Author's Notes: I know that usually people freak out when a death occurs, but sometimes this happens too. (I should know, personally.)
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August 22nd, 2001 …
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The next morning, Hermione woke early. She held Harry's wrist, checking the time, and sighed as she saw it was nearing seven. Getting up, she gave Harry's bare chest a soft kiss and headed to her carryon to pick out her clothes. Deciding that, since the day was slightly on the cold side (she looked outside the window, and saw that it was foggy), she got a pair of snug jeans, a black long-sleeved shirt, and a Stanford hooded sweatshirt, and went into the bathroom.
Thirty minutes later, she came out, noticing Harry was still sleeping (during college, he always took evening classes while Hermione took morning classes, that way one could always take care of Andrew), and started doing her hair and makeup. Once she finished, she went into Andrew's room, wondering if her son had awoken yet.
She smiled, seeing her baby sleeping peacefully. "Sleep well, love," she whispered, touching his cheek tenderly.
Hermione walked into the kitchen, wondering what there was to eat. Seeing some vegetables and eggs, she decided that scrambled eggs would do. Ten minutes later, Harry walked into the kitchen, clad in only blue and white striped boxers. He smiled and gave her a peck on the cheek, leaning on the counter.
"Morning," she murmured, washing the plate so she could eat afterward. "Do you want anything to eat? I can just whip something up, if you want."
He shook his head, remembering the events from last night. He walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her middle, bringing her flush against him. They simply stood there for a few minutes, Harry occasionally giving Hermione's neck a loving kiss, and she giving his arms a squeeze, smiling all the while.
"What happed?" Hermione asked. She heard him sigh and turn in his arms. Instantly wrapping her arms around his torso, she arched an eyebrow in question.
"Please," he whispered, "don't be mad."
"I won't," she promised.
He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Yesterday… that-that call I got… it was from the hospital," he informed her, keeping his voice soft. "They… they told me that… that your father died yesterday night." He closed his eyes, ready for the oncoming anger, but it never came. He opened his eyes, seeing Hermione's eyes widened slightly, but they weren't filled with anger… but, rather, emptiness.
"Hermione, love?" called Harry softly, giving her neck, where his right hand was resting, a soft squeeze. "Are… I know I should've told you yesterday but I couldn't and I was worried that you'd breakdown and oh God Hermione-" he babbled, but Hermione interrupted him.
"You're babbling," she murmured, her voice suddenly emotionless. She blinked and stepped from his arms, her eyes unmoving. "I… need to… do something," she murmured, leaving the kitchen.
"Hermione," he called softly. She stopped. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you last night," he apologized.
She nodded and left again.
He groaned, punching the air. Its times like this I wish I had volleyballs to spike, he thought. He sighed, glaring at Hermione's untouched breakfast, scrambled eggs.
All too soon, he heard Andrew's cries that he needed changed, and Harry left the kitchen.
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"Mumma," giggled Andrew, climbing on Hermione's jean clad leg. "Mumma pay!" he giggled, grinning.
Hermione smiled and patted her child's head. "Not now," she murmured, staring at the wall.
Andrew's grin faded, knowing that it wasn't good that she patted his head instead of picking him up. "Mumma pay?" he asked, hands up in question.
She shook her head, gently prying her son from her leg. "Not now, baby."
Harry sighed, walking into the room. "Hermione, you've been like this all day. Please, don't do this," he pleaded, picking Andrew up and sitting on the table, his son safely on his lap. "You haven't eaten all day, you've barely spoken more than five words, and you're starting to scare me."
She smiled grimly, standing up. "Andrew, are you hungry?" she asked, almost dreamily. "Mummy will get you a banana. Wait here." Silently, she went into the kitchen.
Harry looked at his wife, concerned. Andrew started scratching his stomach, a sure sign that he truly was hungry. He looked at Andrew and brought him close to his chest, simply hugging him. A minute later, Hermione came back, setting a plate on the table. The banana was cut unevenly, extremely rare since she was always precise with cutting fruits, especially for Andrew. A few pieces were too large for him to consume, and the others were much smaller, and some were seemingly cut into random pieces.
"C'mon Andrew," she told him, "eat your food."
