#hermione granger x antonin dolohov

[sailtomarina]

Lovin' is Easy

With a growl that startled the woman the next table over, Hermione swiped left on the face grinning from her phone. That same face had sat across from her no less than five minutes ago and had spent an hour talking about himself without asking once about herself. 

She wasn’t proud of the way she’d lost her cool. The man had stopped mid-word at her outburst, his face contorting in disbelief, then stormed out without even clearing his side of the table.

This was unfortunately not the first time this had happened.

Hermione had gone through a handful of similar such occurrences, all at different cafes due to her embarrassment of the baristas recognising her after each inevitable scene. The wizards either stormed out in self-righteous indignation, or, what she was starting to think was worse, shrugged and left without causing a scene at all like Hermione wasn’t even worth the emotional investment.

She stared blankly at her phone for a few more seconds before long-pressing and deleting the dating app entirely. 

She was done.

No more dating apps. No more dating, at all. She didn’t care what any of her friends said, or that her ex-boyfriend was now happily attached at the hip with a witch who was nothing like Hermione. It was with that thought that she opened up her address book and similarly hovered a thumb over “delete contact���. Charlie Weasley smiled up at her full of all the unburdened joy that photo had captured.

Try as she might, she couldn’t make herself push down. She didn’t hate Charlie, despite the way they’d ended things. She still loved him. Too bad love wasn’t enough to save them.

Hermione was still staring down at her phone when it started ringing. The unexpected sound jolted her from her memories, prompting her to nearly drop the blasted thing.

This time it was Luna’s face smiling up at her from her screen. Hermione should have known. Few others bothered with Muggle phones at all, much less took the time to call instead of text.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Hermione.” Luna’s sing-song voice helped soothe Hermione’s irritation.

“What’s going on?”

“Are you free this weekend?”

Hermione huffed. Of course she was free. She didn’t have a reason anymore to save her days off for trips to Romania. “I’m free. Why?”

“Thorfinn offered to help me scout out a promising location, and I thought we could make a group hike out of it. You enjoy hiking, don’t you?”

She did like hiking, but she was also aware that Luna’s “scouting” referred to her perpetual quest to find the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. Granted, the magizoologist had made several groundbreaking discoveries of previously unknown magical creatures. Luna’s work took her to some truly awe-inspiring places, particularly because many of them required the witch to travel like a Muggle due to their remoteness and sometimes volatile magic.

“I do. What day are you thinking of going?”

“Early Saturday morning. You can meet us at my place.”

“Can I help with anything beforehand? Maybe bring something?”

“Maybe some snacks and lunch? The hike shouldn’t be too difficult, but we will be out most of the day.”

“I can do that.”

They chatted for a bit longer about where they were going and what Luna expected the weather and terrain to be like. From the sounds of it, Hermione wouldn’t need to bring any special gear. Still, she was as cautious as ever. It wouldn’t hurt for her to pack a few emergency supplies. She’d added her trademark Undetectable Extension Charms to all of her bags, along with Featherlight Charms that made carrying them effortless.

“Oh, and Hermione?” Luna added as they were wrapping up the call.

“Hm?”

“Bring enough food for four. Thorfinn’s inviting a friend.”

In hindsight, Hermione should have inquired further. She’d come to adore Thorfinn after getting to know him through Luna. So, it was without any sense of caution that she agreed. “No problem.”

“Great! We’ll see you Saturday.”

Read the rest on AO3, here!

Written for the FB Dolohoes’ Summer of Love Fest, Week 2: “Lovin' is Easy,” by Rex Orange County

3267 wc

Cross-posted on Tumblr, FB, and AO3.

It took me a day to let the ideas for this song simmer, but once I started writing, I couldn’t stop until I had everything down on paper. I ended up pulling straight from experience. This meetcute is actually almost exactly how I met my now-husband. Our mutual friend invited us on a hike where we met each other for the first time. The rest, as they say, is history. I’d like to think Hermione and Antonin followed a similar path to their own version of happiness.

[shinynewboots]

In the Aftermath / Hermione x Antonin Dolohov (Chapter 2)

Summary:  In response to the low post-war population, the Dark Lord proposed a solution. The half-blood and blood-traitor women were to be given to the male members of a pureblood house. These women would be chosen by Death Eaters to carry on their family names and blood (for if the Dark Lord gave his blessings for the mixing of blood, who were they to argue?). The muggle-born women were to be left for those of lower prestige and lower rank. Or, more accurately, as willing (unwilling) toys for the most odious of Death Eaters.

Warnings: 18+, Dead Dove Do Not Eat, eventual smut, angst, dubious consent, grief, dark post-war fic, NSFW, implied SA

AO3 Link

Last Chapter

April 6, 1999

Hermione awoke to the gentle crackling of a fire. Though her vision was blurry and her eyes crusted over, she could still make out the shadows that danced across the wall.

She was warm.

Warm.

How long had it been since she had been warm?

She blinked her eyes groggily, wiping at them to aid in her vision. The room came into view and she found herself in an unfamiliar place. It was a bedroom. There was nothing special about the room as it held only a bed, fireplace, and dresser. It could have been any bedroom out of a showroom catalog.

Hermione felt around the bed, her hands taking in the thick warmth of the quilt she lay under. The sheets were soft. It had been so long since she had been anywhere soft. She moved her head quickly to further assess the situation.

A sharp, splitting pain tugged at her skull and it took everything she had not to scream at the sensation. She grimaced and placed her hands over her eyes, as though the pressure would cause the pain to cease.

The light of the fire was too bright. The gentle beams of daylight that stole through the curtains were too harsh. Hermione turned her head into the pillow. Her head was swimming.

She tried to focus on anything else in an effort to distract her sense of sight. She took in a deep breath through her nostrils and was hit with the smell of sandalwood and pine that lingered on the pillow.

“Another captor it seems,” Hermione thought to herself, unnerved at the idea of being in a stranger’s bed.

“What happened,” she pondered. Her memory was foggy. It was filled with the bone -chilling despair of Azkaban. But she knew she had left Azkaban a few days prior. If not Azkaban, where was she? Azkaban wasn’t warm.

Carrow.

Amycus Carrow had gleefully chosen her. She stood in a room of dirty girls. He had picked her out, his yellow teeth gleaming in the light. His sister had been pleased to forcefully undue her chains. She had been slapped, punched, kicked, and spit upon as the siblings took their time before Amycus took his prize home.

Truthfully, she didn’t remember much after he took her home. Pain. Nothing more. Sometimes, in her moments of madness, she would think back to her time spent in hiding with George, the way he would smile softly.  

The only true feeling she could remember with Carrow was the burning of her veins as they screamed at her to run away. She never could, however, and would always be subject to cruel taunts and curses throw at her when he pointed his wand.

Was I raped?

Her stomach churned at the thought. Her hand found itself reaching for the area between her thighs as she looked for some kind of sign or indication. She found no tenderness upon palpation of the area though that gave no comfort. The thought was enough to convince her that she needed to gain control of this unknown situation she found herself in.

Hermione attempted to rise from the bed, her movements slow and shaking. She pulled herself to the edge of the bed in an attempt to stand. Her right foot touched the ground and she could sense her unsteadiness from such a small movement.

She slid from the bed slow, wary of her body and its ability to function. A chill ran up her spine at the realization that in this moment she didn’t trust her body, truly the only thing left that was hers. Or was it really? No, her body had been sold to the highest bidder and thus she lost the last thing in the world that truly belonged to her.

