Hermione thought it was a good idea when she did it, but now she realized that it was the worst thing she could have ever done. She never contemplated on exactly how deep her love for Draco Malfoy ran. She knew it was love, of course she did, but she was stupid to assume she knew the degree of that love. Romance had never been her forte, that was clear as day to herself as well as to others. Her decision to let go of Malfoy only served to prove her wrong and destroy her.
When Ginny left the following morning, Hermione had been shaking with desperation. She had kept herself together, tied with fake smiles and useless chatter to keep Ginny blind from her pain, but in that time all of that emotion had been collecting itself into a ball of energy. And in the first moment of solitude that she was given, the ball exploded and it knocked her onto her knees. Tears streamed down her cheeks, falling onto the floor beneath her and collecting into small puddles. She sobbed like she was mourning the dead, and in a way she was. She was crying for all the hope that ceased to exist once she'd let Malfoy go.
He was engraved deep into her bones. She was sure if someone cut her open, they'd see his name carved in perfect little lines on the entire skeleton of her body. If they took her heart and placed it beneath light, they'd see his name sketch into it as to assure who it belonged to. If they examined her flesh, they'd see his fingerprints all over her body, claiming ownership, as well as the marks of his lips and teeth. Everything inside and outside of her belonged to him.
Through her flood of devastation, Hermione tried to reason with herself. She tried to remind herself that she knew this would happen one day; the only thing that changed was the fact that she ended their arrangement and not him. She had to remind herself that she was never going to get a happy ending with Malfoy, it was just not destined. They hardly could be considered friends, just partners bound to one another in a vow to protect the Wizardying world; the prospect of being forevermore lovers was not up for debate. He didn't have romantic feelings, he didn't know love, and if he ever were to, he would definitely not have them for her. There was too much damage, such a thick, nasty history, that prevented something pure to bloom. He didn't love her, he never would, so what exactly was the point in hoping that one day he might?
Hermione allowed herself the weekend to grieve for what never had been hers. And once Monday came, she looked into the mirror of her bathroom and practiced the expression of someone who felt nothing, of someone who had not spent days crying over a broken heart. So when she mastered something close to a deceivingly happy mask, she headed for her Floo and went to work.
Work itself was a good way of distraction, but that didn't last long for Malfoy was her partner and their paths were bound to cross. He marched into her office without a knock, as he'd always done, and gave her a huge stack of files. He told her what he always did, 'get on with it, Granger; we've got cases to solve', and everything else went by in silence. Unwillingly, desperately, she would sneak glances at him, but disappointment only followed when she saw that all his focus was on their work. A part of her wanted to ask him if he missed her—or her body—but it was a ridiculous thing to even think, seeing as only three days had gone by, so she busied herself with their files.
Two weeks later and everything had become a strange routine. She'd looked into the mirror and think courageous thoughts, and then she'd Floo to the Ministry. She spent the first hour alone, grieving and trying to survive his loss, but then he would march right in, shocking her, hurting her, and they would go about their work. Sometimes they hunched over archives and testimonies and on other times they were out in the street, busting the pavement to find their suspect or to find any leads. Since her attack, the Head of the Aurors required Hermione and Draco to join Harry's case full-time, which meant a pause on their other cases, and also a pause on raids and duels.
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.
So she kept pretending. She kept treating him like she always had, sans the passionate sex and time together that made the stars in the night sky shine with force.
"Why is this even happening to me right now?" Snapping her away from her silent, repetitive musings, Hermione heard Harry's loud, torturous-like groan. "Someone save me."
Hermione was torn between laughing or scolding him as he banged his forehead against the wall they were standing by. "Hush now, Savior; you've got to be at your best." Finally decided, she grabbed the back of his black blazer to stop him from another one of his forehead thumps. "This is the annual Remembrance Ball and you're Harry Potter. You have a duty to the people of the Wizardying World and the war's survivors."
Harry turned, his face grimacing like he was in dire pain. "You and Ron were there, too. You both played an important part in ending the war. Why can't either of you do this blasted speech? I don't even need to be here."
"I'm not doing your homework for you, Harry," the brunette scolded.
"Of course you would look at it like that," her best friend huffed in return.
