Work Text:
When she finally realises it, it isn’t necessarily that things aren’t going to work out that annoys her — no; as embarrassing as it might be to admit it, the crux of her problem is simply that she was wrong. And Hermione Granger is not someone well-accustomed to being wrong.
As it turns out, even the brightest witch of her age can be just as subject to the same hormonal impulses as everyone she mocked in school.
She loves Ron, of course. Just… not in that way.
Even Ron, after his initial disbelief (because, again: how could Hermione Granger be wrong about something? Let alone something this big?) told her that it was fine; that he understood. That still stings the most. How is he so fine with it? Can’t he see that she was wrong? Hermione is never wrong!
“I think you need to lighten up a bit,” Ginny says when Hermione brings it up to her next. “Everyone gets a bit rough with a breakup, you know? Go out and find some rebound.”
But it isn’t the breakup. She and Ron are friends — they’ve gone back to being just friends with alarming ease — and she really and truly isn’t torn up about no longer being his girlfriend. She’s torn up about being wrong — about being so utterly blindsided by the truth.
Ginny doesn’t understand that. Hermione doesn’t know that anyone else can. Most people aren’t as accustomed to being right as Hermione is. For as clever as Ginny is, she’s more than capable of admitting when she’s wrong — at least when it doesn’t pertain to her brothers.
Hermione… isn’t. Not really.
So she takes Ginny’s advice.
Or, well, she attempts to.
Hermione isn’t someone who has an easy time letting go, either, to say the least. Her friends tease her about being uptight, and maybe they’re right. Maybe she’s wrong about that, too. Maybe she’s been wrong about more things than she’s feared.
The problem is that resolving to lighten up and take things as they come is much easier said than done.
Ginny thinks she needs a rebound, and Harry offers to take her out to a Muggle club for New Year’s. She wants to decline, but she forces herself to reframe. Isn’t this the perfect opportunity to practice letting go? After all, it’s hardly as if she’s going to find anything with long-term potential at a Muggle club.
She isn’t against the idea of spending her life with a Muggle, of course — it would be hypocritical of her — but she knows the sort of person she’d find in a club, and it’s not her ideal match.
(She’d never admit it out loud, but of course she does have a mental list for her ideal match. It doesn’t occur to her that this might have something to do with why she and Ron failed as a couple.)
In the end, she thinks the night will be… perfectly fine.
She dresses appropriately, thankful she’s with Harry, who knows how Muggles dress just as well as she does. Ginny insists on doing her hair, which feels ridiculous, but again: Hermione is trying to lighten up, so she lets her. She even lets Ginny test out some makeup on her.
The end result is not something Hermione would typically go for — but isn’t the point of the night to do something she wouldn’t typically go for?
Harry tells her she looks great, and the two of them set off from her parents’ house in London, where she’s staying for winter holidays. It’s not far from the Tube, so she follows Harry’s lead. Harry mentions something about Draco Malfoy offhand that turns into a whole thing, which is… well, really quite typical. Malfoy was (in no small part due to Harry’s testimony) cleared of all charges, and allowed to return to Hogwarts for their eighth year.
She isn’t sure what Harry expected to happen after that, though she sort of suspects that there’s something deeper there that neither of the two of them want to address. Hermione knows it’s really none of her business, but sometimes she wonders…
“It’s mad,” Harry finishes — or at least, she thinks he’s finished.
“It is a bit much,” she agrees. “But have you considered not giving him the satisfaction of your attention?”
Harry looks at her straight on, frowning. “I’m not giving him any sort of satisfaction. If anything, I annoy him more than he annoys me.”
Hermione’s fairly sure that much is actually true. “It just seems that he’s trying to get under your skin.”
“Of course he is.” Harry rolls his eyes.
Hermione realises that she has to change the subject. “Speaking of school, do you have your applications in, Harry?”
She doesn’t say explicitly that she means the Auror programme, of course, because they’re on a Tube platform, but Harry understands.
“Yeah, I did it this morning.”
She isn’t surprised at him cutting so close to the deadline; it’s Harry. “I’m sure you’ll get in,” she says, because, well —
“They offered me a position straight out before I went back to school,” Harry says with a snort. “I know I’ll get in. But you’re right — I should follow the proper channels and make sure I’ve got all the right training. I don’t want everyone to hate me.”
