Yet another Gala.
She really hated these things, of course, most did. No one said anything, but they seemed to enjoy themselves after they got there and began to mingle. It was moreover the getting there, and it was the arriving that people didn't like. Press, hundreds of flashing bulbs, and reporters alike flocking the entrance to each and every gala that they went to. Her, Harry, and Ron that is. Hermione hated the publicity that came with being apart of the golden trio, but she got used to it. She had to, as she arrived with yet another wizard, different from the last.
She hated this one, but he certainly didn't hate her. Hermione made it a precedent of her own to accept the offer of the first man who addressed her. This time it just so happened to be one she didn't like. Claude Manson swept her across the dance floor with a floating smile, holding her close. No one saw her slightly protruding stomach, the bump she hid from the rest of the world in a frilly dress.
Across the floor Hermione watched as Harry spun Ginny around, and Ron happily danced with a witch she didn't know. She looked familiar, but Hermione wouldn't place the name of the beautiful woman.
After their kiss in the tunnels below the school, she'd conceded after the war that they shouldn't be together. Ron didn't really look ready to settle down, and Hermione already had. That kiss just killed her. She had betrayed the one man she promised not to, and that meant something horrid. But he was dead, and there was little she could do to control that fact. She watched him die, and as she tried not to show it, tears leaked down her eyes for the fallen wizard.
That was then, and the small reminder in her womb was all she had left of him.
Just enjoy tonight. Hermione scolded herself as she danced with Claude.
He was handsome, true, but there was little she found him alluring by. He didn't have piercing eyes that could see her every emotion. He didn't have too much height over her. His embrace wasn't warm and welcoming, pulling her in when she felt alone or scared.
Claude wasn't the man she loved.
Swept across the dance floor still, Hermione heard the music change. Luckily, Harry pulled her into his arms, embracing her small frame and continuing to dance.
"How are you doing?" He asked, insinuating exactly what she was trying to hide.
"Mourning still, but tonight's fun."
"Probably the last one you'll be going to I reckon?"
Hermione nodded and bit her lip, pulling on the swollen flesh. It was all she could do to keep the burning sensation from going coming through her lips, the need to kiss the man who's been left behind, taken.
"You know, you're going to have to tell the world eventually. Hermione Granger of all people can't just go missing for five months and suddenly appear with a child."
Hermione shrugged. She didn't really care what anyone thought of her and all she really wanted was to be in a man's arms, held by the specific one she loved. He was all she wanted, but she knew their child needed to come first.
"Well obviously, but what do you want me to say when they ask who the father is?" She hissed at him over the crowd, yet they were drowned out and no one really cared what they were saying, just what they looked like.
"I don't know, Hermione."
She groaned, quite audibly, and her heart hurt at the fact that no matter what she said, Hermione Granger was totally screwed.
It was three months after the war, and everyone was seemingly doing well. They'd all had an appropriate time to mourn by now, and grievances had been finished. Lives were repaired, most trials were over, and everyone returned to their ignorantly normal lives.
