Brief Summary: Ron is transfixed uwith the thought of being the New Gryffindor Prefect, when an idea of using his new Cleansweep entered his mind. However, Hermione who was wearing a pink robe and bunny slippers was there to stop him.
Word Count: 2,672
Relevant triggers: None
Ron couldn’t help staring at the scarlet banner that was hanging up above, he was surprised that his mum had somehow managed to create it in such short notice. He didn’t expect her to make such a fuss about him being the new Gryffindor Prefect, especially since he’s the fourth Weasley to become one. He had placed his prefect badge inside the pocket of his trousers, originally he was going to wear it on his jumper but the thought of Fred and George taking the mickey out of him made him think again. Besides, it was better that way, he was keeping it clean and out of harm's way, just like a good Prefect would do. It was truly unbelievable that he was selected to hold such a position at Hogwarts, maybe the Mirror of Erised wasn’t lying about him becoming Head Boy.
Merlin's saggy balls, that would be wicked. That would be better than the Chudley Cannons winning the Quidditch World Cup. The team did let go of its former coach, so it's possible that this year’s season would be better than the last. Blimey, that would be absolutely brilliant, but he didn’t want to be overly optimistic because things don’t always go as planned, but there’s no harm in manifesting a great year for his team.
Ron shook his head, as he slipped his hand into the pocket of his trousers and brought out his badge. He traced his freckled finger upon the letter P, the hard ridges made him realize that this was in fact reality and not just another dream. He was chosen to be Gryffindor’s Prefect and damn it, he was going to prove that he deserves this more than anyone else. He might be the fourth Weasley to become Prefect but that only meant that he was going to be different.
Yeah, first it was his older brother Bill, then it was the second eldest Charlie, right after that it was Percy, which in all honestly wasn’t surprising in the slightest. Then it was him, Ronald B. Weasley, to say he was shocked was an understatement but he was also filled with immense pride. Ron didn’t want to overthink and enjoy this night, his mum had gone all out for the celebration and he wasn’t going to sit out the fun.
During the celebration that his mum had thrown, he was shocked when Mad-Eye congratulated him. Even though he was glaring at him with his normal eye, while his other eye was swiveling all around. Most likely keeping a lookout for anything that would go amiss, you know Constant Vigilance , Regardless of the awkwardness he felt proud that one of the greatest most ruthless Auror had congratulated him. Hell, even Tonks, another great Auror, all a bit clumsy at times if you ask him, was also glad he was selected to be a Prefect. She even gave him some wicked new tips to use on his brand fucking new broom that his mum had got him.
Fuck.
He couldn’t believe that his mum had brought him a new Cleansweep, if nobody was around he might have fucking cried. It wasn’t just because he got a brand new broom it was the fact that he could have something that was only his and not just another hand-me-down. Sure, it wasn’t a Nimbus, because he knew it was expensive and he didn’t want to have his mum waste her galleons on him.
His new Cleansweep was everything he wanted, the handle was made of Spanish oak and it also had built-in vibration control, which would come in handy when it gets windy up in the Quidditch pitch. Ron had to try his best to not rush outside with his broom and do a couple laps in the sky.
Hell, maybe he could go for a fly, while the others are asleep. It wouldn't do any harm, not like anyone would see him. He could try and nick the invisibility cloak for a few hours, not like Harry would mind.
Yes, fuck yes…that’s exactly what he’ll do.
Ron pulled away from his thoughts and looked around, he tried to listen for any movements upstairs, once satisfied with the quietness he walked over to where he placed his Cleansweep. He picked it up in the most gentle manner possible, his fingers closed over the handle of the boom and was ready to make his way out from the basement.
Everything was perfect, Ron managed to make it up the stairs so quietly that even Moody would be proud of his stealth. Once he got to the very top of the stairs, he turned to close the basement door slowly, making sure not to awaken the others. Once satisfied with the closed door, he nodded his head and grabbed his broom tightly. Before turning around and almost falling straight to his arse, in fear. Ron dropped his broom to the floor before clutching at his chest and trying to somehow retrieve his soul that momentarily left his body, when he was face to face with Hermione.
