Chapter Sixteen

February 3, 2006

Bulgarian Minister Cancels Meeting with Minister Umbridge

A planned meeting between the two countries was cancelled at the last minute when Minister Alexei Levski, former Chaser for the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team, announced concerns about continuing the long friendship between Bulgaria and Great Britain. Rumors swirled that this was due to Levski's public disapproval of the Azkaban Breeding Program, but British Ministry officials released a statement claiming the rumors were not true. When asked about…

"Oh… yes. Right there, Antonin. Oh my god… fuck."

Hermione's left hand clutched at the headboard as her right fisted Antonin's thick dark hair. Her heart threatened to beat right out of her chest. Only in moments like those when she allowed herself to give in to the offered physical pleasure to just feel did her overactive mind silence itself. There was simply no way for her to have a single coherent thought with an experienced and talented man's face between her thighs.

Though it had already been an entire month since Penelope informed her that she was expecting again, they hadn't taken a break from each other. With very little else to do on the island and no way to do it with anyone else, there was no real reason to stop. And waking up yet another morning to feel Antonin's tongue making a trail up the inside of her leg certainly didn't encourage her to push him away. She always suspected that the wizard sleeping next to her had an exciting and exhilarating dreamworld he wished to reenact when he was awake. Many mornings he woke her up while the world was still dark just to manipulate her body in delightful ways that always left her panting and begging for more. She had a feeling that part of the reason he felt so driven and amorous in the early hours was a playful desire to interrupt the sleep of their friends next door who often slept late because of their own late night activities that disturbed their sleep. There was a competitive, impish streak in her partner that made her laugh.

Mostly though she knew he woke her up in that manner because his dreams left him unfulfilled. She wasn't naïve enough to believe that she was the witch responsible nor did she believe she was the one he wanted to be there with. Not that it mattered to her what he fantasized about in the dark. She had her own. In the right light, she could almost imagine that the dark brown hair she had in a tight grip was a particular shade of red she'd grown fond of.

In a perfect world, it would've been very, very wrong for either of them to imagine they were with someone else in bed, but of course, they didn't live in a perfect world. Far from it. Neither of them could be with the one they truly desired. They were forced to watch them go about their lives unable to touch them no matter how much they wished they could. Some days she thought Antonin had it easier because the object of his affection wasn't there on the island all day, every day. He didn't have to witness her with another man knowing she was forced to have children she didn't want. On other days she thought he had it harder. At least when she wanted to see Charlie, she could. Rarely was he not available or unwilling to see her. She knew he was relatively safe. Antonin had to worry that Penelope would get caught up in something illegal or dangerous where he would have no way to protect her. Hermione didn't know the details of Penelope's activities. Only that she was up to something that made Antonin nervous.

Fear was an ever-present part of their daily existence. Everything made Hermione afraid. She feared she wouldn't get pregnant. She feared she would. She feared having another miscarriage. She feared giving up her child. She was afraid all of the time. If she wasn't forced to drink health potions every single day multiple times, she had no doubt her stomach would be plagued with ulcers or her digestive tract unpredictable. It couldn't be healthy long-term to live with such severe anxiety. And that didn't even include the fear she felt every single time she stepped outside!

She'd always known from the very beginning of the program that she was in danger of not being able to carry a pregnancy to term. There was a reason she'd been an only child and it wasn't the choice of her parents. Hermione's mother struggled to conceive and suffered through more miscarriages than she was willing to talk about. Certainly more than one single person should go through. Without the benefit of magic or the advanced fertility treatments now available to Muggles, her parents had to content themselves with their small family. As much as they tried to show their only surviving daughter how much they loved her, she worried that they saw her as a reminder of all they'd lost.

It wasn't a shock the day she had her own miscarriage. Something had been wrong inside her body, but she didn't understand the subtle clues she felt. Not until it was already happening. She was grateful she hadn't been alone. Everything happened so fast. When she was finally safe in her bed with Penelope offering her potions and reassurances that she would be all right, she allowed herself to feel the overwhelming sadness threatening to overpower her senses. She grieved for the loss just as she berated herself internally for being afraid that she would be removed from the program for being unfit. While it was human nature to think selfishly, she felt guilty. She also thought of her own mother who had gone through the same horrible experience. It was easier to not think about her parents, but she couldn't stop herself. She missed her parents and wanted nothing more than to be with them again.

