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Chapter Twenty-Five
April 27, 2007
Future of Some Participants of Umbridge's Azkaban Breeding Program Uncertain
The entire world sighed a collective breath of relief days ago when it was reported that the unfortunate forced participants of former Minister for Magic Dolores Umbridge's controversial and much-maligned Azkaban Breeding Program were rescued from their private island prison. It has long been a popular, though quiet, opinion that what was happening on that island was ghastly and should never have been allowed. Now that the inmates were removed the question of what to do with them next has yet to be decided. For the present, they are being held at a secure, undisclosed location outside of the country.
Formal debates within the Wizengamot are scheduled to begin this morning. Though there has yet to be an official announcement, sources are claiming that all members of the student organization known as Dumbledore's Army and the adult witches and wizards allied with them to fight against He Who Must Not Be Named will be offered full pardons. The fate of the other combatants, those who were marked by You Know Who as a Death Eater, will be discussed and decided upon.
"This is a subject if some delicacy. While most of You Know Who's followers deserve to be locked up in Azkaban until they are dead, there are some of us who believe those who were forced to participate in Dolores Umbridge's shameful breeding program should be compensated in some way. Whether that is by commuting sentences, pardons, or permanent exile is still undecided," said one esteemed member of the Wizengamot who spoke under condition of anonymity.
"Throw them all back into Azkaban and let them rot," said another, also under the same condition.
As more information is made public…
When Antonin asked Viktor Krum to let him know what he could about Umbridge's location that morning when they saw each other in the corridor, he didn't expect to learn something so quickly. He assumed days or weeks might pass before he spoke to the international Quidditch star again. Nor did he expect he would be allowed to join in the mission to capture the horrid cow.
He had to smile when he thought about how determined Hermione was to get them both included. Krum was no match for her when she was insistent. The look in the younger wizard's eyes, part admiration and part fear, was one he knew all too well. He thought he should warn Weasley to keep a close eye on his new witch. There was another who would be more than willing to take his place next to Hermione given the opportunity.
Love made fools of them all. In the end, Krum was powerless to deny her wishes. He took them both with him downstairs to a conference room on the ground floor where Minister Levski was waiting with a group of others he trusted. Levski was harder to convince. Antonin's theory that they were still prisoners even inside the hospital in Bulgaria was confirmed. Though he was careful and diplomatic with his choice of words, Levski didn't hide the fact that off the island or not, they weren't free to go as they pleased.
Neville Longbottom once told him about a time in their fourth year when Hermione had been so forthright in her campaign to free the house-elves that he gave her two sickles just to leave him alone. They'd both gotten a laugh out of that. Antonin didn't doubt she could be quite formidable when she was passionate. He'd seen glimpses of the the spirited girl she used to be from time to time.
Levski finally agreed to allow them to accompany the group under several conditions. They would remain together at all times and be the sole responsibility of Krum. Neither of them would be given access to a wand. They would both remain silent and not interfere in any way. When it seemed that Hermione was about to argue with those guidelines and potentially ruin their chance to go at all, Antonin pinched her side. One silent glare at Antonin later, she was agreeable.
"Where are we going, Viktor?"
"Our contact found where Umbridge's father used to live. It looked from the outside that someone has been there recently."
They were looking in the wrong place. Antonin bit the inside of his cheeks to keep from blurting out how wrong they all were. If he or Hermione were too argumentative or difficult before they even left the hospital, he knew they would get left behind. But he knew just as he knew the sky was blue that Umbridge would never hide in her father's old home. Not even if that was the last place on Earth. She hated her father. Or rather she hated what he represented and how unsuccessful and unambitious he always was. She hadn't always felt that way. There was a time in her life that she loved her father very much. It was only after she started working at the Ministry of Magic just out of Hogwarts that she learned to be embarrassed by a man who did hard work for little respect. The other junior officials she wanted to impress teased her about her father mopping floors in the Ministry's London office. From then on, she wanted nothing to do with him.
"Antonin, are you even listening?"
He nodded his head, a complete lie. His mind had been somewhere else entirely. Satisfied that he seemed to be paying attention again, Hermione turned back to Viktor to allow him to continue describing what was going to happen next. It seemed that they would meet with a group of trusted aurors and members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement who weren't Umbridge sycophants just outside the house where Umbridge was believed to be hiding. Portkeys would take them there. Upon arrival, Hermione and Antonin were to stand outside while the others investigated inside. The fact that it all seemed very simple was exactly the reason why Antonin didn't trust it would work.
