A/N: Just when you thought it was safe to go to your inbox...the Weasleys are back. I know that folks kind of missed hearing about babies...

So for Christmas, my gift to you: Babies! (And some sex. And some tears. And a bunch of Weasley Men stuff.)


Ups and Downs of Baby Making

Romania, 30 June 2000

Charlie rolled over with a ridiculously wide grin on his face, considering the earliest morning sun was just flaring over the windowsill in his home on the Reserve. His body felt sated and sore in all the very best ways. It had been a bloody amazing anniversary celebration.

Hermione stretched, her toes inadvertently tickling him in the ribs so that he shifted. "Morning, 'Mione," George whispered from somewhere near Charlie's feet.

Fred sat up, passing a hand over his spiked bed-head. "Morning, love."

"Morning, sweetheart." Bill's murmur surprised Charlie, as it was rather near his own shoulder.

Charlie grabbed her toes. "Good morning, indeed, Hermione."

Hermione rolled up, her skin painted gold by the incoming sunlight. "You're all wrong. It's a fantastic morning."

Charlie chuckled. "It was right proper of you to spend it up here, too," he opined, uncaring of his nudity as he scooted over to stroke their House Wife's smooth knee. "Especially," he added, arching to look back at his elder brother, "since the full moon's tomorrow night."

Hermione touched the healed scar she bore from her wedding night. "Some things are near to constant." Bill saw her smile at him, though, and was once again thankful that their wife accepted all of them with so much love.

Fred wiggled his eyebrows. "So? Anyone up for another round before we have to Portkey back?" He eyed their wife with warmth; none of them would ever want to pressure her, but they each knew how much she enjoyed being with all of them at once.

Even if it was on the cushioned floor of Charlie's place in Romania.


19 September 2000

"Where's the birthday girl?" Fred called, laughter in his voice. He'd awakened to George's feet in his face in the bedroom they shared with Hermione.

"Dunno," George mumbled, his head half under a pillow. He pulled it off and sat up. "Hermione?"

"Go 'way."

Her voice echoed from the en suite bathroom, and she sounded miserable. Fred exchanged a concerned look with his twin before rolling off the bed and pulling on a pair of lounge pants before jogging to the toilet. "Hermione! What's wrong, love?"

She scowled at him from between two tangled locks of hair as she knelt over the porcelain commode. "Go. Away," she reiterated before her eyes widened and her muscles tensed.

Fred swallowed back his own nausea to see her vomiting. She had to be ill, right? "George?" he called as he gathered their wife's hair in one hand whilst kneeling next to her. "We'll need some cool cloths in here. And maybe you could make her some tea?"

George popped in, his brows furrowed and hair at odd angles all over his head. He wore a pair of blue boxer briefs—backward. "Not again, love?"

"Again?"

"Yeah." George conjured a small cloth and wet it down with water from the faucet. "Whilst you were in Bulgaria, she started this."

"I'm fine," Hermione said, taking the cloth and wiping her face. Fred released her hair but rubbed her back in small circles. George examined her closely. "Really. I feel much better, now."

A thought occurred to both men in the same heartbeat. "Hermione?" Fred began. "How long's this been going on?"

"About a week?"

George nodded. "Just in the morning, yeah?"

Their wife's beautiful brown eyes widened in her pale face. "Mornings. Yeah." Her focus darted between Fred and George's own. "I need to see a Healer."

Unable to control the hopeful smile that pushed at his lips, Fred silently Summoned his wand from the bedroom. "Or I could do a quick test here?"

The pregnancy-detection charm produced a rune that glowed in beautiful gold for about fifteen seconds over Hermione's still-flat middle. "Oh . . ."

"We're pregnant!" she whispered.

"We're pregnant," murmured Fred.

"We're pregnant!" George shouted, his voice ringing throughout the bathroom.

And so they were.


Christmas, 2000

Bill grinned, holding their House Wife on his lap at The Burrow. "Can't believe it took until your birthday to figure it out," he murmured into her throat. At almost six months into her pregnancy, their wife looked pleasantly pregnant and—to everyone's delight—was no longer plagued with morning sickness.

Arthur sat across from them in the old, squishy chair next to the fire. "So, no clue as to which of my sons is the actual father?" he asked with a grin.

Bill winced. He knew Hermione was getting so very, very tired of that question. Still, she shook her head, her expression pleasant. "Apparently, no. The Healer's test said I got pregnant on our first anniversary, Arthur." She smiled wickedly. "Could have been any one of your sons."

Arthur laughed. "Oh ho!"

