Obliviate -the lost week (Harmione)

In times of war

Hermione bled nine days after that, so she figured out that it all was truly over. Pale and in pain, she sat beside Harry, confused as to what to feel. The girl knew she should be relieved: babies were way out of their program, with not twenty years of age and a raging war where half-bloods were on the losing side. She did feel reassured. Regarding their affair, she couldn't mourn what she could barely remember.

Harry's behavior had come back to brotherly with seemingly no effort at all. The witch's own brain was overflowed with ideas to defeat Voldemort. Ron's romantic approaches to her were rare enough, and she was back to interacting with him much in the same way she had before. They had visited Luna's father, learned important facts, though Harry took children stories far more seriously than she herself dared to.

Since she hadn't had sex since before the bleeding, she assumed her current lack of it was due to the constant traveling and stress. Not that she had lots of time to analyze it. She needed no explanation for her persistent tiredness; the traveling was simply taking its toll. If she had had any doubts at all about her state, March's sojourn in Malfoy Manor would have wiped it off: the muggle-born herself had barely survived to the session of torture, a fetus would have had no opportunity.

Ron's cries had kept her sane through the ordeal, and the witch was grateful. She kissed him after that, for the first time. She couldn't compare it with Harry's kiss. She no longer remembered it.

That there was something she could never tell him, distressed her greatly; she had never been one to believe in relationships based on lies. Even so, her sex life before this kiss was none of his business, and she was under the impression that he, as Harry, had assumed a lot of things about Victor.

Most of the time she forgot of the flask lying in the private pocket of her bag. No one remembered that week clearly, it was as if it hadn't had happened at all.

The first time she made counts was, she believed, in those first days in Shell Cottage. From the small room the brunette shared with Luna at night, she could see Dobby's tomb. Harry was visiting, again. She smelled the salty wind and it made her feel slightly sick but otherwise she loved the feeling of freedom it evoked. The girl knew he did too.

Another month passed, and Lupin came to the cottage, announcing his son's birth. After shrieking and squealing, Hermione took a look at Harry's face as he agreed to be a godfather, and wondered ephemerally what he would think of being a dad. By then, she had a delay of two months, and had already read about implantation bleeding. It was still very surreal, she thought there was no chance she was pregnant –the bookworm, of all girls- yet simultaneously she knew the fetus must be female, since she hadn't been ovulating that day and female spermatozoids were stored longer in a woman's body. She would ponder the advantages of getting an abortion at a muggle hospital –but she didn't feel she had the right to take another human life, however small, war was already taking so many–, and at the same moment, she would feel responsible for not staying at the back of the fight, so the baby would not be injured -not to say, worried about the effect of the Polyjuice Potion on such a small creature-. Above all, the girl was on the brink of panic, and the war was no longer responsible for that.

Most of the time, her doubts were a prick on a small compartment of her very busy mind. She kept interacting with Harry and Ron much in the same way. Not the time or place to start a proper dating with Ron, which perhaps saved her much remorse. She spent more time judging the planned double-cross than she did thinking about men and babies.

May 2nd, early morning, and she couldn't sleep. The dim light underlined the small balloon into her belly, still far from reaching her navel, but noticeable. The Polyjuice Potion lied on the night table. Careful to not wake up Luna, she found the dress they had prepared, drank the potion, and went to fight a war.