Chapter Twenty

January 4, 2007

Shortage of Floo Powder Severe

For the first time since commercial Floo powder was made available for purchase in the thirteenth century, all stores in Diagon Alley have completely sold out. It is not clear when more will be made available. Though produced right here in London at the headquarters of Floo-Pow in Diagon Alley, supplies have been dangerously low due to a trade dispute with Argentina for raw materials to manufacture.

No one answered the front door of Floo-Pow, the only licensed producer in Britain when approached for comment. It must be stated that it is not necessarily unusual that the secretive business refused to open their door as there is a history of the same behavior, but it was hoped someone within the company might wish to make a statement about the unprecedented shortage.

The Ministry of Magic urges all citizens to limit their use of floo travel for emergencies for the immediate future. Owls should also be used in lieu of floo calls. The Ministry reiterates the reminder from St. Mungo's that homemade substitutes for the powder should not be used to prevent injuries up to and including painful death and dismemberment.

Ministry officials are working to settle the dispute. This adds one more country to the list. Last month Romania ceased all trade of dragon-related items causing additional shortages in many major apothecaries across the country. When asked…


The walls in the cottage were too damn thin. It was an annoyance Hermione thought she'd learned to live with in nearly four years on the island. Apparently not. She supposed she'd simply gotten so used to the sound of Thorfinn and Hannah moving around next door that she hardly noticed it after awhile. What had been merely awkward and uncomfortable with the former residents became unbearable with Charlie.

Being so close to the wizard and yet also being so far away was an elegant torture she had to commend Umbridge for. She could hear everything that happened in there even if the sounds were a bit muffled and the conversations unclear. Every single time Penelope cried she could hear it. When Charlie was frustrated, she could hear him mutter obscenities under his breath or slam a drawer shut. In the dark hours of the night, she could even hear the soft sighs and grunts combined with the gentle squeak of the bed. It was enough to drive anyone completely round the bend.

What made Hermione jealous most of all wasn't the certain knowledge that they were engaging in the necessary sex required to complete the terms of the program. No, it was the quiet whispering she could hear through the walls that made her sad. There was an intimacy between Charlie and Penelope that was even more personal than their physical acts. When she found out Penelope was pregnant she hadn't been jealous of the clear evidence she'd been with Charlie, but when she heard their whispers as they lay in bed talking, she wished she could be the one laying next to Charlie. Based on Antonin's random violent punches to his pillow he tried to pass off as fluffing, he felt the same way.

"Is it any better?"

Antonin's concern was obvious in his voice and in the gentle way he placed the cool, damp cloth on Hermione's forehead. A different set of choices and circumstances might've turned him in to a fine Healer. That thought made Hermione chuckle. For a moment she could almost ignore the pounding in her head and the swirling in her guts.

"Not really."

"Maybe you should take another potion."

Hermione grabbed his wrist to keep him from leaving the room to get another foul-tasting potion that did absolutely nothing except make her long for a swift death.

"Even the thought of a single sip of that horrible potion makes me want to throw up again. I have nothing left in my stomach to throw up."

"Should I call for the Healer?"

"No. I hate him. I always want to kick him in the face when he examines me."

A snort of laughter out of Antonin made her smile. She assumed he got an amusing visual. It was something she'd wanted to do since the first time he entered the cottage after Penelope was reassigned and then arrested. Maybe one day when she was certain she had nothing left to lose she'd try.

"I don't remember you ever being this sick before. You were nauseous, but no this badly."

"Every pregnancy is different. Maybe I'm having twins this time. I read that some women who get pregnant with twins throw up so much they have to be hospitalized."

"All the more reason I should call for the Healer."

"If you call for that horrible man, Antonin Dolohov, I'm going to throw up on your pillow."

"I don't doubt you would too."

Smiling again only made her head hurt worse. Hermione wasn't sure why she couldn't seem to get rid of the persistent ache. Some days were better than others. When she asked her wretched Healer about it, he told her to drink more water and left the cottage. It was almost worth being thrown back into Azkaban if she never had to see his face again.

