Current mood:

hopeful

Fic: Empty Womb, Empty Room (R)
AUTHOR: magnolia_mama
CHALLENGE: #73 -- Ron and Hermione want to have a baby, but they aren't able to conceive a child.
TITLE: Empty Womb, Empty Room
SUMMARY: Propagation of the species is one of our most basic and innate urges. When Nature has other ideas, however, the burden can be unendurable.
WARNING: Hermione suffers a late-term miscarriage.
WORD COUNT: 9,154
RATING: R for language and general sexual themes
NOTES: Abundant thanks to katieay, deviantauthor and texasmagic for readings drafts of this and still agreeing to associate with me in public. :-)

Because of the length, I've put this behind two cuts, breaking the story where the POV switches so you can stop reading to take a bathroom break or refill your coffee cup; the first part is from Ron's POV, and the second is from Hermione's.

DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter universe and everything it encompasses. This is a work of fan fiction, and thus derives no profit or material benefit therefrom.



The resounding pop of an Apparating wizard had not even faded away when Ron bounded up the steps to his front door. He was having the most perfect day: the air was clear and warm, the Cannons were ahead in the standings, he'd got an outstanding performance review from his supervisor at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and he had found the perfect stuffed animal to finish off the nursery he and Hermione had spent the past month decorating. It was an exact duplicate of the teddy bear he'd had as a small boy, and he couldn't wait for his son -- or daughter -- to grab it in its chubby little hands and embrace it the way he had embraced his.

"I'm home!" he called out as he burst through the door, barely able to contain himself. He winced when the door slammed shut behind him. Hermione couldn't bear slammed doors, and would no doubt have a few choice words for him.

Those words never came.

"Hermione?" he called again, his voice softer this time. No one responded. By all appearances the house was completely empty; his steps creaked ominously on the old wooden floorboards. "Hermione, love, are you there?" His ears strained for the slightest sound from upstairs.

Increasingly alarmed, he pulled out his wand and cautiously made his way up the stairs. After checking every room, and the nursery twice, he came back down.

It wasn't like Hermione not to be home at this time of day. Although she continued to work for the legal firm of Goldstein, Goldstein and Granger, she'd reduced her workload to whatever paperwork could be done from home two months ago. After so many years of trying, and so many close calls, once she'd passed the twenty-week mark without incident she'd begun taking every possible precaution. That meant staying off her feet as much as possible, no Apparating or use of a Portkey, and no leaving the house unescorted unless it was to Harry and Ginny's, her parents', or the Burrow. She always left him a note before going, so her unexplained absence was a puzzle.

Uncertain what to do, he took a Butterbeer from the fridge, cracked it open, and sat at the kitchen table. An offended squeak brought him to his feet. With a laugh, he rescued the bear from his back pocket and set it on the table. "Sorry I sat on you, mate," he said, lifting his bottle to the toy in a mock toast before tipping it back for a long pull. The animal just stared at him with its coal-black button eyes.

Their moment of camaraderie was broken by the eruption of green flames from the hearth. Since the Floo Network was the only magical transport available to Hermione in her delicate condition, Ron naturally assumed she was on her way home, and rose to welcome her. Much to his disappointment, however, Harry tumbled out of the fireplace.

"Oh, thank Merlin," he exclaimed as he swept the soot from his robes. "I went to the Ministry an hour ago and they said you'd left, but when I came here earlier you weren't home, and your mum said she hadn't seen you, and --"

"What is it?" Ron asked, dread coiling in his stomach. "What's happened?"

"Something's gone wrong. Hermione's at St. Mungo's."

Not again, Ron thought as the dread slithered its way up to his throat, constricting him so he could barely speak. Please, not again. Not now, not when she's come so far. A glance at Harry's inscrutable face, however, revealed nothing. "What happened?" he croaked.

Harry just grabbed his arm and tugged him towards the hearth. "You'd best come with me," he said. "They can tell you what happened better than I can."

Ron broke free of Harry's grip long enough to grab the bear from the table, then followed him into the Floo Network in another burst of green flames.

* * * * *

Ron had hated St. Mungo's for as long as he could remember. Too often, it had been associated in his mind with death and devastation. Even coming here with Hermione so she could be examined by an obstetric Healer, and hearing his unborn child's heartbeat for the first time, had not been enough to mitigate the feeling of misery that settled over him like a shroud every time he came here.

Harry led him at a brisk pace out of the fireplace and across the foyer through the door that led to the patient wards. Ron was desperate to ask him what had happened, to find out what Harry knew but was reluctant to tell, but he couldn't help clinging to the belief that the longer he remained ignorant, the less likely his worst fears would be realized. He clutched the stuffed bear to his chest as he followed Harry upstairs, hoping against hope that everyone was simply overreacting.

When he saw Ginny, his father, and his in-laws standing in a huddle outside a closed door at the end of the corridor, however, his heart sank. Bringing Muggles into St. Mungo's was a complicated procedure undertaken only in the worst of crises; if the Grangers were here, then the news must be very bad indeed.

Ginny turned and saw the two men headed towards her. "Thank goodness you found him!" she said to Harry as she came forward to embrace Ron. Her chin trembled and her eyes were shiny when she looked up at him. "She's been awake for about ten minutes now, asking for you."

Ron pulled back and grasped her by her elbows. "Ginny, please, you have to tell me -- what happened?"

She shook her head and stepped back, breaking free. "Just go in and see her, Ron."

