HMNIF Chapter 4
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."
A/N:I hope you enjoy this chapter (and I haven’t read through it as thoroughly as I usually do, so if you find any mistakes, let me know!).
“Hello, My Name Is Fatherhood”
Chapter Four: I
Hermione sat in the middle of the bed, the sheets placed over her legs, her hands folded in her lap. She smiled slightly, as he stumbled in, but then her face turned serious and Fred began to worry.
“You look good,” he said, hoping a compliment might help ease the tension.
It didn’t.
He walked over to her and tried to smile charmingly. Opening his mouth, he started to apologize.
“I’m sorry,” said Hermione.
This left Fred standing next to her with his mouth hanging open, his own apology stuck in his throat.
“You don’t have to look so shocked,” said Hermione with a short laugh.
Merlin, he missed her laugh.
“I, er, I was going to say the same thing.”
Whatever humor was in her face disappeared, replaced with guilt. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Fred. I’m the one who made the mistake.”
“Getting hit by a car is a pretty big mistake.”
“Fred, this isn’t a joke.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry for leaving.” She averted her eyes, preferring to examine her hands, rather than Fred’s confused look. “I should have told you. I shouldn’t have left without telling you that I was pregnant, and I shouldn’t have left at all, really. I should have talked to you. They’re your children too, and it was wrong and selfish of me to keep them away.”
Fred opened his mouth to say something, to comfort her, tell her that it was ok, because any sane woman would run if she found out she was carrying his offspring. But, somehow, he didn’t think that would be the right thing to say. “Why’d you leave?”
“I was scared.” She looked up at him, and he saw tears forming in her eyes. She sniffled. “I was scared that you wouldn’t want children yet; I was scared that you wouldn’t be able to handle it. You were twenty-five and still playing pranks on your little brother. I thought . . . .”
“It’s ok,” he said, reaching out to touch her hand.
She shook her head. “No it’s not. I was embarrassed. We weren’t even engaged, and I was pregnant. Our one time and I got pregnant.”
“Well,” said Fred, his innate ability to be clever (or a prat, however you look at it) refusing to be squashed any longer, “I guess I’m just too good for a contraception charm, eh?”
He watched her face cautiously. It was serious, her mouth straight, but then something inside of her let go and she smiled. “Still, it was wrong for me to handle it like I did.”
“It’s ok, really. I understand.” He wanted to say that it was okay because there really wasn’t a book for those kind of things, but he didn’t think he should push his luck.
“The girls are really fond of you,” she said. “And if you want to spend more time with them it can be arranged.”
Fred shrugged. “I’d like that, but, you know, I’d really like to get to know their mother, too. I mean, anyone who could raise such wonderful children, must be . . . .”
Before he could finish, she leaned up and planted a kiss on his cheek. His skin burned with her touch and he remembered exactly why he had fallen in love with her. She made him feel good. She made him a better person. And, thinking on the past nine years, he was probably going to be a better father now that he had had to deal with the loss of his one and only love. He was older and maturer. The loss of Hermione had been slap from reality; he had to grow up, realize that life wasn’t only about joking.
He had to realize that he loved her more passionately than he did his joke shop.
“Are you crying?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Don’t cry.” He wiped her tears away with a small laugh and sat down next to her on the bed. “I love you, Hermione.”
His face, she noted, was the same, but he was older (as was she). There was maturity in his eyes and movements, and she figured that it had probably always been there; it only needed nine years to come out.
“I love you too, Fred, and I’m sor-”
He cut her off by placing a kiss on her lips. “I missed that,” he whispered.
“I missed . . . it . . . too.”
As she spoke, Hermione’s gaze had shifted to the doorway behind him, and he turned to see what she was looking at.
A piece of flesh-colored string peeked around the doorway.
Spies.
* * *
George, Anna, and Isabel were crouched on the other side of the wall. George was listening to an extendable ear, while Anna and Isabel waited excitedly for a report from him, which was due any second now . . . .
George’s eyes suddenly grew wide and he dropped the extendable ear. “Too much information,” he said, trying to erase the image that had popped into his head.
His brother and Hermione . . . . Ew.
There was laughter coming from the room and, their cover blown, they entered.
“That wasn’t very nice,” sad George. “What if it had been one of them listening?” He pointed to the girls, who had jumped on the bed next to their mother.
“They’re part Hermione,” said Fred, with a shrug.
George just shook his head. “So, Hermione. Fancy meeting you here. You come here often, do you?”
“Every Thursday,” she said dryly.
“I usually only come on Fridays, but I decided to come and see an old friend.”
“I missed you George.”
“I missed you too. And I hope you don’t mind, but I sent a letter off to the Burrow letting everyone know that you’re awake and doing good.”
“That’s fine,” replied Hermione.
They continued talking, catching up, until they were interrupted by Ron and Harry standing uncertainly in the doorway.
“Don’t hover, you two,” she said, falling back into a pattern of familiarity. “Come in.”
Harry kissed Hermione’s cheek and Ron hugged her. They both said it was good to see her, and although they had questions (Where were you? Why did you leave? Why didn’t you write?) they didn’t ask them.
“Mummy,” said Anna, “Uncle Harry told us that you once fought a three-headed dog. Is that true?”
“There wasn’t really much fighting. A lot running, though. And a lot of screaming, especially from Ron.”
Ron’s cheeks colored faintly. That was one thing that never changed. “I was eleven,” he said, “give me a break.”
“Oh, by the way,” said Harry, “Mrs. Weasley said she was going to plan to a Welcome Home party for you. I mean, if you’re planning on coming home . . . .”
“Yes,” she said, with a nod. She felt Fred’s hand tighten around her own.“I’m planning on coming home.”