"Sit here on the bed and distract me."

"How? If you're not feeling well, I don't think…"

She groaned and rolled her eyes.

"Not that, Antonin. Really. I meant talk to me. Get my mind off of it."

The curtains covering their only window were pulled closed, but even then too much light shone into the room. Antonin was kind enough to hang a heavy blanket over the curtains to block out the remaining natural light. It was been miserable when she had one of her headaches before he'd done it. Despite the loss of visibility in their bedroom, she didn't even need to see when she heard the crash and Antonin's cursing to know he'd run into the end of the bed again. She didn't even try to hide her laugh.

"You could at least ask if I was all right before you start laughing."

"I knew you were all right when I heard you swear. If I heard a thud and you were silent, I would've gotten up to check on you."

She could almost hear him roll his eyes in the near-darkness. It always amused her to see the once-formidable Death Eater revert to a petulant child. Rarely lasting long, she liked the reminder that despite his past, he was still human.

The bed dipped down next to her when Antonin climbed on it. Strange how she'd gotten so used to having him beside her in bed that she almost couldn't remember what it was like to sleep alone. There was an odd comfort feeling another human breathe. She hadn't realized how much she missed being around others in her tiny cell in Azkaban. Even though she had no privacy and others were always around, it didn't feel the same with the bars.

"I would think talking to you while you had a headache wouldn't be wise. Wouldn't you rather lay in a quiet room?"

"And then all I can focus on is how much I want to be sick. Talk to me."

Hermione didn't usually show her weaknesses even behind closed doors. At least she tried very hard not to. Having someone see her when she wasn't at her best was something she'd been forced to get used to, but hardly something she cherished. Too many people were out there only to get themselves ahead of others. Some days she felt like Antonin was the only one alive she could trust fully and that was only because his life was so entangled with hers. After he confessed to almost considering taking Umbridge up on her offer, she knew he wasn't keeping anything else from her that she didn't know. There was no reason for him to be so honest otherwise.

"I don't like to talk. Why don't I go ask the Lovegood girl to come sit with you. That one is never lacking for something to say. She cornered me once for over half an hour to tell me everything I never wanted to know about goblins in Siberia and how they're preparing for some sort of rebellion. I honestly haven't the foggiest."

His suggestion made her smile even if it wasn't practical. Somehow through all of the horrors they'd endured since the war ended nine years earlier, Luna was able to remain, well, Luna. Hermione knew it was all a defensive maneuver for the younger witch. Hanging on to who she'd always been gave her a chance to push aside it all. Maybe she was insane as Hermione always half-suspected, but at least she seemed to be coping better than everyone else. No one was still the person they'd once been.

"No, she can't come over. Her Healer put her on very strict bedrest until she delivers. They're concerned she won't make it to her due date next month if she moves around too much."

"And I'm sure Rodolphus is more than happy to wait on her hand and foot."

"Of course he is. He'd kill every single person on this island with his bare hands and teeth if she only asked him."

"She would make a terrifying Dark Lady if she ever desired. I'd be too afraid she'd torture me to death with tales of her Crumple-Horned Snorkack if I didn't bend the knee."

Another snort exploded out of Hermione at the imagery. Antonin wasn't wrong. She certainly never wanted to be on Luna's bad side.

"Let's talk about how we're going to murder Umbridge."

"Again, Hermione? Haven't we discussed this enough already?"

"Never. I won't get sick of talking about it until she's dead and I know you well enough by now to know you agree."

"Fine. All right. How should we do it?"

He might have tried to sound like he was annoyed by the topic of conversation, but she knew he wasn't. Many hours were spent dreaming up all manner of horrific deaths for the wretched witch since the day months earlier they decided they would be partners in the crime. There really wasn't much else to do during the freezing winter months after all.

