Notes: Please note that this part of the story deals with Hermione's magical pregnancy in which there are abnormal (magical) complications.
Part II
A year later
"Mrs Norris, where are you?" a singsong voice called through the house before the tapping of footsteps sounded, and a low rumble of laughter followed.
Hermione could only stare dumbly up at Gus from her lower vantage point and meow miserably.
Gus was already a tall man, but he looked even more enormous to her when she was a cat. He chuckled as he crouched down next to the table to look at her furry figure. She slowly came out to meet him, and he scooped her up, carefully cradling her lower belly. His fingers brushed against her ticklish spot at her sides and she hissed at him indignantly.
"Sorry," he said before carrying her over to the rocking chair and sitting down. "Is this better?"
Hermione offered up a reluctant purr.
They rocked back and forth in silence for a while without either of them attempting to break the silence. His hand continuously stroked her head and back. "It's happened again, hasn't it?" Gus said finally. "You keep on spontaneously turning into a cat."
She didn't bother to dignify that with a response when it was so blatantly obvious.
He sighed a little at her mopiness, and his hand lifted from her back. "I'm sorry you've been so miserable during this pregnancy. I think—the Healers didn't have any suggestions to make about this, and none of the Animagi we've spoken to had anything to add." He sounded as though he were leading up to something, so she looked up at him expectantly. "I've a suggestion, actually. I think we should go talk to Albus."
There was no one there to offer a better alternative, so she allowed him to rock her for another minute while she thought.
In the year that she had been trapped in time, she had become resigned to her fate of being stuck in the past. It hadn't been easy, but seeing Gus's every effort to send her back to her own time had softened her towards him.
Perhaps it was inevitable what followed, to succumb to each other when they lived in such close confines. The light in his eyes had grown stronger every day she had known him, and she was similarly aware that she had never liked another man as much as she liked him.
Was it love? Maybe it was. Hermione didn't know if she understood what love was. Was it this need to see him smile, to make him laugh, to want to hold his hand and care for him? Or the fact that she simply admired him—a lot?
There were so many aspects of his character that she found pleasing and admirable, from his ready ability to accept others, to how genuinely interested he was in her many research projects. If she believed in fate, or soulmates, would she perhaps want hers to be someone like him?
It was a difficult concept to wrap one's mind around. Did she want to like him because she had to, and because she was dependent on him? Was he only pleasant to her because he considered her his soulmate? It was difficult to predict just how things would have been in another time, under different circumstances. She probably was even more so adamant against the Soulmate Spell now than ever before, because of all the additional questions that were raised due to this random designation of a person who was supposed to mean something to you.
On the other hand, there was just no denying that they got on in a strange way that she had never felt with anyone else. It was simply so easy to like him. Their conversations were seldom contentious, and even when she was her most domineering self, he backed down and let her have her say in a way that instantly quelled her annoyance. One could even say she felt spoiled by his manners. Even cherished.
In short, over time she had grown accustomed to her fate, since it appeared that it was unchangeable. She was never returning to 2010.
Now, though, she was pregnant and miserable. The constant uncontrollable transfiguration into her Animagus self was becoming tedious.
Albus's inability to send her back to her time hadn't raised up her estimation of his abilities. Hermione had doubts he could do anything about her pregnancy woes, but when she stayed a cat for an entire week without being able to change herself back, she gave up and pawed Argus's hand to indicate to him her change of mind.
As expected, Albus Dumbledore was unable to offer much help.
"Given the fact that there are more male Animagus than female, this has not been an oft-reported issue," Albus said, tapping a finger to his bottom lip thoughtfully, as though Hermione were a laboratory experiment rather than a miserable pregnant woman who was sick of hairballs. "On top of that, Hermione is a special case, being from a different time. No, I'm afraid whatever befalls her is individual and very specific. We cannot assume anything from the cases that have gone before her."
Gus didn't look at Hermione, but she knew from the indentation in his cheek that he was aware of her "I told you so" look, even in cat form.
Turning into a pregnant cat was irritating but still acceptable since she would turn back to her human form, even if it happened to be a spontaneous transfiguration and not under her own magical power.
It was when Gus found Hermione shivering on the ground, her midriff pulsing with light, that they began to feel truly alarmed.
"This isn't—normal, is it?" Hermione said, looking down briefly at her own body before averting her eyes to smile weakly at Gus.
