Chapter Twenty-One

Since the first night Antonin shared his bed with Hermione Granger he'd been unable to resist waking up in the middle of the night at least once to stare in wonder at the young witch asleep next to him. Months had passed with the same nightly ritual. Their relationship had changed every bit as much as their positions on the bed had changed. They started on the opposite sides of the bed with their backs to each other. After months of slow maneuvering they ended up in the middle together with her wild curls frequently making trips up his nostrils in the middle of the night. The tiny witch somehow managed to always end up with her freezing cold feet between his legs and her deliciously round bum rubbed up against sensitive parts of his own body. He couldn't complain too much about that last part. It had made for some unforgettable mornings since moving into their own private cottage.

Weeks had passed since the night he and his witch were finally intimate on the bare living floor while their hostage was underneath them in the basement. Even though they had been able to christen every single room of their small, cozy new home including the drafty, unfinished attic in that time, he still found it shocking at times to wake up in the middle of the night with his arms full of naked witch. He'd never freely shared his bed in all almost forty eight years of his life. There is an element of trust required for two people to share their sleeping spaces. Until he captured the shivering woman that January night, he'd never found anyone he was willing to remain that close to for the duration of his sleep cycle.

He still had trouble wrapping his mind around the fact that she trusted him enough to let her guard down completely in his presence. The bedcovers had slipped down at some point in her sleep to reveal the top of the hated scar he was responsible for giving her so many years earlier. Moonlight shining in through the bedroom window illuminated the evidence of the harsh mistake he'd made in the damned Department of Mysteries. How could this woman still be able to not only trust him enough to relax completely in his presence but open up her body to a monster like him?

She was naïve. Wondrously, unbelievably naïve at times. It hadn't escaped his notice that if he and Anna had been able to marry when they were teenagers like they'd both dreamed about, that he could very well have a daughter Hermione's age. Naturally he tried to not to dwell on those facts too often. He already felt like a wicked, murderous brute. He didn't need to add lecherous old man to the list. She could be so trusting of him even after he permanently marred her body in such a fashion. Even after months of knowing her personally and being able to pick that marvelous brain of hers, Antonin still didn't understand the first thing about the Gryffindor that was curled up in his arms and steadily winding her way into his cold heart.

Antonin placed a soft kiss on the top of her head. He closed his eyes to give himself back to the relaxation of sleep. Once more he was content to know that the curly haired witch was lying next to him.

He was the first to wake up that morning when the sun began to shine into their bedroom. Hermione slept on even when he carefully unwrapped his arms from around her body. She didn't even seem to realize he was leaving their private haven. Simply snuggled under the covers and slept on. Once she told him that she used to be the first person to wake up in her dormitory. Not a day went by that she wasn't the first to rise, the first in the bathroom, the first down the stairs, and the first in the Great Hall for breakfast. She was usually the first in the library each day. When he teased her one morning about sleeping in so late when she used to be Miss Early Bird, she simply reminded him that he was talking about another young, Muggleborn witch who had great potential and lived in another lifetime. The sadness in her eyes as she pulled the blankets over her head to resume her slumber broke even his cold, dead heart. Depression was a daily struggle for the young witch and one that he could certainly understand.

Antonin stretched his stiff muscles in front of the large window overlooking the ocean. He was certain he would never grow tired of the view from their sanctuary. It was almost July but there was still a lingering chill in their bedroom. He crossed the room towards the bathroom, almost tripping over a yawning Argos in the process. The beast had been given the private moniker of "In the Way" for his penchant for always being underfoot. Hermione found the trait endearing, he found it obnoxious. Argos rose from his spot and looked as if he were about to leap onto the bed to wake his mistress.

"Nuh uh," Antonin said, softly swatting the dog's massive behind. It didn't hurt the creature. Simply seemed to offend his furry sensibilities. "Leave her alone. If you can refrain from waking her up before I get out of the shower, I will make you something special for breakfast."

