I Know This Much Is True

It hits her with such a surprising force that she's momentarily stunned. She thought she was over this.

Honestly, she should be over this by now. She knows that it's pointless to dwell on. There are some things magic just cannot fix.

Simon's shout brings her back to herself. Watch me, Mum! Look how high I can go! Are you watching, Mummy? Look! Her eyes pull away from the young Muggle mother on the park bench cooing to the sleeping infant cradled in her arms. For as much as Simon talks about having a brother, he is oblivious to these moments.

As she watches, Hermione's thoughts drift back to the days when Simon was that small, all rolls of fat and milk breath. His conception and birth had been such a miracle, although they didn't know it at the time caught up as they were in the celebration of life.

Harry had defeated Voldemort a year after Dumbledore had gone into hiding. Everyone thought that Snape had killed him and it was certainly convincing enough to the Trio. They'd gone after the Horcruxes with all of the vehemence of avenging daredevils. Lupin and the other Order members cautioned them frequently about the risks they took in their travels. But every wayward curse and unavoidable hex was worth it as they systematically destroyed each Horcrux, one by one.

And then they'd stood at Harry's side, supporting him physically and mentally, as he waged the final battle with Voldemort. They'd all been so glad just to have survived. They were young, they thought they were invincible. They were wrong.

At first, all seemed perfect. She and Ron finally felt relieved of the tension and sense of responsibility and duty to Harry that had overshadowed their growing attraction to each other. No one was surprised when they announced their engagement a scant month after Harry's victory.

They were surprised when Harry showed up with a newly absolved Draco Malfoy. He had hidden with Dumbledore during the war, surreptitiously tracking down Horcruxes and feeding the clues to Harry. Afterwards, Harry finally extended his hand in friendship to Draco. Somehow, the two found a common ground that grew into a friendship that grew into love. Hermione still thought it was rather sweet, though she'd not ever admit that to either of them

It had taken Ginny some time to adjust to the idea of Harry and Draco being together, but eventually she'd fallen for Neville and they lived not far from the Burrow now.

Everyone had seemed happy. Life began to resemble "normal." Hermione had found a position researching new spells for the Ministry and Ron managed a lower league Quidditch team.

One thing she'd found out in her research was the effects of some of the curses she, Ron and Harry had suffered in the war. Many of them were meant to do physical damage, some had mental effects. But there was nothing to be found on what the combined effect might be. No one had used those curses and hexes in that way before. Hermione suspected, though, that they would not escaped unscathed. She was right.

It was all quite by accident that Hermione had discovered she was pregnant shortly after she and Ron married. She'd just been feeling off and decided to make a stop at St. Mungo's. Luna had become a Healer there and she'd learned to trust Luna's eccentric ways.

Luna had hummed and frowned as she ran her wand over Hermione, frequently returning to her abdomen. At first, Hermione laughed at Luna's diagnosis, insisting that it couldn't be true. Luna's grave face assured her it was and Hermione felt her heart drop as she feared whether the curses would harm the baby.

As it turned out, Simon was fine. He was more than fine, actually. The pregnancy had gone well and although the delivery had some intense moments, Simon Weasley was completely healthy. And he was feted in a way that one would have thought he had defeated the Dark Lord and not his godfather. Everyone fussed over him and his birth officially marked the end of the Second War on Voldemort.

Hermione fell in love all over again with her son. His very being became her obsession. Was he too warm or too cold? Was his nappy wet or too tight? Did he need to burp? Do you think he has a fever? Oh, look at his smile! Ron, he just turned over!

She'd never known how much she wanted to be a mother until she became one. For a while, Ron's nose was out of joint because he'd finally succeeded in capturing Hermione's attention after all those years, only to lose it again to the baby. Not that he minded, not really.

In the meantime, the other Weasley boys settled down with their own families and Ginny and Neville started a brood of her own. Hermione had wanted to have another child soon after Simon turned one and figured it would be as easy as the first time.

But it wasn't.

Really, how hard is it to make a baby? Insert Tab A into Slot B. Lather, rinse and repeat. Nothing. It wasn't happening. A year later, Fred and Angelina announced they were having twins and Hermione lost it. She was in control of so much of her life, but not this.

She dragged Ron off to Muggle doctors who specialized in this kind of problem. She wasn't sure she trusted magic in the creation of life, not when she'd seen it used to take life so often during the war. After many invasive tests with things that poke and prodded and left Hermione feeling a bit like a leaky pincushion, they announced their results. Ron was, for all intents and purposes, infertile.

But how could that be, she asked. They had a child already. Luck, they answered, a miracle. It would be nearly impossible for them to have a child the old-fashioned way.

Hermione refused to accept the answer and pulled all of the strings she had to see St. Mungo's top Spell Damage Specialist. After much analysis and discussion, but thankfully no poking or prodding, the results were the same. Ron had always insisted on taking the brunt of the spells protecting the horcruxes. The combined damage had not shown up on the outside, but on the inside he was forever scarred. Not enough to be life-threatening, but enough to threaten his ability to give life.

