Author's Note: I'm not sure how many chapters exactly this story has left, but there aren't that many. They're all likely to vary a bit in length depending on what's going on in the story. (A writer's most frustrating 'critique' is from readers who don't know what's yet important in the story complaining about a chapter being too full of "filler". ::eyeroll::) Because I don't want to hear this or be accused of it, I'm not going to draw a chapter out just to meet a certain arbitrary word count. Quantity is NOT better than quality.
As always, thank you to you wonderful readers who take the time to share your thoughts and encouragements with me at the end of each chapter. You have no idea how much that is needed to keep on writing! Especially as a story nears the end and it gets harder to write, your kind words are so very appreciated. It helps writers keep on writing when they know their story is still being enjoyed.
Chapter Twenty-One
March 1, 2007
Labor Dispute Continues; Hogwarts to Remain Closed for Foreseeable Future
Despite feeling confident that the ongoing labor dispute with the faculty and staff of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would be resolved swiftly, the Ministry of Magic was disappointed to report yesterday that no suitable agreement could be reached. Stretching now into its fifth week, there appears to be no immediate end in sight. The castle doors remain locked and the classrooms and dormitories remain empty. Not even the Minister for Magic herself could speed along the process.
"I've known Headmistress Minerva McGonagall for many years and have often believed the school governors showed too much faith in her ability to run such a fine institution. As a former Headmistress myself, I know all too well how rigorous and challenging the position can be. Perhaps it is time for the governors to reconsider her fitness for the position. I will be speaking with each of them this week."
The dispute began when concerns were raised by the Hogwarts' staff that student safety could not be guaranteed as well as a disagreement in what Headmistress McGonagall referred to as a "dangerous level of interference" by the Ministry of Magic. Until agreements are reached, students will remain home with their families, a fact that has caused more than a few groans from parents and a few cheers from students.
"I miss playing Quidditch, but I don't miss all of those exams," said fourteen year old Rupert of Hufflepuff House.
Only longtime History of Magic Professor Cuthbert Binns continues his daily lessons, but perhaps that is only because he hasn't seemed yet to notice the absence of all of his students.
As much as Antonin always used to enjoy the simple pleasure of sleep, he found it ever more elusive the longer he was stuck in the program. He used to be able to escape to his dreams quite easily. Even when he was stuck in Azkaban the first time with the dementors he could somehow block out their negative influence when he was asleep. When he was back in that miserable hellhole made only slightly better with with the absence of those foul creatures, he could usually fall asleep fairly quickly. Not as easily as Walden could, of course, but he was sure no one could.
When he was moved to the island and given the sinfully comfortable bed, he almost didn't even mind that he had to share it. Sleep was easy as long as Hermione wasn't in the mood to chatter away. Rarely in his life since his protected young childhood had he been so at peace asleep in that bed. After years of Azkaban, it was paradise.
But something was different in his world that he couldn't explain. Nor did he know when exactly it started. Maybe it was after Hermione delivered their third stolen baby or it might've been after Penelope moved into the bedroom next door. Sometimes he thought it might have only begun after Hermione suspected she was pregnant again. No matter when the subtle shift to his environment began, it continued to interrupt his much-loved sleep.
Weeks after the frightening night when he was jarred awake and immediately put in the midst of paralyzing fear that Hermione was in the middle of another miscarriage, he still found himself waking up multiple times a night just to be sure all was still well. Even when he could see with his own eyes that Hermione was still asleep and in no apparent distress, he felt restless.
Antonin had always had a suspicious mind. At a young age he didn't trust his younger brothers or the many cousins he spent his holidays with. His mother seemed to find it amusing, something he'd inherited from his enigmatic father no doubt. Maybe his little brothers would've been the same if they'd shared his bloodline, but his mother's numerous affairs were hardly a well-kept secret. One only had to look at each of her four sons to determine they didn't have the same father. Only one might have been his father's too. No one could trust it though because his brother Alexandre was born almost nine months to the day after his father's equally mysterious brother paid their family a visit and appeared to charm his mother more than was seemly.
