Magical Hogwarts

dorchester // saturday afternoon, 26 february 2005

“Thanks, mum,” Hermione said with a smile, watching her mother leave the small bridal suite–which must have been a gardening shed in a former life–with Jamie on one hip and closing the door behind her with her other hand. Left alone with Ginny and her thoughts, she turned back to the full length mirror, looking at herself, head to toe, then back up, stopping to stare at her abdomen. She turned to the side slowly, looking at herself in profile. She knew, logically, that no one would be able to tell–not everyone invited to the wedding knew, even though the guest list extended only as far as the immediate Weasley family went (plus her own parents)–but it must have been something to do with the hormones that kept her from being completely logical about it. The dress, at least, was high-waisted so even if she was showing– but she wasn’t, so that was beside the point.

Hermione cleared her throat as she turned toward the mirror again, gently pulling at her sleeves, fidgeting, looking for anything else to focus on. She was wearing her mum’s dress–Ron’s mum had altered the sleeves and bodice so it wasn’t quite so 1970’s but it wasn’t quite stylish–and she smoothed her hand over her abdomen one more time before glancing up, meeting Ginny’s eye in the mirror.

“Sisters, officially,” she said, smiling again. They had been over that already, but she was doing her best to keep things light, breezy, because for whatever reason (ha) she had been feeling particularly weepy the few preceding days. She turned to face her–soon-to-be-legal sister-in-law and Matron of Honor–after another long second, her hand and forefinger rubbing the spot on her opposite hand where her ring should have been, if not for how her fingers liked to swell up in the afternoon– but it was either get married in the afternoon without wearing her engagement ring or get married in the morning and risk needing to run out and vomit.

She sighed, then, though it was mostly from the exhaustion of pregnancy, planning a wedding, not changing her work schedule at all to accommodate the first two things. Things had been kept simple–hair, makeup, dress–because of the time crunch (and she had never pictured extravagance where her wedding was concerned), and then she had padded in some time to the schedule to allow for any morning sickness that decided to linger into the afternoon, but so far everything had gone according to plan. So: “I think we’re early.”

@Ginny Potter

“Be good for Nana Granger, yeah?” she told her son, planting a final kiss on his forehead before handing him off to her almost-officially-sister-in-law’s mum. Jamie watched her for a minute, wide-eyed, as he retreated – but Ginny smiled reassuringly and waggled her fingers at him until the door closed softly and the pair disappeared completely from view.

She let her hand drop to her side, gaze lingering on the now-closed door for a second longer. There was no immediate screeching to be heard: Nana must have worked her baby magic that seemed inherent in all grandmas. Some days, Ginny could hardly believe that she had a nine-month-old now.

The sound of Hermione clearing her throat snapped her back to attention. The youngest Weasley turned her head to see her friend fidgeting with the fabric, and doing a nearly-reflexive motion that Ginny knew all too well: running a hand over her belly. She resisted the urge to tell her to relax (it was a moot point) or that – especially with the cut and fabric – she truthfully wasn’t showing noticeably (she’d already said it a half-dozen times, and furthermore no one here would mind a bit even if she were).

“Sisters, officially.”

“About bloody time, that,” she grinned back. She might have said exactly that earlier in the day, she really couldn’t remember – but it wasn’t about to get old. The pair of them had been through a lot together; while she did already have a sister-in-law in Fleur (and fortunately a much-improved relationship with her since she and Bill were engaged), her bond with Hermione was much stronger.

“I think we’re early.”

Ginny laughed.
“Makes up for us nearly being late for mine. Not that it really would have mattered, anyway.” She fluttered her fingers dismissively. “What would they have done: carry on without me? Pfft.”

Hermione’s fidgeting persisted, so Ginny tried to keep things light – like Hermione had done for her.
“Feeling those pre-exam jitters yet?” she teased. “I’ve also brought an extra vial of the anti-whatsit… emetic? Nausea medicine. In my pocket, if you want it.” (Because, of course, Hermione Granger had chosen a Matron of Honor dress with pockets like any sensible witch would – and Ginny loved her even more for it.)
Poor Hermione’s morning sickness had been more intense than Ginny’s and seemed to be on-track to last longer, too. For the moment she looked well, though: not pale or peaky in the slightest. Unfortunately, Ginny knew from personal experience how quickly that could change.

