Mrs. Molly Weasley was sat on her front porch, sitting idly in a wooden chair as she really had no errand to currently do when a cry of sorrow was heard coming from a little way down the road. Slowly standing from her chair and craning her neck around the side of her porch, she watched as a salt-and-pepper haired middle-aged man by the name of Stronghold Bones came running out into the street, a look of utmost distress on his age-lined face.
"Oh, where's Robere?" he cried out at the top of his hoarse voice, repeating this over and over again as he threw his blood-stained hands up into the air. "Robere! Robere! Someone – anyone – please, dear Lord above. . ."
Dropping to his knees in the midst of the dusty lane, he hung his head while tears moved to the corner of his creased, grey eyes.
"Strong'ld, what's happened?" exclaimed Mr. Thomas, who ran up and clapped a hand to the frightened man's shaking shoulder.
"It's my dear Marina – she – the baby's come but Marina's –"
"The baby's come?" Molly exclaimed, rushing forward toward the scene at once with an alarmed look on her tired face. "No one went and called for help, Stronghold?" Not waiting for an answer, the redheaded lady hiked up her skirts a bit and rushed on into the little house waiting just beyond, where the off and on cries of a newborn child could be heard.
"M-Mrs. Weasley," said the shaking voice of a young woman inside the cabin. "My – my mother – it all just happened so fast and she won't stop bleeding. This, this isn't how it's meant to go, is it?"
"No. . . Darling, Susan, it's not at all. Please, here, hand me the babe – go and get Robere Granger or Severus Snape or just whoever you can get ahold of first!"
. . . . . . . .
Walking back into the mainstay of town together, Luna, Neville and Harry (whom they'd awoken and invited to walk back along with them) hadn't quite reached the scene of ongoing commotion ahead and were instead simply talking amongst themselves.
"So I saw you with Hermione, before . . . " Neville said awkwardly, for he felt a need to just let Harry know that he knew; somehow, keeping it to himself felt too weird.
As one could have expected, this admission brought an end to the previous off-and-on discussion the three had been having about making wagers as to how many inches would fall with the certain to come snowfall, and it caused Harry in particular to go a bit red behind the ears.
"Sometimes . . . Neville . . . you like your friends, like, say, you and me – we're chums, right?"
"Erm, yes, we're pals, Harry."
"But would you go and call, say, Luna just a chum of yours, eh, Neville?"
To call Neville's face red would have been an insult to the very shade itself and needless to say Harry's words served their purpose, for the conversation about his nightly forest outing with Hermione was dropped like a hot potato, even if Luna did politely stifle a sweet giggle behind her hand, her eyes averting Neville's.
"Well . . ." Neville finally said again, after clearing his throat. "The reason I really meant to bring it up was because I'm just plain nosy about why it is you took Hermione home and set off for your own, yet Luna and I found you in the graveyard of all places this morning. I mean, if it's not too personal a question to ask, Harry . . . what led to that happening, mate?"
Sighing and giving a slight shrug, the stubble-faced young man shook his head ever so slightly and said, "I did mean to go to the Weasley's, to go to bed. But I just couldn't. Maybe it's because it doesn't feel like home anymore. Bill came and went with Fleur and Charlie's off again. Of course I have Fred and George but they still don't have the heart to even go for a prank or two. Mr. Weasley is staying as long as possible at work at the historical society . . . Mrs. Weasley? Her face is the portrait of heartache."
When Harry finished his spiel, he sighed again and added, "So last night, all alone, feeling without a home, I went to find the closest thing to it I have left, even if, technically, I don't have it at all. That . . . probably doesn't make much sense but –"
"No, I get it, Harry," Luna said, gently placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. "When we first got into town, I planned to spend the night sleeping by my mother's buried urn. I ran into a man there – a mister Granger – he talked me into letting him walk me home instead, but still; whether just few feet away inside a home or else a few feet away in heaven, our loved ones are always there for us, s'long as we never forget them."
Turning his head slightly to look back at her, Harry gave Luna a soft, kind smile; it told her without any words needed that he fully understood what she meant, and that he furthermore accepted her belief and felt good about the idea of sharing it as well.
Neville, meanwhile, was beginning to pick up on the fact that things just up the road weren't exactly going on as they normally would have been on any given morning. "Hey, you guys – something's going on up ahead, just there."
