Supposed to Be by pumpkintoasty

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 14/06/2006
Last Updated: 14/06/2006
Status: Completed

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. But then again these things never are.




1. Supposed to Be
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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.