On My Own

Chapter Two- Fights & Fears

For Hermione, the trip back to her dormitory was all a blur. Literally. One second she was backing away from Harry, the next she was kneeling in front of the portrait hole crying. She could not remember the password; her mind would not function properly. All she could think of was Ron.

She had thought, when Professor Dumbledore had been killed, that nothing could be worse. But barely two months later something worse did happen. She could not, for the life of her, pick up the pieces to her life once more. Hermione had always thought of herself as a strong person, until Ron died. Now, she could barely pick up the pieces by herself.

It did not help that her closest friend left wanted nothing to do with her. She wanted his help; she knew that he would help her. Or so she thought. His reaction was completely different then she had expected. Harry was not supposed to explode like he had.

Of course, losing a best friend could turn you against anyone. Hermione knew how hurt Harry had been; that he had been hoping the "Golden Trio" would make it out together. She too had been hoping they would get their deserved "happily ever after." But life didn't work out that way. Ron had been killed, because of his love for Hermione nonetheless.

She was far from accepting his death, but deep down, she knew that she could not cry forever. So why couldn't she stop the tears from falling? Why couldn't she stand up and go on with her life? Of course, her musings were interrupted as she suddenly felt herself being lifted to her feet. Arms wrapped around her, but she didn't care who it was. She let herself melt into them, her head falling onto their shoulder as the tears continued to fall.

"I'm trying to help you inside," a familiar deep voice spoke, gently pushing her away. Without opening her eyes, she let them guide her inside. She knew that it was Blaise, and couldn't possibly fathom why he was talking to her civilly, let alone helping her. She heard foot steps behind herself and knew someone was following them inside.

"Okay, you can go, Zabini," said Fred in a low voice. He took Hermione's hand and led her to her room. "I told you that you cannot be doing this to yourself, Hermione."

Unable to answer, she nodded, wiping her eyes with her free hand.

Fred couldn't stand what was happening. He had almost started screaming at Harry after viewing the fight between Hermione and him. Glad he found Hermione before something happened to her, he noted she was shaking. Her face and eyes had become puffy and red, not making her a pretty site. She looked like a woman who had lost the love of her life.

The door was open Hermione's room and he quickly led her to the bed. "It's all right, 'Mione," he said comfortingly as he handed her the box of tissues that had been sitting on her night stand.

She sniffled, wiping her eyes and nose with a tissue. "Stop saying that, Fred," she said quietly. "And tell me something that is true."

The morning came too early, the sunlight shinning in Hermione's face and waking her from another restless nights sleep. She turned over in an effort to avoid the sunlight as she pulled the covers high over her head. Not that she did not have the intention of getting up; she just needed five more minutes. Or a couple more hours. Either would be fine with her.

Grumbling five minutes later, when she deemed it hopeless to try to get back to sleep with the way her stomach was twisting, she looked over at the comfy arm chair next to her bed. Of course, she realized that Fred must have left not long after she had cried herself to sleep. She appreciated that he was trying to comfort her, but it was her life; she was not going to pull him into it.

Hermione swung her feet over the side of the bed and stretched, bringing her arms high over her head. Her feet made contact with the cold floor as she headed for the full sized mirror hanging on the back of her door. Hermione lifted up her shirt, just revealing her flat stomach. It still hadn't started changing or growing; she knew it wouldn't yet. But the fact that her flat stomach would soon have the tell-tale bump frightened her.

Just then, there was a knock on the door and Hermione took a step backwards. "Who is it?" she asked groggily. Who would be here so early?

"Hermione, dear," the familiar voice of Molly Weasley floated through the door. "It is me, Molly."

Hermione straightened her shirt and subconsciously reached a hand up to her head.

"I realize how early it is, and that you probably have not dressed yet," her voice came to Hermione once more, "But I asked Professor McGonagall if you could have the day off so we could talk and she said that would be all right."

Sighing, she reached out to the doorknob, knowing once she opened it Mrs. Weasley was going to come in, exclaim how stupid she and Ron had been, start sobbing that she was sorry for yelling, sorry that Ron was not here for Hermione, and then offer help.

All things that Hermione did not want to hear. She did not want to hear anymore of how stupid she had been. She knew that she was the "smart one"; the one that this should never have happened to. Hermione's conscience had been telling her that all summer, and she didn't want to hear it from Mrs. Weasley. Apologies Hermione could also do without. Everyone was sorry that Ron was gone and saying sorry was not going to change what had happened.

