The Thing With Feathers
When you said your last goodbye, I died a little bit inside.
I lay in tears in bed all night, alone without you by my side.
"All I Want" - Kodaline.
She's never failed at anything before. Not at anything important, anyway. Hermione has always deemed her failure with flying, Quidditch and sports to be generally inconsequential. This, however… This is different.
This isn't inconsequential, it's pretty bloody important.
Since the war ended, they've all discussed when they would have families. They imagined the family barbeques, the amusing hijinks and if they could create a new era of Marauders. Although, honestly, Hermione had never been all that encouraging about that last one.
Now, it seems like it's all slipping away from her. Hermione tries – god, does she try – but it's slipping from her fingers, the image of her family already becoming frayed. It's all her fault. That is, genuinely, the worst part in all this. She can't secretly blame Ron, she can't sigh about bureaucracy or rules, because it's just her fault. Hermione Granger-Weasley and Ronald Weasley have been trying to have a baby for two years now. Two years.
Hermione sits in the empty room now, feeling like she's sitting in a tomb. Yellow, mocking walls smile down on her. Shapes of various magical animals leap and bound across the wallpaper, all silently managing to make fun of her failure. She closes her eyes firmly, inhaling shakily. She breathes out, ignoring how uneven the sound is, and tries not to let herself break down.
Opening her eyes again, she glances down at the toy in her lap. A soft, smiling brown bear sits in her hands. The comfort the toy brings is almost wrong. She should be tearing it to pieces, but all Hermione wants to do is hold it tighter. She does this by clutching it to her chest, hoping it will somehow steady the rapid beating of her heart, the wrenching despair bubbling in her chest. Exhale again, Granger, exhale.
Everyone thinks Hermione Granger (she kept her name after she married, despite everyone's expectations. People still insist on calling her Hermione Weasley, and she hates it.) is the career-driven, ambitious, anti-maternal figure who hasn't got a desire for children. The truth is so wrong that even she tries to deny it.
Hermione Granger has always wanted children. Her hard-ass, stubborn, ambitious nature is part of her personality, but it doesn't mean she doesn't want her family. She wants to have a kick-ass career, but she still wants to have a little mini-Ron and Hermione running around. Why do people seem incapable of recognising those two things aren't mutually exclusive?
It isn't career or family. She wants both. And godammit, she is Hermione Granger, if she wants both, she'll get it.
It's a huge blow when the one thing – the one person – she thought wouldn't block her path, does. Herself.
At this thought, a tear runs down her face, and Hermione curses it. She can't let the floodgates open.
"Hermione?" Oh, she would recognise that voice anymore. Even the sound of his warm timbre makes her want to cry, so she ignores him. She hopes he'll take it as a sign to go away. As Hermione feels him come sit beside her, she remembers that he would have never left. That's Harry; reliable, dependable, caring Harry.
He wraps an arm around her wordlessly, and she leans her head on his shoulder. They remain like this for quite some time, her eyes firmly on the little teddy. After a few more minutes, Hermione finds the courage to look around the room.
They had spent hours decorating the spare room. The excitement had taken hold too quickly – she had, for one of the rare moments in her life, let emotion and anticipation take over. She had that little voice in her head, that cautious warning, "Be careful, Hermione, you know what happened last time," - but as if she would listen.
She, Ron, Ginny and Harry had spent all weekend doing their spare room up. A pale gender-neutral yellow was splashed on the walls, Ginny had enthusiastically stuck stickers of hippogriffs and dragons along the edges and Hermione had put away any toys/clothes they had. Hermione and Ginny then spent the next few hours talking about baby names while Ron and Harry built the crib, grumbling the entire time.
Too soon, she thinks, the voice quiet even in her own head. Sadness grips at her again then, and this time, the tears come unbidden. Even though she wills them not to, her shoulders shake, her lip trembles and she's suddenly sobbing in her best friends arms.
"It's okay," He whispers softly, stroking her hair, "It'll happen. I know it'll happen."
Hermione sucks in air, trying to speak while bawling her eyes out, "You—you don't – don't know that," the ending becomes a wail, her voice failing her again. She's so tired of this.
She's exhausted, truth be told.
He holds her tighter, "I do know that. I believe good things come to good people, and you and Ron… Well, you're the best of people." Harry says quite simply. She knows he believes the words, and she's knows to some extent they're true, but logically – and she's got to be logical – he doesn't know anything about her reproductive system.
The miscarriages are her fault. It's her body that is rejecting the idea of pregnancy, it seems. Ron's swimmers find their way there no problem. She's the problem.
"You know…" She can tell he's hesitating about his next words. From that alone, Hermione knows he's about to mention Ron. "You know he's just as upset as you… He'll be home any time now, I'm sure. He—he's not going to do something drastic."
"Like divorce me?" The words leave her mouth before she can stop them. She hadn't even wanted to acknowledge or think about that fear on her own, never mind out loud with Harry. Speaking it out loud makes the reality of it all the more real, all the more genuine, and she sniffs loudly.
He exhales sharply, "No, Hermione, of course not. Don't be like that."
She knows he's right. She's being silly, of course she's being silly – they don't know that she won't eventually get pregnant and carry to term. When they do know that, when some doctor finally tells her it's hopeless, there will be a Ron shaped hole in the wall.
He wants a family. Hermione knows he's always wanted a family; he grew up with six siblings, it's home to him.
She doesn't respond to Harry.
The blood this morning was just another episode in the ongoing nightmare that is her life. She didn't even wake Ron for some twenty minutes. She simply sat there, staring ahead, wondering when it was going to get easier. She knew the drill, the procedure – "oh, I'm so sorry, Ms, you miscarried."
Worst of all, she's not just a failure, she's a failure as a woman. Hermione can't even manage this one, basic reproductive mechanism that all humans are meant to be able to do. It's their purpose on the earth; to reproduce.
It's some cruel twist of irony that she's struggled and strived all her life to be a success, and the one thing she figured a guarantee, makes her feel like the biggest failure in the world.
"You're not a failure, you know." He says, speaking for the first time in a few minutes. Hermione doesn't bother reacting. "And I'm sorry." She hates when people say that. What does it even mean? He didn't push her down the stairs, there's no reason for him to be sorry.
She untangles herself from him and stands, unable to bear one more minute in the room. "I think you should go now."
Harry looks like he's about to protest, hand outstretched to halt her in her steps. Hermione turns, forces a very weak smile, and whispers sincerely, "Thank you, Harry."
He's still her best friend after all these years; still the messy-haired boy saving her from a troll. He doesn't look much different either, save for a few more inches and his face being a little more refined. It's strange to think of him as a father, but it's true. Her Harry, the moody, sometimes irrational, strong, caring Harry is a Dad. Someone calls him Dad.
James calls him Dad. It's a wonderful and strange thing; he calls Hermione "Aunt". She wonders how she earned that title.
Hermione's drawn back to the present when Harry touches her arm, his eyes soft and sympathetic. He kisses her gently on the cheek, and leaves.
The front door shuts. Hermione Granger bursts into tears.
A/N: Hi, guys.
So, this is my newst foray into HPFF. It's my first foray into HGRW, so please let me know what you think. I've completed the fic already, it's about 12, 000 words so I'll be splitting that across a few chapters. Rest assured I've finished it though so there won't be too long between updates. Disclaimer: Down own HP or "All I Want" by Kodaline.
Thank you for reading,
CN.