A/N: Long Live HMS Pumpkin Pie. Accepting Book 6 is for suckers.
Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own HP. The hag who does doesn't get it.
(I cannot get it to upload without that little thing in the first sentence. Suggestions?)
Supposed to Be
SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1It wasn't supposed to happen like this. But then again these things never are.
It was the night before Harry was to leave for his Auror training. It was the last time the whole crew of you would be together for a while, and you all knew it, so it was decided that you would all get drunk off your arses.
You weren't normally a heavy drinker but that night you were looking to drown your sorrows a bit and the Ogden's seemed a likely remedy. Of course, you told yourself, you were only so morose because you best friend was leaving for three years, during which time you wouldn't be able to meet or talk or even write to each other. It was bound to make anyone despondent.
You apparently muttered some version of this all to yourself because next to you Ron chastised you for using big words while you were smashed. You simple ignored him and allowed yourself to focus on Harry. Or more specifically, focus on two large green eyes, whose pupils were dilated in the smoke filtered light of the tavern and were focused intently on you.
"Well that's an interesting development" you thought to yourself as you took another sip of your drink.
There were things in between but what really mattered was this:
Later that night, he had you up against the wall of your staircase and you knew, in some very rational part of your brain that the alcohol haze had not yet managed to numb, that this really wasn't the best of ideas, but then his hand finally managed to find its way into your panties and the surge of desire drowned that small thought as you let yourself go completely.
The next morning you awoke sore and alone. The note was on the pillow and your mind was on him.
There had been no maudlin love declarations, no melodramatic pledges of fidelity, and in all actuality, no discussion what so ever. Just lots of really good sex. But nevertheless, you stopped dating after that night, though you didn't allow yourself to even think the real reason.
You woke, you worked, you ate, you met with friends and, at night, you dreamt of him.
Thus was the state of affairs when you realized you haven't had your period in two months and scheduled an appointment with your doctor.
There had not been any clichéd signs that everyone had missed. You had not been nauseous, weepy or snappish. You were not glowing. Everything, save the lack of menstruation, was the same as ever. But when your doctor confirmed your suspicions you accepted it immediately and without surprise. Then you asked yourself what you were going to do.
You had never felt so alone or so much in love.
In the end you stayed in England and got Ron to help set up the nursery. You did not attempt to contact Harry. When people found this out, you patiently explained the prohibitions against contact. But no one seemed to believe that a few spells could stop Hermione Granger. You weren't really sure they could yourself. But you were unwilling to try.
For some reason this all hit you during labor. Not during the long nine months of discomfort, hormones, weight gain, tears, swollen ankles, regrets and a million other things Harry really ought to have been there for. But instead it hit you six hours into labor when you suddenly wanted to pause it all, break through some wards and get the damnable bastard responsible for the immense amount of pain you were in right then into the room with you so that you could kill him good and dead, a task that Voldemort never managed to achieve but you were pretty sure you could at that moment.
However, that wasn't an option and even if it had been possible to pause it all you were much too exhausted at that point to do much more than sleep.
So you screamed loudly and pushed with everything you had and suddenly you had someone with you and it was very nearly perfect.
Very nearly.
Your friends told you that you should date. Ginny offered set up after set up and Ron concurred whole heartedly. But though you insisted that you were not pining after the father of your child, you didn't take them up on a single one. Your days now consisted of waking, dressing the baby, taking her to daycare, working, picking her up, feeding you both, putting her to bed and then collapsing exhausted into bed. You could have made time for dating but you were unwilling. You could have made time to find Harry but you were reluctant. In fact, the only thing you did voluntarily was care for your child, to whom you basically dedicated your life.
Thus was the state of affairs when one night Harry was on your doorstep, taking you into his arms and kissing you like it was the morning after you never had.
Time is a funny thing. While before Harry left, three years had seemed a very long time indeed, and while your pregnancy had been a very long nine months indeed, your singular devotion had made the next two years and change seem very short. That Harry might appear on your doorstep one night any time soon had not occurred to you. Even if it had, this scenario would not have been your expectation.
You loved surprises right then.
But then there was what happened next. You pulled away and without a word pulled Harry through the door and into your living room where she was playing. Then you waited.
You were uninterested in his curious look at this small person on your living room floor, the frantic mental math and the widening eyes and sharp intake of breath as realization dawned on him. When that happened you waited with baited breath.
And watched as he turned and walked back out the door.
At least if the past three years had left you with something, it was a new iron grip on your emotions. You did not cry in front of your daughter. You very calmly played with her until bed time, and then, after a story and a good night kiss, went to your room and got ready for bed. Only after tucking yourself into the covers in your nightgown did you allow yourself to break down.
This was what was too much. You had mused from time to time on your lack of emotion, your stoicism. You'd wondered if there was a limit.
There was and you'd reached it. This was why you'd never sought him out. This is why you'd let some puny wards keep you from delivering this most important news. You knew, you'd always known that you couldn't handle him rejecting you. So you never presented him with the opportunity to do it.
There was nothing left now. No hope, no wonder. Only the reality of the situation: he couldn't handle it and now you really were alone.
Before, though you never would have admitted it, there had been someone, something beside you. The promise, the hope of a shared future, the perceived limitations of your sentence of solitude, had kept you company in your wide cold bed.
It was gone now and you are disconsolate.
Where you had previously been slavish but cheerful in your care for your daughter, you now did it automatically and distractedly. The only real emotion you felt was anger, anger at him for finally arriving, only to crush any illusions you had left (and there weren't many after the War.)
Angry would be the main word to describe you when he appeared on your doorstep again. You opened the door, saw him, and closed it again. You quickly sent your daughter to Ginny's and then returned to the door where he was waiting due to some unspoken agreement. You let him in and then let it out.
You ranted and raved and cried and screamed and in general achieved an emotional catharsis previously unattained. Then when you were done and heaving dry sobs on the sofa, he came to you and held you, murmuring to you words of love, apology and atonement. He told you he'd never leave again, that all he ever wanted was you and this, that he had a need for you pounding in his veins, that he loved you and her more than anything, and he was sorry, so sorry, so very, very sorry.
You fell asleep to his voice in your ear and when you awoke he was still there, which made you cry again, but this time it was tears of happiness, because suddenly you realized that the pieces had fallen into place, that you had someone to cry on, someone you loved so much, someone who was half of the thing you loved most in the world.
It wasn't how it was supposed to be, but it was and that was what really mattered in the end.
A/N: I have mixed feelings on this fic. On the one hand, I like several parts of it. It has some phrases and lines that I'm especially proud of. I like Hermione in it- drunk!Hermione was fun to write, and I really do feel that she can be a stoic, but only for so long. But on the other hand, I find it rather derivative. Not the writing, but seriously, do we really need another "Hermione had Harry's baby, he finds out later and there are issues" fic? No, not really, and I don't find the treatment particularly inspired either. In tone and style it feels too close to a certain school of HHR writers that I am generally not a part of though I love them.
I'm overanalyzing my own work. I'm a prospective English major, what can you do.
Suggestions are welcome. If anyone comes up with anything good, I'm open to rewriting. As it is, I have pondered the story many a night and I've got nothing and I did think you all would enjoy it- so here you go.