I solemnly swear that I do not own this.

Yes, I know, this is rushed, it's only a glimpse, yadda yadda, but hey, my story, my idea, get used to it.

"Peanut butter. And cheese." As I wrote these down, I stopped.

"'Mione, honey, you hate cheese."

"Oh yeah? And who died and made you minister? Last I checked I was allowed to decide what I do or don't like. Right now, you're the latter." She huffed out of the room, leaving me alone in the kitchen. Shit, I had walked right into that. I knew pregnancy made Hermione temperamental and hormonal, but I always forgot that her appetite had changed radically, only being in that condition for three months. Though having Hermione hormonal wasn't all bad.

Finishing up the list, I stuck it to the refrigerator, then walking to our bedroom door and opening it. I saw my wife sobbing but didn't move to touch her, as last time she kicked my arse for 'the mere thought' of it.

This was hormonal, so I turned to leave.

Then it hit me. The vase.

"Ronald Billius Weasley, don't you dare walk out of this room!"

Temperamental.

"'Mione, I'm sorry, but I have to go. I'm leaving." I had just glanced at my watch and was due to meet Ginny in five minutes.

"You-you're leaving me? How dare you!"

Bloody hell, hormonal and temperamental.

Ssosos

Cycles similar to this went on for the next six months and by Merlin, I loved her being hormonal at times, especially after we'd make up.

And then I was there at St. Mungo's, holding my baby boy up, Harry, after our late friend, I realized that I created this. It was a miracle, no matter how erotic Hermione's pregnancy.

"We should have twins," she spoke up. I remembered her pregnancy, so I shook my head.

"Maybe in a few years."

I couldn't deal with Hermione twice what she'd been last time.

Hormonal and temperamental?

Doubled?

All the time?

Maybe later.