Masks, a harry potter fanfic

Author's Notes: As I had been taking a break from 'Hand Talk', I my mind decided to finish off this story I had started to put together ages ago. I personally like it and hope you do too.

Summary: "The cool spring breezed whipped around them, the redheads echo's surrounding them, the night's darkness engulfing them under the starry sky." Everyone has masks. Everyone is trying to hide something. But sometimes, it is just too much and people just can't hold on anymore. RW/HG with a little HP/GW on the side.

Warnings: (Please forgive if I leave anything out) Non-HBP compliant, Character Deaths (well sort of…read and find out), Nudity (like you can see anything), Language (- English…hehehe)(just a little naughty) and Sexual content (one scene in particular, you will know which when you come across it). Therefore this story is rated MA 15+ (please note the use of Australian Broadcasting Guidelines). You have been warned. I therefore accept no responsibility…yada yada yada. You know the ususal.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story but I believe I can confidently say that I own the entire plot. So back way –screams at men in suits- I'm just a lonely student, not the wealthiest author, the oh so powerful JK Rowlings. –men keep coming- Well, anyway –gulps as they near with hand cuffs- enjoy the story. Bye. –runs off clutching story to chest as men give chase-

Masks

Hermione stood above the lake, the cool spring breeze washing over her face, billowing her hair and cloak behind her. It cooled her wet face as she watched the stars above twinkle, much like the many lights of the ancient castle behind her. Closing her eyes she breathed in the refreshing night air, listening to the gentle lapping of the water below her. Instinctively she raised her arms away from her body allowing the air to flow all around her.

This was peace to her. No knowledge to be gained, no friends to deceive, no people to avoid, no parents to mourn, no problems with her life. It was just her and the night.

The moonlight spilled all around her, reflecting off the water, seeping through the grass, creating the shadows of the night, giving landscape its endless greys.

This was not the Hermione everyone knew. This was her without her mask. The mask that she had so delicately created all those years ago; the little Muggle-Born witch that knew everything, who had few friends, who spent hours on end, her head stuck in a book, the little girl who wanted to belong, was falling apart. She had forgotten it was a mask until recently. She had become accustomed to those habits that she became the mask. The mask and her were one. Then it all began to fall apart, crumbling before her eyes. She couldn't hold that facade, the disguise her friends knew and befriended, any longer.

Opening her eyes she watched the almost invisible fog from her breath disappear. Her eyes were pink, so was her face. Her robes were unclasped, tie loosened, first few buttons undone. Her normally crisp appearance was crumpled somewhat.

In her right hand she held her wand; holly and ebony, twelve and one half inches, in her left a small inscribed stone, as black as night, each little niche in its surface a grey white.

Breaking her eye contact with the endless stars above her she looked at the stone in her hand. It depicted a whirlpool like design with different ruins symbols around the outer edge and covering the back. It had taken her a week to perfect, consuming both her time, energy and magic. The boys and teachers alike knew she was working on something of importance to her but none knew what it was. They just accepted it as her way of coping with the loss of her parents. As long as it didn't impede with her school work the teachers didn't mind and Harry and Ron, well, they were Harry and Ron, it wasn't like they cared what she did, just as long as she helped them get their assignments in on time and made sure they each got a passing grade. She knew every little line on this little stone intimately, everyone having a purpose and infused with magic. It was her escape in more ways than one.

Breathing in the crisp air she prepared to throw the stone over the cliff.

"Harry," Ginny Weasley giggled as he pulled her close, both hidden in the shadows. Their lips brushed lightly, then again, this time with a little more force. Harry's tongue brushed her lips, seeking entrance as they willingly parted. His tongue brushed against her teeth, rolling with her tongue, exploring, delving. Slowly Ginny's arms untangled themselves from around his neck pushing lightly on his shoulders. Reluctantly he pulled away.

"What's wrong? Was I too rough?" he asked concerned, his eyes disappearing in her chocolate ones.

"No, Harry, it was wonderful. But it's late and I don't want us to get caught by a teacher again."

Sighing he took her lips in a gentle kiss, just brush them. Kissing her nose then her eye lids, he replied, "I suppose so." Sliding his hands off her waist they made their way towards the front oak doors, hand in hand, fingers intertwined.

Breaking his eyes away from the girl beside him, Harry took in the surroundings. The cool to the touch stone work to one side the lake the other and a grassy area in between. Where they were now, the ground was higher than lake creating a cliff. It was then he spotted a lonely figure standing on a protruding segment of stone. From there, there was a perfect view of the lake and its surroundings. Their robes billowed in the light breeze, her hair flowing behind her.

She seemed to notice their soft footsteps crunching through the grass. She turned her head briefly to identify the two late wonderers before turning back to the endless stars before her.

"Hermione?" Harry called, both Ginny and himself stopping. "Hermione. Hermione, what are you doing out here?" he asked cautiously. When she did not reply he slipped his hand from Ginny's taking a few steps forward. "It's nearly past curfew. We all have to get back inside." Still no answer. He looked anxiously back at Ginny, she was just as confused.

Hermione breathed deeply taking a few steps towards the edge, just close enough to be able to throw the stone over and see it hit the lakes surface. As if sensing she was going to throw the small object over, the lake seemed to stop splashing about becoming still.

'Oh God,' Harry though, 'she's going to jump.' Hermione was never the sort to be considered suicidal, but it was always the ones you never suspect. 'Oh shit!' his brain screamed. 'Oh God, please don't let her jump.'

Turning back to Ginny she seemed to have sensed it too, fear, surprise and worry, all written in her eyes.

"Ginny, go get a teacher. Hurry," he whispered to her. She nodded stiffly, dashing off in the direction they were originally heading.

'Why are you here, Harry?' Hermione thought, sensing the tears begin to form behind her closed eyes. 'Why can't you just please leave me be? I just want to make it all go away.'

"Hermione, it's a little chilly out here, why don't you come back inside where it is warmer?" Silence.

"I'm fine out here," she answered in a very Luna-like voice.

'Finally, something,' Harry thought. "Are you sure? It's chilly with this breeze." No answer, damn! "It's getting late," he called, trying a different tactic, "it will be curfew shortly. We don't want to have to loose any House points." Harry took a few steps forward, not sure how close she would let him get.

"Don't you get it, Harry?" she called, laughter in her voice, "House points don't matter."

"You've always told your friends not to break the rules because it will loose us House points and now I'm trying to return the favour," he defended, taking another few steps forward and stopping.

Hermione just laughed softly into the wind. "That's not me, Harry. I have no friends." Her voice was becoming cold quite rapidly.

"What about me, Hermione, I'm your friend?" he told her, braving another few steps forward.

"No further, Harry," she called. He stopped instantly, not five meters away from her.

"What about Ron?" This time he got a reaction. Hermione spun around facing him, showing off her very casual looking uniform.

"If Ron is such a friend, where is he?"

"What do you mean? He's up in the Gryffindor Common Room, where we should be now."

"Where has he been?" she asked, ignoring him.

"Ron's been mourning the death of his brother, Hermione. You can't expect him to be around all the time. He needs time alone."

"And I lost my fucking parents!" she shouted. "He said he loved me? But where has he been when I needed him most?" She paused for a moment, willing the tears away. "I needed him, Harry, but no more. He can go and find someone else. I'm sure Lavender's willing to help him forget his pain."

Both lonely figures stood in silence for several moments. The only noise the slight rustling from the breeze.

"He said he loved me," she whispered, the pain written in her eyes. "He said he would never leave me, Harry," she cried as the tears began to slip down her reddening face, her arm wrapping around her stomach.

"I've lost everyone I ever loved. It's not like anyone would miss the insufferable know-it-all, the bucktoothed Mudblood, the bushy haired nerd," she spat.

"Hermione!" called a voice rounding the corner of Hogwarts castle. Harry whipped around to see a flushed Ron come into view. "Hermione, come away from there," he called as he came even with Harry.

When Harry looked back around Hermione was back facing the edge. 'Damn it!' "Ron's here now, Hermione, ask him," he told her, desperately hoping it would work. He just had to hold her off a little longer before a Professor arrived to intervene.

"Don't you understand what I've been saying, words don't mean a thing," she said to the wind. "They are simply that, words."

"Hermione, why are you doing this?" asked Ron.

Hermione turned around again, but this time stepped closer to the edge so she was barely a foot from the edge of the cliff, causing both boys to stiffen. "I gave you part of me, Ronald, and you chewed it up and spat it back in my face." Ron was utterly confused. He had no idea what she was talking about. "Where were you when I needed you?" Her arm wrapping around her mid-section again as the tears began to stream down her face. "I loved you, Ron. I think I still do, but you don't love me. Everyone expects too much of me. They all think I'm perfect, and I'm not. I can't do this anymore. Especially with this now."

Ginny ran off at top speed around the castle to the front doors, her chest burning. As she ran her cloak flared behind her, her hair flying back as if flaming. The cold grass whipped against her stockings as she ran, illuminated by the moonlight. She hissed in pain at the feel of a stich, her sprint faltering. Pressing a hand to her side she continued at a much slower pace, looking for anyone to help her.

No more than one hundred meters from the entrance hall she was spotted someone.

"Ron! RON!" she called to the patrolling redhead as he stepped out from the entrance to one of the little court yards scattered around the school.

"What is it? It's after curfew, you shouldn't be out here," he spoke walking up to her while she bent over heaving breaths. "I'm going to have to deduct points from Gryffindor for this."

"Ron," the younger sibling wheezed, "it's Hermione, she's over at the cliff by the lake. She's going to jump. Harry's trying to talk her down." The sixth year Gryffindor managed to lift her head enough to see her brother's expression pale.

"Over by the lake?" he enquired, placing a hand on her shoulder. She nodded. "Get a teacher quick. I'll go over and help Harry if I can." He set off at a run in the direction she had just come from.

Steadying her feet she jogged into the entrance hall and called out for someone, anyone.

"Miss Weasley, there is no need for such racket," drifted the icy voice of the bat of the dungeons. Walking up towards her he continued. "Ten points from Gryffindor for making too much noise, twenty for not taking care in your appearance," he continued, taking in her mattered hair, wet shoes and stockings and dishevelled robes, not to mention her loose tie and red lips, "and fifty points for being out after curfew. Now back to your dormitory immediately."

