Burning Down the House

Burning Down the House  

ONE – Time

Hermione opened her eyes and tried to shove the disordered hair out of her face. When she removed her hand, the curls just flopped back into her eyes. Hermione loved Saturday mornings. The joke shop didn't open until noon, and she didn't have to go to her office, unless there was a dire emergency. Most Saturday mornings, she curled up in bed with a book. It was something she enjoyed doing. When she was younger, her mother often had to forcibly extract her from her bed and book. This morning was proving to be a good bed-and-book day. It was chilly and grey outside, and rain lashed the windows of the flat. Unlike most Saturdays, this one was one she waited for with a mix of apprehension and hope. She lay curled on her side, watching the rain run down the window in rivulets. How long she lay there, she wasn't sure. But she could tell you the exact minute a cramp coiled around her body. Hermione shut her eyes tightly. No, no, no, no, no, she wailed silently. Carefully, she slid out of bed, so as not to wake Ron. She didn't want to see the look of pity on his face, when he realized what was going on. Quietly, she unearthed an elderly pair of jeans and a jumper from the wardrobe, and a clean pair of knickers. She crept into the bathroom, and peeled her pajama bottoms off, along with her soiled knickers. Quickly muttering Scourgify, before she had time to think about it, Hermione shoved the garments into the hamper. She pulled Ron's old Gryffindor practice t-shirt over her head and dropped it on top of the rest of the laundry. Hermione clenched her jaw, and stepped into the shower, allowing herself a brief moment to lean dejectedly against the wall. She straightened and began to wash the sticky trail of blood from her body. A few minutes later, she dressed quickly and left Ron a note, Spellotaped to the door of the refrigerator. Before she left the flat, Hermione strode to the calendar and pointed her wand at it. A small, dark 'X' appeared in the corner of October ninth. She turned so quickly, she didn't see the mark glow red before fading to black.

She Apparated to the atrium of the Ministry and took the lift to her office on Level Four. Settling behind her desk, Hermione grimly wondered how long she was going to be able to compartmentalize her life like this. On more than one occasion at school, she'd nearly had an emotional breakdown shoving things to the back like this. Later, she told herself, and pulled a stack of rolls of parchment toward her. Negotiating with Centaurs was difficult at best, and this would require all her attention. Unlike Hermione, Ron woke in inches, a little at a time. He didn't understand how she could wake up all at once like she did. Usually on Saturdays, she let him wake on his own, while she read one of her books. It could take Ron several minutes to come to full consciousness. This Saturday was no different, but for a small exception. Hermione wasn't in bed with some unbelievably large book propped on her knees. Ron shrugged. No matter. She might have gotten up early to go see her parents. He pushed the bedclothes back, and started to get up, but his attention swerved to the small rusty stain in the middle of the pale green sheet. He traced it with a fingertip, wondering if he had mucked up the laundry last time inadvertently, instead of purposefully. No. It wasn't something he had done. Ron swung his feet to the floor and got up. He'd have to be at the shop in a couple of hours. He didn't mind having to work Saturday afternoons. He and George usually alternated them, anyway. If the weather kept going on that way, it looked to be a fairly slow day. Ron took a shower and dressed in his usual jeans. He went into the kitchen to make breakfast for himself, and stopped short when he swore he smelled something burning. Smells like paper, he thought. The flashing letters of a note on the refrigerator caught his eye. Ron – I had to go take care of some paperwork. I'll see you at dinner. Ron frowned. Hermione usually didn't go to her office on Saturday. Maybe an owl had come while he was asleep. He made himself a cup of tea, and poured a glass of orange juice, before reaching for a box of muesli in the cupboard. file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Burning%20Down%20the%20House.htm[26/02/2011 15:35:50]

He set the box on the table. The acrid smell of burnt paper was bothering him. The kitchen was his domain, and the idea of something being wrong irked him. Cautiously sniffing around the room, he located the smell when he got to the calendar. Then he saw it. Ron ran his thumb over the 'X' and came away with an ashy smudge on the ball of his thumb. Ron was never a big fan of calendars. He didn't like having his life compartmentalized into little squares with things to do scribbled in them. Watches. Now watches he could handle. Watches counted down the minutes to when the pie was done. But calendars? Ron was starting to hate calendars. He was starting to hate seeing the days tick by. He especially hated seeing that 'X' in the corner one day out of each month. He hated seeing Hermione get her hopes up, only to resolutely write the small 'X' on a particular day. She'd burned it in today's date. Ron swiped his thumb down the side of his jeans, hunger forgotten. He dumped his tea and juice into the sink and grabbed his jacked from a hook by the door. He walked out the door of the flat, and Apparated to Diagon Alley. It was just as grey and chilly there as it had been at their flat. Ron let himself into the shop, and yanked on the magenta robes he wore at the shop. He grabbed a box of merchandise and began to restock shelves. Angrily, Ron stacked Skiving Snackboxes, fake wands, and Wonder Witch products. He threw a handful of dust bunnies in the Pygmy Puff cage and started to change the window display. He and George had developed a Portable Forest, as a sister product to the Swamp. It was good for smaller spaces, like balconies of flats and the like. The Forest set in the window, Ron went into the back, and laid out the ingredients for Fever Fudge. They were running low. As he measured out the fudge ingredients, Ron wondered why things had to be so hard for him. Stop whinging. You're not twelve anymore, he mentally berated himself. He sighed heavily. The one thing he wanted was to give Hermione a baby, and he was even rubbish at that. He hadn't thought about that damn locket in years, but tendrils of what it said to him crept into his thoughts. Second best… Always. Harry and Ginny forget to use birth control one effing time, and she gets pregnant. You've been trying for seven months, and nothing… 'Couldn't sleep?' George stood in the doorway, dripping rain and giving Ron an odd look. 'I'm fine.' 'You don't look fine.' 'I'm fine.' 'Ron, come on. I know something's bothering you. You might as well tell me now, or I'll spend the rest of the day trying to rabbit it out of you.' 'It's nothing,' Ron snarled. George wisely changed the subject. 'The Snackboxes taste a lot better since you started making them. You cook way better than Fred or I ever could.' Ron slammed the ladle down on the table. 'Oh, huzzah! I can make sweets. Let's call the Prophet, shall we?' he drawled sarcastically. 'While we're at it, let's make a list of things Ickle Ronnikins can do and the one thing he can't. I can beat an enchanted chess set as a first-year, face Acromantulas as a second-year, battle Dark wizards in the Department of Mysteries as a fifth-year, and at Hogwarts as a sixth year. I can spend a year hiding from Voldemort, open the Chamber, rescue Goyle's sorry arse from Fiendfyre, but do you know the one thing I can't seem to do right, George? I can't seem to impregnate my own wife!' Ron snatched the ladle from the table, and flung it toward the back wall of the room. It hit the brick with a clang, and then clattered to the floor. George gaped at Ron in astonishment. He hadn't even known they were even trying to have a baby. 'I – uh –' George stammered. 'I'm sorry,' said to his shoes. 'Forget it,' Ron growled, bending to retrieve the ladle. It was dented in more than one place. 'Damn it. Reparo.' He trudged

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back to the table and laid the ladle next to the cauldron gently. Ron stood next to the cauldron, hands braced on the table, head bent. After a few long moments, he looked up at George. 'Sorry. It's just today… Again…' Ron shrugged helplessly. 'Ah.' George nodded. 'What's wrong with me?' Ron asked in a small voice. 'Other than the fact you're an ill-tempered git sometimes?' 'Yeah.' 'Why are you so sure it's you? I mean, you are a Weasley, legendary fertility and all.' 'Why wouldn't it be me? She's so… perfect and I'm Ickle Ronnikins with dirt on his nose and secondhand robes and books,' he said dejectedly. George came to stand next to Ron, and added a few more ingredients to the fudge, burbling in the cauldron. 'First of all, you haven't been Ickle Ronnikins since you were thirteen. And Ron, I know it's hard, but you just have to, well, bide your time, bro.' 'You don't know,' Ron said shortly. 'All of you – Bill, Charlie, you, even Percy for Merlin's sake – it just seems like it just happened for you. Hell, Ginny and Harry forget to use a condom once and look what happened!' Ron's shoulders drooped. 'Why does it feel like I'm just rubbish at everything I try?' He dipped the ladle into the mixture and poured it into the molds. 'Well, stop comparing yourself to all of us, for one,' George said mildly. 'Easier said than done, sometimes.' 'I know.' George pulled Ron into a one-armed hug. 'Just relax a bit. I can promise you it didn't happen overnight for Katie and me.' Ron snorted in disbelief. 'Really. It took about five months for the stars to align or whatever it took. Contrary to popular belief, Weasley men don't necessarily get their wives pregnant the first go.' Hermione shoved the scrolls back to the other side of her desk, and pillowed her head on her folded arms. She couldn't concentrate. It wouldn't be good for her negotiations with the Centaurs if she wrote something off-handedly because she couldn't think straight. She pushed herself to her feet and left her office, closing the door behind her. She went back to the Atrium and to an Apparition point. She wondered momentarily if Ginny felt like seeing anybody, before Disapparating with a pop. Hermione blinked. She was standing in front of Harry and Ginny's house. She stood outside the garden gate uncertainly. The front door opened, and Harry stood in the doorway. 'Hermione? Why are just standing there? Get in here before you get sick!' Hermione slowly walked up to the door. She was already nearly soaked, so what did a little more water matter? Harry took her jacket and hung it up. 'Charmed the hooks. It'll dry in a few minutes.' 'Thanks.' Harry's brow knitted in a worried frown. Hermione had seemed a little more stressed than usual lately. 'Hey.' He touched Hermione's elbow. 'Come sit down,' he said urging her toward a sofa in the sitting room. "Where's Ginny?' 'Upstairs with James.' 'Oh. Okay.' Hermione slumped on the sofa, her elbows resting on her knees. 'Anything going on?' Harry asked, even though he knew very well Ron and Hermione were trying to have a baby and hadn't been successful yet. 'It's nothing.' 'Nice try, but I believe you about as far as I could throw Crabbe and Goyle.'

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'Really, Harry. It's nothing.' Harry sighed. This was a job for Ginny, since Hermione wasn't going to say anything to him. 'I'll go get Ginny, then.' He went up the stairs to James' nursery. Ginny sat in the rocker cradling James. 'I'll take over with James. Hermione's downstairs. I think she needs to talk to you,' he said softly, bending over Ginny to scoop James into his arms. 'Where is she?' 'Sitting room,' he said, shifting James expertly to his shoulder. 'Come on, mate. Let's you and me go find a Quidditch game on the wireless.' Ginny watched as Harry carried James into their bedroom, and shut the door. She headed down the stairs and stopped halfway down the stairs. Hermione hadn't moved from the position Harry left her in earlier. Ginny hadn't seen Hermione look so… defeated since Hermione's sixth year. She went down the rest of the stairs and sat next to Hermione. 'What's wrong, Hermione?' 'I got my period today.' 'Oh.' 'I thought this time, it was going to happen,' Hermione said dully. Ginny put her arm around Hermione's shoulder. Hermione leaned back and let her head fall on Ginny's shoulder. 'How long have you been trying?' she asked curiously. 'Seven months.' 'Oh.' 'What if Ron leaves me?' Hermione whispered. 'Are you joking? I don't think you could get rid of Ron if you tried.' 'But what if –' Ginny cut her off. 'Hermione. Ron doesn't love you for your ability to bear children. He loves you.' 'But what if –' 'Stop doing that to yourself.' 'Ginny?' 'Hmmm?' 'How long did it take? For James?' 'I don't think you want to know.' 'Oh, God. It took years, didn't it?' 'Um. No. I was tired and in a hot bubble bath with a butterbeer or two in me, and Harry joined me. Honestly, we forgot to use a condom. We weren't really trying. Just happened.' Ginny winced as Hermione said a few choice words. 'Right now, I really hate you,' Hermione said mildly. 'I know.' 'Ginny?' 'Yeah?' 'I don't really hate you.'

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'I know.' Ginny felt the misery radiate off Hermione. 'Listen, I know you don't want to hear this, but hear me out.' Hermione nodded. 'It doesn't always happen like that. It can take months. It took Bill and Fleur almost a year.' 'Really?' Hermione sniffed. 'Yep.' Ginny moved back a bit, so she could look at Hermione. 'This is not some exam you're going to fail. Even if you never have children, it doesn't make you a failure.' 'But –' 'Stop that. No more comparing yourself to Fleur, Katie, Bronwyn, Penny, or me.' Hermione shrugged. Ginny sighed. 'I'm going to pretend Ron isn't my brother for five minutes.' 'Okay…' 'When was the last time you shagged just because you wanted to, not because you thought you had to?' Hermione's face went blank. 'I honestly don't remember.' Ginny squeezed Hermione's limp hand. 'I know this is all well and good for me to say, but don't worry about it. Give yourself about six more months, and we can go from there.' A wail came from upstairs. Ginny raised her eyes to the ceiling. 'I should go.' Hermione got up and went to the door to get her coat. 'Thanks, Gin.' 'I'll see you tomorrow at lunch?' 'Of course.' 'Hermione?' 'Yeah?' 'Just… Don't forget to have fun.' 'I'll try.' Hermione slipped her now-dry coat on, and hurried out the garden gate to the lane where she could Apparate home. She opened the door and found Ron up to his elbows in pastry. 'What are you making?' 'Pumpkin pasties.' 'I love pumpkin pasties.' 'I know you do.' Ron grinned at her. She noticed it didn't reach his eyes. 'Ron… I…' Hermione gestured to the calendar. 'I know. I saw it this morning.' 'I'm sorry,' she said. Hermione's face crumpled and she began to cry. Ron put his arms around her, not bothering to wipe the flour from them or noticing he was getting flour in her hair. 'You have nothing to be sorry for, Mione.' Ron felt his heart clench as he rocked Hermione gently, while she cried into his shirt. a/n: This came from a short bit in Ch. 8 of 'Firewhisky Advice'. Takes place about a month after the last chapter of that, which will be up by this weekend.  

TWO – Let It Be

Ron didn't know how long he stood in the middle of their kitchen, holding Hermione, while she soaked the front of his shirt. file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Burning%20Down%20the%20House.htm[26/02/2011 15:35:50]

Eventually, she snuffled a few times, and swiped the cuff of her jumper under her dripping nose. 'Here.' Ron held her chin in one hand while he swabbed her face with the tea towel he had slung over one shoulder. Ron leaned down to kiss Hermione. 'You look all done in. Go get cleaned up, have a bath or something. I'll take care of everything else.' Hermione stared at Ron in part amusement, part astonishment. 'Who are you and what have you done with my husband?' 'I am your husband, you daft hen.' 'Prove it,' she challenged smugly. Ron looked at her, hair in disarray, eyes swollen, and her nose reddened from her tears, and smiled. 'Sixth year, you Confunded Coramc MacLaggan at tryouts for the Gryffindor team.' Hermione's eyebrow swept up, and her cheeks flushed. Ron pulled her closer, and rested his cheek on the top of her head. Moments like this made him realize just how small she was. She wasn't much bigger than Ginny. Most of the time, she exuded so much confidence she looked taller. 'You really do pack quite the punch for such a small person, love. Now, go. I'll make something for dinner. If you want?' 'No. I'm not really hungry.' Ron waited until the heard the sound of water running in the bathroom, before he jabbed his wand at the dough and bowl of pumpkin filling. The pasties would be ready to go in the oven when he came back. He went to the cupboard in the hallway and took out a clean set of sheets. Ron tugged the ones on the bed off, and bundled them in a heap by the wardrobe. He proceeded to make up the bed by hand, without magic. It was one of the things he did routinely without magic, especially when he needed to think. They all had something – Harry did the dishes by hand, Ginny knitted, Ron either baked or made beds, depending on what he was trying to work out, and Hermione would take the Underground from the Ministry to their flat in Bloomsbury. It gave them time to think. Ron smoothed the duvet over the bed, and turned it back. He didn't know about Hermione, but he was worn out, emotionally, if not physically. Ron retraced his steps back into the kitchen to find a pan of neatly prepared pasties, waiting for the oven. He put the pan in the oven, and set a timer, and then began to clean up the mess he'd made. As Ron put the last utensil away, he heard a shuffling sound behind him. Without looking, he said, 'You are not allowed in here tonight. Go sit down, read Hogwarts, a History. Again.' He swore he heard a muffled curse and something that sounded like, 'more bullheaded than if he'd been born a Taurus.' Smothering a smirk, Ron pulled the pasties out of the oven, shot a quick Cooling charm over them, and loaded a tray with some pasties and a pot of tea. 'Was Madam Pomfrey right about thoughts? Leaving the deepest scars?' Hermione asked abruptly. 'What do you mean?' Hermione pushed up the sleeve of his shirt and her fingers traced the scars on his forearm. 'Do you remember? After the Department of Mysteries?' 'Yeah, I do,' Ron brooded. He held out his arm, regarding the spiraling scars that snaked up from wrist to elbow. 'It was like a smaller version of what happens when you're around Dementors. Or Horcruxes.' The scars themselves were faded into whitish threads that you had to search for in certain lights. They had been deep purple welts for months, even with the potions from Madam Pomfrey. 'Did I ever tell you what came out of that locket?' 'No.' Hermione was startled. The months and weeks they carried the locket with them was an era they all liked to forget. Harry and Ron never told her what had happened beyond Ron pulling Harry out of the pool, and then diving in for Gryffindor's sword, using it to destroy the Horcrux inside. 'It was you. But infinitely more cruel than you. Said all the things I think – thought – about myself.' Ron's expressive face grew pensive. 'Cried like a baby after I stabbed the bloody thing. Funny thing is,' he added thoughtfully, 'that's what the brains did, too. The tighter they wrapped around my arms, the worse it got.' 'Why didn't you tell me?' Hermione twined her hand in Ron's. 'Wasn't like it was anything new. Or things you didn't already know.' He shrugged. 'Just magnified it. Made it worse than it really was.' He let a barking laugh escape. 'Even what I imagined Harry's relationship to you was.' 'I'm sorry,' she whispered. file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Burning%20Down%20the%20House.htm[26/02/2011 15:35:50]

'No more apologizing for you, missy.' Ron handed Hermione a pasty. 'What brought this on?' 'Something I was thinking about earlier today.' 'Go on,' Ron prodded. 'What do you see? When you see me?' 'I don't under – ' Hermione cut off Ron's question. 'Just tell me.' 'I see you.' Ron cocked his head to the side. 'I still don't understand, Mione.' 'Mornings like today, I still see who I was before I met you and Harry. Or who I was before the incident with that troll. Obnoxious know-it-all with busy hair and large front teeth.' 'You were still a know-it-all, love.' Ron informed her. 'I know, but –'Hermione paused uncertainly. 'Before I came to school, I didn't have any friends, really. You and Harry were my first real friends. The only thing I was really good at was school. I used to go home and cry, because none of the girls in my class at primary school would play with me.' 'Mione, you have to tell me where you're going with this. Remember? This is me you're talking to, even if my range has increased to that of a tablespoon.' 'I'm getting there. When I wore the locket, especially at night when I was sleeping, I would dream that you and Harry were mocking me, and telling me you only used me for the help with homework and the like.' 'But that's not true!' Ron exclaimed. 'Well, obviously,' Hermione huffed. 'But it made me feel like I was a failure.' 'And you felt like a failure this morning?' Ron said, comprehension dawning. 'Yes. Something everybody else in this family seems to be able to do. And it's something I can't seem to do.' Hermione scooted into Ron's lap. 'Makes me feel like I'm standing outside during recess and trying and miserably failing at all the things the other kids did.' A small smile crossed her features. 'If you think my flying is bad, you should see me play footie. Disaster,' she proclaimed. 'Hermione, why on earth do you think it's you?' 'You're a Weasley.' As if that explained everything. 'So?' Ron was really starting to get confused. 'So… you're a Weasley,' she repeated for emphasis. 'So Weasley men are supposed to have, I dunno, super-magical sperm or something?' Ron looked at Hermione incredulously. 'Sounds like an awfully dodgy theory to me.' 'Have you looked at your family lately?' 'Yes. It gets any bigger and Mum and Dad will have to do some serious remodeling.' 'See?' 'It could just as easily be me. Maybe the Legendary Weasley Fertility skipped me or something. Sort of like a Squib.' 'That makes absolutely no sense.' Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. 'And neither does yours!' Ron pushed her off his lap to the sofa. He began to pace in front of the fireplace. 'It could be both of

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us. It could be neither of us.' 'We could –' 'No. Absolutely effing not.' 'Why not, Ronald?' Hermione rarely used Ronald. Unless she was exasperated. 'Because I don't want it to be me!' he yelled. 'And I really don't want it to be you even more than I don't want it to be me!' 'So we're just never going to find out?' Ron stopped pacing. He stalked into the kitchen and yanked the calendar off the wall. Paging through it, he came to March. 'My birthday. That's the deadline.' He picked up a pencil and scribbled a large star on March first. 'Then we'll go see.' 'Fine.' Hermione all but spat the word across the room. 'Fine,' Ron snarled. 'I'm going to bed.' He threw the calendar to the coffee table, and went into the bathroom and slammed the door. Hermione felt tears well up, and she tried to stop them. She curled into a ball on the sofa and wept. Ron sat on the edge of the tub, breathing heavily. When the pulse pounding in his ears subsided, he could hear the soft sounds of Hermione's crying. Feeling like the biggest, most enormous prat in the world, Ron silently brushed his teeth. He turned the light out, and found Hermione huddled in a corner of the sofa. Rubbing a hand over his face, he scooped her up, and carried Hermione to bed. Hermione lay wide awake, curled on her side, facing away from Ron. She wondered if he was asleep. She rolled over to find Ron's wide blue eyes boring into her. 'We never really discussed having children, did we?' she asked. He shook his head. 'Do you want them? Honestly?' 'Yes.' Ron's voice was rusty. 'Why?' 'You're really going to make me do this, aren't you?' 'Yes. Go on, please.' 'That diary you kept in Australia. You said that you wanted a normal life.' Ron shrugged helplessly. 'I guess I assumed you meant all the traditional things.' He leaned back against the headboard. 'The idea of two-and-a-half midgets, Crookshanks, the tidy house with the nice garden. I want to make you happy. I like to make you happy.' 'But that doesn't tell me how you feel about it.' Ron traced the embroidery that ran along the edge of the sheet. 'I kept imagining myself with you and a couple of kids with lots of curly red hair and freckles. And it made me happy.' Hermione reached for Ron's hand. 'What happens if the two-and-a-half midgets don't have lots of curly red hair and freckles? ' Ron sighed. It was late, and he didn't have the energy to keep up with Hermione's brain. 'Mione, please. This is Ronald Weasley you're talking to. He doesn't keep up with your thought process very well late at night.' 'If we can't have children ourselves…' 'You mean adoption?' 'Exactly.' 'Why would I have a problem with that?' Hermione got out of bed, and went to the wardrobe. She knelt to pull out a drawer and rummage for something. It was a file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Burning%20Down%20the%20House.htm[26/02/2011 15:35:50]

packet of letters bound with a blue ribbon. 'I found these. When I was a little girl. My parents wrote them before they were married.' She turned the packet over in her hands. 'They were somewhat older before they were married. My mum was thirty-five and my dad was nearly forty. The question of infertility came up.' She smiled a tight, bitter smile. 'Dad had reservations about whether or not he could feel the same about a child that wasn't his, biologically.' 'Mione, I'm not your father.' 'I know, but –' 'But nothing. Hermione, I'm not the brightest bloke around, but I have been able to watch my parents with Harry and Harry with Teddy. My parents couldn't love Harry any more if he had actually been theirs. And Harry would take a Killing curse for Teddy, just like he would do for James.' Ron reached for Hermione's hand so he could pull her back to bed. 'Just like I will do for any child of ours, whether we give birth to it or not.' Hermione sagged in relief. 'Good to know.' She laid the packet on her night table. 'Have I ever told you how glad I am you saved me from that troll?' 'A few times. Get some sleep, love.' Hermione woke early, as usual. It had stopped raining during the night, and a few weak rays of sunshine struggled through the blanket of grey that covered the sky. She lay in bed for a moment, listening to the sounds of Ron sleeping next to her. She got up and went to dress for the day. 'Ron?' Hermione shook his shoulder. 'Ron? Wake up.' 'Unnnngh?' Ron opened one baleful blue eye and glared at his wife. 'Hey, I'm going to my parents' for the morning. I'll be at the Burrow in time for lunch.' Hermione frowned a bit. Ron's eye had closed. 'Ron! Did you hear me?' 'Enh.' Ron inhaled and exhaled, propping himself up on an elbow, cracking open both eyes to gift Hermione with the look of a man who has had his precious weekend sleep interrupted. 'I heard you. Going to parents'. Will be at Burrow for lunch.' Ron flopped back into the mattress. 'Invite your parents,' he added. 'They're always welcome. Merlin knows there's enough food.' With that, Ron turned over and went back to sleep. Hermione grabbed her coat by the door and stood on the doormat uncertainly. She could take the train, but it would take a couple of hours, or she could Apparate. She knew of an alley she could Apparate in close to her parents' house. Nodding to herself, Hermione turned on the spot and Disapparted with a soft pop. She walked up to her parents' house, and used her key to open the door. 'Mum?' Hermione called softly. Jane Granger's head popped out of the kitchen, the Sunday Times crossword in one hand, and a pen in the other. 'Hermione!' Jane greeted her daughter with a smile. 'So good to see you, dear.' She ushered Hermione into the kitchen, and poured her a cup of tea. 'It's a bit early, though.' 'Mum, every Sunday, you get up early, make some tea and toast, do the Sunday crossword – in ink because you like to muck with Dad's head – and then once Dad decides to make an appearance, the two of you either fix something here, or go have a nice brunch.' Hermione took a sip of her tea. 'It was a pretty good chance you'd be up.' Jane laughed. 'So what brings you all the way out here this early?' 'Mum, it's eight,' Hermione pointed out. 'Hardly early.' 'True, but you didn't answer my question.' 'Could I ask you something?' Hermione traced a fingertip around the rim of her cup. 'Of course.' Jane put the pen and crossword to the side. 'Was it hard for you? With me?' Hermione tripped over the words. 'I mean, was it hard to…' Hermione bit her lip. 'Have me,' she finished. Jane looked at her daughter, who was close to tears. 'Hermione, we were thrilled to have you.' She reached to touch the back

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of Hermione's hand that lay next to her cup. 'What's the matter?' she asked gently. 'Did you have problems getting pregnant?' Hermione's eyes were fixed on the table in front of her. Jane leaned back, and regarded her daughter thoughtfully. 'Some,' she admitted. 'I was over thirty-five when your dad and I were married. It's a bit harder to do at that age.' 'How long did you try?' Hermione nervously reached for a slice of toast, and began to nibble it. 'Over three years. Not as long as some people, but it felt like an eternity. It was a nightmare of calendars and doctors. We almost gave up at one point.' Jane looked at Hermione curiously. 'Why do you ask?' 'Ron and I have been trying.' 'How long?' 'Seven months.' Hermione raked a hand through her hair. 'Seven frustrating months. Especially when everyone else in his family has children already. Without even trying too hard, it seems.' Hermione bit her lip. 'I'm sorry, Mum. I know it sounds like I'm whining – Oh, let's face it. I am whining.' 'Not a problem, dear. You feel like it's something everyone else is doing better than you, and not that they're rubbing your nose in it, but it does rather feel like it, doesn't it?' 'Yes!' Hermione exclaimed. 'I mean, I love all my nieces and nephews, and I know it's not a contest or anything, but…' she shrugged. 'I'm so bloody envious of them,' she confessed, relieved to be able to say it aloud. 'When Ginny had James last month, I went to the loo and locked myself in there for ten minutes and cried.' She sheepishly met her mother's gaze. 'I've gone barking, haven't I?' 'I did the same thing. When your aunt Pam had William.' Jane moved to sit next to Hermione. She put her arm around Hermione's shoulders. 'How does Ron feel about this?' 'About the same as me.' 'Oh, so that good?' 'Yes. He seems to handle it better than me. Or so it seems. He's supportive and makes me my favorite pasties.' Hermione shrugged. 'It really bothers him, though. Like I'm going to think he's not man enough for me or something silly.' 'That's all men,' Jane observed dryly. Hermione let a watery giggle escape. 'Yes, it is.' She took a sip of her rapidly cooling tea, and grimaced. She pulled out her wand and gave it a jab at her tea, smiling when steam rose from the surface. Jane gave Hermione another thoughtful gaze. 'What about them?' she asked pointing to the wand in her daughter's hand. 'Is there something they can do?' 'We're not going to do anything in that direction until March. Give ourselves a year.' Hermione replaced the wand in her pocket. 'Speaking of that side of my life,' she began, 'how would you like to have lunch with my crazy in-laws?' 'Oh, I…' Jane toyed with her cup. 'Mum, they'd love to have you. There's always room for a few more at Molly and Arthur's. Teddy will be there. You remember Teddy? Harry's godson?' 'Of course I do. I've never seen hair quite that blindingly turquoise before.' 'He's mad about football. Dad can bring that manky old ball of his, and teach Teddy a few moves, maybe?' 'Make him a fan of Manchester United before he's ten?' 'Something like that. Nobody else there knows anything about footie. Dad will be a hero to Teddy.'

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'Are you sure it will be all right?' Jane was still worried about how the Wizarding world would react to two non-magical people showing up in the middle of their lunch. 'It's fine, Mum. Really.' 'And how will we get there?' Jane asked pointedly. The village of Ottery-St.-Catchpole was a bit of a drive. 'Side-Along Apparition of course.' Hermione smiled.  

THREE – Maybe I

Jane set her cup down on the table with a distinct click. 'Side-Along Appartition?' she asked, trying not to be alarmed. 'Yes.' 'And that involves…?' Jane swallowed. 'Oh, you and Dad each hold one of my hands, and I'll do my thing, and we'll be at the Burrow,' Hermione said airily. Jane looked at Hermione skeptically. 'So one minute, we'll be here, and the next somewhere else?' 'That's about right.' 'Oh.' Jane tried not to look alarmed. In her experience, it just wasn'tnormal for people to– disappear like that. 'It's fine, Mum. I've been doing this since I was eighteen on a regular basis. It might feel a bit odd, but it'll be fine.' Hermione watched the uncertainty dance across her mother's face. Jane accepted her magical abilities readily enough, but it made her a bit uncomfortable. She didn't think things should be that easy. Hermione tried to keep the disappointment from showing. She wanted her parents to get to know the Weasleys better, and vice versa. Hermione sighed. 'Mum, if you don't want to go, it's fine. I just thought...' She shrugged. Jane saw her daughter's futile attempt to hide her crestfallen expression. 'I want to go, and I'm sure your father does, too,' she said firmly. 'Hermione, do you remember when you received your letter from Hogwarts?' 'Of course I do.' 'Do you remember how you thought it was some sort of elaborate joke? Because you have always been a believer in what you could see or feel? And the idea of magic was something you just had to have faith in?' 'Yes.' Hermione massaged the bridge of her nose. Why did mothers have to remember every thing you did, no matter how silly it was? 'Sometimes, Hermione, you need to have a little faith in your father and me.' Jane's smile took the sting from her words. 'There are more things in heaven and earth, and all that. It just takes some getting used to.' 'Sorry, Mum.' Hermione toyed with her cup. 'So who is going to be at this lunch?' 'Not sure. Usually it's everybody. Well, maybe George and Katie won't be there,' Hermione reflected. 'George is the one that's missing an ear?' Jane was trying to mentally catalogue Hermione's in-laws. 'Yes.' 'And Katie just had twins?' 'In May.' 'Why wouldn't they come?' Jane was a bit confused. She had been under the impression the Weasleys were a rather closefile:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Burning%20Down%20the%20House.htm[26/02/2011 15:35:50]

knit family. 'The twins employ the divide and conquer strategy.' Hermione smirked. 'One's up, one's asleep kind of thing. Molly says it's about time George got a taste of his own medicine. But it means some nights they don't get much sleep, so it depends on how the last few nights have gone.' 'Sounds like they're already a handful.' 'They are.' Hermione smiled at the thought of her nephews. Katie swore they already had that mystical twin ability to speak to each other without words. A shuffling sound at the door tore Hermione's attention from Jane. A tousled head peered into the kitchen, a pair of glasses perched haphazardly on its face. 'Hermione!' 'Dad,' Hermione murmured, before rising to embrace her father. Richard Granger held his daughter at arm's length. 'You look marvelous, darling.' 'Thanks, Dad.' 'So what brings you out here this morning?' Hermione settled back into her chair. 'I thought I'd come ask you and Mum to have Sunday lunch with my mad in-laws.' 'Really?' Richard's face lit up with a childlike glee. Hermione had noticed it from time to time, and had never been able to figure out where exactly she had seen that particular expression. It was maddeningly familiar. Then it hit her. It was the same look on Arthur's face when he came to their flat or went to visit Harry and Ginny. He was utterly fascinated by all things Muggle. Toasters, torches, the DVD player and television. The year before Harry and Ginny were married, Harry and the Weasley boys took Arthur to see a Muggle film for his birthday. He'd been in raptures for days. In contrast to Jane, once Richard got over the shock of his only child being a witch, he pestered her with all sorts of questions about Hogwarts, and was disappointed when she came home after her first year and informed him she was not allowed to do magic outside school. Hermione began to laugh. Deep laughs that left her gasping for breath. Dimly, she realized it bordered on hysterical, but she also realized it had been weeks since she just laughed because something was funny. 'Hermione?' Richard sounded more than a bit concerned. 'I-I-I.' Whatever Hermione was going to say was quickly engulfed in whoops of laughter. At long last, Hermione laid her head on the table, and panted for air, her stomach muscles aching. Occasional bubbles of giggles seeped to the surface. 'Oh, I'm sorry,' she breathed. 'I just realized who the two of you remind me of.' Hermione sat back in her chair, and regarded her parents, sitting side-by-side, near-identical looks of vague anxiety etched on their faces. 'You're Molly and Arthur.' The looks changed to confusion. Hermione giggled slightly. 'You see, Molly is suspicious of anything Muggle, and Arthur loves it. Just like you're not fond of anything magical and it endlessly fascinates Dad,' she explained to Jane. 'So how are we getting to the Weasleys' place?' Richard looked expectantly at Hermione. 'Side-Along Apparition.' 'What's that?' Richard stole Jane's cup of tea and slurped half of it. 'Here one moment, and poof, there the next,' Jane told him nervously. 'Brilliant!' Richard exclaimed. 'Must be loads easier than trying to fight traffic, eh?' 'Some,' admitted Hermione. 'But I still have to have a license.'

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'Like a driving test?' asked Jane. 'Something like that. It's possible to fail, too,' Hermione told them. 'You can fail it?' Richard leaned forward interestedly. 'Oh, yes. You can end up in the wrong place or Splinched…' 'Splinched?' Jane asked faintly. 'Erm…' Hermione cast about wildly for an explanation that wouldn't turn her mother greener than she already was. 'Where things don't quite end up where they started,' she said trailing off as the thought trailed out of her mouth. 'Hermione,' Jane said warningly. 'It's only happened to me once. Back when I was eighteen. And it wasn't even me. It was Ron,' Hermione said defensively. 'Explain,' Jane said shortly. Hermione marveled at how much her mother's voice resembled Minerva's right now. 'It was when we were discovered by those Death Eaters in London. At Grimmauld Place. We had to leave rather quickly, and in my haste to get the three of us out of there, I wasn't concentrating as well as I should have.' Hermione twisted a strand of hair around her finger. 'When we reappeared, part of his arm was missing.' Hermione shrugged. 'It's nothing to get fussed about, really.' 'Nothing to get fussed about?' Jane said weakly. 'Part of his arm was missing!' 'Mum, it's okay. I was able to fix it, good as new,' Hermione said soothingly, in an attempt to assure her mother. 'Oh, come on, Jane,' pleaded Richard. 'How often would we get a chance to do something like this?' 'Please, Mum?' Jane looked at her husband and daughter's earnestly wide eyes and sighed. She had never been able to deny either of anything when they both turned the puppy-dog eyes on her at the same time. 'Are you certain it's safe?' 'Yes, Mum, it's fine. Feels a bit odd, but it's fine.' 'Right.' Jane reached across the table to cup Hermione's cheek in her hand. 'I suppose I should have a little faith in you, too.' She stood and looked at Richard. 'Go find that football of yours,' she ordered. 'Hermione tells me there will be a lad at lunch who is just as mad about football as you, and needs someone to show him some of their best moves.' Richard grinned at Jane and pushed back from the table and hurried off to the garden shed in the back garden. Hermione waited until she heard the back door shut, and turned to Jane. 'Mum, could you do something for me?' 'Of course, dear.' 'Don't tell Dad. About the whole baby issue.' 'Why not?' 'You know Dad. He'll bluster about how I'm too young, and how Ron and I shouldn't try to have a child in that flat of ours, how I work too much, or that Ron's job is too dangerous for a child, especially if he brings any of it home.' 'If that's what you want.' Hermione shrugged. 'I'd like to surprise him. Come over and do something completely silly like call him Granddad or something like that.' 'Poppy.' 'Poppy?' 'For some reason, he wants to be called Poppy, don't ask me why,' Jane said wearily.

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'I'll keep that in mind,' Hermione murmured, as the back door slammed open, and Richard's head appeared in the kitchen doorway. 'Could I wear my Man U jersey?' he asked hopefully. 'I'm sure Teddy will love it,' Hermione assured him. 'That was…' Richard fished for the right words. 'Like being stuffed through a hosepipe,' finished Jane. 'Do you ever get used to it?' 'Eventually. Ron still hates it,' Hermione said ruefully. 'Can't say I blame him, though.' Hermione went through the back garden gate and gestured for her parents to go through. 'Why come outside the garden, though?' asked Richard. 'Can't you go into the garden like that?' 'Sure you can. Most Wizarding houses have charms to prevent Apparating directly inside, of course, but Molly and Arthur have charms set up to keep anyone from Apparating directly into the front or back garden, as well. After the war there were so many reporters out there, it was the only way to keep them from just Apparating on the front steps.' 'Oh, right.' Richard nodded. 'It's all right, Dad. You should have heard Ron use a telephone for the first time. Harry told me he was shouting loud enough to be heard in York.' Hermione chuckled. She came to the back door and opened it, inhaling the mingled scents of roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, baked apples, and the underlying aroma of talcum powder. This was home. 'Hi, Hermione.' Katie was sitting at a corner of the table, one of the twins in her arms, stifling a yawn. 'Long night?' Hermione asked sympathetically. 'Eventually, we're just going to have to learn to ignore the crying. They just sound so pathetic.' 'Where's everyone else?' The kitchen was strangely empty, save for Katie and the baby. 'Sitting room. Harry and Ginny aren't here just yet, and Bill and Victoire will be a bit late. Bad night for Maddie. She's cutting some new teeth,' Katie explained. 'Thanks. Oh, Katie, you remember my mum and dad?' 'Of course I do.' Katie smiled. 'How do you do, Mrs. Granger? Mr. Granger?' 'Fine, thanks,' Jane said, quickly. 'Apparated for the first time, did you?' Katie asked wryly. 'How can you tell?' 'You look like you're trying to figure out whose shoes to vomit on.' Katie shifted the baby – Jacob – Hermione saw the birthmark behind his ear. 'It's how I felt the first several times my parents Side-Alonged me. Just tell Molly. She'll get you sorted out in no time.' Hermione flashed a grateful smile at Katie. No matter how badly she wanted her parents to get to know the Weasleys better, bringing them here made her a little nervous. She led them through the kitchen door to the sitting room. 'Hi,' she said brightly to the room. 'I brought my parents.' Molly's face brightened as she bustled across the room. 'Come in, and make yourselves at home,' she said. Molly looked at Jane and Richard closely. 'Apparated you, did she? Well, have a seat on that sofa, and I'll bring you something to get you feeling more normal.' Molly went into the kitchen, while Hermione urged her parents to the sofa. Richard sat back and looked around the room. 'So? Who's the young lad that likes footie?'

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Teddy slid off Bronwyn's lap and raced across the room, carefully avoiding Parker and Isabella. 'Me!' he shouted, his hair going purple. 'You're Teddy, right?' Richard asked. Teddy nodded vigorously. 'Well, come on up, lad, and I'll tell you all about the best football club in England. And after lunch, you and I can go out into the garden and you can show me what you can do with a football.' Teddy clambered onto Richard's lap, his storybook forgotten on the floor. 'All right, then. The only club worth bothering with is Manchester United.' Hermione perched on the arm of the chair Ron occupied and watched her father instill his love of Manchester United into Teddy's willing ears. Teddy's hair gradually turned bright red, to match the jersey Richard wore, drinking in every word Richard said. She felt a prickle of tears and blinked. Ron laced his fingers through hers, and brought the back of her hand to his lips. She looked down at him. He smiled up at her, and tilted his head toward her father and Teddy. It seemed to say to her, Don't worry. It will happen for us. 'Walk after lunch?' Ron whispered. 'Sure.' Hermione smiled. 'Tree house?' 'Is there anywhere else?' After lunch, Arthur, Molly, Andromeda, Jane, and Richard went back into the sitting room with their coffee, while the children were put down for naps, Teddy and Victoire protesting the entire time they were too old for naps. In the ensuing chaos, Ron and Hermione slipped out the back door. They walked side-by-side, not saying anything. Hermione's hands were jammed into the pockets of her jacket. 'Your parents seem to be getting on well,' Ron commented. Hermione nodded. 'Teddy's mad about your dad.' 'Mmm-hmmm.' 'I hope Harry doesn't get sick from all that treacle tart he had.' 'Yeah.' 'Ginny said he's making up for when she was carrying James and she wouldn't let him have it in the house. It made her sick.' Ron looked at Hermione out of the corner of his eye. She didn't seem to be paying attention. 'You're picturing Teddy and your dad.' 'Yeah.' The tree house loomed above them, and Hermione swiftly scaled the ladder, and conjured a jar, putting her warm bluebell-hued fire in it. She set the jar in the middle of the tree house, and sat down, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them. Ron's head popped through the trapdoor, grimacing at the light wind that whistled through the tree. He pulled himself through the rest of the way, and took his wand from his pocket. He walked around the perimeter of the room muttering, 'Impervious maximus.' The wind immediately died, and the inside of the tree house warmed considerably. 'Mione,' he began, sitting next to her. 'You spent more time at lunch watching your parents with the kids than actually eating.' 'Do you know how old my parents are?' 'I have an idea, yes.' 'Muggles don't live as long as wizards can. My mum is sixty-four, and Dad is sixty-eight. It's not quite elderly by modern standards, but it's not young either. Part of me wants to have a baby so badly so I can see them hold our child, and not James, Fred, Jacob, or Maddie.' Hermione's voice rose in near anger. 'Stop it.' Ron's voice was low and quiet. 'Mione, please. Just… Stop.' He rose to his knees, gripping her shoulders, shaking them a little. 'I don't want to talk about this anymore. I don't want to keep track of days on the calendar. I want to be able to make love with my wife without wondering whether or not this time was the one that worked. And most of all, I don't like what this is doing to you. 'You don't talk anymore. Not really. You don't talk about your work, or how you found something you missed the last sixhundred times you read Hogwarts, a History. You haven't asked about the shop in ages. Or teased me about how badly the Cannons are doing.' Ron released Hermione and sat back on his heels. 'I promised I would love you, no matter what, the day I

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married you. I meant it. And Hermione, I love you so much, I think it's going to kill me one day. But I don't want to lose you.' Hermione stared at Ron, her mouth open in shock. 'But, I thought –' 'I do.' Ron cut her off harshly. 'But I don't want it to be everything in our life.' He tumbled to the floor and lay on his back staring up at the ceiling. 'Don't you think I see it? I see you every Sunday, surrounded by all these babies. I saw you leave Ginny's room when James was born, and I saw you when you tried to sneak back in. You'd been crying,' he said only slightly accusingly. 'Yes.' Hermione was startled into the truth. She didn't think he'd noticed. 'No more, Mione. Please?' Ron tugged her hands until she came to rest on his chest. 'It's just tearing you up, love. And I can't stand to see it anymore.' 'You're really angry at me, aren't you?' Ron sighed and ran his hand up and down Hermione's back. 'No. Not at you. I just feel like that's all we talk about, all we do. Lately, it seems every conversation we have comes back to this, and it goes round and round in circles.' Ron pulled Hermione up so he could kiss her. 'The deadline still stands,' he told her, brushing a curl from her face. 'But from here on out, the next time we're here or anywhere in our flat, or hell, just anywhere, it will be for fun.' 'I don't remember what fun is like anymore,' Hermione said wistfully. 'Me, either.' Ron paused and looked down at the top of Hermione's head. 'So, when is it… erm… okay for us to…?' Ron flushed in embarrassment. There were still things he didn't like to talk about, and Hermione's cycle was one of them, even after being married for almost two years. 'Wednesday.' Ron nodded. Hermione propped herself up to look at him. 'So, everything you just said…?' 'Didn't mean to sound so harsh.' 'Yes, you did, but that doesn't matter right now. Sometimes, it's the only way I'll listen.' Hermione waved off Ron's apology. 'When did all that…' 'When did I decide I wanted to stop obsessing?' 'Something like that, yes.' Ron sighed. 'After you left this morning. It was getting bad before James was born, but it's gotten worse in the month since then. Last night made me see just how bad it had gotten. It's not healthy.' 'You're right.' A note of surprise drifted under the weariness in Hermione's voice. 'It happens from time to time,' Ron responded mildly. 'So, Wednesday, eh?' 'Yep. Wednesday.'  

