The first time she awoke tangled in his arms, she attributed it to the exhaustion from their lovemaking. The second, the same. But it had been four weeks now, sleeping and waking in his arms. Or having him wake her with his need, hot and thick between her legs, and her ready for him.

Now she was not sure what to attribute it to. For all intents and purposes they were very much together.

He made her breakfast, he secured items she needed, he touched her when she wanted to be touched, and he left her alone to read when he knew she could use time to herself.

Hermione felt that even though he had said numerous times he wasn't the sort of man who did these things that his actions proved otherwise.

He cares.

Sure, sometimes he went out and she wasn't sure why. But he always came home. And she highly doubted he was with anyone else. The timing would be near impossible. And nearly every time he went out he brought her something. The last time he had brought her a piece of jewelry, a beautiful golden key necklace. She wore it every day, and though he played it off like he hadn't done anything romantic for her, she knew otherwise. She felt it.

He does too.

And when they lay together, when they made love, he was so considerate of her and her pleasure, despite her changing body often getting in the way. He treasured her, he worshipped her with his body until she was sated and he was spent.

Because I think he's falling in love with me.

Hermione awoke with a start.

His leg was heavy between hers, the sheet also tangled with them. His arm draped possessively over her very swollen belly. Rain battered the windows on what looked like another grey, dismal morning. And yet, it wasn't dismal to her.

She rolled slightly, and he moved until he was facedown. She brought her arm up to slowly, lovingly trace over his. She looked at his face, slack from sleep and realized how much she had fallen into a routine with him, and too, how much she cared.

She moved again, disentangling his limbs from her and stood to get a glass of water. Pulling on a loose top, she padded into the kitchen in only her knickers. It was harder for her to move now, with her ever-growing belly.

'It won't be long now,' she thought, cradling her stomach to herself.

She was half excited, and half horrified at the idea of her impending motherhood. She was so excited to meet her baby, yet she was so afraid of how she was going to raise him or her. She didn't know any other young mothers. And, sadly, she realized she would not even have her own mother to talk to. This sudden, sharp realization brought a pang of sadness to her heart. Would Ginny still be her friend? Would she have any friends at all? Or was she doomed to always be alone and lonely?

She knew that she would have to speak to Scabior, to have the discussion he himself was not willing to begin. She could see the wheels turning in his head as he regarded her sometimes, and she was unsure why he never brought anything up. They had no plan in place for the delivery…the birth…and what would happen after…

Would she go back to Hogwarts for her studies? She'd like to finish out her schooling.

Would she stay with him here? Somewhere else?

Would he leave? Would he leave her on her own, alone?

The last thought stayed with her. They certainly hadn't discussed it, but she hoped he would want to be a part of this child's life.

Though now that she thought of it, she couldn't picture him as a proud father. Or…getting a job that would provide for a family…or getting married…

or…or…or…

Just then a thought rang out across her brain, silencing her.

Something's wrong.

A sharp pain suddenly shot to her abdomen, startling her. Her body knew it before she did.

She moved to the sink, reached for a glass and filled it. The pain nearly blinded her a second time and she gripped the side of the sink to keep from falling, but the glass fell from her fingers, accidentally, and shattered on the floor beneath.

Don't think about it. You'll talk to him about what you want and see what he decides. You can't force him and you can't do this alone.

Hermione let out a strangled cry and sunk to her knees, the pain stabbing her yet again. Something was very wrong. She moved onto all fours on the floor of the kitchen as his bare feet came into view.

"Are you alright?," he asked softly, striding to her and kneeling beside instantly.

She grabbed onto him as tears were forced from the corners of her eyes by another intense clap of pain rolling through her abdomen.

"Hermione-," he started, but she held her arm away from him, signaling to stay back. She sat back on her heels.

Then, all of a sudden she felt a strange sense of calm. Her mind went completely blank and she allowed her body to do what it needed. The calm was quickly replaced by panic as she felt something contract and she moved back to all fours.

He moved over her, rubbing her back. "Let's get you-,"

His voice cut off as he looked beneath her and suddenly saw the trickle of blood slowly moving down her thighs. His face whitened.

