The Seventh Year Soap Opera

RECAP OF CHAPTER ONE - Hermione's Secret: Hermione finds out she's pregnant. She confides in Seamus Finnigan, but it all comes out.

WHERE WE LEFT OFF:

Everything was silent. After a few awkward moments of looking at each other, Harry broke the silence.

"Who's the father?" he said quietly. Hermione raised her head and looked into his eyes, which showed every sign of being betrayed. She glanced at Ron, who had gone white and was apparently in shock; quickly, she looked away and faced Harry again. "Hermione?" he prompted.

She tried desperately to hold back the tears that were threatening to cascade down her cheeks.

Harry knew the baby wasn't his.

Chapter Two- In the Movies

"What do you mean, who's the father?" Seamus asked. "Aren't you Harry?" He looked between Harry and Hermione.

Harry's eyes bored into his bushy haired girlfriend, whose eyes were brimming with tears. "Who's the father Hermione?"

Hermione looked away from him, ashamed. Not able to hold back her tears any longer, they streamed down her cheeks and she sniffed. "H-Harry..." she started, but she couldn't get any other words past her throat. Placing her head in her hands, she started sobbing, hiccuping and sniffing.

Harry took a step toward her, as though wanting to comfort her, but he flinched and kept his ground. He could console her later. Right now, he needed to know the answer to the question. "Who?" he prompted, his irritation getting the best of him. He had been betrayed.

Hermione just shook her head. She couldn't tell him, she couldn't. Her sobs became louder.

Ron, who had been looking on as though he might be sick, said, "Harry, I think she needs to sit down." His complexion white, he moved awkwardly toward Hermione and gripped her elbow, leading her to the couch. Gently, he sat her down in it, but her face was kept buried in her hands.

Harry watched her cry, frozen to the spot. His whole face was red, a sign that he was angry. Seamus, whose eyes were knitted in confusion, withdrew a crumpled tissue from his pocket and walked over to the couch, handing it to her; she blew her nose loudly. Ron didn't seem to notice anything, as he seemed to be in a trance. He sank into an armchair next to Hermione, fingers shaking slightly. Seamus frowned at him.

Be calm, Harry told himself. Be calm. Harry went to the sofa, his legs feeling as though they were weighed down with lead, and got down on his knees beside her. He took one hand away from her face and held it in his. With a deep breath and said shakily, "I need to know. I have the right to know."

Tell him, a voice said in her head. Don't, said another. He'll be furious. You know he will. Another part of her was upset with Seamus. Why couldn't he keep his mouth shut? I never should have told him, never. Damn him! Note to self- don't trust the Irish.

"Hermione, please." Hermione took her other hand away from her face and lay it in her lap, trying desperately not to look at Harry or Ron or Seamus, but failing. Harry was begging her, and was sitting beside her now, looking ready to cry and yell at the same time. Please don't cry, she thought. I couldn't bear it if you cried.

Hermione trembled, tears still rolling down her cheeks. She wanted to tell him, but she couldn't.

"Who!" Harry said, more loudly than he had intended. Hermione yanked her hand from his and inched away from him, startled. She could see the anger in his face. "Hermione, I need to know!" he yelled. Immediately he was sorry. Fresh tears brimmed in Hermione's eyes, eyes that were now showing fear.

"Harry, calm down!" Ron yelled at him, apparently having come out of his trance.

"But I want to know who got her pregnant!" Harry shouted back, standing up.

Ron rose from his chair, and looked at Hermione, who gave a weak little nod. Eyes locked with Harry's, he said, "It was me."

There was silence.

Next moment, Ron was on the floor, clutching his eye.

At this time, three things happened.

One, Seamus stood up, not believing what he had just seen. "Harry--you just--oh my," he stuttered. He looked at Harry and Hermione, then to Ron, and promptly fainted.

Two, Hermione got up from the couch and bent at Ron's side. "That was not necessary," she said to Harry in a slightly strangled voice.

And three, Harry began to yell at Ron. "You!? he bellowed. "You're supposed to be my friend!"

Ron shifted on the floor, and stared up at Harry. "Bloody hell," he muttered, for that was what his eye felt like.