He always felt like an idiot bargaining with the animal, but Argos dutifully laid his head back down on the rug. The animal was snoring again before Antonin was able to close the bathroom door. He was showered, dressed and standing in front of the kitchen stove before either of the other occupants of the cottage stirred.

"Good morning," Hermione greeted him, coming around behind him at the stove to wrap her arms around his waist. He never got tired of the feel of her slim arms or the quick kiss between his shoulder blades.

Argos, as usual, was only steps behind his mistress. When Hermione moved to start brewing the tea, the dog sat at attention next to the stove. The expression on his face and the soft 'woof' needed no human-canine translator. Argos was reminding Antonin of his promise for a special breakfast. Rolling his eyes and suppressing an amused chuckle, Antonin broke a couple of extra eggs into the skillet. The canine's massive tail immediately began to wag. It only took a few more minutes until Hermione and Antonin were both seated at the kitchen table with their breakfasts trying to politely ignore the overenthusiastic sounds of their dog consuming his own meal.

"Delicious, Antonin," Hermione said after taking a few bites. "I might just have to talk you into being the permanent cook."

"I assure you, daragaya, that will not be a problem," he teased.

"Shut up, Antonin. I'm not that bad."

A whine from Argos at the other end of the kitchen made Antonin burst out laughing at the indignant expression on his witch's face. As soon as Gregory placed the finishing touches on their new kitchen, she'd attempted and failed more than once to cook the meals. Antonin had dutifully eaten every single burnt and tasteless mouthful that had been placed on his plate with no complaint.

"I may not be as talented as Rabastan's house elves, but I assure you, we won't starve," she replied, a cross huff escaping her lips.

"No, we won't starve," he agreed. "As long as we are both able to Apparate, there is always take away."

Hermione threw her wadded up napkin at Antonin's smirk. She rolled her eyes and finally gave in to the teasing. He leaned across the small table to kiss her lips. They were finishing up the meal when his arm began to burn. Frustrated with the summons, he groaned before rising from the table.

"Summons?" she asked, concern etched over every inch of her beautiful face.

"Yes, will you be all right?"

"Of course. Greg is coming by in an hour or so to work on the attic. Our day will be pretty full."

She followed him to the front door of the cottage, kissing him goodbye as if he were simply headed off to another day at the office. Antonin wasn't sure what went through her overactive brain during moments when it was impossible for her to forget that he was a Death Eater and therefore, her enemy, but he hoped that she could always look past his mask to the wizard beneath. Her worried eyes were still raking his form when he Disapparated away to wherever his Dark Lord required him.

He'd learned early on in his career as a follower of Lord Voldemort that there was a tricky charm embedded in the Dark Mark on his left forearm. While he wasn't sure how it all worked or how many separate charms were involved, he was surprised to learn that the Dark Lord could summon him specifically to arrive in a place where he wasn't even located. All he had to do was place the tip of his wand to his Mark before he Apparated. Wherever the Dark Lord wanted him to be, that's where he would arrive.

Why the Dark Lord would want him back at Azkaban was beyond him. The moment his feet touched the familiar stones in the damned fortress Antonin's stomach began to twist. He hadn't been back since the day he'd finally been able to claim his war prize and take the poor, shivering, ill girl back to Rabastan's manor. That was the last time he had hoped to ever revisit the place that had stolen fifteen years of his worthless life. Even standing in the front of the prison far away from any of the prisoners or the damned dementors that guarded them, he felt the uneasiness of the place.

Yaxley was standing in the middle of the assembled group of thirty or forty Death Eaters that arrived within moments of Antonin. He was waiting for them all to arrive before he gave the orders that they were to take the small boats to the coast to stand guard. Rumors had been swirling for days that there was going to be an assault on the fortress. Antonin thought the rumors sounded ridiculous. Even if the rebels had been able to break out every single woman from the Umbridge Home with no casualties, Azkaban was an entirely different story. Breaching its walls was impossible.

