InsaneJournal

Retribution - for le_calmar_geant - Ron/Hermione - PG-13
Title : Retribution
For : le_calmar_geant
Pairing : Ron/Hermione
Prompt : unusual perfume and homework planners
Words : 1254
Rating : PG-13 for language


Harry Flooed in to find Hermione trapped on the couch.

He watched her struggling with a wryly raised eyebrow, before huffing and crossing the room.

“How’s my girl?” he asked, dropping onto the couch beside her and a kiss on her cheek.

“I have fat feet,” Hermione complained.

“Ah, it’ll be worth it,” he said, resting a hand on her enormous belly.

Hermione snorted.

“You know what it’s like, sleeping next to Ron?” she demanded.

Harry nodded. “He sprawls and kicks.”

“Well, try and have one kicking you from the outside and one from the inside,” she said darkly.

As if it had heard, a small foot kicked out at Harry’s hand and he gasped.

“He’s strong,” he said.

“Or she,” Hermione said firmly.

“You know it’s a boy,” Harry said reasonably. “Weasleys don’t have girls.”

“Something about Ginny you want to share with us?” Hermione asked.

“You think the Prophecy was above nudging things, just so Neville or me could return in triumph and claim our bride?”

“Yes, well,” she muttered. “This one isn’t a Weasley, anyway.”

Harry choked.

“I just meant we’re not married,” she said. “So it’ll be a Granger; and Granger’s have girls.”

Harry sighed. “You won’t marry the poor bloke,” he said. “The least you can do is let him give your children his name.”

“Not if he insists on Basil Randolph,” she muttered.

“What?”

“That’s the name he wants - Basil Randolph Weasley.”

“But… why?”

“It’s some Quidditch thing, to annoy me.”

“Horton and Keitch!” Harry laughed.

“What?”

“Basil Horton and Randolph Keitch – they invented the Comet 140.”

Hermione blinked at him.

“They invented the Breaking Charm, too…” he trailed off. “I’m sure Ron knows what names are popular in the Wizarding World.”

“Oh, yes,” she said scathingly. “I’m sure Ronald Bilius knows all the fashionable names.”

“Pureblood names aren’t all odd,” Harry said comfortingly. “My dad was only a James, and Charlie and George aren’t too bad.”

Hermione grunted.

“And Hermione can’t have been a picnic at primary school, anyway,” he pointed out.

“That is another reason I don’t want to saddle my children with something ridiculous,” she said. “And maybe Pureblood wizards don’t bat an eyelid at Mundungus or Minerva, but my children will mix with Muggles at my parents’ house, and I am not going to visit with little Basil, Rosemary and Sage.”

Harry laughed. “Well, to be fair, you’d sound like a Muggle film star.”

Hermione snorted.

“What name d’you want, anyway?” he asked.

“Something normal for a boy, like Andrew,” she pouted. “Andrew David.”

“That sounds fine,” Harry said, shrugging. “Why don’t you tell him you’re doing saints’ names – he’s already got St. George.”

“I suppose,” Hermione sighed. “I suppose you could talk to him…”

“And beg him not to call his firstborn son after a broomwright?”

“Tell him…” She bit her lip. “Tell him I’ll agree to Weasley if he agrees to Andrew David.”

“Where is he?” Harry asked.

“Upstairs,” she said, struggling to get off the couch again. “He’s supposed to be painting the baby’s room.”

“I though the baby is going to sleep with you?” Harry asked. “I distinctly remember trying not to blush through the lecture on breastfeeding on demand.”

“Well, he’ll still need somewhere for all his stuff,” Hermione said, collapsing back onto the cushions.

“Don’t get up,” Harry said. “I’ll go and talk some sense into our boy.”

“Thank you, Harry,” she said. “He just doesn’t understand Muggle ways; he’s not doing it to annoy me, not really, I do know that.”

Harry found Ron splattered with paint in the spare room, now redesignated, rather grandly, the nursery.

