Part X
"Professor Snape." A strawberry blonde witch raised her hand.
The professor paused the writing on the chalkboard behind him. The smudges of white powder against his fingertips. He looked away to stare, wide eyed, at the student who dared interrupt his class. Mid-sentence, no less.
When the hand did not go away, he was forced to address it.
"What, Miss Brown, is so imperative that you must speak during the instructions of a very unstable potion?"
The witch did not show shame nor hesitation in answer. "I have a note from Professor McGonagall that dismisses me from the brewing of potions, seeing as fumes could be harmful for the wee wain. I don't know if you've been told, sir, but I am in the family way."
The note fluttered from her palm into his hand. He refused to expand his grip. The paper crinkled. It fought to enter his fist.
His deathly stare did not diminish the Gryffindor witch expectation to be acknowledged. He sighed heavily.
The professor scanned through the written note within his hand.
"I've been made aware of the fact," he grumbled as it was tucked away. It was becoming a great inconvenience for the aged professor to withstand the underage pregnant witches in his class. "Very well. You are excused from this brewing day."
There was pride in Lavender's eye as she packed her supplies. Her brand-new cauldron, meant to be a fixture rather than a tool for the rest of the year.
Ron grimaced as she slid her things toward him. He tucked them underneath his rested arm.
There was a distinct look of envy through her peers as she strolled toward the back of the class.
A sharp edge came to the professor's dark eyes.
"However," his throat suddenly purred. "In lieu of brewing, seeing as the risk to your child's development is under concern, an essay of two full parchment rolls will be due on my desk by the end of each day that is missed."
Her pace froze. The cheer drained from her face.
Two black flowy sleeves joined together when his hands met in their satisfaction at the pure devastation in his student's face.
She thought she got off free of work. A pathetic note from another professor.
Hermione smirked from her seat alongside Draco. Had Lavender took a minute to consider what kind of man she dealt with, she might have saw the error of trying to undermine a professor's authority in his own classroom.
"Today's topic shall be genetics," Professor Snape drawled. "Particularly how a parent's intellect effects their offspring's. The passage of traits from one generation to the next. A keen focus should be placed upon intellect, personality and disorders that may be inherited. A wise topic for any witch intent to become a mother, especially before the choice of father is made."
Lavender stifled a groan as she grabbed her satchel from Ron. It must have had her inkwells and parchment rolls. She clearly missed the insult hidden within the professor's assignment.
A stick of white chalk was displayed against a darkened board. It pressed against, ready to begin writing, in wait of Lavender's departure.
"A parting word, Miss Brown."
Though she frowned, she turned around. "Sir?"
"Miss Granger completed all of her classes while expecting herself. Including potions. It stands to reason that a witch as bright and intelligent as Miss Granger would know what risks the production of a healthy fetus. A young witch like yourself would do well to follow in her steps if you wish to succeed in this castle."
The Gryffindor witch turned red in her departure, a blinding blush of embarrassment and anger. She casted a nasty look up at the head of the class where said witch sat, slightly destroyed by the professor's admiration when all she felt was unsteady in her new role as mother along with Head Girl and student.
'Barely kept head above water' was not the pedestal she yearned to stand on for others to observe.
Most of the Hufflepuffs frowned. Few spare students didn't, but it was for lack of interest. They were stuck in note taking to notice a thing.
Gryffindor was split; Lavender's friends were upset at the shame. The rest of the house knew Lavender well enough that it was humorous to have her put into place. Her head had gotten frightfully large since being impregnated. The Weasley matron ensured that the witch was catered to the upmost. A fact that haunted the edges of Ron's eyes.
Hermione found herself almost – almost – sad for him.
Karma did well. Too well.
The bleak professor returned his chalk to the blackboard. Smooth lines moved. Agile fingers drew ingredients with precision, beautiful curves and angles, pieces labeled.
It was not what he wrote that sank through Hermione's broiling thoughts. Genetics. The topic refused to leave her thoughts.
As she prepped her ingredients, cutting and chopping and squeezing, her mind left the classroom to the day Caprica was born. A whirlwind she barely remembered but felt clearly. The concern of her parentage fled the moment those contractions started, pain rippling through her body unlike any curse she'd felt.
