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Hermione let out a small, inelegant grunt as she lugged her rather bulky telescope up the hill upon which she was to meet Dolohov. Her shoes sank into the earth with every step, and she was beginning to perspire from the effort of carrying the telescope, but she didn't dare use magic, just in case. She couldn't risk that a Muggle might see her here, even though 'here' was a rather remote location on the outskirts of a small Russian village.
"Help him stargaze," she muttered disparagingly, pausing for a moment to catch her breath and look around. She was about three-quarters of the way to the summit now, she noted with relief. "Why did you let him charm you into this, Hermione?"
She knew perfectly well why, but she was loath to admit it. The truth was, Antonin Dolohov was a mystery, and one that she was immensely curious about. She couldn't help it—she needed to know more about him, to study him like she might study a magical creature.
Some days, that thirst for knowledge was an ache that couldn't be soothed.
And so, when Dolohov had written to her and asked if she might help him learn about the stars—Astronomy was apparently not a subject he had excelled at in school, and he wished to fill the gaps in his comprehension—Hermione jumped at the chance to both teach and scrutinise him.
In her excitement, it didn't even occur to her that he might have been lying, that he might have been trying to get her alone so that he could attack her. That thought had only occurred to her as she began to climb the hill, and by the time she reached the apex, her fingers hurt from gripping her concealed wand so tightly.
Hermione blinked at the sight that awaited her atop the hill. A large, navy blue blanket had been spread out over the grass. Dolohov lounged on top of it, wearing a smirk that could only be called devilish. Beside him was a picnic basket and what appeared to be a bottle of wine.
"What's this?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at Dolohov. His hair was shorter than she remembered, but he still managed to run a hand through it as his smirk faded.
"It's a picnic dinner, mila," he said quietly. "I thought you might be hungry."
After the effort Hermione had exerted to reach this spot, she was feeling a bit peckish, but she wasn't about to admit as much to him. Not when she was starting to think that Dolohov hadn't brought her here to learn about the stars at all.
"How very thoughtful of you," she said in her dryest tones. She stowed her wand away for the moment so that she could hold up the bag containing her telescope. His dark eyes were locked on her face rather than on the bag, so she dropped it on the blanket in front of him, forcing his attention away from her. "Here's the telescope. Let's get started."
"It's barely dark out," Dolohov protested, his lips pulling downward into a pout.
Hermione planted her hands on her hips and surveyed the landscape from her heightened vantage point. The trees below cast long shadows, and it was difficult to see the footpath she had followed from the tiny village. Everything was quiet, hushed, and a sense of unease prickled at the back of Hermione's neck.
"Tell me the truth, Dolohov," she said, pulling her wand from her pocket and pointing it at his chest in one fluid motion. "Why did you really bring me here?"
"I wish to know about the stars, mila—"
Hermione shook her head, her wand still trained on him. "No. If that was truly what you wanted, you wouldn't have brought a—a picnic dinner and a bottle of wine. And my name is 'Hermione,' not 'mila,' thank you very much."
Dolohov did not seem troubled by her correction. He merely smiled languidly at her, as though she was a child who had said something amusing. Anger began to simmer in the pit of her stomach. She was a high-level Ministry official, not a laughingstock!
"Very well, Hermione,"—she pretended not to notice the way her heart rate sped up as her name fell from his lips—"I suppose I must admit that I did not bring you here to teach me about the stars."
"I knew it!" Hermione did not lower her wand. "But...why, then? If you plan to attack me, I really must caution against that. Several people know where I am, and I am quite proficient at defensive spells."
She had only told Ginny—in vague terms that did not mention Dolohov by name—about her plans for the evening, but at least she hadn't understated her defense capabilities.
Dolohov did not seem perturbed by this information in the slightest, however, much to her disappointment. And it was his next words that left her reeling.
"What would you say if I told you that I wanted to spend more time with you?"
Hermione forced out a laugh, even as reality seemed to crumble around her. "I would say that is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard."
"Well, it is the truth," was all that Dolohov said. He sat up and pushed the tip of her wand away from him. "And I would appreciate it if you did not hex me tonight. I worked very hard to arrange all of this."
"Yes, I am sure it was quite difficult to write me a letter," Hermione huffed.
"I had to write it in such a way that the great Hermione Granger would have no choice but to meet with me, did I not?" Dolohov asked.
Hermione thought his question over for a moment and found that she had no real argument for it. With a sigh, she sheathed her wand and sat down on the far edge of the blanket, away from Dolohov. He began to move towards her, and she held up a hand to stop him.
"Fine. You worked very hard to arrange this... meeting," she said, placing emphasis on the final word to make it clear to him that this was not a date or anything remotely close to one—even if there was a picnic and a bottle of wine involved. "I suppose it would be rude of me not to stay for a little while."
Dolohov's smile brought forth a swarm of butterflies that fluttered against her rib cage.
