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.
