Antonin had long thought himself immune to feeling any kind emotional response to combat situations, though admittedly that was before he had found himself in love, with a witch that although brilliant, was not built for fighting. He had worried about Hermione from the moment she had left the townhouse, watching Potter and Weasley leave with her gave him no comfort, she had gotten hurt on their watch before, and he knew she would lay down her life to protect them. He would never admit to it but seeing Luna clasp her hand did help, a little. He knew those girls would do anything before letting the other get hurt. But best intentions were just that; they weren't guarantees.

Antonin had paced the sun room with increasingly frantic steps, waiting for the inevitable summons, when it came, he and Yaxley were at Hogsmeade in less than a minute. From that point, everything happened in a blur. It had been a long time since any of them had been involved in such a large-scale action, this war, for the most part, had been conducted in the shadows. The biggest battle Antonin had faced had not been the bloody defeat of his enemy, but holding onto the will to protect his sanity, and when the end came, he faced the biggest test he had yet had to his mental health.

He stood with the Death Eater forces, headed by the Dark Lord, moving back towards the castle with a dead Harry Potter. Antonin had known this was a possible outcome; it was why he had insisted they kept their betrayal a secret. He had been stealthily taking out masked figures all day, but he had not revealed himself, solely because of the chance this would happen. He had believed that the light could win, even wished for it inside his mind, but Potter was just a boy, going up against an army, it would have been foolish not to have a contingency plan. Not that he had much sympathy for the side of the light in general, he regarded them coldly; he would never wish to be a part of their ranks, his Master was the only thing that hand changed. If he had made his transfer of allegiances known he would have been killed first, he would have been no use to her then.

As he stood next to Yaxley, he got the first look at Hermione he'd had seen he found her in the corridor earlier, lifted against the wall, having the breath throttled out of her by Lucius Malfoy. He watched her now unable to breathe as she saw Potter's body, realisation hitting her like a physical blow as she collapsed to the ground. Her face and upper body were caked in blood, it didn't look like hers, but there was a lot of it. Her jumper had been singed and slashed, opening up the collar where he could see the purple bruising left by Malfoy earlier that day, clear against her lightly tanned skin, even from all of this distance.

Antonin forced himself to look into her eyes, and what he saw had him instinctively move to step forward, she looked so despondent, so broken, if he hadn't seen her look dead at Malfoy Manor, he was sure it would have been the worst thing he had ever seen in his life. A firm hand held him back, Yaxley gripped him securely, and lowered his head to his ear. "Don't be an idiot Antonin, you wouldn't make it three steps before you were brought down, you would be no use to her then. Keep your head." Reuben rushed the words out, but Antonin struggled to process them as he regarded her crushed form.

He began furiously mouthing his earlier promises to keep her safe, and he watched her, willing her to understand, but her mind was too clouded. She returned his gaze blankly until she was roughly pulled up and into the chest of Weasley, who began whispering to her frantically. Antonin's fists clenched as he noted the death grip the boy had on her waist, but as he chanced to look up again, he realised against his expectations that the boy was trying to pass his words on. Antonin nodded once in thanks, a move that the boy didn't return, though their eyes met, if only for a moment, it was the most civil exchange they had managed to date.

Antonin's mind was reeling, he had promised he would keep her safe, and now he was not confident he could make good on that. He looked across the assembled weary fighters; she would be one of the first the Lord would want, he had a good chance of claiming her, or at least one of them did, between the four of them.

But for how long? What would he be commanded to do if he had her, would that be worse? As much as the thought made him sick to his stomach, he would sooner see her dead than a broken shell; he knew he wouldn't be able to snuff out her fire, even with a wand held to his head.

Antonin looked back to face her, bore his eyes into hers, offering what comfort he could. They would get through this; there was no other option.

The Dark Lord's body had barely hit the floor before he was in cuffs, he doubted his former Master had even gone cold, if he was ever warm, that was. The Aurors were there in seconds, almost as if they had been waiting on the sidelines to see how the battle would conclude. Antonin sneered at them; he remembered this moment from what felt like a lifetime ago, harder men than this had come for him then, ones that despite their differences in allegiance, had earned his respect. These whelps, willing to follow whichever leader held the crown, they held no intimidation for him.

Hermione had scarcely got to his side before he was kicked to his knees, and she roughly pushed the man away, the guard seemed to go to protest, but she had been followed by Luna who fixed him with a look that had Antonin questioning just what the little witch was capable of. They exchanged a few words, the little witches and the finely robed officers. Antonin watched as they took in the girls tattered clothing, and blood splattered skin, he was slighting appeased by young boys looking shamefaced, and so they should, in their pristine armour.

