There was so much sympathy for Draco after the last chapter. Understandably, I might add.
mhcalamas - Somehow, all my chapters turn emotional. I guess I just have a thing for overly-emotional Draco. I hope you enjoy the direction of the story. Because it's going in one.
mega700201 - You're welcome! Thanks for the review!
mollsballs - I love that you were able to articulate that. I'm sure it's comfort to have someone else around, I agree!
Kyonomiko - Poor Draco, indeed. And the last chapter took place on September 2nd - the same day as the Ministry infiltration. This story is weaving in and out of canon :)
addictedtoloveandfiction - Thank you so much for reviewing - glad you loved it!
ElizW85 - So glad you've binged and are thoroughly enjoying. Hats off to you!
HeartOfAspen - It makes me glad you've enjoyed the style and the content - also happy you are all caught up!
I'm just going to go ahead and step aside and let this chapter begin.
Hermione managed to get a little sleep after arriving back at the tent. Before she had collapsed into bed, she informed Harry that she hadn't been able to locate supplies, and that she would try again once they had moved. Harry accepted her answer easily, preoccupied with his own thoughts after such an eventful day.
Lying in her bunk, she listened to Ron's soft snores crescendo over the gentle breeze blowing outside. From her snug little corner, tucked beneath her covers, she felt as though she could hear all the sounds of the woods surrounding them. They echoed in her ears as she tried to process the events of the last twenty-four hours.
Grimmauld Place had been so silent – well, with the exception of Mrs. Black; silent and austere to the point of oppression. While it had been a bit of a grim place to have a hideout, at the very least they had gained Kreacher's allegiance and had had a bit of privacy.
Even with a magically-expanded tent, privacy was sure to be lacking from now on.
Staying in a tent for the Quidditch World Cup three years previously had been a rather exciting novelty. Bunk beds and fetching water was fun for a night or two, sure. But the prospect of that becoming her everyday existence on this dangerous hunt was daunting. Where would they get food? How would they live in such confined quarters for months… years, even? There was nowhere else for them to go, so as of now, the tent seemed to be the only option. The thought made her stomach lurch.
She had to think of something else… anything else.
Hermione turned on her side to face the canvas wall of the tent, allowing her mind to drift back to the hours she had just spent in Draco's embrace. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel his hands on her body. The ghost of his touch lingered on her, and she couldn't tell whether to treasure it or be terrified. Their first coupling on the bed had been rushed and more of a release than anything. But when they had been together in the tub – when Hermione had felt so connected to him that she couldn't tell where she stopped and he started – it was as though every touch was imbued with a magic made just for them.
In that moment, Hermione could have sworn their hearts beat as one.
As every inch of their skin collided in passion, Hermione swore she saw visions of a possible future. No war. A quiet home. Happy, quiet days. Long, pleasurable nights. The details were hazy, and it only came in brief flashes, but it felt so tangible that it almost made her want to cry with want.
Draco, of course, had interpreted that cry a different way and had plunged even deeper into her. Looking into his eyes in that moment, she saw nothing but possibilities.
He somehow knew how to fill her so completely, milking pleasure from every inch of her body.
But in the immediate aftermath of their deed, those visions shattered. The bleak reality of their situation sank in, and Hermione was forced to relive all the horrific happenings of that day:
Innocent muggleborns dragged to Azkaban.
Being chased through the ministry.
Yaxley's death grip on her arm.
Ron splinching.
The realization that they had nothing with which to destroy the locket – that all that turmoil had practically been for nothing.
With all of that happening in the real world outside of their hotel room, how could she have fallen so quickly and so deeply for Draco Malfoy? It had scared her to the point that she practically jumped away the second they were finished. But the moment his body had disconnected from hers, it was as though half her heart had been left in his hands, exposed and fragile.
She wrote to Draco because today had just been too much; she needed to feel the solid ground beneath her feet… the loving touch of someone who cared about her. Harry hadn't been in the right emotional state to give her that support and Ron was missing a chunk out of his side. So she had chosen Draco in a moment of pure desperation and weakness. That's what it had been.
And he had come. Draco Malfoy had been at her side almost immediately, risking his own safety just to offer her a bit of comfort and pleasure.
She was so selfish.
Selfish. The word ricocheted around her brain in the moments immediately following the most intensely emotional experience she had had in her nearly eighteen years; it was as though she had been slapped, and the feelings of being sated and safe in that damn tub evaporated instantaneously. That's why she had practically flown from that inn, drenched in shame, leaving a stammering Draco Malfoy in nothing but a towel.
She told him that Harry would be expecting her, but that had been a poor attempt at an excuse. Harry hadn't noticed her absence much, clearly. He hadn't budged from where he sat, completely consumed by his own brooding during her entire escapade. Ron was simply unconscious the whole time.
