Patience

simons_flower

Rating: PG
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 07/02/2008
Last Updated: 07/02/2008
Status: completed

Hermione keeps trying to talk to her husband but fate intervenes. Canon through DH, but without Epilogue.

Chapters

1. Patience

1. Patience

author's note: For
A Pumpkin Christmas 2007, information here. Thank you to annearchy for the beta!

Patience

"Have you told him yet?" Ron asked. Hermione shook her head. Ron rolled his eyes. "You need to talk to him."

She huffed. "I know that, but every time I try, something interrupts us."

If she hadn't been trying to get her husband alone for the last two weeks – during a time when they were both awake – she would have laughed at the situation. When she'd first said she needed to talk to him two weeks ago, something in her tone had frightened him, which led to her reassuring him she wasn't going to leave him and that she still loved him, which led to their bedroom and no conversation.

She tried again a few days later, only to be interrupted by a Floo call from Molly asking if they could mind Victoire while she took her younger brother, Mathieu, to St. Mungo's because he'd fallen out of the tree in the rear garden and broken his leg.

A week ago, she'd cornered him in his office only to have Ron burst in with a report of neo-Death Eaters in Brighton. Ron had given her an apologetic look before dragging her husband away.

She'd made another attempt a couple days ago. Their romantic, homemade, candlelight dinner was interrupted by Teddy Lupin escaping his grandmother and landing in a ball of soot on their hearth.

"What if I make some arrangements?" Ron inquired.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What sort of arrangements?"

"Honestly," he teased, "mix up a relaxation potion with an anti-impotence potion once...."

She fought to keep the grin from her face. Her only complaints about that incident were that Harry had been awake for nearly two days before taking the potion – and subsequently delayed sleep for another twelve hours – and there had been no charm to ease her soreness the next day.

"I could get your Floo closed, anti-Apparition wards around your house, and owls blocked for a night."

She raised her eyebrows in silent question.

He spread his arms and shrugged. "I have connections."

"A girl in every department?" she asked wryly, then laughed at his responding grin. "How about Sunday?" It was already Thursday and she didn't want to wait much longer since it was the middle of December. She wanted to talk to Harry before Christmas. Most of his Christmases had been so lonely and she knew this talk would make Christmas better.

"I should be able to arrange it that quickly."

It might have been a short time to Ron, but three days seemed like a month to Hermione.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Come Sunday, Hermione was as nervous as she'd been on their wedding day. Ron helped her prepare by keeping Harry out of the house nearly all day at a Quidditch match.

To distract herself, she'd erected the Christmas tree, decorated it, and decorated nearly the entire interior of the house. What she hadn't counted on was exhausting herself with all her activity.

She set her alarm for five with the intention of waking to make dinner and give that romantic candlelight dinner another try.

Fate, as she'd done so many times before, conspired against her.

"Hermione," someone whispered in her ear.

She sleepily reached up to brush away the soft touch on her ear – and struck Harry in the side of the head.

Still muzzy from sleep but charged from a rush of adrenaline, she shot upright in bed. Harry sat on the edge, gingerly cradling the side of his head.

Mortified, she scrambled to her knees by his side. Peeling his hand away, she pressed a kiss to his temple.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured.

He smiled faintly. "If you wanted more sleep, you only had to say so, love."

She burst into tears. None of her plans were working, even the ones Ron helped to plan.

Harry twisted slightly to draw her into his arms, pressing her head to his shoulder. She sobbed even more.

Gently stroking her hair, he asked, "What's wrong?"

Instead of answering, she burrowed deeper into his shoulder, soaking his neck and shirt.

"Hermione?" She didn't answer. "Hermione?"

"Can't do anything right," she said, the words slightly muffled by his shirt.

With a sigh, he slid his hand under her chin and used it to tip her head up. "You're Hermione Granger, you – "

"Potter," she mumbled.

"What?"

"Hermione Potter, not Granger."

Harry smiled indulgently even as he rolled his eyes. "You're Hermione Potter, you can do anything."

"Not this," she pouted.

"What are you trying to do?"

She sniffled and pulled back. Running the back of her hand under her nose, she stumbled off the bed and into the loo. Harry followed and stood in the doorway, leaning on the frame, as she splashed water on her face and blew her nose.

"Hermione?"

"Doesn't matter," she muttered. She was never going to be able to organize the perfect moment. She splashed cold water on her face. It helped to calm her.

"Hermione," Harry said, drawing her name out in an exasperated tone of voice.

When she looked up at him, he looked so adorably confused that she smiled. His hair was even more on end than usual from carding his fingers through it in frustration with her.

"I...I was hoping for a romantic evening," she hedged.

His responding smile was a little confused and a little indulgent. "It still can be."

She resisted the urge to say, once again, that her plans had been ruined. Instead, she dried her face, neatened her hair, then turned back to her husband.

"Let's salvage the night, then," she said with a bright smile.

He blinked at her mercurial mood, then asked, "Kitchen?" She nodded.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Harry cooked dinner after settling her at the table. He'd offered her a glass of wine to relax her and merely raised his eyebrows when she turned it down. Dinner itself went smoothly, though Hermione felt on edge the entire time.

Once the dishes were washed and kitchen set to rights, she leaned back against the counter, gripping the edge tightly. She took a deep breath to bolster her courage before speaking.

"I need to talk to you," she blurted.

He turned to her, laying aside the dishtowel he'd been wiping the counter with, eyebrows raised and mouth flattened in a line. She had the distinct impression he was stifling a smile.

"What about?"

"I...I've been...I mean, I wanted to tell...discuss...tell...."

"Spit it out, Hermione." Definitely stifling a smile now.

She glared at him. "I'm pregnant!"

He grinned. "I know."

Her shoulders sagged as tension abruptly fled her body. "What?"

His grin widened and softened as he crossed the room to cup her face in his hands. He kissed her gently then pulled her into his arms.

"I figured it out last week," he murmured into her hair.

She began to cry again. "Why didn't you say anything?" she demanded.

"I was waiting for you to tell me."

"How did you figure it out?" She tried to pull back and glare at him, but he knew her too well and held her tight, pressing her cheek to his chest.

"I can research, too, Hermione. I noticed you throwing up in the mornings and how tired you've been, was concerned and looked it up." He paused and took a half-step back, far enough that he could look down into her face. "Did I ruin everything?"

"Yes," she pouted. "I wanted to tell you for Christmas."

His smile was exceptionally tender. "You can tell me about the next one."