Antonin found himself sharing a boat with Cadmus Mulciber and Thorfinn to his immense displeasure. Part of him worried that the younger wizard's girth would capsize their vessel in the frigid waters of the North Sea. Rowle didn't seem too anxious to share the vessel with Antonin either. Only Cadmus was ignorant of the tension in the small boat as his horrible habit of prattering on bore evidence to.

They were stationed on the banks of the mainland in full view of the prison. Antonin was pleased to know that while he was still forced to be near the place that held so many horrors for him, he wasn't actually being forced to remain within. There were some who were stuck inside the crumbling walls of the dank prison, but he was grateful to not be one of them. They were a relatively silent force of dozens of masked sentinels.

This wasn't the first time he was forced to remain awake and alert for over twenty-four hours and he was certain it wouldn't be the last. Either there was to be no attack on Azkaban or Yaxley had gotten the date wrong. Nothing happened in the first thirty-six hours of their vigil. All around him Antonin could hear the yawns and whispered complaints from the men and women who'd given up their lives to the same master he had. They were all growing tired of nothing happening. He was certain that he wasn't the only one with a willing, warm witch waiting for him in his oversized bed. As the hour grew close to midnight, he silently, yet fervently, wished that they would all receive the order to disperse soon. Hermione would just be getting ready for bed if he was able to leave at that second. He might even be home in time to catch her finishing up one of her frequent bubble baths. They'd both thoroughly enjoyed the last one they were able to take together.

His thoughts were focused on his witch when the first of the boats began to appear over the horizon. If one of his more observant brethren hadn't shouted out that there were boats approaching, he might have gone right on daydreaming until a stunner struck him right in the gut. Thankfully, his battle instincts had served him well over the years as an acolyte of the Dark Lord. When the boats of various sizes and makes filled the sea in front of them, the battle began in earnest.

He was on the edge of the fighting. Most of the rebels were still heading in his direction when the curses began to light up the night sky. Shouts filled the once still night air. Time seemed to pass very slowly once the excitement began. Antonin was able to witness several duels beginning around him before he clapped eyes on his first rebel with intent to do him personal harm. To Antonin, every single person fighting with the rebellious force represented one more hurdle in creating the world he wanted to live in with his witch. They represented the force that would be more than willing to steal the woman away from him whether either of them wanted it or not.

He showed the rebels no mercy. The wizard who dared to raise his wand in his direction was lying face down in the waters of the North Sea before he was likely even aware of what hit him. He would provide any witch or wizard who attempted to engage him a swift, painless death, but they would all fall at his wand. They were too dangerous to be allowed to continue their campaign of bringing down the world that Antonin and others like him were trying to build.

The boat rebels were fierce fighters. He could never deny the bravery and skill of a worthy opponent. In the darkness and the chaos, Antonin couldn't be sure how many he was able to strike down. Many of his Marked brothers and sisters weren't so fortunate. He could hear their screams and a cursory survey of the coast further down from him revealed many fallen comrades. Despite his better judgment, he kept an eye out for the burly blonde. Somehow he knew that the first question to come out of his witch's mouth when he returned home and she knew he was safe would be about him. He couldn't blame her for her large, open heart. It was part of what he was growing to love about her. That is, of course, assuming that he was even capable of love. The Wizengamot was still deliberating on that one.

Thorfinn was holding his own about thirty feet from Antonin. As the rebels began to arrive in ever increasing numbers, he couldn't spare a glance in his direction very often, but felt confident that he would come out of this unscathed. He was comparable to a cockroach in Antonin's mind. He would keep coming back no matter what curse one hit him with. His musings on vermin and insects were interrupted by the arrival of a fresh wave of rebels arriving behind him. The fighters on the coastline were now trapped between the rebels in the boats and the countless rebels running in from the darkness.

