A/N Hello lovely readers! I can't thank you enough for your support, it really means so much hearing your feedback and seeing kudos and follows!

Thank you to BlueGreenAndPurple and her amazing beta-ing skills!

~Dot

Hermione stumbled to the reception desk in a stupor, barely noticing that she had pushed past multiple injured wizards and witches.

"Ron Weasley?" she asked in a manic voice that she almost didn't recognise as hers.

Hermione felt like she was on a different plane of existence as she heard distant sounds of discontent from the people around her, but in her fog, she couldn't be bothered to care. The receptionist didn't seem to mind that Hermione had cut in line but also didn't seem to be in a hurry, taking her time combing through the patient information until finally saying in a bored tone, "floor four."

Hermione hurdled to the lift, tripping over bags and chairs in her haste. As with the receptionist, the lift didn't seem to care that she was in a hurry, its doors closing ever so slowly. On her way to the fourth floor, Hermione tried to centre herself by breathing deeply, but her body didn't listen and she only managed a few haggard and frantic breaths that were so quick that she began to see stars in her vision.

It was hard to believe that she had been in the exact same lift just yesterday. Only then she was heading to the newly created Maternity Ward on the sixth floor. Hermione thought herself lucky to have the ward built the year before. The magical population was slowly moving from home births to healer-assisted births since, as with most things, their ways were about fifty years behind Muggles. Though magical pregnancies were much safer and less painful, thanks to the potions and spells used to assist in the birthing process–for which she was also very lucky.

The lift stopped and Hermione ran out of it, barely waiting for the doors to open completely. She didn't know exactly where to find Ron, but as she headed to the main reception desk, she caught a glimpse of orange. She took a sharp turn, rushing down a corridor towards a handful of Weasleys. They were in a makeshift waiting room with the only privacy being a thin curtain that didn't do much to hide its inhabitants. In the brief time before she could make out their faces, Hermione prayed that one of them was Ron–that he was okay and ready to go home.

But, she didn't see Ron.

Hermione paused, taking in the scene before making the final steps to them. Ginny and Molly were sitting on dinky plastic chairs, the latter leaning on Arthur as he stood in front of her, holding her tightly. Percy and George were standing in front of Ginny, who was slumped in her seat with her head in her hands.

Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Ginny lifted her head from her hands and breathed out a weak "Hermione" before standing up and wrapping Hermione in a hug. Hermione suddenly couldn't feel her arms–she was paralyzed, unable to contend with what would happen next. A moment later, she got some sense about her and patted Ginny on the back.

"What…" Hermione asked hesitantly, not sure that she wanted to know.

Ginny kept hold of Hermione's waist and traded places with her so that Hermione was sitting in the stiff chair and Ginny kneeling next to her.

"Ron and Harry were in an accident."

Hermione looked around furiously, realising that Harry was nowhere to be seen. She felt her heart drop even more. She hadn't even thought about him, where he was, or if he was okay. She felt terrible about forgetting him. Even more, she felt terrified that something could have happened to him–and to Ron.

"Harry's got some minor injuries," Ginny added. "He'll be out in a few."

"And Ron?" Hermione whispered, feeling tears run at a backbreaking speed down her face.

"He was… injured more severely," Ginny answered. "They've got him in surgery." Hermione heard Molly sniffle at the last word. "I don't know much. I'm hoping Harry can tell us more."

"But, he's…alive?"

"Yes, he's alive," Ginny assured.

Hermione felt her legs go out and was thankful she was in a chair. She began sobbing uncontrollably, mostly out of relief but also out of fear. Fear that he wouldn't survive the next few hours. Fear that this was only the beginning of a terrible, terrible journey.

"Harry was with him?" Hermione asked through her tears.

"Yes, as far as I know." Ginny confirmed.

Hermione nodded her head. That was good news. When Harry and Ron were fighting together as Aurors they had never been too badly hurt. She knew that they would first give their own life before letting the other one down. If Ron had been with Harry, then he would surely be alright.

Hermione stayed in that chair for what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes. Bill and Fleur arrived during that time, and Arthur gave them a rundown of what had happened. A few Aurors came by too, asking about Ron and Harry. Some of them were covered in dirt and specks of blood, which made Hermione assume that they were there when Ron and Harry were injured. She tried to question them, but the Aurors refused to tell her what had occurred. Hermione didn't know if their refusal was because they weren't allowed to say, or they simply didn't know.

