Triumph Out of the Bitter Taste of Ashes

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Chapter Twenty Nine
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The ever changing lights of the great hall flickering around her, Hermione sighed as she pushed her plate away. No matter the threats of Professor Snape force feeding her, she simply could not eat another bite -- despite the fact that, thankfully, the morning sickness she had been experiencing for the last month and a half had seemingly disappeared for good. She was tempted to knock wood on the heels of that thought as vague superstition raised its ghostly head. Snorting, she fought the silly impulse with a confused shake of her head.

Gods above, but she had mixed feeling about the end of winter break. All the students would be returning tomorrow, and though she couldn\'t deny that she missed her two best friends to the very depths of her soul, she was *not* looking forward to the loss of the quiet she had not only becusedused to, but had grown to cherish. In the emptiness that was the holidays, it was easy to avoid other people when she wished to be alone, and that would all come to an abrupt halt with the return of the hundreds of students who were currently on holiday.

There was nothing she could do about that, however, and as she sat alone at the Gryffindor table, the remains of her meal in front of her, the thoughts that she\'d managed to push aside while she ate came rushing back in on her. Without the task of finishing her meal, all the little things, alongside the rather huge obstacles in her path disrupted her quiet time.

The little things included the end of her solitude. Though that was the most minor of all her concerns, it certainly added to her worry. On the heels of that, a stumbling block of bigger concern was the coinciding return of Malfoy.HermHermione shuddered involuntarily, instantly clamping down on the unwanted response with clenched teeth and raw determination.

**That\'s it!** she thought decisively. **He\'s not \'Malfoy\' any longer. From now on, he\'s Draco -- whether he likes it or not!**

She almost laughed at that point, suddenly picturing the blond\'s reaction the very first time she actually *used* his given name -- without his permission no less. Drawing herself up straight, Hermione\'s small grin morphed into a smirk. **Well, if he doesn\'t like it, he can just bloody well get over it!** She was tired of thinking the name Malfoy and being instantly thrust back in time. The name Malfoy had become synonymous with terror, and she was not about to let that rule her life. That *bastard* was not going to win!

She sighed then. If she could get away with it, she would have simply avoided the blond Slytherin as much as humanly possible, and ignored the prat when it wasn\'t. There was just one tiny, little obstacle with that plan. It seemed that, during her absence, something had developed between Draco Malfoy and her red-headed best friend.

Of course, wit hav having talked to Ron Weasley, she couldn\'t be sure exactly whas gos going on there, but even so, she knew *something* was. That they had worked past their antipathy was as obvious as it was astonishing. That their relationship had evolved into -- at the minimum -- a friendship was beyond shocking. She suspected that it was actually more than that, or was at least trying to be.

She had no inherent problem with it, not beyond her inability to be in the same room with the blond. Her problem was that she did not want to risk losing Ron\'s friendship over the prat. As such, she resolved to shove aside her reservations, and her fears, determined to make the effort to get to know the Draco that Ron had obviously come to know. She could get along with the prat, she decided firmly. After all, he hadn\'t done anything to her -- well, aside from being an arrogant, egotistical, bullying prat for all of most of her six plus years at Hogwarts.

She s her her head defiantly. **I\'ve already been through this!** she scolded herself, unsure why she was going through it yet again.

//Yes, you do!//

She almost growled at herself as she stared across the nearly vacant great hall. Unfortunately, her conscience\'s thought the truth. She knew very well why she was thinking about all the little things she had long ago decided how she was going to handle -- theoretically, anyway. Doing so, helped her a thi thinking about the big things -- like what the hell she was going to do about the child she didn\'t want.

She had already forced herself to do some research on the subject.

Now she actually giggled. Of course she had. Research was what she was good at. It calmed her, centered her universe. She had begun her impromptu research the very day that Professor Snape had dropped his bombshell -- though Hermione had to admit that her *assumption* from his statements and reactions was just that . . . an assumption. He hadn\'t actually out and out *said* what she thought he\'d implied, but it certainly seemed obvious to her.

He would have sneered and laughed at her had she been wrong . . . wouldn\'t he have? Unfortunately, she had no way of knowing. Her decision to not react, not to question, was one of the easiest she had ever come to, but was by far the hardest to accomplish. Sometimes, she virtually *ached* to reach out and tell the professor that she understood, that if he wished, she would listen. After all, he was plainly still very bitter about the whole thing. Not that she blamed him -- if she was right, of course. She\'d be a mite angry and bitter too, in his place. From what she could tell, nothing had ever been done about it.

