False Pretense

Author's Note:

My muse has been on the fritz recently; but I have been listening to Frou Frou all day and thus muse for False Pretense. I do plan on working on my other stories (I have half of Nothing Like You and I and some of Locking up the Sun).

Three new stories are currently occupying my brain, but I have yet to start on them as I want to finish the ones I've currently started. Each one is significantly different (Dramione - skeleton already outlined, Voldmione - first chapter outlined, and Nevimione - skeleton already outlined) but I'm finding a lack of encouragement in my mind to actually work on them LOL. Stupid brain.

As for this story; I'm guestimating on another three-six more chapters as I have an idea as to where I want this to go. Sadly, no epilogue is planned as it is pretty straight forward to begin with.

I still want to thank all of my reviewers out there! You are all tremendous and keep me going!






She didn’t know what to do. So many things were crossing through her mind at once that not even a calming potion could soothe the stress she was under. She had to remind herself that her stress was causing the baby to be stressed and she needed to calm down.

Causing the baby stress. The baby.

Her mind couldn’t even wrap around the concept of a child, a living being, inside of her. She sat in her large beautiful bathtub surrounded by bubbles and warm water. Her hands were resting slightly on her stomach, still flat.

It wouldn’t last too long

She closed her eyes and inhaled, holding her breath for as long as she could. She had to tell Draco. It was the right thing to do. He could handle it, she was sure. How many pregnancy scares had he been through, being who he was?

Probably quite a few as catching a Malfoy, even if it were through a love child, meant that the mother and subsequent offspring would be taken care of for life. Then again, she might have been completely wrong about Draco and his perchance to bed every living thing that had breasts, a vagina, and legs.

Scratch that. Draco would probably shag any person with a vagina.

Sighing one last time, Hermione unplugged the tub with her toe and sat in the water until it drained all around her. She pulled a towel from the edge of the tub and wrapped it around herself, gently padding over to her room.

Hermione pulled the towel from her form and looked at herself, moving in every angle.

Pregnant. Just bloody great.







“You should just owl it to him,” Ginny said over a spot of tea in Hermione’s quarters, “How hard would it be to write a note and just say, ‘Malfoy. I’m pregnant. You’re the father.’?”

Ginny paused and stared at Hermione, who was glaring into her cup of tea. “Oh, right. It’s you we’re talking about. Nevermind.”

“A letter isn’t going to make things better, Gin,” Hermione mumbled, spooning two spoons of cream into her tea.

“And what does?” Ginny asked, pausing for another moment, “You’re not thinking about…”

“No,” Hermione was quick to interrupt, “I, for one, am completely against that.”

Hermione may have been a new era witch, but she still held fast to old traditions. Aborting a baby because of her mistake was not only cruel but selfish. Not to mention, she had already become attached to the stinking flesh wad and finger nails growing in her womb.

“Good,” Ginny sighed with relief.

Ever the Weasley, Ginny would rather suck on Snape’s toes than get an abortion. She remembered when Ginny had first told her about her pregnancy. There were a lot of tears, hugs, and pink frilly ribbons. Too bad, James was a boy and thus said pink frilly ribbons had to be enchanted to be blue.

Harry was pleased but Ginny was eager to try again. Good thing Harry knew when to avoid her when she was in one of those ‘let’s make another baby’ stages. If only Hermione had been that smart.

“He’s vacationing in Spain,” Hermione whispered quietly, not bothering to look at her best female friend, “I’ll…have to wait until he comes back.”

“Then what?” Ginny pried; she was very much the gossip queen, just like her mother, but Hermione still loved her, “Just plop in and be like, ‘Oi. Pregnant. You. Father.’?”

“Not quite like that,” Hermione managed to laugh, having got Ginny’s attempt to make light of things, “I doubt the Me-Jane-You-Tarzan thing would work very well in this situation. Maybe if I just forced him to listen to me and…It’s not like I want anything from him. I’m more than capable of taking care of the baby.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re expecting to take care of the baby by yourself,” Ginny said quietly, “A child deserves both parents.”

“And if Draco wants nothing to do with him…her…him?” Hermione asked, resting her hand on her smooth stomach, “I’m not going to force him into fatherhood…”

“Hermione,” Ginny said with her matronly Weasley voice, “Draco would be daft to pass you and your baby up. Besides, didn’t you tell me he admitted he was in love with you? I, of course, knew that from the beginning. He taunted you the most because he loved you.”

“Past tense is correct,” Hermione sighed, “I told him…I told him we needed to keep a professional relationship.”

“What…” Ginny’s face fell, “You didn’t…c’mon ‘Mione. Everyone knows you’re ga-ga for the Slytherin.”

“What?” Hermione frowned, “Am not!”

“Word around the grape vine…which means I heard it from Headmistress McGonagall during our weekly tea time at the Leaky Cauldron, you’ve been pining after him, complaining and what not.”

“Those were real complaints, Gin,” Hermione tried to argue but found herself losing the moment she opened her mouth, “Fine. Fine. I…like him…just a little.”

“Mhm,” Ginny snorted into her tea, earning a glare from her friend, “You have great esteem for him…you like him. What are we, in a romance novel?”

