Here We Go Again

Chapter 27: Miracle Won't Show

POV: Dominique

Fee. Fi. Fo. Fum.

Fee. Fi. Fo. Fum.

Fee. Fi. F—I'm a bloody whale.

I was walking through the cold halls of the Ministry of Magic, elbowing people or being disgustingly pressed against them because my body mass had quadrupled during this excruciating third trimester of my pregnancy. Whereas I'd been petite and slender my entire life, and adorably round in my mid-section during the first two trimesters of my pregnancy, I know felt like a massive giant stomping along her path. I felt peoples eyes on me, and they were probably wondering what evil bastard had sent me to eat everyone in the premises.

Truth is, Mum sent me. I didn't want to, of course, but she thought I needed some fresh air—more like a distraction. I'd been locked up in Shell Cottage for three months, but that's something I rather not get into. I was in public, and if I thought of why I've been confined to the walls of my room for twelve weeks, then I'm going to start crying and the people would drown from this giant's never-ending tears.

So, instead, I put on a fake smile as I passed through. I said hello to a few old workers I remember from my childhood running around the Ministry—a privilege not many kids got, mostly because Shacklebolt was a family friend and my relatives were Heads of almost every department—and headed to my destination.

In my path, I saw a set of dark hair and my heart started pounding with fear and anticipation. Could it be him? Could that feathery, black hair be attached to the head, whom owned a face I had not seen in so long? With a knot in my throat, I diverged from my road and turned the corridor of where the man turned into.

"Okay, okay. Let's get this over with, then, Carmen." My heart had been pounding, but then it sank with disappointment when I noticed that the man I'd followed wasn't the man I wanted to see.

"I'm ready, Sir." This man was accompanied by a tiny brunette who was holding a notebook with a quill ready to take notes. Though she was small, the lines on her face screamed annoying perfectionist with a splash of brown-noser and total bitch. By the clear look of her, I could conclude she was a secretary who thought too much of her positioned and probably assumed she ran the entire department of where she worked.

The man sighed as he leaned against the emerald, tiled wall of the Ministry corridor. He crossed his arms and looked thoroughly bored. "As word has traveled throughout the community of a war brewing between the British and German Ministries, the Daily Prophet finds itself responsible of misinforming its readers about these misconstrued rumours."

As the man paused, the woman hurried to scribble down in her notebook his previous words. Once she was done, she looked back up at him and nodded seriously for him to continue with his statement.

"Though the British and German Ministries have a widely known history of tension, this Ministry of Magic would like to clarify to its citizens that the possibility of war with the Germans is not in question. There are differences between the two Ministries, but as diplomacy goes, every precaution has been taken from both sides to avoid a breakage of comradeship. The journalists of the Daily Prophet, whom continue to discuss this matter, are misinformed and their faulty sources are enough to discredit them. Instead, these journalists have barged into the Ministry to assault any Head of department for a quote, and when they have not been given one, they create ones of their own."

"'...they create ones of their own'," the secretary repeated as she scribbled harder onto her notepad. She looked up at the man once more, and as she did previously, she gestured for him to continue on.

The man uncrossed his arms as he stared uninterestedly at the woman. "Honestly, Carmen, can't you write this on your own? You know exactly what needs to be said here. I am in no mood to further entice the Prophet and its stupid writers."

There was a glint in the secretary's blue eyes, something that reflected a loss of patience. However, seeing as she was the one taking notes, clearly in a position below the man, she subdued her irritation and smiled professionally. "Sir," she said with an obvious strained tone, "with all due respect, that Rita Skeeter is putting all her efforts into destroying the image you have gained with the public. You have a specific way of regarding the people, Sir, that they'll know if your secretary wrote your statement."

"I don't give a damn about Skeeter," retorted the man with a foul expression. "How long can her rumours on the Ministry possibly go on? It'll die down in a week or so."

"Sir, Rita Skeeter is a powerful journalist who—"

Without meaning to, a snort left me and interrupted the two professionals working on whatever it was that they were working on. They turned to me, eyes scrutinizing me and my massiveness, but I didn't let that intimidate me.

"Rita Skeeter is a hag," I told them without restraint. "What is she, like two hundred years old now? Simply file the ancient bint as mentally incompetent and desperate to relive her glory days. That's what Hermione Weasley always does whenever Skeeter writes preposterous things. Trust me, people will start taking tours of the Ministry like it is bloody Diagon Alley on Discount Day."