Hermione gave him a parental scowl, but still laced her arm through his like she did so many times when they were in school, walking through the grounds on the rare times they had nothing to worry about. She squeezed his hand, looking up to give him a reassuring smile as she navigated them through the large hall where the Remembrance Ball was taking place.
The ballroom was quite a spectacular sight. It was large enough to hold the four hundred attendees, plus the orchestral group that was set up at the end where the stage was with their shiny instruments. The hall itself was breathtaking; the white, marble walls were all-around detailed with thick, smooth gold detail from the bottom and to the beginnings of the ceiling. The thick gold was arched over the windows, on the linings of the doors, and even in the little crevices of the walls that people hardly noticed. This golden detail came in form of flower patterns, vines, leaves, simple arches, crowns, lions, and even scantily robed Angel figures. The gold accentuated everything, captivating all eyes, tempting and creating the deepest urges to run fingers over the detail. As exquisite as the walls of the ballroom was, the ceiling was a masterpiece of its own, too. It resembled in every way possible the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, which doned famous paintings from the like of Michelangelo.
As if not to interfere with the grandness of the ballroom, the decorations were simple. All the rectangle tables, strategically placed throughout the hall, were adorned with white, beige, and the lightest of gold-colored cloths. Three small, branchy trees were placed on every single table for decoration. These dainty trees held repetitive flowers that held their own language: burgundy nasturtiums to represent victory in battle; yellow zinnias for remembrance; glowing, white orchids for love; and red roses for respect. Little balls of light were ignited throughout the branches to light everything up.
"Oh, good, you found him." Hermione stopped her and Harry's path when she found a small group of familiar redheads and her date. Mrs. Weasley, Harry's mother-in-law and somewhat of an adoptive-mother figure, rushed over to him with a scolding look of her own. She finger-combed his unruly hair, trying to get it into place as best as she could, and then she adjusted his clothes and fixed his black tie.
The people in the background laughed at Mrs. Weasley's fuss, but Ginny was the only one who looked annoyed by it. Her mother seemed to forget quite often that none of them were children, they could take care of themselves well enough. Not to mention that her mother's worry made Ginny feel like she was lacking in her wifely duties.
"All right, Mum, that's enough," Ginny cut in, respectfully motioning her mother to back away. "He does this every year, it's fine. Now," she turned her gaze onto her husband, "you have to get ready. Your speech is scheduled to start in ten minutes."
Harry looked like he was going to vomit.
Ginny took this as a good enough sign. "Come, I'll go with you." She took his hand and tugged him, leading him as Hermione had, but this time to the stage in the ballroom.
Arthur and Molly Weasley headed back to their table, lazily followed by George and Angelina. Once there, they sat in the table where Bill and Fleur, Charlie, Percy and his wife Audrey were waiting for them.
"Nine years later and Harry is still..."
Hermione didn't hear the rest of what was leaving Ron's mouth. Harry and the Weasleys had departed, but two other figures strode quite gracefully towards the spot she was in. Her heart began to pick up in rhythm and her body began to pump ice instead of blood. Nausea came to her full-speed when she noticed that the couple approaching was holding hands, looking so painfully beautiful together that she wanted to die.
"Evening," drawled Draco Malfoy when he arrived to Hermione's group. His stormy gaze flickered quickly past the brunette, not giving her the proper attention she wanted from him.
"Well, you look beautiful, Granger," spoke Pansy Parkinson as she focused her own, blue eyes on the woman Malfoy cared not for. There was no malice in her voice, which wasn't a huge surprise in that juncture. Though Hermione was not friends with Pansy, they frequented quite a lot to make it possible to leave behind old animosity. She was one of two of Draco's closest friends, the other being Blaise Zabini, but Hermione always wondered if there was much more between them. They dated in Hogwarts, Draco and Pansy, so her thoughts on whether or not they rekindled that flame was always in the back of her head.