Luna and Harry entered the lounge at that time, a blond-haired, green-eyed daughter in Harry's arms. "Oi, 'Mione," her brother said, crossing to kneel in front of her and Bill. "Can I?"

She laughed. "Sure. Come on, now, little one. Meet your Uncle Harry."

Bill bracketed Hermione's rounded belly with his hands, feeling their child roll under her skin. It never failed to make his eyes water with awe. A person was in there. A little person, probably a son—they were Weasleys, after all—who was getting bigger all the time. He saw his brother-in-law's eyes go big and round.

"Merlin, 'Mione. He's a busy bloke, isn't he? It is a boy, right?"

"A son, yes," Luna stated, settling near Hermione on the sofa and cradling her daughter carefully as she eyed Hermione's body. "He might come early, Hermione, so make sure you're ready at least three weeks in advance."

Bill blinked his tears away. "Three weeks?"

"At least," Harry confirmed. "My Luna is never wrong."


1 March 2001

"She was so right. Damn it, Luna!" Hermione's shout was loud enough for Charlie to hear as he reached Hermione's room at St. Mungo's. He'd only just arrived, once he'd got word from Bill that their wife was in labor.

He drew in a deep breath, his entire attention on their witch, who was naked and pulling hard at a length of rope that was hanging from the ceiling of her room. His brothers surrounded her, a female Healer attending, but mostly just watching, Charlie sensed.

Their wife was as brilliant at childbirth as she was at everything else. "Well, trust you to finish early," he remarked as he crossed the room.

Bill held up a hand. "Now is not the best time, Charlie."

Hermione groaned, her face lined in pain. "If this is your son, you're in so much trouble, Charles Weasley!"

"She's told us all the exact same thing," George confided, holding a cup of water with a straw in it near Hermione's lips.

Charlie nodded, all ideas of levity leaving him to see her in so much pain. He could see the muscles bunching in her thighs as she braced herself against another contraction.

Fred knelt in front of her, on the other side of the rope. "There you go, love. Looking amazing, as always."

"What can I do?" Charlie asked, trying to get a sense of his place in this wonderful, but obviously difficult environment.

"Walk. I want to walk."

"I got that." Charlie wrapped his arms around their wife and eased her to her feet. "Come on, sweetheart."

"Charlie, I'm so tired."

"I know you are, love."

"Why can't babies hatch out of eggs like your dragons?"

The dragon tamer had to laugh at that. "Because, love, you're so much better than a dragon. Believe me."

"Hmph."

The men took turns walking with her, holding her whilst she screamed and swore at the birthing rope, bracing her shaking back as her body fought to free its infant occupant, and keeping her hydrated and focused. And then, as the sun rose on the second day of March, their Healer sat on the floor between Hermione's knees. "Once more, Hermione."

"I can't."

"Please, love," Charlie whispered hoarsely, almost afraid to touch her as everything seemed to hurt, just then.

Bill kissed her sweat-damp hair. "Please. One more time."

"I'll owe you a full-body massage," George promised.

That got her attention. "Fine. One. More. Time!" And she shouted the final word before pushing, gritting her teeth, and growling.

"Here he is!" the Healer crowed, holding a squirming, red-faced baby in her arms.

"Finally." Hermione smiled for the first time in days and all four of her husbands surrounded her and gazed upon their son. "Percy," Hermione cooed into her son's hair. "This is Percy."

There wasn't a dry eye in the room.

The Healer cast an initial paternity test, seeing as how the exhausted fathers had no idea as to which of them had actually sired their son, and it came down to one of the twins.

George and Fred claimed pride of place, then, and snuggled up with their House Wife and son after everyone had been cleaned up and had had a bit of something to eat.

Eventually, after about a week when his magic adjusted a bit, their redheaded son was given his father's name as his middle one: Percy George Weasley.


Christmas, 2001

"Ginny! You're blooming!" Bill wrapped his little sister in an embrace, making room for her burgeoning belly. "How long, now?"

"Shut up, Bill," Ginny snapped, magic sparking in her long red hair.

"About a month," Harry interjected, handing his daughter, Persephone, off to her Uncle Bill and taking his wife in hand. "She's tired."

"Don't you make excuses for me, Harry James Potter!"

Laughing, Bill shifted so his niece was able to stare at the Christmas tree and pull on his hair at the same time. She was two and, though voluble on occasion, Persephone Potter was a mostly silent, observant sort.

Bill nuzzled the girl's flyaway blond hair and sighed a little. He loved his son—their son, Percy. But he was kind of getting the itch to have a son of his own. Or a daughter! A daughter would be fantastic. "You're a darling, aren't you, Persephone?"

