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“I'm so sorry, there's no heartbeat.”
Hermione felt numb.
She heard Draco tell them to run the diagnostic again, but his voice was muffled by the roaring in her ears.
They had to be mistaken. She'd had all the symptoms. She'd been nauseous and tired for weeks now.
And she'd had miscarriages before. Several. She'd reached 6 or 7 weeks before she started bleeding again.
She was sure this time had stuck.
Draco was going to be so upset. So disappointed with her. He wanted children so badly.
She vaguely registered another healer coming in and casting the diagnostic spell again.
“I'm so sorry. But my colleague is right, there's no heartbeat. It looks like your baby stopped growing about 3 weeks ago.”
3 weeks. What was she even doing 3 weeks ago?
Maybe it was the stress from work. But she’d been trying so hard to rest… Or it could have been that bath she'd had? Maybe it was actually 38 degrees, not 37…
Her thoughts began to spiral, thinking about every spell she'd cast, every meal she'd eaten, desperate to find a cause.
“Hermione? Love, look at me.” Draco gripped her hand and wiped a tear from her cheek. When had she started crying?
She looked up, noticing the healers had left them alone.
“Where–”
“They've given us a moment. Are you okay? Sorry, that's a stupid question. What do you need?” Her husband looked down at her, his own unshed tears making his eyes sparkle in the dimly lit room.
No windows. Why were there no windows in here? She was finding it hard to breathe.
“Nothing, I'm fine. Maybe some air? Draco, I'm so sorry.”
His face fell, confirmation of his disappointment with her. “Sorry? What for, Hermione? Surely you don't–”
“I should have rested more, I knew that proposal for the Vampire Rights Bill was too much, I already had enough on my plate, but you know what they're lik–”
“Hermione.” Draco placed his hands on her cheeks, turning her face to look up at him.
She didn't know how he could stand to look at her.
“Hermione. This isn't your fault.”
She shook her head, looking at the floor between them. He didn't know what he was talking about, he was just trying to make her feel better. He tugged her face to look at him once more.
“Love. It isn't your fault. You did everything you could to protect this baby. I wish I knew why it's not as simple for us as it was for the Potters or the Notts. But I know that it has nothing to do with choices you've made.”
The bubble in her throat threatened to burst.
“But what if–” she gasped, sobs finally starting to break free. “What if it never happens for us? What if Dolohov–”
“Then we'll spend every summer in a different country, and we'll donate millions to house elf rights, and we'll spoil our godchildren rotten, stuffing them full of sugar quills before sending them back to their parents.
“We'll adopt every mangy half-kneazle you can get your hands on and we'll shag every night without fear of being interrupted. And I will die a happy man, knowing I lived a full life with my soulmate.”
He placed a tender kiss to her lips, tasting the salt from her tears.
“I don't need children from you to be happy, Hermione. Yes, I'd love them and if you want to talk about trying again later, we can have that conversation. But please know that if all I ever get is a lifetime with you as my wife, then I'll have all I ever wanted.”
He wrapped his arms around her, pressing another kiss to the top of her curls. And despite the ache in her chest and the fear of what was to come for the next few days, Hermione knew that they'd get through it together.