Trusting others was something he'd struggled with his entire life. There always seemed to be some reason he couldn't. It was a habit that was difficult, if not impossible to break. Was it any wonder he could never fully relax?
Someone shifted on the bed in the room next door. The single squeak of the mattress was easily heard in the silence of the middle of the night. Antonin was glad it wasn't more than that. Knowing what was happening behind that closed door was difficult enough, but hearing it was infinitely worse. He wasn't sure if he was more tortured by their new housemates or if Hermione was. Neither of them really got away unscathed.
Perhaps it was cowardly and weak, but he tried to avoid Penelope whenever possible. It was far too difficult to be around her. When she was the pretty Healer who was quick to offer him a genuine smile and treat him like he was a real person instead of just breeding stock, he'd been enchanted. She represented freedom and a good life outside of the fear and pain of the island. She was a fantasy he could dream of in his most discouraging and depressed moments. Once she was brought to the island reality tarnished the fantasy.
No one would ever be able to convince him that he wasn't the reason she'd been arrested. Somehow it was made clear to Umbridge that he cared for Penelope in a way that was inappropriate for their relationship as inmate and Healer assigned to his care. He wasn't sure how. Umbridge claimed she had spies everywhere, but he didn't have a single clue who they might be. The house-elves assigned to their cottages were the only possibility he wanted to consider. More than once he'd trusted his life to Thorfinn and finding out that Hannah wasn't as good and loyal as he thought the best sort of Hufflepuff should be would upset him too. If any other couple lived in the room next to theirs, he might've been suspicious. Not them.
House-elves made sense. They were bound to do as their master bid and the mark of a truly good one was they were hardly ever seen. They've could've been reporting back to the Minister everything that was said in the cottage, every time he spoke privately with Penelope, every touch of his hand that wasn't medically necessary. If he was the Minister, house-elves would've been the ones that he utilized for such a dishonorable task.
He wished he could go back in time. If he could, he would've discouraged every single kind word Penelope said to him. He would've remained surly and obstinate. Maybe he would've even tried to frighten her so much that she would've requested to be moved to another cottage. It wasn't difficult. He'd been repelling people his entire life. She might have gone on to get too involved with the inmates of the island and been arrested anyway, but at least he wouldn't have it on his conscience. At least then he could sleep more than a couple of hours at a time.
Closing his eyes and attempting to slow his breathing to the point where he could drift off didn't help. Frustrated, he turned over on his other side to see if perhaps he just needed a more comfortable position for his body. That also didn't help. All it did was give him a good look at the woman next to him. As Hermione breathed in and out blissfully unaware that he was restless again, he couldn't keep himself from raking over her body with his eyes.
Something was off about her. He didn't know how he knew. She didn't look right. Even as he just thought the words he felt like a fool. There was a reason he'd yet to say any of his concerns out loud. He knew how he sounded. Her belly was starting to expand, but he couldn't deny the feeling that something was very wrong. Several times, both when she was awake and asleep, he'd placed his hand on the bump where their child was growing and felt… nothing. He was afraid to consider the possibility that their baby was in its mother's womb and yet no longer there.
Years before he was arrested for the murder of the damned obnoxious Prewett twins, he'd been in love with the woman he was certain he was going to marry. Theirs had been something of an unexpected relationship. Seeing her first as something of an annoyance while they were at Hogwarts together, he certainly never dreamed he'd fall for her. Slightly younger than him, if he paid her any attention at school whatsoever it was usually to tell her to leave him alone so he could get his studying done.
A couple of years after he left Hogwarts, he quite literally bumped into her again in the Leaky Cauldron carrying two large pints in his hands. It had been a rough day at work and both glasses were for him. The butterbeer soaked the front of her robes leaving very little to the imagination what he'd find underneath. Embarrassed, but also slightly intrigued by the petite witch with the ready smile, it took him a minute to recognize her. When he finally did, he felt even more mortified. She only gently grasped his arm and told him all would be forgiven if he bought the next round. She also made him promise she would get to drink it, not wear it. Soon he'd forgotten why he'd been embarrassed to begin with.