She found herself on her hands and knees on the ground, pleasantly surprised to find the floor warm from the fire. She began her crawl towards the door, her body screaming in protest and her knees aching with every movement. Once at the door, she reached and grabbed the door knob, pulling the door open slowly so as to make as little sounds as possible. Peeking her eye out, she was met with a relatively bland hallway. The fact that she could even open the door was a good sign, as it meant the room hadn’t been warded.

Gaining courage, she tried to pull herself up on the door frame. In hindsight, this was a terrible idea. The door took much less effort to move than she originally thought and came swinging towards her, throwing her off balance. She fell to the ground with a loud thud.

“Shit,” She hissed, a wave of nauseous accompanying the pain that engulfed her body. The sound of heavy boots moving quickly on the hard wood was louder than even the sound of the blood rushing to her ears. Her eyes, which she had closed when she fell, could not will themselves open due to the now excruciating headache that had started.

The sound of the bootsteps stopped and Hermione felt calloused hands grab her in as gentle of a manner as they seemed capable of.

“Are you hurt,” The owner of the footsteps asked, his voice betraying a slight Russian accent. Her vision was still funny, so the man was coming into focus somewhat slowly. She could tell though, that he had dark hair, and was large and hulking.

“Not from this,” She replied, trying to gain focus.

Antonin Dolohov.

She blinked a few times, not trusting what she was seeing. The memories began to flood back into her senses. Amycus Carrow had taken his time in breaking her in so that when he finally took her, she wouldn’t cause trouble. He never got the chance. Just as he was about to violate her in the worst way possible, he grew angry, terrifyingly so. He began to yell about her already being claimed by someone else.

He used the cruciatus curse repeatedly.

He forced her back into the Ministry, yelling obscenities in the name of Dolores Umbridge. She silently agreed with every horrible word that came out of his mouth on her behalf.

She felt like a cornered animal. She needed to escape. She needed his hands to no longer be holding her in such a gentle way. She needed —

Then she remembered. Luna.

“Luna?” She asked, so softly he almost missed it. He knelt before her so that she no longer had to look up at him.

“She’s fine, I promise. She’s with Rabastan and — “

“Lestrange?” She gasped. Her eyes were narrowed at the large, Russian man before her. She had no reason to trust him. He had played the villain in many of her nightmares since the Department of Mysteries. He’d almost killed her. The look of pure hatred he shot at her during that battle when she was only sixteen was burned into her memory.

The scar that spanned the length of her body, the scar caused by his wand and curse, burned at the close proximity it held to its brander. She tried and failed to jerk away from his touch but failed and found that his gentle touch, though in no way tight or harsh, had tightened ever so slightly around her body.

“She is safe with him. I promise.” He answered, all too aware of her fear. She looked into his dark eyes and found no malice or hatred. The look he held was closer to that of someone who had just come along a wounded animal; his eyes held pity for the animal and yet still were wary (as wounded animals were unpredictable. Dangerous. A skilled outdoorsman would know that a wounded animal would try anything to get away.)

“Your promises mean nothing to me.”

“Hm,” He answered, the sound a mix between annoyance and begrudging respect. Of course, she didn’t trust him. This strange, older man who played a villain in her dreams and had left her disfigured in the most intimate of ways. He pulled her up from the floor in one fell swoop and sat her on the edge of the bed.

“I left some potions for you, to help you recover. The bathroom is down the hall on the right. I don’t have any clothes your size, but I one of my smaller shirts for you to wear.”

He left the room quickly. Hermione took the potions, uncaring at this point if they were poisoned or meant to kill her. What was the point? She began to feel stronger with each one she swallowed until she felt she finally had the strength to walk. It was still a difficult trek, however, as she wobbled slightly with every step she took.

Once she made it to the bathroom, she took in her skeletal appearance. A myriad of bruises marred her skin. In the mirror, she saw a girl she no longer recognized. As quickly as she could, she ripped the dirty Azkaban prison uniform from her body.

Her naked form frightened her. She could account for every rib in her body, as her skin held on to each of them tightly. Her breasts, though not large to begin with, were virtually nonexistent. The small curves that had taken shape on her hips during puberty had disappeared. Easily, Hermione could have passed as a boy to anyone only looking from the waist up.

She breathed deeply as she examined the scar that had marred her body since the end of her fifth year. Hermione traced it from her breastbone to her hip bone multiple times, unconsciously pushing her fingers deeper into her skin along the path of the scar until it finally caused her enough pain to stop.

It was all his fault she had endured so much pain, and yet now she had to live with him? Coexist with him? Submit to him? He had to hate her. She hated him.

“Fuck,” Hermione thought bitterly, scoffing out loud. She turned her thoughts to something else, anything else.

Something like how Lavender Brown was likely rolling in her grave because of the state of Hermione Granger’s hair.

Though always bushy and curly, Hermione’s hair had never completely resembled a rat’s nest. Truthfully, there was no telling what fluids had mixed together to give her hair such tangle. It was knotted beyond repair. She began to rummage through the sink drawers until she found a pair of scissors. She cut away at all the tangled strands until her hair was a somewhat decent length full of layers, the longest layer brushing her shoulders.

Her hair had lost its curl at some point, likely due to stress and malnutrition, so it hung limply with no volume.

Satisfied, she threw the cut hair into the trashcan along with the uniform, wishing in that moment she could set them both to fire.

Hermione turned the shower onto the hottest setting, and did not even flinch when the heat scorched her skin. It was utterly glorious. She scrubbed away at the grim that coated her skin and was not surprised to see the water that pooled around her feet had turned a dingy color.

She stayed in the water for much longer than she knew she should have, but she couldn’t resist. When she finally emerged, the steam in the bathroom was thick. Her skin was red and raw.

She wrapped herself in two towels, one for her body and the other for her hair, and sat down on the toilet for a moment, taking in the heat of the steam. Her body felt more relaxed than it had in a long time.

Content with how dry she was, she looked at the clothes that Dolohov said he had left her. The man was huge, so anything she put on would make her look even more malnourished than she already was. With no other choice, she put on his black button-down shirt, thought it was admittedly more of a dress on her. His pants were utterly impossible and pooled around her ankles. She cuffed them to fix the length as much as she could, though it was almost hopeless.

This must have been how Harry felt. Hermione shunned the thought from her mind as fast as she could but the lingering sadness remained. He would always joke about wearing his cousin’s large hand-me-downs, a good-natured grin on his features, though if she was paying enough attention, the pain of his life previous to that of Hogwarts always remained.

Hermione left the bathroom feeling much better than she had before she entered. She was finally able to walk somewhat normally, the only handicap being the large clothes she wore that she had to constantly pull up. She walked down the hallway slowly, glancing around the area as she did. There were two other doors besides the room she had awoken in and the bathroom. She stored the information for later, perhaps at night when she knew her curiosity would get the better of her.

Towards the end of the halfway, there were a set of stairs leading down. As she moved closer, a pleasant smell began to invade her nostrils. Stew. Torn between her desire to crawl under the covers of the bed she had woken in and follow the smell, her stomach finally made its decision when she heard its loud protest.

Hermione crept down the stairs, trying her hardest not to hit every creak on the boards. She failed, of course, as one does when they’re attempting to be sneaky. The smell of the stew seemed to call to her, as with every sniff, her stomach gargled louder.

At the bottom step, Hermione stopped, hesitant of what to expect. Would she just waltz in there, wearing his clothes no less, and except him to serve her food? Would she be punished if she entered the kitchen? Yelled at? Tortured?