Ginny ignored him completely trying to get her breath back. "Sir," she finally gasped, "there is student. She's going to jump." Ginny wasn't sure how Snape would act learning that this suicidal student was Hermione Granger. He would simply deduct more points and send her off to bed with a detention to boot.

"In any case, who ever this student may be, I assure you, they cannot submit themselves too any danger jumping off any part of the castle. We teachers foresee that there will always be students foolish enough to take their own lives so we put in place precautionary spells and enchantments," he drawled as if bored.

"Sir, she's going to, jump off the cliff overlooking the lake." The Potions Master blanched slightly dashing out of the Entrance Hall, leaving Ginny to fall to the ground in sheer exhaustion.

Before either of the boys could answer her, the three heard approach of another person or perhaps people, most likely Ginny with a Professor. Hermione turned back around and threw the small stone over the edge, not far, just a meter or so. Turning back she watched Professor Snape come into view.

It was now or never. The boys didn't know the right spells but all the teachers knew how to safely stop her from jumping.

"Good-bye," she told the boys who had befriended her mask, who she had lied to for more than six years. Turning around she jumped off the ledge into the black abyss below, the cries of the three men following her decent.

"HERMIONE!" shouted Harry and Ron as she disappeared over the edge, arms spread, back arched, cloak fluttering behind her. All time seemed to stop, as the two seventh years watched her fall for what seemed like eternity. Everything was silent. The only thing in the world that mattered at that moment was Hermione. A blot of light passed over her head, just missing her, its origin the drawn wand of the Professor.

All three stood still, silent. When she disappeared from view it seemed that time righted itself, returning to its normal pace.

"Hermione, HERMIONE!" shouted Ron as he raced to the edge, falling on all fours to look over into the inky black depths of the lake.

"Out of the way," said the Potions Master, shoving Ron away from the edge. Looking down into the water, another bolt of light escaped his wand tip, shooting like lightening through the air and into the depths of the lake before defusing on the stony bottom, temporarily illuminating the waters very clearly. There was nothing, just the tangled seaweed and a few scatting fish. No Hermione. She was gone.

The Professor tried the spell again to the same effect, disbelief written across his face.

"No," whispered Ron, "no, she can't do this." Scrambling to the edge, he shouted, "Hermione, come back. Please, come back."

His words echoed around the three silent figures. The raven haired Professor turned around, watching the two boys, his face stony. The silent Gryffindor stood in the same place he had been when she jumped in total shock. The redhead at the edge peering over on all fours, shouting for her to come back, his face contorted in pain.

The cool spring breezed whipped around them, the redheads echo's surrounding them, the night's darkness engulfing them under the starry sky.

Three days later the boys and Ginny were going through Hermione's belongings sorting them for removal before the newly appointed Head Girl moved in.

Her carefully folded shirts stood pilled together along with her ties in the open draw of the wardrobe beside her other clothing. In the draw below, her casual wear. Her pristine robes hung securely on their hangers, hiding her Yule ball dress robes and other hung items of clothing. In the bottom of the open wardrobe her few pairs of shoes lined the bottom.

Her bed was standard issue, surrounded by Gryffindor maroon curtains. At the end of her freshly made bed her trunk stood open revealing its precisely packed belongings. Her school bag, its seams repaired multiple times, sagging against the trunk, its books, ink and quills spilling out on to the floor.

The beautiful oak desk was clear save for an ink well, three quills and spare parchment. Her bedside table displayed two photos, a still Muggle one of her parents and a magical one of the trio the previous summer taken at the burrow when life was good. The draws contents, like the rest of her belongings, all neatly packed. One draw containing her underclothes, another more clothing and the last extra stationary and potion supplies. Lastly, tucked in the far corner, nearly hidden by the wardrobe, was Crookshanks's basket along with his water and food dish.

The three quiet visitors sat around in a circle, emptying the contents of their best friend's trunk. The piles of books ever growing. Different bits and bobs surfacing from the trunk that they didn't even know she had, like an issue of the Quibbler and a well-worn photo album of her life, before and during Hogwarts, photos thanks to Colin Creevy.

Beside Ginny sat an open letter. The last letter Hermione wrote to them. She spoke of a mask and not being who everyone thought her to be, how everyone expected too much of her, how she was too young for this, what it was she didn't say, how she missed her parents and it was as though no one understood, how she had found an answer to her problems, how it was so simple it had been staring her in the face all along.

A knock at the door broke them from their silence. "Come in," Ginny called.

Professor McGonagall stepped through the entrance. "How's everything going? Any problems?"

"No, Professor," answered Ginny. "We found a diary but Hermione's locked it up tight. I think it is probably best if we leave her some privacy."

The Deputy Headmistress nodded. She may be gone but she still deserved some respect.

"Also," she continued, "we found this potion." Ron handed the vial in question to Professor McGonagall. "It was in a box with an engraving tool. We thought someone might know what it is."

The Transfiguration Professor studied the tightly sealed bottle. The contents a thick tar like constancy, midnight black. The vial was unmarked.

"I must say, I have never come across such a potion, but I will be sure to pass it on to Professor Snape to look at. Thank-you." Pocketing the small vial she moved towards the doorway. "I'll be back in around an hour to see how you are doing."

With that she left the room as the three occupants became engrossed once more in the task at hand.

After Hermione's death, her funeral was originally scheduled one week later, exactly one week before exams but an interruption the day after McGonagall received the vial of unknown potion, it all changed.

"Now remember the circle must be symmetrical," directed Professor Flitwick to his Advanced Charms Class as a knock at his door interrupted his speech. "Ah, Professor McGonagall, how can I help you?" he asked as the Scottish woman stood in his doorway.

"May I please borrow Potter and Weasley?" she asked, her voice betraying nothing.

"Certainly."

"Thank-you. Boys," McGonagall added when neither made any move to leave their seats. "Bring your bags with you."

Hurriedly the two Gryffindor's shoved away their notes and textbooks. Sparing a curious glance at each other they nearly jogged to the door to avoid point deduction for tardiness.

"Professor Snape has found the potion you found in Miss Granger's belongings to be of consequence and has asked for your presence," she told them as they walked briskly down towards the dungeons. Both Gryffindor's exchanged curious glances again, unsure of what this development could mean.

McGonagall knocked on the hard wood door leading to the lair of Severus Snape.

"Enter," replied the icy voice from within. "Potter, Weasley, sit," he greeted them, gesturing to two hard seats before him. Both complied, dumping their bags beside the chairs as McGonagall conjured her own chair to sit on as she was ignored by the Potions Master but seem unfazed as he went about searching through his desk draws. Plucking out a small vile he shut the draw, turning to his guests.

"Tell me, where did you find this?" he questioned them holding up familiar vile they had found in Hermione's trunk.

"It was in Hermione's trunk, Sir," answered Harry. "Do you know what it is?"

The sour looking man ignored his question, "Was it in any thing or just lying at the bottom of her trunk?"

"It was in a little, plain old looking wooden box," Ron told his teacher. "What's it to you?"

"Was there anything else in the box?" he continued.

"What's with all the questions?" enquired Harry becoming a little agitated. "It was in a little wooden box, wrapped in a dark cloth, beside a small tool with a pointed tip at the bottom of her trunk. Okay?"

"I will not tolerate your cheek, Mister Potter," he growled.

"Severus," interrupted the previously silent Deputy Headmistress, "will you please just tell us what the meaning of that potion is. I trust that it has some significance seeing as you requested the three of us meet here."

"It does," he replied shortly before returning his attentions to the two troublesome students before him. It seemed that Miss Granger's unfortunate 'accident' had had certain repercussions on the remaining two thirds of the Gryffindor trio. They both seemed a lot quieter. Perhaps it was her presence that resulted in their usual erratic behaviour. That was something to dwell on at another time though.

"Do you have the box with you or is it packed away with the rest of her belongings?"

"Her is not her name, it is Hermione, or Miss Granger to you, but not her," spat Ron, his face turning the famous Weasley red as he shot venomous looks towards his previous Professor at the misuse of his former best friend and girlfriend. Ron had not be accepted into Snape's Advanced Potion class after their OWL's as a result of his poor marks on his exam and his personal preference to 'stay as far away from that ugly bat as possible'.

"Settle down Ron," muttered Harry as he grabbed his bag from cold dungeon floor and dragged it into his lap. Leaving Ron to cool down on his own he addressed the snarky man before him, "I've got it here, Professor." Delving into the unexplored depths of his bag he pulled out the wooden box. Handing it over to the Potions Master he sat back in his chair and waited.

Turning the box over in his thin spidery fingers he examined the polished oak surface. Its outward appearance was that of a simple pen box. It's edges had been rounded leaving it smooth to handle. The hinges were hidden away from view, the only blemishes on the smooth wood an nearly invisible seam and a small brass clasp. Fingering the clasp he flicked it open and examined the contents. The inside was velvet lined. There were indentations in the velvet to hold the contents, four hollows in total. Two identical ones both indicated two test tubes once resided there, one now lay on his desk and another, empty, encased in a simple sleeve in its home. Towards one end was a simple, deep groove which held a small polishing cloth and the other sleeve which the vial belonged in. Finally there was a woodened handled engraving tool. Its tip was sharp, clean and recently buffed. That meant Hermione had clearly been using it. As a whole it just seemed too…he didn't know what, but it seemed like there was something wrong with it.

Discreetly drawing his wand he tapped it, muttering a revealing charm to no avail. This box was hiding something. Placing it on his desk he twirled his wand around it. Still nothing happened. There were no charms, hexes or curses hiding its secret.

The three other occupants of the room sat in silence as the Potions Professor worked examining the box. Neither of the boys had found anything interesting with the box. It was simply that, a box. The boys couldn't recall the last time they had seen the Professor use a wand, but they way he was able to control it was nearly hypnotic to all three present.

Sitting back in his seat Professor Snape considered the box, completely oblivious to his three silent guests.

