THREE
She didn't see Malfoy again until the next day. They were sitting in class, but she couldn't bring herself to pay attention. Instead, she stared at her wrist, turning it over and over again before staring at his, then back at hers again. Only just over a month ago, Professor Jameson had tapped her wand over their wrists, connecting them by a small, silvery string of magic, and just like that, she'd been deemed pregnant with his child before the professor had flitted over to the next table. She was pregnant with the child of the brooding man next to her. A child that would function as a human in almost every capacity, save for the fact that it would age from infancy to toddlerhood at an impossible rate before disappearing abruptly at the end of the school year. At this moment, her world felt as if it were tipped on its axis, having abruptly shifted to begin spinning around the thing that grew inside her.
Malfoy ignored her, seemingly unaware of the small panic attack his partner was having, his gaze trained hard at something out the windows next to them that she could not see. In the background, Professor Jameson prattled on about a series of spells the men were to use twice weekly to check up on their partners' pregnancies and report their findings.
Her eyes strayed from trying to figure what it was he was staring at beyond the window to examining him. Her eyes swept over the elegant curves of his neck to his nose, and back down to his sharp jaw. Up again, this time catching the way the sunlight bathed his blond head in a halo, his tousled hair that he no longer gelled back harshly, but instead let fall around his face in a somehow perfectly tousled mess. Her eyes swept down further still, over his leanly muscled body, pausing at his exposed forearms. Had his muscles always been this perfectly sculpted?. She couldn't recall. The muscles were tense, gripping hard against the table. As always, she thought, wondering about what thoughts were constantly running through his mind to have him so tense at all times.
"Finished?" she started at his voice, and her eyes darted up to his face, which was still faced steadfastly towards the window. Away from her, as always.
She blushed, and then scowled. Why was he always catching her in these moments? Why was she always staring?
"...be sure to press very lightly in this area, as it is exactly where the baby rests," Hermione let Professor Jameson's voice fade back into focus, watching as the women flitted about around a reluctant-looking Millicent Bulstrode, demonstrating the spells to be used on her. She tapped her wand just below Millicent's navel, and the loud fluttering of her child's heartbeat filled the room. Her classmates' faces bore identical expressions to those Hermione and Malfoy had sported when they'd first heard the heartbeat.
Millicent looked horrified, and seemed to be ready to flee from the room if it weren't for Professor Jameson's iron grip holding her in place. Across the room, Hannah Abbott suddenly burst into tears, breaking the trance-like mood her classmates were in.
"It's so… beautiful!" she cried out burying her face in her hands as she sobbed.
Dean had recoiled as far away from his partner as he could, teetering precariously on his stool. He hesitated a moment before reaching tentative hand out, then changed his mind and stuck out just a finger instead and began to stroke her shoulder as carefully as one would a basilisk.
"Anywhoo," Professor Jameson continued, cutting off the heartbeat and plunging the room back into silence, save for Hannah's continued sobs. "When you do this to your actual partners, be completely certain to be precise. I don't expect any mishaps, but accuracy is key. After all, men, your grades for this part of the term depend greatly on how well you do on these exercises. We mustn't forget that passing this class has been placed above even your N.E.W.T.S."
"Sorry, what?" Harry said, as Hermione's hand shot in the air, bursting with the same question.
"Well of course Mr. Potter!" she exclaimed happily, as if unaware of the panic that has overwhelmed the students since the beginning of the term. "Why wouldn't it be?"
Hermione seethed in her seat, mentally rifling through the many reasons why the Ministry would put them through this torture. Longevity and flourishment? Rubbish.
Harry threw up his hands and stalked out of the room, his stool clattering to the floor.
"Oh dear, I'm sure he'll come around. You are all dismissed. Don't forget - the results of your first check-ins are due by this evening."
The rest of the class filed out in a decidedly less dramatic fashion than Harry, but not without their fair share of grumbles. Hermione marched ahead of the group, determined to get into a hot bath before Malfoy returned and banged down the door until she left.
