He gazed at his reflection in the telly screen. He brought his hands up to his face, tracing an uneven and wholly unattractive stubble.

"Hey, Paw," said a girl, bouncing in the room. Her teeth were crooked and yellow, her hair matted, and her clothing ragged.

Ron started to get a really bad feeling about this. "Uh, hi."

"Ma's home, she wants to see you in the kitchen."

He eased himself out of his chair, joints aching in odd places. He was disconcerted to find that watching his feet while he walked was nearly impossible. He could barely see his feet. He somehow made his way amidst the paint-peeling walls.

A multitude of redheaded children were in the kitchen. One, two, three, four... five? Plus the one from the other room, six. Oh, there was one in under the sink- seven. And who knows how many more in other parts of the house.

Hermione sat at the table, elbows firmly bracing her hands against her face. "I'm going to have to find a new job," she announced grimly. "Public schools don't pay enough."

"But you love teaching," he blurted.

She shook her head with a sad smile. "You can hardly go to work, not with the kids still at home. And with junior on the way..." She trailed off, a hand flitting absently to her abdomen.

His eyes widened. Eight?

And succeeded only by falling out onto the floor.

His body thudded a few times against the wood. He winced and cursed several times. That wasn't a vision he'd had, just a warning.

How could I be so stupid?

Lately, around Hermione, Ron had recognized a large and pressing issue.

In his pants.

He'd neglected to remember while resolving that issue, a much larger issue could be spawned. As in, uh, spawn.

While children seemed nice, and the general idea of Hermione pregnant with one of his kids filled him with a sort of possessive pride, the truth was that he associated both of those things with a distance of a good ten years. Being a father at age seventeen, with no money, no career, and no house was not one of Ron's current aspirations. In fact, the idea made him want to run very, very far away.

Like to.. Siberia. That was far away, wasn't it?

He tried to remember, but his concept of geography was sorely limited when he wasn't sprawled out in pain on the floor.

It wasn't as if he'd actually done anything yet, although not for lack of effort. Interruptions had limited their progression to the kiss-and-fondle stage. Lots of kissing and fondling, mind you, but it was enough to make him more frustrated than he had been in the I-can't-even-like-her-she's-my-friend stage.

He waggled a finger threateningly in the general direction of his zipper. "Behave yourself, or eight kids."

Even that didn't seem to work. He drew his knees to his chest and groaned.

"I think it's time for a very cold shower."

She always felt irritated with them after spending any period of time with them, but this year, it was much worse. Between her grandmother bullying everyone, her cousin chatting up anything that moved, and the rest of her relatives being just generally interfering, she was waxing homicidal.

Case in point: last night. She and Ron had been blissfully isolated, locked alone in her bedroom. She'd long stopped trying to figure out where his mouth and his hands were going, since he seemed to be determined to attend to every inch of her body. He'd been working on divesting her of her shirt when her Aunt Nancy had knocked on her door, insisting that she come partner her for Euchre.

Ron had whispered pleas in her ear, but she had merely tugged down her shirt, shoved him in the closet, and joined her aunt downstairs.

She was tired of being the smart girl, the girl who one called on to help with homework or the partner who'd work for an A on a group project. She wanted to be the girl one took to dinner, to dances, to secret darkened alcoves during dances. Ron was starting to see her as the latter type of girl, and she would go insane if he went on to some other Gryffindor just because her family was meddlesome.

Hermione was brushing her uncontrollable hair when her brother peeked his head in.

"Hermione?" he said, hesitance flickering over his face.

She set her brush down and glared at him. "What?"

Jamie wrung his hands. "I, uh, don't know how to tell you this, but... um. You know Ron?"

"Yes," she said with more patience than she felt, "I know Ron."

"You like him?"

She folded her arms. "Not that it's any of your business, but yes."

After an awkward pause, Jamie blurted, "I think he's gay."

She stared at her brother in incomprehension. "Ron? Ron Weasley?"

He nodded bleakly.

"Jamie, do you have any idea how fervently he tried to get into my pants last night?" she demanded.

"No, but thank you for that pleasant mental image," he shot back. "All I know is that I caught he and Günter kissing in the hallway."

"You are such an idiot," she snapped. "Günter's been trying to shove his tongue down every throat here."

"I only know what I saw," Jamie said stubbornly.

"I'll go talk to him, but I'm sure it's all a misunderstanding." Hermione plaited her hair quickly and tossed the braid over her shoulder.

He caught her before she stormed out and looked sympathetic. "I hope so too, sis."

Hermione stood in the doorway.

And she didn't look happy.

Ron felt his entire face turn beet red. "Shut the door, would you?"

After she did, she pointed a finger and commanded, "Explain."

Oh, god. Ron closed his eyes and tried to think of something that wouldn't sound completely retarded. "I didn't want to get you pregnant."

Her eyes narrowed. "So you snogged someone you couldn't get pregnant?"

"No!" he said desperately. "I, uh. I asked him if he had any condoms, because surely of all people he would, and I guess he thought I was making a pass, because then he pinned me against the wall and kissed me- he's like a damn ox, I had to kick him in the bollocks to get him off me, and that's it, I swear." He said the middle part very fast, and as quiet as possible.

She gave him a very bright, very false smile. "I think I'm going to go talk to my darling cousin."

"Charlotte," she said, voice dripping with malice, "I'd like to have a word with our mutual cousin alone."

Charlotte got the hint immediately and left.

Günter sat up, looking faintly irritated at losing his masseuse. "What is it?"

Hermione jabbed him in the chest. "Günter Augustus Granger, you stay away from Ron."

