The blood was red. More red than she could remember, more red than the blood Bellatrix had spilt six years previous. This blood held more life, more passion:it held love. The thick red liquid dyed the water as it had the cotton. It had looked harsh on the gentle, soft, cotton but as the red congealed with the water- the pure clear water, her thoughts ran through the books she had read in muggle studies. The viability of human life. She knew blood was not living, clumps of rightly named tissue, was not life. Tearing a chunk of toilet paper off the role she mopped her face, feeling her tears stick to her cheeks as though they to did not want to leave her body.
She heard the gentle tap of knuckles on the heavy oak door, saw a pair of bartered trainers with untied laces through the space where the door and floor didn't quite meet.
He didn't hesitate, giving the door a small push inwards. He opened it just enough to slip into the bathroom. She tilted her eyes upwards without moving her head, moving just far enough to see his broad chest. He wore a shirt, he was dressed for the event, the event which had lost all importance in Hermione's mind. The top buttons of his striped shirt were unfastened, soft ginger fuzz escaping and wrapping around the buttons.
She met his eyes; and crumpled.
His eyes, the window into a gentle creature so few truly knew, we're just as broken as he felt. He sighed softly, his voice scraping in his throat.
"Not again."
She showered, dressed, put a spell onto her underwear to prevent the bleeding going any further. Ron hadn't known. She had been scared to tell him, scared incase she said too soon. She had the first time, and the second.
Sitting in a light blue strapless dress, tight around her still-achey breasts, she was numb. Four. Four lives, four babies they had made. Each taking months of love making only to end in tragedy. She was twenty four, not old, not damaged in any way. Her mother had two, one before and one after she was born. Monica had never spoken of those she lost, now Hermione knew why.
The pain, the real agonising ache caused by a loss was similar to only one pain she had ever felt, the pain of a dead Harry in the arms of Hagrid. This one was a little lump, a little bundle of tissue that she passed. It was white and cellular; clinical. It was their baby.
It was thirteen weeks and three days, the longest she had ever gone. This time, today, the family get together, their baby was going to be introduced to the family.
Instead she felt her hands cradle an empty and inflamed womb.
Was there something wrong with her? It couldn't be Ron, genetically if his father had sired seven children then surely Ron was capable also. It had to be her. Was it the cruciatus curse? Had the agonising pain worse than pain itself damaged her body for good?
The blue dress was so tight, her breasts had swollen, her stomach too. They were prepared for a baby that would never come.
She knew why they were there today. Why the family had been called to the burrow, it would have been so perfect. Ginny was in her third month of pregnancy. She was fourteen weeks and, as it was her second, her belly grew faster than it had when she expected James.
Hermione dug her finger nails into her hand, trying to prevent herself from crying or shaking. The anger and the sadness were concocting together. It was just like Harry to have everything go right. He had a professional sportswoman for a wife, a beautiful scruffy-haired son and another on the way.
There would have been four days difference between these cousins. An example of how close the trio were, even their children born within days of each other. The tears spilt as her skin burst and blood spilt from the palm of her hand.
Ginny and Harry were to have their second child. Fleur and Bill had three, Even Percy had little Molly. It wasn't fair! All she had ever wanted Hermione had fought for, her friendships, her husband and now her baby.
It wasn't Ginny's fault though, nor Harry's. It wasn't anyone's fault. Her body just couldn't do it, she was failing for the first time.
"Aradia." Ron's voice was rough, husky and hurt as he crossed the room. He reached for hermione's hand and slipped a piece of soft cloth into it.
She looked at her husband, trying to find an explanation in his eyes but he glanced away. She would later thank him for this moment.
Hermione gently uncovered the warmth from inside the tiny bundle.
Inside the package it lay. The body was red and see through. The beginnings of a heart and brain easily visible through the young skin. It had hands, ears, feet. It had a head and a body. It looked human.
The tears poured like lukewarm rain from her eyes, a drop hitting the little creature, the tiny thing no longer living.
Ron crouched in front of his wife, gently covering the tiny bundle again.
"It's Aradia, I checked- a girl: a witch. Hermione she isn't ours, not this time. She's gone. And," he paused to sniff loudly and roughly brush away tears with the back of his hand, "and it's time to say goodbye."
Hermione nodded, letting Ron take the tiny handful- so small in his large hands.
Hermione felt her heart scream in her chest, felt like her whole body was twisting and contorting on the inside.
Her baby was gone, and just like her brother's before her, Aradia-the littlest witch would remain a part of her mother's soul. The otter lost a kit. The terrier, his pup.
A goal grew only a few floors from them, a healthy, happy foal. And it's life was a song to be faced.
Hermione wiped her face, splashing water over the areas where her make up had ran. She applied it again, with shaking hands as her stomach contracted sharply. She knew she was pale. Again. She would blame a bad night's sleep. Again. And she would carry on, persist, even if the music she faced would crack another part of her heart, another splinter, a wound which could never heal