(a Harry Potter fanfiction by Jen)

Part 2

"What are you looking at?" Ron asked menacingly as an older woman sitting adjacent to him on the bus gazed upon him with interest. The woman looked away, but Ron caught her sneaking glances while his head was turned in the opposite direction.

"If I didn't know any better I'd say he was pregnant!" Ron heard her exclaim to her companion.

"You're right, Fanny! My, what a gut!"

"I think it even beats Edmund's!"

Ron recited the sentence that Hermione had told him to recite whenever he was angry ("I am perfectly calm, and will remain so until I can be in a private place") and did not look in the old woman's direction. It had definitely not been a good end-of-the-day.

***

"Ready for the game?" Ron asked as he grabbed his brilliant orange cloak and checked to make sure that the tickets were in order one more time.

Hermione rolled over in bed so that she was facing the dark wall and not the bright hallway light. "Ron, we're not leaving yet. The gates to the stadium don't open until 10:00."

"But it's general admission!" We have to be near the front of the line so we get good seats!"

"I highly doubt there will be a large crowd when we get there…"

"Which is exactly why I want to leave now!"

"No matter what time we leave, considering the team," she muttered into the pillow.

"What was that?" Ron asked suspiciously.

"Nothing…Do you know what time it is?" Hermione asked groggily, opening her eyes and lifting her head.

"Yes, it's 6:00am. Why?"

Hermione groaned and pulled the covers over her head.

"Oh no you don't! You promised me a Quidditch game whenever the Cannons play, and you are going to keep that promise!"

"Fine. Go. I want to sleep."

Ron looked hurt. "But I want you to go…"

"Why?"

Ron thought quickly. "Because it's cold in the stands, and without you there's no one to keep warm with."

Hermione smiled under the blankets in spite of herself.

"Your orange cloak doesn't keep you warm enough?"

Ron tickled her through the blankets; she shrieked.

"I'm up! I'm up!"

"Alright then!" Ron grinned, flinging the blankets off of her and moving toward the kitchen.

Hermione watched Ron through the doorway as he sang a popular song ("Your Love is Like the Cruciatus Curse") and poured liberal amounts of cinnamon and sugar onto buttered bread. Amazing how yesterday he mentioned that 6:00am is a time when only crazy people are awake, let alone active… she felt herself drifting off again when she heard the kettle begin to whistle from the other room.

"Hot cocoa's ready, love," he called pleasantly as he bustled around the kitchen (in a manner, similar to that of Mrs. Weasley, Hermione noticed) cleaning up and doing other odds and ends. At the promise of cinnamon toast and hot chocolate, she finally managed to pull herself out of bed. With the Quidditch match and what was to follow, she was sure it would be a long day.

***

Ron jumped up from his seat.

"MARLEY'S GOING FOR IT!" he hollered; Hermione preferred to remain silent and seated, thank you very much.

"YES!!!!" Ron yelled, pulling Hermione up out of her seat for a kiss. "WE WON! WE ACTUALLY WON!" Ron began to do a peculiar sort of victory dance while Hermione watched and tried not to laugh; Ron noticed, but didn't seem to care very much. "Voluntary public humiliation in the name of Quidditch! I love it!" he cried gleefully, hugging Hermione with a passion he only reserved for the aftermath of life threatening situations and winning Quidditch matches.

"Let's go to lunch," Hermione sighed, laughing a little and wondering if he would mind if she pretended she didn't know him. Ron relived the final play several times after they had Apparated behind the Leaky Cauldron and ordered lunch.

"…And did you see the way she kind of flipped over on her broomstick, with no hands? Then how she regained control and didn't fall off of her broom, and took that amazing victory lap? And how she got really, really close to where we were sitting?

"Yes, Ron."

"I don't care what people say; the Cannons are in for a good season this year! We've already won a match!"

"Uh huh."

"Who cares if it's the first match we've won in 25 years? It's still a win!"

"I know."

"And that Marley is amazing! She's the best Seeker I've ever seen with the team!"

"You fancy her, eh?" Hermione teased, pushing her food around with her fork.

"No," Ron answered immediately, reddening a little, and taking a gulp of pumpkin juice.

"I see how it is," Hermione replied, nodding knowingly. "It's the hair, isn't it?" She took flitted some of her hair out from behind her ear and grinned. "You can never be fully satisfied by being with a woman with this kind of hair; you like it straight and blonde, is that it?"

Ron shook his head vigorously. "I like your hair," he insisted, leaning over to run his hand through the bit of hair she had brought to the forefront and push it back behind her ear.

"You're just saying that to cover up your affection for this Quidditch woman."

"No," he said earnestly. "Every, er, fiber in my body is in love with you!"

"Stop lying to me!" Hermione laughed, turning away in mock pain.

"Stop toying with me then!" Ron laughed back, tugging on her hand.

"Ah, so you admit that you were lying?" she teased.

"I don't lie to you," he answered, a little too earnestly.

"Mmm hmm. And to think I could have found a nice, smart boy who actually respected a woman's feelings…"

"You are horrible, do you know that?"

Hermione laughed, and Ron suddenly began to sing (very off key); "You torture many/but you torture me the worst/your love is like/the Cruciatus Curse…"

"Oh shut up," Hermione replied, laughing even harder as Ron began to dance in his chair. "Stop!" she cried, unable to hold anything back anymore and literally doubling over.

When Ron looked up, he noticed that several customers were looking at the couple curiously, as they had been making an awful amount of noise.

"Posessed," Ron said grimly to the onlookers, motioning toward Hermione. "Very sad, really…"

"Shut up, you git!" Hermione managed to choke out through her laughter.

"See? Possessed—"

Hermione collected herself enough to grab Ron's vibrant orange cloak and toss it over his head. "For the last time, shut up," she said, trying desperately to contain herself.

"Gah, she’s getting violent!" Ron called in a muffled voice, causing Hermione to smack him upside the head; she proceeded to drag him to the front of the pub.

"How much was it?" she asked, breathless from laughter.

Tom answered her with a lopsided smile. Hermione paid, and dragged Ron into the alley behind The Leaky Cauldron.

"Good show," Ron commented, pulling his head and arms through the cloak so that it was properly on.

"Do you ever stop being an idiot?" Hermione grinned, counting the appropriate number of bricks and tapping the correct one with her wand.

"You’ve known me for about nine years now; don’t you know yet?"

"Yes. The answer is no."

"Well, stop bugging me about it then," he finished, pulling her into his arms as they walked. Suddenly, his manner changed to one that was semi-anxious. "Do we have to do this?"

"Ron, it’s not going to just go away. Soon, you’ll be very glad we got it over with now."

Ron, nervously surveying the myriad of witches and wizards crowding Diagon Alley, replied, "I highly doubt it."

"Oh don’t be such a baby about it, it’s not like it’s going to hurt. We’re not going to the doctor’s again, you know."

"Speak for yourse—" Ron suddenly cut himself off, grabbed an unsuspecting Hermione, and pulled her into the closest shop.