As she argued internally, the sound of a male voice singing began to ring. The voice was pleasant enough, not the best she had ever heard, but it had a calming effect. It was baritone, deep and warm. The words, though she couldn’t make them out, weren’t in English. They had the flow of a Slavic language, and if she had to guess, it was Russian. The song was soft, almost melancholy.

Lost in the sound of the calming song, Hermione seemed to forget where she was and stepped off the edge of the step she had been standing on, her lead feet making a loud thud on the ground. The singing ceased.

“I wasn’t sure how long you were going to stand there, Yagoda.” Amusement was evident in his voice. Her cheeks burned red.  She gathered her composure and made her way to where the voice had come from.

The kitchen was small and undecorated, like most of the house. Dolohov sat on a kitchen chair, his feet propped up on the table and a newspaper in his hands. At her appearance, he abruptly smashed the paper shut and stared at her oddly. His brown eyes looked her up and down, the odd look replaced with a frown.

“You look very small” He said with a  frown, running a hand through his dark hair. Behind him, a spoon stirred the stew that sat on the stovetop. She stood awkwardly, unsure of how to respond. How does one respond to a man who at one point in her life had wanted her dead?

“Sit down,” He said, gesturing to the wicker chair across from him. She crossed the short distance quickly, gently taking a seat across from Dolohov. He gave her one last look before getting up and moving towards the stove, grabbing a bowl from a cabinet. He stopped the stirring spoon in its tracks and ladled out some of the stew into the bowl. He sat the bowl in front of Hermione, and retook his seat across from her.

After a few awkward minutes of no movement from either party, Dolohov raised an eyebrow. “It’s not poisoned.”

Hermione looked up from her gaze that had been firmly placed upon the stew and met his eyes. “Why?”

“Why did I not poison you?” Dolohov asked, his fingers playing with the ends of his beard. Instead of growing cold, as he had done previously, his expression was thoughtful.

“Why are you doing this for me?”

“Technically, I suppose I own you, as archaic as that sounds,” He answered, though they both knew it was weak.

“That’s irrelevant,” She countered. Dolohov nodded his head in agreement, his brain beginning to hurt. Why indeed. Truthfully, he had spent the hours she had been asleep locked in his study, a bottle of whiskey being his only companion. He understood the legal aspect of the impromptu arrangement. He even understood why he was so elated at the thought of keeping her out of the nefarious hands of Amycus Carrow. What he did not understand, however, was why he was being compassionate to the girl.

“You’re right.” He answered, lost in thought. “Eat, or it’s going to get cold.”

Hermione scowled at the older man, and would likely have kept up the staring contest that had begun between her and the bowl of stew had her stomach not intervened. It took all she had not to devour the stew in one gulp, as she knew the repercussions of such acts on a malnourished person would be unsavory, as she would likely see the stew again later.

“Once you recover, I suppose we can go out and get you new clothes.”  Hermione nodded at his words as she finished off the last of her meal.  Reluctant to admit it, even internally, she found the stew to be absolutely wonderful.

“I want to go see Luna,” She announced, staring him down. The corners of his bearded mouth seemed to turn up rather slightly. Of course, this caused her stare to grow even harder.

“When both of you have recovered, we can make a visit to Lestrange Manor. However, at the moment neither of you are going anywhere.”

She scowled at him, her eyebrows furrowed. Her lip was curled, a slew of cruel taunts just waiting to fall. “I’m not a child who needs to have playdates arranged.”

“So you say, but you are pouting like a child.”

“I feel well enough-“ Hermione started, but was abruptly cut off from a yawn escaping from her mouth. Her eyes began to droop heavily and her head began to bobble to the point that she almost couldn’t hold it. Despite the tired look in her eyes, Antonin knew a glare when he saw one.

“You drugged me,” She said between yawns. It was hard to decipher, but the accusation in her sleepy tone was hard to miss. Antonin jumped from his chair, jarring the table, and barely caught her in time before her sleeping body feel headfirst onto the floor. In his arms, he positioned her so that her arms were wrapped around his neck and her legs around his torso, almost like an abnormally large toddler.

Did he feel bad about adding a potion to the stew? Not necessarily. And her hadn’t drugged her per say, simply encouraged her body to get the rest it needed. His mother used to do the same to him and his brother when they were younger and sick. They would always insist that they were well, but his mother had always been a very perceptive woman, and though her methods were unorthodox, they were effective.

Antonin carried the small witch up the stairs, trying to ignore the fact that he could feel every rib through her shirt.  

He left Hermione in her bed, carefully to make sure she had a fire going and the room was warm enough. With one glance towards the sleeping young woman, Antonin sighed before closing her bedroom door. She would be utter hell to answer to when she woke up. Thankfully, he had more than enough time to prepare mentally for her onslaught.

[darkangelofsorrow]

I technically missed the time for my #doloholidays2022 prompt from my Dolohoes fam on Facebook, so I’m making up for it while the muse was going and adjusted it for the new year quickly approaching! ☺️🖤🥂

Antomione with the prompt: Sex, canoodling, or cuddling in the vicinity of the Christmas Tree.

[sailtomarina]

Author reveals are out!! Make sure to check out each of these incredible works for the perfect way to get into the holiday spirit 🥰

Days 1 & 2

@istarbel @sailtomarina

[grangertrash]

God Tier Death Eater!Hermione Fanfiction Masterlist

Devil Doesn't Bargain by starbucksofancientgreece Hermione Granger x Draco Malfoy Words: 141,713 Chapters: 46 "Rule number one: never assume you are safe." During the hunt for horcruxes, a group of snatchers discovers the Golden Trio. In the squabble, the three friends are separated, and while Harry and Ron apparate away to safety, Hermione is taken to face the consequences at Malfoy Manor. This is a dark AU where Hermione finds herself in a tough situation--swear fealty to the Dark Lord, or die. As much as she'd like to claim otherwise, Hermione is nothing if not self-preserving. When she makes the choice, it is an easy one.

Last Year by Canimal Hermione Granger x Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger x Antonin Dolohov, Hermione Granger x Augustus Rookwood Words: 714,320 Chapters: 367 There's nowhere to hide when a victorious Voldemort sends his best tracker to find Hermione. Draco won't give up until he finds her again. A story of the unraveling of the lies we tell ourselves.

False-Hearted by its_banannaz & Literalily Hermione Granger x Draco Malfoy Words: 76,459 Chapters: 42 Hermione Granger has the potential to be more, MUCH more. And now, she's ready to climb her way to the top, no matter what it takes. Sick of her insincere "friends" and their lack of recognition, Hermione makes a decision that alters the outcome of the war. If no one will put Hermione Granger first, she'll simply have to do it herself. There is no good or bad, not anymore. It's about what gets her where she deserves to be. After reaching a boiling point, she does something that no one ever expected - she becomes a Death Eater. But not just any Death Eater - Voldemort's apprentice. Playing both sides, Hermione Granger now holds more power than anyone realizes. Is it so wrong to be false-hearted when you're finally putting yourself first?

When a Lioness Fights by kayly silverstorm Hermione Granger x Severus Snape Words: 416k+ Chapters: 80 Hermione Granger, master spy, and Severus Snape, spymaster to the Order. An unlikely partnership, forged to defeat the Dark Lord on his own ground. But to do so, they must confront their own darkness within. Spying, torture, angst and love. AU after fifth

The Last Marauder by Resa Aureus Hermione Granger x Remus Lupin Words: 238k+ Chapters: 78 In the wake of the war, Dumbledore's portrait gives Hermione a task that could change the course of history if she succeeds, but unravel time itself if she fails.

