Disclaimer- I don't own Harry Potter! Anyway…I'm not really worth suing as I've only got a Starbucks card worth $15…and this really cool RHPS shirt but I guess I shouldn't have told you I have that much…
Author's Note: Here it is, the third chapter! You get to see more of the Grangers in this chapter (and for some reason, I feel that means more questions which I'd be happy to reply to in your reviews…just as I've been doing so far) So, read on and enjoy, Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! It motivates me to keep posting.
Nine More Months To Go
Chapter Three
"…I can't believe this!" Hermione whimpered as she paced back and forth around the living room of the 'modest' house in Godric's Hollow Harry had inherited from his parents upon turning seventeen, nearly eight years ago. After restoring and refurnishing the time-worn place Harry had proclaimed it the perfect place for them after they got married despite Hermione's protests about it being too ample for just two people. This wouldn't be an issue soon enough…
"Hermione-" Ginny started to say as she felt she had taken in enough of Hermione's psychotic and for the most part neurotic ramblings and threats for one afternoon. However, before she could complete her statement Hermione silenced her with a hand.
"No, no, stop right there! I've got to think, and I can't think with you blabbing on about nothing!" Hermione pointed out, well near hysterics.
"…Do you have to make everything so dramatic? Honestly, you're overreacting," Said Ginny through a mid yawn.
"Overre- Overreacting?! My husband probably thinks I'm even more a blithering lunatic then when he first met me, once the big-mouthed flaming tart known as my sister gets a hold of anybody in my family my Father will not only have a severe heart attack upon hearing the news that I am not only married but also I'm actually having sex with Harry-"
"Oh yes, call the press and the authorities- Hermione's shagging Harry-Flippin'-Potter!" Ginny snorted snidely, in her bout of mock alarm, "They'll certainly lock you up among the serial killers and rapist and throw away the key for that one," Ginny could no longer contain her raucous giggles as Hermione fumed before her. "I'm sure you can always plea stark raving mad in court- you surely won't have any trouble convincing the judge with the way you're behaving,"
"Not to mention my father will probably go at any means to slaughter, slice, or shish-ka-bob us and then bring me back to life just so he can make me spend the rest of my years working as a skivvy under his roof where he will make me out to be as big a slut as Grace for all eternity, but no, it doesn't stop there, you also seem sadistically keen to get me sacked for skipping out on so much work!" Hermione accused breathlessly, looking uncharacteristically pale.
"…Again with the overreacting. You should be glad that-that-what did you call her?"
"A big-mouthed flaming tart," Hermione replied huffily as she continued to attempt to burn a skid mark in the carpet from her speed pacing.
"Yes, that, she'll be the one breaking the news, not you. Also, what do you mean I'm trying to get you sacked? This is only your second day off in years! Plus, I doubt your father could shish-ka-bob you and plan to live for eternity," Ginny responded logically, not even batting an eye. "Honestly, you make your father out to be this huge, sinister prat. He's like an overgrown…poodle, who just growls and sputters and puts on a show when a certain somebody crosses his path,"
"…Why can't you just leave me be?! Are you just staying here to torture me?" Hermione huffed out before she steeled in a child-like pout.
"You know what I want," Ginny put plainly, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
"I said I'm not doing it!" Hermione shouted firmly, returning to her annoyingly obstinate streak before taking to the flight of stairs, a reluctant Ginny hot on her trail. Ginny stalked down the corridors, not bothering to run or startle the many portraits of their merry days at Hogwarts and Harry's parents, due to the fact that the pictures wouldn't hesitate to gossip to Harry if they had seen something peculiar…
Hermione didn't look back as she dashed up the stairs easily, only pausing to open one of the many bedroom doors and swiftly shut it behind her. Ginny tried rattling the door knob, but after about a moment Ginny heard Hermione mumble a spell of some sort from the other side, causing her not to be able to do as much as touch the door without receiving an unpleasant shock to her system.
"It's the only way," Ginny pointed out, waving a shopping bag in front of the shut door.
"I won't do it, and you can't make me," came Hermione's muffled voice through the door.
"How much do you want to bet I can?" Ginny muttered deviously to herself.
"I'll scream." Hermione threatened as if her screaming could do any harm when the closest neighbors were over a mile away and to top it off, still at work, as it was only four P.M.
"…You make it sound as if I'm trying to make you murder somebody Herm! It's just a simple test that will make things a bit…clearer for us," Ginny tried to reason with her. Then it struck her, she would have to resort to coaxing… "You like tests, don't you? Think of it this way, the test will either prove how very wrong you were so we can have something to laugh about years from now…" Ginny alleviated Hermione with such ease the door slowly but surely began to creak open. Hermione peered out of the crack with great caution as if expecting an attack.
"Really?" She whispered doubtingly, slowly thrusting the door open a bit more.
"-Or it can confirm your worst nightmare and you could end up being right about all that doomsday drivel-"
The door quickly slammed shut again in Ginny's face, yet behind it she could make out distinct swearing mixed with a few dry sobs.
"Dammit, Hermione, why are-you-being-so-damn-difficult-and-emotional?!" Ginny growled out through clenched teeth, driving her balled up fist against the door with each word. "Where's this so-called Gryffindor bravery I keep hearing about?" Ginny growled fiercely, clearly her wisely masked fiery temper was beginning to show it's true colors.