Hermione stood up. "Harry," she started in a sensible, yet trembling, voice. Now that it was out in the open, she had found her strength. "I can explain. It happened when you were hiding from Vol--"

Harry cut her off. "I don't want to hear explanations!" he yelled. Rage was flowing through his veins. His girlfriend had betrayed him. His best friend had betrayed him. He felt his eyes burning, and, knowing they were tears of rage and of hurt, he held them back. Harry Potter did not cry. He sighed, all his emotions coming out in that one breath. Harry stared at Hermione for a couple seconds with a look that mirrored someone who had been slapped across the face, then stalked out of the portrait hole.

Hermione watched him go, unaware of what to do. "Are you okay?" she said to Ron. Looking around, she realized that the fifth years were still in the common room, and she gulped as they stared at her with wide eyes. She was supposed to set a bloody example! Nervously, she turned back to Ron. "Well?" she prompted a bit snappishly. "Are you all right?" He nodded grimly and picked himself from off the floor. He sat back down in the armchair.

"What now?" Hermione said awkwardly, wringing her hands. For once in her life, she was without the answers.

"Well, in the movies I've seen, girl runs after buy, boy forgives girl, and boy never speaks to best friend again," Ron said solemnly.

Hermione bit her lip and sighed. "Ron, he'll talk to you," she said, but her voice couldn't convince him.

"Just go find Harry."

Hermione nodded and left the common room. Right outside the portrait hole, she stopped. Where would Harry have gone? Certainly he wouldn't have gone outside as it was snowing and he was wearing just a t-shirt? Chewing her lip, Hermione walked down the corridors, thinking of where to search. A lightbulb turned on in her brain, and she quickened her pace to the Room of Requirement. She paced in front of it three times, and entered.

There was a large bed in the middle of the room, with white fluffy pillows. The smell of roses scented the air, and Hermione inhaled deeply, sighing with content. Then, remembering that she needed to find Harry, she arched her shoulders and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

The next place she checked was the Owlery, but Harry wasn't there, either. Luna Lovegood was, though, and she appeared to be trying to pat Hedwig, but the white owl just looked at her reproachfully. "Luna," said Hermione, not taking time to notice that Luna's hair was tied up in an extremely complicated twist and she was wearing cork earrings, "have you seen Harry?"

Luna drew her hand back from Hedwig, who had just nipped at her fingers. "Oh," she said sadly. She slowly faced Hermione with a dreamy expression. "Harry's owl doesn't like me."

Hermione was about to respond that Harry's owl didn't much like anyone, but she shook her head. "Have you seen Harry? It's urgent."

Luna contemplated, tapping her nose for effect. "The last time I saw him this morning in the Great Hall. Sorry." She didn't sound sorry, really, as she was engaged to trying to pet Hedwig again.

Hermione looked the owl curiously, thinking maybe she knew where Harry was, but Hedwig sent her a look that had to have been a glare. Hermione swallowed at how perceptive that owl was, and walked out of the Owlery.

Hermione nearly bumped into Dennis Creevey on her way out. The fourth year had a letter in one hand, and a plate of pastries in the other. "Want one, Hermione?" he asked her, holding the plate out toward her.

But before he could say anything else, Hermione had dashed away and was heading for the kitchens. When she tickled the pear and went through, her shoulders slumped in disappointment. Harry wasn't there, either. Damn.

"Hermione!" said a voice. Ginny Weasley was walking in her direction, a concerned look on her face. "What is wrong with Harry?"

"Harry? You've seen him?"

"Yes, he said he was going for a walk to think. He looked really angry and hurt. Did you two have a row?"

"Did he say where?"

"Hermione, are you going to tell me what happened?" Ginny pressed.

"Later...just, where is he?"

"Outside, I think."

"Thanks, Ginny!"

Hermione rushed off. Harry would most likely have headed to the Quidditch pitch, so that's where she walked. Why did this have to happen to me? she thought. Things like this aren't supposed to happen to me. I'm the sensible one, the logical one. Why me? I don't want a baby! Another voice popped into her brain. It's your own fault, it said.

She was so consumed in her thoughts she ran right into someone. "Where's the rest of the Mod Squad Ms. Granger?" it said silkily.

