SORRY! I was away for a week and then my laptop charger gave out and a new one only arrived this morning, so it's taken a while. Not sure how I feel about this chapter, it's a bit rushed, but all my friends have gone on holiday now so hopefully I'll have more time to work on this. I've edited chapters three and five very slightly from when they were first uploaded, so you might want to have a quick scan of those. Thanks for all the reviews!
It was the twenty third of December. Hermione Weasley was sitting in her living room, a blanket wrapped around her, a book in hand.
She smiled as a loud crack sounded outside through the pouring rain, and watched as her husband made his way up the drive.
"Evening," She said, as he shut the front door behind her.
"Evening," He grunted. "More like bloody night."
"Long day?" Hermione said dryly.
"You'd think," Ron said, sitting down on the sofa next to her and pulling her legs onto his lap. "That everyone would have got their Christmas presents by now. Apparently not."
"Like you ever had them sorted before Christmas Eve before we were married," Hermione scoffed. "I'm still remember the time you bought me air freshener from that Muggle petrol station."
"It's the thought that counts," Ron mumbled. "And I made the effort to go and use Muggle money, didn't I?"
Hermione laughed, swung her legs off of Ron's lap and went into the kitchen, returning moments later with a portion of beef pie on a plate.
"There you go," She yawned, handing him the pie.
"Thanks," He grinned, accepting it and beginning to devour the pie.
"Well, at least your done for the year now," Hermione said fairly, wrapping the blanket back around herself.
"True," Ron said, through a mouthful of food. "You've only got, how long left at work now?"
"Six weeks, once I go back," Hermione groaned.
"I don't understand you," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "Most people would enjoy having six months off work."
"You know I'm not most people, Ronald," Hermione winked. "Anyway, I'm tired. Come up soon, yeah?"
"Yeah," Ron said distractedly, shovelling another piece of pie into his mouth.
Ron smiled nervously at Hermione, watching as she wrapped a scarf tight around her neck. He zipped up his jacket, then took her hand and pulled her out into the cold morning air. They strolled through the streets of Godric's Hollow, moving slowly in an attempt to prevent Hermione's ongoing feelings of nausea.
"Feel like you can apparate now?" Ron asked.
Hermione looked uncertainly at him and then nodded.
"I'll be alright," She said evenly. "I'll have to sit down when I get to Mum and Dad's, though."
Ron nodded, took her hand and guided her through the front door. He tapped the door with his wand so it locked and wrapped his arms tightly around Hermione, who buried her head in his chest as he turned on the spot and apparated.
They landed with a loud crack in an alley a few streets away from Hermione's parents' house.
"You okay?" Ron asked Hermione, keeping a firm grip on her arms to stop her from swaying.
"Fine," She said reassuringly, though her voice was quiet. They began the walk to the Grangers', Ron not loosening his grip on Hermione's hand.
"We'll floo tomorrow, yeah?" Ron smiled, handing Hermione a cup of tea.
She nodded, accepting the cup and lifting it to her mouth. As soon as they had arrived at her parents', she had had to sit down and begrudgingly asked Ron to get her a cup of tea. It was a mark and how tired and ill she felt after apparating; Hermione hated asking for help.
Jean and John came followed Ron into the living room, each sitting in their favourite arm chairs. Ron, after having handed around a tin of biscuits he'd brought in from the kitchen, sat on the sofa next to Hermione.
"So," Jean said cheerfully, trying to keep Hermione distracted from the nausea that filled her, "Big family dinner tomorrow?"
"Huge," Ron nodded. "There's... I've lost count how many of us there are. How many are there, Hermione?"
"Twenty-two," She grimaced.
"Well, I don't envy your mother," Jean said to Ron.
"There'll be more next year," Hermione pointed out, indicating her swollen middle.
"Of course," John said, rubbing his forehead. "How many of you are pregnant now?"