Curse after curse was sent flying in his direction and to his great credit, none had yet met their mark completely. His robes were singed and his mask had fallen off at some point in an aggressive duel, but he was untouched. The vast number of forces on the rebel side were disconcerting. Somewhere in the back of his mind he'd assumed that the rebels were a fly-by-night group of maybe fifty or sixty hardcore Harry Potter supporters. He'd never imagined that they would have been capable of pulling off the raid at the Umbridge Home. This raid, however, was unparalleled. They had all been misled by the number of willing soldiers for the opposing side. More of them existed than they were aware.

A prickling in the air made Antonin's hair start to spark and crackle. He could feel the short hairs over his entire body begin to stand on end. Despite the violence and cacophony of the hundreds of curses flying through the night sky, he could detect the beginnings of protective enchantments being placed between him and the prison. His first assumption was that the ones waiting inside the prison were lifting the wards to prevent any potential break-in of the prison. During a few moments with no opponents to curse, Antonin was able to spot a boat full of rebels focusing all of their magic on lifting the wards.

Immediately he began searching out his fellow cursebreakers. Whatever the rebels were planning, they needed to bring it down immediately. He ran through multiple duels narrowly missing being struck by wayward curses to seek out Rookwood, the two Notts and that sort-of pretty witch that always hung around with Jugson. He could never remember her damn name. Something with an 'E'. Elspeth? Elizabeth? Elise? His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of young Theodore Nott. He was a relatively new recruit. Antonin knew the type. Could sense a mile off that he wasn't there of his own accord. He was yet another one forced into the Dark Lord's service by his father.

"Edana and Father are already working on the wards," informed Theo.

"Where's Rookwood?" Antonin asked, scanning the nearby fighters.

"He's dead," the boy answered with little emotion. "Struck down by one of the Resistance."

No one would miss Augustus Rookwood so Antonin didn't even waste a moment of his time to mourn the bastard. All he cared about was without him their team was down one. Rookwood might have been trash, but he was an excellent cursebreaker. Antonin ordered the pale, visibly frightened boy to return to his father and the witch. He would join them shortly.

Antonin ran off in the opposite direction, ignoring all of the bedlam around him. To his benefit, no one tried to actively engage him while he was on the run. He caught a glimpse of Thorfinn indiscriminately throwing curses towards the boats and then towards the rebels behind him. Antonin had to resist the urge to roll his eyes in the middle of battle. The young wizard hadn't learned the value of a well-timed or well-placed curse. He was the fool responsible for killing Gibbon with a killing curse when Dumbledore was also killed. Obviously he still hadn't learned his lesson.

He could see Travers, the wizard he was looking for to assist them further with the wards, just up ahead about thirty yards. As he was running full speed towards the wizard, Antonin and many others around him were thrown to the ground. A massive explosion coming from the island out at sea was large enough to shake the ground he was standing on. Splashes could be heard where rebels were thrown out of their boats. His ears were ringing and he felt a bit dizzy, but Antonin ignored all of that to turn his face towards the prison. What he had heard wasn't a single explosion but a series of at least ten. Large, gaping holes were spread out all over the prison.

Immediately the atmosphere changed. While it had been a warm, almost balmy late June evening, the air suddenly turned dreadfully cool. All around him he could hear screams from Death Eaters and rebels alike. One look towards the fortress told him all he needed to know. Hundreds of dementors, quite possibly every single dementor that lived on that dreadful island, began to float towards the holes in their prison. They were able to float and glide in the air. He could see them all exiting the prison through the gaps to further examine the damage.

In the distance he heard a loud horn from one of the boats. Ordinarily intended to give its position away while out in the midst of fog, the blaring from the horn was a signal to the rebels. Shouts of "Expecto Patronum" rang throughout the night air. Many of the fighters still battling the Death Eaters paused their duels when possible to send their own corporeal patronus out towards the creatures. Hundreds of patronuses filled the night sky. Antonin could hardly breathe he was so in awe of the spectacle. Every animal imaginable was streaking across the sky. Almost all of the fighting on land and with the rebels in the boats ceased for the length of time it took for the patronus menagerie to reach the prison.