Still, the infant emerged a spitting image: a Malfoy.
The moment it was possible she rushed to the library with the intent on finding every book on the subject of magical pregnancy. She was sure elements of it were different than muggles. It had to be. Every Weasley was born with red hair. Bright red hair. Draco swore that he did not do the spell when Caprica was born; she was born with Malfoy blonde hair. Facts that did not add up.
She grabbed stacks related to genetics, lineage, and general health books as there were not more in depth texts regarding the creation of life. The scientific aspects of it were common knowledge she was acquainted with from her own preparation for being a mother. A London bookshop was richer for the seven books she purchased to educate herself.
An entire free study period had her hidden in a hole of ancient texts in the library. Draco had to remind her that it was time to pick up Caprica from Professor Burbage to get her away.
They rushed hand in hand toward the class fitted as a creche. It was oversized for the single infant and the few students attended the class for extra credit. All at once, her heart crashed inside her chest. She'd been able to forget Caprica in favor of her classes, if but for a short while, but now that the prospect was reintroduced, she shook with excitement.
The class was empty; students dismissed for the day. Professor Burbage held the infant in her arms.
Caprica's bright blonde hair was backlit with sunny afternoon light. Her eyes doubled in excitement when their voices entered the space. Then she could not be contained until she was returned to Hermione's arms.
"She did well today," the professor said. "We only used her as a model for wain anatomy and reflexes. Her feet are quite ticklish, did you know?"
Draco overlooked Hermione's shoulder at his daughter's face. His finger ran across the plump pale cheek.
Her smile expanded at the attention of her father.
"When did she last nap?"
"She woke up a short while ago," was the answer. "Miss Parkinson did not want to give her back once that happened."
Hermione smiled. She must have recognized Pansy's smell. It comforted her without either parent around.
"I thought she had a free period," Draco commented.
Professor Burbage's head bobbed as she waved her wand around the room. Toys swirled. Blankets rose and folded mid-air. Things flew into slots and baskets and slipped into place.
"Miss Parkinson was a late sign up."
Supper was soon. It gave the family a short while to get ready before joining the commotion of the entire school. They used it as an excuse to hide themselves in the private suite and spend time in some peace and quiet to cuddle with their daughter. It did well for both of their moods.
Tension melted away.
It felt as it was before. On summer holiday.
"Hm," she hummed happily as she played with her daughter's fingers.
"I missed this."
She lifted her cheek from his shoulder. "Soon it will be our life. Once this blasted year is done with."
Hogwarts was once her home.
It still held a special place in her heart, but things were soured with all the heartbreak she'd endured inside the castle. The refusal to allow her time and support just did not enable her to enjoy it as much as previous years.
"Then we'll never have to part." A content sigh released from his chest. "Two days without you was awful."
Hermione allowed a grin crawl across her lips. "What was so important that your parents needed you for anyway? Was it some kind of coming-of-age thing as a young lord?"
Draco quickly took a breath. His eyes moved from her face to the other side of the room. "Right. Lordship prat stuff."
"Ah, you fit right in, didn't you?" She chuckled.
A surprised laugh erupted from his lips. It disturbed their daughter. Her head popped up in response, eyes wide, looking at Draco's face.
"Oh, dove. I'm sorry."
It was too late. Lips turned down to a pout, then began to cry.
Draco's face reflected hers with a puffed bottom lip. "Oh, no. Daddy didn't mean to scare you."
It took a bit of nursing to calm her back down. By then, it was time to head down to the Great Hall. She was placed in a wrap knitted against Hermione's chest that kept her snuggled tight against her beneath her robes. It made it easier to eat than just holding her with their arms. A fact they'd struggled with the past term.
They entered the corridors where Crabbe and Goyle stood along with a perky blonde. The notable absence rang in the volume of their greetings.
"Ooh, look at her wee head popping from that sling." Daphne cooed. She wrinkled her nose as she brought her face closer to the little baby face poked from Hermione's robes. "God. She is a spittin' image, isn't she?"
"I am in there somewhere," Hermione said.
Daphne turned back to answer Draco's question to the guys. "She said she'll meet us there."