“Sit down a minute?” With a flick of her wand, she brought the chaise lounge closer. Ginny chose to drape herself over one of the plush armchairs so her own feet were elevated a bit, taking care to arrange her dress so she wouldn’t crumple or tear it. The bridal suite was a small space, but cozily furnished.
“We’ve plenty of time… and the next lot of it will be standing, anyways.”

Hermione laughed, her smile widening. “Good point.” There was no wedding without the bride (never mind that Hermione was still convinced that if Ginny had been late, Hermione would have been blamed).

She sighed again, smoothing down the fabric of her dress, over her abdomen, again. “My whole life is pre-exam jitters right now,” she said with a little laugh, feeling a bit better despite it all. She was about to offer the word ‘emetic’, but Ginny got to it first. And she had a vial of it in her pocket— bless. “My mum’s nervous about the draughts,” she said with a small frown. “But she’s fine with the muggle versions,” she concluded, shrugging because at this point—she was talking to her mum much more often these days, can’t imagine why—it was easier to smile and nod instead of trying to argue with her. Besides, the pills worked just as well (if not better) than the potion. More palatable, too.

Ginny offered a seat and Hermione nodded, grateful. She was trying not to complain about things that were completely normal, all to be expected when expecting, but bloody hell, her feet were killing her. (Thankfully she could get away with wearing flats with her dress, without the need to take up the hem; she was two inches taller than her mum.) She was even more grateful when Ginny brought the chaise longue closer, and she smoothed her dress under her backside as she sat, then stretched out her legs to take full advantage of the furniture.

The next lot was going to be standing. “Don’t remind me.” The ceremony would be short, at least, and pretty standard. There wasn’t some lengthy mass, and they weren’t going to do anything out of the ordinary— and they had to get out of the church before the Saturday Night Senior Singles Mixer needed the space. They were going to the Grangers’ house after (Mr Weasley had helped ‘spruce’ the place up a bit earlier so the whole family could comfortably fit) with dinner brought in, so the rest of everything would allow her to sit, at least.

Hermione was examining her cuticles when she sat up again, pressing her hand to her lips. She waited for the newest wave of nausea to pass before lowering her hand with another frown. “So lying down is a ‘no’.” She sighed turning herself to face Ginny, her feet flat on the floor again. “Think I understand why I’m an only child now.”

Hermione seemed to visibly relax just a bit, and Ginny smiled encouragingly.

“Mm,” she hummed at the mention of Muggle anti-nausea remedies. “Reckon they’re probably about the same, all considered. But, hey: only a month to go before practically every reference book says morning sickness drops off dramatically or goes away completely!”
She shot Hermione an exaggerated smile and double-thumbs-up. It was intended as an encouraging comment – but Ginny knew a month while pregnant and dealing with morning sickness was effectively bloody eternity.

She tensed reflexively at Hermione’s abrupt movement, eyes darting about for the nearest bin (she’d completely forgotten to make sure one was close at hand, just in case) – but thankfully the moment subsided. Ginny groaned sympathetically, then, wrenching her armchair’s throw-pillow out from underneath her and lobbing it gently to land beside her friend. Hopefully she’d be able to get her feet up more comfortably with a little extra back support.
“Reflux is a right twat, too. We women get all the fun.”

“Think I understand why I’m an only child now.”

Ginny snorted, then shook her head slowly.
“No idea how my mum managed it six times… one of them being twins, which I’ve heard makes for guaranteed-dismal morning sickness. Twice the level of hormones at once, or something.”

And yet…

Now that Jamie was nearly through infancy (she was rounding up a bit, but May wasn’t far-off at all), Ron and Hermione were expecting their first, and Ginny was feeling more like her pre-pregnancy self and knew what to expect… she had recently begun entertaining the notion of giving it another go. She and Harry hadn’t officially seriously discussed it yet, but from casual conversation they hadn’t ruled-out having another.

