Author's Notes: I really love you, readers and reviewers.. I really, really do.. And I'm also quite happy, because my exams are going very well so far (I still have one to go, before I'm back with lessons and lessons and lessons..)! Anyway, let me think at something intelligent to write in this AN.. Oh yep, this chapter is just to show how everybody is taking the news, not well indeed.. And there's also a piece with Molly which I started at the end of the flashes and wanted to finish it somewhere, someone noticed it, I hope that you won't kill me for my version of the Weasley's family story. Hmm.. Nothing else to say, except that soon the lovers will be reunited again, for a while at least.. Anyway, this Thursday I should be back home, and have more time to stay on line and answer your reviews and post new chapter(s). Have a lovely time reading this short chappie! Kisses and Hugs! -- Luv you so much..
Consequences
Harry took a deep breath and knocked on James' bedroom's door. He had decided to talk to him alone, without Ginny or Ron or anybody else, and he wanted to listen very carefully to him. He was still sure that there was a simple, rational explanation to what had happened so far.
Some noises on the other side of the door told Harry that James had jumped down the bed where he was lying and was now walking towards the door. When the boy opened it and found his father standing in the corridor, he darkened slightly, moving back to make some room for Harry to enter.
Harry walked in and once he was inside, James closed the door at their backs and leaned against it. "What do you want, dad?" he asked, trying to keep his voice flat.
Harry turned to look at him and crossed his arms on his chest. "Talk," he replied firmly.
James looked away from him and snorted. "What do you want to talk about? I think that Uncle Ron had already said quite a lot, hadn't he?" he hissed.
Harry looked at him, shaking his head slightly. "Don't you dare blame your uncle for his reaction," he snapped, "he had all the rights to act that way."
"He hit Rose," retorted James heatedly, looking again at Harry.
Harry took a deep breath. "James, maybe you don't understand the gravity of what you and Rose did," he said animatedly, "let alone that she's your cousin; you two are going to have a baby."
James looked away, his face darkening even more. He knew perfectly well how serious the situation was, but what did his father want? Did Harry want James to punish himself for his mistakes? "I know that," the boy said icily.
Harry threw up his hands. "And does it look like it's something good to you?" he asked bitterly.
James looked back at his father. "And what do you suggest, dad?" he asked coldly. "Punish me for my what I did or kick me out of his house?" He shook his head. "Whatever it is, I don't care."He closed his fists. "As long as you don't do anything to Rose."
Harry shook his head. "You think it's so easy, don't you?" snapped Harry. "You think this is just one of those things you do, and then your mother and I punish you and a couple of days later everything is like it was before, don't you?" He looked at James, his eyes burning. "It's not like that James, if we punish you or kick you out of this house, how will that help you? Your mother and I can teach you that push Lily in the pond is not right, we can teach you that put spiders in Albus' soup is something which you mustn't do; but we cannot teach you that have a baby with your cousin before you're even out of school is not right, because even if we told you what good would we bring you? You've already done that, and you cannot go back."
James bit his bottom lip. "You're right, dad, we did a mistake, and we cannot go back, so what's the matter with telling me all those things?" he asked coldly.
"James, you don't really get it, do you?" asked Harry heatedly. "You're going to be a father."
"And what do you want me to tell you, dad?" barked James. "I don't know what you want from me."
Harry looked at him, taken aback. He didn't know what he wanted from him as well, if he had to frank with himself. He was angry with him, very angry, but he knew perfectly well that there was no way to go back. Even if Ron forced Rose to have an abortion, it wouldn't have made their fault less terrible. They had been together in an incestuous relationship, and nothing would have changed that. But Harry couldn't have not answered him, because that was like agreeing with him that there was nothing left to do and therefore there was no need to rub salt into the wound. "I want you to understand how terrible your act is," he said eventually.
"I know, don't worry, I know," answered James sulkily.
"Really? Because from your behaviour it really doesn't look like that," snapped Harry.
James looked away from Harry. "What do you want me to say? That if I could go back I would have never loved Rose the way I loved her?" he asked softly, almost to himself. "Well, I'm sorry, but I can't." He sighed. "She's everything to me, and I was just too stupid to notice that only the moment I lost her."
Harry tilted his head. "What do you mean?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.
"We broke up," he explained, "when she told me that she was pregnant, we quarrelled and then I left her."
"Why?" asked Harry uneasily. It was the first time that James talked with him about such personal matters; it was strange for Harry, who was used to hear only discourses about Quidditch and broomsticks from him. Actually, Harry had never suspected that his first son had a love life, and Harry was sure that if James was with someone he would have never talked to him about it, he was far too reserved for that.
