"Girl." Hermione looked up from her notes and glanced over at her boyfriend curiously. Ron was wearing a thoughtful expression as he sipped his hospital tea, and she could see no provocation for his random statement.

"What?"

"The baby," he said logically, as if continuing a conversation they had been having out loud and not whatever discussion he was having with himself. "I think it'll be a girl."

"Well, we ought to know any time now. It's been hours." Ron and Hermione were alone in the waiting room of the St. Mungo's maternity ward, the rest of the family having ventured out to get some dinner for them. Hermione had stayed put to keep studying—NEWTS were only a few short weeks away—and Ron, of course, had stayed put to keep her company as they awaited the arrival of Molly and Arthur's first grandchild.

"I know now. They're having a girl."

"Ron, you can't possibly know that." Ron hid a smirk behind his teacup; she couldn't resist arguing with him, and he knew it. "I know there are spells that will tell you the sex of the baby, but Bill and Fleur wanted it to be a surprise. Nobody knows yet."

"Okay. If I'm right, and it's a girl, you have to get me a chocolate frog from the market upstairs."

"What do I get if you're wrong?"

"I'm not." Hermione rolled her eyes, and Ron amended, "Alright, alright. Sugar quills. The good ones from that little place off Diagon. Do we have a deal?" Ron held his hand out for her to shake.

"Sure, Ron, we have a deal."

Several hours later, as everyone cooed over the newborn swaddled in pink, Ron triumphantly bit the leg off his chocolate frog while Hermione scowled at him. "Pleasure doing business with you, love," he teased as he dropped a chocolatey kiss on her cheek.

"Hermione, have you seen my blue jumper?" Ron was rummaging through the chest of drawers and making quite a mess as she entered their room.

"What's wrong with what you've got on?" she asked impatiently. "We're going to be late."

"It's green."

"And?"

Ron turned to face her, explaining with a sigh, "Green isn't a baby color. And as we're going to a baby shower, for my nephew, I want to wear blue."

Hermione put her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm going to ignore the very sexist portion of what you just said and remind you that we don't know it's a boy. George said they're announcing it at the party. Which we are now meant to be at in exactly—" Hermione made a show of checking her watch. "Three minutes."

Ron waved a hand dismissively. "It's thirty seconds by Floo. We've got plenty of time."

"Ron—"

"And I'm not saying that they can't dress the little bloke in whatever color they want, only that blue is the generally accepted baby boy color, and therefore it's appropriate for me to wear blue to the party. Now, have you seen my jumper or haven't you?"

Hermione pushed the door open to their closet and called over her shoulder, "You seem awfully sure of yourself to plan your choice of clothing around something you couldn't possibly know." She peeked back out the door. "Unless George already told you and you're just having a go at me."

"I don't know what to tell you, Hermione, I just have a sixth sense about these things." She emerged from the closet with the missing jumper, and he gave her a quick peck before he changed into it. "But if you don't believe me, we can make another wager." He wiggled his eyebrows at her, and she couldn't help smiling even though they were now due at the Burrow in two minutes.

"You have a 50/50 chance of being right. As I pointed out before."

"So those are pretty good odds for you, if you really think I'm just guessing. How about it? Loser cooks dinner?"

"Your mum will be sending us all home with leftovers, you know."

"Loser cooks for the rest of the week, then?" He tapped her watch and flashed her the lopsided grin she was utterly powerless to refuse. "One minute. Say yes and we can go."

"Okay, fine. Yes. Now, let's go."

The next evening, as Hermione stirred the pasta sauce on the stove, she made a mental note to hit Flourish and Blotts on her lunch break and see if she could find anything on a branch of magic that gave one the ability to predict the sex of unborn babies. She suspected it would be filed under a section on Divination and scoffed to herself.

"What's for dinner?" Ron leaned against the door frame of the kitchen to watch her. "Smells like...victory."

"You're insufferable," she scolded. "It's luck. Next Weasley baby, double or nothing."

Ron grinned. "You're on."

"Listen, Hermione, a deal is a deal."

"Yes, well…" Hermione tugged absently at the hem of her uniform skirt, which she had transfigured far shorter than she'd ever worn it at school, as per the terms she had foolishly agreed to. "I didn't think you'd be right again."

Ron stood up from their bed and walked slowly towards her. "If I'd been wrong, I'd have put on my Quidditch kit for you, just like you wanted, but as Victoire now has a little sister, just like I said she would six months ago, we get to do my favorite fantasy." He trailed a finger down the buttons of her blouse which, again, were currently leaving much less to the imagination than they had in her Hogwarts days, and Hermione shivered in spite herself.