"Well, that damn sorting hat should've thrown me in Ravenclaw with my fellow book-worms and cowards like it first intended to do!" Hermione spat in an equally livid state, "…-Hic-…I want…-hic- I want Harry…" Oh great, she had developed a case of hiccups through her hysterics.
"Well so do I, as I need somebody who's not on the brink of a nervous spasm to converse with…"
Ginny sighed exasperatedly as she glared at the door, as if she would suddenly gain x-ray vision like one of those super-heroes featured in muggle comic books and be able to see Hermione scowling right back at her behind it.
"I'm leaving now," She announced bitterly, caring not to carry on this ridiculous staring match behind closed doors any longer, "Let's just hope that you're just being stupid because I won't be able to be around you for nine months knowing it's the excess hormones making you act like a bloody-"
"I don't care what you do!"
A few moments later Hermione detected a reoccurring noise through the door as if someone was whacking or pounding something extremely hard on the other end of the door followed by a series of distressed groans.
"…Ginny…" Hermione started curiously, "What's that noise?"
"It's just me banging my head against the wall out of an acute case of frustration," Ginny replied nonchalantly. "Please, go back to sulking while I attempt to put one of use out of our misery,"
"…You sure? The sound seems much denser than a normal head…Don't you hear it?"
"I can't hear anything at this point,"
"Ginny," Hermione slipped out of the bedroom and peered down at her rusty-haired companion who was, true to her word, indeed repeatedly banging her head against the wall out of frustration.
"-Stop it," Hermione commanded sternly, restraining Ginny's head from crashing into the wall by her hair as Ginny looked up at her smugly.
"Well, it's nice to see you do care about me-"
"-You'll make a dent in the wall if you keep doing that. I can't have that to add to my list of issues now, can I?" Hermione continued in mock concern.
"Real sensitive," Ginny mumbled with her voice positively drenched in sarcasm.
"That's me for sure," responded Hermione in a bland tone.
"Now that you've stop acting like a baby,"
"Please don't mention that term right now," Hermione sighed exasperatedly, placing a hand atop of her forehead as if it ached.
"Get used to it baby," Ginny teased in a gallant tone, tossing Hermione a smirk.
"Stop it," Hermione snapped once more, cutting Ginny an icy glare.
"I'm just trying to fill the pregnant silence," Ginny did her best to make it appear as an innocent choice of words, though Hermione saw that Ginny was clearly getting her share of laughs teasing and prodding her.
"Ginny,"
"Oh, look at that, a sextant shaped picture frame…"
"Now you're just being ridiculous," Hermione warned through tightly clenched teeth.
"Now, why would you think I was being re-dic-culous?" Ginny inquired in a sing-song voice, brushing her fingers delicately over the picture of the golden trio during their glory days (the later term of seventh year) on the Hogwarts grounds, near the edge of the lake. While the photographed versions of Ron and Harry continued cackling and tackling each other into the lake, Picture-Hermione gave Ginny stern glares while silently reprimanding her…much like the real Hermione was doing now.
"That's enough!" Hermione scolded a crimson Ginny. She looked as if she were trying extremely hard not to let something out, though a lewd smirk was still visible on her freckled face.
"…Cock…amamie…I'll quit this cockamamie this instant," Ginny said in a most sincere voice, ignoring the urge to burst with laughter at the childish use of innuendo she was displaying. Luckily (for her) Hermione chose to ignore the last one.
"Do you want me to take the test or not?" Hermione sighed reluctantly as Ginny simply let out a shrill cry of glee.
"This is going to be so much fun! How far along do you think you are so I can plan the baby shower-? Do you think it'll be a boy -or a girl, ooh yes, a girl! What about names -ooh goody, I'm going to be a godmother!" she exclaimed in a giddy fashion as Hermione did her best to ignore her and sift through the bulging shopping bag for the muggle pregnancy test Ginny had insisted they purchase immediately. Of course there was a wizard's way, but Ginny, who had previously experimented in that particular department, had deemed it a 'perturbing and…sticky process that had to deal with sticking wands places they sure as hell didn't belong-just trust me, Hermione!'.
Hermione had warned Ginny explicitly to at least try to be inconspicuous when she brought the items up to the check out lane as she recognized the clerk as the deadbeat son of a common acquaintance of her father's. Ginny succeeded, to some extent at least, as the clerk, Eric had been to preoccupied with Ginny's poor attempt to make incessant chatter over the 'many' differences of certain types of products (The subtle differences of plain ribbed and 'Ribbed for Her Pleasure' while Hermione hissed things such as "Ginny, would you shut the hell up? He gets the point!") Besides, Eric was probably too sidetracked thinking they were off to some orgy or what-not because of the other 'camouflage' items Ginny picked up.
"Ginny what were you thinking?" Hermione inquired as she pulled out the contents of the magazine separately, taking time to grimace at each one: A ridiculously large economy pack of generic condoms, three cans of whip cream, a training whip meant for dogs, a box of chocolate covered cherries, two raunchy 'adult' magazines, cheap morning after pills, finally the pregnancy test, and free Kids' Popular After School Hangouts brochure, and quite randomly a novel titled Photography for Dummies.
