A/N: Hermione's 'morning' sickness problems are based on my own, horrid experiences. Honestly, was the worst time of my life. Hermione is gonna suffer like me. I do not feel bad about it.

Chapter 82

The anti-nausea potion was the most revolting thing Ron had ever laid eyes on. It almost reminded Ron of the Polyjuice Potion he'd added hairs belonging to Crabbe to back in his second year at Hogwarts.

The one that he'd first picked up for Hermione two weeks ago bubbled and glugged in the glass, looking almost like a thick tar. When he'd first opened the bottle, he'd almost thought he'd been handed a dodgy batch and was prepared to take it back, but Hermione had assured him it was right — though, she hadn't looked pleased about it.

It tasted as revolting as it looked, according to her, and smelt just as bad, too. But it helped, if she managed to swallow the whole thing (which wasn't always the case. On occasion, the mere smell of it had her dashing to the bathroom, which defeated the purpose of taking the potion, Ron thought).

Ron set the glass on the table where Hermione would be once she got out of the shower. His stomach growled in hunger, but he'd have to wait until she actually took the damn thing before he could start cooking.

Ever since her 'morning' sickness had started two and a half weeks ago, she was sensitive to even the mildest of smells. In the mornings, it was the smell of toast, or cereal, or even — apparently — Ron. During the day, it was perfume, or parchment, or ink at her desk. It was the smell of Maia or Malfoy after they'd come back from their break. At night, Ron had to be very particular about what he cooked. No meat, nothing with a really strong smell. It was all bad for her. After dinner — because she didn't eat it most of the time — he had to erase all evidence of any smells from the house.

For something so small, Ron always thought, this baby was sure causing her a whole lot of trouble. He'd seen her sick a few times in her life, but nothing had defeated her like this. The potion only lasted four hours at a time and could only be consumed three times in a twenty-four hour period. When she had it, it was fine, but as soon as four hours ticked over, she had to quickly down another glass of the stuff or she would be miserable.

She had worked out that it was best to take between seven and seven, and be miserable overnight. Most of the time, she was able to sleep through it.

It was safe to say that in two short weeks, their lives had been completely turned upside down. There were so many changes they'd had to make to accommodate this new position they'd found themselves in.

Ron was trying his best to not be miserable over it and embrace it, because it was for a good reason. But, Merlin, did he feel bad for Hermione.

She shuffled into the kitchen, her skin pale and wearing loose-fitting clothes. Her eyes fell on the glass of black potion sitting on the table and Ron saw her wince.

He got up from his chair and kissed her gently on the forehead. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

Hermione shook her head, not daring to speak. Before she took the potion, sometimes it was difficult for her to even open her mouth. Ron passed her the glass.

She took it begrudgingly, the continuity of doing it every single day starting to take its toll. She was only eight weeks and a few days pregnant according to her calculations. There'd be a few more weeks of doing this before it would end.

She closed her eyes and held her breath as she swallowed the foul thing. She shuddered a moment later, but Ron instantly saw the change within her. The potion was immediate and one hundred percent effective. It would stay like that for the next four hours.

"Breakfast?" Ron asked brightly, kissing her now colour-filled forehead. "What do you want?"

"Just toast, Ron," she replied.

Ron nodded. That was her response every morning, apparently not wanting to test her body once the potion wore off.

"So, you're not feeling any better?" Ron asked, putting two slices of bread into the toaster. "Not even a little?"

"If anything, I'm feeling worse," Hermione said. "It just gets worse."

Ron didn't have a response. He asked her that every day, hoping that eventually she would give him an answer he wanted to hear. But since three days ago, her response had just been that she felt worse than the day before. He didn't understand how it could get worse, but apparently it was.

The first day she'd said it, it had been exactly the eight week mark. It was the same amount of time where everything had gone downhill for them last time. Eight weeks exactly. She'd been extremely nervous throughout the whole of that day, apparently using her wand in every spare moment she got to listen for a heartbeat.

But it had been fine, and it was still fine, three days on. It was good she was feeling sick, she kept saying. It meant things were okay. That seemed to keep her going.

Once the toast was ready, Ron set it in front of her, offering her a choice of spreads, but she just selected butter. He made himself toast, too, but with jam on top, and then made a coffee.

By the time he sat down, Hermione had taken only two small bites from her breakfast.

