I'm not just kidding when I say that I'm not J.K.
This is just an unedited one-shot written in two hours. It was started because I was wondering how in the world Hermione and Ron got the names Hugo and Rose, of all things, for their kids. I mean, this whole situation is pretty unlikely, but it is feasible. I'm working on the premise that Hermione and Ron are entirely unsuited for each other, I've got to say, so please keep that in mind while reading this. This is not a fight-come-back-together story. It doesn't end in a hunky-dory way.
Rated M for language, that's it.
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Proof In The Names
Ron rolled out of bed, languid, while Madame Rosmerta murmured, "That'll be twenty galleons please, Mr. Weasley."
With a shrug, he put his pants back on and began to idly thumb through the pockets.
"Mr. Weasley, you owe me nearly a hundred galleons. And I'm not one to forfeit my pay. That's the only way, in my business."
He didn't care. He had heard it all before, and he wasn't about to give her money he didn't have.
"Well? Where is it?"
Taking a deep, satisfied breath, he reached over and dredged up his shirt, undershirt, and robes from where they were rumpled and shoved under the bed.
"War hero or not, Ronald Weasley, you're going to pay me."
A growl rising in his throat, he put on the rest of his clothes. "Oh, shove it."
As he tried to straighten his robes out, he felt a warm but firm hand rest possessively on top of his buttocks.
"I definitely won't shove it in my mouth any more if I don't get my money," the older lady purred in warning.
Realizing he needed to make a strategic move, he muttered, "Well, it's not like I have to come back to you next time, anyway. No matter how fantastic you are, there are those who are better. And younger. And prettier."
She cackled, and he squirmed, because it indicated pleasure.
"Yes, Ronald Weasley, you go out to any one of those voluptuous Knockturn Alley whores, and I'll be in the know sooner than you can say 'fuck me!' And, my dear boy, you will not like what comes when I'm in the know."
Of course he knew that she would blackmail him, but his threat was idle, since he never would consider going to anybody else. Madam Rosemerta was the best, and he only deserved as much. But, like he could manipulate his opponent in a game of chess into thinking they had the upper hand, only to get his own way all along, Ron's expectations were panning out perfectly.
"What'll you do?" he replied, sitting on the chair and calmly tying his shoes.
Her glimmer of a smile was testament to her self-assurance--mistaken, as Ron knew. "I'll send it to the press. All of it. And I'll make back my hundred galleons that you owe me from an exclusive interview with Rita Skeeter. They say she pays three hundred for a tripping celebrity story."
In response, he faked horror. "No! You wouldn't! You wouldn't do that to Hermione!"
Madam Rosemerta shrugged. "What's it to me? She's your wife, after all, you'll be the one to contend with her. I'm fairly certain I'll be out of her range of blame. You, however, will not be."
"But-" he tried vainly.
"-I'm sure that she'll find enough ground in my story--and my evidence--to begin separation procedures immediately."
Then, Ron paled. He had not foreseen that the blasted woman would have evidence. "What proof do you have?" he exclaimed.
She smirked. "You'll see at the court proceedings, if you don't pay up now, young man."
"You're bluffing! I know it!" He was relieved at the thought.
However, his confidence diminished when hers remained steadfast. "You think you're so clever," she murmured softly. "Married to a rich, hard-working female who's too caught up in her flourishing entrepreneurship to pay any attention to you, even though she doesn't have the time or energy or knowledge of intimacy to give you any good bedroom time of her own. So to make up for it, you get your little weekly trysts with me, along with a generous allowance. To be frank, I can understand your position, Ronald Weasley. You're living the good life. And you can continue to live the good life. Unless you don't pay up."
He was dimly aware that he was now treading a very thin line. One woman determined if the hedonistic life he had built coasting off of his war-hero status would be shattered or preserved for another few selfish years.
"I don't get that much of an allowance, you know," he began, slowly moving back to haggling and negotiation. "Just a measly few hundred every quarter. How's a man 'sposed to live on that, I ask you?"
"That's a whole hell of a lot more than I get in a good season," Madam Rosemerta replied primly. "How about I settle your bill--and the price of my silence--for two hundred?"
"Fuck no!" Even though it really was a pittance, he realized, he knew he could get it cheaper.
"A hundred and three-quarters?"
"Fifty," he grumbled, "You over-charged me for two weeks ago. That was a quickie."
"But a very thorough quickie, which is worth seventy-five to Lucius Malfoy, unquestioned."
"Fifty," he muttered again, "But I name my daughter after you."
Madam Rosemerta's eyes widened with intense surprise.
"You--and that ugly little hag--are having a daughter? HAH!" The woman began laughing. "Why in the world would you have a daughter?"
"She's not mine," Ron said with a shrug. With that, he pulled a scrunched-up tabloid from his pocket and handed it to Madam Rosemerta.
Hermione Granger-Weasley, the Wizarding World's Most Prominent Up-and-Coming Business Witch and her Prominent New Baby Bump! read the headline, and there was a picture that very clearly had a photo of Hermione, in a maternity business-suit, glaring at the camera, one hand on her growing tummy.
