Chapter Nine

Disclaimer: My thanks to JK Rowling for having such a splendid imagination and for allowing us to play around with her characters in the fanfiction universe. She gets all the credit for anything you recognize; the plot for this story is entirely mine (though I don't get paid).

Chapter Nine

"How are you doing, love? Everything okay?" Ginny greeted her friend, giving Hermione an awkward, sideways hug, letting her protruding stomach shift off to one side.

Ginny pulled back and looked at Hermione worriedly. Hermione was paler than usual, her smile weaker, her hug a bit needier. She looked more worried than usual, more preoccupied.

"Oh, I'm all right," she reassured her friend, wishing that Ginny wouldn't look at her in such a way. Seeing someone else's concern for her had always made her feel that much worse. "What's this?" Hermione laughed, pointing at the rather large basket Ginny was still levitating off to one side.

"Oh, this!" Ginny laughed herself, setting it down on the floor. "Just my way of taking care of you, you know. I can't have you starving yourself in your condition. There are biscuits and soda crackers, some dried fruit. I also picked up some vitamins – you really need to keep your strength up."

"I'm trying, really," Hermione answered, conveying her gratitude with another lengthy hug. "Thank you. What would I do without you?"

"Oh, you'd wither away, most likely." Ginny laughed again. "So, really. How are you feeling?"

"I still feel sick most of the time. I can't wait for this part to be over. The book says the nausea usually lasts for the first three months."

"It's different for everyone. When I was pregnant with Molly, I didn't feel sick at all. With William I was sick every night for the first three months and couldn't eat a thing. This one, I only felt sick sometimes, and my appetite is uncontrollable. You'll see if you ever have another one." Ginny grinned widely, knowing what kind of response that would engender.

"Another one? Believe me, I'm never getting pregnant again. I absolutely hate feeling this way," Hermione responded queasily. "Besides, I have no idea how I'm going to support one child. I can't even imagine two!"

Ginny's forehead wrinkled in worry. "Yes, you know, I was wondering about that. How's business been with the shop?" She looked around at the obvious lack of customers.

Hermione put her head in her hands. She thought back on the two customers she had this month. One was due to pick up his books this evening, as a matter of fact, which would mean she would be able to just squeak by with the bills. Personal expenses would have to come out of her Gringotts account once again. She sighed heavily.

"It's been terrible, to tell the truth. I've decided to put the shop up for sale." Her breath shuddered. Tears threatened, but she promised herself that she would not cry.

"Oh, sweetie." Ginny put her arm around Hermione's shoulders. "I know how much you want this bookshop. I wish it could have worked out."

Hermione slumped into Ginny's half-embrace and couldn't stop the tears from coming. It felt good to let go, to have Ginny's emotional support right now. She was tired of carrying everything on her shoulders. It was too much. Her failing business. Her pregnancy. Her decision not to tell Harry...

As if Ginny were reading her mind, she asked, "Are you still sure you don't want to tell the father? Most men are ready to step up and help out, you know. And he might like to know about his child."

Hermione felt even sicker to her stomach than she normally did. Tell the father? Tell Harry and ruin his marriage? And what was she supposed to do when the truth came out? It would devastate Ginny to know that Harry had broken it off with her because he didn't want to have children and then had gone ahead and had one anyway with someone else. How could she do that to her friend? All she could do was shake her head and wipe away more tears.

"No. I've made up my mind. I'm going to do this on my own. I'll sell the shop, find a job ... I'll manage," she said resolutely.

Ginny gave Hermione her best Molly Weasley smile. "You do what's best for you. Just know that Alpin and I are here to help if you ever need it."

Hermione nodded and hugged Ginny even harder.

~ o ~

A tiny bell sounded in the Stranger's ear, alerting him to the fact that someone had entered the bookshop. It was early in the afternoon, still well before tea time, and he was hard at work in his laboratory as he was every afternoon at about this time. The little ward going off in his ear didn't rattle him, though. It was a bookshop; bookshops had customers. Still, he needed to be sure she was all right; he had bugged her shop for a reason, after all.

He touched a finger to the earpiece and said, "Audio." Instantly, he could hear the conversation between Hermione and her visitor as clear as if they were standing in front of him.

