A/N: This is the last part. I'm considering doing a sequel, but there are more details about that at the end. Read and review!
Harry sat again on the orange plastic chairs which he had became familiar with earlier that day. Orange was seeming to be a depressing color. He buried his face in his hands, his mind running through the last hour or so. Calling the paramedics, coming to take her to the hospital, running her into the emergency room, telling him to stay here, in the waiting room. He vaguely remembered Bob being taken into custody, but he might have made that up. Ron, Ginny, and the Chaberts were around him, trying to be of comfort but he didn't care; he didn't want anyone.
He was afraid that he was going nuts. He wanted to scream and throw things and to cry and to vomit all at the same time. He felt like his insides were being torn out, his inner organs were leaving his body and being left on the floor. He felt exposed, vulnerable, unsafe. He hadn't felt this way since Hermione's wedding to David, and this time the feeling was more intense. He didn't know who to blame. Was it his fault? He should have gone home with her. But, no, he was so mad at her that he let her go when she was already feeling bad. Harry shook his head; Hermione could have usually taken care of herself. Was it her fault for not fighting back? No, she tried. Lamps were broken, their flat was in chaos, Bob himself had been beaten up pretty badly. She's fierce and strong for someone who's short and small. It's not like you're tall yourself, he thought. No, it's Bob's fault, he concluded. Goddamn bastard. If Hermione isn't ok, I'm going to kill him. Strangle him with my damn bare hands.
Whomever fault it was, Harry had gone home to see his wife on the floor of their bedroom, beaten and bloody. Harry couldn't shake the image from his mind, her laying in a pool of blood. He had blood on him, he realized. Her blood. He smelled his shirt; it reeked of blood, the sharp, pungent odor. He still had the taste of her blood in his mouth from where he had kissed her cheek, her forehead, her nose. The center of his chest was literally aching, physically hurting him. He recalled the few words Hermione had uttered before she had passed out. "Bob… hurt… baby… Hyacinth… love," she had whispered. Please, god, let her be ok.
Ginny was crying softly beside him, and on the other side of her Ron was staring off into space. Chloe Chabert was fingering her wedding ring nervously, Ethan was passing, and Angie was flirting with a male doctor that looked familiar to Harry. Ernie Macmillan? Harry looked down at his own wedding band, twirling it around his finger. Three years of marriage, and it could all be over because one occult hater had to take his anger on my wife. My life could be over. He couldn't think about how he would live without her; perhaps he would kill himself. Hermione had warned him not to, but he didn't see any option if she was dead.
The word dead made chills run up his spine. Oh, god, please don't be dead. Please. He remembered a day, a fall day like today, two years ago. He and Hermione were having a picnic.
"I love fall," she had said, motioning to the colorful woods behind her. Harry had watched her, her bushy brown hair falling beyond the shoulders of her wool, red sweater. Her khaki pants were too long, he had noticed. One could barely see her brown, leather oxfords
"I love you," he had responded, not taking his eyes off of her.
She had grinned. "I know. You married me, didn't you?"
He had leaned over and kissed her. "It was the best decision I've ever made." *
He wanted more moments like that. He remembered the first time he kissed her, outside of the restaurant where she had had her rehearsal dinner for David's and her wedding. His eyes watered up with tears. He bent his head so that no one would see his sobs.
"Are you all right?" Ginny inquired.
Harry shook his head, not being able to open his mouth for the fear that he'd scream.
"I'm sorry," Ginny whispered. "I-I- oh god." Her voice trembled. "I don't know what to do. This sucks."
"Yes, it does," Harry agreed. "Very much so."
"Harry?" came a voice from in front of him. Harry looked up at the figure, dressed in blue scrubs.
"Yeah, Neville?"
Neville sighed. "Harry, why don't we go for a little walk, ok?"
"Where?"
"Just around the hospital."
"Ok." Harry stood up and walked in silence next to Neville. It was an awkward silence, both of them were bursting to speak, but didn't want to hear the truth.
"Harry," Neville finally said.
"Is she dead?" Harry asked.
"No." Neville shook his head. "Harry, I had a little speech prepared. Please let me continue."
"All right."
"I have bad news and good news."
"Ok."
"Good news is that Hermione is going to be okay. She's lost a lot of blood, she is cut and bruised and is going to be extremely sore, but she'll be fine."
"And the bad news?" Harry questioned, almost afraid to hear it.
"She lost the baby."
Harry felt as if he been punched in the stomach. "What?"
"It's dead, Harry. We couldn't save it. She got hit in the wrong place and the baby was dead by the time she arrived at the hospital."
"I should have called sooner," Harry whispered. "I wasted time."
Neville shook his head. "It still would have died. You didn't do anything wrong. Don't blame yourself. It was that crazy man, not you."
"Could she still have children? I mean-"
Neville nodded. "Yes. All her organs and such are fine, if that's what you mean. She can have kids, and I wish the best of luck for you."
"Neville?"
"Yes?"
"Is she out of surgery?"
Neville checked his watch. "She should be. Would you like to see her?"
"Please."
"Harry, I'm so sorry."
"It's not your fault."
"I know, but I feel bad. I hate having to break the news to people about these things. It's what I hate about my job."