She hardly thinks there’s much of a risk of that, considering what Harry did last year, but she doesn’t say that. “I think that’s very responsible.”
Harry cracks a grin. “Where’d I be without you, Mione? Don’t answer that — I know the answer.” And so does she, which is exactly why she doesn’t say it. “I think I’ll have to repay you by getting you shagged out of your mind,” he says.
Hermione laughs. “I’d just settle for a drink and a nice time.”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” Harry says. “Then I’ll crash at your parents’ so I don’t have to deal with facing Ginny in the morning.”
They’ve both made a fine mess of things. Only she doesn’t think Harry minds being wrong so much — and neither does Ginny. Still, things have been a bit awkward in a way they haven’t been between Hermione and Ron. “You could talk to her, you know.”
The train comes, and Harry shrugs, apparently unbothered, as they board. “It’s just a bit weird, you know? We weren’t each other’s first everything, but we were each other’s first something, and that sort of matters, even though everything’s totally over.”
“Ron and I never slept together,” Hermione says.
“I know,” Harry says. “He’d have told me. In graphic detail, whether or not I wanted to hear it.”
“I’m honestly a bit relieved about it. I think it would have made everything more complicated.”
Harry furrows his brows a bit, then nods. “Yeah. It can definitely do that. But I wouldn’t worry too much about it. We’re about to have a great night out, and maybe both of us will get lucky.”
She isn’t sure she believes that much, but she’s a bit grateful for his optimism.
(And she only smiles and rolls her eyes when, a few hours later, he winds up following some girl to the bathroom; she definitely doesn’t ask questions she doesn’t want to know the answer to. He comes home with her, anyway, and sleeps in an old sleeping bag on her bedroom floor. It reminds her of times she’d rather forget, but at least he’s still by her side.)
-
When they return to school, Hermione is more or less able to forget about how wrong she was. This is primarily due to the fact that everyone seems to have filed her breakup with Ron as old news while a new scandal sweeps the castle (equally mundane this time; Seamus caught Neville coming in suspiciously late and, while Neville claims he was merely tending to some nighttime plants, Seamus has other ideas about what he was doing).
“D’you reckon Neville really was meeting up with someone?” Ron asks between mouthfuls of food.
“It’s not our business if he was,” Hermione says. He’s not telling anyone anything, anyway.
“Come on, Mione, he’s always liked you more than me. You should ask him.”
Hermione rolls her eyes. “Absolutely not. I’m not going to pressure him. Besides, there’s every chance he was telling the truth.”
Ron rolls his eyes now. “Sure, Mione. Whatever you say.”
Pigwidgeon drops off a letter then, saving Hermione from having to reply to that. Ron tears it open and skims it before handing it to Hermione.
“Fleur’s invited us all to her birthday. During spring hols. I’m sure Bill’s got all sorts of ideas about what’s an appropriate gift.”
“They did sort of save our lives, you know,” Harry says, taking the letter when Hermione hands it to him. “It’ll be nice to see them again.”
“We just saw them at Christmas,” Ron says.
“Heaven’s sake, Ron, it’s just polite,” Hermione huffs. “And I’ll go shopping with the both of you. I may not know Fleur very well, but I’m sure I can stop you buying something too ridiculous.”
Ron grins. Hermione feels nothing — not anything beyond a friendly sort of fondness — and decides, yes, she’s absolutely made the right move.
And this time, if Harry drags her out to a club again, she’ll make a few different choices.
Maybe she does deserve to get ‘shagged out of her mind.’
-
Shell Cottage is, as its name implies, not a very large property.
When one tries to fit every Weasley, several of Fleur’s family members, and a number of friends inside… well, Hermione is just relieved that the weather is lovely. There’s simply not enough room inside for everyone to coexist comfortably.
Ron and George have already had a minor row over who claimed a spot on the sofa.
Hermione stands outside, taking a breath away from everyone else, when he approaches her.
She noticed Viktor was in attendance, of course. Fleur told her that he’d transferred to a British team, and Hermione knows from the wedding that the two of them are still close. It makes perfect sense that Viktor would be here today.
“Hello,” he says.
“Hi,” she returns. Then, for lack of anything better to say: “How have you been?”
Viktor doesn’t quite shrug. “The English are strange.”
She laughs lightly; not at him, of course, but at his comment. “I’d have thought you’d have learned that during the Tournament.”
