June 1, 2004

Ministry Proud to Announce That Azkaban Breeding Program Success

Despite a number of unpleasant protests from those simple-minded creatures unable to understand the great benefits of the Breeding Program, Minister Umbridge was happy to inform a curious public that as of last week, all participants in the Breeding Program have been successful in providing the Ministry with magical babies to adopt. From the inception of the program, thirty-three babies, including a set of twins, have been…

It seemed that no matter how many times the Healers assigned to the island came to perform their examinations of the prisoners, Antonin would never grow used to it. He hated how intrusive they could be. While he had to admit that he and the other wizards had the easier time of it than their witches, no one who was damned to live on that island was unaffected. Every week or two there was a harsh knocking on the front door of their cottage followed immediately by the unwelcome entrance of a contingent of Healers and aurors. Never did they even wait for one of the inhabitants to open the door for them. No, they weren't even allowed the illusion that they had any control over who was admitted into their home.

There was no longer a single soul in any of the sixteen cottages that didn't understand the trauma of giving up their newborn child. While the Ministry might have claimed that it was all a wonderful success, Antonin knew better. He didn't have to go far to see the haunted looks in the eyes of those whose humanity was completely stripped. If he bothered to look at his own reflection in a mirror, he knew he would see it in his eyes too. Some couples took the removal harder than others. Or, rather, perhaps there were some that were better at hiding their sorrow.

Thorfinn and Hannah were already pregnant with their second child. Neither of them saw any point in wasting a single moment when their first little girl was ripped out of Hannah's womb. More children meant they might gain their freedom. Even though he'd heard the quiet sobs through the paper-thin walls from both of the blond inhabitants, he knew that in their own way, they were trying to take hold of their own destiny. As heartbreaking as it could all be, they wanted to rush through the program's requirements. They were hardly the only couple who felt the same.

Most days he did what he could to avoid everyone, most especially the witch that shared his bed. When he woke up in the morning, there was never any need or desire to linger beneath the sheets. He tried to push aside the intense jealousy he felt every time he could hear the conversations in the next room. Antonin got the feeling that he and Hermione would never be able to lay in bed with each other and just have a chat. It was too bizarre to even contemplate. As much as he might have liked it for no other reason than to feel normal, it was not meant to be. Hermione still couldn't bear the sight of her partner. He was a constant reminder of the Hell she was living in.

Even knowing how much she hated him, Antonin waited impatiently outside of their bedroom for the routine Healer visit to be over. Her pregnancy had been difficult, a fact that made him incredibly nervous about continuing through with the program. What would become of him if she were to be killed or irrevocably altered the next time she tried to give birth? It was a selfish thought, but he didn't care. No doubt she had similar worries about him. They needed each other to get through to the end. Returning to Azkaban was a fate he didn't wish on his worst enemy. The overwhelming fear of being chucked back into a freezing cold cell to spend the rest of his days was incentive enough to put up with whatever indignity was required.

He couldn't hear anything that was said inside the bedroom. Either they were speaking in nothing but whispers or silencing charms had been spread around the room. Antonin believed strongly that it was the latter. The longer they were on the island, the more comfortable the prisoners became with the few medical staff that came to visit. While Aurors were no longer accompanying each Healer as they moved from cottage to cottage, he knew that if he stepped outside he would find several standing around waiting for a signal that their help was needed. Someone finally understood that the terrified, exhausted prisoners were of no real threat to any competent witch or wizard. After all, none of them carried a wand or even had the ability to use a wand thanks to their silver bracelets if they were somehow able to steal one. And to further dispel any possibility of rebellion, they were all made well aware of the fact that the least bit of resistance would get them kicked out of the program. No one was foolish enough to risk their place by attacking a Healer.

Antonin didn't understand why the Healer had been in his bedroom for so long. Most of the time, they rushed into the cottage, checked the inhabitants, and left as quickly as they could. It seemed that only when the pretty blonde assistant Healer Clearwater was assigned to their cottage that examinations seemed to take longer. Whether it was because she was more thorough than the others or because she simply wanted to be longer in Hermione's presence due to their past acquaintance, he wasn't sure. His witch certainly wasn't about to violate the vow of silence where he was concerned just to set his worried mind at ease.

There were no clocks anywhere on the island. Why the Ministry would deem them unnecessary in their prison, he didn't understand. Perhaps it was just another way for them to control the situation and remind them that they were less than nothing. Didn't matter. It would've been more convenient for him to keep track of how long the Healer's visits were if he had access to a clock, but it wasn't something to get worked up about. Very little in his life was convenient. Nor did he suspect that would change any time soon. So, he just stood outside the door hoping that time would move a little bit faster. He had a number of questions and concerns that he hoped might be answered.