She was just about to step through her and Malfoy's portrait hole when a pair of arms snaked their way around her waist, causing her to yelp loudly in alarm.
"It's just me!" Ron laughed in her ear while she attempted to slow her heart rate.
"Jesus, Ronald! I thought you and Harry were going off to play a game of quidditch?"
"The real team apparently had a practice scheduled," Ron said, his voice laced with bitterness. "It's complete bull that we weren't even allowed back on the team after-"
Hermione sighed as he followed her to her room. "Ron, we've been through this. Eighth years aren't allowed on the team because-"
"-it'd be an unfair advantage." Ron cut her off. "Whatever. Blah blah bollocks."
"You're free to play as you'd like now, though. As many games with your friends as you want."
Ron flopped back on her four-poster dramatically. "You don't understand, 'Moine. It's just not the same," he moaned.
She smiled at her best friend lying on her bed, ever the picture of misery as he moaned about a silly game that she'd rather he didn't risk serious injury playing, anyway. Her smile faltered for a moment as she realized that she'd inadvertently called him her best friend. Her boyfriend. Her boyfriend. The man she loved. Boyfriendboyfriendboyfriend, she repeated, as if the cycle of the words would give it more truth than she'd felt in a while.
As if sensing her thoughts, Ron walked over and kissed her gently between her brows. "You're stressed about something," he mused, tracing a thumb over the skin he'd just kissed, attempting to smooth out the furrow that had appeared there.
"It's nothing," she lied, then winced at his raised eyebrow. He knew her too well.
"Nothing? Or is it-?" he touched her through her robes, his hand smoothing over the small, but still unmistakable bump on her stomach. She doubted he could feel it, but she was always aware of it, constantly hypersensitive of the foreign presence on her body.
She sighed, stepping away from him. "No, it's nothing, I'm fine. Classes have been a little stressful, but I'm fine," she reassured him.
"You finished half your N.E.W.T.s over the summer, Hermione," Ron said. "Try again."
"Alright, maybe it is this-" she waved to her stomach "-a little bit. But that's all, I promise." It's this. It's me. It's...us. It's everything. She wanted to say, but knew she couldn't. To her, Ron was like a lazy Sunday morning curled up in the bay window at her parents' home, reading a good book. Comfort - home. She tried not to wince at the memory of times long gone, and instead plastered on her best fake smile. "Really, Ron. I'm fine." He searched her eyes for a moment before smiling satisfactorily at what he saw.
"Okay," he leaned down to kiss her, then frowned for a moment as she turned her head, letting his lips hit her cheek instead.
She moved away gracefully and made as if she was heading to set down her things, settling down her bookbag and taking off her robes. "I'm going to take a long bath and forget about all of today's events."
Ron smiled slyly, walking over and reaching out to undo the buttons on her blouse. "Mind if I join you?" her asked against her neck, kissing her in all the places she'd always enjoyed.
"Not today," she pushed his hands down gently, but squeezed them reassuringly. "I've just been a little exhausted is all."
He sighed in defeat. "All right, but you know where to find me if you change your mind…" he trailed off, his eyes dancing mischievously.
"I'll see you later, okay?" She reached up and kissed him on the cheek, before gently pushing him towards the door.
"Love you!" he threw over his shoulder on his way out the door.
"You too," she replied meekly, wondering if he'd even heard her.
Some time later, she emerged from the bathroom, her muscles thoroughly relaxed and feeling better than she had in a long while.
She dressed quickly, and was heading for the portrait hole when a throat cleared behind her. She sighed in exasperation before turning around and facing Malfoy, who leaned casually against a wall, his ever-present glare trained on her, as per usual. "What, Malfoy?"
"Sofa, now," he grunted, before turning and stalking off to the sitting room.
She stomped after him, driven by her annoyance. "Look, Malfoy, I don't know where you get off treating me like one of your promiscuous playthings, but I will never follow you around like a pathetic lost puppy," she fumed.
He stopped in front of the sofa, arms crossed over his chest. "Yet here you are," he smirked. She longed to slap it off his face.
