Chapter Eighteen

August 3, 2006

Rutherford Poke Removed as Head of St. Mungo's

In an astonishing turn of events following the most recent Board of Directors meeting for St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, well-respected Healer Rutherford Poke was forced to step down from his post as Head of the hospital. The votes from the Board were unfortunately for him, outside of his favor. Rumors that this might happen have been many for weeks, but it was still something of a surprise. It is no secret that the outspoken Healer was a member of the very small group of critics of our beloved Minister Dolores Umbridge and her benevolent desire to repopulate our dwindling magical population. When asked to comment about the abrupt change to the hospital's administration…


There was something wrong with Antonin. She didn't quite know how to explain it, but Hermione could feel the change in his moods. When did it start? She thought it started around the time Charlie was removed from the island that horrible, horrible day months earlier. As much as she tried to pinpoint when he became more sullen and withdrawn than he usually was, she couldn't be certain. Her mind had been so wrapped up in her own fears and thoughts for a long time after she watched her one constant source of sanity disappear with the aurors that she hadn't even noticed how much her partner changed.

She thought at first the reason he stopped touching her was out of respect for her sadness about Charlie. Though she would've never guessed it before they were made partners in the damned breeding program, Antonin had a kindness about him that few ever got to see. Crushed down deep inside him underneath countless layers of bitterness and hatred, he was almost human. His Dark Lord and his first stint in Azkaban with the dementors hadn't robbed him of that entirely. Almost, but not quite. Weeks after the numbness and pain were almost bearable again, she reached across their bed as she'd done a hundred times before. He pushed her away. Again and again he rejected her advances. Eventually, she simply gave up trying.

Antonin only touched her growing stomach. The larger it became, the more he touched it. Some mornings she would wake up to the feel of his body behind hers and at least one of his hands flattened against the bump where their baby was developing. Sometimes he was asleep when she discovered the gentle, tender touches, but usually he was wide awake. He didn't seem to sleep as much as he used to. That was another unsettling development. Sleep had been one of his favorite escapes in Azkaban and then on the island. He was far from being the only one. At least dreams gave the inmates a chance to exist in happier worlds.

Maybe his shift in moods was because Penelope was reassigned to another cottage. No explanation was ever given for why her Healer was there one day and gone the next. Sometimes she saw Penelope walking through the village completing her rounds. Each time Hermione tried to speak to the woman, she rushed away. Even at a distance the tears in her eyes were evident. Once Hermione came upon Antonin standing in front of their bedroom window staring with a faraway expression she'd never seen before. When she stepped closer to see what he was looking at, she caught a glimpse of the back of Penelope's cloak. Realizing suddenly he was no longer alone, Antonin cleared his throat. He offered no explanation as he moved to the bathroom. He hid in there until she left.

Hermione hated the new Healer. He was every bit as cold and impersonal as the Healers who came to Azkaban to examine them before they understood the horrors of the program they signed up for. When she asked him questions she had to repeat them multiple times before he would sigh deeply and answer with as few syllables as possible. She missed how Penelope would explain everything she was going to do and how she worked hard to calm all of Hermione's fears and address all of her worries. There was no question Penelope was in the right profession. The cretin now responsible for her care? He was more suited to treating livestock. She got the impression he would've been kinder and gentler to the animals under his care than he was to her. It was clear he loathed her very existence. She was not looking forward to her next delivery. Already likely to be a traumatic and difficult experience, she would miss Penelope's soothing presence.

If she dared mention the name of the pretty Healer in Antonin's presence, he would clench his jaw and leave the room. Something happened between them that she wished she understood. Had Penelope made some comment that upset him? Or was he trying to deny himself even the hope of happiness? Of course she knew it could be something else entirely. It wasn't as if he was talking to her any longer. And the more weeks and months that passed, the less she saw of Penelope until she couldn't remember when she'd last seen her at all. Perhaps she'd requested another position that wouldn't force her to back to the island. No one would blame her for that decision. Anyone who chose to be there was a fool.

With all of the progress they'd made in forging some sort of strange friendship over the years they'd been on the island together, Hermione could only take small comfort in the fact that at least Antonin was no longer openly hostile. She didn't realize until it was gone how much she'd come to enjoy the way they used to lay in bed and just talk. He could hardly look at her anymore and she wanted to know why. Had she done something? Or was he simply protecting himself?

