Disclaimer (since I forgot to do one earlier ... sorry!): I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I pretend I own the characters. J.K. Rowling is a goddess, and, while I wishI was smart enough to think up something like that, Ididn't.But the plot is entirely my own.

a/n: Ok, so this is a bit longer than the others, and it's kind of a bit all over the place, but I hope you like it anyway. And I'm sorry if the ending seems a bit abrupt, but it'll all be resolved, don't worry!

"Hermione? Are you ready?"

"Just a minute."

She's sitting on the edge of her bed. Her hands are clasped tightly in her lap. She's wearing a nice outfit, like that's going to make much of a difference to her parents when she tells them. How is she going to tell them? "Mum, dad, this is Harry, surely you remember him. Anyway, we got drunk one night and had sex, and then we had sex the following night, and – well, we weren't really thinking, so we didn't use any protection, and I'm pregnant now – is that Ok with you two?" Stupid.

Harry walks into the room. "Hermione? Come on."

Hermione shakes her head. "I – I can't do this, Harry. They're my parents, and they're terribly old-fashioned, and there's not way they'd ever understand this. They'll murder you – they'll lock me up in a tower for the rest of my life, and I'll lose the baby, and then I'll just die."

"Hermione, don't you think you're being just a little bit overdramatic? No one is going to kill me, and no one is going to die. It's going to be Ok."

Hermione nods, shakes her head, and nods again. "Right," she says.

Harry studies her. God, he wants to touch her. But he can't. They had decided it would be less complicated if they didn't sleep in the same bed, didn't move their relationship 'to the next level'. Instead, they decided that Hermione would move into Harry's apartment, and that they'd tell Ron that it was just to save money, until they would be prepared to tell them the truth. And they sleep in separate bedrooms and brush their teeth and take showers in separate bathrooms and when Harry's watching the telly, Hermione is reading in her bedroom, and when Hermione's using her computer in the main room, Harry's out for lunch. And there is nothing sexual about the situation at all.

But the feelings are there, all the same. Coursing through each of them as they pass each other in the hallway in the morning. As they eat breakfast. As they leave for their respective jobs. As they eat dinner after nine hours of sitting in their respective offices. As they get ready for bed.

There's something there.

"Come on," Harry says, holding out his hand.

Hermione stares at it, like she's not sure what to do with it, exactly. She's afraid of all of the goose bumps that will rise up on her arms if she touches his hand.

"Hermione?"

She takes his hand, and he pulls her up. He lets his hand drop and pats her shoulder. A move only a friend would make. Is that all he sees in her? A friend he happened to knock up one night when he was completely wasted?

"Let's just go, Ok?" she says quickly, brushing past him. He feels a tingle where her shoulder brushed his arm. He wants to grab her hand again, but he won't. He can't.

"I'll see you there, right?" he calls after her.

"Do you remember the address?" she calls back.

"Yes."

"Well, this is a lovely surprise, dear," Mrs Granger says, patting her daughter's cheek and smiling. "I'll go put the kettle on."

Hermione tries to smile back, but she can't. She's too nervous. What will they say? Will they disown her?

"Nice to see you again, Harry," says Mr Granger, clapping him on the back. "You hear the latest news about the Chudley Cannons?"

Harry looks at Hermione with raised eyebrows. "Dad's gotten into Quidditch," she explains. "He finds it much more interesting than football."

"No – what's happened? I'm afraid I've been so, um, busy – I haven't been able to keep up with it all."

"Why, they've got Krum on the team now!"

"What?" says Hermione, surprised. "Krum? Viktor Krum?"

"Yes, dear. Isn't that fantastic? With Ron and Krum on that team, they'll be unstoppable."

Harry and Hermione exchange glances, and they both smile a little.

"Yes, I bet Ron is just thrilled," Hermione enthuses.

"Harry, darling, would you like honey in your tea?"

"That would be great, Mrs Granger. Thank you."

Mr Granger leads Harry and Hermione into the sitting room. He gestures towards the couch, and they sit next to each other, keeping their distance as best they can.

"So," says Mrs Granger, carrying in a tray with four steaming cups of tea. "Is there any particular reason you two dropped by?"

Hermione swallows, and Harry wipes his sweaty hands on his pants. Mrs Granger hands them each a cup, and carries one over to Mr Granger, setting the tray down next to her and wrapping her small hands around her own cup as she sits down in a chair facing the couch.

"Well – I just – we wanted –" Hermione sighs as she watches both of her parents lift their cups to their faces. There doesn't seem to be any real point in holding out, when it's something like this. "Mum, dad, I'm – I'm pregnant."

Mr Granger spits out his tea, his face turning slightly purple. But Mrs Granger remains completely calm, taking another delicate sip. "I see," she says. "And – Harry is the father, I'm guessing."

"Yes," says Harry quietly.

"And you're keeping the baby, are you?"

"Yes," Harry and Hermione say together.

"I just – we thought you should know, that's all," Hermione says, clenching her fists until her knuckles turn white. She's bracing herself.

There's a pause. Neither of her parents start yelling, and they don't throw their hot cups of tea at Harry's head or anything. Mr Granger has regained his composure, and he and Mrs Granger are both staring at Hermione and Hermione. And then, Mrs Granger smiles.

"When are you due?"

"Wha – you're not mad? You're not going to punish me or anything?"

"Mad?" Mrs Granger looked astonished at the thought. "Why on earth would we be mad at you?"

Um, because their daughter lost her virginity when she was wasted?

Harry looks from Mr Granger and Mrs Granger in disbelief. "But – but we're not even dating! It just – it sort of just happened. We weren't even really thinking. Aren't you angry with me, even?"