This was what he had planned. The idea of Madam Rosmerta's susceptibility to flattery was perceived early on by Ron, but never largely abused until now, thinking it a key strategy for later. It seemed to be getting him out of a load of debt right there, as Madam Rosmerta adjusted her silk robe and stared at the picture of Hermione, licking her lips.
"Do you know?" she said quietly, "That's worth rather a bit more than a few hundred galleons. Ronald Weasley, war-hero and international Quidditch player, the best mate of Harry Potter--naming his first child, a little girl, after the source of his wildest pleasure."
"Said that way, you make me sound rotten," Ron said, feeling actually quite light indeed.
Madam Rosmerta shrugged. "Aren't you, though?"
"To the core," he admitted, standing up and looking her in the eye. "Can't be too obvious, though. Is just calling her Rose okay?"
"Rose Mertha," corrected the woman severely.
With a self-satisfied frown, Ron nodded. "Rose Mertha Weasley. Not too bad, if I do say so myself."
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That same morning, at nearly the same time, Hermione glanced at Viktor and rolled out of bed, planting a gentle kiss at her lover's ear.
"Ees she kicking?" the Bulgarian asked sleepily.
"No, honey, the baby's quiet. I just need to get ready for work." She sighed.
"Vhan Vill you stop vorking?" Viktor asked, petulant, rising and embracing the woman he worshiped, had worshiped since their year at Hogwarts during the TriWizard Tournament.
She shrugged in response. "When I'm closer to being due, I guess."
"Does leetle Anastasyia plan to be on time, do the doctors say?"
Smiling, Hermione nodded. "I believe so. In any case, she's not going to be premature, the healers say. Do you know," she added, changing the subject, "Whether you can...perhaps...I don't know...well..."
She lost her words, and Viktor smiled indulgently. "Vat is it?"
"...I don't want her to be raised with Ron as her father," Hermione said, her throat tightening, "Since it's been such a ruddy failure with him. I...I want to live with you, instead. Do you think we can get a flat, or something, and raise her together?"
Viktor closed his eyes. "Oh, mah dahling. I can't...I can't do that. My contractd at the Embassee...it lasds for ten years."
"Really?" she whimpered.
"I thought you knew. I thought you knew. So, this is vat has been troubling you all night? Oh, mah dahling." He hugged her tighter, and felt her tears on his bare shoulder, and he pulled her closer and nuzzled his stubble-ridden cheek against hers. "I am...so sorree."
"No, no, it's all right," she sniffed, "It was a silly idea, of course. I...I can't have her raised by anyone but my legal husband, after all, or our affair will come out in public. And that'll ruin my business, the polls predict it."
"Even if your...husband, he is the philanderer as vell?"
She threw up her hands, kissing Viktor's cheek. "He could completely deny it. There's no evidence. But...as much as I hate to say it...Anastasyia is enough evidence for the public."
Viktor sighed, and could come up with no response but to kiss her sadly.
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"You promised your whore what?"
"Either you gimme a thousand galleons on the spot...or we just name her after the woman," Ron said with a shrug. "Take your pick. I mean, 'Rose Mertha' isn't a bad name, now is it?"
"You've got to be...ugh! Ronald Weasley, I should NEVER have married you!" screamed Hermione. "How do I even know that if we name Ana-...I mean, the girl 'Rose Mertha'...how do I know she just won't ask for more?" How do I know that you won't ask for more?"
"You name the next one, promise." Ronald spoke with the veracity of a Boy Scout.
"Hell, I don't want to have another one! I didn't want to have this one! I don't want to have any!" So saying, Hermione sank down and began sobbing on the cream-colored couch of her apartment.
"So...well, it's not like you can get rid of it, now, can you?" Ron asked uncomfortably, knowing that she never would consider the option. She had invested so much time and energy into the coming baby that she'd never do anything so cruel or drastic.
"No, I wouldn't do that," Hermione said slowly, sadly. "I'm living with my mistake. Unlike some people, who expect me to pay for theirs." She took a deep breath and frowned at him. "Why did we get married, anyway?" she muttered under her breath, for the thousandth time since their unhappy marriage.
He shrugged. "We were falling apart and you thought it would put us back together again. Sorry, but you've asked that question so many times, and I think you should stop blaming me. We never really worked. Teenage love and all that rot."
Snarling in resignation, she stood. "You really do have the emotional range of a teaspoon. But no matter. Ronald Weasley, I swear, when this baby comes, you are going to stay home nights. I will too. We are going to be the perfect parents, even if we don't like it. We owe it to her. Little Rose Mefrtha."
Realizing that she had accepted his plea, he broke into a brilliant smile that he knew would jar her. "You're one in a million, 'Mione."
"Fuck you. You have two months to quit your little games."
With that calm pronouncement, she flooed to Viktor's place to tell him the unhappy news that she had made the ultimate decision.
