Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.

Beta Love: Dreamingofstars85

A/N: HELLO LOVELIES! It's been a moment, hasn't it? I am back from vacation, surrounded by the greenery of Oregon that I always miss whenever I leave. Anyway, home sweet home, and back to weekly updates! ...I hope. I am currently only 1.5 chapters ahead, which means I need to kick my butt into gear or updates won't be weekly :( SEND MUSE DUST! Thank you all for being so patient - after 6 months of weekly updates, I'm not going to lie, it was nice to have a break. But I'm ready to be back at it! So, here we go! }

So much love to you all, your comments and encouragements truly mean the world and are so inspiring!

SEE END OF CHAPTER FOR ADDITIONAL A/N


CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

I'm Not Naked

Coming into consciousness after near death is neither comfortable nor easy. Hermione took a shallow, though deliberate, breath. With her eyes still closed she began to assess herself. Her body was more sore than it had ever been; the phrase trampled by a herd of hippogriffs about covered it. The slight movement resulting from her shallow breaths was excruciating. Groaning, she moved a hand to her stomach, clutching it. Even after waking up in the hospital wing following Dolohov's attack, Hermione hadn't felt this bad—this drained.

She knew she couldn't stay in this in-between place forever, though, so she slowly opened her eyes, brows furrowed, as she adjusted to the light in the room.

The light?

Wherever she was, it clearly wasn't her cell. She hadn't seen this much light in weeks—since she'd been thrown in the dungeons. Hermione turned her head to the side, noticing that she was propped up on several pillows, to take in the room around her. It was large, and posh. The walls were done up in some fancy wallpaper, and the furniture was ornate. The four-poster bed she was tucked into was quite roomy, and possibly the most comfortable thing Hermione had touched in months. It was near perfection with its black satin sheets and poofy comforter. Honestly, she could likely die happy, right in this bed.

Snapping herself back to reality, Hermione again focused on trying to figure out where exactly she was. While the room was decorated exquisitely, there was nothing personal in it to give her a hint as to its owner. Hermione turned her head to the side and attempted to let her body follow, but a sharp pain everywhere made her groan loudly and stop mid-roll.

"Easy there, doll."

Hermione froze, her breath catching in her throat. She was suddenly painfully aware of whose room this was, and she was exceedingly uncomfortable. Draco had said he trusted him, but that didn't mean Hermione trusted him.

"Rowle," she said, her eyes searching the room for where the voice came from.

"You must like me more than I thought if you recognise me by voice alone," he said, and Hermione could hear the smirk on his face.

"Considering I've spoken to only six people in the last several months, it's not hard to make an impression," she said dryly.

Hermione finally caught movement by the fireplace, and focused her gaze to where one Thorfinn Rowle was rising out of his chair.

"Still, I'll take what I can get." He sauntered toward the bed, stopping to pick up something from a little table along the way. When he reached the bed, Hermione did her best not to recoil at his proximity. She thought it would probably be wise not to show her fear. She did what she could—considering the limitations of being horizontal—to square her shoulders and face him head on. He smirked at her, and simply held out a small phial, gesturing for her to take it.

Hermione eyed the phial wearily making no move to accept it. Rolling his eyes, Rowle uncorked the bottle, offering it to her again. "It's a pain potion. I'm sure you'll be wanting that."

Reluctantly, Hermione reached out and took the phial, smelling it first. When she was quite positive that it indeed smelled like a simple pain potion, she tipped the liquid into her mouth. Tasted like pain potion, too. Rowle held out another phial, and she raised an eyebrow.

"House brew. You got hit pretty bad, you know."

Hermione paused a moment, debating on the unknown potion. In the end she decided that if Rowle had wanted to harm her, he'd had ample opportunity, and he likely wouldn't choose poison. She took the potion and tipped it back.

It was foul.

"What happened?" she asked, wincing at the lingering flavour.

"I was going to ask you that, actually."

Hermione shuddered as she recalled the events that apparently led her here. "Bellatrix," she finally said, though her heart rate had increased and was now steadily trying to beat itself out of her chest.

