Page Turner

Chapter One
In Which Our Story Actually Begins

The idea of a hidden pregnancy was relegated to the genre of fiction to Hermione’s way of thinking, and she turned her mind to practicalities. Instead of worrying about hiding for months in baggy shirts, Hermione informed her friends of her suspicions immediately. She couldn’t have asked for more supportive friends. Harry had taken the afternoon off work to Side-Along Apparate her to St. Mungo’s, as she had been feeling a bit worried about splinching when she was so distracted. And by the time Hermione had exhausted her list of questions for the medi-wizard (including the benefits and risks of eating fish) and after she had spent several hundred Galleons on books about pregnancy in both wizard and muggle bookshops, everyone had gathered back at Luna’s apartment to greet her with hugs and tea.

Ginny grinned and sing-songed, “Hermione got some! Hermione got some!” Hermione considered pointing out that whether or not she had gotten some wasn’t really the crux of the matter. Especially since she really had only just barely gotten any, and now her hormones were raging like a randy teenager’s, and she was getting nothing at all.

Harry looked a bit queasy, though that may have simply been fatigued from carrying six sacks of books (real ones) from the nearest Apparition point, which was just on the street outside—eight stories down.

Ron cocked his head to one side and scratched his ear. “But I don’t understand,” he protested.

Luna smiled at him and patted his hand. “It’s because the lumpy horndigs migrated four longitudinal degrees east of their usual nesting place. It has upset the pollen balance and affected the active pheromones of everyone in an eighty-mile radius.”

“No, I understand how she’s pregnant,” Ron huffed, turning red. “I mean, not the lumpy pollen business, but the usual way.”

“With two naked people,” Ginny supplied gleefully.

Harry looked pained and stayed silent.

“Exactly!” Ron said. “Two naked people. I see Hermione, but I don’t see naked person number two.”

“Oh, Ron,” Luna sighed. “You would have to search the Intermagical Federation of the Nomadic Nameless Nude to find him. I believe the directory is registered with Google.”

“What the devil are you—never mind, I’m sure you think you’re speaking English,” Ron muttered. “But Hermione, you’re not even seeing anyone!”

Hermione cleared her throat, and the company fell silent, except for Harry, who had already been silent.

“Yes, well, Ron, it is possible to shag someone you’re not dating,” she said.

“You go, girl!” Ginny cheered as Luna nodded sagely and Ron sputtered. Harry still maintained his safe silence.

“But,” Hermione continued, “I am taking steps to contact the f—the father. And Ron, if you make one comment about me knowing who the father is, I’m going to hex your balls to the lumpy horndigs’ new nesting grounds.”

Ron closed his mouth with an audible snap.

“Well said!” Luna applauded. “Now, if you’ll all excuse us, Ron and I are going to be two naked people contacting each other.”

Harry’s left nostril twitched, the only outward sign of his mirth, which he heroically tried to hide as Ron’s face moved past red into purple. Ginny felt no such need to spare her brother’s pride and laughed outright.

Hermione thought she did pretty well herself at hiding her reaction until Ron called out a bit desperately even as the door was closing behind them—

“But without any babies!”


“Do you think Luna’s neighbors know what she and Ron are doing when we sit out here for hours on end?” Hermione wondered some time later as she, Harry, and Ginny sat cross-legged in the corridor before Luna’s flat door. They had made a run to the coffee shop down the street, and each nursed a frothy, high-calorie, caffeinated beverage except Hermione, who was stuck with tea again.

“Probably,” Ginny stated.

“Remind me again why we don’t hang out somewhere else?” Harry requested.

“Because Mrs. Weasley told Ron that if he wanted to stay in her house, he’d have to start paying rent, which is why he’s currently bunking at Luna’s. Because your flat is huge and your furniture is all streamlined and gorgeous and uncomfortable. Because I subleased my place to Ginny to finance my lease on the shop, and so I’m stuck sleeping in the backroom of my shop. Because Ginny painted my apartment a particularly putrid shade of pink.” Hermione reminded.

“I like having my own space,” Ginny declared, having only recently moved from her parents’ home. “And that paint ensures it stays only my space. And hey, I haven’t even stepped foot inside your library. As soon as you get on your feet with the shop and can afford the rent on you own flat again, all you’ll need is a bucket of non-pink paint and you’ll be all set to pick up where you left off. Except, you know.” She waved in the general direction of Hermione’s stomach.

