Page Turner

Chapter Three
In Which Hermione Gets Some Advice

Ginny came out of her bedroom wearing nothing but frilly green knickers and a matching bra of the type that pushes, lifts, adds, and generally makes men’s mouths water for what is mostly an illusion.

“Harry might be more willing to tolerate the pink walls if he knew that’s all you wore around here,” Hermione remarked drily.

“That’s our little secret,” Ginny said with an outrageous wink. “And besides, he’ll have time enough to see me in this ‘outfit’ at his place—the three seconds they last before he rips them off my willing body.”

“Thanks for that image.”

“Well, you know. Since in your sex life, sex is actually pretty much just an aberation, I thought I’d just remind you what it’s like.”

“Screw you.”

Ginny laughed. “Oh, I’m not the one who needs screwing, Hermione dear. So. You gonna suck it up and tell me who your baby’s daddy is, already? I promise not to laugh if it’s Neville.”

“Shut up, Ginny. He took me out for ice cream exactly once, and he was a perfect gentleman,” Hermione defended.

“A gentleman, huh? Guess that rules him out. Hmm. Blaise Zabini?”

“You freaking kidding me? There’s more pot-smoking going on at his place than pots smoking in Hogwarts’ Potions classroom. Why do you think he’s so quiet all the time? He’s too stoned to put words into sentences.”

“Oh, right. Well, who else could it be? Not Colin. He never really had that growth spurt teenage boys are assured of having when they’re the shortest kid in there class.”

“Not just a late bloomer, but a non-bloomer,” Hermione agreed.

Luna looked up suddenly from her knitting. It was supposed to be for the baby, Hermione knew, but she couldn’t tell if it was meant to be a bootie or an igloo. “The lumpy horndigs can’t cross-pollinate if there are no flowers available,” she said, nodding.

Ginny continued as if she hadn’t heard the dreamy blonde, which was exactly status quo. “Krum hasn’t been seen around London since he joined the American Quidditch League, so he’s out. Which is unfortunate because he’s bloody gorgeous and your baby could do worse than share that man-hunk’s genes. And Seamus got married last spring, so—“ She looked to Hermione, eyes wide. “Baby’s daddy isn’t married, is he? Because I know, married men can seem kind of sexy in that forbidden fruit sort of way, but that would make this complicated. More complicated,” she amended.

“No, he’s not married,” Hermione assured with a roll of her eyes.

“Well, I can’t think of anyone else it could be. And I’m getting tired of playing Twenty Questions. Is it even someone I know?”

Hermione nodded. Luna already knew Draco was the father—she occasionally had bursts of quite accurate Vision. And one happy benefit of Luna believing in every crazy thing under the sun that the idea of Hermione sleeping with Draco seemed pretty reasonable to her. With Harry and Ron commiserating at some dive after the Chudley Cannons had lost miserably to the Wigtown Wanderers and unable to gather a mob to beat Malfoy to a pulp, it wasn’t the worst time to tell Ginny.

“Well?” the redhead prompted.

Hermione took a deep breath followed by a swallow of tea in lieu of the the liquid courage she really wanted. “What would you say if I told you it was Draco Malfoy?”

“I would tell you that you’ve been fucking nutters—“

Hermione should have known better.

“—For not keeping him tied to your bed for these last weeks since you’ve gotten preggers.”

Maybe Hermione shouldn’t have known better.

Ginny continued lustily, “That man is a prick, but he’s a particularly lickable one.” She leered.

“Well then, I guess I’m fucking nutters.”

Ginny gaped. “You really had sex with the Ferret? Well, was it any good?”

Hermione blushed, which she supposed was answer enough. “It was, you know, nice. You aren’t mad?” she queried.

“Well, can’t say he’s my favorite bloke, but I can see wanting to shag his brains out if the opportunity arose. Have you talked to him about it yet?”

Hermione nodded. “He wanted to move me into a nicer apartment. Don’t give me that look, Ginevra Weasley. I have my pride.”

“You also have a baby on the way,” Luna piped up. Ginny just raised her hands as if to say, “Hey, she said it, not me.” Hermione huffed.

“How mad do you think Harry and Ron are going to be?” she wondered in a small voice.

“Very,” Ginny said immediately. “Don’t give me that look; I tell it like I see it. And they are not going to see that Draco’s abs could so completely eradicate a girl’s abililty to reason. Maybe a little reminder about the infamous Lavendar and Won-Won era would be a good idea . . .”