“I didn’t have to be on a Quidditch team with them,” he says simply.
“I’ve been following your career,” is perhaps not the best thing to say, but it’s what comes out of her mouth, anyway.
Viktor perks up. “You have?”
“Of course I have.” As if it’s so simple. As if her feelings for Viktor are so simple, especially with him in front of her right now.
Not for nothing, she remembers their first kiss — her first kiss ever — and how the magic had surged through them like electricity.
“And Ron is okay with that?”
She knows in the moment what he’s really asking, and there’s no harm in being direct. “Ron and I are just friends.”
“I thought…”
She shakes her head. “There was a time, but it didn’t even last half a year. We’re far better off as friends.” It’s the truth, as much as being wrong still stings a bit. She’s right about this much, anyway; she knows that.
“I see,” he says.
“Yes,” Hermione agrees. She’s well aware that she’s just told her ex-boyfriend that she’s single; that he’s still interested in her somehow, despite the years since they were last together.
Maybe there was more to it on his end than there was on hers; after all, they’d fetched Gabrielle from France as Fleur’s most important person, but Hermione had been Viktor’s. Surely that meant something.
Does it matter now?
“Fleur said you were back at Hogwarts,” he says slowly.
She nods. “Yes. I’m finishing my studies. I want to get my N.E.W.T.s fair and square — not some sort of special treatment just because of what I did during the war.”
She isn’t unaware of the importance of her contributions, of course. She knows exactly what she did, and where they’d be without her. She doesn’t resent that she’s been offered positions she isn’t quite qualified for.
It’s just that she wants to be sure she is qualified for them in the end. She doesn’t want to breed resentment between herself and any potential future coworkers.
“Are you on holiday?” Viktor asks.
“For the next week, yes.”
Viktor says nothing for a moment, and she wonders what he’s thinking. “I’d like to take you out to dinner. Tomorrow night?”
Maybe she should be thinking more clearly about this, but it’s Viktor. “Yes,” she agrees. “Just tell me the time and place.”
-
Dinner is lovely.
It’s a conscious choice to go back to Viktor’s flat with him. She’s an adult, even by Muggle standards. She trusts him. He won’t do anything she’s uncomfortable with.
When they kiss, the surge of magic returns, sending tingles down her spine.
It’s the most natural thing in the world to start tugging at his robes. Maybe it was always meant to be this way. Maybe she’s a bit tipsy — but if she is, so is he. The wine helps to kill her judgment just enough so that she doesn’t overthink this.
Under his robes, Viktor is all lean muscle — the sort Hermione supposes she should expect from a Seeker. She lets him undress her until she’s standing before him in a mismatched bra and pants. She feels a bit self-conscious… until she takes in the way he’s looking at her; like she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
She’s sure she isn’t, actually, but he pulls her in for another kiss, and unhooks her bra. When her bare breasts brush his chest, it sends an even stronger jolt through her. His palm finds her breast, and fuck, nothing has ever felt this good.
She’s soaking wet already, but he doesn’t reach for her pants. He weighs her breasts in his hands, and runs his thumbs over her nipples. A whine — nearly pitiful — escapes her as she arches into his touch.
He eases her down onto the sofa, where he buries his face between her breasts, kissing them with a fervor she’s only dared imagine. Fuck.
She arches into him again, and can’t help herself from wrapping a leg around him and starting to buck into him.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, pausing to look her in the eye.
She looks right back at him. “So are you.”
And he is, especially right now, with scraps of fabric between them. Something about it gives her the nerve to take his hand and guide it between her legs.
He makes a sound that’s somewhere between a groan and a growl as he starts to stroke along her cunt, teasing her folds. This is electric, and she’s not even aware of the sounds she’s making as she moves her hips, desperately seeking more.
And he gives her more.
His thumb finds her clit, and he starts to rub her in little circles. He murmurs something in Bulgarian that she can’t understand but thinks must be good simply from the way he sounds. He slides a finger inside of her; she cries out and tugs at his hair.
Yes, she’s fingered herself before, and logically, she knew that having someone else touch her would feel different, but nothing prepared her for this.
He starts to thrust, finger curling to hit her g-spot as he comes back up to kiss her on the mouth. She pulls him close as her hips thrust erratically into his hand. She’s never been one to get off particularly easily — she has trouble turning her thoughts off; she knows this — but now, she can feel her orgasm building, just from this.
