Author's Note:Only ONE chapter left after this one! Thank you to the two or three of you brave souls who have followed from the beginning. Lol.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Mad. Just completely and utterly mad. That was what captivity was turning Hermione into. Cooped up inside their prison with no hope for escape and little hope for rescue, she didn't think she would be able to make it through the rest of the experience with her wits fully intact. Perhaps that was part of the plan. They weren't going to murder her at all, but unleash her on the unsuspecting world when she'd been reduced to nothing but a shell of her former self rambling about suitcase prisons and unknown faces out to get her. In some ways that would be a fate worse than death.

She wasn't made for prison. If she somehow was able to make it out of the bizarre conditions she'd been forced into, she would never ever dare to put even a single toe out of line. No laws would ever be broken by her, absolutely none. She would only cross streets at the proper crosswalks. She would never allow a tiny bit of rubbish to fall on the ground without immediately picking it up. She wouldn't even dare to pick a flower in a public park. If she had a car, she would remain ten kilometers under the limit at all times regardless of the angry drivers behind her. Anything to keep from ending up in any sort of prison again.

Of course she wasn't the only one experiencing the strain of imprisonment. Unfortunately, she just seemed to be the one doing it with the least amount of grace and patience. Kingsley and Jack somehow possessed the ability to pretend as if they weren't bothered by their predicament. Or they were much better at hiding it when she was in the same room. Every hour that passed with them not being outside the suitcase, she could feel morale dropping steadily worse and her actual sanity dipping down into dangerous levels she hadn't thought possible.

Days passed with no change. None of them knew precisely how long they'd been trapped. Only their internal clocks gave them any indication when a day ended and another began. All she knew was that with each passing one, they all grew more nervous. Something was going to have to happen soon or there would be no returning to the person she'd been before she entered St. Mungo's. They couldn't stay inside forever. An escape or a rescue or a deadly accident or an avada to her chest needed to happen sooner rather than later.

Frequently, she had to push aside reminders that Mad-Eye Moody was imprisoned in his own trunk for months, nearly an entire year. How was that possible? She couldn't even imagine how dreadful that had to have been. She didn't want to imagine. Could the three of them be trapped in there for that long? Or longer?

As much as she loved Jack and appreciated the fact that he was with her, she wished he wasn't there to suffer the same fate. It was entirely her fault that he was there in the first place. Without her, he would've been off on some Caribbean island basking in the sun enjoying his exile. There seemed to be worse fates than being stuck on a perpetual vacation. If he didn't have her to think about or fret over, he would've been much happier. Though he would never come right out and say that was true, she knew just by looking at him that sometimes he wished he hadn't bothered to try to warn her about her life being in danger. Or that he wished his arsehole best friend's avada hit him in the face the night they met.

Captivity made her irritable. And unpleasant. Very, very unpleasant. She knew every time she opened her mouth to say anything at all one of the men would sigh or roll their eyes. Sometimes they both did it at the same time. She certainly wasn't making their prison experience the least bit relaxing and enjoyable. If one of them pressed a pillow over her face in the middle of the night when she was trying to sleep, she wouldn't be surprised. Nor would she exactly blame them.

A few stolen moments when Kingsley was in the shower helped calm her down for a little while. Jack learned enough about her body to know exactly where to touch her to make her explode in a matter of a minute or two. It would've been impressive if it hadn't also been so irritating that they weren't able to take their time. There was a lot she wanted to do to the man that wasn't possible when they were constantly worried about Kingsley seeing or hearing. Perhaps that was the most infuriating part about the prison.

To pass the time because their generous hosts sure weren't providing them with any sort of entertainment in the form of books or newspapers, the two men often spent most of their time awake trying to figure out a way to escape. It seemed pointless, fruitless to even try. They would huddle together to brainstorm. Maybe there was something they hadn't tried yet. Inevitably, there wasn't. A living embodiment of the 'insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results' statement, they never could seem to get to the point where they threw up their hands and said 'to hell with it'. She wished they would. All they were doing was annoying her more than she already was. And when they got too active that the suitcase shook too much outside for someone to witness, they get a stiff kick in the side that usually sent them all tumbling down painfully to the floor.

"I don't know why you two continue to try to find a way out. Don't you think if there was a way to get out of here, we would've found it by now?"

The two men exchanged silent glances with each other, but didn't dare to speak. There was no point. They'd tried to encourage her before to poor results. Hermione knew that she was being unbearable and couldn't really explain why she was so miserable when they were able to remain upbeat. She supposed there was a reason why some people went insane when they were stuck in tight places. Claustrophobia was real and cabin fever was definitely not a myth. She was going positively batty. Feeling like Jack and Kingsley were teaming up against her was too much. She'd had enough.

