Harry Potter 1. Chapter 1

I Was Walking With a Ghost

**The obligatory A/N: I plan on at least three good chapters on this one, perhaps more depending on feedback. Of course, the characters belong to J.K. but the plot is mine. And that's all you'll hear on that. Oh, and my title is taken from the song by Tegan and Sarah, so that's not mine either, but no, this isn't a songfic.**

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

"_Ron!" _

"_Hermione, no!"_

A shrill, piercing scream rang through the entire house as Hermione shot upright, well, as upright as a nine-month pregnancy would allow. More accurately, she lurched forward into a position where she was shakily resting on her forearms and elbows, her chest heaving with fear as a cold sweat sent a tingling sensation up her spine and neck. Her characteristically wild chestnut hair now dangled in limp, damp curls at the side of her shadowed face, and her eyes seemed to be the only objects reflecting the faint strands of moonlight streaming in through the closed window.

It took a moment, and her raspy throat, to realize that it had been her own scream that had awakened her. She fell back on her pillow, gazing up at the blank, darkened ceiling as she regained her breath, her mind completely blank. She gazed down in front of her. In the hot summer night, she had kicked off the orange and crimson striped sheets, exposing her pale legs and large stomach, which her white tank top and black cotton shorts could no longer hope to cover. She placed her hand gingerly on her abdomen and ran her fingers lightly up and down it as she brought herself back to respiratory equilibrium.

Looking down at her stomach, she came to the same horrific conclusion she had been coming to night after hopeless night for the past seven months. She rolled her head to the left and, not surprisingly, found the second pillow uninhabited and the sheets barely tussled, apart from what she had already done herself. Only a single silent tear rolled down her cheek; she had cried so much that she was pumped dry. All those nights she had hoped with all of her being that it was nothing more than a dream, and yet her wishes were never realized.

Hermione wiped away the wetness from her eyes and inhaled, her breath catching in her throat as she felt her face grow hot from trying to hold back her tears. With a substantial effort, she rolled on to her left side, still stroking her abdomen lightly, and stared straight ahead at the wall directly next to the bed. It felt wrong, but that was the only view she had been able to see for months, no longer blocked by the solid mass, usually clad in orange striped pyjamas, or a simple white shirt and boxers, or, occasionally, nothing but the sheets.

Hermione reached out with her right hand and ran her fingers down the empty side of the bed, retracting quickly as though she had been bitten by a spider that was hiding among the covers. She longed so desperately to be able to feel some warmth, some life there, but she knew it would never be inhabited by any such form again. She stared at the vacant pillow, her mind full of fading memories. Memories of that face, ones that she had taken for granted and now sorely regretted not burning into her mind permanently. His deep blue eyes staring softly, lovingly into hers, the smile on his freckled face as he pulled away from kissing her goodnight, the way his moppish red hair framed his long face as he slept, usually facing her, but at times on his back. She preferred him sleeping on his side, mainly because he had a tendency to snore otherwise, but she still loved seeing his profile edged in starlight, leaving a long-nosed shadow on the opposite wall.

Forcing herself to banish such thoughts from her mind, though it was no simple task and involved quite a bit of squeezing her eyes shut and taking deep, cleansing breaths, she finally turned away from the sight and moved onto her back again before the discomfort on her spine caused her to sit up again. The added thirty or forty pounds that had locked themselves on to her stomach, hips, and thighs because of the baby she had inside only worsened her physical and emotional state, especially since she was unable to enjoy the rewards of being in a fragile condition and being waited on like royalty. She was alone, in every sense of the word, and she had nobody to rely on to run to the store at 2 AM for pickles and brownies, or to give her a back rub when every muscle in her body tensed up.

Right now, all Hermione would have liked was a glass of water, since her throat currently felt as though she had been living in the desert and was surviving on a diet of cactus needles. Of course, she knew that there was nobody in the kitchen at this hour, well not anymore, so she slowly climbed out of the side of her…formerly their…bed and stood up, straightening her shirt and stretching it as far over her belly as she could before it simply rolled back up to its original position. She felt the wood underneath her feet give way slightly, something she had been accustomed to for the past eight or so weeks, and crept through the house, the one that was supposed to be for a large family, as quietly as she could, her subconscious unable to recognize that she need not be silent anymore, that there was nobody left to wake up.