Harry nodded. "I would hate it too."
"Her room is down that hallway, number 143. Do you want me to show you?"
"No, I'll be fine."
"Good luck," Neville called as he walked away.
***
Harry walked into the room and almost gasped at what he saw. He saw Hermione, asleep, laying down in the small, stiff bed, covered in cuts and bruises. She had an IV on her arm, and her face was red and swollen. Harry sat in the chair near her bead and took her hand. Not wanting to wake her up, he ran one finger down her palm. A long life line, he noticed with a grin.
"Harry?" she murmured.
He scooted closer to her. "I'm here, sweetie. I'm here."
She squeezed his hand. "Am I going to be all right?"
Harry nodded. "You've lost a lot of blood, but I think that's what the IV's for. You're going to be okay."
"What about internal bleeding?"
He shook his head. "I think you'll be ok, Herm. I trust the doctors."
"Unlike Ron," she added.
"Yeah," he chuckled. The two forced laughter.
She paused. "Is the baby okay?"
Harry didn't answer, he only looked at his feet. The room was silent for a minute.
"No," Hermione cried, turning over so she couldn't face Harry. "Is it… dead?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah."
"God," she whispered.
A tear fell from his eye and he didn't bother to wipe it away. "I know."
"Harry?"
"Yeah?"
She bit her lip. "Am I really going to be all right? I don't feel all right."
Harry looked at the floor, then at her. "Yeah, you're going to be okay."
"If I'm not-"
"You will be," he insisted.
"But if I'm not, and I die-" Harry cringed at the word. "You remember what we talked about, the other night?"
"Last night?"
"Yes."
"About not committing suicide?"
"Yes," she replied. "Don't."
"Herm, you're going to be fine," he told her forcefully. "You're going to recover completely. The doctors said so."
"Completely? Could I have kids if I wanted to?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah. If you want."
"If I want," she repeated.
"I love you," he whispered.
"I'm not going to live, am I?" she asked softly.
"Yes, you are. Why do you keep asking?"
She sighed. "It seems like you're keeping something from me."
He frowned. "I'm not keeping anything from you."
"Then what is it? What's wrong?"
Harry paused. "You look-" He caught himself and bit his tongue.
"Awful?" Hermione completed. "I look awful?"
Harry looked at her, then nodded. "But it's just cuts and bruises; they'll heal. Don't worry."
"Harry?" she whispered.
"Yeah?"
"I love you too."
***
Hermione awoke to shuffling in the room. At first sight, she saw a blur of white, blinding white. She shut her eyes, then reopened them. After a minute, she could make out someone else in the room, a woman.
"Hello," the woman said. She was about Hermione's age, if not a few years older, very pretty, and had auburn hair, bright green eyes, and a button nose. She was dressed in white nursing scrubs, and looked so horrible familiar-.
"Hyacinth Rettop," Hermione muttered.
Hyacinth smiled. "That's my name, don't wear it out! You're Hermione, right?"
Hermione nodded. "Right. We met in the park."
"I remember, don't worry," Hyacinth reassured her.
"Oh. What time is it?"
"Seven in the morning. Good morning, sweetheart."
"Good morning."
"I'm so sorry about your baby," Hyacinth whispered.
"So am I," Hermione said. "So am I."
"You were just starting to like the idea…" Hyacinth shook her head.
"I didn't know you worked here, or that you were a witch," Hermione commented.
Hyacinth grinned. "Not quite the thing you blurt out to strangers, now is it?"
"I guess not," Hermione said.
"I saw your husband. They made him leave a while ago," Hyacinth said. "He's grown up quite handsome, hasn't he?"
"I guess so." Hermione pondered this for a second. Grown up?
"Is he sweet?" Hyacinth asked. "Does he behave himself?"
"Yes," Hermione answered, a bit bewildered by her questions.
"He looks so much like-" Hyacinth caught herself in time. "Like my friend. They have the same hair."
"Really?" Hermione asked, puzzled.
Hyacinth noticed her confusion. "I'm just curious, dear."
"Ok," Hermione answered lamely.
"Are you upset about the baby?"
"Of course," Hermione admitted. "Very."
"I thought you were considering abortion," Hyacinth added.
"I was-" Hermione stopped. She had never mentioned abortion to Hyacinth. Then what…?
"Don't worry, darling," Hyacinth chimed as she fixed something on the IV. "I'm sure you'll have plenty of children. Trust me."
"Ok," Hermione said.
"So," Hyacinth said, sitting on the end of Hermione's bed. "I have a bit of time before I do my rounds. Tell me about yourself."
"I run a small environmental company. We find cures and such to both muggle and magical diseases. We also find new and improved ingredients for potions, etc. Considering it's only been around for a few years, it's done very well."
"It sounds lovely," Hyacinth commented. "And your husband, what does he do?"
"He works for the ministry," Hermione said. "He works in the department of crime enforcing."
"Is that a good job these days?"
These days? Hermione thought. "Yes, it is. His specialty is in the dark arts, of course."
"Of course!" Hyacinth exclaimed. "I mean, he is Harry Potter. Anything else would just be odd, you know? He's so powerful."
"Yes, I guess so," Hermione admitted.
"So, how's your marriage?"