Neither of them could ever fully agree with the other how it should be done. Antonin possessed much more imagination for pain and cruelty than Hermione. His preferred choice of murder was to draw it out as long as possible to make it as bloody and painful as possible. Hermione usually just wanted to get the killing over with as quickly as they could. That usually began a spirited debate that was almost always friendly.

"You can't possibly mean that, Hermione. If you had the opportunity to really make that cunt suffer, you wouldn't take it?"

"No, I'd be too afraid something might happen and she'd get away or be able to fight back. I'd rather just avada her and be done with it."

"How many people have you killed?"

"Ugh, do we always have to come back to this, Antonin? Sorry I'm not the murder expert you are, but I still believe we should take the opportunity that's given us and make it quick. Not for her benefit, but for ours."

It was something she was certain they would never agree on. Assuming they ever had the chance to murder Umbridge, which seemed ever more unlikely with each passing day, they would probably still argue about it.

"My years of experience give me a little more insight than you have."

"You're the one who told me that every murder was different and you couldn't make broad assumptions."

"We're fantasizing here. Can you at least give me the chance to dream about making her scream for mercy for days?"

"I doubt you've ever really tortured anyone before. At least not for very long. You get frustrated too quickly. You didn't take your time with me in the Department of Mysteries."

"I was on a very important mission. There wasn't time to make you suffer. And trust me when I tell you I've dreamed up many creative ways to maim and torture you since Azkaban. Some days that was the only thing that kept me sane."

She had to laugh even if she knew he was only partially joking. Thanks to their new normal, dark humor was one of the few kinds of humor that made anyone on the island laugh. Maybe it was deranged and they were all already insane, but it worked. Hermione opened her eyes enough that even in the dim light she could see the smile on her partner's face. In moments like those she wondered what he was like before Voldemort consumed him body and soul. Would they have been friends? Could they have been more? She never could quite decide one way or the other, but she knew she would've liked to have met his younger, undamaged self.

"I would've been satisfied in Azkaban if I could've just silenced you like I did that day. Not hearing your taunting voice would've made Azkaban almost pleasant."

Antonin didn't laugh enough. Maybe he'd always been that way even before Voldemort. Whenever she got to hear it when it wasn't mocking or nasty or at her expense, Hermione liked the sound. If the world was different, he might've had the opportunity to laugh more.

"Is your head feeling any better?"

"Yes, thank you. It is a little."

He rose carefully from the bed to not jostle her about. Sometimes she wondered if he was intentional when he was being considerate or if it was a habit he'd acquired since the thawing of the ice between them after Henry was born. Whichever it was certainly wasn't important.

"Good. I'm hungry. Want me to bring you lunch?"

"Please don't mention food to me or I will throw up on your pillow."

He chuckled.

"But you can bring me my potions so you can eat. I'll try not to be sick."


The throbbing pain in Hermione's head lessened each day that passed until it was little more than a dull ache she could easily ignore. Though he would neither confirm nor deny if he quietly spoke to their horrible Healer about her symptoms, she suspected Antonin had. A subtle change in the flavor of her daily potions combined with more manageable pain seemed to prove his interference. Her almost constant nausea, however, didn't improve in the slightest.

Always struggling with nausea when she was pregnant had become familiar to Hermione even if she didn't think it had ever been quite so severe. The joke she made with Antonin days earlier about her possibly being pregnant with twins never left her mind. Could it be true? And if it were, would it be more difficult to give up two at once or would it be a little easier knowing she was even closer to potential freedom? She suspected just like Antonin that the Ministry would never actually release any of the prisoners if they made it to ten healthy children, but hope was the damnedest thing.

"Are you feeling all right, Hermione? You look a bit pale."

Drawn out of her thoughts quite unexpectedly, Hermione had to smile at Penelope's concern. No matter the circumstances, she was first and foremost a Healer. She nibbled at the edge of the bland cracker she'd been hunting for in the cottage's kitchen before answering.

"I'm all right. Just a bit queasy today. Like every other day."

