Chapter Thirteen: The Other Library
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On Saturday, Hermione put aside her extensive stack of paperwork on the Department of Mysteries at last and headed out in search of a new haunt: The British Library. There, she pulled down every book on molar pregnancy she could find and disappeared behind a stack so tall it hid her from view entirely, reappearing only when the light outside had dimmed to dusk.
She was trapped in a whirlwind of thoughts too heavy to verbalize, her heart breaking to pieces. For Ella. For Harry. And in the entirety of her life, Hermione had only ever had one way to process her feelings. Books. And books were what she sought out now as she searched among their dusty pages for answers.
When she had inhaled all that the library had to offer, she returned the books to their proper places and walked carefully to the back, where patrons were sparse and shadows reigned. There, she slipped behind a familiar stack, bent down, and tugged on the edge of a worn green book, which was tucked away into the corner of the lowest shelf so unobtrusively, it was easy to miss it altogether. Most people did miss it, in fact — their fingers simply sliding past as if it were invisible.
There was an immediate ripple of magic, shattering the dusty stillness of the air. When she rose to her feet once more, the middle of the bookshelf had melted away, leaving only a dark, empty hole. With a surreptitious glance around, she stepped through it. A brief cool washed over her, and the darkness faded, revealing a stone passageway filled with warm, glowing light with no discernable source. The light seemed to emanate from the stone walls themselves. The floor, a collection of uneven stones woven together and fading with age, sloped downward.
She walked along the passage, passing several smaller corridors that branched off and disappeared into inky darkness. After several minutes, the passage opened up to reveal a set of intricately carved double doors. There were words etched into the stone, standing out sharply against the swirling patterns. Ex Bibliotheca Magica.
She laid a palm against the carving, her fingers lightly tracing the words, before pushing open the doors.
Stacks upon shadowy stacks greeted her. There were more books here, she knew, than in the library at Hogwarts. More books than the archives of Shadow Hogwarts had ever held. A trove of magical writings buried beneath the earth, more precious than gold. She walked slowly inside, savoring the earthy smell of thousands upon thousands of treasures. She had never felt more at peace than when she was surrounded by countless words, with friends hidden in every page, lurking beneath every cover. She paused, absorbing it all, her purpose momentarily drifting as a smile crossed her face. She could not step inside a library without it tugging at the edges of her heart with nostalgic grace.
Home.
"Welcome to the Library of Magical Archives."
The voice was a whisper, permeating softly through the space, almost lyrical in composition. She glanced away from the endless stacks, turning her attention instead to a floating golden orb that had materialized before her, its edges rippling in the dim light. She reached out a hand, touching her fingers to the light.
"Hermione Granger," the voice whispered in her ear, rustling like so many turning pages. "Welcome back. How may I assist you?"
"Molar pregnancy," she said quietly. "In witches. I want personal accounts. Healer practices. Comparisons between magical and Muggle medicine. Everything you have."
"This way."
The light floated away, illuminating a path between the shadowy stacks. She followed, letting it lead her into uncharted depths — through narrow corridors and down twisted stairways hidden behind bookshelves. As she walked, books dislodged themselves from the shelves to trail behind her. The orb floated to a stop at last, casting its light upon a shadowed corner.
"Everything you need is here." The voice spoke softly, as if loath to disturb the solemn stillness of the space. The quiet refreshed her, afforded her a place of focus. "If you require assistance, you need only ask."
The voice faded, leaving only the soft glow of the light. She perused the stack before her, trailing her fingers along the spines as she read the words edged into worn leather. Once she had selected several titles of interest, she brought her collection to a reading nook several stacks away, where she laid everything out across the small table. The orb, which had followed her inside, lit up the space with its golden light.
And then she was lost, her conscience slipping within the pages as she read late into the night, the hours melting away.
It was hunger that finally drove her out. She would have slipped outside only briefly in search of sustenance before returning to the musky depths of the library, but once the cool night air brushed her face, she could no longer ignore the itching tiredness that tugged at the corners of her eyes. She would call it a night, she decided. The hours spent below ground had not been in vain. She had gained, if not a solution, at least a deeper understanding. She turned on the spot, vanishing in a swirl of cloth to reappear in the foyer of their small Mayfair flat.
