A/N: Another case of a story not leaving me alone until it got written. Also another case of a story getting bigger than planned. Regardless, the original In Out (version/chapter two) was not set up correctly, needing substantial backstory. I was trying to avoid excessive exposition, flashbacks, etc, so it ended up skipping over some of the basic premise and it ended up feeling incomplete. The skeleton for the backstory filled itself out in my head during bouts of insomnia, and I've been fleshing it out for a while.
It kind of wrote itself, so doesn't perfectly dovetail with the details of In Out, but I'm not going force it. May keep tweaking now and then. Hope you enjoy.
Some details may bother the squeamish, but it's childbirth and completely natural, so deal or find something else to read.
As always, own nothing, and thank Ms. Rowling for letting us play with her characters.
prelude to in and out
Hermione walked briskly down the street, angling her brolly against the light rain. She was meeting Harry and her parents for lunch. At least she hoped Harry could be there. As an Auror, his schedule was never very set.
Hermione pulled open the door to the cafe and stepped in. She collapsed the brolly and tapped it against the floor, scanning the room for her parents. Her mom waved from a table in the back, a smile on her face. Hermione brightened, and hurried over.
"Hi, mum," she said, giving her a hug, then her father.
"You look great, Hermione," said her father.
"Thanks." Hermione took off her coat.
"How are you feeling?" asked her mum.
"Famished. The nausea finally quit and I can eat again. I have to enjoy the next several weeks before the constant peeing, shortness of breath, and insomnia kick in."
She hung her coat and brolly on the back of her chair. "Tell me again why we do this?"
"It's worth it dear. Every minute."
"I hope so, mum. I should use the loo before Harry gets here. I'll be right back."
Her mum laughed. "It just gets worse, dear."
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A sudden noise made Hermione look up from washing her hands. Her mouth went dry. It sounded like… Then the screams and yelling started.
Blink.
The dreaded sense of time warping and stretching hit her. She had not felt it in years, and it was most unwelcome. The door seemed miles away. An explosion shook the cafe, and suddenly her wand was in her hand and she was at the door, her heart pounding in her ears. She pulled it open a crack to peek through.
Blink.
Smoke and dust billowed about the room. People were shouting, running crouched for the door, or cowering under tables. A figure in black robes and a white mask stood in the middle of the room, sending spell after spell towards the back of the cafe, shielding when needed.
Here?
Now?
Fear mixed equally with anger grabbed her. She cracked the door open a bit further.
Blink.
In the back, Harry was casting and shielding quickly, easily handling what was sent at him. With his other hand, he tipped over the table scattering plates and glasses everywhere. He grabbed Helen by the collar and shoved her behind it, Robert joining her. Harry glanced at the toilet door, caught her eye and nodded once minutely. He cast several blasting curses rapidly, driving the Death Eater back behind his shield.
The anger swelled to obliterate her fear.
Hermione pulled the door open enough to get her wand arm through.
Blink.
The Death Eater caught the motion of her arm in his peripheral vision. His eyes met hers, and even behind the mask she could see the crinkle of the corners as he smiled. He turned back to Harry and the tip of his wand turned a bright red. Harry let off another blasting hex and then cast the strongest shield he could.
Cursing her mind, her wand, and her magic for not moving fast enough, Hermione cast a piercing hex at the middle of the dark hood.
Blink.
A huge red spell blasted out of the Death Eater's wand, aimed not at Harry, but at the floor in front of him. Hermione's piercing hex went right through his head, entering and exiting just above his ears, just as Harry's hex blew a great hole in his chest, sending him flying backwards trailing twin mists of red.
The fear returned, hugely magnified, as she saw that she hadn't stopped him in time.
Blink.
Harry met Hermione's eyes as the spell flew towards him. He tightened his grip on his wand, holding the shield in front of him and her parents, but never looked away. The back of the cafe disappeared in a massive red explosion. The last thing Hermione saw was the green of Harry's eyes looking back at her, shimmering through his shield, then the concussive wave hit, slamming the door into her and knocking her back into the toilet. A silent 'I love you' echoed in her mind as up and down got confused about which was which.
Blink.
The back wall of the toilet helped sort it all out.
The world went black.
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The world spun and twisted, making her quite nauseous. Her ears were ringing loudly, her head hurt like hell, and when she tried to lift an arm to rub her forehead she found everything else did as well. Where was she, and why did she hurt?
The memory of green eyes staring back at her came back in a rush, and she sat up screaming "Harry!" Her eyes flew open, and she found herself in the unfortunately familiar Spell Damage ward at St. Mungo's. She scanned the room, but it was empty other than for herself and the healer hurrying to her bed.
The motion of sitting up caused the world to spin more, and the pain from every bone and muscle in her body didn't help either. The nausea peaked and she started vomiting all over her bed. The healer was ready, with a deftly conjured bucket and a supportive arm.
"Easy, Ms. Potter. You have a nasty concussion, but no broken bones or internal injuries, Merlin knows how—"
Another cramp in her stomach and the mention of internal injuries caused Hermione's panic to spike again. "My baby—"
"Is fine," the healer interrupted. She waved a wand to clean up the vomit that hit the bed and vanish the bucket. "Your baby is fine."
Hermione swallowed against the nausea a few times, then nodded to show that she had heard. The healer conjured a glass and filled it with water. She accepted it gratefully and took a few sips.
"I am Madam Preston, supervising Healer." She gently lowered Hermione back onto the bed and fussed with the pillows and blankets. "Please remember, no matter what else, you and your baby are fine."
Hermione closed her eyes again. "That bad?"
"What do you remember?"
Hermione squinted against the tears. "Everything."
She cleared her throat. "Harry? My parents?"
Madam Preston sighed. The initial reports from the Aurors were horrific. But in the long run full disclosure was usually the best. Ms. Potter had proven herself to be strong. Why she needed another opportunity to prove it again…. She shook her head at the cruelties of the world. "No one from that end of the building survived. Most of the bodies were taken to a muggle hospital. Many will be very difficult to identify. Your husband apparently cast a most impressive protego, but it wasn't enough."
She waited patiently, but Hermione didn't speak. "Do you have other family that need to be notified?" she asked gently.
Hermione shook her head back and forth. "No." It came out as a whisper. "We were all the last." She scrunched up on her side, curling around her baby. "We only had each other."
Madam Preston laid a hand on her shoulder. "I'm so sorry. Magic can do many things, but this…." Her voice trailed off. She sat with her patient a few more minutes, but Hermione didn't stir. "If you need anything, just call out."
