HMNIF, Chapter Two
Title: Hello, My Name Is Fatherhood
Pairing: Hermione/Fred
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "It felt like . . . someone barged into his house, waving a name tag in his face that said: Hello, my name is Fatherhood. Nice to meet you."
Chapter Two: A
Fred entered the room a few minutes later and stood beside Hermione’s bed, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He swallowed, feeling like he should say something optimistic, something that would make Anna and Isabel feel better. He should comfort them, because that’s what fathers do.
“She’ll be fine,” he said, uncomfortably.
“We know,” said Isabel. “But . . . .” She looked uncertainly at her sister and then at George lingering in the doorway. “It’s . . . when will she wake up?”
“When the Skele-Gro is done working,” said George. “The nurse said she should be ready to go home tomorrow.”
“Right,” said Anna, “so that means we’ll need somewhere to stay for the night.”
Anna and Isabel looked expectantly at Fred. Fred looked expectantly at George
“You can stay with us,” said George, a small smile on his face. “We’ll have to stop by the Burrow first.” Fred’s eyes widened in panic, but George continued. “The Burrow is the house we grew up in. Every Friday we stop by and have dinner.”
“So, we’ll get to meet family?” asked Isabel excitedly.
George nodded. “Grandma and Grandpa and Uncle Ron and Harry and Aunt Ginny, and I think maybe Uncle Charlie.”
The girls looked towards their father, noticing a slightly frightened look on his face. He tried to smile. “Mum will be happy. She likes getting new grandchildren.”
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Mrs. Weasley did indeed like getting new grandchildren, but she much preferred to have nine months to get used to the idea. “I can’t believe you . . . .” she said, shutting the kitchen door behind her.
“Can’t believe I what?” said Fred, sitting down at the kitchen table tiredly. He ran his hand through his hair and looked up at his mother.
“I think we need to talk about Hermione. And don’t look at me like that Fred! Its about time you discuss what happened between you two. It’s been nine years since we’ve heard from her. Nine years! That’s nine years she’s had to raise those two girls all by herself. The poor girl!”
“It’s her own fault she had to raise them by herself!” he said, standing up. “It’s not like she told me about them before she left. I didn’t know she was pregnant. She didn’t tell me anything. Just said she couldn’t be with me anymore and she left!”
Mrs. Weasley put her hand on Fred’s shoulder. “You must frightened, dear. After all you weren’t expecting to become a father so soon. But, Fred, you are a father. And it’s up to you to take care of them.”
“But I can’t!”
“Nonsense,” she said, “You’ll make a wonderful father.”
He scoffed in disbelief, but his mother only gave him a quick hug and pushed him out of the kitchen. Fred looked vaguely around the room. George was eating and talking to Charlie. His father was asking Anna about a weird muggle contraption (“Now, can you tell me the function of this?”) , while Isabel was questioning Ron and Harry about her mother and their adventures at Hogwarts (“She once mentioned something about a three-headed dog . . .”).
Fred sat down on the sofa, across from Isabel and a few feet away from Anna. Unsure of what to say, he remained silent and simply watched his daughters as they interacted with his family-their family. They were both smart and inquisitive, polite and proper. Their hair was red and bushy and their eyes were a dark brown. Freckles lined their noses (noses that looked like Hermione’s). But a quirky sense of humor was discernable under their polite answers and questions; they would laugh at jokes that would make Hermione sigh and shake her head sadly. They even recounted a few of their own exploits in mischievous acts.
Fred was highly impressed and a small smile appeared on his face. But then, suddenly Anna was sitting next to him and Isabel was standing in front of him and reality plopped itself into his lap.
He had to take care of them. They were his responsibility.
Responsibility is a scary word, and not just because it had six syllables. It meant: he wasn’t his own person anymore. While George had always been with him, George could (more-or-less) take care of himself. But nine-year old girls didn’t take care of themselves. He had to make sure they didn’t hurt themselves, he had to get them to bed at the right time, had to make sure they were fed-had to make sure they were fed nutritional food and not just candy . . . .
