Azael's Chains

Obsession

The room was in ruin. Ice glittered in the firelight like the tundra under a bloody sunset, fire roaring in faint echo of the hours before, the battle through which he'd cut a deadly swath looking for her.

Hermione.

She'd surprised him again. Beautiful, flighty little creature, spinning away as soon as he thought he'd attuned to her. His little lioness; she'd bared her fangs at last.

His finger ran the rim of the crystal tumbler holding his brandy. She'd felt the sting of his own often enough, his teeth imprinting on her flesh and soul. Much as she denied it, she needed him now. The way she'd responded to him even while her wand was turned against him, sweet fire begging to be banked.

When Antonin caught her he would spirit her somewhere no one could steal her away again. That had been a weakness, he realized now, showing her off to his fellow Death Eaters. That traitor Snape had dangled ideas of her over Malfoy and his brat, whispered discord among them all, and operated to liberate her from her rightful place.

And her rightful place was undeniably with him, as his beloved and the mother of his children. Perhaps his forefathers had the right of it; such treasures were not meant for sharing. His grandfather and father had both hidden their wives away here. That would not be an option for him any longer, as too many turncoats knew enough and were clever enough to snake their way through his wards. His family's magic was too young on this land.

There was the old home in Russia. No one had occupied it since the old maid cousin who'd waited like a fool for a man to leave his wife. The Dark Lord had killed the man in the end, but she'd accepted his abandonment by then.

And the world is better for it . Antonin knew enough to know that.

Antonin drained the amber liquid and tossed the glass to the floor. The old home was beautiful, if hauntingly dark. His family magic ran deep there, a thousand years of births and burials.

He hadn't visited Russia since he was just out of childhood; Antonin had spent a long summer there between third and fourth years, wandering the forest surrounding, even stumbling onto a muggle village once. They'd paid him deference; the Dolohov name was known there.

Antonin settled back in his chair and watched the fire burn. He would find Hermione soon enough. He had to; his family was at stake, and Antonin was a family man at heart.

He'd have to arrange a marriage when they settled in Russia. It wouldn't do to have his firstborn a bastard.

Commissions available: https://ko-fi.com/folly/commissions

Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/freyaschance

tumblr:

ff.net and AO3: freyafallen