Chapter Text
The battle was over; families rushed to comfort, to cling, to grieve. And amongst it all, she felt lost. She had no one. Her family was gone. Had been gone for over a year, despite her best efforts. Not that anyone knew; how could she tell them? They were about to leave life as they knew it; they had to focus on their mission. And Merlin knew she would not have been able to cope with their well meaning pity, not without breaking. She had not had time to break. She could mourn them. Later. It had to come later. She wasn't sure what to do with the fact that later was now.
She cast a tired eye over the Great Hall, barely registering the battered and broken people lining the room until she found Harry, surrounded by Weasley's grieving Fred, Ginny clinging to him as she sobbed. She briefly considered going over, but she knew her place wasn't there. It was a strange thought given that almost half her life had revolved around him. That for the last seven years, she had always been by his side. But not this time. The Weasleys were his family in a way they would never be hers. And most of the time, that was alright. Most of the time she understood. But after months of starvation, isolation and fears coming true, she had hoped someone would remember her too. Perhaps it was selfish.
Fred was dead. Remus and Tonks were dead. She might have lost her family, but she could remember how much they loved her. Harry didn't have that, and any time he’d gotten close, they had been taken from him cruelly, piece by piece. He deserved one now.
“Alright Granger?” a voice rasped from behind her.
“Nott,” she inclined her head slightly, and he smiled.
“Good to see you alive, Princess.”
She rolled her eyes in response, despite her fond look, only making his grin widen. “You too,” she offered softly.
He hummed. “They want everyone checked at St Mungos.” he ran his eyes over her critically. “Pomfrey wanted me to start chasing people up.”
“Surely they’ve better things to be doing,” she murmured, her eyes running over the room again, this time taking in some of the injured.
“No,” he interrupted sharply before softening his voice, “They’ve taken the worst of them there already. They want to make sure no one gets missed. Ensure there's no stray curses lingering.” Hermione made a small noise of agreement. “Want me to get someone to go with you Princess?"
She smiled faintly, knowing that he knew her well enough not to be fooled, but doing it anyway. “No. I’ll be fine.” His eyes narrowed, darting towards the Weasleys. “They're grieving,” she murmured softly. “I’ll be fine.”
“And you?” he checked sharply, "Aren't you grieving?”
“Yes,” she murmured, “But I'm not family, I won't intrude.”
“Hermione,” he growled.
“Drop it, Theo.” She turned, walking away from him. “I’ll see you at some point him sure.”
He made a move as if to go with her, but was stopped when Blaise Zabini ran to him, all but colliding with his body.
“Youre alive!" he gasped, running his hands frantically over him to check he was real. “Oh thank all the gods. You're alive!”
“Yes, and I'm really pleased to see you but…” Theo craned his head to look over Blaise's shoulder, slumping in resignation when he realised she was gone.
She only went to St Mungos because she truly had no idea what else to do. She had no home, nowhere to go, so she went. It was chaos, people with varying injuries littering the waiting room, the scent of fire and blood strong enough to make her want to vomit. She spent what felt like hours folded into a corner, trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible as she waited to hear her name called. Despite the time it took, it didn't feel like the waiting room emptied at all.
“Hermione Granger?”
She grimaced as several eyes turned to stare at her, moving quickly towards the Healer.
“I’m Healer Monrose, Miss Granger, come with me.”
She hummed, following her into an exam room, feeling slightly out of it now that the adrenaline was wearing off and her exhaustion was making itself known again. “Does anything in particular hurt, Miss Granger?”
She almost laughed. All of her hurt. Instead, she shook her head. Healer Monrose hummed, her wand moving continuously in patterns Hermione didn’t recognise, before it paused, a look of shock passing over the Healer's face, the pattern repeating as if she was checking the results.
“Miss Granger…”
“Yes?” she murmured, dragging her attention to the Healer's face.
“Miss Granger, did you know that you were pregnant?”
Hermione froze. “Pregnant?” she squeaked.
“Yes Miss Granger, “ her voice gentle, “I..I apologise but given the situation, I have to ask, was it consensual?”
“Well a baby certainly wasn't!" Hermione replied, hearing the hysteria in her own voice.
“But the sex was?” Healer Monrose clarified.
