Author's Notes: Ahh…the plot thickens…

It's not easy having a boyfriend who can read your thoughts.

Hermione ran her hands through her hair again, trying to ease some of the tension building in her temples. Two weeks had passed since her and Ron's romantic interlude in her room. Since then, things had been rather crazy.

It didn't take her long to realize that Ron could read her thoughts, ALL her thoughts, at any time so long as she was near him. If they were in separate rooms, she was safe, but if he could see her, he could read her. It was not the most pleasant of experiences. As much as she loved Ron, there were things that she wanted to keep to herself. She had a right to privacy, right? He had no right to get all bent out of shape if she snapped at him for asking her about something that he shouldn't know. Right?

Well, that was how she saw it anyway.

What was even more frustrating was learning that she didn't share his new abilities. Ron could read her, but Hermione still had to rely on the same clues to figure out what he was thinking that she had always relied on.

It wasn't fair.

Shortly after their discovery, she had conducted an experiment with a small group.

She had made up cards with simple images on them. One was given to Harry, Ginny, and Draco. She also held one. Ron's task was to read each of the four teens and figure out what their image was. She theorized that Ron shared close relationships with each of the Gryffindors, and Draco, as an "outsider," would act as the control.

She went first, and he had read her with little difficulty.

"Star," he had said, before she had even completely looked at her card. He received mental images from Ginny and Harry nearly as fast. Draco proved to be a little more of a challenge. After staring at the blond Slytherin for several minutes without guessing, Ron finally got irritated and snapped at him.

"Stopped beating around the bloody bush. I don't care what you think of the fucking experiment, just give me the image!"

The look of shock of Draco's face was priceless. Ron had barely finished his rant when he spoke again.

"Three wavy vertical lines," he said, correctly naming Draco's image.

Ron's new found abilities however, did not come without consequences. With all the mental chatter going on around him, he began to get horrible migraines. The only peace he seemed to be able to find was sitting alone in dark rooms, the 7th year boys' dormitory and Hermione's bedroom being the places he liked best. His sleep patterns started to get rearranged. As he couldn't concentrate when there were people around, Ron got into the habit of going up to his room to sleep immediately after classes let out in the afternoon. He would sleep until about 11 pm or midnight and would then venture down to the Gryffindor common room to do his homework, snacking on whatever Harry, Ginny, or Hermione had brought him up from dinner.

He never saw his friends anymore outside of class. He never spent any time with Hermione. Christ, he even missed playing video games with Draco. He couldn't go on like this.

Eventually, Hermione cracked and went to McGonagall for advice. Up to this point, the five teens had kept up a policy of absolute silence regarding Ron's behavior and abilities. But Hermione realized that the situation was rapidly getting out of their control, and it was time to bring in the adults.

The summit with the Headmistress went a lot more smoothly than she had anticipated. McGonagall did not ask too many personal questions and seemed relatively calm about the entire affair. She accompanied Hermione and Harry to the boys' dorm one afternoon where Ron was trying to sleep.

"How long has he been like this?" the professor asked as they climbed the stairs in Gryffindor tower.

"Two weeks," Hermione answered tiredly. This whole situation was taking much more of a toll on her than she had expected.

Harry entered the room before the other two, briefly checking to make sure that nothing incriminating was laying about.

"Ron, mate, McGonagall is here. She wants to talk to you."

"I know," a barely recognizable voice said from behind the curtains on Ron's bed. He poked a weary head out to look at them. The bags under his eyes and wild hair almost matched Hermione's, but his were much more pronounced.

"I realize I look like death warmed over," he said sulkily, turning unhappy eyes to McGonagall, "it's not like I can help but hear what you are thinking."

"Very well, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall replied in the softest tone that anyone had ever heard her use. She walked forward and tapped her wand lightly on his temple. Ron blinked several times and looked up at her hopefully.

"What did you do?" he asked in awe.

"Ron, what happened?" Hermione interrupted.