FOUR – Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kill Me, Kiss Me

Dusk gathered in the corners of the garden before Andromeda came outside to collect Teddy. 'Go tell Harry and Ginny goodbye,' she told him over his protests. 'You have school tomorrow.' 'Oh, all right, Gran,' Teddy sighed, toeing the football into his hands, before handing back to Richard. 'Thank you, Mr. Granger!' he said, his hair going bright red, before Teddy ran into the Burrow. 'You're welcome, Teddy!' Richard called after him, before he turned to Andromeda. 'Does he always do that with his hair?' 'Yes, he does. His mother could change her appearance at will, too.' Andromeda smiled after her grandson. 'He's just gotten to where he can control it. Some.' She wrinkled her nose a bit. 'It still goes turquoise when he's happy or purple when he's a bit bored.' file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Burning%20Down%20the%20House.htm[26/02/2011 15:35:50]

Richard was fascinated. 'Why turquoise?' 'I don't know. Dora, his mother, always liked pink for some reason. But when Teddy was a baby, before his parents died, every time Remus or Dora held him, his hair turned turquoise.' Andromeda bit her lip, and glanced at Richard. 'Thank you. Nobody else here knows anything about football. The worst thing I can do to him is take away the footie. He droops like a wilted lily.' 'It's fine. Been dying to do this with someone else. Hermione, for as smart as she is, didn't care for it much.' The back door screeched as Teddy flew through it. 'Okay, Gran, I'm ready,' he said around a mouthful of ginger biscuit. 'G'bye, Mr. Granger! I hope I get to see you again soon.' 'Cheers, Teddy,' said Richard, ruffling Teddy's hair. 'Good night, Mr. Granger.' Andromeda took Teddy's hand in hers, and they went out the garden gate. Richard watched as she turned, and with a pop she was gone. Ron came outside, cradling a cup of tea in his hands. 'Doing all right, Richard?' 'Brilliant, Ron. Just brilliant.' Richard dropped onto the bench outside the door, and looked up at Ron. 'Is Hermione all right?' Ron choked on the sip of tea he'd been trying to swallow. 'What makes you ask?' Richard snorted. 'She's my daughter, Ron. And she looks… Off. Something's bothering her, and she's not going to let me in on it.' Ron sighed, and looked furtively over his shoulder. 'We're trying to have a baby,' he confessed. His voice dropped down just above a whisper, 'It's not… Yet.' 'You're both too young, you know,' said Richard conversationally. Ron shrugged. 'Older than some.' He drank his tea in companionable silence for a few moments. 'We're both ready for this. Well, as ready as we can be.' Ron looked over his shoulder through the kitchen window. The kitchen was bathed in warm yellow lamplight, and Hermione's head was haloed with gold. She cradled James, her face animated as she talked to him. Seeming to sense someone was watching her, Hermione looked up and met Ron's gaze. She smiled at him, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded away. Richard watched the byplay between his daughter and son-in-law. 'Oh, it's like that, eh?' Ron met Richard's eyes. 'Yes,' he said steadily. 'I still think you're too young,' Richard grumbled. 'No worries. My mum still thinks I'm eleven half the time.' 'You will, too, when you're a father and your child's grown. You wonder where the bloody hell the time went. Seems like yesterday when we took Hermione to meet the train for school.' Richard eyed Ron a bit. 'I remember the first time I saw you. Before the second year of school started.' 'Oh, yeah…' Ron grinned sheepishly, the scuffle at Flourish and Blotts still vivid in his memory. 'I knew back then she'd end up with you. Her letters home were full of you.' 'Really? I didn't know that.' Whatever Richard was going to say was lost, for Hermione and Jane came out into the back garden. 'Ready to go home, Dad?' Surprised, Richard looked at his watch. 'Oh, didn't realize it was that late. I'll just go say my farewells, then.' Ron rose from the bench and followed Richard inside the house. Hermione looked at Jane in amusement. 'You seemed to enjoy yourself today.'

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'Oh, well…' Jane watched as Richard made the rounds through the throng in the kitchen. 'Is it always like this?' 'You mean loud, chaotic, totally barmy?' 'Yes.' Hermione grinned. 'Absolutely.' She watched at Ron bent to hug his mother. 'Nobody's ever a stranger here.' Ron and Richard joined them in the garden. 'Ready?' asked Ron, offering his arm to Jane. Jane looked slightly nauseated. 'The hosepipe again?' 'Sorry?' Ron looked confused. 'Appartition. Like being squeezed through a hosepipe,' explained Hermione. 'You get used to it. Besides, Mum gave me something to give to you for the nausea when we get back to your house.' Ron patted Jane on the hand, before he turned and disappeared. Hermione tucked her hand into the crook of her fathers elbow. 'Ready, Dad?' 'Sure. Go ahead and do your thing.' Hermione turned and in a second, they reappeared on the hearth rug of her parents' home in Oxford. She could hear Ron and her mother in the kitchen. Ron had made a cup of tea for Jane. Hermione could hear him say, 'Helps take the nasty taste of that stuff out of your mouth.' 'What is it with you and tea?' Hermione asked walking into the kitchen. 'It's what Mum always does,' said Ron, shrugging. 'Better than nothing.' Ron lobbed a small vial at Richard. 'Here. Drink that if the Apparating made you feel a bit off.' Richard caught it in one hand. 'Thanks, lad.' 'We should get going,' Hermione said. 'I'll come by on Saturday, Mum.' Jane nodded and gave Hermione a brief hug before Hermione and Ron Disapparated. The first thing Hermione saw when she opened her eyes as she Apparated into the flat was the calendar lying on the coffee table. Neither she, nor Ron had replaced it back on the kitchen wall. Ron found her holding it in her hands when he Apparated into the flat a few seconds later. Wordlessly, she turned and threw the calendar into the fireplace. Simultaneously, she drew her wand and cast a nonverbal Incendio toward the calendar. In less than a minute, a smoldering pile of ash lay where the calendar had been. Ron cleared his throat softly. 'You didn't have to burn the thing.' 'Yes. I did.' Hermione set her wand back on the mantle of the fireplace and sat on the edge of the sofa. She pulled her shoes off and set them aside, and then turned to sit sideways on the sofa, a book balanced on her knees. The matter was closed. 'I can live without it.' She looked up at Ron over the edge of the book. 'If I remember correctly, so can you,' she said, the slight smile taking the sting from her words. Ron just rolled his eyes, and found the ledger book he had brought home the night before from the shop. He settled at the kitchen table, angling the chair a bit so he could see Hermione through the door. She absently twirled a lock of hair around an index finger as she read. A few hours later, Ron gave up. He realized he spent as much time watching Hermione as he had actually creating an inventory list. Ron shut the book. He could do it tomorrow. He leaned back in this chair, remembering all the moments of his life she had been a part of. Most of it was good, some of it was not. There were days where he felt like the luckiest man in the world. Once, in the weeks after Hermione had returned

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from Australia, on the verge of sleep, he buried his face in her neck and blurted he wouldn't trade his life for Draco Malfoy's. Ever. Needless to say, it was a mood-killer. Hermione sat up so fast Ron fell off the bed, landing in a tangle of limbs on the floor of his bedroom. She wrapped the sheet tightly around her body, glaring at him. 'What's that supposed to mean?' Flushing, Ron scrambled into his boxers and t-shirt. 'I just mean that when I was a kid, sometimes…' He became fascinated with his hands. 'Sometimes, I really envied him.' Ron shifted his shoulders like his shirt had suddenly shrunk three sizes. 'Growing up poor, you know? He had everything money could buy. He didn't wear hand-me-down, or have everything secondhand.' Ron rose to his knees, placing his hands on either side of Hermione's waist. 'But he didn't have everything.' Ron kissed the tip of her nose. 'He didn't have you.' Ron edged his way back onto the bed. 'I used to think he was the lucky one, having all that money. But after hearing what it was like for him during the trial…' Ron shook his head. 'I am.' Ron pushed his chair back and went to stand next to Hermione. Grinning, he tugged the book from her hand. 'So… you have prefect duty tonight?' he asked casually. 'Prefect duty?' she asked hazily. 'Well, do you?' Ron grinned evilly at her, ruffling his hair, so it looked wind-swept. The corner of Hermione's lip twitched as she recognized the move. 'I don't know – I'll have to check the roster.' She stood up and wrapped her arms around Ron's neck. 'What if I don't have duty tonight? What did you have in mind?' 'Oh, nothing special,' Ron said airily. 'Maybe you and I could frighten a few first-years.' Hermione laughed softly. 'You're being silly.' 'You're the one playing along,' Ron informed her. 'Yes, I am.' Ron twisted and sat on the sofa, with Hermione draped across his lap. 'Kiss me,' he murmured. 'You know this isn't going to go any further than this.' 'Nothing wrong with that. I just want to snog my wife senseless.' 'And why is that?' 'Because she's the most beautiful woman in the world.' Hermione smiled. 'You need to have your eyes examined.' 'Nope. They're perfect.' Ron kissed Hermione softly. 'Mione?' 'Hmmm?' 'Just take the compliment, love.' A few days later, Hermione passed through the entrance of St. Mungo's to see Shanti. When a sprig of guilt sprang up, she tamped it down. It's research, she told herself. The welcome witch ushered Hermione to Shanti's office and in after a few minutes of hand-wringing, Shanti bustled into the office, efficient-looking as always in her Muggle-style scrubs and trainers. 'Hi,' Hermione said nervously. 'Hello, Hermione.' Shanti greeted her warmly. 'What brings you here today?' Hermione felt Shanti's eyes evaluating her. 'I have a few questions…' Hermione said shakily. Shanti sat in the char next to Hermione, and took one of her hands. 'Hermione, breathe. In… and… out…. One more…' 'Thanks,' Hermione breathed.

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'So then… What questions do you have?' 'I…' Hermione looked down at her hands. 'I'm scared I might not be able to…' She looked up at Shanti. 'That I'm infertile,' she sighed. Shanti leaned back a bit. 'How old are you? You can't be more than twenty-seven or so.' 'I'm twenty-five.' 'How long have you been trying?' 'Since March.' 'Hmmm.' Shanti examined Hermione thoughtfully. 'It's only October now, and not many Healers will consider you infertile until you've been trying for at least a year.' Hermione slumped slightly. 'That's five more months,' she said softly. 'Hermione, listen to me for a moment. It doesn't always happen the first time. You only have a twenty-five to thirty percent chance of getting pregnant in any given cycle; even if you're doing everything you're supposed to be doing. Sometimes,' Shanti held off a burst of protest from Hermione. 'Sometimes, some people get lucky, and that's what it is – luck.' Shanti gazed at Hermione. The distress practically radiated off her in waves. 'If you want, I can give you a checkup now,' Shanti offered. Hermione bit her lip, considering. She had promised Ron. Nothing until March first. She twisted her wedding ring around her finger, feeling the rosebuds etched into the surface under her fingertips. She shook her head. 'No,' she said reluctantly. 'I promised Ron. We did decide to wait a year before getting everything checked out.' 'Regular cycle?' Hermione shrugged. 'It's not every twenty-eight days. About every thirty days. Regular like that.' Shanti nodded. 'Fourteen days before the start of your next period, figure out when that is. You're considered to be most fertile in the days before that. No sex every day. Every other day is fine.' Hermione's head bobbed up and down, drinking in the information. Shanti smiled a bit. 'And relax a little. Keep it light and keep it fun.' 'But what if that doesn't work, and we do the tests and I am infertile?' 'It's not always the woman, Hermione,' stated Shanti. 'Ron's a Weasley,' explained Hermione. 'So?' challenged Shanti. 'It could just as easily be his problem, if it's a problem at all.' 'But if it's me? I know Muggles have things…' 'Yes, and so do we, but I'm not fond of using them right away.' 'Why?' 'Well, I will use them,' amended Shanti. 'They just have… side effects. Like Muggle drugs, our potions have an increased risk of multiple births, especially in one as young as you. That comes with a risk of miscarriage and premature birth. It's not really considered a large risk, about ten to forty percent. But still, that's something you and Ron need to consider very carefully before you try them. And sometimes, they just don't work at all for a couple.' Hermione rubbed her temples. Her head was starting to hurt. 'It doesn't seem fair,' she said. 'All these things we can do, and there's still something magic can't fix.' 'I know.' Shanti squeezed Hermione's limp hand. 'Do you think I want this too much?' Hermione's face creased in an anxious frown.

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'You can never want something like this too much.' Shanti stood up. 'I know this is easy for me to say, but try not to dwell on it. Stress is not good, especially when you're trying to have a baby.' 'That's like telling dragons not to breathe fire,' Hermione told Shanti, a faint smile on her face. 'Everybody tells me not to stress about things.' 'Hermione, if you ever want to talk to an unbiased person, just come by or send a note over.' 'Thank you.' Hermione left, feeling drained and knowing she would have to tell Ron. Hermione Apparated in front of 93 Diagon Alley. She blinked at the floating jack-o-'lanterns in the windows. George really did enjoy decorating for Halloween. She opened the door, and rolled her eyes at the belch. George was helping a young witch pick a few Daydream charms and after eyeing her rather spotty complexion, threw in a vial of Ten-Second Pimple Vanisher as a 'free gift'. After he wrapped the witch's purchase, Hermione approached the counter. 'Do you record Charlie every year at Arthur's birthday party?' 'Yep!' George informed her proudly. 'Then I hope you at least give him some sort of recognition,' Hermione sighed. 'A free case of butterbeer every year.' 'I'm sure Bronwyn just squeals with glee,' Hermione said dryly. 'Ron in the back?' 'Yep. And keep it clean back there, all right? No member of the next generation of Weasleys has been conceived back there yet, and I'd like to keep it that way.' 'Really?' 'Yep.' 'Interesting…' Hermione raised an eyebrow thoughtfully at the back curtain. She giggled at the growing alarm on George's face. 'Never get tired of getting the best of you, George,' she said lightly, as she walked through the curtain. Ron was using his wand to wrap and box Nosebleed Nougats. 'Hi!' he said. 'What are you doing here?' 'I need to tell you something.' Ron Banished the sweet he'd just wrapped and put his wand down and moved out of reach of it. The tone of Hermione's voice told him he wouldn't like what she was about to say. He turned to face her. 'Okay. Shoot.' 'I went to see a Healer today.' Hermione looked at Ron expectantly. 'All right.' Ron leaned against the table. 'You all right?' 'Yes, I'm fine.' 'So why were you seeing a Healer?' Ron asked evenly. Hermione's brow arched. Ron could produce as much bluster as Molly when he was angry, but the even tone worried her. 'I just had some questions.' Hermione chewed her lower lip. 'Oh.' Ron turned back to wrapping the sweets. The back of his neck was bright red. Hermione stared at his back for several long, silent moments. 'Ron?' 'Go home, Hermione. I'll talk to you later,' he told her quietly. Hermione's mouth dropped open. This was not what she expected. She expected Ron to at least shout at her for a minute. 'Go home, Hermione,' he repeated a bit more forcefully. He gripped his wand so hard, his knuckles were white. Wordlessly, Hermione turned and hurried out of the shop. 'Bye, Hermione,' called George.

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George looked at his watch. It was close enough to five to close the shop. He flicked his wand at the door, and the sign flipped itself over to 'Closed', and the door locked. He went into the back. Ron stiffened when he heard George's footsteps. 'What?' he asked in a surly voice. 'Why did Hermione leave in such a hurry?' George leaned against the doorway. 'Not now, George.' 'Ron, come on. Tell me what's going on.' Ron began to stack the boxes of Nosebleed Nougats on a shelf. 'She went to see a Healer.' He shoved the last box on the shelf. 'We weren't going to do that for a few more months, and she went behind my back. So, needless to say, I'm not really happy with her right now.' George shook his head, his shaggy red hair flying in all directions. 'You're both barking.' 'No,' Ron sighed. 'I know why she went. You know Hermione. She'll want to do research. Ask someone questions.' He pulled off his robes, and hung them on the hook by the doorway. 'She promised me. Sunday after lunch, she promised me she would relax about all this. She told me no more calendars.' Ron turned to look at George, his blue eyes dark with anguish. 'She promised,' he repeated. 'Just because I love her, George, it does not mean I have to like what she does sometimes.' With that, Ron Disapparated from the shop. A/N: I hope I got the information Shanti gave to Hermione right.  

FIVE – And So It Goes

George's shoulders slumped. He hated to see anybody in his family distressed, especially Ron. Everybody else had always been able to shrug bad times off, but Ron took them as a personal affront. George felt like he owed Ron, sometimes. After the war, Ron had quietly helped put the shop back together, learned how things ran from the bottom up to the top, and worked just as hard as George, if not harder that first year. It had kept George from giving in to his grief on more than one occasion then. George wished he could wave his wand and give Ron everything he wanted. He slowly unhooked his robes, and hung them next to Ron's. A jab of his wand cleared some of the clutter off the counter. The rest of it could wait until morning. He Disapparated and reappeared in front of the small house he shared with Katie. George opened the door and was greeted by the sight of Katie juggling both of the twins, her hair in wild disarray. 'Oh, thank Merlin, you're home!' She somehow shifted one of the boys – Fred, George realized, after checking for the birthmark, into his arms. Immediately, Fred threw up all over the front of George's shirt. Trying not to gag, George went into autopilot, using the hem of the already soiled shirt to wipe the baby's chin. Several hours later, both boys bathed, fed, and sleeping in their cots, George collapsed on the sofa next to Katie. 'When did they start doing the projectile thing?' he asked wearily. 'About three this afternoon,' Katie replied, her eyes drooping. 'Both of them. At the same time.' She cracked open an eyelid. 'I swear they do it on purpose.' 'And Ron wants this,' George scoffed. 'He's really angry at Hermione.' 'I thought he might be,' Katie said as she shifted her position on the sofa, leaning her back against George. 'She called earlier, looking for him.' 'When? I didn't leave the shop much past him.' 'While you were giving the boys a bath. He hadn't gotten home yet.' Katie pulled one of George's arms around her. 'Do you know what happened?'

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George ran his other hand through his hair. 'Yeah,' he sighed. 'They've been trying to have a baby, she's not pregnant yet, they blame themselves. In a nutshell.' 'Oh.' Katie was quiet for a moment. 'That's not the only thing, though.' 'No,' George admitted. 'Ron said she went to see a Healer and they had decided not to do that yet. All she did was ask some questions, though.' 'Has Ron met Hermione?' Katie asked bemused. 'Even in school, when something came up, her first thing to do was to go to the library or ask a professor. Going to ask some questions isn't out of the ordinary for her.' 'Yeah, but this is Ron we're talking about,' George reminded Katie. 'He's taking it personally.' 'True. She can get a little obsessed about things, too.' 'I know how he feels, though,' George commented. 'I mean, not that deep sense of failure that he has, though, but it was rather a blow to my ego when you didn't get pregnant the first month. Or the next several after that.' 'So what? Weasley men are supposed to get it done the first time?' 'Something like that,' George said sheepishly. He let his face rest against the top of Katie's head. 'He's afraid, Ron. That's he's going to lose her in the obsession this time. I've never seen him get angry like that. All quiet-like. Usually he shouts.' 'I wonder if he went home,' wondered Katie. 'Hermione was really upset.' 'He will. When he calms down, and realizes she wasn't trying to sneak around behind his back.' Ron looked around. He had Apparated to Bloomsbury, but not quite ready to go home, he started walking, and had ended up in Soho, near Harry and Ginny's old flat. Ron wanted to kick himself in the arse. There was a small square with benches ahead, and Ron sank down into one, running his hands through his hair. The bickering between him and Hermione was getting worse. They had always bickered some, but it was never like this. He had never turned his back on her like he had at the shop. He knew Hermione. Knew her almost better than he knew himself. He knew she wouldn't be satisfied until she had found all the answers to her questions. He had known that even before he'd left the shop. Ron sat back, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He felt like things were spinning beyond any form of control. Ron hated it when he felt like that. It made him feel helpless. When he felt helpless, he snapped. Unfortunately, he tended to snap at the people he loved. He hated seeing that haunted look on Hermione's face, and knowing he put it there made it even worse. He had brought this on them. Laying down that ultimatum on Sunday. She hadn't done anything wrong in going to ask questions. Hermione liked to back up what she read in books with at least two or three other sources. Ron heaved himself to his feet. He began walking back to Bloomsbury. He could have Apparated, but he wanted the time to himself to think. 'Thanks, Ginny,' sighed Hermione, as she pulled her head out of the fire. She mentally crossed Harry and Ginny's house off the list. That had been the last place. When Ron hadn't come home by seven, Hermione Apparated to Diagon Alley. The shop was dark and shuttered for the night. She checked the Leaky Cauldron. He wasn't there, either. Hermione went back to their flat, and began to fire call everybody in the family, starting with Molly and Arthur. Ron hadn't been there, and they hadn't seen him. He wasn't at Bill's, Charlie's, Percy's, George's, or Ginny's, either. Hermione wrung her hands together. Ron was like Molly. He had a quick temper, but it usually burned itself out fairly quickly. Except for that time their fourth year. Ron usually shouted and that was it. The cold fury she'd seen on his face was not something she saw often, much less directed at her. She miserably thought to herself that if she had just told him she wanted to see Shanti for research purposes before she had actually done it, maybe they wouldn't be arguing.

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Hermione snorted. Arguing. How in Merlin's name could they argue when they weren't even in the same room? She flopped on the sofa and did what she normally did in stressful situations. She opened her tattered copy of Hogwarts, A History. And waited. Ron stood on the stoop of their building. He looked up and saw the light on in the sitting room. She must be waiting up. He glanced at his watch. It was after eleven. Nearly midnight, really. Ron started guiltily. He didn't realize how long he'd been wandering through London. Steeling himself for the inevitable attack by tiny, twittering birds, Ron opened the door to the building and tiredly walked up the three flights of stairs. He pulled his wand out and pointed it at the doorknob, thinking, Alohamora. Nothing happened. Ron groaned. While he wasn't the best at nonverbal spells, there were some he had managed to master, andAlohamora had been one of the first. He tried again, this time, muttering the incantation aloud. The door released a soft click, and swung open a crack. Cautiously, Ron pushed the door open, and peered inside. Hermione lay sprawled across the sofa, her battered copy of Hogwarts, A History splayed across her stomach. She was sound asleep. Ron quietly stepped to the sofa, and gently pried the book from her hands. Hermione gasped and her eyes flew open. 'Ron!' She sat up and threw her arms around him. 'Oh, thank God you're home,' she breathed. She pulled back a little. 'Where have you been?' she demanded. 'I called everybody looking for you!' 'I just went for a walk.' Hermione looked at the clock on the mantle. 'Ron, it's almost midnight. Where did you go?' 'Nowhere, really. Just started walking. Ended up in Soho, turned around and came back. Just thinking mostly.' Ron sank into the sofa cushions. 'I owe you an apology, Mione.' Ron stared at the worn book cradled in his hands. 'I shouldn't have gotten angry at you for going to ask some questions.' 'I should have told you I was going,' she said softly. 'I don't…' Ron stopped and set the book on the coffee table. 'I'm not sure how to say this,' he began uncertainly. 'I'm scared.' 'About what?' 'You and me. That this is going to tear us apart. Look at what happened today. You feel like you have to sneak around. I get so angry with you I don't want to talk to you and spend most of the evening wandering between Bloomsbury and Soho.' 'Oh…' Hermione sat back. 'Is that what you think is going to happen?' 'I'm scared it will.' He sighed. 'It's why I wanted us to step back from it all for a bit. You get so…' Ron shrugged. 'Tied up in things sometimes.' He turned to Hermione and brushed her hair from her face. 'I'd rather have you and not have children, than let this come between us.' 'Do you really mean that?' she whispered, stricken. 'I just mean I don't want us to become a couple of bitter old sods before we're really bitter old sods.' Ron leaned forward and let his forehead rest against Hermione's for a moment. 'Go to bed, okay? You need some sleep. You've got that meeting with the centaurs tomorrow.' Hermione nodded and began to head for their bedroom. She stopped in the doorway. 'Ron?' Her voice cracked. 'Are you coming?'

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'In a bit. I'm not sleepy yet.' Ron stretched his feet out, letting his head fall back. Hermione turned and stumbled into the bedroom, automatically pulling her pajamas on, brushing her teeth, and crawling into bed. She curled into a ball, wrapping her arms around her knees. Was Ron right? Had she gotten so wrapped up in trying to get pregnant that it was all she cared about? And if so, at what kind of expense? She lay awake, intently watching the door for Ron, waiting for him to come in and come to bed. She was still waiting when she fell asleep. Hermione woke up the next morning before her alarm went off. She turned her head looking for Ron. His side of the bed was cold and empty. It looked like it hadn't been slept in. Hermione sighed and pushed the bedding back. She went into the sitting room, expecting to find Ron on the sofa. He wasn't there, either. A blanket lying folded over the arm of the sofa, and a half-drunk cup of tea sitting in the sink were the only testaments to Ron's even having spent the night there. 'Not now, Hermione ,' she told herself sternly. She had too much riding on that meeting today. She took a deep breath, and made herself take a shower, and get dressed, pulling her unruly hair back into a plait and pinning it up. Hermione considered and rejected breakfast before Apparating to the Ministry. The meeting wasn't for several more hours on the grounds of Hogwarts. She resolutely shoved her own problems to the back of her head, grateful for her skill in compartmentalizing her life today. Ron leaned his elbows on the counter of the kitchen of the flat above the shop. His eyes burned from lack of sleep. After he sent Hermione to bed, he had lain on the sofa for hours, unable to settle or fall asleep. He finally gave up and came to the shop. George must have left in a hurry the night before, as the shop hadn't been given its usual tidying. So Ron cleaned up the shop. And made a new inventory list of the merchandise in the back. And fed the Pygmy Puffs. When he had done everything he could do, short of opening the shop at six in the morning, Ron trudged up to the flat, and made himself a cup of tea. He carried his tea to the dilapidated sofa in the flat's sitting room. He fell into the cushions and closed his eyes. The next thing he knew, George was shaking him awake. 'Did you even go home last night?' asked George. 'Yes,' Ron said testily. 'Couldn't sleep so I came in.' George regarded Ron thoughtfully. 'Go back home,' he ordered. 'What?' Ron snapped. 'Go home. Go to bed. Don't come back until tomorrow. I can handle it with Lucas.' 'I'm fine,' Ron muttered. 'Like hell you are,' George said bluntly. 'You won't be any good to anybody.' George shoved Ron's feet off the end of the sofa and sat down. 'What time did you get home?' 'Late.' 'You still angry at her?' 'No.' Ron scrubbed a hand over his face. 'I'm not. I don't know what I feel.' 'Ron… Go home. Get some rest, and just forget about last night.'

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Ron threw himself back into the sofa, wincing as a spring jabbed a kidney. 'Just give me an hour's nap,' he begged. 'No,' said George. 'I'm playing the big brother card. Get your sorry carcass off my sofa and go home. Your sofa at home is way more comfortable that this piece of shite. Don't know why we still have it.' 'Fine.' Ron heaved himself to his feet. 'Oh, and Ron?' 'Yeah?' 'Flowers. Just a suggestion.' 'Right,' Ron sighed. Hermione left Hogsmeade, with a signed agreement in her hand. She had been fortunate enough to deal with Firenze. As centaurs went, he was fairly easy-going. Kingsley would be pleased with the agreement. The Ministry had expanded the area for the centaurs to include most of the Forbidden Forest, and tentative plans were being made to set up a new settlement in the Forest of Dean. She stopped in the Ministry long enough to hand the scrolls off to Percy, before going home. Hermione was worn out. She opened the front door of the flat and went inside. Ron was sprawled across the sofa, snoring softly. The tension radiating along her shoulders dissipated. 'Ron?' she said softly, shaking his shoulder. 'Unnnn?' Ron opened bleary eyes to see Hermione hovering over him. He pulled her down so she draped over his chest and wrapped his arms around her. It took several minutes before Ron was conscious enough to realize her shoulders were shaking and the front of his shirt was getting damp. He just stroked her back and let Hermione cry. 'I didn't think you were coming back.' 'Why would you think that?' 'You never came to bed,' Hermione pointed out. 'You left early.' 'I couldn't sleep. I didn't want to disturb you.' Ron used the cuff of his shirt to gently wipe some tearstains from Hermione's face. 'I'm so sorry. I overreacted to you going to see a Healer.' 'I just wanted to know what our options were,' hiccupped Hermione. 'I know,' Ron soothed. 'You always do. I shouldn't have been surprised.' 'I should have said something before I went. But what you said Sunday…' 'I know. I shouldn't have said it like that. Especially since it made you feel like you couldn't tell me you went to the Healer beforehand. But this is why I said it. I don't want to spend months and years angry and tense. I don't want to calculate odds or count days anymore. The expectation is killing us both. What's that thing the Muggles say? Just do it? Why don't we give that a try and see what happens?' Ron shifted Hermione a bit, so she lay against him. 'I'm never going to leave you. Not unless you want me to go.' 'No.' 'So we're okay?' Ron tipped Hermione's chin up so he could see her face. 'We're okay,' she sighed. They lay quietly for several quiet minutes before Ron dug something out of his pocket. 'Here.' He pushed a small box into her hand. Hermione propped herself on one elbow and thumbed open the box. A silver daisy suspended from a gossamer chain lay inside. 'It's out of season for daisies,' Ron said. 'This is as close as I could get.' A/N: The conversation between George and Katie isn't meant to be snarky or mean... Neither of them are saying anything that

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isn't true... It's just meant to be that way families talk about each other, when the others aren't around.   'So what do you want for Christmas?'

SIX – Ring of Fire

Hermione glanced up in the mirror. Ron stood next to her, putting toothpaste on his toothbrush. She spit a mouthful of toothpaste into the sink. 'I dunno,' she said, shrugging. 'I hadn't really thought about it.' Ron stared at her via the reflection. 'Mione, you have to want something! New book at Flourish and Blotts? They just got a new shipment today,' he wheedled. Hermione nudged him. 'If I get any more books, we'll have to move.' 'Anything else?' 'Nope.' Ron sighed. He was rubbish normally at picking gifts. Hermione usually took care of Molly and Arthur, and she would 'casually' leave a list or a picture of something torn from a catalog on the kitchen table for him to find. 'Seriously? There's nothing you want? You usually leave the catalog page out by now.' 'Not that I can think of right now.' She left Ron in the bathroom, and slid into bed. The last two months had been somewhat peaceful. No fights beyond the normal bickering about whose turn it was to do the laundry, or who was supposed to pick up more toothpaste on the way home. They studiously avoided talking about babies or pregnancy. Even when Hermione bought a new calendar two weeks after she had burned the old one. She couldn't stand to not have one in the kitchen. But she wasn't keeping track of dates anymore. Even when she found herself wanting to pick up a pencil and scrawl an 'X' on the day her period began. She wanted to keep track so badly. Ron knew. She knew he knew. What was worse, Ron knew Hermione knew he knew. Gahhh! She thought, sticking out her tongue at the book cover on her lap, opening it forcefully. It was, for once, nothing workrelated. Ron told her last week she couldn't read any more magical law books in bed. It made her talk in her sleep. This one was strictly fluff. She'd borrowed it from Ginny, who had a whole stash of them. It wasn't too bad, if one could get past the predictable plot. Its main advantage lay in her being able to read it without needing to really focus on anything. The bathroom light clicked off, and Ron came into the bedroom, pulling his t-shirt off as he walked. He got hot in his sleep and if he didn't take the t-shirt off before he got into bed, he usually yanked it off at some point during the night, and threw it across the room. Hermione once told him he could put a tray of unbaked biscuits under his pillow, and in the morning, they'd be done. She watched the dim light play on the muscles of his back, unconsciously licking her lips. It had been a couple of weeks since the last time they had done anything in their bed, besides sleep. In fact, they hadn't done much of anything on the sofa, hearth rug, or anywhere else for that matter. The last time they had done anything was the night Ron made pie. Hermione walked into the kitchen sniffing hopefully. 'Apple pie?' Ron grinned and pointed to the counter. 'Just took it out. Needs to cool a bit.' 'Don't suppose you used a Cooling charm?' 'Do I look like an idiot? Wait,' he said, holding up a hand. 'Don't answer that. Of course I used a Cooling charm.' file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Burning%20Down%20the%20House.htm[26/02/2011 15:35:50]

'Well, can I have some?' she asked, turning the puppy eyed look on him. Ron's heart melted. The puppy eyes from his baby sister he could resist. From his wife… That was a different story. 'All right. Fine,' he mock-grumbled, as he cut them each a slice and slid them carefully on plates. Ron pulled a carton of ice cream from the freezer, holding it up in question. 'Do you have to ask?' she scoffed. 'And you've known me for over fourteen years,' she smirked. Ron deftly put a scoop of ice cream on her pie and handed it to her. Hermione Summoned a fork for them both, and began to eat her pie with gusto. Ron watched her eat, absently eating his own pie. Watching her eat was almost like foreplay. He nearly came unglued when she ran a finger through a puddle of melted ice cream and cinnamon-hued apple and licked it off. She was completely unaware of how erotic it was. Hermione heard a soft whimper and looked up. Ron was watching her intently, his eyes dark. 'What?' she asked innocently. 'Please…' he breathed, not knowing if he was begging for her to continue the torture or for mercy. Ron lunged and grasped Hermione by the arms, hoisting her to the surface of the table, grateful she had worn a skirt to work that day. 'Just please,' he repeated, his hands inching the skirt up. She raised her eyebrow, but said nothing, pulling him closer to kiss him. He tasted of apples and cinnamon, with a hint of vanilla. Hermione's hands slid down to the button of Ron's jeans while he pushed her back against the table, sweeping everything to the floor. It was a good thing they could use magic to clean the mess later. It wasn't gentle, by any stretch of the imagination. Afterwards, Ron sat in one of the chairs, panting, while he held Hermione on his lap. 'When we have kids, we'll have to remember this,' he said into her neck, the vibrations of his voice sending shivers down her spine. 'Remember what?' 'The pie,' he murmured. 'It can be a code word. You know, when we don't want the midgets to ask questions. I can ask you if you want to have some pie later.' Hermione laughed softly. 'But Daddy,' she mimicked, 'I want pie!' She let her lips close on Ron's earlobe. 'You're too young for pie,' Ron groaned, playing along. 'Yeah… That might get awkward around them. Good for when we're out and about, though.' 'You want more?' she asked, unbuttoning his shirt. 'I always want more,' he replied, shrugging the shirt off his shoulders, to join the rest of the mess on the floor. She blinked. 'I'm sorry?' she said blankly to Ron. 'I said, you were looking at me like I was a sandwich and you were starving. Not that I mind.' He grinned at her. 'Are you sleepy yet?' 'Oh. Sorry,' Hermione said sheepishly. She tossed her book back to the night table. 'Not really.' Ron slid out of bed, and flicked his wand at the Muggle CD player on top of the wardrobe. The familiar guitar strains fell like drops of rain into the room. 'Dance with me?' he asked, holding out a hand, as the plaintive voices drifted over them. 'What? Now?' 'Why not?' Ron came around to Hermione's side of the bed and pulled her to her feet. Hermione wrapped one arm around his waist, and he held her other hand against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Burning%20Down%20the%20House.htm[26/02/2011 15:35:50]

against the palm of her hand as they swayed with the rhythm of the music. 'I don't think I could ever have dreamed this,' she mused, resting her head on his chest. Here they were, he in only a pair of boxers, and she in one of his Cannons shirts, dancing in their bedroom. 'Is it a bad thing?' 'No.' Hermione spread her hand over the warm skin of Ron's back. They danced in silence until the song faded. 'I want pie.' Ron's brow wrinkled in bemusement. 'But we don't have any pie.' Hermione began to laugh. 'I mean pie,' she said, putting emphasis on the word, leering at him suggestively. 'Oh!' Ron's face cleared. 'You mean pie.' A slow smile spread across his face. 'I think I can manage that.' He cupped her face in his hands. 'I love it when you laugh,' he said, gasping as she turned her head to kiss the palm of his hand. 'You should do it more often.' Ron guided Hermione back to the bed, and he slid to the middle of the bed, Hermione's hands in his. He pulled her down, so she straddled him. Hermione's hands grasped the hem of the shirt, and she pulled it over her head, dropping it off the side of the bed. 'Hey, wait for me,' Ron protested. 'Keep up, then,' she teased, shifting so she could help him wriggle out of the boxers. Ron's fingertips stroked the curve of Hermione's hip. She lay spooned against him; her back nestled into his chest. 'We should do that more often,' she said. Ron snorted softly. 'This time of year? We can barely keep up with the owl orders from Hogwarts. I'm surprised I'm still awake.' Ron's fingers traced back up the side of her body. The silver daisy lay against the curve of her breast. 'I can come help pack some of those on Saturday,' she offered, turning over. She nuzzled Ron's chest. 'Amortentia,' she whispered. 'Huh?' 'I smell you in Amortentia.' 'I didn't know that.' 'Learn something new every day, don't you?' 'Yeah. You're full of surprises.' He brushed the hair away from her face. 'Did you think of something you want for Christmas yet?' 'Don't give up, do you?' Hermione laced her fingers through Ron's. 'Nope. I don't need anything,' she murmured, her eyes closing. 'Just you.' In a few minutes, Ron heard her deep, even breathing. He managed to pick up his wand without jarring her too much, and used it to draw the bedding over them. A few days later, Ron went up to the old flat above the shop for lunch. Harry was already there with George. 'What are you getting Ginny for Christmas?' Ron asked without preamble. 'Two straight nights of uninterrupted sleep,' Harry promptly replied. 'I asked Molly and Arthur to take James for a weekend after the holiday.' 'Really?' Ron asked, surprised. 'Has it been that bad?' 'Nah, but since Ginny's the only one feeding him for the most part, she's the one that gets up at three in the morning if he wakes up. Won't take a bottle for that one. Any other time, and he's fine, but three in the morning? Oh, no, he's all about Mummy.' 'How is that going to work? Letting Mum and Dad watch him if he won't let anyone but Ginny feed him like that?' asked

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George skeptically. 'That's why it's after the holidays,' explained Harry patiently. 'Hopefully in another few weeks, he'll sleep all the way through the night. It's just that one feeding he's adamant about wanting Ginny.' 'Where are you going?' Ron asked. 'Nowhere. Staying home, maybe going out on a date. Have Thai food. Sleep past six on a Saturday.' Harry pointed a fork with chicken casserole on it at Ron. 'When you have a kid, believe me, being able to sleep past six is a luxury.' 'Have you gotten anything for Katie?' Ron asked, turning to George. 'Telescope.' 'A telescope?' 'Yeah. She likes astronomy. And the telescope she has is all right, but I got her a really nice one.' George eyed Ron. 'What's with the third degree, Ronnikins?' 'I can't figure out what Hermione wants. She said she didn't want anything,' he moaned. 'Not even a book?' Harry asked, shocked. 'No.' 'Wow,' Harry breathed. 'I've never known Hermione to not want a book.' 'Me, either.' Ron drooped dejectedly. He had hoped Harry, at least, would have been able to give him some insights. Back to square one, he thought. Hermione absently nibbled her thumbnail, while Shacklebolt bent over the map of the Forest of Dean in front of them. 'They can't have the entire forest,' he muttered. 'I know that. Firenze knows that, too. But the herd thinks they should have the whole damn thing,' she retorted, massaging her temples. The whole process had given her a headache. 'And nothing either of us can say will change their minds right now.' 'Centaurs are more stubborn that a room full of three-year olds,' Shacklebolt sighed. He tapped the map with his wand, redrawing the boundaries set for the centaur herd. 'That's as far as I'm willing to go, but you're the one dealing with them. If you have to shift any of the boundaries, I trust your judgment. But remind them that there are a lot of Muggles in the area. We can't just put Muggle-Repelling charms on the whole area. It would devastate the area economically.' 'How's this?' Hermione asked. She tapped the map, and the glowing boundaries shifted to include the western part of the Wye Valley and eastern Monmouthshire. 'Centaurs practically have Muggle-Repelling charms on themselves, and it's large enough for the size of the herd we're relocating.' Hermione leaned back in her chair. 'It's not like the entire herd is going, just a few of them.' 'Works for me.' Shacklebolt stood up and stretched. 'What time is it?' Hermione looked at her watch. 'Almost eight.' She slumped in her chair wearily. 'When's your meeting with Firenze tomorrow?' 'One.' 'I don't want to see you in here tomorrow until eleven. Understood?' 'Absolutely.' Hermione put the map into her bag, and followed Shacklebolt to the lifts. They rode to the Atrium in silence, Hermione leaning against the wall. She left through the street entrance and stood on the sidewalk for a moment, wavering between Apparating home or taking the Underground. Deciding she didn't have the energy

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to deal with Apparition or Flooing, she trudged to the nearest Underground station. Ron always thought she rode the Tube to think. In reality, she took the Tube home sometimes to remind herself what people could do without magic, lest she take it for granted. Plus, she liked taking it this late in the day. It wasn't deserted, but it was quiet. Save for the random teenager singing with his iPod. Hermione tilted her head in his direction, trying to figure out what he was singing. It sounded familiar. She smothered a laugh when she realized the poor kid was doing his best Johnny Cash impersonation. 'Ring of Fire' did not sound very good out of the mouth of a Cambridge-bound schoolboy. Ron liked Johnny Cash and hated to hear badly done renditions of anything he sang. He would have mercilessly ripped this poor boy to shreds. Hermione pulled a calendar out of her bag. She willed herself not to count the days until her next period, instead turning to the list of Christmas gifts she still needed to buy. Arthur was easy. Anything that had to do with Muggles. Especially toy model kids. New gardening tools for Richard. Earrings for Jane and Molly. And for Ron? She didn't know. Nothing felt 'right' this year. Ron was sitting on the sofa, an open box on the coffee table. 'I know that bloody photograph's in here,' he muttered. He was looking for one photograph in particular. The one Ginny took of Hermione and him dancing at their wedding. He wanted to have it framed. 'Ah-ha!' he exclaimed triumphantly. 'There you are.' He pulled the photograph from the box and tucked it into his old book about the Cannons. She'd never look for it there. As he tucked the other photographs back into the box, he wished Hermione was a bit easier to shop for. She didn't wear jewelry, except for her wedding ring, watch, and the daisy. She wasn't into perfume, something for which Ron silently thanked her for on a daily basis. He didn't even consider trying to buy clothes for her. Before his wedding, Charlie told him not to even think about it. Books had always been his fallback gift. Ron went to put the box of photographs back into the hall cupboard before he stopped. We have been meaning to put these in a scrapbook, he thought. They had fully intended to do that after the honeymoon, but things got so busy, they never had a chance to do it. Ron took the box back to the sofa, and began to sort through the photographs. The wedding had been in late September, when the leaves were changing colors. The weather cooperated, and it had been a crisp, sun-drenched day. Going through the photographs, Ron realized he didn't remember much about that day. Except for Hermione, and how beautiful she looked in her dress. After Ron had put them in some semblance of order, he vowed to go to Flourish and Blotts in the morning to find a scrapbook. Hermione sat on the floor of James' nursery, while Ginny nurse the baby. 'Why is your bloody brother so difficult to shop for?' she huffed. 'I've been wracking my brain and can't think of anything.' 'Think about what he likes,' suggested Ginny. 'Chess, cooking, American Muggle singers, and Quidditch,' replied Hermione. 'There are only so many cookbooks I can buy him. He's got a collection to rival Molly's now.' 'He could use some new shirts,' offered Ginny. 'I don't want to get him clothes,' Hermione half-whined. 'And trust me; I've tried to convince your mum to not make his jumper maroon.' Ginny shifted James to her shoulder, and began to pat his back. 'What about something that's special to the both of you?' James burped with more power than Hermione thought could come from a baby. 'He sounds like Charlie,' she said. 'I know.' Ginny shifted James to the other breast, guiding his mouth to the nipple. 'Keep George away from my child, or he'll

