Hermione surveyed the transformed Great Hall. The long plank tables had been replaced with circular ones covered with tablecloths that matched the ceiling, and scattered throughout the room were clusters of candles. Diaphanous silk streamed from the ceiling, fairy shining their lights and keeping the material from landing on the heads of the guests. A band was in the corner playing a mix of muggle and magical popular music while students and parents were enjoying themselves on the dance floor.
She poured herself a glass of punch and watched her husband across the room, conversing with his lieutenants, planning his next acquisition. She loved watching him control the raw power she knew he possessed. He was urbane and subtle, but there was always an underlying tension that threatened to emerge if his calm demeanour was disturbed.
She glanced around and saw her two children, Raisa and Antonin Jr. in the centre of the dance floor, with their dates, looking to be having the time of their lives.
She was glad she could give this to them; glad they did not have to go through the hell she went through during her school years. This was what she had fought for—a peaceful, if not normal, life.
“You know you’re a witch, right?” the voice next to her chuckled.
And the peace has ended.
“Cormac, you know I hate you, right?” she said coldly. Unfortunately, her response only emboldened him further. “Unless you’re here to part with your pureblood galleons and contribute to the program, I have nothing to say to you.”
“Why Hermione Dolohov, we share such wonderful memories of our time here, certainly you could afford to be nostalgic.” Cormac was standing almost too close for comfort.
Yes, for the past fourteen years, Hermione Granger had been the wife of ex-Death Eater turned blood traitor, Antonin Dolohov. As soon as the war ended, the Wizengamot pushed through a marriage law forcing purebloods and muggleborns together. Even though Dolohov had changed his allegiance, getting married was the only way to avoid Azkaban for his Death Eater crimes. No one knew what the algorithm was for matching couples, but for some reason Hermione was pledged to Dolohov.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “You better never let my husband hear you say that.”
Cormac backed up, a false expression of fear mocking her. “Oh, no, the ex-Death Eater slash Blood Traitor, Antonin Dolohov, don’t let him near me.” He scoffed and pretended to hide behind her, giving him the opportunity to grab both of her arms as if she was a shield. She wrenched both arms away, but it still didn’t deter him. He came back to her side and just as he put his hand on her lower back, she caught her husband’s eye.
That was all it took. She didn’t have to vary her expression, tilt her head, blink or anything. She knew that just seeing her former classmate cosying up to her would drive Antonin out of his mind. He jerked his head at Thorfinn Rowle, his bodyguard, who immediately left the room. She knew Antonin wouldn’t defend her honour himself, he didn’t get his hands dirty. That’s what lieutenants were for.
Although, she knew perfectly well how to handle Cormac McLaggen. She didn’t need rescuing.
She stayed near the punch table, making sure no one spiked it with any unsavoury potions. The dance was also a small fundraiser for a program that exposed muggleborn witches and wizards to the magical world much earlier, and would give their parents time to adjust to their child’s gifts, instead of sending them to a school hundreds of miles away, merely days after discovering that magic truly existed. Despite the parents and other adults present, that didn’t rule out mischievous students spiking the punch. Hermione took a sip and watched the dance floor, completely ignoring the insufferable fop standing next to her. He began stroking her back and she wanted to vomit.
One would have thought that immediately after the war, changes such as this program would have sprung into being, but the wheel of progress moved slowly. And without its chief promoter, the idea languished until the Dolohovs moved back to England.
“Now, Hermione, love, you’d put in a good word for me, I’m sure,” Cormac said, apparently having a death wish. “My uncle wants me to invest in some businesses on the continent and I told him I had an in with your husband.”
“You will have to take that up with him. I have absolutely nothing to do with how he earns his money. I’m just a mother and a community volunteer,” she said, sneering at McLaggen, “I have different battles to fight now.”
“Such as?” He just wouldn’t quit.
“Such as making sure my children are well-dressed, well-mannered and taught to see through such a flimsy charade as this is.” Hermione looked him up and down with all the disdain of a pureblood matron stare that would have had Narcissa Malfoy applauding.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Dolohov,” Finn Rowle broke in, “I believe your husband would like to have a word with Mr. McLaggen here. Sir, come with me, please.”
Circe, that took him long enough.
“Oh please, don’t let me keep you, Cormac, this might be your opening.” Hermione looked down, trying to keep the self-satisfied smirk off her face.
Torn for a moment between turning down the invitation or staying with Hermione, his ego got the better of him and Cormac nodded at Finn. Hermione thought she might have even seen a small twitch of nervousness cross his face as he left with the hugely intimidating Viking.
Hermione breathed a sigh of relief once Cormac was safely escorted to the hallway. She stepped over to the closed door and leaned her ear against it. When the first Crucio was heard, followed by screaming that sounded like an adolescent school girl, she couldn’t help but giggle.
