One More Time

*


Blaise stomped up the walk to his house, ignoring the paper that was dropped on his doorstep. He unlocked the door and went inside, throwing his coat over a chair by the door. He would pick it up later.

He sighed as he went through the living room and into the kitchen. He opened the cupboard and pulled out a bottle of bourbon. After pouring himself a liberal amount, he took and drink and set it down on the counter with a small clink. He hung his head and looked at his shoes for a moment.

When he’d gotten Hermione’s Owl at lunch, he could never have imagined this was what had been so important. He had left Jenna, though reluctantly. Even if she wasn’t the smartest girl, she would have her uses.

He had broken up with Hermione a year ago under the pretense that she wasn’t up to his standards. This was untrue. She wasn’t up to his mother’s standards. Isabella Zabini had never directly said she didn’t like Hermione, but the signs had all been there.

Blaise sighed again and set down his drink. He glanced out the window where the gardener was pottering around in the rose bushes, pruning and cutting a few to bring inside. It was a nice sunny spring day. It shouldn’t be ruined by the dark cloud that was hovering over his head, ready to pour at any moment.

He stared out the window at the garden and then closer to the sparkling swimming pool that sat just beyond the open patio. Blaise decided that he needed some time to think, so he grabbed his glass and headed outside.

He plunked down in one of the black metal chairs covered with some flowery material and cushions his mother had smuggled into his house. For the most part, he’d kept her out of the decorating but she’d managed to sneak the chairs onto the patio and he hadn’t bothered to get rid of them.

He poured himself another glass of alcohol and sipped it slowly, closing his eyes and trying to imagine that Hermione had not just told him she was pregnant.

She couldn’t be pregnant. It just wouldn’t work. They weren’t a couple and he doubted very much anyone would approve. She had Potter and Weasley as her guard dogs. He could just imagine what they would do once they found out.

That brought another thought to his mind: who was she going to tell and when? He hadn’t asked her. He’d been a little preoccupied to think rationally when he’d seen her. Who would they tell and how?

Most people were aware that they had dated and were equally aware that they had broken up on less-than-friendly terms. Of course, no one knew of their continued interactions, that were in fact fully orchestrated by Blaise, no matter how much he would deny it.

Blaise was sitting in the warm sun, rubbing his temples soothingly, trying to make any sense of what had happened in the last hour, when he heard a voice.

“Blaise!” a tinkling voice called. “Darling, are you home!”

“In here,” Blaise called back, though not quite as energetically. It was his mother.

Isabella Zabini walked out of the house and onto the patio, her gold earrings glinting in the sun as she walked. She was wearing a nice set of deep blue robes that were a bit tighter than strictly necessary. Her high heels clicked on the stone floor as she moved to the table Blaise was sitting at. She placed herself delicately in a chair and smiled at her son.

“Blaise, darling, what are you doing home? Shouldn’t you still be with Ms. Spencer? She’s a lovely girl, don’t you agree?”

“Yes, lovely,” Blaise agreed, his voice none-too excited. “I was called away in the middle for some… ah, business that needed attending to.”

Isabella frowned, tiny wrinkles creasing her otherwise smooth face. “I don’t understand why you feel the need to work, dear. We are perfectly well-off.”

“Speaking of,” Blaise said, shifting in his chair, “when’s the funeral for number… nine, is it?”

“Ten,” Isabella corrected him. “But what’s a number? My darling Blaise, you should stop this ridiculous charade and quit that disgraceful thing you call a job. Settle down and get married. I think Jenna is a perfect match. You know her family is the owner of several clothing chains in Britain?”

“Yes, mother, I know,” Blaise sighed. This seemed to be the channel all their conversations took; his mother urging him to quit his job and get married.

Blaise worked for a reason. He knew he didn’t have to work and he could spend all his time lounging on beaches in the south of France, but he didn’t want to. He’d rather have something to distract him from the things missing in his life.

Blaise worked as a reporter for the Daily Prophet. This gave him the ability to have a flexible schedule and share his dry wit with the public. He had a large fan following but for the most part paid them no attention.

“Just think how lovely your children will be,” Isabella continued, and Blaise stiffened at the mention of children. “With her beautiful complexion and your eyes, your children will be absolutely darling!”