She looked up at him, all eyes, as if understanding his most inner thoughts. Well, she was Luna's daughter. She might have the Sight, as well.

He looked up to see Charlie bouncing Percy in one arm, pointing to a flying dragon ornament on the tree. Charlie caught his eye and smiled down at Persephone.

He had the itch as well.

They needed to talk, he and his brothers.

Fred and George drew near, and the four brothers made much over the tiny cousins. "Can you just see them at Hogwarts?" George asked, deftly stealing his son and inhaling of the boy's scent.

"I can," Bill murmured. "And . . . I can see more of 'em, too."

His brothers' eyes lit at the thought and they nodded slowly. "We need to talk," Fred suggested.

It wasn't until the following month that the men were able to gather together in one place. Hermione and Percy were spending the weekend at Harry's house to stay with Persephone whilst Ginny had her child.

"House still smells like our Percy," Charlie stated, inhaling so that his thick chest pushed against his jumper.

"And our Hermione," George added, flopping back against the cushions of the broad white sofa in the lounge.

Bill leaned against the mantle over the fireplace, waiting until his brothers had gone through the usual "We're back in the same place" conversations. When they had, he met each pair of eyes, blue and brown. "So. Let's get to talking about this and see what we're thinking. I know," he went on, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets and rocking up on the balls of his feet, "that we absolutely have to ascertain Hermione's wishes on this, but I felt that it was best if we spoke first, so that there were no misunderstandings or, well, hard feelings."

George held up a hand. "Gotta say, it's been a bit odd off and on, with being the first of us to—how did she put it, Charlie?"

"Sire. She called it siring, and she's kind of stuck with that. She told me, once, she used that term because she rather felt we would all feel like fathers no matter who had sired a child of ours."

Bill was relieved to see all his brothers nodding their heads. He did as well. "I do feel like Percy's dad, yeah." He couldn't help his grin. "Already, we can see how he's growing up and getting a personality and laughing." And if George looked a little smug, well, Bill figured, he'd look smug as well in his shoes.

"I want to have a child with our House Wife." Charlie's declaration was blunt and brash as the man himself, but Bill was grateful for it. "I love Percy, you know that, but part of me . . ." His voice trailed off and his gaze went distant.

Nodding, Bill concurred. "No, I get it. And I'm thinking Fred does as well?"

"Yeah."

George shifted uncomfortably. "I didn't mean—"

"Stop," the other three said in unison, their voices at varying decibel levels.

They all chuckled.

Charlie pushed himself off the sofa and he started pacing across the hardwood floor of the lounge. "So, how do we do that? I mean, there are ways, yeah?" He swept his gaze over the other men, including George. "We can check to see if Hermione wants another baby right now."

"Right. First thing," Fred said emphatically.


George sat at her right and held her hand. Fred sat nearest her left foot, Bill her right, whilst Charlie sat at her left and held that hand. They each wanted to be able to see her face clearly, and be easily seen as well.

Bill took on the mantle of Firstborn again and was about to begin when Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Honestly. What is it? The lot of you have been grinning and frowning and now you're all around me like, like children with Father Christmas."

George watched his brothers blush brightly. "Well, maybe a bit," he allowed. Percy was down for a nap, but he was listening for him.

"What do you want for Christmas, then?" she asked with a curl to her voice. "And it's a bit early, by the way."

Bill cleared his throat. "Well, we wondered how you might feel about having another baby," he said in a voice that he tried to infuse with compassion, love, and honesty.

Their House Wife blinked, pursed her lips, and blew out a breath. "Well. I always imagined we'd have at least two, or four," she added with a slanted smile.

Bill grinned at her and they all shared a light laugh. He could actually hear his brothers relaxing as they touched Hermione with gentle, affectionate strokes of their fingers against her skin. Not sexual, just loving. Even though they were talking about getting her pregnant, he actually wasn't feeling at all randy at the moment.

It was more like preparing for a tricky project, really.

Fred dragged a hand through his hair. "Well, that's lucky, seeing as how there are four of us and all of us want to be able to give you a child, love."

Hermione blushed and Fred was secretly pleased that she did so. He adored watching her skin change color because of something he said or did. "All of you?" Biting her lip, she studied them. "That makes perfect sense, of course. Might need a bigger house, though."

"Thought of that one already," Charlie said with a grin that made their wife blush again.

