Part II:
Word of her pregnancy spread like wildfire. It was quicker than when it was secret. There had been questions as to Hermione's removal from Gryffindor Tower as to what had happened. A school-wide announcement was made to address it which had been more uplifting than embarrassing. Gryffindor, too, had been privately gathered and admonished for their behavior against a student in need. Professor McGonagall made certain that her disappointment was known in her own personal gaggle of students.
What spread on the underside of that was the fact that Draco Malfoy now lingered around. Belief of his siring of the offspring raised focus. There were whispers of one-night stands and ongoing secret relations beneath the nose of Ron Weasley.
It was only a week since the declaration of her pregnancy throughout the school. She was still given a wide berth by the other students.
All except Slytherin who had silently folded her inside their ranks. Pansy started finding her out in the library, studying alongside her, silent but pleasant. Crabbe, whose name was Vincent, saved a lemon blueberry tart when she missed breakfast because he knew they were her favorite. She'd burst into tears when he handed it over.
Things in her body were not as wonderful.
It was the first day of her fourth month trapped as a human incubator and the moment her head raised, she was overcome with a worsening urge to vomit. Her head was unable to leave the comfort of the cold stone floor without forcing her to repeatedly dry heave.
If the entire pregnancy continued in a similar fashion, the will to live will have drained away before the baby was born. Her mind did not allow thoughts of the future to linger. It would be hard. Harder than she wished for herself. The creation of a person from her own body was beyond comprehension.
It was happening. Her body changed. One day she'd awoke with nipples tender and swollen. Then it never receded. They were large. And ached. When she was cold, tingles spread throughout her breast, which used to be her chest, as the cold climbed through the flesh like a numbing pain.
Nothing was worse than the morning sickness. This morning was the worst it ever was. She laid against the floor, dressed in pajamas, and in need of the toilet, but the slightest tilt of her head had her over the edge of the toilet bowl.
A clock on the wall showed the time. Breakfast ended in a minute. She could make it if she skipped a morning shower. A spell worked just as well.
She groaned against the ivory tile of the loo floor. Her wand was across the room!
Defense Against the Dark Arts, or DADA, was first in the day. Nonverbal spells were important. One missed lesson set back weeks of other lessons. She could NOT miss it.
Hermione raised from the floor. A strong wave of nausea went straight for her head, as she expected. The stomach-head tag team proved powerful as she struggled across the room like a newborn foal. Salvia surged in thick globs. She felt a tide rise. The stench of bile escaped through her nose, a signal of the pending vomit yet to surface.
The harder she swallowed it back, the harder it resurfaced at the back of her throat demanding let through.
She was not going to let this get the better of her. She'd drag the toilet there if she had to.
A flurry of morning sickness and half buttoned shirt left her against the tile floor, yet again, allowing the cold seep through her pores into the buried surface of her flesh where heat from the constant retching lived. It eased the throbbing headache. That lived behind her forehead impossible to get to.
Her face smashed against the floor in the hopes it might bring some comfort. What little there was, she'd fight for it. It was all she had.
She lost track of time. It traveled differently so low to the ground. Or perhaps, she'd drifted into a light sleep.
Whatever happened, she was roused conscious with a consistent rapping at her door.
"Hello?" She whimpered out.
The low groan of the wooden door creaked open. It was behind her field of vision.
"Mione?" A timid voice called through. It belonged to that of a wizard she'd not spoken to in an eon. It was not really that long, but so much had shifted in her life, that it felt as if years had passed since she was allowed to be innocent.
"In here." Her arms unwrapped her head and gave a lazy wave. "Well, down here."
The door latched closed. A shuffling shuffle of steps echoed throughout. It hit her ears louder and louder as they trekked closer.
One eye peaked from behind the iron wall of darkness. A sudden shine of light burned directly to her headache, angering the beast within that clawed out her brains.
Harry took a knee. His hands gently touched her shoulder. "Rough morning?"
"I am kissing the floor. What do you think?"
His breath exhaled in a soft chuckle. "Right. Well, we were worried about you."
"We?"
Gryffindor was not what he spoke of. They'd written her off three months ago when they turned to Ronald's gang of bullies rather than house mates.
It was kind enough for Harry to try.
"The class. Professor Quirrell wanted to ensure you were well," Harry explained. "I was elected as an unbiased party to do the welfare check. I know how you feel about elected positions. Got to help me complete my task, eh?"
His fingers poked her side.
She shook her head. "If I leave this floor, I'm going to coat it with bile."
"Oh."
The light overpowered her sense to gaze at him. She shuttered them back to darkness where it eased her mind.
Harry's presence was a strange feeling. It summoned joy and sadness all at once. His absence in her life was a huge void that she wished hadn't been needed to be refilled. What ached her heart worse was that it was. He'd been replaced in her heart. Now, she could not imagine a life without her Slytherin friends.
It was not his fault that Ron was his best friend. They put him in an awkward position from the beginning. That did not diminish the hurt of his choice at Ron's side rather than hers.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" He asked. "I'm here. Might as well do something."
She detested using people for her benefit. It was not fair to interact if she was not giving anything back.
The ache in the back of her throat convinced her to change the policy. "The goblet on the bedside table. Bring it to me, please. I've lost all my hydration in the toilet, you see."
"Of course," he said.
He placed the goblet next to her face. "Is this okay?"
She nodded. "Thank you. I tried to get it earlier, but this is all the farther I got."
"Where did you start?"
"Here." She tapped a section of floor only an arm's length away. "It was a struggle."
His nostrils exhaled. "Bullocks. You've really found yourself in the shite, haven't you?"
"Welcome to the shite." She extended both her arms in a sarcastic 'Ta Da!' gesture, complete with fluttering fingers.
Shite did describe the way she felt. Her body was filled with it. Shite, all over.
It was a lonely place to be. Alone on the floor likely coated in vomit, half dressed in uniform with lime green spandex trousers on.
