Where Is Your Boy Tonight?

Where is your boy tonight? I hope he is a gentlemen.

The hostel was run by vampires. Sort of.

Hermione climbed the rickety steps, her scuffed boots dragging loudly. Over her shoulder was a bag hemmed too many times in all the most worn places, her tan jacket had come untied to reveal a dapper grey shirt stretched tight over a pregnant belly, and her insane hair was held away from her face by chopsticks from a dinner when things had been better.

*

"How do they get the fortune in the cookie?" asked Ron vaguely.

Hermione shrugged at him loosely, her mouth full of tangy noodles, this was something not even she knew the answers to. Their flat was bare, as the flat of all newlyweds was destined to be for a regulatory six months, they had camped on the bare wooden floor, food propped on crates and a jar of blue bell flames providing the necessary light.

"Firewhisky?" questioned Ron, changing the topic to one he was generally more comfortable with. Without waiting for an answer, he poured Hermione a glass that she refused.

In response, Hermione conjured herself a nice, cool, glass of water and a pack of Tarot cards to use as a coaster. "Not drinking Ron," she explained simply.

"Why not?" he asked blankly.

Hermione blinked at him.

"Are--?"

"Yes."

*

The room in the hostel was terrible, but it was far better than staying with Harry, better for the guilt to fester. The bed was a mattress and nothing more, covered in dust. Fingerprints stained everything, uneasy memories of the people here first, other people running...weather they were running to or from their problems, Hermione was equally unsure.

She couldn't be sure of much anymore. It was too much work.

With heavy feet, Hermione struggled toward the bed, falling onto it with a flump that brought dust up from the sheets and clouded her vision. Her fingers lost their hold on her bag and it sagged onto the floor. For what seemed like more than three minutes, Hermione stared at the water stained ceiling, blinking, her eyelashes pressing on the glass of her black rimmed rectangles specs. The mascaras clumped randomly, most of it under her fingernails from where she's wiped it off after the tears.

*

"There are certain things you would have been better off not knowing," sobbed Hermione softly as she saw Ron standing by their bed, her nightstand drawer wrenched open, contents everywhere, a meticulously creased square of parchment clenched in his fist.

Ron gaped wordlessly at her before regaining his ability to speak. "So you wouldn't have ever told me? You would have let me live an illusion, a delusion?"

Biting her bottom lip Hermione slid to the floor, her back pressed harshly against the bedroom door. "You would have been happy," she breathed. "Happy Ron, you would have been happy damnit!"

"Would you have told Fred?"

From her heap on the floor Hermione looked up at the enraged form of Ron, her husband, the answer was so obvious to her, so simple. "No, if I didn't tell the man I love what makes you think I would have told Fred?"

"You love me?" gasped Ron, insult etched in every line on his young face. "You married me knowing full well you were having my brother's baby...you...you're...go away Hermione, just go away."

Coolly Hermione regained her composure, standing up proudly, her eyes leaking hurt and angst, "All I wanted was for my baby to have a hero for a father."

"Good-bye."

*

As the three minutes came to a shattering halt she heard steps on the stairs and a light flickered on in the hallway, giving the figure leaning against the door a silhouette. "Bugger off," she said eloquently.

"He does love you," commented Fred lightly, walking into the shabby room, stooping to pick up Hermione's bag and lean it gently against the wall.

"It would have been an illusion, Ron was right for a change," smarted Hermione bitterly. She continued staring passively at the ceiling, hoping some great meteor would plunge down and save her from this conversation.

It wasn't that she wanted to die or anything, it was more that she thought now a timely moment to end Fred's existence. Kicking her shoes off Fred clambered onto the bed, a flick of his wrist put a mountain of pillows at the headboard, leaning against them he said, "Come here."

The sound of his voice caught her breath reluctantly, as it always did, probably always would. Those two words broke her apart; Hermione crawled between Fred's legs, leaning against the warm planes of his chest, her body heaving with tears, his arms looping themselves around her waist, rubbing her belly comfortingly. "Did I love him?" choked Hermione, "Or were we just the safe choice? Were we just 'meant to be together'?"

Fred chuckled lightly and whispered into Hermione's ear, warm breath sending shivers up her spine as she continued to sob, "He would be here instead of me if you were a stupid destiny, but he's not here, is he Hermione? Where is your boy tonight?"

*

Flower petals rained down on Hermione from all sides, she ran though the small crowd of friends, white skirts caught in her hand, her other hand clutched in Ron's much larger one.

Suddenly the crowds of friends broke the happy couple apart. Hermione was swarmed with pastel wearing elders complimenting her tastes in dress and hair and music selection, saying that doves were very last century, it was quite a lot of in-laws to be meeting in one fell swoop.

Desperately she looked for Ron in the herd, instead she felt a tug on her elbow and found herself standing before Fred Weasley, "Where is Ron?" she asked anxiously.

Fred steadied Hermione by her shoulders, rotating her around slowly before raising a finger and pointing her in the right direction.

*

The sunlight filtered though the greasy window and Hermione awoke with a yawn, Fred's arm was thrown over her, this was a very familiar position from days wrapped in sheets under anonymous names on mental health days.

Rolling over she saw Fred was already awake; he smiled tightly at her, his pale features telling her he'd stayed p all night long. "He never came for me?" cringed Hermione, dragging her wedding ring off her finger and placing it on the pillow between her and Fred.

"You tried to kill me with the chopsticks in your hair," replied Fred.

Hermione was not distracted, "You're still here though."

"Betting more observant by the moment."

"Fred?" gulped Hermione, "What are we going to do? How do we tell people? Do I get a divorce? How do put on diapers?"

Fred pressed a finger to her mouth, "Well I think we should start by telling Ron, that seems to be where the mistake was made last time."

*

"Have you told your Mum Ron?" asked Hermione as she rummaged though the kitchen cabinets looking for her sewing kit, she needed to let out her jeans around the waist some more.

"Nah," he said, pressing the needles and thread into her hand, "I figure we should have a name first."

"Name?"

Ron helped Hermione down and slid a coffee cup to her, steaming and light beige with cream. "What do you think of naming him Fred?"

Unsure Hermione choked, "After your brother?"

"Yep."