After another gargantuan elapse of time passed, Harry joined them. He, as his fellow Aurors, was covered in dirt and dust and had a large spatter of deep red blood on his shirt. Ginny rushed to hug him, squeezing him so tight that his face began to turn red from the lack of oxygen. When she finally released him, he addressed the family.

"Ron was in a building collapse," he announced, his tone soft but serious. "I can't give all of the information now, but we believe it was booby-trapped and meant to cause the most harm. Ron was rushed into surgery when we got here."

"Did you see him?" Hermione asked.

Harry's face turned sombre. "Yes, I helped dig him out. He was alive but unconscious when we got to him."

Hermione gave several fast, short nods to show her understanding and help herself hold back tears. She supposed it was good that he hadn't been awake, especially if he was severely injured. However, she couldn't stop herself from picturing Ron surrounded by rubble and covered in blood, whispering to Harry something like tell Hermione I love her or name our baby after me. The mere thought of it made her tears come back with a vengeance.

She was glad he hadn't done that, that he hadn't given Harry his last words. Hermione reassured herself that it meant he wasn't ready for that–that he had plenty of words to say before getting to his last ones. That he'd wake up from surgery and this would be nothing but a dreadful nightmare to forget.

Just as she began to calm herself down, a group of Aurors apparated at the entrance of the ward and rushed past them carrying something wrapped in a dirt-covered fabric. Their uniforms were in tatters and wore the same dust brine that covered Harry's. As they ran past Hermione, she saw a flicker of something flesh-coloured in the makeshift bag.

It took her a moment to realise what she had seen, and bile rose to Hermione's throat as she willed herself to voice the question echoing in her head.

"Was…?" she started in a shaky voice, unable to finish.

Harry nodded and took Hermione's hand as he leaned closer to whisper, "He lost his leg." It was clear he'd tried not to let the others hear him, but Molly's fearful shriek was a telltale sign that they had. Harry winced before continuing, "they must have found it."

Hermione couldn't stop her stomach from churning, so she ran to the closest bin and threw up until she couldn't anymore. She felt a hand on her back, gently rubbing as she cleaned her mouth.

"It's a good thing," Harry said in a soothing tone, "it means they might be able to reattach it."

Incapable of speech, Hermione nodded her head and let Harry lead her back to her seat. She tried to picture the implications if they failed in reattaching Ron's leg. Ron would have to quit the Aurors unless he got assigned to desk duty, and she knew he wouldn't take that well. As much as Ron hated the long hours and time away from the missions, the thing he hated the absolute most was paperwork. He wouldn't be satisfied chained to a desk. Though what else could he do, Hermione didn't know. Since fifth year, all he had talked about was becoming an Auror, and she didn't think he had a Plan B.

Hermione felt arms wrapping around her and looked up to find Ginny cuddling her. Hermione could hear the faintest cry coming from her friend, which didn't help her steady her nerves. Ginny rarely cried and it was unlikely that she would let others see it when she did. She squeezed Ginny back, trying to tell her with her body what she couldn't with her voice: that everything would be okay. Though Hermione was becoming more and more uncertain about that.

What would she do without Ron? How would she be able to raise a baby without him? Hermione began sobbing again at the prospect. There was no way she could do this alone. The only reason why she hadn't been going out of her mind with worry over her pregnancy was because she had Ron.

Because she thought he would be there by her side.

Hermione thought she had completely emptied her stomach before, but she was wrong. She barely made it to the bin before being sick again, and her knees buckled as soon as she was done. For the briefest moment, Hermione felt a pain–a small stab in her stomach–and froze in fear.

Fear grew to terror when she felt another identical pain.

Then another.

Hermione stood up quickly, too quickly, and began to sway with dizziness. Without thinking and still in a haze, she walked to the lift. As she reached it, Hermione felt Harry grab her arm and ask where she was going, but she didn't respond, so he stayed next to her as she pressed the button for floor six.

"Hermione," Harry asked in a worried tone. "What's the matter? Where are you going?"

Hermione couldn't make herself answer, and as they reached their destination, she quietly stepped off of the lift and walked down the not-so-calming corridor until stepping up to the receptionist.

"My name is Hermione Granger," she said to the woman behind the desk.

Harry had his hand on her arm. She knew he was concerned, and she knew he would only become more concerned with the words she'd speak next.

"I'm pregnant, and I think…I think something's wrong."