Hi, I'm BiscuitsForPotter, and I'm on an angst kick this week for some reason? First Subtle Perfection, now this.

Thanks as always to MsMerlin Graceful Lioness.

TW FOR THIS CHAPTER: MISCARRIAGE.

If you want to skip some pretty strong angst, you can hop back when I publish chapter 19.

Draco gave her space for the rest of that Saturday. As they prepared for bed that night, he told her that he had spent the day in the library, preparing notes to begin reviewing for NEWTs. She didn't say much back, merely reminding him of their antenatal appointment the next morning.

"I'm excited to see Scorpius again," he said into the dark after Hermione had turned the lights off with her wand. "I wonder how big he's gotten."

Hermione traced the outline of her bump with her palms. She expected he would start kicking in an hour or so. He was turning out to be a night owl, her little Scorpius.

She would have voiced these musings to Draco, but right now, she just didn't have the heart to. Instead, she turned her body to face away from him, closed her eyes, and hoped that sleep would carry her into tomorrow soon.

The next day dawned with the usual beauty that accompanied such spring mornings. Draco took care of Shiloh when she started babbling over the monitoring charm he had placed on his wand, and for that at least, she was grateful.

Their appointment with the St. Mungo's mediwitch was set for ten o'clock, which gave them enough time to eat in the Great Hall and get Shiloh settled with Neville. Though he had been nervous to watch Shiloh on his own for several months, he had recently taken a shine to her, and was eager to show her around the Hogwarts greenhouses.

Hermione managed to roll out of bed a few minutes after Draco. Lacking the energy for a shower, she pulled on a comfortable deep violet jumper and some jeans before tying her hair up. Draco walked in a few minutes later with Shiloh on his hip and dressed for the day. He threw on a jumper of his own and a pair of trousers before they headed down to breakfast.

The air between the two of them was stale. Hermione could tell that Draco was waiting until she spoke first, but she just didn't feel like it. Not yet, at least. Not while the wounds were still fresh. She knew it was immature, but she just couldn't help the feeling of betrayal that crept up her throat every time she thought of the letters stuffed in the depths of Draco's trunk.

Breakfast passed quickly enough. Hermione sat across from Ginny, and she half-listened as the redhead rambled boisterously about Quidditch strategies for the upcoming match against Hufflepuff. Draco sat beside her, encouraging Shiloh to eat some slices of banana.

Neither said a word to each other.

By the time they passed Shiloh off to Neville, it was nearly time to head to the Hospital Wing. Hermione kissed Shiloh's forehead and then walked slightly ahead of Draco, her gait stiff as she made her way to her appointment.

Draco cleared his throat as they approached the familiar double doors. "Are you, erm, nervous?" he asked, his hands shoved in his pockets.

Hermione shrugged. "I don't think so. It's just another check-up."

Draco reached out and grabbed the handle. "Okay. Well then, are you excited?"

Hermione paused as the Hospital Wing doors swung open. Was she excited? She wasn't exactly sure. With her last pregnancy, there had been so much fear and uncertainty surrounding it all, there hadn't been much room for excitement.

This time around, was that what she was supposed to be feeling?

She supposed she was looking forward to having Scorpius. She had started rubbing her belly more often lately, feeling for his kicks and imagining the little boy he would become: blond hair like his father's, perhaps. She'd like that. Maybe he'd inherit her chocolate eyes to make him a perfect blend of her and Draco. And his smile… would it be sweet like hers or a sharp smirk like Draco's? The more she considered Scorpius, the more curious she became. Draco would surely try to get him interested in Quidditch from his infancy onward. She could only imagine that in a few years' time, he would likely be flying around whatever home they lived in, crashing into tables, constantly requiring healing charms. But he'd also be her little boy—her little son. Hermione hoped that he would be affectionate, loving to sit on her lap and read books. She could almost see his sweet little face looking up at her, a cheeky grin on his face.

'Just one more page, Mama?' he would ask.

Naturally, she would oblige.

Imagining a future with her son—her family, did make her heart quiver. It brought to life butterflies in her stomach, but was that truly excitement?

She wasn't sure.

"I suppose... yeah. I'm excited." Hermione forced herself to keep her voice steady. Her lips twitched on her face in what she hoped was a natural-looking smile. She didn't want to let him know how uncertain she felt, especially not knowing how he would react if he knew the true depth of her doubt.

"Me too." A giddy smile already spread across his face. "I'm really excited."

After their argument yesterday, Hermione wasn't sure how he could smile so freely, but she chose not to question it as they entered.