Escaping to the bathroom was the only option any of them had when they needed a moment alone. It didn't take her long to understand why Kingsley used the shower as his escape. At least they could be grateful that their captors were benevolent enough to give them an actual bathroom with running water. A bucket in the corner for them to share would've been unbearable.

As she stood under the hot spray of the water, she closed her eyes to take a deep breath. She needed to get herself under control. All she was doing was making life miserable for herself and the others damned to be in the same space. Even if there wasn't much hope for getting out, she could at least try not to make the experience even worse than it already was. Feeling like she could do nothing and that she was useless had never been something she was comfortable with. Deep breathing could only help relax her for a minute or two at most. Her upsetting thoughts always had a way of seeping back in to ruin any hope of peace.

The shower curtain moved and almost immediately she felt Jack's arms wrap around her waist from behind. He gently pressed his lips to her bare shoulder. Though she sighed, she could feel herself relaxing with him there. The effect he had on her was undeniable and like nothing she'd ever experienced before.

"The walls are thin. I doubt our third wheel would appreciate what's happening in here."

"Who do you think told me to come in here? Kingsley said I had an obligation to keep the peace in our cozy, little suitcase."

Hermione bit back the urge to smile. How could she still find him so bloody adorable when she was so miserable and unhappy? It was a gift he possessed, one she was too scared to hope she would get to enjoy for a long time left to come. She couldn't resist the urge to tease him about his sudden lack of formality where their fellow prisoner was concerned.

"So it's Kingsley now?"

"The Minister has heard me have sex with my girlfriend how many times now? Four? I think we can use first names."

A smile she couldn't fight spread across her lips and it only had a tiny bit to do with the way he continued to cover her shoulders and the sensitive skin of her neck with kisses she felt all the way down to her toes.

"Your girlfriend? I think that's the first time you've called me that."

Jack's arms tightened around her waist, leaving no space at all between their bodies. His lips brushed against the outside of her ear, sending an extra intense shiver up her spine. No one affected her physically like he did. It was intoxicating.

"Well, you are, aren't you? You already said you were going to go with me if I had to run again."

"Yes, I suppose I am."

"Unless that's not enough for you."

The sudden release of his hold on her startled her enough that she gasped. Feeling the chill on her back as his body warmth was taken away was even more upsetting. Curious to know what he was up to as she worried he was climbing out to deprive her of one of the few joys they had available to them in their unusual prison, she spun around so quickly she nearly slipped on the smooth, wet surface of the bathtub. What she saw left her temporarily unable to speak.

With perhaps the cheekiest grin she'd ever seen on his handsome face, Jack somehow managed to find enough space to kneel down on one knee. If he was about to do what she was afraid he might be, she would be devastated. Perhaps that sounded a bit dramatic even in her own head to think so, but she didn't want him to forever mar what was supposed to be a memorable, important moment in their lives by forcing them to never forget they'd been prisoners afraid at any moment their lives were going to be painfully cut down when it happened. No, she wanted only to remember how happy and in love they were, how much hope they had for a long, beautiful life together. Nor could she bear it if he was only making a mocking joke about something she found no humor in.

"What are you doing?"

He must've heard the terroir in her voice she wasn't quite able to hide. Did she want him to propose? With every teeny tiny cell in her body. It had to be when they were safely outside their prison otherwise it would be ruined. Hope could keep a person's head above the metaphorical water or it could drag them to the bottom like a millstone around their neck. She was just barely clinging to her sanity as it was. Any change to the delicate balance might be too much.

"Just practicing."

"Stop. If you even think about doing that while we're still trapped in a suitcase…"

Seeing Jack's bright smile put her at ease again. She worried he might have been insulted, but he was perceptive enough to understand her reluctance. Instead of making any further reference to a potential proposal, he merely waggled his eyebrows as he slowly looked her naked body up and down. A shudder went through her that was the very opposite of disgust. How could just the way he looked at her make her feel so desired?

"I do enjoy the view from down here. It's very nice."

Quick like a snake his hand darted out to grab her leg. She thought she was going to fall up until the moment he threw her leg over his right shoulder and grabbed on with both hands. Not in the mood to tease her, something he likely would've done if they were at home alone and safe, his devilish tongue slid straight through her folds in one languid lick that made her gasp. Pleased with himself already, he leaned back far enough to grin and meet her eyes.

"Scream out my name all you want. Kingsley said he was going to hide under his blankets with his pillow over his head."