His shoulders slumped. He hazarded a glance at his in-laws, but there was no news forthcoming from them, either. His frustration was rapidly reaching a boiling point, to the point that he wanted to rage, to hit someone, to hex something. Instead, he took a deep breath and opened the door.

The curtains had been drawn over the windows, leaving the room enveloped in dimness. Ron heard a faint patter against the windowpane and realized it must have started raining since he left home.

On a bed near the far wall, Hermione lay on her side, her back to him. A lamp on the bedside table cast a golden circle of light on the pillow beneath her head. On the other side of the bed sat an empty, straight-backed chair.

Ron winced as the click of the door closing seemed to echo through the room. Hermione stiffened at the sound, then half-turned towards him. He could see the glint of wetness on her cheeks reflected in the lamplight. Dread slithered within him once again, awakened by the sight of her delicately pale, blotchy face framed by an unholy mass of brown hair. He hurried to her side, scooting the chair as close to the bed as he could get and taking her hand in both of his.

"What happened, Hermione?" he whispered, almost afraid to speak.

She sniffled. "I'm so sorry, Ron."

He reached forward to tuck a lock of hair away from her face. "Sorry about what, love?" He tried to smile at her, but it felt so unnatural to do so he thought his face might crack. "You didn't try to use Mum's antique sewing machine again, did you?"

A mewling sound escaped from her throat as she shook her head. "I - I lost the baby."

The dread that had risen up in him, its hood unfurled, now struck, sinking its fangs deep into his heart. In truth, this was the news he had feared the moment he saw Harry emerge from his fireplace, but having expected it made it no easier to hear.

They'd tried for years without success to have a baby. A year after they were married, Hermione declared her desire to stop using contraception and start a family. Though the very idea of raising a child terrified him, Ron was only too happy to give her what she wanted. They made love with abandon, wherever and whenever the mood struck. Fred, who had caught them in flagrante not only once, but three times, had even taken to calling them the "rutting Weasleys", though never when his mother or Hermione were in earshot.

Yet despite all their enthusiastic coupling, Hermione's menstrual cycle remained as stubbornly predictable as ever. Meanwhile, Harry and Ginny's brood increased on what seemed to be a yearly basis. Just before their fifth child was born, Hermione dragged a reluctant and embarrassed Ron to a Healer who specialized in infertility. For two years they were subjected to a battery of spells and potions, including one particularly foul-smelling swill that made all of Ron's body hair fall out. Despite the endless indignities he and Hermione endured, however, none of the spells or potions bore fruit.

Undaunted, Hermione then decided to turn to Muggle science. Losing his hair had been a mere irritation compared to what those crackpots put him through. Sex with Hermione lost all pleasure as he was called upon to perform any time her body temperature reached a certain level -- a demand that frequently required him to invent clever excuses to leave work -- and to fulfill his procreative duty in a variety of alternatingly ridiculous and uncomfortable positions. When Ron found himself locked in a small room with a plastic cup and a stack of glossy Muggle magazines depicting naked women flaunting their intimate bits for all the world to see, however, he knew that his pride had hit rock-bottom. So he flung the empty cup at the smirking attendant and fled, too distraught to bother with concealing his Apparition from passing Muggles.

As only she could, Hermione convinced him to return to the clinic, though it hadn't been easy. In the end, it was his profound love for her and wish to help her fulfill her desire to have a baby that brought him back. He refused to use the clinic's resources to provide the samples they required, however, and so, once a month, he would lie back on their bed and fantasize about a plump, full-breasted, wide-hipped, smiling Hermione surrounded by a host of children while her expert hands coaxed him to orgasm. Once they'd cleaned up they would then Apparate to the clinic, where Ron would endure the agony of watching the doctor insert a long needle into Hermione's flat abdomen and slowly depress the plunger, implanting Ron's sperm directly into her uterus.

At first, Ron feared that Muggle science would prove no more successful than magic. Then, one glorious fall day, Hermione informed him that her period was late, the first time that had happened since it first began its monthly appearance when she was in her early teens. He'd been so ecstatic the next day he spent almost an entire week's salary on baby clothes. Three weeks later, when the cramping began, and then the bleeding, they'd both been devastated. The doctor reassured them that this was not an unexpected setback, given the troubles they'd experienced from the beginning, and urged them to try again as soon as they were ready.

For two more years Ron felt as though his life had become a pendulum, swinging constantly between the extremes of elation and despair as Hermione would become pregnant, then miscarry before the first trimester had ended. He clung stubbornly to hope, however, as each time she managed to carry the child a little bit longer than before. He knew, though, that she wouldn't be able to continue like this forever; her already petite frame had grown almost gaunt, and not even magic could hide the deepening shadows under her eyes. He wanted to tell her to stop punishing herself, that there were other ways to have a family, but he feared even the slightest bit of resignation on his part would push her over the edge. So he remained silent and hoped for a miracle.

That miracle came this winter, when Hermione passed through the first trimester without incident. Soon her belly began to take on a roundness that had not been there before, her face began to fill out, her narrow hips began to widen, and her breasts felt heavier in his large hands. He was afraid to touch her, fearing the worst, but when one night she grabbed his hand and pressed it to her stomach and he felt the first faint fluttering of a new life, he couldn't contain his joy. That night they made love for what felt like the first time in years.