He was staring at her abdomen, but instead all that could be seen was the floor under her. Hermione's entire pregnant midriff was see-through—or, as Gus reached out a hand to touch her body and felt nothing, completely gone. As though the middle part of her didn't even exist or had turned into a ghostly, intangible manifestation. "It's completely abnormal." His face was set in grim lines.
Back to Albus they went. This time, he seemed prepared to see them. He had spent an inordinate amount of time researching her case because it was an endless source of fascination to him.
"You're being called back to your time," Albus said, returning his quill to the inkstand and standing up. "Your pregnancy should have happened in another time, and the dissonance between realities is forcing your body to be split in half."
"What?" Hermione said in disbelief. "So we searched for a solution for a year, and this is what will send me back? Pregnancy?" Her wedding ring glinted for a moment on her ring finger, tight on her swollen knuckle.
"It's not sending you back." Albus shook his head, his blue eyes for once not twinkling. "It's ripping you apart ."
"I don't feel any pain," Hermione said stubbornly. Part of her wanted to deny that there was something significantly wrong with her.
Albus smiled gently at her and didn't say anything else. "That's good. I'm glad to hear it."
There were things not said in his voice that were nevertheless understood by all of them in the room, even if it were not spoken aloud.
"What can we do to stop it?" Gus asked. He looked like the stereotypical wild-eyed, wild-haired father-to-be, and for a moment, Hermione could only look on him fondly. That was before he said the next thing on his mind: "Abort the child?"
"ARGUS!" Hermione shouted. He merely glanced at her before turning his attention back to Albus.
"It's not worth it," Gus said to Albus, his lips a flat, grim line. "Look at how she's suffering now. We can get rid of it. She'll be safe then, won't she?"
Albus shook his head slowly from side to side. "I...don't think it's that simple. You see, magical children will be what they will be. They either terminate of their own accord, or they carry to term. Ending its life prematurely against its will has—historically—resulted in very devastating effects."
She saw the bob of Gus's throat as he swallowed. "Is there nothing we can do for Hermione?"
There was a split second before Albus responded, and Gus leaped on it. "There is something. Tell me. Tell us. "
"Sacrificial magic. Some say—it is dark."
Of course it was. That was always the case. Hermione snorted and shook her head, trying to rise from the low armchair. "Gus, no."
"Not from you, Mrs Norris," Albus said, his smile faint and somehow distant. "It's the sacrifice of magic, the ultimate sacrifice."
"What does that mean?" she asked uneasily, looking from Albus's unreadable face to Gus's strained expression.
"It means that magic is the core, the ultimate element within a wizard. The sacrifice of that is...well, simply put, it's the most powerful thing a wizard has to give."
"How do you even sacrifice magic?" Hermione asked. She was reminded of a time much later on when Albus Dumbledore had said that a mother's love was the most powerful magic in the world. Apparently what Albus believed in changed with the times. She didn't really know whether to trust in this theory or not.
Albus seemed reluctant to reveal more, but he still responded. "You pull it out of him." He took a quill from his table, and, using his wand, he excised the calamus from the barbs. The quill came apart in his hand, the calamus attached to the rachis. The feathers fanned across his palm, not breaking apart without the missing spine, but held together by a thin layer of fasciae.
Albus let the feathered part go, and they floated in the air, looking like wings fluttering eerily without the long stem. With his other hand, Albus twirled the spine in his hand, turning it slowly. It looked like a wand; a very thin, fragile, breakable wand.
Hermione's mouth was open at the implication of what Albus had demonstrated. She closed it with a snap. "Well. We're not doing that." Her tone was sharp and final. She gazed sternly at Gus. "Let's go home."
Gus didn't look at her. His attention was fixed on the thin pale spine in Albus's hand. "What happens to a wizard when you sacrifice his magic?"
"Maybe nothing." Albus shrugged and waved his hand over the feathers, restoring it back to a quill again. "Maybe everything."
"Has it ever been done before?"
"Once or twice."
"And?"
Albus took his time answering. Hermione shifted impatiently in her chair as Gus studied Albus's face, looking for tells that Hermione could never see. "They survived. It is—not essential to live life with magic, as I'm sure Muggles understand intimately."