Hermione Jane Granger, being stubborn, did not want Mrs. Weasley help. Quite frankly, she didn't want anyone's help. This was her problem, as she told Fred; it would remain that way.

The second the door was opened, Mrs. Weasley rushed in.

Unexpectedly, Molly pulled Hermione into a bone-crushing hug. Unsure of what to do, Hermione just stood there. When Molly released her, she let her hands linger on Hermione's shoulders, giving her a hard look. She knew what was coming next…

"How could the two of you have been so careless?" she asked, clearly still in disbelief but still rather calm. "You had a bright future, Hermione. This ruins it."

Hermione nodded, still uncertain of what she should do and say. "I'm sorry," she finally said.

She looked away from the older woman, trying not to think of Ron once more; trying to start off one say without tears. But everything in her room was a reminder of Ron. From her books piled on top of her trunk; to the slippers obliquely lying next to her bed. Everything.

Trying to hold the tears inside, for she had shed enough tears the previous night to fill a lake, she closed her eyes together tightly. Her efforts were useless however, because a single tear escaped the confines of her eyelids, leaving its salty trail as it ran down her cheek.

"Hermione," she heard Mrs. Weasley comforting voice say in a sad tone, "Don't cry anymore."

"I don't need your help, Mrs. Weasley," said Hermione, eyes still closed. "So please do not offer."

Upon hearing a loud groan, she opened her eyes. Mrs. Weasley's face was very red indeed. "Hermione, you don't know what you've gotten yourself into. You need someone with experience to help you!" said Molly exasperatedly. "I advise you to at least listen to me."

Hermione sighed, letting her shoulders drop resignedly. "Go on, Mrs. Weasley," she said unenthusiastically.

The corners of Molly's lips curled and, suddenly, she was grinning happily at Hermione. She held out one hand, gesturing for Hermione to sit down. She did as the older woman silently requested and sat on her bed, letting Mrs. Weasley have the overstuffed chair.

They sat in silence for a few moments as she made herself comfortable. Once she was adjusted to her liking, she started on with her advice. "You're three months along right now, correct?"

Hermione blushed. How long had it been exactly? "Three and a half," she answered quietly.

Mrs. Weasley face had changed form her big grin to stone and unreadable, and Hermione knew that it was no time to joke or kid with her. Not that Hermione was in a joke cracking mood. "You won't start showing for a couple more months, but I still want to teach you a few charms to cover it up. These are shrinking charms, and will not cause any harm to your child."

"Mrs. Weasley, what's the point of covering it up if everyone knows?"

The red haired woman smiled. "It will save you money on clothing; money you will need to use for the child."

She continued talking about how to take care of the baby, how to feed the baby, how not to talk to the baby, etc. Hermione's mind, however, was elsewhere. That is, however, until she said—

"I've asked McGonagall, and she is fine with it."

Hermione several times, her dark brow furrowing. "Fine with what?"

"You coming to the Burrow at Christmas and not coming back here to Hogwarts until the baby is born," a frustrated Mrs. Weasley exclaimed.

"But what about school?"

"Your baby's well being is much more important now."

"How will I get a job to provide for my child if I drop out of school?"

"You should have thought about that before you became pregnant," she snapped quickly.

"Listen, Mrs. Weasley, I know that you have every intention of helping me every second of the day," said Hermione; she knew that, if she did not set her straight now, she never would. "But I need to finish school. This one mistake is not going to ruin my life, Mrs. Weasley. It's not what Ron would have wanted."

The dark gray sky mirrored Harry's feelings. In one year he had lost more than he ever imagined; not only Professor Dumbledore, but Ron Weasley, his best friend.

Harry had not any friends in his life until red-haired-Ron entered the compartment of the Hogwarts Express, dirt on his nose and Charlie's old wand. Since that time, they had been best mates. Other than the occasional fight, they were the closest friend either had ever had.

Distinctly, Harry could remember the final fight they had. But he was not referring to it as the "Final Fight," for that made it seem so absolute.

The summer had been so hard, they had found all the Horcruxes in less than a month, destroyed them, and found Voldemort. The tension in all of the Wizarding World was building daily as more and more deaths occurred; everyone was waiting for Harry to final choice his fate; they waited for him to either kill or be killed.

He couldn't even remember what had caused them to fight; just that Hermione had been the one to force them to make up. Of course, then Hermione and Harry started to fight, which was only resolved hours before the final battle. By Ron.

Ron had forced them both to come to their senses…

"What if you never get to see each other again?" he had asked seriously, standing between them in the crowded stone room. "What if this is the final chance you have to apologize?"

