Chapter 6: A Drop of Blood

The Easter Holidays crept up on Daphne faster than she expected them. Between schoolwork, her evening studies with Ron, and weekly checkups with Madam Pomfrey, she hadn't been watching the calendar. But then the weeks had gone by, and Easter was upon them.

And now she had a week to spend with her family and Ron.

In some ways, this would be a prelude to the summer, as Ron would be spending the first half of the holidays at her house, and once they were married, spend the other half with Ron's family.

She, Ron, and Astoria waved goodbye to Harry and Hermione as the Hogwarts Express left. Over the past month, she'd gotten to know Harry and Hermione better, mostly through the patronus lessons, and considered them friends, now. Harry more so than Hermione, as the more she saw him the more she realized just how much his reputation, especially in Slytherin, was mischaracterized.

Witnessing the power of his patronus helped—a spell powered by such positive emotion, especially once they had shared the basis of said spell—had broken down some of the barriers, and Daphne felt like she was getting to know Harry for who he was, not the overblown, egotistical, and narcissistic caricature she thought he'd been.

She had even managed her own patronus—a hedgehog—two lessons ago, and Ron's terrier had followed the lesson after. She planned on showing that off to her parents at some point.

Her mother and father were waiting at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, and Astoria rushed out to greet them. Daphne followed behind at a more sedate pace, and hugged her parents after Astoria. Ron accepted a hug from her mother, and shook her father's hand firmly. Firm hand shakes were a stickler for her father—he disliked wimpy handshakes, and Daphne had warned Ron about this ahead of time.

From there they flooed to Rampion Hill, the ancestral Greengrass manor house. Daphne quickly offered him a tour of the house, showing him through the living area on the first floor, and the bedrooms on the second, including the guest room he'd be using. Father had been very insistent that Ron have his own room. Daphne hadn't been planning on sharing a room with Ron until they were married, so she had quickly agreed.

The last place in the house she showed him was her room. He immediately noticed the signed snitch sitting inside a glass case, and came over to admire it. It was signed by Parius Milton, the seeker of the Chudley Cannons, and given to her after they had beaten United at the game Daphne had attended. It was her favorite Christmas gift.

She also showed him around the grounds, which were small compared to other manor houses, like the Malfoys or Notts, but the gardens were her father put his spare time. Full of rare plants, the garden was organized around a large fountain. That was part of the reason that the fountain room in Hogwarts was so comforting—it reminded her of all the times she'd spent in the gardens, watching her father tend to the plants.

Dinner was ready when they came in, and after they washed up, and a quick warning to Ron about his table manners, they sat down to Twilly's best cooking. Father immediately turned the conversation on Ron. "So, Ronald, tell me more about yourself."

Ron finished chewing, and began talking. He began with his family, and from there, to his interests, with chess and quidditch.

"Wizards Chess—you any good?" asked Father.

"Decent enough, I suppose," said Ron. "If you'd like to play a game—"

"I accept," said Father, interrupting. Daphne might have groaned, but kept up a poker face. Her father had won several tournaments over the years, and kept up practicing. His chess set was battleworn and not easily defeated. Ron would be in for a challenge. "We'll play later tonight."

"You also mentioned quidditch," said Mother, diverting the topic from Father's intense interest to his side interest. "I think Daphne had mentioned something about the Cannons."

"They're my team," said Ron. "I was surprised to hear that Daphne supported them as well—no one seems to like them much—just pity."

"A bloody Cannons fan," said her Father. "I'll never get that silly notion of that team out of her head."

"It's not the head you need to take it out of," said Ron. "It's the heart."

Father grumbled. "Fat lot heart's going to do you in business." He shook his head, refocusing. "Do you play for your house team?"

Ron shook his head. "I play keeper, and the previous captain played keeper—I was going to try out this year, but they canceled quidditch. I'll try out next year."

"You any good?"

"I play against my brothers over the summer, and they're on the team. Beaters. And chaser."

"We'll have to test your flying skills, then, as well," said Father. "I might not fly often, but I played chaser for Slytherin when I was in school—I still remember my skills."

