A/N: Hello all! Here is the next installment of my summer one-shot series! I am really nervous about this one, especially with so many great writers out there tackling this pairing. Seriously, go check out thifty crimson, canimal, and calebski if you have not already! I hope that you think this was a successful attempt at this pairing. The title comes from the Phantogram song, Black Out Days, which was my inspiration. You can follow me on tumblr, my handle is nauticalparamour.

Please let me know what you thought of this, and be on the lookout for my next one-shot in about two weeks. It's a Fred/Hermione. Only two more to go!

The sixth months that she'd been kept in the dungeons underneath Malfoy Manor had trickled by slowly, the days bleeding and blending into one another, until Hermione didn't know if she'd been there for a week or for years. She'd been spared after Harry died, to her surprise, and despite living in a cell with nothing to do but think, she'd been treated well.

They gave her food, though it was just a flavorless mush, and they let her keep her clothes to stave off the cold. She wasn't taunted or bothered, and she hadn't been raped.

Not knowing why she was receiving this treatment was the maddening thing. She could hear the prisoners around her being hurt, sometimes on a daily basis, but they always passed her up. Perhaps they were showing her how useless Harry Potter's friend had been? How as a mudblood she wasn't even good enough to be tortured?

When her jailor, a thin looking Draco Malfoy, hauled her up from her position on the floor, he told her that she was going to face her judgement from Voldemort himself. She felt the knowledge that she was about to die settle against her like a warm blanket. It didn't scare her, in fact, she felt serene and glad. It was finally over.

She was too dirty and skinny to be standing in the opulent throne room that Hermione figured was once a formal dining room. Malfoy threw her down on the ground, so that she landed on her knees on the cold marble, facing the snake-faced man who'd murdered Harry Potter.

She didn't met his eyes, and instead looked around the room, her eyes slowly adjusting to the light that she hadn't had in months. Death Eaters lined the room, no longer forced to wear their masks, and instead looking formidable in black robes.

"Hermione Granger." Voldemort said, finally drawing her attention. It was off putting to know that he knew exactly who she was. "I should kill you for your treasonous actions against me." His voice was high pitched and grated on her nerves.

She affected a bored look, not wanting to give him any power over her. Instead, she stared at the green pattern worked into the immaculate white marble of the floor.

"I've reviewed your school file from Hogwarts. You are quite intelligent for a mudblood." Voldemort explained, perhaps to his followers. "Some might call you the brightest witch or your era. But we know that cannot be true. You are a mudblood."

Hermione rolled her eyes, though she was sure he hadn't seen it. She had the word carved into her arm, it didn't bother her any more.

"You stole your magic from a witch or wizard and I cannot allow magic of that magnitude to go to waste." That caught Hermione's attention. She wasn't going to die? "You will be taught and then put to work, aiding our cause. Antonin!"

Antonin Dolohov, a man who'd tried to kill her more than once, stepped forward. She could see the fury sparkling in his dark eyes. "Yes, my Lord?"

"The mudblood is most proficient in Charms. As you have a Charms mastery, you will instruct her so that this stolen pureblood magic does not go to waste!" Voldemort said, hissing and clearly pleased with the way that her fate worked out.

Dolohov practically snarled. "Perhaps...someone would be better suited to teach this mudblood?" He questioned, obviously wanting absolutely nothing to do with her.

"You dare question me, Antonin?" Voldemort hissed, his slitted red eyes trained on the man before her. "You will teach her and you will keep her alive so that she might be used properly." He commanded.

Hermione tentatively lifted her eyes to meet Dolohov's dark ones, and was surprised to see the anger bubbling in them. He didn't like her, probably because she'd survived his attacks more than once. The feeling was mutual.

After her judgement from Voldemort, Narcissa Malfoy, ever the consummate hostess, lead her from the room with a serene smile on her face, though Hermione could see her disgust veiled beneath her perfect smile. "Come, Miss Granger. I will show you to your room."

