Burning Down the House

Dear Mum and Dad,

I've been Sorted in Slytherin...

*****

Hermione sat up with a gasp, dislodging Ron from the pillow. 'Waaaa?' he snorted.

'Baby in Slytherin,' she gasped.

'Huh?'

'Dream. Baby was Sorted into Slytherin.'

Ron clumsily patted her thigh. ''S okay. Jus' a dream,' he mumbled, before his even breathing announced he'd gone back to sleep.

Hermione lay back down, and laced her hands over her navel. It might have been just a dream, but she wondered... What would we do if Angus was Sorted into Slytherin? Hermione knew she would be mortified, given her experience with Slytherins. Ron... Ron would be devastated. No Weasley had ever been Sorted into anything but Gryffindor.

It was an extremely unpleasant thought.

*****

'You are not going out of the house looking like that, young lady!'

'But Mum... All the girls in my year shaved their heads!'

'Grow it back this instant!'

'No!'

'Beatrice Weasley! You come back here and change out of those ridiculous robes!' Hermione's eyes narrowed. 'Can see all the way down to her knickers. If you can call that dental floss knickers...'

*****

'Hermione! Wake up!' Ron shook her slightly.

'Ennnn...'

'You're dreaming,' Ron informed her. 'Talking rubbish about knickers.'

Hermione rubbed her eyes. 'I hate this place. Making me have all sorts of dreams.'

Ron nodded. The times he'd had to stay in the hospital wing at school had made him have some rather unusual dreams, too. 'What was it about?'

'She was being a total prat. Wearing knickers that were next to nothing. Shaved her head.'

'Right. Because a boy would never act like that,' Ron muttered sardonically.

'Don't you dream about it?'

'Sometimes,' he admitted. 'Usually Angus is a Squib and has to go be an accountant like Mum's cousin. And he only comes round at Christmas and leaves straightaway after dinner.'

'Do you really think that would happen?'

'Mum says it did. Her auntie Janet never saw her cousin, really, except at Christmas. And he usually left after a few hours.' Ron yawned widely. 'Mum said it was for his own sanity. Sometimes, a Squib can get downright bitter if they're around magic folk, when they can't do so much as make a wand produce sparks. Like Filch.'

'That's so... sad...' Hermione began to sniff.

'Hey... Don't worry. I'm sure a child of yours wouldn't dare to be anything other than magical.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' Hermione asked suspiciously, swiping her nose on the sleeve of her gown.

'Nothing,' Ron said hastily. 'You need to try and get some rest, hen.' He urged her back down, and glared at her until she closed her eyes. When she did manage to go back to sleep, Ron sagged with relief. He tended to blurt whatever was on his mind sometimes. Not a good policy with a pregnant woman. Sighing, he settled back into the pillow and tried to go back to sleep.

*****

I'm right here! Ron's fists beat against the walls of... Somewhere.

'You remember Hugo, don't you? Of course, you do. You just saw him last Wednesday,' Hermione asked him gently, drawing a shy boy forward by the hand. 'He's eight today,' she said proudly. 'He's come to see you every week since that accident in the shop.'

What accident? Ron was confused. He didn't remember an accident. Hugo looked familiar. If he was a girl, he'd be petite, even delicate. He looked a lot like Hermione, save for his eyes. They were his eyes. The color, at any rate.

'Go on and wait in the corridor, sweetie,' Hermione whispered. The boy trudged out to the corridor, dragging his feet, throwing one last glance at a gaunt man sitting in a chair by a window.

Hermione waited until the door swung shut, and she turned around, and Ron felt her begin to comb through his hair.

Why does she have to comb my hair? He tried to ask Hermione what was wrong, but only a garbled moan emitted from his mouth. Saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth, and Hermione picked up a folded handkerchief and gently blotted his face with it.

'Here, darling, let me get that for you.'

How long have I been here? Ron wondered. And where the bloody hell is "here" anyway?

'He did magic last week,' Hermione said, replacing the handkerchief on a small table. 'Took your broom from the broom shed at the Burrow at lunch on Sunday. Was thirty feet off the ground before anyone could stop him. He fell off just when Harry got up there. Fell more than fifty feet and not a scratch.'

Ron tried to grin at that, but his face wouldn't work.

Hermione sighed, and leaned forward to press a kiss to his forehead. 'I'll see you tomorrow, Ron.' Her voice cracked a little, and her hand left his hair regretfully.

Wait! Where are you going? Don't leave me here!

