The blue cotton sheets were surprisingly soft against Hermione's bare skin. She rubbed the edge of them between her fingers, halfheartedly wondering about the thread count. Usually hotels had fairly low-quality bedding. Not that it mattered. Rolling onto her side, she propped herself up on one elbow. She studied the man next to her; he was studying the ceiling. A pesky piece of his overgrown red hair was flopped most of the way over one of his eyes, and his cheeks were still flushed. When he turned his head to look at her and smiled, Hermione guessed that she too must still be a little pink in the face. She lowered her gaze. She still had her watch on, and it told her that it was going on 3am.
Hermione just barely avoided the hand that reached for her cheek, as she moved off the bed and quickly to the bathroom, gathering her clothes from the floor as she went. A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened. Fully clothed, the brunette woman stepped out and pulled open the door into the hallway. She paused.
"Goodnight, George." And then she was gone, down the elevator and out the front door.
}|{
The sound of clinking dishes in the kitchen woke Ron. He lifted his head from the back of the couch, wiping at a bit of drool on his chin. He could hear bacon frying on the stove, and the pleasant smells of maple, eggs, and coffee mingled on the air. He stood, drawn both to the scents and to the promise of seeing his wifes face. When Ron entered the kitchen, he saw Hermione in front of the sink. There were two plates of a tasty-looking breakfast on the counter and she was filling one side of the sink with soapy water; last nights dishes had been scraped off, and she was setting them in the water to soak. A smile touched her face as Rons arms encircled her from behind, pinning her to the kitchen sink gently.
"I'm sorry about last night, Love. I took an extra shift, a-and..."
"Shh."
Ron cut her off with a kiss to her cheek. A few wisps of her untamed hair clung to his lips for a moment. Turning off the water, Hermione looked over her shoulder to kiss him more directly. She was thankful he had shushed her. After a few lingering moments, their lips parted, and she leaned back into him. Both of their gazes wandered peacefully out the window above the sink, watching life outside in the muggle suburb they lived in. Rose was across the street, playing dolls with the young muggle girl she was friends with. The summer sun beat down on the carefree little girls as they played; the sunlight made Roses light red curls shine like a brand-new muggle penny. Hermione smiled.
Nuzzling her thick, chestnut-colored hair, Ron mumured in her ear, "Are you thinking what I am?..."
"Mm..." She turned in his arms, a little smirk playing on her lips. Before she replied, Hermione slipped her wand from her pocket and gave the front of Rons jeans a litle nudge, a simple contraception spell leaving her tongue. "Now I am..." She winked.
And for the second time, two platefuls of food were left uneaten, slowly growing cold where they sat...
}|{
AUGUST
Ron had brought Hermione some seafood alfredo for lunch, the kind with little pink shrimps mixed in among the white; her favorite. Not today though. As she swirled her fork around in the creamy sauce-covered noodles, Hermione sighed. The smell of the shrimp was starting to make her feel a little ill, and she supposed she should cover the bowl back up. Setting it aside for later, she picked her quill back up. Then it hit her- A sudden wave of nausia caused Hermione to cover her mouth with the back of one hand and grab for the wastebasket with her other. She pressed her knuckles hard against her lips, eyes closed, silently praying for the bile that had risen in the back of her throat to disapate. That was how it had been for the last few days; she spent most of her meals doing more pushing around of her food than eating of it. Come to think of it, it had been longer even than just a few days. What she couldn't figure out was why. She had shown no other signs of having the flu, or any other illness for that matter.
Quite suddenly, a thought hit her; a terrifying thought. A thought that nearly made Hermione sicker than her lunch had. She remembered back to that morning. To how she had gone to her closet and pulled out her favorite black pencil skirt. To how she had slid it up her legs and snugly onto her hips. To how she had reached behind herself to do up the zipper. To how... ... ...
Hermione looked down at the tan slacks she was wearing. Her skirt hadn't zipped even halfway up. Amber eyes slowly, nervously studied her stomach as she lifted the hem of the crimson button-up. She felt a lump grow in her throat; she didn't know if it was due to tears or another bout of nausia. Her mood was scarily calm as she settled back into her desk chair and pulled out a clean piece of parchment. After scrawling a short request for a certain blood test, Hermione rolled up the parchment and attached it to the owl perched beside her large desk. Her eyes strayed back to the covered bowl of alfredo as the owl stretched it wings and took off.
"...Oh...shit..."
"Every nights dance is like takin' a chance
It's not about love and romance
And now you're gonna get it."
'Blood On The Dance Floor'
[Michael Jackson]
