A Sponsor & A Gentleman
Part ISponsor (v.)
To accept responsibility for someone else's actions or situation
The day started off dismal. A rainy, dreary horizon without the slightest ray of sun to split the melancholy with the promise of sunny days to come. No, they were forced to endure. Harsh and cold, like the lands of Scotland were. Drafty and dark, like the walls of Hogwarts castle were.
It only soured from there.
Hermione Granger hadn't felt right for days. She was exhausted so much that her eyes felt heavy in a long lecture, barely able to finish a class without having to pinch herself awake on threat of a bruise. The frequency of her lack of appetite raised concern. Then there was the absence of something that happened every month that ensured her suspicion was correct.
With tears in her eyes, she found a spell that could be used to self-diagnose.
The stream of orange magic appeared above her eyes. It was filled with lots of information. Her heart rate. It was rather fast. Given the circumstance, the elevation seemed appropriate. Her weight and height were there. As was her respiration rate, oxygen levels, her blood sugar levels. Through the miscellaneous information was a pesky little statement buried between the statement of her approximate age and the newly found chemical within her body.
Four weeks gestation.
The newly found chemical within her body was human chorionic gonadotropin hormone (hCG). It was created by a placenta when implanted with an embryo.
She fanned her hands at her face to keep the tears at bay in their own waters. She could not cry. The time for crying was over. Decisions, important ones, were all that mattered now.
It was that very circumstance that made pregnancy termination a thing she supported. She was in no position to support a child. Sixteen was no age to become a mother. There was no viable experience in which she could balance boarding school in a magic castle and raising another human. If she was unable to attend Hogwarts, she'd be Oblivated, left alone with magical abilities and no knowledge of her life, her friends, or Ron.
Ronald Weasley was her boyfriend. They'd finally decided to give it a try after a few years of being friends. Truthfully the only reason they spoke was because of Harry Potter. At first, he was the friend they pulled at between the pair of them. Ron didn't like Hermione because she was assertive. Hermione despised Ronald for his narrow-minded thinking. Poor Harry right at the center.
Time healed all things. As did rogue trolls loose in the loo. The trio had taken down the beast after a mischievous pair of wizards known at the Weasley twins explored the dungeons and released the troll by mistake. The entire castle descended into a panic.
The brash Ron wanted to find it. Harry followed to be apart of the action while Hermione joined merely to ensure that they didn't hurt themselves. Neither were ready for a troll. She was not either. But, the two boys were too lax with their schooling to be of real threat to a pixie, much less a full-grown troll.
That was years ago. They were sixth years now. Grown up, with much more knowledge but not much more wisdom.
Clearly. Underage pregnancy was not the action of the wise.
Hermione found Ron before breakfast. His hair was sloppy and uncombed. Ends of it stuck everywhere. Small yellowish golden crust rested in the corner of his eyes. Wrinkles rampant throughout his robes and trousers. Even his tie.
She appraised him with a frown. "Do you have a minute?"
"Can it wait?" He pointed to the open doors of the Great Hall. Aromas of breakfast wafted through the open barrier, making her mouth water and stomach churn. "I'd like a spot before class."
"It can't," she replied quickly. "It really can't."
Ron was the first boyfriend she had. He was kind and gentle when he wasn't being impatient and overreactive. It was a learning curve to find the right melody between them, even with their years as friends under their belt. Some days it felt forced. She tried so hard. So much effort to make it work for the sake of their friend group, all of whom were either related to Ron or just very close.
Part of her felt that it shouldn't be so difficult to be with someone. But what would she know? Half the people in Gryffindor thought she was the difficult one.
She tried to regain some sense of control as her and Ron drifted close in each other's confidence. It was out in the open corridor, but there was no one around to overhear.
His eyes were sleepy yet. It took too long for him to blink.
"Ron, there is something I have to tell you," she said. He remained unfazed. Her tone was serious and steady though she was filled with nothing but faltering confidence. "I'm – well, do you remember the start of term and we were on patrol and things just got out of hand?"
His face suddenly brightened. "Oh, yeah. I remember."
A solid pressure appeared at her thigh as he moved closer into her. She gasped and jumped away.
"I'm not asking for that, you wanker!" She snapped. "I meant I'm… well, I'm expecting because of that."
All the joy drained from Ron's face. "What?"
She nodded. "I'm with child."
The blue of his eye was visible in the wide-eyed, frightened gaze of a wizard in over his head, shocked to his core. She felt for him. She felt the same way. Her arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him close.
"I know," she whispered. "I can't believe it either."
His arms stayed at his sides. The shock.
"What are we – I mean, what are we going to do? Get married?" He mumbled.
"We're too young."
Married? Really? That would solve their problems?
"Yeah, well I'd say it's a little late for talk like that."
Her face fell. The hug loosened. They were forced apart, baffled by the other.
Hermione instead wrapped her arms around her sides. The comfort of the embrace was nice. She felt a small security in her own hold, one that calmed the trembling of her hands.
It was a thing she expected from her boyfriend. She was the one pregnant. Her body was under duress, not his. They were in it together and she needed comfort and strength. Why wasn't he giving her those?
The light faded away in his eyes. That regard of her with playful desire, one that had only led to their current situation.
"I think it is best, considering our circumstances, that a termination is in order."
"Termination?" His face twisted back. Away from her. "What are you talking about? You mean killing our…killing our baby?"
"We're in school, Ron. We can't support a baby. We go to a boarding school."
"My mum doesn't work. She can help us."
She couldn't believe her ears. "Help us? You mean raise our child? We aren't home for nine months of the year, Ron. That wouldn't be our child. It'd be your sibling!"
Their voices were starting to be too heated for open discussion. It would attract attention if they went on any longer.
Hermione controlled her breaths. The wave of emotions in her was unstable, threatening to tip over her steadfast ship with Ron's hurricane of guilt.
She knew it was awful to have to choose. It was an awful position to be put in.
They had no jobs, no money. She was a muggleborn in the magical world. If she were to be removed from school, that was it for her memories. They'd be taken away.
Her voice lowered. "We can continue this somewhere else. Somewhere private."
"I'm not going to change my mind," Ron spat. "I can't believe you'd want to kill our baby. An innocent child. I won't let you. And if you try to leave, even for a day, I'll report you to my mum and she'll stop you before you do anything. And the whole world will know you're a murderer."
Her mouth dropped open. It was the cruelest thing to say. She detested the idea, too. It'd haunt her entire life.
But a baby? They wouldn't be allowed to keep it. The laws in place prevented her from taking a leave of absence or home schooling. If she left the school grounds, she would not be permitted to know of magic or the wizarding world.
"Ron. That's not fair. Think of me. I'm a muggleborn - ."
"You're a witch, Hermione. A witch who should have known how to prevent this if you were so opposed to it. Why'd you even lay with me if you'd just want to kill anything we might make? You should have known better. Really. You're the brightest witch of the age, so called."
She stood there, wide-eyed and heartbroken, hurt and utterly betrayed by the wizard she'd trusted with her precious virginity, the beating of her heart, all of her soul and life attached to it. Her eyes welled. All the things he said were things she already felt about herself.
Ron ignored the look of her eyes. He looked off into the distance of the Great Hall where the rest of the school sat, eating and being cheerful in their childlike manner.
It hurt her heart. Every laugh, every single excited word shouted across tables. Their happiness burned against her sadness. The devastation. How did the whole world feel alright when hers burned at her feet?
"I've got to go," his tongue slapped against the roof of his mouth, "get this taste out my mouth. See you 'round."
See you around. That was all he was going to offer after his threat to publicly shame her if she sought an alternative course to her pregnancy. He hadn't even bothered to ask if she was hungry. Which she was! Only when she ate, vomit came instead.
She was left alone to navigate the day, on her own, a changed person. A woman, now. An expectant mother.
It passed in front of her like one of those movies with the Godric-awful acting and plots centered around high school and popularity. The blur of faces. The only thought in her mind as to what she should do. Should she stay a witch or lose her memories, her friends? Half of the baby's family was magical. Would they be permitted to visit?