"I've got to stop making these bets with you," she muttered, but allowed Ron to lead her back over to the bed anyway.

"Eh, I think we both win this one," Ron said as he leaned in to kiss her.

"Boy."

"Stop."

"It's a boy. I'm serious."

"They've only just told us that Ginny is pregnant an hour ago!" Hermione exclaimed as she dusted herself of Floo powder and turned incredulously to face her husband. "They don't know. The healers don't even know yet."

"Ah, but none of them are Ron Weasley, Baby Whisperer. So, what'll it be, Hermione? What would you care to lose this time?"

"I'm not playing anymore."

"Aha, so you do believe I'm right!"

Hermione let out a groan of frustration. "Okay, if Harry and Ginny have a girl, we spend our entire holiday this year with Mum and Dad in Melbourne."

"Not the entire holiday, Hermione! I get sunburnt. And I've always got sand stuck in my—"

"Ron!"

"Relax, I was going to say hair." He grinned at her, and she smirked back.

"If you're so certain you're right, then you won't have to worry about the sand at all, will you?" she challenged.

"Okay, fine. When Harry and Ginny have a boy, we finally get Cannons season tickets. And you have to come with me to at least half the matches."

Hermione scowled, but agreed. His lucky streak had to run out sometime, after all.

Eight months later, Ron grinned at her over the sleeping form of James Sirius Potter who he held tenderly in his arms and chirped, "Don't worry, love, you look great in orange."

"So."

"Hmm?"

"We're six months into this, and you haven't so much as hinted what you think we're having."

Ron rolled over to face her and his hand drifted to the bump on her stomach, hidden beneath the covers. "You really want to make a bet on our baby?" he asked with just a hint of a smile.

"I'm just curious. You must know. Or have you actually been guessing all this time, like I said?" Hermione asked with a defiant smirk.

"I thought you wanted to be surprised?"

"I will be surprised, because you're just guessing."

"Gin owled earlier," Ron said casually. "Everything went fine at the healer's. And they opted for the spell this time. And guess what they're having?"

Hermione froze. "They're not."

"They are. Another boy. Like I said." Ron grinned at her. "So, still want to hear my guess?" He used his fingers to mime quotation marks around the word, and Hermione was starting to doubt that she did actually want to hear what he thought. He couldn't possibly, actually know. And yet…

"Go on, then. Tell me." She never had been one to back down from a fight, no matter how silly.

"What's the wager?"

"Winner names the baby."

Ron sat bolt upright in bed and looked down at her. "You're not serious."

"We can set some ground rules, you know, so the other can veto anything truly awful, and I think old girlfriend's names and such should be off limits."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Right, because otherwise that's definitely what I would want to name our baby. At least I don't have to worry about you calling a boy Viktor."

"I would never do that, either."

"Nah, I mean I don't have to worry because you're not going to win." Ron grinned, and the baby—gender and name still to be determined—gave a mighty kick under his hand. "See, little Rosmerta agrees with me."

"Rosmerta?!"

"Not an old girlfriend."

"Only in your dreams." Hermione rolled her eyes. "So, a girl, then? That's your guess?"

"Yes." Ron sobered slightly, leaning down to place a kiss on Hermione's stomach before sliding up to kiss her. "A beautiful little girl with her mum's crazy hair."

Hermione laughed. "For her sake, I hope you're wrong about that part, at least."

For once, Hermione could not have cared less about being wrong. Their daughter was here, and healthy, and perfect. It was too soon to tell if Ron was right about the texture of her hair, but the color of the tuft she had was unmistakably Weasley. Only one thing was missing. "She needs a name," Hermione whispered. "Unless you're actually planning to call her Rosmerta."

"Well…"

"Ron!"

Ron laughed softly and placed a kiss on her temple. "No, love, of course not." His arm around her tightened. "I thought...well, I did want to sort of honor the bet in a way because, well, that's us, isn't it? We argue, and we're competitive, but we're also silly, and we have fun together. So...what do you think about Rose?"

Hermione looked down at their daughter, asleep in her arms, and tried it out. "Rose."

They were both silent for a moment, and then Ron cleared his throat, sounding suddenly nervous as he went on, "No one would know but us, of course, where the name came from. And...if you hate it, we can pick something else, I just thought—" Hermione turned her head and pressed her lips to his.

"No, it's perfect. Has she got a middle name?"

"Nah, I thought we could figure that part out together. If you're not too gutted about yet another victory for me, that is."

Hermione shook her head. "You just got lucky."

Ron kissed her again and then dropped his gaze lovingly to Rose. "You're damn right about that."