When panic set in the next morning, it took all the persuasive powers in the doctor's arsenal to convince Ron that, yes, it was perfectly safe to have sex with one's pregnant wife, and that, given all they'd suffered, the mood enhancement doing so would bring would be very beneficial to both Hermione and their child. He did, however, recommend Hermione spend as much time on bed rest as possible.

Ron's innate protective instincts took control; he became like a man possessed. He knew the rules he laid down for where Hermione could go, and when, and under what circumstances, and what she could do on her own and what she couldn't do without supervision, drove her crazy, but she bore his obsession with good humor. He took great pride in attending to her needs, caring for her with the assiduousness he had learned at his mother's feet as she cared for his baby sister.

Ron also insisted Hermione return to magical care for the duration of her pregnancy. He would remain forever grateful to Muggle medicine for the miracle it gave them, but he just didn't trust it. Hermione tried to reason with him, but that was one argument she couldn't win.

When they learned Ginny was herself pregnant again, and due to give birth not long after Hermione, the two women drew even closer than before. Relieved that Hermione had someone she could share this experience with -- and someone she could turn to for first-hand knowledge and advice -- Ron relaxed the restrictions somewhat and encouraged Hermione to spend as much time with Ginny and her children as possible.

The best part about Hermione's pregnancy, as far as Ron was concerned, was the sex. While she had always been responsive to him, even in her most unfettered moments she could never completely let go of her primness. Now, though, she became an entirely different person in bed. It was scary and brilliant at the same time. Ron had briefly been tempted to ask Harry if it had been the same for him, then realized that was a hell of a lot more about his sister than he ever wanted to know. So he just relaxed and let himself enjoy it.

Now, though, he realized as he clutched Hermione's cold fingers in his shaking hands, all of that had been snatched away from him. He didn't think he could go through any more of this, which would mean Hermione's distress must be many times more unbearable. He couldn't stand the thought of saying no to her, but no child could be worth this much suffering and loss.

"Ginny had come over for tea," she was telling him, stumbling over the words as she tried to keep her sobs in check. "She'd brought the children with her, and they'd all gone outside to play. Ginny was telling me about a spell to ease muscle spasms when the cramps started. She thought maybe they were Braxton-Hicks contractions, but I knew." She reached out to grasp the edge of his robe. "I knew, Ron. I knew even before I got here that the baby was gone."

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the tips of her fingers. "There wasn't anything they could do to save it?"

"Her," she whispered, shaking her head. "Our baby was a girl. A perfectly formed little girl, except that she was dead."

"Do the Healers know what happened?"

She shook her head again. "They want to do a post-mortem, but I told them to wait until you got here." She looked at him with tears spilling out of her soft brown eyes. "I thought you might want a chance to hold our daughter first."

Ron swallowed noisily. He hadn't been prepared for that. He was no stranger to holding tiny infants, having cradled his nieces and nephews more times than he could count over the years. The idea of holding his own child's dead body in his arms, however, was a bit more than he was willing to endure, even for Hermione's sake.

"I'll see what the Healer has to say," he said, releasing her hand and standing up. "I need to find out when I can take you home anyway." She simply nodded.

He looked down at her pallid face and had to fight back the urge to scoop her up in his arms and Apparate with her to the other side of the world, where no one knew them and where no one could pity them. Instead, he took the stuffed bear from his pocket and nestled it against Hermione's chest. She looked at it rather quizzically at first, then gave Ron a wan smile and slowly closed her eyes.

Ron rested his hand on her head, gently stroking her hair. "I'll be back as soon as I can, love," he murmured, then left.

* * * * *

The gathering outside Hermione's room had noticeably thinned when Ron stepped out into the corridor. His father and Ginny had both gone, probably to attend to the demands of their own families, leaving Harry and the Grangers waiting. Also there was a tall, stoop-shouldered man with wiry gray hair and a bulbous nose whom Ron recognized as the obstetric Healer. Ron squared his shoulders and approached them.

"How is she, Ron?" Mrs. Granger asked. She held a handkerchief in her hands that she twisted and knotted between her fingers. Ron could tell from its limp, bedraggled state that it had been used to dry many tears today. "How's Hermione?"

He briefly considered lying to them, assuring them that this was a temporary setback, that Hermione would be back on her feet in no time. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. "She's in pretty bad shape," he said. Before either of the Grangers could press him for details, he turned to the Healer. "Can I have a word in private?"

He nodded and followed Ron several yards down the corridor. Harry gently ushered the Grangers in the opposite direction. As soon as he felt safe enough to speak openly, Ron turned on the Healer. "What the hell happened? Everything had been going so well. She saw you just last week and you assured us everything was progressing normally. What happened?"

The Healer removed his glasses and polished them on the edge of his robes before carefully settling them back on his nose. While he waited for an answer Ron seethed, fighting the compulsion to slam his fist into the nearest surface, be it a wall or, even better, the Healer's face. When he finally spoke, his response did nothing to soothe Ron's anger and frustration.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, 'I don't know'? You're the bloody expert!"

"Believe me, Mr. Weasley, where your wife is concerned, I have put my expertise to the test and found it shamefully lacking. Occasionally, we will stumble across a medical mystery that cannot be solved by any means available to us, be they magical or Muggle. Mrs. Weasley's inability to carry a child to term appears to be just such a mystery."

Ron could feel the day's stubble scrape the skin of his palm when he scrubbed his hands over his face. "So what you're saying is -- if I'm hearing you correctly -- is that Hermione and I will never be able to have children?"