"Gus!" Hermione said harshly. She couldn't even believe he was considering such a thing. She moved slowly across the room to stand next to him, her movements made awkward by her pregnancy. "We're not considering that."
When Gus turned to her, there was a light of determination in his eyes that made her heart sink. Hermione had always been called stubborn by her peers, but she was nothing— nothing— compared to Argus Norris. He was a force to be reckoned with, sweet and charming to the end, but unbelievably obstinate. "Please," she said to him, shaking her head and pulling on his arm in supplication. "Please don't do this."
"Would you still love me if I were a Muggle?" Gus asked, his voice soft and low. There was something light and unemotional about his tone that contrasted with the tension in his jaw. "Even though you were raised by Muggles, you—seem to dislike Squibs."
"I do not dislike Squibs," Hermione said a little huffily with chin thrust out. "People live perfectly full lives without magic."
There was a pleased look on his face when she answered that made her stomach lurch. She had, inadvertently, answered his question the way he wanted.
Gently, she curved her palm against his cheek, and he covered her hand with his, briefly closing his eyes at her touch. "Don't you see? I could never look at you the same way again if you did this. I'm not worth it. You've been a wizard for longer than you've known me. This is who you are. I couldn't— live with myself if you did this."
"You have been feeling better, haven't you?" Albus asked. His voice cut across the intimate scene, and Hermione and Gus broke apart. "More stable? Less turning into a cat spontaneously?"
"Yes," Hermione said immediately, shooting Gus a pointed look. "Yes. It was just—this thing that one time."
"It might be an isolated incident," Albus said. His eyes were gentle on Gus. "There's no need to discuss such morbid affairs when we're soon to celebrate your becoming a father."
"Right," Hermione said, taking hold of Gus's arm and gripping it tightly. "Right."
That night, they made love with an urgency that had never happened before.
Their first time had been fueled by laughter and chatter, with Hermione making the overtures while at every turn Gus asked her if she was sure. That had been followed by more times of togetherness that had eased away the loneliness inside her at being here in a time without anything or anyone known to her. All of her life had been cast behind her in the future. She held onto Gus as her one lifeline, and he gripped her just as tightly in response. It was the two of them, for whatever individual reasons they had, together in this uncertain world of magic and time travel.
"Would you still love me if I didn't have my magic?" he asked her that night, pausing just above her, holding himself perfectly still at her entrance.
Hermione had never said the words "I love you" to him, because somehow she still hadn't been sure. She had never used the words in her previous life, because love was such an intangible term, and she dealt in specific, logical concepts.
But she knew she cherished this man like no other; for being there for her when no one was, for wanting to fight her battles for her in a way no one had, for accepting the burden of her appearance even when he had expected something less onerous.
If she had once blamed him for her troubles, she forgave him it all because of the responsibility and consideration he had shown in manifold ways since. He was not just a man in form alone; he was a man because of his actions, in his commitment to her and her well-being regardless of any binding vow he had made. If she had ever thought her heart immune, her doubts were gone today when she realised just how far he would go to protect her.
She gripped his face between her hands and pulled him down. He rounded his body gently around her baby bump, and their mouths met. "I love you, Argus Norris. I still don't know if I believe in soulmates, but if there's anyone more suitable for me, I don't know who it could be. You're it for me."
There was something tender and soft in his eyes as he gently kissed her on her mouth.
Their tenderness turned to passion as he shifted his body to lie behind her. Their hips moved as one as they stroked each other to higher and higher ecstacy. Through it all, their left hands remained intertwined, their blue marks pulsing against one another as they continued their age-old rhythmic dance.
When Hermione was eight months along, she suffered the worst pain she had through her entire pregnancy.
She was walking through the house, tidying up various things, and getting things ready for her labour when the pain shot through her abdomen so strongly that she almost fell to her knees. She gripped the table for balance as she tried to ride it out, her eyes wide with the effort and her mouth gaping open with soundless cries.
They had been so careful, and the spontaneous transfigurations had all but stopped after the first trimester. She found that if she ate more , it seemed to settle other aspects of her magic. She regretted it now, as she found it difficult to remain steady on her feet. There was definitely more meat to her bones than ever before.
She attempted to speak while holding the rest of her body very, very still, for fear the pain would return before she was ready. "Gus," she whispered. "Gus?"
