Chapter 17: The Long Term Consequence
The silence that hung in Hermione's living room was suffocating, broken only by the soft, steady hum of Ginny's spells as she worked over Hermione's still form. The gentle blue glow of the stasis spell shimmered, casting an eerie light that accentuated the lines of stress and fear etched on Ginny's face. She knelt by Hermione's side, her wand hovering just above her abdomen, where the faint pulse of a second heartbeat echoed like a fragile promise.
Ginny's mind raced, each diagnostic spell revealing more of the catastrophic reality. Hermione was pregnant, and the complications were worse than Ginny had feared. Her thoughts flashed back to the cases she had studied—the women who had endured the Cruciatus Curse for prolonged periods, whose bodies had been betrayed by their own minds. Hermione was no exception. The curse had changed her brain, rewritten it in ways that defied natural order, and now that Hermione was pregnant, her own body was fighting the very life it was supposed to nurture.
Ginny felt a cold dread settle in her stomach. The memories of those failed pregnancies, the miscarriages that bled their mothers dry from the inside out, loomed large in her mind. Some had been able to saved, but not without a fight, and not without the critical early intervention Hermione had never received.
"She's pregnant," Ginny had announced minutes earlier, the weight of the revelation sinking into the room like a stone. Mycroft's command to "save her" echoed in her ears, a directive that felt as impossible as it was urgent. She couldn't do this alone.
"Ginny, can you do it?" Harry's voice broke the silence, low and urgent, his green eyes fixed on her with a desperate hope.
Ginny shook her head, her brow furrowing as she focused on Hermione's face, pale and drawn beneath the shimmer of the stasis. "I've seen this before," she said, her voice tight with frustration. "Without the right potions, without knowing she was pregnant… Hermione's body is fighting the baby. It thinks it's something to destroy." She paused, swallowing hard. "If we don't get the right help, she'll bleed to death, and so will the baby."
Mary, standing to the side with her arms wrapped around herself, listened intently, her face pale and stricken. "There has to be something you can do," she said, her voice trembling. Mary Watson was no stranger to danger, but this was beyond anything she had ever faced. The feeling of helplessness was overwhelming.
"There is," Ginny said, glancing up at the group, her eyes fierce with determination. "We need someone with experience—more than I have. Hermione needs a healer who knows how to treat this condition. I'm going to call Poppy."
Ginny rose swiftly, her expression set. She flicked her wand, and a silver horse erupted from its tip, galloping gracefully through the air. The Patronus circled once, its light casting dancing shadows on the walls, before Ginny spoke, her voice clear and urgent.
"Poppy, it's Ginny. Hermione's pregnant and in danger. We need your help—now."
The Patronus leapt forward, vanishing through the wall in a blur of silver. Ginny watched it go, hoping against hope that Poppy would arrive in time. They couldn't afford any more delays.
The risk of attracting unwanted attention was too great—any other healer might alert the Ministry, and with Muggles present, that could mean facing arrest for breaching the Statute of Secrecy. The stakes were too high to gamble on anyone but Poppy.
The tension in the room was palpable as they waited. Mycroft stood near the fireplace, his posture rigid, hands clasped behind his back. He was silent, his sharp eyes darting between Hermione and the others, assessing, calculating, but there were no simple solutions here. Harry resumed his restless pacing, every so often glancing at Hermione, as if willing her to wake up and defy the odds.
The Floo network roared to life, momentarily shaking the unflappable Mycroft. With a burst of emerald flames, Poppy Pomfrey stepped passed Mycroft and into the room. She looked older than she had during their former years at Hogwarts, her once grey streaked hair now entirely silver, but her eyes were as sharp and shrewd as ever. Dressed in her familiar Hogwarts matron uniform, she carried a small leather bag, its content barely visible, courtesy of the Undetectable Extension Charm Hermione had given her years ago.
Poppy's expression shifted from mild annoyance to alarm as she took in the scene: Hermione's still form on the couch, Ginny's wand poised, and the palpable tension in the room. "For Merlin's sake, what's happened here?" she demanded, striding forward with the authority of someone who had seen and treated countless crises. Her sharp eyes flicked to Harry, who flinched slightly under her gaze. "You again, Mr. Potter? Trouble does seem to follow you."