"She made it stop. All the noise. Everything is quiet again," he flopped back down onto his bed, "I never thought I would be so happy for quiet in my life."

"Professor, what did you do?" Harry asked.

"I put a temporary cap on his abilities, similar to numbing an area before surgery," she turned to look at Harry and Hermione, "but it won't last forever. Ron will need to learn occlumency to be able to harness his telepathy."

"Telepathy," Hermione whispered, barely believing her ears at someone using the word in all seriousness.

"He needs to be able to control what he is hearing and when he is hearing it. The only other option is madness."

"But who will instruct him?" Harry began cautiously, "Snape…"

"Severus Snape was not the only wizard who was an accomplished Legilimens," McGonagall replied, "as you well know, Mr. Potter. There are others who can teach him. Several members of the Order are capable, but I do not know if their other responsibilities will prohibit them from taking on this task. I will contact them."

"Who are they, Professor?" Hermione's curiosity got the better of her.

"Well, Kingsley Shacklebolt for one, but again, he has other responsibilities."

"What about Malfoy?" Ron asked suddenly. Hermione and Harry just turned shocked faces in his direction.

"How do you know about Mr. Malfoy?" McGonagall shot back.

"He basically told me. When Hermione did her experiment, he got scared when he realized I knew what was going on in his head. He immediately shut down and I couldn't get anything from him anymore." McGonagall pursed her lips.

"I don't know the extent of Mr. Malfoy's abilities," she said after some thought, and then turned concerned eyes to Ron, "are you sure that you want him trying to enter your mind? Do you trust him that much?" Ron sat with his hands on his knees.

"What do you two think?" he asked, looking up at Harry and Hermione.

"You know a lot of information about a great many things, Ron," Hermione began.

"I agree, plus, it's a really unpleasant sensation when someone is deliberately trying to invade your thoughts," Harry added.

"Well, then, maybe we should compromise. Professor, would please ask Kingsley if he would work with me? In the meantime, I'll try to feel Malfoy out. And yes, luv," he turned to smile at Hermione, "we will also read every book on occlumency this library has to offer."

"Sounds like a plan," Harry answered for everyone.

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The occlumency lessons began much more quickly than anyone had anticipated. Kingsley arrived at the school the day after receiving McGonagall's owl. He spent all of Friday night and most of the day Saturday locked in a room with Ron, going over the fundamentals of keeping someone out of his head. It was a bit strange trying to work out the details, since normally when occlumency is applied it is to prevent a person on the outside from forcing their way inside one's mind. In Ron's case, the thoughts of the people around him where entering his mind with their volition, without the knowledge of the thought's owner.

The training session was totally exhausting so Ron spent all of Sunday sleeping, but awoke early Monday, eager to return to some sort of normalcy. Although he had to actively force his brain to block out the thoughts of those around him, it was much easier now, having acquired the tools he needed. All that remained was the practice necessary to make it second nature. Once he could block people out as a reflex, he could start working on reading chosen individuals.

All his grand plans went out the window, however, when he saw Hermione come into the Great Hall for breakfast. He immediately lost his concentration and was deluged by the thoughts of everyone around him. Everyone, that is, but one.

Hermione smiled tiredly at him and sat down, not noticing his agitated expression.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, reaching for some yogurt.

"I'm doing a bit better," he plopped down beside her, "how is it that you are blocking me?"

"You are supposed to be blocking everyone," she gave him a sidelong glance.

"I was until you came in. I lost my concentration. I started hearing everyone," he blurted out, "everyone but you." He watched as she chewed her lip, a sure sign of nervousness. What did she have to be nervous about?

"Let's go up to my room," she said, reaching to take his hand. He yanked it away from her.

"Why do you want to go to your room?" He sounded like a three year old, even to his own ears.

"Because I really don't want to discuss this in the middle of the Great Hall while everyone is having breakfast," she hissed, stung that he had pulled away from her, "when you decide to start acting like an adult and have a rational conversation, I'll see you in the head suite." She turned on her heel and walked stiffly away from him. Ron sulkily chewed on some toast as he calmed down and began the exercises that would block everything out. He was so agitated that it took him nearly fifteen minutes to achieve any sort of quiet.