"You know you've got to eat," Ron told her. "As much as you can. I… I know it's hard… at least I think it is, but… you can't not eat."

She offered half a smile, playing with the toast on her plate. "I'm trying," she said. "It just seems that the only things that don't make me want to throw up are tomatoes and… chocolate."

"Weird combination," Ron replied, smiling to himself. "But if that's what you want, I can get that —"

"I don't mean together," she laughed. "Just, the other day, I was really feeling like a tomato, so I… got one and I at least didn't feel the need to be sick afterwards."

"We have tomatoes," Ron said. "Do you want one?"

Hermione smiled again. "I'm good."

Ron watched her play around with the toast some more while he ate his own and sipped at his coffee. Every so often she would take a small bite, but for the most part, it went untouched. Half an hour later, Ron cleared the plates.

"At least it's not meant to last forever, right?" he said.

"I really hope not," Hermione said. "The potion only does so much."

Ron frowned. "What do you mean? I thought it stopped you from feeling sick?" She always perked up after taking it, always developed a sudden burst of energy once it was in her system. And she always said it made her feel better.

"It stops me from having to leave my desk every fifteen minutes for the toilet," Hermione said with a wry smile. "And it eases the nausea. It doesn't always make it go away completely, though. It's just a… constant."

Ron stared at her. He hadn't known that. She'd always implied that it made her feel almost normal and that was what he'd thought was the case.

She seemed to realise what he was thinking because she reached out and covered his hand with hers across the table. "I'm okay." She squeezed his hand assuringly. "I'll be okay. It's a good sign."

"You should have said something," he said quietly.

"And what could you have done about it?"

She was right, of course. He'd spent the last two and a bit weeks feeling pretty useless. Her telling him the potion wasn't entirely effective would have made no difference. This wasn't something he had any control over — nor her, for that matter. They both just had to wait it out until it was over.

"I just wish I could do something," he said eventually.

She smiled but said nothing.

While Ron went to shower and get dressed for the day, Hermione settled on the sofa with a glass of water that she constantly carried around with her these days. She would always refill it, because apparently it made her feel just that little bit better.

Once he was ready, Ron joined her in the living room, clutching a thick book in his hand.

This book titled The Magic of Parenting: A Day by Day Guide to Raising a Little Witch or Wizard had become his favourite book ever and the first he actually enjoyed reading. He spent every day flipping to the page that they were up to and pouring over the information that it provided. He didn't really read for pleasure like Hermione did, but when it was important — like this was — then books had his full attention.

Every page was filled with facts about what was happening as the baby grew, tips on how to handle pregnancy, and also tips for the future once the baby was here. Some things he knew they might need; some things he hadn't thought of. Hermione was pretty good and seemed to think of everything the baby would need, but he still liked reading about it.

His favourite part, however, was the pictures. Each page contained a picture of what their baby apparently looked like on that very day. They were accurate depictions despite being hand drawn, and while he knew it wasn't his baby he was watching grow, it almost felt as if he was getting a glimpse into what was going on with Hermione. Seeing how unwell she was every morning made it hard for him to feel excited about it, but seeing the pictures and reading about it helped him.

He knew Hermione found his obsession over it amusing — she'd probably read the whole book herself already and memorised every page — but he didn't care. It brought him closer to it all.

He flicked to the page he had marked yesterday. The one that said Eight weeks and three days. That was Hermione's estimate, anyway. She couldn't be one hundred percent certain.

Hermione leaned against him and they read the page together.

"Hey," Ron said after a moment, "she's got eyes now."

"Sort of eyes," Hermione said. "The indentations for them, at least."

"And still around half an inch long." Ron had a hard time imagining that that was how everyone had started out. He stared at the wriggling image of a jellybean-like figure in the picture for a moment, imagining that his own child was doing exactly the same thing right now, and that she was continuing to grow, continuing to stay healthy.

He scanned the page for any recommendations for dealing with morning sickness, but it was just the same as the previous days — take the potion and get lots of rest if you could. He snapped it shut and set it aside, putting an arm across Hermione's shoulder. The image of the little jellybean was still playing over and over in his mind.

"What's that thing Muggles do to see the baby?" he asked Hermione. "You know, the thing Percy and Audrey did. The thing you went to do… last time."

"An ultrasound," Hermione said.

"We should do it."

Hermione lifted her head and looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Her cheeks were even a slight pink now, which he considered a good sign. He was too used to her looking pale these days.