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Hermione was still curled up on her side, staring over the edge of the bed at the floor, when the murmur of several voices approaching the ward door penetrated her grief. Madam Preston's voice she recognised, and she seemed upset. It silenced the rest. A deep rumble replied. It was familiar. Madam Preston argued with it a few more times, but apparently lost as Hermione heard the door ease open and the healer walk quietly across the room.
"Ms. Potter?"
Hermione just grunted.
"The Minister is here. He wants to talk with you about the… attack."
The debrief. She knew how these things went. She just grunted again.
The tapping of dress shoe heels was soon joined by the sight of impeccably creased slacks and the hem of travel robes. The legs of a conjured chair appeared. Hermione turned her head up just enough to see the stony face of Kingsley.
"Ms. Potter…. Hermione. I'm so very sorry."
She just stared.
Kingsley cleared his throat uncomfortably, then sighed. "I suppose you know what comes next."
She just stared.
"When you're ready."
It felt like she was reading a book she wasn't really interested in. She was hardly engaged, and it didn't seem real at all. It seemed like someone else was answering the questions. But in a quiet whisper she was able to give a dry and factual report on what she was able to see, and remember a few details of what Kingsley told her.
Thorfin Rowle. The last of the Death Eaters. Used a massively overpowered mining spell, meant to remove large sections of rock. Likely exhausted his available magic to cast it. The entire back half of the cafe was destroyed, with chunks of the next door buildings and the story above. The floor and alley behind the cafe were deeply cratered. The cover story was that muggle terrorists set off a bomb. Hermione was fortunate to be alive, the toilet door saving her from the worst of the backlash. He returned her wand, as the spells revealed matched her story and the evidence.
Hermione just rolled back over into a small ball. No. Not fortunate at all. He knew exactly what he was doing. The smile haunted her. He was willing to sacrifice himself to cast that spell. He left her alive to suffer, and died happy with that thought. Death would have been much kinder, but if she had died instead then Harry would have been alive with his grief. Only the baby growing inside her made her grudgingly accept her survival. It was the last piece of Harry, now more precious than anything.
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The following day she was allowed to eat, get out of bed, and have visitors. None of it went well. She had no appetite, hurt all over, and the visitors didn't help at all. They were awkward, or condescending, or trite. The Weasleys came, and Molly added smothering to the list. Arthur finally led her out before dinner. She spent the day curled up in bed on her side, largely ignoring everyone, guest or healer.
Late in the evening, just before visiting hours were over, Luna arrived. She hung up her robe, kicked off her shoes, and lay on the bed behind Hermione, wrapping her in a tight hug. Hermione was too tired to be surprised. Grief welled up inside her, and tears ran down her face.
"He's not coming back, is he?" she whispered.
"No, he is not. You will always have a part of him in you, more than just the baby, but even Harry cannot come back yet again."
"Things will never be the same."
"True. It will be worse for a long time. Then someday it will be okay."
The dam broke, and Hermione shook and sobbed and screamed. Madam Preston poked her head in the door. Luna met her eyes and gave a small sad smile. Madam Preston nodded. This was needed and necessary. She closed the door and cast a silencing charm.
Luna held her until she was exhausted and the sobs stopped. "The Ministry has planned a State Funeral for Saturday," she said quietly.
Hermione sniffed. "They what? No-one's said anything to me about it. Harry would hate that. Bugger them. Who are they to get to decide?"
Luna hugged her tight. "I talked with the goblins."
She summoned two rolls of parchment from her robes hanging by the door. "The form to claim Harry's body. You are next of kin. Unless they go as far as to enact a special law through the Wizengamot, they cannot stop you. And the deed to the plot next to his parents. The goblins will have a motorcar here tomorrow morning at ten."
Hermione clutched the rolls, and tucked her hands in again. Exhausted, and comforted by Luna's presence, she finally fell into sleep.
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The next morning, she found herself awake with no definite idea of when it happened. She seemed to transition seamlessly from the nightmares of her sleep to the nightmare of her life. Luna stirred behind her.
"Good morning."
Hermione just grunted again. Her vocabulary had shrunk considerably over the last few days.
"It is early, but if we wish to leave before ten, there is much you need to do. Are you able?"
She just sighed deeply, then slowly struggled to sitting upright.
"You will need to eat, walk, and shower before they decide that you are well enough to be released." Luna got up and straightened her clothes. "I will let Madam Preston know you will have a light breakfast."
While Luna was out in the hall, Hermione found that there was one more thing she had to do. She was shuffling back from the loo as Madam Preston and Luna returned with a tray of tea, toast, and soft boiled eggs.
Madam Preston set the tray on a side table and helped Hermione sit back down on the bed. She pulled out her wand and began her set of diagnostic charms. "How's your headache?"
"Better."
"Any nausea or dizziness?"
"No."
"Are you hungry?"
"A bit."
The wand tracked lower. "Is the baby moving?"
Hermione's hand covered her bump reflexively. "Yes."
"Any cramps or bleeding?"
"No."
"All right, then." She scooted the table with her tray over. "Start with this. Go slow. There's more if you want it."
Hermione worked her way through her breakfast slowly but steadily. There appeared to be room, and the nausea was minimal. She didn't want more. Luna helped her to the shower and had her clothes set out when she was done. While she was dressing, Luna stepped out to get a bite to eat and fetch Madam Preston.
Madam Preston nodded in satisfaction over the empty tray and showered and dressed patient. She ran her diagnostic charms again. "Your breakfast sitting well? Any dizziness from being up?"
Hermione just shook her head.
"Well, in most circumstances I would say you're ready for discharge, but…."
"What?"
"It's rather a zoo out there, crowds of people, and the press." She shook her head in dismay. "It would be perfectly acceptable if you wanted to stay."
Hermione shook her head again. "It's all right. I'm sure Luna can take care of it."
Madam Preston looked Luna skeptically.
Luna smiled. "A little misdirection is all that is needed." She tapped Hermione on the head to disillusion her, and transfigured her own clothes into a muggle business suit. "There are back stairs that open out into the alley?"
Madam Preston smiled. Simple but effective. "Of course. Left to the end of the hall, then left again. Stairs are at the far end. There's an Auror stationed there though—"
"Who is keeping people out, not in. We will be fine."
"Yes, I think you will." She held out a small scroll. "My contact information. You would be due for your next prenatal appointment in a couple of weeks. And if you feel the need to talk…."
