Chapter Four

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 Four

Sleep hadn't come easily to Hermione in the scant weeks since Harry's visit. She attributed it to over-thinking and her overactive imagination since it seemed that his visit had dredged up all sorts of memories, some which she had thought long forgotten ... and some she never even remembered happening. Life had become a sort of alternate reality, with memories blending in with everyday occurrences to the point where she sometimes questioned her sanity. Oftentimes she found herself in a daze, half in a daydream, and she had to forcefully bring herself back down to earth. She figured that because Harry visited so infrequently, and this last visit had been particularly unusual...as well as memorable...it was only natural that it would affect her thoughts ... and her dreams.

It was the dreams that woke her at least a couple times a night. Some mornings she would look at the clock and decide that it wasn't even worth going back to sleep, and she would set about re-shelving books in the shop. Unfortunately, some dreams were more insistent than others, and it so happened that one particular dream resurfaced...one that had haunted her for months after Harry killed Voldemort. Eventually, like all bad memories, it had slunk back into the shadows, fading away until she was no longer aware of its absence. But Harry's visit had reawakened it, and it had become the mainstay of her unconscious mind, and the main reason why she preferred to stay awake....

The smell of death was everywhere. The fog swallowed it. Entrails of smoke from used-up spells breathed it. It was suffocating. Through the gloom and haze, she could see glimpses of friends and acquaintances, flashes of bone-white masks and black-as-night cloaks, glittering spell-strands of red ... and sometimes green.

"Then you're stupid ... and useless. I would expect nothing less from a Mudblood." He sneered.

And her head spun again. Kill him, a voice in her head said. He doesn't deserve to live, another chimed in. Yes, raise your wand ... that's a good girl. Her thoughts weren't her own anymore. Too many were in her head, but they weren't the right ones.

In an instant, the voices stopped, and Lucius Malfoy lay unmoving on the ground, his glacial stare frozen open in death. She had killed him. She had never killed anyone before. She felt nauseous, and she fell to the ground on all fours, beside the body of the man she had just murdered, and vomited.

Hermione sat up in bed with a start, feeling sick to her stomach. Frantically, she kicked away the covers and ran for the bathroom.

A little while later, she wept as she splashed cold water on her face. Of all the dreams to have to return, this had to be the one, she thought acerbically. She had admitted to the killing after the battle was over. She insisted that it had happened, though the Aurors never found the body of Lucius Malfoy among the deceased. They had, however, found his wand, lying broken and trampled in the mud. The Aurors told her that she must have been wrong. Maybe she had thought she had killed him, but he had only been injured. After a while, she had let it go, realizing that the Aurors weren't really interested in avenging the death of a Death Eater. If in fact he was actually dead.

In any case, Lucius Malfoy seemed to have fallen off the face of the earth, though that could be said about a number of Death Eaters. Quite a few had gone into hiding or left the country, leaving their pure-blood estates to relations no one suspected and living their lives anonymously rather than being sentenced to a life in Azkaban...a fate that was treacherous, dementors or not. Serving a sentence in Azkaban stained a perfectly good pure-blood name; avoiding being charged and going into hiding was more reputable, for it showed defiance of the Ministry and support of all that they believed.

Hermione had heard that Draco had survived and had returned to Malfoy Manor not long after the war. Neither he nor Narcissa were ever seen in public. Only their closest friends and blood relatives knew what had become of them, and they weren't talking. Gossip among purebloods stayed among purebloods.

Hermione brushed her teeth, spat into the sink, and then scrutinized the fine lines that creased the corners of her eyes. All of this was so long ago. Why did she insist on holding onto such unpleasant memories when there were more pleasant ones to be had ... like Harry's visit.

That thought had popped out of nowhere and made her blush uncontrollably. She wasn't supposed to be thinking of Harry's visit ... not that part of it anyway. He was getting married next weekend, and she was going to be there no matter how she felt....

