Dedication: This story, in its entirety, is dedicated to Monica. Without her, who knows where I would be.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to it. I own nothing but the room I am sitting in, and the computer I am using. Oh, and the plot, I guess.

Author's Note: I would just like to mention that Hermione may seem very hot-tempered this chapter. One reason: she's pregnant, and a few weeks overdue I might like to add. Her hormones are raging and her judgment is a little off because of it.

On My Own

Chapter Six- Deliberation & Desire

The rest of Christmas break passed without much incident. While Hermione still was recovering from, and going over in her head, what had happened with Fred on Christmas Eve, not much else happened. She debated with Fleur about motherhood, Fleur seemed less excited than Hermione had expected, and continued the therapy sessions with Blaise (the sessions involved viewing his memories of his parents, namely his father, and just talking. He had not once, since he had asked her out, had an episode).

But all her thoughts, no matter what she was doing, remained on Fred. She had walked away from him and everything he was offering her, and it was slowly turning into one of her biggest regrets. Because, in all truthfulness, the time period in which she could deny her feelings was coming to an abrupt end. She just couldn't anymore. The feelings were so familiar, similar to what she had felt for Ron while he was alive. But, in a way, they were... different.

It was extremely unexplainable and so hard to comprehend. Less than a year ago, Hermione would have told anyone that would listen that Ron was the one for her, but now... now it was starting to dawn on Hermione that maybe Fred had always been the one for her. Only, she had never noticed; never given him a second glance. Because it had seemed, at the time, that Fate wanted Hermione and Ron together, that they were meant to be; that was the reason they had met on the train that day.

What if all she thought was wrong? What if, unquestionably, she had only met Ron that day because it was to open her path to Fred? Fate, it seemed, had brought Ron and Hermione together, only so that Unbreakable Vow would be made; only so Fred would fall for Hermione; only so they would end up together. Was that it? Had she found the truth finally?

So she may have been carrying the child of Ron, but did that mean he was the one for her, just because she was having his child?

No, it did not. She could move on; find the right person for herself. Maybe, just maybe, it would turn out to be Fred. And she hoped it would be Fred. Truly, frantically hoped.

She just hoped that he still felt the same way.

---

Apparently, he did not. Hermione received no contact from him at all; not even one damn letter. She figured he had probably found many other girls to fill her spot, and would, at this thought, become rather jealous and snappy. Not to mention the mood swings she was already experiencing due to the pregnancy.

Jokingly, Harry would say "Red alert!" whenever he sensed a mood swing coming. Hermione wouldn't mind this as much if he didn't do it in the middle of the corridors and in the Great Hall.

It was now nearing the middle of February. The days lasted longer, and the nights were shorter. The weather seemed unusually warm to Hermione, but she didn't mind. The winter this year had depressed her so much. And she was glad that everything was going by so quickly; she was already in her eight month of pregnancy. Meaning, of course, that there was only one more month left.

But even the thought that she would soon be holding her child in her arms couldn't make her forget about Fred. She had yet to have contact with him, let alone reconcile with him, and was overly worried. She missed the help he gave her, and the laughter they had shared. She even missed him calling her child "he/she or it."

"Are you feeling all right, Hermione?" asked Harry, bringing her out of her reverie. This question made Hermione think. Was she feeling all right?

Honestly, she wasn't. Her stomach, which was concealed so she could wear her school uniform still, was twisting and turning. Most of the time, when she had her stomach concealed, she wouldn't even remember that she was even pregnant. But this last month had her mind reeling with everything having to do with the baby and Fred.

"Hermione?" Harry repeated worriedly, waving his hand in front of her face, which was contorted as if she were in some sort of pain. Since Christmas Eve, something had changed about Hermione. Whether or not it was a good or bad change, he hadn't decided yet.

Finally, Hermione looked at Harry, into his blazing green eyes. "I think I just need to lie down," she said, standing up and leaving the Gryffindor common room before he could react. He threw down the book he had been reading onto the ground, receiving several glares from the students whose studying he was disrupting, and followed Hermione tracks as quickly as he possibly could. He did not have to go far, however, because she had not even made it half way to her dormitory before needing to rest. She was leaning against a wall not two corridors away from Gryffindor tower.

"What's wrong, Hermione?" he asked once he was standing in front of her, furrowing his brow.

She suddenly burst into tears. "I made a terrible mistake," she replied, throwing her arms around his shoulders.

"Having this baby is not a mistake, Hermione," insisted Harry, patting her back soothingly. "This is anything but a mista—"

"Not the baby, Harry," she said. "Fred."

---

It was a full month later and there had still been no word from Fred. Professor McGonagall had insisted Hermione could take as long as she needed off from classes. The professor had also expanded Hermione's bedroom, so that there was now a big enough space to put all the things belonging to he/she or it, which had already been built by Fred, Blaise, and Harry months earlier.

