Disclaimer: I own nothing. J.K. Rowling owns everything.

Author's Note: Wow thanks for all the positive reviews. I'm glad you all liked it and I'm glad some of you picked up on the panic in his voice even though I tried to make him as subtle as possible. Happy reading!

Thanks to MusicalCatharsis for her beta work for this chapter!

I've been thinking about everyone, everyone, who look so empty

But when I look at the stars, when I look at the stars,

When I look at the stars, I feel like myself

"Stars"--Switchfoot

(A month later: July 9th)

The summer morning sky is a hazy, polluted orange and red sky, randomly dotted with fainting stars…

…and I really don't plan to see the morning sky today.

Don't get me wrong, I am very fond of morning; enjoy it more than any other part of the day. I love nighttime, but mornings hold the presage and the potential of a new day. Despite the early morning smog and the fact that I feel under the weather because of this persistent summer cold, I have to admit that this morning is a particularly nice summer morning and I can tell it's going to be another nice day.

The sun rises above the horizon and a warm breeze blows the trees and my hair. It's now mid-morning and instead of being in bed, like I want, I'm walking the streets in Diagon Alley with Pansy and Ginny. Today is my first day off from St. Mungo's since I started working and after spending every free moment of last week sleeping, they really want to spend today out.

And though I'll never admit it to them, it really does feels so wrong to be inside on a day this magnificent.

I meander, stopping often to stare at the sky and the bustling pedestrians heading to work and preparing for their day, much to the chagrin of Pansy who constantly grumbles in an irritated manner, "Would you please hurry up?"

While she and Ginny are in a broom shop, I wait outside, taking a deep breath of almost fresh air, smell the food from the restaurants, candy from the shops, smoke from the joke shop's firework display, and…too bad the combination of those strong smells make me a bit queasy…

I frown when they lead me into a dress robes shop.

"So, what exactly are we doing here?" I ask aloud; a few witches look at me warily.

"Well," Pansy starts, tucking her black hair behind her ear, "I'm taking you shopping for some new robes."

Glumly, "What for?"

"As a get well gift. You've been under the weather lately so I decided to do something nice for you."

Yes, and dragging me out the bed at the crack of dawn for new robes is exactly what I need to get over this bloody cold.

Why not some more pepper-up potion? I ran out last night.

Ginny snorts humorously, shaking her head. I don't believe this Slytherin's reasoning for one bloody second, "Right, Pans, and since when do you do anything that doesn't at least benefit you somewhat?"

This evil little smirk creeps across her face, "Okay, you caught me…so my intentions are positioned a bit in the selfish region, but that doesn't mean I don't care…"

Music…someone is playing the guitar.

I forget about intentions and shopping and evil smirks and focus on the music.

…it reminds me of the summer I spent in Verona when I was ten.

Stopping, I close my eyes for a few minutes, listening and reminiscing.

The moment is mine to seize so I put this into a mental scrapbook I keep. It holds all the exceptional times for me, from childhood, through Hogwarts, after the war, right up to the present. Good times, when I feel on top of the world, invincible, overflowing with life.

I have to admit there aren't a lot of them; I presume there aren't supposed to be, but this is one of them. This moment right here is full of promise, makes me feel right with everything, and makes my problems, authentic and superficial, seem like nothing at all.

When Pansy and Ginny each grab a hand and pull me out of the entrance and into the robes shop, I allow myself to smile at the new happy memory…

…and while I'm getting fitted, I let my mind to drift through the last month.

The move is uneventful and with magic and good friends, it takes me about a day to unpack everything, including the kitchen, living room, and dining room. Ginny is a borderline slob and lazy…so it takes about a week and a half for her to unpack just her bedroom…and that's only because Pansy and I had an intervention and did it for her while she was at the market getting crisps…

"'Mione?" Ginny calls tearing me from my silent reverie.

Without giving it much thought, "Never heard of her."

"Quit playing games, Hermione, you've been in there nearly fifteen minutes, come out and let us see what you look like." Pansy tells me, trying to be firm, which is impossible because I can hear the smile in her voice.

"I'd rather stick my face in a blender. I don't feel well and here I am trying on robes, this is the most ridiculous—"

"Don't be so dramatic."