"Who knows?" she retorted nastily, glaring up at Professor Snape, which was very un-Hermione like.

"Five points from Gryffindor. I suggest you head back to your dormitories, unless you want another five taken for loitering."

Hermione rolled her eyes and shoved past him. "Yeah, whatever slimeball!" she muttered.

When she arrived at the Quidditch Pitch, she saw Harry was nowhere to be found. Puzzled, she thought of where else he might go if he wanted to escape from everyone. The snow crunched under her feet as she made her way toward Hagrid's hut. It was freezing cold outside, but she didn't notice.

She knocked on the door several times. The familiar, friendly form of Hagrid came to the door. He opened his mouth to speak, but she shook her head. "Have you seen Harry?" she inquired immediately.

Hagrid looked slightly put out, but he stepped aside. "'e's in 'ere," he said. Hermione walked through the door and saw Harry sitting at the table with tea in front of him.

"I don't want to talk to you," he said nastily, avoiding her eyes and keeping his gaze on the teacup. She had hurt him so much. He couldn't bear to look at her.

Hermione, put her hands on her hips. That's mature, she thought sarcastically to herself. True, she was the one that had started this whole mess, but the least he could do was approach the situation like an adult. "Well, I'm not going anywhere," she said heatedly.

Harry raised his eyes to look at her. He hair was slightly disheveled, her cheeks were flushed, and her brown eyes were filled with annoyance. A fresh wave of anger washed over him as he stared at her. Who was she to just storm in here and shove aside his feelings like this? "Fine, I will," he said, vaguely aware that he was being a bit childish, and with that he walked out of the hut and into the snow. New flakes were beginning to fall.

Completely ignoring the confused look on Hagrid's face, Hermione ran after him, trying to keep up with Harry's long strides. "Where do you think you're going?" she called after him.

"Away from you," Harry yelled over his shoulder.

Hermione stopped. This was getting ridiculous. Completely and utterly ridiculous. If Harry didn't want to at least talk about the whole, thing, then that was his problem. "Fine!" she yelled angrily, crossing her arms.

"Fine!"

"Well...well...fine!" Great comeback Granger, she thought. She shivered. She was exhausted and the castle was so far away... She walked in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. She would just sit up against a tree for a little while. Nothing wrong with that. She sat down in the snow, and leaned up against a tree. Why me? she thought.

She sighed heavily, and without meaning to, fell asleep.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Harry trudged through the snow, eyes burning. He was the most angry he had ever been in his life, and he had the feeling that he would be angry for a very long time. He had spent months in hiding, and this was how he welcomed back? To find that his best friend had slept with his girlfriend?

Instinctively, he brought a hand to his forehead and placed it over his scar, as he always did when he was upset. He rubbed the lightning bolt shaped mark furiously, so that his head hurt. Perhaps he would have a headache later, but that was better than feeling the way he was now.

Shivering from the cold, Harry ran up to the castle, and banged open the doors. Stepping inside, he noticed that people were staring at him because he had done it so forcefully. Or were they staring at him because they already knew? Were they looking at him with pity?

No, stop being paranoid - nobody knows, he tried to comfort himself. But they will know, eventually.

Hurriedly, he escaped from the stares, highly aware that his whole face was beet red, and burning with humiliation. Harry didn't know exactly where he was headed, but before he knew it, he was standing outside the door to the kitchens.

He tickled the pair, but instead of laughing, it shrieked painfully. "Sorry," he muttered, realizing that he had probably tickled it just a little too hard. The pair glared at him, and Harry glared back - just his luck, he had been betrayed and a stupid pair was giving him the evil eye. "Are you going to open up?" he said annoyed.

The pair didn't respond, and Harry resisted the urge to jab the green fruit with his finger. A tugging on his trousers made Harry look down, and he came face to face with Dobby the house elf. Several hats were piled onto his head, and he wore a pair of different patterned socks on his feet and ears. He was also carrying a figure that Harry realized was Winky. The toga she was wearing was covered in wet spots and there was dirt all over it - clearly it hadn't been washed in weeks. A butterbeer bottle dangled limply from her thin, bony fingers.

"Harry Potter sir, you is coming to visit Dobby!" said Dobby excitedly.

