Chapter 3

Hermione woke with a groan, her brain pounding a steady tattoo against her skull in a song she liked to call 'attack of the alcohol'. It was her own fault really; she shouldn't have had so much to drink. It was no use regretting it now. What was done was done, and even if she still possessed a time turner she wouldn't have done things differently.

The Twins party had gotten out of hand once they broke out the firewhisky. In the slightly frazzled state she had worked herself into and with the very little amount she had ended up eating, the drinks had crept up on her quicker than she would have thought possible.

Ron had helped her floo back in the morning, his state not much better than hers, and they had passed out fully clothed on the bed, sprawled across each other. Harry had already been asleep on the couch at the Burrow, and they hadn't had the heart to move him, or the balance either for that matter.

Hermione cracked open one crusty eye lid, trying not to let the glare of the small alarm clock get to her. It was a few long seconds before she realised just what those little numbers were telling her. She was late – again.

She sat bolt upright, looking around the room to find it empty. "Dammit Ron!" she cursed, clutching her pounding head as she stumbled for the bathroom. Why on earth hadn't he woken her up?

She located her only bottle of sober up potion way in the back of the ridiculously noisy bathroom cabinet, and swallowed it all in one hit, sighing in relief when its effects overcame her almost immediately.

She took the worlds' quickest shower and threw on her dress from the day before, smoothing the wrinkles with a quick spell and rushed to the fireplace while shoving a pen into her unruly hair to keep it off her face. She threw some powder into the flames, grabbed her stack of case files from the coffee table and stepped through to the Ministry.

She practically ran to her office, dodging witches and wizards who were out for a leisurely mid-morning stroll. She made it to the tall red-brick building in record time and nearly (so as not to repeat practically) flew into the front foyer only to encounter the smug looking secretary, her almost purple faced boss and most surprisingly, Pansy Parkinson.

"Pansy! What are you doing here?" Hermione gasped, staring at the girl who had mocked her all through her schooling. She openly gaped at her, more than a little shocked to see that the reed thin girl had filled out to the point of being plump; not even her stylishly cut robes could cover her less than svelte figure.

"That's Miss Parkinson, and she had an appointment with you half an hour ago," Phillip Bitstock the wizarding worlds biggest arsehole and Hermione's boss gritted out, a quick glance at the bastard revealed that he was just about ready to burst a blood vessel.

"Oh, uh right, sorry Miss Parkinson. Right this way," Hermione corrected, feeling anything but sorry. Pansy watched the exchanged with a bored expression but thankfully followed Hermione into her office. As soon as the door closed, she heaved a sigh.

"Right, what do you want?" Hermione asked bluntly, walking around her desk and sitting down none too gracefully.

Pansy snorted and sat down opposite her, dumping her huge handbag on the desk. "I see our manners haven't improved since Hogwarts," she sneered, folding her hands in her lap and crossing her feet at the ankles, looking like an elegant lady.

"I see your holier-than-thou attitude remains the same as well," Hermione retorted, slipping her heels off and sinking her toes into the carpet.

"Enough with the pleasantries, Granger. I was told you were the only one who could help me legally," Pansy snarled, leaning forward and unclipping her bag.

"Help you?" Hermione asked, watching the odd women before her.

"Yes, my family has had enough trouble with the law lately; after all my poor Drakie-poo is still in Azkaban for crimes he had absolutely nothing to do with, and we don't need something as simple as a House-elf ruining our chances of reducing his sentence," Pansy explained.

"Uh, so how am I supposed to help?" Hermione asked, still not understanding what the vile woman was doing in her office; let alone what she could do to help out her poor Drakie-poo.

"I want you to get rid of it," Pansy said, pointing to her handbag and muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like 'Damn randy House-elves.'

Hermione leant forward to look in the bag, now unbelievably curious to see what would make Pansy Parkinson lower her standards to ask for a Gryffindor's help. At first she didn't understand what the piles of rags were, but then the slight shifting beneath them revealed all.

"I'm sorry Pansy, but I can't help you with this," Hermione stated firmly, sitting back in her chair, staring at the tide of emotions that rushed across the Slytherins face.

"What do you mean? You can't or you won't?" she finally demanded, settling on fury.

