'You did what?' A look of incredulity accompanied Remus Lupin's sharp tone and Sirius winced slightly at both.
'I forbid her...' he mumbled, shame-faced, unable to look his friend in the eye.
The pair were sat in a small snug in The Leaky Cauldron, tucked away from view of the few customers who still ventured out in these troubling times for a pint of mead from Tom, the innkeeper.
'Merlin's Beard,' Lupin shook his head in disbelief again. 'You couldn't have even humoured her a bit until the shock had worn off? Pretended that she still has the right to bodily autonomy? Not that she does now, not with the articles they've added to 2.2', he finished glumly referring to the revisions the Ministry's Blood Purity Committee had added to the Marriage Law Legislation.
Muggle borns who had entered into marriage with wizards of pure blood status were now required to have conceived (or in the case of men, aided the conception of) a baby, within three months of their marriage. Those who didn't were to be immediately sent to Azkaban, for treason to the wizarding race, whilst the pure-blood partner would be pardoned and allowed to remarry.
'It's fucking genocide,' Sirius whispered furiously, ' What happens when they start randomly assigning muggle borns to marry Death Eaters?'
'The Death Eater refuses to even consummate the marriage,' Lupin replied, 'And the poor muggle born gets shipped straight off to the dementors – all under the guise of bureaucracy of course. That's what's so chilling, that this is all legal.'
He gave a little shudder and glanced nervously around at the other customers, Doris Crockford was propped up heavily against the bar, chatting animatedly at Tom, while the other patrons were much like him and Sirius; keeping to themselves.
'Does anyone else know?' Lupin questioned, and Sirius shook his dark head. 'No, she hasn't spoken to me since it happened, but Kreacher delivered a message on her behalf forbidding me to speak of it to anyone until she's ready.' Sirius gave a bark of laughter at Lupin's confused expression.
'It's the weirdest thing' he explained to his bemused friend, ' But Kreacher seemed to sense straight away that Hermione was – you know...And he's taken to completely worshipping her. My mother always wanted someone to continue on the family line, she was obsessed. So I suppose Kreacher thinks Hermione is some sort of messiah.'
Lupin gave a soft chuckle at the house elf's change of attitude, and took a sip of his pint while Srius allowed his thoughts to wander as both friends slipped into easy silence. It had been a hellish few days since his altercation with Hermione, and he was exhausted from trying to process everything. He was ashamed of how he had spoken to Hermione, and wished he could take it back – but a secret part of him had been delighted when The Prophet had arrived that morning, heralding the revisions to Proclamation 2.2. Even if he, like Hermione, had wanted to get rid of the baby – they couldn't, it was there in black and white 'destruction (medical or magical) of an unborn wizard will result in instant death for the muggle-born partner and life imprisonment in Azkaban for the pure-blood'.
There would be no more discussion about getting rid of the baby it seemed, but, he glumly reflected, with Hermione still not talking to him there would be no more discussions at all.
~o0o~
Hermione was safely encased in the apartments of the late Whalburga Black, on the top floor of Grimmauld Place. The large bay windows looked out onto the small park which made up the 'square' and the neighbouring houses, which were shabby even in the forgiving dusk light. The day that she had slammed the door on Sirius she had walked straight into Kreacher who had dropped into a low bow.
'My mistress must not be upset,' he had simpered to a confused Hermione. 'We must not upset the baby,' he elaborated excitedly. Gobsmacked a startled Hermione had been bustled up the stairs by the unusually attentive house elf, and brought to these still grand rooms which had previously been hidden behind doors which had resisted anyone's attempt to open them.
Unlike the rest of the house, Kreacher had maintained his old mistress's room to the highest of standards, and his newly developed loyalty to Hermione meant that he would continue to maintain them as she saw fit – and her first request (not order) had been for him to keep Sirius out. So for the past few days, she had fumed alone, angry at her autocratic 'husband' and desperately confused by the predicament she found herself in.
As the moon finally appeared and night fell, Hermione moved from where she stood, staring out onto the deserted Islington square and let her glance rest on the letter from St. Mungo's which lay on her bed, beside that day's edition of The Daily Prophet.