Madam Pomfrey was waiting for them beside a curtained-off area of the Hospital Wing. Hermione's stomach lurched as she recognized the curtains. They were the same ones that had surrounded her bed nearly a year ago when she had given birth to Shiloh.

Hermione had seen these pale yellow, slightly textured curtains countless times, of course. Some had surrounded her when she'd been petrified during her second year. Merlin knew they'd been used for Harry more times than she could count. But looking at them now, the only memory that fell to the forefront of her mind was the trauma of her daughter's birth.

These curtains… they didn't leave her with a good feeling.

"Ah, good morning Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy. Healer Bennett is just inside here." Madam Pomfrey gestured to the curtains. "She'll be conducting your scan this morning." She opened the curtains and they all entered, revealing a young witch witch in lime green robes robes. She turned to face them as they entered.

"Hullo. You must be Miss Granger. And Mr. Malfoy? It's a pleasure to meet you. I just heard Madam Pomfrey say my name already, but I'm Healer Bennett. I'm an obstetric Healer at St. Mungo's and I'm here to conduct your exam today."

Hermione was relieved that this Healer wasn't overly perky. In fact, she seemed quite professional and, dare she say it, likeable. Hermione felt her stomach ease. The tension that had unknowingly been sitting in her shoulders abated.

Had she been tense before?

"I'll just have you hop up here." She motioned to the bed. Hermione obliged, sitting with her legs hanging over the side of the bed. Draco took a seat in the adjacent chair.

"Now, Miss Granger. I'm just going to ask a few questions. Let's start with how you're feeling."

Hermione took a steadying breath before answering. "I've been doing… fine, I guess. I haven't felt out of sorts. I haven't felt sick in a long while and my energy level is all right."

Healer Bennett was jotting down notes on a floating piece of parchment, occasionally looking up with encouraging eyes.

"Your appetite?"

"Fine."

"Any bleeding?"

"No."

"Anything out of the ordinary you'd like to mention before we begin?"

Hermione furrowed her brow. "Not that I can think—oh! Erm, yesterday—" She shot Draco a glance, and he cocked his head to the side. "—yesterday I felt a couple pains in my stomach. Just small ones. They came and went quickly, though."

Healer Bennett frowned. "What were you doing when they happened?"

"Well, the first time I was holding Shiloh, my daughter."

Madam Pomfrey scoffed, wagging a finger in her direction. "Miss Granger, you know you are under the strictest orders not to lift anything more than ten pounds. Your pregnancy is considered high-risk."

Hermione felt her chest tighten at the Hogwarts Matron's scolding.

"Well, we will just see to it that Dad over here does all the heavy lifting from now on," interjected, gesturing toward Draco. "Now, what about the second time you felt pain?"

Hermione's eyes flicked to Draco. She continued on. "It was when I—when I was looking at something that was emotionally painful." Draco's eyes grew wide at her confession.

Healer Bennett offered a sympathetic smile. "Well, I'll be happy to give you and your little one—we're having a little chap, I see! Have you picked out a name yet?" she asked with warmth in her voice.

"Scorpius," Draco piped up. "We'll be calling him Scorpius."

"Well then," said the healer, pulling out her wand. "I'll be happy to give both you and Scorpius a thorough lookover."

Hermione did as directed and laid down on the bed after unbuttoning her trousers and rolling up her jumper. She had been through this procedure a handful of times now, and knew the routine. When she was set in place, Draco scooted the chair close to her head and offered her his hand.

As upset as she was at him, she still took his hand. His palm was warm as it enveloped hers, and she felt a familiar comfort rush over her. Turning her head toward Draco, she took immediate notice of the giddy grin on his face.

He was already so in love with Scorpius, and it was so apparent, so contagious. Hermione couldn't help the smile that spread across her cheeks.

"All right, you two. Let's take a look at your little Scorpius, shall we?"

Hermione waited with bated breath as Healer Bennett cast the charm over Hermione's belly. Instantly, an image flickered to life over the bump. There, hovering just inches above her was something that, for the first time, really looked like a baby.

She could see his head, his tummy, even his spine. She saw fingers and toes, and oh, how she loved him. Warmth spread through her body, and all her fears—all her doubts, they simply fell away. She loved this boy just as she loved her daughter. She saw a future with him, and longed to hold him in her arms in four and a half short months. She could already picture smelling his sweet scent as he nursed on a quiet fall morning.

How was that possible, for something as simple as an image to alleviate her fear and apprehension?