Serves him right. She stopped for a moment, realising that she had no sympathy for McLaggen. It was not normal for her. She was usually compassionate, kind and merciful.
But what was normal? It was not normal when she was honoured as a heroine after Voldermort’s death, but then more or less forced to marry the ex-Death Eater turned blood traitor. It was not normal that she hated him with a passion, but in her own way loved him now.
He spirited her away to his home in Russia after the war and for that she was grateful. She needed time to heal, to process, to come to terms with everything and it was not going to happen in London. She was constantly besieged by fans, reporters, and businesses who wanted her endorsement. Antonin hoped that by giving her what she wanted, what she needed, she would, in turn, develop at least a fondness for him.
And she did. But it took time and patience for him to finally break down the barriers and discover what she needed. After he did some hard and painful, convincing, she realised that she needed him, too. She needed to be taken care of, to not have to always be in control, planning strategies, or directing outcomes. And when she surrendered the desire for control that was draining her soul, she found she could sleep at night, free of nightmares of drawing rooms, swords, bank vaults, and house elves.
So there she was, many, many years later, only moving back to London when Raisa was eleven so she could go to Hogwarts. A typical mum of teenagers and a young child.
She looked back out over the room again towards where her husband had been standing, ready with a fond look when she was met with a sight that made her blood boil; she hadn’t felt that way since fourth year when she was demonised by Rita Skeeter.
That little slut.
Standing with her husband was Dante Greengrass and his cunt of a daughter, Daphne. She was the picture of the quintessential pureblood, but had eschewed marrying any one of the many classmates who desired her in school. No, Hermione knew she liked older men, having heard that she boasted about being the best and last sex of her two late husbands’ lives. And here she was, hanging on every fucking word that left Antonin’s mouth.
Hermione was stunned. The tendrils of jealousy that quickly took over her body like Devil’s Snare were unexpected, to say the least. In all the years she'd been married to Dolohov, she’d never been jealous. Ever. She supposed it was because she trusted him, and deep down knew how much he loved her.
But this little bitch had been a thorn in her side since fourth year, when she’d been the one to start the rumour that she was dating Victor and Harry. And in sixth year, she was the one who challenged Lavender to go after Ron. Homewrecker. She wouldn’t put it past Daphne to slip a lust potion in Antonin’s drink and lure him into a broom closet.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t just send Finn over there to pull Daphne away from Antonin. Not with Dante there obviously talking business. But when Hermione watched Daphne walk out of the hall with her husband, the possibility of a broom closet suddenly seemed like it could be a potential reality.
This would not do.
Hermione took a few deep breaths to calm herself; she didn’t need sparks from her hair messing up the gorgeous updo she had slaved to create. Instead she filled up a second punch glass, refilled hers, and walked over to a group of wizards, most of whom she had gone to school with, and began talking with them. Then she moved to a group of mothers of children in her son’s class with whom she was well acquainted. She continued to do this the rest of the night, and managed to fund raise almost the entire amount that was needed to pilot the magical exposure program.
Once the evening was over, they floo’d home through the fireplace in their bedroom. She was grateful for the fact that they didn’t keep separate quarters like so many upper class couples did. Of course they had separate studies and baths, but they always slept in the same bed.
Now, because going to bed furious with her husband wasn’t an option, she intended to make the most of it.
It was a tense silence that surrounded them as they got ready for bed. To start the conversation, Hermione asked him where Cormac ended up. His answer was what she expected.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass, Hermione; I just know he won’t trouble you again. Now,” he said, trying and failing to take her by the waist, “why are you so angry? I’m the one who had to watch that slimy filth paw you.”
Hermione pushed him away and walked towards the bar in the corner of the room. She poured herself a whiskey, girding herself for the real moment of truth.
“Does Daphne give good head? Did she take you to her favourite broom closet, the one near the One-Eyed Witch? I saw you leave with her, so respect me enough not to lie to me, Antonin.”
“What the fuck are you on about? I walked her to the cloakroom. And, yes, she did try to seduce me, but I tactfully told her no.”
Hermione scoffed. “Prove it.”
As a skilled Legilimens, she could have slipped into his mind without him even knowing. But she waited for him to let her in. He was right, he was getting Daphne’s coat for her while she was trying to seduce him, but he was carefully pushing her away.
She pulled out of his mind, not sure whether she was relieved or pissed that she’d had to do that. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him. She didn’t trust her.
“I think you owe me an apology.” Antonin took a sip of her drink and put it down on the side table. He placed his hands on her upper arms, almost in the exact spot that Cormac had put his when he was ‘hiding’ from Dolohov. She shivered at his touch, but remained defiant.