He heard her instantly with the multitude of spells set up around the house. In an instant, there was a crack of Apparation, and he was there at her side, holding onto her arms and her waist. "Hermione?" His voice was steady, but there was a thin uncurrent of alarm attached to her name.
"I think—the baby is coming," she said. "I need you to help me count the contractions."
"Alright," he said, and slowly guided her over to the couch.
Gingerly, they laid her down, and she sighed with relief when nothing fell out of her when she moved.
"Your stomach," he said. "It's glowing." He gave a short laugh, delighted with the sight. It never failed to amaze either of them, seeing her abdomen light up with a magical aura. They had been told by the Healers that it was uncommon but that it occasionally happened.
"Is it—is it see-through?" she asked, slightly afraid to look down.
"No," he said, and his shoulders dropped a little in unspoken relief. He was grinning as he pressed a kiss against her temple. "Let's get you to St Mungo's just to be safe."
"Let's wait until I'm closer to delivery," she said.
Gus frowned, drawing back to gaze at her quizzically. "But—"
"They'll just make me go home and wait it out." That was what they had all heard over and again during the maternity training given to them from St Mungo's.
He nodded, but the crease in his brow showed that he wasn't happy about it. "Alright."
It was too early for childbirth, but she had measured large, and there was always the possibility of it coming earlier. It didn't happen that day, to both their relief. They had been told of the accompanying nerve pain that seemed to feel like contractions, and it seemed to be the case this time.
Two weeks later, it was an even worse pain that wracked her body. This time, even Hermione insisted on going straight to St Mungo's.
At the hospital, she was strapped down as regulation demanded, and Gus watched her from the door as the Healers walked around her, performing diagnostic spells. "It's a very healthy baby," one of the Healers told her. "I've never seen an aura so bright."
Hermione laughed tightly. "Well, he certainly kicks enough."
All progressed normally until two hours into her contractions, her abdomen glowed, and the light suddenly disappeared. Gus, holding her hand, glanced down her body.
"What is it?" Hermione asked, releasing his hand as the wave of contractions ebbed.
"The aura," he said and paused. He lifted the sheet on top of her, and something in his entire body stilled.
"What is it?" she asked, trying to angle her chin down to look. She struggled to sit up but failed.
His throat bobbed, and he held her shoulder to still her movements. "It's—your body isn't there anymore."
"Again?" Hermione cried. She almost felt impatient with her own body, though this explained why she didn't hurt anymore. She struggled up onto her elbows and peeled the sheet away. He was right. It was such a strange thing, to see that part of your body completely invisible to view. There were her legs, but further up, the region just beneath her breasts to her upper thighs had completely disappeared. Her head dropped back on the pillow. "Oh my gosh. Well, I'm almost relieved."
She was actually in a state of shock, but the look on Gus's face made her want to explain it away. Anything to keep him from looking so worried.
"This isn't normal," Gus said, his fingers seemed to spasm on her shoulder. "Let me get the Healer."
It was the Healer's reaction that alarmed Hermione. He stared at her missing middle for a long, long moment without saying anything. Then he cleared his throat. "Let me—call some other people in."
In a matter of minutes, there were five Healers all gathered around her bed. None of them had anything more substantial to add. They all stared at her midsection, expressions of puzzled bemusement over all their faces.
"I'm getting Albus," Gus said, looking irritated and grim. "These idiots don't know anything."
"Gus!" Hermione said before smiling awkwardly all around. "Sorry, he's just anxious."
None of the Healers took offense; they were all speaking in low tones to one another.
It was an hour before Gus returned, and Albus appeared dressed in strange, long purple robes, the kind that often featured on wizards in story books. "Hmm," Albus said, frowning down at Hermione's prone figure. "It's been like this for over an hour?"
Hermione was in no pain whatsoever; just bored. She shrugged. "Approximately."
Gus ripped back the sheet, deaf to Hermione's protestations. "No," he said. "It's progressed. It's down to her knees now."
"That's...interesting," Albus said, but the manner in which he spoke it meant anything but interesting. Alarming, perhaps. Albus had always been the king of understatements.
The Healers had left her room to stand outside, speaking in low whispers.
"What does that mean?" Hermione asked, and Gus swung his head to gaze at Albus.
"Perhaps you could step outside with me, Argus," Albus said.