"What is wrong with you?" Hermione hissed after he let go of her. "Why are we in here?"

"Seamus Finnigan’s out there!"

"So?"

"So I don’t want to tell him why we’re here!"

"Ron, we don’t have to tell him anything; he'll never know."

"That's what you said about Fred and George!"

"Be reasonable about this—"

"Phew, I think we’ve lost him." Ron was ignoring her and looking out the window. "Come on, let’s—"

Ron was cut off as the door opened, and their favorite sandy-haired Irishman entered the shop in which they were seeking refuge.

"Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger?" Seamus asked, grinning and extending his hand. Ron cursed under his breath; his clever plan had failed.

"Seamus Finnigan! It’s been awhile…how did you ever see us in this huge crowd?"

"The hair, mate, it’s the hair," he replied. "Can’t miss that hair anywhere. Lucky you have it, eh?"

"Yeah, lucky," Ron muttered as Seamus began asking Hermione how she was.

"We’re good, both of our jobs are going well, and we just moved to London after the wedding; it’s great."

"Good to hear it," Seamus smiled.

"How about you? How’s the writing coming?"

"Couldn’t be better! I just got promoted at the Prophet, and I get a byline and everything starting next week. I get to cover the next Quidditch World Cup! For now, though, I get lots of the British League games, which is enough, of course."

Seamus moved out of the doorway to let other customers in past him, and absently picked up something from a table nearby. Ron felt a dramatic sinking feeling in his stomach as he realized what it was, and what store he had pulled Hermione into.

"So, who’re the lucky parents?" Seamus asked, looking over the miniature set of robes he had in his hands. Ron had led the three of them into "Toy Brooms, etc.," the premier specialty baby and toddler store on Diagon Alley, and the second-to-last store he wanted Seamus to spot him in. Ron blushed a violent scarlet, and even Hermione’s cheeks ran a little pink.

"Wait, you’re kidding, it’s you? Congratulations!" Seamus exclaimed, slapping Ron on the back and hugging Hermione. "When’s the kid coming?"

"In a little over 5 months," Ron interjected before he could stop himself.

"Great, I’ll have to come and visit after you have the baby," he answered, grinning even more. Ron just wanted him to go away; he knew if he didn’t, he would start interrogating Hermione, and looking for the nonexistent bulge on her stomach, and then certain questions would arise that Ron would not want her to answer…he still had nightmares about what had happened with Fred and George.

"Well, I would love to stay and chat, but I have to go and buy something for my nephew at Gambol & Japes…I’m thinking Filibuster Fireworks; after all he does start Hogwarts next year. Can’t be too prepared, eh?" he said, nudging Ron; Ron smiled and nervously agreed. "What are you two up to, besides the obvious?" he motioned around the shop.

"Oh, we’re going to get some pregnancy robes…won’t be long before it starts to show," Hermione answered.

Ron controlled his cringing for the sake of his concealment

"Well, maybe later we could go get dinner together, on me, as a late congratulations…Lavender could come too, she was just mentioning that she hadn’t seen you in awhile."

"That would be lovely," Hermione replied, ignoring Ron’s look of fear, and smiled happily. "Where can we go?"

"How about Nuit Enchante? It’s a block from my house. You could floo over, and then we could walk down. I promise to clean the fireplace."

"Are you sure? We wouldn’t want to be putting you out…"

"Not at all! It’s my pleasure."

"Alright then, how does 8:00 sound?"

"Great!" Seamus looked at his watch, and a look of pained remembrance crossed his face. "I better be going, I told Lav I’d meet her at 3:00, and it's 3:02. I’ll see you tonight!" Seamus nodded at Hermione and slapped Ron on the back again, and walked off. Ron let out a big sigh of relief.

"Oh stop it," Hermione muttered, and took Ron outside and back into the street, where they were headed for the store that Ron really did not want to enter. "It’s nothing to be embarrassed about; pregnancy is a very natural thing."

"For a woman."

"What do you plan on doing when you start to show?"

"Staying inside."

Hermione sighed. "We’re here. I don’t want any complaining, now let’s go."

Literally wincing, Ron walked into Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions and followed Hermione to the counter. A few seconds later, Madam Malkin herself emerged from behind a curtain, and Ron thanked the heavens that there was no one in the shop but themselves.

"Hello dears, what can I do for you?" she asked airily, surveying the couple in front of her. "Something formal, perhaps?"

"No, thank you, we’re here to purchase some pregnancy robes," Hermione answered cheerfully.

"Congratulations, darling!" Madam Malkin patted Hermione on the shoulder. "Just step up here and I’ll be right back with my—"

"Oh, no, it’s not me…it’s my husband."

Madam Malkin looked at Ron suspiciously. "What?"

"Well…" Hermione’s eyebrows furrowed and she looked as if she were trying very hard to properly place her words. Ron was glad that she always seemed so uncomfortable when explaining "things;" he felt that she deserved at least some of the discomfort that came with the pregnancy, considering that it was supposed to be hers to begin with. She wasn’t the one with the expanding waistline, not to mention the fact that for some reason his shoes didn’t seem to fit correctly anymore. He had been getting blisters for that entire week, and it had not been pleasant. Hermione had given him the "it’s natural" speech that he had come to dread, and then taken him to buy new shoes; however, Ron had had fairly large feet to begin with, and the store had to put shoes on special order for him. The only pair of shoes his size that they had in stock were a pair of heinous mauve Velcro sneakers, which he adamantly refused to wear in both public and private. Needless to say, he had spent the previous week sitting by the phone, waiting for the shoe store to call (they had finally called, to his relief, called the day before).

"We used Addo Graviditas," Hermione attempted to explain, "the spell that transfers a pregnancy from one person to another, regardless of gender?"

Madam Malkin looked like she was trying to recall the spell; her eyes soon lit up and Ron decided that she had apparently succeeded.

"Ah yes…Addo Graviditas." She smiled knowingly. "Well young man, stand up over there and I will be out in a minute with my things."

Ron obliged, ignoring that she had addressed him as "young man" because he was praying that no one would walk in.

"Oh, wipe that ridiculous look off of your face," Hermione commented, sitting in a chair and crossing her arms. "It wasn’t that bad. She didn’t even quiz me on why we used the spell."

"Why are you the one who keeps saying," Ron put on a falsetto voice, "‘Calm down, Ron, it’s not that bad. It’s not that embarrassing. It’s not like it’s going to hurt.’"

"Because it’s true, and you don’t have the sense to see that."

"Hermione, tell me something," Ron asked.

"Yes?"

"Promise me you’ll answer correctly?"

"Promise."

"Alright. Are you me right now?"

"Well—"

"Then you have no idea what ‘embarrassing’ is, so stop lecturing me!"

Madam Malkin chose that moment to emerge with measuring tape, pins, and a generic pair of oversized robes, cutting off Hermione’s chance to retaliate.

"Now, let’s see what you’ve got here…" she muttered as she put the robes on Ron and began to measure and pin. She called to Hermione, "How many robes will we be needing?"