Andrew happily slid from Harry's lap and trotted to the plate, and stared at the odd shapes of his food. He picked a large piece up, and Harry was close to taking the fruit away from him for fear of choking on it, but Andrew giggled and threw it onto the plate once more. He took another piece, this time much smaller, and stared at it again. Seemingly deciding that it was better, he placed it into his mouth and started chewing happily.
"Hermione," said Harry, sitting next to his wife and wrapping his arms around her. "Are you okay?" he asked, bringing her close so her head rested on his chest and cradling the back of her head with one hand.
Hermione said nothing and didn't move.
"Baby, please talk," he urged, rubbing her back. "You're… you're not yourself. Please, love, just… say something."
Still, she said nothing.
He sighed and held her away at arms length. "Will you at least eat something?" he asked. "If you don't something could happen-to you or the baby."
Her eyes finally met his. They were still brown, but they were empty, dull. "Baby," she murmured, standing up. "I have a baby to feed," she murmured, going into the kitchen.
Harry followed her. "Hermione, what's wrong?" he asked, standing next to her. She said nothing, but started getting some food and started cutting vegetables, while putting some water to boil. "Please," he pleaded, taking her into his arms. She didn't move, but kept her hands by her side, her head falling feebly on his chest.
"Don't do this," he whispered, tears starting to leak from his eyes. It'd been hours since he'd told his wife of her father's death, and she'd acted like this since then. "You're scaring me," he murmured.
She moved away from him, turning back to her semi-cut vegetables. "I've got to make food for my baby," she murmured, dropping the vegetables into the boiling water. After doing the task, she turned to Harry. "Do you want food?" she asked, her eyes uncertain.
"No," he answered. "I want you, my wife," he went on. "Please, just… what's wrong?"
Either she hadn't heard him or she was ignoring him. Turning the cooker off, she took the pot from it and drained it, the steamed vegetables falling onto the plate afterwards. Harry sighed, cradling his wife's face, and rested his forehead against hers. He saw that her eyes were lowered, staring in the general direction of his heart. He slowly let his lips descend on hers, sincerely hoping to get a reaction. His lips pushed and pulled, and he gently thrust his tongue into her mouth.
It took him a few seconds to realize that Hermione wasn't responding. Slowly, he took his lips away from hers, though their noses and foreheads were touching. He exhaled through his nose, his hands still around her neck, and muttered, "It's just shock," to himself. She'll get through it, he thought, searching for her eyes. They were still lowered.
She moved from his arms again, going to her vegetables. She walked past him, going into the living room and sitting on the sofa. She absently munched on the soft vegetable, watching Andrew squish the banana and then eat the pudding like food, getting it all over his mouth.
A few minutes later, Harry came in, looking extremely tired. "We're going to the hospital today," he informed her, knowing that it was going in one ear and out the other. "We're going to leave as soon as you're finished eating."
Again, she said nothing but munched on her broccoli.
Harry sighed and went into the bedroom. He took off his shirt and threw it at the wall, his shorts following soon after. Dressed only in his silky green boxers, Harry rummaged through his carryon on for other clothes. He took one of his soccer jerseys and the pair of jeans Andrew loved so much. I really don't see what he loves so much about ripped and faded jeans, he wondered chuckling. Before putting his jersey on he took a white long sleeved shirt and put it on, the jersey coming after.
Going into the bathroom, he tried to keep his tears at bay. This wasn't his Hermione. His Hermione was strong, independent, able to get through anything. He knew he was acting like a baby, ready to cry any moment, but he didn't like this side of Hermione. God, I'm such a baby, he thought, picking up the razor and shaving cream.
Ten minutes later, Harry, newly shaven, walked back into the living room. Andrew was playing with the random splotches of pudding on the floor, though he wasn't eating it. Hermione sat there with her shoes on, her eyes staring off into the direction of Andrew, murmuring things Harry couldn't hear.
He walked closer to her, sitting next to her. She didn't stop mumbling, but kept going on as if Harry wasn't there. "Is my baby okay?" she mumbled to herself. "My babies need to be well fed and happy. If my babies aren't happy, Mummy isn't happy."
