Nine months

November

Alone

I laid on a hospital bed in the early hours of the morning, my stupid pumpkin costume lifted up to my chest, where Pomferey had an Ultrasound machine pressed against my bare stomach again. We were both avoiding eye contact with Harry, who was on the bed next to me, covered in a blanket and looking at the cold tiles with an equally icy expression. 

McGonagall walked in and saw the pair of us, and dithered, between walking towards the scanner with interest. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Harry hunch up, hiding from us.

"I got the news. Is the baby ok?" 

"We're just checking."

"Bleeding is a sign of a miscarriage. I swear to Merlin, Harry, if you've killed my baby, I'll kill you" I said within full hearing of the boy on the bed next door, making sure he saw my dark look. I wasn't joking.

"I'm sure it won't come to that" assured Pomferey, although it was clear she was lying through her teeth. I turned to McGonagall, close to tears, and she gulped, reaching for my hand and holding it tight.

"Calm down. Acting like this won't help your baby. Or you."

"I'm allowed to panic-!" We were suddenly cut off by a quiet but momentous thumping noise, like a patter of tiny feet, or the impatient tap of rain at a window. All four of us were shocked into silence and strained to hear the heartbeat of my unborn child.

I could have sworn I saw a flicker of something flash across Harry's face, but I was so angry at him that I didn't want to find out what it was.

(~~~)

"Hermione, I'm sorry" he called after me, as we were discharged the next morning. "Hermione- please-"

"I have nothing more to say to you" I shouted behind me. There was a hand at my shoulder, and I stopped, spinning round to glare at him angrily. "Harry, you could have seriously hurt her."

"I didn't know what I was doing-"

"No! You don't!" I stopped fighting and faced him, looking right into his eye so he faltered. "I don't want you anywhere near my baby until you get help. Proper help. I mean- forget my baby and me for the moment. What- what were you thinking?" I gasped, holding onto him for support. "You tried to kill yourself, what's to say you won't do it again, and this time I won't be able to stop you? You'd be dead, and I can't bear that, you're my best friend, Harry!"

"Fine. I'll talk to McGonagall in the morning." I weakened, knowing he was really the only person I could talk to right now that wasn't an adult, and besides, I still felt responsible for the fifteen-year-old boy, regardless of how grown up he was. 

(~~~)

"Where were you two last night?" asked a groggy Ron the next morning. We were sat in History of magic- which was normally already a very tiresome class, but with one of us pregnant, another with insomnia and a third with a hangover, we weren't the most lively of people. I was the only one trying to take notes- Harry was daydreaming, looking out the window at the big drop bellow- I didn't want to know what he was thinking- whilst Ron had his head on the table, pretending to write even though his book was closed next to me.

He knocked my elbow, causing me to blot my paper. I turned to glare at him crossly and saw that he'd slid a ripped up bit of parchment across the table, a crumpled up note.

Hermione! Please talk to me!

"What?" I whispered, thrown off pace by this random request. "No, not now." The bell unfortunately rang for the end of the lesson, and we scrapped our chairs back for lunch.