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    Ginny was nervous; she had a little problem that she had been dwelling on for about a week and had only really just started contemplating about what it could mean. It wasn’t as though she was nervous in a negative sense, more apprehensive. The little problem could potentially be quite disruptive to her and Harry’s current attempts to get decent footholds on their respective career ladders, and she didn’t really want that. On the other hand…

                Logistics and logic and common sense and convenience aside, she was relatively pleased about her potential little problem. The only thing remained was to get it confirmed before she went and told Harry about it. This thought then led her onto musing about how he would react… which heightened her nerves just a little bit. Not much. Well, that’s a lie. It made her downright terrified. But was she thinking straight? Harry would never ever walk out on her. He’d be pleased wouldn’t he? Yes, she thought. He’d be pleased.

                Which made her very confused when she started to cry. 




     “Ron, even I know that maroon doesn’t go with orange,” Harry tried to reason. Needless to say, his reasoning was in vain; maroon didn’t go with anything.

                “Maroon doesn’t go with anything though!” said Ron, voicing Harry’s thought in despairing tones, “She’ll laugh at me.”

                “She won’t laugh at you,” Harry said calmly, “She saw you at the Yule Ball remember? The dress robes… lace… maroon again?”

                Ron’s face screwed up a little in humiliation. Oh yes… those dress robes. He knew they were still alive somewhere, collecting dust in his attic most likely, still maroon and still nastily embarrassing and still awaiting their well-deserved fate of being subjected to the CRUCIATUS CURSE!!! Yes, Ron knew that submitting a pair of robes to this curse was unlikely to cause any real damage, but it’s sometimes nice to have an outlet for your vindictive fury against someone (or something, as the case may be).

                “Long time no see… best thing for those robes I reckon,” Ron grimaced darkly, “Still, I can’t see why I can’t wear these orange trousers with my maroon jumper.”

                Harry was still at a loss as to why Ron even owned a pair of orange trousers. He was prepared to bet that Hermione had had no input on their purchase. He was even prepared to bet that she didn’t know they existed, otherwise her and Ginny may have had to have started some small sort of rebellion/ vendetta that called for their immediate disposal. They made Harry’s eyes hurt, and he was convinced the glass in his glasses was magnifying and concentrating their colour so that the orange burnt into his pupils with a terrifying ferocity.

                To test his theory, he took his glasses off, and rubbed the bridge of his nose to try and removed the red marks that were permanently engraved there. No, the trousers may be blurry, but they were still just as orange.

                “You look odd without glasses Harry,” Ron mused, “I know I’ve seen you without them, but you don’t look right somehow…”

                Harry sighed; the taunts people who wore glasses were subjected to. He may as well surgically attach them to his face, seeing as he looked so “odd” without them. Also, as he wore glasses, people also expected him to be very clever. To contradict this very unfair assumption, he once took the liberty of rearranging his facial features into what he hoped was a gormless expression. Needless to say, it hadn’t worked, and caused Ron to ask him why he was trying to willingly look like Goyle.

                “But it’s just my regular face!” he retorted, “I bet if I walked around without glasses all day, you wouldn’t notice the difference by the end of it.”

                “If you don’t have to wear your glasses, does that mean I can wear my orange trousers?” Ron asked hopefully.

                “Yeah, sure,” Harry agreed.

                This little scenario involving a partially blind Harry and a terribly dressed Ron wasn’t the way to go about finding good fortune on a marital problem.




    Harry had a bruise on his forehead, shin and elbow. He had walked into a low lying table, a branch and had then tried to elbow Ron because he was laughing at him and accidentally elbowed a bus-stop sign instead.

                They were meant to be visiting Hermione, so Ron could finally make amends, but he kept chickening out at the last minute and therefore kept suggesting (very casually) that he and Harry should take a detour, to admire the beautiful countryside and scenery of the area. These many detours had taken them right into the Muggle high street that sat further inland than Tinworth. Ron’s trousers drew many curious – and some downright offended – stares, but Harry in his visually impaired state did not notice these. Ron did however, and he was getting edgy about it, causing him to yell at innocent bystanders and pedestrians. 

                “I don’t see what their problem is,” he muttered to Harry out the side of his mouth, as a little old lady turned her head right round to see what was attracting so many stares – almost like a magnet – from her fellow shoppers, “It’s not like we’re wearing robes or anything. Then I’d understand the staring, but seriously… orange is a misunderstood colour.”

                Harry assumed that Ron was making some sort of reference to his hair.

                “It’s not as bad as black,” Harry complained, “According to Ginny, it makes me look pale all the time.”

                “There’s nothing wrong with being pale,” Ron said sagely, “Pale and interesting.”

                “Did you get that from your Mum?” Harry asked, his mouth quirking upwards.

                “No!” Ron said defensively, “I got it from Hermione. It’s a Muggle saying.”