Mon Couteau Aiguise (My Sharp Knife) by gillianeliza Hermione Granger x Draco Malfoy Words: 169,542 Chapters: 99 “And you understand, I assume, the implications of wearing a piece of jewelry such as the one you have around your wrist?” Professor Snape asked. Hermione looked down at the bracelet in question, remembering the warm and joyful sensation of it first being clasped around her. The words Draco had spoken – will you have me? Will you accept me? “I do, sir,” she answered in her best impersonation of confidence. “But Miss Granger… I must ask – do you understand the cost?” Her brows pulled together. “The cost, sir?” “The Dark Lord will return, girl... When he returns, Lucius – and I for that matter – must resume our places at his side.” Hermione still said nothing, which she could tell surprised her potions professor greatly, so he continued. “What do you think will happen to Draco when his father once again becomes a follower of the Dark Lord?” The sticky dread clawed its way up her throat, as if choking her. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes as she thought of the implications. “So I ask you again, Miss Granger, do you understand the cost?” This work is a dark, Death Eater Hermione AU that begins during third year. Eventual canon divergence.

The Green Girl by Colubrina Hermione Granger x Draco Malfoy Words: 150k+ Chapters: 22 Hermione is sorted into Slytherin; how will things play out differently when the brains of the Golden Trio has different friends? AU. Darkish

Send me your favorite and I'll add it!

[twhos-fests]

Gothic Fantasy Fest 2024: Day 6 Reveals

Today's GFF highlights are focused on the submissions we received that were inspired by or based on songs featuring gothic-themed lyrics. Songs such as PTOLEMAEA by Ethel Cain, Half God Half Devil by In This Moment, Rev 22:20 by Puscifer, and more. Mind the tags & Happy Reading! 🦇

Someone Take These Dreams Away by galaxy_skies

"The transformation slams into his bones like crashing into the fury of the seas..."

Warnings: Dead Dove | Werewolf Mates | Non-con |

Rating: Explicit

Character(s)/Ship(s): Antonin Dolohov/Draco Malfoy

Word Count: 1,156 words

Summary:

There are wounds that never heal: werewolf bites and battle scars. There are breaks that never mend: tortured minds and shattered trust. There are nightmares that never fade. There are demons that can never be outrun.

wretched and divine by @kaotic-aurora

"Once again, the magic in the air shivered...Wreaking havoc on her soul..."

Warnings: Priest!Lucius | Succubus!Hermione | Non-con |

Rating: Explicit

Character(s)/Ship(s): Lumione (Lucius Malfoy/Hermione Granger)

Word Count: 6,268 words

Summary:

Hermione has come into her powers as a Succubus-- a malady that afflicts the Wizarding Population rarely.

Lucius is a priest willing to help her.

PTOLEMAEA by @aradiaravenswood

"A near-soulless monster still walked the earth, pushing theirs to the brink..."

Warnings: Dead Dove | Isolation | Tag 3 | Inspired by Dante's Inferno|

Rating: Explicit

Character(s)/Ship(s): Tom Riddle/Ginny Weasley

Word Count: 31,605 words

Summary: Ginny and Harry both thought the war would be over by now. Instead, they find themselves in hiding at 12 Grimmauld Place— running out of food, unable to use magic, and desperate to keep each other safe. Every day feels the same as Harry goes out to find what Horcruxes remain, leaving Ginny alone, trying to keep her sanity in check. It’s what she needs to do for Harry, for whoever is left out there, and, most importantly, for her unborn child. But if the house is as safe as Harry says… why does Ginny keep seeing Tom Riddle around every corner?

Without Darkness (There'd be no Light) by @dystopianrebel

"It was only when he heard the floorboards creak behind him that he turned around..."

Warnings: Slytherin!Harry | Voldemort Adopts Harry | Necromancy |

Rating: Mature

Character(s)/Ship(s): Harry Potter & Voldemort

Word Count: 5,011 words

Summary: Harry James Potter didn’t know how much his life would change just by snooping in a giant, seemingly abandoned house.

Where I Leave My Soul by @evierose42

"Ginny and Hermione crawled onto the bed like predators. And he was the prey..."

Warnings: Muggle AU | Vampires | Non-Con |

Rating: Explicit

Character(s)/Ship(s): Draco/Hermione/Ginny

Word Count: 4,669 words

Summary: Draco is just looking for a drink, he finds more than he bargained for.

Complete fest information under the cut!

Fest Disclaimer

Due to the darker subject material of the prompts, please mind every tag of the submissions you choose to read and engage with from our fest. Some fanworks include triggering and taboo content. So, take care of yourself, honor your limits, and enter at your own risk.

Fest Information

Gothic Fantasy Fest is a Harry Potter fanworks fest dedicated to and centered around our love for the gothic horror genre!

The inspiration to host this fest came out of our desire to see more fanworks in the fandom where the darkness within us all is celebrated, embraced, and reveled in.

This fest is hosted by The Writing Heirs of Slytherin Discord Server.

Important Links

AO3 Collection

Official Fest Spotify Playlist

Official Fest Mood Board

Discord Server

[april-17-rose]

Self-rec time! What are your favorite five fics/art/edits that you've created and why? After replying to this ask, feel free pass on to five other writers to spread the love. 💗

How Could I Fall For You

Would be my favorite fic I’m writing at the moment. Tom is by far my fav dark wizard and Antonin is a close second not only are they competing for Hermione in this fic they are competing for my top spot 😩😩 and I want both 🤷🏻‍♀️ so I made this fic so I can write them both💕

Tomione/Antomione

Summary: Antonin Dolohov has had his prisoner/lover, Hermione Granger, for two years now, but The Dark Lord with his new appearance has a request of Antonin.

and my fav edits I’ve made

Tomione Starter Recs

Tomione WIPs I’m Reading

Tom Riddle Thirst Trap 😩

Mattheo Riddle Thirst Trap

[kyokimidori]

Christmas Prompts

Hey Guys! Below are some Christmas prompts that were taken from @creativepromptsforwriting blog, you can find the original lists here and here.

Feel free to send me any of the prompts below with whatever pairing you would like! I look forward to writing for you all!

~Kyoki

Our families go to the same church, but we’re not that religious so I only see you on Christmas and I swore myself that this would be the year I finally talk to you.

We’re both working at a charity event for homeless people at Christmas and despite the cold I don’t really want to go home afterwards.

You got way to drunk at a Christmas Party and now I’ve got to get you home somehow.

We have different opinions on how to decorate a Christmas tree.

I got you for Secret Santa at work and now I have to think about what to get you.

We never met before but we both went to the Christmas market with mutual friends and suddenly everyone’s gone and we’re the only ones still there.

You’re new in town and I’m your neighbor and we always throw a little party in our apartment for all the singles in the building, why don’t you come and celebrate with us?

It’s nice to see my whole family again but it would be even better if everyone stopped asking me if I’m in a relationship with my friend I brought with me.

I have no idea what I should get you for Christmas, so I try to ask you, just without actually asking you.

It’s still three weeks till Christmas but you’re already annoying me with your ugly sweaters, the bright lights and the songs you’re always humming. So please go away - but leave the cookies!

You’re not a Christian and never celebrated the holidays, so I take you home with me to show you how I love to do Christmas.