It was unlike Pansy to miss a gathering, no matter how small. Draco shrugged but there was suspicion in his expression. They waited at the Slytherin table for her. She finally popped in halfway through the meal, which earned a questioning brow of the blonde wizard.
Pansy took her limited diet options with complaint. "Each year they ignore the request for vegetarian options. Each year I send a list to the kitchen as mere suggestions. I can't be the only one who wants them."
"You are," Crabbe said.
She rolled her dark eyes. They flashed back at the witch parallel her. "Are we still meeting in the library for the thingy?"
Hermione's mind went blank. Had they made plans she'd forgotten?
She squirmed in her seat. "Um, what thingy?"
The Slytherin witch swooped a section of black bobbed hair behind her ear. A single carrot chip waved in her fingers as she talked. "For that meeting of the prefects they do each year. I figured you'd know since you're Head Girl and all." She took a small nibble of the vegetable. "Is it in the library? Before curfew? What."
A dumbfounded look crossed Hermione's face. Her cheeks burned hot with a blush.
Head Girl. Of course, one of her main duties was directing the year's prefects. The beginning of the term started on the first night of classes where they outlined expectations of the year and what each prefect would be expected to do. She attended each year's meeting since being made Gryffindor prefect. It was a meeting that she enjoyed.
It was an embarrassment she'd forgotten.
"I-I-I'm not certain. I've still not spoken with Anthony about it." She swallowed. Her eyes looked to Draco who seemed to read her humiliation.
This exact circumstance was the reason she wished to reject the invitation of Head Girl.
It was already bother enough to do patrol the first week of term. And there was the first years that required escort to the Gryffindor common room still. The fact that it was done by Head Girl and Head Boy rather than any other prefect was great inconvenience.
The infant at her chest had to sleep and eat and have nappies changed sometime.
"Oh." Pansy stopped her chewing. Her eyes hopped face to face. "He'll be along. Any minute now, I imagine, to set it right."
Draco's hand rubbed Hermione's back. "It's Goldstein. He never lets a thing slip through. You know those Ravenclaws."
"You've not heard, have you?" She asked him. It was an entirely debasing moment. Head Girl was the tip top of the student body. The best female student there was. A highly respected position that deserved attention and effort. Both, she could not give at the expense of her child. "Perhaps he told some of the other prefects."
"I wouldn't know." Draco's hand dropped away from her back.
Her brow fell. "What do you mean?"
Pansy and Draco were always Slytherin prefects. The pair were great students and popular within the house. Those two were examples of why everyone thought Slytherin was the house for the old wizarding families with money, seeing as the pair of them were raised on estates more impressive than some towns.
"I was not offered my position of prefect this year." His throat clenched. Despite it, he kept his voice even as he tipped his head at the wizard across him. "Blaise is the prefect."
It filled the table with awkward tension.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"It hardly matters," he replied flatly.
Hermione ached. It emerged from a deep cavern in her chest where the long seated guilt resided. The punishment diminished his career, his reputation, everything he held dear. He worked hard for that position and deserved it.
Yet another thing taken away from him.
Her eyes rounded. "Draco…"
"Don't," he snipped beneath his breath. "Really. I am fine. It does not matter. I am needed elsewhere." His fingers brushed the top of their daughter's head.
"But that's unfair."
"I know," he said quickly.
"After everything. You are not permitted to care for her or stay with her at night. The least they could do is allow you to remain a prefect." That lionly anger surfaced in her. It set fire to her vision, as she wanted to watch the world burn for this injustice. "Won't your father -."
"I did not ask because I did not want the position," he said. "I have a more important position worth of my attention."
It should have been endearing. He was dedicating himself to their daughter. Instead, she found it an insult. The punishment would not convince him to cower from being a father and accepting his responsibility with pride. Draco's upbringing had him too dedicated to being mournful of his actions.
She knew it was the reason of revoking his position on his last year of his education. To warn others from daring to think of repeating the action.
All their trying would not break her Draco. He was too resolute to bend to their want of his regret.
"Guys. Really," Pansy murmured as she rose from the table. The entire Slytherin looked at her with question. She'd only just arrived. "I just needed to know about what time I was needed. I'll go ask Goldstein."