No, Hermione had wanted to avoid confronting the incredibly complicated situation in which she now found herself; she had run to Draco to avoid thinking about the ministry, and she had run from him when faced with the possibility that she was growing more and more attached. It was an odd sort of Catch-22.
An owl hooting outside the tent brought her back to the present.
Inside her chest, the heart that had spent much of the day pounding in fear and passion had finally slowed to a steady rhythm. It felt strange.
By now, Draco had surely returned back to the Burrow. It had been the right decision to make a hasty exit, she was sure. Forming an intense attachment to Draco… to anyone right now – it wasn't something she could afford. Even if he was in hiding, loving Draco Malfoy and exposing their mission or her heart was too dangerous.
Yes, it had been the right decision to leave like that. Even if the look on his face had been the picture of devastation… no.
Now was the time to focus.
Hermione closed her eyes, searching for sleep. Draco's slack-jawed, pleasure-filled face floated into her mind once again. She groaned, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes.
It was going to be a long night.
They didn't stay in one place for long after that. After apparating to a new town the next day, Harry was the one to go scouting for supplies. The day had felt rather hopeful for a while, but he returned with news of Dementors and an inability to produce a patronus.
Damn locket.
Hermione hated wearing it. Every time the horcrux hung around her neck, she felt as though everything seemed a bit more difficult and a great deal dimmer. Her thoughts slowed and her mood darkened. For all the claims of her being the brightest witch of her age, the locket seemed to disprove these notions. For the first few days, it hadn't seemed to bad. She had simply given up reading The Tales of Beedle the Bard while wearing it; translating the runes and trying to search for meaning between the lines was too monumental a task to attempt when her mood soured.
After more than a week with an irritable lack of productivity, she stopped trying to do any truly useful tasks while wearing it. Instead, the ghastly thing only hung around her neck when she sat up on guard duty or when she had to do physical tasks like gathering mushrooms or setting up the tent. Unfortunately, these menial tasks gave her mind the opportunity to wander. Normally, this would made for a pleasant diversion, but the locket had the ability to blacken her thoughts – to poison the ideas that would normally have lifted her up.
Whenever she considered the possibilities for their next meal with their daily findings, it almost seemed to whisper, "You'll starve to death before you can accomplish anything."
Whenever the horcruxes crossed her mind, the locket told her, "You'll never find them all."
But worst of all was when she thought of Draco. Which was quite often. She couldn't help it, of course. No matter how much effort she put into blocking him from her mind when she wore the horcrux, his face, his voice, hell, the silky texture of his hair wouldn't leave her alone. Though she had initially tried to push all thoughts of him away after their intense encounter, it seemed that those very thoughts were practically the only things that could make her smile. When she wasn't wearing the locket, thinking of Draco left her feeling warm and safe. The love she felt for the blonde boy even gave her little bubbles of joy, leaving stupid little grins on her face that confused the hell out of Harry and Ron.
During her turn to carry the burden? It was as though all the negative thoughts and implications about their relationship circled in her head repeatedly, like an ominous sort of vulture. That locket made her brain scream out all the insecurities she tried to push down.
She was putting them all at risk by forming extra attachments.
She was supposed to be Draco's guardian – not his girlfriend.
She had basically forced him out of hiding for her own selfish wants.
If Harry or Ron ever found out about what she had done, they may never speak to her again. Particularly Ron.
She had jeopardized their entire mission by meeting up with Draco.
She had given her heart and her body to a known Death Eater.
That last thought usually brought her to a really dark place that she had to force herself to snap out of. When she reached that point, she often asked to switch out before finding a solitary place to have a good cry. As she sobbed, she would squeeze her pebble and then cradle it in her palm. Hope of a reply kept her from sinking even lower.
Each of those thoughts brought pain to her heart that she didn't realize she was capable of feeling. But something in particular about having a twisted, evil version of her own voice tell her that she had given her heart and her body to a known Death Eater… that was enough to paralyze her.
There was no doubt in her mind that Draco wasn't the cruel, evil person that so many made him out to be, but she wasn't stupid. The world would try to pin that label on him whenever he emerged from hiding. Even if she managed to convince her friends that Draco had a heart under his alabaster exterior, much of the magical community would believe her to be under the Imperius curse or think of her as some sort of Death Eater whore.
Of course, there was always the option of taking the high road and ignoring everyone. Yes, that was a good idea until Hermione recalled the portion of her fourth year when she had been accused of playing with Harry Potter's heart and had consequently been sent a slew of hate mail. And if it would be bad for her, it would be a thousand times worse for Draco.
She wished that loving Draco Malfoy could be straightforward. But from the way she looked at things, locket or no, if there was to be a path forward it would most certainly be filled with curves and twists.
