Disclaimer: I don't own anything you probably recognize in this story. However, the plot is copyrighted © to me, jaeEun. You plagiarise, you die.
The memory-movie screen cleared, and Hermione could see, hear and feel the young woman's emotions, her surroundings, her thoughts – as if they were her own; an exceptional insight. She tensed, uneasy, then tried to relax – she had been brought here for a reason. She may as well find out why.
The young woman – her features were clearer now, and Hermione could see they vaguely resembled that of hers. Obviously, the lovely, smooth dark-blue hair the woman was graced with hadn't been passed down to Hermione, but her manner and general features resembled that of Hermione's too much to be called a coincidence. She stood by the hearth, her arms protectively encircling her pregnant belly, as if by doing so she could keep it from all harm. She stared blankly into the merry, dancing fire, and hated it for being the same as ever, when everything around her was changing. Her emotions seemed to be very much out of control these days – it was most likely the babe.
Oh – the babe. My poor child… the woman sighed, and sat down in a nearby chair. She so wished she didn't have the Sight sometimes – it could really be a burden. Like now. What she'd just seen, she was better off not knowing. Now, she knew that her child would be a girl. However, she now also knew that they would be separated not long after the babe's birth, and that the babe's decisions, and that of the Malfoy heir's, would be a major factor in either the world's healing or demise. The outcome was not clear – the future never was, not even to those of the magical world. However, the fact that hurt the most was that she and Derig would be separated from Hermione; they'd decided to call her if she was a girl, which she was. It meant 'Well born'; how fitting.
They wouldn't be there to teach her first words, nor would they be able to see hr walk on unsteady feet, or hear her gurgle, scream or chuckle. They wouldn't be there to comfort her, to assure that everything would be alright. It just wasn't fair– the fact that this baby would actually survive, and they wouldn't be there to walk every step of her young life with her. She wanted to hurl things – anything! Justas long as it shattered, with that lovely, satisfying sound of something breaking. She was in the midst of contemplating throwing that useless glass at the wall when warm arms surrounded her and the babe. Saphe instinctively leaned back into Derig's embrace and the couple stood, silent, for a few moments.
'You know it's not good for the baby when you think unpleasant thoughts,' he murmured. A striking man, Derig de Vuis was plainly the father of Hermione – the same russet hair they possessed, but his was slightly lighter, and more controlled by way of mass. Also tall, and slight, Derig was a graceful man with the hidden power of a panther, ready to strike.
'She's not gong to be completely ours, anyway,' she threw back bitterly. 'She'll be going to some Muggle foster-home, where who knows what they'll teach her, and she'll know nothing about our kind, or who we are –'
'But you know why. And it's inevitable. To make a choice, especially ones as important as our Hermione's going to have to make – you know they shouldn't be influenced one way or the other. But with the Malfoy heir so dead-set against Mudbloods, Dumbledore's asked us to send Hermione to a Muggle family. Don't worry, it's Dumbledore…he'll have found the best place for our child. We will be able to see her again, we'll get her back, remember? Prior to her 7th year in Hogwarts…we'll get her back then…you'll be able to see her off to school…And we'll love her for all the time she wasn't with us…'
'She won't be ours…'
'She will be. More than we'll ever know.'
'Yes…you are right – she's ours. Always and Forever – life – it's such a simple, yet confoundingly complex thing.'
'You would have it any other way?'
'No…no. Life must've been given to us by someone – I have yet to find out who. It's too dangerous, too consequential to meddle with.'
Derig smiled – a sad smile – no matter what he said, the loss of his daughter would hit him hard, and he didn't like seeing Saphe this way. They had already lost 3 children, Hermione being the fourth – and to know that she would live – it was more than he'd ever hoped for, but…the nature of humans is always greedy…they wanted more.
Taken from them or not, the babe was, and always would be, theirs, just as he'd told Saphe.
ºtwo-and-a-half-weeks-later º
Saphe screamed, straining to push the babe from her womb, but, unfortunately, little Hermione proved to have a stubborn streak already. Derig's hand was about to be broken in many places, so extreme was the force she'd squeezed it with. Not that Derig felt it – every time Saphe screamed, he'd feel as if her were being wrenched apart, bit by bit. This painful anticipations was more excruciating than the Cruciatus Curse. 'I see the head, Ma'am!' this reverie was broken by Kris, the mediwitch. Saphe started to sow her breathing. Derig just sat there, feeling utterly useless, so tried to content himself – well, his conscience – by tying to calm Saphe down. She groaned, and – the mediwitch grimaced as she noted the cord around the infant's neck. She would have to get rid of that, and fast. It had been found that Saphe's opening was too small, and then to complicate matters even further, the infant had been found to be in the wrong position. Now, it was the umbilical cord around its neck. What next? Kris sighed, and with a sureness coming from years of experience, Kris deftly looped the cord over the babe's neck, and severed it quickly as the shoulders emerged. About time, too, she thought – it had been a most difficult and unusual birth. To be quite honest, Kris hadn't been sure the babe, or the mother, would live. Kris felt a wave of sympathy for Saphe – 3 miscarriages already, and not a thing anyone could've done about it. She admired Saphe and Derig for willing to try again.
After the shoulders had emerged, Kris helped Saphe by gently puling the baby from the womb. It was a tiny girl – very contrary, very stubborn, and very willing to stay alive. She knew this would be no mere ditz of a girl, to be pushed over by a pretty face and even prettier words. She wiped the blood from the body and passed her onto Derig, whose nerves look quite frazzled; close to breaking point, and whose expression was one of mingled joy and sadness. Ah, well. The de Vuis family had always been strange.
Dumbledore came about a week-and-a-half later to pay his compliments to the parents of the baby whom he was just about to take from them. How ironic, he thought. Paying compliments about the baby, then almost immediately taking her away. I don't like it, but it can't be helped. Then he sighed. Goodness. I seem to be doing this a lot lately. At least little Hermione has her parents.
Dumbledore was greeted at the door by one of the house elves, and directed to the sitting room, where the new family spent most of their time. As Dumbledore entered, he suddenly felt old – very old. Saphe wore a very determinedly strained, determinedly resigned smile, and Derig's face was a smooth mask of nothingness. He had better get this over and done with.
'Saphe! And Derig. I hope you, and Hermione, of course, are all well?'
'Yes, of course, Sir,' Saphe replied, her jaw aching from the effort to hold her tears in. 'She's asleep now, Sir, and would cause the least fuss if you'd take her now,' Saphe swallowed hard. She'd been so determined to not cry, to be strong, at least for Derig, but it wasn't working. If Dumbledore didn't take the babe now –
Albus Dumbledore carefully reached for the baby and cradled her in his arms.
- she'd never be able to let go of Hermione.
'She will be fine. I'm so sorry – and – thank you. Always remember that this is temporary – you'll be able to see Hermione soon.' Even the ever-present twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes had faded.
'Yes…it is temporary…' Saphe's voice was carefully muffled.
'Until we meet again,' Dumbledore murmured.
'Until then,' Derig answered.