Fear motivated her to try to get pregnant again as soon as possible. It was easier to push aside her pain and sadness with a goal in mind. The day Penelope cleared her to try again, she all but threw herself at Antonin the moment their bedroom door was closed. Until they were certain she was pregnant again, she'd seduced him over and over again at a frantic, terrified pace. Antonin willingly went along with it. Only once did he deny her advances with a complaint that he was too old and too tired to keep up with her. He'd offered his own sort of apology for his rejection by waking her up the next morning with a delightful flick of his tongue in just the right place.

"Oh, fuck. Don't you dare move, Antonin. Right there."

Even as her mind went fuzzy and she could think of nothing beyond the sensations below her waist, Hermione could feel his cheeky grin. Sometimes he could be entirely too proud of himself. She wondered if that was common with other men or if it was a quirk of his personality. Her experience with men before him was very limited. While she hadn't lied to him when she informed him that first night in the cottage that she wasn't some quivering virgin, she'd been close.

Encouraged by her moans, Antonin increased his pressure. Gone were the gentle, languid licks from the flat of his tongue. He focused his full attention to swirling the tight bundle of sensitive nerves he liked best. Frequent practice taught him exactly how to melt her into a puddle with nothing beyond his mouth. Just as she worried she was in real danger of losing her mind entirely, he slid a finger inside her body striking the perfect spot. The combination was too much. Even if she'd tried, she couldn't have stopped the intense cresting of her pleasure. He suckled her through her tremors never letting up for even a moment.

She'd long ago given up caring about being quiet. In the beginning of the program when everything was still so new, she tried to hold her moans in out of fear that Thorfinn and Hannah would hear or that Antonin might get the wrong idea that she actually liked what he was doing. Pride was often a Gryffindor's worst trait and unfortunately, she couldn't claim she was an exception. Somehow it all seemed very wrong to encourage Antonin when she hated the very breath in his lungs. The sharp edges of her disdain for her partner were sanded slightly down over time. She didn't hate him as much as she used to. And, if she was honest, she rather enjoyed disturbing Hannah's and Thorfinn's lie-ins. They had no one else to blame but themselves really for rubbing it in their faces how much in love with each other they were. Bitterness and a simmering anger made Hermione act out. Antonin didn't care. Her moans spurred him on to escalate his passions. Good things usually happened when that occurred.

Her thighs hadn't completely ceased their trembling when Antonin's strong hands squeezed underneath them. His firm grip and his familiarity with her body after almost three years made his task of flipping her over from lying on her back to being on her knees quite simple. She smirked at the change in position but didn't seek to tease him. If he wanted to make it easier to imagine she was someone else, who was she to judge? She was every bit as guilty of doing the same. He wasn't gentle when he finally thrust into her body. Not that she wanted him to be. Too much tenderness confused her. They weren't in love. Nor were they in danger of that changing. Some days they could hardly stand the sight of each other despite the tension that always persisted between them falling to a more manageable level. Antonin always said the Ministry treated them as nothing more than prime breeding stock. It was better that they reverted to more animalistic urges when they were alone.

And besides, Hermione appreciated the feel of his hands tightly squeezing her hips as he plowed into her over and over again at a dizzying pace. He managed to strike her in all of the most pleasurable places. With him behind her she could close her eyes and imagine he was the wizard she truly desired. What would it be like? Despite having the desire many times when they were alone to kiss Charlie and see what happened next, she was afraid. Repeatedly they'd all been warned that straying from their assigned partners would have devastating consequences. Hermione wondered how much truth was in those warnings. Maybe they were being lied to. It certainly wouldn't be the first time.