The scroll vanished as Hermione took it and tucked in her robes. "Thank you, Madam Preston. I… I'll let you know after things settle down."
"Of course, dear."
Madam Preston led the way out of the room, followed closely by a disillusioned Hermione. Luna followed, but turned back in the doorway.
"I will be back to see you tonight, Hermione. Send a message if you want me to bring anything." She turned left, Madam Preston looking a little confused before she caught on and smiled.
A soft scuff of a shoe told her Hermione was walking beside her. "And the reason for that was…?"
Luna waited until they had turned the second left. Other than the Auror at the far end, it was deserted. "A custodian, the ward clerk, two healer's aides, and the Auror at the main entry to the wing were able to hear that. The Prophet, and thus most everyone, will soon know that you are staying another night. If they are still packed in the lobby waiting for you, they will not spot you being out and about," she murmured.
Hermione just gave a small snort.
"Stay close until we get into the stairwell." Luna felt a hand grip her shoulder gently.
They reached the end of the hallway. "Am I allowed to exit this way?" asked Luna.
The Auror smiled and opened the door, scanning the landing and the stairs. "Yes, ma'am. The lobby's still rather hectic."
"Thank you."
Once they reached the floor below Luna cancelled the disillusionment. She led the way further down the stairs, but when they reached the exit on the first floor, she turned into the building instead of heading out the back door.
"Luna?"
"The morgue is also close to this stairway, another reason I chose this route. The goblins will be waiting in a few minutes."
Any relief Hermione felt from her unnoticed escape was instantly quashed. Her mind had blocked out this unpleasant task. Luna went down the hall and turned right, through the morgue doors. She stopped at the counter, and as the clerk looked up, she pulled Hermione up to the counter as well.
"St. Mungo's has no further comment…." He came to a stop as he recognised Hermione. "Oh. Mrs. Potter. Can I help you?"
Hermione cleared her throat against the tightness. "Yes. I'm here to collect Harry's… my husband." She handed over the completed parchment.
"Yes, ma'am. Of course." His hands fluttered about his desk behind the counter before finding the correct file and opening it. "Oh. That's right. Ah… Um… I'm sorry… but you can't."
For the first time since the… incident, Hermione felt a spike of anger rise above the grief. "Excuse me? Is there something wrong with the form?"
The clerk seemed to shrink into his chair. "Ah, no. But Mr. Potter's casket is to be released today to the Ministry for public viewing in the Atrium, then moved just before the funeral on Saturday."
"What funeral?"
He shrunk further. "The one by the lake at Hogwarts, where the Minister and the Chief Warlock are speaking…."
"How nice for them. In the meantime, I'll be taking my husband."
The clerk looked at the file in front of him again. "But, but—"
"Are you denying that I am next of kin?" The anger was growing.
"No, but—"
She leaned over the counter. "Are you denying that I have the right to the body?"
"But the minister—"
"Is not even related. You will release him to me now." The anger had turned to a cold fury that needed an outlet.
"But the funeral, every Minister in Europe is coming—"
Hermione's voice became very quiet. "Which has nothing to do with you doing your job. Release him now or I'm stopping at the Prophet before talking with the Aurors about you violating every procedure St. Mungo's has by withholding my husband from me."
The clerk was finally able to tell who he was more afraid of. "Yes, ma'am. Sorry ma'am." He rapidly stamped and sealed the appropriate forms.
"Thank you."
He showed them into a large, cold, stone room in the back. Three caskets rested on stone platforms. Two were elegant but simple in design. The third…
"I suppose that gaudy monstrosity is Harry's?"
The clerk cringed, and just nodded.
Hermione pulled out her wand and with a few rapid diffindos all the gold figures and especially the giant wings at the head were sliced off and clanged to the floor. A simple tap turned it a shiny solid black. The clerk didn't even attempt to stop her. A locomotor lifted it gently off its platform and Hermione and Luna gently guided it out the door.
Luna stopped at the exit to the alley. "You will want to fix your hair and raise your hood. There still might be people lurking about."
"My hair?" asked Hermione, lifting her hands up.
"Yes. You were leaking a bit of magic when dealing with the clerk, and your hair…." Luna just gestured vaguely with both hands.
Hermione found her hair was sticking nearly straight out from her head in a giant frizzy ball. "Ack! Why didn't you say anything?" She hurriedly began patting and pulling it down.
"It did not seem to be the right time, and it was quite effective in gaining his cooperation."
Hermione just growled, getting her hair under some semblance of control and lifting her hood. Luna smiled, transfiguring her suit back into robes and lifting her hood as well. She cracked open the door and peeked out.
"Good, they are here."
A large hearse was backed up to the door, the back hatch open. Several men suspiciously alike in short stature, dark pinstripe suits, and indistinct features stood near the back of the vehicle or across the opening of the alley to the street. The casket was loaded and Hermione and Luna ushered to the back set of seats in mere seconds, before more than a few onlookers could gather. One of the men joined them in the back, his glamour fading as they began to move. Hermione recognised him as Gringotts' Potter Account manager.
"Thank you for this, Gorlic." She waved her hand to indicate the hearse and the escort.
"It's the least we could do, Mrs. Potter."
"Though I didn't know goblins could drive."
"We don't. Humans do have their uses aside from dragon food on occasion. Once they're sworn to secrecy, anyway."
Turning to business, he handed over a set of file folders. "The first file contains the documents you'll need to collect your parents and to manage their estate. The second contains the summary of Mr. Potter's will and your current holdings. If you sign where indicated in the third file, control of the Potter accounts and estate will formally pass to you and we'll be able to represent you in all matters financial and legal in either world."
Hermione numbly opened the third folder. She hadn't even thought about her parents' estate. She could barely plan five minutes ahead. She scribbled something like her signature in the indicated blanks, and handed the file back.
"Thank you, Gorlic."
"As I said, it's the least we can do. The Potters have always been some of the least vile wand wavers. Never more true than currently. You have our support."
Hermione almost smiled. From a goblin, that was high praise.
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She had her parents' remains cremated. There really wasn't much else she could have done given the strength of the blast. She made it through the few hours of the service and the memorial afterwards in a daze. Thankfully, the senior partner of their dental group and her husband handled most of the details. Luna was there as well as 'her old friend from school,' quietly offering her support. Neighbours, coworkers, people her parents knew from university all offered their condolences. Hermione knew very few of them well, many not at all. They talked amongst themselves mostly. Hermione thanked them all for coming, and left at the scheduled time, leaving several of her parents' friends still there. She drove Luna the short distance to her house, placed the two urns on the mantel, and they disapparated away.