It wasn’t that his bushy-haired friend scares him ... .well come to think of it he is fully aware of what she is capable of doing. For crying out loud, Hermione had set flames to Snape’s robes, but then again that wasn’t scary, that was hilarious. Bloody brilliant, if he might add…he would pay to see that happen again as a matter of fact, but no that wasn’t why he almost woke up the entire Grimmauld Place. It was because the girl who currently had her hands on her hips and some kind of green junk on her face. Literally her entire face was covered in that gunk, he almost was going to say that she resembles the mountain troll that he had taken down in first year in the girl’s bathroom. Then again she was loads more beautiful than- wait, what the hell, Weasley you shouldn’t think Hermione is beautiful she’s your best friend, besides Harry of course.
Yet, he didn’t think that Harry is beautiful, the way he knows Hermione is…you know…beautiful. Harry looked, well he looked a bit like a brooding little git, while Hermione well, she didn’t look like a git. It was difficult to explain, shit- no he didn’t mean she looked like shit its just shit. He shouldn’t be thinking of how she looks, even now as she was wearing that green gunk on her face, he can’t help but see past that and see her beauty.
Fuck.
He did it again, damn it Weasley. Get it together.
Focus, he has to get a grip on reality and not fall into uncharted territory of thinking about how bea- no stop, pay attention. Fucking focus!
Think of something else, anything that can take your mind off of the short, yet feisty busy-haired girl who was wearing an overly fluffy pink robe and was currently tapping her bunny-eared slippers onto the oakwood floor. Ron looked around the hall and tried to focus his mind on anything, he tried looking out the window, yet it was futile since the curtains were closed. Yes, he could always walk away and pretend like she didn’t almost catch him trying to sneak out, but he knew that Hermione wouldn’t let him off the hook. He also wasn’t about to make tit out of himself and make Hermione pissed to the point she tries to hex his bollocks off. Yeah, he was quite fond of his bits, if you cared to ask.
Even though Hermione would talk his ear off about how underage magic is illegal, which he already knew but it’s fine, Ron let his insightful friend have her moment. Which had ended up being almost an hour and a half, mind you. However, the funniest thing happened, on several instances he caught the little know-it-all using magic to decontaminate multiple parts of Grimmauld. You should’ve seen the look of surprise on her face, it was downright adorable seeing her blush so hard. She could- damn it Weasley you’ve done it again. Honestly what is bloody wrong with you, tonight? It was like his thoughts were going haywire with just the sight of her in front of him. So, instead he did the one thing he knew best, shove his foot seven different ways into his mouth.
“Hermione, what the bloody fuck do you have on your face?” He asked after taking a couple of deep breaths, waiting for his heart rate to slow down. You know since he got frightened at the sight of her…no not of her just seeing her suddenly made him-
“Oh, honestly, you shouldn’t swear,” Hermione gritted out, even under all that gunk Ron could tell that Hermione's face was burning scarlet at this precise moment. "If you must know, this is a Muggle beauty practice to remove blemishes, its a thick paste that should remain on the face for roughly thirty minutes and....."
Ron stared at her in utter confusion, as Hermione was prattling on about how thick the consistency of the paste has to be before applying it onto her face. Ron couldn't help but wonder if all Muggle women partake in looking like mountain troll for a few hours a day just so they won't have any acne-
"Excuse me, did you say I look like a mountain troll?" Hermione narrowed her eyes so much it look like slits, and yes ladies and gentlemen he was royally without a doubt fucked at this precise moment. Unless, he plays dumb and can attempt to deny ever saying that because technically he was thinking it so it's completely different. Or, he could rectify the situation and not be at risk of getting hexed.
A long silence sweeps between the two of them, and Ron could feel the tell tale sign of his neck starting to warm up. It would be a matter of seconds before his entire face rivals the scarlet of the banner downstairs. He took a deep breath and realized what he had to do, “Well, I didn’t say you looked like a mountain troll, I said Muggle women and last I checked, you're not a woman. Not- not that I was looking at you in any way, I-erm, it's just that you're a girl.” Ron finished lamely, before picking up his broom off the floor.
“I am a girl, thank you for taking notice, and just for the record, both women and girls can enjoy a bit of relaxation every once in a while. That doesn't classify them as a mountain troll,” Hermione replied curtly, raising her chin up ever so slightly.
