For all intents and purposes, a basilisk might as well had stared at Harry through a puddle for how still he stood. An anxious, tense hand gripped the teddy bear portkey as the other held her wand so tight. Minutes ticked past, no one daring to move in case it set off the formidable temper of Harry's. Mouth long since dry, Hermione tried to swallow, but nothing came. Stomach in knots, more so than usual, she watched and waited for some sign.
"Let me get this straight," He finally said, voice low and calm. Either a really good thing, or a very bad thing, Ron picked up on his mood and stood between the two friends. "You went to this festival thing, got drunk off of wine and magic, got knocked up by some stranger, and now what?"
"I've been making spells and plans to help you win this war, and you damn well know it," Hermione growled, her inner Goddess enraged at the insult to her mate. She took a deep breath and tried to control herself. "If it was a drunk night, then what you said is spot on. Unfortunately for you, what happen was much, much more. Ron's mum is right, you don't have any sort of real control. You are at the mercy of the ancient magic within you. Why the hell do you think most people forgot about these holidays? About these avenues of power? Because they couldn't damn well control it!"
"So, what am I supposed to do?" he exploded. "Pat your back and say 'Oh, poor Hermione, bit off more than you could chew'?"
"No," she shouted, standing up, fists balled. "You're supposed to understand that I am working through it. That I am doing everything I possibly can to set you up for success, and I'll help you in any way I physically can, like I always have!"
"Well, your timing bloody sucks," he growled, eyeing her with lingering anger.
"Don't you think I know that?" she snarled. "Don't you think I've beaten myself up about this plenty since it happened? Don't you think I've been working overtime to make it up? To find some way to make all of this easier on you, since I won't be able to stay with you the whole time like I wanted and planned? Do you think I did this to make your life more difficult?"
Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she stared down the boy before her, anger at him boiling in her blood. Clear vision revealed a suitably cowed Harry, with an equally cowering Ron behind him. She sat back down with as much dignity as she could muster, trying not to break out crying once more. Hands folded in her lap, keen, cinnamon eyes watched the boy in front of her sulk.
"You don't even look pregnant," Harry pouted.
"Of course I don't, not really," she rolled her eyes. "I've been wearing baggy clothing on purpose."
"Would you show us if we asked?" Ron asked in a hurry.
"Boys, really," she rolled her eyes and stood up.
Hands lifted the hem of her over large jumper, folding it up. While average height for muggles, Hermione stood petite to most wizards, curvy by their standards. A far cry from the voluptuous yet willowy, tall figures of the Lavender Browns of the wizarding world. What could have been mistaken as a food bulge with clothes on looked to be. The boys stared at the new curve and blinked. A small hand ran down the soft v her stomach before fingers gently pressed and probed the bottom.
"You see, the uterus is firm," she murmured, finally able to share this with someone, "So, it doesn't jiggle." Her fingers pressed along the bottom to illustrate her point. "Right there is my child."
A stunned silence greeted her words. She allowed them to stare for a minute more before settling the jumper over her stomach once more. They didn't need to know the other reason for picking this particular garment was to hide her growth in other areas. They didn't need to know that much about pregnancy yet. Settled once more into her chair, Hermione watched the shell shocked expressions with a small, satisfied smirk, one hand protectively over herself.
"In a couple of weeks, you won't need to ask a question like that," she chuckled as they stopped gaping at her once more. "The thing is, I didn't want to tell you two right away. Neither of you boast the best of tempers. I wanted the charm set-up to work, and a general plan of action in place before I told you, just in case."
"Why is that?" Reluctant curiosity won over her friend.
"Because, I am going to be leaving you both for a time," Hermione sighed. "It'll be easier for both of you to move and gather information if I'm not around, and you don't need to worry about me. In the meantime, I will move somewhere that has a large library and full lab, so I can work more with spell and potion development." And if I'm right about my mate, it will be safer all around if we were separated, she added mentally.
"It makes good, tactical sense," Ron nodded. "But, where does that leave us?"
"Here, with a plan, a containment charm, and access to all the Order," Hermione grinned as she revealed two journals, both a bright, Gryffindor red. Each had the Order phoenix, one with a terrier, the other with a stag, in a delicate, golden outline. "I have made these for you both. It's how I keep in touch with Remus, Kingsley, and Minerva."