                “Right,” said Harry, wondering how he was managing to navigate his way through this unfamiliar and blurry landscape. He was mad to have gone wondering off without his glasses. The reasons for this were twofold: One – he couldn’t see, and Two – Ron was right, he did look funny. He was yet to find a third reason, but he was sure there was another.

                “Those are nice…” Ron said softly, grabbing Harry’s arm and dragging him round to face a shop front they’d just passed.

                Oh yes, reason Three – Harry couldn’t spot terrible clothes out in advance and therefore prevent Ron from finding them in shop windows.

                “Those are purple Ron,” Harry said weakly, “God you need Hermione back.”

                “What?” said Ron sharply.





    “My behaviour is starting to concern me Harry,” Ron confided, as he and Harry eventually made their way back (to Harry’s home, Ron never did pick up the courage to talk to Hermione that day), “I’m becoming all bachelor like.”

                “Bachelor like?” Harry asked, confused; he didn’t know Ron knew such a word.

                “Yeah… like, I don’t water plants anymore – and I’ve stopped using soap.”

                “Urgh,” said Harry, “That’s just gross on any level Ron! Any self respecting bachelor would use soap!”

                “Not me…” said Ron, suddenly sitting on a rock that was protruding from the cliff top path that they were walking along, “I just stand under the shower for ages… staring out your tiny bathroom window.”

                “It’s not that small Ron,” Harry consoled, even though he had just found out that Ron had been neglecting to water Ginny’s plants when he’d promised he would. He didn’t care much, but Ginny certainly would.

                “I fail at not having a wife!” he said, in an I’m-a-hard-done-by-soul sort of voice, “I thought

    it would be fun! No one bossing you around… telling you to go to work… and stuff.”

                Harry crouched down next to Ron, at a complete loss of what to say. This was Hermione’s area, relationship advice. Unfortunately it wasn’t really viable for Ron to go to ask her for help right now.

                “Well, you need to get her back then don’t you,” Harry said, trying to unearth some sort of pearl of wisdom but failing a bit, “Erm – just say sorry and get her some daisies or something.”

                “Daisies?” Ron looked at Harry, “Those grow in our lawn. She won’t want them.”

                “Bluebells, daffodils, snowdrops…” but Harry trailed off at the look on Ron’s face.

                “You know the names of too many flowers Harry!” he said, looking concerned.

                “I know… why am I such a girl?”

                “It’s because you’re married Harry… it’s because you’re married.”

                “So are you!”

                “Hence I know lots of different flowers. Perfume brands too.”

                “I know the release date of Witch Weekly,” Harry sighed sadly.

                “It’s Sunday isn’t it?”

                “No, it’s Friday.”

                Harry and Ron both sighed. Oh the burdens of married life.




    Harry and Ron arrived back at the little cottage about ten minutes later. Ron immediately skulked upstairs to go and sit in his room miserably. Ginny momentarily went pale as Ron’s trousers walked past her but she recovered quickly and turned to face Harry. He noticed she had an air of urgency about her, tingled with a mix of nervous hesitancy.

                “What’s up?” he asked.

                Ginny gave him a bright smile, and she took hold of his wrist, dragging him through the hall way, through their living room and out the door that led into their garden. Her eyes were flickering about a bit, but her smile never wavered. Harry assumed she was happy, but something was obviously causing her some worry. Maybe she’d had a really amazing job offer that would require them to move to Russia or something. Harry hoped this wasn’t the case; he’d never been keen on Vodka.

                They were stood in the somewhat overgrown back garden, with somewhat wilted flowers (due to Ron’s newly introduced “bachelor like” behaviour) but the day was bright and the air was pleasant to breathe in. Harry inwardly chastised himself for noticing such trivial things when it was clear that Ginny wanted to tell him something. As it was abundantly clear that it wasn’t something along the lines of “we’ve run out of Floo powder” Harry naturally felt his heart race increase a little, to encompass the little edge of fear that had entered his body.

                “Good day with Ron?” she asked him, still beaming at him in a slightly manic way, and still holding onto his wrist with a grip that was a little tighter than was to be considered normal. Harry’s innate curiosity now joined his fear.

                “Yeah, it was ok,” he said warily, “Are you alright?”

                “I’m fine Harry! Great, never better actually…”

                “You have something you want to tell me don’t you.”

                That was Harry, not only was he the Chosen One, The Boy Who Lived, but he also understood women. Those men are few and far between, especially ones who also have the added bonus of having conquered evil dark lords.

                “Yeah, I do,” Ginny sighed, and her grip on Harry’s wrist relaxed a little. Some of her manic air vanished, and Harry felt it was now safe to slip his hand into hers. This helped her to calm down, and as she looked up into his anxious green eyes –

                “You’re not wearing glasses!” she observed suddenly.

                “No I’m not, you’re right,” he said pointedly, indicating that she should spill what she wanted to say before she imploded.