"Hey, he didn't say anything, did he?" Ginny asked smugly as she jerked the Toothless Joe's Easy as 1, 2, 4 Pregnancy Test out of Hermione's reach and opened up the package.
"Well…no…but he kept on flicking his tongue between his first two fingers at us-" Hermione started to remind her, shuddering at the not so distant memory.
"Big deal. It's just a way of saying 'hello'." Ginny responded indifferently as she struggled with the directions of the kit.
"How would you know?" Hermione asked unsurely.
"Because, every Friday night when I meet Ron and Neville at the local pub-they're practically falling off the chairs then so it's easier to get free drinks-Neville does that thing to me about fifty or so times…"
"…Gin…Somehow, I'm not reassured…"
"Whatever. Here, time for you to go take the test," Ginny said steering Hermione in the direction of the lavatory, jutting the back in her hands.
"Well," Hermione said after a moment of staring at the box placed in her hand wordlessly," What do I do with it?" Hermione questioned, clearly puzzled.
"You have to…you know" Ginny put on her best 'I'm-explaining-something-ludicrously-simple-a-five-year-old voice,"…Go make…piddly diddly." Ginny explained slowly.
"Piddly Diddly?" Hermione looked up in distaste and utter confusion, "What the hell is that?"
"…Sit on the toilet and think about that really hard…" Ginny said mockingly. "It'll come to you,"
"Oh? Oh…Oh no way. That's not sanitary at all! What is this, a drug test or a pregnancy test?"
"What did you expect?" Ginny appeared slightly amused at Hermione's reaction. Ginny wasn't used to seeing Hermione confused on occasion. Surely, she was expected to know muggle mechanics better than Ginny, being muggleborn and all.
"Something that-that-well…I didn't know what to expect actually…"
"Exactly! Now-get-in-there!" Ginny urged yet again.
"I said no! I'm not going in there to mess around with my urine as if this were some sort of tea party just because some crooked hick named Toothless Joe says its okay!" Hermione protested firmly.
"It's just a little drop…don't be such a baby!"
"It says the kit includes a cup. The last time I checked a cup was a bit more than a drop." Hermione replied acidly, causing Ginny to smack her head in frustration.
"This is gonna take quite a while…" she sighed.
-Meanwhile-
"Pssst! Weasley…" I think Matt had forfeited his ability to whisper along with the ability to pay for his own food many, many ages ago.
"What? You want free drinks now?" Ron spat icily in Matt's direction.
"Nah. I think Potter might be ignoring us."
Gee. Now what the hell gave him that idea?
"No he's not, tell him Harry." Ron gave me a painful poke somewhere on my face; probably my eye. I couldn't feel anything anyway as I was numb. I was so numb I didn't even feel when Ronnie clambered up on my knee o demonstrate his newly acquired potty training skills.
"He's not responding."
"That could mean anything."
"Like maybe he's dead?"
Good thing I was ignoring them though or I probably would've stuffed some of Ronnie's soiled newspapers down their throats; not because I was necessarily frustrated at them, just highly irritated nearly beyond sanity. I was still preoccupied with mulling out the previous occurrence at the restaurant.
'Hmmm… let's go over this again. -Poke, poke- Okay, I see her. -Poke, pokity, poke, poke- She sees me. -Poke-.'
"Knock it off Ron,"
"I told you he wasn't ignoring us." Ron said smugly.
"Well you were on the brink of putting his eye out…"
'She runs away. She leaves me bewildered in the company of a fowl minded tart, very pissed off Miss Weasley, Ron and Matt who care more about the free meal she left behind, and Mini Weasley who is as interested in taking my eye out as his absentminded father…I still don't understand…Maybe my breath smells…
I attempted to shut out my troubling thoughts along with the useless chattering of my 'friends', who had appeared to have set up residence in my office (since apparently I'm the only one who has work in this building, apparently), all their problems and obligations had seemed to magically diminish into thin air. Ignoring the Useless sacks of flesh, I turned to gaze at Ron Jr., who was busy toddling towards me, looking for things to destroy-no, explore, as Ron had put it. Though, it seemed he already had something to abolish clamped tightly between his mini fingers. Hmm…how nice. He bought me the remains of my prized model Quidditch set, the part that isn't stuck in the depths of his soiled nappy.
"Ooh…Har Har baa guh! Baa guh!" I'm pretty sure he just called me a bad girl. They develop so quickly, theses little ones. By now he'd resorting to hurling broken up pieces of my Krum action figure…
"Say, Matt, since you obviously have no intentions of doing anything productive work wise, would you smell my breath?"
"…"
"No, baa guh!"
"Er, why?"
"No reason,"
Matt scooted over in my cushy swivel chair cautiously as if he had detected something fowl of its contents. He took one quick whiff and turned away sharply just as my door opened and Neville popped in all flushed and panting (My guess is Rosemary the secretary had tried to persuade him to get her some sort of payment increase…again). Yes the my office (part-time lounge apparently-I must've missed the memo) was yet again open for business, as if I didn't have enough freeloaders…
"Hmm…smells like fish fingers and…lemon…"
"…Is that good?"
"I don't know, maybe I should sniff again…"
"…Hello all." Neville managed to get out as he sunk into one of the chairs facing my desk. I guess no one in this building had to work except for me I thought as I skimmed through my half completed monthly report of dark activity.