Harry nodded. "What's with Winky?" he asked, still irritated.

"Winky is still getting drunk, not because she misses her master, sir, but since she is addicted to it. We is coming from the Room of Requirement!" He smiled sadly, and reached up on his tiptoes to tickle the pear, and it giggled shrilly, and the door swung open - but Harry didn't miss the dirty look it gave him.

"Oh bugger off," he mumbled, following Dobby and Winky into the kitchens. Dobby laid Winky down on a very small, very round table, and snapped his fingers. With a loud cracking noise, a blanket appeared in his hands, and he placed it over her. Harry sat down at the table, hoping Dobby would distract him somehow from thoughts of Hermione and Ron - they were too painful.

"You is looking sad, sir. Why is you sad?" said Dobby anxiously, walking over to Harry.

Harry, who had calmed down considerably as the initial shock had vanished, felt himself getting angry again. He felt his face start to burn again, and imagined shaking Hermione very hard and hitting Ron again. Harry placed his head down to the smooth surface of the table, which, for some reason, signaled Dobby to start dashing around the kitchens to prepare him food.

"No, Dobby, I really don't need..." started Harry in a shaky voice, but the elf had already set down a large plate of sandwiches in front of him, along with a pitcher of butterbeer and a tray of pastries. He glared down at Dobby, who was staring up at hopefully, and Harry felt a stab of guilt in his gut. The house elf was only trying to help him and here, he was, taking out the rage he felt at Ron and Hermione on him. "Sorry," he sighed, reaching out for a sandwich.

He took a bite, but he could hardly taste the turkey and cheese, and his throat was so dry that when he swallowed, it hurt like hell. But Dobby was still staring at him avidly, and he felt he had to continue eating. Pleasing Dobby was something that was a part of him, just as pleasing everyone else. He thought he had been pleasing Hermione well enough, but obviously he hadn't been if she had run off with Ron.

You hardly please your girlfriend when you're in hiding from an evil wizard, he thought. This was a reasonable explanation, but Harry was not in the mood to be reasonable - rather, he was determined to stay angry. What did it matter if he was in hiding? If Hermione had really loved him, she wouldn't have cheated on him, at all.

He threw down his sandwich in disgust, and Dobby squeaked, "Is there something wrong with the food, Harry Potter, sir? Is you angry? Why is you angry?"

"N-Nothing, Dobby," Harry said through gritted teeth. "I'm fine. See?" With shaking hands, he picked up another sandwich and held it up to show Dobby.

"Harry Potter, sir, you is smushing the sandwich," said Dobby, looking nervous.

Harry looked at the sandwich at his hands and saw that, indeed, he was squashing the sandwich. A bit of mayonnaise was on his wrist, and the cheese and turkey seemed ready to fall out of the bread. "You know what, Dobby? I am mad."

"Why?"

"Because, you know 'My Wheezy'?" he said, using sarcasm to emphasize the last two words, "he slept with my girlfriend. Some friend, eh?" Harry, not able to restrain himself any longer, threw the sandwich across the room, then lifted the tray of pastries and threw that, too.

Dobby looked upset, as the food went flying and the dishes clattered against the wall. "I have more to eat," he squeaked, his tennis ball eyes widening. Harry clenched his fists as he stared at the pastries all over the floor and wall, and, through his anger, a wave of guilt surged over him as he turned back to Dobby. The elf was now holding his hands over his face, as though afraid Harry would throw something at him, too.

Harry closed his eyes, trying to shut out his pain, and clutched at his scar, which was prickling unpleasantly. The prickling no longer signaled Voldemort's mood or proximity, but Harry's own mood. When he was feeling irritated or angry, it began to prickle. He knew a headache was coming on, and he felt his eyelids burn as tears threatened to spill over them. He held them back determinedly and opened his eyes, straightening his back as way of regaining composure.

"I - I'm sorry, Dobby," he said ashamedly and sincerely, walking over to the far wall of the kitchen. He bent down and picked up a jam tart, throwing it gently into the bin. He could feel his cheeks growing red with embarrassment. Dobby had never really experienced his wrath, and it was clear that Harry had scared him. "Really, I am," Harry pressed, swiveling his head back to look at the elf.

