Angelina Johnson was standing in the Burrow's kitchen at much too early in the morning, the green, hand-knit sweater with a large golden 'F' knit onto the front she was wearing pulled up to reveal her stomach. Yes, there was definitely a small bump there. Her free hand reached up to finger a small, silver ring on a long, silver chain around her thin neck. The small ruby was chipped, but it was still beautiful, as was the broken woman examining her stomach in the mirror. It was barely light outside, and nobody else was awake. She'd only gotten up so early because she knew nobody else would be; otherwise she'd still be curled up in her bed—the bed that used to be Freddie's, in the room that used to be the twins'.
Small, sparkling tears forming in her dark, chocolaty eyes, she dropped the sweater back down and slid into a three-legged stool at the long table in the kitchen. She heard somebody making their way down the stairs; most likely Molly, up and ready to prepare breakfast for eleven, though there were only ten people living in the Burrow.
Sure enough, Molly Weasley entered the kitchen moments later, wrapped tightly in a faded pink, holey robe, her ginger hair frizzy. Her eyes were rimmed in red; she had been crying again. Molly was always crying these days. So was Angelina, though.
The war had ended only seven weeks and four days before. Angelina kept a calendar above Fred's bed, counting the days since his…counting the days since the battle. She was living with the Weasleys for the time being; her parents had gone into hiding while Voldemort was still alive, but she hadn't been able to locate them just yet. Hermione and Harry—blue-haired baby Teddy in tow-had also taken up residence in the Burrow. Harry because he and Teddy had no place else to go (and Harry didn't think he could handle raising a baby alone in his own flat—or the nightmares that visited him); Hermione because she couldn't locate her parents either. None of them knew when they would be leaving.
Molly looked rather surprised when she saw Angelina already awake and dressed, though it was always quite a shock to her when she saw Angelina or George, or especially the two together. She convinced herself that Freddie wasn't gone, that he was there with Angelina again. But then she remembered; if Freddie were alive, Angelina wouldn't look so sad.
"Oh, dear, you've given me such a fright, Angelina," Molly whispered, pulling her robe tighter around her. The Burrow was always so cold all of a sudden, regardless of it being almost July. Perhaps it was the absence of Fred. Or perhaps it was the presence. Neither of the women were completely sure, and weren't positive they wanted to really know.
"I'm sorry, Molly. I was just…I was just wondering if you would help me with something."
Molly's face contorted into an expression of confusion, but she simply nodded, her red curls bouncing against her shoulders. Angelina wasn't quite sure why, exactly, she was asking for Molly's help with the spell when she could easily perform it herself, or travel to a Muggle convenience store to buy the proper test. Regardless, Angelina stood from her spot at the table shakily and took a thick spell book from a shelf above the sink. After flipping through it for a few moments, she pushed the open book towards Molly.
"Y-You're…what…Angelina!" she stammered, shocked.
The yellowed, tattered page's title was 'Pregnancy Spells'.
-:-
Hours later, well into the afternoon, George stumbled down the crooked stairs, dark circles under his blue eyes. His hair was disheveled and slightly greasy. George barely had the energy to do anything. He just didn't care anymore.
Molly and Angelina didn't make eye contact throughout the entire supper of chicken and peas that night, too embarrassed and too shocked to interact with one another at all. It was just after seven at night that Angelina stood and called attention to herself.
"Um, hello. I-I…I have…I have…"
"She's bloody pregnant!"
The room was stunned into silence. George dropped his fork, metal clattering against chipped ceramic, his blue eyes wide and gazing ahead absently. Arthur was staring at Molly, who had yelled out the news after Angelina had failed to, and was crying, tears running down her pale cheeks. Teddy began crying, his hair turning a bright, angry red.
Over the next hour, the story finally came out through stutters and stammers from Angelina.
In a heated moment just before the battle had really turned into complete hellfire, Fred and Angelina had stolen off to an empty classroom. It was 'now or never,' Fred had told her, though they'd secretly eloped a few weeks after Harry, Ron, and Hermione had disappeared, shortly before he went into hiding. Regardless, she'd ended up pregnant because of the encounter, and Fred was gone. She didn't have anywhere to turn to beside the Weasleys.
"Well, Georgie, it'll be like having a mini Weasley, right?" Ginny said softly, rubbing her brother's back lovingly. The unspoken words hung in the air: It'll be like having a mini-Freddie.
At that moment in time, suspended in the air, hanging above the closely-knit, not-quite-related family, nobody knew what to expect of the following eight months.