"Woah," Ron breathed, handling the journal with care.
"What does it do?" Harry asked, curiosity alight in his eyes.
"It's like the DA coins, but it goes both ways. All six of us are able to send and receive all messages. It's how I got information from the Order, and how they know we are safe and alive," she beamed before going into her explanation. Once finished, journals attuned and terms accepted, she added, "You'll be able to communicate with me through these a well. When I leave, I expect you guys to make use of this and don't go jumping into things! If you need to get out, ask which safe house you can visit and for how long. We don't want to overstress our resource, nor bring undue attention to places where others take refuge."
"So, I'd be able to visit, say, the twins?" Ron asked.
"As long as it's deemed safe, sure," Hermione nodded.
"And I can go see Remus and Tonks?" Harry eyed her with hope.
"If he says it's okay," she smiled at the pair. "Like I said, don't be afraid to ask for help through here, or for comfort. This is a hard time for everyone. No need to make it worse by isolating yourselves."
The rest of the day passed in a hazy blur of the boys talking to the Order, Minerva chatting with Hermione about the 'big reveal,' and Kreacher's openly solicitous doting of Missy Hermy and the young one. Gathered once more in the parlor for the evening, they sat as before. Their laughter and jokes brought a smile to Hermione's face. Curled on the sofa, she watched the scene with a rare calmness of mind.
"No wonder you looked like you were gaining weight," Harry chortled at some point.
"Not to mention how you ate Kreacher's pie," Ron added with a conspiratorial smile.
"It was the first thing that hadn't sent me to the loo in a while," she stuck her tongue out.
"Merlin, I can't imagine, being sick every morning and not being able to eat breakfast," Ron moaned, dramatic and serious.
"I wish it was just the morning," Hermione grumbled. "A man obviously named it."
"That's even worse," the redheaded wizard laughed.
"Is that why you were tired all the time?" Harry asked as he considered his cards for exploding snap.
"Yes, though it's finally getting a bit better," chuckled the witch.
"So, why aren't you moving out yet?" Ron asked, quickly adding, "Not that we don't like having you here, because we really do."
"In short, because Professor McGonagall, Minerva, is fixing up one of her family properties for me," she answered, picking up a pair of knitting needles.
"I call dibs on godfather," Ron shouted, grinning at Harry.
"No fair! I didn't even know we were calling dibs," Harry responded in kind.
The rest of the evening passed in a pleasant blur. With a deep sigh, Hermione drifted into a deep sleep.
oOo oOo oOo
September the 19th dawned, bright and crisp. Years ago, this used to be her actual birthday. Now, it simply was the date her parents gave birth, but not longer a marker for her actual age. Dumbledore had seen to that, with his grandfather like twinkle, a specially engraved time turner, and a contract allowing her unlimited use, as long as time paradoxes were averted. Which, as a scrupulous child, she ensured. The researcher in her compulsively took notes, recording exactly how much time she spent.
One of many odd, unscrupulous actions Dumbledore committed against her, Hermione wondered how he got away with it. What political strings did the man pull to grant a fourteen year old unlimited use of such a sensitive, destructive device like a time turner? What baffled her the most were people's inattentiveness. No one noticed if she aged faster, or that she developed quicker than other girls. Still, breakfast in bed via Kreacher and a cake in the evening hurt no one.
Happy birthday, Hermione, Augusta wrote sometime that day.
A very merry unbirthday, indeed, Lass, Minerva added by the time Hermione cracked open her journals.
I take it you enjoyed Alice in Wonderland, Minerva, Hermione chuckled as her pen danced across the page. Thank you, both of you.
We'd never miss it for the world, the other witch responded.
Indeed, and I believe we have a suitable birthday surprise for you, the tabby cat's loopy script flowed.
Any gift from either of you would be wonderful, Hermione responded, though secretly pleased and quite eager to hear the surprise.
Well, child, be ready to be amazed, Augusta's scrawl answered.