(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."
A/N:I hope you enjoy this chapter (and I haven’t read through it as thoroughly as I usually do, so if you find any mistakes, let me know!).
“Hello, My Name Is Fatherhood”
Chapter Four: I
Hermione sat in the middle of the bed, the sheets placed over her legs, her hands folded in her lap. She smiled slightly, as he stumbled in, but then her face turned serious and Fred began to worry.
“You look good,” he said, hoping a compliment might help ease the tension.
It didn’t.
He walked over to her and tried to smile charmingly. Opening his mouth, he started to apologize.
“I’m sorry,” said Hermione.
This left Fred standing next to her with his mouth hanging open, his own apology stuck in his throat.
“You don’t have to look so shocked,” said Hermione with a short laugh.
Merlin, he missed her laugh.
“I, er, I was going to say the same thing.”
Whatever humor was in her face disappeared, replaced with guilt. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Fred. I’m the one who made the mistake.”
“Getting hit by a car is a pretty big mistake.”
“Fred, this isn’t a joke.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry for leaving.” She averted her eyes, preferring to examine her hands, rather than Fred’s confused look. “I should have told you. I shouldn’t have left without telling you that I was pregnant, and I shouldn’t have left at all, really. I should have talked to you. They’re your children too, and it was wrong and selfish of me to keep them away.”
Fred opened his mouth to say something, to comfort her, tell her that it was ok, because any sane woman would run if she found out she was carrying his offspring. But, somehow, he didn’t think that would be the right thing to say. “Why’d you leave?”
“I was scared.” She looked up at him, and he saw tears forming in her eyes. She sniffled. “I was scared that you wouldn’t want children yet; I was scared that you wouldn’t be able to handle it. You were twenty-five and still playing pranks on your little brother. I thought . . . .”
“It’s ok,” he said, reaching out to touch her hand.
She shook her head. “No it’s not. I was embarrassed. We weren’t even engaged, and I was pregnant. Our one time and I got pregnant.”
“Well,” said Fred, his innate ability to be clever (or a prat, however you look at it) refusing to be squashed any longer, “I guess I’m just too good for a contraception charm, eh?”
He watched her face cautiously. It was serious, her mouth straight, but then something inside of her let go and she smiled. “Still, it was wrong for me to handle it like I did.”
“It’s ok, really. I understand.” He wanted to say that it was okay because there really wasn’t a book for those kind of things, but he didn’t think he should push his luck.
“The girls are really fond of you,” she said. “And if you want to spend more time with them it can be arranged.”
Fred shrugged. “I’d like that, but, you know, I’d really like to get to know their mother, too. I mean, anyone who could raise such wonderful children, must be . . . .”
Before he could finish, she leaned up and planted a kiss on his cheek. His skin burned with her touch and he remembered exactly why he had fallen in love with her. She made him feel good. She made him a better person. And, thinking on the past nine years, he was probably going to be a better father now that he had had to deal with the loss of his one and only love. He was older and maturer. The loss of Hermione had been slap from reality; he had to grow up, realize that life wasn’t only about joking.
He had to realize that he loved her more passionately than he did his joke shop.
“Are you crying?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Don’t cry.” He wiped her tears away with a small laugh and sat down next to her on the bed. “I love you, Hermione.”
His face, she noted, was the same, but he was older (as was she). There was maturity in his eyes and movements, and she figured that it had probably always been there; it only needed nine years to come out.
“I love you too, Fred, and I’m sor-”
He cut her off by placing a kiss on her lips. “I missed that,” he whispered.
“I missed . . . it . . . too.”
As she spoke, Hermione’s gaze had shifted to the doorway behind him, and he turned to see what she was looking at.
A piece of flesh-colored string peeked around the doorway.
Spies.
* * *
George, Anna, and Isabel were crouched on the other side of the wall. George was listening to an extendable ear, while Anna and Isabel waited excitedly for a report from him, which was due any second now . . . .
George’s eyes suddenly grew wide and he dropped the extendable ear. “Too much information,” he said, trying to erase the image that had popped into his head.
His brother and Hermione . . . . Ew.
There was laughter coming from the room and, their cover blown, they entered.
“That wasn’t very nice,” sad George. “What if it had been one of them listening?” He pointed to the girls, who had jumped on the bed next to their mother.
“They’re part Hermione,” said Fred, with a shrug.
George just shook his head. “So, Hermione. Fancy meeting you here. You come here often, do you?”
“Every Thursday,” she said dryly.
“I usually only come on Fridays, but I decided to come and see an old friend.”
“I missed you George.”
“I missed you too. And I hope you don’t mind, but I sent a letter off to the Burrow letting everyone know that you’re awake and doing good.”
“That’s fine,” replied Hermione.
They continued talking, catching up, until they were interrupted by Ron and Harry standing uncertainly in the doorway.
“Don’t hover, you two,” she said, falling back into a pattern of familiarity. “Come in.”
Harry kissed Hermione’s cheek and Ron hugged her. They both said it was good to see her, and although they had questions (Where were you? Why did you leave? Why didn’t you write?) they didn’t ask them.
“Mummy,” said Anna, “Uncle Harry told us that you once fought a three-headed dog. Is that true?”
“There wasn’t really much fighting. A lot running, though. And a lot of screaming, especially from Ron.”
Ron’s cheeks colored faintly. That was one thing that never changed. “I was eleven,” he said, “give me a break.”
“Oh, by the way,” said Harry, “Mrs. Weasley said she was going to plan to a Welcome Home party for you. I mean, if you’re planning on coming home . . . .”
“Yes,” she said, with a nod. She felt Fred’s hand tighten around her own.“I’m planning on coming home.”
(tbc)