Without Ceremony

It was your way, my dear

"Good-bye is not worth while!"

- Thomas Hardy, Without Ceremony

***

Severus Snape looked around the crowded room until his gaze alighted at last upon Hermione Granger. He allowed the curtain of his black hair to fall forward, obscuring his face from view in order to watch her unobserved.

Almost six months had passed since the girl had returned from her honeymoon, and the dark shadows beneath her eyes belied her malcontent. He reflected a moment on her Gryffindor nature. He'd often believed her better suited to Ravenclaw, but he had to admit that other aspects of her personality proclaimed her a Gryffindor through and through. She wore her heart on her sleeve, and while her pathetic efforts at playing happy families might have fooled many of her friends, he instinctively knew her to be deeply unhappy. But there she was, trying to put on a brave face. It seemed the Sorting Hat had placed her aptly, after all.

It didn't take a skilled Legilimens to decipher the clues in the body language between Hermione and her husband. Although they were seated next to one another, they had not touched once throughout dinner. There had been no pat on the hand; no tap on the knee or a hand placed gently upon a forearm. In fact, they had barely even looked at one another. The only time he had noticed any eye-contact between the pair had been when Theo had poured himself a fifth glass of wine, and Hermione had flashed him a look of annoyance. It hardly bespoke the happiest of couples.

He watched as Hermione nodded politely to some comment Theo's great aunt Jemima had made. He knew a moment of sympathy for her: with the exception of Lance, he had always found the older generation of the Mill family to be tedious in the extreme, and Cordelia had developed a habit of placing her daughter-in-law next to the most boring relation she could find at family events.

While Severus looked on, Hermione's face suddenly broke into a beaming smile. He followed the direction of her gaze and found she was looking across the table at Lance, who gave her a theatrical wink before recommencing his conversation with an acquaintance to his right. Hermione giggled, and for an instant he fancied her transformed. Her laughter lit up her features, but he had only the briefest of moments to admire her thus, before her eyes became anxious once more.

His observations were soon interrupted by his wife's tinkling laughter. She was flirting shamelessly with a new associate of hers: a Welsh wizard by the name of Zebulum Williams. He knew the reason for the dinner party now. There was something Cordelia wanted from this man, and he knew full well that she would stop at nothing to get it. The unfortunate Zebulum was putty in her hands; the little man seemed shocked to find himself at the receiving end of such copious attention from an attractive witch. Severus wondered what Cordelia was after.

Refilling his wine glass, he turned his scrutiny to Hermione once more. She was lost in thought, and he was almost tempted to use Legilimency to discover the subject of her reverie. But as if she had sensed his thoughts, she raised her eyes to his. She held his gaze for a few seconds, and he knew they were both recalling the warnings he'd given her about Theo. A slight flicker of her eyes towards her spouse confirmed his suspicions.

Severus took a deep draft of wine from his glass and sighed. Hermione's marriage to Theodore Nott would not last the year. He would have bet everything he owned on it.

***

Hermione walked through the Atrium at the Ministry of Magic and queued at one of the many fireplaces. The rush hour at the Ministry always reminded her of the London Underground. She'd always hated the Muggle train system, particularly at rush hour. She remembered a busy evening before Christmas when she and her mother had gone shopping: it had been shortly after her sixteenth birthday, and she had sat on the packed train and felt enormous relief that she would never have to join the millions of Muggles who commuted to and from their places of work each day. She had been so smug in the belief that hers would surely be a life less ordinary; an existence more meaningful than that of the multitude of men and women on the Tube who never questioned what, exactly, was the point of it all.

But here she was, just another number at the Ministry of Magic. She, and hundreds of others like her, arriving with their newspapers and umbrellas for work each morning, making up the numbers and wading through the red tape of wizarding bureaucracy. She'd thought that a position in the Department of Mysteries would be something ... well ... more mysterious. But she had quickly learned that she would not be the one contemplating the fabric of time and space, the questions of life and death or the power of love and hate. That would not be her lot until she'd worked as an Unspeakable for some twenty years. Her work to date had been monotonous in the extreme. She had romanticised her career just as she had romanticised her marriage, but she was damned if she was going to let Theo know of her unhappiness.

As she waited patiently in line to Floo home to Kensington Square, she lowered her gaze to her wristwatch and considered today's date with a worried sigh: in less than a week it would be six months since she and Theo had returned to England, and they had agreed to review their plans after that time.

