The table was lined with Hermione's relatives, all of whom seemed comfortable with the excessive utensils. Harry and Ginny seemed to be dealing passably, but Ron was absolutely baffled. More so than usual, that was.

Hermione nudged his elbow. "The long one," she prompted under her breath.

Hesitantly, he picked up the largest implement and speared some lettuce. Hermione gave him an encouraging nod and he ate it.

Ron let the conversation flow around him while he ate the salad. Günter's German accent and Lady Barbara's refined tones bantered endlessly about him. Hermione handed him a plate of crackers and some sort of cheese spread. He distributed the cheese evenly on a few crackers and passed the platter to Harry.

A pudgy shadow passed through the doorway.

"Jamie!" nearly the entire table chorused in delight.

Günter patted the chair next to him vigorously. "Dieser Sitz ist für Sie, mein lieber Jamie."

"I'll pass, thanks," said Jamie, his somewhat pudgy cheeks flushed. His hair appeared to be untouched by brush, waves going in every direction. A pair of relatively fashionable glasses rested on his face, and several large pimples dotted his forehead. He waved vaguely at his gathered relatives and sat down on the other side of Ron.

"I'm Ron," he said, shaking Hermione's brother's hand firmly.

"Yeah," Jamie said, grinning. "Heard a lot about you."

"My dad's name was James," Harry spoke up.

Jamie made a self-deprecating face. "Mine's not."

"Oh, come now," Dr. Granger chided, folding her napkin on the table. "It isn't such a bad name."

"It's a perfectly dreadful name, Mum, and you know it," Jamie countered.

"I happen to like it," Lady Barbara declared, pounding her cane against the floor for emphasis.

"What is it?" Ginny asked, curious.

"Fitzjameson," Hermione informed her, and Ron began to choke.

"Your friends call you Fitzy?" Ron said when he recovered, mirth sparkling in his eyes.

"Only the dead ones," Jamie replied glibly.

"How's Betsy?" inquired one of Hermione's aunts from further down the table.

He scratched his head. "I think she broke up with me."

Ginny stared at him in disbelief. "You don't know?"

"Well," Jamie said earnestly, "I was working on this code- really quite close to making a breakthrough and eliminating several hundred lines of unnecessary things, and she said, 'Jesus, Jamie, I had reservations at seven!' And I said, 'Well, just a few more minutes, I'm almost done.' Then she glared at me and stomped off, and I haven't seen her since."

There was a collective confusion among the family.

"You gave up your girlfriend for your computer?" Nancy said incredulously.

"I liked Betsy," Dr. Granger bemoaned to her husband, who patted her comfortingly on the shoulder.

"And the program?" Hermione prompted gently.

Jamie's face brightened. "Oh, you should see it," he gushed. "I swear it's the most elegant thing I've ever written."

"Achtung!" Günter exclaimed, brandishing his plate above the table, flailing the other arm wildly. "Was ist das? There is a hair in my dish!"

Apparently a certain German relation did not appreciate his spotlight being outshone.

"That's not a hair," objected the unfortunate girl next to him, Charlotte. She plucked the offending particle and compared it to her collar. "It's a feather."

"Your sweater is molting," said Hermione's father wryly.

"It is most attractive, though, meine schöne Wolke," Günter said winningly. "I am most fond of it."

"He is a bit of a drama queen," Jamie said under his breath.

Ron laughed a little. "I've found that out already."

Soup of a rich yet indeterminate flavor was laid out before them. Hermione gracefully lifted the proper spoon high enough for Ron to see.

Again, Ron drowned in the ceaseless chatter filling the room. It became like a buzzing in his ears. Unfocused and dizzy, he ate his soup with caution. His stomach churned... with something. Maybe I'm going to throw up. "'Mione," he mumbled, preparing an excuse to leave and glancing over at her. She slid back in her chair, face lit with concern. But it wasn't her face he gawked at.

It was her belly.

Swollen and rounded with child.

He blinked fiercely, and instantly she as slim as ever.