The Healer propped his elbow on a nearby windowsill and ran his fingers through his hair. "If you two were to keep at it, she might be able to carry a child long enough for it to survive outside her womb, if delivered prematurely. However, I would strongly discourage you from taking that course of action. The later in your wife's pregnancy she miscarries, the more difficult her recovery will be. Not only that, but as she ages the risk of birth defects increases. That risk becomes even greater when you factor in premature delivery."

Ron's breath escaped with an audible 'whoof' as he slumped against the wall. "Why?" he moaned. "Why did this happen to us?"

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Weasley," the Healer said. "I wish I had better news for you."

Ron blinked away the tears that stung at the corners of his eyes and looked blearily at the Healer. "Does Hermione know yet? Does she know she'll likely never be able to have a child?"

"Not yet."

"Then don't tell her yet. Something like that... that can wait until morning."

"If you wish." Ron nodded. "Very well. I need to examine Mrs. Weasley one more time and give her a Dreamless Sleep Draught to help her rest before I do the post-mortem." He glanced at Ron. "Do you wish to hold your daughter before I--?" Ron's faint shudder seemed to be all the answer he required, and he nodded in acknowledgement. "You're welcome to spend a few more minutes with your wife, but I would advise you to go home and get some sleep. The next few weeks are going to be very trying for both of you."

"When can she come home?"

"Tomorrow morning, if there are no complications during the night."

"You'll let me know if there are any?"

"Of course, Mr. Weasley."

"Okay. Thank you for all your help."

The Healer extended his hand, apparently to touch Ron on the shoulder, but then withdrew it. "I deeply regret the misfortune you and your wife have suffered."

Ron watched the Healer enter Hermione's room. His throat and eyes burned with unshed tears. Inside, he felt as if his heart had been torn to shreds. He'd always been rather ambivalent about having children, but having had the choice wrenched from his grasp was beyond frustrating. Even more so was watching the effect their repeated failures had on Hermione's spirit. He'd seen the lingering, longing looks she would give Ginny as she grew large with each successive child and known, without having to ask, how persistently her feelings of inadequacy gnawed at Hermione. This was an obstacle that not even her cleverness or his determination could surmount.

"You okay, mate?" a soft voice said beside him.

Ron turned to see Harry studying him. "Never better," he said dully.

"Is there anything Ginny or I can do? D'you want to kip at our place tonight?"

Ron shook his head. "No, I'll be fine." He glanced around. "Where are Hermione's parents?"

"I escorted them to the entrance," Harry explained. "There's an Underground stop just around the corner, so they should be on their way home by now."

"Thanks, mate," Ron said. "Reckon I'm going to have to explain what's going on to them sooner or later."

Harry clasped his shoulder. "Later will do. There's a Muggle pub not far from here; why don't you let me treat you to a pint?"

"A pint sounds bloody brilliant right now."

As he had just over an hour ago, Ron let Harry lead the way, retracing their steps out of St. Mungo's. When they passed through the door that opened out on to Muggle London, Ron was surprised to see that it was dark. The rain that had fallen earlier had stopped, leaving small puddles that reflected the light of streetlamps and splashed beneath his feet as he and Harry walked through them. Feeling a chill seep beneath his skin, he wrapped his arms around his torso and hurried to keep up with Harry. He was glad when he saw the warm, golden glow cast from a coach lantern that hung beside a sign heralding the Bull and Lion, so he followed Harry inside.

The pub was small and cozy, with sturdy wooden booths polished by decades of patrons' well-padded bums. A billiards table took up one end and a stone fireplace the other; perched on a platform above the bar was a telly tuned to some Muggle sport Ron didn't recognize. While Ron took a seat in an empty booth near the fireplace Harry went up to the bar to fetch their drinks.

A few minutes later, a glass filled nearly to the top with dark brown liquid topped with just a sliver of foam slid in front of him. "Cheers," Harry said.

Ron looked up to see him tip his glass back and raised his own in response. "Down the hatch."

* * * * *

Ron wasn't sure how late it was when he tripped and fell to his knees while climbing his back steps; if Hermione weren't in St. Mungo's, he'd have got a tongue-lashing for coming home at such a late hour. And despite his clumsiness, he wasn't pissed, though he almost wished he were. He'd sat in the pub for several hours, nursing his beer while talking about anything and everything under the sun except children or Hermione. In a way, it was just what the Healer had prescribed. He desperately needed the distraction and Harry, bless Merlin, had come through in spades. As envious as he was of the countless ways the wheel of fate had turned in Harry's favor, Ron knew he was doubly blessed to have Harry as a friend.

But Harry had a family to return home to, so Ron reluctantly bade him farewell and Apparated back to his empty house.

The silence was oppressive. After turning on all the table lamps, Ron aimed his wand at the wireless set and activated it. At this late hour, most of the music consisted of what George called "shagging music," but Ron didn't care if they played mermaid song; he just wanted noise.

The Butterbeer he'd opened that afternoon when he returned home from work -- before his world had been turned upside down and inside out -- still sat on the kitchen table. It was warm, but he didn't care. He took several long swallows.

As he tilted his head back to drain the last of the bottle, Ron spotted the curved newel post at the bottom of the staircase out of the corner of his eye. He knew he was going to have to climb those stairs sooner or later, and he knew once he did the first room he would see would be the nursery. The nursery that he and Hermione had so lovingly furnished, all for naught; the nursery that would remain forever empty.

