Important Author's Note: Several readers have expressed concerns about this story and where it was headed over the past several months. Please be sure that you are checking the genres for each story you read and checking whether or not characters are actually paired together. As many of my fellow writers and I have been frustrated about, it's not fair to assume that every story you read is a Romance or that it will inevitably end in happiness. Nor is it fair to assume that because two characters appear frequently in a story together that that means they are destined to fall in love. Remember in the first chapter when I could not and would not guarantee a happy ending for this story? Still applicable. I'm sorry if that's a disappointment, but I'd rather remind you all of that now than be faced with angry people at the end of the story. Also, sometimes a "slow burn" isn't a "slow burn" at all. Sometimes people who hate each other in the beginning of a story, still hate each other at the end.


Chapter Twelve

November 12, 2004

Protests at the Ministry Become Violent

A small group of misinformed witches and wizards were arrested following an altercation in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Shouting lies about the Minister for Magic's successful magical breeding program, aurors were called in to remove them from the premises. Furious that they were being silenced for attempting to spread falsehoods, the protestors did not go quietly. This was not the first time…


Hermione understood all too well that she was a perfect example of contradictions. One moment she would be terrified to step outside of the safety of their cottage and then the next she couldn't bear to spend another moment under its roof. It was infuriating to know that she wasn't in control of herself thanks to her fears and frustrations. When she was locked away in Azkaban, doomed forever to exist within a tiny space of which there was no escape, she could almost trick herself into believing that she was still the same person she had been before the war was lost. She'd been a bloody Gryffindor after all. One of the worst even. How many times did she push aside the fear of bodily harm, death, and worst of all, possible expulsion to follow Harry on one of his dangerous missions? It used to be easy.

Everyone changed as they grew older, even when they weren't forced to fight in an unjust war or endure an existence in a harsh prison. Why was she always being so hard on herself for what was outside of her control? It didn't make the least bit of sense. If someone remained the exact same person they were when they were a child in school, that was stagnation and immaturity. Certainly not something to be proud of. The war changed them all. Azkaban changed them further. The damned breeding program changed them most of all. How could she even look back in time at the girl she used to be and recognize herself?

Growing a child within her body made her introspective and sullen, she'd decided during her first pregnancy. It seemed to only get worse with the second. Perhaps if it was a normal pregnancy, one that was welcome and with the man that she loved, she might've felt differently about it all. Did happily married women with devoted husbands carrying a much wanted and much loved child feel the same way? She would never know the truth. It wasn't as if she had that to look forward to in her future. Babies were simply a currency she had to be willing to pay for her eventual freedom. And the man she was forced to have them with? It was best that she not think about him.

Antonin was the reason that afternoon why she couldn't bear to spend another moment in the cottage. Pushing aside the worst of her fears of the wide open spaces of the island that she was convinced she would never fully get over, Hermione stepped outside into the quiet village. She'd already been subjected to an intrusive examination. Even if Penelope was always as gentle as humanly possible, it was still uncomfortable and embarrassing. She'd hoped that when it was over, Penelope would leave to go check on some of her other patients. Hearing the sound of her voice mixed with Antonin's just outside the door of their bedroom was maddening.

While she knew it was wrong to deny the wizard at least some information about what was happening with their second child, she couldn't deny that listening to them talk like old friends made her very angry. She'd seen the way that he looked at Penelope when he thought no one was paying any attention. The Healer fascinated him in a way that no one else did. If they'd been in a normal living situation and Hermione could've left Antonin, she would've done so gladly. Clearly his interests lay elsewhere. Not that she minded, of course, but it was infuriating to always wonder if Penelope was the one he was truly thinking of every time they were alone in bed together.

She wasn't perfect on that score herself. A large part of her was grateful that Antonin was usually fairly quiet in the act of… relieving tension. It gave her the opportunity to close her eyes and pretend that he was anyone else. There were days that she almost envied Cho Chang for Walden Macnair being her partner. Those, of course, were the days that she knew she was in danger of going completely mad. She would've taken just about every other man on the island in Antonin's place, even including Draco Malfoy, though the thought of him touching her filled her with almost as much dread as the thought of Antonin.

