Chapter 1691 - Ch: 43-45

Chapter 43

Notes:

As I promised - a new chapter. Enjoy! ^_^

Chapter Text

Perhaps she should have done it earlier, so maybe then they wouldn't be in such a desperate situation now, but, in her defence, Hermione genuinely hadn't been completely sure until recently.

After all, feelings and romance had never really been her thing, and analysing herself was hardly the easiest task in the world.

But this morning, at some point, when she looked at Harry again – sitting beside her on the floor in the living room… when she saw him smile at her – shyly, but sincerely, and with such infinite warmth, as if no one in the world mattered more to him than Hermione… She just knew. She felt it in her heart.

"I love Harry!" her inner voice had said, with a touch of surprise and growing excitement. "I'm in love with my best friend, Harry Potter. I love him so much!"

In that moment, she felt it, clearly and suddenly, her heart skipped a beat. But she didn't even have time to be properly scared, because… it was actually wonderful! With every passing minute, as she kept sneaking glances at Harry, exchanging smiles and carefree words, jokes and little jabs that only the two of them would understand, she felt a wild, almost irrational happiness growing inside her at an exponential rate. And the reason for it all was this slightly clumsy, impulsive, wonderful, absolutely best boy in the world sitting right next to her.

"Why have I never noticed before how attractive Harry is? His hands … they're beautiful ! And his nose? So sweet. And that tall forehead? His cheekbones? His hair – so soft and ridiculous with that constant messiness… And … oh God, why am I suddenly obsessed with all of this?! I really am acting obsessed… But he's just so … he's so magical! My Harry! "

It took every ounce of self-control not to kiss him right then and there and confess everything… Well… she did kiss him, actually. On the cheek. Very proper, very restrained, especially with her mum and dad still in the room.

Still, she was absolutely going to tell Harry at the first opportunity, as soon as they were alone again, because putting off something so important just wasn't in her nature.

She really wanted to see his reaction… He would be happy, wouldn't he? Oh, surely he would! He was the one who confessed to her first, just a few days ago! Sweet, sweet Harry… She had to tell him as soon as possible that his feelings were returned.

Right now, Hermione even felt a little sorry that it had taken her this long to realise how she truly felt about her friend (very possibly for quite some time already), although, when she thought about it properly, it had been right there, all along, staring her in the face.

How had she managed to miss something so obvious for so long? They say love is blind… and in some cases, it seems, rather stupid too…

Well, so what! Right now, the self-declared top of the class genuinely couldn't care less about her supposed stupidity. Who did it even matter to? Certainly not Harry, as far as she could tell!

Her amazing, wonderful, infinitely kind Harry… He'd said he would wait for her, as long as it took, but now that she'd finally sorted herself out, Hermione didn't want to wait another second!..

And, of course, that's exactly when it happened.

One moment she was standing perfectly calmly in the middle of the sitting room, admiring the shimmering silver pendant Harry had given her… And the next – a sharp, piercing sensation like a thousand needles shot through her lower abdomen, her head suddenly felt both heavy and hollow, and her legs simply gave way beneath her.

Gasping from the searing pain tearing through her womb and ovaries, as though someone had poured sulphuric acid into them and set it alight, Hermione collapsed onto the carpet with a sob, still clutching the chain of her protective pendant, burning against her skin in a far-too-late warning.

She could hardly remember what happened next. She thought she heard her dad shouting at someone… Harry calling her name… her mother crying softly, begging her not to close her eyes, not to drift away…

The whole world around Hermione had shrunk to the size of her own contorted insides, which now twisted and writhed like a nest of serpents in her belly, making her moan, and sob, and then finally scream aloud until her throat gave out and her voice broke into ragged, breathless groans…

And still, the pain wouldn't stop.

Even when she finally passed out from the sheer shock of it, some part of her still felt it – that slicing, mind-breaking agony that refused to let her fall into the comfort of oblivion…

"Hermione… Hermione, I'm here… I'm with you!"

"H-Harry…"

The next time she saw him, Harry looked so pale, and she was so weak and pumped full of drugs, that for a moment she genuinely thought she was dead and seeing a ghost. Or Harry was dead. Or maybe… they both were?

At the edges of her vision and hearing, she was vaguely aware of other people being present… Perhaps one of her school teachers? Or was it her attending healer?

And she was almost certain she saw Professor Dumbledore… Maybe he'd come to visit her? He had looked so sad, so old… so terribly worried… and once again completely at a loss as to how to help her…

She could feel someone's cold, anxious fingers tugging at her jaw now and then, and bitter, foul-smelling liquids being poured onto her tongue, making her choke through waves of nausea that just kept crashing over her again and again…

And then, just as suddenly, her vision came into sharp focus, and Hermione became keenly aware that she was in a hospital room, surrounded by a screen and an unreal, ear-splitting silence.

Sitting beside her, on a tall, oddly elegant wooden chair, was indeed Harry. He was gripping her hand tightly, his eyes locked onto her face with an intensity that spoke of fear. They were bloodshot, as if he'd been crying for a long time, though his cheeks looked dry and worryingly pale.

On the other side of her bed sat Professor Dumbledore, equally sombre and distressed, while standing by the privacy screen at the foot of her bed was the ever-stern, ever-unwelcoming Professor Snape.

However, the two adults soon took their leave. For despite all their power, all their knowledge and magic, there was nothing more either of them could do for her.

As he left, the Headmaster gave Hermione one last long, sorrowful look, as if silently asking her forgiveness for something…

And so, finally, after everything they'd been through, she and Harry were truly alone again. But was it worth it?

This certainly was not the setting she'd imagined when she planned to confess her feelings… Not when she herself was still shaking from fear and lingering pain, and her body was so weak she couldn't even lift her head from the pillow. But, as usual, life hadn't given them much of a choice.

So she just blurted it out – raw, unpolished, and real. Come what may. That's what she decided…

And maybe it really wasn't the right moment. Harry still looked shaken from his earlier failure – the one where he'd tried to do what was expected of them – teetering somewhere between panic and despair. Given that, she probably should have given him a little more time. But Hermione couldn't wait any longer.

Who knew how much time she even had left? Judging by how quickly she'd relapsed after her last attack, it might only be hours. Or even minutes.

She was terrified of what might happen. She didn't want to be sick or dying! She hasn't even finished school yet, for heaven's sake, and that's not even close to being a long life by any standard! She wanted to live – desperately, but to do that, ironically enough, she first had to sort out something as seemingly mundane for most people as her very first romantic love and relationships.

* * *

"Harry…" she began again, unsure how to interpret the silence hanging after her confession, but Harry interrupted her – in the most wonderful way.

Without a word, he leaned in and kissed her lips loudly and passionately, not caring at all how rough or messy it was. Hermione hesitated for only a couple of seconds before answering him with relief in kind.

Even though she was obviously weak and unable to hold him properly, at least she could still move her tongue and lips, so she put all her conscious effort into making the contact as close as possible. Luckily, Harry was more than happy to encourage her, pressing eagerly against her again and wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

This time their hot embrace lasted for a long time, turning into a whole cascade of kisses and exchange of saliva. Forgetting everything else, they lost themselves in each other, tongues meeting again and again, until finally their breathing faltered, and they had to break apart.

Now Harry's face was so close to hers once more. His glasses slid to the side and fell somewhere, getting lost in the sheets in the process, and his cheeks were flushed with pleasure. His usually pale, thin lips had turned red and swollen from the repeated, insistent collision with Hermione's mouth, and she immediately wanted to kiss him again… but she held herself back.

Maybe they needed to talk about what had happened first… you know, to dot all the i's and cross all the t's…

"Mione…"

…or maybe not.

Breathing out her name in a sigh, Harry leaned in again, pressing his lips to hers with renewed fervour, his fingers tangling in her long hair – and a shiver ran down Hermione's spine, making her let out a soft, joy-filled whimper.

It seemed that the more Harry touched her, the better she felt. It was as if he was reassembling her in the smallest detail, pumping his own power into her… And, who knows, there might even be some rationality to it, given all the confusing terms of the ritual and all…

Right now, however, Hermione could no longer think about it or analyse anything in general – not with the way Harry pressed himself insistently against her again with his naked body, instinctively rocking on top of her, kissing her lips, her cheeks, her cheekbones pressing kisses to sensitive spots on her neck and collarbones, nibbling, sucking and… oh, god… licking her with quiet, almost animalistic sounds of growing arousal…

"Oral fixation," her brain absently noted before shutting down again, drifting off into a voluptuous oblivion of pure bliss.

Harry's once again hard penis was rubbing wetly and hotly against her, poking blindly somewhere around her belly and thighs, still hidden by the cotton fabric of the long hospital gown.

"Harry… t-take it off…"

With a muffled grunt of protest at being interrupted, he nevertheless pulled away briefly from the space behind her ear, which he had been tracing with his tongue, and flung aside part of the blanket covering them in impatience. Eager to get back to the interrupted activity as soon as possible, he grabbed the hem of her dressing gown and pulled it up, but was forced to stop when the fabric crumpled and caught under her buttocks.

"Damn it!" In a fit of lust-induced stupidity, he yanked the cotton up a few more times desperately, of course without achieving anything, and growled hoarsely in frustration.

"Harry, come on, help me out here!.."