They turned away for a moment, and Hermione rushed to his side, time as ever was against them. Her eyes swam with tears as she fell in front of him, Antonin had too much to say, so much that he wanted just to think while he looked at her face, what could have happened if she had been born at another time? What if he could have convinced her to leave the country?

None of that mattered now.

Antonin again fought against the emotions whirling within him to face her, he had too many memories of her like this, bloodied and beaten, disheartened and desperate. He wanted to cling to the images of her smiles, her soft laugh, the way her hair looked in the breeze as they sat in the garden at the townhouse, he needed to start compiling those visions if he was going to survive where he was going.

"Antonin I," she began, her hands moving to rest against his chest and he felt a fresh wave of rage directed at the bindings that secured his hands. It was the most effective form of torture he had ever been subjected to, to have her so near and not be able to touch her.

Antonin interrupted her, "I want you to go to my house, it's under fidelus charm, you will be safe there," he leant forward to kiss her forehead, the most he could do in his present state. He could barely taste her skin beneath the ravages of war that lined its surface, but it was enough, it would have to be.

"But what about-"

"There isn't time," he interrupted again, "You have nowhere to go, let me... Let me do this," he implored. Thankfully she seemed to sense his anxiety and nodded faintly, the slight action causing the tears that were pooled in her eyes to cascade down her cheeks. Antonin's fists clenched reflexively with the desire to track the pads of his thumbs across her face. "Reach into my pocket there's a piece of parchment there."

Hermione did as instructed and he felt a wave of relief, it wasn't much, but he could do this for her. She folded the parchment and put inside her clothes, moving forward to press their foreheads together. "I love you, Antonin," she whispered against his face.

Antonin suppressed the lump in his throat to reply but it was too late, he was unceremoniously pulled to his feet and spun around, not able to face her, not able to say goodbye.

It took four of them to apparate him away.

After being dragged from Hermione's side he was taken to the Ministry, the room he was placed in was an adjoining one to the Minister's main office, Antonin expected they would want to act quickly, sending them back to hell as soon as they had their orders from the new Minister.

The Aurors dealing with them were surprising loose-tongued about the ensuing madness happening outside. Antonin had only been in the room a couple of hours when he overheard them say that Kingsley Shacklebolt had been named interim Minister for Magic, and a little while later they were talking again, he heard a casual reference to immediate imprisonment. Antonin sucked in a breath, he hadn't expected anything different, but hearing it confirmed made his blood run cold. Would it be harder this time? Now that he had been with her? Would remembering her taunt him or save him? Was it better to give into the madness this time?

Antonin looked around at the other Death Eaters in the room, all of them shackled to chairs like himself, their number was severely depleted, he had taken out a good few himself. There were only around fifteen of them in the room, most of the inner circle were gone now. He looked over at Lucius; they must have found him as they were clearing through the castle. The blond wizard was slumped forward, apparently unconscious, blood stained his cheeks and was matted into his hair. He had to tell Rodolphus that he had taken care of him, dealing with Malfoy had been Lestrange's responsibility, but all bets had been off when he saw him in that corridor. Antonin had wanted to rip the aristocratic prat apart but he settled for something much more poetic, he had laughed as he cast the curse that would irrevocably blind the wizard, but it hadn't been enough, while effective the curse had been medical in nature, it hadn't left nearly enough devastation in Antonin's view. He remedied that with some severe slicing to the man's face. Lucius had watched and done nothing while Hermione was tortured, he had remained motionless as she screamed till her throat gave out, he had observed as she twitched into near madness, and now he would not see again. Antonin took a twisted pleasure in knowing that a man, so appreciative of beauty, would now no longer be able to look upon it. For Lucius, this was likely a harder fate than death.

Unexpectedly the door crashed open, though no one in the room even flinched, Severus Snape was brought in, and roughly pushed into the chair opposite Antonin, and secured in the manacles they used for trials. The Aurors moved away, and Snape sneered after them, one of uniformed wizards was rubbing his arm pointedly, while shooting glares at the headmaster. Yaxley must have caught the movement as well as he started laughing, "Resisting arrest Snape, really?"

"Well, after I realised I was going to be taken here, and then probably shipped straight to Azkaban I assumed it might be quite a while before I had any fun," he said, utterly devoid of any emotion, "and I had the great misfortune of teaching that feckless boy a few years ago. The idea that he is responsible for anything more than fetching coffee is miraculous, the concept that he was sent to apprehend me was frankly, insulting."

Antonin looked Snape over; he had never been his favourite person and yet he had learned to at least tolerate his presence in that last few weeks. The pale wizard didn't look to be in any better shape than the rest of the room. "What's the word out there?" Antonin asked hesitantly, and he felt more than saw the rest of the room move to listen.