They walked through serpentine hallways, quite surprising to this kind of architecture, and before long Hermione was completely turned around from where the throne room had been. Finally, they arrived at a plain door, and entered a bedroom. Hermione was quite surprised by the simple design.

"This is Antonin's room." Narcissa murmured quietly, before marching them across the sitting room towards a cluster of doors. She opened one. "This is the bathroom. You will clean yourself up now."

Narcissa pushed her inside, and Hermione was concerned that there might be some kind of sexual aspect to her fate. But, she remembered the disgusted look that Antonin had gifted her with, and thought he probably wouldn't deign to touch her.

The older woman huffed, before vanishing Hermione's clothing and starting the shower. "Get in. I won't have you dirtying the home with your filth." She said matter of factly. "When you are done, you may eat dinner."

Hermione took her time in the shower, enjoying the warmth that spread through her body for once. She thought that she'd been slowly freezing to death these past weeks. The water helped to ease the icy chill from her bones. She washed her hair and watched in surprise as the dark dirt that she'd been covered in colored the water.

She got out once the water turned clear.

After leaving the shower, she found the room empty and the door closed. On the vanity, Narcissa had left some white robes and some underthings, which, Hermione was extremely grateful for. After wearing the same pair of knickers for half a year, the fresh feeling of the lace knickers was heavenly.

Once she dressed, she exited the room, and found Narcissa sitting with Antonin, sharing tea. She didn't miss the surprised look on his face when he saw her clean visage, dressed like a real witch and not a filthy muggle urchin. The sinking feeling that she might be expected to share a bed with the man came rushing back.

"Well, you actually look somewhat presentable." Narcissa told her, a pleased smile on her face. Waving her wand, Hermione's curls dried on Narcissa's command. "Come, I will show you your room."

Hermione let out a relieved noise and she saw Dolohov give her a smirk. Obviously, he knew what she'd been worried about.

Narcissa opened one of the other doors near the bathroom. It was small, but still about as large as her room at home. It had a bed and a wardrobe inside of it, and a huge window. It was clearly some kind of servant's quarters or perhaps a chaperone's room from a forgotten time.

"Thank you." Hermione said, knowing that Narcissa was being unnecessarily kind to her. She was surprised to hear her voice, realizing that she hadn't spoken aloud in a long time.

The blonde looked at her surprised, but then slipped her unperturbable mask back into place. "I will have one of the house elves bring up your dinner." She turned and left the room, shutting the door behind her.

Hermione sat down on the bed, wondering what was to become of her life now.

Hermione slept better than she thought was possible, her first night in a real bed in over a year. After she'd eaten breakfast and gotten dressed for the day, a house elf informed her that Dolohov was waiting for her in the sitting room, so that they could begin their first lesson.

She reluctantly left the sanctuary of her own room and found the dark hair man, seriously reviewing papers spread across the coffee table. She stared down at him and eventually took a seat across from him.

He shoved an ink well and quill, along with a stack of parchment across the table from her. "You will complete that to assess if you are really the charms prodigy that the Dark Lord believes." He commanded her formally, his voice holding a barely detectable accent, as though he'd been practicing for years to mask it.

"How will you know if I am proficient in charms without a wand?" Hermione countered, longing to have her familiar vinewood wand in her hand again.

Dolohov smirked at her, shaking his head as though she were an ignorant child. "If you can prove that you will behave, we can see about getting you a wand. Now, take the damn test."

Hermione looked over the page, seeing that it was the written portion of the last years Charms NEWT. The momentary joy of taking a test, something that was something ordinary and something she was good at was quickly overshadowed. If she did this...she would be helping Voldemort, and she wasn't sure she could ever do that in good conscious.

Although the answers were practically shouting at her from the parchment, she scrunched her nose and forcefully pushed the paper away. "I won't take it. I'm not going to sit here and help the bad guys out."

