One More Time

*

Hermione’s eyes widened and her hands stilled over her stomach, which she held almost protectively.

“What?” she asked, as if unsure of what she’d heard. Her voice was almost a whisper but quite clear in the near-empty room.

Padma seemed to sense the tension that had appeared in the room. She took a slow step toward Hermione, watching her carefully. “You’ve been staying home a lot, you say you’re not sick, you’re eating a lot, you won’t drink alcohol. Hermione, tell me, please, are you pregnant?”

Hermione was staring at her in complete disbelief and fear. When Padma had asked her that question, she felt as if her throat had constricted painfully, blocking off air and causing tears to form in her eyes.

“I—I—“ she stuttered for a moment, unable to think what to say. Then it all happened in a second. The emotions she’d been holding back for months came flowing to the surface.

She burst into tears and sank onto the bed, crying into her hands. She felt the bed sink down as Padma sat down on it as well, but didn’t say anything. Her sobs were long and she felt as though she hadn’t cried properly in a long time.

Padma said nothing as she sat on the bed with Hermione. She watched her friend dissolving into tears, saw her shoulders shaking as she cried, her hands covering her face.

Finally, her tears slowed and Hermione looked up. Her eyes were red and her face wet, but she felt marginally better. Gladly, she accepted the tissue Padma offered her.

“I—I’m sorry, Padma,” she said, wiping her face. “I don’t know what happened.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Padma said quietly. She stared into Hermione’s eyes for a moment until Hermione broke the gaze, looking away, ashamed.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Padma’s mouth dropped open a little as though she hadn’t really been expecting it. “You are?” she asked, incredulous. “But how? I mean, you’re not seeing anyone, are you?”

“No,” Hermione replied quietly, shaking her head and wiping away another tear with the tissue.

Padma looked perplexed for a second, then said. “Well, then who… How far along are you?”

Hermione sniffed, but seemed to be regaining her composure. “Five months.” She glanced at Padma, seeing the calendar turning inside her head, knowing she was trying to figure out who the father could be by the date.

“You’ve kept this to yourself for five months?” Padma asked, now staring at Hermione. “Oh, Hermione, how did you? Does anyone else know? The father?”

Hermione paused, taking a reassuring breath. She almost felt relieved now that someone else knew, but a new worry was beginning to press upon her. “Yes, the father knows,” she said finally. “And Padma, please, don’t tell anyone. I can’t have anyone know.” She looked at her pleadingly.

Padma paused, her eyebrows coming together. “Why though? Hermione, you can use all the support you can get. If you’re going to raise this child alone…”

“I’m not alone,” Hermione said before she could stop herself.

“Hermione,” Padma said slowly. “Who’s the father?”

Hermione sighed. She had known it would come up eventually. It would be impossible to hide it from anyone. She’d already proven she was bad at concealment.

“It’s…” she said unwillingly. She didn’t want to reveal who it was, even to Padma.

Padma scooted closer, laying a hand over Hermione’s. “Please, Hermione, I want to help. I won’t tell Harry or anyone until you’re ready, but please, tell me who it is. Do I know him?”

“You’ve met him,” Hermione said evasively.

“Well, is he at least handsome? A gentlemen?”

“He is,” Hermione said, thinking that he was sometimes.

Padma was quiet for a moment. “And you’re not dating him at all. What kind of man is this?”

Hermione hesitated. “He’s successful, attentive most of the time, he cares about the baby, I think…”

“Does he care about you?”

“I… I don’t know,” Hermione said finally.

Padma sighed, looking at Hermione plainly. “If you don’t tell me who it is right now, I might just have to assume the worst and guess Harry.”

Hermione actually laughed and Padma smiled, happy she could cheer Hermione up a little.

“It’s not Harry, definitely not,” Hermione said. Then she paused, her smile falling and she lowered her voice a little. “The father is Blaise.”

She sat back and watched as the notches clicked into place in Padma’s head.

“Blaise, Blaise Zabini?” Padma asked, her eyes widening again. “How did that happen?”

“I don’t know!” Hermione cried. “He just showed up that day and then he came back and I don’t know how it happened.” She sniffed as she began to cry again. She hated not being able to control her emotions anymore. Damn hormones.

“It’s okay,” Padma said, pulling her into a tight hug. “I thought you and Blaise broke up.”

“We did,” Hermione said, her voice muffled in Padma shirt. “He said I was too immature or something. I don’t know.”

Padma scoffed. She’d never known anyone more mature than Hermione. If Blaise hadn’t seen that, he was an idiot. She was still confused, though.

“You broke up more than six months ago, almost a year,” she said. “So how can it be that you’re only…”

“He… he came back,” Hermione said, pulling away and feeling ashamed. “After we broke up, we still, well, he showed up at my apartment and somehow we slept together.”

“Just once?”

Hermione flushed, still looking anywhere but at Padma. “No, more than once, but I couldn’t stop it.”

Padma was silent for a moment, absorbing it all. “And now you’re pregnant. I hope he stepped up.” Her tone was cold and Hermione looked up quickly.