“F-fuck,” she manages as Viktor’s lips trail down her jaw and neck. He doesn’t bite or suck, but just his lips alone… “C-close, please…”
He presses against her with intention now, rubbing her clit harder, steady until she comes all at once, so hard she can see stars. He fucks her through it, stopping only when she stills.
“Good?” he asks.
She nods, breathless. “Fuck me.”
He doesn’t ask her if she’s sure. He tugs her pants down until they’re around just one ankle, and slides his own down past his knees. He doesn’t hesitate. He slides into her with a single thrust that takes all of the air out of her lungs before looking down at her. She nods again.
“Fuck me,” she repeats.
Viktor dips down to kiss her, but he listens. He rolls his hips, starting slow and steady. He stretches her like nothing else ever has, and it’s sort of uncomfortable for a moment, but as he keeps moving, it starts to feel impossibly good.
She doesn’t know how she’s gone so long without this.
He fucks her slow and steady at first. She wraps her arms around him, pulling him closer, whining in what she’d probably normally find a bit of a pathetic way as he fucks her.
“More,” she tells him, and it’s more of a command than a plea.
He nods and speeds up, thrusting harder and deeper. After a moment, he shifts her, lifting her leg so it’s over his shoulder, as he goes even deeper. The new angle makes her cry out his name, nails raking his back.
She doesn’t know why she expects this to be over relatively quickly, but she begins to realise that Viktor is capable of lasting.
Hermione knows a lot about sex, from a purely academic angle, and she knows that most women can’t come from penetration alone. She herself never has when she’s masturbated, and she’s made peace with it.
But tonight, it seems she is not one of those women.
A second orgasm builds as he fucks her, and this time, she does actually black out when she comes. When she comes to, he’s still fucking her. This is being shagged out of her mind, and she can’t even think enough to register that Ginny and Harry were right. Viktor is babbling in Bulgarian, but she has a feeling she knows what he’s saying now without needing to ask.
She pulls him closer, nails digging into his back.
“More,” she says. “Fuck, Viktor, more.”
And he delivers.
He fucks her even harder and faster, until she’s coming again — and this time, he comes with her. She can feel it.
It’s absolutely magical, in both a literal and figurative sense.
But he’s not done.
He lays, collapsed on top of her, for a few minutes, then he kisses her again… and kisses his way down her body. He spreads her legs, and before she can ask him what he’s doing, he’s licking a stripe up her slit.
She’s sensitive and a bit sore, but she moans at the feel of his tongue, of his breath, of his beard scratching the inside of her thighs.
Her hands bury themselves in his hair of their own accord as he eats her out.
This he does gently and slowly, licking into her with his nose rubbing against her clit. She isn’t sure that she can come again, but it still feels so incredibly good that she can’t quite believe it.
She can’t believe any of it.
She just fucked Viktor Krum. On a sofa, of all things.
Hermione imagined her first time a great many ways, but never like this. Never did she think she’d end up utterly boneless as he cleans up his mess.
(She knows, somewhere, vaguely, that she probably shouldn’t have let him come inside of her, but she also knows that the risk of this sort of thing one time is relatively minimal.)
To her surprise, she comes a fourth time, though this one is less powerful than the ones before, almost certainly because she’s utterly exhausted. He laps her up, looking up at her the whole while. She pulls him away when she gets the strength, and tugs him up for a kiss.
The taste of them mixed together on his tongue is a bit weird, but she finds she sort of likes it.
“Spend the night,” he whispers in her ear.
As if she’s even capable of finding her way to her parents’ house now. “Okay,” she says.
-
They fuck again in the morning, this time in his bed. He asks her to climb on top of him and ride him, and who is she to refuse? Her nails rake his chest as he slides a hand between them to rub her clit.
Fuck.
It’s so good that she lets him fuck her in the shower after that, and eat her out as she’s trying to dry off.
It’s nearly enough to make her wish she didn’t have to go back to Hogwarts tomorrow, but she does, and besides that… this is just fun, right? There’s no real future here. It was one date and some sex.
He doesn’t expect anything to come of this.
And neither does she.
-
It’s easy to shift her focus back to her studies. It’s spring term, and her N.E.W.T.s are rapidly approaching. She’s a bit sore for a few days after she fucks Viktor, but no one seems to notice. On the other hand, no one suggests she gets shagged out of her mind, either, so maybe they can tell. Either way, it’s irrelevant.
