Hermione struggles to keep the secrets under the skin of her son away from the rest of her family. As everything she tries to hide unravels she is haunted by what once was and what has come to be.

Just one question. Who is daddy?


7. Lost Puzzle Pieces

Life was muted as she focused on the beads the sweat that dropped with a crashing pop! pop! She knew her face was as pale as her Healer uniform. Her mind was numb to the pain that her body was enduring. Her heart was pounding in rhythm with the pop! pop! of sweat on the cotton covered shoulders and the quick pmph. pmph. of sneakers against linoleum. Absently running, in no specific direction, and from nothing in particular. Running from nothing than her own secret. A secret that has become a lie. A misconception. A heartbreaking occurrence that’ll forever destroy a family that never deserved anything but happiness but has never known anything but struggle.

She had to get away. She could not harm this family any longer. Her family. There was no where she could go that they wouldn’t find her. She knew they’d look. They’d look and they’d look until they discovered her and dear little Titus. She might as well save them the excess trouble. She wanted to tell them the truth, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t break their hearts. She couldn’t bear to see their faces. They’d find out eventually. Her husband was sure to tell them. He was bound to leave any moment. She had no idea what a divorce was like in the wizarding world, or if there was even such a thing. But she was sure it wasn’t pretty. There was no way he was going to stay bound to her for life. He wasn’t even involved in their family then.

How could Luna know? 

“I see it in your eyes,” the familiar airy voice startled Hermione, “I saw it in your eyes during the war. I saw it in your eyes at the funeral. I saw it in your eyes after the wedding and when you were pregnant. And I see it in your eyes now.”

Hermione stared at her, speechless. 

“I’m the only one.”

“You always were good at seeing what people try to hide. What do you know?”

“You’re pretty good at hiding what you don’t want people to see. I know that your life isn’t what you’re telling everyone it is. I know you feel guilty about something that happened during the war– probably the Last Battle. I know that your family isn’t what it appears to be.”

As quickly as she came, Luna left.


It had been four days since her confrontation with Luna, and it had been eating away at Hermione every second since. She had been so drenched in her concerns at that moment that she had no mind to realize she was actually drenched. The chaotic weather had been the least of her concerns as of late. She continued down the paved road unaware of her body shivering and her hair dripping. She saw throw a glowing red haze. Her surroundings were filtered through her cloud of worry until she only saw what was necessary to make her way to pick up her child. 

George had been consistently caring for Titus since Hermione began the rigorous training process that came with becoming a Healer. Hermione had been packing in every possible aspect of magical medicine possible in the past year and a half. In mere weeks after the last battle, she discovered the undeveloped human growing inside her, tanking her plan to return to Hogwarts to finish her education before partaking in a career path.

During her pregnancy, Hermione bought every book on magical healing she could come by (even some muggle medicine books), and began studying. She retained all information possible without direct experience. Due to her hard work and remarkable intelligence, she easily tested out of the remedial training courses and began shadowing the head of the “Emergency” department at St. Mongo’s. Hermione soon moved from student to Emergency Technician. After quickly mastering the department, she began the transition into “Trauma” where she will start again as student.

Hermione had always wanted to be a Healer, but she never thought she’d be reaching her goal so quickly. She never imagined living in such chaos. It wasn’t part of her plan. All of the chaos. All the pain. All of the struggle. All because of a kiss– a simple kiss– stolen from her when she was sixteen. A kiss that would never be forgotten. A kiss that could never be forgotten. At that moment in her life, it was the most beautiful thing she had yet to experience. She had no idea how it would change the course of her life forever. One kiss, then a second. Two kisses. Three years apart. Two people who never left each other’s minds–until he left. One person. One constant memory.


<i>Red and green sparks flew by as she ran up the grand staircase. The steps beneath her were blown apart and she hung onto the steel riser protruding from the coarse concrete. Ron had gotten lost behind her and it would be nearly impossible to find him. There was no way she could stay out in the open without somebody to watch her back. She ran for the only sanctuary she knew the Death Eaters would have no knowledge of. 