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be the new 'bell' on the shop door.' She rocked for a few moments. 'Something Muggle, maybe?' 'Like what?' 'Oh, like all those singers he likes.' 'Who knew Ron would be such a music freak?' Ginny looked up at Hermione. 'You can add to his music collection.' 'I tried that. He's pretty picky about what goes into it.' 'When did Ron get so damn picky?' 'Ugh. I give up, then.' Hermione pushed herself to her feet. 'I'd better head home. Maybe I'll think of something soon.' 'Don't get discouraged. You'll find something.' 'I hope so. Otherwise it's Quidditch teams of Britain boxers.' 'I really didn't need to know that.' Ginny wrinkled her nose. 'Yeah, like Harry doesn't have them, either,' Hermione scoffed. 'Uh…' Ginny flushed a bright red. 'That's what I thought. Thanks, Gin.' Hermione went downstairs to Floo back to Bloomsbury when a thought struck. She ran back upstairs, shouting, 'I've got it!' 'Got what?' 'Ron's Christmas present. I swear motherhood has made you forgetful. Ron and my dad really get on with each other. It's a little scary, really,' Hermione mused. 'So you're getting them a weekend trip?' teased Ginny. 'No. Ron likes helping Dad with the roses. I thought maybe we could start our own garden. There's a bit of land behind our flat that's ours to plant, if we want. We could have flowerboxes on the balcony, too.' 'Wow. Who knew Ronnikins would be so domesticated…' 'Hmmm. I think maybe I'll throw in the boxers, too…'  

SEVEN – I Walk the Line

'Hey, George?' Ron came from the back room of the shop, a quill stuck behind his ear. George looked up form the window display. 'What?' 'You and Fred never bought Zonko's premises in Hogsmeade, did you?' 'Nope.' George shook his hair out of his eyes. 'Never had a chance to.' 'You still want to? Set up a shop in Hogsmeade?' Ron automatically straightened a shelf of Snackboxes. George straightened up, stretching the kinks from his back. 'Why?' he asked suspiciously. Ron pulled a scrap of parchment from the pocket of his robes. 'Look at this. It's a breakdown of everything we sold to Hogwarts students last August and December. A lot of the stuff they're buying in September is the stuff we won't deliver by owl post, like the Whiz-Bangs. But in December they're buying a lot of things like trick and fake wands, the sweets, the quills,

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and other stuff like that.' George studied the chart Ron had drawn. 'Where are you going with this?' 'We should open a smaller shop in Hogsmeade,' Ron said, his face alight. 'We can keep it stocked with the smaller products we send by owl from here. That one will be able to handle most of the owl orders from the school, and if not, they can just send it on here.' 'You've been with Hermione too long,' George chuckled. 'I've never seen you this organized before.' 'George, come on… Just think about it?' pleaded Ron. George examined the chart for a few more minutes. 'I have one question.' 'Shoot.' 'Who's going to run it? You and I have our hands full here as it is. And you want to open another one?' 'Ah. I've thought of that. Lucas and Sasha can run the Hogsmeade shop.' 'But –' George sputtered. 'But nothing. One of us can go up there and check on things from time to time once things get running, and we can take turns going up on Hogsmeade weekends during school to help out.' George looked up as Charlie's belch rang out, signaling the door was opening. 'We'll talk about it later, okay?' He gave the chart one more look before stuffing it into the pocket of his robes. A harried looking mother and three young children streamed through the door. After they left, each child carrying a bulging sack, George pulled the scrap of parchment from his pocket. It wasn't a bad idea, and it was one he and Fred had tossed around before the war started. Maybe that's what bothered him. It had been his and Fred's idea, and to do it without Fred seemed like betrayal. George's hand stole up to the side of his head, and began to unconsciously finger the empty space where his ear had once been. Getting it set up would take some time, too. Going up to Hogsmeade on Saturdays until it was set up. One of them would have to go up to Hogsmeade daily until they were sure Lucas and Sasha could run it. George glanced at the photograph of Katie and the boys tacked behind the counter, next to a photograph of Fred and him the day they opened the shop. Things had just settled back down to normal after the holidays and he hated to be away from the boys right now. Saturday was his day with Fred and Jacob, and Katie welcomed the respite from refereeing their antics. He stuffed the parchment back into his pocket. He wondered if Ron wanted to do this purely for the distraction. According to his calculations, Ron and Hermione had been trying to get pregnant for almost a year now, and George imagined Ron was desperate for something to take his mind off his other 'project'. And opening up a branch of the shop just to relieve Ron's anxiety was not a good reason. George frowned at the corner of parchment protruding from his pocket. There were two people who knew Ron better than Ron himself did – Hermione and Harry. He was going to have to talk to one of them before he discussed it further with Ron. No, not Hermione, thought George. Not this time. George scribbled a note to Harry, and sent it off with his owl, telling himself that since Harry still did have a share in the shop, he should be in on this, too. 'It's a good plan,' Harry said. George sat on the other side of his kitchen table, Fred on his lap, trying to dodge the boy's increasingly urgent head butts. 'I can't believe you haven't done this sooner.' 'I thought about it,' George said slowly, setting Fred down on the floor. He waved his wand in a circle, checking the charms on the cupboard doors that kept them locked to the boys. Fred speedily crawled off to join Jacob in the sitting room. 'It just didn't seem right to do it without Fred, so I never followed through with it.' George pulled the sheaf of parchment with Ron's plans, charts, and graphs across the table, leafing through them. 'I was wondering, though…' 'If it's money to get it started, I can cover that,' Harry said. 'God knows most of it just sits in Gringotts collecting dust.' file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Burning%20Down%20the%20House.htm[26/02/2011 15:35:50]

'No, that's not it, although, if we do this we might need you to invest a bit in it,' George said shrugging. They really didn't need the money, but having ready cash would make the transition a lot smoother. 'It's Ron.' 'You think this is something like his way of putting his stamp on the shop?' Harry mused. 'Sounds like something Ron would want to do.' 'No.' George angled his chair so he could see into the sitting room. Everything with an edge had a Cushioning charm, but lately each twin had gotten possessive of certain toys, and at least once an hour he or Katie had to wade into the melee and put Fred and Jacob into neutral corners. 'I think he's trying to keep himself from thinking about why Hermione isn't pregnant yet.' 'That also sounds like something Ron would do,' commented Harry. He lifted James from his pushchair, and waggled a bottle enticingly in front of him. Harry settled James into the crook of his arm and began to feed him. He leaned back in the chair and watched his son ferociously attack his dinner for a moment. 'The real question is, George, do you trust Ron to do this?' 'You think I don't?' 'Doesn't matter what I think. I'm the silent partner in all this.' George ran a hand through his hair in frustration. 'You're not helping,' he informed his brother-in-law pointedly. Harry grinned evilly. 'It's my job to play devil's advocate,' he replied lightly, not bothered in the least by George's tone. 'Look, this is something you've wanted to do for almost eight years, right?' 'Yes,' admitted George. 'Then do it. Let Ron take this on. You keep telling me how good he's doing with the shop. Anything Ron really likes, he's not going to make a cock-up with it.' He pulled the bottle from James' mouth, and hoisted him to his shoulder. Harry firmly patted James' back until he burped. 'He sounds like Charlie,' offered George. 'You know…' George eyed James speculatively. 'Don't even bother. Ginny's threatened me with all manner of horrible things, the least of which involves feeding my bits to Buckbeak.' Harry interjected. 'I'd rather not confess to my wife that I let her barmy brothers use our child's burp for the shop door. Especially if she has a wand nearby.' Harry handed James a soft stuffed black dog. James put one of the dog's ears in his mouth and began to chew it in earnest. 'Scared of little Gin-Gin are we?' mocked George. 'And you're not?' retorted Harry. 'Erm… So, we'll tell Ron at lunch tomorrow?' George asked, hastily changing the subject. Before Ron locked the flat for the night, he went into the kitchen and stood in front of the calendar on the wall. Tomorrow was March first. D-Day. The past couple of weeks had flown by in a haze of travel between Hogsmeade and London, setting up the new shop. Ron had been thrilled when George accepted his plan to open a shop in Hogsmeade for the students. It had been a rush of days transporting and making more merchandise, setting up the shop so it could be open in time for the Hogsmeade weekend on March fifth. Ron had never worked harder in his life. He knew George was taking a big risk in letting him handle the Hogsmeade shop. This was just as much for Fred as it was for George. Ron slowly turned up the page of the calendar. And turned his back to it. The next morning, Hermione was standing in the same pose Ron had the night before, staring at the date, a cup of tea cradled

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in her hands. She had a meeting with Firenze this morning. The centaurs had finally agreed to a set area in the Forest of Dean. The meeting with Firenze was a formality to sign and seal the agreement. Ron came into the kitchen, still in his boxers. He wrapped his arms around Hermione's waist, and tucked his face into the side of her neck. 'Why do you put your hair up to go meet Firenze?' He nuzzled the exposed skin. 'Not that I'm complaining, mind you.' 'Makes me look older.' Hermione turned her head and kissed Ron softly. 'I have to go,' she said. 'You're going to Hogsmeade today?' 'Yeah.' 'I'll come by after Firenze and I are done signing a million pages of parchment.' 'I'll put you to work,' Ron warned her. 'Only if you feed me lunch,' Hermione shot back. Ron dropped a kiss under her ear, before letting her go. 'I'll see you later, then.' It was when she left, that they both realized neither of them had brought up the date, even though a small star was sketched in the corner of the day. And it wasn't to remind Hermione it was Ron's birthday. 'So…' Hermione pushed a tomato around her plate. 'Today's the day.' Ron nodded. 'I know.' He looked up at Hermione. 'Are you…?' He had been so busy they had barely seen each other the past week. They hadn't talked about it in so long, the topic felt alien in his mouth. 'I don't know.' They ate in silence for several more minutes. Ron couldn't stand it anymore. 'Are you going to find out?' 'When I get back to London, yes,' she replied calmly. Ron looked up at her incredulously. 'How can you be so calm about it?' 'You think I'm calm? You think this is calm?' Her voice rose into shrillness. 'Not anymore,' he said defensively. Hermione stood up, and slung her bag on her shoulder. 'I need to go,' she said shortly and without another word, Disapparated. 'Aaarrrrggghhhh!' Ron swore under his breath. After months of not talking about it, a thirty-second conversation about it had degenerated into something that was on the verge of becoming an argument, if Hermione hadn't left when she did. 'Happy birthday to me,' he growled. Hermione paced outside the bathroom, her eyes fixed on the second hand of her watch. Why did two minutes have to last so damn long? Calm.Ha, bloody, ha, she thought. She hadn't been calm in weeks. She thought the both of them had done an excellent job of concealing just how not calm they really were. The second hand swept past the five for the second time. Hermione lowered her wrist, and turned to face the open bathroom door. A pink-and-white stick lay balanced on the edge of the sink. She approached it as if it were a bomb about to go off. Two lines, she told herself. I want two lines…

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She peered at the test. Hermione snatched the paper bag from the chemist's and stuffed the test into it, before she crammed the bag into the rubbish bin behind the toilet. Her mobile rang, the strains of Beethoven singing through the flat. Hermione ran into the bedroom and snatched it from the night table on her side of the bed. 'Hello?' 'Hermione, it's Mum.' 'Oh, hi, Mum,' she said a hint of listlessness creeping into her voice. Miles away in Oxford, Jane frowned into the phone. 'Are you all right?' 'Fine, Mum. Just a bit tired.' Hermione sat on the edge of the bed and flopped onto her back. 'If you say so,' muttered Jane. 'Mum,' warned Hermione. 'It's Ron's birthday today, isn't it?' 'Yes.' Hermione raised an eyebrow. She wished Jane would just get on with it, and say it sometimes. 'Do you have plans for the evening? Your dad and I thought we might take you two out for dinner.' 'Not tonight, Mum.' Hermione sat up. 'I'm not sure when Ron's getting home tonight. They're opening a branch of the shop by the school this weekend, and he's been pretty wrapped up in that.' 'Oh. All right, then.' The disappointment was evident in Jane's voice. 'Any time next week, Mum. Maybe Monday?' 'That would be fine. Your dad has something for the both of you.' 'I'll ask Ron tonight and give you a ring tomorrow. Will that be all right?' 'Yes, it will.' Jane paused. 'Are you sure you're all right? You really don't sound well.' 'I'm fine, Mum. Really. Good-bye.' 'Good-bye, dear.' Hermione hung up the mobile and flung it across the room. It was time to see Shanti. Ron lay next to Hermione in their bed. 'What did she say?' 'We need to go see her on Monday. There are a few rules, though,' Hermione added. 'Oh, rules! Of course there are…' 'We can't do anything until after our appointment.' 'Define "anything",' sighed Ron. 'No shagging, no wanking.' Ron blinked. Hermione rarely used language like that. 'For six days?' he asked in a daze. He felt, rather than saw her nod. 'Six days,' he breathed. He didn't think it could get any worse. file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Burning%20Down%20the%20House.htm[26/02/2011 15:35:50]

He was wrong. Ron eyed the small cup on the desk in front of him. 'You want me to do what in where?' he asked in disbelief. 'Ron,' Hermione said softly. She laid a hand on his arm. He tore his gaze from the accusatory cup and reminded himself why they were there. He didn't say anything, but resignedly took the cup from the desk and left Shanti's office. He went into a small room, and set the cup down, before dropping into a chair. Of all the things he had done in his twenty-five years, this one had to be the most humiliating. He had to wank into a cup. Ron turned away from the cup, still silently casting aspirations on his manhood. He leaned forward, placing his head in his hands. He didn't think he could do it. He wondered how many other men had been in here, feeling the same amount of degrading desperation he was feeling right now. A soft knock on the door, made him look up warily. Hermione's head peered around the door. 'You okay?' she asked. 'Do I look okay?' he nearly snarled. 'No,' she admitted. Hermione came all the way in the room, and shut the door firmly behind her, locking it. She perched on Ron's lap, leaning into him. Ron rested his head against her shoulder. 'Mione, I'm not sure I can… Not here.' Hermione tried not to sigh, but it escaped her lips anyway. 'Not even for me?' 'Oh God, Hermione, I want to do this for you, but…' Ron looked around the room. 'This isn't exactly the most romantic setting. It's even less romantic than the Potions dungeon, and that's saying something.' 'Can I help?' Hermione reached for Ron's belt buckle. Ron started and reflexively covered his crotch with his hands. 'Mione!' he exclaimed in a scandalized whisper. 'What do you think you're doing?' 'Trying to help,' she said pointedly. 'Unless you want me to go?' 'Not really.' Ron's head fell back against the high back of the chair. 'I'm not exactly chuffed about you being in here right now, mind you.' 'It's not like I haven't seen you do this, you know.' 'Could you please not remind me of that right now?' Ron glumly looked at the seemingly innocuous cup next to them. 'It's mocking me,' he confided, pointing to the cup. 'It is not.' 'Yes, it is,' Ron insisted. Hermione pulled back a little to look at Ron. He looked miserable. 'Ron, please let me help.' 'How can you help?' Hermione lifted his protective hands, and deftly undid the belt buckle. 'Just let me…' She slid off his lap, and pulled Ron to his feet. 'Although, we might need to lose these,' she said, expertly unzipping his trousers. Ron's eyes drifted shut, and he focused on how good it felt to let Hermione touch him. After six enforced days of nothing, he

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found if he kept his eyes shut, they could be in their own bedroom. Ron's knees gave out, and he fell onto the edge of the chair he had occupied not five minutes earlier. Hermione set the cup aside. They had a few minutes. Ron's eyes were still closed. 'Ron?' she asked uncertainly. 'I'm fine, Mione. I just… Need a minute.' He reached out and blindly found her hand. 'Thanks. For the help.' Ron stood in the back garden of the Granger's house. 'I feel so dirty,' he whispered. 'Dirty?' Hermione looked at him quizzically. 'Mione, we're about to go have a nice, quiet dinner with your parents. And I just let you…' Ron hitched his shoulders uncomfortably. 'You know…' 'It's not like you shagged me on the dinner table in front of them,' she said dryly. 'Your dad's gonna know,' Ron scuffed the toe of his shoe in the grass. 'Don't be ridiculous, Ronald.' 'Are you two going to come in, or stand out there and chat all night?' Richard opened the back door. 'Oh, wait, don't come in yet! I've got something to show you!' He came out into the garden, and led them to a newly planted rosebush. 'It's called Gentle Hermione,' he informed them proudly. 'I've a couple for you to take home and put in your garden.' Ron nearly laughed out loud, but turned it into a coughing fit at the last second. Gentle Hermione, indeed. A/N: There is a rosebush named Gentle Hermione. :) lol! It was introduced into the UK in 2005, when this story takes place.  

EIGHT – Fumbling Towards Ecstasy

Ron fidgeted a bit in his chair. He drummed his fingertips on the arm of the chair, ignoring his wife's sharp intake of breath. She hated it when he did that. Right now, he didn't care. He was waiting for Shanti to come back into the office with their test results. Hermione sat; eyeing Ron's long fingers tap their repetitive tattoo on the wooden surface. She refrained from snapping at him to stop. They were both nervous. Her own hands were tightly clutched in her lap. Shanti strode in, dressed in her usual Muggle-style scrubs and trainers, a green file folder in her hands. She put it down on her desk, and pulled a chair around to the other side of the desk, sitting on the same side as Ron and Hermione. 'You're both fine,' she said, skipping any preliminaries. 'But how?' Hermione blurted. 'I mean after all these months and nothing?' Ron gave her a double-take. That wasn't the response he expected her to have. 'Hermione, we don't know. Everything says you should be able to conceive a child, but for some reason, it's just not happening.' Shanti leaned forward. 'This does mean that you are considered infertile, and there are things we can do now.' 'What things?' Ron asked, watching Hermione carefully. 'Potions we can try,' Shanti said to Ron. 'But that's not a decision I want either of you to make right now.' Ron nodded. After Hermione's initial outburst, she sat hunched in miserable silence. 'We'll discuss it, and get back to you,' he said softly. 'Thanks.' He got to his feet, and gently touched Hermione's shoulder. 'Mione?' She looked up at him, her eyes wide and dark in her pale face. 'Let's go home, eh?' She didn't say anything as she followed him numbly to the waiting area. 'I'm going to the Ministry,' she said dully, as they

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approached the fireplace. 'I have some paperwork I've been ignoring.' 'But –' Ron stopped. He knew nothing he could say was going to help right now. 'I'll see you at home, then?' 'I won't be late.' Ron snorted in disbelief. Hermione's inclination when she was in an emotional uproar was to bury herself in work. 'I won't wait up,' he scoffed. 'Ronald!' Hermione gasped. 'I'll see you later.' Ron spun and went outside, presumably to Apparate to Diagon Alley. Hermione watched him leave. She stood uncertainly. She had two options. Go to her office and finish her paperwork. Paperwork that admittedly needed to be done, but it wasn't critical to anything right now. Or, she could go to the shop and try to smooth things over with Ron. But she knew Ron and his moods. He wouldn't listen to reason until he calmed down a bit more. And he was also right. If she stayed at the Ministry, she might very well be there until late at night, well after everyone else went home. Work was her way of shoving things she didn't want to think about aside. 'Bloody hell,' she muttered and went outside. Nobody expected her to be at the Ministry today, so coming to a decision, Hermione Disapparated and reappeared in the back garden of her parents' house. 'Hermione!' Richard looked up from his book. 'Didn't expect to see you so soon.' 'Hi, Dad. Is Mum home?' she asked. 'No… She had a few appointments that carried over into the afternoon. The Cavity Triplets have a check-up today.' The corner of Hermione's mouth turned up in a slight grin. The Cavity Triplets were three children who had been Jane's patients for the past ten years. 'They're about to finish school, aren't they?' 'Yep.' Richard put his book down. 'She's thinking about retiring. Actually, we both are.' 'Dad, you've been retired for nearly two years,' Hermione pointed out. 'That's not true,' Richard objected. 'I've been working a few days a week to keep my hand in.' 'So both of you are going to give up the practice?' Hermione pulled her shoes off, and set them neatly next to Richard's chair. She wound her hair into a knot, fishing a quill from her bag, and stabbing it though the knot to hold it in place. She dug into a hidden pocket of the bag and pulled out her dragon-hide gloves. 'It appears that way.' Richard watched his daughter in fascination. 'Hermione, what are you about to do?' 'Roses.' With that she strode, barefoot, across the garden to the small, nearly ramshackle shed in the corner, where a box of dragon dung fertilizer sat waiting. She loaded a small cart with the fertilizer and a few gardening tools, and pushed it out to the corner of the garden. She dropped to her knees, heedless of her skirt and blouse, and pulled the gloves on her hands. Richard's eyebrows rose in surprise. Hermione had always been, well, anal-retentive, really, about making sure things were how they were supposed to be. Working fertilizer into the rose garden while she wore her work clothes was not how things were supposed to be. Even as a child, when she came home from school, she immediately changed into something that could handle the rigors of the rosebushes. He slowly walked to her, and with a soft grunt, lowered himself down to the grass next to Hermione. Ron's dragon-hide gloves rested on the cart, and Richard pulled them on, before reaching into the box for a handful of fertilizer. 'Are you all right?' he asked cautiously.

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Hermione tried to hold it back, but a bitter laugh escaped. 'Oh, I'm fine. We're both fine. We're both so incredibly, bloody fine!' The quill holding her hair back slipped, and a wealth of brown curls cascaded into her face. 'Bloody, effing hell!' she growled. 'Hermione? I don't think you're all right.' Hermione continued to work fertilizer into the base of her father's oldest rosebush – his prized Comtesse Cecile de Chabrillant. 'No. Dad. Actually, I'm fine. But for some reason unknown to anyone on this earth, I've not been able to get pregnant. Even after a year of trying.' She sniffed, swiping her nose against the shoulder of her blouse. 'Oh.' Richard blinked. He didn't know what to say. But it was awfully familiar territory. He'd seen Jane dissolve into angry, bitter tears on more than one occasion during the three years it took them to conceive Hermione. 'Why did you have a problem with adoption?' Hermione asked abruptly. 'When?' Richard glanced at Hermione, before adding another handful of fertilizer to the soil. 'Before you and Mum were married.' 'How did you know that?' Richard sat back, and gazed at his daughter. 'We never told you about that.' 'I found the letters you and Mum wrote before you were married in the attic when I was nine.' She gave him a slightly accusatory look. 'Hermione, I…' Richard shrugged. 'It wouldn't have mattered to me if you were mine biologically, or if you had been adopted.' 'You say that now…' 'It was male pride. That I'd be a failure if I couldn't father my own child, and at that time, if you'd asked me, I would have said I wasn't sure about adoption.' Hermione didn't say anything for a few minutes, allowing herself to process this. 'What changed?' she asked softly. 'Me. I married your mum, and I wanted to make her happy. She wanted a family, and if it took taking a hard look at myself and my beliefs, then that's what it took.' Richard moved down the row of rosebushes. 'Also, I was doing some work with an orphanage about the same time your mother and I were trying to have you.' Richard stabbed a cultivator into the soil. 'A lot of those kids were in there because their parents couldn't take care of them. Or wouldn't. Made me realize there's far more to being someone's mum or dad than biology.' Hermione picked up the fallen quill, and worked it back into her hair. 'Do you think I'm being unreasonable?' 'I think you're being hard on yourself. But you've always been harder on yourself than anyone else ever could have been.' Richard pulled his gloves off, and cupped Hermione's face in one of his hands. 'If you're asking for my approval if you and Ron decide to adopt a child, it's not mine to give.' Richard leaned to kiss Hermione on the forehead. 'Do what makes you happy. That's all I've ever wanted for you.' Hermione Apparated on the doormat of their flat, carrying her shoes. She ruefully regarded her filthy, stained skirt and blouse. 'I don't think I'll be wearing this again,' she said to herself as she opened the door. 'Why won't you be…? Oh, never mind.' Ron's head peered around the kitchen door, as he took in Hermione's ruined clothing. 'Why do you reek of dragon dung fertilizer?' 'Went to help Dad with the rosebushes.' Ron came out into the sitting room, drying his hands on a towel. He squinted at Hermione's face, and took her chin in one hand, tilting it toward the light. There were tearstains streaked into the dirt on her cheeks. 'You've been crying,' he stated matter-of-factly. She nodded, and started to head to the bathroom. 'I need to go clean up a bit.' 'Want some company?'

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'Yeah. I would.' Hermione held a hand out, and Ron grasped it in his larger one. Ron tugged the quill from Hermione's hair and ran his fingers through the tangled curls. 'One more year,' he said. 'What?' Hermione looked at him in confusion. 'One more year. If we still haven't either had a baby, or gotten pregnant, then we'll try whatever potions Shanti can throw at us.' Ron pulled Hermione closer and rested his face against the top of her head. 'And we can start trying to adopt, if you want.' Ron heaved a sigh. 'Does that sound all right to you?' Hermione squeezed her eyes shut against the prickle of tears. It had already been a rollercoaster of an afternoon, and she didn't care to continue the ride into the evening. 'I was about to say the same thing.' And it was. As she and Richard worked their way around the border of the back garden, working the fertilizer into the flower beds, he had listened and offered advice. Eventually, Hermione pulled away. 'I have to go take a shower,' she said firmly. 'I smell like you did in school after Quidditch practice.' 'Hey! I thought you liked that!' Ron said indignantly. 'Where on earth did you get that that barmy idea?' Ron snorted. 'You said so,' he retorted smugly. 'I don't think I ever said something so insane.' 'Oh, yes, you did.' Ron sauntered to the bathroom, shedding his clothes as he went. 'When we were sleeping in my dormitory after the battle.' He stopped in the doorway that led to the hallway between their bedroom and the bathroom. 'You said how much you loved how I smelled after a particularly intense Quidditch game. You talk in your sleep, Mione.' Ron smirked at her. 'That doesn't count!' she called after his retreating form. 'I wasn't conscious!' Ron's trousers sailed through the door, quickly followed by his boxers. 'You're picking up the clothes later for that!' 'As long as I don't have to do the laundry.' Ron's voice drifted back from the bathroom. 'And it does count, conscious or no. It just means you couldn't control whether or not I heard it, hen.' Hermione huffed and proceeded to unbutton her blouse. 'All right,' she said quietly, so Ron couldn't hear. She dropped her blouse on top of Ron's clothing. 'Give him some extra laundry to collect, just for being a smug prat.' She unzipped her skirt, and kicked it neatly over to the growing pile of laundry in the middle of the sitting room floor. For a month, Ron had a prickly feeling on the back of his neck. It felt like waiting for the other shoe to drop. There was nothing he could put his finger on and say, 'That's it! That's what's going to happen.' But still… The feeling bothered him so much, that he began to dread receiving owls or fire calls. He visibly flinched when Hermione's mobile rang, knowing it was one of her parents. He was lying in bed one night in mid-April, staring at the ceiling. He was having a lot of rather disjointed dreams lately. They were jumbled images of funerals, sex, and the Comtesse Cecile de Chabrillant rose in Richard's garden. The oddest one yet was a recurring image of Ron taking Hermione in the middle of a church on a bed of rose petals, the heady scent wafting around them as the petals crushed under their writhing, naked bodies. But strangely enough, that wasn't the disturbing part. The disturbing part was the fact a funeral was going on around them, and not a soul in the packed church seemed to notice or care that they both were shouting the sorts of things that made Ron blush furiously if he recalled the dream. Ron supposed some of it was because the anniversary of the battle was drawing near. They all suffered from nightmares and sleepless nights as the weeks waxed and waned around the anniversary. And the first couple of years he dreamed of endless funerals. These days, he usually dreamed about Fred. He knew without looking that Hermione was awake, too. There was a subtle shift to her breathing that signaled she had fallen asleep, and he hadn't heard it yet. 'Mione?'

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'Yes?' 'Do you ever…?' 'What?' 'I have a feeling, but I can't explain it.' 'A feeling?' 'Yeah. Like something is going to happen.' 'Good something or bad something?' 'I don't know!' Ron exclaimed in a whisper. 'That makes it so much worse…' He turned his head, and saw his wife's profile in the dark bedroom. 'And I keep having the weirdest dreams.' 'Stop eating Chocolate Frogs before bed,' Hermione yawned, and rolled over to face Ron. 'It's just the time of year,' she reassured him. 'We always have bad dreams this time of year.' 'I suppose,' Ron said slowly. 'But it doesn't explain why I keep dreaming we're making love in a church.' Ron stopped to consider his words. 'Not making love… Just raw, full-out shagging.' 'In a church?' Hermione propped herself on an elbow to goggle at Ron. 'You're joking!' 'No. Every night just about.' Ron was baffled. Hermione shook her head. 'We're switching to decaf,' she muttered. Ron's faint sense of malaise eased as April slipped into May. He thought that if something was going to happen, it would have happened by now, and he stopped worrying. His dreams even returned to normal. Teddy turned seven, Victoire turned five. Parker celebrated his third birthday. Fred and Jacob's first birthday was approaching. They were starting to walk, and managed to find a way to get into everything, in spite of the charms George and Katie put on the cupboards and the breakables. George and Katie looked more than a bit frazzled. The anniversary of the battle came and went, and the family, which included Andromeda and Teddy, gathered to celebrate and remember the lives of Remus, Tonks, and Fred. He spent less time at the Hogsmeade shop, only going up a few times a week to see how Lucas and Sasha were doing, and made plans to go up on the last Hogsmeade weekend of the school year when exams were over. So late one Saturday morning in the middle of May, when Hermione's mobile rang, he ignored it. It was usually only Jane or Richard, and if Ron or Hermione didn't answer the mobile, they just left a message. Seconds after the phone stopped buzzing – Hermione set it to vibrate at night – it started again. Ron frowned and pushed his head under his pillow. After the fourth round of buzzing, Ron swore heatedly at the offending Muggle device and exasperatedly answered it. 'Hello?' 'Ron?' It was Jane. She sounded slightly confused. 'I need to speak with Hermione.' 'Can she call you back? She's in the shower.' Ron's brow creased as the sense of dread which had so recently left him returned with a vengeance. 'No, she… I can't… I need…' Jane's voice descended into a torrent of incoherent babble. Ron's heart seemed to skip a beat, before he felt the blood pound in his ears. Jane was usually calm and collected, like Hermione. 'Hang on. I'll go get her.' He dropped the mobile in the middle of the bed, and walked to the bathroom, feeling as if his feet were fighting Permanent Sticking charms. He nudged the door open. 'Mione?' he called over the sound of rushing water. 'Mione?' he called a little louder. 'What?' she said irritably, poking her head around the curtain. She had been washing her hair, and hadn't rinsed the shampoo

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from it yet. 'It's your mum,' he said simply. 'Can't I just call her back in a few minutes?' Hermione sighed. She hated to have her showers interrupted. She claimed to do her best thinking while she washed her hair. 'No, Mione, I don't think so,' Ron said soberly. Hermione started to pull her head back into the spray of the shower when she noticed the expression on her husband's face. It was that more than the tone of his voice that made her hastily rinse the shampoo from her hair. Ron silently handed her a towel, which she wrapped around her dripping hair. He gave her another one and she bundled it around her body, before running into the bedroom. She perched on the edge of the bed, and picked up the mobile. 'Mum?' she whispered. 'Hermione?' Jane's voice sounded frightened. 'Hermione, it's your dad.' 'Mum, what's wrong?' 'He… Went to lie down after puttering in the roses this morning. Said he had a headache.' Hermione felt a dawning sense of dread. Her mother sounded terribly distracted by something. 'Mum, is Dad all right?' Hermione had to force the words past the rapidly expanding knot in her chest. 'He went to sleep.' Jane had babbled through her daughter's question, as if she hadn't heard it. 'Hermione, he won't wake up…' Whatever Jane was going to say next was lost in the keening that traveled through the mobile that slipped from Hermione's nerveless fingers. 'I need to go to Oxford,' she said shakily to Ron. 'I need to go,' Hermione repeated over and over, as she rummaged aimlessly for clothing. Silently, Ron pushed her aside and opened the drawer in the wardrobe that held her knickers. He handed her a pair and snatched a pair of jeans and a light jumper and t-shirt. She fumbled through dressing and took the socks and trainers Ron held in his outstretched hands. Hermione bundled her hair into a messy ponytail, and before she could Apparate to Oxford, he put a hand on her arm. 'Mione,' he began quietly. The look of apprehensive anguish on her face nearly broke his heart. 'I'll follow you in a bit. I'll go to the Burrow and tell Mum, then I'll meet you at Oxford.' She seemed to stare through him. Ron shook her a little. 'Mione? Did you hear me?' 'Yes,' she said dazedly. 'I heard you. Burrow. Molly. Oxford,' she repeated dully. She shook his hand off her arm, and disappeared with a soft pop. She appeared behind the shed in the back garden. The roses had begun to blossom in a profusion of color and scent in cheerful, innocent obliviousness to the events just inside the house. Hermione opened the back door, and found her mother sitting in a chair in the sitting room, tears running unchecked down her face, as she stared at Richard's unmoving body, sprawled on the sofa, looking for all the world, as if he was having a latemorning kip. 'Mum,' she said softly, crouching next to the chair. Jane said nothing, but her hand reached out to grasp Hermione's.  

NINE – Breathe In, Breathe Out

Ron watched his wife Disapparate, feeling like he'd been punched in the solar plexus. Richard Granger had unconditionally accepted him the moment he'd walked in the door of their house on Hermione's nineteenth birthday. The roses Hermione carried in her bouquet on their wedding day came from Richard's garden. Richard had always treated Ron like a member of the family, even before he'd married Hermione.

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Ron struggled to breathe normally, as he quickly showered and pulled on some clothes. The rest of the family. He had to go tell Molly. She would handle telling everyone else. Ron Apparated into the back garden of his childhood home. He blinked back tears, as he saw Teddy's battered football by the back door. Just a few weeks ago, at Parker's birthday party, Richard and Teddy had been teaching everybody how to play footie. Teddy's going to be devastated, thought Ron. He lifted a hand to the doorknob, a corner of his mind that was able to think analytically, noting how heavy his hand seemed to be. The kitchen was empty. 'Mum?' Ron called, wincing at how strained his voice sounded. 'Mum? Where are you?' 'Bill's room, dear,' she replied. Ron took a deep breath, and forced himself to walk up the stairs. Molly was dusting the furniture, humming to herself. 'Mum…' Ron's voice cracked with the strain of trying not to break down. Molly stopped, the tone of Ron's voice stopping her cold. 'Ron, darling, what is it? Is it Hermione?' Ron gaped at Molly, unable to speak. He nodded. Ron sat heavily on the edge of the bed, and cleared his throat several times. 'It's Richard,' he said hoarsely. Molly immediately sat next to Ron, her arm around his shoulders. Ron allowed himself a fleeting moment to grieve. He lowered his head to Molly's shoulder, and indulged in shedding a few bitter tears. He was aching for his wife. After mere seconds, Ron inhaled a deep, shuddering breath. 'Mum, I need to go to Oxford. Hermione's with her mum.' He looked helplessly at his hands. They seemed unnaturally large right now. 'I need to be with her.' 'Of course you do.' Molly patted Ron on the back. 'Let us know when the funeral is,' she said. 'We'll come. All of us.' Ron nodded, his hands clenching and unclenching. 'I'll pop over later with some food,' Molly said decisively. 'Thanks, Mum. You remember where the house is?' 'Of course I do.' 'Just Apparate to the back garden.' Ron scrubbed his hands though his hair, unsure of what to say, what do. 'I'm going to go back to the flat, though. I have a feeling we might be staying at the house for a few days.' Ron Apparated into the Grangers' back garden. He stood in the center for a long moment, taking in the bright rosebuds, waving gently in the breeze. He slowly walked the perimeter of the garden, his fingertips lightly caressing the velvety petals. He could name each variety of rose. Some of the rosebushes were older than Bill. He stopped at the newest member of the group. 'Gentle Hermione,' he murmured. Ron desperately wanted to cry, but like Dumbledore's funeral, he swallowed it all, knowing Hermione needed him to be the calm one today, and for the next several days. He opened the back door of the house, and slipped inside. Hermione was in the kitchen mechanically preparing tea. 'Mione?' She looked up, anguish carved into her face. She walked straight toward him, burying her face in his chest. 'He's gone,' she whispered. Ron's arms wrapped around her shoulders. 'I know, hen,' he murmured. 'What can I do?' 'I don't know.' Hermione's face twisted. 'I brought a few changes of clothes for us,' Ron said. He was beginning to babble. 'I thought we might need to stay a few days. I used your old handbag. It's in my jacket pocket.' 'Ron.' Hermione's ragged voice put a halt to the flow of words. 'I'm sorry, Mione… I'm so, so sorry.' They stood wrapped in mute misery for several long minutes. 'Mum… She needs the tea,' Hermione sighed pushing reluctantly away from Ron.

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'I'll make it. You go back to your mum.' Hermione nodded, and brushed a few tears that had slipped down her face away. Ron quickly assembled a tray with tea and biscuits and took it to the sitting room, where Jane still sat in numb silence. Ron glanced questioningly at the vacant sofa, following Jane's fixed, stunned gaze. He set the tray down, and poured a cup of tea for Hermione and Jane. 'Mione, why is your mum staring at the sofa?' he asked softly, under the clatter of the spoon on china. 'They just took Dad away,' Hermione said tightly. 'Right before you got here. He was lying on the sofa.' 'Mum's coming later. With food.' 'I don't think I'll be hungry.' Hermione handed Jane the cup of tea. Jane automatically raised it to her lips and sipped the liquid. 'It's what Mum does. At least if anyone comes by, we'll have food to offer.' 'Good point,' Hermione said tiredly. She looked at the clock on the mantle. It was barely twelve-thirty. God, it feels like I've been up for hours… she thought, when in fact, she had only been up for less than two hours. She folded herself to the floor at Jane's feet, and leaned her head against Jane's knees. 'Hermione?' Jane's plaintive voice cut through the heavy silence. 'What am I going to do?' Molly knocked softly on the back door of the Granger house. She was furtively levitating a box filled with casseroles, pasties, and biscuits. Ron quickly opened the door, and took the box from Molly. 'Merlin, Mum, how much do you think we'll need?' 'You ought to have something for after the funeral,' she said crisply. 'Mum, I can do that,' Ron protested quietly. 'I know you can, dear, but I just wanted to help. You'll have a lot to see to this week without worrying about food.' Ron set the box down on the counter in the kitchen, and began to put the items in the refrigerator. 'Thanks, Mum.' Molly set her handbag on the counter and rummaged inside for a moment. 'Here.' She handed Ron a small drawstring bag. 'It's got a few vials of Sleeping potion.' Molly bit her lip. 'You might want to save one for after the funeral,' she advised. 'For Jane.' Ron nodded, tucking the bag in his pocket. 'I'll do that.' 'You can put it in some tea or something else,' Molly added. Hermione heard the sibilant murmur of voices from the kitchen, and followed the sound. Molly's head turned when she saw Hermione's pale, drawn face in the doorway. Molly said nothing, but held out her arms, and Hermione gratefully fell into them, letting Molly enfold her in a tight embrace. Jane and Hermione sat at the table in the kitchen, picking at the vegetable soup Molly had brought earlier. Neither of them felt like eating, but Ron insisted they each at least try to eat something. Jane shoved the bowl to the middle of the table and pushed her chair away from the table. 'I'm sorry, Ron. I know you went to a lot of trouble…' She gestured to her uneaten soup. 'I just…' She left the kitchen. Hermione watched Jane leave the room, and stirred her own soup. It was making her stomach turn. She knew Ron was watching her – watching every failed attempt to lift the spoon to her mouth. She forced herself to eat a few mouthfuls of soup. Hermione knew it was good. Ron's soup was almost as good as Molly's, but at this moment, it might was well have been one of Madam Pomfrey's more heinous potions. Hermione laid her spoon on the table and silently cleared her and Jane's bowls, avoiding Ron's censorious gaze. 'I'm going to go check on Mum,' she said, and slipped out of the kitchen.

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She searched the house for Jane, beginning in the sitting room. Jane wasn't there. Hermione went upstairs, and opened the door to her parent' bedroom. The bed was neatly made and Richard's wedding ring lay on the night table on his side of the bed, next to the book he'd been reading. Jane wasn't there. Hermione pulled the door closed and rubbed her throbbing forehead. She saw a narrow band of light under the door of the spare bedroom. Hermione pushed the door open, and peered around the gap. She found Jane curled on one side of the bed. 'Mum?' Jane wrapped her arms around her knees. 'I just can't sleep in there. Not now.' Hermione curled next to Jane, facing her. 'I can't say I blame you.' Jane sighed and her hand stroked the curls from Hermione's face. 'Thursday. At St. Giles. We'll start making phone calls tomorrow. Put a notice in the paper on Monday, I suppose.' 'Molly said they would come.' 'That's nice of her and Arthur.' A slight grin drifted across Hermione's face. 'Not just Molly and Arthur, Mum. All of them. From Arthur all the way down to James.' She reached to clasp her mother's small, cold hand between her own. 'Say what you want about the Weasleys, but they don't do anything in half measures…' Hermione looked up at her mother. Jane had fallen asleep, her hand still cradled between her daughter's. Hermione didn't want to risk waking her, so she lay still, and eventually sleep claimed her as well. Ron wasn't hungry, either. He tried to eat a bowl of soup, but every time he put a spoon of soup in his mouth, it seemed to turn to sawdust. Sighing, he Vanished the soup in his bowl, and washed the dishes. He looked at his watch, and his mouth opened slightly in shock. It was still early, but it felt like midnight. He trudged upstairs, wanting nothing more than to fall into bed with his wife. When he reached the second floor of the house, he frowned at the spill of light coming from the spare bedroom. He went to look in the room, and pulled up short at the sight of his wife and mother-in-law sound asleep on the bed. Ron remembered what it was like after Fred had died. George wouldn't sleep in his old room for weeks. He slept in Percy's old room. Ron quietly opened a cupboard in the hallway, and found a spare duvet. He took it into the room, and spread it over Jane and Hermione. Ron bent over Hermione and gently kissed her on the corner of her mouth. Ron switched off the lamp next to the bed, and crept from the room. He went into Hermione's childhood bedroom, and eased on the bed. He felt a hundred years old. And incredibly guilty. Ron was grateful both his parents were still alive. He couldn't even try to imagine the pain Hermione experienced today. He didn't want to. Ron untied the laces of his battered trainers. They were the ones he wore at the shop. He let them drop from his feet, and fell back into the bed, fully dressed. Hermione woke up and looked around in confusion. Jane was still sleeping, but with a look of strain on her features. Hermione slowly sat up, so she didn't jar the bed, and noticed the duvet covering both of them. Where did this come from? she thought, bewildered, before rubbing her burning eyes. Ron must have done it. She pushed the duvet away from her legs, and tucked it back around her mother. Hermione stumbled into her bedroom, and found Ron sprawled across the bed, his feet dangling over the edge. She lightly touched his hand, and his eyes opened. 'I wasn't asleep,' he whispered, swinging his feet to the bed, and scooting over so Hermione could settle on the bed. She shivered as she lay down. 'Are you cold, hen?' he asked. 'Not really,' she said. Ron pulled her against his body, tucking her head under his chin. 'How's your mum?'