"Just Ginny and I, that I'm aware of," Hermione murmured. "But you never know with our family, do you Ron?"
Ron just smiled; it still felt weird hearing Hermione refer to the Weasleys as her family. A nice kind of weird, though.
Ron and Hermione left Jean and John's late that evening. Having recovered from the apparition, Hermione went upstairs to bed. She changed into some flannel pyjamas – the comfiest pair that fit her – and curled up in the duvet, grabbing a Muggle novel from the side table.
She didn't know how long she had been lying there – a good ten minutes – when she heard Ron come in and kick the door shut. She sat up and smiled at the sight of her husband carrying a tray with a teapot, two mugs and a plate of shortbread.
"Genius," She winked, unwrapping herself from the duvet and moving over so he could slide into bed next to her. He poured the tea, spilling only a small amount on the bed sheets, which Hermione soon vanished with her wand, giggling.
"You know, Hermione," Ron said thoughtfully as he took a sip of his tea, frowning with distaste as the hot liquid burnt his mouth. "This is our last Christmas alone together. This time next year, we'll have little Jack here with us," He stroked her stomach fondly.
"Jack?" Hermione repeated, choking on her tea. "Why Jack!"
"Well, he needs a name, doesn't he?" Ron said defensively.
"And if it's a girl?" Hermione raised an eyebrow skeptically.
"It's not," He told her firmly, taking a gulp of his tea.
"Merry Christmas, Hermione," Ron said, waking his wife of four and a half years with a kiss.
"Merry Christmas, Ron," She replied groggily, though still managing to smile as he kissed her neck, holding her body close to his.
"What time is it?" Hermione asked.
"Half eight," Ron murmured, "We've got three hours before we're due at Mum and Dads'."
"Right," Hermione said, throwing the duvet off herself and swinging her legs off the bed. "What do you want for breakfast?"
"Nothing yet," Ron said. Caught by surprise at the idea of her husband not wanting food, Hermione allowed Ron to pull her legs back onto the bed and throw the covers over them, planting a soft kiss on her lips.
"Flooing, yeah?" Ron said through a slice of toast.
"Yep," Hermione said, nodding earnestly as she pushed past him to brush her teeth. Despite having woken up early, they were still set to be late to the Burrow, a pet hate of Hermione's.
"What time are we having lunch, do you know?" Hermione asked a few minutes later, wiping her mouth and putting her toothbrush back in the holder.
"I think around half one," Ron said, "Children permitting, of course."
"Naturally," Hermione said dryly. "And you're helping your mum with lunch?"
"I am," Ron said confidently, waving his arms in a victory dance. "Seven odd years she's been teaching me cook, and she's finally decided to let me help with Christmas dinner."
"Any ideas what you're doing?" Hermione asked, taking a sip of water.
Ron's ears went red. "Gravy," He muttered.
Hermione snorted, hastily turning it into a cough. "It's a start," She spluttered, dodging past Ron into the other room.
"Mum!" Ron called, jumping out of the fire place at the Burrow. "Mum?"
Mr Weasley came in from the living room.
"Merry Christmas, Dad," Ron grinned.
"Merry Christmas, Ron," Arthur replied, eyeing the several large bags of presents Ron carried. "Want me to put those under the tree?"
"Yes please," Ron said gratefully, handing over the bags. "Where's Mum? I've got some gravy to make!"
"She's a bit stressed," Arthur warned. "I don't think she realised how many of us there are. IF you're very lucky," He said, "She might let you peel some potatoes, too."
"Oh, ha-ha," Ron scowled, moving aside as Hermione practically fell out of the fireplace.
"Flooing," She said breathlessly, "Is a lot harder when you're seven months pregnant."
"I wouldn't know," Ron said dryly, guiding her into the living Room and sitting her down in an armchair.
"What time is everybody else getting here?" Hermione asked Arthur as she stood up, despite Ron's protests, and helped him lay presents under the large fir tree.