She glanced around her newly enlarged room and sighed from her bed. Wearing some of the only maternity clothing she had bothered to buy, she was no longer concealing her stomach. The due date was less one week away, and she had the next month off, so there was no need to conceal her stomach. Later on, Harry would be arriving with her homework assignments, and she would be able to do more than lounge and nap. Her mind would be taken off of the baby. And, hopefully, off Fred.

Yes, she was still thinking about Fred, even with all that had happened. Even with the baby almost there. He was that nagging thought at the back of her mind. Hermione had only done a few things in life that she truly regretted doing; walking away from Fred that night was the biggest one. Not that she was trying to think of him, it was just that everything somehow reminded her of Fred.

Mrs. Weasley had sent a package a few days earlier filled with the foods Hermione loved, baby clothes, stuffed animals and blankets. Maureen, her midwife, had been making visits to Hermione daily to check her vitals and to make sure the baby was doing all right. "Any day now," she would say with a smile before leaving.

Hermione's due date came and past, but Maureen was not worried. "It was only a prediction as to when the baby would be born," she said on the third late day. "Don't worry," she smiled her bright white smile once more, "It will happen when the time is right."

Oh yes, because that would not end up being almost a month later than expected.

It was a full week late now, and Hermione was becoming very aggravated. "I don't want to be pregnant anymore," she whined one day to Harry, just as he was handed her the paper listing her homework. "I just want to... not be pregnant!"

At this, he would just roll his eyes. She had been seldom saying the same thing since the end of Christmas Break, but now it seemed to him that it was the only thing she said to him anymore. "Maureen said—"

"I do not give a rat's ass about what Maureen said," she wailed. "I just don't want to be pregnant!"

Accustomed to this reaction of hers, he rolled his eyes once more. Then he grinned. "Fred was right," he said, "You look like the giant squid..."

She glared at him. "Comedy was never your forte, Harry."

"Well, I think I've been too busy saving the world to become a top-notch comedian," he replied, sitting at the foot of her bed now.

Suddenly, her door was thrown open and in rushed a panting Blaise. "They found him," he said, breathless. "They found Malfoy."

Harry jumped to his feet. "Where?" he asked firmly.

Blaise jerked his head backwards. "They're bringing him here," he answered. "McGonagall is going to talk to him."

After glancing at Hermione, who had, for a fleeting moment, thought they were talking about Ron, walked forward. "Well let's go kick ferret-boy's arse."

Blaise held out his arm to stop Harry. "He's not here to be questioned," Blaise informed him. "He's here to learn."

They both gaped at the Slytherin in silence. Hermione was the first to break the silence. "What the bloody hell do you mean by "learn"?" she exclaimed.

"He's been getting tutored at home while recovering from a severe injury," Blaise continued. "He is going to be tutored by Professor McGonagall and a few other teachers to prepare for the N.E.W.T.s, and attending some classes. It's only temporary. I only rushed up here because he said something to me."

"What?" Harry and Hermione asked in unison.

"He wants revenge for his father," he answered. "And he wants it now. We need to get Hermione out of here, just for a little while."

"How does he know who killed his father?" asked Hermione. It had not been one of her proudest moments in life, but killing Lucius Malfoy had helped them win in the end. "Draco sodding Malfoy wasn't even at that battle."

"Which is why they are allowing him back," said Blaise. "There is no proof linking him to any Death Eater activity, besides the Dark Mark on his arm. According to them, and him, he never killed or harmed anyone."

Hermione stood up before anyone could stop her. "Bring me to him right now, I'm going to give him a piece of my mind," she said, stowing her wand, which had been lying on her bedside table, in her pocket.

Harry rushed to her side. "I think that maybe you should be lying down," he suggested. "Not kicking Malfoy's ass. I mean, you are pregnant..."

"Why thank you, Harry. If it weren't for you, I probably wouldn't have realized that this enormous bulge is because I'm pregnant," she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "That does not mean I can't go and talk some sense into Malfoy, does it? I may not be able to beat him up physically, but I definitely can emotionally. The bloody bastard doesn't deserve to take the N.E.W.T.s, and I think it is my responsibility to force that into his blonde skull."

Harry grabbed her wrist gently. "I don't think that it is very wise to go and cause yourself stress, Hermione," he warned. "I advise you to go back to bed and rest."

Hermione pulled her hand away from him and folded her arms across her chest, lips pursing. "Just because I am pregnant, Potter," she snarled, "Does not mean that I cannot go and kill someone!"

Harry and Blaise exchanged glances and tried to hold in their laughter. "Listen to yourself," said Blaise.

