She had never felt so low in her life. Devious plans involving Fred and Viagra aside, she had lost all her focus. These last couple of weeks since she had had her 'sit down' with George had been the lowest of her life. She had never before failed in her personal life so utterly and miserably.
Hermione listlessly flicked through the pages on the history of house elves book she was writing. After nearly ten years in the Department of Magical Creatures at the Ministry, she had felt it was necessary to add a more truthful history to the list of propaganda available.
But she couldn't concentrate! Images of George's angry face and Fred's pitying one floated through her mind. Her head banged against the desk where her pages were spread. She paused a moment before banging it a couple of times more. A knock at the door interrupted her. She lifted her head, a page stuck to her forehead and looked a her clock. It was just after midnight.
Hermione peeled the errant paper off her head and went to the door.
"Who is it?" she asked. She knew only a very power witch or wizard could breech her wards against her will, but she lived in a muggle apartment block and had to go through the muggle motions.
"It's George." His deep voice travelled through the door, sending shivers down her spine.
She was in her pyjamas and though George had seen her thusly attired many times she still cast a critical eye over her self and her living room, pausing for a moment on her paper scattered desk in the corner. Deciding there was nothing she could do about it without dashing across the room to her wand, she opened the door.
They stood silently for a moment before Hermione cleared her throat and invited him in.
"Would you like a drink?" Hermione asked. George shrugged out of his coat and laid it over the back of her lounge chair.
"Thank you, no."
They were being so formal, as if they'd never met, let alone been friends for fifteen years.
Hermione burned with renewed humiliation, her throat thick, unable speak.
"I'm sorry," George said. "My answer is still no, but I am sorry. I have to go." He grabbed his coat and was gone, as abruptly as he came. Hermione bit her lip, fighting tears and went back to her desk. She picked up her pen then put it down again. She breathed in deeply, one last vain attempt to keep control before succumbing to the tears.
"I don't know what's wrong with me," Hermione said to Fred, taking the cup of tea he offered her. They were at the Burrow for Mr Weasley's birthday party. They had arrived early and were sitting under the marquee where the party was to be held, avoiding Mrs Weasley. "I've turned into a crying, distracted miserable bitch. Yesterday, I yelled at my secretary. Poor little Mrs Potts. Have you seen her lately? She weighs about seventy-five pounds. Who have I become?"
Fred laughed and stirred a generous splash of firewhiskey into his tea. He was starting the party early, apparently.
"You've become a woman, a typical woman. I knew it would happen one day."
Hermione shook her head at him. "You're a little bit sexist, aren't you?'
Fred laughed. "A little bit."
"You are no help at all."
Hermione sipped her tea and stared off into the fields beyond the Burrow's garden walls. What was she going to do now? Give up? Move on? Choose someone else? She wanted a baby. She yearned for it. It may have been a recent desire, only developing in the last year, but it went deep and it was very real to her. It was not a passing fancy. Neither was her wish for George to be the father. She had ignored all of Fred's suggestions and plans on how to bring George around, determined that she was not going to 'trap' him like Lavender had tried to do, but maybe it was time to try a little subtle persuasion.
George had arrived early for his father's party. He'd wanted a quiet chat with his mother. He found her in the kitchen, bustling about. Her bright red hair was streaked though with gray in places, but her plump face remained unlined save for the laugh lines around her eyes.
"George, love, you're here early," she said, giving him a quick, floury kiss before turning back to the cakes she was making. Three spoons and bowls mixed by themselves while his mother worked the fourth herself.
"I just wanted to talk to you about something. Someone, actually," George confessed.
"Oh?" Molly looked interested but didn't stop her mixing. She waited silently for George to continue.
"Hermione. I wanted to talk to you about Hermione and her… plans." Surely Hermione had talked to his mother about it. Who knew more about babies then his mother.
"Well, I think it's a great idea. Of course Fred is helping her."
Jealousy tightened his gut unexpectedly. It had been many years since he'd been jealous of his twin.
"Fred is helping her?" George asked. Why hadn't Fred told him? And how? How could they even do it? As far as he knew, Fred couldn't do that. In alienating Hermione, had he alienated his brother, too?
"Of course, remember he helped Neville last year."
"What?" George was thoroughly confused now. "What are you talking about?"
His mother stopped mixing and turned to George. "What are you talking about?"
"The baby, what else?"
"The house Hermione plans to buy. What baby?"
Shit. He'd done it now.
His mother looked at him strangely before turning to the window where, though it, he could see Hermione and Fred laughing under the marquee, drinking tea.
"Hermione's having a baby?" Molly's eyes brimmed with tears and she wiped them on her apron, smearing flour across her cheeks. She smiled at George, a proud look on her face, one he hadn't seen her give him since he'd told her about Lavender's 'pregnancy'. "A baby with Fred," she continued. The jealousy flared anew, a little hurt and anger mixed in. Those emotions could be the only reason for what came out of his mouth next, certainly not guilt for the way he'd treated Hermione or the odd romantic thought he'd had about her over the last ten year. It had nothing to do with that, he tried to convince himself.
"Not with Fred," he heard himself saying. "With me."