You see, we finally found the perfect homestead for you and your little one, Minerva's answer quickly followed, excited to share the news. It's off the northwestern coast of Scotland, plenty of land included in the wards and a lovely structure all together. It's one of the smaller properties my family owns.
Though, smaller is a relative term, came the sarcastic commentary.
I thought you said you already found a place? Hermione frowned, as she thought about all the enthusiastic status updates the two women sent her quite often.
We did, but then I found this gem as we went through my portfolio, Minerva gushed, word appearing faster than ever. And I knew it was perfect. It won't take any longer to prepare. The structure is sound, but the rooms needed cleaning and a fresh coat of paint. There is a charming front garden, and the back leads out to the bluffs and overlooks the ocean. I am convinced you will adore it.
Are you sure? I don't need quite so much space, the young brunette wrote, slow and tentative. At this point, it looked to be her and her child. Such a large estate would hardly be needed for two people.
Nonsense, Augusta dashed the concern aside.
As we said before, we are convinced everything will work out for you, Minerva asserted. I have the feeling your family will grow into the space.
But it's only for right now, Hermione nibbled her bottom lip, glancing every few moments at the small, black journal. Until the war is over, or I decide to disappear.
That is the present in this, dear, her mentor explained, tone gentle and fond. In gifting you this house, I have officially made you my heiress. It will be your's, for you and your family. You need it more than I, and as the last of my family, I have no relations whom I so much know, let alone believe deserve such a gift. Take it, child, as a gift and the start of a new chapter in your life. I have no need of such a large place. My cottage is more than enough for me. I promise, the library is divine, and there is space in the cellar for at least one decent sized lab.
Big, fat tears began to run down her face, as sniffling sobs choked back words. Hands fanned her face in vain, emotions and hormones running roughshod over her normal self control. Disbelief and shock hit her first. Soon after came happiness at the optimism and faith the two women had in her. Running underneath everything else was a deep abiding gratitude. She could never repay either for their kindness, let alone this generous gift.
Now, before you break, the chime announcing Augusta's words, Do know that there are ground rules to inheriting wizarding homes. First off, Minerva gave you several elves to help maintain and upkeep the house. They will answer only to you and your family.
I would worry about you freeing them, if it were not for your talk with the Hogwarts elves during your fourth year, Minerva dryly remarked. Hermione flushed to remember the incident. In addition, we both have given you several smaller assets to oversee. Invest wisely, and you can grow your wealth from these, as well as any patons you may yet produce.
And don't forget, I will be living with you during the school year, the elder Longbottom cheerfully informed Hermione. As of now, I'm in the front sitting room, overseeing the preparations for your arrival. Everything will be in order by the time you arrive, dearie, don't fret.
Finally gathering her wits and sense, eyes wiped free of happy tears, Hermione finally replied, I cannot express how happy you both have made me today. Words are paltry, insufficient to relay such gratitude as I feel right now. I thank you, both, from the bottom of my heart. A few sniffles later, Hermione resumed, When will it be ready?
We are planning for the first weekend of October, Augusta answered. It will give you plenty of time to settle down and prepare for Samhain.
The conversation wound down from there, and, soon, Hermione curled into her bed to sleep. A large grin stretched across her face, as images of children running along the Scottish meadows filled her head. Even as Morpheus reclaimed her, hope and happiness suffused her very being.
With October looming a few days ahead, the old guard loitered in the staff room as per ritual. Efficient and acerbic as ever, the new headmaster billowed out of the room, cackling hyenas following close behind. A few, quick flicks from the half dwarf charms master, and the professor's war council commenced. The usual stories of fair discipline with bruised egos came forth from each professor.
"If it weren't for last June, you would think that Albus died of natural causes over the summer, and Voldemort put our spy in his place," Septima frowned, head tilted to the side as she listened to the latest story. "Not some terrible, cold blooded Death Eater."
"That is still troubling me," Pomona admitted, holding her china tea cup daintily in one hand. "Everything is a bit too neat, too precise. Just chaotic enough to seem natural, but the seams are sewn shut rather tightly."
"You know it's serious when the Hufflepuff is the one doubting," Aurora chuckled, and received several pointed glares. "It's not in your nature is all, nothing mean or personal, just an observation. I do agree, if it makes you feel better."