Neville surveyed the scene: Ronnie Jr. making a lunch out of my Krum figurine, Ron poking his head out of the door to witness any female activity, and Matt and me, our noses nearly touching as he bent down towards my mouth. My guess (from Neville's beguiled expression) hat he got the wrong idea.
"…I think I'm getting the wrong idea. Hopefully. Please tell me I have the wrong idea."
He has no skill whatsoever at hiding his emotions…
"I'm just checking my breath to make sure it's okay, you know, not bad enough to-" I started to explain, considering the fact that Matt was more interested in sniffing food I had downed more than an hour ago.
"-Scare your wife away? Oh no, take it from me; it's not your breath, its just you," Ron stated in what would be a friendly way if he had any compassion whatsoever for his depressed friend. He didn't.
"Oh wow, that's really making me feel better." I said, maybe bitterly from the way Ron's face paled slightly as he shook his head vigorously.
"No, no, no. It's defiantly her, pal. But who could blame her? She's always been a tad bit on the…odd side. Maybe-maybe she…Er…wanted to find out some interesting facts about the…Er…toiletries and she decided to go off to the library. You know her; when in doubt, she goes to the library-" Ron went on like some kind of bantering idiot on…bantering idiot pills (I was distraught, do you really expect me to come up with wit at a time like this?). I would have to survey his pharmacy bills more carefully…
"-Please, Neville. Make him stop,"
"Ron, your son is attempting to set fire to Harry's files," Neville informed swiftly.
"Ho hum…I should do something about that, shouldn't I? What's the matter Harry? Your eye's twitching again…"
"You know," Matt said, breaking out of his tenth food trance of the day, "Maybe there is something wrong with her…maybe she got sick suddenly…"
Hmm… you'd think her spewing her breakfast all over the front of my shirt this morning would be a dead-giveaway.
"Really?" Neville inquired skeptically. I guess he didn't notice Matt and Ron winking their eyes awfully hard in his direction or them muttering "Hut up-say, ou-yay reaking-fay oron-may" under their breaths. From the puzzled way Neville was staring at them I concluded I wasn't the only one who missed out on Hogwart's Pig-Latin course…
"Well…yeah. Harry, last time I visited you guys I remember her complaining on and on about something," Ron said, obviously straining to remember something that had been tucked away in the oblivious abyss he calls his mind.
Last time I saw him thinking this hard was when I asked why he married Pansy (Yes, Parkinson. Don't ask me how or why, all I know is it has to do with vodka, thirteen cans of whip cream, and a priest who happened to be in Ron's hot tub. I just thank Merlin they didn't breed and create some kind of mutated, bitter red-headed Slytherin offspring), so he must be telling a lick of truth.
"You just said it: you were there," Matt and Neville replied at ease, in unison. The thing was they weren't joking.
"No, she was moaning on about how she felt…"
"That's why you don't remember, it was her feelings. You show as much regard for those as you show potions." Matt stated whimsically.
"You know…I'm really getting sick of you…"
"Oh wait, I remember that day! About a few weeks ago when Ron took us to that Quidditch match to spy on the Bigonville Bomber's new keeper-!" Neville exclaimed, probably delighted with himself for remembering something without the aid of his remembral.
"It wasn't spying!" Ron snapped back in Neville's direction, a little too defensive…"Just observing…snarky little twit thinks he's so hot with his wavy hair…and sexy eyes… and Thunderbolt 330…-"
"Er…right…continue Longbottom," Matt urged on, disrupting Ron's jealous/homosexual tendencies.
"Well as I was saying…she cancelled out on us that day, remember? She stayed home, sick in bed because she had these headaches, not to mention the fact she threw up on you Harry," Ron replied, out of his trance.
That explained the Déjà Vu I experienced that morning…
"What was up with that? I swear, that's all Hermione does is nag, pee, and vomit; kind of like Ronnie…or a cocker spaniel," I could see Ron trying ever so hard to ponder out the difference between his son and a cocker spaniel so I didn't bother to interrupt him by smacking him on the back of the head.
"She does that often, I presume?" Matt questioned me.
"Well…she's been doing it more often lately, I suppose."
"Aha! I got the answer…I think…your wife…is…Er…that's that word…bulimic! That's it! Why else would she always kip out after meals?"
Now I've heard some of the most stupid things Matt has ever said…but none more stupid than the things he said when he was actually thinking.
"…That's…that's impossible!" Ron exclaimed, finally seeing eye to eye to me, as a real best friend should. "If Hermione was bulimic why would she have dropped out of Dvination in third year? Being able to tell the future and all, that would've been an easy pass for her…" Ron concluded, rolling his eyes with an amused expression crossing his freckled face.
Forget what I said about the seeing eye to eye thing.
"Idiot," Matt concluded huffily under his breath. We see eye to eye.
"Bulimic doesn't mean you can see the future Ron, it means you can read minds," Neville informed ever so knowledgably.
"That explains it. She must have foreseen what Red here," he gestured to Ron, "was imagining and took off sake of her own sanity/health. Yep, case closed," Matt said gallantly, clapping Neville on the back dramatically. If there's anything Matt can master better than gluttony (hardly any) its sarcasm.
