scar and underwear. "Is your cunt already wet for me, Hermione?" he asked, squeezing and massaging her thighs, encouraging them to part. "Will you let me feel?" One hand reached higher, so close to the apex of her thighs but stopping tantalisingly short. "Just for a moment before I teach you how to stroke my cock."

Another wave of ardent heat flushed through her and she breathed, "Yes," before she could stop herself. Her foot slid to the side, allowing him more room, and she gasped then whined loudly as he wasted no time in pushing the crotch of her underwear aside so he could stroke two fingers up through her sensitive folds. He groaned and she trembled at the stimulation of his touch, jerking as he finished with a press at her clit before withdrawing his glistening fingers. She could only stare at him, open-mouthed, as he licked the digits and then sucked them into his mouth, prompting another groan from him.

"You taste just as good as I remember," he said, voice thick with lust. "I can't wait to lap at your cunt again until you're coming on my tongue."

Hermione shuddered at the promise, recalling just how incredible he had made her feel when he'd done exactly that. Her body was racing with urgent desire and she needed an outlet for it before she decided she couldn't wait another hour or so for the curse to die down. She stepped towards the bed, tugging him with her and almost making him stumble in her eagerness. When he was back on his feet, she quickly unfastened the buttons at the top of his trousers and pushed both them and his underpants past his hips. She could tell by the tone of his voice as he swore that she had surprised him but she was too distracted by the sight of his freed cock. It bobbed a little in the wake of her eager undressing, not yet fully erect. Her eyes studied him: the shapes, the colours, the textures. Her core throbbed at the memory of what he felt like inside her, filling her, stroking her, pleasuring her until he released his warmth into her. She wanted it - but not yet. Not yet.

Hermione forced herself to look up and practically gulped at the intense expression on Antonin's face. "W-where?" she asked, shooting a glance at the bed.

He nodded. "The bed." His voice was deep, like a caress down her spine. "I don't think you're ready to be on your knees this time."

Her breath stuck in her throat, her thoughts racing by rapidly. On her knees in front of his cock, pleasuring him? She had found the sight of him before her to be erotic so it made sense that he might want her there too. This time? She hadn't even properly stroked him yet but he seemed confident that he'd want her to again, which was reassuring, but his words had also stoked a need inside her to prove herself to him - to show that she would be ready to rise to his expectations. She was almost prepared to tell him that she'd go down on her knees right now but she didn't want to make a fool of herself when she had so little experience.

Antonin sat on the edge of the bed and then pushed himself back towards the headboard leaving Hermione to crawl after him in a reverse of most of their sexual encounters so far. He spread his legs, making room for her to settle between his thighs. She purposefully settled onto her knees, sitting back on her ankles, and his calves closed around her to maintain some touch and continue soothing the curse. Her hands rested on his thighs as she looked up to him for instructions.

"You remember what I said about tapping my thigh if I tell you to do something you're uncomfortable with?" he said. She nodded. "Good. Take me in hand, you don't need to be gentle, you're not going to hurt me."

Her fingers closed around him, just beneath the head. He was warm, nearly as hot as her own heated skin, and soft to the touch but she knew she'd soon feel the rigidity within. And, thanks to the curse still firing her up inside, it was a pleasurable sensation for her to be in contact with him. Her skin tingled, sending the relief washing through her whole body.

"Firmer than that," Antonin instructed, and he grunted as she obeyed him. "Stroke up and down the shaft until I'm fully hard."

Hermione watched with interest as her movements shifted the skin of his cock, bunching and stretching it with each stroke as he grew fully rigid in her hold. She leaned closer as she continued to pump her hand up and down him, noting the veins and ridges, catching a glimpse of his balls.

He gave a grunt of approval and she looked up at him, slowing her movements as she waited to hear what he wanted her to do next. "Needs moisture, don't want to chafe," he said bluntly, his voice a little strained. "You can lick your hand or use the slick from your cunt."

Hermione stared at him, caught in indecision and uncertainty. "Which would feel best for you?"

He breathed a short laugh and she could swear his eyes darkened with a greater lust. "Your tongue," he said with a lascivious smirk, "but - fuck!"

His thighs actually jumped beside her when she screwed up her courage and licked the underside of his cock from base to tip. It wasn't possible to smile and lick at the same time but she was definitely pleased at the reaction she was bringing out of him as she repeated using her tongue at the sides and front of his cock, hearing his continued swears while his hand slid into her curls. The taste of him was unlike anything she had ever experienced - salty, musky and a little bitter - but it wasn't exactly unpleasant, and the relief she got from touching another part of her body to his skin heightened her own pleasure. His hips chased her mouth as she pulled back but she returned her hand to his cock and started pumping him, feeling her hand glide over him more easily now.