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Saturday morning found them in the cemetery in Godric's Hollow. The sky was a pale blue, the air cool. Luna stood next to Hermione, again dressed in Muggle mourning clothes, including a small black veil. The goblins with their usual efficiency had already dug the grave and installed the headstones, currently covered with black cloth. Harry's casket rested quietly in its cradle, ready to be lowered. The goblins stood in a small arc behind the headstone, free of their human glamour.
There was a quiet pop behind them and soon George stood beside them.
"Thanks for coming, George."
"Anything for you and Harry."
"The others coming?"
"They're all gathered at Hogwarts."
"And the Ministry?"
"They're a bit busy at the moment." He pulled a small vial of dark sludgy potion out of his robes and wiggled it. "It seems you've been spotted in several places about Britain, and they're having to investigate all of them. We should be good."
"Thanks, George."
He gave her a small hug. "We'll go fetch our special guests." He looked around. "If you would?"
Hermione called out "Winky?"
Winky appeared next to her with a small pop. "Yes, Ms. Harry?"
"It's time. Would you help George gather our guests?"
"Of course, Ms. Harry." She took George's hand and looked up expectantly.
"To Hogwarts, Winky." They disappeared with another small pop.
Soon, a rapid series of small pops signalled the arrival of more of the invitees, mostly members of the DA and the Quidditch team, each holding the hand of an elf. Ron and Lavender arrived with Neville and Ginny. Harry's Auror partner popped in too. She gave Hermione a tight hug.
"I'm so sorry, Hermione."
"Thanks, Andra, and thanks for coming. You're not going to get into to trouble over this, are you?"
"Wouldn't matter if I did. But no. Officially I'm investigating a sighting of you and Luna in Brighton. Certain clues led me here. In the end, I'll have been too late."
Hermione gave a small smile. "Thanks."
George popped in with Flitwick, McGonagall, and Hagrid. The elves all gathered off to one side. Flitwick and Hagrid offered their condolences, Hagrid already tearful. McGonagall enveloped her in a hug.
"I'm so sorry, Hermione. But I'm also so glad to see you. The Ministry's been sending people round every day looking for you. Half the country is arriving Hogwarts this morning in the hopes that you will still show up."
She looked at who was gathered around. "But I can see why you did what you did. Harry would like this much better." She hugged Hermione again. "Thanks for making sure we could come."
Hermione hugged back. "Of course, Professor. Thanks for coming, and for understanding."
She looked at George. "Everybody here?"
He nodded. "All but the last three. Ready?"
She took a big breath. "Yes."
"Ready, Neville, Ginny?" asked George.
Neville and Ginny stepped up, the Order of Merlin, First Class on their robes catching the sun. "Of course." The four of them popped away.
McGonagall looked at Luna, a question on her face.
"Our last guests. There could be… difficulties getting them here. We will know soon."
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Hermione appeared atop rocky cliffs overlooking the sea. A stiff wind drove waves crashing into the cliff base. The sun low over the water identified this as an east coast, but there were no further landmarks to identify where they were. Careful to stand in exactly the right place, she turned to stare out over the water.
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Neville and George arrived at the Ministry's incoming apparation point, and set off at a brisk pace for the Minister's office. The Ministry was eerily empty, only a few workers hustling about. It seemed everyone was already at Hogwarts or still out looking for Hermione. They took the lift up to level one, and made it unimpeded to the Minister's secretary. She glanced up at their arrival, looking harried.
"Mr. Longbottom, Mr. Weasley, what brings you here today?"
"We have news about Ms. Potter," Neville replied. They felt his Order of Merlin would add some respectability. "We thought the Minister would like to know."
"Oh, of course, of course." She stood and came around her desk. "You have no idea how chaotic things have been the last couple of days." She knocked on the Minister's door and poked her head in without even waiting for an answer.
"Minister? Mr. Weasley and Mr. Longbottom are here with information on Ms. Potter. Can you see them now?"
"Yes, yes, send them in," answered Kingsley.
They stepped in and closed the door.
Just a few minutes later the three of them left his office. "Mary, I will be gone for a bit, hopefully not too long."
"You mean they've found her?"
"Yes, they're taking me to where they saw her. Just stall anyone that wants anything, I should be back shortly."
"Of course, Minister."
Shacklebolt led them to the apparation points.
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Hermione turned when Neville popped in again several feet away. They drew their wands, and stood, facing each other. Moments later, George appeared with Shacklebolt in between them, and stepped back a few paces, also with wand drawn.
Shacklebolt glanced around, eyebrows raising at the location and the fact that was technically surrounded. He looked back at Hermione to find her wand aimed at the bridge of his nose. He spread his hands open and out to his side.
"What's all this?"
"I thought we should talk, but somewhere a bit more neutral than the Ministry."
Shacklebolt declined to point out that three to one odds in her favour wasn't quite the same as neutral. "Is this really necessary, Hermione? You know me."
Her wand didn't waver in the slightest. "You are Shack, one of our dearest friends, and should be present as Harry is laid to rest." She spoke over him as he opened his mouth.
"You're also Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic, responsible for the effin mess of a circus that's planned at Hogwarts this afternoon. Harry would, and I will, curse you to the ends of the world if we're made to be part of that. If Shack would like to come to the funeral, he's welcome, but Minister Shacklebolt is not allowed. If need be he'll be napping on this clifftop until it's over."
Kingsley gathered his thoughts carefully, again aware of George and Neville behind him. Their wands were still pointed down. For now.
"Hermione… Like it or not, Harry is a hero. You all are. The people need to mourn and mark his passing just as much as you—"
Shack instantly saw that he'd said the wrong thing as a faint red glow lit the tip of Hermione's wand.
"I've seen the paper the past couple of days. 'Boy-who-lived.' 'Man-who-conquered.' 'Man-who-had-bloody-eggs-on-toast-for-breakfast.' 'What will we do without our saviour?' Harry always said the Prophet is far more damaging to us than Riddle ever was, and I couldn't agree more."
She took a deep breath. "You all want to bury your Harry. I'm going to bury mine. I shan't stop you. You can't stop me. But your Harry has nothing to do with me or my Harry, so we don't need to be there. Just conjure some horrid gilt box and give your useless speeches. I don't care. Now, do you want to be awake or asleep through this?"