We just wanted to make some cookies but now we are lying on the floor, panting and completely covered in flour.

We want to get a Christmas tree together but we have very different opinions on how the perfect Christmas tree looks.

It’s Christmas Eve and the storm outside caused a complete blackout for the whole night.

[harrypotterfesthub]

The Dark Festivus Gift Exchange is open for sign-ups! This is a Harry Potter gift exchange for all things angsty and dark. Give us all your Death Eater goodness, and get something delicious in return.

Important Dates

October 6, 2023 Sign-Ups & Matching 12:00AM Eastern Time November 3, 2023 Sign-Ups End 11:59PM Eastern Time November 4, 2023 Writing Continues December 18, 2023 Fics Due 11:59PM Eastern Time December 19, 2023 Reveals 12:00AM Eastern Time

How it Works

Sign up here. To stay up to date on any and all Dark Festivus announcements, join Harry Potter Fest Hub on Discord.

Fest mods will match you with a giftee. We'll tell you all you need to know about what your giftee likes and doesn't like in fanfiction and/or fan art.

You'll create a work for your giftee and submit it to the fest collection.

Wait for reveals! Your job is to keep your gift secret. When it's time for gift reveals, you, your giftee, and other fest participants will see what's been created for you all.

Rules & Information

Do not create a work featuring your giftee's dislikes/triggers, and try to stick with ships/characters your giftee suggests.

All works must be kept anonymous until reveals. This means you may not tell people which work is yours, nor hint at it, until your name is revealed.

You may have one alpha or beta. Your alpha or beta may NOT be your giftee.

All Wizarding World characters are allowed, including characters from the Fantastic Beasts series, Hogwarts Legacy, and Hogwarts Mystery.

Visual arts (art and comics) may NOT feature characters under 18 in sexually explicit scenarios, even if reference models are of age. This is for legal purposes.

You may not receive any extensions. We recommend starting early.

Art Requirements - Minimum: 1 character, B&W, Undetailed; Maximum: 5 characters, Color, Detailed

Fanfiction Requirements - Minimum: 1000 words; Maximum: 12,000 words

FAQs

Help! I love angst but I can't go too dark. Be clear about this when you sign up, so the person gifting you a work can work within your likes and dislikes. This fest is for people that love angst or dark works. The only content we can't accept is tooth-rotting fluff. How dark does my work have to be? All themes must be angsty, grey, or dark. The level of darkness will be dependent on your giftee's dislikes and your own comfort level. Not all works need to be Dead Dove here; in fact, most probably won't be. When you sign up, be sure to tell us what you like to write and what you absolutely will not write. This will help us match you with someone appropriate.

What if I can't finish my gift work in time? If you cannot finish your gift work in time, you will need to inform fest moderators via Discord or email as soon as you know you won't be able to finish. Please do NOT wait until the last 48 hours to tell us. To ensure everyone gets a gift, we will have pinch-hitters trying to fulfill outstanding gifts, but they need time to create.

Can I create multiple works? If you would like to create multiple works, sign up for pinch-hitting. You may be able to save the day for someone who wouldn't be receiving a gift.

How do I contact fest mods? You may ask generic questions in the #dark-festivus channel on Discord. For private questions concerning your giftee, please reach out to LadyVoldy or Kate Thorne via Discord. This is the easiest way to reach us.

[canimal]

Chapter Sixteen of ‘Best Served Cold’ is Live! A simple mistake during the horcrux hunt proves to be very costly. Hermione promises herself that she will do whatever is necessary, no matter how dark and devious, to survive. And, perhaps when she’s free, she’ll make the three Death Eaters responsible wish they’d never been born. 

Main Characters: Hermione Granger, Antonin Dolohov, Thorfinn Rowle, Draco Malfoy

[acciomjolnir]

Closer

Hermione Granger is sent a mysterious artifact. When she breaks it running into Antonin Dolohov, it activates... and time is suddenly of the essence.

Explicit oneshot, 4,405 words, Antonin/Hermione

Read it on Ao3

[sailtomarina]

Don't you worry

She wasn’t sure why she stopped. Perhaps the impulse came from the same urge that sent her walking into the night in the first place. Or, maybe she recognised a kindred spirit in the profile arching upwards towards the sky. There was a distinct possibility she missed the way danger made her heart race and the hairs prickle across her arms.

Even without the ache in her chest or the light of the moon, Hermione knew him. How could she not? He’d been a staple of her nightmares ever since he’d struck her on that night all those years ago. She’d been a child then.

She wasn’t a child now.

So, she approached. She wasn’t trying to hide her presence, but was still surprised when he noticed, anyway, turning eyes she knew to be a deep cobalt her way. 

“Hermione Granger.”

She nodded. “Dolohov.”

He huffed, and Hermione flushed at the sound. He’d asked her before to refer to him by his given name.

“Antonin.” She ignored the way he pursed his lips at her correction. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t a man enjoy the night air?”

Hermione frowned at the non-answer. He didn’t live in this direction. She should know; she’d been the one to oversee the reintegration of Azkaban inmates into society. Antonin Dolohov shared a flat with Thorfinn Rowle in Wanstead. While she also lived east of the city, her home was located south of the river in Abbey Wood.

“Why this park and not one closer to home?” she asked, trying hard not to seem too paranoid. It wouldn’t do for the proponent of the inmate initiative to unfairly accuse those already deemed reformed.

He wasn’t deaf or stupid. “Maybe I chose this particular park because I knew you’d be walking by.” He didn’t pause to let her object. “Or, maybe I randomly chose a destination to walk and ended up here.”

She thought the latter unlikely, and opened her mouth to say so, before shutting it just as quickly. There she was, again, jumping to conclusions. It was a bad habit of hers, one she’d been forced to confront time and time again. Hermione could understand needing alone time in an unfamiliar place. She’d done so often enough, and nobody had confronted her in those situations when she’d been discovered.

“In that case, I’ll leave you to it. I apologise for interrupting.”

His chin dropped in acceptance, the dark curls of his hair falling forward in such a way that tempted the hand to brush them back. Instead, she did as she had said; she walked away and did not look back.

It was two weeks later when she saw him again, seated on the same bench accompanied by nothing but the scent of honeysuckle in the air. 

Hermione told herself to walk by and leave him to his thoughts, she really did. Again, it was as if her feet had a mind of their own, angling her towards where he sat and not stopping even when he turned to watch.

He spoke before she could think of an appropriate greeting. “Good evening.”

“Good evening.”

He stared at her, and it was in that stillness that Hermione was struck by the weariness in his stature. While this was the second time seeing him at the park, Hermione had seen him more recently than that. She checked in with all of the reformed at regular intervals–some she trusted to her assistants, and others, like Antonin Dolohov, she made a point to visit in person.

On paper, the reasons were clear. His reputation outweighed many of his peers; there was far more hatred and stigma surrounding him than those less known, less…visible. He stuck out in carriage and appearance. No makeover could hide his sure movements, and he cared little for any attempt to disguise his lingering accent.

His choice of roommate didn’t help. Thorfinn was, in a word, massive. Physically and spiritually, he took up more space than any other wizard or witch that Hermione had ever met. His enthusiastic effusement had been intimidating to her, at the start, but, over time, it also became the reason for Hermione’s adoration and trust. She wasn’t allowed to have favourites, but Thorfinn was one of hers.

And Dolohov? Well. He was, too. Hence, the unwritten reason, because her feelings for him weren’t strictly friendly, per se.