"Because I asked her to terminate the pregnancy and she said no," he replied stiffly. He finally looked back at his father. "Don't think that we didn't know that it was such a terrible thing that we were doing, although we wouldn't have kept it so secret in all these years."
Harry looked away from him. "That's the first sensible thing you say since this afternoon," he murmured, "at least you know that you did something wrong."
James snorted and shook his head. "Yeah, whatever," he replied simply.
Harry rolled his eyes, he fought the urge of slapping James for his impudence and his face hardened. "You are not allowed out of this room until the day you are meant to go back to Hogwarts," stated Harry.
James looked again at him. "I want to see Rose," he said briskly.
Harry shook his head. "Consider yourself lucky if your Uncle Ron doesn't kick her out of his house," he replied, "and I don't think that, even if I let you see her, Ron would ever agree to allow you two meet."
James looked at his father through narrowed eyes. "You can't force us apart," he said.
Harry turned towards the door and pushed it open. "We can and we will, James," he answered. "At least, until we have decided what to do." He walked out and banged the door at his back, then the lock caught twice and only when his steps had faded away on the stairs, James let out a frustrated cry and, grasping the first thing he found, he sent a book against the wall.
Why was he so angry? He didn't know. When Rose had told him that she was pregnant, he had left her, made himself believe that he didn't love her, that he could live perfectly well without her, that she had always been just his toy; but that was all a big fat lie. Now that he had lost her, James suddenly understood that she was everything to him, and for a moment the possibility that they might take her from him cut the air off his lungs.
James closed his fists and punched the wardrobe. He didn't care if his father forbade him to see her, he had to meet her one last time at least, clarify things with her, ask her to forgive him. They could as well kill him for breaking those rules, he didn't care. He was death anyhow if he didn't see her.
Ron put his hands on the sink edges and arched his back, inhaling deeply. What had happened the day before was just a dream or was it reality? To that answered his stomach, which rumbled so strongly that it reminded him that he hadn't had dinner the day before, and only something as upsetting as discovering that his daughter was pregnant with her cousin's child would have made him skip dinner.
He raised his eyes and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He was pale, his eyes were ringed darkly and his pupils were almost red for the sleep that hadn't been enough that night. His hair looked very much like that of Harry, for it was as if he had never combed it.
Ron opened the tap and cocked his hands under the frozen water, splashing it all over his face. He felt it slide down his cheeks and neck and didn't care when some drops slipped under his pyjamas. He would have taken a shower if his stomach weren't menacing to tear down the window glass with all its protests. Ron sunk his head into the towel and brushed forcefully away the water, a minute later he was walking out of the bathroom and into his bedroom.
Hermione had been there when he had gotten up, but now she was gone. Ron sat down on her side of the bed and touched the sheets, they were still warm with her body heat. He closed his eyes and inhaled sharply, her scent still lingered amongst the blankets. He stood up and walked out of the bedroom, and, as soon as he was climbing down the stairs, he could hear noises of plates and frying pans, and smell of bacon and toasts coming from the kitchen.
He crossed the living room with measured steps, not too quick, not too slow, and pushed the door of the kitchen open. Hermione was there, her curly hair combed in a loosen ponytail on her head, her thin body wrapped in a peachy dressing gown, she was frying the bacon, toast the toasts, cooking the eggs and brewing the tea all at the same time.
Ron's first impulse was to hurry at her side, move away her hair from her neck, kiss her under her ear, where she was more sensitive, and maybe throw her on the breakfast table before Hugo came down to reclaim his breakfast. Instead, he looked away from her and his eyes wandered for the kitchen. The table was prepared for three people, but there was a tray in the place setting that was Rose's, with a glass of milk and some toasts and butter already on it.
Ron swallowed and, walking towards the table, he sat down on his chair. "Good morning," he said more stiffly than he had intended.
Hermione turned to look at him, her face remained serious, but her eyes shone for a second. "Good morning, Ron," she murmured back.
Ron took a deep breath. He didn't want to do that, because that would have surely caused a quarrel between him and Hermione, but he was the head of the family and wanted to have everything under control that situation. "What are you doing?" he asked.
"Getting the breakfast ready," she answered slowly.
"I can see that," replied Ron, "but what's this?" He nodded towards the tray and crossed his arms on his chest.
Hermione inhaled deeply. "Rose's breakfast," she replied, "I supposed she's not allowed out of her room."
Ron nodded. "And she's not allowed to eat either."
Hermione turned her back to him and extinguished the fire under the frying pan that was sending the bacon on fire. "Ron," she said emphasizing his name, "she didn't have dinner yesterday evening."
"And she's not going to have breakfast as well," he retorted.
"You can't let her starving," said Hermione, turning once again to serve him with the bacon, "she's pregnant."