*****

'Bloody hell!' Ron exclaimed softly, sitting up. He ran his hands over his arms, and through his hair, as if to test that they still worked.

'What?' Hermione's sleepy voice drifted up from the pillow.

'Nothing. Go back to sleep.' Ron slid out of the bed and padded into the bathroom. He grabbed a glass in a shaking hand, and filled it with water. 'She can Avada Kedavra me if I ever get like that for real,' he muttered, his teeth chattering against the glass. 'Poison me, I don't bloody care.' He mentally began to catalogue all the materials they worked with in the shop. Some of them were capable of creating spectacular explosions if mixed in the wrong proportions. He and George prided themselves on their long, accident-free record. 'Makes sense... He and Fred worked all the kinks out in their bedroom at home.' Ron splashed some cold water on his face and dropped into the hard chair next to the bed.

He knew he was about as clairvoyant as the chair under his bum, but after his dreams last spring, he got spooked every so often, when a particularly vivid one attached itself to his memory.

It wasn't long before he was asleep once more.

*****

'Good morning!' a cheerful voice sang the next morning. A witch sailed in with a tray of something that resembled food in its odor. 'Oh! I didn't know you stayed,' she exclaimed when she discovered Ron slumped in the chair. 'I don't think there's enough on the tray for the both of you to have breakfast,' she mused doubtfully. 'I'll have to fetch another tray for you.'

Ron eyed the rubbery eggs and lumpy porridge, repressing a shudder of distaste. 'No thanks. I'm not hungry,' he muttered.

'All right then. Shanti'll be by in a mo to check things out.'

'Yeah, thanks,' Ron yawned, rubbing a hand over his stubbly face.

'Why do they have to be so damn cheerful first thing in the morning?' a voice mumbled behind him. Hermione pushed herself up to something resembling a sitting position. 'Enough to make me want to gag.'

Ron nudged the tray closer to Hermione. 'Want that?'

She leaned closer to examine it, a cautious forefinger prodding the surface of the porridge. 'I've seen botched potions that were more appetizing than this.' She pushed the tray aside. 'I think I'll pass.'

'Can't blame you. When Shanti's done with us, I'll get us a proper breakfast.'

'You're a life saver.'

Ron grinned smugly. 'I have my moments.' He picked up the toast lying near the edge of the tray and held it out. 'Eat this, at least. Not much they can do to ruin toast,' he ventured.

Hermione sighed and took the proffered toast. She took a bite, grimaced, and swallowed. 'Wrong. It seems they can cock up toast.'

Ron glared at the offending toast. 'How can they ruin toast, for Merlin's sake?' He snatched the piece of toast from Hermione's hand and took a bite. His face crumpled and he dropped it in the middle of the now nearly solid porridge. 'I don't know what they did, but, when Angus is born, I'm bringing you all your meals.'

Shanti knocked on the door. 'Everyone up?' she asked, peering around the door. 'Lovely.' She came in the room and wrinkled her nose at the rapidly cooling breakfast tray. 'I can't blame you,' she confessed in an undertone. 'Puts me off my appetite, too. That kitchen can't brew a cuppa worth a damn, either.' She pointed her wand at the tray and Vanished it. 'So...' she said, consulting a clipboard. 'How did you sleep last night?'

'Most piss poor night of sleep I've had in ages,' Ron responded darkly.

'I was talking to Hermione...'

'Oh, right.' Ron dropped into the chair.

Hermione smothered a grin, and shrugged. 'I've had worse nights,' she offered.

'Dreaming, were you?'

'Some.'

'You can say that again,' growled Ron under his breath.

'That's perfectly normal.' Shanti pulled up the edge of Hermione's gown and rested the tip of her wand under her navel. The faint sound of the baby's heartbeat increased in volume. 'One hundred fifty beats,' she murmured. Shanti held up the clipboard. 'Want to see it?'

'What? The baby?' asked Ron. 'We can do that?'

'Sure can. A couple of us are trying to figure out how to get it on parchment or something so you can take it home.'

'It's like an ultrasound!' Hermione exclaimed, tracing the curve of the baby's head.

'Exactly,' Shanti said.

'How do you know about ultrasounds?'

Shanti shrugged. 'My parents are Muggle-born. One of my mum's sisters is a doctor in York. Works mostly with obstetrics and gynecology. Takes the high-risk cases. I've picked up a few things from her over the years.'

Ron glanced between them, confused. 'What's an ultrasound?'

'It's a way Muggles can see the fetus before it's born. Uses sound waves to create a picture of it,' Shanti informed him.