"Fuck," he groaned. Then, louder, "Fuck!" With a snarl he threw the bottle. It smashed into hundreds of pieces when it hit the wall. Ron grinned with malicious satisfaction. Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he hurtled up the stairs to stand at the door to the nursery. "Fuck," he whispered, just before he crumpled to the floor in a flood of tears.




Hermione gingerly lowered herself into the bath. The water was so hot it felt almost cold against her skin, but she hardly noticed the tell-tale prickling. She just wanted to deaden the emptiness she felt inside.

The flesh on her lower abdomen was loose and saggy. A mediwitch had attempted to tone it up, to restore her belly to its pre-pregnancy tautness, but Hermione had snatched the wand from the woman's hand before she'd finished the spell and nearly snapped it. "Leave it," she'd said.

She ached all over, though the worst of it was between her legs, her breasts, and her lower back. For such a tiny thing brought forth after such an abbreviated labor, her daughter hadn't been painless to deliver. First the Healers had given Hermione a potion to arrest the contractions, then, when it quickly became obvious the labor was too far gone, they gave her another potion to accelerate delivery in the hopes of rescuing the baby as soon as she made her appearance. Yet Hermione had known long before then that it was hopeless. As illogical as it seemed, she'd known from the moment the first contraction hit that something was terribly wrong.

After nearly twelve years of trying and nearly seven months of pure bliss, all she had to show for it was a string of failures, a tender perineum, a sagging belly and a feeling of emptiness she knew could never be filled.

She thought she'd cried herself out last night, after Ron had left and the Healer had examined her still distended, empty uterus one last time. Clearly she hadn't, for fresh tears spilled out of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

"Hermione?" came Ron's worried voice from the other side of the closed door. "Are you okay?" The door rattled in its frame and the knob creaked as he tried to turn it. "Hermione, open the door, please."

His concern only made the tears flow more freely, but she managed to pick up her wand and unlock the door with a nonverbal command. Though she knew her naked body was nothing new to him, the loose folds across her abdomen made her feel self-conscious, so she pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them tightly.

"I'm all right," she said as she wiped a hand across her cheeks and sniffled.

He lowered the toilet lid and sat down to study her. "Bollocks."

She smiled in spite of herself. "Language," she chided him gently.

He pursed his lips and she tensed, waiting for his smart retort, but he surprised her by blowing his breath out with a great heave of his shoulders. He then knelt on the floor beside the bath, picked up the washcloth she'd draped over the edge, and began to soap her shoulders in large circles. She realized how tightly knotted the muscles in her neck and back must be as his touch, tender at first, grew more firm, and closed her eyes and tried to relax.

Unfortunately, behind the curtain of her closed eyelids her overactive brain assaulted her thoughts with images of her dead child, perfectly formed, yet so tiny, so blue, and so cold. When the mediwitch had handed over the still form, carefully swaddled in a blanket, Hermione had instinctively brought it up to her breast. Only at the last second had she remembered that this child could no longer take nourishment from her.

The dam burst with a gush of sobs. Ron, heedless of the water that drenched his shirt and trousers, scooped her up in his strong, capable arms and held her tightly, his deep voice crooning words of comfort as he carried her away.

* * * * *

When Hermione awoke she found herself snugly bundled in their bed and twilight sifting in through the curtains. She vaguely remembered Ron drying her off and dressing her in knickers and a nightdress made whisper-soft by years of washings before tucking her in. He'd lain beside her for a while, his arm pulling her against him as she shuddered and sobbed while his fingers worked through the knots in her hair. As wakefulness descended upon her, however, she realized that he'd been gone for a while; his side of the bed was cool and unmussed.

She rolled over with a groan. On top of the aches and tenderness left over from yesterday's ordeal, she also had a terrible headache from crying herself to sleep. Ron seemed to have anticipated this however, for he had left a glass of water and two tablets of Igraine's Migraine Malady Cure on the bedside table. As she sat up to take the medicine, Hermione saw that he had also slipped a note under the glass.


Got called in to work. Shouldn't be gone long. Don't exert yourself.

Love, Ron


Hermione tossed the tablets to the back of her throat and washed them down with several swallows of water, grimacing at the taste of boiled cabbage the pills had been laced with, and then pulled on her dressing gown. As she made her way downstairs, she found it necessary to grip the banister rail tightly, because her headache made her dizzy and also because she was still weak. Walking downstairs pulled her aggrieved muscles in directions they'd rather not go.

A light had been left on in the kitchen. Under the faint glow of a Warming Charm sat a plate of food and, beside it, another note:


Mum sent over an owl with a couple of pot pies to tide us over for the next few days. There's more in the fridge if you want it. I'll be home soon as I can.

Love, Ron


Although food was the last thing on her mind, Hermione knew Ron would fuss if he came home and found it uneaten, so she removed the Warming Charm and sat down to eat a few half-hearted bites. She was just about to Banish the rest to the rubbish bin when she heard the roar of flames in the hearth.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

She didn't recognize the voice right away. Curious to see who was calling at this hour, she knotted the sash of her dressing gown and went into the sitting room.

The head of Anthony Goldstein, one of her law partners, sat surrounded by flames in her fireplace. "Hermione!" he exclaimed when he saw her. "I didn't expect to see you up. I hope I haven't disturbed you."

"Not at all," she said as she gingerly sat on the settee. "Is something the matter?"

"D'you mind if I come in?" he asked. "Seeing as you're up and about, I have something for you."

"Of course," she said, her curiosity mounting.