The fifteen minutes also allowed him to think and analyze his irritation. On the one hand, a part of him understood that his new abilities were very unsettling to Hermione. He had things he wanted to keep private, too. But she got entirely too upset about it when he slipped and heard something he wasn't supposed to hear. It wasn't his fault, he was working on it; but she made it seem as though it was a capital crime.

Where did she get off? It wasn't fair that he had to deal with this now. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be! Not after…well…after what had happened…

Ron stopped. He had to actively think to remember how long it had been since he had spent the night in Hermione's room. Almost three weeks! Three bloody weeks had passed and…nothing! They hadn't even talked about it for Merlin's sake! Was it any wonder why he was so cranky?

The effort to calm himself completely backfired the more he thought about the situation. And he had a pretty good feeling that whatever they were going to discuss up in the Head Suite was not going to improve his mood.

He prayed that Malfoy wouldn't be there as he climbed the stairs. Thankfully, the only person he saw was Hermione, seated on the couch, arms crossed, legs crossed, tapping her foot against the table. Apparently, she hadn't calmed down any either.

"I was starting to think you weren't coming," she said icily, turning to look him in the face.

"I had to calm down," he replied, standing across from her and crossing his own arms over his chest.

"And did you?" the artic wind asked.

"Not for long." They remained there in stony silence for a few heartbeats.

"How can you block me all of a sudden?" he began, getting right to the point.

"It's not 'all of a sudden,' Ron, you've been out of commission for three days."

"Well, I know that you weren't in the room with Kingsley and me, so how did you figure it out?"

She wouldn't look at him.

"Someone must have taught you…" the gears were turning in his head, "it was MALFOY!" She didn't say anything, merely sunk further into the couch.

"It was Malfoy, wasn't it!?!?! It had to be! He's the only one at school who could possibly teach you those skills. Goddammit, Hermione, how could you do that?!?! How could you let him…"

"What?" she screamed, near tears now, "let him what? What exactly do you think he may have done to me?"

"In order to train you, he would have to look into your mind, see your memories. All the private thoughts that you have about things, he would be able to get to. How could you let him do that?!?!?!"

"I didn't have a choice!"

"Of course you had a choice! There's always a choice! He's the enemy, Hermione. What about all that 'you know a lot of information about a great many things, Ron'? You know the same things I do. How are you any different from me?"

"I had to get you out," she said quietly. She was actually crying now. He couldn't move. It was as though she had plunged a knife in his heart.

"So you need to keep secrets from me, but you have no problem letting him know everything." He forced himself to stop there. There were nasty things brewing around in his head, words that wanted to see the light of day, but he knew that some of them would be death sentences.

This wasn't like the fights they had had in the past. Those were bad, but this was the worst, by far. The stakes were higher now. He couldn't just fly off the handle and lash out at her, saying awful, hurtful things. A part of him didn't want to. When he had been horrible in the past, it was because he wanted her to feel as badly as he did. Today he knew that she did. He didn't even have to read her. And she was holding back too.

At least they were committed to that.

He looked down at Hermione, practically a tiny ball on the couch. No matter how he cut it, she had betrayed him. She had let another man know her secrets for the specific purpose of keeping him out. Why didn't she just shag him while she was at it?

Ugh, now he felt nauseous.

He had to leave; he had to get away from her. He grabbed his bag from where he had dropped it by the door. He left the room without a backward glance.

Hermione hadn't said another word.

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They successfully avoided each other for the rest of the week. Harry and Ginny were amazingly neutral. They told both Ron and Hermione that they could see the argument from both sides, and they would be non-judgmental ears if either wanted to talk. They also worked hard to coordinate keeping them apart. Ginny ate all of her meals in the Head Suite with Hermione, while Harry got Ron around while avoiding seeing the Head Girl as much as possible.