Dolohov looked incensed, his emotions evident on his face. He did not have the passive, stoic mask that the Malfoys kept. Instead, you could read exactly how he was feeling from his dark eyes alone. He went from zero to sixty in a heartbeat, and it was odd to Hermione to see just how passionate the older man was. If he wasn't her captor, she was sure she'd find it attractive and dangerous.

"I should just kill you now and be done with it." He snarled at her, pushing the paper back towards her. "You'll never be able to comprehend the Charms work that we do. You are useless."

Hermione sneered back at him. "I won't take it. And you can't kill me. I heard Voldemort just as well as you did. You'll be tortured if you kill me. Am I really worth it to you?" She mocked him, crossing her arms like a petulant child, knowing she was pushing him to the edge.

"Go back to your room!" Antonin shouted, pointing her off in the direction of her little door, unable to look at her.

Hermione could see him clenching his fingers around his wand until the knuckles turned white. She stood, smiling to herself, knowing that she'd won. Today.

After the little brat had refused to take his assessment test, Antonin had seethed and drank firewhiskey and brooded over how she'd stubbornly refused to get in line with the new world order that Voldemort had created. There was nothing left to fight for. They had won.

But then, he'd figured that she'd been kept in a cell the last sixth months, so she didn't even know really what the new world order really was.

It had been easy enough to set up a tea with her old friend and his new wife. He was sure that once she saw him, saw how easy it had been for him to assimilate, Hermione would quickly fall into line just like Ronald Weasley had.

Once the pair arrived to his sitting room, Antonin knocked on her door and when she viciously ripped it open, he tried to give her a smile. "We have visitors today." She stuck her head out of the door and Antonin's breath momentarily caught in his throat, seeing how lovely she looked in the dark blue set of robes she'd chosen that day, her brown hair curling wildly around her face.

Her eyes settled on Ron's immediately. "Ron!" She gasped, running from the sanctuary of her own room, running to hug him. "Merlin, are you a sight for sore eyes, Ronald Weasley." She said, tears forming in her eyes. She'd thought he'd died.

A voice from behind the lanky wizard caught her attention, and Ron automatically went pink in the cheeks. "It's actually Ronald Parkinson now." He said.

Hermione tried to control her emotions when she saw a very pregnant Pansy Parkinson standing next to him. The moment her eyes lay on the rounded belly of the pug faced girl, Hermione felt her knees give out, but before she could fall, Dolohov was at her side, assisting her to the couch.

"I...what's happened?" She asked, confused, betrayed.

Ron winced again, at the clear accusation in her voice. "Well, with so many people dying in the war, they needed new children, and well, you can't really let good pure blood go to waste." He rubbed the back of his neck. Hermione wondered if he'd been brainwashed. "But Weasleys are blood traitors, so that's why I took Pansy's name when we got married."

Hermione could hear her blood rushing through her ears and she thought that she might pass out. "But, Ron, you hate Pansy." She insisted.

"Actually, Pansy's...she's great. I've come to really like her. I'm gonna be a father, Mione." Ron said, a goofy smile across her face. "I'm really happy now. I was upset when Harry died, but things are better now than when they were, and things will get better for you too."

Pansy put her hand on Ron's knee and smirked at Hermione. Her message was clear. I got what you thought was yours.

Hermione felt a lump in her throat, but she wouldn't give Pansy the satisfaction of seeing her cry. "I don't even know you any more, Ron." She said, eyes firmly in her lap. "But this world will never be for me." It was true of course, she was a mudblood.

"Hey, don't say that. Look at you, dressed in fancy robes, getting to stay here at Malfoy Manor. And Dolohov here is going to teach you all about Charms. You love Charms, Mione. Ever since first year." Ron tried to placate her.

Hermione shook her head, feeling her heart break. As if sensing the change in her attitude, Dolohov ushered the young couple from his rooms. This certainly had not gone as he'd planned.

