Author's Notes:
A lemniscate is the infinity symbol in mathematics.
Mid-February, 2007
At fourteen and a half weeks along, the nausea had finally stopped. Hermione sent up a silent prayer to all the Founders for that good fortune.
Unfortunately, the acid reflux she'd been experiencing had gone in the complete opposite direction and had only gotten worse. It became particular potent during the wee hours of the night, usually waking her from a sound sleep.
Consequently, she'd taken to keeping a box of Rennies by her bedside. The simple Muggle remedy, coupled with the potions Madam Pomfrey had proscribed for her, allowed her to have relatively 'normal' days. She was thankful for that small boon, because it permitted her to focus on her teaching obligations, and for a little while, to forget her physical illnesses brought on by her continuing pregnancy.
The Bayer Company's miracle medicine and Poppy's wondrous remedies did nothing to alleviate Hermione's sadness, however…
A failed marriage.
Strained friendships.
A bombed career at the Ministry.
A love affair that had crashed and burned.
That last hurt most of all, especially as she still had no closure with Draco about their latest fight. Her resentment lingered, and its poison hobbled her like an infected wound.
Why couldn't he just say he was sorry?
Why couldn't he admit he'd been wrong to mistrust her?
Actually, she knew the answer to the second question already, and if she were being totally honest about it, she knew Draco's Slytherin sensibilities weren't solely to blame. She'd had just as much a hand in preventing trust from building between them, with her dogged reluctance to leave behind her dead marriage to Ron. Her lover's paranoia that she'd just use and lose him, and go back to her husband hadn't been a farfetched possibility, really, and she was big enough to own her portion of the fault there.
Still, that sort of worry didn't excuse Draco's sneakiness. Spying on her had been underhanded and wrong.
—Not that she had room to throw stones when it came to taking the low road, especially given the type of plotting she'd engaged in during her Hogwarts career, specifically when dealing with the likes of Umbridge, Skeeter, and McLaggen. And how she'd bald-faced lied to Ron to get him to marry her years later. And how she'd been having sex outside her marriage bed just two short months ago. And…
With a mental jerk, she stopped and got off that emotional roller-coaster before she spiraled into another fit of depression.
Bad enough she was taking a pregnancy-safe Calming Draught sometimes to deal with her irrational hormonal fluctuations, which could send her spinning into a bout of hysterical tears or fire her into a raging fury at the drop of a hat, particularly when there was no chocolate nearby. She didn't need to brow-beat a list of her own short-comings.
And really, the issue this time was Draco, not her.
She considered again his stubborn refusal to apologize to her… Yes, he had an overinflated ego in general, but he wasn't that prideful, especially in the aftermath of the war. He'd been the one to pursue her, after all, which had required him to set aside any lingering prejudices he might have had and to view her as his equal. If that didn't serve as an example of swallowing one's pride, she didn't know what qualified.
So, what was preventing him from saying he was sorry to her now?
Exasperated by the entire ridiculous situation, Hermione ripped away the tie that bound back her braided hair and set it free from its tight hold upon her. "Ooh, men can be so block-headed sometimes!" she fumed as she shook her hair loose, thinking of not just her lover, but her ex-husband and Harry, and in fact most of the boys she'd grown up with at Hogwarts. "They're frustrating and unreasonable, narcissistic and juvenile…"
Her sudden anger deflated just as quickly as it blew over her. With a great sigh, she reached down and patted her expanding belly with a wry smile.
"They'd probably say the same thing about women, I bet—especially during pregnancy."
The ten o'clock bell tolled, announcing final curfew.
Hermione glanced up at her Muggle clock on the wall, assuring it matched (in a magical castle, one never knew), and as the final bong rang out, she went through her mental list of what would happen next: the Prefect patrols would be ending, the library would be shutting its doors, the kitchen and laundry would close, the portraits would settle down for the night, and the Bloody Baron would begin his haunting of the Astronomy Tower to assure no strays were using it for illicit activities.
She tried hard not to obsess about what Draco might be doing just then, although her gaze did stray to the box where she kept the earrings he'd given her. They were a two-way link, he'd said, and she knew he still wore his earring, despite everything…"No!" she insisted, turning away and resisting the temptation.
After all, if she used them, she'd be the biggest hypocrite on the planet.
She glanced at her clock again. It was time for bed, but to her chagrin, Hermione found she wasn't in the least bit tired.
Outside her windows, a thick, wet sleet could be heard coming down in sheets, slapping against the castle's walls and its ancient stone paths. A wintery wind accompanied the icy downpour, howling through the trees of the nearby forest.
Another storm was blowing in.
Perfect timing, as it matched her mood.
