Chapter Nine

February 9, 2004

First Ministry Baby is Born; Minister Umbridge Welcomes New Son Home

Despite arriving just a bit early than the Healers would have liked, Minister Dolores Umbridge was proud to announce that the first of the 'Ministry Babies' has been born. Following a short stay in St. Mungo's to ensure that the slightly premature infant was healthy and well-cared for, Minister Umbridge set the example that she wants all other eligible Ministry Officials to follow by adopting her new son.

"I had not expected to adopt the first blessed child born out of my successful and well-received program, but when the opportunity presented itself, I simply could not say no."

Baby Umbridge, first name still undecided, was brought to his new mummy's home in Hampshire…

Every movement that the witch made in their too-small bed kept Antonin awake. There had been a time in his life when he would have found the constant interruptions to his rest distracting and upsetting. In that moment, however, all he felt was concern for the woman lying next to him. He turned on his side to better watch her limited motions. The end of her pregnancy was coming soon, but he wasn't sure when exactly. No matter how many times he asked the Healers questions, they brushed him off as if he was no more than an annoying gnat to be swatted.

It was infuriating to be so easily dismissed. He was not used to that. At least when they were thrown into Azkaban and forgotten, they didn't have to deal with other human beings openly behaving as if they were nothing. They were largely just left alone. To be in the same room with the Healers and the Aurors that protected them and to be ignored was difficult to bear. Did he not have a right to know how his child was developing?

"Except you don't ever hear of a stud being updated on the status of their work, do you?"

He muttered to himself, careful not to wake the woman who was sleeping less and less of late. That's all they were - breeding stock. No better than a bull being placed in a pen with a ripe and fecund cow. Perhaps when the child was born and taken away from their heinous excuses for parents it would be treated like an actual human being. He hoped that the mark of being born of their cursed and fucked up union wouldn't create a stigma that they could never escape. The pessimist in him found the hope difficult to put much stock in. What was the point in their even being alive if the society at large wasn't going to treat his children fairly?

Hermione shifted again in a futile effort to find a comfortable position. Once again, for the countless time, Antonin felt completely useless. His part of the process was done, for now. There seemed to be nothing left for him to do but watch and wait. He was not a man that appreciated being pushed into the sidelines. Being a part of the action had been his life before Azkaban. Perhaps, he'd realized in hindsight, his energy could've been better suited in something other than supporting a deranged and deluded Dark Lord, but he couldn't exactly go back in the past to change his choices. If he could, he'd do it in a heartbeat. Maybe he'd even be snuggled up in bed behind his pregnant wife, instead of a scared witch he hardly knew and still didn't like much. His older children could be moments away from rushing in the door to the bedroom to bounce on the bed and wake their parents up. A hint of a smile graced his lips at the fantasy of a life that would never be.

A low groan from the witch shook him out of his daydreaming. Suddenly alert, he scooted up behind her to see if he could discern what her problem was. There was still so much he didn't understand about what was happening to her. Of course he understood the basic biology of the ordeal, but she was just as tight-lipped as the Healers. The further her pregnancy progressed, the less she wanted to speak to the man responsible. He knew it was her own way of trying to distance herself from reality and he couldn't exactly fault her even if it was frustrating. She might have grown up in the same kind of family that he did. No one talked about anything and everyone pretended that was normal. There was still so much that they didn't know about each other, about their pasts. They might have been able to find common ground to work with if they could both keep their tempers under control long enough. Despite knowing that they were stuck on the island for many more years to come, Antonin didn't hold his breath in anticipation that there would ever come a moment when they didn't simply tolerate the other.

"Hermione, are you all right?"

He wouldn't have even bothered to ask her about her state if she hadn't groaned again. The sound of her unsuccessfully trying to hide her tears was something he'd been hearing for years. Even when they lived in cells across the narrow corridor from each other he could always tell when she had been crying. When he was feeling angry and wanted to punish someone else for his pain, he would taunt her and demand she stop annoying everyone in their cellblock. Humiliating her had been one of the few joys he had in those days. Other times, however, when he was feeling melancholy and lonely and like he might want to cry himself, he pretended he couldn't hear what she was doing only feet away.

"I can't get comfortable and my back is killing me."