She missed Charlie with every breath she inhaled. Maybe the distance that Antonin was determined to put between them would've been easier to bear if she had Charlie at her side. No word was offered to any of the inmates what happened to any of the four that were removed from the island. Even if she dared to ask her new Healer, Hermione knew he'd rather curse her with an Avada than tell her the truth. Part of the Ministry of Magic's torture and punishment was withholding information. None of the Weasleys had the peace they so desperately needed knowing what happened to their family members. For such a large family, they were quickly dwindling to nothing on the island.

Her pregnancy wasn't any more difficult than any of the others she'd already had, but not having the support of Charlie when she feared she was on the brink of going completely mad and hurling herself headfirst into the crashing waves again made it seem worse. The closer the day came that she would bring another innocent child in the world to be stolen from her, the more depressed and solemn she became. Even getting out of bed could be difficult. What was the point of even trying?

August heat made the cottage uncomfortable to say the least. Leaving all of the windows opened helped to an extent, but not nearly enough. As tempting as it was to waste another day of her pointless existence hiding in her bed, she couldn't bear the heat another moment. Hoping that a cool glass of water might help, Hermione exited her bedroom to the main room of the cottage.

Almost immediately she regretted her decision. Thorfinn taking up almost the entire sofa with Hannah practically sitting in his lap wasn't what she wanted to see. It was a painful reminder that no one had properly touched her in months. No one loved her the way they clearly loved each other. She was so jealous she could hardly see straight. Why did they get to be with the one they loved? Even stuck in the miserable hell they were in at least they had a bright spot. At least they knew they weren't alone. Kissing her forehead and pulling his witch closer to his body, Thorfinn's whisper wasn't soft enough to keep between them.

"When we get off this island…"

It was rude and completely uncalled for, but Hermione didn't care. A derisive snort came out of her at his encouraging words. Was he really that foolish and naïve? Or was he lying to his witch just to make her feel better? Either way it was wrong. She didn't have the patience to keep listening to the idiots around her who refused to believe the uncomfortable truth about their futures.

"That's never going to happen. You're just deluding yourself if you think any of us are ever going to leave this island. Not alive anyway. Or maybe we will, but it will just be back to Azkaban."

Thorfinn wasn't bothered by her outburst. Rather than growing angry that she would dare to contradict him, he only smiled. Hermione wished she had a wand for no other reason than to send a painful hex straight to his big, blue eyes. How could he remain so convinced that all was not lost? Clearly he'd spent too much time around a Hufflepuff. They were an annoyingly positive lot.

"I'm afraid you're wrong about that, Princess. It's only a matter of time before we're rescued and taken off this island."

She didn't know whether to laugh or cray. For being such an intelligent wizard, Thorfinn could also be a big, dumb idiot. There was a rather distinct difference in remaining positive and being completely delusional. Hermione just shook her head. She didn't have the necessary energy required to argue with the brute. Still he remained firm in his beliefs.

"Opposition is growing. Haven't you been reading the newspapers they send us?"

Anger bubbled up inside of her at what was intended to be an innocuous question. And perhaps it would've continued to be one if he asked anyone else on the island the same. After all, no one else was subjected to personal deliveries of certain editions of the Daily Prophet from the Minister for Magic herself. Knowing he'd been careless, Thorfinn cleared his throat and continued with a little more care in his choice of words.

"The Daily Prophet is basically just propaganda from the Ministry, but if you look carefully, if you read between the lines you can tell this program isn't popular at all. They have to be very careful what they say, but it's there. I've saved an entire stack of old papers that prove what I'm saying."

Some of her anger abated. Despite how furious Thorfinn could make her at times, she couldn't stay upset with him very long. He had a surprising charm about him when he was motivated.

"I still believe you're being too hopeful. No one cares about us."

"You're wrong about that, Princess. You just have to pay close attention. The reporters and editors keep getting replaced or reassigned. This won't last forever. The Ministry is getting nervous."

Hermione snorted again. The anger also began to build anew.

"No one gives a damn about us. As long as we're tucked away out of view, we're not their problem to worry about. We're alone. We've always been alone. We will always be alone."

Before the wizard could utter a retort, she was out of the cottage. She couldn't stand to be around their optimism any longer. It was suffocating. How could they continue to believe there was even a possibility that someone could come to their rescue? All because of some vaguely worded articles in a newspaper she knew firsthand didn't always tell the truth? It was ridiculous.

Because of the heat many of the other inmates were outside of their cottages. Hermione didn't want to stop and talk with any of them in the unpleasant mood she was in. It would require too much effort to be polite. Her hand brushed her bulging belly. The closer her due date drew, the less energy she had to spare for meaningless interactions. It was easier to just be alone.

