Prologue Part Two: No One Mourns the Wicke

"Are you sure that you'll be okay without me, dear?" Mr. Granger asked his wife, suitcase in hand.

"Aren't you just like a man. It's a bit late for that now, dear. You should've asked me that three weeks ago." Mrs. Granger sighed and straightened his tie.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger were your ordinary British couple. Mr. Granger was quite ordinary looking. The only really redeeming physical quality he had about him was that he had not yet begun to lose his dark hair, of which he was quite vain. He was the local dentist and a layman of a small church on the edge of town. He went out of town very often, but those who knew the couple knew that he was entirely devoted to his wife.

Mrs. Granger was a very pretty, slim woman with dark eyes, wavy light brown hair and a wide smile. She walked with a slight sway in her hips, giving her a suggestive aura at all times. She was the product of an affair between her father, a Pureblood wizard who was a member of the House of Parliament and the Wizengamot, and a gorgeous Pureblood intern working for the Minister. She was not fully welcome in the small community of Jamestown. Many of the women distrusted her and kept their husbands close to them when she would walk through town.

Not that this mattered really. Mr. and Mrs. Granger lived so far out of town that the only real connection they had to it was through Mr. Granger's volunteer work for the church. They lived in a small, two-bedroom house on the edge of a lake. The house was neat and welcoming, with the yard well swept and gardened. Mrs. Granger was a good wife to Mr. Granger and he was a good husband to her.

All was well.

"I'm off," he kissed her gently, got into the car, and drove off.

Mrs. Granger turned to walk back into the house and stopped just before the doorway.

"The wine!" She ran to the garden shed and moved the hoe and rake aside. Hidden underneath that, were two bottles of wine and a bottle of vodka.

"Bloody wanker doesn't believe in alcohol. Humph!" She stalked back to the house, with the bottles swinging carelessly in her hands. She placed them in the freezer to chill before running around the house and slamming the window shut and closing the blinds. She sauntered upstairs and sat down at the small vanity table in the bedroom she shared with her husband.

Mrs. Granger proceeded to brush her hair in quick neat strokes until her curls shone and bounced when she turned her head. She rimmed her eyes with eyeliner and after applying a little bit of blush to her cheeks, surveyed herself in the mirror. 'Look at me,' she thought, a bit disgusted. 'Primping myself for a night alone! No one but me…and a few of those bottles of wine.' She got up from the vanity and went to her closet. She reached into its far corners and found a shallow box. She opened it and pulled out the soft silky folds of material and held it out in front of her. Mrs. Granger put on the slinky nightdress, which she hadn't worn since her marriage to Mr. Granger three years ago, and admired herself in front of the mirror. Maybe it was a good thing that they hadn't had any children. She was still slim—maybe not as slim as she had been before they had married, but that was only to be expected since she really hadn't needed to look her best ever since she married. Her skin was still smooth and soft, and she didn't have any cellulite in places that could be a bit embarrassing if George had had any notion of… she blushed. George hadn't any notion. 'For quite some time now, actually,' she reflected. It would be quite discomforting if she hadn't been just as disinterested at times. To be frank, he was rather horrible at it. It was like making love with a greedy sixteen-year-old boy.

She tore her gaze away from the mirror and walked back down to the kitchen. She took out the wine she had stored in the fridge and poured herself a glass. She perched herself on the stool at the kitchen island and took small sips, savoring every taste.

Three hours later, she was curled up on the settee with her favorite romance novel and a quart of chocolate ice cream. Darkness was just beginning to settle in, but the sun was still barely visible in the horizon. The bell rang, startling her from her book. She frowned and walked over to the door and looked through the peephole. It was a traveling salesman. He looked a little worse for wear—his coat was a little patched and dirty and he looked thoroughly woe-bygone.

Her heart went out to him and she opened up the door.

"Hello, can I help you?" she asked him.

The man seemed to be lost for words. His mouth hung open slightly and she was about to snap at him and shut the door in his face when she realized that she was still only wearing the nightgown. She giggled drunkenly and tugged at his sleeve.

"Come in! I'm so sorry, but we can't have the neighbors seeing me like this!"

What he really wanted to ask was, 'What neighbors?' But she dragged him into the house so fast he barely had enough time to pick up his suitcase.

She led him into the living room and pulled out a chair for him, while she perched herself on the sofa with her legs folded underneath her.

