Burning Down the House

Hermione opened the door of the flat, and tried to pick up the Times she had delivered to the flat from the doormat. Using the doorjamb as a support, she bent to pick up the paper. She rarely had time to actually read it lately, but she refused to cancel her subscription. Ron didn't even raise an eyebrow over the stack of newspapers in the corner of the sitting room anymore. He knew she liked to keep up with the news in the Muggle world.

After she managed to come to a standing position, Hermione started to close the door, when a scrap of parchment lying on the mat caught her eye. She dropped the Times on the sofa and went back to the door, peering up and down the corridor. Owls usually came to their kitchen window. Sighing, she bent awkwardly, and just managed to pluck the parchment from the mat with her fingertips. Once she had closed the door, Hermione turned the parchment over. There was no return address, nor had it been addressed to either her or Ron. She gave a worried glance toward their bedroom, and took the parchment into the kitchen. She sat at the table and opened the parchment warily. Once it was open, she burst into laughter.

It was something out of the most prosaic Muggle mystery novels. The words were made up of individual letters cut from magazines, pasted to the parchment. She sat back in the chair, and scanned the letter.

Why do you insist on continuing this charade with house-elves? They're not worth the bother you give to them. They're not worthy to sit in equality with wizards and witches. You ought to stop, before you make someone unhappy.

It wasn't signed. Hermione ripped the parchment into tiny shreds, before throwing them into the rubbish bin in the corner of the kitchen. 'At least there wasn't bubotuber pus in it,' she said softly, with a smirk.

'Did you say something?' Ron asked, scrubbing his hands over his face.

Hermione looked up. 'No. Just talking to myself.'

Ron gave her a look, but decided not to pursue it. 'What time is your mum coming by?'

'Not sure. She was going to see the Cavity Triplets this morning, then come over. But knowing the Triplets it might take a while.'

'The Cavity Triplets?'

'Have I never told you about them?' Ron shook his head. 'They're patients of my mother's. They have notoriously bad teeth. It takes all morning to deal with them.'

'Oh.' Ron busied himself making tea. 'I'll be home late tonight. Hogsmeade weekend today, so I'm going up to work in the shop up there today.'

'How late?'

'Late enough,' Ron grumbled.

'I thought you liked the Christmas rush,' Hermione said skeptically.

'I do...' Ron offered Hermione a cup of tea. 'It's only that I've been meaning to do Angus' room for a month, and every time I think I've got the time to do it, something comes up.' He took a cup for himself. 'I was going to do it two weeks ago, but Fred and Jacob came down with dragon pox, and George was out of the shop for a week, then Christmas rush started, and by the time I get home, the last thing I want to do is paint walls.'

Hermione snorted. 'First of all, you don't have to do it now. Baby's not due until mid-February. Second, why are you so determined to do it the Muggle way? You can do it with magic, and do it in a few seconds.'

Ron shrugged. 'Just want to get it done. One less thing to worry about later.'

'I'm impressed.' Hermione pushed herself to standing, and went to retrieve the newspaper from the sofa. 'You usually leave things to the last minute...'

Ron rolled his eyes. 'That was years ago, hen. I haven't left anything to the last minute in ages. And can you blame me if I don't want Angus to have to sleep in a drawer or something when we bring him home? And I just want to do it by hand.' He traced the rim of his cup. 'There are some things that magic just isn't good enough.' Ron spread a hand over Hermione's stomach. 'This is one of them.' His eyes widened as he felt something nudge his hand. 'What was that?'

'Angus,' Hermione replied with an amused glint in her eye.

'Obviously. But what was it? Hand? Foot?'

Hermione laid her hand over Ron's. 'Foot, I think.'

'You can tell?'

'Yeah.' She slid Ron's hand up further. 'Head's here, for now,' she said, pressing his hand down. 'Feel that?' Angus stretched and Ron let out a gurgle of surprise. 'He moves a lot during the mornings. And at night lately. He wakes me up sometimes.'

'Isn't the head supposed to be on the other end?' Ron squinted doubtfully at Hermione. 'I thought he was supposed to come out head first?'

'He will. I hope.'

'You hope?' Ron asked uncertainly.

'She can come out feet first...'

'Mum said I came out arse first,' Ron offered.

'Born telling the world to kiss your bum, eh?'

Ron blushed. 'Something like that...'

Hermione kissed the top of his head. 'Some things never change.' She sat down next to Ron, and opened the paper.

Ron looked over her shoulder at the headlines. 'Makes you wonder sometimes...'

'What does?' she asked distractedly.

'Even after we defeated Riddle, there're still all these horrible things going on,' he said, indicating the headlines. 'Wars. Kidnappings. And we're going to bring a child into this...'

