A/N: You know what's fun, uncomfortable, embarrassing, and exciting, all at the same time?

Revisiting your fan fiction stories, 15 years later.

The original version of "The Weight of Your Decisions" is a snapshot of who I was at that point in my writing life. It reflects my age and my experiences (or, in many cases, my lack of experiences). There are parts of it that I'm really proud of, sentences that turned out really nicely, moments that I wrote really well.

But there are also parts of it that are really problematic—the second sentence of the first chapter, for example—and don't match my better understanding of life, of people, and of how to write a good story. I also feel that, especially in light of JKR's most recent round of ignorant comments, it's important that the stories I contribute that include her characters do not reflect any of that discrimination, even unintentionally.

I'm also writing my own novel, and I'm a little stuck right now. I have found in the past that working on this fan fiction has made it possible for me to pursue my other stories more authentically, and that solving some of the story writing problems within a confined structure (characters that were written by someone else; a plot that I've already mostly figured out) helps me approach my challenges from another angle.

And so, I'm doing a rewrite of "The Weight of Your Decisions," keeping the core plot—Harry and Hermione accidentally get pregnant—as well as some of the minor details within each chapter. The chapter names will stay the same, though the length of the chapters may change depending on what I need/choose to add or take away. I'd like to see how I approach this story after sitting with it for fifteen years.

I should note that I'm continuing to ignore the parts of the canon that don't work with my vision for the story (which I wrote before the series had been finished), and ignoring the narrative of Cursed Child entirely; most obviously, this story is Harry/Hermione, and that's definitely not canon.

If you're new, you're welcome to look at the original chapters, which I'll leave as they are. They'll be at the back—meaning, the new chapters I add will show up first, followed by the original story.

If, somehow, you read the original one and are returning to this story—welcome back. Thank you for your feedback, which I reread before starting this process, and for your words of encouragement. I'm excited to be rejoining this community.

xo Ari

Harry hated Muggle clubs. Everything was so … sticky. The floor, the tables, the door to the bathroom. The music was always too loud, and the spell to lower the volume in his own ears meant that he also wouldn't be able to hear anyone who spoke to him.

"That's how you know it's the authentic experience," Ron insisted (shouting into his ear, to be heard over the music).

Harry winced. "What the hell do you mean, authentic experience?" Harry yelled back. "Authentic experience of what?"

"Authentic experience of a filthy Muggle club!" Ron grinned.

Harry rolled his eyes. Despite mocking his father regularly for his fascination with Muggle culture, Ron could be equally enthralled.

When Hermione had asked Ron what he wanted to do for his birthday, Ron had immediately replied, "Dancing at the Green Room."

"The Green Room?"

Ron had picked at the food in between them on their table at the Leaky Cauldron. "It's a Muggle club I read about," he said, attempting nonchalance.

"A Muggle club?" Hermione asked.

"Lots of wizards go there," Ron said defensively. Before Hermione could correct him, he rephrased, "And witches."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "If lots of members of the wizarding world go there, then it's hardly a Muggle club."

"That's the great thing: no magic allowed! It's run by Muggle-born wizards, but the Muggle guests don't know that. You give a code at the door, and then you get a special band on your wrist and they keep tabs on you to make sure you don't break the rule while you're in the club."

"You don't want to go to a Muggle club," Hermione insisted, pinching a piece of cheese from the platter. "They're filthy. Trust me."

"You said that about Muggle movie theaters, Hermione, and I listened to you for nine years." Ron shook his head. "So many movies I could have seen in those giant boxes if I hadn't."

"Movie theaters are disgusting," Hermione said.

"Enough," Harry said loudly before Ron could respond. "Hermione, it's Ron's birthday. If that's what he wants to do, that's what we're doing."

"You hate Muggle clubs, too!" Hermione protested.

Ron glared at Harry. "When have you been to a Muggle club?" he asked.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I went with your sister when we were together. Apparently, having a desire to explore Muggle hangouts runs in the family."

"You went without me?"

"It was a date, Ron," Harry said calmly. "And I do hate Muggle clubs, but Ron, if you really want to go, we'll go."

And so, here they were, shouting at each other as they sipped lukewarm beer from plastic cups, looking out at a half full dance floor.

Most of Ron's friends had already arrived, the Muggleborns and Half Muggles blending in to the crowd easily. To Harry, it was easy to spot the ones who were raised in the wizarding world: they were pointing at the strobe lights, swiping at the smoke machines.

Harry checked his timepiece.

