A Long, Strange Trip

IV.

Neville stayed through Ron's first dance lesson, wincing right along with Ron as he fumbled through the steps to his wedding song. The first few times Ron went through the steps with an imaginary partner, and then with the instructor. After what seemed like hours, finally Polly called an end to the lesson until the day after tomorrow, and Ron and Neville walked outside into the pleasant noontime sun.

"Should we have lunch, then?" Neville suggested. "I'm sure Ginny and Hermione won't be back from the shops for hours." He sounded nervous, and he didn't seem to know what to do with his hands. First he put them in his pockets, then scratched his cheek, then touched his hair, smoothing it down before placing his hands straight down at his sides.

"Yeah, sure," Ron agreed, and they headed for the café. "So, tomorrow's the big day."

"Yup, sure is." Neville looked at Ron and presented him with a strained smile.

"Oh come on, Neville, don't be nervous. You'll do great." Ron was feeling particularly confident; he'd gotten through the first lesson, it would be all downhill from here.

Neville laughed anxiously. "I suppose. Erm, Ron, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

They rounded a corner, now about three blocks from the café.

"Why is Ginny marrying me?"

Ron stopped short. "Huh?"

Neville continued to walk for about four steps before realizing Ron wasn't with him, then he turned around and retraced his steps.

"I mean, she could marry almost any man she wants; I know that Colin Creevey fancies her even though he's married to Eloise Midgen, and well I'm fairly certain that Dean Thomas hasn't gotten over being turned down by Ginny at Hogwarts..."

"Neville, that was years ago. Ginny was fourteen. Why are you worrying about this now, of all times?"

"I don't know." Neville ceared his throat. "Forget it, Ron, forget I asked."

"Come on, now. You don't really think Ginny would rather marry Colin Creevey or Dean Thomas, do you?" Ron almost wanted to laugh, but restrained himself at the sight of Neville's sheepish expression. "Since when does Ginny ever do something against her will? Believe me, if she didn't want this wedding it wouldn't be happening. She loves you, Neville."

Neville nodded. "Yeah, you're right. I know."

"All right, come on then. Let's eat." Ron slapped Neville's shoulder, and steered him toward the café.

"So, what do you want, a boy or girl?" Ginny posed this question as they browsed through the baby boutique. She was at the moment examining a very expensive pram.

"What kind of question is that?" Hermione said. "It's not like we're at a restaurant and I can choose from the menu."

"Well you must have a preference."

"Actually, I don't." Hermione straightened her shoulders and moved past Ginny, toward the front window of the shop, where an assortment of bassinets were on display.

"You want a girl, don't you?" Ginny hurried after her. "You've probably already picked out the name. Come on, Hermione, spill it. Please?"

"Whether or not I want a girl is irrelevant. It is what it is." Hermione's face was hot as she feigned interest in a white wicker bassinet; it was lined with pale pink cotton adorned with ladybugs, and had pink ribbon woven through the wicker.

"Just humor me, okay? I'm getting married."

Before she could answer, suddenly Hermione's mind was overcome with questions: was it a girl, or a boy? Which one did she really want? She sort of wanted a girl, but would it be more practical to have a boy first? She hadn't really thought about boys names. But what if it was a girl, and Ron wanted a boy? Would he be disappointed? How would she handle that?It's not like she could return the baby to the market and ask for a different gender. "Yes, hello, I'd like to return this little girl - it seems my husband would rather have a boy at the moment." Was she going mad?Why was everything suddenly all fuzzy?

"Yoo-hoo, Hermione," Ginny waved her hand in front of Hermione's dazed face. "It's a simple question, you know. You're good at answering questions."

"What? Oh. Well, I don't know, I suppose I'd like to have a girl. But a boy is fine, too." Hermione's heart was beating rapidly, her hands trembled as she fingered the soft cotton padding inside the bassinet.

"Oh, I hope it's a girl. That way you can dress her up like your own baby doll, with the little dresses and bonnets and ribbons...Hermione, are you okay?" Ginny's face took on a startled expression. "You look a little pale."

"No, I'm fine, really. What do you say we go to the bookstore instead?" Hermione took Ginny's arm. She was going to clean out the entire pregnancy/child-rearing section if she had to.

"The bookstore? Hermione, it's more fun to look at clothes and furniture. You can look at books any old time. Besides, everyone knows that books can't really teach you how to raise a baby. I mean, sure, they can give you tips and ideas, but really, it's all about trial and error."

