Well…many of you read this chapter already… because…well…I accidentally posted it a couple of weeks ago.

For the ones that didn't, however, this is chapter 30 and its quite good. What do you think of the letters George and Florence send to each other on a daily basis? Don't you think that shows how obsessed they are with the other? Do you reckon they'll end up together? Or would you prefer another pairing? You name it.

About Hermione being Pregnant… what do you reckon? Would you wish for them to have a little "trouble in paradise" or something?

Those are my thoughts for the moment… until next time.

Chapter 30: Honey, I Have Reasons to Believe I Am Expecting

It was a cold night in Bucharest; must have been 2 degrees below zero and the wind was blowing harder than ever. London was much warmer at this time of the year… she should have stayed. Her love's letter had arrived only 20 minutes before and the blank parchment seemed to be mocking her. Searching her lost inspiration, she came across a couple of lines that seemed decent enough. She wrote:

Dear George,

It's very cold here in… no, I am not saying. It's very cold indeed… and my magical fire is not enough to keep me warm. I need the heat of a human body, but apparently the one human body I am in the need of is far away from my frosty chest.

George Weasley, that list you are talking about- the one naming all the things I should loath about you- is a very short one. You are a wonderful person… my only hope is that someday you'll realize that, but I am afraid that the day you do… you will forget all about me.

I comprehend your feelings completely; I sometimes think I will loose my mind, too. My parchments and my quills are the only thing that keeps me from dying; I live through them, George…I've become my worst fear: Being a pathetic excuse of a writer. "The ideas, the ideas, I must confess, matter to me more than men" André Giro said. I agree. Actually I couldn't agree more. When writing, I care about the ideas themselves, not about the characters in particular, though I breathe through their skins.

Are you that far? Is it cold there too? What if we are in the same city, George? What if we run into each other in a pub? Maybe we should try to walk around the city; maybe- just maybe- we'll spot each other's faces from the crowd.

I hope you are alright too, George. I love you so much; I sometimes think this love of mine will be the death of me.

Take care, my little red bird; I am afraid I had taken all your happiness away from you. We are not the same people we were 10 years ago and I wonder if you enjoy your present self.

Truly yours,

Florence

---*---*---

Later that same day, Hermione found herself lonely. Very lonely. She needed a woman's opinion on the subject; she had never thought of becoming pregnant. Not now. Not that things were starting to work out again.

Ron walked inside his tiny room. At least 15 years had passed since the very first time Hermione had seen that room and it hadn't changed a bit. It was decorated in the exact same way, orange being the chosen colour. The walls were filled with posters of Chudley Cannon's players catching snitches and scoring goals.

-'Mione, what's the matter?- Ron asked genuinely concerned.

-Ron, I'm late- She muttered, shyly. Her face was red as a tomato and her bushy brown hair seemed frizzier.

-Late for what?- Ron asked while playing with a little replica of a bludger.

-…I'm late- She once again said, hoping- praying- he would realize soon.

-Yep, I heard that… late for what?- He asked, still playing with the ball, paying little attention to Hermione.

-Ron…look at me- She demanded- I'm late- She said opening her eyes as wide as she could.

-Does that mean that…?- He said, still not wanting to believe that Snape was right.

-

Yes, Honey, I have reasons to believe I'm expecting- She finally said, rubbing her temples with her index finger.

Ron walked to where she was, and sat at the very end of the bed.

-Hermione, that's wonderful, dear- He said with a voice he didn't know he had. A sweet voice. A father's voice.

-Really?- She said in amazement. She was smiling widely.

-Yes, really- He responded wisely.

She sat closer to where he was, and pulling him near her, she put her arms around his neck and hugged him.

-When will we know for sure?- He asked, still not letting her go. He was squeezing a little too hard.

-We will have to take a test- She answered- and then we'll know for sure if our lives are indeed changing- She finally said.

Something inside of her, however, told her that this was not a mere coincidence. Something in her very insides was telling her that her life was going to change. Forever. And that this time, there was no way out.

She was going to be a mum.

---*---*---

Florence's owl came through the window and into his bedroom. It was early and he had woken up only an hour ago. He had watched some television and he had taken a shower… he was feeling fine in spite of the cold. It was snowing outside and Florence's black owl was covered with it. He read the letter and looking frantically for a piece of parchment around the room, he wrote:

Dear Florence,

How is life treating you? You didn't ask in your last letter. It's very cold in here too… and I wonder if you are right; I wonder if we are in the same city.

Florence, you do not seem to know how much it hurts when you say things like "I need the heat of a human body; but apparently the one human body I am in the need of is far away from my frosty chest". I would love to hold you tight every night for the rest of my life to keep you warm, but we both agreed that our separation was for the best. I have one doubt, though… is Snape there with you? Because if we do run into each other, I would hate to see him holding your hand. Please, save me the pain.

You've always breathed through your words, Florence. Have you forgotten all about your high school poetry? Or have your forgotten about the wonderful characters you used to create when you were still a child? You were born to do this and I think you would be greatly depress if you wouldn't have your words to survive because you were brought into this world to tell stories, Florence. And you are the best in what you do. Make no mistake. You are the best.

I enjoy my present self but I am not the same George I was ten years ago, of course. I sometimes miss him, yes. I will not deny that, but it's important for me to grow up and leave my past behind. But Florence… our past is part of what we are, too. I will never forget you; you are in me forever.

"If you want to understand the past, look at the present: is its coinsidence. If you want to know the future, look at the present: is its cause".

I'm going for walk, Flor. Hope to find you at the local restaurant.

Love,

George.