In the worst of her semi-insane thoughts, she believed that someone on the cellblock they shared in Azkaban was a spy for the Ministry, reporting back to the wretched woman in charge of the program how best to torture Hermione. There must also have been records naming Antonin as the Death Eater who attacked her during the battle of the Department of Mysteries. Why else would she be forced to breed with him? Umbridge must've enjoyed being able to torture her without actually getting her own hands dirty. Maybe she hoped that the two of them would wind up killing the other.

When she stepped outside, she fumed at the memory of Antonin actually serving their Healer tea like they were proper friends. He had been acting as if their living situation was perfectly normal! As if he often had guests over for tea. And worst of all, Penelope gladly accepted his invitation with a smile. Did she feel no guilt about the part that she played in their wretched lives? How could she willingly accept anything from the people she was willfully aiding in torturing? Clearly she'd been mistaken about the Ravenclaw. Maybe she shouldn't have lifted a finger to keep her from staring into the eyes of the basilisk directly.

Hermione was jealous, very jealous. Even she couldn't deny the truth of that fact. But, she knew that she wasn't jealous of the Healer for the most obvious reasons. If it had been in her power to push Antonin into the woman's arms, she would've done it if for no other reason than she wouldn't have to feel the touch of his hand on her skin again. No, Penelope was welcome to Antonin if their situation ever changed. Likely they'd been much happier together than Hermione had ever been with the horrible wizard. Hermione was jealous of Penelope because she wasn't stuck on the island forced to take part in an inhumane program that no one, even the worst murderers, should ever be subjected to. And part of her was jealous because the older woman actually found something to like about Antonin and that was something she hadn't been able to do. Maybe if she had, what they were forced to do would've been somewhat easier.

The familiar dizziness that plagued Hermione when she was outside of the small rooms of the cottage almost made her lose her resolve to stay outside long enough for the Healer to move on to the next cottage. She hated how weak she felt when she was afraid. It made little logical sense if she allowed herself to really stop and consider what she was doing. After five years stuck in a tiny cell, shouldn't she be more afraid of small, cramped spaces than she was of large, open ones? Why did she retreat to the false safety of the bathtub or underneath the covers of her shared bed when she felt terrified? If a Mind Healer or a Muggle psychiatrist ever had the opportunity to analyze her, they would find a gold mine of material for a series of fascinating case studies. The same could likely be said for every single soul that existed on that island.

It was too cold out to be walking. By her imperfect calculation, they were nearing the first part of December or possibly even already there. Thinking about how Decembers used to be like before she was forced into her current nightmare were bittersweet. She had to look far into the past for a happy memory. Her last few Christmases outside of Azkaban were colored by the tragedy of war. The year of the Yule Ball and Viktor Krum was possibly her last happy Christmas. Even that was streaked with shades of sadness and disappointment. She couldn't imagine a Christmas ever being any better than that one. Not after everything she'd had to endure since. Maybe one day she would be free again, but that didn't guarantee she would ever have the ability to be happy again.

Most of the leaves had fallen from the trees circling the village. Though there wasn't any snow on the ground yet, she had to pull her cloak tighter around her shoulders to keep the chill out. If that winter was anything like the previous on the island, they would be in for even more misery. Of course, that was half the point of Minister Umbridge's little experiment, wasn't it? She pressed on through the barren trees, forcing her fear down. It was exhausting fighting a never-ending battle with her own neuroses.

A soft sniffling sound caught her attention. With most everyone tucked inside their warm cottages trying to forget the years they spent freezing in Azkaban, she was surprised that there was anyone else nearby. Feeling an inexplicable urge to seek out the source of the sound, she directed her steps further into the trees. It didn't take her long to find her quarry.