They talked quidditch for a few more minutes, and Daphne could hardly believe just how well Ron and her father were getting along, not after how they'd first met. She hadn't pieced together how similar they were in some aspects, and right now, they were highlighting those.

"We've talked interests," said Father, after a while, "but what about ambitions? Who do you see yourself being?"

Ron got a lot quieter. "I've been thinking about that a lot, lately, and a few months ago, I might have said something quidditch related, but after thinking about it more, I might become an auror. I need something that will support our family." He looked to Daphne as he said that, and she felt like butterflies flitted about in her stomach. Our family. How odd, to think those words about Ron and herself. And their baby.

"Fancy yourself a dark wizard catcher? You dueled much?"

Ron shook his head. "I've gotten more experience against dark creatures."

"Such as?"

"Trolls, cerberus, acromantulas, basilisks, werewolves, dementors, blast-ended skrewts, the like," said Ron.

Mother looked aghast. "Basilisks? Where on earth did you fight one of those?"

"The monster in Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets was a basilisk, Mother," said Daphne. "Ron helped Harry kill it."

"Helped is a strong word," said Ron quickly, but both Mother and Father demanded the story. So Ron launched into the story of their trip to the Chamber of Secrets. "As you can see," he said, finishing it up, "I didn't do much against the snake itself. But I would have helped if I could."

But her father was looking at Ron differently. "And each of those creatures has stories like that?"

"Yeah," said Ron. "I've just—we don't like talking about all the times we nearly died."

"With some dueling under your belt, you'd make a good auror," said Father. "You've got a good head on your shoulders."

"It would have helped against Sirius Black," said Daphne, teasingly. Ron just about glared at her, but her mother just about screamed in shock.

"Sirius Black? You faced off against that murderer?"

"Once or twice," said Ron.

That was the wrong answer. "Now this needs explaining," said her father. So Ron told about the time in the dormitory with Sirius standing over him with a knife.

Mother just about fainted in her chair, but Astoria, who had been quiet for most of the evening, leaned forward eagerly. "And the other time?"

"I think I'll save it for another day," said Ron. He finished the last of his soup, and asked, "Is there dessert?"

There was—one of Twilly's prize peach pies, served with cream and caramel. One of Daphne's favorites, normally, but tonight the pie tasted off. By the end of it, she was forcing the pie down, and her mother noticed.

"Something the matter with your pie, Daphne?"

Daphne stared at the few bites left on her plate. "It tastes off—I don't know how to describe it."

Mother patted her on the arm. "Pregnancy, dear. Makes all manner of odd changes, and your taste buds are one of them."

Daphne nodded silently, and persevered through one more bite, before Ron volunteered to finish the rest. She pushed her plate over gladly, and sighed. Of course pregnancy would take away her favorite dessert.

After the dishes were cleared, Father sent for his chess set, lending Ron a spare set, and they set out to do battle. Daphne wasn't very interested in chess, but she was enraptured by the game they were playing. It started out fairly even, but as the game went on, Daphne could see Ron's position weaken and weaken, and his brow twitch more and more. A sure sign he was beginning to get frustrated. Finally, after a few desperate attempts to checkmate the king, Ron surrendered, and shook for a game well fought.

"You might have been a match for me in school, with your own set," said Father. "A good match. We'll have to play again, with your set."

"We will," agreed Ron.

With a promise to play again, it was time for bed. Daphne was feeling quite tired—the travel had taken more out of her than she'd first thought, and she couldn't wait to get some rest.

The next morning saw her Father out for the day in business meetings, leaving them to spend the day with Mother. Most of it was spent listening to her tell stories from her pregnancies, all trying to reassure Daphne that she'd be fine, and that what she was feeling was normal.

Slowly, the week passed by, until Good Friday arrived. Mother was rather religious, and had tried to instill as much of it as she could in her and Astoria, but her sister had taken to it more than she had. Mostly Daphne went along with it, as she liked the morals and the music, but otherwise didn't interact with her mother's faith. Church on Good Friday, Easter, and Christmas were family traditions, and Daphne tried to prepare Ron what to expect during the service, as his family wasn't religious either.