As she entered the darkened kitchen, which was only illuminated by the pallid yellow street lamp outside that gave it an almost sick looking atmosphere, she flicked on the light switch, squinting as her eyes became accustomed to the sudden brightness. Making her way to the sink, her hand placed instinctively on her stomach, she focused blankly on the small weeping willow that stood in the front yard, visible through the window. The wispy branches fluttered lazily in the inconsistent breezes, some of the small white flowers, detaching and drifting on the crosswinds, leaving the branches emptier than they already appeared.

Her mind lost in the complexities of what a simple tree blowing in a simple wind could bring to her overburdened mind, Hermione grabbed a glass from the wooden cabinet next to the sink and filled it with tap water. She looked away for a moment, just to take a sip. As the water slid down to her stomach, she felt a light punch just below her navel. She pressed back against her baby as it kicked, roused from slumber by the combination of sound, motion, and distress of its poor mother. Hermione leaned against the counter, placing her glass in the sink as she pushed both hands against her stomach. Instead of a motherly smile and perhaps a light blush, the only expression that overtook Hermione was one of pain and sadness. She felt a sharp twinge in her stomach, one not caused directly by the child, but instead by the thoughts it invoked. With every slight movement, she felt as though a poison tipped knife were being forced deeper into her chest, the toxin being her own mind.

She knew that she would at least have a piece of him forever with this baby, but that seemed only to hurt her more, especially considering that he never even learned his wife's exciting little secret before he was gone. What would she say when asked what happened to Daddy? How would she deal with raising a child alone, knowing that half the reason it was even in this world was gone? She stared up into the starlit sky, remembering what her own father had told her. If only she believed in wishing upon a star, she would wish against all human possibility that her child would have a father, the one it was meant to have, that would tell it stories, give it hope, make believe. It's all she wanted, and all she knew she could never have.

Before she could cry anymore, Hermione downed the rest of her water as if it were a shot of tequila, drowning her sadness, and looked one last time out the window. For some reason, the white flower petals on the weeping willow had an almost orange cast over them, as if she were looking out the window through a reflection of somebody with red hair. She quickly dismissed it for her own faulty reasoning and walked back through the empty hallways to her bed, her eyes unable to look up from the ground at the bed as she situated herself back on the mattress, pulling the covers up to her chest. "I love you…" She whispered up to the blank, shadowed ceiling, her voice cracking slightly as she sniffed back tears and rolled onto her right side, away from the pillow.

If only she hadn't decided to turn onto her side at that precise moment, if only the mattress hadn't creaked beneath her and if only she hadn't rustled the sheets, she may have heard, as though carried on the wind, a light breath whispering "I love you too, Hermione…" back at her.


	2. Chapter 2

**I Was Walking with a Ghost**

**Chapter 2**

If happiness were a tangible feeling, Hermione would be wrapped in it, as if two familiar arms were holding her in the early morning. An internal warmth and outer coolness, accompanied by a psychological sense of safety and satisfaction prevented her from waking up. She felt…exhausted to say the least, as was proven by her first three fruitless attempts to open her eyes or bring herself back to consciousness. Finally she yawned, and as she brought her hand to her mouth, her arm cut through a strange cool air pocket and the feeling around her dissipated, giving her the strength to open her eyes.

Slowly, gingerly she sat up, propping herself up on her elbows. Her stomach growled, not surprisingly, and she pushed herself into a full upright position as she brought her hand to her abdomen and rubbed it slowly. "Good morning." She glanced to the left, her tired mind creating delusions that brought her to expect her husband to be sleeping next to her, his orange hair ruffled and the sheets pulled around him at strange angles. That was why it hurt her so much when her logic took over again and she remembered that the sunlight playing on the empty area was not just an illusion, that she was really alone.

She had little time to ponder this, as her baby decided it was hungry now and signaled to its mother with a series of kicks, bringing Hermione out of her trance. "Alright, let's find us some breakfast." She stepped into her midnight blue slippers and slowly made her way down the stairs to the kitchen, which was not so easy these days as she was very sore from her neck to her legs. As she entered the kitchen, she picked up her wand, which she had laying on the counter next to the stove, and flicked it towards the tea kettle, which filled itself with water and set itself on the already lit stove. With another wave, she set two pieces of bread to work toasting themselves. Sitting down at the table, she sighed, remembering those days when she could actually pull her chair all the way in and not be hindered by a stomach the size of a large beach ball. She reached over to the other side of the table and grabbed a black textbook with a magenta and gold bookmark in it. The cover of the book read "St. Mungo's University for the Healing Arts: Standard Medical Spells, Level1" in gold lettering.

