Chapter Thirteen

February 8, 2005

Henry Umbridge Celebrates His First Birthday

Proof that Minister Dolores Umbridge's breeding program involving Azkaban inmates sentenced to life in prison is working can be seen by looking no further than at the precious, chubby cheeks of the Minister's own son. Born the first baby in the Ministry's Magical Adoption Program, young Mr. Umbridge has already lived a life that many would envy. It is evident to all who have had the pleasure of being in his presence for no more than a second that he is well-loved and cherished. Only the coldest soul could actually believe that the Adoption Program isn't a good idea. Impassioned, but naïve critics claim…

Antonin foolishly believed that watching his second child be carried away would be easier to endure than the first. How very wrong he'd been. In some ways, it had been much worse. As the weeks and months of Hermione's second pregnancy sped on by, he was allowed to be more involved, more present. No longer did she push him away when he asked questions about her health and the health of the baby they'd created together. He wouldn't have allowed it, even if she tried to get away with it again.

From what he could tell and from the snippets of conversation he was allowed to have with Penelope Clearwater, Hermione was much better off than she was with the first pregnancy. The Healers had been able to learn from her first attempt and improve on their treatments and care. Hermione continued to have more visits than Hannah did, but they were much more optimistic with the eventual outcome.

The day Hermione went into labor the second time was much different than when their son was born. Penelope explained that the combination of the potions she took with the second pregnancy and all of the other precautions they made meant she and the child wouldn't be in near as much danger as they were the first time. If Antonin was a faithful man, he might've prayed that she was correct. But he wasn't. Nothing good ever seemed to come out of those poor sods who put their trust in a higher being. Didn't they all suffer and die just the same?

He wasn't allowed to be in the room as the baby was born. Even though the atmosphere in the cottage was much more relaxed than that dreadful night over a year earlier, it was still difficult to endure. No reporters were present to his relief. Only a small group of Healers and one pasty-faced auror standing guard outside their bedroom. And also unlike the first time, Hannah and Thorfinn weren't locked inside their bedroom.

"Hermione is much stronger this time, Antonin. I'm sure she will be all right."

He still wasn't certain if it would've been better for them to be confined until it was all over. As much as he truly cared for Hannah, her almost constant reassurances weren't helping his nerves. If he'd had access to a wand and didn't fear the wrath of the behemoth blond seated next to her, he might've been tempted to cast a silencing charm on her mouth. Wasn't it bad enough that he couldn't be inside the room to see with his own eyes that Hermione and their child were all right?

Once he read that each subsequent childbirth tended to be shorter than the one before with each woman. It all sounded like a load of tosh to him, but it wasn't as if he'd ever found anything about Healing to be the least bit fascinating. He had neither the desire nor the patience required to be a halfway decent Healer. When Professor Flitwick suggested it to him as a possible career path in his fifth year, he'd laughed. What a preposterous idea!

Concerning his children being born, he didn't understand how one could just assume that childbirth would get shorter each time. Weren't all pregnancies and babies different? He'd learned enough about having babies in the previous year thanks to the damned program to know that everyone was affected differently. Thirty-two women on the island experienced thirty-two vastly different pregnancies. But, he couldn't deny that Hermione's second was a great deal shorter than her first.

The small contingent of Healers burst out of their bedroom only a few hours after Hermione first recognized that she was in labor. Antonin tried to get closer to the Healer holding the tiny bundle in his arms, but the auror blocked his path. How could a person be so cruel? The auror understood full well that the baby being carried out the front door was his child and that the chances of Antonin ever seeing it again were slim. Refusing the opportunity for even a glance was inhuman. Everything about their existence on the island was inhumane.

"You're free to leave, Auror Savage. I'm certain the other Healers would appreciate your escort from the island."

"But Healer Clearwater, you shouldn't be alone in this house with these criminals."

"I can assure you that I'm in no danger, Savage."