"Ron wanted to come see you," Harry said; his tone too hopeful. Ronald Weasley was the last wizard on Earth she wanted to see. "Draco, too. Though I suspect you knew that." She was silent. Her breath locked in her chest. "They drew their wands for the fight for it. Shouting. Swearing. It was all very dramatic. You know Quirrell. He got all flustered, so his stutter acted up. Couldn't get out a word for a full five minutes. Then Draco and Ron went at it again. It was a whole scene…So, I got appointed as the designated Hermione checker."
Draco should fight Ron for the right. He should have fought Harry for the right. Neither were her friends. The Slytherin was the only one to show kindness in her time of need.
Oh, and he assumed the role of father to the unborn child. He should have been first in line.
"Yes, well. Job well done. I'm peachy keen."
"Is that what you want me to tell everyone?"
She nodded. "Yes. Because that's what I am."
"Okay," he said. "As you wish."
He rose to standing. She felt his presence rise high above her head. The sound of his retreating footsteps, a chorus of angels to her ears.
She wanted to roll in agony. The names of Ron and Harry left behind her, where nothing mattered. A life of stupid Gryffindor pride and blazing boldness coupled with nothing but emptiness. She hadn't been lonely at their breakup. She'd been lonely the whole time. It was freedom that scared her. Not their absence.
The long creak of the door was the edge of freedom now. Freedom from his upsetting words. The bloody nerve, mentioning that wizard to her.
"For what it is worth, Hermione. I am sorry. I never wanted part of it all."
That was the last thing she remembered until the door opened back up. Direct light no longer blared against her face. It had to be late morning. She must have drifted asleep, again.
Confident strides tapped against her floors. She felt them round her bed and stopped when the threshold of the loo came into view.
"Salazar. Granger." Things were tossed atop her bedspread with a thud. A pair of hands touched her shoulders. "Are you alright? What are you doing in hot pants?"
"Resting," she answered. "What are you doing?"
"How long have you been down here?"
She thought a moment. What time was it even?
"I wake up at six thirty every morning."
His voice changed from concerned to irritated. "You were like this when Potter checked on you? Is he the only wizard born without a bleeding backbone?"
Draco helped Hermione collect herself for life above the ground level. Her mind swirled. Elevation a sudden high.
Her headache was gone. As was her nausea. Now all she felt was unstoppable hunger. Seething need for food.
"Did he at least help you do something?" He set her atop her mattress. The fluffy duvet welcomed her home. She slid her legs through the silky chill, suddenly happy to meld through the softness into her own cloud. "I knew I should have demanded harder. But that blathering professor hates my voice. It scares him into stutters."
"He brought me water," she answered. "And that's because the only time you speak to him is to disagree. You look so angry when you do that."
He handed over the clear goblet. "My hero. The fabulous Harry Potter can fetch water. So glad it wasn't too heavy for him." He scowled. "I can't control my disagreements. Sometimes he is misinformed."
"I think it is because you do not say anything else the entire class. Silent unless provoked." The cool water relieved the dry tissues of her mouth. A lackadaisical tongue laid like a beached whale in her jaw, dry and useless. Water splashed it back alive. "I couldn't even move from the floor without vomiting. What would you have done? Given me water and told me to rest, right?"
A wrinkle of disapproval reappeared atop his nose. "No. I'd have fetched Professor Snape for a better potion than that silly old Pomphrey is giving you. Those things haven't worked once."
There was a tray with a bag of ginger crisps and a sandwich. He handed them over.
Her stomach demanded them immediately.
"Besides, I can't just toss my thoughts out there for everyone to hear."
"Well why not?" She groaned in pure delight as swiss cheese coated her taste buds in such goodness that her eyes rolled back into her head. "I could eat five of these."
"It's not easy to do," he answered.
"You do it just fine with me."
"That's different."
"But why?"
All her life she had written off sandwiches as basic flavors more convenient than tasty, but as the fluffy wheat bread melted with layers of cheese and sliced ham and a slice of tomato, she was in raptures at its beauty. It was exactly what she needed. And she needed more.
Her eyes flittered back to the tray. There was another bundled sandwich.
The violent growling of her belly caught Draco's ear. The other sandwich tossed into her open hands.
"We're friends. We're comfortable," he explained. "I don't know the entire class like that."
She paused. "Draco, you've spoken easily to me since we started talking. You invited yourself into my comfort, actually. Did not seem so difficult, then, did it?"
Draco curled one leg atop the bottom right corner of the bed, back against the column that supported the canopy above. His hair was tousled. Devil-may-care way. It was cute. He kept himself buttoned-up, formal, proper, shoes shined every morning type of hygiene, but those teased, faux messy locks were to die for.
His hands tapped at his knee as she inhaled every last piece of food he'd brought. "Well, maybe I just knew that I'd be comfortable with you. Perhaps, from afar, over the course of years, I believed that our compatibility might make you an easy associate to associate with."
"No need to tease me, Draco."
"What if I'm not teasing?" His gaze was hesitant to find hers. She tried. She poured her desire to look at him into everything she had with her amber brown eyes with the hopes it might overcome his resistance. "What if I'm being honest?"
"That would mean you've watched me for years," she said.
"Perhaps."
Anxious was one thing that Draco was not. He did not fidget or express energy without purpose. The slight shaking of his leg, the tapping of his fingers against his knee, and the obsession with brushing off invisible dirt went against his charted behavior.
And she knew it was not typical. She studied him. When they were together, when her mind was not bent over a gross toilet bowl expelling the day's punishment, she examined the subtly of his behavior.
It was all with good purpose. If he was to be the father of her child, she had to know him. Intimately. His likes and dislikes. The way he responded to stress, how he felt about things, what he would pass on. It was of great interest to uncover as much as she could before the birth.
"In regard to what?" Her forehead wrinkled as she pondered. "Top marks. Because I was your competition."
He snorted. "No. Not our grades."
"Then what?"
Their eyes finally joined together, swirling in deep concentration at the others expression. She felt the warmth of his appraisal spread down her cheeks throughout the rest of her flesh. A strong emotion filtered through his gaze onto her.
