Azael's Chains

All Hallows

It was a beautifully crisp Autumn day that waned into a starry evening. The constellations sparkled overhead, dotted with the warm orange of lit candles. That she was there in the Great Hall should have filled Hermione with a sense of joy, wonder, the smooth burn of homecoming; instead it was a cruel heated vice around her heart.

She was at a lengthened head table, her chair shorter, lesser than Antonin's beside her to indicate her lesser status. The man had his left hand on her knee, possessive even when it had been made clear to all that she belonged to him. After all, whenever he was unneeded during her scant work days he was there with her, glaring at every boy who dared speak to the little librarian.

But still, Halloween at Hogwarts was a sight to behold; the Dark Lord had not changed too much of the festivities, though he had done away with Houses and Sorting. Only Ravenclaw and Slytherin dormitories were open, which was more than enough for the reduced student population. Half-bloods were housed in Ravenclaw Tower and purebloods in Slytherin's dungeons. The students all wore black and silver ties, though previously sorted Slytherins wore a snake pin to proclaim their superiority over others. There were six Prefects to assist in ordering the students, four pureblood and two half-blood, and both headboy and headgirl were pure bloods.

Hermione felt like a thorn, a shard of glass, a pebble in a stream as the only muggleborn amidst the pedigreed wizards and witches surrounding. While none dared insult her with Antonin so near, the moments she was with only Draco to guard her were laden with thinly veiled insults from sneering lips. Only a bold, kind few treated her as a person, all of them students who had known her or known of her before. The first years seemed mostly confused.

"No wine, love." Antonin's palm covered her goblet as she raised the decanter to pour herself a glass of robust red. "I would not wish you to imbibe when we will be performing ritual magic later this evening."

Electric curiosity spasmed through her chest. "Ritual? What ritual?"

"Samhain, my dear." He smiled, thumb stroking her thigh through the silk of her black robes. "It is a celebration of the time the veil is thinnest, and we may invoke the spirits of those who have passed."

"And you plan to do so? To what end?"

"I wish to invoke my mother, father, ancestors... there is great power in invoking one's lineage on this day. Perhaps we may even call to some of your own."

Her amber eyes, nearly glowing from the warm light abounding, narrowed at his evasion. Hermione did not trust Antonin with what power he had, and she was certain the power of the ritual would be wielded by him and him alone.

He poured pumpkin juice into her goblet and stroked her cheek. "Do not get too full; we have an eventful evening ahead of us."

Hermione nodded as her stomach twisted, wheeling too much to consider the bountiful feast laid out. She nibbled at a tart, but could not bring herself to eat much more. Too soon Dolohov was taking her hand leading her home.

He did not take her inside however. Instead they took the familiar route to the graveyard where the center had been readied for a ceremony. There were unlit candles scattered around it and stones with Celtic symbols in a circle.

Hermione's hand attempted flight from the man's, but Antonin's grip tightened. She knew a sex ritual when she saw one even if she'd never taken part before.

"Come, lubimaya . We shouldn't dawdle." He drew her to the center despite her reluctant feet, divesting them both with a flick of his wand. Hermione watched with envy; that wand was unkind, bristling. She'd managed to touch it only once and knew it would never bend to her wishes. Another flick and a circle drew between the stones surrounding them, glowing faintly before the light seeped into the earth. Antonin's wand was set aside and he took her hands in his.