She knows that she could fail her N.E.W.T.s straight out and still get whatever job she wants, but she wants straight O’s, which she feels is completely within the realm of possibility. She just has to focus her attention.
She knows without having to ask that most of her friends think her revision schedule is a bit over the top — especially considering, yes, she doesn’t technically need her N.E.W.T.s — but she doesn’t really care what they say.
Most of them are fine with simply passing (and some, namely Ron, don’t even care about that much; she suspects he only came back to Hogwarts to have another year of being with all of his friends). Hermione’s always been somewhat alone when it comes to her dedication to her academics. Even her Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff friends aren’t quite as rigorous as she is.
So, really, Hermione attributes any and all changes that might occur to stress.
Because it is stressful, even though she logically knows that it doesn’t have to be. She’s Hermione Granger. She has to get straight O’s, for her own satisfaction if for no other reason.
…And in the end, she manages it just fine. Straight O’s across the board, while Ron brags about simply not failing anything, and Neville is proud of his hard-earned mix of E’s and A’s (with two O’s, in Herbology and in Defense Against the Dark Arts). Harry doesn’t really care very much, except that he got the marks he technically needs to join the Auror programme (“so now I won’t feel like a fraud,” he says).
The whole D.A. ends up at the Leaky Cauldron for a celebratory drink after their results come in. It’s not planned that way, but one person tells another, and in the end… it’s nearly a reunion.
“What’re you going to do, Neville?” Ron asks.
Neville flushes. “Gran wants me to become an Auror, but I think I’d prefer Herbology.”
“Stand up to your Gran, then,” Ron says. “Tell her to stuff it. Not that I wouldn’t want to work with you, obviously, but y’know.”
“He has a point,” Luna says serenely. “You deserve to be happy.”
“We all do,” Ginny says. She only sat her N.E.W.T.s to appease her mum; she got an offer from the Holyhead Harpies as a starting Chaser — not even reserves. “Just because we did what we had to last year doesn’t mean that we all have to dedicate our entire lives to fighting Death Eaters and Dark Magic forever.”
Luna, who has an apprenticeship lined up with the Scamander Foundation for Magizoology, nods. “Exactly.”
“What do you think, Hermione?” Neville asks.
“I think you should do what makes you happy. Would you be happy as an Auror?”
“Well, no, but —”
“Then that’s that. You’d rather be a Herbologist, and you’ve always been talented in Herbology. You should do what you really want to do, not what your grandmother wants you to do. You do deserve to be happy, Neville.”
Neville nods, giving her a somewhat fragile smile. “If you’re all sure.”
“We are,” Hermione says, answering for everyone.
“Look, I want to be an Auror,” Harry says, “but if you don’t, there’s no reason for you to do it. Besides, you’re better at Herbology than Hermione.”
That earns a laugh from half the table, but, really, Hermione suspects it’s the truth. Yes, she also earned an O in Herbology, but she certainly lacks the passion for it that Neville has. Even she knows that makes a difference.
She doesn’t want to become a Herbologist, anyway.
“You’re right,” Neville says. “Not about being better than Hermione, but about not becoming an Auror. I just need to tell my Gran.”
“Come on,” Ron says. “You cut the bloody snake’s head off in front of everyone; you can manage to tell your Gran to stuff it.”
“Honestly, Ron,” Hermione says, rolling her eyes. But she smiles at Neville.
-
The next morning, Hermione feels atrocious. It’s bizarre, because she didn’t drink much; all she had was butterbeer, anyway. She’s never been one for drinking heavily. Still, she rushes to the bathroom and empties her stomach into the toilet.
Fortunately, she’s a witch, so it’s an easy matter of going through her potions store after that to find something to alleviate her nausea.
Come to think of it, she’s been battling nausea a lot for the past month or so. That’s the reason why she even has such a store of anti-nausea potions at this point. She attributed it to stress — she certainly wasn’t drinking like a few of her friends — but it was strange.
Unbidden, she realises that her period is also late — again; she attributed this to stress — despite the fact that she’s felt a bit like it should be coming any day now for… well, far longer than usual.
The first conclusion she draws is so ridiculous that she laughs it off. There’s no way. The chances are miniscule. It’s absurd to even consider it.