"I'm not," I grumble, pushing open the door to let them take their once-overs. I don't think they fully comprehend just how irritable and tired I feel. Between working and everything, I don't sleep much. And because of this cold, there is nothing more I want other than to spend the day in bed sleeping and catching up on television.

"You look…" Pansy's eyes trail up and down, but focus on my face for a moment before finishing her statement with an extremely disappointed look on her face, "Sick."

Clapping for effect, "Ding, ding! Someone give this woman a prize." I do my best imitation of a game show host, perky and with a crooked smile, and then deadpan my next words, "Guys, I feel like crap."

"You were fine this morning…okay, just one more store and we'll apparate you back home…"

My mind drifts to the Friday after the Draco's party when we (Ginny, Pansy, Luna, and I) decide to get together and celebrate the move and everything else with junk food and movies in our new flat. We have a lot to celebrate, it seems.

(1) Luna is spending the rest of the summer in Sweden hunting for crumple-horned snorkacks with her father before she takes a job as a magical plant and animal researcher for the ministry. She still believes in the existence of all those creatures, but I think she really likes spending time with her father most of all. Since she moved on her own and he started dating again, Luna doesn't get to see him as often as she likes…

…Luna makes sure to send lots of pictures and gifts and we promise to keep her up to date about everything.

(2) Pansy is starting a new relationship with some French wizard, Pierre something-or-the-other she met while visiting her grandparents in Paris. Pansy has had so many boyfriends that by the time I learn their names she's already dumped and moved on to someone else. The men she dates are always gorgeous, the kind you see modeling in Witch Weekly (some of them are models), but that's to be expected. Handsome men love women like Pansy: she's beautiful, rich, skinny, and extremely funny. I'm really glad Ginny and I became friends with her…

…and, actually, now that I think about it, she's not even with Pierre anymore.

(3) Ginny is launching of her dating career where she plans to not-exclusively date three men a month until the start of playoffs in Quidditch, which is in about nine months, dropping and picking up new men at will. She's always been a bit of a serial dater, even back at school, but it stopped with Harry. Now that they are separated, men are lining up to take her out. After a thorough screening process, she already has three men lined up for the month of July: Seamus Finnigan, Anthony Goldstein, and Ernie Macmillan…and she's been out with Seamus and Ernie once already this month…

…not to mention, she's scoping for August.

(4) As for me, I'm celebrating my freedom from Draco. I told them about everything that happened and when I spoke about walking out, they cheered. We all did. I can't say that a month has changed my feelings for him, it hasn't, but what I can say is that I feel more human than I have in years. The first month of my new life has me falling into a routine…

…and it's wonderful.

I get up in the morning, jog with Ginny and Pansy at the crack of dawn (something I haven't done in the last week), come home and have some tea. I go to work, take my lunch and either meet up with Pansy who works part-time as the hospital's receptionist (she doesn't need the money) or Ginny who likes to drop by when she's not practicing. I get off around four o'clock, the three of us go to dinner at this bar and grill near our flat in muggle London, Pansy usually walks home with us when she's not going out, and we chill together until it's time to go to bed. Pansy either floos home or stays the night, Ginny answers owls from fans, and I practice a bit of yoga before I go to bed.

It varies from day to day, but all in all I'm having a good month with my best friends…

Today, I'm not.

"One more store" has turned into five and Pansy has about eight new dress robes. I have none. Ginny is even yawning. Now she's looking for a book. I somehow manage to tame my annoyance by hunting down a book for myself to read when I'm back in bed. I get so lost in my quest for the perfect book that I run smack into one of the employees.

"I'm sorry. I was just coming to see if you needed any assistance." He smiles and before I can fix my lips to reply, he continues, "Do you need any help?" his words are agonizingly slow, like I'm fucking stupid or something.

Even though my blood boils, I hold the book I'm perusing up and force my lips to curl into a polite smile, "No thanks. I got what I came for," no need to scare the kid with my bitchy attitude. Not today at least. I immediately swing on my heels and walk to the register.

"How are you today?" The guy at the register asks, animated.

"Pretty well." I sit the book on the counter just as Ginny comes to stand by my side, yawning. I smirk to myself.

"I think Pans is ready to go," she informs.

Smiles, "Well, thank Merlin for that miracle."

