"Brunch is a cool word," he reflected as another piece of egg made its way to his errant strands.

Betsy smiled and brushed some of the food from his hair. She was awfully tolerant of his randomness. She was like a correcting factor in his life, a check digit, a means of insuring that if something went wrong with him, she could fix it.

"You're my parity bit," he told her seriously, placing a kiss above her brow.

"That's sweet," she said, and smiled again.

"'Lo, Jamie," Hermione called. His sister entered the dining room on the arm of her chum from school, Ron. Jamie cocked his head, trying to figure out what was different in the picture. Oh, yeah. Something about kissing, and pants. He frowned, trying to remember if he should be concerned, but his concentration was broken by the reminder of Betsy's presence.

Ginny yawned and rubbed her eyes. "Dammit," she said crossly, "this better be good, or I am going to drop-kick you down the hallway."

"Food," Harry said, holding up his hands in defense.

"Oh, that is a good one," she conceded. She sat up, patted her hair, and reviewed her reflection. "Decent?"

"Better than decent," he assured automatically.

"You're the best," she replied, slipping into a clean outfit. Once the task was finished, she kissed him firmly. "Let's go eat."

He reached down and pulled her up onto his lap. Absently he stroked her wild hair while reading the Daily prophet and sipping his tea.

"Josh stepped on my doll," she informed him, crossing her arms and pouting.

He continued reading a particularly fascinating article on the Chudley Cannons.

"And then he threw it across the room."

Amazing, they had won last night.

"And he said a bad word," she added for good measure.

Ron tore his eyes from the paper in mock alarm. "Heavens," he said dramatically, drawing his eyebrows together. "All of those?"

"Yes," Leonie confirmed.

"And this was before or after you defenestrated his train?"

"I didn't mean to throw it out the window, Papa," she said earnestly. "It just kind of happened."

"Uh huh," he said warily. "Where's your mother?"

"Fixing Josh's train," she said guiltily.

"I'd say you deserved all of that, then," he said, "except for maybe the dirty word." He moved her to an adjacent chair, and rose to find the soap.

His brain snapped back to reality. "Yeah?"

The tension in Hermione's face eased. "Would you like another roll?"

He nodded, munching quietly. Harry and Ginny were here, now, sitting by Jamie and Betsy, probably because that side of the table was closest to the hallway. Ginny was generally ravenous in the mornings.

His knee brushed Hermione's, sending a jolt through him. He bent down and whispered in her ear, "I love you."

She blushed and put the roll on his plate.

I could get used to this, he thought.

Hermione carelessly flipped through an issue, not paying much attention to it. Ginny would squeal every minute or so, and point out some sort of inane advice.

"I didn't know you could do that!" Ginny exclaimed, pointing at some tripe on mascara.

A passing page caught Hermione's eye.

Condoms- and you!

She scanned the paragraphs. Success rate of 91 to 94 percent.

Hermione absorbed the statistic from the page readily. It sounded impressive, but a more meaningful piece could be gleaned.

Such as a rather high fail rate.

Perturbed, she shut the periodical.

I don't know if I can handle this.

"Checkmate," Harry announced.

"This isn't fair," Ron countered. "The game isn't the same without the pieces actually butchering each other."

"Use your imagination," Harry suggested. "I won, fair and square, so get over it."

"No, no, no, I demand a rematch. Once we're back at Hogwarts, that is. No more advantages for you, you cheating bas-"

"Ron?" a female voice interrupted, tapping him on the shoulder.

He paused his tirade. "What, 'Mione?"

Harry's eyebrow went up. "'Mione?"

Ron glared at his friend. "Yes, 'Mione. Back off, you debaucher."

"I'm not the one doing the debauching," Harry said to no one in particular, which was a good thing, because no one was paying attention to him.

Hermione coughed discreetly. "Ron, we need to talk."

"Alright," he agreed, throwing another glare at his friend.

He followed her up to her bedroom, watching as her demeanor became more apprehensive with each step.

As soon as she closed the door, he was certain that the purpose of this meeting was not for her to have her wicked way with him. "What's going on?" he asked carefully.

Hermione bit her lip and handed him a piece of teenage drivel, a magazine Ginny had no doubt picked up at the station somewhere. He skimmed a few sentences about lipstick colors and stared back at her, puzzled. "Are you having problems choosing between a pale rose or a tasteful mauve?"

"Not that page," she said in exasperation, flipping it over in his hands.

Condoms- and you!

"Oh," he said unintelligently.

"'91 to 94 percent success rate,'" she quoted rapidly, pacing and biting her lip to the point of splitting the skin.

He blinked. "That's good, isn't it?"

"That's six to nine percent failing."

"That's not a lot," he said, beaming. "That's less than ten percent."

His math was never really good, but he had his inequalities down fairly well.

"It's statistically significant," she said, "and that worries me."

Ron sighed. This was sounding worse and worse. "Can't you just... you know, wave your wand and get rid of your eggs?"