The only one who had chosen a side, not that anybody cared, was Draco. He was completely on Hermione's team. And he had been looking forward to a Weasley bashing session, which to his disappointment never came.

"Lay off, Draco," Hermione had said when he started spewing some anti-Ron propaganda.

What the fuck? Wasn't this supposed to happen? When the girl broke up with someone, she was supposed to hate them forever and want to talk smack about the former boyfriend.

Right?

Trouble was, Ron and Hermione apparently hadn't broken up.

Well that was fine then, Draco concluded. Things would go back to how they were in the beginning of the year, when he had Hermione and Ginny all to himself.

And he most certainly did not miss Ron and Potter.

Not one little bit.

At least that's what he kept telling himself.

In the meantime, McGonagall had alerted Ron's parents to his new abilities. She wisely did this without telling him, to avoid the subsequent argument and sulking. Therefore, Ron was quite surprised one morning when he received a letter from his mother.

"What's that?" asked Harry through a mouthful of oatmeal.

"A letter from Mum. She's in Hogsmeade and wants to meet me for dinner at The Three Broomsticks. What is this all about?"

Permission from the Headmistress in hand, Ron ambled down to the village that evening. He found his mother cozied up at one of the tables in the pub.

"Oh, Ron, there you are," she stood and kissed him on the cheek, forcing him to bend down so she could reach.

"Hey, Mum."

"How are you?"

"I've been better actually," he replied dryly. The events of the new year were really taking a toll on him.

"How is Hermione?"

"For the foreseeable future, that topic is off limits."

"Oh dear, well, then, I had better feed you and get on with what I was going to say." He loved his mum; she always knew how to make him feel better.

Wait, what?

"Mum, what are you talking about?"

"Well, I'm here for a reason, Ron. Not just to have dinner with my son."

"And that reason is?"

"Minerva told me about your new abilities."

Ron sighed unhappily and slouched back into his seat. Brilliant.

"She did?"

"Yes, and I am here to shed some light on the subject." Well, that was interesting.

"Any light at all would be much appreciated."

"I can imagine. Ron, Minerva used the word 'telepathy' to explain your abilities. What do you know about that?"

"Nothing. All I know is that I can read other people's thoughts without trying and I have to actively force myself not to."

"There are many different abilities that come with this gift, I am sure that you will develop them as you go. Telepathy goes back to the beginning of time. It is very old magic. You don't need a wand, you just need your own talents. And not just anyone can do it, either. Only very special witches and wizards are capable of it.

"There are two routes that will result in this ability. Sometimes, everyone in a line has it. Often they are seers. Usually they are women. Other times, certain criteria are met by a specific person's birth. There is an old wives' tale about the seventh son of a seventh son having 'the sight.' That statement is true, but it is a little more general than that."

"Dad doesn't have six older brothers."

"No, but I have six older siblings. I'm here to tell you that you are the seventh son of a seventh daughter. That's why you have these abilities."

"But Mum, I only have five older brothers. If anything, Ginny should be the one who can do this. She's number seven."

"I am about to tell you something that I do not wish you to repeat. It is very painful to me and I don't like talking about it."

"Ok," Ron leaned in.

"Your father and I love each other very much, always have. So much in fact that we did not use proper restraint when we were courting. We didn't wait for things, if you get my meaning. And we had to rush to get married."

"Are you telling me a shotgun was involved?"

"Well, that's a very Muggle expression, your father would get a kick out it," she smiled sadly, "in any case, yes, we had to rush to get married because we were expecting a child. We married and moved into The Burrow and began to get ready for the addition to our family. It was a very difficult pregnancy. The baby came too early. There was nothing the mid-witch could do. He was too small. He died a few hours after he was born. Our first born son. But he didn't make it."

Ron felt as though he had been punched in the chest.

"What was his name?"

"Maximilian."

"Mum, how do you know so much about telepathy?"

"I had always heard about the old wives' tale. When you were born, I did a good deal of research on the subject, to learn what I could."