The guy at the register looks at my book, flips it over, and reads the title aloud, "The History of Scandinavian Magic, volume 12. Is this for school or something? I didn't even know we carried this book…or that it has 11 volumes before this one."

Ginny's eyes go wide and my blood goes from heated to boiling.

Of course, I'm still trying to play it cool. For additional support, Ginny's hand is now on my shoulder, silently telling me not to kick his arse. I'm really trying not to, but there is something in my head rhythmically bellowing, "Kill, kill, kill…" I don't know where all this rage is coming from, it's not like me to be so angry over nothingness, but I forgo all things logical and let my temper build.

Edgily, I reply, "Yes, well, I'm a voracious reader…"

He's still looking at the title with amazement, "Old ladies with cats probably read this book."

My temper spikes. This uncontrollable rage hits an apex. Yes, this is the last fucking straw.

Dropping my voice to a volume only he and Ginny can hear, I lean forward on the counter and speak my next words, very darkly with clenched jaws, "Listen here, you little piece of fucking shit. I came here to buy this book, not to get your inane and pseudo-scholastic opinion on it. So tell me what I have to pay and put the book in a bloody bag before I jump over this fucking counter and shove your balls up through your throat," and lean back.

Ginny's mouth drops with a quiet, "Holy shit."

With her words, the guy quickly snaps out of his own shock and begins to bag the book.

"That'll be five galleons, two sickles, and three knuts."

I hand him exactly what he asked and he hands me the bag.

He stammers, "Y-you have a nice day, ma'am."

Flashes a fake smile, "Oh, I will…thank you."

On the way out, I notice someone reading a Witch Weekly article about Malfoy Lending Company…

…and it sprouts my first thoughts of Draco today.

Now that I'm not his senior financial analyst, I'm no longer getting owled messages in the middle of the night for randomness that usually I have to get out of bed for and floo to his house to deal with because he sleeps so little, I'm no longer looking over my shoulder to see if Draco is lurking, no longer do I have to listen to women talk about their unsuccessful plans to get him in bed, no longer do I have to watch them flirt with him, no longer do I find him sitting at my desk in the morning with a cup of my favorite tea, no longer do I have to deal with the mixed signals he gives off, he's not quiet with me anymore, and I'm no longer his spare bitch.

Great, huh?

Yes, yes it is.

But sometimes, parts of me miss him.

I know, it's silly, but I do. He represents a large portion of the last three years of my life; I'd be lying if I said I didn't at least think about him.

I think about him when I look on my desk and see that letter his owl dropped of the Monday after his party; the letter I haven't bothered to read.

Sometimes, when I'm lying in bed at night, I think and wonder if we're capable of a friendship. If he were anyone else I've had a fling with, I'd say yes, we're capable of being friends, their body language tells me so, but with him…he's the only one who gives me nothing to go on.

I don't know if he thinks I'm funny. I don't know if he thinks I'm a cool person. I don't know if he feels anything for anyone, much less me. I don't even know if he thinks my ability to regress to the mental age of fourteen is endearing or obnoxious.

So, for those reasons, my answer is no. I can never be friends with him.

Ginny says she ran into him in Diagon Alley two weeks ago while shopping for new dress robes.

She says he asked about me. Of course it was in his own roundabout method, which really meant they chatted about Quidditch until she casually and quite on purpose mentioned my name and he offhandedly asked in that annoyingly unemotional voice of his, "Oh, how is…she?"

Which is exactly what happened.

What can I say? I know this man like I know the freckles that adorn my shoulders.

See, I half-expect something like that to occur, but what I don't expect is Draco informing her that his company has decided to sponsor for her Quidditch team and that he purchased new Quidditch equipment for the Holyhead Harpies.

He asks for our address to connect to our flat so he can floo over some of the equipment that's been delivered to his home.

I've never heard more bullshit in one sentence in my life. It's the most absurd thing I've ever heard and I'm kind of worried that he's losing his touch.

Still, as she tells me this, my eyes go wide, my heart races…until she says she gave him the manager's address instead, using the excuse that we have no room to store any equipment. Whew!

However, I wonder what exactly that suspicious Draco Malfoy is up to…sneaky little ferret.