It got quiet and George figured the others were trying to figure out how to share their idea with Hermione. It was hard and none of them wanted to look demanding, he knew. So, he decided to push them past their discomfort. Pressing her hand between both of his, he got her to look him in the eye. "See, they're a bit wistful, my brothers. Percy's the most perfect son in the world, of course, and now they each want one."

Hermione's eyes went round. "Oh. I see." Then, after thinking for a moment, which George was entirely inclined to do, she nodded briskly. "Right, then. Much as I love being with all of you—and you know I do—if you're wanting . . . that . . . we'd have to pare down the, er, options, yeah?"

Bill, who was still sitting near one of her feet, caressed her calf and ankle, making her face pink up again and her eyes go heavy-lidded. He was, all at once, extremely desirous of absconding with her in some private room. "Options, yes. But, sweetheart, we in no way want to limit you or your choices or even direct this . . . this. If you feel at all awkward or pushed or anything, you need to let us know. We'd never want—"

She cocked her head at him. "Bill. I know. You are the most amazing men in the world and you'd never want me to feel like a baby factory or as if I had to have children or anything. I know this. I want to try, though, to at least have one more. Maybe a few, if you behave yourselves and help me out. But," she went on, moving her focus to rest on each of them, "I'll tell you that though I love you all, I can't promise that this will work."

They all agreed and so the plan was drawn.


Charlie's first Baby Making Weekend with Hermione had been amazing. Bill stayed home as House Dad whilst the twins worked their shop, and Charlie and Hermione had escaped to the Reserve. Just the two of them.

"Are you really hotter when you're fertile or is that just me?" Charlie wondered, panting into Hermione's sweaty shoulder as she clawed at his back in naked passion.

"Stop talking dirty, Charlie, and make me come."

Of course, he obeyed with enthusiasm. As many times as she let him.

He waited for weeks after, pacing the floor of his solitary dwelling, waiting for word. They had agreed, all of them, that Hermione wouldn't have sex with anyone else until she knew she was pregnant or knew for sure she wasn't for one entire cycle, just so they'd know precisely who the father was if she fell pregnant.

The owl brought him the expected parchment a few weeks later. His heart pounded with expectation and he tossed a handful of bacon at the bird as he ripped open the parchment.

"Dearest Charlie, I'm so sorry…"

He never told her he cried.


"Good luck, mate," Fred whispered in Bill's ear as the eldest brother packed a bag for his Weekend with the Wife.

"Thanks!" There was a full moon, that night, and Bill was banking on the idea that the extra virility imparted to him at such times would help with the aim for the weekend.

But, seeing their Hermione waiting for him in a swath of silvery light on the floor of the seaside cottage they'd rented in a Muggle tourist town, he felt nothing but his own desire for her. "Hermione," he whispered as his heart jumped and his lust rose.

She smiled and rose to her knees, cocking her head so that her neck and his mark were bathed in moonlight. "Come, Husband. Give me a child."

Had she researched what to say to a werewolf to make him pounce or was it just that she knew him so well? Bill hadn't any idea as he Diffindo'd his trousers and pants so that they felt in strips to the floor. Naked he went to her, naked she met him, naked he possessed her, renewing his mark on her when he took her from behind.

"Bill, please," she moaned, her body clenching around his.

Bending over, he slid one hand between her legs, continuing to thrust as he did so. She called out, gasping, and he felt every muscle tighten in fierce anticipation.

When he climaxed, Bill felt a strange, welcome peace settle over his skin. "Know what?" he murmured as he rolled them over and laved the mark on her shoulder.

She hummed and hissed, her body caressing his at every possible point of contact. "I think I do."

Their eyes met and they smiled. Weeks later, they were both proved right.

"I want to name him Daniel, after my father," Hermione stated that winter. Bill nodded from his place behind her, caressing her rounded middle and whispering his unborn son's name against her neck.

"Daniel. Daniel William Weasley."


Christmas, 2006

"Da! Da!" Five-year-old Percy held his stuffed Hungarian Horntail as he ran throughout the corridors of their house in Beccles. "Make him fly, Da!" Charlie knew that this call was for him, because that's how Percy called for him.

"He's your son through and through," Charlie informed their House Wife, who was dancing to some instrumental Muggle music with young Danny in her arms. "So organized, he is."

Hermione laughed and nuzzled the toddler she held, making the baby giggle. "He really is. George is Papa, you're Da, Fred is Daddy, and Bill is Father."

"Or a reasonable nickname. Keeps saying Fa, too, you know."

"I know! And I keep wanting to sing that song from The Sound of Music."