No one would be willing to listen to his theories even if he dared to tell anyone. Despite his participation in the abhorrent program so many countries used as an excuse to punish the British Ministry of Magic, he was still a notorious criminal and murderer. Perhaps if he was one of the members of the Order of the Phoenix he would've been treated more kindly. Instead he was subject to harsh glares and sideways glances proving no one trusted him. It wasn't as if he could really blame them. He'd done enough to earn their distrust.
The second international portkey in less than twenty-four hours was a bit harder than the first. All of his self-control was required to keep from throwing up upon arrival back on the land of his native country. That was all he needed. Showing weakness in front of enemies was never a good idea and no matter what they claimed, every person searching for Umbridge was his enemy. Except for Hermione. For the rest of their lives, they would be allies of a sort. They might not like each other at all times, but their connection was more important than their feelings.
"You two please stay right here."
"We will, Viktor. I promise."
Once Krum was satisfied that his two charges wouldn't stray from the tiny patch of grass they were restricted to, he moved away to join the rest of the group that was already standing in front of Orford Umbridge's crumbling old home. Antonin wasn't sure if the old man was still alive. Based on the unkempt appearance of his house, it didn't appear so. The blue paint was chipped. At least one window was broken. A quick glance at the roof showed years of damage. Whatever they might find inside during their inspection, he highly doubted it would be a fugitive living there. Maybe some of the local wildlife was responsible for pushing the door open or creating the tracks that made it appear as if there had recently been a visitor.
"This is all a waste of time."
"What did you say?"
He sighed, frustrated with himself for not keeping his thoughts inside. Too much time around the young witch gave him a number of poor habits. She could ramble on at length about anything that was on her mind. Used to being a bit more circumspect, he'd allowed her to influence him into revealing more than he should. He still couldn't believe he'd told her about his ex-fiancée and their lost baby. That was something he never talked about with anyone for very good reason.
"Umbridge isn't here. This is all a waste of time."
"How can you be sure?"
"She wouldn't come back to her father's house. Besides hating the man, it's too obvious. Eventually someone would think to look here. As infuriating as she is, she's not stupid. She's never been stupid."
Clearing his throat, he tried to to get Hermione's attention back on what was happening in front of the house. He didn't like the way she stared at him with that bemused expression. Too much of her time over the past almost ten years was spent trying to understand him. He'd always been a puzzle she couldn't quite solve.
"Where would you look for her instead? Do you know if she has any other family?"
"Her career was her life. There wasn't room for anyone else. If she's not hiding in some dark corner of the Ministry that no one has thought to look in, I don't know."
"That's not exactly surprising. Who would ever want to be friends or… ugh, lovers with her?"
"Everyone was young once. Even monsters and wretched cunts."
He almost laughed at her statement. Sometimes it was easy to forget how young she really was. Trauma, especially at a young age, often emotionally stunted a person at the age they experienced the trauma if it wasn't dealt with properly. She might've have been the most mature eighteen year old that ever existed in the history of the Earth, but she was still only eighteen when she fought for her life in the Battle for Hogwarts, watched her best friend die at the hands of the Dark Lord, and within hours been thrown into a dank cell in Azkaban for the rest of her natural life. If that wasn't considered traumatic, he wasn't sure what was. And then to add in the trauma just a few years later of the island and the theft of her children, even if she'd somehow been able to fully recover from the first trauma stuck in an Azkaban cell, which he doubted anyone could, she was in danger of never fully maturing past those blighted years. They were all damaged, damned. Possibly permanently. Somehow he didn't think the Ministry would provide any of them with adequate and effective mental Healing. Certainly not the old Death Eaters at any rate.
But he found it amusing, despite the odd surroundings they found themselves in that Hermione would struggle to find any sort of humanity in a woman she hated. The idealistic witch who fought for equal rights and freedom for the house-elves couldn't look past her own anger to see that Dolores Umbridge was just another flawed human being like they were who was perhaps just as emotionally stunted as they were because of some past trauma in her own life. He hated Umbridge. Loathed her with every breath in his lungs, but he could still see her as a broken person who was just as miserable and unhappy as the rest of them. Even seeing her that way and feeling some sympathy for the witch she could've been if fate dealt her a better hand, he still would take great pleasure in ending her life. Maybe she'd even consider it some sort of kindness.
