Burning Down the House

Ron fidgeted a bit in his chair. He drummed his fingertips on the arm of the chair, ignoring his wife's sharp intake of breath. She hated it when he did that. Right now, he didn't care. He was waiting for Shanti to come back into the office with their test results.

Hermione sat; eyeing Ron's long fingers tap their repetitive tattoo on the wooden surface. She refrained from snapping at him to stop. They were both nervous. Her own hands were tightly clutched in her lap.

Shanti strode in, dressed in her usual Muggle-style scrubs and trainers, a green file folder in her hands. She put it down on her desk, and pulled a chair around to the other side of the desk, sitting on the same side as Ron and Hermione. 'You're both fine,' she said, skipping any preliminaries.

'But how?' Hermione blurted. 'I mean after all these months and nothing?'

Ron gave her a double-take. That wasn't the response he expected her to have.

'Hermione, we don't know. Everything says you should be able to conceive a child, but for some reason, it's just not happening.' Shanti leaned forward. 'This does mean that you are considered infertile, and there are things we can do now.'

'What things?' Ron asked, watching Hermione carefully.

'Potions we can try,' Shanti said to Ron. 'But that's not a decision I want either of you to make right now.'

Ron nodded. After Hermione's initial outburst, she sat hunched in miserable silence. 'We'll discuss it, and get back to you,' he said softly. 'Thanks.' He got to his feet, and gently touched Hermione's shoulder. 'Mione?' She looked up at him, her eyes wide and dark in her pale face. 'Let's go home, eh?'

She didn't say anything as she followed him numbly to the waiting area. 'I'm going to the Ministry,' she said dully, as they approached the fireplace. 'I have some paperwork I've been ignoring.'

'But -' Ron stopped. He knew nothing he could say was going to help right now. 'I'll see you at home, then?'

'I won't be late.'

Ron snorted in disbelief. Hermione's inclination when she was in an emotional uproar was to bury herself in work. 'I won't wait up,' he scoffed.

'Ronald!' Hermione gasped.

'I'll see you later.' Ron spun and went outside, presumably to Apparate to Diagon Alley.

Hermione watched him leave. She stood uncertainly. She had two options.

Go to her office and finish her paperwork. Paperwork that admittedly needed to be done, but it wasn't critical to anything right now.

Or, she could go to the shop and try to smooth things over with Ron.

But she knew Ron and his moods. He wouldn't listen to reason until he calmed down a bit more.

And he was also right. If she stayed at the Ministry, she might very well be there until late at night, well after everyone else went home. Work was her way of shoving things she didn't want to think about aside.

'Bloody hell,' she muttered and went outside. Nobody expected her to be at the Ministry today, so coming to a decision, Hermione Disapparated and reappeared in the back garden of her parents' house.

******

'Hermione!' Richard looked up from his book. 'Didn't expect to see you so soon.'

'Hi, Dad. Is Mum home?' she asked.

'No... She had a few appointments that carried over into the afternoon. The Cavity Triplets have a check-up today.'

The corner of Hermione's mouth turned up in a slight grin. The Cavity Triplets were three children who had been Jane's patients for the past ten years. 'They're about to finish school, aren't they?'

'Yep.' Richard put his book down. 'She's thinking about retiring. Actually, we both are.'

'Dad, you've been retired for nearly two years,' Hermione pointed out.

'That's not true,' Richard objected. 'I've been working a few days a week to keep my hand in.'

'So both of you are going to give up the practice?' Hermione pulled her shoes off, and set them neatly next to Richard's chair. She wound her hair into a knot, fishing a quill from her bag, and stabbing it though the knot to hold it in place. She dug into a hidden pocket of the bag and pulled out her dragon-hide gloves.

'It appears that way.' Richard watched his daughter in fascination. 'Hermione, what are you about to do?'

'Roses.' With that she strode, barefoot, across the garden to the small, nearly ramshackle shed in the corner, where a box of dragon dung fertilizer sat waiting. She loaded a small cart with the fertilizer and a few gardening tools, and pushed it out to the corner of the garden. She dropped to her knees, heedless of her skirt and blouse, and pulled the gloves on her hands.