What had Hermione done? That was the question. No concealing charms that he could find. If he couldn't find them they probably weren't there. He knew just about every revealing spell there was. Even those strong enough to weed out Dark Concealment Charms designed to remain hidden. There was something wrong with it. It was as though it, whatever it was, was hidden so well it was perfect. There were no outward indications that there was even anything hidden, but Snape's inner spy told him there was and he had never been wrong.

What was it that had set her apart from everyone else? It was something only she had done, that no one else had thought of. It was probably staring him right in the face. Well, she did use to have that ridiculously large hair. No, that surely wasn't it. It would have to do with her thinking processes, something different about her that gave her a different angle through which to view the problem.

Okay, what was it that he normally searched? Pretty much anything that he came across in less than honest company. Who would that honest company be? Generally fellow Death Eaters. What was it that had set them apart from Miss Granger? They weren't that smart, but Malfoy proved that wrong. They were cunning, not all of them. They were male, in general yes, but there was the odd female. They were magical, so was she. That's it. They were all Pure-Bloods and she was not.

The question now was, what would a Muggle do? How better to find out than ask a person who lived as one for most of their life.

"Mister Potter," he said, making them all jump. "If you were to hide something in this without the use of magic, how would you do it?" Harry looked confused. Sighing he tried again making his words clearer for the rather dim-witted saviour of the world. "Wizards use concealment charms to hide things. What to Muggles do? You lived as one for eleven years, surely you must know."

"Um…" Harry mind was blank. Muggles…concealment…spies. What would a spy like those James Bond characters he had read about in one Dudley's forgotten books have done? "Disguise what they are trying to hide as something else…um…use false bottoms…write in code…" Harry listed before pausing. "I can't really think of anything else, Sir."

The Professor moved forward in his seat examining the contents carefully and placing them on the desk.

Nothing out of the ordinary. Everything was as it seemed.

There was no writing anywhere, so codes were out.

Lifting the empty case he shook it slightly. Listening carefully there as soft thumping noise if you could call it that.

Harry and Ron looked at each other as if expressing their concerns that the Professor was going mad before turning their eyes back to the little wooden box. Minerva watched on sceptically as her colleague ran his fingers around the velvet edges of the oak box. Stopping he wriggled it a little and lifted the velvet bottom out of the wooden box followed by a folded piece of paper.

Unfolding the paper and flattening it out on the desk all four looked at it.

As though having found what he was looking for, the professor folded up the piece of paper and tucked it under the corner of one of the text books on his desk before placing the contents spread over his desk back into the box from which they came.

"When Miss Granger was at the cliff, did you see her throw anything in the water before she jumped?" he asked rather abruptly.

"She had this little…I don't know…stone maybe. She chucked it in the lake just before you arrived," answered Harry with the conformational nodding of his friend. McGonagall looked a little confused.

"The potion in this vial," he told them holding up the vial that remained, "is a very powerful magical substance. As Miss Granger in her position of Head Girl had free access to the Restricted Section of the Library, it is almost certain that she would have come across it in one of the tombs."

"What is it used for, Severus?" asked McGonagall.

"It has many uses, but I believe Miss Granger used it in one of its less conventional uses and through binding magic has turned it from a liquid state to a solid state. All of this," he gestured to the oak box, "indicates that she inscribed it, activating its properties through symbols, one of the oldest forms of magic. I believe the 'stone' she threw into the lake was actually the solidified potion. Once the Ancient Ruins teacher has had a look at the inscriptions I will know what has been done. I do have good reason to think that Miss Granger is not dead however."

"How can you say that?" argued Ron. "You don't know what was written on the stone so how can you ask the Ancient Ruins teacher to translate something you don't have!"

"This, Mister Weasley," he growled waving the previously tucked away piece of paper, "is a copy of what ever Miss Granger inscribed on the stone. Five points for your inattentiveness. That is all." Tucking away vial in the wooden box, he removed both it and the piece of paper to the safety of his desk draw before proceeding with marking his essays. McGonagall stood directing the boys to do so as well. Once safely outside the office she turned to them.

"I trust that you have much to both talk and think about now," she informed them some what airily fashion, as if her mind was else where, "you may therefore have the rest of the afternoon off." Without another word she turned a disappeared down a corridor.

Both boys looked at each other before making the long trip back to Gryffindor Tower where they did spend the rest of the afternoon in though, interrupted with the occasional few words.

Their best friend (and girlfriend) thought dead was most likely alive. If so, where was she? An alternate reality perhaps. She could still be in the UK. She could be on the other side of the world.

Where ever she was, both boys hoped that she was safe and well.

"Harmony," called the head librarian, sticking her head around the enormously large shelf of books. She was a little shorter than Harmony, her stern face wrinkled beyond her years. She was deceptively strong though, from carrying loads of books around her library years ago. Now she had people underneath her and they did all the book carrying.

"Yes, Mrs Lemming," she answered obediently after parking the trolley of books she was shelving to the side and walking swiftly past the shelves to her employer.

"Someone has muddled up that shelf," she said, indicating to the very top shelf. "Would you put it the right way around, please." It was an order. Not a question or a request, an order.

"Certainly, Mrs Lemming," she answered moving down the isle to retrieve the sliding ladder. "What ever you say you old bat," she muttered to herself as she slid the well oiled ladder down the isle to the offending shelf. Of course it had to be right at the top. Far out she hated heights. Steadying the wobbly ladder she ran her fingers through her very short, unruly, chocolate brown, curly hair. The doctors had said that it was long, nearly past her waist when she had been brought in.

She had been found lying in the middle of a street in a fairly wealthy neighbourhood in late May. One of the families had called an ambulance for her. She was in a coma for two months. They didn't think she would wake up. As she wasn't requiring any life support of any sort she was moved to a facility for those in comas and other such conditions. They had cut her hair so she was more easily managed. She had a picture of when they brought her in. Her hair was very long and bushy. She didn't wake up until late July and it wasn't until early August before she could leave after regaining proper use of her limbs again.

She was very lucky to have this job. The librarian had been very kind even if she was an old bat. She had a room at the library where she stayed and was in charge insuring no one broke in and such. Mrs Lemming was just too stingy to hire security for the large library. Her pay went towards her food, essentials and what little she could save for when she would need it most, which would in less than six months. When she had woken from her coma she had no recollection of who she was. She still didn't.

Finally she reached the top shelf and set about moving each book one by one to allow her to keep a steady hand holding her to the ladder.

All that she did know was that her name was Harmony. Well it sort of sounded right but it wasn't but that's what she was calling herself. No one knew who she was. She didn't even know who she was.

All she had was a few clues to work from and one big problem. Firstly she had an English accent, whether she lived there recently she didn't know. When she was found she was holding a beautiful wooden stick. The doctors had to pry it from her hands when she was in the hospital. She still had it. It was with her small bag of acquired belongings. One of the biggest keys was that she had been wearing a uniform. Black skirt, stockings, shoes and well, cloak or robe, white blouse and maroon and yellow tie. The robe had a crest on it. Four animals, a lion a serpent, a badger and an eagle perhaps, all were surrounding a letter 'H'. Below in Latin; 'Never Tickle a Sleeping Dragon'. She had searched high and low but found nothing even remotely like it. Another clue perhaps was that she smart, very smart according to the tests she was put though but with no educational history she was shunted by most would be employers. And lastly, she could cook. Give her a recipe and boy could she cook. With just a carrot, the smallest portion of ham and a few beans she could make the most wonderful, rich soups. She didn't know how but from those few ingredients she could make enough soup to last for dinner for a week.

Lastly her problem, her big, big, huge problem. She was pregnant and it was showing. The doctors had said that hadn't expected her body to retain the foetus during her comatose state, but she did and now she was pregnant. The doctors estimated close to the twenty week mark but they weren't sure. She was lucky most of the baggy clothes she had obtained hid the growing lump. But she had to be careful. Too much work bending and lifting and her back would easily cramp up along with her legs. Mrs Lemmings knew but still hired her so she wasn't really too much of an old bat.

Putting the last book in place she gratefully reached for the ladder rail again and made her way down.

Harmony concluded she must have had a bad experience with heights at one stage. It wasn't a phobia just an extreme dislike.

Breathing a small sight of relief as her feet touched the ground she walked around the shelf back to her trolley to continue shelving the books. It was a tedious job, but she enjoyed the benefits, like unrestricted access to all books excluding those rare and valuable, but they didn't really interest her. She loved anything she could get her hands on.

Ronald Weasley waited moodily in the Gryffindor Common Room for the return of his best friend Harry Potter. Tearing off a small piece of parchment he rolled it into a ball and threw it into the flames of the crackling fire. Even though it was practically Summer the House-Elves still lit fires. Thinking about House-Elves reminded him of Hermione. Standing up he paced around the Common Room, his demeanour frightening the huddled group of first years. Sighing he flopped back into the comfy chair before the fire.

Just then the portrait of the fat lady opened admitting Harry Potter.

"Well what did they say?" demanded Ron, jumping out of his seat before Harry had even shut the door.

"Far out, Ron. I just stepped in through the portrait hole," complained Harry. He had just spent the last two hours in Snape's dungeons listening to the Ancient Ruins teacher, Potions Master and Transfiguration Mistress, fight over the best route of action to follow considering the circumstance. Dumbledore had recently been trying to deal with other matters of greater importance, like organising Order Members, maintaining the school wards and many other things to be bothered with a matter like this. McGonagall had recently taken over all student matters as Deputy Headmistress, to alleviate some of the strain on Dumbledore.

"Okay, the long and the short of it, is that the stone Hermione threw into the lake was actually some sort of Portkey," he told his rather frantic friend as they both flopped down in front of the fire, Ron listening carefully to the new news. Harry and Ginny both recommended, rather forcefully, that he remain in the Common Room while Harry went to sit in on the meeting with Ginny. She had planned to go visit Luna and some other Ravenclaw friends afterwards and wasn't expected to be back until curfew. "It was rather ingenious," Harry mused. "Basically she disappears, she turns up somewhere on the other side of the world, she doesn't remember who she is, she doesn't even know about the magical world and she can live a normal life and not remember any of the 'pain', as McGonagall put, of the world she left," he summarised. Ron nodded his comprehension so he continued, "Well after that was all sorted out they then began this big debate over whether or not we should try and find her. If she left she had her reasons to but for all the reasons she has given us as to why she left it's pretty much a big misunderstanding on everyone's part and we'll try and persuade her to stay."