When I stopped talking and silence ensued from the two Ministry people, I noticed the man's eyes. They were hazel; a perfection mixture of green and brown, and with golden rims that made you wonder what you were doing with your life before looking into them. His expression was still for a quick moment, but then it turned into fast curiosity as he scanned me.

"Hello," he said to me. His voice made me shiver; it was strong, husky, and threw me off balance.

Secretary Carmen lowered her tools of writing and glared at me. "You are not supposed to be here, girl," she snapped authoritively, "these are private halls."

I gave her my best disgusted face. "Look, lady, I don't—"

"No, no. It's quite all right. She's fine. She doesn't need a pass," the man cut in before my words could bitch slap the brunette across the face. The man pulled away from the wall and took a smooth step towards me. He extended his hand. "You are very welcomed here, Miss...?"

I stared at the hand like it was a sack of stolen gold and I was the poorest person on the planet. I swallowed my nervousness down, but I was certain my cheeks were flushed. How could it be possible that a man with a voice like that, with a gaze like that, with a face like that, was simply standing around the Ministry of Magic and not modeling underpants? The requirement to work here was old, anal, boring, annoying, tree-huggers (all or in a combination); he was clearly none of that.

"Dominique," I replied, breathing in my confidence and reaching for his hand.

I shook it the appropriate amount that one should engage in a handshake, but, apparently, he wasn't following the same rules. He held on to my hand, his thumb lightly gracing my skin like he wanted me to faint and cause a hole in the corridor's floor.

"Emilio De la Cruz," he said as he brought my hand to his mouth so he could chastely place a kiss over my knuckles, "at your service."

Shivers ran over my body at his action, at his golden eyes peering through his surprisingly thick and lovely lashes. As soon as I killed that school-girl giggle before it could surface, my brain processed his name and my gaze went wide. "You're the Minister of Magic!"

Emilio De la Cruz chuckled, releasing my hand gently. "Have been for a year and counting now, actually."

"Clearly you must've known that, girl," said Secretary Carmen, butting in when no one asked for her opinion. "You do keep up with current events, don't you? Read the Daily Prophet, perhaps? It's not quite as filled with as many pictures as the children books you probably still read; nonetheless, it's quite entertaining and informative."

Breathe, Dom. Handle yourself. You're pregnant and in front of a very attractive man, don't lose your cool. Not to mention that you're inside the Ministry and if you attack a worker (again) you're going to end up locked up like Uncle Ron warned.

I took a deep breath, turning to the Minister. "Don't take offense, Minister, but I don't keep up with the world's political affairs. I find that those in power are usually corrupt and lying anyway, so it doesn't really matter."

The man's smile grew larger. "You do look like a rebel. Not to worry, though; I am not offended. You know of me now."

My cheeks flushed. "You are quite young to be Minister. I knew Kingsley was retiring, but I figured he was going to appoint someone so old that he needed help going to the loo."

"I'm twenty-six," he replied, "a baby compared to past Ministers, but the right man for the job. Regardless of what Rita Skeeter and her minions say."

The word baby stumped me. The man's entire overwhelming presence had made me forget that I was currently carrying twenty pounds of extra weight, particularly around my womb, and that I did not take a stroll through the Ministry to befriend the hottest man in power. I had a bag slung over my shoulder filled with food that I was suppose to deliver.

"Good luck with the undercover war, bashing writers, and your demented secretary," I told him after I cleared my throat. "Best be on my way now. Farewell."

Before I could take a step away, the Minister took a step to block me. "Perhaps I can walk you to your destination?"

"You cannot go any further without a pass," the secretary said angrily. "I will have to call security to escort you out."

I rolled my eyes, glaring at the tiny woman with a gaze filled with my best animosity. "Honestly, lady, bugger off about the pass. I don't have one."

"Then you leave me with no choice," she snapped. "As a Ministry worker I am under oath to protect the welfare of this—"

"Dominique?"

A slender figure approached from the end of the hall. It was a man with dark, untamable hair, and emerald eyes that rested behind famous round spectacles.

"Hello, Uncle Harry," I smiled at the man.

Pulling me into an embrace, Uncle Harry kissed the top of my head and I smiled further. (His act granted me the pleasure of watching Secretary Carmen turn red from the shock, and possible fury, when she realized the immediate connection. There it is: I'm Harry Potter's niece, bitch. There's her bloody pass.) "What are you doing here?" he asked after pulling away.