Lucius Malfoy sat on a fallen log dabbing at his eyes with a scrap of fabric. How he managed to keep up the most imperious of airs when they were locked up in Azkaban alternately amused and frustrated Hermione. Perhaps it was how he managed to deal with the circumstances beyond his control. Only steps from him, he looked up. His eyes were bloodshot, weary, sad. For the briefest of moments, Hermione felt guilty that she'd intruded on his solitude. Didn't they all deserve a little bit of privacy now and again? Too often they were denied even the smallest bits of humanity.

Instead of shooing her away, Lucius cleared his throat and rose to his feet. They didn't always like each other and it had taken him a long time to treat her like an actual human being, but five years in neighboring cells could turn even the worst enemies into something close to friends. He wiped at his eyes once more with his makeshift handkerchief.

"You should be inside, Hermione. This isn't the sort of weather a woman in your condition should be out walking in."

She rolled her eyes, annoyed that she was once again reduced to nothing but her womb. From the moment it was discovered that she was pregnant again, she'd been frustrated at every turn by the wizard responsible. Why was he so insistent on making sure that she was comfortable and provided for with that pregnancy? He barely spoke to her throughout the entire first one after all.

"Antonin is flirting with the Healer again. I couldn't bear another moment inside without completely going mad."

The words tricked out of her mouth before she could give them much thought. Only Lucius' confused expression reminded her that she shouldn't have said anything at all. What was the point? She hadn't told anyone about what she'd witnessed between Antonin and Penelope each time the Healer had to come to the island for examinations. All it did was make her sound as if she was some sort of jealous, scorned wife or some other rubbish. And she didn't have any right to feeling that way. How fair was it of her to begrudge the man for attempting to find the least bit of happiness with someone else when she was unwilling to offer it herself? She was acting like the proverbial dog in the manger.

"And that makes you jealous?"

He asked the question as he carefully helped her sit down on the log he'd just stood up from. With the added girth to her stomach, she wasn't always steady on her feet. Offering him a tight smile in thanks for the assistance, she considered her answer. Could she be honest with the wizard who once would've been perfectly content to see her dead at his feet? She shook her head to try to dislodge any further uncharitable thoughts. The past was the past and it was best that it be left there. All drudging it up did was make everyone miserable. When he settled himself down next to her, she sighed.

"I'm jealous, but not in the way that would seem most obvious. I'm jealous that he has someone that makes him smile. Not that I want to be the one who makes him smile, but I wouldn't mind if I had someone who made me smile myself."

She knew without looking at Lucius' confused face that she wasn't making sense. Considering she was the one who was forced to live inside her own head, she was well aware how little she made sense. Her thoughts were often jumbled, incoherent, muddled. Maybe it was a combination of the potions she had to take at each meal time or it was because of the stress she was living under on the island. Some might blame her pregnancy, but she knew that wasn't fair. She'd been feeling the same way since the day she was transported via portkey to the damned place only minutes after learning the horrific details of the program she'd signed up for. Years of prison, starvation, abject fear took a toll on a person's mind. If Remus Lupin was still alive, he wouldn't have reason to call her the brightest witch of her age again. There were plenty of twenty-five year old witches who were brighter than she was. The war stripped her of a future or any hope for a normal life. Voldemort damned everything he touched.

"Are you suggesting that it might be possible to find any measure of happiness in this place?"

The bitterness in Lucius' tone was unmistakeable. Over a year and half on the island hadn't changed him one bit from the angry, horrified man he was when they stood in the gathering room in Azkaban listening to the terms of the Ministry's breeding program. Though no one could be accused of flourishing under the program, he had been its most vocal opponent on the island. Hermione knew from Ginny that he was reluctant to participate. They'd been fortunate that she was able to get pregnant easily the first time. Lucius left her alone throughout the entire length of it, never bothering to so much as touch her hand. The second pregnancy proved a little bit harder to achieve. He'd grown sullen and impossible to live with due to the repeated tries. Every time he was forced to be intimate with Ginny, he felt a disloyalty to his wife that might have once endeared him to Hermione if she didn't know how his behavior was affecting her friend.