"Ron, are you okay?"

"I'm not feeling well," he said, swallowing nervously. "I'm going back upstairs."

"Before you've finished eating?" Hermione said startledly.

"You must be sick," Ginny commented.

"I hope you feel better," Lady Barbara called generously as he began his trek to his bed.

Because, well, he looked like death.

Not that he looked unattractive while doing so; it was simply that he wasn't himself, and she was worried.

She tapped lightly on his door. "Ron?"

"I'm sleeping," was his muffled reply.

"You are not," she reproved. "Otherwise you wouldn't be replying. May I come in?"

"Yeah, yeah."

She twisted the knob and glided in. "What's going on?" she asked, closing the door with her foot.

He looked lost, helpless, and vulnerable. "I don't know," he said finally.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she offered.

Ron drew in a quick breath. "I guess."

Relief flooded through her. She sat down next to him on the bed and smiled at him. "Go ahead."

Abrupt, he said, "I'm having visions."

"Alright," she said slowly. "What kind?"

"Good things, I suppose." Ron looked uncomfortably away. "A little girl. Well, our little girl. You, pregnant. Happy things like that. I'm so used to the bad visions that it's really the good ones that terrify me."

"Wait, wait, wait," Hermione interrupted. "Bad visions?"

"Usually just dreams," he said. "I block them out easily enough. Me worrying about something that's going to happen isn't going to change anything."

"No, but you doing something about it will," she said irritably.

"Are you on my side or what?" he demanded. "I don't even like discussing this."

"I'm sorry," she said immediately. "Go on."

"There isn't really much more," Ron said. "I don't know if they're real visions... or just wishful thinking."

Her heart stopped.

Softly she spoke again. "Ginny said something interesting earlier."

Another oh-my-god look flashed in his eyes as he realized the only thing it could be, and his jaw set in a belligerent line. "Ginny talks too much."

"Is it true?"

His cheeks flamed. He ducked his head between his legs and mumbled his assent.

"What was that?" she asked, even though she'd heard him.

Ron pulled back into sitting position and seemed to regain his composure.

He grasped her face in his hands, and burned her eyes with his. "I don't know when I first realized it, but I kept trying to ignore it. I guess my brain got sick of the suppression and decided to do something about it. I swear I don't feel like this about anyone but you. Yes, I want to sleep with you, but if you don't... I'll stay away, I promise."

She barely registered the silence, his hands still cradling her head and eyes boring into her. Sighing, she slid her arms around his neck and whispered, "I love you."

He kissed her then, which was as close to a declaration of love as she was going to get. It would have been nice to hear the words along with it, but with his tongue in her mouth, she wasn't going to quibble.

Every single part of her was tingling. She felt giddy, she felt invincible, she felt his heartbeat thudding against her as his hands began to move, she felt-

-another pair of eyes watching them.

"Can't you knock?" Ron growled, dropping his arms and cursing.

"You know, you're both hypocrites," Ginny said, flouncing in. "Going around, chastising Harry and I for-"

"For what?" Ron said dangerously.

"Nothing," she chirped quickly. "Absolutely nothing. But the point is-"

"The point is," Hermione stepped in, "that we won't tell if you don't."

"I'm going to kill him," Ron announced.

"No, he's not," Hermione assured Ginny.

Sullenly Ron considered his options. "Can't I at least beat him a bit?"

"No," she said firmly. "Otherwise, you've just given Jamie permission to beat you up."

Ron gave her a skeptical look. "On principle, I suppose." His face clearly betrayed that he did not take her rotund brother's physical prowess very seriously.

"Let them be," she said.

He sighed and glared at his sister. "I suppose."

Ginny squealed and hugged him. "You're the best, Ronnie."

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled.

This called for a reapplication of makeup before heading to Harry's room.

This plan was quite neatly foiled when she found Harry waiting in her room, but she forgave him quickly. Especially since he was holding a wrapped box.

"Is that for me?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, grinning, "but later."