For the past few months, Hermione had been studying at the education wing of St. Mungo's to become a registered Healer. Her university major had suddenly shifted from Arithmancy, which she chose due to its practicality and logic, to Medicinal Magic after she had become a widow and single mother-to-be. As her breakfast cooked, she read a chapter about how to magically set bones, her wand tucked behind her ear and concentration apparent in the fact that she was biting on her bottom lip. She was just about to read how to fix a rib when a loud knock from the front door startled her from her learning. "A visitor? This early?" She glanced at the clock above the sink, an analog that was shaped like witch's hat and read the time as 11:47 AM. "Oh dear..." She had no idea that she had slept in so late, as she usually woke up by 8 or 9.

A second knock brought her to her feet and she left the book on the table as she made her way through the pale green living room and the entry way. She opened the door and smiled as she saw that Neville was standing on her porch, holding the Daily Prophet in his hand. "Good morning, Neville. Come in." She stood aside and opened the door for him. Though a few inches taller and with a slightly receding hairline (which was unfortunate considering he was just now pushing 30), Neville was still the same as always, kind and bumbling with a broad boyish smile on his face.

"Brought your paper." As he stepped inside, Hermione thanked him and took the paper from his hands, placing it on the kitchen table as they entered the white-walled room, which was decorated with a variety of homey touches, though not as crowded as the Burrow's walls had been. The kettle whistled as she took a seat again, not being able to really stand much.

"Take a seat. Would you like some tea?" When Neville nodded, Hermione stood to grab some mugs, but he stopped her, insisting on doing it himself. As he was pouring the tea, Hermione closed her book and pushed it back to the corner of the table. "Nice of you to stop by. How's Luna doing?"

"She's fine, watching the twins." He grabbed the toast as the toaster (one of the Muggle conveniences that Hermione had retained) dinged to signal it was done. Bringing over the plate of toast and the tea, he sat across from her with a smile on his face. "Arthur started sparking from the fingers last night, and Artemis actually started reading some spell words." He beamed, feeling extremely proud of his three year olds. It hadn't been his choice to name his children Arthur and Artemis, Artie and Arty for short, but Luna had been adamant about it after reading that giving twins similar names would confuse Cradle Robbing Pixies that might just want to take one of them away.

"That's brilliant. I'm so happy for you two." She was, too. Well, on the outside. On the inside she felt a sense of utter loneliness, brought on by the fact that her baby would never reap the benefit of having an overly proud father bragging about it, smiling goofily at something so basic as saying a simple Latin word. But regardless, she still smiled as she drank her tea, eyeing one of her two closest…only friends left.

Neville glanced at the woman across the table, his smile turning to a look of compassion and concern. "How have you been holding up?" A light sigh from Hermione was enough to preemptively demonstrate that no matter what she said, she was not all fine.

"It's been a little difficult, I admit. These past few days I've been so sore, it's been just awful. And…" She dropped her voice subconsciously as if out of respect for the dead. "I've been thinking a lot about Ron." She sat back and ran her hand along her stomach, feeling her baby moving around inside as she ate her toast. "This baby is going to be born in a few days, I can feel it. And I just don't know if I'm emotionally ready yet. I know it's been over eight months and by all standard logic I should at least have been able to pull myself together by now and-"

"Hermione, there's no logic involved when something like this happens." He reached over and patted her forearm gently as a friendly gesture. "You've been through Hell and back, and you've held your own brilliantly, You've had so much loss, but you're still able to think of what you have to gain." He motioned to her stomach and gave her a comforting smile. If the years had done anything for him, it had given him at least a little insight into the world and the people in it, especially his friends. "Besides, you're having a baby, it's normal to be emotional."

"Yes, I suppose you're right. I'm just glad that I was lucky enough to find such wonderful godparents like you and Luna." She shifted her gaze momentarily to the kitchen window, looking at that willow tree again. It seemed almost less droopy than it was the night before, but that could just be her perspective on it.

"Anytime. How's old Neville Jr. coming along anyway?" He cast a joking grin at her and winked playfully.