Hermione thought this was none of Hyacinth's business and was about to say so, but the little voice in the back of her head urged her not to. "Good."
"Elaborate on good, please."
Hermione smiled. "Very good. Lately we've been fighting about the baby, but other than that we don't really have that many problems."
Hyacinth grinned. "Do you love him?"
"Yes," Hermione said softly. "Very much."
"That's good. It's good he has so many people who love him. He had it so bad when he was growing up; I feel so guilty…" Hyacinth frowned.
"Guilty?"
She shook her head. "I know I couldn't have done anything about it, but you just feel bad, you know?"
"I know what you mean."
Hyacinth grinned. "I think you'd make a good mum."
"Why?" Hermione questioned her. "I'm not patient, I'm bossy, I'm hard headed."
"Hermione, no," Hyacinth said. "Believe me, I was those things too. Yet when I had my child, I learned patience. I wasn't as bossy. And you do need to be a bit stubborn, but you do soften."
"How is your son?" Hermione asked.
"Good," Hyacinth answered. "He's doing very well. He's growing up too fast!"
Hermione laughed. "I'm sorry."
She smiled sadly. "Don't be. One of the most wonderful things as a mother is to see your children grow up. I just wish-."
"Wish what?"
"Nothing, nothing." Hyacinth checked her watch. "Well, I do believe that I need to be getting home." She stood up and walked towards the door to the room.
"You don't have more rounds?" Hermione asked.
"No," Hyacinth commented. "You were my last patient. I hope you feel better."
"Will you come back?" Hermione questioned, feeling a bit childish for doing so.
"I don't know," Hyacinth admitted.
"I hope I'll see you then, all right?"
"Someday," Hyacinth said with a sly smile. "Gotta go."
"Hyacinth," Hermione called.
"Yes?"
"How old is your son, anyhow?"
Hyacinth smiled, and she looked vaguely familiar. "Twenty five." She turned around and left.
What? Twenty five? What was that all about? Is that her idea of a joke? If her son was twenty five, who was with her in the baby carriage the day before? Who was she? Hermione suddenly became a bit scared. Who was it that Hermione had told her life story to? Who was the kind woman who had reassured her in the park? Who was the sweet nurse who had told her that her life would go on, who had told her that she would have children? Who was the pretty red haired, green eyed woman? Who is Hyacinth Rettop?
Wait a minute. Hermione's blood stopped flowing for an instant. Rettop. R-E-T-T-O-P. A chill went down Hermione's spine. R-E-T-T-O-P. P-O-T-T-E-R. Oh my god. Hyacinth Potter? Hyacinth- that was a flower, wasn't it? Lily? Hermione bit her lip. It all fit, the red hair, the green eyes, the nose- she had seen the woman before, in pictures. Her interest in Harry and her son's wife…. Oh god. But she's dead, Hermione told herself. Lily's dead. She's been dead for twenty four years. People just don't rise from the grave twenty four years after their deaths! Yet Hermione didn't rule out the possibility; in her years being exposed to the wizarding world, she believed things that she would never think. Lily? Lily Potter? Here? Sitting next to me? Talking to me? Is it really her, or is this someone's idea of a really sick joke?
Hermione's head fell against her pillows as she fainted.
***
"Hermione?" Harry whispered.
Hermione fluttered her eyes open to see her husband looking down at her. "Hey."
"How are you feeling?" he asked softly.
"Fine." Fine didn't cover it. Her heart was physically aching with remorse for her lost child, her mind was jumbled together so that one thought couldn't be distinguished from the next, and her body was so sore.
Harry sat on the bed next to her. She put her head in his lap and he stroked her hair. "You sure?"
"No," she admitted.
"Me too," he squeaked.
"When can I get out of here?" she asked.
"Soon."
"Soon?"
"A few days," he told her. "Hey- I have good news."
"What?"
"Maggie woke up," he whispered, stroking her hair.
"Is she going to be ok?"
He nodded. "She'll have to go through some physical therapy, but she'll be fine. The doctors are saying that she'll walk and everything."
Hermione smiled. "I bet Ron's ecstatic."
"I'll bet so too. He is really upset about you, though."
"He is?"
Harry nodded. "And about the baby. He was going to be godfather, you know." Hermione nodded. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I know you don't like talking about it."
"It's ok," she whispered, squeezing his hand.
"You look better," he told her, changing the subject.
"Harry, I haven't even been in the hospital twenty-four hours. How do I look better?"
He shrugged. "Well, they're doing some charms to speed up recovery. Not all your bruises are healing the muggle way."
"Oh."
"So," he said. "What have you been doing while they made me leave? Have you been sleeping?"
She shook her head. "I've been talking to a nurse."
"Really? That's good."
"Harry," she started. "Can I ask you something?"
"What is it?"
"Do you have a picture of your mother?"
"What?"
"Do you?"
"Several," he answered, bewildered.
"Do you have one on you?" she asked.
He wordlessly took his wallet out of his pocket and handed it to Hermione. She flipped through the pictures- one of her, him, and Ron at school; one of their wedding; one just of her. She saw then what she was looking for, a picture of Lily and James Potter. James did look almost identical to Harry, except the eyes. Lily had Harry's eyes. She stared at the woman, and found Hyacinth Rettop staring back at her.
