THC, Year 7, Round 4, Slytherin, HoH, Drabble.

Prompt: [Speech] "Can't you see I'm sleeping?"

Hogwarts, Assignment 4, Hufflepuff.

Etiquette, Task 8: Write about having to stay put.

Word Count: 875

Beta(s): Glowstar826, ShynGreat, Aya Diefair, CupCakeyyy, Fires of Eden Red Rose Aurora.

Conversations and Comfort

Hermione Jean Granger had always been a strong, independent woman. She knew who she was, what she wanted, and she had made every decision in her life. Then she became Hermione Jean Weasley. Don't get her wrong, there was nothing wrong with being married to Ron. It's just that everything changed so quickly.

Mrs Weasley constantly invited her to girly days, which hadn't happened before. It was flattering, and she felt obliged to go. She hadn't cared too much about her appearance, and neither did Ron. But those evenings started to change what she thought about herself; should she have been doing her hair more, or wearing make-up, or dressing to impress a little more often?

Thankfully, those events were now very rare. The main thing that had taken the control from her was her order to 'stay put'. Hermione sighed as she looked down at her swollen belly. It had been a total of three days so far that she had been on bed rest—ordered bed rest—to ensure the safety of her unborn baby.

So far, it had been awful. Ron had really taken his role of taking care of her to the brink of annoyance: Telling her off when she'd get up, bringing her random books to read, and bringing her food. Though he still had a job, and she wasn't ever informed who was taking over 'babysitting duty'—it was ridiculous! She could take care of herself without a constant array of adults swooping in and out.

It was annoying not having any control over her life.

She recognised a voice from downstairs; it was George. She guessed that he had been roped into taking a shift with her, too. She knew he wouldn't want to be here and wanted to avoid him feeling obligated to take care of her. She laid her head down on the pillow again, closing her eyes.

Footsteps led to her bedroom, followed by a light knock and then the door swung open. "Hermione?" a hesitant voice asked. "Hermione," he repeated a little louder.

"Can't you see I'm sleeping?" she asked, hoping her voice's irritability didn't show—that was the only tone she knew these days.

"Oh, I'm sorry… I just…" he trailed off.

When he didn't say anything, she opened her eyes and looked at him.

"Are you okay?"

George's eyes flashed towards her. "Me? Oh, of course. I'm fine!"

Hermione pushed herself up to a seated position.

"Sit down and talk to me."

"Are you sure?"

When Hermione nodded, he followed her instructions and sat on the bed next to her. Silence filled the space between them for a few long moments and Hermione wondered if George had volunteered for slightly selfish reasons; Hermione used to visit his shop weekly to check in on him and lift up his spirits the best she could. Today would have been that day.

Eventually, he broke the silence. "How are you?"

"Annoyed, useless, frustrated." She looked at him. "You?"

"It's been a bad week, actually," he admitted, looking down at his hands. "We've just sold out of Plumb-Lipsters."

Hermione tried to connect the dots, but couldn't work it out. "Were they popular?"

George shook his head. "Not really, no. It was basically a sweet that turned your lips purple for a few days." He paused and looked around aimlessly. "I don't know how to make them."

"Fred made them?"

A nod. "He made a lot of little things, but with the war and everything going on, that was the only thing that I never even asked how he made it. I hadn't been interested and was doing my own little ideas—we needed more filler items in the shop, you see. And now there's none left… it's like I'm losing him all over again."

Hermione rested a hand on his shoulder, trying to think of something to say. "Maybe it is just time for something new."

He looked at her, tears in his eyes. "New?"

"I know that you've been looking at lots of little ideas as a memorial for Fred in your shop, maybe it's time to release them. Those Ginger-Hair Snaps and Aged-Up Mints, maybe it's time."

"What if nobody likes them?"

Hermione knew what he meant by that question; what if his ideas for Fred's memorial weren't good enough, if he put them out and nobody bought any, would everybody just forget that Fred had existed? Would they think he was just a joke? "What if they do?"

George slowly nodded, the tears streaking down his cheeks. "Do you think it's time?"

"I do."

Another nod. "Okay, I'll, I'll go and do that!" He stood up. "Oh wait…"

"I don't need a babysitter!" she said suddenly, her head dropping back down to the bed that was her prison.

George let out a small chuckle. "I'll let you sleep and do some ideas downstairs. Shout if you need anything."

Hermione nodded. "Thanks, George."

She watched him walk off and looked around the room. There wasn't anything that actually needed doing, no washing to put away, nothing to clean. She sighed and grabbed one of the books Ron had left with her. Nothing better to do as she was stuck here and she wasn't even tired.