"No," Hermione said, struggling to rise again. It felt funny to be able to still move as one entity when one's body looked as though it had been lopped in half by a magician for a street performance. "Say it in front of me."
Albus sighed. "The baby is coming. It's decided to appear in a different time."
"Could the baby—" Hermione didn't even know how to frame her question. "Could he simply appear in 2010, and I'll be left here? Is that possible?" She held her hand out to Gus, who came over to grip it tightly. Something was whirling in Hermione's mind, and she wasn't sure what it was. The fear of the unknown was frightening, but she also wanted to know if she would be carried along with the tide and land back in 2010, or perhaps 2012. Her eyes met Gus's, and she realised he was wondering the same thing.
For the first time since she appeared in this time period, she realised that she belonged here, at his side. She didn't want to leave him. She really did not want to leave him.
For whatever it was worth, she loved him. So much.
It seemed almost impossible that she could fall in love for the first time in her life so late in life. It wasn't the brief, heady love of young teenage infatuation, marked by giggles and dreams of a rainbow-filled future. It had come on her so slowly that she had missed it; missed when she first would reach out for his hand for steadiness, missed the way she looked automatically for signs of humour or pleasure on his face, missed that she had come to utterly rely on him in happiness and grief. She wanted this to go smoothly, not for her own sake, but for his—she wanted him to love the baby, even if it would cause her her life.
What a morbid way to welcome life into the world.
Hermione swallowed the knot in her own throat. Her hand was crushing his fingers, but he returned her grip just as hard.
"That is unknown to me, I'm afraid," Albus said softly.
There was no pain, nothing at all. The blankness began to spread higher as they waited. Her chest had become invisible as well. She tried to be brave, but it was hard when she was so filled with panic.
"Do you," asked Gus thickly, as though swallowing a lump in his throat, "feel as though you exist somewhere else?"
"I don't know," Hermione said, smiling weakly. He didn't return it; his attention fixed on her middle. She felt shaky with fright. Her eyes met Gus's, and she didn't realise that she was involuntarily pleading with him to help her. They had all that time to research, but she had been hoping for miracles instead. Why hadn't she done more? What more could she have done? Pregnancy was the one thing she had never researched in her own time, because she had thought, foolishly, that she had all the time in the world. That she would never be in that position.
The past few months seemed to have flown by just like that. Their surprise pregnancy had led them to a hasty marriage. All the while, she had concentrated her efforts on reading and research into the Time-Turner. It wouldn't have returned her to the future, as it hadn't been created for that. Her case was a little-known anomaly in the wizarding world, kept quiet for fear of people coming in droves to ask her about their own future. Now, she wondered if she could have been more instrumental in all of that—in helping just one or two people instead of remaining so steadfastly neutral and confident of her ability to leave her forever.
Would she have left, if at any time she had found the answer to returning to the future?
The answer stared back at her now, with beautiful, concerned hazel eyes, still the colour of richly translucent tea. No, she wouldn't have been able to. He was her life; right here, right now.
She had been such a fool.
"Gus," she began.
He cut her off. "Maybe food will help, Hermione," Gus said, nodding decisively. A bright light of determination entered his eyes, and he smiled bracingly at her. "I remember it always helped. Albus, can you help suggest anything?"
"Ah…" Albus said. His blue eyes met Hermione's for a moment and he leaned down to pat her right hand. Then they both froze when she realised she couldn't feel it, that he had been patting thin air.
Even her arm had disappeared.
She tried again. "Gus, listen." To Albus, she smiled a little and said, "Can you give us a second?"
But Gus wasn't paying attention to her. "Let's go, Albus." Gus's tone was impatient.
"Gus, wait," Hermione said, her brows knitting together. Her voice was embarrassingly shaky, but she wouldn't— she wouldn't— cry in front of Albus. No one but Gus would see her tears. "Don't go. It could—it could happen at any moment."
"Hermione, I love you," Gus said, patting her shoulder reassuringly. "I'll just be right outside for a moment. I'll be back. I promise. I'm a wizard, remember? It'll take two seconds."
"O...kay," she said, her breathing shallow. Her eyes were large dark holes in her face, and Gus gave her a very wide smile and gave her a brief hug. Too brief. Her one arm gripped his shirt, but he pulled away.
