A/N: *Psycho shower-scene music playing* I'm back! Hi there, told ya I get to write more fanfics. :D
This is supposed to be another mystery, with lots more drama, and at the same time, a continuation of Die With Me. If you haven't read it, you should, but it isn't that necessary.
I've been planning this one a while now, which is why it's been giving me serious problems, but I think I've got it (seeing that the plan was abandoned halfway through this chapter anyway) and I hope you are interested enough to read on.
As for the prologue here, I have to say this: I have a new found respect for my mother and every woman who has ever given birth, that looked very painful while I was researching it.
I hope I got it as close to the real thing as my imagination could, I don't know how it works but I wanted it to be realistic.
And by the way, if you think you've got this figured out by the end of this chapter…. *laughs maniacally*
Alright, author's note long enough, on with the tale.
Disclaimer: I firmly believe that this would never be written by JK Rowling, so the plot is mine, but the rest is hers.
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"Children are the only form of immortality that we can be sure of." - Peter Ustinov
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Prologue
Squatting uncomfortably on the old settee, the young woman tightly gripped the intricately carved bedpost of the old four-poster and cried. Waiting for the pain of this latest contraction to subside, her breathing was slow, as if any faster would increase the pain, and ended in groans. Her forehead, hair and body were soaked in sweat, dampening her nightdress and the seat beneath her. Her throat was parched so that her voice came out in a rasping whisper whenever she dared to speak. And every few minutes the most excruciating pains, as if someone was running a hot knife through her lower back and along the inside of her thighs, racked her body.
She was so tired, so very tired, that all she wanted now was to go off to sleep. She hadn't slept properly in hours; the pain relieving charms were next to useless as the time between the contractions lessened. Rubbing her back did not much help either, the most it produced was more agonised sobbing and pleas for mercy from pain that refused to end. Unfortunately, there was none, and sleep continued to evade her.
The elder woman attending to her, the only other person in the room then, came over with a small china bowl of ice.
"Here, suck on this, you have to keep your throat wet," she said gently.
The young woman shook her head, "No… I'm… I'm fine."
As if to disprove this, another pain cut through her lower stomach and she gave out an anguished gasp that sent tears spilling from her eyes. The elder woman sighed and put the ice to her lips. At once she greedily sucked on it.
"Suck on the ice, keep your throat wet. You perspire so much it dries, and then your body is heated, but don't worry, this will all be over soon," she said.
When the cube finished, the elder woman gave her another, and continued, "I know I've been telling you that for hours now, and today doesn't want to end, but it will. Nine months of waiting, ends in one day of pain and you'll have your baby to hold. I've done it six times and the reward at the end was greater than the pain could ever be. Focus on that, you'll soon have your baby in your arms."
"It won't be for long… if… if they find out… if… it won't…" she began to protest.
"No one is going to let anything happen to you or them, why do you worry so much? Hundreds of children have been born during war, most of them live through it and beyond, there is no reason yours shouldn't," said the elder, sternly.
"I know it's just… I… I worry so much… so many bad things… I…" and then she was cut off by another contraction that made her bite her tongue and squeeze on the bedpost until it subsided and left her in more tears.
The elder woman patted her back, "There, there, it's all right, I know it hurts, but it's alright.
The young woman suddenly released her hold on the old bed then, and reached for the elder, the woman enveloped her in her arms. Then she began to cry, her voice breaking very much like a child's, "Why does it hurt so much… I read… I read about it… and you and Fleur… Fleur told me… but why does it have to hurt so much…. Everything was fine… everyday… it didn't hurt so much…. Why does it have to hurt so much?"
Holding onto her, the elder gently stroked the younger woman's long, bushy dark hair, "I haven't any potions for this… and the charms… I know they're not lasting, but it's the best I can do for now. Focus on something else; try to forget the pain… I know it's hard but until they come… focus on something else, it's almost over now."
And then, as if on cue, there was a noise from below. Voices from the entrance hall wafted up to them and the elder woman released the younger.
"They're here, that's most certainly them, now what did I tell you? I'm going to meet them and bring them up, in the meantime, remember what I told you. Forget the pain, I know it's hard, I know, but you can't think of the pain now. It's all going to be over soon," she added again at the end.
The young woman nodded, and began to look earnestly around the musty, darkened bedroom as her attendant left her. She had to find something else to focus on, something else to think about while the pain slipped away… but what?
If it was this house it was a poor choice. Unplottable though it may be, number twelve, Grimmauld Place was certainly not the place to give birth to a child. It wasn't even the suitable place to raise children. No wonder Sirius Black had run away.