A look of concentration crossed the fair skinned boys face as he watched his shoe flick the edge of the rug. "How are they going to find her?" he finally asked, looking up from the carpet.

"Snape's going to use the rest of the potion she used and do this sort of reversal spell. That will result in her memory coming back and then we can find her through locator charms."

"When are they starting?" he asked anxiously.

"Tonight."

"How long will it take?"

"A few months," answered Harry expecting his friend to blow up at having to wait that long.

"I suppose better late than never," he mumbled running his hands through his hair and staring at the floor again. Eventually he stood up and headed off towards the dormitories. "'Night," he mumbled over his shoulder and with out waiting for a reply continued.

"'Night, Ron," replied the raven headed boy as he watched his fellow seventh year gloomily start the hike up to the privacy of his four poster bed.

Harry sighed taking off his glasses and slumping back in his chair staring up at the fuzzy ceiling. It was going to be a long summer without Hermione and even longer having to put up with Ron.

"Excuse me, Sir," said Harmony timidly, she really didn't like to disturb people that were reading. "The library is closing."

"Oh dear, look at the time. I didn't realise it was so late," said the man in his late forties. Standing drew his fingers back through his greying hair before grabbing a pile of books to the side and taking them over to the re-shelving trolley.

As she turned away to collect some stray books left lying on a table near-by, the page of symbols the man had been working on caught her eye. She didn't know how but she knew what each meant.

"Ts yte fsscjso cv xts Xsmnds eb Fetiv otidd fcos ireps idd," she murmured looking at the symbols.

"What was that sorry?" Harmony nearly jumped out of her skin.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry. It's just I-," she apologised, but he cut her off.

"What did you say, before?" he asked sternly his eyes disbelieving.

"Um… Ts yte… fsscjso cv xts Xsmnds eb Fetiv otidd fcos ireps idd," she replied. "I apologise again, Sir. It was never my intention to interfere with your work. I was just-."

"I assure you it is nothing. Do you know what that means?" he asked, again cutting off her apology.

Looking at the inked symbols underneath his pencil markings she replied hesitantly, "He who resides in the Temple of Rohan shall rise above all."

"Do you study ruins or something?" he asked casting a sceptical eye over her in her baggy black jumper and tan pants.

"No, Sir. If you will excuse me I will leave you to finish."

"How is it then that you were able to decipher a text that I have been working on all day?"

"Again, Sir, I express my sincerest apologies for interrupting your work, but I don't know how I knew what it said. It just popped into my head. I never remember studying anything of the sort."

"Okay then," he said. "Don't tell me. Can I just write down what you said?"

"I don't see why not."

Grabbing a pen he wrote down at the bottom of the page; 'He who resides in the Temple of Rohan shall rise above all'.

"May I ask you name so that I may add you as a reference in my book?"

"Harmony. You're writing a book?" she asked delighted.

"Yes. I'm a Professor of Ancient Ruin Translations. I came here today to try and decipher this text which you seem to have done in a mere fraction of the six hours I have spent here. Your last name?" he asked, pen poised.

"I…um…I…I don't have a last name, Sir," she barely whispered. Though her voice was soft it was able to reach his ears in the deserted library.

"How can you not have a last name?" he asked as if she was joking.

"I suppose I do have a last name. But I don't remember it. I can't remember anything before late July. I've lost all my memory. They just found me lying in the middle of the street one morning."

"Very funny," he laughed. "Almost had me for a minute there."

"Look, Sir. I very sorry but I'm afraid that I have to close up now," she said taking an armful of books from one of the tables.

"You work here?"

"I'm the library assistant."

"Someone as talented as you, a library assistant?"

"Yes, Sir, and I would ask you again to please gather your belongings and leave. The library shut fifteen minutes ago," she pressed firmly, willing this, just a tad, scary individual to leave.

"Alright then, Harmony," he conceded pulling the strap of his leather shoulder bag on to his shoulder and grabbing his papers. "If that is your name. I hope to see you around again sometime." Flashing her a charming smile, he headed out the nearby doors to the busy street.

"Thank goodness he is gone," she muttered to herself picking up the books he left behind. Placing them on her nearby trolley on cover in particular caught her eye; Translations of the Stone Circles and other Ritualistic Sights. Taking a moment to flick through it briefly she slid on to the bottom of her trolley to have a read of later that night.

"So you're saying that they've finished the potion," persisted Ron from his position at the Weasley kitchen table.

"Yes, Ronald, for the seventh time," replied his mother as her eyes returned to the letter she had just received from Professor McGonagall.

"Have they found her yet," he asked hopefully.

"No they haven't. All they know is that she's not in the United Kingdom. Why don't you and Harry go for a ride out on the pitch. Now," insisted his mother. Grudgingly he stood from the table and strode from the room. 'Perhaps a couple of minute's in the air would do him some good,' his mother mused, setting down the rather short letter from the Deputy Headmistress. Pulling out a chair she sat down at the table re-reading the letter. She did dearly miss Hermione. She was practically family. They had arranged for her to stay with them over the holidays after the Death Eater attack on her family just after New Years. The distinctive pop of apparation broke her from her thoughts.

"Hello, Arthur," she greeted her husband as he walked in through the door.

"Bad day, Molly?" he asked sighting her rather exhausted expression. She stood up to give him a peck on the cheek before handing him the letter and continuing with the washing up.

Placing his wearing suitcase on the table he read the letter. "I see."

"It's just…I never expected this, Arthur," his wife admitted looking out towards the hen pen as the dishes washed themselves.

"No one ever expects this," he told her soothingly wrapping his arms around her waist. This was really the first time his wife had said anything on the matter.

Turning she gave him a gentle kiss and walked out of his arms to open the cupboard for the dishes to stack themselves into.

"Why are you home so early today?" the Weasley matron asked in an attempt to change the subject.

"Mum have you seen Arnold?" interrupted Ginny from the door way to the kitchen. "Hi Dad."

"You said you were going to keep him next to Pigwidgeon," she answered the youngest of her brood.

"Oh yeah, thanks Mum. Bye Dad," she added as she bolted back up the stairs.

"So why are you home early today?" insisted Molly.

"We were having a slow day," he insisted. "How did Ron take the news of Hermione?"

"Not too well," she admitted busying herself with watching the washing in the washing basket fold itself. "He's out flying."

"How did you take it?" he asked following her. She remained silent as she folded the clothes. Stepping forward he slipped her wand slowly out of her hand as the unfolded clothes fell in a pile back in the basket. Placing it on the table behind him he turned his wife around in his arms. "Molly?"

"Fine," she insisted not meeting his eye and reaching for her wand. He stopped her hand midway. "I have jobs to do, Arthur." He ignored her, tilting her chin up to look into her watery eyes. "Not too well," she mumbled as a few tears slipped down her cheeks.

"It's okay to cry," her husband insisted as he pulled her in for a hug and she sobbed into his threadbare robes.

"I miss her so much," she sniffled.

"I know."

"No…that's…no…I can't…no."

"I assure you Miss Doe. The reading is correct," insisted the doctor as she moved the ultrasound machine over her stomach a fourth time. "See right there," she indicated pointing to the monitor.

The woman on the hospital bed looked out the window. "No…I…that's just…I mean." Harmony drew in a shaky breath as she turned and watched the three tiny heart beats on the screen. "Triplets?" she asked.

"Triplets," confirmed the doctor. "That would mean, by the size you are about 24 weeks along. As the more babies there are the earlier they are usually delivered around the 30th week for triplets that would give you approximately a month," she said cheerily. Harmony groaned outwardly. What had she done? What had happened? Where was the father?

Sitting down on her bed, resting against the wall, Harmony looked through her list of names she had written out of the baby book she had borrowed. She looked over the names. Some of the names she liked, some she didn't but she felt compelled to write them down.

Anthony Bill Charlie Dean Colin Cormac Draco Fred George Harry Ronald Seamus Victor

Ginny Hannah Lavender Molly Pansy Pavarti Padma

She wouldn't name any of her children those names but they were prominent in her mind. Perhaps she knew people by those names once? There was one name that stood out most of all though; Ronald. Ronald seemed too formal, Ron sounded better.

"Ron," she said out loud, seeing how it tasted to say. It rolled off her tongue like it was the sweetest word. She must have definitely known a Ronald in her previous life.

Placing the slip of paper on her bedside table beside the security alarm switch board, she looked around the room. The door was to her left two steps or six shuffles away approximately. At the moment she didn't walk, or even waddle, she shuffled. Walking took twice as long to do and was agonizingly slow. Climbing ladders was near impossible, thank goodness for the girl on work experience. Beside her head was a small table devoted mainly to the switch board. Against wall was her bed and in the far left hand corner was a small pile of her belongings and a plastic bag with some bits and pieces in it.

The only real personalisation she had done to the room was the doorframe. All the way around she had written symbols in pencil. Symbols she had read in books and those that just came into her head. As a whole it just felt right.

Sighing she flicked off the light switch and manoeuvred herself under the rather thin blankets as the bed creaked noisily. Once comfortable on her side a hand unconsciously slid over her stomach as she drifted off to sleep.

"Well it's not a very good spell is it," said a bushy haired girl as she stepped fully into the train compartment.

There were only two other occupants, a redhead and a messy, raven haired boy with tapped glasses. Between them were loads of sweets and pet rat. For some reason Harmony felt great dislike for that rat.

"I've only tried a few simple spells myself, but they've all worked for me," she stated a little snottily. "For example," she said pulling out a little wooden stick identical to the one Harmony had in her plastic bag and pointing it directly at the raven haired boy. "Occulus Repairo." Harmony gasped as the boy took off his now perfectly fixed glasses.

"Wow," he replied. It was then she realised he had a lightning shaped scar on his forehead. 'Interesting,' she thought.

"Holy cricket, you're Harry Potter," exclaimed the brunette. "I'm Hermione Granger," she announced, "and you are?"