Surprised, Hermione turned. 'There's always going to be something going on,' she reminded him. 'Whether in the Muggle world, or ours.'

'I just hoped it would be better. After everything we did.'

'It is better. For us, at any rate.'

Ron shook his head. 'I'm not so sure. Every time there were bad things in the Muggle world, Dark wizards were behind it.'

Hermione sobered. 'You think there's a Dark witch or wizard out there, pulling strings on Muggles like a puppet?'

'It's happened before...'

Hermione sighed. 'Ron, it's not going to happen for every evil, immoral Muggle in the universe. Muggles are perfectly capable of mucking up their own lives without a Riddle-type person behind them.' She rested her head on his shoulder. 'We'll just have to help her figure out how to navigate both worlds.'

'Easier said than done,' Ron snorted.

'I know.'

After a few minutes, Ron tilted Hermione's chin up, and dropped a soft kiss on her mouth. 'I have to go,' he murmured regretfully.

'Ron?'

'Yeah?'

'There are things we can control, and things we can't. What happens outside the confines of our flat - that's out of our hands.'

Ron's mouth dropped open. 'Who are you and what have you done with my wife?' he demanded.

Hermione chuckled to herself. 'If nothing else, the last year and a half taught me you can't control everything.'

Ron shook his head. 'I'd have thought the Time-Turner would have taught you that over ten years ago.'

Hermione turned a page of the newspaper. 'Sometimes, I'm a slow learner.'

'When have you ever been a slow learner?' Ron scoffed.

Hermione grinned up at Ron. 'I'm also insanely stubborn.'

'I'd never have noticed that,' Ron said dryly.

'You're going to be late,' Hermione reminded Ron. 'Tell Lucas and Sasha hello for me.' She leaned back and watched Ron dart out of the kitchen so he could dress. Her eyes dropped back down to the paper, then over her shoulder to the rubbish bin in the corner, where the pieces of parchment rested among banana peels and tea leaves.

*****

Harry walked into the kitchen, where Ginny was attempting to spoon banana yogurt into James' mouth. He held out a piece of orange material. 'Gin, what's this?'

'It's a gift. For Ron and Hermione.'

'What is it?'

'Replica Quiddtich robes for the Cannons. Just like the Tutshill ones we got for James when he was born.'

Harry frowned at the garment dangling from his fingers. 'If I recall, James outgrew those in about a month.'

'So?' Ginny challenged.

'That was after he spit up all over them so much, even Molly couldn't get the stains out.'

Ginny smiled. 'But the photograph of him in them is awfully cute. I can't wait until he brings a girl over. We'll enlarge it, and put it in the middle of the mantle.'

'I thought we were doing that with the one of his first bath?'

'Oh, but the Quidditch robes are so much cuter.'

'So, it's all about the parental embarrassment?'

'Absolutely. You should have seen the photographs of Ron Mum had out when Hermione came over for the World Cup.'

'What photographs of Ron?' Harry tried to remember any potentially embarrassing photographs of Ron as a baby in the Burrow at that time.

'Oh, he got rid of them before you came,' Ginny said. 'I think he put them under a loose floorboard in the attic.' Her face lit with glee. 'But not before Hermione got a good look at the one of Ron in dress robes when he was about six months old.'

Harry's eyes closed beatifically. 'I'd have loved to see that.' He opened them, and shook out the tiny robes. 'Where'd you get this?'

'Quality Quidditch Supplies. Where else?'

'How do you know they don't have one of these already?'

'Because I asked Hermione when I took my maternity clothes over to her last week.' Ginny scraped the yogurt from around James' mouth, dodging his attempts to grab the spoon.

'And you just had to go get one for them.'

'Just like you just had to order one for James from Which Broomstick,' Ginny retorted.

'Yeah, well...' Harry blushed. 'So I'm going to their flat later and get the baby's room prepped. Ron and I are going to paint it when he gets home from work tonight,' he said, changing the subject.

'How long is that going to take?'

'No clue. But he'll be back from Hogsmeade by six, he said. Midnight maybe?'

'Have fun,' Ginny told him, wiping the smears of yogurt from James' face. 'Don't wake me when you come home.'

'I just might. Payback for all those nights you've woken me up coming home after a game.' Harry picked James up from his chair. 'Do you want to go help Daddy paint your new cousin's room later?' he asked his son. 'Or you could be a good boy tonight, and stay asleep when I come home. Let Mummy and Daddy have some alone time?'

'Oh well, if that's the case, then I'll just have to stay awake, then, won't I?' Ginny sighed dramatically.

