Quietly Yours.

It was raining, harshly down upon her as she struggled to walk up the entrance to the home that filled her mind and body with the need to flea, no matter what she knew to be true now. Breathing heavily, she tried to prepare herself for the trauma, drains, and confusion that would ensue. This was not about her, she could do this. She trusted Harry more than anything, and truth be told, she had no one but him to turn to anyhow.

She had briefly considered appearing to St. Mungos, but apperation was incredibly dangerous to preform under stress, lest you would like to split her yourself. Apperating 39 weeks pregnant to a place she didn’t even feel safe or comfortable being was out of the question. Truly, she had no other option BUT apperation, so she was incredibly grateful her muggle flat was only two miles away from the hidden home of Harry James Potter.

Stumbling briefly, she stopped herself as a contraction tore through her. She had to wonder if the pain was different with wizarding children. None of her muggle birthing classes or educational books spoke upon the heavy, shooting pains that went from her pelvic floor through her entire body. She had expected an unpleasant sensation that would solely affect her abdomen and pelvic area, maybe her legs when the child would exit.

Of course, who did she have to ask really? No one knew of her pregnancy. No one would have accepted her so soon after the war had come to a close, no one but Harry. Not that he knew she was with child to begin with, no one did.

Once she made the connection and took seven muggle pregnancy tests, all positive, she performed the prenatal ribbon upon herself. One handy thing about magical medicine, it can draw out the gestation age with complete accuracy. So when the bright green ribbon that floated over her belly stated she had been 11 weeks, six days, and eight hours pregnant, she had no doubt she had to flea.

Though she was certain the parentage of her child would not be an issue now, nearly a year later, she had been terrified of what wizarding law would require of an unwed, teenage mother of muggle born status, carrying the child of a murderer. Or even worse, they would force her to ingest Veritiserum and ask how the child came to be in the first place.

No, that wouldn’t help him at all, Dead or not, she would not foresake Severus Snape.

Taking a deep breath, she continued her decent, trying her hardest to occulude through the pain just until she made it to the door, but it was no use. Labor pains transcended all magical properties, apparently.

With three more incredibly painful paces, she had reached the door of number 12 Grimmauld Place. She lifted a dainty had, violently banging on the door silently praying that Harry was home, and that he had no silencing charms set. Though, she assumed she was still keyed into the wards, seeing as she could get to the front door in the first place. But you never knew with Harry, he was also raised muggleborn, and he too had a penchant for embracing it much Like she did. Harry HAD to be home.

After a few minutes with no response, Hermione began to feel the pressure in her pelvis shift, and suddenly there was a large amount of liquid cascading down her Grey pajama bottoms. Resting her head against the door, she spared a glance down, assuming this would be the amniotic sack breaking, signaling birth would be following suit. No, instead of clear, stench-less liquid, there was a dark red substance trailing down her bottoms.

Blood.

Frozen in fear, she could not make herself move. Could not make herself bang on the door, send a patroness, scream, beg Harry to let her in. She could not make a fiber of her being move. Blood. Blood was leaving her and that should not be happening. Tears welled in her eyes, as she silently began begging whatever deity there was out there that her baby was fine. That their child would come out healthy, plump, happy. With dark hair and dark eyes and sweet pinch-able cheeks like she had dreamt of so often these last few weeks. She found herself stuck in her fear, trying now to allow her mind to concede to defeat.

Suddenly, she fell forward into the warmth of a hard, rigid body. Lifting her head, her whiskey eyes met vivid green, an immediate expression change followed, arms tried to wrap around her still petite frame, before being blocked by the large bump of her stomach. The evidence of why she had fled the wizarding world. Not that he knew, not yet.

Pulling her inside, he grabbed a shell from the coat hanging on the inside of the door, wrapping her around it as she continued to cry, feeling another contraction hitting and more blood leaving her body.

“Hermione..”

“Harry! Who is it?”

Ginny.

Hermiones knees nearly buckled as she heard the girls voice, suddenly incredibly afraid any other Weasleys were in the vicinity, but she pushed it down. This wasn’t about her. This was about the baby. Ginny took in the sight, her shell shocked boyfriend, and immediately sprang into action. Sending a patroness to her mother, Professor McGonagol, and someone she couldn’t quite hear the name of,  she spelled away everything from the bed in the closest room and got to work.

“How long have you been having contractions, Hermione?” Ginny asked sternly, but not unkindly. Casting a quick Divesto, she placed a thin sheet over her naked body, and began to apply slight pressure on her lower stomach, and noticed the blood.

“Merlin, how long have you been BLEEDING, Hermione?”

