(Author's note: I'm so, so incredibly sorry about how long this chapter has taken! For anyone who has been following, I do solemnly swear to have chapter four (which I've already begun writing) up by this Saturday back on schedule. Thank you for your patience!)
Chapter Three
"You're joking."
Harry hadn't thought that he would ever feel better than he had when Ginny agreed to marry him a week ago, but that was before he'd seen the expression of mingled bewilderment and dawning comprehension on Ron Weasley's freckled face.
"But that means… you two have… but she doesn't-"
"Honestly, Ron," breathed Hermione, beaming as she wrapped her arms around Harry's shoulders and gave him a tight, very Mrs. Weasley-ish hug. "That's brilliant, Harry, absolutely brilliant. I'm so happy for you two!"
"Yeah," mumbled Harry, smiling awkwardly as he rubbed the back of his neck. It was early morning, and they were sitting at the Burrow's kitchen table; Hermione's bushy brown hair was rolled up in a loose and untidy bun and she wore a thick, red winter cardigan, looking distinctly different from her usual deep brown robes and perfectly tied-back hair that befit the Junior Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. On the other hand, Ron - in his blazingly orange sweater embroidered with a moving Chudley Cannons' logo and a slight ginger stubble - looked hardly different from his "professional" dress, working as he did at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes alongside George.
"But Ginny and he aren't… well… I mean to say, Mum expected her to wait, is all. Until she and Harry, er, officially…." Ron swallowed, his voice trailing off as he sat down at the table.
"You mean like you two waited?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows with a smirk.
Hermione's face flushed to match her cardigan, but she still didn't quite match the glorious sunset glow that was Ron.
"That's… uh…." she tried, retreating into her still-steaming mug of butterbeer.
Harry let out a laugh. He hadn't ever caught his two best mates in the act personally, but an unfortunate Neville had - the very night after the end of the final battle, in the otherwise empty History of Magic classroom.
"Well, that's besides the point," said Ron, awkwardly shuffling his oversized feet and swallowing a mouthful of butterbeer with a loud gulp. "Ginny's young!"
"She's only a year younger, and Hermione shared seventh year with her," Harry pointed out.
"And besides," said Hermione, cutting in on Harry's side as she turned to face her husband, "They've been dating for ages, and they're going to be married. What else do you want?"
Ron opened his mouth to protest and immediately sloped half a mouthful of butterbeer down his orange Cannons sweater. Hermione broke into a fit of giggles and lifted her wand from the kitchen table, waving it once at him; the butterbeer vanished.
"Yeah… er… well," he muttered, defeated, as he eyed his treacherous bottle of butterbeer with dislike. "I mean… I am happy for you, mate."
"Brilliant, then we're all happy for Harry," smiled Hermione, yawning. She reached down beneath the table and heaved Crookshanks up onto her lap from where he had been skulking about her heels. Harry, not knowing what else to add, finally sat back down at the circular table, across from Ron and on Hermione's left. Hermione drew him up his own bottle of butterbeer with her wand without so much as a second glance, which Harry graciously accepted, taking a slow, wary sip of its contents and appreciating the warmth that spread throughout his tired body.
"Harry!"
Nearly dozing off in his chair, Harry was awoken quickly by the gleeful shout of Mrs. Weasley. She squeezed him from behind his chair, knocking the breath from his lungs. "Ginny's just told me about the engagement last night! Oh, and the baby, how exciting!" Her round face was lit up and smiling, seemingly without end. Ron looked utterly stunned-apparently, he had been counting on his mother's disappointment to justify his own awkward objections. Standing, he faced his mother-in-law.
"Er, yeah," he said, not knowing what else to add. Though Molly seemed to ignore the obvious fact of how babies are made, Harry still felt enormously strange to be speaking about such things with the woman who had practically raised him as a second mother.
"I'm very happy for you two. I was hoping she'd be here with you… well, nevermind, I can still give you this." She pulled a perfectly wrapped, circular package from a pocket inside her robes and handed it to Harry, who stood there as he accepted the gift. Inside was a clock, but one with no numbers-there were Harry and Ginny's names, as well as a hand with no name that was moving very quickly around the clock, never settling on one spot. Around the edge were such phrases as "Work," "Home," "Hogwarts," "Prison," and "Mortal Peril". Looking up, Harry noticed that it was nearly the same clock as was hanging on the wall of the Burrow's kitchen.
"Wow… this is brilliant," Harry smiled earnestly, watching the unlabeled hand spin endlessly.
"You're quite welcome, dear," she beamed. "The enchantment doesn't seem to know what to do for a baby in the womb... I suppose it will stop once they're born. I left a space for a name, you see, for you to add," She pointed. Harry smiled and hugged her.
"Thank you so much, Mrs. Weasley."
It was a moment before he took notice of the actual watch on his wrist, another gift of Mrs. Weasley's that had once belonged to her brother, Fabian. It was nearly ten past eight. "I've got to get going. Kingsley wants me on duty in London tonight," he addressed to the kitchen, and, with a jumble of "goodbyes" and a third hug from Mrs. Weasley, Harry walked out of the Burrow and Disapparated halfway down the garden path.