Much as she disliked her work as an Unspeakable, there was no way she was taking off around the globe again with Theo. They hadn't fought once since their return, but a cold civility had settled between them, and she felt powerless to alter the course their relationship had taken. She wondered how it would proceed. Would they live out their lives in a marriage of convenience, or would they divorce? Maybe there was still a way to rescue her failing marriage. Failure was a word that simply wasn't in her vocabulary.

She stepped up to the fireplace in the Atrium and took a fistful of Floo Powder. As she raised her hand and prepared to travel home, she suddenly changed her mind and spoke Padma's address instead of her own. Her friend was on maternity leave, and Hermione was certain she would be at home. Padma's cosy house would be much more welcoming than her own.

When she'd stopped spinning, she stepped out of the fireplace and dusted down her robes. Padma was looking at her with raised eyebrows above the edge of her parenting book, a pair of charmed knitting needles on her lap busily producing a tiny pink hat. Her swollen feet were perched on a footstool, and her yellow maternity robes did little to disguise the inflated mass that was her once-petite midriff.

"I'm very happy to see you, Hermione, but given that you usually send an owl before you arrive, I'm now thinking somebody has died," Padma said with a frown.

Hermione chuckled. "Nobody has died. I'm sorry I didn't owl, but I just decided to come and see you on the spur of the moment. Is it a bad time?"

Padma grinned. "It's a wonderful time. Dean's on a top secret mission to Cornwall, and I'm not expecting him much before midnight. I've made a big pot of chicken stew, and I've nobody to share it with."

Hermione sat down next to her greatly enlarged friend. "How are you feeling? I thought you'd have gone before now. Don't twins usually arrive early?"

"I have another two weeks before I'm officially due, but twins generally arrive a fortnight early, so I guess that means I'm due today," she said, patting her bump.

"Well, I'm not sure I'll be much help as a midwife, but I make a smashing cup of tea. Fancy one?"

"Oh, I'd love one. I've wanted one for the past hour, but getting up from the sofa is such an ordeal that I decided I could do without."

Hermione headed for the kitchen. She already felt cheered; this was real life. She'd always thought of herself as a career woman, but now that she had decided jobs were overrated, she realised that this was what it was all about: family and the people you loved. Her best friend was about to begin the biggest adventure of her life. What could be more important?

As she filled the kettle and heated it with a flick of her wand, she gazed out at the darkness of Padma's back garden.

"It's snowing!" she called to Padma.

"Oh, no!" Padma cried from the front room. "Poor Dean. I hope he brought his dragon-hide gloves."

Just as she was loading the tray, Padma waddled into the kitchen. Hermione scowled.

"You were meant to be keeping your feet up while I brought this in to you," she reprimanded, setting the tray on the kitchen table and pulling out a chair.

Padma smiled. "Apart from trips to the loo, I've practically been living in the front room. I wanted a change of scenery." She sank into the chair and poured them both a cup of tea. "Do you want to heat up that stew?"

Hermione nodded and lit the stove from where she sat. "I bet you've gotten really, really good at Summoning Spells over the past few weeks."

Padma smirked. "I've even become an expert at making a sandwich from the front room and levitating it to the sofa. I've no idea how Muggle women cope when they're pregnant."

They sipped their tea in companionable silence, and when the stew began to bubble, Hermione ladled it into a pair of bowls and brought them to the table.

"You're so bloody good at domestic magic. This is delicious," she said enviously, enjoying the stew.

"Well, my domestic skills are about to be tested to the hilt, so let's hope they're up to scratch," Padma muttered, rubbing her bump. All of a sudden, she winced.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked.

Padma nodded. "I just got kicked in the bladder, that's all." She put down her spoon and made a great effort to rise from the table. "Another loo trip," she announced with a sigh.

Hermione watched her friend struggle out to the tiny bathroom beneath the stairs and wondered how she would cope with it all when her time came. She hoped she'd have one baby at a time and never two together. It looked much too uncomfortable. Padma spent a long time in the toilet, and Hermione was just beginning to worry when she reappeared, an anxious expression on her face.

"I think my waters have broken," Padma whispered as if she was scared to say it aloud.

Hermione practically leapt from her seat. "Are you serious? Merlin! What do we do?"