Fortunately, he quickly realized what was required of him. Getting down on all fours, he slid his hands under Hermione's waist and hips and lifted her body up as best he could, helping her to pull her bottom off the mattress. At the same time, she pulled at the folds of her dressing gown, lifting it up to her navel and thus successfully exposing her bottom. Since someone (probably a nurse) had already removed her panties earlier, she was immediately half naked and shuddered slightly, getting light goosebumps in contrast to the cool air in the place.

Harry didn't let her freeze for too long, though. Panting with effort, he diligently dragged her dressing gown even higher, until he freed first one arm, then the other, and finally took this thing off completely, tossing it into the corner.

As soon as the last obstacle was over, he immediately returned to his original position, laying down on his side next to Hermione and partially covering her with himself. This time he didn't seem to need any more time or anything else to regain his confidence, for now he had something better, namely Hermione's answering confession.

Emboldened by this, Harry boldly threw his leg over her and cupped his hands around her cheeks before once again bringing their lips together and kissing her – deep, lingering and sweet, sending waves of pleasurable shivers down through her entire body, straight to her crotch, which grew hotter and wetter with each new caress.

"Harry… H-Harry…"

Still too lethargic and exhausted to respond actively, Hermione could only repeat the boy's name in desperation, trying to push him into a more decisive and concrete action, but he was still slow to get to the point, preferring instead to slowly and deliberately inflame her, thus gradually driving her to madness.

"Harry… please… Harry!"

Unable to bear the throbbing and heat between her legs any longer, Hermione groaned loudly in pure frustration, and then with a sudden burst of strength she reached out, grabbing Harry's shoulders and neck and pulling him down on top of her with force.

"Fuck… Hermione…"

"Now, Harry! I need you now!"

"Mione… oh… fuck…"

Her legs were still shaking from exhaustion and wouldn't obey when she tried to pull them apart, so Harry had to help her again.

"Do it! Please do it! Please...!"

The smouldering embers that had settled in her uterus since some time ago flared up more, twisting Hermione's stomach with a mixture of deep pain and desire, making her whimper like a baby as Harry hastily levelled himself over her.

"I'm going to..."

"Yes! Yes! Please, hurry up!.."

She still gasped in shock, opening her mouth wide in a silent scream as Harry pushed into her for the first time with force, entering her at once almost all the way in.

"Ahhh..."

"Mione... are you okay?" he managed to croak out after a minute, although judging by his red, tense face and the beads of sweat on his forehead, most of his concentration at that moment was spent trying not to start brutally thrusting into her without giving a damn about anything else.

"Yes… K-keep going... Move..."

With a short nod, he slowly rocked back and forth, still deep inside Hermione, trying to expand her shrinking walls that were clenched too tightly around his shaft. Hermione, in turn, tried to concentrate on her own breathing as best she could, alternating between deep slow breaths and calm exhalations in hopes of abstracting herself from the sensation of a hard rod ramming and pushing her apart from the inside.

Her heart was pounding hard in her chest.

Having penetrative sex was still quite painful and a little scary, and still very unfamiliar – even with all that lubrication secreted by her slimy walls, but still it wasn't as bad as the first time, when she hadn't known what to expect at all and was as dry as parchment from fear.

Besides, a lot had changed since then. It was strange to realise that it had only been a few weeks since she and Harry had lost their virginity... So much had happened in that time! For example, she'd realised how much she cared for Harry, not just as a friend, but as someone much more than that.

"Harry... ah... Harry..." she covered her eyes and continued to whimper his name as he thrust hard into her, breathing noisily in her ear.

The burning sensation in her spread thighs and her almost forcibly opened vagina never wanted to go away, but it was less unpleasant than the first time. Besides, it wasn't even close to what she'd been through during the last attack, so Hermione just endured, resigned to the rhythm of Harry's insistent fucking, pressing her into the hospital mattress.

Listening to his occasional rough moans and heavy breathing, she instinctively adjusted to him, breathing in unison and increasingly calming down. Her muscles, previously restrained by stress, gradually relaxed and the flow of mucus resumed from her vagina, allowing Harry to move more freely.

Taking advantage of the situation, he stepped out of her briefly, forcing a shriek as her overly sensitive labia collapsed and her canal clenched in a sense of loss.

"Hey!.." Her attempted protest was muffled by the short, wet kiss Harry gave her before he pulled away from her again, sitting back on his heels.

In this new pose, he grabbed Hermione's kneecaps and spread them as wide as he could to open her up to him even more. The expression on his face as he stared uninterruptedly at her crotch was deafening yet full of seething emotions that were impossible to make out.

Glancing down, Hermione stared at the red tip of his penis resting against her wet, straining entrance, and swallowed loudly.

"What are you...?"

And then he entered her again without warning, causing Hermione to wince and hiss painfully:

"Go easy!"

But he didn't seem to hear her anymore, lost in a haze of one single desire that eclipsed every rational thought and impulse, including even his initial desire to be gentle with her. Without letting Hermione get used to the stretching again and without any transition, he began to mate with her quickly and greedily, pounding deep into her crotch, making her cry out briefly each time the head of his cock carelessly grazed the entrance to her uterus.

His hips were thrashing harder and harder against her thighs, his balls slapping loudly and wetly against her anus. Their combined fluids mingled, providing the proper lubrication that squelched rhythmically in the silence of this place, echoing her panting cries and his sighs.

The old hospital gurney beneath them shook visibly and creaked sharply as its wheels slid across the linoleum, and if they could think straight for an instant they'd be afraid they were making too much noise, even with all the protective spells, but they just didn't care.

"Ah... ahhh... Harry... ahhh... Harry... Harry..."

Stunned by the whirlwind of conflicting physical sensations and psychological intensity, Hermione somehow completely missed the moment when the pain in her lower body went from sharp to first dull and then disappeared altogether, and she began to feel a strong need to move towards Harry...

But she was still so powerless...!

Unable to do what nature was urging her to do, she could only moan longer and more pitifully, staring mindlessly at the cracks in the ceiling, and babbling senselessly as her brain gradually turned to mush, unable to cope with the abundance of nervous stimulation.

"Mione... fuck... Mione-ah..."

Harry's buttocks flashed through the air faster and faster. He was panting, unable to keep up such a hard pace for long enough, but still unwilling to give up, squeezing the last drops out of his lean body, simply unable to stop or slow down right now that he finally had what he had longed for.

Finally, unable to stand it any longer, he simply piled all his available weight on top of Hermione, ignoring her surprised squeal, and thrust roughly, sharply into her cunt a few more times, penetrating as deeply as he could, and then cumming into her with a desperate scream, flooding her open, eager uterus with his seed.

"Fuuuuuuck..."

* * *

Moaning and cursing, he pounded her incoherently for almost another minute, gradually less vigorously until he stopped completely, burying his nose in Hermione's neck and still pressing hard between her legs.

They were both breathing hard and fast, covered in salty sweat so much that it sparkled on their bare, flushed skin in the fluorescent light like a golden film.

The hair on the back of Harry's head and temples was completely stuck together, making him look even more like a disheveled, flushed hedgehog. Cloudy drops trickled down his cheeks and neck, where his pulse vein was beating furiously as he lay dazed and motionless on top of Hermione.

His hard cock was still buried deep inside her, periodically twitching reflexively, shooting the last streams of cum from his tightened balls into her womb.

Just as stunned by such a grand finale as her young partner, Hermione was greedily sucking in air through her mouth, hearing the rush of blood pounding in her ears. Her pulse was off the charts, and her brain still refused to function properly, continuing instead to drift in a limbo of scattered, fragmented thoughts and tangled, conflicting emotions.

A damp warmth was spreading inside her abdomen… On the edge of consciousness, with her usual logic, she found herself thinking that it was Harry's seed, with billions of sperm cells now rushing to reach her egg and fertilise it… but, for the most part, she couldn't have cared less.

Although she, unlike Harry, never made it to the "finish line", the sensations heaped upon her – positive, negative, and just plain weird – were enough to leave her in a state of complete prostration for a while.

"Ugh..."

Harry, meanwhile, had already recovered enough to realise that he was still lying like a log, pinning Hermione to the bed.

"Shit... Sorry, Hermione!" He hastily rolled off her, pulling his cock out and thus causing a brief spasm of pain in her chafed passage.

Both of their southern parts were slick with Hermione's sticky juices and Harry's cum, which had already started to slowly leak out of her, staining the sheets, but neither still had the strength or desire to do anything about it.

"Wow… I mean… wow…" Harry shook his head against the pillow, struggling in vain to string together a coherent thought, but Hermione reckoned she could understand him well enough regardless. Because she felt more or less the same… well, give or take.

Although the dull ache in her belly had already begun to creep back, and she felt thoroughly wrecked down there, it wasn't… all that bad, strangely enough.

What they'd just done… It was…

"How are you feeling?" Harry was looking at her with mild concern, once again incredibly caring and not nearly as confident now that his mind was no longer clouded by a haze of primal lust.

Before answering, Hermione took a moment to really check in with herself, trying to make sense of what had just happened and reconcile it with how she actually felt.

"I think I'm all right," she concluded at last, quite honestly.

"Really? So I didn't hurt you?"

"It was… uh… okay. Bearable. Even… nice, I think."

"Really? Oh, thank God! I just thought, when you…"

"Well, it was a bit rough," she admitted with a wince, absentmindedly rubbing her sticky thighs together. She was definitely burning down there now, though in a very different way than during her last episode.