One round led to a second and then a third and then Tom the proprietor was kicking them out because it was closing time. Intoxicated more by their conversation than anything else, Antonin didn't want to say goodnight. She simply laughed, kissed his cheek, and promised him he would see her again. He wouldn't let her Apparate home until he'd extracted a promise from her to meet there again the next evening. As he lay in bed that night thinking about her and all they'd talked and laughed about, he berated himself for never looking at her twice in Hogwarts.
Theirs was a whirlwind romance that surprised everyone, especially themselves. Love rarely made any sort of logical sense, but Antonin certainly didn't care. When his younger brother told him that he needed to stop thinking too much with his head lest he ruin a good thing, he'd actually listened. No one else mattered. While it lasted, he never knew it was possible for one person to be so happy. More than any other, the dementors pulled memories of her out of his battered mind to twist them into something unrecognizable just to torture him further. One of his greatest sorrows was how it all ended and how the woman he once loved morphed into someone he didn't recognize. How much of it was because of him? How much was it because of the tragic loss of their future they'd spent countless hours dreaming of?
It was an accident when she got pregnant. Too much elf-made wine one night and they were both careless. When she came to his flat with tears in her eyes, he'd been shocked. They were both so young and not ready for the responsibility of suddenly becoming a family. Despite his fears, he kissed her breath away and asked her to marry him. She only laughed as she'd done the night of their first accidental date and kissed him back.
Antonin hadn't allowed his mind to travel back in time that far on purpose for many years. There was still pain there, especially when he remembered how their dreams shattered overnight. They'd been laying in his bed playfully arguing about their wedding. He wanted her to have her dream wedding, the one he was certain she'd been planning since she was a little girl. She was afraid she'd be too fat if they waited much longer and wanted to elope.
Her belly was only just beginning to show the signs of a baby growing inside. Antonin couldn't get enough of touching the tiny bump. The first time he dared to try, he was startled to discover he could sense the new life they'd created. The magic of their child was undeniable. Every chance he had he placed his palm against her bare skin to reassure himself that all was well. It never ceased to make him smile when he sensed the flicker of magic within.
Until the night he felt it one moment and then in the next it disappeared completely. She'd been naming off places they could floo for a private wedding and the promise of an enjoyable honeymoon. Her condition meant portkeys were out of the question and Apparition made her unbearably ill. She didn't want to spend her wedding day throwing up. One second Antonin felt their baby's magic and the next… nothing.
The Healer at St. Mungo's had been very sympathetic to the devastated young couple. He explained that sometimes a baby's heartbeat simply stopped and there was nothing that could be done. There was no reason to believe a healthy couple like them couldn't try again. If they desired, there could be other children, other chances at the life they'd dreamed of.
Everything changed the moment they left St. Mungo's. Heartbroken, she didn't handle her grief well. Neither did Antonin. She tried to escape through her work. He got involved with a dangerous organization that ultimately ruined his life. They didn't last long after that horrible night. She became unrecognizable. So did he, he supposed. Each time their paths had crossed since, he found it more difficult to remember the girl he'd been in love with. Perhaps she died right along with their baby. Maybe he did too.
Because of that night and the pain he always felt when he thought about it, Antonin didn't want to consider his and Hermione's child might be dead. He knew he should bring his concerns up to their Healer, but he was scared. Could his heart endure that all over again? Despite knowing it would offer him no comfort, he reached across the narrow bed to press his hand against Hermione's belly. All he felt was the rise and fall of her stomach as she inhaled and exhaled in her sleep. When he tried to sense the baby's magic, he felt… nothing.
He pulled his hand away to keep from accidentally waking Hermione up. Between the painful headaches and the almost constant nausea, she'd had a difficult pregnancy. Sleep was sometimes hard for her. He didn't want to interrupt what she was able to find. Nor did he want to explain his concerns.
Rolling back over onto his other side to look at the wall next to the bed, he tried to push away the echoes of the past to find his own rest. At some point, he eventually fell back asleep.
