Stargazing

1. Chapter 1

Harry Potter sat on the cold metal waiting chairs of St. Mungo's, staring at the enchanted fish tanks and the nonfunctional beverage machines. He looked around, nervously, as if waiting for the worst. The voice from behind him startled him.

“Mr Potter, you can come in now,” Said the Healer. The Healer had a warm voice, as if it was made for comforting. The fact that he might need comforting made bile pool in his throat.

“Mr. Potter, I'm not going to beat around the bush. Your wife has a malignant magical tumor in her right lung.” Harry felt as if he was going to vomit.

He wasn't as smart as Hermione, But he knew what “malignant” meant. There had been all too much of it since the final battle- Voldemort's explosion of magic had left almost everyone contaminated, like it was radioactive.

“A magical tumor is different from most tumors- you cannot remove it. The fact that it is in her lung makes it even more deadly.”

Weakly, Harry asked, “Why?”

“Well, you see, when you receive a wand, you are connected to the magical pulse of the earth. Most wizards do not know about this force, even though eventually you need it to survive. You become dependent on it, like any drug.

“The name “magical tumor” is a misnomer- it actually depletes magical resources, making you a squib. Unfortunately, Hermione is connected to this web through her heart- as is any other wizard. The tumor is going to spread and swallow her heart- and eventually, it will kill her. She has exactly one year to live. I'll give you some time alone.”

Harry walked into the room, not remembering how he got there. He saw Hermione sitting on her hospital be, crying. She kept repeating the same two words: “I can't.”

“It's ok, `Mione. You…” but he couldn't think of anything to say. Hermione kept repeating that she couldn't. Suddenly, she seemed to realize Harry was in the room. “Oh Harry, I wont be able to anymore,” she cried forlornly, launching herself into Harry.

“What won't you be able to do?”

She didn't answer, only sobbed into his chest.

“Hermione, answer me. You won't be able to do what?”

“Have one.”

“Have one what?” All sorts of conclusions came to Harry's brain, such as wand, husband, and other horrible things.

“A baby.” She stated simply.

They had been talking about children a few weeks before, but he thought that she had forgotten- they had decided not to bring a baby into a world full of rampant, leaderless Death Eaters.

“Is that what this is about? But we decided…”

“I know,” Hermione interrupted, “But I always planned on it-- just not now. With Voldemort finally gone- I thought… I thought…” She sobbed into his shoulder.

They were interrupted by the Healer. “Mr. and Mrs. Potter- there is one more thing I found in the examination…”

“What?” they asked simultaneously.

“Um… Hermione's…”

“What?” demanded Harry.

“Uh… pregnant.”

Hermione's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. “I'm…” she said softly.

“Pregnant, yes,” came the Healer's voice, “a month along. There are some things I should tell you though.”

Weak with fear again, Harry asked, “What?”

“Well, When Hermione is about to her second trimester, there is a chance that she will miscarry- because with her case, that is when we estimate that she will become barren. There is hope however, that the baby will make it through the pregnancy. I recommend bed rest in two months. I'll leave you. Again.”

Hermione sat dumbfounded. For once in her twenty-six year lifespan, she was at a loss for words. After a strange silence, she said one thing: “Tonight I want to go stargazing.”

It was the single oddest comment Harry had ever heard out of Hermione, but if Hermione wanted to, he did too. Once again, the Healer returned, but this time he carried paperwork. The signed Hermione out of the hospital and apparated home.

They apparated back to their house in the countryside. Hermione had loved the house, and Harry had loved that it was away from all of the people who were hailing him as a hero- a fact that he still hadn't gotten used to.

Unplottable, invisible, Fidelius charmed, it was probably the closest thing to Hogwarts in safety. Their secret keeper was Ron- one of the most painful things about the setup was that they had had to fall out of touch with him and his family.

It was getting darker when they headed inside. “I'll get blankets.” Said Harry, the first time he had spoken since the hospital. “I'll make hot chocolate.” Answered Hermione.

It was pitch black when they walked outside. They picked the middle of a field in back of the house. Harry laid down a blanket and sat down. Hermione sat down next to him, and they lay down at the same time. Harry looked up and saw something he had never seen before: Actual constellations.

He felt overwhelming memories envelop him. He felt comfort, warmth, and most of all, he felt safe. It had seemed like he was in constant danger ever since Hagrid had told him how his parents had died. He remembered his mother coming down the stairs with laundry. He remembered his dad yelling at the radio about a Quidditch game. He remembered his parents pointing out the stars to him. He didn't remember them, but he remembered his parents showing them to him.

He turned to Hermione and kissed her on the lips. She pulled her lips away then pulled him to her, so that they were locked in a tight embrace. He heard a muffled voice from the region of his shoulder.

“I'm scared.”

“I know, `Mione. I know you're scared. But you'll make it through this. You will. I promise.”

“But I can't, the doctor said I only had a year!”

Always going for the facts, Hermione. “Let's just enjoy right now. Look up.”

He drew the memories he had just regained out of his mind, copied them, and gave them to Hermione. They were instantly transported into nineteen eighty. They could see the baby Harry in his crib, watching his mother, and in the armchair was James Potter, yelling about a Quidditch game on the WWN.

