Chapter Ten

February 15, 2004

Minister Dolores Umbridge Throws Party to Celebrate Son; Announces Name

Every witch and wizard with any amount of influence was present at the reception honoring the Minister for Magic's new son last evening. Celebrating the apparent success of the Azkaban Inmate Breeding Initiative, Minister Umbridge proudly introduced her new son to the very society she hopes he will one day be a productive member of. Little Henry Selwyn Umbridge was the very first of the babies born from the Minister's rather controversial program. Remaining mum on just which of the infamous inmates were responsible for his existence…

There was no other reason for the latest edition of the Daily Prophet to arrive in an envelope marked with Hermione's name on it than just for pure cruelty. Less than a week after giving birth to her first child in a labor that Penelope Clearwater kindly and gently described as being 'abnormal' and 'a trifle concerning', the witch was finally allowed out of her bed for longer than a few minutes each day. She had her first meal with the other inhabitants of the cottage since the early morning when her son came too early. Very few words were spoken over that meal. No one quite knew what to say. Theirs was a new reality that no one was quite prepared for.

Frustrated and uncomfortable, Antonin rose from the table the very second the last morsel of his breakfast landed on his tongue. He was out the front door long before anyone could ask him where he was headed. Not that Hermione minded. It was easier when he was away. They had hardly spoken three words to each other since their first child was kidnapped by the Ministry of Magic. Both of them felt completely helpless. Speaking about it wouldn't change the past. When they were alone, they went back to ignoring the other's existence. Even with potions designed to speed up the healing process, it would still be four weeks before they were ready to try again to create their second baby for the damned program. Perhaps by then they would be able to speak to each other again.

She was startled by the owl tapping at the front window. In the months that they'd been stuck on the island, none of them had received a single letter. Any official communication regarding the program and their roles in it were delivered by the house-elves responsible for bringing them their meals and potions three times a day. Thorfinn was kind enough to open the window to fetch the envelope. Offering the tired animal a bite of his toast in thanks for a delivery well done, he untied the missive from the animal's leg and handed it to Hermione.

The handwriting on the outside of the envelope was unfamiliar and she didn't have the first clue who would be sending her post. Every single person she knew and cared about, with the exception of her Muggle parents still hopefully alive and well in Australia, was either dead or trapped on the same damned island she was. Nervous about opening the envelope, she stared at it for several seconds before she had the courage to break the seal. Only a single copy of the front page of that morning's Daily Prophet fell out onto the table. Hermione hadn't seen a copy of the paper since before she went into early labor. She got the impression that Antonin was keeping the news from her. One glance at the headline and she understood why. Tears formed at the corner of her eyes. Uncaring that both Hannah and Thorfinn were staring, she scanned the scrap of paper until she found the short note handwritten next to the article announcing her son's name.

You know, I do believe he has his father's eyes and your nose. Such a pity. - Dolores

Despite knowing that they were curious about what she received, Hermione didn't show it to Thorfinn or Hannah. Crumpling up the dreadful newspaper in one hand, she ignored the rest of her breakfast to run into the safety of her bedroom. She threw herself down on the bed and gave over to the tears already leaking out of her eyes. Never had she felt so powerless in her entire life. Not even the moment she watched that awful Healer carry her son away without even allowing her a chance to see his face. For months he grew inside her body and they couldn't even be bothered to let her have a single glance.

What game was that horrid cow playing? Antonin's not-so-subtle efforts at keeping the newspapers away from her made sense. She wondered how long he knew. Was he even going to tell her? If Umbridge hadn't decided to taunt her specifically, would he have eventually told her that their son was adopted by the witch who hated her most in the world? It was all so unbelievably fucked up that she struggled to wrap her mind around what was happening. All she could do was lay on the bed with the bitch's hateful words in her hand and cry. Would she always be so pathetic and helpless?

"Hermione?"

She groaned when she heard his voice. Why couldn't he just leave her alone? No doubt one of the members of the happy couple next door went in search of him as soon as she dramatically left the room. She loathed the fact that a Death Eater, one that she despised, was somehow responsible for her well-being. Whatever Antonin did wasn't out of the kindness of his heart or because he miraculously developed some measure of affection for her over the five years they had cells across the corridor from each other. Even in spite of the fact that they'd found comfort in each other in the darkness of their shared bed in the months since they'd been abandoned on their new island prison, didn't mean that she wanted him anywhere near her. Especially not when she felt so vulnerable and lost.

Anyone else would have taken her groan and her lack of response as a sign that she wanted to be left alone. Either the wizard was daft or he'd lost all of his social graces being stuck in the service of his Dark Lord. When she felt the edge of the mattress dip down where he sat, she felt the urge to push him to the floor with her hands. If she thought she could manage it in her weakened state, she would've tried.