Richard's eyebrows rose in surprise. Hermione had always been, well, anal-retentive, really, about making sure things were how they were supposed to be. Working fertilizer into the rose garden while she wore her work clothes was not how things were supposed to be. Even as a child, when she came home from school, she immediately changed into something that could handle the rigors of the rosebushes. He slowly walked to her, and with a soft grunt, lowered himself down to the grass next to Hermione.

Ron's dragon-hide gloves rested on the cart, and Richard pulled them on, before reaching into the box for a handful of fertilizer. 'Are you all right?' he asked cautiously.

Hermione tried to hold it back, but a bitter laugh escaped. 'Oh, I'm fine. We're both fine. We're both so incredibly, bloody fine!' The quill holding her hair back slipped, and a wealth of brown curls cascaded into her face. 'Bloody, effing hell!' she growled.

'Hermione? I don't think you're all right.'

Hermione continued to work fertilizer into the base of her father's oldest rosebush - his prized Comtesse Cecile de Chabrillant. 'No. Dad. Actually, I'm fine. But for some reason unknown to anyone on this earth, I've not been able to get pregnant. Even after a year of trying.' She sniffed, swiping her nose against the shoulder of her blouse.

'Oh.' Richard blinked. He didn't know what to say. But it was awfully familiar territory. He'd seen Jane dissolve into angry, bitter tears on more than one occasion during the three years it took them to conceive Hermione.

'Why did you have a problem with adoption?' Hermione asked abruptly.

'When?' Richard glanced at Hermione, before adding another handful of fertilizer to the soil.

'Before you and Mum were married.'

'How did you know that?' Richard sat back, and gazed at his daughter. 'We never told you about that.'

'I found the letters you and Mum wrote before you were married in the attic when I was nine.' She gave him a slightly accusatory look.

'Hermione, I...' Richard shrugged. 'It wouldn't have mattered to me if you were mine biologically, or if you had been adopted.'

'You say that now...'

'It was male pride. That I'd be a failure if I couldn't father my own child, and at that time, if you'd asked me, I would have said I wasn't sure about adoption.'

Hermione didn't say anything for a few minutes, allowing herself to process this. 'What changed?' she asked softly.

'Me. I married your mum, and I wanted to make her happy. She wanted a family, and if it took taking a hard look at myself and my beliefs, then that's what it took.' Richard moved down the row of rosebushes. 'Also, I was doing some work with an orphanage about the same time your mother and I were trying to have you.' Richard stabbed a cultivator into the soil. 'A lot of those kids were in there because their parents couldn't take care of them. Or wouldn't. Made me realize there's far more to being someone's mum or dad than biology.'

Hermione picked up the fallen quill, and worked it back into her hair. 'Do you think I'm being unreasonable?'

'I think you're being hard on yourself. But you've always been harder on yourself than anyone else ever could have been.' Richard pulled his gloves off, and cupped Hermione's face in one of his hands. 'If you're asking for my approval if you and Ron decide to adopt a child, it's not mine to give.' Richard leaned to kiss Hermione on the forehead. 'Do what makes you happy. That's all I've ever wanted for you.'

******

Hermione Apparated on the doormat of their flat, carrying her shoes. She ruefully regarded her filthy, stained skirt and blouse. 'I don't think I'll be wearing this again,' she said to herself as she opened the door.

'Why won't you be...? Oh, never mind.' Ron's head peered around the kitchen door, as he took in Hermione's ruined clothing. 'Why do you reek of dragon dung fertilizer?'

'Went to help Dad with the rosebushes.'

Ron came out into the sitting room, drying his hands on a towel. He squinted at Hermione's face, and took her chin in one hand, tilting it toward the light. There were tearstains streaked into the dirt on her cheeks. 'You've been crying,' he stated matter-of-factly.

She nodded, and started to head to the bathroom. 'I need to go clean up a bit.'

'Want some company?'

'Yeah. I would.' Hermione held a hand out, and Ron grasped it in his larger one.

Ron tugged the quill from Hermione's hair and ran his fingers through the tangled curls. 'One more year,' he said.

'What?' Hermione looked at him in confusion.

'One more year. If we still haven't either had a baby, or gotten pregnant, then we'll try whatever potions Shanti can throw at us.' Ron pulled Hermione closer and rested his face against the top of her head. 'And we can start trying to adopt, if you want.' Ron heaved a sigh. 'Does that sound all right to you?'