Cause I'm not here to be around

Be that girl you that you forget about

Cause all I want is just to be song

That you can feel longer than just right now

"Be the Girl"—Aslyn

(A week later: July 18th)

Pansy is always late.

It never fails. I'm always fifteen minutes early and she's always twenty minutes late. Sometimes, I tell her she needs to be somewhere an hour earlier than she actually needs to be, but she still manages to show up, not just that hour late, but the twenty minutes too.

So when I sit down at the table with my peppermint tea, I blow the steam in confidence that by the time she gets here, my tea will be cold and possibly gone.

I'm lost in thought when I hear a calm, cool voice speak above me, "Someone sitting here?"

My entire body goes rigid at the sound of his voice.

Before I can verbalize my protest, Draco takes the seat across from me, coffee in hand, looking perfect, poised, and just as austere as usual.

He's in all black. He always wears all black and everytime I see him, I find myself curiously thinking, how is it that he stays so cool?

I'm thinking he must have some sort of coolant charm on his clothes because I'm wearing much less and sitting inside, right now, I'm hot.

He doesn't grace me with eye contact for the longest and seems to find something outside tremendously interesting.

All my focus is on drinking this cup of tea because he makes me feel so insecure. Watching him sit there and stare out the fucking window makes me nervous in a way I haven't been since I walked the halls of the school I attended before Hogwarts, when my paranoid, puberty-ridden self knew that everyone was staring, not because I was cute or charming, but because I wasn't good enough.

With him, I've never felt good enough.

With him, I feel a variety of emotions.

I feel childish, annoying, needy, obnoxious, unworthy, unimportant, and insignificant.

And maybe he's trying to make me feel like this, maybe he's trying to degrade me, trivialize me, and make me feel irrelevant…and it works. Because now I'm sitting here in front of him and, even though I feel like crap, all I can think about is if my clothes are right, if I look good, if my hair is too frizzy, what he thinks of me…

"Have you started your new job?"

My head jerks up to find grey eyes piercing right into me, I clear my throat, "I have."

Casually, he takes a few swigs of coffee, "Do you like it?"

In a small voice, I answer after taking the last sip of tea, "It's very gratifying."

His voice is chilly, "Are you drinking chai tea?"

"No, peppermint tea," I reply, eyes stuck on the table.

Thinly, "Are you sick?"

"Just a summer cold, why do you ask?"

His even voice gives me the chills, "I know chai tea is your favorite and I was about to offer to buy you another cup…would you like another cup of peppermint tea?"

Oh, sweet Merlin, he knows. He knows something as insignificant as my favorite tea.

He knows…

…no, this is just another one of those mixed signals and he'll probably be ignoring me in a few minutes. So, I won't pay attention to it, I won't let it sweep me up, I won't be foolish. I'm more level headed than this. I'm not the girl who gets swept up in crap like this. So I force all those thoughts out my head and give him a short nod.

Minutes later, I have a full cup of peppermint tea with all the right fixings. I take the first sip that tastes even better than the last cup, "Thanks."

After a few moment of tense silence, he asks, "Do you like your new flat?"

"Yes," and while he's on the topic, "Ginny told me the company is sponsoring the Holyhead Harpies and about the new equipment you bought."

"We are. The decision was made the Monday after you left. Do they like the equipment?"

"Yes, from what I can tell, they do."

This time, I look away; focusing on a tree outside the coffee shop, the kids walking, everything, just to take my mind off of this awkward conversation. I pray Pansy will just appear and make this all stop. It's another two minutes before I decide to look at Draco again. His face is twisted and it looks like he's intent on discussing a very serious subject. I can't tell if that's his real intention or if he just looks normal, but I hold my breath anyway, praying he isn't going to unload his girl problems on me.

Anything but that.

Abruptly, he sits his coffee down, "Can we cut the bullshit for a moment?"

It's not just his question that stuns me; it's his tone, the restlessness in the sense that he smooths his hair down, the fact that I see and not just hear his frustration.

He's frustrated?

Lovely.

Of course, I maintain my composure and take a long sip of tea, "I'm sorry, what?"

Curt sigh, "We've been dancing around the issue at hand and quite frankly, I don't like to dance."