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'Sleeping. She won't go into their bedroom.' 'I wouldn't think so.' 'Service will be Thursday morning.' 'I'll run by the Burrow tomorrow morning and let Mum know. She'll take care of everyone else.' 'We'll need clothes.' 'I'll go get them tomorrow, too.' Hermione pulled back from Ron a bit. She was getting hot. 'There's a black dress in the back of the wardrobe. It's sleeveless. Looks like something from Breakfast at Tiffany's.' 'Breakfast at where?' 'Sorry… No frame of reference. It's a plain, sleeveless dress. Zips up the back, has a belt.' She felt Ron nod in understanding. 'Your suit, a shirt and tie. Tie color won't matter, I guess.' 'You'll need shoes,' Ron reminded her. 'Unless you intend to wear your trainers…' 'Anything black with a heel.' 'If you don't like it, I can always go back.' 'It won't matter, Ron.' 'If you say so.' Ron began to stroke her hair. Hermione's shivers evolved into outright trembling. She began to shake from the strain of trying to hold back the sobs that she had shoved back all day. Ron pulled his wand from his pocket and aimed a Silencing charm at the bedroom door. 'Go ahead, hen, let it out.' Hermione began to cry. Just a few sniffles at first; then as quickly as a summer storm, she began to sob outright, hands fisted in the front of Ron's shirt. They seemed to rip from her throat. Ron's arms tightened around her, and he wanted very much to cry with her. It was a luxury he didn't have right now. Hermione sat in a front pew at St. Giles church. She felt Ron's hand slide around hers, and gently squeeze it. She stared at the simple coffin, bearing her father's remains. After all she had said and done since the age of twelve, she knew witches and wizards didn't necessarily leave. Not spiritually, anyway. They lived on somehow. As ghosts, or in Harry's case as a Patronus. She knew they were there. 'Does it work for Muggles?' she asked idly. 'Does what?' 'Do they live on, like we do?' 'They do,' Ron replied with more certainty than he felt. Hermione heard a rustling sound, and twisted around to see Molly and Arthur at the head of a line of Weasleys. Everyone. Even Andromeda and Teddy, whose hair was a drab, subdued sandy brown. They filled an entire pew. Hermione noticed the twins and James even seemed unnaturally subdued today. She saw how uncomfortable Molly and Arthur looked in their seldom-worn Muggle clothing, even though they tried very hard not to show it, and felt a rush of gratitude and love for them, that they would do this for her. Most of the service passed by in a blur. She was conscious of Ron's arm around her shoulder and Jane's cold fingers in her hand. And her father's coffin. She felt Ron's arm leave her body, and looked up to see him help shoulder the coffin. He was in the front, and she could clearly see the grief etched on his normally cheerful face. He blinked and tears dripped down his face. Hermione was startled. Ron had been so composed the past week that the sight of his unheeded tears cut her more deeply than anything else had that week.

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If Ron had finally indulged in his own sorrow, it must be real. 'Whoare all these people?' Hermione's older cousin William lounged in a chair in the sitting room, languidly sipping his tea. 'I'm not sure,' said his mother, Jane's older sister, Pam. Pam eyed them all with a bit of suspicion. There were an awful lot of them, and one of them with a badly scarred face wore his hair in a ponytail and a strange-looking earring dangled from an ear. One of them didn't even have an ear. Another bore several burn scars on the backs of his hands. And still another had an odd-looking scar on his forehead. 'Do you think they've been in some sort of accident?' George overheard the conversation. 'You could say that,' he said, keeping a firm grip on Jacob, lest he take out his wand and hex Hermione's relatives. Hermione came in, bearing more biscuits and a fresh pot of tea. 'You know them, Hermione?' William asked, jerking his head at the assembled Weasleys. Ron had followed Hermione into the sitting room, and his head flew up at the tone in William's voice. It reminded them both unpleasantly of Draco Malfoy. 'They're my husband's family,' she told William stonily. Hermione stepped back into Ron. 'You remember my husband?' she asked coldly. William, remembering his manners, after a sharp jab in the ribs from Pam, stood up to greet Ron, and blanched a bit when he realized Ron towered over him by nearly a foot. William sat back down and turned to his mother, muttering when James began to fuss, which set off Fred and Jacob, too. 'You'd think they'd have the decency to leave the midgets at home,' he said darkly. 'Sod off, William,' Hermione said tightly, between clenched teeth. 'I'll thank you to remember this is my mother's house, and those are my nephews, and if you can't remember to treat them with decency, you can leave.' She turned on her heel and stalked to the back garden. Richard's manky football lay neglected in a corner. Hermione kicked her shoes off, and began to carefully dribble the ball across the bricked in area of the garden. She could hear her father's patient voice as he tried to teach her the basics in footie. She didn't hear the back door slam and jumped in mild alarm when she heard Teddy speak. 'I'm sorry about your dad, Hermione.' She stopped dribbling the ball, breathing hard. 'Thanks, Teddy,' she said, passing the ball to him. He caught it neatly, his hands behind his back. 'He was really nice to me.' 'He really liked you. He was really looking forward to watching the World Cup with you next summer.' Teddy's big grey eyes widened. 'Really?' he whispered. Hermione sat on the grass. 'Really.' Teddy toed the ball up to his chest and began to bounce it on his knee. 'Harry says… Dads don't… Ever leave… You…' he said distractedly, counting the bounces. 'Harry would know,' Hermione agreed. Teddy gave the ball one final bounce and deftly caught it midair. 'I wanted to wear my hair Man U red today, but Gran said it had to be normal. 'Cause of the Muggles.' Hermione held her arms out, and Teddy dropped into her lap. 'You know what would make me happy?' she whispered conspiratorially to him. 'What?' 'Man U red hair. And sod the Muggles.' She gave Teddy a hard hug. 'It would make my dad happy, too.' Teddy grinned, and Hermione could see the traces of Remus as a Marauder on his face. His eyes unfocused and his hair slowly changed from sandy brown to bright red. Hermione planted a kiss on top of Teddy's head. 'Thank you.'

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Ron hugged his parents before they Apparated home. The rest of the family had gone home earlier to put the children to bed. Molly had insisted on staying to help clean up the house, which she did by magic as soon as the Grangers' Muggle relations had left the house. He slowly pulled off the tie that he had loosened earlier and found the suit jacket he had shed when they came inside the house after the funeral. Jane had excused herself when her sister and sodding nephew had finally left, and gone to bed. Hermione was still out in the back garden. Ron went to see how she was doing. She must be exhausted. He found her sitting on a bench, in one of the corners of the garden, under a trellis arch. She looked up blearily, a nearly empty bottle of wine on the grass next to her feet. 'Ron!' she said gaily. Ron frowned and pulled his wand out. 'Lumos,' he whispered, holding the wand's lit tip over Hermione's face. 'You're sloshed, hen.' Hermione carefully stood up. 'No, I'm not. I'm just a bit squiffy.' Ron bit his lip so he didn't chuckle. 'If you're using the word "squiffy", hen, you're drunk. Plastered, even.' 'Honestly,' she huffed. 'Dad always said you weren't drunk if you could find your bum with your own hands.' 'Oh, he did, did he?' Ron couldn't keep the grin from his face. Drunk Hermione was rather amusing. 'Yep. Not in front of Mum, though.' 'I would think not,' Ron murmured. Hermione's hands wandered around Ron's backside, groping for his bottom. She found it and squeezed it firmly with both hands. 'Um, Mione? I hate to break it to you, but that's not your bum, hen. It's mine.' 'We are married,' she informed him loftily. 'It's my bum. Legally in Muggle and Wizarding law.' 'That might be a bit of a stretch,' Ron protested. Hermione's lips met the skin at his throat exposed by the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. 'Mione, what are you doing?' 'Nothing,' she said innocently, her hands slipping to the front of his trousers, working on the belt buckle. 'That's hardly nothing,' he said, gasping as her hands delved into his boxers. 'Please, Ron? Please?' Hermione begged. 'I just need to feel something… Something other than the way I've been feeling for days…' Ron's hand came up to cup the back of her head. He was almost about to refuse, when her hands began to work their, well, magic. He picked her up, wrapping her legs around his waist, and took her place on the bench. He privately agreed it was better than the morass of grief they had been wading through. Even if it was just temporary. She's asleep, Ron sighed to himself. Afterwards, they sat companionably on the bench, sharing the rest of the bottle of wine. Hermione leaned against his shoulder, and trailed off, mid-sentence. Ron looked down and warily pushed her hair out of her eyes, and saw her face relax into the expression she wore when sleeping. He cautiously picked her up, his wand in one hand. He used the wand to open the back door, and Hermione's bedroom door, gingerly laying her on the bed. He turned to the small box Molly had brought the other day. A Hangover potion was in there, along with a few others. He pulled it out and set it on the night table. She might need it tomorrow morning. A/N: I put the wrong name of the rose in Ch.7 - Walk the Line. It's supposed to be Gentle Hermione. I've edited the chapter for that, and put the correct name in this one. Also... I really, really hated to write the last chapter... I dreaded it, because I love writing Richard Granger. I know how JKR felt when she had to kill off Sirius or Remus...

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TEN – Whatever Gets You Through Today

Ron reached out to slam a hand on the alarm clock and make it stop its monotonous buzzing. He lay with his face buried in his pillow for a moment before he turned his head and scowled at the alarm clock. Then he remembered the Hogwarts Express would arrive late that afternoon, and the shop would have students queued up outside the door and down the street, buying things for their summer holidays. He pushed the bedclothes back, and sat up. Hermione was still asleep. He considered and immediately rejected waking her. She was still pale, with bluish smudges under her eyes. She had been that way since Richard's funeral more than a month ago. The last time Ron remembered seeing her look than wan, aside from the year searching for Horcruxes, was in their third year when she used a Time-Turner to get to all her classes. She seemed to sleep a lot these days. He often came home from the shop, and found her sound asleep on the sofa, a book on her chest. She went to bed soon after dinner and he now woke before she did on weekends. She wasn't eating, either. Mostly she just pushed the food around her plate. He didn't say anything to her, because the look on her face when she pushed the plate away, all but daring Ron to say something, made him keep his mouth shut. Hermione could be tetchy when she was upset about something, and Ron didn't feel like being the target. Ron sighed and carefully swung out of bed. He rubbed his hands over his face as he ambled into the bathroom. He closed the door with another sigh, and turned on the water. Eggshells, he thought. I'm walking on eggshells. He leaned against the closed bathroom door, wondering if he was going to be able to keep it up much longer. Not that Hermione was being difficult, really. Quite the opposite. She was too quiet. And it was starting to grate on Ron's nerves. He was used to the sound of Hermione's voice. Ron hadn't realized how much until he realized she wasn't talking much. Ron shook himself and pushed off the bathroom door. He ducked in and out of the shower, then stood at the sink, with a towel wrapped around his waist, trying to shave without cutting himself. He hung up the towel and quietly walked back into the bedroom, and quickly dressed. It was almost ten, and he had promised George he'd be at the shop at ten. He crouched by Hermione's side of the bed, worry creasing a faint line between his eyebrows. She was sleeping, still. Hermione had never been one to have a lie-in. Even if she didn't have to be up, she woke up early nonetheless. True, she often would stay in bed, but she usually had some large book propped on her knees. Books that were so dry, Ron felt like it could be a miniature piece of the desert between book covers. Ron watched her sleep for a few moments. She didn't look like her sleep was restful, as the lines of strain that had appeared last month still etched across her delicate features. Hating to do it, but needing to, Ron ran a fingertip down the side of Hermione's face. 'Mione?' he said softly. 'Ennnnnnnnn,' she grumbled, turning her face away. 'Mione? Come on, can you wake up a little for me?' Hermione turned her face back around and opened her eyes. Ron's brows knit in a deeper frown. Her brown eyes looked sunken and bruised. 'What?' 'I'm supposed to go in today. We're staying open later for the students coming back on the train for the summer.' 'Okay,' Hermione said listlessly. Ron bit his lip and ran a hand over her hair. 'Do you want me to stay home, hen?' Hermione shook her head. 'No, it's all right. I was going to go see Mum later today anyway.' Ron leaned forward and kissed her cheek, letting his head fall on the pillow next to hers. 'Are you sure?'

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'I'm sure.' Ron reluctantly stood and pulled the bedclothes around her shoulders. 'If you need anything…' 'I know.' Hermione's eyes filled with tears, and she quickly blinked them away. 'I'll be back later,' Ron whispered, as he stooped and gave her a quick kiss. Hermione's hand reached out for his, and she gratefully squeezed it. 'See you then.' Ron left the bedroom and shortly, Hermione heard the audible pop of Ron's Disapparition. Hermione rolled over and curled into a tight ball around her burning stomach. 'Ugh,' she groaned. She knew she was still reeling from Richard's unexpected death, and on top of it all, she had some sort of bug. Hermione whimpered softly. She allowed herself, for just a moment, to want her mummy. When Hermione had been ill as a child, Jane would bring her orange juice and ginger tea. Richard read to her. Milton, Shakespeare, Forster, Bronte, Austen, Dante, Eliot… Even a few Americans – Salinger, Harper Lee, Damon Runyon, Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Twain. Hermione grinned at the memory of Richard trying to speak in that street-wise dialect of Nathan Detroit and his cronies. The sound of Richard's voice trying to read 'The Idyll of Miss Sarah Brown' echoed through her memory, and she had to use the edge of the sheet to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Hermione heaved a sigh and forced herself to get up, like she had every day for the past three weeks. She took a shower, and dressed in whatever came to her hand first. It took too much energy to try and make a decision. She twisted her damp hair into a haphazard plait, and pulled on her trainers. She went into the kitchen for a glass of water, and for once in the last fifteen months, ignored the calendar on the wall. Hermione leaned moodily against the counter, looking out the window into the back garden. The small plot she and Ron had was overflowing. Ron had planted the rosebushes Richard gave them in March. He spent hours out there, she knew. Just sitting in the grass in the shadow of the roses. Hermione put the glass in the sink. She would wash it later. Ron wouldn't be home until nearly nine anyway. The day the train brought the students back for the summer holiday was always busy at the joke shop, and Ron and George made an extra effort to be open late that day. She stood in the middle of the sitting room, contemplating her options. Apparate or take the train. Neither one was particularly appealing. And both made her want to retch right now. Hermione made a face and went back into the bedroom to grab her wand from her night table. She snorted when she realized that nearly ten years after the war, she, Ron, and Harry all still slept with their wands within reach. Harry had slept with his under his pillow for nearly a year afterwards. Hermione went back into the sitting room and turned. When she opened her eyes, she was standing in the back garden of her parents' house next to the shed. The sight and scent of the riot of roses slammed into her senses. Apparating had made her dizzy, and for a moment, Hermione stood still, taking slow deep breaths, in an attempt to regain her equilibrium. Richard would haunt her mercilessly if she vomited in his rosebushes. Hermione walked into the quiet house. It still didn't feel right to come over and not see Richard up to his elbows in the roses. Jane still played music, but she didn't dance in the kitchen with Richard. Hermione paused in the doorway to the sitting room. His glasses were still lying on the coffee table. If she didn't know any better, Hermione might have thought he had merely forgotten them there. She heard a soft thump from upstairs, and went upstairs to investigate. Hermione stopped on the landing, confused. The doors to her parents' bedroom and the spare bedroom stood open. 'Mum?' 'I'm in here,' Jane's muffled voice replied. Hermione followed the sound of her mother's voice into her parents' bedroom. Jane was half inside a cupboard, removing clothing from it. 'What are you doing?' Hermione asked suspiciously. Jane pulled her head out of the cupboard, and gazed at Hermione, her arms full of jumpers. 'Oh… I'm…' Jane shifted uncomfortably, and left the room, without giving Hermione an answer. Hermione's eyes narrowed and she followed Jane into the spare room. Jane stood in front of the cupboard, neatly stacking the

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jumpers in it. She smoothed a non-existent wrinkle from the topmost jumper. 'Mum, those are your clothes.' 'Yes, they are,' Jane answered tiredly. 'Why are you moving your clothes in here?' Jane turned around, and faced Hermione. 'You don't look well,' she said conversationally. 'Don't change the subject, Mum.' Jane took a few steps towards Hermione. 'Really, Hermione, you don't look very well.' Hermione tamped down her growing impatience. 'We're not talking about me. Why are you moving your clothes?' she repeated. Jane closed the cupboard door gently. 'I haven't slept in the other bedroom since the night before your father…' Jane swallowed. 'Died,' she finished nearly inaudibly. 'I just can't…' Hermione nodded. She remembered what it had been like after Fred died. George refused to even set foot in the flat over the shop for more than a year, and that had been only after she and Ron had moved into it. He wouldn't even sleep in his old room at the Burrow, preferring to sleep in what had been Percy's old room. 'Have you gotten everything?' Jane's eyes flicked to the open door behind her daughter. 'Yes.' Hermione walked out of the room, and went to the room where her parents had slept. She flipped the switch and turned the light off. She started to close the door, and stopped. Hermione took one look around the room, and carefully closed the door, as if she would wake someone if she closed the door too loudly. It seemed to echo deafeningly in her ears. 'How's she doing?' George stood in the back room, boxing up Whiz-Bangs. 'Who?' Ron didn't look up from the Daydream Charms he was packaging. George snorted. 'Who else?' 'Fine.' Ron tried not to squirm as the back of his neck grew warm. Damn it. Always does that when I'm lying, he muttered to himself. George raised an eyebrow as the back of Ron's neck turned five different shades of red. He refrained from commenting. He knew all too well that "fine" covered a lot of territory. "Fine" meant anything from, "Well, I still sob into my pillow at night, but at least I've stopped looking for him at the dinner table," to "Really, I'm doing all right, just bloody leave me alone, will you?" Besides, George had seen what Hermione looked like at lunch Sunday. She looked better than he had a month after Fred died, but that wasn't saying much. Anybody with eyes could see she wasn't eating. The last time George had seen Hermione that thin was after the battle. He continued to pack a few more boxes, glancing at Ron from the corner of his eye. 'How are you?' 'What?' Ron stopped, his wand hovering above a pile of neatly packed Daydreams. 'How are you?' George repeated. Ron set his wand down, and noticed his hand was shaking. He had been so busy trying to take care of Hermione and Jane, then just Hermione that he hadn't really stopped to think about it. 'I'm fine,' he said, wincing at how false it sounded. George snorted. 'It's okay to grieve him, you know.' 'What?' George sighed. 'Richard. It's okay. Nobody would fault you for it.' George looked down at the fireworks scattered on the table. 'Not me, anyways,' he said softly.

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Ron went back to the Daydreams, watching them fly into their packages silently for a moment. 'I don't know,' he said. 'I don't know how I feel.' He Banished the packages to their shelf and started began working on a pile of sweets to put in Skiving Snackboxes. He noticed George was watching him. 'Really, George, I'm fine. I guess.' George went back to his Whiz-Bangs, unconvinced. He didn't say anything, knowing Ron would talk when he had sorted himself out. Ron could brood on something for ages. Ron cleared his throat. 'I keep imagining. What if it had been Dad? Or Mum? How would I feel? And I can't imagine it. I can't even imagine what she's feeling. I can only guess. And I really don't want to guess what kind of agony she's going through.' Ron shifted his shoulders, feeling like his robes had shrunk. 'I just know that there's this empty space,' he said thickly. 'No disrespect to Mum or Dad,' he added quickly. 'They wouldn't begrudge you this,' George grunted. 'I know.' Ron exhaled through his nose. 'I don't know how to say it, George.' George nearly flinched at the waves of frustrated helplessness and sorrow radiating from his younger brother. 'You don't have to.' Mimicking Ron's actions after Fred's death, George pulled Ron into a fierce hug. He pulled back slightly, Ron's head cradled between his hands, tilting it so he forced Ron to meet his eyes. 'I am sorry, Ron.' Tears welled in Ron's eyes and he attempted to blink them back, but he rested his head on George's shoulder and wept, knowing of all people, George would understand. Hermione followed Jane into the back garden. 'Thank Ron for me, will you?' Jane said over her shoulder. 'What for?' Jane stopped and Hermione nearly collided with her. 'For coming over the past couple of weeks and doing the maintenance on the roses.' Hermione felt her mouth drop open. 'He has?' 'Once or twice a week, after work.' Hermione blinked a few times. 'I didn't know,' she said faintly. Jane pulled a chair into the sunshine. 'You really don't look well, Hermione,' she commented. 'I don't feel very well,' Hermione responded. 'I think I caught something from one of the babies a few Sundays ago,' she continued, waving off her mother's concern. 'And Dad…' She dropped to the grass to sit at her mother's feet, leaning against Jane's knees. 'How are you doing it?' 'Doing what?' Jane's hand rested on the back of Hermione's head. 'Getting up every morning.' 'Hermione, your father lived his life. It would dishonor his memory to not live mine.' Jane's hand began to absently stroke Hermione's tumbled hair. 'It's not been easy, and I hate going to bed alone and that nobody comes into the kitchen to steal my tea while I'm doing my Sunday crossword. And it's so bloody quiet. He was always playing music, or out here talking to those roses. I miss him so much.' She was quiet for a moment. 'But he would hate it if he knew I was maudlin. So I get up, and get dressed, do my crossword in ink, and leave half the tea in my cup. And I just keep breathing.' Hermione sighed and yawned widely. 'I can barely haul myself out of bed.' Jane tipped Hermione's chin up, so she could examine her face. 'You look like you haven't been sleeping, darling.' 'But I do,' insisted Hermione. 'Seems like that's all I do lately.' Jane squinted at her daughter's face. 'Have you seen anyone? A Healer? Is that what you call them?' 'Yes, Mum, and no, I haven't seen one. I'm just tired.' Hermione waved off her mother's concerns.

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'How much did you sleep last night?' 'I don't know. I went to bed early –' 'How early?' Hermione frowned. 'I don't remember. Eight-thirty, nine, maybe. I woke up at ten.' 'That's over twelve hours,' Jane stated flatly. 'Was it just last night?' 'No,' Hermione said guiltily. 'It's been like that for a few weeks.' She wilted under her mother's stern glance. 'If I don't feel better by Monday, I'll try to go next week, I promise.' Hermione sighed, and closed her eyes, letting the sun wash over her skin. 'Mind if I spend the day here? Ron won't be home until late.' 'Of course I don't.' Jane looked down at the top of her daughter's head. 'Anything you want to do in particular?' 'Not really.' 'Just – how does that expression go? – hang out?' Amusement colored Jane's voice. 'Yeah,' Hermione sighed. 'That's exactly it.' By Wednesday, Hermione still wasn't feeling better. The intermittent churning in her stomach wasn't going away. It was getting worse. Remembering her promise to her mother, she went to St. Mungo's that afternoon. The main welcome witch was just as pleasant as always, and impatiently sent Hermione to Shanti's office. Less than thirty minutes later, Hermione walked out, and blindly went to the Underground station. She rode to her stop, her unseeing eyes fixed on the window opposite her, automatically getting off when the train reached Bloomsbury. She opened the door to the flat and slowly sat on the edge of the sofa. It was there that Ron found her when he came home a few hours later. Ron took one look at her white face, her eyes wide, with a rim of white showing around her dark irises. He knelt in front of her, taking her cold hands between his. 'Mione?' She blinked, shaking her reverie. She looked at him, with an odd quizzical expression on her face. The hair on the back of Ron's neck began to prickle uncomfortably. 'Hermione, what's wrong?' he asked calmly as he could. She merely shook her head. Ron felt his pulse begin to pound in his ears. His hand gripped hers even more tightly. Hermione pulled one of her hands from his grasp, and laid it on his cheek. 'It's our turn.' A/N: Writing scenes like that between George and Ron make me a little misty around the edges...   'It's our turn.'

ELEVEN – Beautiful Day

Ron stared at her blankly for a few moments. 'It's our turn? Our turn for what?' Then it dawned on him. 'It's our turn?' Hermione nodded. Ron slumped and buried his face in Hermione's lap, his arms going around her waist. Hermione blinked in surprise. What ever reaction she had expected out of Ron, this was not what she'd had in mind. His shoulders started to shake, and his arms tightened around her waist a bit more. 'Ron?' He shook his head, and she stroked the file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Burning%20Down%20the%20House.htm[26/02/2011 15:35:50]

back of his neck. 'Ron?' she asked uncertainly. When he finally lifted his face, she was speechless. He was laughing while tears ran down his face. Ron began to stammer. 'B-b-b-but how?' Hermione let out a choked laugh, and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. 'Ron, if you have to ask how, we've got a long evening ahead of us.' Ron blushed. 'I mean I know how it happened, but when…? We haven't done anything since…' He trailed off, eyes widening. 'Was it then?' 'It had to be,' Hermione said. 'We'd been so busy the couple of weeks before that; we barely had the energy to kiss each other hello when we came home from work.' Ron rose on his knees, so his face was level with Hermione's. 'It's our turn,' he whispered, before kissing her, holding her face between his hands like it was a piece of delicate porcelain. Hermione wiggled her bare toes in the grass. It was starting to get chilly, but she wasn't ready to go inside yet. Ron was stretched out on the blanket next to her, a small smile playing on his lips. She looked up at the darkening sky through the roses. 'Do you think Dad knows?' 'Yeah, I do.' Ron reached up and snapped a rosebud off the branch over his head, and offered it to his wife. 'He's probably huffing that we're still too young.' Hermione took the rosebud, and inhaled the scent. 'I miss him.' 'So do I.' Ron propped himself up on an elbow. 'He was the only person who could beat me at chess, you know.' Hermione grinned. 'Keeps you humble to get your arse kicked every now and then, doesn't it?' 'Yeah. I'm still smarting from that game we played on your birthday. Which one was it? Nineteen?' 'That's the one. You just looked at Dad like he'd grown two extra heads, tipped your king over, and asked for a rematch the next Saturday.' 'I thought I was going to wet myself when I went to ask for permission to marry you.' 'Wait.' Hermione held a hand over Ron's mouth. 'You asked my father for permission to marry me?' 'Of course I did!' 'But why?' Ron shook his head. 'Because I respected your father. Your mum, too. And there was no way I was going to do something like propose marriage to their only daughter without their permission.' Ron lay back down on the blanket. 'He was pretty flabbergasted by it, too. Said he didn't see why I was talking to him, since you were the one who was going to make the final decision.' 'Pretty archaic, if you ask me,' she said, throwing a roll at his head. Ron fielded it without looking, and snorted, as he tore a piece off and ate it. 'That's what your mum said.' Ron crammed the rest of the roll into his mouth. 'It did explain a lot about you, hen.' 'Excuse me?' Hermione said archly. 'All those defects in your character,' Ron laughed. He was having a hard time keeping a straight face. 'Far too independentminded.' He gave up, and curled up on his side, clutching his stomach, roaring with laughter. Hermione gasped and began to pelt Ron with grapes. 'Too independent-minded, am I?' Ron, still giggling, reached for her wrists, and pulled her down, so she lay across his chest. 'Thank Merlin for that, too. One of

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the things I love about you.' He tucked a curl behind her ear. 'I hope if we have a girl, she's just like you.' Hermione kissed the tip of Ron's nose. 'So you want her to be an insufferable know-it-all, then?' 'Yep. I happen to like insufferable know-it-alls.' 'And you want her to punch someone like Malfoy on the nose?' 'The most brilliant thing you've ever done. If I didn't love you before that, I certainly loved you from then on.' 'Flatterer,' Hermione smirked. 'If you think that's going to get you in my knickers, well, it worked.' 'Totally my intention all along,' Ron vowed solemnly. 'Tell everyone Sunday?' he said, changing the subject. 'Much easier than trying to tell them one by one. It would take weeks.' 'When were you planning on telling Jane?' 'Thought maybe Saturday afternoon?' Ron musingly ran a fingertip over Hermione's wedding ring. 'Why don't we ask her to come to Sunday lunch? She hasn't been since before… Before…' Ron bit his lip. He didn't want to destroy the mood. 'Dad died?' Hermione finished delicately. 'It's okay to say it. Won't make it hurt any less to not say it.' 'Yeah.' Ron turned her palm up and lightly kissed it. 'I wish he could see this.' 'What makes you think he can't?' 'Hermione?' 'Ron?' 'I love you.' 'I love you, too.' Hermione leaned down and kissed Ron. Ron lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. They were going to have a baby. He hadn't thought it would be as terrifying as this. In the space of a few hours, he had gone from elation to fear. A baby. Amazing how something so small could make you so scared. It wasn't like he'd never been around babies. Everyone had their turn babysitting Victoire, Isabella, Parker, Maddie, or James for at least a few hours. But even Ron had to admit to himself Harry was right. It wasn't the same as having one with you all the time. So helpless and defenseless. Dependant on you for everything. It made Ron break out into a cold sweat just thinking about it. Even worse – what if it was a girl? That just made Ron's stomach hurt. What the bloody hell did he know about girls? Sure, he'd spent most of his childhood with Ginny, but Ginny hadn't been a girl. She preferred de-gnoming the garden to playing with dolls, played Quidditch with more intensity than possibly anyone Ron knew, with the exception of Oliver Wood and Harry. Ginny wasn't the weepy type and was loads tougher than most, if not all, of their brothers, himself included. She didn't even like pink. She claimed the color made her gag as a child. Ron squeezed his eyes shut. He knew Hermione liked to tease him that he had more than the emotional range of a teaspoon these days, but to be honest, girls still stumped him. He rolled over and laid a hand over Hermione's stomach. 'I'll try my best not to screw up too badly,' Ron murmured. 'Just do one thing for me, all right? When you grow up, could you not take the mickey out of your old man too much for liking the file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Burning%20Down%20the%20House.htm[26/02/2011 15:35:50]

Cannons?' 'What are you smiling about?' George threw a box of Daydream Charms to Ron. 'What do you mean?' 'You've had this, I dunno, sort of half-smile on your face all day. Like the cat with the canary.' 'It's just a beautiful day today, George.' George glanced out the front window and snorted. It was raining heavily, and had been since shortly after they opened. 'You call that beautiful? We might as well close early today. It's been worse than dead all day.' 'Why don't you and Katie come over for dinner tonight, then?' 'Are you sure?' 'Yep. Bring the boys.' 'Oh, now I know you've gone daft. If you want to spend your evening with two rowdy toddlers.' 'I'll put Cushioning charms on the all corners and Toddler-Repelling charms on all the breakables.' 'Are you sure you want to go through all that trouble?' 'George, it's not that big a deal. Go on, go ask Katie.' George squinted at his youngest brother. 'What's gotten into you? You've been almost anti-social lately.' 'It's a good day, that's what.' Ron motioned for George to go, so George shrugged and turned, disappearing with a pop. Ron could hardly contain himself. He wanted to stand on the top of Westminster Abby and shout to all of London that he was going to be a father. But he had to wait for Sunday. It was like trying to wait for Christmas. George reappeared, an expression of relief warring with concern mixed on his face. 'It's all right with Katie. She's just thrilled she won't have to try to put anything together for dinner tonight, even if all you do is put out a plate of pumpkin pasties.' George frowned. 'I really hope that's not what you're planning.' Ron rolled his eyes. 'Of course not.' He jabbed a finger into his chest. 'This is me you're talking to.' 'Oh, right. Momentary lapse of concentration.' George picked up a few boxes of Daydream Charms. 'Are you sure it's okay with Hermione? She's looked a bit peaky lately.' 'Oh, she's fine.' Ron hid a grin while he threw a handful of rubbish to the Pygmy Puffs. 'She's just fine.' Katie dropped a heavily-laden bag next to the door of the flat. 'Are you sure this is all right?' she asked, trying to keep a firm grip on Jacob's wrist. 'No, Jacob. We don't grab the kitty,' she told her son, while he tried to make a grab for Crookshanks' bottle-brush tail. 'It's fine.' Hermione glanced at Crookshanks, lounging on the arm of the sofa. He had spent several years being hauled around and petted by first Teddy, then down the list of the various Weasley grandchildren and turned into a large ginger rug around children, allowing them to do pretty much anything they wanted, short of pulling his whiskers. 'And Crookshanks likes the attention.' She scratched the cat under his chin. 'Don't you, Crookshanks?' Crookshanks stretched his head out, eyes closing to slits, and purred with a deep, staccato rumble. Hermione knelt on the floor and held out a hand to Jacob. Jacob wriggled from his mother's grasp and zoomed to Hermione, large blue eyes fixed on Crookshanks. He reached up to pat the cat, and screeched with laughter when Crookshanks licked his hand. Not to be outdone by his twin, Fred dropped his stuffed dragon, and ran to investigate what Jacob was doing.

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Crookshanks lazily slunk off the sofa, and ambled around the sitting room, with the boys following closely behind him. He would stop every so often, and oh-so-casually wash a paw, and wait for the boys to pat him a few times, and then he was up and trotting slowly around the room. Hermione caught Katie's slightly anxious frown. 'It's all right. Victoire used to put bonnets and dresses on him, and he would just lie there and let her do it.' 'Oh, I'm not worried about Crookshanks. I'm sure he can take care of himself.' Katie waved off Hermione's concerns about the cat. 'I'm just not sure we should be here invading your evening like this.' 'Really, it's all right. It's been a bit too quiet around here lately,' Hermione said. 'How's your mum?' 'Doing all right. She's going to come to lunch on Sunday.' Hermione grew quiet, watching the twins play with her cat. She felt tears prickle behind her eyelids. It still didn't feel real, knowing that the scene playing before her would, in fact, become reality soon. All the weeks and months of waiting. It was over. 'Earth to Hermione…' Katie waved a hand in front of Hermione's unseeing eyes. 'Wha…?' 'You went somewhere for a while.' 'Just thinking.' Hermione pointed to the boys draped over Crookshanks' stomach, rubbing their faces against the fluffy fur. 'I'm looking forward to something like that.' 'Ha!' Katie huffed. 'You don't want two at a time, believe me. Oh, everyone tells you how lucky you are to get it all over with at once, but they fail to mention it's twice the nappies, twice the crying, twice the insanity, twice the feedings.' The corner of Katie's mouth twitched into a soft smile. 'I wouldn't trade it for anything. Especially when they're laughing like that. Or when they babble to each other, and you'd swear they were making up plans to create mayhem, but one will look up us with the sweetest smile, and it's most beautiful thing you've ever seen.' Katie leaned back, contemplating her sons. 'But you realize how very different they are, even as identical as they are. Jacob hates taking naps, and will fight you to the end. Fred will sleep all day if you let him. They smile differently. Jacob runs into something full-tilt and Fred will hang back and watch to see what happens to Jacob first.' Katie looked at Hermione sitting next to her. 'As great as it is, you're still grateful when they go to sleep. And they look so adorable and innocent in their cots, and it just makes you want to have another one.' Katie sighed, a dreamy look on her face. She shook her head, making the honey hued waves dance around her face. 'Then, one of them wakes up screaming bloody murder and all bets are off.' She grinned ruefully and leaned closer to Hermione. 'I'll tell you a secret, though. George, he's the biggest marshmallow when it comes to the boys. I swear he'd give them each the moon if he could.' Hermione sat at the table, watching Ron slice tomatoes. Every so often, she would sneak one from the pile he was about to add to the salad. 'Stop it,' he said mildly. 'Stop what?' she asked innocently. 'Stealing my tomatoes.' 'Fine,' she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. And she reached for a carrot slice, grinning cheekily at Ron. She glanced out the kitchen window. They were planning to eat lunch outside, and most of the family was in the back garden. 'So how are we going to do this?' Ron set the knife down, and gathered the tomatoes in his hands. 'I dunno,' he admitted. 'I was thinking about that last night.' Ron dropped the tomatoes on top of a mound of lettuce. 'Maybe we should just say it. None of that, "Hey, we have an announcement to make" rubbish.' 'So you're thinking something along the lines of, "Hey, Harry, could you pass me the potato salad, and oh, by the way, Hermione and I are going to have a baby?" Have you lost your mind?' Hermione glared at Ron.

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'Well, it's better than trying to find a lull in the conversation from the mob out there!' Ron pointed to the open window. A window neither of them realized was wide open, and the whole family could hear their increasingly heated conversation. 'If we had to wait for a good moment to tell them all you're pregnant, he'll be boarding the bloody train for Hogwarts!' 'How do you know it's going to be a "he", Ronald Weasley? It could be a "she" you know!' 'I know,' shouted Ron. They had pushed out their chairs, and were now standing nearly nose-to-nose. 'And why shouldn't we make a big deal out of this?' Angry tears formed in the corners of Hermione's eyes. 'We can finally tell the whole damn family we are having a baby!' The words dropped into the yawning silence. Even the little ones were cowed into silence by all the shouting. A silence that was only broken by Bill's stunned query of, 'What did you say?' Hermione and Ron's heads slowly turned to face the open window. Every single person from Arthur all the way down to James, including Andromeda and Teddy, was standing by the window, speechless, mouths open. Ron straightened his shoulders and grasped Hermione's hand. 'We're having a baby.'  

TWELVE – The Longest Time

Ron straightened his shoulders and grasped Hermione's hand. 'We're having a baby.'

Charlie stared in slack-jawed amazement for a moment before he began to laugh hysterically. 'Oh, stop it, Ron, you're killing me!' he choked between whoops of laughter. 'No, really. We're having a baby!' Ron protested. Bill cuffed Charlie on the back of the head. 'I think they're serious, you git. Shut up,' he hissed. 'You are serious, aren't you?' he said to Ron, in a louder voice. Ron gave up and nudged Hermione. ' You tell them,' he sighed. 'Oh, honestly,' she huffed. 'I'm pregnant. Due on February seventeenth. Any other questions?' 'No,' stated Harry emphatically. 'Anything else falls into the "too much information" category.' He shuddered dramatically. 'Oh, Hermione.' Jane rushed into the kitchen, followed by the rest of the family. She pulled Hermione into a tight embrace. 'I wish your father was here for this,' she said shakily into Hermione's hair. 'So do I, Mum.' After lunch, Victoire ran headlong down the back garden, and into Ron's knees. He swung the little girl into his arms, and blew a loud raspberry on her stomach, before she could protest. Ron slung the girl on his back, and she rested her chin on his shoulder. 'Hi, Uncle Ron,' she sang. 'Hiya, Vic. Where's Teddy?' 'He's got James,' she sighed. Victoire wasn't very thrilled with James. He took Teddy's attention away from her. At that moment, Teddy appeared, chasing a rapidly crawling James. James came to an abrupt halt next to Harry, and wrapped his chubby hands around his father's leg, and used it to leverage himself into a wobbly standing position. Satisfied James wouldn't be crawling about the garden unsupervised, Teddy looked up at Victoire. He held up the football he'd brought from home enticingly to Victoire. 'Want to go kick the ball around, Vic? It's World Cup standard,' he said proudly. The

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ball had been a birthday gift from Richard. Victoire's eyes narrowed suspiciously. She gave James the kind of scathing look Fleur reserved for things like pond scum and Dark wizards. 'Will he be there?' she asked, pointing an accusatory finger at James. Harry tugged one of Victoire's sunrise-hued plaits. They were coming undone. 'I've got him. You and Teddy go on and play.' Victoire pushed several strands of hair away from her face, leaving a dirty smudge on her cheek. 'Oh, all right,' she conceded with the air of a duchess and slid off Ron's back, grabbing the ball from Teddy's hands before taking off at a run for the paddock. 'Hey, Teddy?' Harry laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. Teddy looked up at him. 'You don't have to follow James around all day, you know.' 'Yeah, I know.' Teddy shrugged. 'I don't mind.' He trotted off after Victoire, his hair changing to match his Manchester United shirt. Harry watched Teddy join Victoire. 'I didn't get to say it earlier, but congratulations, mate.' 'Thanks.' Ron beamed. All of a sudden, James' grip slipped, and Harry let out a startled yelp. James sat down on his padded bottom, surprised, and burst into noisy wails. Several hairs lay bunched in his palm. Harry leaned down, and brushed off James' hand. 'Could you try not to use Daddy's leg as a support when you stand up while Daddy's wearing shorts?' Harry rubbed the reddened patch of skin on the back of his leg. He sat in the grass next to James, who crawled into his lap and snuffled into Harry's t-shirt. 'It's okay, James,' Harry murmured to his son, lightly rubbing his back. He looked up at Ron, who was trying not to laugh. 'I can't wait until your kid does something like that to you.' Ron folded himself into the grass next to Harry and James, watching while Harry rocked James a few times. James blinked sleepily a few times, blindly pushed his thumb into his mouth and fell asleep, draped over his father's chest. Harry leaned back against the trunk of the apple tree. 'Can I ask you something?' Ron asked quietly, not wanting to wake up James. 'Sure.' Harry sounded surprised. They hadn't bothered with permission to ask each other questions in over ten years. Ron pulled his knees into his chest. 'When do you stop feeling so scared?' he asked in a whisper. Harry looked down at James. He slowly stroked James' disordered hair. 'You don't,' he confessed. 'Ask any of them,' he said, pointing at the clump of men near the back door. 'They'll tell you.' 'You're joking!' 'I wish I was.' James moved restlessly, and Harry began to rock him a little, humming softly. He continued when James settled back into the utter laxness of deep sleep. 'It was just me and Gin for so long. And sure, I worried about her. I still do, even though she's a fully trained witch, but you know what I mean.' Harry glanced at Ron who nodded in understanding. There were a million things that could happen to them that had nothing to do with magic. One of them could get hit by a bus or a taxi in Muggle London trying to cross the street. 'It wasn't real for a while,' Harry said. 'I knew Ginny was pregnant, but she didn't really look different, and it wasn't until she started getting this curve that it hit me there was actually a baby in there.' Harry leaned down and gently kissed James' sleepflushed cheek. 'That's when I got really scared.' He grinned self-consciously. 'The day we brought him home, I was even more scared than any of the times I faced Riddle.' 'Blimey,' Ron breathed. 'I spent the whole first night getting up and going into his room. Just to check that he was still breathing.' 'I'll bet that just made Ginny thrilled beyond belief with you.' 'She was doing it, too.' Harry gazed at his son. 'They're so defenseless,' he said helplessly. 'The real challenge is going to be trying to figure out how to let him grow up without running behind him with a butterfly net,' he chuckled softly.