And yet it was entirely possible, because in that tiny moment she really, truly knew. Her little Scorpius Nathaniel—her little boy. Like Draco, she knew right then that she loved him unequivocally, unabashedly, forever.

Hermione stared, mesmerized by the image.

There he was, so sweet. In an instant, she saw the little boy riding on a broomstick through the house. She saw him sitting on her lap to read—saw him gently rocked to sleep in her arms. It was all there, so clear in her mind for the very first time. Hermione couldn't stop the grin on her face from widening. Her cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

And then her eyes flicked to the Healer.

She was not smiling. In fact, she looked… concerned.

Any inch of joy inside Hermione evaporated immediately, and was replaced with a dread she had only felt once before. She had felt it here, in this very room, nearly a year ago, when Shiloh had been born blue and silent.

Of course, Madam Pomfrey had been able to get her to breathe. She had taken a great gulp of air and cried her first cry, and with that, Hermione felt born anew, herself.

But this… Hermione wasn't sure how it was different, but this dread was somehow deeper, more tenacious. Her stomach felt as though it was filled with choppy waves, churning a storm inside of her.

Draco, it seemed, had noticed Healer Bennet's face as well.

Hermione swallowed and searched for her voice. "Is—is everything okay?"

Healer Bennett offered a half-smile in return. "Just a moment."

She moved to the other side of the bed and waved her wand over Hermione's stomach in a complicated pattern Hermione watched her expression. Her eyebrows were furrowed in concentration and her frown was growing deeper every second. Worry lines appeared on her forehead.

It was only then that Hermione realized what was missing. It was something that had been present at all of her other antenatal appointments, both Muggle and magical. The familiar whooshing sound of the baby's heartbeat was conspicuously absent, the air instead filled with palpable silence. It buzzed around her, pressing down like an unwelcome burden on her chest.

Mouth dry and tongue heavy, Hermione asked the one question she didn't want to. The one question she had to.

"Where is his heartbeat?"

The Healer lowered her wand, though the image of Scorpius remained.

Healer Bennett sighed, but didn't look away. She didn't speak for a moment; the furrow in her brow told Hermione that she might be searching for the right words. Reaching out, the Healer laid a hand on Hermione's arm in what was supposed to be a comforting way, but it only made Hermione's breathing spiked. She didn't have to know Occlumency to know what the Healer was doing—how she was preparing Hermione for news no expecting parent wanted to hear.

When words finally left her lips, her tone was soft and full of sympathy. Hermione's stomach was filled with churning dread.

"I'm afraid, Miss Granger, that there is no heartbeat."

No heartbeat.

The words rang in her ears until they meshed into one horrific melody. Her world felt as if it were spinning too fast and yet frozen at the same time. Her stomach lurched, twisting into a painful knot and distantly, she could make out Draco jumping from his chair, talking—no, yelling something, but she couldn't hear a thing over the cacophony of what felt like her world coming to an end.

Hermione looked up to the image of Scorpius floating in the air, unmoving. Almost as if he were asleep as opposed to...

How had she not noticed?

When was the last time he had kicked?

She'd felt him kick last night… hadn't she? She was sure he had.

When had he gone from alive and well inside of her to... to…

Had it been when she felt those pains?

When she picked Shiloh up? When she almost ripped up her parents' letter?

Was it her fault her son was… was...

She couldn't even bring herself to think it.

"—I'm so sorry, Mr. Malfoy, but at this point there's nothing that can be done to save your son. What we can do is discuss next steps... When you're ready, of course." The Healer was speaking calmly to Draco, who appeared to be hyperventilating, tears falling freely down his cheeks.

Seeing his despair only made her vaguely aware that not even a single tear leaked from her eyes.

"Next steps? What do you mean next steps?" He was shaking his head back and forth.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy," said Madam Pomfrey with a gentle tone. "Miss Granger cannot continue to carry your son."

Through the fog of her sudden onslaught of grief, a familiar, comforting voice emerged. It was the voice that so often dominated her actions. The one that helped her push through stress and sadness. It was the voice that told her that if she looked at things logically, taking them one step at a time, that things would be okay.

Hermione had no idea how she did it, honestly—no idea how she pushed through the trauma—but even though her mind saw swirling and her heart was crumbling, she found a sense of control in moving forward.

"What do I have to do?" Hermione's voice cracked. Everyone's head whipped to face her, eyes wide, jaws hanging open. She clenched her jaw. "What do you recommend?"

"Hermione—can't they—can't we have a minute?" Draco pleaded, grasping one of her hands in his tightly.

Hermione shook her head. "I want to talk about it."