Hermione was a professional–yes, she’d taken to relaxing her guard in Thorfinn’s presence, but she never crossed the line between work and play. That didn’t mean she didn’t look, though. Look and dream.

Because wherever Thorfinn went, so did Dolohov. He sat quietly, allowing his friend to speak for both of them. His eyes spoke volumes, though, so much so that Hermione often felt she was carrying on two conversations at the same time between the two men. If Thorfinn ever noticed her split attention, he never said as such.

During each of those meetings, the wizards had seemed upbeat, hopeful even, in their prospects. Thorfinn worked security at a Muggle nightclub, the merits of which were apparent in the lovebites he sported in plain sight. Dolohov, in turn, had returned to his curse-breaking for the goblins of Gringotts. They cared little for his past, prizing the skills few wielded.

But now…

He looked tired.

“May I sit?” she asked, indicating the space next to him.

He jerked his head to the side. Hermione thought he’d move the arms stretched across the back of the bench and waited for an awkward beat before realising he planned to do no such thing. His eyes tracked her as she settled into place. Like his arms, they never dropped, but stayed fixed in place with a predator-like focus.

She felt each of her breaths distinctly and willed them to remain steady.

“Is something the matter?”

“Many things matter. You’ll have to be more specific.”

She narrowed her eyes, to which he replied with a slight uptick to one cheek.

“Is there a particular reason why you’ve chosen to visit this park again? You can’t claim ignorance this time.” 

If she relaxed and let gravity guide her towards the back of the bench, Hermione wouldn’t feel the heat of his arm with any more intensity. The presence of it behind her already felt like an open flame that she couldn’t decide whether she hated or craved.

“I like it here.”

“Dolohov–”

“Antonin.” 

He chuckled at her growl of annoyance.

“Antonin, I don’t believe for a second you’re out here past midnight simply because you like it.”

“Why not?” He seemed genuinely curious, head tilting to the side like some kind of adorable wild cat about to pounce on its prey.

“Because there are plenty of parks closer to where you live.”

“Ah.” Now he looked away, glancing up towards the stars, before looking at her once again. “Those other parks don’t interest me.”

The implication was that there was something here that did interest him, and Hermione hated how much she wanted to think he meant her. She could report him for it, she knew. The facts would read as those of a stalker, a possibility that was already noted in his character sheet. Per the Mind Healers assigned to his case, Antonin Dolohov had a mind capable of unparalleled focus and the determination to ignore any and all distractions.

In her nightmares, that determination fueled his cursed flames that consumed her from within until nothing was left but ashes.

In her dreams, that focus lit a different sort of fire, one that started as an ember and grew in intensity until she woke drenched in sweat. The lingering need begged a frantic hand that circled and thrust until she groaned her completion into the too-silent room.

A pulse shot between her legs, prompting her to clench her thighs.

“Why is it you’re here? Or does the Ministry make a habit of keeping their servants in the office past midnight?” He brought up one ankle to rest atop the other leg, the knee of which now a hair’s breadth from her own. She didn’t pull away like she probably should have.

“No, they do not. I just hate going home without clearing my desk first.”

“Just for another pile to land on it in the morning?”

She shrugged. “That’s work. The least I can do is stay ahead of it.”

“Or be controlled by it.”

He wasn’t saying anything Hermione hadn’t already heard before. Harry frequently told her she should have a hard cut-off time. Her inability to do so had been a large part of why she’d given up on repairing her relationship with Ronald, then, later, Neville. 

“That’s my queue to go home, I think.” She stood and brushed at her skirt, waiting to see if he’d try and stop her. Despite the warm summer air, her back felt cold without the suggestion of his arm behind it.

“Good night, Hermione.”

“Good night, Antonin.”

They met a handful of times more in much the same manner. Always past sunset, and always on the same bench. It didn’t happen every day, or even every week, but, when it did, they stayed just a little longer each time.

They never touched, but it had become a habit for her to settle into place next to where his arm slung behind the wooden backing. There was one heart-stopping moment where she thought he might have brushed a hand against her curls, but when she turned to look, his hand already rested on top of the bench as usual. 

“Tell me about your story again.”

She flushed at the gentle request. She hadn’t expected him to take such an interest in her writing when she’d first brought it up, but he’d since addressed it every time they spoke. “What do you want to know?”

“When do you find time to write between work and these midnight wanderings? You don’t happen to have another Time-turner, do you, umnitsa?” A wicked grin followed the unfamiliar term, one which he seemed to use more lately. Hermione would be lying if she said she didn’t like pretending the phrase meant something special.

“I squeeze it in here and there. While I eat lunch, or a bit in bed before I go to sleep.”

“And the part you last told me about, where your protagonist decides to take a long-awaited vacation–where did you choose to send her?”

“Well,” Hermione said slowly, “I still haven’t decided between a couple of places. I can’t quite make up my mind.”

“What places?”

“Italy, Greece…maybe Turkey. I haven’t actually been to any of them, but I like what I’ve seen and read.”

“Why don’t you visit and decide then?”

Her laugh was short and incredulous. “With what time?”

“Surely you have vacation and days off, yes? Not all trips have to take entire weeks to enjoy.”

He did have a point. For some reason, Hermione had never considered using a weekend to get away, The sorts of places she imagined going to on holiday seemed the type reserved for every couple of years. She could easily see herself taking an entire month to study ancient magical ruins. Two days had never seemed long enough for what she had in mind. But why bundle everything up at once?

“I…never thought of that.”

“Maybe not this weekend, but the next. Schedule it. That way you can plan.”

He knew her so well, despite the space between them. 

“I just might.”

“No might. Do.”

A streak of courage moved her tongue where it would otherwise have not. “Will you still come here while I’m gone?”

He licked his lips before answering, the darting pink vibrant amidst the clipped sable. “I will be here when you return.”

Her portkey was set to whisk her away early the following morning, but Hermione found herself, yet again, making her way to their unagreed meeting place. She didn’t expect him to be there; he wasn’t always. But there was a tug she couldn’t help but follow. 

For the first time in all of their peaceable encounters, he stood at her arrival. She stopped at the edge between pavement and grass as suddenly as if there was an invisible wall in place.

“You’re here.”

“So are you,” he parried.

“I leave first thing in the morning.”

He hummed, then took a step in her direction. The oddness of the entire situation had her taking a step back to maintain the distance. They both halted, as if strung along the lines of the same puppet master.

All around them hung the ever-present perfume of honeysuckle. Hermione adored the scent; it always made her think of lazy summer strolls and a lingering sun. Even at night, that sense of lightness lingered, buoying her above her uncertainty to say what she’d been wanting to say since they last spoke.

“Would you be interested in coming with me?”

This time when he resumed his steps, she stayed rooted in place. It only took a handful of long strides before he stood in front of her, an expression of wonder on his face as he raised one hand towards her. He paused just as she angled her cheek to press against it.

“I want to say yes, but part of me is afraid this is just another dream.”

Her heart stuttered at “another”, an echo of her own withheld intentions. Like her, he yearned for something more than these precious few hours. Like her, he continued to hold himself back.

She seized his hand to complete the journey, nuzzling into the calluses as she spoke her heart. “I’m real.” While she still held one hand against his own, she used the other to reach for his downturned face, to slide her fingers into the soft hairs and tug him closer. “This is real.”

“In that case,” he murmured, little puffs of air kissing her lips, “I accept.”