"Pans. Where are you going?" Daphne asked.
"Back to the common room," she answered. "See you later. Night Hermione."
The witch rushed off in a hurry. They weren't given a minute to breathe a goodbye.
"Oh." Hermione frowned.
The seventh final year at Hogwarts was going to be hell. She would have to fight her arse off to keep from being lost to its wave after wave to withstand all the expectations while still having her bond with Caprica and Draco intact. It did not make it easier to endure all the beautiful, wonderful moments of being a first time mum – time she would never, ever get back with her daughter – as she was forced to use every waking moment to study and read and write and research and tutor and direct others.
Head Girl was a title that was deserved of her. No one doubted that. It just did not fit.
Pansy's question was a blinding reminder that her head was not the same. School and class did not bear the same importance as her life, her family.
Blaise awkwardly leaned forward with a pair of unsteady eyes. "Oi. I can run to Goldstein to riddle this all out."
She swallowed and blinked back her despair. Why was she so angry and sad? Why did this stupid little thing make her want to cry? "Oh, Blaise. That's very kind. I really should do it. Seeing as I'm Head Girl and all."
Draco narrowed his eyes. "It is just as easy to have Blaise run over. He don't mind, do you, Blaise?" He made no pause to give the wizard the opening to counter. "Brilliant. We'll eagerly await your return."
Her jaw clicked as she fought back the rippling tide of emotion surfaced.
"I have duties I cannot neglect."
"At the expense of our daughter," Draco said lowly. His mouth came close to her ear. The rest of the table looked away to give them an ounce of privacy – the only ones she felt were possible given the insane rules they were forced to adhere to. "You do not have to do it all yourself. What do you owe this castle, Professor McGonagall, anyone? You forgot. You're allowed to forget nonconsequential things. Our child depends on it more. And this bloody place shouldn't take that away from you."
"Seems like they've taken everything from you."
"I'll give them my flesh if they want it," he said firmly through gritted teeth, "but I will not let them drown the woman I love for the sake of what? Tutoring. Catching students out of bed? Enforcing the rules. Let them do their own damn jobs."
He swung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her tight.
Not did one wizard return to Slytherin table, but two.
"Oi, there, Blaise. You've caught yourself a Ravenclaw." Draco greeted.
"Like a sticking charm, this one." Blaise mumbled. He took his seat. "Couldn't get rid of him."
Anthony Goldstein was a blonde wizard of average height. He was nondescript really in physical form, but the wizard was far more individual beneath his surface with a mind that was similar to hers with vast wealth of knowledge that extended beyond the walls of Hogwarts.
He was a nice wizard, too. His smile was never forced or painful.
His eyes found Hermione's. A soft crinkle came to their corners. "Hello, Hermione. I hope I'm not disturbing your meal. I know how valuable your time is."
She offered a small smile in return. "Please. Join us."
"The prefect meeting is tonight," his legs slipped through the bench and table, "if you are unable to attend, I understand. Professor McGonagall sited your refusal in the hopes that I could push you along." Hermione's brows shot high. Anger, again, unfurled. "That is not why I am here. I have no desire to tell you what to do. I've only come to explain that I can take on most of the duties. If you want."
"I couldn't add to your responsibilities. It's hard enough seventh year without more added on from someone else."
"I don't mind," Anthony said. He titled his head with a sort of smile. "Really. I'll be glad to do it."
The wizard at her side appraised the Ravenclaw. There was hesitation in his form as he took a long glance at Hermione. "Why?" He finally asked. "Why care?"
It did not register to Anthony to be insulted by the assumption he would not care if she drowned under a mountain of stress and paperwork with a little baby starved for comfort in the castle somewhere.
Ravenclaws knew better than to rely on emotion to guide their action.
"Part of intelligence is the understanding of our own limitations. It does not honor Hermione's intelligence to force her to take on another role if she's incapable," he explained. "I am looking for a challenge this year. My extracurriculars are minimal. Additional duties as Head Boy would not overtake my life."
Although it burned her heart to feel like her abilities were reduced since having Caprica, her mind knew that it was true. They were. Her heart yearned to care for and comfort her daughter. She wanted to focus her efforts on being a mother and graduating school.