Healer Bennett looked briefly between her and Draco before speaking. "Well, at your son's gestation, it's advised that we medically induce labour. We can give you potions to make it less painful."

"So she'll have to give birth?" Draco breathed, horror in every syllable.

Healer Bennett nodded. "You're welcome to take some time to process this news, but I would advise that we induce you within the next seventy-two hours. I am not sure how long it's been since your son passed, and risk of infection steadily increases with time."

The Healer's words seemed to hit Draco hard. He wilted a bit, sinking into his chair.

Hermione turned back to the unmoving image of her son.

Her son was… dead.

As much as she had feared her second pregnancy—as much as she had felt sadness and despair at the thought of welcoming another child that she didn't feel prepared for—the thought of suddenly losing her belly, losing the anticipation of seeing him ride on a broomstick or reading to him—that feeling was so much worse.

She didn't want to lose him.

Didn't want to say goodbye.

She wasn't ready.

But would she ever be?

Somehow, the thought of carrying him around inside of her when she knew he wasn't there anymore—not really there, anyway, that was the worst of all.

"I want to do it now," Hermione said with a strength in her voice she didn't know she possessed. "I want you to induce me now."

Draco leaned forward, confusion covering his whole face. "Hermione, don't you—want to take time?"

Hermione shook her head and felt the pricks of tears burn in the corner of her eyes. "I can't," she whispered. "I just can't."

The rest of what Healer Bennett and Madam Pomfrey did became a blur in Hermione's memory. She vaguely remembered pain in her abdomen, though she had several potions tipped down her throat. She recalled Draco by her side, crying.

She remembered crying, too. She remembered the feeling of hot, salty tears pouring down her face.

Everything else was hazy.

All Hermione truly knew was that nearly a year after she had given birth to her healthy daughter, she gave birth to her dead son in the same bed.

Hermione insisted they attend Teddy's party the following weekend. She wanted to be there for Harry and Andromeda and of course, little Teddy. After confirming for the tenth time that she really wanted to go, Draco wrapped the toy owl they had purchased.

After recovering in bed for most of the week, Hermione was ready to get up and move about. Sitting still made her restless. She needed to do something. To distract herself from the distant ache of her empty womb with no baby in her arms.

Perhaps, she reasoned, if she did something, then she might feel something other than the weight of the last few days.

The day before the party, Hermione stood in front of the dresser of drawers where she kept her clothes. Taking hold of the handle on the far left drawer, she pulled it open.

This particular drawer was filled with the charmed maternity wardrobe Draco had insisted on purchasing for her when she entered her second trimester. It had been an expensive purchase—clothes that were designed to grow with the witch as she did. Hermione had only just started to wear some of the items, and she had to admit, they had been far more comfortable than the Hogwarts standard issue uniforms, which were much harder to charm.

But now, five days after losing Scorpius, she didn't need them any more.

She was already close to fitting back into that standard issue skirt. She only needed an extension charm on the waistband now.

Looking at herself in the mirror made her sick.

Hermione didn't want to look at these clothes anymore—didn't want to look at this drawer and think about what could have been.

Instead, she folded each item neatly and packed them all away in her trunk, underneath her heaviest winter jumpers. That way, she wouldn't have to see them for months.

The thing that was much harder to hide were her breasts.

Much to her dismay, she had begun to leak only one day afterward. It was so painful sometimes that she had to bite her lip and close her eyes to distract herself. She had to let her milk dry out, and the process broke her heart all over again. Each time she saw the milk, she wanted to cry.

And she had.

She had cried so much in the last few days, she was sure that her eyes would run dry.

The one thing Hermione had to be grateful for was that Shiloh hadn't seen her grief. After it was all over, Draco had the solemn duty of informing their classmates what had happened. Many had volunteered to care for Shiloh for a few days. Hermione was fairly certain she had been staying with Ginny.

It had been a relief at first, not to have a little person to care for in the wake of their loss. But as the days passed, Hermione missed her daughter more and more. Missed the feel of her little body snuggled against hers, missed the smell of her hair and the lilt of her babbling.

When Draco retrieved her before the party, Hermione felt a bout of relief fill her body. As he carried her through the portrait hole and into the eighth year common room, she immediately reached out, crying, "Ma! Ma!"

Hermione wanted to cry, but she plastered a smile on her face instead.

"Hello, darling," she said, her voice shaky. "How is Mumma's little pixie?"

For the first time in months, Hermione picked Shiloh up without fear, holding her securely in her arms. Shiloh clung to her, her tiny arms wrapping around Hermione's neck. It felt soothing to hold her daughter again. It felt right. Shiloh was a balm to her aching soul.