Anna smiled lopsidedly. “We have everything planned out.”
“We can stop by our home to get some things for the night. And then in the morning, you can take us to go see how Mum is doing.”
“If that’s all right with you.”
Fred nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine.”
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“Should have guessed,” he said, looking around the room. Everything was neat and organized, clean and dusted. The wood furniture shone brilliantly and the walls were lined with bookshelves, sparkling with leather-bound books.
“Mum says that knowledge is very important,” said Isabel.
“It is,” said Fred, sitting down on the sofa and propping his feet up on the coffee table.
“She also says that we shouldn’t put on our feet up on the table.”
He nodded and removed his feet from the table. “Why don’t you go get your things. I’ll wait here.”
Anna smiled slyly. “Mum’s room is the first door on the left.”
Fred shrugged as if he didn’t care, but, as soon as Anna and Isabel were in their rooms, he tip-toed towards the door Anna had mentioned.
Hermione’s bedroom was similar to the living room: neat and tidy and filled with books. The walls were stark white and he had the impression that she had just recently moved in. There were a few pictures on the wall, one of Hermione’s parents and a few of Anna and Isabel. He sat down on the bed, his eyes drawn to the bedside table. An open book lay on the table, her glasses sitting next to it. Curious, he opened the drawer and found a notebook, a few random snapshots of a vacation to Paris, a scrapbook, and a letter. The letter was addressed to him and he held it between his fingers.
If Hermione was there, she would tell him he was above snooping through her private things. He knew, however, that he really wasn’t.
The letter, he assumed, was a good thing. It meant that she was thinking of him, and he slipped the thin paper out of the envelope . . . .
“We’re ready!” they called from the living room.
He jumped up, thrusting the letter back in the drawer. “Right, coming.”
“Did you find the letter?” asked Isabel, when he reentered the living room. “She wrote it when we first moved in here, but she never mailed it.”
“Should you know that?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No, but what Mum doesn’t know, won’t hurt her.”
He smiled and ruffled her hair. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Go get some ice-cream.”
“Can we get five scoops?”they asked excitedly.
“Of course!”
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Later that night, filled ice-cream and sugar and feeling sleepy, Fred led Anna and Isabel inside his flat above the store. George was still up, stooped over a bubbling cauldron. He was working on a new product, but when Fred and his daughters entered, he removed the heating charm and let the potion cool.
“I set up the spare bedroom for them,” he said.
“We have a spare bedroom?”
While the girls got ready for bed, Fred told George about the letter and what Isabel had told him.
“You think she was going to tell you?”
“Yeah, I think. I just . . .why did she leave? She must have known she was pregnant.”
“Maybe that was the why she left . . . .” said George.
Fred was about to reply, when Anna and Isabel came out of the spare room to tell them goodnight. They both hugged George around the waist.
“‘Night Anna, Isabel,” he said.
When they came to Fred, he instinctively kneeled down to their level. They hugged him at the same time, Anna on his left and Isabel on the right. Anna hesitantly gave him a kiss on his cheek.
He smiled lopsidedly (the same smile Anna had given him earlier), and said “Good night.”
They made their way down the hallway and into their bedroom, shutting the door behind them. George sighed tiredly and placed his hand on Fred’s shoulder.
“Good night, Fred.”
“‘Night, George,” he replied.
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The clock on his bedside table read 1:30. “What is it? Are you okay?” asked Fred, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.
Anna and Isabel hovered in the doorway hesitantly. “Sorry to bother you,” said Isabel.
“It’s just, we keep having nightmares, about Mum.”
Fred nodded knowingly. “Come on,” he said, beckoning them closer and patting the space on either side of him.
They jumped up on the bed and settled under the blankets.
“Everything will be fine,” he said sleepily, putting his arms around them. “We’ll see Hermione tomorrow and she’ll be awake and smiling and things can go back to . . . .” His voice drifted off as his eyelids closed.
Anna and Isabel fell asleep, wondering if things would go back to normal tomorrow-wondering if this would be the last time they would see their father.