Kingsley stared at the witch in front of him. Co-worker. Friend. Brilliant and caring department head. And someone who as a teenager took on some of the darkest magic known, who freed a dragon and rode it out of Gringotts. Who helped save them all. His shoulders sagged briefly in defeat, before he stood tall again.
"Shack would be honoured to attend."
She stared at him for a long moment before nodding once, but the wand in front of his face still didn't waver. He was afraid she didn't believe him and was preparing for the stunner to hit when he felt a hand grip his arm and he was pulled through the tiny hole in space between wherever he was and wherever he was being taken.
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Ginny appeared just outside the gates of Hogwarts and sighed. Just because she was an Auror didn't mean she had to get all the hard jobs. She'd much rather help kidnap the Minister or something else easy.
Pulling her wand, she summoned her patronus. "Meet me at the gates within five minutes." It galloped off and faded into a streak of light. She started to pace back and forth, ignoring the steady trickle of people heading up the road to the castle.
She was still pacing as the five minutes were nearly up. Looking up at the castle she could see her parents hurrying down the road. She stopped pacing and waited with mixed impatience and dread.
They both started speaking before they reached her. She overrode her parents' simultaneous questions. "Mum, dad, Hermione would like you to come to Harry's funeral. I'm here to take you."
"But Ginny, the funeral's up at the castle," Arthur said, pointing over his shoulder. "And where is Hermione? Everyone's been looking for since she left St. Mungos. And George and Neville disappeared just a bit ago."
Ginny took a cleansing breath. "Mum, dad, Hermione would like you to come to Harry's funeral. Whatever all that is," she waved her hand at the castle, "it isn't it. That's for all the man-who-conquered crap, and everyone who didn't know Harry. I can take you if you want to come, but come or stay, I'm leaving now."
"Ginerva Molly Weasley. Stop this nonsense right now. If you know where Hermione and everyone else are, you need to tell us. Minister Shacklebolt and the Aurors have been by every day looking for her, or anyone who might know where she is. She—"
Ginny threw her hands up. "Mum! Would you please, please, be quiet for once and just listen. There is a private burial for Harry starting in a few minutes, for those that were close to him. If all went well, Shacklebolt's already there. Hermione thought you should be there too. So if you want to come, and promise not to make a scene, I can take you. Otherwise you can just wait here for whatever bullshit they're putting on later."
Her mum drew a breath to start in again, but Arthur laid a hand on her arm. "Molly, please."
"But Arthur, it's not right that—"
"Molly. We've been invited to a gathering of friends to say goodby to Harry. We should be gracious and accept, and treat the occasion with the respect that it's due."
"But if Harry's being buried somewhere else, what are they going to do tonight?"
"Really, mum? Harry gave his life defending Hermione and her parents, taking out Thorfin Rowle in the process, and you're worried about what's in which casket? It's an effin box, something to stare at while the politicians drone on about how Harry really didn't think they were all a bunch of useless twits." Her voice steadily rose in volume to match the best her mum could do.
She took a few steps back to get enough room to apparate. "I'm sorry you didn't want to come. Some of us might be here after, if we're not all out getting pissed."
Arthur stepped forward, hand raised. "Ginny, wait, please."
"Now or never, dad."
"We'll come, we'll come."
Ginny raised her eyebrows at her mum. "Your word you'll control yourself?"
Molly pulled herself up in indignation. "I never—"
"Mum, you frequently do, and currently are. I'll be back in a tick." She grabbed her dad's arm and spun away, leaving her mum standing there, mouth open.
Ginny reappeared seconds later to find her mum gathering steam again. "You and I are going to have words later, Miss Weasley."
"As long as it's later, and you don't bother Hermione. And my name is Ginny Longbottom. I married Neville a few years ago. Perhaps you remember him? Now come on." She grabbed her mum's arm and twisted again.
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Hermione turned from the grave and saw Ginny arrive with Molly. George, Angelina, and Neville were all there to escort Molly and Arthur over. So far so good. The crowd slowly congregated about her, goblins, elves, and human. She gathered her thoughts.
"Thank you all for coming. And for your discretion."
"It's been hard to find what to say. How to describe why we," she circled her hands to include all of them, "should be here," she dropped her hands, "now."
"There's the Harry the world saw. Warrior, fighter, Auror, conquerer, saviour, hero. What he did, what he had to do. Then there's the Harry we knew. Friend. Husband. Brother in all but blood." She put a hand on her tummy. "Father. We are here because we know why he did what he did."
"Harry did what was right, because it was right. The last thing he wanted was recognition beyond a simple thank you. He felt people were important, all people, human or not, and equally important. It didn't matter who or what your grandparents were, or what your last name was, or how much money you had, but who you were inside. He was a great example for all of us."
She looked around at the group. Goblins, elves, Aurors, healers, teachers, Ministry workers, spouses. Friends. "We are here because we feel the same, and try in some small way to do the same. We are here because we have that same desire to do what is right."
She took a steadying breath. "Funerals tend to have quotes. It took me a long time to find any that seemed even remotely appropriate. Ironically, they all come from a book, by a nonmagical author. The Two Towers, by J.R.R. Tolkein."
She read from a small scrap of parchment. "War must be, while we defend our lives against a destroyer who would devour all; but I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that they defend."
She dropped her hand. "There is some good in this world, and it's worth fighting for."
She wiped her eyes, and cleared her throat against the growing tightness. "Don't go where I can't follow." She couldn't speak any more.
George stepped up, and told his favourite Quidditch story of the tiny seeker who was told to get the snitch or die trying. Others followed, all giving small memories about Harry's life. Even Shack spoke, describing an Auror training accident involving a combat dummy, the Auror Captain, a misspoken spell, and the resulting pink tutus.
At last everyone had told their story, and Hermione had regained her composure. They stood close around the grave.
Hermione conjured a small wreath and laid it on the casket. "To Harry, my love, my life, the best part of me."
"To Harry," murmured the crowd.
The coffin was lowered in by the goblins. Hermione sprinkled the first handful of dirt over it, everyone else stepping up to say their good-byes, lay flowers, and sprinkle their own handful of soil.
The goblins removed the covers off the headstones. Dark granite, with simple lettering that gave the names and dates for Harry and her parents. Hermione tried to speak briefly with as many as she could before people started apparating away, some to attend the funeral at Hogwarts, others gathering at the pub. It took Ginny, George, and Luna to run enough interference with Molly for Hermione to get away.