"Hermione said she'd be late," Ron shouted. "Said she had to finish a few more things at work." He rolled his eyes. "Something new and different. And she wonders why our relationship didn't work out."

It had been almost two years since Ron and Hermione finally ended their relationship, and Harry still felt surprised by how casually they spoke about their time together. Sometimes, he couldn't wrap his head around the fact that they'd broken up at all.

Then again, he and Ginny had managed to remain friendly after they decided to break up, and their friends had literally been placing bets on when they'd get engaged.

Harry had always assumed Ron and Hermione were a done deal, had pieced it together as a teenager before they had, waited patiently for the pieces to fall.

When they broke up, they seemed surprised that anyone else expected them to last.

"We fight constantly," Hermione had said shortly. "It wasn't meant to be."

Ron had been a bit more open, but not much. "We want different things in life; we have different things we want to focus on, short and longterm. There just wasn't enough to sustain it."

They had agreed to take a couple of months apart, amicably coordinating a schedule so that they could see Harry separately (ignoring Harry's complaints that it made him he feel like the child of divorced parents). And when the two months were up, they went back to spending time together, as friends, as if they hadn't dated for three years. Ron had gone out with a few women, and Hermione had dated Ashton for six months, breaking up with him abruptly ("I can't date someone who talks to servers like that," she had explained) before burying herself in her work.

Harry finished his beer. He gestured to Ron's. "Do you want another?"

Ron looked down at his cup. "Anything stronger at the bar?"

"Shots, Ron!" Dean chimed in, putting his arms around both Harry and Ron's shoulders and guiding them to the bar.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Hermione at the door. The bouncer was whispering in her ear, and she laughed as he put the band on her wrist.

Dean pointed. "Hermione's here!"

Ron turned, and then called, "OI, HERMIONE! COME TAKE SHOTS!"

Hermione looked up and saw them, then said something to the bouncer and hurried over. "Happy birthday, Ron!" she shouted, kissing his cheek. She turned to Dean, hugging him as well, and then hugged Ginny, who had appeared at Dean's side, and Seamus and Neville, and William and Olivia, two of Ron's coworkers —

And then, finally, she turned to Harry, who was trying to figure out what had happened to him in the past few seconds.

When he saw Hermione at the door, he had felt like the sticky floor had turned, just slightly, enough to get him off balance.

And when he saw the bouncer whispering in her ear, his face had gotten suddenly hot.

And when he saw her laugh, he felt dizzy.

And when he saw her run towards them, he wanted, for just a brief moment, to step in front of everyone else, in front of Ron, even, to hug her first.

It couldn't have been more than sixty seconds, and yet he felt completely disoriented, overwhelmed by emotions he hadn't ever felt towards her.

And suddenly she was wrapping her arms around him, kissing his cheek, shouting, "Sorry I'm late!"

She let go before he could hug her back, eyes shining.

Over a decade of friendship meant that Harry knew, without needing to look any closer, that she had been crying before she arrived.

"Are you OK?"

She nodded, swiping at her eyes—another telltale sign—and turning back to the group. Dean was passing out shot glasses, and she passed one to Harry before taking one herself.

"To Ron!" Dean shouted. The others echoed him, and tossed their drinks back.

It became clear to Harry that Hermione was avoiding him. She had been dragged to the dance floor by George and Angelina and stayed there for a few songs before returning to the bar, where she'd taken another shot with Dean before getting a beer, which she sipped slowly while talking with Olivia, Luna, and Ginny.

And each time Harry had come up to wherever she was, she had moved to a new spot.

Now, as he approached the small cluster, Hermione's eyes darted up to him, and then she loudly said, "I'm going to the restroom!"

"Do you know what's going on with her?" Harry asked Ginny, watching Hermione hurry away.

"Ashton's engaged." Ginny made a sympathetic face. "She found out today."

Harry nodded, frowning. "But didn't—"

"You can feel shitty about your ex getting engaged, Harry," Ginny interrupted, anticipating his question. "Even if you're the one who broke up with them."

Olivia nodded. "My ex got married before I did —" She shuddered. "I made a total ass out of myself on his wedding night."

Luna jutted her chin towards the dance floor. "I imagine seeing Ron acting like that isn't helping."

Harry looked out at the dance floor. Ron's hands were all over a woman with flowing blond hair, who did not appear to be wearing a wristband.

"She looks like Fleur, doesn't she?" Ginny said with a grin.

Harry laughed. "Yeah."

He excused himself, making his way towards the back of the club.

And suddenly, Hermione was right in front of him.

"Hermione!" he said.

