#antomione

Rated: Explicit

Characters: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle | Voldemort/Antonin Dolohov

Mind the tags.

Summary: Offering herself up as bait so the Aurors can catch her enemy, Dolohov, has unforseen consequences for Hermione.

Azkaban Hospital (for the criminally insane)

🤤🤤🤤🤤

Tagging @katsitting and @clavasbalas because they asked the same.

Azkaban Hospital is a fic I will eventually write and gift to @auroratellsstories.

It’s a choose your own bangventure inspired by @dillpicklepanic’s choose your own adventure tomione. (She’s also agreed to help me if I need it—I will lmao)

Hermione will become an orderly at a hospital with psych patients who have been convicted of violent crimes. (Got the idea from shutter island)

There will be four pairings: Tomione, Sirimione, Antomione, Bartmione (depends on what path you choose)

•Doctor Riddle got caught doing some shady shit and was committed

•Sirius Black was committed because of brutally killing his best friend and his family

•Antonin Dolohov tortured prisoners of war so he is ex military 😩😩🔥🔥

•Barty’s father send him there because he thought his son was mad and didn’t want him to taint his run for a political campaign

Here’s a graphic I made and a lil outline and some fancast for the first chapters.

Monsters don’t really linger in the dark waiting for their next victim to attack. Except sometimes they do. Antonin can only exist in the shadows thanks to a spell he doesn’t know how to break. It should bother him, but it doesn’t, especially since there’s a fascinating witch unable to resist the call of the darkness. Hermione isn’t sure she can trust her own mind.

It's an Antomione and it's absolutely delicious

Link:

Photo Manip by Brianna Stenson of Vampire Antonin Dolohov which inspired my Vampohov one-shot, “Sustenance.”

Summary:

"Now you will know what it is to be mine."

When Ron Weasley, new to fatherhood, finds himself overwhelmed and needs someone to take over the supervision of his assigned Death Eater, Hermione steps up to the plate gladly. After all, she learned during Antonin Dolohov's trial that the curse he sent her way in the Department of Mysteries was actually an effort to save her life. When she discovers that Antonin's vital signs are slipping while he lingers in house arrest, and that no one knows why, she begins a one-woman mission to save his life, just as he once did for her – a mission which is rendered more complicated since he is no longer, strictly speaking, alive.

Over the course of her visits to the vampire's cottage, about which Antonin is initially belligerent, more questions will arise: what happened that caused Voldemort to turn Antonin over to a savage cabal of vampires? Why does he adamantly refuse to touch Hermione, even after six months of budding closeness? And how long can the two of them stifle their growing need for one another?

(Canon-divergent. Consensual. Bites! One shot – **COMPLETE.** Smut towards the end. Also, ALL THE FEELS.)

He never thought he’d end up here, “here” being America and New York City, specifically. She acts like the child country that she is, all mewling and grasping at the teat for more, more, more. That is why Antonin is here, why he can start over where nobody cares who he was, or what he sounds or looks like–though he knows he’s pleasing. His employers care about one thing: revenue. To them, Antonin is an invaluable resource.

He could have had somewhat of the same had he stayed in England. The goblins of Gringotts aren’t exactly ones to align with public opinion or the wars of men if they are not themselves directly involved. Antonin had the option to work for them like he did once before and like how he tried to again.

That was when he started to hope. He thought he might find happiness with her despite all the hatred and vitriol, every bit of which he deserved. She’d found him in the darkness and lit a path for him to follow. Their days together glowed like embers, fierce, but fragile. How brave she’d been, openly holding his hand, smiling despite the advice of friends and those who trusted themselves more than her own judgement.

Copper curls threaded through with gold, softer than a cloud, denser than the thickest brush–he dreams of her hair often. Sometimes cushioning, sometimes suffocating, but always hers. He’d loved burying his face in it, fisting the silk and watching the coils spring back into place.

Now he wakes up to a bare ceiling and sunshine slanting across his bed almost as if by design. He is a large man, his limbs long and prone to flinging off blankets in the night, but he still leaves one side of the bed empty. Wishful thinking, perhaps. A habit born of only a couple of years by her side and one he is loath to unlearn. It’s like choosing to sleep in the centre means letting go of her, them, forever.