If looks could kill, he would have been dead several times over by now. "I still have problems charming off a pimple, and you want me to experiment on my ovaries?"

"No," he said immediately, attempting to cover his ass, "of course not. I mean, I was just thinking you might be familiar with a spell, and-"

She did not appear convinced.

Silence ate away at him, then she spoke softly. "I'm not ready for this."

"You were ready last night. And this morning," he accused.

"I wasn't thinking," she snapped.

The knife was thrown at his heart.

He stared out the window. "So now that you've started thinking, what am I, a mistake?"

Her laugh was bitter. "Look at us. We've not even been together for a day, and we're already fighting."

The blade twisted.

"I love you," he offered.

"You say you do," she said slowly. "But if you really do, you'll understand. I'm only seventeen, Ron. Maybe it sounds worlds older than sixteen; let me assure you it's not. We've got another term of school left, but if I get pregnant before we're done, my life is over. I appreciate your thoughtfulness in protection, but I don't want to take any chances."

"But..."

"I don't know how serious you really are about me," she said. "You could break up with me next week for all I know."

"Wouldn't tonight prove how serious I am?"

She smiled wanly. "Waiting would prove you more serious."

Ron sighed. His brain, which seemed to have returned in rare occasion to a place above his belt, assessed the information she had given him.

While he might be taking many more cold showers in the months to come, he didn't want to blow his chance with Hermione. He loved her, dammit. "I can wait," he said, wincing as the words came out. "But can we talk about it again this summer?"

"Definitely," she said, and flung herself into his arms.

And now he was on his way to slumber. A radically different notion than what he'd had in mind this morning. He sighed and reminded himself it was for the best.

"Papa?"

Ron shifted his head on his pillow to see his new visitor. "I'm trying to sleep, Leonie."

She bounded in anyway and hopped on the bed. "Why aren't you sleeping with Mama?"

"Very good question," he replied sourly, flopping over. Then he realized she didn't quite mean it the way he took it, and sighed again.

"It's for the best," he said aloud forcefully, hoping that somehow that would make him feel better about it.

And then he got an idea.

An excellent idea.

"Go back to your room," he said, patting Leonie on the bottom. "I've got an idea to execute."

He didn't even notice on his way out that she had vanished.

"Two point seven one eight two eight one eight two eight four six.. no, five nine.."

"E."

Her head sharply turned to the door, where Ron stood. "Yes, that was e," she said with some surprise.

He blinked. "There was a bug on my arm."

"Oh," she said, vague disappointment flashing. Her vision cleared a bit, and she recognized that he was nearly half naked, and that this could not bode well. "What are you doing here?"

"Can I sleep with you?"

This comment did nothing for her apprehension. She groaned and rolled her eyes. "I thought we already talked about this."

"Not like that." His eyes grew large. "More like next to you. Hold you, wake up with you in my arms."

She softened considerably. "My parents would kill us if they found us."

"We could lock the door."

Hermione pursed her lips. "Alright. But nothing more than that. Promise?"

"Promise," he agreed. After turning the lock, he climbed underneath the covers and snuggled against her.

It was a gigantic influx of warmth and comfort. He was so much larger than her; his body swallowed hers in ways that should have frightened her. But she wasn't frightened at all... she felt more secure than she could ever recall being before.

"Your hair always smells so good," he mumbled.

"Mm," she replied drowsily. As she drifted into sleep, she couldn't help thinking what an excellent idea this was.

"Mr. Weasley!"

Ron halted his steps, trying not to curse. "Afternoon, Professor McGonagall."

The head of Gryffindor house folded her arms and tapped her toe. "I think you know what I'm looking for."

Before she could begin her scolding, he whipped his seventh year survey from his satchel. "For you, Professor."

"You finished it?" she said in amazement.

He scratched his forehead. "I don't know what you're going to think about the results, but yes."

McGonagall read it over quickly.

Ron was rather afraid that she was going to tell him he was a quack for wanting to work at the Ministry in the precognizant department.

Instead, she beamed.

Beam? McGonagall?

Ron blinked, but her pleased expression remained. "Mr. Weasley, I'm most impressed," she said, pushing her glasses back up.

"You are?"

"Your grades in Divination have always been high," she said.

Because I lied through my teeth, he thought, but decided not to relay this information.

"I know a fellow who's assistant head of that department. I'll make sure I post him a letter in your favor," McGonagall said pensively. She patted his shoulder and smiled again. "Nice job, Mr. Weasley."

He almost felt the need to pick his jaw up from the floor.

Harry clapped a hand on his back. "'Nice job, Mr. Weasley,'" he mimicked, and laughed.

"Shut up," Ron muttered.

Hermione strode out of her classroom and linked her arm in his. "What's this?"

Harry was still laughing.

"On second thought," she said, "I don't want to know." She bent up and pressed her lips to his cheek. "Let's go watch the match."

Ron's face nearly split with his grin.

Life, he decided, was good.