Felt about what? Surely she hadn't fallen in love with Harry? She let that question settle within her gut for a few seconds, trying to determine the true answer. No. She didn't love him any more than she had before. But did that mean that she had romantically desired him before the night his visit turned into something more intimate ... more passionate? She was certain she didn't. He was her best friend, and she loved him as such. That was all.

Then what was going on? Suddenly, the thought of Harry getting married to Elsbeth made her stomach twist in knots. It could be that she was feeling guilty, or that she was afraid Ellie would somehow know what had happened the instant she saw Hermione. And that would be a terrible way to spend one's wedding day, with the knowledge that your fiancé had sex with his best friend only a month earlier.

Throwing down the hand towel disgustedly, Hermione decided that she was being morose and that she needed to stop this nonsense and make herself a decent breakfast for a change. Scrambled eggs and bangers and mash maybe ... or maybe not. The mere thought of frying up all that food had her hanging her head over the porcelain bowl once again.

~ o ~

The ceremony was beautiful. No expense was spared for a Minister's daughter. That was for sure. The perfect day...the first day of spring. The perfect wedding. The perfect couple. Hermione greeted the couple afterward, forcing a smile on her face, trying to convey how happy she was for them. She hoped she was successful. She hoped she didn't give away how uncomfortable she was. In her hand she still clutched the wedding program, embossed in gold lettering, which had been handed out to every guest by dashingly decked-out house-elves.

The stark truth of it was her best friend had just gotten married, and she wasn't happy for him. She hadn't seen Harry since the night they'd had together, and she discovered out that what she'd feared was true: she couldn't help but see him in a different light. Harry was different somehow. When she looked at him, she saw a different Harry, one with whom she shared a special connection.

It was selfish, and she knew it. So she plastered on a smile that she hoped was genuine and hugged both Elsbeth and then Harry, lingering a bit longer than she probably should have. Harry looked happy. Why shouldn't he be? Elsbeth was beautiful, and she filled the position of 'Wife of the Boy Who Lived' quite nicely, being the daughter of the Minister for Magic. And then there was the reason he had broken off his relationship with Ginny years ago: he didn't want to have children. His reasons were many and, for him, were quite logical. It was rare to find a woman who thought along the same lines as he did, but he found her in Elsbeth.

The wedding was the most difficult thing Hermione had had to endure, and it obscured everything else going on in her life, including...miraculously...the financial problems of the bookshop. Those had taken a backseat to what had happened with Harry, having to attend the wedding and reception and act like everything was the same as always ... when it most definitely wasn't.

It was a good thing Ginny was invited to the wedding. Ginny, who could have married Harry if only she had given up her desire to have a big family. Hermione supposed she now had something in common with her friend; they both knew Harry intimately but Harry was marrying someone else. Ginny was happy; she had Alpin, her two kids, and she was pregnant again. Hermione, however, was miserable.

Hermione made her way swiftly to the loo for the fourth time that evening, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, which wasn't difficult considering the number of completely pissed wizards and witches who were dancing ferociously to The You-Know-Who, the live band the Minister had procured for his daughter's wedding reception.

Hermione rested her head against the wall of the cubicle, trying to fend off the nausea she had been feeling all evening. She felt the suction as the door opened, inviting the music in until it was sucked out by the door falling shut.

Ginny called out, "Hermione? Are you okay?"

Inwardly, Hermione groaned, but mostly, she was grateful. Tonight of all nights, she needed a friend. Someone who could lighten her mood, perhaps.

A knock came on the door to the cubicle, and Ginny carefully pushed it open. When she saw Hermione leaning against the wall, looking a little green, she bustled her way in very Molly-like and took charge. For the first time that evening, Hermione visibly relaxed.

Ginny left for a moment, grabbed a towel from a basket on the counter next to the sink and dampened it with cool water. When she returned, she wiped the perspiration from Hermione's face and forehead.

"I know you haven't been drinking tonight. So, do you want to tell me what is going on here?" Ginny had this way of bossing her slightly older friend without sounding too motherly.

"I feel sick is all. It's nothing." Hermione gave her friend a weak smile.

"It's not nothing," Ginny retorted. "In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were pregnant."

