The sun streams through the window, and for some reason, this reminds Hermione of cold buttered popcorn, and before she knows what's really happening, she's thrown up last night's chicken alfredo all over the wooden floor of her bedroom. Clamping her hand over her mouth, Hermione stumbles across her room to the bathroom. She clutches the white porcelain rim of the toilet as she heaves into it. Tears are in the corners of her eyes and she's sweating with the effort.
"Hermione!"
She feels her hair being pulled back, and she coughs and splutters, breathing heavily.
When it's over, she wipes her mouth. Harry's still holding her hair back. She leans her head against his knees. "Sorry," she mumbles.
Harry kneels beside her, letting her ringlets and curls slide from his hands onto her shoulders. "Are you all right?" he asks sleepily. Now that he knows she's all right, he's back to being tired again.
"I think so," she says slowly.
"Morning sickness," Harry says knowledgeably.
"Excuse me?"
"Morning sickness," Harry repeats. "It actually happens at any time of the day, really … anyway, you need to change a few things about your eating habits—we should probably buy some protein bars and things like that for you to eat before you go to bed. Oh, and if you get up in the middle of the night to go the bathroom, you need to eat a small snack. And don't drink your water and stuff when you're eating, but after. And -"
"Harry, how do you know all this stuff?" Hermione asks incredulously.
Harry stops and looks away, blushing slightly. He mumbles something.
"What?"
He clears his throat. "I bought a book."
"You bought a book?" Hermione repeats, smiling.
Harry nods, sees the look in her face, and says defensively, "Look, I never had anyone tell me anything about this—I didn't even know what being late meant, so I thought I should do some reading so that I'd be a bit more—prepared, and besides -"
Hermione stops him, pressing a finger to his mouth. "I wasn't saying it was stupid. I think it's actually really sweet of you."
Harry's blush deepens. "Can I make you anything for breakfast? I mean, I know you just threw up everything you ate last night, but … it would be good for you to get something into your stomach before you go to work."
Hermione smiles and nods. "I think I'm going to take a shower. All right? I'll be out in a minute."
Harry stands and takes her hand, helping her to her feet. "You're sure you're all right?" he asks again, concerned.
Hermione nods. "Nothing a shower can't cure," she says.
Harry feels himself tighten, and he hurries out before she can notice anything. Because he's just gotten a very graphic image of Hermione taking a shower, and … well, it has definitely excited him quite a bit. What kind of sick freak am I? he wonders angrily. Thinking about his best friend, naked. How could that kind of thing come to mind?
Um, maybe because he's already seen her naked?
The doorbell rings that evening. Hermione swallows and looks back at Harry. "Are you ready?" she asks nervously.
He nods slowly.
Hermione opens the door. "Ron," she says as graciously as she can. "Thanks for coming."
Ron pulls her into a hug, planting a kiss on her cheek. Harry watches, slightly jealous, and he clenches his fists involuntary. He can't even touch Hermione anymore without feeling electricity coursing through his body. He avoids it when he can, and at the same time, he looks for opportunities to brush his arm against her shoulder, accidentally touch her hand as they reach for teacups, anything to make a connection. Anything at all. But he can't flat out hug her like Ron is right now. He just can't handle it.
And why is he jealous, anyway? It's Ron. Yes, he and Hermione had something, but it had ended—much faster than it started, that was for sure. Ron hugging Hermione right now is nothing more than a friend thing.
They part, and Hermione smiles up at Ron. She touches his cheek. "Nice sideburns," she says.
Ron grins. "Thanks." He walks up to Harry, and they hug quickly. Hermione watches them, her hands in fists at her sides. What will Ron think about all of this? His ex-girlfriend, now pregnant with his best friend's child. How could he possibly feel Ok with all of this?
"Can I get you anything?"
"Get me whatever it is that you have that's strong," Ron replies.
Harry gulps, suddenly realizing something.