And yet, when she looked past Shiloh's shoulder at Draco, who stood in the doorway, he remained somber as ever.

Not once in the days following the loss had they talked about what happened. Draco helped her perform simple daily tasks and asked the required questions about her health, but other than that, he hadn't said much at all.

Instead of offering looks of support and of love, the only feeling radiating from him these days was anger.

He was due to erupt any day, that much Hermione knew. But she prayed to the Founders that it could at least wait until after Teddy's party.

Shiloh in her arms and Teddy's present tucked into her beaded bag, she and Draco stepped through the Floo and spun until they landed in Andromeda's sitting room.

The first thing she noticed upon arrival was all the decorations. Harry and Andromeda had done a bang-up job. The entire room was covered in miniature floating Quidditch balls and draped in hues of blue and green.

The second thing she noticed was all the stares. There were so many familiar faces at the party—Weasleys, of course, and a handful of Order members. There were a handful of people Hermione didn't recognize—perhaps Andromeda's friends or members of Ron and Harry's training cohort. But one thing was for certain as she stepped into the room: they all knew what had happened last weekend.

"Hermione! Draco! So glad you could make it," called Harry from across the room, setting down a bottle of butterbeer to come over and greet them. He was sporting a blue, pointed birthday hat and a newly-grown beard. As he approached, he offered a clap on the back to Draco and a hug to Hermione. As his arms enveloped her frame, he dropped his chin to her shoulder and whispered words that broke her heart. "I'm so, so sorry, Hermione. Is there anything I can do?"

Hermione fought tears for the sixth time today. "No, that's okay," her voice quaked as she shook her head. "I just want to enjoy Teddy's party."

Harry nodded and squeezed her one more time. "And how's my favorite niece?" he asked, brushing his hands against Shiloh's cheek. "She's so big now," he marveled.

"It's hard to believe she'll be turning one so soon," Hermione admitted. She turned to Draco in an attempt to involve him. "Isn't that right, love?"

Draco grunted. "Yes. Very hard to believe."

Hermione had just enough time to see anger brewing in his eyes before an older, female voice sounded from the kitchen. "Right, you lot! Everyone's here, so it's time for cake!"

Everyone gathered in the center of the room, where Teddy was strapped into a high chair. His turquoise locks had grown quite long, and were curling at the nape of his neck. Hermione stood beside Draco as Harry crossed the room to be beside his godson at this momentous occasion.

They all serenaded the little boy, and he began to smash cake into his face almost immediately. Harry snapped countless pictures while the crowd watched adoringly.

When the mess was all cleared away and Harry hoisted Teddy into his arms, the little boy caught sight of Draco for the first time.

Instantly, his hair turned platinum blonde.

Hermione felt all the muscles in her body go limp as her heart alone constricted. She couldn't breathe.

There, in Harry's arms, Teddy nearly looked like Scorpius, just as she imagined he might be. Bright and smiling, dimpled and happy.

But he wasn't Scorpius, her brain scolded her. He was Teddy. He was Harry's godson. Remus and Tonks's son.

He wasn't her son.

Her son was gone.

Beside her, Hermione heard the tinkling of smashed glass. Draco had thrown a small telescope that had been sitting on the mantle through the sitting room window. He now stood, seething, in the middle of the floor, his chest heaving and his whole body shaking. In his eyes, Hermione saw so much pain that she could have sworn she felt some of it, herself.

Teddy, who had been focused on Draco, began to cry.

Everyone was staring. Someone was whispering.

This was not the birthday party she wanted for Teddy.

This was not the reality she wanted for herself—for Draco—for their family.

Silently, Ron stepped forward and hoisted Shiloh from her arms. In a hushed tone that was surprisingly full of understanding, he said, "I've got her."

Hermione nodded and turned to Draco, who was still in the throes of a near-meltdown. When she placed a hand on the small of his back, he jumped.

"Come on," she said quietly. "I think we need to talk."

He followed her, still shaking, to a back bedroom. Andromeda's. The flowery duvet contrasted heavily with their mood.

As soon as Hermione was sure the door was locked and Muffliato had been cast, she turned to face Draco. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for the long-overdue and likely painful conversation they were about to have.

Aaaaand there we are. I'm so sorry. I've known since the beginning (obviously) that this was going to happen. But I swear to you, they'll heal.

Such hard things our bbs are going through.

Again, to reiterate what was said above, the next chapter is SUPER heavy on angst.

Take care of yourselves, dear readers.