The Sweetest Downfall

Backfire

For two and a half weeks there were no tip-offs on the Metamorphmagus murderer, much to the dismay of Harry and Ron. Her best friends were still worried about Hermione's safety, so they escorted her every night to her flat. She tried to make them see that the Metamorphmagus wasn't exactly on a mission to kill her, that was not how he worked, but neither cared. Her safety was on their priority list. On the other hand, Malfoy had stopped caring. He let Ron and Harry fawn over her. Malfoy no longer waited at night and hardly seemed to think protecting her was worth it. His indifference added more cracks to her already shattered heart.

A month later, Hermione's stomach was protruding quite a bit. She'd always been slender and petite, even more so as her time as an Auror. At three months pregnant, the evidence wasn't quite noticeable given her frame; she herself only saw it when she was nude, but no one else was seeing her bare, sadly, so she didn't find a reason to bother there. Her work robes hid everything quite well, even without them, but she decided to cast a concealment charm for the time being. She never knew if there were people who looked at every little detail, and she didn't want to give them a reason to talk so early on.

Before finding out that she was pregnant, Hermione's life was too busy to allow her a moment or two to focus on herself. She ate regularly to keep her strength and checked to make sure she hadn't any gaping wounds after a raid, but that was it. So if she had symptoms of morning sickness at that time, she hardly felt them. At three months, however, as she paid more attention to her changing body's needs, Hermione was feeling the brutality of morning sickness. Her breasts were quite tender, hurting even if she gave a little hop to her step—which made her quite happy not to be currently chasing after criminals—and her nausea was out of control. Thankfully, the nausea stayed true to the name of morning sickness and she hardly had to deal with it when in the Ministry.

When she went for a checkup, pale and dizzy right at seven in the morning one day, Angelina had simply patted her cheek tenderly and inquired that Hermione was nearly at the end of the period for those symptoms and that soon she'd be back to normal.

'Are you going to tell them soon?' questioned Angelina instead as she lingered behind after the appointment was done. 'You're hiding pretty well, but soon you won't. Don't wait too long to tell them, they won't take it so well then.'

'I'm not exactly worried about their reactions for the time being,' Hermione had truthfully responded to her friend, slipping back on her clothing. 'I still have plenty to figure out for me to worry about how they are going to take this.'

'Are you going to tell the father?' was Angelina's next direct, insensitive question. 'You cannot do this alone, Hermione, please. If you know who it is, tell him. Don't carry the weight of this alone.'

'I think I might quit my job,' Hermione ignored her Healer's plead, trying not to think of that herself. Her mind had been made up: she was never telling him. 'Before I give birth, that is. I think I might just work on a few freelance things after. Or, who knows, I might go to Brazil and join Luna and Neville there. She is always offering me a job as the editor for The Quibbler. It might not be my life cause, but it would be nice to get away for a while.'

Angelina had quite a fiery personality, which made her fit right in as a new Weasley, but if she had harsh, truthful words to give to the brunette, she contained them. Her jaw locked, frustration and deep worry glittered in her dark eyes, but she no longer commented on the subject. The Healer just gave her patient a guideline of the foods she should be eating and a simple exercise outline. With that, Hermione left to work and continued on living the lie.

A part of Hermione wanted to tell Draco about the pregnancy. Everytime she looked at him, when they were alone and their silence was butchering her, she wanted to tell him. She wanted to hold his face in her hands, feel the smoothness of his skin, trace her finger over his heavenly lips, and just say it. She wanted to see his reaction on that silver glaze—but all hope crashed when she stepped out of her fantasy. He wasn't going to beam with pride or happiness, he was going to be downright outraged that she was so careless as to forget a Contraceptive Spell. If she told him, she would ruin his life.