(A/N) hello long time no writing but an awful review or two of cursed child (leaving me very wary of the plays story) has inspired me to pick this up again. It's a short chapter but please remember I still enjoy encouragement :) thank you
The footsteps through the growing corn were obvious behind her but Hermione didn't turn. It would be Ron, trying his best to comfort her- she didn't need that right now.
"Ron, I-."
"It's me." The response was not as she had expected because it didn't come from Ron, it came instead in Harry's voice.
Hermione found her head turning instantly to face him.
Harry stood, looking to her as he always had, with his floppy and dark crowd of hair and his rounded glasses. Of course long ago had he been able to buy a new pair of glasses, or be able to change his glasses into a more fashionable shape. He didn't; and that was part of what made him Harry.
He lowered to a crouch, matching Hermione in height and coming closer to her.
Slowly, as though he was approaching Buckbeak for the first time once again, Harry skunked closer to her, his arm extended and eventually he pulled Hermione in against his shoulder, holding her tightly.
Hermione felt her muscles relax beneath his big hands, hands which may have grown over the years but which held the same comfort they always had. She knew she was in a place where she was safe; where she was home.
2006
This little thing, so delicate and pretty and unlike any other in the whole world- magic or muggle- was the most amazing thing she had ever set eyes upon. More amazing than her first dragon, or being sorted a Gryffindor, or entering platform nine and three quarters.
The pain was worth the beauty, worth the perfection. She had dewy lips and a fuzz of red hair; she had ten fingers and ten toes; she had perfectly manicured nails; long eyelashes; a heart beat.
Hermione moved, white hot pain seaping through her abdomen like a new hack with the scalpel. Her
Mind screamed that she should flop back onto the pillows but she needed a fresh look, a look at her tiny living thing, the tiny thing she had created.
In the back of her mind though, there was something buzzing- a thought she was trying to push back into her mind, an anxious thought, a terrified thought but a thought none the less.
'Shouldn't she feel more love?'