"I brought you lunch, actually," I replied as I shrugged the strap off my shoulder and handed it to him. "Mum is on a cooking craze and had a lot left over. I volunteered to eat it all, granted my condition," I rubbed a hand over my gigantic belly, "but Aunt Ginny had mentioned you'd probably like to eat something other than cafeteria food for once."

Uncle Harry grinned at me, something he did quite often. We didn't have a relationship based on sensitive talky-talk (mostly because neither of us were emotional talkers), but he was my second favorite uncle (right after Uncle George) because of how easily I could entertain him. Uncle Harry found me hilarious and always encouraged me to strive for whatever I wanted. He praised my erratic behavior, as long as I wasn't in danger, and often defended me and my antics. I suppose he and Uncle George did so because I reminded them of Uncle Fred (but that's another sob story I rather not get into).

"I see you've met my niece, Emilio," my uncle turned to the Minister. "I hope she didn't give you any trouble."

The Minister laughed, shaking his head nonchalantly as the stupid secretary in the back chimed in with airy, nervous chuckles. "She was on her best behavior, I assure you, Harry. Dominqiue was just advising me on what to do with the Skeeter problem."

"Did she suggest the Hermione-approach?"

The Minister nodded. "She did, actually. I think I might go see Mrs. Weasley, then, to ask for a plan to discredit Skeeter's attempts to cause a riot." He turned his golden eyes at me, throwing me off balance again and making me blush. "Perhaps you'd like to join us, Dominique. You have the right idea, as well, on this issue."

"I...um..I'm—"

"Dad, I've found the archives you were looking for. They were in the wrong vault. You really need to fire the person that filed these, he's horrible at it. No offense to Uncle Ron, but he's the laziest bloke—Dom?" Coming from the same end of the corridor as Uncle Harry had, Teddy appeared waving a folder over his head. Once he noticed me, he stopped his rant and his grey eyes went wide. For a moment he was scared, then he was curious. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

I shrugged, blinking away from him. I didn't want to be around my brother-in-law at the current moment, or any moment at all. He played a part in the story of why I'd been locked up in Shell Cottage. He knows things, has seen things, caused things that didn't involve his assistance...

"I'll be on my way, then." All the fun of this situation was gone. I side-stepped Uncle Harry and cleared my throat. "Enjoy the food."

"Dominique," but, once again, I was blocked from leaving; this time by my uncle. His green eyes narrowed at me. "You're going to stay and join us. It's rubbish that you and Teddy are not in talking terms, still. It's been three months."

Now, usually I would've snapped back at the order, but I was very much aware of the Minister's presence. I didn't want to lose my cool in front of him and have him deem me as insane, though I very much was. But why embarrass Uncle Harry with rumours circling around his workplace of how unstable his hectic family is?

I tightened my lips and said nothing. Teddy looked down at the ground, shoulders slumped.

"Well, I suppose we're having lunch now," Uncle Harry spoke. "See you around, Emilio."

The Minister nodded his head politely. "And I hope to see you around, Miss Weasley," he whispered to me with a handsome smile as Uncle Harry steered me along with him.

                                                                              XXXXXXXXX

"It was forty minutes into the game and a bludger had knocked half of the players off their brooms. There were only six players in total, three and three, and we all knew it was going to be a bloodshed."

"I read about that, actually," Teddy said casually, his eyes looking only at Uncle Ron (who had joined to eat the feast Mum sent), "it was in one of my history books of Quidditch. The Chudley Cannons were having a violent row with the Holyhead Harpies Captain, right? They were accusing her of bewitching the bludger; and it got even worse when the Seeker of the Harpies took a beater's bat and bashed the head of the Cannons' Captain. The book had pictures, it was mental."

Uncle Ron frowned. "Yeah, Ginny was lucky the Cannons didn't press charges. She could've lost her place in the team, you know."

"She was the owner's favorite. They would've spent a million galleons to keep Ginny," Uncle Harry added in, correcting his brother-in-law. "You were just upset that Ginny disabled your favorite player for two months that year."

"Was not," snapped back Uncle Ron. "I was just appalled they let her get away with it. It was no bloody accident, we all saw her smirking over the poor bloke's body. She's mental, I've been saying that for years. I would know—she attacked me when I was six because I didn't want to have a tea-party with her and her bloody dolls."

Teddy winced. "I can only imagine what she did to you, Uncle Ron."

"No," the redheaded man glared, "you cannot. Whatever it is you think she did, multiply that by fifteen and it still wouldn't be enough."