"Very funny. You know very well I'm not naming this baby Neville if it's a boy…" Neville chimed in as they spoke in unison. "The baby's name will be Ronald Harry Granger-Weasley." Hermione gave him one of those "You're still a child aren't you?" looks, but couldn't help chuckling. "That's right."

"And what if it's a girl? You've never told me that."

Hermione stirred her tea, thinking for a moment. "I hadn't really considered it. I suppose I will name her after Ginny, or perhaps after her grandmothers." She closed her eyes momentarily, trying not to think about those three women, none of which were currently alive to see their soon to be grandchild, or in Ginny's case, niece or nephew.

Neville finished up his tea silently. His mind had drifted to the thought of Ginny when Hermione spoke of her. He had always liked her, and they had dated briefly about six years back, though it really wasn't meant to be. He had moved on, and by the time she had died, Neville and Luna had already gotten married and were the parents of two young children, though Neville knew he would always have a soft spot for the red haired girl in his heart. Finally, he stood up and brought his mug to the sink. "I should get going. I had to run to the store, but I figured I should drop by and see how my favorite genius friend is doing."

Hermione smiled, pushing herself into a standing position. "It was great to see you again." She walked him to the door and gave him a hug before he left, which was a little awkward because she had to lean so far forward to get her arms around him.

"Same here, Hermione. Take care of yourself. And remember, as soon as you think that baby's coming, you let us know and we'll Apparate right over." He gave her a friendly kiss on the cheek and waved goodbye to her, rubbing her stomach in a loving sort of way.

"I will. Say hello to Luna for me." She waved to him as she closed the door and returned to the kitchen to finish her breakfast and read the paper.

Meanwhile, Neville walked down the front path of their home, on the way to the store. As he passed by their mailbox, which Hermione still used to keep up with some of her Muggle friends, he waved to a very nearly transparent red headed figure that was leaning against it. "Afternoon, Ron." He placed his hands in his pockets and whistled as he turned right down the sidewalk, his mind only beginning to work after a few seconds. He stopped in his tracks and did a double take, looking behind his shoulder, but nobody was there. Confused now, Neville shook his head and continued down the street. "I need to stop reading all those ghost stories that Luna shows me…"


	3. Chapter 3

I Was Walking With a Ghost

Chapter 3

As Neville left, Hermione, having turned away from the door too quickly to watch her friend's interaction with her late husband, returned to her tea, padding slowly against the hardwood floor of the living room and the linoleum of the kitchen. She leaned against the kitchen wall, glancing at her medical text on the table. At the moment, she really had no desire to do any more studying, which was a very foreign thought to the usually avid bookworm. She instead picked up her mug and carried it to the stove, refilling it before ambling into the living room and taking a seat on the couch.

Hermione relaxed on the sofa, her heavier than usual body causing her to sink deep into the cushions. She stirred her tea with her teaspoon lazily, watching the small, weak whirlpool form in the center of the mug. She blew away some steam and took a sip before setting it down on the glass table in front of her. As she set down her mug, her eyes flickered to the left and she reached out to grab the picture frame that was positioned on a stack of Daily Prophets. Looking at the silver frame and the picture within brought an all too familiar fluttering to her stomach.

The picture frame was wider than it was tall, and was polished silver, except for the bottom left corner. There was a small, orange fingerprint there, evidence of one of Ron's snacking binges on Fire Crisps. Comparable to what a Muggle might call a very spicy Cheez Doodle, Fire Crisps had the ability to actually cause flaming breath, and Ron had been absolutely in love with them. For that reason, Hermione never touched or cleaned that corner of the frame, feeling that it gave the impression of him recently being in the room, even though Hermione was the only one in eight months who had looked at the picture.

Along the top side of the frame, "Ronald Billius Weasley – Hermione Jane Granger" was written in delicate filigree and on the bottom was the date "October 31, 2004." The picture itself explained the writing. Ron and Hermione were in the center of the setting, outside in the afternoon sunlightt, colorful leaves from a few surrounding trees fluttering to the ground The breeze periodically blew around them and rustled the flowered archway they stood in front of. Ron was standing proudly, wearing a set of handsome black dress robes, looking very mature and much more physically built than he did as a teenager. He no longer maintained the overly tall, awkward appearance he used to have. His orange hair was slicked back as best as possible, but a few stray strands fell carelessly, attractively in front of his forehead. On his freckled face was a wide, ecstatic grin, and his eyes sparkled as he gazed at the woman whose waist he had his arms around.