Hermione looked at Ron, an unreadable look on her face. Slowly, she turned to look at Harry. "He's right," she said quietly, barely audible above the chatter in the room. "I'm sorry, Harry." Her lower lip was trembling as she pulled him into a tight embrace. "Please remember that I love you when you're out there. Remember that we all love you."

Harry nodded, a lump forming in his thought as he thought about the coming battle. He knew that this was the moment he had been preparing for. This was his last chance to 'vanquish the Dark Lord.' "I never doubted it for one second, Hermione," he told her.

Ron smiled, patting them both on the back. "Now don't we both feel better?"

The smile was contagious, spreading from Hermione, then to Harry.

If it hadn't been for Ron, Hermione and Harry may never have talked again, for Harry might not have remembered how much love he had received. Harry sighed at this thought. Everything was different with Ron gone. But, he tried to remain optimistic. He had Ginny once more. He knew that Ron would not want to stop the world because of his death; he would want everyone to move on. So why couldn't Harry stop the nagging feelings of guilt that erupted in him every waking moment of the day?

Harry did not turn his head to see who he could hear walking through the puddles, for her knew it was Ginny. "Harry," she spoke to him softly, resting her chin on his shoulder. "You're going to catch your death out here." He completely agreed, he was soaked completely, but he did not want to go back inside. There was nothing left inside Hogwarts for him anymore; every reason for his return to Hogwarts was gone.

"Let's go back to the Burrow," he said softly. "Let's not stay here."

Ginny lifted her head and stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the vast, dark sky. "What do you mean, Harry?" she asked, her eyes furrowing in the dangerous way, when Harry knew he had said something he shouldn't have.

"I don't want to stay here," he answered. "What is there here for me anymore?"

He could tell she was biting her tongue as she thought of something rational to say. "I'm here," she finally said. "Hermione's here. She needs us now more than ever."

Harry shook his head, growing furious at the mention of Hermione. "She doesn't need us," he hissed. "She doesn't want to associate with us anymore."

Ginny put both of her hands on Harry's cheeks, forcing him to look her in the eye. "How can you say that about someone you've known for almost seven years?" she asked disparagingly.

"Without Ron," he said, "She doesn't want us anymore. She doesn't care anymore."

Ginny's face grew red as she let her hands fall to her sides. "How can you say that Harry? Hermione loves us both; you know that."

Harry shook his head again. "I talk to her last night and she doesn't care anymore! With Ron gone she doesn't care!"

"That's a lie, Harry," Ginny said. "And you know it!"

Harry turned away. That's all he could do at the moment, turned away. It was a simple action, but one that could bring about so much consequence. All he did was turn his body in a different direction, away from Ginny, away from the gray sky. All he did was turn away, and he knew, he knew that nothing could every be the same with Ron gone. Nothing could ever be the same if he kept turning away.

The Great Hall was crowded by the time Hermione had decided to leave her dormitory. But it didn't matter. Instead of pushing open the large doors, she turned off to the side, down a pair of stairs. She let her feet lead her to the kitchens, a place where she could eat in peace. After tickling the pear and entering, she was swarmed by house-elves. However, one in particular stood out. It seemed smaller than the others by at least a foot; which was saying something, because house-elves were already pretty small.

She leaned down to Dobby. "Who is that?" she asked quietly. He looked over at the small elf and looked back at Hermione.

"That's Runty, that is," he answered. "He no good sometimes. He can't carry big plates and burns things easily."

"Why is he so small?"

"He is the youngest house-elf we have her, Miss," said Dobby as he led her to an empty table. "Still a baby compared to most here."

"Why is he here working?"

"Miss asks a lot of questions," Dobby replied, sounding somewhat irritated. "But if you must know, he was abandoned by whoever he lived with. Runty does not talk at all, but does what we ask of him."

Hermione sat on the stool, all the while staring at Runty. He seemed to notice her stare and looked up. His ears folded downwards and he looked to the ground. Frowning, Hermione looked to see that Dobby had run off to get her some food. "Runty," she said quietly. "Can you come here?"

The littlest house-elf looked around, frightened. Slowly, and with his head down, he walked to Hermione. He stopped a foot from her chair and mumbled, "What can I do for you, Miss?"

She chuckled at Runty. "I'd like you to look at me," she said kindly. He slowly lifted his head to look at her, and Hermione caught site of the biggest blue eyes she had ever seen. "How are you doing today, Runty?"