As Uncle Harry nodded along at his brother-in-law's statement, I sighed as I picked myself up from the chair I'd been plastered on for way too long. It's a struggle to do so, with me having to balance my weight carefully on my feet, and then waddle to both sides in a motion that would gain me momentum.

"I'll be off now," I said to them.

"Already?" Uncle Ron asked. "You didn't eat anything, though, Dom."

I glanced at the plate I'd left on the table. It was still stacked with mashed-potatoes, ham, and other delicious carbs. "Not hungry," I shrugged. "Well, it was pleasant as always."

"Teddy will walk you to the Floo area," Uncle Harry, once again, interrupted before I could leave.

I snorted. "Yeah, no. He's not taking me anywhere."

"Dominique," my famous uncle called, stressing my name like a scolding was about to take place. "How long can you hold a grudge? Teddy was just looking out for you, he didn't mean any harm."

Teddy's grey eyes flickered at me for a moment, sad and regretful, but also a fighting defense in them. He looked like he wanted to speak; but I knew him too well. If he was unsure of what side weighed more, him feeling sorry or thinking he was right, his words might cause a war.

"I can hold a grudge forever," I said with hardly any emotion, but I knew my gaze was burning with hate.

The day everything ended—that day so long ago, but so fresh in my mind like it happened a second ago—Teddy scooped me into his arms and let me cry until my eyes were so red and sore that my falling tears felt like blood. He held me tight, and I felt his heart beating a million miles per hour. He was frightened, I knew that much then and there. I'm Dominique Weasley, I never cried; he knew that, everyone did. But in that moment, right when the wound had just been made and everything that I loved and lived for was oozing out of it, Teddy saw me cry as if I had been holding back a century worth of pain.

Eventually the tears had stopped, maybe an hour later, and I pushed myself away from his embrace. My brother-in-law's gaze followed me, so scared and wary at the same time. He had been on the floor with me, but now he stood and cautiously helped me as I'd attempted to rise. He opened his mouth to ask something, but I told him to never repeat to anyone what he'd seen. I made my way to my room, hid from the world there, expecting to die in a flood of despair.

Of course, death wasn't easy. Teddy had opened his mouth and told the first person he saw what had occurred. That person had been my father. Hell broke loose then, and I had to endure my father's raging yelling until he noticed that there was no fight in my eyes and that I was fading right in front of him.

That hadn't been all Teddy had done. He had not just robbed me of the chance to pretend, to find time to come up with a lie to settle my family about why I was going to be a single mother, but he sent the love of my life further. Two days of excruciating pain, of not sleeping, not eating, of my father yelling and my mother holding me, and I heard that Teddy had been suspended from the Auror Department for attacking a trainee. I didn't have to guess who it was that Teddy had attacked, but for a month suspension I knew that Teddy hadn't just sent a punch—he had maimed hard enough for the hospitalization of the victim.

I knew that Teddy attacking wouldn't be the cause of sending him far away, but I needed someone to blame. I needed to point a finger at someone and accuse them for Derrick not coming back; for squashing all hope that he would want to fix things...

But it has been three months already. It has been twelve weeks of emptiness, of despair, of tears, of gut-wrenching, mocking memories that would not let me sleep at night. If he had not showed within the first week—within the bloody hour that I walked away from him—then there was no hope he was going to show up now.

I wished it. Merlin, how I fucking wished it. I looked out my window every night, staring at the brightest point in the sky, and I would close my eyes to pray. I prayed to whomever was up there, whomever cared about me, be it Uncle Fred or the muggles' Jesus Christ bloke, but I just wanted someone to hear me. I just wanted someone to grant me a miracle.

Every night nothing happened, though. Every night I would crawl into my bed, slapping away the tear tracks from my face, and magick the light off before burying myself underneath all my sheets. Every night for the past twelve weeks, I'd lie there, eyes closed tightly, yet wide awake. I'd play every memory with Derrick, right up to the day in that department store when he let me walk away from him, when he said he didn't know if he wanted me. I would lie there, holding back the sob shaking my fingers, and hear Mum walk into my room and sit beside me. She'd ran a hand through my red hair most nights, and I would hear her own sniffles form beside me. A mother would lament for how cruel the world had been to her youngest daughter; and she would wish, every night, to take her daughter's pain from her.