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Hermione sat on the edge of the couch in the living room. Other than the clinks of Luna making tea in the kitchen, the house was silent. It rapidly became oppressive. Her parents had lived here since before she was born, but now the usual comfort she felt here was missing, one more thing to grieve over.
Luna brought her tea and sat across from her. After a few minutes she began speaking softly.
"My mother's family came from a small village in Wales called Llys-y-fran. It means 'court of the crow.' Other than fish and sheep, not much else comes from there. It's mostly fishermen on holiday that go there now, you could rent a cottage until you delivered. You would be safe, and it would be quiet."
Hermione thought quietly while she held her slowly cooling tea. What did she want to do? She felt adrift, lost. It was made worse by all the familiar things in her life. They just reminded her of what she no longer had. Life would be hectic for weeks if not months, everyone hounding her for her thoughts on Harry, or the Ministry, or her emotional state, or the fate of the magical world…. Going muggle, and getting away from London, appealed to her. The magical world had brought only grief. She nodded her head slowly.
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Hermione wanted to drive. Instantly apparating somewhere just didn't have the same impact as the physical act of driving long distance. Luna came along. Surprisingly she was an excellent traveling companion. She didn't mind the silence, but supplied just enough innocuous conversation to keep Hermione awake and from sinking too far into despair.
It was only six hours from London, but seemed like a different world. The village was tiny, an odd combination of old and new. The church was over a thousand years old, the bed and breakfasts to serve the tourists that came to fish on the reservoir a mix of centuries-old stone cottages and new construction.
The locals spoke with a musical lilt, even more beautiful when Luna engaged them in Welsh. A few questions led her to the caretaker of the church, a distant relative of her mother. He directed them to yet another even more distant relative, which led them to a small stone cottage high above the reservoir. Luna navigated as they bounced slowly over narrow rutted roads up the hills. Cledwyn, the crofter, met them there with walking staff and dog, who promptly sat down beside Luna and nuzzled her hand. It was his cottage, and Hermione felt bad about taking his house.
Cledwyn just waved it off. "Glad to have you stayin. I don't get around as easy as I once did, and the youngins are all off to university. As they should. But I had to reduce the flock to just these here, easier to manage as I don't have to chase 'em up and down the hills. The missus and I moved into town, a bit easier gettin on day to day."
Strange sheep, mostly black, but with white feet, tail tip, and stripe down the face grazed on the several acres stretching down the hill. The property line was marked by a mix of hedgerow, stone wall, and split rail, a metal gate across the drive the only nod to the modern world.
He showed her the cottage. It was sturdy and cozy, with wood stove and fireplace. A bedroom and bathroom were to the left, the main room with open kitchen, dining table and couch near the fireplace to the right. Indoor plumbing was provided by the clever use of runes. A gentle muggle repelling charm kept the odd hiker away. Hermione raised her eyebrows over this.
Cledwyn laughed. "Aye, we know magic. Maybe not the wand waving kind that needs to go off to that castle. But birthing lambs, or babes, working and breeding dogs, catching fish or stalking rabbits, herblore. Some know runes or charms. Some say it's from the land isself, others say the Fae left more than just odd stones and mounds when they left." The old Hermione would have dismissed it all out of hand. This Hermione just looked at Luna and nodded.
He led them back outside. "Just make sure the trough keeps isself full of water, otherwise the sheep mind themselves. Me and Wren'll be up a couple times a week to check on em." The dog looked up at the mention of her name and wagged her tail.
While they were talking with Cledwyn the sheep slowly grazed towards them, until they were surrounded. Hermione looked warily at the flock, but he just laughed. "Not to worry. They sense yer magic. Know it's good for 'em. Keeps the wolves away."
He laughed again at her expression. "Naw, no wolves for centuries. But they dun know that, do they?"
He grabbed his staff and gave a sharp double whistle for the dog, then set off through the pasture for the stile at the far end.
Luna helped her unpack the boot, put things away, and cook a light supper. Afterwards, they sat together on the bench outside the main window, watching the sunset paint the clouds. Luna pulled a small book out of her coat pocket. "You might find this helpful during the delivery. And until then."
Hermione turned the leather bound book over in her hands. There were no markings on the front or spine. She flipped through the pages. It was hand written in a neat script. She turned back to the title page. "The Mind Arts." She looked up at Luna.
"It is one of the few books available on Occlumancy and Legilimency. They are usually taught one on one. My father got it for me to help organise my thoughts. I found that I did not want my thoughts organised. Your thoughts are usually quite organised, but lately they have become jumbled. Maybe this will help."
Hermione was touched. In an odd way, it was the best gift she could have been given. "Thank you, Luna."
Luna hugged her tightly. "I'll be back to visit," and apparated away.
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So Hermione frequently sat on the bench, or walked the trails through the hills, enjoying the sun when it broke through the clouds. She found that loneliness came in several different flavours. She missed Harry terribly, felt like half herself was missing, and no amount of company could help with that. She enjoyed the solitude of the cottage on the hill, watching the weather roll up and down or across the vast valley, the sun and wind making the lake sparkle, the lambs playing or the sheep grazing their way around the pasture in patterns that made sense only to them. In the late afternoon, solitary ravens would ride the thermals up the hills, scanning for food, and glide silently back down just before sunset. As far away as London seemed by car, it was only an apparation away, so the isolation was welcome, not oppressive.
She read the book on occlumency, trying to put her mind in order again. The grief slowly lost its sharp edges, became more of a constant dull ache, like old joints in winter. The antics of the lambs and the vastness of the horizon both helped put it into perspective. There was a world apart from her grief, both large and small. So she sat or hiked, hat against the sun, or a jumper against the fog, soaking in the peace and quiet. She slowly built an inner mindscape, partly for defence, but mostly for a safe haven against her current emotional pain and the physical pain to come. Her tummy slowly grew, and her child kicked and turned within her.
Luna came once a week or so, bringing odd tidbits of news, not limited to magical Britain. She was like the Sun, the Prophet, the Times, and the New Scientist all rolled into one. She also brought the mail from the owl drop at Gringotts. Hermione signed the parchments from Gorlic without reading them. Letters from friends she read, but couldn't bring herself to answer yet. Anything from the Ministry or the press just went into the fireplace, unopened.
Luna also made her go shopping for food and what few things the cottage didn't have that she needed. After a couple of trips over the bumpy road, they arranged to keep her car at the caretaker's garage and just apparate back and forth to the cottage.
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Cledwyn came once or twice a week to check on his flock, his sharp whistle or Wren's bark announcing his arrival. Occasionally he'd bring 'a dish from the missus.' He would chat for a bit if she was out on the bench, otherwise he respected her privacy.
