His carriage departs from his uncle’s estate an hour before dawn, appetite thoroughly sated in a way it hasn’t been in a long while. The hunt had been a good one. The memory of the young woman’s screams of terror would be something he would look back upon with delight for years to come.
And yet, despite the feeling of contentedness, he finds he simply cannot sit still. His heart continues to pound like a pack of racing greyhounds, as though having not received the message that they were no longer giving chase. He opens the window of his carriage and gives the footman a change of course. He’ll need to walk off the adrenaline coursing through his veins if he hopes to get any rest before attending court in the afternoon.
His instructions are followed and several minutes later, he finds himself strolling through the south side entrance of Puddlemere Park. He hears the sounds of sparrows and woodpigeons, heralding the imminent arrival of dawn and he welcomes it, smiling to himself. If only every week could commence with such a feeling of fortitude and such high-spirits! Perhaps he should explore the possibility of making such recreational ventures at his uncle's estate more of a regular occurance.
He makes his way past several rows of tall hedges which he knows belong to a small labyrinth. He has never ventured inside, never had the desire, but with the morning so lovely and it being far too early to run into any visitors he thinks, “Why not?”
He enters the labyrinth and after a series of turns, in no time at all he finds himself at its center. A quaint little courtyard appears before him featuring several benches and a statue of a Minotaur. The statue is a stunning sight and he takes a moment to marvel at the craftsmanship and artistry of its creator. He considers taking a seat and turns around, having every intention of doing so. Instead, his heart nearly stops at the sight of what appears to be a ghostly apparition perched atop one of the benches.
He gasps, the sound drawing the attention of the spectre, who in turn releases a startled cry of her own. Her, he thinks, for the sound is decidedly feminine.
“Hello?” He questions.
“Hello?” A tiny voice replies.
Not a spirit then. Good.Not that he’d been particularly frightened,that would be preposterous to be sure, but one never knew when dealing with such things. The light from street lanterns does not reach this part of the park and the sun has not yet breached the horizon, ergo, it is difficult to distinguish any features from this distance. Having surmised himself to be the only possible danger between them, he approaches the stranger slowly, careful not to startle her.
There is just enough light as he gains in proximity to discern the more specific features of the female. When he is nearly upon her, to his great surprise, he discovers that he not only recognizes her, he knows her!
How is this possible? Is this real?
He refrains from pinching himself, though the compulsion is there.
Her curly brown tresses are wild and unkempt, her brown eyes are wide and curious, though decidedly unafraid. She wears a long white nightgown and her feet are bare and all he can do is blink, mouth agape.
The girl before him is none other than the very one who has consumed his thoughts these past several months. The daughter of one of his newest clients, nay, she is the daughter. The very daughter whose doppelgänger he had just hunted at his uncle’s home and defiled so thoroughly. He swallows.
“Ms. Granger? Is that you?”
The girl exhales, signaling a sign of what he supposes must be relief. If only she knew.
“Solicitor Dolohov?”
He hadn’t expected her to know his name, having only been introduced the one time, but he can’t deny the swell of satisfaction it brings him in learning that she does.
“What are you doing here?” She asks him.
He scoffs. “I dare say, young lady, I might ask you the same!”
He notes the way her bare arms are crossed over her body accompanied by the minute trembling of her tiny frame.
“Here, take this. You must be freezing.” He begins to remove his outer coat.
“No thank you sir, I’m alright-“ she protests.
“No, no, I insist.”
He drapes the coat across her shoulders and thrills at the sight of her wearing something of his. The girl is positively swimming in it.
“Thank you, sir. That’s very kind.”
For a moment, he is unsure of what to say. He considers for the second time that day the possibility that he has somehow manifested her very presence before him. This time, however, it is indeed the girl herself, not a lookalike.
“Well?” His voice takes on a parental tone, “What do you have to say for yourself? It’s not safe to be out here all alone at this hour, and in your nightclothes no less. Do your parents know where you are?”
