Part 12

The screams and cries were scary. Everyone in the kitchen cringed when another wail echoed from the den, all imagining the intense pain one would have to feel to make such a horrible, heart-wrenching noise. It made Blaise's hands sweaty with anxiety, and in the short interims between keens, his eyes darted from the door to Ron and back furiously.

He didn't understand anything that was going on. He knew Hermione was pregnant, but, unless he counted wrong the twenty times he recalculated, she wasn't due yet by a long shot. Then there was Weasley, willingly sitting there and not shooting him daggers with his eyes or struggling not to strangle him.

Another scream, powerful and purposeful, hit their ears. Blaise's head dropped into his hands, and he took deep, calming breaths. He wanted to bust through the door and help her, whatever she needed, but he wasn't sure he was allowed. So he sat, waiting with the rest, nerves on fire.

It suddenly became quiet. Deathly quiet.

A thin wail interrupted the silence, a mewling that could only come from a baby.

Blaise jumped to his feet as everyone else lifted their heads and gave smiles of relief. He froze and shot a questioning look at Weasley.

"Congratulations, I reckon," Ron said reluctantly.

"Thanks," Blaise said quietly. "Do you--Am I?" He gestured to the door, unable to find the right question.

"It's your kid, isn't it?"

Blaise ignored the nerves bubbling up. "Yes. But she's with you."

Ron shook his head. "Who do you think sent that owl?"

Before Blaise could question him further, Weasley gave him a push and he stumbled through the swinging door into the den. Instantly, his eyes alighted on Hermione, and he quite forgot any questions he may have asked.

She was sweaty, pale, and absolutely beautiful as she took the bundle of blankets from Molly. A smile of such joy graced her face that it lit up the whole room. He stood awkwardly as he watched her cuddle the bundle. Tears filled up her eyes and spilled over quietly.

"Well," Molly whispered to him, "go on then." The words were like a catapult to Blaise; he rushed over to Hermione in an instant.

She looked up at him. "You stayed."

"I couldn't leave you like this."

Her lower lip wobbled. "Would you like to see your son?" He nodded, and as he crept closer, she readjusted the bundle. When Blaise saw him, his world exploded.

Practically drowning in a sea of worries and fears, he gently reached out a hand to stroke the stick-thin arm. This was his son, a son he hadn't expected, nor really even wanted, yet now, as his eyes traced the scrunched up red face, he felt something burst in his chest that could only be described as complete, unconditional love.

"Why is he so small?" he wondered.

Hermione looked away. "He is six weeks early. I wasn't supposed to get out of bed, because I'd go into premature labor." The words and their meaning hit Blaise hard, accompanied by a wave of wrenching guilt.

Instantly, Hermione saw the tick in his jaw and the way he stiffened away from them. "Blaise," she said sternly, "it's not your fault. I should have stayed in bed. We're fine. You didn't mess anything up." She laid a gentle hand on his arm, and he reluctantly looked down at her. "Besides, I'm really happy you were here for this." She sat up a little more and held out the mass of blankets. "Want to hold him?"

Blaise's hands nearly trembled as he reached out, uncertainly bending his elbow under the head as instructed and holding the bundle close to his chest. The baby's--his son's eyes were still closed tight, but one of his hands had escaped from the cocoon of blankets. Blaise reached out a finger, and the grip that held him was unbelievably strong. An equally strong grip echoed in his heart.

"Why did you come?" asked Hermione.

"Ron sent me an owl," he replied, shrugging. "I didn't know who it was at the time, and there were enough threats in it that I figured I should come." Hermione looked pensive for a few seconds before speaking again.

"Would you mind taking him out to everyone? I want to talk to Ron."

Hermione heard a flurry of oohs and ahhs as her son disappeared through the door with Blaise. Moments later, Ron came shuffling out to stand a few feet away from the pallet awkwardly. Hermione studied him, marveling over the actions he had made and wondering what had made him decide to do it. When she was unable to find an answer, she simply asked.

"Why did you ask Blaise to come?"

Ron sighed as if he knew it was coming. "I dunno." He paused, then shook his head. "No, I do know. When you talked about Zabini and you, well, I got angry. I couldn't wrap my head around it, it's not been five years for me. But I started thinking. As much as I don't like it, you love him. And, y'know, that's his kid. I don't think I could've done that, raised him, I mean." He looked down at his shoes and said quietly, "And I don't think you deserved to be forced to stay with me."

Hermione eyes filled unexpectedly with tears, which she wiped off hurriedly. "Oh, Ron."

"It hurt though, Hermione. Keeping the truth from me for so long," he added.

"I know. I knew it at the time. I just didn't want to actively hurt you, and I didn't want to throw away our marriage," she faltered, seeing the twisted logic in her own words and actions. Ron raised his eyebrows at her, and she smiled weakly, saying his favorite apology line, "I was a right prat, okay?"

He grinned. "Yeah, I can take that."

Silence fell over the two of them as they mulled things over, coming to terms with the new directions in their lives. Hermione was torn between remorse and joy, knowing it would be quite a while before they would become close friends once more, but it seemed possible. Ron came over to her, placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, and smoothed back her hair. The look he gave her was full of love, but not loss. He'd obviously come to peace with his decision, something so unusually grown up for Ron that she felt all of her actions in the past seven months were embarrassingly immature and hurtful.

"I love you," she blurted out. His eyes widened in surprise. "Not.. like that. I still love you though, and I want us to be in each other's lives, best friends again."

Ron ruffled and mussed her already crazy hair. "Yeah, I think we can manage that. Eventually." He winked at her and strode over to the door, sticking his head in to yell, "Oy, you lot! You can c'min now!"

A tidal wave of redheads rushed through the door, including some that hadn't been there before. There was a babble of questions and concerns directed her way, but for the most part, she ignored them. Her eyes were focused on the dark-haired man coming through the door and clutching a bundle so close to his chest it was obvious he was afraid to drop it. The sea of people parted for him as he inched closer to Hermione.

"Hello, Blaise," Hermione said, feeling suddenly shy. When Blaise's dark eyes focused on her, a warmth bloomed in her chest that gently consumed all the feelings of guilt and shame and stupidity. Arms, Molly's most likely, gently lifted her son out of Blaise's grasp, freeing him to kneel beside her bed. His hand smoothed back the hair Ron had rumpled.

"Hello."

"I missed you."

He bent down and placed a soft kiss on her lips. "I'm here for good now."

He stayed by her side, holding her hand, as she explained what happened to the friends and family surrounding her. Ron left after a while, but she wasn't worried; they would talk and see each other again. Time would heal them both.

She glanced over at Blaise, and happiness warmed her down to her toes. There were many things she should have done differently, but in the end, it worked out okay. Ron would find happiness one day, and she and Blaise could resume their lives, now with their new son.

A/N: It's finally done. Whew. I do apologize for the lack of updates for so long, and what must be the poor quality of these last few chapters. I'm not nearly as satisfied with this fic as I'd like, but since so many people begged for updates, I did the best I could.