"Has anyone noticed anything else odd about the headmaster, though?" Filius frowned. "I know for a fact that the castle listens to him far better than it has Dumbledore in the past decade or so."
"That's because Severus does not intend to toy with the lives of his students," Minerva snorted, watching the meeting from her usual chair. "We all knew that Albus manipulated us. Some more than others. It is not a stretch of imagination to think that he extended such attention to several of our shared children. The wards sense the intent, and thus help our current headmaster."
"Curious how it feels almost sentient at times," Bathsheba murmured, patting the closest stone wall with affection.
"This is all well and good," Pomona remarked, "But this brings us no closer to the truth, or even a plan of action. Before anyone makes pointless comments, yes we know the man killed our previous mostly beloved employer."
"Employer, overlord, same difference," Aurora muttered to Septima, who proceeded to snicker.
"The point is, what do we do now?" the portly herbology professor finished over the noise.
Pensive silence blanketed the room as each teacher tried to think of an appropriate answer. Keen, hazel eyes observed her dedicated colleagues, and wondered seriously, for the first time, about the situation before them. If Albus truly choreographed his death, Severus conducted the score with his typical flawless precision. No one, outside of a select few, would question the move. Not He-Who-Should-Be-Rotting-In-Hell-Already, nor the staff, and most definitely not the Order. Which left the poor child alone. Still a spy and defector to his obvious faction, no single comrade would countenance even his name.
Yet, if the truth happened to be what Minerva suspected to be true, he has one unconditional source of support hitherto unknown to the man. Continuing the trend of hypotheticals, he could be a valuable source for more than one reason. Such a powerful, intelligent man held great potential for either side, but at what price would those services come? Stepping back, the puzzle fit together, each piece clicking into place. This line of 'what if' made sense to the stern woman, but what of it?
"We can all safely say the Headmaster is trying, in his own insulting, roundabout way, to protect the students to his greatest ability, even setting up provisions should they require to fully withdraw from school proper," the tabby animagus began, choosing her words carefully and gauging the reactions of those around her. "It is also apparent that the castle has fully accepted him as our headmaster, more so than it had Dumbledore, even.
"It is also obvious that he is doing extra work, most likely brewing for the hospital wing, and distributing appropriate potions when doing so is the most unexpected or thought of," she ticked another finger, list growing. "The facts are all based off the observations we made."
"He has yet to boast about it," Septima added quietly. "Every time he talks about killing Albus, he looks pained, almost appearing to lash out to hide it. Did anyone else notice he always says something along the lines of 'I can turn you out right now,' quite often, as if reminding us we are better off here?"
"To be clear, Severus is the headmaster as accepted by both the Castle and the Board. He is, to our observations and reports, working hard to keep our students safe," Minerva articulated for all to hear.
"Which leads back to the original question, Min," Pomona sighed. "What do we do?"
"We support our headmaster," Aurora decided with a satisfied nod. "If we change how we act, it would be suspicious. The man is under an enormous amount of pressure from all sides, and has never taken kindness without a grain of salt. Don't forget that the children of the Death Eaters will be reporting any strange actions on our part. So, we support him quietly. Keep our Houses out of trouble as much as possible, fill out only necessary detention slips, stick to our patrol schedules, and generally make running this school as smooth a process as possible."
A round of approval greeted the astronomy professor's statement. As the meeting broke into smaller, milling circles, Minerva took her leave. Feet navigated the hallways, familiar paintings saying hello as she passed with half a mind. Ever since that night in late July, Minerva couldn't help but start to guess. A man misunderstood by all, whose actions belie his words. By this point, very few men fit that mold. Each passing day reinforced her candidate of choice, Hermione's words circling her mind. A complex man, indeed, lass, the Scotswoman chuckled to herself as she entered her quarters for the night.
October 1997
Two and a half weeks passed in an odd mixture of quick bursts and slow, dragging hours. Finding out about her 'condition,' as Ron liked to refer to it, the boys took extra care to coddle her. Naturally, this lasted a day before she threatened to hex them the next time they did something she felt perfectly able to do herself. Not five minutes later, Ron sprouted wings from arm. An hour later, and Harry tripped into the door trying to avoid a stinging hex.