"But why am I just getting this now?"

"It's a latent form of the ability. Those with others in the line normally have it from birth. It sleeps in children like you. For girls, the ability usually presents itself at puberty. For boys, it's different," at this she turned stern eyes on her son, "Ronald, I know exactly how a boy in your situation awakens his abilities. Now I think you ought to tell me what happened with Hermione."

Ron stared at his mother. She was being so calm. Much calmer than he thought she would be upon learning that her son was sexually active. Or, at least, had been, one time. Inasmuch as she had already probably had this realization five times previously, he was her baby son, she was supposed to be more upset about this.

Honestly, he was a little disappointed.

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The evening with his mother had gone relatively well. She was an unusually helpful font of knowledge where girls were concerned, more so than Ginny. What he really wanted to do now was talk to Hermione. Really talk to her and get it all out.

But that was easier said than done.

She must still be avoiding him. He never saw her.

And he had no idea where she was until Malfoy stopped him in the corridor one day.

"You really are a stupid son of a bitch, aren't you?" the little ferret began in lieu of a greeting, "how could you do this to her?"

"Malfoy, what in the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Hermione, and the fact that she fainted this morning after vomiting in the bathroom again!"

"Where is she now?" Ron asked, ignoring his tone.

"In the bloody hospital wing, where else?" surprisingly, Draco turned and began walking with him, "I realize that your father wouldn't be any good with those charms, but you do have a hundred brothers, plus dormmates. Unless you are all planning on repopulating Avalon yourselves."

"What are you talking about?" Ron stopped to turn and face him.

"Oh, come on! The vomiting, the sleeping for hours on end, the fainting…she's up the pole, you retarded fuck!"

Now Ron thought he was going to faint. Hermione…pregnant? Hermione was going to have his baby? His eyes were starting to go dark.

"Oh, no you don't! You get over there and fix this. I knew something like this would happen. I just knew it. Not even four months down and you've screwed everything up…"

Ron wasn't listening anymore. He ran to the hospital wing and threw open the doors. Sure enough, there was Hermione, curled up on one of the beds. He walked over quickly and stopped short. She opened her eyes when she sensed someone approach.

"Hey," she croaked, unsure what his reaction would be.

"Hey," Ron replied nervously, "how are you feeling?"

"Ugh, I've been better," she said, pushing herself up into a sitting position, "I won't be sad to never see this place again after we graduate."

"Yeah,…erm, look, I know we haven't really made up totally from our fight or whatever, but I think we should get married. We can do it the day after my 18th birthday. That's only another month away. It'll be fine. I'll get a job right after graduation and you won't have to worry about anything. I can probably work for the twins for a while until I find something else. It'll be fine." She was looking at him strangely.

"Ron, are you feeling alright?" she put the inside of her wrist against his forehead to test his temperature.

"I'm fine, why wouldn't I be? I love you…so much," he reached forward and pulled her into a fierce hug before realizing he was probably hurting her.

"Oh! Sorry," he reached down to pat her tummy, "are you ok?"

Hermione blinked a few times as realization dawned.

"Ron, why exactly do you think I am sitting here in the hospital wing?"

"Because," he leaned forward to whisper, "you're going to have our baby."

"What?!?!" she pulled away from him startled, "what gave you that idea?"

"Well, Draco said…" he rambled as he started to panic, "…he said you fainted and were throwing up and that meant that you were pregnant."

"Ron," she reached up to grab his arm and stop the rant, "I've got the flu. Getting sick made me dehydrated. That's why I fainted."

"The flu?"

"Yes. I'll be out of here by tomorrow morning, right as rain."

"Are you sure? Because when we…we didn't use…"

"No, you didn't use anything. But birth control isn't just a male responsibility. I took care of it."

"Oh." He was relieved, but there was something else too. He probably shouldn't feel a little disappointed too, should he?

"But it's sweet to know that you wouldn't just head for the hills the minute somebody utters the 'p' word." She smiled at him and squeezed his hand.