Chapter VII:

The rest of the holidays were a sort of indistinct blur. Malfoy's parents became more tolerable, he never acted so violently again, but she didn't feel like she lived through any of it. She was just waiting for the days to drag on until she could go back home. To Hogwarts. To her friends. Even when she arrived things weren't the same though.

The Ministry had instituted a new mandatory class for all sixth and seventh years called Baby and Me or BAM as the students nicknamed it rather aggressively. It was run by a reluctant Madame Pomfrey, who seemed to believe she had more important things to do, and unfortunately it involved sitting next to Malfoy and working with him on every task. Thankfully she could also sit next to Ginny, who was another member of the class, along with her husband, but there were disappointingly few instances where they actually got to interact, despite sitting feet away from each other. The lesson wasn't just dull, it was also humiliating because ever since she arrived back at school, Hermione had been needing to go to the toilet constantly. Perhaps the Malfoys had jinxed her as a fond farewell present. Whether that was true or not, she had to trek down the hall three times during the hour long period, at each one receiving sniggers and stares. At the end of the lesson the medi-witch asked her to stay behind. Hermione fidgeted nervously in her seat, both because she was expecting her first lecture on the importance of focus in class and because she needed to wee again. But when Madame Pomfrey spoke, it was to ask her a health question.

"Have you been experiencing headaches, Miss Granger? Tiredness, sore breasts, perhaps an ache in your lower back?" Hermione nodded to every symptom, brought on, she supposed by the events of the last couple of weeks. The matron sat down on the desk in front of her and folded her hands neatly over her legs with an optimistic smile. "I think you might really be pregnant this time."

Dizziness shaking her, Hermione clung to edges of her chair like she was on a rollercoaster. "I-I haven't had any nausea," she fumbled over the words, then said more confidently, resolute that she must be wrong. "And I'm currently on my period."

"Not every woman experiences the misleadingly named morning sickness," she chuckled. "Maybe you're one of the lucky ones. And has your 'period' been lighter or earlier than usual?" Both. "Some expecting mothers do experience slight bleeding. Nothing to worry about." Oh she was worried. How could she have felt disappointed she wasn't pregnant before? It was unendingly selfish to want to bring a baby into this life. She would stay married to Malfoy forever without the hope of divorce if she could spare a child that pain.


Unfortunately she no longer had that option. She was pregnant. She remembered how her friends had been ecstatic: owling their parents; researching charms for musical spinning mobiles; cooing over tiny baby boots. She didn't change her behaviour at all; instead trying to continue as though everything was perfectly normal and she'd never received the news at all. To fool both others and herself.

At the end of their second BAM lesson they were given a homework assignment to care for a magical baby doll that would report back how well it had been treated and in which areas they needed to improve. She remembered her cousin Chloe telling her that muggle schools did a similar thing, but obviously with much less lifelike dolls. When they got back to their common room she bounced it silently in the baby carrier they'd been provided whilst Malfoy magically assembled the crib. Suddenly it let out a high pitched shriek and began to cry a river of tears, breaking their eardrums. "Where are the nappies?" Yelled Malfoy over the racket.

She grabbed one from the bag and gingerly set to work. "I'll do it." When it didn't quiet the noise he called out to let him burp it. "I'll do it." Or to let him feed it. "I'll do it."

"You need to let me do something."

"I'm not sure I want you near the baby," she sent angrily over her shoulder.

He fixed her with a look that said 'really?'. "The doll or the hypothetical human?"

"Either." She snapped.

He took a long frustrated breath and pinched his nose. "Okay. Well I've got plenty of time to convince you otherwise. Let's start with you letting me-"

"You don't have much time at all, actually," she corrected him. He looked at her perplexed. "I'm pregnant. Probably from when you raped me." The word cut any remaining tie between them like a sharp pair of scissors and the coffee table separating them expanded into a limitless chasm.

"You're pregnant?" He took a step forward, and she took one back, placing one hand protectively over her stomach. He held up his hands in surrender, taking the bottle and feeding the doll, silencing it's crying. She hated him for that success. "I know I hurt you, but I want this child. Whatever you think, I won't just forget about it when our five years are up. She surveyed him cautiously. Then she slowly unstrapped the doll and handed it over, stupidly refusing to let go for a moment- it wasn't a real baby. He gave her a thankful nod as he cradled it, humming whilst slowly lowering it down into the crib, where it lay snoring. How could he be so good with fake babies? It made no sense whatsoever. "I swear Hermione," he promised, watching her, watching their future play out. "I'll do better."