It was unnaturally quiet sometimes, made strange noises at others, and then had a darkness to it that worsened at the new moon. Paintings screamed curses (and especially when you threw your foul-tasting juice at them, the nerve), strange artefacts that looked rather interesting could kill you, and contrary to evidence, she was quite sure one of those poor house elf's heads on the stairs had winked at her. Basically, this house was musty, dusty and old, and would fit perfectly into a ghost story.
Nearly-Headless Nick, forgive her.
So no, not the house, it was bad to think of the house, but then, what else?
This bedroom was not too bad a choice, but then there wasn't much. It had been the bedroom of the former mistress of the house, and no doubt brightly painted in her day, but now the burgundy wallpaper was faded, mouldy and peeling. The cream and gold finishing was either blackened or covered in some measure of grime. The furniture felt sturdy enough, but who knew what strange creature was eating away at the wood or lying in the sheets of the bed no matter their washing the day before. The people in the portraits had all left earlier, but every now and then would come in check the progress and give the most useless advice, some of it intentionally, as to what to do with the pain. The only things she could really focus on then, were the carpet, completely flat now, and the antique gas lamps that would've looked really nice had some of them not have strange, snake carvings on them.
So no, not the room either, there wasn't enough to look at, and as far as she was concerned, that only left the baby.
She knew exactly where its head lay in her lower body, she was acutely aware of it. She knew exactly how many times it had turned and twisted within its little home in her stomach since her water broke that morning. Then when it had settled, where it had chosen to kick at since then too. She was very sure she could feel every inch of his tiny body as it tried to force itself out of her. But knowing these things, as she always liked to know things, did little to change the fact that it was not over yet and both would have to wait.
How then could she forget the pain?
Another stab this time from her inner thighs crossing to her back and she closed her eyes and whimpered. Bearing down as her attendant had told her, she began to breathe quickly and deeply through a small opening in her lips and clenched teeth. It only served to make her feel faint, she stopped that and tried to breathe through her nose instead, grinding her teeth and forcing into fists her hands on the bedposts.
It seemed to take forever to end but it did. Eventually, lazily, the pain ebbed away and she opened her eyes.
And then she found something to focus on.
The windows of the bedroom had been opened earlier to let in the spring air and sunlight. The air had actually been rather warm, which did not help her discomfort, and for the fact that this was a house in the city the view offered was not that spectacular. As a matter of fact, much of the view now was blanketed in the unseasonable mist that had descended on them two years prior that the Muggle meteorologists were yet to explain. She knew what it was of course, but that was not what held her attention then.
What captured it was the sunset.
Dipping beneath a horizon of grimy, redbrick structures, and flanked by billowing clouds, the flaming sun parted its blushing lover, the evening sky. Its light coming into the room then bathed everything in a mild, honeyed glow like varnish on an old table. The waxing moon had already risen, half-concealed by the clouds as if awaiting its turn at this lover, but this time dressed in indigo and diamonds. The evening air was cooler, flowing in gently through the curtains, but bringing with it the noise of the city around.
Car horns, shouting voices, the odd bird, loud stereos, pedestrians on the thoroughfare and the barking of dogs nearby, it combined and came at her, and for a moment, she did forget. She was too busy being slightly awed that all this could go on without the slightest knowledge of what was to happen in this room.
Previously, she had known endless days like this. Filled with noise and people and life beyond the confines of this hidden, somewhat frightful house, she never thought she would miss it all when at last she was made to stay here.
In the absence of morning sickness, which she never got, and with some slight swelling, a few pains here and there, and the most alarming expansion of her hips and breasts (though she had few complaints on the latter), she had been involved in the "secret" war as much as if she had never been pregnant. Stopping the Dark Lord Voldemort far surpassed such trifle things as "being with child" as one of her friends had put it in rather Victorian manner. Helping Harry Potter stop him and live to tell the tale was far more important.
She had even come too close to death for comfort too many times to count. The Death Eaters didn't seem to know her little secret, which was quite fine by her, but also meant that they attacked her as usual. Of course, considering that she was Muggle-born, and fighting against them, they wouldn't have given lee-way if they knew either.
The whole lot of them were just a bunch of worthless, heartless bastards.
Now though, it was very clear that she had been pregnant, and as it was, all the things of it she had missed were threatening to descend on her at once.