"I got that. Draco fire-called me last night, middle of the damn night like some nutter, saying that you had messaged him, and his mad aunt had something to do with it. I got down to the cells as quickly as I could, and there was no guard on duty, which was an obvious red flag. Once I got to your cell, I found you unconscious. What happened?"

"She came and… she wanted to kill me," Hermione said quietly.

"Crazy bitch nearly did." Rowle turned, placing the empty phials on the bedside table, before settling himself on the side of the bed.

"I—She came into the cell, and I think she was already angry about something—"

"The Dark Lord dismissed from dinner last night. She was being a cunt waffle, and he called her on it," Rowle said, a small smirk playing on his lips at the memory.

Hermione ignored his obvious enjoyment of offensive language. "Well, she came to see me and decided that she was done with my existence. She said some really foul things, and-" Hermione swallowed, remembering the pain of the night. "She really does love to Crucio people, doesn't she?" she said, feeling strangely removed from the situation as she spoke of it.

"One of her favourites," Rowle nodded.

"Anyway, she was going to, I don't know, cut me to death? Because that seems reasonable." She rolled her eyes heavily before continuing. "But she decided that wasn't enough. I wouldn't suffer enough. So she used a spell I haven't heard before. At first, I thought it didn't work because I didn't feel anything—nothing happened. But then," she shuddered, "Then the pain began. It felt like my body was…"

"Shutting down?" Rowle offered.

"Yeah," Hermione said, wide-eyed.

"That's exactly what was happening. She developed that little curse during the first war. I'm actually surprised she used it on you though, the amount of magic it takes to properly cast—well it can be harmful to the caster as well. I wouldn't be surprised if she was laid up in bed taking potions herself." Rowle furrowed his brows, apparently confused by the woman's actions.

"Well, she was pretty angry by the time she used that one…" Hermione trailed off.

"You provoked her?" Rowle asked, raising one eyebrow and smirking.

"I wasn't going to die without a fight," Hermione shrugged. "I just—I've been practising my wandless magic."

"I knew there was a reason I liked you!" he said, laughing and running a hand through his hair. "What did you do?"

"Well first, I didn't let her Crucio me a second time—I threw up a Protego, and waited until she let her guard down. And then I threw one back at her."

"A Crucio?"

"Sectumsempra, actually," Hermione said.

"You what?! Did you get her? Salazar's sack, witch, no wonder your core magic was so fucking depleted!"

"Well, it didn't work very well. Barely scratched her, as far as I could tell. But it really made her mad, and—"

"And that's why she pulled out all the stops. That curse would have certainly killed you, but it usually doesn't take effect that quickly—she uses it because it causes days of agony. It probably worked so quickly because you depleted so much of your core magic." Rowle leant forward and opened the bedside drawer, pulling out something she couldn't make out. It only took a moment for her to realise it was an elastic—he pulled his long hair into a knot at the back of his head, grinning at her when he saw she was watching. Hermione blushed and looked away.

"You owe me a life debt, doll," he said smugly.

Hermione bristled at this, but couldn't deny it. He did save her life. She took a deep breath, and shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. "I owe a lot of life debts."

"How many do you owe to Death Eaters, though?" he smirked.

She scowled, not answering him.

"You are not going to have an easy time of it, you know." Rowle shook his head and stood from the bed.

"Oh, I would have never guessed. I thought this had all been the Ritz so far," she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"The what?"

"Muggle phrase, nevermind," she waved her hand in the air, dismissing the question.

"Alright… well, I have to go, and you need to rest. Lucky for you, the Dark Lord is off on business for a few days. You'll be fine to stay here and heal up," he said, walking across the room and coming back with several more potion phials. He placed them in the drawer next to the bed, leaving one on top of the little table. "You'll need to take one of these every six hours."

"What are they?"

"Between your organs nearly shutting down, and using so much of your magic with those wandless spells, you've really done a number on yourself, doll. This is a special brew we make here; more than a few Death Eaters have been in need of it over the years. Snape's own recipe. Actually, this one might have even-" he paused, lifting the little phial and examining the label, "Yup, this one was made by the man himself."