'Stop.' Ron waved a hand at her. 'It's too early for me to be this confused.' He gestured to the image of the baby. 'That's ours, then?'

'No, it's some random woman's,' Hermione huffed. 'Of course it's ours.'

Ron peered at the baby's face. 'Got your nose,' he commented. 'Is he sucking his thumb?'

'Appears to be.' Shanti gave them both a look. 'Want to know the sex?'

Hermione's face lit up. 'Ye.... Uh, no...' she sighed. 'Part of the bet,' she moaned regretfully.

Shanti laughed. 'All right, then.' She removed her wand and lifted the charm allowing them to hear the baby's heartbeat. 'I'll just check your ankle and knee, and get on with discharging you.'

She pulled the gown back over Hermione's abdomen, and lifted the edge of the bedding to expose the bandaged ankle. 'Marvelous. Swelling's gone down. Stay off it for a few more days, all right?' Shanti moved up to Hermione's knee and gently peeled off the bandage. The deepest of the scrapes was nearly gone, and the others were healed, with nothing more than pink streaks in their wake. 'I'm going to re-dress the knee and wrap that ankle again, and then you can go. The baby seems fine.'

Shanti sat on the edge of the bed, by Hermione's feet. 'I do want you to take it easy the rest of the week. I don't want you to go back to work until Monday.'

'But I've got work to do!' Hermione protested.

'I know you do. I don't usually order working mothers to stop working all together, unless it's going to harm the baby, or them. But you do need to slow down a bit. No more trips up to Hogsmeade or the school.'

'But...'

Shanti indicated the bag next to the bed, its seams straining from the size of the books Ron had stuffed into it. 'I know you've got this enormous ambition to make the house-elves lot better. But writing that legislation is something you can do, off your feet.'

'But...'

'I'm not confining you to bed, Hermione. I'm just saying you can afford to ease up a bit.'

Hermione ran her hand through her tangled hair. 'Fine,' she muttered.

*****

Ron walked into the flat, massaging the back of his neck. It was getting closer to Halloween, and aside from the beginning and end of the school term and Christmas, it was one of their busiest times. He couldn't wait until January and they all got to breathe again. He heard a muffled curse, and the raucous sounds of a Muggle rock band suddenly ceased, only to be replaced by something that was guaranteed to put Ron to sleep in ten minutes. He poked his head into the bedroom, where Hermione was lying on the bed, writing on an impossibly long scroll of parchment, her face slightly pink, humming along with the tranquil music. Casually, Ron strolled to the CD player, and hit "stop". He opened the tray and pulled out one of the CDs. 'Oh, please tell me you're not making Angus listen to Rattle and Hum,' he said, a pained expression on his face.

'I thought you liked U2.'

'I do. But not Rattle and Hum,' Ron replied scornfully. He replaced the CD in its case. 'If you're going to play U2 from that era, at least play Joshua Tree...' He left the room, and Hermione stuck her tongue out at his back.

'I'll listen to what ever I bloody want,' she muttered. 'If Daddy's going to read the bloody Quidditch scores to you, I can play whichever U2 album I choose.'

*****

Hermione awkwardly knelt on the hearth and threw the handful of Floo powder she held into the flames. She stuck her head into the flames, grateful it was Ron's Saturday to work at the shop and he wasn't there to scold her for getting into such an unwieldy position. 'Ginny?' she called out.

Hermione heard footsteps and Harry's socked feet came into view. He crouched down to talk to her. 'She's upstairs. Want me to get her?'

'Um, could you?'

'Sure.' Harry disappeared, and Hermione shifted, trying to find a comfortable position to kneel with her head in the fire. It wasn't very comfortable when she wasn't pregnant, but the extra weight wasn't helping.

'Hi, Hermione!' Ginny said brightly.

'Are you busy?'

'Not unless you count doing laundry, which I don't. Want some company?'

'Yes,' Hermione breathed.

'Give me half an hour.' Ginny straightened up and turned toward the stairs. 'I'll bring the clothes with me, too!' she called over her shoulder.

'Okay,' Hermione grunted as she attempted to stand. It wasn't a moment too soon for Ginny to bring over her maternity clothes. As things stood right now, Hermione was wearing a pair of Ron's pajama bottoms that were so old, the elastic was shot. It was one of the few things in the flat that fit.

She slowly walked back to the sofa to wait for Ginny. With the realization that nothing was going to particularly fit her today, she was in a funk. She felt like a beached whale. And the purplish marks radiating across her abdomen didn't help her mood. I'll bet Ginny never had stretch marks, she thought to herself glumly. Ron was never going to see her naked again. He'd laughed hysterically when he saw her getting dressed that morning. Her navel had popped out. Hermione had been mortified. She'd snatched her clothing off the bed, and went into the bathroom to finish dressing.