"I know, I know," he said, reading her mind.

"I thought 'seeing the inside of someone' was not something you ever wanted to do?" she questioned.

"Well, I must admit, it's… weird… but… I dunno. I suppose I'm curious. I want to see her. I think I need to see her… just to make sure she's doing well."

"I can organise an appointment?" Hermione suggested. "For twelve weeks?" She tried to sound sure, but he heard a quiver in her voice as she thought about it.

"Why twelve?" Ron asked.

Hermione reached across and took the book. She flicked to the page that was exactly twelve weeks. Ron had been careful not to read ahead, because he liked being surprised, but the picture he was greeted with was not of a jellybean shape, but that of an actual human (with an abnormally large head).

He stared.

"That's the next standard one Muggles do. And she'll look a lot more real than she would now."

Ron traced his finger over the image. Just four more weeks and their baby would look like that.

"Alright, do it," he said. "I want to see her."

Hermione smiled and then nodded. "Okay, I'll call them tomorrow."

For the first time since learning of this ultrasound thing, Ron was excited to be a part of it. Once again, Muggles proved that they had something wizards did not. Something that was beneficial.

…

Ever since Hermione's sickness began, their weekends had become nonexistent. Ron realised now that he should have known the potion wasn't completely effective, because whenever she took it, she did perk up, but she never felt like doing much.

She tried. She really tried to get out of the house, to do what they usually did, but by eleven — when the first potion wore off — she was defeated. It was as if she used all her energy throughout the week with work, that by the time that was done, she needed the next two days to recuperate for the on-coming week.

Ron had never seen her so weak before, and he desperately wished for this to end. He almost missed the old Hermione — the one who didn't know how to stop.

They'd just come back from a short walk. Despite being May, the air in the morning was still cool and refreshing. They walked around their street and the neighbouring ones because it apparently helped Hermione to feel better.

Ron was in the kitchen getting a glass of water for her when he heard the familiar whoosh of the fireplace. A moment later, he heard Hermione cry, "Harry! Are you okay?"

Ron hurried back to the living room to find his best friend standing by the fireplace in what appeared to be his pyjamas, his hair messier than usual. He looked exhausted, as if he hadn't slept at all.

"Ginny had the baby!" he breathed out after a moment where they were all just looking at each other. "This morning."

"Oh, Harry, that's so wonderful!" Hermione cried, and she wrapped her arms around his neck to hug him. When she stepped back, she added, "All is okay?"

"Yes!" Harry said, and he was practically bouncing from one foot to the other. "Perfect. They're both perfect! It all started around ten last night, which is why I'm only coming over now. He — James — he's about three hours old and perfectly happy and healthy."

"And Ginny?" Ron questioned.

"Tired, but pretty well. Your mum came over to help when everything picked up and she was there, along with a Healer, but it all kind of went… perfect."

"You called him James?" Hermione asked, sounding a little awed. "That's so sweet."

Harry beamed and Ron came over to clap Harry on the back. "Congratulations, mate," he said.

"Thanks," Harry replied, grinning from ear to ear. "Listen, they're all doing pretty well. Your mum's just left. You can come over to meet him if you'd like."

Ron looked at Hermione and smiled, and she returned it. She looked brighter than he'd seen her in weeks, the effects of happiness much stronger than any potion. "We'd love to," he said. "We have to get to know our godson as soon as possible, right?"

"You're the first ones besides your mum," Harry promised.

Still grinning like an idiot, Harry disappeared via the Floo Network. Ron indicated that Hermione should go before him. Floo was the safest form of transportation when pregnant (besides, of course, the Knight Bus) but it didn't mean it felt good. Especially with her not feeling good as it was, she tried to avoid it as much as she could.

When Ron reached the other side, he found her with her back against Harry and Ginny's cool wall, looking rather pale.

"Still not good?" Harry asked, eyeing Hermione with sympathy.

Hermione shook her head, but didn't speak.

Harry and Ginny were the only ones who knew of her pregnancy. They'd made the decision not to tell anyone just yet, just in case. Not even Hermione's parents this time. They wanted to be doubly sure before announcing it, but Harry had been there when Malfoy had prattled on, and therefore had asked straight away upon Ron's return to work.

He supposed Dean knew, too, but Ron had never confirmed it with him.

Too elated to ponder Hermione's problems too much, Harry indicated toward the bedroom. "Ginny's doing well, so don't worry too much about her."

