HMNIF Ch 3
Title: Hello, My Name Is Fatherhood
Pairing: Hermione/Fred
Rating: PG-13-ish
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 Three: M
Fred woke up when his face collided with the floor. Lifting himself up, he surveyed the bed and promptly found the reason he had unexpectedly fallen out of it.
He was kicked out. Literally.
Anna’s leg was pushed out, her foot nearly hanging off the bed. Next to her, in the middle of the bed, Isabel was sleeping on her stomach, her arms tucked in close to her. Fred sighed and sleepily stumbled into the kitchen to fix himself a cup of coffee.
As he sat at the kitchen table, a warm mug in his hands, he thought about the past 24 hours and how, surprisingly, he wasn’t freaking out. He had been a little scared to begin with, when he was standing in St. Mungo’s staring at two pairs of familiar brown eyes. But now, as he thought about his daughters, he felt quite nice and mature.
Of course, it helped that the girls had Hermione’s sensibility, as well as her inherent need to be in control.
It was almost as if there had been someone knocking very quietly on his door for the past eight years and now that he had opened it, a man had sauntered in with a nametag that said “Hello, my name is Fatherhood.” And Fatherhood had settled himself into Fred’s couch and Fred didn’t seem to mind if Fatherhood stayed for a while. Even if Fatherhood stained his new dragon-skin jacket, Fatherhood could stay for as long as he liked.
However, there was always Motherhood. She could get in the way of things.
What if Hermione didn’t want Fred back in her life? What if she woke up, took her daughters and left, like she did before?
I’ll just find them, he thought. I won’t make the same mistake I did last time.
His thoughts were interrupted by George making his way to the coffee pot and saying, “So, you finally got to share that bed with two females at the same time, uh?”
“It’s more than you can say.”
George sat down next to his brother. “Hermione’d be proud of you,” he mumbled, taking a sip of coffee. When presented with a doubtful look from Fred, George continued. “You’re not panicking. You didn’t lose them or get them hurt. You took care of them.”
Fred shrugged. “They take care of themselves.”
“Children don’t just take care of themselves.”
“Yeah,” said Fred with a smile, “but these are Hermione’s children.”
“Good point. But they’re yours too. I’m surprised they haven’t turned you into a canary.”
“They tried.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Last night, after they found the stash in the closet.” Fred sat up straight with pride. “But they don’t call me a Master Prankster for nothing. I was ready for them.” He took a large sip of his coffee, and promptly turned into a canary.
There was an eruption of giggles from the hallway, and Anna and Isabel stumbled into view, clutching their stomachs in mirth.
George laughed too, and after a few seconds of squawking, Fred joined in.
When the humor of the situation died down, George offered the girls breakfast and they quickly requested pancakes.
“With chocolate chips,” said Fred. “Oh, and some eggs too. Maybe some bacon, if you feel like it.”
“Of course, dear,” said George sarcastically. “Would you like some fresh-squeezed orange juice with that?”
Fred ignored him, his attention focused on the owl sitting on their window sill. He rushed over and quickly opened the letter from the proffered leg.
“It’s from St. Mungo’s,” he said, reading the letter. “Hermione’s awake.”
* * *
“Uh, why don’t you two go in first,” said Fred, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“But . . .” started Anna, but she stopped when Isabel shook her head. They held hands as they entered the room and Fred watched the door shut behind them.
“I don’t think I should go in, George.”
“You’re afraid she’s going to get mad or something.”
“Yeah.”
“Fred.”
Fred turned and sighed. “I know. I need to talk to her, but I’ll just wait for a few minutes . . . or years.”
“It’s been nine years all ready,” pointed out George. “Why didn’t you go after her?”
It was the question the entire family had been wanting to know the answer to, but, until now, no one had dared ask it.
“She told me she didn’t love me.”
“And you think she meant it?”
“It’s Hermione, George!” said Fred, “You think she would say something like that and not mean it?”
George shrugged. Hermione wasn’t mean, but she was honest and he knew that. She didn’t throw casual phrases out of her mouth and hope that they had some desired effect; she chose her words carefully, knowing which ones would have a maximum impact.
“Maybe there was another reason? Maybe you said something . . .”
“What makes you think it was my fault?”
“It’s always your fault.”
Fred pretended to be outraged by such an accusation, but his shoulders quickly slumped in defeat. “It probably is my fault.”
Anna and Isabel skipped happily out of Hermione’s room a few minutes later.
“How is she?”asked Fred. “Does she look ok? Is she happy?”
“Mum wants to talk to you,” they said to Fred, and although they were both trying to hide their smiles, Isabel was the only one who was doing a good job of it.
“Well that’s got to be a good sign,” he said, poking Anna’s cheek. He nodded. “Right, so, er, I’ll, uh, be right back.”
He stepped towards the doorway and then stopped. A second later, George’s hand shoved him forward, and he stumbled into Hermione’s room.
