A/N: This chapter may be triggering, see the bottom of the page for more details.
Saturday, 5 September 1998
"Maybe you should stop brooding, son," Randolph's voice floated down from his portrait.
Bass looked up at his father's portrait and sneered. "I am not brooding."
"You've been staring into the fireplace again. Why don't you accept the fact that the Malfoy boy absconded with your betrothed and your unborn child? What did you think would happen, Rabastan? He's had three—"
"Four."
"Four weeks with her alone, a boy her own age, half a world away. If she had any regard for you, she would have found a way to contact you. She doesn't. You made a misjudgement on the Muggle-born. You picked her on a whim, have grown fond of her over a passionate dalliance, but she hasn't returned the sentiment."
"She's wearing my jewellery!"
"I hope you didn't give her your mother's set, Rabastan, because there's no doubt that you won't be getting it back," Randolph said. He pursed his lips to try and change the subject. "Have you found your mother's portrait yet?"
"I would have told you if I had," Bass answered. He propped his elbows on the top of his empty desk and propped his chin on his hands. He struck the pose hoping to antagonise his father and start another row. It was the only thing that kept his mind off the fact that Draco and Hermione had never come back from Australia. He sighed. He missed her dreadfully.
"No, you wouldn't. You would honour her wishes above mine. She didn't want to see my portrait after my death and she probably doesn't want to see me after hers either."
Bass didn't want to argue about his parents' marriage. He hadn't found her portrait and he wondered if she'd had it destroyed or hidden or just never charmed it to work at all. He wanted to speak with her. She would understand about Hermione. She would reassure him that Hermione would come back to him and his only friend hadn't broken ties with him by actually kidnapping her.
The fire flashed green then and Draco's semblance showed in the flames. "Draco!"
"Good evening, Bass. I wonder if I might have a word—"
"Where are you, Draco? What have you done with Hermione? Where is my betrothed?"
Draco blinked and confusion marred his features. "I'm in the Slytherin common room. You know that my sentence required me to finish my education at Hogwarts. Term started at the beginning of the week."
"Then where is Hermione? Did you leave her in Australia?"
"Leave her there? Of course not! What would I be leaving her to? Nightmares and a gravestone? There wasn't anything left to leave her with, Bass!"
"What?"
"What do you mean 'what'? Hasn't she told you?"
"I thought she was still with you. Is she at Hogwarts too?"
He shrugged, though the movement only caused his head to bob in the flames. "Not that I've seen. We didn't find out her parents had died until almost the end of the third week. She was upset. So much that when she was first told, she fainted and then sort of went catatonic, but she'd snapped out of it by the time we flew home. We got back midday on Tuesday, the first. Hermione and I parted after catching a taxi back to the Leaky. I spent the afternoon packing the rest of my things and then apparated on to Hogsmeade that evening for the feast."
Bass felt his chest throb uncomfortably. "She didn't come home," was all he said.
"She didn't accept my offer of betrothal jewellery either. In fact, that's what I wanted to speak with you about. I wanted to rescind—"
"Where do you think she went? The Burrow? The Weasleys? Where Draco?"
Draco was silent for a moment while he seemed to be thinking. "Yeah, probably the Weasleys. She might have gone to Potter, but I don't know if he's living with them or somewhere else."
"Thank you. We'll talk later, please disconnect so I may fire-call the Weasleys."
"But Bass—"
"Please, Draco," he said emphatically.
"Yeah, okay. I'll talk with you later. Tomorrow evening, maybe?"
"That's fine."
Draco nodded and pulled back, ending the fire-call. Bass wasted no time in grabbing a pinch of Floo powder and calling for Molly Weasley at the Burrow.
* . * . *
"Hermione, can you come here dear? You've got a fire-call," Mrs Weasley called up the stairs.
Hermione was wrapped up in a warm blanket on her bed with a book about pregnancy. The little bit of book-browsing she'd done over the past few days had resulted in no books by magical authors about pregnancy. Everything was passed down by tradition and word of mouth. She'd been so worried about her magic being too powerful that she hadn't cast anything since she broke Mrs Weasley's plates.
She sighed and put down her book, wondering who would be fire-calling her. Harry and Ron were out flying, which seemed to be all they ever wanted to do anymore. She couldn't blame them for wanting something normal and fun after the year they'd all had. She headed downstairs. When she got to the kitchen fireplace, she was shocked to see Lestrange's face looking up at her from the flames.
