Hermione cursed her temper for the millionth time as she paced back and forth in her tiny little flat. It was still bare and empty, completely non-personalized, and she had felt little desire so far to go shopping. She supposed she could pop over to her old flat she had shared with Ron and pack up some of the belongings they had collected over the years, but she wanted a fresh start and she knew how sentimental Ron could be about physical things. The bare little plain table had a grocery stack with a dozen pregnancy tests unopened, a bottle of folic acid, a stack of research on possible midwives, and an open letter from Ron.
The letter was nice. He was doing well. He was thinking about things. He missed her. Writing back was just another thing she was putting off. He hadn't outright said so, but he had implied that this whole rehab stint was supposed to get their relationship back on track. The only relationship she intended to pursue with him was friendship and she didn't want to stomp on his feelings while he was trying to get better. So she hadn't written. And she hadn't taken the pregnancy tests she had purchased. She'd been so anxious to know, was still anxious to know, but she just couldn't take the test yet. Couldn't find out for sure because then she would have to deal with the fallout, one way or the other.
Which was why she was cursing her temper as she paced. If she had just taken a few minutes to calm down, reason things out, think long term she would have more information. Maloy had clearly been willing to explain why he was having her followed. But no, she had to scream at him that she didn't care before stomping out like an overwrought child. She wanted to blame her emotional response on possible pregnancy hormones, but this wasn't the first time she'd let her temper seduce her into acting rash.
What on earth would make Malfoy have her followed?
He must know about her possible pregnancy. As far as she knew only the Weasley's were aware that her birth control had been tampered with. It certainly wasn't common knowledge or the details would be splashed all over the prophet. So how would he know. She didn't even officially know herself yet. She glanced over at the pile of pregnancy tests in the clear plastic bag and kept right on pacing. But there was no other explanation and she certainly couldn't come out and ask him.
She would have to deal with him at some point. Originally her plan had been fairly uncomplicated. She would simply not disclose the possible father to anyone, perhaps even claim ignorance. Ron would keep his mouth shut. Malfoy would perhaps suspect, if he thought of it at all, but since she had never directly confronted him regarding the matter he would simply avoid responsibility and go on with his happy little Pureblood life. She got her baby. He got his future. Everyone got what they needed.
Now however, there was widespread gossip regarding her dalliance with Malfoy. Left to run unchecked the truth had grown into a lie monster of epic proportions. Today's paper had suggested that this 'relationship' had only been kept secret to protect her from Malfoy senior who was rumored to be quite ill. Upon his death, Malfoy would open his family and home to her with open arms and they would run off in the sunset together and live happily ever after. If she knew the public, and sometimes she was surprised by how well she did, they probably thought this garbage story was romantic.
Her new plan required Malfoy's cooperation. What she needed to do was deny the dalliance. And then set up some sort of fake relationship with an unknown muggle that could be broken off in a season, leaving her a single mum. She was 99% sure that Malfoy would want nothing to do with a pregnancy, but his reputation in the community was a very motivating factor. He had moved heaven and earth to redeem the Malfoy name. Abandoning a child out of wedlock would absolutely tank all of his progress in that area.
So she needed to take the damn pregnancy test, reach out to Malfoy for a secret meeting, and start unravelling this whole messy debacle. She looked over at the pregnancy tests again, sighed, stomped over to the table. There was no sense in putting it off. Delay wasn't practical and waiting would not change the outcome. Plus she needed to pee. She'd been putting off going for a half hour after the owl from Ron woke her because first urine was the most accurate. She selected three early detection tests, hurried to the loo, and did her business.
A few minutes later she was staring at proof and crying. There was no putting it off. Malfoy would have to be contacted. He was due to be a father.
She only let herself blubber a few minutes. Oddly comforted by the fact that her most recent bout of teariness was most likely due to a hormonal shift and got in the shower. Planning a secret meeting in the wizarding world was no easy feat and she needed to be on top of her game. She'd go to the post and send him an untraceable owl that couldn't be associated with her. She'd suggest a meeting place in a Muggle town outside of London. Her travel options were limited due to her pregnancy. Experts insisted that Apparation was safe during the first trimester but she wasn't about to risk it. Portkey was considered 'safe' but she just couldn't imagine tumbling about at high speeds to be good for her baby. She hated broomstick. She'd have to take the knight bus, magic carpet, or muggle transportation.
She scolded herself for being shallow and silly. But still took extra time to dry her hair, put on a splash of lip gloss, a touch of mascara. She called herself nine types of fool as she used her wand to disguise her blemish. She didn't care what Malfoy thought of her appearance. She knew this was a lie even as she said it outloud. She just couldn't help but care. She couldn't help but remember that he had very recently seen her both drunk and naked. She wanted to look calm and put together. She wanted to look sophisticated. God help her, she wanted to look pretty.
Disgusted with herself she nonetheless slipped into a good bra and panties that did wonderful things to her silhouette. She put on a dress that was flattering and sandals that were more beautiful than they were practical. She told herself that she ought to dress nice while she could because in a matter of months her figure wouldn't allow it. And that was true. She also knew that Malfoy probably remembered a frumpy little girl. Her recent run ins had probably done nothing to deter that perception. First she had been drunk in jeans. Then mad as a hatter in work clothes. She just wanted him to look at her and see more than a bookworm lunatic.
The truth was she had no idea what he thought of her and that was driving her as crazy as everything else. He must have thought something other than frumpy bookworm if he had taken her to bed and shagged her stupid. Had he looked at her and been attracted? Or had she just been available and easy and he was male. She couldn't remember the evening well enough to know just how boldly she had thrown herself at him.
She didn't want to walk up to him in the light of day and have him be horrified that he had slept with her and swear off alcohol forever. It was stupid and vein and shallow and she couldn't help herself. This was probably the last time she would ever see him. It didn't matter if he thought her plain. It didn't matter what he thought. With a final burst of self discipline she set the perfume she had lifted back down on her counter unsprayed and gathered up her purse. She decided she would take her car to Diagon Alley and proceed from there.
She was going over what she would say in her letter in her head as she made her way down to her little rented garage and digging in her purse for her keyes so she didn't immediately see him and was thoroughly startled when he said "Hello" and she jerked her head up. There he was Malfoy. In the flesh, dripping with confidence and good looks, leaned up against her car, clearly waiting for her. He gave her that slow smooth smile he often flashed for photographers and her stomach dropped to her gold strappy sandals. Okay, well she had wanted a meeting. Be careful what you ask for.