Hermione tried not to feel too smug as she caught sight of his wide-eyed stare.

"Moya mechta," he groaned. "My perfect… Both hands now." He reached down, showing her how to twist her lower wrist ever so slightly at his base as she stroked him. "Fuck," he moaned, momentarily leaning his head back. "You feel so good."

She continued in that method for a minute, noticing the beads of liquid that emerged from his tip that she recalled from her previous tentative touches, and she made sure to smooth her fingers over them to add to the moisture on her hands.

"Touch my balls," Antonin said, eyes once again fixed on her. "Cup, massage, stroke."

Compared to the slickness of his cock, Hermione thought that his balls looked very dry. Delaying his command for just a moment, she removed one hand from his cock and parted her knees so that she could run her fingers through her sex. She was unsurprised to find that she was very wet because she was finding that witnessing and giving pleasure to Antonin was very arousing. Her nerves jumped at her own actions but she wanted to get back to the job in hand rather than focusing on her pleasure, and she brought her slickened fingers to his balls, attending to them just as he'd asked.

"Yes, that's it - clever girl, using your dripping cunt to please me," he hissed, his hips thrusting a couple of times to meet her strokes before he stilled. "Kiss my cock while you play with my balls, milaya."

She'd already licked his cock all over so she had no objection to his request - besides, he'd used his mouth and tongue on her sex with great eagerness. It was only fair. She ducked her head but kept her eyes on his face as she pressed her lips to his length.

"You look so fucking beautiful right now," he told her breathlessly, the hand in her hair stroking fingers across her scalp. She kissed a path down to his base, letting her tongue dart between her lips in a couple of places. "Keep kissing the head while you stroke me again."

With one hand still playing with his balls, her other resuming stroking his cock and her mouth lowering to kiss the tip, there was a lot for Hermione to concentrate on. But she wanted to do a good job, she wanted to bring him as much pleasure as he brought her.

"Faster," he urged lowly. "Both hands."

It was difficult to kiss him with two hands stroking quickly on his cock, so in the gap left by her curled fingers she ran her tongue back and forth over the head. He swore, his hips rising at the stimulation and almost unbalancing her.

"Fuck - sorry. Don't stop." His legs were beginning to get restless around her, the hand in her hair was gripping tighter. She could taste him even stronger on her tongue and she knew he must be close to coming. His hand was suddenly pushing her head away. "Gonna - " He groaned, and Hermione felt a burst of victory as spurts of white landed on her hands as she continued to stickily stroke him through his orgasm. His hand eagerly encouraged her mouth towards his and she had to brace herself on his thigh to prevent herself from losing balance. He didn't seem to care that her lips and tongue had been on his cock because he kissed her heatedly, stroking his tongue against hers. She was already in such a heady state of arousal that she forgot to breathe and she pulled back from him with a gasp. "You were perfect," he praised, stroking up her arm. "Such a good girl listening to me and using your initiative. I can see why you're always top of the class, Hermione. My beautiful, clever witch." He kissed her more gently and helped her wipe away the stickiness from her hands with a cloth. "You looked like you enjoyed that. Did you like making me come with your hands and mouth?"

Hermione felt strangely shy.

He ran a thumb over her lip. "No need to be bashful in front of me, milaya. Tell me."

"Yes," she admitted. "I, I did like it."

He stroked her cheek soothingly and rewarded her candour with another kiss, slow and sensual. "I'm going to be dreaming about this mouth," he said softly, pressing kisses to each lip and corner. He turned their bodies so that they were on their sides and he could hold her against his chest. "Rest. Time for you to rest, zhar-ptitsa," he said softly. It was still early, but though she had felt completely alive not five minutes ago, the exhilaration and pulsing desire were quickly draining out of her. "When you wake, the curse will be sated and I will be able to lavish your body with the attention it deserves." He kissed down her nose, over her cheeks and eyelids. "Sleep, moya mechta. I will hold you and ensure you get some proper rest. You're safe in my arms," he promised but she was already asleep, unaware of those words nor what he continued to whisper to her when he was sure she couldn't hear him.


Hermione looked at the boy next to her in delighted surprise. Nott had laughed. Genuinely laughed - not smirked at someone else's misfortune nor sniggered in contempt. She didn't think she'd ever seen one of her Slytherin peers display laughter without a negative undertone before.