A horrid twist came to her insides. If she kept the baby and left Hogwarts, she wouldn't recognize Ron as the baby's father. Molly, Arthur, Ginny, the twins, Bill, Charlie and Percy would be nothing but strangers to her eyes.
How could Ronald ever want to do that to her?
The stares. It happened almost immediately. The day and the next ones after were filled with eyes following her everywhere she went. Their whispers, too. She caught the tail end of their conversations, aimed at her pride and honor and self-worth.
Murderer. Harlot. Whore.
The witches were the worst. Lavender and Pavarti would stop their frantic giggling whenever she entered the dorm, turned to hidden whispers as Hermione readied for bed, and spoke in hushed tones. Their eyes would glance over ever so often. The mumble of 'slag' on their tongue.
Every day it cut deeper and deeper.
Ronald spread their private business throughout Gryffindor Tower. Everyone knew. She knew they did. Older witches looked down on her with despair while the older wizards had something different in their eyes. Both, she avoided like the plague.
Ginny turned on her, at the urging of her brother. They detested her for wanting to terminate her pregnancy.
"I can't be friends with someone who murders innocent babies," was the excuse. It hurt worse than a slap to the face.
Harry was the only one left to turn to. And Ron rarely left him alone enough to allow them a moment.
She was entirely alone.
There was one route left. One she dragged herself to do.
Her parents, Stacey and William Granger, were good, supportive parents. They loved their only daughter dearly, despite her differences. The news of her magical abilities was a defining moment in their family. It was hard. There were tears. Their lives were wretched apart with the laws of the magical world to ensure the secrecy of magic from muggles.
She wrote the dreaded letter in the library. The quiver in her palm splattered ink over the parchment, over and over. Eventually she was forced to work through the shaking, allow some splattered ink to smudge against the margins, and thoroughly explain her situation to her parents. It was filled with much humiliation.
In the letter, she told them how Ron reacted toward her choice. She thought her parents might appreciate her mature decision. They were supportive with everything else. She wanted them to know that she tried to do the right thing for herself but was prevented by forces outside her control.
Hermione walked herself to the Owlery to see it off. It was a stinky, filth-filled place, with perches all aligned in a tower. So many owls called the Owlery home. It reminded her of Norte Dame. All the eyes turned upon her the moment she entered. Through rising darkness, the bright whites cut through as a reminder of their watch. Always under their gaze. They saw everything. As the chimera did the steps of the famous French cathedral.
The school owls were nice enough to allow her to invade their space to give them the letter. Other personal owls looked down from their perch with beady eyes, as if accusing her of disrupting their solitude.
The school owl, after given the proper motivation of a biscuit, took hold of her letter. The golden yellow wings stretched outward; their length incredible for the tiny creature at their center. It flapped. Dust swirled in the around. Her eyes were forced close against the force of age around the creature. Little by little, the body ascended until it reached a peak. Then suddenly, out of sight, it cooed into the dismal afternoon.
Business done, she turned back. Her hand gripped the railing of the slick stairs that winded around the base of the tower. She was near the ground when a head of red came into view.
Air rushed out of her lungs. "Oh!"
Her feet almost flung out from beneath her. It was only her iron tight grip on the metal railing that kept her from being thrown down the last few concrete steps.
It was Ronald Weasley in her path. They'd avoided one another since she revealed her pregnancy and he turned on her like an evil madwoman.
"Hey," he said, all too causal for what had happened.
"Hi."
"What are you doing out here?" He looked up at the grey sky. His lips sloped downward. "It's a piss poor day, innit?"
The threat of rain was legitimate. The skies did appear ready to unload their burdens upon the land at any moment. It was likely she would not make it back to the castle dry.
Still, she was more concerned with the change in Ron. His sudden interest in what she did was lightyears away from the day before when he'd refused to let her through the barrier of the Great Hall to go to the loo.
"What does it matter what I'm doing, Ronald? You cannot care less. From what I can tell, there is nothing that disgusts you more than me seeing as you've bad mouthed me to every person in Gryffindor."
He rolled his eyes. "Come on. I'm here to make amends. Start over. I miss you."
"You miss me? You miss someone you've called a murdering slag. Who you've shoved out of your way and blackmailed into remaining pregnant."
"Sure, I do." He shrugged. "You know. You're always there. I've been really struggling with classes lately and Harry has been no help. He just pushes me off, tells me to figure it out. You were always so patient with me."
His eyes were at the ground. The tip of his shoe toyed with the long strands of grass.
The stupid prat. That's all he had to say? That is how he missed her? Because of her homework help!
"You're mental, you know that. Mental!" She shrieked. "You can't even pretend enough to give me a real apology before you ask me to do your assignments. It's bad enough that I did it before, but now? After everything you've done to me. That's how you want to continue."
"Whoa. Hey. I didn't say I'd apologize."
She froze. "What?"
"I was going to give you the chance to apologize for trying to murder a baby," he said, totally serious. Full eye contact, unashamed of his behavior and the fact that he'd slandered her name, the mother of his unborn child. "You know. Give you a chance to get back together with me."
It was difficult to remember what exactly happened. Her mind went to a dark place. Anger fueled into fury. His repulsive arrogance made it impossible to look past the fact that she despised violence as a means to exchange ideas. However, she did like the image of her exchanging her fist against his cheek.
Ron recoiled back and gasped at the pain in his face. The bloody disbelief made her want to beat him to a bloody stump.
How dare he!
She stormed back to the castle with literal rage in her veins. Her face was red. It stung against the cool air. The crisp stomp of her feet against the stone floors. Her chest puffed full as a shield, daring a word to be said to her. The wand at her side ached for a duel.
He said that he would love her for all his life. That night. They were on patrol through the dark depths of the castle. There had been advances in their relationship that made sex the next step for them. He often tugged her into isolated spots for a kiss. Sometimes he'd touch the center of her jeans. His lips would murmur whatever words it took to get her hands to touch him.
Now that she remembered their relationship, it was often that way. He sweet-talked his way for their first kiss, innocently finding some mistletoe and alluding to what it meant. As a young girl, she thought that cute. Not knowing what mistletoe was.
The corridors of the castle were populated with students. They watched her pass. Her secret a public spectacle impossible to escape. Thanks to Ron.
Anthony Goldstein, Terry Boot, Neville Longbottom and Dean Thomas were huddled together when she walked past. She heard their conversation stop completely. A pair of fatal glares filled the silence. The burning shame of what had happened between Hermione and Ron, an intense, personal moment, the spectacle for the entire school to watch burn.
Tears rose in her eyes. The colors of their houses – red, yellow and blue – muddled into one mess. A slight loosening in her nostril alluded to the rising sadness. She felt her chest start to shake.
Dean Thomas stepped forward; eyes narrower than the slit of his nostrils. "Something to say, minger?"
The weight of her stomach dropped to her knees. A burn spread across the bridge of her nose throughout her cheeks.
Her feet stumbled back behind her. Unable to land against stability. She continued that way until she saw the opening of a stair and ran for it.
She ran and ran, jostling the churning nauseous sensation alive, pushing her lungs to the peak of collapse before inhaling another breath. Her eyes were overcome with water. She felt it drain down her face. The flooding of a thousand rivers down her jaw, onto her blouse and robes.
Where could she go?
Gryffindor Tower was not safe. They'd all laugh at her there. The library was a favorite, but was bound to be congested, given the time of day. Crying wasn't a quiet business either. Madame Pince was bound to discover her sobbing into The Scarlet Letter and ask her to leave.
There was one place she thought of that might be secluded enough for protection. The fifth floor Prefect's bath. It was not used often. On the rare occasion, someone who wanted privacy ventured behind the statue of Boris to enter the realm of the moping ghost that filled the air with shrieks and complaints.