"Thanks," Hermione said, voice shaking, as she handed the wallet back to Harry.
He looked at her, confused. "You're welcome."
She snuggled closer to him. "I need some sleep."
"I'll go," he said, starting to get up.
"No," she said, grabbing his hand. "Stay with me."
"Ok," he whispered, laying down next to her. She scooted closer and he wrapped his arms around her.
"Harry?"
"Yes?"
"Goodnight," she whispered before dosing off in his arms.
"Goodnight, sweetheart," he told the sleeping figure before indulging in much needed slumber himself.
***
The next few days went by in a blur. Hermione remembered a lot of needles, a lot of nurses, a lot of visitors, including her parents, Ron, Ginny, her cousin Iris, and the Chaberts. Harry, of course, practically was living at the hospital, sleeping in the chair beside her bed and in the lobby when the nurses ushered him out. Hermione found that she hated hospital food; it was much worse than her own cooking. She lived off the pastries and chocolate frogs Harry brought in. "I can't wait for a real meal," she told him often, and he promised to cook her real food when she arrived home. She had mixed feelings about going back to their flat, where she had been beaten to a pulp almost a week before. She shrugged the feeling off.
She was walking and moving around the hospital now. Harry kept on telling her that she was looking better, but she didn't really believe him. She did feel more free with the IV out of her arm. The day before she had visited Maggie.
"Hey," Hermione said, sitting down beside Maggie's bed.
"Hello," Maggie whispered.
"How do you feel?"
"All right."
"That's good."
"I'm sorry about your baby. I didn't even know you were pregnant, so-"
"I know. Don't say it, I know."
"You've always been so kind to me, Hermione."
She grinned. "And you to me."
"Thank you."
"Don't worry about it. Are Ron and you speaking to each other?"
"Are you kidding? The first time I saw him he was holding a dozen roses on his knees. Of course we are."
"That's good."
"I have my engagement ring back," Maggie stated, holding up her ring finger.
"When are you going to be married?"
"After I go through physical therapy, which will be in about six months. Then we can start planning and start doing things again."
"So you probably won't be married for another year."
Maggie shrugged. "That's what it sounds like. You'll be a bridesmaid, I hope."
"Of course."
"I'm sure you'll have children, Hermione. Don't worry about it."
Hermione nodded and forced a smile.
***
"Welcome home," Harry whispered in her ear. The apartment had been cleaned up; all the lamps and fixtures fixed or replaced, the couch placed back in its proper place. The hardwood floors had been cleaned, as was the carpet in the bedroom.
"It's clean," she commented.
Harry laughed and squeezed her closer. "I thought you might like that."
She quickly walked through the flat, remembering every little detail of her home, the smells, the cracks in the walls, everything. Harry followed her with fascination, watching her every mood. "Are you hungry?" he asked her.
She shook her head. "No." She crossed across the hallway into their bedroom. It looked almost unnaturally made up; the carpet had been cleaned almost too well to get the blood stains out. Her blood. Maybe her baby's blood. Her dead child. Why wasn't it her who died? Why was it the baby? Lily died for her child, why didn't she get the same chance, the same honor? The question rebounded in her head, why? Why? Tears strolled down Hermione's cheeks. She was having difficulty breathing, and her legs started to give out. She kneeled onto the floor, convulsing in sobs.
"Come here," Harry said softly as he picked her up and carried her to their bed. There he held her while she cried, kissed her tears. "What's wrong?" he asked, creating an entirely new burst of sobs. She just cried, and he held her.
"Sorry," she sniffed, wiping her tears.
He lightly kissed her cheek, tasting the salt of her tears. "Don't be sorry."
"I really wanted that baby," she whispered.
Harry tilted her face up to face him. "You did?"
Hermione nodded. "Yes, I did."
A tear fell down his face. "I didn't know that."
"I didn't know either until it was too late."
He hugged her and buried his face in her hair. "Well, there's no use in crying. It won't bring the baby back."
"I don't really feel like doing much else."
"The only thing we can do," Harry said softly, relaxing his grip on Hermione, drawing back so that his face looked directly into hers. "Is to try again."
She nodded, lowering her head.
"We'll try again, and eventually, we'll succeed."
"I know," she said, raising her gaze to look at him. "We will."
"I love you."
"Love you too."
"You want to try again now?" he asked playfully, raising an eyebrow.
She grinned. "Why not?" He smiled and kissed her.
A/N: I am done! Yes! All 74 pages! I'll be done with Miracle soon, and then I'll be fic-free. Poor me. I'm actually considering writing a sequal to this one. You know, a sequel to the sequel? It'll be around Ron & Maggie's wedding. It'll probably be pretty fluffy, though with a bit of angst, you know, so it doesn't get to stupid. You like? Write your comments/suggestions in the review, ok? ok!
Disclaimer:
Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Molly Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Bill Weasley, Charlie Weasley, Percy Weasley, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Neville Longbottom, James Potter, Lily Potter, Ernie Macmillan, and Diagon Alley belong to an author named J.K. Rowling.
Maggie Chabert, Chloe Chabert, Ethan Chabert, Angie Chabert, the name Hyacinth Rettop, Bob Middle, the McGills, and Susie and her paramour Matt belong to me.