"Both really, I will not get rid of this. Its poor mother is probably frantic," Hermione replied, refusing to give in to her own feelings of anger. How dare Pansy Parkinson take it upon herself to take an infant house elf from its mother?

"Its poor mother, as you so charmingly put it, is dead. I went looking for the other lazy creatures in my house the other day and found them all fawning over this thing," she cried pointing one perfect nail at the bag.

"This child was born for a reason," Hermione pointed out, reaching into the bag and pulling the tiny bundle into her arms, and it instantly stopped its restless movements and settled down into a deeper sleep.

"It was born because its stupid mother was a whore!" Hermione almost laughed at Pansy's indignation. Could the pureblood witch really be so ignorant about House-elf reproduction?

"Pansy, even you should know that a House-elf will only fall pregnant when its mistress does. It carries its child for the first trimester and experiences all the same things its mistress will so it can better understand and cater to the change in its owner's body and needs. Its child goes on to serve its mistresses child and so the cycle goes on," Hermione explained as if speaking to a simpleton.

"You lying bitch, you just want to saddle me with the bastard as some sick revenge for all the times I made fun of you at school!" Pansy cried, her eyes wide as she jumped from her chair.

"I wish I was lying. According to law I cannot relocate this House-elf because it's needed where it is," Hermione said more gently, suddenly understanding the situation. With Draco in prison, Pansy had felt free to fool around. This would definitely signal the end to her relationship with the richest pureblood in England and the end of her reputation; single mothers were still unfortunately looked down upon in the Wizarding world.

"How dare you! How dare you accuse me of being unfaithful! Who the hell do you think you are?" The raven haired witch looked like she was about to explode before she burst into tears and ran from the office leaving a very stunned Hermione holding a very asleep house elf behind.

"Well, that was interesting," Hermione muttered to herself before settling behind her desk.

It was just going on lunchtime and Hermione's headache had returned full force, but this time it was not alcohol induced. "If only" she answered her thoughts out loud.

Glancing back at the nest she had made behind her chair showed the infant still had its face screwed up and was still screaming its lungs out. Obviously at this age a House-elf could not cope with the separation from its 'owner', who in this case was Pansy's unborn child.

Thinking of Pansy made her head give yet another powerful throb; her day couldn't possibly get any worse. She almost hit herself as that thought crossed her mind because a glance at her frosted glass door revealed none other than her boss walking toward her.

"Damn," she hissed, hastily stacking papers and trying desperately to silence the House-elf, not even thinking to use her wand in her flustered state.

"Granger!" Phillip boomed, stepping into her tiny office and looking angrier than he had earlier if that were possible.

"Mr Bitstock," she replied, standing from her desk, accidentally knocking her recently straightened paperwork to the floor along with her cold cup of coffee; cursing, she dropped to her knees and began to re-stack the damp papers.

"You have one hour to do something about this racket," he practically growled before storming out her office, leaving her to clean up the mess. She was so miserable at that point that she felt tears sting the back of her eyes.

Looking up at the ceiling and taking a deep breath, she warded off the tears that threatened to spill and managed to compose herself enough to stand. Using her wand to fashion a sling she gently placed the baby inside. Upon contact it instantly quieted; Hermione almost screamed.

Looking around at the mess she decided it could all wait and quickly slipped out of her office. On the way passed the reception she stopped short, seeing the overly made up witch sitting behind her desk filing her nails.

"Bernice?" She said sharply, changing her direction and startling the witch.

"Yes?" Bernice asked, plastering a false smile on her face.

"Is there any reason Miss Parkinson wasn't pencilled into my planner? I had no idea she had an appointment," Hermione asked, mimicking her fake smile. If Bernice thought she hadn't noticed her slip she had another thing coming.

"Um … I forgot?" Bernice asked, returning to her nails. The backstabbing bitch had probably known all along that Hermione's old classmate had made an appointment; it wasn't the first time she had screwed her over. Bernice had been after her job since Hermione had started and was trying her hardest to get rid of her.

"Sure you did," Hermione muttered softly before turning and exiting the building. She squinted as she stepped into the midday sun before setting off to the closest place she could think of to take her tiny ward on such short notice.

Fred and George saw her walking toward the shop and came out to greet her, surprised that she had taken her lunch break to visit them.

"Hermione," Fred greeted going to hug her when he noticed the bulky sling and stopping short.