I feign ignorance and reply very mockingly, "Forgive me, this summer cold has me a little—foggy…so if you could explain to me why you look and sound so frustrated about dancing, then maybe I could help."

Draco flexes his hands and I know he's irritated. I don't think I've ever seen him as anything other than composed, severe, and stoic.

But right now, the aggravation and frustration is very palpable.

Good.

"I was talking about this issue…you and me."

Watching him with rather dull eyes, I tuck my hair behind my ear and take another taste of tea. I'm silent for another moment before I retort in seemingly bewildered tones, "I'm sorry, Draco, but I didn't recognize there even was an issue between you and me."

Firmly, he sips his own coffee and scoffs, "I didn't either until you shouted at me about not wanting to be my whore, stormed from the room, and made damn sure I had no way of getting your new address."

Glaring icily, "I think the term I used was, "standby bitch" Draco."

He ignores my correction, takes a nip, and moves on with ease, "Did you get my owl?"

"Yes."

"Did you, I don't know, read it?"

Truthfully, "Didn't feel it was necessary."

Coolly, but with a hint of anger, he inquires, "And why not?"

"Reading your letter is a major setback in my plans to rid you from my life."

"Hmph," He looks thoughtful for a moment, "So I was right. All this change was about me."

Petulantly, I cross my arms, "Oh, don't be so bloody egotistical, Draco."

"Fine," he fires back, "I won't be egotistical, if you stop being so bloody stubborn and tell me what the hell is wrong, why you insist on running from me. I had to follow you from St. Mungo's to—"

Wait, what?

Incensed, "You followed me? Are you stalking me now or something? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Just like always, when I'm up in arms and mad as hell, he sits there like nothing is going on and speaks calmly, "You didn't leave me with many options, Hermione."

I'm rapidly losing control over myself, "You don't deserve any options; you don't deserve anything! Last I checked, I hated you…and you didn't care. Life goes on, you said…and you're absolutely right."

Draco takes a moment to straighten the container with the little packs of sugar, making sure it's perfectly aligned with the small bowl of half-and-half and the napkins. Even this little act of dismissal sends my brain in a whirlwind of rage and offense. I feel that oh-so familiar rise in blood pressure as my blood starts to boil. When he finishes, Draco looks at me for a few seconds.

Leisurely, he speaks, "I just wanted to know what was wrong."

My temper is rising like molten lava in a volcano that's about to erupt, "I wouldn't have to tell you what's wrong with me if your head wasn't shoved up your arse 24/7. You know nothing about what goes on around you I find that a bit on the pathetic side. You know, of all the inconsiderate, selfish, and childish—"

He snorts, "Childish? Guess you know all about that, huh?"

I feel that volcano erupt suddenly in my head and all I see is red. Wild with rage, the echo of my slap reverberates all over the coffee shop, causing heads to turn to see the origin of this disturbance and tiny whispers and looks from other customers. Wearing a noticeable hand-print on his pale face, Draco shows very little emotion while I'm red hot with the heat of anger across from him.

He takes another sip of his coffee and checks his watch before standing and speaking very stiffly, "Are you done having your puerile little temper tantrum? If so, I have a meeting," he tosses a few muggle dollars on the table and walks out.

I'm not crazy. I'm just a little unwell

I know right now you can't tell…

"Unwell"—Matchbox 20

(Four days later: July 22nd)

"That's it?" Ginny asks incredulously as she stabs the bowtie noodles on her plate, looking at Pansy who's eating her chicken salad conscientiously with a growing pile of cucumbers and onions on a little plate. She's on the hunt for another onion, spots it, makes a face and uses her fork to extract it from her salad and add it to the pile.

We decide tonight is the perfect night to try a new restaurant for dinner. It's Friday and in spite of the incident with Draco, it's been a good week. I'm going to be on my own this weekend because they are going out, for sure so tonight is our night and we're eating at the family restaurant next door to the bar and grill.

Pansy was just telling us how she met this good-looking muggle guy during a random shopping trip with Daphne Greengrass when he so rudely started making catcalls and wolf-whistles at them.

"Yes, that's it." Pansy replies simply, sipping her water with lemon.