It was tangible between them. A sweet lure to one another. Her fingers longed to raise from the fluffy down of the duvet to feel that sensation at its source.
She'd thought he was on the verge of words. His breath finally exhaled from the bottom of his chest ripe with response.
A sudden knock at the door stole the air of his words. He hopped to his feet.
"Better not be that bloody Potter back for a refill," he mumbled.
The door swung open. Standing in the threshold was an emerald cloaked witch with a pointed nose and small glasses around her neck. Her lips flexed in a taut, pale line as Draco met her gaze.
"Mister Malfoy," Professor McGonagall greeted. Her boots clicked against the floor as she entered. "You missed your morning lectures, Miss Granger."
"I know, professor. I'm sorry. My morning sickness was awful," she explained. Her hands pulled the cover higher up her hips. Being half dressed in pajama trousers under the pressing eye of a witch was not ideal. "I could not do anything but lay on the floor."
The door latched closed. Draco remained standing, quiet. He watched the witch traverse the room as she inspected.
"Madame Pomphrey assigned a potion to ease your stomach. Did you take it?"
She ran her fingers through her curls as a makeshift comb. "I did. It still didn't help. I need something different. More potent."
"Is that what you believe, Mister Malfoy?" The gaze turned to the blonde.
He nodded. "She missed class, professor. Hermione wouldn't miss a class if she was missing a leg. I'd say something should be done. Even if it means having each professor teach her individually."
The elderly witch gave a soft, surprised chuckle. "Oh, Mister Malfoy. That won't be necessary. There is no reason Miss Granger should be sequestered away to this room for the duration of her pregnancy. These are not medieval times. Witches are not set alight with flames to cleanse the soul or whipped at a town square." She turned to address Hermione next. "We shall talk to Severus. His talented hand at Potions will aid us in a cure for this illness for as long as it lasts. I trust you can find your way to his office?"
"I can help, professor."
"Correct me if I am wrong, but Slytherin has the Pitch booked today for practice, do they not?" She folded her hands together. "As Seeker, you'll be expected to be alongside your teammates."
"Hermione needs me," Draco said.
"To what? Find a professors office? Is she not a grown woman with two legs of her own?" She shooed the wizard toward the door. "Miss Granger will have it perfectly handled in your absence. Must hop along. Wouldn't want to miss that practice if you're to have any chance against Gryffindor."
It was no secret that Professor McGonagall was serious about Quidditch. She prided herself on the house team she managed. Angelina Johnson was a prodigy of the professor, whom played in a number of tournaments back in her day. Together, they crafted a practice plan that set the team apart. Harry Potter sealed their team with an unstoppable line. Even Ron held a position as Keeper. Not that he was much good.
Draco Malfoy's face fell to a foul expression as he opened the door. His resistance clear through his actions. He did not want to leave.
He did, however, with the abrupt closure of the suite door at the hand of Professor McGonagall.
"Miss Granger, I've been meaning to speak with you privately," the woman said. Her face lost all tension. "Forgive my brush with Mister Malfoy, but he is impossible to stop once he's set, isn't he?"
Hermione agreed. "He does not give up easily."
"Does that trickle into other aspects of your assumed relationship?"
It was a curious thing to say to a person. As was the strange cloud of tension between them. Her words tightened the air with an understated implication that was beyond Hermione's thoughts.
The brunette shook her head. "I don't understand."
Long robes of emerald velvet trailed the witch's boots. "What I mean to say is, has this child been conceived in such an occurrence of his focus? The inability to take no as an answer."
Her jaw dropped. She couldn't believe what she heard.
"Professor!" She gasped. "I – I can't believe you'd - ."
"Just answer the question, my dear."
"How can I? You think he raped me!"
"Please understand my intention. It was not to be insensitive. I am fond of Mister Malfoy myself, but certain facts cannot be ignored," McGonagall said. "A wizard like that comes with a hefty price, so many witches are willing to pay. Looks are not everything, Miss Granger. A wizard's substance is tenfold compared to wealth and allure. I cannot help but be skeptical over a connection between the pair of you. Do you understand?"
A flicker of black caught Hermione's eye. It was just outside her window. The fluttering of fabric in the wind, like a cloak. Draco's cloak!
The professor should have known that a Slytherin like Draco would find his own way.
She kept her breathing normal, as her lungs overfilled with excitement that he came back.
"I don't," Hermione admitted with a burning need for vengence. "We are both matched in intelligence and skill. We are respectful. His family may have money here, but my parents aren't poor by any means either. We both are from good stock as far as that is concerned."
"Now, now. We are only conversing. About safety. Safety of you and the baby."
She blinked fast. "If you think Draco would hurt either one of us, you're wrong."
It was obvious that the professor crossed a line. Hermione's tone implied it. She was firm in resolve that Draco was not the wizard he appeared to be, even by her own assumption of years prior. He was kind, quiet, and loyal.
The playboy wizard reputation did not fit him well now that she knew him closely. He held witches in high regard. Love mattered. Respect and dignity, too. His family raised him a gentleman. Not one thing would cause him to toss any of those things aside.
It was deplorable a teacher would buy in to those stereotypes about a student! Unbelievable.
The elder witch sensed the change in the air. She put out her arms as if to steady the crumbling foundation of their relationship.
"There have been things said regarding this pregnancy," she explained.
"Like what?"
"You wanted a termination, for one." Her back aligned straight, as if the high ground was suddenly hers. As if Hermione would crumble to begging forgiveness for doubting her. "Who else but Mister Malfoy would spread such viscous lies?"
Of course, the staff heard those. Why wouldn't they? Ron had ensured her entire image was ruined through every means possible.
She sighed, defeated by the reach of a private thought in personal confidence with who she assumed was a dear friend. "It isn't a lie. I wanted to terminate. And Draco didn't tell anyone that. Ron did. He was angry at me for breaking up with him and he set to say whatever he wanted to hurt me."
The wind beneath the professor's sails died to a calm. There were no words that seemed to emerge.