George started dashing down the stairs just as Charlie got the plush dragon levitating nicely toward the Lounge. "Makes me want to sing it, too!" Percy's sire declared, pausing in his mad dash to kiss Hermione and Danny Boy. "You got Fred and me hooked on those Muggle movies, you know."

"Just keep the Poppins Brolly away from the boys," Hermione admonished, kissing him back.

Fred's voice echoed through the house. "Time for the snowball fight!"

"Excellent!" George shouted. He pulled Charlie off the floor and tugged him toward the rear glass doors.

As he left, laughing, Charlie turned to see Hermione, her warm brown eyes alight with laughter as she pulled on warm clothes for herself and Danny.

"My turn next," he murmured—mostly to himself—as he bent for a double handful of snow.

Fred heard him, though, and his expression was sympathetic. "Well, only because you're so much older than me," he said in a teasing voice at odds with that look. "Don't want you to lose all ability to sire a child at all, you know."

"Oh, you're on, little brother!"


March, 2007

Fred crept quietly into the main bedroom of their home, doing his best to make a soundless entrance. George and Percy were off on a supply run for the shop (a man couldn't start teaching his son to prank too early, could he?) and Danny was napping. Finally. Fussy lad, to be sure. There he was, all cuddled into Hermione, his curly brown hair in a soft halo against a blue blanket.

"I'm not asleep," Hermione whispered, her voice sounding strained.

Alert to her blotchy cheeks, Fred felt his own anxiety spike. Still as silent as possible, he slid in behind his wife to nuzzle her hair. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"I'm not pregnant. Again. Charlie's going to be so sad."

Fred's heart felt as if it had crumpled right there in his chest. He sighed with all the heartfelt compassion he had come to feel as Baby Making Weekend after Baby Making Weekend had passed without him siring a child, either. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. I really am."

"Oh, Fred, I know you are! I'm sorry. I don't mean to be so selfish. I know it's been—"

"Hush," he insisted, rising up to cover and kiss her, taking care not to disturb Danny. "No one's fault, sweetheart. We know." He felt his own eyes burn with tears as he settled behind her again. "Not like you haven't already managed to have kids, is it?'

She sighed. "No, I know. But I feel so bad, Fred."

"I can make you feel better," he said, trying to do what he could to help them both. She shifted and turned, and Danny murmured and rolled a little away. On such a big bed, though, it was clear the little lad wouldn't be in danger just yet.

Hermione met his gaze with her own, a smile coming slowly to her lips. "Oh?"

"Oh."

Casting an air-permeable shield charm around their son, Fred found himself slowly rising to the occasion.

No babies resulted, but he knew the satisfaction of a job well done when Hermione embraced him and fell asleep in his arms.


January, 2009

"Have you considered a fertility rite?" Bill pressed his lips together as he held Hermione's hands in his. Hers were cold and trembling and tears dripped to them, running between their twined fingers.

She sniffled and looked around. They were in total privacy, having the house to themselves. His parents had the boys for the afternoon, as Mum missed little ones around the place. Today, all the kids were invading the Burrow. Charlie was drinking in Romania, and the twins were scouting a new location for their shop. Bill had the day off, wonder of wonders, and he had come out of the shower to find Hermione curled up on a ball, hands over her womb, crying.

He hated to see her cry. They all did.

"I had, yes, but—but I didn't know which would be safest for the time of year."

Bill found a smile and put it on to share with her. "You're looking at the Master of Arcane, Mrs. Weasley."

She leaned in to kiss him lightly on the cheek. "Why, so I am."


9 February 2009

"No, no warming charms," Hermione said, holding up a hand.

Charlie, feeling the weight of the day in every bone of his body, disrobed and surrounded her with his own heat. She smelled like home. Like books and paper and ink, like little boys and laughter and apple pie. When he kissed her, he trembled.

"No warming charms. Why?"

"Only the magic of the rite, that's all. I—" Hermione wrapped naked limbs utterly around him so that he was compelled to lift her up. Her sweet center met his aching need for her and they sighed. "Bill said it would work better that way."

"He would know!" With hope in his heart, but no laughter in his eyes, Charlie slid himself between her folds. The ritual had brought her body to a state of acute arousal and she moaned into his shoulder.

Under the light of the full moon, he took his wife under a warded bower in their own backyard. No eyes could see them, no ear could hear. But he knew—he knew with all the family bond that he had ever felt—that his brothers were nearby, hoping right along with him.

When the sun rose in a pale sky, Hermione stretched underneath the ample blankets that had awaited them. Her smile was as brilliant as springtime.

Despite their many disappointments, Charlie laughed. "You look quite pleased with yourself there, missie."