"Nonsense, if books didn't help they wouldn't be written at all. We wouldn't need all the baby experts and child psychologists. Now, come on, let's go."

Harry was on Cloud Nine. His little girl wanted to learn Quidditch, and she wanted him to teach her. He glanced down at Phoebe, who was walking merrily beside him, humming to herself. Then he looked at Luna; as always she was calm and serene, with a hint of a smile on her lips. Wow, this was great. This was all he ever wanted. Harry straightened his shoulders, flushed with pride.

"You know, perhaps it would be nice if you could teach some of the other children how to play, as well," Luna said suddenly. "Maybe hold a Quidditch camp. Ron could help. He enjoys Quidditch too."

"A Quidditch camp?"

"Why not, there are all kinds of camps for children. Frankly, I'm surprised no one's thought of this before."

It was a brilliant idea. Frankly, Harry was surprised that he hadn't thought of it before. Since the war ended he'd been in a state of quiet indecision about what he really wanted to do. He had enough money not to work, yet as much as he enjoyed being at home with Luna and Phoebe he couldn't help but feel like there was more he could do. Even though the world didn't really need protection against Voldemort anymore, part of him couldn't let go. He had to feel productive, to feel needed.

"Luna, this is perfect," Harry kissed her cheek. "You're a genius." He couldn't wait to get home and start planning. First thing, he would owl Ron and ask him if he wanted to help.

"Can we ask Samantha and Amanda to join, too?" Phoebe asked excitedly, referring to her cousins. "And Nathan Creevey, from school? He loves Quidditch."

"Of course, you can ask anyone you want, pixie. In fact, why don't you ask Damien Malfoy?" Luna suggested brightly and smiled, blissfully unaware of the stunned expressions on the faces of her husband and daughter.

"No way!" Phoebe declared.

Silently, Harry agreed with his daughter. He admired Luna's open-mindedness, but he would just as soon take on the younger Malfoy as a student, as he would go into business with his father. He was fairly certain that Draco felt the same way.

"I think I'll invite Cho over for tea tomorrow to talk about it," Luna went on, unfazed.

"Erm - Luna, I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"On the contrary, I think it's an excellent idea, Harry." Luna leaned on Harry's arm and rested her head on his shoulder as they walked.

"NO!" Phoebe stomped her foot. "I don't want Damien Malfoy at my Quidditch camp!"

"It's not your Quidditch camp, Phoebe, it's your father's camp. And I'm sure he wouldn't mind taking on anyone who wishes to learn. Right?" Luna turned her eyes to Harry.

"Well, yes, but Luna, I don't think Draco Malfoy would want Damien to learn from me." Nor would I want to teach him, he silently added. It was bad enough that the Malfoys lived within walking distance, which meant running into them around town, and also that Phoebe and Damien would be at Hogwarts together. Why make it worse?

"You won't know until you ask," Luna said resolutely. "I'll owl Cho as soon as we get home." No amount of fussing from Phoebe would change her mind.

So Luna was expecting again. Cho had to force down the feelings of envy that had begun to swell within her, as she sat outside the changing rooms waiting for Damien to emerge in one of the latest selections of Quidditch attire. She'd thought of little else since seeing the Potters a short time ago. She smoothed her hands over her skirt and smiled vaguely at a passing sales clerk.

"Good morning, Mrs. Malfoy," said the young man, with a slight inclination of his head.

Cho nodded. Yes, there was a certain amount of respect that came with the Malfoy name. Even though she hated everything Draco stood for, and cringed at the thought of his fingers on her skin, the Malfoy name did open a lot of doors for her. It gave her preferential treatment at all the dress shops, and four-star restaurants; it allowed her travel all over the world and luxury hotel suites with grand, sweeping views. She was never lacking for anything.

Well, perhaps one thing...Of course, being a Potter would afford her respect as well - but it would be a different kind of respect, the kind that came with being the wife of a hero, a good, honest man who saved the wizard world from the evil clutches of Voldemort. It would give her a genuine, warm kind of respect, the kind not bought with wealth and privilege.

Damien emerged from the changing room wearing a fur lined Quidditch cape in a rich emerald green, meant for playing in winter weather. It was ostentatious, and Cho thought it made him look like an ostrich. A green ostrich with dark hair. He didn't need another cape, of course he didn't; he had a closet full of clothes. But when he turned his dark eyes on her she found herself giving her approval. She didn't entirely dislike this kind of power, however; with the slightest tilt of her head she could spend money without a second thought. At least, she liked it well enough if she didn't think about where the money came from. Yes, she decided with satisfaction, when she had a daughter they would go to all the finest dress shops - her little girl would have only the best of everything.