Hermione was wearing flattering white robes, a silver veil attached to her head via a thin silver circlet around her forehead with a diamond in the center. The outfit made her appear as though she were no less than a princess, but her serene yet stunning smile gave her the look of a queen. She had her hair tamed for once, falling not in bushy spirals, but in soft brown waves down to her shoulder blades. She held a bouquet of roses and baby's breath in her left hand, and her right arm was resting on Ron's upper arm. The two were standing very close and at times leaned in to kiss each other, causing the color of Ron's lips to appear more and more like the shade of Hermione's lipstick.

Slightly behind them and off to the right, was a very proud looking Ginny Weasley, who was clad in a beautifully shimmering midnight blue robe, her fire red hair pulled back into a clip with ringlets hanging down in front. She beamed at the couple, her left arm, which proudly displayed a large diamond ring, hooked around the neck of her fiancée. Harry had tried to comb his hair, and even allowed Ginny to use styling gel on it, but it was still as messy as ever, bringing a more relaxed look to his dress robes. He had his right hand on the small of Gnny's back and he was rocking back and forth, watching the couple kiss and occasionally doing the same with Ginny or cleaning his glasses or placing his hand in his pocket.

And of course, the twins were there. They were making all sorts of faces at their brother and new sister-in-law, most of which looked they should have the caption "kissy kissy!" as they puckered up their lips and pretending to be an overly sweet couple. They would sometimes hold each other and fake cry as though they were so touched by the entire ceremony or would whisper to each other and grin sadistically at the others.

The entire scene brought back both memories of the best day of her life and the worst feeling she had ever felt. Had she only just…no, she couldn't think of that right now. She was too exhausted from feeling guilty that her mind had gone blank as of late. She gazed at the picture absentmindedly, wishing she could return the placid, oblivious smiles of the wedding party, who were so blissfully unaware that every one of them, except for the bride, was no longer of this earth.

"Ron…" She traced his profile with the tip of her finger, a few silent tears falling. She squeezed her eyes shut and held the picture close to her chest. "I would give anything for you to come back to me. Anything…I would give all I own, I would give the world…" She opened her eyes and glanced at the picture again before whispering. "I would give my life."

In order to avoid upsetting herself anymore, Hermione wiped her eyes dry with her sleeve and took one last glance at the picture before reaching her arm out to place it back on the table. "You look so beautiful in that picture." The voice, which was not her own, came from next to her and caused Hermione to jump up, scrambling off the couch and accidentally dropping the picture to the floor, shattering the glass in front of it. She stared, wide-eyed, at the couch. There, right in front of her, sitting lazily and looking very relaxed was one Ronald Weasley. "Are you alright, "Mione? You look as if you've seen a ghost…" And with that, Hermione promptly fainted on the couch.


	4. Chapter 4

I was Walking with a Ghost

Chapter 4

A/N: Oh my word…it has been so long since I've gotten the chance to write again. Bad life, bad! Anyway, a few things to address. First off, the last chapter was too short, I admit. But it was supposed to be a sort of filler/cliffy chapter to make readers go EEEEE WHAT'S HAPPENING?! Apparently it worked, yay! Secondly, I'm always asked why my paragraphs are so long and my chapters are so short. This is mainly for time management. I find that if I don't have the time to read a whole story, I take it in parts. It's easier to get through shorter chapters. Also, if there are fewer paragraphs that are longer, you can read through a paragraph if you're on the run and it will be easier to find your place when you return as opposed to looking through a bunch of one and two liners. Oh and by the way, there's some fluff warnings for the next chapter or so, but I'm in a lovey mood so bleh. Yeah…so now that I've totally talked my mouth off, I return to writing. Oh, and thanks for the reviews! I feed off them like some sort of comment vampire, so keep sending them in!

Hermione awoke a good half hour later, her head throbbing and her eyelids feeling as though they were weighed down by anvils. She winced as she pushed herself up, with a good deal of effort, and blinked rapidly to take in her surroundings. She had just woken up from a very vivid dream in which she had seen her husband sitting next to her on the couch, and she was still reeling from the entire experience.