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A thought occurred to Ron as he watched Teddy and Victoire run through the paddock. 'Do you feel the same way about Teddy?' Harry hesitated. He shifted James a bit. 'It's hard to explain,' he told Ron apologetically. 'Try me.' Harry leaned his head against the tree trunk, and watched the clouds drift across the sky. 'I love him like he's my own son. The way your parents feel about me. Teddy was real from the beginning with me. I didn't get to worry about him in the abstract for several months like I did with James.' Ron shrugged. 'Makes sense.' Harry closed his eyes. 'What really scares me is the day he's going to ask about Remus and Tonks. And the day he gets angry at them for dying. Especially his mother.' Ron's eyebrows rose at the flash of guilt in Harry's eyes. He didn't press the issue. Ron woke up and winced at the light streaming through the bedroom window. He shut his eyes and patted the bed next to him, growing alarmed when he realized Hermione wasn't there. A clatter from the kitchen made him moan softly. He sat up and his head spun dangerously. Ron fell back into his pillow, and pulled the quilt over his face. He had been ambushed, in spite of his protests that he had heard all of it before. Arthur had insisted on his initiation into the "Dad" club, saying it was tradition. Ron had to admit it was a lot different now that he was the one facing fatherhood. Ron held his head in his hands and tried to sit up again. 'Ohhhhhhhh,' he moaned pitifully. He didn't drink very often, and the few shots he had drunk were making their presence known. 'Morning.' Hermione walked into the bedroom, levitating a tray laden with tea, toast, and a small vial. 'Mione, I swear, I only had three or four,' Ron whimpered. She snickered and set the tray on the bed. 'I know. Katie, Bronwyn, and I charmed the glasses to change the whisky to tea after four shots anyway.' She chuckled as she cracked the wax seal around the mouth of the vial with a thumbnail. 'You lot aren't very subtle about your boys' club initiation, you know.' She handed the vial to Ron. 'Here, drink this. You have to be at work in an hour.' 'Thanks.' Ron tiled the vial and drank the potion, making a face at the taste. It reminded him of Seamus' dirty socks in the dormitory. 'Ugh. Why do they all have to taste like manky laundry?' Hermione handed him a piece of toast and a cup of tea. 'You feel better, though, don't you?' Ron gingerly stretched, and sighed in relief when his head didn't feel like it was going to fall off. 'Yeah.' He took a sip of his tea. 'Mione?' 'Yes?' 'Are you scared?' 'Absolutely terrified.' 'Really?' Ron's mood brightened considerably. 'I start thinking…' Hermione settled against Ron with her own cup of tea. 'What if they're as thick as Crabbe or Goyle?' 'With your brains?' he scoffed. 'It could happen,' she insisted. 'It funny, though,' Ron mused, nibbling the toast in his other hand. 'I thought you'd be afraid by the idea of them being like Fred and George.' 'Huh. I didn't even think about that. But you know, all that things they had in the shop our sixth year, that was pretty

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advanced. So they weren't stupid.' 'I was thinking more along the lines of the pranks.' Ron remembered what a stickler Hermione could be for the rules at school. 'Oh, that.' Hermione nibbled a thumbnail for a moment. 'That could be a problem,' she said primly. 'We'll just have to make sure he or she knows our expectations before they go to school.' Ron looked at her sideways. 'He's only going to be at school with seven other Weasleys.' Ron set his cup on the night table and held up both hands. 'Mum and Dad's expectations that he doesn't get detention at all versus seven cousins.' Ron pretended to weigh them in his hands, the cousin side appearing heavier. 'That's a lot of peer pressure.' Ron glanced at the clock. 'Bloody hell! Is that the time?' 'Damn,' Hermione sighed, setting her cup down. 'Think I can skip the shower?' Ron asked desperately. Hermione sniffed delicately in his direction. 'No,' she said emphatically. 'Not unless you want to drive business away. You smell like the floor at the Hog's Head.' 'I'll see you at dinner.' Ron quickly kissed Hermione, and ran to the bathroom to shower for work. 'Harry?' Hermione stood uncertainly in the open door of Harry's office. 'Are you busy?' He had a stack of purple file folders on his desk and was occupied in perusing the file open in front of them. 'Not especially.' Harry stretched and closed the file, placing it on top of the others, then swept the stack into his desk drawer. 'What's up?' Hermione walked into the office and perched on a chair near Harry's desk. 'Your parents are dead,' she began. Harry raised an eyebrow. 'This is news?' 'No – I – Uh…' Hermione grew increasing flustered. 'This is coming out wrong,' she mumbled. 'Hermione, breathe.' Harry came around the desk and sat next to her. He looked at her for a moment. 'Does this have to do with your father?' he guessed. 'Yes,' she replied in a small voice. 'How did you – Did you tell them? About James?' Harry smiled fleetingly. 'Yeah. Right before I came out and told everyone else.' 'Did it feel weird?' 'No.' Harry nudged her. 'Hermione, we talk to ghosts. And portraits where the subject died hundreds of years ago. Telling my parents that they had a grandson was not any odder than any of those things.' He was quiet for a moment. 'I took James to their graves about a week after he was born. For formal introductions.' 'What was that like?' 'It was… Good. Kind of made the whole thing come full circle.' Harry shrugged, 'In a way, I owed it to them. Mum and Dad. They kept me alive, and having James sort of returned the favor. I know – it sounds like I've got a nice room in St. Mungo's waiting. It just sort of lets them keep living, even after I'm gone.' 'It doesn't sound as mad as you think it does.' 'Hermione, go talk to your dad. Whether it's at his grave, or anywhere where it seems your dad is there.' 'Thanks.' Hermione kissed Harry on the cheek. 'I love you, you prat. You're the best brother a girl could have.' Harry held her for a moment. 'I love you, too, you smart-arse. I'm really happy for the two of you.' He grinned down at her. 'I can't wait for the fireworks.' 'What's the bet?' file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Burning%20Down%20the%20House.htm[26/02/2011 15:35:50]

'Who says there's a bet?' Harry asked, his face a study in innocence. 'This is the Weasley family. We had a pool going for when James was going to be born.' 'Who won?' 'Katie.' 'How much did she win?' 'About thirteen Galleons.' Harry frowned, counting. 'That's everybody over the age of ten!' 'Like I said, this is the Weasley family.' Hermione nudged Harry in the ribs. 'Humor the pregnant lady. What's the bet?' 'Well… There's more than one…' Harry admitted reluctantly. 'Oh?' Hermione asked archly. 'Do tell,' she said settling back into the chair. 'Well, there's the one on whether or not Ron passes out during the labor and delivery.' Hermione began to dig into a pocket of her trousers. 'I want in on that,' she said. 'How much?' Harry Summoned a small notebook from his desk. 'Ten Sickles.' Hermione handed him the coins. 'Here.' She tilted the notebook toward her. 'I say it's just after the baby's born.' Harry scribbled her name and the time under Charlie's. 'What else?' 'Boy or girl. Five Sickles.' 'Oooooh.' Hermione's eyes lit in anticipation. 'Girl!' she announced. 'And if that doesn't make Ron faint, nothing else will.' 'You can say that again,' Harry muttered, knowing the idea of having a daughter was almost more terrifying to Ron than spiders. 'Does this make me a bad mother?' Hermione wondered aloud. 'Nah. Just means you've really become a Weasley if you're placing bets on your own pregnancy.' Hermione laughed, and stood up. 'I should get back to my office.' She stopped in the doorway, and turned around. 'Don't tell Ron. You know how tetchy he can get.' 'Oh, he already put his down for fainting about an hour after the baby's born. And put down for a boy.' 'Typical,' Hermione snorted. Hermione stood in front of the small kissing gate at the entrance of the cemetery. She let her hand rest on the latch before she walked in through it. Hermione picked her way through the graves, trying not to walk on one directly – an old childhood fear of hers. She found Richard's grave, grass beginning to sprout tentatively over the still-raw earth. The marker had not been set yet. Hermione slowly lowered herself to the ground. She opened her mouth several times, but nothing came out. 'You're not here, Dad,' she whispered. There was only one place he could be. She looked around the cemetery and Disapparated, reappearing in the back garden of her parents' house. She walked around the garden, the bright sunshine making the heady scents of the roses stronger. She stopped every so often to cup a blossom, leaning down to inhale the scent. Hermione remembered the last time she saw Richard. He had been out here pruning the half-opened rosebuds. A week later, he was gone. Of everything, this was what she associated the most with her father. Not chess, not the books they read together. It was the

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time they spent in the roses. She could hear his voice admonishing her three-year old self to watch out for the thorns, and in the same breath soothing her cries, offering to kiss her fingers and make them better after she had grasped the stem of a cut rose. Hermione could smell the scent of sweat mixed with dragon dung fertilizer. It reminded her of the week they came back from Australia, and she and Richard spent hours out here, caring for the neglected roses. She opened her eyes, and could see Richard taking Ron around the garden, teaching him the names of all the rose bushes. And Ron – Ron drinking in the attention like a parched flower. The two of them played chess in the garden when the weather was warm. The first time Ron had brought over his wizarding chess set, Richard spent ten minutes insisting to a knight that he move here, please, while the chess piece grumbled in Gaelic. It took three games for the pieces to stop mumbling under their breath in Gaelic and English. It took another four games for them to move to their new space without dragging their feet. But Richard loved it. She came to the bench under the trellis. Hermione sat on the bench, and pulled her feet onto the seat, resting her head on her knees. 'Dad?' she whispered. 'Dad, I'm pregnant,' she continued, hating the warble that had snuck into her voice. 'It happened the night after your funeral. At least I think that's when it happened,' she said wryly. 'It makes a good story, at any rate.' She straightened up and traced the petals of a rose over her head. 'Ron cried when I told him. And you'll never guess how we told everybody else.' She chortled. 'We were, ah, discussing how to tell the family. We got so loud, everybody heard the, um, debate. Doing it any other way just didn't suit us.' Hermione sighed. 'All this time it took to get pregnant and you're not going to see any of it. You should be here for this, Dad. You should see your first grandchild, teach her to play footie. 'And as happy as I am about having a baby, Dad, I'm so angry at you for dying and missing it. Because you should be here.' Hermione put her feet on the grass. 'I really miss you, Dad. I'll keep you posted.' In a moment, she was gone.  

THIRTEEN – I Will Survive

Hermione stood in front of the open refrigerator. She was hungry. No, ravenous, but she wasn't sure what she wanted to eat. There was a bowl of cherry jelly and lacking anything else appetizing, she grabbed it. Her eye fell on a plate of leftover curry from the other night. She contemplated the jelly in her hand, looking from it to the curry. Shrugging, she picked up the curry, setting the jelly and curry on the counter. Hermione opened a cupboard and pulled out a bowl and a spoon. Humming softly, Hermione scooped some of the curry into the bowl, and topped it with part of the jelly. She cradled the bowl in one hand and sat at the table. Hermione took a cautious bite. It was still missing something. She searched the cupboards and refrigerator looking for that missing something. Anything. A forlorn onion lying in solitude on the counter caught her attention. Hermione pointed her wand at a drawer and a knife flew out and began chopping the onion. When it was done, she scooped up a handful of the chopped onions and sprinkled them on top of the jelly-curry mixture. Hermione dipped her spoon in the bowl and took another bite. Under any other circumstance, this would be disgusting, she reflected. The past few weeks she'd begun to notice odd things happening to her. Hermione had read every pregnancy book she could get her hands on, both Muggle and magical, and knew of course, they would happen. After watching the others go through his, she knew pregnant women were capable of eating some truly horrid concoctions. And up to the moment before she'd cut an apple in half and sprinkled it with enough pepper to turn it grey, Hermione swore she wasn't going to have insane cravings. It was just a matter of willpower. She'd said the same thing about mood swings, too. That lasted until Hermione had been rummaging through a box in their storage space in the cellar, looking for a book on magical contracts, when she'd come across Ron's Christmas jumper from their first year at school. She had burst into inexplicable tears. Ron had found her sitting on the floor, holding the ratty thing to her chest, hiccupping. A shuffling sound made her look up. Ron stood in the doorway to the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. 'Hermione, it's two in the morning,' he yawned. 'Why are you up?' 'I was hungry.' Ron peeked into the bowl she held and immediately regretted it, turning green around the edges. 'Ugh! What is that?' 'Cherry jelly, chicken curry, and onions.' Ron made gagging noises, and Hermione looked up at him as she deliberately inserted a heaping spoonful of the contents of her bowl into her mouth and chewed. Swallowing, she smirked, 'You asked.' file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Burning%20Down%20the%20House.htm[26/02/2011 15:35:50]

'Yes, I did.' Ron grabbed an apple from a bowl on the table and sat across from her. 'I'll brush my teeth before I go back to bed,' she said helpfully. 'Thanks. I appreciate that,' Ron mumbled around a bite of apple. 'Are you coming with me on Thursday?' 'What's Thursday?' 'The appointment with Shanti.' 'That's this Thursday?' Hermione sighed impatiently. 'Yes, Ron. It's been written on the calendar for more than a month now.' Ron's eyes jerked to the calendar on the wall behind Hermione. 'Damn. I forgot.' 'How can you forget?' Hermione stabbed her spoon into the bowl in exasperation. 'Because it's one of the busiest times of the year!' Ron said pointedly. 'You couldn't make this appointment for after September first?' 'Ron, it's just thirty minutes out of your day. And I really want you there for this.' 'I'll see what I can do.' Ron threw the apple core into the rubbish bin. 'Davy'll be in Thursday anyway, and I'll owl Jack tomorrow to see if he can come in for a few hours.' Ron stifled a yawn. 'What time again?' 'Two-fifteen.' Hermione scraped the sides of the bowl with the spoon. Ron leaned down and kissed her forehead. 'I'll be there,' he promised. He left the kitchen and went back to bed. Hermione nodded and spooned the rest of the jelly into the bowl, topping it with another handful of onions. 'This is really good,' she murmured. 'I know there's one in here somewhere,' Hermione muttered. The desk drawer was open, revealing a welter of paper clips, broken quills, and half-empty bottles of ink. She knew there had to be at least one elastic band in there. She had thrown it into the desk drawer herself a few weeks ago. 'Ah-ha!' Grinning in triumph, she pulled the elastic band from under a broken Self-Inking Quill and looped it around the button of her trousers. Hermione threaded it through the buttonhole and looped it back over the button, effectively holding her trousers closed after a fashion. 'I hope this works,' she muttered. Ginny had told her it would do for a stop-gap until she had time to go shopping or put an Engorgement charm on a few items of clothing. The last time she'd outgrown anything this quickly had been in her second year, but then she'd been growing up and not out. Hermione sighed and realized she would have to go to Godric's Hollow and see if any of Ginny's clothes from when she had been pregnant with James would fit her. Hermione was a couple of inches taller, but Ginny liked to wear her trousers on the longer side, so fit wouldn't be much of an issue. She was starting to wish people would mind their own bloody business. Hermione knew they meant well, but the trickle of witches coming by her office door to offer 'advice' was getting on her nerves. Older witches she barely had a nodding acquaintance with seemed to think her pregnancy removed all boundaries of social propriety. They asked her questions even her own mother hadn't asked. One elderly witch had spent a good fifteen minutes telling Hermione the best ways to breastfeed. Mortified, Hermione had made up a fake meeting, desperate to end the conversation. Ron padded into the kitchen, dressed for the day, but for his shoes and socks. 'Two-fifteen. Shanti's office,' he muttered, still more than half-asleep. 'Are you okay?' 'Yeah. Just weird dreams.'

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'About what?' Hermione was fascinated by Ron's dreams. They were usually far more organized than hers. Where she dreamed of random images, his dreams nearly had plots with dialogue. 'Baby. Two heads. Like the bloke in that hitchhiker film Harry and I saw last weekend.' Ron poured a cup of tea and nearly bolted it, grimacing in pain as he scalded his tongue. 'Ouch.' Hermione clucked in sympathy. 'I'll see you later.' 'No breakfast?' Ron grunted. 'I'll get something later.' 'Okay.' Ron pillowed his head on his folded arms. 'Don't go back to sleep,' she warned, picking up her bag. 'I won't,' he muttered. 'Two-headed baby every time I close my eyes.' Hermione hated working with her door shut, but lately it was the only way to get anything done. She had closed the door in self-preservation. Another barrage of advice regarding Healers and natural childbirth versus enough painkilling potions to knock out a hippogriff. Hermione had politely listened to the woman and thanked her, waiting until the witch's footsteps faded before she jabbed her wand at the door, closing it with barely a click. Hermione leafed through a stack of notes she had made regarding magical contracts, idly wondering if Ginny, Katie, Bronwyn, Penny, or Fleur had suffered from the kind of intrusions on their privacy as she had been the last few weeks. She shook her head. Enough. There were an unusual amount of inquiries regarding house-elves on her desk. Not how to obtain one, but there had been a spate of rumors of pureblood families giving their elves clothes. As punishment. It made her blood boil to see that. Hence the research into magical contracts to see if an elf could successfully transfer his or her loyalties to another family. She didn't have much to go on. Dobby had wanted his freedom. There was little love lost between Dobby and the Malfoys. Dobby was Harry's elf willingly from the moment Harry had tricked Lucius Malfoy into giving him a sock. Rather Slytherin of you, Harry, she thought with a smirk. But most house-elves thought of Dobby as a misfit. That much was clear to Hermione. Winky had been so devastated by her freedom; she descended into what amounted to an alcoholic depression and never recovered. In the aftermath of the battle, Hermione managed to find Winky. Without Dobby's solicitous care, Winky's health had rapidly deteriorated and she had died just weeks after Hermione came back to England from Australia. And in the middle was Kreacher. Kreacher belonged to Harry as a result of Sirius' will. By naming Harry as his heir, Sirius had all but declared Harry as his son. For over a year, Kreacher begrudgingly obeyed Harry because he had to. But treating Kreacher with a modicum of decency had changed his attitude regarding Harry. Kreacher was gone now, too. He had died six months after Harry had married Ginny. There were the Hogwarts elves, but they didn't serve a family. 'Maybe that's the key,' Hermione mused aloud. But the elves at school weren't fond of questions. Especially from her. Hermione looked at her watch, gasping. It was after two. She was going to be late. Ron sighed and picked up a magazine, raising an eyebrow at the date. It had been published about the same time as his wedding almost two years ago. Ron shrugged and paged through the magazine. Did babies really need all this rubbish? Both of Ron's eyebrows rose as he scanned an advert for a shop called Babyland Magic. The baby's room in the picture was layer upon layer of lace and ruffles, festooned with teddy bears, toys, and books. The cot was canopied, almost like his bed at school. An intricately carved rocking chair swayed gently near a window. A smaller version of the chair sat in a corner, a stuffed bunny occupying its seat. The walls were painted with a fanciful wood, idealized magical creatures cavorting amongst the trees. A plush rug in the middle of a highly polished wooden floor completed the room. Ron refrained from openly sneering at the advert. What does a baby need with all this? Nobody else in the family had a room like this for their baby. Irritated, Ron flipped a page. It was another advert. This time for clothes. Miniature replica Quidditch uniforms, to be precise. Ron had been around enough babies to know that if they didn't grow out of it in a few weeks; they

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would spit up all over it first. Ron snorted. Page after page of prams, pushchairs, high chairs, toys. Articles on how to be a 'good' parent. It was almost as if the magazine screamed, 'If you don't do your baby's room like this, and feed her this kind of food, and dress her in this kind of outfit, and follow our advice, you must not love your child!' It was all rather accusatory. The clatter of shoes on the tiled floor made Ron look up. Hermione came running into the lobby. 'What time is it?' she panted. Ron looked at his watch. 'Ten minutes after two.' Hermione fell into a chair next to Ron. 'How long have you been here?' 'Ten minutes or so, I guess.' Hermione pulled the magazine out of Ron's hands. 'What on earth are you reading?' Her eyebrows rose in astonishment. 'Wizard Parent?' 'I was bored,' Ron muttered defensively. 'Hermione Granger-Weasley?' the welcome witch called into the lobby. 'Oh! Here!' Hermione jumped up, flustered. She beckoned to Ron and they followed the witch to an exam room in the back. Hermione sat on the end of an exam table, swinging her feet, trying very hard not to laugh at Ron, who was studiously avoiding looking at the posters on the wall depicting a baby at various stages of development. He seemed very interested in the toes of his shoes. Shanti walked in, Hermione's file in her hands. 'Hello, Hermione. Ready for today?' 'Oh, yes,' Hermione said happily. Shanti leaned against the counter, looking through Hermione's file. 'Weight looks good. Blood pressure's fine. How are you feeling? Appetite all right? Still feeling any nausea?' 'I'm fine. Still get tired easily and some nausea if I don't eat regularly. Appetite's fine.' 'Fine?' blurted Ron. 'What do you bloody mean "fine"?' he asked incredulously. 'I'm not exactly vomiting at odd times anymore,' Hermione said tartly. 'You should have after what you ate Monday night!' he retorted. Turning to Shanti, he added, 'She ate curry mixed with jelly and onions!' 'Finished off the jelly and onions after you went to bed,' Hermione informed Ron. 'It was good.' 'It's normal,' Shanti tried to assure Ron. 'That's normal?' choked Ron. 'It's quite normal for pregnant women to eat things that are a bit unusual.' 'Unusual?' snorted Ron. 'Try outright barmy!' 'Why don't you read one of the books, Ron?' huffed Hermione. 'Why? You'll just tell me all about it later anyway.' 'It wouldn't hurt for you to just take a look, Ronald.' 'All right, then.' Shanti laid Hermione's file on the counter and drew her wand. 'Lie back and lift your shirt a bit, Hermione.' Shanti rested the tip of her wand on Hermione's exposed abdomen, murmuring, 'Sonorus Parvulus Viscus.' Silence. Frowning, Shanti moved the tip of her wand slowly across Hermione's stomach. 'Come on, little one, don't be shy,' she said coaxingly. She smiled encouragingly at Hermione. 'They hide sometimes. Don't worry.' Ron looked up at Hermione's face. It was creased with anxiety. He took her hand in his. 'What are we listening for?'

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Suddenly, a steady whooshing beat filled the room. 'That,' Shanti said in satisfaction. 'One hundred and forty beats per minute. Lovely.' 'What is that?' Ron asked perplexed. 'The baby's heartbeat,' Hermione sniffed. 'Oh.' Ron blinked. The room began to spin and he clutched the side of the table, willing his knees not to buckle. 'Blimey. There really is a baby…' 'What did you think it was? A kitten?' Hermione sounded amused. Ron flushed with embarrassment. He hadn't realized he said anything out loud. 'No. It's just real.' Ron felt a sliver of fear send a chill down his spine and settle in the pit of his stomach. If he hadn't understood what Harry had meant about not really being scared until he realized it was all real that Sunday afternoon two months ago, it dawned on him now, hearing his baby's galloping heartbeat through the rush of blood in his ears. 'I'm a father…' Ron blinked again. He noticed Shanti and Hermione eyeing him speculatively. 'I'm not going to faint!' he snapped. 'Oh, is that the bet?' Shanti asked Hermione, who nodded. 'How do you know there's a bet,' demanded Ron. Shanti snorted. 'I've helped deliver most of your nieces and nephews. There's always a bet or a pool going on.' She smoothed Hermione's shirt back down. 'Get plenty of rest, don't forget to exercise – a brisk walk is fine – don't go overboard with the food, stay hydrated, and don't forget to take the prenatal potion we gave you.' 'Why do they always taste like manky laundry?' Hermione asked, unconsciously echoing Ron's sentiments. 'Tradition,' Shanti replied promptly. 'Medicinal potions always taste nasty.' She scribbled a few notes in Hermione's file. 'If either of you have any questions, don't hesitate to stop by. And Ron, it wouldn't hurt for you to read one of her books for yourself.' 'Fine,' he grumbled. 'Hermoine, I'll see you again next month.' Shanti patted Hermione on the arm. Ron felt Hermione's eyes on the back of his head as they walked outside. 'I'm not going to faint, hen.' 'I know. Besides, I put you down for fainting much later than this.' 'Really?' Strangely, Ron was touched by this. 'You have way more faith in me than I do. I put down the first time I feel it kick.' 'Well, either way, Bill and Charlie are out. They said you'd faint today.' 'So did Dad.' Something seemed to occur to Ron. 'Are we… Mad? Just a bit?' Hermione grinned. 'Probably.' She stood on her tiptoes to kiss Ron. 'I wouldn't want it to be any other way.' As wrapped up as they were in each other and the moment, they didn't see the unkempt woman standing in the shadows beyond St. Mungo's. A filthy, broken quill peeped from the pocket of her coat, its original color a long past memory. 'It's not time yet,' she muttered. She could wait. She had waited for years for this. A few more months to give the Mudblood time to make her pet project public was not going make a difference now. 'And a baby on the way to boot. How sweet,' she sneered. She filed that information away for reference. Anything and everything was ammunition now. A/N: Jelly is the British equivalent for Jell-O. The Jell-O and onions thing came from one of my grandmother's favorite episodes of Quantam Leap, where Sam's a pregnant

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teenager and starts having cravings for Jell-O and onions. :)  

FOURTEEN – Say

The sound of breaking china, followed by a stream of frustrated invective woke Ron one morning in late September. Alarmed, he leapt out of bed and ran headlong into the kitchen, only to be stopped by Hermione's hissed, 'Protego!' Ron bounced off the Shield charm Hermione placed over the kitchen door. 'I dropped a plate. Two of them, really,' she explained breathlessly. 'Wait until I clean it up.' 'Okay.' Ron stood near the door. 'Can I ask happened?' he asked, wrinkling his nose. The acrid smell of burnt toast hung heavily in the air. Hermione released the Shield charm and waved her wand at the mess on the floor. 'I was making breakfast,' she sighed. 'And I was reading a case study on master-servant breach of contracts and the kettle whistled and I wasn't paying attention to where I pointed my wand, and I hit the toaster, and it burned the toast. When I realized what I had done, I rushed to get the toast out and turn the stove off under the kettle.' Hermione took a deep breath. 'And I knocked the plates and cups off the counter.' All of a sudden, she burst into noisy tears. Ron, after a glance at the floor to assure himself no broken shards of china remained on the floor, padded to Hermione. 'It's just toast, hen.' 'I'm going to be rubbish as a mother,' she wailed. 'I burnt the toast…' Ron looked at her blankly. 'It's just toast,' he repeated bemusedly. 'You're going to be a brilliant mum.' 'You have to say that,' she sniffed. 'What if the baby grows up to be a Quidditch player, like Ginny?' Hermione wiped her nose with the sleeve of her dressing gown. 'I don't even get Quidditch!' 'Hermione, that's years away.' Ron had no idea what else to say. 'It's five months away!' she corrected shrilly. 'And years before Quidditch will be an issue, hen.' Ron massaged the back of Hermione's neck. 'Besides, Angus may not even like Quidditch.' Hermione snorted. 'In this family? Are you mad? Of course the baby will like Quidditch. And who the bloody hell is Angus?' 'The baby. Can't keep saying "it" all the time, can we?' 'Do you seriously want to name our child Angus?' 'No. Just for now.' 'Why Angus?' Ron shrugged. 'Dunno. Just seemed like a good idea last night.' 'Angus…' Hermione muttered. 'Angus,' she repeated, shaking her head. She glanced at the clock on the wall. 'I need to go.' 'Still want breakfast?' Ron gestured to the blackened toast in the sink. 'I…' Hermione hesitated. 'I should, but I'll be late…' 'The last time you skipped a meal, you fainted, Hermione,' Ron pointed out. She started guiltily. 'I know. But Harry's arranged for a few of the Hogwarts' elves to come talk to me at ten. I need to get ready for them.' Ron rubbed his temples. It was barely eight-thirty, and his head was already pounding. 'I'll fix something for you to take with you. Go get dressed.'

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When Hermione left the kitchen, Ron Vanished the burnt toast, and rummaged in the bread box for some scones he had made the other day. He added a few pieces of fruit from the bowl on the table, and found the vacuum flask in the back of a cupboard behind a large stock pot. He made himself a cup of tea and read the morning paper while he waited for Hermione to finish getting ready for work. Hermione came back into the kitchen, fastening her watch on her wrist half an hour later. Ron handed her a small paper bag. 'Blueberry scones, an apple, and a banana.' He handed her the vacuum flask. 'Orange juice. And your prenatal stuff's in the bag, too.' Hermione blinked and tears trickled down her face. Ron silently handed her the tea towel he'd slung over his shoulder. He didn't know what to say when Hermione cried when she wasn't pregnant. Now, it seemed as if she cried over everything. 'You're going to be late,' he reminded her gently. Hermione wiped her eyes with the towel and dropped it on the table. 'Mum's coming over tonight,' Hermione said, as she walked into the sitting room. 'She's taking us out for dinner.' 'Right.' Ron nodded absently. 'I'll be home by six.' He kissed Hermione on the cheek, and she Disapparated to the Ministry. Ron quickly performed his own ablutions and threw on some clothes. He Apparated to the shop and began to set up for the day. Hermione's behavior was baffling. He knew it was due to rampaging hormones, more than anything else, but he wasn't prepared for the swiftness at which her emotional balance turned. Anything could set her off – from the lack of tomato sauce on a chip butty one day to the lack of progress on the baby's room. They could do it by magic, but Ron wanted to do it the Muggle way. Of course, I could get something done if she'd pick a bloody paint color already, he sighed to himself. She changed her mind about it nearly every other day, it seemed. 'Only five more months,' he informed the Pygmy Puffs. They softly trilled in response. This particular group liked to be talked to. Ron dropped a few handfuls of assorted rubbish in the cage. 'Just twenty more weeks. One hundred and forty days. But who's counting?' 'Talking to yourself?' George walked in the front door of the shop. 'No. Talking to the Pygmy Puffs.' Ron absently used his wand to set a duster over the Wonder Witch shelves. He glanced at George out of the corner of his eye. 'Were you ever afraid to go home? When Katie was pregnant with the twins?' 'Absolutely. If she wasn't going through wine gums like they were the only thing keeping her sane, she was crying over something like her belly button popping out. Or cleaning the house without magic. I think we went through a case of Mrs. Scower's Magical Mess Remover.' George paused, counting mentally. 'In three weeks.' He ran a hand through his hair a few times. 'I was really scared during her fifth month.' Ron paled and his freckles stood out in his alarmingly white face. 'Why?' he asked tentatively. George began to restock shelves. 'Katie kept ambushing me,' he confessed in a low voice. 'Ambushing you?' Ron's eyes widened. George cleared his throat a few times. 'I enjoy making love with my wife as much as the next bloke,' he admitted, not meeting Ron's eyes. 'But every bloody night…' A deep blush slowly crept up the back of George's neck. 'I couldn't keep her off me. Got to where I almost tried to wait to go to bed until she had fallen asleep.' George coughed a few times. 'Then again, in hindsight, maybe I shouldn't have done that. It was months after the twins were born before we could do anything again.' 'Why?' Ron was really starting to think he should have been reading that book Hermione had left on his night table. 'Why don't you go ask Harry any of this?' George asked, clearly uncomfortable. Ron unlatched the Pygmy Puff cage and took one out, and began to absently stroke it, making it hum in pleasure. 'Ginny.' George looked at Ron, and cocked an eyebrow. 'Excuse me? What does Gin have to do with the price of tea in China?' 'Because when I think about asking Harry about any of this, all I can think about is him doing that with Ginny.' Ron shuddered dramatically. 'Fine.' George sighed and looked at his watch. 'After the baby's born, the last thing Hermione's going to want to do is let you shag her, much less let you see her naked. She's going to look different. She's going to think she's fat and unattractive. It's going to be a few months before either of you will get more than a few hours of sleep at a time, so believe me, neither of you is going to be in the mood. file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Burning%20Down%20the%20House.htm[26/02/2011 15:35:50]

'Being a parent… It really changes you. Things that you thought were important before aren't such a bloody priority.' George went into the back to fetch his robes. He shrugged them on. 'I can't imagine my life without Katie and the boys. I'm not sure I'd want to. And that's saying something considering all the mayhem a baby will add to your life.' Ron put the Pygmy Puff back in the cage with the others. He was unusually quiet for the rest of the day. George had given him a great deal to think about. Ron had Apparated to the door of the flat. He stood on the doormat, his hand resting on the doorknob. He had been standing there for some time when he heard Jane come up the stairs. 'Ron?' 'Oh, hi, Jane.' He leaned down to kiss his mother-in-law's cheek. 'How long have you been standing there?' Ron looked at his watch. 'Ten minutes.' 'Why?' she asked curiously. 'I'm trying to figure out who's on the other side of the door,' he stated calmly. At Jane's perplexed look he continued, 'She's been a little… Emotional lately.' 'Ah.' Jane nodded sagely. 'The mood swings.' 'Those aren't mood swings,' Ron retorted, his voice cracking slightly. 'They're more like seismic events.' He slowly inhaled, steeling himself for whatever he found on the other side of the door. 'Shall we?' he asked, opening the door, and motioning for Jane to precede him into the flat. Ron was surprised to not see Hermione waiting impatiently for him and Jane to come through the door. He glanced down at his watch again. It was a quarter to six. Hermione's bag sat next to the door, next to the shoes she'd worn that day. 'Make yourself at home,' Ron told Jane. 'She's probably asleep. I'll go wake her up.' Jane settled on the sofa, pulling a book from her handbag. 'Take your time. I'm early. Reservation's not until seven anyway.' Ron started to go into the bedroom, but doubled back into the kitchen for a pumpkin pasty. It's not a bribe, he told himself as he took one out of the refrigerator and cast a Warming charm over it. It's a peace offering. Ron snorted to himself. Not much of a difference… He could hear Jane's snicker follow him back to the hallway. The bedroom itself was shadowed in darkness, but a band of light showed under the bathroom door. Ron knocked softly, and pushed the door open. 'Hermione?' She lounged in the bathtub, bubbles up to her chin, hair piled on top of her head. One of Ginny's fluff novels rested on the rim of the tub, a forlorn scrap of parchment marking her place. Ron frowned. He did know she wasn't supposed to be soaking in hot water. He dipped a hand into the water to test the temperature. It was only warm. Hermione cracked open an eyelid. 'It's only a bit warmer than body temperature,' she informed him. Both eyes opened and she brightened at the sight of the pasty in Ron's other hand. 'I love you,' she said in honeyed tones, drying a hand on a towel next to the tub, and reaching for the pasty. 'You look tired,' she commented, around a mouthful of pastry and pumpkin filling. 'A little,' Ron admitted, sitting on the edge of the tub. 'Long day.' 'You could join me.' Hermione grinned, tugging on Ron's sleeve. Ron wasn't balanced very well on the tub's rim and half-fell into the bubbly water, redolent with the scent of lemons and oranges. 'Oh my,' she giggled without a hint of remorse. 'You'll have to take those wet clothes off, then.' Hermione reached for the buttons of Ron's shirt. Ron's mouth dropped open. 'Hermione!' he hissed. 'Your mum's in the sitting room!' Hermione gave a thoughtful look at the open bathroom door. She pulled Ron's wand from the pocket of his jeans and flicked it at the door. It silently swung shut and locked. She pointed it at the door and murmured, 'Muffliato.' She let Ron's wand drop to the floor with a clatter. 'There. All better.' Ron looked down at Hermione. He wanted to peel the rest of his clothing off and dive into that tub. Jane did have a book. And they did have time. 'I don't know,' he said uneasily. He was still uncomfortable kissing her in front of her mother.

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Hermione rose to her knees and began to deftly unbutton Ron's shirt. 'What about all those times it was too cold to go out to the tree house on Sundays before we moved into the flat over the shop, eh?' she scoffed. 'Where were we then?' 'My room,' Ron choked. For hours with Silencing charms on the bed and the door and everything else in between. 'And the whole family was downstairs,' Hermione murmured. Ron ground his teeth, trying to maintain his self-control. He mentally counted the weeks since mid-May. Eighteen of them. Eighteen weeks and absolutely nothing between the baby's conception and now. The first couple months of the pregnancy, Hermione had either been asleep or eating something so disgusting it put Ron off his appetite. She had been feeling better lately, but it had been so busy at the shop, he'd been worn out by the time he got home. He couldn't think anymore. All the blood had left his head. 'You're an evil, evil woman,' Ron informed his wife. He hauled himself out of the tub, dripping water on the floor. 'Yeah, but you love me,' Hermione said, stretching languidly. 'Yes, I do. Wouldn't want you any other way.' Ron bent to pick up his wand. He ruefully regarded his soggy clothing lying in a heap. Sighing, he dried them as best he could with his wand before he slipped into his clothes. He handed Hermione her dressing gown. 'Come on, hen, we're going to be late.' 'I suppose.' Ron tapped the doorknob with his wand. It swung open slightly. He peered around the door, fearfully. 'You don't think she heard anything, do you?' he whispered. 'No, but she will if you keep talking about it.' Hermione nudged Ron in the small of his back. 'Go on, then. We both need to get dressed.' Ron reached back for Hermione's hand and grasped it tightly. They tiptoed down the hall to their bedroom, Hermione stifling giggles the whole time. Hermione shrugged the dressing gown off, and draped it over the foot of the bed. Ron paused in the act of removing his jeans and got a good look at his wife's body for the first time in a month. The room tilted dangerously as he took in the perceptible curve of their child. He sat down hard on the floor and put his head between his knees, gasping for air. He felt Hermione's hand on his head. 'Are you all right?' she asked, worriedly. 'Yeah.' Just keep getting punched in the gut with the idea that we are having a baby, is all. He looked up and tried to smile, but knew it was coming off as more of a grimace. 'Fine. I'm all right, hen.' Ron pushed himself to his feet and stripped off the rest of his clothes. He quickly pulled on dry clothes and went into the sitting room, where Jane still sat on the sofa, seemingly absorbed by her book. 'Hermione'll be out in a bit,' he said gruffly, perching on the edge of an armchair. Jane gave him a look over the top of her book. It reminded Ron uncomfortably of the looks Hermione gave him when she could tell what was going through his mind. Ron shifted slightly as he felt a slight flush creep up his neck. Damn, he thought. She knows! How? 'You might want to do something about that mark on your neck,' Jane said idly, turning her attention back to her book. She gestured vaguely toward a spot under her left ear. 'Right about there,' she said in an unconscious echo of her daughter fifteen years earlier. Jane turned a page. Ron gaped and sprang up from his chair. He dashed to a mirror on the wall next to the fireplace and stared in horror at the small, dark purple spot under his left ear. 'Bloody hell,' he breathed. He pointed his wand at his neck, muttering, 'Episkey.' It slowly faded, leaving only a faint shadow. Ron gulped and threw a look at Jane over his shoulder. She seemed to be struggling not to laugh, biting her lower lip. Thankfully, Hermione came into the room just then, saving Ron from any further embarrassment. Hermione wove her hair into a tight plait and pulled on a pair of jeans she had bought the previous week. They were two sizes

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larger than she had normally worn. At least she could button these. She pulled one of Ron's Cannons t-shirts over her head and added an older sweatshirt, emblazoned with the magenta triple 'W' logo of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. It was well into October and the roses needed to be prepared for the winter. Ron was at the shop in Hogsmeade for the Hogsmeade weekend at school. He would take care of the roses in their plot in the garden behind the building. She was going to take care of her father's roses. That was an all-day project. Ron would meet her there and help Apparate her home. She had more and more difficulty with Apparition these days. Especially if she was tired. Hermione had her own reasons for wanting to do the roses alone. She needed to talk. She didn't really want to talk to anyone in particular. Not anyone living anyway. Jane wouldn't be at the house. She hadn't retired after Richard died. She kept the office open for a few hours on Saturday, for the parents who couldn't manage to bring their children in during the week. Just as well. Hermione had a few things she needed to say, and didn't want anyone else to hear them. She picked up her small knapsack, with a change of clothes and a book and headed for the Underground. Hermione didn't feel like Apparition today. The hour-long trip on the train gave her some time to herself. She had been meeting with the Hogwarts' elves nearly every day over the past few weeks. They had been more than willing to talk to her, once Harry had assured them she wasn't going to try to convince them to take clothes, but to make sure all house-elves were treated as well as the school elves were. It had been something of a shock to Hermione to find out the elves at Hogwarts had the freedom to leave, if they wanted to. But none of them ever did, for the most part. A few of them were descendants of elves that had been given clothes by their families when they fell on hard times. Or the family had died without a direct heir. It was not going to be an easy task to codify a standard of treatment modeled after the school. Some pureblood wizards and witches who worked in Magical Law Enforcement had said it would take years for any kind of change to take effect. Maybe not even in her lifetime. Hermione didn't care. She just wanted to try. Hermione carefully cleaned fallen petals and leaves and other debris from under the rose bushes, as well as the mulch Ron had patiently spread over the beds in June. The ground would freeze soon, and they could put a new layer over the beds. The monotony stilled Hermione's mind. 'Hi, Dad,' she said quietly into the chilly October wind. She used her dirty hands to push the sleeves of the sweatshirt up a bit. The cuffs kept falling down. 'I'm scared, Dad. Not just that the baby – Ron calls it Angus, by the way – will be thicker than William, although you can't get any thicker than he is.' Hermione scraped a small pile of mulch from around the stem of the rose bush. 'I'm just scared I'm going to be a terrible mother.' Hermione sat back on her heels. 'I work too much. And compared to Ron, I can not cook. I can't even do toast lately without burning it.' She scooted to the next rose bush. It was a little too tall and should be pruned a bit, lest the wind cause damage. Hermione carefully stood up. Her balance was shifting as she got bigger. The pruning shears were in the shed. 'I never was much of a child, Dad. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do. It's different with Teddy or the others. I interact with them, sure, but having a baby. It's permanent. I mean, I know I'm supposed to feed it, keep it warm and dry. But then what? 'I used to watch Harry play with Teddy when he lived at the Burrow after the war. Baffling. Like how did Harry know that Teddy wanted to build castles out of blocks? Or how did he know to charm the stuffed dragon so it flew? How did he know Teddy liked that without being told? 'I'm not feeling very maternal right now. When James cried as a baby, Ginny knew exactly what to do based on how it sounded. The one that told her he was wet and needed a change was different from the one that said it was time for her to feed him. Frankly, they all sounded the same to me.' Hermione dropped a handful of shorn canes onto the pile of rubbish she had made. 'What if the baby doesn't like me?' she asked in a low whisper. 'I can't talk about this with Ron. He has to tell me the baby will like me. He's married to me. Like he's going to say, "You know, Hermione, you're right. I don't think the kid will like you very much." I've read every book I can get my hands on. And for once in my life, Dad, books have failed me.' Hermione came to the trellis arch, and began to bind the stems of the climber together, before she covered it with burlap. She traced the outline of the back of the bench with a dirt-smudged finger, remembering. Hermione fetched the vacuum flask of mint tea she had brought with her and huddled on the bench in the weak October sunshine. She was about to take a sip of tea when she felt an undulating movement, like the ripple of the pond behind the Burrow when she threw a stone into it.

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One of her hands dropped to rest on the curve of her abdomen, fingers spread over the arc of the baby. A/N: I'm so sorry it's taken so long to put an update up on this one. Life decided to rear its ugly head last week, and I didn't have time to get this one written out. Even I have to sleep sometime. :) lol! Hope it was worth the wait. The next one shouldn't take nearly as long.  

FIFTEEN – If I Needed You

A/N: I'm so sorry about the delay in updating this. But here goes...

Ron held a handful of paint chips in front of Hermione's face. 'Pick one.' She looked up form her book, taking the samples from Ron's hand, frowning at them. 'I don't know,' she said doubtfully. 'I promise. No Quidditch team colors are in that lot.' Ron plucked one out of the bundle that reminded him of summer skies. 'How 'bout this one?' he suggested, waving the chip. Hermione grabbed Ron's wrist and held it still. Not only was it making her dizzy, but she wanted to examine the color. She bit her lip indecisively. 'I don't know.' Ron bit back a sigh. 'Hen, it's just paint. We can always go back and change it later, if you don't like it.' Hermione heard the faint frustration lacing Ron's voice. I'm being difficult, aren't I?' Ron stopped rubbing his forehead. 'No more than usual,' he sighed. 'I'm sorry…' 'Don't be. I just don't want to leave this until the last minute.' Hermione pulled the sample from Ron's fingers. She fanned them out in her hands. There were about ten colors, ranging from pale yellow to mint green to the blue Ron favored. She knew why Ron wanted it. It would give an impression of being surrounded by nothing but sky. He could spend hours on his broom flying aimlessly. She pulled out a pale yellow and set it next to the blue one. 'Either of these. Surprise me.' 'Really?' Ron looked at her raised eyebrows. 'Yeah.' 'You're not going to change your mind tomorrow morning, are you?' 'No. Those are the two options. I won't want to change my mind or the paint colors.' Ron tucked the paint chips into his shirt pocket. He scrawled a note to Harry, who was going to help, to come over Saturday morning. Hermione was going to spend the day with Jane, shopping for Merlin knew what. Ron still hadn't figured out what else a baby needed besides a cot, some nappies, and a few clothes, regardless of what those barmy mags in the waiting area of St. Mungo's said. He wanted to try and get the room done by the time she got home. He silently cursed those magazines, for filling his head with images of painted walls, with the chair rail and window frames picked out in white. The cot in the corner facing the windows, hung with gauzy curtains that billowed gently in the breeze. A rocking chair next to a small table with a lamp on it that cast a soft glow in the night. Ron shook his head. He really needed to finish the room soon. Before he turned into a girl. Hermione hurried down the rain-slick sidewalk. She was going to be late for her meeting with Percy. The last meeting with the Hogwarts elves had run long, but Hermione felt she had enough information to create a decent draft. She was so engrossed in

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mentally writing the first draft, that she didn't see the large crack in the sidewalk. The toe of her shoe caught in the uneven concrete, and she pitched forward, twisting in midair, landing with a grunt on her side. Hermione lay there stunned for a several moments before she heard an insistent, 'Miss?' An unfamiliar face floated through the haze. 'Miss, are you all right?' And older man stood over her, holding out a hand. 'Uh…' Hermione accepted the outstretched hand and allowed him to assist her to her feet. Once she was upright, Hermione took a moment to examine the damage. She had twisted the ankle of the foot that had caught in the cracked sidewalk. It throbbed with each beat of her heart. She had ripped her trousers and one knee was scraped and bleeding, as was the palm of the hand that had skidded over the sidewalk when she landed. 'You ought to have those injuries seen to,' the man advised. 'I… I will.' Hermione pushed her wet hair out of her face. 'Do you need help getting to a hospital, miss?' 'No, thank you.' 'Let me at least hail you a taxi, then,' the man insisted. Hermione sighed, and nodded, feeling that he wouldn't go away unless she accepted his offers of help. He patted her arm and stepped to the curb to flag down one of the taxis whizzing by in the rain. One of them reluctantly slowed to a stop next to them, and the man handed Hermione into the back, and gave the driver a wad of notes for the fare. Hermione gave the driver the intersection closest to the entrance of St. Mungo's. He looked back at her askance. 'Are you sure? That's a rather dodgy area, that is.' 'Family doctor's nearby,' Hermione lied smoothly. 'Been there for years.' 'If you say so,' the driver said dubiously. Hermione leaned out of the window. The man still stood on the sidewalk. 'Thank you.' He smiled. 'I have a daughter about your age, miss. I'd hate it if something like this happened to her.' He looked at the driver. 'Go on, then.' The ride to St. Mungo's seemed to take ages. Hermione's immediate worry wasn't her hand or ankle, but Angus. She had tried to let her hands take the majority of the impact, but she couldn't avoid all contact between her stomach and the ground. She ran her uninjured hand run over and over her stomach, praying she hadn't harmed Angus. She felt him flutter inside and nearly wept with relief. The taxi halted a few yards from the storefront entrance to the hospital. 'Gentleman already paid up for you…' The driver's voice faded and Hermione lowered her wand. She slipped her wand back into her bag, feeling a pang of guilt for modifying the driver's memory, but she didn't want him to ask a bunch of questions. She painfully pushed herself out of the backseat and hobbled to the entrance. 'Shanti Choudry, please.' The mannequin beckoned with a finger and Hermione limped through the window. She turned down the hidden corridor to the maternity/neonatal wing. Shanti was in the waiting area, speaking to a vaguely familiar blonde witch, but in her anxiety, Hermione didn't take the time to search her memory for the name. Shanti looked up as Hermione came into the brighter light by the desk, and bid a hasty farewell to the witch before hurrying to Hermione. 'What happened to you?' 'I tripped.' Shanti put an arm around Hermione and helped her to a room. 'Landed on your right side, did you?' 'Yeah.' Hermione grimaced as she eased onto the bed. 'Go ahead and change into that gown.' Shanti pointed to a folded green garment on the pillow. 'I'll go fetch something to clean those scrapes.'