She held onto him.

"No..I feel, better….it feels better, like it's stopping…,"

He gripped her shoulder tightly and spoke very softly as he watched the continued trickle.

"Love…you're bleeding…,"

Hermione seemed to let this register for a moment. Then looked down. Blood was streaking down her legs, small droplets at first, followed by others that grew thicker and darker.

"No!," she cried, jerking. "I have to…no!"

She clutched her stomach and moved to turn onto her back. Scabior helped turn her onto her back. He spoke calmly again.

"We can't stay here."

"No!," she said so forcefully she wrenched herself from his grasp. "No! It's too early! I need Ginny, she will know what to do. Send an owl for her! Or take me to Hogwarts…to the Hospital Wing!"

His face fell as he quickly considered the options. He was not about to let her bleed out on the floor of his flat. He didn't think, he didn't care; he simply scooped her up in his arms and told her to hold onto him.

"Hold tightly to me, love."

Moments later, after entering Purge and Dowse, Ltd, Hermione still in his arms, he burst through the doors of St. Mungo's.

Almost immediately the waiting room was atwitter. He could make out her name, repeated over and over again, but didn't care. He strode to the reception desk and announced, rather gruffly, "she's bleeding. Name…Hermione Granger."

The mediwitch behind the desk, a girl of no more than twenty who wore a name tag that read "Cecily," stood slowly, her pale face staring at him in disbelief. Everyone had heard about Hermione Granger, but seeing her round with pregnancy was altogether a different thing entirely.

"R-right away," she stammered, pressing the emergency bell until it rung.

Hermione clutched at her belly and yelped in pain. Scabior spoke close to her ear. "It's alright, love…you're safe now."

"No," she moaned turning away from him. Her face was pink, she looked almost delirious. She was sweating. "No, you can't…"

A stretcher moved by wand approached the two of them and Scabior laid her gently on it. Two doctors, a male and female ran over as a chart magically filed into the woman's hands. They began pushing Hermione.

Hermione sat up, staring dead in his eyes and very nearly screeched, "Don't leave me!"

The female doctor turned to Scabior. "You're the father?"

He looked at the doctor; giving her a concerned nod.

"Follow us, please."

By this time a small crowd had formed in the entryway, people pointing and staring, blocking the double doors to the medical rooms. Scabior hated it. And it made him afraid. But he followed, nonetheless.

They pushed through a set of doors and down a long hallway. Thankfully, the closing doors shut out the horrible noise of the crowd.

"I'm Doctor Lench, Mister…."

"Scabior," he replied, worriedly looking after Hermione.

"I see," she continued. "This is Doctor Forsythe," pointing to the male doctor.

"This is Hermione Granger, is it not?" he asked Scabior.

"It is."

"How far along is she?"

Scabior thought for a moment. "She should be around seven, no…eight months?"

"Too early," Doctor Forsythe said to Doctor Lench over his shoulder, who nodded her assent.

Scabior followed, his head down, swimming with horrible possibilities.

The hallway seemed to stretch for eternity until they finally turned through a set of swinging double doors into a sterile room. He followed quickly behind. Several mediwitches stood near the table at the middle. They had their motions choreographed perfectly, it seemed, as time stretched for Scabior.

Within an instant, Hermione was gently moved from the stretcher to the table. She looked at Scabior, terror in her eyes and her voice pleading. "Please…please don't leave me."

A brief thought shot across his brain.

You need to get out of here. Half the Wizarding World is looking for you…

His eyes moved back down to hers, locking.

Then he decided.

He moved to her side and took hold of her hand gently. "I'm not going anywhere."

She seemed to calm a little, and she squeezed his hand as her face drew into a grimace of pain.

"I can't lose the baby…," she started, her voice trailing off.

"You won't," he said confidently, and began to stroke her hair as the mediwitches used their wands to run diagnostics.

"I'm so afraid-"

"There's nothing to be afraid of," he assured her, his hand running gently down her cheek.

Just then, the doors behind him opened. He didn't even have time to turn before he heard a low voice behind them.

"Nicolas Scabior…we've been looking for you."