"You should be pleased with yourself, sirrah," she countered, taking his hand and placing it just under her belly button. Oh, there were a few stretch marks to be seen, these days, but he gloried in them. "Right there. You'll have a son."

"Or a daughter," he managed to retort, his voice constricted with wonder.

"You're a Weasley." Hermione laughed and hugged him tight. "It'll be a son."


18 October 2009

"Daddy! Daddy!"

Fred turned around with a grin coming immediately to his face. The names Percy had given each of them had grown mostly permanent over the years and Fred knew he was "Daddy" to their sons. He held out both arms and braced himself for the speeding tide of little boys.

"Careful, now! You might knock me down!" he warned the nine- and five-year-olds.

Daniel's face was pale. "Mummy's sick, Daddy. We think it's her tummy."

Fred's heart lurched. "Yeah? The baby?"

Percy huffed. "Babies. Even I know there's more than one in there, Daddy. Mummy's as big as a hippogriff."

Despite the urgency of the moment, Fred had to snort a laugh at that. "Never. Ever. Let her hear you say that, yeah?"

"Fred!"

"Coming!"

"Where's Fa and Papa?" Daniel asked as the boys followed him. He wanted to Apparate to the bedroom, but not with the boys hanging on his words. They might try it and splinch themselves. Percy was a pretty smart kid and he'd done some rather amazing feats of magic already.

"I'll firecall them as soon as I find out how your mum's doing, all right?" Fred grimaced as he reached the upper landing; the boys hadn't even asked about Charlie and those were his twins in there trying to get born. But Charlie wasn't a regular resident even now, though that might change once his sons arrived. . .

"Hermione!"

"Fred!" Hermione's voice was thin. "Healers. I need to go to St. Mungo's. Call your Mum."

"Percy, go to the floo and call Gran, all right? Tell her it's time."

"Right, Dad!" Percy dashed off and Daniel vacillated, half in and half out of the room.

"Mama?"

"Danny. Go on, now. Find my blue bag. Big one. With the umbrella on it."

Their son got right to it and Fred knelt next to his Wife. "What can I do?" He didn't know where to put his hands; Hermione got really sensitive whilst in labor. "Tea? Massage?" He was an expert at massages.

"Healers. Please. Something's off."

Terror struck him and he felt light-headed. But only for a moment. "Apparate? Can you walk to the Floo?"

"Apparate."

"Hermione!" Fred heard his mother's voice spiraling up to the bedroom and felt his knees give way. "Where are you?"

"Up here, Mum. We need to hurry," he said, trying not to sound panicked as Daniel emerged with the blue bag Hermione asked for.

Molly burst into the bedroom, her focus on Hermione. "All right, dear girl. Let's see. . ."

It only took a moment before Mum met Fred's eyes with steely concern. "Get her there. Now. Carry her to the Floo—Levitate, all right? I'll see to the boys."

"Right."

Having direction helped and Fred did as his mother told him, grateful that Hermione kept her eyes trained on his the entire time. At least he knew she was paying attention, no matter how many times her face paled in pain.

Just before he set her gently down, he tossed Floo powder into the fireplace. "St. Mungo's Delivery!" he called loudly.

He didn't even notice his mother and sons bidding them a safe trip.


19 October 2009

Nicholas Charles Weasley and Regulus Harry Weasley were born into the middle of four grown men who had been sobbing out loud for at least a quarter of an hour. Charlie was collapsed against one wall, holding both his sons against his chest whilst his brothers hovered, hands on his shoulders or providing support for one another whilst the Healers worked on Hermione within a sealed medi-shield that kept all negative biological and magical elements out of the area.

Her heart had stopped twice. She had hemorrhaged. And two little boys had somehow managed to emerge into the world. Smiling broadly with eyes wide open.

The Healers had marveled for a moment before getting to the business of saving Hermione's life.

"Never again," Bill whispered, sliding down to sit next to his next youngest brother.

Fred nodded, sliding one of the twins from Charlie's arms. "So which one is he?" he asked, his voice thick as he tried to focus on what they had.

Charlie sniffled loudly and wiped his eyes with the back of his free arm before peering down at the pale-skinned newborn. "Regulus Harry. Hermione wanted to name him after Regulus because she thought he was a hero."

"Reggie," Fred said brushing his fingers lightly over the straight red hair on the boy's head. "Good to see you, lad."

He was sure he was holding the last of the Weasley sons. And though he might have longed for the ability to sire one of his own, he'd never consider putting Hermione in this kind of danger again. "Well, that's four sons, now," he murmured, glancing up at George, who was pacing between his brothers and the healers.