(tbc)
Pairing: Hermione/Fred
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "It felt like . . . someone barged into his house, waving a name tag in his face that said: Hello, my name is Fatherhood. Nice to meet you."
Chapter Two: A
Fred entered the room a few minutes later and stood beside Hermione’s bed, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He swallowed, feeling like he should say something optimistic, something that would make Anna and Isabel feel better. He should comfort them, because that’s what fathers do.
“She’ll be fine,” he said, uncomfortably.
“We know,” said Isabel. “But . . . .” She looked uncertainly at her sister and then at George lingering in the doorway. “It’s . . . when will she wake up?”
“When the Skele-Gro is done working,” said George. “The nurse said she should be ready to go home tomorrow.”
“Right,” said Anna, “so that means we’ll need somewhere to stay for the night.”
Anna and Isabel looked expectantly at Fred. Fred looked expectantly at George
“You can stay with us,” said George, a small smile on his face. “We’ll have to stop by the Burrow first.” Fred’s eyes widened in panic, but George continued. “The Burrow is the house we grew up in. Every Friday we stop by and have dinner.”
“So, we’ll get to meet family?” asked Isabel excitedly.
George nodded. “Grandma and Grandpa and Uncle Ron and Harry and Aunt Ginny, and I think maybe Uncle Charlie.”
The girls looked towards their father, noticing a slightly frightened look on his face. He tried to smile. “Mum will be happy. She likes getting new grandchildren.”
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Mrs. Weasley did indeed like getting new grandchildren, but she much preferred to have nine months to get used to the idea. “I can’t believe you . . . .” she said, shutting the kitchen door behind her.
“Can’t believe I what?” said Fred, sitting down at the kitchen table tiredly. He ran his hand through his hair and looked up at his mother.
“I think we need to talk about Hermione. And don’t look at me like that Fred! Its about time you discuss what happened between you two. It’s been nine years since we’ve heard from her. Nine years! That’s nine years she’s had to raise those two girls all by herself. The poor girl!”
“It’s her own fault she had to raise them by herself!” he said, standing up. “It’s not like she told me about them before she left. I didn’t know she was pregnant. She didn’t tell me anything. Just said she couldn’t be with me anymore and she left!”
Mrs. Weasley put her hand on Fred’s shoulder. “You must frightened, dear. After all you weren’t expecting to become a father so soon. But, Fred, you are a father. And it’s up to you to take care of them.”
“But I can’t!”
“Nonsense,” she said, “You’ll make a wonderful father.”
He scoffed in disbelief, but his mother only gave him a quick hug and pushed him out of the kitchen. Fred looked vaguely around the room. George was eating and talking to Charlie. His father was asking Anna about a weird muggle contraption (“Now, can you tell me the function of this?”) , while Isabel was questioning Ron and Harry about her mother and their adventures at Hogwarts (“She once mentioned something about a three-headed dog . . .”).
Fred sat down on the sofa, across from Isabel and a few feet away from Anna. Unsure of what to say, he remained silent and simply watched his daughters as they interacted with his family-their family. They were both smart and inquisitive, polite and proper. Their hair was red and bushy and their eyes were a dark brown. Freckles lined their noses (noses that looked like Hermione’s). But a quirky sense of humor was discernable under their polite answers and questions; they would laugh at jokes that would make Hermione sigh and shake her head sadly. They even recounted a few of their own exploits in mischievous acts.
Fred was highly impressed and a small smile appeared on his face. But then, suddenly Anna was sitting next to him and Isabel was standing in front of him and reality plopped itself into his lap.
He had to take care of them. They were his responsibility.
Responsibility is a scary word, and not just because it had six syllables. It meant: he wasn’t his own person anymore. While George had always been with him, George could (more-or-less) take care of himself. But nine-year old girls didn’t take care of themselves. He had to make sure they didn’t hurt themselves, he had to get them to bed at the right time, had to make sure they were fed-had to make sure they were fed nutritional food and not just candy . . . .
