Hermione opened her eyes blearily, light from one of the windows falling across her face irritatingly. She reached up slowly to brush back the hair that had fallen out of Ginny's style from last night and sighed. Her whole body was tired and sore. All that dancing, all that walking in heels...
She felt the gentle rise and fall of George's chest underneath her, realizing she had barely moved from last night when she had passed out on top of him.
All that sex.
Hermione took a slow breath and pulled herself up carefully so as not to disturb George. It was all pointless though; he was fast asleep stretched out on the couch, one arm thrown back over the arm rest behind his head, his arm blocking most of the light from the window which had woken her far before she would have liked.
Standing and groaning inwardly at the aches and pains of sleeping oddly for most of the night, Hermione felt her head spin a bit and reached out to steady herself on the mantle of the cold fireplace. Her stomach churned in her belly, bile rising in her throat and there was no way to stop it.
She dashed quietly to the back door and grabbed her long coat, swinging it around her naked body. Magically the zipper closed and ascended to her throat and she slipped out the back door, hand over her mouth. Barely holding on until the door clicked shut behind her, Hermione leaned over and emptied her stomach into the rubbish bin beside the door.
Why was she still feeling so terrible?
She had been resting and relaxing, the wedding was over so there wasn't anything to stress about, and there was months to go before her book was due to be completed under her contract.
You did hear the story of Fred and Angelina, right? They weren't even trying.
Ginny's words echoed in her head and she paused, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Surely, she couldn't be pregnant already.
Well...
Not surely.
Sex could result in babies and there had definitely been plenty of that between George and her. So technically, it was possible but she had been careful, watching the calendar and tracking her cycles and...
Stranger things had happened, right?
George did say the Weasleys were a fertile bunch!
Hermione's own words to Angelina replayed in her head as she hunched over the bin once more, retching.
Maybe she had better get to the bottom of this.
Telling herself to stay calm until she knew for sure, Hermione waited outside for a minute more, shaking in her winter coat and nothing else to see if she was done with the rubbish bin for the time being. After conceding that she was, she let herself in again, listening for George's slow breathing before creeping upstairs and cleaning herself up. She didn't have time for a shower right now; she used magic to clean out her mouth and remove any residue from last night's activities so that she could dress quietly in jeans and a pullover. Hermione redonned her winter jacket and made sure she had muggle money on her before leaving a note for George explaining that she had gone to get them breakfast. The mention of food made her stomach turn again and before long, she had left and apparated to a muggle pharmacy.
This was ludicrous.
Wasn't it?
Hermione had never had cause to stand in the 'Family Planning' aisle of any drugstore and bit her lip, surveying the many brands and boxes and claims of accuracy. They all did the same thing, right? It wouldn't matter which one she chose. Hermione sighed and snagged a box, paying quickly and leaving, shoving the box deep in her coat pocket.
There was absolutely no way she would be taking it in the outhouse at the cabin and she didn't want to be anywhere near the Burrow in case they asked why she wasn't with George, and why she couldn't use her own bathroom.
Her own bathroom!
Her own private bathroom at Hogwarts.
Hermione set off to find a quiet place to apparate and appeared back at the train station for Hogsmeade, setting off at a quick trot up to the school. It was a Saturday and still winter hols, meaning the grounds were particularly deserted. Thankfully for her, Hermione encountered no one in the corridors and she climbed the staircase up to the seventh floor, heading for her rooms.
"Ms. Granger?"
Hermione closed her eyes momentarily, the familiar voice of the Headmistress ringing clear through the empty space.
"My apologies," McGonagall drew closer, stepping up to address Hermione directly. "It's Mrs. Weasley now, I'm sure that won't be the first time I forget."
Hermione opened her eyes and turned, looking oddly down on the tall professor who stood a few steps below her.
"Minerva, good morning," Hermione plastered a smile on her face, hoping the woman would not sense anything amiss.