"I'm sorry!.."

"But I'm fine, Harry. Honestly. I think I even… um… liked it. For the most part. If you don't count the circumstances," she added, sweeping her gaze meaningfully around the cramped space behind the screen – the only thing separating them from the crowd outside.

"Oh…" He followed her gaze and his cheeks flushed slightly. "Yeah. That. To be honest, I completely forgot where we were…"

"Honestly, so did I."

They both let out a long, heavy sigh at the same time, then giggled nervously in perfect sync.

Turning onto their sides, they lay facing each other, no more than a few inches between their noses, soft smiles spreading across their faces as they locked eyes.

"Hey…"

"Hey…"

"I love you!"

Hermione could've sworn Harry somehow heard her, because his eyes lit up instantly and his smile widened even further.

"Hermione?"

"Mmm?"

"You're really beautiful. You know that?"

"Thank you. You're not so bad yourself," she replied primly, then promptly snorted, unable to hold it in, and Harry laughed in return.

They had no idea why everything felt so easy and sweet between them right now, but the reasons didn't really matter. What mattered was that they were together again, in all of this, and it simply felt right.

"Harry?" Hermione spoke up after a few more minutes, noticing that he was just on the verge of falling asleep. Her own eyes felt like someone had poured sand into them, but there was still one thing…

"Hmm? What is it?" he blinked, rousing himself.

"I'm cold…"

She whined it in an overly pitiful voice to tease him, though truthfully, her bum and back really were starting to break out in goosebumps. They were still without a blanket, after it was flung aside somewhere in the whirlwind of their earlier activity.

"Oh, hang on, I've got it!" Harry rolled off the bed and began rummaging around in the corners.

Having found their scattered clothes along with the blanket that had ended up under the bed, he quickly slipped back into his pyjamas and helped Hermione into her dressing gown, before diving under the covers again and doing his best to wrap them both up as snugly as possible.

"Better?" he asked with a note of genuine care, pulling her close until her face nestled perfectly in the hollow between his neck and collarbone, his lips brushing against the top of her curly head.

"Mmm-hmm…"

"Feeling really sleepy?"

"Mmm-hmm…"

"Okay… then sleep, yeah?"

"Mmm… will you stay?"

"Of course! I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here when you wake up…"

"Mm-kay…"

The heaviness returned, washing over her like a thick blanket, burying even the lingering discomfort in her body – now too dull and distant to matter.

After wriggling slightly within the circle of his arms, Hermione finally grew still, overcome by sheer exhaustion, and by the deep, full-bodied sense of contentment that now filled her to the very tips of her fingers.

She didn't feel it when Harry pressed a kiss to her temple, whispering something soft and unintelligible, because by then she was already fast asleep, breathing slow and steady, lulled by the shared warmth of their bare bodies… inhaling the scent of musk, sweat, and Harry… feeling the steady, soothing beat of his heart beneath her hand…

Chapter 44

Notes:

So, this is another transitional chapter. It will answer questions some of you have been asking.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"…finally deign to explain what the hell is going on here?!" Mr Granger's furious roar echoed from the corridor adjoining the intensive care wing, growing louder as Dumbledore and Snape approached the door.

Apparently, the man hadn't stopped arguing and shouting the entire time, determined to get inside. Someone replied to him, though the response was too muffled to make out, but whatever was said only seemed to inflame him further.

"No, I will not 'calm down'! First our daughter collapses for no apparent reason, and then your people show up, say absolutely nothing, and just…!"

Albus's brows furrowed in concern.

It was clear this was going to be a difficult conversation for everyone involved, but most of all, for Miss Granger's parents. Even if they had been a witche and a wizard, it would have been hard enough to explain – let alone justify – what had happened to their daughter under Hogwarts' care. They had every right to be furious.

If only there were a single problem in this world that could be solved by shouting and arguments…

But they would have to talk, one way or another, and for all his vast life experience, Albus made no attempt to predict the long-term consequences of this conversation.

He already had one magical child on his hands, abandoned by Muggle relatives, and it was entirely possible that, by the end of the day, there would be another. One he might have to remove by force, for her own protection… He would much prefer to avoid such a course – for a multitude of reasons.

"This is all so terribly unpleasant… and so dreadfully ill-timed."

Sighing, Albus wiped every trace of concern from his face, slipped into his well-practised mask of composure and geniality, and pushed open the door.

"…you will not stop us! I demand that you…!"

"Mr Granger, I do understand how difficult this must be for you, but…" Minerva McGonagall, standing opposite the furious man, spoke with a voice much quieter and calmer than his, though no less strained.

She looked as strict and prim as ever, attempting to reason with her pupil's father through cold logic, but beneath her calm expression and professional tone, Albus could detect a flicker of unease. It made her Scottish accent more pronounced than usual, the consonants sharp and clipped.

From the brief, exasperated glance she shot at Dumbledore, it was clear there was yet another personal conversation looming in the not-so-distant future.

"You understand?! You?!" Mr Granger snapped, still too blinded by rage to register the presence of the other wizards in the corridor. "You're the ones who let this happen! Less than a month ago, you assured us Hermione would be safer in 'your world'! That she'd be fine! You made us believe you'd look after her properly this time, and now she's fighting for her life, and you won't even let us see her! No, I've had enough of your lies! Either you let us in right now, or we call the police, and I swear you'll regret…!"

"Mr Granger," Dumbledore interjected, gently but firmly redirecting the man's fury. "Mrs Granger," he added with a courteous nod towards the pale, silent woman seated nearby, before announcing to them both, "We have good news."

"News? What…?"

"How's Hermione?!"

Mrs Granger shot up from the plastic chair where she'd sat in mute despair, her head buried in her hands just moments before.

In an instant, she was at Albus's side, clutching his wrinkled hands with her ice-cold fingers, her wide eyes locking onto his as if searching them for the truth. Her face was grey with fear and worry.

He felt a deep, genuine sorrow for her, as he would for any parent whose child had been placed in mortal danger. The guilt of having overlooked this weighed more heavily now, adding fresh burden to the already vast grief he had long carried through life.

"What's happened to her? What's happened to our little girl?!"

"Your daughter is safe now," Albus said as gently as possible, offering the poor woman a brief, sympathetic smile.

"Safe? But we were told…"

"She's out of danger," he repeated reassuringly. "At the moment, she's with Harry, but you'll be able to see her… both of them very soon, I promise. In the meantime, perhaps we could all sit somewhere quiet and talk? I imagine you must have quite a few questions…"

He chose to ignore the barely audible, sarcastic huff that came from Severus behind him. The younger man had been deeply sceptical of the entire endeavour from the very start and had, with great eloquence, albeit mostly in silence, passed judgment on what he considered to be "Gryffindor recklessness" and "an unhealthy faith in happy endings."

Still, not once had he called his superior's idea foolish or a waste of time outright, as a true Gryffindor might have done (Albus had already endured several rather unpleasant arguments with Minerva on the matter, after which he had only felt more tired and considerably older than before).

Instead, Severus expressed his disapproval through passive aggression – dry scoffs and long, weighty stares that Albus had grown far too accustomed to over the years to be particularly bothered by anymore.

Be that as it may, the man had brewed every necessary potion without complaint, flawlessly and without hesitation, despite the drastic cuts to his personal time and sleep. Albus knew full well that he did it nor even necessarily for the cause, but out of a sense of duty to the boy's mother…

To manipulate the Potions Master with such blunt tools had been crude, even beneath him, but Albus had far too many problems clamouring for his attention these days, most of them increasingly orbiting around young Harry Potter and the vague but ever more troubling signs of Voldemort's return, to waste precious energy feeling guilty about that as well.

He understood perfectly well that their attempt to "outplay" ancient Blood Magic was all but doomed from the start…

Rituals of that kind tended to be as temperamental as they were powerful – and insidious – which was precisely why most had either been outlawed by the Ministry or had faded from use on their own.

The very fact that such a book had ended up in the open section of the library remained, to this day, a mystery to Albus. He had known Irma Pince for over forty years now, and in all that time he had never encountered a more meticulous, attentive, or fastidiously thorough individual. The likelihood that she had simply overlooked or forgotten to relocate such a dangerous volume out of students' reach was next to none.

Leafing through "Traditions and Rituals of the Magical Clans of Scotland" in search of answers, he couldn't shake the thought that, all things considered, they had been relatively lucky. The ritual Miss Granger had chosen was far from the most dangerous or unpredictable form of magic described within its pages. At the very least, the girl hadn't attempted to construct a golem for her protection or summon a couple of demons for the same purpose using her and Harry's virgin blood...

Given the circumstances, Albus very much hoped – perhaps a little naïvely – that they might still manage to delay, if not prevent, the inevitable.

In his attempt to find the least traumatic resolution to the situation for all involved, he had gathered every scrap of relevant literature he could lay his hands on, calling in favours from old contacts in academic circles, the Department of Mysteries, and even across the Continent.

Together with Severus, they had meticulously examined every record that might shed light on the Johnston Curse – every documented precedent of its invocation and every known attempt to escape such binding obligations. Yet all they had truly achieved was to confirm, once more, what Albus had already suspected in the pit of his stomach:

There was, quite simply, no real solution to this problem.

Harry and Hermione would, regardless, have to continue attempting conception, until, eventually, they succeeded.