Even though she let go first.

He stares at the picture of her in today’s paper, her head thrown back in laughter, hair cascading around her shoulders as his old friend tugs at the ends the way that Antonin used to. She looks like what happiness must feel like, and bile rises in his throat, sour and hot and uglier than the last words spoken between the two of them.

Antonin snaps his fingers and sets the paper aflame. The edges curl inward, her smile transforming into a grimace. Satisfaction eclipses the guilt for a handful of seconds. Salazar, does he miss her. He shouldn’t have left the way that he did. He shouldn’t have left her side. Shouldn’t have introduced them. Shouldn’t have prioritised anything but her.

He should have done so many things, and the regret shadows him from each day to the next, a wound that never seems to heal.

Written for the FB Dolohoes’ Summer of Love Fest, Week 3: “Nashville” by Carter Vail

489 wc

Cross-posted on Tumblr, FB, and AO3.

This one was a tough prompt for me because I’m not usually one to listen to country music. I recoiled when I first clicked on the song! I ended up pausing it and looking the lyrics up instead. They spoke to me where the initial melody could not. 

Antonin crept through the dungeons beneath Malfoy Manor where the highest ranking prisoners were being kept, out of the hands of the lowly snatchers who might have found them. He walked by numerous people — Lovegood, Ollivander, Creevy — but paid all of them no mind. None except for one.

The prisoner he sought was all the way at one end, furthest away from the narrow staircase that led underground. It showed how precious she was.

Hermione Granger had been caught by Fenrir Greyback and brought to Malfoy Manor with Potter and the Weasley boy. Her friends escaped, but she had been left behind, caught in Bellatrix’s grasp. She remained in Malfoy Manor since then, unaware of the War coming to its ultimate conclusion, unaware of the Dark Lord’s victory.

He found her huddled on a bed, staring listlessly at the wall. “The War is over,” he said, announcing his presence.

Her fiery brown eyes flickered to him. “And since you are here that must mean that Voldemort was victorious,” she spat out.

Antonin flinched at the word. “Yes,” he said simply, doing nothing to soften or sharpen the blow. “We are being granted boons. Each Death Eater can ask for one thing, whatever we’d like.”

Hermione sat up, a curious look on her face. She pulled her hair over one shoulder. Even though she could use a bath, she was still striking. Antonin could see the wheels turning in her mind. “You want something to do with me, is it?” she asked, slowly. “Pay back for the Department of Mysteries perhaps? Or maybe the coffee shop? You want to torture me or k-kill me?”

She jutted her chin up in the air, the illusion of fearlessness, though he could tell that she was scared inside.

“I had something else in mind, something a bit better. Something that might be equally beneficial for both of us,” he said, giddy at the prospect of her being his. He was so close to her now, he could almost reach out at touch her. “I will ask not to torture you or to kill you, but to make you my own.”

Hermione stood up and walked to the gate that held her in, her fingers around the bars. “Don’t be delusional, Dolohov,” she chided. “I’m a mudblood remember. You are supposed to be riding the Wizarding world of my kind, not intermingling. He would never allow it. And even if he did I am sure your brothers at arms would have something to say about it.”

“He will not deny me this if I ask,” he promised her. “And the Dark Lord knows that there can be… special cases. Like Severus. Like me. Like himself.”

“And the rest of your friends?” she countered, her interest in getting out of her prison winning out.

“No one would dare say anything to you if you were on my arm,” he said, his voice low and seductive. “You could do whatever you want — keep learning, take your NEWTs, become a cursebreaker for all I care. But come back to me — and my bed — every night.”

Hermione suddenly began shaking the door to her prison and gave a little shriek. “You barely even know me,” she spat at him. “Why would you want me anyway.”

He smirked at her. “We’ve dueled enough times for me to know that we would be compatible,” he said, remembering the way that she’d captured his attention, the way her magic felt interacting with his. Surely, she must have felt it, too, or she wouldn’t have entertained him for so long.

She was silent, her eyes searching his for any hint of treachery.