Later was not a word Ginny dealt with well. "Why not now?" she suggested, batting her eyelashes.

He lifted a brow. "I suppose I could be persuaded."

Ginny was an excellent persuader.

"I think I want to teach," Hermione began, "except that I'm afraid that I'm a horrible teacher."

"You're good at everything."

"Except explaining."

Ron shrugged. "I guess that's what you'd work on, then."

She poked his chest lightly. "What about you?"

"No idea." Ron looked at the floor. "I'm destined to be mediocre."

"That's not true," she argued. "I'd say this clairvoyance is something special."

"I can't control it."

"I guess," she said, amused, "that's what you'll work on, then."

Ron laughed sheepishly and squeezed her hand. "Throwing my words back in my teeth, eh?"

Hermione lifted her head up and kissed him briefly. He, however, would have nothing to do with brevity. Ron was anti-short-pecks and pro-long-involved, which was sort of nice.

The telephone rang.

And rang.

And rang.

And rang.

"I have to get that," she said regretfully, pushing him away and picking up the phone.

Ron crossed his arms and glowered.

"Hello?" she said into the receiver.

-click-

She hung up, shaking her head. "Hmmph, isn't that annoying. Why don't you go ask Jamie if his computer recorded who that was?"

"Why me?"

"A, because I asked you to, and B, so that I can check if the lock on my bedroom door still works."

Ron complied quickly.

He walked into Jamie's room and tapped Hermione's brother on the head. "Hermione says I'm suppose to ask who was on the phone."

Jamie was staring at a small telly and jabbing a round object with his pointer finger. "I didn't answer it," he said.

"Yeah, well, the person hung up."

Jamie viciously poked at the white thing a few times. "Just a telemarketer."

"Oh," Ron said. He blinked and took a closer look at the television. "What kind of show is this?"

"It's not a telly," Jamie said. "It's a computer. I'm playing solitaire."

"Can't you just use cards for that?" Ron said dubiously.

Jamie forced out a long-suffering sigh. "Yes, but that would take shuffling."

"Oh," Ron said, and left. He'd already forgotten what Jamie had said before he was halfway back to his room. A pair was fighting on the stairs.

"Meine schöne Wolke," Günter said, waving his arms. "My pretty cloud, pleeease?"

"Günter, I'm related to you, for pungsakes," Charlotte said, rolling her eyes.

"Distant, distant," he dismissed.

"And the fact that I'm independently wealthy has nothing to do with this?"

"Of course not," he said smoothly.

Charlotte did not appear convinced.

Ron smirked and ducked into his bedroom.

He stared blankly at the floral wallpaper.

"Flowers!" he said, smacking his forehead. He pulled his wand out of a case tucked beneath his pillow.

Having never made flowers before, he didn't really remember the spell. He concentrated, flicked his wand, and on the floor appeared-

A rock.

"I could paint it," he mused, but discarded the idea.

He changed his pronunciation a bit, and the rock changed into a few cute sprigs of daisies.

"Good enough," he said, picked them up, and made a mad dash to her room.

Ron ambled in, ceremoniously imparting a bouquet. "I brought you flowers," he said, suddenly becoming a master of stating the obvious.

"Thank you," she said, inhaling the scent. "They're very nice."

His face split into a grin. "Good, good." For some reason, whatever brains he had formerly possessed, it all abandoned him the moment he began thinking about kissing her.

She placed them on her table on top of her book and rose. "Um, the door..."

"Door," he said instantly. "Right." He turned around and flicked the lock.

They stood there for a moment, neither willing to make the first move.

"I was just going-"

"I don't know but-"

They both stopped. "You first," she said, even as he said, "You go."

Silence fell again.

"Oh, what the hell," Ron said. He crossed the room and dipped his head, bringing his lips to hers.

"This is nice," she informed him as she wrapped her arms around him.

"I'd have to say," he agreed, and kissed her again.

From the corner of his eye, a little girl grinned impishly and scampered into the closet.