The one element the Ritual could not fully dictate – the single thread of autonomy they had left – was the exact moment at which fertilisation would occur.

Whether the deranged dark wizard who devised it had left that loophole intentionally (perhaps out of some twisted sense of care for his sole heir) or whether it was a simple oversight, no longer mattered in the slightest. The only question that did was: could it be used?

Turning this puzzle over in his mind during yet another sleepless night alone in his office, Albus eventually stumbled upon a thought – an idea that, in theory, might offer the very loophole they so desperately needed…

If one accepted the premise that the magic woven into the Ritual accounted not only for the result of an action, but also for the genuine intent behind it, then surely the attempts at conception could count?

For example, if the young couple were to engage regularly in intercourse with the express purpose of producing a child, but some internal or external factor prevented it (say, low fertility in the witch's case… or even a latent Infertility Curse cast on her without her knowledge or consent), then…

Well, then it might work. With a great deal of luck.

And even the slimmest chance of success was worth pursuing, because two young lives now hung in the balance…

Having weighed all the pros and cons, Albus made his decision.

Naturally, neither Harry nor his young wife could be told any of this…

If all went well, in the very worst case, Albus would be left with two underage children, married and engaging in sexual relations under the school's roof, but as morally questionable as that might sound, it was still vastly preferable to the alternative: a pregnant second-year student and the twelve-year-old Boy Who Lived as the father of her child.

The lesser of two evils, as the saying goes…

Having reached that conclusion, he even allowed himself to form tentative plans in which Miss Granger could be quietly given a contraceptive potion for as long as necessary – long enough, perhaps, for her to survive the next few years and even sit her N.E.W.T.s without a baby in her belly.

For all her precocious intellect and curiosity, Hermione was still rather pure of heart. Her trust in adult authority, for the most part, remained unshaken. It would never occur to her to question too deeply the nature of the "medicine" she was being given, so long as it appeared to be working.

Of course, there remained the very real possibility that, if denied what it sought, the magic might retaliate, and turn its wrath upon Dumbledore, Severus, and Poppy as the ones responsible. But the three of them were adults, and members of the Order. They had long since accepted the possibility of personal sacrifice, should it become necessary.

And this was no ordinary student they were trying to protect. This was the Boy Who Lived. His life, his safety, his future – those alone were worth all the risks, all the effort.

So yes, in theory, the plan had been sound. Simple. Even elegant.

Pity it had all gone straight up a hippogriff's backside in practice.

* * *

Without waiting for a reply, Dumbledore took the lead, heading towards the nearest available room, which by happy coincidence turned out to be a supply cupboard. As he walked, he pulled his wand from his sleeve, expanding the space with a flick and transfiguring the contents into a more suitable setting.

If the Grangers were at all surprised to find that a modern Muggle hospital now boasted a room with a stone floor, wooden-panelled walls, a plush Persian rug, and lavishly carved furniture in a style two centuries out of date (not to mention a roaring fireplace and a wintry Scottish landscape beyond tall arched windows), they made no comment.

Quite possibly, in their current state of dejection, they even did not consider it important.

Once everyone had settled into the armchairs and sofas (Severus, as usual, had opted instead to position himself in the farthest, darkest corner, from where he could observe the others with his customary expression of bored sullenness), Albus conjured each of them a cup of strong black tea with sugar.

"Milk? Biscuits?" he offered innocently, attempting to gauge the atmosphere and buy a few extra moments. "Perhaps a lemon drop or two…?"

"Can we get to the point already?" Mr Granger cut him off grimly. "And don't even think about lying to us again! If you…"

"David," Mrs Granger placed a hand gently on her husband's wrist, halting him. "Please..."

The man snapped his mouth shut, inhaling sharply through clenched teeth, though his eyes continued to bore into Albus with thinly veiled fury.

"A simple Obliviate would solve this rather neatly," came Severus's dry, detached voice in Albus's mind.

He replied with a gentle mental nudge and a deliberate raising of his shields, making it abundantly clear to his younger colleague that he was not presently in the mood for his particular brand of humour.

He forced from his mind the notion that bewitching a pair of defenceless Muggles truly would be the easier path...

Once, nearly a century ago, he might have done just that, without so much as a second thought.

But not now. Not anymore.

Not unless there was truly no other choice left to make…

"Ahem…"

"Please, just tell us the truth, Professor," Mrs Granger said quietly, still restraining her husband from launching into another pointless outburst.

"I'm afraid it's rather difficult to explain in just a few words…"

"We already know they're married… so to speak," she added, shaking her head, still clearly in disbelief over the fact. "It's… absurd, and we still can't quite grasp how something like that could even have happened. And to say we weren't exactly thrilled about it would be an understatement."

"Of course. I assure you, it came as just as much of a shock to the rest of us as it did to you."

"But that still doesn't explain why Hermione is ill," the woman finished firmly. "We can see something's going on between her and that boy, Harry… And then this morning she just suddenly collapses… We just want the truth, Professor. All of it, whatever it is."

"And you are absolutely entitled to it," Dumbledore nodded respectfully. "All I ask is that you try to hear me out, and not rush to judgement, however difficult that may be."

"We'll do our best," she replied, while Mr Granger merely gave a terse, grudging hum of assent.

Seeing them both more or less composed now or at least prepared to listen, Albus allowed himself another small moment of delay, stirring his tea as if to busy his hands, though in truth he was still mentally arranging his words.

They had said they wanted to know everything.

Well… this time, he truly didn't intend to keep anything from them. There was little point in doing so anymore.

Drawing a slow, steady breath, he finally set down the poor cup with care on the low table before him, then straightened up and folded his hands lightly over his stomach.

"It's not marriage in the way we usually understand it," he began carefully, not wishing to pour the entire cauldron over their heads all at once.

By the time this conversation was over, there was a very good chance they would be confused, furious, or both, but they weren't quite there yet.

"As you already know, about a month ago Hermione and Harry became bound by a blood ritual – an ancient magical oath that fell out of use long before any of us were born, though its description has survived in certain old texts. The purpose of this particular oath was originally to preserve magical lineage…"

He paused, if only to ensure he hadn't already lost them, but the Grangers continued to stare at him blankly, their expressions unreadable.

"This is going to be difficult…"

"Er… The problem we're currently facing," he went on, "is that the Ritual requires completion. Otherwise, it becomes something… destructive."

"What exactly do you mean by 'destructive'?" Mrs Granger asked tensely. "We're both doctors, Professor. You can speak plainly with us."

"Wait. How are we supposed to just take your word for all this?" Mr Granger interrupted, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "I'm sorry, but everything you've said so far about this business with the 'marriage ritual' – it all sounds like some kind of mediaeval fairy tale. I don't understand how any of this can be real, especially in this day and age. It's just… it's not normal. It's illegal, for one thing! They're children. And now you're telling us there's no way out, that we simply have to let this go on… this… corruption, but…"

"You are quite right," Albus inclined his silver head solemnly once again. "I cannot ask you to believe all this without evidence. It may prove difficult, however, for me to explain matters in terms familiar to your world…"

"Try," the man snapped, his tone cold.

"As I've said, the Ritual they performed is incredibly powerful and extremely rigid by its very nature. It doesn't merely bind a wizard and a witch in the way a conventional wedding might – through legal or social constructs. In many ways, it renders them a single magical entity, distributed across two bodies."

"You're saying… it's changed their bodies? Or… what? Is this some sort of physiological alteration?"

"Partially, yes. But it concerns their magical bodies – or, as we more commonly refer to them, their magical cores."

"So… they're dependent on each other? Like… er… entangled particles?"

He could almost see the furious speed at which their minds were working, desperately trying to cram these inexplicable magical truths into the frameworks they understood – a futile effort, really, because Magic could not be studied in any scientific fashion. If anyone knew that, it was he.

Magic could only be believed in.

"Something of the sort," he confirmed at last, if only to offer them some kind of conceptual foothold. "Magically, physically and, to a certain extent, emotionally they are now bound together for the rest of their lives."

"And you call that a marriage? I'm sorry, but that sounds like a pathological form of symbiotic dependency."

"If you prefer this term, yes. But in the magical world, it is the most ancient form of union. And, alas, irreversible."

"We're taking her home," Mr Granger declared flatly. "Today. Right now. We'll get her away from all this and find a way to cure her…"

"I'm afraid that would only hasten the process," Dumbledore said softly, with quiet sympathy. "Any attempt to sever the bond between your daughter and Harry by force would lead only to a rapid decline in her condition. In all likelihood… it would kill her. Within a day. Perhaps even sooner."

"Christ…"

* * *

Dumbledore took a slow sip of his tea, giving the Grangers a moment to process what he had just said, and to steady themselves before he offered them the last, and heaviest, sack of pixies yet: the fact that their daughter would have to remain pregnant, starting today and quite possibly for the rest of her life.

For a fleeting moment, he tried to imagine what he might have felt had it been his own daughter… or sister… and he realised, almost immediately, that he could not have borne it. One could only hope the Grangers were made of sterner stuff than he.

Maybe, if he could find a Muggle analogy for it… something they could hold on to…

"Perhaps... hmm... think of it as a kind of organ transplant," said Albus at last, folding his hands cautiously. "Only instead of a heart or a kidney, what was 'transplanted' – or rather, fused together – was their magical essence. That which a wizard cannot live without, just as none of us can live without air. Now imagine what happens when such a union is left incomplete. The body, the mind – neither knows how to come to terms with it. The core begins to deteriorate. Like receiving blood from an incompatible donor... It turns inward and starts to fall apart."