Every single dementor that had the misfortune of being a bit too nosy after the explosions was knocked back from the prison fortress at least two hundred yards. The silvery, transparent animals kept the creatures away long enough for the night sky to once again be filled. This time, however, hundreds of witches and wizards on broomsticks zoomed across the clear sky towards the prison. Antonin could see from the distance that they were flying right into the prison itself! All thoughts of dueling were pushed out of the minds of the fighters as the fliers zoomed into one of the ten holes in the prison and then proceeded to zoom back out with at least one or two emaciated prisoners clinging to the backs of their brooms.

He hated to admit that he was impressed, but damn it, Antonin was impressed. Once again he was witness to another well-planned, well-organized and well-executed raid by the rebel forces. A small voice in the back of his mind warned him that he shouldn't grow complacent. There was a serious possibility that the Dark Lord would eventually lose everything he gained the day he struck Harry Potter down. It was as if Antonin was standing close enough to the ocean for a rogue wave to drench him in icy cold water. The realization that he might one day be on the losing side and therefore, unable to protect Hermione, was sobering.

When the surprise of what was happening at the prison wore off, the fighting resumed. Antonin picked himself up off of the ground and resumed his search for Travers. The man had proven himself capable in the past of breaking through difficult enchantments. He only made it about ten feet before he caught a glimpse of familiar white blond hair in the distance. Antonin picked up his pace and ran towards the wizard he knew without any doubt was Lucius Malfoy.

He knew the history of Malfoy with the Dark Lord. Part of him could even understand what caused the wizard to switch sides. His old hatred for the wizard, however, prevented too much sympathy. Antonin raised his wand and sent several curses one right after the other towards the bastard. Lucius was able to easily deflect the curses with a powerful shield. Antonin could feel his ire begin to raise his blood pressure. Before he was able to send another curse in Lucius' direction, he felt his entire body tense and fall backwards. Fucking full-body bind. He was never going to escape from that damned spell!

Lucius towered over his prostrate form with his wand pointed directly at his face. Antonin would've spat in his direction if he could've moved. He prepared himself for the curse he knew Lucius had been anxious to send in his direction for years. At least he knew that Hermione was safe tucked away in their Unplottable cottage.

"The only reason you aren't dead right now, Antonin, is because of what you did for Reina."

The words were spoken through clenched teeth, but he understood every single one of them. Lucius was sparing his life because of the warning he gave Miss Rowle. He would've laughed if he could've moved. A selfless deed had actually saved his sorry excuse for a life. There was always a first for everything.

Lucius sneered down at Antonin once more before turning back to enter the fray. Antonin was able to see him step only a few inches away from his body before he was struck by multiple curses. Internally he was cheering the wizard that turned out to be Yaxley. Lucius was lying on the ground with the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement hitting him with multiple binding and stinging hexes. Yaxley always enjoyed playing with his victims before going in for the kill. He towered over Lucius in much the same manner that Lucius had done over Antonin only mere minutes earlier. A demented grin on Yaxley's face warmed Antonin's cold heart. Lucius was finally going to get what he deserved.

Antonin's celebration was short-lived. Before Yaxley could finish the job he'd started so valiantly, he was hit with multiple streams of different colored spells. Yaxley flew backwards through the air before landing with a sickening crunch. In the corner of his eye, he saw a tall, thin blonde woman rush to Lucius' side. She covered them both in a powerful shield before levitating Lucius' injured body away from the fray. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Reina Rowle had just narrowly saved Lucius' life.

He wasn't sure how long he lay in the dirt unable to fight. Too damn long. After what felt like an eternity, the spell was removed. A beefy hand was held out for Antonin to grasp. He took it without hesitation.

"Try to be more careful, Dolohov!" shouted Thorfinn as he rushed away from the area.