"H-Harry, hi!" she said.

"Are you OK?" he asked for the second time that night.

"Of course," she replied.

"Ginny told me about Ashton."

Hermione's eyes widened.

He hesitated. "I'm—I'm really sorry. That's shitty."

She shook her head. "It's fine. I just —" She looked away, surveying the dance floor, which had slowly filled over the past hour. She shrugged. "It just took me by surprise, and it hurt me more than I thought it would. Made me think a lot, like, about where I'm at and where I thought I'd be at this point. But I'm OK. Truly." Her eyes slid back to him, and she smiled. "Fancy another drink?"

He wanted to ask her what she meant. Where was she? Where did she want to be?

And why was he feeling so deeply, desperately, like he needed to know?

She tugged on his arm, and he followed her as she made her way back to the bar. She leaned across the counter and shouted their order, then looked over at the dance floor and winced.

Harry followed her gaze and spotted Ginny, who was clinging to Dean as they kissed. Farther in the crowd, Ron was kissing the Fleur lookalike.

Harry turned back. Hermione was watching him, waiting for his reaction. "It's fine, Hermione," he said, with a grin. "Ginny and Dean have been hooking up for a couple of weeks now."

"Oh!" Hermione gasped. "I didn't know you knew."

"What?" Harry leaned closer.

"I said, I didn't know you knew," Hermione said again into his ear, her breath tickling his neck.

She smelled like mint, like whisky, and why was he breathing so deeply right now?

He pulled away. "Dean told me right away," he shouted back.

"It doesn't bother you?"

"Of course not." He nudged her. "What did you used to call it? After the breakups?"

"Jumper tag itchiness?"

"Exactly," said Harry.

Where Ron and Hermione's breakup had perhaps felt less surprising, Ginny and Harry's had come as a shock to everyone except Ginny and Harry. And where Ron and Hermione had been passionate—in every sense—to the very end, the dissolution of Ginny and Harry as a couple had been far more gradual, until one day, peacefully reading side by side on the couch, they looked at each other and realized that the romantic piece of their relationship had been over for a long time.

The breakups had happened within a few weeks, first Ron and Hermione, then Ginny and Harry.

"Jumper tag itchiness" had been the phrase Hermione used one evening, while she and Harry were eating dinner (it was "her" night with Harry, per the schedule she and Ron had established) and reflecting on their relationships.

"It just felt like—everything about the relationship was just off, just slightly, enough to make it unsustainable. It felt like—jumper tag itchiness."

"Huh?"

"It was like—when you put on a jumper with a tag. You notice it at first, but you ignore it because you want to wear it, because it looks good on you, and the jumper itself is so comfortable. But then, the longer you wear it, the more bothersome that little tag becomes." She paused and furrowed her brow. "Though I wouldn't push this metaphor too much more than that initial comparison, because I guess you could always cut the tag off and the problem would be solved for the jumper." She laughed, somewhat sadly. "But 'cutting the tag' off in my relationship with Ron—I'm not sure what could have been cut."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "I think that's actually a really apt comparison. With Ginny, it just—we became complacent, I guess. We had so much in common, and I thought I'd never get tired of having someone who just—got me, had the same hobbies that I did, understood my moods. And then, suddenly, we were five years in and I felt like all of the things that had brought us together were all of the things that were making it clear that the relationship needed to end." He smiled. "A different jumper tag itch."

Hermione passed Harry his drink, and they sipped, watching the two couples dancing within the crowd. Ron's other friends surrounded them, everyone laughing and dancing, nudging Ron, who had finally stopped kissing Muggle Fleur.

"Kind of pathetic to just be standing here watching everyone, right?" asked Harry after a moment.

"A little bit, yeah."

He held his hand out, feeling brave. "Let's go," he said.

"What?"

"Come on, let's dance."

For a brief second, his heart was in his throat, watching her stare at him. She was going to say no. She was going to tell him she didn't want to, it was too crowded out there, she was too tired, too sad about Ashton.

And then she was putting her free hand into his, and he was pushing them through the crowd to their group.

Ron saw them coming over, and pulled the blonde woman forward. "CHARLOTTE!" he shouted to Harry and Hermione. Then, he gestured at the two of them. "HARRY AND HERMIONE." Charlotte gave a little wave.

Harry let go of Hermione's hand to give a thumbs up and, without thinking, reached back to take it again.

When he realized what he'd done, he quickly lifted their arms, motioning for her to do a twirl; she complied, rolling her eyes but smiling. Seamus joined them, and then another friend, Anne, was there, too, shouting something in Hermione's ear. She let go of Harry's hand, and he knew he couldn't find an excuse to take it again, even if he wanted to.