"Aye, there is," Luna agreed, furrowing her brow as she caught sight of her father amidst a small group near the commotion; confused and curious, she ran up to him. "Father, what's happened?"
"Oh, I've been trying to ask these people where I might find some Agrimony around here. No one seems to know what it even is and it's such an urgent matter, too. Where is this town's apothecary?"
"Uh, Agrimony, sir?" Neville said, approaching Luna and Xenophilius. "I've no idea where Mr. Granger or Snape are at but I do know where a bunch of Agrimony grows. I'll take you to it."
"Bless you, my boy!" Xenophilius cried out, touching the heel of his palm to his own forehead.
"Agri-what?" Harry asked Luna, grabbing onto her arm as Neville and Xenophilius took off together.
"It's an herbal remedy. It can help to stop bleeding. Mother used to use it on deep wounds; sometimes she made teas of it in extreme cases to help internal wounds, as well . . ."
"But who'd be bleeding?" Harry asked, a thrill of terror striking him as he took hold of Luna's hand – it was an action he took simply because he simply needed something, anything to hold on to at that second – and he took off running with her, running as fast as he could.
Stopping when he came to the wide open front door of the Bones household, his eyes darted from the distraught face of a sleepwear-clad Hermione to the figure of a tiny, bloodied and screaming baby in her arms, and then back to her worried face once more. "Are you hurt, Hermione?"
"No," she said simply, shaking her head back and forth, though she looked fit to cry as she shook her head madly, resembling a wilding out goat; regardless, she snuggled the baby all the more tightly to her bosom, bouncing ever so slightly. "It's Mrs. Bones. She – well obviously – this one's been born but she isn't looking so good. I was awoken by Neville's Gran when she came over to get Father but he wasn't home. And then nor was Apothecary Snape. I had no idea what I myself could do but Susan and Mrs. Weasley are trying to stop all this bleeding . . . so much bleeding . . . I just . . . I wanted to try to tend to the baby for them – the least I could do, you know?"
"I'm not partaking of this one bit, Severus. You have taken in enough absinthe over the years to finally addle your brilliant mind into naught by a disfigurement of what it once was. Your theory is simple impossible!"
"It's the sole possibility, Robere. You know – I know it. Lily, Margot – it all only makes . . . sense; oh what's going on here now?" Marching up to Mrs. Finnigan, Severus said to her in an alarmed voice, "What's gone on while Robere and I were away at the Elder House this morning?"
"Oh, it's nice of you two to show yer faces a 'tall!" she said to him in a scolding manner. "We all knew Marina Bones was getting up in her age to give forth a young'un. Yet she did this morning and now she's paying it for. Bleeding – blood everywhere – can't be stopped."
"Robere, let's go!" Snape called out at once. "We'll need some Agrimony to at least start with –"
"We've got you covered, er, sir," Neville stammered then, rushing by a surprised Snape along with Xenophilius, the both of them carrying armfuls of a strange, small looking little bush of a plant. "I'll put water on to make a tea, sir – are you going to practically apply it?"
"Oh, I'm not expert, m'boy," Xenophilius said, taking a step back.
"Oh, move over then," Snape said, rolling up the sleeves of his cloak as he pushed on by Xenophilius to enter the home, honing in on nothing else at all other than the task at hand: stopping the excessive bleeding of Marina Bones.
"Oh, Susan!" the woman was crying out, ghostly white in the face as she held on tightly to Molly Weasley's hand. "If I'm not to be making it, name the baby something you fancy. Your father, bless him, wanted to name you after me once upon a time, after all. No ideas, dear, Susan, my beautiful baby girl . . . he's a hopeless case, you know . . ."
"She's fading fast, isn't she, Severus?" Molly asked quietly of the apothecary, even as he did what he could with the herbs, every so often glancing off to the side to watch Neville's progress with the tea-making,
"There's a chance we'll save her yet," he said, all but one tiny part of his mind busy working on the job at hand; the tiny part which wasn't doing so was focusing on the question of why on earth Robere had not joined in helping him yet.
Still standing from without the Bones household, standing beyond Stronghold, who dared to barely look on into his own home, Mr. Thomas, Ms. Longbottom and Mrs. Finnigan now flanking his sides, Hermione herself stared directly back at her father, her brown eyes searching his for the strange, lost look that had taken over them.
". . . father?" she finally asked aloud, taking a step toward him as tears began to well in his eyes.