"I can't imagine she would've been any less foul or loathsome when she was young. Did you know her?"
"Yes."
"What was she like? I hardly believe young Antonin would've desired young Dolores."
Her dramatic grimace forced a laugh out of him that he didn't expect. She could be quite funny when she didn't mean to be, but her deliberate efforts to tell a joke usually fell flat.
"She was a couple of years behind me, but our paths crossed sometimes. She was certainly never what you might consider "classically" or "conventionally" beautiful, but she wasn't some sort of sideshow grotesque either." He had to laugh again. From the instant he woke up that morning he'd been in a funny mood. "I wouldn't have even called her ugly. Plain, but not ugly."
"When did she start looking like a toad?"
Antonin had to cover his mouth with his hand to keep from bursting into what he feared might be hysterical laughter. He'd never heard Umbridge described in such a descriptive way, but once he considered her words, he couldn't argue with them. Especially not with her tendency to wear too much green to remind everyone around her that she was a Slytherin.
"Sometime after I knew her. Maybe when I was in Azkaban the first time just after the Dark Lord killed the Potters. Likely she worked too much and didn't care about her appearance. Who needs a wizard when you have a satisfying career mucking about with other people's lives and a house full of cats to warm your bed?"
If he lived to be almost two hundred years old like his great-grandfather Fawley, he still would never be able to find it in his heart to forgive Umbridge for the chaos and pain she'd inflicted upon his life. Even if he took away the reminder that she stole his first child, he was still determined that she would spend the last few seconds of her miserable existence in agony screaming for mercy. He didn't care how often Hermione told him it would be best for them to kill her as quickly as possible to get it over with with fewer complications, he was going to take his time. Hermione was young, unspoiled by the visceral act of taking another person's life. Quick deaths were mercies given only by the unskilled and unbloodied.
Antonin wasn't sure how he was going to get his opportunity to murder the former Minister. Details didn't matter. All he knew was he was going to do whatever was necessary to make it happen. The cunt's fate was sealed many years earlier. She would be dead at his hands. His determination was sometimes the only reason he was able to open his eyes up in the morning. Imagining her murder gave him the necessary strength to keep on living when it was easier to not.
"What's taking them so long? This house doesn't look very big."
Impatience was another one of Hermione's least productive traits. He couldn't fault her for it entirely. Most Gryffindors were the same. Always seeking action and frustrated when it wasn't readily available. It was hardly any wonder why the dead in wars were most often from that House. Antonin let out a quiet chuckle. The witch still had a lot to learn.
"There's no one in there. That's why they're taking so long. They're searching every corner, looking for any possible enchantment hiding a secret room. They won't find any. What would a floor mopper with the Department of Magical Maintenance need secret rooms for?"
He rolled his eyes. Would he never be rid of that horrible habit? His life was forever influenced by the witch and her childish traits. Could she not have forced some of her more positive ones to rub off on him instead?
"Where do you think she is then? Seeing as how you're so knowledgeable."
Forgetting his annoyance for the moment, he laughed again. Hermione was having a strange effect on him that day. Everything was. He supposed he could probably blame all of the potions he was ordered to take the night before and the ones he felt certain were slipped into his food when he refused more that morning. Wasting more time sleeping when there was such uncertainty about his coming days was hardly an attractive prospect.
"I don't know. Not here, that's for certain. Maybe she's left the country entirely. If she was smart, she would've tried. Or she's hiding somewhere she thinks no one would ever think to look for in. It's not common knowledge, but she has a Muggle mother and a Squib brother. Her mother is surely dead by now, but if she were desperate enough, she might have tried to find her brother."
"I can't really see that odious woman seeking out refuge with Muggles."
"No, but I don't think she has enough friends who would help her."
A thought tickled the back of his mind. Dolores Umbridge was a cockroach personified. If light was shone on her, she'd scatter back into the shadows. She would look for dirty, disgusting places to hide. Most likely even abandoned. At least until she felt confident enough that the light was shining in a different direction long enough for her to scuttle back out.