“I’m never going to invite you over for tea again,” Hermione grumbled, pouting into her cup.

Ginny laughed, “Right. I plan on being here every step of the way. Maybe you’ll have a girl and we can…”

“Oh no,” Hermione warned, “We are not going to get into that. I may be pregnant but I refuse to be one of those mushy gushy mommys-to-be.”

“Oh, you’ll convert, trust me,” Ginny grinned, spooning a few cubes of sugar into another cup of tea.







Hermione exhaled and brought her hand to the mahogany door of Professor Snape’s office. A few light raps later and Hermione stood close to the door; trying to hear something. She frowned when nothing was heard and leaned back.

The door opened with a loud creak, causing her to jump. Professor Snape, ever the vicar, stood clad in his teaching robes with a smile smudge on the bridge of his nose.

“Can I help you, Ms. Granger?” he said softly, his voice deep and husky.

Hermione inhaled and just exploded at that moment, “I was wondering if you could give me a few prenatal potions.”

It came out sounding like, “IWASWONDERINGIFYOUCOULDGIVEMEAFEWPRENATALPOTIONS!”

Years of experience listening to nervous students had benefited Snape, for he understood exactly what she was asking. It still made him quirk his eyebrow and scan over her with his dark beady eyes.

“Malfoy,” he simply said, stepping back into his cambers with the door open.

“Er,” Hermione moved slowly, only to have Snape grasp onto her forearm and tug her in, closing the door tightly.

“When was the last time you had your menses?” Snape asked without hesitation, moving over to his storage room, “Well?”

Hermione was frozen and she felt about two inches small. Snape leaned over and glared. Scratch the two inches bit, she felt like a few centimeters tall.

“In November,” she squeaked, watching Snape disappear into the storage room.

“What was your last meal?” his voice drawled from the room, a little muffled by the clinking of vials.

“Grilled chicken, peas, and a bit of cherry cobbler…why?” she asked, feeling a bit more confident with the brooding Potions master hiding in another room.

That bravery disappeared like a banana cream pie on Dudley’s birthday. He reentered the room carrying several small vials in one of his massive hands. The look he gave her was complete, utter…disappointment. It made her feel like one of Luna’s mythical Nargles.

“You need more iron,” he simply said, in his usual soft voice, “Plenty of liquids, nothing too sweet.”

“Alright,” Hermione managed to whisper as Snape handed her several potions, each labeled.

“I will begin brewing your weekly supplements,” he continued, folding his arms over his chest, “Is Mr. Malfoy aware of your little predicament?”

Hermione’s throat ran dry at that moment. She found her lips parted, gasping for breath, which must have made her look very much like a large mouth bass. Snape merely quirked an eyebrow and took her silences as ‘yes, I’m an idiot by telling Draco we had to be professionals and I go and get myself knocked up.’

“Interesting,” Snape said quietly, unfolding his arms.

His fingers touched the corners of his desk and moved along it like spider legs. Hermione’s eyes were transfixed.

“I do hope you intend to keep the child,” he spoke, catching Hermione off guard again.

“Wha…oh,” she said quickly, “Of course I do!”

“Things like this are…delicate…considering who the father may be,” Hermione could tell that Snape was having a difficult time with this subject.

He was picking and choosing his words more carefully than he normally did. Hermione gulped and clutched the potions to her chest.

“I know who that father is,” she said quietly, “If you’re implying that I’m a tart.”

“I’ve never implied,” Snape replied, “Frankly, I pictured you the poster girl for a nunnery.”

Was he serious? Did he just crack a joke? These hormones were making her loopy, that was for sure.

Hermione just stood there with her jaw unhinged, but Snape over looked that and continued his odd lecture.

“I am, however, disappointed,” Oh Merlin. Not that “of how irresponsible both Mr. Malfoy and you have been.”

“Yes,” she breathed quietly, looking down at her hands, “I feel irresponsible as well…but…”

“But,” Snape interrupted, “I have, unfortunately, been subject to your presence, as well as Mr. Malfoy’s, for years and know you will both be responsible.”

She nodded as tear began to build up in the corners of her eyes. Why she was so upset, she didn’t know but she just wanted to bawl. Break down and throw the worst temper tantrum she possibly could. Right in Snape’s quarters.

Snape, for his benefit, took the build up of tears with utter calmness. He pulled out a black handkerchief and handed it to her. Hermione took it and dabbed at her eyes, sniffling a little.

“Draco is expected to return earlier than the other professors,” Snape informed her, “Apparently, he is having a miserable time in Spain.”

“Ah,” Hermione sniffled, handing the handkerchief back to Snape.

Snape grasped onto the piece of cloth with his thumb and index finger, holding it out like it was diseased. He dropped it onto his desk and brushed his hand onto his sleeve.

“It might be easier if you tell him before classes start again,” Snape said with his usual quiet, soft drawl.

“I plan on it,” Hermione replied with a curt nod, “T-Thank you, Professor.”

Snape grunted a response but remained still when Hermione turned and walked out. Her hands were shaking somewhat, but not because she was afraid of Snape but because she was thinking about how to break it to Draco. Would he be responsible enough to be a father? Did he want to be a father?