Unfortunately, her decision to \'treat him no differently than before\' precluded that option -- not that she wasn\'t absolutely certain the Professor wouldn\'t verbally flay her for bringing it up, which *did* going a very long way to helping her keep her resolve. She snorted through a flash of ironic amusement. At least now, she understood her other professors a bit better. She just hoped her outward reactions were a bit better hidden than theirs had been. While she was still sure it was the best route to take, and that Professor Snape had never intended to reveal quite so much to her, it was not in Hermione\'s nature to simply ignore something that so obviously *still* bothered a friend.

And wasn\'t *that* a shocker. If someone had told her less than a month tha that she would consider Professor Snape a friend, she would have thought them ready for an extended, all expenses paid vacation at St. Mungos -- in the psychiatric ward. Now, though, as shocking as it seemed, she *had* come to view the man that way -- at least in the deep privacy of her own mind -- a snarky, sarcastic, slightly bitter friend, but aend end nonetheless.

A quiet laugh escaped her as a picture of flashed through her mind of her telling her prickly professor just that. Somehow, she didn\'t think the thought would sit well with the man who seemed to *live* to terrify students into line. Perhaps it would be best if she kept that to herself for now, she thought -- not without continued humor -- there would be time to admit her feelings later if it became appropriate.

Of course, that was not the pressing matter. No, the results of her research were what she *should* be concentrating on -- no matter how stereotypical her actions were. She had to admit that it had been easy to push aside the personal aspects of what she was researching as she had fallen into long established patterns. It had been amazingly simple to do so, in fact, long enough to get the information she needed.

To her dismay, however, she had discovered that unlike the muggle world, the wizarding world had no set, legal procedures for the adoption of orphans or otherwise unwanted children. There existed no specific agencies that handled such ts --s -- government controlled or otherwise. Everything was far too set around the bloodlines of the ancient pureblood families.

Quite frankly, her own personal situation aside, her research had left her utterly appalled at the lack of resources for some orphaned children. The old pureblood families -- most of them, anyway -- had long established estate wills that dealt appropriately with children born outside \'legitimate\' unions, leaving them with back up guardians and small trust funds to provide for their care and material welfare.

In the wake of it all, Hermione was still left wondering what happened to those not covered in such estate wills -- or perhaps occasionally loved by their otherwise married parent. Further checking had led her to the appalling discovery that those orphans not specifically covered in wills or taken in by willing \'right side of the sheets\' family ended up in orphanages -- with little to no hope of adoption.

**Positively medieval!** she fumed -- both now and then. Personally, she would have thought that, at least, with the enormous number of orphans following Voldemort\'s reign of terror, *something* would have changed. Apparently, however, nothing had.

A flash of thought flittered through her rather preoccupied mind and she wondered, for a fraction of secondst wst what provisions -- if any -- the Malfoy estate had for such children. She scoffed with a derisive snort. None, most likely.

A small mercenary, vengeance seeking part of her wondered -- not for the first time -- if the Malfoy\'s had such a codicil. She scoffed with a derisive snort. Most likely not. She smirked in momentary satisfaction as she pictured one Lucius Malfoy turning over in his grave if the bastard child inside her were *ever* to be legally recognized as a Malfoy. That fantasy dissolved very quickly under the weight of reality, however, just as it had every time it reared its head. Giving in to that need for revenge would mean *she* would have to raise the child herself, and beyond that, she would have to raise it *as* a Malfoy.

//Get back on track, Granger!//

Grinding her teeth in frustration at her inner conscience -- the same one that berated her any time she took more than the briefest of time away from her studies -- she sighed in weary resignation. Surprisingly, her inner nag was amazingly quiet on the subject of catch up work of late -- especially considering how far behind she was. Not that she wasn\'t very grateful for that unexpected silence.

Since her return to Hogwarts, she had been unable to concentrate on schoolwork for much more than an hour at a time. As a result, she was still -- literally -- behind. In fact, she had only managed to cover the material everyone else had through October. November and December\'s lessons remained unfinished.

Thankfully, most of it all had been review for her -- ambition and the obsession with learning having had her far ahead of her classmates in most areas long before the end of last summer break. Due to those facts, she had been able to skim some of her classmates work -- a horror she would have never considered before now -- allowing her to concentrate on the information she had yet to learn. It had certainly help the speed of her \'catching up\'.

