I received so many good reviews from my story The Letter, that I decided to make a prequel to it.
Hope
Hermione smoothed down the front of her heavy wool skirt, her face flushed, her eyes to the floor as though there were someone there to witness her shame. She could still feel his lips on hers, his hands on her body. An icy shiver ran through her, despite the intense warmth of the small closet.
She made it to the doorway, only feet away from where they had lain, before she burst into hopeless tears, fumbling clumsily with her tie. Cursing it under her breath, she stuffed the thin strip of fabric in her pocket. She had bigger problems to deal with than a tie that refused to cooperate.
How had it happened? How could she have let it happen? One minute he was screaming at her—her taking it with grace, because she'd been expecting such a reaction—and the next they were rolling on the floor of the closet, tearing violently at each other's clothing. Was that how it happened?—complete and intense passion, then nothing?
It was such a blur, a smear of limbs and kisses and labored breathing. And he'd bitten her, she remembered now, touching the tender skin at the base of her neck, thankful beyond reason for high shirt collars. He hadn't broken the skin, it wasn't like that. She'd cried out, but in pleasure, pure and unrestrained ecstasy at the things he'd done to her body.
She pulled a tiny pocket mirror from her robes, an item no one knew the simple Hermione Granger carried (and if she had it her way no one ever would), examining the marred skin. It was red and sort of swollen looking, maybe even a little purple around the edges. When her fingertips made contact it sent a shuddering shock through her—both good and bad.
Drying her eyes, Hermione stepped into the empty corridor, closing the closet door with a soft click, the sound seeming to echo relentlessly around her. She knew it was only her fear, however, of being caught anywhere near that cupboard after what she'd done within. And, most especially, who with. Which, as she walked, brought her back to the how of it all. What had compelled her to visit Malfoy in the infirmary? Sure she felt bad about what Harry had accidentally done to him, but that was Harry's problem, not hers. And then to kiss him! Granted it was on the cheek, but, with a guy like him, any such action can be taken as a come-on.
As she neared the Great Hall, the pit in her gut widened to a gorge. Harry and Ron would be there at dinner, waiting for her, wondering what had kept her so long. They had only been five minutes ahead, she staying behind at their last class to ask Professor McGonagall a question. Surely the professor was already at the meal, having been there a short while.
She checked her eyes for puffiness, then slipped her mirror back in her robes. And, just as she was entering the Great Hall, who happened to walk in but Draco Malfoy himself. He cast her a knowing and hideously suggestive grin, the brushed past her with, "Maybe Mudbloods are worth something after all."
It was the second week since the trio had been staying at Number 12 Grimmauld Place, the old house stuffy, its air almost noxious. Most of the rest of the Order of the Phoenix was staying there with them as well, eating and sleeping and working in shifts. When they'd first arrived, a few days after the end of sixth year—the boys had gone home with Hermione so she could say good-bye to her parents, promising them her safe return—the Order members had been adamant about them doing anything for them, flat out denying their membership. The next day they were official members—Harry had actually screamed at several of them, including Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, saying that if they weren't given assignments then they'd leave and be in even greater danger.
A small group of members sat around the kitchen table, listening intently to the person who had called the meeting: Harry Potter. He made all excellent points, touching on so many valuable topics that many of the adults were astonished they hadn't accepted him sooner. He ended on a sour note, however, bringing up a sore subject even to himself—Dumbledore's death. And though they agreed with him that former-Professor Snape was a danger to them and should not be trusted until he can prove his loyalty, they grew disgruntled when he suggested Draco Malfoy might be redeemable.
After everyone had cleared out of the kitchen—it was well past midnight and many of them had to wake early for assignments—Hermione pulled Harry aside, both her conscience and her heart heavy.
"Did you really mean what you said?" she asked, whispering so low he almost couldn't hear her. "About Malfoy, I mean. Do you think he'll come to us eventually?"
"You didn't see what I saw," he answered a little hotly, thinking she was berating him like the rest had. "He couldn't kill Dumbledore. He was terrified, Hermione. And I know, he's Malfoy, the same Malfoy he's always been. But that doesn't mean—"
"Harry," she said, touching his arm. "I'm not disagreeing with you." He eased noticeably, allowing her to lead him back to the table, pushing him gently to take a seat while she stood. "Harry, I have something important to tell you."
His eyes glazed with concerned and, when he tried to stand, she pressed him back.
"I don't know how else to say this, so I'm just going to do it…I…I'm pregnant," she whispered, using all her energy to keep her eyes from falling to the floor. "And—"
"Malfoy's the father?" he guessed, his voice dry.
