Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

"Woman" Series, HG/AW	By : Remarkable Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 45673 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I own nothing pertaining to the Harry Potter fandom and make no money from the publication of this fiction.

Chapter List
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Told you guys, I'm on a roll. You reviewers need to trust me. I won't take you anywhere awful in the long term. *wink* Have faith my pretties!

A Woman in Danger

Rosmerta glanced up the stairs for the fifth time that hour. Miss Granger hadn’t been down in the three days she’d rented a room. It was highly unusual for any guest to check in and not come down for meals. Miss Granger hadn’t brought much with her, not that that meant much. It was entirely possible the resourceful witch had reduced her supplies and simply restored them when she’d unpacked. It was none of the Innkeeper’s business, of course, but Rosmerta made it her business to know what was going on around her. One never knew when that information could be profitable or save a life. The pretty, mature woman had made quite a few extra galleons from patrons greasing her palms aplenty over the years.

The afternoon was unusually slow, even for the Leaky. Not many folks were even making their way in between London and Diagon Alley. The woman hated it when things were slow. The place had been swept three times, all of the glasses polished and re-polished, the two businessmen in the corner waved her away after their third free refills of Butterbeer and the token drunk was snoring away at the end of the bar.

“Fuck all,” she muttered, slapping her rag onto the counter. Her help wasn’t due in until afternoon rush when the Ministry let out. Not usually one to leave her post, the curvy barkeep locked up the till and took the stairs two at a time to the top, traipsing lightly down the long hall to the door second to last on the left. It was one of her, erm, more “affordable” suites, meaning it was a bit of a shithole. Still, Hermione had insisted on one of her cheaper rooms. The drunk snoring at the bar kept semi-permanent residence in the cheapest rental.

She rapped her knuckles on the worn wooden door, careful to curl her fake nails under and against her palm so there was no breakage. Fake fingernails weren’t cheap for a working girl and she wanted to impress a certain Deputy Minister, should he stop by!

When there was no reply, she rapped again, impatiently tapping her toe. “Miss Granger!” she hollered her voice slightly rough from years of yelling over a loud pub environment. “Miss Granger, are you in there? I’m just doing a well check. You’ve been in there for three days. I haven’t registered Apparition so I know you’re in there! Please answer the door or I’ll need to come in to check on you. I can’t leave the bar too long, you understand.”

Rosmerta had specifically keyed the rooms to only allow Apparition of paying guests registered to the room they were in. Each time they came or went an automatic log was kept of their magical signature and the time. Of course, there were times she could be “persuaded” to allow whomever to come and go, but that was few and far between. Only special clients were allowed this secret privilege and even fewer could afford the service.

Rosmerta swore softly and took out her wand, spelling open the door. Guests were not allowed to ward their doors with anything stronger than silencing spells. If they did there was an automatic fine charged to their account for “obstruction of safety” in case of fire or emergency. The door swung open easily and the witch stepped through, casting about. Her eyes fell immediately to the bed, the still form of Miss Granger resting atop the covers. At first all seemed well. Indeed, dry foodstuffs and flasks of drink were spread across the sole piece of furniture in the room apart from the bed, an old table with one of the two chairs pulled out. Bits of cheese and cracker lay strewn about, one of the flasks uncorked, which the barkeep sniffed. There was no odor and spilling a bit, Rosmerta discerned it was simply water. So the witch wasn’t drunk; well, that was one relief, anyway.

She tiptoed over to the bed and gently laid a hand on the sleeping girl. The first thing to catch her attention was the way Hermione’s body shivered violently, shaking uncontrollably under the palm that rested across the sleeping witch’s back. Rosmerta pulled her hand back quickly and moved around the bed. Pushing Hermione over, Rosmerta gasped upon seeing portions of Miss Granger’s face purpled with mottling bruises in the shape of fingers. Someone had recently abused the poor young thing!

Garish red-painted nails reached out, lightly tracing the outline of one. The heat from Hermione’s skin had Rosmerta gasping, the back of her hand quickly taking place on Hermione’s forehead. She was burning hot, a fever raging violently through the girl.

The older witch cast an Enervate on the war hero, desperate to know what had her in this state, but more importantly, to see that she got the help she needed. There was no way she would leave Miss Granger in this tumble-down room to wait out what felt to be a very high fever.