The fact that she actually admitted to him the truth was surprising. She had become an expert at telling him to bugger off and mind his own business. Just hearing the vulnerability in her words tore at the wizard. No matter his underlying feelings for the creature, he wanted to do something to help alleviate her pain. A gentle rub of her lower back brought out a much different sort of groan. Satisfied that his actions were providing some relief for whatever was ailing the woman, he increased the pressure and didn't stop.

"Thank you."

Her gratitude was spoken in little more than a whisper, but it practically echoed through their quiet room. Few moments in the months since they were released from Azkaban to become part of the hateful breeding program had either of them been very kind to the other. Their frustrations with the impossible situation they were forced into compounded with the extraordinary stresses that befell them each day meant that they were more often than not fairly unpleasant. Before her belly had grown too large to make most positions uncomfortable, they'd been able to work out some of their frustrations between their sheets. There wasn't much else they could do to relieve their continuous stress. Once Hermione entered the last few weeks of her pregnancy, she hadn't wanted him to touch her at all. He'd spent a great deal of that time wandering the island or sitting on the beach staring at the ocean.

"Are you in a lot of pain?"

"Just stiff and sore."

He knew there was more that she wasn't letting on about. Hannah was almost at the exact same point in her pregnancy and she had had only about half the number of Healer visits that Hermione had. Each time the pompous arsehole in charge of the care of the witches in their cottage walked through the front door, Antonin was forced to stand out in the living room waiting for explanations and answers that he knew would never come. Whatever was happening with the witch wasn't serious enough that she had to be taken away from the island, but it was enough to warrant additional exams. Antonin wished that someone would tell him what was happening. Even when he asked Hermione she would just shrug him off.

If something happened to their child, they would be back at the very beginning. As others on the island had already discovered to their pain and sorrow, a lost pregnancy was not counted in the outrageous number of babies they were expected to provide to the Ministry. If Hermione lost the child, they would have to start over, all indignities of the previous months would have been for nothing. And if something were to happen to Hermione, he would be chucked back in Azkaban for the remainder of his natural life. Though it might have been selfish to do so, he had to consider those facts. They needed each other to get through the program if they were going to have any hope of ever getting off of the damned island. Maybe a normal life wasn't in the cards for them even if they dutifully provided ten healthy children to the Ministry, but the hope of the possibility was enough to keep them rooted in place, keep them continuing down the unthinkable road of handing over their babies to those in power.

"I heard Thorfinn and Rodolphus Lestrange whispering the other day."

Antonin rolled his eyes at her confession, but didn't stop rubbing her back. He didn't even need to know what those two were discussing. Each of them had already approached him separately and together. With Hannah close to the end of her term and the Lovegood witch just behind her, the two lovesick wizards had managed to somehow convince themselves that there had to be something they could do to keep the Ministry from stealing their children. A few others around the island were trying to come up with a futile plan to prevent the inevitable from happening. Most, Antonin included, knew there was nothing that could be done. They'd all agreed to this atrocity. Yes, it went against nature, went against the very instincts that their Creator or the Universe or evolution or whatever theory one chose to believe instilled in them. Many nights he stared at Hermione's swelling belly and felt rage at his helplessness. If he could, he would save them from the fate that awaited them all.

But, he was an intelligent enough man to know that there was nothing that could be done. Even with months to recover from near-starvation and lack of basic medical care in the wizarding prison, the inmates were still weak. None of them had been able to use magic for almost six years. Wandless magic was a joke. Only decades of intense practice and study could produce enough power to unlock a door. Unlike the fairy tales would have one believe, they needed their wands to channel their magical energy. Besides, even if it was possible, so many years without having magic would make it damn near impossible for one of them to produce even a flicker of magic on their own. If they were able to steal a wand from the outsiders that periodically came to visit the island, they wouldn't even be able to use it. The damned rings around their wrists weren't just imbued with magic to ensure that the prisoners stayed with their chosen partners. It prevented them from producing any magic except for the most basic of involuntary spells that occurred at the moment of conception to make certain that no undesirable squibs were created. Truthfully, it was a clever use of magic. Someone inside the Ministry must have had a brain after all.