“I think it’s a bit early for that, mother,” Blaise said quickly. It was best to cut his mother off before she got to planning the wedding.

Isabella sighed and looked at her son. He was gazing across the grounds, looking unfocused.

“But, darling, you’re nearly twenty-five years old. You must begin thinking about this.”

“In this century, it’s not uncommon for men to wait until they’re thirty, mother, heaven forbid,” Blaise drawled sarcastically.

“You may mock me,” Isabella replied, “but it’s best to get a firm hold early on.”

“Firm hold on what? You said it yourself. I’m perfectly well-off on my own. Why would I want a wife?”

Isabella frowned again, her eyebrows creasing. She raised a hand and swept her long dark hair over her shoulder. She tilted her head upward, showing off the aristocratic cheek bones that Blaise had inherited.

Blaise sighed internally as he saw her take a familiar stance. It was one of imperialism and power. He’d seen her use it many times on his numerous step-fathers. She was reaching to their background of Italian royalty.

“Blaise,” she said calmly, though sternly, “the Zabini name is very important. It must be passed on to the next generation. They must know what bloodline they come from; a line of pureblooded wizards, kings and queens for many years. It is your duty as the last male heir to choose a suitable wife and continue the line.”

Blaise merely looked bored. He’d heard this speech many times while growing up, even more so recently since he had gotten together, and broken up, with Hermione. Isabella seemed bent on finding the perfect wife for his son since their break-up.

She had set him up with numerous women, each as vapid as the last. They were progressively blonder and stupider. Jenna was just one of the many that Blaise would humor his mother with for a time before throwing her back, knowing he would soon have another trophy on his arm to show off for a week or two.

“I am well-aware of what my responsibility is, mother,” Blaise drawled, bored. He knew he wouldn’t get in trouble for his tone of voice. He had always been a spoiled child and his mother had never discouraged his attitude other than showing a certain amount of respect to her.

“You need to act more like it, darling,” Isabella said, her voice softening. “A few more years and all the good ones will be taken.”

“You mean all the ones smart enough to not marry young?”

“Have some manners,” Isabella reprimanded him half-heartedly. “I’m simply suggesting that it would be a smart idea to get someone now.”

“And I’m allowed to pick?” Blaise asked, his expression doubtful.

“Of course you are allowed to pick, darling!” Isabella said. “She’s going to be your wife, after all. You must feel something for her.”

“What if you don’t care for her?”

“Don’t be silly,” she said. “I would like anyone you chose.”

Blaise said nothing, thinking back to an hour ago when Hermione had told him that fateful news. He knew his mother wouldn’t be pleased, even if she did say she approved of whatever he did. A child out of wedlock and with a Muggleborn would definitely be frowned upon. It was not conducive to upholding the family name.

“Are you going to Owl Jenna? I’m sure she would enjoy a meeting for a drink to make up for running out on her early,” Isabella suggested.

“Hmm?” Blaise asked, coming out of thoughts of Hermione and just what was going to happen.

“Jenna, another date. Are you listening, sweetie? You seem a bit distracted.”

“Oh, yes, I—it’s just been rather hectic at work lately with the new Minister being inducted,” Blaise said, taking another sip of his drink. “But of course, I’ll Owl her right away.”

Isabella smiled lovingly at her son. “I must be going,” she said, standing up, as did Blaise out of many years of manners ground into his brain. “Remember what I said, darling. It’s never too early to start thinking about the future.” She turned to go back into the house, but paused at the doorway. “Oh, that reminds me. The funeral is on Saturday at ten. A spread will be served after at the Manor. Do wear something nice; Robert had several nieces.”

Blaise didn’t bother replying, simply sent his mother a forced smile and watched as she disappeared into the house.

Once she was gone, he sighed deeply and set his elbow on the table, rested his head in his hand, and closed his eyes. He had some thinking to do and he didn’t even know how to start.

**

Hermione shut the door and retreated into her flat, hoping the neighbors hadn’t heard too much of the fight she and Blaise had just had. She sank down on the couch and faced the blank television.

The news had been a shock, to say the least. She was always careful, always made sure they use protection, took a potion every month to prevent such things. She was always prepared. She had never imagined it wouldn’t work.