"I think that it would be nice if we could at least try, Lucius. How many years are we expected to be here? Do you want to remain miserable the entire time?"

"My dear, it is not possible for me to be anything but miserable. Not with Narcissa still in Azkaban while I'm forced to procreate with a Weasley."

She sighed. Some prejudices would never die. Not until the people who held them died themselves. Ginny and Lucius might have lived in cells next to each other for five years and learned how to develop at least a non-antagonistic relationship, but the program brought out the worst in them all. Maybe he was right. Was it even possible to find happiness where they were? Or would they have to all wait until the terms were completed and they were free to find any?

"What do you plan to do when this is all over, Lucius? Will you never speak to Ginny again?"

"You're assuming, of course, that any of us will even be able to complete this damned program. What they're asking of us is simply inhumane."

If allowed to continue on one of his rants, Hermione knew that Lucius would wind himself up into a passionate fervor that would last a long time. He'd been known to spout off about the indignities they were a part of for hours. Many of the other residents of the island no longer wished to spend a moment in his presence because of his lectures. How Ginny managed to endure him in their cottage, especially in their bedroom, was beyond Hermione. She worried she would've considered murdering him just to shut him up.

"Of course it's inhumane, Lucius. We've discussed all this before. But don't you think you should at least explore the possibility of what you're going to do when this is all over? Are you going to look for your children?"

The question startled Lucius if the confused grimace on his face was anything to go by. She didn't understand why he would think she was asking something so strange. Even when they were stuck in the miasma of the breeding island, surely he could at least think about the future? They might not get off the island, but if they did, they had to consider their next actions.

"Why the devil would I want to find the physical representations of my unfaithfulness to my beloved wife?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. At times it wasn't even worth speaking to Lucius. He could be overly sentimental and virtuous for a former Death Eater. But, every once in a while, he would have a moment of clarity where he could speak some valuable truths that she needed to hear. It hadn't been easy to begin a friendship with the man in prison. She never would've believed it could even happen. Somehow it happened though.

"Antonin promised me that when we get off of this island, we'll find our children."

"But why would you want to?"

"Because we want to know that they're safe and well cared for. And because our son lives with Umbridge. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to sleep at night wondering how she is warping him? Or maybe even hurting him?"

Lucius wasn't a heartless man. That much was evident by the fact that he remained so devoted to his wife. When Hermione had seen him interact with Draco around the island, she could tell that he loved his son. Even though he acted as if the children that he'd already created with Ginny Weasley and the ones he would create with her as time went on didn't mean anything to him, she knew him better than that. Likely it was eating him up inside just as much worrying about the little girl that was taken from them just a couple of months after Hermione's son. In his mind, it was a betrayal to his beloved wife to be concerned about the fruits of his contribution to the program.

"And when you find them? What do you plan to do then? Start a happy little family with Antonin? I didn't get the impression you cared enough about him to do that."

"I don't know what we will do. Well, beyond making certain that Umbridge dies a very painful death that is. Maybe we'll find out that the other parents are perfectly lovely and our children are safe there."

It was the truth. They'd never once worked out the logistics of a plan to find their children. There was no question in Hermione's mind that they would just allow their son to remain where he was. Umbridge wasn't a suitable parent, especially not of the child of the woman she hated so much. She could only imagine what was happening to her son. Somehow she didn't get the feeling that it was a happy home. All she knew was that Antonin was likely to murder Umbridge the first chance he got. The bitch had caused too much pain and suffering to remain unpunished.

But after they found their children? What were they going to do? They had a number of questions that needed to be answered before they could plan any sort of future. Of course, there were many years yet before they had the chance to escape and there was no guarantee that they would even be allowed to leave the island. Maybe the Ministry would simply get rid of them once they proved their usefulness. Dangling the prospect of freedom in front of them was only to ensure they signed up for the wretched program. She wouldn't put it past any of them to deny them their exit when it came time. Until she had her feet back on the mainland and a wand in her hand, she wouldn't trust any of them to keep their word.