“Yes,” Hermione whispered, her heart thudding. She had no idea what she was going to do with this. She couldn't tell him. He was supposed to get to be happy now. It would destroy everything. They had just wanted to feel something other than desperation, hunger and fear. This wasn't supposed to happen. But how could she not tell him? She couldn't hide a baby for fucks sake! “How…how long?”
“Youre around 20 weeks Miss Granger.”
“Twenty weeks,” she mumbled. “Gods.”
The healer flicked her wand. “It puts conception around Christmas.”
She nodded slowly, paling further as something occurred to her. “I was crucioed.”
The healer winced. “Yes, I can see that from your readings. Approximately three weeks ago.”
“Will it affect the baby?” she had to know. Had to prepare herself because surely, surely nothing that small and fragile could survive that intact.
Healer Monrose smiled sympathetically, her hand coming to rest on Hermione's shoulder. “I don't know. I can check. But first, do you want someone here?”
“Who?” she asked stupidly.
“The father?”
“Oh. I ah…no. No thank you. Will you just check? Please.”
“Are you sure dear?”
She swallowed harshly. “I’m sure.”
Still looking concerned, the healer nodded. “Lie back for me then.” All of a sudden, a loud rhythmic whooshing noise filled the room, and the healer smiled more genuinely. “Heart rate sounds good. Do you wish to see your baby, Miss Granger?”
“Yes,” she whispered, feeling her eyes water before a large picture appeared in front of her, heavily reminiscent of a muggle ultrasound.
“Theres their head,” the healer pointed, “And their hands, oh they're an active little thing. I imagine your…situatuon meant that things have remained hidden.” she glanced at Hermione's concave abdomen, “magic sometimes helps with that, keeping pregnancies hidden until it's safe, but you should be able to feel them shortly, soon I imagine, now you're aware.” she paused, clearly checking the diagnostics, “Everything looks good, Miss Granger. I have no idea how but your baby appears to be perfectly healthy. I'm picking up none of the usual markers for concern.”
Hermione felt the breath leave her in relief, her eyes glued to the tiny wriggling being that was apparently inside her. It was surreal. The baby was moving, kicking its tiny legs and wriggling, and she couldn't feel it at all. But it was there. Apparently.
“Do you wish to know what it is you're having?”
Hermione's head was shaking before she realised she intended to. “No. I…I think I'd like a surprise.”
“Very well.” The healer cancelled the charms, the room falling eerily still. “I’m going to be blunt, Miss Granger, you are not well. You are dehydrated, malnourished and suffering from exhaustion and curse damage. None of those are optimal at the best of times, but during pregnancy, many other conditions are exacerbated. Because of that, I would like to admit you.”
“Oh but there's so many…”
“Yes,” the healer agreed with a grimace, “There are. It doesn't change my recommendations. I would like to admit you, monitor your weight and the baby, alongside that curse damage. Just a week, Miss Granger.”
Hermione sighed heavily, “Ok.” It wasn't like she had anywhere else to go.
“Good. Now is there someone I can contact to let them know you're here?”
“Oh. Hermione paused before shaking her head. “Thank you. But no.”
The healer's face creased in clear concern. “Miss Granger, are you absolutely certain? Even a letter…”
Hermione considered it before nodding. “I’ll send a letter if that's ok?”
Letting out a relieved breath, the healer nodded. “Of course, I’ll get you some parchment and then go and see about that room.”
Alone, Hermione pressed her hands to her abdomen, trying not to give in to the tears. What the fuck was she going to do?
Theo,
I did as I was told and went to St Mungos. Just letting you know because I know you're not great at leaving things alone.
Everything's fine. I think I’m going to take a week or two, maybe visit family; it's been a while.
Hermione.
Two weeks later, laden down with nutrition potions, pre-natal vitamins and a stern warning to take things easy, Hermione found herself on the street outside St Mungos without a clue what to do next.
Squaring her shoulders, she made the only decision she could, apparating directly into her back garden, hoping that the house was still livable.
A scene of utter devastation greeted her, furniture torn and smashed, drawers carelessly opened, their contents scattered around the floor, but it was cosmetic. She could work with this.