Hermione's steps echoed through the lonely halls of stone. It was an empty part of the castle. The portraits were eager to call out for a chat, just to fill their time. The torches at the walls were remarkably clean despite their lack of usage. The dust at the floor, however, coated the hem of her robe in a layer of fluffy grey grime.
She found the statue of Boris the Bewildered. The space behind him was slim, but just slender enough for a body to pass through. She forced herself inside, disregarding the lock because why bother, and threw herself to the floor.
The cool ground pressed against her forehead did little to cool the fires of humiliation inside. Ron's words one by one entered her mind with their burning spread of flame as it ate away at all she knew about her life. His friendship was paramount to Hogwarts. She hadn't been accepted with ease. It was only by the luck of meeting Harry Potter before he did that gave her any standing in Gryffindor.
A hollow sob ruptured the calm. She felt it rise from the deep of herself, twisting her body as it came.
It was a wretched howl of emptiness. That ripped through whatever calm she'd held back and released a steady flood of emotion. She screamed into the floor. Tears upon sobs upon mucous flowed out of her without concern over how much it burned the back of her throat.
She descended into a spiral. The spiral of her life questioned every moment that she held with happiness in the belief it was not as golden as she'd pictured it. All the petty statements about her appearance and tone, she thought playful jealousy. All along his distaste for her was apparent.
He snogged Lavender, after the Yule Ball. He said it was because she'd danced with Viktor Krum even though she was his date, but it hadn't been romantic. Viktor was a friend. He was respectable and kind, danced with her during the formal dance when Ron couldn't be bothered to do it because it was 'prat stuff'.
Looking back, he'd been jealous when she had to direct him how to overpower the troll because Harry was in it's grasp and her wand had been tossed out of her hand when the troll cornered her beneath a sink. The puff in his chest when he told everyone he'd been the one to cast a spell that dropped the troll's weapon onto its head. His tone turned cold when Hermione mentioned the fact that Harry had went down with the troll.
He said in his snotty tone, "And if you hadn't been cowered in the corner, he might have been alright."
The mountain troll was huge. It blocked every path back to Ron with its body, the toilet stalls, and the massive, stinky feet. She tried. She'd even dared touch the yucky flesh of it just to try and shove past. The troll promptly kicked her back against the wall. There was a knot on her head for weeks.
Every moment, he hated her. Hated her.
And, she fell in love. Despite it all. In spite of everything in her body repelling her away, the pressure to cling to the few people who liked her in the magical world seemed heavier. She allowed herself to be charmed by it: the jealousy, the way he asked her for help like he wasn't smart enough, the lust he showed in her presence.
She was an idiot. A bigger dolt than him!
It was impossible to have that many tears within a body and still be alive, but she was there, face against a puddle of her own tears, in a loo that was not the best place to put a face. The care of hygiene was long gone. She was sad. And sadness reigned over everything.
Why was she alive? Was her purpose just to suffer?
Her life was a series of misplacement. Not with her parents. Not with muggles. Not with wizards and witches. She didn't belong anywhere.
Not a single person cared if she lived. The only thing attached to her was the thing slowly sucking away the world before her eyes, growing and stealing her energy to fuel the hate that was yet to come. The bigger her belly, the more obvious the shame. The real curse of Ron's lust: the visibility of her stupidity.
Not thinking or caring, she raised the wooden wand to her wrist. She didn't feel a single thing: the want to breathe, the want to hurt, the urge to walk out the door. All she felt was gloom. A spreading black sheet over her. It suffocated every angle she thought as a way out. Gone. To blackness.
"Diffindo."
She gasped when the power hit against the tender flesh of her wrist. A line of red cut through the creamy skin. It spread wide. The burning of the spell spread up her arm. Her fingers ached, curled inward. The seeping of red drained downward. It dripped to the floor with her tears, a murky mess of herself.
The puddle of all she was worth.
"Again," she murmured. "Diffindo."
Again, the power took her breath away. A slit, blood, pain.
Blood was of no consequence. She was comprised of it. And what was she? A waste of space. A waste of breath? She shouldn't share the same air as the rest of those worthy of respect.
She laid down in the mixture of blood and tears, willing to let the world pass her by…
A small click reverberated through the still. The air changed around her. It was no longer hers.
"Geez, Granger. Ever heard of latching the door? Wouldn't want to find you in the bath, now would I?"
The pompous tone was something she'd know anywhere. It belonged to the one most popular, handsome jock Hogwarts had to offer: Draco Malfoy.
He was a blonde prince, of good family, wealth, and education. Slytherin was his home known for those with ambitious blood and he was said to emulate that to a tee. His goals reached high.
There was not a single witch in Hogwarts able to say they lacked a crush on the wizard; if they did, they were lying. He was the epitome of what was attractive. It wasn't just his looks, which were stunning, but the way he carried himself. Without doubt. He exhumed the air of confidence, as if the ground was blessed to be walked on by him, the world was his to grab, and not a worry was to be found out there.
It was known that he was sharp with his tongue. His mind worked swiftly, just as swift as his wand.
And although she carried top marks throughout their years together, he was a close second. So, it was fair to assume he was intelligent beyond means.
Hermione hadn't had much experience with the wizard herself. She knew of him. Who didn't? But there was a limited amount of conversation between them. They shared classes, but not friends. Her friend, Harry Potter, was the rival of Draco. They played the same position in Quidditch on rival teams. Their relationship was rather tense, but it never left the off remark of one's playing ability.
The wizards relationship made him comfortable to address her the same as he did them: by last name. A slight joust at her choice of friends was the most ever said in her direction. Even then, it hadn't required response. It was more to taunt them than to address her.
She was shocked to find him in the Prefect bath. It was not a favorite of anyone's. It was forgotten and dirty most days. On a good day, a disturbed ghost of a deceased student haunted the stalls with her cries of self-pity and loneliness.
The wound at her wrist leaked quickly when she put weight on it. She raised up from the floor with a bigger splash of red.
"What are you doing on the floor?"
He was not bothered by the fact his tone was familiar with her when they were not socially in the same circle.
She wiped the back of her hand against her face. "I just - ."
His eyes bulged. The grey stormy eyes traveled down the length of her forearm down to the floor where a mess of liquid rested.
She shifted awkwardly in under his gaze. It was a circumstance that she was uncertain she knew to navigate. What did one say to a total stranger that things weren't always peachy in Hogwarts?
How would a wizard like that be knowledgeable of suffering? His life was royal. He lived unbothered and protected by the status of his last name and the fact he'd been born and raised with magic. What could he know of the struggles of a muggleborn witch like her?
Draco's eyes finally narrowed. "Get ahold of yourself. You're letting someone like Ron Weasley get the better of you? So much for being the brightest witch of the age."
It was sharp, his tongue. She knew the rumors were true. He did not mince words.
Hermione blinked, still in shock from his statement, quizzical as to how he knew it was Ron who was causing her pain, when he wretched her arm away from her, brandished a slender black wand, and murmured a healing spell. White light spilled from the tip. It wove back and forth against her wounds, sealing up the flesh into one stretch.
His touch was fire in her veins. Each fingertip dug into her arm with blaring heat, enough to feel each connection of their bodies entwined in one.
Her eyes never left his face. The flicker of determination, concentration, the slight part of his lips as he focused on his spell work.
"There," he said. His eyes scanned his work, checking the hold on the seal. When they raised to hers, she wasn't expecting a warmth in his regard. The tone did not match. "Toughen up, Granger. Don't let a nobody diminish you."
It was the strangest encounter. She was so moved that she was frozen in place as he left. The sounds of his retreating steps the only evidence she hadn't just conjured his figure as a dream in a state of shock from blood loss.
Hermione pinched herself for good measure. The height of pain confirmed it was not a daydream. It gave her the strength to continue through the day in spite of all Ron's attempts to knock her down.
The next day, after an awkward lunch of eating on the outer rim of the Gryffindor ranks, she retreated to the forgotten depths of the library for a bit of serenity within a school of chaos. It was filled with dust. Every breath was thick with it.