"Seems like an awful fuss for the children of a man you claim to hate."

She wasn't up for having another discussion with Lucius about her true feelings for Antonin. The man could be relentless. When they were all crammed into their tiny cells in Azkaban, Lucius enjoyed making cracks about how she and Antonin must have been in love with each other because of how they constantly tormented each other or because of the way they both seemed obsessed with the other. It was ridiculous. Hermione couldn't escape Antonin no matter what she did. For five long years they were forced to stare into the other's cell. Confusing the sick glee they both got at being nasty to each other for love was laughable. They weren't Hannah and Thorfinn after all. When they stared at each other from their cells, it was not with love and longing.

"Lucius, just because I no longer have the desire to murder the man in his sleep, doesn't mean that I'm in love with Antonin."

"So you say, but even you can't deny the unresolved sexual tension between you two when you were in Azkaban. And I know that you told Ginny that the two of you apparently have a great deal of chemistry in bed."

Groaning out loud, Hermione regretted ever telling Ginny anything personal. She was the sort of person who could keep a secret only for a very short period of time before she was desperate to spill all of the details. A lifetime earlier when they were both girls, it had been funny. No longer. Not when she was divulging private details to Lucius about her sex life.

"Do I really have to explain to you that actually liking a person is completely unnecessary to enjoy a satisfying sexual experience with them, Lucius? Surely a Death Eater like yourself isn't that naïve."

"My dear, I've been in love with Narcissa since I was fifteen years old. Up until I was forced on this island, I was always faithful to my wife."

She found his admission admirable. It couldn't have been easy to stick to his principles when he was following his old master. There must have been plenty of temptations and opportunities to stray.

"Thorfinn calls it 'hate sex'. Is that not something you've had with Ginny?"

If he was going to continue to be impertinent, she was determined to make him just as uncomfortable as he made her. Instead of getting angry, Lucius only sighed. He was far from the proud, haughty man she remembered seeing for the first time in Flourish and Blotts just before her second year. Life under Voldemort's thumb ruined him. Azkaban and the program only made it worse.

"I don't hate Ginny, Hermione. I've actually grown quite fond of her. Not in the way I love my wife, of course, but I only wish her the very best. I'm angry that she doesn't have the opportunity to be happy. Not as long as I'm required to be in her bed."

Neither of them knew what to say after his confession. The first days in Azkaban hadn't been enjoyable with Ginny frequently losing her temper with the man who was responsible for her possession by Tom Riddle's diary. She often took her anger out at the man in the cell next to hers. Eventually, she calmed down. They'd been able to reach some sort of truce to make everyone less miserable in the cellblock.

"You don't have to give up all hope that you can be happy with her, Lucius."

"Yes, I'm afraid I do. She isn't my wife. I don't expect you to understand, but just… no, it's not possible."

"You're stuck here for the foreseeable future. Maybe you should try to be happy."

"And maybe you should try as well."

Before she could utter a single word of a response, a familiar figure stepped closer to them. Startled at first, Hermione felt her face split into a wide grin when she saw it was Charlie. Several days had gone by since they'd last seen each other. Where he'd run off to, she didn't know. Sometimes it was better not to. Charlie returned her smile. A suspicious cough that might've been the beginning of a laugh out of Lucius broke the moment.

"I didn't mean to interrupt. I was just on a walk to the beach."

"You didn't interrupt, Weasley. We were just ending our conversation. Hermione dear, didn't you say you wanted to see the water?"

Lucius stood quickly. His gentle touch helped her rise from the log with little difficulty. A smirk on his lips embarrassed Hermione. What was he doing? Leaning down to kiss her on the cheek, he lingered long enough to whisper in her ear.

"It seems as if you've already found the one who makes you smile."