Slipping into the thick cover of trees behind her cottage, she hoped no one would try to follow her. It was impossible in her condition to climb one of the trees to hide and it wouldn't be difficult to catch up to her if she tried to run. Her recent unpleasant moods that affected her since Charlie left was, however, a good deterrent. Most people chose to leave her alone. It was a small gift she cherished. Living her own nightmare was difficult enough without needing to worry about old friends compounding her misery with complaints about theirs. She wasn't sure when her former Dumbledore's Army comrades stopped coming to her with the expectations that she would have the answer for everything nor did she care. It was a relief.

Despite the heat, only one person stood on the beach staring out at the crashing waves. Perhaps the one person on the island she could guarantee wouldn't assault her with misguided optimism and eternal hope, Hermione found herself drawn to Antonin. Usually she tried to give him space, but her feet seemed to have a mind of their own. Enthralled by the vastness of the ocean, he almost looked peaceful. It was only when he glanced up to meet her eyes that Hermione realized what she was doing was a bit intrusive. Didn't they all deserve some privacy now and again? A few steps away from her partner she stopped.

"Is everything all right?"

His voice sounded strange from disuse. He hadn't been terribly sociable the last several months either.

"Yes. I'm sorry. I was just going for a walk. I didn't mean to disturb you."

"There's enough ocean to share."

She wasn't able to even turn around completely before his words halted her progress. Realizing he was all but asking her to stay, she almost smiled. Even if he didn't mean it in the way she interpreted it, she chose to see his gesture as an important first step to maybe becoming something like friends again. Instead of running in the opposite direction as she'd intended, she stepped closer until their arms brushed against each other. Antonin didn't push her way. More progress.

"I'm surprised to see you outside."

She didn't expect him to keep talking. Given the opportunity to continue the conversation, she took it. The entire story of Thorfinn and his frustrating belief that the veiled criticisms he assumed he saw in the newspaper were a sign they were going to be rescued came rushing out. When she explained how she couldn't stand to spend one more second inside with their housemates dreaming of a future that wasn't going to happen, Antonin sighed.

"Thorfinn's always been a lot smarter than most people give him credit for, but…"

"It sounds too good to be true?"

Far from being annoyed that she interrupted him in the middle of his sentence, Antonin actually smiled. It was small, but still noticeable. For the first time in months she could see the slightest break in his silent stoicism. She wondered if that meant she could finally ask him what was wrong. Before she could even begin a question, he spoke more words than she'd heard him say in all of the previous horrible months combined.

"Thorfinn is smart, but he's not fond of history. If he were, he'd understand that even if the majority a population is unhappy or against their government's policies, they very rarely rise up against them. Too much fear. Too much selfishness. Too much complacency."

As much as she hated to agree with his bleak statement, she couldn't help but think it sounded painfully accurate. Penelope might've claimed there was resistance to the breeding program, but how effective could it really be? The Ministry was powerful and she knew better than most how ruthless Umbridge could be with her enemies. Maybe the outside world feared being trapped on the island themselves too much to bother saving a group of former Death Eaters and rebels.

"Did you enjoy learning about history, Hermione?"

"Not really. Professor Binns wasn't the most interesting…"

He smiled again.

"No, he wasn't, but that's not what I meant. You, of all people, should understand there's more to history than just the history of magic."

It was Hermione's turn to smile. She was impressed. Most people in her experience weren't interested in history to begin with and most witches and wizards didn't care about anything related to Muggles. She remembered a conversation she once had with Thorfinn years earlier about Antonin's father's blood status being unknown. Some parts about his life she could never discuss directly with Antonin. If his father was Muggle-Born, that would certainly explain why he would want to learn about Muggle history.

"Lots of people inside Germany knew what their government was doing during the 1930s and 1940s. They knew about the camps, knew about the murders and what did they do? Nothing. They were too scared or they were too worried about their own families to do anything about a group of people they didn't know in a camp they couldn't see. Some of them probably even believed they deserved to be there. And those poor people were being murdered, Hermione. What's happening to us? Instead of living out a life sentence in Azkaban that most of us deserved, we are living in warm cottages with the chance to move around relatively freely, eating all of the good food we want with the best medical care and no requirement to deserve it."

"Except hand over our babies!"

"A small sacrifice some would say who don't know any better. No one is coming to rescue us. It's better for all of us to quash that hope now."

Antonin walked away before she could say anything to dispute his last statement. Not that she could. Everything he said was something she agreed with. Hope was foolish. It was a waste of time.

When Hermione could no longer see Antonin's back as he travelled further down the beach, she chose to go back to their cottage. Heat or not, she was too tired and depressed to keep staring out at the ocean that kept her a prisoner on the damned island. She wanted to return to her bed and try to dream of a better life.