Ron was vaguely annoyed at the fact that his only part in this whole affair seemed to be playing the part of dress up doll.

"Four; two for everyday, one dark blue and one black, and two doctor’s robes."

"There’s a special in pregnancy robes; buy four and get a fifth pair free. Shall I throw in a pair of dress robes?"

"Why yes, thank you."

She finished measuring Ron, and Madam Malkin began to move toward the curtains again.

"I’ll start making the robes, and I’ll bring out a catalog so that you can pick what you would like for dress robes."

After she made her exit to the back rooms once again, Ron heard the tinkle of bells ringing and, for the second time that day, felt a sinking feeling in his stomach; someone had entered the shop.

"Mummy, do I have to get new robes?"

"Yes Charles, your old ones are all getting ripped."

"But I want ice cream!"

"After this, I’ll think about it."

"But mummy—"

"Oh look! It’s Dr. Ron!"

Ron cringed; it was the Bingleys; the son was one of his patients.

"Dr. Ron!" Charles called excitedly, momentarily forgetting his yearning for ice cream. Ron waved with a forced smile on his face.

"Hello," Mrs. Bingley, the 40-year-old mother, said happily. "What brings you to this part of the neighborhood?"

Ron was about to open his mouth to say "New dress robes" when Madam Malkin reappeared and said, "Here is the catalogue; I’ve starred the ones that I can modify into pregnancy robes. As you can infer, I don’t usually get many requests for male pregnancy robes, so there are no specific ones…"

Mrs. Bingley now had a very confused look on her face as she stared at the couple. Ron gave a wan smile, and, because of his embarrassment, didn’t hear either Madam Malkin finish explaining or Hermione telling her something before she disappeared into the back room yet again. He then turned his attention toward the catalogue.

"‘Ey," Ron protested as Hermione hid the magazine from his view and began to page through it. She shushed him, and, seeming to have found what she was looking for, placed it in front of him.

"I’m not entirely sure, but I think that this one will flatter you the most."

Perplexed, Ron took a closer look; she had moved to the "Golden Oldies" page, and directly in the center there was a model wearing some very ugly and very familiar maroon robes, complete with lace on the collar and cuffs. Ron looked up to see Hermione’s eyes sparkling a little at him.

"They’re perfect, I think we should get them," Ron said seriously.

"Really?"

"Really."

Ron and Hermione both started sniggering at the same time, ignoring the near constant staring from Mrs. Bingley.

Just then, Madam Malkin appeared again with a neat package. "Here they are. They should all stretch as your stomach grows, just pull on them a bit after you put them on and they’ll fit perfectly."

"Thank you," Hermione replied, grinning and handing the package to Ron.

"Hey, what about dress robes?" he asked as Hermione began digging around in her purse for money.

"Didn’t we decide on that lovely maroon number?"

"That’s not funny."

Hermione handed a handful of coins to Madam Malkin. "I picked them out for you; they’ll be a surprise. You can wear them tonight."

They began to walk out of the store.

"Bye Charles, Mrs. Bingley," Ron called, grinning and nodding at them.

"Goodbye," Mrs. Bingley waved, still looking slightly confused.

"By Dr. Ron! Someday I’m going to be pregnant just like you!" Charles called excitedly, jumping up and down. Mrs. Bingley grabbed the 3-year-old and started to lecture him on something that Ron could only begin to imagine the contents of.

"There, now that wasn’t so bad, was it?" Hermione asked once they were back in the street.

"I’ve been through worse."

"See?"

"Facing Voldemort’s the only thing that comes to mind right now, but who keeps track of little things like that?" Hermione sighed and continued to look ahead of her as they passed Florean Fortescue's. "Can I get ice cream?" he asked, turning toward her with an expectant look on his face.

"Ron, we’re meeting Seamus and Lavender for dinner in a few hours, you shouldn’t fill up—"

"Let me rephrase that," Ron interrupted. "I am pregnant, and I want ice cream."

Hermione sighed and, feeling very much like a mother already, followed her husband as he led the way to the ice cream counter.

"Hi, what can I get you?" the girl at the counter asked.

"A small heavenly hash please," Hermione said quickly. Ron, who was studying the list of flavors, put on the falsetto voice again and mocked,

"‘My name’s Hermione, I like to contradict myself—’"

"Shut up and order, Ron, you’re holding up the line."

"You may be smarter than me, and you may be more perceptive than me, but I know for a fact that there is no line."

"Well, at least you admit the obvious."

"Always," Ron answered, finally making his selection.

"Large pickle, please."

"Pickle?" the girl asked, handing Hermione her order.

"Yes," Ron said authoritatively.

Hermione gave him an odd look as the girl started scooping his ice cream.

"Craving," he replied nonchalantly, and dug into his pocket for some knuts.

"I'm surprised; usually, that flavor is only bought by pregnant women," the girl said to Ron as she handed him his cone.

"Well," he answered, giving her the money, "I just happen to be a pregnant woman."

The girl looked a bit frightened for a second and then laughed weakly.

"Have a good day," Ron said, saluting, and walking away toward the exit with Hermione close behind him. Once they were back on the street, Hermione turned to him and said,

"You’ve finally come to terms with it?"

Ron looked straight ahead and answered, "Yes, I’m pregnant and I’m not ashamed to admit it! I’m sick of you getting all the credit for something that I’m doing all the work for."

Hermione suppressed a laugh. "Good to know, then."

Ron nodded, and they turned to walk back through the arch toward the alley behind The Leaky Cauldron.

"So, we're telling Seamus and Lavender the truth tonight?" They stepped back into the alley, and when they looked behind them the arch had disappeared.

"Nope."

Hermione sighed, and they walked back into the pub, waved to Tom, and exited into the Muggle world on the other side.

***

Ron looked in the mirror in an effort to do something with his hair, which did not seem to be cooperating with him at the moment. Hermione had not picked out the maroon robes as she had teased (Thank Goodness, Ron had thought as he opened the package); instead, she had picked out a pair of handsome, straight-necked gray robes, and they fit him perfectly (not to mention the fact that they minimized the small bulge that had formed on his middle and brought out his hair and eyes). "Yes, I look good," Ron said to himself, nodding to the music emanating from the radio as he tried to make his hair obey him.

"Oboediens," Hermione called from the doorway, pointing her wand at him. Ron looked in the mirror and saw that his hair was doing everything he was telling it to do.

"Thanks ‘Mione," he called, nodding at her reflection in the mirror.

"No problem. And yes, you’re right for once; you do look good…" She walked over to him and did his hair herself. "There," she said when she had finished, "now you look perfect."

"Haha," Ron grimaced, looking in the mirror to see that she had, in fact, fixed his hair properly.

"You know, you should give other people a turn to be right once in awhile…for instance, me. I have low self-esteem, you know."

"Poor thing. Now, get out of the bathroom so I can get ready." Hermione walked in and hung her dress robes on the top of the closet door.