Hermione roused slowly, her eyes gradually coming into focus; a dim memory of checking into the Leaky after Arthur had stood her up for the weekend and not bothered to contact her rattled through her foggy brain.

“I waited for him….” she mumbled weakly, nearly incoherent with delirium. “I waited, and he never came, never owled, I waited for so long….Lucius… need to tell him…”

The girl strung together a series of sentences that made practically no sense to the distraught innkeeper. Who had she waited for? What had gotten her into this state? Was she running from someone? And what was this about Mr. Malfoy?

Hermione’s eyes rolled back as she passed out once more.

“Oh Lord, this isn’t good!”

Rosmerta froze; who in the world could she call to fetch the girl? A couple of shouts caught her attention. She could hear feet coming up the stairs at the end of the hall. “Coming!” she yelled, forced to gently lay the girl back on the soaked bedding for the time being.

She rushed into the hall, quickly closing and locking the door. The head of her resident drunk poked around the corner just as she reached the stairwell.

“Where ya been, lass? I be needin’ me drink for ten minutes now!”

“Yeah yeah, I’m on it. Now go back to your seat.”

She shooed the man down the stairs, anxiously casting a backwards glance over her shoulder. Rosmerta knew she’d have to find someone quickly to take care of the girl or she’d be forced to close, and she rarely closed due the traffic coming and going from Diagon Alley.

The dark brunette shoved a wild, stray lock from her face and hastily slopped a pitcher of ale in front of the drunk. “Here, on the house, luv,” she barked. Quickly scanning the pub and noticing no new customers, she rushed around to the kitchens, completely missing the incredulous and grateful look on the ugly mug of her main patron. Rosmerta never gave him free drinks, but he wasn’t about to turn this one down.

Once sequestered in the private, hidden Floo in the back broom closet that was kept tightly locked, Rosmerta threw in some Floo powder. “Kingsley Shacklebolt.” He had been her main point of contact for the Order during the war, and the first person that came to mind when she needed to reach out for help or to pass on information.

The Floo hummed for a full minute, first engaging Kingsley’s private home, then transferring to his office at the Ministry of Magic. Quite often he turned it off to dissuade the majority of people from contacting him during working hours, but on some days he left it open as a means of contact for those that had little time to search him out personally.

Rosmerta was extremely relieved when Kingsley’s deep baritone boomed through the connection. “Deputy Minister Shacklebolt, Ministry of Magic, state your name and business, please.”

“Kings, it’s Rosie! I have something to tell you.”

“Oh hello, Rosie, I’m afraid I don’t have time for a social call right this moment, although I’d love to set something up for after work if you’re free.”

Rosmerta blushed furiously. There weren’t many men that could make her color anymore, but she had had a thing for the well-built wizard for years. Many men thought she was easy and soon found out that despite her teasing and flirting manner, they never seemed to score with her. Rosmerta had loved once, and when her heart was broken she’d been saving herself ever since for the right one, terrified that he’d come along and wishing he’s sweep her off her feet all at the same time. Her heart beat furiously in her chest whenever she was in contact with Kings.

“This isn’t a social call. I have news concerning Hermione Granger.”

That got his attention. Immediately his tone turned from playful to dead serious. “Did you say Hermione Granger? We haven’t seen her for three days here at the Ministry. Do you know where she is?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. She checked in her a few days ago and told me she didn’t want to be disturbed. I went up to do a well check on her and she’s burning up with fever. I tried to Enervate her but she was delirious and passed out again. I didn’t know who else to contact. Can you please help?”

“I’ll come right away. Clear the pub, if you would Rosie. Before you object, I’ll reimburse you for the expense.”

“I wasn’t going to object. Please help her, she looks extremely ill, I’m frightened for her.”

Kingsley was touched by the woman’s big heart. She’d been instrumental behind the scenes during the war, passing on valuable information to the Order and striking a spark in the older man’s toughened soul. He didn’t have time for a witch in his life, or so he told himself, but as he got older he was more often than not lonely for female companionship. The pretty woman caught his eye whenever he was around her. The only thing holding him back from approaching her formally were the rumors he’d heard concerning the looseness of her moral proclivities. He didn’t want a witch on his arm just about every other man in existence had been with. It was a shame, but there it was.

“Alright, everyone out,” the witch announced, clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention. We’re closing down for the afternoon for maintenance.”

