A/N: This story is going to be mega-slow paced. Everyone seems to like the slow pace in Say Something, so I'm bringing it to this new story. It'll work, trust me. I have such big plans for this story.


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Scattered Pieces

Chapter Two:
The Questioned Piece

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She had the last piece of him on this earth, due to a careless mistake.

Now she has to pick up the rest of the pieces left behind and leave some of her own.

All she knows is that this piece of him will change everything.

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3 O'clock in the morning found Hermione Granger slumped over a toilet, puking whatever was left of her dinner earlier that night. Her head was swimming as the acidic taste in her mouth caused her to retch all over again. She had no idea what had come over her, she had trouble sleeping due to some cramps in her lower abdomen and then all of a sudden a wave of nausea washed over her and she found herself racing to the bathroom. She had been feeling a little dizzy and light-headed for the past few days, almost since arriving in Australia, but she thought maybe she had caught something on the flight, after all, there was a sick child sitting right next to her during the 23 hour flight.

But she didn't know where the vomiting came from. It had come so suddenly and such a rush, that her stomach clenched at the thought. This wasn't the first time she had been sick since arriving in Australia to retrieve her parents. On the third night, her parents had taken her out for dinner to catch up on the missing months they had lost, and she had found herself finding the smell of the kangaroo meat quite sickening. But she had thought it was the meat itself, and nothing to do with her health, but now a week on, she didn't know what to think.

She felt exhausted. Between the war, the grief, the jetlag and now the vomiting, she felt like she could sleep for days and still not be completely reenergised. Problem was, she still couldn't sleep.

Hermione had tossed and turned in her bed for hours before her mind welcomed sleep, which only now was disturbed by her nausea. Even being far away in Australia, she still jumped at unfamiliar sounds and woke up feeling distressed when she couldn't immediately recognise her surroundings. Her parents had been her rock throughout the last few days, which surprised her because she figured she would have needed to hold their hands after admitting what she had done, not the other way around. But her parents, being exactly that – parents, had discarded the notion of their memory loss once they had noticed how much that time had affected their daughter.

She was a mess. She knew she had every right to be that way, and she knew she wouldn't be the only one. She thought she knew what she was getting into, she thought she knew all the repercussions of war, but she hadn't encountered for just how painful it would be in the aftermath.

She got up from her crouching position and flushed the toilet. Moving to the sink, she quickly brushed her teeth again, relieved as the combination of mint and water filled her mouth taking away the acidic taste.

Hermione glanced at herself in the mirror. The bags under her eyes were getting more predominant as of late, and their darkness made her skin look paler than usual. Her hair, whilst had always been in a state of disarray, seemed to be getting more unattainable in the Australian air.

She sighed. She had to be thankful for all those months on the run, not glancing at a mirror for very long. Hermione had never been particularly vain, but after a while, she didn't care what either Harry or Ron thought of her appearance. If either of those two boys cared, they didn't express their opinions on it, and if anything, she knew that it didn't matter to either one of them.

She thought about the others back in England. She hadn't really even said goodbye, and now she'd have to face the reality of the aftermath when she returned. She had left them in a broken state, consumed by grief, with endless funerals to organise and attend. In the time she had been away, she had hoped that most of the funerals would've passed as she couldn't bring herself to go to any of them – part of the reason why she had left in such a hurry.

That's when he came into her thoughts. His family mourning his premature death, his brothers huddled around his body, the cry from his mother when she realised he was no longer around. The thought caused her chest and throat to tighten with overwhelming grief. More than anything she had hoped his funeral had already happened. She wouldn't know until she got back, but going to his funeral may possibly kill her. She already struggled with the knowledge that he was never going to return to her, but to say her final goodbye would be all too unbearable for her.

She had hoped things might've actually begun between them properly when the war ended, that maybe they could've given things a chance. She didn't want to get attached to him prior to the hunt; she had done her best at not letting her feelings interfere, knowing that her friendship with Harry had extensive repercussions already. But then there was that night…

A surprise encounter. It had been like fate to her, their paths crossing when they did. Things had already been tense at the peak of the war, so to find comfort in his arms – even for just one night – had come as a blessing. She was so thankful that they had their moment, but it had never crossed her mind that the reason there would be no future afterwards was due to his death, not hers.

Hermione glanced back at herself in the mirror. Tears had begun silently streaming down her face again. She couldn't count how many times she had cried since the war ended – most of the tears being shed for him. She wondered if it would've hurt as much if they had never had their night together, if she hadn't allowed herself into believing there might have been hope for them after all.

Wiping the tears away furiously, she went back to bed, even though she was trying her best to stop the onset of nausea that had come with the thoughts. Climbing back into the guest bed, she tried to will her mind into getting a few more hours of sleep, but all she could think of was of the one of the last memories she shared with a man who would never know how she felt.

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She always loved the beach.

Memories of summers spent with her grandparents on a sunny coast always kept her heart warm. After they died, Hermione's parents decided that holidays were to be taken abroad, and Hermione hadn't minded at the time; but she always did miss those summers at the beach.