"I do whatever I damn well please," she threw back. "And right now, that means I'm going to the library and away from the likes of you." She made to turn and do exactly so when she felt Malfoy's hand grabbing her wrist.
"I want to graduate and get out of this godforsaken place. So that means that you had better get on the sofa. Now, Granger," he said.
She stopped her struggle before pausing. "What are you going on about gradua-" she stopped short as she remembered. Their first check-in was due that evening. She took her time glaring back at Malfoy for a few more minutes before stomping over to the sofa.
"Well?" she asked. "How do you want me?" She stared at him, annoyed that he hadn't moved from his spot and instead stood there, staring at her peculiarly. The words that had just slipped out of her mouth caught up to her then, and she flushed deeply.
"I-you know what I meant," she sputtered, wondering if it was possible to turn a deeper shade of red than she already had. She took the liberty of lying down on the sofa and squeezing her eyes shut, refusing to face the smirk she knew had bloomed on his face.
She felt him come over next to her, then started upright as she felt his hands tug on her blouse. "What are you doing?!" she yelped, pulling her top back down and covering the inch of skin he had exposed.
Her sudden outburst of movement had brought her up dangerously close to his face, and she paused for a moment at their proximity.
He took her momentary silence as a chance to shove her back down. "Had you been paying attention, you would have known that your stomach needs to be exposed for me to do this. Unless you'd like me to accidentally harm you?" he added.
She flushed again at that, recalling that she indeed hadn't been paying attention to Professor Jameson, but had instead studied him for half their class session that morning. "Fine," she finally said, yanking up her shirt to just above her navel.
He made a small sound of annoyance before shoving her shirt up to just below her chest. "So, the great genius Hermione Granger really hasn't been paying attention," she could feel the widening smirk in his voice even as the studiously avoided looking into his face.
His hands touched her bare skin and she jumped and looked up at him. "What is it?" he droned, seeming completely uninterested but nonetheless poised with his quill over a sheet of parchment, ready to report his findings.
""S nothing," she mumbled, flushing umpteenth time that evening. "Just cold."
He touched her again and she breathed deeply, trying to relax. She hoped he couldn't feel the goosebumps raising along every inch of her skin that he touched, even though his fingers barely ghosted over her.
He stopped and pressed slightly deeper at the hardened lump at the base of her stomach, which she looked down to notice was more visible than usual in the light cast off by the fire burning in the heath across the room.
"Is this it?" he asked, tracing his finger around the bump.
"Yes," she answered quietly, somehow enraptured by the surprising elegance of his long pale fingers painting small circles along her stomach.
He removed his hands almost immediately after her confirmation, picking up his quill and parchment once again. "How far along are you?"
"It's been about six weeks, so that would make me around three and a half months."
He wrote down the information diligently before lifting his wand and pointing it at her midsection. "Don't squirm," he grunted, before beginning the series of spells they'd been taught.
She studied him quietly, already forgetting the earlier promise she had made to stop doing so. The fire illuminated the blond in a similar fashion to how it had looked that morning, and she found her thoughts wandering back to what his thoughts were. Behind the angry glares and insufferable smirks, what lurked behind those gray eyes? She knew that he'd changed, in some deep and inexplicable way, but nothing beyond that.
She opened her mouth to say something, anything to pierce the silence, when the heartbeat suddenly rang out in the room.
She was enraptured by it, fascinated by the fact that this was coming from inside her, yet wasn't hers all the same. And then she remembered her conversation with Ron and Ginny. This may well be the only time I'll ever experience this, she realized. And it's not even real.
"Granger," Malfoy spoke, an edge of... fear? Apprehension, perhaps? She snapped her eyes to her stomach, and then to him.
"What? What's wrong?" she ran her hands over her stomach anxiously. "Speak, Malfoy!" she snapped as she watched him hesitate.
"Did I… hurt you?" He asked cautiously. She paused at his tone, realizing that she'd never once heard him say anything that wasn't shrouded in anger or cockiness.
"What-? No, no...I'm fine. I'm sorry, what?" She asked, confused.
"You're crying, Granger." He looked distinctly uncomfortable.