"Exactly. She must've known what I was- hey! What are you trying to say?!"
It's really best to ignore Ron when he's like this. Or like that. Or over here or there; best to ignore him everywhere (Er, sorry. Harmony's little stories are starting to brainwash me…again. Damn that Dr. Seuss and his loose imaginary animals and their tainted eggs and ham!)
Being the educated one in our group, I knew exactly what bulimic meant; it's when you can move/transport things by thinking really hard (Thank you, Toothless Joe's A-X Children's Dickshunaree). But of course, that was ludicrous because if that was the case, all of our possessions and ¾ of Hogwarts would be scattered throughout different parts of the South Pole by then…
"…No, that can't be." I muttered, chock full of…educatedosity, "I know Herm, she wouldn't-no-that's not her."
"Well something's wrong with her." Neville can be so bright sometimes, I wonder how he does these brilliant deductions- oh no, Matt's rubbing off on me!
"Maybe she gets motion sickness," Ron muttered, crumpling a spare piece of parchment to bat it into the rubbish bin. I think he expected us to 'ooh' and 'Ah' at his amazing Quidditch abilities.
"Zarrah! A-Abba!" Ronnie's getting as rational as his good old Daddy.
"Or maybe she's a-a-a…vegetarian!" Matt declared accusingly, nearly knocking me out of my chair.
"Or really a man!" They really don't have enough sympathy for me…
"Or really…a woman!" Brilliant deduction, my dear Weasley.
"But what if she's a closet…drinker?" Matt offered in an aroused manner, as if this were some sort of exciting guessing game.
"Nah, not her style. I'd figure Hermione to be more of a closet…junkie…" Ron decided firmly, prodding me, probably to see if I was still alive, either that or his one-minute attention span had gotten the best of him.
"…Right…Or, for the sane and rational people of the room- Harry, Longbottom, Er, little Weasley- I believe Hermione's stressed." Matt responded, brushing Ron off once again as he attempted to regain his wise airs.
"Oh, wow. That's news to me," said Ron, his voice simply drenched in sarcasm that would put Mat to shame. It was true though. In fact, Ron has a saying that if you were to stick a piece of coal up her rear end within two hours it would become a diamond (Ron's sudden philosophical side isn't a stroke of genius, it's a result of being locked in the muggle studies class, left to watch nothing except muggle movies from the eighties. Sad, is it not? I don't think anyone could love Ferris Bueller that much…)
"I think she's faking it," Ron added as a second thought, taking a new interest in his reflection through the window.
"I think she's eating double meals behind your back,"
"Or maybe…maybe she's…Er- I don't know, pregnant…?" Neville mumbled jokingly, barely above a whisper yet loud enough to snatch our attention and put an unpleasant shock to my system (who knows, It may have been the fact that Ronnie found a striking resemblance between me and a toilet.)
Matt, who seemed more offended than any of us (as Ron and I were simply frozen on the spot, petrified as if we were facing a herd of ticked-off threstals…with rabies) scooted from his position across from me, towards Neville, drawing in closer to his face.
"…Are…you…insane?! Don't wish such-such things against Potter! What do you want him to end up like, Weasley?" Matt hissed, poking his finger firmly into a fearful Neville's chest.
"Yeah, what do you want him to end up as m-hey! What is that supposed to mean?!" Ron exclaimed, thrusting himself forcefully out of his chair.
"…Weasley, your kid's running naked down the halls." Matt replied offhandedly, motioning for the open door leading into the halls.
"…Not, a word…any of you…not a word." Ron ordered in bitter, hushed tones as he glowered about and sauntered out of the room reproachfully as Neville and I managed to crack a smile in his direction.
"You might want to hurry before everyone begins to notice all the little features he takes after his father," Matt called out in a sing song voice, lounging back in his chair as Ron scrambled through the halls after the little tyke. "See, Longbottom?" Matt started again, "Kids are not a laughing matter."
"Hey you two," Tonks, sporting a jungle of violet frosted locks stuck their head in the ajar doorway and motioned sternly at Neville and Matt causing them to yelp like injured dogs and jump a clear three feet into the air, "I highly doubt those-ahem-'rehabilitated' deatheater chaps hanging about the fourth floor are going to inspect themselves…"
"…How can we be so sure of that…?"
-Meanwhile-
"…Haven't you washed your hands enough?" Ginny inquired exasperatedly, lying on the cold wooden tiles of the hall, facing the ceiling as Hermione scrubbed her hands fiercely for about the hundredth time.
"Never again…never." Hermione muttered repeatedly, shaking her head firmly over the sink.
"Aren't your hands peeling by now?" Ginny questioned lazily tracing patterns into the ceiling with her wand. Hermione grimaced her way before stepping into the hallway and towering over her sinisterly, obstructing her path.
"Ginny, stop talking." Hermione demanded faintly, sounding a bit on the ill side.
"I was just saying-"
"Now."
"You act like I forced you to this. If you didn't want to do it you didn't have to; it's not like I was holding you at wandpoint,"
Hermione didn't have to say anything as she loomed dangerously close to Ginny for her to get the point. Slowly, Ginny's hand crept to the side of Hermione's foot where the empty box lay.