Viktor Krum emerged from the rundown house with a scowl on his face and cobwebs in his hair. His charges didn't even need to be told that their search was unsuccessful.
"There is nothing inside that tells us anyone was ever here. The tip might have come from someone who was still loyal to the Minister. While we were wasting our time here…"
Instinct could be more powerful than careful deliberations and thoughtful analysis. While the wizard's attention was focused on Hermione and his frustration , Antonin took a chance. Any self-respecting boxer wouldn't lower himself to attack an unwary opponent with a rabbit punch, but he was neither. Whatever it took in the short period of time they were allowed before the others came outside to join them was what he would do. Ignoring Hermione's scream and demands to explain why he would punch Viktor in the back of the head, he grabbed the unconscious man's wand. They only had seconds. Her scream gave them even less.
Antonin grabbed the woman's arm with a tight grip, uncaring if it would leave a bruise. There would be time later to apologize and explain. Though it had been many years since he'd Apparated on his own, he discovered it to be second-nature. With his destination in mind, he carried them hundreds of kilometers away to the North York Moors. The instant that their feet hit the ground again, Hermione ripped her arm out his grasp. An unexpected punch straight to his stomach was his reward.
"What the… bloody hell… was… that for?"
He punctuated his words with deep breaths in his attempt not to vomit up his breakfast. It was hardly the first time Hermione had ever struck him, but in the past, he'd at least been expecting it. Instead of answering, she moved to kick him in a part of his body that would ensure he threw up. Thankfully for his bollocks, he was able to block it.
"You attacked Viktor! He was helping us."
"And I'll be glad to tell him how sorry I am when I see him again."
One harsh glare was all it took to keep Hermione was hitting or kicking him once more. They might have learned how to live with each other, but there never stopped being a tiny bit of fear of him on her part. If he had to, he was more than willing to use that to his advantage for the immediate future. At least until everything was finally settled.
Instead of being physically aggressive, the witch huffed loudly. She crossed her arms in front of her body and began to take a look at their new surroundings. A chill trembled through her. The weather wasn't terribly cool that time of year, but he suspected it had more to do than with the temperature.
"Where are we? Why did you bring us here?"
"Call it a… hunch. Stick close to me. There's only one wand between us."
"I'd feel more comfortable if you gave it to me."
"And I'd feel more comfortable holding on to it myself."
Hermione could pry Krum's wand out of his cold, dead hands. There was no other way he would give it up. Feeling magic again, being able to cast a spell was headier than any alcohol he'd ever tasted. He was no fool. There was always a very distinct possibility that the Death Eaters would end up back in Azkaban when the program was over, one way or another. They'd proven they couldn't be trusted, especially the ones like him who had already been sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban long before their Dark Lord was raised from the metaphorical dead in the Muggle graveyard his father was buried. Antonin should've been stuck inside Azkaban for the past twenty-five years. It was what he deserved for the crimes of his youth. If that day was to be his last chance to taste a little bit of freedom, he would savor every second.
To his relief, she didn't demand to be given the wand again. He really didn't want to waste any more time. There was no way to tell how long they had. If the idiots in charge of them at the Bulgarian hospital were smart, they would've placed tracking charms secretly on both of them before they were ever allowed to touch a portkey. If he could remember the incantation to check for one, he would've gladly done it at once, but it had been too long. Some bits of magic came naturally without thought. Others were more complicated and needed a bit more skill and memory retention. He hated to admit that his years in Azkaban under the constant mental torment of the dementors meant his brain wasn't nearly as sharp as it once was.
They would just simply have to make the most of the time they were given. Allowing his instincts to remain in charge of his movements, Antonin headed west. He didn't have to look over his shoulder to know that Hermione was following him closely. She would never want to be left out of anything. After walking just a couple hundred meters, he felt the energy in the air. Washing over their bodies, it felt like static electricity right before a dangerous lightning storm. She was unnerved. He could only smile.
A few meters further, he reached for Hermione's hand without speaking. She didn't pull away. If they were going forward, they would do so together. A soft gasp of surprise came out of her mouth seconds later when they crossed the invisible barrier he knew would be there. It was a feeling that was difficult enough to prepare oneself for when they were expecting it. He allowed himself a smile. Maybe he should have warned her.
"What is this place, Antonin?"
