A/N: *was struck by the muse for this after some intense gardening today (WHY THO?)*

*is so thrilled to be back working on it*

*wants to remind y'all how I warned a while back that things were gonna get dark*

*flails*

xx-Kitten.

A Promise Unspoken

By Kittenshift17

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

"What the fuck did you do, Thor?" Antonin demanded tensely, his eyes fixed on Thorfinn while Thorfinn stared at Hermione in horror.

"It's not…" he tried weakly, his head still spinning and his tongue feeling thick in his mouth, the guilt choking him.

"What it looks like?" Toshka finished the sentence for him when he trailed off. "Because if fucking looks like you've got yourself a Death Eater mask and robe. It looks like you were one of the ones setting the fucking tents on fire. I should've known when I saw the Fiendfyre! Eto plokho. Eto deystvitel'no plokho. chto, chert voz'mi, ty sdelal? Blyad'!

Thorfinn knew it was never a good thing when his best friend started cursing in Russian and he cringed, unable to take his eyes off Hermione. She looked scared. No, worse. She looked terrified. She was afraid of him. She was trying to inch backward, trying to get away from him; obviously trying to make it back out the door. Antonin was in her way, barring it to prevent that very thing while he continued to rant in his mother tongue, evidently furious and worried.

"It's not what… I mean, I didn't… I mean… Princess…" Thorfinn stammered, trying to find something to say. Anything. Anything to make her stop looking at him like he was going to murder her right there on his bedroom floor with his bare bloody hands.

"What the fuck happened? Antonin demanded.

"I didn't…"

"Finn…" Hermione breathed, her eyes beginning to well up with tears and Merlin's saggy Y-fronts, he hated it when she cried. He felt so helpless when she cried. "What did you do?"

"I'm not…I mean, I wasn't… I mean, this wasn't…" he tried again, trying to find the words, trying to offer some excuse; some platitude; some way to erase what he'd done.

"Thor!" Antonin growled, shoving Hermione further forward into the room and out of his way. "What. Happened?"

"Um," Thorfinn said, tearing his eyes off Hermione to look back down at the apparel on the bed that he'd ripped off his body the minute he'd apparated home.

"Finn…" Hermione said weakly again, and the tears had begun to spill down her cheeks now and she was shaking; she was scared, he could feel it through the bond they shared – the same bond he'd been tending so carefully and stoking so lavishly.

"I didn't mean to," he breathed, his eyes wide and honest as he looked up at his best friend – the closest thing he had to a brother – and the girl he'd gone and fallen wand over broom in love with since the time he'd set out to destroy her back in her first year.

These were the two people in his life who mattered to him to most; and he'd failed them.

"How the fuck do you 'not mean to' set a shitload of tents on fire and attack muggles, Thor?" Antonin demanded, his temper obviously fully engaged.

"I didn't mean to…" Thorfinn whispered again, frowning and clutching fistfuls of his hair so hard that it hurt and felt like he was going to rip clumps right out of his scalp. "I just… there was… and he… they… I…"

"Thor!" Antonin snarled, and suddenly he was stepping around Hermione and closing the distance between them before Toshska's hands joined Thorfinn's in his hair and his best friend held him firm, staring into his face from so close, their noses almost touched. "Tell me what happened. Now. From the beginning. Where did you go after we left you on the pitch with the team and the reporters and the fans? You disappeared at the after-party you and I attended."

"There was a party," Thorfinn muttered, trying to figure out what he'd done; trying to make sense of how he'd ended up with the group hexing people and setting shit on fire. "We were drinking."

"I know we were drinking," Antonin nodded. "What did you drink?"

"Whiskey," he answered. "But it tasted funny."

"You were drugged?" Antonin asked.

"I think Moran had drugs. Maybe a potion. Whiskey tasted off."

"Where did you go?" Toshka pushed.

"I had to piss," Thorfinn murmured, frowning as he tried to remember. "Couldn't find a loo. Then Selwyn was there."

"Which Selwyn?" Antonin asked. "Becky?"

Thorfinn shook his head.

"Argus," he said. "Argus Selwyn. Held his wand on me. Said I'd disrespected his daughter. Said I'd shat on the Selwyn name. Said we had a blood-feud."