“Yes, I imagine that will make things a bit different,” Hermione murmured.

“And I’ve got so little stuff, I can be set to move out in a flash,” Ginny assured brightly.

“And move in with me?” Harry asked, hope in his eyes. “As my wife?”

Ginny, with much enthusiasm, licked some stray whipped cream from the corner of Harry’s mouth, leading to much ardent hallway groping. After some time, the redhead resumed her previous position leaning back against Luna’s door, well-kissed and smug.

“No.” She ignored Harry’s crestfallen gaze. No one mentioned that she slept over at Harry’s every night anyway. “Although, Hermione, I feel obliged to point out on my boyfriend’s behalf that not all of his furniture is uncomfortable.”

“Damn straight,” Harry smirked.

“So, yeah . . .”

“Bye!” the pair said as one, and were gone.

Hermione sighed and climbed to her feet. In a few months, sitting cross-legged on the floor wasn’t going to be a very comfortable option. Actually, none of her options right now were ones she was comfortable with. Having to call the pig-headed hero of the little drama her life had become was not something she was looking forward to with any relish. And where exactly was she going to fit a baby? Her hours were filled with work as she struggled to establish a regular customer base and bring new customers into the shop, and she was living in the backroom with the cleaning supplies, for goodness’ sake! There wasn’t room for a nightstand between her dresser and her bed, much less a crib. She had been making good money working for Flourish and Blott’s as a buyer, but she had shoveled all that capital into her own shop. It was a good thing that she was so good at solving problems and figuring things out, because this was going to be a bit of a challenge. For once, she was actually rather dreading it. Mostly because she was going to have to tell her friends exactly who naked person number two was. Hermione felt a wave of nausea she couldn’t attribute to morning sickness or her Earl Grey.

As if on cue, Luna, barely covered in an afghan—apparently she and Ron hadn’t made it out of the living room—poked her head out the door.

“Are you going to be all right?” she asked. “Ron said you’ll be fine until he gets his too, but I wanted to make sure you didn’t want to come in and chat more about your options and anxieties.”

Hermione could have kissed her. “You’re a doll, Luna, but Ron’s right. I’m okay. I’ve just got some thinking to do. And I have to call . . . you know.”

“Draco,” Luna whispered. She pantomimed locking her lips and throwing away the key. Sometimes, Hermione thought Luna made more sense when she wasn’t actually speaking.

“But really,” Luna continued. “I’m never too busy to talk to you. Anything you need, you just stop on by. Anything at all. You need a shoulder to cry on at three in the morning, you should really come here. You and I can gorge on chocolate frogs and bad muggle horror films, and we’ll banish Ron to the couch.”

Hermione smiled and opened her mouth to reply.

“For the love of everything holy, don’t tell her that!” Ron’s voice drifted from somewhere behind the door.

“Any time,” Luna reiterated.

“Thanks,” Hermione said simply.

“It’ll be okay. If anyone can make this work, it’ll be you, Hermione. You’re the brightest witch of your age.”

Hermione wondered about that as she hoofed it back home, needing both time and air to get her thoughts in some semblance of order. It would be hard, but even if Malfoy were unwilling to involve himself, she could pull this off. Molly would probably be willing to Apparate into London to babysit while Hermione was at work, since the older woman had been complaining for several years that none of the Trio were giving her grandbabies. And she could probably convince Ginny to install some shelves about eye-level in her backroom flat, freeing up some floor space for baby things. Some puppy-dog eyes would ensure Harry would change Crookshanks’ litter pan. The financial aspect of raising a child would take a bit more research, as she had no earthly idea what the cost of child-rearing was, on average. Certainly a bit more frugality in her personal spending, and possibly some short-term investing would cover the necessities, and if not, she could maybe convince McGonagall to finally let her teach that Remedial Defense against the Dark Arts seminar, just to make ends meet. Luna was right. This wasn’t an insurmountable obstacle. Unexpected, certainly, but not ruinous. Apparently, even smart witches could have unplanned pregnancies.

As she jiggled the key just so to unlock the door to her “flat,” she took a deep breath. After giving herself a pep talk like that, she really had no excuse to put off telling Malfoy any longer.
 

A/N: Okay, so I just remembered that it has been some years since I've actually lived in the UK. I had to edit out like six "apartments." So let me know if I've got any other slip-ups, yeah?