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Hermione peeled off her shirt and trousers, and pulled the gown over her head. Shanti knocked on the door and entered, carrying a tray with a few bottles and several pieces of gauze and cotton wool. She set the tray on a small table, and dampened a piece of cotton wool with a purple liquid and began to dab at the scrapes on Hermione's hand. She repeated the process on her knee, then spread a blue ointment over the deepest cut before covering it with a bandage. 'That should be better by morning.' 'That's good,' Hermione murmured distractedly, rubbing the side of her abdomen. Shanti noticed the movements and calmly moved to Hermione's ankle. 'Are you cramping at all?' 'I don't think so.' 'Any bleeding?' Hermione shook her head. 'No.' Shanti laid a hand on Hermione's bare foot. 'See if you can push against my hand,' she directed, applying gentle pressure to the outside edge of the foot. Hermione pushed back against it. 'Good. Looks like it's just a mild sprain.' Shanti wrapped the ankle and put a Cooling charm on it. 'Lie back. I want to check the baby.' Shanti draped a sheet over Hermione, and drew the gown up a bit to expose her stomach. She put the tip of her wand just below Hermione's navel and the familiar sounds of the baby's heartbeat filled the room. Hermione released the breath she had been holding. 'One hundred and forty-three beats per minute.' Shanti pulled the gown back down. 'I want you to stay here overnight.' 'But I can't!' Hermione started to sit up. 'I have a meeting with Percy, and I'm already horribly late for it.' Shanti put a restraining hand on Hermione's shoulder. 'Yes, you can. You've taken a nasty spill and I'd like to keep you here for observation to make sure both you and the baby are all right.' Hermione flopped back onto the pillows. 'Can someone call Ron?' she asked tiredly. 'I'll do it in a moment. You just lie back and relax.' Shanti slid a pillow under Hermione's right ankle. 'And stay off the ankle.' She left the room leaving Hermione alone. She could feel Angus performing somersaults. Normally, she would have found it almost distracting, but at this moment, she welcomed the internal flutters. Shanti hadn't lifted the charm that allowed them to hear Angus' heartbeat, but without her wand to amplify the sounds, it had faded to the background, but it was still distinct. She shifted restlessly, needing someone to call Percy to reschedule the meeting. Ron came pounding into the room, his magenta robes flying behind him. He had obviously dropped whatever he was doing and come directly from the shop, without pausing to take off his robes. 'Are you all right?' he demanded. 'Yes, I'm fine. Just a few scrapes and a sprained ankle.' Ron picked up Hermione's bandaged hand. 'Did she use some sort of smelly purple potion on the scrapes?' 'Yes, she did. How did you know?' Ron rolled his eyes. 'When you live in the same house as Fred and George, you keep a few bottles of that potion somewhere. You're bound to get more than your fair share of scrapes and cuts. Mum was always dabbing it on Fred, George, Ginny, or me. For a while, I thought all houses had a faint whiff of that stuff. You'll be good as new tomorrow.' Hermione flexed her fingers. 'Good. I need to be able to hold a quill.' 'And the baby?' Ron rested a hand over Hermione's stomach. He couldn't feel it move yet, but Hermione had assured him Angus was quite active. 'She's fine. So far.' 'Or he.'

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'Or he,' Hermione agreed. 'Shanti said you'll be here overnight.' 'Yeah.' 'I'm staying with you.' 'Ron, that's not necessary.' 'I'm staying with you, whether you want me to or not.' Ron crossed his arms over his chest, and his chin set stubbornly. Hermione blew out a breath and looked up at Ron. 'Could you do a few things for me?' Ron shrugged out of the robes and laid them over the arm of the chair next to the bed. 'Sure.' Hermione began to tick a list of things to do on her fingers. 'Call Percy. We'll have to reschedule our meeting.' She began to think aloud. 'It's Wednesday today, so perhaps Friday or Monday…' 'Okay.' Ron started to leave the room. 'And I need that stack of books on the bookcase in the sitting room next to the kitchen door.' 'Got it.' Ron's hand landed on the doorknob. 'And I promised Mum I'd ring her today, but I left the mobile at home. Can you give her a quick ring and let her know what happened? And tell her I'll talk to her tomorrow?' she asked anxiously. The mobile, like all electronic devices, wouldn't work in St. Mungo's – too much interference from the magic. Ron's eyes got wider, but he nodded, twisting the doorknob. 'And bring me a change of clothes?' The corner of Ron's mouth twitched. 'Oh, I thought I'd just let you go home in that get up,' he smirked, letting go of the doorknob to flick the sleeve of Hermione's gown, neatly dodging the cuff she aimed at his head. 'Anything in particular?' 'Just don't bring me something that clashes horribly.' 'So that's a no to the plaid skirt and the striped jumper?' 'Considering I can't fit into either of them… Yeah, that would be a no.' 'Anything else?' Ron edged toward the door once more. His head was beginning to hurt from the list of things that would have taken the rest of Hermione's afternoon and most of the evening. 'Yeah. Bring me the book on my night table.' Ron frowned. 'I thought you were supposed to rest.' 'I am resting,' insisted Hermione. 'See? I'm lying down and everything.' 'You're working.' 'Ron, you know just as well as I do that if I don't have those things I will go mad thinking about it.' 'I know,' he admitted reluctantly. 'I'll be back in a bit.' Ron left Hermione's room and darted to an Apparition point. He went to the Ministry and took the lift to the offices the held the Minister and his staff. Knocking on the partially open door, Ron slipped inside. Percy was working at a large desk in an airy room that led to the Minister's private office doing some paperwork with one eye on his watch. 'Perce?' Percy glanced up. 'You wouldn't happen to know where Hermione is, do you? She's over an hour late. That's not like her.' He frowned disapprovingly.

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Ron ran a hand through his hair. 'Uh, yeah. She slipped and fell on her way over here. She's in St. Mungo's until tomorrow.' 'Is she all right?' Percy asked distractedly. 'Yeah. They just want to make sure the baby's okay.' 'Good…' Percy was already engrossed in his paperwork once more. 'Uh, Perce?' 'Yes?' 'Can you meet with Hermione Friday or Monday?' 'Uh-huh.' Ron sighed. 'Percy? Which day?' 'Yeah…' 'Percival!' Ron yelled. 'What?' Percy snapped. 'Friday or Monday?' Ron ground out between clenched teeth. Percy flipped through a desk calendar. 'Monday.' 'Thanks.' Ron turned on his heel, and left, getting all the way to the lift before remembering he had forgotten to set a time. He sprinted back to Percy's desk and skidded to a halt. 'Percy?' 'Yes?' Percy looked at Ron over the rims of his glasses. 'First thing Monday?' 'Yes.' Ron nodded and left, trying to remember what was next on the list. Jane, books, and clothes, he repeated to himself, over and over, hoping he didn't forget anything. The fireplaces weren't busy at this time of day, so Ron Flooed to their flat. 'Right, Jane first.' He found Hermione's mobile and dialed the house in Oxford. While he waited for Jane to answer the phone, Ron found his old schoolbag in the cupboard by the front door, and started to stuff the books stacked on the bookcase into it. 'Hello?' 'Jane, it's Ron.' 'What's wrong?' Jane asked, the worry radiating across the phone. 'Nothing,' Ron said quickly. 'She just tripped and fell. Shanti wants to keep an eye on her for the night.' He grunted slightly as he hefted the laden bag to his shoulder and took it into the bedroom. 'She's got a few bumps and scrapes, but she's all right.' 'That's good.' 'She'll give you a ring in the morning, or whenever she gets home from the hospital.' 'She's not planning on going in to work tomorrow, is she?' 'I hope not,' Ron muttered. 'Hermione'll stay off her feet tomorrow if I have to bloody sit on her.' 'Do you need me to come by tomorrow? I can easily take the morning off.'

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Ron started to tell Jane no, that it would be all right, but he found himself saying, 'Yeah, that would be great.' 'I'll try to make it as casual as possible. So she doesn't think we're ganging up on her.' 'Thanks,' Ron said fervently. He hit the "off" button and threw the phone into the middle of the bed. He walked to the bureau and rooted through a drawer for a jumper for Hermione. He then found a pair of trousers she'd favored a lot recently, because they fit her growing girth, and she still hadn't found time to go to Godric's Hollow and raid Ginny's things from when she'd been pregnant with James. He stuffed the clothing into the bag, and snatched the book from the night table. Ron hauled the bag to his shoulder and staggered slightly under its weight. He made his way back to the sitting room, and considered Flooing, but the extra weight on his back would make it awkward. Sighing, Ron Apparated back to the waiting area of St. Mungo's. He still hated Apparition after all this time. It made him queasy. He pushed open the door to Hermione's room. She had been tucked under the bedding, and the whooshing pulse of the baby's heartbeat still echoed softly in the background. Ron swung the bag to the chair and dropped to the foot of the bed. 'How are you doing?' Hermione stopped the idle twiddling of her thumbs and glowered at Ron. 'I'm bored.' She started to swing her feet to the floor. Ron gently pushed her back into the pillows. 'What do you think you're doing? You're supposed to stay off the ankle!' She looked up at him. 'I have to go to the loo. Or are you going to carry me in there?' 'I could,' Ron challenged her. 'Just help me walk over there.' Hermione sighed. All this enforced inactivity was going to send her to a nice padded room soon. She didn't know what to do if she didn't have a massive list of things to accomplish before dinner. Between Shanti and Ron, she'd be lucky to write her first draft, much less open one of the books Ron brought. Hermione edged into the bathroom, Ron's arm around her waist. He was practically carrying her as it was. She looked at Ron, standing next to her. 'Do you mind? Really not in a mood to pee in front of you right now.' Ron started. 'Oh, right.' He blushed and jerked his thumb at the door. 'I'll just be out there, then.' Hermione watched Ron close the door and shook her head. She sincerely hoped the rest of the pregnancy was uneventful. Otherwise, she was going to have to strangle Ron. Hermione couldn't stand hovering. And Ron had a tendency to hover sometimes. It was going to be an interesting night, if the past hour was any indication. Ron leaned forward and pillowed his head on his folded arms next to Hermione. 'Night, hen.' 'You're not going to sleep like that, are you?' 'I've slept in worse positions.' 'You won't sleep at all.' Ron snorted. 'I can sleep anywhere.' Hermione stared at the top of Ron's head. 'Ron?' 'Hmmm?' 'Could you… Sleep up here?' 'Will I fit?' he asked, opening one eye. 'I'll make you fit,' she promised. Ron sat up and moved to the edge of the bed. 'Budge up, then will you? I'm certainly not seventeen anymore.'

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Hermione giggled and slid over a bit, enough to allow Ron to lie on his side, facing Hermione. She turned her head to look at him. 'Have you thought of names yet?' 'Not really,' he replied, his eyes closed. 'Have you?' 'A bit,' she allowed. 'We're not using Ronald as a middle name for a boy,' Ron stated flatly. 'Fine. Then we're not using Hermione as a middle name for a girl. Too damn complicated to try and pronounce.' Hermione shrugged. 'Well…' Ron began. 'While we're on the subject, do you mind not naming the baby after any family members at all?' Ron picked up his head a bit. 'I mean, if you want to name it after your dad, that's all right.' Hermione shook her head. 'No. Not after any family members.' 'Not even after your dad?' 'Nope. I love my dad, but I want Angus to have his own name and identity.' One of Ron's hands lay on the bulge of the baby, and Hermione picked it up and laced her fingers through it. 'If we want to name it after Dad, I'm sure we can find some other way to do it, besides using Richard.' She chewed her lip for a moment before continuing quietly, 'It's the only thing Harry and Ginny have done that I absolutely disagree with them.' 'Why?' 'Don't get me wrong. I understand why he's named James after his father and Sirius, but don't you think it's an awful burden for a child? To try and live up to some nearly unreasonable expectation?' 'I suppose.' Ron's thumb slid back and forth across the back of Hermione's hand. 'I was thinking Beatrice for a girl.' 'Beatrice? Where'd you get that one?' 'Remember that book I got you for your birthday? Much Ado About Nothing, I think it's called?' 'Yes…' 'I read it one weekend. After your dad…' Ron swallowed. 'Died.' 'You did? You read a book?' Ron gave Hermione a censorious look down his long nose. 'I can read, you know. I just don't read like you do.' 'I know…' 'Anyway,' Ron said, picking up the thread of conversation. 'I'd like our daughter to be like that. Fierce. Protective. Smart. Spunky. Independent. Capable of insane amounts of love.' 'We'll put it on the list, then.' Hermione smiled at the idea of Ron wanting to use a name from a book. 'What if it's a boy?' Ron asked. 'We're not using Angus,' Hermione said automatically. 'Merlin, no. I don't want him to get roughed up at the play park.' Ron sniggered. 'Like Percy did when Fred called him Percival.' 'We don't have to decide right now,' Hermione yawned. 'No, we don't.' Ron laid his head back on the pillow next to Hermione. 'We've got plenty of time.' Ron fell asleep, listening to the sound of the baby's heartbeat, whooshing softly in the background, his hand over Hermione's heart, feeling the steady throb of her pulse under his palm.

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Sleep didn't come as easily to Hermione. She lay awake into the night, fretting about Angus. What if she had hurt him, and they couldn't tell? He's not even born yet, and I'm already dropping him. The whole day had only added to her worries about not being a good enough mother. It was like being in the dormitory sixth year, listening to Lavender and Parvati talk about boys. When they had talked about what they had done and with whom, it made Hermione cringe a little. She had only kissed Viktor the one time. And that had been over two years ago. Now, she had earned the privilege of listening to other witches talk about their children, and how advanced they were for their ages and all the oh-so-motherly things they did for their children. Like bake fresh biscuits every day. Teach them French when they were two. It was the dormitory all over again. Only this time, the stakes were much, much higher. And it made Hermione feel wholly inadequate.   Dear Mum and Dad,

SIXTEEN – When You Say Nothing At All

I've been Sorted in Slytherin… Hermione sat up with a gasp, dislodging Ron from the pillow. 'Waaaa?' he snorted. 'Baby in Slytherin,' she gasped. 'Huh?' 'Dream. Baby was Sorted into Slytherin.' Ron clumsily patted her thigh. ''S okay. Jus' a dream,' he mumbled, before his even breathing announced he'd gone back to sleep. Hermione lay back down, and laced her hands over her navel. It might have been just a dream, but she wondered… What would we do if Angus was Sorted into Slytherin? Hermione knew she would be mortified, given her experience with Slytherins. Ron… Ron would be devastated. No Weasley had ever been Sorted into anything but Gryffindor. It was an extremely unpleasant thought. 'You are not going out of the house looking like that, young lady!' 'But Mum… All the girls in my year shaved their heads!' 'Grow it back this instant!' 'No!' 'Beatrice Weasley! You come back here and change out of those ridiculous robes!' Hermione's eyes narrowed. 'Can see all the way down to her knickers. If you can call that dental floss knickers…' 'Hermione! Wake up!' Ron shook her slightly. 'Ennnn…' 'You're dreaming,' Ron informed her. 'Talking rubbish about knickers.' Hermione rubbed her eyes. 'I hate this place. Making me have all sorts of dreams.' Ron nodded. The times he'd had to stay in the hospital wing at school had made him have some rather unusual dreams, too. 'What was it about?' 'She was being a total prat. Wearing knickers that were next to nothing. Shaved her head.' file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Burning%20Down%20the%20House.htm[26/02/2011 15:35:50]

'Right. Because a boy would never act like that,' Ron muttered sardonically. 'Don't you dream about it?' 'Sometimes,' he admitted. 'Usually Angus is a Squib and has to go be an accountant like Mum's cousin. And he only comes round at Christmas and leaves straightaway after dinner.' 'Do you really think that would happen?' 'Mum says it did. Her auntie Janet never saw her cousin, really, except at Christmas. And he usually left after a few hours.' Ron yawned widely. 'Mum said it was for his own sanity. Sometimes, a Squib can get downright bitter if they're around magic folk, when they can't do so much as make a wand produce sparks. Like Filch.' 'That's so… sad…' Hermione began to sniff. 'Hey… Don't worry. I'm sure a child of yours wouldn't dare to be anything other than magical.' 'What's that supposed to mean?' Hermione asked suspiciously, swiping her nose on the sleeve of her gown. 'Nothing,' Ron said hastily. 'You need to try and get some rest, hen.' He urged her back down, and glared at her until she closed her eyes. When she did manage to go back to sleep, Ron sagged with relief. He tended to blurt whatever was on his mind sometimes. Not a good policy with a pregnant woman. Sighing, he settled back into the pillow and tried to go back to sleep. I'm right here! Ron's fists beat against the walls of… Somewhere. 'You remember Hugo, don't you? Of course, you do. You just saw him last Wednesday.' Hermione asked him gently, drawing a shy boy forward by the hand. 'He's eight today,' she said proudly. 'He's come to see you every week since that accident in the shop.' What accident? Ron was confused. He didn't remember an accident. Hugo looked familiar. If he was a girl, he'd be petite, even delicate. He looked a lot like Hermione, save for his eyes. They were his eyes. The color, at any rate. 'Go on and wait in the corridor, sweetie,' Hermione whispered. The boy trudged out to the corridor, dragging his feet, throwing one last glance at a gaunt man sitting in a chair by a window. Hermione waited until the door swung shut, and she turned around, and Ron felt her begin to comb through his hair. Why does she have to comb my hair? He tried to ask Hermione what was wrong, but only a garbled moan emitted from his mouth. Saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth, and Hermione picked up a folded handkerchief and gently blotted his face with it. 'Here, darling, let me get that for you.' How long have I been here? Ron wondered. And where the bloody hell is "here" anyway? 'He did magic last week,' Hermione said, replacing the handkerchief on a small table. 'Took your broom from the broom shed at the Burrow at lunch on Sunday. Was thirty feet off the ground before anyone could stop him. He fell off just when Harry got up there. Fell more than fifty feet and not a scratch.' Ron tried to grin at that, but his face wouldn't work. Hermione sighed, and leaned forward to press a kiss to his forehead. 'I'll see you tomorrow, Ron.' Her voice cracked a little, and her hand left his hair regretfully. Wait! Where are you going? Don't leave me here! 'Bloody hell!' Ron exclaimed softly, sitting up. He ran his hands over his arms, and through his hair, as if to test that they still worked.

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'What?' Hermione's sleepy voice drifted up from the pillow. 'Nothing. Go back to sleep.' Ron slid out of the bed and padded into the bathroom. He grabbed a glass in a shaking hand, and filled it with water. 'She can Avada Kedavra me if I ever get like that for real,' he muttered, his teeth chattering against the glass. 'Poison me, I don't bloody care.' He mentally began to catalogue all the materials they worked with in the shop. Some of them were capable of creating spectacular explosions if mixed in the wrong proportions. He and George prided themselves on their long, accident-free record. 'Makes sense… He and Fred worked all the kinks out in their bedroom at home.' Ron splashed some cold water on his face and dropped into the hard chair next to the bed. He knew he was about as clairvoyant as the chair under his bum, but after his dreams last spring, he got spooked every so often, when a particularly vivid one attached itself to his memory. It wasn't long before he was asleep once more. 'Good morning!' a cheerful voice sang the next morning. A witch sailed in with a tray of something that resembled food in its odor. 'Oh! I didn't know you stayed,' she exclaimed when she discovered Ron slumped in the chair. 'I don't think there's enough on the tray for the both of you to have breakfast,' she mused doubtfully. 'I'll have to fetch another tray for you.' Ron eyed the rubbery eggs and lumpy porridge, repressing a shudder of distaste. 'No thanks. I'm not hungry,' he muttered. 'All right then. Shanti'll be by in a mo to check things out.' 'Yeah, thanks,' Ron yawned, rubbing a hand over his stubbly face. 'Why do they have to be so damn cheerful first thing in the morning?' a voice mumbled behind him. Hermione pushed herself up to something resembling a sitting position. 'Enough to make me want to gag.' Ron nudged the tray closer to Hermione. 'Want that?' She leaned closer to examine it, a cautious forefinger prodding the surface of the porridge. 'I've seen botched potions that were more appetizing than this.' She pushed the tray aside. 'I think I'll pass.' 'Can't blame you. When Shanti's done with us, I'll get us a proper breakfast.' 'You're a life saver.' Ron grinned smugly. 'I have my moments.' He picked up the toast lying near the edge of the tray and held it out. 'Eat this, at least. Not much they can do to ruin toast,' he ventured. Hermione sighed and took the proffered toast. She took a bite, grimaced, and swallowed. 'Wrong. It seems they can cock up toast.' Ron glared at the offending toast. 'How can they ruin toast, for Merlin's sake?' He snatched the piece of toast from Hermione's hand and took a bite. His face crumpled and he dropped it in the middle of the now nearly solid porridge. 'I don't know what they did, but, when Angus is born, I'm bringing you all your meals.' Shanti knocked on the door. 'Everyone up?' she asked, peering around the door. 'Lovely.' She came in the room and wrinkled her nose at the rapidly cooling breakfast tray. 'I can't blame you,' she confessed in an undertone. 'Puts me off my appetite, too. That kitchen can't brew a cuppa worth a damn, either.' She pointed her wand at the tray and Vanished it. 'So…' she said, consulting a clipboard. 'How did you sleep last night?' 'Most piss poor night of sleep I've had in ages,' Ron responded darkly. 'I was talking to Hermione…' 'Oh, right.' Ron dropped into the chair. Hermione smothered a grin, and shrugged. 'I've had worse nights,' she offered. 'Dreaming, were you?'

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'Some.' 'You can say that again,' growled Ron under his breath. 'That's perfectly normal.' Shanti pulled up the edge of Hermione's gown and rested the tip of her wand under her navel. The faint sound of the baby's heartbeat increased in volume. 'One hundred fifty beats,' she murmured. Shanti held up the clipboard. 'Want to see it?' 'What? The baby?' asked Ron. 'We can do that?' 'Sure can. A couple of us are trying to figure out how to get it on parchment or something so you can take it home.' 'It's like an ultrasound!' Hermione exclaimed, tracing the curve of the baby's head. 'Exactly,' Shanti said. 'How do you know about ultrasounds?' Shanti shrugged. 'My parents are Muggle-born. One of my mum's sisters is a doctor in York. Works mostly with obstetrics and gynecology. Takes the high-risk cases. I've picked up a few things from her over the years.' Ron glanced between them, confused. 'What's an ultrasound?' 'It's a way Muggles can see the fetus before it's born. Uses sound waves to create a picture of it.' Shanti informed him. 'Stop.' Ron waved a hand at her. 'It's too early for me to be this confused.' He gestured to the image of the baby. 'That's ours, then?' 'No, it's some random woman's,' Hermione huffed. 'Of course it's ours.' Ron peered at the baby's face. 'Got your nose,' he commented. 'Is he sucking his thumb?' 'Appears to be.' Shanti gave them both a look. 'Want to know the sex?' Hermione's face lit up. 'Ye…. Uh, no…' she sighed. 'Part of the bet,' she moaned regretfully. Shanti laughed. 'All right, then.' She removed her wand and lifted the charm allowing them to hear the baby's heartbeat. 'I'll just check your ankle and knee, and get on with discharging you.' She pulled the gown back over Hermione's abdomen, and lifted the edge of the bedding to expose the bandaged ankle. 'Marvelous. Swelling's gone down. Stay off it for a few more days, all right?' Shanti moved up to Hermione's knee and gently peeled off the bandage. The deepest of the scrapes was nearly gone, and the others were healed, with nothing more than pink streaks in their wake. 'I'm going to re-dress the knee and wrap that ankle again, and then you can go. The baby seems fine.' Shanti sat on the edge of the bed, by Hermione's feet. 'I do want you to take it easy the rest of the week. I don't want you to go back to work until Monday.' 'But I've got work to do!' Hermione protested. 'I know you do. I don't usually order working mothers to stop working all together, unless it's going to harm the baby, or them. But you do need to slow down a bit. No more trips up to Hogsmeade or the school.' 'But…' Shanti indicated the bag next to the bed, its seams straining from the size of the books Ron had stuffed into it. 'I know you've got this enormous ambition to make the house-elves lot better. But writing that legislation is something you can do, off your feet.' 'But…' 'I'm not confining you to bed, Hermione. I'm just saying you can afford to ease up a bit.'

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Hermione ran her hand through her tangled hair. 'Fine,' she muttered. Ron walked into the flat, massaging the back of his neck. It was getting closer to Halloween, and aside from the beginning and end of the school term and Christmas, it was one of their busiest times. He couldn't wait until January and they all got to breathe again. He heard a muffled curse, and the raucous sounds of a Muggle rock band suddenly ceased, only to be replaced by something that was guaranteed to put Ron to sleep in ten minutes. He poked his head into the bedroom, where Hermione was lying on the bed, writing on an impossibly long scroll of parchment, her face slightly pink, humming along with the tranquil music. Casually, Ron strolled to the CD player, and hit "stop". He opened the tray and pulled out one of the CDs. 'Oh, please tell me you're not making Angus listen to Rattle and Hum,' he said, a pained expression on his face. 'I thought you liked U2.' 'I do. But not Rattle and Hum,' Ron replied scornfully. He replaced the CD in its case. 'If you're going to play U2 from that era, at least play Joshua Tree…' He left the room, and Hermione stuck her tongue out at his back. 'I'll listen to what ever I bloody want,' she muttered. 'If Daddy's going to read the bloody Quidditch scores to you, I can play whichever U2 album I choose.' Hermione awkwardly knelt on the hearth and threw the handful of Floo powder she held into the flames. She stuck her head into the flames, grateful it was Ron's Saturday to work at the shop and he wasn't there to scold her for getting into such an unwieldy position. 'Ginny?' she called out. Hermione heard footsteps and Harry's socked feet came into view. He crouched down to talk to her. 'She's upstairs. Want me to get her?' 'Um, could you?' 'Sure.' Harry disappeared, and Hermione shifted, trying to find a comfortable position to kneel with her head in the fire. It wasn't very comfortable when she wasn't pregnant, but the extra weight wasn't helping. 'Hi, Hermione!' Ginny said brightly. 'Are you busy?' 'Not unless you count doing laundry, which I don't. Want some company?' 'Yes,' Hermione breathed. 'Give me half an hour.' Ginny straightened up and turned toward the stairs. 'I'll bring the clothes with me, too!' she called over her shoulder. 'Okay,' Hermione grunted as she attempted to stand. It wasn't a moment too soon for Ginny to bring over her maternity clothes. As things stood right now, Hermione was wearing a pair of Ron's pajama bottoms that were so old, the elastic was shot. It was one of the few things in the flat that fit. She slowly walked back to the sofa to wait for Ginny. With the realization that nothing was going to particularly fit her today, she was in a funk. She felt like a beached whale. And the purplish marks radiating across her abdomen didn't help her mood. I'll bet Ginny never had stretch marks, she thought to herself glumly. Ron was never going to see her naked again. He'd laughed hysterically when he saw her getting dressed that morning. Her navel had popped out. Hermione had been mortified. She'd snatched her clothing off the bed, and went into the bathroom to finish dressing. Ginny came out of the fireplace, a canvas bag in one hand. She took in Hermione's glum appearance and threadbare paisley pajama bottoms, and held out a hand to Hermione. 'Come on; let's go try some of this stuff on. Those pajamas were horrid on Ron, and they don't do much for you.' Hermione couldn't help but smile at the infectious grin on Ginny's face. 'Got any trousers than will make my bum look smaller? ' she asked, taking Ginny's hand, and allowing Ginny to help her to her feet. 'Of course I do,' Ginny replied solemnly. 'They will be your best friend the next two and a half months.' She led Hermione into

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the bedroom, dumping the contents of the bag in the middle of the bed. 'Actually, I had about four pairs of stretchy black trousers, which I now bequeath to you.' She glanced over her shoulder. 'I won't need them for a while.' 'Gin…?' Hermione interrupted. 'Yeah?' 'Did you ever feel totally inadequate as a mother?' Hermione asked in a rush. 'All the time. It's kind of hard not to, when you've got Molly Weasley as a mother.' Hermione snorted. 'You don't make any mistakes with James, though…' 'Oh yes, I did!' Ginny laughed. 'You didn't see us the first few weeks. I didn't sleep more than two or three hours at a stretch until he was eight weeks old. It was another two months before he slept through the night. 'Harry kept getting up the first night we brought James home. Stood over the cot, watching him breathe.' Ginny handed Hermione a pair of trousers. 'Here, try those on.' She twirled a lock of hair around her finger, and continued. 'Harry dropped him. James, I mean,' she confessed. 'We'd just given him a bath, and he was a bit slippery, and was squirming a bit, and he slipped out of Harry's hands.' 'But you, though…' 'I had my share of moments. James wouldn't stop crying one night. Nothing I did seemed to help. I fed him, I changed him, I burped him. Nothing. Harry walks in, takes him from me, and in five minutes he's sound asleep.' Ginny traced the pattern of the quilt on the bed. 'That happened a lot the first few months. I was tired and stressed, and James knew it.' She shook her head, a rueful expression on her face. 'I was convinced I was a horrible mother. A few nights when that was going on, I was crying as much as James was.' 'But you know what to do with him. You know how he sounds when he's hungry…' 'Only after several days of trial and error.' Ginny wrapped an arm around Hermione. 'It won't happen overnight.' 'And then there's Harry…' Hermione added mournfully. 'He didn't even grow up with parents, and he's a good father. Look what he does with Teddy.' Ginny snorted loudly. 'You weren't there when Andie first brought Teddy over for the afternoon. Harry nearly panicked the first time he had to change a nappy. Mum forgot to tell him to put a dry nappy over Teddy – ' 'Why?' 'Boys tend to spray when they're exposed like that,' Ginny replied with a wry grin. 'And Teddy got Harry right in the face. And there was the time Mum warned him not to hold Teddy up over his head right after a feeding, and Teddy threw up all over Harry's face.' Ginny giggled. 'I promise you, you will make some incredibly stupid mistakes, no matter how many books you read. And it's okay. Sometimes you have to do it wrong once or twice to figure out how to do it right. 'And what's right for you and Angus here won't be what's been right for James and me.' 'I'm so afraid I'm going to muck it all up.' She drew in a shaky breath. 'I keep dreaming that he'll be in Slytherin. Or that she'll turn into a rebellious teenager. More rebellious than you, me, Harry, Ron, and the twins combined.' 'How rebellious can that be?' Ginny's brows knit in contemplation. Aside from the twins leaving school early, and Ron, Hermione, and Harry skiving off and missing their seventh year entirely, none of them had really been the rebellious type. 'Shaved head, Muggle tattoos, and dental floss for knickers.' 'Oh… ouch.' Ginny rubbed the back of her neck. 'You know… I think Mum's biggest mistake with Bill was going on about his hair and earring. He just wanted her to notice it. If she'd ignored it, I don't think he'd have kept the earring.' Ginny paused. 'Well, he might have kept the earring, but not the fang.' She sorted through the clothes on the bed. 'He got that between his sixth and seventh year. Grew his hair out seventh year. Mum went spare, and that just made him more determined to keep it.' Ginny pulled her knees into her chest. 'You're going to be a great mum.' file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Burning%20Down%20the%20House.htm[26/02/2011 15:35:50]

'How do you know?' 'Because you care enough to worry about it.'  

SEVENTEEN – A Sorta Fairytale

Hermione opened the door of the flat, and tried to pick up the Times she had delivered to the flat from the doormat. Using the doorjamb as a support, she bent to pick up the paper. She rarely had time to actually read it lately, but she refused to cancel her subscription. Ron didn't even raise an eyebrow over the stack of newspapers in the corner of the sitting room anymore. He knew she liked to keep up with the news in the Muggle world. After she managed to come to a standing position, Hermione started to close the door, when a scrap of parchment lying on the mat caught her eye. She dropped the Times on the sofa and went back to the door, peering up and down the corridor. Owls usually came to their kitchen window. Sighing, she bent awkwardly, and just managed to pluck the parchment from the mat with her fingertips. Once she had closed the door, Hermione turned the parchment over. There was no return address, nor had it been addressed to either her or Ron. She gave a worried glance toward their bedroom, and took the parchment into the kitchen. She sat at the table and opened the parchment warily. Once it was open, she burst into laughter. It was something out of the most prosaic Muggle mystery novels. The words were made up of individual letters cut from magazines, pasted to the parchment. She sat back in the chair, and scanned the letter. Why do you insist on continuing this charade with house-elves? They're not worth the bother you give to them. They're not worthy to sit in equality with wizards and witches. You ought to stop, before you make someone unhappy. It wasn't signed. Hermione ripped the parchment into tiny shreds, before throwing them into the rubbish bin in the corner of the kitchen. 'At least there wasn't bubotuber pus in it,' she said softly, with a smirk. 'Did you say something?' Ron asked, scrubbing his hands over his face. Hermione looked up. 'No. Just talking to myself.' Ron gave her a look, but decided not to pursue it. 'What time is your mum coming by?' 'Not sure. She was going to see the Cavity Triplets this morning, then come over. But knowing the Triplets it might take a while.' 'The Cavity Triplets?' 'Have I never told you about them?' Ron shook his head. 'They're patients of my mother's. They have notoriously bad teeth. It takes all morning to deal with them.' 'Oh.' Ron busied himself making tea. 'I'll be home late tonight. Hogsmeade weekend today, so I'm going up to work in the shop up there today.' 'How late?' 'Late enough,' Ron grumbled. 'I thought you liked the Christmas rush,' Hermione said skeptically. 'I do…' Ron offered Hermione a cup of tea. 'It's only that I've been meaning to do Angus' room for a month, and every time I think I've got the time to do it, something comes up.' He took a cup for himself. 'I was going to do it two weeks ago, but Fred and Jacob came down with dragon pox, and George was out of the shop for a week, then Christmas rush started, and by the time I get home, the last thing I want to do is paint walls.' Hermione snorted. 'First of all, you don't have to do it now. Baby's not due until mid-February. Second, why are you so determined to do it the Muggle way? You can do it with magic, and do it in a few seconds.' Ron shrugged. 'Just want to get it done. One less thing to worry about later.' file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Burning%20Down%20the%20House.htm[26/02/2011 15:35:50]

'I'm impressed.' Hermione pushed herself to standing, and went to retrieve the newspaper from the sofa. 'You usually leave things to the last minute…' Ron rolled his eyes. 'That was years ago, hen. I haven't left anything to the last minute in ages. And can you blame me if I don't want Angus to have to sleep in a drawer or something when we bring him home? And I just want to do it by hand.' He traced the rim of his cup. 'There are some things that magic just isn't good enough.' Ron spread a hand over Hermione's stomach. 'This is one of them.' His eyes widened as he felt something nudge his hand. 'What was that?' 'Angus,' Hermione replied with an amused glint in her eye. 'Obviously. But what was it? Hand? Foot?' Hermione laid her hand over Ron's. 'Foot, I think.' 'You can tell?' 'Yeah.' She slid Ron's hand up further. 'Head's here, for now,' she said, pressing his hand down. 'Feel that?' Angus stretched and Ron let out a gurgle of surprise. 'He moves a lot during the mornings. And at night lately. He wakes me up sometimes.' 'Isn't the head supposed to be on the other end?' Ron squinted doubtfully at Hermione. 'I thought he was supposed to come out head first?' 'He will. I hope.' 'You hope?' Ron asked uncertainly. 'She can come out feet first…' 'Mum said I came out arse first,' Ron offered. 'Born telling the world to kiss your bum, eh?' Ron blushed. 'Something like that…' Hermione kissed the top of his head. 'Some things never change.' She sat down next to Ron, and opened the paper. Ron looked over her shoulder at the headlines. 'Makes you wonder sometimes…' 'What does?' she asked distractedly. 'Even after we defeated Riddle, there're still all these horrible things going on,' he said, indicating the headlines. 'Wars. Kidnappings. And we're going to bring a child into this…' Surprised, Hermione turned. 'There's always going to be something going on,' she reminded him. 'Whether in the Muggle world, or ours.' 'I just hoped it would be better. After everything we did.' 'It is better. For us, at any rate.' Ron shook his head. 'I'm not so sure. Every time there were bad things in the Muggle world, Dark wizards were behind it.' Hermione sobered. 'You think there's a Dark witch or wizard out there, pulling strings on Muggles like a puppet?' 'It's happened before…' Hermione sighed. 'Ron, it's not going to happen for every evil, immoral Muggle in the universe. Muggles are perfectly capable of mucking up their own lives without a Riddle-type person behind them.' She rested her head on his shoulder. 'We'll just have to help her figure out how to navigate both worlds.' 'Easier said than done,' Ron snorted.

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'I know.' After a few minutes, Ron tilted Hermione's chin up, and dropped a soft kiss on her mouth. 'I have to go,' he murmured regretfully. 'Ron?' 'Yeah?' 'There are things we can control, and things we can't. What happens outside the confines of our flat – that's out of our hands.' Ron's mouth dropped open. 'Who are you and what have you done with my wife?' he demanded. Hermione chuckled to herself. 'If nothing else, the last year and a half taught me you can't control everything.' Ron shook his head. 'I'd have thought the Time-Turner would have taught you that over ten years ago.' Hermione turned a page of the newspaper. 'Sometimes, I'm a slow learner.' 'When have you ever been a slow learner?' Ron scoffed. Hermione grinned up at Ron. 'I'm also insanely stubborn.' 'I'd never have noticed that,' Ron said dryly. 'You're going to be late,' Hermione reminded Ron. 'Tell Lucas and Sasha hello for me.' She leaned back and watched Ron dart out of the kitchen so he could dress. Her eyes dropped back down to the paper, then over her shoulder to the rubbish bin in the corner, where the pieces of parchment rested among banana peels and tea leaves. Harry walked into the kitchen, where Ginny was attempting to spoon banana yogurt into James' mouth. He held out a piece of orange material. 'Gin, what's this?' 'It's a gift. For Ron and Hermione.' 'What is it?' 'Replica Quiddtich robes for the Cannons. Just like the Tutshill ones we got for James when he was born.' Harry frowned at the garment dangling from his fingers. 'If I recall, James outgrew those in about a month.' 'So?' Ginny challenged. 'That was after he spit up all over them so much, even Molly couldn't get the stains out.' Ginny smiled. 'But the photograph of him in them is awfully cute. I can't wait until he brings a girl over. We'll enlarge it, and put it in the middle of the mantle.' 'I thought we were doing that with the one of his first bath?' 'Oh, but the Quidditch robes are so much cuter.' 'So, it's all about the parental embarrassment?' 'Absolutely. You should have seen the photographs of Ron Mum had out when Hermione came over for the World Cup.' 'What photographs of Ron?' Harry tried to remember any potentially embarrassing photographs of Ron as a baby in the Burrow at that time. 'Oh, he got rid of them before you came,' Ginny said. 'I think he put them under a loose floorboard in the attic.' Her face lit with glee. 'But not before Hermione got a good look at the one of Ron in dress robes when he was about six months old.'