She was hot, sticky, frustrated, bloated, and tired. She was sick of the house, worried about her friends wherever they were in the fight, angry that she got pregnant in the first place, and desperately hoping that the baby would be all right. She had a list of problems a mile long, and the baby's father was off somewhere and wouldn't be back until that evening.
Well, it was evening now and he wasn't here yet. She was waiting as best she could, and for all the pain she was going through he had better have an excellent excuse.
He probably did, he always did.
And then the doors of the room opened and the new arrivals entered to meet her.
The first to enter the room was the elder woman, her attendant of before, a short, plump woman with dark red hair, Mrs Weasley. The mother of two of her friends, wherever they were, she had been her with her since she first arrived at the house in fact. Against their earlier concerns, she had actually been rather accepting of this obviously out of wedlock pregnancy, after a severe scolding of course. And the requisite marriage, she had planned, three months prior.
She didn't know what she would have done without her, and then at times wished she would go away, but today she didn't want her out of sight for too long. In the absence of her mother she was all she had.
The second had been in the house all along but had chosen to wait for their arrivals below. A tall, haggard-looking man with dark brown hair greying much too soon for his age and ragged robes, Remus Lupin had been her teacher once at school and had spent quite some time with her too. He looked at her now with eyes full of concern but an encouraging smile on his lips. He did not know what she was experiencing, but he was there if she needed him.
The third, one of the arrivals, was a tall, pale man with yellowed teeth and a head of greasy black hair, the former Potions master at school, Severus Snape. When last she had seen him she had hoped, and never thought that she would see him again. And certainly not under these circumstances either. If Harry ever found out that he was here he would come back twice as fast and just to kill him. His face was a mask as he stared at her now; she was in too much pain to care about modesty.
The fourth was a very beautiful young woman with deep blue eyes and long, light blonde hair, Fleur Delacour-Weasley. Mrs Weasley's daughter-in-law, Fleur was one of the few who knew that she was pregnant. This was not the time to spread the good news. She walked to the settee and sat behind her, drew her hair from her face and whispered in her throaty voice, "You shall be fine, my son deed not take long."
She tried to smile in acknowledgement.
And the last she didn't know, a thin woman, another blonde, who could have been her mother's age, but was most likely much older. She was the midwife.
She didn't wait for introductions before she went across to her and said, "I'm Healer Winters, Hermione, I came as fast as I could, how are you doing?"
Hermione shook her head and gripped the bedpost again, clenching her teeth. Fleur began to massage her sides and stomach, still whispering encouragements. The Healer sighed, "Oh yes… I can see, well don't worry, I work quickly, and very soon this will be finished…. As I understand it though, you wanted to wait for the father?"
"Her husband… yes…" said Mrs Weasley. In the background, Snape's brow furrowed slightly.
Hermione nodded, and then shut her eyes and forced herself to breathe.
The Healer had sterilised her hands, checked on her condition and shook her head, "You can't wait, your child is beginning to crown…. If the gentlemen present would kindly leave, we have to begin."
Both men bowed respectfully to the four women and swept out into the hall. One to await the soon-to-be father and the other to attend a special potion he had been brewing for the past few months….
Hermione was shaking her head and forced herself to speak, "No, I have to wait… he has to be here… I…"
The Healer turned to Mrs Weasley and asked, "Is this her first child?"
She nodded, and the Healer turned back to Hermione and said, "Your child has waited long enough… what about you? When its father arrives it'll be here waiting for him in the flesh, there is no need to starve your child of oxygen otherwise."
Hermione looked down at her rather swollen stomach, out the window at the sky, paling blue and traced with violet, and then nodded, "Okay… okay… let's do this… he'll be here for him when he comes…"
At once the Healer drew on a white apron over her robes and knelt before the settee, pushing up Hermione's legs higher and further apart. Fleur, behind her, gripped onto her knees to steady them and Mrs Weasley began to procure blankets and a bucket.
When Hermione began to look around at this, brow furrowed in concern and curiosity, the Healer said, "To you I'm sure this is all a very old way of doing things, but as I understand it it's not safe for you to go to St Mungo's or a Muggle hospital, we must work with what we have," and turning to Mrs Weasley asked, "Did you give her anything for the pain?"
Mrs Weasley shook her head, "I couldn't find a thing… a few charms but they're not much use."
"Well, it's too late to use anything now," she said and then directed her attention back to her patient, "Okay, I want you to breathe like you were doing before and when the next pain comes I want you to push… you know how to do that right? Good. When the pain comes again I want you to do it as hard as you can- this shouldn't take more than three- and you'll be holding your baby soon… do you know it's sex yet?"
