Unofficial Portkey Archive

Chapter 13: Discoveries

Pregnant.

She was pregnant.

With Harry's child.

Hermione's eyes closed as she tried to process the news. She opened them again when she felt the eyes of both of her parents staring at her.

Emma broke the silence, thanking the doctor in a rather forced manner. As soon as they arrived back at the house, Hermione made her way to the bedroom. She wanted to be alone. She needed to think.

What was she going to do now? Of course, she needed to tell Harry. But she wasn't really eager to talk to her husband at this point. She clenched her teeth together, the anger and intermingled weariness seeping through to her bones.

She heard the door open, and could hear her mother's gentle footsteps enter the room. The bed shifted as Emma took a seat on the edge of the bed, staring quietly at the wall.

Hermione stared silently at the wall, hoping her mother would go away. She didn't want to hear any questions right now.

"When I was younger," Emma's voice was soft, "I was deeply in love with a man. We had the perfect relationship. Everything was wonderful, and we were going to get married and live the perfect life and have the perfect family and live happily ever after."

Hermione rolled over, slowly looking at her mother, but her mother was staring at the wall, her expression devoid of any emotion.

"Then one day, the man hurt me. He betrayed me. And all of the dreams I'd had of a perfect life, of a perfect family, of a perfect marriage … they came crashing down."

Hermione blinked, frowning as she processed her mother's words. "What…happened then?"

Emma gave a small smile, looking at her daughter. "I cried a good bit. And he and I didn't speak for a long time. But the entire time we were apart, I felt miserable. Like a piece of myself was missing. Then one day my mother came to me, and sat me down. She asked me if I loved him."

Hermione frowned, knowing where this was going. "And?"

Emma gave a slight nod, her eyes filling with tears. "I did. Despite all that had happened. Despite all that we'd been through, I was still very deeply in love with the man. And then my mother told me that no relationship is perfect. No man, or woman for that matter, is perfect. But those relationships that do survive. The ones where true love exists … those are the people who can look beyond the imperfections and forgive their lovers for their faults."

Hermione blinked, swallowing several times. She rolled on her back, staring at the ceiling.

"Hermione," Emma continued, "I don't agree with what Harry did. I was furious when you first told me. And nothing excuses the fact that what he did was deceitful and wrong."

She paused, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief before continuing. "I've seen the way he's looked at you, and you at him. You have a decision to make, Hermione. And regardless of what you decide, your father and I will always love you."

She rose to her feet, walking towards the door. Hermione blinked, her gaze slowly falling on her mother.

"Mum?"

Emma turned and looked at her daughter, "Yes, Hermione?"

"What happened to that man?"

Emma Granger gave a weak smile. "I married him, and we had a beautiful daughter, who's turned into a beautiful young woman that we are both very proud of."

And with that, she left.

* * *

The days passed, and Hermione slowly got into a normal routine. She stayed at her parents' house, still putting off the inevitable discussion with Harry. After dinner one evening, she made her way to her room, deciding to write the letter she'd been dreading. She reached into her nightstand to pull out a bit of parchment, her hands coming over a card as she slowly pulled it out.

Her gaze drifted over the envelope, as she slowly pulled back the seal and read.

You have been formally invited to a commencement party at the house of Ronald Weasley, on July 15^th, at 8 p.m. Refreshments will be provided.

Hermione frowned, remembering the day Ron had come into the common room, waving the invitations around.

"Here you go, Hermione. I finally finished them."

Hermione rolled her eyes, setting her book down. "It's about time, Ronald Weasley. Why did it take you so long?"

Ron grinned. "Well…I wanted to make sure they were perfect."

Hermione glanced at the invitation, frowning. "This took you two weeks to create?"

Ron grinned, his blue eyes shimmering with secrets untold. "Have you got the party list?"

Hermione nodded, shuffling through her bag as she withdrew a parchment, bearing the names of the guests who'd receive an invitation.

Ron grinned, taking the list and heading back to his room to finish.

Hermione frowned. The invitations contained most of the information, even if they were a bit bland for her taste. But something was missing.

Of course, she thought hurriedly. How would they know how to get there?

"Did you expect them to know where you lived? How would they get there?"

As Hermione muttered the words, the text on the parchment disappeared, and a picture of a roaring lion appeared.

Ron's flat can be found in Ottery St. Catchpole, 1132 Third Street, Number 4.

Her jaw dropped. Ron had charmed the parchment to give his address to the bearer of the invitation.