In those dark moments, when she was in the depths of despair, her mind also took her to an unexpected place, or rather, an unexpected person: Ron.
Being with Ron would be nothing like that. If she were with Ron, her path would be straightforward. Given that they both made it out of this war alive, she and Ron would face no real obstacles to a relationship. Practically everyone expected it – that's what it seemed, anyway. Frankly, the only person standing in the way would be Ron and his teaspoon-sized emotional capabilities. Whenever this damn war ended, they would likely marry and have a collection of red-haired children. Mrs. Weasley would certainly love that.
Yes, that would be the easy choice.
Please, her brain would beg. Let something – anything be easy.
But it wasn't what she wanted. Not anymore.
When her tears turned to mere sniffles and the hysteria faded, the easy choice began to sound boring. Being with Draco came with risks, sure, but he excited her. He challenged her. And of course, the mere thought of him made her stomach feel like it was filled with pixies. Especially when the pebble grew warm in reply to her touch.
Hermione's thoughts of Draco oscillated so frequently and with such fervor that it often made her dizzy. After a particularly bad episode with the locket, Hermione decided that she was in desperate need of a way to compartmentalize and distract herself.
So she found ways to keep busy. When she wasn't wearing the locket, she buried herself in research. All times of day and night found her huddled over one book or other, often by wandlight, trying to piece together some sort of picture that would solve their horcrux mystery. After a while, she found that researching helped keep negative thoughts about her relationship Draco at bay; most days, her subconscious didn't seem to have the energy for an internal battle.
This came as a relief, as she was able to begin writing to him again without spiraling. Hermione tucked the journal in with her research books to have ready access whenever she needed it. The boys never touched her books, so it was a safe keeping place. The ideal time to write to Draco seemed to be when she had informed Harry and Ron that she needed some quiet time to concentrate.
In her letters to Draco, she had apologized for her quick exit from their encounter at least a dozen times by now. She had written 'I'm sorry' in just about every way she could imagine.
He had forgiven her each time and told her that he understood, but she couldn't escape the feeling that he was still upset. Not angry, no… just melancholy about the whole thing. For over a month after their encounter, their writing to each other was stiff. Reports on what they ate. That he was bored at the Burrow. That the season was changing. How they had slept the night before. Their words felt stilted, and every time she tried to put quill to parchment, it was as though nothing could come out right. It all just seemed forced. Hermione felt the beautiful relationship they had built over the summer cracking under her feet with every labored word they exchanged.
No matter how much her mind played tug-of-war over loving Draco; no matter how much the horcrux poisoned her thoughts of their relationship, she still wanted him. She wanted him so badly she wished she could dive through the pages of her journal and kiss him senseless to make him see.
But as insufficient as they were, her words would have to do for now. Hermione pondered this conundrum through many October nights, Ron's usual snores providing the soundtrack to her thoughts. If she wasn't careful, their relationship could fall apart. She had to do something with her words – something to build a bridge between them once more.
Of course, what she really wanted was to write lovely, sappy poems, but she had a feeling that pouring such feeling into the journal would only entangle her feelings for him further.
Eventually, she settled on writing naughty messages to each other. She explained to Draco in one particularly long-winded letter that this way, they could still feel intimate without putting their safety on the line. Draco wrote back almost immediately, and she could practically hear the surprise in the unusually-sloppy scratch of his words. Though he had written her tidbits of his dirty thoughts and yearnings before, never had he written the level of detail she had requested.
Thankfully, he agreed.
Hermione wrote him the first message, and it was nothing if not awkward. Putting her desires onto the page proved difficult. She sat, hand tangled in her hair, tongue sticking out in concentration for over an hour as she wrote, fully aware that nothing in the journal could be erased.
I want you to touch me, Draco.
I want you to kiss me softly at first.
I want to feel your chest pressed against mine.
I want to grind myself into you.
Then I want our kissing to grow harder. Like your cock.
I want you to remove my clothes bit by bit.
Then I want you to put your cock in me until I scream your name.
It wasn't well-written to any degree, but it certainly got the point across. By the time she finished and admired her work, a warm blush had worked its way up from her chest all the way to her cheeks. Yes, that would do. With a bit more of a snap than usual, she closed the journal and walked away.
Not even ten minutes later, her mind was rushing with paranoia as she went over the exact words she had written over and over in her mind. Would Draco find it the least bit erotic? Perhaps he would have a good laugh. At that thought, she almost ripped the page from the journal and set it on fire.
The rest of the evening found her nerves sharper than ever. She was unable to sit still for long, unable to read, and generally unable to do much other than stare into space. That night's dinner – scavenged mushrooms – turned her stomach. Hermione groaned as she pushed her plate away.
