Hermione Birth Fic - A Krummy Situation
Viktor Krum got Hermione pregnant and then ran from the responsibility leaving Harry and Ron to pick up the pieces. Only now on the run in the middle of the woods camping it seems the baby has decided it’s time to arrive.
Hermione is going to need to wrangle the boys to help her give birth, Lord knows how she will both push out baby and convince Harry and Ron to help her out…
The forest was a shroud of whispering shadows, its dense canopy swallowing the moonlight as Hermione Granger crouched beneath a gnarled oak. The air was damp, heavy with the scent of moss and earth, and the distant hoot of an owl punctuated the tense silence. Harry and Ron were nearby, their silhouettes barely visible through the flickering glow of a small, charmed fire that sputtered against the chill. The trio had been on the run for months, hunted by Death Eaters, their bodies worn thin by hunger and fear. But tonight, Hermione’s burden was heavier than the Horcrux weighing on her mind - she was 9 months pregnant with Viktor Krum’s baby. Her belly was at this point frankly huge, bigger than she had imagined it would get. Her breasts were swollen and tender and Ron and Harry didnt know where to look when she was around them. The boys were protective of her but also basically clueless about how to treat a pregnant woman and Ron’s jealousy was a side factor that only added to the strange dynamic.
This night though was different from the last weeks, this night Hermione would have her baby. Her breath hitched, a sharp gasp escaping as a deep, rolling contraction gripped her swollen belly. She pressed a trembling hand against the taut skin, feeling the tight round bulge of her bump. It had definitely dropped in the last few days - not that anyone other than her knew what that meant. She had tried to feel around and as far as she could tell the baby was head down. The memory of that fleeting, passionate night during the Triwizard Tournament with Viktor felt like a lifetime ago, but the consequence was undeniable now.
“Bloody hell, Hermione, you alright?” Ron’s voice cut through the dark, his lanky frame lurching toward her as another low moan slipped past her lips. Harry was at her side in an instant, his wand raised, eyes scanning the trees for threats, mistaking her pain for danger.
“It’s… it’s time,” Hermione whispered, her voice tight with effort as she clutched the rough bark for support. The contraction ebbed, leaving her panting, sweat beading on her brow despite the cold. “The baby’s coming.”
The firelight caught the panic in Ron’s wide eyes, his freckles stark against his pale face. “Now? Here? In the middle of nowhere?” His voice cracked, but Hermione’s glare silenced him.
“Help me,” she said, her tone commanding despite the tremor of fear. She eased herself onto a makeshift bed of cloaks Harry hastily spread on the forest floor, her body trembling as another contraction began to build. The pain was raw, primal, and yet, beneath it, a strange, electric thrill pulsed through her, a forbidden heat she couldn’t name, born from the intensity of bringing life into such a perilous moment. She was about to do what every witch had done since the beginning of time.
The forest hummed with restless night sounds, the air thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. Hermione Granger lay on a patchwork of cloaks, her swollen belly rising like a moon under her stretched jumper, each breath a calculated effort as another contraction loomed. The charmed fire cast jittery shadows across Harry and Ron, who hovered nearby, their faces flushed with a mix of panic and mortification. The reality of Hermione giving birth—here, now, in this godforsaken wilderness—had them both frozen, wands clutched uselessly, as if a spell could tidy this up like a spilled potion.
“Ron, stop gawking and fetch the water flask,” Hermione snapped, her voice sharp despite the sweat beading on her forehead. She propped herself up on her elbows, her bushy hair clinging to her damp cheeks. “Harry, charm the cloaks to stay clean, Sterilius, like I showed you. Honestly, it’s just a baby, not a bloody basilisk.”
Ron fumbled with the flask, nearly dropping it, his ears blazing red. “Just a baby? Hermione, you’re—you’re having it right here! In the dirt! I mean, shouldn’t we… I dunno, find a healer or something?” His voice cracked, and he averted his eyes from her splayed legs, where she’d matter-of-factly begun adjusting her skirt to give herself room.
“There’s no healer, Ronald,” she said, rolling her eyes as she breathed through a milder contraction. “We’ve been over this. I’ve read Magical Midwifery: A Practical Guide. I know what to do. Now move.” Her tone was all business, the same one she used to correct their spellwork, and it spurred Harry into action, muttering the cleaning charm with a shaky wand. But Ron just stood there, clutching the flask, his gaze darting anywhere but at her.
“Merlin’s beard, Hermione, you’re… you’re not supposed to be this calm!” Ron sputtered, his voice a pitch too high. “It’s—it’s all… messy and… and private, innit?”
“Private?” Hermione snorted, though her breath hitched as a stronger contraction began to coil. “We’re on the run from Voldemort. Privacy’s a luxury. Now hand me the flask and help me sit up straighter.”
Harry, still pale, obeyed, sliding an arm behind her back to prop her up, his touch hesitant as if she might break—or worse, yell at him. “You’re sure you’re okay?” he mumbled, his glasses slipping down his nose. “I mean, this is… a lot.”
“I’m fine,” Hermione said firmly, though her jaw tightened as she poured a bit of water onto a cloth to dab her face. “It’s just biology. Contractions are five minutes apart, so we’ve got time to—oh!” Her words cut off in a sharp gasp, her hands flying to her belly as a deep, wrenching pain surged through her. This one was different—fiercer, like a tide pulling her under. Her composure cracked, and for the first time, a flicker of fear crossed her face.
As each contraction came Hermione tried her best to stoically breathe through them just as the book instructed her to. It was very clear about how she should handle them, in-fact she remembered the exact passage: ‘with each contraction the birthing witch should practice deep regular breaths, its unladylike to scream or groan and so its important you muster your strength and control your breaths as the contractions strengthen’. It was an old school book but it was at least correct about the biology in the parts where it discussed them but Hermione knew if she was going to scream she didnt care what some bloody book said about that. The hours passed like that, Hermione groaning and breathing heavily on the floor, clutching her belly and face taut with pain while the boys stood nervously around. Ron stared helplessly and Harry paced or tried his best to support her in ways he knew how like offering her the damp cloth periodically.
“Somebody check me?” she suddenly asked, blushing slightly and the boys stared blankly “oh for gods sake, remember the book chapter I showed you - dilation of the cervix - it was only a week ago”. The boys started and Ron stammered “I…I thought that was just like er for the healer”. Hermione sighed “It would be the healer but we don't have one here do we? So I need you to help Ronald, it's just a medical examination, us girls have them regularly - I don't know how you boys would survive if you were a woman”…
Continued on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64775137
