A/N: I definitely haven't written a thing for nearly six months, so I hope you all like this!
Typical Disclaimers Apply
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"Hello Mrs. Weasley," the perky secretary greeted Hermione Weasley (although she supposed it should be back to Granger now) with the same too-large smile that showed too many teeth. She'd done this every day for the past six months, ever since she'd taken the job at the front desk of the Ministry of Magic. Hermione didn't even know her name. Every day she'd just smile awkwardly and continue on to her office. Hopefully, the secretary would be the only person to talk to her that day.
It was like tragedy was contagious. People would cross to the other side of the hallway in order to avoid her. Lifts would fall silent the moment she stepped in. Her old friends, with whom she'd giggled about husbands and starting a family now avoided her like the plague. And of course, Merlin forbid she run into Harry or Arthur; the level of absolute grief in the room could cause it to explode.
But of course she knew that she was lucky compared to other victims of the rebellion. Sure, Kingsley couldn't look her in the eyes when he promised that they were on the case, but when the uprising had come it had taken nearly as many victims as the war. And surely burying a child must have been worse than burying a husband. She was lucky not to be left with a child, or to have been killed by that dark haired wizard herself.
Of course it's always hard to consider yourself lucky when everyone around you treats you as though you could explode at any second, she thought to herself as she stepped into one of the shiny new lifts. She exhaled, thinking she was alone for one sweet second. A cough from the back of the spacious lift proved her otherwise. She turned about to see the familiar, lean, bespectacled body of Harry Potter leaning into one of the corners.
"It's good to see you again, Hermione," he said pleasantly. His dark blue robes had the familiar, glossy "A" pin stuck into them, signifying his status as an Auror. He must have finished his second year of basic training last summer, Hermione remembered, he and Ron had been put on their first practice case in January, during...
"Yes," she forced words past the lump forming in her throat. "We don't talk nearly enough." She forced a smile at him and he forced one back.
"I suppose you'll be heading over to Molly and Arthur's for the Christmas party?" That was right, the Weasleys were still holding their annual family get-together on Christmas Eve. They hadn't canceled it after they'd lost Fred, and they weren't canceling it this year.
"Yes, I don't see why I wouldn't be," she said tensely. The number for her floor finally lit up, and she rushed out into the hall just in time to hear Harry yell, "Hermione!"
"I'll talk to you later!" she called over her shoulder. Hopefully she wouldn't see him until Christmas. She still had ten days to think up of pleasant conversations about work, her colleagues, and her non-existent social life. She had ten days to think of every way possible to dance around what had happened last January.
She had managed to land a spacious corner office, provided that she share it with one other worker: Draco Malfoy. Draco wasn't her first choice for an office mate, but he was better than some. He wouldn't try to talk to her, and he had yet to mention how "So, so sorry" he was. But lately the office had been quieter than usual; he hadn't been in for nearly two weeks. "Maybe St. Mungo's finally took him in," she laughed to herself.
"Oh you didn't hear?" A gossipy, middle-aged witch appeared seemingly out of nowhere. The amount of widows in London had increased greatly after the war and the rebellion, and it seemed like all of them had taken jobs at the ministry in order to support their families. They always wore bright robes, tacky jewelery, and too much makeup, and they always wanted to gossip, no matter how inappropriate the circumstance was.
"Hear what?" Hermione sighed, pulling the sleeve of her navy blue robe to cover her fist, a nervous habit of hers.
"Dear Draco lost his fiancée!" Hermione felt herself gasp, even though she'd not even known he was engaged. "Oh, yes, it's quite awful," the woman said in hushed tones. "She was in her last session of training and she was ambushed," the woman whispered the last word.
"I didn't even know he was engaged," she said mostly to herself.
"Well," the woman sniffed. "Maybe if you actually talked to people you'd know what was going on around here," she stalked off, her pink shoes smacking against the floors.
Hermione sighed. Sometimes she didn't talk to people because they reminded her of Ron. Sometimes she didn't talk to them because they had everything she was longing for. And sometimes she didn't talk to them because the people she worked with were utter prats.
"I still don't see why we invited them,"George muttered, glancing over at Draco and Narcissa Malfoy. He was standing around with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jet-black robes, a child-like scowl playing on his lips. His mother stood stiffly in neatly tailored green robes, her nose wrinkled up as usual.
"Give them a break," Ginny snapped, crossing her arms. Hermine noticed that her red Christmas sweater was beginning to stretch tighter over her midsection. "His fiancée just died, and her husband's in prison. Not to mention that Narcissa saved Harry's life."
Hermione looked away as George and Ginny went back to bickering. All around her people were chattering away, clutching drinks and food. Bill was entertaining Slughorn and Hagrid with some joke about a dragon slayer and a prostitute. Fleur was, as usual, showing off her very pregnant belly to anyone in a ten-foot radius. Percy and Arthur were carrying on some conversation about (what else?) work. A year ago these people had been her family. Today she was just another guest.
"Hermione," Ginny said suddenly, pulling away from her argument. "I need to talk to you. Alone," she emphasized the last word through grit teeth. The two of them stepped to the back of the room, where the only other people were Draco and Narcissa, who clearly couldn't care enough to listen. Ginny leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, "Listen, I haven't told anybody this yet, not even Harry, and I'm really not sure what to do."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm—" her last words were cut off by an agonized scream as Fleur's knees buckled and she clutched at her stomach.
"The baby's coming!" cried Bill, his scarred face lighting up brighter than Hermione had ever seen it.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Hermione asked Ginny while they both watched Bill guide Fleur over to the couch.
"I said—"
"She can't deliver the baby here! Get a bloody midwife!" Narcissa yelled, her voice overpowering Ginny's. She looked over to see her friend smiling anxiously at her.
"I'm sorry, Ginny, I still didn't hear you," said Hermione, shrugging apologetically. Near the front of the room Narcissa and Molly looked like they were about to start a duel. Molly put her hands on her hips and set her mouth in a firm, straight line as all the noise in the room began to die down.
"I said I'M PREGNANT!" Ginny shouted into the silence. Molly's mouth dropped open. The champagne glass in Harry's hand crashed to the floor. If the room had been silent before, now it was practically dead. After a few moments of horrible, horrible silence, George finally snickered, "Who's the father?"
"George!" Molly all but screamed.
"That isn't funny," Arthur hissed as Ginny fixed her brother with the worst look possible. Fleur let out another scream, her normally white face turning a blotchy red. Molly immediately began rushing around, fetching cool rags, water, and a Mediwitch book. Ginny quickly tried to persuade Harry that yes, the child was his, and no, she hadn't been sleeping around. Arthur seemed torn between chastising his (unmarried) daughter, and congratulating his son. Many of the guests had stepped out of the room in order to make space for the family. Narcissa had left in a fit of nausea. Hermione was just about to leave when she felt a tap in her arm.
"Dear Merlin let's get out of here before that thing starts crowning," Draco Malfoy whispered in her ear.
Under normal circumstances she would have cursed him for calling her late husband's soon-to-be-born niece or nephew a "thing," but considering all that had happened today, she hissed back, "Let's go."
A/N: Do you like it? Should I keep going?
