Eight:
It was awful. Everything was awful. It was the same pain as last time; only this time the pain came from her heart and not her body. She wasn't sure what was worse- her body burning with pain or her heart breaking with misery. Usually she didn't think about her heart but she was too tired to fight it. Her heart was taking over and she was too weak to stop it. It hurt, the pain took her breathe away. Poppy encouraged her, told her the pain would stop but she didn't understand- the pain would never stop. Once this child left her body, it would be gone, taken from her by the man she loved. All in the name of safety, of love, of protection. These dark times had hardly effected her before, she had felt safe and now...
She didn't want it to come. She didn't want it to be over. As long at the child remained inside her then she wouldn't have to let go, it would be hers. She had buried her son, many years ago, just a tiny child, hardly bigger than her hand... her son... and now she would have to bury another deep into her heart, into her mind. She would have to pretend that it didn't exist, that she was not a mother- for she wouldn't be. The Muggle would be the child's mother. She would feed it and cloth it and comfort it when it cried- Minerva would do nothing. She may teach it when it was eleven, but she wouldn't be able to hold her, to play with her, to love her. She wouldn't be a mother, the Muggle would.
She knew it was nearly time. She felt it. She knew that despite the protests of her heart and mind (who, in this miserable moment, were working as one) the child would do as her body willed and slip into the world. She had no control over nature, over her body and that frustrated her- it was hers after all! Why shouldn't the child remain where it was until she will it to come? Why?
For the first time in hours she noticed Albus, who sat stroking her head lightly, his face grey and foreboding. There was no merriment or joy in his blue eyes and they were not bright as usual but glazed and dull. He had been peculiarly silent- Minerva had imagined him a weeping mess at the birth of their child, so useless and overcome that he had irritated Minerva which would have resulted in her ordering him from the room. But this was not how she imagined the birth of their child at all, she knew, so she could hardly expect Albus to act as she thought.
It was here. One more reluctant push and it was over. She hard the child cry. She closed her eyes. Albus did not move. It was so different from last time, yet so much the same. Last time they had been greeted by an eerie silence, this time she knew that the cries of the child would echo through these rooms as long as she and Albus should live in them. It was the same pain though, the same sense of loss that filled her body. It was the same as last time- it certainly felt like it. She opened her eyes. She strained her head. Poppy was wrapping the child in a towel. She was silent. As grim faced as she was last time. She was pale. Almost as pale as Albus.
She placed the child in Minerva's arms. Minerva didn't dare to look down into the face of it. Albus turned his head and inhaled deeply. She saw him shaking a little.
She looked up to speak to Poppy but was surprised to see that she had gone. Poppy had good sense. She always knew when she should leave, when it was best to be invisible. She smiled slightly. What would she do with out Poppy?
The child stirred in her arms. Still Minerva could not look. "Albus... you should say something," she said quietly.
"Perhaps," he whispered.
"Have you looked?"
Albus shook his hanging head. "No. I cannot."
"Neither can I."
"We should though."
"Perhaps," she whispered.
She saw Albus look before she dared. The child was asleep, it's tiny pink face screwed up, it's eyebrows arched in a way that resembled Minerva's. It had delicate pale eyelashes and tiny, soft hands crossed neatly on it's tiny, moving chest.
"Lovely," Albus said sadly. "So wonderful..."
"Yes, wonderful," Minerva whispered.
"Another boy?"
"I don't know," tentatively, so as not to wake the child up, she lifted the towel. She shook her head. "Not a boy."
"A girl?"
"It would be the reasonable conclusion to come to," she said with a touch of sarcasm.
"Yes, a girl," he paused for a moment, looking back up into Minerva's striking green eyes. "May I hold the child?"
"Of course."
He took the child gently and walked her over to the window. He spoke to her but she had no idea what he was saying, he spoke so softly. Minerva felt bereft, the weight now lifted from her arms. She would have to get used to the feeling. She might hold the baby once more, maybe twice, and then she would never hold her again. She wanted to cry but would not- if she started she would never be able to stop, she knew and she couldn't let her last and only memory be blurred by stinging tears.
"You know where she is going?"
Albus nodded. "I'll take her in a moment. They are expecting her."
"I see."
"I'm so sorry, my dear."
"Whatever for? Your doing your best. It's Riddle's fault."
"Still. I'm sorry just the same," he came back towards her and placed the baby back in her arms. "I told the Muggles that she would be given a name-"
"You did!" Minerva was shocked. She hadn't thought that she would be able to name the child.
"Yes, if you agree."
"I do," she said slowly. "Have you any idea's?"
"Well, I do like Minerva-"
"Certainly not!"
"I knew you would object," he smiled for the first time. "That is my offer, have you any?"
"Something different, so that we may know her when she comes back," Minerva replied thoughtfully. "No Susan's or Lauren's... Hermione will do. It's different but simple enough."
"We would recognise her if the whole world were called Hermione."
"Yes."
There was a long uncomfortable paused. The child squirmed. Albus leaned in. "I will take her now, the Muggles are expecting me."
"Albus- I-"
"It is for the best, Minerva, it is the only thing we can do."
"Yes," she could hardly speak. Her throat was closing, her eyes burning with tears, her chest constricting. She couldn't fight as Albus lifted the child from her again, she hadn't the strength. Albus scurried to the fire place quicker than she could call out to him, to bring her back, and he was gone in a flash of pale green- with half of her heart in his arms.
Albus stumble into the living room, hardly able to keep himself up. The Muggles sat perched on the edge of their pale sofa's, their eyes wide with apprehension. They sat close together, the man had his hand over his wife's.
"Good evening," Albus said as steadily as he could. He nodded his head at the Muggles. "The child is a girl."
The woman smiled brightly. Albus was somewhat reassured. She looked happy at least.
"May I have a moment to speak?" Albus asked.
"Of course," replied the man.
"This child is given to you to keep her from danger. She deserves to be loved. She deserves to be safe. She will be happy. I know this. I know this because if she is not happy... I am not a vengeful man. I do not seek blood. But this child will be well treated, loved and happy or I will... I will unleash such things on you that you cannot imagine," he spoke clearly, calmly but his tone was filled with threat and meaning and his eyes blazed.
The Muggles nodded.
"Then you may take her, before it becomes unbearable," he whispered.
As helpless as a child he stood as the Muggles emptied his arms and cooed over the child. He watched for a moment, wishing that he and Minerva could hold the child like they did- they loved her more- "Wait!" He cried. "Her name is Hermione." The Muggle woman nodded before she turned back to the baby. Albus slipped away without them noticing. He didn't Floo into Minerva's bedroom but to his office, where he would sit and cry until the sun came up.