"Hermione," he said. There was a library's worth of emotions wrapped up in that single word.
"I'll just leave you two alone, shall I?" Mrs Weasley smiled and stepped out of the kitchen, but not before putting all the food that was cooking on the stove in stasis.
"Hello, Lestrange," Hermione said as she knelt at the hearth to speak with him.
"I've been worried. You didn't contact me while you were away. I thought you were still in Australia. I heard about your parents; my condolences. How are you holding up?"
There had only been one real question in there but the rapid-fire way he spoke and his tone gave a different meaning. He'd missed her and been upset that she hadn't come back to his house.
"I'm coping, I suppose. Mrs Weasley has been all sorts of helpful. Still worried about my magic and all."
"Worried, is something wrong? Should I escort you to St Mungo's?"
"No, no, I think I'm fine. Mrs Weasley says I'm fine. I just... I'm worried my spells are too strong so I haven't cast anything since I broke her plates."
"You haven't used magic in over a month? How can you manage that? Aren't you living in a Wizarding domicile?"
"I've managed," she answered, shrugging.
"I know I told you—" he paused and his brows came together. "Excuse me a moment," he said and his head disappeared from the flames. The fire-call hadn't disconnected though, so Hermione waited for him.
She had a feeling he was going to ask her to come back to his house. It was nice living there, she supposed, and much of her things were there, but she didn't want to go there now. She had finally started seeing beyond his eminent Slytherinness at how he'd manoeuvred her into the situation she was in, but she still felt resentment because of how he'd opened the door for Malfoy to enter her life as well. It wasn't like she needed to go back to his manor since she'd packed all of her maternity wear to take to Australia. So she hadn't.
Lestrange's face came back into the flames. "I don't mean to alarm you, but there are two men here claiming to be from the Auror department. They've invited themselves into our home and have started destroying things. They're saying they are here on a raid for Dark Artefacts."
Hermione's mind when blank. "Oh my God," the oath seemed to slip from her lips. "End the fire-call, I'll Floo over immediately."
"Hermione, I—"
"Now, Lestrange!"
His face disappeared from the flames. A pinch of Floo powder and a call of her own had her spinning into his study. Lestrange looked at her, taking in the changes in her body with tired eyes.
"Where are they?" She demanded.
"In the entrance hall, if they haven't moved on to destroying the drawing rooms. I'd prefer you didn't go out there, really. I think you'd be safer at the Burrow, or at least in here. If we both ward the room with your magic boosted, it's likely they won't—"
"I'm not sitting in here while they destroy our home. That's not how Aurors are supposed to work," she stated flatly. She stomped past him and out of the room towards the crashing she could hear. He followed.
When she entered the drawing room—the larger, more formal of the three—it was to a scene of trashed elegance. Every single knickknack and breakable item they'd found had been smashed against the walls or the floors, including vases of fresh flowers and water, staining the few works of art hanging from the picture rail. The men doing the damage were laughing between themselves as they used their wand to rip the fabric of the sofas and chairs.
"Excuse me!" Hermione called out, interrupting their rude behaviour, "I'd like to see the warrant or paperwork that allowed you to come into my home and destroy it. And I want your names."
"We've already told Lestrange, we're Aurors and we're here on an official raid of the house in case you've got Dark Artefacts. Got it, Missy?"
They were dressed in the red robes of Aurors, but they looked nothing like professionals. Their robes were slightly wrinkled because they weren't tailored for these men, and one had a yellow stain on the collar. Hermione had no doubt in her mind that these men weren't Aurors and weren't here on official business of any sort. She slipped her wand from her pocket and cast a Patronus message to Kingsley. She'd never done it non-verbally before and had no idea if it would work, but she was extremely angry and didn't even doubt her stronger magic.
"Hey now," the shorter man with the stained collar called, stomping towards her, aiming his wand at her.
Lestrange immediately stepped in front of her but he'd not pulled his wand. His eyes blazed with fury at the obvious threat to her.
Thinking quickly, Hermione stepped into his back and whispered into the hair at his nape, using his larger frame to hide her from the belligerent man. His partner hadn't raised his wand at them yet, but Hermione wasn't going to give them a chance. "I'll throw a shield to cover you. Three, two, Vorso!"