The sun was fully up and the bed next to him was empty when Antonin opened his eyes again. Rare was it when he managed to sleep later than Hermione. He'd always been an early riser. Years of sharing a cottage with Thorfinn only made it worse. If he dared to sleep in a minute past breakfast, the obnoxious blond was apt to pound on the door to make him come outside to drink his potions. He hated to admit that the Ministry had been quite clever in their meal requirements to keep its inmates in line with the necessary potions in the program.
Once he realized that he was likely holding up the morning meal for everyone else and the new housemates were simply too polite to barge in on him asleep, he dressed quickly. He didn't even bother with the bathroom. As soon as he swallowed his potions, he'd finish his morning routine while the others ate their breakfast. It would at least give him an acceptable reason to avoid sitting at the same table with Penelope again. He'd been getting quite clever with his excuses.
"I didn't mean to oversleep. Very sorry. You could've woken me up."
As soon as the words came out of his mouth seconds after he left the bedroom, Antonin was surprised to see the other three inhabitants seated around an empty table. Nothing had been delivered. That was very unusual. Meals were always on time. Even in Azkaban they'd received their moldy ration of bread at the same time every day.
"None of the elves have delivered breakfast yet."
Hermione shrugged her shoulders as she spoke, but she couldn't hide the concern she felt. It was written all over her face. Their lives had become such a regimented series of events every single day that the slightest deviation was cause for alarm. He tried to remember if there was ever a day since they'd been brought to the island that their meals weren't there when they were supposed to be. He couldn't recall a single instance.
"The elves work so hard for us. Maybe they're just running a little late."
Antonin felt the corner of his lips threaten to curl into a smile. Somehow he doubted Hermione would ever give up on her desire to free the house-elves from their unjust servitude. Usually it made him laugh when she got started in one of her rants about the rights they deserved. She could be so frightfully naïve about how their world worked at times. Surely there were better crusades to focus her limited energy on, but he supposed they all had to have something to keep their minds occupied.
"Have the elves ever been late? I know I haven't been here that long, but I don't remember it happening."
"No, Penny. They haven't. It's weird. Right, Dolohov?"
He nodded at Weasley's question. Not a single watch or clock existed on the island, but even without them the inmates all knew when to expect to be fed. For some of them, especially after what felt like a lifetime in Azkaban, mealtimes were their favorite times of day.
"I'm sure Hermione is right. The elves are just behind schedule this morning. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about."
Weasley caught Antonin's eye. A silent conversation passed between them with just a glance. Both men were worried, but didn't want to upset their pregnant partners. They would each keep up a positive demeanor for their sakes.
"I agree with Dolohov. Breakfast will be here before we know it."
Except it wasn't. The longer the morning drew on without any hint of a meal, the more Antonin worried. Though he'd gotten used to three meals a day, he knew none of them were in any danger of starving yet. If too many days passed without any acknowledgment of their existence, that could become an entirely different story. At least they could remain confident that their fresh water supply was still adequate and available.
None of the inhabitants wanted to leave the cottage lest they miss the expected delivery. More to convince themselves that everything was all right than they were actually suffering from hunger, all four remained inside. Few words were spoken however. Each of them kept their mind occupied with some of the activities they were provided to while away the cold, winter months. In four years, they'd never experienced a delay. Coupled with the constant concerns he had about Hermione's pregnancy, Antonin feared he was in danger of losing his mind. Was this simply another torture that Umbridge was subjecting them to because she was bored? He knew he'd never understand the bitch.
By midday when breakfast and lunchtime had come and gone, Antonin couldn't sit still in the cottage a moment longer. He excused himself with as few words as possible to head outside. It was a chilly day, but thankfully it wasn't storming. Dark clouds in the distance promised an eventful night ahead.
Others weren't outside. It didn't take long to discover that none of the cottages on the island received their usual meals. Something was up. Everyone had their own theory as to what was happening. Only a couple of them made the least bit of sense. Regardless of the truth, he could tell that most of the island's inmates were nervous. He saw Weasley standing outside their cottage from across the grassy square in the middle of the village. Knowing he was waiting for him to return to get an idea of what everyone else was saying, Antonin continued his walk back towards his cottage.