“What the ‘ell? We just sat down ‘ta eat, luv,” a blond wizard smirked. “Also like to order some food, eh fellas?” he joked, earning some raucous laughter from his comrades.

“Sorry, we’re closed.” She shifted her step, planting both hands on the bar, showing him her statement brooked no room for argument from anyone.

“This joint never closes. What’s up with this?” he grumbled good-naturedly, pulling on his robes.

“Tell you what. You fellas come back tomorrow and lunch is on the house but don’t be bringing anymore of your friends with. If you try to take advantage you’ll wish you’d never set foot in my pub.”

The group laughed, slapping one another on the back and sending a few solicitous comments back to the barmaid.

After kicking out the complaining drunk and thanking the two businessmen for their patronage, she sighed and locked the pub, putting up the signs that she was closed. Rosmerta knew she wouldn’t hear the end of this for weeks to come for folks that would have to travel halfway across Diagon Alley or Muggle London to find another entrance to the Wizarding or Muggle world.

Just as the locks clicked into place Kingsley Floo’ed through, the harried woman securing the Floo after he dusted off his robes.

Rosmerta noticed his gaze lingering on her breasts before meeting her face.

“Where is she?”

“Upstairs, second to last door on the left.”

He followed her up the stairs and down the hall. The sight of Hermione lying prone on the bed, breathing shallowly, stunned him.

“What’s happened to her?”

“I don’t know. I found her like this. What are you going to do?”

“She needs a Healer, right away. I’m going to take her St. Mungo’s and secure a private room. I have an idea as to what’s going on but there is no telling what kind of danger she is in.”

The large man lifted Hermione as if she weighed nothing, striding quickly from the room and taking the Floo to St. Mungo’s private ward. As Minister’s Deputy he had access to the private section of the hospital in an emergency. He considered this one of political import due to the players involved.

Rosmerta kept her place closed for another half hour or so before opening to keep up the pretense of maintenance. She hoped the young witch would be alright. It would be a shame if anything happened to her. She liked Hermione.

Kingsley pulled a tired hand over his face, this time grating against a two day beard. It had been hell keeping everyone off his back about Hermione. The idiot Minister had immediately let slip to his secretary, one of the main gossips of the Ministry, that Kingsley had Hermione Granger at St. Mungo’s private ward. Damn the man! There was not one spare brain cell to rub together in the man’s head whatsoever. If it wasn’t for the Head Auror the man would’ve never seen office.

The Healer entered the room with a bevy of potions on a tray. “Has she come around?”

Kingsley shook his head.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to go home and get some rest yourself, Sir. You’ve not slept in two days.”

“I can’t leave her. It’s a matter of-“

“National security, yes Sir, so you’ve reminded me and the other two Healers a multitude of times. I must insist you get some rest.”

“Then transfigure me a damn cot, man! I’m not leaving her side!”

Healer Dartmouth moved to raise the head of the bed and administer her potions. The Minister’s right hand man looked ready to throttle someone, rising to hover over the pale woman’s limp body.

“Sir, I cannot do a thorough examination and give her medicine if you are blocking my way.”

“Sorry,” Kingsley muttered. “I’m very worried about her.”

The Healer ran a quick diagnostic over her. “Her fever has gone down significantly, but she is not out of the woods yet. It was a good thing you brought her in when you did. Another few hours and she might have died from dehydration or gone into cardiac arrest from electrolyte imbalance.”

Kingsley took a deep breath and shuddered slightly. Dammit, he wanted answers! His attempts to question Lucius had gone suspiciously sour. The snobbish Media relations for the Ministry had clammed up and stated Kingsley had no business inquiring into his state of affairs and refused to entertain him on any other non-work related business. Until Kings talked to Hermione, he was forced to concede to Lucius’ demands to be left alone.

What were even more curious were Arthur’s constant questions as to her health and when he could see her. Arthur seemed to be taking more than a passing personal interest in Miss Granger. Kingsley stroked his chin and thought back to the night almost a week prior when the other man had made him promise to let him keep just that one secret. Was he seeing Hermione in a less than professional capacity as he was beginning to suspect? And what did Lucius have to do with the whole thing?

Kingsley needed answers, and he needed them now. Another thought entered his head. There had been an article in the Rag ‘n’ Bull about Hermione Granger having some sort of liaison with Professor Snape awhile back; something about it happening at the Weasley function so many had attended. Arthur sure had taken off in a hurry after her now that he thought about it. When he’d gone looking for her and the crowd showed up, he’d been holding her hand. Arthur had also been about to say something but was interrupted by Snape.