The sky was still crowded with the brave, or rather foolish in Antonin's opinion, witches and wizards who were rescuing the poor sods locked up in the prison. Another moment of distraction as Antonin watched a broomstick with three people on it fly by was enough to knock him back down to the ground.

He wasn't bound this time, but before he could completely rise again from the ground, another beam went straight to his chest. He floundered on the ground, desperate to catch his breath. A wizard with flaming red hair stomped on his chest. The cracking of at least two of his ribs was deafening. Pain was coursing through every cell in Antonin's body, but the wizard didn't remove his heavy, dragonhide boot from his sternum.

"Where is Hermione, Dolohov?" the wizard demanded.

The mixture of moonlight and the light from the curses flying in all direction illuminated the man's face enough that Antonin was able to see massive scars. He remembered Fenrir boasting on multiple occasions that he'd shredded and ruined the oldest Weasley boy's face. His name escaped Antonin's mind, but that didn't really seem to matter at the moment.

"We know you have Hermione," Weasley continued. "Tell me where she is."

He shifted more of his weight to the foot that was pressing on Antonin's chest. The pain was swiftly becoming unbearable, but he wasn't going to budge. He wasn't going to tell this idiot boy where his witch was. Weasley's attention was diverted for a single moment when shouts from the fliers above indicated that the prisoners had all been rescued. Antonin only needed a second.

One spell sent the eldest Weasley and his damned heavy boots flying backwards off his body. It hurt like hell to stand up, but Antonin wasted no time climbing to his feet. Both men met the other's eyes and Antonin knew that this wasn't going to be over until one of them was dead. It had been a long time since Antonin was paired against such an evenly matched opponent. Part of him was pleased to learn that if he was going to be fighting for his life, he would be doing so against a worthy opponent.

None of their spells made their mark. They both were too skilled in diversion and shields to allow direct hits. Antonin's body was screaming with pain from the broken ribs, but he refused to allow the wizard to get him. All distractions fell away. Antonin couldn't even hear the others fighting in the distance or the fearful shrieks from those trying to get away from the returned dementors. Even the icy despair he associated with the prison guards of Azkaban was ignored in his fierce determination to overpower the younger wizard.

They might have fought until they both collapsed at the same time out of sheer exhaustion if Weasley hadn't been joined by reinforcements. Two wizards rushed to Weasleys' assistance. Antonin was able to stun one relatively quickly after his arrival leaving him to battle against two. The second wizard that arrived to help wore an angry, intimidating expression on his familiar countenance. Once Hermione was safely captured and locked away in the ancestral home of the Lestranges, Kingsley Shacklebolt was promoted to Undesirable No 2 in her place.

"Surrender, Dolohov!" the former auror shouted. "Surrender and take us to Hermione and we'll show you mercy."

Antonin scoffed. He hadn't survived as long as he had by being a fool. There were always strings to offers of mercy. Choosing to ignore the pleas from both men to reveal where Hermione was located, he continued in a taxing two-against-one duel that he was fairly certain would end in his defeat. Already he could feel his battered body slowing. His reflexes weren't as sharp as they needed to be to survive. Already Shacklebolt had been able to hit him with a slicing hex to his shoulder. Blood was pouring from the wound at such a rate that he feared he might pass out from blood loss before much longer.

"All we want is Hermione," Weasley continued. "Just let her go."

"She doesn't mean anything to you!" Shacklebolt shouted.

Antonin was able to deflect their simultaneous curses with a shield much like the talented Miss Rowle used the night she saved her brother's life. His energy was waning. The duel would be over soon.

"You're wrong about that!" Antonin shouted back.

It was none of their business what was going on between his witch and himself, but he couldn't stop himself from shouting back to the men. He wondered as he huddled behind his shield what Hermione would say to know that two of the strongest members of the rebel forces were actively seeking out knowledge of her whereabouts. Three, if he counted the Longbottom boy. And she was the one who claimed that she would simply be a burden and no one was looking for her? Maybe if she knew they were searching she might be more reluctant to remain hidden in their cottage.