She frowned, confused, until she reached up and touched her wet face. What on earth…? She thought to herself.
"Oh...it's… pregnancy hormones, I suppose." she answered quickly, avoiding his eyes. She felt him stare at her for a moment longer before writing it down.
"Well then," he stood abruptly and left, disappearing into his room. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
She sat up, embarrassed, and attempted to wipe her tears although she knew they would continue to fall despite her efforts. She cradled her stomach again, thumbing over the bump. Yes, it's only the hormones, she told herself, knowing it was only partially true.
"Harry," Hermione called quietly. They were in his sitting room, and a fire crackled quietly in the hearth in front of them. She was sitting crossed legged on the floor, books open on the low table before her. Harry was sprawled on the couch behind her, an open book on his chest, flippantly controlling a set of charmed birds above his head.
"Hmm?" he asked, turning to look at her.
She turned until she faced him, twisting her fingers anxiously in her lap. "I...the other day, when Ron and Ginny were talking about children," she started.
Harry slowly sat up at this, awarding her all of his attention. "Yeah?"
"How...how did it make you feel?" she asked quietly, eyes still trained on her lap.
He was quiet for a long time, long enough that she looked up at him to see him staring into the fire beyond them, its flames reflecting in his spectacles.
"I…" he started finally. "It was hard to hear, at first," he admitted.
"You want kids, don't you?" Hermione whispered, feeling a lump rise in her throat as she thought about it.
"I thought I did," Harry said simply. "I still do, I think."
"Thought?" Hermione asked, searching his eyes.
He nodded sharply. "I never had siblings, growing up - Dudley certainly doesn't count," he added bitterly. "I'd always wanted to have a big family, to be able to show them all the love I never got growing up," he explained.
"Oh, Harry," she said, taking one of his hands in hers.
"But…" he said, looking down at her with a small smile. "I did get it, I suppose - I just wasn't looking in the right places."
She waited for him to continue, puzzled.
"You. Ron. The Weasleys," he explained. "They're the family I always wanted but never had. They're the love I needed to experience. And Ginny…" he trailed off with a smile.
"Just having her is enough for you, isn't it?" Hermione said simply.
Harry was pensive for a moment before he finally nodded. "I love her," he said. "And yes, I would love to have children. But...having her is enough for now, and even if our future isn't all that I'd hoped for, it's enough."
"How do you know, though?" she asked. "How can you be certain?"
Harry looked at her knowingly. "Honestly? I don't know, Hermione. All I can do is trust that I am."
She nodded, turning to look back over the fire, her mind filled with more questions than she'd had before she'd even started talking.
"You know I love you, right?" Ron said as they strolled casually through the grounds.
Hermione laughed, hoping the stiffness of it went unnoticed. "Of course, I do."
"Good," he smiled at her. "I just like reminding you."
They strolled along the grounds in silence once again, taking in the sights of fall the drenched the nature surrounding them.
"How do you love me?" The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could think them over.
"What?" Ron stopped and peered at her curiously.
"Nevermind," she rushed out, losing her unexpected bravado.
"How do I...love you?" Ron formed each word as though it were a question.
"Let's just drop it, Ron," she sped up and moved ahead of him.
He matched her pace easily. "Do you mean like… when we're making lo-"
"-No!" She flushed, accepting that tinged red was the new default state of her cheeks. "No, not that."
"Then what, Hermione?" He rarely called her by her full name lately, and the use of it made her pause and look up at him.
"What is it?" Ron said, searching her eyes. "And don't lie to me the way you have been for weeks now."
She exhaled, watching her breath curl in the cool air. "How do you love me? Do you love me as a… lover… or..." she trailed off, letting the words hang in the air above them.
He stared imploringly into her eyes for a minute before he answered. "You are my lover, Hermione."
"Does it feel like you're with a love when you're with me though?" she pressed. "When you were with Lavender-"
"When I was with-? 'Mione, what? What does any of this have to do with my ex girlfriend?"
"Well, not just her, but any girl you've been with. It's just…" she hesitated, unsure of what she was trying to describe.