Confused, "You didn't hex him or anything?" I question, dipping my spoon in chicken noodle soup, not very hungry. If there's one thing I know about Pansy Parkinson is that she doesn't appreciate rude guys. When provoked, she is a force to be reckoned with. Her temper is worse than Ginny at her finest and mine at my most epic, though after the incident in the bookstore and a more recent incident on the elevator in the mall yesterday, she would beg to differ.

"No, I decided to spare his life. I'm too pretty to go to Azkaban."

Ginny smiles, "So, you didn't cuss him out or harm him in any way?"

Pansy just stares at her before laughing, "No, you make me out to be some sort of monster."

"Well…"

I chuckle when she swat Ginny's arm in protest, "I know that I can be a bit, umm…" she rakes her fingers through her black hair, searching for the right words.

"Bitchy?" I offer with a shrug, pushing my bowl of soup away, not interested in touching it.

There's a glare right before Pansy clears her throat, "Thanks, Hermione, I was going to say difficult."

"Oh, difficult?" Ginny scoffs sarcastically, "Right, okay." She pauses for a moment and gives Pansy a look that tells her to continue. So when it becomes evident that she needs prompting, Ginny speaks up, "So…what happened?"

"He was an obnoxious jerk…let's just say that the conceited smile was suddenly smacked right off his face—"

"I thought you didn't harm him."

"I didn't."

Now we're both confused, "What? You said—"

"I didn't do anything. Daphne did. Marched right across the store and slapped the—"

"Greengrass slapped someone?" Ginny exclaims, "I thought she was all anti-violence and eco-friendly."

"Well, she had a lapse back to the day she slapped Blaise for screaming her bra size to everyone in earshot at dinner in 5th year. I really thought I was going to have to put her in a full body-bind to stop her from kicking this guy's arse."

Ginny cracks up, "What I would give to be a fly on the wall at that store."

I just sit there; quietly chuckling at the mental image of the scene plays out in my head. Daphne has always been some sort of feminist, always ranting about how it was unfair that a man runs the entire ministry of magic, that women have to suffer monthly at the hands of a man, and how men get to be fat and disgusting but women have to be pretty and petite to get dates…thus, I can say that Daphne has never had a boyfriend. She's kind of anti-men these days, but I suspect she's as scared of them hurting her as they are of her.

A lot of men are intimidated by a powerful woman, that's something we all know, but sometimes, Daphne intimidates me, especially when she goes off on one of her tangents…

"So," Pansy's voice interrupts my thoughts, "Hermione, do you feel any better?"

"Not particularly."

"Are you sure it's a cold?" Ginny wonders.

"I'm positive…I've had enough summer colds to know what it feels like. Albeit, this is one of the worst ones I've ever had, but still…I mean what else could it be?"

She shrugs and finishes her food.

Pansy's still observing me critically and takes a drink of lemon water before she concludes, "You look like shit."

Glaring, "Why thank you, Pans," I sit my spoon down, sarcastically biting, "that's a wonderful thing to say."

Brashly, she shrugs as if she knows she's telling the truth, "Well, you do…" She looks in my almost full bowl, "Why don't you really eat something? You're probably just hungry." Pansy's offhanded suggestion makes Ginny's eyebrow shoot heavenward.

Shrugging, "I'm not, actually…I've eaten a little of this, but I'm not really hungry."

"All you eat is toast and even that's on occasion…and all you drink is water, sprite, and tea…that can't be good."

Sarcastically, I respond, "Well, at least I'm hydrated."

"Nobody likes a smart-arse, Hermione…I'm just a concerned friend. You've lost weight." Pansy gives me a very motherly look, while she reprimands me like a child. I really feel sorry for her future children and I'm starting to thank the stars that she doesn't want them. You see, it's Pansy's way or the highway, nobody can tell her anything.

And since I'm in no mood to spar it out with her, I compromise, "You're right…I'm probably just hungry."

So I start eating, even though my body screams that I'm making the wrong decision.

Even though my stomach feels like I'm on a rollercoaster that lurches uncontrollably. Somehow, I manage to finish the soup, talk a bit longer, pay, and leave. Pansy, satisfied by my eating habits, decides to walk back with us to our flat. I want to apparate because I feel so bad, but I know its tradition, we always walk.

Pansy is the first to speak, "Okay, so I've been thinking—"

"Gosh, I knew I smelled something burning!" Ginny laughs at own joke.