Harry sat again on the orange plastic chairs which he had became familiar with earlier that day. Orange was seeming to be a depressing color. He buried his face in his hands, his mind running through the last hour or so. Calling the paramedics, coming to take her to the hospital, running her into the emergency room, telling him to stay here, in the waiting room. He vaguely remembered Bob being taken into custody, but he might have made that up. Ron, Ginny, and the Chaberts were around him, trying to be of comfort but he didn't care; he didn't want anyone.
He was afraid that he was going nuts. He wanted to scream and throw things and to cry and to vomit all at the same time. He felt like his insides were being torn out, his inner organs were leaving his body and being left on the floor. He felt exposed, vulnerable, unsafe. He hadn't felt this way since Hermione's wedding to David, and this time the feeling was more intense. He didn't know who to blame. Was it his fault? He should have gone home with her. But, no, he was so mad at her that he let her go when she was already feeling bad. Harry shook his head; Hermione could have usually taken care of herself. Was it her fault for not fighting back? No, she tried. Lamps were broken, their flat was in chaos, Bob himself had been beaten up pretty badly. She's fierce and strong for someone who's short and small. It's not like you're tall yourself, he thought. No, it's Bob's fault, he concluded. Goddamn bastard. If Hermione isn't ok, I'm going to kill him. Strangle him with my damn bare hands.
Whomever fault it was, Harry had gone home to see his wife on the floor of their bedroom, beaten and bloody. Harry couldn't shake the image from his mind, her laying in a pool of blood. He had blood on him, he realized. Her blood. He smelled his shirt; it reeked of blood, the sharp, pungent odor. He still had the taste of her blood in his mouth from where he had kissed her cheek, her forehead, her nose. The center of his chest was literally aching, physically hurting him. He recalled the few words Hermione had uttered before she had passed out. "Bob… hurt… baby… Hyacinth… love," she had whispered. Please, god, let her be ok.
Ginny was crying softly beside him, and on the other side of her Ron was staring off into space. Chloe Chabert was fingering her wedding ring nervously, Ethan was passing, and Angie was flirting with a male doctor that looked familiar to Harry. Ernie Macmillan? Harry looked down at his own wedding band, twirling it around his finger. Three years of marriage, and it could all be over because one occult hater had to take his anger on my wife. My life could be over. He couldn't think about how he would live without her; perhaps he would kill himself. Hermione had warned him not to, but he didn't see any option if she was dead.
The word dead made chills run up his spine. Oh, god, please don't be dead. Please. He remembered a day, a fall day like today, two years ago. He and Hermione were having a picnic.
"I love fall," she had said, motioning to the colorful woods behind her. Harry had watched her, her bushy brown hair falling beyond the shoulders of her wool, red sweater. Her khaki pants were too long, he had noticed. One could barely see her brown, leather oxfords
"I love you," he had responded, not taking his eyes off of her.
She had grinned. "I know. You married me, didn't you?"
He had leaned over and kissed her. "It was the best decision I've ever made." *
He wanted more moments like that. He remembered the first time he kissed her, outside of the restaurant where she had had her rehearsal dinner for David's and her wedding. His eyes watered up with tears. He bent his head so that no one would see his sobs.
"Are you all right?" Ginny inquired.
Harry shook his head, not being able to open his mouth for the fear that he'd scream.
"I'm sorry," Ginny whispered. "I-I- oh god." Her voice trembled. "I don't know what to do. This sucks."
"Yes, it does," Harry agreed. "Very much so."
"Harry?" came a voice from in front of him. Harry looked up at the figure, dressed in blue scrubs.
"Yeah, Neville?"
Neville sighed. "Harry, why don't we go for a little walk, ok?"
"Where?"
"Just around the hospital."
"Ok." Harry stood up and walked in silence next to Neville. It was an awkward silence, both of them were bursting to speak, but didn't want to hear the truth.
"Harry," Neville finally said.
"Is she dead?" Harry asked.
"No." Neville shook his head. "Harry, I had a little speech prepared. Please let me continue."
"All right."
"I have bad news and good news."
"Ok."
"Good news is that Hermione is going to be okay. She's lost a lot of blood, she is cut and bruised and is going to be extremely sore, but she'll be fine."
"And the bad news?" Harry questioned, almost afraid to hear it.
"She lost the baby."
Harry felt as if he been punched in the stomach. "What?"
"It's dead, Harry. We couldn't save it. She got hit in the wrong place and the baby was dead by the time she arrived at the hospital."
"I should have called sooner," Harry whispered. "I wasted time."
Neville shook his head. "It still would have died. You didn't do anything wrong. Don't blame yourself. It was that crazy man, not you."
"Could she still have children? I mean-"
Neville nodded. "Yes. All her organs and such are fine, if that's what you mean. She can have kids, and I wish the best of luck for you."
"Neville?"
"Yes?"
"Is she out of surgery?"
Neville checked his watch. "She should be. Would you like to see her?"
"Please."
"Harry, I'm so sorry."
"It's not your fault."
"I know, but I feel bad. I hate having to break the news to people about these things. It's what I hate about my job."
Harry nodded. "I would hate it too."