Mr Granger looks at Harry over his glasses. "You're sitting here in front of me, aren't you? That's proof enough for me that you're accepting the weight of your decisions."

"So maybe it wasn't exactly a great move," Mrs Granger says. "I mean, you could have used protection at least – and Hermione, it was your first time —"

"Mum," Hermione protests.

"Well, I'm just saying love – anyway, the point is, you two are keeping the baby, and that's all that matters. And Hermione, your father and I certainly aren't going to turn our backs on you for keeping the child."

Harry and Hermione look at each other.

"So," says Mrs Granger eagerly. "When are you due?"

Hermione slowly smiles. So maybe she won't be locked up in a tower after all. Maybe she and Harry will live to tell this tale. "Erm, May."

"Oh! Wonderful!" Mrs Granger looks at her daughter, concerned. "So have you started feeling dizzy at random moments?"

"Uh, yes."

"And are your breasts ever sore? It's quite typical, really –"

"Mum!"

"Sorry, darling. We'll talk about those kinds of things in private, all right?"

"Congratulations, by the way," says Mr Granger to Harry in a low voice. "And – take care of my daughter for me, will you?"

"I promise, sir."

Mr Granger smiles at him knowingly. Like he can see through Harry. Like he can see how much Harry truly loves his daughter.

"I know you will."

"Do you want me to get you anything?" Harry asks Hermione as he walks into the kitchen. "I'm absolutely starving, I didn't eat anything before we went over, I was so bloody nervous, and –" He stops and turns back around.

Hermione has collapsed on the sofa, her face pressed against one of the pillows.

"Hermione! Are you all right?"

He carefully pulls the pillow away from her face. There's a small wet patch on the pillow. Harry sets it down next to the sofa and lifts Hermione, putting her arms around his neck and pulling her into a hug. "It's all right," he says soothingly. "Your parents were wonderful, Hermione. They love you. It's going to be Ok."

Hermione sniffles slightly into Harry's sweater. "I just – I hadn't expected them – they were wonderful. My dad – he gets angry when a movie has nudity in it. The last thing I expected was for him to congratulate you for getting smashed and having sex with me."

"Well, when you put it that way, it sounds terrible."

"Oh, Harry, I don't mean it that way. I'm just so relieved."

"I know. Me too."

Her sobs are getting softer, and she's realising just how close together they are. And it's a little too close, if they're going to try and keep up this 'just friends' relationship. And so, rather reluctantly, she pulls herself away. "I'm rather hungry, too," she admits. "Some dinner would be wonderful. I can make it."

"Don't be ridiculous. Stay here. I'll make something. Just watch some television or something." Harry wipes her cheeks and tweaks her nose, gets up, and walks back to the kitchen.

Hermione sighs and lets her head fall back against the cushions. This really is a nice apartment. It's quite cozy, honestly. And with the added bedroom and bathroom, which Harry had sweetly conjured up to accommodate Hermione, made it feel like the kind of apartment that friends would share. The kind of friends who would walk around with towels on and not feel any sexual chemistry. The kind of friends who could bring home girlfriends and boyfriends and night and not feel bitter. The kind of friends who could watch a movie and order in and sit right next to each other on the couch and not see each other in a different light or anything like that.

This apartment isn't fit the situation at all.

This isn't the apartment that friends with a baby on the way would live in.

Actually, now that Hermione thinks about it, this is really more of a bachelor pad, and not a shared apartment. The kind of apartment that some hotshot would bring his latest trophy, and he'd impress her with all of his trophies and kiss her with all this intensity, and then he'd tell her he'd call her again once he knew he had her, and he'd never make any contact with her ever again. The kind of apartment in which a gang of boys would get together and get smashed and brag about who they've bagged.

This isn't the apartment that friends with a baby on the way would live in.

And Hermione can feel herself getting angrier and angrier with Harry. She can see him, pressing other girls up against that same wall and making them whimper. And she can see him brushing hair out of the face of some other girl, with long blond hair and pale, pale skin, a really thin girl. And another girl with enormous breasts that he just couldn't get enough of. And it makes her sick, just sick to think that she was just another. Another trophy on his wall. Another girl for him to brag about.

But she isn't. She's a mistake. She's a "just another" who happens to be pregnant now. And that makes her feel even worse. And she doesn't know why, exactly, she's so jealous of these girls she's conjured up in her mind, but she is, and she's angry for letting Harry get the best of her.

"Hermione? I just made eggs and toast. I hope that's all right. It just – I don't really know how to make much else, besides spaghetti, and I thought you might need the protein …" Harry trails off when he sees Hermione. She's glaring up at him, her arms folded across her chest and a frown on her mouth. "Are you all right?"

She sighs and looks away. "I'm fine," she huffs. "Did you do this for all of your other girlfriends?"

Harry looks confused. "What are you talking about?"

"Did you make them cute little breakfast-in-the-afternoon meals?"

An amused smile plays across his lips for just a second, but it goes away quickly. "Hermione – you know I haven't had any girlfriends, besides Cho and Ginny, and Jane, but you know about all of them. And you know Jane only lasted a few dates."

"So you're more of a one-night stand type of boy, is that it? Two nights, in my case," she adds bitterly.

"Hermione, what's going on here? Where did this come from?" Harry looks hurt now, and she feels terrible. "I – I don't really know what this is about, but if I said anything that implied that I'm that kind of person, then I'm sorry. But I thought you knew me better than that." He pauses. "The food's in the kitchen, if you want it. I've lost my appetite." He takes his coat off of the hanger. "I'm going for a walk. I'll be back in a little." He turns around. "How on earth could you get that kind of impression of me?"
And he walks away, banging the door behind him.