One, two, three weeks melted into one another agonizingly slowly and still Hermione received the cold shoulder. She had not tried to talk to neither Harry nor Ron since the first attempt—she knew her resolve could not handle a relapse. She vowed to let them come to her when they were ready. She sat with Ginny Weasley at meal times, sometimes she sat with Neville, both of whom jumped down the throats of those who bothered Hermione about Carmen, for which she was eternally grateful. But the results of her honesty turned out just as bad as she'd feared, if not worse. She now got prank mail every morning, photographs were constantly being snapped with muggle cameras conjured from thin air, and constantly was she asked to break into song, a request which she never obliged. She often found herself hiding out in the depths of the library.
Harry knew his own resolve was weakening. Part of him was still angry—he'd bared his soul to both her and Ron on countless occasions. Of course he'd expected her to do the same. But then he wondered, if the situations were reversed, if he were really some big pop-star…he wondered if he'd have told. He understood where she was coming from—at first she didn't know them well-enough, and then it was too late. But he decided to take the time to sort out his anger before speaking with her. Ron, on the other hand, showed no signs of remorse at his actions. He showed no signs at wishing to make up with her. Harry vaguely wondered when he'd learned to be so…cold.
Snape, meanwhile, noticed a significant change in her behavior whenever she came to help him with a potion. She now remained uncharacteristically quiet, only speaking when spoken to. He found himself enthusiastically trying to engage her in conversation that would appeal to her, only to have her respond with as little speaking as possible.
One particular night after she'd politely forced down one of his awful cookies, not speaking a word without needing to, it finally became too much for him to just let it be. He had to ask.
"Miss Granger, are you alright?"
Glancing up at him, a tirade of emotions flitted across her face, each departing before Snape had a chance to detect them. Finally, she settled on feigning incomprehension. "Oh, I'm fine. Why d'you ask?"
Snape gave her a stern look. "Honestly, it's obvious to anyone with eyes that those two dunderheads you call friends are taking the…news rather childishly. And you, in effect, are suffering from it."
Hermione opened her mouth to defend them, closing it quickly in defeat. "I don't know how I expected them to take it, but I never expected this…I didn't know they had it in them," she whispered more to herself than to him, "to be that cold, I mean. Especially Ron…"
Snape captured her hand with his right and gently lifted her chin to look at him with his left. Her delicate eyebrows were knit together in response to the whirlwind of thoughts running through her head. He nearly melted into her chocolate brown eyes…
He shook his head to clear it. "Miss Granger…Hermione," she smiled at the hesitant shed of her surname, an encouraging little smile, "if they are your true friends, they will come around. Perhaps you've heard that a thousand times, but it rings truthfully nonetheless. Give them time; it is a big secret to handle. And just think—you seem relatively well for the time being. It really can't get much worse."
Hermione sighed in resignation. He was right—it really couldn't.
It had been a full two months since Hermione had burdened the school, and still her friends refused to speak with her. Ginny Weasley threw herself onto the couch next to Harry and her presently dim-witted brother. She put all her focus into glaring at them until her anger was realized.
"Erm…hey, Ginny. Something the matter?" Harry asked rather nervously. Her talents at Bat-Boogey hexes preceded her…
"You could say that," she muttered angrily.
"Oh, just get on with it, will ya. What'd Carmen do, ask you to make us regret the whole fight?" Ron asked sneeringly. He was just about grating on Harry's last nerve with all the snarky comments—did Hermione mean nothing to Ron anymore?
"Ron, you can take your damned ego and shove it, alright? Not everything is about you. And it's Hermione, not Carmen, you twit." She took a calming breath as Ron just glared. "Hermione has no idea I'm talking with you. She's too hurt by your foolish insults, dear brother. That's why she's been avoiding you like the plague." She spoke mostly to Harry now, seeing it would be easier to break through his resolve than Ron's. "You don't see what this is all doing to her, do you? You don't even stop to notice—McGonagall's even worried about her. Says she never raises her hand anymore, says she's so distant. Merlin, I can't get her to start a conversation at meal-times. I have to nearly drag the responses out of her. Sometimes she hurries into the lavatory quickly and her eyes are red and puffy when she's through. I'm worried about her. Only picks at her food half the time. And not once have I seen her smile since that night. Not once."