“Hey,” Ron said, siphoning blue paint up with his wand and eyeing the ceiling nervously. “Have you seen the wife?”

“She hates you calling her that,” Harry said.

“I know,” Ron said cheerfully.

He put down his wand and tried to clean his hands on a filthy rag.

“I like the new look,” Harry said. “The blue freckles bring out your eyes.”

“Git.”

“Yeah, I saw your not-wife, downstairs.”

“She OK?” Ron asked, opening a couple of bottles of butterbeer and passing one to Harry, who wiped off the paint.

“She’s fucking huge.”

“I know,” Ron said. “It’s getting scary. I don’t see how he’s gonna get out without her exploding.”

“I hope you haven’t told her that,” Harry said, frowning and taking a drink.

“’Course not,” Ron scoffed. “I’m not a complete idiot. I know I have to tell her she’s still gorgeous. Mustn’t upset the exploding woman.”

“So, what is all this Basil Randolph crap, then?” Harry demanded.

Ron sniggered and Harry gave him a stern look.

“Now, your lovely lady not-wife gives you the benefit of the doubt and thinks you’re innocently going with traditional wizard names.”

“And you?” Ron asked, looking extra innocent.

“I’m leaning towards you’ll give in on Basil, if she’ll give in on Weasley.”

“Close,” Ron admitted.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“I know he’ll be Andrew David Weasley,” Ron said. “It’s just too good tormenting her.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“And anyway,” Ron said. “I never paid her back for Christmas, fifth year.”

Harry frowned and wracked his brains for any crime Hermione had committed at Christmas, fifth year.

“She abandoned her parents on holiday and came back, to be with you, ‘cos your dad had been attacked,” he said. “How does that deserve retribution?”

“She gave us homework planners for Christmas,” Ron said darkly. “Both of us.”

“They weren’t that bad,” Harry said doubtfully.

“I was fifteen,” Ron said. “Fifteen, Harry. And I went into a girly shop, and bought perfume for her. ‘Cos she was a girl. And I liked her.”

“And?”

“And she just said ‘thanks for the unusual perfume’ and gave me a homework planner!”

“When she should have… given you aftershave and dragged you under the mistletoe?”

Ron looked mutinous.

“Yes,” he muttered.

“And you still hold that against her?”

“That was me making my move,” Ron complained. “It would have prevented the Whole Lavender Thing and everything! And what does ‘unusual’ mean, anyway?”

“So… can’t we think of the Whole Lavender Thing as retribution for the Whole Perfume Thing?” Harry asked wearily.

Ron blinked.

“And maybe you could stop tormenting your exploding woman,” Harry suggested.

“Harry!” a voice said in the doorway.

Hermione waddled into the room and collapsed awkwardly into a sheet shrouded rocking chair.

Ron gave Harry a pleading look and Harry sighed.

“Sorry, Hermione,” Harry said. “That was inappropriate.”

“Hey, love, you didn’t have to come up the stairs,” Ron said, going over and kissing her and her bump.

Hermione looked at him fondly.

“Nice chat?” she asked, looking over his head at Harry, who rolled his eyes and nodded.

“Hermione,” Ron said sternly. “Harry said you’re actually annoyed about the Basil thing – I thought you knew it was a joke!”

Hermione blinked down at him.

He gave her his best puppy dog look.

“You’ll get to call him Andrew David for ever,” he said, rubbing her belly. “I thought it’d be cute to call the bump something different.”

Hermione huffed. “Well, honestly,” she said. “How was I supposed to work that out?”

“It’s completely mental,” Harry muttered.

“Because you’re so clever,” Ron said brightly, over riding him.

She gave him a suspicious look.

“It’s sorted, Hermione,” Ron said. “Andrew David Weasley.”

Hermione smiled fondly at them both.

“Well,” she said. “That sounds very nice.”

“And maybe you could even marry his dad, one day,” Ron suggested.

“Maybe,” Hermione agreed. “One day.”