“He did, Padma, please don’t get defensive. This is exactly what I’m worried about. You saw how Ron reacted at the mere mention of him tonight. I don’t want Blaise to have to go into hiding because of Harry and Ron.

Padma stared at her for a second, then sighed. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll try to be diplomatic.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said seriously. “And don’t worry. Blaise is doing really well now. I think he’s trying.”

“Good,” Padma said. “I would hope he’s treating you well.” She paused for a moment, then leaned in closer, seriously. “What’s going on with you and him, then? Have you discussed anything?”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, uneasy.

“Are you getting back together?” Padma asked seriously. “Does he still care about you? Do you still care about him?”

Hermione was taken aback at these questions. No one had asked her that before. She hadn’t really given it a lot of thought.

“We’re not getting back together,” she said, fairly sure she was right. “I don’t know how he feels… I haven’t asked him.”

“What about you?”

Hermione looked away. She didn’t know and she almost didn’t want to find out. She had a suspicion that the answer would complicate things even more than they already were.

“I don’t know,” she said finally.

Padma didn’t pursue the topic. Instead, she leaned back. “So you won’t tell anyone?”

Hermione shook her head. “I can’t, not yet. Can I count on you?”

Padma looked hesitant, but in the end, she agreed she wouldn’t tell anyone. After making sure Hermione’s make-up was normal, they returned to the sitting room with everyone else, saying only the dishes had took longer than they thought.

Hermione spent the rest of the evening in relative silence, thinking over what had just happened with Padma. She had known eventually someone would find out, but she hadn’t thought it would be so soon. She had to admit, though, it was nice having someone other than Blaise who knew.

At the end of the night, she wished everyone a goodnight, getting a few last minute happy-birthdays. She was relieved when the door shut behind her and she was able to Apparate to her flat for a bit of silent contemplation.

**

September nineteenth fell on a Tuesday, three days after Hermione’s birthday dinner at Harry’s. The nineteenth, her actual birthday, passed without much affair. At work, she received a few cards and even a cake. Harry stopped by again to wish her happy birthday.

He acted completely normal, which made Hermione believe that Padma had kept her promise. She was glad for this. She knew now it hadn’t been a mistake to tell her.

Hermione arrived home that afternoon to a bouquet of flowers on her kitchen counter along with a handwritten note.

Perplexed, she unfolded the note and skimmed the contents. It was from Blaise, requesting that she come over to his house that evening. Smelling the flowers, Hermione thought that maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea. After all, lately, he’d been much better about everything.

So that night around six o’clock, Hermione Apparated to Blaise’s house. As she looked up at the large manor, she felt oddly sick. The last time she had come to this house, Blaise had broken up with her.

Shaking away the feeling, she knocked three times on the large front door. Moments later, a woman answered the door and showed Hermione into the foyer, storing her coat in a cupboard.

The woman left and Hermione waited awkwardly in the hall. It hadn’t changed much in a year. The same crystal vase stood in the corner, unused and unnecessary in Hermione’s opinion, but Blaise’s mother had given it to him, therefore it had to be displayed.

Hermione turned as she heard a noise. Blaise was coming towards her from the sitting room area.

“Hermione,” he said, sounding pleased. “I’m glad you came.” He produced a white rose from behind his back and handed it to her. “Happy birthday.”

Hermione was surprised that he remembered and accepted the rose quietly. “Thank you.”

Blaise put a hand on her lower back, steering her out of the foyer and into the sitting room.

“How are you?” he asked as she took a seat on one of his leather settees.

“I’m doing fine,” Hermione said slowly. “Blaise, how did you know it was my birthday?”

Blaise shrugged noncommittally. “I have my ways.” He didn’t mention that he had never forgotten her birthday. He waved his wand, conjuring a glass of ice water and he handed it to her. “How has the day been so far?”

Hermione was still suspicious of his actions, but accepted the water and answered his question. “It’s been good. Harry stopped by the office and I received a few cards.” Blaise nodded slowly. Hermione frowned. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” Blaise asked.

“You’ve never celebrated anything with me,” she said. “Why start now?”

Blaise didn’t appear to react, simply took a sip of his drink and watched her closely. “I was never there to celebrate anything,” he replied simply.

It was perfectly true. The only major holiday that had passed while they had been together was Christmas, and they had spent it apart. Blaise’s birthday was in the spring so they had never gotten to celebrate it and her last birthday, he’d been out of the country.

Hermione frowned again at his answer. He was being vague. “Why did you invite me here?” she asked. “Surely it wasn’t to discuss our past celebrations.”

Blaise took a moment before saying, “No, it wasn’t. I have something I’d like to show you.”

Hermione watched in surprise as he stood up and waited for her to do the same. “Something to show me? What is it?”

“A surprise, unless you want me to ruin it,” Blaise said simply, leading the way out of the sitting room and down the hallway Hermione knew led to the drawing room and kitchen. Instead of leading her into the kitchen, he took a left turn down a hall Hermione had never ventured.

She walked behind him, eyes taking in the large mullioned windows on either side of them that let the late afternoon sunlight stream in, casting long orange and yellow squares on the floor.

Blaise led her to the very end of the hallway where a double door stood. He stopped and turned to Hermione.