Written for the FB Dolohoes' Summer of Love Fest, Week 1: "Don't You Worry" by Oh Wonder

2318 wc

Cross-posted on Tumblr, FB, and AO3.

I had never heard this song before it came up as a prompt, and I ended up falling in love with it as I had it playing on repeat in the background while writing. If you're unfamiliar with it, then I suggest you have a listen!

[lunap999]

Art for the fic "The Otter and the Bear" by HwaetWeGardena for all the Dolohoes requested by @fawkesy76 ❤️

[ragana62]

AO3 Anniversary BS, Part 2!

It's part 2, so it only seems appropriate to drop two chapters at the same time for an ongoing fic. Chapters 4 and 5 for Don't Get Mad, Get Even are up now!

Rating: E

Warnings: Manipulation, Violence, Dumbledore Bashing

Pairings: Hermione-centric Multipairing, specifics in tags.

[shinynewboots]

In the Aftermath / Hermione x Antonin Dolohov (Chapter 1)

Summary:  In response to the low post-war population, the Dark Lord proposed a solution. The half-blood and blood-traitor women were to be given to the male members of a pureblood house. These women would be chosen by Death Eaters to carry on their family names and blood (for if the Dark Lord gave his blessings for the mixing of blood, who were they to argue?). The muggle-born women were to be left for those of lower prestige and lower rank. Or, more accurately, as willing (unwilling) toys for the most odious of Death Eaters.

Warnings: 18+, Dead Dove Do Not Eat, eventual smut, angst, dubious consent, grief, dark post-war fic, NSFW, implied SA

AO3 Link

Next Chapter

AN: Hello All! This is a major rewrite/edit/revamping of a story (Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow) originally posted on fanfiction.net when I was still in high school. I will leave the old story up there but will be making major changes to the plot and character development in order to better flesh out the story and characters. I hope you all are ready for the ride because this story will be taking a different direction than the original!

Also, very excited to writing Hermione x Antonin once more

Most fugitive muggle-born, half-blood, and blood-traitors had been picked down one by one. In the beginning, after the battle had been lost, they scattered like roaches. There was no true leadership left in the resistance movement and so it was easy enough to find various safe houses. They stupidly hid in hordes, clinging together. Occasionally, one or two would fight, however the others would look on with hopelessness shimmering in their eyes. However, as time passed, it grew harder to find the fugitives, and so the bounties placed upon them were astronomical.

Not every fugitive was returned to Azkaban. Most of the males were killed simply because they brought more trouble than they were worth. The Weasley family, for example, was almost completely terminated except for three of the children.

Life continued.  

It was hard to remember anything before the slaughter. There was killing, raping, torture at every turn. Muggle-born, half-blood, and blood traitors lost all status in the newly built society and faced this societally accepted oppression.

This new reshuffling of society and catastrophic lost of life after the war led to an unprecedented maelstrom of problems: low population from casualties, low fertility among pureblood witches, and a lack of “suitable” partners to conceive children with.

There were whisperings of course, throughout the ranks. Rumors began to spread, and suddenly, the idea of complete pureblood supremacy began to seem impossible.

The whispers remained only that until the scandal of the year broke the headlines: Rodolphus Lestrange had impregnated a muggle woman. This news led to great uncertainty throughout the Death Eater and Pureblood ranks. Would they have to resort to Muggle women to carry their heirs?

The Dark Lord proposed a solution. The half-blood and blood-traitor women were to be given to the male members of a pureblood house. These women would be chosen by Death Eaters to carry on their family names and blood (for if the Dark Lord gave his blessings for the mixing of blood, who were they to argue?) The muggle-born women were to be left for those of lower prestige and lower rank.

Or, more accurately, as willing (unwilling) toys for the most odious of Death Eaters.

April 5, 1999

Antonin Dolohov held an indescribable amount of disgust for the decree declared by the Dark Lord. Of course, he never told this information to his fellow Death Eaters except for a select few trustworthy as even the thought of it would be treason. His acquaintances, if he could even call them such, had lined up at the opportunity to be in possession of their own play toy.

Even Rabastan Lestrange, a man he had come to trust in a short amount of time, seemed to find little problem with the law. After the scandal with Rodolphus, Rabastan seemed to mature overnight. Despite the inevitable wear that sprung from years in Azkaban, Rabastan had still managed to retain a youthful, somewhat cruel spirit. Now, however, the lines in his face had deepened and his eyes had grown weary.

There were many nights that Antonin and Rabastan spent in the Lestrange parlor with a glass of Fire Whiskey and a bitter tongue.

The war had ended with the death of the Potter boy. Once the battle was over, and the spoils of war taken, it did not take long to realize that there was no grand plan of “after”. No one said anything, of course. It would be treason to voice such thoughts aloud. Yet, Antonin found himself somewhat lost (as many others on their side had) as he looked towards the future. What future were they rebuilding?

It was after one of those nights of deep intoxication that Antonin found himself waiting with Rabastan at the Ministry, as lines of women entered the room one by one. The smell of rot and piss carried by the group was only barely concealed by the artificial scent of flowers.

As he and Rabastan looked upon the row of women (girls, really. All of age, but most were only a few months out of Hogwarts) with hollow cheeks and sickly skin, Antonin could not identify who he hated more: Rabastan who convinced him to come, or himself, who agreed.

The girls, though they were imprisoned in Azkaban, were always presented in a special room deep within the Ministry. Initially, the “choosing” room was a damp room in Azkaban, however there was little turn out from the Death Eater population. Few were willing to return to a place where they spent many maddening years.

The girls wore the dirty, striped rags of Azkaban prison. Some had bruised faces. Others still had the tears of dried blood stuck in place that told of past punishments. They were connected by glowing shackles on their wrists that emitted a power surge of energy.  

A few of the girls cried silently, while others held no emotion on their faces. They knew what it meant to be chosen by a Death Eater. It was a coin toss as to whether they would be treated kindly or tortured brutally upon arrival. One of the girls chosen prior had committed suicide a few weeks after being selected by one of the more depraved of the bunch. Since then, curses had been placed upon the girls to ensure that any suicidal thoughts or actions were snuffed out quickly.

It was abhorrent.

Alecto Carrow seemed to take pleasure in her position as warden to the new women’s ward in Azkaban. Her cruel eyes and yellow sneer in the direction of the girls was disconcerting. Upon further examination, Antonin spotted a large, blunt ring on one of her fingers that seemed the exact size as some of the bruises that marred the girls’ skin.

Rabastan looked over the girls, the excitement worn away as he took in the appalling sight.  Antonin chose to stare at the floor.  

They weren’t alone, as a handful of other Death Eater’s had taken interest in the girls as well. Some more than others. There were specific “choosing days” once a month in which interested individuals could come choose (or replace) their chosen mate (or toy).

Walden Macnair looked utterly thrilled at the prospect of picking out a new toy. There were rumors that he had already broken the first one. Young Theodore Nott, followed by his father, was a sick shade of green. It was highly likely he had attended school with most of the girls before him.

“Finally convinced to pick one out, Dolohov?” Macnair sneered. Antonin, the large man that he was, stared down at Macnair.

“Not today,” He stated, his tone stolid.

Macnair scoffed and walked over towards one of the girls, her gaze focused firmly on the floor. He grabbed a handful of her dull, black hair and pulled her head back, revealing her face. She could have been attractive in her past life. However, it was difficult to tell from the scars on her face.