"Oh," says Hermione slowly, turning pink. "We, um -"
"Actually, we haven't been out to, erm, buy much lately—sorry," Harry says. "You know how it gets, with work and all that, yeah?"
Ron looks at Harry like he's grown another head. "What, you mean to tell me you're completely out?"
Harry nods, looking away.
"What the bloody hell is wrong with you two?"
"Ron," gasps Hermione. "We just haven't been out to get anything lately. How about some water?"
"Water," Ron repeats, shaking his head. "Water."
Hermione coughs. "Well, I'll just get that then, shall I? And I'll get the rest of the dinner ready." She hurries out of the living room, leaving them alone.
Harry rubs the back of his neck. When they tell him, will Ron lunge at his throat? Should he be prepared to defend himself when they drop the bomb?
Ron walks up to Harry, and lifts his hand, whacking the back of Harry's head with his palm. "Oi!" Harry protests. "That hurt you wally!"
"No alcohol," Ron says in a whisper. "No alcohol whatsoever? Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Positive?"
"Yes,' Harry says angrily.
Ron pauses.
"Is it because you're an alkie?"
"What?"
"Do you not have anything in this house because you're a bloody alcoholic?"
"What—no! That's not it at all! Look, if you want a drink so badly, go get some, alright?"
Ron shakes his head. "Too much trouble," he sniffs. "I don't really—I don't really need it, I guess." He sits down on the couch. Harry sits down next to him, using his wand to flick on the TV.
"So, how's the team? You guys doing all right?"
"S'pose," Ron says glumly. "Krum's on the team now—don't know why they got him, he's not worth anything at this point—and we have a match in a few weeks."
"Oh, yeah? I'll try to make it if I can."
Ron nods. "I reckon it'll be a good one."
Harry leans his head back. This is how it should be. Just friends, sitting in front of the TV, talking. No complications, no worrying about morning sickness and Hermione's moodiness.
And he hates himself for thinking negatively. Because he knows he's doing it to downplay how much he secretly loves it. Not that he loves her feeling sick and throwing up—it's honestly hard to watch—but the taking care of her idea. Of protecting her. Of knowing that she needs him.
But the scary think about knowing that she needs him is knowing that he needs her, too.
"What do you think, Harry? Harry"
He blinks. Ron's staring at him. "What is wrong with you, mate? You look … you look plain goofy right now."
"It's nothing," Harry says quickly. "Just tired—busy with work, you know."
"It's ready!" Hermione calls from the kitchen.
Harry mutters a charm and the TV turns off. He refuses to meet Ron's eye as he walks into the kitchen. Hermione's bending over, pulling lamb out of the oven. A small amount of her back is exposed, her shirt riding up, and Harry feels tingles all over. And he feels terrible for finding pleasure looking at her when she doesn't know he's looking at her, but he just can't help it.
She stands up and looks over her shoulder. And she catches him staring at her. And she smiles.
"You two can sit down, and I'll just serve you," she says, and then laughs. "I feel like a maid or something."
Ron and Harry both laugh, and it feels normal. This is what it should be like.
But is there really a 'should be' in this kind of situation?
The beginning of the meal is normal. Comfortable. Ron tells jokes, Harry flicks food at him, Hermione reprimands them both. No thoughts on Voldermort, or pregnancy or work. Just laughter.
"So, what's new with you two?" Ron says after they have eaten, belching loudly and leaning back in his chair. "How is this set-up working out? I'm still offended you didn't invite me to join," he adds, grinning.
Harry and Hermione look at each other. How is it working out? Is this the time for them to tell him the truth? Or should they hold off, wait just a little longer?
No. They are friends. And friends don't keep secrets from each other.
Hermione turns to Ron, setting down her glass carefully on the table. She's craving nachos with chocolate sauce right now and she doesn't know why. "Ron, look, the reason we're living like this is—well, you remember your birthday? Well, Harry and I stayed at the club for a while, and—well, got positively smashed, and we ended up kissing and then -" She breaks off and looks at Harry. Underneath the table, he reaches for her hand, and squeezes it.