“Wow.” She said softly.

When they were taken to Harry's parents stargazing, she was astonished. The baby could only have been twelve months old. Two months until Voldemort attacked. Harry was snuggled between his parents, and they were pointing up at the stars.

Harry jumped at the sound of his mother, who was thirty years dead. “Look Harry, that's Cassiopeia. She's upside down right now, because she angered the gods. She thought she was better than them.”

He had heard his mother's voice for the first time in twenty-five years. Hermione's eyes filled with tears when they returned to their own house.

“Harry, my baby's not going to remember me.”

“Of course She…he… will.”

She laughed through her tears. “Do you want to find out, Harry?”

He nodded. She muttered an incantation and waved her wand over her still-flat belly.

The air over them glowed pink. “It's a girl.” Said Harry. Hermione nodded.

“Now we need a name.”

“Shh. We'll worry about that later. Look up.”

She looked up in time to see a shooting star cross the sky. She rubbed her hands over her smooth belly. “It's weird to think that this is a baby, huh?”

XxXxX XxXxX

Two Years Later

XxXxX XxXxX

Harry held his fourteen month-old daughter tightly against his side all through the funeral, If only because, with the death of the one woman who had pulled him through so much, he had nothing left to hold on to. She squirmed, but he didn't notice. He saw too much of his Hermione to be able to look at her right now.

“Dada?” she said in a quiet voice, sensing that now would be a very bad time to pull a tantrum.

The minister's voice droned on, Saying something about Hermione's parents- they weren't doing very well. Their granddaughter, though she had probably granted them the will to live another year, did not take the place of their only child.

“Dada?” the tiny girl repeated, pulling gently on his shirt. When he didn't look at her, she buried her head into his shoulder. He automatically stroked it, the hair silky on his rough hands.

Somehow tears seemed so pointless. They weren't going to bring hermione back. Neither was yelling, and neither was this mass. (Though it had since ended, but father and daughter stayed in the pew, and from the back of the church a picture was taken by an old friend, later to be posted in newspapers.)

The daughter eventually succeeded in getting her father to stand up. They ever-so-slowly made their way up to the casket, and Harry knew that She would later be cremated and scattered in the lake at Hogwarts.

You couldn't have told that she had been sick only a week before, as she was lying in the hospital. Her eyes had been sunken in, her hair falling out, her entire frame weak and thin, her face a resigned look that said she knew she was dying. But with death came an Ironic sense of peace on that tortured face, a pale shadow of her beauty, returned only once she had left forever the one who would appreciate it the most.

She had only regained her bushy, bright locks and rosy glow once she had been placed in the casket.

God had an odd sense of humor.

Cassie looked down at her mother. “Mama night-night?” she asked.

“Yes, Cassie. Mama night-night.” Said Harry, without looking at his daughter.

The little girl reached down to the casket and put her little hand on Hermione's cheek. “No night-night.” She said sadly. “Bye-bye.”

Harry looked at his child for the first time that day, and saw the lost look he knew to be in his eyes reflected in his daughter's, and in that moment he knew that maybe he needed her as much as she needed him.

XxXxX XxXxX

Twelve years later

XxXxX XxXxX

Harry Potter looked at his sleeping thirteen-year old daughter with an aching feeling in his chest. She was all he had left of Hermione, and tomorrow she would be leaving for her third year of Hogwarts.

She had curly, deep-brown hair and Hermione's nose. Her mouth was Harry's, and the shape of her eyes was his too. Though her eyes were closed, Harry knew that they were a deeply contrasting hazel, fading from bright, vivid green to bottomless, rich brown. She was smart, but she had Harry's athletic ability. Backup seeker for her team- homework took back burner over Quidditch practice.

She was a perfect blend- on the outside. Inside, she had Harry written all over. Mischievous, rule-breaking, joking little imp, she was, but all in good fun. Every year she stole Harry's invisibility cloak, and he could never find it in her trunk, no matter how hard he looked.

She also had a hero complex- in her first year; she had stayed in front of her friends to fight off some creature in the forbidden forest. (Though they were not supposed to be there in the first place.)

Harry hoped to any greater power that his baby girl would never have to be in a situation where saving anyone would be necessary.

She opened her eyes slightly. “Daddy? What is it? It's four in the morning.” She said drowsily.

“Just thinking about your mum, Cass.” She reached out her hand and grabbed his for a moment. Then she dropped it and fell asleep.

He missed Hermione. He missed her a lot. Things would have been different if Cassie had a mother. She wouldn't have been on a broom. She wouldn't have had messy hair, ever. She would have been able to have all the girly advice that only mothers could provide. But Cassie had turned out okay. And though Harry hadn't seen Hermione in so long, never felt her touch, never looked into her eyes, he felt that somehow she was there. Whether in the house, the memories, or Cassie, Hermione was there.

But what Harry couldn't see was a pair of brown eyes leaking tears from nowhere, staring from nothing. He could never see them. He would never see them. And nor would Cassiopeia. But they were there, all the same.

And Harry could swear he heard something whisper, “Remember.”

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