Hi all! Thanks for even showing interest in this, I do truly, truly appreciate it. If you feel so inclined to do so, a review would seriously make me ecstatic. A simple rating 1-10 is all I need, I swear. Anyway, here it is, a change in my normal fanfiction tastes, well, the tastes that I let everyone else see. Yup, okay, here we go!
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Hermione,
We've been through a lot, and a lot has happened between us.
But I can't do this, I'm sorry, but I'm not ready for this in my life.
Ron
The wrinkled parchment fell to the floor, as did the witch, who sank down the counter until she
sat crumpled on the kitchen tiles.
He'd abandoned her without warning, abandoned them. Everything was crumbling, her worst fears coming to haunt her in one mistake. She was supposed to be working with the Ministry, making a name for herself. A name other than, "The Brightest Witch of Her Age".
It was getting hard to breathe now as reality came crashing closer, her head spinning as she fought back sobs.
When she'd first found out he was so calm, and she'd expected a complete fit, it was too strange. He'd reassured her that everything would be all right, that if she wanted to he'd find a safe way to dispose of it. The Wizarding World had a much tunneled view on abortions, and by tunneled, Hermione meant forbidden. That being said, as with most everything, it could be done.
She brought a shaking hand to her still flat abdomen, well, predominantly flat. Disturbingly enough, Hermione couldn't even remember most of that night. As it was with every other weekend, Ginny and Harry, and all the rest of them were out celebrating the end of the War. Wherever Harry was on a Friday, was where the crowd would be, without a doubt. Huge, billowing fireworks plumed through the streets and over the shops of Hogsmeade, fizzy drinks made to tickle your tummy were practically free.
All of this was merely a charade, Hermione knew, because when Sunday came, bringing the new week with it, body counts continued to escalate, more funerals to attend, so much black. Her entire wardrobe had been black for nearly two months after the end of the War. She refused to take part in the "merriment". It was all a ploy to momentarily forget the tragedy. To ignore.
This night had different though, this night she had decided to Apparate to Hogsmeade and visit Madame Rosmerta, maybe even catch a glimpse of McGonagall. Certainly not to partake in as many rounds of Firewhiskey as she could, mixing so many different alcohols she could barely walk, let alone coherently consent to sex. Yet Ronald had gone ahead, not that he was any better off than she was, for all she knew, he remembered less than she did.
It was only when she woke up beside him, his shirt flung haphazardly across the room, her bra nowhere to be found, that she realized what had happened. She was mortified. Her first time and she hadn't even been there to witness the blessed event. Blessed. Ha.
Now, she was alone with a blob baking in her womb.
It didn't even have a pulse yet as far as she knew.
"Oh God," her head was throbbing, she was completely nauseated, with a pitiful groan she pulled herself to her feet, hands weakly grasping the edge of the counter, she managed to scramble up and hold herself over the sink.
Then came the vomit, sick poured out of her in seemingly endless wretches of her stomach. It seemed like everything she had eaten in the past week was coming back to haunt her.
That was how Luna found her, bracing herself over the kitchen sink as she wiped her mouth with her dish rag.
"Hermione?" the Gryffindor had heard the familiar pop of someone Apparating, and she had honestly hoped it was Ron, but she knew better.
"Hey, Luna," she said greeted her guest weakly before spitting into the basin. How could her stomach not be empty?
Managing to straighten up, her back aching from being bent over for so long, she smiled weakly; it was fake, so obviously fake that she grimaced immediately afterward, as did Luna.
She was emotionally, physically, mentally drained. There was nothing left.
"Where's Ron?" Luna asked, completely clueless, Hermione couldn't help but laugh, albeit a bit hysterically.
When she'd finally recovered, her eyes going in and out of focus as she became a bit light-headed, she replied, "'dunno." Then, she rose up her index finger, turned around, and threw up again, this time all that was left was stomach acid, her esophagus burning from the trail it left. Before turning and shuffling slowly to the uneven kitchen table, she spit into the sink again and rinsed her mouth out with tap water.
As she sat down she simply lowered her head to the table, resting her forehead on the surface. A very guttural and hoarse groan rumbled up and out of her mouth.
"You mean he's gone, he left you?" Luna asked, she already knew, of course she did, and she was a bloody Ravenclaw. How could she not know?
Of course, Hermione still had to drop the bombshell; she waited as she listened to Luna taking her seat opposite the Gryffindor.
"Left us," her voice was muffled and she tried to focus on not vomiting again instead of Luna's sudden intake of breath.
The sudden sharp squeak of wood against the tile floor startled Hermione, and she peeked up at Luna who was now retreating down the hallway toward the bathroom, folding her arms, Hermione didn't even bother questioning the eccentric woman.