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Harry's eyes closed beatifically. 'I'd have loved to see that.' He opened them, and shook out the tiny robes. 'Where'd you get this?' 'Quality Quidditch Supplies. Where else?' 'How do you know they don't have one of these already?' 'Because I asked Hermione when I took my maternity clothes over to her last week.' Ginny scraped the yogurt from around James' mouth, dodging his attempts to grab the spoon. 'And you just had to go get one for them.' 'Just like you just had to order one for James from Which Broomstick,' Ginny retorted. 'Yeah, well…' Harry blushed. 'So I'm going to their flat later and get the baby's room prepped. Ron and I are going to paint it when he gets home from work tonight,' he said, changing the subject. 'How long is that going to take?' 'No clue. But he'll be back from Hogsmeade by six, he said. Midnight maybe?' 'Have fun,' Ginny told him, wiping the smears of yogurt from James' face. 'Don't wake me when you come home.' 'I just might. Payback for all those nights you've woken me up coming home after a game.' Harry picked James up from his chair. 'Do you want to go help Daddy paint your new cousin's room later?' he asked his son. 'Or you could be a good boy tonight, and stay asleep when I come home. Let Mummy and Daddy have some alone time?' 'Oh well, if that's the case, then I'll just have to stay awake, then, won't I?' Ginny sighed dramatically. 'Couldn't hurt,' Harry threw over his shoulder. 'No, it couldn't…' Ginny murmured. 'All right…' Hermione glanced at the pages of notes she'd taken while talking with the Hogwarts elves. 'The Hogwarts elves don't belong to anyone in particular. Their allegiance is to the school itself… Maybe, we can make it so the elves' allegiance can be to the Ministry, and they work for a family. That way, if the family mistreats them, there can be an independent committee that can investigate such claims. That way, they'd still work for a family, but the family itself isn't their master and can't abuse them by giving them clothes or physical punishments…' She rubbed a hand over her stomach. 'What do you think? Would that work?' she asked the baby, who was lazily stretching, making her jumper ripple. Her mobile vibrated, and Hermione glanced at the screen, as she flipped it open. Jane had sent a text message. She would be a bit later than she had anticipated. The youngest of the Cavity Triplets was in need of a few fillings. Hermione closed the mobile and laid it back on the kitchen table. 'Now, how do we convince those families that still have elves to sign a magical contract handing regulation of the elves over to the Ministry?' A knock sounded on the door, and scowling, Hermione rose to her feet and went to answer the door. 'Molly!' She stepped back to let the older woman to come into the flat. 'How are you feeling, dear?' 'Like a punching bag.' 'A what?' Molly's brows drew together in frown. 'It's something Muggles use when they train for boxing. It's a large bag they hang from the ceiling,' Hermione explained. 'Then they, well, punch it.' 'Oh. All right, then.' 'Can I get you something, Molly? Tea?' 'Maybe later,' Molly said with a small smile. 'I've got something for you, though.' She reached into her handbag, and set a

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small package on the floor of the sitting room, and tapped it with her wand. It slowly expanded until it reached its normal size. 'I wanted you to have this.' 'What is it?' 'Open it,' encouraged Molly. Hermione peeled off a strip of the brown paper Molly had wrapped around the package. A gleam of something underneath captured her curiosity, so she ripped off another strip of paper. Soon, a cradle emerged from the packaging. It was oak, carved with leaves and vines around the edges. 'It's beautiful,' Hermione breathed. Molly traced a finger over the vine that wound around the edge of the head. 'My brother Gideon made it. When I was carrying Bill. He made a matching rocking chair, but I gave that to Ginny before James was born.' Molly looked up at Hermione. 'All my children have something from when they were babies. But I wanted Ron and Ginny to have the things my brother made. Because they don't remember Gideon or Fabian. They were killed not too long after Ginny was born.' Molly smiled wistfully. 'I named Fred and George for them. Their middle names, at least.' Hermione blinked, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. 'Thank you.' 'They would have liked you,' Molly stated, as she gently tipped the cradle, letting it rock a bit. 'Ron got really fussy right after he was born,' she reminisced. 'Fabian came over and stayed up all night in the sitting room with Ron, rocking him in this cradle.' Molly's smile grew wider. 'Fabian didn't care, as long as he had a book to read.' 'Molly…?' Hermione ventured. 'Were you scared when Bill was born?' 'Of course I was. I was only nineteen, and had only been married a few months, so adding a new baby to the stress of a new marriage…' Molly patted Hermione's knee. 'And well, the war was starting to heat up. Having a baby seemed like a foolish thing to do in hindsight. But I wouldn't have traded having Bill for anything. I just had to cross my fingers and hope a better time would come.' 'What's your secret?' Hermione rolled the hem of her jumper between her fingers. 'Secret?' 'You do it all better than anybody else I know. And that includes my own mother.' Molly started, but recovered quickly. 'It's a very long story, dear. But suffice to say that there was one thing I really wanted to do, back when Bill and Charlie were small, and realistically, I couldn't do it. So, I decided to be the best mother I could be, knowing that if the worst happened, I would be all they had.' Molly drew in a shaky breath. 'Sometimes, I wondered if I overdid it a bit, when all you girls seem to use me as some sort of measuring stick.' Hermione leaned against Molly. 'You are quite the mum to live up to.' 'You'll do fine, Hermione. Both you and Ron.' Molly laid a hand over Hermione's abdomen. 'Just try to teach them to make the best decisions. That's all you can do.' She sat quietly for a moment. 'It's all Arthur and I tried to do with ours.' Molly left a few minutes later, leaving Hermione to contemplate the gleaming cradle in front of her. Hermione had been a part of the family for years, even well before she and Ron were married. She had always known it. But having Molly bequeath this heirloom to her was even more of a gift than anything else Molly could have done. Hermione reached out with a tentative hand, and set the cradle to rocking. It was one of the few tangible reminders Molly had of her beloved brothers. She had seen the photographs of Gideon and Fabian Prewett. One of them had to be one of the last times Molly had seen them alive; it had been taken right after Ginny was born – all seven of the Weasley children were clustered around two identical laughing men. There was even one of Fabian, cradling Ron in one arm, while he read a book in the other hand. It made Hermione feel extremely lucky. Her own family was now just Jane. She wondered if this was how Harry had felt when he found himself all but adopted by the Weasleys, knowing he would never have to face anything alone ever again. Ron handed Harry a small can of white paint, and set him to painting the crown molding of the room. 'I had a dream,' he

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began. 'When Hermione was in the hospital.' 'What was it about?' Harry straddled a ladder, and began to delicately brush the white paint over the wood. Ron pried off the lid of the blue paint, and meditatively stirred it. 'I was like Neville's parents,' he said softly. 'Worse, I guess. I knew everything that was going on, but I couldn't talk, I couldn't move.' He dipped a wide brush and started spreading paint over the wall. 'Hermione was there, visiting, with our son on his eighth birthday. She came every day. And for what?' Ron asked bitterly. 'To see someone who wasn't the man she married?' 'It's just a dream, mate.' Harry carefully drew the brush down the wall. 'I used to dream like that a lot when Ginny was pregnant with James.' 'Look, I know dreams are just dreams, but I had one right before Hermione's father died…' Ron cleared his throat and stammered, 'Well, there was a funeral… And we were…' He blushed. 'She was pregnant soon after he died.' He shrugged. 'After that, this one spooked me quite a bit.' 'I can imagine,' Harry said. 'What if something happens to me?' Ron mumbled. 'If something happens to you, we'll take care of them,' Harry replied, gazing down at the top of Ron's head. 'But honestly, you can't think like that, Ron. You'll make yourself mad.' 'I know.' Ron stood staring at the partially blue wall, the paintbrush dangling from his fingers, paint dripping from the bristles. 'Oh, bugger,' he exclaimed, noticing the small puddle of paint that had somehow missed the sheet of canvas Ron had spread on the floor. Ron set his brush down on the canvas, and ran to grab a towel from the bathroom. He took the first one his hand landed on. He dashed back into the room, and knelt to wipe the splatters of paint from the polished wooden floor. 'You could have used magic for that,' Harry pointed out. 'I forgot,' Ron said sheepishly, regarding the once-white towel in his hands, now liberally smeared with blue. Harry slid down the ladder, and moved it over a few feet. 'Ron,' he said quietly. 'I promise you, that if something happens to you, Hermione and your child will be taken care of. I swear to you on the life of my son.' 'Thanks.' Ron's shoulders seemed to settle and he retrieved his paintbrush. 'Let's get this done, then.' 'Mione? Wake up.' Ron wearily shook her shoulder. 'Ennn. Why….?' 'I have something for you. Early Christmas gift.' Hermione squinted at the clock. 'Ron, it's three in the morning.' 'I know. I just finished everything.' 'Can't we do this later?' Hermione begged. 'Sleep now…' 'Please, hen? Come look?' 'You're not going to let me go back to sleep, will you? 'No.' Ron tugged at Hermione's hand. 'Fine,' she grumbled, shoving the bedding away, allowing Ron to pull her to her feet. She trudged behind him, rubbing her eyes as she walked. She wasn't paying attention when Ron stopped walking, and ran headlong into his back. 'Ooof! Sorry…' 'Ready?' he asked excitedly. 'Yeah.'

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Ron opened the door, and gestured for Hermione to go into the room. She stood in the doorway, taking in the obvious effort and care that Ron had put into the room. 'Do you like it?' he asked nervously. Hermione walked around the room, her fingers trailing over the slats of the cot. It was already made up with a tiny quilt. A small stuffed bunny occupied one corner of the cot, wearing a miniature Cannons shirt. In another corner of the room, Ron had placed a rocking chair, next to a small table with a lamp. And next to the window, rested a small bookcase, already filled with books – Wizarding and Muggle fairy tales. She ran her fingertips over the spines, tracing the titles. 'It's perfect.' 'Harry and Ginny helped pick out the Muggle books.' Hermione nodded, tears trembling on her eyelashes. 'I picked out the bunny.' 'I figured you had,' she whispered. 'Your mum gave me the quilt. Said it had been yours.' 'Ron?' 'Yeah?' 'Stop talking…' Hermione pushed the sheer white curtains away from the window. She could see their small plot, with the bare canes of the rose bushes. Ron came behind her, and wrapped his arms around her. 'I'm glad you like it.' 'I love it.'  

EIGHTEEN – 3 AM

Hermione opened the door of the flat, and tried to pick up the Times she had delivered to the flat from the doormat. Using the doorjamb as a support, she bent to pick up the paper. She rarely had time to actually read it lately, but she refused to cancel her subscription. Ron didn't even raise an eyebrow over the stack of newspapers in the corner of the sitting room anymore. He knew she liked to keep up with the news in the Muggle world. After she managed to come to a standing position, Hermione started to close the door, when a scrap of parchment lying on the mat caught her eye. She dropped the Times on the sofa and went back to the door, peering up and down the corridor. Owls usually came to their kitchen window. Sighing, she bent awkwardly, and just managed to pluck the parchment from the mat with her fingertips. Once she had closed the door, Hermione turned the parchment over. There was no return address, nor had it been addressed to either her or Ron. She gave a worried glance toward their bedroom, and took the parchment into the kitchen. She sat at the table and opened the parchment warily. Once it was open, she burst into laughter. It was something out of the most prosaic Muggle mystery novels. The words were made up of individual letters cut from magazines, pasted to the parchment. She sat back in the chair, and scanned the letter. Why do you insist on continuing this charade with house-elves? They're not worth the bother you give to them. They're not worthy to sit in equality with wizards and witches. You ought to stop, before you make someone unhappy. It wasn't signed. Hermione ripped the parchment into tiny shreds, before throwing them into the rubbish bin in the corner of the kitchen. 'At least there wasn't bubotuber pus in it,' she said softly, with a smirk. 'Did you say something?' Ron asked, scrubbing his hands over his face. Hermione looked up. 'No. Just talking to myself.' Ron gave her a look, but decided not to pursue it. 'What time is your mum coming by?' 'Not sure. She was going to see the Cavity Triplets this morning, then come over. But knowing the Triplets it might take a while.' file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Burning%20Down%20the%20House.htm[26/02/2011 15:35:50]

'The Cavity Triplets?' 'Have I never told you about them?' Ron shook his head. 'They're patients of my mother's. They have notoriously bad teeth. It takes all morning to deal with them.' 'Oh.' Ron busied himself making tea. 'I'll be home late tonight. Hogsmeade weekend today, so I'm going up to work in the shop up there today.' 'How late?' 'Late enough,' Ron grumbled. 'I thought you liked the Christmas rush,' Hermione said skeptically. 'I do…' Ron offered Hermione a cup of tea. 'It's only that I've been meaning to do Angus' room for a month, and every time I think I've got the time to do it, something comes up.' He took a cup for himself. 'I was going to do it two weeks ago, but Fred and Jacob came down with dragon pox, and George was out of the shop for a week, then Christmas rush started, and by the time I get home, the last thing I want to do is paint walls.' Hermione snorted. 'First of all, you don't have to do it now. Baby's not due until mid-February. Second, why are you so determined to do it the Muggle way? You can do it with magic, and do it in a few seconds.' Ron shrugged. 'Just want to get it done. One less thing to worry about later.' 'I'm impressed.' Hermione pushed herself to standing, and went to retrieve the newspaper from the sofa. 'You usually leave things to the last minute…' Ron rolled his eyes. 'That was years ago, hen. I haven't left anything to the last minute in ages. And can you blame me if I don't want Angus to have to sleep in a drawer or something when we bring him home? And I just want to do it by hand.' He traced the rim of his cup. 'There are some things that magic just isn't good enough.' Ron spread a hand over Hermione's stomach. 'This is one of them.' His eyes widened as he felt something nudge his hand. 'What was that?' 'Angus,' Hermione replied with an amused glint in her eye. 'Obviously. But what was it? Hand? Foot?' Hermione laid her hand over Ron's. 'Foot, I think.' 'You can tell?' 'Yeah.' She slid Ron's hand up further. 'Head's here, for now,' she said, pressing his hand down. 'Feel that?' Angus stretched and Ron let out a gurgle of surprise. 'He moves a lot during the mornings. And at night lately. He wakes me up sometimes.' 'Isn't the head supposed to be on the other end?' Ron squinted doubtfully at Hermione. 'I thought he was supposed to come out head first?' 'He will. I hope.' 'You hope?' Ron asked uncertainly. 'She can come out feet first…' 'Mum said I came out arse first,' Ron offered. 'Born telling the world to kiss your bum, eh?' Ron blushed. 'Something like that…' Hermione kissed the top of his head. 'Some things never change.' She sat down next to Ron, and opened the paper. Ron looked over her shoulder at the headlines. 'Makes you wonder sometimes…'

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'What does?' she asked distractedly. 'Even after we defeated Riddle, there're still all these horrible things going on,' he said, indicating the headlines. 'Wars. Kidnappings. And we're going to bring a child into this…' Surprised, Hermione turned. 'There's always going to be something going on,' she reminded him. 'Whether in the Muggle world, or ours.' 'I just hoped it would be better. After everything we did.' 'It is better. For us, at any rate.' Ron shook his head. 'I'm not so sure. Every time there were bad things in the Muggle world, Dark wizards were behind it.' Hermione sobered. 'You think there's a Dark witch or wizard out there, pulling strings on Muggles like a puppet?' 'It's happened before…' Hermione sighed. 'Ron, it's not going to happen for every evil, immoral Muggle in the universe. Muggles are perfectly capable of mucking up their own lives without a Riddle-type person behind them.' She rested her head on his shoulder. 'We'll just have to help her figure out how to navigate both worlds.' 'Easier said than done,' Ron snorted. 'I know.' After a few minutes, Ron tilted Hermione's chin up, and dropped a soft kiss on her mouth. 'I have to go,' he murmured regretfully. 'Ron?' 'Yeah?' 'There are things we can control, and things we can't. What happens outside the confines of our flat – that's out of our hands.' Ron's mouth dropped open. 'Who are you and what have you done with my wife?' he demanded. Hermione chuckled to herself. 'If nothing else, the last year and a half taught me you can't control everything.' Ron shook his head. 'I'd have thought the Time-Turner would have taught you that over ten years ago.' Hermione turned a page of the newspaper. 'Sometimes, I'm a slow learner.' 'When have you ever been a slow learner?' Ron scoffed. Hermione grinned up at Ron. 'I'm also insanely stubborn.' 'I'd never have noticed that,' Ron said dryly. 'You're going to be late,' Hermione reminded Ron. 'Tell Lucas and Sasha hello for me.' She leaned back and watched Ron dart out of the kitchen so he could dress. Her eyes dropped back down to the paper, then over her shoulder to the rubbish bin in the corner, where the pieces of parchment rested among banana peels and tea leaves. Harry walked into the kitchen, where Ginny was attempting to spoon banana yogurt into James' mouth. He held out a piece of orange material. 'Gin, what's this?' 'It's a gift. For Ron and Hermione.' 'What is it?' 'Replica Quiddtich robes for the Cannons. Just like the Tutshill ones we got for James when he was born.'

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Harry frowned at the garment dangling from his fingers. 'If I recall, James outgrew those in about a month.' 'So?' Ginny challenged. 'That was after he spit up all over them so much, even Molly couldn't get the stains out.' Ginny smiled. 'But the photograph of him in them is awfully cute. I can't wait until he brings a girl over. We'll enlarge it, and put it in the middle of the mantle.' 'I thought we were doing that with the one of his first bath?' 'Oh, but the Quidditch robes are so much cuter.' 'So, it's all about the parental embarrassment?' 'Absolutely. You should have seen the photographs of Ron Mum had out when Hermione came over for the World Cup.' 'What photographs of Ron?' Harry tried to remember any potentially embarrassing photographs of Ron as a baby in the Burrow at that time. 'Oh, he got rid of them before you came,' Ginny said. 'I think he put them under a loose floorboard in the attic.' Her face lit with glee. 'But not before Hermione got a good look at the one of Ron in dress robes when he was about six months old.' Harry's eyes closed beatifically. 'I'd have loved to see that.' He opened them, and shook out the tiny robes. 'Where'd you get this?' 'Quality Quidditch Supplies. Where else?' 'How do you know they don't have one of these already?' 'Because I asked Hermione when I took my maternity clothes over to her last week.' Ginny scraped the yogurt from around James' mouth, dodging his attempts to grab the spoon. 'And you just had to go get one for them.' 'Just like you just had to order one for James from Which Broomstick,' Ginny retorted. 'Yeah, well…' Harry blushed. 'So I'm going to their flat later and get the baby's room prepped. Ron and I are going to paint it when he gets home from work tonight,' he said, changing the subject. 'How long is that going to take?' 'No clue. But he'll be back from Hogsmeade by six, he said. Midnight maybe?' 'Have fun,' Ginny told him, wiping the smears of yogurt from James' face. 'Don't wake me when you come home.' 'I just might. Payback for all those nights you've woken me up coming home after a game.' Harry picked James up from his chair. 'Do you want to go help Daddy paint your new cousin's room later?' he asked his son. 'Or you could be a good boy tonight, and stay asleep when I come home. Let Mummy and Daddy have some alone time?' 'Oh well, if that's the case, then I'll just have to stay awake, then, won't I?' Ginny sighed dramatically. 'Couldn't hurt,' Harry threw over his shoulder. 'No, it couldn't…' Ginny murmured. 'All right…' Hermione glanced at the pages of notes she'd taken while talking with the Hogwarts elves. 'The Hogwarts elves don't belong to anyone in particular. Their allegiance is to the school itself… Maybe, we can make it so the elves' allegiance can be to the Ministry, and they work for a family. That way, if the family mistreats them, there can be an independent committee that can investigate such claims. That way, they'd still work for a family, but the family itself isn't their master and can't abuse them by giving them clothes or physical punishments…' She rubbed a hand over her stomach. 'What do you think?

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Would that work?' she asked the baby, who was lazily stretching, making her jumper ripple. Her mobile vibrated, and Hermione glanced at the screen, as she flipped it open. Jane had sent a text message. She would be a bit later than she had anticipated. The youngest of the Cavity Triplets was in need of a few fillings. Hermione closed the mobile and laid it back on the kitchen table. 'Now, how do we convince those families that still have elves to sign a magical contract handing regulation of the elves over to the Ministry?' A knock sounded on the door, and scowling, Hermione rose to her feet and went to answer the door. 'Molly!' She stepped back to let the older woman to come into the flat. 'How are you feeling, dear?' 'Like a punching bag.' 'A what?' Molly's brows drew together in frown. 'It's something Muggles use when they train for boxing. It's a large bag they hang from the ceiling,' Hermione explained. 'Then they, well, punch it.' 'Oh. All right, then.' 'Can I get you something, Molly? Tea?' 'Maybe later,' Molly said with a small smile. 'I've got something for you, though.' She reached into her handbag, and set a small package on the floor of the sitting room, and tapped it with her wand. It slowly expanded until it reached its normal size. 'I wanted you to have this.' 'What is it?' 'Open it,' encouraged Molly. Hermione peeled off a strip of the brown paper Molly had wrapped around the package. A gleam of something underneath captured her curiosity, so she ripped off another strip of paper. Soon, a cradle emerged from the packaging. It was oak, carved with leaves and vines around the edges. 'It's beautiful,' Hermione breathed. Molly traced a finger over the vine that wound around the edge of the head. 'My brother Gideon made it. When I was carrying Bill. He made a matching rocking chair, but I gave that to Ginny before James was born.' Molly looked up at Hermione. 'All my children have something from when they were babies. But I wanted Ron and Ginny to have the things my brother made. Because they don't remember Gideon or Fabian. They were killed not too long after Ginny was born.' Molly smiled wistfully. 'I named Fred and George for them. Their middle names, at least.' Hermione blinked, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. 'Thank you.' 'They would have liked you,' Molly stated, as she gently tipped the cradle, letting it rock a bit. 'Ron got really fussy right after he was born,' she reminisced. 'Fabian came over and stayed up all night in the sitting room with Ron, rocking him in this cradle.' Molly's smile grew wider. 'Fabian didn't care, as long as he had a book to read.' 'Molly…?' Hermione ventured. 'Were you scared when Bill was born?' 'Of course I was. I was only nineteen, and had only been married a few months, so adding a new baby to the stress of a new marriage…' Molly patted Hermione's knee. 'And well, the war was starting to heat up. Having a baby seemed like a foolish thing to do in hindsight. But I wouldn't have traded having Bill for anything. I just had to cross my fingers and hope a better time would come.' 'What's your secret?' Hermione rolled the hem of her jumper between her fingers. 'Secret?' 'You do it all better than anybody else I know. And that includes my own mother.' Molly started, but recovered quickly. 'It's a very long story, dear. But suffice to say that there was one thing I really wanted to file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Burning%20Down%20the%20House.htm[26/02/2011 15:35:50]

do, back when Bill and Charlie were small, and realistically, I couldn't do it. So, I decided to be the best mother I could be, knowing that if the worst happened, I would be all they had.' Molly drew in a shaky breath. 'Sometimes, I wondered if I overdid it a bit, when all you girls seem to use me as some sort of measuring stick.' Hermione leaned against Molly. 'You are quite the mum to live up to.' 'You'll do fine, Hermione. Both you and Ron.' Molly laid a hand over Hermione's abdomen. 'Just try to teach them to make the best decisions. That's all you can do.' She sat quietly for a moment. 'It's all Arthur and I tried to do with ours.' Molly left a few minutes later, leaving Hermione to contemplate the gleaming cradle in front of her. Hermione had been a part of the family for years, even well before she and Ron were married. She had always known it. But having Molly bequeath this heirloom to her was even more of a gift than anything else Molly could have done. Hermione reached out with a tentative hand, and set the cradle to rocking. It was one of the few tangible reminders Molly had of her beloved brothers. She had seen the photographs of Gideon and Fabian Prewett. One of them had to be one of the last times Molly had seen them alive; it had been taken right after Ginny was born – all seven of the Weasley children were clustered around two identical laughing men. There was even one of Fabian, cradling Ron in one arm, while he read a book in the other hand. It made Hermione feel extremely lucky. Her own family was now just Jane. She wondered if this was how Harry had felt when he found himself all but adopted by the Weasleys, knowing he would never have to face anything alone ever again. Ron handed Harry a small can of white paint, and set him to painting the crown molding of the room. 'I had a dream,' he began. 'When Hermione was in the hospital.' 'What was it about?' Harry straddled a ladder, and began to delicately brush the white paint over the wood. Ron pried off the lid of the blue paint, and meditatively stirred it. 'I was like Neville's parents,' he said softly. 'Worse, I guess. I knew everything that was going on, but I couldn't talk, I couldn't move.' He dipped a wide brush and started spreading paint over the wall. 'Hermione was there, visiting, with our son on his eighth birthday. She came every day. And for what?' Ron asked bitterly. 'To see someone who wasn't the man she married?' 'It's just a dream, mate.' Harry carefully drew the brush down the wall. 'I used to dream like that a lot when Ginny was pregnant with James.' 'Look, I know dreams are just dreams, but I had one right before Hermione's father died…' Ron cleared his throat and stammered, 'Well, there was a funeral… And we were…' He blushed. 'She was pregnant soon after he died.' He shrugged. 'After that, this one spooked me quite a bit.' 'I can imagine,' Harry said. 'What if something happens to me?' Ron mumbled. 'If something happens to you, we'll take care of them,' Harry replied, gazing down at the top of Ron's head. 'But honestly, you can't think like that, Ron. You'll make yourself mad.' 'I know.' Ron stood staring at the partially blue wall, the paintbrush dangling from his fingers, paint dripping from the bristles. 'Oh, bugger,' he exclaimed, noticing the small puddle of paint that had somehow missed the sheet of canvas Ron had spread on the floor. Ron set his brush down on the canvas, and ran to grab a towel from the bathroom. He took the first one his hand landed on. He dashed back into the room, and knelt to wipe the splatters of paint from the polished wooden floor. 'You could have used magic for that,' Harry pointed out. 'I forgot,' Ron said sheepishly, regarding the once-white towel in his hands, now liberally smeared with blue. Harry slid down the ladder, and moved it over a few feet. 'Ron,' he said quietly. 'I promise you, that if something happens to you, Hermione and your child will be taken care of. I swear to you on the life of my son.' 'Thanks.' Ron's shoulders seemed to settle and he retrieved his paintbrush. 'Let's get this done, then.' 'Mione? Wake up.' Ron wearily shook her shoulder.

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'Ennn. Why….?' 'I have something for you. Early Christmas gift.' Hermione squinted at the clock. 'Ron, it's three in the morning.' 'I know. I just finished everything.' 'Can't we do this later?' Hermione begged. 'Sleep now…' 'Please, hen? Come look?' 'You're not going to let me go back to sleep, will you? 'No.' Ron tugged at Hermione's hand. 'Fine,' she grumbled, shoving the bedding away, allowing Ron to pull her to her feet. She trudged behind him, rubbing her eyes as she walked. She wasn't paying attention when Ron stopped walking, and ran headlong into his back. 'Ooof! Sorry…' 'Ready?' he asked excitedly. 'Yeah.' Ron opened the door, and gestured for Hermione to go into the room. She stood in the doorway, taking in the obvious effort and care that Ron had put into the room. 'Do you like it?' he asked nervously. Hermione walked around the room, her fingers trailing over the slats of the cot. It was already made up with a tiny quilt. A small stuffed bunny occupied one corner of the cot, wearing a miniature Cannons shirt. In another corner of the room, Ron had placed a rocking chair, next to a small table with a lamp. And next to the window, rested a small bookcase, already filled with books – Wizarding and Muggle fairy tales. She ran her fingertips over the spines, tracing the titles. 'It's perfect.' 'Harry and Ginny helped pick out the Muggle books.' Hermione nodded, tears trembling on her eyelashes. 'I picked out the bunny.' 'I figured you had,' she whispered. 'Your mum gave me the quilt. Said it had been yours.' 'Ron?' 'Yeah?' 'Stop talking…' Hermione pushed the sheer white curtains away from the window. She could see their small plot, with the bare canes of the rose bushes. Ron came behind her, and wrapped his arms around her. 'I'm glad you like it.' 'I love it.'  

NINETEEN – Hazy Shade of Winter

Hermione ran a hand through her hair and looked out the window. The weather had turned blustery and cold with freezing rain making everything slick, but the view outside her window displayed sunny blue skies, a sparkling turquoise ocean, and soft white sand. Someone in Maintenance must be going somewhere warm and sunny on holiday after Christmas, she mused. Her chin trembled and she savagely bit her lip to stem the angry tears that pooled in the corners of her eyes. She massaged her temples slowly, trying to ease the band of tension that had settled around her head. 'Hey.' Hermione looked up. Harry stood in the doorway, his eyes wide with sympathy. 'I heard…' he said, coming into the office, and quietly shutting the door

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behind him. Hermione pushed herself to her feet and launched herself into Harry's arms, wretched sobs wrenching from her throat. 'Shhhh,' he murmured, guiding her to a chair, and gently, but firmly, made her sit down. He knelt next to the chair, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, keeping an arm wrapped around her shoulders. Harry handed her the handkerchief, and she wiped her eyes, swiping the soft cotton roughly over her face. 'It was awful,' she choked. 'I know,' he crooned, as if she had been James. 'Want to tell me what happened?' Hermione sniffed, and rubbed the handkerchief under her nose. 'Not particularly.' She sniffed again, and looked at Harry. 'Does Ginny know you're here?' 'In your office?' Harry asked, bemused. 'No. But she knows I'm at the Ministry.' He rubbed her back soothingly. 'C'mon, Hermione, tell me what happened.' 'They eviscerated it,' she whispered. 'They tore it apart. They didn't think the Hogwarts model would work on a widespread basis.' She rested her head on Harry's shoulder. 'When they asked me why I was so adamant about doing this, every logical argument flew out of my head, and all I could say was "No more Dobbies." One old swot actually referred to my condition,' she spat. Harry stiffened slightly. 'What do you mean by that? No more Dobbies?' 'No more elves wearing dirty pillowcases. Or being forced to iron their fingers. Or physically punish themselves in anyway. No more ordering elves to do things that could kill them,' she added, thinking of Kreacher.' She slowly exhaled. 'It was all I could think of. But none of that actually came out of my mouth.' She wiped the handkerchief under her nose again. 'Not at first, but by the time those words had formed in my head, that old wanker muttered something about pregnant women needing to stay at home and knit socks!' she said indignantly. Hermione rubbed her forehead. 'Kingsley and the others who supported it were outvoted two to one.' 'You're not packing it in, are you?' Harry asked, shifting from his knees to a chair nearby. 'Of course not!' Hermione snapped. 'I'm just going to rewrite it. Try and go at it from another angle. And they won't all be around forever…' Harry stood up and took Hermione's coat from the hook by the door. 'Come on, then. You ought to get yourself home. Ron will be worried.' 'What time is it?' Hermione tilted her wrist sideways, checking her watch. 'Six-thirty, and you need to get home.' Harry held her coat out. 'Fine…' Hermione heaved to her feet, and thrust her arms into her coat. She picked up her briefcase and handbag, and strode out the door, waiting for Harry to follow her. 'Taking the Underground home?' he asked idly, walking with her to the lifts. 'No. Too icy to walk home from the station.' 'Apparition? Floo?' 'Does it really matter?' Hermione ground out between clenched teeth. 'Well, no,' Harry said, unperturbed by Hermione's mood, having been on the receiving end of Ginny's mood swings with James too often to be bothered by it. 'But I know solo Apparition's getting difficult for you and so is Flooing, so if you'll let me, I'll see you home.' Hermione's shoulders sagged slightly. 'Apparition's fine.' Harry punched the lift button. 'We'll have to stop by my office for my things, all right?' 'It's fine.' They were silent on the ride to Level Two and Hermione waited by the lifts for Harry, who appeared in a few moments, his coat dangling from one shoulder and arm, and his bag in the other hand. Once in the lift, he shoved his other file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Burning%20Down%20the%20House.htm[26/02/2011 15:35:50]

arm through its sleeve, and slung the bag's strap over his shoulder. Harry shifted uneasily a few times, and glanced at Hermione out of the corner of his eye. 'Sometimes, you have to start small,' he said softly. 'Lots of people aren't going to change their minds about some things overnight. And some people never will.' 'I know that,' Hermione said impatiently. 'And that's a bit rich coming from you.' 'I'm just saying, Hermione,' Harry remarked mildly. 'You might need to back off a bit, and just change one thing at a time.' 'I've tried to do that,' she sighed. Harry leaned against the wall of the lift. 'Well, what was the least offensive thing to the Wizengamot?' he asked. 'Could you please just stop?' Hermione retorted. 'I know what you're trying to do, but it's not making me feel better.' The doors of the lift opened, and they walked out into the echoing emptiness of the Atrium toward an Apparition point. She put her hand on Harry's arm, and in seconds, they reappeared on her doormat. 'I'll see you Sunday,' she said tiredly. 'It'll be okay, Hermione,' Harry said, swiftly bending down to kiss her cheek, before he disappeared with a soft pop. Hermione stood on the doormat for a moment, before she twisted the doorknob, and walked into the warm flat. Ron hastily turned off the television, but not before she heard a familiar sound effect. 'So who did it this week?' she asked, knowing those American police procedural dramas were Ron's secret guilty pleasure. 'The daughter,' Ron said promptly. 'Her alibi's too neat and pretty,' he added scornfully. 'Are you hungry?' 'Not really,' Hermione replied, sinking onto the sofa next to Ron. 'How did it go today?' 'It didn't.' 'They cancelled your session?' 'No, it didn't pass.' 'I'm sorry. You've worked really hard on it.' 'Back to square one, I suppose.' Hermione sighed. 'I wanted to pass it before the baby came.' 'The whole thing?' Ron asked incredulously. 'Yes, Ron, the whole thing. What's wrong with that?' Ron turned around to face Hermione. 'You've been around witches and wizards more than half your life now. You know perfectly well that a lot of the older ones don't like change, and you're asking them to change everything they know. It's not going to be easy.' 'Why does everybody keep telling me that?' Hermione muttered mutinously. 'Because you want to change the world, hen. And you want to do it all at once.' Ron said soothingly. 'You've never really failed at anything, hen – ' 'This isn't a failure!' Hermione interrupted peevishly. 'No, of course not. Setback, then,' Ron interjected smoothly. 'But everything always came easy to you. At least in school. And everything you've done in your department has been stuff the Wizengamot could handle. Or at least wrap their minds around. Moving some centaurs to a new area to prevent overcrowding in the Forbidden Forest, fine. Making Wolfsbane readily available at St. Mungo's, well, who wouldn't want that? Making the Centaur Liaison Office into a real position was brilliant, and the centaurs respect you for it, and they don't respect humans at all. And it took years, but you finally got werewolves classified under the Being division, when you proved it would be beneficial to everyone.' 'But I promised,' Hermione said sadly. 'I promised Dobby that I would make things better.'

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'And you will,' Ron said confidently. 'It just didn't happen today.' 'Are you going to give me some pap that tomorrow's a new day and I can start over?' she snorted bitterly. 'Actually, I was. But if you don't want to hear it…' Ron left his position on the sofa and went into the kitchen. Hermione could be even more stubborn than he was at times, and if she didn't want to be soothed, she would resist it until she was ready. He pulled the lid off a pot of stew that was simmering on the back of the stove and poked a spoon into it, stirring it a few times. Ron didn't want to antagonize her, but she was angry and hurt, and itching for a fight. He recognized that need to lash out from himself. It wasn't something he did as much as he had when he was younger, but he still had a tendency to pick a fight with someone when his ego was bruised. He replaced the lid to the pot and briefly wondered if Hermione had always been that way, and he'd never noticed, or if it was mere hormones, like Harry and George kept trying to convince him into believing. Ron thought it was more likely she had picked up that particular habit from him. Of all the bad habits she could have learned form him, that was one he could live without, hormonal or no. 'Ooof!' Ron's eyes flew open. Hermione's elbow had collided painfully with his nose. She continued to sleep fitfully, a line between her brows. Ron lifted his head from the pillow and glanced at the alarm clock. It was only six-thirty in the morning. Sighing, he turned on his side, and tried to go back to sleep, but Hermione's restless shifting kept him awake. Giving up, he slid out of bed, and padded to the door of the flat, thinking the Muggle paper Hermione read might be at the door already. He pulled the door open, yawning, and blinked in bemusement at the neatly folded parchment on the doormat. He picked it up, and stepped out into the landing, walking to the stairs. He went down a few steps, peering into the semi-darkness. No tell-tale flutter of wings or soft hoots signifying an owl reached his ears, and Ron didn't see anyone else in the darkened stairwell. Shrugging, he went back into the flat and looked down at the parchment in his hands. Hermione's name was in the middle. With a glance toward the open bedroom door, Ron quietly unsealed the letter and read the message inside. The blood drained slowly from Ron's head, and he dropped to the edge of a chair. He carefully set it on the coffee table, his hands shaking. He clasped them together, and squeezed them between his knees, in an effort to stop the shaking. A rustling sound made him look up, and Hermione shuffled into the sitting room. 'Paper isn't here yet,' Ron blurted standing up to help ease Hermione down to the sofa. Her sense of balance was rubbish first thing in the morning. 'Oh, hadn't even thought that far ahead,' she mumbled. 'You ought to go back to bed,' Ron chided gently, one hand moving in slow circles over her stomach, feeling the nudges against his palm as the baby stretched and kicked. 'Can't sleep,' she countered. 'Baby's moving too much.' Ron leaned down, so his lips hovered above the rippling material of Hermione's nightgown, his large hand still slowly circling over the swell of the baby. 'You need to settle down, then,' he whispered. 'You're keeping your mum awake and between you and me, she gets more than a bit tetchy when she's not slept well,' he added, grinning cheekily up at Hermione. 'Come on, little one. You have to listen to me, because I'm your father.' His cheeks colored slightly. 'I've always wanted to say that,' he admitted sheepishly. 'Ever since I heard Dad say that to George and Fred.' Ron dropped a kiss over Hermione's navel and straightened up. 'What had they done?' 'I don't remember, really, but in all honestly, the better question would be what hadn't they done.' Ron laughed quietly, then sobered. 'Hermione…?' 'Hmmmm?' 'You got something in the post.' Ron picked up the parchment and handed it to her. Hermione glanced down at it, unimpressed, then crumpled it up and threw it into the fireplace. 'It's nothing,' she said. 'That's not nothing,' insisted Ron. 'Ron, do you remember our fourth year?' 'I try not to,' he muttered. 'But yes.'

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'Do you remember all the hate mail I got after that article Skeeter wrote about Harry and me in Witch Weekly?' 'Yeah.' 'That's all this is,' she said dismissively. 'Ignore it.' 'This isn't the same thing, Hermione. This is someone with an axe to grind.' Ron eyed her suspiciously. 'This isn't the first one, is it?' Hermione considering telling Ron what he wanted to hear, and saying that yes, this was the first note she'd received. But he knew her well enough to tell when she wasn't being quite truthful with him. He said her voice went up to a pitch only dogs could hear. 'No,' she sighed. 'It's not.' 'How many have you gotten?' Ron asked. 'A few,' Hermione acknowledged. 'How many?' Ron demanded. 'That one made four,' Hermione confessed, indicating the fireplace, the letter long since burnt to ashes. 'Damn it, Hermione!' Ron's fist crashed on the coffee table, making the chess board set in the middle rattle, and several pieces toppled over. 'Why didn't you tell me?' 'Because you'd react like this!' she snapped, centering the board on the table once more, and carefully righting the pieces, tenderly setting them into place on the board. It had been her father's. Jane had given it Ron after Richard had died. 'It's nothing. If I don't react to it, they'll go away. It's a juvenile game, and I won't allow them to keep me from doing my job,' she nearly shouted back. 'Of course I'd react like this! You're carrying our child, or did you happen to forget that?' 'Like I could forget that,' Hermione said contemptuously. 'I'm not putting myself or the baby in danger. I would never knowingly or willingly do anything that would harm either of us.' Ron sagged forward, his head cradled in his hands. 'I know… But this is a little scary, you know?' 'I do know.' Hermione's hand rested on the back of Ron's head, stroking the bright red hair. 'But I refuse to live my life in fear for what I believe. And you did, too, once upon a time…' 'Yeah,' Ron croaked. 'But that was before we became parents. Everything scares me. I just don't want to take the chance of losing either of you.' He drew in a shaky breath. 'But I won't – can't – ask you to stop doing what you're doing.' He sat up slowly. 'But do promise me something, will you?' 'What?' Hermione asked warily. 'If it turns into more than just notes, you have to tell Harry about it.' 'Ron, I'm sure it won't be necessary, but all right. If anything odd happens, we'll go to Harry with it.' That seemed to mollify Ron, because he absently patted Hermione on the knee and went to see about fixing both of them breakfast, before going into the shop for the rush of students coming home for the Christmas holiday. As he stood on the hearth rug, a handful of Floo powder in his hand, he looked at Hermione. 'Put up a few wards or something, please? It'll make me feel better.' Hermione opened her mouth, ready to protest, but the pleading look in Ron's eyes made her nod in agreement. As soon as the emerald flames in the fireplace died down, she retrieved her wand from their bedroom, and slowly walked around the perimeter of the flat, murmuring spells she had learned for the months she, Ron, and Harry had spent searching for the remaining Horcruxes. A chill cascaded down her spine as she completed the last spell. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Not anymore. Ron tumbled out of the fireplace at the Burrow, checking his coat pocket for the awkwardly wrapped package tucked inside. A quick feel of the item inside told him it was undamaged, and he went into the kitchen, joining Molly to help finish

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preparations for Christmas lunch later. 'Hello, Mum. Happy Christmas.' Molly looked up from the pastry crust she was crimping around the edge of a pie plate. 'Happy Christmas, Ron.' 'I, uh, have something for you,' he said, holding out the flat package. Molly finished crimping the top crust of the pie that bulged with apples, and wiped her hands on her apron. She took the gift from Ron, smiling at the clumsy wrapping, and carefully pried the paper apart, ignoring Ron's sigh that told her to just rip the thing open. She pulled a frame from the welter of newspaper he had wrapped protectively around it and turned it over. 'Oh…' Three photographs nestled together in the frame. Fabian with an infant Ron in his arms, rocked steadily, while he read Merlin-knew-what to the wide-awake baby. The second also showed Fabian, his toes resting on one of the cradle's rockers, rocking Ron inside with a slow, steady rhythm. The last was taken when Ginny was only a week old, her tiny body snuggled into the arms of Gideon, while Fabian held an obviously sulky Ron, while Bill, Charlie, Percy, George, and Fred clustered around their beloved uncles. Well, everyone except Fred and George. George was placing a Filibuster's Wet-Start No-Heat firework under Percy, while Fred ducked behind Percy, and, well, you couldn't actually see what Fred was doing, but Ron surmised he had urinated on the firework. Percy shot out of the photograph like a scalded cat, as the firework popped harmlessly, more noise than anything else. Molly traced a fingertip over Gideon and Fabian's faces. 'It's lovely.' She looked at Ron. 'You have their nose,' she told him. 'And that cowlick over your left eye.' Her hand rose to brush over Ron's hair. 'Gave Gideon fits when he was sixteen.' 'The cradle's fantastic, Mum.' Ron's head ducked bashfully. 'It was right nice of you to think of Hermione and me.' 'It was always meant for you.' Molly rose to set the frame on the dresser and went back to her pies. Ron took his coat off and hung it on a hook in the scullery, then joined Molly at the table, and began to spoon mincemeat onto the circles of pastry that littered one end of the flour-covered table. 'I thought you would have given it to Bill or something,' Ron remarked, shrugging. 'No.' Molly lifted another pastry crust into a pie plate and pressed it gently against the sides, before ladling apples fragrant with cinnamon into it. 'After Gideon and Fabian were…' Her voice cracked slightly. 'Gone… I decided that the rocking chair and cradle would go to Ginny and you.' She laid the top pastry crust over the mound of apples and began the process of crimping the crusts together. Molly glanced at Ron. 'Bill didn't need memories of either Gideon or Fabian. He had plenty. And you spent more time in that cradle with Fabian than any of the others. It was the only thing that would settle you.' Molly paused, 'That was something you had with Fabian that none of the others had.' She slid the completed pie across the table to rest next to the first one. 'Didn't make sense to give it to any of the others.' 'Thanks, Mum.' Ron carefully folded one of the rounds of pastry over and crimped the edges together. 'So…' he began. 'Be honest. Did you make my jumper maroon this year?' Ron sat on the floor of the sitting room in his flat, watching the flames of the fireplace, the chessboard on the hearth rug in front of him. 'At least she put a nice border on the sleeves and neck,' Hermione placated. 'And that's not maroon.' 'That's easy for you to say. She's never made you a jumper that was in a color you despised.' Ron moved a white piece. 'Me, twenty-five Christmases, twenty-five maroon jumpers. I have photographs.' 'You're exaggerating.' 'Nope. Every year a new jumper, every year it's maroon.' He sighed gustily. 'One day…' He thoughtfully looked up at Hermione sprawled across the sofa. 'I don't suppose it would be ethical to do a Memory charm on Mum to make her forget that my jumpers are always maroon, would it?' 'No, it wouldn't be ethical. And I can't believe you'd even consider asking that.' Ron moved a black knight, and studied his options on the board before moving a white bishop. 'Even Angus got a jumper, and he's not born yet. And his isn't maroon.' 'Jealous much?' Hermione commented archly. 'You would be, if your unborn child got a lovely blue jumper, and you, once again, got maroon,' Ron sulked.

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'Have you ever said a word so much it lost all meaning?' Hermione wondered pointedly. 'I don't think I've said the word "maroon" more in one conversation in my life.' Ron picked up the chess board and slid it back onto the coffee table, leaving it in mid-game. 'All right, hen, I can take a hint.' He unfolded his body and stretched as he got to his feet. 'Let's go to bed. I'm all done in.' A/N: For those of you keeping track, the action of this chapter takes place from December 16th-25th.  

