What a bloody awful day. What a bloody awful week. Hell, since I’m being completely honest with myself it’s been a bloody awful year.
I’m trudging my way home from yet another excruciating day at the Ministry. I’m exhausted and cranky beyond words, and yet I find myself walking instead of apparating or flooing straight there.
Although I know why, I can barely bring myself to own up to the feelings. I’m trying to put off the inevitable. Trying to avoid yet another evening spent in tense silence, or worse, nasty bickering.
Our rows used to be fun. Yeah, I’m fully willing to admit that I enjoyed getting her all fired up. She really was a sight, all puffed up and indignant. I find myself chuckling at one memory in particular. She was brandishing a pan and chasing me around the kitchen because I was fool enough to tease her about her questionable cooking skills.
I feel the smile slip from my face when I think about what fills our spats as well as the silences now. I hate more than anything that the thought has even crossed my mind, but I just don’t have it in me to deal with her tonight. I’m just too tired. Maybe I should just drop into Harry and Gin’s, and see if he’s up for a pint at the 3Bs.
‘No, I can’t.’ I admonish myself.
Hermione’s probably waiting for me, and as much as I can’t stand the life we’re living, I still love her to bits.
It just seems like she’s gets more and more obsessed with the whole baby thing every day if that’s possible. I want one too. Merlin, do I want one, but watching her turn into this… this… I don’t know. I don’t want to put a name to it. My insides feel like they’re being crushed to a pulp. I just can’t stomach what we are… what we’ve become.
We can’t seem to have a bloody conversation without it turning into her ranting about how she’s damaged. About how I’m saddled with her, and I deserve better. And then I almost always say something stupid, and she flies off the handle.
Before I even have time to realize where I am, I find myself standing at the entrance to our building. I feel a little lost. I thought we lived further away than this. I thought I'd have more time to unwind... to prepare.
‘Another lovely evening with the Weasleys.’ I think gloomily.
Heaving out a sigh, I try to shake off my mood. One of us has to stay positive, and expecting that of her lately has been nearly impossible. I start the walk up the two flights of stairs to our flat. Once inside, I am instantly met with her sobs echoing from the bathroom.
‘Shite. I knew I should have gone to the pub.’
Before I even have time to finish the thought, I’m kicking myself mentally for being such an insensitive git.
“Hermione… Love…” I call to her, but she doesn’t respond.
‘Not again. Please, not again.’ I plead with the Gods.
I drop my satchel and my cloak at the door, and walk directly to the loo. Finding the door closed, I rap on it gently.
“Hermione love, can I come in?” I ask softly.
Her crying quiets but she still doesn’t answer me. This is getting ridiculous. I refuse to keep living like this.
Truly frustrated, I talk at the door more forcefully. “I’m coming in.”
Trying the handle, I find it unlocked. I peer inside and spot her on the floor leaned up against the tub clutching something tightly in her left hand. When I look closer, I realize it’s one of those bloody Muggle tests. I move to her cautiously and as I get closer, her uncontrollable sobs start up again.
“Oh, love.” I whisper to her as I crouch down and pull her into my arms.
She feebly tries to push me away, so I lean back to take her in. She starts talking, or rambling rather, but she’s made herself so upset that she can’t even get enough breath in to form a coherent sentence. As her body trembles madly, she starts motioning to the Muggle test in her hand.
“I know love. You have to stop doing this to yourself.”
She just shakes her head at me, and tries to show me the stupid thing again.
Our heads shake in unison… mine in confusion… hers in frustration.
“I don’t understand, love.” I finally offer softly.
She grabs me in a fierce hug, and starts to cry wildly into my shoulder. I just hold her. There’s nothing else I can do until she calms down.
Finally catching her breath, she pulls away and begins to babble again.
‘Okay,’ I think to myself, ‘she’s finally lost it.’
“Slow down, Hermione. I don’t understand a word you’re saying.”
The last thing I want to do is get frustrated with her, but she’s really starting to scare me.
“Blue lines…” she says. “Two blue lines.”
What in Merlin’s name is she talking about?
Obviously, she’s either thoroughly entertained by the scrunched up look on my face or pissed beyond belief at my inability to catch her meaning because she starts to laugh hysterically.
“Ron, there are two blue lines.” She’s finally able to manage through her waning laughter as she shows me the test again.
“Two thin blue lines, Ronald!” she emphasizes her words again and waves the white stick in my face.
I nod my head trying to feign understanding then start to shake it because I still don’t get what she’s telling me. None of this makes any sense.
“That means there’s a baby.” She huffs.
I don’t remember anything after that. Everything went white then black.
The next thing I know, I’m on my back and I can feel wetness on my face. I force my eyes open to find Hermione hovering over me laughing and crying and clutching the plastic stick.
“Did she just say the word… baby?”
A/N: Many thanks to my fabulous beta, Raye, for her unwavering friendship and support, and her wonderful beta-ing skills :)