"The same to you," she inclined her head minutely. "I thought for sure we would not see you here until the week was out, in the very least."
"I forgot something," Hermione pointed vaguely over her shoulder in the direction of her quarters.
"Ah," her former professor nodded in understanding. "At seven in the morning? The day after your wedding? Hermione, you really must take some time to relax, you know."
Hermione felt the burn of a blush start and she fought the feeling the Minerva McGonagall already knew that she was lying about her reason for returning to the castle so soon.
"But I shall let you go; don't want to keep you from your honeymoon!"
Hermione could have sworn she heard a note in the woman's voice but her face remained stoic. The more time passed after Albus Dumbledore's death, the more the new Headmistress seemed to take on his all-knowing air and Hermione brushed the thought aside.
"Thank you! I'll see you soon, surely!" she smiled and took off up the stairs again quickly, breathing a heavy sigh of relief when she rounded into her corridor and safely into her rooms.
Crookshanks meowed loudly and unexpectedly, perched on top of one of the bookcases.
"Well, you obviously didn't expect me back anytime soon," she scolded him and he flicked his tail. "Fine, you don't tell anyone I was here, I won't tell anyone you were climbing where you shouldn't have been."
Hermione sped through to the bathroom, boots echoing in the small space. Her jacket was discarded to the floor and she pulled the box from her pocket. She made quick work of reading through the directions and pulled the little plastic stick free of its loud wrapper. Crookshanks was at her heels in a moment and she shushed his mad meowing to no avail.
"Go play with your mouse!" she nudging him from the room with her foot, clicking the door shut behind him with a sigh. "Okay..."
Hermione sat herself down on the toilet and followed the directions, placing the test flat on the side of the white porcelain sink when she was done. She paced back and forth from the window to the tub, counting out three minutes in her head.
This wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, would it?
They had to have children in the next three years anyway.
This was a little early.
She still had her book to finish.
It was bad timing with that.
But it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to have a baby. Partly her, partly George.
Hermione's heart thumped in her chest as she reached the count of 180 and steeled her nerves to look at the stick sitting beside the sink tap.
One line.
Hermione fumbled with the box and dropped it in her haste. She bent to swipe it from the stone floor and scrabbled it around in her hands, locating the back and reading the symbols again for clarity.
Two lines was positive.
One line was negative.
One line was negative.
It was negative.
No baby.
Hermione let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding and she heard the blood rushing in her ears.
That was good, right?
They didn't really need that so soon after everything.
Hermione pulled herself together after a few minutes of staring at the test, and the box, and back to the test. She made her way out of the castle again, not running into anyone on the way as she made her way back down to the village and walked over to the Three Broomsticks. It was after eight now, and the pub was known for hearty breakfasts and hangover cures so Hermione went in and ordered her and George some breakfast and coffees to go.
Now that her panic had settled and the nausea had taken care of itself earlier, hunger rumbled in her belly and she thankfully took the cooked food from Rosmerta and balanced the coffees, apparating back to the cabin.
Smoke was rising from the chimney and Hermione smiled. George must be up.
She took a deep breath before pushing through the back door, resolving to keep the majority of her morning activities to herself for now. She didn't want to scare him into thinking anything that wasn't an issue.
"Good morning!" she called, approaching the kitchen table and setting down the bag of breakfast and the tray of coffees, looking for George.
"Morning!" he called from upstairs in the loft and descended, bare feet poking out from a pair of soft-looking sleep pants hanging low on his hips. "I was a little disappointed to wake up with no you laying all over me keeping me warm but since you brought breakfast, I'll forgive you," he shuffled over, pulling a shirt over his head and kissing her soundly on the cheek. "Ahhh, thanks love," he lowered his voice and sniffed the coffee gently. "Just what I needed."
"I see you managed to light the fire and turn on the hot water all by yourself!" she chirruped, unzipping her jacket and hanging it from the peg at the front door.
