9.
"You don't even know if it is a boy, Ronald, and besides, he, or she, may not even like Quidditch," Hermione teased, smirking at her husband, who had, until moments ago, been discussing the absolute importance that Ginny and Harry's baby be bought his first toy broomstick no later than his first birthday, and even that might not be early enough, and seemed to rather enjoy the reprimanding his wife was giving him.
"His mother is a professional player, and his father was the youngest seeker in a Century," Ron pointed to his sister, and best friend respectively, before concluding with a firm nod at Hermione's face, "he, or she, is going to love Quidditch."
Hermione did not answer, but narrowed her eyes, muttering something which, to Ginny, sounded remarkably Molly-esc, something which made the red-haired witch chuckle. Hermione and her mother-in-law were of course very different, but seemed to hold the same look of annoyance when presented with a well-argued point which was not in their favour, especially when the point in question came from a ginger wizard.
"Hermione, I absolutely hate to side with my brother here, but I don't think there's a whole lot of chance this one," Ginny patted her growing bump affectionately as she spoke, "will dislike Quidditch, in fact, considering I seem to spend the majority of my time being beaten from the inside, I know what position I'd put money on him playing one day."
The four friends were sitting around Harry and Ginny's dining table, an assortment of takeaway containers piled in the corner between Harry and Ron, four plates all but licked clean, and one solitary remaining piece of naan bread was lying in the middle of the table, Ginny wondered, amused, how long it would be before her brother demolished that one, as well as the three he had already eaten along with his curry.
The dining table was, in fact, the only clear piece of furniture in the property, Harry and Ginny's new property, to be exact, which was in the form of the converted barn they had purchased a few weeks prior, after deciding their beloved flat, and first place home they had made together, wasn't as suitable for an infant as a house might be.
The barn, or to give its' official title, Bright Star House, was situated on the outskirts of London, with easy access into the city, whilst remaining firmly in the countryside. The house had four bedrooms, and even an ensuite attached to the master bedroom, which, had persuaded Ginny far more than she cared to admit.
It was, as her father had put it after his first visit, splendidly quirky, and, as she stretched her arms above her head and leaned back in her chair, her gaze moving away from the others, sideways, over to a set of French doors that led to one of the two gardens the house had, both of which the witch planned to plant an assortment of wildflowers in, as well as house a number of gnomes as soon as possible, Ginny felt confident that their baby, as well as any other children she may bear them, would grow up happy here.
"D'you two wan' anyfin' else done, t'nigh?" Ron asked, his voice obscured due to the large bite he'd not long taken of the remaining naan bread.
Both Ginny and Harry looked around the large, open-plan kitchen-living-and-dining room, and, without even checking with the other first, shook their heads with a long breath, a swift glance at Harry showed Ginny that his feelings on the matter matched hers, they were definitely doing nothing else tonight, except passing out in a bed that wasn't even made.
They bid Hermione and Ron both gratitude and goodnight soon after, then Harry levitated a number of bags that had taken residence on the sofa. It was all Ginny had in her to collapse onto the red, fabric sofa and attempted to position herself comfortably, a feat not easily managed when over eight and a half months pregnant.
The couple remained on the couch, neither feeling any implication to retreat to bed, made or otherwise, Ginny's legs were lain across Harry's, his hand on top of hers and resting gently atop her protruding stomach, a feeling of absolute relaxation overtook Ginny, whose eyes began to droop, until a tightening in her stomach jolted her straight into consciousness.
"Nnnnarf," the redhead huffed to herself, not loud enough to wake Harry, who was already snoring, the tightenings had been happening on and off, for the past week, and, Ginny was assured from her Muggle midwife, mother and Hermione, who was now a leading expert on all things pregnancy, having used Ginny's childbearing condition as an excuse to research an entirely new topic, were perfectly normal.
"Oh!" Ginny said, who, after an hour and a half was becoming very much aware that the tightenings were beginning to feel a lot less like tightenings, and a lot more like something else.
"Hon…" Ginny prodded Harry gently, rousing her husband awake. Harry blinked, blearily, his glasses slightly squint and his hair inexplicably messy, "so, I'm going to need you to get something, okay?"
"Gin, I love you more than life, but I don't even know where I could buy ice cream this late here, and I mean, I'll try, but I think I'm too tired to apparate properly, probably splinch my bits off or something," he ended with a tired snort, his green eyes automatically beginning to close again.
Ginny, her patience wearing as another contraction engulfed her stomach, prodded Harry again, harder this time, "I do not want ice cream, you idiot, you need to get my hospital bag!"
Harry spent a few second blinking at his wife before moving, this time, very much wide awake.