Forget Me Not (Draco/Hermione)

Chapter Thirteen- Options

McCarthy sat on the edge of bed and gently placed her hand on Hermione’s shoulder.

‘I don’t know if- I don’t know if I want to be.’

‘It’s perfectly understandable to feel that way-‘

‘I don’t know if I want to be pregnant with his baby. It just feels wrong.’ Hesitantly, Hermione poked her still-flat stomach. ‘During the war, what his family did- What his family did to us. His aunt-‘ She swallowed hard at the memory. Tugging up the sleeve of her hospital gown, she stared down at her scarred wrist with disgust.  ‘Even before that, they were the epitome of everything I hated. They were bigoted and cruel. They treated their elves like slaves. They cosied themselves up to the Ministry and, when he came back, him. Malfoy too, even when he was young. He was a bully. In our sixth year, he even- he even tried to…’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know if I want to have any of that. Anything like that, growing inside of me.’

McCarthy nodded. ‘You still have options open to you.’ Her voice was soft, reassuring.

‘What are they?’

‘There are many people willing to adopt but if you really want to end the pregnancy, then a termination would be your best option.’ Hermione nodded again. ‘It’s a quick, painless procedure and, above all, it’s safe. You would however need to be signed through by two healers and you would first need to see a counsellor.’ Hermione slowly began to sit up. ‘I can get you some leaflets if you need some more information? Or I could fetch someone to sit with you?’

‘Would it be possible if I can think it over? Alone?’

‘Of course.’ McCarthy stood up. ‘Take as much time as you need. I’ll just be outside on the corridor if you need me.’ She gave her patient’s shoulder a gentle squeeze and then headed back towards the door, having first tidied the room with a flick of her wand.

‘McCarthy?’

‘Yes?’ The healer looked back over her shoulder.

‘Am I- Am I making the right choice?’

‘Whatever decision you make will have its pros and cons,’ McCarthy said, her hand resting on the doorknob. ‘But at the end of the day, it’s your choice and we’ll support you whatever you decide.’

After McCarthy left, Hermione slowly climbed out of the bed and began to wander around the room, furiously blinking back tears. Only a few hours ago, she had felt settled. She had begun to even accept what had happened. She hadn’t time-travelled; she was just suffering from amnesia. Things were strange, unfamiliar, but she could cope. One thing at a time.

But this revelation was just too much, too soon. It felt as if the floor had been pulled out from under her. Hermione liked children but she always liked them from a distance. She had never expected to have any herself and yet here she was: nineteen and- twenty-nine and pregnant.

In her life, she had had little previous experience of pregnant women. She had grown up as an only child with no aunts or uncles to provide her with cousins. At school, no one she knew had the misfortune to fall pregnant and if they had, they certainly hadn’t confided it to her. She guessed that the Hermione of 2008 must have had more experience with babies and pregnancies. Half of her friends had children. Harry and Ginny’s kids had even referred to her as their aunt. Mrs Weasley had practically gushed for an hour about her various grandchildren. Yet the teenage Hermione knew nothing.

She knew deep-down she should feel something. She knew vaguely about morning sickness and bloating up and babies kicking. Yet she felt nothing. She placed her hand on the flat of her stomach. Kick. Flutter. Move. She barked actions at it, daring it to signal its existence. Yet nothing happened.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a couple of books stacked underneath one of the chairs. Pushing the chair aside, she scooped them up and stared dazedly at the brightly-coloured jackets. What to Expect When You’re Expecting: Magic Edition! The Importance of Being Earnest and Consuming Folic Acid: How Can We Not Stress That EnoughI 3, 2, 1: Trimester Countdown! She flicked through the first one, watching the unfamiliar diagrams and images move across the page. The second one was smaller and less thumbed but as she opened it, a sheet of scrap parchment fell out. Leaning down, she picked it up.

With a start, she vaguely recognised the untidy handwriting. Draco’s. He hadn’t changed it that much from Hogwarts if she could recognise it.

 On this parchment, he had scribbled down note after note in a messy list. 13 weeks: 7cm long. Baby Malfoy weighs same as a pea pod! 12 weeks: Baby Malfoy’s face beginning to form. The notes continued chronologically, ending just at five weeks of development. Hermione stared down at the page, noting the exclamation marks, the excited scrawl. With a sad, little sigh, she crumpled the sheet up into a little ball in her fist.

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Hermione found Draco soon enough. The ease in which it took to find him surprised her a little. She had expected- had hoped even- that he was someplace else. Preferably as far from her as possible. Yet here he was, sitting just outside of the room with his head between his hands.

In the last few hours, Hermione had been officially discharged by the senior healer. The intern had finally managed to find her clothes and had timidly handed them back to her. The shower had been a god-send but Hermione had yet to feel comfortable in her new clothes. They were much more expensive and finely laundered than what she had been used to. The jeans that Daphne had selected were uncomfortably tight.

‘Malfoy.’ He looked up, his hair eschew, and she realised with a start that he had been crying. His grey eyes were lined with red and his lids were suspiciously puffy. Steeling herself against this, she held out the crumpled sheet. He wordlessly took it from her. ‘We need to talk.’

She turned and began to walk away. From behind her, she could hear him standing up and his footsteps. Turning a corner, they slipped into an empty visitors’ room.

‘I’m-‘ he began.

‘Save it,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t want to hear it.’

‘I wasn’t planning to apologise.’ His grey eyes may have been sore but this did not diminish their hardness.

‘I think we’re beyond that now.’ Hermione took a deep breath. ‘Listen, I’ve decided to continue this pregnancy.’ To her annoyance, his face visibly lit up at that. She held up her hand. ‘I will have the child but after that, I will renounce all my ties with it. All of my rights to it. It will be solely your child and your responsibility. You’ll get your baby Malfoy.’ She added that bitterly. ‘And I’ll get my life back. In exchange for this, I want one thing and one thing only.’

‘And what’s that?’

‘A divorce.’