One cold, foggy day he found her on the bench, her hands wrapped around a jar of blue fire. He stared at it briefly, then cleared his throat. "Beg pardon, Ms. Potter, but could I bring someone to see that flame there?"
Seeing the look on her face, he hastened to add, "They knows about magic already. We keep it amongst ourselves like you do."
Hermione considered. Nearly everyone in the valley seemed to know about magic, in some form or another. It was just part of life. The statute of secrecy seemed rather irrelevant. "Sure."
Later that week, Cledwyn appeared with an ancient woman leaning heavily on a staff and a young girl of six or seven that skipped up the road and played with the lambs. As they got close she turned bashful and hid behind the woman's skirts, peeking out with sky blue eyes, rosy cheeks, two missing teeth, and dirt on her hands, nose, and knees.
"Little Eirian is a fire caller. We thought it'd be good for her to see your flames in a jar."
Hermione summoned a jar and cast her bluebell flames, and the little girl's eyes lit up. She tugged on the old woman's jumper and pointed at the flames while chattering excitedly in Welsh. The old woman gestured at Hermione with her chin.
Eirian looked up at Hermione with hopeful eyes and held out her hands. Hermione glanced at the old woman who just smiled and nodded. She handed the jar over to the delighted girl, who promptly tipped the flames out into her hand before Hermione could stop her. Absently handing the jar back to a gobsmacked Hermione, she played with the flames, pouring them from hand to hand before cupping them in both and wiggling her fingers through them gently, giggling. She slowly closed her hands together extinguishing them, then opened her hands and stared with intense concentration. The bluebell flames popped into existence again. She laughed and bounced in place, holding up her hands to the old woman proudly.
The old woman said a few quiet words and Eirian extinguished the flames again and turned and said, "Thank you" carefully in heavily accented English. The old woman just cackled at Hermione's shocked look, held out her hand to Eirian, and led her slowly off down the pasture to the stile. Eirian turned and yelled what Hermione recognised as Welsh for 'good bye.'
Cledwyn cleared his throat, getting her attention. "Thank you for that. You can imagine the problems that a young fire caller can have. Hopefully now she can train a bit more safely, and her temper tantrums won't set the furniture alight."
Hermione shook her head to clear it. "Of course," she said absently. Cledwyn whistled for Wren and they set off after the others. Hermione just sat and thought about what she thought she knew about magic.
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There were no medical services in the village, but the nearest hospital was only ten miles away in Haverfordwest. Hermione registered under her maiden name. She toured the Maternity Unit and local birthing centres, and met with the local obstetricians and midwives. She was undecided on whether she would be just apparating to St. Mungos for her appointments and delivery until she met Haylie.
She was young, about Hermione's age, and grew up locally. She had trained at King's College, London, but had come home to practice immediately after graduation, working at a rural birthing centre. She patiently answered Hermione's list of questions and listened to her goals for delivery. Her response was a simple "We can do that." Hermione liked her right away.
Luna accompanied her a couple of appointments later. She and Haylie looked at each other with similarly tilted heads before starting a rapid conversation in Welsh, soon accompanied by broad hand gestures. Hermione could only stare back and forth, Luna putting a hand on her arm for patience.
After several minutes Luna switched back to English. "My apologies for monopolising your consultation time and your healer. Haylie and I have established that we are third cousins once removed. We have also established that yes, you are that Hermione. She herself would not have asked. She is also interested in your mediation techniques for delivery."
Hermione blinked slowly, taking that in. Luna was always able to pack so much into so few words. She looked at Haylie, who seemed embarrassed, hopeful, and eager all at once, and nodded.
Haylie beamed. "Thank you, Ms. Granger. Really, it doesn't change anything."
For once, Hermione believed it, and smiled slowly in return. Haylie switched to midwife mode and got on with the appointment.
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Spring turned to summer, and Hermione slowly slipped into the rhythm of the Welsh countryside, up with the sun, hiking through the hills, watching the weather move across the valley, the sheep graze as the lambs grew in size and the adults regrew their wool. Cledwyn and Luna visited weekly, but let her have her privacy. Her mind became full of shades of blue and green of the sky and fields, white and grey of the clouds, splashes of bright colour of the flowers, the amazing display of the stars at night, the whisper or howl of the wind. She worked her way through Luna's book, meditating on her inner mindscape, frequently falling asleep and slipping in to dreams that no longer woke her, screaming and crying.
Sometime in September she slowly walked out to her bench after breakfast. Her belly was big enough that it no longer seemed a part of her, but some separate thing that she had to lift and carry with her hands to get from place to place. She was in the window where she 'could go any time,' but there was no sign of anything happening yet.
The bench and wall were warm from the sun, but not so warm that she overheated again. August had been uncomfortably hot, for her at least. The sky matched perfectly the last of the cornflowers blooming along the sides of the cottage, small fluffy clouds mirroring the sheep wandering across the pasture. The ravens were small dots overhead. She sat and watched, smelling the heather and flowers and soil and sheep, feeling the breeze on her face.
She took a deep breath, and seemed to feel a small loosening in her chest. Frowning, she took another breath. Nothing. But something was different. She focused inward, running a rapid inventory. No pain, no nausea, no shortness of breath over what was caused by her significantly swollen uterus. No palpitations, no headache. She took another breath. No contractions, no leak of fluid, the baby still kicked her under the left ribs and sat on her bladder. Nothing physically seemed wrong.
She ran a check over her sense of magic, then her emotional state. Pregnancy had wreaked havoc with her emotions, and Luna's book had helped greatly. And there it was. The grey heaving mass of grief at her core had settled into a calmer pool. Still there, still large, but calmer. Sometime over the past few weeks, a tendril of peace from the land had worked its way in and had taken root. Luna had been right, and at least at this moment in time, she was okay. Not great, not good, but okay. Tears welled in her eyes and trickled down her face, but it was…okay.
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Hermione carefully lowered herself onto the bench again. Another weekly visit to Haylie, another pronouncement of 'any time now.' Small contractions had started a few days ago, giving her hope that things would soon be over, but apparently they were 'just practice ones' and hadn't 'caused any changes yet.' Just enough to be annoying and interrupt her sleep. Another contraction tightened her tummy, visibly changing its shape, and the baby kicked in response.
