H is for Home
Hermione and Ron wandered into the room in awe. They gasped almost simultaneously, and their eyes darted around the elegantly decorated room.
"This has got to be it," Ron mumbled, struck by the beauty of the house. This room was wide and spacious, with a high ceiling – the perfect living room. Soft cream wallpaper covered the walls, and a fluffy crimson carpet arose from the floor. There was a set of random, eclectic furniture littered about, rosy red chairs and footrests, dark mahogany coffee tables and paintings. It was simply wonderful.
"Yes," Hermione replied, "It's a pretty room. Suits us well, don't you think?" She let go of Ron's hand to walk around the room, stroke the corduroy couch. She turned to Ron and beamed. That smile sent a vision through Ron's head.
Hermione was standing at that couch, in the exact same position, except it was night time and the fire was lit, flames were crackling away. Two children were sleeping on the couch, the younger one – a boy – with fiery red hair, was leaning on a girl with red frizzy curls. They were beautiful at rest. Hermione was weaving her fingers through the girl's hair. Ron felt like he knew them already.
Ron came back to the present, and Hermione was still standing looking at him expectantly.
"A first house, eh?" The estate agent smiled at the two.
"Yes - a home," Ron replied, and he walked over to Hermione, who was rubbing her belly, "For the three of us."