Padma giggled at Hermione's alarm. "Not much, for a while. I haven't had any contractions yet, so we just wait, I suppose. Will you send our owl to Dean, though? Tell him it's nothing urgent, but just let him know he might be needed soon."

Hermione nodded and summoned a piece of parchment. After scribbling a note to Dean, she fetched Padma's snowy owl from its perch and led it to the kitchen window. The snow had gotten heavier and there was quite a gale. The owl would have a long way to go if Dean was in Cornwall, and she didn't give the unfortunate bird much of a chance in this weather. As if it agreed, the owl gave her a reproachful hiss and took off into the darkness. She closed the window with a shiver and turned to find Padma clutching the back of her chair, her eyes closed.

"What?" Hermione screeched. "What is it?"

"Pain," Padma gasped. After a moment, she released her grip on the chair. "It's gone now. Let's walk around and see if it comes back."

Trying to quell her shaking hands, Hermione offered Padma her arm, and they walked slowly around the kitchen. Within ten minutes the pain had returned, and Padma burst into tears. "I'm in labour," she wailed. "What if Dean doesn't make it back in time?"

Realising she would have to take charge of the situation, Hermione took her gently by the shoulders. "Of course he'll make it in time. We'd better get you to St. Mungo's, though. Have you packed your bag?"

Padma nodded. "It's upstairs in the baby room. I'll just summon it."

When they had the necessary bag and both of them were warmly cloaked, Hermione took Padma by the hand. "Will you be able to Apparate?"

Padma nodded, but then doubled over in pain again, gripping Hermione by the arm. "I don't think I will, to be honest," she said when the contraction had passed. "If I get a contraction while Apparating, my concentration will never hold and I'll get splinched. Can you Apparate us both?"

Hermione remembered the last time she'd Apparated with somebody while she was in a panic – she'd splinched Ron, and she'd no desire to do the same to a pregnant woman. "I'd be afraid you'd get hurt. Can't we Floo there?"

Padma shook her head, her eyes welling up. "The mid-witch said I shouldn't during the last month. It's risky when you're carrying twins."

Hermione glanced once more into the garden. The snow had become a blizzard, and she doubted many taxi firms would send a car. She looked helplessly around the kitchen. "Don't St. Mungo's have some sort of plan for when this happens?"

Padma shrugged. "Most witches give birth at home. They only go to St. Mungo's when they're having multiple births or if there are complications."

"Do you have a Muggle telephone?"

"Yes. Dean wanted one so he could call his family. How does that help? Can you travel by phone?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Spoken like a true pure-blood. No, you can't travel by phone, silly. But my Mum is only about twenty minutes away by car, so I'm going to see if she'll drive us. My Dad has snow tyres on the car, because they go skiing in Andorra every January – I'm sure he hasn't gotten around to taking them off yet."

"I've no idea what skiing is, but if your Mum will get us to the hospital, I'll love her forever," Padma replied.

Within half an hour, Jane Granger had arrived, and they made their way through the heavy snow to St. Mungo's. Hermione knew there was no way Padma's owl was going to make it through the storm; if the bird had any sense at all it would be sheltering in a warm barn somewhere. Wiping the condensation from the car window, she looked into the night and wondered how long it would take her Patronus to reach Cornwall. She darted an apprehensive glance at Padma; her contractions were coming every six minutes now, and Hermione was worried Dean wouldn't make it in time.

They arrived at St. Mungo's without incident, and Padma was quickly rushed to the maternity wing. While she was assessed, Hermione found the nearest open window and sent a message to Dean with her Patronus. As she watched the silvery otter gambol away into the darkness, a piercing scream rent the air from the room to her left. A neatly dressed mid-witch met Hermione's gaze and shook her head.

"Somebody's forgotten to cast a Silencing Spell," the little witch whispered, pointing to the room. "Poor girl's having quads!"

Hermione gasped. "Four babies? At once?"

The mid-witch nodded. "It's all the rage now; older witches having children later and later thanks to new fertility spells. This poor dear is sixty-five!"

Hermione shuddered at the thought. She hoped there would be less screaming in Padma's room. Padma looked up hopefully as Hermione entered the delivery suite.

"Any word from Dean?" she asked.

Hermione shook her head and gave her an encouraging smile. "I've sent my Patronus to him in case the owl gets delayed. He'll get here, Padma. Don't worry. You just concentrate on getting through your contractions."