Ginny saw small signs of victory—Harry's emerald eyes drooped with remorse. She was right—he didn't know she'd spent time crying over this after the first night. He didn't know she stopped conversing. That wasn't healthy. He had no idea his friendship meant that much and his heart tightened painfully to think of how much pain he'd caused her.
Without further ado, Ginny got up and swept up the staircase to the Girls' Dormitories, not even taking care to look at Ron's disgruntled face.
Hermione trudged her way to the dungeons for early morning Potions. She did not feel well by any stretch of the imagination. Even the scent of food wafting from the Great Hall had been enough to nearly send her retching.
She dropped her bag unceremoniously onto the floor and collapsed into her chair between Neville and Harry which she'd been forced to remain at through the duration of the painful past two months. She propped her elbows on the work table and rested her pounding head in her hands. She vaguely felt eyes on her coming from Harry's direction but felt far too ill to inquire about it. It was all she could do to appear attentive as Snape began his lecture.
The difficulty of such a feat was every increasing. At first, the potions they were working on were, thank heavens, odorless. But as the potions progressed to their sought after pine-green, (Neville's turning a garish orange), the fumes became dreadfully sweet and Hermione couldn't stand it.
"Sir, c-can I..." was all she was able to stammer before bolting for the exit.
The first thing Snape noticed about his 7th year class was how frighteningly pale Hermione looked. Of course, she was still about a hundred times tanner than the rest of the students, being Spanish and all. But for her, at least, she looked positively sickly. But she had appeared attentive enough throughout his instructions.
However, when he was strolling between the aisles, assessing the students' ability to brew, a small voice called out to him. Turning, he witnessed Miss Granger cover her mouth in mid-sentence and run out the door. He was right—she was ill.
Sighing, as if he handled this sort of thing daily, he instructed the class to stay put if they wanted to graduate and followed her out the door. A quick search found her retching in the nearest Girl's Lavatory.
The sight worried him. After…finishing, she lay her head against her arm weakly, still unaware of his presence. He cleared his throat politely and quietly, trying not to startle her, but startle her he did. She jumped and looked around quickly, but the sudden movement upset her stomach again and another wave of nausea racked her. At a loss for what to do, he conjured a comfortingly warm cloth and placed it gently on the back of her neck. She rested her head against her arm gratefully. Snape bent down to look at her levelly.
"Have you recently eaten anything unusual?" Snape questioned quietly.
"No," she breathed, barely above a whisper.
"A visit to the Infirmary is in order. If you're finished here, that is."
At her confirmation, he gently slung his arm around her waist, keeping her upright and guiding her in the right direction. He placed her arm around his shoulders, easily supporting her.
They walked into the crowded Infirmary and were greeted with by an exhausted, somewhat grouchy Medi-witch. Hermione was pushed onto a white hospital bed, grateful that Snape remained close by.
Hermione was put through probably every test Madame Pomfrey was able to perform. The most obvious explanation would have been a fever or the stomach flu, but she had neither.
Madame Pomfrey became exasperated. "Well, I just don't know what it could be, Miss Granger. I've tested for nearly everything. Except…" Suddenly, her eyes became wide and filled with dread.
"Except what?" Snape asked nervously.
Madame Pomfrey didn't respond; instead she waved her wand down the length of Hermione's stomach and gasped dramatically when it turned pink, clamping her hand over her mouth.
Hermione looked uncertainly at Snape who gazed anxiously right back. What could it be that the Medi-witch didn't normally see?
They were both saved the trouble of answering when Pomfrey quietly asked, "Miss Granger…forgive my bluntness, but were you ever with any men besides Viktor?"
It took Snape a moment to realize that Pomfrey was asking if Hermione would be a virgin if it were not for Krum.
"Uh…no, Viktor was the only one," Hermione said, candidly puzzled.
Pomfrey had so suddenly lost the appearance of aggravated Medi-witch. Now she seemed like a kindly concerned motherly figure. "Well, dear…that bastard is going be a father. You're pregnant, Hermione."
AN: Cliff note:) I'm sorry, it's mean. But the next chapter is a bit happier all around for anyone who disliked this chapter.