"Four sons and four fathers, yeah." Still, George met his eyes with a wealth of compassion. I know it's not what you wanted, his gaze said.

Fred nodded. But it's enough.


1 September 2012

"Now, don't forget to owl us tonight," George told his son, his hand on the head of curly red hair. "Persephone said she'd make sure you could find your way around, so ask her if you have any questions."

Fred grinned and wiggled his brows. "And ask her about the Map!"

Hermione sighed and shook her head. "You'll be fine, Percy. Take pictures so that your brothers can see everything, all right?"

"Yes, Mum."

George felt Fred's arm about his shoulders as they watched their firstborn son board the Hogwarts Express. Charlie was writing a book about dragon care and was about to go for his Mastery in Herbology and he was there on Platform 9 3/4 as well, Nick and Reggie running about, chasing cousins and asking them to pretty please try the Canary Cream sweets.

Daniel had a book in his hands, unsurprisingly. Once the train had puffed out of the station, he lifted his head. "Perce told me he was going to prank the Headmistress."

"What?" Hermione demanded.

Bill slipped his son a Sickle and rubbed his brown curly hair. "Nice one, son."


19 September 2014

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked Fred and George. She'd awakened to a piece of black silk over her eyes and four talented hands caressing her body.

Fred's voice was muffled between her thighs. "Wishing you a happy birthday."

George kissed her before murmuring, "We thought we'd have our cake early."

"Cake?" Her laugh slid into a moan as Fred and George consumed her.

The twins exchanged knowing grins as their House Wife lost herself to them. When she came gently down from her peak of pleasure, Fred kissed her. "So, what do you want for your thirty-fifth birthday, love?" He smiled into her eyes, watching as they lost the glossy satisfaction from their lovemaking to take on a speculative sort of hope.

"Blimey, Fred, she's up to something," George murmured, tracing her skin with one hand whilst his twin studied their Wife. "What is it?"

Hermione took a long breath. "I want to try one more time, Fred. I want you to give me a child."

A chill swept over his body, followed by a perverse longing. "No," he stated, tossing a sheet over her and rolling off the bed to pace. Catching George's stunned gaze, he shook his head emphatically. "You almost died last time, Hermione. I can't—I can't even think of it."

George slid from the bed to join his brother. "You did ask what she wanted."

"Not that."

"Fred. You want it, I know. I can feel it."

Fred rolled his eyes but resumed his pacing as George sat on the bed and watched, alongside Hermione who was seated with the sheet wrapped modestly around her. "It'd be selfish of me," he murmured at length. "We have four children and I'm happy, Hermione. Aren't you?"

"I could be happier," she said with half a smile. "And it is my birthday. . ."

Before the twins ran up the stairs with their own rendition of "Happy Birthday, Mama" and before Daniel presented his mother with a new book, Hermione had persuaded Fred to give her what she wanted.

Kneeling next to her, hope spilling from his heart and eyes, Fred still set conditions. "No rites, this time. We'll try it and if it's fated to happen, if the Covenant allows it, you'll fall pregnant."

"Fair enough."

"And if it doesn't work, 'Mione, we stop, all right? Don't ask me again. I—" Breaking off, he looked at their joined hands, "I don't think I could take it not happening again."

George wrapped his brother tight from behind whilst Hermione sank into his lap. "I promise. No more."


"What if I can't, George?"

Fred stared at the mirror after his shower. At thirty-six years of age, he was in the prime of his life; he knew that. Frequent laughter had lined his eyes a bit, but love had kept other lines away. He knew himself to be fit and active, and he was happy. Incredibly happy, every day of his life. The Covenant had found his House a Wife and they had a family of nine people. Money was never a problem in this Weasley household, for the men were all good providers and Hermione herself was a famous writer on a variety of subjects. Her championing of causes was legendary and she was a fierce warrior, too.

And all she wanted from him was another chance to make a baby.

"What if I can't?"

"Can't what?" his twin said, opening the door to the bathroom.

"Can't make a child. What if, what if you got all that part? You know?"

George felt like laughing but he could see that Fred was sincerely concerned. "Then she doesn't fall pregnant and you've still got four kids—most of a Quidditch team, yeah? And we're still happy."

"Could you, would you be willing to, er, step in?"

Gobsmacked, George just stared at him. "Bloody hell, Frederick. No, she asked for you, and I'm not going to break her trust. No way in bloody Hell."

"I didn't mean to break her trust. I'd never!" Fred dragged his hands through his hair. "I meant for it to be open, like any other morning, you know?"