It took at least two more assurances from Penelope that she would be all right in the cottage to get the horrible wizard to leave. Antonin was impressed. He didn't think that she would stand her ground so firmly. She seemed so meek, but he had to admit that he didn't really know the woman very well. Short conversations over a hurried cup of tea every couple of months hardly gave them the opportunity to chip away at more than just the surface of their acquaintance. A firm glare from Penelope followed the auror every step of the way. When the front door finally closed behind him, she sighed, allowing her shoulders to sag.

"I think it is completely unfair to just walk out with a baby in arms without giving her parents any information."

Realizing perhaps that the frustrated Healer was about to give Antonin some private information about his child that he might not appreciate anyone else hearing just yet, Hannah and Thorfinn made their excuses to leave the room. Hannah started for the room Hermione was still in with the door closed, but was stopped by a gentle touch of Thorfinn's hand on her arm. A whisper reminding his love that Hermione might need some time alone was all that was necessary to encourage Hannah to follow him into the privacy of their own bedroom.

As Antonin watched the other couple walk away, he replayed Penelope's last sentence in his mind. She was always so careful with what she told them. Never once giving any indication that what she was involved in wasn't perfectly normal. Had she let it slip that she was against the program? In the early weeks of his captivity on the island, Antonin read in the Daily Prophet that was delivered faithfully each morning with breakfast about the dissension on the mainland. Gradually over time, fewer and fewer articles critical of the program were printed. He knew enough about how the world worked to not believe for even a moment that lack of evidence in print was proof that there was no longer dissension. The Ministry had simply gotten better equipped at hiding the truth.

"Her?"

The smallest smile crept up on his lips when Penelope nodded her head. It was painful to speculate whether or not their second child was a boy or a girl, but that didn't stop them from trying when they were alone in bed. Discussing the sex of the baby like a normal couple made them forget for just a short time that they were far from ordinary. Hermione was certain she was having another boy. Antonin was sure it was a girl. It felt good to be right about something. Not that it really mattered in the grand scheme of things. Daughter or son, they'd never get to hold them in their arms.

"Yes, her. Hermione had a beautiful baby girl. She's absolutely perfect, Antonin. Perfect size, perfect weight, perfect health. We were even able to tell immediately that she's a perfect little witch."

A sigh of relief escaped the man. He hadn't realized how worried he'd been until he was told that everything was all right. There was a very valid concern amongst the prisoners that they would fail in their task of providing a magical child. Squibs were worthless to the Ministry. If one was born, they were banished to a Muggle orphanage. Or dropped at a Muggle hospital. Antonin didn't understand the process. At least with his daughter being proved magical he wouldn't have to worry about her ending up in a world he knew nothing about.

"And is Hermione..?"

"She's fine. This went much better than the last time. We have every reason to believe that the next pregnancy will be even better."

He felt as if a bucket of ice cold water had been dumped over his head. Why did Penelope have to remind him that they would be forced to endure the same experience eight more times before all was said and done? The way that she mentioned it so callously struck him as particularly painful. How could a person who witnessed first-hand like she did what the Ministry was doing to its prisoners be so flippant?

"I suppose that Hermione and I should get started on the next baby immediately. Tell me, Healer Clearwater, am I allowed to inseminate her now or should I give her a few hours to recover first?"

Never had he spoken so harshly to the kind Healer who made certain that he was kept abreast of what was happening to his children and the woman he was forced to make them with. It hadn't been his intention to be so rude, but once the words began, he couldn't stop them. She'd been so clinical, so cold. He didn't appreciate it for one second. Understanding that he was upset, Penelope's cheeks flushed a deep red. She dropped her eyes to the floor, unable to look him in the eye.

"Antonin, I'm sorry. I didn't mean… I was trying to offer you some sort of hope."

"Ahh, yes, of course. The hope that it'll be even easier to allow my next child to be pulled from their mother, stolen from their parents, and forced to live with complete strangers."

With each word he spoke, he took another step closer to the front door. By the end of his angry, yet truthful, statement, he ripped the door open. There could be no mistaking his intentions where the woman was concerned. Unwilling to remain a victim to his sharp tongue, Healer Clearwater didn't linger. She turned around just steps outside to say something, but was cut off by the slamming of the door in her face.