"You'll stay until he gets here, won't you?"

"You know I'll stay, no matter how long it takes."

The minutes passed slowly, and soon they turned into hours. By ten o'clock Padma was having contractions every two minutes and was clearly in a good deal of pain. Hermione was becoming increasingly stressed by the ordeal of having to watch her very best friend in agony.

"Isn't there something you can do?" she asked the mid-witch in disbelief. "Muggles have drugs and epidurals. Isn't there a spell or a potion or something?"

The witch gave her a bewildered smile. "Pain-relieving spells and potions interfere with the delicate balance of nature. This is a natural process, and it should be borne as nature intended. The pain of childbirth is a necessary biological message; it allows the mind and body to prepare for the event of moving from pregnancy to motherhood. Preparation is the key!"

Padma snorted. "Preparation be damned! I think I'll have a Muggle birth next time, thanks."

An hour later, just after eleven, Padma had made more progress than the mid-witch had expected and was ready to start pushing. As Hermione and the witch helped her into a sitting position, she shot Hermione a frightened look.

"Dean's not going to make it, is he?"

Before Hermione had a chance to answer, the door of the room was thrown open.

"He bloody well is going to make it," Dean announced as he flung his travelling cloak on a chair and crossed the room to kiss his sweat-soaked wife. "I got your Patronus two minutes ago, Hermione. I can tell our daughters are going to be trouble; they would choose the stormiest day of the year to arrive."

"It's your genes," Padma said through gritted teeth. "I can tell."

Dean chuckled good-naturedly and took both her hands. Hermione decided it was time for her to go.

"I'll leave you to it," she whispered. "I'll be just outside. Let me know if there's anything I can do."

Hermione closed the door behind an gave a long sigh of relief; it was a horrible thing to witness such intense pain.

Another hour passed while she paced the corridor. While she was glad the Silencing Spell on the room meant she couldn't hear Padma's cries of pain, she desperately wanted some news of how the delivery was progressing. She stopped and leaned her head against the window. The snow had finally stopped, and a full moon lit the wintry streets below. The glass was cold against her forehead, and she realised that she was weak with hunger and thirst.

She was just about to go in search of some caffeine when the door opened, and the beaming mid-witch emerged.

"Two beautiful, healthy little girls," she announced proudly, as if she herself had conjured them into being.

Hermione returned her smile, all thought of food and drink forgotten. "Thank Merlin! Is she okay?"

"They're all doing perfectly. Give them a few minutes alone, and then pop in and see for yourself."

The mid-witch lifted the Silencing Spell with a flick of her wand and strode away. Suddenly, from within the room, there came the whimpering cry of a new-born. Without knowing exactly why, Hermione began to cry. Relief, exhaustion, happiness, sadness ... She couldn't decide which emotion was the strongest.

She'd just wiped her face when Dean tapped her gently on the shoulder. Hermione could tell that it would be many hours before he stopped grinning.

"Come and meet the babies," he whispered.

He led her back to the room, where she found a miraculously calm and smiling Padma with two pink-swaddled bundles held reverently in each arm.

Hermione had never been particularly impressed by new-born babies before. She had, in fact, found them almost repulsive. But not this time. As her gaze settled on the two tiny faces, one sleeping, one awake, she was so struck by their beauty that she gasped aloud.

"Oh, Padma," she whispered in a trembling voice. "They're so beautiful!" She reached forward and tenderly ran her finger along the cheek of the nearest baby. She raised her gaze to her friend. "How do you feel?"

Padma smiled. "Very sore, but incredibly happy."

Dean took the sleeping child from his wife. "This little one was born one minute after midnight, the other ten minutes before, so they have different birth dates. This is Shivani Elizabeth – middle name after my Mum," he explained.

"This one – our first-born," Padma said, "is to be called Preeya Hermione, to thank you for getting all three of us here safely. We'd be honoured if you'd be her Godmother."

Hermione was so overcome that she didn't know what to say. Struggling to hold back tears, she nodded. "I'd love to be her Godmother."

Padma held out the wide-eyed infant. "Would you like to hold her?"

Hermione accepted the bundle of pink, and as soon as the baby was in her arms, she experienced a throb of longing like nothing she had ever felt before. She couldn't help it: the tears spilled over.

Padma dabbed at her own eyes. "Don't cry, Hermione. You're setting me off again."