“Erm, yeah..I didn’t mean that it's just i don’t see why you need to wear any of that.You’re fine the way you are-”
“Oh, well, t-thank you. You also look fine the way you are, not that you’d need to wear anything on your face, since you don’t have any blemishes. You only have freckles and they’re rather nice to look at…not that I've looked at them more than an average amount of time of course,” Hermione hurriedly added.
Wait…he thought, does this mean that she’s been looking at him in a different way other than friendly. Sweet Merlin, he only hopes that she wasn’t also thinking about Harry in that way, just the mere thought made him feel queasy. Ron wanted to blame the sudden nausea that he feels on all the food he ate. Plus, the memory of how Moody had taken out his magic eye and placed it into a cup filled with water. Everyone saw the way in which the eye swiveled inside the cup, it was rather uncomfortable to say the least.
Shaking his head, Ron decides that maybe he should get some rest instead of going out for a fly, he wasn’t feeling well and being alone with Hermione is doing his head in. Hopefully this wasn’t a taste of how patrols would be at Hogwarts, then things would definitely have to change.
“Well, since it’s late we should head to bed,” he said with a fake yawn as he stretched his arms over his head.
“Oh, yes…of course,” Hermione replied quickly, yet it didn’t fool him. It sounded like she was sad and he hadn't the minor clue as to why.
“Hermione, did you need anything else?” He asked, watching as she began to toy with the sleeves of her fluffy robe. She huffed, before biting her bottom lip and…ok wow, even with a face covered in that Muggle beauty paste, Ron couldn’t help but feel frozen in place and stare at his bushy-haired best friend.
“I wanted to apologize from the way I reacted earlier,” Hermione mumbled so quietly that he almost missed what she had said, luckily he didn’t. “I shouldn’t have been so surprised that Dumbledore chose you, honestly that was quite rude of me and I-I’m glad that you’re going to be my partner during rounds. Also, I wanted to give you this, it’s nothing really, just a little thing that I made, it’s so you can keep your badge safe when you're not wearing it of course,” Hermione rambled as she thrusted a hand-knitted case onto his palm.
He couldn’t believe it, Hermione had knitted his initials across the top in black yarn, and right under it, the word Prefect was stitched in gold. He couldn’t believe that she had made him this, let alone found the time to make him a present fit for a prefect.
“You don’t have to say anything, it’s rubbish. Here just give it back and we can forget I ever gave it to you,” Hermione said as she tried to swipe it from his hands, yet he was much quicker than her and managed to move it from her grasp. “No, it’s bloody perfect, Hermione…I don’t know what to say,” Ron said sincerely.
“Don’t lie, it's hideous. I know I’m not an amazing knitter like your mum, but I tried my best and well…if you don’t like it I’m sure I can come up with something else-”
“Are you kidding? I love it, honestly.” He said as he looked into her brown eyes, hoping that she realizes he isn’t taking the mickey. The longer he looked at her the more he realized that moments like these makes him want to just lean down and-
“Hermione, what if I told you that I have a present of my own to give you?” Ron asked, as he leaned down closer to face.
“I would say that's a load of dragon dung,” Hermione replied, not noticing that they were both slowly eliminating the barrier between them.
“How about this, close your eyes and you’ll find out for yourself,” he said before swallowing hard, instead of a reply, Hermione only nodded her head as her eyes fluttered shut. Ron couldn’t help but look at the way her dark lashes fluttered as she was breathing so gently. “Ready?” He asked her, allowing her the time to stop this if he went too far, however instead he watched as she licked her bottom lip. That was all it took for him to close the distance and place his lips against her soft ones, it wasn’t the most practical moment, since his face was now being covered with the thick green paste. Yet, it was indeed the perfect prefect present that he could ever give, and he was beyond ecstatic that Hermione didn’t pull away. Instead she slowly slid her hands up, before letting her arms wrap around his shoulders.
They were lost in the moment, it wasn’t perfect at the slightest, he lost track of the amount of times she accidentally bit hit bottom lip, or the times his long nose bumped into hers. The amount of times he ingested the horrid green paste, yet….this was perfect and nothing could change this moment they had together.
warnings: coming out (and the subsequent mild panic attack)
word count: 1533
summary: “Morning Buck. Didn’t expect to see you in here this early,” Steve greets him. He pauses for a moment at Bucky’s expression, then opens the refrigerator.
“Who shit in your cereal today?” This is your chance. Take it.
bucky comes out to steve. what more can i say?
also on ao3
Ideally, Bucky never would’ve done this.