Church was a subdued affair—it always was on Good Friday, but Daphne noticed that Ron was paying attention in the service. But when they came home, Ron asked why it was called Good Friday, if they were remembering the day Jesus had died.

"Because his death paid the price for our sins," answered Astoria. "That way, we could have eternal life in heaven."

Ron nodded, and Daphne couldn't tell what he thought of the answer.

On Saturday Ron, Father, and Astoria got on brooms and flew around the grounds. Father even got out a quaffle and tested Ron's keeping abilities, and after half an hour in the air, declared them competent.

That was also the day Astoria decided they should show off their patronuses, and started by asking if their parents could cast one. Father could only recall its use against dementors and lethifolds, and Mother had seen it cast, but hadn't performed it herself.

"Why were you asking?" asked Mother, seeing an ulterior motive.

Instead of answering, Astoria pulled out her wand and said confidently, "Expecto Patronum!"

A silver mist crept out of Astoria's wand. "It's not much yet," she said, "but Harry's been teaching me."

Mother looked somewhat impressed—Father less so. "Doesn't seem like it's that powerful," he commented.

"Then you try," said Astoria. She demonstrated the wand movement, and told him, "And think of your happiest memory. That's what powers it."

With a firm voice, Father said, "Expecto Patronum." And a small wisp emerged from his wand—far less than the voluminous mist Astoria had produced.

"I—that is rather difficult."

"But with enough practice," said Daphne, "you can do this. Expecto Patronum!"

Her hedgehog burst from her wand, rolling across the floor to where her mother was sitting. She exclaimed in delight, and Father looked on appreciatively. Ron's terrier emerged a moment later.

"Any reason you're studying such a difficult charm?" asked Mother.

"Because it's cool." "Because it's useful." Both Astoria and Daphne spoke at the same time.

Astoria went first. "As soon as Harry showed it to me, I knew I had to learn it."

"I thought it would have been useful last year, when all those dementors we're around," said Daphne. "I would have felt safer."

Father's eyes tightened. He had expressed his displeasure about the dementors around Hogwarts more than once, and had been glad to see them gone.

After seeing the spell performed correctly, both Mother and Father tried it, and even though they couldn't produce more than a mist, both admitted that the mist was calming. Then it was dinner, and bed soon after.

Easter Sunday was mildly warm, but the service was lively, and Ron even seemed to get into the singing, if a bit off key. Daphne always preferred Easter to Christmas, because the hope was so much more vibrant in the spring than the winter holiday. Even if she didn't think it was all true, she liked the spirit of the holidays.

During the sermon, as the reverend began to preach about the meaning of the resurrection, Daphne found herself listening in, more than usual. The reverend's words about a world without pain, without sadness, without death, seemed all the more fantastical, but there was a draw to that fantasy Daphne hadn't felt before.

Immediately after service, they had to rush to make it back to the train on time. Astoria nearly forgot her hairbrush, and Daphne felt overwhelmed the whole way until she was sitting aboard the train.

Ron seemed to be in a contemplative mood, so she asked, "What're you thinking about?"

"Life," said Ron. "And how amazing it is that we made one."

"What brought that on?"

"The sermon," he answered. "A place without pain, sadness, or death doesn't seem possible. But when I think about our child, I want it."

"I know what you mean," said Daphne. "I don't think heaven is real, but if it was, I'd do everything to get there."

They didn't talk much the rest of the ride home, and when classes started up the next day, the usual routine began again.

Then, during the first week of May, during a regular checkup with Madam Pomfrey, Daphne first felt the baby move. The medi-witch had just finished up a suite of diagnostic charms, proclaiming the baby to be in full health, when she'd felt a small jolt inside her belly. She exclaimed in surprise, and Madam Pomfrey turned and asked, "Is something wrong?"

A bright smile flashed on Daphne's face. "The baby—he kicked."

"Oh, that's wonderful, dear," said Madam Pomfrey. "I remember the time my first child started kicking in the womb. You're about the time when you really start to know your child."