She dragged her finger along the middle shelf as she walked through the aisle, deeper and deeper away from the main section. Most students had little reason to venture outside the main section near the librarian's desk. Only dedicated readers pushed farther. She, being one of those, had a favorite hide out in the winding alleyways of the towering bookcases that only those talented with a sense of direction could find it. It helped on the days when Ron was especially demanding, or Ginny wanted to do makeovers.
The warm perfume of books welcomed her. There was a release of the air as a small pocket between the bookshelves opened up. A small table fit for only four people sat in the space. Two embroidered wingback chairs with matching pillows of the same elderly flower and butterfly fabric rested. They were often pushed together so her feet might have a nice elevation as she studied.
Her book bag plopped into one chair; her body fell into the other.
She was plagued with hunger. The urge to eat was serious. It'd been a struggle to hold back her vomit in the Great Hall. All the mingling smells of the food tortured her sensitive nose. It was more precise than a bloodhound.
The growling of her stomach only reminded her of the situation she was in. Her eyes glanced down with a frown. "Can't you be a wee bit nicer to me, eh? I'm your mum. Far as I know, I'll be the only one you've got, so just, let me eat."
Her nose exhaled. It was the only moment she allowed herself to think of what kind of person was there, listening to her, growing in her image, sharing her blood, organs, and space. What formed inside her uterus was a mystery that she kept locked at the back of her mind. There was no point to consider. She had work to do.
Potions was a class that required constant reading. The professor, Professor Snape, held her in high esteem. He expected much of her. Much more than the others.
The text was thick. The purple covering and matching spine held the contents of an entire year's lessons. Her book was read through already. It was a fascinating subject. The high esteem of her professor only fueled her need to be fully educated on the topic before class started.
Her fingers landed on the script title in thick black letters: Amortentia.
Love potions were wildly underestimated in their power. They created delusions of romance and lust. It was difficult to surpass a person's free will. Others with such power were known as Unforgiveable. Somehow, love potions were accessible and still taught in lessons.
The text warned of its use. The infatuation was encompassing of all other thought. They were warped into a skewed sense of love in total loss of themselves and their wellbeing.
Hermione thought it was horrid to be trapped in a relationship under a love potion. Every single one was bound to be abusive. She wondered if it was rampant in the city for a wizard's date rape potion.
The afternoon light passed. Pain in her stomach was impossible to ignore. Her thoughts pulled away from the words of the text to the growling, howling, begging of her stomach.
The hunger only fed her exhaustion. As she always felt. Her eyes were heavy. She physically held them open so that she might keep studying.
"Not crying again, are you? I won't be around if you're crying."
She jumped in her seat. It was Draco. Out of thin air, apparently. He was dressed down in his casual trousers and loosened button up. The collar was starched high, but the knot in his tie was near the center of his chest.
"Then kick rocks." She growled.
Her stomach was angry. She was angry.
His face fell to a scowl. One hip tucked below him. A messenger bag hanged off one shoulder, jutting against his slender hip, a shredded layer of his uniform over top. "What's your problem, Granger?"
She curled her fingers inward to taut fists. "My problem is that I haven't eaten in two days and I'm absolutely ravenous, but every time I smell food, I get queasy and nauseous and vomit the only thing I've been able to keep down. Water! My breasts are killing me. My back won't stop hurting. All I want to do is sleep, but I can't because I've got these bloody classes! All my friends hate me because of Ronald. Oh! And I'm pregnant with that pathetic wizard's child when I don't want to be and I'm terrified that I have to do this alone. So excuse me if I don't leap for joy when you arrive. You'll find your taunts have little effect on me."
It felt breathtaking, like the first intake of breath for weeks. Her heart pattered in a healthy rhythm. A hearty swell in her chest with each breath, suddenly relieved of pressure.
Draco Malfoy remained in place. His eyes blinked. Face, unable to remain stoic in the light of her admission. His nose breathed a sharp inhale before he turned around and left.
The weight of defeat pressed heavily against her, awash in the fact that she'd pushed away the only one willing to associate with her. Bitter tears of self-pity – Godric how she hated them – trickled from the creases of her eyes.
If she had known this was what would come of Ronald Weasley, she'd have pretended he didn't exist.
A time later after all her tears were spent, she still laid against the table, wet and sad, unwilling to rise again, when something struck her head. It was crinkly.
"There. Eat those," Draco said. He was there in the aisle, hand in his pocket. "They'll help."
Hermione rose, wiping the moisture from her cheeks. "I've tried crisps already. They upset my stomach."
The cutting silhouette of Draco Malfoy cut through the candlelight. His dark outline to the palette of browns and golds and yellows of the library.
"Try them," he urged. "You need to eat."
The bag was unmarked. Not a name or explanation. Just shiny silver reflective bag like those of crisps. She tucked in. The need to eat was stronger than the threat of her rolling belly. In fact, she was ready to binge without regard to what she retched on. The floor, the walls, ancient tapestries older than her own great-grandfather.
The pale crisps were in odd shapes. They looked like potato crisps, but once they hit her tongue and melded into the moisture of her mouth, she knew they weren't. Their taste was sharp. It was spicy without the heat.
She'd been doubtful about his magic crisps. However, the churning of her belly stopped. It instead demanded more. Her pace quickened. She shoved all the odd crisps into her mouth at once.
A full belly after being ill for days was a bliss unmatched. Her mood lifted. The body she resided in filled with energy, spark again.
"What are these?" She marveled at their power. She needed more. Ten bags. No, twenty.
"Ginger," he replied. "The house elves will get anything when asked."
Her heart swelled. Tears, again, bubbled at her surface. "You asked for these?"
It was the first time in so long that someone had bothered themselves to help her. The entire school knew she was pregnant, or at least Gryffindor did. Not a single one let her through first or freed up a toilet so she might toss up all her stomach contents.
A droplet oozed from the corner of her eye.
Draco shifted. "Only so you don't have to gripe about being hungry. I do have exams to study for."
It was the nicest feeling all term. They sat, silent, content in each other's company. Any mention of her condition died between them, the peak of what it meant to be in Draco's presence. He did not rattle on when unnecessary. That was the day she discovered there was more to the Hogwarts witches obsession with Draco Malfoy. It was not only his looks. He was different.
. . . . . . .
Her feet rushed through the packed corridors. Students of every color marched through, in their own focus of where they were expected that the Gryffindor Prefect with a pale face was forgotten in the sea of faces. Her hair was loose. Curls claimed her shoulders. They bounced with her jog, teasing the corners of her eyes with their prodding ends.
She hadn't the time to brush them away. Potions was soon.
Hermione was first at the classroom every single day. It was her favorite one.
This day was different since she'd taken an extra-long puke break in between classes. Her stomach was royally upset with her. Nothing stayed put. Not toothpaste, nor gum, or her own salvia.
A crowd was formed around the door. Professor Snape was still absent. He allowed them to congregate outside so that there were no incidents in the class. He had many rare ingredients stored inside. Many were irreplaceable.
The students were split down house lines. Gryffindor was on one side, Slytherin on the other.
A redhead was at the front of Gryffindor, somehow granted king status during the collapse of their relationship and her sudden social status drop. Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas flanked each side. They laughed together in that lurid way that made witches stomachs roll.
The trio, along with Harry albeit he was not as invested in their conversation, noticed her late coming.
"Abortion attempt run late?" Ron snickered. "Got Miss Perfect off her schedule."
A giggle ran through Gryffindor. They hid behind their hands, but she heard the rise through them.
They hated her.
Her eyes glanced at the crowd of Slytherins. Their interest was elsewhere. None acknowledged a thing had been said at all.
Except Draco, who's eyes went from stoic indifference to narrowed slits of pure loathing.