Hermione gave her a watery smile. "I just can't help it – she's so perfect."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Do you two have to cry at every turn? You'll set me off in a minute."

Hermione laughed through her tears. "I'm just so very happy for you both."

It was the truth: she was pleased for them. But at the same time, it wasn't the whole truth: she was also saddened for herself. She wanted this. She wanted all the things that Padma had, and she was heart-broken because she didn't know if she would ever be a part of such intoxicating happiness.

***

Hermione was glad the following day was a Saturday; she couldn't have faced a day at the Ministry after such a draining night. She'd arrived home shortly before two in the morning and, not wanting to wake Theo, had slept in the guest bedroom. Despite her fatigue, she'd lain awake for hours, her thoughts still full of Padma's beautiful babies.

She'd enjoyed watching the new parents admire their offspring: Dean had repeatedly peppered their little faces with kisses, while Padma had counted their tiny toes. There was a certain look that had kept passing between Padma and Dean. Hermione recognised that look. She'd seen that same glance pass between Parvati and Seamus at her wedding; she'd seen it pass between Harry and Ginny since the arrival of little James. It was a look that communicated great fondness and affection for a child, as if to say 'we did this, you and me'. The look filled her with envy.

She wanted a baby. From somewhere deep within her had emerged an unlooked-for tidal wave of maternal instinct. Surely this was what her marriage lacked? There was no love between her and Theo. But she would lavish her child with unconditional love; she was almost certain Theo would do the same. Perhaps, if they had a child to love, it would engender the beginnings of true affection for one another. Maybe that glance would pass between them, and something more than civility would blossom.

A glance at her watch told her that it was almost midday. She had managed a few hours sleep. She sat on the edge of the bed and thought about what she should do. She would talk to Theo. Today. The future of their marriage had to be confronted.

Already nervous, she slid her feet into a pair of slippers, wrapped her fluffy white bathrobe around her and went in search of breakfast. When she got to the kitchen, Moe was at the stove.

"Good morning, Moe. Would it be too much trouble to ask for some breakfast?"

Without speaking, the little elf levitated a plate of toast to the table, where a pot of tea and a mug already sat.

"Miss Hermione was very late home last night," she said with a sniff of disapproval.

Hermione smiled. "I went to visit my friend, Padma. She went into labour and I had to bring her to St. Mungo's. She didn't have her babies until midnight, and I wanted to stay to see them for a while. I'm sorry if I woke you, Moe."

Moe tried to hide her interest. "Your friend is having more than one baby?" she asked, bringing a plate of sausages to the table.

"Yes, she had two lovely little twin girls," Hermione said, her mouth full of toast. She finished her breakfast in silence, watching as Moe busied herself about the already gleaming kitchen. "Thank you for breakfast, Moe. Is Theo upstairs?"

Moe nodded. "He is being in the sitting room."

Hermione was about to leave the room when she stopped. "Moe, I don't suppose you'd have the time to do me a huge favour? I'm hopeless at sewing and crocheting and things like that, despite having a wand," Hermione confessed. "I was wondering, if you had any spare time, would you consider knitting something as a gift for Padma's babies?"

She held her breath for a moment, wondering if she'd overstepped some boundary, when, much to her delight, Moe's face broke into a radiant smile.

"Would the babies be liking pink or white, Miss Hermione?" she asked excitedly, clasping her bony hands together.

Hermione smiled. "I'd say they've plenty of pink! White would be lovely – just some little hats or something."

"And some cardigans and booties and mittens," Moe added. "Babies should be being kept warm!"

Moe bustled happily away, muttering to herself about all the things the babies would need. Hermione left the kitchen and climbed the stairs, glad she'd made her request. When she reached the door of the sitting room, she paused for a moment, not looking forward to the conversation she was about to have with her husband.

Inside, she found Theo sprawled in an armchair. She glanced at the title of the book he was reading: it was about the magical communities of Polynesia. She gave a soft sigh. It didn't bode well for the coming discussion. Apparently, he was as intent as ever on travelling the globe.

"Good morning," she said, settling herself in the armchair opposite, her mug of tea still warm in her hands.

"Morning," he replied, glancing at her dressing-gown. "You're up late."

Hermione smiled. "I didn't get in until two in the morning – I had to take Padma to St. Mungo's."

Theo put down his book. "Is she all right?"

She nodded. "She's fine. She had her babies last night."

