Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the characters. I own the plotline.
Hermione is sitting there on the coach, staring through the window when Harry enters the room. She doesn't notice him. He walks up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. She looks up and smiles. "You startled me," she says softly, putting her mug on the table beside her. "Why aren't you sleeping?"
"I just couldn't, I guess."
Hermione nods. "I couldn't either. This one's keeping me awake," she adds, looking down at her stomach.
Harry sits down next to her, looking out into the darkness. "Are your childbirth classes going all right?" he asks.
She nods, taking another sip of her hot chocolate. "They're really helpful. But the baby likes to move around a lot whenever I lie down."
"Can you sleep at all sitting up?"
Hermione shrugs. "I haven't tried. The past few nights, I've just waited until I'm exhausted, and then I sleep despite the movements." She gestures towards the television. "Could you turn on the telly? I wouldn't mind seeing what they have on this late."
Harry takes his wand from his dressing-gown and flicks it at the screen. The bright light from the television blinds them, and the volume is blaring for some reason. He turns the noise down, leaning back against the cushions.
They don't talk after that. What is there to say? She shifts in her seat a few times before settling back next to him. He can smell her shampoo—she must have showered after they got back from the party—and her toenails are painted the same colour as her dress robes had been. She's wearing the dressing-gown the Weasleys gave her for her birthday three years ago, and she hasn't taken off the necklace. And he hates himself for noticing all of this, because these aren't the things a friend should be paying attention to.
After a while, she yawns. Her head falls on his shoulder. He can feel her breath on his neck. He kisses the top of her head ever so lightly and takes her limp hand in his own, lacing their fingers together. "I love you, Hermione Granger," he says, almost inaudibly. He knows she can't hear him, but it doesn't matter at this point. Just saying it to the silence that surrounds them is enough.
She stirs a few minutes later. "Do you want to go to bed?" Harry asks her. He starts to move, but she clings to him.
"Stay here," she murmurs. "Please."
Harry moves himself slowly, so that her head is on his chest. He leans his back against the edge of the couch and closes his eyes.
And they breathe.
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When Harry wakes up, he finds himself and Hermione in an entirely different position. Hermione is lying on her back, and Harry is lying sideways, his body pressed against hers. One arm is cradling Hermione's head, and the other is lying across her stomach. His hand is locked with hers, moving up and down on her belly. He watches in fascination. This is our baby. It's still hard to grasp. But it's wicked.
He settles his head back on the cushions, Hermione's hair has fanned out across the couch, and he carefully moves it from underneath him. He closes his eyes, drifting back into sleep.
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Hermione wakes, blinking several times. She can feel his warm breath on her skin, and she shivers. His hand is clasping hers tightly on top of her belly, and she doesn't want him to ever, ever let it go. She slowly turns her head. Her nose brushes his, and his eyes open quickly. "Good morning," she says quietly.
"Good morning," Harry says, yawning. And they just look at each other, smiling. For a moment, everything is simple and uncomplicated. They are Hermione and Harry. A boy and a girl.
There have been many stories written with just this.
For a flickering moment, they get a look into the future. The baby crawling on the floor while Hermione makes dinner. Harry enters the house, takes off his cloak, and walks into the kitchen. He picks up the baby and wraps his free arm around Hermione's waist, kissing her neck.
This is how it should be.
"How did you sleep?" Harry asks.
Hermione shrugs. "Better than I have in a while," she says. "I think it's the couch."
Oh, so it's not the fact that the guy you're in love with is lying next to you, is it?
"You're going to see your mum today, aren't you?"
Hermione nods, closing her eyes again. "I should get up."
Harry shakes his head. "No, go back to sleep for a little."
"But I need to eat breakfast, and -"
Harry carefully steps over her onto the floor. "I'll make you breakfast, all right? I'll wake you up when it's ready."
Hermione feels tears well up in her eyes as she watches him leave the room. Why does he have to be so damn wonderful? It's not fair. It would be so much easier if he was the biggest wally she'd ever met. It would be easy if she could hate him. But she can't. She just can't.
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"Right. I'm off," Hermione tells Harry, winding a scarf around her neck. She looks over his shoulder at the Daily Prophet. Nothing interesting.
"Make sure you give those flowers to your mum for me," he reminds her, looking up from the article he's been reading.
Hermione smiles. "I won't forget," she promises. "They're beautiful. She'll love them, I'm sure."
"I hope she does."
Hermione studies Harry's face. His cheeks are the same colour as his lips and his hair is as messy as it's always been. And his eyes are glowing. Can he read her mind?
She tucks her hair behind her ear, looking away. "I'll see you when I get back, all right?"
Harry stands up slowly. She can feel the heat emanating from his body, but she just can't look into his eyes.
Slowly, carefully, he moves his face closer, kissing her forehead lightly. Hermione shivers in spite of herself. "Be careful," Harry says quietly.
Hermione nods, taking a step back. "I'll be fine, Harry," she says, taking out her wand and picking up the flowers. "I'll see you in a bit."
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Mrs Granger settles herself on the chair facing her daughter. "So how are you feeling, darling?"
"Right now, I'm all right. I had a few back pains earlier, but other than that."
"And is the baby moving a lot?"
"Sometimes yes, sometimes no."
"And have you been taken birth classes regularly?"
"I have."
"And -"
"Mum, could we stop with the questions, please?" Hermione rubs her forehead. "I got enough last night at my friend's birthday party."
