CHAPTER THREE

Three years ago…

Hermione scrubbed gently at the counters while her in-laws laughed behind her. Draco invited them over for the Christmas holiday, and Hermione ordered in a full meal to keep them content. She hadn't cooked in months, accepting Draco's advice that they were better off ordering-in.

"Tell me, dear, when do you expect to have children?" Narcissa asked, eying Hermione with discontent. Draco must've told her about the three lost babies, but she didn't seem to know.

"Oh who cares, Mother?" Draco spat, casting a charm that turned on the latest Quidditch game. "My favorite team plays after this one. Do you think they can win the cup, Father?" he asked.

"My own son ignoring his mother? How pathetic," Narcissa scoffed, standing to face Hermione properly. "Come on now, tell me when."

"I don't know," Hermione whispered. Narcissa laughed, eying her husband and son carefully, "Every witch knows when. Did you parents not teach you anything?"

"She has Muggle parents, Narcissa. Sit down and watch the game," Lucius said sternly. His wife obeyed, sitting down meekly.

Hermione scrubbed and cleaned while the game was on, and she was ignored the rest of the evening.

Present Day

"I don't see why your father can't hear this," Mrs. Weasley scoffed, sitting down at the kitchen table. Ron and Ginny almost pushed their father out the door to get him out of the way after breakfast. Hermione was still upstairs sleeping, and Harry was in the living room flipping through the morning paper.

"Mum, have you seen in her room?" Ginny asked, sitting beside her mother. Mrs. Weasley shook her head, giving her only daughter a dirty look. "I know it's an invasion of privacy, but I needed to see inside. She's knitting baby things, tons of them. Have you noticed any missing yarn?"

"She asked me for the yarn. She wanted to make a few things for herself to make up for leaving so many of her things behind. But she's making—well is she expecting something? After what Harry told me, that man could not have been human," Mrs. Weasley spat, raising up slightly in her seat until they shook their heads. "Well that's a relief. But…we need to get her more serious help, don't we?"

"I've been doing some research about psychology. We studied a little during Muggle studies, but the subject grew with some wizards. There's one specialist in St. Mungo's. I've sent him an owl or two but I haven't heard anything yet. I plan on visiting tomorrow to check in, speed up the process, but only if you allow me to," Ron explained. Mrs. Weasley smiled, looking up to her daughter's pleading face.

"I think we need to do what we have to. Harry says the Ministry is willing to help her through everything. They um…found a journal at the scene, well next door. The house has been empty for three years, they said, but the entries didn't stop until…well, you know," she said, looking us as Hermione appeared. "Can I get you some breakfast, love?"

Hermione nodded, taking a seat at the table.

"I have some things to take care of at home," Ginny said, standing up. "I'm available if you need me though."

Hermione remained silent. A plate was set in front of her and she ate quickly, clearing the plate as she'd done before. Ginny watched from the doorway, her hand within Harry's. They left The Burrow solemnly.

"I don't like coming here while she's here. It's too depressing," Ginny whispered. Harry nodded in agreement. He didn't want to tell his wife that's why he'd been taking so many extra hours, but he felt she already knew. She did.

Three years ago…

Hermione sat over a toilet yet again. Draco had been gone for three weeks now, but he'd made sure she did her duties. A Howler bounced against the bathroom door, begging her to clean the kitchen because it wasn't shiny anymore. She'd been cooped up in the bathroom for two days throwing up, and she knew from other signs that she was expecting again.

Through the bathroom window, she watched the house next door empty itself into the arms of three disgruntled-looking movers. The elderly woman who owned the home and the things inside stood on the lawn with her arms crossed, guarding her flowerbed and garden gnomes. Her eyes were locked on the house while a woman, presumably her daughter, begged her to come over to her house.

"Mum, please come inside with me. It's not like any of it's going very far. Come on, you'll get sick staying out here in the sun for so long," she huffed, sighing as her husband brought out a glass of water. "Oh bloody hell, Mum, get over here!" she called angrily.

"I'm not going anywhere you selfish hog. Get in the house yourself. I'll be fine," she said, nodding curtly before her eyes steadied on the house again.

Hermione ducked down to get sick again, her mouth watering before the latest round at the glass of water. She wished someone would do something like that for her, but she knew her friends were distant memories, and her parents' letters sat unopened and unanswered for six months or more.

"The dishes! Clean the fucking dishes!" the Howler screamed, finally slamming the door too hard. It was very rare, but the paper lost its charm. It landed with a distinct thud outside the door. Hermione was grateful. She was tired of being screamed at, but she had no other choice.

She begged the life inside her to take a firm hold. She'd get seven months with this one, feeling its movement and getting baby furniture for the guest room where she slept. But Draco would end this one with a blow to her head.

"It's simple reheating you fucking bitch! How the fuck did you char it!" he screamed, the blow landing so hard she fainted. When she came to, she felt weak and empty inside. Her baby bump was gone and so was her husband.