"Mmm," George nodded, taking a sip of coffee and reaching to unpack the bag of breakfast. "I need a shower."
"Phew," Hermione rounded the table behind him, waving her hand under her nose and grinning, "yeah, you really do."
"Oi!" George laughed. "It's partly your fault, Granger."
Hermione said nothing and just observed him open a container to find steaming scrambled eggs. He paused and cocked his head.
"Do I still call you Granger now?" he wondered aloud lightly and they both laughed, spooning eggs onto their plates followed by bacon and hot buttered toast.
"I don't know," Hermione sipped her own hot brew. "McGonagall called me Ms. Granger this morning too."
"McGonagall?" George frowned and offered some crisp bacon to her. Trying her best to keep a straight face as she felt her stomach flip at the smell, she shook her head lightly.
"Oh, yes, I - I popped back to Hogwarts for some notes," Hermione lowered her eyes and shovelled some eggs onto a toast triangle, hoping to come off nonchalant. "They must be here after all; I couldn't find them on my desk."
"Maybe they're in the bag Ginny dropped off for you? I did move it to set out all the candles, but it's just upstairs," he spread jam over his toast and took a large bite, rolling his eyes back in exaggerated ecstasy. Clearly he had not picked up on her white lie.
"Probably," Hermione seized the explanation. "I packed in a haze of nerves so I wouldn't be surprised if I put them in there and just don't remember doing it."
George nodded and the two progressed to discussing whether or not to do anything in particular that day.
"Does it feel different now?" Hermione voiced quietly. They had decided to go for a walk around the quiet lake, crunching softly through the snow. Hermione's mittened hand was clasped in George's gloved one and they walked side by side, nether feeling much need to fill any silences that might fall between them.
"I think so," George answered slowly, looking up from his boots to her. "You?"
"Yeah," she nodded.
If this morning hadn't given her a rude awakening to the realities of their new life together, she didn't know what would.
"So how is your book coming along?" George asked after they had begun to round the far side and make their way back to the cabin.
"Good!" Hermione grinned. "I was hoping to do a bit of reading tonight or tomorrow; at least sometime before we leave. I've got a rough list of things and times and events I'd like to cover chronologically..."
She heard herself talking but it was much the same as any explanation she had given to any other person inquiring. Her mind was lingering on the fact that she still wasn't feeling well and she had almost been sick at the smell of bacon; she loved bacon.
Smell sensitivity was another symptom of...
The test was negative so why was she still debating it?
A few days later, Hermione was having a harder and harder time in the mornings; George had yet to catch her actually heaving anything up but he was becoming more suspicious by the day. Hermione had a feeling it had to do with her new general aversion to food that had been developing over the last four days.
"What's the matter?" he asked as she hastily pulled away from him a few days before they were due to leave the cabin.
"Nothing," she said, resisting the urge to cover her mouth with her hand.
"Something is wrong, I can tell," he pressed, raking a hand through his hair and stopping himself from striding after her.
"You just - your breath smells like coffee," Hermione responded lightly, trying to get a hold of her urge to duck outside and vomit. Breathing deeply, the impulse melted away slowly.
"I usually smell like coffee in the morning. You haven't ever dodged a kiss because of it," George gave her a funny look but went to brush his teeth and shower regardless. He had offered to chop more firewood that afternoon; the stack against the side of the cabin was running extremely low.
"But I can do it," Hermione had protested, flicking the washcloth over the kitchen table quickly after they had finished breakfast that morning, Hermione barely stomaching a piece of plain toast.
"I know you can," George had crouched to stoke the fire in the grate, the flames hissing under his prods. "But I happen to be your husband now, and husbands take care of their wives."
Hermione had stared at him from her stance of leaning against the kitchen table, arms splayed mid-cloth-wipe with a dumbstruck look on her face. A moment later she'd gone back to her task, turning to rinse the cloth and hang it over the tap to dry.