"Shh," she urged but she was grinning. "Madam Pince will hear you and chuck you out for disturbing the peace. You know she gets extra vigilant when the exams are so close."

Nott rolled his eyes though amusement still pulled at his lips. He looked so different when he was smiling, like he had come alive, and Hermione willed herself not to blush at the realisation that it made him even more handsome in her eyes.

"Don't make silly little rune jokes then," he countered under his breath, scratching out the offending symbols she'd written on his notes.

Still buzzing at the achievement of bringing laughter from the normally aloof Nott, Hermione turned back to her work. She didn't have the talent for making people laugh often - something that came much more naturally to Ron - and there was a wry twist of her lips as she thought about how most people would've simply stared down at the runes she'd written in polite confusion. Her friends certainly wouldn't have gotten the joke. She was sure Antonin would though. She'd write it for him on Saturday, during her next visit.

Normally, she would make the trip to Azkaban much earlier if her burning day fell on a weekend but that wouldn't be the case this time. Rufus Scrimgeour was due to visit the castle on Saturday. Very few people knew about that fact yet and most of those who did believed that the Minister would be making the trip to inspect the defences at Hogwarts - and Hogsmeade too - which he would, obviously. But the main purpose for Scrimgeour coming was to meet Harry for a chat in Dumbledore's office. Hermione doubted the meeting would stay secret afterwards - one of the reasons Scrimgeour was so eager to see Harry was to utilise and display his support of the Ministry to the magical public.

Hermione felt a little sick every time she thought about it because she held herself responsible. After all they'd done to fight the Ministry last year, after the personal sacrifices Hermione had made over the last months to protect Harry from their manipulations, Scrimgeour was still going to win. There was a small chance that the Minister would want to see her as well, so Professor Snape had been asked to wait until Scrimgeour had departed before escorting her to the school gates.

She would need to come up with a reason why she was seeing Antonin later than usual on a weekend because she certainly couldn't tell him the truth. Perhaps she could use her period as an excuse again. It was due to start tomorrow so by the time Saturday rolled around it would almost be over. She could say that she wanted to delay as long as possible to minimise any blood during sex. That would be believable, wouldn't it? Antonin would surely just be focused on his relief that she wasn't cutting her time with him short, that she might still be open to having sex during the visit. Might being the key word. The thought of having sex whilst on her period still wasn't appealing even though Antonin had appeared unbothered about the blood when they'd discussed it last time.

Whatever she decided on the matter, they certainly weren't going to have as much sex as her most recent visit. After she'd woken from a mercifully restful sleep, she and Antonin had had sex together three times before she'd left - and he'd made her come more than that with just his fingers and mouth. It was almost obscene. But it still made her throb with desire whenever she thought about it, thought about him.

Yet with Scrimegour's impending visit making the chances of Antonin being held by the Order more likely, she was beginning to fear that her future visits would look very different. Would the Order accept them being alone together? The reason it had been permitted in Azkaban was so that Antonin would be minded to research the curse. The Order might not know that he claimed her to be incurable but would they particularly care once they had the Death Eater secured? They wouldn't need to be 'nice' to Antonin so long as his skin was available for Hermione to touch. Even if she did convince the Order to allow her time alone with Antonin, she couldn't possibly have sex with him when there were people who knew her on the other side of the door! The possibility of her friends discovering what she'd been doing with Antonin made her burn with mortification.

"Granger."

A hand waved in front of her face, breaking her from her thoughts.

Startled, she looked over at the frowning Nott. "Sorry," she said in a flustered voice. "I was miles away."

"Somewhere good?" he asked.

"Um." Her voice was high-pitched, almost a squeak, and her face felt like it was on fire. "N-not particularly." He arched an eyebrow at her but before he could voice any observations of her discomposure she said, "You were saying?"

"I'm leaving. I've finished." He ran a hand over his brow. "And just in time too - I can feel a headache coming on. All this bloody studying," he muttered and then started to pack his things away in his bag.

Though she wasn't pleased to hear about his headache, Hermione was suitably diverted from her glowing cheeks by marvelling at how civilly Nott spoke to her when they were alone. "In less than a month it'll all be over - we'll be on holidays." Her own future was so uncertain that she couldn't take much comfort in that thought for herself but she was surprised when Nott stilled at her words, a shadow passing over his face.

"Right," he murmured. "Yes, of course."