She teetered for a moment, debating on whether or not to say anything on the topic (it wasn’t like just talking casually about it was a binding commitment or anything, after all) – but opted to hold her tongue for now.

“Yaaay,” Hermione said, without enthusiasm. A month more of this, followed by five to six more months of everything else. Still, she smiled at Ginny, appreciative for what she was trying to do. Her pregnancy was far more recent than her mum’s, anyway, so she trusted her slightly more when she said it wouldn’t always be like this, facetiousness aside.

Reflux was a twat and women, as a sex, really lucked out with all the fun parts of biology. “That’s putting it mildly,” she said with a slight grimace, picking up the pillow she had been tossed and setting it behind her. She tried to get settled again, careful to remain more upright than a moment before.

Ginny mentioned her mum, her doing it six times— Lord help her if Molly was expecting as many grandchildren from her. Hermione grew up as an only child and she turned out fine. And twins? With twice the hormones? Considering the amount of hormones she was dealing with now… “You know having twins is meant to be hereditary, right?” She asked, managing a grin as she met Ginny’s eye. It was sort of genetic for fraternal twins, anyway, but she didn’t think Ginny was about to argue things at the cellular level. Still: Lord help Ron if he was introducing any twin genes to the Granger pool.

She ran her hands along her dress again, smoothing away the wrinkles that weren’t there. “It’ll be nice having cousins close in age,” she mused, speaking of Jamie and Hermione’s future progeny being a year-and-change apart. “Though they’ll be two years apart in school, “ she added, re-doing the math she had already done several times.

“You know having twins is meant to be hereditary, right?”

Hermione knew just as well that the thought had undoubtedly crossed Ginny’s mind already – multiple times.
“Mmph, don’t remind me. Maybe you’ll have a smaller chance of it, at the least.”

“It’ll be nice having cousins close in age.”

“Definitely,” she agreed wholeheartedly.
There was no doubt that growing up with older brothers had heavily shaped who she was today (for better or worse)… but it would have been nice to have non-sibling family members close in age to her. From what she understood, the cousin dynamic was very different (and much more stable) from the wildly-fluctuant sibling one. Mum’s twin brothers had died young and childless during the first war, and while dad’s brothers had sons they were much older than she and they also didn’t see their extended family very much.

“Though they’ll be two years apart in school.”

“True. But two years isn’t all that much, really.”

The impulse to bring up her second-child-musings surged again, but she tamped it back down; they could talk about it on a day that wasn’t Hermione’s wedding day.

“I need you to have a girl, yeah?” she said with a grin, segueing from her recent stream-of-consciousness. Ginny herself was the first Weasley girl born in seven generations; Hermione knew (or, at least, had been about) this at one point or another. “We need more Weasley-clan girls to balance the scales on all of these boys.”
It was all in jest, of course: she’d love and adore this new addition no matter what.

“Mm,” Hermione said, not totally agreeing that two years wasn’t all that much. And if they ended up being in different houses? Sure, all the Weasleys and Harry and Hermione had been in Gryffindor, but the Sorting Hat had nearly put her in Ravenclaw, and she would be kidding herself to say she wasn’t expecting to have a clever child. But it–the compounding issue of age and house differences that might make their children not so close–was just another thing to focus on, distract her from everything else.

Ginny said she needed Hermione to have a girl, and Hermione smiled, somewhat sheepishly. “I think I do want a girl,” she said, nearly whispering, as if saying it aloud might jinx it. “Besides,” she returned to a more conversational volume. “We all know Weasley girls far outshine the boys.” She quickly raised and lowered her eyebrows in knowing fashion. “Granger-Weasleys, too,” she added after a second, not bothering to hide that she liked the sound of the double barrel.

But there was only so much she could do besides hope for a girl. Technically speaking, that was all up to Ron– she didn’t let herself linger on that thought for too long. “My mum has two sisters and my dad is the only son,” she said, as if that might help her chances. Besides, that just had her thinking about her cousins again, how she was the youngest one of her generation. She hadn’t been close to any of them, even before the great divide that was her Hogwarts education.