Ginny came out of the fireplace, a canvas bag in one hand. She took in Hermione's glum appearance and threadbare paisley pajama bottoms, and held out a hand to Hermione. 'Come on; let's go try some of this stuff on. Those pajamas were horrid on Ron, and they don't do much for you.'

Hermione couldn't help but smile at the infectious grin on Ginny's face. 'Got any trousers than will make my bum look smaller?' she asked, taking Ginny's hand, and allowing Ginny to help her to her feet.

'Of course I do,' Ginny replied solemnly. 'They will be your best friend the next two and a half months.' She led Hermione into the bedroom, dumping the contents of the bag in the middle of the bed. 'Actually, I had about four pairs of stretchy black trousers, which I now bequeath to you.' She glanced over her shoulder. 'I won't need them for a while.'

'Gin...?' Hermione interrupted.

'Yeah?'

'Did you ever feel totally inadequate as a mother?' Hermione asked in a rush.

'All the time. It's kind of hard not to, when you've got Molly Weasley as a mother.'

Hermione snorted. 'You don't make any mistakes with James, though...'

'Oh yes, I did!' Ginny laughed. 'You didn't see us the first few weeks. I didn't sleep more than two or three hours at a stretch until he was eight weeks old. It was another two months before he slept through the night.

'Harry kept getting up the first night we brought James home. Stood over the cot, watching him breathe.' Ginny handed Hermione a pair of trousers. 'Here, try those on.' She twirled a lock of hair around her finger, and continued. 'Harry dropped him. James, I mean,' she confessed. 'We'd just given him a bath, and he was a bit slippery, and was squirming a bit, and he slipped out of Harry's hands.'

'But you, though...'

'I had my share of moments. James wouldn't stop crying one night. Nothing I did seemed to help. I fed him, I changed him, I burped him. Nothing. Harry walks in, takes him from me, and in five minutes he's sound asleep.' Ginny traced the pattern of the quilt on the bed. 'That happened a lot the first few months. I was tired and stressed, and James knew it.' She shook her head, a rueful expression on her face. 'I was convinced I was a horrible mother. A few nights when that was going on, I was crying as much as James was.'

'But you know what to do with him. You know how he sounds when he's hungry...'

'Only after several days of trial and error.' Ginny wrapped an arm around Hermione. 'It won't happen overnight.'

'And then there's Harry...' Hermione added mournfully. 'He didn't even grow up with parents, and he's a good father. Look what he does with Teddy.'

Ginny snorted loudly. 'You weren't there when Andie first brought Teddy over for the afternoon. Harry nearly panicked the first time he had to change a nappy. Mum forgot to tell him to put a dry nappy over Teddy - '

'Why?'

'Boys tend to spray when they're exposed like that,' Ginny replied with a wry grin. 'And Teddy got Harry right in the face. And there was the time Mum warned him not to hold Teddy up over his head right after a feeding, and Teddy threw up all over Harry's face.' Ginny giggled. 'I promise you, you will make some incredibly stupid mistakes, no matter how many books you read. And it's okay. Sometimes you have to do it wrong once or twice to figure out how to do it right.

'And what's right for you and Angus here won't be what's been right for James and me.'

'I'm so afraid I'm going to muck it all up.' She drew in a shaky breath. 'I keep dreaming that he'll be in Slytherin. Or that she'll turn into a rebellious teenager. More rebellious than you, me, Harry, Ron, and the twins combined.'

'How rebellious can that be?' Ginny's brows knit in contemplation. Aside from the twins leaving school early, and Ron, Hermione, and Harry skiving off and missing their seventh year entirely, none of them had really been the rebellious type.

'Shaved head, Muggle tattoos, and dental floss for knickers.'

'Oh... ouch.' Ginny rubbed the back of her neck. 'You know... I think Mum's biggest mistake with Bill was going on about his hair and earring. He just wanted her to notice it. If she'd ignored it, I don't think he'd have kept the earring.' Ginny paused. 'Well, he might have kept the earring, but not the fang.' She sorted through the clothes on the bed. 'He got that between his sixth and seventh year. Grew his hair out seventh year. Mum went spare, and that just made him more determined to keep it.'

Ginny pulled her knees into her chest. 'You're going to be a great mum.'

'How do you know?'

'Because you care enough to worry about it.'