Hermione was on the verge of a meltdown. She must have read through her medical records from 1998 a dozen times, hoping that the words would change. She'd felt sick to her stomach with each new and terrifying thought that popped into her head, and she was far too distraught to face her husband and children; they'd immediately know something was wrong. Instead of going home, she'd decided to clear her head with a walk by the river near the Westminister Bridge, though it wasn't doing much good. As she aimless wandered down the walking trails, thinking of the all the people she'd soon hurt, small drops of rain began to fall and the rumbling sound of thunder could be heard in the distance.
The situation was much worse than she could have imagined. Not only had she and Harry kept secret a one night stand, but also the pregnancy that had resulted, and now there was proof. There was no way around it, they'd have to tell Ron and Ginny.
Hermione was furious with Harry. How had he not foreseen this? Didn't he say he was going to take care of everything? Why would he ever have helped her erase her own child from her memories? Why had she even asked him to? As upset as she was with her friend, she was equally upset with her younger self. What kind of mother was she?
The rain began to fall harder, and as lightening flashed through the grey sky, Hermione decided it was time to do what she'd been delaying for the last few hours. She knew Ginny was away covering the Magpies Quidditch match in Scotland, and that she'd be able to get Harry alone.
Hermione apperated onto the sidewalk in front of his house, her knee length black dress soaked and clinging to her body. She marched up the doorsteps and hammered on large oak door with her fist. While still aggressively knocking, the door swung opened, revealing a confused and concerned Harry.
He was dressed plainly, a white T-shirt and a pair of dark jeans. His hair was unruly, as if he'd been laying on the couch, and his rectangle glasses crooked.
"Hermione?" He asked, taken aback by the sight of her. She was drenched. Her long chestnut hair was dripping wet, and her ivory skin was covered in goose bumps.
She pushed past him inside, suppressing the urge to hex him as she entered the foyer. "Is anyone else home?"
"Just James and Lily. Both upstairs."
Hermione continued walking further into the house, Harry cautiously trailing her. She found herself in the study, the only room on the main floor that offered some seclusion.
"Muffliato," she mutter under her breath, as Harry gently closed the door behind behind them.
They stood there in the cozy room, looking at one another for a beat before Hermione angrily threw the brown envelope containing her medical record at his chest. Harry fumbled to catch it, and upon hastily opening it, his eyes widen with realization. The look on his face confirmed everything.
"I was pregnant," Hermione choked out, doing her best to suppress her tears and control her fury.
"Yes."
"And you didn't think to tell me?" She cried, raising her hands in frustration and beginning to pace.
"I didn't think I needed to," he answered, instinctively taking a step towards her.
"Damn it, Harry!" She shouted, backing away from him. "You said there was no proof!"
"This record was supposed to have been destroyed!"
Hermione scoffed, shaking her head.
"I can't believe this..."
"Fuck!" Harry yelled, slamming his knuckles into the wall next to him.
"What else is there?" She demanded, ignoring his outburst. "What else haven't you told me?"
Harry couldn't mask the hurt in his expression. She'd never been this angry with him.
"Hermione, I promise this is it," he said, his voice softening.
He looked at her pleadingly, his eyes begging her to believe him. She gave him a hard stare before turning away, rubbing her temples with her index and middle fingers.
"How could I choose to forget my own child?" she asked, sinking into a nearby plush chair. "What was wrong with me? I don't know myself at all."
Harry slowly approached her, carefully sitting down in the chair next to her and placed a gently hand on her shoulder. He cast a drying spell on her when he noticed her teeth beginning to chatter.
"You're being too hard on yourself," he said softly. "You didn't even know you were pregnant until that day."
Hermione gave a small, bitter laugh. "Oh great so I'm an idiot too."
"You, of all people, are no idiot."
"How could I not have known?" She asked with wide teary eyes.
Harry sighed.
"We were skin and bones in May of '98. You were severely underweight and had just been through a great deal of physical and mental trauma. You had so many other things to think about."