It took Ron halfway to Harry and Ginny's bedroom to wonder if he was ready to see his sister so soon after giving birth. It wasn't really something he'd ever thought about before, nor contemplated. He'd met all of his nieces when they'd been at least a week old. This almost felt a little too intimate — like he was intruding on something private.

As he made his way further into their home, he wondered if he'd return the sentiment and invite Harry and Ginny to see his daughter so soon after her birth, or whether he'd want to keep her to themselves for at least a day.

Hermione had already made it clear she had no intention of having their baby at home with a single Healer present like was tradition with wizarding families. St Mungo's didn't offer such things, so she'd elected for a Muggle hospital close to where they lived. Ron had chosen not to question it, because in all the years he'd known her, her decisions had always proven to be good ones.

Harry led them quietly down the hall to the end room. He pushed it open, looking as if a feather could knock him over, and let them in.

The room was quiet, warm, and comforting. Ron immediately spotted his sister in the bed holding a tiny wrapped bundle. She looked tired, but other than that, good. Just like Harry had said.

When she saw them, she smiled. "Hey," she said gently.

Ron realised then that it wasn't as bad as he'd presumed. He'd grown close to Ginny over the years. He didn't need to be weirded out by it.

"Hey," Hermione said, moving closer to Ginny. "How do you feel?" She sat on the end of the bed.

Ginny nodded. "Good. I think it went pretty well. Normal. Everything was good."

Hermione smiled. "That's good to hear."

"Would you like to meet him?" Ginny asked. "We'd like his godparents — two of the most important people in his life — to be some of the first people he sees." Before either of them could answer, Harry came over to take baby James from her arms. He then passed the bundle to Hermione, who looked slightly surprised.

"James Sirius Potter," Harry said. "That's what we called him."

"Fitting," Ron said, coming to sit by Hermione and peering into the blankets the baby was wrapped in. "Though, with a name like that, aren't you setting him up for a lifetime of mischief and trouble?"

"I hope not," Harry said.

James was a rather pudgy, red-faced baby. A thin tuft of jet black hair poked out from his small head. Two small fists clenched reflexively at the blankets. He was asleep, completely unaware that he'd just been passed to two new unfamiliar people.

"He's so beautiful," Hermione said quietly.

Harry and Ginny smiled, apparently agreeing.

"I just can't believe he's here," Harry said, sitting on Hermione's other side. "It felt like such a long wait, but he was kind of here in a hurry in the end."

"I wouldn't call ten hours a hurry," Ginny said. "I felt every minute of it." She didn't look too put out by that fact and Ron found himself wondering if anything actually did bother his sister.

He reached out a finger to brush it gently against James' tiny hand. He didn't even stir.

"He's really just been sleeping since he was born," Harry told them. "Besides a few times."

"That's all they do when only a few hours old," Hermione replied, staring down at James with an expression resembling awe.

Ron placed an arm around her, squeezing her side gently. He then looked up at Harry. "He's fantastic," he said, and he meant it.

He really did love all of his nieces that he had, but he knew already that James was something different. He wasn't just a nephew, but his godson and the first child of his two best friends. This was a child he wouldn't just see at family gatherings at the Burrow, but probably weekly, if not more. And when he and Hermione had their baby, he was certain their two children would grow up to be the best of friends, being less than a year apart.

He'd probably never say this to anyone but Hermione, because she'd probably be the only one to understand, but James was more special.

They spent a few more moments staring at the baby in silence. Then Ginny shifted and started to get out of bed. "Er… bathroom," she said. She walked slowly toward the door and Harry was quick on her heel, offering her his assistance. She seemed too tired to brush him off.

"This will be us soon," Ron said, smiling at Hermione.

She nodded, and he saw that tears had sprung to her eyes.

"Why are you crying?" he asked, laughing. "It's a good thing."

"I know," she sniffed. "I just… I really want this to be us. They're so happy."

Ron smiled and squeezed her again. "It will be," he assured her. "Just… just with a baby girl."

Hermione smiled and blinked away tears. James' eyes opened then and for a moment he stared up at them. Then, unperturbed, he closed them once more and fell into another peaceful deep sleep.

I hope you all liked this chapter. A lot of Hermione's 'issues' were things I experienced so I put them into this - including only having the ability to eat tomatoes and chocolate! And the smell of meat, even the thought of meat, was awful.