TWENTY – The Way I Am

Hermione stepped through the sliding doors of the Underground train that would take her home, and put an end to a dreary week. Percy had been quietly gathering information about her house-elf law, and it didn't look good. The members of the Wizengamot who had voted against it really didn't care for much of the law at all. They especially hated her provision for an investigative committee to oversee claims of abuse and neglect, citing it as a "private family matter". It made Hermione seethe that they could still turn a blind eye to some of the more blatant abuses to house-elves. She had come to accept the idea that they liked working, but she still believed they should be given a measure of respect and dignity. She settled her bag over her shoulder and glanced around the crowded compartment. There were no seats available. Scowling a little, she found a place to stand, clutching a pole, cursing silently. Here she was, eight months pregnant, and nobody offered her a seat. 'You ought not to stand so much,' said a voice at her elbow. Hermione turned her head to see an elderly lady sitting down, eyeing her bulging stomach, and trying to get a glimpse of her ankles. 'Your ankles will be the size of baguettes.' Hermione bit back a tart retort, and forced a polite smile. 'Yes, thank you. But there don't seem to be any seats available,' she said pointedly, glaring at a man reading the paper. He didn't seem to notice. 'Do you plan on working after the baby comes?' the woman asked. Hermione sighed. 'Yes.' The woman harrumphed and gave Hermione a disapproving glance. 'In my day, women stayed home with their children.' Hermione just nodded, biting her lip to keep from saying anything. 'Mind you don't spoil the child, picking it up every time it cries.' 'Excuse me?' Hermione blurted. 'Spoils them. They don't learn to soothe themselves if you pick them up every time they cry.' 'I'll keep that in mind,' Hermione murmured, but was inwardly livid about the whole thing. It was none of this woman's business what she did or did not do with her child. The train slowed and Hermione forced a polite smile at the woman. 'This is my stop,' she said, and got off the train as quickly as she could. Hermione hadn't been lying; she had to change trains at Leicester Square. Thankfully, when she got to the platform for the Piccadilly Line, there was an unoccupied bench against a wall, and Hermione dropped into it gratefully. The next train would be along soon and she would be home in a few more stops. She hoped there wouldn't be any delays. She really needed the loo, and the station didn't have toilets. 'Hey there,' she told the baby. 'I know there's not a lot of room in there right now, but now is not the time to bounce on Mummy's bladder.' The baby cheerfully ignored her and continued to perform calisthenics. 'I am not reading you-know-what in a Muggle Underground station!' she hissed. Ron had taken to reading a few pages of Quidditch Through the Ages aloud at night before they went to bed. Hermione wasn't sure if it was the baritone of Ron's voice or the subject matter, but it usually calmed Angus down. Hearing about the adventures of the Wimbourne Wasps usually made her sleepy, too. Angus gave her a particularly solid kick in reply. 'Your father will be ever so pleased you're upset that I won't read that to you,' she said, rubbing the area where the tiny foot and connected. 'Your grandfather, on the other hand, would be trying to turn you into a footie player before you could walk.' The train pulled into the station and Hermione struggled to stand up. The train slid to a halt and Hermione rolled her eyes as

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the disembodied voice began to chime, 'Mind the gap!' 'I'd mind the gap if I could see it,' she muttered, carefully stepping into the train, and looking for an available seat. There was one further down the compartment and she wound her way through the passengers to it. Just three more stops, she reminded herself stretching a foot out, and peering at her ankle. Her feet and ankles had swollen so badly, she wasn't going to be able to take her shoes off without help. She was going to have to start asking Ron to come by the Ministry and take her home, or ask Harry to do it. The Underground was rapidly becoming more trouble than it was worth. After the Hermione got off at her stop, she began to trudge home, sweating even in the chill of the January evening. She'd asked Ginny one day, if pregnancy was so uncomfortable, why would anyone want to do it? Ginny had laughed and replied she didn't know, but if it were up to men, the humanity would have died out eons ago. Thirty seconds later, Harry had walked into the house, swearing loudly over a splinter in his finger. Ginny had rolled her eyes at the fuss he was making over the tiny splinter embedded in Harry's thumb, and gave Hermione a look that said, See what I mean? Hermione opened the door of the building and slowly climbed up the stairs to their flat, grateful they didn't have to climb as many as Ginny had when she lived in Soho. She shoved open the door of the flat and let her bag fall to the floor. Hermione hung her coat over a hook and wandered into the sitting room, where Ron was stretched out on the sofa. His dragon hide gloves lay on a corner of the coffee table. 'Why do you have your gloves out? You haven't been out in the garden have you?' 'No.' Ron shifted uncomfortably. 'You got another one,' he said, pointing to the corner of a piece of parchment poking out from under the gloves. 'Why the gloves?' Hermione asked. 'I don't want to touch it,' Ron explained. 'Fingerprints.' 'You've been watching that bloody show too much,' Hermione huffed, waddling to the bathroom. 'You ought to stop rotting your brain with it,' she called. 'I ought to make you quit!' 'How are you going to stop me?' Ron asked following her and standing outside the partially open door. 'I just won't pay the license fee, then. You hate commercials, and refuse to even watch a programme if it has them.' Hermione washed her hands and leaned against the door frame. 'That's just mean,' Ron breathed. 'Oh, stop whinging,' Hermione told him. 'And come help me take my shoes off.' Ron looked down at Hermione's feet. 'Ouch,' he said sympathetically, leading her back to the sofa. He helped her down, and swung her feet up to the cushions. He sat at her feet and picked up one foot, and gently pried the shoe off; wincing at the marks it had left on her skin. He pulled the other one off in the same manner. 'So…' Ron began to massage Hermione's feet. 'You have about a hundred years to stop doing that,' Hermione moaned. Ron grinned and ran his thumbs down the length of the sole of her foot. 'Eventually, I'll have to take care of dinner.' 'Uh-huh. Keep doing that.' 'I'll do my best.' Ron put the foot in his hands down and picked up the other. 'What do you want to do about that?' he asked, jerking his chin in the direction of the coffee table. 'I happen to like that table,' Hermione said, deliberately evasive. 'I don't think we ought to do anything to it at all.' 'That's not funny, Mione,' Ron muttered. 'I meant the letter.' 'I know what you meant, Ron,' Hermione sighed. 'Burn it. Like the others.' 'Don't you think we ought to tell Harry about it? You've been getting these things off an on for over a month now.' 'Why? It's still just letters, and nothing more than that. Nobody's tried to do anything. They don't have anything in them. Just please, Ron, put it in the fire.'

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'Fine,' Ron said grumpily and tucked a cushion under Hermione's feet. He picked up the letter, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger, and laid it on the fire, clearly unhappy about having to do so. 'Hey,' Hermione tugged at his sleeve. 'Stop worrying about it. It's not worth it.' She pulled him down to the sofa next to her. 'Why don't you read a few pages of Quidditch Through the Ages to Angus before dinner? He was quite shirty with me because I wouldn't read to him in the Leicester Square station.' 'Poor hen,' Ron murmured. 'Baby's nutters about Quidditch before he's even born.' He slid of the sofa and switched off the television. 'Aren't you going to finish your programme first?' Hermione asked. 'Nah,' Ron said over his shoulder as he went into the bedroom to fetch his copy of Quidditch Through the Ages. 'The brother was having an affair with the wife and he offed the husband. But he's blaming the wife. All rather dodgy, if you ask me. He'll get off, though.' 'How can you tell that after watching only half the programme?' Ron gave the now-quiet television a contemplative glance. 'D'you remember when we thought Snape was after the Stone, but it was Quirrell the whole time?' 'Of course I do. Better than you, probably.' 'Yes, well, all those years, the people who we thought were guilty turned out to be innocent.' Ron sat on the floor next to the sofa. 'You stop listening to what people say, and start listening to how they say it. I'm just better at dissecting clichéd police dramas than I am actual cases.' 'Who told you that?' Hermione's hand traced the lines of Ron's back. 'Nobody told me, hen.' Ron's voice was quiet as he paged through the book, careful not to dislodge the pages that had come loose from the binding. He cleared his throat and began to read. Hermione watched Ron as he read about the origin of the Snitch. She wasn't paying attention, replaying what Ron had just said about his deductive abilities. He had always claimed to be happy working with George, but she wondered if all those times when they were younger, when she or someone else had dismissed one of Ron's theories as completely illogical, when they had actually turned out to be correct, had somehow made him believe he wasn't cut out to be an Auror. Had she had a hand, however subtle, in crushing Ron's dream to bits? Ron hadn't completed the section when Hermione fell asleep. He closed the book, using a finger to mark his page. He stared into the fireplace. The flames sent shadows dancing over the walls, making the usually cozy flat seem sinister. For the hundredth time, he wished he knew how she was being so calm about everything. The next week passed without incident until Hermione announced she was going to the Burrow on Saturday morning, to Ron's dismay. As he helped Hermione on with her coat, Ron asked dubiously, 'Are you sure you should go spend an afternoon helping Mum chase James around the Burrow?' 'Yes. Did you see how awful Ginny looked Sunday?' 'No…' 'Of course not. This time of year, if it doesn't have a Quaffle on it somewhere, you don't pay any attention to it. Ginny doesn't look well at all. She hasn't for a couple of weeks now. She could use an afternoon off.' Hermione turned and gave Ron a quick kiss. 'Besides, it's not like I'll be alone. Your dad will be there, too. I imagine he'll do the hard work with James.' 'Probably. Poor kid will have a pocket full of batteries and plugs before the day's out.' 'So you'll come pick me up around five?' 'Yeah. I might go into the shop for a bit and help George with the new window display.' Ron took Hermione's hand and Apparated them both to the Burrow. He stood in the lane outside the back garden, and file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Burning%20Down%20the%20House.htm[26/02/2011 15:35:50]

watched Hermione conjure a scarf and top hat for the snowman Arthur had built for James, who giggled gleefully as Arthur used magic to color bits of snow and create something of a face into the topmost mound of snow. As he stepped away from the fence, and began to Disapparate, he saw Ginny sitting at the kitchen table, Molly next to her. It was too far for Ron to know for sure, but Ginny looked upset. Ron blinked and found himself on the landing in front of his flat. He stepped on the door mat to open the door, and his shoe landed on something that crackled. He looked down to see a piece of parchment. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth, thinking. This was odd. They usually came early in the morning. Ron bent to pick up the parchment, and carried it into the kitchen. He opened a cupboard and found a box of Muggle plastic storage bags. It wasn't quite the same thing as what they used on Law and Order, but it was close enough. He pulled out a bag, and tucked the letter into it, sealing the bag. Enough was enough. He tucked it into his copy of Flying With the Cannons, knowing Hermione would never think to look there. It was time to talk to Harry. Ron handed George a swatch of bright red fabric, and held the ladder steady while George reached up to tack it in loopy swags around the window. 'What are you putting in here?' 'Among other things, Daydream Charms for Two. Perfect for the busy couple. A complete evening out, and you don't have to leave the flat.' 'Or perfect for the parents of twenty-one month old twins?' guessed Ron. George peered at Ron through the clouds of glittery red fabric. 'Just you wait. Do you know how hard it is to get a babysitter willing to take on twins? Especially on a Friday night?' 'Hannah and Neville could do it,' offered Ron. 'They're both dying to get some practice in.' George climbed down the ladder and picked up a stack of Daydream Charms. 'I don't want to put them off parenthood,' he snorted. 'Katie and I were washing up after dinner the other night, when we realized we couldn't hear them. Cheeky monkeys had gotten into Katie's makeup. Lipstick all over the place. On them, on their clothes. The floor. Fred was standing on the vanity, smearing lipstick all over the mirror.' George nearly laughed. 'Katie was so mad at them, she went speechless.' He arrayed the boxes neatly in the window. 'Thought she was going to do a Mum and start shouting in phrases. Remember? Things like "Plates broken!" And you could hear her all the way down in the village.' 'Yeah, good times,' Ron said, almost wistfully. It had been quite entertaining to see the twins or Ginny be on the receiving end of one of Molly's rants. As long as he hadn't been part of it. 'Getting close isn't it?' 'Yeah.' 'How much longer?' 'One more month,' Ron promptly said. 'Or three weeks, and six days. But who's counting?' 'Apparently not you,' George said sardonically. 'You doing all right?' 'Yeah, I'm fine. Why?' George arranged the Daydream Charms for Two in a heart that gradually rose in height from the point at the bottom to the point at the top. 'You just seem a bit off is all.' He pulled his head and shoulders from the window. 'You haven't snapped at anyone in weeks. Not even a snort of disgust at the maroon jumper.' George took a good look at Ron. 'Which I notice you happen to be wearing today. Another sign you're distracted about something.' Ron collapsed the ladder and carried it into the back. 'I'm fine. Hermione's been working too hard and all that. Just worried she might be overdoing it a bit.' George followed him to the back and pulled a carton of merchandise off a shelf. 'Trying to prove she can do just as much as she could before.'

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'Why would she need to do that?' 'Kind of this barmy idea that once a woman has a baby her intelligence drops to the level of a troll.' George started for the front part of the shop. 'Brace yourself,' he advised. 'Hermione's the type that'll do a Mum.' 'Yeah, don't remind me,' Ron muttered, knowing he was in for it when Hermione found out what he was planning on doing later. Ron dried the last dish, and replaced it in the cupboard. He ran the tea towel over the counter, drying the water that had splashed onto it while he'd done the washing up. He tossed the damp towel into a small laundry basket in the corner, and went to check on Hermione. She'd been tired when he'd brought them home earlier. Not that James was a vile child. He was quite charming with an infectious, yet mischievous, grin. But he was highly curious about everything around him, and was capable of making a rather lot of noise with a wooden spoon and an old pot if you let him. Ron didn't wonder why Ginny or Harry had asked Molly and Arthur to keep him overnight. Hermione had curled up in bed with a book, but it appeared she had fallen asleep moments after she had lain down. The book was in her hand, but unopened. Ron closed the door, and went to the shelf of the bookcase where his old textbooks and collection of Quidditch books rested. He slowly pulled Flying With the Cannons off the shelf and took out the hidden plastic bag. Stuffing it in the back pocket of his jeans, he stole to the fireplace and surreptitiously took a handful of Floo powder. The roar of the flames when he threw the powder into them made him flinch. He wasn't sure if Hermione was going to stay asleep, and he didn't want to get into a row with her. She got vicious when she was tired. Admittedly, so did he, and he really did not care to repeat the infamous ice cream incident. He knelt on the hearth rug and stuck his head in the flames. Harry was sprawled on the sofa, his head leaning against the back, massaging the bridge of his nose, a gesture Ron recognized from school that screamed Harry was tense about something. He considered waiting to approach Harry until tomorrow at lunch, but it was too difficult to have any sort of private conversation. Swallowing, Ron called out softly, 'Harry?' Harry let his glasses fall back into place. 'Everything okay?' 'Oh, yeah.' Ron nervously waved a hand dismissively. 'Is Ginny around?' 'No. She's gone to bed.' Ron looked back at his watch. 'It's barely eight-thirty,' he observed. 'She feeling all right? Looked a bit peaky at lunch Sunday.' 'Rough week,' Harry sighed. Ron nodded. 'Can I come over for a bit? I need to talk to you.' 'Can it wait until tomorrow?' Harry asked, sounding quite tired himself. 'No,' Ron said seriously, the slight weight of the letter feeling like a ton of bricks. Harry sat up, his eyes narrowing. 'Come on. We'll go into my office.' Ron pulled his head out of the fire, grabbed handful of Floo powder, and stepped into the fireplace. He landed on the hearth rug with a soft thump. Harry laid a finger over his lips, signaling Ron to be quiet. Ron nodded and followed Harry into the small office off the sitting room. 'Thanks, mate.' 'No worries. So then… What is it?' 'It's this.' He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out the plastic bag, handing it to Harry. Harry took it from him, with a raised eyebrow. 'You've been watching Law and Order again, haven't you?' He raised the bag and examined the parchment inside. 'I thought Hermione cut you off.' 'She tried to.' Ron grinned. 'So what is this?' Harry gestured to the parchment.

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Ron wanted to keep this between him and Harry for the time being, so he quickly cast Silencing and Impenetrable charms on the door. 'Death threat.' 'On who?' Ron gulped. 'Hermione.' 'Why?' 'House-elf regulations she's drafting.' Harry's eyes widened. He carefully set the bag on the desk, and rummaged for his dragon-hide gloves. Harry pulled them on, and gingerly opened the bag, and pulled out the letter. Listen, Mudblood – Stop trying to make the beasts equal to wizards. Have you no pride? Of course not; you're nothing but a filthy Mudblood. If you don't stop, we'll stop you. Harry looked at Ron, as he carefully replaced the note in the bag and stripped the gloves off. 'Is this the first one?' Ron tried to keep from squirming. 'Yeehhhhh – No,' he admitted. 'Just the latest one.' 'How many has she gotten?' Harry pulled a scrap of parchment across the desk, ready to take notes on what Ron said. 'Once a week for the past six weeks. They usually come to the flat. She just tosses them into the fire, but she wasn't home this afternoon when it showed up.' 'Is she worried at all?' 'Doesn't appear to be. She says it's just the same kind of gits who sent her hate mail during our fourth year.' 'So let me get this straight.' Harry leaned back, massaging his temples. 'Hermione's been getting threatening notes for almost two months?' 'Right.' 'And she's not worried or bothered by them?' 'No.' 'So why are you just now telling me this?' 'She doesn't know I'm here. I wanted to tell you the first time we got one.' 'Ah.' Harry nodded. After Harry questioned Ron further about the notes and discussed his plans for handling the case, assuring him neither he, nor Ginny, had received a note, Ron left, feeling more than a little reassured that Harry was taking this seriously, and that Hermione would have someone looking out for her at the Ministry. Hermione was still asleep, to Ron's relief. Harry would talk to her tomorrow about it. Harry was generally able to make Hermione see sense when nobody else would. Hermione removed her coat, her movements jerky and uncoordinated. She was furious with Ron for telling Harry about the letters, even though she had managed to maintain a calm exterior about it. She was even more furious with Harry for trying to keep all of it from Ginny. She didn't know who she was angrier with – they were both being such men! She tried to hang her coat up, but considering she all but threw it at the hook, the coat slid to the floor in a heap. 'What's the matter with you?' Ron asked. She glared at him balefully. 'How could you?' she seethed. 'How could you go to Harry, when I've told you it's nothing to worry about?' Ron bent to pick up her coat. He hung it up, his ears turning red. 'Because I'm not going to stand around and bloody wait for something to happen, Hermione.'

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'I can take care of myself,' she said hotly. 'I don't need some effing nursemaid following me around all day.' 'It won't be a nursemaid,' Ron protested. 'Just someone to make sure nothing happens to you. And if something does, they'll be there to help. Bloody hell, you don't have to do everything on your own!' 'And why won't he tell Ginny about this? Every other person in the family knows but her? And you approve of this?' Hermione nearly spat. 'Well, I…' Ron was taken aback by Hermione. 'Actually, no, I don't,' he admitted. 'I think he ought to at least warn her. It's not fair to her to sort of stumble around in the dark like this.' Hermione stalked into the kitchen, and began to make herself a cup of tea. 'Why didn't you tell me you were going to Harry?' 'Because I knew you were going to shout at me,' Ron sulked. 'Nobody says you have to like the Auror keeping an eye on things. But with everything else going on, it makes me feel better, all right?' Ron stood uncertainly in the doorway. 'I lost Fred, then I lost your dad, too. If I lost you and the baby…' His voice cracked. 'I'd rather not have to think about that.' He turned on his heel and walked out of the kitchen. Ron brushed his teeth and threw his clothes into the laundry basket, before yanking his pajamas on. This was almost too much to handle right now. He hoped Harry would be able to solve this soon. They had been so happy when they found out she was pregnant, after so much disappointment and loss. This was rapidly depleting all of the joy from the event. Ron climbed into bed, and pulled the bedding around his shoulders. It's going to get better, he told himself. It has to. Later Hermione came to bed and gently prodded Ron's shoulder. 'Are you awake?' 'Would it make a difference if I wasn't?' Ron snorted. 'No.' Hermione settled against the pillows stacked against the headboard. 'Would you have told me about Harry, if he hadn't brought it up earlier?' Ron sat up and began to rearrange the bedding. 'Truthfully?' 'Yes.' 'Only with a Shield charm up. Those bloody birds mirror your moods. I didn't fancy getting pecked to a bloody pulp.' When Hermione didn't smile, Ron sighed, 'Yes, I would have.' 'Don't you think I can take care of things myself?' she asked, fiddling with the hem of the sheet. 'I'm not helpless!' 'I never said you were, and yes, I do happen to think you can take care of yourself and Angus if anything were to happen to me. And you'd do a spiffing job about it, too. Except for the Quidditch. But that's what all his uncles will be for.' Ron slid down into the bed. 'Go to sleep. It's been a long day.' Hermione stayed awake for hours, unable to sleep, and unable to shake the idea that once again, she had immediately dismissed anything Ron had said, making him think his opinions meant less than hers.  

TWENTY ONE – Hurt So Good

'That's it!' George exclaimed. 'You're not allowed to deal with customers until I say so!' 'You can't do that!' protested Ron. 'I bloody well can,' snapped George. 'I'm still your older brother!' George glowered up at Ron, who stood more than a head taller. 'Don't make me get Mum,' he threatened. 'You wouldn't!' gasped Ron. 'Try me,' challenged George. 'You're lucky I don't send you home the way you've been snapping at customers lately.' Someone came into the shop and George hissed, 'Don't move…' He hurried to help the little girl find a birthday present for her brother at Hogwarts. Ron, meanwhile, sulkily restocked the Muggle magic tricks shelf, shooting George irritated looks. George file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Burning%20Down%20the%20House.htm[26/02/2011 15:35:50]

walked the little girl to the door, chatting about this and that. When the girl had left he turned around to Ron. 'Look, Ron, I understand how crazy things can get at home, especially since she's like a million years pregnant. But that doesn't mean you can come here and take it out on customers. You want to yell at someone that's not Hermione, fine, I get it. I even understand it. But you have got to stop making grown wizards cry like that!' Ron said nothing, but stalked into the back, behind the curtain and up the stairs. He flopped on the sofa, shifting automatically to his right as the broken spring jabbed his kidney. He was tired. He leaned his head back on the sofa and closed his eyes. A nap wouldn't be out of order. Hermione wasn't sleeping very well, and consequently, Ron didn't sleep well. Ron had prided himself on his ability to sleep through anything, but lately, someone could have dropped a quill on a carpet, and Ron would have woken up at the sound. He felt the sofa give slightly as someone joined him. Ron opened on eye, and saw Harry lounging on the sofa. 'What?' 'Troubles in paradise?' Harry removed his glasses and held them up to the light, polishing the lenses. 'You could say that,' Ron sighed. 'Her favorite quill broke last night, and she started crying. Not just that quick hormonal crying, but really crying.' He rubbed his eyes. 'I swear, she's going to the loo every fifteen minutes. I'll make dinner, and she'll pick at it, only to have her head in the refrigerator ten minutes after I've done the washing up. She's hungry, but doesn't know what she wants. She can't get comfortable enough to sleep…' Ron turned his head to look at Harry. 'Please, I'm begging you, tell me it gets better.' 'Oh, boy.' Harry slowly exhaled. 'Sort of…' Ron sat up, wild-eyed. 'What do you mean, "sort of"? Have you any idea what kind of hell it's been the past two months?' 'Actually, I do,' Harry reminded Ron pointedly. 'You think Gin's all sweetness and light when she's pregnant? She Bat-Bogied me when I forgot to pick up a carton of milk on the way home a month before James was born. Do you know how hard it is to get decent strawberries in March? Or has Hermione banned a certain food from the house because it makes her ill?' When Ron shook his head, Harry continued. 'Right. Ginny wouldn't even let me eat my most favorite pudding the world. It wasn't enough to ban it from the house; I wasn't even allowed to eat it outside the house. And why, you may ask? Because treacle tart made her nauseous and she could smell it on me!' Harry blinked and looked down. He hadn't realized he stood up. Flopping back down on the sofa, he nudged Ron with an elbow. 'Yeah, I do know how hard the last bit is.' 'So does it get easier?' Ron asked, desperation written on his face. Harry sighed. 'Not really. Whole set of different issues.' 'Merlin's bollocks,' Ron breathed faintly, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead. The skin around his eyes stretched out whitely, and he swallowed heavily. 'Put your head between your knees,' Harry ordered, putting a hand between Ron's shoulder blades, pushing his head down. Ron's back wasn't moving. 'Breathe!' Ron gasped loudly as he inhaled. Harry continued, 'Listen mate, I wouldn't say it gets better. But it's different.' 'How?' Ron croaked. 'Well, after a while, the hormones go away, and she won't have the highs and lows so much. You'll still won't want to tell her that her trousers make her bum look fat, but you ought not to do that anyway. And it won't be all her anymore.' 'What's that supposed to mean?' Ron sighed. 'I've been there the entire time. I rub feet. I go to Tesco at three in the morning for ice cream. I don't gag when she puts enough pepper on her apple to turn it grey. I've held her hair back while she vomits. I was there every bloody month it didn't happen. How can you tell me it won't be all her anymore?' 'I just mean she's the one doing most of the work right now. She's the one who's lugging around thirty extra pounds. She's the one who has to give birth, and let me tell you, Ron, that's not a walk in the park for either of you, but even less for her. I still have fingernail gouges from when James was born. But once it's over, you get to help out. And yeah, it's hard, because the baby won't want to sleep when you do, and Hermione'll get frustrated because she still won't fit into her regular clothes, but you can do things like change nappies and give baths, and feed it.' 'Yeah, that sounds like fun…' muttered Ron, sitting up.

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'Well, it's not exactly a Quidditch game,' countered Harry. 'But it's better than sitting on the sidelines wringing your hands, because she's sick and throwing up all day, and you can't do a damn thing about it,' he huffed. 'At least when the baby cries, you can try something.' Ron heaved a sigh and slid off the sofa and walked into the kitchen. 'Sorry,' he mumbled. 'It's okay.' Harry followed him into the kitchen. 'Hey, why don't you and Hermione come over for dinner Saturday? Ginny won't mind.' Ron glanced at Harry dubiously. 'Yeah, I'm sure Ginny wants company right now.' 'It'll be fine,' Harry assured Ron. 'She won't have to do anything.' Ron handed Harry a stack of plates. 'I'll ask Hermione later.' Harry began to distribute the plates around the table. 'Look at it this way,' he began. 'If either of you get the urge to hex the other, Ginny and I can do a Shield charm, and neither of you will get hurt.' Harry took the forks Ron handed him. 'Then again, with as much as she was throwing up earlier, Gin might side with Hermione.' 'I take it you're not high up on her list of favorite people.' 'I have my moments. Usually while she's clinging to the toilet, cursing me for getting her pregnant.' 'Shouldn't she be getting past that? The throwing up?' 'You watch,' Harry muttered. 'When you have another one, it'll be totally different.' 'We're not having another one,' Ron promptly replied. 'I don't think I could handle it.' 'Do we have to go?' Hermione asked. As much as she loved Harry and Ginny, she wasn't looking forward to spending an evening out of the house. Her back was killing her, and all she wanted was to spend the evening curled up on the sofa, with her feet up, doing the crossword from last Sunday's Times. 'We don't have to,' Ron said, pulling a jumper over his head. 'We can call them, and stay home.' 'That would be rude,' Hermione sighed. 'How is that rude?' Ron argued. 'You're eight billion weeks pregnant, and of all people, they would understand that you're not in the mood to go.' 'Because we're supposed to be there in five minutes,' Hermione said with a grimace, trying to wriggle into a more comfortable position. 'I can call them and cancel. Right now,' Ron said, his hand hovering over the bowl that held their Floo powder. 'No…' Hermione sighed. 'Let's go,' she grunted, trying to push out of the chair. 'Bloody… Could you help me up?' she grumbled. 'I can't wait for this to be over.' Ron held out his hands, hauling her to her feet when she grasped his hands. 'That makes two of us, hen.' He helped Hermione on with her coat, and they Disapparated to Godric's Hollow. When they walked into the house, Ginny gave Hermione a look, but said nothing; instead she darted into the sitting room, and returned with a cushion. 'Here,' she murmured, helping Hermione into a chair, and tucking the cushion behind Hermione's back. She dropped into the chair next to Hermione. 'Are you all right?' she asked in a low voice. Hermione adjusted the cushion a bit. 'Fine.' Ginny propped her head in her hand. 'You didn't have to come, if you didn't feel up to it,' she said. Hermione waved her off. 'It's fine. As long as I can stay right here, I'm fine.' Ginny grinned evilly. 'Watch this,' she whispered conspiratorially with a wink. 'Would you like something to drink?' she asked, file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Burning%20Down%20the%20House.htm[26/02/2011 15:35:50]

loud enough for Harry and Ron to hear over their discussion of the Cannons' chances. 'Glass of water would be lovely,' Hermione responded. 'Thank you.' 'Harry,' Ginny called. 'Would you get Hermione a glass of water?' Harry gave Ginny an annoyed glance. 'Why don't you get it?' Ginny heaved a dramatic sigh. 'I'm not feeling very well,' she said forlornly, making a cautious gesture toward her stomach. 'Sort of queasy.' Harry's demeanor immediately changed. 'I'll get it,' he said, Summoning a glass from the cupboard and filling it with his wand. He set it in front of Hermione, and felt Ginny's forehead. 'Are you all right?' he asked worriedly. 'I think so,' Ginny said, with only the merest hint of uncertainty. It was enough for Harry. 'Don't worry about a thing, Gin. Ron and I can take care of dinner.' He went back to the stove and Ron, to dish up dinner. Hermione took a sip of her water. 'Impressive,' she commented. 'I didn't think you had it in you.' Ginny wrinkled her nose. 'I really have had some lovely episodes of morning sickness that lasts all day. It doesn't take much. I don't do it often. Otherwise, he gets suspicious.' She bit her nails, stifling a spate of giggles. 'Dinner's ready,' Harry announced. He levitated a pot of chicken stew to the table, while Ron followed with bowls and spoons. Ron noticed that Hermione picked at her dinner, eating a few token mouthfuls, and spent the rest of the meal, moving her spoon around the thick broth. She brushed off his inquiries about her well-being off, saying only her back hurt a bit. Ginny offered to do the washing up over Harry's protests that she wasn't feeling well, but Ginny pulled out her wand and efficiently put everything to rights with a smug smile, while Harry carried James upstairs and put him to bed. Ron had been dying to ask Harry about the case. Ever since he'd put the Auror trainees to watch the house, Ron felt slightly better about the whole thing. But each time they were together, whenever Ron wanted to ask about the case, it had been impossible to get some time alone in a space Harry could guarantee would be safe to talk. Harry handed Ron the perfect opportunity. 'Come on. I think I've got that motorbike in running condition again,' he said, pulling on Ron's arm. 'I just need to put a part back on.' 'I'll have pudding ready for you when you come back,' Ginny called after them, as they left the kitchen. She left Hermione alone while she slipped upstairs for a moment to check on James. When she left Hermione, a faint moan slipped from Hermione's tightly compressed lips. Her back really hurt. She pushed herself to her feet and began to slowly walk around the kitchen, rubbing the persistent ache in her lower back. She could feel an unpleasant dampness between her legs and huffed, 'Brilliant, now I've lost control of my own bladder.' She patted her trouser pockets, searching for her wand to do a little discreet cleaning when Ginny walked back into the kitchen. Ginny leaned over the back of the chair Hermione had just vacated. 'Hermione, do you feel all right?' 'Fine, why?' 'I think your water just broke.' Hermione blinked and looked down at the seat of the chair for herself. 'Oh, so that's what that was.' She looked up at Ginny a rueful smile on her face. 'For a moment, I thought I'd lost all control and pissed myself.' 'We need to get you to St. Mungo's.' Ginny opened the back door and shouted, 'Harry! Ron! Get in here!' 'Is the pudding ready?' Ron said hopefully, as he and Harry came into the kitchen. 'No, but the baby is,' Hermione told him. 'What? Now?' yelped Ron. 'Yes, now. Honestly!'

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'But we don't have anything,' Ron protested weakly. Hermione glared at Ron, who was standing in the middle of the kitchen, like a gormless fool. 'Ron, I really don't care what we have or what we don't have, but I don't think Harry or Ginny want me to have this baby on their kitchen table.' Ron nodded, and began to pace in a small circle. 'Ronald, where are you going?' Hermione asked. 'I don't really know.' 'St. Mungo's,' Harry reminded him helpfully. 'Right.' Ron reached out to grasp Hermione's hand, preparing to Apparate them both to London. 'Wait!' Hermione cried. 'What now?' Ron was grinding his teeth in frustration. 'Someone needs to get Mum!' 'I don't want to leave you alone,' Ron said stubbornly. 'And we need the bag!' Hermione said, clutching Ron's hand, as another contraction laced through her. Ron was ready to rip his hair out. 'Ron, you take Hermione to St. Mungo's,' Ginny said taking control of the situation. 'I'll go get the bag, and Harry can go pick up Jane.' She looked between Ron and Hermione. 'Good?' They both nodded. 'Good.' She looked at Harry, and beckoned to him. 'Let's go, then.' Ginny came into the waiting area of St. Mungo's maternity floor, Hermione's bag in her hand. Harry hadn't arrived with Jane yet. Ron and Hermione were bickering in the corner, waiting for the welcome witch to locate Hermione's file. 'You are never touching me again, Ronald Weasley!' Hermione ground out between clenched teeth. 'Excuse me? You all but attacked me!' 'I was drunk!' 'Oh, so now you finally admit you were drunk?' he retorted. 'Only took nine months,' Ron muttered under his breath. He stood nose to nose with Hermione. Or as close as he could manage, considering the size of Hermione's stomach. 'Well, you shouldn't have… Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww! Bloody hell that hurts!' The witch finally located Hermione's file and took Hermione to a room behind the double doors. She was standing at the foot of the bed, her hands braced on the mattress when the door opened and Jane walked in. 'Hello, darling,' Jane said soothingly. 'How is it, then?' 'It really hurts, Mum,' Hermione whimpered. 'I know it does,' Jane said putting an arm around her daughter's waist. 'Let's get those clothes off, shall we?' she asked, helping Hermione shed her clothing to change into the gown folded neatly on the bed. 'Harry went to call Mum,' Ron said from the doorway. 'Shanti's on her way,' he added, rocking uncertainly on his feet. 'Um… Do you want me to… Uh, I mean…' Hermione looked up. 'I want you in here,' she told him. 'I can't do this without you.' Ron nodded, and edged into the room, unsure of what to do; trying to remember everything that childbirth class had covered. 'Um, Shanti wanted to know if you wanted something for the pain…?' 'Do I look like I want to shove something the size of a melon out of my body with nothing at all…' she grumbled. Hermione straightened up. 'Do I look like I've lost my mind?' she asked acidly. file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Burning%20Down%20the%20House.htm[26/02/2011 15:35:50]

'Right now?' He caught Jane frantically shaking her head behind Hermione. 'No, not at all,' he replied quickly. 'Of course I want something for the pain!' Hermione shouted. 'Why are you shouting at me?' Ron asked, bewildered. 'Because you did this to me!' Hermione snarled. 'Don't,' Shanti murmured, coming into the room behind Ron. 'Don't even try to be rational with her. She won't remember half of what she says.' She handed Hermione a small vial. 'Drink up. Takes the edge off.' 'Thank God,' Hermione groaned, downing the bright orange potion, sighing in relief as a blessed numbness spread through her. 'Is that safe?' Ron asked nervously. 'It'll be fine,' Shanti assured him. 'I'd like to examine Hermione now, so could you and Jane go wait outside?' Ron bolted for the door and stood outside, twisting the hem of his jumper. Jane patted him on the arm. Ron looked down at her. 'I'm scared,' he told her. 'More scared than I've ever been in my life.' Jane raised an eyebrow. 'I find that hard to believe, having heard about some of your exploits in school,' she commented. Ron let out a choked laugh. 'Yeah, well. That was different.' 'It will be all right. Women have been having babies for millennia.' 'This is different,' Ron said, leaning against the wall. 'This time it's mine.' Ron switched out one hand for the other in Hermione's grasp. He knew she was strong, but he didn't know she could singlehandedly break all the fingers of both hands. Even with the painkilling potion, Hermione was still in a lot of pain and had over the course of the past three hours threatened Ron with everything from castration with a pair or nail clippers to reaching into his jeans, and tying his testicles in a knot over his head – just he he'd know what real pain was like – to no sex ever again. It was getting close to the end, if he could believe what Shanti told them. He was grateful Jane had been there with them, because he wasn't sure he would have been able to handle it alone. He didn't know how Harry had managed in here with Ginny for as long as he had by himself. With Jane's help, he got Hermione into position to push. It couldn't come soon enough for Ron. 'When I tell you to, Hermione, I want you to push. As hard as you can. I'm going to count to ten, and after that you can rest a bit, all right?' Shanti said. 'All right,' Hermione said, tiredly. Neither Ron, nor Hermione were expecting to hear the next thing Shanti said. 'Oh, dear…' 'What "oh dear"?' demanded Hermione. 'There's not supposed to be an "oh dear"!' Curiously, Ron peeked over Hermione's bent knee. 'Merlin's left… It's got two heads! Oh God, it's like that damn dream. Two heads like that bloke in that bloody hitchhiker film!' Shanti pinned Ron with a severe gaze. 'Ron, now is not the time to panic. The baby's just breech. It'll take a little more effort to get it out, but… Everything. Will. Be. Fine. It's just coming out arse first.' 'Like me,' Ron murmured. 'This does not bode well,' ground out Hermione. Time slowed to a near halt for Ron, as Shanti carefully guided the baby out, never rushing and never panicking, giving calm directions to the burly male trainee with her. Ron wanted to scream at her to hurry up, it was taking too long. 'Just a little bit more, Hermione,' Shanti said soothingly. 'Just a little longer, and the head will be out.' Ron couldn't watch. He pressed his forehead against Hermione's head and clutched her hand, eyes closed murmuring

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nonsense to her. 'Hear that, hen? Just a little more…' 'I can hear Ron, I'm not deaf, just giving birth,' she retorted tartly. 'And… She's out,' Shanti announced, relief evident in her voice. 'What?' Ron asked. 'Did you say "she"?' 'Yes, I did,' Shanti said. 'It's a girl.' 'A girl.' Ron looked down at Hermione, leaning against her mother. 'A girl.' He sat down suddenly on the edge of the bed. 'Would you like to cut the cord?' Shanti asked Ron. 'I…' He looked at Hermione. She tilted her head toward the baby. 'Yes, I would.' He used his wand to sever the cord where Shanti told him to, his head swimming. Jane leaned down to kiss Hermione's cheek. 'I'll go out and tell the others. Give you three a bit of time to yourself.' Ron nodded dazedly. Shanti cast a few Healing charms on Hermione and began the process of tidying things. The trainee was carefully cleaning the baby and wrapping her in a blanket. 'Have a name for this little one?' Shanti asked, carrying the baby to them. 'Not yet,' Hermione murmured, holding out her arms. 'We couldn't agree on one,' Ron added sheepishly. 'You're not the first ones,' Shanti said with a small smile. She left them alone with the baby. Ron looked over Hermione's shoulder at the tiny bundle cradled to her breast. Her eyes were shut tightly, but she had vivid red curls rioting around her head. 'You know, hen… I have an idea for a name,' he began, but before he could say what it was, the door opened and Molly's head came through the gap. 'Can we come in?' she asked, the anticipation dancing on her face. 'Yeah,' Hermione breathed, tracing the lines of their daughter's face. She looked up at Harry. 'So who won the bet?' 'Uh…' Harry fumbled in his pocket for the small notebook. 'You and Arthur share the bet for guessing it was a girl. And…' He squinted at Ron. 'Did you faint?' 'Nope.' Harry turned his gaze to Hermione. 'Did he?' Hermione shook her head. 'But it hasn't been that long yet. Ron said he'd faint an hour afterward.' She grinned. 'We have time.' 'What's her name?' Molly asked, delightedly rocking the baby. 'Don't know yet,' admitted Ron. Ginny carefully transferred the baby to Katie and came to stand next to the bed. 'Makes it all worth it, doesn't it?' she said softly, so only the two of them heard. Hermione watched as the baby was passed from one grinning family member to the next, ending with her mother. Jane used one hand to wipe the tears from the corners of her eyes. 'Yeah, it does,' Hermione replied. Ginny wrapped her arms around Hermione and hugged her tightly. When they parted, both of them were sniffling a little. Harry shifted James a bit higher to get a better grip on the sleeping toddler, as he bent and gently kissed Hermione's cheek. 'Good job, Hermione,' he said with a teasing smile. 'Full marks.' Harry and Ginny left after that. It seemed to be a signal for the rest of the family to make their farewells, and soon, it was just

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Jane and Hermione in the room. Jane came to sit on the edge of the bed next to Hermione. 'She really is a beautiful baby, Hermione.' Hermione brushed a fingertip over the baby's bright, feathery eyebrow. 'Do you think Dad would be pleased?' 'His first grandchild? Oh, yes. He would.' Jane let out a shaky breath. 'He'd already have a footie kit for her, so she could be the first woman to play for Manchester United.' Jane's arm circled Hermione's shoulders. 'He would have been so proud of you.' Hermione glanced at her mother. 'Mum?' 'Yes?' Hermione smiled. 'All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go…' she sang shakily, before Jane joined her. 'I'm standing here, outside your door, I hate to wake you up and say goodbye…' Ron trudged back down the corridor to Hermione's room, after seeing his family off. He heard voices come from the room, and stood outside listening. Jane and Hermione were crooning that song he and Hermione had danced to at their wedding. 'So kiss me, and smile for me. Tell me that you'll never leave. Hold me like you'll never let me go…' He leaned against the wall, unwilling to intrude on the moment. Their voices trembled and cracked, and Ron knew they were thinking of Richard. He waited until the song faded, and opened the door. Ron grabbed the chair in the corner and dragged it next to the bed and dropped into it, bending his head to drop a kiss on the curve of the baby's head. 'I was thinking,' he began. 'About what we could name her.' 'So was I,' confessed Hermione. 'You first,' Ron offered. 'It's kind of silly,' Hermione said. 'But I was thinking about Rose.' 'That's not silly,' Ron said. 'Actually, I was thinking it, too.' He swallowed. 'For your dad.' He turned his attention to Jane. 'Do you mind?' he asked. 'Why should I mind? It's a lovely name.' Hermione looked at Ron with a raised eyebrow. 'Well, obviously for Dad,' she said. 'But for…' She blushed, and glanced down at Rose. Ron looked at her his brows knit in confusion before it dawned on him. The trellis arch and the night Rose was conceived. He coughed and flushed. 'Yeah,' he mumbled. 'Beatrice,' Ron said suddenly. 'From that book, remember? Rose Beatrice.' 'It's perfect.' Hermione looked down at Rose. 'So. Rose Beatrice Weasley.' 'And on that note, it's time for me to go home,' Jane said. She ran her hand over Rose's bright curls. 'Good night, Rose.' She stood up and embraced Hermione. 'Your father would adore the name.' 'Thanks, Mum.' Ron took Jane's arm and escorted her to an Apparition point, and took her home to Oxford. She went up on her toes before going into the house, and kissed his cheek. 'The two of you did a marvelous job.' 'Thank you,' Ron said sincerely, surprising Jane by wrapping his arms around her and hugging her, before releasing her just as suddenly as he'd embraced her. 'I'll come round tomorrow about eleven to take you back if you want.' 'That would be lovely.' Jane slipped into the house, and Ron turned to dormant garden. His head tilted back and he took in the clear, starry sky. 'Did you hear that?' he whispered. 'Her name is Rose.' He briefly closed his eyes and went back to the hospital. Hermione was curled on her side, Rose tucked close to her. She looked up when Ron sidled into the room. 'Hi,' she said softly,

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so as not to wake the baby. Ron took the chair next to the bed. 'Hi,' he replied. Hermione reached out with her free hand. She laced her fingers through Ron's. 'I couldn't have done this without you.' He shrugged. 'I mean it. None of the past nine months, or tonight.' She looked back down at Rose. 'And I know I wouldn't be able to raise her without you.' She paused and exhaled slowly. 'If anything were to happen to me, you would do a brilliant job by yourself, too.' 'I love you, too, hen,' Ron said quietly. He looked away and rubbed his nose. 'Something in my eye,' he mumbled. He knew she understood how much he needed to hear that she had complete faith in his abilities as a parent. He picked up Rose and laid her in the cot, before sliding into the bed next to Hermione. Four months later… Hermione set the carrycot containing a sleeping Rose on the bench under the trellis arch in her parents' back garden. Ron was kneeling next to the Gentle Hermione, weeding the beds around the rosebushes. It was mid-June, and the scent of the roses twining around the trellis drifted lazily around Hermione. She lifted Rose from the carrycot, cradling her. 'Dad…' she murmured. 'I'd like you to meet Rose. Your granddaughter.' The end… A/N: And so it comes to the end... This is where this one was always going to end, so if you want to find out who was behind those nasty letters (if you don't know already), check out Making Mistakes. Rose's birthday, for those of you keeping track, is February 12, 2006. The lyrics of 'Leaving on a Jet Plane' are by John Denver. I can't believe it's finished. Many, many thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read this.  

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