Talking about her old friend and pseudo-father figure while she stood in such a scandalous position was one way to ruin the mood if she allowed it. Even just imagining Kingsley trying not to listen was enough to make her reconsider. Perhaps she would've if Jack hadn't been determined to distract her with his tongue.

"Don't talk about him right now. I want to pretend you and I are alone in the entire world and we're not imprisoned in luggage."

"Excellent idea."

Jack took his task of calming her down and putting her in a better, more relaxed mood very seriously. Though she didn't scream out his name like he said she could, she wanted to very much. The man knew what he was doing. She could've gladly stayed with him in that shower for weeks.

Every moment they shared together was better than the one before. When her legs trembled with the force of her first climax, he stood up, gently pushed her against the tiled wall, and entered in one hard thrust that nearly made her come all over again. They clung to each other as if it was the last time and the first time all rolled into one. No matter how long they survived, Hermione knew she would never stop craving more of him. He was a drug she needed to stay alive.

They had to return to their real world no matter how depressing it was. When they finally stepped out of the small bathroom following their very pleasant encounter, she felt much more relaxed and less on edge than when she entered. She had no delusions that that would be the last time she lost her temper and worried that everything was going to continue to go wrong, but at least for the moment she could pretend she was okay.

Seeing the lump of blankets in the middle of Kingsley's bed was a little embarrassing considering what she'd done just a very short distance away. At least he was snoring. Maybe he didn't hear everything. Because they thought it was late and their exertions took a lot out of them, there was no hesitation to crawl into their bed. What else was there to do?

She loved the feel of Jack behind her with his arms wrapped around her body. It made her feel safe, wanted, loved. As he often did just because he'd finally been given the opportunity to, he kissed the back of her head and tightened his arms.

"What would you have said if I asked you in the shower?"

Her smile felt a little sad. Would they ever have the chance to just be a normal couple? It seemed increasingly unlikely with each passing day.

"No, Jack. Don't ask me that yet. I don't want that moment to be tainted by us being imprisoned."

"But if I had asked?"

"You're not getting rid of me. Not until death parts us, preferably one hundred years or more from now, but don't you dare ask me yet."

His soft chuckling was one of her favorite sounds. After he kissed her head one more time, Hermione fell asleep with a smile on her face.

Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. Jack didn't know how he knew it, but he did. He just felt unsettled in his guts. When he woke up in complete darkness, he somehow knew everything was different. For better or worse, his life was going to change.

There were sounds outside of the suitcase. He strained his ears to try to figure out what they were with no success whatsoever. Just like always, they were too muffled like they were far away. Unless the trap door was opened he likely wouldn't ever understand.

He noticed a few moments after waking how terribly hot the room had become. That struck him as very odd. With no discernible heating source in the entire magical prison, the occupants often had to resort to huddling under the blankets to keep warm. Unable to bear the heat any longer, he threw the blankets off and carefully got out of bed to not wake Hermione. He saw Kingsley's eyes open, listening to the same sounds he was.

"What's happening?"

Kingsley shook his head.

"I don't know."

The older wizard's bed was closer to the wall that Jack's. When he climbed out from underneath his blankets, his elbow brushed against the leather wall. Immediately he hissed in pain and stepped back as quickly as he could.

"Feel the wall. It's hot."

Though he wasn't eager to touch the wall, Jack did as he was told. Only able to lightly brush his fingertips against it before the pain was too much, he grew very afraid. Nothing good at all could come out of that. He didn't think he wanted to know why the case was hot. Firmly but carefully he shook Hermione's shoulder. She needed to know what was happening.

"Hermione, love, you need to put your shoes on. Something's happening."

Maybe it was the oddly confident way he spoke even though he didn't feel all that brave, but Hermione didn't argue. She must've noticed the changes in the atmosphere too. None of them wanted to say anything out loud lest it become far too real, far too fast. Perhaps he shouldn't have been quite so eager for their circumstances to change.

The noise outside grew louder as the room continued to get hotter. It was impossible to make out any of the noises or voices to explain what was happening. Were they even still inside the Rowle manor? They could've been anywhere in the world by then he supposed. Sweat dripped down all of their faces. It was getting more difficult to breathe. Soon they wouldn't be able to.

Jack suspected the suitcase was on fire. It was the only plausible explanation. He didn't want to voice his theory out of fear that would make it all real somehow. Denial was sometimes the only weapon a desperate person could hold onto. Kingsley switched the rooms only lamp on and actually seeing the hazy fog of smoke at the ceiling made it impossible to keep ignoring the facts.