He shifted uncomfortably at her question, and looked around at the other house-elves, who did not even notice he was talking to the young woman. "F-fine, Miss. I apologize for not asking you earlier. How are you doing today, Miss?"

Again, Hermione chuckled. "I'm fine, Runty," she replied. "Thank you very much for asking."

Just then, several house-elves arrived at the table, carrying two trays of food each. One plate made Hermione queasy on site, although she did not know why. Suddenly, Runty spoke to the other elves. "Miss cannot eat those eggs," he said firmly. "They will make her sick."

Everyone's head turned to look at the house-elf, with its pink skin and blue eyes. "How did you know that, Runty?" Hermione asked in awe.

Runty, shocked by the pleased look Hermione had, looked to the floor once more. "That's what Runty did," he mumbled. "When Mistress had the child, I was no use anymore."

"You took care of her while she was expecting?" asked Hermione.

He nodded meekly. "That's what Runty does. I know what Miss should not be eating while she is expecting this child, I know it all."

She smiled. It seemed completely ironic that this house-elf would appear at Hogwarts when she was pregnant. She knew she did not want Mrs. Weasley's help. This house-elf, however, was completely different. He would only advise her to do things, not tell her what to do. It was perfect timing, that's what it was.

"What else shouldn't I be doing?"

"You just need to take it easier right now. Stress is not good. But, later on, you'll need even more rest."

Smiling again, Hermione took a plate of toast from a tray which the house-elves had put down. "This okay to eat?"

He gave "Miss" a questioning look. "It's only toast; of course you can eat it."

Several days past, and Hermione had told Runty to come and visit her each morning with a plate of healthy food for her and the baby. Runty had actually smiled at this request, saying it would make him very happy to bring her food every time she needed to eat. So it went, every morning, after noon and evening, Runty would pop into Hermione's bedroom with a small tray of food that he said would not make her feel sick. He turned out to be the most helpful house-elf she had ever met, especially when he told her spells that could help her if she ever did become nauseous. Runty was there the mornings she had morning sickness, and helped her prevent it from lasting all day. When she started getting cramps, he taught her several heating spells and told her that, in a few months, she would be able to feel that baby kicking.

Hermione started attending her classes once more; even through the stares her peers gave her as she walked the halls, and the whispers she heard. The only thing that she did not have was friends. Harry had not spoken to her since the night they fought, Ginny threw Hermione sympathetic and apologetic looks whenever they walked past her. But Hermione did not want to talk to Harry either, so it didn't matter. The only person that was trying to talk to her, other than Runty, was Fred. He would show up at random points during the day, offering to carry her bag, telling her jokes, and explaining that he would die (literally) if she would not let him help.

But Hermione did not want help beyond that of Runty; so she shrugged Fred away from her, making up one excuse or another to return to her room or rush along to her next class. To these excuses, he would usually frown. But he would not follow her; he did not call after her. He just let her walk away from him again and again.

After about a week of Fred's unsystematic appearances, Hermione was a little irritated. "Fred, why do you do this everyday?" she asked as she fell into pace with him.

"Because I have to," he said. "And, maybe, I want to," he added once she threw him a fixed look. He smiled at her. "You know, Hermione," said Fred. "You really should not be carrying that many books."

She huffed loudly, he was always saying that. "Runty says it is fine for now, as long as I don't carry anymore," she told him.

Fred rolled his eyes. She was always talking about that damn house-elf! "Sometimes I think you've fallen in love with Runty," he chuckled.

"Just leave me be, Fred," she said. "This isn't your problem. Or anyone else's for that matter. It's my problem only!" They had stopped walking now, and Hermione was facing Fred with her hands on her hips.

"Because you are so stubborn! You're letting a young house-elf help you instead of my mother, who had seven children if you did not notice!"

She could not believe she was letting him pull her into this fight once more; she did not want to talk about it anymore. So Hermione did what she had been doing, she turned away. Except, this time was different, because Fred grabbed her arm. "I'm not asking you to let everyone help you and serve to your every whim. I'm asking you to let me help you. For Ron."

Her eyes filled with tears, because she knew Fred was right. She doubt that he would lie about what Ron had said; she knew that it was Ron's request that Fred should help Hermione. She knew that she should not be trying to push him away because he reminded her of Fred. She knew that she should be letting everyone help her that was offering; that Runty should not be the only one giving her advice. Hermione knew that she needed all the friends she had left. So why was she pushing everyone away.

