TWO
“Speak of the devil and so she appears,” Harry mutters dejectedly as Mammoth swoops into the sitting room of the flat Hermione and Ron share, depositing a letter with her instead of him.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione raises an eyebrow, reading the letter at the same time and signaling to Mammoth to wait for her reply. She walks over to the kitchen counter to scribble a response, and returns the parchment to the owl along with a treat.
“That’s Ginny’s owl, isn’t it?” Harry raises an eyebrow in turn. It’s easy for him to pretend that he doesn’t know the owl is Ginny’s, doesn’t know he’s named Mammoth, doesn’t know the story of how he got his name. He can act as though he isn’t very familiar with Mammoth, the owl who delivers him hasty propositions for hookups every so often. His years as an auror have given him a better poker face. Or would have, anyway, had he not just confessed three years worth of an illicit affair with the woman who owns said owl.
“Oh, that,” Hermione acknowledges with pointed disinterest. “Yes, we have plans later,” she admits as the owl flies back out the window.
“You can’t tell her—”
“Obviously,” Hermione cuts him off. Harry knows he’s put her in a rough spot, making her his confidant and asking her to keep everything he’s told her from Ron. He’d confide in Ron himself, truth be told, if he hadn’t needed advice on Ron’s baby sister. Still, as accomplished as Harry is, he’s never been terribly good at seeing what’s right in front of him — ironic because he’s actually nearsighted — and it’s only occurring to him as he watches the owl disappear into the distance that he’s not just asking Hermione to keep secrets from her boyfriend. He’s also asking her to keep secrets from her close friend.
“I’ll talk to her about it eventually,” Harry insists, because it’s the right thing to say and not because he actually intends to talk to Ginny about it. “I just need to sort out if she even wants to talk about it, is the thing.”
“So you said,” Hermione agrees, her mind clearly spinning, obviously elsewhere. Harry reckons it was smart of her to send the parchment back to Ginny, because he’s now dying to know what’s on it. “If you have feelings for her and she thinks it’s just…” She trails off, heat creeping up her neck.
“Thinks it’s just sex,” Harry finishes the thought for her. It still amazes him how Hermione can be so matter-of-fact about nearly everything, but this one topic often makes her clam up.
“Right,” Hermione agrees, brushing past the word now that Harry filled it in. “Then you need to let her know.” She pauses, her eyes fixed on Harry’s. “Not fair to her otherwise.”
“What about what’s fair to me?” Harry mumbles.
His friend simply rolls her eyes. “You can’t make her have feelings again if she doesn’t,” she shrugs reasonably, glancing at the clock. “And you can’t go about channeling your feelings into her all the time — that’s why she broke up with you in the first place, isn’t it?”
Harry blinks. It’s a cheap shot, and he reckons Hermione knows that. “More or less,” he admits reluctantly. “Said she couldn’t be my emotional support witch or something,” he elaborates, as if he doesn’t remember the reason. He does, of course. She had actually used those exact words, and though he realized it did go deeper than that, he wasn’t much in the mood to rehash it. Because, as it turned out, having regular sex with Ginny was a fairly decent distraction from not having a relationship with her; as long as he was lost in the physical, he didn’t remember why he needed an emotional support witch to begin with. That was never sustainable, and he’s only just beginning to recognize that three years in.
Hermione nods. “So you need to figure it out, then,” she advises him. “Maybe owl her in a couple of days.” She glances at the clock again. “I do need to go meet her, though.”
Harry knows that’s his cue to leave. He sighs, both eager to get away from the scene and wishing he could make Hermione stay and talk to him longer. He did just show up out of nowhere on her Saturday afternoon once he realized Ron was out, anyway, so he really should be apologizing for disrupting her day. “Thanks for making time to—”
“Of course,” Hermione agrees, deciding to give him an abrupt, tight hug. “I promise I won’t say a word, but you should,” she reminds him pointedly. Then, she points him in the direction of the fire so he can floo home before she goes to Ginny’s.
…
Hermione’s letter told Ginny that she needed an hour to finish up at home and then would be right over. By the time Ginny gets the letter, she figures it’s really more like thirty minutes. She cleans up the mess she made in her bathroom, brewing the potion. Then, she spoons some of the potion into a vial, in case Hermione needs proof, pouring the rest down her sink. When she only has a small vial of the positive potion, she can almost pretend everything is still normal, like there isn’t a clump of parasitic cells currently infiltrating her body. She almost feels better.
Then, the wave of nausea hits and she’s on her knees, bare legs against the cold tile in the bathroom when Hermione enters her flat. “Ginny?” Hermione calls from the fireplace. The apartment is small enough that Ginny can hear her brushing off the soot from her clothes.
Before Ginny can call that she’ll just be a mo, she’s retching again, and loudly. So Hermione finds her in the loo, her eyes widening with perfect clarity as she takes in the scene. There’s the unmistakable sound of Ginny’s gags, the stale stench of vomit, and Hermione — always the most observant of the bunch — notices the vial of the shimmery gold potion next to the sink. “Oh,” she remarks, obviously at a loss for words following the realization.