It's the first real move of that kind he's made. And yet all that's there is hope. They're just two scared people, and they're not sure what's going to come next, and all they can do is what feels right. And telling Ron feels right.
"And then we had sex," Harry says, looking straight and Ron. No lies.
Ron, who is taking a sip of his water, spits it out, spewing it across the table. "What?" he yelps.
"Ron -"
"You had sex?"
"Yes, but Ron, that's not all -" Hermione sighs. "Ron, I'm pregnant."
Ron gulps. "Bloody hell," he says, shaking his head.
"Look, Ron, it was just a mistake, but we don't want to give the baby away—and we decided that it would make sense if Hermione moved in with me so that I could take care of her—but it's not like we're—together or anything like that. Honest. It just happened." Harry swallows hard and looks at Hermione. Tears are in her eyes, and she's looking at Ron, but he's not looking at her.
"So this happened—what, three months ago?"
"Yes," Hermione breathes.
"And so you're due in six?"
"Yes."
There's a pause.
"Bloody hell," Ron repeats.
"We're so sorry for not telling you sooner," Hermione says. "We just—we needed to get a few other things figured out first. And—oh, Ron, we didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't mean to hurt you. I would never want you to think that." She lowers her head. "I'm sorry."
There's just silence. Nothing else. Harry's just looking at Ron, and then Hermione. Back and forth. Waiting for someone to say something. Anything.
Ron clears his throat, and Hermione jerks her head up. Her hand is still in Harry's, and she squeezes it just a little. Just enough.
Harry and Hermione look at Ron, and he looks back at them.
And then, suddenly, Ron just starts laughing. His face is turning bright red, and he's laughing, and gasping for air, and laughing more.
"What's so funny?" Harry asks, completely confused.
Ron's giggles die down, and he shakes his head, looking at them knowingly. "Oh—never mind. You'll figure it out eventually," he finally says, wiping the tears off his cheeks.
"So—so you're not mad?" Hermione breathes.
"Mad? Well, maybe a little hurt," Ron admits. "I wish you had told me sooner. But—I mean, yes, it's not exactly the most wonderful situation—I mean, of all the people you could have chosen next, Hermione -"
"Ron," she says firmly.
"All right, all right," he says quickly. "The point is—I'm not going anywhere." He looks a little sad for a moment. Harry catches it. And he realises just how difficult this must be for Ron. His ex-girlfriend, the girl he was in love with from the moment she walked into that train compartment, the girl he didn't realise he was in love with until several years later, the girl who could drive him crazy and made him kick and scream, the girl who was always there no matter what … that girl was not his anymore. And Harry feels so grateful to have Ron. Ron, who could hold grudges with the best of them, is giving them his blessing.
There's a lump in Harry's throat. He hadn't expected this to move him to tears, nor to realise how lucky he is to have Ron. The one who stood by his side no matter what happened. The one who screamed incantations in Godric's Hollow that fateful night.
The one who will be there when Harry's baby comes.
Ron kisses Hermione's forehead lightly. And, even though Harry feels something inside of him burning, he knows it's nothing. And somehow, all of this is Ok.
Hermione leaves to let the two boys say their goodbyes.
Ron turns to Harry with a gleam in his eye and shoves his friend slightly.
"What was that for?" Harry asks, rubbing his chest.
"She's the girl, isn't she?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Remember? When I came to your apartment the day after my birthday? I knew you had gotten some the night before! It was Hermione, wasn't it?"
"Ron -" Harry braces himself. He knows what's coming next.
"You're in love with her, aren't you?"
But it wasn't angry, like Harry anticipated. It was just a question. He looks up. Ron is staring at him, not with hatred, but with curiosity. And they just look at each other.
"I don't know," manages Harry after a long pause.
Ron pulls on his cloak. He hugs Harry, and when he opens the door, he turns around. "I do," he says, smiling.