"Hermione, that's exactly why I'll let her starving," replied Ron harshly.
"What do you want? See if she loses the baby?" asked Hermione coldly.
"I want to punish her, Hermione," said Ron, glaring at her.
"You can punish her in thousands of ways that I'll support, but if you don't feed her, Ron, she's going to lose the baby. Is that what you want?" asked Hermione. She sighed and shook her head, and without waiting for his answer she continued, "I won't let you do it."
Ron shook his head. "I don't care if she has this baby or not, Hermione," he informed, "the baby is just a consequence of what she did, and what she did is the most important thing. She cannot go back and I really can't understand if I'm angrier because she got pregnant or because the boy she had been with is her cousin. I just know that right now I cannot think about forgiving her."
Hermione sighed. "I know what you feel, Ron," she confessed, "I'm angry too, but we can't segregate her in her bedroom and let her die of hunger."
Ron looked at her. "We are her parents," he said, "we can do anything, she's not even on age."
Hermione looked away, bracing herself and shivering. "I'll bring her lunch with or without your permission," she murmured.
Ron considered that for a moment and then he nodded stiffly. He cut his bacon and brought it to his mouth, but suddenly he understood that he wasn't hungry at all, and put it back on the plate. When he stood up Hermione looked at him with a concerned expression over her face, but she didn't say anything as he walked away, disappearing out of the kitchen.
When Molly's eyelids fluttered open the first thing she saw was Arthur's worried face, his face was bending over her and his palms were patting her wrists gently. "Are you all right, Molly?" he asked urgently.
Molly looked a bit around herself before answering. What had happened? She had gotten up that morning, and like every morning she had prepared some breakfast for her and Arthur. Then she had started to cook and bake for the Christmas party that was coming up in two days, when Ginny and Harry's owl had arrived with a letter.
Oh! The letter! It was terrible. It was so terrible that before fainting, for a spare second, Molly Weasley had firmly believed that it was all just a nightmare. A terrible nightmare that brought some of her worst fears to reality. But then she understood that it wasn't a dreadful fantasy at all, on the contrary, it was the terrible truth that she had to face. So fainting had seemed the best thing to do at that moment.
"Oh, Arthur," she said feebly, "did you read it?" She raised the hand that held the letter Ginny had sent her, her fingers were so tightly clenched around it that her knuckles were all white.
Arthur Weasley nodded. He looked worried, but half of his concern was for his wife who hadn't reacted so badly to a news since the day Hugo had caught the Muggle flue when he was three and his other grandparents had insisted to bring him to a Muggle hospital. "I read it, Molly," replied Arthur slowly.
Molly sat up with a great effort, and Arthur helped her. "I told you that they were too close, didn't I?" she asked urgently. "I wrote Ginny and Ron those letters, why on Earth I didn't send them?"
Arthur sighed. "Molly, nobody could have ever imagined that they would have gone so far, not even you," he said softly.
Molly let out a groan. "Oh, Arthur, they grew up under this roof like siblings, what have we done wrong?" she whispered.
"Nothing, Molly," he reassured her, "I believe, we raised them like all our grandchildren." Arthur sighed and sat down next to Molly as she sat straighter.
"Then, what happened?" asked Molly discouraged.
Arthur looked at her from behind his spectacles. "I don't know."
Molly closed her weary eyes for a moment, trying to understand what was going on in her life. Never, since the days of Voldemort, she had felt so worried for one of her family members and she could only imagine what had been Ron's reaction to the news, knowing his point of view on matters like his children's relationships. "I want to lie down a little, Arthur," murmured Molly.
Arthur looked at her, his blue eyes wide. "You want me to bring you something, Molly? A cup of tea, perhaps?"
Molly shook her head, her white curls waving softly around her face. "No, Arthur, I need to get some rest." She stood up, gripping the armrest with both her hands for support, and staggered a little while she took some steps towards the stairs.
"Molly, do you want me to help you climbing the stairs?"
"No, thank you," she replied softly, without even turning to look at Arthur. She climbed up the stairs a step after the other in such a slow pace that the tic-tac of the Grandfather's clock seemed to go even faster than her movements.
The railing, the stairs, the carpet, the door, the bed, the pillows, the drawer, the socks box, the letters. Everything was real and dreamlike at the same time, later that day Molly wouldn't remember taking the letters she hid in the socks box at the bottom of her drawer, or reading them, but she did.
They were love letters, all signed with the same name, William Prewett, and all addressed to the same person, Molly Prewett. They told their story, a story of love and passion and obsession, a story lasted less than a couple of years, and brought to a sudden end by the death of William. They were cousins, first cousins, and they were meant to marry, because at that time the Wizarding families wanted to keep marriages in their families, and so a contract was made even before they were on age.