As the night went on, Harry felt attuned to Hermione's movements in a way that he never had before, aware when she left for another drink, noticing when she returned to the group. And he felt, with a secret thrill, that she was doing the same, her eyes following him when he went to the bar with Neville and Luna, tracking him back out to dance with Luna. Every time their eyes met, he expected her to look away, but she stared right back at them. He kept smiling at her; he couldn't help it. Grinning like a fool at his beautiful friend—and had there always been a dimple on her left cheek when she smiled?

The night got blurrier, and the group got sloppier. Harry knew they were all drinking more than they should, and Hermione's face was getting redder but also, somehow, brighter, like there was a shimmer covering her cheeks. And he couldn't stop watching her as she danced, as she piled her hair on top of her head with her hands, exposing her neck, her eyes closed. He wanted to touch her neck, wanted to blow cool air along it.

As the night wore on, Ron's friends left the club, in pairs and trios. William and Olivia left first; both of them had spouses and young children. Seamus and the Patil sisters were next, followed shortly by Neville and Hannah, arm in arm. Harry said goodbye to people, losing track of who had already gone, unsure who was staying. At one point, he couldn't find Hermione, craned his neck desperately. Had he missed her leaving? Had she gone with Anne and Riya? Would she have really gone by herself?

And then, suddenly, Hermione was in front of him, pressing her body against Harry's, her hands on his waist.

He looked down at her, surprised, and she looked right back at him, and something shifted between them. He lifted his hands, his thumbs pressing into her cheeks.

"Harry! Hermione!"

They let go of each other. Ron was trying to get to them, dodging couples, Charlotte behind him. "We're going to head out!" He gestured to Charlotte.

Hermione giggled. "Have fun heading out!" she shouted back. "Happy birthday!"

Harry clapped Ron's shoulder and grinned at him. "Happy birthday!" He leaned in. "Remember not to show her—you know."

"My wand," Ron slurred with a grin and a wink. "Got it!"

Charlotte waved as she and Ron pushed past them towards the exit.

Harry turned back to Hermione, who was biting her lip. "You OK?"

She shouted, "Should we go?"

Harry shrugged. "If you want to."

"Unless—" she paused. "Do you want to stay?"

"I'd—I could stay," he said cautiously.

And so, they stayed.

They drank.

They shouted the lyrics to songs from their childhood.

They danced, their bodies close, her hands around his neck, yelling into each other's ears.

And then, at some point, they both got quiet, and stared at each other, and then he was kissing her, and she was kissing him back. He could feel her smiling against his mouth as she pulled him closer, and they were still moving with the music, clumsily, his hands in her hair, and he could barely breathe but all he wanted was to kiss her harder.

Another couple bumped into them, and they stumbled, stepped apart.

"Let's go," Harry said abruptly.

He pulled her with him, off of the dance floor to get their coats, past the bouncer, into the early morning.

It was raining. She tilted her head up, the raindrops falling on her face.

Harry could feel the warmth of her hand in his, and he pulled her towards him, reaching out eagerly. But she giggled and pulled away, spinning them around and around. And then he was laughing, too, and he pulled her back to him, and she let him.

He pressed his lips against hers again, very gently. She kissed him back, shyly at first, and then with more urgency.

Someone whistled, and she ended the kiss, opening her eyes to stare up at him.

Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket. "Come on," he slurred. "There's an alley over that way."

Harry tapped his door and it sprang open. Hermione followed him inside, slipping off her shoes carefully. She hugged her arms against her body. Her long, curly hair was soaked, the water running down her neck into the area between her breasts.

"I'll get some towels," Harry said. He couldn't stop staring at her.

Hermione laughed, twirling her wand. "We're not in the club anymore, remember? We can use magic again."

Harry nodded and then, slowly, removed his coat, and began to unbutton his shirt. "I just thought," he said, swallowing, "you know, it might be easier to get things dry when they, you know, aren't on our bodies?"

Hermione laughed as she walked towards him. "That wasn't nearly as smooth as I would expect from you, Harry." But she tugged on the hem of his shirt to pull him towards her, reaching for a button, peering up at him. "Where are those towels?"

They helped each other dry off, shedding their wet outer layers, kissing and laughing. They stumbled towards the couch, Hermione on top of Harry, her hair dripping onto his face, onto the pillows.

"Your couch," she protested, but he held her close.

"It's OK," he promised. "We can use magic later."