Chapter 13: Shrouded in Darkness

Chapter Thirteen: Shrouded in Darkness

I watched a series of expressions pass over his face as he leaned against the rubbish bin looking very much like he might be sick. I was sure I heard the words ‘innocence’, ‘impregnate’, and ‘sixteen’ cross his lips as he leaned farther and farther on his hand. I wasn’t about to feel guilty for telling him. It was not my fault that the potion interacted differently with the magic of an under-age witch. I held my head high.

I did, however, recall that my future would be lost to one decision. And that was what I wanted him to feel guilty for. I wanted him to suffer in the knowledge of what he had done to me. But still I cursed myself frequently and orderly on my idiocy. I was a nitwit through and through when it came to emotions—much like Ronald in many respects.

I looked at him, waiting for him to speak, but when he continued to alternate his gaze from the ground to my stomach, I gave up and turned around, ready to leave him alone in that alleyway.

“How far along…” I heard him mutter, to which I responded, “Two and a half months,” without turning around. I stood with my back to him for a moment, and for one sweet moment, I thought he would rush to me and tell me all would be fine. But he didn’t, and that was the moment that my life changed forever.

The next night at the castle, while I was doing my homework with Ron in the common room, Harry came sprinting in. He told us he was leaving on a mission with Dumbledore, and he gave us the Marauder’s Map and his Felix Felicis, insisting that in case his theory about Malfoy proved to be correct, we would need to be prepared. I was shocked and opened my mouth to protest, but he stopped me before I could say anything. He had a determined look in his eye, and I knew I could not let him down. In his haste to convey his point, he even dragged in Snape, and I placed my hand worriedly over my stomach. If anything was to happen to me, two lives would be lost.

I stood when Dumbledore’s funeral had come to an end. Layers of tears were glazed onto my cheeks. The bright sun pierced my care-worn eyes. I cried for Dumbledore, but also I cried for my future and the lack of a father for my child. Ron comforted me, and he obviously had no idea of the turmoil occurring inside me. I was frightened and confused. But still, through the pain and the tears, I felt a determination. I would not become a single mother who lost it all. I would never, ever saddle my child with my mistakes. My baby would have a beautiful future.

I listened to the conversation around me like a ghost. I stayed deep in my own thoughts, plotting what I would—could—possibly do next. I wandered over to the lake and watched the water ripple with the tails of the mermaids. I looked down at my feet and saw a pair of shoe-prints next to where I had been standing, where someone had obviously made a habit of observing the lake. I sighed and realized how many demons lurked in everyone’s past. The person that observed the lake there obviously was weighed down by a heavy heart.

I realized I had to tell Ron and Harry. I knew it would be hard—I knew it could end horribly—but I had to do it. I had already told Snape about the child, so telling Ron couldn’t be so hard, or at least that was what I thought. I decided that I would speak to him after he and I vowed to accompany Harry over the summer. But I knew I had to tell Harry too. So I took them to our designated tree away from the crowd and explained that I had to speak with them.

“Harry, Ron,” I said, wringing my hands and staring at the ground, “I haven’t been a very good friend this year.”

“Hermione, you know I don’t hold the birds against you—” Ron began.

“No, Ron,” I interrupted, “I’m not talking about the birds.”

“What is it, Hermione?” Harry asked carefully, his hand tight around the locket in his palm.

“I had a relationship this year,” I said carefully, just then realizing the weight of the topic.

“Like a boyfriend?” Ron asked, but he was nudged by Harry.

“Yes, Ron, it was sort of like a boyfriend.”

“Well, then,” he responded, a somewhat pained expression on his face, “are you still together?”

“I said ‘had’ a relationship, Ronald,” I said, slightly exasperated, “but that isn’t the point. Something happened between us.”

Ron’s eyes widened, but he said nothing.

“I’m—” I paused, it was still difficult to say. “I’m pregnant.”

“WHAT?” Ron and Harry shouted in unison, and Ron got to his feet.

“I’m going to kill the bastard,” he said, looking around. “I’ll kill him with my bare hands.”

I stood and placed my hands gently on his chest and then sat down, indicating that he follow suit. He did.

“Who was it?” Harry whispered, still recovering from the shock.

“Well, that’s not important, Harry. I mean, I’m mad enough at him. I don’t need you two—”

“Who was it?” he asked much more loudly, turning his gaze to my eyes.

I mumbled an unintelligible response.

“Who?” Ron asked.

“Professor Snape.”

And that was when Ron passed out.

“Hermione! What were you thinking?” Harry stood over me. He was livid and looked at my stomach with contempt.

“I guess I wasn’t,” I replied quietly.

“You were always the thinker, Hermione!” he said loudly. I shushed him when I stood again.

“Harry, don’t you think that I’m a bit more upset about this than you?” I asked him, looking up into his eyes. “You can hold a grudge against Snape if you want, but I’m the one who’s going to give birth to his child!” My voice quivered. These words frightened me.

“You’re right, Hermione,” he responded, bowing his head. “I really have no idea…” He trailed off.

“It’s okay, Harry,” I replied. I knew that the upcoming months would be hectic—frightening at best—but at least there was still one more golden afternoon of peace left to enjoy with Ron and Harry.

Author’s Note: That last sentence was a variation on the last sentence of HBP (and so we delve into a world full of events that are almost entirely of the realm of my own imagination!).