"Hannah is concerned about you. Said that you got a letter. Was it bad news?"

Part of her longed to shout out a petulant answer accusing him of not actually caring why she was upset, but she couldn't. No matter how angry she was about the entire fucked up breeding program and the fact that she was paired with the absolute worst wizard imaginable, it was still his son. He had every right to know what the Minister for Magic was up to. Even if he already knew she'd adopted their son, as she suspected, he deserved to know that the horrible woman was taunting them. She opened her fist, offering the parchment for him to read. Within moments of hearing the sound of him smoothing out the crumpled article, she heard him start to rip it into pieces

"Stop!"

Hermione sat up and tried to grab the pieces out of his hands. As much as she might have hated the handwritten note, there was a picture of their son on it. Small and hardly visible due to the heavy blanket he was wrapped in, she couldn't bear for the only image they had of their son to be destroyed. Antonin returned the damaged parchment, his jaw clenched and his complexion bright red in his fury. She thought she saw unshed tears in his dark brown eyes, but that wasn't possible. Monsters like him didn't have the capacity to feel human emotions.

She smoothed down the remaining part of the picture that showed where their son was being held by his new adoptive mother. Carefully ripping the parchment around the image, Hermione tried her best to remove all traces of Umbridge. When all that was left was a tiny piece of the original picture and nothing of the hateful taunting message, she stared at the small baby. She couldn't tell for herself if he had Antonin's eyes or her nose. There wasn't even enough of the picture left to see what color his hair was or if he even had hair. No parents should ever have to see their child for the first time in a ripped piece of newspaper. What other cruelties were they going to be forced to endure before it was all over?

"You knew she had him, didn't you?"

His only response was to nod his head and sigh. There was so much emotion in the room it was choking. How were they supposed to endure this nine more times? They would each go completely mad before it was all said and done. Perhaps that had been the plan all along. There was never any intention to release sixty-four so-called 'dangerous' criminals back into their society again. The Ministry was banking on the fact that some of them would die in the process. Or they would beg to quit when the pain of their loss grew to be too much. Maybe they even hoped that by putting homicidal Death Eaters with those who were little more than children when they were arrested they would kill their partners. If it was even possible for one couple amongst the thirty-two to complete the rigorous demands of the impossible program, Hermione would be surprised. It was too much to ask anyone.

"She's going to warp his mind. Turn him against us."

He couldn't argue with her. It was the truth. There was no other reason for Umbridge to claim their child than to be extra cruel. She never would've guessed that a single person could be so evil. Clearly, she would never forgive Hermione for the day she led her into the path of the centaurs. Maybe she didn't deserve to be forgiven, but taking her child with the intent to turn him against his true parents was just heartless. How far would the wretched woman be willing to go to ensure that he hated the two people who gave him life?

"Our son will grow up hating us and there is nothing we can do about it. No way to fight this."

The feel of Antonin's hand brushing through her curls startled Hermione out of her increasingly depressing thoughts. She stared at him with wide eyes, unsure what he was trying to accomplish. He hadn't touched her since the night she went into labor. Usually, he tried to avoid all physical contact with her as possible. She felt like an animal caught in a trap. He wasn't relinquishing his hold. Before the last several weeks before the unexpected birth of their son, they were able to offer each other comfort. Something about the touch of his hand and the press of his lips against hers always calmed her down. She couldn't explain it. When she tried to justify it in her own mind, she grew disgusted with her own weakness. She should not allow him such liberties. Especially not when she could hardly stand his presence.

Antonin was a man of few words. He only opened his mouth when he had something important to say. Action was more his style. Even if that action was simply brooding silence and long walks away from the witch he was tethered to for the foreseeable future. As it quickly became evident that he was going to try to calm her worries with a kiss that she would feel straight to her toes, whether she wanted it or not, Hermione stood up quickly from the bed. It was too hot in the room, too stifling. Without offering the tiniest hint of an explanation, she rushed out of their bedroom and out the front door.

Nothing about the late February weather was conducive to a pleasant walk outside. Hermione didn't care. She would've gladly walked barefoot in six feet of snow if it would give her a few minutes to herself. Worried at first that Antonin would follow her out of the cottage, she turned around to look at the still-closed front door she just slammed. Grateful that he didn't appear in any hurry to ruin her walk, she pressed on towards the grove of trees that led to the beach.