It was a chance to look out the window. Hermione stole a glance. There was the very end of a broomstick in view and the hem of a black cloak. He was still there.
She bit back a smile of excitement.
"If you don't mind, professor." She looked at the door. "I'd like to dress and find Professor Snape."
"Of course." The professor nodded.
It was agony to watch how slow she left. Literal needles were under her nails as she waited for the door to latch closed, finally free of the probing gaze.
Hermione's feet hit the floor and rushed to the window. There were two panes of glass latched in the center with little brass hooks. They flew open with a gust of wind.
"She could have seen you."
He smirked. "Who's to say I'm not practicing?"
"Your face pressed against the glass does," she retorted.
The icy breeze brushed against her cheeks, stinging the warmth away. It was a brisk reminder of the pending change of the weather. Days were no longer illuminated with glowing light for hours. Clouds rolled in. The sun was an absent face in the blinding chill.
Death was a gloomy passing. The country died as frost encroached the lands with its white, spiky spread.
Soon enough, the atmosphere would be uninhabitable. Their lives would be contained to the dense stone walls.
"The snitch might've flown in." A surge of air brushed his broom against the wall. He quickly regained control. "Are you going to let me in or not?"
"You have practice," she stated.
"You need medicine."
"You have obligations." The brow arched up a magnificent height.
Draco climbed through the sill. The entire length of his broom followed.
His Quidditch uniform was a handsome bright green. "You are one of those obligations."
Her crossed her arms. "The team should be whole when they practice. You're a part of the team…you should be there."
"I can walk you quick," he said. "I'd hate to appear flippant with your pregnancy. Doesn't shine a favorable light down on me, does it?"
She smiled. "Honestly. I can manage a walk that far, don't you think?" Her fingers brushed through the flowing fabric of his Quidditch cloak. It flowed through her fingers. So soft, elegant, dainty. "You've poured on the importance of personal responsibility rather thick with McGonagall. I'd say that the commitment to the team is considered one of those, and you know how Professor Snape feels about Slytherin team."
It was friendly competition between the opposing head of houses. Professor Snape coached his team hard. Professor McGonagall forced her team harder. Then extra Slytherin practices were called. More Gryffindor ones then, too. Early morning, mid-day, evening, midnight practices, sometimes. It was a wildly inappropriate misuse of the study body to force them so fully at the sacrifice of their studies.
Draco Malfoy was one of the best Quidditch players. It was what started his popularity in the front place.
A grin split his face. "Bested by the best, as always. Don't you ever quit with it, Granger?"
"Hey now. I thought we agreed we'd treat each other as equals. You are the smartest wizard and I am the smartest witch."
"It is a wonder how we didn't get together sooner."
The response to that was immediate blush. It stole from the mature facade she had for herself when she blushed like a schoolgirl at the slightest bit of attention of a wizard. The pink spread across her flesh burned and forced her eyes to her hands.
She withdrew the fingering of his cloak for twirling the edges of her hair. At least her curls could not get any worse. Of course, nothing else of hers could either. There were a few blemishes on her chin that shined a spotlight for everyone to see. The lack of color gave her flesh a rather dull, yet sweaty sheen.
Draco's constant support left little mystique to cultivate. He watched her vomit face-first in a toilet. There was no recovering allure from that unseemly situation.
"Alright." He sighed in defeat. "See you at supper?"
"Sure, yeah."
He hesitated. "Are you busy afterward?"
She thought for a moment. "I think I'll study in the library unless - ."
"It's a date." His lips curled deviously. "In the library."
By the time he'd climbed to the window ledge, jumped on his broom and raced out of sight to the Pitch, the smile still hadn't faded from her face.
His sharp tongue was charming when it wasn't poised to taunt and tease, although he did a fair amount of it. Playfully. It was his humor. He liked to tease and be teased back. It was the sharp look in his eye that gave him a twisted reputation of being a prat.
That part of him emerged around others, ones that were not within his close circle, often times rambunctious Gryffindors whose mouths ran faster than their brains, that only encouraged whip fast comments. It was not her place to correct him. He was his own wizard. She just frowned and slid away. The absence at his side abandoned his interest in the exchange and had him searching for her rather than hissing at them.
Hermione dressed in a fresh uniform. She wore knee-high stockings, a flowy skirt, the white blouse and black jumper with Gryffindor patch overtop. The tie was not at full height. The pressure at her throat brought back feelings of heaving and it made a terrible cycle of events happen.
Professor Snape's office was in the dungeons near the potion's classroom. The Slytherin common room was down there, too. She knew the general vicinity in which it rested. Each house's common room entrance was only privileged to those in that house as was the password. No other student was privy to the information.
She found the worn wood door framed by two large torches flowing with frantic orange flames. Her hand knocked against the wood. A sad echo reverberated behind.
The dungeons near the classrooms were tainted with the thick scent of chemicals, burning. All the fumes of convoluted potions made a sharp stink within the rooms. Farther away, toward the common room and Professor Snape's office was given a surprising crisp smell that she liked. Wreaths of woven herbs were displayed upon doors. One hanged above the office door.
Green leaves of eucalyptus and dried lime rinds. There were a few mint leaves to complete their layers of greenery. It crafted a lovely layer to the frigid air of the lower floors of the castle. Nothing like she expected of a dungeon.
Professor Snape opened the door with a realm of black. She was welcomed inside the office with a cloud of silence.
The room was dark. The lack of windows gave a dense layer of black almost impenetrable to the human eye.
One wall was lined with bottles upon bottles. Ancient vials and elixir bottles coated in melted wax and glittery residue from their spent contents.
The desk was both unimpressive and covered in trinkets, papers, notes, open notebooks with scribbles of his precise, thin handwriting. There was a vial bottle filled with half-broken quill feathers. It was a wonder how he got a thing done on that desk.
She inhaled a long breath. It was warm. Really warm. Her hands released the tight hug of herself.
A Slytherin banner was displayed proudly on the wall behind his chair. He took his place right before it. He did not sit, but stand, a figure above her head in the eyes of judgement. The depth of his look brought forth the memory of what it was to be taken aback.