"Twelve," Arthur said, wiping his glasses. "Well, that's when they're meant to be coming. You know what that lot are like, they probably won't get here 'til half two."
"Merry Christmas, Hermione dear," Molly said, descending the stairs with surprising energy.
"Merry Christmas, Molly," Hermione beamed, giving her mother-in-law a kiss on the cheek. "Ron's waiting in the kitchen for you."
"Oh brilliant!" Molly said cheerily, going into the kitchen.
"Happy Christmas!" Ron called. He was sitting on the kitchen counter, reading a copy of Witch Weekly, which he promptly hid behind his back on noticing Molly's arrival.
"Merry Christmas, dear, but do get off the counter," Molly looked at her son disapprovingly.
"Sorry," Ron grinned sheepishly, kissing her on the cheek. "Right! What can I do?"
"You're eager," Molly remarked, washing her hands and gesturing for Ron to follow suit. "Tell you what dear, peel and cut those for me," She handed him a large bag of carrots.
"How do you want these done?" He asked, rinsing them under the tap.
"Julienne, please," Molly smiled, opening her cook book.
"Are you sure you're alright to do this?" Harry asked his wife, eyeing her swollen stomach.
"I'll be fine," She reassured him. "Besides, I need to get there somehow. Here, you take James."
Harry took the gurgling 10-month old baby, wrapping his arms tightly around his son as he stepped into the fireplace.
He took a handful of Floo Powder from the cup Ginny held out to him and said, as loudly and clearly as he could muster, "The Burrow!"
He was proud of how composedly he fell out of the fireplace – it was something that you got better at with practice, flooing. Moving James onto his hip, Harry followed the unmistakable noise of nineteen Weasley's celebrating Christmas and went into the living room, Ginny following behind him.
"Merry Christmas, everyone," Harry called, announcing himself.
"Merry Christmas!" The whole of the family chorused back at him, with the exception of Molly and Ron, who Harry believed to be in the kitchen.
"D'un!" James cried, hitting Harry's arm with his balled fist. "D'un!"
"You want to get down?" Harry asked.
"D'un!" James repeated, with increasing urgency.
"Alright, down you go," Harry sighed, releasing his grip on James and setting him down on the floor, where he enthusiastically crawled towards Teddy, who was talking to Victoire, laughing hysterically.
"Wow, this smells great," Harry said, wandering into the kitchen.
"Harry!" Mrs Weasley shrieked, throwing herself at the man she considered her son. "Merry Christmas, dear!"
"Merry Christmas, Mrs Weasley," Harry said, sliding out of her grip. "Merry Christmas, mate," He added to Ron.
"Merry Christmas," Ron replied distractedly. Realising he was concentrating on peeling potatoes, Harry removed himself from the kitchen and stroke up conversation with Andromeda.
That evening, James had fallen asleep in Hermione's arms. The rest of the children were all either asleep or dozing off, with the exception of Victoire and Teddy, who were talking in hushed voices in the corner.
"Who does that remind you of?" Arthur smiled at George, nodding to the two children.
George smiled sadly back, soon busying himself with Fred, pulling a jumper over his son's head.
Hermione watched the exchange with sorrow, lolling her head onto Ron's chest as he stroked her hair sub-consciously. She blinked sleepily, and, feeling the tiredness overcome her, she closed her eyes for a second.
"They've both fallen asleep," Harry snickered, indicating Ginny and Hermione.
"Ooh, hang on," George grinned, pointing at Katie. "Three now."
"Katie hasn't even got an excuse," Ron said. "Or has she?"
"No," George reassured him. "At least I bloody well hope not. I can't be dealing with that again."
Ron's eyes widened. "Is it really that bad?"
"Yes."
"Yes."
"Yes."
Ron looked frantically around at his brothers, and then finally to his father, who nodded grimly.
"Ron, it's awful," Arthur grimaced.
"Brilliant," Ron sighed, eyeing James wearily.