Just as she didn't run into anyone on the way to the beach, she didn't see anyone on the way back to the cottage. It was just as well. Neither Thorfinn nor Hannah said a single word when she crossed the threshold of their shared home. Perhaps Hannah warned her lover in her absence not to stir up the emotions of a heavily pregnant witch. Not a good idea.

She could find no comfort in her bed. The bulk of her body combined with her racing thoughts made relaxation of any sort an impossibility. Not even the slight breeze coming through the open window helped. Turning over onto her other side, she stared at the empty spot where Antonin always lay. He was a mystery she was certain she would never understand.

A thick book bound in leather rested on the small nightstand next to his side of the bed. Sleep wasn't the only escape she knew he enjoyed. Borrowing almost as many books as she did from the Ministry's library, during colder and wetter parts of the year, she rarely saw him without his nose stuck in some book. Curious to see what he'd been reading, she rolled onto his pillow and reached.

After the conversation they just had on the beach, it wasn't a surprise at all to discover he'd been reading about the Second World War. Not just affecting Muggles, it seeped into the lives of the magical communities of Europe as well. Antonin's book, however, seemed to focus almost entirely on Muggle military history. Was it any wonder he'd been so pessimistic about their situation or why he'd been able to draw any sort of comparison to the past atrocities humans were capable of committing against each other? She did have to admit he was correct their struggles weren't nearly as bad as the oppressed in that awful war. At least they weren't being murdered or tortured or worked to death or starved or a thousand other horrible possibilities.

She'd heard more than once from someone in the magical community who was also familiar with Muggle history that Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters had very distinct similarities with Adolf Hitler and the Nazis. Was that what fascinated Antonin about that war? She knew that he regretted the choices he'd made when he was younger. More than once he'd told her in an unguarded moment that he'd ruined his life for a cause he didn't really believe in. His reasons for following his Dark Lord made little sense the older he became.

Flipping through the thick volume, she stumbled upon a picture of one of the very camps Antonin mentioned. The barbed wire fencing and the starved prisoners were startling to see. She'd seen the pictures before in a book her father owned, but she'd forgotten just how terrible it all was. It was so easy to forget in the midst of her own horror that there were others throughout history who had endured much worse. More pictures followed showing the liberation of Auschwitz by the Soviet Red Army. Passages in the book described how the soldiers had no idea what they were about to stumble upon right before they did. She couldn't even imagine what they must have thought when they found out what happened inside. It reminded her again that what she was living through wasn't as bad as it could've been. And as horrible and unspeakably evil as those camps were, they didn't last forever.

A thought crossed her mind that made her almost drop the book she was holding. No, they didn't last forever. Years passed certainly, but they were eventually all liberated and there had been survivors. The German people weren't the ones that rose up to take on their own government. It was the outsiders, the foreign soldiers who were the ones to discover and shut down the camps. Hadn't she read an article in the Daily Prophet months ago about another Minister for Magic in another country making public statements against the breeding program? What if he wasn't the only one?

She replaced the book where she found it as she stood to her feet. Maybe she would come to regret even entertaining the idea, but she couldn't deny she was curious. She wanted to read the stacks of old newspapers Thorfinn claimed he saved.


Antonin and Hermione's third child was born right on time. As she lay back on the bed to catch her breath seconds after delivering it, she thought she heard one of the Healers whisper the word 'boy', but she couldn't be certain. There were enough pain potions coursing through her body that she had trouble even remembering why she was there in the first place. Not that it mattered whether her baby was a boy or a girl. She wouldn't get to see it again.

The Healer that replaced Penelope was every bit as cold and distant during her delivery as she expected him to be. Once the crying baby was wrapped in a clean towel and handed over to the assistant Healer to be taken back to St. Mungo's for a thorough examination, Hermione was startled by the gentle touch on the back of her hand. Thinking that she was imagining it, she looked up to see a flicker of kindness in her Healer's eyes. She couldn't trust what she saw. She was too out of it. There was simply no way that horrible man would spare a moment to treat her like a human being.

She slipped into a deep healing sleep courtesy of another potion. When she woke up many hours later, she had no memory of what she'd seen.


One month after their third baby was stolen, Hermione was frustrated with Antonin's continued distance. The conversation on the beach was only a short thaw before he froze her out again. No further progress was made to recover at least some semblance of their strange friendship. She would've been angry if she wasn't so sad. The loss of another child didn't get any easier.