"So am I. Would you like some ginger tea? It's the only thing I've found that seems to work."

A few minutes later both women sat at the small table sipping at their tea and not talking. Living together had been awkward and uncomfortable from the very start. Once it was evident that Penelope was pregnant with Charlie's child, it became even more so. Neither woman ever seemed to know what to say. Hermione almost considered her terrible headaches a blessing because she could at least hide in her bedroom to avoid the other occupants. Her friendship with Charlie had also been affected by their cruel living arrangements.

"If I can be honest, I used to think my patients were being a bit melodramatic when they claimed to be sick all hours of the day. I always assumed it was called "morning sickness" because it only happened in the morning. I almost want to apologize to all my old patients and tell them I now know I was wrong."

Hermione offered her a weak smile. It was a small step in the right direction. Maybe they could get past how uncomfortable it all was to make the best of an unspeakable situation. It felt lonely stuck in the cottage with only Antonin to talk to. She missed how she used to be able to commiserate with Hannah when they were in similar conditions. If she tried really hard, she thought she might be able to be good friends with Penelope. They certainly had enough in common.

"Maybe there are some women who only have it in the morning. Hannah was never nauseous. I used to get so jealous of her."

"I envy her too. I always thought pregnancy was this magical, beautiful experience and even though I didn't expect to enjoy all aspects of it, I though it would be different than it really is."

"Maybe it is a beautiful, magical experience when your baby is conceived in love and you get to keep them when they're born."

It was easy to forget that Penelope hadn't been affected like all of the other women on the island yet. They weren't exactly used to the pain of having their children stolen, as if anyone could ever get used to it, but at least they understood it and could speak openly about their experiences. Penelope covered her face with her hands. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Hermione almost felt badly about upsetting her until she remembered she would feel even worse pain and misery when it actually happened. Best to start learning how to cope with it.

"I'm so scared."

Penelope's whispered confession was one they'd all felt before. Fear was ever-present on the island. It seemed to have seeped into the very soil. No one was immune. No matter how strong or big or nasty they'd been in their former lives, they were all terrified every single second of their current. It was easy for Hermione to push aside the memories of her first year on the island in a desperate attempt to forget it.

"How do you keep going?"

"You just do, Penelope. You just do."

She didn't know what else to tell her. There was no secret formula to survival. Existing on the island sometimes meant that one had to take each moment as it came because looking too far ahead was suffocating. Deciding that the mood of the room was getting too heavy, Hermione felt she needed to do something about it.

"It's not great here, but trust me. It could be a lot worse. Charlie is fit and he's not psychotic. Think about poor Cho. She might claim that Walden isn't as bad as he seems, but I still don't think I'd like to roll over in bed to find him staring back at me."

Nervous laughter bubbled out of the other witch. On her worst days with Antonin, Hermione always had reason to be thankful that he'd been chosen as her partner and not someone else. How uncomfortable to say the least would it have been to be partnered with Arthur Weasley? She didn't know how Angelina stood it. As much as she cared about the man, living with him and being intimate with him disturbed her on levels she couldn't even fully contemplate. The same could be said for either Goyle Sr or Crabbe Sr. Imagining them touching her bare skin made her shiver in a very unpleasant way.

"You're right about that. I wish I could request a change in Healer though. It's so bizarre having to undress and be examined by Richard. Did you know we went out on a date once?"

"Gross. With that man? Why?"

"Oh, you're being too harsh, Hermione. Yes, he's a bit distant and unpleasant when he's working, but I think he does that to protect himself more than anything. I rather liked him when we worked together at St. Mungo's. He can tell the funniest jokes. He invited me out for dinner once, but we both decided it would make working together potentially awkward."

Penelope sighed and rolled her eyes in a dramatic fashion that Hermione found amusing. She could only imagine how much more unbearable the intrusive examinations could be when they were performed by someone that she knew on a personal level before the island. It was strange enough when Penelope was the Healer in charge.