It took days to right everything, even with magic, the feeling of heart-wrenching grief only making the process longer. Her parents would never again walk through the door; there would be no more gentle teasing, no more family dinners, no more advice, and Merlin, did she desperately need their advice. They would never meet their grandchild. Never know how close to giving up she was, never know that her screams of grief echoed, bouncing off the silenced walls, never know how much she’d given up just to be left alone.
She allowed herself another week, drowning in feelings that were suffocating before, with a sudden, unexpected kick to her insides, she forced herself together. She couldn't drown. Not with someone else relying on her. So she made a list. She was good at those. Not that it was long.
NEWT’s. Because Merlin knew no one was hiring her without them.
Money. Because that was an issue.
Baby things. Because the weeks were rapidly dwindling.
Talk to Harry. Although she desperately didn't want to.
Taking out a fresh piece of parchment, she scribbled two letters, hoping she wasn't making the wrong decision before realising sending them would mean Diagon Alley. Forcing herself to move, to leave the house, she apparated before she could second guess herself, hurrying towards the post office.
“Beauxbatons, please,” she murmured at the assistant's raised eyebrow. “And the Burrow.”
“Of course Miss,” he agreed, “eight sickles.”
She handed over the money quickly, with a murmured “Thank you.”
That done, she found herself at a loss before making a decision, and slinking out of the Leaky Cauldron and into muggle London. Her first stop was the lawyers. Following her parents' deaths, she had begun the process of liquidating what she could and then left everything in the hands of their lawyer. What else could she do? She was due to go to the Burrow in preparation for leaving less than a week after they had died. Stepping into that house and pretending that everything was fine was still one of the hardest things she had ever done, and over the weeks she was there she had become an expert in silencing herself so no one heard her cry, perfecting the charms that removed all evidence of puffy eyes and tear tracks.
And still part of her hated herself, because their deaths meant she hadn't had to lift her wand. In the end, she hadn't betrayed them, and she could use that as some sort of comfort. And still, she acknowledged that it didn't truly matter; they were still dead. In the wrong place at the wrong time. Death by drunk driver. They told her it was quick. And she'd used it to console herself, because Merlin knew if she'd failed and the Death Eaters had found them, it would have been anything but. It was a cold comfort when faced with the reality of life without them.
The receptionist looked at her in surprise, which was quickly masked when she entered the waiting room. “Ah, Miss Granger, it seems as if we’ve sent you a few letters. Perhaps you have time, I’ll see if Mr Collins has an opening? He's been most keen to get in touch.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, watching as she walked briskly off into one of the offices. She knew Mr Collins would see her. He had been her grandfather's lawyer before her parents, and she had faintly fond memories of visiting him as a child for one reason or another.
“He’ll see you now, Miss Granger,” the receptionist smiled, offering a wink. “Apparently you're more important than his 1 o’clock, but we've not to tell them he said that.”
She offered the woman a strained smile, following her into the office, seeing the unchanged face of James Collins behind the desk. Part of her was relieved that something was the same.
“Ah Miss Granger,” he smiled, his face registering concern at the sight of her. She couldn't blame him. She was sure she looked ghastly.
“Mr Collins.”
“We’ve been trying to get in touch…”
“I’ve been…away,” she offered finally. “I apologise. I only got back a fortnight ago. I'm sure you can imagine the amount of mail that piled up.”
“Yes,” he agreed softly, "Forgive me, Hermione, I must ask, are you alright?”
She attempted a smile. “I’m…getting there.”
He hummed, reaching for her hand and squeezing it. “If there is anything I can do, dear, please don't hesitate.”
“Thank you. Truly. But I'm alright.”
“If you're sure,” he replied dubiously before unearthing a stack of paperwork. “I need your signature on some of this dear. Everything has been liquidated, I accepted a price on the practice from your parents partner as you requested. They both had life insurance and of course, you were their sole beneficiary.”
Hermione hummed, accepting the paperwork, signing where he pointed.
“I shall have this transferred to you then, dear.”
Hermione nodded absently, knowing she should check, read it over, but not having the mental fortitude. And she trusted him, didn't she? Still. Her mother would have been appalled.
His face creased again. “The circumstances are not what anyone would wish for Hermione, but you are now a wealthy young woman. Do you have plans?”