"Snape made that? But what is it?" she asked, not exactly comfortable taking more potions she'd never heard of.

"It will help replenish your core magic. Don't tell me you can't feel it, like an icy hollowness settled into your chest," he said, bringing his hand to his own chest, indicating the exact location that Hermione was indeed feeling pain.

"You've had to take this before?"

"It's not all sunshine and roses, this Death Eater business," he winked at her, and turned, crossing the room.

Hermione watched as Rowle donned his robes, pocketing a few items before crossing back to the bed.

"Like I said, you'll be fine here, for now. No one actually knows you're here, and I'm going to keep it that way for as long as possible. I'll be back later tonight, and then we need to talk about what's going to happen."

Suddenly nervous, she shrank down a little. "I can't go back in those cells. She'll just come back once she realises I haven't died."

"No, you can't," he said, shaking his head. "You don't have a choice anymore, Hermione, you've got to listen to reason."

Hermione was shocked to hear Rowle use such a serious tone. Not that they'd spoken much, but each time they had, he was anything but serious.

"I'm not—"

"Time's up, doll. You aren't the first one to face a 'join or die' ultimatum."

"I won't just—"

Rowle put up his hand, speaking over her. "Tonight, doll. I have to go," he said, opening the door. "I'm warding the door—both sides. No entry, no exit, so don't try anything funny. I'll be back. Sleep," he ordered, pointing at the bed and waving his finger at it. "There's potions in the drawer."

Hermione crossed her arms, and let out a hmph. She really hated being ordered around. She also hated being cut off. Who was he to think that he could just order her around? Wiggling down into the covers, Hermione seethed for a moment, before begrudgingly easing her expression.

He saved your life, Hermione.

Groaning at the thought, she closed her eyes and sunk even further beneath the covers, not taking for granted the immense comfort she found there. The first actual non-camp bed she'd been in in months, and she couldn't even fully enjoy it, because it was in a stranger's room, in Death Eater headquarters, and she was half dead.

The beds in the tent weren't that bad, really. They weren't anything like this bed, but they were leagues above a stone floor in a cell with only two thin blankets. This bed was near perfection, actually. It was one of the biggest beds Hermione had ever seen. She stretched both of her arms out to the sides and spread her legs as wide as they would go, yet she still couldn't feel the edges of the bed. This was a bed for sharing. The tent beds were so small that she and Harry hardly fit in one together. Not that that stopped them—even on nights they weren't freezing their limbs off, they ended up cuddling anyway because there just wasn't room not to.

That thought made her miss Harry. The couple of weeks it had been since she'd last seen him felt like ages and she missed him terribly. She rolled to her side, slowly curling into a ball, and when the movement caused the blankets to fall over her head covering her entirely within them, she didn't bother to resurface.

Thinking of Harry hurt her heart. She still wasn't sure where he even was—didn't know if he was safe, or with the Order, or on the run alone. Wherever he was, he was probably worried about her. Hopefully Draco had been able to contact the Order, or at least get Snape to do it. Merlin, it had only been two weeks since she'd been captured. How did two weeks feel like such an eternity?

Hermione sat up a little, peeking her head out of the cocoon of blankets for a moment to look around the room for a fireplace, and quickly spotted it across the room. Rowle had likely shut off access, but she would have to check for sure in a bit. Once she was able to move without feeling like death was knocking. She slowly lowered herself back down, glancing at the little side table with the potions and—What?! Her necklace! She nearly shrieked when she saw it and shot her hand out to grab the little coin. She did shriek when her body rejected the quick movement and sent painful spasms radiating from her core into every part of her body possible.

"Ugh," she said aloud, a tear escaping at the shock of the pain.

She reached again for the coin, much slower this time, and pulled it to her before she sunk back into the bed. It was hot, and as soon as Hermione flipped it to view the surface, messages began appearing.

Are you ok?

What happened?

Please answer me!

Hermione! What happened?