"It's just what?"
"When I was with Viktor..." she winced at his expression.
"You have got to be joking," he crossed his arms and glared into the distance.
"That's not-I mean-" she touched my fingers to his face to make him look at her, and he gave in surprisingly easily. "When I'd kiss him, I would get these butterflies that made me feel like-"
"Are you KIDDING me?" he shouted this time, startling away a group of first years that were wandering nearby.
"Lower your voice! That's not what I meant, Ron," she begged, looking around for any other potential observers. They were - unfortunately - left blissfully alone, leaving her with no excuse to extricate herself from the conversation.
"Then what do you mean, exactly?" he asked, his voice tinged with derision.
"I mean- have you ever felt that way with me?"
"Felt what way?"
"Butterflies, Ron! A spark, an anything!" she heaved out in frustration.
"I…" he paused thoughtfully. "Yes, I suppose."
"When?"
"All the time, of course!"
"When was the last time, Ron?"
He pondered for a moment. "Remember when we went to the Yule Ball? I didn't admit it back then, but-"
"Ronald."
"That time we kissed, when we first got back to the Burrow after the War, it felt… right." he said earnestly. "Really, Hermione," he added after seeing her face.
"It felt right, yes," she said. "But only in the sense that it didn't feel completely wrong. Like this was meant to happen like this, because...well, because it was meant to happen." she added in a whisper, her voice faint this time.
"Baby, I…" the term of endearment that he had used so often felt wrong this time, and she could tell he sensed that the moment it left his mouth.
"Do you really see me in your future? Us? As a family?" she prodded deeper, knowing it was time to hear the answers she'd been avoiding for so long.
"Is that what this is about?" he pointed accusingly at her bump, which was currently hidden away under her thick cloak. "Hermione, it's really not that big of a deal, we'll have plenty of nieces and nephews to play with, you won't even notice!"
"You say it's not that big of a deal, but you never asked if it was that big a of deal to me!" Her breath came out ragged as she continued on. "I am an only child, Ron! An only child! I have one cousin, and she's much older than me and lives in France. That's the closest thing I've got to a sibling, and we barely even speak! I've only held a baby once in my life Ron. Once! I held that baby and my mother stood there chattering on about how she just couldn't wait until I have one of my own and-"
Her voice broke at the mention of her mother, but she drew in a breath and continued. "You just took that away from me Ron, and I didn't know how badly I wanted it until it was gone." Her eyes brimmed over with tears, and this time she let them fall.
Ron made no move to comfort her, and instead stood there staring at her open-mouthed, confusion etched into his every feature. "I didn't know, 'Moine, I didn't know, I'm sorry I didn't know," he said, and she could hear the truthfulness in his voice. "We'll have children. Plenty of them. A whole Weasley-load if you want! Anything, you want, Hermione. Anything." His eyes were pleading, and she noticed that there were tears gathered in his eyes, too.
"You don't want them, Ron," she said quietly, turning to look away from him.
"I…" he attempted a response, but knowing that the truth hung in the air in front of them, stopped short.
They stood in silence for a an immeasurable amount of time like this, Hermione staring off into the distance while Ron stayed silent.
"So is this it, then?" He asked quietly.
She looked up to meet his bright blue eyes, shining with the love and sincerity they always had. She searched them for a moment, looking for something deeper that she could latch onto, any reason why she should shake her head no. She found nothing, and nodded instead.
He accepted her answer quietly, and turned away to look over at the lake, his expression sad and pensive.
Eventually, she spoke again. "Have you ever felt like we were a fantasy? A fantasy that was created by someone else, but that we were being forced to fulfill?" She wondered if he'd say anything about her use of the word "were".
He didn't. "I...I don't know," he hesitated, before sighing. "Maybe?"
"You're my best friend, Ron," she whispered, turning to him. She reached out and stroked away one of the tears that had fallen down his cheek.
"Always," he whispered back, capturing her hand and kissing it.
"Love you, Ron," she smiled, genuinely for the first time in a long while.
"Love you, too, 'Mione."