'Couldn't hurt,' Harry threw over his shoulder.

'No, it couldn't...' Ginny murmured.

*****

'All right...' Hermione glanced at the pages of notes she'd taken while talking with the Hogwarts elves. 'The Hogwarts elves don't belong to anyone in particular. Their allegiance is to the school itself... Maybe, we can make it so the elves' allegiance can be to the Ministry, and they work for a family. That way, if the family mistreats them, there can be an independent committee that can investigate such claims. That way, they'd still work for a family, but the family itself isn't their master and can't abuse them by giving them clothes or physical punishments...' She rubbed a hand over her stomach. 'What do you think? Would that work?' she asked the baby, who was lazily stretching, making her jumper ripple. Her mobile vibrated, and Hermione glanced at the screen, as she flipped it open. Jane had sent a text message. She would be a bit later than she had anticipated. The youngest of the Cavity Triplets was in need of a few fillings. Hermione closed the mobile and laid it back on the kitchen table. 'Now, how do we convince those families that still have elves to sign a magical contract handing regulation of the elves over to the Ministry?'

A knock sounded on the door, and scowling, Hermione rose to her feet and went to answer the door. 'Molly!' She stepped back to let the older woman to come into the flat.

'How are you feeling, dear?'

'Like a punching bag.'

'A what?' Molly's brows drew together in frown.

'It's something Muggles use when they train for boxing. It's a large bag they hang from the ceiling,' Hermione explained. 'Then they, well, punch it.'

'Oh. All right, then.'

'Can I get you something, Molly? Tea?'

'Maybe later,' Molly said with a small smile. 'I've got something for you, though.' She reached into her handbag, and set a small package on the floor of the sitting room, and tapped it with her wand. It slowly expanded until it reached its normal size. 'I wanted you to have this.'

'What is it?'

'Open it,' encouraged Molly.

Hermione peeled off a strip of the brown paper Molly had wrapped around the package. A gleam of something underneath captured her curiosity, so she ripped off another strip of paper. Soon, a cradle emerged from the packaging. It was oak, carved with leaves and vines around the edges. 'It's beautiful,' Hermione breathed.

Molly traced a finger over the vine that wound around the edge of the head. 'My brother Gideon made it. When I was carrying Bill. He made a matching rocking chair, but I gave that to Ginny before James was born.' Molly looked up at Hermione. 'All my children have something from when they were babies. But I wanted Ron and Ginny to have the things my brother made. Because they don't remember Gideon or Fabian. They were killed not too long after Ginny was born.' Molly smiled wistfully. 'I named Fred and George for them. Their middle names, at least.'

Hermione blinked, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. 'Thank you.'

'They would have liked you,' Molly stated, as she gently tipped the cradle, letting it rock a bit. 'Ron got really fussy right after he was born,' she reminisced. 'Fabian came over and stayed up all night in the sitting room with Ron, rocking him in this cradle.' Molly's smile grew wider. 'Fabian didn't care, as long as he had a book to read.'

'Molly...?' Hermione ventured. 'Were you scared when Bill was born?'

'Of course I was. I was only nineteen, and had only been married a few months, so adding a new baby to the stress of a new marriage...' Molly patted Hermione's knee. 'And well, the war was starting to heat up. Having a baby seemed like a foolish thing to do in hindsight. But I wouldn't have traded having Bill for anything. I just had to cross my fingers and hope a better time would come.'

'What's your secret?' Hermione rolled the hem of her jumper between her fingers.

'Secret?'

'You do it all better than anybody else I know. And that includes my own mother.'

Molly started, but recovered quickly. 'It's a very long story, dear. But suffice to say that there was one thing I really wanted to do, back when Bill and Charlie were small, and realistically, I couldn't do it. So, I decided to be the best mother I could be, knowing that if the worst happened, I would be all they had.' Molly drew in a shaky breath. 'Sometimes, I wondered if I overdid it a bit, when all you girls seem to use me as some sort of measuring stick.'

Hermione leaned against Molly. 'You are quite the mum to live up to.'

'You'll do fine, Hermione. Both you and Ron.' Molly laid a hand over Hermione's abdomen. 'Just try to teach them to make the best decisions. That's all you can do.' She sat quietly for a moment. 'It's all Arthur and I tried to do with ours.'

Molly left a few minutes later, leaving Hermione to contemplate the gleaming cradle in front of her. Hermione had been a part of the family for years, even well before she and Ron were married. She had always known it. But having Molly bequeath this heirloom to her was even more of a gift than anything else Molly could have done. Hermione reached out with a tentative hand, and set the cradle to rocking. It was one of the few tangible reminders Molly had of her beloved brothers. She had seen the photographs of Gideon and Fabian Prewett. One of them had to be one of the last times Molly had seen them alive; it had been taken right after Ginny was born - all seven of the Weasley children were clustered around two identical laughing men. There was even one of Fabian, cradling Ron in one arm, while he read a book in the other hand.