"It'll be fine," he whispered, leaning over to peck her on her temple. "Trust me. I'll fix this. I'll be right back." His hand briefly gripped her remaining forearm, his thumb brushing up against scar there, touching the birthmark there. It had always been such a point of comical contention between them. Birthmark , she'd say. Soulmark , he'd reply with a kiss. Soon, none of it would matter. She would either be back in her own time, or gone forever, to wherever people who messed with time went.
She watched him go without another word, silently urging him hurry hurry hurry. Food had helped in the early stages, but would it help now? She didn't fault him for doing all that he could to help her. That was what she wanted, wasn't it? He was trying. It was just that she wished he didn't have to go anywhere. That he could have asked someone else to bring it instead of leaving her alone.
She sat there listening to the sounds of the hospital staff going about their work day. Quick footsteps, slow ones, pitter-patters. None of them belonged to Gus. She listened and waited as one of her kneeds disappeared, and then the calf. She was disappearing completely, and he wasn't around.
She waited, and yet he didn't return. The thought struck her suddenly. He was not getting food.
He was doing something else to help her. She knew it with every fibre of her remaining body.
The spread stopped, suddenly. Hermione gazed down and wriggled the fingers of her right hand experimentally. What a strange feeling. Her thighs were back, and so was her right arm. And then her baby bump. This time, it wasn't glowing anymore. The Healers had told her that happened also.
She sighed in relief and wiggled her toes. When the pain of contraction laced through her again, she wondered if it wouldn't have been better if the baby had been born in another time.
Another surge of pain. Hermione huffed through it all, fingers gripping the sheets tightly. She muttered to herself. Where the hell was Gus?
He was alright, wasn't he?
Hermione didn't let her brain consider the alternative. He was fine, fine, fine, and he was on his way back to her.
The pain was unbelievable. Hermione began to groan. Then the groans turned into screams. How could it be with magic at their disposal, they couldn't come up with pain-killing magical relief? Where was Gus?
He didn't come. He never came.
The Healers returned, relieved to see that her abdomen wasn't glowing. "It's best they stop before the actual delivery," her main Healer said. He smiled at her, all confident now that her body parts weren't invisible anymore. "Let's get you to the other room and make you ready for delivery."
"Oh, but my husband…" she said through a raw throat racked with dryness. She was going to cry. She could feel it building behind her eyelids. At any moment, she would burst into hysterical tears, and then the staff, already run around with her case, would stare at her as though she were a freak.
My husband. The words felt so strange on her lips. She had never used that term before. She had always so studiously avoided using it, because it wasn't permanent, this situation. She missed her home, her family, her friends in the future. She would find a way to go back. She would . Now it seemed so silly, because if she had so believed in her own life, why hadn't she tried harder to return? She had become complacent because she wanted to stay here with him.
Was he alright?
"He'll be able to find us. Not to worry."
The pain was now immense, and she couldn't keep from bearing down every time it came. Her throat was raw from breathing through her mouth. She was transported into the delivery room.
"Any second now," the Healer said cheerfully. Much too cheerfully. Hermione wanted to murder them all and then Gus. He was fine , she reminded herself. He was fine, and when he appeared, she'd kill him for worrying her.
It happened so quickly after that that Hermione didn't even know what happened. One minute she was writhing on the bed, and the next she was somehow huddled underneath the bed, yowling.
She was—she wasn't human anymore. She had spontaneously turned into a cat again. At this juncture in time, as though she hadn't had enough things to worry about. Hermione paced under the bed, yowling for all she was worth. What would happen to the baby if she gave birth in cat form? Would her baby be a kitten instead of a human baby?
Still, there were no answers. The Healers were shouting to each other. Someone peered under the bed to find her there, pacing and scratching the floors. She wanted to escape, but she was surrounded on all sides. Running feet sounded outside. More yelling.
Turn back , something inside her screamed helplessly. She scratched her own arm in distress, her tail lashing agitatedly. One turn. Two turns. Nothing was happening. Even her body did not feel like hers. What was this place that smelled so terribly and did not feel like home? She paced to the edge of the shade and then back against the wall, where it was safer. So many strange sounds outside. Too many.
She paced again, walking out a pattern that used to mean something to her. Again, nothing happened. She was panting with the effort now, until it seemed to her that it'd be easier and simpler to sit down and do nothing.
Do nothing at all.
Then a voice that sounded familiar.
"Hermione?"