He was glad she asked her question in a whisper that couldn't have been heard by anyone other than him. Sometimes sound could carry further on the wind than intended.
"I have a theory. Please don't ask me any more questions right now. I need to concentrate. I need to remember."
Setting up and tearing down wards had always been a particular specialty of his. For whatever reason, that sort of magic came more naturally to him than most. Once he began coating the immediate area in protective and others that would certainly get him in trouble with the Ministry of Magic as if he wasn't already, they came more easily. First just the drip, drip, drip from a leaky tap and then the torrent from a rapidly moving river. His heart rate increased and his breath was short, but he'd never felt more alive.
A rundown, abandoned house sat in the middle of a circle of untouched woodland. Weeds and wildflowers grew tall. Birds nested happily in the branches. Part of him was surprised to find the house still standing. How many years had it been empty? Too many. The roof needed desperate patching in multiple places. At least two or three windows should be replaced. The paint was faded and chipping. It was small, but given the right amount of loving attention, it could be home for someone. Maybe even a small family.
"Homenum revelio."
Confirmation came at once. They weren't alone. There was a person inside that house. Just one, however. He pushed away the concern that they were actually looking for two. That was a problem they could deal with when the first one was done.
"Antonin…"
He placed his finger over his lips to quiet any further speech. She understood at once how serious it was to save her questions. If he was correct, it would only be another moment before their presence was known to the cockroach hiding inside. He had to be quick. There was only one chance to get it right.
The sound of the shatter of a glass windowpane gave him the extra moment he needed. If that cunt had been inside one of the rooms with a broken window, the green flash of her curse would've hit one of them. Antonin pushed Hermione as hard as he could to the ground and rolled away in the other direction. The avada was only millimeters from hitting its mark. With the smile of cheated death back on his face for the first time since the war, he cast his own spell.
"Expelliarmus!"
Cries of dismay accompanied the unusually short wand flying out of the window. He caught it in one hand. Winking at Hermione over his shoulder, he tossed the wand to his partner. It landed at her feet. Her mouth was still open in shock and fear. Quickly understanding the graveness of their situation, she grabbed the wand and scrambled to her feet.
"How did you know, Antonin?"
He wasn't ready to reveal all of his secrets. Not yet. Maybe never. There would be time when it was all over to decide. First, however, they had to make sure that it would be over. Doubting that their prey was the sort to think far enough ahead to make certain she had a second wand in reserve in case she lost her first, he knew she would be searching for anything to use as a weapon. The more time they gave her, the more likely she was able to find something. They had to move swiftly to secure her.
"Watch this door. If she tries to come out of it, stun her."
Hermione nodded. For once she didn't bother arguing with him or demanding to know more. It was a small favor, something that would make what was about to happen next that much easier. Still feeling remarkably alive and no longer short of breath, Antonin ran as fast as his feet would take him to the back of the house. He doubted she could squeeze her way through any of the smaller windows, but there was a door that led to an overgrown and neglected garden she could try to make an escape out of.
As if reading his mind, the very moment he turned to the back of the house, he was almost run over by a squat witch trying her hardest to run. Yes, too many years spent working long hours at the Ministry had taken their toll on her petite frame. She was physically no match for the wizard who'd spent years pacing an island with very little else to do. He grabbed Umbridge by the collar of her robes.
"Unhand me at once!"
"Didn't I promise you the last time we met, Dolores, that the first time you and I were alone together would be the last moments of your life?"
What little color remained in her countenance oozed out at the reminder of their conversation that day on the island. He'd meant every single syllable he'd uttered and she knew it then. She certainly knew it now. Keeping a tight grip on her robes, he dragged her back inside the dilapidated house.
Dust covered every surface in the tiny kitchen. If she'd been hiding there, she hadn't been there long. Or maybe she just avoided that room. She'd never been much of a cook. Toiling away in the kitchen was somehow beneath her dignity. Ignoring the rest of the furnishings and surfaces, he pulled her through the swinging door that led to the main room of the house. Each step of the way she tried to escape, tried to scratch and claw her way out of his grip. Sheer determination and the benefit of being larger and stronger kept him from losing her. Kicking a rickety chair away from the dining table, he threw the witch down. Ropes coiled around her body with a flick of his wand. Satisfied that she wasn't about to go anywhere, he crossed the room to open the front door. Hermione entered with wide, frightened eyes.