"Men with eyelashes like his should not be asking men with appetites like mine for condoms," he said crossly. "It is not my fault at all."

She leaned over and said fiercely, "He's mine."

To say Günter looked surprised would have been an understatement. Astonished, shocked, absolutely flabbergasted came closer.

"You so much as breathe on him and I will ship you back to Berlin." Her tone was deadly serious, and he looked very, very nervous.

"I had no idea," Günter professed. "I wouldn't dream of pursuing a man of yours."

"Yeah, right," she said, rolling her eyes. "Just see that you don't."

Ron thudded his head against the wall. His not-so-brilliant plan to obtain birth control had backfired; whom else could he ask? He could think of anyone who seemed that... promiscuous.

You could ask Harry.

His face blanched. No, you are not going to ask Harry, because he is not having sex with your sister. And if he is, you don't want to know.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Maybe we'd be safe if it was only once. I mean, what are the odds that after one time, she'd get pregnant?

Then he thought about his parents.

And his six siblings.

Damn, he thought in resignation.

"You're going to dent the drywall."

Ron craned his head towards the doorway. A fairly skinny girl of medium height critically eyed the spot behind his head. Dishwater blond strands dusted a lavender sweater.

"So?" was his witty comeback.

"Do you know where Jamie's room is?"

"Yeah," Ron said. Then he remembered last night's dinner conversation. "Are you Betsy?"

She nodded. "Could you show me where to go?"

Ron rose to his feet and began walking down the hall. Betsy followed closely, as if Ron were going to suddenly sprint off in an unknown direction.

"You must be one of Hermione's friends," she commented as they neared Jamie's door.

"Ron," he said by way of introduction. He opened the door. Jamie was, not very surprisingly, on his computer.

Hermione's brother threw a glance over his shoulder to assess the intrusion. His jaw promptly dropped. "Betsy?"

"I told you I was coming." Betsy crossed the room and briefly kissed his forehead. "You need to brush your hair."

"I thought you broke up with me," said the bewildered boy.

She blinked. "Why on earth did you think that?"

"You were mad at me for missing dinner, I haven't heard from you in two weeks."

"Jamie," she said slowly, "the reason we were having dinner was because I was leaving for a two week training session."

This did not appear to ring any bells in Jamie's brain.

"I left you the number for my hotel room." Then at his blank expression, she clarified, "On a yellow post-it note on your fridge."

"Oh," he said. "So that's what that number was. I think I remember this now." After the details reaffirmed themselves in his mind, he added, "I'm glad you didn't break up with me."

Betsy shook her head, almost amused by his absentmindedness, and dropped another kiss on his nose. "I love you, you silly goose."

Ron froze.

Love.

Hermione had told him last night that she loved him. Plain as day, soft as summer, she'd declared it.

Do I love her?

He didn't know.

I like her... a lot, he compromised. I like her enough that I want to have wild rampant sex with her. I like her enough that I don't want to ruin her life by getting her pregnant. I like her enough that I'm having visions of our daughter every time I turn around.

When he added all that up, the total definitely seemed enough to be love. I should tell her that, he decided.

Damn good, in fact. All this feminine energy in her had popped out of nowhere. She'd just warned off competition. Ginny would be proud of her.

She practically waltzed into her room, spinning and humming. She was contemplating a pirouette when she noticed Ron in the corner.

"Oh," she said. "Hi."

He cleared his throat. "Hi."

Hermione launched her arms around him and beamed. "Günter won't be bothering you anymore."

He smiled, but turned serious again.

Serious? Ron? Something was going on.

"I need to tell you something."

What if he doesn't want to be with me anymore? What if he thinks I'm a horrible kisser? What if he really is gay? Her stomach careened with billions of dreadful possibilities.

"I don't know really how to start," he said, biting his lip. "In ways this is even worse than yesterday, because it actually means something. I guess it all stems from the fact that I use the word to describe things that aren't meaningful at all. I love that little knobby thing on the end of my wand, and I love those warm socks I got last year for my birthday. I guess what I'm trying to say is that sort of love is completely different than what I feel for you.

"I can always get a new wand, or buy more stockings. But you- there isn't a replacement. I love you. I want to be with you forever, be everything to you. But, I guess for now, I'll settle for being your boyfriend."

Tears ran hot down her cheeks. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," she sobbed, pressing her cheek against his chest. "Of course I'll be your girlfriend."

It was the most perfect moment in her life. The boy she loved loved her as well, and they were official. Her insides were jumping hoops and doing pirouettes of their own. As she thought not a single thing could spoil this instant-

She threw up all over his shirt.

After she was somewhat satisfied with the shirt's sanity, the two went back to his room to fetch a replacement. Ron fumbled through the second drawer for something nice to wear for the rest of the day.

"I like you in green," Hermione said absently, her hands skimming through his hair.

He dug out a green shirt.

"What's that on your bed?" she remarked curiously. She picked up a small box with an attached card.

"Go ahead and open it," he said while he pulled on the garment. "See who it's from."

She slit open the envelope. "Ein Geschenk," she read, then translated, "a gift. Use well and often."

"Günter?" Ron surmised.

She tore the wrapping, stared at the box, then wordlessly handed it to him.

Trojans.

Both of them were flushed with embarrassment.

"Tonight?" he asked tentatively.

"Okay," she agreed shyly, averting her eyes.

His face broke out in a grin. Although the time was nearly ten hours away, he didn't care. "Let's go have something to eat," he said, taking her hand.

She smiled and let him lead her downstairs.