“What the fuck for?”
“Jealous printsessa?” he smirked.
“I could say the same thing about you. At least I didn’t permanently maim my competition.” Her eyes flashed dangerously at him.
Antonin did not take the bait and replied with the same calm voice he always used. “True, but you didn’t need to. I had everything under control.”
“So did I, and you sent your oaf anyway to interrupt a business deal.”
“A business deal? Is that what you call it, malishka?"
“I am not your baby girl, Antonin, I can handle myself.” She wrenched herself free (for the second time that night) and flounced away.
“Ahh, pet, I just love to see you so righteously indignant.” As her emotions started to get the better of her, his demeanour never changed. And that just frustrated her even more.
She turned and, with fury in her eyes, walked back towards him, her hand pulled back to slap him. He grabbed her wrist before she could make contact and she hissed when he twisted her arm behind her back. He released the clip that held her hair up and watched it fall in waves. Sweeping her hair into his fist he pulled her head back, exposing her neck and the place that drove her crazy. He kissed her right there. A small, frustrated growl escaped her and he chuckled softly.
“I know you can handle yourself, printsessa. It didn’t escape my notice that your fundraising benefitted from your jealousy.”
“I wasn’t jealous. You were trying to rile me up.” Hermione struggled, but it was half-hearted at best.
Antonin laughed and nipped at her ear. “Your passionate outrage gets me hard.” He ground his erection into her backside, earning himself another groan. “You keep yourself so controlled, sometimes I think I married an ice princess,” he whispered. “When I see you like this, I fall for you all over again.”
Antonin walked her backwards to the bed and threw her down on it, face first. He climbed on top of her and took both of her arms and pulled them over her head.
“Stay.”
“I’m not a dog, Antonin.”
He unzipped her strapless dress. He pulled the thin fabric of the bodice down and gave a sound of deep appreciation at seeing her round, full arse.
“Then be my kitten.” He rolled her over and put her arms back up over her head. Antonin only had to look at her one time and she immediately grabbed the wrought iron bed frame.
“Good girl.”
He gazed down at her breasts and then gathered each one in his hands and put his thumbs on her nipples, rubbing them until they hardened into pink peaks. They both groaned at the same time.
“These are smaller now that Leo is not nursing, yeah?”
“Yes. This is the longest you’ve let me go between babies. Eventually the milk will dry up, you know.” She closed her eyes at the feeling of his thumbs and forefingers rubbing her nipples, his signet ring on the right adding an additional chill as it rubbed against the breast itself.
“Oh, Antonin, don’t stop.”
“Ah, Hermione, you know not to call me by my name in bed.” He pinched her nipples and she arched off the bed, reminded of her place.
“I’m sorry sir,” she said, “please don’t stop.”
“Oh, I don’t plan to.” His hands spread across the entire breast, massaging and, every so often, brushing his thumb along the nipple. He squeezed her areolas lightly and smiled at his reward.
A tiny drop of milk emerged from the nipple and he reached down to lap it up with his tongue, barely touching Hermione.
“Oh, my god!” Hermione began to squirm, bringing her arms down and trying to undress him, her need for him so great, she forgot herself.
Everything stopped. A whine fell from her mouth and she was immediately contrite as she pulled her arms away from his body and reached above her head for the wrought iron bed frame once more.
“Sir, I’m sorry, I…I…you were driving me mad,” she moaned. “That was incredibly sexy.”
His mouth found her other breast and he licked around the areola, deliberately avoiding the nipple.
“Hmmm. So soft.” He looked up at his wife, lost in the throes of ecstasy. “Look at me, printsessa."
When she opened her eyes and looked at him, he said, “I think I will fill you with another babe, just so I can get more of this.” He wicked another drop and licked his lip.
“Let me come, and you can fill me with as many babies as you want,” Hermione begged.
A knock on the door froze both of them.
"Mamachka? I had a bad dream.”
Antonin dropped his head on Hermione’s chest and was shaking with mirth. Hermione was ready to cry from frustration. Quickly she pulled her dress back up, covering her breasts, and pushed her husband off of her.
“Leo? Come here, malysh," Hermione beckoned. Once the 2 ½ year old little boy was settled on her lap, she looked at her husband.
“What was that you were saying about more babies?” she teased.
Antonin growled and then sat on the bed next to her and Leo. He ruffled his son’s hair and kissed Hermione on the cheek.
“Yes.” Hermione turned her head to look at Antonin and saw his dark eyes still filled with lust, and love. She chuckled as she nuzzled her small son’s head.
“I’m ready when you are, love.”
She tried not to laugh out loud as she felt Antonin shift and adjust himself beside her.