The reflection shield she cast was large enough to cover Lestrange from head to toe and he pulled his wand smoothly, tossing a Jelly-legs Jinx immediately in the other man's direction. The shield didn't distract them for long and soon Hermione and Lestrange were trading curses and hexes with the fake Aurors.
Hermione heard the sound of apparition then and glanced behind her. Kingsley had shown up, assessed the situation, and thrown a curse in less than five seconds. Hermione turned to cast again, planning to cast in tandem with Lestrange to subdue the shorter man. Somehow, Lestrange had moved forward, and Hermione took a step forward herself so they fake Aurors couldn't separate them.
At the same moment, there was a flash of yellow—a curse Hermione didn't recognise—and she was flung back onto the hardwood floor. She felt broken glass dig into her shoulders and upper back but it was nothing compared to the pain that flooded her body from that curse. She screamed. She heard several shouted spells and then a loud, fleshy splat.
Then nothing as she passed out.
* . * . *
It was a beautiful evening. The sky was clear and the stars were shining brightly. They were dressed warmly, but there was still a chill in the air. Hermione smiled, inhaling deeply to smell the lavender and purple lilacs in her bouquet. She hadn't really wanted to spend the money to have the flowers shipped in for the October wedding, but there were only a few. Draco had paid for them.
She smiled at Harry at her side, and he grinned back. "Are you ready?"
"Oh yes, I'm ready," she said.
There was a faint melody playing and as they slowly made their way out of the chapel and into the gardens proper, she saw that someone had charmed a violin to play. The guests were on either side of the makeshift aisle. Ginny, Ron, Mr and Mrs Weasley, Remus and Tonks were on one side and Percy, Fred, George, Charlie, Bill and Fleur on the other. Harry walked her down the aisle to her fiancés.
Rabastan and Draco stood at the altar with Dumbledore; he would officiate the ceremony. Rabastan looked dashing in his midnight blue robes, coordinating perfectly with her light blue, lacy maternity dress. Draco was wearing a medium grey, embroidered with a hint of lace to match her dress. They both smiled brightly when she looked up at them. Harry brought her to them and kissed her cheek, stepping away to stand next to Ginny.
Dumbledore smiled and greeted everyone and then started the ceremony. Hermione wasn't paying attention, though, the words sounded like Latin but she couldn't focus to make out what she was hearing.
"Oh!" she said, ineloquently. She raised her hand up to touch her well-rounded belly.
Rabastan's hand came up to rest on her back and she could feel its heat through her dress. "Are you all right?" he asked, looking down at her with a smile.
"Yes. It's just... That's the first time I felt the baby move."
His answering smile transformed his face and he looked years younger, boyish almost.
Hermione turned back to Dumbledore, unsure if she'd messed up by speaking during the ceremony but he wasn't standing there any longer. It was just empty space with the gardens beyond, the dark air chilling her fingertips. She felt dread then like if she looked up Rabastan and Draco wouldn't be by her sides anymore. She couldn't bear to look.
* . * . *
Monday, 7 September 1998
Hermione blinked, trying to rid her eyes of sleep and dryness. She tried to raise her hand to touch her face, to rub at her eyes but realised that someone was holding it. She closed her eyes again, not bothering to actually figure out where she was or who was with her. Something felt wrong. She was so used to waking up and mentally checking her body. Not clammy, no weird taste in her throat, no headache. Not going to be sick. But there was something else, a hollowness that she couldn't place. It bothered her. She looked to see who was holding her hand.
"Rabastan?" she asked.
He looked up at her then, tired, bloodshot eyes and dark bags under his eyes indicating his lack of rest. His hair was lank but not oily as it had been at his trial. "I'm here," he said, voice cracking like he hadn't spoken in a while and his throat was parched.
"What's going on?"
"What do you remember?" He countered.
She wanted to smile and call him a Slytherin prat, but that feeling of emptiness was strong and she couldn't seem to put a smile on her face. "I had been at the Weasleys because I wanted to be somewhere comforting after finding out my parents were dead. You fire-called asking me... To come back to your house? And mentioned that two men were there wrecking havoc. I came through the Floo and confronted them. They weren't Aurors. Their uniforms weren't fitted and they were wrinkled and stained. I sent my Patronus to Kingsley. He came. Then there was a yellow spell and pain."
"That's about the time you passed out."