"Ronald Weasley," replied the freckled redhead, his mouth full of sweets. Harmony giggled.

"Pleasure," replied Hermione with a certain amount of distaste in her voice. This time Harmony right out laughed.

"You two better change into your robes. I expect we will be arriving soon." Harmony then noticed the robes she was wearing. The exact same as the ones she had but the collar on the robes was black instead of maroon.

"Oh, you've got dirt on your nose by the way. Did you know? Just there," the girl of only about ten added to the boy by the name of Ronald. Ronald…Ron…Harry.

Harmony woke up breathing shallow and erratic. It all came flashing back like a bad movie. Ron and Harry her best friends and her Hermione not Harmony. Hermione Granger, her name was Hermione Granger and she was a witch.

Getting out of bed she walked out into the staff kitchen and made herself a nice cup of tea. There would be no more sleeping tonight.

"Minerva," called Severus Snape through the Hogwarts internal floo system.

"Severus, it's past midnight," replied the sleepy Head of Gryffindor.

"It's the locator device. It found Hermione," he answered from her hearth.

"We will inform everyone a dawn. Where is she?" asked the Scotswoman from behind her arm chair, wrapped in a tartan dressing gown.

"Vermont, North America in a little town called Rutland."

"Harmony," called Mrs Lemming from the front desk.

"Yes, Mrs Lemming?" she replied politely managing to pull herself out of the computer chair with great difficulty. Her stomach was HUGE! The old bat had insisted that she continue working her normal hours and that not to worry because she 'would manage'.

Ducking out of the small cubical she rounded to the front desk where a little girl with waist long, straight ice blonde hair stood with a school port slung over her shoulder.

"Miss Riley here is after some books on the role America played in the Second World War," she said sweetly.

"Certainly, Mrs Lemmings," she replied just as sweetly. "Just this way, if you will please," she informed the girl probably only ten years old. Walking along she exited the front desk and together they made their way slowly towards the books in question.

"Okay, you have a look at theses," she said placing a few books on a table for the girl, "and I'll just get one more that I'm thinking of which should be of good usage.

Shuffling down the isle she skimmed of the shelve names. "Battle of the Coral Sea," she muttered glancing through the section. 'Not on the second last shelf, damn. Have to look on the bottom one,' she thought miserably. Leaning against the shelves she inched her way down to the floor. After what seemed an eternity her knees touched the lush carpet.

Skimming her finger along the spines of the books she continued muttering. 'Damn, double DAMN!' she mentally shouted. Of course the book in question was on the next shelve. One column over too many to count shelves up.

Taking a deep breath she sat back on her feet and bracing her hands against her lower back she arched slightly to relieve a little tension. Sighing she dared a glance up. It was too far, but there it was, all covered in royal blue; 'The Battle of the Coral Sea'.

Grabbing the wall of the shelf she pulled herself to her knees with relative ease. Sliding one swollen foot around ('I really must put my feet up later,' she thought) and laying it flat on the ground she used the shelf to pull herself forward and up. With much effort she stood panting slightly. Running her fingers back through her hair she pulled off her jacket leaving her in a white polo shirt and red shorts which were surprisingly comfortable as they hung low on her hips under her protruding stomach.

Grabbing the ladder and few feet away she wheeled it to the shelf in question. With a sigh she looked around. No one anywhere close, great! Steadying the ladder she began the very slow process of reaching the top. Taking the first step she turned her hips to the side so her stomach wouldn't hit the rungs. 'One foot up, then the other. One foot up, then the other,' she thought repetitively. Finally she reached the top, just a little out of breath. Reaching over the edge she fingered the book. It was too far away. She could touch it, but she couldn't reach it to get it. Shuffling over to the very edge she flicked the top of the spine, allowing it to peek out. Stretching just a little further she managed to grab it, pulling it safely to her chest. Resting it on the flat rung beside her she took a step down and moved to the book down a rung. Then another step and then the book.

Finally she reached the bottom, practically blessing the ground on which she stood. There was no way anyone was making her climb that ladder again anytime soon no matter what Lemming said.

Handing the little girl the book she began weaving her way through the tables towards the front desk. Looking up she saw a redhead with freckles and two raven headed men walk through the front door. One's hair was long, shoulder length, the others was short and very messy and he wore glasses and had a lightening shaped scar across his forehead.

What where they doing here? They weren't meant to be here! She was to have committed suicide! She didn't exist anymore.

Chancing another glance she noticed them splitting up and spreading around the library. They were all wearing Muggle clothing.

Turning around she began in the other direction, intent on taking her break now and seeking refuge in her small room with a cup of tea.

"I lost my signal," whispered Ron to Harry somewhere in the Arts Section.

"Same. Come on, let's find Snape," mumbled Harry glancing around through the shelves to try and find the silent figure.

"I'm right here, Potter," spoke the silky smooth voice behind them. "She is here somewhere, we've just lost her signal."

Pulling out a black stone he looked at it as if it would give him some indication of where she was. Multiple symbols engraved into it's surface glowed a whitish blue. Placing back in his robes he continued, "We will split up and stay out of sight until you see her. She is still near."

Breaking off they each went their own ways around the library.

Several minutes later Harry's locator charm went off. He was on her scent again. Strolling casually from the fiction side of the library to the non-fiction his wand quivered in his pocket, directing him towards the enquiries desk.

Under the pretence of looking at a booklet he glanced around to all of the staff at the desk. One person caught his eye. She had chocolate brown hair cut quite short so that it curled. If he hadn't been looking for her he wouldn't have recognized her. Placing back the pamphlet, Ron joined him.

"Have you found her?" he asked softly as he looked off around the library.

"Yeah, give me a minute but," he answered and made his way around to the membership application booth.

"I won't be a moment, sir," said Hermione once she noticed the male figure behind her at the customer desk of her cubical as she tucked away an application in a file on the desk. While she was busy Harry discreetly motioned for Ron to stay where he was looking at a magazine rack.

When he had turned back around she was facing him, only from her shoulders up were visible from where she was seated behind the rather high bench.

"How can…Harry, what are you doing here?" she asked.

"We thought you were dead Hermione," he pleaded. "Then we found out you weren't and we had to come and find you."

"There were reasons as to why I left. I did what I did so that you wouldn't come after me," she hissed.

"Hello, Hermione," greeted Ron as he came into view next to Harry. "How have you been doing?"

"Bloody hell, how many of you are there here?" she asked before adding. "I'm doing fine."

"Just the three of us, Miss Granger," replied the silky to the right of Harry. "Please watch your language." Hermione sneered at him. "By fine you mean living in a dump of a room with few belongings, working long hours each day and leaving of meaner assistant pay?" he queried. "The Head Librarian was very helpful," he told her seeing her astonished face.

"In any case I'm not going back," she told them stubbornly daring them to contradict her. Beforehand they had arranged if she refused to return after firstly conversing rationally they would forcefully take her.

"Why did you leave?" asked Ron.

"I already explained that in my letter," she muttered, nervously re-arranging the stationary under the bench, making sure that she stayed close enough so they didn't notice her huge gut. The way they were talking they hadn't found out about that, yet. "How did you find me?" she asked looking up at each of them. She had covered her tracks so well. Heck she even threw away that beautiful wooden box with her tools.

"We found the stone making kit in your trunk," replied Harry.

"From there I and the other teaching staff were able to work out what you had done and reversed the process so we could track you," volunteered Snape.

"That can't be right. I threw that box away with the trash. The only people who were in my room were…me," she protested. "The House-Elves disposed of it. Only they and Crookshanks were in my r…that sneaky little blighter…" she trailed off.

"Who's the sneaky little blighter?" asked Ron.

"Crookshanks. He was playing with the trash. The sneaky little bugger must have known what I was doing and left it for you to find," she sighed, running her fingers through her hair. "He's very intelligent."

"Yeah," agreed Ron recalling his experience in third year. Hermione spared him a sweet smile, recalling how Crookshanks had had it in for Scabbers, knowing he was Wormtail.

"Look, I'm not the same person you knew," she insisted.

"But we still want you to be our friend. If we reject you because you have changed we don't deserve to call ourselves your friend."

"I suggest we continue this conversation in a more private setting," insisted the Potions Professor.

"No," she said hastily. "We're fine here." She breathed a sigh pulling herself in close to the bench. "Look, Harry, I've changed," she pleaded. "I lost my parents and you left me."

"Hermione we didn't leave you. We thought you needed space. We thought you were coping."

"Well you thought wrong," she seethed. "I wasn't coping. I haven't coped," she admitted. "I escaped everything and you," she emphasised by poking a finger at him as the tears began to well in her eyes, "you brought it all back."

"Hermione," insisted Snape, "I suggest we conduct the rest of this discussion in a more private setting before this current situation becomes embarrassing."

"Stick it Snape," she growled.

"Hermione, please. We need to talk," said Harry. Ron nodded.

"Fine. Just fine," she grumbled. "As you know I've got a room out back. We would be best to continue in there."

"It would come out eventually anyway," she muttered as she pushed away from the desk and used it to press off to stand up. Unsteadily she made it to her feet, her enlarged stomach now on show for all three of them. She was actually lucky she had come across clothes that fitted her.

Determined not to look at any of them for the time being she began to make her way out of the cubical and towards her quarters.

"Are you…you're…?" Ron stuttered causing her to pause in the doorway, eyes fixed to her stomach.

"Very," she replied, unconsciously rubbing the underside with one hand, the other holding onto the door frame.

"W-w-who…um…"

"There was only ever one," she growled. "Who do you think?" She glared threateningly at the fairly wide eyed young man. He didn't reply. Harry was confused but Severus knew now.

Pain gripped her lower abdomen as her muscles tightened. Hermione gasped then winced as she clutched at the hard muscles.

"Miss Granger, what's wrong?" asked Snape. Hermione didn't answer, eye's shut tight she tried to block out the pain that rippled across her lower abdomen. Before she knew what was happening, Ron had vaulted over the bench and was helping her move to the floor. Once the pain had passed she breathed deeply.

It was only a false contraction. The pain had been limited to her abdomen which meant it wasn't real, when it spread to her lower back she had to panic.