"That's it?" George had remarked, humour prevalent. "No arguments?"
"Nope," Hermione had shook her head lightly. "Your argument is valid."
"Right then," George was clearly impressed with himself. "I'll have to remember not to overuse the 'Husband Card' so that I don't lessen the effectiveness over time."
"You think you're so clever," Hermione had laughed at his self-impressed expression and dropped herself onto the couch with a book. She hadn't moved since, and George had already made his way outside to gather wood, making sure as he left that she was sure that no one would see him levitating timber around and breaking it down into more manageable pieces. Hermione had assured him that they were very much hidden from prying eyes and spent the last hour reading quietly in front of the fire while nursing a mug of tea.
She stretched and rose, flipping back the blanket and taking her now empty cup to the sink. She paused to rinse it and set in on the drying rack, gazing out the window at George. He was flicking his wand back and forth at the base of a nearby tree in quick forceful jabs and as she watched on, the tree began to lean and eventually fell to the ground under the guidance of magic. Soon it was chopped up into fireplace-sized pieces and kindling, all floating towards the cabin en masse. Hermione heard the thumps and thwacks of the hunks of wood being dropped and stacked carefully.
Of course, she had known it already because she had known him for a long time, but they were all right; everyone who said he was a good man who would take care of her no matter what happened with the law and with them, good or bad. They had all been right.
She remembered thinking before that she could have done much much worse in the end but now that she had him, in the honest way of actually loving him and not just trying to make something out of nothing for the next few years, she couldn't remember a time when she didn't want to be with him. Logically she knew there was a time not too long ago where she still had feelings for Ron and a small part of her had been absolutely ecstatic that they had kissed. Fortunately for them, that part was much smaller than anticipated and they had parted amicably but before that she had spent years trying to get Ron to grow up and actually do something. Anything. That part of her life seemed so very separate from this one; it was probably for the best seeing as they were brothers. Even after years of fantasizing about Ron in her dreams, nothing had even come close to the feelings George provoked and cultivated, and she realized that with that especially, she was very lucky. For all she knew she could have ended up paired with some old geezer or the youngest family member of a long line of purebloods who took pleasure in torturing muggleborns such as herself.
"Have you ever had any errant desire to get your jollies outside?"
Hermione jumped, having been gazing out the front window thinking for long enough to not notice George crack the door and step inside, trying to close it after himself to keep as much warmth in as possible.
"I beg your pardon?" Hermione laughed, clutching her chest.
"You know..." he trailed off, hanging up his jacket and gesturing out the window pointedly. "Jollies. Outside. Just an honest question, love." He smirked and reached for a glass, filling it with water form the tap as Hermione blushed.
"In this weather?" Hermione asked, eyes on the snow and partially frozen lake.
"In any weather," he clarified, taking a big gulp of cold water.
"I don't think so, no," Hermione shook her head, wondering where this had come from. "Why?"
"Well, you said we were hidden and, I'm being frank here love, I just couldn't help my man-brain from going where no Hermione had thought before," he winked at her and plunked his glass down casually, ambling over to the couch and pulling his jumper over his head as she stood in the same spot in the kitchen.
"It's far too cold outside!" Hermione laughed, unsticking her feet and rounding the table after him.
"Right, I'll wait until it gets warmer then, shall I? I assume it'll be a 'yes' then," he chuckled to himself and adjusted on the couch so that she could sink back into her nest. Hermione settled silently, pondering.
"Well... do you... outside?" she asked, not sure if she wanted the answer or not.
"Do I what outside?" he asked casually, eyes glittering and taunting her.
"Have you thought about having sex outside?" she asked, trying to keep her skin from getting hotter.
"Mhm," he nodded, smiling innocently in a completely unconvincing way.
"Oh," she remarked lamely and let the pause drag. "Where?"
"If I didn't know better I'd say you were interested," George laughed and she continued to wait patiently. "Just outside."
