A/N: Hope you enjoy this. Please review!
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. All rights to JKR.
5th of May 1998
Dear Diary,
The prospect of motherhood had never truly occupied my thoughts. I rarely considered if I would even be a mother, let alone a good one. My own mother, Jane Granger, set an incredibly high bar. She effortlessly balanced love, care, and support with a remarkable intellect and grace, always ensuring there were cookies or a needed hug on hand. It honestly irked me how well she fit into the stereotype of a mother all while being successful in her career.
When my Hogwarts letter arrived at age 11, she wasn't surprised at all. In fact, she seemed to have been expecting it. 'Darling,' she said, 'you're marvelous.' Then, she gave me the biggest, most bone-crushing hug, a move I later learned to perfect myself.
I can't imagine what she'd think, me at 19, knowing I'm facing motherhood…it's almost unbearable. Mum waited so long, until she was in her mid-thirties. "One is perfectly enough." She would tell my Gran and Grandad as they pestered her to give me siblings.
Thinking back, Mum would be utterly bewildered by my life right now. Participating in a war at my age... it's unimaginable. And the thought of... of what I did to protect them... she'd never forgive me. Sending them away like that, erasing their memories... It haunts me.
I seem to be rambling more these days. This whole situation is so unexpected. Frivolous activities are definitely not my forte.
But was it truly frivolous? I'm not sure. Merlin, I've never felt so uncertain about myself.
I'd been feeling nauseous for months, a persistent sickness I foolishly dismissed. My period had completely vanished while we were on the run, a glaring red flag I ignored, attributing it to malnutrition. I wish I'd given it more thought. Not that it would have changed anything, I mean possibly given me more options for my future?
Merlin, I don't think I could follow that path. Wizarding laws explicitly forbid it, and while Muggle laws in Britain are more progressive, I suspect I've missed the window of opportunity.
I was alone with Madame Pomfrey when I received the news. Professor McGonagall had mandated post-war screenings for all spellfire participants to assess for internal injuries. While I emerged relatively unscathed – a few broken ribs, some superficial cuts and scrapes that would inevitably scar – I did have internal damage, though 'damage' isn't quite the right word. Perhaps 'imposter' is more fitting. An internal imposter.
There was a gasp from the thin war-stricken healer as she hovered her wand down my torso, 'Ms. Granger...' she began, her voice hushed. She cast a swift 'Muffliato' around us, the thin walls of the Hospital Wing offering little privacy. Her face paled further, and I peered into her eyes, now shadowed and devoid of their usual warmth. My immediate thought was that I had been hit with some sort of curse and she had found the remnants of its magic. I was numb to this idea of it. Now I wish that were merely the case.
"You..." Madam Pomfrey's voice caught in her throat, her gaze fixed on me. Impatience pricked at the back of my mind and I raised my eyebrow expectantly. "You are with child."
I think this may have been the first time in my life I was truly speechless. Information, raw and terrifying, washed over me in a dizzying wave. My hands fumbled as I gathered my belongings – the worn leather-bound copy of 'Hogwarts: A History' I'd been devouring as the pages changed, the dusty tome on ancient runes I'd picked out of rubble that morning, and my beaded bag, its intricate patterns somewhat comforting as my vision began to blur. I vaguely recall Madam Pomfrey's voice calling after me as I stumbled out of the hospital wing, tears streaming down my face, hot and uncontrollable.
It's been two days since then. I'm finally allowing myself to process it, to let the weight of it settle. Hiding tucked away in the Gryffindor tower, away from all the grief and noise as they repair the castle below me, I'm writing in this tattered notebook, the worn leather soft and fragrant. Ron gave me this just before Bill and Fleur's wedding. Oh, Ron. Merlin. I would have never kissed him in the Chamber of Secrets if I knew. It's ironic, really.
My mind keeps drifting back to that night. The night this imposter found its way into my body. I say that as if it's their fault, as if it wished to be conceived during a war. As if it is their fault it is the irresponsible result of two hurt teenagers seeking comfort in each other.I myself am to blame. I know the bloody charm, everyone is expected to learn it during 6th year, I don't know why I wasn't thinking clearly. Well, I suppose I do know why, really.
It was Christmas Day. We had returned to camping, the air thick with the lingering scent of woodsmoke and the uneasy quiet that followed the horrors of Godric's Hollow. Merlin, why did we go there? Harry was subdued into a somewhat usual brooding silence. He kept muttering about his broken wand, the splintered wood displayed on a table near his cot. I couldn't seem to stop crying, the tears flowing freely down my face. I had once agin almost seen him killed. I recall wondering then if I would every see him grow old.