Once they were gone, Hermione spoke again, no fire in her eyes. "Did you do that just to be cruel to me?" She accused, before turning and returning to her room.

He wasn't sure why, but he felt absolutely abysmal.

The morning after their disastrous tea with the Parkinsons, Antonin woke and stretched the aches of the previous day away. When he returned from the bathroom, he found the completed assessment waiting on the coffee table.

Hermione had neat, looping handwriting, laid out in perfectly straight rows. She'd given thoughtful and concise answers, showing her depth of knowledge on the subject of charms as well as considerable inquisitiveness about the study of Charm creation.

He was impressed. Initially, he'd thought that perhaps her teachers had just given her higher praise on her work because she was a muggleborn, but it was clear that she was every bright as bright as they'd claimed, if not more so. Who knows what she could accomplish when she was able to study on her own?

She exited her room, dark circles around her eyes and her nose was red and chapped as though she'd been blowing her nose all night. Her hair was pulled back in a severe braid, showing the beauty of her face. She sat on the couch and stared at his shoes, broken.

Suddenly, Antonin felt terrible that he'd hurt her, this magnificent creature. "I'm sorry." He said, before he could pull it back. He didn't know why he was apologizing to her. "I thought seeing your friend would make you want to study more."

Hermione looked up at him, surprised to hear the apology. "Ron was...my best friend and I loved him. We were going to get married. But that's not Ron any more."

Antonin was surprised to hear that. It was commonly thought in the Death Eaters inner circle that Hermione Granger was destined for Harry Potter, not the bumbling redheaded sidekick. "I didn't know." He said quietly.

The silence between them seemed to stretch on for hours, before Antonin felt the need to speak again. "You've done...adequately on your exam. I think we will start with jinxes, before moving on to hexes."

Hermione nodded, quietly getting into position to learn whatever wisdom he was going to impart to her. It was none of the eager determination that he'd seen the day before, and he found that he was greatly disappointed to see her lose her spark.

Walking over to the nightstand next to his bed, he opened the drawer and pulled her vinewood wand from inside. When he handed it to her, it was almost as if she couldn't believe it. "It has a few charms on it right now to block what kind of magic you can perform." He explained, not wanting her to immediately try to kill him.

She gripped the wand in her hand, and he watched as a bit of quiet determination returned to her face.

Hermione hated not being good at something. It was an issue that had plagued her even as a child, causing her to not even try new activities, because she was afraid of failing. So when the Dark Arts didn't come naturally, it frustrated her.

Initially, she'd thought she'd just try to get along, scrape by and do the bare minimum, but then she'd found that her skills were just abysmal. She ended up throwing herself into the Dark Arts, practicing for hours every day with Antonin, trying again and again and again, until she could say that she mastered the spell.

He was surprisingly patient with her. Her Russian teacher always seemed so serious and was difficult to please, but it didn't stop him from giving her quiet encouragement when she just wanted to give up. His indulgent smiles when she succeeded were heady and made all the frustration worth it.

She sometimes wondered when he'd stopped hating her. It was painfully clear the first day that he'd rather murder her then look at her, the same way that she'd rather claw out his eyes than submit to his tutelage. But soon, she noticed the way his eyes crinkled in delight at some quip she'd make or how warm his hand felt on hers when he showed her proper casting technique. It was seductive.

It wasn't just his approval that had her chasing the dark arts either. Every time she learned something new or when she mastered a new hex or jinx, she could feel her magic welling up inside her, purring in heady delight.

Before long, her task had transformed from a chore to a welcome endeavor.

Antonin had been pleasantly surprised by the kind of student that Hermione had turned out to be. She was much more intelligent than he'd given her credit for, and when she was learning, her face was magical to watch. You could practically read her thoughts on her expressive face.