It made Hermione feel extremely lucky. Her own family was now just Jane. She wondered if this was how Harry had felt when he found himself all but adopted by the Weasleys, knowing he would never have to face anything alone ever again.

*****

Ron handed Harry a small can of white paint, and set him to painting the crown molding of the room. 'I had a dream,' he began. 'When Hermione was in the hospital.'

'What was it about?' Harry straddled a ladder, and began to delicately brush the white paint over the wood.

Ron pried off the lid of the blue paint, and meditatively stirred it. 'I was like Neville's parents,' he said softly. 'Worse, I guess. I knew everything that was going on, but I couldn't talk, I couldn't move.' He dipped a wide brush and started spreading paint over the wall. 'Hermione was there, visiting, with our son on his eighth birthday. She came every day. And for what?' Ron asked bitterly. 'To see someone who wasn't the man she married?'

'It's just a dream, mate.' Harry carefully drew the brush down the wall. 'I used to dream like that a lot when Ginny was pregnant with James.'

'Look, I know dreams are just dreams, but I had one right before Hermione's father died...' Ron cleared his throat and stammered, 'Well, there was a funeral... And we were...' He blushed. 'She was pregnant soon after he died.' He shrugged. 'After that, this one spooked me quite a bit.'

'I can imagine,' Harry said.

'What if something happens to me?' Ron mumbled.

'If something happens to you, we'll take care of them,' Harry replied, gazing down at the top of Ron's head. 'But honestly, you can't think like that, Ron. You'll make yourself mad.'

'I know.' Ron stood staring at the partially blue wall, the paintbrush dangling from his fingers, paint dripping from the bristles. 'Oh, bugger,' he exclaimed, noticing the small puddle of paint that had somehow missed the sheet of canvas Ron had spread on the floor. Ron set his brush down on the canvas, and ran to grab a towel from the bathroom. He took the first one his hand landed on. He dashed back into the room, and knelt to wipe the splatters of paint from the polished wooden floor.

'You could have used magic for that,' Harry pointed out.

'I forgot,' Ron said sheepishly, regarding the once-white towel in his hands, now liberally smeared with blue.

Harry slid down the ladder, and moved it over a few feet. 'Ron,' he said quietly. 'I promise you, that if something happens to you, Hermione and your child will be taken care of. I swear to you on the life of my son.'

'Thanks.' Ron's shoulders seemed to settle and he retrieved his paintbrush. 'Let's get this done, then.'

*****

'Mione? Wake up.' Ron wearily shook her shoulder.

'Ennn. Why....?'

'I have something for you. Early Christmas gift.'

Hermione squinted at the clock. 'Ron, it's three in the morning.'

'I know. I just finished everything.'

'Can't we do this later?' Hermione begged. 'Sleep now...'

'Please, hen? Come look?'

'You're not going to let me go back to sleep, will you?

'No.' Ron tugged at Hermione's hand.

'Fine,' she grumbled, shoving the bedding away, allowing Ron to pull her to her feet. She trudged behind him, rubbing her eyes as she walked. She wasn't paying attention when Ron stopped walking, and ran headlong into his back. 'Ooof! Sorry...'

'Ready?' he asked excitedly.

'Yeah.'

Ron opened the door, and gestured for Hermione to go into the room. She stood in the doorway, taking in the obvious effort and care that Ron had put into the room. 'Do you like it?' he asked nervously.

Hermione walked around the room, her fingers trailing over the slats of the cot. It was already made up with a tiny quilt. A small stuffed bunny occupied one corner of the cot, wearing a miniature Cannons shirt. In another corner of the room, Ron had placed a rocking chair, next to a small table with a lamp. And next to the window, rested a small bookcase, already filled with books - Wizarding and Muggle fairy tales. She ran her fingertips over the spines, tracing the titles. 'It's perfect.'

'Harry and Ginny helped pick out the Muggle books.'

Hermione nodded, tears trembling on her eyelashes.

'I picked out the bunny.'

'I figured you had,' she whispered.

'Your mum gave me the quilt. Said it had been yours.'

'Ron?'

'Yeah?'

'Stop talking...' Hermione pushed the sheer white curtains away from the window. She could see their small plot, with the bare canes of the rose bushes.

Ron came behind her, and wrapped his arms around her. 'I'm glad you like it.'

'I love it.'