"Harry, I'm so sorry. I don't know how it happened. I went to see him at the infirmary after you cursed him. He was yelling at me. He shoved me in a closet." She was talking so fast he could barely understand her, but let her continue on, both for his benefit and her own—she needed to get it out. "And I told him no one had ever been kind. And then we…we were…Harry, what am I going to do? I'm having a baby!"
He stood up and enveloped her in his arms carefully, not saying a word. She sobbed wildly for a good ten minutes, then stepped back and gave a sigh so great her entire being seemed to quiver with the weight of it.
"I can't let you go out anymore," he told her in the commanding voice of a father or protective big brother. "Not where they could find out about you."
"I know," she sighed, folding into him again. "But whatever I can do around here," she said sternly, "I'm doing. I refuse to be useless because of Malfoy."
"He'll come around," he assured her, though she was far from it.
"I hope you're right, Harry…I hope…"
For the next two months Hermione's life was unbearable. Soon after she'd told Harry her dire news, she gradually let everyone else know. Expectedly they wanted to know how such a thing could happen and, with tears streaming down her face, she told them with as little graphic detail as possible.
Ron still couldn't look her in the eye, let alone speak to her. They hadn't even had a confrontation; he simply refused to have contact with her. Everyday she sough his eyes, and every night she went to bed sobbing.
She sat in her room, one hand resting comfortably on the four-month-large bump of her belly. She had taken to her room rather than put up with all the staring. To keep herself busy—and feel useful—Harry had given her maps and charts and documents to analyze and male strategic plans on. Ron refused to look at anything she touched.
Finally she'd had enough. She waited in her doorway until she heard Ron's distinct footfalls coming up the stairs. As he went by—not looking at her, of course—she grabbed him roughly by the elbow, forcing him through much struggle into her room. Once inside, she barred the door with an intense spell.
"Let me go, Hermione," he said, his voice dangerously low. For the first time in two months he looked her right in the eye—Hermione was so taken aback at the utter malice they held that she wanted to vomit. Though, however, it could always be morning sickness.
"Ron, you can't ignore me forever. After the baby is born—"
"What!" he hissed. "I'm going to love the monster?"
"Ron!" she cried, shoving him angrily. "I meant I would be back on missions with you and Harry!"
"Not if I have anything to do with it."
"How can you be so unreasonable!" She was so furious her hand was actually on her wand.
"Unreasonable! Hermione, you're having Malfoy's baby! Hell, you're having a baby period! How could you screw your life up like that?" He hung his head, shaking it sadly. "How could you let him touch you?"
"You're so perfect, aren't you?" she mocked with venom. "I made a mistake, Ron. And—clearly—I'm paying for it. Can you ever look past that? I've known you six years. Are you going to let one mistake ruin that?"
"You just don't get it," he sighed, and for the first time he looked sad instead of angry. "I love you, Hermione. I've loved you for so long…" He shook his head again and turned away. "I don't think I can ever forgive you."
She sucked in a sob with grace, then nodded. "Then I feel sorry for you." With a half-hearted flick of her wand she unlocked the door. "You can leave now."
The door creaked open, then slowly closed with a click.
"I love you too…"
Hope Ginevra Granger was born on February 18th, a six-pound-four-ounce powerhouse with strong lungs and her mother's head of sticky brown curls. She was delivered at 5:10 in the morning by Molly Weasley in the very bed Hermione slept in every night. Upon seeing her Hermione burst into tears of both joy and anguish; Ron had refused to enter the room, even to see the baby.
Her parents were also missing. It was simply too dangerous to bring them to Headquarters—muggles anywhere near the house would put them all in peril. Harry had taken the liberty of sending them an owl with only word one: perfect. They would know what it meant, Hermione had said she'd told them some time ago. They weren't thrilled, but they were more concerned about her safety than anything else.
Once little Hope was placed in her arms, Hermione's tears immediately stopped, the bright gray eyes—her father's eyes—staring up at her. She was so beautiful, so perfect—she almost couldn't believe her daughter was finally here.
"I love you so much," she whispered, tears beginning to well in her eyes again. "Harry, would you like to hold her?"
"Of course," Harry replied with a smile, taking the baby carefully from her.
"Will you be her Godfather, Harry?" she asked, her eyes drooping. She was so exhausted, she could barely stay awake.
"I wouldn't have it any other way."
"Ginny?"
Ginny came into view beside Harry, having taken a few days from school in order to be with Hermione for the baby's birth.
"Yes?"
"I want you to be her Godmother. Will you?"
Ginny beamed and nodded gratefully as Harry passed her Goddaughter to her.
Hermione fell asleep just as the door scraped open and Ron walked in.
It was a full month before Harry would allow Hermione to go back out in the field, fearing that Voldemort had caught wind of the birth of her daughter. Not that it was possible, however. Everyone in the Order—everyone who knew—had been sworn to secrecy, their promises bound with magic. If anyone had told another soul then everyone would know about it.