“No, no of course not! I…I only wanted to catch sight of the meteor shower, but I’m afraid I wasn’t able to convince anyone else to accompany me, so I came on my own.”
Antonin raises his eyebrows in disbelief. A meteor shower. He wasn’t expecting that.
“You couldn’t find anyone to accompany you, so you decided to what, shimmy down the lattice work outside your window, wearing no slippers or shoes I might add, and seclude yourself in the middle of a labyrinth in a public park? Where any number of hoodlums or miscreants might find you?”
The girl doesn’t look the least bit abashed and instead of an apology or excuse, she responds by frowning and tipping her tiny nose in the air. The action is so adorable he nearly wants to laugh.
“It's a maze, actually.”
He blinks.
“What’s amaze?”
“No, not amaze. We are standing inside of a maze, not a labyrinth. A maze has both an entrance and an exit and consists of multicursal paths wherein one might hit a dead end, obliging them to turn around for the correct course. It’s a sort of puzzle, you see. A labyrinth only has one entrance which doubles as an exit and has one single unicursal path, or a path that does not branch.”
Oh.
“I see. Well, I shall store that information away for future reference. Perhaps I might use it to impress some friends at a cocktail party, provided I find a way to throw it into conversation,” he chuckles. She smiles, gamely.
“Well, the sun is due to rise in half an hour, surely you do not intend on staying here in the maze any longer?”
“Yes, well,” she looks down then, finally seeming to express some sign of embarrassment, “I was just in the middle of trying to sort that out when you arrived. I actually hadn’t intended on being here so long. The shower ended hours ago, but I was just so entranced by the magnificence of it, to see actual objects moving through space and at such speeds…I lay down on my back watching them and, erm, accidentally drifted off to sleep. I figure at this point, the best choice is to make a run for it if I hope to arrive home before my parents wake up. So, I’ve been working out the best route with the least possible risk of being seen.”
“That is quite the endeavor. However, if I may suggest another solution? My carriage,” Antonin gestures with a gloved hand, “is just beyond those trees. May I offer you a ride home? It would be considerably faster and the inside of my carriage would shield you from any nosy neighbors.”
The girl responds with a genuine smile and Antonin’s blackened heart soars.
“Really? Oh that would be wonderful, Mr. Dolohov! Only, I hope it’s not too much trouble?”
“No trouble at all, dear,” he reassures her before offering her his arm, “Shall we?” She accepts without hesitation, linking her arm through his.
They exit the park quickly and moments later are seated in Antonins carriage, making their way towards the Granger residence. They sit across from each other in comfortable silence; the odd bump or two in the cobblestone causing their knees to brush. Before long, the girl is resting her head against the window with eyes closed, allowing Antonin the opportunity to gaze upon her lovely face uninhibitedly.
He thinks about the day that he first saw her those months ago at the Malfoy garden party. The little nymphet had been swinging on an oversized wooden swing under a giant oak tree, accompanied by the Potter boy and a herd of red-headed Weasleys. The moment was picturesque, divine even.
Perhaps, if he hadn’t first laid eyes upon her in that exact moment in space and time, when the sun cast a halo of light behind her head, rendering her an angel on Earth, he wouldn’t have noticed her at all. Perhaps if her slender form hadn’t been thrusting upwards so sensually as she pumped her legs to move the swing higher, her neck line stretching gracefully, putting the Malfoy’s albino peacocks to shame, she would’ve been just another girl among a sea of dozens at the party. But with her head tilted backwards as she glided up and up, laughter unhindered by the chaotic mass of curls flying in front of her face before flowing behind her like a mermaid underwater…Well, it would’ve been impossible not to notice her. He had never been so instantly enchanted by a creature so lovely, for there had never been another so enchanting before her.