With no magic, no hope of magic, and no way to get off of the island, what could any of them do when the Healers and Aurors came calling? There was only one option - follow through with the damned program. Antonin knew that it was impossible to keep from being forced to lose their children, but maybe, just maybe a day would come when they could find them again. As long as they kept to the guidelines of the program, they were promised freedom. Finding his children then would be his first priority. He would make certain that they were well-cared for and safe. Merlin protect the arseholes if they put his progeny in harm's way. He'd rip their throats out through their stomachs if he discovered any of them had been mistreated. Maybe he wouldn't have the opportunity to be a traditional father, but at least he could do that.

He was worried to discuss the topic of what his fellow Death Eaters were speaking about in whispers with Hermione. If it was difficult enough for him to come to the understanding that he couldn't do anything to prevent his children from being taken from him, how much worse would it be for the witch who actually had to carry the child within her body? She had been feeling it move inside her for months now. What was it going to be like for her to go through the pain and fear of delivery only to have her baby snatched away to be given to some faceless stranger? He feared that Rodolphus and Thorfinn were giving her false hope. He didn't want to have to be the one to dash her hopes. There was nothing that any of them could do. They were alone and at the mercy of the Ministry of Magic. It was a bitter potion to swallow, but one that they needed to just come to grips with before the child arrived.

"They're all fools."

Her words took him by surprise. Spoken with such conviction, he felt the worry within his gut begin to lessen. It seemed that she was in agreement. Antonin continued rubbing her back in earnest, never pushing her to continue with her thoughts. One lesson he'd learned in their time thrown together in the tiny cottage bedroom - when she was ready to speak, nothing in creation would stop her.

"They think there is some way that we'll be able to fight to keep our babies."

He made a soft sigh to let him know that he was listening, but said nothing in response. Somehow he got the impression that she didn't need any encouragement. When she took a deep breath, he felt a small smile creep up on his lips. The witch did enjoy a good rant now and again.

"I can't imagine what the idiots think they are going to be able to accomplish. What do they plan on doing? Beating the Aurors over the heads with large sticks or big stones when they come to take our babies? Hardly effective against wands. All they will do is get themselves hurt. Probably even thrown out of the program and back into Azkaban. Do they think they'll be able to take their babies with them into their prison cell? Of course not! The Ministry will win. They will take the babies, throw the resisters back in Azkaban, and they will lose any chance they ever had for freedom. There's no fighting this. And I… I don't want to go back to Azkaban, Antonin."

"Neither do I."

She got very quiet for a moment. Even without the benefit of having light in the room, he knew that she was crying. Somehow he always knew.

"Am I a coward for not wanting to fight?"

Her tone was back to that of an emotional whisper. Antonin stopped rubbing her back to wrap his arms around her and to press his body against hers. Some of the tension in her body melted away at the gesture. Though they didn't always see eye to eye about everything, they could have a calming effect on each other when necessary. Hermione took several deep breaths, her tears freely falling down her cheeks.

"Are you a coward for not wanting to fight a battle you will surely lose? Are you a coward for doing what is necessary to keep out of prison and one day be free? Absolutely not, Hermione. You are being strong. One day, we will get off of this island. We will get off of it and go find our children together, but we won't be able to do that stuck in Azkaban."

"'Together?'"

"Of course 'together'."

Antonin slid his hand over her large belly to rest right above where he knew his child was. There had only been a few times over the course of her pregnancy that she'd allowed him to touch her there. Despite having touched every other part of her body, most even with his lips, she usually pushed him away when he tried to feel where their baby was growing. Even without admitting so out loud he knew that she felt a touch like that was more intimate than she was comfortable with. Yet one more time in the months since they were damned to the island, he lamented the fact that this pregnancy, and surely the others that would follow, would never be like what he could have expected if they were truly married and in love. This was nothing more than a perfunctory duty performed for their eventual freedom. He had no reason to delude himself into believing it was more than that.

"Can we go for a walk outside? Maybe that will make me tired enough that I can go back to sleep."

He agreed. Though likely to be chilly, the weather was clear and dry for the moment. Everyone else in the village was surely asleep. One quick turn around the square of cottages and maybe they'd both be ready to sleep again. Releasing his grip on the witch, Antonin carefully removed himself from the bed to find something warmer to put on for their walk.