Instantly Ron asked to be reassigned when Harry told him the three of them would be working together again.
"Would you grow up Ron!" Harry yelled, his fists clenched around the reports McGonagall had given him. "Yes Hermione slept with Malfoy! And yes she had a baby by him! But she's still Hermione! This has gone on long enough!"
"How can I be around her when she betrayed us like that, Harry?" Ron sighed, frowning darkly.
"The question is: how can you let your feelings put us in jeopardy? Put her in jeopardy? You say you love her, that you can't be her friend because you love her and she betrayed you—but if you don't come with us, if you don't help me protect her, then you can't possibly love her."
Muttering something incoherent under his breath, Ron finally agreed to go on the mission with them.
They ran so fast and for so long that their lungs felt like they were tearing apart. With gasping breaths they finally reached her, her body stiff and floating inches above the ground.
"Come an inch closer and I'll finish her," growled Narcissa Malfoy, her greasy blonde hair sticking to her face.
"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered. At first Harry thought she was apologizing for getting caught, but then he saw her smile. Another activity Hermione had been doing to occupy her time at Headquarters was practicing both Legilimens and Occlumency. In other words, she knew exactly what Narcissa was planning and her apology was for whatever she was going to do next, whatever that might be.
"Mudblood," Narcissa hissed, jabbing her wand in the air at her. "Kill Weasley."
Hermione's feet touched the hard packed earth, her eyes fierce and her wand steady. She walked towards them, looking for all the world as if she truly meant to go through with the command. She stopped directly in front of Ron, her face matching that of Narcissa Malfoy's—completely hollow and devoid of emotion.
"Good-bye," she said, her voice cold and dry. Ron, horrified, couldn't have moved had he wanted to. It was over so fast no one had time to think. When they brilliant green light faded the body of Narcissa Malfoy lay, a tangled mess of limbs, on the unforgiving ground.
Hermione managed to force a smile before she collapsed.
A week after Hermione's near-death mission she called Ron to her room. For nearly an hour after they'd come back that night he'd tried in vein to apologize for everything, even getting down on his knees and begging her to forgive him. She'd turned away, only whispering the word: "Forgiveness."
"That's your Uncle Ron," Hermione said, tickling Hope's cheek as Ron held the small child, wondering how such a beautiful baby could be half Malfoy.
"She's gorgeous, Hermione," he said, handing her back. "Look." He sat down on her bed as she put Hope down for a nap. "I don't know what to say. I've been so childish."
"I asked to see you for a reason, Ron," she reminded him, taking a seat beside him. She grabbed his hand, though after a few seconds realized the awkwardness of such an action and slipped her hand into her robe pocket. "I needed time to cool off. It's going to take a lot more, though, for me to trust you again. You were so ready to throw our friendship away. You can't imagine how bad that hurt."
Ron was about to say that he did know, that that's exactly how he felt when he'd found out about her and Malfoy, but decided against it. It would only make matters worse.
"I love you," she said after a long silence. "I love you, Ron, but I can't be with you. I can forgive you for turning your back on me, but I can't let myself be vulnerable again. I'm sorry."
He nodded slowly, forcing his tears back. He should have expected as much.
"And Malfoy?" he asked cautiously. "Where does he figure into this?"
Hermione shrugged, her eyes subconsciously traveling to her now-sleeping daughter on the other side of the room.
"That's up to him. Harry thinks he'll come to us, that he'll switch sides. And, if he does, then I guess its his decision. As of right now I'm perfectly fine raising Hope on my own."
"That's not what I meant."
Hermione's face darkened and she sighed.
"I don't have feelings for him," she assured him. "I mean, anything's possible," she added with a laugh, gesturing towards the crib. "But even the idea of me and Malfoy—don't think about it. He's Hope's father, that's all."
"If none of this had happened—"
She took his hand again, this time holding onto it firmly, knowing exactly what he was asking.
"In a heartbeat."
On a dusty day in June Harry ran into Hermione's bedroom, his face beaming with delight. He found her playing with four-month-old Hope on the floor, her chubby arms stretching up for him to hold her. Harry obliged without thought, cradling his Goddaughter lovingly.
"What's going on?" Hermione asked, climbing to her feet. "Did something happen?"
"No one believed me," he said, still smiling.
"What do you mean?" Since she'd been back in action things had been so hectic around Headquarters that she couldn't begin to guess at what had him so happy.
"Malfoy," he answered. "He's on his way."
And for the first time in her life Hermione smiled because of Draco Malfoy. Perhaps there was hope after all.
There you are! The prequel to The Letter. :P I hope everyone liked it as much as I liked writing it. I do plan on writing a sequel sometime, but for now I want to focus on my other two stories that I've been neglecting for too long.
REVIEW!