"Her room is down that hallway, number 143. Do you want me to show you?"
"No, I'll be fine."
"Good luck," Neville called as he walked away.
***
Harry walked into the room and almost gasped at what he saw. He saw Hermione, asleep, laying down in the small, stiff bed, covered in cuts and bruises. She had an IV on her arm, and her face was red and swollen. Harry sat in the chair near her bead and took her hand. Not wanting to wake her up, he ran one finger down her palm. A long life line, he noticed with a grin.
"Harry?" she murmured.
He scooted closer to her. "I'm here, sweetie. I'm here."
She squeezed his hand. "Am I going to be all right?"
Harry nodded. "You've lost a lot of blood, but I think that's what the IV's for. You're going to be okay."
"What about internal bleeding?"
He shook his head. "I think you'll be ok, Herm. I trust the doctors."
"Unlike Ron," she added.
"Yeah," he chuckled. The two forced laughter.
She paused. "Is the baby okay?"
Harry didn't answer, he only looked at his feet. The room was silent for a minute.
"No," Hermione cried, turning over so she couldn't face Harry. "Is it… dead?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah."
"God," she whispered.
A tear fell from his eye and he didn't bother to wipe it away. "I know."
"Harry?"
"Yeah?"
She bit her lip. "Am I really going to be all right? I don't feel all right."
Harry looked at the floor, then at her. "Yeah, you're going to be okay."
"If I'm not-"
"You will be," he insisted.
"But if I'm not, and I die-" Harry cringed at the word. "You remember what we talked about, the other night?"
"Last night?"
"Yes."
"About not committing suicide?"
"Yes," she replied. "Don't."
"Herm, you're going to be fine," he told her forcefully. "You're going to recover completely. The doctors said so."
"Completely? Could I have kids if I wanted to?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah. If you want."
"If I want," she repeated.
"I love you," he whispered.
"I'm not going to live, am I?" she asked softly.
"Yes, you are. Why do you keep asking?"
She sighed. "It seems like you're keeping something from me."
He frowned. "I'm not keeping anything from you."
"Then what is it? What's wrong?"
Harry paused. "You look-" He caught himself and bit his tongue.
"Awful?" Hermione completed. "I look awful?"
Harry looked at her, then nodded. "But it's just cuts and bruises; they'll heal. Don't worry."
"Harry?" she whispered.
"Yeah?"
"I love you too."
***
Hermione awoke to shuffling in the room. At first sight, she saw a blur of white, blinding white. She shut her eyes, then reopened them. After a minute, she could make out someone else in the room, a woman.
"Hello," the woman said. She was about Hermione's age, if not a few years older, very pretty, and had auburn hair, bright green eyes, and a button nose. She was dressed in white nursing scrubs, and looked so horrible familiar-.
"Hyacinth Rettop," Hermione muttered.
Hyacinth smiled. "That's my name, don't wear it out! You're Hermione, right?"
Hermione nodded. "Right. We met in the park."
"I remember, don't worry," Hyacinth reassured her.
"Oh. What time is it?"
"Seven in the morning. Good morning, sweetheart."
"Good morning."
"I'm so sorry about your baby," Hyacinth whispered.
"So am I," Hermione said. "So am I."
"You were just starting to like the idea…" Hyacinth shook her head.
"I didn't know you worked here, or that you were a witch," Hermione commented.
Hyacinth grinned. "Not quite the thing you blurt out to strangers, now is it?"
"I guess not," Hermione said.
"I saw your husband. They made him leave a while ago," Hyacinth said. "He's grown up quite handsome, hasn't he?"
"I guess so." Hermione pondered this for a second. Grown up?
"Is he sweet?" Hyacinth asked. "Does he behave himself?"
"Yes," Hermione answered, a bit bewildered by her questions.
"He looks so much like-" Hyacinth caught herself in time. "Like my friend. They have the same hair."
"Really?" Hermione asked, puzzled.
Hyacinth noticed her confusion. "I'm just curious, dear."
"Ok," Hermione answered lamely.
"Are you upset about the baby?"
"Of course," Hermione admitted. "Very."
"I thought you were considering abortion," Hyacinth added.
"I was-" Hermione stopped. She had never mentioned abortion to Hyacinth. Then what…?
"Don't worry, darling," Hyacinth chimed as she fixed something on the IV. "I'm sure you'll have plenty of children. Trust me."
"Ok," Hermione said.
"So," Hyacinth said, sitting on the end of Hermione's bed. "I have a bit of time before I do my rounds. Tell me about yourself."
"I run a small environmental company. We find cures and such to both muggle and magical diseases. We also find new and improved ingredients for potions, etc. Considering it's only been around for a few years, it's done very well."
"It sounds lovely," Hyacinth commented. "And your husband, what does he do?"
"He works for the ministry," Hermione said. "He works in the department of crime enforcing."
"Is that a good job these days?"
These days? Hermione thought. "Yes, it is. His specialty is in the dark arts, of course."
"Of course!" Hyacinth exclaimed. "I mean, he is Harry Potter. Anything else would just be odd, you know? He's so powerful."
"Yes, I guess so," Hermione admitted.
"So, how's your marriage?"
Hermione thought this was none of Hyacinth's business and was about to say so, but the little voice in the back of her head urged her not to. "Good."