"What you're describing... it sounds like an autoimmune disease," Mrs Granger said slowly. "Hermione's body is attacking itself?"

"Yes. That is, in essence, what is happening," Dumbledore confirmed.

"But you've tried to treat her? To stop it?"

"Of course," he said at once. "Professor Snape, whom you see here", he inclined his head towards the Potions Master, "and I myself have explored a great many possibilities, but none have had any meaningful or lasting effect. Since neither Hermione nor Harry was forced into taking this vow, any attempt to evade its terms now is seen – by Magic itself – as a grave violation. And Magic… responds accordingly."

He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was heavy with regret:

"I truly am sorry. But if there had been any way to help Hermione, it would already have been done."

Mrs Granger sat still for a moment, her expression pained and thoughtful.

"So… what is happening to Hermione now," she said at last, "it's a result of this magical core… this bond… being… rejected? Because she broke the terms of this magical contract, and it remains 'unfinished'?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said simply.

"And what exactly does 'finishing' it entail? Don't tell me it involves… sex. You cannot possibly mean…"

Dumbledore closed his eyes briefly and exhaled a long, quiet breath. He had known this moment would come, and that it would land like a thunderclap. But there was no gentle way to say it.

"The primary intent of the Ritual is the continuation of magical lineage," he said, as steady as he could. "As such, the only true form of completion is the conception of a child – Hermione's child, conceived by Harry."

"I'm sorry… what?!" Mr Granger all but leapt out of his chair, his face flushing an alarming shade of red. He surged forward instinctively, as if ready to grab Dumbledore by the collar.

"Wait… are you seriously saying she's supposed to… to become pregnant? Now?" Mrs Granger's voice cracked with disbelief.

Now they were both staring at him, aghast and horrified, as though he were some dangerous madman. And frankly, Dumbledore could hardly blame them.

"Yes. Without that, Magic will not recognise their bond as complete."

"But… Do you even hear yourself?! She's still a little child! They both are!"

"Sadly, Magic does not take age into account the way we do. From a biological standpoint, Hermione is a healthy, sexually mature witch, and Harry, though still very young, is a wizard capable of reproduction. Moreover, he is the head and sole surviving member of an ancient magical line. All these factors together… complicate matters significantly. I am truly sorry to have to tell you this in such a way, but unless Hermione conceives an heir to the Potter line within the next few days – possibly even hours – her magical core will begin to collapse. And with it, her physical body. Harry will likely last a little longer, but not much."

"Her illness…"

"We have managed to hold it at bay for as long as we could. But this particular Ritual… it was designed, to a large extent, as a rather cruel safeguard. And the worst part is there is no way back from it."

"It sounds like… like some kind of forced biological imperative. Like… the threat of procreation or death. It's barbaric! Have you even tried to break this bond? To undo what they've become?!"

Torn between anger and confusion, they kept asking him the same questions over and over, as if doing so might somehow bargain them into a different reality.

"We did," Dumbledore replied, still patient, though visibly wearied by truth. "We've tried to understand the structure of the Ritual, to lift the curse or at least find a weak point, but it isn't mechanical. It... lives. It responds to every external interference – and usually not in a good way. Attempts to reverse it or force it to change only make things worse."

Mr Granger's face was nearly purple with rage now, his chest rising and falling in short, shallow bursts.

"If you lied to us… If anyone… if someone pushed her into this…"

"No one pushed her," Dumbledore interrupted gently. "It was Hermione's own decision. She asked Harry to accept her into the House of Potter, and he agreed, thinking he was helping her."

"But… but how… how can you possibly expect this of her?! How do you even imagine she could go through with it?! Psychologically and… and physically? My God… she only just started her periods this summer!"

Mrs Granger was staring at Albus with wide, horrified eyes, unable to believe they were even having this conversation.

"This sounds like some appalling joke. How can you possibly expect our daughter to be… sexually active with a boy and become a mother at thirteen?! Just because of some tradition she barely understands?"

"It's abuse. It's savagery. Old wives' tale!" Mr Granger was practically hissing now, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. "Who let this happen?! You knew and just… watched?!"

"I share your anger. And your fear," Dumbledore said quietly. "But this is not superstition. And it is certainly no jest. They performed the Ritual of their own volition, though neither grasped the full weight of its consequences. Hermione sought protection. In her eyes, joining an old magical House would shield her from pursuit. Harry… merely wished to help. They both had no idea how grave the implications truly were."

"Protection?" Mr Granger growled, his voice rising dangerously. "Protection from what? Who was threatening her?!"

Dumbledore resisted the very strong temptation to rub his face beneath his glasses.

"So here we are at last…"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Severus shift slightly in his corner. Minerva let out a faint, feline huff of disapproval – clearly directed at Albus.

He could practically hear their voices, echoing his own internal chastisement:

"Serves you right, you old fool. We warned you this would happen. You let the whole festering mess with the Heir spiral out of control, thinking a bit of 'character-building' would do Harry good. You thought you had everything in hand… Well. Now deal with it."

* * *

"The reason Hermione chose to undergo the ritual… is not a simple one."

He knew he sounded as though he were trying to avoid giving a straight answer. But in truth, there was no way to explain it to the Grangers without also exposing his own glaring incompetence.

There was no excuse – this part of the problem really was on him.

"It pains me deeply to admit it, but things are far from calm at Hogwarts at the moment. There are rumours circulating about the return of the Heir of Salazar Slytherin – one of the school's founders. According to a legend that persists among the students, Slytherin wished to 'cleanse' the school of Muggle-borns."

"'Cleanse'?" Mrs Granger echoed faintly. "You mean… expel them? Is this some sort of bullying? Has someone been mistreating Hermione?"

"More like trying to kill her," Snape said grimly from his corner, his tone so cold and blunt that everyone flinched slightly.

"Oh my God…"

"Because she's not from a magical family?" Mr. Granger asked tensely.

"Yes."

"But that's outright fascism! So what, you allow this kind of thing in your school?! You knew this might happen, and you still convinced us to let our daughter go there?! What the hell do you think you're playing at?!"

"Absolutely not," Albus said firmly. "Hogwarts has always been – and will always remain – open to everyone, regardless of their heritage. However, as much as I loathe to admit it, not everyone in our world shares this belief. Some of the more… conservative elements of our society still cling to the ideology of blood purity."

"Malfoy…" Mr Granger muttered darkly.

"Sorry?"

"In August, we ran into that family, the Malfoys, while we were in London. They behaved… oddly. Especially the father."

"Ah, yes. Lucius… He's a well-known proponent of pure-blood supremacy. Even among those who agree with him in principle, many find his views rather extreme."

"And he's not the only one like that in your world, is he? This… erm… Heir – is he also one of those people who dislike 'non-magicals'?"

"Regrettably, that is the case," Dumbledore confirmed, his tone growing firmer. "Because of her background and blood status, your daughter is among those who may be at risk from the Heir – or from whoever is pretending to be him. A few weeks ago, another Muggle-born student was attacked. Fortunately, he survived, but we still don't know who was responsible."

Seeing how deeply this new piece of dreadful news unsettled them, he added in a gentler voice:

"Hermione was simply frightened. It seems she believed that becoming part of an old pure-blood family would make her safe – both magically and socially. Harry, in this instance, merely wanted to help his friend. He's a compassionate boy, and he feels a deep sense of responsibility for others."

"But why didn't she say anything to us? We're… we're her parents," Mrs Granger's voice wavered.

"She's never spoken to us about anything like this…" her husband added quietly. "Not once in the past year…"

"Perhaps she didn't want to worry you, or perhaps she feared she wouldn't be able to explain it properly. Or maybe she simply believed she could manage on her own. Hermione is… very independent," Dumbledore said with sadness. "But you must understand – none of this is her fault. She simply lacked the knowledge and experience to assess the true level of risk."

He took a large sip from his cup while the Grangers stared down at their own hands, blank and lost in the enormity of it all.

"Hermione and Harry performed the Ritual in secret, believing it to be merely a symbolic act of Hermione joining the House of Potter. There was no malice involved. Only the foolishness and naivety of adolescence. But unfortunately, to Magic, their vows are real — as is their marriage — and whatever decisions are made going forward, we must proceed from that fact. We can no longer afford to act on emotion."

Mrs Granger brought her hands to her mouth, while Mr Granger continued to stare blankly at a spot just over Albus's right shoulder.

After nearly five minutes of heavy silence, the man finally spoke, slowly:

"So you expect us to simply accept that our daughter… will have a child with that boy, because some ancient ritual demands it? Because you believe that otherwise she – and the boy – might die?"

"I don't want you to accept it. I want you to understand just how serious this is. And how very little time or choice we have."

"Does Hermione know about… all this?"

"Yes. She and Harry have both known for some time now."

With an air of calm and control he did not truly feel, Albus refreshed the now-cold tea in each of their cups.

Minerva, seated in a deep armchair to his right, had not moved throughout the entire exchange, like a living statue. She and Severus had taken no real part in the conversation, their presence largely symbolic, as representatives of the Hogwarts staff, but Albus knew from experience they would want to discuss the matter with him in private later.