"Have a nice sleep?" A very familiar yet foreign voice rang out from behind her as she glanced up, her eyes still squinted from sleep. She saw a semi-transparent redhead standing behind her, leaning slightly against the arm of the couch as he held their wedding picture frame in his hands and smiled. "You know, Hermione, for someone who was always so obsessive over having everything neat and ordered, you sure seem to have no regard towards cleaning up this frame." He pointed to the orange smudge on the corner and chuckled as he placed the frame gently on the table. He took a seat next to her, giving her a warm smile as he reclined into the cushions. "How do you feel?"

Hermione was rather confused. She didn't understand what was happening at all, which was a very rare condition for someone who always knew the answers. "I-I'm fine, I suppose. My head is hurting something awful though." She sat up straighter, rubbing her eyes before pressing her fingers to her temples to try and relieve the pain there. "I don't understand."

Ron shrugged. "Neither do I. But that's no real surprise."

The bushy haired woman looked up at him, her face a mix of curiosity, disbelief, and melancholia. He looked like a ghost, except for a few small exceptions. "What happened to you?"

This too was met with a shrug from the freckle-faced man. "I was sort of hoping you could answer that for me. All I remember is floating around for a good long while then hearing your voice and suddenly being in our bedroom again. That was a few nights ago. Everything was all wonky…like blurred vision. Things only really came into focus last night actually."

Hermione blinked, trying to think logically about the entire situation. She rubbed her stomach absentmindedly, biting on her lower lip in her pensive manner as she tried to piece together such seemingly impossible and random events. "I don't understand," she repeated. "You're not a ghost. You aren't silver, you don't float, and you aren't intangible. Things don't add up."

"Correction." Ron frowned and scooted over towards her. "I'm not intangible for the most part." He reached his hand out and went to brush some hair away from Hermione's face, but he passed right through. He withdrew his hand, looking awfully depressed, and situated himself in the couch cushions again. "I feel like we're in one of those awful mystery books that Luna always read. Whoever is writing this story better get their head on straight and explain what the bloody hell is happening."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, still trying to determine if she should believe the circumstances or not, though she agreed that if they were just characters of some twisted person's disjointed plotline, then said author had some explaining to do. "I wish I knew what was going on, but I've never read about anything like this." She shook her head sadly, looking down at her round stomach, which seemed to bring a small smile to her face as she was struck by a thought. "At least you're here for us now."

Ron nodded in agreement, remaining silent as he tried to get his own thick mind to begin working again. He glanced over at her, only then picking up on a very important detail. "Hermione?"

She glanced up at him, canting her head to the side. "Yes?"

"Hermione…that baby. It's mine right? You-you didn't go off and get married again, did you?" Ron bit on his bottom lip, a little scared that perhaps he may have insulted her with such an insinuation.

Hermione had to think on this for a while. It was only after she realized that she had never spoken to him about her pregnancy that she understood where the question stemmed from. She nodded, her expression lightening a little. "Yes, it's yours. I was going to tell you but…well…" She glanced up at him, furrowing her brow. "Are you alright?"

Ron had a very strange expression on his face. He looked somewhat disoriented, somewhat shocked, and somewhat ecstatic. He was staring at her abdomen, bending his fingers as though they were aching to just reach out and touch her. He said nothing to Hermione's question, but nodded in response as the full realization of everything that he had missed in the last few months hit him. Eventually, he cleared his throat and moved his gaze up to her eyes. "So…so is it a boy or a girl?"

Hermione shrugged. "I'm not sure. I wanted to keep it a surprise, though I get the feeling we're going to find out rather soon." She gave him a smile, one of the first genuine ones she had mustered in a long time.

As the full implications of what was going on sunk in, the disorientation and shock left Ron's face, leaving only ecstasy. He gave his wife a wide, beaming smile as he reached over and, taking a risk, rubbed her stomach to make sure it wasn't a dream, relieved that he was able to at least make contact with her shirt if not her bare stomach. "So…so we're actually having a baby? I mean, you know, a little person type thing." Apparently, eloquence was not Ron Weasley's forte in such a situation.

Hermione felt a fluttering in her stomach brought on by Ron's indirect touch, which started a chain reaction inside her, resulting in a smile similar to her husband's. "You're very observant." She leaned over to kiss him, remembering too late that as she brushed her lips to his, she met only air. She lingered there for a moment, feeling a different, sadder sort of twinge in her stomach that was different from before. She retreated and looked down at herself, Ron's hand still lightly positioned on her upper abdomen. That sight was at least some comfort, though she finally allowed a few tears to roll down her cheeks. "I missed you…"

Ron wanted desperately to wipe her tears away, but knew it was impossible in his current state. "I know." His voice cracked ever so slightly and he cleared his throat before continuing. "I missed you too…bloody hell did I miss you." He tried his best to give her a comforting smile. "But at least we're together now."