"What's that?" George asked, approaching her and peeking into the folds of the fabric. He took a surprised step back when he discovered the sleeping House-elf against her breast.

"Surprise, it's a girl!" She joked, pushing them toward the shop, noticing some of the odd looks they were receiving standing there on the street.

"Where did you get it?" Fred asked, taking a peek at the small gnarled creature with ears as long as its body.

"From Pansy Parkinson, would you believe it?" Hermione responded, slipping the sling off and handing it to Fred who cradled the baby almost awkwardly. She didn't say any more about the case and they didn't ask; right now, if she started talking about it she wasn't sure if she would burst into hysterical laughter or pathetic tears.

"Have you had lunch?" George asked sensing her hesitation; he moved to flip the closed sign and began tugging her toward the stairs.

"No not yet," she replied, blushing as she realised just how dishevelled she must appear. Neither of the twins had pointed out her un-brushed hair and soiled clothing, but she knew they were observant enough to notice that something was wrong.

She allowed herself to be lead upstairs and was deposited on the couch as Fred headed to his bedroom, she could see him as he placed the infant gently on his bed before returning to her side. She sat staring blankly ahead for a moment before the sniffles started. Sniffles turned to hitched breath and that turned into a hiccup as gut wrenching sobs bent her over double.

George pulled her into his arms as Fred rested his head against her back. Slowly caressing her sides in comfort, they let her cry it out.

"I-I'm sorry," she hiccupped, trying to calm herself down 'I'm just so tired and it's been such a terrible morning and …" she couldn't finish, dissolving into hot tears again, ruining the front of George's magenta robes.

"Shhh its ok," Fred whispered in her ear, shifting her so she leant back against his chest. She took in huge gasps of air, telling herself she was over-reacting and this was just a result of a stressful day. Finally she was able to breath almost normally and only let out a sniffle now and then.

"You ok?" George asked, leaning his forehead against hers, his eyebrows knitted together in concern. She gave a nod before leaning forward enough to take his lips with hers; needing what comfort he could give her.

He didn't deny her, just responded with gentle movements, tasking her salty tears on her lips. Fred continued to move his hands over her, now teasing and caressing her breasts giving her unhurried pleasure.

She moaned against him, needing to feel just that little more, needing to forget for just that little bit of time. Sensing this, Fred moved his hands lower, smoothing his hands up her exposed thighs and moving the fabric of her dress aside. George allowed her entrance to his mouth as her tongue desperately battled his and her driving hunger for them increased.

She cried out as Fred's fingers worked their way inside her damp knickers, and she bucked between the two men, surprising them and herself at her fast response. The twins exchanged a glance and she felt Fred shift her in his arms so that she was more reclined. George took over the kiss and worked her underwear down her legs giving them both maximum access to her throbbing core.

His fingers joined his brothers and he entered one long digit slowly. She pulled away from his mouth with a gasp and dropped her head back as a second finger joined the first. Fred continued to manipulate her tight bud causing her inner muscles to pulse around George's fingers.

He began kissing her again as they worked in tandem to bring her to a quick, thoroughly satisfying orgasm that had her thrusting into their hands and crying out loudly with pleasure. It took her several long moments to recover as their hands left her body, and she gratefully received their gentle kisses on her exposed skin.

They lay together on the couch until Hermione forced herself to open her eyes and look at her watch.

"I have to go," she sighed trying to sit up.

"You don't have to," Fred said, his voice husky with desire.

"I really do. Will you guys look after her for the afternoon?" she asked, finally managing to sit up right, righting her clothes that were more dishevelled than ever.

"Sure," George replied, leaning in to gently kiss her again. She pulled back and turned to give the same treatment to Fred whispering her thanks against his lips.

They led her back downstairs and let her out of the shop before waving a concerned goodbye. Hermione looked up at the clouds forming in the bright sky and sighed, glad she had gone to them but feeling more helpless.

She didn't bother to hurry back to the office, taking her time to calm her overwrought nerves and enjoy the cool breeze ruffling the tray wisps of hair that had escaped her hasty bun.

She was lost in thought about everything that had happened since the night before that when she entered the foyer, she failed to notice that the scene before her was uncannily similar to the one she had walked in on that morning.

"Well well well, look what the cat dragged in," a snide voice drawled, bringing Hermione's head snapping up.

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