Fatherhood | drarry teen adoptive parents au

four | the little purple bottle

It was late on the 18th of September 1996, the eve of Hermione's sixteenth birthday, that she made what she thought was the final decision.

She was in the Gryffindor common room with her friends, Draco of course lounging across Harry's lap, and the conversation, as it so often did, had turned to Quidditch.

"I'd love to watch Krum play again, just once," Ron was saying. "He's such an incredible Seeker."

"Wonder if Hermione could get us all free tickets to a game sometime," joked Lavender. "You still in contact with him, Hermione?"

Hermione stiffened, but forced herself to reply naturally. "Now and again," she said nonchalantly. "It's nothing serious."
I'm having his baby.

This seemed to be a casual enough response to adequately disappoint the group and make them stop directing the questions at her, but attention stayed on the topic Krum.

"I heard he's on 150,000 Galleons a year," said Seamus. "Imagine what you could do with that kind of money."

"Just imagine," said Draco, lazily inspecting his perfectly manicured nail beds.

"Alright Malfoy, we know you bleed gold," Dean rolled his eyes good-naturedly, and Harry chuckled.

"It is a good pay check at nineteen, though," Seamus continued. "And he's not even peaked yet in terms of his ability and physical fitness! He can literally only get better from here on."

All this praise of Krum was beginning to really irritate Hermione.

Why should he have such a fantastic life? She wondered angrily. I wanted things too. I have ambition and drive and big plans. I shouldn't have to sacrifice everything I've ever dreamed of at fifteen while he swans around with his Galleons doing whatever he likes.

Right then and there, Hermione decided. She'd given Krum ample opportunity to show an interest in her over the past few months and he hadn't made the slightest effort; nor had he cared about the blatant hints she'd been dropping about his baby. If he could ignore the situation and get on with his life so could she.

She would do it. Move on with her life. Get rid of the baby.

Tomorrow she'd be sixteen, old enough that Madam Pomfrey wouldn't have to inform her parents of any medical treatment if Hermione didn't want her to. And she certainly didn't want her to!

It would be an unorthodox way to celebrate her sixteenth birthday, but Hermione liked the symbolism of the crossroad it provided. She was able to think rationally about the pregnancy for perhaps the first time, and it felt like a huge weight was in the process of rolling off her shoulders.

Hermione had always known she wouldn't make a good mother - she hadn't got anywhere near the patience required for a baby, or the time or the attention span available. She'd never pictured herself wanting children, either. And certainly not at sixteen, with her current life experience and emotional maturity.

No, it wasn't to be, she decided. It wasn't a pleasant thought but this time tomorrow she'd be in her bed and it would all be over with, like some terrible eleven-week-long nightmare.

No more baby. No regrets. She was sure of it.

***

The next thing Hermione knew, it was the early morning of the 19th, and she was throwing up again.

"Happy bloody birthday to me," she muttered shakily, dragging the back of her hand across her mouth. "I am not going to miss this part one bit."

She stared at herself in the mirror, and tried to calm her nerves. Today was the day.