Daphne's hand hardly left her stomach the rest of the day, and when Ron commented on her joyful mood, she told him about the kick. He burst into the widest grin, and hugged her tight. Once he'd kissed her, he said, "That's incredible. What did it feel like?"

"It was just a little jolt. But as soon as I felt it, I knew it was him."

"And how do you know it's a him?" asked Ron.

"A gut feeling, really."

Ron laughed, and placed a hand over her belly. "I'd be happy either way—but I want the surprise. If it's a girl, then—"

And her baby kicked again. Ron's eyes lit up. "He recognizes you," said Daphne.

"She knows her papa," said Ron, emphasizing the she.

"I hope so," said Daphne. She leaned up against Ron. "Have you thought much about names?"

Ron shook his head. "Not yet. Why? Did you have an idea?"

"I've been thinking about it, and looking at my family tree for names I liked. I was named for my great-grandmother and great aunt, you know?"

"I don't know where Ronald came from," said Ron, "but Bilius was a great uncle."

"Your middle name is Bilius?" She giggled—she hadn't thought his parents would put such a name on him.

"You didn't know?"

"You never said."

"Well, you can see why."

Daphne giggled some more. "Our son, Bilius Drufus Weasley."

Ron made a face. Then he asked, "D'you like the name Drufus?"

"Oh, no, I hate it. It just sounded funny."

"I kind of liked it." Daphne made to hit him, but he couldn't help smiling, revealing the tease. His expression turned thoughtful. "What do you think of Hugo?"

Daphne thought on it. "After the chaser on the Cannons?"

Ron blushed. "I like the name, alright? Does it really matter where it came from?"

"Lucius Severus Weasley doesn't sound so bad," said Daphne, teasingly. Ron made a face, so she said, "Hugo is a nice name."

"And if it's a girl?" asked Ron.

"He won't be."

"If she was."

The name came to mind immediately. "Bryony."

Ron kissed her hair. "Bryony or Hugo, then."

"Hugo—maybe Bryony."

And Ron laughed, holding her tighter.

But Daphne's happy mood didn't last the whole week. She was barely showing, but already she was regularly getting comments about her weight in the halls from her housemates, and even a few adventurous students from other houses. Those were usually driven off with an icy glare, but she couldn't avoid Slytherin like she could Hufflepuff.

Popular opinion wasn't for her—Slytherins didn't like her because of Ron, Hufflepuff didn't like her because she was irresponsible, and Gryffindors didn't like her because she was a Slytherin. And the Ravenclaws mostly ignored her, so she spent most of her time with Ron or Astoria, who didn't do herself favors by hanging around her. It was a vicious cycle with her sister—the more time Astoria spent with Daphne, the more she was isolated, and the more time she spend with Daphne.

On Friday, just after she had finished her early lunch, Daphne ran into Pansy, Millicent, Zabini, and Tracey on their way to the Great Hall. Tracey still hadn't talked with her, but every now and then, she saw her estranged friend watching her, almost longingly.

Blaise was talking about his latest letter from his mother, but when Pansy saw her, she smirked. "If it isn't Vomitgrass! On your way to puke out your lunch?"

Vomitgrass was Pansy's attempt at a derogatory nickname, which stemmed from her morning sickness and Ron's hair color, judging by the remarks Pansy accompany it with.

"If you hold me up, I might not make it to the toilet," said Daphne. "Unless you consider your robes a decent substitute?"

Pansy had been relentless in her untoward comments lately, so Daphne had turned up the insults in return. Pansy never kept a cool head when provoked, which made it all the more fun to do so, even if it meant a harsher climate for her. It wasn't as if Pansy could act against Daphne directly, as she was both pregnant and had the ear of Professors Snape and Dumbledore if she wished.

But as Pansy reddened in anger, Zabini stepped in to de-escalate. "A bit harsh for the halls, don't you think, ladies?"

In other words, keep their disputes to the common room. She knew the sentiment, but Daphne would hit back when she could. Still, she didn't care to be on Zabini's bad side, as he was one of the few people in the school that actively reduced the tension around her. "You're right, Zabini," said Daphne. "I suppose my mood has been fickle, as of late. My apologies."