Snape sighed, "Immediate imprisonment for an indeterminable amount of time, without parole, seems to be the call from the mob at the moment." The room fell silent, each left to contemplate their regrets while the world celebrated around them.

Hours later they began 'processing' them, Azkaban was supposedly being made ready for their arrival, whatever in Merlin's name that meant, so one by one they were taken to be searched and changed into the all too familiar prison garb. They would spend the night there, in the Ministry holding cells, the current plan to move them after the Minister had spoken to them.

Various voices had drifted through the wall over the course of the day, it seemed many people needed to see the new Minister for something or other, Antonin had been paying little attention, but suddenly he heard a voice that was achingly familiar. He wouldn't have believed he had really heard it, if the sound hadn't made four other heads snap up.

It was definitely Hermione, and she was angrier than he had ever heard her. In the quiet time that had passed since they had been brought to the room, Antonin had wondered if she had been told of the plans for immediate imprisonment, it would appear she had.

"How many of the Wizengamot had links to Voldemort Minister?" she shouted, the first clear sentence to permeate the wall.

"What?" the Minister replied, "Hermione, I have no information to show that any of those from the Wizengamot seats had links, and even if proof existed, it would be buried." His deep voice came in reply, resonating around the room and Antonin didn't bother to hold back a snort, if the man believed that he was simple and had no place standing where he was. If he thought that patronising tone of voice he employed was going to do anything to placate his witch he was downright barmy.

"He was being funded somehow," Hermione argued passionately. "He might have had an army of people, but most of the inner circle had their assets frozen during their imprisonment, so that would suggest other funds. If it exists Kingsley and I find it, I hope you're prepared for total social disorder. These are bleak times for the Ministry; it will take a long while for people to trust the government again after its behaviour during the war. It would be a shame for all of that to get off to a bumpy start with scandals printed all over the papers," she seethed, her voice was no longer as loud, but Antonin could hear her determination just as clearly.

To his great surprise, the Minister didn't sound angry with her, if anything, by his tone, he appeared placating, "Hermione I understand your frustration, I know you feel you have a… relationship... with them. But they are killers, ruthless and cruel; they belong in Azkaban, not among the rest of us."

"He's right Hermione," Potter spoke softly, and Antonin felt his guts clench. He had been worried about this, he knew they would try and get to her now, and twist her mind, make her view everything that had happened differently, there would be no voice in his defence. Apart from possibly Luna, and she was unlikely to be much help, she would be seen as 'compromised,' the same as Hermione.

When Hermione spoke again, her voice was like ice, cold and sharp. "You will help me with this Harry James Potter, I have loved you since I was eleven, and done everything possible for you as my friend. I have put my entire life on pause for you and this war. You will do this for me, you will help me, as a small token of your returned affection, or you will never see me again, do you understand?"

Any response from Potter was drowned out by the sound of more people entering the Minister's office, angrier voices added to the mix and it took a while for Antonin to filter the noise to discern individual cadences.

"Ah," Snape said looking up to meet his eyes, he looked uncomfortable, and considering the wizard barely showed emotion at the best of times this was hardly likely to be good. "Before I left Hogwarts I overheard some of the fallout from the battle; it would appear that Hermione's rushing to Dolohov did not go totally unnoticed by those present, and Weasley lost his temper, needless to say, her paternity is no longer a closely guarded fact."

"Fuck," Rodolphus muttered.

"Quite," Snape drawled, "it would appear Mr Longbottom has just entered the Minister's office."

The captives went silent again as they tried to pick up the voices from the adjoining room.

"Did you know?" A male voice shouted, thick with emotion, "all that time, when you comforted me after the breakout did you know?"

Antonin raised his eyebrows at Snape in silent question, the man nodded, so this was Longbottom. Antonin's booted foot twitched with the desire to re-break his arm.

"No Neville, I didn't know," Hermione's voice was weak, and fear gripped him.

"When did you find out?" he pressed, his voice falling away.

"A few weeks ago," she replied, the words sounding as if they had dragged from her, Antonin could feel the choked sobs in the back of her throat and closed his eyes.

There was calm and then quietly, so gently they barely heard it, the boy spoke again. "He tortured my parents, him and his brother, and now I find out they are your father and your uncle?"

"I know," Hermione replied, it was clear she was crying now, her emotion having an effect on more than one in the room. Rabastan looked vaguely green; his hands clawed at the ends of the arms of the wooden chair he was in, seemingly desperate to get up, to do something.

When Longbottom spoke again, his voice was rage filled. "You say you know but do you understand what I'm saying? All these Death Eaters hanging around you, it's like I don't know who you are anymore."