"I'm fine Ron," she muttered as he helped her to her feet.

"Harmony, are you alright?" asked Mrs Lemming coming over to help.

"Yes I'm fine," she said.

"Do you know these people?" she asked glancing sceptically at the three men.

"Yes. I remember them from my past. Would it be alright if we chatted for a while?"

"Of course," she said cheerily smiling at the redhead as he helped support her assistant's elbow. Once she had turned back to her work Hermione pulled her arm out of Ron's grasp.

"I can stand by myself, Ron. Heck, I was up a ladder this morning. I think I can walk."

"You were on a ladder!" exclaimed Harry. "You shouldn't even be working."

"Were do you suppose the money for food and accommodation would have come from then?" she queried scathingly with a raised eyebrow. Harry didn't say a word. "I thought as much."

Slowly she made her way to her room, all three in toe.

"I'm not the person you knew, Harry," she insisted for the umpteenth time. "Look, I found out I was a witch. Me a normal girl a witch," she said gesturing her free hand to herself as she sat with her legs crossed leaning against the wall beside her bed. "I didn't know what to think. I didn't know what it would be to be popular. I didn't know what groups there were. I didn't know what witches and wizards were like. I did the only thing I could think of; I learnt my spell books, I became a nerd. I became the model student. If my peers weren't going to accept me, at least the teachers might. Then we became friends. I was afraid if I changed you wouldn't like me any more." Harry tried to interrupt. "Let me finish. I was twelve years old by then. I couldn't change. So my little façade became who I was." Hermione took a sip of her water and continued.

"Then my parents died in the attack on their house. I recognized what I was doing and it all began to crumble. I thought my friends had abandoned me. You say you were just giving me time and space. What I needed was comfort and friends. I thought you hated me, Ron," she said, her said eyes locking with his. "You left me all alone and I had just found out about…" She didn't need to say. They all knew what she meant. "So I found myself away out without destroying more than my own life."

The others remained silent as she stared at the carpet. Finally Ron spoke-up.

"Hermione, everyone was been upset. When we found out about the stone, well, we were given a new hope. Please come back with us Hermione. We can help you through all of this." He reached for her free hand holding it in both of his. "We need you back. We need you to be who you are. We need to help you."

Hermione didn't look totally convinced. "Hermione, you haven't seen mum." Her head shot up at the mention of Mrs Weasley. She was like a second mother. "She's been a wreck. She cries all the time. You're like her second daughter." Harry nodded, backing up what Ron was saying. He had been living with the Weasley's and seen her outbursts.

"I can't go back, I missed too much. I missed my NEWT's."

"I'm sure that those tests can be arranged for you to take, Miss Granger," commented Snape. Hermione looked at all three of them, weighing up her options.

"I thought you took a potion. A potion you brewed!" he exclaimed several minutes later as the two sat in the room, the others having left for those two to 'chat'.

"I did Ron. But as it turns out, my mere contraceptive potion wasn't strong enough to stop that Weasley fertility. I think it may have done something to cause a multiple birth, but that factor is still in your genes. Your brothers," she added seeing his confused look. "Because they are identical, that means I have a higher chance of having identical twins." Ron nodded slowly.

"I thought you were just really fat, but you're having twins," said Ron joyfully.

"I'm not having twins, Ron," she said lying back on her bed and staring at the ceiling before rolling onto her side to look at Ron's red face. He had really stuck his foot in it now. "I'm having triplets," she sobbed, closing her eyes against the tears. Three, she was having three babies; three mouths to feet, three bottoms to clean, six sticky hands to wash. Three.

"Hermione, that's wonderful," he assured her.

"No it's not. Where am I going to live? How am I going to manage? What am I going to do?" she sobbed into her pillow.

"You've got me," he said softly. When she opened her eye he was kneeling right next to her bed stroking back several strands of hair from her face. "I'll be here for you, Hermione. I love you." Ron reached forward pulling her into a tight embrace.

"I love you too," she whispered against his chest.

Less than an hour later Hermione had sorted out all her business in Vermont and was ready to leave.

"Miss Granger," said Professor Snape looking at the doorframe.

"Yes?" she queried while checking around her room for any belongings she had left behind.

"We will need to remove these symbols," he said indicating to her art work, "else the next occupant will have a difficult time entering this room. I suggest you go outside and take a seat while Mister Potter and I take care of this. It must be scrubbed off by hand, not magic," he added to Harry sighting his annoyance.

"Come on Ron. Let's go wait in the lounge," she said making her way through the doorway, Ron on her heels.

Waiting in the lounge room, both seated on a small comfy sofa, Ron and Hermione chatted about the time she had been missing and what she had missed.

"The Muggle Medi-Wizards said I was lucky not to miscarry while I was unconsc – " Hermione stoped, placing a hand over her stomach.

"What's wrong?" asked Ron placing a concerned hand on her shoulder, the concern evident in his voice.

Hermione pulled her shirt up to expose her enormous belly and grabbed his hand placing it under her own on her warm skin. "Feel."

"Is that…?"

"Mmmhhh." The curly hair woman smiled. This wasn't the first time one of her babies had played up, kicking about, but this was the first time that she was able to share it with anyone. She didn't know what she was going to tell everyone, the truth might be a start. She had been scared. The war had practically been on their doorstep and she wanted to do something drastic. She had loved Ron, she did love Ron and she knew he would stay with her. Somehow things felt right with him and everything and she just knew that they could only get better.

Towel drying his hair, Ron stepped out of the bathroom and walked across the hall to his room. Knocking on the door he stepped in.

"Only me," he told Hermione as she laid spread out on his bed, arms and legs eagle spread. His only response was the opening of her eyes. Throwing the towel onto the door knob he walked over to the bed sitting down on the edge, quite a sight dressed only in his orange cotton boxers leaving his torso free for her viewing pleasure. "How are you feeling?" he asked pushing her hair back off her forehead.

"Sore," she replied rubbing her side.

"Where about?" he asked placing a protective hand on her stomach.

"My back. It's killing me. Your babies' way a tonne," she joked sparing a lethargic chuckle.

"Would you like a massage?" he asked. Hermione smiled and nodded. Walking over to his desk Ron pulled out his chair. Grasping his wand he began to alter it as Hermione looked on curiously. First he elongated the seat until it was long enough to fit two people and then bending the previously straight back creating one large concave bend at the bottom and then rolling the top over until it nearly touched itself. Satisfied he added a cushioning spell and threw his wand back on his desk.

"If I may?" he asked gallantly holding out a hand to her as she still lay there flat on her back. Taking his right in her left and her right in his left he gently pulled her to a sitting position. Once she had swung her legs over the edge of the orange quilt the redhead placed one arm around his neck and the other around her waist.

"On three. One…Two…Three," he counted. On three Hermione grabbed him tightly around the neck as he helped lift her up. Finally she was standing on two slightly less swollen feet.

"Finally, I've been lying down for the past hour," she muttered as she half waddled over to the seat. It did not do well for her to remain in bed doing nothing for such a period of time. Yes Molly had insisted that she lie down after having tea but it was so boring.

Before she knew it she had been seated on leg either side of the chair, pillow on top for her to lay her head on. Straddling the seat behind her, Ron reached around to her front and began lifting the hem of her shirt with a whispered, "arms up." Raising her arms above her head he lifted her shirt off, flicking onto the bed. Once successfully devested she turned her head around to him.

"Don't forget the door," she told him remembering the last time he had given her a massage and Harry had walked in. It was an embarrassing situation she didn't want to live again. Lately her magic had been fluctuating. One minute she would be fine, the next she would over do all her spells and a hearts beat later a simple Levitation Spell was near impossible. With that in mind she didn't want to risk blowing the door off its hinges.

With a flick, a swirl and a few murmured words Ron locked, warded and silenced the room. He had something different in mind tonight.

Grabbing the bottle of potion he poured some onto his hand and rubbed it over Hermione's neck, shoulders and back, all the way to her tartan, cotton shorts. Whilst complaining they were very unflattering she said they were comfortable to wear and she wasn't out to impress whilst supporting a overlarge beach ball out the front.

Shuffling back to the edge he began with her lower back, pressing his thumbs in small circles from her spine outwards.

"Oh, that feels great," she murmured into the pillow. When he reached her sides he included his broad fingers, rolling his finger pads up and down her side, encouraged by her little moans and whimpers. He could feel the tension and strain under his fingers.

Hermione was in heaven. Nearly every afternoon Ron would do this. Put her on a chair or over some pillows and give her a massage. It was very...relaxing and remembering who it was sitting right behind her a little arousing.

Ron had worked his way up past her bra clip. Nearly all of the time she wore one. Apparently the added weight of her milk it was rather uncomfortable. Pushing the straps outward a he used the heel of his palm to press into her muscles. Slowly he moved downward along her spin before moving out and up.

She could feel his thighs against hers and longed to press herself back against his groin. God, she just wanted him to take her sometimes but it was too much of a risk with more than one child in her womb.

His hands rolled up her rib cage and down her arms next to her head as they lay folded on the back of the chair. This was to die for. She had no idea how he became so good at this. He knew just where to push, how to push and what was the right amount of pressure. If she didn't know better she would say that his mouth was next to her ear blowing the tiniest puffs of air making her tingly all over.

The next thing she knew was his lips were on her skin, just below her ear and she moaned arching her neck slightly, eyes shut tight just encase this was all a dream. This was a really great dream.

He pressed his lips lightly against her neck again feathering them along one of the chords in her neck. Her delicious moans were shooting straight to his groin and it was killing him.

The light caresses of his lips continued along her shoulder. If she was to die at this very moment, she decided, she would die happy. Soon his hands were stroking up and down her sides, her bra having come undone without her notice.

His lips were on her neck, then her jaw. Tracing her hair line. On her eyelid. On her nose. On her lips. His scented finger under her chin, encouraging her around.

She twisted her upper body, lifting her head off the pillow, meeting his questing lips.

At first he seemed hesitant, as if he might break her. At first he barely held the kiss. A brief meeting. Then he became more confident to her delight. Soon his hand was cupping her cheek, the other resting against the side of her abdomen.