As I continued to cry silently, my knees drawn up to my chest, our eyes met. For a fleeting moment, his shocking green eyes held mine, sending shivers down my spine. I can't recall ever feeling more drawn to him, more captivated by those famous emerald pools. He looked at me with worry, but something else simmering beneath the surface. A flicker of something... intense? I am still unsure of what that other glint was.
He turned away from my gaze slowly, turning his focus to the wireless. Fumbling with the rusted knobs, he shifted slightly on the damp ground of our tent, his shoulders slumped. He turned it on, the death count boomed, the announcer's voice filling the silence in our tent. I was about to turn away from him, I remember, but he let out an exacerbated choke, once again drawing my attention. His thick dark brows drew together, his etched scar just above them, and I followed the familiar line with my eyes.
"Fucking Christ," he spoke deeply, grabbing the wireless with both hands. His knuckles were white, his jaw clenched. I watched his hands, they were somewhat shaky, a few more fumbles, and static played around us. Then the tent was filled with music, a soft amd slow Muggle song hummed gently in the air.
I focused on the rhythm, its comfort drawing me from my tears. I never saw him get up from his spot across the tent, but there he was, in front of me, offering me his hand. Once again locking my eyes with him, I saw that intense gleam beneath the surface of his glowing eyes.
Hesitantly, I placed my hand in his. It felt so small in his rough, calloused hands. When had Harry become so rough and calloused? He pulled me to my feet in one graceful motion, my breath catching in my throat as I stood close to him. I was so close that I could inhale deeply, the scent of woodsmoke clinging to his hair and clothes, surprisingly fresh and woodsy despite the grim circumstances.
As I stood before him, he gave a small, shy smile, something I had seen on him many times before. I was unsure of his plans, and looked at him curiously, my arms crossing over my chest in a way I knew I was known for.
He drew his hands up to his neck, clasping the familiar locket. He examined the shiny medallion, his thumb tracing the glittering "S." Drawing his hands to the nape of his neck, he unclasped the chain, letting it fall onto the cot beside us.
Once again, he was looking at me silently, his emerald eyes holding a silent question that sent an unfamiliar flush up my neck.
The music around us began to swell, the song had changed and I was unsure when. Gently taking my hand from where it was tangled on my chest, he took a tentative step forward.
"Dance with me," he murmured, his voice rough with unknown emotions. I'm sure I was unable to hide my expression – shock and amusement were likely plastered across my face. Harry Potter was not one to dance, let alone with me.
"Harry..." I mumbled back, still slightly bewildered.
"Please, Mione," he said back, that strange look flashing in his eyes again. He rarely called me 'Mione' anymore, a nickname he had started using in our third year. My heart fluttered, and I felt my ears begin to burn.
Hesitantly, I allowed him to pull me close. His hand, found its way to my waist, his fingers gently guiding me all while sending a small chill up my back. We moved awkwardly at first, a small tension building. Then Harry stumbled slightly, his foot catching on a tent rope, and we both burst into laughter, the tension breaking like a dam.
Soon, we were moving with a surprising grace, our bodies swaying in unison. Harry, surprisingly light on his feet despite his usual clumsiness, moved with an unexpected fluidity. His eyes, gleaming with an intensity I had never seen before, met mine, and for a fleeting moment, the world disappeared. A strange, unfamiliar feeling bloomed within me. Attraction, raw and undeniable, pulsed through my veins. I'd always admired Harry, respected him, cherished his friendship. But this... this was different. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. My mind, ever the overthinker, couldn't help but drift to Ron.
Ron, it had always been Ron. So what was this?
We danced until we were both breathless, our laughter echoing through the small tent. As the music faded, Harry looked at me, his eyes filled with a tenderness that took my breath away. "I... I haven't felt like this in a long time," he whispered, his voice husky.
I smiled, my heart pounding against my ribs. "Me neither," I admitted, my voice barely a whisper. But even as I said the words, a pang of guilt pierced through me. Despite this anxiety I still did what I did. I still ended up with this imposter.
As if reading my mind, Harry leaned in. His breath, warm as it mingled with mine. I closed my eyes, the world tilting on its axis. His lips met mine, a soft, tentative touch at first, then deepening, exploring. It was clumsy, hesitant, but undeniably passionate.
"Fuck, Hermione. I am so sorry!" he yelped, putting distance between the two of us. He looked utterly stricken, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and something else I couldn't quite decipher.
I stared at him, bewildered. My hand flew to my lips, my cheeks burning. "It's... it's okay," I stammered, my voice trembling. "I... I didn't mean to…" He stuttered out.
Harry, however, seemed incapable of stopping. He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes darting around the tent. "I... I shouldn't have. I know I shouldn't have. You're... you're Hermione. You deserve better than this. You deserve someone who..." He trailed off, his words tumbling over each other.
