This chapter is dedicated to ledheadmelli. Thank you for all you do and for being my Mrs. Weasley! I will never be able to repay all of the tea you've sent.
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Hermione paced the length of the bedroom she had claimed after they had decided to stay at Grimmauld Place. The same room she and Ginny had shared during the various visits to the dreary sanctuary in the middle of London. It felt empty without the redhead's constant commentary…
Her head spun with the day's events and she could have really used the witch's advice about now. She had planned to tell the boys about the baby that night at dinner but the news their two visitors had brought with them had stayed her tongue. Not only had the coward, Mundungus Fletcher, divulged the worst update on the horcrux's location imaginable. Other than maybe, Voldemort's possession. Lupin's less-than-desirable reaction to Tonks' pregnancy had triggered a volatile anger in Harry.
One she did not wish to have directed at her. So she had kept quiet.
Lupin could go back to his expectant wife once he calmed down and thought through his ridiculous worries. She wasn't allowed such luxuries… A frantic giggle escaped at the thought of her at the gates of Malfoy Manor, begging to see the Master and Mistress of the house.
Surprise! Your son knocked up a mudblood… Could you, perhaps, not kill me until after I pop out your grandchild, pretty please with a cherry on top?
Yes, that was sure to go over well.
Oh, Gods. What had she gotten herself into? Where would she be banished to when she could no longer hide the fact that she was with child? Best case scenario was staying there with Kreacher while Harry and Ron did the dangerous parts of missions when she got too big to be of use. Worst case was… Her grandmother's cottage on her own…
But the Order wouldn't shun her completely would they? Even if Harry turned her away, Ginny would fight for her to stay at the Burrow. At least until Fate did its thing and she birthed a clone of her Death Eater ex-lover. Her genetics be damned. It was surely to come out pale, blonde, and condescending. Just to spite her. And then there was no telling how people would react to her omission of its parentage…
She huffed her frustration and threw herself across her bed. Her hand drifted down to the new curve to her abdomen. A tiny bump had begun to protrude from the normal bloating she had been experiencing. There would be no way to deny the obvious soon.
The baby would make its presence known, no matter how badly she wanted to keep it secret.
Secret and safe.
Faint fluttering from under her palm, which she was quite sure she had imagined, seemed to indicate that her subconscious agreed with her.
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Somehow, a package appeared at the foot of her neatly-made bed a few days later. Wrapped in plain brown paper and twine, it would have been innocuous if not for the startling arrival. No one had shown up since Lupin's dramatic departure. The Death Eaters' constant surveillance of the invisible safehouse for any signs of life from within ensured their isolation from the outside world.
She glanced behind her to make sure one of the boys hadn't decided to play a prank to break up the monotony. There weren't any obvious signs of being watched…
Hermione turned back and poked the package with the tip of her wand. With Lupin's ominous admonishment still fresh in her mind, she checked for any hidden curses before tearing into the mysterious bundle.
A short note laid atop a bag of dried leaves. She immediately recognized the beautifully looped scrawl and discarded her wand to read the sparse words.
I can only hope this finds you well.
I couldn't, in good conscience, leave you to suffer considering your reliance on this tea in the mornings. The house-elf can find you more, I am sure. Even if the harsher symptoms should be subsiding in the coming weeks, it would be smart to keep on hand.
Take care of yourself and make sure my boys come home SOON.
Over and over she reread the confirmation that Mrs. Weasley had surmised her condition and kept silent. Tears started to roll, the matriarch cared enough to risk her family's welfare to get Hermione the ginger tea she had taken a liking to. The spiced liquid was her sole respite from the overwhelming urge to purge the acid from her stomach.
Biscuits, toast, ice, mints of various flavors, carbonated beverages… Nothing but the precious tea helped make her feel remotely functional on the worst of mornings. She gave thanks as she pocketed the helpful contraband. Promising to do her best to fulfill the fellow mother's parting request.
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Kreacher looked up from the pile of potatoes that he was scrubbing clean when Hermione joined him in the kitchen. The normal solace of Harry and Ron's chatter had caused a blinding headache when compounded with her distressing realization. She had started wandering the halls looking for the pressing answers to her newest problematic questions.
"Does my Master need something? Kreacher can prepare servings of yesterday's trifle." The ancient house-elf asked, peeking at the clock to make sure he hadn't lost track of the time.
"No, Harry is fine." She reassured with a halfhearted smile.
"Is Miss Granger in need of Kreacher's assistance? More tea perhaps?"
Hermione shook her head, "No, everyone is fine…"
The top of the elf's head shone under the lights as he tilted his head in confusion over the encroachment, a feat she would have never thought possible when she first met him. Covered in layers of grime and with a mouth that was just as dirty, the being from a few years ago couldn't be any more different than the specimen of domestic bliss that was in front of her. "Has Mister Weasley clogged the upstairs toilet again?"