He remembers watching her throughout the day, noting the gradual discoloration of her stockings as the hours wore on. They had been a pristine porcelain white when her legs had kicked high into the sky from her swing. Five hours later, they bore the marks of a day well-played. Surely she was old enough to know better, but Antonin had had the impression she rather didn’t care. Her knees were both green with the smears of grass from a multitude of tumbles taken whilst running around with children half her age, laughing all the while. Various smatterings of dirt stains decorated her shins and possibly even her thighs (the thought makes Antonin’s gums ache with want, even now).
He recalls the day like a painting, as though the world around her was painted in greyscale, and Hermione Granger was painted in color. And everywhere she went, little smears of her colors were left in her wake, everyone she encountered being better off for having met her.
Indeed.He thinks. Gazing lazily upon her sleeping face, several moments shy of their arrival to her home, he can say one thing for certain when it comes to Ms. Granger; he is deeply, hopelessly enthralled.
Years from now, will he look back upon this very moment in time as the juncture from which the rest of his life began? Will he be able to sit back one day, look upon the myriad of crossroads, the various choices he made, the moments in time that mattered the most, and choose this seemingly innocuous meeting of chance to mark his before and after?
Upon that recollection, will he be filled with a sense of pride for having found her so young? For having heard the seraphic summoning of destiny and yielded himself to its call? Or perhaps, a darker voice thrills, perhaps she will be your downfall. Perhaps, she will lead you to ruin.
He considers the thought. Is the girl a deviant in disguise? Is her fire too bright? Was the halo behind her head that day at the picnic not an illusion of something angelic, something pure, but a forewarning of something infernal? Nonsense, he tells the voice. I rather enjoy her fire.
The carriage stops far too soon and the girl’s long pretty lashes flutter as she wakes. Oh how he yearns to touch her, to know (perhaps not today but someday) that she returns his desire. He finds himself feeling panicked as she sits fully upright, surprising himself with the realization that he’s not ready for her to go. He isn’t certain when he’ll see her again; he doesn’t think he can go another several months, not now. Not after having but a small taste of her company.
He’ll simply need to take certain measures to ensure the Grangers have greater need for their solicitor. He has enough men in his pocket to make the necessary arrangements. Yes, yes…that is the way. Many of his clients consider him a trusted friend and there are others still who welcome him as family. Birthday parties, holidays, weddings, funerals…a plan begins to take shape before Ms. Granger has even said farewell.
Antonin exits the carriage first, offering her a hand to help her step down, which she accepts. He tells himself not to feel forlorn at the loss of her touch when she releases his hand. This will not be the last time you touch her.
“I cannot thank you enough, Mr. Dolohov,” she smiles warmly, removing his coat and returning it.
The sun has just breached the horizon and he can make out the smattering of freckles across her nose, the speckles of gold in her irises. So many details about her yet to learn and explore.
“It was nothing, my dear. I’m only happy to have been the one who found you. No more night time excursions in the future, hm? The world is full of many unsavory sorts who would love to get their hands on a sweet young girl such as yourself.”
Ms. Granger blushes pink to the tips of her ears, much to Antonin’s delight.
“I’ll be careful,” she agrees. “No night time adventures planned for me any time soon.” She turns to go before remembering something, “Oh, and Mr. Dolohov? I hope it’s not asking too much, but would it be alright if we kept this just between the two of us? My parents would kill me if they knew.”
“Don’t worry, cherub, your secret is safe with me,” he reassures her, a smile growing at her returning blush.
He climbs back into his carriage once she’s made it through the gate on the side of the house, retreating out of sight. He signals for his footman to leave with a tap on the roof before running a hand through his hair. If he’d thought he’d be able to sleep after that, he’d been sorely mistaken.
So much for the feeling of contentment he’d had before stepping foot in that thrice cursed park. A maze. He laughs out loud and even to his own ears, it sounds a little bit crazed. You’ll see her again soon, his darker self soothes and Antonin sighs deeply, welcoming the consolation.