Harry closed his eyes, his hand slowly wiping his face off something. Standing up, he picked Andrew up, took the two plates and went into the kitchen. He set Andrew onto the counter, bringing a clean wipe to his face. Andrew giggled, "Papa!" he exclaimed.
Harry smiled and finished wiping Andrew clean. Setting him down, he watched his son run off to his mother. Sighing, Harry started cleaning the plates. A few minutes later, Harry came back. Getting his wallet, wand, cell phone, keys, and Hermione's purse, he handed it to her.
She took it and stood up. Taking Andrew into her arms, completely forgetting about the stroller, she asked, "Is my baby happy?" Andrew grinned and gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek. Hermione gave a small smile. "Good. Because if my babies aren't happy, I'm not happy."
Harry looked at her. What the…? Shaking his head, he picked up the baby bag and opened the front door. "C'mon," he urged, "let's go."
Hermione wordlessly walked out of the apartment, lingering by the door. He started walking towards the stairs, but then noticed Hermione wasn't following him. "Hermione?" he called.
Blinking, Hermione slowly made her way towards her husband. Walking down the steps, they made their way towards the car. Getting in, she put Andrew into his car seat and sat there, watching him. "My baby," she whispered, nearly in awe.
Harry looked at Hermione and Andrew. There was something wrong with her. He didn't know what, but there had to be something wrong. But what? Was there even anything? He shook his head. No, it's just shock… Or something, he thought, driving out of the lot. She'll be better… Just… I'll have to give her some time, or some space… He shook his head. Maybe I should ask the doctor about this… But… I don't know. He gave a frustrated sigh, the palm of his hand banging against the steering wheel.
A few minutes later, Harry pulled into the hospital lot. He knew there was no large point in driving there, it was just a few minutes drive and about fifteen minutes of walking, but he didn't trust Hermione enough right now to be in crowds.
He got out of the car, opening Hermione's door, waiting for her to get out. After waiting there for a minute, he started getting impatient.
"Hermione," he said, "are you coming?"
"My baby is sleeping," she whispered.
He arched an eyebrow, looking inside the car. Andrew was wide-awake. He looked at Hermione's slightly protruding stomach next, figuring she meant their unborn child. Sighing, he took Hermione's hand. "Love, the baby is going to be `sleeping' for a little bit longer." She got out of the car and he sat in, unfastening Andrew from his seat. He held him close and got out of the car, handing Hermione her purse once more, holding her hand afterwards. "C'mon," he whispered, closing the door with his foot and locking the car.
They walked to the hospital in silence, though Andrew was anything but. He seemed happy playing with Harry's styled hair, reaching for Hermione's hoop earrings, or trying to chew on his father's earlobe. They went to the secretary, whom was an elderly woman, staring at her nails.
"Um, excuse me?" said Harry. The woman looked up, arching her very thin eyebrow. "Where is Celine Granger staying?"
She sighed, looking into the book. "Celine Granger… was on the third floor… now residing on the second, in her own," she informed them.
"Okay, thanks," said Harry, fixing his glasses since Andrew tried taking them off. He took Hermione's hand, since he noticed she hadn't moved when he headed towards the elevator, and they went to the second floor. They made their way towards the rooms, but found that a doctor was waiting for them in a room.
"Mister and Misses Potter," greeted the man. Harry shook his hand, while Hermione remained ignorant to the exchange. He raised an eyebrow, pulling his hand back as he saw Hermione wasn't going to shake it, and introduced himself: "I'm Dr. Evans, and I was the one who phoned you yesterday."
Harry nodded, letting Andrew down. Immediately, however, Hermione picked him up, sitting on a nearby chair with her son on her lap. "Uh, should we sit, or something?" asked Harry.
"If you wish. I'll stand."
Harry sat next to his wife, looking curiously at the doctor. "You… you said you wanted to talk to us?" he asked softly, taking Hermione's hand and entwining it with his. "About my father-in-law's death?"
"Yes," he nodded. "Jeff Granger had a heart attack at three in the afternoon yesterday, and only lasted until six that day. His heart failed, and there was no way we were able to save him. We've told Misses Potter's Mother, and she hasn't taken the matter lightly." He sighed, continuing. "We'll need some information on Jeff Granger, and about you two, also, if you don't mind."