She turned her head to look at Ginny. “You know,” she said, clearly implying that Hermione, at least, knew, “You could give it another go.” Ginny hadn’t complained nearly enough to make Hermione think that a second child was totally out of the question.

She returned Hermione’s eyebrow-raise, then mimed tossing her hair over her shoulder in a show of dramatic preening at her follow-up comment.
“Exactly. Granger-Weasleys fall into ‘Weasley clan’ territory, y’know.” She grinned. “Merlin knows where they’d be without us – without you, especially.” Ginny had heard about the majority of their (mis)adventures over the years, though she certainly didn’t claim to know all of them.

But, uncannily, her almost-sister-in-law picked up the unspoken thread that Ginny had left dangling – and tugged. The redhead fought to keep her expression neutral, lifting a shoulder casually. Under the usual circumstances, she had no qualms about revealing her tentative musings on the subject to Hermione. After all, she and Harry had decided to break the news to her and Ron well before she’d hit twelve weeks… even if it meant they might have to renege on it.

Ginny shifted slightly in her chair, feeling her friend’s eyes (and her all-too-familiar knowing look) on her. Well… Hermione had voluntarily brought it up. Unprompted. And maybe it would help distract her from any pre-nuptial jitters.

“We could,” she conceded, lifting her gaze to meet Hermione’s. “I… have thought about it. A little.”

Her expression clouded briefly as a thought occurred to her that hadn’t really before; she nearly voiced it without thinking, but clamped her lips shut at the last possible second. She’d already said more than she’d planned to on Hermione’s day, and she certainly wasn’t about to muddy it further with her pensive musing that was nowhere in the realm of appropriate for a happy-wedding-day mood.
So she thought it to herself, instead, because otherwise it would gnaw away at her: ‘Harry’s been so busy with this Dark Widow business lately, too. And even if he and his team can take care of her in short-order… there’s always something else, or someone else, lying in wait. The next threat to the wizarding world.’

But the fleeting moment passed and she shook her head slightly, a small half-smile tugging at her mouth.
“Seems a bit mad, though, with Jamie now just starting to cruise and already keeping me on my toes. Having a toddler and a newborn simultaneously is a bit of a terrifying thought.”
Indeed, the mere thought of how she’d get even less sleep than before was nearly enough to put her off the notion for another few weeks.

Hermione could feel the prickling of tears when Ginny credited her for… whatever, but she didn’t reply lest she actually start crying, which she thought she might save for the ceremony, at least.

Besides, there were more important things to focus on, like telling Ginny she ought to have another child, Ginny not immediately saying no. She offered Hermione a casual shrug, as if she hadn’t thought about it until this very second; quite believable. Hermione pursed her lips and narrowed her gaze, the perfect picture of skepticism.

Ginny acquiesced, somewhat agreeing that she could, had even thought about it a little. Hermione nodded, offering her a knowing smile– before quickly turning to her other side, her hand clamped over her mouth. There was half a second she thought about making a grab for the bin, but it was only that fun reflux Ginny had mentioned a few minutes earlier. She swallowed, licked her lips, turned back to her friend with an eye roll that hopefully conveyed that she was just as annoyed by the false alarms as she was of the real thing.

(And it was only because she had missed seeing the weird look cross Ginny’s face that Hermione didn’t ask her what was wrong.)

It was her turn to casually shrug, her hands busy with smoothing down her dress again. She listened to Ginny’s concern, and Hermione might have been more worried if she thought Harry wasn’t helping, but instead: “It’ll be especially terrifying with newborn twins, I imagine,” she said with a cheeky grin, belatedly hoping she hadn’t just jinxed herself. She paused her fabric smoothing, rested her hand on her lower abdomen.

“A good terrifying, though,” she said, somewhat hopefully, somewhat simply saying it aloud to reassure herself because she was feeling overwhelmingly unprepared– it wasn’t a great feeling. She knew that, realistically, books could only get her so far with this one, but she didn’t want to admit it. “Do you think it’s time yet?” she asked instead, knowing they had nothing but time to spare.