She shouldn't have been surprised that her parents' altered-selves had picked a house on the beach. They probably also vaguely remembered the sun and the sea. After having their memories restored, both her parents expressed how much they would miss waking up to an ocean view like the one they had gotten so familiar with over the last year.

Hermione stared out over the ocean, her feet sinking slowly into the wet sand as the salty water lapped up against her feet. She sucked in a lungful of that salty sea air that had her brown curls whipping around her face. The seasonal difference meant that the wind was slightly more chilly than it would've been if she were standing on a beach in England instead of Australia at this time of year.

She watched the waves build and crash on their way to the shore, their gentle roar filling up her eardrums like sweet music. Staring at the water like this was how he had found her that night, alone on the beach, dreading of what was to happen next. Had she had known that was the last time she would get to speak to him, she might've made it more meaningful… well, it was meaningful in a way; she couldn't argue with that. But she should've told him the truth that night…

"Hermione, dear?"

Hermione jumped at the sound of a voice interrupting her peaceful isolation. Instinctively, her hand went straight for her wand as she turned sharply at the sound; only to find her mother watching her a few feet away. Jean Granger's eyes widened at the sight of the wand in her daughter's hand but her eyes softened once the initial shock wore off.

"It's just me, sweetheart, it's alright. You're safe," Jean told the young witch, slowly making her way towards her. Hermione visibly relaxed upon realising it was just her mother, and lowered her wand. She quickly glanced around to see if anyone else had seen her, but thankfully the Sydney beach was quite deserted at this early hour – save for a few young surfers far in the ocean. Thrusting her wand back into her pocket, and releasing her feet from their wet sandy graves, she welcomed her mother's embrace.

"Thinking about home?" her mother asked gently, as she wrapped her arms around her daughter.

"Are you sure that you and dad don't want to stay a little while longer?"

"We have to go back to our lives, Hermione. Our life here, whilst pleasant, isn't the life we chose. We miss England, and we miss our practice, and our little house, and our friends…" Hermione stiffened at the word. "Hermione, they probably miss you too, you know?"

Hermione sighed, as she untangled herself from her mother. "Things are… complicated now. I left them in a mess of things, without a goodbye, without warning, I just left. I essentially ran away from them."

Jean reached out and brushed strands of her daughter's hair from her face and behind her ear, with a small, understanding smile. "You needed some time to get your thoughts together. Just because we're going back tomorrow, doesn't mean you have to see them straight away. They probably need some time too, from what you told me. Harry and the Weasleys will understand, and they don't seem like the kind to hold grudges."

"You clearly haven't gotten to know Ron very well then," Hermione mumbled under her breath. But even she had to admit Ron would not be as petty as to stay mad at her for leaving without warning so soon after the Battle. He'd probably be hurt more than anything, hurt since they had kissed, briefly celebrated the victory and then she just pulled away.

But she had needed the space, they had needed the space, and her emotions were far too complicated to put down with quill and parchment. It probably wasn't the smartest of ideas to leave them dry with no communication, but things weren't great as they were without having to deal with it via owl.

"Are you okay, love?" her mother asked her softly, tilting her daughter's chin towards her and examining her with her own brown eyes. "You're looking a little pale today."

Hermione nodded absentmindedly as she turned her face away from her mother's touch. "Fine. Just feeling a bit dizzy. I think I caught the flu or something."

Jean placed a hand on her forehead. "You don't feel warm," she murmured quietly as she retracted the hand.

"Maybe I'm just a little dehydrated," shrugged Hermione. She really didn't feel well anymore, she wasn't sure how she was going to handle the plane ride back to England the next day. She had hoped the fresh air would've helped, but nothing seemed to keep her stomach from swimming with nausea.

"See? This is what I mean. You need to start taking better care of yourself. You can't possibly be able to help your friends if you're not one hundred percent yourself, yet. Taking this time away was the right choice for you."

Hermione knew her mother was right. She wasn't her old self anymore, and in the wake of the war she wasn't sure who she was supposed to be at this point. All she had ever known was drama, battles, and living a nightmarish, dangerous life. Sure, it wasn't what she had signed up for when she boarded the Hogwarts Express at age 11, but this is was the path she had chosen when she befriended Harry and Ron. Now that the element of danger was gone, what was she supposed to do? She never had a normal life, how could she possibly live one now?

"Come on, your father has breakfast cooking. Maybe some food will do you some good," Jean offered with a warm smile.

Hermione could feel her stomach already protest at the thought of food. "I'm not hungry," she admitted quietly.

Jean frowned at her only child. "Hermione, you haven't been eating breakfast the last few days. Are you sure you're alright? You're barely anything more than skin and bones."

"I'm just not feeling up to eating anything. I don't think my stomach can handle it, to be honest."