He stepped forward from the close-knot crowd of his house like a knight encased in shining, silver armor. "Just tell me Weasley, how did she get in this situation? She didn't put that baby up there herself, now did she?" The two closest friends, Goyle and Crabbe, moved closer to Draco's sides. His aides. The attention of the emerald house raised to appraise the situation. Their faces remained stacked with passive eyes, but they did watch Draco closely. "Had your parents had a full brain between them, they'd have raised you with a respect for witches. All better families know that expecting witches are the only thing that makes our world possible. You lot of lions might not care for the continuation of yourself, all you want is glory, a name in the papers. But here, in Slytherin, you're nothing but a pathetic wizard who lacks honor and dignity, forgets their duty in the name of lust."
Ron's face reddened to the hue of his hair.
It brought a slight relief to the humiliation she announced in front of half their year. The satisfaction was short lived. Though her lips were twisted with a smirk, her hand clutched at her stomach. The degree of pain inside was rising higher. Her throat felt a familiar burning. A slick coat splashed against her tongue, ready for the spill.
"Can't expect much from a Weasley, can you?" Draco snickered. It was accompanied with a chorus of his fellow snakes. "Like to reproduce but can't be bothered to respect the witches doing their dirty work. All you Weasleys ought be cut of your loins. Doesn't do any good to have more things like you around."
The eyes of Gryffindor were wide. It was not a matter discussed in the open, especially in front of the Weasleys. Their father, Arthur, was known to have fathered many illegitimate children over the years. It was a widely known, gossiped about fact. He mated with witches and left them alone, to suffer in their shame over sleeping with a married man.
It made Draco's insult all hit Ron's pride. The redhead grabbed hold of his wand, surged forward with it at the edge of his hand ready to duel, only to be met with an ebony wand pointed at his face.
The two houses came close, ready to fight. Wands were drawn on each side.
One head of black stepped between. His hand latched around his friend's wrist, lowering the wand slowly. The forlorn look in his eye tortured Hermione. Her best friend was torn between two people, two worlds now, and he was unable to escape it.
"Easy, Ron," Harry coaxed. He turned back to Hermione with a frown. "Honestly, Mione. Are you alright?"
Alright was not close enough to describe what she was.
"Don't worry about her." Draco hissed. "Worry about your choice in friend, Potter. You've chosen the wrong one."
He is at her side the next moment. His arm gently grasps below her shoulder, guiding her to a nearby loo, all the while her hands clasped her mouth shut. When the door finally appeared in front, she rushed through, finding an open stall, and falling to her knees.
Liquid bile, orange and yellow, poured from her lips. The burning stench hurt her nose. Water of the toilet splashed as her body forced every fluid and organ from her body.
A pair of soft, cool hands touched her cheeks. She gasped.
"It's just me," Draco murmured.
The floor and the toilet were cleaned by the end of his wand. His hands pulled back her chocolate curls, laced them through his fingers, and held her as all the punishment for her actions poured from her throat. Tears streamed down her face. The utter power that surged up through her body was meant to be a curse. It was too strong not to be.
The curse of falling in love.
A shuffling sounded behind them.
"Oh for the love of…get a bloody move on! Nothing to see here."
The echo was his voice moved whoever it was out of the loo. A hollow rattle of a door latch confirmed their flee.
Eventually the retching stopped. Her stomach, emptied of everything but the blood of her body. Her knees wobbled below, but she fought them to standing. Draco pulled back. The air to breathe was suddenly fresh, and not hot air shot back from inside a toilet bowl.
The knob of the tap squeaked open. A steady stream of cool water poured through. Draco gestured her forward.
"Um, thanks for that." Her eyes stayed at the floor.
Draco Malfoy, stud of Hogwarts, had just watched her vomit. Repeatedly.
"Couldn't have you puking right after I made a point." He shrugged. "It would have drawn focus from Ron's shame."
It was immature what he said. Low. She shouldn't have taken pleasure of Ron's public degradation like a first year. She was better than that.
He uncrossed his arms. "Come on then. Let's get to class before Snape assigns us detention."
They are the last ones to filter through the doors. The Gryffindor side was filled. Every seat taken.
The two open seats were alongside Draco's best friends. One at the back with Goyle and the other just a table ahead with Crabbe. She had not ever met them apart from classroom introductions. They were the silent type.
Hermione twisted with indecision. Which place should she take?
Draco tapped Goyle's shoulder. "Move up."
It gave her and him the last table in the back corner all to themselves. The new placement earned a few lifted brow gazes from the professor as he took the center stage in front of them. His fingertips were coated with white dust. It smudged against the black folds of his robes as he lectured on love potions.
He gave warnings to the potency of love potions like Amortentia. The ominous drawl of his throat as he questioned to the reason of his warnings left an unsettled silence throughout the room.
None knew the answer.
Hermione raised her hand. The dark of his eye flickered with pride. His hands stowed away into the flowing sleeves of his robes, the attire that earning him the snickering remarks of him secretly being the Grim Reaper.
He was a young man. She doubted his age was older than her own parents, but there was the sloping scowl that earned him many lines through his porcelain flesh.
"Miss Granger?"
"It is said that children conceived of love potions cannot feel love," she said. "It is believed that any magical person born of such a ruin will reign chaos over our world until we are exposed to the muggle world."
The eyes of the class were intense. She felt their glares blister her cheeks. However, the look of death from Ron tickled her lips into a smile. It was wrong. Her parents raised a better woman than that.
"Very good, Miss Granger. Can you tell me how we know such things?" The professor asked.
"Seers, sir."
"And where are the predictions of seers kept?" His brow raised.
He thought he'd caught her. Didn't he have an actual challenge?
"The Department of Mysteries. In the Ministry of Magic."
"Impressive, Miss Granger," he said. After an exaggerated breath, he added. "Ten points to Gryffindor."
She never understood why Professor Snape frightened so many. His emotions were so obvious. He kept them deep, but never impossible to riddle. After only five years, she knew how to read him like any other, if not better because of the utter concentration it required to learn the wizard.
A question of the legality of brewing love potions was asked and directed the attention away from Hermione.
It was lucky that the discussion warranted cover. Like a beast awakened from a centuries slumber, her stomach growled in hunger. It filled her ears.
She noticed a shaking at her side. It was Draco. He chuckled under his breath after each groan of her insides.
"Stop," she whispered. "You're drawing focus."
"What, and the gargling dragon at the back of the class doesn't?"
Potions was fun. She was sad when it had to end and the houses parted ways to their other classes. Her lips frowned when Draco waved. His bag was slung atop his shoulder. The white of his shirt was taut against his chest. It gave a nice outline as he watched away.
She shook out her thoughts. No. No going there. That was all off limits.
Chaise as a nun, that was her new motto. Romance, lust, desire, urge, all gone. None of that.
Gryffindor next had Charms class with Professor Flitwick. It was shared with Ravenclaw, one of her favorite houses. They were so easy to understand. Education was their focus. The class was all that captured their attention, not gossip or ruckus. Pure intelligence. She loved it.
It was her impression as a young girl that Gryffindor was the best house to be in. They were brave and famous and good. She begged to be in that house, though she knew she belonged in Ravenclaw.
Why was that decision left to a silly young girl? Why hadn't the hat realized she was meant for a place where studies were foremost?
One of the Ravenclaw Prefects was Padma Patil. She was the twin of one of the Gryffindor girls, Pavarti.
Padma was the better twin. She was logical and smart and loved to read. They often shared recommendations for pleasure novels.
Hermione took the seat alongside the witch. She was rather buttoned up in her school uniform. The robes were closed at her throat, blue patch the only color. Her hair was straight, black, down to the small of her black. It was kept long every single day. Not a single crease, or updo done, any day of the year.
She greeted Hermione with a polite smile, however it froze on her face. "Are you feeling well?"
"Yeah, sure."
It was not a conversation she wanted to have. Morning sickness. Drama. Ravenous hunger. Complete exhaustion. The baffling emergence as Draco freaking Malfoy as a friend.
There was a reputation she wanted to keep with the Ravenclaws. They knew her. It would degrade their relationship if they found out what kind of stupidity Hermione engaged in. Their opinion might cause them to sever ties.