Harry shook his head. "No, not at all. What do we need to do?" he asked curiously.
"Simply fill out some information," he told them, though he noticed he was mainly talking to Harry.
Seeing Hermione sit there, ramrod, holding their son close to her, Harry asked, "Can-can I talk to you for a moment, in private?"
He nodded and the two went farther into the room. "My wife, Hermione… she's… she's been like that since I told her about the death yesterday," he told him. The doctor nodded. "Is… is something wrong?"
He sighed, patting Harry's shoulder. "Young man, it is very hard on a person when there is a death in the family. Some people are depressed, some may be become extremely moody, others may even-"
"But she's… like, not in her senses!" Harry exclaimed, finding it hard to voice his concerns. "I mean, she's already pregnant, and we've come to England after years, and it's just too much for her! And now with her father's death… I'm scared something'll happen to her or the baby!" he exclaimed, feeling just like an unprepared father and husband in the real world.
Doctor Thomas Evans put a reassuring hand on the young man's shoulder. "Listen, young people come here all of the time, with their girlfriend's in distress, but they recover. I'm sincerely sorry about your father-in-law-he was so young, and had a wonderful family, I'm sure," he said, looking at Harry. "But you've got to let your wife know that she has a different life to attend to: her life. The life with her family."
Harry nodded, feeling as though he were getting a lecture. "Yeah… But… but how can Hermione return to her normalcy? She's just so out of it," he said in an anguished whisper.
"That, son, is something I can't help you with," he said, putting his hands into his pockets. "Usually, when something dramatic happens, they snap out of it. It's not a condition or anything, but it's just something that happens sometimes."
Harry nodded, feeling, once again, close to tears. He looked towards Hermione's direction: she was hugging Andrew close, one hand resting on her slightly swollen abdomen.
"Are you sure it's not a condition? Is there anything I can do? I mean, like anything at all? Money isn't an issue so you can tell me all of the options," he asked, hoping that there was something.
He shook his head. "No. I already told you that it's not a condition, mental or physical. Some people go through depression, but it doesn't seem as though your wife is going through that," he explained, seeing Hermione smile giddily as Andrew blew spit bubbles. "Some are angry, but again, your wife doesn't seem that way."
"Yeah, I know," he muttered frustrated. "She's… just…" He sighed. "I don't know. We've never had to go through a very close personal death since we were seventeen," he told him.
"Did… did her Aunt or some other relative die?" the Doctor asked, knowing that he probably shouldn't have been asking, but was simply curious.
He shook his head. "No. A few of our friends died. But… we've gone through so many peoples deaths; I thought she might be able to handle it."
"Well, when they're extremely close, they tend to hurt more."
"I wish I really knew," Harry muttered, but then he remembered Remus Lupin and his Godfather, Sirius. He realized that, though they weren't his biological parents, they were the closest paternal figures he'd ever, ever had.
Harry sighed a few moments later. "Where are the forms we need to fill out?" he asked.
"I'll get them in a moment," he answered, leaving the room.
He walked towards his wife again and sat down. "My baby is hungry," Hermione whispered, her eyes wide. "My baby wants food."
"What does Andrew want?" Harry asked, taking Andrew from her arms and into his lap, playing with his son's very soft hair. Hermione's arms lingered on him, almost as if she didn't want to let him go just yet, but then slowly lowered them onto her lap, rubbing her stomach. "Do you want to hold Andrew?" he asked, seeing Hermione's actions.
"My baby wants food," she murmured, looking from Andrew to her lap. "Do you need anything?" she asked Harry serenely.
He shook his head. "No. What do you want? Or Andrew?" he asked.
"Food," she answered.
He sighed, getting up. "When Doctor Thomas Evans comes in, just take the forms from him, all right?" he asked. She nodded absently. "I'll be right back and see if I can get you a candy bar and see what Andrew can eat."
Three minutes later, the door opened and the doctor came in, a few papers in his hands. He handed them to Hermione, who just stared at them. "This, Misses Potter, is for you and your husband to fill," he informed her. "I'll just be leaving now, and return them to the front desk when you're finished, all right?"
She nodded and he left.
