Ringworm

by HulaHula

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, settings, etc. from the Harry Potter universe. Jo Rowling does.

They had told her it was ringworm.

Not a common ailment for young British women living in a fairly clean state, but ringworm no less. Somehow she had come in contact with fungi sometime around end of that long taxing journey she, Harry, and Ron had taken before the defeat of the Dark Lord. Perhaps in the tent, where they had stayed, hiding, searching for Horcruxes, she had stepped on or slept on one of the nasty microorganisms.

Maybe.

But not likely.

Hermione Granger might be foolish at times, but she was no fool. The tiny red spool marking in the center of her lower abdomen had nothing to do with worms. But now, as she signed the last of her own confinement papers, she definitely believed that red mark had become the most terrible “infection” she would ever come across.

Replacing a stubborn tiny strand of her recently hacked off hair behind her ear; Hermione gently laid the quill down on the desk in front of her. Leaning forward she slowly slid her condemning paperwork across to the short balding man in front of her. The man with tiny bead eyes, that could only remind her of another type of worm, looked down, read, and then looked back into her pale face.

“That’s final then, Ms. Goldman. If you will follow me I can lead you to your room now. I hope you left all your personal items in the front corridor, as you know we do not allow you to keep them with-”

“Yes, sir.” She interrupted softly. How many times were these people going to remind her that everything was about to change? The old Hermione was gone, not dead, but certainly not the same hopeful expectant individual she used to be.

“Good.” The pudgy man sighed. “Follow me then.”

He stood, scrapping his metal chair across the barren floor, and handed the signed paper to the white-robbed guard standing by the back door he had entered from. The man himself was called Waxley, if she recalled correctly. He was the executive confinement secretary. Possibly a kind man, if he did not have to greet people like her – people who were far from happiness, seeking a place to hide their shame, and protect what was left of them or their loved ones.

Hermione stood, wrapping her arms around her middle, secured her robes, and followed Waxley through the back door of the office. Stepping through that door into the adjoining hallway, she had officially entered Salvation Homes for the insane, invalid, un-wed and rejected of Wizarding society. The last part of course was not written below their title or in the brochure. She felt it was a nice addition considering it described exactly what this institution did and was meant for.

The hallway was painted a soft green. Not quite a vomit green color, but not exactly comforting. Their footsteps were somehow muffled on the stone floor. Magical sound proofing would provide peace and less distraction for the residents outside their doors. She was not sure how far into the building she would need to travel. Several wings for each ward existed, she knew, even though on the outside the building appeared to be a small, quiet hospice home. The wizarding world, much like the muggle world, did not like to acknowledge the true amount of their number that were… well, worthless.

Waxley glanced back and spoke softly, almost as if she were a frightened animal, “Your room will be stationed in the ward nearest our nursing unit. So if you should need any medical assistance before your due date, no need to worry, someone on our staff will be close at hand.”

She nodded once. He continued to speak as they entered a small wizard lift.

“Since you are not what we consider a ‘high risk’ resident, I will be glad to give you a description of the wards around you and you will be free to come and go as you please during the day to all except the psychiatric ward. I’m sure you can understand why they must not be disturbed.”

She nodded again, still unable to speak. She had signed up for this. It was necessary under her circumstances. Still, she could almost hear her own pulse due to her fearful apprehension.

“Your ward is in the East wing; across from it is the invalid and therapy ward in West. North houses our hospice patients and South is the psychiatric. Its doors remained locked, so you need not fear accidentally entering it.”

The lift smoothly landed. They had apparently traveled several meters underground. Lifting her soft brown eyebrows, she realized only the information offices were in the building she had entered.

They stepped out of box into a square room with four doors, one on each side labeled by their directional name.

Waxley lifted his wand, opening the door labeled “East,” and motioned for her to enter first. This hallway was far more welcoming in Hermione’s opinion. The walls were a soft red, and she could hear gentle music playing from the desk situated at the far open end of the hall. Two medi-witchs’ faces could be seen above the desk, they appeared to be chatting easily, unaware that someone carrying the most evil of entities had just entered their ward. Five light-blue doors were situated on each side of the hallway. All were closed except one on her and Waxley’s immediate right.

“This will be your room for the remainder of your stay here.” He pointed to the open doorway, unsurprisingly.

Hermione stepped in, taking in the small bed, wardrobe, and door leading to the toilet. Her new home. The door clicked shut behind her, causing her to flinch. But Waxley was still standing behind her. Hermione almost wished he had left quickly, rather than say whatever he was about to.

“Ms. Goldman, you’ve told me about your… situation. I want to reassure you that your privacy is of upmost importance here, but in exchange Salvation Homes will need to know of any outside interference that might come up due to you being here-” Hermione began to shake her head in denial. “I know you’ve said none will. But please remember to notify one of the medi-witches or counselors if you remember anything that would be vital to us achieving our goal.”

Finally, Hermione found her cracking voice, “No-no, sir. No one will miss me. I simply need a place to have this baby before I leave the country. Like I’ve said, I need a fresh start and your institution will give it to me.”

Waxley’s shiny face still had a small worry frown, but he nodded in agreement.

“Very well. Good Luck, Ms. Goldman. I hope you enjoy your stay with us. After all,” He frowned in a sort of introverted melancholy way, “you will be one of the only residents we have who will not enjoy a permanent stay with us.”

Waxley left the room, closing her door behind him. Sighing with relief, Hermione collapsed on the bed against the wall. She curled her legs up as best she could, turning into a fetal position. She had done it. No one would have to know about her and the baby already starting to show from inside her.

Her ringworm baby.

Hermione had not gotten an infection while fighting the Dark Lord. Rather, she had gotten infected while fighting next to him on the battlefield. Her suspicions that Pomfrey had been wrong about her infection started after her second missed period. The red circle on her abdomen was gone. The morning sickness and strange tenderness had not. But even she had been baffled at first. How could a virgin show all the signs of pregnancy? Research and reoccurring nightmares from the final battle had given her the answer.

It, the fungus that had embedded itself in her skin, was already deep inside her body, where it was now thriving, growing in her womb as a baby. All it had taken was a flyby casting of Avada Kadavra at a passerby on his way to the meeting grounds between himself and the Boy Who Lived. Voldemort had glanced her direction with his sick red eyes, she remembered. Was there a smirk on his face? She could not recall. But somehow he had flung some mite onto her torso as he passed her direction. That mite, fungus, infection was now taking the form of a human baby inside her.

Hermione Granger, friend of the Harry Potter, Defeater of the late Voldemort, was caring the new and final Horcrux of that said evil. And no one knew about it but her. If her fears came to fruition…Voldemort would not be completely dead. She was going to give birth to him.

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