In the past two years, she was certain that Malfoy and Parkinson were nothing. He wouldn't be sleeping with Hermione if that was the case, right? He might be a lot of awful things, but one thing she respected about him was his loyalty. In the first year of their partnership, Malfoy was in a relationship with Astoria Greengrass. She visited him on occasion at the Ministry, Hermione would see them together in the cafeteria, keeping to themselves. Astoria had a very enamored glint in her eyes, something Hermione couldn't comprehend during that time, but Malfoy never returned it. He was polite and gentle with her, made her laugh, protected her even when they walked down a hall of the Ministry, but he wasn't in love. One night, when Hermione and Draco were stationed in Greece to follow one of their suspects, he had an opportunity to cheat on Astoria. She waited for him to bed the young woman throwing herself at him, but it never came. Hermione dared herself to ask why not, why if he wasn't in love with Astoria, why didn't he just go off and find another witch to satisfy his needs. Needless to say, he almost cursed her when he declared, 'as much as you like to think of me as scum, Granger, I don't treat women like yesterday night's trash'.
But now things were different. Now, Hermione and Draco had gone five weeks without sleeping with each other. And in those five weeks, four times Pansy showed up to the Ministry and both went off together. In those five weeks, Hermione knew nothing of his doings. In those five weeks, Draco could have changed his mind and rekindled his past romance with Pansy. In those five weeks, Hermione became nothing more to him than an old adventure.
"That color suits you very well," added Pansy as she smiled and her eyes scanned Hermione's dress.
Hermione looked down at herself. Her gown was nowhere near as elegant, yet provocative as Parkinson's black, silk dress. Hermione's was an emerald lace dress that fell two centimeters above her knee. It had a sweetheart neckline that exposed the milky-white skin of her collarbones. The lace dress had a black material beneath it, and to match it a thin, black belt cinched in Hermione's waist. Simple black pumps tied it all together. As for her hair, Hermione's chestnut curls were magicked into classic waves parted at the middle, falling close to her waistline. For the occasion, Hermione had bold red lips that begged for attention, but the rest of her face was kept simple and polished.
"You seem to be glowing."
At Pansy's last comment, an arm wrapped around Hermione's bare shoulders. Her side was pressed onto someone else's. A very masculine and familiar cologne filled her senses so she looked up to find her date grinning.
"Of course she is, she's with me," informed Theodore Nott to his former Slytherins. "You know well enough the sort of reactions I give the ladies, Pansy."
The dark-haired witch frowned playfully at her old friend. "I must say that I am surprised," Pansy began, "that you and Granger are dating now. It seems like you failed to tell me the happy news last time we met, Theo."
A snort came from Hermione's side, but it wasn't from her date. It was Ron. "Don't feel insulted, Parkinson. Hermione didn't tell us about Nott until tonight. You can imagine my shock when I went to gather her for tonight's event and she was already in the arms of this git."
"It's not my fault you broke things off with Tracey and you had no one to bring," defended Hermione at her friend's aggravated tone. "Nor am I your last resort, Ronald. Besides, I don't have an obligation to inform you about my private life, do I?"
"How long have you been a couple, then?" Pansy questioned, ignoring the little argument between the two-thirds of the Golden Trio. Her eyes roamed Theodore's face, searching behind the surface.
"About a month now." It wasn't Hermione or Nott who answered, it was Draco. He had been silent, observing the people in front of him with a blank stare. As he avoided to look at Hermione, she had done the same. But when he spoke, when she looked to find his silver eyes digging into hers, she felt dizzy with regret.
Theodore squeezed the brunette tighter to his side. "Yeah, that's right. And here I thought," he pressed a chaste kiss on Hermione's head, "that you were keeping us quiet. You surprise me, love. You really do."
"I'm going to be sick," grunted Ron. "I'm heading to our table. See you lot in a bit."
"Care to join me for a glass of champagne?" Nott asked the question sweetly, but he didn't wait for his date to give her reply. Instead, he bid a quick farewell to his old classmates and then turned Hermione to head away from them.
Saying a few passing greetings to old familiars, the two reached a far table that was stocked with glass flutes of champagne.
"You are a phenomenal actor," Hermione whispered tersely at the handsome, dark-haired man beside her. "Bit over the top, though."
Theodore chuckled. "You don't know how they work, Hermione. It needed to be gushing with sap for people to buy it. We are supposed to be in the beginning stages of our relationship, it's all flowers and all that rubbish right now."
Hermione reached for a glass but Nott slapped her hand away. She gave him a hard look. "I'm obviously not going to drink it, Theo," she stated as if she was talking to an idiot. "I do realize I'm pregnant, you know."