In fact, he'll be quite surprised if Poppy doesn't join them too…

"We want to see our daughter. Right now," Mrs Granger said at last – quietly, but with unwavering resolve, rising from her seat.

"Hmm… I suppose they should have had enough time by now…"

"Of course. I shall make the arrangements," Albus nodded shortly.

With a wave of his wand, he cast a non-verbal Patronus Charm, silently dictating a short message to Harry and Hermione in case they were still occupied.

"Is that some kind of spell?" Mr Granger asked cautiously.

He and his wife were both watching the glittering magical bird, hovering mid-air a few feet off the floor, with clear apprehension. Most likely, any magic now sounded and looked to them like something highly unpredictable and potentially dangerous.

"Oh, merely a small message. Nothing to worry about," Albus added, just in case, before releasing the phoenix and rising to his feet. "Now then, please, follow me…"

Chapter 45

Chapter Text

It was one of those typical, rather unremarkable mid-summer days in the South Downs, when the sun shines brightly from early morning and by midday it is already quite stifling outside, so all sensible people prefer to stay indoors, and only the birds keep chirping loudly in the gardens, outcalling the cicadas and fighting for places at the feeders under the lazy glances of the neighbours' phlegmatic, sun-drowsed cats.

Inside Hermione's parents' house it is still relatively cool, despite the brick walls and the old, long-uncleaned ventilation system (her mum and dad take turns complaining about it to each other roughly every couple of weeks, threatening to call someone in to fix it, and then always forgetting about it… until the next hot day).

From the open window of the upstairs nursery drifts a faint breeze along with the sharp buzz of Mr Atkins' lawnmower, their neighbour further down the road. The smell of freshly cut grass is strong and crisp – Hermione's favourite scent… Almost as much as the smell of new books. She loves leafing through them, looking at the pictures, and can spend hours doing so.

Not yet five years old, she is very proud that, compared to most other children, she can already read fluently, even though some words and phrases are still too long and tricky to understand. Still, Hermione genuinely enjoys learning and discovering something new every day.

One day she will read every single book in their home library, so she can be as clever as her mum and dad. Of course she wants to be a doctor too, just like her parents, whom she loves very, very much. Although maybe she will do that after she becomes a world-famous ballerina… or an artist… or perhaps an archaeologist! She will find the oldest dinosaur skeletons or lost worlds, like Tintin and Professor Challenger, and become the most famous expert in the world, and everyone will want to be her friend!.. She hasn't decided yet what exactly she will do, but that's all right, isn't it? She has her whole life ahead of her.

Sitting on her bed surrounded by toys and dolls, encyclopaedias opened at different pages, and colouring books, Hermione occasionally hears bursts of laughter from the playground (she is still strictly forbidden to go there without an adult). Judging by the sound, a whole group of lower-school teenagers is gathered there at the moment… This repeated noise distracts her, stopping her from fully concentrating on the myths and legends of Ancient Greece – her new passionate interest. Unable to join the fun outside, she can only sigh heavily.

"Not a cloud in the sky… If only I could go out for a little while…"

It is hard not to envy the other children who are running back and forth across the lawns, shouting loudly, clearly involved in some sort of team game. Not that Hermione actually likes team games, if she's honest… But she wouldn't mind being out there as well.

Maybe she could even take her encyclopaedias with her to flick through while sitting under a tree… or she could instead walk to the pond in the park, where they all went together last weekend to feed the ducks…

"I wonder if I ask very, very nicely, will Mrs Ferguson agree to take me to the park, at least for a little while?"

Mrs Ferguson, a serious and slightly strict, yet generally pleasant elderly lady, was another of their neighbours, living right opposite the Grangers' house. She had a tiny rose garden she tended every day, and a huge fluffy ginger cat called Major Tiddlesworth, who spent nearly all his days dozing on his back in the sunshine. Both the cat and his owner were rather phlegmatic by nature, and Hermione liked them well enough.

Having worked for more than forty years as a teacher at the local school and retired with honour, Mrs Ferguson now spent her free time looking after the neighbourhood's little ones in turns. She also often stayed at the Grangers' late into the evening, because both of Hermione's parents worked and could not always look after her, and their own parents lived too far away to help.

But overall, Hermione didn't mind. Most of the time Mrs Ferguson simply left her alone and let her read or draw quietly in her room, so they got along perfectly fine most of the time. If only they could sometimes go to the park or somewhere outside the house…

The encyclopaedias no longer seem quite so interesting and are beginning to make her sleepy, and Hermione keeps yawning, distracted by the dust motes dancing in the sunlight.

"Boooooring…" she yawns, tilting her head back and gloomily watching the bright squares of light shifting across the ceiling.

It is only midday, but the heat and stuffiness drifting in from outside make her eyelids stick together, and she yawns again. Major Tiddlesworth appears in the doorway of her room, purring loudly in his deep voice, and Hermione immediately calls him over. For a few minutes the cat studies her, then slowly walks closer and finally jumps onto the bed, allowing himself to be picked up.

Hermione flops onto her side, pulling the cat closer, and pushes the books and coloring books aside with her bare foot. She buries her face in the cat's warm fur with a contented sigh…

She is so sleepy… She is almost completely asleep already…

* * *

"Hermione? Hermione?.."

"Mmm…"

The vision of a lazy summer's day and sunlight still refused to let her go. It had been her fifth birthday… She'd slept almost until evening, until Mum and Dad came home and brought a strawberry cake to wish her a happy birthday, only to head off again soon after for their night shift…

"Sorry, but you'll have to wake up," Harry's loud whisper cut into her dream just as it felt she'd only just closed her eyes.

"Mhm…?"

"That bird showed up again just now, and she said we… erm… ought to get dressed."

"Bird?" Hermione echoed drowsily, struggling to gather her thoughts and make sense of what was being asked of her, but it was so hard. Her thoughts kept slipping away, and it was agonisingly difficult to catch hold of even one of them…

"Remember the white bird that found us at Hagrid's?" Harry pressed on insistently. "The one that talked?"

"Um… Oh," Hermione's eyes flew open as clarity began to settle in. "Oh!"

"Yeah. It said your parents will be here soon, so we'd better…"

"What?!" She shot upright, accidentally knocking Harry in the nose with her elbow.

"Ow!"

"Sorry! Sorry!.. But what did you just say?! My parents – they're coming here?!"

"Yeah. So we should…"

"Crap! Get dressed, quickly!"

"That's what I've been trying to say…"

Ignoring his grumbling, Hermione leaned over the side of the bed and grabbed the nearest bit of clothing – Harry's trousers, as it turned out… and only then realised she could once again sit up and move without anyone's support.

"What we've been doing… it really does give me strength," she realised.

She had no time to feel embarrassed about the revelation, because her mum and dad could walk in any second, and she and Harry were still half-naked!

Hermione hastily tugged down the hem of her hospital gown to cover her thighs and pulled the blanket higher, while Harry just as urgently dived back into his pants and pyjamas. They were both fully dressed, tidy, and giving off the most innocent impression possible by the time a soft trill sounded in the air.

Moments later, Professor Dumbledore's bodiless voice said:

"Young people, if you are ready, we would like to check on Miss Granger's condition."

She and Harry exchanged a look and sighed heavily in unison, then nodded.

"Come in!" Hermione called. Her fingers reflexively clenched around the blanket as she tried not to panic.

Her parents practically burst into the space behind the screen, white with worry and fear, and rushed straight to her.

"Hermione!"

"You frightened us so terribly!"

They crushed her between them in a suffocating embrace, fussing over her, kissing her temple and cheek in turns, their tears dripping onto her hair, and Hermione felt she was about to cry as well. She had been so terrified that morning, and she still didn't know anything about her current condition… Was she still dying, or was the danger past? And most importantly – had she and Harry actually managed to succeed in what they were meant to succeed?

The fact that Harry somehow really had helped her by having sex with her was already undeniable by now… but how long would the effect last? Not knowing when the next episode might hit was the worst part.

And she still had to tell her parents…

For five long minutes, David and Emma took turns examining Hermione for any visible signs of damage, even though Professor Dumbledore had assured them it was pointless. Naturally, they hadn't taken his word for it. They were doctors, and they wanted to make sure personally that nothing was being overlooked, so Hermione and the others had no choice but to let them do it.

She obediently let them check her pulse, reflexes, and pupil response, prod here and there, and so on. Everything suggested she was perfectly, one hundred per cent healthy. She felt completely well too.

At last, her father straightened up again, putting aside the stethoscope he'd borrowed from one of the local medics, and fixed Harry and Dumbledore – still standing nearby – with a stern look.

"We'd like to speak with our daughter alone," he said firmly.

"Er…" Harry scratched his head, throwing Hermione a nervous glance. "Hermione, are you… um… alright with that?"

"What are you trying to imply?" David snapped. "She's our daughter! Of course she can talk to us without witnesses!"

He clenched his fists as he stepped towards Harry, making the boy flinch noticeably, though he didn't back away.

"Sir…"

"I'm fine!" Hermione cut in quickly. "I promise!"

Her father's behaviour was alarming. It almost looked like he was about to… hit Harry, which was entirely unlike him.

What on earth had happened while she was asleep?

Her parents were impossibly pale and looked like people who had received shocking news, but that could easily have been because of her seizure, not because of… anything else.