"Oi. One at a time." Things settled down. She poked at her tummy. "And you. If you're going to contract, make it worthwhile." She tipped her head back against the stone wall and rested her eyes. Her sleep was constantly fragmented by the need to change position, and now the infrequent contractions, and she was tired all the time. She nodded off.
She was rudely awoken by another contraction, much stronger than any previous. It took her breath away, and she gripped the bench seat reflexively. She began to worry that something was wrong before it faded away, leaving her shaking. "Oh, my." She rested a bit until the shakes faded as well.
Gingerly, she levered herself up to her feet and, hands supporting her tummy, slowly worked her way into the cottage towards her already packed bag. If these continued she should probably head to the birthing centre to get checked.
Another contraction stopped her and she grabbed the table top to steady herself. A twinge of panic settled in her throat. Reading about them was one thing, facing several hours of actually experiencing them another. The contraction ended, but before she recovered there was a sudden sensation of something settling lower in her pelvis and a gush of liquid down her legs.
"Oh, just great." At least the question of whether to head to the birthing centre or not was answered. She stepped towards her bag, then stopped, not wanting to leak fluid all over the cottage. She turned towards her wand on the counter, then stopped again for the same reason. There were a few towels in the bathroom…. While she was still dithering about what to do another contraction hit and more fluid leaked out.
It ended, and she found herself in the same place as after the last one, just wetter. "Gah! Am I a witch or not?" Frustration overtook the panic and indecision and as soon as she could stand straight and breathe again she waddled over to her wand, scourgified herself and the floor, summoned her bag, and tried to focus on the gap between the rubbish bin enclosure and the wall of the birthing centre.
Another contraction broke her concentration, but this time she remembered to breathe through it. One thing at a time. The tightness eased, and she recovered faster. Much better. "Must remember to breathe." She cast a quick scourgify again, gripped her bag tighter, focused, and turned in place.
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She made it out from beside the rubbish bin fence, stuffing her wand into the hidden compartment of her bag, along the rear and side of the building, and had her hand on the front door handle before the next one hit. Holding the handle, she bent over until her head rested on the glass and took her deep steady breaths. The contraction easing off, she stood up to see Haylie on the other side of the glass with a welcoming smile and more importantly Jenna the nurse with a wheel chair. She made a 'shooing' gesture with her hand, and when Hermione stepped back a bit, hit the button to open the door. Hermione groaned at her stupidity in not using the same button on the outside, before groaning again in relief as she plunked down in the chair.
"Don't worry about it. No one in labor ever notices the button, and no one bringing someone in labor in does either. Plenty of folks just stand there and bang on the glass, like we're closed or something."
She looked out the door to the carpark. "Where's Luna?"
Hermione groaned again. She should have sent a patronus right off, then she could have had help. "I forgot to call her."
"No worries, you're here, and you can call her once you're situated."
Hermione was wheeled past the front counter, Haylie stopping to grab a clipboard and her stethoscope, and down a short hallway to the room on the left. Jenna parked the chair next to the bed, locking the wheels, and set her bag on the counter.
"Do you have time to get to the bed before the next—" Hermione shook her head, closed her eyes and started her breathing again. "I guess not. Good. Slow down just a bit. In and out. Good."
The contraction ended. "Thanks, Haylie."
"Of course. All right then, we'll go in stages." Jenna grabbed a gown and a stack of pads out of the cabinet. "Slip your jumper off and we'll get your gown on."
Hermione struggled out of her jumper, and Jenna slid the gown up her arms and tied it in the back.
"We'll do the trousers as you transfer."
Hermione lifted the gown and looked down. It wasn't a great puddle like before, but she was wet again. "I might need some help."
Haylie looked over. "And you're ruptured, too. Looks like today's the day. Hang on." She put some gloves on and slid a pad under Hermione's feet and another on the bed. "Just stand when you're ready."
One contraction and some awkward shuffling later, Hermione made it to the bed sans trousers with a sigh of relief. They got her in the middle and Jenna began her vitals and check in. Haylie got her equipment and a wheeled stool and rolled to the bedside. She pressed with the doppler, and quickly found the reassuring rapid 'wumpa wumpa wumpa' of the baby's heartbeat.
Haylie smiled. "Baby doesn't seem to be minding this at all. We talked about an IV start to give us access if needed, is that still all right?"
"That's fine." Haylie glanced at Jenna who nodded and went to fetch the IV tray.
"Now, how long have you been ruptured?"
"Just a few minutes. The hard contractions started and I was getting my bag, then there was the gush. I made it here a few contractions later."
"But—" Haylie looked confused for a second. "Ah, right. No car, I take it?"
Hermione nodded as Jenna came back in with her supplies.
"Well, while Jenna starts the IV, I need to check and see how far the baby has come down. You remember how that works?"
Hermione just nodded again, then started breathing through another contraction.
Haylie looked at the clock. "About three minutes apart, so pretty quick." She and Jenna coached her through it, then Haylie switched to a pair of sterile gloves.
The contraction ended. "Ready?"
Hermione nodded once more. Obviously they had done this many times, as before the next contraction hit both Haylie and the IV were done.
"Those practice contractions finally did some good. The baby has come down a long way already. I can feel the head easily, your cervix has already flattened out, and it's dilated to three centimetres. So you're definitely in labour, well on your way actually."
Hermione let out a big breath. "Good. I was worried nothing had happened yet. Other than rupturing."
"Lots happening. For now, we'll get some pads for you until the fluid slows down, and you can walk around a bit. Lots of women feel restless while this is going on. You can have some clear liquids if you want, but nothing solid to eat. I'll check you again in a while to gauge your progress. Do you need anything else?"
Hermione lay back, relaxing as much as possible, thankful to be settled. "Just my bag. I need a few minutes to call Luna."
They got her cleaned up and handed her her bag and stepped out to give her some privacy. She fished out her wand, cast a quick muggle repelling charm over then door, then her patronus. "In labour, at the birthing centre. Come when you can." She sent it off and put her wand back in her bag. Just as the next contraction started, she remembered to cancel the repelling charm. She put her wand away again and began her breathing.
Haylie poked her head around the doorframe, and came in when she saw Hermione having her contraction and sat on the bed to help her through it.
"Did you get ahold of Luna?" she asked when it was over.
Hermione nodded. "I left a message. I don't know what her schedule's like, but she'll be here when she can."
"Right then. While we're waiting, you can tell me about your meditation techniques…."
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A/N: And we'll stop there. Longer than intended, but satisfying to get out of my head. Second version of In Out would follow on shortly. Now back to my longer stories. n