His shield wavered just long enough for a final curse to be hurled in his direction. He felt the energy hit him straight in the chest. His feet were off the ground and he was thrown backwards. When his injured chest and the back of his head crashed into the hard ground, he was certain that he was about to die. His last thoughts were of Hermione before the world went dark.

Antonin's first thought of afterlife was that it smelled strange. When his exhausted eyes opened in the stark white room, he was assaulted with the horrible smell of a mixture of sterilizing cleansers and noxious potions. His eyes watered at the pungent scents. It was official. Hell existed and he was in it.

"Mr. Dolohov?"

A timid voice off to his left side broke him out of his reverie. It took most of his strength, but he struggled to turn his head towards the sound. If he was dead then so was Gregory Goyle. That didn't make any sense. The boy was supposed to be with Hermione working on their attic.

"Gregory?"

His voice was scratchy and a bit painful to use. A bright smile crossed the young wizard's face at the sound of his name.

"Hermione will be so pleased to hear that you're awake," he said. "She tried to come to the hospital herself, but I told her I didn't think that was wise."

Perceptive boy. If Hermione was to prove that she was more than just his captive, she would be under a great deal more scrutiny. The best case scenario would give the Dark Lord more power to keep him in line if he threatened Hermione in any way. The worst case scenario would have the Dark Lord reassigning the witch to one of his other followers who didn't harbor the same feelings he did.

"Thank you," Antonin replied. He wasn't strong enough to say more.

"I'll go let the healers know you're awake."

Several minutes later a no-nonsense witch with grey hair and the ugliest spectacles Antonin had ever seen came bustling into his room. She explained to him while she completed her examination that he had been unconscious for almost three solid days. His injuries had been severe, but not enough that he wouldn't be able to recover from them completely. She rattled off a list that included severe concussion, four broken ribs and internal bleeding amongst a myriad of other minor injuries.

"I must insist that you stay in St. Mungo's for at least another four or five days," she said, ignoring the deep groan that came out of her patient. "You are lucky to be alive, Mr. Dolohov."

Her lecture was interrupted by the hesitant reappearance of young Mr. Goyle. Antonin raised a hand to let the boy know it was all right for him to enter. He settled himself back down on the chair he'd vacated earlier while the healer continued her haranguing of her patient.

"Bloody obnoxious woman," Antonin muttered when she exited the room.

Gregory snorted.

"Speaking of bloody obnoxious women," he continued. "Hermione sent you here?"

"Yes, sir. She asked me to keep an eye on you if possible. She's been very worried about you."

"Do you know what happened?"

He shook his head.

"There weren't a lot of details. All I know is that the rebels were able to get almost every single prisoner out of Azkaban before they all left."

"Weasley and Shacklebolt?"

"They got away."

"Damn."

Gregory stood from the chair to place a rumpled newspaper in Antonin's hands.

"Hermione made me promise that I'd come back as soon as you were awake," he explained. "She can be a bit scary if you don't do what she tells you."

It was Antonin's turn to snort.

"Thank you, Gregory. Please tell her I'll be home soon."

"Yes, sir."

Antonin watched the young wizard exit his hospital room before turning his attention to the newspaper in his hands. The front page was devoted entirely to the events of the violent night. Despite the Daily Prophet being securely in the hands of the Ministry and the Ministry securely in the hands of the Dark Lord, there were hints in the article that the rebels were successful. Antonin had to suppress another snort. Of course they were successful! Anyone with a pair of eyes could've told him that. Hundreds of Azkaban prisoners, some legitimate prisoners, but most political prisoners, were released in a single night. The rebels now had even more built-in allies.