"Er…shall we check? I think the results are in," Ginny suggested meekly, waving the empty kit box in front of Hermione's tight face.
"Knock yourself out." Hermione replied dismissively, motioning for the sink where a stick, her test, had been sitting for quite some time now; since Hermione had started washing her hands, actually.
"Er…sorry, not so keen on dealing with the 'touch-another-witch's-urine' department." Ginny stated, unmoving from her sprawling position next to Hermione, who surprisingly, didn't react verbally to this statement, but instead, yanked Ginny up by a rather large portion of her hair.
"Really? Tell me another, Gin."
"Ouch! Lemme go, lemme go!" Ginny whimpered, wrenching her hair from Hermione's tight grasp.
"You know," Hermione said eerily at ease, releasing Ginny's hair, allowing her to scramble up on her feet and head to the direction of the bathroom sink, "I only do these harsh things because-"
"-You're a harsh sadist?"
"No. It's because you're my best friend and I love you, little friend." Hermione said with a gentle grin.
"Oh…so you're a harsh lesbian sadist experiencing mood swings," Ginny concluded, nodding her head in an understanding.
Ginny clambered over to the sink and peered down at the small plastic rod. The damp square at the end was showing faint signs of color, causing Ginny's stomach to stir in excitement.
"Hey…Herm?" Ginny called out, trying to fight the excitement arousing in her voice as to not alarm Hermione.
"Yes…Gin?" Hermione replied, imitating Ginny's tone.
"Could you read the back of the box again?" Ginny requested in an overly-sweet tone, causing Hermione to eye her suspiciously through the door.
"Um…sure. 'Howdy y'all-,'" Hermione started reading the back label only to be interrupted by Ginny.
"…Howdy?" They repeated in unison, Hermione looking more skeptical by the minute.
"Don't interrupt. 'Toothless Joe is here to tell ya if you's be having a bun in that thur oven of yurs. Warning 37% chance of causing birth defects"
"What sane person would willingly call themselves toothless Joe? And how can a pregnancy test cause birth defects?"
"As I was saying…'If by yonder you's sees blue, well yee-haw, slap me around and call me Mary-Jane cause there's a baby for you! (Confirm with Doctor). 'If pink is wut you's see, then aww shucks Ma'am, slap me around and call me Mary-Jane, no younguns for you (confirm with Doctor).'…Why is this man obsessed with being slapped around and called a woman?" Hermione inquired no one in particular, clearly disturbed by the fictional hick's words.
"Er…is that it? Only pink and blue?" Ginny asked faintly from within the bathroom, sounding just as confused as Hermione.
"…Why? What color is it?" Hermione called back, slightly alarmed with Ginny's vague response.
"Er…"
"Ginny?"
"Ahh…"
"Ginny…"
"Um…I don't think you took it right." Ginny mumbled finally, stepping through the doorway, the test dangling from her right hand as Hermione snatched it swiftly.
"…Purple?" Hermione questioned unbelievingly, blinking hard as if the result was just a temporary colorblindness.
"There must be something on the box…" Ginny replied in a logical…eerily Hermione-like manner, swiping the box from an awestruck Hermione who seemed to be beyond doing anything besides rambling on about purple.
"Hmm…let's see here," said Ginny, surveying the label carefully. "Hey, I wonder why they put so many warnings on here…the fine print is just them repeating that Toothless Joe is not responsible for any defects or…implosions?"
"…You mean…after all that-," Hermione breathed out briskly, still glowering down at the test which was still marked distinctly by the purple square at the end despite all her blinking efforts.
"All what? You just peed in a cup."
"Excuse me!?"
"Anyway," Ginny ignored Hermione's mindless bantering and continued to scan the minuscule print on the back of the label until her eyes rested upon a caption in red just underneath the blue test result.
"Herm, Herm, stop pretending I'm listening to you for a moment and look at this! I think I found it!" Ginny exclaimed gallantly, thrusting the box under Hermione's nose, for her to read as well.
"Ahem…It says-," Ginny started to say to her dazed companion who immediately snapped back,
"I know what it says! It says 'In the really really really rare case your test reads purple (this happens about as often as the birth defects but my lawyer is shaking her head really hard so I guess I'm not supposed to tell you that-oh damn this is going on the box? Good thing no sane person would buy this God-forsaken, backwater test-) Well bygummit-,"
"What the hell is bygummit? That's not even a real word!" Ginny protested mockingly.
"It's one of those terms that don't mean anything…like 'Calabunga' or 'Yee-haw' or 'Increase the Peace'…" Hermione replied in an automatic yet offhanded manner.
"…Oh…"
"-Well bygummit, you're more fertile than a jackrabbit in heat that just escaped from prison and into Pappy's Viagra drawer…?" Hermione finished, sounding a bit on the dizzy side. She turned to Ginny, silently searching her for an answer.
"…In other words…it means Blue," Ginny said conclusively, causing Hermione to yelp out in a squeamish fashion and shudder involuntarily. "With no need to confirm with a doctor,"
"So…so…" She kept on repeating faintly, feeling the heat rise slowly to her face.
"So…congratulations…I suppose…So, can I be the godmother?" Ginny questioned merrily, attempting unsuccessfully to shake Hermione out of her stupor.