A look of dread comically shifted the wizen features and flattened the house elf's ears, causing her to giggle. "No. I don't think so… Would you like some help, Kreacher?"
"Master's friend has asked if Kreacher needs help with his duties." For a moment he looked as if he had been gifted another locket and then he crumbled into a heap on the floor. His shoulders shook with his loud sobs. "Kreacher's mistress would be angry, so very angry. Guests do not serve house-elves. House-elves serve the guests of House Black."
Like a sleeper agent with a trigger phrase she had unintentionally found, the house elf jumped to his feet with the agility of a much younger being and snatched up the knife that lay next to the cutting board. He raised the weapon high in the air and placed his other wrinkled hand across the wooden surface, making his gruesome objective clear. She screeched her denial, "Stop! Stop! Stop!"
His hand shook with the effort it took to listen to her current order instead of the deeply ingrained instruction to cause harm to himself. "Kreacher must be punished…"
"No, you don't… I didn't mean anything… You have been doing an excellent job taking care of us. I was just bored and looking for something to do." Hermione rambled, trying to find the off switch to the malicious instruction by his past owners.
"Kreacher is still of use to my Master?"
"Of course you are! Put down the knife, right now!" She ordered in a stricter voice than she had ever used with a house-elf before. "We need you to fix our dinner, remember?"
"Yes, Kreacher must prepare dinner." His tiny shoulders rose and fell with a sigh of relief as the magic that bound him to the orders of long-dead sociopaths broke. He lowered the knife and set it back in its place next to the cutting board. "The roast will not cook itself."
Hermione almost collapsed with her own relief and sat down at the table to gather herself before returning to the drawing room where the elf would be safe from her amazing propensity for mucking things up. As she regulated her breathing she listened to the grumbled narration from the tiny housekeeper.
"Kreacher is lucky to have Harry Potter as a Master. Oh yes, better fingers than a head, my mistress used to say but keeping fingers is even better. Master Regulus would agree, yes, he would. My mistress would cry if she knew the plans being laid in her home. Kreacher knows this, but Master Regulus would be happy Kreacher is helping the blood traitors."
She found herself softening more towards the turncoat who had sacrificed himself for the house elf. His last act had altered the creature so completely that it overrode years and years worth of indoctrination. A light bulb went off… He had been owned by the Black family for generations… He might have the answers she needed.
"Kreacher… Can I ask you an odd question?"
He gave a curt nod and continued preparing the potatoes.
"The Black Family Tree in the drawing room…"
"It cannot be removed, Miss Granger."
"I know that, Kreacher. I was wondering how it worked…"
The house elf magicked the clean vegetables into a neat pile on the counter and turned back to face her. He spoke slowly as he gave the simplest of explanations. "It shows the members of the Noble House of Black."
"Yes, it does. Did your mistress have to update it herself? Or… Or does it automatically know when there has been a change?" She expounded on her inquiry.
"All of the Old Families' Trees know. My mistress liked to trim the diseased branches to keep the roots healthy." Kreacher scripted the words he had obviously heard many times.
She pictured the unblemished face with a certain name and birthdate in script underneath, "Is it only legitimate children that are tracked then?"
"Oh no, no, no… Kreacher's mother told of her mistress demanding it be crafted from terrible and ancient magicks to keep her informed of the master's many grotesque bastards. So much filth in those days that sullied the Black name. Kreacher's mother said it helped to stop future masters' eyes from wandering too far into the bowls of inferiority."
"Your mother remembered when it was made?" Hermione began counting back the generations depicted on the ornate tapestry. "How old are you, Kreacher?"
"House-elves do not keep track of their birthdays, Miss Granger. We are too busy with more important matters, but Kreacher was born when King Edward III reigned." He notified her flippantly, not knowing a wrench had just been thrown into her plans. "Is that all?"
After doing the math and realizing she was in the presence of the oldest living house-elf at over six hundred years old, she tried for more clarification on certain critical specifics. "You… You said something about other families' records. Do they work the same way as the Blacks'?"
"Kreacher doesn't concern himself with the inner workings of other Houses, Miss Granger." He noticed how crestfallen she was when he didn't seem likely to divulge more information and thought for a moment. "There are whispers of the Lestranges using a book that only recognizes masters."
"What about the Malfoys?" She risked asking.
"Kreacher knows nothing about the Malfoys. Dobby would, we can ask him…"
"No!" Her yell startled them both and she modulated her tone before trying again. "I was just curious about how it worked. There is no reason to bother him."
The house-elf didn't argue with her and effectively ended the conversation by turning back to his preparation of their dinner. Hermione kept quiet and leaned back into the chair.
Not only had her hopes of keeping the father of her child a closely guarded secret been blown to bits… By jealous women from centuries ago. She now had to figure out how to keep said child secret from its father and his family with the limited library and magic available to her.