I smile.

Pansy deadpans, "Funny, Gin, real funny…anyway, I've been thinking about seriously dating someone."

I stop dead in my tracks, "I'm sorry, what?"

Ginny looks to the sky as if she's trying to spot a specific star, "I think the world is coming to an end. Are there pigs flying?" she turns her gaze to Pansy, "Quick, owl your mum and see if hell has frozen over."

"Why would my mum know if—" Pansy frowns, "Not funny, Ginny."

"Well, I thought it was," she chuckles and continues with the truth, "you know your mum is the devil's most loyal subject…she won't even let Hermione on the property because she's not a pureblood." Pansy agrees with a truthful nod and shrug that meant, 'what can I say? She's my mum'. We start walking again and Ginny changes the topic back, "So, why do you want to get serious with someone?"

"Gifts," is her quick and simple reply.

"I'm sorry, what?" I repeat.

"Gifts, Hermione, gifts. I was in the store, picking out this goblin necklace for me and I ran into this guy who was buying his girlfriend a gift to show his appreciation and that's when it hit me. It was like enlightenment. There, I realized that the longer you date someone, the better the gifts are and the more gifts you get. There's anniversary gifts, Christmas gifts, 'the day I met you' gifts, random gifts, 'thinking of you' gifts, thank you gifts, birthday gifts, and Merlin, if we get engaged, we get gifts from everyone!"

She's totally serious. Of course, Ginny and I exchange looks.

"Pans—" I start to reprimand, but my stomach does this violent heave and I press my hand to it. I clear my throat and start again, "You—" Another reel. I close my eyes and will myself not to throw up here and now.

"'Mione, are you okay? You look a bit green…"

"I'm fine, I just—"

The next thing I know, I'm on my knees, painfully puking up everything I ate in the grass two blocks from our flat, whilst Pansy shrieks, "Yuck! Oh, my god! So gross!" and Ginny holds my hair back. When I feel there's nothing left to come up, Pansy looks around, whips out her wand, and mutters, "scourgify" and "tergo" to clean the mess and me up. She uses a charm to clean my mouth while Ginny sits on the ground next to me, rubbing my lower back, and Merlin does it feel good.

I close my eyes, drawing my knees to my chest and resting my head on them as she massages my aching lower back.

"You weren't kidding when you said you didn't feel well…maybe I shouldn't have forced you to eat. Sorry about that." Pansy mutters, making a face that really does make her look like a pug.

"It's okay, really." I mumble, relaxed.

"Do you feel better?"

More mumbling, "Kind of."

Ginny stops massaging and I suddenly want to throttle her, "Hermione, how long have you been sick like this?"

Distracted and a little woozy, "I don't know, almost a month."

"Symptoms?"

I look at Ginny like she's crazy, "Interested in a career as a healer or something?" When she gives me a stern glare, I sigh and list them off, "My muscles hurt, it's mainly my back and it's kind of dull, I threw up yesterday morning and just now, I'm really tired all the time, and everything smells funny—"

"Let's not forget the mood swings," Ginny interjects, "You uncharacteristically slapped Draco and cussed that guy out at Florish and Botts—"

"And that man on the elevator you almost hexed!" Pansy exclaims, suddenly remembering the incident I want to forget.

Ginny raises an eyebrow. She doesn't know what happened. "Anything else?"

I reply glumly, "No."

Pansy speaks up in a humored voice, "Sounds to me like you're pregnant…I hope you're not pregnant…wouldn't that be the worst thing ever? Getting fat and peeing all the time."

I let out a rueful laugh, "Please, that's the most ridiculous thing you've ever said. I can't be pregnant. Let me refresh you on the facts of life, you have to have sex in order to get—" My mind drifts back to Draco's birthday party and I gasp, "Oh...shit!"

Is there anyone out there?

Cause it's getting harder and harder to breathe.

"Harder to Breathe" Maroon 5

(Thirteen and a half minutes later)

Pansy slams the front door and comes scurrying into Ginny's bedroom with two bags, out of breath.

"Okay! I got the test. I didn't know which one to get so I got one of each," and my mouth drops as she proceeds to dump at least thirty pregnancy tests on her bed. The second bag has a cute pair of muggle jeans she saw in the store window she passed and just had to have because they made her arse look phenomenal.