Shoving aside her pile of student papers to grade, Hermione stood up and channeled her nervous energy into something more productive than brooding about her circumstances or the greying weather: she did the exercises Madam Pomfrey had told her would help the aching in her pelvis. Then, when she'd finished with those, just because she was still feeling antsy, she tried out some Kegels. The Muggle doctor she'd gone to see over the weekend had recommended them, and although it felt silly doing them, she'd read about how important it was the keep allher muscles strong during pregnancy to make bearing the extra weight and the labour easier.
She'd gotten to the count of ten when the pressure on her bladder suddenly made her aware of the need to urinate again, so she rushed off to the bathroom.
This pregnancy was going to drive her mad before it was over! Why hadn't anyone told her the real truth about being in this way? None of the books on pregnancy she'd read over the last few weeks had said anything about the constant need to pee, or the random vertigo while walking down the stairs, or that her hips would ache so badly some days that the bones felt as if they were grinding against each other, or that her nipples would be so sore that wearing a bra was physically painful, or how blasted tired she'd be all the time! They all talked about this period as if it were a gentle lead-in to the third trimester, using terms like, 'slightly tender' or 'mild discomfort' or 'a gradual displacement' to discuss the massive continental shift going on inside her body. Worst, they discussed the insatiable food cravings and weird phantom smell issues she was experiencing as, 'evolving senses' and 'a natural occurrence of eating for two'…as if wanting peanut butter smeared over kippers or pistachio ice cream served on top of a raw, bloody steak was natural.
Well, she thought as she sat on the toilet and did her business, at least she wasn't vomiting anymore. Hurrah.
~.~.~
When she finished in the loo, Hermione washed her hands…and paused to stare at her reflection in the mirror over the sink.
She looked pale and tired, her hair was a frizzy mess, and her eyes were sad, as if all the fire had gone out of her.
Turning to the side, she lifted her jumper and blouse, glancing at her belly in the mirror. Her baby bump was definitely visible now. It was time to start employing those 'slimming' glamour charms to hide the evidence.
Bugger.
Heading back into her adjoining bedchamber, she decided to call it an evening. Waving her wand at her door, she assured it was locked up tight, and then shuffled into a pair of warm, Muggle pyjamas and huddled under the covers.
She laid there for a long time, listening to the crackling fire in the hearth compete with the wind outside, thinking over everything again. The ceiling got wavy as hot tears gathered and slipped down the sides of her face.
Fat and ugly, and ill all the time—that's what she'd become as a result of having Draco Malfoy's baby.
…And Helena Merrythought was healthy and beautiful, slim and spirited. She was brash and fun for a Hufflepuff, dancing up a ruckus that could put the storm outside to shame. Most importantly, she wasn't a noose around Draco's neck, but an ornament for his arm and a dynamic force in his bed.
Merlin, it was no wonder why he wasn't concerned in the slightest with apologizing to her, much less making things up.
Mid-February, 2007 – The Next Day
The fourteenth of February had proved to be a very exciting day, indeed.
At breakfast, not only had Hermione received a parcel of lovely Valentine's cards from her students (one an actual marriage proposal from a seventh year), but also an exotic herbal tea sampler from Minerva ("To help you keep calm, dear."), a potted bonsai rose bush that sang "Lean On Me" from Neville (it was the thought that counted, she knew), a bouquet of dried flying seahorses from Hagrid (…), and a big, heart-shaped box of chocolates from Ron ("Better late than never, yeah? Happy Valentine's, Hermione.").
Then, later at lunch, a massive G.R.O. owl swooped down into the dining hall and deposited a document tube in front of her. Her finalized divorce paperwork had finally arrived—in front of the entire assembly.
Hermione's hands shook with anticipation as she presented the bird a piece of her roll for a treat, but she set the tube down as if it was of no major consequence, not wanting to make any more of a production than the giant eagle owl already had as it took off once more.
Ignoring the curious stares she received from students and staff alike, she finished her meal as calmly as possible, and afterwards, returned to her private quarters to pour over the received documents, checking for any possible mistakes which could possibly alter or reverse the divorce proceedings. It wasn't until she'd reached the end, and assured all required signatures were in place that she'd let out the breath she'd unconsciously been holding.
It was done. She'd turned another corner in her life, and was once more simply Hermione Jean Granger.
Mid-February, 2007 – That Night
Draco was not present at dinner that evening when she quietly addressed the staff table with her news.
Not knowing the circumstances behind her divorce, she received a fair number of condolences from her co-workers over the ending of her marriage. Neville actually hugged her, Minerva gave her hand a small squeeze in support, and Hagrid began bawling (she'd ended up having to comfort him, explaining that it had been an agreeable end and that she and Ron would continue to be friends).
Septima simply smiled at her. "The lemniscate never lies: an ending always brings a new beginning," the older witch commented in a curious, mysterious manner. Her dark gaze dipped quickly to Hermione's belly, where the glamours were firmly in place to hide her condition from the world. When she glanced back up, she winked at Hermione. "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me, dear one."