His head disappeared momentarily, only to be replaced by all of him as he stepped out of the fireplace and into her sitting room. He had a large bouquet of flowers in one hand and an accordion file in the other. "Terribly sorry to disturb you like this," he said, handing her the bouquet. "They're from me and Dad. I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," she said, using the motion of turning to set them on the table behind the settee to school her features to hide her whirling emotions. She hoped he didn't notice her wince or hear her sharp gasp as the movement pulled at her muscles. "Tell Reuben thank you as well. Now, what's so urgent you're willing to risk Ron's wrath?"

He pulled a face as he took a seat opposite her and snapped off the elastic band around the accordion file. "I feel absolutely terrible about this, coming here tonight, after what you've just been through," he said. "I know my timing is dreadful. But we got this new client yesterday --"

Hermione sat up, her interest piqued despite her melancholy and fatigue. "What sort of case?"

Anthony grinned and took out a sheaf of parchment. "The sort that you can sink your teeth into," he said. "A house-elf is petitioning for manumission on grounds of cruelty and mistreatment."

"Really?" She automatically reached for the bundle. "Who is it -- is it one of the elves we've been working on?"

"No. That's what makes it all so astounding. This one came to use from a family we didn't even know had any house-elves in its employ."

"Hm." She tried scrutinizing the text on the top sheet, but the words swam before her eyes. "I'm afraid I'm not in much condition to look at these tonight, but --"

Anthony jumped to his feet. "Oh, naturally! I didn't mean to imply you had to right away --"

"So there's no rush?"

"Not as yet, no. The elf -- Fleeble -- says her family is on holiday in Morocco for another month."

Hermione smiled and laid the parchment on the settee next to her. "Good, that gives us ample time to build a case. I really appreciate your bringing this to me tonight, Anthony. I'll be certain to get started on this first thing in the morning."

"I know how passionate you've always been about elf rights. When Fleeble came in this morning, it was all I could do not to send you an owl then and there."

"Ron would have flayed you alive if you had."

"So would've my dad. I had to wait until he left work before coming over here."

Hermione was about to comment when she heard a pop and Ron's familiar tread on the porch. "Oh, dear," she murmured.

Anthony turned just in time to see Ron enter through the kitchen door. Ron froze on the threshold, his gaze shifting back and forth between Hermione and Anthony. Hermione could see how Ron's knuckles had turned white as he gripped the doorknob.

Finally, Ron spoke. "What brings you here, Goldstein?"

Caught off guard, Anthony stammered, "Er... Ah... Y'see..."

"Anthony brought some flowers from him and his father," Hermione said. She took the bouquet from behind her and held it out to Ron for his inspection. "Aren't they lovely?"

"Beautiful," Ron said, his gaze never leaving Anthony. "But it's late, and my wife has been through a terrible nightmare. I think you should go now."

Hermione suppressed a sigh as Anthony hurriedly gathered up his things. "Right, yes of course, so terribly sorry," he said. He made a movement towards the parchment he'd handed to her earlier, but she shook her head and stuffed them behind the cushion she was leaning against. "By the way," he added, glancing nervously at Ron, "Dad says not to come back until you're ready. Take as much time as you need."

"Thank you, Anthony. I really appreciate that. Give Reuben my best."

"Will do." He turned to Ron and seemed about to extend his hand, and then apparently thought better of it when he saw Ron's glower. Instead he muttered, "Good night," took a pinch of Floo powder from the bowl on the mantel and, in a burst of green flames, disappeared.

The flames had just died down when Ron said, "Let's see them."

"See what, Ron?"

"I saw you hide some parchment behind that cushion. Hand them over."

Hermione folded her arms across her chest. "I'll do no such thing."

He sighed. "Hermione, I know you. The Healer said you need time to regain your strength, and I intend to see that you take it."

"How much strength could it possibly take to read a few forms?"

"Don't be so thick," he said. She spluttered as he continued, "It's not just about physical strength and you know it. What… happened took a toll on your emotional and mental strength as well."

"Are you suggesting I'm mental now?"

The muscles in his cheek jumped as he clenched his jaw. "If you refuse to give yourself time to get over this, then, yes, you are mental."

"'This'?" she cried. "Listen to you, Ron! You can't even name 'it'! Our baby died yesterday! If I'm such an emotional cripple, then why am I the only one who can speak of it out loud? For Merlin's sake, we've been trying for nearly twelve years to have a baby, and what do we have to show for it? Nothing!"

"Hermione..." Ron groaned. His voice quavered. "Don't try to tell me that you're all of a sudden recovered. I know --"

"You know nothing. You have no idea --"

"How can I have lived with you -- loved you -- all these years and not know what it's done to you? You're not the only one who's been hurt by this --"

"There you go again with your damn useless euphemisms."

"Bloody hell, would you stop trying to change the subject?"

"You stop trying to avoid the truth."

His eyes narrowed and grew flinty. "You're a fine one to talk, sneaking around behind my back."

"I wasn't sneaking!"

"You tried to hide the fact that you're working, when you should be resting."

She heaved a sigh and looked up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly to stop the tears from coming. "I don't want to rest. It's too quiet. I need to keep my mind occupied." She looked pleadingly at Ron. "I'll go mad, just sitting around here all day."

He slowly sank down on the settee next to her and took her hand, cradling it between both of his. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I wouldn't have left you alone today if it hadn't been urgent."