"Well, alright," Harry said uncertainly. "But I'll be right nearby, okay? If you need anything…"

"Pff," David snorted loudly, folding his arms in a pointed show of displeasure as he stepped back.

Of course her parents wouldn't hurt her, so Harry was worrying for nothing. She was certain of that… wasn't she?

"Christ. What nonsense is that supposed to be?! Mum and Dad would never hurt me, even if they were furious! They would never… raise a hand against me."

"I'll call you once we're done," Hermione said gently.

Harry still didn't look fully convinced as he stepped beyond the screen, but he didn't have a choice. Hermione knew he wouldn't go far, ready to barge in at any moment to save her… from whatever. It was sweet. And it genuinely made her feel… calmer.

"Well… we'll give you three a moment," Dumbledore muttered finally, offering the Grangers an encouraging smile that none of them returned.

And at last, they were alone.

"Mum, Dad…"

"Hermione, we know everything," David interrupted.

"Oh…"

"Everything?" she asked nervously, her heart already tapping out a frantic rhythm.

"Yes. They told us what you and this boy… have done, and what it now… means for both of you. But we'd like to hear your version. You and the boy…"

"Harry," she interrupted, frowning.

She didn't like the way her father kept referring to Harry in that tone, as though he were no one – some nameless stranger with barely any connection to her. She knew Dad could be dreadfully stubborn and uncompromising – she'd inherited her own difficult temperament from him, after all. But she wasn't going to let anyone, even her own parents, speak about Harry dismissively. Harry was wonderful! And he certainly didn't deserve any negativity when he'd done nothing but help her all along.

"Alright. You and Harry… you truly are married, aren't you? It's real?"

"He's asking about… that thing?"

Hermione shifted awkwardly on the bed, at once even more aware of the dampness between her thighs – undeniable proof of just how real her marriage with Harry was.

After their most recent, rather energetic time together, her crotch was still dully aching, and she desperately wanted a shower as soon as possible… but first she had to somehow survive this conversation, which was growing more uncomfortable by the minute. There was no avoiding it forever.

Lifting her chin, as though she had nothing to be ashamed of, she said clearly:

"Yes. It's all real."

Two sharp intakes of breath answered her, as though Mum and Dad had still hoped for a different answer despite the facts. Honestly, she herself would have been glad to have that other answer… probably. If someone walked in right now and told her that she and Harry had a way out… she would be relieved, wouldn't she?

Oh, hell…

After what she and Harry had just been doing, her body was awash with hormones, so Hermione couldn't quite sort out exactly what she felt.

What she had done with Harry had been… good. Very, very good. She had never been so close to another person before, and knowing that person was Harry… it was incredible! And so lovely… She'd never imagined it could feel that good, having her sweaty body pressed against another equally sweaty, moaning, trembling body. In theory the whole idea sounded rather disgusting, but in practice…

Hermione's inner muscles clenched reflexively as Harry's face, twisted in ecstasy, flickered before her mind's eye, and she heard his long groan again as he thrust into her, filled her, and came inside her.

"Jesus… I need to stop this right now!" Hermione's face flushed scarlet, and she just couldn't help it.

Her parents were sitting right here! How could she think such filthy things with them in the room?!

"And you two have already… hm…" David coughed, unable to finish the question, so Emma did it for him.

"Hermione, are you and Harry having sex?"

"Oh, we really are!" She had to bite her lip to stop an embarrassed little laugh. They certainly wouldn't understand it that way. Hermione wasn't sure she understood herself.

On one hand, the thought of admitting this to her own parents was terrifying, but on the other… she was truly tired of skirting around the subject.

She and Harry were seeing each other and sleeping together. They were married, and very soon they would have a child of their own, who would change everything forever. It was inevitable. And the sooner she and everyone else accepted this and adjusted to the new reality, the easier it would be.

"Yes. Harry and I have slept together several times."

Ba-dum.

Her heart thudded painfully and seemed to seize up.

"I see."

Tick-tock.

Tick-tock.

Tick-tock…

Hermione suddenly began to hear the loud ticking of a wall clock somewhere beyond the screen – something she hadn't noticed before. The Muffling Charm Professor Dumbledore had placed must have worn off…

"How long has this been going on?" Emma asked dryly after a long pause, during which the second hand clicked a hundred and twenty-three times. "Since the start of the year? Earlier?" Hermione's mother was making an obvious effort to keep her voice steady.

"No, only recently. Just a few weeks ago. And we only did it a couple of times, when… nothing else worked. I wanted to tell you…"

"Well, you should have!" David snapped sharply.

"Dad, I…"

"Hermione, we're your parents! Why didn't you write to us?! We could have helped you!"

"How?" she almost blurted.

It would only have made things worse and widened the already serious gap between them. They already thought Hermione had deliberately pushed them out of her life… And who could blame them? They hardly saw each other anymore, because she spent two-thirds of the year at Hogwarts, in an entirely different world they had no access to.

The truth was, they were Muggles, which meant their world and Hermione's would never truly exist in the same space. Some things between them would simply never be the same again.

"I… " Hermione faltered, not knowing what to say. In the end, she settled on the truth: "I was just scared. I… I'm still scared."

"But why? Hermione, we would have always listened to you!"

"I'm afraid that you… that you'll turn your backs on me now that… now that you know everything," she said, her insides trembling, her voice struggling to get the words out. "Because I… I've disgraced you and… God, I'm such an idiot! I'm so sorry! I…"

She was gasping, unable to control the surge of emotion. Her vision blurred, and Hermione hastily wiped away the tears spilling down her cheeks, furious with herself for being so hysterical.

"What? No! Hermione, that will never happen, do you hear me?" her father's voice wavered too. "You're our daughter! We're your family! We may disagree, and we may argue, but we will never turn away from you."

"You can tell us anything, Hermione," her mum added with equal fervour. "You must know we will always support you!"

Tears poured from Hermione's eyes, and she let out a loud, shuddering sob, burying herself against Emma's shoulder. Her mum held her close, rocking her gently like a baby.

"It's alright… you'll see, everything will be alright, darling…"

"Your mum and I love you very much, sweetheart," David said, embracing both of them and kissing the top of Hermione's head. "We were so frightened for you today…"

"I… I love you too… I love you both so much!.." Hermione choked out, still sobbing uncontrollably.

"There, there… It's alright. Things will work out somehow. We'll think of something, Hermione. Come on now… Everything will be alright…"

* * *

For a long time they simply sat like that, all three of them crying together, letting the pent-up emotions spill out, whispering words of comfort to one another. Hermione felt as though all the fear and tension were leaving her in waves with every fresh burst of tears, and so she didn't hold back, letting herself cry and cry until her body simply couldn't manage any more. Her face was flushed and puffy, her nose completely blocked, but emotionally she had reached something close to catharsis.

Mum and Dad hadn't rejected her! They were ready to support her completely, no matter what, and they'd assured her they loved her – and that alone allowed her to feel solid ground beneath her feet again. Her world, which had shattered into pieces, finally felt as though it might begin to heal.

"So, Hermione," Emma said quietly after a little more time had passed. "Please tell us everything from the very beginning, alright? And this time don't leave anything out."

Hermione sniffed for the last time and pulled back. Her parents had taken their seats again, giving her some space. They didn't rush or pressure her, giving her time to gather her thoughts.

"It's all so stupid, honestly…" Hermione bit her lower lip. "You… you promise you won't get too angry?"

"Your dad and I will try, sweetheart. But you have to understand that what we found out today truly shocked us. It's… I won't pretend otherwise, Hermione, we never imagined you'd get involved in something like this."

"I'm sorry!"

She would not cry again. She wouldn't. They needed to talk about this and settle it once and for all.

"We know, Hermione. What happened is… wrong, but your father and I will try to understand if you try to explain. What we were told about your… about the baby… How much of that is true?"

Hermione lowered her gaze. She simply couldn't force herself to look them in the eye. She was so ashamed.

"All of it," she murmured at last. "Harry and I have to… I have to… We have to have a baby for all of this to work."

A long silence followed.

Hermione's fingers worried at the blanket. She didn't dare look at her parents again, and so she couldn't see exactly what they were feeling. They must have been just as upset and confused as she was.

Her father let out a loud, heavy sigh, then asked in a very even voice:

"Hermione. I need to know – did anyone force you into this?"

"No," she replied, barely above a whisper.

"Maybe, one of the professors, or the Headmaster…" He still didn't believe her.

"No. Absolutely not. They didn't know anything."

"And what about your friends? Harry…?"

"Harry didn't do anything wrong!" Hermione burst out instantly, ready to defend him if she had to.

"You're certain he didn't try to… take advantage of the situation?"

"I'm sure! You have to believe me, Harry isn't like that! He's the kindest, most decent person I know! He would never try to hurt me or anyone else, not on purpose. I was the one who asked him…"

"And Ron?"

"Ron too. He doesn't even know anything! I told you, all this is my fault! Mine and no one else's! I didn't think… I didn't know it would turn out like this. I understand now that I shouldn't have broken the rules. I made a mistake and… and now I'm being punished for it. So please… please stop blaming Harry! He's been so good to me this whole time…"

"Alright… We believe you, Hermione," Emma said, giving her a slightly weary smile. "Wipe your tears. That's it…"

"I'm so stupid…"

"You're not stupid. But you really shouldn't have broken the rules. Most of them are there to keep us safe."