The second she saw Umbridge tied up in the chair, all the fury and rage that Antonin knew was tucked away deep inside the witch exploded out onto her features. She went straight for the disgraced former Minister. With all of her strength, she slapped the cunt's right cheek, then the left with the back of her hand, and then the right again with her palm. How many slaps she managed to get off before she had to stop was unclear. Enough that the bound woman's face was a mottled mess of handprints and tears.
"Where's our son, Umbridge?"
Part of Antonin was ashamed that he didn't think to ask that question first. He'd been so caught up in the capture and then enjoying watching Hermione take out her anger on the face he now could see was indeed quite toad-like to remember that his spell only revealed one person. Based on the status reports the aurors and others gave each other first at the hospital and then at Orford Umbridge's old house, no one had seen Henry either. It was naturally assumed that his adoptive mother would take him with her when she ran. Perhaps some thought it was her latent maternal instinct, but Antonin knew better. Henry was a bargaining chip, a way to save her arse.
Hermione had to repeat her question again with another slap to the face before they got any response out of Umbridge. Instead of immediately answering and begging to be spared, the wretched cunt only smiled. It was upsetting enough that Hermione had to hit her again. Antonin had to grin again. The more time he spent with the young witch, the more he liked her. Perhaps if their histories had been different, they could've been formidable partners together in all aspects of their lives. It was hardly the right occasion to lament what could've been, but he couldn't help it.
"Surely you must already be aware that I'm the only person here. I felt the homenum revelio."
"Where is our son, Umbridge?"
"Left him at some Muggle fire station in London. Can't remember which one. Good luck finding him."
She was going to die screaming. Of that, Antonin was certain. With an order to Hermione that she not take her eye off of the prisoner for a second, he returned to the kitchen. The former inhabitants of the house left in a hurry. There was no time to pack. Everything remained in its place. Thanks to the security wards surrounding the property, vandals and burglars never found its location. That was certainly for the best considering some of the more dangerous items he knew to be hidden in the cellar. Leaving each drawer open as he went, it didn't take him long to gather an effective, if crude, array of tools to use for making the cunt suffer.
When he left the kitchen, he dropped the knives and other implements on top of the dining table. Umbridge tried to catch his eye, but he refused to look at her. He had every intention of making her feel like the inhuman object she'd made them feel like for years on the island. She was crafty and cunning when cornered. If he wasn't vigilant, she might try to dissuade him from his mission. A spell to the grate in the fireplace created a hot burning fire in a second. He dropped the end of the fire poker into the flames. Red hot pokers were a bit of cliché. It didn't matter. Whatever would cause her the most pain was what he planned on using. Even if it took hours, days. The security wards around the house would take some time for the Ministry to bring down if he was right about tracking spells being cast on them before they left the hospital.
"Antonin, what are you doing?"
"Remember all of those discussions we had about how we were going to murder her when we had the chance? That's what we're going to do."
"I want her dead just as much as you do, Antonin, but…"
"I doubt that."
"But we need to be sensible about this. Let's just avada her and be done with it."
If Hermione wasn't careful, he would turn his wrath on her next. How dare she try to deny him the one pleasure he'd been fantasizing about for more years than even she was aware? Dolores Umbridge was going to die at his hands, broken and bloody and alone. It was all planned. They had the opportunity. She was not going to take that away from him. Not after he'd come so far and suffered so much.
"Too much can go wrong. Let's just kill her quickly."
"No, Hermione. We're doing this my way."
His tone left no room for argument. Just as if he'd physically struck her, Hermione turned her face quickly away to focus on a dusty bookcase. He wasn't above actually striking her if she became too much of a nuisance. A man had his limits. Focusing back on their captive, he found Umbridge's fear to be positively intoxicating.
"Antonin, what is this?"
Frustrated that he would be interrupted again before he could even get started, he turned to glare at his partner. His stomach clenched. She held a dusty silver frame in her hands. Based on her wide eyes, she had many more questions than usual. Questions that he simply didn't have the time nor the desire to answer. In two strides of his long legs, he ripped the frame out of her hands.
"Oh dear, Miss Granger, what was that you just found?"