Hermione shook her head, "We… didn't… we didn't want to…"
"Okay… then we'll all find out together…" said the Healer.
It didn't take long for that "next pain" to come. No more than a few seconds would pass after her instructions were given before the white-hot knives surged through Hermione's lower back and she clenched her teeth and tried to dig her nails into the bedposts.
"No… breathe, don't do that, breathe and push!" commanded the Healer.
She forced herself to obey, squeezing her interior muscles round the tiny body within and felt something round breaking through the apex of her thighs where the Healer's hands, cold and covered in latex gloves, had descended to draw it out. The pain subsided though, she looked down to the Healer in alarm and the woman shook her head, "It's alright, it's okay, your body can't perpetually contract. At the next contraction, do as before."
And then it came again, she squeezed, shutting her eyes for a moment, until she felt the little round object come free of her and something slightly larger pressed behind. She opened her eyes wide, dared to look down and found the Healer's hands supporting a shrivelled, round, and dark magenta object, the head, with eyes tightly shut and covered in a clear, but sticky substance. If she didn't know it to be her baby she might have screamed.
The contraction had not ended though, and with a whimper, she pushed again and out came shoulders, torso, legs, a dark red, equally shrivelled "pillow" with a cord that ran to the tiny navel on the torso and once the mouth was cleared, a loud, high-pitched, halting wail.
Her baby, here it was, head, torso, two hands, two feet, ten fingers, ten toes, eyes, ears, nose, mouth, streaks of dark hair. Her baby, it had grown inside her, she had carried around another life inside her, and here it was. Her baby, her very own beautiful baby, and that thought made her smile.
Despite her fatigue, despite the pain now softly ebbing away, despite that strange fluid that now flowed after, she smiled. She looked down at the little, shrivelled face, now being cleaned with a towel by Mrs Weasley, and she smiled a weary, relieved and very happy smile.
"It's a girl! You have a beautiful daughter!" said the Healer, herself taking long, deep breaths from the ordeal. As if to acknowledge this then, the infant, her features filled out to reveal a tiny round face, opened almond shaped honey-brown eyes and stared up at her mother.
"Oh my…" Hermione gasped, still smiling, and lifted the infant from her stomach to her arms as the Healer cut away the cord and its strange pillow and dropped it into the bucket nearby.
"Do you `ave a name?" asked Fleur, releasing Hermione's knees to stroke the fine dark hair on the child's head.
"Yes… it's… Maia… Maia Jae…" said Hermione, and gently traced the tiny cheek. "He said he wanted us to have months… I should have told him that we should have years… but I know what he meant… Maia, for May… the 15th of May. Oh gods, I'm rambling… and he was so sure it was a boy…."
"Boys are the tradition in my family," said Mrs Weasley, looking down with a smile at the baby, "be grateful for your girl."
"I am," Hermione said, now tapping lightly on Maia's nose, and the baby staring sleepily up at her yawned.
They all laughed.
And then it happened.
Something stirred in her, deep in her, and slid down to the opening from which Maia had just emerged with pain just as before. She looked to the Healer in alarm and said, "Something… I… oh my… I think… I think there's another one!"
"What?" asked Mrs Weasley, and came over to them from where she had been moving the bucket. She took one look at Hermione, and lifted Maia out of her arms while Fleur reverted to her earlier position behind her.
Hermione nodded, eyes wide, "Yes… I can feel it… oh my… how many… oh dear… how long… oh…"
"Calm down…" said the Healer, kneeling once more before her and putting in her cold, gloved hands to check. After a most uncomfortable moment, she nodded, "Yes, there's another… you know what to do, it shouldn't be as bad as the first."
Before Hermione could protest this, quite sure that the pain actually felt worse, there was a contraction, and much unlike the first time, the baby simply slipped out with its little pillow into the Healer's hands. She cleaned its mouth and rested it onto Hermione's stomach as before, which now felt, thankfully hollow, and cut away the cord.
But this baby didn't cry.
As they wiped away the stickiness from its tiny body, it was the silence that made the Healer lift it away, much to their alarm, and begin to tap gently on the soles of its feet while searching desperately through her bag for a tiny oxygen mask.
"What… what's… what's happening? Why isn't it crying… what's wrong?" asked Hermione, terrified.
In her mind a horrible mantra rang loudly: "No, don't let it be dead… please, not his baby…. Don't let it be dead… not his baby, not his baby…."
Mrs Weasley went over to assist the Healer while Fleur tried to reassure her, "Don't worry, its okay, nothing's wrong."