She was a quick learner and of course she was proficient with most jinxes and hexes you would learn at Hogwarts, but she did have some trouble with darker charms, some that would cause serious bodily harm or death to the victim. She'd quietly told him about how she'd jinxed some girl's face to be permanently scarred with the word "sneak".

He'd been a bit impressed, she obviously had a bit of a mean streak hidden beneath all those curls, but honestly to a Death Eater her little feat wasn't anything to brag about. They'd slowly been working their way up, learning darker and darker curses, but she still struggled. He was sure her basic morality is what was holding her back.

Hermione had asked to learn the curse that he'd used against her, back in the Department of Mysteries, and Antonin had been surprised, but ultimately agreed. She hadn't done anything stupid like forgive him for it, and he hadn't apologized, but she'd shown him the thin purple scar she still had and had expressed a desire to know how it worked.

He explained what the curse was meant to do - it effectively cause massive internal bleeding by shredding the internal organs - and she'd learned the proper wand movement and incantation, but so far she'd had limited success, causing only tiny dancing purple flames.

"I think that you are still hung up on your personal knowledge of the curse." He taunted her, knowing that Hermione was most effective at magic casting when she was provoked and spitting angry. He was the same, it was when he was most deadly. "You remember the pain."

Instantly, her brown eyes began to smolder and she glared at him. "That's not it, Antonin." She replied. It had been a pleasant surprise the first time that she'd used his given name, and he found he quite liked the way it sounded on her lips.

She turned to face the training dummy on the opposite side of the room and steadied herself, ready to try again. Antonin found himself holding his breath. He wanted her to do well, to succeed, to be successful. He wanted to see her in all her glory, a revengeful dark witch with amazing power.

With the vicious movement of her hand, Antonin watched as the flame worked, alighting the dummy. Once he was certain it had worked, he used the counter-curse to put it out, and Hermione was smiling broadly, laughing. "I did it!" She cried, jumping, wrapping her arms around him.

Antonin looked down at her smiling face, pressed firmly against his chest, their considerable height difference most noticeable now. "That you did, daragaya."

"I can feel it, the magic, inside me." Hermione whispered, in awe of the power she felt swirling through her veins. Her magic purred inside her, pleased to show just what it could accomplish, should she call on it. She didn't feel tainted, like the dark magic had left a stain on her soul, she felt like she was soaring, light as a feather. She could feel her magic reaching out to him as well.

He pushed his hands into her curly hair to hold her in place. He was excessively pleased with his witch and he needed to be with her. He pressed his lips against hers, and was surprised to not be met with any resistance. Instead, she moaned, quietly and opened her lips, an offering to him.

His tongue thrust into her mouth, trying to map out each and every spot that would make her moan, fighting her for dominance in the kiss. He could feel how much she hated him, and he could feel how much the dark magic made her sing, and he could feel how much she liked him, all in her kiss, clawing for any control.

He'd only kissed her, and already, he was painfully hard, grinding his cock against her belly, wanting to know what it would be like to be inside of her. Desperate to find out, he pushed her backwards towards the bed, until she was falling against the soft sheets. Annoyed with the multitude of buttons on her shirt, he pulled, taking delight as the tiny things went flying, before moving to pull his own shirt off.

Her body was better than he'd imagined, with smallish, perky breasts, a trim waist and flaring hips that he wanted to grab onto and bruise while he entered her. He hands ran over his chest, perhaps admiring the chest hair that was sprinkled down his abdomen and into his trousers. He felt powerful, masculine with her, and he couldn't wait to be inside of her.

Hermione felt as though her whole world was spinning, dizzy with pleasure, but she knew that she wanted this, needed this to ground her. When Antonin was unclasping her bra, she was trying to undo his trousers, though his lips on her neck, sucking and soothing, was making it hard to think.

She lifted her hips to help him remove her knickers, thinking this might be a terrible, wonderful idea. When his long fingers slipped through her wet folds, spreading the moisture around, all thought left her mind and she was left with feeling.

