A/N: This chapter contains spoilers for Harry Potter and a Cursed Child.

"You've got some nerve," Hermione hissed as she stormed in the front of door of their home.

Ron was sitting on the sofa, going over some paperwork for what Hermione guessed was for the joke shop. "I do?" he asked nervously, trying to pick his brain for anything foolish he might have done in the past twenty-four hours.

"You come into my office, on a day you know is already extremely busy and booked solid with appointments, during a time you know I'm a little on edge trying to investigate and figure out if Voldemort is, in fact back, you corner me, and out of nowhere tell me you want another baby?! You git!" She reached her hand out to smack him, but he dodged it quickly.

"Missed," he said almost automatically, and immediately regretted it as the next thing she swung at him was her workbag still clutched in her hand. "Hit," he muttered feebly.

"We are happy!" she continued as she started pacing up and down the length of the living room. "Both kids are at Hogwarts, we finally have this place to ourselves again. Our lives are chaotic and hectic, but we make it work, and we're happy -"

"Just wait," Ron said, shaking his head and not following. "How did I bring this all on?"

"You waltzed into my office like you bloody own the Ministry of Magic, cornered me, and all but demanded another baby! Or a holiday, but honestly Ron, we just went on holiday before the start of the school year, and you really are not that much of a joy to travel with-"

"I didn't-" Ron tried to explain, but his wife was too worked up. She pulled her wand from the set of robes she was wearing, and with a flick of the wrist, he was silenced.

"You can talk after I'm finished," she said seeing his silent protest. "The point is, I'm very content with the two wonderful, nearly raised children that we currently have. I love my job, I know that the schedule is insane, but it's wonderful, and I'm working to make a difference, and I'm finally at a point where I feel like I halfway know what I'm doing. And there's the little matter that Voldemort might be back and you want me just to pop out another kid in the middle of that? You must be mental!"

Ron still sat dumbfounded on the couch, unable to protest that he had never suggested such a thing. All he could do was nod in agreement - he must be mental.

"I'm glad you agree!" Hermione said as she threw her hands above her head in surrender. "So then why in Merlin's name has having another baby been the only thing I've been able to think about for the past seven hours?"

Even without the spell, Ron wasn't positive he'd able to speak now. He was sure his eyes were as big as galleons. Was he hearing his wife correctly? Ron had always wanted a bigger family, but was content with the compromise of their two children. There was a time when he had pushed for a third, but the last time he brought it up, nearly six years ago when Hugo had all but begged him for a brother, Hermione was so upset that Ron ended up belching slugs for three days. Granted, it was right in the middle of her campaign for Minster of Magic, but he was still smart enough to take it as a sign to drop it.

"I mean," Hermione continued. "I asked the head of security at Gringotts if he'd like a bottle. A bottle, Ron! I nearly didn't give Katie's baby back when she asked if I'd hold him for a moment while she found the correct slip in her purse. One the way home from work, I stood in front that muggle baby store on 3rd Street for a solid fifteen minutes just looking through the window at the tiny clothes and such. We do not need another baby," she said definitively. "That's what I believed until today at noon at least."

She continued pacing in the silence of the room. "Well, say something!" she encouraged.

"Mmm hmm rmmm," Ron tried.

"Oh," Hermione realized, and with another calculated flick of her wrist, released his tongue from her bind.

"You really want another baby?" Was the first thing Ron could vocalize, the shock of it all overbearing the fact that he had not stepped foot in the Ministry today.

Hermione stopped pacing. "No," she huffed. "Yes," she threw hands up again. "I don't know!"

Ron stood up off the couch and put his calloused hands on her arms. "You know how much I'd love another baby," Ron said honestly. "But I also understand you've got quite a bit on your plate, what with running the Wizarding world and all."

"Exactly," Hermione agreed. "To get pregnant now, it'd be selfish and immature, and -"

"A really great adventure," Ron finished, trying not to let the hope in his eyes be too evident.

"Yes," Hermione agreed, "Another really grand adventure." She sighed, obviously conflicted as she sat down on the sofa. "I wouldn't want to do anything until these investigations into Voldemort are finished. It'd be incredibly irresponsible to get knocked up in the middle of the third wizarding war if it comes to that."

"I agree," Ron said taking a seat next to her.

"And I'm still not even positive I want to do this! I just want us to think about it is all. I didn't even think this was an option until today! I mean, I know we're older, but I did some research. Turns out witches have a much higher rate of getting pregnant after 35 than muggle women do. Cause of our longer life expectancies."

"I didn't know it was an option either," Ron muttered.

"What do you mean?" Hermione questioned. "You're the one who gave me the bloody idea!"

"Look 'Mione," Ron said, his senses finally coming to him in the midst of all this. "I don't know how to tell you this, but I was not at the Ministry today." He motioned to the pile of paperwork now lying haphazardly around the sofa. "I was at the shop all day. You can ask George."

"Ronald," Hermione said, a concerned look on her face. "You were waiting in my office for me after lunch. You said - you demanded - another baby or a holiday. You wouldn't let me pass, I mentioned your breath smelled of those fish sandwiches -" Hermione's voice trailed off as she realized what had happened.

"What?" Ron asked.

"Godric, someone used Polyjuice to look like you. Grab the floo powder will you? We're going to Harry's."

Ron grabbed the jar of powder from the cabinet, his brain struggling to keep up with the whiplash of events. "Wait," he said, just before his wife threw a handful in the fire. Does this mean the baby is off the table?"

"Honestly, Ron. Someone is running around impersonating you, and you're still stuck on the baby?"

Ron shrugged his shoulders and grinned feebly. Hermione could see the hope twinkle in his eyes. She'd be lying if she said she didn't feel that same twinge of hope and excitement. She smiled as she shook her head. "No," she kissed his cheek. "Not yet at least."

A/N: If you're read Cursed Child, then you know that this stems from the happenings of Scene One Act 8. The idea came to me and I just kind of ran with it - not exactly cannon, but I liked the what if. Anyway, as always I hope that you've enjoyed and thank you to all who have read, reviewed, favorited, and/or followed this story! It seems like I've got a lot of Hermione and Ron in my editing queue - it all just depends on what I get to first!