Slowly she turned around to face Fred. After a moment of nodding, she threw her arms around his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said into his shoulder as she held back the tears trying hardly to escape. She felt his arms wrap around her waist and on arm rub her back.

"There's nothing to be sorry about," he said. Frankly, that was the best advice Hermione had heard in months.

Losing a brother, Fred Weasley found, could stop everything. The joke shop he ran with his twin brother, George, was closed for a short time. They needed to help arrange things with their parents, besides the fact that, at the moment, they did not find pranks funny. Yes, the Weasley twins had temporarily lost their funny bones. But who could truly blame them? They had lost their younger brother, even if they had not been close.

But Fred also had a mission. He had promised his younger brother, with an Unbreakable Vow no less, that he would help Hermione in the unlikely chance Ron were to not live through the battle. Ron had to, of course, go out a hero and save Hermione. Leaving Fred to be forced to help Hermione, or face his own death.

And that had not been an easy task, convincing Hermione to let him help her. He was so afraid he was actually going to die that he had started writing out his Last Will and Testament! Thankfully, she had come around. If only he could get her to talk to Harry again…

The next month went by rather quickly for Hermione. Fred started coming around in the morning and eating breakfast with Hermione regularly, and had forced her to set up an appointment with a Healer at St. Mungo's. Of course, it had taken very much to convince her it was the wisest decision. He had already requested that Hermione could take leave on the next Saturday to Professor McGonagall, who had been relieved that Hermione had agreed to visit a Healer finally. The Headmistress had even set up transportation; because she did not want Hermione to Apparate while pregnant (the Healer would need to tell her how to a certain way, now that she was carrying).

So they went to St. Mungo's, for a two o'clock appointment made by Fred. They found no problems with the child, and, after no incident, they returned to Hogwarts by Apparation.

Of course, Fred did not want them to return exactly back to Hogwarts the second they had arrived in Hogsmeade, so he grabbed Hermione's hand and led her through the mostly empty streets. "Fred," she protested, "We should get back before Professor McGonagall—"

"For once, Hermione," said Fred, "Stop worrying and have fun. You deserve some fun."

She rolled her eyes, because he had been trying to get her to have "fun" for a very long time. "I have homework to finish," she continued as they neared the door to the Three Broomsticks.

"I highly doubt you did not complete it all already," he said as he opened the door and led her inside. Resignedly, Hermione sat down in a corner booth. She was surprised to see it the popular spot not more crowded.

Fred arrived a few moments later carrying one butterbeer in each hand. He placed one in front of Hermione and gave her a lopsided grin once she looked at it in disgust. "Don't even say the doctor said you cannot have butterbeer," he said.

She nodded. "He said not to drink!" she insisted.

Rolling his eyes, he pushed it closer to her. "You know you want it," he said, trying to tempt her. "So warm and tasty."

Hermione gave him an unreadable look as he pushed it closer. "You're going to push it off the table," she said as matter-of-factly.

Grinning he shook his head, pushing it one inch closer. Once more, she gave him an unreadable look. "Fredrick Weasley," she spoke sternly. "I cannot have a butterbeer and you—"

"The doctor said nothing about butterbeer," he persisted, picking it her cup and holding it under her nose. "Just have one cup, and I promise nothing will go wrong." Once more, he grinned.

She sighed, giving in and taking the cup. She took a few sips and the familiar feeling of warmth washed over her. "When are we going back?" asked Hermione, acting as if they had not argued at all, considerably more relaxed than she had been.

Fred shrugged, truly hoping that they could squeeze another hour into this trip.

Hermione nodded. Lately, Fred had become short of words and would only talk when trying to convince her of something for the baby. Of course, they had several conversations, but he just was not as talkative or humorous as before. In a way, it depressed Hermione. She knew it was from the loss of his brother, and that he was more worried about breaking the vow he had made. "You don't have to be with me every second I am awake," she said suddenly, bringing Fred out of a reverie.

"I need to watch out for you," he said simply. "You get hurt, I get killed."

She cocked an eyebrow. "What were the exact words Ron said?" she asked.

Fred looked down at the table, remembering clearly the ceremony which McGonagall had been the Bonder of.

Author's Note: Eight to go! I posted this chapter a little earlier than I was going to, but that is because the next chapter will probably be a little later than I had originally planned. For my updating schedule, please refer to my profile, which has the dates which I plan on updating.

Again, this story is for Monica. I don't think I've thanked her enough for all she has done for me.

I hope you liked this chapter!

Your Author,

Leii.