The Littlest Miracle: Part I
Good evening everyone! I've got a brand new story for you all. It's a short long fic... there are five parts and then an epilogue. I got the idea for this story a few weeks ago and I just started writing it. I finished it earlier this week and I'm really happy with how it turned out. As always, thanks to my friend Brittney for being the beta for this story; she also gets credit for writing the summary as I stared at my screen for nearly two hours trying to come up with a summary and she wrote one in like five minutes.
Anyway, on to the story!
Title: The Littlest Miracle
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ron/Hermione
Genre: Drama
When: Post Deathly Hallows
Warnings: n/a
Story Links: Masterpost | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | Epilogue
Summary/Notes:
Years after giving up on expanding their family of four, Hermione discovers she's pregnant, but will the news bring their family joy or tear her and Ron apart?
Part I
Hermione had always prided herself with being ahead of the pack, especially at Christmas time, but this year the holidays had completely snuck up on her. The last week in particular had gone by in a snap and not a single thing on her ‘to do list’ had gotten crossed off.
Today hadn’t been any better either. Ron had been called into the office at the last minute, which had meant that she had to rush to the train station to get the kids and then take them back to the house in the middle of shopping with Ginny; a shopping trip that was much needed and had been put off too many times.
When she arrived home shortly after eight in the evening, she had every intention of telling Ron and the kids goodnight and then going to bed, but she knew that wasn’t going to happen as soon as she climbed out of the car. The feeling that something was amiss seeped through her faster than the cold air around her.
Opting to leave the bags in the car, she hurried up the stone walkway and unlocked the front door. Ron and Rose’s raised voices hit her as soon as she opened the door.
Sighing, Hermione closed the front door and then headed for the stairs, stopping briefly to take off her coat. As she neared the top, she spotted Hugo, her fourteen-year-old son, leaning against the doorframe to his room.
“What’s going on?” She questioned.
“Well,” he said, shaking his head to the left in a failed attempt to get his fringe out of his face. “I couldn’t understand most of what they said, because you know how they both get, but what I gather is that dad found something in the bathroom that he says belongs to Rose, but she insists that it isn’t hers.”
A queasy feeling flooded Hermione’s stomach. Surely, Ron hadn’t found it. She had hid it really well; at least, she had assumed so. Neither Ron nor the kids were known for looking past the first row of items in the cabinet.
Forcing herself to remain calm, Hermione followed the raised voices down the hall to Rose’s room. With her mind focused on one thing and one thing only, she missed the words that were thrown between father and daughter.
As she entered Rose’s room, her eyes went immediately to the white bottle in Ron’s hand. He was shaking it violently, his face growing redder with every shake of the bottle.
“Stop it,” she cried, softly. “Stop it.”
Neither heard her above their shouts.
Taking in a deep breath, she yelled, “STOP IT!”
The room fell silent as her husband and sixteen-year-old daughter turned to look at her.
“It’s not mine, Mum, I swear,” Rose said, quickly. Guilt filled Hermione at the sight of tears running down her beautiful daughter’s face. “You have to believe me.”
“Who else would it belong to?” Ron snapped.
Hermione winced at the bite that his words carried. She needed to tell him, but she hadn’t wanted it to be like this.
“It only takes one time,” Ron stated. “One time without a contraceptive charm or another form of protection.”
“Stop it,” Hermione ordered. “Just stop it.”
“The girl was obviously not paying attention when you gave her the talk,” Ron retorted. “So now she can hear it from me.”
“Why don’t you start listening to your daughter?” Hermione demanded. “It’s not hers, Ronald.”
“So she says,” Ron replied. “I’ve seen the way that Malfoy boy stares at her. If he -”
“If you want to lecture someone about using protection during sex then turn around and lecture me,” she cut him off. “And then you can lecture yourself.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked.
“It’s mine,” she sighed.
Anyway, on to the story!
Title: The Littlest Miracle
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ron/Hermione
Genre: Drama
When: Post Deathly Hallows
Warnings: n/a
Story Links: Masterpost | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | Epilogue
Summary/Notes:
Years after giving up on expanding their family of four, Hermione discovers she's pregnant, but will the news bring their family joy or tear her and Ron apart?
Part I
Hermione had always prided herself with being ahead of the pack, especially at Christmas time, but this year the holidays had completely snuck up on her. The last week in particular had gone by in a snap and not a single thing on her ‘to do list’ had gotten crossed off.
Today hadn’t been any better either. Ron had been called into the office at the last minute, which had meant that she had to rush to the train station to get the kids and then take them back to the house in the middle of shopping with Ginny; a shopping trip that was much needed and had been put off too many times.
When she arrived home shortly after eight in the evening, she had every intention of telling Ron and the kids goodnight and then going to bed, but she knew that wasn’t going to happen as soon as she climbed out of the car. The feeling that something was amiss seeped through her faster than the cold air around her.
Opting to leave the bags in the car, she hurried up the stone walkway and unlocked the front door. Ron and Rose’s raised voices hit her as soon as she opened the door.
Sighing, Hermione closed the front door and then headed for the stairs, stopping briefly to take off her coat. As she neared the top, she spotted Hugo, her fourteen-year-old son, leaning against the doorframe to his room.
“What’s going on?” She questioned.
“Well,” he said, shaking his head to the left in a failed attempt to get his fringe out of his face. “I couldn’t understand most of what they said, because you know how they both get, but what I gather is that dad found something in the bathroom that he says belongs to Rose, but she insists that it isn’t hers.”
A queasy feeling flooded Hermione’s stomach. Surely, Ron hadn’t found it. She had hid it really well; at least, she had assumed so. Neither Ron nor the kids were known for looking past the first row of items in the cabinet.
Forcing herself to remain calm, Hermione followed the raised voices down the hall to Rose’s room. With her mind focused on one thing and one thing only, she missed the words that were thrown between father and daughter.
As she entered Rose’s room, her eyes went immediately to the white bottle in Ron’s hand. He was shaking it violently, his face growing redder with every shake of the bottle.
“Stop it,” she cried, softly. “Stop it.”
Neither heard her above their shouts.
Taking in a deep breath, she yelled, “STOP IT!”
The room fell silent as her husband and sixteen-year-old daughter turned to look at her.
“It’s not mine, Mum, I swear,” Rose said, quickly. Guilt filled Hermione at the sight of tears running down her beautiful daughter’s face. “You have to believe me.”
“Who else would it belong to?” Ron snapped.
Hermione winced at the bite that his words carried. She needed to tell him, but she hadn’t wanted it to be like this.
“It only takes one time,” Ron stated. “One time without a contraceptive charm or another form of protection.”
“Stop it,” Hermione ordered. “Just stop it.”
“The girl was obviously not paying attention when you gave her the talk,” Ron retorted. “So now she can hear it from me.”
“Why don’t you start listening to your daughter?” Hermione demanded. “It’s not hers, Ronald.”
“So she says,” Ron replied. “I’ve seen the way that Malfoy boy stares at her. If he -”
“If you want to lecture someone about using protection during sex then turn around and lecture me,” she cut him off. “And then you can lecture yourself.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked.
“It’s mine,” she sighed.