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Years later, the situations had not much changed. Hermione was still a successful businesswoman--albeit, richer than she had been before--and she still visited Viktor often, in secret during office hours. Ron was still pretty much a loser who valued pleasure above love, and who was far from interested in bettering his relationship with Hermione. She had forced him to get a proper job, albeit as an ineffective executive in her own business, so that he could look like a joint bread-winner and therefore be more likely to be a good role-model to little Rose, but he also misused his office hours. Madam Rosmerta had lost his immediate interest, though she was receiving a decent amount of his paycheck every month, and now he was flitting between various young ambitious ladies for whom he promised stellar recommendations.
All in all, not much had changed at all--but Hermione was preggers again.
She hadn't intended this one either, not entirely. Just, in the middle of her workweek, she had been miserable, and she had just happened to not take her particular contraception potion at her usual time and therefore forgot it, and she had gone to Viktor for comfort sex and...well...she once again was sprung.
It was miserable, pretending to all the world--including Ginny, Harry, Luna, Neville, her co-workers and business associates, her old teachers, and everyone else--that it was Ron's baby, but what else could she do? Only Viktor and Ron himself knew the truth, of course.
However, she did hold Ron to the promise she had elicited last time.
"I'm naming this one," she said coldly as she stormed around the house, gathering her things for work.
Dreary, patting little Rose on the back, Ron asked, "Whatever do you mean, my love?" He had assumed the pleasure of sarcasm, addressing Hermione as his love and darling and all that rot, just to drive it into her thick noggin how much he hated being compelled to play father for the girl whom, despite how fond he was of her, was not his own.
"Hugo. Hugo Andreyi. And you aren't going to do a bloody thing about it," she snarled, shoving a pan of eggs on the stove.
"Hm. I would have thought Viktor would be your name of choice."
She snorted. "I'm at least a bit more subtle than that, you idiot. I am naming him after Viktor--after a fashion. If you've ever heard of Victor Hugo, who also just happens to be my favorite author, then you might understand a bit more. Andreyi is Viktor's father's name, in case you care. Which, I know you don't."
"So you're having another kid that I have to pretend to father. Remind me how much you're paying me for this?" Ron smiled smugly.
"I'll up your ruddy salary, all right?" she muttered with a few choice curses. "How's a bonus of a thousand? a year?"
He shook his head. "You're only paying me ten thousand a year. That's not at all very much. I'll settle for a bonus of five thousand."
"Done," she irritably said, though she knew that if she had initially proposed that much, he would have asked for a bonus of ten thousand. "My lawyer will draw up the necessary papers. Just, don't squander it all. It's my hard-earned money...you might want to save some of it for a rainy day."
"Not many rainy days when you're here, my love!" Ron chortled in avaricious glee, and planted a sloppy disgusting kiss on her cheek.
"Out of the fucking kitchen while I make your fucking eggs!"
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The thoroughly unsuitable couple managed to keep their facade in front of the kids for nine more years, until the day that Rose started school at Hogwarts.
"You know what? I'm leaving!" Ron pronounced loudly, that evening after a commonplace dinner, while little Hugo cowered in a corner, "Maryssa's gonna have my child--my spoiled rotten little child--and in a few short years, she'll be on the train to Hogwarts too. I'm sick of this, Hermione Granger, and this game ends now!"
"No," gasped Hermione, who was thoroughly in tears, "Please...Ron...no. Don't leave. Don't leave me with just...Hugo."
"You've got Viktor, haven't you?" Ron snarled, "Oh wait...he's run off on you, too. Well, it serves you bloody right, Hermione Granger!"
"I'm Hermione Granger-Weasley, do you hear?" she shouted back at him. "And Viktor hasn't run off on me. He's back in Bulgaria taking care of his fucking sick grandmother. You weren't even good enough to take care of your own mother as she was dying of grief just because of your petty jealousy of your brothers! In the end, Percy was the responsible one, Percy was the one who stood with her until the end, while you wouldn't raise a bloody finger!"
"THAT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH ANY OF THIS!" shouted Ron in defense.
Hermione was silent after that.
Suddenly, feeling vulnerable, Ron said, "Oh, fuck it, I'm going to Maryssa's. See you in court, Hermione."
As he stalked self-importantly to the floo, he shouted, "Oh, and if you didn't guess, this is my notice. I'm gonna go get myself a real job, now, to support my real family!"
When he was gone, Hugo crept from the corner. "Is he...dad coming back, mummy?"
She shook her head, no. "It was all a mistake," she said sadly, "A ruddy, stupid mistake that didn't work out for any of us."
Then she turned to Hugo. "You," she said solemnly, "are not going to marry, Hugo. Do you understand me? It just..." she sighed. "...it just doesn't work out."
"Never get married?" The boy didn't sound too miffed at the prospect. "That's okay, I guess. I don't want to get married, anyway, mummy," he announced sweetly, slipping his hand into hers. "I'm going to go be a pirate with Laura from down the street. After we finish at Hogwarts, of course," he added solemnly.
With a sad nod, Hermione squeezed his little hand. "You do that, Hugo," she said, sighing deeply, "You do that."
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PLEASE do not ask for more, because I'm really not interested in writing more. I'm not even interested in editing this. But, you should still review.
Many thanks to Megan and Ingrid for helping me put the pieces together that inspired this work!