Eternal Mistakes On The Spotless Soul

A/N: Shame on all of you who want that poor girl to not actually be having Severus’ baby. Other people deserve Severus’ love besides Hermione, you know. (*dies a little inside for having said that*) I hope you all get what you want, this is very difficult to do, because as you know, Hermione cannot love him, nor can Severus love her. Or maybe they can. I don’t know. But thank you for reviewing, and please continue to do so!!

Crimson dripped across shiny white like paint dripping from a drying painting of a flower, so fresh, so bright, and so much red. The horns were loud; the screeching tires louder, but so much red, such a contrast against the pure innocent white. Steam rose up from the street, the heat of the day and the smoking car contributing to the haze that settled around the colt colored orbs that gazed helplessly up toward a sparking sky, not a cloud in sight.

It happened so fast, yet it played out so slowly right before his eyes. The little man was blinking red, nearly solid and there she stood, like a lost princess in a fairytale dream come true, drifting through the mirage of the painting before him. The suit behind her, tugging on her arm as she broke away and turned her head to face him, standing just at the median, eyes meeting his. Her smile flashed and from there he could see the tears that had fallen down her cheeks.

It was a frozen moment; she stepped down, ginger and gentle, like a maiden walking into the holy waters of Jerusalem for the first time, the train of her dress trailing slightly as her foot, clad in the satiny slipper touched the asphalt. Her smile was beaming, her eyes seeing only him. His eyes were wide and he was frozen. He could not move, could not speak or cry out to her.

What was slow motion turned into a racing blur as the black car squealed and screeched, burning rubber against the road, but not slowing, not stopping, not in time. And there she was, on her back, the crimson flowing from her stomach, pouring out in waves over her white wedding dress. Cars screeched to a halt, the intersection jammed with awkwardly angled vehicles, steam rising from tire tracks and horns blaring as drivers sprung from their seats, gazing over their open doors, gawking.

He ran. His feet flew, but he seemed to move no faster than if he were stuck in the same surreal dream that she was walking in just moments ago. Severus paled, falling to his knees as he gazed into her eyes. He scooped her up, blood covering his hands her stomach contorted, the perfect round bundle no longer round, but a flattened mess of blood and wedding dress.

“It’s cold.” Her voice was weak, her eyes straight up, pointing toward the sky.

He could say nothing as the tears streaked down his face, falling down his nose and cheeks, landing against her pale face. Blood poured from her stomach, seeping down her dress, dying the fabric scarlet as it ran to the street. Severus could hear the voices in the background, an officer asking questions, a man saying she had just stepped out of nowhere and that the light had been green. He could hear Draco screaming, saying that he’d tried to stop her from crossing the road, and the voice of the redhead trying to comfort him, but he could hear nothing so strong as her shallow breathing.

“Cold.” She said again, blinking once. Nalina’s eyes rolled back into her head and her body convulsed for a moment before her irises returned to face upward, lifeless and still. Her glassy eyes did not flinch as he lowered his lips to kiss her, weeping as his own body trembled. Severus remained on his knees, holding the girl as her skin paled, blood everywhere.

Her eyes remained open as he clutched her to his figure, feeling the sticky warmth through his suit, not caring that her blood was covering him. Severus kissed her lips, and they still felt slightly warm, but it was no consolation. He rose from the street, cradling his bleeding bride, her dress and train stained now more red than white. The officer did not stop him as he carried her across the street, stepping onto the grassy knoll and then to the eyes of the on-looker, disappeared into nothingness.

Hermione screamed, clenching the sheets as she was guided by the doctor to push. She was being ripped apart, there had not been time to medicate her properly. Sweat beaded down her face, dripping down her temple and she screamed again, feeling the head and shoulders push its way through her tiny vaginal canal. “One more push, Miss Granger,” the doctor said.

Panting like only a woman in labor could, she pushed, grunting and squeezing, and she felt the baby gush forward. A moment later a high pitched squeal erupted from the newborn and Hermione collapsed back against the pillow. “Congratulations, Miss Granger, you have a healthy baby boy,” the doctor said, turning the purple lump of a child upside right and wrapping it into a towel.

She panted, closed her eyes and wept silently. The baby was beautiful. Covered in placental goop and little bits of blood and hair, the baby was beautiful, her baby. Hermione shook her head, closing her eyes more tightly than before. She would not be a single mother. She could not allow herself to become attached. But before she could protest, the doctor had placed the squealing bundle into her arms. It cooed and made gurgling sounds for a moment before closing its eyes.

A moment later the doctor retrieved the baby and walked off, stating he would return in an hour or two once the baby was monitored and cleaned off, and that she could hold him as much as she liked then, but she needed to deliver the placental afterbirth and have a few tests run to see that she was indeed alright. Hermione nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes. It would not be easy to give the boy up, but it was something she had to do.