Mum and I would pray and cry to the stars at night, but Dad was a different story. Every night he would come in to collect his wife, whisper to her that she needed to go to bed. They would exchange soft spoken words, but eventually Mum would place a kiss on my forehead and I would hear her leave my room. Dad would take her place watching over me, his nights just as sleepless as mine. He would walk to the window, I would see him through my lashes, and he would glare at the night sky. He would damn the world, damn Derrick, damn me, and damn himself. And when he would damn himself, accusing himself for not being able to help me, the daddy's girl in me always wanted to scream, to cry, to hug him and tell him that I should've listened all along. But I don't. Every night, I close my eyes and let him blame himself and the world for how idiotically I fell in love.

But I fell in love, and that's the problem that can't be fixed. Love makes you weak. Love makes you hope for the sun to rise through the vengeful thunderstorm. Love makes you wish, despite the sadness, that a miracle was going to happen. I knew that there was no way Derrick would come to see me, but, maybe...Maybe the only way was if I went to see him.

I suppose that's the reason why I agreed to Mum's proposal of coming to the Ministry for a distraction. I knew that I was headed for the Auror Department, and if I were to take a wrong turn from my destination to the Head Auror's Office, then I might bump into him. After all, trainees were always flocking the Auror Department, acting as secretaries and assistants when they weren't training.

"He's not here, Dominique." There was a warm hand on my shoulder, turning me away from the hall that led into the Auror Department.

I had walked away from my relatives after I bitterly told Teddy that I would never forgive him. But here Uncle Harry was, looking me sadly in the eye and saying words I didn't want to hear. Teddy was right behind him, that same look of regret mixed with righteousness in his gaze.

Swallowing away the emotions collecting in my throat, I asked, "where is he?"

"I think it's time you went home," Uncle Harry said, dodging my question. "I will take you to the Floo area."

I removed his hand away from my shoulder. Instead of tossing it away from me, as it would be something I would do, I held onto it tightly. "Please, Uncle Harry," my tone was low, breakable, "I just need to talk to him. Just...I need to. Please."

He squeezed my fingers back, but all I got was sadness reflecting off his bespectacled eyes. "I'm sorry, Dominique. You have to go home now. Your father would not be okay with this."

"To hell with my dad," I retorted, and this time I did toss his hand. "I don't care what any of you think. I need to see him."

Righteousness ended up winning the battle over Regret in Teddy's eyes. He stepped from behind his adoptive father, frowning. He towered over me, but I was never one to back down. He was usually the one that would, but this time the determination and frustration staring at me would not be intimidated by my fire.

"To hell with us?" He snapped. "We're not the ones that abandoned you! You always think this family is out to get you, Dominique, but guess what—we're the ones picking up the pieces Rowle left!"

Just like I had swallowed the painful knots in my throat, this time I swallowed down my remorse when I squared my shoulders and shoved Teddy away from me with my right hand. "Fuck off."

"Fuck off?!" Lupin was red now, his turquoise-colored hair now flaming up to reflect his anger. "Guess who fucked off, too?! Rowle! He's not here, you brat! He asked for—"

"Teddy," Uncle Harry halted his dimwitted son. "Stop it. Go. I'll handle this."

But Teddy disobeyed his father. "Rowle's in Bulgaria! He asked for a transfer two months ago!"

My heart stopped, but pain filled my body and kickstarted it all over again. I gawked at my relatives, shaking my head in denial. But every time I moved, every time I breathed, pain scratched me with venomous claws that ripped my flesh open and exposed it to toxic air.

"He's not...You promised you wouldn't..." I couldn't finish my sentence. My jaw snapped shut, my teeth grinded against each other as more pain exploded over me.

"We didn't," Teddy replied harshly. "He asked for the transfer on his own accord. I would've—"

No more words came out of Teddy's mouth when Uncle Harry elbowed him out of the way. My uncle appeared right in front of me, clearly having seen the signs of the gnawing pain that was tearing me apart at the current moment.

"Breathe," he said to me fleetingly, his hands holding me roughly by my upper arms. "Teddy, apparate to St. Mungo's and tell Angelina that Dominique's going into labor."

"I'm what?" My eyes opened wider, prickling with tears. "What do you mean I'm—ARGH!" The fire that was pulling me from inside my stomach and up to my spine ate my confusion. Screams were now all that was ringing in my ears.

I faintly saw Teddy run before Uncle Harry slowly lowered me onto the cold, tiled floor of one of the Ministry's halls. His mouth was moving, emerald eyes alarmed but encouraging, yet I could not hear it. All I could do was feel the pain that was eating me, and focusing on the fact that my child was going to come to the world and his father was nowhere to be seen...