"…Am I standing on carpet?" Hermione asked, voice barely reaching a raspy whisper.
The question struck Ginny as odd. You'd think if you just found out you were pregnant you could find something else to discuss what you're standing on…Despite Hermione's questionable behavior, Ginny still replied, deciding Hermione was just in a shock…a really deep shock.
"Er…no, you're not." Ginny said, tapping the hard wooden tiles with her foot as if o demonstrate to Hermione.
"Oh…damn…" Hermione mumbled dismissively right before her knees gave in and she collapsed, falling headfirst onto the hall floor in a dead faint, narrowly missing Ginny.
Ginny stared down at Hermione bemusedly, feeling rather too elated to take her condition as a serious matter. Kneeling down next to her hesitantly, Ginny began to tap her face lightly at first, eventually leading up to violent slapping in attempt to revive her.
"Herm…Hey Hermione…is that a 'yes' for the godmother thing?"
-Meanwhile, somewhere not so far away-
Grace grinned contently as she dug around her purse frantically; seeking out the pair of house keys her father had been so keen on giving her so long ago. She'd only come home willingly about three times in total since she moved out, but this time it was different, she decided. She was on a mission: to be the first to spread news of her newly found gossip about Hermione (a rare yet excellent find for Grace), and unlike her news about Gordy's alleged drug problem or Donnie being a dominatrix (…that would mean he's a female, genius…), this news had an element of truth to it, she thought excitedly as she thrust open the front door. I was just a pity that her father wasn't home at the time…but she could always give him a ring…
"Hey, anybody home?" Grace called out into the seemingly deserted house upon entering. Only receiving an echo as a reply, she trekked on through the house, thinking somebody had to be home.
Grace traipsed through most of downstairs, pausing to check the kitchen and office thoroughly before glaring at thin air in frustration and continuing on her search. After pacing through all the empty corridors she found herself at the foot of the staircase, where she had entered.
Listening intently, there was a light pattering sound upstairs, resembling the sound of little footsteps running all about, causing Grace to turn up the stairs, heading for the bedrooms.
"Who's up here?" Grace called out irritably, as you can guess she's not a very patient person. She paced through the corridors slowly, following the sound of footsteps leading up to the end of the hall: her youngest brother Artemis' room. Just as she placed her hand on the doorknob, something smacked her own the back of the head…hard.
"Hey! What the-?" Grace spat out acidly, whipping around quickly to spot her assaulter, a tittering toddler, around four years old she guessed, clutching an odd red ball that she didn't recognize from any of the sports she knew. Judging from the child's curly blonde locks which resembled her own to an extent and his face full of freckles, Grace concluded that this had to be Gordy's son, her nephew Andre. Most of the time Grace had trouble telling if she had gained more nieces and nephews overnight or if her parents had decided to bring in strays…
"You again!" Grace gasped out menacingly, pointing an accusing finger at the seemingly innocent child.
"Auntie She-Beast!" the young kid greeted, bounding over to Grace, attempting to clamp his short arms around her waist as Grace shooed him away in an unaffectionate manner.
"Please…no touching…" Grace said faintly, grasping for the door handle, which, to her surprise, was already twisting open under her hand.
"Dad, I swear it wasn't me this time-oh, now who let this demented stranger into our house?" The young lad who emerged from the room questioned light heartedly as he grimaced at the scene before him. "Please, your dad would kill me if he found out I let you play with such heartless rubbish," The boy told the toddler, taking time to pry him off of Grace's midsection, allowing the toddler to roam over him, plowing through his raven shaded hair, tousling it all around his flushed, yet gleeful face.
"You…"
"Is that you new phrase or something? Honestly if you're not here to do anything productive, will you hold your arms over your head and pretend to be a hoop? I need to practice if I'm going to make the house team next year…" he responded to Grace's bitterness nonchalantly, tossing up the red ball which had been hurled at her, a quaffle, up into the air before catching it again and repeating the process as the toddler raced back into the room, emerging again towing a trunk decked out in Gryffindor themed decorations that spelled out 'Artemis' on the side.
"Ugh…" Grace said, shuddering involuntarily. "No, I don't plan to aid in your little freaky activities, Artemis-"
"You're calling me the freak?" Artemis questioned in a bemused fashion, his childish turquoise eyes glinting maliciously as he grimaced in Grace's direction.
"I was just wondering if there was anybody useful preferably with more than half a brain in the house," Grace asked in what would be considered a sweet way if you didn't know her.
"Well…let's see…there's the…wall on the first floor…and have you spoken to my owl, Cherub?" Artemis suggested innocently, flipping open the lid to the case Andre had drug in and replacing the quaffle in its rightful position between the two struggling bludgers.
"And me! And me!" Andre insisted, waving his hand enthusiastically.
"Not if you take after your father," Grace replied in a strained though affectionate manner.
"Oh, sis, I'm not really that bad, am I?" A raspy voice picked up behind them, not startling Grace at all.
She knew that her twin brother Gordy hung around their parent's home often (so often, she questioned if he still had a house or a wife for that matter…). It helped him 'work' better, to be back in his old roots, he had once said. Grace, however, did not consider his job real work at all as she deemed it 'sitting around on his lazy bum all day playing stupid kiddy games' which it was technically. It was Gordy's job to play prototype video games and to rate them something he had been doing ever since he was old enough to hold a bottle.