Theo looked confused for a moment. "Oh, yes ... I'd forgotten she was pregnant. Twins, wasn't it?"

"Yes, twin girls," she said, frowning at the fact that he hadn't even remembered her best friend's pregnancy. "They've called them Shivani Elizabeth and Preeya Hermione."

"That's nice," he said, picking up his book once more.

"Theo, we need to talk. I can't go on like this."

He put down his book again and sat up straight. "I agree. Let's go travelling again."

"Theo, I'm not going to take off around the world. That's not going to solve any of our problems."

He frowned. "You'd prefer to continue living like this?"

"No, but there are alternatives to just running away from our problems!"

He folded his arms. "Alternatives? Such as?"

"The alternative is that we stay here and try to make this work. This is a sham of a marriage, Theo. We've hardly spoken since we returned; since before we returned! The moment I signed that form for my job at the Ministry, you started to sulk. You've been sulking for seven months now. When's it going to stop?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm the one doing the sulking? You started sulking a long time before I did, and all over a little bit of weed."

She shook her head. "You knew I didn't want you to smoke it, Theo, but you did it anyway."

"You knew I didn't want to return here, but you signed that contract anyway," he countered.

"We'd agreed in advance we'd come home after a year," she said angrily.

He fell silent for a moment. "Have you any idea how difficult it is for me here?"

"What do you mean? How is it difficult for you?"

He got up and walked to the window, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "You're not the child of a Death Eater."

It was the first time he'd ever brought up the subject of his father. She chose her next words carefully. "Theo, I know you've suffered because of your father, but I've never once seen anyone treat you badly because of it. You were never a Death Eater."

He turned to her. "I'm still tainted by his name."

"Your mother was married to him, and she moves in the highest circles of London society!"

"His blood does not course through her veins," he said angrily. "She made a mistake when she married him, but she's not genetically related to such filth."

She was shocked at the venom in his voice. "What about Draco? He was a Death Eater, as were both his parents, and he still lives here!"

"Yes," Theo spat, "and just look how he was treated by Susan's family. They had to elope!"

"I've never, ever seen you being mistreated by anyone because of your father, Theo."

"What would you know about it," he said, turning once more to the window. "I feel more comfortable when I'm out of this country."

Hermione was suddenly furious. "Why didn't you tell me all of this before we got married? I tried to raise the subject on more than one occasion. You're just using this as an excuse."

After a minute, he returned to the armchair. "Explain to me, Hermione, what exactly there is to keep you here? What's so important about this job?"

"It doesn't have as much to do with my career as the people I love. Yes, I like my job," she lied, "but I want to be near my friends and my family. I like it here. I like stability and occupation. I like to keep my mind busy."

He shook his head. "We both love reading and knowledge, Hermione, but not everything can be learned from a book."

"I've no objection to exploring the world, Theo, but at the same time I want to have a home and a career and I want a ... I want ..."

"What?"

"A family," she said, not daring to meet his gaze. "I want a baby, Theo."

When she finally looked up, he was staring at her in disbelief. "You cannot be serious, Hermione?"

She felt tears come to her eyes. "Is it so wrong to want what everyone else has? I didn't think I'd want a child this early, but I do. I can't help the way I feel."

He sat back in his chair, an expression of utter shock on his face. "I don't want children. Now or in the future. Never."

Her mouth fell open in surprise. "You never said you didn't want children, you said you didn't want them yet!"

He shook his head. "Look at all the people around us who have kids. Why would you want to be anything like them? They can't do anything they want anymore. They can't even pop in to Diagon Alley for a stroll, never mind explore Brazil."

Her hopes of salvaging her marriage were disintegrating. "Haven't you seen how happy all those people are? They love their children more than anything! It doesn't matter to them that they've had to give up a certain amount of freedom. If you are honestly telling me you never want children, Theo, this marriage has reached crisis point."

He leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. "This marriage reached crisis point the day you threw a goddamn fit over a harmless bit of fucking hash."

She recoiled, stung by his words. He'd never swore at her before. With a burning sensation in her stomach, she finally accepted what Severus Snape had told her many, many months before: There was a gulf of irreconcilable differences between her and Theo, and that gulf was too vast to be bridged. A tear rolled down her cheek.

Theo stood up. "I'm going out," he announced angrily.