Hermione sucked in a breath, and her eyes fixed on her shiny, patent leather pumps in an attempt to stay focused and not give in to her body's attempt to either be sick or pass out. In one evening, Ginny had guessed what Hermione had suspected for a couple weeks now but had been too nervous to confirm.

"I'm not sure, but I think I may be," she said weakly. Just clarifying it out loud made her head swim even more than it already was.

"I thought so," Ginny said. "You never told me that you had a boyfriend, Hermione. Who is he? You should have brought him to the wedding."

Who was he? She couldn't very well come out and tell Ginny that it was Harry's baby. If she told even one person, it would destroy Harry's life, and she didn't want that.

"I don't have a boyfriend," Hermione began. "It was a one-night stand...a Muggle I met at a night club in London. He was charming and good-looking, and he literally swept me off my feet, I guess. It was a glorious evening, really, and I had more fun than I have had in a really long time. I never expected to see him again, and well, then this happened...." Hermione could feel the tears burning her eyes.

Ginny hugged Hermione close. "Oh, sweetie. It'll be okay. You know Alpin and I will help out whenever you need it, and it'll be like the kids have another sister or brother."

Hermione sobbed into a wad of toilet paper. If only she could have gone to Ginny the moment she had suspected. But she wouldn't dare. The fact that it was Harry's baby consumed her to the point where she was literally afraid to say the words, "I'm pregnant."

"You're the best friend anyone could ask for, Ginny, you know that?" Hermione wiped her nose and tossed the paper into the bowl. "I just never imagined that I would be a mother ... No, that's not it. It just never occurred to me that my child wouldn't have a father."

"All children have a father, Hermione, and you know who he is. Now, maybe he wasn't the wisest choice, but there are plenty of other men who will give your child a nice, solid male influence. And if you're ever in desperate need of one, you can always have him...or her!...spend a weekend with Fred and George."

That was enough to crack a smile in Hermione's otherwise gloomy expression, and she laughed a little, grabbing Ginny in a tight embrace. "Yes, I suppose there's always that," she admitted. "It will be all right, won't it?"

"Yes, it will. And you should enjoy this pregnancy. I mean, you don't know if you'll ever be pregnant again, so make this one count, right? Are you getting enough to eat? Are you feeling sick all the time?" Ginny mother-henned her.

"Every morning, but the evenings are the worst. Usually I can eat a few crackers and some fruit in the afternoon and keep it down. Otherwise..."

"Yes, I'm quite familiar with it." Ginny grinned, patting her own bulging stomach. "It'll get better; I know it's difficult to believe. Here, let's get you cleaned up and presentable."

Her wand came out, and Ginny had Hermione fresh and ready to face the world in no time. Hermione looked at herself in the mirror and refreshed her lipstick charm...just a touch; not too much...and tried on a smile. She didn't notice that Ginny was watching her closely.

"That's not the only thing that's wrong," Ginny said suddenly.

Hermione looked up sharply in the mirror to look at her friend. That girl probably got an Outstanding in her Divination N.E.W.T., she thought and then shook her head. "I can't hide anything from you, can I?" she said, trying to sound more lighthearted than she felt. She sighed for effect. "You know, it's just so hard seeing all my friends 'grow up' and get married.... I don't know. I wish Harry all the happiness in the world, really, but I just never saw him as the marrying type." There. A partial truth was better than a lie.

"I heard that Ellie doesn't want children, so at least they have something in common," Ginny said quietly through a faint smile. "I know what you mean. It's difficult to see Harry get married. I hope he's happy, though. He deserves it." She exhaled forcefully and swept up stray towels and threw them in the dustbin. "We all deserve to be happy. Right?"

Hermione smiled back faintly and tossed out her own towel with determination. "Yes, we do."

"Good," Ginny said, taking her friend's hand. "Now, I heard the bartender makes a mean orange juice. Not to mention, he's drop-dead gorgeous!"

Hermione laughed weakly at Ginny's attempt to cheer her up. With shaking breath, she sighed and followed Ginny out of the restroom to go help ogle the bartender.