Damn her nerves for acting up over something so stupid.
Ron ate her portion instead.
It seemed, though, that her worry was unnecessary. When she sank into an armchair to give another valiant attempt at research after supper, she felt the pebble grow warm in her pocket. With an odd sort of bubbling in her stomach, she peeked inside the journal.
He had responded.
In much neater handwriting than before, he confessed in his reply that he had wanked to the images the message had put in his head.
The very thought made her turn an even deeper shade of crimson.
Draco responded with his own erotic message three days later.
"Took your time, didn't you?" Hermione grumbled to herself as she tucked the pebble back into her pocket and pulled the journal from in between Spellman's Syllabary and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts.
As it turned out, Draco was rather poetic. Damn him. Here, she thought that she had written something decent, and he ended up writing this. His messages to her were a far cry from what she had been expecting. I wish I could fuck you or Your tits are great or something to that effect.
No, Draco Malfoy had pulled out all the stops to woo her, it seemed.
Your body pulsates with need, but I can see that it's the beating of your heart affecting you from head to toe. A heart that beats for me, for some convoluted, wonderful reason. Your pink nipples taste of candy, and your lips are made of honey. And your pussy? It's so complex in flavor that I don't dare describe it. But I will say this. One lick of you and I am hooked.
You've made me insatiable, Hermione. I want nothing more than to bury myself in you and stay there forever. I want to feel that push and pull – that ebb and flow – that cresting of pleasure until you and I are unable to remember anything outside of our bed. And then I want to continue doing with that again and again and again until our worlds are nothing but pleasure.
I am far from done with you, Hermione Granger.
Hermione had to excuse herself to take a shower after reading that.
Showering in a tent with two teenage boys had proved to be a bit of an adventure. They didn't seem to mind walking around in towels after their own showers, torsos exposed and dripping. Oh, no. That was normal. But seeing her in the same condition? It had sent both boys to the mouth of the tent immediately, Harry trying to look anywhere but at her and Ron spluttering about needing to look for berries.
At the moment, however, neither of them were around. Harry was out on a walk, once again lost in thought about the thief and it was Ron's turn to wear the horcrux, so naturally, he was sitting outside grumbling about something. Not wanting to miss this golden opportunity of privacy, she gathered her books, shoved them back into her bag, and headed to the loo.
It wasn't large by any means, but it did the trick for the three of them. An aguamenti charm had been placed on the shower so they had ready access to water, despite the lack of pipes. Hermione turned the tap, casting a warming charm and allowing it to steam up before shedding her clothes. As she pulled her shirt from over her head, her arm grazed her left breast and she winced. Had she managed to bruise herself somehow?
Unclasping her bra, she held her left breast in her hand and examined it. Nothing looked odd or discolored. Frowning, she shifted her hand to check the other side and winced again as a dull pain radiated from her chest.
How odd.
Had she been straining herself too much lately? Perhaps she had pulled a muscle during one of their frequent moves. Was it possible to pull a muscle in your chest? It must be, because she certainly hadn't rammed that part of her body into anything.
Well, if she knew one thing about injuries and bruises, she knew they would heal with time.
Pushing the soreness aside, she stepped into the shower and allowed the hot water to envelope her body. It felt like heaven. Rivulets ran across her skin and seemed to wash away all the toxic thoughts that plagued her when the horcrux hung around her neck. Hot water seemed to be just the thing to relax her muscles and take her mind off the heavy problems that lay just outside this room.
When her body had relaxed just enough, she allowed her thoughts to drift back to Draco's words, now tucked away in her beaded bag.
I am far from done with you, Hermione Granger.
Despite the heat, she shivered, her toes curling at the implications of his words. Hermione's right hand wound its way down her stomach until she caressed herself, feeling the evidence of her arousal already gathering like nectar between her thighs. She sighed at the contact, pressing harder. Waves of pleasure began to course through her body, growing more intense with each swipe of her fingers.
She reached up with her left hand to palm her breast and – ouch!
With a yelp, Hermione drew her hands away from her body almost immediately, all pleasure falling away. A frown spread across her face, a frustrated groan escaping her lips. Clearly, something was going on with her left breast. She poked the right one experimentally and flinched when it also felt painful to the touch.
All thoughts of pleasure evaporated immediately. What in the world was going on? She reached back mentally, trying to grasp at anything that might be the cause. When no answer came, the desire to speak with another woman ached within her. Who she really wanted to talk to was her mother, but that was a distinct impossibility, and lingering on thoughts of her mother made the ache worse. She would settle for talking to Ginny. Even Mrs. Weasley would do. She just wanted to talk to someone about this. Certainly, pain in her breasts wasn't normal. They had never felt like that before.
