Part Nine: Blood Of The Father
The clinic was cold, and its sterile walls and floors seemed to be closing in on Hermione and Fred as they sat, straightbacked, in the bolted-down metal chairs of the waiting room. Any minute now...Lovingly, she fondled the hairbrush laying in her lap. It had been Harry's, one of the few possessions she'd kept back from the crowds that came to empty his house after they'd found him, cold and lifeless, like the walls that surrounded her. The mornings she'd wake up in his bed, she would run the brush over his untidy locks made even more unkempt by the night's activities and laugh as they sprange back to life despite her attempts. Sighing as she slowly detatched herself from her nostalgia, Hermione turned to Fred. His face was pallid and his eyes were red, but he seemed oddly at peace. Earlier, he had seemed to be holding his breath in anticipation, but now his breath was streaming steadily through clenched teeth as he stared at the cracks in the floor tiles.
"Fred," she said timidly, placing an awkward hand on his arm. "I want to thank you...for doing this for me."
Curtly, he stood. "I'm not doing this for you," he said, beginning to pace. "I'm doing this for Ron."
Hermione grunted a response, turning back to her musings with the brush. All things considered, Fred was starting to take things rather well. She had felt him recoiling from her, reeling in the friendly air with which he carried himself, even as he had wrapped his arms around her sob-racked form. It was only fair, of course. She had betrayed his trust and soiled the name of his dead brother, and then asked him to give of himself in order to help her clear her name. At first, he had insisted that there must be some sort of magical way to divine the name of Lily's father, but Hermione stood her ground. There would be no magic meddling in this affair. She wanted science, logic-- proof in the form of a printed report. She wanted something she could read. So Fred had complied, and submitted a DNA sample to the lab they had visited to match the hair that Hermione had given in representation of Harry. And then they had sat. For what seemed like a million years, they sat, sighing and groaning and twiddling there thumbs. But, any minute now...
"Miss Granger?" A portly nurse had appeared in the room, her flaxen-coloured hair slipping out of its loose braid as she spoke. "I have the results for your paternity tests here. There are separate reports for both children." The nurse accosted Hermione slowly, her face serene and smiling as though she had not just sent another lightning bolt into Hermione's ever-darkening sky.
"I'm-- I'm sorry," Hermione said, flabberghasted. "Both children?"
"Well, yes..." said the nurse curiously. "Since the births took place locally we were able to obtain blood samples from both babies easily. The request form you filled out only mentions a question over one child, but we assumed you would like them both tested, as they were born at basically the same time, I--"
"What?" Fred, who until then had appeared to be lost in a trance of his memories, stood, snatching the papers out of the nurse's hands. Despite whimpers of protests from Hermione and the admonishing gaze of the nurse next to her, Fred read aloud the top lines from each page. "In the question of blood sample A, Miss Lily Genevra Granger, tests indicate that there is a 99.9% possibility that the father is blood sample C, Mister Ronald Weasley." Pausing only shortly, for a gasp of relief, Fred continued to read. "In the question of blood sample B, Mister Albus Arthur Granger, tests indicate...father is.....Harry Potter. Hermione, what the--"
But Hermione wasn't listening. Air refused to enter her lungs, no doubt scared out of them just by the sound of his name. Albus Arthur, secret number two. Before she could answer or protest in her defense, the room began to spin, and the world went black.
The clinic was cold, and its sterile walls and floors seemed to be closing in on Hermione and Fred as they sat, straightbacked, in the bolted-down metal chairs of the waiting room. Any minute now...Lovingly, she fondled the hairbrush laying in her lap. It had been Harry's, one of the few possessions she'd kept back from the crowds that came to empty his house after they'd found him, cold and lifeless, like the walls that surrounded her. The mornings she'd wake up in his bed, she would run the brush over his untidy locks made even more unkempt by the night's activities and laugh as they sprange back to life despite her attempts. Sighing as she slowly detatched herself from her nostalgia, Hermione turned to Fred. His face was pallid and his eyes were red, but he seemed oddly at peace. Earlier, he had seemed to be holding his breath in anticipation, but now his breath was streaming steadily through clenched teeth as he stared at the cracks in the floor tiles.
"Fred," she said timidly, placing an awkward hand on his arm. "I want to thank you...for doing this for me."
Curtly, he stood. "I'm not doing this for you," he said, beginning to pace. "I'm doing this for Ron."
Hermione grunted a response, turning back to her musings with the brush. All things considered, Fred was starting to take things rather well. She had felt him recoiling from her, reeling in the friendly air with which he carried himself, even as he had wrapped his arms around her sob-racked form. It was only fair, of course. She had betrayed his trust and soiled the name of his dead brother, and then asked him to give of himself in order to help her clear her name. At first, he had insisted that there must be some sort of magical way to divine the name of Lily's father, but Hermione stood her ground. There would be no magic meddling in this affair. She wanted science, logic-- proof in the form of a printed report. She wanted something she could read. So Fred had complied, and submitted a DNA sample to the lab they had visited to match the hair that Hermione had given in representation of Harry. And then they had sat. For what seemed like a million years, they sat, sighing and groaning and twiddling there thumbs. But, any minute now...
"Miss Granger?" A portly nurse had appeared in the room, her flaxen-coloured hair slipping out of its loose braid as she spoke. "I have the results for your paternity tests here. There are separate reports for both children." The nurse accosted Hermione slowly, her face serene and smiling as though she had not just sent another lightning bolt into Hermione's ever-darkening sky.
"I'm-- I'm sorry," Hermione said, flabberghasted. "Both children?"
"Well, yes..." said the nurse curiously. "Since the births took place locally we were able to obtain blood samples from both babies easily. The request form you filled out only mentions a question over one child, but we assumed you would like them both tested, as they were born at basically the same time, I--"
"What?" Fred, who until then had appeared to be lost in a trance of his memories, stood, snatching the papers out of the nurse's hands. Despite whimpers of protests from Hermione and the admonishing gaze of the nurse next to her, Fred read aloud the top lines from each page. "In the question of blood sample A, Miss Lily Genevra Granger, tests indicate that there is a 99.9% possibility that the father is blood sample C, Mister Ronald Weasley." Pausing only shortly, for a gasp of relief, Fred continued to read. "In the question of blood sample B, Mister Albus Arthur Granger, tests indicate...father is.....Harry Potter. Hermione, what the--"
But Hermione wasn't listening. Air refused to enter her lungs, no doubt scared out of them just by the sound of his name. Albus Arthur, secret number two. Before she could answer or protest in her defense, the room began to spin, and the world went black.