“Oh. I ah…I think I'm going to look at some further education options,” she murmured, noting that he seemed relieved by her answer. “And perhaps visit some family. Mum had an Aunt in France.”
“Oh now that sounds just the ticket, dear.” he reached and squeezed her hand again, before repeating, “Truly Hermione, please don't hesitate to get in touch if i can help. I knew your mother almost her entire life. Your parents are a tremendous loss to this world.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.”I ah…maybe once I’m back from France,we could discuss…investments or something…” she trailed off helplessly, realising she had no idea if he could help with that or not. “Um. A trust fund…”
“A trust fund?”
“Yes,” she blew out a breath, her hand resting on her still flat abdomen, “I’m pregnant.”
“Oh! Oh congratulations dear! Of course we can discuss that. Did you have a date in mind?”
“I..ah…can I do that before they're born?”
“Yes, but it might perhaps be best to wait.”
“I’m due in September.”
“Why don't we pencil in late October or early November then, dear?” She nodded her agreement. “6th of November? Say, half past twelve?”
“Thank you.” She slumped in relief, seeing herself out with a soft goodbye, the appointment card clutched in her hand.
The owl from Madam Maxime came three days later including a gushing letter and a portkey. Nothing came back from the Burrow.
“Miss Granger!” Madam Maxime's heavily accented voice reached her before she had acclimated.
“Madam Maxime,” Hermione paused, rushing out “Thank you. Thank you for seeing me.”
“But of course,” she soothed. “Britain is in..chaos, no? And your reputation precedes you. My Rubeus speaks highly of you, and that is before we consider what the papers are saying.”
Hermione winced, having deliberately avoided them. Madam Maxime's responding smile was knowing. “Now, you wish to sit your Newts?”
“If it's possible,” she hesitated, “I don't know what you traditionally sit.”
The other witch waved her off. “We offer international qualifications, do not worry. I took the liberty of contacting our Ministry, they have space for you to begin tomorrow. They have been preparing for people from Britain to come here until the ministry has been returned to normal.”
“Oh,” she breathed, realising that made some semblance of sense. “I…thank you.”
“You are welcome.Now, do you need somewhere to stay tonight?”
“Oh only if it's not too much trouble.”
“None. There are guest chambers off the hall outside, let's get you settled. You have had a trying few months.”
Hermione barely held in the snort at her understatement.
“What are your plans now, Miss Granger?”
Hermione eyed Madam Maxime, almost a week later, not having a clue what to answer that. Newts had been surprisingly easy, although that might be something to do with anything seeming easy in comparison to the last year. Or perhaps she was just numb and not thinking clearly.
“I don't know,” she admitted quietly.
Madam Maxime hummed, eyeing her speculatively. Hermione Granger was not what she had been expecting. She had accepted the girl's presence, offering both her personal assistance and a room to stay in because Rubeus frequently spoke fondly of her. She wasn't naive; she was able to piece together bits of the story slowly coming out in the newspapers from Britain, and it painted a bleak picture. That the girl looked like a weak breeze would blow her over only added to her intrigue. But the girl in front of her bore no resemblance to the forthright, studious girl who demanded to be allowed to take up space in their world that Rubeus had spoken of. This girl was traumatised by war, almost silent, curling in on herself so she took up as little space as possible. And, if she wasn't mistaken, pregnant and completely alone. She desperately wanted to ask, wondering where the lauded Harry Potter was now as she watched one of his supposed best friends crumble in front of her. But she didn't know this girl, not beyond the stories, and so she hadn't dared push.
“We have a process here for our students whose parents are ah…non-majique.” she offered instead. “Before they come to school.”
“Oh?” Hermione frowned, not quite seeing where this was going.
“Often, the magic returns,” she explained softly. “You call them…squibs?”
Hermione's eyebrows rose sharply, "You're saying muggleborns come from squibs?”
“Yes,” Madam Maxime agreed, glad she’d been understood. “We offer a test to every student. It is rarely turned down.”
“I see,” she whispered.
“If you would like one Miss Granger, it could be arranged.”
“It could?”
“Yes, It could.”
