"It is not the answer that enlightens, but the question." --Eugène Ionesco

Chapter Three: Age Makes No Difference

"Marlene tells me that you want to have a baby. Is that true, Miss Granger?"

The look on the matron's face was very much like Madam Pomfrey's whenever she had a student in her care that had done something very stupid. The familiarity soothed her. Somehow that disapproving look was more comforting to Hermione than the overly helpfulness of the nurse that took her vitals a few moments ago. She knew what caused that look. Children out of wedlock were still rare in the Wizarding world, a world where respectable women were married within a few years of graduating Hogwarts.

"Yes, madam."

"Are you aware that becoming a single mother--particularly in this way--is highly unusual?"

"Yes, madam."

The medi-witch didn't say anything, didn't even nod to signal that she had heard Hermione's answer. For a few minutes, all that was done was the shuffling of papers that Hermione assumed made up her file. Most people--most Gryffindors--would have become nervous with the lengthening silence, but her lessons throughout sixth and seventh year with Severus Snape had vaccinated her against uncomfortable silences. The training had also continued into her work. Being an Unspeakable had often required her to remain silent when others would have spoken. This woman had nothing on the other people Hermione had had to deal with over the years.

"Are you also aware that you'll have no choice in the father, rather like muggle artificial insinuation? That it can be any wizard in the word?"

"N-no, madam," Hermione started. Why couldn't they control that? "I wasn't aware of that aspect."

"You look puzzled. Do you have any questions?"

"Why can't you control who the father is?"

"We can't control that aspect with unmarried witches. We can with married couples. A Wizarding couple is magically bonded during the wedding ceremony. The spell has an anchor."

"I think I understand."

"Do you still want to go through with it?"

"...I'm not sure..."

"I'll give you the contracts you'll need with all the information you'll need to know if you decide to go through with it. You can read them at your leisure and come back next week some time. Okay?"

"Okay."

-/--/--/--/--/-

Hermione was ten when Marguerite Sarah Granger was born. When Naman had taken Hermione to see her new little sister and her mother in the hospital, Hermione had been amazed that flower heads had started raining down on everybody in the small hall way. Her parents, however, didn't view it as amazement, but jealously. They both told her that their love for her had not changed, but as days want by and the eldest grangers spent an increasing amount of time at the hospital with Rity, Hermione had started to doubt their word.

To the ten-year-old Hermione, it had been annoying. What had happened to the people who read from history textbooks to her or taught her Romanian, Welsh, French, and Latin? Looking back later, Helen and Daniel Granger's behavior had made sense. Rity had decided to come nine weeks too early. As if that was not enough, the delivery had nearly killed both mother and child.

Hermione had spent those tense months at her grandmother's house. With the troop camped out on the modest grounds, it was crowded and almost never silent. While the many relatives would tell Hermione tales of brightly colored caravans filled with powerful choovihni and beautiful dancers, no on said anything about the two lives balanced on the edge of death. After all, she was only a child, too young to know.

Then she asked about her mummy and her new baby sister. No sooner had the question left her lips than it had been answered. Years would go by before she thought to ask her grandmother why she had chose that day to tell her. Harriette Cooper had just blinked her eyes owlishly at Hermione as if she was confused. Blackwing, Naman's pet owl, had mimicked her mistress' actions.

"But I didn't choose, m'dear. You did," Naman had explained in her thick Romany accent. "You were only a child until you asked. But remember this, my wise Hermione: once you are old enough to ask the question, you are old enough to know the answer."

Those words shaped her opinions for the rest of her life. Before she asked a question, she would always remember that answer. Such a small answer had never failed to make her wonder about the biggest things.

Selective ignorance is such a small thing.