Halfway home, the front door of one of the other cottages swung open. At full capacity the island could only house sixty-four poor souls. It hadn't taken any of them long to know which couples lived in each of the sixteen cottages. When Antonin saw the figure of Alecto Carrow step in front of him, he groaned. He wasn't in the mood. Not with his nerves on edge. She'd always had such bloody terrible timing.
"Do you know what's happening, Antonin?"
She didn't seem like her usual self. Fear pulsed off of her in easily discernible waves. Gone was the overly confident woman she'd been when the wars were still raging. Her face was lined with more worry lines than he remembered. Even her skin had a deathlike pallor. Life on the island hadn't been good for her. Tempted to tell her to ask someone else, he took pity on the woman. Kicking her when she was down was wrong. She didn't look like she had much time left. The program would be taking another sacrifice soon it seemed.
"No, I'm sorry. I don't. No one does. Maybe we'll find out something soon."
"Thank you. We've been worried."
"We all…"
In the midst of his uncharacteristic attempt to reassure her, Alecto stumbled. She didn't seem to even possess enough strength to stand up. Antonin caught her before she could fall to the ground. He was surprised to find she weighed almost nothing.
"Alecto, do you need a Healer? I can have Weasley…"
"No, no, I'm all right. Just a little dizzy. Even without any food in my stomach, I couldn't seem to stop being sick this morning. I should've stayed in bed, but I was curious."
"Are you sure you're all right? You don't look…"
"I'm fine. Just pregnant again, I'm afraid. And with my history…"
She cleared her throat, embarrassed that she'd been so blunt. With her cheeks flushed red, she almost looked like herself again. Or at least who'd she'd been years before they were all damned to their pitiful existence. Antonin was saved from having to say anything in response to her awkward confession by the door opening again.
"Allie, are you okay?"
Ron Weasley took charge of the situation. He helped his partner back inside their cottage with a great deal of care and concern. Relieved that he was free to move along, Antonin picked up his pace to make it back to his cottage before anyone else could interrupt him. Charlie continued to wait for his return. Before he stepped back inside the cottage, Antonin told him everything that he'd heard from the other inhabitants. They promised each other again that they wouldn't do or say anything to worry their women unnecessarily.
No information was given to any of them all day. Not a single house-elf appeared anywhere on the island either. Just as the sky started to grow dark and the wind picked up with the beginning of the promised storm, a knock on the front door of their cottage startled everyone. Somehow they could all recognize that it wasn't the soft knock of a fellow prisoner.
Antonin rushed to the door to pull it open before anyone else could. Expecting their dinner and some sort of explanation, he found their Healer and two aurors on the other side instead. None of the three wizards from the mainland answered any of their questions.
"Dolohov, Weasley, outside."
There was no opportunity for either of the men to argue before their arms were roughly grabbed by the aurors. It wasn't necessarily odd for aurors to accompany the Healers on their island rounds, but something was undeniably off about their unexpected visit. Antonin could feel in the pit of his stomach that what was happening wasn't right. Just as he'd thought for days, something was wrong.
All of the men of the island were gathered in the grassy square in the middle of the village. No one would explain what was happening. Why hadn't they been fed that day? What were the Healers doing with their witches? Usually they were asked to leave during routine examinations and during the births, but this was something else entirely. None of the aurors would answer a single question. If a wizard tried to leave the gathered crowd to go back to his cottage, he was forcibly returned.
Each second that ticked away only increased Antonin's fear. This had never happened to them before. Never were they separated from the witches for so long. Perhaps half an hour after the knock at their front doors, the wizards were allowed to return to their cottages. Charlie and Antonin practically fought each other for the right to enter first. Weasley's youth gave him the advantage.
"Dolohov…"
He recognized the trepidation in the younger wizard's voice right away. Inside their home there was no sign of either Hermione or Penelope. A quick search of the entire house proved their worst fears true. The women were gone.