Antonin rarely lasted long in his chosen position. His partner didn't mind. Though it was often short, it was always intense. As his thrusts became more erratic and she knew he was close, he slipped his hand underneath her body to rub her in her most responsive spot. Still sensitive from a few minutes earlier when he ravaged her with his mouth, it didn't take much encouragement for her body to tense up and hurl her over the cliff again. She cried out, biting back a laugh at the thought of how grumpy Thorfinn would be at the breakfast table. No man, especially Antonin, appreciated laughter in such a delicate moment. A final passionate snap of his hips later, Antonin collapsed on her back with a deep groan.

Fearing he might be crushing her, he rolled off her body with a muttered apology. Hermione didn't know how to tell him she wished he wouldn't. As slim as he was, he was in no danger of hurting her and if she was honest, she liked the feel of his weight on top of her. Maybe it was strange, but it made her feel safe. That wasn't exactly a feeling she'd been able to experience for a very long time. She didn't want to give Antonin the wrong impression about how she felt about him, so she kept silent.

"Why do you like waking me up that way?"

Hermione didn't know what possessed her to ask. Usually they both lay there in the dark catching their breath in silence. It was easier when they didn't talk about what they did when they were alone, less complicated. Perhaps if they'd been a normal couple in love and together because they wanted to be, she wouldn't have had to ask. Nothing about their lives, however, was normal. As he considered her question, Antonin quirked an eyebrow and stared.

"Do you not like being woken up like that?"

She felt her cheeks burn. How was it possible that she could still feel so embarrassed after all they'd shared and all they'd endured together? It didn't make any sense.

"No. I mean, of course, I like it. How could I not? It feels amazing. I suppose I just don't understand why you would want to do that."

Her partner had an effective way of making her feel like a child inexperienced with the way the world worked at times. Despite possessing an ability to prove to her with actions that she was a desirable woman, she never quite felt like his equal. At least in some ways. She supposed part of it had to do with the large gap in their ages. Old enough to be her father quite easily, he'd seen and experienced more of life than she ever did. While both of them had the last of their innocence stolen by their incarcerations in Azkaban, he'd been older when he was captured during the first war. He'd had more opportunities to explore and learn. She was still mostly a child when the aurors arrested her at Hogwarts.

"So what you are really asking me, Hermione, is why don't I treat you like an animal? Why don't I just turn you over whenever I feel an urge and take you like a beast with no care for your own pleasure?"

Antonin could get angry faster than any person she'd ever known. Perhaps it was his legendary temper. Or more likely, it was simply because she frustrated him more than anyone else. Before she even had a chance to respond, he threw the covers off of him and rose from the bed. Their pleasant morning was ruined. He would stomp off to the shower and then disappear for the rest of the day if she let him.

"I don't know why you're getting angry with me. It was a legitimate question."

He stopped halfway to the bathroom to sigh. Some of the fight he had in him melted away. Hermione thought they could spend the rest of their miserable lives together and she would never understand him or how he could change his moods so quickly. Had he always been that way or had his years of service to Lord Voldemort messed him up in ways she couldn't even imagine?

"I'm still a man, Hermione."

His statement was spoken so softly that if the cottage hadn't been silent, she might not have heard him. She didn't understand what he meant, but was nervous to ask him to clarify. What if she only made him angry? It was hard to share a bed with someone who loathed her and wished she was anywhere else. They'd both been guilty of doing that at some point in the nearly three years of the program. She didn't want to go backwards. They'd been getting along so well since that horrible day she lost their baby.

"Every moment of every day on this island, they try to make us forget that we are still human. They want us to feel like we're just animals. We can't let them win. I know what it's like to have your humanity stripped from you. Azkaban with the dementors… it was terrible. There's a reason why so many people lost their minds."

"I'm sorry, Antonin. I didn't mean to upset you or insult you. I really was just curious. You seem to make a great deal of effort for someone you don't even care about."

She didn't mean to sound so petulant. The second the words came out her mouth she wished she hadn't said them. Antonin looked as if she'd struck him in the face.

"I do care about you, Hermione."