"You're a traveling salesman, right? So, sell me something! I'm drunk, or nearly there at least, and I'm rather bored. You'd better do a good job!" she teased.

"Oh, um, right." He cleared his throat nervously.

Was there sweat on his forehead because the house was too hot? Mrs. Granger couldn't tell.

"Well, my name is Rufus and I was wondering if you would be interested in some of our luxury items…" he trailed off.

"Elaine," she supplied.

"Elaine," he repeated.

"Can I get you some wine?" she asked, rising from the couch and pouring him a glass before he could answer. She tried to sway her hips the best she could on her way to his chair, but the copious amounts of wine she had consumed earlier that day were making that particular task very difficult.

Rufus was not ugly, not ugly at all. In fact, he was rather handsome with an endearing scruffy quality to him. And she was very, very attracted to him.

When she got to his chair she stumbled a little and put a hand on his chest to steady herself. She was nearly straddling him and when she looked up into his eyes, she knew that Rufus would be staying for the rest of the night.

"Why do you have to leave now, of all days?" Elaine whined from her place in front of the toilet.

"That Sibyll woman needs a firm talking to. The best place for her would be a mental hospital, but as long we can stop her from spreading her absurd prophecies, that'll have to do." George wiped the rest of his shaving cream from his face and ran his fingers through his hair to neaten it up.

"Fine. Of course I can see how some crazy Seer is more important than the birth of your child," she snapped.

"Darling, we don't even know if it's going to be born today," George reminded her gently.

"Today is the day," she said stubbornly. "I can feel it."

"I'll call Frank and have his wife and daughter come over here to look over you. Will that satisfy you?"

"Great, I get to have the preacher's wife and daughter witness my blasphemies as I curse you to hell for doing this to me and abandoning me on the day of our child's birth," she muttered. Of course that wasn't all true…the child was definitely not George's. But as long as he believed that he was the reason she was bigger than a house, she was going to milk it for all it was worth.

The doorbell rang downstairs and Elaine waddled down unhappily to greet Mrs. Jackson and her daughter. Thankfully, the preacher's wife and daughter were as addicted to the telly as Elaine had become over the course of her pregnancy, and the three settled down without any complaint to watch.

Around twelve o'clock, Elaine drifted off into an uneasy nightmarish sleep, only to be woken up by sharp pains.

"OOWWWW!" she howled. Her screech jolted Mrs. Jackson and Jane, her daughter, out of their sort of trance.

"What is it, Elaine?" Mrs. Jackson asked, with as much concern in her voice as she could muster.

"It's coming," Elaine gasped, her face white.

Jane's eyes nearly popped out of her sockets. "Today? Oh God, oh God, oh God! It's not supposed to be due until next week!"

"Jane! Bring the car around!" Mrs. Jackson ordered. She laid Elaine down on the couch and rushed to kitchen for a wet cloth. As Jane rushed out the door, Mrs. Jackson began dabbing her forehead.

Jane and her mother managed to load Elaine into the car somehow and they sped off for the nearest hospital. Halfway there, Elaine cried out, "IT'S COMING!"

Jane spun the car over to the side of the road and opened the car doors. Her mother was already in the backseat of the car, holding Elaine's hand and coaching her through the contractions.

"Jane," her mother gasped. "Run to that farmhouse and ask for a pot of clean water, bandages, a knife, a blanket, a garbage bag, and some ibuprofen!"

Jane sprinted to the farmhouse as fast as could and came back in a matter of minutes with all of the equipment and the farmer's wife.

"Mum, this lady—she's a midwife. She can help," she wheezed through heavy breaths.

The midwife, who was not even winded from the sprint from the farmhouse, was a rather dazed looking woman with big glasses that magnified her eyes so much, she looked like a bug. Thankfully, she had had much experience and with her help, Elaine delivered her child—a healthy baby girl.

"What are you planning on naming her?" the midwife asked, wiping her hands of the blood.

"Hermione," Elaine muttered distractedly. The child in her arms felt weird, unnatural almost. She wanted to get rid of it, but no sooner as the thought had entered her mind, she brushed it aside. She wasn't going to get rid of her Hermione. No matter how much trouble this child was going to be worth. The child looked like her and Rufus through and through, with her already thick baby hair and big brown eyes. She didn't know how she was going to explain this one to George…

"What is your name?" Elaine asked the midwife. She felt someone take the baby from her arms and another person prop a pillow under her head.

"…Trelawney…"

And that was all Elaine heard before she passed out.