Ideally, he never would have done a lot of things, but the world is a really shitty place, and sometimes, you just gotta suck it up and roll with the punches.
Fucking punches. Bucky hates the punches. Even more than he hates beets. And he hates beets. Eugh.
The kitchen lights around him hum abruptly as they wake up.
“Morning Buck. Didn’t expect to see you in here this early,” Steve greets him. He pauses for a moment at Bucky’s expression, then opens the refrigerator. “Who shit in your cereal today?”
This is your chance. Take it.
He says nothing. But Steve nods.
“Yeah, I get it. Let me know if you decide you wanna talk.”
“I will.”
Steve smiles at him and starts pulling out what seems like a random variety of fruits and vegetables. Ugh, beets. “Mkay.”
They’re silent for a moment, Bucky sitting on the kitchen’s island counter and Steve chopping things and chucking them haphazardly into a gigantic blender that he pulled out of a shelf as easily as one would take a spoon out of the drawer. Bucky hates himself for wanting to stay in the moment forever. You came in here for a reason, Barnes, he reminds himself. Now follow through.
He grits his teeth. He’s tortured people before. Why is it so hard to simply say something?
“Hey, Steve, you know Wanda?” The words just barely make it past his locked jaw.
“Who, Wanda? I do not know this ‘Wanda’ that you speak of.” Steve joking side-eyes him, pouring milk into the blender, but there’s worry in the look.
Bucky grimaces. “Okay, fine, stupid question. I just…” he trails off. Steve doesn’t say anything, though he does turn to face Bucky. “I, um, apparently, I tend to think very loudly, sometimes? Now that I’ve gotten control over my mind, mostly, it’s freed up a lot of my own thoughts, so they’re a lot louder now. Like, they’re all louder now, even the ones I try to ignore. And so Wanda and I were talking about stuff, mostly stuff from our past, she touched my hand, and suddenly I was in one of those thoughts, the ones that I try to ignore, and… she saw all of it.” The memory of Wanda’s shocked then carefully controlled face flashes behind his eyes again and he swallows the bile that’s begun to rise in his throat.
Steve just nods. “So now things are awkward?”
Bucky huffs, playing with the hem of his shirt. “It’s different than that.”
“Different how?” Steve’s as calm as ever. How is he calm, he doesn’t get to be calm, this isn’t fair, I’m not calm and I’m a trained assassin for God’s sake, what the hell–
“You don’t get it, I’m– I’m– I’m–” Everything is crashing down on him again and he starts to feel his muscles lock up, logic and panic firing arrows and javelins at each other, warring for control of his limbs.
“Bucky, breathe, breathe, please breathe, Buck, I need you to breathe–” Panic creeps into Steve’s voice, but Bucky doesn’t notice, won’t notice, can’t notice until a pair of arms are around him, strong and suffocating and far too tight, and for a moment Bucky struggles against them, but then the strength drips down through his body into the floor below and stays there, and his mind is not empty, but quiet, and he can breathe again, so Bucky lets himself droop down and sink into the body holding him. Somewhere within of himself, he’s aware that the body is Steve, rubbing his back and making gentle “shh”-ing noises, and that the cloth where Bucky’s head rests is now wet. He doesn’t have enough energy to care.
“I’m here, Buck, I got you, I’ve got you and I’m not letting go, it’s gonna be alright now, Buck, I’m here,” Steve murmurs into Bucky’s neck. His breathing presses his chest against Bucky’s in a slow, steady pattern, and Bucky tries to match it.
“ ‘m sorry,” he mumbles.
“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry about, Buck,” Steve says roughly, “nothin’ at all.”
When Bucky finally manages to peel himself from Steve’s arms, he's a wreck. He hops off of the counter just to lean against it, and Steve, God, Steve turns around and starts the blender, buying him some time to breathe.
Shit, Barnes, now's the moment. Go.
Bucky clears his throat.
“HEY, UH, STEVE, I’M PAN.”
Shit.
Steve flicks off the blender, pausing just long enough to make the edges of panic creep back into Bucky's system. But when he turns around, he's grinning: full on, ear-to-ear grinning.
“Really?”