Her heart thudded strongly in her chest at the thought that Nott might be expected to commit himself to serving Voldemort once away from the relative safety of the castle. It was possible he already had the Mark, of course, but within Hogwarts there was little he could do to further Voldemort's aims. However, there would be no safety net for Nott come the turn of the month, no escape from the claim that Antonin swore the evil wizard held over their lives. She didn't believe that the boy opposite her harboured a longing to become a Death Eater - to bring death, depravity and destruction to the world around them. There had to be a way to save him from such a fate. With Nott's father currently locked away in Azkaban, maybe there was no better time to act. When he stepped off the train at the beginning of July, they could stop him from -

She realised that she didn't know where Nott would be heading after arriving at King's Cross. She was aware that his mother had passed away. Now that his father was imprisoned, who was responsible for looking after him? Or since he was of age was he being left to fend for himself now? Was that another reason why the prospect of the summer holidays appeared to be so grim for him?

This could be the perfect moment to further this connection with Nott. She'd worn him down to a point of almost friendly civility so maybe she could establish some trust - but first she needed to be honest with him before it came back to bite her further down the line. "I need to tell you something," she said, nerves fluttering in her stomach.

He gave her a sharp look, sensing her shift in tone, but said nothing.

"I enjoy studying with you - " she gave him a nervous, wry smile before correcting, "forcing you to study with me, and I hope that will continue, but I don't think you're aware that I…" She gave herself a quick mental reminder of her wand's current location and lowered the volume of her voice to an even softer whisper. "I am the one who incapacitated your father last year before he was arrested with the other Death Eaters."

Nott's eyes narrowed angrily and the knuckles of the hand holding the strap of his schoolbag had gone white. "Why are you telling me this?" he hissed furiously. He waved a hand at the table they'd been studying at. "Is that what this has all been about? Are you trying to manipulate me? To gain a hold over me because of what you did to my father?"

"What? No!" she hissed back. She should've known that a Slytherin's first response was to suspect that she was trying to extort him in some way.

Nott's eyes were still locked onto her face, trying to analyse her motive. His lip curled into a sneer. "Or is the noble Gryffindor princess here to beg my forgiveness?"

"No," she whispered hotly. "I'm not sorry for what I did - he was attacking a group of children on Voldemort's orders."

Nott's eyes widened with manic fear and he stepped back, knocking his chair over noisily. "You said - "

Madam Pince arrived in their section at once, staring beadily eyed at them and looking for a reason to throw them out. Hermione ducked down to right the chair, knowing the librarian's displeasure for students using their wands between the shelves. "It was an accident," she called in a hushed voice. Madam Pince kept her narrowed gaze on them for a few more seconds before departing with an audible sniff.

The interruption had given Nott a little time to get his thoughts together. He glared at Hermione and leaned into her personal space but she forced herself to remain still. "Mudblood bitch."

When he saw that she wasn't going to back off, he began to turn away.

"I want to help you," she said quickly, which made him pause. "I don't know how yet - or if I even can - but, but I think you're trapped, Nott."

"You don't know anything about me," he snarled.

"I know that you're too smart to want to waste your life serving an evil madman," she bravely said, "but that you might think you don't have a choice." His eyes flashed with greater anger but she pushed on. "And I don't think you truly believe in pureblood supremacy otherwise you wouldn't have studied with me."

He loomed over her, making the most of his superior height. She was distinctly aware that the only other person who had been so close to her lately was Antonin. "Maybe I've been leading you on, waiting for the moment to hex you when you're least expecting it so I can put you in your place like the filth you are."

"I admitted that I was the one who stunned your father because I didn't want you to think that I was hiding it from you," she continued, ignoring his threat. "You were bound to find out eventually."

He was clearly still angry but she could see confusion on his face as well. "What the fuck do you want from me? What is this? Why couldn't you have just fucked off the first time like I told you to?"

"I don't want anything from you, Nott," she said, attempting to make her voice and expression as sincere as possible. "I just want to hel- "

"I'm not some pity project in need of rescue," he interrupted, his warm breath fanning across her face. "Fuck you." He grabbed his bag and stormed away.

Hermione shakily sat in her chair, adrenaline pulsing through her body. That hadn't gone well - but she hadn't really expected it to. Intense though it had been, there were quite a few positives she could take from it. Firstly, she hadn't been magically or physically harmed, which was a relief. Also, she still believed that she was right about Nott: he was no Death Eater, or at least he didn't wish to be. His insults and anger seemed more reactionary to her bringing up a sensitive topic than genuine hatred for someone like her.

Most importantly, Theo Nott now knew that there was someone outside his typical acquaintances who wanted to help him if he ever needed it.


A/N So, Antonin was awfully quiet about that note he received, wasn't he?