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut against the prickle of tears. It had already been a rollercoaster of an afternoon, and she didn't care to continue the ride into the evening. 'I was about to say the same thing.'

And it was. As she and Richard worked their way around the border of the back garden, working the fertilizer into the flower beds, he had listened and offered advice.

Eventually, Hermione pulled away. 'I have to go take a shower,' she said firmly. 'I smell like you did in school after Quidditch practice.'

'Hey! I thought you liked that!' Ron said indignantly.

'Where on earth did you get that that barmy idea?'

Ron snorted. 'You said so,' he retorted smugly.

'I don't think I ever said something so insane.'

'Oh, yes, you did.' Ron sauntered to the bathroom, shedding his clothes as he went. 'When we were sleeping in my dormitory after the battle.' He stopped in the doorway that led to the hallway between their bedroom and the bathroom. 'You said how much you loved how I smelled after a particularly intense Quidditch game. You talk in your sleep, Mione.' Ron smirked at her.

'That doesn't count!' she called after his retreating form. 'I wasn't conscious!' Ron's trousers sailed through the door, quickly followed by his boxers. 'You're picking up the clothes later for that!'

'As long as I don't have to do the laundry.' Ron's voice drifted back from the bathroom. 'And it does count, conscious or no. It just means you couldn't control whether or not I heard it, hen.'

Hermione huffed and proceeded to unbutton her blouse. 'All right,' she said quietly, so Ron couldn't hear. She dropped her blouse on top of Ron's clothing. 'Give him some extra laundry to collect, just for being a smug prat.' She unzipped her skirt, and kicked it neatly over to the growing pile of laundry in the middle of the sitting room floor.

******

For a month, Ron had a prickly feeling on the back of his neck. It felt like waiting for the other shoe to drop. There was nothing he could put his finger on and say 'That's it! That's what's going to happen.' But still...

The feeling bothered him so much, that he began to dread receiving owls or fire calls. He visibly flinched when Hermione's mobile rang, knowing it was one of her parents.

He was lying in bed one night in mid-April, staring at the ceiling. He was having a lot of rather disjointed dreams lately. They were jumbled images of funerals, sex, and the Comtesse Cecile de Chabrillant rose in Richard's garden. The oddest one yet was a recurring image of Ron taking Hermione in the middle of a church on a bed of rose petals, the heady scent wafting around them as the petals crushed under their writhing, naked bodies. But strangely enough, that wasn't the disturbing part. The disturbing part was the fact a funeral was going on around them, and not a soul in the packed church seemed to notice or care that they both were shouting the sorts of things that made Ron blush furiously if he recalled the dream.

Ron supposed some of it was because the anniversary of the battle was drawing near. They all suffered from nightmares and sleepless nights as the weeks waxed and waned around the anniversary. And the first couple of years he dreamed of endless funerals. These days, he usually dreamed about Fred. He knew without looking that Hermione was awake, too. There was a subtle shift to her breathing that signaled she had fallen asleep, and he hadn't heard it yet.

'Mione?'

'Yes?'

'Do you ever...?'

'What?'

'I have a feeling, but I can't explain it.'

'A feeling?'

'Yeah. Like something is going to happen.'

'Good something or bad something?'

'I don't know!' Ron exclaimed in a whisper. 'That makes it so much worse...' He turned his head, and saw his wife's profile in the dark bedroom. 'And I keep having the weirdest dreams.'

'Stop eating Chocolate Frogs before bed,' Hermione yawned, and rolled over to face Ron. 'It's just the time of year,' she reassured him. 'We always have bad dreams this time of year.'

'I suppose,' Ron said slowly. 'But it doesn't explain why I keep dreaming we're making love in a church.' Ron stopped to consider his words. 'Not making love... Just raw, full-out shagging.'

'In a church?' Hermione propped herself on an elbow to goggle at Ron. 'You're joking!'

'No. Every night just about.' Ron was baffled.

Hermione shook her head. 'We're switching to decaf,' she muttered.

******

Ron's faint sense of malaise eased as April slipped into May. He thought that if something was going to happen, it would have happened by now, and he stopped worrying. His dreams even returned to normal.

Teddy turned seven, Victoire turned five. Parker celebrated his third birthday. Fred and Jacob's first birthday was approaching. They were starting to walk, and managed to find a way to get into everything, in spite of the charms George and Katie put on the cupboards and the breakables. George and Katie looked more than a bit frazzled.