He paused as she came to a stop, still staring around her at this unfamiliar hall. “I meant to show this to you a long time ago,” he said and Hermione looked at him curiously.

He said nothing more and pulled open the heavy doors.

Hermione’s mouth dropped open and she gave a gasp as she walked into a huge room filled to the top with books upon books upon books. The bookshelves ran all the way to the top with stairs leading to the second level against the wall. In the middle of the room was a dark brown couch and armchair, both of which faced the large window on the opposite side.

Hermione was mesmerized as she looked around the room, her hands itching to read all the books. She couldn’t believe this had been hidden inside Blaise’s manor. Her eyes stared around the entire room, wondering how many books there were. It was like a fantasy come true.

Beside her, Blaise was watching her carefully. He’d been trying to think of what to do for her birthday, knowing it had to be something big and thoughtful. Ever since his last visit, he’d been thinking a lot about what the situation had become and what he wanted to happen.

He had figured that something like this, something that peaked her interest, would be the best way show her he actually cared and listened.

“Oh, Blaise,” Hermione breathed as she continued staring at all the books. “This is amazing.”

“You like it?”

“It’s incredible,” Hermione breathed, heading to one of the shelves and running her fingers over a dusty gold-embossed spine. “How did you get all these?”

Blaise shrugged. “Step-fathers mostly,” he said. “My mother also bought me books whenever she went out of the country.”

Hermione was barely listening as she read all the titles. She wondered how long it would take her to read all the books in that library. Months, years maybe, she guessed.

“Have you read them all?” she asked, too busy looking at the books to look at him.

Blaise had taken a seat in the armchair and was watching her rapture. “Some. I don’t have enough time to read them all.”

She was impressed. She hadn’t thought he would care enough to read all these books. Most people who had giant libraries hardly bothered to read what was inside them.

Hermione tore her eyes away from the books and looked at Blaise. Her face was full of gratitude and Blaise felt a strange feeling in his chest that he couldn’t explain. She came over to him and he stood up.

“Blaise, this is the best present anyone has ever given me,” she said sincerely, hugging him lightly.

He placed his arms around her waist and held her for a second. It was cozy for that moment as the sun set behind the window and the lamps came on around them. Blaise closed his eyes for a second but opened them as soon as Hermione pulled away.

Clearing his throat, he sat back down and Hermione did the same on the couch, still staring around her in wonder.

Blaise watched her for a moment, wondering if he had done the right thing. She seemed to sense he was watching her and turned to him.

“What?” she asked, a little disconcerted.

Blaise paused a second, then sat forward in his chair. “Can I ask you something?”

Hermione glanced at him curiously. “I guess.”

“When we were dating, near the end, what did you think?”

Hermione had a sudden flash of standing in Blaise’s front door as rain cascaded from the sky and tears leaked down her cheeks. Blaise stood before her, his expression cold as he shut the door in her face.

She blinked and found herself in front of Blaise in the library. Outside, the sky was growing darker but rain was nowhere in sight. Blaise was watching her earnestly.

She looked away from him. “I was happy,” she started. “I thought you were too, even though I could tell you were pulling away.”

Blaise said nothing, knowing what she was saying was perfectly true. He had pulled away a lot in the last few weeks of their relationship.

“When you invited me to dinner that last night, I wasn’t sure what to think. It is really hard to know what you’re thinking sometimes, Blaise. I thought maybe you were going to do something to explain your behavior over the previous few weeks, and I was right, though it wasn’t what I was thinking.”

Blaise’s eyebrows came together as he listened.

“I got ready that evening expecting something different,” Hermione said, still not meeting Blaise’s eyes. “We had dinner and you were the perfect gentleman, acting as though nothing was wrong. I thought things were going well and maybe you’d finally gotten over your reserve of dating me.” She sighed. “I know I’m not the perfect girl you’re expected to marry. I work too much, I’m not as pretty as most girls, I care about different matters than you do. My focus wasn’t on finding the perfect husband or spending as much time as I could relaxing. Your mother didn’t, doesn’t, like me but I had thought that maybe you could see past it then. Obviously I was wrong.”

Blaise was beginning to see what Hermione might have been expecting that evening. “When you came over…”

Hermione sighed again. “I was foolish to believe imparted values could be overcome. I suppose I should have seen it, but when you told me you wanted to see other people, I was… for lack of a better word, crushed. I admit I was surprised by it and I didn’t want it to be true, but it was obvious you were serious.” She gazed at the carpet, finally looking up at the window where the sky had turned a dusky blue.

Blaise didn’t know what to say. He’d never heard her side of the story before. He remembered telling her it was over, seeing her face fall and then the anger followed by more tears. He remembered the words she’d said to him, accusing him of being selfish and egotistical. At the time, he’d told himself it was for the best. She didn’t know what she was saying anyway.

“Hermione,” he said slowly and she glanced at him for a second before looking away again. “Did you ever love me?”

Silence stretched between them as Hermione looked intently out the window and Blaise waited for the answer. Finally, Hermione hung her head and replied quietly. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

No one said anything more as they sat in the library, watching the stars creep out from their blanketed sleep and twinkle brightly in the cool September night.

*