"Like in the trees? Or in the lake? Or in the middle of the clearing? On the mountain?" she pressed, curious.
"All of the above," he wiggled his brows at her and she laughed, shaking her head. The fire crackled and the two burrowed down, Hermione reading a history book and George going over some papers for the shop quietly.
A week after their wedding, Hermione and George were getting ready to return to real life and responsibilities; George had taken the full week off of work and Hermione had kept her work time to a minimum. They had both really enjoyed the time they had spent together, just being in the other's presence for an extended period of time.
"Both still alive?" Fred had asked upon seeing them stroll into the store on Friday afternoon, George carting his stuff back to the flat.
"Yep," he nodded, grinning at Hermione over his shoulder.
"No annulments?" Fred pressed.
"Nope," Hermione had bumped his arm softly as they walked by.
"Everyone still have both arse cheeks?"
"Under what circumstances would we have lost them?" Hermione stopped and gave him a perplexed look.
"Well, maybe you put your wand in your back pocket. Constant vigilance," Fred stated stoically and Hermione cracked up.
"Right, unrelated," she giggled, turning to follow George upstairs.
"Well, maybe not. Or you cursed one of his off. How am I to know? That's why I asked," Fred grinned.
"So thorough of you, Fred."
"Thank you for taking notice," he nodded resolutely at her before she disappeared up the staircase.
Hermione had helped George unpack his things and made sure she wasn't leaving anything she might need for the week in the flat. She packed up some papers and a book she would require for referencing and kissed George goodbye. They would see each other next weekend for sure, if not before that. George would be busy helping replenish the store after the holiday chaos and balancing the books while Hermione would be implementing the next phase of her book project. George had made her swear on Crookshanks' life that she would take care of herself and not let herself get sick from not eating or sleeping enough.
Over the next days she did just that.
Even if she had tried to keep herself awake into the night to work, she couldn't have done it. By the time six o'clock rolled around every night, she was dragging herself through the shower and trying not to fall asleep in her dinner plate at her small living room table. Unfortunately, eating at night meant throwing up in the morning and each time Hermione opened her eyes, she prayed desperately for some relief.
It had been weeks of on and off sickness and exhaustion and so on the first day of classes after she returned, Hermione made her way to the Hospital Wing to try and find something to help her. Her mornings were becoming increasingly less productive and it was getting harder to motivate herself to get up at a decent time. Considering the early hour at which she was pouring herself into bed every night, Hermione thought this quite odd.
The trek to the Infirmary seemed to take forever and Hermione was glad she had waited for classes to commence before leaving her rooms. The last thing she wanted to do at the moment was open her mouth and talk to anyone who greeted her. The nausea was at bay for now, but it seemed to have the ability to jump back to the forefront of her concerns at a moment's notice.
Hermione pushed through the door lightly and sighed, casting a glance around the open floor plan of cots and side tables and high windows. Madam Pomfrey was tending to a young boy in a sling and motioned for Hermione to sit down and she'd be right over when she was through. The brown-haired witch sank onto the cot two away from the sling patient and dropped her head back, resting on the stone window sill behind her until the matron was free.
"Hermione," the healer greeted her friendly, "what can I do for you today?"
"Morning, Poppy," Hermione smiled meekly, wiping her clammy forehead with her sleeve. "I've been under the weather for a while and I've finally caved and come to see you."
"Alright, let's have your symptoms then and see if we can't get you sorted," the woman nodded, waiting patiently.
"Fatigue and occasional sleeplessness, nausea, and fever," she listed.
"No cough? Runny nose?"
"No, just those," Hermione responded surely.
"Alright, well considering it's you, it's likely you've been working yourself too hard and picked up a virus from one of the students," the matron moved to her office nearby to fetch a large glass bottle, returning quickly. "Sound about right?"
Hermione nodded. The woman had a way of shaming you for your lack of self-care without saying a word.