That means that Harry might have not given the secret away. Ron might have decided to reveal its location, once Voldemort had disappeared and the war ended.

Hermione hurriedly stuffed the invitation into her bag. She had a lot to do.

* * *

The next day, Hermione stopped by Harry's flat while he was at work to search her things. It wasn't that she didn't want to share her discovery with him. She just wanted to try to figure this out on her own. Plus she wasn't sure Harry hadn't given away the location.

She had found the list and had gone through the names one by one, visiting the homes of the guests, most of whom were Gryffindors.

She'd had little success.

So far, only Dean had opened his door to her. Seamus had slammed the door on her the second he'd realized who she was. She hadn't visited Neville yet, but somehow she'd doubted he was adept enough at the unforgivable curses to use one on Ginny. Parvati Patil had screamed and started throwing her tea cups at Hermione.

There was one Gryffindor she hadn't visited yet.

Which is why at 6 o'clock on a Friday afternoon, she was inside The Daily Prophet office building, going to meet with Colin Creevey.

She knocked on a door that said Photography Department.

"Mmmph, who is it?" A voice shouted from inside.

Hermione stepped inside. The office was a mess, with stacks of pictures and pieces of camera equipment stacked as high as the ceiling. The desk drawers were bulging from pieces of parchment and rolls of film. Colin's eyes widened as Hermione stepped in.

"Hermione! Come on in. Take a seat, if you can find one."

Hermione glanced around. There wasn't a single chair that didn't have pictures stacked on it. She smiled weakly at Colin. "I think I'll stand."

He shrugged, rummaging through his desk. "What brings you out here?"

Hermione looked around. "Do you always work this late?"

Colin grinned ruefully. "Well…not always this late. I'm still a junior member though, so they send me out at all times to cover stories."

Hermione nodded. Colin had been among the first photographers to show up at Ron's flat after he was murdered.

Hermione glanced around. "Do you have your invitation to the party? The one Ron was going to have?"

Colin frowned, giving a thoughtful look before he nodded, rummaging through his desk.

"Sorry 'bout the mess. I've been meaning to clean it…but I just haven't had time. Doesn't help that the door has a gap underneath it. The draft scatters the pictures everywhere."

He said this while rummaging through a drawer full of photographs.

Hermione took the time to study the wall. There were a few framed pictures from stories that occurred earlier during the year. Her gaze paused on a newspaper clipping of Ron's murder. It had been the story that ran the day after.

"Did you take this picture?" Hermione asked curiously, her gaze not leaving the photograph. The picture was of Ron's living room, with Ministry investigators mulling around in the background. A black speck which looked to be ink rested on the lower right hand side of the photo.

Colin glanced up, his mouth full of photos, which he had to remove before he could speak. "Oh…yeah…it was my first big story, you know." He gave Hermione a sympathetic glance, before going back to his searching.

Hermione turned her gaze to some of the other pictures, but returned to the story of Ron's murder. Rita Skeeter had covered the news with a particular vengeance.

The speck had moved.

Hermione frowned, lowering her gaze towards the picture. The speck was now on the opposite side of the photograph. She frowned, tapping the picture.

"Colin, did you spill ink on this picture."

Colin looked up, holding the invitation in his right hand. "I don't think so…then again…it's possible. Things were…busy that week."

He held out the invitation to Hermione, who glanced at the photograph some more, an idea formulating in the back of her head.

"Hermione?"

She glanced at Colin, who was looking at her strangely. She took the invitation, giving him a weak smile.

"Thanks Colin."

* * *

Hermione apparated straight to Ron's flat, turning on a light as she looked around. First she went to his room, and began searching through his trunk.

Everything seemed to be in order, except for an extra Transfiguration book.

Hermione frowned, picking up the copy of the book. A piece of parchment fell out.

She picked it up, her gaze flitting over the parchment. It was Ron's address.

Ron had picked up Harry's book.

Of course, Ron must have looked under his own bed and noticed Harry had left it. He probably took it with the intentions of returning it to Harry later.

Harry hadn't told.

Hermione rose quickly, the solution formulating in her mind as she rushed to the living room, looking for the speck that was in Colin's photograph.

It wasn't there.

She looked at the other side of the room.

No speck.

Hermione kneeled beside the couch, resting her hand on the upholstery.

"I should have known. Why didn't I think of it before?"

Hermione felt the poke of a wand on her back.

"It's too bad no one is ever going to know the answer to that question," an all-too-familiar voice piped up from behind her.