"You are in for a treat," he said, pulling the picnic basket towards himself and opening it. "My grandmother made borscht and a very special dessert for us."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Your grandmother?"
"Yes." Dolohov sounded so defensive that she nearly laughed out loud. "She is a very nice woman and a far better cook than I. I asked her to make a nice meal to impress a beautiful woman, and she did so without any hesitation."
Hermione felt her cheeks burn. "I think that's enough of the sly compliments, Dolohov—"
"Please, call me Antonin." He ladled some borscht into a bowl and handed it to her. "It is only fair that you call me by my first name, as I call you by yours, Hermione."
Hermione stared down at her bowl, fighting the smile that threatened to make itself known. Dolohov was too charming for his own good, and what was worse, he was infuriatingly aware of it, if the self-satisfied smile on his face was any indication.
"Fine," she said again, carefully setting aside the bowl to pull her telescope from its bag. The cool metal served to ground her. "But once we are finished with our meal, we are still going to do some stargazing, Antonin."
His name felt odd on her tongue, but he seemed pleased by her efforts—or perhaps just by her words.
"How romantic," he said, his voice as smooth as silk.
"How educational," she retorted, picking up her bowl once more. "Ah, I don't suppose you have a spoon?"
This time, when Dolohov handed her the utensil, he let his fingers brush against hers for a moment. Speechless, as if the butterflies had invaded her head and driven away all thought, she could only gaze down at her reflection in the back of the shiny metal spoon. Her cheeks were flushed and the way that her curls framed her face, her embarrassment seemed to be on full display.
"Thank you," she managed at last.
She watched as Dolohov sampled the borscht, a content smile creeping across his face. After a few moments, when he didn't go into a convulsive fit or begin foaming at the mouth, Hermione was certain that he hadn't poisoned the food, and she took a small bite from her own dish.
The borscht was very tasty, a hearty combination of meat and vegetables that sated her hunger. As she ate, she found herself asking questions of her companion, which he answered with a frank openness that surprised her. She had expected him to be reticent and unforthcoming, but he was neither.
The sky was as dark as her favourite Scribbulus ink by the time they emptied their bowls and cleared their plates of the Russian honey cake that Dolohov's grandmother had baked to perfection. Hermione was starting to feel slightly tipsy from several glasses of red wine, but she was determined not to show it.
As Dolohov cleared away the remains of their meal, Hermione went to work setting up the telescope. Once she was pleased with the position of it, she waved Dolohov over and allowed him to stand right beside her, closer than she might have under normal circumstances. She could feel warmth radiating from him, and it made her shiver slightly.
"I have it focused on Camelopardalis, the Giraffe," she explained, diverting her focus back to the activity at hand. "The name references both camel and leopard in the Greek language."
"Fascinating," Dolohov said quietly. His breath ghosted across her cheek, and she had to repress another shiver. "May I?"
Hermione nodded and stepped back, but she kept her eyes glued to his face. Though part of it was obscured by the telescope, wonder bled into the part of his expression that she could see, and it filled her with a sense of accomplishment unparalleled by anything else. She loved to share her knowledge with others, and Dolohov was an attentive pupil as she continued to indicate and explain the various constellations and stars.
It was nearly half past ten when Hermione realised she ought to return to the village. She had made arrangements to stay with a family in their small cottage, and she didn't want to wake anyone when she let herself back in. For all she knew, Boris and Yelena were already fast asleep.
"I'm afraid I must be going," she told Dolohov, who was currently gazing up at Ursa Major. "I don't want to worry my host family."
"Ah, of course." Hermione wondered if she imagined the note of disappointment in Dolohov's voice. As she folded up the telescope and slid it back into its bag, he placed a hand on her arm. "We should do this again sometime, Hermione. You have much to teach and I...I have much to learn from you."
Hermione bit her lip, mulling over the promise inherent in his words. If she agreed, she would get the chance to spend more time with him, and she found that she didn't completely hate the idea.
"Sure," she said, granting him a small smile. "I suppose we can do this again."
Dolohov beamed at her. Her own smile grew as he began to speak, in a rather animated fashion, about his interest in plants. As she descended the hill, Hermione made a mental note to brush up on that subject the next time she saw Neville. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw that Dolohov— Antonin, she reminded herself — was close behind, the picnic basket tucked under his arm like it held precious cargo.
At the bottom of the hill, Hermione stepped onto the footpath that would take her back to the village.
"Are you coming this way?" she asked.
Antonin shook his head. "This is where we must part, mila. But I am certain we will see each other again soon."
Hermione gave him a little wave, adjusted her telescope bag on her shoulder, and began the short trek to her host family's house. All the while, she thought about the dark-haired man who spoke of stars and his home country and thought that she was beautiful.
Even though her curiosity about him had been satisfied for the moment, she still felt an ache inside, and she somehow knew that it would only be soothed by seeing Antonin again.