"Don't you take that tone with me." Theodore playfully poked her shoulder with his index finger. "Look, Hermione, I'm just helping you. You were the one that asked for my assistance. I did tell you playing pretend was going to be a bad idea, but you got yourself into this mess and I just couldn't leave you on your own, could I?"
The brunette sighed in defeat. "You're a great friend, Theo," she muttered. "Thank you."
He took a close, intimate step to her. His left hand cupped the side of her face as his penetrating, indigo-colored eyes stared sadly at her.
Hermione became friends with Theodore when they returned to complete their Seventh Year at Hogwarts. He was the Head Boy to her Head Girl. She didn't think McGonagall's decision to have a Gryffindor and a Slytherin partnered together was a smart one, considering the animosity that had plagued the two houses even before the war. Despite her urgings to change the Head Boy, Hermione discovered that Theodore Nott was just trying to finish his education as peacefully and undetected as possible (something that was surprisingly common among returning Slytherin students). As it goes with two people whom never interacted with one another, it took time for Theo and Hermione to get to know each other. By the middle of term they were friends, and rather good ones at that. She learned a lot about him and he about her, and soon enough they formed quite the bond.
That bond grew and solidified itself after Hogwarts. Hermione was determined to live in the muggle world until she finished university there, and Theodore wanted to join her. He wanted the escape. He wanted to go someplace the world didn't label him as the spawn of a Death Eater and strive there. He found hope in the muggle world. He rented a flat near Hermione's university and they spent as much time as possible together. He became so dear to her heart, much to Ron's displeasure and Harry's confusion, and she knew Theo felt the same way about her.
Time after, Hermione finished university and was ready to dive back into the Wizardying world, but Theo was not. Though he visited his family and a few remaining friends (one of them Pansy) in the magical world frequently, he found his happiness among the muggles. He stayed there, working as a connection between muggle Parliament and the Ministry of Magic.
The lives of an Auror and Ministry worker weren't easy, but Theo and Hermione managed to find the time to stay in contact. After all, their bond was that of siblings and it would always stay that way. So when she most needed to talk to someone, when she most needed the help of someone that could pretend with her, she chose him. She gave him her secrets in hopes that he'd prolong the faux she'd invented until she figured out what to do.
"What are you doing, silly girl?" murmured Theo to his friend, gently rubbing his thumb across her cheek. "What are you going to do with all these lies?"
Tears pooled into Hermione's orbs. "I don't know," she brokenly replied. She wrapped her arms around Theo's middle and held on tight.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
She was laying on the floor of her office when Draco walked in.
"What the hell are you doing, Granger?"
She turned her head to the left in order to spot him. She squinted as the light of the hall outside hit his pale, blonde hair and hurt her eyes. "I'm tired and I'm nauseous," she informed him, which was as honest as she's been with him for eight weeks now. Of course, she didn't tell him that her fatigueness and painfully acute sense of smell was due to her pregnancy, but that was beside the point.
For a moment, for the quickest moment in time, Draco looked warily at her. She might have thought she imagined it, seeing as he no longer cared about what happened to her, but the next words that left his mouth only proved her previous thought.
"You should go home, then. You've been looking terrible lately, Granger."
"That's lovely."
"Just saying it how it is," he responded flatly. "Look, it's almost seven, go home now. You can afford to get off a few minutes early."
Hermione inhaled deeply when the sudden smell of marinated meat entered her nostrils. She repressed a gag. "What is that ghastly smell, Malfoy?"
"That'd be the files." He waved the four case-files he was holding. "They were Weaselbee's sandwich holder before I retrieved them. Thought I might leave the smell so Potter can sniff them out tomorrow and then properly reprimand his sidekick."
"Oh, God, please get rid of it," Hermione groaned from the floor, her thumb and index finger pinching her nostrils together to block out the smell. "Please."
Malfoy looked keen not to, but he saw her sincere disgust and did the right thing. He used a bit of easy wandless magic to get rid of the odor before he tossed the files onto the ground.
"Thanks," Hermione said briefly as she reached for the top file. She opened it, and as she lay on the floor, she dangled the case above her to read. "Katia Romanoff finally decided to give information on her husband Ivan Romanoff, I see. Brilliant."