"Was I not sick?"
"You were," Harry replied. "We thought you had a touch of the Flu in February and you looked exhausted, but I suppose we all did. The thought never crossed my mind that you could have been pregnant, and if it did yours, you never shared that with me. The healer suspected the fetus stopped growing and was possibly even killed following the events at Malfoy Manor. She said that's why you weren't showing."
Hermione considered this for a moment. It made sense that a pregnancy would not have survive the horrific experience and excruciating pain of the cruciatus curse, meaning she'd had carried the lost fetus for another 6 weeks before hemorrhaging and being taken to St. Mungo's.
Another thought then entered her mind. If it hadn't been for Bellatrix Lestrange, it was very likely she would be the mother of a twenty-two year-old shared with Harry. How different her life would be. Would she and Harry have gotten together to raise the child, or would she have still married Ron? Would the the three of them been able to get past it all and remaining friends?
"I'm still so angry with you," Hermione said quietly, hurt swimming in her eyes. "And also myself."
"I thought I could spare you this part," he said sincerely. "Despite not knowing you were pregnant when you arrived at the hospital, you still took the loss hard. Like you had somehow failed. You weren't anything like yourself again until you returned from Australia. I didn't want to put you through that again."
"I'm not a child anymore, Harry," Hermione snapped. "I can handle the truth."
"Oh really?" Harry shot back. "Why haven't you asked me to restore your memories then?"
"I - I - you - "
"You think carrying all this for the last 20 years has been easy for me?" He asked sharply. "I visited the tiny grave in Godric's Hallow every week in the summer of '98. It was the only thing I could think to do. I was so angry with myself. Not only did you almost die, but you went through so much pain and loss, all because I was a stupid prat who couldn't keep his hands to himself."
Hermione suddenly felt foolish. She had made the selfish decision to erase her memories, to allow Harry to bear the weight all on his own. Of course he was hurting too, and he had been hurting all along while she'd been oblivious.
"Do you still go?" She asked quietly, referring to the graveyard in Godric's Hallow.
"Whenever I visit my parents I stop," he answered dolefully. "The headstone is quite small and doesn't have a name on it, but it's nice. I can take you there if you'd like."
"Yeah," she replied, thinking of the twenty years she had to make up for. "I think I'd like that."
Harry stood and made his way over to a bottle of fire-whiskey sitting on the fireplace mantle. He poured himself a drink, gesturing to Hermione if she'd like one. She shook her head, remembering the last time she'd numbed her pain with alcohol.
"How does Ron not know any of this?" She asked curiously. "He and I had just gotten together when I was admitted to St. Mungo's."
"You forget how out of it Ron was after the Battle," Harry replied with a sympathetic look. "His family was still grieving the loss of Fred and it seemed like every day we had a new funeral to attend. The three of us were living at Grimmauld Place, but Ron often stay at the Burrow to be with his family. He was gone the afternoon I found you passed out in the bathroom in a pool of your own blood. You'd been having worsening stomach pain for over a week, but you didn't want to complain with so many others suffering worse. I kicked myself for months that I didn't notice something was off with you sooner, not that it would have changed the outcome."
Hermione winced, feeling horrible that Harry, who had just gone through so much of his own, had to walk in and find her like that. He must have been so confused, not knowing what was going on, and of course he blamed himself.
"We need to tell them," he said, sitting back down next to her, his drink in his hand. "This could hit the media any day and then - "
"All hell will break loose."
Harry nodded, taking a healthy drink of his whiskey.
Hermione chewed at her lip, her mind desperately racing to find a way around it, but she came up with nothing.
"We should do it tomorrow," he suggested finally. "Rip the bandage off. We can send the kids to the Burrow for the evening. That way we have the entire night."
Hermione frowned at the thought. The kids. Telling them would be a whole other ordeal, and one that she was equally not looking forward to. Rose was at such an odd stage, where she was annoyed and embarrassed by everything her parents did, while Hugo still considered her and Ron as superheroes who could do not wrong. How would they handle the news?"