With little thought and before he could continue his frantic apologies, I walked forward taking his hands in mine and kissed him again, this time deeper, more insistent. I pressed my body against his, silencing his words with the urgency of my own. Harry stiffened at first, then slowly melted against me, his hands finding their way to my waist, pulling me closer.
My hands seemed to have a mind of their own. They began to confidently explore his body, hesitating on his broad shoulders before tangling themselves into his messy raven hair. As far as I was aware, we both had very little experience in this department. Clumsily, Harry pushed me back, the crease of my knees hitting the cot and causing me to fall back onto the bed.
He took a moment to look me up and down. I gave him a shy smile, inviting him in by offering him my hand and pulling him down beside me. He held my face delicately in his hand before taking his lips to mine once more. Our positions shifted and before I knew it, he was on top of me, his knee unknowingly between my legs, and its specific placement sent a burning ache through my whole body.
With shaky hands, I drew near to the hem of his shirt, pulling up the fabric experimentally. I felt his warm skin beneath my fingers and began to trail upwards, exploring his stomach. I was slightly shocked to feel the outline of a muscular torso beneath his clothes. As I continued to run my fingers along his abdomen, Harry drew in a sharp breath between kisses. I pulled back to look at him, quickly removing my hand.
"No," he spoke softly, his voice full of passion. ""Please don't stop." He sat up momentarily, pulling the soft cotton shirt over his head before returning his lips clumsily to mine.
We went on like this for a few more minutes, snogging passionately with occasional moans escaping the both of us. The ache I had been feeling in my whole body became more apparent, intensifying with each touch, each kiss. My previous sadness and anxiety melting away.
Harry shifted once again, and I was somewhat surprised to feel something warm and hard press against my leg through his jeans. The realization that I could get that reaction out of Harry was overwhelming. My breath hitched. I stopped kissing him, sitting up, my hands trembling as I peeled my woolen jumper and thin camisole over my head in one.
He took me in, his eyes soft and passionate as they trailed over my stomach.
"Merlin, you are beautiful," he told me. My face flushed. Reaching behind my back, I removed the thin bra, fully revealing my chest to him. He gave a gasp. Nervous under the attention, I let out a small laugh before pulling him back down onto me, his sculpted back feeling brilliant against my palms.
He kissed me with much more passion than I was expecting, I felt his pent-up emotion bursting with magic through the air like electricity. 'Harry… touch me please,' I gasped aloud to my own surprise.
'Mione, are you sure?' he asked carefully. I gave him a nod. Almost too gently, due to my building frustration, he took a breast into his rough hand. Sparks shot out around me from the contact.
I can't quite recall how long it took, but eventually, we had both shed our pants and undergarments. Harry was gentle and nervous with me. As I slowly guided his member towards my entrance, he said sheepishly, "Are you sure about this, Mione?" I answered with a confident "Yes."
He kissed me hard before slowly entering me. I remember seeing stars from the sensation, it was simultaneously painful, comforting, and satisfying. He le out a soft moan while hesitating, I could feel him pullsing in me.
"Keep going." I whispered after a moment. With little grace he kissed away the stinging tears at my eyes before continuing. As the pain passed the sounds of our ragged breaths and soft groans escaped our lips filling the tent. My hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on softly.
It didn't last all that long. I remembered that was normal for someone's first time and reassured him a few times, my voice trembling slightly. "It's okay, Harry," I whispered, tracing circles on his chest. "It was amazing."
Harry looked up at me, his eyes still a little dazed. "Amazing?" he breathed, his voice hoarse.
I nodded, a slow smile spreading across my face. "Amazing," I confirmed, leaning down to kiss him gently. "Absolutely amazing."
We spent the rest of the evening tangled up on the small cot, in and out of sleep. I remember feeling amazed that the cot was able to carry the weight of both of us. Eventually, I made dinner. We showered separately, not thinking much of what had happened. Harry kissed me gently before we fell asleep, cuddled together softly.
It was the next day that Ron returned, Harry having found the sword and the locket finally destroyed. Our journey continued, the war still very much our reality. Harry and I never spoke of what happened that Christmas day. I suppose we will have to now. It has been just about five months now. Five months that I have been unknowingly growing a child. Harry's child.
My anxiety builds every time I look into Ron's baby blue eyes. I think of how I've hurt him. It was just yesterday he asked me if we would be together now. I told him we would talk soon, I told him that, assuming that yes would be my eventual response. But honestly, it is hard to see him in the same way.
He deserves so much better than someone who can't even be honest with their own feelings. The guilt gnaws at me, a constant, heavy weight on my chest.
Merlin. What am I going to do?
- HJG