Ron whistled cheerfully as he let himself into the flat a short time later after lunch, having parted ways with Neville at the main road, where Neville was off to Gran Longbottom's to look in on preparations for the wedding and reception.

"Hermione!" Ron called; but upon receiving no response, he shrugged, kicked off his shoes and got a Butterbeer from the refrigerator. Hermione would kill him for leaving his shoes in the middle of the floor, but instead of striking fear in Ron's mind, it only made him smile. She had a temper, that was for sure, and was very hotheaded and opinionated on just about everything. But she was all his, and he loved her, even if he didn't understand her most of the time.

He set down the butterbeer and paused to take an appraising glance at the front room, which was a comfortable mix of living room and dining area, with one main window that overlooked the street. There was, of course, the lingering smell of owl and cat - Crookshanks was often out on his own wanderings, stopping in for food and some unconditional spoiling from Hermione now and again, which suited Ron just fine; he doubted he would ever seriously like Crookshanks, even though he'd turned out to be right about Scabbers - well, Peter Pettigrew. But Crookshanks came with Hermione, and that he certainly wasn't about to give up.

Bookshelves lined the walls, jammed with Hermione's books. The only break came where Pigwidgeon's cage was perched in the corner (Pigwidgeon himself was taking a nap), and a tall standing lamp in the opposite corner, that stood next to the bulky armchair where Hermione liked to read in the evenings. Of course there was Ron's Chudley Cannons poster, mounted and framed over the mantle; he still liked to watch them dart and dive, it was relaxing to him. Sure, Hermione had argued against having it in the living room, but he'd given in on making the place look like a library, so she had to agree to the poster. Although Ron also noted Hermione had turned her armchair at an angle that would keep her from having to see it while she worked. But she did have their wedding photo framed and displayed on the side table next to her chair, where she could watch herself and Ron smile and kiss for the cameras, still flush with the excitement of being newlyweds.

Untucking his shirt from his trousers, he went to the bathroom. Then something in the wastebasket caught his attention, a blue and pink box with rather large lettering. Know Now - the Easy, At-Home Pregnancy Test. 99.99% accuracy!

It took Ron a second to realize what it was he'd just read. Heart racing, he grabbed the box. On the back was a diagram on how to read the test results. One line meant negative, two meant positive. So, which was it, then? He dropped the box on the floor and picked up the white plastic stick that resembled the one in the diagram.

Two lines. Hermione was pregnant? No, wait - maybe it was Ginny's. Maybe they'd come here...but why would they do that, Ginny had a perfectly good place of her own. No, it had to be Hermione's. But how could you tell by just looking at two blue lines - what was it, a spell? He stared at the plastic stick in his hand. No, of course not. It was a muggle contraption. That's why it made no sense. Either way, though, the test was positive.

"I'm a dad." Ron said this out loud, and a smile crept across his face. He let out a triumphant whoop, dropped the plastic stick back in the wastebasket, and ran into the living room. His yell aroused Pigwidgeon, who began to flutter and cackle madly in his cage. But Ron hardly noticed. He felt unstoppable, invincible. He couldn't wait to tell Harry. Now they could be dads together.

But he knew he'd have to wait for Hermione to break the news. If he let on even in the slightest that he already knew, she would be furious. Ron only hoped he could keep it to himself that long, he was already bursting with the news.

In fact, he would tell someone.

Ron strode over to the cage where Pigwidgeon was still fluttering about. "Quiet, you little twit! Guess what, Pig?! We're going to have a baby! I'm a dad!"

Suddenly it hit him. His knees began to weaken, and he momentarily lost his balance. A dad. A dad to a real baby. A little person completely dependent on him to survive. This wasn't like taking care of an owl, or a rat; a baby required responsibility, maturity, levelheaded thinking. Of course, a baby also required money.

Dancing lessons - what was he thinking about dancing lessons for, now that he was a father? He should have saved his money. He'd need a second job. No way he was making enough money covering Quidditch matches for the Daily Prophet. Maybe Gus needed help at the pub - he could work the bar in the evenings, how hard was it to fill a mug with beer, right? Hermione wouldn't be able to work for long, she'd have to leave her job, he'd be supporting the whole lot of them.

His head was swimming. Two minutes ago he'd been on top of the world, now he felt like an ant. A sick ant. "Oh, bloody hell," he moaned, and dropped his head into his hands.