Nine Months in F Minor

Harry and Ron skipped the rest of their classes for the day to stay with Hermione in the hospital wing. Ron had to explain her pregnancy to Madam Pomfrey, but his ears went red, and Harry had to continue on with what happened in Charms.

    She went about prodding Hermione with her wand, though she had a look on her face that told Harry she already knew what had happened.

    “Well, boys,” she said finally. “I have good news and bad. Which would you like first?”

    “Bad,” said Ron. Harry agreed, but he was clutching the seat so bad he couldn’t have said so.

    “The charm you were working on…you said it was a Fire Shield/Tickling Charm, didn’t you?” Without waiting for a response, she continued. “It worked. When the fire reached her uterus, and the child inside, the ‘tickling sensation’ enveloped the baby. Of course, it was about 200 times worse for the developing child than for Miss Granger. You lost the baby,” she finished sadly. Harry instinctively reached for his friend’s hand. “Even if the fetus had survived, it would be born with severe birth defects. Perhaps…it was better this way.”

    Ron looked up from his lap. His eyes were over bright. “What’s the good news?”

    “That was it,” said Madam Pomfrey. “There is no baby, no child out of wedlock, no teen pregnancy.”

    Ron burst into tears. Harry stood up, angrily pointing at Pomfrey. “So you don’t care, do you, that a child is dead? Potential…just gone? You really don’t care, do you?”

    She backed away, a look of resolve set on her face despite the shine in her eyes. “Mr. Potter, it is not my place to care. Make sure Miss Granger drinks the potion on the table when she wakes up.” And with that she was gone.

    Harry followed Ron over to Hermione's bed, placing himself awkwardly at the foot while Ron went down on his knees near the bed, sobbing into the bleach-blue knit sheets. He watched as Hermione turned slightly to face Ron in her sleep but did not wake. And then he smiled.

    He looked back down at them and at the hand Ron was not holding. They did not know it yet, but their ring had changed, changed to a perfect diamond, with amethyst running through it in three thin stripes. Amethyst of love through friendship, perhaps?

~

    A marker was set on the edge of the Forbidden Forest for who would have been Icarus Brian Weasley-Granger. Hermione and Ginny planted white roses - the color of purity and sadness - around the marker. Hermione’s stomach had not fully ‘shrunk’, and she had not lost the old habit of resting her hands on her baby bump.

    There was no funeral for ‘Icarus’, but word travels fast in Hogwarts. Hermione and Ron did not care who knew. It did not matter…who might, could, would have been.

    The marker was marble, a small, plain, square-shaped stone:

Icarus Brian Weasley-Granger

1997

So close to life,

so close to the sun.

but that life, that sun

stole away any chance

you once had.

may your wings

never betray you,

may life reach you,

somehow.

    The whole thing was rarely spoken of inside Hogwarts. There was no speech from Dumbledore, no meeting with Hermione’s parents the next day. There would be no blue baby booties for Icarus, no baby showers for Hermione. There would be nothing.

    By the time the whole fiasco had died down, Ginny was fairly swollen. She had gained ten pounds over her pregnancy; why, she was, by the time the roses bloomed and all talk had died down, nearing the end of her first trimester.

    “What do you think of these names?” asked Ginny, pointing out a few from the book in her lap, 1001 Wizarding Names and What They Really Mean.

    “Rosaleen is pretty,” said Harry, unconsciously rubbing her stomach. “But it’s a little too old fashioned, if you ask me. I like Briar, too,” he said.

    “It’s kind of strange, though,” said Ginny, her hand over Harry’s on her belly. “Briars are thorns.”

    “It’s cute though,” said Harry. He surprised himself with his ability to say ‘cute’ without vomiting.

    “I guess. What do you think about-”

    “Actually,” Harry cut her off. “I’d been thinking that maybe we could name it Lily something or James.” These last words came out in one burst, as though he had been working on getting them out for weeks. Maybe he had.

    Ginny paused for a moment, her hand on page 441 of the book. “I think,” she said slowly, and for a moment Harry was scared she was going to yell. “I think that would be wonderful,” she said.

    Harry grinned, letting his hand slip to the sunken part of her stomach, just below the bulge. She smiled thoughtfully, her head slipping to rest on his shoulder.

    He caressed her hair with one hand, leisurely removing any tangles from her vivid locks.

    She started to cry, her face buried in his shoulder. “I can’t believe this is all happening to me,” she said.

    Harry pulled her to him. He was - of course - used to this by now. Starting this week, the first week of her second trimester, Ginny had had a habit of bursting into tears at inopportune moments. The whole thing was much less frightening for him than it had been just three weeks ago.

     She cried herself to sleep in his lap that night. Shortly thereafter he dozed off himself, the fire still burning brightly.

    Hermione and Ron entered the common room late that night; they had long since developed a pattern of walking the grounds hand in hand well into the evening. Harry suspected they went to visit Icarus and the roses, but he also knew better than to ask.

    They entered to find Ginny curled up like a cat beside Harry, her head in his lap, her hair like orange flame on his skin. Her eyes were shut loosely, like an angel‘s. Harry was asleep as well, leaning on the arm of the couch. His glasses were slipping down his nose, his hair was gilded by the firelight.

    “They look so…peaceful,” whispered Hermione to Ron. They were still holding hands.

    “They do,” said Ron. The barest hint of resentment showed through his words.

    “Now Ron,” she said. “I think it’s time you let it go. Ginny’s almost a woman - as you can see - she can make her own choices.” She sighed. “Anyway, at least it’s Harry.”

    Ron made a funny noise in the bottom of his throat. “I suppose.”

    “Want to talk about something else?” she muttered.    

    “Yeah.”

    They sat down on the loveseat by a window. In mere moments they were asleep; a brief peck and soft smiles, and they had both dozed off in each other’s arms.    

     Ginny laid back on the bed in the Hospital Wing, Harry’s hand on her own.

    “This is nice,” said Harry, patting her hand.

    “For you, maybe,” said Ginny uncomfortably from the odd contraption of a chair Madam Pomfrey had put her in. Now halfway through her second trimester, she was bigger than ever. Most of the student body had realized what was going on, but most of them had kept their mouths shut about it. Ginny had been missing classes, walking around with her hands on the small of her back for support. She had gained 17 pounds in the course of five months, and recently had informed Harry that the baby was kicking.

    Madam Pomfrey eyed the pair of them from across the room, where she was finishing up the culture. They’re so young, she thought. So young. They think they’re in love…but are they?

    She finished the culture and strode back to Ginny and Harry.

    “Everything’s all right with the baby,” she said thoughtfully. “This’ll help with the morning sickness,” she said, handing Ginny a goblet of some potion. “Though I suppose that should be most of the way over by now.”

    “Yes,” said Ginny, fondly patting her belly.

    “How have you been feeling?” asked Pomfrey kindly.

    “Fine,” said Ginny, flicking her hair over her shoulder.

    “Good, good,” said the older woman. “I’ll let you kids get on now.”