She squeezed his fingers. "I know. You can't afford to take too much time off work, anyway. Since I haven't been able to work as much, we need the money."

"Would it help if you had someone to keep you company? Mum, perhaps, or maybe Ginny?"

Sometimes she wondered if Ron was truly that thick, or if it was all a front. Sometimes his perceptiveness took her by surprise. Sadly, this was not one of those times. "Your mother, who successfully gave birth to and raised seven children, or your sister, who is currently bursting with her eighth child? No, I don't think that would be such a good idea."

His face was red. "Sorry. What about Tonks? Or your own mum?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. Honestly, Ron, anyone who came here would fall all over themselves trying not to bring up any 'risky" subjects, and I just don't think I can handle that. I'd go round the bend within a matter of hours."

She scooted closer to him to rest her head on his chest. His heartbeat, sure and steady, soothed her. "I just want to know why this had to happen to us." She felt a tear trickle down her cheek, but made no move to wipe it away. "We tried everything." She sighed. "It's so unfair."

She felt his lips brush against the top of her head. "I know, love."

"The Healer said we shouldn't try again. That there's too great a risk."

He swallowed; when he spoke, his voice was raspy. "I know."

"This was our last chance."

His arms wrapped tightly around her. "I know."

* * * * *

Weeks went by. Slowly Hermione's abdomen regained its tone, though she retained a few pale pink stretch marks as a physical reminder of how close she'd come to being a mother. The tenderness in her breasts and between her legs faded, but not until after she'd had to grapple with the humiliation of her milk coming in the very day her parents decided to visit, forcing her to hide her chest and run from the room as large damp spots appeared.

The emptiness, however, never went away. She suspected it, too, might eventually fade, or she might simply get used to having it around.

Ginny went into labor on her own birthday. At first everyone assumed this would be another routine delivery -- after seven children, no one expected any surprises -- but when twenty-four hours passed with no results, Harry and the attending mediwitch agreed this was far from ordinary, and that emergency procedures were in order. Another day passed before Lucy was finally born at St. Mungo's.

Harry came very close to losing them both.

Before Hermione had come home from St. Mungo's, Ron had sealed the door to the nursery. Neither one of them had dared enter it. The day after Lucy was born, however, Hermione steeled her nerves and broke the seal.

There was a thin film of dust covering the tops of the furniture, but otherwise everything was as she remembered it. Looking at the empty cradle, the rocking chair she'd never sat in to nurse, the nappies stacked neatly on the changing table, awakened the emptiness with a sharp stab and she swayed, overcome with vertiginous sadness. She grabbed the doorknob and forced her composure back into place, determined to see this through. As soon as she felt as ready as she was ever going to, she entered the room.

Last night she'd lain awake in bed for over an hour after Ron had dropped off to sleep. He was exhausted, after keeping vigil with Harry while the Healers worked to save Ginny and Lucy, and now his snores filled the darkness, keeping her company. Hermione listened to him, occasionally jarring him with her elbow when his breathing got too congested, and wondered what he would have done if she had died, but their daughter had lived. Would he have let his grief get the best of him, wallowing in sadness while someone else was left with the responsibility of raising their child, or would he have found a way to soldier on? He'd told her when he came home that night that Harry had been beside himself with worry. She wondered, had Ron been in the same state the night their daughter had died?

In the darkness, as Ron's snoring finally evened out into slow, deep breathing, she wondered, what if Ginny had died?

These questions came back to her as she opened the dresser drawers and began taking out baby clothes and laying them neatly on top. She'd decided this morning, after Ron had left for work, to give Harry and Ginny all the clothes, nappies, and other nursery items she and Ron had amassed. She knew they had plenty, having already been through this seven times, and that replacing worn items with new ones would not strain their budget, but Hermione, ever practical, hated the idea of leaving these things to go to waste. Harry and Ginny could use them, and might need some of them; Hermione and Ron never would. It had taken her until past lunch to work up the courage to enter the nursery, but now she was here, and she would box up these things and have Ron take them over this weekend. Maybe, if she was up to it, she would go too; no doubt the house would be in utter chaos with Ginny in hospital and Harry a wreck. Maybe she'd cook a meal to take over.

She was so focused on packing the clothes she never heard Ron call her name when he came in, several hours later; she didn't even realize he was home until she heard his voice right behind her.

"What are you doing?"

She jumped in surprise. "Oh!" she squeaked. "Is it that late in the day already? I didn't hear you come in."

He leaned against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest. "Are you telling me I missed an opportunity to slip a Tickling Jinx on you?"

Her eyes widened. "You wouldn't dare. I see that!" she added hastily when he saw his hand creep towards his wand.

His hand returned to a more neutral location. "Wouldn't be any fun anyway, jinxing you when you're ready for it."

"You only say that because you know I'm faster on the draw."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that a challenge? Ah, never mind," he continued, coming in the room and squatting down near where she sat on the floor, surrounded by piles of clothes, blankets and nappies. "I'm more interested in finding out what you're doing in here."

She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and then swept her arm across the piles. "I thought Harry and Ginny could use this."

Ron stared at her in silence for a moment, his gaze so intense she felt compelled to look away. Then he swooped in, cupping his hands around her face, and kissed her until she was breathless. When he finally pulled away it was all she could do not to fall over. "I love you, d'you know that?" he said softly.

Hermione's fingers touched her lips. It had been so long since Ron had last kissed her with such passion. Not since before the baby died. She'd hadn't realized she'd been missing his kisses until just now.