The first thing she noticed was the smell. Deliciously tantalizing. She inhaled, following it slowly out of the foyer. Perhaps it was simply that she was starving, but the air in the flat smelled so exquisite, so thick and hearty, that she could nearly taste it. She stepped around the dividing wall into the sitting room and froze, staring at the flat in wonder.
It was so clean it sparkled, every surface gleaming. The cushions on the sofas were neat and orderly, fluffed and arranged at either end. The kitchen counters were emptied of the numerous trinkets that usually lay scattered atop them, the scrubbed surfaces polished to reflect the dancing candlelight that lit the flat, and the small table was covered with dishes upon dishes of food — so many they nearly obscured the wood underneath. It was set for two; plates waiting upon placemats, with the nice silverware arranged on either side.
"Oh!" she whispered, turning to Ron, who had been sitting on the bigger of the two sofas that defined the outer edges of their sitting room, and rose now to meet her. "Ron, this is… you cleaned…"
He stepped toward her, slipping the bag off her shoulder as she stood there in wonder, and kissed her softly on the cheek.
"Are you hungry?"
She nodded. "Starving."
"Bloody excellent, me too." He grinned, pulling her toward the kitchen, and she couldn't help but smile as the candlelight danced in his eyes, their blue lightening like a summer sky. It was nearly midnight, and he had waited for her. Had cooked for her, and kept the food perfectly preserved at the peak of freshness, and waited to eat with her. It melted her heart in ways she couldn't describe.
"I was—" she began.
"In the library," he said. "I know. When in doubt, go to the library."
She nodded, momentarily lost for words. She was exhausted after hours spent searching for a solution in the darkness, her heart bursting with anxiety and despair and anger at her utter lack of usefulness. Her turbulent relationship with Ron had weighed on her for so long, it was like a constant anchor on her heart. And yet here he was, showing her that he understood her after all. That he hadn't given up; was still willing to try. To fight for her. She felt tears spring to her eyes.
"C'mon," Ron was saying, entirely oblivious to the emotional journey she had just undertaken as he continued to pull her toward the table, "I made loads of stuff. I stopped by Mum and Dad's and got the recipe for the, er"— he scrunched up his brow —"Toad in the Hole. I know you really liked it when Mum made it, so hopefully this one's all right."
"Ron…" she whispered.
He carried on, seemingly too excited to hear her. "And I made that salad with the dill and spinach and sour cream — I know that's your favorite."
"Ron," she tried again.
"And a cottage pie, to bring to Ella and Harry. I reckon they probably don't feel like cooking, but maybe we should try it first, just in case. D'you reckon—"
She pulled back on his hand, forcing him to a sudden stop, and he stumbled slightly as he turned around to face her.
"Ron," she said firmly into the newfound silence, "thank you." And she leaned forward, pressing her lips to his. He kissed her back, enveloping her in his arms, and she let herself melt into his embrace. For a moment, the sparkling kitchen and even the tantalizing food lay forgotten as her world narrowed to nothing but the feel of his lips upon hers, and his arms, pressing her tightly against his chest.
Soon, too soon really, he pulled back, gazing at her with warm blue eyes alight with the glow of enough candles to set the flat on fire — if she were being picky. Which she wasn't. He traced his arms slowly down her sides until he had taken both of her hands into his own.
"Hermione," he murmured, his voice catching slightly over the pieces of her name. "I know we don't always… we're not bloody Harry and Ella. We're not perfect, and we fight. And I could do better. But I… I bloody love you. I thought you knew that. But if you need me to say it..."
"I do," she breathed. "But I know. I know. Ron… I love you too. I can't imagine my life without you." She gripped his fingers tightly with her own, squeezing them together. "You're not the only one at fault here. I'm to blame too. I work too hard. I judge too harshly..."
"I'll do this more," he promised. "Cleaning. Cooking. If this is edible, that is..." He cracked a tentative smile.
"It smells edible," she allowed, her mouth practically watering as the smell of the food assaulted her senses again, and she smiled giddily. She didn't think she'd eaten a thing since breakfast.