Both of them knew they wouldn't be able to keep up trying to ignore the other much longer. Once her body was fully healed and ready for another pregnancy, they knew they couldn't wait too long to try again. Even if neither of them truly believed it was possible to actually complete the outrageous terms of the program, they weren't ready to return to Azkaban either.

With the weather already beginning to warn of another uncomfortable autumn and miserable winter, Hermione chose to take advantage of the late September warmth. She knew it wouldn't last much longer. Already the breezes coming off the ocean had a chill in them that made her teeth chatter. She vowed that if she ever got off the island by some miracle and finally had her freedom, she would choose a home as far away from water as possible. Between Azkaban in the middle of the North Sea and the damned island, she'd had her fill of salty ocean air. Sometimes, even when she wasn't pregnant, the smell of the ocean made her want to vomit. Somehow she didn't think that would ever fully go away. Not with so many negative associations with the sea.

She wasn't surprised to find Antonin alone on the beach again staring out at the waves. Often she found him in the same place. Evidently he experienced a sense of comfort standing on the shore and watching the waves she did not. When she stood next to him, he didn't move away or demand that she leave him be. As much as she wanted to know why he'd been so distant, she didn't ask. Part of her was afraid she wouldn't like the truth. Even Gryffindors were allowed to be a coward sometimes.

The only acknowledgment Antonin made that he knew of Hermione's presence was the slightest quirk at the corner of his mouth that might've been the beginning of a smile in happier times. She would take it. They stood in silence staring at the waves for several minutes. It was almost comfortable, companionable even. She hoped that they would be able to get past whatever it was that put a big wall between them. Long ago she stopped hoping for anything more than just feigned politeness from the man. She also recognized the futility of wishing she'd been given another partner. All that did was depress her further.

"Hermione, there's something I should tell you. Something I should've told you a long time ago."

She knew she must have turned to look at Antonin with her mouth half-open in surprise. What an attractive sight that was. He hadn't said so many words at once in her presence since the day on the beach she vented to him about Thorfinn's eternal optimism. Though she'd temporarily fallen under the spell that maybe rescue was possible, reality hit her again to remind her she couldn't be so foolish.

"What is it, Antonin? You sound serious."

Not that he ever really sounded like anything else. She knew there were times in the past when they could laugh together, but those days seemed like they were in someone else's lifetime. Sighing, Antonin ran his hands through his messy hair. It was a sign of his frustration she used to tease him about when they were in their Azkaban cells. Though she never said so out loud, she thought it made him look like a patient at some frightening Victorian-era mental institution. It used to make her giggle under breath. No longer.

"Forget it. It's nothing."

Before she could even ask him what he meant, Antonin turned towards the trees to make his escape. Under ordinary circumstances Hermione would've been perfectly content to let the man leave, but she couldn't deny she was curious about what he was going to say. Clearly her existence on the island was without its excitements. Thankful that she was able to move quickly once again, she was able to easily catch up with him on the edge of the village. When she reached for his arm, he stopped walking and sighed again.

"Why are you running away from me, Antonin? Is it that terrible?"

"Hermione…"

Looking around him for something to rest his eyes on other than her, Antonin lost his train of thought when he saw the commotion in front of their cottage. Shrugging his arm out of his grip, he closed the distance in just a few strides. Hermione had to practically run again to catch up.

Hannah stood out in front of their cottage with her arms full of clothes and tears streaming down her cheeks. At her side, Thorfinn had bright red cheeks and looked to be on the verge of exploding. His arms too were full of some of their meager belongings.

"We've just been informed that we will be moved to another cottage."

Every word came out of Thorfinn's clenched teeth in a near hiss. No matter the reason for the upheaval of their living space, it was clear that no one was happy about it. Hermione didn't understand what the reasoning behind it was. No one had ever been moved to a different cottage in the years that they'd been stuck on the island.

"Our room is being cleaned now. The house-elf gave us a note from the Ministry that we were to leave immediately to make room for another couple."

Antonin rushed inside the cottage without asking Hannah if he knew who was moving in. When Hermione asked, her friend shrugged her shoulders and said she didn't know. Following her partner inside, she found him standing in the doorway of the bedroom next to theirs. A house-elf finished the last of its frantic cleaning. Another filled the wardrobe with clean clothes. Both of them snapped out of view just as a portkey brought two more prisoners to their new bedroom.

Hermione gasped. Antonin punched the door with his closed fist. Even though it all happened so quickly, everyone present in the small room knew that their lives were irrevocably changed. Life on the island was about to become even more miserable than any of them ever imagined.

It should've been a relief to learn that Charlie Weasley was still alive. And maybe it would have been if Penelope Clearwater wasn't the one standing at his side.