Among everything else, the trio started to plan in more detail the moves they were to make. With Hermione going off to research, the boys decided to take some time and learn how to duel properly. A makeshift schedule, between Kingsley, Remus, and Bill formed. Turning one of the useless sitting rooms into a dueling room took only an afternoon. A system and shorthand soon developed, and things appeared to be running smoothly.
On Hermione's side of things, she started to peruse the book left to her by Albus Dumbledore. No doubt some beyond-the-grave manipulation on his part, the stories intrigued the muggle born. Often times, the boys would find her sitting on a chair, reading aloud, one hand tenderly stroking growing stomach. They would snicker and tease her about the lackluster sound effects.
Cinnamon eyes scanned her room for the last time, checking and double checking for any missed items. Looking back, the past few weeks were productive and as good as they could be. A wry smirk stretched across her face. Baggy clothing would no longer hide her state, so she settled for the more comfortable dresses and robes she bought. Long and of soft fabric, is hung off her every curve with a thin belt accentuating her new form. No trousers, no buttons, no hassles.
"Are you done up there?" Harry's voice reverberated up the stairs.
"Yes," she called back, snapping out of her reverie. "I'm coming down."
"Just don't fall," her friend answered. "I don't want to be responsible to Professor McGonagall when you don't make your portkey."
"You mean you don't want an angry lioness breathing down your neck?" she snarked on the steps. "I never would have guessed."
"Merlin, 'Mione," Ron grinned when she entered the parlor, "You gotta watch where you're going with that! Could have knocked into a bloke."
"Ha ha ha, very funny," Hermione rolled her eyes in return.
"Just think," the black haired teen mused, crickles in the corner of his eyes, "Next time we see each other, you'll be a mother, and we'll be uncles."
"Blimey, that's a scary thought," Ron shuddered only to be replaced by a slow, devious smile. "Does that mean we get to teach the tyke all sorts of nasty, little things to annoy her with?"
"You will do no such thing, Ronald Bilius Weasley," the witch huffed, hands on her hips.
"Don't do that," he whined, cowering a bit. "You look almost exactly like Mum."
"That's the point, Ronald," arms folded under her chest. "I am going to be a mum, which means I'm allowed to sound like one, and make you do as I say."
"Scary, this one is," the redhead stage whispered to Harry, who tried not to smile.
"And you best remember that next time we meet," Hermione nodded.
The three stood around, quiet and contemplative after the bickering, soaking in the moment. Vision blurred, eyes blinked, hard and fast. Neither stopped the onset of tears. Within seconds, two pairs of strong arms held her, cooing, holding, keeping her safe. Both of her boys held on a bit longer than necessary, as she valiantly tried to stop her sniffling. Worse case scenarios flashed before her eyes. This could be the last time she saw either of them alive. At the very least, for a long time. Ever since becoming friends, partings were short, a month at most. It hit her heart hard.
"You two have to promise to be safe," her raspy voice demanded between pauses and hiccups. "I mean it! No rushing off into stupid danger without telling anyone, no eating weird things that have been out for too long, no impromptu trips outside without due caution," she babbled, furiously wiping at the tears that refused to stop. "You have to make it through this safe. S-so you can teach this one h-how to be terrors."
If the boy's eyes were misty, no one commented. Together, they watched the sunset over the London street. Curls leaned against one, while an arm wrapped around the other. This friendship, from a rocky start, signified so much right with the world. The memories slipped into appropriate places within her organized mind, noting how the light hit just right, the soft tick of the grandfather clock, the warmth of her best friends and brothers. Yet, time did not stop. Eight chimes rang through the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black
"So, yeah," a gruff Ron swallowed hard. "Make sure to tell Professor that we said hi."
"And that we're still making trouble," Harry's watery grin continued.
"And that we don't miss doing her essays," Ron chuckled as best he could.
"And remind her to go easy on Neville in class," the other added. A serious look entered his emerald eyes, "But, honestly, Hermione, be safe. Take care of, well, the both of you."
"I will," Hermione gulped, scrubbing at her face. "Okay, we're done with tears. We will still be able to talk, and I can tell him or her stories if you write them."