Perhaps later when he had a chance to cool down, he might regret his interaction with the Healer, but in that moment, Antonin felt entirely justified. He was just a man after all. What was being asked of him was impossible. She should've stopped being such a cold, unfeeling Healer for half a second to remember what he was required to do.

"That was awfully rude of you."

The sound of Hermione's voice breaking through the silence made him jump. He hadn't even heard the door to their bedroom open with the sound of his angry heart beating in his ear. Were the walls that thin or was he that loud when he threw Penelope out of the cottage? He didn't care. Turning to look at the woman who'd only just given birth a short time earlier, he grew even more annoyed.

"Shouldn't you be in bed resting?"

"I've been in that room for hours. Couldn't bear another moment of it. And haven't you heard? Magic makes recovery much quicker."

Part of him missed the days of her first pregnancy and the months following when she wouldn't even speak to him. Once the damned Healer gave him the special fertility potion to make certain he impregnated Hermione immediately after swallowing, a wall had broken between them that he so desperately wanted to build back up. The snarky bitch from Azkaban came out in flashes from time to time. Antonin hated it. He much preferred the frail witch afraid of her own shadow she'd been when they were first pulled out of the wizarding prison. As frustrating and annoying as she could be, she was easier to handle. The program was molding her into a hard woman, a bitter woman. He didn't like the subtle transformation. And he never knew what she was going to say next.

"You don't have many friends left, Antonin. Do you think it wise to be so rude to someone who actually seems to like you?"

He wasn't in the mood to deal with her. Not that day. While he could understand that her desire to lash out at him was simply a way for her to try not to focus on the fact that she'd just spent hours in labor to give birth to a daughter that was then immediately taken away from her, he didn't have the energy to be understanding or accommodating. The fury that he worked so hard to keep tamped down inside of him was practically begging for an outlet. If she pushed the wrong button, he wasn't completely certain that he wouldn't hurt her and damn them both.

"Get back in bed. You'll only injure yourself."

"And we wouldn't want that, would we? How could we do this all over again if I did something foolish and reckless?"

One more snide word out of her mouth and Antonin feared he might wrap both hands around her neck to squeeze until she never said another. Without a word of explanation, Antonin threw open the front door to make his exit. If she said something else, he couldn't hear it. Not that he would care one way or the other.

Late April was a relatively pleasant time of year on the island. If he ignored all of the other inhabitants and allowed himself to forget for even a moment why he was actually there, he could almost find it soothing. He walked the island through all the seasons despite the weather. Their cottage was too cramped to remain in there long. Over twenty years of his life were spent inside a too-small cell. He craved the wide, open spaces. Too much time indoors made him batty and irritable.

No one stopped him when he walked from his cottage towards the trees surrounding the village. Though there were a number of other prisoners enjoying the relatively warm weather, they knew it was best to leave him alone. News traveled quickly through the cottages. Whenever one of the women went into labor, it didn't take long before everyone knew. Many of them would've seen the Healers carrying his baby girl outside to be taken to the mainland. Because all thirty-two of the couples had already been through the pain of the hateful experience, they knew what he was feeling, knew why it was best that he be left alone.

Antonin ignored all of the concerned and angry expressions on the faces of the people he'd been damned to endure the breeding program with. As angry as he was, he couldn't guarantee that he wouldn't attack if provoked. Or even if he was simply looked at crosswise. Once upon a time his temper was legendary. None of his fellow Death Eaters wanted to try him when he was in a bad mood, and he could be in a bad mood faster than most.

The loss of a second child, a daughter, hadn't really hit him yet. When his son was first stolen, he'd lived in a hazy fog for weeks afterward. Because he hadn't really been allowed to be a part of Hermione's first pregnancy, it didn't feel real when he was taken. Not at first. Not for long afterward. There were still times that it all seemed as if he was living in one long nightmare. Perhaps that was how he was attempting to cope with the unimaginable. Denial worked for some. Living in a fantasy world within one's own head worked for others.

Seeing the vastness of the ocean reminded him once again how small and insignificant he truly was. They all were. Every last one of them. There was a reason why no one had yet come to their rescue. They weren't worth it.