That would be a blow she couldn't withstand.
"I just haven't been feeling well," she added, so that there was some explanation to her appearance. If Ravenclaws were good at anything, it was smelling an inconsistency.
Padma frowned. "Oh. I'm sorry. Go see Madame Pomphrey, perhaps. That is what she's there for."
Madame Pomphrey. Hospital Wing. It was the purpose of both. They employed her so that the students were tended to with appropriate care.
She'd dismissed the idea because secrecy was key. Ronald had ruined that for her. It wouldn't be long before a professor learned of her condition. Why not reveal it herself to find some comfort? Her stomach was the bane of her existence at the moment, and she wasn't certain she'd survive nine months without eating.
There were medicines available to muggle expectant mothers. The magical community had to have potions or elixirs available, too.
Charms went quick. It was easy to focus on the task at hand when half the class was just as attentive as she was. An added bonus was that her stomach had settled.
When Professor Flitwick dismissed the students from his lesson, both houses hurried down to the Great Hall. Lunch was served. The steam wafted up through the corridors. It sped their footsteps. A rising murmur of excitement spread through the groups. Hungry bellies ached to be fed. Hers did, too. She doubted that she might tolerate much of anything except a small mouthful. If that.
Still, she joined her peers in the expected routine of the day. Lunch was a relaxed affair compared to supper when houses were encouraged to remain together, ending their day with their friends and close peers of whom shared their similar interests.
The melding of house colors was spotted throughout the grand room. Four long tables filled the giant space, at their helm an equally long table horizontal. The headmaster and professors displayed themselves at their own midday meal, same as their students. Few were missing, of course. Professor Snape never took lunch. He worked on his own projects during that time. Madame Hooch took her lunch outside where she monitored her heart rate as she exercised during her break in classes.
The Gryffindor table was loud with happenings of their days. Plates were clattered. Wizards and witches stacked their plates high, laughed with their friends, spilled their pumpkin juice, and were jolly.
It did not feel like her place any longer. She was above what their minds worried about.
She thought she might join the Ravenclaw table. They were accepting enough. Quiet. They kept to themselves and readied for another round of classes after the meal.
Hermione dismissed the idea. Ravenclaw might notice her repulsion by certain foods. Their minds worked faster than most. It would talk all of ten minutes for the discovery of her secret to be throughout their ranks.
"This way, Granger." Draco gently brushed against her shoulder. "Come sit with us."
Crabbe and Goyle led the way, as Draco followed, and Hermione trailed their end. Her fingers tapped against her thigh. Lunch with the Slytherins was new. She never punctured their bubble on that side of the hall. They could be standoffish with their space. It was best to give them a wide burden.
Surprisingly, her disruption of their house did not raise an eye. They continued on with their meal without a blink of distaste.
Draco sat at her right with Goyle directly across him, and Crabbe just across from her. They were quiet as they ate. Each one used their utensils like they would in a formal dinner. They were happy to eat every dish offered atop their spread.
She was much pickier with her selection. A few carrot sticks, a handful grapes, and rosemary roasted potatoes. Those were her favorite. She knew it was bound to disrupt her belly, but she did not want to resist the soft comfort of their taste.
"This is unacceptable," a voice from a few seats down commented. It was steady and rather withdrawn. "There are no vegan options that aren't crudités. Are there no accommodations for those with dietary restrictions?"
The short-haired witch waved her hand across the plate. "Are we expected to survive off these? What about those with gluten allergies? These dishes are full of gluten. And lactose."
Her plate was similar to Hermione's. Sparse pickings.
Slytherin was a subdued table. They kept to themselves. It was not silent, by any means. Most of them talked. The energy amongst them was calm, serene, a confidence in each other that forwent the urge to raise their tones above a normal rate.
Verbal altercations were a constant at the lion table. Their high energies and moral high ground left them constantly battling for superiority. Wands were drawn at times when arguments became personal. Staff would get involved, detention issued. It was a whole ordeal.
Hermione rather like the relaxed state of the Slytherin house. Her pulse was not jacked high in tension every minute at the statement of something innocent being blown out of proportion.
Draco's group was the only one that seemed unusually quiet. It had to be her presence that quieted their voices.
"I think I'm going to go," she said.
The blonde raised his gaze to hers. "Where to?"
"Hospital." She shrugged. "I might as well try to get a potion, seeing as the whole school knows anyway."
He grabbed hold of his goblet and sipped the contents until it was empty. A black napkin was dabbed at his lips before he gave his casual 'see you later' to his friends.
"I'll walk you," he replied to her quizzical look. "Can't have falling ill on the way there, can I?"
She trailed behind him as he moved through the room. His rolled cuffs and relaxed tie caught her eye. As it did for other witches as they passed.
"You'll miss class," she pointed out.
"Free period."
"It won't be fun. They might say something personal about my girly parts."
He snorted. "What? Like I don't know what you've got going on down there?" The grey of his sockets swirled with humor. "Relax, Granger. I'm not going to ninny out."
Wizards in her experience often did. A girl's body grossed them out. One whisper of the word "vagina" had them scrambling for something else to think about.
She pondered why straight men were like that when they obviously knew she had a vagina. Sure, she expected someone not interested in her to be awkward about the business of what was inside her pants, but why did wizards allegedly interested, sexually, find her body so disturbing? More over, disgusting. They were the ones that liked it!
The hospital wing was only a floor higher. They ascended a lonely stair until the large double doors came into view. It was the only set on that side of the stair. Within were rows and rows of beds of white and privacy screens to hide the fact that it was all in the open of one room.
It was run by a healer and school's matron, Madame Pomphrey. She was a witch with a kind voice but became stern when she had to. Which was often seeing as all her patients were young students with a need to be constantly entertained.
She wore a white apron overtop peachy colored dresses. It was a dated style seen in the portraits of witches of the past hundred years. Her grey locks rested tight atop her head. A set of watchful blue eyes pierced past the rosy cheeks and fair complexion. She might have looked the part of a cheerful woman with the mind of a tulip, but those blue eyes held a wisdom that beckoned a respect of her powers. No other healer had been quite as successful at her post as she. It was a great deal of accomplishment.
Draco pushed one of the doors open and allowed Hermione to pass through.
The matron dusted her hands against her apron. "My, my. Mister Malfoy and Miss Granger. What can I do for you today?"
"She's sick," Draco said.
Hermione sputtered. "Well, only a little. My stomach is upset. I thought there might be a potion that can settle it."
Madame Pomphrey smiled. "Of course there is. Wouldn't be matron of this school if I didn't know how to cure tummy aches, now would I? Come, come. Pick a bed. No. Not that one. The first one."
The wizard plopped into the chair alongside the bed. One of his feet rested against the railing of the bed frame. His knee swung back and forth in his leisure.
"So happy this is so relaxing for you." She snipped.
He chuckled as he waited.
Hermione took the foot of the bed. Her feet rested at the floor, bum leaned against the stiff mattress. Both hands held onto the foot board, ready to hold on for dear life at what was bound to happen if she didn't convince the healer to just toss her a potion.
The elderly witch appeared with her wand. "Deep breath for me. I'm going to start a scan."
Cue the panic.
"Scan? Can't you just assign me a vial of potion. I'm sure that'll work."
"It's a quick one. Don't you worry. Best to diagnose the issue, dear. Save ourselves the headache of guessing."
Madame Pomphrey was confident in herself. She casted the spell with a smile. Her face faltered. Silence crept through. The results were there in front of her face. Clear as day. She appraised the patient in her bed and shook her head in disbelief.
The spell disintegrated. "Let's cast that again."
The nervous chuckle died to eerie quiet.
"I'm just going to be a minute, dear. Wait right here." She scurried away.
Draco clicked his tongue. "You know who she is contacting, don't you?"
Hermione sighed. "My options were…?"
"Starve to a skeleton, of course."
She growled in displeasure. Starving was not an option. She was at the ends of sanity with only a couple months under her belt. An entire pregnancy was impossible.