When the door finally opened, it swung open so quickly that Antonin didn't have time to step out of the way. Entirely focused on getting out of the room as swiftly as possible, Hermione ran straight into his chest. He reached out to grab the outside of her arms to steady her.

"Move out of the way."

She had a bite to her tone that he'd come to expect. Rarely did she speak to him in anything remotely resembling a kind manner. Worried that she'd had news that she didn't like, he wanted to stop her and force her to speak to him, but he knew that he would get nothing useful out of her that way. She could be frightfully stubborn. Releasing his grip, he stepped to the side to give her room to make her exit. Though she still struggled to be outside of the cottage for long periods of time, each time she tried to face her fear of the great wide space, she was able to make some progress. No doubt she was running off to the Weasley arsehole. They spent a lot of time together. It bothered him more than he was willing to admit that she could find comfort with the other wizard. Shouldn't they be trying to make it through this wretched horror of a program together? Some days he felt entirely alone.

As he watched her exit their home, Antonin didn't even bother to suppress the weary sigh that escaped him when the door slammed shut. He felt the weight of the world on his shoulders even as he felt completely powerless to do a damned thing. Did she resent him for being so bloody useless? Because he felt certain that there was no possible way that anyone alive could hate him more than he hated himself. There was still a simmering hatred for the witch within him for the day she tried to kill herself in the ocean. Perhaps only for the simple fact that he didn't have the same courage to try the scheme himself. He'd been alive for too long under horrific circumstances to give up even when he wished desperately for nothing else.

"Are you all right, Mr. Dolohov?"

The kindness in Healer Clearwater's soft voice startled him out of his increasingly depressing thoughts. For a moment he'd forgotten she was even there. He turned his attention away from the slammed door to the witch standing only steps away in the doorway to his bedroom. On one hand he could count the number of times she bothered to say something to him that wasn't cold, medical questions about his body or activities. Sometimes he forgot what it felt like to have someone treat him like a human. The shy smile she offered him was hardly a gesture that he was used to. Remembering himself, Antonin cleared his throat.

"If you are asking if I'm physically all right, Healer Clearwater, then the answer is yes."

"And if I wasn't asking about you physically?"

There was a cheeky boldness to her question that caught him off-guard. He hardly knew what to say to the woman. Blinking a couple of times as if that would give him the answers that he sought, he was startled when she started to laugh. Quiet, of course, as everything she did or said tended to be, but impossible to deny. Why was she laughing? Had he said something that she found amusing? Was she making fun of him? If they'd been away from the island and standing next to each other in a pub on the mainland, he might have been able to explain her behavior away as being nothing more than polite, harmless flirting. But, that didn't make the least bit of sense in the Hell he lived in. On the island, all laughter was suspect. Perhaps realizing that she was being inappropriate and making him feel uncomfortable, Healer Clearwater cleared her throat and stopped smiling.

"I meant to say that there is more to your health than just your physical well-being, Mr. Dolohov. The diagnostic spells I cast on you earlier have already proven that you're quite healthy. Your weight is up and I've noticed that you have added some muscle mass."

Antonin didn't know what came over him. Before he could stop himself, his lips were quirked into a smirk he hadn't had cause to use for more years than he wished to ponder. The blush in the witch's cheeks only encouraged him. Though she seemed embarrassed, he pushed on. Why give up on the opportunity for a bit of harmless flirting when it was presented? It wasn't as if he had anyone that he had to remain completely faithful to. And it wasn't as if he was able to ever do anything more than just flirt

"So you admit that you've been examining my body fairly closely?"

The attractive pink in her cheeks morphed into a deep crimson. He had the gloomy thought that the poor woman wasn't used to such attention. What sort of world had he missed in his incarceration that a pretty witch like her would be so shy around men? Did she surround herself with idiots who didn't recognize her for what she was? If he didn't have the damned silver rings around his wrist, he'd…

Clearing his throat again, he knew that he would need to divert their conversation. As much fun as it might be to flirt with the witch or to imagine what might happen if he wasn't trapped on the island, he knew that he would only cause himself even more misery in the long run. Also, for a reason he couldn't quite discern, the thought of making the Healer uncomfortable in his presence wasn't one he liked. He didn't want her to request a transfer to another cottage. What ghastly beast might replace her if he scared her away?

"Yes, well, I've been spending a lot of time walking around the island. It's also warm enough now that I don't have to worry about freezing my bollocks off if I want to go for a swim. I've even been climbing some of the trees in the forest."

"What? You can't be serious."

"Of course I am. There's not much else to do. It's helped me with my upper body strength. I'm afraid I let my arms grow rather weak in Azkaban."