"Sorry, love. We're just so excited about all of this." Mrs Granger sips her tea. "I don't think I've seen your father this eager since your birth." She shakes her head. "You know, when I went in to labour, you refused to come out unless I was standing."
"What?"
"Any time I lay down, you would stop moving. So I walked almost the entire six hours of labour."
"You never told me that!"
"Hadn't
I?" Mrs Granger laughs. "You were stubborn from the
beginning."
"Oh thanks, mum."
"I mean that in a good way, love." She sets her cup down. "Now, I have one request," she says.
"Oh? What's that?"
"I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me you're not in love with Harry Potter."
"What?" Hermione asks, startled. Of all the people …
Mrs Granger cackles, positively delighted. "Come on, darling. Surely you didn't think you could hide it from me?"
"Mum -" Hermione starts, trying to keep her voice calm and steady.
"Oh, are you going to actually try it?" her mother teases. "Go on, then."
"Mum, stop it! I'm so sick of this! I'm under enough stress as it is, and the last thing I need is you, or any of my friends, or … well, anyone at all, telling me how much I'm in love with Harry Potter, Ok? I already know it, thank you!"
"Oh, Hermione, I'm sorry. I was only joking. I didn't mean to make you angry."
Hermione breathes deeply. It's the first time she's admitted aloud to someone that she's in love with him, and guess what? It feels good.
But at the same time, it feels bloody terrible.
She rests her hands on her stomach. "I don't really know what to do," she says quietly.
"Of course you do." Mrs Granger leans forward. "You tell him the truth."
"But what if he doesn't feel -"
"You're making it too complicated. You tell him because it's how you feel and it's the truth, not because you're positive that he's going to tell you the same thing. If that was how all couples started, the world would be a pretty pathetic place."
"But mum, it's Harry."
"I know, I know. But I also know how much it's hurting you to hide this from him. Just tell Harry how you feel." Her mother coughs. "Now, do you want to use your old cradle or not?"
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Hermione had hoped to feel less burdened by the time she left her parents' house, not more. But on top of all of her original feelings are her mothers' thoughts and profound statements, and her mother's voice in inside of her head, repeating the same words over and over. Just tell Harry how you feel.
It may not be as complicated as I make it, but it's certainly not as simple as mum makes it, Hermione thinks sadly, slowly starting to climb the stairs up to the apartment.
"Hermione!"
She looks up. Harry's darting down the stairs. "Let me help you," he says, taking her arm. "Why didn't you take the lift?"
"I, erm, didn't feel like it, I guess," she says, refusing to look at him. How can she? "It's only twenty stairs. Not a problem."
"Careful, careful." Harry clears his throat. "How was your mum?"
Fine. She just told me to tell you I'm in love with you. "She was fine. She loved the flowers." Hermione smiles, beginning to breathe heavily. "That was really sweet of you, Harry."
"Oh, I know. I'm just the sweetest chap around. Obviously."
They reach the top stair, Hermione panting, clutching Harry's arm with one hand and the banister with the other.
Harry unlocks the door. "Can I get you anything? A cup of tea? Toast?"
"I'm all right for now," Hermione says, wiping her sweaty forehead. "Ugh. I'm a total mess, though. Disgusting."
"No, you look fine." You look beautiful.
"I'm going to go—take a shower. Maybe then I'll be hungry." Hermione looks up at last into Harry's eyes. "Thanks for—for helping me with those stairs."
Harry stares right back. Goosebumps appear on her arms, and she doesn't know how they got there. "No problem," he says with a smile.
She wants to look away, but she's transfixed. She always knew his eyes were beautiful, but were they always this green, this intense? It's almost too much for her, but she doesn't care. She could be burned to death by those green eyes and she would be dying a happy person.
The baby kicks, and Hermione winces a little.
"What's wrong?" Harry asks, moving towards her.
"It's just the baby. Moving around." She looks back at Harry, and she sees longing in his eyes. It's probably the cutest thing she's ever seen. "Do you want to—do you want to hear?"
Harry nods. He can't find his voice. Slowly, he kneels in front of Hermione, pressing his ear to her stomach. There is silence for a few seconds, and then Harry lets out a little gasp.
"Is that really -"
"Yeah."
"This is—this is cool!"
Hermione smiles. She hadn't expected Harry to get so excited about something like this.
Harry keeps the side of his head pressed to her stomach for a few more minutes, and then he looks up. "I bet this is all old news for you, right?"
"Yeah, I guess." Hermione laughs. "I'm glad you think it's so cool."
"It's
beyond cool," Harry says, laughing too. "I must look like a right
idiot."
"No, no. It's sweet."
Harry stays on his knees for a little longer, but then he realises how similar it is to another pose and he gets up. And now, he's at a loss for words. "Well," he finally says, clearing his throat. "I'll—make dinner, shall I?"
"Sure," Hermione says slowly. "And I'll—I'll take a shower, then."
"Right."
"Right."
"Ok then."
"Ok."
Their eyes meet again, but they both look away.
"Ok then," Harry says again, taking a few steps backwards.
"Right," Hermione replies, backing away from him.
A/N: All right, so it wasn't a particularly important chapter, but oh well. And I know I take long periods of time between updates (except for this one—not too shabby, eh?), but would you rather I spat out a bunch of nonsense all the time as opposed to thinking through parts of the story? I'm sorry, I'm somewhat of a perfectionist … anyway, I hope you enjoyed it! And keep reviewing—it means so much to me!