His tongue flickered against her lips, as though testing if she wanted to reject him. Then he traced her lower lip gently, asking entrance.

'This is taking entirely too long,' she thought taking matters into her own hands. One hand slipped down off the chair back finding his on her enlarged stomach and covering it. The other found his knee, sliding up his thigh and found the hem of his shorts before making it's way back to his knee and then up again, caressing his skin, brushing over the light scatting of hairs.

Ron opened his mouth in a moan of desire and she pounced, plunging her tongue into his mouth. She twisted and twirled, rolling all around his mouth. This time he growled as she pulled away briefly to catch her breath.

Pivoting on the chair she felt his hard arousal come in contact with her backside. In retaliation he bit her playfully on the shoulder before laving it with his tongue.

"Ron," she interrupted, her voice husky, "we both know where this is leading and I can't…we can't."

"Who said anything about sex? There is more than on way to enjoy ourselves other than actual penetration," he replied looking at her longingly.

"But…" They had never done anything like that before. They had snogged, they had felt each other up through clothes and they had had sex but they had never really touched one another. "…please…" she whispered capturing his lips. She was desperate for his touch.

Before she knew what had happened she was naked lying on her back, Ron beside her, both on his orange quilt cover. His hands and lips were every where, kissing her, caressing her, everywhere but where she desperately needed him.

He was moving down around her engorged stomach, kissing, licking. His lips like fire. His lovely hands on her thighs, stroking.

"Lift your hips up," he directed her, placing a pillow under her bottom, raising her hips to him. "Remember, you can say to stop at anytime. This is about you."

"Please," she whimpered, pulling him in for a searing kiss. After devouring her mouth he moved down between her legs, instructing her to bend them at the knees placing her feet flat.

Slowly he worked his way down her thighs kissing them, stroking them, loving them. He was tracing her with a single delicious finger, becoming acquainted with her most intimate parts.

His rhythm was slow, two fingers parting her, releasing her juices. His thumb found her clit and she gasped, arching her back a little. He alternated his rhythm, slow then fast, soft then hard. His other hand found her entrance, circling it, barely penetrating it.

She was moaning and arching trying to get closer. Closer to him, closer to that blissful promise. He carefully inserted one finger into her, matching the rhythm of his thumb. Then that finger was replaced by two twisted fingers, delving deep into her heat. He increased the pace, pressing in and out of her.

That did it. She released a quite scream, his name on her lips, her hands clenched in his sheets. Still he continued, riding out her small orgasm as her inner muscles clenched rhythmically around his two fingers.

When she was finished, her breathing slowing to a normal pace again he pulled away, sliding up beside his beloved.

"God, that was amazing," she told him the first signs of a sweat on her brow.

"You liked?" he asked, just the tiniest bit of cockiness in his voice. Luckily she didn't notice or chose to ignore him.

Hermione grinned, "of course."

"You're not totally exhausted are you," he asked, placing a chaste kiss on her nose.

"Not totally."

"Good." With a brief kiss he was gone again, disappearing between her legs. This time his tongue was on her and she nearly screamed at the feeling. He was everywhere. Stroking, lapping, licking, kissing, sucking, nibbling her everywhere. He was on her clit, he was in her. His deft tongue probing her as though he had done this a million times over. He was covering her, testing her. Then he found her clit once more, alternating techniques. First he would suck, then lap, then swirl, then graze with his teeth, then swirl, suck, graze, lap, over and over.

A finger joined in, filling the void. It curled inside her of her, hitting a place that made her see stars. The first time he touched it she screamed. He stroked, pressed, circled.

With in moments she came, hard and heavy screaming at the top of her lungs, bucking against him as his spare arm held her down. The orgasm rocked her from her inner being, shooting out down her arms and legs, making her fingers tingle in the aftermath. Slowly he rode her down; lapping the flow of juices she produced until she was dry.

"That was…I can't describe it. I've never felt anything like that before," she puffed. Ron smiled to himself; Hermione Granger, speechless. Or as speechless as she would ever be.

Crawling up her body he took in her flushed expression. Her skin rivalling the Weasley Blush. Her hair was damp with perspiration and her eyes half closed. The quilt cover was ruffled and she was still panting.

"I'm glad you liked it," he said kissing her nose.

"I'll have to repay you for this at a later stage," she said eyeing off his still throbbing cock. "After I've lost a few k's. Kids that is," she joked placing a hand on her belly joining Ron's. "But for now I will just have to make do."

Reaching down with her other hand she took is throbbing erection in her soft hand and proceeded to send him in to oblivion.

"Bye, Molly, Arthur," said Hermione as the two walked out of sight behind the line of trees. An anti-apparation barrier was in place so anyone who wanted to apparate in the vicinity had to travel to just outside the near-by Muggle village. They were off for a full days shopping without any children whatsoever, just a day to themselves.

"I hope they remember the floo-powder," commented Ron as he finished his fried breakfast taking his plate and Hermione's half eaten cereal to the sink for his mum to wash up later. "We're totally out."

"Really, Ron," scolded his fiancée, flicking her wand at the dishes effectively washing, drying and storing them. Her magic was a little more constant of late. "You should learn to be more self sufficient."

"I'll try," he said sweetly giving her a peck on the cheek. Hermione just smiled at his back, enjoying the view as he strolled off up the stairs.

A sharp pain crossed her stomach as she stood up from the table causing her to sit back down again as she waited for the pain to stop.

After a few moments the pain stopped, leaving her breathing deeply. She had been having these attacks all night and now this morning. It was probably just her body having a few practice runs before getting ready to have these kids.

With a sigh she made her way slowly up the stairs to her room, actually the twin's old room, for her book, intent on an easy morning of reading.

Hermione groaned as she worked her way through yet another contraction. The only position she could even minimal pressure relief was kneeling while leaning over onto the recliner. Her stomach felt hard, very hard and that in addition with her lower back pain was not doing her any good. It now seemed like she was having these BH contractions all the time.

"Ron," she moaned, lifting her head of the chair. He had gone some time ago to fix some morning tea. He hadn't known she was having these contractions and she hadn't told him. "Ron, please. Ron!" she called. Two seconds later he came skidding into the room licking mayonnaise off his fingers. His eyes widened a little when he saw her kneeling on the floor.

"Are you having contractions?" he asked anxiously kneeling down beside her hand on her shoulder.

Hermione nodded, "false ones."

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, the concern evident in his voice.

"Just be here with me."

"Did you just have a contraction?" She nodded the affirmative, head back on the chair. "Alright why don't we stand up and go for a walk around? It will help BH contractions."

"Anything to make them stop," she mumbled reaching for Ron's shoulders. Hands securely locked behind his neck as he stood, she proceeded to pull herself up with his help.

"Why don't we go to the kitchen? I just made some sandwiches," he asked.

"That sounds fine to me," she answered and together they made their way towards the kitchen.

Half an hour later the contractions hadn't stopped and Hermione was back on the living room floor, this time leaning against Ron's shoulders as he kneeled, whispering nonsense in her ear, telling her to breath and that he was there for her.

"I need to stand up," she told him and the same as last time they stood. "Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no. Down, down, down," she shouted and he quickly let her down to her knees again as she leaned against him. "Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no…" she mumbled.

"What's wrong?" he asked anxiously.

"Ron, my water just broke," she whispered.

"No. It can't have. These are just false contractions," he told her disbelieving.

"They are too regular," she contradicted. "I thought I just had back pain but these are real contractions."

"No," he protested, refusing to believe that they were stuck at the Burrow with no support about to have his babies. "Not now. There is no one here but us and no one is supposed to be stopping by."

"I'm having these babies soon whether you like it or not, Ronald," she growled, her scolding loosing its bite when another contraction started. "Oh, God," she moaned clutching the back of his shirt.

"Breath, just breath," he told her looking hopelessly around the room.

"Towel, I need a towel," she panted glancing at her watch once the contraction had stopped.

"I'll be right back." Directing her hands to the recliner he dashed out of the room to the linen closet.

"Hermione," he told her moping up some of the amniotic fluid, "I have to go and get a MediWitch, or someone, okay."

"Oh no you don't," she growled, grabbing him by the scruff of his shirt. "You're not going anywhere. You're staying right here with me."

"I'm telling you I need to go get help," he insisted.

"And I'm telling you if you leave this house I swear, I will hunt you down and tear you limb from limb for doing this to me." Ron gulped under the sheer intensity of her gaze, opting for the safer approach of sitting down next to her.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked.

"Help me out of these darn clothes."

Many miles away in a room above the 'Weasley Wizard Wheezes' joke stall, two brothers stood in front of their fireplace, both identically dressed in Forest Green robes. Fred and George, one after another grabbed a handful of floo powder from their mantel.

"Ready George?" asked Fred.

"Ready Fred," his twin confirmed.

"The Burrow," shouted Fred disappearing in a blaze of green.

"The Burrow," shouted George a second later disappearing behind his twin.

Stepping out of the fireplace and in the process of dusting off their robes, a scream echoed through the Weasley house. Both twins looked at each other, simultaneously drawing their wands and following the source of cry.

With a few silent gestures they both jumped out in front of the stairwell, wands at the ready, their first spells on the tips of their tongues. The sight they expected to see did not however meet their eyes.

There were no Death Eaters, no Dark Lord and no attack, but there was the merciless torturing of their soon-to-be sister-in-law, though not by the hands of another, but by her own body.

Hermione stood, in the middle of the stairwell, arms wrapped around their younger brother's shoulders, screaming at the top of her lungs. She was dressed in a dress that in her current state only reached her knees.

She stopped screaming (and possibly obliterating Ron's ear drums), instead gritting her teeth as the pain began to stop. Slumping into his grasp, the redhead could barely keep her standing.

"Um…Ron," said Fred uncertainly, lowering his wand. Ron's head shot round sighting the twins.

"Thank Gods above you're here," he said. "Come give us a hand." A second later both twins had bounded up the stairs, wands ready to transport Hermione wherever she needed to go.

"Don't even think about it," she growled at them.

"No spells whatsoever," interjected Ron. "There is chance they may hurt the babies."

"Alright then," said George as he tucked his wand away.