"Well…yes, you are," Grace said after pondering for a moment.
"Well here I was thinking Grace was the evil twin…" Artemis replied whimsically.
"Argh. I'm guessing Mother's not here. I'll just go then and hold in my urgent news until later." Grace said teasingly, waving a dismissive hand to the guys as she strolled lazily to the top of the stairs, waiting for one of them to question her…which nobody did.
"…So Artemis…you making lunch?" Gordy questioned at ease, ignoring his sister's presence as he ruffled his already unkempt curly blond hair.
"Ahem." Grace uttered gruffly, unmoving from her position at the top of the stairs.
"Nah, I have to practice if I plan to make the team only in my second year," Artemis said, motioning towards the trunk which contained his Quidditch equipment.
"Ahem."
"Oh…Quidditch." Gordy said firmly, as if tasting the word which seemed unfamiliar and just plain odd to him. "It would make a choice video game, the fact that you fly, alone is worth gold." Gordy concluded.
"Yes, I suppose so, though I can't imagine anyone who would willingly stare at a screen for ages searching for that annoying snitch…"
"Ahem." Grace said a bit louder.
"I think Auntie wants a cough drop." Andre said thoughtfully.
"Well," Artemis' face broke out with a grin, "except Harry." He said, his mind dwelling on his sister's Quidditch crazed husband who had taught him everything he knew, and had even got him his Quidditch ball set when he started Hogwarts.
"Well," Grace started nastily, once she realized her coughing trick had no chance of grabbing their attention as she hoped it would, "Harrison,"
"Harry," both of them chorused in unison.
"Grace, you still here? Now I thought I heard somebody hacking up a lung…" Gordy questioned contently.
"He won't have much time to frolic around spinning old Quidditch yarns with you like he used too, not when he has a family on the way," Grace finished acidly, cutting her eyes at her clearly bewildered brothers as she stomped down the staircase.
"…Grace…what are you going on about?" a voice called behind her as she reached the front door, causing her to smirk slyly and face her two brothers.
"I'd thought you'd never ask…"
"We weren't going to…"
-~-~-~-~-~-
"Potter," Tonks gently laid her hand on my shoulder moments after chasing away the freeloaders (Neville, Matthew, and Ron)." Don't let what those guys say get you down,"
"…We're you eavesdropping on us, Tonks?" I managed to crack a tiny, though evident grin. "You're one to talk about slacking off…"
"Don't get smart," She slapped the back of my head in a very Ron-like fashion.
"Now, now, no need to get physical…put the wand away please…"
"As I was saying…I'm sure Hermione's fine, ad if she's not, at least you'll have an excuse to sip work…"
"Hey! I only did that once!"
"…"
"Maybe twice…"
"Or four or five…"
"Puh."
"Anyway, at least Hermione will have legitimate sick leave…with the maternity leave and all…"
"…"
"What's the matter? Not so keen on the subject of kids yet?"
"Ho hum…how funny…my nose just started bleeding so suddenly…you caused me a nosebleed, are you happy now?"
"Not as happy as I'll be when you get those reports in. It'll be nice to know what 'evildoers' are still breathing down our necks this month…"
It was nearing dusk and, thank Merlin, I was home. Though, despite Matt's friendly efforts to wash away my memory with a few beers at the pub down the street, I could still remember me and Tonks' conversation (sadly, I don't blank out after two drinks like some people *coughRoncough*). It sort of scared me, the idea of having mini me running about, destroying my house and everything in its path (i.e. Ronnie). The idea of a clone seemed more appealing (as it would still look just like me, but it wouldn't be so much damn work…)
I stepped into the dimming house, listening intently to detect some signs of life. Usually, Hermione got home before me, though she more than often stayed after hours on the job, but I'm used to it by now.
Though…she usually owls me if she's coming home late…
Ignoring the simple fact that I was starving, I avoided the barren kitchen and started stumbling blindly up the stairs I realized two things: 1) A clone would mean trouble as well, as they would be another person to fight over food with, and 2) Stairs suck (mind you, I slipped over three times being as weary and tired as I was).
As soon as I reached the top landing I surveyed the halls, looking for a bit of light or movement. Nothing, so that meant nobody was here trying to surprise me with the bit of loving I so desperately needed (at that point, I really believed the only person who considered my feelings was…Er…Ronnie, who is my only friend who wasn't trying to convince me my wife is a man, partly because…well…he's a baby and he can't talk…yet).
I didn't even bother to pick up behind myself as I stripped off my tainted work clothes through the hall as I wondered off to my room. First the tie and robe…then this horrible man-blouse (as Ron calls them)…phew…gotta get rid of the pants…stupid shoes are in my way…By this time, I was already collapsed on my bed, not bothering to remove my shoes which were obstructing the path of my trousers which had wound themselves contently around my ankles. I was at total ease with the world at that moment, as there was nothing but me and my big…cushy…bed…and that stupid belt buckle that kept on scratching my ankle…and the annoying hole in my sock which was causing my big toe to catch a draft…Why, I didn't even notice that Hedwig had found her way through an open window and had began to peck at my head mercilessly with her beak in a persistent manner, the way she does only when its Hermione who sent her…