Yes, she is this ridiculous, but I love her to death.

Ginny, who's carrying the second half a gallon of orange juice, stops dead at her door, "Holy shit, Pans, did you clean them out?"

"The lady did look at me funny, now that I think about it…I should've confounded her arse, hmm…"

I can literally see Pansy making a mental note to go back to that drug store and handle business.

She chuckles, sits the orange juice on her counter, and picks up the first box, hands it to me, and points in the direction of her bathroom, "Now, follow the directions and don't freak out, okay…"

It's not like I can, I was freaking out so badly by the time we got home Ginny has to force some leftover calming potion down my throat and a half a gallon of orange juice as a chaser.

Let me say that I just know this is all really ridiculous and a waste of our time. We could be sitting in the living room watching television now, laughing…

…this has to be a summer cold, seriously. I can't be pregnant. I've just managed to get away from Draco Malfoy for good and I don't think I should be punished by being pregnant with his child. I'm a good person, damn it, I follow all the rules, I donate galleons to the poor, I help out the underprivileged any way I can, I'm a good person.

There's just no way in hell that I can be pregnant.

A gallon of orange juice, seven cups of water, a entire roll of toilet paper, and seventeen positive tests later leave me sobbing on the floor, face in hands. It's well past midnight and Ginny is patting my back, while Pansy paces, reading one of the boxes more intensely than I've ever seen her read anything.

"Oh, come on, not all of these can be positive! It doesn't make sense!" Pansy argues, "No offense, Hermione, but you can never fully trust these muggle contraptions."

Sniffling, "None taken."

"I've read about them. They're not totally accurate; they give out false positives all the time. You're probably not pregnant, 'Mione, this bloody stick is probably the one that has it all wrong…all seventeen of them."

Ginny is thoughtful for a minute, "Well, there is a magical test we can do. It's completely accurate."

I look at her hopeful through teary eyes while Pansy scoffs, "Why didn't we do it first?"

Shrugs, "Wasn't thinking about it, sorry. There are some dream and memory side effects—"

"To hell with the side effects, let's do it!"

I desperately agree.

A minute later, after digging Ginny's wand from the discarded pregnancy test boxes, scraps of papers with directions on them, and just the usual junk, we convene in Ginny's bathroom. She opens her medicine cabinet and I see a row of the same potion. Merlin, there has to be at least twenty of them. Blushing, she picks one out and hands it to me.

"Damn, you've got an arsenal of pregnancy test potions in there, Gin…" Pansy comments, snickering.

Her blush spreads when she mumbles, "Sometimes Harry and I forget...they're for just in case..."

Pansy coyly remarks, "Yeah, right, keep on telling yourself that Ginny and maybe one day you'll believe it."

"Shut up, Pans…drink that Hermione."

I open the cap and drink it. It tastes like mud and aluminum.

Pansy taps her foot impatiently, "What do we do now?"

"We wait for five minutes before I say the spell."

So we wait in silence and it's quite possibly the worst and most torturous silence I've ever had to endure in my life because I've never been on such an edge. My silence is more of an agitated silence because Pansy insists on tapping her feet and humming a weird sister song I especially despise. Ginny is staring at her watch.

One minute.

Pansy sighs.
Ginny starts restlessly bouncing her leg.
I pace the length of the bathroom.

Two minutes.

Pansy files her nails.
Ginny stares at herself in the mirror.
I sit in the corner with my head on my knees.

Three minutes.

Pansy checks her face for zits.
Ginny plays with my hair.
I sigh.

Four minutes.

Pansy starts chewing bubble gum.
Ginny massages my shoulders.
I close my eyes.

"Five minutes!" Ginny exclaims. Pansy spits out her gum in the trash, I scramble to my feet.

We stand in the center of the bathroom while she whips out her wand. I'm quite possibly the most nervous I've ever been, so nervous that I feel a bit lightheaded.

I don't hear the incantation she mutters, but about three seconds later, her wand lights up.

Pink.

Confused, "What the hell does that mean?"

Pansy and Ginny exchange looks, Pansy goes pale and Ginny clears her throat, "You're pregnant."

Everything goes black.