With a sigh, Hermione turned off the tap and reached for her blue towel that was hanging from a hook just outside the stall. Drying herself was normal until she reached her chest, suddenly hesitant to place any pressure there. She pressed the fabric to her skin and was relieved to find that if she was gentle enough, the process wasn't painful.
As she began to dress, she allowed herself to sulk for a moment. This was supposed to have been a lovely little escape, if only for a few minutes. Draco's perfectly good words, wasted… she clicked her tongue with disapproval for herself.
After pulling her trousers on, she checked the watch she had tucked in her pocket. Hermione scowled at the ticking face. It was nearly mid-afternoon, meaning it was her turn to take over with the locket.
She winced as she fastened her bra in place. Perhaps later she could work on an enlargement charm to try and loosen the garment a bit. It was all just odd. She was certain she had been losing weight with their lack of a stable diet, but this… this was just odd.
Hermione winced again as she pulled her shirt on.
"Stupid bra," she mumbled to herself, trying to adjust the cups. If only she didn't have to wear this wiry, uncomfortable garment…
But, no. Doing without was out of the question; Ron and Harry might very well notice, and she did not particularly fancy having a conversation with them that centered around her sore breasts.
At that thought, she chuckled to herself and gathered the rest of her things on her way out of the loo.
After a week or so, the pain seemed to subside a bit, much to Hermione's relief. She had loosened her bra, and that had proved helpful. Hermione remained vigilant to any other unexplained pains in her body, though she hadn't really noticed any.
The trio continued to move every couple of days, and after almost six weeks of being on the run, they had gotten quite proficient and packing and unpacking their campsite. They delegated tasks without discussing them anymore. Their locket rotation also remained relatively fixed. Every day seemed to pass in a similar pattern of going through the motions. The only subtle change that Hermione noticed was the growing level of frustration in the group.
Despite all the time that had passed since their infiltration of the Ministry, nothing had changed about the horcrux situation. No new ones. No way to destroy the one they had. No information at all. The lack of progress didn't seem to be bothering Harry too much, but it was definitely gnawing away at Ron. With each passing day, he seemed to grow surlier and more dangerous, much like a wounded dog. He had taken to listening to the wireless and grumbling about everything. Hermione had grown wary of him, paying particular attention to him when he was wearing the locket; that, after all, was when he was most prone to fits of negativity.
It seemed everything they did now had fallen into a frustrating routine. On a crisp day in mid-October, the three of them once again apparated to a new location – this time to a rural community in the highlands. Hermione rolled out of bed that morning feeling as though the Knight Bus had hit her. Everything about her felt sluggish, and she wanted to do nothing but have a lie in.
Much to her annoyance, however, Harry and Ron had already packed up half the tent by the time she got up. Wanting to contribute at least something, she threw out the suggestion that they go somewhere quite rural for a change. She had worn the horcrux overnight, and it sat against her chest even still, so she hadn't been able to put much thought into her idea. The boys had accepted it without a fight and they arrived to their new location minutes later.
The moment they landed, Hermione let go of Harry and leaned forward, her hands on her knees. Everything faded in and out and she felt lightheaded. The world was spinning around her, the surrounding mountains moving in and out of focus. As she swayed, Harry gripped her arms to keep her steady. Hermione looked up to see a panicked expression on his face.
"Oi, Hermione! Are you all right?"
As Harry spoke, Ron turned around as well. His normally-disgruntled face was painted with concern for a change. He was immediately at her other side, his arm enveloping her to hold her up.
"Blimey, you look dead tired, 'Mione," Ron said, rubbing her back.
Hermione held her head in her hands as the world began to right itself, still leaning on her friends for support.
"I'm fine," she murmured, standing upright. "Just a dizzy spell. My blood sugar must be low. I'll have a bite and then help with the enchantments as usual."
Hermione took two steps forward before her legs buckled from underneath her and her vision went spotty again.
Harry and Ron seemed to have caught her, because when she drifted back into awareness, she was lying on a patch of frost-covered grass and they were hovering over her looking concerned. She opened her mouth to speak, but Harry cut her off.
"Don't even try to explain this away, Hermione. We both know you've been taking longer shifts than us with the locket. It's finally taking its toll on you, and we can't have that. Give it here." Harry reached behind Hermione's head and gently lifted her neck up to remove the offending object.
As Harry hung the locket around his neck, Hermione expected that familiar feeling of lightness and relief to wash over her like it normally did when her shift with the horcrux ended. But it never came.
How odd.
She felt better, certainly. But only marginally. Her body still ached, and her mind was stagnant. It felt as though fog had rolled through her brain, making the formation of thoughts or words difficult.
"Better?" Ron asked, pulling her to her feet.