Her fear of being out in large spaces had not completely gone away. Each time she stepped outside of her cottage she felt her lungs tighten. Anxiety was never far when she was outside. She was afraid that she would never be able to enjoy wide open spaces again. Having someone walk with her usually helped to keep the worst of her feelings away, but nothing was absolute. Her research on the issue from the borrowed books she was allowed from the Ministry gave her little hope to being cured. It angered her that even outside of her prison cell, she felt like she'd never stepped out of it.

The waves crashed violently against the beach. A promise of another winter storm hung in the air. Likely, it would be another night spent huddled under the heavy blankets listening to the howling of the wind outside. She found it to be reminiscent of her time in Azkaban. At least, she had to concede, that in the cottage she had blankets and the additional body warmth of the wizard next to her to keep from shivering in misery all night long. Part of her always feared that she would never be warm again thanks to the terrible conditions of the wizarding prison.

She ignored the worst of her anxiety to creep closer to the rising water. Others on the island had already discovered how far out the wards went. During the summer when it was as warm as it was likely to ever get, many of her fellow inhabitants made use of the ocean. For some, they could almost feel like they were free again. At least until they swam too far out and bumped against their prison's invisible walls. Even at the invitation of both Antonin and Charlie, Hermione never got close enough to the water to get even the soles of her shoes wet. Much like the open areas outside of her new home, the ocean frightened her in its immensity.

Staring out at the crashing waves, she thought about the big, wide world that functioned just beyond that water. There was an entire world of people that lived their daily lives without even knowing that her island existed. In the country that was once her home, she knew that there was a group of people at least aware of what was happening. The prisoners received the newspapers and magazines to taunt them about the world they were missing out on. Or maybe it was supposed to be an incentive to dutifully procreate in order to gain their freedom. Whichever it was, it was torture.

Her son was out there somewhere, blissfully ignorant of her existence. Whether or not that continued as he grew older remained to be seen. Umbridge might poison her son's mind. Or, perhaps even worse, she might not tell him anything about the criminals who created him on the damned island. Henry Selwyn Umbridge might never even know who his true parents were. Maybe that would be the least cruel and punishing of futures for him. After all, it wasn't as if he asked to be born. He was an innocent victim in all of this, a pawn in a nasty game of revenge.

The freezing water was up to her ankles before Hermione even realized she'd been walking towards the ocean. In her right mind she might have turned around and headed back for the dry beach. Choppy waves were dangerous. Even forgetting the frigid temperature of the water, she could easily be pulled under if she went out too far. It had been years since she last had the opportunity to swim. Not since she was forced to jump off the back of the freed dragon from Gringotts had she been fully submerged in a large body of water. She used to enjoy swimming.

Water soaked the legs of the pajamas she still wore. In her haste to get out of the cottage before Antonin kissed her, she hadn't bothered to change into more suitable clothing. Her warm cloak was also left behind. Not that she cared. She was already feeling numb long before she stepped in the ocean. The rising waves splashed her upper body, soaking her to the top of her head. Still, with teeth chattering, she kept going.

What would it feel like to have the water pull her completely under? It was so strong that she didn't think she would have much of a chance if she got caught. Would she even fight it? There seemed very little reason to keep living in her current state. No hope of getting off the island. Not really. The requirements of the program were impossible. If her first birth was difficult, she couldn't expect the rest to be any easier. Maybe she would die trying to get to ten children. Women had been dying in childbirth since time began. Why would she be special?

Up to her waist, she kept going further and further into the water. Drowning was supposed to be the easiest way to die. Something about going to sleep. At least that's what she'd always heard. She wasn't sure if that was true. Once when she was small, she went to the deep end of the pool. She panicked, afraid that she would never get out of there when the water was over her head. After she gulped in water, her lungs burned and she had never been more afraid. Thankfully, a lifeguard saw her struggling and she was pulled out of the pool before it was too late. She supposed that once a person got past the initial panic of being unable to breathe, death by drowning might actually be quite nice.

It was harder to stay upright the further in she went. Choppy, violent water pushed her around. She still wasn't up to her full strength. Not that she was likely to ever be. After years of starvation, she then had to contend with the effects of a complicated pregnancy. Penelope said that her body would need time to heal from all of the trauma she'd put it through since the end of the war. It was kind of the Ministry to prolong her suffering by putting her in a position to get pregnant immediately. That was further proof that none of them were expected to actually survive the program.

What would it matter if she opted not to continue? Antonin would have to agree if they were sent back to Azkaban. She knew that he never would. He'd tie her to their bed frame before he would allow that to ever happen. To leave the program early, she really only had one choice. Maybe in the past she would've called herself weak for even considering such a drastic option. Selfish too. She didn't care. The person she was back then didn't know how bleak and dismal the world would become. She wasn't the same person she was when Harry was still alive. That Hermione Granger died in the Great Hall right along with her best friend.