That name sounded familiar too, but she didn't identify with that name. She was someone else; she belonged to someone else.
She had been wrong before, though. She had called for someone, and that someone had never appeared.
She was almost afraid to come out. She was so tired. So tired
"She's not coming out," the same person said. "She always comes when she hears her name." Hermione heard the agitation in that person's voice but she just wanted to hide away. Something had gone very wrong with her, and all the increased volume in noises all around her made her want to hide away, deep into the darkness. The structure above her shifted, and she paced in distress, shrinking ever deeper into the shadows.
"Mrs. Norris," he cajoled in a singsong voice. She recognised her name that time. Mrs. Norris. That was her name. She was married to Gus Norris, and she loved him. She loved him.
She slowly peered out from under the bed, and his beloved face appeared.
In her cat form, he smelled the same and sounded the same, and she padded out, winding her body around his legs. He leaned down to pick her up, and she let him. If his hair seemed whiter, she didn't notice. If there were more lines on his face, she didn't care. She was where she was wanted, and she purred loudly despite the heaviness in her body.
Someone was speaking in the room. "What happened to you?" a Healer asked, in low aghast tones. He gazed at Gus with wide eyes and a body held defensively away, but she didn't see anything wrong with him. He was here, and everything would be alright.
There was another man with him, who smelled vaguely familiar, of sugar and lemon drops. He looked tired and weak, different from what she had been used to. His clothing were different also, smelling of ash and alder, and he wore long, scratchy robes that made her want to claw at him. "Mr. Norris won't be able to perform confinement magic, so arrangements will have to be made."
"What?" That was the green-robed man who had cajoled her to come out. "I don't understand. His wife's just turned into a cat in the middle of delivery and he—I'm sorry, sir, but are you alright? You look thirty years older! If not more!"
She didn't understand either, not even when words filtered through her consciousness that she ought have recognised.
She protested when they pulled her away, and her baby was taken away from her. There was only the sound of weeping in the room, and she gnawed at one furry arm in irritation at not having any babies to nurse.
She continued to meow even after she was returned to Gus.
There was a low murmur of voices above her.
"You saved her, Argus," said the man in the long robes that she wanted to rip apart with her claws. "She wouldn't be here otherwise. I'm sorry you lost the child."
"I'm not." The voice above her was grim and hard with bitterness, and She raised her furry head to see what had happened. "It was trying to kill her."
A heavy sigh. "Not intentionally."
"I hate children." Her beloved's voice cracked a little, and she butted her head under his hand in comfort. "She's not—she's not pregnant anymore. Why is she still a cat?"
Silence. Then, "It was the form she took when she first travelled through time. It is possible that the consonance with this—body—is what is stabilising her and allowing her to stay here." There was another pause, and she waited, somehow knowing that this conversation was about her. "She still looks the same as a cat, doesn't she? The same long, full hair."
"Yes." The hand was petting her faster now, and she could feel the tension in the arm. She looked up and meowed. "Will Hermione be able to turn back?" One hand stroked the top of her head down her neck. She purred even though she had no idea who or what he was referring to.
"Only time will tell," the robed man said. He held out something in his hand, a knobby stick. She still recognised it and hissed at the sight of it in his hand when it didn't belong to him.
"Keep it," her owner said, turning away even though she pawed at him to stop. "It's of no use to me anymore."
"Argus—"
"I don't want to see it again!" he said. "It's fine. I made my own choice. And I'll still have— Hermione ." The hand was very hard on her back, and she mewed in protest and tried to wrestle herself away. The hand gentled. "Mrs Norris then," he corrected, his voice softer.
"Perhaps if you go to Hogwarts with me, we can continue to work on this…"
"I'm not allowed at Hogwarts anymore. Not now. Not with what I am."
There was a jolt and she looked up to see a consoling hand on her owner's shoulder. "You can . You are not a Muggle. You know so much more than they do. You have one of the brightest minds in wizarding England."
"All for nothing." It was spoken with a voice filled with venom and bitterness.
"They will let you in under my governance. You shall be protected and untouched. As the Squib caretaker of the school, Argus Filch. They will allow you in. By law, they cannot bar you from entering."
She twitched at the name. Once that name had meant something to her. Once, a very long time ago...
She didn't see Gus's head, now bowed in silent grief, shortly begin to nod.