"There are biscuits and soda crackers, some dried fruit. I also picked up some vitamins – you really need to keep your strength up."

"Oh, you'd wither away, most likely." The visitor laughed. "So, really. How are you feeling?"

"Another one? Believe me, I'm never getting pregnant again..."

Pregnant?! The Stranger had to support himself against the table. Hermione was pregnant? He didn't even know she was involved with anyone. Surely, he had never seen her with anyone. Well, no one but Mr. Potter, but that was two months ago. Surely she and he hadn't ...

Suddenly he remembered: having gone to the Hog's Head while after they had gone out, still having been somewhat blurred by the Firewhisky when they had returned, their kiss... a kiss that was meant for more than friends.

He nearly swooned at the thought. The child belonged to Harry Potter...the dates fit. He had hoped that she would have been more intelligent than to get involved with someone in such a way without taking the proper precautions. And now ... but it was certain that Harry and she were not involved with each other. After all, the news of Harry's marriage to the Minister for Magic's daughter had been virtually plastered all over the Daily Prophet, both in the week preceding and the week following the gala event. Still, it was Harry Potter's baby.

His heart sank. He sat heavily on the chair, oblivious to what the two women were talking about, until he heard...

"It's been terrible, to tell the truth. I've decided to put the shop up for sale." Hermione sounded as though she was about to cry.

"Oh, sweetie. I know how much you want this bookshop. I wish it could have worked out."

The room was silent for a few moments, and then Hermione's visitor asked, "Are you still sure you don't want to tell the father? Most men are ready to step up and help out, you know. And he might like to know about his child."

"No. I've made up my mind. I'm going to do this on my own. I'll sell the shop, find a job ... I'll manage."

Never mind the bookshop. He was still stuck on the fact that the father wasn't in the picture. Something akin to relief washed over him. At the same time, he knew how wrong it was to feel this way. He should feel awful. He should be sympathetic to her predicament. But in the end, he couldn't help what he felt – a strange sense of lightness, which had suddenly replaced the lead weight in his stomach.

That didn't change how he felt about her being pregnant. He was disappointed, actually. Disappointed that she had neglected to think about birth control ... Disappointed that she had been in bed with someone else. This hadn't happened too long ago; she wasn't very far along. In fact, she didn't even look pregnant at all when he saw her just the other day.

But wait a minute ... she was thinking of selling the shop? That wasn't like her at all to give up on something she had worked so hard for. Still, he had discerned over the past few months that her business wasn't doing all that well. It was obvious that it was a constant source of stress for her. And now, with a baby on the way, how would she support both herself and a child when supporting herself was a chore? It really was the only logical thing to do, and if Hermione was anything, she was certainly logical.

He touched the earpiece once again and said, "Quietus."

He didn't want to hear anymore. There was too much to think about now, and it all weighed upon his heart heavily. She needed help both financially and emotionally, and to top it all off, unbeknownst to her, her life was most certainly in danger. There had to be something he could do....

He put stasis charms on a couple cauldrons, marked where he was in a couple of reference books, and prepared himself to go out...a truly rare occurrence. He suddenly needed to make a couple of stops in Diagon Alley.

~ o ~

Hermione was emotionally wiped out. Ginny's visit had been sorely needed, that was true. Ginny was the only source of emotional support she had right now. Her parents were still on their round-the-world trip...they had been in New Zealand for the past three weeks and had put the rest of the trip on hold because they were enjoying it too much. That was all right; Hermione wasn't sure she was ready to disappoint her mother and father with her news.

Both bits of news, actually: that she was pregnant and that she had failed as a business owner. If she wasn't so dehydrated from all the crying she had done during Ginny's visit, she would be in tears right now.

She looked forlornly at the advertisement she had placed just the day before in the Daily Prophet. She had cried as she formulated the ad – and edited it four times. She had cried as she walked to the post office to send the request and the fee to the Advertising Department of the Daily Prophet. She had wiped her face dry, applied a glamour, and affixed a false cheery disposition before entering the post office so that Andrew, the clerk, wouldn't ask her any questions. She had made a hasty exit before the tears could start flowing once again.