The Gryffindor pride burned at the back of her throat; she pushed down its hot bite.
"Thank you, Anthony." Her voice was timid and soft.
He bobbed his head. One of the few wizard who offered her a life preserver was one that she did not know very well. Their acquaintanceship was passing, polite and civil, but lacked depth. An offer so genuine and kindhearted to ease her load at the expense of his own showed just how incredible peers could be if they weren't divided by stupid lines that made it feel traitorous to cross.
It was not long after Anthony excused himself from the table to go about with the rest of his supper that her daughter started to fuss.
Draco and Hermione dipped out of the Great Hall. The wiggly head of their infant child turned back and forth with great interest to the large walls around them. Her grey eyes shined as they passed torches that magically lit as they passed.
The delighted expression on her face warmed Hermione's heart.
Those silver grey eyes. Eyes she adored. Pools of molten starlight. That of her father.
It reminded her of what thought she'd had earlier in the day.
"Draco," she hummed under her breath.
Castle corridors were known to echo every little sound.
His eyes widened in acknowledgement.
"You swear you didn't do the spell when she was born?"
"Darling. Of course not. I would tell you if I had."
"It is impossible for her hair. I mean, look at it. There hasn't been a blonde Granger in decades."
Her fingers ghosted the sweet soft top of her child's head. Those fine porcelain hairs were more fragile than Merlin's own staff.
Draco whispered the password into the personal suite. It opened the crack in the wall to reveal their sanctuary. The hideaway from the rest of the world.
She felt Caprica relax the moment they passed the threshold. "I wonder if she knows it's home. By the smell or something."
They shared a chuckle at the struggle her eyelids put up, sliding harder and harder with each blink, but there was a piece of her that still held on. It fought a valiant fight. A little grow suit of lilac purple was thick and velvet. An effective garment against the cold of the castle stone walls. Hermione was often jealous her daughter was kept so warm in a delightful cocoon of fuzzy thick material.
Draco set personal wards around the infant. It was a diligent routine to make a ward around their daughter every night before she slept.
Perhaps it was to makeup for the fact he was absent during her most vulnerable time. His wards were his fatherly guard when he could not be.
A moment she spared staring in awe was never enough. It wrapped her mind with a total striking amazement at the luck she found the day she met him in that loo, broken, destroyed, unable to find her strength, and what motivated him to offer his friendship rather than sneer at her as he would have.
He ran a hand through the side of his head, caught her eye, and paused. "What?" He shrugged.
The hazy lights in her eyes were like the bubbles beneath her skin. It warmed a subtle pink.
"Honestly. What are you doing here?" She asked. He perked a brow. "The whole castle was at your beck and call. You might've had your pick of every witch in and outside these walls. Yet you picked me, a down-on-her-luck witch that was alone, without a friend to save her." Her head shook. Those days were not ones she liked to think back on. Still, she forced herself the perspective. How desolate and weak she was.
She swallowed. "Was that it? You wanted to save me."
Draco blinked. "But you didn't need saved."
"Excuse me?" Her scoff was loud.
Laughable was the idea that she did not need saving when he was the reason she was saved from a life of hell under the Weasley matriarch.
It only irritated her to pretend that he did not rescue her as some damsel. "Listen. I know you're trying to spare my feelings, but you needn't lie. My memory is clear. Those days were my lowest."
His brow furrowed. He stepped toward her. A hand raised to his chest.
"Do I look a savior to you?"
"You give yourself too little credit," she said.
"Hermione, look at me." When her eyes met his, there was a soft toying at the round edges of his iris'. "I did not save you. All I did was remind you of who you were. But, you. Darling. You saved yourself. You made a choice. It was your choice what to do. For all I knew, you'd go back to that Weasel with my offer of friendship thrown in my face. Every turn, you had that choice. And you picked me because it was your power that led us here. Not mine."
She rushed into his embrace. The crash of his body against hers, the long spindly arms wrapped around, brought back a comfort that she did not deserve.
Her cheeks rubbed against his dark robes. "Merlin, Draco, I love you more than I can give life to."