She held her chin high with the hopes it might leech into her insides. They were not so proud of her. Rather they quaked like the clatter of teeth on a cold morning.
"Sir I -."
"No need to elaborate." His voice drawled. "I know why you are here."
"You do?"
"I am not so blind as to disregard the obvious in my students, even if their private lives are their own to lead with as they please. I do, however, find myself privy to their secrets as you youths are often incapable of disguising."
She blinked back her sadness with a fluttering of her eyelashes. It was the worst blow to have bene given. That backhanded comment as to her stupidity.
Her lips threatened a quiver. All her strength focused to keeping them still.
"Intelligence does not breed wisdom, I'm afraid," she answered.
"That it does not."
It was at that she was given a few bottles of various colored potion and instructed to trial a collection of color at a time. He needed to know the efficacy of each brew to determine what was best for her.
Words were jilted. He could not wait to be rid of her. She was ushered out the door not a moment later, only a brisk goodbye in their parting.
The vials were awkward. They bounced in her arms, clinking loudly with warning of their fragility. Her arms were too full to shift even a single bottle.
Hogwarts corridors were barren. Classrooms locked in their disuse.
Any attempt at setting the potions down would be answered with an applause of shattering glass. No, she had to suffer through climbing stair after stair with the faint hope her potions would be intact for use. Her arms trembled. The glasses clinked together like a shiver of fear through their bodies.
Near the third floor, the weight doubled in an instant. Her grasp on the vials faltered. One dipped away from her hold and tucked against her stomach near another one. Her fingers spread in a lame attempt to grasp a bottle farther than a centimeter away.
"Looks like you've got a full load."
The voice turned her blood cold. She felt the tension build inside. His close proximity, the smell of his spearmint breath near her cheek, it all brought back emotions she buried months ago. Anger and despair.
Mostly anger.
"Need a hand?" He asked.
"No."
"Don't be like that. Let me help you," Ron said. His hands slid down her arms.
Hermione took two steps back. "I don't need your help."
"What, if it isn't Slytherin or blonde, you don't want it touching you?" The quick emergence of his snarl did little to scare her. He was all bark. His bite was less than that of a fly.
It was wrong to let it feed into the fury that filled her.
"Yes. Precisely."
The dip of his red eyebrows only encouraged her forward, knowing he was angry now. It was about time. She had only been furious for months now. He should join in the fun.
His hands shoved into his pockets. "So what, you're shagging Malfoy now?"
Her arms had not forgotten the weight of the potions. They begged for rest. She started toward her new suite even though she had gotten herself a red-headed leech to stick to her side through the journey.
"That's none of your business," she snapped.
"The slick git gets his kicks on expecting witches, does he?" He scoffed. "Knew something wasn't right about him."
The subtle slide of jealousy in his voice let slip his inner upset.
He hadn't found her because of his feelings for her; he only wanted to best Draco.
"Why wouldn't he get his kicks with the witch who's carrying his child?"
"Come again?" He exclaimed.
She sniffed in distaste. "You heard me."
A strong hand gripped her bicep. The tremble of glass upon glass split through her ears as she was wretched away from the middle of the corridor into a small path toward a forgotten stair. It was empty. Out of sight. Her heart sped with fury. Eyes widened in fear. The look on his face was that of utter hatred.
She glanced at the entrance to her suite. It was so close. He couldn't know that she lived there. Who knew what he'd do in the dead of night?
The grip tightened. Her muscles squeezed between his fingers, the flesh bulged, and tears sprang to her eyes as Ron held her in a locked grip.
"No matter what he's got you thinking now, he won't want to keep you. He'll use you. Throw you out like the bit of rubbish you are," Ron said. "The only one willing to deal with your mess is me. Not him. He's just using you for a pound of flesh."
Her jaw dislodged from the pain. She winced. A few tears trickled from the corners of her eyes.
"I. Am. Carrying. His. Child."
It only egged him farther. "You're a slag and a liar. I know you've only laid with me. The way you whimpered and cried. So pathetic. No wizard would come back to that."
The pain in their shag was not one she liked to remember. The way he shuddered atop her, blood dripped from between her legs, the only lubrication to his cock inside her. She'd cried out the entire time. Every time it was met with "Shh, shh. Almost done. Almost done. Don't cry like that. It's going to take longer if you keep looking at me like that. Enjoy it. Feels good, doesn't it?"
She blinked the memory away through her tears. Her eyelashes were wet enough to see them. Their black lined Ron's face as she stared with the pure disgust and horror she felt.
How had she ever been so blind as to love a wizard like that?
"I faked it." It was said through gritted teeth. "I whimpered to keep from screaming out for him."
"You liar!"
"You cheated first. Remember? With Lavender. So I found the one wizard you'd hate most of all and shagged him first."
Godric. The blood was absent from her arm. She lost all feeling. The potions might rain to the ground in shards of glass any minute.
Ron's eyes narrowed to slits of loathing. "You're lying."
"I am not. It's Draco child with whom I carry. Not yours. It is his seed that buried itself inside me, under the slough of filth you pumped into me like a corpse, without concern or care. I carry the next heir of Malfoy house. And you? You'll die alone, in a rotten shack."
The grip got harder. It was almost to the bone.
All the flesh of her arm was bulged between his fingers. "Then why keep the bastard? Why try and convince me it was mine instead of your beloved Malfoy?"
She couldn't stand the pain. It burned. So deep. Deep inside her belly, the pain swirled to rage. All it wanted was him away. Gone. Before she dug out her full womb and bludgeoned him with it.
Her lips twisted to a cruel smile. "I thought it might be nice to have you raise a child that wasn't made of your same filthy stock. Father a baby that would achieve great things despite all your attempts to ruin it with your love."
His other hand raised above his head. A clear look of murder in his eye, proof that what she'd said had done what she wanted.
It was a perverse revenge, but it tasted good.
"You little bit-."