	5. Chapter 5

I Was Walking With a Ghost

Chapter 5

Hermione was sitting in a kitchen chair, the fingers of her right hand tangled in her bushy mop of hair as she stared determinedly at the text book in front of her. "I don't understand…there's absolutely nothing in here." With an exasperated sigh, she slammed the book shut and pushed it aside, pulling another one towards from a stack of about twenty.

Meanwhile, Ron was busy cooking up dinner. Having been dead for a half of year, he was absolutely famished and found himself to be extremely grateful that he was still able to touch and consume food. As he boiled some water for potatoes, he leaned against the kitchen counter, arms over his chest while he frowned at his obviously stressed wife. "You sure you don't want to take a break? You're going to pop a blood vessel you know." As if that was any different than usual.

Hermione shook her head forcefully, flipping through the pages as she skimmed the paragraphs for any sort of information on ghosts that break the rules of being ghosts. "I thought you knew me well enough by now, Ron." She glanced up at him momentarily, catching his somewhat concerned expression as she sighed again. "Fine, I'll take a five minute break, but just because I need to go grab a few more books that I missed." She pushed herself up from the table, taking off for the study, which was cluttered with enough books to put Madam Pince to shame.

Ron took the few minutes that Hermione was gone to stare out the window and try to make sense of things. He watched as the sun set behind the willow tree, which had been dead from the encroaching winter last time he had seen it. He shook his head, mainly at the fact that he had been, well, away for lack of a better word, for so long. He felt sort of resentful for allowing himself to get killed or whatever it was that had happened to him, especially given Hermione's condition. But at the very least, it wasn't as though Ron had been aware that he was going to be a father, seeing as how his wife had yet to tell him and neither of them had been giving any previous indication that she was pregnant. Odd to think now that her stomach was still flat the last time they saw each other. "Bloody hell…has it really been that long?"

"Yes…" Hermione's voice answered him softly, returning to the kitchen with three more books. "It has." She set them down on the table and approached her husband, holding out a pair of brand new gardening gloves. "Here."

"What are these for?" Ron raised an eyebrow as he took the gloves from her and held them in front of him.

"To wear, of course." Hermione shrugged and glanced up at him matter of factly. "If we can't have skin to skin contact, we have to settle for the next best thing." She pulled out a pair of latex medical gloves from her pocket and pulled them on.

"But they have flower designs on them!" Ron whined as he eyed the large roses and daffodils that were on the gloves. "Why don't you wear these and I'll take yours?"

"Because I can't turn pages with them." Hermione answered him very plainly, glancing over his shoulder at the pot of water. "It's boiling. I'll be right back." There was something else that she needed to get. As she left again, Ron stared at the gloves for a moment before begrudgingly slipping his hands inside. The things he did for love.

By the time Hermione returned, Ron had tipped the taters into the water and was sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through one of the textbooks that had colored illustrations. "Find anything?" Hermione sat down next to him, placing her hand on his back, or rather, the back of his shirt.

Ron shook his head, shutting the book and leaning back with a sigh. "Nothing…what's that?" He tilted his chin in the direction of her left hand, which held something long and wooden.

"This?" Hermione held it up to him. "Come now, don't tell you've forgotten what your own wand looks like." She smiled, handing it over to him as she reached for another book. "It's been on your nightstand, waiting for you. I can't tell you how many times I tried to put it away in a closet or drawer and it was right back in the same spot the next day. It's as though it knew you would be back."

Ron returned her smile as he gripped his old wand, the feeling of it very familiar despite the gloves he had on. "Smart wand." He waved it around lazily, not casting any spells, but getting the hang of holding it again. A few white sparks fell from the tip, disappearing midair as they fell towards the table. Setting it back down, Ron snaked his arm behind Hermione's back, resting his chin on her shoulder and his free hand on her stomach as he watched her reading again. "Is it possible I'm not really a ghost? Maybe I'm some sort of dream thing or something…" The thought made him frown. "I hope not though."