Zabini nodded, and when he turned his attention on Pansy, who gave a frustrated nod in return. Realizing this was her chance to go by without further altercation, Daphne hurried down the corridor. As she passed by Pansy, she stumbled, nearly falling to the ground. When Daphne turned back, she thought she saw Pansy's wand disappear into her robes. Tracey was staring at her, looking as if she wanted to say something. But Daphne shook her head subtly, Tracey looked away.

Even though she had turned away her friend, Daphne still felt a sting a regret as Tracey walked away with Pansy and the others. Pansy had used a tripping jinx—Daphne was sure of it, and the more she thought of it as she walked toward the potions classroom, the angrier she got. They had never gotten to exchanging hexes yet, but if this continued, they would.

For a moment, Daphne wished it would, so she could slap down Pansy once and for all, but then her stomach started churning, and her thoughts went to her baby. And that as long as she was pregnant, she couldn't risk it coming to that. That thought just made her angrier.

She managed to calm down by the time she got to class, and sat down as close to Ron as she could without Professor Snape making a fuss. A twinge of pain went through her lower regions as she sat down, but Professor Snape entered before she could think much on it.

He began the lecture—a treatise on the properties of belladonna flower petals—but the pain in her groin returned, and sharper the second time, followed by some unusual cramps. And then she felt a flash of nausea, which disappeared the moment she felt it.

Daphne hadn't felt anything like this before, so she raised her hand, and when Professor Snape noticed, she said, "I'm feeling unwell. May I visit the infirmary?"

Professor Snape looked into her eyes, and said in a voice that inspired no calm, "Do so immediately, Miss Greengrass."

Now more worried than ever, she tried to gather her things, but Professor Snape told her to leave them. She did, and made haste to the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey was tending to a first year who had miscast an incendiary hex and burnt herself. When she walked in, the medi-witch asked her what she was there for.

As she described the symptoms she was feeling, Daphne could see the worry lines in the older witch's face tighten and grow grim, all while her eyes offered as much comfort as they could. Daphne realized why before Madam Pomfrey even told her what was wrong. And nothing could stop the cold that seeped into her bones.

Madam Pomfrey came over and took her hand. "You've miscarried, dear. Let's get you into a bed."

Ron rushed up to the infirmary once class had ended, Daphne's things in hand. He had only heard the tone of voice Snape had used to her, and he hadn't been able to concentrate on the lesson at all. He almost exploded his potion three times, and each time Hermione had whispered to him to pay more attention to what he was doing.

Harry and Hermione had offered to come to the hospital wing with him, but he turned them down. He knew that sometimes women had issues while pregnant, but he felt a unique sense of dread as he opened the door. Had something happened to the baby? Or was he just worried for nothing?

When he opened the door, he didn't see anyone in the room—just a curtain separating a bed from view. That wasn't a good sign. Madam Pomfrey appeared from behind the curtain, and when she saw him, she beckoned him over. There was no hope in her expression.

As she pulled back the curtain, she put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry to tell you this. But she miscarried."

If there were words that could have described what those words did to Ron, he couldn't find them. His knees felt weak, nearly buckling beneath him. His breath caught, and he felt his airway constrict. His mouth instantly dried, and it hurt to swallow.

But that was just what those words did to his body. "No, no, no—that can't have happened," said Ron. "No, not Daphne."

He looked to her, and all he could see in her eyes was quiet. Her eyes, which normally seemed so warm when he looked into them, were distant and cold. She looked at him, and opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

"There isn't anything more I can do," said Madam Pomfrey, softly. "I'll leave you be."

There was a chair next to the bed Daphne was lying in, and Ron found himself in it, staring at the floor. White tile, edged with a light red that wasn't quite pink, patterned the floor.

"Ron…"

He looked up, and from her eyes he could tell she didn't know what to say. Instead, she extended her hand, and Ron took it. Her hand was warm—far warmer than he felt it should be.

And he wept.

A/N: I'm not sorry.

A/N 2: This story only has one chapter left. I never planned for it to be long, and now you see why. I will, however, be writing a snippet sequel, which will be posted beginning of next year.

A/N 3: I'm sorry about this.