The day after was strange. Pansy was quick and nonexistent. Her meals were a mad dash out of the Great Hall after three or four bites. There was barely a word spoke out at the shrinking side of her backside.
It irked Draco to see her so distracted. "Look at her hair. Her nails. Did you see that they didn't match?"
Hermione was approached by Anthony Goldstein to fill in the details of the yearly Head Girl duties. "All the tutoring is covered, so we won't need you there. We've got many motivated individuals this year, too, for patrol, so I don't imagine that being a problem unless there is an emergency. There is that celebration for the prefects at the end of term that I'd like to jump start planning. You'll be able to offer ideas for that, yes?"
She internally cringed – maybe outwardly, too; her face was not under her control – at the effort he made to accommodate her that, when she thought about it, was unfair to him.
Head Boy was a commendable station at Hogwarts. As was Head Girl.
It was wholly unfair for her to bear the title yet be given none of the work.
Draco and Hermione were lost in their own internal struggles that they did not speak all of their free period in the library. Their actions were repetitive, not smooth. She'd find herself staring into space, lost in thought, when she was supposed to be absorbing the words of the textbook she'd still been reading. And more than once, she caught Draco pausing in his work, brow furrowed, and having to magically erase ink from his parchment.
By the time he stacked up his books to return to their shelves before Quidditch practice, she gave up on the affair of schoolwork.
"Have a good practice, love," she said.
He pressed a chaste forehead kiss. Madame Pince disliked any display of affection within her library.
"I won't be back in time to grab Caprica," he reminded.
She nodded.
The absence of Draco brought on a severe loneliness that quaked her stability. It was the pulling of oxygen from a room. How sneaky shadows creeped through with the sinking of a sun. He was her peace in the chaos. And being parted for two days on their holiday showed the level in which they were bonded. Her soul would never be the same without him.
Schoolwork was a breeze once it was the only distraction from the emptiness of being without her family. Parchments wrote themselves. Her hands moved at a pace faster than even her mind comprehended. She dove head first into her studies, note taking, highlighting, reading, researching until she ran out of material.
She'd gone ahead a few weeks in her studies to ensure she kept above the tidal wave.
Draco would not be seen until right before supper. It left a large void in her time.
Hermione bristled. It was ridiculous to wait out a clock. She could just as well study in her own room with her daughter near.
The classroom was not empty as it was when they grabbed her before. There were voices. Miss Burbage's was clearest as she instructed on the milestones of an infant of Caprica's age. She listed the many ways that babies learned. There was a review over the anatomy.
Hermione listened with a smile. Perhaps it was a curtesy to the school to have some life skills taught.
There was only a short while left before the class dismissed. Their bodies shuffled out the door. The look of surprise on some of the witches faces turned to hot blushes as they moved along.
She slipped inside when the witches stopped trickling through.
A pair of bright blue eyes were in her way. They staggered back a step at Hermione's sudden emergence.
"Oh," Hermione blurted without thought.
"Sorry," the girl replied, in a sheepish shy tone she'd never heard before.
The strawberry blonde plaits hit her shoulders as she looked over her shoulder. "She's over there."
Hermione swallowed a tense breath. "Thank you."
Lavender Brown was caring for her child. Oh Godric, what the sodding hell was going on? Her ex's newest victim was in the same room as her vulnerable, precious infant.
Miss Burbage offered a large grin at the sight of Hermione. In her arms was an exciting flapping pair of arms. The professor chuckled. "I think she knows who this is," sang from her pleasant mouth. It did well to calm her apprehensions.
The professor was kind and understanding. Had it been Professor McGonagall, she'd not have trusted Lavender in the same room, but those concerns were soothed with a professor she trusted to protect her child.
A smile answered back at the wide-eyed glee of her daughter. She put her two arms out. "Ello lovely."
"She was active today," the professor relayed. "The students got to see a bit of how she plays. It was enlightening for them."
The weight of her child – safe and happy – settled in her arms secured her in her place as a mum.
Lavender was gone by the time she turned around. It was a blessed relief.