“I, uh,” Bucky clears his throat again, still watching his words hang in the air, “yeah. Yeah, really.” Steve launches himself forward and wraps Bucky in a hug almost tighter than the first, but this one feels closer somehow. Probably because Bucky’s now the small one, and the way his head is tucked under Steve’s chin feels unreasonably comfortable. “Not how I was meaning to tell you, though,” he mutters.
“How were you meaning to tell me?” Steve’s voice is genuinely amused, but Bucky barely notices.
“Oh, uh, I don’t know,” Bucky stares at the blender, “maybe a nice picnic, I’d bake the pansexual pride flag into a cake–”
“You’d bake the pride flag into a cake?” Steve pulls back and Bucky finally sees his ridiculous grin. Bucky feels a smirk grow in response.
“Yeah, you know, like those Pinterest gender reveal cakes.”
Steve giggles and Bucky puts his hands on his hips. “I’ll have you know that Anaya and I have been talking about getting a new hobby, and she thinks baking is a great idea.”
“Alright, so the therapist thinks it’s a good idea. So, what, you’re gonna open up a store and start baking pride flags into cakes?”
Bucky nods, slowly. “...Yes.”
“Can I have one?”
Bucky blinks, stunned. “Sure…?”
“Okay,” Steve’s grin becomes impossibly brighter, “bisexual variety, please.” He winks then goes back to his smoothie.
“Bise–” Bucky gapes. “For real?”
Steve sticks a spoon in the blender and stirs the contents around. “Of course, Buck. Have I ever lied to you?”
“Yes! On multiple occasions!”
Steve chuckles, putting the top back on the blender and placing the spoon on the counter. He turns to meet Bucky’s eyes, and Bucky finds himself suddenly trapped by the other man’s serious gaze.
“Well, I’m not lying. Not right now.” Steve pauses for a moment. “If it’s not too much... can I ask what thought Wanda saw…?”
Bucky takes a deep breath, and steels himself, pushing down the residual panic. “Oh, uh, I guess…” he down at his feet.
Do it do it do it do it. The cliff’s right there, all you have to is
jump.
“It was maybe… you?” He winces and continues watching his feet intently.
Steve is quiet. “Me?”
Bucky takes a deep breath. “Yeah. Like…”
“Oh. Oh. ”
Bucky forces himself to look up past Steve and drills a hole in the cabinet behind him with his eyes. “Yeah.” He forces a cough and starts to spin on his heel to leave. “I should go–”
“Buck.”
A hand shoots out to grab Bucky’s wrist. The metal one. Bucky stares at it. “Yes?”
“You’re such a drama queen Buck, Jesus H. Christ, come ‘ere.” Steve pulls Bucky into yet another hug, burying his head in Bucky’s neck and breathing him in. He sighs deeply.
“You need to stop doing this, Stevie.” Bucky’s voice is muffled from Steve’s unfairly large shoulder.
Steve laughs and pulled him tighter. “But why would I do that?”
“Because I like it too much.”
The taller man loosened his grip on Bucky, shifting to rest their foreheads together. Bucky sucks in a breath. “Maybe that’s the point.”
He’s right there.
Just do it do it do it do it.
“Your eyes are so blue,” Steve murmurs, and Bucky is acutely aware of the fact that he’s only wearing boxers and a very, very thin t-shirt.
Steve’s phone buzzes, startling them both.
He leans back to grab it, one hand still resting on Bucky’s back, and reads the message. He raises his eyebrows, expression bland.
“Whelp. Guess Sam’s almost here for the run. Gotta go.” Steve gestures towards the smoothie. “Help yourself while I’m gone.”
“Steve!”
“What?”
“Okay, a, that smoothie has beets in it; I’m not touching it, and b, there is no way in hell you’re leaving me here.” Bucky plants his feet on the floor, both arms wrapped around Steve’s waist. “I won’t let you.”
“Hmm. Love ya too, gorgeous,” Steve leans forward and plants a chaste kiss on Bucky’s forehead. The shock temporarily breaks down Bucky’s defenses, and Steve dashes away. “Bye!”
Bucky bolts after him, “Get back here, you son of a bitch!”
* * *
15 minutes later, Sam gets a text, saying, “Rain check on the run. Could you pick me up some sunflowers? Like a bouquet. Also, you won the bet. Thanks bro, you’re the best!”
