Azael's Chains

Potions

When she woke a few hours later Hermione's stomach was creaking with hunger. She glanced at the silver-face clock on the mantle to see that Dolohov had allowed her to sleep til lunch, something he normally forbade. Well, he had reason to be in a good mood.

She scurried to her room and washed quickly in the little en suite, trying to ignore the pink-tinged drip between her legs. She would have to address this now that, well... she had about a week before that particular issue was immediate, but it would be better to do so now. Right?

A pale grey robe went over her bruise-peppered flesh and Hermione slid her feet into house slippers, huddled her arms around herself, and tiptoed to the dining room.

Antonin Dolohov was languid in his seat, glancing up from The Daily Prophet to dip a sated gaze over her body. "Good afternoon, pet."

She slid into her seat with a tense smile in return, pouring herself tea to bolster her sluggish mind.

"Did you enjoy your nap?"

His shirt was green. Not Slytherin green, but the green of tender moss growing in a corner. Hadn't he worn black earlier? She could have sworn she'd buried herself against his black-clad chest.

"Hm? Oh. Yes."

The paper warbled as he shook it out to lay on the table. "Is there something on your mind?" She shook her head, flinching back when one of his large hands encased hers where it lay beside her plate. "Tell me."

Shit. Her heart launched against her ribs in protest, but his stare was lasering into her and Hermione could taste his impatience in the air. "I'll need a potion." It was small, a hoarse whisper crawling from her throat.

A hot thumb stroked the line of her wrist. "What potion, kitten? Another nutritional potion? How many days were you without food?" Had she glanced up she would have seen the dip of his dark brows.

"No." She pursed her lips, closed her eyes, breath light in her mouth as she stole herself to say the words. "Contraceptive potion." The stroking thumb stilled, then the weight of his palm released her and her own hand was cooled by the rush of the room pressing in. When no words prompted her, her lids drifted open and she looked askew at him.

Dark, unreadable grey eyes stared at her; her heart fluttered weakly. "If I wanted you to have such a potion I would have given one to you the first time."

The words made no sense. She shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs so she could process them properly. Surely he wasn't implying he was denying her contraceptives. There was a perfectly reasonable explanation for this.

Think, Hermione. Put that brain to use. Why wouldn't you need a contraceptive?

"You-- you're not--? You have your own form already then?" she stammered, steadying herself with a sip from the delicate peony teacup.

Amusement tugged at a corner of his mouth. "No."

Silence followed the statement. "I don't understand." she confessed.

"Hermione." Thick fingers wrapped around her wrist and guided it down with the gentleness of handling a skittish bird. Once she'd placed down the cup, he tugged the hand between both of his, thumbs rubbing up the back of it. "You are... exceptional. A witch like you should not be possible, borne out of muggles as you are. A powerful mudblood? It is ridiculous, but undeniable. And you are mine."

She was still shaking her head in denial. "But Voldem--"

Her chin was suddenly in a bruising grasp as Dolohov hissed. "Do not say his name." She swallowed the knot in her throat and gave a single bob of her head in acquiescence. The sharp lines of his face softened beyond their normal stoniness. "The Dark Lord told me himself. Despite your atrocious behavior while I was gone-- yes, kitten, I know you angered him. I am quite aware of why you were punished. But it was he who gave me permission. You are the first mudblood the Dark Lord has seen fit to grant this honor. Perhaps the only one of your kind."