"What happened?" she asked again, not liking the dead look in his eyes.
"The spell that hit you was a dark spell, meant for me," he said solemnly. He swallowed and tried to speak twice before he got the next five words out. "It caused you to miscarry."
Instead of reacting with shock, or anger, or pain—Hermione realised that she might still be under the effects of a potion dampening her emotions—she stated, "That's what I feel."
"Hmm?"
"I couldn't figure out why I felt so wrong. So... Empty. What happened to the fake Aurors?"
"Minister Shacklebolt incapacitated one and I... The other's here in St Mungo's, missing his wand arm."
The smallest amount of incredulity filtered her words, "You cut off his arm?"
He glanced down, though Hermione couldn't tell if it was in shame. "I actually used a Reductor curse on it."
"Are you going to be charged with a crime?"
He shook his head. "No. If I had cast the spell before you were hurt, yes, but since the Minister was there and saw the order of things..."
"You blasted his wand arm to pieces because I got hurt?"
"Yes."
They sat quietly as Hermione's brain tried to catch up to the conversation. She felt as though she was moving through treacle.
"What's going to happen now?"
He didn't answer her, just looked down at their clasped hands and shook his head.
"Rabastan?"
He looked up at her, eyes shiny. "You're going to go back to your life. And when you're better and have been released, I'm going back to the estate."
"Don't I still owe the—"
"No," he said, gasping the word like he would choke. "No, Hermione. You owe me nothing. The life debt was for life created; remember your acknowledgement? Your vow? Life created. And you did, you created life with me," he half smiled but then his features took on a haunted look. Despair filled his voice. "It's my fault that..." he reached out slowly and rested his hand on her hip, afraid to touch her stomach where their child had grown. "I'm a horrible duelist. I moved the wrong way or cast Protego instead of Vorso. I don't think very well on my feet like that. All I know is that spell was meant for me and it hit you." He stopped speaking for a moment, afraid to look her in the eyes. When he finally did, she could see tears glistening on his face, "It's my fault our baby died, Hermione." It seemed hearing himself say it was too much because he gasped again, trying to take in large gulps of air. His panicked tears quieted and he just held her hand, face turned aside to hide his shame. "Your life debt to me is absolved," he told her, voice stronger than it had been before. "I apologise for the outpouring of emotion, I was never very good at holding it all in."
Hermione blinked slowly trying to understand just what he was saying. No more life debt. No betrothal, no marriage. No baby. She squeezed Rabastan's hand and he looked up at her. She used her other hand to caress his cheek, brushing a few tears away with her thumb. There was another long silence between them that neither seemed to know how to fill.
"Rabastan?" she asked again.
He looked up at her.
"Do you know if the baby was a boy or a girl?"
The pain in his eyes didn't lessen. "Girl. We were going to have a little girl."
Hermione nodded dumbly. "Ylva," she said in response to some unknown question. "I was going to name her Ylva."
"You'd already picked out a name?"
"It means she-wolf. I thought it would be a nice namesake for your brother and your father. I thought you could pick her middle name."
His face crumpled like he would cry again but he didn't. Hermione was starting to feel the pain of whatever the curse was, or maybe her body's purging of their child, she didn't know. She did know that the pain she was feeling wasn't all physical though, there was a deep ache in her heart where her growing child had stowed away and now was gone. It burrowed down next to the missing piece of her heart where her parents were. Hermione wanted to be held then, she wanted comfort.
"Are any of my friends here?"
He didn't frown, but his brows scrunched together for a moment before relaxing. "Yes. I believe the Weasleys are here and Mr Potter. And Draco."
"Malfoy's here?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Can..." she rephrased, "I want to see Harry."
There was a wash of emotion that seemed to overwhelm his face then. Hermione had a hard time deciphering it all, but what she did see—sorrow and hurt and pain—confused her. He nodded. "Of course," he said like he knew that's who she was going to ask for. He leaned over her then and Hermione expected a kiss. On the forehead, in her hair, on her nose, even her mouth. But there were no kisses. Only a fallen tear or two that landed near her temple as he reached behind her and unclasped the necklace he'd given her. His betrothal jewellery. There was another gasp as he tried to contain his emotions and then the quietest whisper. "Goodbye, Hermione."
He stood and left quickly.
The treacle sludge feeling had faded by now and she just hurt all over.