None of them would leave the island as free wizards and witches. Not a damn one of them. How any of them could've believed for a second that the Ministry of Magic would honor their promises was a mystery. Hadn't they all experienced first-hand how corruptible their fellow man could be? Especially with a hateful cunt like Dolores Umbridge in charge. She wouldn't rest until every single one of them ceased to be a problem.

The terms of the program were unreasonable. Not simply just inhumane because the participants were devalued to the point of being nothing more than breeding stock, the conditions and specifications were impossible. There was a very valid reason why few families had ten or more children. Few were biologically capable of having such large families. Didn't the risk of a woman dying in childbirth grow exponentially as she grew older? He thought he'd heard that somewhere before. How could a woman like Alecto even hope to have ten children at her age? Though still considered young by wizarding standards, it was irrational to expect her to be able to complete the terms to earn her freedom. Evidently, the Ministry had no intention of giving anyone their freedom. They expected them to fail.

Antonin wasn't aware it was possible to be even angrier than he already was. Waves of the fierce emotion kept crashing over him. Just when he thought he might be closer to calming down, another would slam over him, threatening to drown him entirely. His life was complete madness. No, he wasn't even living any longer. Simply existing. There could be no hope for more than that as long as he was on the island and because he had no real hope of ever leaving the island alive…

He continued staring out at the immensity of the great ocean. Rarely had he ever taken the time to truly appreciate the magnificence of the water. A large part of his life was spent living in the middle of the North Sea. When he was a small boy, he often visited his grandparents who lived only a stone's throw from the shore. Many happy hours were spent as a carefree child splashing in the water with his younger brothers and cousins. He'd felt at home there. Perhaps that was why he was so often drawn to the ocean surrounding the island. Once he felt a sort of security there.

In that moment, however, the ocean only represented an impenetrable barrier he could never hope to overcome. It trapped him on the damned island even more so than the Ministry's confinement spells and wards. There was no hope for any of them to escape its reaches. They would fail and be returned to Azkaban to die or they would die on the island in their attempt.

When Hermione returned to their cottage dripping wet from the sea water she almost drowned in, he'd never been so angry in his entire life. One brief conversation with the Weasley arsehole told him his suspicions were correct. She'd tried to end her own suffering, not caring how it would affect him. How could anyone be so utterly selfish when their lives were tied up so fully with another's? Without her, he'd be thrown back in Azkaban with no hope of escape. She was a hateful, self-absorbed bitch.

Edging closer to the water, he bit back a gasp when the chill of the waves seeped through his shoes. It was always cold there. Even in the hottest months of the summer the inhabitants of the island who dared to slip beneath the saltwater in an attempt to forget the worst of their plight had to endure the frigid temperatures. Their bodies adjusted quickly, but for the first few moments of their swim, their teeth chattered and their limbs shivered. He allowed the water to cover his shoes, rising up to his ankles. Could he do what she tried to do?

Death wasn't as frightening as living. At least not any longer. When he was a younger man fighting for the madman who ruined his life, Antonin might have disagreed with that statement. Part of his desire to follow the Dark Lord was the naïve belief that he wouldn't have to face his own mortality in his service. How foolish he'd been! Every step of his journey put his life at risk, but he thought he was fighting for a cause, a purpose that he could be proud of. Years after allowing the evil wizard to permanently mark his arm, he could hardly remember what that purpose was supposed to be. Everything turned out to be a lie in any case.

Antonin wondered if he had the courage to put his head under the water and give up fighting. Drowning once terrified him more than any other potential death. He feared the panic that would take over if he tried to end his suffering. There were few acts in his past that he truly regretted. Would he spend the last moments of his life regretting his end? Would he try to save himself at the last second? Would he feel any remorse for leaving Hermione alone to face what she must?

"Antonin?"

The sound of a concerned voice broke him out of his thoughts. Whether or not he would've been able to follow through with attempting to take his own life, he would never know. With the spell of the moment broken, he couldn't ignore the chill in his blood. He turned back around to return to the safety of the dry beach before he acknowledged his former brother in arms. Taking a deep breath, he tried not to snap at the man.

"What do you want, Rodolphus?"

"Are you all right?"