Hermione had half a mind to say yes, but her hesitation must have given her away.
"We won't have you getting sick, 'Mione. I'll do the enchantments. Once the tent is set up, why don't you just go inside and rest a bit?"
She found herself nodding as the boys got to work – Ron with the tent and Harry with the wards – while she just stood there in the grass, unsure of how to proceed. The moment Ron finished, she excused herself to go lie down. Hermione slid into her bunk and stared out into the living space, not really seeing. Foggy though her brain might still be, she tried to fight through it to form a coherent thought.
Why did she still feel so fatigued, even with the horcrux off her person? Come to think of it, she had been feeling under the weather more often than not in the last couple weeks – headaches on and off, a fluctuating appetite… and that odd situation with her chest. Perhaps it was an odd chest cold? It was definitely autumn by now, so a cold certainly wasn't out of the question.
Summoning her beaded bag, she sat up and dug inside for her medical potions kit. Perhaps she could spare a bit of pepper-up or pain reliever potion for the occasion. The vials were all inside a medium-sized box, organized by purpose and meticulously labeled.
As she sorted through the collection of potions, her fingers touched the label of a familiar purple potion – a menstrual pain relief potion. Hermione had made sure to pack a large amount, as she had no idea how long this journey would last. She was about to move on to regular pain relief potion when she paused, returning to the purple vials.
She counted them. Twice. They were all still there. She counted again. She wracked her memory. Surely there and been an occasion in recent weeks when she had needed one of these potions. Surely.
Hermione scrunched her eyes closed, delving past the fog to search for memories of blood, cramps, anything.
Nothing.
All at once, the fog from her brain disappeared, and her head began racing faster than it ever had before. Her period was admittedly hard to trace. Whatever spell Dolohov had cast in the Department of Mysteries had done far more damage than she cared to share with her male best friends. When she had finally woken up from her ordeal in the Hospital Wing at the end of fifth year, Hermione had spent several long minutes sobbing into Madame Pomfrey's shoulder as the healer had explained everything with tender patience. She explained that the injury had reached her ovaries and uterus, and that it was unclear if Hermione would ever have a period again. And not having a period meant potentially not having children.
That was not a conversation sixteen-year-old Hermione had been prepared for. But thankfully her period had come again during sixth year, though it had proved to be irregular since.
When she concentrated, she was able to recall that her last period had been in July. Since it had resumed last year, it usually came every other month. But by that logic, she should have gotten her period nearly a month ago. The horcrux and all the trying events they had been facing since departing from the Burrow had driven seemingly mundane things like periods from her mind.
July. It had been three months since her last period.
Her heart sank to her feet and she buried her face in her hands. Hermione Granger knew what was wrong with sexually active young women whose periods were late. There had been some scuttlebutt last year among the older Gryffindor girls when a seventh-year girl, Marie, had been late. Luckily it had been a false alarm, but until they were sure, she, Parvati, Lavender, and the other seventh-year girls had stayed up late comforting Marie until she returned triumphant from the loo, her eyes filled with tears of relief.
How she longed for those kinds of tears now.
However, Hermione always prided herself on being a practical person, and there would be only one way to either alleviate her fears or come to terms with her new reality: she had to get a pregnancy test.
Pregnancy test. Just the words sent a shiver down her spine.
Of course, Hermione knew there were ways to find out with magic, but in her apparent wisdom, she thought she wouldn't need that kind of spell for another few years at least. It seemed as though a muggle test would have to do the trick.
Her mind set, she attempted to busy herself for the rest of the day. Harry and Ron poked their heads into the tent to check on her several times. Each time they found her unmoved, sitting at the table surrounded by books. What they didn't see was that in the middle, carefully placed to be concealed by various other tomes, her special journal sat open to a blank page. Every few minutes, Hermione would pick up the quill and hover just over the journal, poised to write to Draco. But what would she write?
After several failed attempts over the course of the day, she stowed the journal. Best not to say anything if there was nothing to report.
For all she knew, it could be nothing.
Throughout the day, every twinge of her lower abdomen gave her hope. Perhaps her period would arrive… but those hopes were soon dashed when nausea took over instead. The queasiness was especially bad every time she tried to go near the mushrooms they had been gathering for dinner that evening.
Hermione fell in and out of an uneasy sleep that night, her dreams oscillating between visions of herself holding a beautiful yet faceless bundle in her arms and nightmares of Death Eaters cursing her newborn child. After waking up in a cold sweat twice, she refused to fall back asleep and traded Harry for his nightly horcrux-wearing session. Harry seemed wary but grateful as he climbed back into the tent, leaving Hermione to the tornado of thoughts in her head for the remaining dark hours.
When Harry and Ron emerged from the tent after daybreak, she casually suggested that they make it a point to camp near a mid-sized town with decent shops in order to restock supplies.