"Neither do I." Hermione flipped through a rather large, dusty medical manual with a shake of the head. "No…you don't fit the mold of an illusion either. You wouldn't be able to wield your wand if you were just from a dream. And I know that I can't be currently in a dream anyway because if I was then I wouldn't be able to feel any of this incessant kicking that's going on." It took Ron a moment to realize who said kicking was coming from, but he smiled as he remembered, running his hand slowly down her front until he could feel the light, constant thumping against his hand.

They sat like that for a while, Hermione reading, leaning against her husband's arms and grateful that he was still in his long-sleeved robes, and Ron holding her gently, his gloved palm resting on her stomach as he tried to make up for all the small, fluttering kicks that he had missed over the past few months. It was a scene that they had both missed a great deal, the two of them together, peaceful and content. It had been a very long time since they hadn't had to worry about anything and could just take advantage of the fact that they were together. The glanced at each other occasionally, both of them aching desperately to kiss or touch each other but knowing that it was nothing more than a burning desire that could not be fulfilled.

Finally, they were snapped back into reality when the water on the stove began boiling over, sending hissing spurts of steam into the air. Ron hopped up from his seat, not needing to use oven mitts as his gloves were rather thick, and fixed up his dinner. He had about a million questions to ask Hermione about everything that had happened, but his mind was too fussed at the moment to want to think straight about anything at all. It could wait until tonight.

"Just once more, please?" Ron, his hands still covered in floral gloves, nudged Hermione's shoulder as he tried to get her to roll back towards him. It was nearly midnight and Hermione was thoroughly exhausted after the whole day's events. She just wanted to sleep, but Ron was too caught up in his excitement to let her. "Come on, please?"

Hermione sighed, shifting under the covers and rolling onto her back. It was rather uncomfortable, what with the baby laying on her internal organs, but she was too tired to care. "Must you? It's not even moving anymore." She yawned. "You're the only one who's not entirely exhausted right now."

"I know, but I've been gone for six bloody-"

"Don't curse."

"I've been gone for six months and now I've only got a few days to get the baby used to me before it's born." Ron pouted slightly, his expression reminiscent of his stubborn days as a young boy. "Please, Hermione."

Too tired to argue, she tossed the covers off of her and adjusted the large sweatshirt she was sleeping in despite the warm weather. It was the only long sleeved shirt she had that still fit, so she had little choice. "Alright, but I really do need sleep." She yawned again, her eyes half opened as Ron sat up, creaking the mattress slightly beneath them.

"Hello there, it's me again. Ron…ummm Dad…Daddy?" In all honesty, Ron felt rather foolish speaking to Hermione's stomach, but he reminded himself that he wasn't addressing it, but the little person inside it. "I know you're tired and Mum is tired and all but I just want you to know that I really didn't mean to leave you two for so long and that I'm not going to leave anymore and I love you both and I don't want you to think that I don't because I do." He said this all in his usual hurried, stumbling way, despite the fact he had been saying the same thing for the past hour or so.

As Hermione listened to his voice, she shut her eyes, feeling herself drift off to sleep. Taking notice of this, Ron grabbed his wand and flicked off the lights in the room, leaning in close to her face and brushing the hair away from her eyes. He tried kissing her on the forehead but it was a futile effort that just made him feel even worse. Sighing quietly, he returned his attention to his baby and rubbed Hermione's stomach lightly. "I really can't wait to see you, you know. Mum and I were trying very hard for you for a long time but things just weren't safe enough for a baby. I'm just glad that things are better now, and hopefully we can be a normal family. It will be just the three of us, or maybe more if you want some brothers and sisters." He chuckled as he leaned down and kissed the bump that was his currently sleeping baby. "But there's plenty of time for that. I don't think your dear Mum wants to go through another pregnancy quite yet." He had never really gotten the chance to talk to Hermione about all of his questions, one of which was how she had felt physically and emotionally for the past few months, but he had a feeling that it wasn't something she wanted to repeat anytime soon.

Ron smiled as he felt a single, light kick against his palm. It all felt so surreal, that he was back with Hermione, that they were finally going to have a baby, and that the past few months had even existed with him not knowing. He didn't particularly like that last part, but he forced himself to focus on the fact that he was there now and that's all that mattered. "Good night." With a light pat, he rested his hand on Hermione's stomach, laid down next to her, and let himself fall asleep, feeling rather content and pleased.


End file.
