Hunter and Prey

Fenrir caught the wizard by surprise. One moment of distraction was all it took. Patrick Ryan did not have the advantage of combat experience or Constant Vigilance. He had barely started Hogwarts when the War ended. The werewolf tore his throat out before he had time to realise the danger.

Hermione acted much faster. She dove for Ryan’s wand. He’d dropped it when he fell so she was spared having to snatch it out of his hand. The wood felt wrong to her touch but it didn’t matter. There wasn’t time for finesse. She disapparated without a backwards glance.

Apparating was not her favourite mode of transport. Hermione appeared on the doorstep of Honeydukes and promptly threw up. The lurch of arrival and the chaotic mix of scents from the sweetshop offended her stomach. Morning sickness ought to be outlawed, she thought, and it wasn’t even dawn. Considering how she could have splinched herself with a strange wand, just spewing over someone’s front door was a minor embarrassment.

Once she had got her stomach under control, Hermione cleaned herself and the shop frontage. She charmed a discarded Daily Prophet into a set of robes then trudged to Hogwarts. The school had been the closest familiar place she could think of in a hurry. She hadn’t wanted to risk the longer trip home or to her less well known office in Carlisle.

Hogwarts seemed eternal to her as she neared. It had lasted wars, revolts, underage wizards and countless other calamities, most of which she could still readily name. The school was a welcome sanctuary and she was fighting back tears by the time she got to the front door.

Since the retirement of Argus Filch, discrete admittance into Hogwarts could be achieved with much less sour muttering. Hermione got to Headmistress McGonagall’s suite with a minimum of disturbance. The charmed robes were beginning to return to their original form and the effort of maintaining her composure was starting to tell. She knocked then lent against the jamb to wait.

It wasn’t long before the door opened. The firm voice so well remembered from her years in Gryffindor washed over her as her former Head of House exclaimed in surprise. Hermione blinked at Minerva’s tartan dressing gown and tried to excuse her unexpected visit but sobs choked her.

“My dear, come with me.” The Headmistress took her arm gently and escorted her to the infirmary. Hermione gasped out an explanation on the way but went with her teacher with perfect trust, allowing herself to be put into the care of a hastily roused Madam Pomfrey. Minerva and Poppy shared a significant glance after they saw her bruises but neither pestered her for confirmation.

“You’ve got to warn the Ministry Fenrir Greyback is loose.” Hermione said urgently as she was tucked into bed. “And let everyone know I’m alright. And there’s a little girl somewhere in Cumbria. Her parents were killed. I’ve got to find out if she’s safe.” She accepted a potion without demur and it was only when she felt drowsy and her head dropped onto the pillow that she protested she had slept enough...

Someone was patting her hand. Hermione roused with a start, waking with none of the grogginess she had previously experienced upon opening her eyes in an unexpected place. Madam Pomfrey helped her sit up and adjusted her pillows. Soft dawn light and the scent of wildflowers from the open windows dispelled her worry she had been dreaming of being safe.

“You weren’t asleep long.” The Healer poured her a glass of water before fetching a breakfast tray. Hermione drank gratefully then stared at the food. Porridge, dry toast and a banana; all bland and acceptable to an unsettled stomach. Poppy noted her gaze and said gently. “You are seven weeks along and there are complications.”

“You know what the father is, then.” Hermione said dully. She ate because she was hungry. It seemed the sensible thing to do. Madam Pomfrey noticed the younger woman clenched the spoon so tightly her knuckles were white but she chose not to remark upon it.

“I cast the Graviditas charm twice to be sure.” Was all she said. While Hermione had been asleep, she and Minerva had conferred. Her disappearance had been prominent in both the wizarding and muggle news. They had followed the story closely. It was not Arithmancy to add her state of undress, bruises and burgeoning stomach into a reasonable solution. “I’m sorry, Hermione.”

“How many?”

“Three.” Madam Pomfrey did not believe in evasion when it came to treating patients but she couldn’t bring herself to say the next part bluntly so she compromised. “All seem to have inherited the condition.” She had cast those charms several times.

“That doesn’t surprise me.” Hermione finished her porridge, feeling numb. She had been almost sure but hearing it from a Mediwitch had slain her last faint hope that she was wrong. Ryan’s ‘eating for four’ remark strongly suggested he’d cast the same spells as Madam Pomfrey, though she was surprised he’d had the skill. “What are my options?”

“I’m afraid the safest thing to do might be to let nature take her course.” The Healer held up her hands to forestall her patient’s objections. “You do not have to say anything, I know you want to feel clean again, to rid yourself of what happened but this isn’t an ordinary situation.” Poppy was sympathetic but she could not do other than be honest. “It is entirely possible you will miscarry before the end of your first trimester. From what little I know about such matters, that is the usual result.”

“How usual?” The scientist witch asked automatically. Hermione watched Madam Pomfrey retrieve a book from her desk then accepted the tome from her. Impediments in Magical Gestations with Particular Emphasis on Rare Conditions and Phenomena with Instructions for the Midwife, was not light reading. Nor particularly recent judging from the battered cover.

Hermione frowned. This was exactly the sort of slipshod practise that got up her nose. One wizard somewhere once finds out something, publishes it and suddenly its fact. No peer review, no independent studies, no follow-up. Just blind acceptance of the printed word. She opened the book and began to read. Letting out her breath in a small, relieved sigh, Poppy Pomfrey left her to it.