He didn't like talking about the years he spent in prison nor did he like being so open and honest about his own weaknesses. There was a time in his foolish youth when he never admitted to anyone that he was less than perfect. It was an exhausting existence trying to always be better than everyone else. Being a half-blood Death Eater was certainly not unusual by any means, but he always feared that he would be found somehow lesser because his family didn't have dozens of generations of wizards in their history.

The Dark Lord wouldn't have been able to build much of a following if he'd only allowed those who could lay claim to so-called pure blood. Most of his recruits had branches on their family trees they were ashamed of. Despite knowing he wasn't alone, Antonin never wanted to be looked down on by any of the other Pureblood arseholes with impeccable pedigrees. Some of them tried, no doubt. Lucius Malfoy would never be a friend thanks to his treatment of Antonin when they were younger. He hadn't shed a single tear when Bellatrix was killed or when Old Man Nott finally succumbed to his infirmities. The world was a better place without those cretins in it.

"You must be careful, Mr. Dolohov. You aren't as young as you…"

"Oi! I'm not some doddering old fool."

His protest drew a smile out of the Healer that he couldn't help but mirror. Thanks to magical genes he had decades to look forward to before he truly was ancient. He knew that it was dangerous to be careless with his safety. Not just for his sake, but for Hermione's too. He just couldn't bear to sit still for very long. There was only so much walking a person could do before they went completely mad.

"No, of course you're not. You're still very…"

The red bloom to her cheeks resumed when Antonin lifted a single eyebrow. He was very curious indeed to know how she was going to finish her sentence, but alas, it was not meant to be. Some of the business-like demeanor she always employed when she was forced to attend the examinations with the horrible wizard who was her superior returned. She knew it was dangerous to get too comfortable with the prisoners. No doubt she would be reprimanded if there was even a hint of flirtation with the likes of him. They weren't supposed to be seen as humans, only helpless breeding stock.

"I'm going to tell you something that I swore to Hermione that I wouldn't tell you. If the circumstances were normal and she was just another one of my patients at the hospital, I wouldn't hesitate to comply with her wishes. As it is, however, I feel that I must."

"You make it sound serious, Healer Clearwater."

"I'm afraid that it is."

Realizing that they were about to have a discussion of some magnitude, Antonin did what was only polite and gestured to the small dining table steps away. Though she seemed as if she was rethinking her decision, Healer Clearwater made up her mind to take a seat. Once they were facing each other again, she sighed.

"I'm sure that you're aware that Hermione didn't have a very easy delivery."

"Yes, of course, I am. She won't tell me anything about it and I've learned not to expect to learn."

"And while I think that that is entirely unfair to you…"

He felt a light fluttering in his chest at her words. Was it possible that there was someone out there who was actually on his side? He'd given up hope. As much as he might have desired Hermione to at least let him in a little bit, he would take what he was given.

"… I do feel something of a loyalty to Hermione because of the fact that she saved my life when we were girls."

"She did?"

Healer Clearwater waved her hand dismissively, indicating without question that that was a topic she wasn't prepared to breach that day. He couldn't deny that he was curious. What sort of danger had the woman been in that Hermione was able to save her from? He found it infuriating that every second he had another question that would remain unanswered. Would a day ever come when he would be informed about anything?

"Because of how difficult the birth was, there wasn't a rush for her to get pregnant again. It was decided that we would allow her body to rest before she tried again. But, I'm afraid that there is a concern that she isn't pregnant by now. There has been talk of some rather invasive testing to be done to see if she is still suitable for the program."

Antonin felt as if all of the air in his lungs was drawn out. His heart beat rapidly against his chest. If Hermione was deemed unfit for the program, where would that lead him? Yes, he was well aware that he was a selfish arsehole for thinking only of himself in that moment, but he couldn't help it. They were part of the same team. Without one, the other would be chucked back into Azkaban to rot. He had no hope for freedom if she didn't come through the program with him. And, if he was perfectly honest with himself, it had taken him long enough to get used to the idea of completing it with Hermione that he wasn't prepared to even think about another partner.

The program had been going on for over a year. It was hard for everyone involved to believe that they'd been away from the damned wizarding prison for that long. Their lives creeped by at a snail's pace on the island. All they had to look forward to were the days that their babies were cruelly stolen from them. It was hardly the sort of life they desired. Every couple had given up at least one of their children. The father of all of the Weasleys and his son's former fiancée were able to get two of their required babies out of the way at once. There had been some debate in the Ministry whether or not they would be allowed to count their twins as two babies or if they would be lumped together as one pregnancy. Even when the Ministry was already coldly stealing their children they looked for other ways to make the Weasleys miserable. Once upon a time Antonin might have laughed and declared the notorious blood traitors to be worthy of the scorn and misery that was heaped upon their heads. After a year in the program bearing witness to some of the truly depraved sorrows the family had been subjected to, he'd changed his mind. While he still didn't like a single one of them, he wasn't a man entirely without compassion. Not yet, anyway.