Dobby gave a little nod and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing but a squeak came out. While Harry continued to discard of the ruined pastries, he sensed the elf behind him, tossing the sandwiches into the bin.

Harry sniffed, thinking that at least he had one friend.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Ron Weasley paced the Gryffindor room anxiously. Hermione's words kept turning over and over in his brain, so that his whole head felt like lead - and about ready to fall off. After Hermione had left, Ron had denied that she was pregnant - maybe she was doing this to get Harry's attention? Merlin knew that Harry hadn't been giving her the attention she deserved. The attention that I -

He shook his head violently, shaking out those thoughts. Ron had promised himself to never ever think of Hermione as more than a friend and he intended to keep it that way. Besides, Hermione would never deceive Harry like this.

Well, didn't she deceive him when she slept with you? He ignored the thought - Hermione just wouldn't ever lie about being pregnant. Some things you just don't lie about.

You mean like sleeping with your best friend's girlfriend?

Oh, shut up.

Stopping in his pacing for a moment, he rubbed his temples, thinking. Couldn't she be mistaken?

No, she would have performed the charms, he told himself. She is the smartest witch in the year.

Ron couldn't believe this - he couldn't believe it all. When Hermione had said she was pregnant, his stomach had dropped so hard he thought he was going to die from lack of oxygen. And then when she had given him that timid nod, he had seen stars. Harry's fist making rough contact with his eye had only made things worse.

It had all happened in a horrible blur, but Ron could remember it clearly. The pressures welling inside him made him want to hit something but he didn't. His best friend had only come back from hiding a couple of months ago, only to find that he, Ron, had betrayed him.

The hurt and anger - that pitiful look of pain that Harry had turned on him after knocking him to the ground was burned into his mind, and he doubted whether he'd ever rid of it. He didn't even know if he wanted to get rid of it - he had deserved it. Harry had been off fighting Lord Voldemort (Ron shuddered) and he and Hermione had -

Harry was never going to forgive him. Ron felt sick at the very thought and grabbed the arm of the chair for support. He didn't know if he could handle life without Harry as his best friend. He and Harry had been through everything together. Ron tried to smile at the memories, memories of them eating chocolate frogs, memories of him sacrificing himself for Harry, of him traveling through the Forbidden Forest and facing Aragog, of him standing on his broken leg to challenge Sirius Black, of him opening his mouth to apologize after the first task, of him at the Department of Mysteries...

Pull yourself together, Ron told himself. He took a couple of deep breaths and sank back into the armchair, trying to focus solely on one topic to think about. How would his friendship with Hermione and Harry be affected? Would he be a good father? How would he tell his parents? Had Hermione told her parents? Would Harry ever speak to him again? What would everyone else think? Had Hermione found Harry yet? Why were they taking so long?

Ron looked around the common room and found, to his surprise, the three fifth year girls still huddled in their corner. The three of them were whispering to one another, occasionally shooting glances over at him.

"What - hey, get out of here!" he said loudly.

"You don't own the common room," one of them said. She had brown hair.

"Five points from Gryffindor," Ron said angrily.

One of the other girls, a girl with blonde hair, made a noise of outrage at this and tapped her foot. "Unfair!" she said.

"Prefect," Ron said through gritted teeth.

"Prefects can't take away House points for petty reasons," said the girl with brown hair. She indicated a badge on her chest. "I am one. Don't you know the rules?"

"Just let him be, Melanie, he has enough to deal with," spoke up the third girl. She had reddish blonde hair, and Ron remembered she was the one whose nose had caught fire.

Melanie gave Ron a very dirty look and stuck out her tongue at him, then turned on her heel and swept from the common room. The blonde girl started muttering under her breath ("Always getting kicked out of the common room - first by the Head Girl, now by her bloody boyfriend"), but she too made her way up the girls' staircase. The third girl started to walk away as well, but she gave Ron a small smile on her way out.

Ron brought a hand to his eye, which was throbbing horribly. He hadn't noticed it throughout his musings, but now it felt like a Bludger had rammed into his head.

Then he realized that Seamus was lying unconscious on the floor.

"Bloody freaking hell."