"You did spark a blood-feud when you ran after her," Toshka pointed out, nodding in Hermione's direction when she'd moved as far away from him as possible, having retreated across the room and slid down the wall in the corner, her face dirty with smoke from the fires he'd started at the pitch, her pyjamas muddy at the hems and grass-stains marring the knees of her pants.

"He said he'd kill me," Thorfinn said. "Said he'd slaughter Reina, and Gran, and Mum and Dad… Said he'd kill Hermione. Said he'd torture them in front of me and when I begged for their lives, he'd butcher them and fuck their corpses."

In the corner, Hermione whimpered.

"He attacked you?" Toshka answered. "You got angry?"

"I blasted him," Thorfinn said. "I think he's dead…"

"Chertovski ad!" Toshka growled.

"Someone saw. Someone… Ennis?"

"Ennis Selwyn? Argus's son?" Antonin guessed, still fisting handfuls of his hair, never once breaking eye contact even when he swore.

"He held his wand on me. Said he'd make me pay for what I'd done. Said he'd tell everyone what I'd done if I didn't… if I didn't…"

"He blackmailed you to don a mask and robe and join the others?" Antonin finished for him.

Thorfinn nodded, choking on the urge he had to scream.

"I panicked," Thorfinn said. "I tried to blast him, too. Tried to… but I wasn't quick enough. He… he cursed me."

"What curse?"

"Imperius," Thorfinn breathed. "And I couldn't… I couldn't… I didn't…"

"You had no control over you body," Antonin finished for him. "When did he let up?"

"When everyone scattered. When the Dark Mark appeared in the sky," Thorfinn said. "I blasted and blasted and blasted… tent after tent and I couldn't… everyone knows that I have a gift for Fiendfyre. And Ennis was laughing. He thought it was funny. He had those muggles… he was… he was… they…"

"We saw," Toshka nodded.

"No, Toshka, you didn't see," Thorfinn breathed, his eyes cutting to Hermione in the corner briefly as bile rose in his stomach. "You didn't…. the mother, and the little girl… they… Toshka they…."

"Merlin, they didn't make you…."

"No!" Thorfinn said. "Not me. Ennis wasn't strong enough to make me do that. But the others…. Goyle, I think. Maybe Malfoy. Macnair, definitely. He had his mask off for that. Said he wanted them to remember his face. Said he wanted them to have nightmares of his face…"

"Fucking hell," Toshka muttered, his eyes wide with horror at the things Thorfinn was describing.

"People were screaming. They were bouncing. Upside-down. Tents on fire. Couldn't stop. Couldn't move. Couldn't run. He… Toshka, he…"

"He mind controlled you," Antonin finished for him. "When did he let you go?"

"When the Aurors showed up. Everyone scattered. He must've dropped the spell. Or gotten too far away to control me from a distance. Might've apparated. I didn't see. I just panicked. I apparated straight here and I… I…"

Thorfinn turned and ripped himself away from Antonin quickly, running for the bathroom adjoined to his bedroom and he hurled into the toilet, emptying his stomach of the food he'd ingested and the liquor he'd imbibed at the party. He kept heaving, coughing and coughing, spitting up more and more bile until his stomach cramped and nothing but white foam came out.

"Fucking hell," Antonin was saying. "We need to burn these. Now. We need to destroy them."

"Do it," Thorfinn whispered against the porcelain, his forehead resting on the seat.

Antonin grabbed the cloak and mask before he turned on the spot, disapparating and leaving Thorfinn alone with Hermione for the first time all night. Hell, the last thing he remembered of her, he'd kissed her after winning the cup in front of everyone, including the reporters. Not that they'd report on him snogging a 'fan' now. Not after what had happened tonight. His celebratory smooch with a minor wouldn't even be a blip in tomorrow morning's paper. Not after some fuckhead had cast the Dark Mark.

"Princess?" Thorfinn called weakly, pulling himself to his feet and stumbling back to the door.

She was still sitting in the corner, tears running down her cheeks. She was filthy and scared and he didn't blame her. Hell, he didn't know what to do.

"Princess?" he asked again, but Hermione didn't even look at him.

