Authors Note: Alright, so I got this chapter up sooner than I expected. Kudos for me! I had quite a few hours of downtime so I thought I'd do something productive. Enjoy and please review; your opinions are greatly appreciated.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Chunky Monkey-Chapter Three

By: Fidelius Charmer

Hermione buried her face in her pillow, not caring that her tears would ruin the silk cases. She felt guilty for pushing Oliver away. Though the feat had not been done physically, her words, which she thought to be playful banter, had been the equivalent of a hard push out the door. She should have known that he would take her words to heart.

"Oh, what a wretched creature I've become!" She turned over on the bed, lying on her back and placed both hands on her flat tummy. "Your mother is a beast, a foul creature that pushes away those dearest to her," she whispered, stroking her tummy absentmindedly.

She suddenly let out a loud yawn; it had been a long day for Hermione and she felt exhausted. She turned onto her side, trying to find a comfortable position, but it appeared that comfort would flee her that night, just as Oliver had. 'Or maybe my comfort is Oliver,' she thought sadly, knowing that her thoughts spoke the truth.

Oliver shivered and flipped the collar of his coat to shield him from the cold winter evening. The streets of London were silent, except for a scattering of cars, taxis, and the wandering drunkard. The pubs were all closing for the night, their lights flickering into darkness as stools and chairs were stacked, and counters wiped clean. Oliver duly noted his surroundings and numbly continued his stroll down the street.

He had no idea where he was heading and instantly regretted leaving the warm comfort of his London flat. He shook his head. Who was he kidding; he hadn't wanted to leave the warm comfort of Hermione's loving embrace. His flat could burn to the ground for all he cared just as long as his Hermione was beside him.

Oliver sighed, his breath visible as it hit the frigid night air. A mental battle was raging inside his head, urging him to walk onward, but at the same time to return to his beloved girlfriend. He hadn't wanted to walk out on her, but he knew that had he stayed that night, many others like it would follow.

He grimaced at the thought of a mundane relationship filled with mundane activities, empty words, fierce arguments, and empty promises. Oliver wanted his life with Hermione to be something special. He wanted a relationship where passion was in abundance, and happiness the most common feeling felt. He didn't hope for perfection, knowing that even though they were magical, witches and wizards weren't perfect. He knew that not everything could be fixed with the flick of a wand.

He was slightly surprised upon realizing that he wanted such a relationship with Hermione, who as he had already admitted, wasn't the usual type he found himself attracted to. He was more surprised to realize he even wanted a long lasting relationship.

He had always envisioned his life to be filled with one night stands and relationships that ended once the girlfriend discovered him in bed with her best friend. He was expected to be an inconsiderate, lustful bastard, just like any other good-looking, well off athlete under the age of 35.

Oliver snorted; the description had once described him to the par. Before Hermione, he hadn't been the monogamous sort; having many lady friends to satisfy his insatiable lust. Most of the women he associated with, fit under the stereotypical description of a blonde; loose and unintelligent. He was still scratching his head in confusion as to what had initially led him to notice Hermione.

For Oliver, Hermione had always been Harry Potter's best friend; the brains behind the Boy-Who-Lived. Had anyone told him that she would be the love of his life even two years ago, he would have thought the person to be absolutely bonkers, off their rocker, nutters, whatever term commonly used to describe someone belonging in an asylum.

He shook his head; he was starting to get a headache. Rubbing his temple, he came to a standstill before lifting his gaze from the sidewalk to observe his surroundings. He wasn't surprised to find himself standing outside the Leaky Cauldron. He opened the door without further thought and walked into the dark, smoky pub.

Blinking rapidly, his eyesight slowly adjusted to the dark interior. Once he could see, he looked around the pub, noting the group of wizards sitting in a nearby booth, drowning their sorrows with a pint of ale. His gaze passed over them and halted once falling upon a familiar figure sitting in a dark corner booth, nursing a glass of firewhiskey. He strode over toward the booth and took a seat, not waiting for an invitation. "Somehow I'm not surprised to see you here," he said to the man beside him.

The man looked up from his drink and chuckled. "Yes, I'm not surprised to see me here either," he sighed, all good humor seeping away as he took a sip from his glass. "What are you doing here, Oliver? Shouldn't you be at home with your lovely Hermione," he said bitterly.

Oliver frowned at the man, but chose to ignore the bitterness in his voice. He turned away from him and flagged down Tom, ordering a pint of ale. Once the alcoholic beverage was brought to him, he took a healthy gulp and set the tankard down on the table. Only then did he turn to regard the booth's other occupant. "We had a slight disagreement," he said. His companion quirked his eyebrow, but said nothing. " Damn it Lupin, don't look at me that way," he said angrily, glaring at the lycanthrope. "So it was slightly bigger than a disagreement, alright!"

"The bump on your head told me as much, my boy," Remus said, the corner of his lips lifting into a small, almost unnoticeable smile. "Now, if I may be so bold as to ask the cause of this injury," he drawled, lazily gesturing toward the small lump on Oliver's forehead.

Oliver bit is bottom lip and looked a away from Remus, lowering his gaze toward his tankard of ale. "Chunky Monkey," he muttered.

"Pardon?"

Oliver growled, slamming his fists onto the table. "I said Chunky Monkey, Goddamn it! It's a blasted ice cream flavor!"

Remus licked his lips before answering Oliver. "Now that doesn't sound like the calm, level-headed Hermione I know," he said.

"No, it doesn't," Oliver replied, taking another gulp of his ale. He played with the handle of his tankard absentmindedly, staring off into the dark pub as he recalled the angry Hermione he had come to know. "She's been overly emotional these past few weeks. Hormones, I guess."

"Hormones?"

Oliver sighed and buried his face in his hands. "Yes, she's pregnant."

Remus' face paled upon hearing the news. "Oh, congratulations," he said, his voice strained as he half-heartedly congratulated the young man.

Oliver looked up from between his hands and glared at Remus. He had tried to ignore Lupin´s moodiness toward his relationship with Hermione, but his suspicions were rapidly eating away his friendly demeanor. "Why don't I believe you," he said angrily. "It seems to me that you're jealous of me and Hermione." He scooted over toward Remus and grabbed a handful of his robes. "What is she to you, Lupin! Tell me," he growled.

Remus pried Oliver's hands from his robes, and got up from the booth. He stopped to regard Oliver with a hateful expression. "She was mine before you came along! She was mine," he whimpered and covered his face with his hands.

"No," Oliver whispered, his voice filled with disbelief.

"Yes," Remus replied sadly, shaking his head as he walked away from the booth and out the door.

Oliver stared at the door Remus had exited from for a few moments before he turned to regard his half-empty tankard. "Right. Tom, I think I need something stronger."