"But my superiors feel as if it's been long enough. They're concerned that if she isn't pregnant by now that there must be something terribly wrong."

He knew that he would have to admit the truth to the pretty Healer, even if it was a secret he didn't want to share. Clearing his throat yet again in their short meeting, he blurted out an embarrassing string of words. Would she think differently of him once she knew?

"Hermione isn't pregnant again because we haven't… I haven't touched her since before the baby was born."

Healer Clearwater's eyes widened in surprise. Realizing that she allowed her professional mask to slip, she forced herself back into the impersonal role of Healer. Antonin felt a slight pang of disappointment. He'd liked talking to her, the real her.

"Mr. Dolohov, you understand the terms of this program, I assume?"

"Of course I do. I understand the terms very well, thank you, Healer Clearwater. Perhaps a bit better than you do."

He hadn't meant to be so harsh, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized he didn't regret them. The witch couldn't possibly fathom what it was like to be in the situation he and Hermione and all of the others were in. Not when she was able to leave the island at the end of each visit to go back to her own home where she had all of the safety and freedom they dreamed about having one day. And she never had to worry that a child would grow in her body for nine months only to be cruelly taken away from her moments after its birth. No, she might have the capability to be sympathetic to their plight, but that wasn't the same thing as actually experiencing it.

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Dolohov. You're absolutely right. I never meant to imply that…"

"It's all right. I know. I know that it's bad. We've wasted time and it'll take longer to finish this damned program at this rate."

"I'm afraid it's much worse than that. If it's discovered that any of the participants are unwilling to continue, they and their partner will be removed from the program and returned to Azkaban. You're lucky that I'm the one you told that to. If it had been any of the other Healers… well, let's just say that I don't think they would be nearly so forgiving."

Part of him wanted to argue with the woman that he wasn't unwilling to continue, but he couldn't bring himself to say the words. How many times over the course of the previous six months since the birth of his son did he wonder in the privacy of his own mind whether or not what he was involved in was worth it? He wasn't a good man. The crimes that he committed in the first war alone were enough to warrant a lifetime sentence in Azkaban. Never once did he think he was unfairly imprisoned. He'd been guilty of the crimes he was charged with and guilty of countless others he wasn't. What the Ministry was forcing them to do was inhumane. Was it better in the long-run to just move back to their tiny dank cells?

"You can't delay it any longer. If you do, they'll force her into some horrible testing and if they find nothing wrong, you'll both be back in Azkaban."

She reached into the pocket of her robes to pull out a small vial. Pushing it across the table into his hands, she had a look of determination on her face that threatened to make him smile again. If only they'd met under different circumstances, he would've very much enjoyed getting to know the pretty witch.

"Drink this. Every drop. And then…" Her cheeks flushed. Gone was the professional, impersonal Healer she'd been only a few minutes earlier. "… make certain that you and Hermione do something tonight. They'll not be patient much longer. If she's not pregnant by the next visit, your life will only get more complicated."

It took a great deal for Antonin to trust anyone, especially when it came to his life and his freedom. Staring at the unknown potion, he had to make the quick decision whether or not he was going to do what the Healer asked. She didn't appear to have a devious bone in her body, but he'd been fooled before. One swallow was all that was required. When the vial was empty, she quickly took it from his hand and put it back in her pocket. Clearly she didn't want there to be any evidence of her interference. Almost immediately he could feel a change in his body. A change that made him desire nothing more than to press the blonde haired temptress up against the nearest wall and show her…

The feel of the cold silver on his wrists coupled with the opening of the front door brought him back to a depressing and stark reality. Hermione was surprised to see the Healer was still in their cottage. Though she hadn't been able to stay outside for very long by herself, usually the medical personnel didn't linger after examinations. With an awkward half-smile, Healer Clearwater made her excuses to leave.

"Why was she still here?"

Hermione didn't waste a moment after the witch left their cottage to open her mouth. Annoyed by her tone and frustrated that he couldn't avoid her any longer, Antonin rose to his feet and closed the distance between them in just a few steps. Startled by the fervent press of his lips against hers, the witch gasped. It didn't take much encouragement to lead her back into their bedroom. He contented himself with the reminder that with his eyes closed in the dark room, he might even be able to convince himself for a second or two that he was with the witch he actually desired.