Needless to say, between yesterday and today, she was all cried out. She felt wrung out, like a used up face flannel. She wanted to close up early for the evening, every cell in her body screamed out for her to do so, but today was the day she had told Mr. Burke to return. The two books he had ordered were lying on the counter, ready to be wrapped after he saw everything was in order and paid the balance. At least she knew that after tonight she would be able to pay the monthly bills. That was a positive thought.

As though the very thought had made him appear out of thin air, Mr. Burke entered her shop. He looked a little more disheveled than the last time she saw him...more disheveled and a little less composed, a little more bright-eyed perhaps. She couldn't quite place it.

"Why hello, Mr. Burke." She smiled at him pleasantly as the door to the shop swung shut and he approached her.

"Good evening, Miss Granger." He deposited a package on the counter. "I trust you have the books I ordered?"

It was right down to business. He certainly was a no-nonsense sort of man, and tonight she really did not mind. A slightly inebriated sort of man as well, she discovered as his Firewhisky-laced breath wafted across the counter. He smelled distinctly of pub.

"Of course. They're right here." She directed him to the other end of the counter where they lay upon the parchment. "They are exactly what you ordered. Would you like me to wrap them for you?"

"Yes, yes, of course," Mr. Burke replied, glancing first at the books and then distractedly around the shop and at the door. "Business is quite slow tonight," he said conversationally, though stiltedly.

"Yes, I'm afraid it has been for some time," she answered, not quite sure why she felt it necessary to impart such information to a relative stranger. It was just on her mind so much lately that it seemed to just leak out of her mouth.

"Too bad, too bad," Mr. Burke said, trying to sound as though he was truly sorry for her situation. But he sounded distracted, and it came out sounding more perfunctory than sympathetic.

The package was secured with a flick of her wand, and she looked up so see Mr. Burke's overly bright eyes fixed in her direction. He fumbled in his robe pocket a moment and came out with the proper coinage, this time in Galleons, to pay the remainder of his bill.

"This should about cover it," he said as he placed the sack of coins in her outstretched hand.

"Thank you." She weighed the bag on a charmed scale that told her exactly how many Galleons were inside. He had paid her in full, not that she had expected any less.

"Oh, and I wanted to thank you for being able to obtain these rare books for me. I had my wife bake these muffins for you." He pushed the package he had placed on the counter in her direction. "I hope they're to your liking."

Hermione smiled. Well, now. How nice! It seemed everyone was taking care of her today in some small sort of way.

"Why thank you, Mr. Burke. It really was unnecessary, but who am I to turn away such a treat!"

"Well, I just wanted to show my gratitude, that's all. You definitely deserve it," he deadpanned.

She didn't know exactly what it was in his voice that sounded not quite right, but there it was again. There was a stiff, emotionless quality to his voice, still kind but not quite ... friendly? She couldn't quite place it. Still, it was kind of him to give her such a gift.

He didn't linger, saying his good-bye quickly and leaving Hermione to shake off the odd feeling he had given her. Perhaps he was just a bit shy.

~ o ~

Tapping the earpiece twice, the Stranger said, "Portus Strega!" and he was transported instantly to a darkened corner of the alley.

He was running late tonight. He had gone to Diagon Alley to take care of a few things and was still straightening up his laboratory and finishing up writing notes on a couple experiments when the tone in his ear told him that someone had entered the bookshop.

It was after dark. He should have been there already. Blast it! Abandoning his notes, he donned his hooded cloak, grabbed his cane, and transported himself to the alleyway. With a muttered, "Audio," the conversation became audible.

Draco was in her shop. Of course, the man didn't look like Draco, but he recognized him from what little he had seen the other night. There was the familiar Malfoy way he held himself. And the lilt in the man's voice as he spoke to Hermione was all wrong.

Something was wrong. He could feel it in his very bones.

"Oh, and I wanted to thank you for being able to obtain these rare books for me. I had my wife bake these muffins for you. I hope they're to your liking."

"Well, I just wanted to show my gratitude, that's all. You definitely deserve it."

What was this? A batch of muffins? Wife? The boy still knew how to lie believably. Those muffins were not as innocent as 'Mr. Burke' would have them seem, that was for sure. And Hermione just accepted them without question ... Hopefully she would use a little of that Moody-esque 'Constant Vigilence' before she ate anything.