"I'll even be the one to go into town," she offered, trying to sweeten the deal. "I'm feeling much better today."
It seemed that step had been necessary, because both boys didn't even offer any other suggestions of counterpoints. They just shrugged and agreed.
As soon as the new campsite was set up near a riverbank in Wales, Hermione tossed the horcrux to Ron, snagged Harry's invisibility cloak, and headed for town. The leaves had recently turned brilliant shades of red and yellow, and if it hadn't been for the heavy burden weighing down her mind, Hermione might have actually enjoyed the walk. As the cluster of buildings in the distance grew closer, she solidified the plan in her mind and ran through it several times.
Finding the grocers was easy enough, and she managed to slip in through the automatic doors behind an elderly couple without anyone noticing. A sign by the door showed the date: October the 24th. Hermione walked briskly through the food aisles, taking items off the shelf when no one was looking. Tinned vegetables. Pasta. Eggs. Milk.
Everything went into her beaded bag.
Food for the next couple of days secure, Hermione turned her attention toward the part of the store that had to be next on her agenda: the chemist. Her heart beating in her throat, she read the signs hanging above each aisle and made her way to the section of the store she knew would carry the item she needed now.
And there they were. Pregnancy tests. Right in between condoms and pregnancy antenatal vitamins. With a shaking hand, she grabbed two boxes at random. As she slipped them into her bag, she paused, eyeing the shelf once more. Gritting her teeth, she stuffed a container of antenatal vitamins into her bag as well.
Gods, she hoped she wouldn't need them.
Everything she needed now in her bag, Hermione made a mad dash for the exit. Without stopping, she ran all the way back to where she knew their encampment to be. The wards opened to her and she walked into the tent and immediately began to unpack their supplies into a small cabinet. Both boys were exactly where she had left them: Harry sat brooding in a corner of the tent, and Ron was fiddling with the wireless, his knee shaking as he muttered to himself. Shortly after her arrival, though, they gravitated in her direction, eager to see the spoils she brought from civilization.
They marveled over the tinned fruit and each had a bite before everything was put away. Ron had wanted more, but she put her foot down, insisting that this batch had to last. He grumbled and went back to the wireless. She had been careful not to let the boys touch her beaded bag as she put the groceries away. If one of them had stumbled across the test or the vitamins…
She didn't want to think about that.
The day grew colder as it passed, keeping everyone inside. Hermione had hoped for a bit of privacy as soon as she got home, but it seemed that wasn't meant to be. She had no idea how she would react to the test results and wanted to be quite alone when she did. Not even the loo door would be enough to hide her reaction, she feared.
Gathering all the patience she had left in her, she pulled out her copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard and the journal and settled in the armchair once more.
Opening the journal, she found that Draco had written a short, affectionate message. Mrs. Weasley had taught him to make pot roast, apparently, and he hadn't burned anything. He had written some variation of "Aren't you proud of me?" about six times.
Hermione went back and forth in her mind when she thought of Draco. Would she have wanted him there when she tested? Or was she glad he was away and blissfully unaware? Reaching into her beaded bag – she had been afraid to put it down, for some reason – she felt around for the box. The test would be waiting for her when she mustered the courage to take it.
Gods, she hoped she would feel relief and could move on from this silly notion of being pregnant.
After a couple hours of attempting to re-read The Wizard and the Hopping Pot, Harry and a still- grumpy Ron announced that they would be outside looking to catch some fish. Hermione nodded vaguely and watched them disappear outside. As soon as they had gone, she flew toward the loo, bag in hand.
With trembling fingers, she withdrew one of the tests and read the instructions over three times. Peeing on the stick turned out to be easy enough, but Hermione found waiting to be much more difficult. She sat on the closed lid of the toilet, her leg shaking as fast as her heart was pounding. As she sat, she prayed that Harry and Ron didn't interrupt her. She needed these moments to think. As much as she was panicking, she couldn't come face-to-face with another person until she wrapped her mind around this, for fear she would explode.
One minute passed.
What if she was pregnant? What would she do? It might be the smart thing to do to get an abortion. Bringing a baby into this situation was frankly an awful idea. So much of their world was out of their control right now, and the dangers of their very existence were high. No, bringing a baby into a life like this was a horrible idea.
Two minutes.
Draco's face floated to the front of her mind. His eyes and his soft smile brought a kind of peace to her manic heart. His story about making pot roast even made her grin for a half-second as she thought of his most recent letter. If she was indeed pregnant, this… thing inside her would be a piece of her and a piece of him. Though her head knew that it would be just plain stupid to go ahead with a pregnancy, her heart filled with warmth at the thought of bringing their child into the world.