The feeling of him entering her over and over again, the feeling of his back underneath her clenching hands, the feeling of burying her face into his chest hair. The sensation was building, building inside of her, her insides throbbing with unspent energy, just waiting to snap. A few swipes of his thumb over her clit had her sent into bliss, her walls fluttering around him, pulling him over the edge to orgasm as well.

Antonin had been called away as an ambassador to the Russian Wizards Federation for a few days, leaving Hermione with free reign over the room and his small collection of books. Since their relationship had elevated, they hadn't outright discussed it, but Hermione had spent most nights, snuggled up against him in bed, even if they didn't sleep together.

She missed waking up with his warm arms around her.

He'd quickly become the focus of her life, seeing as he was the only other person she saw on a day to day basis, but she knew it was more than that. He was incredibly gifted in the area of charms, and he'd invented quite a few spells on his own. He was fascinating and dark and captivating.

And he cared about how she was doing. He wanted her to do well. He never got annoyed with her questions and relished their debates, but hated her continued moral hangups, which he said were merely a product of schooling under Dumbledore. Antonin said Dumbledore created false dichotomies between "light" and "dark" magic.

Hermione didn't know what to believe any more.

When Narcissa showed up for tea, Hermione was glad for the distraction. She'd gotten utterly bored without Antonin to talk to, and though she didn't have much in common with the older woman, she was pleased to talk to someone.

Narcissa Malfoy looked immaculate sitting on the little couch in the siting area of Antonin's rooms, teacup held in her dainty hand. "I must say, Miss Granger, I am so pleased that you are settling in well to my home."

Hermione allowed a genuine smile to cross her face, putting one sugar in her tea. "Yes, these past weeks have been far more pleasant than I could have expected."

The older woman nodded. "Antonin has been singing your praises during the meetings. It's clear that you are quite the little prodigy." She took a silent sip from her cup. "It is a shame about your blood, but the Dark Lord has been so pleased with your work."

Suddenly, Hermione's world was thrown into sharp focus, as she was forced to remember what she was really doing. She was aiding Voldemort, not working on some school project with Antonin. And, to make matters worse, there was the continued discussion of her blood status. That she was an exception to the rule that muggleborns were dirty and worthless.

How could she have betrayed her principles so much? She was settling in and becoming just as mindless as Ron.

She didn't even recognize herself anymore.

The first time she presented research to Voldemort and his council, she was magnificent. She'd stood up, her voice never wavering, her face never flinching when the Dark Lord's red eyes followed the curves of her body. She explained the new complex charm she'd created to track wizards, using the signature of their wand.

She explained how it could be used to track down rebels who still defied the Dark Lord, even though Antonin knew that those rebels were likely her own friends and former classmates. If it bothered her in any way, she didn't show it.

Voldemort was beyond pleased. "Excellent, Antonin. I see that you have found yourself quite the apt pupil." Antonin gave a curt nod, knowing that Hermione was likely rankled at this indirect praise for her work. "The mudblood has shown her usefulness...for now. Please return her to her room, Antonin."

He gave another nod, wanting to get Hermione away from the other Death Eaters as quickly as possible. When they'd closed the door behind them, he took her small hand, enclosing it completely in hers, and he let a small smile show on his face. From the corner of his eye, he could see her bit her lower lip.

Antonin walked with purposeful strides down the hallway, his long legs leading her to a hidden alcove, where he pulled her in, pressing her back against the cold stone. He lifted her up, pressing his aching cock against her center. He was so pleased with her, so impressed, so proud, and he needed to have her now.

He encouraged her to wrap her legs around his waist after he'd pushed her robes up around her hips, undoing his trousers, and pulling her knickers aside. She gasped at the feeling of him entering her in this new angle.

With his head buried in her hair where shoulder met neck, he began a fast, brutal pace, sending her bouncing up against the stone. He couldn't stop himself from whispering to her how wonderful she was. "I love your mind. I love your strength."