"Well, I don't know me either," she replied despondently.

"They will be in prison now, whatever happened… you can get on with your life, forget about them, no one will blame you, Hermione, you can't pick your parents. We can put all of this behind us, all of it. You just need to promise that you won't see them."

"It doesn't work like that," Hermione responded quietly.

"Of course it does."

He saw Rodolphus face shutter at the attack she was under, Antonin had always known she would face hardship from her association with them but somehow hearing it first-hand made it so much worse, she was going to be all alone.

"She sounds, different, harder," Yaxley whispered.

Rodolphus raised his tired face, "She killed Greyback."

Antonin started, "What?!"

Rabastan sighed, Rodolphus didn't look capable of speech at the moment. "He had Luna against a wall, by the time we got there she… she wasn't really in control of herself anymore; there wasn't much left of him. She didn't just kill him; I'm not even sure death was her aim, she had taken him apart. She incapacitated him first, and Luna said she brought him back around before she started casting."

Well, that explained the blood.

"Well, if anyone doubted her paternity," Yaxley joked.

From the look on Dolph's face if they ever got out of here the first thing he was going to do was hex Reuben into oblivion.

"Good riddance," Antonin said into the charged atmosphere. "She's not going to cope with that well."

"She will be okay Dolohov," Snape spoke, his tone oddly soft, he turned to face him, Snape was idly staring at the ceiling Antonin felt hot rage sweep through him at his presumption to understand Hermione better than he did.

"I don't know what you look so worried about, you'll be out of here soon enough," he spat at the former headmaster, "If you try to fucking woo her Snape-"

"Woo her?" the Potions Master drawled with a sneer, "the girl screaming at the most important man in Wizarding Britain on your worthless behalf?" he snorted. "I believe I'm pretty well versed in identifying a futile cause by now, and contrary to popular belief I am not a masochist," his spat bitterly.

It wasn't lost on any of those present that Snape did not deny having feelings for Hermione, only that he didn't plan to act on them. A slamming door brought their attention back to the meeting in the next room.

"He'll come round Hermione," at the sound of Luna's voice Rabastan made a whimpering sound, and Dolph turned to him as much as he was able.

"They will be ok Rab; they'll have each other."

"Will she?" Rab questioned, "She was so scared, I've never seen her like that. Not even when she was held prisoner at the manor."

"Fair trials and allowable representation," Hermione's clear voice stated.

"Do you know what they have done?" Kingsley asked incredulously.

"Yes Minister, I understand perfectly, though I might ask what have you done?" Antonin sucked in a breath, "I beg your pardon," the harsh tones of Kingsley Shacklebolt came through the wall.

"What have you done, during the war?"

"What I did I did for the-"

"The greater good, I'm aware" Hermione replied in a voice that sounded too much like Snape's for anyone's comfort.

There was total silence in both rooms until Hermione spoke again, "Trails Minister, I insist, it's the least this Ministry can do for me."

Unbelievably Hermione's shouts and protests had won out, reluctantly, Kingsley had declared that they would all receive a trial. She couldn't get everything she wanted, however, Hermione hadn't been allowed to see any of them, and they were to be transferred to Azkaban while awaiting their promised trial. Antonin knew that without her they would have been left to rot, he doubted many of the remaining Order would lose sleep over a broken promise to a group of Death Eaters.

After a night in the holding cells, they were transported to the cursed rock, the sight of the prison made them all recoil. Even with the absence of the dementors floating around, the place was foul. Antonin was kicked into a cell, and he idly wondered if this was the one he had been placed in before, with nothing to distinguish one soulless box from another he would never know.

Once he was sure the guards had gone, he moved his hand to his chest and pulled out the slips of parchment he had managed to conceal, the first two were the pictures he carried of Hermione always, the images that had captivated him years earlier. The third was new, though undoubtedly the most precious, a picture of him and Hermione looking up into the camera, her head rested on his chest as they laid back in bed. She had said she had never used a magical camera before, and Antonin had borrowed one to show her, she had been surprised when he had picked it up from the side of the bed before breakfast one day, without warning, his eyes crinkled in amusement in the frame while her eyes widened in surprise before she burst out laughing, burying her face into his shoulder to hide.

She had left it on his side of their bed the day of the final battle, on the back was a simple note in her practical script; Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness, it would still be dear.

Her message was clear; she would wait, she would try to get him out... He just had to hold on.

My name is Antonin Alexei Dolohov, I was born in Sochi in 1956, I moved to Britain in 1961, her name is Hermione Jean Granger, and she was born on the 19th of September 1979, and she will be waiting. My name is Antonin Alexi Dolohov…

A/N Quote on the back of the picture is from Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte