Nine Months

Favo de Mel

Rating: PG
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 16/01/2004
Last Updated: 29/04/2006
Status: in_progress

Harry and Hermione are expecting; follow them through the whole of the process, because it's going to be nine months to remember! UPDATE! Baby names, a randy Hermione and loads more as Hermione decides she can't sleep... and so wakes a protesting Harry up.

Chapters

1. March

2. April

3. May

4. June

5. July

6. August

7. September 18th

8. September 19th

9. October

1. March

Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter, the amazing J.K. Rowling does, so don’t sue.

A/N: Ever since I came across Portkey.org I’ve wanted to post my stories, and I just got my acceptance e-mail, so I really wanna thank James and Nappa for giving me the opportunity to do so… This story was inspired by the birth of my baby brother back in October, and though it’s a sister story to another one I’m writing (which by what I understand about the rules I’m not allowed to post here) it can be read on its own… the idea is to write a chapter for each month of Hermione’s pregnancy, and I’ll try to update as soon as I can (meaning, as soon as my teachers stop giving me ridiculous amounts of homework). This is not the only story I have, and I’ll upload some tomorrow, but the ones I can’t upload can be found at Fanfiction.net, if you’re interested!

Nine Months

Month 1-March

It was in a foul mood that Harry entered the house that evening, throwing his cloak unceremoniously on the floor as he shut the door closed with his foot; it had been a dreadful day at work, and he wanted nothing more than to drop in bed and sleep for a week straight without interruption.

He’d led a mission where everyting had gone wrong and he’d had to spend the greatest part of the afternoon yelling at his work team at Auror Headquarters for their stupidity.

“I’m home!” he called tiredly and, receiving no answer, he proceeded on into the living room where he froze dead on his tracks; the lights were toned down to an almost darkness, with the only source of light coming from a few candles floating above his head. The furniture was misteriously gone, also, leaving a single table-set for two-right at the centre of it; soft music played magically at the background and Harry took this all in with awe and confusion.

“Do you like it?”, a voice said from behind him, making him jump.

He turned around to face the speaker and his jaw dropped at the sight of his wife; Hermione was standing there with a smile on her face, looking absolutely stunning in a strap-less red gown that showed off her lovely curves and her hair was carefully arranged, the soft locks falling in brown waves down her back.

Harry gulped down the lump in his throat, suddenly feeling very hot. “Hermione?”

She answered him with a smile that made his knees go weak, followed by a life altering kiss that left him panting for breath.

He blinked confusedly and she grinned up at him, pressed tightly against him with her hands locked together behind his neck. “Welcome home, Harry...”

Harry felt a twinge of warmth and he smiled tenderly down at her, his bad mood already feeling a million miles away. She had the ability of doing that to him.

“What’s all this?” he asked softly, indicating their surroundings with his head. “Are we celebrating something?”

Hermione’s eyes twinkled with gentle good humour as she desintricated herself from him and started pulling him by the hand towards the table.

“Well,” she began nonchalantly, “tonight’s a special night, and it called for a special setting.”

Harry chuckled. “So misterious... you know, this reminds me of the time I proposed... except for the nervous splutter, of course.”

“Shush, you were adorable,” she answered, walking Harry to a chair, which she pulled out for him to sit.

“My, how gentlemanly,” he joked and she blew a raspberry at him and sat on her own chair; he looked curiously at her. “What are we having?”

“Some italian pasta whatchamacallit,” Hermione said, smiling. “I borrowed the recipe from Ginny and I couldn’t even pronounce the title.”

They chatted about everything and anything as they ate, from work to Ron and Luna’s baby-which was due sometime in August-and by the time they were finished Harry was feeling completely relaxed.

“Thank you, love,” he said, smiling at her across the table, “this was exactly what I needed...”

She grinned back at him and got up, walking towards him and offering him a hand. “Yeah, well, night’s not over yet...”

“There’s more?” he said but allowed her to pull him out of the room anyway. “Hermione?”

“I have a surprise for you.” she said simply and left it at that.

He followed her into their bedroom, and was surprised to find a new acquisition to it; a large, rich, dark maroon tapestry hung on the wall next to their bed, showing an endless family tree that began back in 1500 and ended with his and Hermione’s names, linked together by an embroidered golden thread. Large words at the very top read:

The Noble And Most Ancient House Of Potter

“Pas Toujours ‘Pur’”* (And damn proud of it)

Harry, in awe, reached out to trace the names of his ancestors with a trembling hand, pausing to touch his parents’s names before sitting down hard on the bed and looking up at Hermione; he remembered seeing a tapestry very similar to this one, during the summer preceeding their fifth year, seven years before at Sirius’s house in Grimmauld Place.

He hadn’t thought she’d remember it.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, smiling sadly at her.

Hermione, who had been silently watching her husband looking longinly at his family’s tree, moved over to sit on his lap, lacing her arms around his neck, to which he responded immediately by holding her tightly about the waist.

She gave him a lop-sided smile before pecking him softly on the lips and raising her chin proudly.

“I researched it, of course.”

Harry laughed, leaning forward to kiss her again.

“Of course...” a third kiss ensued, after which they were both smiling brightly, “Thank you...”

Hermione grinned, her face glowing with excitement. “There’s something else.”

Harry gawked at her. “There’s more?”

Hermione nodded, looking serious again. Or trying to, at least.

“Harry... I wanted to have the tree as a present for you because it’s time for us to contribute to the family line.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up and he looked confusedly at her. “What do you mean?”

“Weeell,” she began in a teasing tone, “basically, it means that a few months from now we’ll be adding a new name to the House of Potter.”

Hermione watched with amusement the emotions play on her husband’s face: shock, anxiousness and joy, finally settling in a mixure of incredulity and excitement.

“You mean that...”

She broke out into an utterly disarming grin and she began nodding emphatically. “We’re having a baby!”

Harry started laughing loudly, and he crushed her tightly to him in a hug.

“That’s the best news I’ve ever had in my entire life!!! Oh, I love you so much...” he took her face in his hands and gave her a long, sweet kiss that left her glowing with glee. “Do you know how I feel about you?” he asked her tenderly, “You make me so damned happy... I didn’t think it was possible to feel this much happiness until I met you...”

Hermione smiled, then pretended to consider this.

“Well,” she began, “that’s not entirely true, actually; I seem to recall a lot of dark feelings towards me when we met, both from you and Ron. Something along the lines of ‘bossy’ and ‘annoying’, I believe.”

“Oh, you!” he exclaimed, turning to throw her on the bed and proceeded to tickle her mercilessly.

“Hey!” she managed between fits of giggles, “Watch out for the pregnant lady!”

He reacted immediately by removing himself completely off her and looking guiltily down at her. “I’m... I’m sorry, I... I’ve never been... married to a pregnant woman before.”

Hermione smiled sweetly at him.

“Well, I’ve never been pregnant before, either, but we’ll learn together. Yet... you don’t have to be too careful, Mr. Potter...” she said with a pointed grin that he matched with one of his own; he kissed her thoroughly and passionately following a path with his lips that began on her mouth and ended on her-still-flat tummy, which he nuzzled, his heart feeling giddy at the thought of their child sleeping within her.

“Hello, little one...” he whispered sweetly which brought a smile to Hermione’s lips, “Daddy is going to love you so much...” he looked back up at his wife “and how I love you, Hermione, how I love you...”

And then he leaned to kiss her again.

* French for ‘Not always pure’

To be continued...

A/N: This story was inspired by two great stories, ‘Cool Mornings’ by Steffanie Florez (a beautiful Ranma/Akane fanfiction) and a Candy Candy novel, ‘Reencounter in the Vortex’ (amazing read), without which I’d never have gotten this out, since I’ve never been pregnant myself… forgive me if some parts are so similar… I just find them too beautiful to change…

2. April

Nine Months

Month 2-April

The magical alarm clock went off at exactly 8:30, screaming bloody murder for a moment before a hand clamped down on it and promptly shut it quiet; Hermione sat up on bed, turned visibly green, put her hand over her mouth and crawled over her husband in her haste to reach the bathroom.

Harry sighed; ever since two weeks prior Hermione had started being hit with morning sickness and she always fled at the mere mention of breakfast. Unfortunately, the medi-witch had been unable to provide anything helpful and had tried-unsuccessfully-to reassure them by saying that it would most likely stop by the end of the first trimester.

Hermione wobbled out of the bathroom a few minutes later, looking pale and queasy as she settled back in Harry’s arms.

“Are you feeling better?” he asked her gently, his voice filled with concern as he stroked her hair at length. She let out a groan that was muffled against his neck before leaning back and shaking her head weakly. Harry frowned. “Perhaps it would be better if we stayed home today then...”

The withering look she sent him made him wince in spite of her sickness.

“Harry Potter, you’re not getting off lunch with my parents today.”

Harry sighed, defeated. “Okay, then… you go get a shower, I’ll have breakfast ready f-”

He was cut off by Hermione jumping out of his lap and running at top speed towards the bathroom, from where the sound of gagging soon rose.

***

The summer after he started dating Hermione he’d received an unexpected invitation to spend the rest of the holidays at the Granger’s and Harry, eager to leave the hell that was his relatives’ house and spend some time with his girlfriend, had been elated.

He’d been so naïve.

A red-faced Hermione had apologized profusely upon his arrival, saying that she’d had nothing to do with it and that she’d make it up to him somehow, but he hadn’t understood what she was talking about until ‘The Examination’ had begun; he’d barely even crossed the threshold when her father started looking him up and down with mistrust (and just a touch of mania), after which he’d proceeded to corner him in the kitchen while he interrogated him and warned him not to ever hurt his little girl. He’d had nightmares for weeks after that.

Even now two years into their marriage he still watched him like a hawk, and every time something big happened like, say, getting Hermione pregnant, he always found a reason for him to want to leave her or hurt her, so when she’d told him they were having lunch with the in-laws that afternoon to celebrate the upcoming of baby Potter he was terrified.

His imagination had run wild with images of his impending doom, all of which started with Harry running from Mr. Granger holding a drill.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Hermione’s dad; on the contrary, Ted Granger was a great person, but he didn’t want to volunteer himself for another night of non-stop torture any time soon; Hermione was his only child, so Harry supposed it was only natural for him to be protective of her, but there was something to say about protective parents: be very afraid of them.

“Come on in, son, I won’t bite.”

Harry’s terror increased just a tad, but he followed Hermione’s father into the living room nonetheless; Caroline had grabbed her daughter the minute she was in and started fussing all over her as they busied themselves in the kitchen, (though Harry wondered what was the point since Hermione couldn’t even boil water the muggle way without starting a fire) and he found himself feeling helpless (and unprotected) without her presence in the room.

“So, how’s everything?” asked Mr. Granger, leaning back on his seat and fixing him with his brown gaze.

Harry shifted a little, still standing and oddly reminded of his own wife’s eyes. “It’s, er… great, Ted…”

Mr. Granger smiled dryly, clearly amused with his son-in-law’s discomfort.

“How’s Hermione been?”

Harry’s eyes widened and he began to sweat.

“S-she’s fine, sir… wonderful, if I might say so.”

The corners of Ted’s mouth twitched as he tried to keep a straight face.

“Yeah, because we wouldn’t want her to be unhappy in any way now, would we?”

“O-of course not, sir...”

He couldn’t hold it any longer and burst out laughing, moving to clap a slack-jawed Harry on the back.

“Don’t worry, son, I’m not going to throttle you, you’ve done nothing wrong.” Harry visibly relaxed, but the guarded look stayed put, and Ted noticed. “I’ve really let you have it, haven’t I?” he asked and Harry nodded uncertainly. “Sit down, son...” Harry did so immediately, wondering what was going on, and Ted took a deep breath.

“When Hermione was-” he began, then stopped, uncertain; he glanced at Harry, who was looking more curious by the second, and sighed. “Hermione’s always been very insecure; I know you think she’s the exact opposite, that she even brags a lot, but-”

“I know.”

Ted blinked. “Excuse me?”

Harry sighed, looking grim, and leaned forward on his elbows. “My wife isn’t perfect and she has many faults; I recognize and love each and all of them, but…” he paused, looking at his father in-law. “I worry about her…”

“How so?” the older man asked softly.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “She doesn’t think she’s worthy of me.” he said bitterly, his eyes on the rug by his feet. “She never says anything, yet she doesn’t have to; I’ve told her a million times and ways that I love her more than life itself, but deep down, I know she’s afraid I’m gonna change my mind and find someone better than her.” he snorted. “As if that was even possible.”

Silence stretched for a minute, and then Ted shifted on his seat.

“You know, Harry, when Hermione first got her Hogwarts letter, I didn’t want to let her go. Her mother thought it was a smashing idea, but I was afraid she was gonna get hurt... see, she was never very popular when she was little, and more than once did she come to me crying because the other kids would make fun of her; I used to be so mad…” he shrugged. “You can’t blame me for being protective of her, but she’ll always be my little girl. And then… then she came back home for the summer that year, and she was so happy…” he looked up at Harry, whose eyes were wet. “You make her happy, Harry, and that just about sums up what I always wanted for my daughter’s life. Thank you…”

Harry shook his head, clearing his throat, for it had gone suddenly dry.

“No…” he said hoarsely. “No, Ted, thank you…”

The two men looked at each other, and at that moment an invisible bond formed between them, the one bond between father and son that had been missing for the whole of Harry´s orphan life, and that he was most eager to explore.

To be continued…

A/N: Okay, so there wasn’t much H/Hr here, but I wanted to have this little talk, to show exactly how Harry will behave later, as a father, and those who have read Here We Go Around Again will understand why (ah, this story can be found at Fanfiction.net). I promise there will be tons of fun and fluff in the following chapters-which I hope will come sooner than this. Next month we’re dealing with baby shopping with Ginny, Luna and ***sniggers*** Ron.

3. May

Nine Months

Month 3-May

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No way.”

“Way.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“I’m not going shopping with you, Hermione, no matter what you say!”

Chuckling amusedly at his best friends’ bickering (which oddly resembled his own fights with Hermione), Ron shoved off the wall he’d been leaning against and walked a few steps towards the incensed couple. “Come on, mate, it’s not like they’re shopping for clothes, or anything!”

Harry turned his murderous glare on him. “It’s still shopping; women go crazy over shopping no matter what kind of shopping it is. And what’s even worse, there’s three of them!!!” he added, pointing a finger accusingly at Ginny and the six-month pregnant Luna, who was munching happily on a pumpkin pastry with a dreamy look on her face.

“Hey!” exclaimed Ginny immediately, taking offense on his remark; Luna looked oblivious to the entire world, and focused only on her delicious treat, which was already the second in the last half hour.

Ron rolled his eyes, exasperated. “Harry, stop being such a ninny! A little baby shopping isn’t going to kill you.”

Harry looked like he was about to take off running; he loved Hermione with all his heart and he would do anything for her, but he was completely terrified at the thought of being surrounded by squealing women. He wasn’t too thrilled about carrying the bags all day through either.

“Do you remember what happened the last time we let them talk us into going shopping with them?” he said, sounding just a tad hysterical.

Ron shrugged; they hadn’t been able to lift their arms for two days, and walking had started to become an issue. They’d also been mobbed by screaming teen girls (being Harry Potter and a famous Quidditch player respectively surely had its downsides). “Yeah, well, Luna shouldn’t be walking that much so it shouldn’t take too long, really…”

Luna fixed her starry gaze on her husband, holding a chocolate frog to her chest. “Oh, Ronald, that is so thoughtful of you, but the doctor said walking was good for me…”

Harry scowled. “I’m not going shopping, and that’s final; nothing you say or do will change my mind.”

Nothing, except for Hermione bursting into tears.

“I KNEW IT!!!” bawled Hermione suddenly, putting her hands on her face and bursting into loud hiccups, tears streaming steadily from her eyes, “YOU DON’T LOVE ME!!! YOU DON’T WANT TO HAVE THIS BABY!!!”

Harry panicked at his wife’s tears; Ted had warned him about mood swings, but he never thought she would react so badly-or quickly, for that matter. Still, he should have known better than to argue with her.

Hurrying to put his arms around her, as there was nothing else he hated more than seeing Hermione cry, he said soothingly in her ear, “I’m sorry, darling, I am an inconsiderate idiot, of course I want to have this baby, it’s a part of us, and I love you both more than life itself…”

After a minute of whispering sweet-nothingness to her she finally raised her wide brown eyes, looking at him in a way that he could only interpret as hopeful. “Really? You’ll come?”

Harry nodded, looking tenderly down at her. “Of course, love, I would do anything for you.”

“You promise?”

Harry leaned down to give her a kiss on the forehead. “Yes, I promise.”

“Good,” she said, grinning up at him and holding something up for him to see, every trace of sadness gone from her face. “because I was starting to get tired of rubbing onion on my eyes to make me cry.”

Ron and Ginny burst out laughing at the slack-jawed Harry and Luna put a hand to her lips to conceal a smile. Hermione blew a kiss at her husband and scurried off to get ready.

“Merlin, that was priceless!” said Ron amidst his laughter, “Hermione would have made a great actress!!!”

Harry glared at him. “Don’t be so cheerful about it, you’re coming too.”

Ron choked, “What?!”

“If I must suffer this then you must too.”

The red-head held his hands up in front of him and started backing up slowly.

“Oh, no, you’re not dragging me into this!”

“What happened to ‘a little baby shopping isn’t going to kill you’?”

“Well, we weren’t talking about me now, were we?”

“Traitor!”

Ron shrugged apologetically and started heading towards the Fire Place. “Sorry, mate.”

“Ronald…”

Ron froze on his tracks and turned slowly to face his wife, “Yes, darling?”

“You haven’t forgotten about your promise to get me a cone at Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor, have you?”

Ron sighed, defeated. “Of course not, my sweet…”

Harry started sniggering.

***

It was with some reluctance that they followed Hermione, Ginny and Luna (who was carrying a mint-chocolate chip ice cream in one hand and a half-eaten banana in the other) to Diagon Alley and into a new baby store near Madam Malkin’s that had opened two weeks before-reason why Hermione had only just recruited the others into her shopping mission-but as soon as they entered and saw the various baby items that were displayed, the soon-to-be-dads stopped sulking.

Ron picked up a pair of blue baby booties and examined them.

“Harry, look at these!” he said excitedly, shoving the tiny shoes into his best friend’s face, who felt his heart melt into a puddle of Harry-goo.

“Aww, they’re so little!” he looked down at Ron’s feet. “How did Molly get such gigantic feet to fit in some of these?”

“Hey! I resent that!!!” Ron said, bopping the laughing Harry on the head.

“I’m glad you boys are enjoying yourself at any rate.” Hermione said, coming up behind Harry and smiling gently.

Her husband pouted theatrically at her. “You witch!”

Hermione winked and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “That I am.”

Ginny rushed up to them, holding a set of baby clothes, one blue and one pink, in each hand. “Aren’t they just adorable?” she gushed. “It makes me want to have a baby myself!”

Ron sent her a withering look. “Don’t even think about it.”

Ginny glared up at her brother. “Shut up, Ron!” turning to the two Potter’s, she held the two clothes up for examination; they were identical except for the color, and consisted of two 3-piece cardigan sets, which included a combed cotton cardigan top, one pair of combed cotton pants, and matching booties each.

“Well?”

Hermione looked at her. “They’re beautiful, Gin, but why did you bring two of them?”

Ginny rolled her eyes as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Honestly! Because I need you to tell me the baby’s sex so that I can choose between the blue one if it’s a boy, or the pink one if it’s a girl!”

Harry and Hermione looked at each other and then back at the youngest Weasley.

“Um, we don’t know the baby’s sex yet…” said Harry, causing Ginny to sigh annoyedly.

“You’re both hopeless… well, at least that’s easily resolved.” taking her wand out of her pocket, she pointed it at Hermione’s belly, “Generis Revel-”

“NO!!!” exclaimed both of the future parents, Harry pushing his wife out of the way with one hand and taking hold of Ginny’s with his other.

Ginny blinked, surprised. “What?”

“We don’t want to know, Gin,” said Hermione, poking out from behind Harry’s back, “we want it to be a surprise…”

The red head blinked again. “But, but, what if we get the wrong colors?”

“Honestly, Ginny, I’m a witch! I know perfectly well how to cast a pigment changing spell!!!” Hermione said, exasperated.

Ginny sighed. “Oh, alright, I’ll just take whichever then…”

They didn’t dwell on baby clothes for too long (“Molly must have knitted a hundred, already.”) and they only bought a few maternity clothes before Harry noticed his wife’s reaction to them; at her current stage her pregnancy was obvious, and although there wasn’t much of a bulge, her waist was already gone and her breasts too presented a change in size. As he watched her frown slightly at her reflection, he recalled a conversation he’d had with Ted the month before, in which his father in-law had given him some advice, based on his experience, on how to behave around pregnant women.

“New mothers,” he’d said, “don't feel very... attractive any more. Their whole body feels horrible to them, and they feel that they look the same way.

Hermione, in particular, has a serious self-esteem problem, so you must be careful with what you say or do.”

“But I love her,” Harry had answered, bewildered, “it's not like I'm going to leave her for not looking exactly the same as she used to!”

“I know, son, but she doesn't. Pregnant women don’t really think rationally about this, not even Hermione. You just told me yourself how she feels you can find someone better, and now with her looking ‘fat’, she’ll probably think the probabilities of that happening are enhanced. She hasn’t said anything yet, but when she does it will be very important that you say the right thing.”

“And what is the right thing to say?” he had asked urgently; this was definitely not a subject he wished to stick his foot in his mouth over.

“Well, first don’t under any circumstances ignore her, it will get you into trouble. Definitely don’t agree with her! You will never get out of the doghouse if you do that. Finally, don’t disagree with her. It will make her think you really do think she’s fat and are trying to be nice.”

“Wait. I can’t agree with her, disagree with her, or ignore her. Exactly how do I get out of this without getting in to trouble?”

“It’s simple. Whenever she says she is fat, tell her that she isn’t getting bigger, the baby is and that you think she is beautiful. Keep all your answers along those lines and you should be fine.”

Sighing, Harry hurried to where she was and proceeded to pull her over to where Ron and Ginny were fighting over a baby stroller while Luna looked on with wistful eyes.

“I’m the godfather!” argued Ron, who was very red in the face and was waving his long arms frantically up and down, “I’m giving it to the baby!”

“Yeah, well, *I’m* the godmother, and I have every right to get it too!”

“Ronald, I think I might want a chocolate flavored ice cream now.”

Harry gulped. “Er… why don’t we go take a look at the cribs over there?”

“Right, then, let’s take a look.”

There was a wide assortment of cribs and basinets, but they narrowed the choice to one of each; the problem was deciding which one to get.

“The basinet is charmed to rock itself,” Harry told his wife after reading the tag that was attached to it, “and it sings a lullaby to put the baby to sleep. The crib,” he nodded at it, “does not.”

Hermione pursed her lips in thought, then admitted shyly, “But the crib has the possibility of a mobile, and I think I’d like to sing to the baby myself…”

Harry gave her a fond look and nodded. “The crib it is, then…”

A blur of red rushed by them and they heard Ron squeal. Harry groaned.

“He’s acting like a little kid, he is!” he said, shaking his head.

“HARRY!” Ron shouted, “THEY HAVE QUIDDITCH MOBILES FEATURING ALL THE TEAMS IN GREAT BRITTAIN!!!”

Hermione burst out laughing as Harry took off running towards where their best friend was jumping up and down with excitement, then hurried to stop the two men, who were already arguing about which mobile to take.

“I play for the Chuddley Cannons!!!”

“And you’re the best Keeper in a century, Ron, but the Puddlemere United is, without doubt, the best team in the entire country!”

“Blasphemy!!!”

To be continued…

A/N: The advice Ted gives Harry isn’t mine; I borrowed it from a great Inuyasha

fanfiction, Final del formulario’How It is Done’, by EmeraldDragon. I had a hell

of a time writing this chapter-I couldn’t stop laughing all through it… Next

chapter will be a little more adventurous… ***sniggers*** Any ideas will be

extremely welcome!

4. June

AN: An update!!! (Yeah, I’m just as surprised as you are) I’m sorry it took so long! I know I haven’t updated in ***checks stats and winces*** over two months but I was so busy! College only let out a month ago and although a month seems too long not to update, believe me, I couldn’t update sooner. Firstly because I sing everyday in a choir since two weeks before and until X-mas night and, well, this chapter was just so difficult… and long (it’s 10 pages long, a task I’d never accomplished before); it also required a lot of research as, even though I’m latin and a native Spanish speaker I’ve never been to Mexico-oops! ***grins*** well, read ahead, I’m quite proud of this chapter, although it turned out a little different than I meant it to, but I still like it, so I hope you guys like it too…

Nine Months

Month 4-June

Harry woke to his wife’s insistent shaking and, trying unsuccessfully to blink the sleep out of his droopy eyes, turned to look up at the blurry figure that was her. “Hermione?”

“Oh, Harry, wake up!” she cried, her voice filled with anguish, which instantly woke him up.

Sitting up, he quickly grabbed his glasses from the bed side table and put them on; she was looking at him, twin orbs of chocolate that had the power to turn his legs into jelly glazing over with tears as she held her hands clasped together at her chest.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he asked, placing his hands on her shoulders and looking down at her with concern-filled eyes, but when she wouldn’t answer he began to panic. “Is it the baby?! What’s wrong, do you want me to take you to the hospital?!”

Hermione sniffed up at him and shook her head bashfully.

“No, but I have this sudden urge for cheese nachos that you wouldn’t believe…”

Harry blinked.

And blinked again.

And then blinked some more.

Finally, groaning, he let his head slump back on the pillow, taking off his glasses and rubbing tiredly at his temple. “Merlin, ‘Mione, did you wake me up just for that?” Hermione’s bottom lip began to quiver but Harry, who was rapidly falling back into Dreamland, didn’t notice, “I promise I’ll get you some tomorrow, but right now I just wanna…” the sleepy mumbling was finished with a snore as he promptly fell asleep.

A few seconds passed, after which the silence was disrupted by Hermione breaking down into loud, messy sobs.

Harry jumped up, startled, and blinked myopically at her. “Huh? Ho-what?”

“I should have known you wouldn’t want to get me food if I asked you, you must think I’m fat enough without me getting these stupid cravings to add to it and I was so stupid to think you’d love me anyway!!!”

She was half-kneeling on the mattress, her softly rounded belly protruding from the bottom of her night-shirt, closed fists pressed tightly to her leaking eyelids.

For a second Harry thought she was trying to trick him with her tears-she’d certainly done so before-but then sighed, flooded with guilt; he’d learned to distinguish when she was truly upset from when she was only jesting the hard way-two nights before he’d had to sleep on the couch for not taking her seriously when she’d complained about her favorite pants not fitting anymore.

“Oi, sweetheart,” he said, taking her hand and squeezing it softly. “I don’t think you’re fat, I think you look beautiful, and about the cheese nachos-well, I would gladly get you some, but it’s midnight and you know curfew starts after nine… I won’t find one open shop tonight, no matter how hard I look…”

She glared bloody murder at him, and Harry was again amazed at how fast she would go from a weeping mess to looking as menacing as an angry veela.

“Curfew has never stopped Ron and you from finding a bar to celebrate whenever he wins a Quidditch match.” she snapped, making him flinch.

Now that he thought about it, he didn’t recall veelas ever looking as angry as Hermione did right then.

“But, darling,” he tried to reason with her. “Ron and I usually Apparate abroad to f-” he broke off when he noticed her meaningful look. “Are you implying that I should-no way, ‘Mione!!! It’s one in the morning and I have a meeting early tomorrow!”

But Hermione’s eyes were already brimming with tears, and Harry couldn’t bring himself to say no; looking at her, he reminded himself that he hated it when she cried and so, sighing resignedly, started to rise off the bed.

“Oh, fine, I’ll do it…” he muttered darkly, moving to find some clothes. I hate mood swings. But when he turned and saw the look on his wife’s face, he knew he would do anything to see her smile like that. “I’ll be back as soon as I can…” he whispered, leaning down to peck her briefly on the lips. “Love you.”

Hermione smiled brightly up at him. “Love you too.”

Harry readjusted his cloak, and turned towards the wall shelves, on top of which sat a pot of Floo powder; although he could have, he dared not Apparate-he was afraid he was so sleepy he would splinch himself if he tried-so he settled for grabbing a pinch of the glittering powder and throwing it into the fireplace, from where green flames instantly rose.

Stepping right into the fire, he took a deep breath and shouted, “The Mexican Ministry of Magic!”

***

Harry staggered out of the fireplace, coughing violently as he inhaled a mouthful of hot ash; Floo Network had never been his favorite means of transportation and even now, ten years after his first experience back at the Burrow, he still had trouble with it, no matter how many times he’d used the dratted thing.

He straightened up, and was immediately knocked off his feet as someone else emerged from the fire, bumping into him from behind and sending them both flying to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs.

Damn, I forgot to bloody move…

Groaning, he rubbed gingerly at the lump on his forehead where it had been introduced to the mexican floor, his teeth clenched in an effort to keep from spewing forth strings of obscenities that no one needed to hear in any language.

His companion wasn’t as considerate, though.

“Fíjate por dónde andas, cabrón!!!” hissed a thoroughly pissed female voice that made Harry wince.

Sitting up slightly, he stammered an apology in English, remembered that he wasn’t in England anymore and with a slight cry of frustration realized he’d forgotten to ask Hermione about the Translation spell; Harry’d been to Mexico before, during their world tour for their honeymoon, but that was two years before and Hermione had been with him. His Spanish was next to inexistent.

“Perdoname,” he finally mumbled, awkwardly, offering her a hand up. But the young woman, a stunning brunette with long dark lashes was staring slack- jawed at a point above his eyebrow and Harry, realizing she was oggling at his scar, began to feel very self-conscious. “Uh, miss?”

The woman blinked, startled out of her stupor, and a large smile drew itself on her lips as she clapped her hands with glee. “Eres Harry Potter, el Niño-que-vivió!!! (“You’re Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived!!!”)” she eyed him up and down with an upraised eyebrow. “Y qué cuero estás… (roughly translated as ”You’re very cute”)”

Harry shushed her, looking nervously around, but a small crowd had already gathered around them and was steadily growing larger; there was a lot of whispering and pointing, and everyone was trying to peek at his scar, which he hastily tried to cover although he knew it was useless.

“Miren todos! (Look, everyone!) Es Harry Potter!!!” shouted someone, which unleashed a chain of “Harry Potter!!!” and “El Niño-que-vivió!!!” cries of as everyone started to close in around the pair of them.

Harry rolled his eyes before jumping up and dusting himself off while glaring at his feet; he was ready to Disapparate the second anyone even tried to become physical, but just as he was steeling himself to do so a voice rang out loudly and a shower of orange-red sparks shot up from somewhere behind the mob, making them all turn.

“Andenle, dejen pasar!!! Disperso! DISPERSO!!!”

Soon the crowd parted, and Harry watched with a mix of relief and trepidation as no less than four reinforcement wizards pushed their way towards him, wands up and in front of them.

The leader of the group, a short (but wide about shoulders), brown-skinned man was shouting orders in Spanish, and when he finally reached Harry he grinned cheerfully up at him.

“Good afternoon, sir!” he said in heavily accented English, sticking out his hand for Harry to take. “And welcome to Mexico!”

Harry smiled and shook his hand politely. “Thank you very much, Mr…”

“Ramirez, sir,” the man said. “Apolonio Ramirez at your service.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Ramirez, I’m-”

The man waved a hand in dismissal. “Oh, I already know who you are, Mr. Potter, everyone here does. It is an honor to have you in Mexico, sir.”

Harry blinked. “Er… thanks, I suppose…”

The shorter man smiled. “The Minister would like a word with you, sir, if it is possible.”

Harry mentally groaned; he’d expected to avoid recognition by entering through the Ministry-his status as top qualified Auror (and Chief Auror at that) allowed him certain privileges, which included skating through customs abroad with no problems and exempt of search and submission to wand registration-but everything seemed to be going wrong for him that night.

Afternoon, he corrected himself as he followed gloomily after Mr. Ramirez and the other reinforcement wizards; it was five in the afternoon in Mexico, and drowsiness was slowly starting to kick back in. The things you do for love…

***

“Señor Potter! Welcome to Mexico!!!”

“Thank you very much, minister…” Harry said carefully as he surveyed the man whose hand he was shaking; Maximiliano Ayala was a tall, noble-looking wizard, who was well cherished in the wizard community both for his kindness and tenacity, and he had a certain air about him that made you want to be friends with him. The man was easygoing and quite likable in the whole, yet he had one fault: he talked way too much.

As the minister praised his part in the war and thanked him for the tenth time for saving the world from a wretched fate Harry stared fixedly, with slightly glazed eyes, at the huge emblem of the Quetzalcoatl (the plumed serpent) that hung regally on the wall; it was the symbol of Wizarding Mexico but, even though it was supposed to be benevolent, was still regarded with mistrust by Harry, who found it too reminiscent of Slytherin and the twenty feet basilisk that had nearly killed him at age twelve.

“So, are you on a mission?” asked the minister finally, snapping him out of his stupor.

Harry blinked, his sleep deprived brain a little slow at first, and then shook his head.

“Yes” he answered gravely, “I need to get a hold of double cheese Nachos for my pregnant wife as soon as possible.”

Ayala regarded him with a surprised look on his face, then threw back his head and laughed heartily; this in turn made Harry smile sheepishly as he realized how funny indeed his situation was: the great Harry Potter, Chief Auror to the United Kingdom’s Ministry of Magic and eight times savior of the world, turned potty by a few well-chosen words and eye-batting from his wife.

“Of course,” the man said after he’d calmed down a little, though still chuckling, and leaned back against his chair., “I remember those times well; I particularly recall a time when Adela was expecting our second child and she woke me up at three in the morning because she wanted peanut and banana sandwich with strawberry jam…” he paused and grinned cheekily., “fortunately, I only had to travel as far as the kitchen.”

Harry sighed, deflated. “Yeah, well, as weird as it sounds, I sort of wish she’d asked for peanut and banana sandwich with strawberry jam; as it is, she wanted double cheese Nachos and everything’s closed for curfew right now…” he then smiled fondly. “yeah, well, she’s worthy, my Hermione…”

“Even coming all the way to good old ‘Méjico’ to find them…” the minister smiled impishly. “well, the least I can offer you is an escort and interpreter in your quest,“ his eyes twinkled., “I understand you’re not very fluent in Spanish.”

Harry blushed and voiced his thanks, which the older man dismissed with a wave of his hand. He then wrote something on a piece of red-colored paper and snapped his fingers, and it folded itself magically into a paper crane that flew rapidly out of the office’s door.

Harry gave a lop-sided smile as he looked after the Interdepartmental memo, which he personally thought was a lot more creative than the Ministry’s (his own Ministry, that is) plain paper airplanes.

They chatted for a few minutes, and minister Ayala was just telling Harry about the last Dark Magic activity in the district, two days before, when there was a soft knock and the door opened, revealing, to Harry’s surprise, the same young woman he’d bumped into on his less-than-gracious entrance.

She flashed him an inconspicuous smile and strode right up to the older man, who had stood up upon her arrival and shook his hand politely.

“Buenas tardes, señor ministro; recibí su memo. (“Good evening, minister, I received you memo”)” she said in a sugar-coated voice, shaking the minister’s hand; she then turned to the slack-jawed Harry, who had also gotten to his feet, and smiled at him. “Good evening, Mr. Potter,” she said in perfect English, offering him a hand, “my name is Araceli Villa, but you may call me Araceli.”

Harry blinked and shook her hand ruefully, looking more than a little confused.

“Er… pleased to meet you…”

The minister marched up to them and placed a hand on the young woman’s shoulder, smiling cheerfully at Harry.

“Araceli is one of the best Aurors to the Magical Law Enforcement, Harry, and she has graciously accepted to be your escort for tonight…”

***

The Magical Community in Mexico stood out among those scattered around the globe mainly for one reason: they had the biggest metropolis in the world.

Although the United Kingdom had one of the largest wizard population and possessed one the most organized and advanced political and economical systems, aside from being recipient to the finest educational institution with Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Mexico prided itself of having the oldest and biggest city inhabited and ran by only wizards in the world; just 45 minutes away from and about 31 miles north east to City of Mexico, Teotihuacán was first founded around 600 BC by the Tula and later on replaced by the wizard tribe of the Mexica (later known as the Aztecs, whom muggles believed to be one of the greatest civilizations-which was essentially true except for the ‘tiny’ fact that they were also magical), thus constituting one of the most important cultural centers in Mexico, both in the muggle and magical community although, and whereas to the former it represented an archaeological treasure (a complex series of antique concealments charms concealed the city’s true appearance, making it appear as mere ruins to muggle eyes) to magic folk it represented the entire governmental State.

Teotihuacán was meticulously planned in a complex grid pattern; every 57 meters there were street intersections, whizzing with magical activity, aside from a whole ceremonial center that included temples, patios, murals, sculptures and sacred altars, covering an area of 156 square kilometers, and yet the main attractions were constituted by the pyramids dedicated to the Sun and Moon: the Pyramid of the Sun, the tallest and oldest of the two, was a magnificent structure with a volume of 2.5 million tones worth of stone and earth, and its alignment had been designed to coincide with the two days a year (May 19th and July 25th) when the Sun would be directly over the top of the pyramid at noon, and where the East façade directly faced the rising sun, while the West façade directly faced the sun as it set; inside this pyramid (entrance to which was constituted by a clover leaf shaped cave at the West side, which muggle archaeologists believed had been formed by a subterranean spring) were the installments of the Ministry of Magic, along with the International Apparition Point and Portkey Port.

The Pyramid of the Moon, slightly smaller than its sister, was located at the end of the mile long Avenue of the Dead, and harbored the equivalent to St. Mungo’s within its depths;the top of this pyramid provided the best overall view of the city.

It was like having the Ministry, St. Mungo’s and Diagon Alley all in one place.

Harry knew all this thanks to Hermione who, ever eager to know and impart knowledge, had told him all about it as soon as their worlds had stopped spinning from the Portkey they’d taken in Rio, their second stop in their world tour Honeymoon and he recalled the memory fondly, unconsciously playing with the gold band on his finger as he and Araceli emerged from the Pyramid of the Sun, ignoring the stares and frenzied whispering around them.

He did immediately notice the sudden change of temperature, however, and although he was accustomed to coolness, it was summer back in England, and so when they walked out he was immediately hit by such an intense wave of cold that he was forced to pull his cloak tighter around him.

You so owe me, ‘Mione…, he thought with a sigh, but a little smile lingered on his lips as he watched the setting sun paint lovely colors in the sky.

Hermione would have loved to see this.

***

They’d taken the subway to City of Mexico, and as the two of them sat together in the train Harry was hard pressed to think this was most assuredly the worst night of his life; not only had he been woken from a very pleasant dream by his craving wife and forced to floo all the way across the Atlantic to buy her some bloody Nachos, he’d also nearly been mobbed, dozed off in front of the minister of magic and generally wasted a lot of time by trying to avoid customs.

Oh, and he was sporting a big nice bruise on the forehead and was also quite cold since he’d had to remove his cloak and shrink it (enough so that it fit in the pocket of his jeans) in order to blend in among the muggles.

Still, he could have ignored all this if it wasn’t for the extremely annoying company he’d been stuck with; while Araceli was very beautiful, especially now that she wasn’t screaming her head off and insulting him (oh, he hadn’t understood a word she’d said before, but it had been obvious from her bright red cheeks and indignant sputtering) and nice to talk to, it was grating on Harry’s nerves how she kept sidling up to him, whispering in his ear with her hand in his shoulder. He tried not to let it bother him, but it was becoming really hard.

“Have you ever been to Mexico before?” Araceli asked, picking at a spot in his shirt. Harry frowned, and removed her hand gently.

“Yes,” he said, then added shortly, “two years ago in my Honeymoon. My wife and I had a really nice three days in Acapulco.”

He saw Araceli’s smile fall a little at the mention of Hermione.

Good.

“That’s so sweet of you!” she said, batting her eyes at him, “But I think your wife has no consideration of you.”

Harry frowned further. “What do you mean?”

“Well, our job is very strenuous, and when you get home all you wanna do is sleep,” she said, smiling, “Believe me, I would know; she’s being very selfish…”

Harry’s temper was starting to boil.

“She’s not selfish, she’s pregnant,” he said, gritting his teeth, “and I don’t mind doing this for her.”

But even though she was smiling, Harry couldn’t help but notice it was a little forced.

They got down at the next stop, and Harry was once again awed at the beauty of the Mexican architecture; though not at all like the regal pyramids of Teotihuacán, which had an air of mysticism around them, the ‘Colonia Condesa’ had a charm of its own and, with its spectacular displays of Art Decó, this neighborhood was in every way as posh and quaint as the Parisian ‘Quartier Latin’.

It was dark now, but the Colony was bursting with life-it was, after all, one of the most beautiful places in Mexico City for visitors to go to, but as the two of them walked together through Mexico Park, Araceli blabbing on while ‘accidentally’ brushing against him Harry couldn’t help but feel a little sad, wishing it were Hermione enjoying the full moon reflected on the lagoon with him, and watching the family of ducklings that swam swiftly on its surface, one behind the other.

When the baby is old enough, he thought dreamily, I’ll get him or her a duck… and a dog-no, a cat, Hermione likes cats… although, if I get him a cat it’ll probably eat her duck...

Harry chuckled, amused, as he realized the silliness of his musings; pre-parenthood had the effect of turning his brain into a puddle of goo whenever he thought about their incoming baby and how much he was going to spoil him/her.

After a few more ‘accidental’ bumping they finally made it to Plaza Iztaccihuatl, where Harry spied a lot of food stands and, sighing with obvious relief, followed Araceli towards a most decent stand, named ‘El Taquito’: a young man was standing at the grill, flipping a pair of corn ‘tortillas’, and when he saw them he smiled cheerfully at them.

“Celi!!! Qué onda, guey? Hacía mucho que no te pasabas! (roughly translated as ”How’s it going? It’s been a while!”)”

“Manolo!!! Cómo va la chamba? (“How’s work?”)”

As if he wasn’t in a hurry, Harry was then treated to the most confusing minutes of his life as the two [apparently] friends spoke in rapid Spanish, often glancing at him and chuckling.

“Er… Araceli?” he ventured, finally, and both adults turned to look at him, the brunette smiling impishly at him. “I’m in a kind of a hurry, if you know what I mean…”

Araceli laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, Harry, I was just going to…”

She turned back to Manolo and ordered half a dozen, and Harry visibly relaxed; at least his quest was nearly over, and he would soon be able to go back home, far, far away from this woman who, quite frankly, freaked him out.

Five minutes later Manolo was handing him a plastic box containing the blasted nachos and asking him about ‘lana’; Harry, completely bewildered, glanced at his guide. “What on earth is he asking me about wool for?”

Araceli suddenly burst out laughing, thus bringing unwanted attention (again) to them; Harry scowled. “What?”

“Oh, dear,” she finally let out, wiping at her eyes and clutching her stomach from laughing so hard. She grinned at him, “’lana’ means ‘money’ in Mexico, handsome; he’s asking you for the money!”

Harry felt himself flush with embarrassment, but it quickly turned into horror when he realized his predicament.

“Bollocks!!!” he hissed, slapping himself on the forehead, “I don’t have any muggle money on me!!!”

“Even if you did it would have been useless, since we use pesos, not pounds, handsome,” she said dryly, and Harry groaned.

“I can’t believe I didn’t think about it before!!!” he said, starting to panic, “What am I going to do?”

Araceli’s eyes glinted and her grin turned predatory, but Harry didn’t notice in his distress.

“Well… I could always lend you the money…”

Harry turned to look at her so quickly he nearly broke his neck.

“Would you?” he said, his voice hopeful. “Oh, God, you’re an angel!!! You just saved my life… I’ll pay you back in Galleons…”

Araceli flashed him a lazy smile and turned back to Manolo, who had been looking quizzically at the two wizards, clearly not understanding a word they were saying.

“It’s alright, Harry, I don’t mind…”

She handed the man a couple of bills and said something to him in Spanish that made him laugh; she waved at him and walked a little past Harry, who looked back at Manolo, shouted “Gracias!” and then jogged back to Araceli, holding his purchase in his hands.

Finally… he thought, I can go back to sleep…

“Araceli, THANK you,” he repeated then, loudly, “how much do I owe you in Galleons? I’m afraid I’m not familiar with Mexican currency, so-“

He couldn’t finish his sentence as Araceli, who had been quiet for the last minute, suddenly rounded on him, pushing him hard enough against a tree to make him drop the plastic box he was holding and pressing her body-and lips-to his.

“You don’t have to give me money” she murmured against his mouth, “just come up with me to my apartment for a while, we aren’t very far…”

Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing; he was so shocked that he didn’t immediately respond, and then he was so infused with so much anger that he was sure he would explode any minute.

Shoving her hard away from him and wiping his mouth with his sleeve he shot daggers at her.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” he growled, “I’m married!!!”

The brunette smirked, completely unaffected, and ran a hand down his chest. “Well, your wife doesn’t have to know about this, does she?”

Harry saw red; towering over her he glared down at the young woman, face white with ire and chest heaving with exertion.

“Whatever gave you the idea that I wanted anything to do with you?!” he bellowed, uncaring of the crowd that was forming around them and watched instead with incredulity as Araceli’s grin only widened.

“A man gets lonely,” she purred, “your wife is obviously not enough, and Harry Potter deserves the best.”

Harry’s eyes nearly bugged out; he could strangle the little tart…

“I love my wife” he said, through gritted teeth; he couldn’t believe there were people like Araceli (who was supposedly a respectable Auror in the magical community) who wanted to cause such pain to two people so obviously (his and Hermione’s personal lives weren’t on the entire magical world’s papers for nothing) in love with each other. It disgusted him. “We’re having a baby, and I have never been happier with my life than I am right now, so I don’t need you to tell me what’s best for me. I have the best, and she’s waiting for me back home to bring her what she so rightly deserves, so excuse me if I just leave you here to fend for yourself.”

Ignoring the stunned expression on her face, he bent to collect the discarded box of nachos and then turned from her with a glare, fully intending to stalk away and leave her there, but then he remembered something; grabbing a handful of Galleons from his pocket, he walked back towards where she was standing, pried her hand open and put the coins in it.

And then he stalked away.

***

When he walked into their room, Hermione was lying asleep on her side facing him, pregnant belly resting on the comforter, a gorgeous smile on her lips; he was exhausted and angry, but when he looked at her angelic face he felt all his anguish drain away to be replaced but a sudden wave of tenderness.

This woman was worth everything.

He pushed a lose strand of hair behind her ear, his smile dimming a little; he would tell her everything that had happened, of course-they didn’t hide anything from each other-but later.

He bent to kiss her softly on the forehead, and was rewarded with a little grunt from her, followed by a flutter of her eyelids as she woke and looked groggily up at him.

“Hey…” he whispered, smiling down at her.

She smiled back, still sleepy. “Hi…”

“I brought you your nachos…” he said, feeling pride at his accomplishment swell in his chest; she was going to be so happy!

Hermione blinked, sitting up.

“Oh, darling!” she gushed, apologetically, “You were gone so long that the craving passed and I fell asleep… I don’t want nachos anymore…” her eyes lit up. “Though I would love some rolls of kappamaki right now.”

Harry blinked.

And blinked again.

And then blinked some more.

Finally, sighing, he stood up and started heading for the door.

“Harry?”

He stopped and glanced back with a resigned look on his face.

“I’m going to grab a bottle of Pepper Up potion from the kitchen and that Instantaneous Translation Talisman you bought for our Honeymoon; if I had trouble with Spanish there’s no way I’ll survive in Japan-I’ll have to be able to understand what they’re saying in case I run into a kappa…”

To be continued…

A/N: PLEASE READ!!! I know what vision some people have about ‘latinos’ (a term I find most undermining and totally discriminating) as well… tarts, if you’ll have it, but I did not mean to contribute to that stereotyping AT ALL (hell, I’m latin!); Araceli is a completely fictional character that only served to my purpose-I wanted to underline Harry’s love and complete devotion to Hermione, so I hope you don’t let yourselves be influenced by her. Oh, and if there are any Mexican people reading this, I’m so sorry!!! Both for Araceli and the violation of the Aztec culture ***grins sheepishly*** I love you guys!!!

anastasiapotter, is this soon enough? ***grins***

Lindsey, I like baby stories too, and I’m glad you like mine!

RavenclawChrissie, ***grins*** I know what you mean; I have never had that particular problem, but I’m the girl after all. My dad is as protective of me as Ted is, and it’s hilarious to watch my boyfriends squirm under his gaze!!!

Fernanda, it makes me happy to write and get so wonderful reviews, so keep R/R!!!

Prue1912, your wish is my command…

The real HOPE, well, it wasn’t a month, was it? ***grins*** Actually, I’d already posted the first four chaps. at ff.net, but I was too tired last night to post the last two here… you might have to wait a while for July, but I don’t think it’ll be a month…

Rodrigo, thanks for reviewing!!!

KypDurron, yeah, I love The Talk. ***grins*** And I hadn’t thought about the Dursley’s, but I guess they’re not that important, so… ***smiles***

Jouve25, ***laughs*** how’s June for insecure? And well, July will focus more on that too… Oops, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that!

Meg, well, someone told me it wasn’t a very original plot once, but I’m glad you like it!!!

Loudmeggaphone, is this soon enough? ***smiles*** Oh, I thought it was hilarious too, BUT, June keeps being my favorite chapter so far. I laughed myself silly writing in Mexican-Spanish, because and although I’m a native Spanish speaker as well, some expressions are so unusual for me, and I felt really weird writing them…

TwistedAnjel, my first reviewer… Thank you loads!!! I hope to hear from you again soon!

And to everyone else I’ve forgotten, thank you all!!! I love you guys!

To anyone else, I’ve forgotten, thank you!!! I love you all!

http://www.interlog.com/~gilgames/teotihua.htm

5. July

Nine Months

Month 5-July

Whenever a couple expects a baby the wait becomes pleasant and uncomfortable, natural and mysterious, exasperating and sweet, scaring and encouraging in a blend of assorted feelings.

Harry and Hermione were not the exception to this; they were full of hopes and dreams, but were also very nervous and anxious to have their child in their arms and especially Harry, who had never known what a father was supposed to be like until Arthur Weasley, had many qualms about his filling the role. So while when he’d first been told that they were pregnant he was ecstatic, he’d also felt extremely inadequate and self-conscious.

When he’d confided to his father in-law (on that fateful night back in April), about his doubts, however, his response had not been what he’d expected.

“Being a father,” he’d said in a tone that invoked wisdom and experience, “is not something you can learn out of a book; nor can I tell you how to be one, as every father/son relationship has a trait and a history of its own. I for one think you’ll be a wonderful father, but that’s something that you learn as you go. So don’t worry too much about it right now, you’ll cross that bridge when you come to it. However, there is something you should be extremely concerned about at present time, and that’s how you behave around her raging hormones,” and looking fretfully around for his wife or daughter, any pretence of wisdom and experience gone from his face, he’d then whispered hurriedly to him, “believe me, you don´t want Hermione to show you just how displeased she can get.”

So, in light of this new threat, Harry had done what any smart man that was scared of his wife’s wrath would do: ask every one of his mates for advice.

And he’d learned from his few fellow fathers just how different women could react to being pregnant.

He knew from Remus, his last living link to his parents, that when Lily was carrying him she had been prone to violence (even more so than usual), especially towards her husband and Sirius, who just loved to irritate her (there was a rather interesting story involving Lily, James and a pair of flying sewing needles during Mrs. Potter’s seventh month).

Molly Weasley had always felt like cooking large meals-which by itself was source of joy to everyone but herself as she couldn’t come anywhere near her food lest she start vomiting, but she was an overall nice pregnant lady (which was a relief, because she had been pregnant A LOT).

And Luna… well, Luna became more ‘partial’ to bed-time activities (which did not limit themselves to night or their own room-Harry had opted for covering his eyes whenever he Apparated in).

Hermione stayed essentially the same-with every feature of hers amplified ten-fold; so if she normally was a snappish bossy-boots of sorts, pregnancy increased her irascibility so much that sometimes Harry was afraid to even say ‘hi’ to her without being jinxed into oblivion, and if she was insecure about herself, her five-month-pregnant belly did nothing to improve her confidence: she would jump from meek to furious to overexcited and back to meek again with a swiftness that was sometimes overwhelming.

Harry could take her anger pretty well-he knew and loved Hermione enough to know it was her hormones acting-and when she was happy he was happy twice as much, but if there was something he absolutely hated it was seeing Hermione cry; he had never really learned to withstand a girl’s tears, and the fact that it was Hermione only made it worse.

Tonight was no different.

Tonight was his birthday and whatever Hermione had planned for him it didn’t look like it would be taking place anytime soon, seeing as he’d been knocking on the bathroom’s door for the last ten minutes without response.

The day had started well enough-she’d surprised him with breakfast in bed (nothing too fancy, just french toast, bacon and orange juice, but he thought it was sweet nonetheless), and she’d snuck out of work to meet him for lunch, after which they’d spent the rest of the afternoon owling themselves back and forth with silly love notes and chocolate frogs like teenaged couples do.

And she’d ambushed him in his office for a hello kiss (that left him more than a little dazed) and to say to be home at seven sharp and dress nice.

But when he’d gotten home she wasn’t there to greet him, their bedroom floor was covered with discarded dress robes and he could hear sniffing coming from the bathroom, from where she had yet to come out.

“Hermione, love?” he pleaded, leaning his head on the door and knocking softly once more, “Please come out?”

But his only answer was sniffing; a few more minutes passed like this with Harry calling fruitlessly her name, and he was just about to give up and use magic to open the door when it suddenly swung open and there stood Hermione in a fluffy white bathrobe, wild hair and quivering lips, the picture of unhappiness. She wasn’t crying, though it was obvious to Harry that she had been, and the mere thought was enough to send his heart shattering into pieces.

Wordlessly, he opened his arms and she went willingly into them, wrapping her arms tightly around him as a single sob broke from her lips.

“Oi, sweetheart,” he whispered, running a hand soothingly up and down her back, “tell me what’s wrong? You know I hate to see you like this…”

Harry had an inkling suspiscion as to the reason of his wife’s tears, if the mess around the bedroom was any indication, and it worried him very much; so many mood changes in such short notice couldn’t be good, no matter what everyone said.

"I've tried on all my dress robes," she finally said in a broken voice, her fists twisting knots against the back of his robes, "I've tried them all, and... nothing fits."

Harry sighed, stroking her hair gently as she sniffed against his neck; he was right-she had been beating herself over her appearance again, seemingly having forgotten a particularity of her condition.

“There, there, love,” he tried to reason with her, and thus demonstrating just what a fine specimen of the male species he was, “you’re nearly six months pregnant, it’s only natural that your old clothes don’t fit as nicely as they did before, isn’t it?”

When he saw her eyes rapidly begin to fill he knew he had said something very, very wrong.

“So you think I look hideous now!!!” she wailed, breaking away from him and turning to run back into the bathroom.

Talk about inserting one’s foot in one’s mouth., he thought, mentally kicking himself. He quickly grabbed her arm and turned her around to face him again.

“No, no, no,” he began, placing his hands on her shoulders and looking down at her, “You look beautiful, darling-“

“Don’t lie to me, of course I don’t!!!” she said angrily, stamping her foot as tears ran copiously down her face, “I look awful!!! My skin is oily, my ankles are the size of baked hams and I could fit a house inside of me!!! I look like a beached whale and you know it!!!”

Harry began to panic as she again started to cry; he searched his head for Ted’s advice. What was it that he had said again? Oh, yeah…

Nodding, he took a deep breath before squeezing his wife’s shoulders lightly to get her attention. “’Mione, you’re not fat; the baby is getting bigger, not you.”

“Well, the baby getting bigger is making me bigger,” she snapped, shrugging his hands off and glaring at him, “I’ll never be as thin as I was when I married you!”

Harry’s gaze softened and he took both her hands in his; he knew exactly what she was thinking, and although he found it endearing, he wanted her to always be sure of his love for her.

“Hermione, you know I don’t care about looks… I’m not just in love with your body, I love everything about you, so it doesn’t matter that you don’t look exactly as you did before, you’ll always be beautiful to me no matter what…”

Now that was a pretty good answer, he thought, feeling quite proud of himself.

“So you do think I’m fat!!!” she wailed.

Or not., he sighed, Way to go, Romeo…

He again looked down at her, taking in her features: he could never get tired of looking at her; Hermione was one of those women that, although lacking the exotic attractiveness of the kinds of Cho Chang and the Patil sisters, held an unearthly beauty about them that made them all the attractivier. The fact that it was Hermione and that she loved him (something he still was amazed to find) made her even more beautiful to his eyes.

Even now, with her hair standing every way and her face rather red and tearstreaked from crying, she looked every bit as charming as usual and he could feel his heart give a jolt.

“Harry?”

He blinked, realizing he had been staring at her with a lovesick look on his face.

He relaxed into a smile and, taking her hand, led her to the bed, helping her to sit on the edge as he himself knelt on the floor between her legs.

Hermione was looking down at him curiously, her head tilted slightly to one side with that little frown she got when she didn’t know something, and he felt such a powerful rush of affection for her that he felt light-headed.

Sighing, Harry looked briefly down and then up at her, silently wishing he could find a better way to tell her how he felt. He pondered for a minute, but still feeling akward and inadequate, began anyway, “I don’t have any fancy words for you-Merlin knows I’m no poet-but I know what I feel…” he paused uncertainly, then continued after taking a deep breath, “I love you, Hermione, you… the you that bits her bottom lip when she’s concentrating, and furrows her brow when she’s trying to figure out something... I love the way you’re always willing to listen, and that you’re not afraid to tell me off when I’m being a git… I love that you don’t ever wear make-up, and that you get into horrible moods when you’re stressed out. I love that you know exactly how much honey I like in my tea and that you always have a cup ready for me when I get home… I’m in love with your lips and how you pout when you want to get something from me; I love that you know that I know this, and that still it has never failed to work. I love that I can cry and be myself with you. I love that I can smile and laugh with you. I love your hair and eyes. I love everything about you and sure, I even love the you that nags me to put the seat down every single time I go into the bathroom…” he stopped again, smiling, cupping her cheek with his hand, “you’re not fat, sweetheart, you’re carrying my baby; if anything, that makes you even more beautiful to me…”

Hermione was looking at him with bright eyes, feeling overwhelmed; Harry had told her he loved her, in a million times and ways, but sometimes it became difficult to believe that someone as wonderful as him could ever love someone as plain (in her opinion) as she, especially when her hormones were so out of whack. It didn’t help that gorgeous women kept throwing themselves at her husband, like that insufferable (but incredibly beautiful) tart in City of Mexico last month, and although she knew Harry loved her just the way she was, at times like these she tended to forget her perfect logic and let her old insecurities kick in.

And yet it was also at times like this, when he would look at her with those impossibly loving eyes of his and smile that impish, boyish smile at her, that there was no doubt in Hermione’s heart that Harry was desperately, madly in love with her-and she should always remember that.

Sniffing a little, but looking a great deal happier, she pulled her husband up to sit next to her on the bed and then procceded to snuggle against his chest. “And you say you’re no poet…”

Harry hugged her tightly, and then chuckled when he got kicked in the ribs. “Someone’s getting on the way again…”

Hermione giggled, looking up at him with an impossibly bright smile. “You should feel it from this side.”

Harry’s eyes glinted mirthfully. “Looks like we have an active baby here… Think he or she will make it to the school’s Quidditch Team? Maybe a beater, or even a chaser, you think?”

Hermione mock-scowled. “No son or daughter of mine is ever getting on a broomstick if I have my say in it! I had enough to worry about with you when we were in school.”

Harry pretended to look disppointed. “That’s too bad; I’d already planned to found my very own Potter Quidditch Team, what with the six or seven kids we’re going to have.”

Hermione looked horror-struck. “Six or seven?!”

Harry gave her as innocent a smile as he could muster. “Oh, yeah, and that’s if I manage to keep my hands off you long enough to change diapers.”

“Six or seven?” Hermione repeated, looking dizzy, “Dear sweet Merlin!”

Harry patted her comfortingly on the head. “Don’t worry, I promise we’ll build us a bigger nursery.”

Hermione pouted at him. “Yeah, sure, because it’s not you who gets to go through the delivering, right? Not to mention the actual pregnancy.”

Harry pouted back, throwing his hands up dramatically, “Oh, alright; I compromise with five.”

Hermione looked amused. “Three.”

“Four and that’s my last offer!”

Hermione burst out laughing, and Harry followed soon after; as their giggling gradually died down to chuckling and then silence they found themselves back in each other’s arms, Hermione’s hands resting lightly on his shoulders as his hands ran gently up and down her back.

“I’m sorry I ruined your birthday…” she said softly after a while. “I must look a fright right now…”

“Yeah, you do,” joked Harry, “but I love you any way.”

Hermione swatted playfully at him and then sighed dreamily as she settled back against him. “Seriously, now… I’m sorry I ruined your day…”

“You ruined nothing; today was perfect, just like you.”

“Harry…”

“Let’s not go out tonight,” he said suddenly, “Let’s stay here, just the two of us.”

She blinked up at him, confused. “But… we can’t, I have a present for you and, and-”

“The best present you could ever get me you already have; I’ll just have to wait another four months for it.”

And who could say no to that.

Three hours later (or maybe more)

“`Mione?”

“Hmm?”

“What was the present you were going to give me?”

“Holy crap!!! The surprise party at the Burrow! Ohhh, Ron is going to kill me!!!”

A/N: ***twiddles fingers*** I’m so sorry for the delay, but I have a good excuse, honest! They were really pushing us hard at school, and I really had no time to write… But, well, I finally got out, and I have three extremely long months of vacations to write and update, so hopefully that’ll be enough? And, well, this chapter was to make up for the lack of fluff from last chapter, so I hope you like July. Read and Review, please? ***puppy-dog’s eyes***

Rachel A. Prongs, ***sniggers*** I haven’t had much experience with pregnant women myself, but I was with a cousin and my stepmother, and although my stepmother was perfectly normal, my cousin really was very sensitive… and, well, I did a lot of research-meaning I interviewed almost every mom I know, and, well, they had a LOT in common in sensibility department, so…

AlexaR, yeah, well, ***smiles*** I tried to emulate the situation as much as possible-I wouldn’t know, since I’m a native Spanish speaker, and I’m not so lost as languages (I’m a modern languages major), but I thought that’s what would happen to me if I were to go, say, to China. I’m glad you liked it!

Sarmi, well, Harry tells her everything, and he had better, otherwise I’m pretty sure Hermione would hex him a hundred times if she were to find out through, uh, ‘other sources’.

RavenclawChrissie, ***smiles*** yeah, that’s exactly what I wanted to portray in that chapter! His unconditional love for her. I’m glad you’re enjoying this, and I’ll try to update sooner, although I can’t promise you anything because the next couple chapters are going to be hard…

Phoewolfnix, I love baby stories too!!! And thanks for reviewing!

Harryandhermionefan, I’m so sorry for updating so late… I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as you did the first!

Babyhalo19, ***blushes*** thanks for the compliments, I really appreciate them! I hope you like this chapter, I know I’m quite happy with how it turned out!

Pinay_pride08, mmm… I’m not telling you what they’re having (boy/girl/twin) but I hope you’ll keep reading to find out! Thanks for reviewing!

Violatedpenguin, thank you so much for your reviews!!! ***glomps you*** they mean so much to me!!! This chapter is dedicated to you, and I’m sorry it took me so long!

ItalianSoccerChick89, ***blushes*** thanks for the compliments… I’ve been studying Japanese for ***counts fingers*** three years, but I’ve still got a lot to go. I’ve studied English for ***counts even more*** nine years, and I also speak another four languages and am studying the seventh (german). ***grins sheepishly*** I guess I really picked my major well…

GerdieSI, ***waves finger disapprovingly*** you’re reading fanfiction at work? Bad, bad person!!! ***grins*** nah, work is boring, read all you want!!! Thanks for reviewing, and I hope you like this!!!

6. August

Nine Months

Month 6-August

“Steady heart rate… appropriate weight… excellent lung development… right. You’ve got one perfectly healthy little baby there, Mrs. Potter.”

Hermione heaved a relieved sigh as she watched the hologram-like picture of their baby disappear; she’d been feeling a little queasy lately (nothing out of ordinary, to be sure, but still not well) and when she’d mentioned it to Harry he’d nearly dragged her to St. Mungo’s in a panic. Thankfully, she’d managed to convince him to wait for her monthly check-up, which was due three days later anyway, just so she could tell him ‘I told you so’ which, of course, she loved doing.

She rounded on her husband, flashing a brilliant smile in his direction. “You see, Harry? You were just being paranoid. There’s nothing wrong with the baby.”

“Yeah, well, there’s nothing wrong with making sure either, is it?”

Healer Abercrombie chuckled as he watched the spouses’ playful banter and moved closer to the examination table, from where Hermione was starting to get up. “Hold your hippogriffs, Mrs. Potter, I’ve still got you to check.”

Hermione gave him a sheepish grin as she laid back down; in her haste to prove Harry wrong, she had asked to have the little one examined first and totally forgotten he was supposed to check her too.

Pointing his wand right at her heart, the Healer glanced at his watch and said softly, “Ab Palpitatio Cordis Auditur!”

A jet of pale blue light shot right through her chest and Hermione shuddered slightly, then turned to grin at her husband as the tell-tale of her heart’s pumping suddenly filled the room; it was a spell used to check the patient’s heart rate and blood pressure, and the first time they’d gone together and the Healer had performed it Harry had nearly jumped out of his skin in fright.

Realizing what she was thinking about, Harry rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue childishly out at her.

Hermione stifled a laugh and turned back to Healer Abercrombie, but was surprised to see a light frown on his face. “Is something wrong?”

Harry was immediately at her side; the middle-aged man flicked his eyes up at them briefly but said nothing as he continued to check his watch and listen. He proceeded to perform a series of spells they didn’t recognize, frowning all the while, and then finally cast the counter-spell and put his wand down, looking at them.

“What?” Harry asked worriedly but the man turned to Hermione.

“There has been no Hypertension registered in your family’s medical record, right?” Hermione frowned and shook her head no. The Healer sighed. “Well, there’s been a sudden increase in your blood pressure, and since I haven’t registered it in any of our previous appointments, I deduce this is a case of PIH, or ‘Pregnancy Induced Hypertension’.” Seeing the alarmed look on Harry’s face, he added hurriedly, “Don’t worry, it’s not unusual for women to develop Hypertension during pregnancy, and it usually goes away soon after the baby is born. There shouldn’t be any major problems, and with the proper care I believe we can avoid any possible side effects.”

Harry frowned. “Side effects?”

“Well, Hypertension doesn’t usually have any evident symptoms, but it could have some serious repercussions on both the mother and the baby if allowed to further develop. One of the most serious consequences of PIH is Preeclampsia, a toxic condition developing in the last four or five months of pregnancy that is characterized by excessive weight gain, generalized edema and a tendency to swell up… among other things.”

Harry squeezed Hermione’s hand, looking at her worriedly. “What should we do?”

“Well, if PIH actually develops into Preeclampsia, muggle doctors normally suggest hospitalization in order to protect the mother and the baby but, as you already know, the magical world possess more effective resources nowadays. I’ll prescribe you with a potion to regulate your blood pressure and an other that’ll calm anxiety and soothe agitation-you should be familiar with it, as they teach it at Hogwarts during fifth year, the Draught of Peace-” Harry made a face at being reminded of his most detestable professor “and be sure to rest if you feel tired. Sleep as much as you can, drink loads of liquids-except those containing caffeine, the fetus doesn’t take it well-and try to avoid stressful situations. If everything goes well, and I have faith it will, by mid November you will father a most healthy child, Mr. Potter.”

But in spite of Healer Abercrombie’s reassuring and Hermione’s apparent calmness, Harry couldn’t stop the dread from sneaking into his heart.

***

After a few other routine tests, and after paying a short visit to Ginny Weasley, who was a Trainee Healer at the Spell Damage ward on the fourth floor, the couple made their way back home from St. Mungo’s, and although he tried not to show it, Hermione knew Harry was worried; he kept throwing surreptitious glances at her as he drove, and he drove at almost flobberworm pace. He didn’t say much and looked utterly immersed in his own thoughts, but she was pretty sure he would drop the bomb soon enough.

He didn’t disappoint her.

As soon as they got home, Harry rounded on her. “When are you planning to go on maternity leave?”

Hermione sighed, making herself comfortable on one of the living room’s couches; this was going to be a long conversation-she knew how stubborn the both of them could be. Harry remained standing. “Not for another month at least, I’m afraid… things have been pretty hectic at work…”

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and wet his lips anxiously. “You should rest more, Hermione, you heard what the Healer said; it could be dangerous for you and the baby.”

Hermione frowned lightly. “He also said there was no reason to worry as long as I took it easy and followed his instructions, so I don’t see any reason for me to stop working, especially when my job is as relaxing and calm as it is.”

“You just said it’s been very hectic lately!!!”

She glared at him. “Hectic as in I’ve had a lot of work lately. Honestly, Harry, I work at the Research and Development of Charms Department at the Institute of Magical Academics,” she gritted out, emphasizing the ‘Research’ and ‘Academics’ part of her job, “the most straining physical effort I’m required to do is transport my arse from the office to the library and not even that, because I can get Georgiana to do it for me. It’s not like I’m running after dark wizards or flying on broomsticks like you and Ron, you know, I have a bloody desk job!”

It was to note just how angry she was that she was swearing; she knew Harry worried but honestly! She was pregnant, not an invalid!

“Hermione, you know perfectly well that researching is not all ‘relaxing’ and ‘calm’. Do you remember our NEWT’s? You hardly got any sleep! You were snappish and moody, and you threatened to curse Ron and me if we as much as breathed loud when we were studying!!! You’re supposed to avoid stress, for goodness’ sake!!!”

“Yeah, and a great help you are, shouting at me like I’m five years old!!!” she snapped, looking as livid as he’d ever seen her.

Harry, who was as red as a lobster, opened his mouth to respond but no sound came out.

She’s right, he thought finally, deflating a little, I should be helping her, not arguing with her… Merlin, I’m such a git…

Hermione was still glaring at him; sighing, he was about to apologize when someone cleared his throat, and they both turned sharply to the door, where a pale-face Ron was shifting from foot to foot.

“If you two are quite done fighting,” he began weakly, his eyes wide as saucers, “do you think you could drive us to the hospital? Luna’s just gone into labor…”

***

If the drive back home had been dreadfully slow, their second trip to St. Mungo’s for the day was the exact opposite, and as she sat on the back seat with a panting Luna’s head on her lap, Hermione was sure they were going to crash.

To hell with avoiding stressful situations!, she thought frantically as she gripped the back of Ron’s seat with a shaky hand. This is my best friend’s baby we’re talking about!

They didn’t crash, thankfully, and they made it to the hospital in one piece (if a little frazzled and green), and as Harry yelled impatiently for the ugly dummy in the display window to let them through, Ron helped his wife out of the car, holding her tightly to his side as Luna’s panting got worse.

Stepping out of the car herself, Hermione was suddenly overcome with a sharp pain on the upper part of her abdomen and she gasped a little, leaning against the car for a moment. It passed soon though, and she looked up to see Harry hadn’t noticed, still dealing with the dummy, Ron having joined him in the shouting.

Shutting the car’s door closed, she walked carefully to the group in time to see the dummy finally nod its head at them to let them through. Ron and Luna did so immediately, but Harry glared at the window one more time before turning to Hermione, reaching for her hand and squeezing it gently.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart… you were right, I was being a git,” he finally said, looking apologetically down at her, “can you ever forgive me?”

Hermione smiled a little shakily, leaning into him, and his arm went immediately around her. “It’s okay, Harry… listen, we’ll talk about it later, alright? Ron needs us right now…”

Nodding his head mutely, Harry grabbed her hand again and they walked together through the barrier. A young Healer was standing by the entrance, holding a hand to his rapidly swelling eye, and when he noticed Hermione’s obvious pregnancy he gave a startled jump.

“Are you going to hit me too?” he finally said, glaring accusingly at the two.

The couple looked at each other in surprise and then at the young man standing in front of them.

“Ron hit you?” Harry asked, and was further amazed when the Healer shook his head.

“Ron? Oh, no, it was the wife. And bloody scary, she was, threatened to feed me to a Crumple-Horned Snorkack if I didn’t find her a stretcher to lie down soon enough.”

***

Harry and Hermione were sitting together in the waiting room, which was quickly filling with Weasleys to the point of burst: Ginny had been the first one to arrive, of course, as she practically lived there, and she had taken it upon herself to notify the rest of the family, returning shortly after with a shy Neville, whom she’d been dating for over three years and who was a Trainee Healer at St. Mungo’s himself; Arthur and Molly were next, the latter sobbing heavily at the arrival of her sixth grandchild, and gushing all over Hermione as well. Charlie had Apparated overseas (he was recently working in South America with a colony of Peruvian Vipertooths), looking very tan and very healthy, if a little frazzled and burnt, and George had popped in right after, carrying a stack of Filibuster Fireworks which he set off until he was kicked out of the room by two security wizards, but he came back in whistling a few minutes later, refusing to share the fate of the other two. Bill and Fleur had taken a Portkey from Paris with their children, Gabriel and Annette, who were now being smothered with kisses by their grandmother, much to their annoyance.

Percy had come strutting in twenty minutes later, with Penelope, Katrina and Percy Jr. in tow, announcing that he had, against his better judgment, postponed a very important meeting to accompany his brother in this eventful moment, and Harry had nearly hit him for that; he hadn’t really forgiven him for what he’d done to his family, but was civil to him for Molly’s sake nonetheless. Of course, his annoyance was short lived and soon turned into heavy bouts of laughter as, to everyone’s (except Molly’s and Penelope’s) great amusement and relief, the newly arrived Fred turned him into a goose with a flap of his wand, at which the angry bird proceeded to chase him around the room, trying to peck him until an irritated Angelina handed little Elizabeth, who was just a toddler, to her uncle Charlie, grabbed her husband by the ear, the goose by neck and proceeded to yell at the two of them until Fred, properly chastised, agreed to transfigure his brother back.

Thankfully, they were all spared another lecture from Percy as Ron, who for the past hour and a half had been away with Luna, came into the room, looking nervous and pale, and was immediately attacked by his relatives.

“Ronald, my baby!!!”

“Hey, son, congratulations!”

“Where’s Luna?”

“Where’s my nephew?”

“Our ickle Ronniekins has finally grown up!!!”

“OW!!! GEORGE! That’s my foot!!!”

Finally, looking exhausted, Ron lifted his hands in an attempt to placate them all. “Luna’s still in labor.”

“Well then what are you doing here?”

“They kicked me out after the second time I fainted.”

***

Twenty minutes later the crowd was considerably thinner, half of the family having left to get a cup of tea and grab a bite while they waited; Harry had gone with them and come back soon after with a turkey sandwich and juice for Hermione, who hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast and the little one had started to protest. Ginny and Neville had both left, as they were still on duty, but they assured Ron they would return in an hour or so.

The waiting room was almost empty, except for Arthur and Bill, who were talking quietly by the door, Charlie, who was dozing off on a couch in the corner, half-disoriented from jetlag, Angelina, who was watching Kat play with Elizabeth on the floor and the two Potters, who were sitting together across the room, watching amusedly as their best friend paced nervously in front of them.

“I’m not ready for this,” he said, gesticulating widely with his long arms, his face so incredibly white that his freckles stood out sharply against his skin, “I don’t know how to be a father, I am going to mess up so badly-“

Harry bit his lip, frowning slightly. He honestly didn’t know what to tell him without feeling slightly hypocritical about it; he had the same doubts as he did, after all, and no matter how many times he tried to tell himself that it was okay to feel insecure, he could not help but spend most of his nights worrying about his future role as a dad.

Hermione, apparently, was not having the same problem; she had assumed the analytical, business-like disposition that had characterized her since-well, forever, and which had saved their arses (and grades) more than once as they were growing up. As she calmly ticked off the reasons why Ron was going to be a wonderful father with her fingers, Harry could not help the fond smile that crept into his face; he loved those two like crazy, and for a long time they had been the family he never had.

But soon, he thought, looking at Hermione’s bulging belly, soon…

“-and most important,” Hermione was saying, shaking a finger in Ron’s face, which bore a disheartened look; her lips broke into the sweetest smile as she grabbed his hand, giving it a little squeeze in the process, “it’s you, Ron… there is just no way in the world that you’ll turn out anything other than a smashing dad…”

Ron’s face softened and he squeezed her hand back, flashing her a grateful smile.

“Yeah,” Harry piped up brightly, “and you’ll have loads of practice too-as it is, the way you two behave, by this time next year you’ll be expecting your second child and you’ll be able to exhibit your wonderful traits as a father!”

Ron, who was kneeling in front of them, flushed a deep scarlet, while Hermione shot him a dirty look. Then, without any notice at all, she jammed her elbow hard into his side.

“Ow…”

“That’s so you’ll stop saying horrible things like that!” she chastised, glaring at him.

“But it’s true!” he whined, “They go at it like crazed weasels! I’m always afraid to open my poor, innocent eyes when I Apparate over because-ow! Hey, can’t you take a joke—OW!!! If you're gonna hit me, hit me someplace else, 'cause that spot is getting sore...”

Hermione dissolved into giggles, leaning forward against Ron’s shoulder as he guffawed loudly, drawing the curious eyes of his relatives, who had stopped their previous activities at the merry sounds coming from the other side of the room.

Harry grinned sheepishly, rubbing his side gingerly as the other two laughed heartily at him, but they were interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throats, and they turned abruptly to see a Medi-witch standing at the door, holding it open with a bright smile on her face.

“Mr. Weasley? Your son is here...”

***

Ron had insisted that Harry and Hermione come with him; they had tried to tell him that he ought to go alone-or at least let the rest of his family meet his baby boy first, but Ron was having none of it.

“Nonsense,” he’d said, smiling tearfully at them, “this is the single most important moment in my entire life and I want the people I love most to be there right next to me.”

When they entered the room (Harry and Hermione trailing a little behind him), they were greeted by a most beautiful sight: Luna was sitting up on a bed, holding a tiny bundle to her chest and gazing down at it with a most tender expression, the usual detached and dreamy look completely gone from her face. She was simply beautiful, in her new motherhood, blond hair in disarray and rosy cheeks as she turned at the sound of the door.

“Ronald?” she began with a bright smile in her face “Come meet your son…”

The other couple hung a little back, giving them a little privacy; they watched Ron bend down to kiss his wife’s forehead and whisper a few words in her ear. Luna smiled in response and looked her usual dreamy-self. They watched with slightly misty eyes as she placed the bundle into Ron’s trembling arms and heard his sharp intake of breath.

“Oh, my God…” he whispered softly, and when he turned around to smile at them, they could see the tears running freely down his face, “get your arses over here, you silly sots!”

Hermione, already bawling, darted forward towards them and hugged Luna first, who patted her calmly on the back; Harry followed more sedately after her, and when he reached Ron, Hermione had turned to him too, grinning widely.

“Oh, Ron, congratulations!”

“Yeah, well,” he began with a proud smile on his face, holding the sleeping up for his godparents to see “meet Robin Arthur Weasley…”

The baby was fast asleep, his tiny fists curled tightly against his chest; his face was round and fat and he was sort of blotchy, with a red, ruddy complexion and his daddy’s copper hair. He was making soft, cute little baby sounds as he slept, and Hermione felt her heart melt inside her chest as she looked from the infant to the new parents in turn.

“Oh, Luna!” she gushed, tears flowing anew, “he’s beautiful!”

“Actually,” Luna began in her misty voice, “he is kind of blotchy and wrinkled, but I’m sure he’ll turn out as dashingly handsome as his dad.”

Harry and Hermione exploded in laughter, and Ron rolled his eyes heavenward, although he too was smiling.

However, all the noise seemed to have had an effect on the child who, fidgeting a little in his father’s arms, gurgled and opened his eyes, revealing a pair of blue irises identical to his mother’s; the adults’ laughter died away as Robin stared up at Ron, who stared right back at him with wide eyes, and gave him a toothless smile. Ron’s eyes filled again at this, and he made a chortled sound before blinking twice.

“Oh, my,” he said weakly, “I think I’m in love…”

Harry grinned, wrapping an arm around his sniffing wife and patting his best friend’s shoulder with his free hand.

“Congratulations, Ron,” he said sincerely, “you’re going to be a great dad…”

To be continued…

A/N: Well, this is a record for me! Twelve days since my last post-nothing, really, considering I hadn’t written a word of this chapter when I posted July. It’s compensation for the sixth months I had you waiting for it. ***grins*** I thought it would take me a lot longer, because of the first part with the healer’s appointment (hint, hint!), but surprisingly, it didn’t take me that long. I researched a LOT, but it all seemed to fit in the end to my purpose, for which I’ll be eternally grateful. However, I ask you to bear with me if something does not feel right-I am no doctor, and so I can’t be sure that everything I wrote concerning Hermione’s health is alright… I hope you guys know I tried my best. Aside from that, I really like how it turned out in the end. Also, some of my reviewers commented that they’d like to read some from Hermione’s point of view, and so I tried to do that-but to an extent. For some reason, I find Hermione extremely difficult to write, while I seem to ‘connect’ a lot more with Harry… ***shrugs*** Finally, and unfortunately for you, September will take a little longer to come, both because I’ve been writing nonstop for nearly two weeks, (however hard it is to believe) and because it’s going to be HORRIBLE to write. BUT, I promise it won’t take six months to finish, because, well, I have to months and a half worth of doing nothing but write. ***smiles*** Besides, there’s POA coming up-sadly, I get to wait another week for it, ***pouts*** you lucky lot!!! Do tell me about it, I can hardly wait to see it!

A particular thanks to dreamingdemon27, who very kindly reminded me that I forgot to mention one of the stories I got inspiration for the last chapter. ***winces*** in response to your question, yes, I did. I like that story very much, and there is a part (when Hermione is crying) that is very much like in that story… I just forgot to mention it. I’m sorry! Oh, and there is something else I borrowed from ‘Expecting’ in this chapter, along with something from Lori’s POU… can anyone point it out?

Pockets, ***blushes*** thanks for the review. I tried to update earlier, but as you said it yourself, school can be a real pain! Thanks again, and I hope you like this chapter as well.

Ginnymalfoy21, ***grins*** yeah, we all do. Thanks for reviewing!

RavenclawChrissie, ***smiles*** thanks for the review! Somehow, I think that’s exactly how Harry would act around a pregnant Hermione, and I think he’s just adorable! ***sighs***

Creepy Susie, ***grins*** oh yeah! Sometime I’ll tell you about the party they missed that landed them in their actual condition (meaning, pregnant) hint: the baby is due November 14th (count back!)

KypDurron, yay! Love all the reviews!!!

RickyElRey, ***laughs*** another story for another time, but I’ll give you this: pregnant Luna got to have three portions of cake!

Fire Gazer, aww, he won’t! ***smiles*** Merlin knows how many parties HE and Luna have missed for the exact same reason!

Jenna Kathleen, ***smiles*** thanks for the review, it really made me smile. And about Harry, he’s a sweetie, isn’t he? ***sighs dreamily*** I’d like to find a guy like him myself…

Hermiones Phoenix, your wish is my command! Wouldn’t like to receive a howler. ***shudders***

HarryWouldBeAPaladin, ohhh, you’ll have to read to find out what happens between the two!

Typical-me, mmm, as I said above, I somehow find it incredibly difficult to write Hermione, but I CAN blame it on mood swing, can’t I? ***grins*** I hope she was a little in character in this chapter, though…

Hermioniegranger, ohh, you’ll have to read to find out what it is!!! Thanks for the review.

Violatedpenguin, ‘twas nothing. I love your reviews! ***grins***

QTE626, err… thanks, I guess! ***grins***

Babyhalo19, ***laughs*** I don’t know… I’m not the funny kind, I can’t tell a joke because I always spoil it, but I’m glad you think it’s funny… because next chapter isn’t going to be very funny. ***whistles innocently***

Pottersgil2003, ***blushes*** thank you so much for the review, it made me smile… it really means a lot to me that you like my writing, so thanks… I hope you like this chapter as well…

PurplePasties1985, ***smiles*** I’m glad you like it! Thanks for the review!!!

To anyone I forgot, I’m sorry, and I love you all very much!!!!

7. September 18th

Nine Months

Month 7-September

Part 1

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Hermione said crisply, rubbing a hand over her eyes in a futile attempt to clear her vision; it was not uncommon for pregnant women to suffer visual disturbances during gestation and Hermione was no exception, but lately it had become worse and far more frequent. At the moment she was also suffering from a particularly bad migraine, which felt as though someone were pounding hard against her skull with a hammer trying to split it open.

Feeling blindly around with her hand, she snatched a small glass vial out of her purse and quickly downed its contents, sighing gratefully as she felt the pounding reseed to a dull pain at the back of her head and saw the blurry figure in front of her finally settle on a concerned Ginny’s face.

They were sitting together at the Institute’s library, skimming through a mountain of books concerning both muggle and wizard psychology and anatomy, and taking notes on neurological reaction to spell work; she, Ginny and Neville had been working together for the better part of two years to find a spell that would reverse the permanent effects of the Cruciatus Curse, a quest that had been started by many wizards during the course of time and finally abandoned to the general belief that there was no existing cure to any of the Unforgivables, but Hermione was hardly one to give up: it had been part of her doctorate thesis at Stonehenge and was now her main field of research, which she shared with her two former housemates and friends.

She and Neville had both gone to Stonehenge after Hogwarts, and they had taken a lot of the healing program basic courses together until they split ways as Neville pursued the full and much longer career as a Healer (the last two years of which were finished as resident Trainee at St. Mungo’s) while Hermione got herself a degree on Medical Charms and a further specialization in Defense and Attack Spells; they had become close friends there, and later shared the mutual wish to find a cure to the Cruciatus Curse, Hermione as an academic challenge and Neville for a whole set of personal reasons. They had been joined a year later by Ginny Weasley and worked together to that end even as Hermione graduated and the couple entered their respective Trainee programs; they had made great progress already, and Hermione believed they were very close to finding a cure.

“I’m sorry, I just-”

Hermione sighed, fiddling with her quill and feeling suddenly quite ashamed for snapping at the redhead; after all, it was not her fault she was feeling so bad.

“It’s alright, Gin, I’m sorry for snapping at you…” she cast her eyes downward, reluctant to look at her best friend’s sister, “it’s just that I’ve been asked that so many times lately that it has me on an edge…”

She was aware that she sounded a little bitter, but in reality, she was just really very tired; she’d been quarreling with Harry a lot since Robin’s birth, mostly over her job and her unwillingness to stay put.

“He’s still doing it, huh?” Ginny asked quietly after some time.

Hermione looked up with slightly forlorn eyes, not needing to ask who it was she was referring to. “He’s driving me crazy, Gin… I know he’s doing it because he worries, and I know he’s just looking out for me and the baby, but he’s suffocating me... he keeps pushing me to go on leave, and when I’m home he won’t let me lift a finger.”

“I think it’s sweet the way he pampers you.”

The look in Hermione’s eyes turned a little desperate. “There’s a difference between pampering and smothering, Gin, and Harry goes way beyond smothering. I can’t even go to the bathroom without him trailing behind and if he could, I’m sure he’d keep me locked in the house and rooted to the bed... I’m hardly a passive person, he knows that, and yet he…” she broke off, her bottom lip quivering slightly; after a few uncomfortable seconds she cleared her throat and spoke in a carefully controlled voice, “I’m being careful, Gin; I’ve read all there is to Preeclampsia, and for Merlin’s sake, I’ve minor knowledge in healing, I know what’s at stake. But… I can’t avoid stress with him breathing down my neck all the time, and the Draught of Peace only works so far… I’ve cut working hours to half my usual time and I’ve kept to research only, leaving spell work to either you or Georgiana… what else does he want me to do?”

“Well, why don’t you humor him then? At least you wouldn’t fight so much that way…”

“I can’t, Ginny, you know I can’t. Not when we’re this close to finding a cure...”

“Yeah, but… I don’t know, maybe I could owl you what we find and you could work from home, and-”

“Ginny. Do you really want to do this alone?”

She watched as Ginny’s eyes dropped to the table and she fidgeted a little in her chair.

“No…” she said finally, her voice a near whisper.

Hermione exhaled hard, leaning back on her chair and smiling a little.

“Then I’m not going anywhere until I really have to. Besides, I’d go crazy sitting at home alone, doing nothing at all. Harry hasn’t quit his job to ‘keep me from stress’, and Merlin knows I stress over his line of work often enough… at least when I work I can ‘not worry’ about him for a while…”

***

“You have a lot of nerve keeping me from going to the library, especially on my day off! You know how much I love going there and the least you could do was humor me for a bit, but nooo, not you, Mr Potter!”

Harry watched amusedly from his perch by her feet as she waved her arms widely and mock-glared at her tummy; the baby had been rather restless that morning, pressing heavily against her rib cage and kicking at its mother in such a painful and vicious way that she’d finally decided against her little trip, much to her husband’s relief.

He still had one hour before he had to report back in Headquarters and he’d offered to give her a foot rub, which she’d readily, and quite greedily, accepted. He was also very worried about her feet’s unusual swelling, but kept it to himself lest he ruin her good mood, which had rather surprised him since they’d been fighting so much over the past few days.

“Oh, look!!! He answered me!”

The baby, who had kept still during Hermione’s berating, had suddenly kicked.

Harry raised an eyebrow inquisitively, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. “Hermione, love, I don’t think it can hear you, much less understand you.”

Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes at her husband. “For your information, Mr Potter, I read in an article that not only he can hear me by now, he also recognizes me! That’s one of the reasons they take to you so quickly after labor, because they’re familiar with your voice; the Healer encouraged us to talk or sing to him whenever we can, you know, but I think it’s best that you don’t, seeing as you can’t carry a tune if it were in a bucket.”

It was Harry’s turn to roll his eyes. “That’s rubbish, I too can sing; besides, when did you decide it was a boy anyway?”

Hermione scoffed again. “Because it is!”

“How do you know?”

“Because only your son can kick this hard, that’s why.”

Harry laughed. “And how do I know you weren’t a feisty little pixie when you were a kid? You were quite the little devil when we were at school, as it is.”

Hermione mock gasped. “I was not, you cheeky sod!”

“Oh, really? I distinctly remember you slapping Malfoy in third year and leaving him quite stunned.”

“That was an exception. He deserved it.”

“And what about breaking every rule in the book with Ron and me while we were there?”

“I was protecting you, of course. You two can’t do anything without me.”

“And what about all those stories your mother has told me about?”

“Lies, all lies.”

Harry laughed and resumed his ministrations, kneading the sore muscles around her feet with long, slow strokes; Hermione let out a tiny moan of pleasure and turned around on the couch, leaning against his chest and sighing contentedly.

“Okay, Mr Wonder Hands, if you would be so kind as to work your magic on my back as well…”

Harry chuckled, kissing the side of her head lightly and placing his hands around their baby for a second. “As you wish, my lady…”

With an other kiss he leaned back a little, instructing her to tilt her chin down against her chest as he began to massage her shoulders; he heard her contented sigh and smiled, glad that she was enjoying it, but it was not two minutes before he began to enjoy it himself.

“Mmm, Harry…” Hermione moaned softly as he began trailing kisses down her neck, squirming a little in her seat, “Harry, you’re going to be late…”

“It’s eight…,” he murmured huskily, his voice muffled against her hair.

“No, it isn’t,” she protested feebly as he began working on the ties of her bathrobe, “It’s nearly ten…”

“Oh, really?” he said, pulling it off her shoulders and still not letting go, “Imagine that.”

“Harry…”

“Shut up, darling.”

As a response Hermione turned her head to kiss him on the lips, and it was a few moments before either of them said anything; finally she pulled back a little, murmuring against his mouth, “You’re going to be in so much trouble…”

“Well, it’s your own fault for being so damned sexy, you know…” he whispered back, giving her a saucy grin as she rolled her eyes and turned back around to rub the crick on her neck.

“Well, don’t go blaming me if Tonks starts yelling at you for being late.”

Harry was about to tell her he didn’t give a damn what Tonks said when Hermione absently brushed her hair aside, and he froze in mid sentence as he stared at the rather large bruise between her shoulder blades and to the right.

He was still getting over the shock when he noticed an other, much smaller bruise further down her back and then a third one on her left forearm, which had been revealed as she raised her arm to rub the sore muscles on her neck.

“…a toxic condition developing in the last four or five months of pregnancy that is characterized by excessive weight gain, generalized edema and a tendency to swell up… among other things.”

Hermione, it seemed, was oblivious to his distress, and continued babbling about his tardiness even though Harry had stopped listening long ago. He was staring at the contusions with slightly wide eyes as he recalled the words from their last visit to the healer, over three weeks before; he had insisted on weekly appointments since then but, like every other time he had approached the subject, they’d ended arguing about it and not getting anywhere.

“Hermione…” he finally said, his voice shaking slightly, “where did you get these?”

“What?” she turned her head, leaning over her shoulder in an attempt to look at where he was running his fingers lightly over her skin; she raised her eyes toward his, confusion written all over her face. “Where did I get what?”

Harry exhaled deeply, trying to hold his temper in check; he couldn’t help but feeling a little angry at Hermione for not taking better care of herself-he was willing to bet these were not the first bruises to appear on her body, although why he hadn’t noticed them earlier he would never know.

“These bruises,” he continued in a strained voice, “your back is covered with them.”

Hermione blinked, looking thoroughly surprised, “Bruises?”

Harry gave her a curt nod and held her own arm up for her to see, “Bruises. You can’t tell me you never noticed before.”

Hermione was frowning as she stared at the blue-black mark on her forearm, “That wasn’t there this morning,” she said, “and no, I didn’t notice; they’ve never hurt before.”

Harry frowned. “Hermione, you know what this means, don’t you? Go get dressed, I’m taking you to St. Mungo’s.”

Hermione gaped unbelievingly at her husband, who for all purposes was treating her like an eight year old; she honestly hadn’t seen the bruises, but it was not like she was a contortionist to be able to look down her back, even if she’d, kind of stupidly, tried to do so before. She still didn’t want to go to the hospital, not when her monthly check-up was four days from now, but she knew Harry’s mind was set.

And we were getting along so well, too., she thought despairingly, but ready to do as he said; she wasn’t happy about it, and the mood had most definitely been ruined, but she was too tired to fight him today. She guessed she could humor him, like Ginny said, even if it went against her personal beliefs, just this once, if only because she didn’t think she’d be able to stand another argument at the moment.

She was about to get up when a voice rang from behind Harry, startling them both., “Hermione!”

Harry jumped and Hermione yelped, struggling to right her clothes as she peered around her husband to see Neville’s head sitting on the fireplace and looking whiter than they’d ever seen him.

“Neville?” inquired Harry confusedly as Hermione stood and joined him in front of the fire.

“Neville?” she repeated, looking worriedly at their friend as his eyes flickered up to her, “What’s going on?”

Harry kneeled in front of the fireplace while Hermione, unable to do so without assistance, settled for bending ever so slightly, using her husband’s shoulders as props.

“Hermione,” he began gravely, “someone broke into the Institute last night… the research, it-,” he trailed off, pursing his lips tightly; then, looking back up at the couple, he added, “it’s gone.”

Harry sucked in a sharp breath and turned just in time to assist his wife as she sat hard on the floor, all the blood drained from her face. Her eyes were wide as saucers and she was shaking her head slightly from side to side, as if trying to shake away the remainders of a nasty nightmare; knowing how devoted Hermione was to her job, Harry figured it probably was.

“What… who did… who…” she managed after a few seconds, looking for all it was worth like all she wanted to do was to curl up and have a good cry.

Running his hand soothingly up and down her back, Harry turned back to face Neville, who was looking down somberly, “Neville, what happened?”

“We came in this morning to revise the final arrangements of the spell and the place was chaotic;” he shook his head sadly, “I have no idea how they got past the wards and the security wizards, but it’s all gone, Hermione… Ginny’s beside herself…”

Silence reigned for a few moments as the three stared at each other, Harry with growing concern as Hermione, still shaking, tried to pull herself together; taking her hand and squeezing it gently, he turned back towards their school friend, who was looking more disheartened by the moment, and cleared his throat. “Neville, this is important… did they break in anywhere else, or was it just Hermione’s division?”

Neville shook his head grimly, “They went straight to Hermione’s office, where everything’s usually locked up; the rest of the Medical Charms division is surprisingly untouched, which means that-”

“Which means they knew exactly what they were looking for…”

Both men turned to look surprisingly at Hermione, who had stayed mostly quiet after hearing the news; she was rubbing her eyes tiredly, but looked much more composed than before.

Harry frowned, turning back to Neville. That was exactly what he’d been thinking. “I’ll be there as soon as I can, although I expect Tonks has already sent a team over, is that correct?”

Neville nodded. “She arrived twenty minutes ago and is already working on the case herself, but she was bellowing about you being late again earlier, so I decided to check there, and tell Hermione the news…” he paused, looking suddenly very tired, “You do know what this means, don’t you? It’s our entire thesis, Hermione, and two years of work completely lost… we’ll have to start again from scratch.”

“No, we won’t,” Hermione snapped suddenly, trying to ignore the pulsing in her head; she grimaced a little and then sent a (hopefully) reassuring smile his way, “I do have my notes with me, and my memory is as intact as ever, Neville… we… it might take some major rework, but we can pull this off, the three of us, so…” she blinked rapidly, willing her sight to un-blurry, and wondering just how she was supposed to avoid stress when things like this kept happening to her, “so don’t worry about it, okay? Besides, who’s to say they won’t catch whoever it was that broke into the Institute? Harry’s team is the best, you know…”

Trying to feel as secure as her words proved to be a real challenge for Hermione, but she thought it was worth the effort seeing her friend’s face lit up with hope.

“Tell you what,” she said after a few moments, ignoring Harry’s protests as she added “let me get dressed, and Harry and I will be there as soon as possible.”

“Are you sure?” Neville asked, looking nervously from her to her husband and back, “it’s your day off, Hermione, and Harry told me you haven’t been feeling very well…”

Hermione felt her anger rising, and sent a scathing look at Harry, who visibly flinched. “He did, didn’t he? Don’t worry, Neville, I’m fine; I’ll be right over.”

“Are you sure?” Neville said, looking uncertain, “because if you-”

“I’m sure.”

Neville nodded once, thanked them, and vanished.

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose with two fingers, squeezing her eyes shut in an attempt to hold the angry tears within; Harry didn’t say anything, choosing to watch her instead.

“It’s not fair,” Hermione said finally, not looking at him, “you know I have to go.”

“Hermione, you can’t,” he answered promptly, his eyes pleading, “I saw your face just now, so don’t even try to pretend to be feeling well because I can see that you’re not. I’ll go to the Institute, and I’ll do whatever it takes to solve this because I know how important this research is to you, but I’m not letting you overwork yourself into an aneurism or something of the sort; I love you too much to see you get hurt… so please, I am asking you to go to St. Mungo’s with me.”

Hermione could feel the tears building behind her eyelids and fighting to escape; a part of her understood where Harry was coming from and loved him for it, but another part, the part that was Hermione, the individual, was reluctant to give in.

Still conflicting and angry, she ignored her husband’s proffered hand and, taking hold of the edge of the couch they’d been sitting on instead, she pulled herself to her feet… and swayed for a second as an unexpected wave of nausea hit her.

Harry was at her side in an instant, “Are you alright?”

Although Ron might say otherwise, Hermione rarely spoke without thinking; she always stopped to consider other people’s feelings, and although she might not always like their reasons, she would always try to understand them. At the moment, though, there were too many things happening around, and she was just so tired and confused that she didn’t realize she might be hurting her love with her words until it was too late.

Pushing away from his arms, she finally exploded, “Harry! Get off it already! I’m pregnant, not incapacitated! I’m sorry, but I’m getting kind of sick of you always asking me if I’m okay! I know you worry, but you’re carrying it too far!”

She regretted her words as soon as they left her mouth; raising her eyes to his, she watched with horror as Harry went white and then bright red. He was drawing deep breaths, staring at her, shocked, hurt and angry, and Hermione could feel dread sweeping into her in waves as she took a step forward… and he took a step back.

Anger was etched deeply onto his face. And hurt. After a moment, he spoke in an agonized, angry whisper, “Damn you,” and then stormed out of the room, ignoring Hermione’s desperate cries for him to wait.

***

It was over an hour before she mastered the courage to move from the couch and dress for the day; she never enjoyed fighting with Harry, and it always left her feeling bitter and cold. Fortunately, fights between the two of them were few and far between, and they never lasted long; what made this time so horrible, though, was that they’d parted angry, without a proper goodbye kiss or ‘I love you’.

On the summer after fifth year, during the first few months of the war, Hermione had fought repeatedly with her parents, who, aware of the happenings of the Department of Mysteries and the consequences of Voldemort’s return, were reluctant to let their daughter go back in September. Eventually, she’d gotten away with it, arguing that, being muggle-born, she was in danger anyway, and that it would be safer for her to be under the headmaster’s protection at Hogwarts; besides, she needed to be with Harry. They had allowed her to go back in the end, albeit grudgingly, and upon seeing Harry at the station, Caroline had made a vicious (and totally unfounded) comment about the young man and it being his fault her ‘little girl’ had gotten hurt; and although she hadn’t really meant it, for Hermione, who by that time was already head over heels for her best friend, it was unforgivable. She’d nearly boarded the train without saying a word to her mother, ignoring her desperate apologies, until something she said finally registered in her mind: ‘Never leave without saying goodbye, because it could very well be the last time we see each other’, and she’d almost fallen over herself in her hurry to get back to them.

Knowing the kind of life that she and, especially Harry, led, it was very likely that either of them could get killed any moment, and so she’d vowed never to part angry with him, or anyone she loved, for that matter; to this day, she had never let Harry leave the house without her letting him know how much she cared, without telling him, at least once, that she loved him very much. Which is why this was affecting her so badly.

She was woman enough to admit it had been wrong to lash out at him like that, and when she recalled her words she wanted to curse herself; and although she was very proud, she was willing to back down and apologize.

When she flooed Ron’s (after a few minutes of trying to find a ‘comfortable‘ position with her swollen belly on the way), her best friend was sitting on the floor, a few ways from the hearth, struggling with a nappy and a giggling Robin, who lay bare on his baby rug, staring up at his father with an amused look on his chubby face.

Finally managing to work the plastic straps firmly around Robin’s bottom, Ron mock-glared at the baby, “This is the fourth time I’ve had to change you today, young man, and it’s not even noon yet; what are they feeding you?”

Robin gurgled in response, waving his tiny fists in the air, at which Ron bent down and blew a raspberry on his belly, making him giggle.

Sniffing a little, Hermione attempted a weak smile and called his name, making him jump and turn to face her as he cradled the month-old boy in his arms. “Hermione! You scared me half to dea-what’s wrong?” he asked worriedly, noting her tear-streaked face.

“Ron, can you drive me to the Ministry?” she said in a little voice, a lone tear making its way down her face, “Harry left without me…”

Shifting the baby on his shoulder, he reached out with his free hand and wiped the tear away gently, a contrite look on his face. “Why would he do that?”

Hermione sniffed again, keeping her eyes down, “We had a fight…”

Ron nodded and rose, “Luna’s upstairs, so I’ll just leave Robin with her and drive over…” he paused, then smiled, “lean back and wait for me there, ‘Mione, that position can’t be very comfortable, now, can it?”

Flashing him a tiny smile, Hermione nodded and did as he said.

***

It didn’t take Ron long to get there-after all, they lived next to each other-but in the ten minutes following the conversation Hermione managed to scribble a note to Neville and one to her boss, requesting maternity leave a bit sooner than what had been accorded to in order to better look after herself and her baby.

Once in the car, Hermione explained to Ron everything that had happened from the moment Neville had floo’ed in, and the reasons that had led up to her outburst and Harry’s leaving; she told him of the continuous bickering between Harry and herself, and when she repeated what she’d yelled at him Ron nearly let go of the steering wheel in order to throttle her. Grimacing, he shook his head and didn’t look at her as he switched lanes.

“Hermione, he’s just worried about you…” he scolded her, “I know he can be a bit overprotective at times, but that’s just who he is. He doesn’t give a damn about his own safety but he can’t bear to see others hurt, especially you; he’s lost nearly everyone he’s ever loved, so I think he’s entitled to a little paranoia, don’t you?”

Hermione looked down, feeling even guiltier than before; fiddling with her purse in her lap, she said sheepishly, “I know… that’s why I intend to crawl into his office on my hands and knees, beg for his forgiveness and humbly ask him to escort me to St. Mungo’s, whereupon I shall retire back to the house and prostrate myself in our bed, not to leave it until I give birth to our child.”

Ron laughed and grinned, and Hermione felt a whole lot better; if Ron could forgive her for what she’d done, then everything was alright with the world. Well, almost. The most difficult part of all-apologizing to Harry-was yet to come, but she felt like she had to gain Ron’s forgiveness as well; it was that way with the three of them, where an offense to one meant an offense to all. “Thanks, Ron…”

The redhead laughed again, “Sweet Merlin! I’ve been waiting for this day ever since you burst into our compartment back in first year! I’ve finally managed to tell Hermione Granger, sorry, Potter, off!!!”

Hermione blushed and smiled sheepishly at him.

“Yeah, well,” she said a little awkwardly, “don’t go getting used to it, now…”

Smirking, Ron turned back to the road, and promptly started cursing at the horrible traffic; a few minutes later, thankfully, he managed to find a parking spot that was close to their destination and soon enough they were cramming together inside the old red telephone that was the visitor’s entrance to the Ministry of Magic, with Ron complaining heavily about Hermione taking up all the space.

“Shut up, Ron,” she grit out, dialing a number and stating her name and business, “it’s not my fault that I have a huge belly and can’t floo in right now.”

“Well, technically,” he pointed out as two silver badges reading Hermione Potter/Ronald Weasley, Conciliation Sponsor popped out of the phone, “it is your fault; but to be fair, Harry has his share of blame for this too.”

“Shut up, Ron,” the witch repeated, annoyed.

As they crossed the Atrium, past the fireplaces and the security check towards the elevators, Hermione began to fidget; she was very nervous about seeing Harry, even though it hadn’t been that long, and yet she was also very eager to make amends at the same time. But when they reached the Auror Headquarters in the second level, where Harry worked, she was in for a disappointment.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Potter,” said Selig Thoresen, a young Auror who worked under Harry’s surveillance, sounding apologetic, “but Harry hasn’t made an appearance here today and I don’t know where you could reach him.”

Hermione looked sadly at Harry’s cubicle walls; whereas most of his workmates had covered their walls with pictures of wanted wizards, diagrams and articles from the Daily Prophet, Harry’s own were bare except for a couple of pictures of her and Ron, and Sirius and Hagrid, and a Muggle Ultrasound that he’d insisted they take so that he’d be able to pin it up at work and show off; it’d been taken during the first months of her pregnancy and the baby was but a tiny white spot against a sea of grey, but Harry had circled it with a bright red marker and written “our baby, week 7” on top.

It made Hermione’s heart clench painfully in her chest.

“Thanks, Selig…” she mumbled sullenly, turning back around to leave. Ron hurried after her.

“Hermione, wait,” he pleaded as the heavy oak doors closed behind him.

But she didn’t hear him-was too busy trying to hold in the tears that had somehow leapt to her eyes, and would have kept going if she hadn’t suddenly been overcome with a particularly sharp pain in her belly. She gasped, bending over a little as she waited for the pain to wash over her.

Ron was immediately at her side, placing an arm around her and holding her hand with his other to steady her. “Are you alright?”

Hermione grunted, then straightened up, squeezing his hand for emphasis.

“I’m fine,” she said grimly, “let’s get out of here, I still need to find Harry.”

Ron nodded but kept his hold on her as they turned to head back to the lifts (Hermione, in her distress, had gone the wrong way, and instead of walking right to where the elevators were, had gone right, where the Wizengamot Administration Services were), but they hadn’t taken three steps before a voice froze them on the spot.

“Well, well, well, what have we here?”

The voice was cold and haughty, and though matured and deepened with age, it still held that distinct air of arrogance that had represented him for as long as they’d known him.

Ron turned first and Hermione soon after, and their faces broke into twin scowls as their eyes rested on a man they hadn’t seen in over four years; he hadn’t changed all that much in the years following graduation, although he had grown several inches (now towering over Hermione though still short next to Ron), and sported a healthy tan that went quite nicely with his-now-long, light hair, but his eyes were still the same chilly shade of grey, his face still long and pointy and aristocratic, his lips still curled in that familiar sneer.

“Malfoy.”

“Weasel. Granger.”

Draco Malfoy had gotten away easy after the final battle, pledging, like his father once had, to have been forced to work for the dark side; unlike his father, however, and much more cleverly (although cowardly, in Hermione’s opinion) than him, Draco had immediately turned the cards over in his favor, betraying his fellow Death Eaters when it had become obvious they were going to lose, but making it look like he’d been fighting against them all the while. And as there had been no consistent evidence of a willing involvement with the dark from his part, he’d managed to avoid the life-long sentence in Azkaban; Harry had since lost what little respect he’d had for the Wizarding world’s legal system.

Malfoy had sought refuge in France, where he’d been leading a low profile up until two weeks ago, when the papers had announced his return to Britain, married, to the general shock, to a rich French heiress.

Harry, of course, had been outraged, not only to learn of his return, but also to find out that the former Slytherin had taken back his father’s seat at the Wizengamot and, as a result, would be far too close to his liking. And he was standing right there, in expensive robes of royal blue, his arms crossed across his chest and a look of complete and utter contempt on his face.

“So,” he began in a drawl, and Hermione could feel Ron stiffen beside her, “the rumors are true then.”

“What rumors would that be?” Ron snapped and Hermione had to stifle a groan at the hostility in both his poise and voice; she despised Malfoy and thought he belonged in a sewer with the other rats, but the least thing she needed right now was for Ron to pick a fight with him. Especially knowing that she would have to be the one to break them a part.

Draco’s expression turned gleeful, his eyes glinting malignly as they swept over her obvious pregnancy, but Hermione stood her ground, chin up and her posture tall and proud; she was, after all, very proud of carrying Harry’s child.

“What’s with the cold greeting, Weasel?” he sneered, turning back to Ron, “Four years and not even a ‘hello’?”

“You have some nerve to show your face here after what you did!” Ron growled, his ears and face turning a dark red as he fisted his hands at his sides.

“Ron!” Hermione said warningly, placing a placating hand on his arm.

“What I did?” Malfoy said calmly, “I did nothing except but look after myself. I see nothing wrong with that. You, though,” he added, his expression turning gleeful, “you two have been busy, or so I’m told. Got yourself knocked up, Granger? Is that how you hooked The Boy-Who-Lived?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, tightening her hold on Ron’s arm.

“How original, Malfoy; I hope you didn’t strain yourself too much trying to come up with that.”

“Where’s Potty, anyway? Too busy to spare some time for his wife?” he grinned, “It’s just as well, I suppose. You two look a bit chummy, by the way-oh, I know! The kid’s not his, is it? Way to go, Granger, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“What are you talking about?” Ron hissed, looking murderous.

“I actually feel bad, for Potty-head; not satisfied with one best friend? Had to go running after the other as well?”

“Come on, Ron,” she forced the red-head, who was shaking with suppressed anger, to turn around and began leading him down the hall, determined not to let Malfoy’s words affect her.

Malfoy, however, was just as determined to rile her up (as it was kind of obvious he’d succeeded with Ron) and began following after then.

“You seem pretty calm,” he called, “considering you just lost a huge, two-year research on Medical Charms.”

Hermione froze on her tracks, feeling faint; all the blood rushed from her face, she turned around very slowly to face him, her hands shaking violently, “What did you just say?”

Malfoy just smirked, delighted to have finally have struck a nerve.

A million thought raced through Hermione’s head in the two seconds following Draco’s announcement, but they all ended in the same way. It can’t be.

But then, how could he have found out, if he had had nothing to do with the stealing of the research? The Ministry would have kept it hushed up, at least until a concrete announcement from the investigating Aurors. And she doubted that they would have already found something; she would have been notified.

“Malfoy, did you have anything to do with this?” she managed to say, in a strangled voice.

Malfoy just smiled smugly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Hermione was seized with a blind fury; whipping out her wand, she pointed it right between the blond’s eyes, her entire body shaking.

“You bloody bastard!!!” she shouted, “It was you, wasn’t it?! Admit it!!!”

“Do not point that thing at me, Granger,” Malfoy warned, his expression stony.

Her gaze blurred with tears, Hermione ignored Ron’s words in her ears to calm down; she could not, would not calm down-she was tired and worried and angry, and Malfoy was the last straw in a long, frustrating day.

She wanted to hurt him, wanted to let go and make him feel everything she’d felt today, all the anger and frustration, all translated in pain; but before she could say or do anything else she keeled over with pain, her wand clattering noisily to the ground as she clutched desperately at her belly.

Ron was yelling something but she couldn’t hear him, her world turning over as something ripped inside of her and something warm and sticky ran down her leg.

“Ron,” she gasped, black spots dancing at the edge of her vision, “Ron, something’s wrong…”

To be continued…

A/N: phew! Finally. I’m so sorry it’s taken me this long, but this chapter turned out to be tougher than I thought; and longer. Actually, it was so long that I decided to split it in two parts-and the second isn’t written yet ***looks apologetic***. I’m so sorry, but it was extremely difficult, because there was some information that I didn’t know how to deal with. I’m also sorry that it’ll probably be a while before I update again, because I start school on Tuesday again, and I don’t know when I’ll find the time to write again, seeing as my new schedule is completely horrible. I’ll try to do my best, and I hope you don’t hate me too much while I do. Love you loads.

8. September 19th

A/N: I am SO sorry for taking so long to update, and even more sorry for finishing the last chapter with such a horrible cliff-hanger. I can’t apologize enough. I never abandoned this story during the last year. I’ve always been working on it, but this chapter turned out to be a real challenge, mainly because of two reasons: one, I had to write a lot of emotional things, which was really, really hard, and second, I’m a perfectionist. I never like what I write, so it took me thrice the normal time to finally be satisfied with the chapter. I seriously hope my disappearance hasn’t lost me too many readers, and I also hope you enjoyed this second part as much as I enjoyed writing. Thanks to my lovely beta, Aida, for being such a great friend and for all your support! Telmie, I’ve been wondering where you disappeared to, but thanks for your help too!

Also, I opened a livejournal account for myself, and if you want to hear about updates and news and stuff, well, feel free to add me. The name is favo_de_mel. Thanks!

Nine Months

Month 7-September

Part 2

When Hermione came to, the first sensation to register in her mind was that she was thirsty. She couldn’t feel anything from her waist down either, but she guessed that was because of-Malfoy!

Gasping as she was suddenly hit with a flurry of memories, her first instinct was to bring her hands to her tummy, feeling next to no comfort at finding her baby there still. But how safe?

She could guess, to a degree, what had happened-she recalled feeling a searing pain in her abdomen, remembered her sight exploding into a zillion stars and remembered, with agonizing accuracy, seeing the blood pooling at her feet once her vision had cleared. And for once in her life, Hermione wanted desperately to be wrong.

I almost got my baby killed…

The realization hit her like a ton of bricks, breaking her heart into a hundred little pieces and, eyes burning with the usual sting that heralded tears, she buried her face in her pillow, wishing to muffle the sounds of her sorrow.

Oh, Harry… where are you?

***

It was with a heavy heart that Harry arrived back home, thinking that, surely, there was no way this day could get any worse; he’d been searching for clues at the crime scene all morning and had come up empty-handed. Whoever the culprit was, he was very good at being sneaky, managing to disguise any magical traces that might facilitate the recognition of his magical imprint and leaving behind a set of very difficult-yet-clever Befuddlement Charms that had Harry Apparating all over Britain (he’d even landed himself in a cabaret in what he guessed was down-town Paris once) instead.

It hadn’t taken him long after his fight with Hermione to realize he’d been at least a bit to blame for it, and that he shouldn’t have allowed himself to become so easily upset by what she had said in a moment of anger; after all, Hermione had always been a tad more patient with his own tantrums as a teenager than he had been today with his wife.

He also realized that he had been a bit-okay, a lot pushy lately, and that he must have been slowly but steadily grating on her nerves with his over protectiveness until today when, finally combined with the crisis at work, she had reached her breaking point. Even Hermione had one (although Ron had always managed to challenge her calm logic and transform her into a bellicose monster with surprising quickness and ease), and it had been wrong of him to simply stalk out without listening to her first. Especially as he knew how unpredictable life (especially his) was.

However, the fact that Hermione wouldn’t take her ‘illness’ seriously really ticked him off, and if she weren’t so goddamn stubborn about going to her appointments they wouldn’t be in this situation. After all, wasn’t she the one who always insisted he check before rushing head first into danger? It annoyed him that she wouldn’t take her own advice, especially when her own life-and their baby’s-was at stake.

It was these conflicting emotions that had kept him from rushing back to her and begging for her forgiveness; instead, he’d chosen to give chase after the thieves, knowing just how important it was for Hermione. Not that he’d had much success (or any, for that matter), but he was still determined to get to the bottom of it.

It hadn’t been easy; upon his arrival at the Institute, Tonks had jumped down his throat for being late and very nearly prohibited him to join the mission until he’d had to practically beg her, alleging that it was really important to Hermione and Ginny and, since she had a special spot for her ‘little sisters’ (and, let’s face it, for Harry as well), she had finally acquiesced. Not that she could have stopped him, anyway.

He was immediately on it, and he’d used every trick he’d ever learned in Auror training to try and find them, fruitlessly until, finally defeated, he had made his way home, ready to compromise.

But he hadn’t even made it to the stairs when a jet of periwinkle blue light hit him squarely on the chest, sending him flying back several feet, although he could tell there was no real strength or harm intended behind the attack; still, his only thought as he hit the wall and slid down to the floor was, Great, Hermione’s still angry… just what I needed to top my day…

Groaning, he slowly got to his feet, rubbing the back of his head gingerly where he’d struck the wall and chanced a look at his attacker, only to find a visibly upset Ginevra Weasley in lieu of his wife standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“Ginny!,” he began, annoyed-if Hermione had run for reinforcement he was going to throttle her!, “What the hell was that fo-Ginny, what’s wrong?”

He’d finally got a clear view of his friend; Ginny’s face was pale and tear-streaked, and the skin around her eyes was puffy and red, but she still looked angry enough to hex him. Again.

“The next time you feel like running out on your pregnant wife you can kiss your bloody arse goodbye, Harry Potter, because I’m going to feed you to one of Hagrid’s pet Blast-Ended Skrewts myself!”

Harry’s heart sank to his feet and then leaped right back up to his throat; striding over to his friend, he grasped her roughly by the upper arms and spoke right into her face with growing alarm, “Ginny, what happened to Hermione?”

The redhead choked a sob as her face crumbled, and then she threw her arms around his neck, “Oh, Harry! She’s at St. Mungo’s!”

Harry Apparated so fast he nearly splinched himself.

***

Harry’s heart was thumping wildly as he ran into the waiting room, his mind working fast with the different scenarios of what could have happened to his wife; there hadn’t been any time to ask Ginny the details, but hearing “Hermione” and “St. Mungo’s” in the same sentence had been enough.

Whatever it was, it was his fault for losing his temper, and he wanted to curse himself for casting that Unplottable charm on himself.

The sight that greeted him was gut-wrenching; Molly and Arthur Weasley were huddled together on a couch by the corner and Mrs Weasley was dabbing periodically at her face with a hanky. Luna, holding Robin, looked somber as she spoke with Neville, who was shifting uncomfortably on his feet, and Ron was slumped on the couch, his hair tousled and his hands on his face.

“Ron!,” he called and saw his friend’s pale face flood with relief as he snapped into attention.

“Harry!,” he said, his face breaking into a weak smile as he got to his feet and met him half-way in a hug, “Thank Merlin, I was so worried…”

“Ron, please,” Harry begged, pulling back, “what happened to Hermione, is she alright? What happened?”

“Harry, I-“

“Mr Potter.”

He whirled around to see Healer Abercrombie standing behind him, a clipboard under his arm and a grimace on his face. Harry didn’t think he looked too somber, though, and so he tried to compose himself a little before he spoke.

“Healer Abercrombie,” he finally managed, trying to get his hands to stop shaking and failing miserably, “is Hermione alright? Is the baby-“

He trailed off, feeling faint. Ron placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Your wife and baby are both stable as of now, Mr Potter,” Harry felt a wave of relief sweep into his body and he let out a shuddering breath, “but it was a really close call.”

“What happened to them?” Harry said hoarsely, fighting the bile rising up his throat.

“Hermione has suffered what is most commonly known as ‘abruptio placentae’, or the premature separation of the placenta from the site of uterine implantation; the most common symptom of abruptio placentae is hemorrhage after the 20th week of gestation and shock, and it can be extremely dangerous for both mother and child because it causes the vasoconstriction of placenta blood flow, which means it could stop the oxygen and nourishment supply to the fetus and could therefore kill it. As for the mother, there are many things that could have happened to her; fortunately for both Mr Weasley here, along with the Ministry crew reacted promptly and brought her straight here, where we were able to stop the bleeding and control the damage before it had more… severe consequences.”

Harry glanced helplessly from the man to his best friend, shooting the latter a confused, yet thankful look, and then turned back to the Healer, ignoring Ron’s sharp intake of breath as he asked, “What caused this? I mean, why now?”

“Well, it is extremely difficult to determine the cause of abruptio placentae, as there are many factors that could influence the functioning of the reproductive system, but in Hermione’s particular case it is pretty obvious to us that it was a consequence of a perilous and sudden rise in her blood pressure. Approximately 10% of placenta abruptio cases severe enough to cause fetal death is associated with hypertension.,” the Healer’s expression became reproachful as he looked at the father-to-be, “I don’t know what happened since the last time I saw your wife, four weeks ago, Mr Potter, but whatever it was I can see my recommendations were clearly taken for granted, as her condition has already evolved into Eclampsia, a more severe case of Preeclampsia, and in an alarmingly short time.”

Harry went pale and staggered slightly against Ron, who grabbed him firmly by the arm to steady him. He felt as though someone had kicked him in the groin - the air had left his lungs and his head had begun to throb. Still, nothing could compare to the terrible pain in his chest where his heart was located; the idea of losing Hermione was unbearable. And even though he didn’t think Healer Abercrombie was being entirely fair, he couldn’t help but feeling a little angry at both himself and Hermione for not being more careful.

“Is she… are they going to be okay?”

The older man’s expression softened considerably at his distress, and he gave Harry a rueful smile.

“Yes, Mr Potter, I believe your wife will have a full recovery. Forgive me for being so blunt, but I merely wished you to understand the seriousness of the situation and that, had it not been for magic and its reliability, I daresay the consequences would have been much worse.”

Harry nodded, feeling properly chastised and then, with a tiny voice, said, “Can I see her?”

Healer Abercrombie gave him an apologetic look, “I’m afraid I can’t let more than two people in at a time, and her parents are inside with her right now, so if you’ll wait a few more minutes, I’ll-“

Harry felt a tiny spark of anger flare inside of him; he wanted to see her, and he wanted to see her now, damn it! “But I’m her bloody husband!”

“Harry, wait.”

“Ron-“

“I think there’s something you should know.”

***

“Where were you, mate? We’ve been owling you all afternoon…”

Guilt stabbed at his conscience like a thousand needles jabbing a pincushion; he wished he could say he’d simply wanted no interruption until he could bring Hermione’s research back as a peace offering, (in which case he should have just stuck to flowers and extra Pumpkin Pie), but if he was honest with himself, he had to admit that part of him had been so angry that he’d intentionally made himself unavailable to her.

“I cast an Unplottable charm on myself, so any attempt to reach me would just bounce right off me…”, he said quietly, looking at his feet.

“You what?!”, the red-head hissed, glaring at him, “Harry! You can’t just disappear on your pregnant wife, especially in her condition , you know that!”

“I know, Ron. Please, I feel like rubbish enough as it is…”

“Well, you should! What would have happened if she had gone into labor, would you have missed out on your kid’s birth because of some stupid love spat? And what if she’d lost the baby today, would she have woken up feeling all alone and confused because you were being an arse? Harry!”

“I know, Ron!” Harry didn’t have the strength to argue-he knew Ron was right. Rubbing his forehead tiredly, he didn’t look up as he asked the red-head, “Look, just tell me what happened, alright?”

Ron sagged beside him on the chair, sulking. “It’s just that - she told me what happened between the two of you this morning and frankly, I think you’re both being idiots. I mean, I don’t condone what she said, mate, and I told her so, but honestly, you should have just let it go.”

“Ron.”

“Right. Well, anyway, she floo’ed me at home and asked me to take her to the Ministry-“

“She did wh-“

“-to apologize to you,” he glared at Harry for his interruption before continuing, “and to ask you to go to the Healer’s with her. You weren’t at Headquarters when we got there though, and she became really upset.”

Harry felt like the lowest scum on Earth. “And that’s what triggered it…”

“Yeah, well, not exactly… we kind of… ran into Malfoy after that.“

Harry turned sharply at that. “Malfoy?”

Ron became even more somber, if possible. “Yes, and you can guess what happened after that, can’t you?”

Harry groaned inwardly; an upset, pregnant Hermione, Ron-Irascible-Weasley and Malfoy (he didn’t need a reason; his very person was the epitome of evil). Now that was a deadly mixture.

“He started taunting us, you know, trying to rile us up, and well, it wasn’t working. At least with Hermione it wasn’t, but I wanted to hex his testicles right off,” he scowled, “So she was just pulling me along, you know, trying to avoid a fight, and then the wanker goes off and tells her she shouldn’t be so calm, considering she’d just lost an entire research just last night.”

Harry’s heart dropped to his feet. He knew now, what exactly had caused Hermione’s condition, and his hatred for Draco Malfoy rose to new levels, something which he hadn’t thought was even possible. He had nearly lost the most important person in his life because of him, and he wasn’t going to forget that, ever.

“So what I wanted to tell you,” Ron continued hesitantly, seeing his friend’s reaction to this piece of news, “is that we think it was Malfoy who broke into Hermione’s office last night.”

As an Auror, Harry didn’t allow himself to worry about Malfoy yet-Hermione came first-but he put this information in the back of his head for him to ponder later.

As a husband and future father, however, he was dying with rightful worry and, in his desperation to find someone to blame, he went and blamed the wrong person.

“She should have just stayed home…” he said bitterly, running a hand feverishly through his hair., “this would never had happened if she weren’t so stubborn-”

“Don’t go blaming all this on her, Harry,” Ron barked suddenly, making a surprised Harry jump in his seat, “as it is, we both know stress doesn’t only come from working too hard!”

Harry gaped at his friend, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Ron, what…”

“Nobody likes being fussed over and Hermione least of all. You know how independent she is better than anyone, and you’re too overprotective-no, don’t look at me like that, you know it’s true. I still remember that time at Grimmauld Place when you tried to push me and Hermione away to ‘keep us safe’ and she literally had to beat sense back into that thick skull of yours. She got you really good, remember?”

Harry did remember. It had been the summer after fifth year, a few weeks before his birthday, and he’d just been retrieved from Little Whinging and brought – against his will – to Sirius’ house.

Grimmauld Place held too many memories of his Godfather–memories that were still too recent and that Harry had been neither willing, nor ready to face; so when he’d been forcibly transported there, mere weeks after Sirius’ passing, he’d been none too happy.

He’d holed himself up in Sirius’ old room, shying away from his guardians (or, as he liked to call them, jail keepers) and coming out only for meals (when his stomach would remind him he hadn’t eaten for two days straight, that is to say) and very short trips to the bathroom.

He’d done a lot of thinking in this bedroom, about his parents, Sirius and his friends, but mostly he’d been brooding over that wretched prophecy, what it meant, and how his mere existence had been affecting the lives of the people around him since he had been born. It had made him think, not for the first time, that he’d been the cause of the pain and death of so many innocents that had had the rotten luck of knowing him.

Flooded by a pool of guilt, he’d come to the horrible realization that Ron and Hermione were the last people he had left in his life. And that if they continued to be his friends, they were most likely to end up the same way his parents and Sirius had. Dead.

They almost had, too, at the Department of Mysteries. The horrible image of Hermione falling limply to Dolohov’s curse had left an imprint in his brain that liked to replay itself in his dreams (with many different, more terrifying variables) until this day. And he couldn’t risk having those nightmares coming true.

So, as much as he needed and enjoyed their friendship, and as much as he was going to miss them, he’d come up with the brilliant (by his standards anyway) plan of pushing them away. He was sure that, eventually, and by being a complete arse towards them, neither Ron nor Hermione would want anything to do with him and so, in losing them, the possibilities of his friends becoming living targets were next to none. It made perfect sense to him.

And of course he forgot about one tiny little detail–he could never, ever, outsmart Hermione Granger.

Ron and Hermione arrived at Grimmauld Place on the eve of his 16th birthday, and with them the entire Weasley clan (minus Percy, of course), Lupin and a few other members of the Order, whom he’d hardly seen during his short stay.

Harry had been made aware several days before, by an ever subtle Tonks, (who hadn’t even realized what she’d let slip) that they were planning a surprise party for him, and he’d thought it would be the perfect way to start his plan. So when he’d first walked into the kitchen to the cheerful shouts of “SURPRISE”, a most delicious-looking birthday cake and Filibuster Fireworks making havoc around the room, he’d simply stared flatly at them for a split second-and walked right back out.

Hermione and Ron had stopped him in the hallway a moment later, demanding an explanation, and he’d lashed out at them in such a way that he was still ashamed of himself. He’d told them, in no uncertain terms, that it was not a day to celebrate, seeing as Sirius had just died weeks before, and that they should be ashamed of themselves. He told them he wanted to be alone, and that he wanted everybody out within the hour. He’d gone and locked himself in his bedroom after that, feeling a kind of bitter satisfaction at remembering the stunned expression in Ron’s face and the hurt in Hermione’s. But as he got ready for bed, he couldn’t help but feel a little sad for this new loss of his; at least this time it was by his choice.

He had barely finished unbuttoning his shirt when the door was literally blown off its hinges and an irate Hermione had strode in, hair flying wildly around her and her wand shaking violently in her hand.

Since that stupid fight during fourth year, Ron had been reluctant to confront him, but Hermione had never been scared of giving Harry a piece of her mind-had always been quite opinionated, really-and so that was exactly what she’d done.

They had a horrible row that night.

She’d told him he had no right to be so rude to the people who had tried their darnedest to make his birthday an enjoyable one.

He’d spat that he’d gone his entire life without any stupid parties and that he could do without one that year too.

She’d yelled back that he was being an idiot and a prat, and that he had better apologize and get his “bloody arse” downstairs or else she’d curse him so bad he’d be “as mangled as a Manticore and as appealing as a Bubotuber pus covered Clabbert”.

He’d roared that she was being a “nosy little banshee” and he definitely didn’t need someone like her in his life.

Hermione had smacked him.

To this day Harry could not yet fathom how someone as small and delicate as Hermione could hit so hard-but then again he’d learned when he’d met her that she was much more than she let on, so it really shouldn’t have been that surprising if she was physically stronger than she appeared as well. Besides, if Malfoy’s expression when she’d slapped him was any indication, he should have known it’d be painful. He’d just been used to Hermione always seeing his side of things, and being on the receiving end of her anger was completely new-and unnerving-to him.

At least it had achieved its goal-to shock him into speechlessness. He’d had to sit and listen to Hermione rant on and on about how inconsiderate and stupid he was to turn away five years of friendship because of his “saving people thing”-and yes, she’d figured out why he was acting like that the minute she’d seen Hedwig return to her for the third time without a reply.

She’d told him she was completely capable of taking care of herself without him fussing over her all the time, (“Honestly, Harry, I’m older than you, for one, and I did not get top marks at the O.W.L’s because you helped, you know!”), and if he thought she and Ron were simply going to run off in fear and abandon him because of an “ugly, good-for-nothing Kaiser wannabe with a superiority complex” he had an other thing coming.

And then she’d burst into tears, and proceeded to weep all over his shirt as she clung desperately to his neck.

Twice as shocked as before (his ‘perfect plan’ having been busted so suddenly) Harry had barely managed to wrap his arms around her and pat her awkwardly on the back. He’d listened as she begged him brokenly not to push her away because she couldn’t possibly live without him.

“You’re so focused on keeping me from dying, Harry,” she’d told him, later, once she’d managed to calm down, “that you can’t see that, by doing this, you’re killing me yourself…”

It was the first time Harry had broken down and cried before anyone.

He’d cried and mourned, for Sirius and his parents and himself, and all throughout she’d cried with him and held him, and been there for him in a way no one else had before in his life.

They had become terribly close after that, and their relationship had grown steadily from there, up until a few months later when Harry shockingly realized the hippogriffs in his stomach only happened when Hermione was around, and he became highly aware of every word, touch and look she gave him. And even Harry, slow that he was, began to understand the feelings that had been building up for the past year regarding his best friend, in a way that was both scary and exciting.

“-she feels like you’re suffocating her…”

Harry snapped himself out of memory lane and turned to look at his best friend, who had seemingly kept talking, though Harry had no recollection whatsoever of what he’d said.

“What?”

“I know you’re worried about her, Harry, but there’s no need to overdo it.”

You’re so focused on keeping me from dying, Harry, that you can’t see that, by doing this, you’re killing me yourself…

Harry felt his heart tighten in his chest.

Bloody fucking hindsight…, he thought bitterly.

He just knew he was going to mess this up; he’d sworn to himself and to the entire world at his and Hermione’s wedding day that he’d always protect her. And when they’d first gotten together he’d sworn to Ron, Hermione’s big brother by default, that he’d never hurt her.

Ron had snorted and said it was stupid as Harry was a man and therefore bound to screw up sometime, but Harry had been confident.

When you love someone you never think you can hurt them-at least not intentionally, and then it doesn’t really matter as you never meant to hurt them in the first place.

Well, Harry was just learning that it did in fact matter, and it was a harsh wake-up call to his ego that he simply couldn’t protect her forever. Not even from himself. But Hermione was no porcelain doll to be kept-she was her own person and he would do well to remember that.

He knew now that he had been going the wrong way about it, and it had taken him almost losing his wife and baby to realize it. He was swamped by such a powerful wave of guilt that, for a second, it became hard to breathe.

“I should have been there.,” he managed in a choked voice after a second, causing Ron to shoot him a bewildered look.

“What?”

“I wanted her to stay home so that… so that she would be safe... but I wasn’t there. When she needed me, I wasn’t there... I… I’ve been so intent in protecting her that I never realized what I was doing to her myself instead…”

“You didn’t know, mate…”

“But I should have,” Harry said, and the anguish infused his voice “what kind of husband does that make me?”

“The kind that makes mistakes,” Ron said firmly, yet comfortingly, “Harry, if there is one thing that I’ve learned, is that no matter how much you love them, sometimes love isn’t enough. You’ve got to work hard to keep it floating, and even harder to keep it pure. It isn’t easy, mate, but it’s worth it just to see the smiles on their faces when you tell them you love them. And Harry, do you love Hermione?”

“More than life itself,” he whispered. The red-head smiled and clapped him once on the back.

“Well, then, mate, there’s your answer.”

Harry gave him a small but grateful smile; he wasn’t alright-but he was going to be. As soon as he saw to his wife.

“When did you become the voice of reason?,” he joked half-heartedly, in a feeble attempt to lighten up the mood.

Ron snorted. “Since I had to try and figure out Luna.”

“Have you made any progress?,” Harry asked, amused, and Ron chuckled.

“Not really, but I love her anyway,” he sighed and leaned back against his chair. “You know,” he said thoughtfully after a while, “for some strange reason, falling in love with Loony Lovegood is the sanest thing I’ve ever done in my life. And since then, everything has made more sense to me.”

Harry sighed and looked down at his wedding ring. Yeah… falling in love…

A soft cry broke the air and he looked up to see Luna rocking Robin, who’d just woken up from a nap on his mother’s shoulder. Luna was cooing gently to her baby, trying to soothe his hiccuping cries.

Harry’s own eyes misted over.

To think that he had run the risk of never meeting his baby.

It was a horrible thought, but before he could dwell further on it the door to the waiting room opened and in came Healer Abercrombie, followed by Hermione’s parents, Ted looking mutinous next to his wife.

Everybody in the room stood up, and Harry winced at the look on Mr. Granger’s face as he spotted him on the other side of the room. Ted made to head for him but Caroline, who looked extremely upset, placed a placating hand on his elbow.

Ron squeezed Harry’s shoulder and pushed him gently towards the door before walking up to speak to the Grangers himself. Harry shot a grateful look at his back and made a beeline for the Healer, who was holding the door open for him.

“How is she really?,” he asked quietly as they started together down the hall.

“She’s doing as well as expected,” the man explained grimly, “although I am a bit worried about her reaction once she wakes up. I expect she will blame herself for this… accident. You must be very understanding and gentle with her, as her state of mind has direct implications on the child’s health, and her own. The baby is fine. Fetal distress appears early in the condition in approximately 50% of cases, but young baby Potter is very strong and responds well to stimuli, so I believe there is no need to induce labor, or go for a cesarean section. The only known cure for Preeclampsia is delivery, and since there is no immediate danger to the fetus that requires the delivery to be early, Mrs. Potter will carry the pregnancy to term.”

An uneasy silence followed. A second after, they were standing next to Hermione’s room.

Harry turned to face the Healer, and his throat was very dry when he spoke.

“You said… before… you said that Hermione’s condition had complicated even further… you said it was-“

“Eclampsia, yes.”

“Right, Eclampsia. I’m not sure if I… What is… What happened to her?”

The Healer sighed. “Eclampsia may sometimes follow Preeclampsia, if that condition cannot be brought under control, and is the unfortunate occurrence of seizures.”

Harry swayed a little on his feet and had to lean against the wall for support. “She was… seizing?”

Healer Abercrombie nodded gravely. “I’m afraid so. Right after she lost consciousness. She was put into stasis as soon as Aurors from your department arrived to the scene, though, which was very lucky indeed as it was probably what saved her life. Magic, in these cases, is most definitely an asset, and we were able to save your family because of it. They were able to transport Mrs Potter here in scant minutes and give her the help that she required. I can assure you she will be perfectly alright. We will keep her in for a couple of days for observation, and then she’ll be allowed to go home. I will put my foot down on this, however: she is not to over exert herself. Her maternity leave starts tomorrow. She is to drink her potions and to relax. I would also recommend you to take leave from work, Mr Potter, because I have the feeling your wife is going to need you tremendously.”

Harry gave him a sad smile. “You don’t have to ask. I intended to do that anyway.” Besides, I’m pretty sure Tonks will take care of that for me.

What he had done, placing an unauthorized Unplotting Charm on himself, was cause enough for suspension.

The old man was nodding approvingly.

“A wise decision, my friend,” he said, clapping the younger wizard on the shoulder, “I am sure things will work out in the end, just as long as you are there for each other. Now, go and see your wife.”

Harry didn’t need telling twice. Turning the door knob with shaking hands he entered the dimly lit room-and stopped dead on his tracks at the sight that greeted him.

The room was wide and comfortable, or as comfortable as a hospital room could be in any situation. The bed was in the centre and Hermione was lying on it on her side, propped up against the pillows with the sheets pooling up around her hips.

She had her arms curled protectively around her belly and her legs tucked in as far as they could go, and when Harry walked closer he noted with dismay the anguished look on her pale face, which told him hers was not a peaceful sleep. There were two small spheres of light, each of a different color, floating over his wife’s body, monitoring both her and the baby, and Harry saw the one level with her head would flicker every once in a while.

Suddenly feeling very tired, Harry let himself drop onto a chair next to the bed, leaning forward to cross his arms on the mattress and burry his face in them as he grasped one of her hands in his own.

After a minute, only the sound of his sobbing could be heard in the room.

***

When Hermione awoke again she could tell it was nearly morning. The light that filtered through the window tinged the opposite wall a pale orange, portent of the battle between the rising sun and an approaching storm.

She blinked owlishly, still half-asleep, and tried to remember where she was.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart…”

Hermione jerked, startled, and finally noticed the disheveled form of her husband, who was slumped in a chair next to the bed. His hair was sticking up in every direction, as if he’d been running his hands repeatedly through the ebony strands. His glasses were askew on his nose and there were dark rings under his eyes, which were swollen and red.

Hermione regarded Harry silently as he gave her a tiny smile and stood up shakily, stepping closer to the bed.

He flicked his wrist and a long stem red rose materialized in his hand. He offered it to her with a gentle kiss on the forehead and she accepted it wordlessly, gazing down at the rose with quickly filling eyes.

“Hermione?,” Harry questioned, bending slightly over her, and was taken by surprise when she threw both arms around his neck, so that he as momentarily off balance.

Hermione shuddered violently against him and didn’t even try to muffle the single sob that issued from her lips. “Oh, Harry…”

She tightened her hold on her husband, who was stroking her back soothingly up and down.

“There, love, it’s okay…,” he murmured softly, his cheek pressed against her temple, his fingers threading gently through her hair. “I’m here, I’m sorry…”

“No, Harry, I’m sorry,” she said brokenly, leaning back to look him in the eye. “I nearly killed our baby-oh, Harry, I’m going to be a terrible mother!”

“Hey, don’t say that,” Harry told her, holding her face gently with both hands. “Don’t ever say that. The baby is fine. It wasn’t your fault…”

“But it was,” she insisted, anguish filling her voice. “I should have listened to you-should have stopped working, should have-“

“You were right.”

“-stayed home but I… wait, what?”

Harry sighed and turned so that he was sitting against the headboard instead. “Scoot over, let’s talk.”

He swung his legs up to rest on top of the mattress and they fumbled together for a moment, trying to find a comfortable position with Hermione’s belly in the way.

Finally, Harry settled back against the pillows, his arm around her shoulders and her head tucked in under his chin. She was clinging to him tightly, so he ran his other hand over her arm in order to get her to relax.

“I won’t apologize for wanting to protect you, Hermione. I care about you and my instinct is always going to be to keep anything from happening to you. But I don’t want to hurt you, and I have been going the wrong way about it.,*” he chuckled and placed a little kiss at the crown of her head. “Fortunately, I had Ron knock some sense into me. You’re not my child, Hermione, and you don’t need me to protect you all the time… you’re my partner, my equal, my better half… and I should treat you as such.,” he sighed. “I’m sorry about what I did, but I hope you understand that I did it because I love you and I worry about you… and… you’re going to become a wonderful mum, love, and I’ll be right there to watch as you do.”

Hermione had been quiet while he spoke, sniffling only occasionally, but managed to compose herself enough to answer.

“Thank you, Harry,” she said softly, leaning back to look in his eyes, “I’m glad you understand, I really am,” her voice broke a little on the last word, and she took a deep breath, “but I need to apologize too. I wasn’t being fair to you and I was way out of line. I’m sorry, darling, I’m sorry for being so stubborn and so reckless. The last thing I want is for our baby to get hurt, and I promise I’ll be more careful from now on.”

A single tear ran down her cheek and she tightened her arm around his waist.

Harry sighed in relief, and cast a tender smile at her.

“It’s alright, love. We both learned a harsh lesson today, the first of many, but as long as we’re together I know we can do it.,” he leaned his forehead against hers. “You and I have always made a great team.”

Hermione smiled, but it didn’t last.

“What?,” came Harry’s reaction.

“It’s just… I was so scared, Harry… it hurt so much and I was so worried about the baby and you weren’t there, and I know it’s silly but I thought I was dying and my only thought was that I wouldn’t get the chance to tell you that I love you.,” her eyes were filling again and she wiped impatiently at them. “I hate fighting with you, but I hate parting angry with you even more. I’m s-sorry, Harry, I’m s-so sorry…”

Harry just shushed her and held her as her eyes finally overflowed and her chest heaved with sobs. He knew it had to have been hard for her to wake up alone in that hospital bed and feel she was the reason her child’s life had been endangered.

He knew because he felt the exact same way. So he just held her while she cried, and assured her without words that he loved her and that it wasn’t her fault.

Soon her sobs subsided into hiccups and then into light sniffling, and when finally her breathing evened, he spoke again. “You know, as horrible as this experience has been, I’m actually glad his happened.”

Hermione looked up at him questioningly, eyes puffy and bright. “What do you mean?”

“Because it showed us that love and marriage aren’t as pure and perfect as we thought they were.,” he pushed a stray lock of hair off her face and smiled. “We’ve been married for two wonderful years, Hermione, but we’ve been fooling ourselves if we thought it was always going to be this easy, and I think I finally understand what Ron was saying earlier. Love was never meant to be easy, sweetheart, that’s why the chances that we take have the risk of becoming sour. We learn from them, but what’s the point of having a heart if you’re not willing to take the chance of being loved*? We’ve still got a long way to go and a lot of mistakes to make together, but we can only try and do our best and hope it’ll be enough.”

Hermione finally retuned his smile. “When did you become so philosophical?”

Harry laughed. “I’m afraid I can’t take credit for it all. You should have heard Ron-you would’ve been impressed.”

Hermione sighed, and snuggled closer to him as her eyes began to droop again. Beside her, she heard Harry yawn and do the same.

She smiled sleepily.

Falling in love had been scary as hell, but she would never trade loving and marrying Harry for anything in the world. And as scary as she was of the future, she knew it was a chance she was happily willing to take.

To be continued…

*Part of this was borrowed from Mark MacKinnon’s Ranma fanfiction, The Shadow Chronicles. It’s a wonderful read, if you’re interested!

*This is not mine either. It’s from a Digimon fanfiction I read a long time ago, but sadly, I cannot remember the name. I just thought it was perfect, and portrayed exactly what I wanted to write.

9. October

Nine Months

A/N: PLEASE READ! So, er… *coughs* hi, everyone. I know, I know, it’s been a *long* time. I know I must have lost a few readers, and the ones that are still around must be wondering if I’m dead, or something… well, as you can see, I’m obviously not dead. Just… delayed. For one, I’m a slow writer, as most of you know, and for the other, well… these past six months have been some of the hardest in years. Real life has been kicking me hard, and although I’m way better now (otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to update), I’ve been seeing a shrink for 4 months now. So I apologize—even more so because, well, I’m going to take long with the next chapter too. As you know, it’s the last one, the birth one, and *that* is going to be tough because, well, I’ve never been pregnant before, hehe. So there’s a lot of research for me to do. ‘Sides, I’m going to the States for the entire summer, and my internet connection will be limited, so… Anyway. A few warnings about this chapter—it’s one of my favorites so far, but it’s COMPLETELY different from the ones before, and you’ll soon know why. There’s another A/N at the end where I explain more about it, because I don’t want to spoil to you before you read it, so please read it! And so, without further ado, I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! Love you!

Month 8-October

“Harry? You awake?”

Muffled babbling.

“Harry?”

Grunt.

“What?”

Groan.

“Harry!”

“No.”

No what?”

“No, I’m not awake…”

“Yes, you are!”

“No, I’m not…”

“Yet you’re talking to me.”

Snort.

“Because you woke me.”

“Well… you’re awake now.”

Whimper.

“Hermione? The last time you woke me up at this hour I ended up attacked by a Succubus and had to give up the pumpkin pie and my clothing to convince her to let me go, er… ‘unharmed’. You’re not making me go back there, are you?”

“No! I just… I just wanted to talk…”

“At two in the morning?”

Guilt.

“I’m sorry, Harry, I just… go back to sleep…”

Yawn.

“No, it’s fine, I’m up now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s okay… so, what’s bothering you?”

“Can’t sleep… baby’s pressing against my bladder and I’ve been to the bathroom three times already… the toilet and I are old acquaintances by now.”

Chuckle.

“And my back’s killing me. I would have thought carrying a bunch of books around would get me trained up for the added weight of a baby, but it only seems to have made it worse.”

Smile.

“It’s only a few more weeks, love…”

“I know, I know… oh, Harry! I know I’ve been complaining a lot, but that’s just the lack of sleep talking. I am so happy… I can’t wait to hold him in my arms, you know?”

“Yeah, I feel the same way… have I… told you lately how much I love you for doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“This. The lack of sleep. The back pain, and swollen ankles. Only to bear my baby. It just… it’s… thank you…”

“Oh, Harry…”

Sniff.

“Yeah, well… just so you know, I’d fight off Succubi for you every night.”

Throaty laugh.

“Thank you, darling, but you don’t have to worry about that anymore. I’m well past the weird cravings.”

Relieved sigh.

“Thank Merlin for that.”

Giggling.

Sigh.

Pause.

“Okay, sit up.”

“What?”

“Sit up for a second, and off with the pillows. I’m getting behind you.”

Excited squeal.

“Are you giving me a massage?”

Laughter.

“Yeah, I am. It was part of the marriage contract, right? In sickness and in health, and in unlimited massages.”

Bed creaking.

“Should I turn on the lights?”

“Nah, it’s okay. There’s enough moonlight filtering through the window.”

Sigh.

“I wonder how Remus is doing…”

“I’m sure he’s fine, Harry… he’s been doing this for years, hasn’t he? Besides, Tonks is with him.”

“But still, it must be really frustrating for them. Tilt your chin forward, love…”

“I know it must be. Ohhh, do that again!”

Chuckle.

“There?”

“A little lower…”

Moan.

“Oh, right there… yes…”

Purring.

“Merlin, you’re tense…”

“Yeah, well…you don’t do this often enough.”

Accusatory tone.

Chuckle.

“Sorry. I’ll try to remedy that as soon as possible. After all, the book did say massages were crucial for our communication.”

“Mmmm… so you have been reading those books I gave you.”

“Well, of course I have! What did you think I was doing with them, lighting a bonfire? I want to be as informed as possible. Honestly!”

“Okay, okay, sorry… so, what else have you learned?”

“Weeell… I learned that the baby’s eyes are blue, and they will likely change after she’s born. Her lungs are already developed, so if she were to come earlier, she’d survive, no problem. Oh, and her magic is in sync with yours. Every spell you cast is stronger, and so is your inner magical defense, though you are still vulnerable to curses and hexes, and unforgivables will of course be fatal.”

“Wow, I’m impressed. You can read. If only I could get you to read Hogwarts: A History…”

“Never.”

“Hmph. Well, you’re slacking off your duties, darling. Any chance you can get my feet now?”

“Of course. Anything for you, sweetheart.”

Rustling of sheets.

“Anything for me? Oh, that feels good…”

Contented sigh.

“Of course, my love. You only deserve the best.”

“Harry. I already sleep in your bed willingly, so why are you still charming me?”

Playful tone.

“Because I’m earning myself points.”

Amusement.

“Points? For what?”

“For when you’re in the delivery room screaming bloody murder at me and decide you never want me to touch you again.”

Breathless laughter.

“Oh, Harry! I would never not want you to touch me!”

“Yeah, well… you remember that, then.”

“Right.”

Sigh.

Pause.

Bed squeaking. Lips brushing against skin.

“You hear, that, sweetheart? Mummy cannot swear me off sex now. She promised.”

Giggling.

“What are you doing? That tickles.”

“I’m talking to my baby, what does it look like?”

“Harry? You’re talking to his butt.”

“Oh. I knew that.”

Eye roll.

“So much for reading. Come up here, you.”

“Mmmm…”

“Mmm…”

Smacking of lips.

“That was nice…”

Dreamy sigh.

“Yes, it was…”

“Here, lean back against me. Let me hold you a second.”

“Mmm…”

Sigh.

“So…”

“So…”

“Our anniversary is in four days…”

Sigh.

“I know…”

“Two years…

“Yeah…”

Pause.

“Now, that’s what I call Gryffindor bravery.”

Smack.

“Ow! That hurt!”

“Dolt.”

“But you love me anyway.”

“I think your ego is swelling faster than my stomach.”

“Hey! I resent that!”

“Yeah, yeah, stop pouting, you big baby.”

“Well you hit me!”

Snort.

“You’re such a drama queen, Harry. That barely even hurt.”

“It’s not your arm that’s all bruised and sore, though.”

Giggling.

“Honestly, Harry, you’re worse than Ron. Maybe I should have married him instead.”

Gasp.

“Why, you little witch!”

Squeal.

Laughter.

“Harry! Stop!”

“You want me to stop tickling you? Is that it?”

“Yes! Stop, Harry, stop!”

Laughter.

Gasping for breath.

Momentary pause.

“Take it back.”

“No!”

More squealing.

“Harry!”

“Take it back!”

“Ok! Ok! I’m sorry!”

Pause.

“What’s that?”

Snort.

“I take back what I said about Ron.”

“Good. And?”

Innocent look.

“And what?”

“Hermione!”

Whining.

Laughter.

“Ok, ok. And I’m deliriously happy to be your wife, and I’d never trade you for anything in the world.”

A gentle look.

“Neither would I…”

A smile.

Sigh.

“So, what do you want to do on Saturday, then?”

Cheshire grin.

“Well, I know who I want to do at any rate.”

Spluttering.

“Hermione!”

Smirk.

“What? Honestly, Harry, we’ve been married two years, and shagging for three. Plus, we’re alone. I don’t know why you’re so surprised.”

Chuckle.

“On the contrary, Mrs. Potter. You never cease to surprise me.”

Smile.

“Well, I’m glad then. Oh!”

“What?”

“The baby kicked. He’s been doing that a lot. There! He kicked again. Goodness, he’s strong. Here, feel.”

“Mmm… we’ve got one hell of a Quidditch player here.”

Eye roll.

“You keep saying that. He might just have inherited his mother’s strength. I can pull one hell of a punch and I don’t need Quidditch for that.”

Glare.

“She will be a great seeker, just like her daddy.”

“Uh huh. Sure. Right. If I let him anywhere near a broomstick.”

Muttering.

“What’s that, honey?”

“Nothing, dear.”

“I don’t know why you keep insisting on a girl. Clearly, it’s a boy.”

“Oh, clearly?”

“Crystal.”

“And how do you know this?”

Smirk.

“Mother’s intuition, of course.”

Snort.

“So tell me something.”

“Mmm...?”

“What are you going to do when ‘father’s intuition’ beats out your boy, and my little Seeker-ette is born?”

Scoff.

“Right, Harry...trust me, it’s a boy. I can feel it.”

“You sound just like Trelawney.”

“Heaven forbid!”

“Fine then, but when my girl comes out of there, I get massages for a month!”

“Deal!”

Chuckling.

“What?”

“It’s going to be nice getting massages for a month...I never get any as it is.”

Smack.

“Ow!”

“You’re such a git!”

“But you love me for it!”

Grunt.

Grin.

“So...when my boy is born, what should we do about his room?”

“One word: Quidditch.”

“Honestly, Harry, you’re so predictable.”

“Thanks, darling, I love you too.”

Giggle.

“Anyway, if it’s a girl, which by the way it won’t be, we could get those little glow stars—you know, the ones you stick to the ceiling and it looks like the night sky and they’re really very pretty. I used to have those in my room.”

Amusement.

“But why would you do that when you can just bewitch the ceiling like they did in the Great Hall?”

Silence.

Squeal.

“Oh, my! You’re absolutely right! I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before. We have so many possibilities with magic! We must start right away. I mean, we have the crib and the clothes, but the walls are still that dull white color—”

“Sweetheart…”

Gasp.

“We have to get him some more stuffed toys! The magic kind! Luna told me last week there are some adorable hippogriffs that actually fly circles around you—and dragons! They roar and spit multi-coloured sparks—”

“Honey…”

“—I’ll look up stores, and arrange them by location, price range, and merchandise. We can make a game plan...color-coded, of course. And a list! With a color-code matching that of the plan. Then we can go to stores, according to the list of things we need and—”

“Hermione—”

“—sort everything out as we go—”

“Hermione!”

Startled look.

“What?”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

Sigh.

“Never mind. Listen...we can’t really do too much with the room yet. We’re not positive on the sex yet.”

“But mother’s intuition—”

“Doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a girl for sure.”

Sigh.

“Fine then. But tomorrow morning we’re starting on that list!”

“But...”

“We’ll do the room in gender-neutral colors! Like yellow... oh! Pastel green!”

Sigh.

“What?”

“I’ve unleashed a monster.”

Smack.

“Ow! You keep doing that!”

Glare.

“Well, you keep being a git.”

“But you...”

“Yeah, yeah...I love you for it. Blah, blah, blah.”

Laughter.

Silence.

“You know what I was thinking about?”

“Color coding?”

Giggle.

“No. About my old house. I was just remembering my room...the way it used to be before I grew up and realized that pink wasn’t my favorite color, and instead it reminded me of mindless bimbos that wouldn’t stop giggling.”

Throat being cleared.

“Uh, honey, you just giggled.”

Rustling.

“Hey!”

Teasing.

“A-ha! I caught you’re hand before you hit me!”

Glare.

“Seriously...it was the same way until I was about 8. Soft pinks and pastels, and pictures of Winnie The Pooh all over the place. I suspect my mum thought that if she started me early, looking at his pictures everywhere, I’d grow up to be a big fan. Little did she know, it annoyed me to no end.”

Chuckling.

“Aw...I can just picture little Hermione, wearing a pink dress and pig-tails, playing with her little stuffed teddy-bear.”

Glare.

“What’s with you tonight?”

Laughter.

“I’m just happy, is all.”

Silence.

“My first room was dark and dingy.”

Rustling.

“Harry…”

“They let me stay in the guest room after first year because I threatened to use magic on them, but all I really remember before that is sleeping in the cupboard under the stairs. I don’t remember where I slept when I was a baby, and I never asked, but Dudley used to tell me there lived a monster, and I was so scared of going in… then one day when I was four Dudley locked me in there on purpose and started jumping on the steps to scare me—I was so frightened. So I started screaming and banging on the door for him to let me out but he wouldn’t… and my aunt and uncle rushed down the stairs thinking something had happened to Dudley, but when they saw it was just me uncle Vernon started yelling at me to shut up, and he said that I would stay there until I learned to behave. I cried myself to sleep that night sitting up against the door. And then the next day uncle Vernon dragged this tiny bed in there and told me I was to sleep there from that day on.”

“Harry…”

“That’s my real first memory.”

“Oh, Harry...I hate it that your horrible relatives made you live in that cupboard. I just wish I could get back at them somehow!”

“Hermione, it’s ok…”

Anger.

“No, it’s not ok! Those people are monsters, Harry. No one deserves to be treated like that, and least of all you! You are a wonderful human being, Harry James, and everyone should treat you as such!”

Silence.

“You know what would make me feel better?”

“What?”

“If we could brightly decorate my beautiful, baby girl’s room with a Quidditch theme!”

Smack.

“Ow!”

Whine.

“Hermione!”

“How dare you use your horrible childhood as a joke, Harry!”

“Sheesh! I was just trying to make light of an awkward situation, no need to get your knickers in a twist!”

Glare.

“That’s it... I’m not putting out.”

Gasp.

“You can’t! You promised!”

“Well, you’re being a git!”

“Do I really need to repeat myself?”

Frustrated.

“With Circe as my witness, Harry James Potter, if you say that bloody phrase one more time, I will take your broomstick and shove it down the food disposal!

Horror.

“I really hope you’re talking about my Firebolt!”

“Argh!”

Smack.

“Ow! Hmph. If you’re going to hit me please do it somewhere else ‘cause that place is getting sore.”

Laughter.

“Oh, shush.”

A moment of quiet.

“Are you afraid?”

“Of what?”

“This… becoming a mum. We’ve always talked about me and my insecurities as a father, but what about you? Aren’t you scared?”

A gentle look.

“Of course I’m scared, darling. A child is a huge responsibility, but…”

A caress.

“I’m with you, Harry… of all the times I’ve had a reason to be scared, there’s never been a moment when I wasn’t completely sure it was going to be alright in the end because I was with you. And as long as we’re together, there’s nothing we can’t do. So why should it be any different now?”

Chuckle.

“I suppose you’re right. Thank you, Hermione.”

A kiss.

“Do you realize what we’ve done here, Harry?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s just... we created life, Harry… isn’t that a wonderful thought?”

Smirk.

“It’s bloody brilliant, yes.”

“Harry!

“What? It is!”

Eye roll.

“No, seriously, I think it’s brilliant. The, uh, final manifestation of our love. A piece of you, a piece of me…”

Grin.

“Yeah. And it’s a rather nice piece of you, if you ask me.”

Squeeze.

Squeak.

“Hermione!”

“Yes?”

Laughter.

“Goodness, you’re randy tonight. I must say, it’s a nice change from all the smacking earlier.”

“Oh, there can still be smacking involved...”

Loud guffaw.

“Hermione! Is this the real reason you woke me?”

“Damn, you found me out.”

Chuckle.

“Well, control yourself, woman. We can’t be doing that just right now.”

Whine.

“Oh, stop that. We can’t. I want to, but we can’t.”

“Well, there are a whole lot of other things we can do instead, like—”

“Hermione!”

“What? I was going to say, like talk about baby names. I don’t know what you were talking about.”

Snort.

“Yeah, right.”

Pause.

“So baby names, huh?”

“Well, we can’t just keep calling him ‘Baby’, can we?”

“It’s a she.”

“Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

“Hmph.”

“So… I was wondering…”

“Yes?”

“Do you… want to name the baby after your parents?”

Surprise.

“What?”

“Yeah, I was thinking, you know, that maybe it would be a nice way to honor their memory, and—what’s that look for?”

“What look? There was no look.”

“Harry…”

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea, is all.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry, Harry, I didn’t mean to upset you, I just thought…”

“What? Oh, no, no, sweetheart, you didn’t upset me. It’s just…as much as I love you for thinking about them, I want our baby to have their own name. It’s bad enough that he has to live with my last name weighing him down…”

Squeeze.

“Hey, being a Potter is my favorite thing to be…”

Smile.

A kiss.

“I hope she feels the same way…”

“Of course he will. Besides, he’ll love you too much to care. I bet you’re going to spoil him rotten.”

“I have a right. Anyway, back to baby names.”

“Right. We have to think very carefully about this—it’s only what he’s going to be called his entire life!”

“Yeah, well, assuming it is a he anyway. Let’s agree not to give him a wizarding name, alright? We don’t want to scar our child for life. I mean, with names like Cornelius, Severus and Argus, it’s no wonder they turned out like they did!”

Laughter.

“Right. Though I know some good wizards with names that are just as bad—I mean, just imagine naming him after our best friend.”

Chuckle.

“C’mon, ‘Ronald’ isn’t such a bad name.”

“I was talking about ‘Bilius’ though.”

“Goodness, no!!!”

Giggling.

“Poor Ron. Though I really shouldn’t talk.”

“What’s wrong with ‘Hermione’? I rather think it’s a beautiful name.”

Smile.

“You would. I mean, yeah, it’s unique and I like it, but it’s really annoying when people keep getting it wrong.”

Snigger.

“I hear you, Her-my-o-ninny!”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me.”

“Do you prefer ‘Hermy’, perhaps?”

Scoff.

“Oh, please.”

Laughter.

“Oh, come on, admit it. That’s why you fell in love with me. You were tired of blokes getting your name wrong all the time!”

Snort.

“Yeah, right. That’s as preposterous as saying we were meant to be together because we share the same initials. Honestly!”

Silence.

“You’re right! We do have the same initials!”

A dry look.

“Well spotted, Potter.”

“Let’s give her the same initials, too!”

Gape.

“You’re not serious!”

A grin.

“You are?!”

“Harry Junior!”

A loud guffaw.

“Ha—rry!”

“Harrison, er… Jack! Heath Jensen? Horace Jeremiah!”

Giggle.

“Are you trying to scar our child for life?”

“Hugh Jordan, Heston John, Hermes Joshua…”

“I don’t think so, darling.”

“Oh, I know! A Shakespearean name! Hamlet Julius!”

Shriek.

“Harry James Potter! You will not condemn our son to social scorn!”

“Oh, come on!”

Mock pout.

“No.”

“Spoilsport.”

Eyeroll.

“Honestly. It might have actually been a good idea, if ‘H’ names for boys weren’t all so horrid.”

“Hey!”

“Except for ‘Harry’, of course.”

“As if girl ‘H’ names were so hot.”

Snort.

“Of course they are. ‘Helen’ is a beautiful name. So are ‘Haley’, and ‘Heather’, and ‘Hazel’—”

“And ‘Hestia’, ‘Hilda’, ‘Helga’, ‘Harriet’, ‘Henrietta’—”

“Ew! Definitely not!”

“See?”

Glare.

“Well, it just proves my point, then! No ‘HJ’ names for the baby.”

More pouting.

“What’s wrong with ‘J’ names? Loads of ‘J’ names are perfectly fine.”

Sigh.

“They are!”

“Okay let’s compromise.”

“How?”

“How about… a name between the H and the J? It’s close, so it’s still meaningful, right?”

Pause.

“Hermione… you’re brilliant, did you know that?”

Smug grin.

“Of course.”

Chuckle.

“So what letter is that?”

Laughter.

“Harry!”

“Sorry, sorry. Hmm… I don’t know many ‘I’ names that I like, though…”

A whisper.

“How about… ‘Ian’, for a boy?”

Pause.

“Ian…”

And in a stronger voice.

“Ian. I like it…”

Smile.

“I rather like it, as well. Very much, indeed…”

A hug.

“And for a girl?”

“Well… there’s ‘Ianthe’… ‘Ilana’… ‘Inara’… but…”

Grimace.

“No… they don’t sound right to me…”

Sigh.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“I… don’t much like Irene, either… but… I’m rather fond of ‘Isabel’…”

A smile.

“Yes… I think it’s lovely, darling…”

A kiss.

A contented sigh.

“‘Isabel Potter’. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

Giggle.

“It does. But don’t go getting your hopes up, Harry. It’s going to be ‘Ian Potter’ and you know it!”

Snort.

“Yes, honey, whatever you say.”

“Can you imagine what it’ll be like when he or she goes off to Hogwarts? And starts dating…gets a life of her own?”

A choking sound.

“Gahh! Shush! I don’t want to hear about my little girl… dating.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is a bad thing. Blokes have only one thing in their minds and that’s sex. “

“Harry, you’re a man.”

“Yes, well, you know, that’s all I think about, too.”

Laughter.

“And you say I’m randy.”

“You are. Not that it bothers me, of course. As long as I benefit form it. Anyway, back to the… dating. She’s not doing that until she’s 40!”

Amusement

“And you were giving *my* dad a hard time.”

“Yeah, well, Ted didn’t know me well enough. He didn’t know just how perfect I was for you, but look at us now—tight as can be.”

“Harry. Dad nearly had you skinned for disappearing on me last month, remember?”

“Yeah, well… ahem. Right. Well, anyway.”

Laughter.

“You’re hopeless, Harry.”

A kiss.

“You’re going to be such a great father…”

A smile.

“You think so?”

“I know so. And I bet you’re going to spoil him rotten.”

“I have a right. And it’s a she.”

Eyeroll.

“Why are you so sure it’s a girl?”

“Why are you so sure it’s a boy?”

“Woman instinct, Harry.”

Snort.

“What? It’s true!”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Wanna bet on it?”

“Sure. Just don’t chicken out when I actually win. Sooo, what do I get if I win?”

A Cheshire grin.

Whispering.

“Ohhh, Naughty Hermione. I love Naughty Hermione.”

A raised eyebrow.

“I would hope you’d love the other Hermiones as well.”

“Oh, I do. But they can be a bit too bossy at times. Then again, so can Naughty Hermione—OW!”

“Hmph.You are SO not getting any now.”

Snort.

“You know what? I don’t need any sex promises from you. I can get that anyway. Besides, It’ll be enough just to tell you I was right and you were wrong.”

Laughter.

“Yeah, right! You said it, Harry, all you think about is sex.”

“Yeah, well, there are other ways.”

“Oh really. Enlighten me.”

“Sure, if you want to.”

Pause.

Moan.

“Ow!”

“Harry!”

“I thought you were going to stop hitting me!”

“Well, you haven’t stopped being a git. Honestly—Harry, what are you doing?”

“I’m touching my daughter.”

“Oh.”

Pause.

A gentle voice.

“You really think it’s a girl?”

A smile.

“Yeah…”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

“Oh.”

Pause.

“What do you think she’ll look like?”

“Well… I hope she has your eyes.”

“I hope she has your smile.”

Smile.

“My smile? What’s so special about my smile?”

“You tell me! I’ve been wondering for years! Wench.”

Snort.

“Look who’s talking, Mr. I-can-get-away-with-anything-by-grinning-and-melting-Miss-goody-two-shoes-into-a-pile-of-goo.”

Grin.

“I’m good, aren’t I?”

“Yes… you are.”

“I hope she looks like you.”

“Why?”

“Because if she’s even half as beautiful as her mom then I’ll be the luckiest bloke alive.”

Laughter.

“How flattering.”

“What, you don’t believe me?”

“I’m not beautiful.”

“You are.”

“I look like a beached whale.”

“You’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”

Sniff.

“You forgot the entire universe…”

Grin.

“Now, don’t get too cocky, dear.”

A kiss.

Fumbling.

A breathless moan.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m touching you.”

“Well, that much is obvious.”

A sultry tone.

“You want me to stop?”

“Don’t you dare. It feels way too good for you to stop…”

Moan.

Giggling.

“Now who’s getting cocky?”

Chortle.

“Hermione!”

to be continued…

A/N # 2: PLEASE READ!!! SERIOUSLY! I know this chapter is very different from the other ones, and I admit I’m a bit nervous about your opinion. There’s absolutely no description here, and lots of dialogue, which I’d never done before, but I really like how it turned out. It was inspired half by a story by the wonderful Danielerin, who has sadly stopped writing—she’s awesome, in case you haven’t read her stuff. The ‘sounds’ that can be found between the dialogues were more or less inspired by a great Slam Dunk Fanfiction, “The girl that time loved”. The idea is that, since they’re sitting in the dark, you can’t really see what’s going on—and if you could somehow get into their bedroom, all you would be able to do is hear. Of course, there’s some things that you wouldn’t really hear (like smiles, and pouts, and such) but I think they were necessary for the story to flow. Also, I know the Draco thing was left hanging, and I apologize, especially because I have to admit it won’t be resolved in this fanfiction. I’m sorry, but this is mostly a romance, and I don’t want to turn it into a action packed story, at least not while Hermione is so close to giving birth, hehe. But don’t you worry, because I’m delighted to announce there is a sequel in the works, that will deal with that and so much more! It may take a while to come out, but I hope you will stick with me to find out what happens! I’ve also been working with some new stories, which I think you guys will find interesting. Please check my livejournal if you have questions, comments or if you just want to get to know me better—I love making new friends. My username is favo_de_mel, and feel free to add me if you like. I’d like to thank my wonderful beta and friend, Aida, for all her awesome help—she did more than you could think. Love you all!