"And… kids," Ron said, his tone a bit hesitant. "We don't… don't have to have them. Ever, if you don't want."
She shook her head. If there was anything that today had convinced her, it was to not take time — life — for granted. Nothing was a given. "I want them. Not right now, but…"
He nodded. "After Ella is…"
"Is cancer-free and perfectly all right," Hermione said firmly, banishing any other alternatives from her mind.
"Right," Ron said, his words coated in relief. Perhaps he was glad they were on solid ground once more, or perhaps he thought she had found something useful in the library. She hadn't, yet, but it had only been a day, and there were many more books to peruse. She briefly regretted that the library did not allow for the borrowing of books, but she would simply have to return and continue her search, that was all.
"Let's eat," Ron said, and she finally allowed him to lead her to the table. The Toad in the Hole, to her absolute delight, tasted every bit as good as Mrs. Weasley's.
The following afternoon, with her hand clasped firmly in Ron's for the first time in what felt like forever, they walked along the halls of St. Mungo's until they finally slipped into the empty waiting room for an office that should have been closed, but wasn't. They settled into two adjacent chairs, keeping their eyes on the door leading to the inner office when the sound of approaching footsteps startled them. Turning, Hermione saw Daniyel step into the room, followed shortly by Robert.
"Your idea was unoriginal, Hermione," Ron said with a grin as he rose to meet the new arrivals.
"The great thing about love is that multiple people can do it," she said, reaching forward to hug both Daniyel and Robert. "How are you doing, Rob?"
"All right," he said. "Have they gone in already?"
"Reckon so," Ron said. "We haven't seen them."
Just then, the door to the inner office opened and they turned around to see Harry stepping out into the waiting room followed shortly by Ella, who looked rather pale, her eyes downcast. When she saw them, however, she brightened, her face splitting into a huge smile.
"You guys!" she said, hurrying up to meet them and enveloping Hermione in a quick hug.
Hermione smiled. "How are you feeling?"
"Oh," she said quietly, "you know, all right. Not bad at all."
She greeted both Ron and Robert before turning to Daniyel and grasping his hands. "And you're here! I thought you would've had a date, or something."
He hugged her tightly in greeting. "Well, actually I did," he said easily, "but no matter how many dates I have, you'll always come first, Ells."
"Oh, Dan, stop — you didn't have to do that," Ella said. "Don't cancel on Siggy on my account. I'm glad you two had a nice time, even though she's my bloody student."
"We did." He grinned. "And don't you worry, we'll reschedule. Are you up for some lunch?"
"Sure," Ella said, glancing between them all. "That sounds good, actually. Can we get something ridiculously sweet?"
"Whatever you want," Harry said, grinning, letting her pull him out into the hall. Ron reached out to take Hermione's hand once more, causing a swell of warmth to flare in her chest, and they followed Ella and Harry out of the waiting room.
"You should join a support group, Ella. I read a lot of personal accounts in the library, and most women found having a connection with others going through the same thing helpful. A sense of community."
Hermione's words, which had lodged in Ella's mind like thread on velcro, had been echoing in her head for days.
"I dunno," Ella had said over lunch on Sunday as she'd picked at her gigantic cinnamon pastry. "Where am I going to find a support group anyway?"
"You can check the Muggle hospital. They'll have a registry. Or online — haven't you spent a lot of time on the internet?"
She had, but it felt like a lifetime ago. There was a laptop in the flat, which she and Harry used occasionally — mostly for research and sometimes for Muggle news, but nearly a decade in the magical world had left a large disconnect between technology and her awareness of it. And that didn't even take into account the state of technology in her Muggle London in 2019. Every time she visited home, Eliza started talking about Twitter, and Snapchat, and Instagram, and a whole variety of things that made Ella feel both far removed and ancient. Though it had never mattered — she had bloody magic, what did she need Facebook for?
But that night, as the hours ticked away and the dark faded to morning — bringing the next injection and her looming blood draw closer — she sat at the kitchen counter and clicked away at the keyboard of the small laptop, searching.