"Accio Chair," called Fred, wand outstretched. A second later one of the kitchen chairs was flying up the stair well, coming to halt beside Fred. Tucking his own wand away, they lifted Hermione onto the wooden chair each taking an end. "Where to?"

Less than five minutes later the family jokesters had transfigured their old room/Hermione's room, from a normal looking bedroom with two beds, two bedside tables, a wardrobe, a dresser, a desk and some other odds and ends, into their own birthing centre. There was a small pool, some cribs, a tap and basin, blankets, towels and just about anything else they would need. Natural light was flowing in from outside but no one could see in, a request of Hermione.

Hermione lay exhausted on the small cot in the corner while the three other occupants discussed the matter at hand.

"Where's the MediWitch?" asked George sitting cross-legged on the floor.

"We couldn't reach one," the youngest Weasley boy answered, pressing a cool cloth to Hermione's forehead as she rested between contractions. Seeing as they were getting less than three and one half minutes apart, she wanted to rest briefly before trying the pool seeing as she had just tried to walk a flight of stairs.

"What do you mean? What about the floo system, we got here alright?" said Fred.

"We are totally out of floo powder and it takes too long to get to past the apparation point," he pointed out, pressing the cloth to her eyes. Hermione moaned at the coolness a little.

"Look we really need some sort of medical support for Hermione," said George looking at her.

"Yeah and besides, if mum misses the birth of her 2nd, 3rd and 4th grandchildren she'll blow-up something," Fred told them matter-of-factly, "or at someone…"

"Us," they both chorused. Hermione managed a weak chuckle at their joke. She was always quite fond of them. Just then another contraction took hold and she grabbed her stomach, moaning and gritting her teeth.

"Breath, Hermione," encouraged Ron. "Remember to breath." She managed a few shallow pants before the contraction ended.

"I need to get in the water," she puffed, trying to push herself up. Ron helped steady her as she sat on the bed.

"Look, one of you two go get mum and the nurse and everyone," directed Ron looking at his brothers.

"I'll go."

"I'll stay." They both said before one of them stood.

"I shouldn't be long. Take care and don't forget to wait for mum. Where is she by the way?"

"Shopping somewhere with Dad."

"Right then." Without another word he briskly walked out of the room, off to collect the necessary people.

"Which one are you?" asked Hermione.

"George," he offered.

"Let me help you out of the dress," said Ron, reaching for the hem.

Leaning forward, she whispered, ever the conservative, "I don't want him to see."

"Hermione you have to."

"No," she whimpered.

"You have a beautiful body, he won't mind. I assure you."

"I'm as big as a friggin' house, Ron."

"I won't mind what?" interjected George, now sitting on his knees as he looked from one to the other. "You taking your dress off?" he guessed. "Course not. I've seen plenty of titties, botties and pussies." Seeing the look that could kill on her face he tried a different tactic. "Hermione," he said placing a hand on her arm and looking her in the eye, "you can take the dress off or you can leave it on. This is about you. No one else but you and your babies, who, at this present time are apart of you. Do whatever you feel comfortable with. Chances are you will probably want it off by the end."

"Thanks, George," she said placing a hand over his and smiling at him. She knew that he was just telling her that but she didn't care. She was too tired to care. "Give-us a hand, Ron."

With a little help from both she was disrobed and carried to the shallow pool where they proceeded lower her in. The water only just came up to her stomach when she knelt in the water. Sinking into the cool water, Hermione sighed at the relieving feeling. Although the weather was cool she was hot but the water was just the right temperature. She then proceeded to kneel, leaning against the edge of the pool as George knelt before her, taking her hands in his, ready for the next contraction due anytime soon.

"What are you doing?" asked Ron when his brother took his spot ahead of Hermione.

"Waiting for you."

"To do what?" he asked incredulously.

"Strip," he answered as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"What the hell for?"

"You're getting in the water clothes and all then."

"What?"

"Drop 'em, Ron," growled Hermione as the next wave of pain began. Hastily he stripped down to his boxers throwing them on the floor next to the bed and jumping in the pool with Hermione, rubbing her lower back supportively. Moments later George was also in the water on the other side of her stripped down to his boxers.

"God, Ron, I've got to push. I need to push," Hermione begged. They had stopped counting the amount of time she had between contractions two or so before. She had finally opted for a squatting position she was unable to perform out of the water. Ron was in front of her, George behind. It was he who spoke.

"If you're ready there's no stopping nature. If not there is no medical research which says you can't. All you are doing is using your energy."

"How do you know so much about this stuff?" asked Ron over Hermione's shoulder.

"You can learn a lot if you pick up a book every once in a while, Ronnikins," he answered smugly. Ron glared.

"What book did you mean to pick-up George?" queried Hermione.

"The 'Water Wonder's' book on the magical transportation of water, not the 'Water Wonder's' book of water births." Hermione didn't need to turn around to know he was Weasley red, Ron's sniggering was enough.

As the next contraction came she steadied herself. The pain coursed though her abdomen and sliced through her lower back. With scream that shot around the room she bore down on her child. It felt as though she was trying to do the impossible, squeezing a watermelon through a hole the size of a lemon. Her hands clasped the shoulder of her fiancé with bruising force.

A few short breaths and she pushed again, teeth gritted, eyes clamped shut.

"Oh, God. I think…the head," she panted trying to catch her breath. Reaching down she felt her baby's head for the first time. "Oh my God. Feel," she instructed, moving Ron's hand down to touch their child's protruding head.

Ron was stunned and didn't say anything. Just gawped.

"Get ready for the next one, Hermione," instructed George. "You're doing great. Better than I expected actually. You can deliver the baby through this next one, okay. Do you want to deliver your baby?" he asked.

"I want to."

"Alright. I'm going to move right behind you and hold you to me," he told her like a pro. Shifting to his knees he knelt directly behind her, his chest flush with her back. "I'll hold you so you don't fall. That way your hands will be free. Now remember; don't pull the baby up straight away. The umbilical chord could be too short for it to reach the surface. Ron, you help," he instructed quickly before the next contraction started. All the while Hermione was panting heavily, replenishing her oxygen levels.

As if on cue the contraction started. Hermione screamed as she bore down again, her hands holding her babies head.

Finally she quietened. "I did it. I did it," she murmured bringing forth her baby to the surface slowly with Ron's guiding hands under hers.

"My…baby," she whispered as tears began to form in her eyes.

"It's a boy," announced Ron as Hermione couldn't properly see.

"Check…ABC," said Hermione still holding him tight. Turning around Ron grabbed his wand. Placing the tip in his son's mouth he cleared his airway, and checked his breathing. Then placing the tip on his wrist the tiny erratic heartbeat echoed through the room.

"Let Ron take your son, you've got more work to do," insisted George, taking a moment to check the doorway just to make sure Fred hadn't returned yet. As she reluctantly handed her son to his father she rested back against George. Ron cradled him close as he sat right in front of Hermione. He held the child as if he were made out of glass. "Technically it should be a bit easier this time," he commented as she panted.

"That's easy for you to say," she protested as another contraction hit.

Ten minutes later Hermione sat exhausted against the side of the pool holding her third son. The second two and the placenta had, like George said, been much easier to deliver. Hermione looked down at her little baby boy, tears welling in her eyes. He was a miracle. They all were. But best of all they were hers and Ron's.

Surprisingly none of them had screamed. They had barely made a peep causing her a bit of distress at first until she was assured by Ron that they were breathing. To her left sat George with her first son, to her right Ron with his second born. Tears of joy spilt down her cheek as she looked down on all three. From what the three of them could tell, they were doing fine. Each of the cords had been clamped and severed once they had finally stopped pulsating.

Hermione wanted to breastfeed her son but was, at the current moment, too tired. The MediWitch, Molly and Fred were still on their way.

"We have to get them wrapped up," announced Ron finally, "so they don't catch a chill." Hermione opted to take her son as Ron stood and dried.

Rushing through the kitchen, Molly Weasley dropped her bag, racing up the stairs to where she knew Hermione to be. She had been in the middle of Florish and Blotts when Fred had arrived. She had thought it all to be one of their elaborate hoaxes until she saw the honesty in his eyes.

It had taken him fifteen minutes to get to the apparation point. It was too open to allow him to fly there and certain enchantments, thanks to Dumbledore, had stopped the use of certain cloaking spells. When he arrived at the apparation point he apparated straight to St. Mungos. Unfortunately they were most unhelpful. His reputation in this case had been a hindrance. The nurse at the desk had informed him that she would not aid him in whatever joke he intended on playing by assigning an emergency MediWitch to his false emergency.

After a further ten minutes of heated discussing he disapparated returning with his very red face mother. The young witch had looked quite embarrassed under that Weasley's wrath.

Now Molly Weasley was racing up the last flight of stairs, MediWitch on her heels followed by Fred. Bursting through the door she was surprised to see Hermione resting in a rocking chair nursing a baby wrapped tight in a blanket, protected against the cool.

Hermione looked up to see the three guests enter the room and smiled. Behind her were Ron and his brother, both holding small bundles in their arms as the sat on the small cot.

"You've…I…" Molly couldn't seem to gather her thoughts.

"You missed all the fun," smiled Hermione as the MediWitch walked over performing diagnostic charms on each of the boys in turn then Hermione.

"All in perfect health," she informed them to everyone's relief. "I just stick around for a little though."

Hermione nodded. "Molly," she said her exhaustion evident, but not as though that would tear her way from her babies, "come meet your grandson's."

Molly Weasley walked over taking a small bundle that Ron offered.

"They're beautiful," she exclaimed, running a finger lightly through his soft orange locks. "They are going to be a handful," she informed her soon-to-be daughter-in-law.

"I know and I wouldn't have it any other way. Any other way and they wouldn't be Weasley's."

Hermione watched as everyone laughed, her smile permanently plastered on her face. These three would certainly be a handful when they grew older. She hoped they decided not to follow in the twin's footsteps but would love them anyway if they did.

She was family, she always had been in Molly's eyes, but now she truly felt it. She was home among this brood of redheads. She was home as she had never felt before and she loved it. Somehow she knew in that very moment that they would be happy. Happy with never a dull moment to spare.

The End