Luna emmitted a feral growl.

“Maybe not,” Hermione said.

“Everything all right there, Luna?” Ginny had a lot of cheek.

“I like Lavendar,” Luna announced rather unexpectedly, given the circumstances. “So I would prefer to not have to sic my Moonbellied Frankosaur on her.” Luna’s companions blanched. Luna had sicced her notoriously absent pet on Ron once, and the mess had made even Molly decide it was time for Ron to get his own place.

Hermione had wondered more than once if this Moonbellied Frankosaur looked anything like a chainsaw.

“And what do mean, it was just ‘nice?!’ All that gorgeous naked man and all that reputation not amount to much in real life? I knew those rumors were too good to be true,” Ginny muttered darkly, just now catching Hermione’s comment about the quality of sex with Malfoy.

“No, no, I’m not saying it was bad,” Hermione rushed to say. “It was just . . . quick.”

“Oh, honey.” Ginny patted her on the back, simultaneously sympathetic and amused. Even Luna let out a bark of laughter.

“Not on his part!” Hermione would really have liked to know why she was defending Malfoy’s manhood—literally. “But for me, well, it’s been a while, so, you know, things got pretty hot and heavy, and I was really peeved about his criticism of Shakespeare and his utter unwillingness to hear my arguments, and then things got hotter, and then everything just suddenly . . .blew up,” she finished lamely.

“You got off on debating some book? Hermione Granger, you kinky minx, you.”

But instead of laughing or at least looking embarrassed as Ginny had hoped, Hermione just heaved a great sigh and dropped her head to the table with a thunk powerful enough to rattle her teacup—still full, because she’d been offered nothing else these days—in its saucer.

“This isn’t how I wanted things to go,” she moaned. “And Ron and Harry are going to hate me.”

“Piffle. They’ll hate Draco, not you, so you’d better get your act together and make sure they don’t break his pretty face,” Luna declared.

Luna was right. No reason to get all weepy and panicked because of one little baby. She’d faced Lord Voldemort, for chrissake! So what if she’d only come up against the Dark Lord a few times in person? She’d still been battling him for a good portion of her life. It occurred to her that she would be facing this child every day in person for the next seventeen and a half years. And a good portion of those would be teenage years. She shuddered, but bucked up her Gryffindor courage. It could be worse: Molly Weasley had had a whole herd of children, including Fred and George. They must have been terrors. Actually, George was still a terror. He constantly used his missing ear as an excuse to use one of his Extendable Ears to eavesdrop on embarrassingly personal conversations. If he asked Hermione once more time to describe just how cold Dr. Machlevich’s duck bills were, and why exactly her feet would have been in stirrups, she would box his remaining ear so hard he wouldn’t have a place to sit the fancy sunglasses he’d bought with his new-made joke shop fortune. She could only be relieved that George had overheard her, and not Arthur. Dear god. Arthur would have asked questions, and really wanted to know the answers, and Hermione would have felt obligated to answer them. Explaining it all to Ginny—who had simultaneously looked horrified and laughed her head off—had been bad enough.

“And how do you suggest I keep them from breaking his face?” Hermione said to Luna now.

Luna’s eyebrows drew together momentarily, then she replied, “Well, Draco could take a draught of felix felicis potion and hope for the best.”

“That they’d break the rest of him, and not his pretty face?” Ginny scoffed.

“Or,” Luna continued, “Draco could offer to supply them with ground billybat wings to keep the ficklenees content and out of the airducts. But I would recommend you tell him to lie low and not show up in the Auror Department at the Ministry until Ron and Harry have had some time to cool down and remember that just because the three of you are close doesn’t mean they can tell you who you can and can’t make babies with. Lay the guilt trip on them thick enough, and they’ll think it’s their fault you’ve got a bun in the oven.”

“Bun in the oven? Where do you come up with this stuff?” Ginny pouted, not appreciating that Luna offered a plausible—nay, even sensible—solution before she did. Hermione recognized the desire to always be the one who knew the answer, and didn’t tell her redheaded friend that it was a common enough muggle expression.

“Lay on the guilt trip, you say?” Hermione said, tapping her chin as her mind swirled with plots.

Lay on the guilt trip. That might just work.