On the Run

They lost count of how many times they Apparated. Going to a favourite part of the country was not an option. Going to a wizarding village was not an option. Going to a well-populated place was, again, not an option.
Instead, they went to the nearest village Antonin could remember, and found a shop which sold postcards. They chose a place in one of them, and went there.
Repeating this step took them all the way up the British Isles, until they reached St. Abb’s Head, Berwickshire, overlooking the lighthouse.
“What a view,” Hermione said, gazing over the ocean. “Isn’t it beautiful, Antonin?”
“No,” he said. She looked up in surprise. “Not when compared to you.” She blushed under his heated gaze, thinking about the day she met him at Azkaban.
“I have a good feeling about this place,” she said. They linked arms, and breathed in the salty air.
“I know what you mean,” he said. She yawned, and he felt immediate guilty. “I’m sorry, Hermione. You must be exhausted after the battle.”
“Yes,” she said quietly. She looked south, and sighed. “This wasn’t a bad idea, was it?”
“Running away together?” he asked, and she nodded. “Would you prefer me to be in jail?”
“No!” she said. “Merlin’s beard, anything but that.”
“This was the only way we could be together, ever.”
“I, I know that. But don’t you think it’s dangerous? I mean, they could find us, and then…”
“Hermione, my love,” he said, stroking back her hair. “‘All great ideas are dangerous’.” She looked at her feet, and he winced at the cuts and bruises he could see on her in the harsh light of day. “Let’s get you fixed up, all right?”
“I’ve got some books on healing with me, and some potions,” she said, holding up her beaded purse. “I mean, I’ve given away most of them, but…”
“Come on. Let’s take some refuge. If we’re between hills, they’re less likely to find and trace any magic we use.”
“That’s true.”

Eventually, they were hidden down in a valley, protected either side by the Lammermuir Hills. They reclined under a lone, green tree. A small herd of sheep was just visible in the distance.
“I hope the lambs don’t report us to the Ministry of Magic,” Antonin joked. Hermione laughed weakly as she pulled out the books and potions. “Oh, you clever girl. So organised.”
“This is the most disorganised thing I’ve ever done,” she said. “But… I’m glad I’m doing it.”
He looked up from one of the vials, and smiled softly. “Me too.”
Half an hour later they were done. A bit of rest was all that was needed to make them both as good as new.
“What now?” Hermione asked, putting everything away in her bag.
“If I had my way,” he said, studying his feet with great interest, “I would marry you.” She gasped. “But I can’t. Not under our real names.”
“They’ll suspect the worst, you know. They’ll think you’ve kidnapped me, or even that I’ve kidnapped you.”
“To exact your revenge for the curse I used on you?”
“And that you used on Remus,” she said quietly, looking away. He rolled over, and touched her arm.
“I truly regret that,” he said. “It wasn’t supposed to work that fast.”
“He was a werewolf. Silver…”
“I forgot,” he said, and he groaned. “Damnit. In the heat of the battle…”
“Antonin, I forgive you,” she said. He sighed in relief. “I just wonder… can we ever forget this, forget the deaths? The unhappiness will linger over us forever, won’t it?”
“I don’t know.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “‘Shallow sorrows and shallow loves live on…’”
“And ‘The loves and sorrows that are great are destroyed by their own plenitude’,” she finished. “That’s twice you’ve quoted Oscar Wilde. I’m surprised you’ve even heard of him.”
“Lucius has an extensive book collection,” he said. “I think he buys most of them to make his library look impressive, simply because they’re there. Also, for when he had to appear Muggle-friendly to the Ministry. Knowing that you’re Muggleborn, I wanted to try and learn more about some of your writers. I thought you’d like that, being a bookworm.”
“I do,” she said, and she kissed him on the cheek. “You’re wonderful to me.”
“He, and other writers, would get me thinking,” he said, tugging her so that she was draped over half his body. “At first I didn’t agree with the quote. How can great loves and sorrows be destroyed? And how can the shallow feelings live on? But if you allow yourself to be consumed by grief, then it will destroy you, and thus destroy the feeling. It becomes too much a part of you.”
“You think that it is more the destruction of being?”
“Yes,” he said, and he kissed her forehead. “And if you love someone with a fierce, undying passion, then it can destroy you if that love is unreturned, or lost through your lover’s death.” She shivered. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologise,” she said. “I would have wasted away if you had died.”
“And it would have killed me if you stayed behind,” he said. They gazed at each other, the look intense. Suddenly, he rolled her onto her back, and she yelped.
“Antonin!”
“Hush,” he soothed. “I know of one way we can be magically Bound, which will not be recorded at the Ministry of Magic. Well, not the main part. Only in the Love Chamber in the Department of Mysteries, if what Augustus told me is true.”
“How? Will it… will it work?”
“Regardless of blood, it will work,” he said. “Trust me.”
She stroked his cheek. “I trust you, my love,” she whispered. He shut his eyes briefly, and then opened them, the love shining through as clear as day. It made Hermione want to cry. “What do I do?”
“Strip.”
She blushed, but saw that he was perfectly serious. He moved off her, and began to divest his clothes as well. The grass and the air caressed their bodies as each piece of clothing was tossed aside. Hermione placed an Anchoring Charm on them to stop them from blowing away. Antonin sat cross-legged in front of her, and she copied his position. Then he placed his right hand over her heart, and indicated that she do the same to him.
“I share my soul with Hermione Granger,” he said, and nodded in encouragement.
“I share my soul with Antonin Dolohov.”
“I share my body with Hermione Granger.”
“I share my body with Antonin Dolohov.”
“I share my life with Hermione Granger.”
She blinked back the tears falling onto her cheeks, her mouth curved in a trembling smile. “I share my life with Antonin Dolohov.”
“Forever in love, forever in life, forever in death.”
“Forever in love, forever in life, forever in death.”
He placed a finger over his lips, and she nodded. He rose to his knees, and pushed her to the ground. Tenderly, he stroked her arms, and she had to bite back a whimper. He moved over her, and lay down, making sure that their chests were pressed together.
“As one,” he said.
“As one,” she repeated.
They kissed ardently, and he pushed her arms above her head. Pulling away from her lips, he moved down her body, pressing gentle kisses to her flesh. She was gasping soundlessly, her body arching of its own accord.
Her head shot up as he spread her legs apart, but he merely shook his head. She nodded weakly, and flopped back to the ground. For some reason, as he moved into a position that was comfortable for both of them, her nerves fled, leaving her relaxed. Once in place, Antonin stretched forward to press their palms together, rubbed his nose against hers, and then thrust.
From nowhere, Hermione felt the words come to her, overriding the pain.
“So mote it be,” they whispered together. Magic swirled as they completed the bond, heated bodies singing as it came to a roaring finish.
“I love you,” he said, and he kissed her sweaty face.
“I… love you… too,” she panted.
And they always would.