That was certainly a surprise to her. As if to further emphasize his point, he moved across the room to sit on the edge of the bed on her side. She was curious to know what he'd say next. Yes, they both needed the other to complete the terms of the program, but feelings weren't necessary. She wondered what he meant. It didn't take her long to figure out how much he cared for Penelope. Every time they were in the same room it was written across his face. It had only grown clearer since the healer privately confessed that her parents adopted their daughter and she was going to do everything in her power to make sure she adopted their third baby.

"Sometimes I want to strangle you like the first day we were here."

They rarely spoke of the moment he wrapped his hand around her throat and threatened her life. It seemed so long ago. Too much had happened between them since.

"But I do care about you. I worry about you."

"Because without me you'll end up like Ginny."

"Partly, yes. Not entirely."

He held up his wrist to show her one of the silver bracelets they were all forced to wear. There was no way to remove them without magic and because wandless magic was almost completely a fantasy out of the movies, they were stuck.

"As long as we have these, our lives are entwined with each other. So yes, I selfishly care about you because what affects you, affects me, but somewhere I started caring about you simply because of you. I'm sorry I'm not Ginger."

"And I'm sorry I'm not… the witch you really want."

"We have to try to be satisfied with the life we have instead of being angry about the one we don't. I don't want to behave like an animal, Hermione. Giving you pleasure, making you moan, hearing you scream out my name makes me forget for just a few minutes that I'm not a free man."

It meant more to Hermione than she knew she could adequately express with words that he was willing to be so open and honest with her about his true feelings. They really had grown a significant amount in their time together. She was always scared to put any sort of label on their relationship, but it seemed that they'd finally been able to become friends. It was much more than she could've hoped for the day Umbridge announced they were partners. Anything less than sheer loathing felt impossible.

"All right. Then I suppose you are welcome to wake me up however you see fit."

It was the right thing to say to lighten the serious mood that had fallen in the room. He paused to stare at her for half a heartbeat before laughing. She thought it was a lovely sound. It was a pity they had so few reasons to hear it. Leaning across the bed, Antonin slid one hand in her curls to pull her face close to his. With a smile still on his lips, he kissed her forehead.

"If you'd like, Antonin, we could take a shower together and I could make you feel like a free man for a few more minutes this morning."

Only a fool would turn down her offer and Antonin was far from a fool.

Mid-February was a terrible time of year to escape from the warmth and safety of her cottage, but Hermione didn't care. She needed fresh air no matter how cold. That morning's Daily Prophet arrived just as they were all sitting down to breakfast. Instead of being delivered by one of the dozens of house-elves that served the inmates, a massive post owl brought it wrapped up in a bright, red bow. When it landed on the plate in front of her, Hermione knew to prepare herself for unnecessary cruelty. Antonin tried to snatch it away to spare her. He wasn't fast enough. Knowing that he cared about her from his confession a few mornings earlier helped give her the necessary courage required to open the damn paper.

Dolores Umbridge was an evil cunt that deserved a long, slow, painful death. Splashed across the front page were several photographs from Henry's second birthday party the day before. Scribbled in the top corner of the page were taunts from the Minister about how her "darling boy was growing so tall" and how he would be spared the indignity of having an insane traitor for a mother thanks to her goodness and charity. Hermione would've ripped the newspaper to shreds if there were no pictures of her son.

It was never easy to see little Henry in the newspaper. Even though he appeared a lot by virtue of being the first baby born in the program and because his adoptive mother was the Minister for Magic, she never could get used to it. She hated watching him get bigger from so far away. Antonin believed he was shy and uncomfortable with all of the attention he got. She couldn't argue. How could she continue to watch him grow up without being able to hold him or comfort him?

Once she read Umbridge's note, she threw the newspaper down and rose from her seat. Ignoring the stares and questions of concern from the others, she quickly swallowed each of her potions. The moment she was sure they would be able to eat their breakfast, she grabbed the first cloak she could reach and rushed out the front door. To her relief, no one followed. She needed a few minutes to calm down.