When she found the support group forum for molar pregnancies, it felt like an explosive force had rocked her world. She scrubbed through the board, reading one personal account after another late into the night, until her eyes itched with tiredness and the clock ticked softly past three. There they all were; hundreds of women. All walking along the same path on which she had so abruptly and painfully found herself. Women whose stories — whose feelings — seemed to mirror her own. The words blazing across the screen were so raw and painful, she could well have written them herself.
She had been in a black hole, and suddenly she found herself in a whole new galaxy, surrounded by hundreds of sparkling stars.
It was nearly four in the morning when she opened a new post, brought her hands to the keyboard, and started to type. Hi, I'm Ella. I had a complete molar pregnancy...
And only then, only after she had poured out her heart and soul through her raw fingers, did she stumble to the bed, where Harry had long fallen asleep, and collapse beside him. Her eyes had flickered closed almost before she settled against the warmth of his back, and she was off; carried into exhausted sleep where a thousand hands were holding her up, were clasping her own as she walked a long and winding road. And when the ground disappeared from underneath her and she tumbled into the abyss, those same hands grabbed hold of her… and lifted her up. Like she was lighter than air.
In the morning, she pulled the laptop up beside her at the kitchen table, scrolling through the forum as she forced herself to swallow half a container of yogurt and washed it down with near-scalding black tea. There were responses. Several of them.
— I'm so sorry you're going through this. Your story sounds just like my story. This was my first pregnancy too… I've been on MTX for about a month, and the side effects haven't been too bad so far. Mostly mouth sores. You should definitely ask for Magic Mouthwash, they can mix it at any pharmacy and… —
— Hey Ella, I had a cmp too. I started spotting at around 6 weeks. They thought it was a blighted ovum on ultrasound. How? Anyway, they didn't realize it was a molar until I came in for my d&c. My levels were over 200k, and my obgyn was shocked. He literally turned to me as I sat there in my gown and told me he thought I had a molar pregnancy. I had no idea what that was at all! He said he gets one molar patient a year… I guess that's me. He referred me to cx right away. My numbers have been dropping pretty well but...—
— I had a d&c with a suspected pmp. My levels were pretty low but something looked off on the ultrasound and it did end up being a partial. I am currently on chemo because my levels stayed elevated afterwards. So sorry you had to find yourself here, but this group is amazing. I don't know what I would do without the girls here. We have all been where you are… and you are not alone. :heart: I hope the mtx works and your levels drop quickly! —
"What are you doing?"
She glanced up, meeting Harry's eyes across the table. "Er — it's a support group," she said, gently closing the laptop and sliding it aside. "For molar pregnancies. Hermione put me onto it. It's all Muggles though, since I'm the one and only special witch. Apparently. But they know all about the chemo and stuff." She paused, thinking back to the posts she had scrolled through until the early morning hours. "My God, Harry, these girls… they're amazing. Some of them have been through so much. Months and months of chemo… And they're just so strong. And some of them have been in the forum for ages. Years. And they have rainbow babies now and everything…"
"Rainbow babies?" He tilted his head in consideration.
"It's when you have a baby after a storm," she said, smiling faintly. "Like a miscarriage or… something worse. But there's hope." It scared her to say it. But she said it anyway.
Harry smiled and stepped around the table to lightly place a kiss on her lips. "Of course there's hope. And you're just as strong as any of them."
She kissed him back. In that moment, she thought she could believe it.
She didn't feel very strong two hours later, though, when she stepped into Hannah's office for her last shot of Methotrexate. It was the number that did it. 40,382. Barely a drop at all.
"Small drops are normal at the start of treatment," Hannah told her gently, taking hold of her hand as Ella tried to keep it from trembling. "Honestly. The cells release HCG as they die, so even a rise would be all right at this stage. We'll have a much clearer idea of how things look next week."
And Hannah's words were reassurance enough for Harry, who smiled in relief. But not for her. They settled in her stomach, pooling there like lead. Mixing with the medicine — this painful poison — which was all she had to hold on to. Fear weighed heavy after all. And if chemo was the pill she had to swallow to stay alive, then fear was the casing.