"I know that… I know it now. I'm so sorry!"

"Alright," Emma nodded. "Now… I think we need to talk about what we're going to do next."

"Next?"

"It's about your school," David cut in. "Your mother and I think you ought to transfer to home schooling."

"What? Why?!"

Fear slammed into Hermione with renewed force as she realised where this was heading. They were going to try to take magic away from her again! How could they always turn everything into this? Why couldn't they understand what it meant to her?!

"Be reasonable, Hermione. Your situation…"

"But I don't want to leave school! I want to study magic!"

"Hermione…"

"No! Please, don't make me go!"

"Hermione, sweetheart…"

"I'm not leaving Hogwarts!"

A loud crackle of electricity filled the air, making everyone's hair stand on end, and the room suddenly reeked of burnt plastic.

"Hermione, are you alright?!" Harry burst in a second later.

"Harry, please step outside…" David began, but the boy wasn't listening – all his attention was fixed on Hermione, who looked as though she might explode from sheer fury.

"Hermione?"

"Harry, get out immediately!" David growled.

"No! I want him to stay!" Hermione seized the boy's hand, holding him close. "Harry, stay!"

"This conversation does not concern him!" David turned purple again, losing his temper once more. "You can't just…"

"I've already said I won't let you take magic away from me! You won't make me!"

"That's not what we meant at all, darling," Emma tried to reach her. "But you have to understand that…"

"No! I don't care!"

"But you're going to be pregnant, Hermione!" Emma finally exploded too, shouting back. "Have you even thought about that?! You're going to be carrying a baby! In a few months you won't be able to hide it! How do you expect to study with a bump?! Or does this Hogwarts of yours accept pregnant students?!"

"As a matter of fact, yes," came Professor Dumbledore's quiet voice, making everyone turn towards him at once.

He flicked his wand, and the space inside the screen shimmered with a pale light for a moment. With another gentle motion, he conjured a warm, calming current of air that drifted through the room. Hermione sank back into the pillows, drawing a deep breath and slowly settling under the soothing influence of the Headmaster's magic, as did everyone else.

After summoning another chair for himself – high-backed, with a soft cushioned seat – Professor Dumbledore sat down and smoothed the folds of his robe with unhurried care before continuing in a neutral tone:

"Such precedents have occurred in the past. In fact, marriage and pregnancy were once fairly common among Hogwarts students, though it has not happened for several centuries. If Miss Granger… forgive me, Mrs Potter… decides she wishes to continue her studies, and Mr Potter supports her in that decision, we would have no legal grounds whatsoever to refuse her."

"And you're willing to allow that?" Emma asked in disbelief. "Do you mean to make her a laughing-stock in front of everyone?!"

"By no means."

"I don't understand…"

"People do not have to know about your daughter's marital circumstances. If she and Harry decide to keep it from the other students, I assure you that none of the teaching staff at Hogwarts will gossip. You have my honest word as a wizard."

Hermione's emotions swung wildly between fierce hope and utter despair as she glanced uncertainly between the adults. Harry, seated beside her on the edge of the mattress, held her hand tightly in both of his – he was just as frightened as she was, yet clearly ready to stand with her, no matter what came next.

"And what about her belly?" David asked brusquely, glaring at Dumbledore with barely disguised hostility. "Or is everyone supposed to simply ignore that as well?"

"There are special concealment charms and potions designed precisely for that," Dumbledore replied lightly. "Perfectly safe, I assure you! Witches in our world have used them for generations. We may also have to make adjustments to Hermione's coursework, particularly in the later stages, but in all other respects she is just as capable of learning as any other student."

Emma and David fell silent, unsettled by arguments that sounded undeniably reasonable yet still offered no certainty that their daughter would be safe at Hogwarts. Judging by their faces, they were still firmly opposed – only unable to find new objections.

"Mr Granger, Mrs Granger," Dumbledore spoke again, his gaze steady and sincere. "Hermione is an exceptionally gifted, strong, and intelligent young witch. Many of my colleagues already refer to her as one of the most talented students of the last fifty years. To forbid her from practising magic would not only harm her – it would be a genuine loss for the entire wizarding world."

Hermione felt her cheeks heat. It was unbelievably flattering to hear such open praise – and from Professor Dumbledore himself, no less! If only her parents could somehow understand how much the opportunity to develop her magical abilities meant to her...

"Mum? Dad?" she ventured softly, still hoping to convince them. She didn't want another fight – not after they had finally reconciled. She needed their acceptance. She needed them on her side…

"It seems you don't require our approval, Hermione," David said with a slow shake of his head, bitterness edging his voice. "You've already made your decision without us."

"Daddy, no, please…"

"I don't know what else to say. As we've been told repeatedly today, we have apparently lost all rights to influence your life. So it's your choice, Hermione. You may stay at Hogwarts or come home – whichever you wish. I won't argue with you any longer. But you must know that as your father, who is deeply concerned for you, I am entirely against you returning to that school. I cannot see how it could possibly be safe for you now. Not after all of this."

Emma nodded in agreement.

"We would very much like you to come home, sweetheart. Please, Hermione, at least think about it, alright? Your father and I only want you to be safe. And the same goes for your… future baby."

"Hogwarts is the safest place on earth!" Hermione's mind protested automatically, but she frowned almost at once.

"Safest place, is it? Really? – her inner voice scoffed. – Before or after the troll? Or the three-headed dog? Or perhaps after You-Know-Who spent an entire year hiding in the back of a teacher's head? And shall we mention the Heir of Slytherin? You truly think you'll be 'completely safe' at Hogwarts?"

"I…" She faltered, realising her parents might not be entirely wrong.

"Just don't rush your decision, alright? That's all we're asking," her mother repeated gently.

"I… okay. I'll think about it, I promise. I just…" She looked at Harry, who, like the others, waited patiently for her answer. "I need to know what will happen to Harry if… if I choose to come home."

David frowned, exchanging a look with his wife. In answer to his silent question, she gave a small nod, and so he simply sighed, tired and resigned, before saying:

"Well… I suppose in that case, he could move in with us as well."

"Huh?" Harry's mouth fell open in astonishment.

"Harry, you can live with us and Hermione too, if you want," Emma added with a brief, gentle smile. "You're our… well, our son-in-law now, I suppose."

"Oh… I… er…" Now Harry looked sincerely terrified by the prospect, and Hermione couldn't entirely blame him.

"We'll think about it," she said firmly on behalf of them both.

Harry nodded dumbly, still looking utterly stunned.

* * *

"Alright… What now?" David asked after a short silence. "Is Hermione staying in the hospital overnight, or can we take her home?"

Dumbledore shook his head:

"I believe it would be best for Harry and Hermione to return to Hogwarts and spend the rest of the holidays there."

"What? You're just taking her? Right now?!"

"It will be far easier for us to observe her condition there and intervene should anything be required," Dumbledore explained calmly.

"Hermione?" Emma turned to her, worried. "Do you want to go back right now? I thought you and Harry would spend the rest of the holidays with us."

"I… don't know. If Professor Dumbledore thinks I'll be safer there…"

"I do," the elderly wizard said with a nod. "I would very much like Madam Pomfrey to examine you both as soon as possible. I expect she will also wish to keep you under observation for a while, just in case." He winked at Hermione, and she offered a tentative smile in return, though she hardly found any of this amusing.

"Then we should probably go back," she said. "Harry… what do you think?"

"Erm… yeah. I agree."

"Well then," the Headmaster clapped his hands soundlessly. "Hermione's condition is stable for now. So, while we have the chance, I would prefer to transport her immediately."

"You won't even let her stay with us until New Year?" Emma cried, distressed, while her husband sat with arms crossed, scowling silently.

"I'm afraid, in these circumstances, it would be an unnecessary risk. I am sorry."

Hermione hated that they were parting like this. Both her parents looked at her as if she had betrayed them. But she had no other choice!

"I'll write to you often," she promised, though the words sounded feeble. Far too little. Far too late.

It hurt to realise that yet another thread binding her to her old home was snapping. And what could she do to stop it? This had begun long before today – the moment a magical owl had first delivered her Hogwarts letter. Ever since then, Hermione had been drifting farther and farther from the life she once knew…

Would she go back if she had the chance? If she could live as she used to, would she be… calmer? Happier? Magic was part of her soul… How could she simply give it up and return to a Muggle life?

Professor Dumbledore granted them half an hour more, during which her mother kept urging Hermione to be careful, to tell her everything that happened, and to let her know immediately if she needed to be brought home.

Her father sat the entire time turned away from them both, staring out of the window – and that hurt most of all.

"Dad?"

"Be safe," was all he said in farewell.

Hermione's heart felt unbearably heavy, but she couldn't stay any longer. She hoped they would understand. Perhaps, in time…

A soft cough from Professor Dumbledore drew her attention. He was holding out a medical mask to her and Harry – faintly glowing blue.

"It is a portal," he explained in response to their questioning looks. "You need only touch it."

Harry grabbed the edge of the mask first without hesitation – he clearly couldn't wait to leave this place behind. Hermione herself already felt sick of being here too.

"Mum, Dad, I love you both," she repeated in her head before following Harry's example.

"Aper," Dumbledore commanded.

The world contracted sharply around Hermione, and then she felt her body being pushed through a narrow tube – and a moment later she and the other wizards vanished from the ward, leaving Mr and Mrs Granger alone behind.