    - and as she looked up into his anxious green spectacle-less eyes she realised that nothing she could tell him would ever make him leave her.

    “I am going – we are going to have a baby,” Ginny told the lawn, before managing to turn her face into the equally green pair of eyes. This pleased the lawn greatly, because it would mean that a certain Mr Potter would soon not have the time to mow it for a long while! The little blades of grass all ruffled in excitement, like they were giggling at the look of shock on Harry’s face.

                “Are you joking?” he asked hoarsely, still gripping Ginny’s hand and looking very hard into her (blurry) eyes.

                Mutely, she shook her head.

                “That’s – that’s really…”

                “Come on!!” thought Ginny.

                “That’s really great,” Harry turned to look into the garden, a very large grin spreading over most of his face. A breeze lifted the wilted flowers and they seemed to burst into colour once more, the vivid green hedgerows shivered and the bright blue sky also seemed pretty happy too.

                “This is great, I can’t believe this!” Harry said, turned back to Ginny, who’s eyes were wet (but Harry couldn’t see this), “You’re amazing you are!”

                Ginny gave a watery giggle as Harry pulled her into an embrace so strong that she feared for her spine’s safety. One of her tears trickled onto his neck, and Harry looked at her again, trying to figure out why she was crying. He didn’t ask her, but instead kissed a falling tear away and then kissed her on the lips, whilst smiling. She started to smile too, but they continued to hold each other, both laughing at each other’s reactions and happiness.

                To complete the scene, Ron poked his out from his bedroom window (that had been open) and yelled: “THIS IS THE BEST NEWS I’VE HEARD SINCE I FOUND OUT THAT HERMIONE SAID “I DO!” AT OUR WEDDING!”




    A high pitched squeal emitted from the fireplace as Hermione’s head appeared in it, Harry having just yelled at her to come over straight away! Him and Ginny didn’t want to tell too many people yet, but as Ron had found out, it only seemed fair that Hermione should know too.

                “Oh Harry, I’m so happy!” she cried, tears falling from her eyes. Harry wondered why all these women were crying? He couldn’t remember being happier! Perhaps he didn’t understand women so well after all.

                “So am I!” he agreed, “Come in, please?”

                “Ok, ok I’ll come,” she agreed with a watery laugh.

                A moment later she staggered out of the fireplace onto the rug that was set in front of it. She immediately grabbed Harry round the neck and sobbed into his shoulder, whilst he hugged her straight back, his smile never wavering.

                Finally relinquishing him, she blindly hugged Ginny, both of them crying quite happily. Harry didn’t know that people cried when they found out they were pregnant. He guessed it was because they’d all been through so much together, that having something as wonderful as this happen to them was quite a pleasant surprise.

                “You have your teacup!” Harry pointed out brightly. Indeed, the little powder blue cup was hanging off her finger.

                “Yes, yes I was about to try the reverse-impervious charm on it, you know?” Hermione sniffed, “To see if that’s why it didn’t work… but I never got the time because you appeared in the fireplace – “”

                She broke off, because Ron and his orange trousers had come into the room. However, unlike most people who had set eyes upon him that day, Hermione’s initial reaction was nothing to do with his trousers.

                “I’m off then,” she said, quickly withdrawing her gaze from Ron, new fresh tears entering her eyes. These were not happy ones. “Bye Harry… Ginny, I’m so happy for you.”

                As she pinched a glittering speck of powder from the little flowerpot next to the fire Ron said in a strained voice, “Wait, please.”

                Feeling this was their cue to leave, Harry and Ginny strode briskly from the room to go on a walk, just savouring their blissful happiness and generally being sickeningly cheerful together.

                This left an awkward silence in their wake, the previous happy sounds seemed to have died from the room, leaving a resonating silence behind. Neither knew what to say. Surprisingly though, it was Ron who spoke first.

                “I’m stupid,” he said to the silent room, “I love you! Please don’t leave me, I’m really sorry! I promise I’ll never – ”

                “Shut up Ron,” Hermione interrupted him before he could make any stupid promises like “I’ll never be rude/ horrible to you again, “We argue. It’s what we do. Deal with it, you don’t have to come and live here every time it happens. Harry and Ginny must be sick to death of you.”

                Hermione felt she perfectly entitled to have her say after all Ron had done! She decided not to overdo it however, and also apologised herself.

                “I’m sorry too though,” she sniffed, “You’re the best Quidditch player I know, you’re also my best friend and I love you far, far too much.”

                Ron was baffled; how could she be forgiving him? He’d been awful, the worst husband ever!

                “I’m a terrible husband,” he complained, but Hermione had already strode up to him and kissed him firmly on the lips, so all his little protests came out muffled.

                They just stood there in each other’s arms and savoured their being together once more. Hermione just had one more thing to say though:

                “Your trousers are foul!”

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