What was she going to do? Hermione knew this news was not going to be easy to break. Anyone she might tell would likely overreact and demand to know who. It would be very difficult to explain that her ex-boyfriend was the father; her ex-boyfriend whom she supposedly hadn’t seen since the break-up…

She had not told any of her friends about Blaise’s continued visits. At first, she had thought it was a one-time thing, but when it had continued, she had kept it to herself, partially out of embarrassment.

Harry and Ron had no idea. She saw Harry daily at work and they all got together every two weeks for a regular lunch. She was ashamed to admit that she let Blaise come back into her life at least once a month. She was supposed to be stronger than that.

When they had broken up, Harry and Ron had been overly supportive. Never ones to favor a Slytherin, they hadn’t approved from the start, and were only too willing to enumerate his bad points once they broke up.

Hermione knew they were simply overprotective of her and so had never paid them much attention, until now, that is. She glanced down at her stomach that was as flat as it usually was. She couldn’t imagine having a baby in there, knowing that in nine months she would have a child.

She simply wasn’t ready. She’d always thought that when she had a child, she would be happily married and settled down. She would have a loving husband and they would have planned it out. She had never thought that she would be having an illegitimate child with the man who had broken her heart a year ago.

Hermione sighed and rubbed her face slowly, trying to think rationally. She needed to figure out what to do and quickly. Even if she wasn’t showing yet, it would be difficult to hide.

First, she needed to decide what to do with the baby. Should she keep it or put it up for adoption? Her first response was to adopt it out to a suitable family. Surely that would be a more rational decision? A family who wanted a child would be much happier than she would be with a baby.

The more she thought about it, though, the less she liked the idea. How could she give up her child to a family she had never met? To someone whom she didn’t know? As unexpected as this had been, she couldn’t deny that she had always wanted a child.

Sure, she had expected to have it with someone she loved and who loved her back, but you can’t have everything in life.

Hermione stared at her hands, thinking hard. She reached for her wand and conjured a glass of water. She watched it appear on her coffee table and then just stared at it.

She was a witch. She wasn’t supposed to have problems like these. Why couldn’t magic solve it? It solved so many other things.

She was only twenty-four years old. She had the rest of her life ahead of her, a great career in the works. She was in the middle of her training to become a witch judge. What would happen if they found out? She knew witches who had become pregnant in the Ministry and never came back. They said they were too happy just being mothers and work had no appeal for them anymore.

Hermione didn’t want to be like that. Her work was important to her. She wanted to help people, do something worthwhile for the wizarding world. How was having a baby a worthwhile contribution to the world?

Hermione picked up her glass of water and took a sip. The whole situation made her wish it was alcohol but she knew that was a bad idea.

She looked at her hand holding the glass and realized it was shaking. Carefully, she put down the glass and clasped her hands together in her lap. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes momentarily.

If she was going to keep this baby, what was she going to do? Did she want Blaise involved at all?

She thought back to his reaction earlier and scowled. He had acted completely out of character. He hadn’t been his usual calm self. He had been panicked and irrational. If they were anything, they were rational thinkers, except when it came to each other.

He had lashed out at her like she’d only seen him do once, and then she hadn’t seen him until he showed up the night of her first new date.

She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t think she could raise a baby alone; getting up in the middle of the night, staying up rocking the baby to sleep, listening to it cry all night long. She just couldn’t do it.

A choked sound issued from her throat and she pressed a hand to her mouth, feeling the beginnings of tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. She swallowed slowly, willing herself not to cry. She didn’t want to be one of those women who cried at every little thing during their pregnancy. But then, she wasn’t like all those women.

She gave a quiet sob as a tear trickled down her cheek and fell to the floor, absorbing into the carpet. She had no idea what to do and there was no one to turn to.

She couldn’t tell Ron or Harry. They would kill Blaise and that would do no good. She couldn’t tell her parents. They would be horrified and disappointed in her.

The only person she could turn to was Blaise, and he was not exactly her best confidant at the moment.

Sitting in her empty living room, Hermione felt lost and alone, getting ready to face one of the biggest things in her life, and there was no one to help.


~~**~~


A/N: Uh, I failed at homework, so fanfiction. Please review!