Only one class had escaped the \'skim syndrome\', and that had been potions. It was the one class she didn\'t dare it. In fact, it was the one class she was *completely* caught up in -- including the holiday assignments everyone had been assigned. That was the one class she could never allow herself to shirk. Not only would she never hear the end of it, she would greatly disappoint her friends with the number of house points Professor Snape would surely take if she appeared in class any less than perfectly prepared. She may not care much about house points any more, but her friends and housemates probably still did.

Yanking her thoughts away from such mundane -- safe -- thoughts, Hermione nervously chewed her lower lip. In regard to the child, there were only two ways to go. That hadn\'t changed from the beginning. Either she could opt to go to a muggle adoption agency, which had the benefit of being completely anonymous -- she would never have to know just *who* the child was -- or she would have to do all the work herself. Getting a lawyer was something she couldn\'t do without getting her parent\'s financial help, and that was something she was determined to do without.

The latter choice of doing it herself, however, consisted of a *lot* of hard work to consider doing and she frowned as she once again considered going the already rejected muggle route.

It *would* be simpler for her, as she would simply turn the matter over to them. They would do everything for her but give birth -- and wouldn\'t it be *nice* if they could do *that* as well, she mused.

Unfortunately, her better sense didn\'t think that would be a very good option. While there was a chance -- the report she\'d been working on for Professor Snape certainly proved it -- that the child would have have no magic, she knew full well that it likely would. That *could* create problems.

Hermione was the last person to believe there was an inherent pem wem with muggles raising a magical child -- obviously. That wasn\'t her biggest worry there. What *did* concern her was her awareness that for every family that was like hers -- loving and accepting -- there had to be a family like Harry\'s. Unfortunately, that wasn\'t something she, or a muggle agency, could check for in advance.

Of course, all this led her to the same conclusion she had already -- tentatively -- come to . . . right back where she had started.

She would have to do it all herself. *She* would have to find a family -- a magical family -- willing to take the child. *She* would have to check them out to make sure they would be . . . suitable. And, without an incredible amount of luck, she would have to do it again and again until she found the \'right\' parents.

She fully acknowledged that, that was going to be . . . difficult, as well as an extremely drawn out process.

//Best get started then,// her conscience nagged, //hadn\'t you?//

**How, though?** she retorted silently, frowning.

//Duh!// came the response. //When in doubt, ask.//

Of their own volition, her eyes drifted toward the headtable. As she would expect, both Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall were still present. They rarely left before most, if not all of the students, that hadn\'t changed over the holidays. Either of oldeolder witches would be able to give her advice on how to proceed. They might even know of specific couples who, unable to have children of their own, would be happy to adopt the child.

It wasn\'t their willingness to help that Hermione questioned; it was her ability to ask. She had discovered that her newly acquired habit of avoidance had a big drawback, she no longer had absolutely any clue how to broach the subject with either woman. She had no doubts -- no matter how well hidden the feelings might be -- Hermione\'s latest behavior had to . . . sting.

She laughed quietly, amazed at how much amusement she was managing to find in such a difficult subject. Somehow, though, she didn\'t figure that the approaches she had recently perfected for Professor Snape would work as well on either the medi-witch or her Head of House.

Her eyes, once again with a mind of their own, shifted left, and also as she had known before she looked, Professor Snape\'s seat was empty. He, as always, was long gone.

Decn man made without another thought, Hermione rose and quietly walked out of the great hall. She headed immediately toward the dungeon -- her third home, lately. If she didn\'t do this immediately, she knew damn well that she would put it off again. Frankly, if it hadn\'t been for Professor Snape\'s rather insistent urging that she take care of herself . . . and ultimately the baby . . . she wouldn\'t have had the wherewithal to even begin this yet. Truth be told, she probably wouldn\'t have even given a second thought until *much* later.

Professor Snape\'s snide insinuations had been an abrupt wake up call, and a rather bitter pill to swallow. Much to her disgruntlement, he was right. This wasn\'t something she could just ignore and hope would go away. It wasn\'t going to go away until she did something about it. With that in mind, she made a beeline for Professor e\'se\'s office, hoping he might have stopped in there before retiring to his rooms for the evening. He usually did; she just hoped she was soon enough to catch him still there.

She hadn\'t the faintest clue where his private quarters were . . . not that she had the courage to go there even if she did. Gryffindor courage only went so far, it seemed.

**Courage?!** Hermione thought, once again smirking. Somehow, courage didn\'t seem to cover what was needed to beard the lion -- or in this case snake -- in his den.

TBC
Kiristeen
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