Chapter 20: Bitter Relief
Mary stared at the clock on the wall, her eyes flicking between its relentless ticking and the still form of Hermione on the couch. Hermione's breathing was steady but Mary couldn't help feeling like the light from Ginny's spell was dimming with each passing second. They had twenty-five minutes left. Twenty-five minutes before it would be too late to perform the spell, before Hermione and her unborn baby would be lost forever.
"Where are they?" Mary muttered under her breath, anxiety gnawing at her insides. Harry and Mycroft had been gone for what felt like an eternity, and there was still no sign of John or Sherlock. The house was eerily quiet now, save for the occasional rustle of Ginny's robes or Poppy's hushed incantations. Mary hugged herself, trying to ward off the chill creeping up her spine. The weight of her failure pressed down on her; she should have done more, thought of more. She should have known who to call, who to ask. How had she missed her husband's affair.
Ginny, who had been silently watching the spell over Hermione, turned to Mary, her eyes filled with concern. "Have you tried contacting Hermione's parents?" she asked softly. "John was friends with her father, right? Maybe they know something."
Mary felt a rush of embarrassment heat her cheeks. How could she have overlooked something so simple? She had been so caught up in the whirlwind of everything that she hadn't even thought to call Hermione's parents. Not even to tell them that their daughter was in danger. She shook her head, feeling like an idiot. "I... I didn't even think of that," Mary admitted, her voice thick with frustration. "I should have called them hours ago."
Ginny placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, Mary. In high-pressure situations, people can forget the most obvious things. It's not your fault."
Mary nodded, though her guilt still gnawed at her. She fumbled for her phone, scrolling through her contacts until she found Mr. Granger's number. She didn't have Mrs. Granger's, but this would have to do. Her hands shook as she pressed the call button, the dial tone ringing loudly in her ears.
It only took two rings before Mr. Granger answered, his voice warm and cheerful on the other end. "Hello, Mary. How are you? We've just come out of the cinema for a little date night. You're never too old, aye?" he chuckled, oblivious to the storm raging on Mary's end of the line.
Mary's heart twisted, and she cut him off, her voice urgent and strained. "I'm sorry to alarm you, but Hermione is hurt, and we need to find John before it's too late."
The change in Mr. Granger's tone was immediate, his jovial demeanor replaced by panic and concern. "Why? What's happened? Is Hermione okay? Why do you need John? Did someone hurt her? Is the baby alright?"
Mary's breath hitched. So, they knew. Of course, they did. John must have told them, thinking she would understand or be in the loop herself. She swallowed hard, forcing the words out even as her own mind reeled from the implications. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Granger. Hermione's pregnancy has taken a turn. Something happened to her in the war—a spell or a curse—that's affecting her now, on a… on a magical level. I don't understand all of it, but the only way to save her and the baby is to find the father. So, we need to find John."
There was a pause, a stunned silence on the other end of the line, and then Mr. Granger's voice came through, choked with disbelief. "Mary, what are you saying? John isn't the father… Sherlock is."
Mary felt the room spin around her, the phone slipping slightly in her grip as Mr. Granger's words echoed in her ears. Sherlock. Not John. Sherlock was the father. The reality of it struck her like a physical blow, her stomach churning with a mixture of shock and a hollow sense of relief that quickly turned into confusion. She opened her mouth to respond, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, she managed a strangled, "I'm sorry, I have to go," before abruptly ending the call.
She turned to Ginny and Poppy, her face ashen, eyes wide with the shock of the revelation. Ginny looked up, concern etched on her features. "Mary, what is it? What did they say?"
Mary swallowed, struggling to find her voice as the weight of what she'd just learned settled over her like a shroud. "It's not John," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "It's… it's Sherlock. Sherlock is the father."
Poppy frowned and Ginny's eyes widened in stunned disbelief. They stared at Mary, the implications of the truth sinking in, sending ripples of shock through the room. Hermione's life, the life of her unborn child, hinged not on John as they had feared, but on Sherlock Holmes—the very man whose actions had often caused as much chaos as they had resolved.
Mary's mind raced. Everything was different now. The plan, the urgency, their expectations—everything had shifted in an instant. They didn't just need John. They needed Sherlock. And wherever Harry and Mycroft had gone, they had to come back with both men if there was to be any hope of saving Hermione.
The clock continued to tick down, each second slicing away the precious time they had left.
"Come on, Harry," Mary whispered, her voice fierce and trembling. "Come on, Mycroft. Bring them back."
She stood beside Ginny and Poppy, the three of them forming a silent vigil over Hermione as they waited, the weight of their new understanding heavy in the air. They could do nothing now but wait—and pray that Harry and Mycroft would return in time, that Sherlock would come through for Hermione.
The house remained a tense, breathless space filled with unanswered questions, unspoken fears, and the desperate hope that, somehow, against all odds, they could still save Hermione and her unborn child.
The minutes felt like an eternity as they stared at the spot where Harry and Mycroft had vanished, willing them to reappear. And with every tick of the clock, the urgency grew, wrapping tighter around their hearts as they clung to the fragile thread of hope.