<div style="background-color: transparent; "> </div>


<div style="background-color: transparent; "><b id="internal-source-marker_0.27752902428619564" style="font-weight: normal; "> <i>She ran up eleven flights of stairs and emerged on the seventh floor corridor. A white flash came from a doorway at the end of the landing. Hermione sprinted silently to the doorway of her first magical home. The Fat Lady’s portrait had been torn off its hinges and her canvas lied empty on the cold stone. She cautiously stepped through the portrait hole. The Gryffindor common room was empty. Hermione’s soft footsteps found their way across the carpet to the stairway of the girls’ dormitories. She loped up the stairs in one final hope for harbor. It didn’t take her long to realise she was not alone in her old bedroom. 

“I knew you’d come here.” The owner of the familiar voice emerged from the girls’ bath. 

“How’d you get up here?”

“It’s not the first time I’ve done it. Is it?” Hermione remained silent. “I know you remember ‘Mione.” 

She could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck and soon his lips. The lips so foreign yet all too familiar.

“Kiss me Hermione.”


“Because I know our last kiss hasn’t left your mind once in the past two years.”

Hermione turned to face the red headed man. He lightly caressed her cheek. She eyed his lips greedily. 

“Kiss me Hermione.”

This time she gave in to his request. His lips fit perfectly against hers– as if they were formed to live there. The sweet perfection of that long awaited kiss was not brief. It was not snogging, for it was ignited by passion instead of lust. It was the reuniting of lovers who had yet to be lovers. 

Their eyes connected as their lips seperated, his hand still on her cheek, her hand woven into his hair. “This may be our last moment together Hermione. I may die today.”

“There is a chance that any one of us may die. A great chance.”

“No Hermione. Not you. I will die protecting you if I have to, but you are walking away from this castle fully alive. “

“Fred! Don’t speak of such things!”

“I wish not to.. Yet, such things are true.”

“Then if this may be our last moment together, let’s make it last.”

“How so my love?”

“Let’s create something beautiful. Lets be as one. I’ve been waiting for you Fred.”

With that, she began unbuttoning the collar of his shirt. Once completely undressed, he pulled her in, pressing her warm breasts against his bare chest. He kissed the top of her head once then lifted her up from under her bum. She wrapped her legs tightly around him, feeling the sweet pain of the innocent moment. He lay her on the floor, her back arching. She pressed her hips against his and he let out a soft moan. The friction of their blaze against the rug left burns on her back, while she left deep gouges on his. 

He wrapped his arms under her armpits and hooked his hands on her shoulders, her calves still pressed against his lower back. He lifted her and set her back against the icy window. She gasped at the cool sensation against her hot skin. She slid her hand against the glass, leaving a clear streak in the foggy mess. She rested her head against the window, her bosom filling with pleasure. Fred rested his arms against the glass by her head, from fingertips to elbow. The only things holding her up were her legs pulling his pelvis toward her and the rocking pressure of his core. 

He pulled her off the steamed glass, peeling her damp skin away from its frozen surface. They fell back onto a nearby bed, sending a shooting pain through her abdomen. He held tightly onto her waist as he guided her against his body. His rough hands worked their way up to the pearly orbs waiting for him on her chest. He handled them as if they were precious pieces of china, delicate and fragile. Removing his hands, he propped himself up on his forearms, cresting a burning train on her skin with his lips. They lingered on her chest before they made their way up to her neck and finished by kissing her softly on the lips.  

Fred pushed his body weight against Hermione’s, flipping them over. He grabbed her knees and pressed them apart until the outsides touched the course blanket beneath them. He pulled her right knee up and pressed it against his shoulder. They swayed in a lovers quarrel, forever embedding the beauty of their love into the mind of two lovers that only foresaw tragedy.

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