"Elaborate on good, please."
Hermione smiled. "Very good. Lately we've been fighting about the baby, but other than that we don't really have that many problems."
Hyacinth grinned. "Do you love him?"
"Yes," Hermione said softly. "Very much."
"That's good. It's good he has so many people who love him. He had it so bad when he was growing up; I feel so guilty…" Hyacinth frowned.
"Guilty?"
She shook her head. "I know I couldn't have done anything about it, but you just feel bad, you know?"
"I know what you mean."
Hyacinth grinned. "I think you'd make a good mum."
"Why?" Hermione questioned her. "I'm not patient, I'm bossy, I'm hard headed."
"Hermione, no," Hyacinth said. "Believe me, I was those things too. Yet when I had my child, I learned patience. I wasn't as bossy. And you do need to be a bit stubborn, but you do soften."
"How is your son?" Hermione asked.
"Good," Hyacinth answered. "He's doing very well. He's growing up too fast!"
Hermione laughed. "I'm sorry."
She smiled sadly. "Don't be. One of the most wonderful things as a mother is to see your children grow up. I just wish-."
"Wish what?"
"Nothing, nothing." Hyacinth checked her watch. "Well, I do believe that I need to be getting home." She stood up and walked towards the door to the room.
"You don't have more rounds?" Hermione asked.
"No," Hyacinth commented. "You were my last patient. I hope you feel better."
"Will you come back?" Hermione questioned, feeling a bit childish for doing so.
"I don't know," Hyacinth admitted.
"I hope I'll see you then, all right?"
"Someday," Hyacinth said with a sly smile. "Gotta go."
"Hyacinth," Hermione called.
"Yes?"
"How old is your son, anyhow?"
Hyacinth smiled, and she looked vaguely familiar. "Twenty five." She turned around and left.
What? Twenty five? What was that all about? Is that her idea of a joke? If her son was twenty five, who was with her in the baby carriage the day before? Who was she? Hermione suddenly became a bit scared. Who was it that Hermione had told her life story to? Who was the kind woman who had reassured her in the park? Who was the sweet nurse who had told her that her life would go on, who had told her that she would have children? Who was the pretty red haired, green eyed woman? Who is Hyacinth Rettop?
Wait a minute. Hermione's blood stopped flowing for an instant. Rettop. R-E-T-T-O-P. A chill went down Hermione's spine. R-E-T-T-O-P. P-O-T-T-E-R. Oh my god. Hyacinth Potter? Hyacinth- that was a flower, wasn't it? Lily? Hermione bit her lip. It all fit, the red hair, the green eyes, the nose- she had seen the woman before, in pictures. Her interest in Harry and her son's wife…. Oh god. But she's dead, Hermione told herself. Lily's dead. She's been dead for twenty four years. People just don't rise from the grave twenty four years after their deaths! Yet Hermione didn't rule out the possibility; in her years being exposed to the wizarding world, she believed things that she would never think. Lily? Lily Potter? Here? Sitting next to me? Talking to me? Is it really her, or is this someone's idea of a really sick joke?
Hermione's head fell against her pillows as she fainted.
***
"Hermione?" Harry whispered.
Hermione fluttered her eyes open to see her husband looking down at her. "Hey."
"How are you feeling?" he asked softly.
"Fine." Fine didn't cover it. Her heart was physically aching with remorse for her lost child, her mind was jumbled together so that one thought couldn't be distinguished from the next, and her body was so sore.
Harry sat on the bed next to her. She put her head in his lap and he stroked her hair. "You sure?"
"No," she admitted.
"Me too," he squeaked.
"When can I get out of here?" she asked.
"Soon."
"Soon?"
"A few days," he told her. "Hey- I have good news."
"What?"
"Maggie woke up," he whispered, stroking her hair.
"Is she going to be ok?"
He nodded. "She'll have to go through some physical therapy, but she'll be fine. The doctors are saying that she'll walk and everything."
Hermione smiled. "I bet Ron's ecstatic."
"I'll bet so too. He is really upset about you, though."
"He is?"
Harry nodded. "And about the baby. He was going to be godfather, you know." Hermione nodded. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I know you don't like talking about it."
"It's ok," she whispered, squeezing his hand.
"You look better," he told her, changing the subject.
"Harry, I haven't even been in the hospital twenty-four hours. How do I look better?"
He shrugged. "Well, they're doing some charms to speed up recovery. Not all your bruises are healing the muggle way."
"Oh."
"So," he said. "What have you been doing while they made me leave? Have you been sleeping?"
She shook her head. "I've been talking to a nurse."
"Really? That's good."
"Harry," she started. "Can I ask you something?"
"What is it?"
"Do you have a picture of your mother?"
"What?"
"Do you?"
"Several," he answered, bewildered.
"Do you have one on you?" she asked.
He wordlessly took his wallet out of his pocket and handed it to Hermione. She flipped through the pictures- one of her, him, and Ron at school; one of their wedding; one just of her. She saw then what she was looking for, a picture of Lily and James Potter. James did look almost identical to Harry, except the eyes. Lily had Harry's eyes. She stared at the woman, and found Hyacinth Rettop staring back at her.