"Hermione?" A voice sounded from behind her back. "Hey. Let go of her!"
An ebony bob bounced into view. She was at Hermione's side, face slumped in concern and displeasure. The look of disgust poured from her dark eyes.
Her hand shoved Ron back against the wall. "Get your hands off her. Who do you think you are?"
Two more witches were there. Their presence on either side of Hermione's back. One had woven blonde hair twisted in two knots off the sides of her head; the other was a bigger girl with a hand on her hip, caramel-hued hair in gentle waves down her chest. Each wore a familiar badge of silver and green. A serpent bared face at their chest.
Their wands were not drawn. They must have known Ron Weasley was easy enough to conquer without the threat of magic.
"Shove off. This is between her and me," Ron snapped.
"Is that true?" She asked Hermione. Their dark hued eyes met in a moment of familiarity neither had expressed before.
Hermione shook her head. "N-no. I was trying to leave."
Pansy curled her upper lip. "Looks like your business is done. Leave."
The blue glimmer of his Weasley eyes flashed from one pair of eyes to the others, realizing that they outnumbered him four to one, one of them being the brightest witch of the age with an agitated temper bound to strike hardest. She knew his weak points. Though that wasn't where his vision held. It was with Pansy. She stepped forward in a challenge to his position amongst them.
Ron was flared red, still angry. He had words, nasty ones, primed at the edge of his tongue just ready to shoot at her in revenge. The strong clench in his hand refused to alleviate.
It was by no small stroke of luck that he relented to leave instead.
"Wouldn't want to be seen near a flock of slags like you lot anyway," he mumbled as he left.
Each time he walked away, she felt less and less hurt by what he did. There was to be a time where no matter what came from his mouth, she would forget it in a minute.
She was excited for that day.
The three Slytherin girls stepped back from their tight-knit huddle around her. Fresh air flooded around them. It cleaned the rotten stench of Ron's assault.
Pansy touched Hermione's shoulder. "Did he hurt you?"
"Only a bit," she replied. "It's nothing I can't handle."
Her arms shifted to alleviate the ache in her bicep. The clatter of the potions, she almost forgot were in her arms, scared the other witches.
"Oh!" Pansy said.
"Here, let me help you with those," the blonde said. Her two open arms stretched out in offering.
She blushed. "Oh, um, thanks…"
"I'm Daphne," she said. "This is Millicent."
Hermione nodded. Their names sounded vaguely familiar. They were never formally introduced. A crime in a school as small as they were in. It should have some house mingling that allowed for friendships across house lines. It was hard enough to relate to another person with the hopes of friendship without the monumental divide of ones assumed 'house'.
Other houses were intimidating. They were meant to be. It was a method to divide them with like-minded people to supply certain areas of the muggle England population. Socialites were in Slytherin: money stays money. Gryffindor were the warriors of the Ministry. Ravenclaw was the scholars, academics, researchers, anything that required intelligence. Then came the Hufflepuffs who were the kindly everyday people that made the world a better, wholesome place to live. They were able to assume whatever role they wanted. Happy-go-lucky, comfortable, kind, catch-all house that caught the ones that never fit into one mold or another.
"Here. Let's help get these to your room before they all break," Pansy said.
She transitioned the bottles evenly amongst the girls until they all carried two. It made the trek much easier to the new suite. Hermione mumbled the password and let them inside her private place. They placed the potion on her bedside table and a few in the loo for an easy reach when she needed it. One was placed in a gentle home in her bag as an on-the-go supply.
"I think this used to be a professors chambers," Daphne observed. Her neck craned back at the high ceilings.
Pansy appraised the surroundings with a drastic frown. "The aura is very dark. This room is not a happy one."
"Should ask the house elves to redecorate," Millicent pointed out.
"Draco said he wanted to do that," Hermione answered quietly. "His taste is better than mine."
The leader of their group nodded in agreement. "He has a knack for it. Genetic, you know. His mother is an artist, you know. Talented eye for color."
Draco's mother, Narcissa, was a Black. She was related to Sirius Black, the godfather of Harry Potter. The witch was not present at Grimmauld Place in person, but her likeness was adorned on the blossoming tree of the bloodline tapestry. Draco's face was there, too. Both adorned with locks of brilliant pale blonde. Their eyes matched in silver blue.
It frightened Hermione to know that she would be face-to-face with the witch soon enough. That witch would be the grandmother of her unborn child as the whole world would know it. Draco's mother would take residence within her life. An impressive, beautiful woman.
She tucked her palms safely out of sight. "Really? He's not said."
"Course not." Pansy waved her hand. "The wizard only talks about Quidditch and you. I can hardly get a word in edge-wise about the dated procedures Madame Pomphrey uses in hospital. Did you know some of those potions use actual pieces of creatures? It's barbaric."
Truthfully, Hermione skimmed over every thing else except on snippet.
"Draco talks about me?" Her cheeks flushed. To highlight her excitement for the world to see.
Their friendship was close, becoming closer as the days passed. Feelings started to develop. Not good ones. Lovely ones. The ones she had sworn off when she discovered herself with child. Those feelings!
Whatever happened to chaise as a nun?
The clock clicked above their heads. They all turned as a bird was coughed up from the lungs of the body in a flurry of feathers and rapid chirps. It flew around the room for a minute. Then, just as fast as it emerged, the bird was gone.
"Look at that," Daphne said. "Time for supper."
The witches moved toward the door. They stopped when they noticed she had yet to move from her spot.
"Aren't you coming?" Millicent asked.
Her stomach flipped. They invited her! Sure, she was invited by Draco's extended invitation, but they really asked her to accompany them to the Great Hall for a spot of retching at pungent smells and chugging water in endless succession to keep the hunger from killing her. What a thrill!
It was a nice quiet stroll. The noise of the castle raised the closer they stepped toward the great room.
Draco was near the entrance. Crabbe and Goyle, too. Their eyes scanned the crowd of passerby as Draco leaned against one of the heavy wooden doors, foot against the boards. They were all dressed down to their uniforms. None of them wore a jumper. Just their white shirts with starched collars and loose ties.