Although the brisk refreshing air of having avoided a super awkward interaction was delightful, the moment the door of the classroom shut behind her, a figure appeared in the middle of the corridor. It fidgeted with the strap of a canvas bag at the shoulder, knees bending inward with a shift of its outline.
Hermione sucked in a breath. A taste of Gryffindors – especially that one – was unwanted, bitter, sour, filth!
She pretended to not notice the yearning witch as she breezed by with Caprica on her hip, murmuring soft little words to the infant's ear, until the shuffle of feet hit her ears.
"Bollucks," she swore just loud enough for her daughter to hear. The wide-eyed expression forced a guilt inside. Draco must've told her what words were too naughty for her precious mind. "Don't tell Da."
"Hermione." A voice called out. That dreaded high pitched sound triggered memories of the tower, the dormitory, and the years spent as roommates.
She blinked back the anger the memories disturbed. "Yes," she replied cautiously.
"I'm sure you've heard -."
"As everyone in the country has," Hermione mumbled to herself, as the finishing words to that statement were so obvious.
"That I'm preggers." Lavender finished.
It was a startlingly modern way to say it. A muggle term, she'd say.
"I've heard," Hermione answered when it became clear that the witch was looking for an answer. "We have potions together, you know."
The statement did not diminish the shine in the witch's eyes. "Oh. Right. So, there are no hard feelings?"
"Excuse me?"
"Hard feelings." The witch spoke with her hands. "Since you're not the only mum around here now. An-and I'm with Ron, pregnant."
All her life she'd been told of her untold strength, and she did not understand just what it meant, until that moment where she refrained from howling with laughter in Lavender's face.
She shook her head. "Water under the bridge."
Godric, why was that so hard to say?
Her lips were pursed together and twisted with a sort of demented joy at the ridiculous idea she'd be threatened by Lavender Brown.
The girl reached up and scratched behind her ear. "I actually, thought I might ask you something. Witch to witch." It earned her a curious lift of the brow. Witch to witch. It did not ring of mature conversation. Not the witch that Lavender was to the witch that she was. "See, um, its normal to be scared, isn't it? This whole things is all new and frightening. Perfectly natural to have doubts about things. And it has no reflection on your feelings about your child. It is the mere thought of being trapped forever that is strange."
Not once had Hermione related to Lavender.
Lavender was so whimsical. Her view was of optimism unbothered by realistic outcomes. She believed in Divination, for Godric's sake!
But that moment. They shared an experience that superseded many others.
Hermione took a swift inhale. "It can feel that way, at first."
"So, you had doubts?" Lavender asked.
Doubts? There were days where she was tormented to the points of tears for being pregnant. Ron spread vicious lies. Her entire life was ruined at the moment she revealed what her future held.
There were doubts in the nights when she laid in a dormitory bed, silenced behind curtains to hide the screaming fit of hysterics. Doubts overflowed when she questioned to slit her throat instead of just her wrist. She only knew doubt when she first considered facing motherhood alone.
"Sure." Her voice trembled.
Lavender twisted her fingers, picking at the cuticles as she awkwardly shifted back and forth. "When did they stop?"
A sharp zap of information went to the front of her mind, before a true thought formed, and it was the memory of Draco staring down the barrel of Madame Pomphrey and Professor McGonagall to stay by her side in hospital when her sensitive secret was discovered. He never wavered. There was no fear in his stare as he sat back, content to be there at her side like she requested, when all those old witches wanted was her alone.
Caprica shifted against her side. Her soft whine alerted her to her need. Hermione adjusted the infant against her chest instead. The heat of her skin stilled the uncertainty of her daughter.
There was plenty of it leaking from her pores. Caprica must have sensed the stress.
Lavender's eyes glazed over as she stared at the plump cheek half exposed beneath Hermione's chin. A haunted longing, adoration, filled those eyes.
"I can't say when they did. Maybe they never do," Hermione replied. "All I know is that Draco never lets me remember them long."
A/N: I know this is a bit shorter than the other chapters have been. I fell out of inspiration with it. Not that it isn't very close to my heart. I do love all the fluffy feelings it gives me. I'm in desperate need of some fluff and sweetness, so I will be posting some updates for this fic for a bit. Hopefully it gets finished before I run out of steam. Thanks so much for reading.