"I suppose I should've considered all of the possible consequences before I agreed to meet with Mr. Krum. I'm not saying I'm sorry I did it, but sometimes…"

"I understand. Sometimes I feel the same way about all of the times I helped Harry. It was the right decision to make, but…"

There was no need to continue down that line of discussion. Both of them knew where it would inevitably lead. Seeing an opportunity to change the subject, Hermione took it.

"How did Viktor look when you saw him?"

"Good. Handsome really."

"No, that's not what I meant."

She had to laugh again but there wasn't much joy behind it. He'd always been attractive and years of Quidditch training kept him in the best shape. That much was always clear when she saw him in the newspaper.

"When you told him what you saw on the island…"

"He was very worried about you. Asked me at least a dozen questions about you and your health and how you were coping. He cares a great deal about you. I'm sure he would be bothered by this program regardless, but having a personal connection has really affected him."

Their conversation was cut short by the abrupt opening of the front door. Despite the heavy clouds promising snow, Charlie never could stay cooped up inside for very long. Seeing the two women seated at the table in the midst of what was clearly a serious discussion caught him by surprise. Rarely were they alone together. Clearing his throat, he made the excuse of needing a hot shower to warm up. He was hidden inside his bedroom before Hermione could say a single word. She didn't miss how he couldn't look her in the eye. It had been a long time since he last could.

Thanking Penelope for the tea, she made her own escape to the privacy of her bedroom. She could feel another headache threatening to bother her again.


A few nights after her unplanned tea with Penelope, Hermione couldn't sleep. As often happened when the world was silent, she found it impossible to turn her thoughts off. She thought about the uncertainty of the future. Every single day she felt her body change even more with the development of her latest pregnancy. Even though she couldn't quite figure out what it was, something felt different. Something felt odd and wrong in her body.

She was too terrified to know the truth to ask the Healer. What if she couldn't continue the program? Azkaban was going to be part of her future again. She knew that without question, but she wanted to wait it out as long as possible. Once she was back inside the prison she had no doubt the torture would continue. Umbridge was tenacious if nothing else. No longer necessary to keep Hermione's body healthy to participate in her foul breeding program, there was no end to the horrors the wretched cunt could inflict. And if she was completely honest, she didn't want Antonin to suffer either. Their lives were entwined whether they wanted it or not.

Fearing that she may disrupt his sleep, she carefully removed herself from their bed. Covering herself with a warm dressing gown, she tiptoed across the room to the door. Antonin's hearing was excellent. She didn't want to wake him and be subjected to another round of his concerned questions.

The fire was burned down to nothing but embers casting little light over the living room. Thankful that her time in the cottage taught her where every single bit of furniture was even in the pitch dark, Hermione found her way easily to the sofa. It was only as she sat down on a pair of feet that she realized she wasn't alone.

Charlie must have not been completely sound asleep when she surprised him. A thick blanket covered him proving that he didn't accidentally fall asleep where she found him. He was startled for half a second before realizing it was just her.

"I suppose if I sit on your feet you can't run away from me again."

It was meant as a joke, but the wizard only sighed. She expected him to make an excuse to leave the room, but to her relief, he only pulled his feet out from underneath her to sit up straight. They hadn't been alone since the day he was brought back to the island. He'd grown even more withdrawn than he had been before he left and that was saying something. If given the chance, she could see him living the rest of his life in seclusion as a recluse.

"What are you doing sleeping out here, Charlie?"

"I sleep out here most nights. It's more comfortable."

There was a world of meaning behind his statement that she didn't fully understand. Nor did she think she wanted to.

"I don't sleep well most nights. It's easier on Penny if I stay out here."

"She doesn't mind?"

"Doesn't seem to."

Hermione didn't know what to say next. There was so much that had been left unspoken between them that she didn't even know where to begin. Instead of being coy, she chose to come right out and admit what she was feeling.

"I miss you, Charlie. I miss our talks."

He sighed again, heavier than the first.