(tbc)
Pairing: Hermione/Fred
Rating: PG-13-ish
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 Three: M
Fred woke up when his face collided with the floor. Lifting himself up, he surveyed the bed and promptly found the reason he had unexpectedly fallen out of it.
He was kicked out. Literally.
Anna’s leg was pushed out, her foot nearly hanging off the bed. Next to her, in the middle of the bed, Isabel was sleeping on her stomach, her arms tucked in close to her. Fred sighed and sleepily stumbled into the kitchen to fix himself a cup of coffee.
As he sat at the kitchen table, a warm mug in his hands, he thought about the past 24 hours and how, surprisingly, he wasn’t freaking out. He had been a little scared to begin with, when he was standing in St. Mungo’s staring at two pairs of familiar brown eyes. But now, as he thought about his daughters, he felt quite nice and mature.
Of course, it helped that the girls had Hermione’s sensibility, as well as her inherent need to be in control.
It was almost as if there had been someone knocking very quietly on his door for the past eight years and now that he had opened it, a man had sauntered in with a nametag that said “Hello, my name is Fatherhood.” And Fatherhood had settled himself into Fred’s couch and Fred didn’t seem to mind if Fatherhood stayed for a while. Even if Fatherhood stained his new dragon-skin jacket, Fatherhood could stay for as long as he liked.
However, there was always Motherhood. She could get in the way of things.
What if Hermione didn’t want Fred back in her life? What if she woke up, took her daughters and left, like she did before?
I’ll just find them, he thought. I won’t make the same mistake I did last time.
His thoughts were interrupted by George making his way to the coffee pot and saying, “So, you finally got to share that bed with two females at the same time, uh?”
“It’s more than you can say.”
George sat down next to his brother. “Hermione’d be proud of you,” he mumbled, taking a sip of coffee. When presented with a doubtful look from Fred, George continued. “You’re not panicking. You didn’t lose them or get them hurt. You took care of them.”
Fred shrugged. “They take care of themselves.”
“Children don’t just take care of themselves.”
“Yeah,” said Fred with a smile, “but these are Hermione’s children.”
“Good point. But they’re yours too. I’m surprised they haven’t turned you into a canary.”
“They tried.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Last night, after they found the stash in the closet.” Fred sat up straight with pride. “But they don’t call me a Master Prankster for nothing. I was ready for them.” He took a large sip of his coffee, and promptly turned into a canary.
There was an eruption of giggles from the hallway, and Anna and Isabel stumbled into view, clutching their stomachs in mirth.
George laughed too, and after a few seconds of squawking, Fred joined in.
When the humor of the situation died down, George offered the girls breakfast and they quickly requested pancakes.
“With chocolate chips,” said Fred. “Oh, and some eggs too. Maybe some bacon, if you feel like it.”
“Of course, dear,” said George sarcastically. “Would you like some fresh-squeezed orange juice with that?”
Fred ignored him, his attention focused on the owl sitting on their window sill. He rushed over and quickly opened the letter from the proffered leg.
“It’s from St. Mungo’s,” he said, reading the letter. “Hermione’s awake.”
* * *
“Uh, why don’t you two go in first,” said Fred, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“But . . .” started Anna, but she stopped when Isabel shook her head. They held hands as they entered the room and Fred watched the door shut behind them.
“I don’t think I should go in, George.”
“You’re afraid she’s going to get mad or something.”
“Yeah.”
“Fred.”
Fred turned and sighed. “I know. I need to talk to her, but I’ll just wait for a few minutes . . . or years.”
“It’s been nine years all ready,” pointed out George. “Why didn’t you go after her?”
It was the question the entire family had been wanting to know the answer to, but, until now, no one had dared ask it.
“She told me she didn’t love me.”
“And you think she meant it?”
“It’s Hermione, George!” said Fred, “You think she would say something like that and not mean it?”
George shrugged. Hermione wasn’t mean, but she was honest and he knew that. She didn’t throw casual phrases out of her mouth and hope that they had some desired effect; she chose her words carefully, knowing which ones would have a maximum impact.
“Maybe there was another reason? Maybe you said something . . .”
“What makes you think it was my fault?”
“It’s always your fault.”
Fred pretended to be outraged by such an accusation, but his shoulders quickly slumped in defeat. “It probably is my fault.”
Anna and Isabel skipped happily out of Hermione’s room a few minutes later.
“How is she?”asked Fred. “Does she look ok? Is she happy?”
“Mum wants to talk to you,” they said to Fred, and although they were both trying to hide their smiles, Isabel was the only one who was doing a good job of it.
“Well that’s got to be a good sign,” he said, poking Anna’s cheek. He nodded. “Right, so, er, I’ll, uh, be right back.”
He stepped towards the doorway and then stopped. A second later, George’s hand shoved him forward, and he stumbled into Hermione’s room.
(tbc)