Hermione had never felt so distraught. She loved Simon with all of her heart but there was a tiny baby-shaped hole in it that she didn't know how to fill. After many tears and late-night talks, they agreed to try the procedures the Muggle doctors had suggested.

For three weeks, Hermione injected herself with synthetic hormones to override those produced by her body. Then, for another ten days, more injections intended to develop extra eggs for “harvesting,” as if her body was a farm. The injections themselves didn't really hurt; they weren't as bad as those she remembered from her childhood before she'd left for Hogwarts. Still, they were uncomfortable. Ron couldn't watch; it made him squeamish.

Finally, everything was ready. The procedure itself wasn't painful; she slept through it. The doctors sent her home on orders to rest and restrict her activity. She made it into a game with Simon who loved to play nursemaid to Mummy. When she noticed the light bleeding a few days later, she knew it hadn't worked. To add insult to injury, although she was bleeding, the test results showed a pregnancy. But everyone knew it wasn't to be. It took another 4 weeks for the bleeding to end and the procedure to be termed a failure.

Hermione had never failed at anything in her life. But this was not a test you could revise for. It was not a riddle to solve or spell to learn or a Horcrux to destroy. In this, she had no control.

She threw herself into her work. Ron tried to convince her to try the procedure one more time even though the Muggle doctors scared him sometimes. But Hermione couldn't. She couldn't go through the emotional upheaval and physical commitment. She had one child; that was enough.

Only it wasn't.

She still had irrational hopes that it would happen on its own like it had the first time. She tried to forget all that she had learned from the Muggle doctors and in time that worked. She no longer tracked her cycle with the dedication she once had. Sometimes she was even caught off-guard, having to run in to the Muggle chemist shop during her lunch break. She'd even gone ahead with plans to finish the spare bedroom into an office for herself. She really wanted a place to keep all of her research together and it seemed a shame to waste the room. However, she hadn't yet been able to dispose of Simon's baby clothes and toys. And she kept the rocker in her study. It was more comfortable, she reasoned to herself.

But forgetting didn't make it easy. Simon needed playmates and spent many happy weekends at the Burrow with his cousins and his Nan and Gramps. Inevitably, he would come home begging for a brother or sister. And well-meaning family and friends constantly enquired about when Simon's brother or sister might be arriving. At first, Hermione smiled demurely and answered that she and Ron were working on it. Eventually, she learned to politely ignore it or change the subject.

Things between her and Ron grew tense as well. Ron blamed himself and assumed Hermione did too, no matter what she said. Maybe she did, just a bit. Deep down, she knew the curses and hexes were the cause, but she wished that Ron hadn't taken the brunt of them so often. It's only the thought of the alternative that kept her from voicing her frustration? She felt as if the world she worked so hard to create was crumbling around her and she was powerless to stop it.

Today started as any other day. She had to take Simon with her on her errands as Ron still hasn't arrived home from last night's away match. They'd made several stops when Simon spotted the swings in the park and made a beeline for them. Hermione had set down her packages and handbag and watched Simon pump his legs as the swing's momentum carried him up and back. It wasn't so long ago that he'd needed her to stand behind him and keep pushing, Mummy! Inwardly, she sighed. Her baby was growing up.

And then she felt the first twinge. At first, it was a subtle whisper that she could easily overlook. Until it happened again, slowly building in intensity, and she let out the breath she hasn't realised she'd been holding for the last week. Why does she still do this? she wondered. Last Wednesday, when she'd woken up feeling nauseous she tried not to let the possibility even enter her mind. It could have been the chili Ron made for dinner. Just because she had awful nausea when she was pregnant with Simon doesn't mean that every time she has nauseous it's an indication of pregnancy. She was foolish to think it, for in her heart she knew that no matter how much she tried to move on, a part of her is crushed every month. Hope builds with every misinterpreted sign, every hour she is "late." The baby-sized hole in heart is stubborn; the wound refuses to close.

I know this much is true.

Trying to distract herself, she glances away from Simon and notices the woman again. Clearly, she is a new mother. The baby pram is squeaky clean, unlike Simon's. (By the time he was two, it was covered in various layers of spit-up, spilt juice and cracker crumbles.) Hermione watches her lift the baby to her shoulder, cooing and patting its back. Gently, she lowers the baby to her lap, face up. As she rocks her knees back and forth, the swaying motion keeps the sleeping infant from stirring.

The hole in her heart throbs and she finds it hard to swallow as the corners of her eyes begin to sting. For a moment, she can't quite catch her breath.

Simon's tug on her sleeve startles her and pulls her attention back to him. She blinks, focusing on his face. I didn't even hear him jump off the swings. He's hungry and it's time to go home.

Later, she picks up the day's clutter as Ron goes through the nightly rituals with Simon. Climbing the stairs and standing silently outside the door, she listens to him give their son the play by play action of the hard-fought Quidditch match. Her throat begins to close and she only just makes it to her cupboard before the sobs start in earnest.

~fin~