Hermione's movements had grown quite heavy and slow in recent weeks. Another reason that Antonin was worried that she wasn't telling him everything about her pregnancy was the fact that she spent much of her time in bed. When she ventured out, it was only short distances and never for very long. He didn't have to have a lot of experience with pregnant women to understand that she wasn't nearly as active as Hannah or the other women around the island. He watched her rise gingerly from the bed from the corner of his eye, ready to catch her if she fell.

Two steps away from the bed and a deep groan of pain startled him. Forgetting what he was doing, Antonin rushed to her side of the bed. Hermione, still on her feet with her teeth clenched, white-knuckle fisted the comforter on the bed with both hands. Her eyes were closed and she was holding her breath. Uncaring that she was likely just going to push him away, he reached out to touch her shoulder.

"Are you all right?"

"Something's wrong."

He didn't even wait for an explanation. With the sound of her repeating over and over again 'It's too early', Antonin ran to the living room. A single pinch of Floo powder from the pot next to the fire that was only to be used in case of emergency was thrown into the flames. The disinterested face of a bored witch appeared in the fireplace moments later to demand what it was that he needed.

"There's something wrong. Send the Healers!"

If he wasn't so terribly worried about the witch in the bedroom trying her hardest not to show she was frightened, he might have been tempted to kick his bare foot into the flames straight into the face of the other wretched witch. She rolled her eyes before assuring him that someone would be there shortly and swiftly disappearing. He ignored the concerned inquiries from a sleepy Hannah who had just stepped out of her bedroom. His only thought was getting back to Hermione's side.

It was a mark of how frightened Hermione really was that she didn't immediately squirm out of his touch. When he stood next to the witch still bent over the side of the bed and placed his hands on her shoulders, she didn't even seem to remember that usually she brushed him off. She was biting her bottom lip with her eyes closed. He was all too familiar with the look of one who was in a great deal of pain, but trying desperately not to make a sound. Antonin gently squeezed her shoulder.

"Breathe, Hermione. You're going to pass out if you don't."

She evidently found the merit in his words. Almost in the next moment she was exhaling her held breath and taking in another. Though he could feel the presence of Thorfinn and Hannah just feet away in the doorway to their bedroom, Antonin paid them no mind. His only thoughts were of the witch carrying his child. For the first time, he found it surprising that he wasn't as concerned about the health of the baby as he was for the woman next to him. Later he would justify it as simply being because she was his one hope for someday getting off of that island. It had nothing to do with any sort of affection.

"Out of the way! Get back to your own room!"

The bellowed orders from the pompous arsehole in charge of Hermione's care broke the spell of the moment. Antonin turned to see a small army outside their bedroom. Not only the Healers and Aurors he was accustomed to seeing either. A couple carried large cameras and others held notebooks in their hands. Clearly, the press had been roused for the event. He felt an overwhelming desire to strangle each and every one of them with his bare hands.

"And keep them warded in their room until I say otherwise."

Antonin loathed and despised the main Healer more than anyone else he'd ever come into contact with, but in that moment, he had to trust that he would do what was necessary to make certain Hermione would be all right. It pained him to hear the witch cry out in protest when her partner in the damned program was forcibly dragged away from her side by two aurors. The instinct to fight his removal from the room was strong, but he was intelligent enough to understand that there was no point. Only Penelope Clearwater's sad, worried eyes meeting his as he was pulled away offered him any measure of calm. If he struggled, there was a very real possibility that the Healer Trainee would be harmed in the process. He couldn't bear to think of the kind witch getting hurt. It was enough to steady his nerves.

The door slamming shut to his bedroom seemed to echo in Antonin's rattled mind. He knew it was foolish to imagine that he would be allowed to be there when his child was born, as it was evident that was what was happening, but part of him still longed to kick down the door and kill anyone who kept him from his goal. Two Aurors blocked the way. Each of them stared him down with furious glares of pure hatred. He could do nothing but walk away and hope that everything was all right in the next room.

"Seems like a waste of time to make us travel all the way here in the middle of the night for a delivery that will probably last for hours."

"No, not nearly that long. This particular case isn't like the others. High risk or some such nonsense. They'll likely have to actually cut the baby out."

"That's positively barbaric! Must be because of the Muggle blood."