Would the magic of the room keep them safe from the fire? After countless days of testing every possible weakness they could, it was obvious their prison was well-warded. Maybe it was fireproof too? Or was that how they were finally going to be disposed of? All three of them were dangerous inconveniences. They couldn't be kept forever inside even a magic suitcase. Considering the amount of time between meals had become longer, he hadn't expected to stay there for much longer. Tossing the suitcase into a fireplace would be a fairly easy way to get rid of them and all of the evidence.

Jack didn't want to imagine how painful and scary that sort of death would be. How would it really happen? What would likely kill them first? Smoke inhalation was usually what fire victims died of, right? Usually they were already dead before the flames engulfed their flesh. But if the fire moved faster than the smoke? That had to be a hell of a way to die. Despite the high heat, he shivered. Their final moments were likely to be more terrifying than he could even imagine.

Feeling Hermione standing at his side, he reached for her hand to hold it tightly. He didn't want to let go. If their time together could only be measured in minutes, he wasn't going to leave her for a single second. She squeezed his hand back, silently agreeing. He would've done anything to make having a happy future possible with the woman he loved. Anything. He supposed he should be thankful that he was able to find love at all in that fucked up world. Not everyone was so fortunate.

One look at Kingsley's face proved to Jack that the other wizard understood the serious nature of their predicament. Though he said nothing out loud, the Minister knew what was happening, what terrible fate they had waiting for them. As if he felt the need to do something no matter how useless or trivial to keep busy, Kingsley stripped both beds of their sheets. With his arms full, he ran into the bathroom. They heard the taps turned on in both the bathtub and the sink.

Jack took another hard look around the room he'd already examined a hundred times for something he might have missed. Was there something that could only be revealed through sheer terror and desperation? Hermione's frightened gasp cut him to the core. He was a failure, always had been and always would be. She deserved the hero, the wizard who would swoop in at the perfect time to save the day. That wasn't him. He'd be an inept fool up until the moment of his death.

It wasn't difficult to discover what made Hermione gasp. In the uppermost corner of the room, right above their tiny bed, flames were visible. A hole in the leather was allowing the fire to spread. Any hope that the magical protections of the enchanted suitcase would keep them shielded were dashed. Could they use the fire to help them escape? If a large enough hole was made, could they run through it?

Kingsley emerged from the bathroom clutching a pile of dripping wet sheets. He tossed one to each of them to use to shield their bodies from any flames. It was far from perfect, but better than nothing. All three of them were helpless trapped in their prison.

Even before he was able to drape a wet sheet over his body the suitcase began to shake. Unlike the other times when it would move only slightly for a second or two before stopping, it was far more violent. None of them were able to remain on their feet. Jack's hand was ripped out of Hermione's as their entire world spun around and threw them upside down. Whatever was happening outside was dangerous. Were they being tossed around? Or were they hurled down a hill they were rolling down?

When the shaking paused, Jack realized with a jolt that he'd been flung against the trap door that was their exit. The suitcase lay on its side. If he could get it open and get out, he could get the others out too. He was frantic to find a doorknob, a handle, anything to pry the door open. His efforts were for nothing. Only moments later the shaking turned the room the right side up and upside down again. All three of the helpless occupants rolled with it, bumping into the few pieces of furniture the room possessed.

The heat was oppressive and the smoke was filling the room entirely. Jack refused to show the fear he felt for Hermione's benefit. She deserved a brave Gryffindor, one of those fools who would run into an inferno, not one terrified out of his wits who couldn't even manage to escape from a bloody suitcase. At least he could try to seem brave for her.

Eventually the rolling and tumbling came to a stop again. Jack took a moment to check if he was all right. Being thrown around could end up in serious injuries. Mercifully he was only a little bruised. He hoped Hermione and Kingsley were in the same condition. The smoke was too thick to see for certain.

"Hermione? Kingsley?"

The fact that there was no immediate response worried him. Had they not been as fortunate as he was? Despite the heat, he felt around for the wall to help guide him into the room to check for himself. His hand brushed against metal. He nearly screamed out in pain until he realized he was up against the trap door again.

Pain was easily ignored in his rush to find a way out. There was no discernible mechanism to open the door, but he refused to give up. When kicking the door didn't make it budge, he slammed his shoulder into it. A madness came over him. He would open that door. One final time he threw his shoulder against the door.

It opened. He didn't have time to celebrate his accomplishment, if indeed it even was his doing. The second hands grabbed his collar to roughly pull him out of the suitcase, he thought it was more likely his captor was the one to open it.