"With your horrible voices," the redhead's hazel eyes sparkled with mirth.
"And lousy effects," snickered Harry. "Poor kid, to have such a mother who can't properly make sounds."
"Oh hush, you two," hand smacked both boys on the arms. "Well, then, one minute then I'm off. I'll tell you all about it, alright?"
"We are counting on it," Harry answered.
One last tumultuous smile answered her friends, image seared to her brain, before the telltale tug of the navel pulled her through space. A sudden, cold breeze cut through her. Hands clutched the edge of her light traveling cloak, as she finally took in her surroundings. Cinnamon eyes blinked, incredulous and breathless. A gravel walk leading to carefully crafted stairs that cut through the Scottish hills. Bright red bushes painted either side of the second staircase, bold brush strokes amongst the greens. Stretching around her, tall trees towered and swayed, a great forest to her back. The setting sun disappeared on the other side of the house, tall grasses swayed beyond the manicured garden, dancing to their own tune.
The structure before her could only be called a large home, not quite a mansion, but larger than most family homes. Two stories tall, white walls stood tall, with bricks reinforcing the corners and joints as it sprawled across the lawn. Large windows shone with candlelight, warm in the growing dark of twilight. Smoke happily curled from the four double chimneys in sight, as the grey roof sloped down to greet her.
And this is all mine, she thought, dumbfounded as her eyes drank in the land.
"Ack! Lass, there you are," the stern figure of Minerva McGonagall called from the open french doors. "Get in before you catch a chill. I managed to get the weekend away from the castle, no need to extend my stay by falling ill, child."
Suitably shocked out of her reverie, Hermione crossed the front garden, climbing the stone steps. Gravel crunched under her sensible flats, hem lifted as to not trip her. The house grew in size as she approached, though it felt no less homey and welcoming. A smile tugged at her lips as she gazed around in distracted wonder. An arm's length from the door, her mentor reached out to hug her close.
"It's good to see you, safe and sound," the usually stern woman smiled.
"I missed you, too," the younger witch answered in kind.
"Now, let's get you inside," Minerva instructed, once more no-nonsense and crisp.
Six house elves stood within the entryway, high voices squeaking welcome to their new mistress. The eldest, Tinky, took her travel cloak and beaded bag, as the others popped off to finish their chores. All the while, a solicitous Minerva bustled Hermione towards the main parlor. Tall windows draped in scarlet and gold velvet curtains offered an excellent view of the back garden. A matching, thick rug lay upon the floor, beautifully upholstered sofas, settees, and loveseats. An ornate, inlaid book shelf covered one wall, with richly colored shelves and tables stood between the windows. In front of one, a similarly styled writing desk and chair sat. Across the room, fronting another window, sat an exquisite piano-forte. Behind her, a fire happily crackled in the hearth, warming the whole space.
"Tinky, please get us a full tea service," Minerva ordered as she guided the still stunned Hermione to one of the loveseats. "Now, dear, I hope you don't mind, but I invited Poppy over tomorrow for a few hours. You need to see a proper medical professional, and she is discretion incarnate."
"That sounds wonderful," Hermione sighed as she settled into the comfortable seat. "I could hardly leave once we retrieved Harry from the Dursley's. Muggle doctors are rather lost that early on."
"Where's Augusta?" the brunette witch inquired. "I thought she decided to join me here."
"She will," her mentor smiled. "For now, she is setting a few things up at her home. She was rather inspired by some of the wards you shared the other day. Speaking of, we shall take care of that tomorrow, after Poppy gives you a clean bill of health."
"I've been taking my prenatal potions and vitamins," Hermione sighed. "I've even been eating healthier than normal! Avoiding all the things pregnant woman should, to boot."
"As you should be," Laughed the tabby cat. "One can never be too careful."
"Fair enough," the owl animagus hummed. "I suppose the elves will only be giving me the proper diet as directed."
"Naturally," the Scotswoman winked. "Tomorrow, when you have more energy, I will take you about the house. For now, tell me everything that couldn't be written."
Hushed sounds of ladies talking and laughing filled the room, warmed by the presence of the witches. Pale moonlight filtered in the room through sheer curtains, as the two conversed well into the night.