"I'm going to give you a dose of Pepperup Potion. That should get anything you've managed to contract. After this, back to bed. Tomorrow you should be right as rain. But - make sure you take care of yourself! You'll only end up sick again if you don't, my dear."
Hermione nodded, accepting her scolding with grace. The woman poured her about an ounce of the orangey red liquid and handed it over.
"Down the hatch and just wait a few minutes before you leave," she patted her leg and turned to clean up after the sling patient now that he had left the Hospital Wing healed. Hermione pinched her nose and knocked back the potion, nearly choking on the strong taste in her mouth afterwards.
When Madam Pomfrey came back around one of the dividers, she cast a glance to Hermione.
"I know it tastes bad but the faster you take it, the faster you'll feel better," she wagged a finger at Hermione.
"I've taken it already," she held up her empty glass, confused.
The healer approached her cot and leaned down to survey Hermione closely, not saying a word.
"I should be pouring steam from my ears by now, shouldn't I?" Hermione asked, nerves starting low in her belly.
"Not necessarily. The potion makes you steam after you take it when you're ill. The more ill you are, the more steam there is. But you have no steam. So you must not be ill," the matron explained, looking down her nose at the girl.
"So what's wrong with me?" Hermione cast a glance down at her body, wondering what could be making her feel so sick every day. The healer pulled her wand from her apron and waved it over Hermione in slow passes, analysing something Hermione wasn't able to see.
"Well, nothing's wrong with you, but I've found the cause of the problem," she blinked, lowering her wand slowly and reaching to draw the curtains around Hermione's bed.
"What is it?" Hermione asked, wringing her hands.
"You're pregnant."
Dumbfounded, Hermione remained silent for a moment.
"I'm... you can tell already?" Hermione stumbled over her words.
"What do you mean, dear?" Poppy shook her head with a smile. "You either are or you aren't."
"Well, I wasn't pregnant a week ago," Hermione breathed quietly and Madam Pomfrey raised an eyebrow sceptically.
"Of course you were. I'm not an expert on estimating exact dates for pregnancy related things as I don't get much practice here, but I'd say you're around five weeks," she gestured with a small hand.
"Five weeks?"
"Yes, I'd say that's about right."
"But I took a muggle test last week - it was negative," Hermione voiced, bewildered.
"Well, I'm not sure how those work exactly, but... are they always accurate? Or perhaps a false negative, or maybe magic interfered with the result?" she suggested quietly.
"I - I don't really know," Hermione answered slowly, faintly.
Pregnant?
All the thoughts she had had a week and a half ago when she had snuck out to get the muggle test and taken it in her bathroom upstairs came flooding back and Hermione moaned.
"Is there anyone I can owl for you, dear?" she patted Hermione's hand gently.
To Hermione, time seemed to stand still, dragging slowly behind and then jumping forward in large chunks of accelerated speed. How was she going to explain being five weeks pregnant when they had married only eleven days before?
Madam Pomfrey brought her a large cup of tea and Hermione sat cradling it silently and trying to see clearly through the new information she had just been given.
She could extend on her book, right? She could still finish it before the deadline. Right? Surely.
The Hospital doors were flung open, heavily bumping into the wall behind them and George rushed in; he had snow in his hair and sticking to his coat, evidence of having run up from the town. He was flushed and panting indicating the quick pace at which he had rushed through the castle to get to the Infirmary.
"Hermione? What's happened?" he asked, locating her in a cot not far from the doors. "What's wrong?"
"Hi George," she said quietly, looking up at him with wide eyes.
"Yes hello, love. Why are you in the Hospital Wing?" he pressed, perching on the side of her bed in a swirl of coat and cool air.
Hermione took a deep breath.
"I'm pregnant."
A/N: Yes!
I'm opening up a poll on my profile for you guys to tell me what you think it'll be! Boy, girl, twins?
Leave a review for me please!
Cheers!