Anna smiled lopsidedly. “We have everything planned out.”
“We can stop by our home to get some things for the night. And then in the morning, you can take us to go see how Mum is doing.”
“If that’s all right with you.”
Fred nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine.”
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“Should have guessed,” he said, looking around the room. Everything was neat and organized, clean and dusted. The wood furniture shone brilliantly and the walls were lined with bookshelves, sparkling with leather-bound books.
“Mum says that knowledge is very important,” said Isabel.
“It is,” said Fred, sitting down on the sofa and propping his feet up on the coffee table.
“She also says that we shouldn’t put on our feet up on the table.”
He nodded and removed his feet from the table. “Why don’t you go get your things. I’ll wait here.”
Anna smiled slyly. “Mum’s room is the first door on the left.”
Fred shrugged as if he didn’t care, but, as soon as Anna and Isabel were in their rooms, he tip-toed towards the door Anna had mentioned.
Hermione’s bedroom was similar to the living room: neat and tidy and filled with books. The walls were stark white and he had the impression that she had just recently moved in. There were a few pictures on the wall, one of Hermione’s parents and a few of Anna and Isabel. He sat down on the bed, his eyes drawn to the bedside table. An open book lay on the table, her glasses sitting next to it. Curious, he opened the drawer and found a notebook, a few random snapshots of a vacation to Paris, a scrapbook, and a letter. The letter was addressed to him and he held it between his fingers.
If Hermione was there, she would tell him he was above snooping through her private things. He knew, however, that he really wasn’t.
The letter, he assumed, was a good thing. It meant that she was thinking of him, and he slipped the thin paper out of the envelope . . . .
“We’re ready!” they called from the living room.
He jumped up, thrusting the letter back in the drawer. “Right, coming.”
“Did you find the letter?” asked Isabel, when he reentered the living room. “She wrote it when we first moved in here, but she never mailed it.”
“Should you know that?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No, but what Mum doesn’t know, won’t hurt her.”
He smiled and ruffled her hair. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Go get some ice-cream.”
“Can we get five scoops?”they asked excitedly.
“Of course!”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Later that night, filled ice-cream and sugar and feeling sleepy, Fred led Anna and Isabel inside his flat above the store. George was still up, stooped over a bubbling cauldron. He was working on a new product, but when Fred and his daughters entered, he removed the heating charm and let the potion cool.
“I set up the spare bedroom for them,” he said.
“We have a spare bedroom?”
While the girls got ready for bed, Fred told George about the letter and what Isabel had told him.
“You think she was going to tell you?”
“Yeah, I think. I just . . .why did she leave? She must have known she was pregnant.”
“Maybe that was the why she left . . . .” said George.
Fred was about to reply, when Anna and Isabel came out of the spare room to tell them goodnight. They both hugged George around the waist.
“‘Night Anna, Isabel,” he said.
When they came to Fred, he instinctively kneeled down to their level. They hugged him at the same time, Anna on his left and Isabel on the right. Anna hesitantly gave him a kiss on his cheek.
He smiled lopsidedly (the same smile Anna had given him earlier), and said “Good night.”
They made their way down the hallway and into their bedroom, shutting the door behind them. George sighed tiredly and placed his hand on Fred’s shoulder.
“Good night, Fred.”
“‘Night, George,” he replied.
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The clock on his bedside table read 1:30. “What is it? Are you okay?” asked Fred, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.
Anna and Isabel hovered in the doorway hesitantly. “Sorry to bother you,” said Isabel.
“It’s just, we keep having nightmares, about Mum.”
Fred nodded knowingly. “Come on,” he said, beckoning them closer and patting the space on either side of him.
They jumped up on the bed and settled under the blankets.
“Everything will be fine,” he said sleepily, putting his arms around them. “We’ll see Hermione tomorrow and she’ll be awake and smiling and things can go back to . . . .” His voice drifted off as his eyelids closed.
Anna and Isabel fell asleep, wondering if things would go back to normal tomorrow-wondering if this would be the last time they would see their father.
(tbc)