Fear of large, open spaces hadn't completely gone away, but Hermione was pleased with the progress she'd made since she came to the island. Some days she could be outside for a long time before the debilitating fear reared its ugly head. She knew that she had to continually face her fear if she ever wanted to overcome it. Every day regardless of the weather she tried to make herself walk around the village square at least once.

"Either that cloak is too big for you or you've gotten smaller."

Only Charlie could make her smile with such a pitiful attempt at a joke when she was so troubled. It was a gift. Or maybe it was love. She wasn't sure.

"I rushed out of the cottage. Must've grabbed Thorfinn's cloak on accident."

"I think I'd like to see him try to wear yours."

She rolled her eyes at the ridiculous image in her head. Moments before he spoke, she didn't think she wanted any company. Charlie had a way of showing up right when she needed him whether she realized it or not.

"Don't give him any ideas. He'd try it for a laugh and rip all of the seams."

One thing she always appreciated about Charlie was he didn't ask her a bunch of questions when he found her wandering around outside alone. He must've known when she was upset, but he always waited until she was ready to tell him herself. She wasn't sure she'd ever met a more patient man. If only she was more like him and less like herself.

"It's too cold to be outside, Charlie. Why aren't you at home in front of the fire?"

His frustration was hard to mask. When she saw his jaw clench, she knew she'd been wrong to say something.

"Because my brother wished to speak to his wife and I didn't want to be there."

Part of Hermione, the part that still had a bit of fight in it left over from the war, hoped a day would come when those responsible for setting up the breeding program would be forced to answer for their crimes. What they'd done to the inmates was nothing short of evil. Forcing a wizard to mate with his brother's wife was the worst crime of all. She felt confident that given the opportunity she could tear them to pieces with her bare hands.

Unsure what she could possibly say to offer Charlie any comfort, she decided to say nothing. Hermione slid her arm around his, grateful that he didn't immediately push her away. There was little they could do physically to show their affection and offer the other support, but at least they could continue walking arm-in-arm. She would take whatever she could get.

They circled the entire village square twice in silence. Hermione wasn't going to leave him alone no matter how cold it was. Not until she knew Bill was no longer in Charlie's cottage. She didn't really mind. Thinking about Charlie's predicament kept her mind off of her own problems. Later, when she had to return to her own cottage, she would think about Henry and the unfairness of her life. Walking with Charlie, offering him what comfort she could, was more important than more wallowing in her own sadness.

"You look ridiculous in that cloak."

She snorted, but didn't disagree. It was encouraging that Charlie felt up to teasing her and it wasn't as if he was wrong. Wrapped up in Thorfinn's cloak she felt like a tiny child playing dress-up. Thorfinn would likely be annoyed with the mud that caked on the hem as she dragged it along the ground. It was a good thing she knew how to handle the burly blond. He didn't scare her anymore. Besides, Antonin would snap Thorfinn's neck if he looked at his pregnant partner the wrong way. Antonin promised he would always keep her protected as long as they were on the island.

"I'm sure I do, but it is very warm. Much warmer than mine. I'm considering stealing it permanently."

"I'm not sure Rowle would appreciate that, especially when you have to start cutting the extra fabric."

"He can learn to live with…"

Her words were cut off by a loud scream. Definitely belonging to a witch, she wasn't able to figure out the identity before hearing a second, masculine scream. Charlie halted his steps nearly knocking Hermione over in the process. While screams were unfortunately a part of their lives from time to time whenever a witch went into labor or prisoners' emotions got the better of them in loud, spectacular rows that sometimes drew a crowd of their curious neighbors, this was something quite different. Only seconds after the initial screams, the peace of the village was disrupted again by repeated screams from the same voices.

"It's Fleur and Bill."

Charlie released his hold on Hermione's arm to run at full-speed across the grassy commons area in the center of the village. She tried to keep up with him, but he was too fast and her cloak too long. A crowd was already gathering in front of the cottage when she got there. The screams hadn't abated. They were only interspersed with loud sobs from both Fleur and Bill. Charlie had to physically push people away from the front door. No one dared follow him inside.

"What's happening?"