Robere looked from her stern eyes to her thick eyebrows to her tied back hair, her sharp chin, the curved downward frown on her face, her blood-covered arms holding the wee child to her bosom against the night dress. It was a phantom image, to be sure. For if it was real, then he had somehow been returned to a place and time of re-livable horror and uncontrollable circumstance.
"Margot?" he whimpered, stumbling forward toward Hermione, who – in simple reflexive reaction, took a step back away from her father.
"Ow!" she hissed then, for she'd been holding the small boy to her bosom with one hand, letting her other hang freely, and one of her fingers had just been caught on a thorn from a nearby bush; shaking the thorn free of her forefinger, she moved to holding the baby in both her arms, cradling him.
"Why won't you let me see her?" Robere asked, and his sad, pitiful tone of voice struck Hermione, though in more of a disturbing way than heartwarming or pitying sort of way.
"Father, it's me – Hermione Jean – your daughter. This baby? He's a boy – Marina Bones' baby boy. Who – who do you think I am, Father?"
Seeming to snap out of some sort of strange place in his mind, Robere shook his head suddenly, before giving a start and stepping forward two paces. Instinctively, Harry quickly moved to stand in front of Hermione and Luna, as well. The infant had finally quieted itself by deciding to suck on Hermione's forefinger.
Slowly reaching his hand forward, Robere then paused, and let his hand fall away. "I apologize. I was lost in moment. A woman does need my help, yes?"
"Indeed, sir," Harry answered him, though he spoke in a wary, uncertain sort of voice. "Marina Bones has had some sort of complication. Neville and Apothecary Snape are in there now, working."
"They're using Agrimony for now, sir," Luna added.
"Right; I assume a tea is being made of it as well as a sav – well, I'll be seeing to what I myself can do now. Hermione dear, forgive me for . . . whatever that was. I was just –"
"Father, really, it's fine. Please go help Mrs. Bones," Hermione implored him, still letting the baby suck on her finger as she swayed slightly from side to side.
As Robere passed on into the house, Neville's grandmother slowly made her way around to the group of three and the little baby standing not a foot away from the life or death chaos going on within the house; she placed a hand on Hermione's back, rubbing her there gently.
"I'm doubtless you've ever seen your father act so strangely, child," she said to the brown-haired girl. "But I can give you a small bit of insight. You see . . . your mother happened to birth you in your cabin, all on her own. She was okay, really. You came into the world healthy - ten fingers and ten toes. She made her way outside to let someone – anyone nearby know . . . your father was off gathering things in the forest, after all. Mrs. Weasley saw her. She sent one of her boys to go fetch your father and they did so he soon came back.
And look at you today, Hermione! Darling, I'll be if you aren't nearly the spitting image of how Margot looked all those years ago, a little blood-stained, in a dressing gown, newborn in her arms."
Mulling all this over, Hermione ultimately frowned a bit and said, "I can imagine that being off-putting - maybe a little - but why was it so upsetting to my father?"
Now patting Hermione gently on the shoulder, Ms. Longbottom said quietly, "Margot, the poor thing, from what I can remember – she, she didn't take the birth giving like a normal person would. I remember, I came out too, onto my porch. Alice had little Neville in one arm, now I think about it. Margot . . . she smiled the prettiest smile a person ever did see. Then she handed you over to your father and his silly, shaking hands.
I want to go off to the forest to find the stream and wash myself off a bit, alright? She said to us all . . . Well . . . we found her not an hour later."
Hermione changed her hold of the baby, pressing him against her bosom as she gently patted at his pack and bottom simultaneously. A terrible lump was forming in her throat. Her father, bless his soul, had only ever told her that her mother had simply died after childbirth. Details were never given. Not once – not ever.
"What do you mean . . . you 'found her'?" she asked in a meek voice, and Harry – though he personally had no idea what the answer might be his own self – moved to brace himself behind Hermione, lest she need his support.
Dropping her gaze to the ground, Ms. Longbottom said, "We found her beneath the stream, dear. She was hugging onto a rock, her soul already gone to God."
Still tightly holding onto the nameless baby boy with her arm for dear life, Hermione brought a second hand to her mouth and covered over it, speechless, startled, frightened, disturbed and heartbroken all at once. She could've asked a hundred different, new questions, truly, though strangely enough it was the newcomer of the lot who asked the first – and possibly best – question of all to this.
"Why would a new mother take her own life?" asked Luna somberly.