Sam groans, and calls to see if T’Challa wants to run with him instead. The King owes him 20 bucks and a new pair of shoes.
Brief Summary: After hearing four dreadful words, Hermione’s world had been turned upside down. The voices in her head mock her relentlessly, how could her body betray her? How is she ever going to go on? Was this a sign that motherhood turned its back on her? Most of all….why did it happen to her?
However, those demon-like voices are miraculously put to silence the moment she meets a nurse with the most captivating blue eyes that she’s ever seen. Nurse Ron Weasley, when she visits St. Mungo’s Women’s Health Center.
Word Count: 1,727 (multi-chapter)
Any relevant triggers: Miscarriage, Infertility issues
(A/N this dedicated to a nurse who helped me tremendously and I always think of her. Also, inspired by TSwift’s song Bigger Than The Whole Sky)
Chapter 1: No Heartbeat
“No words appear before me in the aftermath
Salt streams out my eyes and into my ears…”
🔹🔹🔹🔹
Laying on the hospital bed, Hermione stares at the paintings that cover the ceiling. She absolutely hates how the stick figures of children playing in the park, mocked her. How could an innocent painting cause such pain? Well, it’s simple, it felt as though fate was mocking her with something she couldn’t have. Something that was stolen from her, then again how can it be stolen if it was never hers to begin with?
As the time ticked past, all Hermione could do was wait, until the nurse brought her the discharge papers. Then she’ll be able to go back home and wallow in her own sorrow. It wasn’t anything she could do to change her fate, even if magic was real she doubted it could take the pain out of her heart. No, it wasn’t possible at all…it felt as if a magical dagger was thrown and hit
It’s ludicrous, knowing that she came into the emergency room because of stomach pain. Then after waiting roughly an hour and a half, to be seen and taken to a room. After roughly ten minutes, she was given the news that her wretched body had betrayed her.
Sorry there’s no heartbeat.
Hearing those words was nothing compared to what was said next, six weeks.
It was six weeks.
It was forty-two days.
It was her personal hell.
For someone who could talk a mile a minute, Hermione had no words to say, it was as if every vocabulary word she knew was completely wiped away from her mind.
No words, just tortured thoughts. Just an ache in her heart that she will never overcome, no matter the days, months or even years that pass.
She wondered how long it would take the nurses to come back with her discharge papers, she wanted to leave. Yet, it seemed like everyone were taking their sweet time, while she dies on the inside. Things shouldn't have happened this way, the empty seat a few feet away from the bed shouldn't be empty. Yet, that's what happens when she makes a mistake and having a night of rendezvous with someone she meet at the dental gala that her parents were invited to. It was too good to be true, he was the perfect gentleman that night but he didn't have the capability of staying the next morning. Neither, did he explain that he was married, oh no...she found that out after receiving a phone call one morning that almost made her lose all hearing in her right ear.
How could she have been so careless that night, if only there was a way to back in time and prevented herself from going home with that junior dental assistant. Then she wouldn't be all alone, fighting the voices in her heard that's mocking her and laughing at her pain. She would be at home preparing Crookshanks' dinner for the night, instead of listening to the annoying beeping of the monitors around her.
Not having to wear a light blue and purple stripped hospital gown, all alone in a room that felt as if the walls were ready to close in on her at any given second.
Instead fate had decided to make a move and completely turn her world upside down.
Yes, she could always call her parents and let them know what's going on, but two things were stopping her from acting on that urge to hear their voices. The first reason, is her parents had just left on vacation to Australia a few days ago, and the second reason was simply not seeing the disappointment in their faces when she tells them she failed.
That...somehow motherhood gave one long look at her and said, nope she isn't dignified to hold the title as a mum. How could her body betray her in this fashion? Yes, she'll admit that motherhood wasn't in her plans for another few years, since she's trying her best to...to what actually? Keep a job, no..she already has a job that pays her well enough to buy all the things that she needs. So, what exactly was she waiting for?
It wasn't like she was a struggling college student that was barely making it through take-away meals.While constantly having going to the cafeteria to "borrow" utensils and plates because the closest store was an hour away from the campus. She wasn't irresponsible, so why couldn't the gentle arms of motherhood welcome her into a warm embrace? It didn't make sense at all-
Light tapping on glass of the sliding door, causes Hermione to break away from her thoughts as she turns her head. Dr. Slughorn was waiting on the other side of the door and gesture for her from if it's fine to enter the room. She only nodded and watched as slid open the door and walked into the room."Excuse me, Miss. Granger, sorry for the long wait. We're a bit short staffed, but here's your discharge papers, we recommend making an appointment. I've heard that St. Mungo's has an excellent Women's Health..."