ROWLE! Fucking contact me you fuckwit!

Hermione frowned a little at the messages, wondering if Rowle had contacted Draco at all yet. She was honestly a little surprised that he hadn't just shown up to find out for himself, but then again, Draco was much more sensible than that. Even if you put aside the actual logistics of getting from Hogwarts to here—which would have been near impossible, without either access to the Headmasters Floo or a Portkey—his showing up would cause a lot of questions, and likely just get her killed all the sooner. She had read about the blood wards most pureblood families used. Narcissa and Lucius would both know the moment he set foot on the property.

Even so, she felt her heart sink a little that he wasn't here, however foolish it was.

It only took one try for Hermione to be fully aware of just how depleted her magic really was. She had thought she could send a simple quick message to Draco letting him know she was alright, and Rowle was… doing whatever he was doing— "taking care of me" made her feel kind of gross, but really, he was, wasn't he? She thought that she would be fine doing that, but apparently, she had thought wrong. When she reached in and tried to pull her magic out to send that simple message, she nearly blacked out.

Hermione had read about core depletion before, she knew the effects, but she hadn't realised she was that bad. It would take days of potions and rest before she would be able to use magic again, and that was with a wand, which she didn't have. Who knows how long it would be until she could start practising wandless again.

Unable to do anything else, apparently, Hermione decided she might as well try and help the process along. She carefully and slowly leant over again and opened the drawer where all the potions were. She saw several neat little phials that looked identical to the one she had taken earlier, but there were also some that were filled with the unmistakable light blue of a Sleeping Draught.

Hermione grabbed one of those, uncorking and tipping it into her mouth. She hardly had time to put the stopper back and place the phial on the table before she began to feel the effects of the potions. Her eyelids grew heavy, and leaning back into the pillows, she let them fall closed, welcoming the sleep that she so desperately needed.

xXxXxXx

When her eyes opened again, Hermione knew she'd been asleep for quite a while. She felt rested for the first time in a long time, but her body had that slept-too-long ache and her eyes strained to adjust to the brightness. Though, that could just be an effect of being in the utter darkness of the cell for far too long. Raising a tentative arm over her head, she stretched out her sore muscles and blinked several times.

"Ahh, there you are. I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever wake up."

Hermione ignored him, and shut her eyes again, hoping she could fall back asleep. She'd been having the most wonderful dream—her, Harry, Ron, everyone, they were all back at the Burrow on a beautiful summer day, with nothing more to worry about than what to have for lunch and who would have to de-gnome the garden next.

"Sorry doll, you can't actually hide from me when I know right where you're at," Rowle said, chuckling. Hermione felt a dip on one side of the bed and groaned.

Pulling the blankets down so that her face was exposed, she was not surprised to see the man sitting on the edge of the bed, smirking at her.

She glared.

"You're a right friendly one when you wake up, aren't you?"

"If I answer, will you go away?" she asked.

"Sorry, no can do."

Hermione groaned again and watched as Rowle pulled a potion phial out of the drawer. She reached her arm out of the warmth and comfort of the blankets to take it when he held it out to her, already uncorked. She drank it down, handing back the empty.

"You were supposed to take one of these every six hours, you know. How do you expect to heal if you don't even take the potions?"

"I've been asleep more than six hours? What time is it?" Hermione knew she'd slept for a long time, but longer than six hours? She hadn't slept that well since she'd been captured.

"It's eleven," he answered.

"At night?!"

"Yes," he laughed, pulling the blanket a little further from her face. "Let me see your chest. I healed it last night, but that fucking blade of hers, sometimes the wounds need a little extra work."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. She still didn't trust this Viking of a man and felt rather weary exposing any part of her body for him. He only stared back at her though, and after a moment, Hermione pulled the collar of her shirt down, exposing the raw skin of her chest.

"Hmm…" he said, looping a finger into the collar and gently tugging it to further expose the wound. "Well, it's healing, but I think it's going to take a little longer than I thought, and I'm sorry to say, but it's going to scar." He frowned, meeting her gaze as he brought his hands back to rest in his lap.

