The Prophecy of Descendants

MAY

"Something doesn't feel right, Harry," Ron said under his breath. He spoke quietly in deference to the napping brunette leaning against his shoulder.

Ron and Hermione sat side by side on the porch-swing on the front porch of the burrow, their laps covered with an old patchwork quilt that had covered Ron's bed since childhood.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked from his seat on the rocker.

The redhead sighed, his arm unconsciously tightening around the brunette's shoulders. "I mean that it's been two months, Harry. I'm feeling better but she's still tired and she says she's hot all the time, but she's not running a fever." He paused and sighed.

"How 'bout asking your mum to take a look at her? She's the best healer of us all, I'd say."

He nodded. "I guess," Ron agreed. "But what if there's something wrong?"

Harry sighed heavily. "Then we'll deal with it. Just like always." He paused and regarded his friend with a slightly annoyed look. "Besides- I thought you were still sick?"

Ron shrugged. "For the most part, I'm fine. Few headaches here and there, but nothing like Hermione."

"So you're faking?"

He had the good grace too look slightly ashamed. "Didn't want her to feel bad."

Harry chuckled. "I'm sure, whatever it is, Ron, she'll be fine."

"But what if she's not?" Ron asked quietly, his gaze shifting towards the top of Hermione's head where it was tucked comfortably into his chest.

"Then you'd better get off the pot," Harry replied with a knowing look as he rose from the seat and headed into the house. The top portion of the Dutch-door slammed behind him.

Ron felt his lips involuntarily curl into a slight smile as he felt Hermione shift into wakefulness in his arms.

"What was all that about?" she asked, her voice thick from sleep.

"You heard that," Ron commented, getting a quick nod in response. "He's just yelling at me about procrastinating."

Hermione yawned, her hand covering her mouth in a very ladylike gesture. "I thought that was my job?"

Ron chuckled. "Feel better after your nap?"

"A bit better now that I've rested, yeah," she said, still not moving from her position against him. "Didn't mean to use you as a pillow, Ron."

"Yes you did," he replied easily. They'd fallen into a quick and comfortable rhythm their last few years fighting Death Eaters with Harry. Their personal boundaries were all but gone after years of sleeping propped up against one another while waiting for Harry and Moody to return from their turn on patrol. His shoulder had become a common pillow for her as her lap had become for him.

She smirked and nuzzled his chest once in a still-sleepy motion before sitting up. "You look better," she remarked.

Ron gently tugged the blanket off their laps and beginning to fold it. "I feel fine," he finally admitted to her. "Last few days have been good for me."

"You've got your normal trouble-maker complexion back," she said, stretching and arching her back.

"I resent that!" He rose and towered above her.

Hermione smiled up at his face, backlit by the sunset. "No, Ronald, you resemble that."

"Never!" He mocked. "Lunch is ready -- and if Mum keeps feeding you like this, you'll be feeling better in a few days, yourself."

"Better and ten stones heavier," she agreed with a chuckle.

******************