A few minutes later, Harry came back with a bag of chips in one hand and a happy juice drinking Andrew in the other. He handed Hermione her chips and took the papers from her. Letting Andrew sit on the floor and drink his juice from his sippy-cup, Harry looked for a pen around the room. Finding one, he started looking through it. There were various questions, personal, financial, and educational. He filled out the obvious, standard questions (Name: Harry Potter, DOB: 07-31-80, Height: 5'9'', Weight: 150 lbs, etc.) and started filling out the other questions. He wondered why they would want to know what degree he had in college, but shrugged and answered, writing it down. (He found that it was much easier to write with a ballpoint pen rather than a quill, which, somehow, made his writing messier on parchment rather than paper.) After about ten minutes of filling out questions (he seriously wondered why they wanted to know how many children he had, why they wanted his dental records, and what University he attended played any role in filling out medical forums), he was finally finished.
He looked to his left, seeing Hermione staring at the unopened bag of chips. Harry closed his eyes, exhaling. He reached over and opened the bag, taking one chip out and feeding his wife. After a few chips, she started eating herself. He smiled, giving his wife a peck on the cheek, though deep down he was still screaming in confusion and rage towards himself. If only he had told her yesterday, maybe her reaction would've been different.
He started filling Hermione's papers out, since he knew anything imaginable about her. (Especially after they were married, they decided to be open about everything to each other. And no matter how embarrassing the question was, they'd answer truthfully. She even answered the one question women dreaded: how much they weighed.) Quickly filling out the obvious questions, just like his (Name: Hermione Potter, DOB: 9-19-80, Height: 5'5'', Weight: 123 lbs, etc.) and started on the others. Again, after about ten minutes he was finished, stacking the few papers on top of each other.
Andrew toddled to Harry, wrapping his legs and arms around his jean-clad leg, giggling madly when he slid on to his name brand tennis shoe. "Papa!" he giggled.
Harry smiled, picking his son up, but then groaned as he was hit head on with his bottle. He stood up, picking the papers with the hand he was holding Andrew with, as the other went to take his wife's, since it seemed as though she wasn't going to stand anytime soon.
She stood up, still holding the bag of chips, which was mostly eaten, and leaned to Harry, reaching for Andrew. "Is my baby happy?" she asked in a whisper.
"Mumma!!" he squealed, banging his hands on Harry's shoulder. He grinned, showing his pearly white baby teeth.
Harry smiled and gave Andrew's forehead a soft kiss, squeezing his and Hermione's entwined fingers. Together, they went to the front desk and gave the woman their papers.
"You filled both out," she stated rather than questioned.
Harry nodded. "Yeah. So?"
She shrugged. "Normally men don't know anything about their respective others," she muttered before taking a call.
Harry rolled his eyes and turned to leave.
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"Are you hungry?" Harry asked from the kitchen, chopping some vegetables.
Hermione came in, wearing Harry's old sweatpants and her old sports bra, wearing nothing over. "No," she answered, putting some black socks on. "Do you need help?" she asked softly.
Harry shook his head, putting the vegetables and chicken into the pan. From the Dursleys, he was glad that he at least learned something useful from them: cooking. After basically ten years of cooking for them, he learned many dishes-some exceptionally hard dishes, while some were as easy as boiling an egg-and was thankful that he'd taken the talent even when he went to America. While there, they never ate out too much, especially after Andrew was born. So Harry would usually cook, since it was his area of expertise. He smiled; it was one of the few things he ruled over Hermione in.
Wiping his hands on a cloth, Harry wiped his brow with his sleeve. He looked around the modest sized kitchen and through the doorway. Hermione sat on the couch, fondly gazing at Andrew, who was happily emerged in playing with his blanket and jumping around. He turned the heat down a little, so he would be able to leave the kitchen for a moment, and leaned on the doorway.
He stood like that for about a minute. But suddenly, his vision started blurring, everything going black. He felt a bit light headed, and tried to grab hold of something. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, he fell to the floor, unconscious.
Author's Notes: Ooh, what happened to our beloved Harry? I know that he was acting like a sissy, but trust me, I'm almost positive you'd act like that if someone you truly loved were like this.
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