“I…” Her hand pressed to the tiny swell at her abdomen, feeling the tiny kicks that reminded her that she was not alone. “I think I'd like that.”
“Good.” Madame Maxime's face was soft. “May I offer you my congratulations Miss Granger?”
“Oh. I…thank you.” Hermione paused. “No one knows yet. If you could please not say anything."
“They will not hear it from me. Come, Miss Granger, if I accompany you, no one will notice you beside me.”
“Thank you. I just…thank you.”
“You are welcome. As I said, my Rubeus is fond of you. It is the very least I can do.”
Hermione followed quietly beside the Headmistress as she strode down the street with clear purpose, trying not to consider how strange she must look. However, the Headmistress was also correct; no one's eyes strayed to Hermione as Madam Maxime stalked towards the French branch of Gringotts.
The goblin eyed them with a sneer before nodding sharply in response to Madam Maxime's stream of rapid French.
“Vous parlez Anglais?”
Hermione jumped, realising she was being spoken to. “Yes,” she squeaked.
Nodding, the goblin switched seamlessly, “The headmistress tells me you would like a heritage test?”
“Please,” she murmured.
“Very well. We conduct them in offices in case of…unexpected results.”
“Of course.”
“Follow me.” he commanded, moving briskly around the counter, leading them off to the right into a small room that held a desk and three chairs. “Sit.”
Complying immediately lest she invoke his temper, Hermione slid into the seat he pointed to, trying not to stare at the weaponry decorating the otherwise sparse room.
“Hand.” Awkwardly, she placed her hand on the goblin's upturned palm, barely registering it when he sliced across her palm before pressing it firmly into a waiting piece of parchment. She healed it without thought the moment he let her go. “Now we wait.”
Hermione stared almost blankly at the parchment, wondering what, if anything, it would show. Did she want it to show her a link to a magical family? Based on the war, she rather worried that she didn't. “If…if it's someone, will they be notified?”
Bladebreak looked at her thoughtfully. “We can block it. For a price. Most wish their families to be contacted.”
“Most haven't spent their entire time here being called a mudblood and forced to fight a damn war to prove they belong.”
Bladebreak hummed, but Madam Maxime eyed her thoughtfully, finally seeing a spark of life on her face. There was a hint of the girl she'd heard stories about. She was glad that war had not destroyed it completely.
“Your results.”
Hermione forced her hand to move, accepting the parchment, taking far longer than she should to look down. “Oh,” she breathed.
“You are the sole heir to the Dagworth-Granger line, no more exist. But if you do not wish your paternal grandfather to be contacted….” he trailed off pointedly.
“Can…can we bypass him?” Hermione checked. “I…I know my uncle.”
Bladebreak considered her. “For a price,” he agreed.
She nodded slowly. “Name it.”
His smile was wide as he sat back, looking thoroughly entertained. “I want to know exactly what you stole from our British branch. Your Ministry will not tell us.”
Hermione froze, "Probably because they don't know,” she whispered.
Both Madame Maxime and Bladebreak’s surprise registered before they quickly masked it. “It was not as part of your war effort? That is all they will tell us.”
“No. It was. It was vital. But to my knowledge, there are only three people alive who know what we were doing. Four maybe, if Harry told Kingsley. It's…if it gets out….”
“It won't."
She sighed, seeing no way out. “It was a horcrux.”
Bladebreak froze. “Who stored that abomination in one of our sacred vaults!”
“Tom Riddle, otherwise known as Voldemort, gave it to Bellatrix Lestrange for safe keeping. If we hadn't stolen it, he would still be alive.”
Bladebreak hissed under his breath. “I will bypass your grandfather.” he paused. “your debt is paid, Miss Granger. I will ensure my brothers in Britain are aware.”
“My…debt? For the ah…damage?”
“Yes, Miss Granger,” he retorted sharply, “For the damage. And the dragon.”
She flushed but nodded, not daring to question him further. “Thank you.”
He hummed, “It would ease your path if you happened to return the goblin artifacts I know are in your new vault.” he advised before dismissing them.
“Your results were…favourable?” Madam Maxime whispered as they left.
“I don't know,” she gave a mirthless laugh, handing over the parchment.
“Oh my,” she murmured, “Well….neice to the Minister of magic. How interesting.”