"What’s wrong?" Ron asked, turning back toward the mirror to fix his hair just a bit more in order to spite her. "Not like there’s anything I haven’t seen before—"

"Oh, honestly," Hermione interrupted, pushing him out the door and slamming it in his face.

"Well, it’s true!" Ron called through the closed door, and shuffled over to the living room where he sat on the couch to wait for his wife to emerge.

He did not have to wait for very long; she emerged five minutes later, clad in tastefully scoop-necked, form-fitting deep red robes. The sides of her bushy hair were kept back with a jeweled clip, so that it wouldn't fall in her face.

"Wow," Ron commented, smiling. "You look great."

"Er, thank you," Hermione replied, blushing. Ron knew how uncomfortable she got each time he commented on her looks, but he always did it anyway (only because he meant it). "Let’s go. Do you have the Floo Powder?"

"Right here," Ron said, reaching into a pottery jar by the fireplace. He magically lit the fire, threw in a pinch of powder, walked into the flames, and shouted "Seamus Finnigan’s!" Soon, he was spinning off toward his destination.

He dropped in Seamus’s stone fireplace fairly gently and on his feet (years of practice had rendered him a Floo Powder expert), and noted with relief that all ashes had been swept away as promised.

"Hello?" he called into the room. "We’re here!" Hermione appeared a second later and voiced what Ron had silently contemplated before she had arrived.

"Lucky he swept the fireplace."

"Yeah," Ron answered as Seamus entered the living room clad in slate blue.

"Hi! You guys are right on time," he greeted, walking over and shaking Ron and Hermione’s hands in turn.

"Good to see you again, it’s been so long," Ron answered, beginning to relax a little. He wouldn’t find out about the pregnancy unless they told him, and Ron’s dignity would remain intact. Think positively, he thought, grinning as Hermione also made a crack about the great length of time between seeing him in the afternoon and the present.

"It’s true though, in a way," Seamus replied. "We didn’t really get a chance to catch up earlier."

"You’re right, it really has been awhile," said Hermione. "Where’s Lavender?"

"Remember when I said that you were right on time?"

"Oh," Hermione laughed, "how could I forget. ‘Lavender’ and ‘late’ are probably listed as synonyms in the dictionary by now…"

Just then, a door opened and a voice called, "I’m here, Seamus! Sorry I’m running a little late, but my cat—Hermione!" she exclaimed, running over to give her old roommate a hug. "You look great!"

"So do you! It’s good to see you!" Hermione replied, complimenting Lavender’s purple robes.

"Seamus didn’t tell me you were going to come; I would have actually tried to be on time…and Ron!" She gave him a hug as well. "Wow! I haven’t seen you two since the wedding…which we all knew was coming anyway. It was obvious since fourth year." She smiled knowingly; Hermione shook her head and smiled as well.

"It gets better, Lav," Seamus said. "They’re pregnant."

"One of us is anyway," Ron muttered so that no one could hear him under Lavender’s congratulatory squeal.

"When’s the due date?"

"About five months from now," Hermione sheepishly replied.

"I’m so happy for you," lavender commented, giving Hermione another hug. "And you!" she continued, turning to Ron. "I never imagined you being a daddy."

"I’m just full of surprises," Ron answered, smiling as convincingly as he could.

"‘Ey," Seamus suddenly interrupted, "Reservations are at 8:30, so we’d better start out."

"Alright then," Ron answered, putting his cloak on, grateful that the pregnancy banter would be put on hold.

It was quite lovely outside; a light snow had begun to fall, and dainty flakes could be seen floating in the soft light of the street lamps as they passed. At the end of the road was Nuit Enchante, a beautiful old castle that had been turned into a restaurant. Light was emanating from windows of all floors, and Ron thought for a brief moment that it looked like a picture from a storybook.

"May I take your cloaks?" the witch at the door asked as she showed them into the foyer.

"Yes please," Ron answered, being a gentleman and helping Hermione out of hers before taking his own off. None of them talked for a moment; there was a dramatic change in atmosphere between the outside and inside, and they were yet completely comfortable.

"This way," said a waiter, leading them to a table on the second floor. Ron edged his way over to Seamus as they were walking.

"You sure dinner’s on you? I wouldn’t mind paying for me and Hermione."

"Very sure," Seamus grinned. "It’s part of my promotion at the Prophet; they said I’d get a free dinner for up to four people anywhere in the country."

"Wow," Ron replied, "Must be nice."

"It’s very nice, but don’t tell Lavender."

Ron smirked at this; by this time they had arrived at their table, and everyone began to sit down. The conversation started again, but it was centered around Lavender’s job as at a catering company instead of unborn children.

The waiter soon reappeared near their table. "May I start you off with something to drink?" he asked after waiting for a lull in conversation, so as not to interrupt.

Ron waited for Seamus and Lavender to order, then took his turn. "Pumpkin juice, please," he said politely. Hermione proceeded to order her favorite wine. When the waiter left and they looked back at their companions, they found that both Lavender and Seamus were giving them odd looks.

"What?" Ron asked, confused.

"Aren’t you pregnant?" Seamus asked. This made Ron’s ears flush with immediate embarrassment until he realized that Seamus was addressing Hermione. "You shouldn’t be drinking alcohol."

"Oh!" Hermione replied, realizing her error and thinking quickly. "Er, right…there’s a charm that…filters alcohol a different way, so, er, it’s safe for me to drink."

"Oh, alright," Seamus responded, apparently satisfied. "So, speaking of unborn children, do you know if it’s going to be a girl or a boy?"

"Boy," said Ron immediately, at the same time as Hermione said "Girl." A small and slightly tense silence followed.

"Well, we don’t know, as we’d rather be surprised; but, we each have our own preference," Hermione said, glaring slightly at Ron.

"Some of which are better than others," Ron answered, fiddling with his napkin.

"Hmm, maybe I won’t ask about names then," Lavender commented to Seamus.

"Yeah, that’s not a good idea," Hermione laughed. Ron coughed, but if one listened to the cough closely one could distinctly hear the word "Liam" being sounded out.

Much to Ron’s surprise, the evening progressed fairly smoothly from that point; after the initial conversation about little Liam, it gave way to talk of other things, and, of course, reminiscing.

"Do you remember that Potions class in 6^th year when Hermione actually made a mistake, and her cauldron exploded, covering the entire dungeon - and, most importantly, Snape - with green goo?" Lavender asked gleefully. Her inquiry caused everyone to laugh at the memory, except for Hermione, who hid her face in her hands.

"Do you all have to remember the one time I didn’t brew a potion correctly?"

"Yes," Ron answered laughingly, cutting himself another piece of cake. "And I don’t see why you’re upset about it; wasn’t Snape about 700,000 times nicer to you after it happened?"

"Yes, probably because I suddenly became fallible," Hermione answered, smiling and putting a forkful of cake into her mouth.

"You will never know just how great it actually was, because you didn’t get the full effect of the looks on both Snape’s face and your face. I wish someone got a picture of it, I would have treasured it forever," Seamus teased.

"You and every other imbecile in that school," Hermione teased back. "Speaking of amusing things that happened in Potions, how about the time when you…"

Ron suddenly sat up straight, eyes wide; he did not hear the rest of what Hermione had to say. Suddenly, that was the least of his problems.

"Ron?" Lavender asked thoughtfully, observing her friend’s strange behavior.

"What?!" he asked, looking around. He looked down at his midsection; nothing happened. You were just imagining it; everything is perfectly normal, Ron thought, beginning to feel himself redden just the same. "Nothing, I’m fine, everything’s fine!"

Lavender, Seamus, and Hermione were now giving him odd looks. Ron thought quickly.

"Er, how are you?"

"Anyway," Hermione continued, giving him a confused look but turning her attentions back to her original conversation, "Then, you were…"

"Augh!" Ron yelped, leaping from his seat and clutching his stomach. Things were definitely not normal.

"What’s wrong?!" Hermione asked hurriedly, standing and putting her hand concernedly on Ron’s shoulder. "Are you alright?"

Ron stopped and looked around frantically; people from other tables were staring at him as well. Don’t draw attention to yourself, it was just a one time thing that you probably imagined. Now, sit down and listen to Hermione’s embarrassing Seamus story, he thought to himself.

"Yes!" he exclaimed and sat down. He felt himself turning very red, but he tried to ignore that as well. This is not happening; not now. It can’t happen now. This. Isn’t. Happening. Now. "So, Mione, you were saying…?"

"I was saying…are you sure you’re alright?"

Just then, he felt it again, and he knew that he was not, in fact, imagining things.

"Oh my God!" He was out of his seat again.

"For goodness sakes, Ron, What’s wrong?" Hermione asked, perplexed. Ron was now breathing quickly and clutching his stomach.

"It’s moving!"

"What?" asked Seamus, Lavender, and Hermione at the same time. Suddenly, Hermione was not so clueless anymore.

"Oh!" she shrieked, jumping out of her seat as well and putting her hand on Ron’s stomach. Ron guided her hand to the correct place, and for a moment it was as if nothing around him existed except for him, his wife, and this tiny little being that was kicking around inside him. He looked at Hermione with an elated and mystified look in his eyes, and she returned it with a brilliant smile.

Then, Seamus cleared his throat, shattering the fragile glass of Ron’s ideal world, and Ron began to realize that there were other people around him (and that the majority of these people were staring directly at him).

"Ron, what’s going on?" Lavender asked timidly.

Ron's ears went very pink, and he searched the far recesses of his mind for a suitable answer.

"Er, kidney stone?" he answered, turning even pinker as he realized that he had given a fairly stupid one.

Always the calm one, Hermione sighed and sat down.

"Do either of you know of the spell Addo Graviditas?" she asked, Ron noted happily, with a tinge of nervousness.

Both Lavender and Seamus shrugged simultaneously.

"You do it," Ron ordered Hermione, plopping down in his seat, grabbing the last slice of cake and leaving Hermione to the wolves. If he was going to be thoroughly embarrassed, he might as well stuff himself with chocolate during the process.

Part 3

Finally, Ron thought as the bus screeched to a halt at his desired location. He hastily gathered his things and hurried toward the door, muttering all the way.

As soon as he was on the sidewalk, he went in search of a deserted alleyway that would allow him to Apparate home. At least there he would have Hermione to yell at, because it was all her fault that mothers at work were staring at him and commenting to each other about his shape, and kids were laughing at him, and his boss looked at him strangely every time they passed in the hall because he had requested pregnancy leave... He shuddered as he thought of that.

"Hello, Dr. Kline," Ron nervously greeted his boss.

"Hello Dr. Weasley," Dr. Kline replied, sizing him up. "What was it you wanted to see me about?"

"Pregnancy leave. I'll need from…" Ron trailed off, watching his boss's face change expression. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head quickly, and then smiled. "Sorry, I was just thinking how it would be funny if it were you that was pregnant…you have all the tell-tale signs, you know…"

"Well…"

Ron shuddered. No more of that, he thought. Because of the aforementioned reasons (and, in addition, the obnoxious old women on the bus, and the constant staring he felt on his back everywhere he went), he was, indeed, in rare form.

He banged the door open, at least expecting the smell of some sort of dinner to waft into the hallway - pizza, Chinese takeout, or a foreign dish whose only fan was Hermione. Hermione, as one may infer, was not a master of the culinary arts. However, the only thing he smelled was the faint remnants of a fire that had been smoldering since the night before. Even more offended by this injustice, Ron angrily hollered, "HERMIONE!" and stormed into the kitchen. "You know, I've had a very bad day today, and you know I'm starving when I get home! I know you're all about the career woman thing, but you could at least be nice! I'm eating for two bloody—" He stopped short as he heard a tapping on the kitchen window. Looking to his right, he saw an owl. Grumbling, he moved to let the creature in, and snatched the note from its talons.

Dear Ron,

I'm really sorry, but there's been a disaster at work involving a miscasted fashion charm and horrendous clothes, which are now grafted onto the bodies of several test subjects. I need to stay late - I'm really sorry again.

Love,

Hermione

"DAMMIT!" Ron yelled angrily. This was too much; he was having the worst day of his life, and, to top it off, he was very, very hungry, and, apparently, he was going to stay that way. After kicking the bathroom door several times, breaking a large hole through the aforementioned door, and cussing very loudly, he heard a loud, angry knock on the door. Still very upset, Ron muttered a charm to repair the hole (he did not notice that, in his rage of uncontrollable emotions, he had turned the door purple in the process) and stomped toward the entrance to the apartment. Looking through the peephole, he saw one of the last things he wanted to see: his very angry next door neighbor, Mrs. Clark.

He opened the door, tried unsuccessfully to control the rage on his face, and coldly questioned,

"May I help you?"

"May you help me?!" Mrs. Clark snapped while, unlike Ron, making no effort to control her countenance. "You can start by keeping this horrible racket down! I’ve heard nothing but swearing and barging around and yelling from you and that girlfriend of yours, living in sin already—"

"Wife," Ron interrupted hotly, but he didn’t get a chance to continue before she opened her mouth again.

"I don’t care what she is; I only care that both of you are awful and loud!" She threw her hands up in the air and began to count her annoyances on her fingers. "My children can’t sleep at night! They can hear swear words through the very thin walls, and they are scared half to death of both of you, because when you’re not swearing, yelling, stomping, and breaking furniture, you’re playing some kinky game involving witches and wizards! Don’t try to explain, because I don’t want to know," she continued, seeing Ron begin to open his mouth again. "I’ve tried quietly knocking on the walls, I’ve tried complaining, I’ve tried calling, I've tried nice visits, and I’ve had it! Look at yourself, you can’t even bring yourself to work out enough to bring that horrid body down to a decent size! What the hell are you going to do when you have kids? I hear through the bloody wall every day that you’re wife is pregnant, but you seem to be showing more than she does! You, my neighbor, are going to be a horrible father! I wouldn’t be surprised if your child turned out to be a delinquent, or at the very most an overweight bastard with an uncontrollable temper!"

Ron had had enough. He was now so angry that he couldn’t even yell; the only thing he could do was stand there, fuming, with his veins throbbing and his eyes bulging out of his very deep red face. Ron finally recovered enough to scream a few well-chosen words into Mrs. Clark’s face, too upset to think of anything that might personally insult her. Apparently, the basics were enough in this situation; as Ron slammed the door, he saw her lunge toward him and scream. Taking out his wand, he slid it under the crack in the door and muttered, "Silentium." He did not care what the consequences would be if the Ministry or Hermione ever found out that he had used "unnecessary magic" on a Muggle. To Ron’s immediate satisfaction, the yelling stopped (unfortunately, he noted, it would only last for a few minutes). After banging on the door for a minute in frustration, she left, and Ron went back to being very, very angry in peace.

"Damn Mrs. Clark, doesn’t know what she’s (fudging) talking about. I’m too bloody complex for her to (flipping) understand," Ron growled, kicking the wall extra loudly in hopes of angering her even more.

"I’M A WIZARD! I LIKE TO EAT CHILDREN! THAT’S WHY I HAVE SUCH A BIG (FRICKING) BELLY!" Ron yelled menacingly as he gave the wall three especially loud kicks. That will show her, he thought. Hermione is going to kill me, he continued. Hermione is at work, when she knows that I’m pregnant and that the bloody due date’s in two weeks, and my feet are killing me, he flopped onto the couch, and my back is killing me, he rolled over to his side, and I have to piss every 10 minutes, he ignored the tell-tale feelings in his bladder, and she isn’t here! Just as mad as before, Ron reached over for the book on the coffee table (So, You’re Pregnant; Now What? The Modern Wizard’s Guide to Conception and Beyond) and opened to where he had left off, highlighter in hand.

"At this point, Mummy will be going through a very emotional period…blah blah blah…Daddy should do everything in his power to keep her happy," Ron muttered triumphantly, uncapping the highlighter and marking that sentence, along with others that followed, such as "Mummy needs Daddy around to give her moral support," and "Daddy should help with things around the house, like dinner…." Ron drew several arrows to that, and screamed a few more profanities and hit the wall with his book as he remembered just how hungry he was.

He didn’t think he could bear standing up for any more time than what it would take for him to advance from the bathroom to the couch and visa versa, and it would take at least a half hour for a delivered dinner of any sort to arrive. His immense anger was just turning into tears when a stern knock on the door sounded for the second time that evening. Ron’s face contorted once again into a look of fury, and a rage that can only be described as "The Weasley Temper" flowed through his throbbing veins. Mrs. Clark was going to get a very choice piece of his mind.

Feet and back aching, he thrust his hand onto the doorknob and flung the door open, immediately screaming, "I AM NOT A BLOODY DEADBEAT, I DON’T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT YOUR KIDS, AND IF YOU SAY ONE MORE WORD TO ME I’LL—"

"Sir?" the boy whom Ron had been screaming at tentatively interrupted. He had backed into the wall, and a look of fear was etched onto his skinny face.

Ron blinked. "Er, sorry, I thought you were someone else…." He finally began to calm down at the appearance of the stranger, in front of whom he had thoroughly embarrassed himself.

"Yeah," the frightened teenager squeaked, clutching a bag tightly in his hand.

Ron’s eyes darted nervously from one end of the hallway to the other, and then back to the mysterious boy. "Who are you, anyway?" he asked, suddenly suspicious.

"I-I’m a delivery wizard from The Leaky Cauldron," he answered; "I’ve got an order for a Ron Weasley…"

Sheepishly, Ron took the bag and walked back inside to fetch some money (not the least of which would comprise of a very large tip for the poor, befuddled delivery boy). "Here you go," Ron said sheepishly, putting money into his hand in exchange for the bag. The boy counted the sickles and nodded happily; the tip had apparently done its job.

"See ya mate, and good luck with whatever you were yelling about," he called as he skipped gleefully down the hallway, looking at his tip.

Just then, a note on the bag caught Ron's attention:

Dear Ron,

Oh, Ron thought, putting the bag on the coffee table and pulling out a plate of chicken, salad, and mashed potatoes, his favorite. Delighted, he sat on the couch, balanced the plate on his stomach, and turned on one of his favorite Muggle devices: the television. I love Hermione, he thought as he chewed.

***

"Ron," Hermione asked the following Saturday, "what's this?"

"What's what?" Ron replied, looking up from his corn flakes.

Hermione didn't reply, but instead dropped a book on top of the Daily Prophet that Ron was reading. Ron read the title: So, You’re Pregnant; Now What? The Modern Wizard’s Guide to Conception and Beyond; with a small wince, he realized that she had uncovered the marks made in the fit of rage that he'd had the previous Wednesday. "Er, a book?"

With a huff, Hermione snatched the book from where she had dropped it and began flipping pages. Uh oh, we're going to get into a fight, Ron thought dismally.

"'The daddy should always be submissive to the mummy, and do such favors as massaging her feet and aching back, and cooking meals. If not, daddy can expect lots of nights on the couch!' Good, Ron; really subtle." She slammed the book shut.

"I was pissed off when I did that, alright?"

"Why was this?" Hermione crossed her arms. Ron fidgeted in his chair.

"I'd had a bad day at work, and then people were staring at me on the bus, and you weren't home and Mrs. Clark came over and started yelling at me—"

"That brings me to another thing: what did you say to that woman? Now she won't even look at me when we pass in the hall."

"And this is a bad thing?" Ron adopted a mischievous look. That’s it, try and woo her with your attractive roguish charm.

"Ron, we're supposed to be trying to fit in here!" Hermione threw her arms in the air in exasperation. "You're the one that wanted to live in Muggle London; we could have easily lived in Hogsmeade, or the wizard area in London."

"And be near Fred and George, or Percy? Right."

"What's wrong with that?"

"I want to be by myself for once; do something one of them hasn't done first!"

Hermione sighed. "Oh, stop it, there are many things that you've done that they haven't."

"Like what?"

"Er…" Hermione thought quickly. "Marry me, for instance."

"Are you sure none of them’s done that before?"

At this, all sympathy left Hermione’s voice. "Stop whining and be a man for once. Face it; you complain too much."

"I think I have the right, considering," Ron spat.

Hermione snorted in exasperation. "Haven't you gotten over it yet? You used up your right to complain at least three months ago! I feel no pity for you; in fact, I think you deserve it!"

"NO ONE deserves this! My feet hurt, my back hurts, I've had doctors poke me in places I didn't know I had, I feel like crying every second of the day, I have to pee all the time, I look like I'm hiding a basketball under my shirt, and I'm constipated!"

"Ron, it's all part of the joy of being a woman. Now hurry up and get dressed or we'll be late for Lamaze class."

"I hate you," he muttered, standing up with aggravation and stomping into the bathroom. Hermione blew him a kiss and sat down in his place to read the paper.