The brunette was too busy scanning the files to see that Malfoy was watching her intently. There was something off about her, he knew it. He knew her well enough to notice the little changes that were suddenly making her sick. He was worried, how could he not be? She'd been his partner for five years and not once had she'd weakened like she currently was. Not even when her parents died.
"I can't believe she supported his doings," Hermione continued. "What woman can live with a murderer? One who rapes and mutilates his victims, no less. Katia Romanoff must be mental or seriously damaged by her time as Ivan Romanoff's wife to have such an adoration for him. But, then again, victims with prolonged exposure to abuse confuse love with their mistreatment. It's sad, really."
Draco cleared his throat when Hermione's brown eyes found his, the warmth of them unsettling. "About that, Potter wants you to write a profile on Katia Romanoff based on his interrogation with her." He pulled out a metallic, rectangular device from the pocket of his trousers that looked quite odd in his hold. It was a small video camera Hermione insisted Harry take to his interrogations. (She also extracted his memory of these interrogations when she couldn't be there, but at her current nauseated state, she rather not dive into a pensieve).
"Potter thinks Katia Romanoff is lying when she said she hasn't seen her husband in twenty years."
"Naturally," mumbled Hermione. "The cycle of trauma would have broken if Ivan Romanoff has been gone for that long. No abuse, no horrific crimes to cover up—she would have began to see her husband as the psychopath that he is. But if she's speaking praises about him, it's likely that he's found his way into Russia."
With effort, Hermione pulled herself into a sitting position. She waited a moment for her dizziness to calm itself before she actually moved. Once that was settled, she extended her hand out to ask for the video camera. Malfoy was careful not to touch her skin when he gave it to her, something that didn't go unnoticed or unhurt from Hermione's part.
"Right," she cleared her throat. "Can you bring me the case of profiles I've written for the other Romanoff family members? It's on my desk. Oh, and my quill, too, please."
As Malfoy went off to the direction of her desk, Hermione turned on the video camera. Grey static showed up on the screen of the camera for the first second, but then it was Harry's face pressed up onto the screen. She laughed at the awkward face he purposely pulled for her entertainment, seeing as she was the only one that watched the recordings. The few seconds following that, Harry sat on the empty chair of the interrogation table.
The woman across from Harry looked to be about the age of sixty, quite mature and experienced, but there was something about the fiddle of her fingers that Hermione tied with a child's timidness. Her shaking hands were evidence to her fear, but it also was evidence to her abuse. A woman who'd been married to a horrific man for so long developed nervous habits that never quite settle. In Katia Romanoff's case, the evidence one suggested that the pain and dread was still fresh.
"Granger, there's a mess on your desk. Where is it?"
"Just look," Hermione called back offhandedly as her focus was on the video.
On the screen, Harry cleared his throat, making unexpecting noise in the silent room. The woman jumped, startled. 'Mrs. Romanoff,' Harry had begun to speak, 'thank you for agreeing to meet with us. Your help is appreciated.'
The woman in the video said nothing.
'You do understand that we are looking for your husband, correct? He is the prime suspect of twelve murders in Britain.' Harry opened a file that was on the interrogation table. He turned it so that the woman's eyes could glance at it. 'They were young, innocent women, Mrs. Romanoff. Your husband not only sexually abused these women, but he grotesquely tortured them. The patterns of his murders match the ones he committed in Russia before he vanished.'
The woman's hands shook more. 'I-Ivan was...He was wrongly accused—'
"What the fuck is this, Granger?"
Hermione's focus on the video was distracted when it was ripped away from her. She glared at Malfoy when he shoved it back into his pocket. "Give it back, Malfoy! I'm trying to do my—"
"What the fuck is this, Granger?!" he repeated, this time the question echoing around her office walls. He was holding a sheet of parchment, clutching it as if it had somehow offended him.
"What are you—"
"What is this?!" He threw her the paper. As he did, he bent down so that his hands could grab a hold of her shoulders, picking her up by them. His grasp on her shook, reflecting an anger that Hermione couldn't quite comprehend.
She winced, but said nothing. She unwrinkled the parchment so that she could read it. Reprimanding words were about to leave her mouth, but instead a choked gasp came out of her. What her eyes were reading was the medical results of her latest checkup. Mortified, the first line written in Angelina's penmanship said: At four months pregnant, the patient Hermione Granger...