Without

She watched the children playing in the afternoon sun. A young boy, five or six years old maybe, was chasing after his older brother's fanged Frisbee, laughing as he ran. A little girl with blond pig tails swaying behind her as her mother pushed the swing had her eyes tightly shut, enjoying the sensation of soaring through the air, protected yet free.

Someone walked a dog, another pair of teenagers rode low on brooms, circling a large elm, and Hermione wanted to shut her eyes.

But she couldn't.

This was like an elixir, one she thirsted for, yet poisoned her at the same time.

Most came here for fun, or to take a break from their busy schedules. She came for torment.

At least that's the conclusion she came to.

For none of this made a bit of sense.

A tall ten year old lopped by, trying to catch the dog who'd broken his leash. Hermione watched as the boy tried in vain, and eventually agreed to accept his father's assistance in catching the family pet. When she finally turned away, she witnessed a family spread out on a blanket, waiting for their mother to unpack the picnic basket.

“Are there any strawberries today, Mum?”

“Of course, Matthew. I know they're your favorite,” the woman replied with a smile, handing him a rather large red one.

The child popped it into his mouth, savored the treat, and then planted a sloppy kiss on his mother's cheek.

Hermione turned away.

She took several deep, slow breaths, willing her eyes to stay dry.

Merlin knows she'd shed enough tears to fill every ocean on the planet by now. More just seemed futile.

It wasn't her husband's fault, she knew. And in his mind, he knew it too.

But oh, how it still hurt.

Seeing all those children, knowing she'd never know what it was to bear one, was crushing. Knowing there was nothing left of you when your time was up, unbearable. No chance to guide little minds, to hold tiny hands, to hold the life you created in your arms, cradling such a priceless gift...

And seeing strangers was hard enough.

Upon discovering Ginny was pregnant, Hermione and Draco wished her every happiness. Truly, it was one of life's blessings, right?

The pain was a knife.

Friends thumped Harry on the back for 'getting it right', and other witches touched Ginny's still flat tummy. Talk of baby names, shower gifts, and what color to paint the nursery were all fair topics of conversation for months.

A cut, a jab, and not once was it intentional. It simply was.

Luna was next, followed by Dean Thomas' wife. Everyone their age was getting married and starting a family.

That's what people did, right? Populate the planet, procreate to insure the continuation of our race? Especially the wizarding race?

Hermione sighed and forced herself to move.

With a last longing glance at the nursing mother a bench away, she prayed to whoever was in charge of this sort of thing to take away the pain. Let that urge vanish entirely.

Please.

Let the desire to hold her own baby in her arms disappear. Let the look in her husband's eyes not harden with pain every time another one of their friends made their happiest of announcements.

And if fate, or the gods, or Merlin couldn't do that, Hermione thought, they should at least give her the strength to hide her anguish from the wizard who loved her more than life itself.

He'd offered to divorce her, once he learned he could never father a child. Gave her every opportunity to find another wizard, one who could give her what he could not.

What kind of choice is that, she'd asked, and they'd never discussed it again.

And Hermione had stayed.

Love doesn't chose rainbows and babies for everyone, you know.

It was a constant battle for both of them, willing each other and themselves to trust in the strength of their love to withstand the pain, for there was so much of it that some days it threatened to drag them into the undertow.

He loved Hermione with everything he had, but he could not give her what she needed, what she longed for, what she cried for in the night when she thought he was asleep.

Every possible procedure had been tried without success. He wanted a child as much as she did, but he didn't have that voice, nagging in the back of his head, warning him time was almost up.

The clock ticked with nothing to keep time for.

And Hermione could not stay away from the park.