When eyes caught from down the corridor, the foot dropped to the floor.
His arm nudged Goyle. "Found her."
The Slytherins folded rank together. Their silent respect for one another a breath of fresh air. Crabbe said
'hello' and told her that there wouldn't be any onions at the table that evening. She replied she was grateful for that. He said he was too. Hearing her gag was not appetizing.
It was a normal routine of where they all sat. Draco in his seat next to her, Crabbe across and Goyle across from Draco. Pansy took a seat at her other side. They shared a soft smile. The witches talked with ease with one another as they chewed on carrot sticks, olives, roasted cauliflower.
"How was practice?" She asked her group.
The boys had a habit of being quiet during meals. It grew her anxiety to reckless heights. Something had to fill the void.
"Wicked." Goyle chuckled. "Draco caught the Snitch in record time. Fastest ever in the house."
Hermione's brows jumped. "Really?" She looked to the wizard at her side. "Congratulations."
He shrugged. "Ah. I always knew I was the best. Now they have proof."
"Of course." She snorted an unladylike snort, just to ensure that she was always to be mortified any available chance.
Draco snickered beneath his breath. It earned him a fatal stuck-out tongue.
"Did you see Professor Snape?" He asked through a died-out chuckle.
Oh…Ron had made her forget the encounter with him entirely. It had to be him. Nothing else would have her minimize that horrid of an interaction with her favorite professor except the absolute disgust of the Weasley, who seemed more like his father every day.
The mention of Snape bittered the food in her mouth. Her fingers dropped a stick of celery. Her plate pushed away.
"Hey," he said quietly. "What is it?"
She stole a breath. "Nothing. I just…it was an awful time after you left."
"Aren't they always?"
The playful tone tried to raise her spirits. It did, a bit.
"He gave me tons of bottles to try. There are over half a dozen potions. All I had to carry back by myself." She sighed out through her nose.
It did not matter. Things were to the point where they cannot change. She was past the point of abortion as an option. It seemed cruel now. Her mind addressed the little thing within her belly sometimes. The entire school knew it was there, too. A termination no longer felt right in her.
She had to face the truth. She chose to lay with a wizard. This was the consequence of it.
Things like professors' opinions of her did not matter. She had to think of nappies and stretch marks and cracked areolas, teething, and money.
Merlin, the worries of money alone would kill her.
There was the question as to her career, and to her residence. All things she was not ready to riddle out. Yet, she had to. Her future was laced together with a child that would depend on her for every little whim, every ounce of food and love and support. None of which she had experience providing.
Constructive criticism? Yes. Realistic mindsets? Also, yes. Unconditional love and full fledged self-sacrifice? NO. Big no.
Not that Draco was concerned. He was laidback about the whole situation. Amused, even.
"They better work better than those other ones," he said. "What was it they were giving you before, goblin piss? If anything, they made you sick more. I should have made one myself."
Perhaps now wasn't the time to worry. Things were early. Her friendship with Draco was ripening.
There was loads of time for the panic.
Draco had a gift to ease her woes. She felt comfort seep through her veins despite all the questions of what laid in wait down the road. The relaxation of his calm, the serene of the Slytherins, the lightening of her humiliation, it all was better than before.
She stuck her tongue in her cheek. "The last thing you made is the cause of the problem. So perhaps leave it to experts?"
It was the first time she joked about her pregnancy.
The truth was that she never mentioned it around others. They assumed. Or, they knew from the guess work of the school's announcement. She was in the family way with another student's child. Not a word escaped her lips to confirm it.
A tiny voice in her head forced her lips closed when they wanted to. It was a brag to say Draco Malfoy impregnated her. Still, that tiny voice thought better of it. Draco was better off without a baby on his arm or a witch like her to tend to. Any day the news would hit him at the back of the head: he was too young to be a father. What then? The brand of a lying whore tattooed to her for all eternity.
No. One day Draco would abandon her. The feelings for him as inconsequential as she was.
As for now, he was there for her. Happy. Smiling, really. He liked to smile around her. More so when they were alone, but it was clear that he was happy.
"Here, here. I concede," he said, a bit of puff in his chest.
The two wizards across from them were not shocked by it. She guessed they'd been told, by Draco, that Hermione and he were expecting… Not that they were stupid. Their ears listened. She saw the perky nature when something was said. Their eyes focused down at their plates, but the twitch to their ears took on full life.
Crabbe gave a shrug to his shoulders. "Snape is better anyhow."
"Bet he was reamed good by McGonagall today. By the look she had for him on the Pitch today…" Goyle chuckled. His shoulder shoved into his friends' side playfully. The amusement shined through on their faces. "He's going to kill you at next practice."
Hermione dipped a corner of her mouth low. "How do you mean?"
She did not want to be the reason he was punished.
"Don't worry about it. They're joking," Draco said casually.
She doubted the assessment as she had just had a cold interaction with the professor earlier that day. The topic was dropped. She had happy to see it go. Professor Snape did not conjure prideful memories at the moment.
The group moved on to more important topics of discussion now that the news was exchanged between friends and Hermione. Crabbe asked if Professor McGonagall had said what would happen.
"I told you this morning that we didn't know," Draco said with a hint of annoyance.
Goyle shrugged. "Maybe they told her something they didn't tell you."
Hermione shook her head. "They haven't said anything. Not a word. I think they have to bring it up to the Board of Governors since I'm muggleborn. I can't be absent from school or they'll…you know. So I guess they have to make decisions as to what will happen."
"Stroke of luck there," Pansy suddenly leaned in from her own atmosphere with Daphne and Millicent to add in her thoughts. Proof that the Slytherins listened rather closely, and made little comment, while Gryffindors were the opposite. "Draco's father is on the Board."
He sat higher in his seat. A glimmer of pride throughout his stoic face.
"That's right," he confirmed. "My father won't hear of anything but the best."