He wasn't sure she could even hear him. Maybe she'd gone into shock. Maybe she was too scared. Maybe he needed to just leave her the hell alone while he showered off the effects of the game and the booze and the magic, and the terrible stink of smoke clinging to his skin and the soot staining his hair. There wasn't anything else to do. Turning back, he numbly reached for the knobs to get the water running before stripping out of his quidditch pants and stepping under the scalding stream. He scrubbed hard at his skin, vomiting into the bottom of the shower a few more times though it twisted his guts like he was dying and it make him feel like he was trying to cough up his spleen.

He stood there under the spray for a long time even after he scrubbed his skin raw and shampooed his hair four times. He didn't think he could face Hermione. He didn't know what to say. Sure, okay, he'd been drinking and he might've been drugged and he'd been put under the Imperius curse, but… he was pretty sure he'd killed a man. Argus Selwyn was most likely dead. There was no way a man his age would recover from the blast of Fiendfyre that had spewed from his mouth like he was a dragon, engulfing the wretched fucker until he was nothing but a pile of ash.

At least they wouldn't find the body.

Hell, would they find the body? Was there even a body left to find? Had stampeding and terrified magic folk trampled what remained of the ashes after Thorfinn's burst of fury and magic?

This wasn't like what he and Toshka had done in Russia. Sure, that had been cold-blooded and planned out, but it'd been revenge against a bunch of cunts who'd stood idly by while his witch fought for her life and her virtue. This wasn't like that. This was worse than that, even if it hadn't entirely been intentional. The rage had simply welled up inside him and spewed forth until the object of his fury was no more. He'd lashed out a man who had simply threatened his family. He hadn't harmed them. Hadn't acted against them yet. He'd only threatened it, and yet Thorfinn had lost his temper and burned him alive.

The thought scared Thorfinn. He shouldn't have power like this. He shouldn't be so out of control like this. He had grown used to irrational bursts of anger when Hermione was with another man – it was a side-effect of the bond they shared – but this was different. This was a complete lack of control. This was… dangerous.

"C'mon, Granger," Toshka's voice sounded from the doorway and Thorfinn turned from where he leaned against the wall of the shower under the scalding spray to watch his best friend lead his betrothed into the room by the hand.

She was still crying, and seemingly in shock, but at least she was on her feet.

"Thor, you're going to have to help her," Antonin told him quietly, moving around behind Hermione before unceremoniously yanking down her pyjama pants.

Hermione didn't react – didn't gasp, or try to pull the back up, or try to stop him. She just stood there with tears trickling down her sooty face and Thorfinn's heart squeezed.

"She's filthy. You need to wash off all traces of this mess," Antonin said. "Both of you."

Thorfinn nodded, stepping out of the shower and unconcerned to have his best friend getting an eyeful of his naked arse as he reached for Hermione carefully, worried she might flinch back from him in shock.

"Is it gone?" Thorfinn asked.

"Yes," Antonin said quietly. "Where did you leave Selwyn?"

"I've got no idea," Thorfinn admitted. "Outside, somewhere. Near the clubhouse where the party was. I was in a garden, I think."

"I'll find him," Toshka promised.

"I'm not so sure there's anything to find, Toshka," Thorfinn. "I think I… um… incinerated him."

"I'll check," Antonin said. "You're sure it was Ennis who used the Imperius on you?"

Thorfinn nodded. "I think so."

"Think?" he asked. "Or you're sure?"

"He was definitely there," Thorfinn said. "Toshka… he'll try again… what if he uses this to…to…"

Antonin didn't answer before he nodded sharply, once, his eyes cold as he met Thorfinn's gaze and Thorfinn just knew he was going to do something bad. Something he shouldn't do. Something illegal. Something that would get them both thrown in Azkaban for the rest of their lives if they were ever caught. But then, after Russia and after tonight, things could only get worse, really. There was no taking back what they'd done. No taking back what he'd done.

Thorfinn held his best friend's gaze for a long moment while he helped Hermione out of her pyjama shirt, the small witch still softly crying but not moving or speaking or seeming to be aware of where she was or who was touching her. An eternity passed between them in that moment, and Thorfinn had a sick feeling in his stomach that Antonin was going to do whatever he felt was necessary to protect the Rowle family – the family he'd all but adopted as his own.

Without a word, Antonin turned on the spot and disapparated with a soft pop, leaving Thorfinn alone with Hermione again. Hermione, and all the terrible thoughts running through his head.