An annoyed groan emitted from Hermione throat. "I just want to wring that stupid attention whore's neck!" she said, stomping her foot.

Not wanting Hermione to upset herself further, and really not able to handle her anymore, Harry spoke up, "You're acting like a five-year old chi--"

"You're acting like a prat!"

"You're pregnant!"

"We already cleared that one up, thanks!"

"You need to lie down before you hurt the baby!"

"You need to shut your mouth when speaking to me!"

Well, that definitely shut him up. "What?" he asked. "That made no sense whatsoever. I really think it would be wise to lie down now, Hermione, because you're not making any sense."

She stomped her foot. "I will not sit here and let Draco sodding Malfoy attend Hogwarts," she persisted. "I refuse to allow him here while I am going to be keeping a child here."

Then, before either Blaise or Harry could react, Hermione had stunned them and rushed out of the room. Riding on the impulse to injure Malfoy, she did not care that her ankles felt as if they were on fire; she didn't care that the stitch in her side seemed to be getting worse with each burning step; she didn't care that she had not concealed her stomach that morning and was receiving strange looks from the student she passed; she didn't even care to take a break until she was outside the Gargoyle that led to the Headmistress' office. She said the password, which she knew because she was Head Girl, and went up the stairs. When she burst through the door, she was panting heavily, and sank into the nearest chair, all the while Professor McGonagall and Draco Malfoy were giving her an incredulous look.

"What are you doing, Ms. Granger?" asked the professor when she was finally able to talk.

When Hermione finally caught her breath, she held her wand, which had been out since she left her dormitory, in Malfoy's direction. "I find that letting Malfoy come here is a bad decision on your part, Professor McGonagall."

"Whether or not it is a bad decision, it was not mine to make," she replied, looking at Hermione over the rims of her spectacles. "I am obliging with what the Ministry has asked of me, which is to tutor and allow Draco here to attend class so he can take his N.E.W.T.s at the end of this school year."

Hermione stood up, still not caring that her lungs hurt badly. "My child is in danger because he will surely try to harm me," debated Hermione, her wand still aimed at Malfoy, as if he were going to pounce on her.

Really, Malfoy was not planning on doing anything. At the moment, at least. The book propped on his lap was still open as he stared at the seemingly mad young woman. The last time he had seen her had been the night he ran from Hogwarts with Snape. Things, her stomach specifically, had changed a great deal. When he at last was able to speak, because the shock of a wand being brandished at him by a pregnant woman was great, he tried to be like the Malfoy he knew she was used to. "Now now, Granger," he said snidely. "You wouldn't want to hurt your... child, would you? Especially over me."

Her eyes flashed dangerously and she slowly turned her head in his direction. "If I did anything to you, Malfoy," she said in a low voice, "I would not regret it, so don't provoke me."

Hermione's threat did not persuade him to stop, however. "Weasley's been dead for along time, has he not?" he counted back the months on his fingers. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say that it's been almost nine months since he made that foolish move of jumping in front of a cur—"

He was, of course, interrupted when Hermione's self-control ran out and she hit him with the first spell that came to mind. "Incendio," she shouted, and immediately set his blonde hair on fire.

The Headmistress, to Malfoy's gratification and mortification, without delay doused him with water from her own wand. The end product: a Draco Malfoy with a considerably lesser amount of (singed) hair that was dripping water not only all over him and the carpet on the floor below him, but on the rare Potions book he had been studying from.

"Ms. Granger, I realize that the hormones streaming through your body are going to make you do some irrational things, but this is absurd," exclaimed McGonagall. "You cannot go around lighting my student's hair on fire!"

"I don't consider Malfoy one of your students," said Hermione. "I consider him what is left of an enemy."

"The only enemy here is a crazed, pregnant woman," snapped Malfoy, brushing his soaking wet hair back and staring at her pointedly. "Just because your hair lacks... well, everything that mine has, doesn't mean you need to have a vendetta against it."

"Go shove your big, blonde, egotistical head up your—"

"Ms. Granger, I'm asking you to leave and go back to your dormitory," said McGonagall calmly. "I don't think you need this stress."

"Yes, go back to your dormitory and dream about what life would be like if your precious Weaselbe were still here," said Malfoy scathingly. "Although, if you ask me, I think your kid will have a much better life without him."

"Shove off, Mal—" Hermione stopped and clutched her stomach.

---

The glowing green light emanating from the fireplace barely lit the seemingly deserted room. Yet, the person inside the fire knew better. George Weasley knew that his brother was in the room, only just out of site somewhere. This was his routine, checking in on his twin brother, so he knew that Fred was there. Fred had barely left his room for days, only to occasionally check the store, and had locked and sealed his door to a great extent. So George, being the kind twin brother that he was, would use his Floo powder to talk to his brother that was only one room away (It would have been easier, he would later realize, to just blast open the door).