"Ahh, yes. Many of them actually die in childbirth. Can you believe that? And we're supposed to believe that they're somehow advanced? Animals, the lot of them."

"It would be a bloody shame if the first birth of the program resulted in the mother's death, but can you imagine the headlines? Might even give some of the naysayers about the Minister's program even more to go on about."

"It would certainly boost sales of the papers."

Antonin could hardly believe what he was hearing from the journalists happily making themselves at home on the furniture in the living room. Had they no compassion? It was the first he was hearing that there was a potential for complications. He had certainly never been told that her pregnancy was considered 'high-risk'. Hermione told him nothing. He vowed that if… no, when this first delivery was over and they started looking to their second, he would not be kept out of the circle of knowledge. It was unfair. He had just as much a right to know what was happening.

There was no definitive way to tell time in the cottage. Maybe it was another way that the Ministry felt it could control its inmates. He never cared much for the reasons. All it took was a single step outside and he could usually get the approximate hour of the day just from the position of the sun. Standing just feet from the door out of the grasp of the Aurors, he didn't need to know. Minutes might have passed or even hours. He'd figured out early on how to completely tune out the conversations of the hideous journalists and their photographers. How any such supposedly compassionate humans could speak about such a delicate topic in such a horrible way was beyond him. Even an old Death Eater had more respect than the likes of them.

He wished that someone would give him an update, but he knew not to hold his breath in anticipation. Just as a stallion wasn't informed on how his mare was faring, he knew that there would be no answers. If anyone even bothered to tell him whether it was a girl or a boy, he would be surprised. Breeding stock weren't important enough. Not having any answers didn't make him worry any less. Sound-dampening spells had been employed. He could feel them and that part of the cottage had never been so eerily quiet.

And just as swiftly as the door was slammed shut in his face, it was opened again. The Healer, proud of himself for what he'd accomplished, carried a small bundle of blankets in his arms. Before Antonin could get more than just a glance at it, an Auror pushed him away. The journalists and photographers rushed after the Healer further pushing him away. Each of the Aurors assigned to the odious task of being present stepped in front of the inmate, blocking his view of everything happening and preventing him from interfering.

"The Minister will be pleased to learn the first baby has been born. Follow me to St. Mungo's and I will be glad to give you a full report."

Antonin would never be sorry to see the atrocious Healer leave, but watching him carry his child away threatened to tear his heart completely out of his body. He had always known it was going to be hard. Knowing and experiencing were two completely different things. If it was as bad as it was for him, what must Hermione be experiencing? When the sound of the Healer's voice dissipated into the early morning air, he wanted nothing more than to rush to the witch. Only the Aurors still present kept him rooted in his spot.

"You are free to go."

Penelope Clearwater's orders to the Aurors left no room for argument. Not that they were inclined to argue as it was. Each of the men turned to give one last glare to Antonin before following the rest of the party outside. When one posed the concern about leaving her alone with the dangerous criminal, she brushed him off with the promise that she would be all right and would only be a minute. She granted Antonin a small smile while she waited for the Aurors to leave.

"Hermione did very well. Both she and the little boy are perfectly fine."

His shoulders slumped with the relief of her words. He hadn't realized until that moment how much tension he was carrying in his body. The feel of Penelope's small hand gently squeezing his elbow startled him. He hadn't experienced such kindness in longer than he wanted to consider.

"Your son is a little small. It's to be expected because he's early, but he's all right. We're taking him to St. Mungo's to make sure he has everything he needs. Hermione is sleeping. She did very well. Much better than we even expected. She's going to need to rest for the next several days. I've left some instructions for her next to your bed. I'll be back in a couple of days to check on her progress."

"Thank you."

He didn't expect anyone to tell him anything. He certainly didn't expect her to take the time to put his worries and fears to rest. With another smile, Penelope squeezed his elbow once more before taking her hand back. Antonin wished there was something he could do to repay her for the kindness she had shown them both. It couldn't have been easy considering the arsehole she was forced to work with. As the Healer Trainee began her walk to the front door, she stopped and turned to look at him over her shoulder.

"Antonin, I'd recommend keeping the newspapers away from Hermione for the next few days. I'm not sure that… well, I'm not sure she's going to want to read what's in them."