"Harry," Hermione began, a sadness in her voice. "I don't want to lose them."
"I don't either, and if we do this right, we aren't going to," Harry said comfortingly. "So tomorrow?"
Hermione sighed and hung her head in resignation.
"Tomorrow."
...
By the time Hermione walked through the front door of her home, it was ten at night. The house was quite except for the faint sound of pop music coming from Rose's bedroom, and as she passed her door on the way to her own, she heard the muffled voices of her daughter, nephew, and their friend. Normally she'd have told the boys it was time to go home, but she didn't have the energy or the care to this evening. Hugo's door was also closed, and the light off, signally that her son had already turned in for the night.
As she entered her and Ron's bedroom, the sound of the facet running drew her towards their attached bathroom. She watched Ron as he stood near the large mirror in front of the sink, putting a heap of toothpaste on his toothbrush.
Hermione leaned against the master bathroom door frame, watching her husband brush his teeth. Her arms were crossed tightly while she thought of what to say.
The last they had spoken had been when they fought the previous evening, and Hermione was much too tired to pick up where they'd left off. Besides, she imagined they'd have lots more to say tomorrow, and she'd need to save her energy for that.
"Long day?" Ron acknowledged her presence while he momentarily paused brushing.
"The longest," she answered softly. Her chocolate eyes met his blue. "I don't want to fight with you, Ron. I'm sorry I've been so busy. I hadn't considered how working all these long hours had impacted us."
Ron spat in the sink and then wiped his face with a towel.
"I was being a wanker," He said, walking towards her and taking her in his arms. "I know it's completely mental, but I just get worried that I'm losing you."
Hermione felt her heart sink. If he felt like that now, she could imagine what he'd be feeling tomorrow.
"Let's just forget about it, okay?" He suggested, making his way over to their king bed and climbing under the covers. She quickly changed into a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt, getting in next to him.
"You'll never guess what Rose asked me about today," Ron said once they were both settled.
"What's that?" She asked.
"Malfoy Manor."
Hermione's eyes darkened and her body stiffened.
"What did she want to know?"
"She asked me what I knew about the place," Ron said. "If I knew it was used by Voldemort's followers and if I'd ever been there."
Hermione let out a small groan. She figured what happened at the Manor was a conversation she'd have to have with her daughter someday, but she wasn't ready for it be so soon. She supposed if her medical records did get released, she'd have to admit to her children that she'd been tortured, something she had been hoping to keep to herself. Not many knew the truth about what had happened, even within their family. Besides Ron and Harry, Draco, Luna, Neville, Bill, Fleur, and a few Death Eaters were the only few individuals alive that knew everything that had transpired within the walls of the Manor. Not even Ginny knew all the details.
"Obviously I lied and said I hadn't," Ron continued with a frown. "Told her I knew it was used as a head quarters for the Death Eaters, but that we were on the run during that time."
"Thank you," Hermione said. "You think she knows something?"
"I don't think so," Ron shook his head. "I think Ferret Junior has been talking about going there for a few weeks this summer. She's probably just curious about the place."
"Ron..." Hermione said warningly, then remembering that Scorpius and Albus still in the house. "Speaking of which, can you tell the boys it's time to head home?"
Ron quietly grumbled, having just gotten comfortable, but he tossed aside the blankets and left to do as he was told, not wanting to start another late night argument with his wife.
Hermione laid on her back, watching the ceiling fan spin round and round. She thought of the secrets she'd kept and the lies she'd told, and she couldn't help but wonder what the outcome would have been if she'd just been honest from the start. Honest with Ron about what happening between her and Harry, and honest with her children about the haunting memories she had from the war. Could she honestly say that they were better off in the dark? That she didn't know, and probably never would.
Now older and wiser than her twenty-something year old self, she recognized the problem with secrets was that they only remained secrets for so long. Sooner or later, the truth always came out. She just hoped her family could withstand it and remain intact when it did.