The anniversary of the battle came and went, and the family, which included Andromeda and Teddy, gathered to celebrate and remember the lives of Remus, Tonks, and Fred.

He spent less time at the Hogsmeade shop, only going up a few times a week to see how Lucas and Sasha were doing, and made plans to go up on the last Hogsmeade weekend of the school year when exams were over.

So late one Saturday morning in the middle of May, when Hermione's mobile rang, he ignored it. It was usually only Jane or Richard, and if Ron or Hermione didn't answer the mobile, they just left a message. Seconds after the phone stopped buzzing - Hermione set it to vibrate at night - it started again. Ron frowned and pushed his head under his pillow. After the fourth round of buzzing, Ron swore heatedly at the offending Muggle device and exasperatedly answered it. 'Hello?'

'Ron?' It was Jane. She sounded slightly confused. 'I need to speak with Hermione.'

'Can she call you back? She's in the shower.' Ron's brow creased as the sense of dread which had so recently left him returned with a vengeance.

'No, she... I can't... I need...' Jane's voice descended into a torrent of incoherent babble.

Ron's heart seemed to skip a beat, before he felt the blood pound in his ears. Jane was usually calm and collected, like Hermione. 'Hang on. I'll go get her.' He dropped the mobile in the middle of the bed, and walked to the bathroom, feeling as if his feet were fighting Permanent Sticking charms.

He nudged the door open. 'Mione?' he called over the sound of rushing water. 'Mione?' he called a little louder.

'What?' she said irritably, poking her head around the curtain. She had been washing her hair, and hadn't rinsed the shampoo from it yet.

'It's your mum,' he said simply.

'Can't I just call her back in a few minutes?' Hermione sighed. She hated to have her showers interrupted. She claimed to do her best thinking while she washed her hair.

'No, Mione, I don't think so,' Ron said soberly.

Hermione started to pull her head back into the spray of the shower when she noticed the expression on her husband's face. It was that more than the tone of his voice that made her hastily rinse the shampoo from her hair. Ron silently handed her a towel, which she wrapped around her dripping hair. He gave her another one and she bundled it around her body, before running into the bedroom.

She perched on the edge of the bed, and picked up the mobile. 'Mum?' she whispered.

'Hermione?' Jane's voice sounded frightened. 'Hermione, it's your dad.'

'Mum, what's wrong?'

'He... Went to lie down after puttering in the roses this morning. Said he had a headache.' Hermione felt a dawning sense of dread. Her mother sounded terribly distracted by something.

'Mum, is Dad all right?' Hermione had to force the words past the rapidly expanding knot in her chest.

'He went to sleep.' Jane had babbled through her daughter's question, as if she hadn't heard it. 'Hermione, he won't wake up...' Whatever Jane was going to say next was lost in the keening that traveled through the mobile that slipped from Hermione's nerveless fingers.

'I need to go to Oxford,' she said shakily to Ron. 'I need to go,' Hermione repeated over and over, as she rummaged aimlessly for clothing.

Silently, Ron pushed her aside and opened the drawer in the wardrobe that held her knickers. He handed her a pair and snatched a pair of jeans and a light jumper and t-shirt. She fumbled through dressing and took the socks and trainers Ron held in his outstretched hands. Hermione bundled her hair into a messy ponytail, and before she could Apparate to Oxford, he put a hand on her arm. 'Mione,' he began quietly. The look of apprehensive anguish on her face nearly broke his heart. 'I'll follow you in a bit. I'll go to the Burrow and tell Mum, then I'll meet you at Oxford.' She seemed to stare through him. Ron shook her a little. 'Mione? Did you hear me?'

'Yes,' she said dazedly. 'I heard you. Burrow. Molly. Oxford,' she repeated dully. She shook his hand off her arm, and disappeared with a soft pop.

She appeared behind the shed in the back garden. The roses had begun to blossom in a profusion of color and scent in cheerful, innocent obliviousness to the events just inside the house.

Hermione opened the back door, and found her mother sitting in a chair in the sitting room, tears running unchecked down her face, as she stared at Richard's unmoving body, sprawled on the sofa, looking for all the world, as if he was having a late-morning kip. 'Mum,' she said softly, crouching next to the chair.

Jane said nothing, but her hand reached out to grasp Hermione's.