Taking a deep, unsteady breath, she answered, “The contractions started two days again, the bleeding started on the porch.”

Ginny’s eyes snapped up to meet her long lost friends, Hermione noticed she began to shake. Just then, Molly and Minerva burst through the door, a pale Harry, and a shell shocked Kingley Shacklebolt trailing behind closely.

Minerva was in immediate tears, rushing to Hermione’s head, petting her hair but not saying a word as she took in her appearance. Molly, much like her daughter, went straight to business. Warm, wet towels in hand, she began to clean Hermione up, handing one to Minerva who delicately was wiping the sweat from her brow and neck. But their moment of reprice was about to extinguish.

With a loud cry, Hermione jerked away from Minerva’s touch. Her body coiling in on itself as she began to feel the inexplicable need to push. Consumed in her need to bear down, she missed the worried glances that Minerva and Molly shared before conceding to Mother Nature. Molly parted her legs as wide as she could, while Ginny demanded Harry and Kingsley went out into the sitting room. At this, Hermione panicked.

“No! Harry! Please!” She rasped out frantically as she began to push. He immediately came to, push through Ginny and Kingsley, ignoring Mollys glare, ignoring Minerva’s raised eyebrows. Nothing mattered right now but his terrified best friend, and she wanted him there. Taking place the opposite Minerva, he grasped her hand, nodding to her. A breath left her before she felt the need to push again.

She was certain she would break Harry’s hand, but she needed the life line. Nothing was real. No sound, no expression. The words of encouragement, ‘You’re doing so well,’ ‘You’re almost there,’ fell upon deaf ears as she pushed for what seemed like an eternity before she felted a weighted pull escape from her, as if her entire stomach had swam out of her very being.

The world snapped back into focus. Her breathing shallowed and tunnel vision was evident to everyone in the room. A small squeal left the pink skinned babe and Molly began to speak.

“A boy.” She said with a wet smile, tears leaving her own eyes as she wrapped the babe in a warm, damp Muslin clothe before handing him to his mother, still attached to the placenta that had yet to exit her body.

Hermione glanced down. A boy, a son. Tears  left her as she took him in. Sure enough, a full head of dark hair, much like Harry’s, but she knew better. Pinkened Skin, but she could tell he would have her olive compaction rather than his fathers. Tracing a gentle finger over his brow, he began to settle, slowly seeking her breast for milk.

She couldn’t help herself from speaking.

“Regulus Jean Prince.”

She briefly looked from side to side, Harry’s expression of Awe, tears welling in his eyes she knew he would not let spill over, to Minerva’s freely flowing with such Adoration so plane on her features, back to Molly, who mo longer looked thrilled, no longer basking in the miracle childbirth. She assumed it had to do with the names, but she could not bring herself to feel shame or explain. No, she would not being using the name Snape, the sir name of a man so vile his own son rejoiced in his death. No, her son would be the legacy of his father.  Regulus died a silent hero, she had thought on him often. She admired him immensely. Though she had no physical tethers to him, she knew he and Severus were friends, and that was enough for her. An honorable name.

A magical birth certificate was written from thin air, and the breath left the lungs of the three in the room with her. But the shock was short lived, as a scream ripped through Hermione. Their attention all snapped to as she felt the need to push again. Confused she looked down at Molly. Her expression softened considerably.

“It’s just the placenta dear, comes out a few minutes after the babe. It was taking a bit long, had me confused myself. But here it-“ she was interrupted by another scream, Hermione looked at Minerva helplessly as the older witch nodded and carefully took the infant from Hermione’s chest, magically snipping the cord and leaving the room with him. Hermione once again gripped Harry’s hand, harder than before and she was once again bearing down desperately. Based on the confusion and desperation that painted Molly Weasley’s face, this is NOT was should be happening when passing a placenta.

Two more pushed and she was greeted with the same, emptying feeling as when she birthed her son only minutes ago. Another scream of a babe graced her ears. As Molly, dumbfounded, wrapped the babe, Hermione felt another pass through, much less intense, as the placenta existed her body. Harry was looking between Hermione and the second baby, slowly breaking in to a wide, wet smile as he leaned down to kiss her hairline briefly, before turning his attention back to Molly, who had tears streaming down her face.

As she handing the babe to Hermione, she too broke into a wet and wide smile.

“A girl.”

Looking down at the surprise of a life time, she herself couldn’t help but smile painfully. Another heap of dark, full hair. She would be pale like her father, she was sure of it. Staring down at her, she spoke automatically.

“Isobel Eileen Prince.”

Staring down at her daughter, she signed softly, barley noticing the concerned faces of her peers as she slowly drifted out of consciousness.