The lack of conviction in her tone was very telling though, and Hermione forced herself to sit upright, dropping her legs to the floor and began hoarsely, "Is there something wrong… did we take too long… but we didn't know…"
And just then, and louder than before, a high-pitched wail sounded from the women's arms and they were back with the baby and placed it in hers, "Another girl… twins!"
The relieved smile returned to Hermione's face and she wrapped her arms around this second, unexpected child. Maia, now asleep, was returned and placed beside her sister. The Healer set to work cleaning up with the help of Mrs Weasley, and Fleur smiled down and asked, "Zere very leetle, very beautiful, what are you going to call zis one?"
"I-I don't know… I… we only had one name… and then another for a boy… but… not two girls… twins… oh Harry…" said Hermione, much too in awe to properly think. And it had to be great awe indeed if Hermione Granger couldn't find it in herself to properly think.
Mrs Weasley smiled, "Don't worry, it will come to you."
"Yes… I'm sure it will… oh my… won't he be surprised… I'm surprised…" continued Hermione and then gave the most girlish laugh she probably ever did as she stared down at them.
The door creaked open then, and nervously, Lupin's head came round the door.
"I… I heard crying… oh… oh!" he exclaimed as he noticed Hermione's arms and came in just as Fleur threw the quilt from the bed over her lower half.
"Yes, twins! Look at them, Maia… and… Julia, meet Maia and Julia Potter!" Hermione declared, and then her face fell, "Oh… well, at least until Harry comes… oh he's going to hate it… May and July… too many months…."
As Snape came into the room behind him, and still with an emotionless face, Lupin smiled at the twins, "He's going to love them, and you gave them those names, why would he ever hate them?"
Hermione's smile broadened and brightened to a grin.
Miles away from them, across the twilight darkened earth to Scotland and an old castle being lit-up for the night, in the silence of a cluttered old office, there was a stirring. The activity of the castle round- its thousand occupants noisily heading off to dinner, teachers chatting casually in the staff room, a caretaker and his cat slinking through the corridor for troublemakers- meant that it was missed, but it happened nevertheless.
Dust and cobweb-covered shelves, drawers and filing cabinets, each stacked with literally thousands of old, yellowing scrolls, and some brand new, began to move about of their own accord. One by one, the scrolls were drawn out in mid-air, unfurled, looked over under the light, and then shoved back in again as if some unseen person was searching for something. An unseen person who was rather careful too, for though a slight dust would fall here or there the scrolls never tore.
There was no need to go quickly either. Whatever they were looking for wasn't going anywhere and nor was the reason for their search in the first place. Every few hours or so they went through this process, magical children were being born everyday; they had to go to school somewhere. It was simply its duty to record their names for entry here, just like right now.
And then they found it.
It was one of the newer scrolls, sealed with the emblem of the ancient school, and half-filled in under the letter "P". The scroll shook off a sprinkling of dust, unfurled, and spread itself across a nearby desk. A candle moved closer, bringing the light.
Here, there was a mild tossing about in a quill stand, a fine black one was selected, and then dipped itself in an inkwell beside the stand. Taking care to drain off the excess ink, the quill zipped over to the scroll, ran down the list of names, and under "Peterkin, William" and "Phelps, Lucy", scribed "Potter, Maia" and "Potter, Julia".
Its mission accomplished, the quill returned to the stand, and a duster took its place, dusted the latest addition, and set itself aside. The scroll then lifted itself, shook the dust off, snapped straight again a moment, furled up, sealed and returned to the shelf.
But this was not the end of the affair.
Hours later, another scroll would be snatched from one of the shelves.
Again with the school's seal, but this time from the section labelled "B"; it came off the shelf with a flourish and unfurled itself. When the scroll was spread out unto the desk, another quill was selected and dipped in ink, and this time it zipped over the list to the top.
Once there, under the names "Bennett, Gavin" and "Birch, Shelley" it scribed, "Black, Maia" and "Black, Aimee"… whilst the list from before was brought out. As this list was being dusted, the previous one unfurled and with two quick strikes, "Potter, Maia" and "Potter, Julia" disappeared from it. The unseen clerk satisfied, the lists furled, resealed and reverted themselves to their places.
And no one would ever know of this, never.
There was no reason to; it was not that important, name changes occurred sometimes on these lists. When next the human overseeing it came in too, they simply checked the number of new names and left.
Who really cared if a Potter became a Black?
Well, not for twelve years that was….
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