She wiped her face. "You can't keep running away, Theo. Getting stoned and travelling the world isn't going to solve anything."

He stopped at the door and turned to her. "And you think having a child is? You think dragging an innocent baby into this mess is going to fix anything?"

She put her face in her hands. A moment later she heard him summon his cloak and slam the front door behind him. Then she cried.

***

The day passed slowly. Hermione sat in the front room for almost four hours. Her head swam with the tragedy that was her marriage.

At first, she blamed Theo, but little by little, she came to accept that the fault lay equally with her. She had been warned; she had not listened. Theo was not a bad person. He was immature and self-centred, yes, but he wasn't bad. They were, quite simply, incompatible.

Running away was not the answer; getting stoned was definitely not the answer; having a child was not the answer either. Was there an answer? She didn't know any more. If they divorced, she would have to remarry within six months if she wanted to stay in the country. Could they compromise enough to work things out? Maybe Theo could travel during the week while she worked at the Ministry.

When darkness fell, she grew hungry. Theo hadn't yet returned, and she descended to the basement in search of food. She reached the kitchen and exclaimed in delight. Moe had outdone herself: there were tiny white socks, booties, cardigans, shawls, hats and miniscule mittens all over the table. Moe was tending the pots on the stove.

"Moe!" Hermione exclaimed. "Thank you so much! They're beautiful – absolutely beautiful."

"They is just little trinkets," Moe said modestly. "When you is having babies, Miss Hermione, I is making them a whole wardrobe."

Hermione's stomach clenched at her words, and she sank into the nearest chair, fingering a tiny pair of mittens. She could not stop the tears that began again. Theo didn't want children. Moe was never going to have the opportunity to create such a wardrobe.

The elf placed a steaming plate of chicken casserole in front of her. To Hermione's surprise, she felt a bony hand on top of her own.

"Don't cry, Miss Hermione," Moe whispered, her large eyes solemn. "You is having babies soon. Muggle-borns is always having lots of babies."

"Thank you, Moe," she replied in a choked voice, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

Moe left the kitchen to take some dinner up to Lance, and Hermione helped herself to a glass of wine. By the time she had finished her food, her stomach had settled, but her head was throbbing. There was little point in trying to come up with a solution to her problems while she was exhausted. Wanting nothing better than to climb beneath a warm duvet, she left the kitchen and headed once more for the guest bedroom. Within minutes she'd fallen into a deep sleep.

***

She heard Theo return during the night, but she was so drained that she hadn't the strength to look at her watch. She could hear him bustling around in the master bedroom, and although she thought she should go to him, she soon fell back asleep. Tomorrow would be time enough to try to piece back together the shards of their broken marriage.

When she woke, it was to find rays of sunlight streaming through the tiny basement window. Outside she could hear birds singing and the trickle of thawing snow. It was already nine o'clock, and the silence of the house struck her as odd. Theo was in the habit of rising early on Sundays, and by this time the smell of bacon usually filled the air.

Pulling on her dressing-gown, she tip-toed to the kitchen, where she found Moe seated at the table, wringing her little hands.

"Moe," Hermione said quietly, "where's Theo? Is he still in bed?"

The elf turned to face her, and she saw that her dark eyes were filled with tears. She didn't answer.

"Moe, has something happened? Are you all right?" Hermione asked, kneeling before her.

Moe shook her head and returned her gaze to her restless hands. "I don't know where Master Theodore is, Miss," she whispered.

"Has he gone out again?"

Moe buried her face in her pink apron and shook her head once more, sobs wracking her frail body.

Hermione's heart started to race; something was desperately wrong. With an increasing sense of dread, she stood and walked slowly to the master bedroom. Before she had even pushed open the door, she knew what awaited her.

The quilt lay in a heap on the floor, and the wardrobe doors were lying open. Theo's trunk had disappeared from the foot of the bed. She crossed to the dressing table and started pulling open the drawers, which had been emptied of all Theo's belongings.

She was about to call for Moe when she spotted it: a note addressed to her was sitting on the dressing table, propped up against the mirror by a small bottle of perfume that Theo had bought for her in France.

With trembling fingers, she broke the seal on the small piece of parchment and scanned the contents of the letter with wide eyes. After a moment, she allowed the note to slip from her grasp and flutter to the floor.

Her marriage was over.

Without fuss, without ceremony, her husband had left her.

And he wasn't coming back.