"What's one more," Hermione sighed, pulling the blankets back over her body.

Rowle remained silent for a few moments, and Hermione felt awkward as he looked her in the eye. He finally stood, walking across the room to a small table and picked up a tumbler of what she assumed was firewhisky. He also summoned a second glass, filling it with water, before walking back to the bed, and handing the latter to Hermione.

"Thank you," she said, gratefully taking the water.

Rowle let her drink the water in peace for a moment but spoke as soon as the glass left her lips.

"You'll be fine here for a few days. As far as I know no one even noticed your absence today. Which makes me wonder about the dungeon staff, but that's beside the point. We have to figure out something before the Dark Lord gets back."

Hermione groaned, not wanting to think about what happened next for her. She just wanted to enjoy this brief moment of respite before things were sure to go to Hades again. "Helping me plan my escape?"

"Hardly. I fancy living, believe it or not. No, we need to plan what you're going to do in regards to staying alive. I'm sure you recall the 'join or die' sentiment we discussed earlier."

"Go ahead and kill me, then. I won't join." Hermione crossed her arms over her chest stubbornly, and fixed her gaze over Rowle's shoulder, not making eye contact.

"Can't do that, princess. Too many people would be after my head if I killed you."

"What do you propose, then?" she asked, looking him in the eye and glaring.

"Join, obviously," he said dryly.

"I've already said—"

"I know what you've bloody said, witch," he growled, standing up. "Listen, you can take a couple days to wrap your head around it, but once you're healed up a bit more, we are going to have to talk about this."

"And what exactly is it we are going to discuss?" she asked coolly, trying not to let her voice betray her nervousness.

"Your becoming a Death Eater, that's what. Now scoot over," he made a shooing motion with his hands, gesturing her to move to the other side of the bed, and the tone of his voice told her that particular aspect of the conversation was now over.

"What? Why?" Hermione asked, feeling her stomach sink. She knew this had been too good to be true. There was no safe place for her anymore, and she should never have let her guard down. She began mentally going over every self-defence move she knew—which, admittedly were very few.

"You're the size of a bloody wood nymph, and I'm not sleeping on that chair again," he gestured to the chair in front of the fireplace, "when there is plenty of room in this bed for the both of us to sleep comfortably."

He must have seen the look on her face, because he exasperatedly added, "Platonically," with a roll of his eyes.

Hermione was frozen for a moment, not sure what to do. Rowle gestured with his hands once more, encouraging her to scoot over, and then hooked his fingers in the hem of his shirt and pulled it smoothly over his head. Hermione was suddenly faced with the most incredible set of abs she had ever seen in real life, and she immediately blushed from head to toe. He obviously saw it, because he gave her a wicked smirk before speaking.

"Or we could cuddle if you don't want to move." He chuckled when she made an indignant gasp and began to scoot quickly to the other side of the bed.

When Hermione saw him undo the button on his trousers though, she squeaked. "What are you doing?"

"Well, I'm not sleeping in my bloody trousers, doll."

"You can't sleep in here with no clothes on!" she practically shouted.

"First of all, I've got my bloody pants on; I'm not naked. Second, you're free to sleep in the chair if you don't like it," he said, chuckling as he began to unzip his trousers.

Rather than continue to argue with a nearly naked man, Hermione loudly groaned and rolled over, facing away from Rowle, and scooted as close to her edge of the bed as physically possible. She felt a slight dip when he got in, but he was right, it was a massive bed and they likely could both stretch out fully without coming into contact with each other.

"Goodnight, princess."

"I'm not your bloody princess!"

Rowle chuckled and Hermione heard him whisper, "Nox." The room was suddenly only lit by the dim embers of a dying fire, and Hermione found she quite welcomed the darkness.

xXxXxXx


A/N: I wanted to put this at the end, because it's partially explained in the chapter. The spell Bella used, Desero Penitus is obviously one I made up with loads of help from my bff, Google.

Desero - Quit/Give up
Penitus - Internal

So internal failing, essentially organs giving up and shutting down.