Sure enough, only ten minutes passed before the head of Gryffindor house, Professor McGonagall emerged from behind the double doors. Her face was stretched taut. She found the waiting face of the matron where they engaged in urgent, hushed discussion.
Hermione fidgeted with the strands of her robe as she listened to their whispers of disbelief. It reminded her of all whom she'd let down. The disappointment they felt in her was unbearable.
Water rimmed her eyes. She sniffed.
A body settled down on the bed beside her and wrapped her in a side hug. It patted her opposite arm gently. "You're still their golden girl."
She scoffed. "Right. I'll be the front page of the Hogwarts flyer. 'I got knocked up here'." Her eyes rolled. "I wouldn't be surprised if they expel me for this."
"They wouldn't dare."
"They would if they thought I was too much of a risk," she said hurried. Her lungs required a shaky breath. "They'll Obliviate me."
"An infant isn't a risk," Draco snarled. "There is a chance that baby will be magical, just like you. They can't Obliviate you."
"Let's hope that is true."
The discussion of the elderly witches came to a close. They approached the hospital bed together and greeted her. Madame Pomphrey refused to meet Hermione's gaze. Professor McGonagall was focused on the student at her side.
Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger weren't known as close friends. Or anything, except top students.
The Gryffindor witch peered through her rimless glasses with beady eyes. "Mister Malfoy would you consider stepping outside so we might speak to Miss Granger alone?"
Alone? No. She couldn't suffer the instance alone.
"Please. I asked him here."
"There might be some sensitive information exchanged here. It's best done in private."
Hermione nodded. "I understand. And I want him here."
There was resistance in the idea. Draco wasn't bothered either way. He waited with his arms crossed at his chest, almost dissatisfied with the interaction so far.
It put pressure on the two witches to comply.
McGonagall produced her twisted lengthy wand from her robes. "May I?"
She nodded. "Of course."
"Corprelare," she declared in a steady voice.
It read back the same results she received two months prior. Pregnant.
Both McGonagall and Pomphrey were astounded by the results. Their head shook, unable to believe what was read back to them as truth. Their voices turned low and steady as they touched her shoulder. It felt as though Hermione was a volatile maniac rather than a pregnant teenager.
The looks on their faces overwhelmed her thin strength. Her face fell to her hands.
"Special exceptions will have to be made," Madame Pomphrey pronounced. "Regular visits to check on mum and baby. Extra dietary. Charmed uniforms."
The professor nodded along. There was no doubt that shock was at the front of her mind. Hermione Granger was a school Prefect, had top marks in every class, was smartest than the entire student body, yet was impregnated sixth year. It did not look promising.
A thought roused McGonagall from her thoughts. She turned to the pair of them.
"Are you the father, Mister Malfoy?"
Hermione couldn't expand her eyes any wider. Her jaw unhinged from its seat.
"So what if I am?" Draco replied.
Much to Hermione's shock.
"I'll be writing to both your parents," McGonagall replied in that stern tone only used for punishments. Her eyes drilled into the both of them. "This is quite a serious situation you find yourselves in. A wee child is nothing to scoff at. It is a lifelong commitment. You may not be romantically involved forever, but you'll be linked by a child for the rest of your lives. Are you ready for that, Mister Malfoy?"
Lifelong commitment. Her hands started to shake. No! She wasn't ready. It was so long. So long.
Draco leaned forward. "I've been taught nothing but lifelong commitment. My family believes in it. Quite thoroughly, in fact. I'm certain I can handle it."
Hermione gasped. "Draco, don't - ."
"Hermione deserves special accommodations. Something outside Gryffindor Tower," he demanded.
"Away from her house. Whatever for?" Professor McGonagall barked.
"They've done nothing but cause her distress. Tease her, taunt her. She can't sleep or eat because of it. It's made her suffer. And that isn't safe for her or the baby, is it?"
Madame Pomphrey held a wicked frown as she lowered herself to meet Hermione's gaze. "Is this true?"
A line of water rose through her eyes. "Yeah. It's true."
"We have to do something, Minerva. Quickly." The healer was quite the bulldog when it came to her patients. She was filled with purpose to provide the best care. It made her an exceptional matron. "An expectant mother should be getting all the food and rest she needs."
"I know, Poppy. There are many things to consider. This has not been done before. The Ministry will have to be notified. The Board of Governors, too. They'll have to decide the proper way to handle it."
"Think of the baby."
"I'll have to alert Albus." She sighed. The weight of years of dealing with underage children was wearing on her patience. "Until then, you are dismissed. My threat, however, still stands. Both your parents will be notified."
Hermione's eyes blared with urgency at the friend alongside her. It was to be her and Ron's punishment for intimate relations on school grounds, not Draco. It was not fair. He was the only good one out of the situation.
"Come on, Granger. Let's get you some fresh air," he said. One hand pulled on her arm toward the doors.
She shook her head. "What are you doing? She's going to write your parents. Tell her the truth. Tell her. You're going to get in trouble."
Still, he refused to turn around. The double doors spat them back into the body of Hogwarts castle.
"You could do much worse than me as a baby daddy, Granger. Like Weasley, perhaps."
The chuckle at his own joke was unappreciated. The gravity of the situation surpassed his head.
She pulled out of his grasp. "What the hell are you talking about? You're going to be punished for something you didn't do."
"Something wrong with me being the father of your baby?"
"Of course not." Her hands ran through her curls, tearing through the tangles. Just that morning, Draco's fingers had been the ones that snaked through their depths. "I'd prefer you to the one I've got. But that doesn't change the truth. This is Ron's fault, Ron's and my responsibility. Not yours. I can't let you do this."
He waved off. Waved. Like it was nothing but buying a cuppa. "Come off it. My family has taught me responsibility since the moment I could talk."
"For your wife, girlfriend, job, your family," she explained. "Not for some random witch."
"What's it matter my reasoning? I'm offering."
She wrapped her arms around her chest. "Offering what exactly?"
His hands plunged into his pockets. A gentle raise of his shoulders, a response. When she gave him a curious look, his lips exhaled a sharp breath.
"Be your baby daddy."
"I don't understand," she said. "Wh-why-why? Why would you want to?"
"I'll do better than Weasley."
It still wasn't hitting her ears right. There was no way that he was serious enough to want to raise a child he didn't create, with her.
Draco was not an idiot by any stretch of imagination. He was highly intelligent. So why did a wizard with the entire world at his feet want to be held by a child's grasping hands?
"You want to raise a baby. With me."
Not only was he smart. He was popular. Witches loved him. Wizards either hated him or envied him. He was handsome, educated, and wildly talented on the Quidditch Pitch. Everyone wanted him.
What Hermione couldn't understand was why he wanted her…wanted this.
She shook her head. "We don't even know each other."
"Plenty of time to find out, isn't there?" He pointed at her stomach. "Seeing as you've got nine months until that little thing is ready to be born. Should be enough time to figure it out."
Something was off. What he was saying started to make sense. More so, she wanted to do it really bad.
"But why?" She questioned. "Why me?"
"Don't read into it, Granger. I'm being a stand-up gentleman. I owe it to the magical community to support all children born. Even the ones that aren't mine."
It might've been the shock talking or the fear of being totally alone, but whatever it was, agreed that he was the better choice. As far as anyone might know, Draco Malfoy was the father of her child.
Lucky he was.
The special accommodations were put in place almost immediately. A suite was prepared the next day, ready for her to move in the day after that. It was a private bedchamber with an attached loo and spare space. It was filled with a desk and bookshelf, but once the baby was born, it would be converted into a nursery. A free-standing tub in the loo was a grateful addition. It'd help with the many body aches pregnancy gave her.
All the professors were notified to give her ample time between classes. It was a kind gesture, but unnecessary. She refused to be late for any class.