The former Auror frowned. Something wasn’t right about any of this. If he were correct in his assumption, there were a few snakes slithering about where they shouldn’t be, and maybe a Gryffindor or two caught up in their tangled web. It wouldn’t be the first time Kingsley had busted one of Lucius’ little schemes.

He needed help. Deep in thought, Kingsley almost missed the Healer’s smile when his wand glowed a bright blue over Hermione’s abdomen.

“At least the baby is out of the woods,” he stated calmly.

“Shit, did you just say baby?”

Healer Dartmouth frowned at Kingsley. “While I don’t appreciate such language around my patients, I’ll let it slide, Deputy. Yes, Miss Granger is with child. I’m assuming you weren’t aware?”

“None of us were.” Kingsley sat heavily. This complicated matters. Hermione was with child? Who was the father? Why wasn’t the man stepping forward to help care for her? Well, maybe the man, or even Hermione herself, didn’t know if her pregnancy were in the very early stages.

This new set of complications weighed heavily on the big man.

“Yes,” the Healer continued, “she’s having a boy. The fetus is approximately one to two weeks of age and has just begun to attach to the wall of the uterus. The baby seems healthy, we were afraid she was in danger of miscarrying for the first day or so, but he’s pulled through nicely.”

“A boy,” Kingsley repeated, “she’s having a boy, a son, good Gods.”

He definitely needed to let someone in on this.

Kingsley stayed that night and the following day, with strict orders given to St. Mungo’s staff to not allow anyone to see or speak of Miss Granger outside of her immediate caregivers. He had needed to rest and formulate a plan of action, one that involved trusted former Order members. He had also been in contact with Rosmerta to keep her eyes and ears open in case anything of import crossed her path. Of course she readily agreed, flushing prettily when he’d thanked her and gave her a wide, handsome grin.

God, it had been too long since he’d had a woman. He was almost tempted to push the witch against the wall of her pub in the kitchen and give her a taste of his ardor, releasing his lust inside of her, relieve some tension. He doubted she’d object, much.

Harry Potter was relieved to finally be allowed to see his best friend that Sunday. Hermione was sitting up in bed, chatting animatedly with Kingsley about theories on Unicorn magic when she squealed as he stepped into the room.

“Harry!”

“Hermione, thank god I’ve been so worried about you!”

The two hugged tightly, Hermione instantly sobbing into his work robes. He pulled away with a soppy grin and held onto her hands. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks, you big prat,” she countered, but her smile belay the bite of her words.

“God, ‘Mione, what happened to you?”

“Like I told Kingsley, I went out for a walk in the rain and I guess I forgot to cast a rain repelling charm. I was feeling kind of down and was waiting for a friend but the person never showed up. Guess I had caught something already because next thing I knew I was waking up here and getting a good scolding from Kingsley.”

She cast a sheepish look at her friend and sometimes mentors.

Kingsley looked back at her seriously; his mouth was in a thick line. “She still won’t tell me what she was doing at Rosmerta’s, renting a room for the week. All of her things have been removed from her flat. Maybe you can get her to talk?” He was addressing Harry, but still looking pointedly at the young witch that had defied his efforts at questioning.

“Hermione?” A puzzled boy-who-lived sat on the edge of her hospital bed, rubbing her palms with his thumbs. “You can tell me what’s going on, can’t you? I stopped by your flat once early last week and there was a strange House elf standing outside your door. He had a couple of boxes in his hands. When I asked him what he was doing there he said it was none of my business and disappeared.”

Hermione sighed and closed her eyes. “I hired him and a few others to move my possessions to my new place.”

“You moved without telling anyone. Hermione, why would you do that?”

Her hands withdrew and she pulled the covers up to her chest, shivering slightly. “I can’t tell you that.”

Kingsley rose and stepped back. “Hermione, you can’t leave us all in the dark forever. I understand your reluctance to tell me, but Harry’s been your best friend since your first year at Hogwarts. There is also something else you need to tell him, or I will.” He shared a meaningful stare with her before quitting the room.

“Hermione?”

A tear slipped down her face and she turned her head from him, speaking so softly Harry almost didn’t catch the simple phrase that fell listlessly from her pale lips.

“I’m pregnant.”
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"Woman" Series, HG/AW