As the Dr. Slughorn trailed off with praise of another clinic, Hermione simply felt as if everything was just white noise. It didn't seem real, even though she was staring at the papers that the doctor had given her...it just wasn't real. It couldn't be real, oh how she wished this was a cruel nightmare, in which she can wake up from. Yet, the words that graced the paper in her hands was the cold-hard truth that this was her painful reality.
She traced the words on the papers that held the horrid truth that was her reality.
After Visit Summary Hogwarts Emergency Center
Hermione Jean Granger
Reason for Visit: Miscarriage at 6 weeks
Hermione stared at the discharge summary in hatred and disgust, she couldn't stop herself from seeing the words that emphasized how her body had kept a secret from her for six weeks.
Six fucking weeks.
She sniffled and noticed how droplets of her tears began to fall, soon enough there were far too many splotches of water that now decorated the documents. She tried to keep herself from choking out a sob, yet it was proving to be far too difficult. Her world was spinning and the voices in her head, mixed with the aggravating sound of Dr. Slughorn's voice was causing her to get an headache.
This wasn't how her discharge papers should've been, she only came to Hogwarts ER, because of cramping...not....because of this.
At least you're young
A disgusting thought poisoned her mind, while mocking her with loud and obnoxious laugh. Wait wait...that wasn't her thoughts, nor was that even how she laughed. Those words came from Dr. Slughorn.
Hermione clenched the papers in her hands and looked up at the man wearing a pristine white lab coat and a pair of stethoscope around his neck, as he continued talking almost as if she wasn't there. It was as if he was treating her as just another statistic in the world, just another whimsical women who has gotten her life thrown into an abyss of despair.
"I beg your pardon, what did you just say?' Hermione gritted out as she tried to restraint herself from yelling at the doctor in front of her.
"Oh, I was simply saying that make sure to set up an appointment and you are free to go," Dr. Slughorn said with the most aggravating smile she has ever seen in her life.
"No, before that. You said, 'at least you're young.' Hermione glared at him with such fury, that if looks could kill, Dr. Slughorn wouldn't be standing wearing that ridiculous smile on his face.
"Oh- well yes. I did, I just meant that since you are still relatively young-"
"Excuse me, but why the fuck does it even matter that I'm young? A loss is still a fucking loss, how can you even say that?" Hermione forced herself to say, as she watched the man's face turn bright red in embarrassment, it was as if he realized a little too late what was spoken.
"Oh- no, I-I erm, I'm sorry...let me, oh heavens, I just realized," he tried to check the time on his watch, except he wasn't wearing one at all. This made him become even more nervous than before, "I uhm, another patient needed something. If everything is alright, you are free to go, make sure to uhm... set up an appointment at St. Mungo's," and with that half-arsed response, Dr. Slughorn left the room quickly. Hermione watched as Slughorn walked quickly down the hallway and out of her peripheral vision, and once again she was alone.
Except now, instead of her mind taunting her, Hermione wonders if she was just another statistic in the medical world. If she was just another statistic of a women who lost before having the chance to even love. Another statistic in this cruel world filled with deception and atrocities.
Was she just another statistic?
Now instead of being known as Hermione Jean Granger, a dedicated librarian...she had simply become a statistic in the world. She had become just another, one out of four women who experience miscarriage.
No. She wouldn't allow that to happen, she wasn't just another statistic in the world, no... she's Hermione Granger. She's going to prove to idiots like Slughorn, and the world that she wasn't just another number, and with that Hermione grabbed her belongings and marched over to the sliding door. Flinging the door open with such force that the noise had caught the attention from the nurses at the circulation desk. Hermione watched as the nurses looked at her with pity, and she tried her best not to shed a single tear. No, not right now....she'll save her tears once she goes home and cries into Crookshanks bright ginger fur.
Instead, she raised her chin and ignored the stares and proceeded to walk down the hallway and soon enough out of the building. She's going to prove that she wasn't just another statistic in this world and she knew exactly what she was going to do.