***

As they pulled into the parking lot (Hermione, despite her love of all things in the wizard world, retained a fondness for driving), Hermione looked over at Ron and was surprised to see that he was completely void of color.

"What's wrong?" she asked, concerned, placing a hand on his extruding abdomen.

"I…I…never mind," Ron answered weakly, swearing as he made a sudden move to fumble with the stubborn seatbelt.

"Ron," Hermione continued, growing more concerned, "Are you alright?" She gave him a worried look, and Ron's resolve seemed to melt at the sight.

"I…" he began, trying to find the right words. "I'm having a baby."

Hermione looked expectantly at him, waiting for him to continue (a wise voice inside her head told her not to say "and?").

"I…well, I'm scared. Mrs. Clark's right, I'm going to be a horrible mother, and I'm a horrible person, and—"

"Oh, enough of that," Hermione replied gently, kissing him on the cheek. "You are going to be a wonderful mother, and you are a wonderful person…"

"Mmm," Ron grunted in reply, obviously not satisfied with the answer that he had received.

"Well, you know me, and I don't settle for anything less than the best. I picked you, didn't I? That has to say something," Hermione shot playfully, resting her head on his shoulder as they watched other couples walk into the building.

"I guess you're right then," Ron answered, grinning a bit. He seemed to be satisfied with this reply.

Hermione suddenly looked up, causing Ron to turn his head from the windshield to her. "What did Mrs. Clark say to you, exactly? I'm still curious," she inquired.

"Er…never mind," Ron mumbled, fumbling with the seatbelt again in effort to get out of the car.

"No you don't," Hermione said, quickly securing his shoulder with her hand.

Ron sighed resignedly. "She said I'm a horrible person and that our child is going to be horrible, and…lots of other things." He stopped, waiting for Hermione to begin to yell at him; however, several seconds passed and she remained silent. "Hermione?"

"Mrs. Clark's children are drones!" Hermione spat, suddenly and furiously. "They have no independent thoughts, and she is a stupid, anal retentive know-it-all who thinks that she's better than me just because she has a college degree! What that woman thinks means nothing, so stop worrying about it. If I had my way, I would never see her again."

After a slight pause, Ron started laughing softly and shaking his head.

"What?" Hermione asked suspiciously as his laughing grew louder.

"You insulted her!" he triumphantly answered.

"So? Can't I dislike a person?" Hermione questioned defensively.

"You can dislike as many people as you want, as long as you admit that, for once, I was right!"

"Right about what?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Earlier, I said that not talking with her would be a good thing, and you said we have to fit in so we should talk to her, and you just contradicted yourself, making me right!"

Hermione just stared at him.

"Admit it! I won this one, and you lost! I was right and you were wrong!"

Hermione continued to stare.

"Come on, say it!" he prodded, grinning widely in triumph.

"You're right, and pathetic," she answered blankly, unbuckling her seatbelt and opening the car door.

"I take them as they come," he answered, following suit.

***

"I can’t take you anywhere, can I?" Hermione asked an hour later as she walked out of the door in a huff.

"What’s that supposed to mean?" Ron asked, following her in a fashion that indicated that he was equally as annoyed.

"You’re always in a bad mood! Wherever we go, all you do is insult people!"

"It’s not my fault that Gina can’t keep her mouth shut!"

"All she did was try to explain the breathing to you, and you practically bit off her head!" Hermione scowled, opening the car door and climbing inside. Ron lagged further behind.

"Why is it that every time I try to stand up for myself, I’m biting someone’s head off?" he grumbled, bending down to tie his shoe. After much difficulty with the task - and several swear words uttered about the difficulty - he straightened himself up and began to walk again.

However, before he had gone three paces, Ron unexpectedly stopped mid step; his eyes suddenly bugged out of his head and his face immediately became as red as any Weasley had ever been known to become. He tried to tell himself that he wasn’t feeling the feelings that he had been actively dreading for the past week. He was imagining it, he decided; this was not happening - not then, not that night (or, for the sake of this story, that afternoon)! Beginning to hyperventilate, he decided that he would keep walking, albeit slowly, and get in the car with Hermione. Then, they would go home, and they would continue to argue as usual and go to sleep mad at each other, only to wake up the next morning like nothing had happened. Yes, that’s it; just have to keep walking…. Ron continued walking, as promised, and very slowly began advancing toward the car. He was sweating. One foot, then the other…that’s it now…bloody hell, this isn’t happening, he thought, frantically doing his best not to pay any mind to the tell-tale feelings that were currently begging for his attention. I’m not ready for this…we haven’t even painted the stupid bedroom yet…

Just then, Hermione opened the window of the car and called out to Ron, looking a little annoyed. "Come on, we haven’t got all day; we’re meeting my parents for lunch!"

Ron, at a loss for words, could not answer with anything other than a small, frightened squeak. She can’t suspect anything, because this isn’t really happening. Liam isn’t going anywhere.

"Ron?" Hermione called, more annoyed than before. "Why do you always act like a whining idiot? Forget about the stupid fight and get in the car!"

Good, my plan is working. Ron tried to start walking again, and laboriously advanced toward the car.

"Oh, for heaven’s sake!" Hermione yelled. Ron looked up to see that she had opened the door so that she could yell at him more effectively. "Would you like me to physically push you?"

Ron vigorously shook his head to indicate that he did not, indeed, need help. She became crosser and crosser as he got closer and closer; finally, Ron reached the car door, thinking, Victory is mine, at last!

"Ron," Hermione asked, all traces of anger gone from her voice and replaced with worry.

"What? What’s wrong?" Ron asked, clutching his belly while furiously thinking, I’m your father and I say to stay where you are, you little prat. Then, he noticed Hermione looking down at his jeans, which, he realized as he craned his neck to the side to look as well, were unfathomably wet…

"What the—?!" How did I miss that?!

"Are you in labor, Ron?" Hermione asked calmly.

"Well—I—NO! I’m not in labor! Why would I be in labor?" Stop it, stop it stop it, stop it!

Hermione studied him carefully, putting the pieces together and comprehending the reality of the situation. Ron watched her do this, knowing that soon his calm, quiet life would all but end.

"You idiot," Hermione announced, paling. "Your water’s broken."

Ron felt like his heart had stopped beating. "Shit."

"Don’t swear; the baby can hear you."

"I don’t bloody care. What do we do now?" Ron was beginning to shake, both from pure fear and from the enormous amount of pressure that he was feeling.

"Get in the car; I’m driving you to the hospital," Hermione suddenly decreed as her reasonable and authoritative self overcame the extraordinarily nervous young mother-to-be.

"But—" Ron stammered.

"But what?" Hermione snapped, getting immediately fed up and walking over to where Ron stood, rooted to the spot, to literally push him into the car.

"I don’t want to go to the hospital!" he panted as Hermione opened his door and forced him into the car. "I don’t want to have the baby now!"

"Well, sorry to tell you this so late into the process, but in case you didn’t notice, you don’t exactly get a choice!" she called as she ran back over to the other side of the car.