She was moaning back to him, her hands tangled in his wavy locks, holding him close against her. "I love your body. I love your bloody hair." He said, his accent becoming more noticeable in his moment of passion. He could feel her tightening around him, clinging to him, her body not wanting to let his cock go.

He smirked. She was close, but he was right behind her. He was nearly mindless with passion, rutting against her, chasing orgasm. "I love you." He whispered into her hair.

With a silent scream, she came, her eyes clenched shut in pleasure, savagely pulling his head up to face him, to capture his mouth with her own, fighting for dominance with her tongue. Feeling the sensual dance of her mouth, he followed her over the edge, a few more thrusts and he was spilling himself into her.

Antonin set Hermione down on the ground, her feet unsteady. He fixed his trousers, before helping her rearrange her robes so that she looked a bit more presentable. She smiled at him shyly in thanks, and before she knew it, she was returning his sentiment. "I love you, too."

He stared at her, a bit in shock. He hadn't even realized that he'd said it aloud, but to hear it returned had his heart soaring. She was a precious gift, and she was his.

Even though her first tea with Narcissa had upset the delicate equilibrium that Hermione had been living in, she continued to have the blonde woman over occasionally, as she enjoyed the variety of company, and sometimes if she was lucky, Antonin would join them as well.

It seemed as though Narcissa was one of the few people Antonin would continue to be himself with, unafraid of her comments or thoughts. He wasn't ashamed of Hermione and didn't hide the smiles and affectionate touches that he gave her in private. He smiled and laughed at Hermione's occasionally witty comments.

"You will have to take Hermione on a walk through the gardens, Antonin." Narcissa told them with a smile. She obviously knew about the change in their relationship, though Hermione was certain that Antonin hadn't told her about it. No, Hermione figured that Narcissa was just perseptive...perhaps it was the fact that they weren't trying to kill one another any more. "I understand that they are quite romantic."

Hermione couldn't help the smile that was on her face, but she couldn't stop herself. Being with Antonin filled her with a happiness she never would have anticipated. Pouring herself a cup of tea, she thought about getting her usual lump of sugar, but thought twice, instead reaching for the honey, drizzling in a generous amount.

When she looked up, stirring the small spoon in her cup, she noticed Narcissa staring at her, markedly confused. Feeling self conscious, Hermione set down her spoon. "What is it?" She asked, and her confusion also caught the attention of Antonin.

Narcissa pursed her lips together, before moving around the coffee table to sit next to Hermione. Before Hermione knew what was happening, Narcissa's hand was on her breast, feeling the weight of it in her hand. Sputtering, Hermione moved away. "Narcissa! What on earth are you doing?" She cried.

The older woman frowned this time, a worried look on her face. "Hermione, you're pregnant." She said, matter-of-factly.

"I am not!" Hermione protested, though her mind was already running through her menstrual cycles. She hadn't gotten her period in a long time, because she hadn't been getting enough to eat, but she figured that it just hadn't returned yet.

"Yes, you are. You're glowing, you're taking your tea differently, and now your breasts...they've swollen. I would bet my life on it." Narcissa said seriously. She'd been around enough pregnant girls in her life to know when someone was expecting.

She looked across Hermione's body to make eye contact with Antonin, whose face was a mixture of pure elation and fear. Narcissa wasn't sure what the Russian man wanted with Hermione, but she was certain of one thing. "Antonin, you know that the Dark Lord will never allow her to keep the baby."

His dark eyes met her's and she knew then that he understood what he needed to do. Hermione was beginning to panic on the couch, obviously wondering what was going to happen to her. Everything had been going well, but now it was crashing all around her.

Narcissa stood from the couch. "I will let you two talk. Let me know if I can help you with anything."