Her hands below the table, she tapped them against her knee to keep from giddy dancing. All her worries focused on her memories being wiped clean. Muggleborns and their muggle parents were told over and over that if any of them went against their rules, all their memories would be gone. It was a frightful experience. All that Hermione had found would disappear. Draco, Hogwarts, knowledge, poof!
She refused to let her breath give her away. Calculated breaths took turns. In through the nose. Out through her mouth. "That wouldn't be a conflict of interest, would it?"
"Don't worry, Hermione. You can trust a Malfoy to pull through for their own." Pansy patted her arm.
Hermione winced. "Oh," she muttered lowly.
"Oh, bullocks. I'm sorry. Right in the same spot. Does it still hurt?"
"Does what still hurt?" Goyle asked.
The father of her child – which she had to start considering Draco no matter how unbelievable it still was – was curious, too. He leaned closer, trying to x-ray his vision through the fabric of the blouse to see what Pansy meant, an invisible injury he wasn't told of.
"What's she talking about?" He asked.
She waved dismissively. "Oh, nothing. Ron just reminded me of why he is a tosser."
"Ron." Draco's voice echoed below his breath.
"It was easy enough to scare him off. It only took Milly, Daph and I to convince him. We didn't even have our wands out."
His ice grey eyes flew across the room. The table of red was littered with the ranks of her former house. A section was noticeably absent. Their meals already finished, Harry, Seamus, Dean, and Ron were elsewhere in the castle.
Wizards were possessed by strange emotions. Often it was against other wizards.
Draco rose to his feet, as did Crabbe and Goyle.
"Bastard," Crabbe muttered.
"A woman in her condition," Goyle finished, as if he didn't believe it. "To put hands on her."
Her jaw dropped. "What are you doing? Draco. Draco! Where are you going?"
He stooped low to give her cheek a kiss. "I'll find you, alright?"
The entire Great Hall seemed to notice the commotion. All their eyes watched the intimate moment between them with a tender kiss and her pleading he stay.
He did not. He left. For an entire hour he was gone, missing, presumably in a duel with Ron over some stupid nonsense.
Hermione was a nervous wreck in the library. She was in her secret alcove between the aisles. Her feet paced each length of the room as she waited.
Time ticked by slowly. She wanted to hex the clock for being so slow.
Finally, a noise splintered the dead still of that side of the library. It moved through forgotten aisles. The swishing sound of luxurious trousers as they rubbed against a satchel off one shoulder.
She threw her arms around his neck when he came through. A rush of breath now in her lungs.
In his hands were a bag of ginger crisps.
"Thought I'd have to come and plead to be taken back," he said. "Even had a bribe and everything."
"I'll take the bribe because I am starving. The baby is refusing anything with the slightest bit of taste to remain inside my belly." Her hand snatched the crisps from his grasp. She plopped into one of the chairs to devour the entire bag.
Draco took the matching chair across from her. His shoes touched the tip of hers on the floor. He stared at them for a while.
She allowed the silence to fill. It gave her time to think.
What should she say? It was his right to do as he pleased. He was his own man. If he wanted to fight Ron, he could. She hated that it was done in her name. Sure, Ron hurt her. Deeply. That should not impact his behavior.
They agreed to raise the baby together. He took over Ron's role and supported her throughout the struggles of growing a new human. That was the agreement.
He did not have to protect her. There was nothing that she demanded he assume the role of boyfriend. It was discussed for his parents to appear to be dating, but that was not necessary in school walls. Friends was more than adequate.
"I think we should talk." His words were soft. Quiet.
Again, his leg bounced. His hand was tucked out of sight, but she noticed movement. The nervous energy was back.
Apprehension leeched through her confidence. "Sure. Yeah."
Then it was so sudden. A slap in the face, punch to the gut, a blinding shock.
"Do you love him?" He asked her.
She choked on her own breath. "What? Do I love who? Ron? No. Godric, no."
"Are you certain there are no feelings between you?"
"Sure, there are feelings. Regret, hatred, loathing." Just the mention of his name awakened the fatal want for him to suffer. "I have all those for him. Not one is positive."
He ran a swift hand through his hair as he leaned back in his seat. A sharp exhale escaped his nose.
"Then why didn't you tell me about him? I mean, I feel like that is something I should know."
His eyes remained at the floor where their shoes were. She leaned forward, probing, wishing, wanting his eyes to find hers. The force of control over his tone left her with little clue to what he felt.
She swallowed. Her stomach knotted over and over. It twisted and churned. Tension shattered the comfort that resided between them to a vacuum. Nothing brought relief. Just pressure, harder and harder.
"I-i-I didn't think it would matter. He was being awful like always. It didn't have anything to do with the baby," she explained.
"It had to do with you," he snapped back. "It had to do with you."
Her head nodded. It was all she knew to do.
"You're right. It did."
"I thought we were -." He then stopped. The shake of his head was low.
She reached out through the space between them, through the shards of distance and the dead air, to gently touch his knee. "Talk to me, Draco."
A heat spread across her face. His eyes raised from their lowly daze to greet her face with tension.
"It was my understanding that you liked me."
"I do like you! Very much."
"Then let me be apart of your life," he said. "Tell me things. Like when your ex-boyfriend tries to hurt you. That I'd like to know. What if he hurt the baby? What if he hurt you? You're both my responsibility now. Both of you."
There was a drastic pause. It was filled with nothing the sounds of their breaths, an ambiance within their hidden, secret place.
"I don't just want to be daddy on the weekends. Not when we could be something better than that."
She blinked back her emotions that threatened to casually spill from her eyes. "I wasn't certain you'd want to stay."
"Well, now you are."
A/N: Thanks for all the comments and reviews. It was largely helpful. I appreciate it! I wasn't sure about this fic when I started. It was just a way to conjure up some inspiration from my other fics because I have been plum out of it for my WIPs…It seems that either you loved it or hated it. So I am not certain how that reads out. However, I do have parts already written that might add to the story and help those who hated it dislike it less. Either way, I'm grateful for the time spent on reading this. You're awesome. Thanks so much.