Ginny didn’t know it was possible to so thoroughly surprise Hermione, who had always been about forty steps ahead of everyone else. “This wasn’t really how I planned this conversation,” she admits as she wipes her mouth and flushes the toilet. Hermione doesn’t respond, and Ginny is worried she’s stunned the older girl silent. “I’m not really sure I planned it, actually,” she rambles. “The conversation, I mean. I definitely didn’t plan the — well, I guess my healer always told me the potion wasn’t 100% effective? But I — I didn’t think that I’d be one of the people it failed…”
“It’s…” Hermione trails off, clearly struggling to find the right way to phrase the question she wants to ask. “It’s Harry, isn’t it?” She says finally.
Ginny bites her lip. She’d thought they’d been more than subtle enough, but then again, she and Harry together were about as subtle as a Hippogriff that’s been insulted. She gives a small, tight nod and, swallowing, feels guilty she admitted out loud. Finally, tears are prickling her eyes. Admitting that to someone is what’s finally gotten her to cry. “You can’t tell him,” she sniffles, trying to hold back what will undoubtedly become full blown sobs if she loses control.
“I won’t,” Hermione promises, hoping Ginny won’t ask her how she figured it out. “You can tell him in your own time,” she reassures her friend, sinking down next to her on the bathroom floor and throwing an arm around her.
“I don’t…” Ginny stammers, furiously wiping the tears from her eyes before they can reach her cheek. She doesn’t know where to start. Is it best to lead with not wanting to tell Harry? “I don’t want to be pregnant,” she hiccups instead.
Hermione nods slowly. “Well, do you know how far along you are?” Harry had told her mere hours ago that his rendezvous with Ginny happened fairly often, so it’s not like Ginny would necessarily know when the conception took place, but pregnancy was dated from the last period anyway. Hermione could help with that.
Ginny shakes her head. “I don’t exactly know when…I mean, I was on the potion, so it’s not like I can point to a time we weren't careful?” That makes her feel stupid all over again. She sniffles.
“Okay,” Hermione nods. “Well, when was your last period?” She tries instead.
Ginny shrugs. “Literally, no clue. Sometimes during the season…we all kind of use potions to make sure we don’t have it for games,” she explains weakly. The season had just ended. She stops trying to stop the tears by now, letting them roll onto her cheeks.
“Ah,” Hermione presses her lips into a thin line. “Well, those potions can, uh, interfere with the birth control potion. Best to double up with the charm.”
“They should tell you that,” Ginny mumbles. She doesn’t have the energy to yell at Hermione for giving her that piece of advice after it was past the point of usefulness.
“Well.” Hermione nervously plays with a strand of her curly hair. “Uh, you could maybe get an appointment with your healer?” Her voice goes up at the end like a question. “They’d be able to figure it out.”
Ginny shakes her head. Her healer is the team healer for the Holyhead Harpies, so it’s not that simple. If she involves her healer, she’s also involving her workplace. That’s a little too much, Ginny thinks, for a simple abortion.
“You need someone to tell you how far along you are,” Hermione points out. “You have a lot of options, but to know which one is right —”
“I can’t have work finding out,” Ginny points out with a hiccup. “And going to St. Mungo’s means…well, the press will see me, won’t they?”
Hermione nods. Working under the assumption that Harry is involved in this scenario, she knows he wouldn’t like that either. She furrows her brow in concentration until the answer comes to her. “My mum’s cousin, she’s what the muggles call an obstetrician. A doctor for pregnant women. I bet she’d see you? Talk to you about your options?”
Ginny considers this, knowing that muggle medicine is more invasive than she’s used to. Still, it’s the best option she’s got. She nods her assent.
“I’ll call her when I get home,” Hermione promises.
“You’ll come with me, won’t you?” Ginny locks eyes with Hermione. Hermione can’t help but notice that Ginny’s brown eyes are bloodshot and fearful, almost like they were in the weeks following the end of the war.
Hermione hesitates. “I’m sure Harry will want to go with you,” she says instead. Harry would feel responsible, and he never shies away from uncomfortable responsibilities.
Ginny shakes her head. “I’m not going to tell him,” she informs Hermione resolutely. The older witch opens her mouth to respond, but Ginny speaks before she can. “I think — he’d either be ecstatic about the prospect of being a dad or lash out that he can’t do it and it’s his fault, yeah? So either way, it would break his heart…like if he wants the baby and I don’t? Or if he’s upset and blames himself? Like he’s the reason I have to do this? So it’s better if he doesn’t know.”
“Ginny…” Hermione trails off, unable to find the right words without betraying Harry’s trust. She lets he loves you die on her lips. “I’ll be there for whatever you need me for,” she says instead. She knows better than to push the subject. It’ll only make Ginny retreat further. “If you tell him, you can make him pay for it,” she says, one last effort to get her to come clean.
Ginny shakes her head. “I make more than he does anyway,” she says. Aurors don’t make as much as quidditch starters with endorsements, after all. Still, it’s mostly to make a point. They both know Harry is very well off financially.
Hermione doesn’t bring up the fortune in Harry’s vaults, however. She just nods. She resolves to call her mother’s cousin when she gets back to the flat — hopefully Ron will still be out — and she can handle this, just as she handles everything. Everyone makes mistakes but Hermione — well, Hermione fixes them.