What to do? Hermione gave a soft whimper of frustration. She was damned if she did and damned if she didn't.
At that moment, her wand buzzed, signifying the end of the timer. With a deep breath, Hermione closed her eyes and turned the test over in her hands.
Two lines stared up at her from the little stick. Two lines. Pregnant.
What the hell was she going to do?
There was apparently no more time to think, because Ron chose that exact moment to call out to her. "Oi, Hermione! Harry's caught some fish. Cook it up, will you?" Hermione took a few shallow breaths, stuffed the pregnancy test and its accompanying wrappers into her beaded bag, and tromped outside to meet her friends.
In her distracted state, she managed to burn the fish. She had been too fixated on the thing growing in her womb to pay proper attention to their dinner and had promptly charred it. Despair building within her, she piled the lumpy fish onto a plate and made her way back into the tent.
Pregnant. She was pregnant.
Harry did a good job masking his distaste, eating his portion dutifully. Ron, however, gave his plate a disgusted look as he poked it.
"My mother can make good food appear out of thin air," he grumbled, dissecting the fish.
Hermione felt badly that she had burned dinner. Honestly, she did. But considering her current preoccupation, everything else seemed so inconsequential. Sure, dinner was burned, and they were nearly always hungry. And yes, he was wearing the horcrux.
But Ron Weasley had no real right to complain. If he knew… if only he knew what was growing inside her at this moment…
Telling Ron and Harry that she was pregnant, though, would lead to certain disaster. So in order to prevent herself from saying something she would regret, she did the first thing she could think of: explain to Ron why his assertion was incorrect.
This, of course, set off a huge argument. Hermione jumped from her spot to yell at Ron, but regretted doing so, as she almost immediately felt ill from the sudden movement.
It was almost fortuitous that Harry had to shut them up to listen to the sudden visitors outside their tent: goblins, Ted Tonks, a man called Dirk, and… was that…? Dean! The trio listened to the group's conversation in strained silence through an extendable ear. Hermione's concentration faded in and out at first, but the mention of Ginny, Neville, and the sword drove everything else from her mind.
The subsequent conversation with Phineas Nigellus also turned out to be enlightening, and the deluge of information left her more clearheaded and driven than she had felt in weeks. It seemed as though the cogs of her mind were cranking themselves back to life after so long sitting still, covered in dust. She and Harry brainstormed in a frenzy, tossing ideas about the sword back and forth.
To feel like herself again, if only for a few moments, was like jumping into the Black Lake on a warm summer afternoon. But as the two of them looked around for Ron to join in their conversation, Hermione felt as though that pleasant dip turned to an icy trap. Ron's expression had soured, and all at once, it felt as though all the air had been sucked from the tent.
Hermione struggled to catch her breath as the reality of her situation hit her once again, like a punch to the gut. Even with these new ideas, they were still exactly in the same position they had been for nearly two months. Harry would return to brooding tomorrow. Ron would still be surly. And she… she would still be pregnant.
Pregnant.
She had apparently been lost in her own thoughts for long enough that Ron and Harry were now screaming at each other – saying things she knew they would regret later. Hermione began to cry in earnest when Harry accused her of disloyalty – of whispering behind his back – and Ron only made the situation worse.
As the two continued to scream at each other, Hermione felt the tension build to a breaking point. One hand over her stomach, her face in tears, she watched as both boys poised to curse each other. But, thank Merlin, she got there first, casting a shield charm.
Hermione looked between her two best friends. She thought back to that afternoon just months ago they had spent by the lake – the afternoon before everything had changed. She thought about how they smiled at her in the soft summer sun and how easy it had all felt back then.
Not now, anyway. Not now. Now, it all just felt broken.
Sobs wracked her body as Ron asked her if she was coming, and she could hardly believe he was asking her to choose.
"I…Yes – yes, I'm staying. Ron, we said we'd go with Harry, we said we'd help –"
"I get it. You choose him."
"Ron, no – please – come back, come back!"
Hermione ran into her own shield charm and by the time she undid it, he had gone. She ran into the night, calling after him. Rain pounded all around her, soaking through her clothes almost immediately. Her hair fell in her eyes, making it even impossible to see. In the distance, she heard a crack.
He was gone.
Hermione had just enough energy to drag herself back to the tent and collapse into a chair. Her jeans and jumper clung to her, soaked through and sopping. She began to shake, though she wasn't sure if it was from crying so hard or from the cold. Harry threw a blanket over her before retreating to his bunk.
The hopelessness of this horcrux hunt.
Ron's abandonment.
Her growing love for Draco Malfoy.
And now this burgeoning life inside her… it was all too much. It was just too much.
Happy plot twist 3
Honestly, I've been so nervous to post this chapter in particular.
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