Madame Pomphrey created a small space at the back of the hospital wing just for Hermione. It had a rocking chair fitted with thick cushions. Books on prenatal care were purchased for the healer to brush up on her skills. She was rather cautious. She warned Hermione of carrying the weight of schoolbooks and asked if it was possible for Draco to carry them for her. Hermione blushed and said she'd figure something out.
Draco was curious about her new living arrangement. He followed her back from lunch to inspect it himself.
"Impressive." He stretched. His arms were rather long when she saw them extended from his body. Slender, same as his legs. "Teenage pregnancy not so bad now, eh?"
"Hardly worth it." She groaned. "I'd take being anonymous back over this."
He gave a derisive snort. "You were never anonymous."
"I do believe you're mistaken. I've never felt so many eyes on me. Never."
"That's because they did it behind your back, Granger. They all knew who you were. Brightest witch of the age. Smartest in the century, a muggle born none the less." He tapped his temple. "Just because they didn't show it. They were all interested in you. Believe me. I heard my fair share."
An open doorway attracted his attention. His grey eyes gazed up at the raised level with curiosity twisting and churning. It was clear the thoughts were processed in his mind.
"Really?" She asked. "What've you heard?"
"What is that?"
"The nursery," she replied.
He bounded up the three steps onto the threshold of the room. A sour retch contorted his face.
"This is where my baby is expected to live? It's god-awful."
"I thought it was rather roomy," she called up.
His baby. My baby. The words still rang wrong in her ear. A handsome wizard like that did not copulate with bushy-haired witches like her.
Draco emerged through the doorway shaking his head. "Look at this color. It's depressing. This is what lonely, depressed professors paint their walls right before they curse their brains upon them. Salazar, I can't believe they gave you this. As a nursery. It's horrendous."
Hermione had to stifle her laughter to shield his pride. He was a peculiar wizard now that she witnesses it up close. There were many instances that made him tick wrong. A plain room being one.
It was morose. Not the place she'd have picked for a blossoming new life, but considering the circumstance, she was grateful they permitted it at all.
"We can redecorate once the baby is born," she explained, hoping it might lift his distaste.
He hopped down to the main floor. "I might have liked black better than that. Beige. That's no color for an infant unless we want him to be a bore."
She smirked. "And what if it's a girl? Fuchsia."
He recoiled back like she'd just sent a stunner his way. "Let's leave the decorating to me then, shall we? Daddy will be the one with the paint."
A snicker erupted from her lips before she could think better of it. She shielded her mouth, but it was already heard.
Draco tilted his head. "What was that?"
"Nothing."
"You thought it was funny. What? What was funny?"
His face hardened. An icy frost overtook his gaze.
She shrugged. "I don't know. The idea that you'll be daddy to my baby. It's just a little strange yet. To think about."
"Oh." His body relaxed. "Well get used to it. I'm here to stay."
There was a small loveseat in the corner of the room opposite her four-poster bed. It was a soft purple. Three large pillows rested at its back. Draco helped himself to a seat. His eyes drifted over, filled with some warmth as he gestured to the seat at his side.
She took it, sinking closer than she'd ever been to him before.
"How did your parents take the news then?" He asked.
A letter had come that morning for her. It contained an array of statements. Mostly support and confusion over what they will be permitted to do as muggles. They were unable to enter school grounds. Magical law.
The parchment was pulled from her pocket. "Rather timid to what I thought it might. They were adamant about one thing though. Stay away from Ron. Wish they'd have told me that years ago."
She sighed as she folded the pages back to their intended size and tucked them away. The comfort of their support was tenfold. It helped calm the stress in her heart. The morning sickness eased, too. Perhaps she was her own worst enemy.
"Didn't happen to tell them he was the father, did you?" His tone was firm, soft between the two of them.
"No. Unless they had asked, I wasn't going to. Now I suppose, I'll say your name instead."
They both settled to silence. Their plan was still in its infancy. Neither had discussed strategy or what the future held if it meant they were going to be committed together, forever. That was a long time to consider.
"Did you get a letter from your parents yet?"
He nodded. The smirk on his face was not one of triumph, but it wasn't fake either. Hermione was not able to decipher the truth behind his expression.
"My mother has been 'rattled to her core' I believe is the way she phrased it."
Hermione frowned. She thought that might happen. "I'm sorry, Draco."
"I think they're horrified that I had a girlfriend they didn't know about more than anything." He chuckled. "It is all they went on about."
"Do you think they'll expect us to be dating?"
A fluttering pitter patter of her heart did not aid her cause to be calm. The thought of being linked to Draco Malfoy at all was surprising, but dating him? An actual date. That was more than she thought possible.
A mousy girl with buck teeth fixed only by a year of painful braces that frightened most of the wizards away, was now on the arm of the most exclusive wizard in Hogwarts. That itself was something she never dreamed of. She never even allowed the thought. It was beyond her capability to catch the eye of Draco, so she never tried.
Ron had been a reasonable match. They were alike in their house and attractive level. Attractive, but not very. As a couple, they made sense. No one gawked at their pairing like it was inconceivable.
That was a fate that rested with Draco, a number much higher than her own.
"They are traditional," he answered. "So I expect so."
They had not discussed dating.
Her fingers tapped at the flesh of her arms. "How will that work?"
"Just like this, I suppose. Comfortable, don't you think? I hardly expect they'll demand I mount you to prove it."
Air gushed out of Hermione's mouth in surprise. A burning blush spread across her face.
It made Draco laugh a deep belly sound. "You're the one pregnant and that makes you blush?"
"Sorry. You're right. I'm the slag now."
"Don't say that." He shook his head. The upturned nose wrinkled in disgust. "I didn't say that."
They fell into a quiet. It consumed the air with a thick tension.
Hermione raced for relief. "Perhaps we should establish some rules. It is possible that your parents may visit Hogwarts. Mine can't because they're muggles, but yours can. I'll bet Professor Snape requested a meeting."
"Well." Draco shook out his blonde strands, straight as arrows and white as moonlight. "We will just have to get used being around one another."
"Sounds reasonable."
"So be sure to be head over heels in love with me." His lips twisted into a proud smirk.
She rolled her eyes. "Be delusional. Got it."
The moment their eyes connected, they both fell into a fit of laughs. It helped erase the building intensity that their circumstance required.
"Anything else?" Hermione asked as she dragged a finger below her eye.
It was brilliant to laugh again. Truly laugh.
He nodded. "Yeah. We'll have to kiss. You know. To make it credible."
She froze. "Kiss?"
"Yes."
"You?"
Draco's eyes narrowed with question. "Why does that fluster you?"
"I don't know." She tucked a bundle of curls behind her ear. "Because you're you."
"What does that mean?"
"You know. You're Draco Malfoy. Every witches wet dream or whatever." One look from his smirking lips filled her with frustration. She smacked his arm, albeit with restraint. "You know what I mean. You are not someone who would be interested in me in a million years."
"Nonsense. I'm the father of your child. Daddy Draco. Those witches can't have me anyhow." They both smiled. She like the way he beamed when she did. He fed off how she responded. His body leaned closer. All at once, his scent was through her head, touching her thoughts. "Maybe some practice is in order. Until you're more comfortable, of course."
He brought his lips closer. Eyes focused in on hers. She brought herself forward past the gap of no return and jutted her lips against his soft moist stunning ones, enjoying the sensation of his face near hers. Her eyes closed, feeling every moment. The smell, the heat of his breath, the gentle touch of his hands around her wrists. He cradled them in his open palms, supporting her but not forcing her there.
As they pulled away, a grin crossed her lips. The sweet taste of his mouth remained on hers.
"See?" He said, "Nothing to be scared of."
"I think I'm a little rusty." Her tongue ran along her lower lip, unable to stop herself from the pink wet of his parted lips.
"Again?"
She nodded eagerly. His lips aligned with hers, pressed harder into her mouth until her entire breath was sucked into his throat, and curled the corners of his mouth as their connection stayed.
"Better?' He asked.
The total bliss clouded her eyes. "Yeah. I can do that…anytime. Anytime you want."