You're All I Need to Get By

Chapter Thirteen: By Trial and Error

My lover spoke to me and said to me, Arise, my darling, my beautiful one, and come with me. See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come, the cooing of doves in heard in our land. The fig-tree forms its early fruit; the blossoming vines spread their fragrance. Arise, come my darling; my beautiful one, come with me.

Song of Songs 2:10-13

But as to myself, having been wearied out for many years with offering vain, idle, visionary thoughts, and at length utterly despairing of success, I fortunately fell upon this proposal…

Jonathon Swift, A Modest Proposal

Hermione Granger sat back from her desk with a sigh. The chair she was sitting on shifted back a little and allowed her to push it down while she stretched her arms above her head and pulled the muscles. Across the wooden table Albus Dumbeldore sat, immobile and shocked, his pale face wan and tired looking. His eyebrows were inclining towards being knitted in the middle, but apparently his shock was too great for this to happen. His fingers were steepled above the elbows propped on the desk. The worst sign of an accountant, transferred to a former revolutionary counting the costs even eight years after the battle.

'They sent him to Azkaban,' she said slowly, 'the day after the trial. He died.'

Dumbeldore was silent, pondering the pensieve he had been swimming in a moment ago. The thick silvery strands swirled, showing flashes of colour. The face of Zacharias Smith floated to the front, in the Leaky Cauldron, earnestly discussing the colour of his butterbeer. Behind him Hermione laughed, downing orange schnapps.

'He died on the evidence of my superior,' she added after a moment, watching her own face with a strange fascination.

'I am sorry,' Dumbeldore croaked at last, and Hermione felt herself idly wondering why he seemed so upset abut the death of Smith when even Bill Weasley's death eight years ago had been taken calmly.

The pensieve swam again, Smith's face burying itself deeply within the grey tinted substance of Hermione's thoughts. A faint memory of her commander swam before the two silent puppets sitting by the desk, the pensieve seeming to respond to their thoughts.

Hermione almost choked, almost gagged, almost threw the moon like bowl across the room to watch the memories of her friend sink and die as he had done. Her heart was made of sawdust, and it rose up into her mouth. She could feel nothing. Her thoughts were empty. She folded her stretched arms neatly across her lap and clasped the pale hands together, watching the flat abdomen rise and fall. Dumbeldore sighed and reached across the desk to pat her arm in a falsely comforting manner.

'What should we do?' he asked, and she looked up surprised.

'And so the prey becomes the predator,' she remarked quietly, watching him keenly.

'I confess I am out of ideas. I trusted the Commander, he had stood by us. Why he should do this mystifies me.'

'HERMIONE!' screamed the pensieve suddenly, Zach's face fighting to the front again, 'DO SOMETHING! Why are you just sitting there?'

The shocked faces of the jury glanced past him at her, the blank, bland walls of the Wizengamot blinked at her briefly as he moved his head. His matted blonde hair looked dark under the lank grease which had accumulated. His eyes were wide and wild.

'Save us,' he whispered, and sank back into his trance as he was stupefied by the aurors who stood on guard.

'The Unspeakable Department,' Hermione began with finality, 'must be cleansed. How many more will he send off to Azkaban on false evidence? Dumbeldore, something must be done.'

'You are right of course,' the old man said sadly, 'a new leader must be elected.'

'I will speak to him,' Hermione said, standing up from the desk and picking up the pensieve carefully, as if it were a tiny child, 'A vote of no confidence must be called.'

Dumbledore sat dumbly as she opened the box where her pensive slept, and cradled it there to rest until she needed it again. His blue eyes watched the wall dimly; wrinkled hands tucked into the sleeves of his wizarding robes.

It was sudden and shocking. Hermione let out a brief rush of air and crouched over, gathering her arms to her abdomen hungrily. It was over in a brief second, but the purple wrist band she had been wearing for the last three weeks gleamed brightly, casting an eerie glow over her straightened body.