"What else is new?!" Ron yelled, sweating. "I haven’t had a choice of my own in eight months!"

Hermione climbed in the car and turned the key to start the engine. "Oh, suck it up!" she shouted as she looked behind her to back out.

"Wait!" Ron hollered. "Why are we driving?"

"Why not?" she asked, turning the wheel and accelerating backwards.

"Because we’re a witch and a wizard, and we Apparate!"

Hermione stopped and thought for a second. "Oh," she replied curtly, pulling the car back into its parking space.

"YOU ARE THE BIGGEST MUGGLE I HAVE EVER SEEN IN MY ENTIRE LIFE!" Ron yelled, face now at the point of purple.

"Oh, be quiet," Hermione grumbled, Apparating with a *pop.* Ron muttered several curse words and followed directly.

At St. Mungo’s, Ron found Hermione at a desk telling a receptionist what was going on; almost immediately, medical staff came and rushed him to a hospital room, where he was promptly strapped onto a bed.

"What is going on?!" he called to Hermione, who was close behind.

"Calm down, everything’s alright…let’s do the breathing we did in Lamaze—"

"Doctor, he’s dilated quite a bit…this is going to be a very short labor," a nurse commented.

"You’re lucky, then," the doctor replied to Ron, whose face was now beginning to contort with pain.

"Come on, breathe," Hermione tried to encourage him as she patted his shoulder and emulated the breathing techniques they had been taught during the weeks before.

"THIS ISN’T FAIR!" he yelled, clutching Hermione’s hand much harder than what would have normally elicited a yelp of pain from her.

"Would you like us to perform the painless pregnancy spell?" the doctor asked.

Hermione ignored him and continued to try and console Ron. "Calm down; we’re supposed to breathe—"

"Screw the breathing!… Do the spell thing!"

"We agreed to a natural childbirth, and you are not getting the spell!" Hermione stated (loudly).

"I…want the…spell!" he screamed.

"Deal with it!" she screamed right back.

"This is MY body…and I WANT THAT SPELL." With great effort, he propped himself up on his elbows.

"You are NOT getting the spell!"

"YOU’RE…the one who chickened out!….YOU HAVE NO…IDEA WHAT IT’S LIKE!"

"I DID NOT CHICKEN OUT. YOU were the one being an arse! You deserved it, and still do deserve it!"

"NO ONE…DESERVES…THIS!"

"Someone has to do it!"

"IT…SHOULD…BE…YOU!"

"Well, think about that the next time you decide to call me a POOR, MISPLACED DUCK!"

"Ron, we’re going to need you to start pushing," the doctor interjected, looking a bit harried.

Purple faced, Ron replied, "I…WILL…NOT…PUSH."

"Fine then!" Hermione yelled. "Just fine! It can stay in there forever!"

"IT’S NAME…IS LIAM!" Ron hollered, his face seeming to have permanently taken on its shade of purple.

"Ron, you have to push," the doctor interrupted again, trying to be calm and persuasive.

Ron vigorously shook his head.

"DO IT," Hermione ordered, "Or no more Quidditch games!"

"YOU…CAN’T TELL ME…WHAT…TO DO!" he screamed painfully as the doctors adjusted him to the appropriate birthing position.

"TRY ME. NOW PUSH!"

In too much pain to resist any more, Ron obeyed the doctors.

"I…HATE…YOU!" he cried, his world getting blurry.

"Shut up and push," she replied, not commenting on the fact that she thought her hand may be broken.

"YOU…ARE…PURE…EVIL."

"I try," Hermione breathed, distracted by what was happening on the other end of the situation.

"The head’s almost out," the doctor commented. "You’re almost there, Ron, one more."

"Come on, you can do it! After this, you can go back to being normal again!" Hermione pleaded, suddenly seeming very kind and sympathetic. Ron looked like he was going to cry.

"Really?" he whimpered, sweat dripping from his forehead.

"Really," she replied consolingly.

Ron looked like he was deeply considering what she was saying. "Fine…" he squeezed out, tearfully preparing himself for the last go…

There was one more flare of immense pain, and then, through his swimming vision that was teetering on the edge of darkness, Ron heard lots of high pitched shrieking that he was fairly certain didn’t come from Hermione.

"What…what happened?" he moaned, seeing the doctor checking over and cleaning what looked like a small, flailing, and very pink doll. He felt himself getting even more confused; Is this it? he thought dazedly.

"Congratulations," the doctor announced after a few moments. "It’s a girl." He wrapped the baby in a blanket and exited the room, leaving a nurse behind to help them, muttering something about how glad he was that Addo Graviditas was rarely used anymore, and how he needed an anti-headache charm.

Ron unsuccessfully tried to pull himself up; he could see Hermione holding a bundle of blankets with a look of heartfelt awe on her face.

"’Mione…help me," he grumbled, still panting. She woke from her mini trance and immediately sat down by him to show her husband what he had carried in his ill prepared stomach for 8 months.

"See…it’s our daughter." She held the bundle out so that he could see.

Ron couldn’t speak; in front of him was a small, crying, wrinkled, and very red miniature human being. His mouth dropped open and he felt tears well up in his eyes. This is MY daughter…

Hermione smiled as she saw his reaction. "Come on, you can hold her," she said, gently nudging him with her elbow.

Shaking, he held out his arms, and Hermione placed his daughter in them. He felt the softness of the blankets against his skin up to where his hospital gown sleeves began, and saw the baby immediately begin to calm down at the sound of a familiar heartbeat.

"She…she knows me!" he exclaimed, surprised, unable to hold back a few tears as he touched one of his hands to her face.

"Well, you’re her mother/father," Hermione smirked, putting her arm around his shoulder and squeezing. Ron couldn’t reply.

"What?" Hermione asked, kissing him on the cheek.

"I’m just…completely in awe," Ron responded, taking a second to pick out the words he wanted. "This is our daughter…this came from me…"

"I played a small role, too," Hermione intervened.

"You did, but I was the star."

"Mmm hmm," Hermione agreed, glaring a bit.

"And now, it’s over…"

"Unless you count the 18 years we spend with Aine in the house before she graduates from Hogwarts."

"Yeah…" Ron absentmindedly agreed, transfixed by his baby’s face. Suddenly, he snapped out of it. "Wait a minute—She is NOT named Aine!"

"What’s she named, then?" Hermione challenged.

"Samantha," Ron announced, waiting eagerly for the vicious retort Hermione was sure to come up with. Hermione looked thoughtful.

"You know, Samantha isn’t that bad…though I like Aine better."

"I carried her, I get to name her," Ron declared.

"You know that I’m only agreeing to this because I like the name too, right?"

"And because I was right."

"Whatever you say. But her middle name is Aine."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"You got to pick the first name."

He considered this. "Fine, but I still hate you," he grumbled, kissing Samantha Aine Weasley on the forehead and smoothing her dark hair.

"I love you, too," Hermione replied, doing the same.

THE END