But two days before Molly's eighteenth birthday, William got sick and died, and all the world turned upside down for the seventeen-year-old girl too in love to believe that she would ever fall for someone else.
Molly and Rose, William and James. The more she thought of them, the more their outlines blurred, and Molly didn't understand anymore what was past and what was present, what had happened and what was happening. All she could have been sure of was that she couldn't have ignored the dreadful foreboding that was growing in her heart; history always repeated itself.
Victoire's jaw dropped, she looked at her Aunt without even understanding if she heard right, or if she had just imagined things; but Hermione seemed deadly serious, and Victoire's doubts dissolved as quickly as they had appeared. "Aunt, what are you talking about?" she asked. Her son, Charlie, gripped her silvery hair and pulled at it, trying to attract his mother's attention, as an answer Victoire hushed him distractedly. "I mean, Rose is not the kind of girl that would get pregnant, and with James… are you sure?"
Hermione placed a pot of tea on the table and looked at Victoire with the same harsh expression that she had been wearing for the last few days. "Yes, we are sure," she replied, "your uncle forced her to do a pregnancy test after we punished her. It was positive."
Victoire swallowed. "And what about James?"
Hermione shrugged her shoulders slightly. "They confessed, both of them," she said flatly, "he is the father."
Victoire raised her eyebrows. "You're not taking it very well, are you?" she dared to ask.
Hermione sat across from her, her face on her palms. "No, we aren't. Nobody is," she replied.
Victoire bit her bottom lip. "Can I see Rose?"
Hermione smiled softly and shook her head. "She's not allowed out of her bedroom, and nobody is permitted inside."
"Who says?"
"Her father and I."
Victoire looked away. "And James?"
"I don't think that he's allowed out of his room as well, but I haven't talked to Ginny and Harry since the day Rose broke the news with us," she replied slowly.
Charlie patted her mother's cheek and called his mummy insistently, but Victoire still didn't pay him any attention, she just moved her face away and told her son to be quiet in an annoyed way. "And what are you planning to do?" she asked evenly.
Hermione shrugged again. "We don't know, yet," she answered, "for now we've just decided to keep them locked in their own rooms, but we don't know what it will be when they'll have to go back to Hogwarts or once the baby will be born." She poured some tea in a cup and offered it to Victoire.
"Thanks," said Victoire, taking it.
Hermione smiled, then she looked at Charlie. "I think that Rose wants it to be a girl," she said, "not that we talked about it, but I heard her speaking to the baby." Hermione sighed. "She addressed to it as a girl."
Victoire furrowed her brow. "When are you going to let them out?"
"And do what? Let them build their life together like a normal couple?" asked Hermione, massaging her temples, "they are not a normal couple, they'll never be."
Victoire inhaled deeply. "I remember I have studied the lives of Merlin and Morgan at school…"
"I studied that too," replied Hermione quietly, "but Morgan le Fay and King Arthur weren't cousins."
Victoire shook her head. "They were half-siblings and they had a child," she said.
"You tell Ron, Victoire," said Hermione, snorting softly. "Nobody here wants to listen to anything at all, not even me." She sighed. "No more." She stood up, her cup still empty and clean. "You better go, Victoire."
Victoire looked at her aunt with her beautiful eyes wide. "Teddy and I have your Christmas presents at home," she murmured.
"There are so many Christmases that still have to come," she said, "you'll surely find the right time for the presents, soon or later."
"But this Christmas won't be the same without half of the family," sighed Victoire.
"Nothing is the same anymore," whispered Hermione, "you really better go, Victoire."
Victoire stood up, she hugged Charlie and whispered to him to say goodbye to his aunt, he did and Hermione smiled as she waved her hand. And then Victoire and Charlie walked out of the door and into the garden, back to their house and keen to talk to Teddy and see his face when he was going to know about Rose and James.
Author's Notes: Why I named Victoire and Teddy's son Charlie and not Remus as J.K.R. would surely do? That's easily said: first of all because I don't like when grandchildren have the same names of their grandparents or anybody else in the family, is something that I can't really stand and that unluckily J.K.R. seems to love.. Secondly, because I wasn't in the right mood for writing this story last evening, and so I watched the last episode of Lost's third season which I love (is it just me or in that series every boy is just too handsome to be real?), and which ends quite badly for my fave character (I'm not spoiling anything, am I?), so I decided to call the baby Charlie in honour of Charlie Pace.. :) Luv that boy.. Oh, yep! And naturally you noticed that I called Molly's lost lover William and that Bill, her firstborn, is a nickname for William, didn't you:)