"Have you been sick?" Her mother reminded her of Mrs. Weasley in that instant; the fussing over how pale she was, complaining of her lack of appetite, the distinct frown upon her face when she was given an answer she wasn't happy with. The thought brought a pang to her heart, as she briefly wondered what the Weasleys were doing right this very moment.

"Only a few times. I don't think Australian cuisine agrees with me."

Her mother's frown was more pronounced than ever as she stared at her daughter with concern. "Hermione, dear," Jean Granger said hesitantly, "you don't suppose…" she stopped in mid-sentence, deciding whether or not she should finish the question.

"I don't suppose what, mum?" Hermione raised her eyebrow at her mother.

"You don't suppose," Jean tried again but couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence. Shaking her head in mild-amusement, she said, "Never mind, just one of those crazy ideas of mine."

"No it isn't. Come on Mum, what did you want to ask me?"

"Well, I was wondering… Have you been… sexually-active?" Jean asked, struggling to find the right words.

"MUM!"

Jean spread her hands out helplessly, "I don't know. How would you prefer me to ask you?"

"I don't want you to ask me," Hermione snapped, clamping her hands over her ears. "It's weird, and gross, and none of your business, Mum."

Jean held her hands up in surrender, as she turned and made her way back to the house. "Calm down Hermione. As I said, it was just a crazy idea of mine."

Hermione had grown up to hate her mother's 'crazy ideas'. They were always out there, far-fetched, and yet, remarkably accurate. When Hermione was six, she had proudly shown her mother that she still fit in her favourite blue dress. Her mother was shocked to say the least, for the dress was at least one size too small just the week before, yet Hermione had worn it as if it was designed to fit her for that moment. Jean Granger had told a young Hermione of her 'crazy idea' that the little girl was magic. Little Hermione had rolled her at her mother at the time, not knowing what letter would arrive five years later.

Hermione followed her mother back to her house, the sound of the ocean and wind filling in the silence in their wake. As they reached the patio, she noticed that her mother looked perplexed, the same way she did whenever she had a 'crazy idea'; and that didn't sit right with Hermione. She didn't want to discuss her sex life with her mother, but like always, curiosity got to Hermione and she couldn't help but ask, "But... just... hypothetically... what if I said I were? Then where would you have gone with that 'crazy idea of yours'?"

Jean's gaze upon Hermione softened and there was the almost the look of pity and concern on her face. "Well, I was wondering if there was a chance that you were..." she gave her daughter a weak smile of encouragement. "Well... pregnant."

As soon as the word slipped past her mother's lips, Hermione's eyes grew with shock as her heart stopped beating for the slightest delay.

"No, mum, no I can't be..."

Jean cut across her, "when was the last time you had your monthly visitor?"

Hermione paused. She couldn't quite recall when exactly the last time was, but then again she was never good at remembering when to calculate her upcoming period either. It was four weeks from the first day... no, it was three weeks from the last day... She tried to do the maths, but nothing was making any sense and her heart was racing a million miles an hour as the panic rose within her.

No, she thought horrified. There was no way that she could be that unlucky. After everything she had been through, particularly in the last year alone, things couldn't get that bad could it? If anything, the universe owed her one. She shouldn't have to be standing there, praying to the gods every possible religion that there was no chance that this could've happened to her, of all people.

"You're late, aren't you?" her mother asked her cautiously at her daughter's silence.

Hermione bit her lip and looked at her mother. "Yes, I am..." she whispered as sudden tears fell from her brown eyes. She had been late before, normally around the exam time of the year, and she had been able to blame it on stress. It was her reasoning for her sporadic periods that had occurred whilst she was on the hunt for horcruxes. But stress or not, she was never quite this late.

Hermione sat down on one of the patio chairs nearby, and put her head in her hands. Her head was swimming and her stomach was in knots. A flash of memory ran through her mind of a redheaded male, and a sweaty encounter in a tight space and she felt a lump grow in her throat.

Swallowing the lump as best she could, she looked up from her hands to see her mother watching her with a look of pity. Neither of them said anything, for there was nothing to be said, as they clearly were both thinking the same thing. Hermione closed her eyes again, inhaling deeply as she heard her mother's footsteps, the dialling on a phone and then the request to see a doctor.


A/N: So yeah… I had this story in my head… for the last six months. Been fighting it, been trying to ignore it, been trying to focus on Say Something. But alas, this story just needed to be written.

So this is far cry from the original story I had in mind, so I hijacked my own story and substituted it for another one of my own stories… does that make sense to you?

I won't say what the original story was, otherwise I'll feel obligated to write it, but I had this new story in my head for a while, and I realised that parts of my original story would work better in this new plot. So here we are… same story name, same characters, only a different storyline.

But things are due to get interesting soon, so bear in mind. And as I said earlier, I will maintain a slow-moving storyline. Its way more fun that way. And… and… and I really like where I'm going to with this. Please stay with me on this, I have such great plans for it.

Let me know what you think, but I hope you'll stay for the ride.

Infinite X's and O's,
Creative Touch
xxx