Narcissa had heard about the two deaths a week after she'd told Hermione that she was pregnant, something that she'd kept a secret from even Lucius, who she told everything. The deaths of Antonin Dolohov and Hermione Granger didn't seem to surprise anyone, as word of their passionate affair had gotten out.

Everyone knew that both were passionate individuals and that they could fight as hard as they could love, but it was still a sad loss. Perhaps the only one who was surprised was the Dark Lord, but then again, he never understood human emotion.

"Sectumsempra, my Lord." Severus Snape said, reviewing the slashing cuts that criss crossed Dolohov's body. "As you know, Potter learned of the spell from my old Potions manual. I assume that he must have taught it to his little friends. He would have bleed out in less than a minute."

"And the girl?" Voldemort asked, looking at her lifeless body, eyes wide and face shocked.

"Avada Kedavra, my Lord." Lucius responded. "I think that it's just about the only spell Dolohov would have thought to use after being so viciously cursed."

"I would say he barely had time to cast it before he bled out. It was quite a powerful casting for a mudblood." Snape said, praising his dead former student.

Voldemort sighed, running his hand over his face. It was unfortunate to lose someone as useful as Antonin, but he supposed it was his fault. "I guess it was wrong of me to think that Antonin could handle the mudblood. I should have known that she was little better than a wild beast, and would turn on the hand that fed her sooner rather than later."

"Tragic loss, my Lord. Antonin will be greatly missed." Snape said. "What shall we do with the bodies?"

"We will bury Antonin of course, but let's feed the girl to Nagini." Voldemort decided. It was the best fate that she could hope for, Voldemort thought of the Granger girl, and called for his familiar.

It hadn't taken Antonin long to settle into Odessa, seeing as he could already speak Russian, but Hermione had also cultivated quite an ear for the language. Still, she sometimes got embarrassed at her pronunciation - so worried she was going to fail - that she usually deferred to him. But, she knew more about the muggle culture, which he would rely on her to fill in the gaps.

When he learned that Hermione was carrying his child, he didn't need to think twice about what he'd do. He would do anything to keep her alive, and he was shocked by the depth of his emotion. He'd never imagined having a child, but he'd known instantly that Hermione's child wasn't something he'd be able to give up. And Narcissa was right, the Dark Lord would have killed her without a second thought, because she was muggleborn.

He'd found two muggles, fed them some polyjuice potion he'd knicked from Snape, and then he and Hermione proceeded to kill them, she using a sectumsempra curse, and he using the killing curse. He could see how much it hurt her, to take an innocent life, but she knew that the Dark Lord would never let them leave willingly. This was the only way.

They left their wands there, determined to live as muggles so that they couldn't be traced to where they were living. Someday, perhaps, they could return to the Wizarding world, if the Dark Lord were ever unseated, but for now, their child was worth it. Their son, Viktor, was worth it.

Using their meager funds, they'd purchased a bookstore, specializing in western literature. Although the fall of communism had happened nearly ten years prior, there was a huge demand for the works of American, British authors. Customers loved to come in and browse, and it did quite well especially with youth and young adults, though Antonin thought that might have something to do with all the young men coming in to chat up his pretty wife.

It was in those moments that his hatred for muggles was still boiling up in his chest. How he itched for his wand, wanting to show them just who Hermione belonged to. He knew that people thought it was odd that she'd ended up with an older man like him, but she only ever had eyes for him. He'd even let her talk him into getting married by a muggle.

His mingling with muggles was probably the single thing that showed Hermione how much she really meant to him. Antonin found them completely weak and couldn't imagine not having any magic. He was still able to cast some spells wandlessly. He could admit that some things that muggles had were ingenious, though he wouldn't admit it aloud.

He'd bought her a little house not far from the beach. Antonin had been a bit worried at first that Hermione would go mad with only him for company in this foreign land where no one spoke her language, but she was quite content with their little trio.

He never would have imagined his life turning out this way, but he could live with it if it meant Hermione staying by his side. He didn't recognize himself anymore.