The door swung open but it wasn't Harry that stepped in. A tall, brunette Healer came in instead. "I see you're awake now Miss Granger." She waved her wand over Hermione's body and Hermione flinched, still paranoid from the war. "Next time you want to celebrate, don't just spread your legs for all and sundry."
Hermione felt slapped. What did the Healer just say? "I know the father of my child."
"Oh, sure you do. All the unmarried girls say that. Mess around with enough boys and you can pick the richest one to blackmail. Obviously, he didn't fall for it, did he? Did you even use the standard first-trimester potions kit?"
Hermione didn't understand what this woman was thinking. "Yes, I used the anti-nausea potion."
"So you thought the rest were optional, hmm? Typical. Didn't even read the insert. What? Worried that a nutrition potion would make you gain weight?" the Healer asked but she wasn't expecting an answer because she had already assumed one. "You're probably one of those girls who think being underweight is sexy. Let me tell you, it's not. It's no wonder you miscarried, you're two stone underweight. Perhaps next time you decide to spread your legs, think about a contraception spell Miss Granger." The Healer tsked twice as she looked at the results of her diagnostic spells. "You're free to leave now. I won't be back by. I've got other patients to tend. Married witches who wanted their babies and took care of themselves."
The Healer turned and walked out but not before Hermione caught sight of Harry's face in the window. He looked livid. She heard his voice, speaking low and almost growling as he spoke with the Healer. Hermione didn't hear if the woman said anything in return but she walked away briskly. Harry took a deep breath before he came into the room.
"Oh, Harry!" Hermione said, breaking into the tears she'd been holding back since before Rabastan left. He rushed over and sat on the bed, wrapping his arms around her. Before she fell asleep again she murmured, "Take me home." Though even to herself, she didn't know where home was anymore.
* . * . *
Tuesday, 8 September 1998
Hermione woke up in her bed at the Burrow. On the bedside table between her bed and Ginny's was a fresh vase of flowers. She felt hollow inside still, but the aching in her heart and soul didn't stop her bladder from demanding it's due. She eased herself out of the bed. She slipped her feet into the bedroom shoes just under her bed and stood. Her body ached all over especially the muscles of her abdomen. She tried not to think about why that was. She carefully made her way to the bathroom. When she was done there she headed down the stairs toward the kitchen; before she was all the way down, though, Mrs Weasley stopped her on the way up.
"What are you doing out of bed?" she asked.
"Had to wee," Hermione answered. Her normal mental filter not quite working properly.
"Well there's that," the older woman said. She smiled sadly at Hermione. "Back to bed with you, I can tell by the way your shoulders are hunched that you're still in pain."
"I don't want to just lay there."
"I'll get you a book. That vase of flowers Mr Lestrange sent has very special meaning. Have you heard of the language of flowers?" She asked as she ushered Hermione back up to her room.
"The people of the Victorian era used to attribute meaning to flowers but all I know is red roses mean love and yellow roses mean friendship."
Before Hermione settled back in the bed, Mrs Weasley cast a spell that cleaned the sheets, fluffed the pillow, and warmed the duvet.
"Thanks."
"You'll be physically feeling better by the end of the week. There is a bit more to the language of flowers than just roses," she answered. She looked at the vase as Hermione crawled under the duvet. Mrs Weasley summoned a book from downstairs and caught it as it soared through the door. She set it gingerly on Hermione's lap. "All right, what flowers can you identify?"
Hermione smiled to herself. This was something she could absolutely do on her own, but Mrs Weasley seemed to know that she didn't really want to be alone at the moment. "Lilacs. They're one of my favourites." She opened the book and flipped casually to the entry. She read aloud, "'Lilacs, purple. First emotions of love.' Does that mean he was starting to... fall in love with me?"
Mrs Weasley hummed. "I would think so. Let's do the leaves next. Do you know them?"
"Aspen, I think."
"Looks like aspen to me too."
Hermione flipped to the front of the book and found the entry for Aspen. "'Lamentation.'" There wasn't much she could say about that. Of course, they were in mourning. "There are three different white flowers, though I think one of them is snowdrops, right?"
"Yes, these are snowdrops."
"'Snowdrops. Hope, consolation,'" she read. "He's upset about losing the baby too. Though I knew that. He cried when he told me."
Mrs Weasley just smiled sadly. "This one is volkameria."
