Chances

AN: class=SpellE>Wicklowe: There’s a challenge for this? Where? Lol!

style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman"'>To everyone else: I’m a Sociology Major. Hopefully one day I will be a social worker. This fic is fluffy and cuddly compared to some of the case studies I’ve read.  is  is real. Pregnancy is real. Fics are a fun little hobby.

style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman"'>Consider social work, the world needs help.

style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman"'>If you take any fic seriously I suggest you turn off your computer and seek counseling.

style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman"'><&nbs 

style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman"'>Chances Chapter 1

style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman"'>~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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Hermione pulled her reading glasses off her nose. To her
annoyance she found she needed them as she entered her thirties. She squinted
at the small writing in front of her and shook her head.

Neville was working on this third book: style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>Tentaculas of the Congo, and had begged her to be the first reader. His
writing hadn’t improved over the years, but for some reason had gotten quite a
bit smaller.

She looked at the clock on the wall and sighed. It was a
half-hour until dinner. The first years would be arriving any moment, now. She
walked across the room she occupied in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and
Wizardry and looked out her window.

The torches flickered out over the water of the lake, the
reflection pooling out around the boats. It seemed like there were more boats
than ever this year. Minerva had been thrilled.

The Final Battle had happened a year after the attack on
Hermione. Thankfully, her birth had been easy and she had been well enough to
participate. She was there when Harry and Voldemort fell. The Potter line was
legend now.

It seemed as if more and more children flooded the halls of
Hogwarts every year. More and more Muggleborne children were admitted each year;
curiously, all generally from the area the Final Battle had taken place.
Dumbledore had a theory that the residual magic in the area caused recessive
magic users to blossom. Filch had gone to see for himself and, to the delight
of the Hogwarts students, was never heard from again. Rumor said he had settled
down with a nice hag in Lancashire and they were
breeding nifflers together.

Hermione let her focus draw back and she examined her
reflection. A few stray silver hairs intertwined in her hair, but not many. Her
hair was still curly, but she had gotten a handle on its unruliness. A few
freckles dotted her face here and there and her eyes were beginning to get
small crinkles at their corners. She had aged fairly well.

This was another time when she had thought of the boy she
had given up.

His defiant squall had broken her heart, but she had known
it was the right thing. The Deatheaters were on the rise. Her parents were
dead. It had been hard to find employment out of school and they probably would
have starved, she had known that. It probably was for the best.

Then there were times like this: the boats moving over the
lake, Ron’s eldest receiving his first training broom, Ginnys little ones
learning to hex each other, that made her heart ache with longing just to style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>know.

Many Wizarding families had perished in the years after
Hermione had given birth. Some had fled to Europe. There
was no telling where he was, or even if
he was anymore. She had called him Stanley, but she wondered what his name had
become.

She shook her head. It was a waste of energy.

It was time to get ready to meet the new students.