Mr. Burke left the shop and hurried across the street, once again into the same alleyway that the Stranger was currently occupying. This time, the Stranger got a longer look at his appearance, and the expression upon the man's face was not the satisfaction of one who had just come across a desired acquisition. No. It was twisted in another sort of satisfaction...one he had seen several times before, in darker circles and situations that he would have thought long past.

The man exuded impatience. The Stranger could tell he wanted to leave, but the man was waiting for something and appeared intent upon watching Hermione through the large picture window of the shop. As the Stranger split his attention between Hermione and Mr. Burke, the Polyjuice Potion began to wear off. Hardened Malfoy features replaced the softer and less malignant features of his disguise. When Hermione finally untied the package and exposed the attractively wrapped muffins, Draco seemed satisfied, and his sneer of satisfaction Disapparated with a pop.

In one swift movement, the Stranger concealed himself in the voluminous hood of his cloak and hurried as fast as his limp would carry him across the street. He entered the shop swiftly, making Hermione drop the muffin she was about to bite into. She let out a squeal and backed away quickly, simultaneously drawing her wand and aiming it at the cloaked figure that had entered her shop.

"What...what do you want?" she managed to stutter.

The Stranger stopped, not wanting to frighten her any further. She had dropped the muffin; that was all that was important at this point. He spoke softly, gently, trying to calm her while at the same time trying to explain himself as swiftly and concisely as possible. He didn't want to draw attention to himself. He hadn't had time to place any glamours on his appearance or voice. The cloak sufficed to disguise his figure, but nothing would stop her from recognizing his voice if she had the time to think about it.

He humbled his posture, which had the effect of making her stance relax a bit.

"Forgive my rude entrance," he said quietly. "I need to let you know that your life is in danger, and I believe it might be from the very man who has just left your shop."

"Mr. Bur...Burke? But he...he seemed so nice."

"Mr. Burke isn't who he seems," he almost growled, then indicated with his wand toward the muffins. "May I?"

Hermione nodded, unsure of what was going on, a little frightened at this new figure that had burst into her shop. If he was truly looking out for her well-being, it couldn't hurt to have him inspect the muffins. If he wasn't...well, she still had her wand aimed at him and a spell on her tongue.

The Stranger cast a few diagnostic spells on the muffins and then bent over to smell them. He purposefully let her hear the spells he was casting so as to relieve any doubt she may have had of the veracity of his intentions. The smell seemed to confirm his suspicions. He motioned her closer.

"Come here. You can smell it. The wormwood, the Mugwort ... the cotton root bark. This has been laced with a potion."

Her eyes widened as she stared at the dropped muffin she had nearly eaten. The list of ingredients swam through her mind, and she realized what each of them could do alone ... but mixed together they would have made a potent potion indeed. And, yes, now that the Stranger mentioned it, she could smell the ingredients too. It wasn't an off-putting smell...it was very subtle...but definitely noticeable if one was paying attention. She looked up at the hooded figure and realized that all she could see were the folds of his heavy hood.

"Who was he?" she asked. He must know who it was trying to poison her. "How did he know ... Who are you?"

"What matters," the Stranger whispered, "is what you do with the information I've already given you."

With a swirl of his cloak, the Stranger turned and swiftly limped toward the door, leaning on his silver-tipped ebony cane, and exited the shop.

Her mind swirled much like the Stranger's cloak. She had nearly been poisoned. All those ingredients ... she would have lost the baby. In fact, those ingredients mixed together...well, their only purpose would be to make her lose the baby.

How did Mr. Burke know that she was pregnant? She tried to remember...had she said anything to Mr. Burke about being pregnant? She didn't think so. In fact, she was pretty sure she hadn't. Somehow he had found out. Somehow he knew.

And who was Mr. Burke? For that matter, who was this dark-cloaked figure who had just saved her ... saved her baby?

She stared out the mirror-black windows, trying vainly to see out in the darkness from her brightly-lit shop to where the Stranger had gone. Then she looked down at the open package of innocent-looking muffins, aimed her wand, and said, "Evanesco."