The mocking question coupled with the titter of her girlish laughter set him off. Flinging the heavy frame, it flew across the room. Before she had the chance to duck her head, the corner of the frame caught Umbridge right in the middle of her forehead. The frame crashed to the ground as she screamed out in pain. A deep gash formed where she'd been struck. Blood poured from the wound. There was no more laughter.
"We will discuss it when she's dead."
It was the only promise he would offer Hermione in that moment. He knew that she was frightened by the prospect of a prolonged attack. She didn't have the stomach for the brutality that he did. That much was obvious when they used to fantasize about how they would finally do in the cunt when they caught her. He knew he scared her when he gave her details on acts of violence that he wanted to perform. There were spells she didn't need to know existed, tortures that he never should've explained. Faced with the possibility that she might become an actual witness to her nightmares, she would beg him to just kill her quickly. She wouldn't have made it as a Death Eater. If there was a higher compliment he could give someone, he didn't know what that would be.
"Why not tell her everything now?"
Umbridge ceased her quiet sobs to mock him again. Pointing his stolen wand at the bitch, he knew he had enough hatred inside him to make the Cruciatus Curse work. It had been years since he'd last cast it, but he knew he would never forget.
"Crucio!"
Deep throated screams of agony mixed with terrified pleas to make him stop behind. He remembered Hermione telling him in detail everything that happened the night she and her mates were captured by the Snatchers. How Bellatrix carved her up and tortured her. How Greyback was promised what remained. Seeing the Unforgivable again had to have been traumatic. He wasn't a heartless man, but he knew he couldn't stop. Not until he was ready.
Umbridge's body contorted with the pain coursing through her every nerve ending. He didn't envy the woman. Years had come and gone since he last felt the same burning sensations. There was nothing like it. Not even close. Her screams continued to echo throughout the small house. Each movement forced a creak out of the old dining chair. Antonin knew he couldn't keep the curse up for much longer. He didn't have the required discipline that he had years before to keep her from losing her mind too early. It was important that she be lucid every single moment she was alive.
When he dropped the curse, Umbridge's sobs were harder to listen to than her screams. He didn't like the sound. Didn't like the way the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stood up when he heard it. Didn't like how his mind travelled back to the past when he was more sympathetic and tried to convince him to show mercy.
Furious that for the briefest of seconds he might consider not going through with his plan, he kicked at the bitch. His foot crashed down on her short upper thigh. A loud snap and another guttural scream proved that she hadn't taken her Healer's advice over the years to increase her calcium intake. Perhaps breaking every bone in her body would be easier than he thought. The chair she was tied to couldn't withstand the breaking of her femur bone. It was already old when it was first brought into the house and years of neglect hadn't strengthened it any. Umbridge's sobbing form crashed to the dirty floor. Broken pieces of the chair poked and tore at her skin. The dining table, every bit as decrepit as the chair, toppled on its side in the chaos. His implements of torture clattered to the floor. He raised his foot to stomp on her ankle.
"Mummy?"
If the cunt hadn't stopped sobbing to take in a breath of air, Antonin might not have heard the soft voice. Forgetting what he was about to do, he spun around to see a small boy with tears running down his cheeks clutching a stuffed dog climb out of a panel in the wall. How could he have been so foolish to forget about the priest's hole? It was coated with security wards to keep anyone inside completely hidden. Not even a homenum revelio would penetrate it. Once upon a time in another life, he'd been proud of himself for thinking up ways to protect the hiding place. He shouldn't have been so careless to forget.
She hadn't been lying when she told him that little Henry looked just like his father. None of the pictures in the Daily Prophet that he and Hermione had painstakingly torn out and saved did him any justice. He didn't even need to look at Hermione to know that she was frozen in place too. Antonin was certain that he'd never seen anyone more beautiful in his entire life. His rage drained out of him at the sight of his son. All he wanted to do was grab the little boy in his arms and never let him go. He would spend the rest of his life keeping him safe. Nothing would ever be more important than that.
A sharp, indescribable pain in his back stole the breath from his lungs. Able only to look down, he saw the bloody tip of a sharp kitchen knife sticking through his chest. Blood soaked the front of his robes. He could taste it. Then he heard a girlish chuckle and a whisper.
"Oh, Tony dear, you've always been far too easily distracted at the worst possible moments."
Umbridge plunged the knife in further. With Hermione's screams ringing in his ears, Antonin collapsed to the floor.