Harry opened his mouth, but Ginny cut in, her voice tight with urgency. "Poppy, it's Hermione. She's pregnant. I put her in stasis, but—"
"Pregnant?" Poppy interrupted, her brows shooting up in surprise. She knelt beside Hermione, her movements swift and efficient as she assessed Hermione's condition with a series of brisk diagnostic spells. Her face grew grave as she connected the dots, her thoughts moving as rapidly as her wand.
Ginny glanced at Harry, then at Mycroft, before speaking. "It's because of Bellatrix," she said, her voice quieter now, filled with the weight of old wounds. "The Cruciatus Curse—it's changed her. I've seen this before in my healer studies. Her brain is fighting the pregnancy."
Poppy's face tightened, the lines of worry deepening around her eyes. "Of course," she muttered under her breath, casting another spell that sent a shimmering wave of light over Hermione's body. "Prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus alters the neurological pathways—it's like her mind is at war with her body. Without the proper potions from the start…"
Mary's eyes widened, and she took a small step forward, desperate for any thread of hope. "Can you help her?" she asked, her voice strained, looking at the woman who had quite literally walked out of the come out of the fireplace.
Poppy looked up, her expression grave but resolute. "There is a way," she said, choosing her words carefully. "Mind magic—Legilimency, to be precise. It's delicate, and dangerous without the right anchor." She glanced between them, her gaze sharpening. "I need to know—who is the father?"
A tense silence settled over the room. Ginny bit her lip, her gaze dropping to Hermione's still form. Harry looked at Mycroft, whose expression was unreadable, the usual mask of stoicism firmly in place. Mary glanced nervously between them, clearly out of her depth, but hopeful someone knew the answer. Finally, after a beat too long, Mycroft stepped forward, his voice calm but heavy.
"We don't know," Mycroft admitted, his tone uncharacteristically subdued. "None of us here… none of us know who the father is, or where he might be."
Poppy's face fell, her lips pressing into a thin line. "The spell I need to stabilize her," she said slowly, "requires the father's presence. His connection to the child would provide the physical and emotional anchor needed to bind Hermione's mind to her body." She paused, her expression softening with regret. "Without him, the spell will fail."
Ginny's heart sank, the enormity of the situation pressing down on her shoulders. She could feel the minutes slipping away, each one a countdown they couldn't afford. "There has to be another way," Ginny insisted, though the desperation in her voice betrayed her own doubt.
Poppy shook her head gently, laying a hand on Ginny's arm. "I can reinforce the stasis," she said, her tone both reassuring and somber. "It will hold for an hour, perhaps two, but after that…" She trailed off, her gaze lingering on Hermione, as if trying to will the impossible into being.
"Do it," Mycroft ordered, his voice brokering no argument. "Strengthen the stasis. We'll find the father, whoever he is."
Poppy nodded, raising her wand and casting a complex series of spells over Hermione. The blue light around her brightened, the magic weaving itself tighter, locking Hermione's body in a state of fragile equilibrium. For now, at least, Hermione was stable. But time was running out, and without the father, her fate—and the fate of her unborn child—remained certain.
Ginny watched Poppy work, her own mind racing through the possibilities. They had only a narrow window to find the one person who could save Hermione. She turned to Harry, her eyes filled with determination. "We need to act fast," she said, her voice steadying. "Whatever it takes, we have to find him."
Harry nodded, his jaw set in grim resolve. "We will," he promised, glancing at Hermione one last time before turning to Mycroft. "But where do we even start?"
Mycroft looked back at Hermione, his usually calculating eyes softened by something that looked almost like compassion. "We start with the facts," he said simply, his voice quieter than usual. "We find the truth, and then… we save her."
As they moved to begin their search, the blue glow of Hermione's stasis spell pulsed softly, a silent reminder of the life hanging in the balance. They had no time to lose, and everything to fight for. The clock was ticking, and the race to save Hermione—and her child—had only just begun.