"Fred," he called out. "I know you're there."

"Go away," came Fred's muffled reply in the darkness. He was, of course, lying in bed like a miserable old man.

"This is important, Fred," persisted George. "This is very important."

"If you're running low on Puking Pasties, there are more in the—"

"This is not about the store," he interrupted his twin. "It's about Hermione."

Fred sprang up and came into view by the light of the fireplace. "What happened?" he asked worriedly.

"She's going into labor."

---

The journey to Hogwarts took only a matter of minutes. Fred had his coat on and was heading out the door before George had even taken his head out of his fireplace. Rushing up the path onto the school grounds, and passing through the fence with no problem, all of Fred's thoughts were focused on the same thing they had been focused on since Christmas Eve.

Yes, Hermione Granger still had his heart, even though she had blatantly rejected him. Even though he knew things would never work out with them. She was still the person that caused his heart to do flips. Fred knew that his life would never be the same; that Hermione Granger would always hold the key to his heart.

But even though she had obviously snubbed him, he was still running to her. Months earlier, it would have been because of fear for his own life, but now... now it was for a non-selfish reason. Now it was for Hermione. Simple as that. For Hermione.

Apparently, he had been informed of her labor later, because, by the time he got there, it was too late to help her through the labor. As he burst into the Common Room, he could hear the cries of a baby in the other room. He looked around the room: Blaise was sitting on the couch, seemingly in a trance.

"Hello?" said Fred.

Blaise head snapped up and a grin spread across his face. "It's a boy," he said cheerfully.

Fred looked back at the closed door, than back at Blaise. His blood, on a different occasion, would be boiling, because of what had happened last time they met. But it was too joyful of a moment to go beating anyone up. Yet. "Can I do in there?" he asked unsurely, gesturing towards the door.

Blaise nodded, still looking happy.

Smiling, Fred turned to the door and opened it. All heads, which had been focused on the infant being held by a beaming, and very red, sweaty, Hermione, snapped to look at Fred at he stepped inside the bedroom.

"Please tell me you did not name that adorable child "Corban," Hermione," said Fred as he closed the door.

She rolled her eyes. "Of course not," she answered. "I named him "Narcissus," after you."

His jaw dropped. "Please tell me you are only joking."

She smiled broadly. "If you must know," she said, looking down at the baby boy in her arms, "I named him Matthias Corban."

He looked around the room, beaming at the fact that she had actually chosen his suggestion. It, Hermione's bedroom, was full of everyone that loved Hermione; Harry, Ginny, Arthur, Molly, and even Professor McGonagall. And Fred was there, too. They were one big family, with or without Ron. But he was there too then, in a way.

Hermione looked at him, and their eyes met. She inclined her head in her direction, and he knew what she meant. Her smile told him all he needed to know. So, after a few steady steps, he was sitting beside her on the bed, staring at the small, seven pound infant she held in her arms. The evident tuft of red hair he had seen the moment he stepped through the door, and was proud to say it matched his own. Of course, he knew that it would, later on, become curly like Hermione's.

"Happy Birthday," she said suddenly.

Fred looked up at her and cocked an eyebrow. "Who are you talking to?"

"You, of course," answered Hermione. "It is April first; your birthday. And Matthias' now. I named him Matthias for you; that is your birthday present from me."

He restrained himself from saying that he would rather her be his birthday present when he spoke. "Well, I think I should start the training as soon as possible," said Fred in a serious tone. "It is a two year training course I've entitled "Operation Pranksterfy He/She or It," or "O-PHSI" for short."

"Don't you think you should change that to "Operation Pranksterfy Matthias Corban Granger"?" asked Harry.

"Hmm," he said thoughtfully. ""O-PMCG" doesn't sound right. "O-PHSI" sounds better to me. What do you say, Hermione?"

"I say that I'm not letting you anywhere near Matthias if you are going to turn him into your protégé," she said.

He pouted. "You take all the fun out of life, Hermione."

She smiled at him and looked back down at Matthias. "Do you want to hold him?" she asked suddenly.

Before Fred could protest, he was holding the small, bundled up baby. The door opened and Hermione's midwife, Maureen, walked in. "The picture perfect family," she remarked upon seeing the two and the baby together. They both couldn't help but blush slightly.

---

Author's Note: I would just like to thank all of my wonderful reviewers, and especially Monica. I would like to mention that there might actually be less than 10 chapters. I'm not saying this for sure though, but the next chapter could possibly be the last, if I can get at least 7000 words written before the due date. So the schedule will stay, just in case the next chapter is not the last one.

I hope you all liked this chapter. Go on and leave me your thoughts, I love constructive criticism. Without it, how would I ever become a better writer?

Love,

Leii.