“What’s your name, bitch,” Macnair growled. The girl glanced around, searching for anywhere else to stare besides Macnair’s sweaty face. Her dead eyes met Theodore Nott, who held his hand over his mouth, likely to keep anything unsavory from coming back up. They looked about the same age.

Cold eyes still on Theodore, the girl answered in a raspy voice. “Cho.”

Macnair smirked, releasing Cho from the grip he held. He glanced over at Alecto. “This one. I want this one.”

Alecto gave a shark’s smile. “Maybe you won’t break this one.”

A flash of fear passed over Cho’s features as Alecto removed the restraints placed upon her. The girl would have a better chance at life in Azkaban.

Macnair left with Cho in tow. Antonin could not feel worse for the girl. Theodore Nott and his father left as well, likely because Theodore could no longer hold the contents of his stomach.

Throughout the exchange, Rabastan had kept his eyes locked on a girl that Antonin could only describe as wispy. She had white, blond hair that was matted around her head. Her lip was split and her nose somewhat crooked as though it had been broken.  Antonin watched as his friend took a step towards the willowy girl.

“The nargles seem to have found a hive in you” She said, her voice soft and distant. The trance she held Rabastan in was broken by the barking of Alecto for the girl to “only speak when spoken to”. Rabastan glared at the squat woman.

“Please remove her restraints,” He said.

“You don’t want that one. She’s barmy,” Alecto jeered.

“Remove her restraints,” He growled, the statement no longer a request but a demand. Alecto huffed but did as she was told, though she pulled on the wispy girl more than necessary.  The girl smiled at Alecto as the last of the restraint was removed.

Alecto looked as though she wanted to murder the girl right where she stood, however one glare from Rabastan led Alecto to stand down.

The trio left the cold, “choosing” room and walked towards the office where Rabastan would sign papers official making the odd girl his. It reminded Antonin of purchasing an owl.

At least an owl could defend itself from its owner.

The girl, whose name they learned was Luna, turned out to be pleasant even as everyone around her decided her fate. Rabastan was utterly captivated by her presence, causing him to write down most of the information in his paperwork incorrectly. Dolores Umbridge, or the Toad, as most Death Eaters dubbed her, grew very impatient with his mistakes, though refused to say anything in fear of the Lestrange name.

The Toad eyed Luna up with a curled lip, and Luna did just the same. The blatant loathing was not lost on anyone save for Rabastan. Once the paperwork was done, Antonin was all too ready to leave the tense air that had built.

“Umbridge!” A voice shouted, accompanied by the sudden opening of the office door. In the doorway stood Amycus Carrow with a meek girl in tow. He threw her to the floor at Antonin’s feet.

 A magical signature, his signature, seemed to tease him as he took in the girl at his feet. Her very being seemed to call to him in the same way his wand would. Another extension of his hand. He could feel the magic reach for him as it seemed to bleed from the girl, tendrils of energy pawing at the legs of his trousers.

“What is the meaning of this Amycus?” The Toad shrieked in her shrill voice. Amycus sneered, and glanced down at the tiny girl with a rat’s nest for hair.

“She’s already been claimed, Dolores! She has the fucking stench of another wizard’s magical signature all over her!” He raged, spitting ruefully on the girl. The Toad gave out a ‘tut’. Amycus shoved his way to Umbridge’s desk, stepping on the girl in the process. The cat pictures that covered the office wall meowed in unison.

While Umbridge and Carrow argued back and forth, Antonin and Rabastan made no move to stop Luna as she made her way over to the girl and crouched down. She moved the girl’s hair so that her right cheek was visible. Luna softly touched the girl’s cheek, wiping the spit away.

“Hermione,” She whispered. The arguing stopped as the room became focused on the two girls.

“I will have you know, Amycus, that Hermione Granger has not already been claimed. I saw to that myself!” Umbridge huffed indignantly.

Antonin could not keep his eyes off Hermione Granger. He’d had encounters with her during and after the war, however the most vivid he could recall the was Battle of the Department of Mysteries. She’d silenced him, taking him by surprise. In response, he hit her with a curse of his own design. Her internal organs should have contracted into themselves, crushing her internally.

She should have been dead.

He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he still thought of her occasionally, wondering if his curse had left any lingering effects. It wasn’t everyday someone survived one of his curses. Was this why he could feel his magic bubbling beneath her skin?

“Check then. I tried to bond her to me, and the bond was rejected completely.”

Umbridge scoffed and moved from around her desk, taking her wand out and pointing it at Hermione. She whispered an incantation. The Toad frowned as a glowing line began to form from Hermione’s breastbone to hip.

“How is this possible?” She whispered in bewilderment. She looked at Antonin, suspicion in her eyes. “It’s your magical signature.”

“What the fuck Dolohov,” Amycus growled, pulling his wand from his pocket. Antonin returned the gesture, his eyes glinting dangerously.

“I wouldn’t, Carrow,” Antonin stated, his voice low. Amycus Carrow might have been a brute, but even he had enough sense to realize there was no logic in engaging in a fight he wouldn’t win.

“Remove your magic, Dolohov. She’s a mudblood. My mudblood.” Amycus stated. Through the exchange, Luna had helped bring Hermione to her feet and the two stood in the background, watching the exchange of Hermione’s fate.

“I don’t believe so, Carrow. In fact, it sounds as though she’s mine.” Antonin smirked, eliciting a growl from Carrow. Carrow was quick, but Antonin was quicker, especially with Rabastan behind him, wand drawn.

Wand still trained on Amycus, Antonin backed away until he had reached Hermione, putting a soft grip upon her elbow. The touch alone was electrifying as his magical signature within her was reunited with its master. He felt his blood begin to sing and the hair on his arm stand on end. “I’ll be taking her with me.”

“Mr. Dolohov, there are still piles of paper work to be completed,” The Toad shrieked. Antonin put a steady arm around Hermione and began to guide her from the office.

Antonin gave no response, instead choosing to continue his impromptu adventure. He pulled Hermione further until she simply gave out and fell to her knees. Her breathing was shallow, and her body trembled as she fell. Antonin grabbed her and pulled her into his arms, taking her to her salvation.

Watching the scene, Rabastan grabbed Luna’s hand to leave. Unable to help himself, he turned back towards Umbridge and winked, booming laughter emitting from his lips.

[katherinewinchester13]

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

★∻∹⋰⋰ ☆∻∹⋰⋰ ★∻∹⋰⋰ ☆∻∹⋰⋰★∻∹⋰⋰

★★★★★

° ∆ -------- ••• ------- ∆ °° ∆ -------- ••• ------

Complete 💯

MATURE

Words:83,546

╱╲❀╱╲╱╲❀╱╲╱╲❀╱╲╱╲❀╱╲╱╲❀╱╲╱╲

✨SHIPS✨

Alphard Black/Harry Potter

Antonin Dolohov/Hermione Granger

╲╱❀╲╱╲╱❀╲╱╲╱❀╲╱╲╱❀╲╱╲╱❀╲╱╲╱

DESCRIPTION

The war was won but the world was barely changed. Bigoted idiots were still in charge of the government. Hatred haunted the halls of Hogwarts. Purebloods still looked down their noses at muggleborns. Light families accused associates of Death Eaters of crime never committed. The Golden Trio were not happy with the outcome of the war. After a night of drinking, they come up with a plan to solve their problems: Travel back to Tom Riddle’s 5th year and befriend him and the Knights of Walpurgis. If they can convince them that blood doesn’t matter, then maybe they can prevent the First Wizarding War and save magical Britain in the process.

▅▄▃▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▂▃▄▅