Shaken by the encounter, Hermione moved on to return to her assigned seat at the high table. In the back of her mind, however, she vowed to go back and study the gift Septima had given her at Christmas, wondering if her pregnancy had been numerically calculated on that chart, or if Poppy had been sharing secrets with her oldest school friend over hot toddies at The Three Broomsticks again.
To her surprise, as she passed by her, Helena Merrythought looked up from her meal. The woman gave Hermione a small nod to convey her sympathies at the news of her divorce as well, and she seemed quite sincere in the effort. Taking the higher road, she acknowledged Helena's kindness with a nod of her own.
Doubling the impact, to Helena's left, Theodore Nott sat eyeing Hermione—not with hostility any longer, but with a wary interest, as if he was considering the idea that he might have misjudged her after all. To him, she wasn't feeling quite so conciliatory, however. His loyalty to Draco's feelings had been commendable, yes, but he'd acted like a complete prat to her since the return from winter break. Working with him for those short four weeks of January as he'd taken over the role of Slytherin's Head of House had been an exercise in mounting frustration to say the least, as he'd made it a habit of smiling at and agreeing to every single one of her requests…and then ignoring them completely.
Git.
She stuck her tongue out at him.
Rather than insult him, however, she'd merely served to amuse him. A nettling smirk slowly wound its way up Theodore's cheek, reminding her once more of a Kneazle up to no good.
Degenerate muppet, she thought with a huff and moved on.
Truly, Theodore Nott was positively incorrigible, a rascal of questionable moral character. She felt sorry for whoever ended up with him.
Mid-February, 2007 – The Next Day
"How're you feeling?" Neville asked her, slightly out of breath as they climbed the winding West Tower stairs to the Owlery together. They may have been doing this up-and-down game for over a decade, but it never got any easier, Hermione thought as she forced her feet to keep going, despite how tired she was right then.
"Better. The potions Poppy is giving me are keeping me from a repeat all over your shoes, at least."
"That's good, since these are new shoes," her friend said with a grin. "Had to bin the last pair."
She winced. "At least let me reimburse you for that."
"You will," he stated with all confidence. "You'll name your first born after me. 'Neville Wilfred Granger' isn't so bad, right?"
She glanced sideways at him. "Your middle name is 'Wilfred'?"
He winced. "Yeah, we can thank my Gran-pappy for that. It was his name."
What could one say to that?
"At least 'Neville' is cool. It was the name of a powerful, prominent family in Muggle Mediaeval England."
His mouth dropped open in surprise at that. "It was?"
Hermione nodded. "Oh, yes. It was Ralph Neville who helped to found the English Peerage. There was also a Neville who was Archbishop of York, and another who served Richard II as an advisor. And the Neville family itself was intimately involved in the War of the Roses, which was one of the most important dynastic struggles for the British royal crown in the country's history." She gave him a good-hearted slap on the arm. "Your name is really quite famous…and infamous in Muggle history. You really ought to research it."
"Maybe I will."
Neville held the door for her once they'd reached the top.
"So, how are you and Hannah?" she asked, curious as to how other people's love lives were going along, now that hers was officially dead in the water.
He blushed, and gave a silly grin.
Hermione stopped and gaped at him. "Oh, my God, you…the two of you…you know?"
Ever the gentleman, he didn't confirm nor deny that fact, but the truth was written all over his face.
"You did!" she squealed, feeling truly happy for the first time in weeks. "Oh, Neville, I'm so happy for you both!"
He cleared his throat. "Yeah, well…she's agreed to my suit," he said, seeming relieved by that fact. "Finally."
Hermione understood that, in the wizarding world, when one partner in a relationship decided such a thing, that meant the couple was now exclusive, and one step away from a marriage proposal.
"What wonderful news!" she said, reaching into the satchel on her hip and pulling out her 'thank you' letter to Ron for his Valentine's chocolates. In gifting them to her, he'd been thoughtful (for the first time, really), and she wanted to encourage that general change in his behaviour. Besides, she'd been taught as a child that it was only polite to thank someone for a gift with a hand-written note. "You two are perfect for each other."
"You think?" he sincerely asked, handing an owl his letter addressed to his Gran. "It's just that…after Luna…"
He and Luna had given it a go just after the war had ended, but their friend's wanderlust and obsessive search for 'the unknown' had taken her away from England, leaving Neville behind and brokenhearted. It had taken a long time for him to crawl out of his shell and try again.
"Absolutely. Just don't forget to invite me to the wedding."
"I won't," he promised.
Well, she thought, as they made their way back down to the lower halls, at least she'd get to attend another wedding in the near future, even if it wasn't to be her own.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Author's Notes:
This is the prerequisite self-pitying, all-time-low chapter every protagonist must go through before they come out the other end of misery and find happiness again (besides, Hermione's pregnant and hormonal, which tends to make a girl slightly crazy…been there, done that). Don't worry, dearlings, Hermione will snap back soon.
Coming up…her next encounter with Draco!
Please review, if you would! :)