No; the stress must have gotten to her more than she thought.
-
…Except it doesn’t go away. If anything, it gets worse — or at least persists to a point where she cracks and goes to the chemist to get a Muggle pregnancy test. There’s no way she’s bothering with St. Mungo’s for this, and frankly, she isn’t sure of the complete slate of diagnostic spells and potions she’d need to confirm something like this.
After the first test, she buys another, from a more reliable brand.
And another.
And then she huffs and goes to St. Mungo’s.
Fortunately, Anthony Goldstein does not seem to be doing his training in gynaecology and obstetrics (at least not today), so the Healer is someone she’s never met.
“It’s probably nothing,” Hermione says. “I’ve been quite stressed with N.E.W.T.s, of course, and I only just got my results, and now I’ve been applying like mad.”
The Healer hums and nods politely, but she doesn’t comment on the latter part of her statement, even though she surely knows who Hermione is — that Hermione has no need to be worried about her applications, because anyone would be thrilled to have Hermione Granger on their payroll.
There’s a brief waiting period, during which Hermione tries to tell herself that it’s fine. The fact that she’s been driven to come here surely means nothing. The tests and missing periods were a fluke; she’s sure of it.
Until, that is, the Healer comes back, and says, quite plainly, “The tests are all positive.” She looks at her with an expression Hermione can’t quite decipher. “I’m sure that’s not a problem for you. We do have options, of course, if you’d like to think of them.”
Hermione isn’t even entirely sure how she gets home with a collection of pamphlets.
What on earth is she meant to do now?
-
The problem is that Hermione doesn’t know who to tell.
She doesn’t know what she’s going to do, and she doesn’t know what answer she’d prefer to get from her friends. Oh, she knows any one of her friends would help her — even Ron, despite their history. She also has a very good suspicion of what each one of them would say.
Eventually, she realises that there’s one person whose opinion matters more than those of her friends.
Viktor makes time for her easily. Maybe a little too easily; she doesn’t know. Maybe he suspects… or maybe he doesn’t, and he’s just eager to see her, whether or not he thinks he’ll get a repeat of the last time.
(And really, something makes Hermione want a repeat of the last time; it’s hardly as if she can get more pregnant, after all, and she hasn’t slept with anyone else since.)
She asks to meet at his flat. She wants privacy above all else. She knows Viktor well enough to know that even if he reacts poorly, he would never take it out on her.
He’s no sooner shut the door behind her than she says, “I’ll just get straight to it, shall I?”
Viktor nods, though he looks a bit confused.
With a courage she doesn’t feel, Hermione takes a deep breath and says, “I’m pregnant. And it’s yours.”
For a moment, Viktor only blinks at her.
“I know it’s yours. I haven’t been with anyone else.”
That makes him frown. “You didn’t tell me you were a virgin.”
She doesn’t know why that’s his objection to the entire thing. “I hardly think that’s relevant now.”
“I would have been more gentle.”
Oh. “Viktor,” she says softly, “the sex was wonderful. You have nothing to worry about there. It was everything I could have wanted.” And it was; she isn’t lying.
He seems to relax. “Good,” he says. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You didn’t,” she assures him.
But the reason she came here in the first place still hangs between them. He doesn’t say anything, and neither does she. They stand awkwardly by the door.
Eventually, he clears his throat. “I will support your decision,” he says.
She isn’t particularly surprised by this; Viktor has always been exceedingly kind to her. He’s respectful. He’s never pushed her boundaries. He wouldn’t ask her to commit to something like this unless she wanted to.
“And if I decide to keep it?” she asks. “What would you do?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “I will support you.”
“What do you mean?” There are, after all, a million different ways for him to support her. “How would you support me?”
He shrugs. “However you need. But I do not want my child not to know me.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Hermione says softly, even as the world child makes her heart pound in her chest. Somehow, his words make everything more real. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“You can move in,” he says.
He isn’t promising commitment and love, but does she really need that right now? She needs support, and that’s enough. “Do you have a spare room for a nursery?” she asks, because she realises that she’s never actually seen his entire flat.
He nods, gaze softening. “I do.”
“Then I suppose we’d better come up with a plan,” she says. If nothing else, Hermione is excellent at drawing up plans. She knows it won’t be as easy as writing out steps, but with Viktor by her side… maybe she can actually do this.