"Thanks," Hermione said, voice shaking, as she handed the wallet back to Harry.
He looked at her, confused. "You're welcome."
She snuggled closer to him. "I need some sleep."
"I'll go," he said, starting to get up.
"No," she said, grabbing his hand. "Stay with me."
"Ok," he whispered, laying down next to her. She scooted closer and he wrapped his arms around her.
"Harry?"
"Yes?"
"Goodnight," she whispered before dosing off in his arms.
"Goodnight, sweetheart," he told the sleeping figure before indulging in much needed slumber himself.
***
The next few days went by in a blur. Hermione remembered a lot of needles, a lot of nurses, a lot of visitors, including her parents, Ron, Ginny, her cousin Iris, and the Chaberts. Harry, of course, practically was living at the hospital, sleeping in the chair beside her bed and in the lobby when the nurses ushered him out. Hermione found that she hated hospital food; it was much worse than her own cooking. She lived off the pastries and chocolate frogs Harry brought in. "I can't wait for a real meal," she told him often, and he promised to cook her real food when she arrived home. She had mixed feelings about going back to their flat, where she had been beaten to a pulp almost a week before. She shrugged the feeling off.
She was walking and moving around the hospital now. Harry kept on telling her that she was looking better, but she didn't really believe him. She did feel more free with the IV out of her arm. The day before she had visited Maggie.
"Hey," Hermione said, sitting down beside Maggie's bed.
"Hello," Maggie whispered.
"How do you feel?"
"All right."
"That's good."
"I'm sorry about your baby. I didn't even know you were pregnant, so-"
"I know. Don't say it, I know."
"You've always been so kind to me, Hermione."
She grinned. "And you to me."
"Thank you."
"Don't worry about it. Are Ron and you speaking to each other?"
"Are you kidding? The first time I saw him he was holding a dozen roses on his knees. Of course we are."
"That's good."
"I have my engagement ring back," Maggie stated, holding up her ring finger.
"When are you going to be married?"
"After I go through physical therapy, which will be in about six months. Then we can start planning and start doing things again."
"So you probably won't be married for another year."
Maggie shrugged. "That's what it sounds like. You'll be a bridesmaid, I hope."
"Of course."
"I'm sure you'll have children, Hermione. Don't worry about it."
Hermione nodded and forced a smile.
***
"Welcome home," Harry whispered in her ear. The apartment had been cleaned up; all the lamps and fixtures fixed or replaced, the couch placed back in its proper place. The hardwood floors had been cleaned, as was the carpet in the bedroom.
"It's clean," she commented.
Harry laughed and squeezed her closer. "I thought you might like that."
She quickly walked through the flat, remembering every little detail of her home, the smells, the cracks in the walls, everything. Harry followed her with fascination, watching her every mood. "Are you hungry?" he asked her.
She shook her head. "No." She crossed across the hallway into their bedroom. It looked almost unnaturally made up; the carpet had been cleaned almost too well to get the blood stains out. Her blood. Maybe her baby's blood. Her dead child. Why wasn't it her who died? Why was it the baby? Lily died for her child, why didn't she get the same chance, the same honor? The question rebounded in her head, why? Why? Tears strolled down Hermione's cheeks. She was having difficulty breathing, and her legs started to give out. She kneeled onto the floor, convulsing in sobs.
"Come here," Harry said softly as he picked her up and carried her to their bed. There he held her while she cried, kissed her tears. "What's wrong?" he asked, creating an entirely new burst of sobs. She just cried, and he held her.
"Sorry," she sniffed, wiping her tears.
He lightly kissed her cheek, tasting the salt of her tears. "Don't be sorry."
"I really wanted that baby," she whispered.
Harry tilted her face up to face him. "You did?"
Hermione nodded. "Yes, I did."
A tear fell down his face. "I didn't know that."
"I didn't know either until it was too late."
He hugged her and buried his face in her hair. "Well, there's no use in crying. It won't bring the baby back."
"I don't really feel like doing much else."
"The only thing we can do," Harry said softly, relaxing his grip on Hermione, drawing back so that his face looked directly into hers. "Is to try again."
She nodded, lowering her head.
"We'll try again, and eventually, we'll succeed."
"I know," she said, raising her gaze to look at him. "We will."
"I love you."
"Love you too."
"You want to try again now?" he asked playfully, raising an eyebrow.
She grinned. "Why not?" He smiled and kissed her.
A/N: I am done! Yes! All 74 pages! I'll be done with Miracle soon, and then I'll be fic-free. Poor me. I'm actually considering writing a sequal to this one. You know, a sequel to the sequel? It'll be around Ron & Maggie's wedding. It'll probably be pretty fluffy, though with a bit of angst, you know, so it doesn't get to stupid. You like? Write your comments/suggestions in the review, ok? ok!
Disclaimer:
Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Molly Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Bill Weasley, Charlie Weasley, Percy Weasley, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Neville Longbottom, James Potter, Lily Potter, Ernie Macmillan, and Diagon Alley belong to an author named J.K. Rowling.
Maggie Chabert, Chloe Chabert, Ethan Chabert, Angie Chabert, the name Hyacinth Rettop, Bob Middle, the McGills, and Susie and her paramour Matt belong to me.