The second page of the paper provided a list of known deaths. Losses were heavy for the Death Eaters. Rookwood he already knew about, but there were at least thirty others that had been killed or severely injured. Even his name was in the paper under the heading "Wounded - Unlikely to Survive." Thanks for the confidence, he thought bitterly. A surprising name under the "Missing - Presumed Dead" heading stood out on the page: Thorfinn Rowle. Despite his growing hatred for the man, he had to admit that he was disappointed to hear about the blonde's fate. He knew Hermione would be saddened whether she was willing to admit so or not. Antonin wadded up the newspaper and tossed it back over onto Gregory's empty chair.

Antonin annoyed his Healer to the point that she was willing to send him home after only two days. She made him promise that he would do nothing but rest for at least another week. Gregory, who had come by each day at Hermione's insistence, stood off to the side while he was chastised by the Healer.

"You, young sir," the healer said to Gregory. "Can you see that he doesn't do anything to reinjure himself over the next week?"

Antonin narrowed his eyes at the wizard. Gregory's cheeks flamed red but a small, cheeky grin crossed his features that made the older wizard nervous.

"Yes, ma'am. I'll make certain that his witch knows your instructions. She will make certain that he doesn't hurt himself."

Antonin glared, causing the young man to gulp audibly. A satisfied smirk appeared on Antonin's face when he realized he could still frighten his contractor.

"Excellent," replied the Healer. "I am signing his release papers. You are free to leave at any time, Mr. Dolohov."

When the Healer left the two men alone, Antonin turned to glare at Gregory once more.

"What does Hermione hold over your head that's been making you come here?" he asked.

Gregory shrugged his shoulders.

"I owe her a life debt," he explained. "When you didn't come home after two days and she read in the paper that you were injured, she made me come here. She told me that if I sat by your side and reported back to her how you were doing, she'd release me."

A life debt was no simple debt. Antonin was surprised to hear that his witch had used hers with Gregory to ensure that someone was available when he woke up from his unconsciousness. She could've forced Gregory to do a lot more than just visit a sick man in a hospital.

"I would've done it anyway," Gregory continued. "She has been so frightened for you. I'm sure she hasn't slept for days. At least this will put us on the same level again. Anything she needs help with in the future I can safely say that I'm doing because I want to, not because I have to."

The two men walked down the corridor to the lifts in silence. Antonin was finding that the more time he spent with Gary Goyle's son, the more he liked the young man. He was shaping up to be a much better human being than his father had ever dreamed of being. It was heartening to know that despite the disgusting sludge that his father was, Gregory had promise. They travelled to the Apparation foyer of the hospital without exchanging words. Antonin's magic still wasn't up to apparating on his own just yet so he had to rely on Side-Along with Gregory.

Antonin's ribs and chest were burning with pain when the squeezing stopped. The front door opened at the loud crack of their arrival. Hermione's face was covered in tears. She cautiously threw her arms around her wizard. Gregory quietly excused himself to give the couple some privacy. He promised to return the next day to check on them. Hermione removed her arms from Antonin long enough to throw them around Gregory.

"Thank you so much, Greg," she said. "I don't know if there's some formal way to do so, but I release you from your life debt."

He Disapparated with a smile.

"What do you need?" Hermione immediately asked.

"A long, hot shower."

He opened the front door and almost tripped over the damn dog. For the first time in their acquaintance, Hermione was the one to chastise the dog for doing something wrong. Argos slinked away from the living room with his tail between his legs.

"I don't think you should take a shower," Hermione said when they entered the bathroom.

Not in the mood for an argument of any kind, Antonin sighed.

"You need to rest. You shouldn't be on your feet for so long. Why don't you take a hot bath instead?"

"I don't want to take a bath."

"It'll feel good on your aches."

"Damn it, Hermione! I'm not a child!"

The witch placed both hands on her hips and glared.

"No, but I can put you in a full body bind and give you a cold sponge bath instead."

Antonin turned away from the shower and stalked over to the large bathtub.

"Damned impertinent, bossy witch!"

His words had little heat and he didn't miss her grin.

Author's Note: Thank you to all of my reviewers! Welcome to all the new Favorites and Followers! Thanks so much to everyone for sticking with this story.