Author's Note: I'm really not happy with this chapter, but I wanted to get something written and published before I go away tomorrow, so this will have to make do. Hopefully I'll have time to write a little bit while I'm away and I'll try and get a chapter up when I get back next Friday, but it's unlikely. Thanks for all the reviews!
As May turned to June, it became clear to Ron and Hermione that, once again, the English summer had been short lived. They had contemplated a holiday to Hermione's parent's holiday home in Provence, but neither of them had been able to get the time off work.
Instead, one Saturday morning, Ron sat on the sofa, reading Witch Weekly.
"I really don't know why you get this," He contemplated, as Hermione came into the room. "Pile of crap. It doesn't even make any sense."
"I know..." Hermione murmured. "I get it for the recipes."
"You sound like my mother," Ron sighed, smiling. When Hermione didn't return the smile, but continued to look anxious, his smile faded to a frown. "What's wrong?" He asked.
"Well..." Hermione said slowly, taking sudden interest in her nails.
"What is it, Hermione?" Ron asked gently. "Come on, sit down."
Hermione allowed him to guide her onto the sofa next to him. "Remember that day... in the garden?"
"The garden?" Ron asked, confused. "OH, yeah, I remember the garden," He added, with a mischievous glint in his eye.
"Well," Hermione stammered. "We didn't – we didn't use – anything."
"We didn't use anything? Wha- Oh." As comprehension dawned on him, Ron's face froze.
Hermione sat in silence for a moment, shaking slightly.
"Oh," Ron repeated. Then, to Hermione's surprise, his face split into a grin. "Oh well."
"W- What?" Hermione said incredulously.
"Oh well," He repeated. "If you get pregnant, then you get pregnant. We're ready, aren't we?"
"I guess so," Hermione nodded, smiling shyly. "I'm glad you said that, Ronald."
"Why?" Ron asked.
Hermione rolled her eyes. He really was slow. "I'm pregnant."
Ron laughed. "That's bloody brilliant!"
"Are you sure you're okay with it?" Hermione asked tearfully.
"Yes!" He reached across and hugged her. She allowed him to hold her close, burying her face in his chest. After a while they pulled apart.
"Hermione?"
"Yes?"
"Can we call the baby Chudley?"
"Are you sure James will be alright in The Leaky Cauldron?" Hermione asked anxiously. "I mean, it can get quite loud in there, can't it?"
"He'll be fine, Hermione," Ginny said, waving a hand. "Besides," She jerked her head towards the throng of reporters that swam behind them. "We'll have to get a private parlour anyway."
"I suppose so," Hermione said, quickening her pace to keep up with Harry and Ron, who were charging ahead, through Muggle London and as far away from the press as they could get.
Ron pushed through the crowd, following Tom to the back of the pub and upstairs to Room Eleven. He ducked under Tom's arm as the latter held the door open and fell into one of the chairs, quickly followed by Harry, Hermione and Ginny with James.
"Thanks, Tom," Harry nodded appreciatively as the barman closed the door on the reporters.
Tom bowed slightly, then said, "You know what to do, Mr Potter," before apparating back downstairs to the pub.
"Right," Harry said, getting up. "What does everyone want to drink?"
"Firewhisky," Ron mumbled.
"I'll have a water, thanks," Ginny grumbled. "Wish I could have firewhisky..."
"I'll have a butterbeer, please," Hermione said, earning odd looks from Harry and Ginny, she added defensively, "What? It's early!"
Hoping that neither Harry nor Ginny had noticed the slight pink tinge to Hermione's cheeks, Ron offered to take James off Ginny for a bit.
"Thanks," She said, handing James to her brother.
"He's so lovely," Hermione whispered.
"That's what you think," Ginny complained. "Wait 'til you have kids, you'll be singing a different song."
"Oh, I think that'll be a while, yet," Hermione said, her voice rather higher than usual. She made a conscious effort to cover her mouth; she always had been an awful liar.
The three of them sat in silence for a while, watching Harry order the drinks via a portrait of the previous bar owner that hung in the room. Tom Senior could travel between each private parlour and the main bar, taking orders for everybody and making sure they reached his son.
"So," Ron said, opening his firewhisky as soon as Harry plonked the bottle on the table. "What's new with you guys?"
"Well, actually," Ginny said, sipping her water nervously. She glanced up at Harry, who nodded encouragingly. "I'm pregnant!"
"You are?" Hermione gasped. "Gin, congratulations!" She jumped up and ran around the table to hug Ginny, then kissed Harry on the cheek. "How far along are you?" She asked.
"About ten weeks," Ginny grinned, accepting Ron's one armed hug.
"Gosh," Hermione said. "How are you feeling?"
"Apart from being absolutely bloody terrified at the idea of having two kids under the age of one?" Ginny joked. "Absolutely fine."
"Well," Hermione said, hugging Harry. "Whilst we're on the subject of news..."
She drew her breath, ignoring Ron's look of alarm. "I'm pregnant too!"
"You're kidding?" Ginny squealed. "Hermione! That's amazing!"
"I know!"
"Er, Hermione?" Ron said, his eyebrows raised. "I thought we weren't going to tell anyone yet?"
"I'm sorry!" She said apologetically. "But I couldn't hold it in! And we're going to have kids that are born a month apart, it's amazing! Harry and Gin won't tell anyone, will you guys?"
"Nope," Ginny said.
"Our lips are sealed," Harry agreed, slapping Ron on the back reassuringly.
That evening, Ron and Hermione sat in their living room. Hermione's head rested on Ron's shoulder whilst he stroked her hair absent-mindedly.
"Do you want the baby to be a girl or a boy?" Hermione pondered, sitting up slightly.
"I'm not really fussed," Ron said, tracing circles in her hair. "But I think I'd like one of each, eventually."
"We'll see how the first one goes, shall we?" Hermione joked, "But yeah, one of each would be nice."
"What about you?" Ron smiled, "Which would you prefer?"
"I'd love a girl," Hermione gushed. "I'd love to read her stories and talk to her and plait her hair and buy her cute little clothes... Then again, I'd love to watch you teaching our son how to play Quidditch..."
"Not a bad life," Ron mused. "Tell you what," He sat up, pushing Hermione away from him so they sat with their eyes level. "Why don't we make a pact?"
"A pact?" Hermione repeated, her eyes widening.
"Yeah, a pact," He said. "How about, unless this baby turns out to be some kind of monster child, we keep trying until we get one of each?"
Hermione blinked. "Really?"
"Well, yeah," Ron said seriously. "That way, we each get our dream, don't we?"
Hermione looked at him for a moment, chewing her bottom lip. "Okay," She said finally. "But can we draw the line at five? No offence, but I really don't fancy following in your mother's footsteps. I'd still like a job four years down the line."
"Five's fine," Ron grinned.
"So," Hermione said, a note of mischief in her voice. "How do we seal the deal?"
"I can think of a way," Ron whispered, leaning in to kiss her.