"'May you be happy,'" Hermione read aloud after she found the entry. She liked that. He had told her before that he just wanted her to be happy.
"Now these, do you know what these are?"
Hermione shook her head.
"Have a sniff, I bet you'll know immediately," she said and picked up the vase and brought it closer for Hermione to sniff the white flowers.
The smell of citrus was strong, but it was sweet. It made her mouth water. "Oranges! That's definitely oranges. So, orange blossoms, I guess?" She took Mrs Weasley's smile as a yes and found the proper entry. "'Innocence, eternal love, marriage, fruitfulness.' I don't understand that one. I mean, he took his necklace back, so he can't still mean..."
"Orange blossoms are traditionally associated with a bride and bridal festivities. They represent a woman's virtue."
Hermione frowned. "Is he symbolically giving back my virginity?"
"Had he taken it?" Mrs Weasley's eyebrows raised.
"Yes."
"Then, yes, I suppose he's symbolically giving it back. Though, of course, you'll never have the chance to do the virgin rites again. Traditionally, mothers don't explain that until the eve of a wedding, but by then many witches have already gone through it. Even when their mothers warn them from having sex."
"Is there something special with the virgin rites? Or just, who's in control of..." Hermione ducked her head as she felt the heat rise up her neck.
"You know about virgin rites, then? And the small shift of power depending on who is in control?"
"Malfoy explained them while we were on the aeroplane. It's a long story about how that came up, but, yes."
Mrs Weasley frowned as she looked Hermione over. "I had assumed he was in control."
Hermione took a deep breath to push past the embarrassment. "He tried to get me to control it, but I... I was scared and I gave up control halfway through. There's not a spell or ritual that goes along with it?"
"No, it's blood magic, old stuff usually in connection with nature. No spells or incantations needed. So you both had control. That's," she paused and nodded. "That's special. I never expected that of him."
"I recognise the carnations," Hermione said after a moment and flipped towards the front of the book to find the entry for the flower. "Carnation, pink. I'll never forget you.'"
"And of course, you recognise the last one."
"The single rose in the centre. It's not truly red."
"No. Look up roses and compare the colours listed to this one."
Hermione flipped to the page and found the entry for roses. There were so many. Burgundy, coral, dark crimson, lavender, orange, pink. "Well, it's pink, isn't it?"
"But it's not a light pink like the carnations."
"Okay, so dark pink. 'Appreciation, gratitude, thank you for being in my life,'" she read aloud. "Oh. That's..." Hermione felt her eyes prickle but she didn't cry.
"And further down the page, there should be a note about a single bloom or a bouquet, and about if the roses are fully opened or not."
Hermione didn't read the notation out loud this time. Single full bloom. I truly love you. She didn't look back up from the book while she thought. She'd only really started to get to know Rabastan after his trial in July and she'd spent almost all of August in Australia. How could he begin to love her in just about a month's time? It didn't make any sense to her. But she remembered the look on Malfoy's face when she said she would have rather died than be in this situation with Rabastan. And that she wore his jewellery only because he asked, not that she'd planned to actually marry him. Malfoy had called her clueless and cruel. Perhaps she was.
"Thank you," she said, looking up expecting to see Mrs Weasley still standing by her bed. She wasn't there. She must have left to give Hermione some time to think about what Rabastan meant with his flowers. Hermione felt a few tears slip down her cheeks and she closed the book and set it aside. One hand came up to rest on her belly, not as flat as it had been before she was pregnant but definitely not rounded like it had been. Everything felt tender.
Hermione spent the next few days resting and trying to find something to ground her. It wasn't until Harry came by and mentioned Ginny being at school that it dawned on Hermione that it was already the second week of September. Her heart ached, but thinking about Hogwarts and schedules, learning and the library, she finally found what she wanted. She sent an owl to Professor McGonagall, who was now Headmistress, asking if she could attend even though she was several weeks past the start of classes. The answer had her packing up her trunk and Apparating to Hogsmeade on Saturday, ready to immerse herself in her studies and forget about the war and the way her life had turned upside down in the last four months.
Content Warning: Hermione has a miscarriage in this chapter. She is devastated by it. It takes her years to overcome her grief. Therefore, from this chapter to about chapter 22, warning for mentions of miscarriage. It's also brought up in chapters 28 and 31 as other people involved in Hermione's life grieve about it too.