The elder of the two Lestrange brothers always had the most suspicious of timing. Many times in the past he seemed to show up at just the perfect moment. It annoyed Antonin. Why did the man feel the need to interrupt his thoughts? Everyone else on the island was content to leave him alone. It couldn't have escaped Rodolphus' notice that Hermione had just given birth. With the Lovegood girl due for the second time any day, he knew firsthand what Antonin was going through.

"What do you think?"

It was a petulant response to a kind question. At any other time, Antonin might have even felt guilty about snapping at his old friend. Even knowing that he should feel ashamed of his behavior, he didn't. They weren't even considered human anymore. What did it matter if his manners weren't perfect?

"I think that you've probably had a horrible day. And I hope that you weren't about to do something you'd regret."

Antonin didn't have the energy to listen to a lecture about the importance of staying alive. Not then. Possibly not ever again. Rodolphus had more to live for than he did. The poor fool was actually in love with the strange girl he'd been paired up with. There was likely some bits of happiness sprinkled in their shared lives. What right did he have to judge Antonin?

"Leave me alone, Rodolphus. I'm not going to kill myself."

The older wizard didn't take a single step. Not that Antonin really expected him to. He should've been a Hufflepuff for all his loyalty and patience. If it hadn't been for his notoriously overbearing father and the Lestrange family's tradition of always being in Slytherin, he might have been. Maybe he begged the Sorting Hat to put him in his father's House and not the one he actually belonged in. Other students, especially those from traditionally Slytherin families, could be quite cruel to the Hufflepuffs.

"But you thought about it."

It was a statement, not a question. Antonin sighed and fought the childish urge to roll his eyes. Why couldn't the man just leave him alone? He was hardly fit for company. Feeling both annoyed and defensive, Antonin felt like a fight. If Rodolphus wasn't smart enough to leave him alone, he deserved what happened.

"Of course I thought about it. Every day I think about it. You can't tell me that you've never thought about it, Roddy. I'll call you a liar if you try."

"I'll not deny it. Many times in my life I've imagined that I would be better off dead."

"I'm sure your late wife was a major part of that."

Rodolphus refused to take the bait. As protective as he used to always be where Bellatrix was concerned, he wasn't a fool. He knew perfectly well what Antonin was trying to do and he didn't want him to succeed. Part of Antonin hated him all the more.

"If you can't live just for yourself, Antonin, try to live for Hermione and the two children you already have and the others that will come."

The feel of his closed fist cracking against Rodolphus' jaw brought him only a hollow satisfaction. He would've preferred to use magic. He missed magic. How many years had gone by since he last held a wand? Too damn many. How dare Rodolphus make a suggestion on how he chose to keep going? They weren't living the same experiences. Rodolphus worshipped the ground Luna Lovegood walked on and Antonin daily had to remind himself that he couldn't murder Hermione. What an ignorant fool he'd been in the beginning of the program when he thought he wouldn't have any complaints about his assigned partner.

"I'd forgotten just how hard you can hit."

Rodolphus rubbed at his reddened jaw but made no move to retaliate. He could be an obnoxious, bloody pacifist at times. How he was able to take part in the horrific tortures of the Longbottoms was something Antonin never understood. Maybe there was more to the story than anyone realized.

"And I've forgotten how stupid a lovesick fool can be."

"Antonin…"

"No, don't even try to deny it. You're in love with your witch. Fine. I'm happy for you. That's wonderful."

Except every word that came out of his mouth was a lie and Rodolphus knew it. As he spat out his false words, he only grew ever angrier. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. In the back of his mind he wondered if a person could actually die from rage. Probably.

"Yes, I have been fortunate as far as one can be here. Luna is… well, she's…"

"Perfect. Beautiful. Wonderful. Amazing."

Rodolphus smiled. The lingering pain in his jaw made him hiss and clutch it again. Antonin found some joy in that.

"Yes, she is all of that and more."

"Well, good for you, Roddy. Some of us aren't as fortunate. Some of us don't even like each other and we're trapped on this damned island with no hope of escape."

"Then I suppose we need to start making a plan for how we can all escape, shouldn't we?"