'Oh,' she gasped suddenly, looking at the simple loop of plastic as if it were the most precious thing on earth, 'Oh.'

There was a whirl of purple around her and she stumbled suddenly, her feet touching the cold marble floor of St Mungo's Hospital briefly before she was snatched from falling. A male nurse was holding her elbows and beaming genially at her in recognition.

'Miss Granger,' he said happily, 'at last.'

'Last?' she panted out, another pain ripping through her, 'why are they so painful?'

'Amplified birth,' he replied in a happy tone of voice, guiding her through a large set of double doors and into a bare room.

In all honesty, it was not a bare room. It was dominated by a purple cocoon, about the size of an oval beach ball, with bumps appearing on the surface every so often. The walls gleamed with a strange purple light, and at the base there was a tiny opening appearing. Against the magical window a large bed lay ready, which the happy nurse led her over to and sat her upon. The mattress was firm beneath her legs, and a little crinkly, as if too many protection spells had been used on it.

'You just stay there,' he smiled happily, revealing perfectly gleaming teeth, 'midwitch Nancy will be here any moment. '

Midwitch Nancy, it turned out, was an absolute darling of a particularly ferocious midwitch. She had rather short dark hair intermittedly woven with silver, in tight curls on her wrinkled head, piercing brown eyes and stood at around the nurse's waist.

'Morning, Miss Granger,' she boomed in a voice that was too large to be true, 'anyone we need to contact?'

'My,' Hermione floundered for a moment sadly, 'Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.'

'And where can we find him?' the nurse chirped brightly, as Nancy gave him a scathing look.

'Dr Malfoy,' she said, 'Seventh floor – go and ask reception to call him down.'

'Oooooh,' gasped the nurse in relative awe, 'Going private are you?'

'No,' growled the Unspeakable angrily as another pain swept over her relentlessly, 'He's the father.'

'Damn,' the nurse remarked cheerfully, 'and there was me thinking he was gay. How awful.'

'Get on with it!' Nancy almost shrieked from behind her wand, and the nurse (whom Hermione was beginning to suspect was gay himself) scurried off to do her bidding.

The purple cocoon was beginning to thump around madly now, the faint pressure of a tiny hand appearing here and there in obvious anger. The two witches sat in silence for a moment, watching it, one in awe, one in a calculating manner.

'Can't find him,' chirruped the nurse loudly, strolling back into the room some half an hour later.

Hermione was sweaty and angry now; her face red as she huffed and puffed in attempts to control the pain. The midwitch was standing by the purple cocoon, peering at the widening gap, and smiling in obvious approval.

'We're ready to go,' she announced suddenly, 'you'll just have to do without him.'

It was obvious she didn't believe Malfoy was the father, or that this annoyed chit of a witch knew what he was doing at this precise moment.

'No!' Hermione screamed loudly, slamming her fist down on the starched bed, 'no, no, no!'

Nancy was not listening. Her wand was outstretched, tracing a pattern on the purple cocoon as she freed the struggling baby.

Hermione couldn't see; her eyes were filled with tears of betrayal and anguish. She barely noticed when a scream pierced the air, a new pair of lungs greedily sucking in air.

The first she knew of her baby was a pair of tiny grey eyes unfocused, but watching the wall behind her with some degree of cool fascination. Long lashes framed his open eyes, and tiny wrinkled fingers hadn't uncurled yet, although it was clear he had been hanging around in the purple cocoon long enough to open his eyes.

There was complete silence. Hermione gazed at the baby. The baby gazed at the wall.

'AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGG'

General Note: so many thanks to those who reviewed. I'm so sorry I can't thank you personally, but I will soon. I thought you might want this now more than later…

No, Draco isn't off chasing some tart with long legs. Or hang on, maybe he is. For medical research you understand. Only joking.

And in case you think I'm being completely inaccurate portraying Baby with his eyes open, I was born with my eyes open, so it can be done. Go me.

Right, I need baby names.

And reviews.

Please.