Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, and really don't wish I did. I am forever in debt to Ms. Rowling for the creation of a world that has renewed my sense of wonder and my faith in children's literature. Suing me would be fruitless, because I spend all my money on Harry Potter cards. Thanks.
Chapter 6 : At Last
Beth and Ginny had helped her get ready. They were sure that Ron would be there. Hermione felt a twinge at that. What would they say when they found that famous Professor Weasley was their father? They would be pleased, perhaps, but how angry would they be at her for keeping it from them from so long?
Now she was on her own, perusing the shops of Diagon Alley. It was good to be back, and to see that all the shops she had loved in her childhood were still there. Ollivander was old beyond reckoning, but training his replacement. She chuckled inwardly as she passed the broomstick supplies shop - how her beloved friends had loved that place!
It was with deep reverence that she approached her favorite store of all, Flourish and Blotts. It seemed to be bigger than ever on the inside. She browsed the shelves looking for something of interest.
"Can I help ya find something, love?" An old woman in a tattered smock addressed her.
"Um," Hermione hesistated. "Have you ever heard of heartspells?"
"Ahhh..." the woman smiled. "I have just what you're looking for."
Two hours later, Hermione was sitting at a table outside of The Unicorn's Mane, flipping through a book called Accio, Accio, a beginners guide to heartspells. Ginny and Harry were late - a good twenty minutes late. That wasn't like them. They were both so sensitive to other people - unlike some other people, she thought haughtily - which had always made them highly responsible parents and friends.
"Can I bring you another drink, ma'am?" asked an eldery serving woman in turquoise dress robes.
"No, thank you," Hermione smiled warmly. "I'm still nursing my first, thanks."
The serving woman nodded and vanished.
Hermione continued to sip at her fizzy lemonade. So far, the book was just a history overview, talking about different methods of spell-casting used through the ages. The author obviously loved his subject, but tended to ramble on a bit. Hermione could relate.
Without warning, a figure on a broomstick clattered onto the cobblestone courtyard. The figure landed and dismounted, then started walking towards her. It was a wizard, definitely, but with the glare of the sun behind him, she couldn't make out who it was. Was it Harry... no, a toss of red hair... her stomach flip-flopped. It was Ron. She stood up in surprise.
"Ron?" she asked.
But he wasn't smiling. His face bore a look of concern - unnaturally so. It had been bad enough seeing him at Dumbledore's deathbed. The awkward goodbyes that had followed were almost unbearable, not to mention seeing him at the funeral, close enough to lock eyes on more than one occasion but never close enough to say a word.
He was out of breath. "Sorry, Hermione... Ginny had to be taken to the hospital. Some kind of complications with the pregnancy. She wanted you to come. Will you?" He gestured to the broomstick.
Hermione bit her lip. She hated flying, but hated worse the idea of looking like a coward in front of Ron. He levitated the broom and mounted it. She mounted behind him, willing herself to be a grown-up, to be mature, to not let the proximity of his body affect her.
"You're gonna have to come a little closer, or you're going to fall off," he said gruffly. Hermione was thankful he couldn't see the blush creep across her face and she pressed up against him, wrapping her arms around his middle.
It had been at least ten years since Hermione had ridden on a broomstick. She preferred almost any method of travel, even some muggle methods were better than flying. It was a good half-hour's flight to the hospital. They descended upon a modern, sterile-looking building.
"Griffon's Heart," Hermione said in surprise. "I've heard of it, but never actually seen it. "It's supposed to be the best there is - especially for newborns and expecting mothers... I take it Ginny's not doing well? How far along is she?"
"Twelve weeks. She was fine - but she started having some intense pain. Er, to be honest with you, Mia, they were afraid she might lose the baby. Harry sent me after you, so I really don't know if she's okay or not at this point."
Hermione oh'ed softly and looked concerned. "Sorry, Ron."
"Hey, not you're fault, love," he said with a crooked half-smile. Let's hurry in there, okay? I want to go see my little sister.
They hurried into the building and we met by a receptionist witch. Her face was expressionless and her grey hair was tied into a tight bun behind her face. She greeted them with a curt nod. "C'n I help you?"
"My little sister is Ginny Potter. She came in about an hour ago? She's having a baby," he explained awkwardly.
The receptionist rolled her eyes and consulted a little black book. "Potter? Eighth floor. Oh, Potter, eh? Any relation to, uh-"
"Yeah, she's Harry Potter's wife," Ron said tightly. "Can we go up and see her?"
The receptionist peered down her nose at him. "You can. Family members only. She," nodding at Hermione, "has to wait here. No friends. No best friends. No mistresses, house elves, or girl friends. Family only." She huffed.
"But," Ron stammered. "This is... she's..."
"His wife," Hermione interrupted quickly. "It's okay, darling," she said giving him a significant glance, "the nice lady just misunderstood." She crooked her arm through his. "Shall we go?"
"Bloody brilliant, Mia!" he said as they hurried through the echoing hallway towards Ginny's room. "That was quick thinking." He was very conscious of her arm, still crooked through his. She seemed to realize it at the same moment, for she pulled it away, avoiding his eyes. They walked through the door very close together.
Even a wizard hospital is a very dark place. It stirs up memories in everyone. The antiseptic smell is almost unbearably morbid. Sickness and death linger, despite the clean silver surfaces and sparkling white tile.
For Ron, it drug up memories of the dark wars.