"I miss you too, Hermione."

"Then why are you avoiding me? Why don't you talk to me anymore? What happened in Azkaban?"

"Nothing happened. It was the same miserable place it always was. I was locked up in a cell alone with my thoughts. Everyone around me in the other cells was a complete stranger and none of them wanted to make friends with someone 'from the island'. Like we've all got spattergroit."

His scoff didn't hide the pain in his voice. She knew him too well. Or maybe she didn't know him at all. Sometimes it was hard to tell which was more accurate.

"I haven't wanted to talk to you, Hermione, because of all of the people on this island… in this world perhaps, you're the only one I can be honest with. I've been afraid to tell you the truth."

"The truth about what?"

A long silence stretched out between them. Hermione felt her stomach clench and for once knew it had nothing to do with her pregnancy. Was he going to tell her? What could be so awful that he couldn't talk to her? She had all sorts of terrible scenarios built up inside her head that when he finally admitted the truth, she didn't know what to say.

"Since Azkaban… since they took me off this island, I've been… well, I've been relieved that I'm not with Fleur anymore. I know that's normal, I suppose and nothing to feel guilty about, but I also… part of me is glad that Bill is dead because I'll never have to face him again."

All she could do was wrap her arms around his neck and hold him tight. When Charlie's arms slipped around her back, she could feel the shaking in his entire body as he tried to suppress his sobs. She could understand why he felt the way he did. She certainly could understand why he felt guilty for feeling that way too. He'd been put in one of the most fucked up positions imaginable. As much as she knew he loved his older brother and would mourn him for the rest of his life, it had to have been a small comfort knowing he wouldn't have to figure out how to keep his brother in his life after what he'd been forced to do with his wife.

Several minutes passed. There was no clock in the cottage to keep track. What use had any of the inmates for time? When he felt calmer, Charlie gently pushed her away from his chest. Hermione didn't go far. She sat at his side and leaned her head on his shoulder. It was encouraging when he not only didn't push her away, but placed his arm around her to keep her close.

"Do you think Heaven exists?"

"I don't really know, Charlie. It's a lovely thought certainly, but I'm not sure if…"

A sharp pain tore through her abdomen stopping her in mid-sentence. Groaning loudly and clutching her stomach, she couldn't think about anything beyond the pain. She'd been right that something was wrong. Feeling a trickle of what could only be blood run down her thighs, she froze. Was she about to lose another baby? Could her heart handle that again?

"Hermione, what's wrong?"

She clenched her teeth as another spasm of pain ran through her body. Rising quickly to his feet, Charlie almost knocked her off the sofa in his haste. Once he was sure she was still safely seated, he rushed towards the fireplace. A tiny pinch of the Floo powder they were ordered to use only in a dire emergency was tossed into the flames before she could tell him to stop.

All of the commotion woke up the other two residents. Hermione wasn't sure how she got back in her own bed, but somehow she was there when her annoyed, sleepy Healer walked in wearing his own dressing gown. Everyone was shooed out of the room despite her wishing none of them would leave her alone. She was frightened.

The Healer had surprisingly gentle hands for one who clearly didn't want to be anywhere near his patient. In near silence he cast several diagnostic spells and examined her closely. Cleansing spells were next. She felt a pleasant warmth in her stomach where the blinding pain had been only moments before.

"Everything is all right."

She was surprised to hear him speak at all, but words of comfort and reassurance? At first she thought she only imagined him saying them until he repeated them.

"Is the baby all right?"

"Everything is perfect and going according to plan."

If she'd been surprised by his kind words, she was even more astonished to see the warm smile that crossed his face. Not once in all the weeks and months that he'd been assigned to her care had she seen him appear so human. As he packed up his bag and pulled her blankets over her body to keep her warm, she couldn't stop staring at the unusual expression. Before he left the room, he turned around to offer her another smile she assumed was supposed to be encouraging.

"Be patient a little while longer, Miss Granger. Just a little while longer."