She also remembered she had an appointment with the Healer in the morning. It had been nearly two months....

Suddenly she realized Ron was speaking to her. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

He chuckled. "Maybe I should kiss you like that more often, eh?"

"Oh, yes," she said. "Loads more often."

This surprised him so much he fell on his bum with a loud thump. His cheeks were pink, but he recovered quickly. "I'll have to see what I can do," he said, clearing his throat. "But first I have some news for you."

"You do?"

"Yeah. D'you know Agrippina Comstock?"

"Isn't she head of the Department for Creatures' Rights?"

"Yeah, she is. Or was, rather."

"Was? What do you mean?"

"She retired today. Eloped with a goblin."

Hermione's jaw dropped so fast it hurt. "She eloped with a goblin?" she asked, rubbing her cheek.

Ron nodded. "Over the weekend, apparently. Her assistant received an owl this morning. Anyway, the real news -- the good news -- is that your name is at the top of the short list of people to replace her."

Hermione thought, if her jaw kept dropping like this, she'd need to have hinges installed. "M-Me? But I-I've never worked for the Ministry before! Don't they usually prefer to promote from within?"

"Usually, yeah. But you've established yourself as someone who actually believes in creatures' rights. The heads of the werewolf, goblin and giant panels are all pushing for you to get the job."

"Oh," Hermione said. She felt tears at the corners of her eyes and looked up at Ron. "Oh, my."

"I think you should do it," he said. "There's no better witch or wizard, no one who is as determined as you are." He took her hand from where it lay in her lap and held it between both of his, just like he had that night nearly two months ago. Just as she had then, she squeezed her fingers around his, finding strength and reassurance in his touch.

"I remember what you said the day after you came home from hospital, about needing to stay occupied," Ron said. "You need more than that, Hermione. You need... you need to be a mum. But we're going to have to find another way. This will give you a chance to do that, to be a mum to all the centaurs and house-elves and giants and yetis and all the other creatures who need someone to stand up for them."

"Oh, Ron," she said. "I love you so much." She launched herself at him then, knocking him over as she planted sloppy kisses all over his face.

"Hey!" he shouted, laughing as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down on top of him. "Since when did my wife turn into Fang?"

"Do you really think I can do this?" she asked him, folding her hands on his chest and resting her chin on them.

"I think you'd be brilliant at it."

She felt her cheeks grow warm. "I've committed myself to Fleeble's case, though. I can't just abandon her."

He shrugged. "It'll take several weeks before the Minister makes a formal decision, and after that, I don't see why you can't just transfer her case to your office."

"You're right. It would be the perfect starting place to demonstrate that we mean business." The grin slowly creeping across his face made her pause. "What?"

"'We'," he said. "You said 'we'. You're already talking as though the job is yours." His arms tightened around her.

She leaned forward to kiss him on the tip of his nose. "Have I told you what a wonderful man you are?"

His grin widened. "A few times. Wouldn't mind hearing it again, though."

"You're incorrigible," Hermione said, shaking her head. She pushed her hands against Ron's chest to leverage herself off of him.

"Where are you going?"

"It's getting late and I'm hungry. I'd like to get some more of these things boxed up too," she said as she got to her feet. A fresh wave of emptiness washed over her, throwing her slightly off-balance, and she took a sharp breath.

"Hermione?" Ron had sat up and was looking at her with a worried expression on his face. "Are you okay? You look pale."

"I'm fine. Just... stood up too quickly."

He got to his feet and came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Y'know," he said, rubbing his chin on the top of her head, "I had an idea. D'you reckon some of Harry and Ginny's lot might like to come stay here every now and then?"

She craned her head to look up at him. "I don't get your meaning."

"Well, they've got a full house, and now with the new baby, and Ginny having to stay off her feet for a while, maybe we could take one or two of the younger ones off their hands for a few days. We could clear out this stuff and set up the room with a couple of cots, bookshelves, a few toys...." He looked down at her. "What d'you say?"

Hermione leaned back against Ron and draped her arms over his. "It would be nice to hear children's voices around here. We'd have to move quickly, though, if we're to be of any help to Harry and Ginny. We'll have to childproof everything, since Dickie and Owain are still so little."

A chuckle rumbled through his chest and he squeezed her. "That's my girl. I knew once I gave you a scheme you'd run with it. What d'you say we have a bite to eat -- we'll splurge and go into town -- and then I'll help you finish boxing these clothes. We can take them over tomorrow morning and tell Harry the plan."

"Oh! I almost forgot." She turned around in his embrace so that she was facing him. "I have an appointment with the Healer tomorrow morning. If all goes well, he'll clear us for... well...." The warmth in her cheeks embarrassed her almost as much as her uncharacteristic shyness; she was hardly a newlywed!

Ron's wicked, throaty laugh made her blush even harder. "Does this mean I can stop wanking in the shower now?" he asked.

"Ron!"

"Hey, have some pity on a bloke. I've missed you."

She looked up into his eyes, so blue they reminded her of late fall mornings, and the Aegean Sea, and freshly-bloomed periwinkle, and knew that, as long as he loved her, she could hold the emptiness at bay. Standing on her toes, she brought her lips close to his. "I've missed you, too."

* * * * *

This story is set in a post-Hogwarts universe I've been writing in for over a year. Though each story can stand alone, they are all interconnected. If you're interested in reading any of the others (which focus on Harry and Ginny), drop me a line.