It seemed that she now had even less of a choice about what she would do. She sighed heavily, and let her hand rest for a moment against her stomach. It was still as flat as it had ever been – flatter actually as she could keep nothing down but tea. A part of her was secretly excited, she had always wanted a baby – but not like this, not in the middle of a war and not with a man who didn't love her. He barely even respected her it seemed. How dare he, she raged for the millionth time, forbid me from doing anything – he was no better than a Death Eater. And it was so confusing, since when had Sirius cared so much about having children? He'd slept with hundreds of women before her, he'd had plenty of opportunity to get someone else pregnant.
With an irritated shake of her bushy head, Hermione brushed away her thoughts and looked at the letter she had received from St. Mungo's; she was required to attend a scan – and so was the pure-blood father, by order of The Ministry. It seemed, that wish as she might, Hermione couldn't hide away in the apartments of Whalburga Black for the next nine months and pretend this wasn't happening.
~o0o~
'Don't', Hermione hissed softly as Sirius made to take her hand the next day, as they stood outside Purge and Dowe's, the 'abandoned' department store which disguised the entrance to St. Mungo's Hospital for wizards.
'I'm just trying to look authentic,' Sirius hissed back, irritated. He had spent the whole journey here pleading for forgiveness, but had been met with only icy glares from Hermione.
'Well what can be more authentic than an angry hormonal pregnant woman sniping at her husband?' Hermione replied tartly as they both stepped through the stores window display and into the reception area.
'Fifth Floor, Maternity,' the Welcome Witch said dismissively after reading the letter that Hermione had handed her. Without a backwards glance Hermione had headed straight for the stairs, leaving Sirius to trail dejectedly behind her.
'Will you just please, listen to me?' he snapped as they made their way up the stairs.
'Is that a request or an order?' Hermione replied snippily, out of breath as they finally reached the fifth floor.
Duly chastised, Sirius decided to give up for the moment – he had made some progress he reasoned, at least she was talking to him.
The maternity floor of St. Mungo's was quiet, and a Midi-witch, in starched white robes directed them to a waiting room at the end of the corridor. In silence they entered, only to be greeted by a pair of familiar faces.
'Luna!' Hermione gasped in shock.
'Hello Hermione, Sirius,' the blonde witch replied in a serene voice, while Ron glanced between Hermione and Sirius in shock.
'Are you here for your first scan too?' Luna continued in her sing song voice, oblivious to the searching looks which passed between her new husband and his best friend.
'Yes, first scan,' Hermione admitted, with a 'don't ask' glare at Ron. 'Congratulations,' she continued to an obviously glowing Luna.
'The first Weasley grandchild,' Ron said with a broad smile across his face. Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing – she couldn't tell if Ron was more excited about the baby or finally getting to be the 'first' Weasley after years of following after his brothers.
'I'm sure Molly will be thrilled,' Sirius gave Ron a hearty slap on the back as he sat down beside him. An awkward silence followed, and Hermione could see the cogs whirring away in Ron's brain, as he deliberated on what would be the most appropriate reply to a couple who had conceived out of duty.
'Weasley', Ron was saved by a stern Midi-witch, clipboard in hand, who gestured to the couple to follow her. With an excited laugh, Luna grabbed her husband's hand and dragged him after her.
'Well that's the cat out of the bag,' Sirius gave a low whistle of shock.
'They're so happy,' Hermione, forgetting she wasn't speaking to Sirius, replied and he looked over to see tears welling up in her eyes.
'Oh come here,' he said gruffly and moved to sit next to her, taking her hand in his.
'I know this isn't perfect,' he began, ignoring the snort of derision that erupted from the mother of his child, 'But it's happening. And it's going to be fine Hermione. I swear, on the grave of Albus Dumbledore, that I will look after and protect you and this baby until the day that I die.'
He squeezed her hand reassuringly, and gave a small prayer of thanks to the God of Hormonal Pregnant Women when she didn't snatch it away.
Maybe everything would be ok.