Waves crashed over her head, finally knocking her off of her feet. She scrambled to retain her footing, but it was no use. As soon as one wave crashed over her head, another followed. Hermione was simply too weak to fight against the current. The temperature of the water kept her body too numb to feel much of anything. Knowing that she was doomed, she closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable.

Rough hands grabbed her hair and the collar of her shirt. Rudely ripped from underneath the water, she gasped when her head broke the surface of the water. Unable to see who it was that was pulling her out of the water thanks to the salt water burning her eyes, she didn't have the energy to fight them. As soon as her savior was able to get a better grip on her body and she was out of danger of suffocating underneath the waves, she felt a much gentler touch. Strong arms carried her body against a firm chest.

She hadn't been underneath the water long enough to be in much danger of drowning. It all lasted no longer than just a few heartbeats. Whomever it was that captured her had to have only been steps behind her when she went into the water. He laid her on the sand so they could both catch their breaths.

"What the bloody hell were you doing out there, Hermione?"

Charlie was terrified. Even if he was doing a good job of attempting to suppress the worst of his fears, she could hear the panic in his voice. She opened her eyes to stare at the man who risked his life to save hers. His entire body was trembling, only partially from the cold. He ran his hands through his wet hair, frustrated and afraid.

"You could have died."

"You should've let me."

Somehow she was able to gather enough strength to stand to her feet. Every step she took back towards the damned village was an effort, but she managed. Charlie followed at a distance, clearly concerned that she would try something again if given the opportunity. When she made it to her front door, dripping wet and shivering, she turned to glare at the man who dared to save her from a watery grave. In that moment, she hated him. How dare he go against her wishes?

"Go home, Charlie. Leave me alone."

Hannah gasped when she saw Hermione enter in her soaking wet pajamas. No doubt she looked frightening. Before Thorfinn could even utter an annoying remark, she stormed into her bedroom and slammed the door. Antonin, still seated on the edge of their bed where she left him, stared at her with wide eyes. He stood up, opened his mouth to say something, and she slammed the bathroom door before he had a chance.

She stripped out of her wet clothes and sat in the bathtub under the stream of too-hot water cursing her luck to be surrounded by meddlesome Weasleys. Minutes in, as she was still shivering and struggling to get warm, a hand pushed aside the shower curtain. Prepared to scream at Antonin to leave her alone, she stopped when she saw the vial he held in his hand. Nervous to take anything he gave her despite knowing he had no real way or reason to harm her, she initially refused. He wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Drink it or I will pour it down your throat."

Testing him was never a good idea. As soon as the potion settled in her belly, she could feel herself getting warm again. The prisoners weren't entirely isolated from the mainland. Whenever one of them wasn't feeling well or as a few of them discovered when they were injured in accidents, potions were easily obtainable if they used their Floo to request assistance. It wouldn't have taken a genius to figure out that based on the puddles of water she left behind as she entered her house what happened to her when she went outside.

"Weasley said you were trying to drown yourself."

Or, perhaps, Charlie didn't know how to keep his mouth shut. Groaning, she turned the water off. She pushed Antonin's hand away when he offered to help her stand to her feet. There wasn't a single thing she wanted from that horrible man. Even with the potion making its way through her bloodstream, warming her as it went, she still felt a bit weak from the experience. Just as she felt her feet begin to slip out from underneath her, Antonin was there to catch her before she fell. As soon as she was upright on her feet outside of the bathtub, she pushed his hands off of her.

"Was he telling the truth or was it an accident?"

The bite in his tone would've frightened her if she knew that he was able to hurt her. Though she never forgot for a single moment how dangerous he was, she didn't fear him in the slightest. Without her, he would be back in Azkaban.

"I'm sick of living on this island."

"So your alternative was to kill yourself?"

His voice might have been quiet, but she didn't mistake how angry he truly was. Based on the clenching and unclenching of his fists alone, she knew that he was itching to strangle the witch he was damned to complete the program with. When she didn't immediately answer his question, Antonin continued.

"If you die, she wins. You're aware of that, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"The only way we have a chance to get off of this island to find our son and make the bitch pay for what she's done to us is if we stick together. You might not like it any more than I do, but we need each other, Hermione."

She wanted to scream at him and argue that there must be another way. But, she couldn't. He was absolutely right. Unless something drastic changed, which didn't seem possible, their only hope for freedom and revenge was to complete the program. As much as she hated it, they had to work together. They were going to have to have more children.