Somehow Antonin's soft question was heard amidst the chaos. She'd been so focused on staring at the closed front door and wondering if Charlie needed her that she hadn't noticed him walk up with Thorfinn.

"Mind if we trade, Princess?"

She told him everything she knew as she took Thorfinn's cloak off and replaced it with hers. There wasn't much to report. No one outside knew why the screaming hadn't stopped or what caused it to begin with. Plenty of suggestions were offered by the other villagers, but each seemed more ridiculous than the last.

It couldn't have been more than a few minutes before the air filled with the sounds of repeated cracks of Apparition. Whatever was happening inside the cottage was serious enough to warrant at least a dozen aurors and healers from the mainland. Hermione searched for Penelope in vain. She wasn't part of the group.

"Move out of the way! Back to your cottages!"

"Hem hem. No, Auror Proudfoot, I think it's important that everyone on the island see what's happening. Kindly make sure that everyone is here to witness."

Antonin gripped Hermione's arm when they heard the voice of the monster a few steps behind them. Whether it was to keep her from doing something foolish or himself from attempting to snap Umbridge's neck wasn't clear. Hermione feared she would faint from holding her breath. What was happening inside? Was Charlie all right?

The screaming morphed into quiet, continual sobs shortly after the healers entered the cottage. Umbridge forced her way through the crowd uncaring of the fact that so many wished her dead. She had always been too arrogant. One day it would be her downfall. Hermione looked forward to being a witness.

No explanations were provided until every inhabitant of every cottage stood outside in the cold around Charlie's cottage. Some of the women were only days from delivery and others were sicks with colds, but they were not exempted. Every second that ticked by without seeing Charlie terrified Hermione just a little bit more. Satisfied that she had a full, captive audience, Umbridge stood at the front door and smiled.

"I wanted everyone here to see what happens when rules are broken. No one is above them. It is only through my benevolence and generosity that each of you are no longer wasting away in Azkaban. I have given you all a noble purpose, a way to attempt to pay for your past crimes. To repay my kindness with such blatant disregard is unacceptable."

Hermione and the others didn't have time to process her statement in full before the monster tapped on the cottage's front door. The island was silent as Fleur and Bill were roughly pulled outside. Both were still distraught and evidently in severe pain. Whether their clothes were ripped from their bodies to further humiliate them or if their nakedness was the cause of all of their trouble wasn't immediately clear. A churning in Hermione's stomach that had nothing to do with the persistent nausea that affected her all hours of the day when she was pregnant threatened to make her sick.

Every centimeter of bare flesh on each of the poor married couple's bodies was covered in bright, red, oozing welts. They looked as if their skin was melting off or they'd been burned with a highly caustic acid. There was no beauty to be seen on either of them any longer. Hermione's nausea got worse when she noticed the silver bracelets they wore on their wrists looked as if they'd been held over a flame until they were molten. No longer shaped like a ring, they were just blobs of silver burned into their skin.

No one had to ask what they were guilty of. It was evident the moment they were dragged outside that all of the warnings about straying from their assigned partners had been very real. She felt sympathy for them. Perhaps out of all the cruelty they'd all been subjected to on the island, theirs might have been the worst. No other married couple was ripped apart. It was understandable that they sought each other out for comfort, especially when so many suspected the silver rings weren't as effective as they apparently were. If anything, Hermione was surprised they'd waited so long to try.

"These despicable, deplorable deviants have violated the trust and decency of the program. They will be removed from the island at once."

In the same manner that his sister was taken away months earlier, Bill Disapparated away with two aurors on each side. Fleur's scream a second later was cut off by her own disappearance. No one dared to speak. The entire island was silent...

Until Charlie Weasley was dragged from his cottage quite literally kicking at his auror captors and screaming in protest. Hermione felt faint. Without Antonin's firm, steady hold on her, she might've collapsed into a heap on the ground. There was no explanation for his removal, no time to say goodbye, no chance to even look in his eyes again before Charlie was gone. A shrieking Katie Bell was ripped from the crowd. She was also gone before many understood what was happening.