Relaxing, George popped up on the vanity top. "I know, but no. If the Covenant wants you to sire a child, you will. Just no bleeding rituals, all right? I'll monitor her, if you want, to make sure she doesn't try anything like that again."

It might be a bit underhanded, but they would not risk Hermione's life for anything.


20 September 2014

"Are you sure you've been off the potions long enough?" Fred asked his wife of fifteen years.

She smiled into his eyes, beckoning with one hand on the big bed in their bedroom at home. "I actually stopped taking them last month, love. Just in case."

"Oh. Good." Fred had declared he was nervous enough and the idea of trying to have another Make a Baby Weekend away from the comfort of home was too much for him. So George and Bill had taken the non-Hogwarts kids to Romania for a few days. Fred blew out a breath and then had to laugh.

"What is it?" Hermione wondered, rolling up to her knees to reach for him.

Fred felt a knot in his throat. "I just hope . . . I just hope I can give you what you want, sweetheart."

Hermione's voice dipped as she slid from the bed and crossed the floor to him. "What do you want, Fred?" He held himself still as she skated her hands over his body, peeling away his flimsy loungewear effortlessly.

His heart started pounding as if they were sharing their first time together, so many years ago. The reminder made him smile and he pulled her close against his body, feeling himself finally rising to the occasion.

Hermione smiled into his eyes. "I love you."

"I love you, too." And he proceeded to show her, with every touch of his fingers, slide of his tongue, roll of his hips. He told himself to ignore the fact that they were on a Make a Baby Weekend and just to enjoy the rare occasion of having Hermione all to himself.

The notion made him feel playful, so he encouraged her to leave their room and make love in the Lounge, in the Library, and on the wide kitchen table. Her cries echoed off the walls of the halls, his roared against the shower tiles.

And when George and the kids came in through the Floo late Sunday evening, his twin took a deep breath and pulled Nick through the green flames. "We're home, Gred! Had a good time, did you?"

"Mum! We saw dragons!"

Hermione was practically floating down the stairs, Fred right behind her, and George and Bill nodded in satisfaction. Clearly, Fred had had nothing to worry about.


31 October 2014

"Cast the charm!" Bill demanded.

"You do it. I can't."

"Frederick Gideon Weasley." Bill sighed but nodded, meeting the eyes of each of his brothers before smiling down at their House Wife. "You ready, sweetheart?" He didn't feel like he even had to do the charm; Hermione was blooming.

Still, he complied and the runes glowed bright gold over their wife's womb.

George crowed a victory, Charlie boomed a laugh before doing an impromptu little dance that made the kids call up and ask what was going on. Bill just congratulated Hermione and dropped a kiss on her belly button.

But Fred, Fred's eyes were wet and he knelt on the bed to push Hermione's hair off her forehead. "Happy Birthday, Hermione."

With a tender caress of his jaw, she thanked him.


9 June 2015

"You're a nervous wreck," Hermione stated, "so here, work with these chopsticks and try to pick up that piece of salad."

Fred's fingers were trembling as he sat next to Hermione's bed at St. Mungo's. "How will this help my being nervous? That's my baby trying to be born, right?" He still sought her eyes for reassurance, for the thousandth time, perhaps. He didn't even want to know what sex the baby would be, because he was determined to be over the moon with whomever showed up. It might be Remus Frederick Weasley (because the Marauders were still their heroes and Harry had already claimed the names James and Sirius) or Viola Frederica Weasley (because Viola was a name from Hermione's favorite Muggle playwright: William Shakespeare).

He worked at the chopsticks, trying to let his brothers joke with him throughout the long laboring hours. George came by, bringing Hermione beautiful roses. Bill and Daniel stopped off with a better lunch than the hospital salad. And Charlie and the twins brought a plush dragon for the baby and chocolate biscuits for Hermione.

Fred had a shiny gift for her, as soon as the baby was born. He would just have to charm the name to the bracelet's surface.

The rising sun glanced off a head of thick red hair the next morning as Fred bent over his baby's tiny face. "Good morning, little one. I'm one of your dads and I've been waiting to meet you for just about forever."

"So have we all," George declared, sighing happily over their daughter. "Welcome to the family, Viola."

They embraced, all four brothers, their treasured House Wife, and four of their five children. Hermione took her daughter and cooed softly into her hair. Viola's eyes opened wide as the air thickened for just an instant over the hospital bed. Then the feeling was gone . . . but not forgotten.

Hermione sighed but she was smiling when she said, "The Covenant is going to just love you."

The End