Hermione's stomach gave a rumble of protest so loud that Fred threw his head up from where it had been resting on her abdomen, and roared with laughter.
It was mid-morning on a Sunday, about a week after their successful dinner date. They had frittered away the early hours of the morning with their love-making.
Hermione was trying just about every trick in the book to get pregnant as quickly as possible. At the present, her pelvis was being tilted backwards by several pillows, and she had swallowed a pharmacy of prenatal vitamins. The very timing of the sex had even been predetermined by several moon calendars – not that either of them was complaining too much. In fact, Hermione sensed that their emotional relationship was stronger, that is, once they had gotten over their silly embarrassment of seeing each other's bodies.
"I guess I'd better be making breakfast then," said a still chuckling Fred to Hermione's stomach.
"Fred," replied Hermione from over the top of yet another book about parenting. "We don't even know if there's a baby in there yet, why are you talking to my stomach?"
"Well, if there was a baby in there, I wouldn't want to be deliberately excluding them from the conversation. That would be rude," said Fred in all seriousness.
Hermione made a disparaging noise as she put down her book and kicked back the covers so that she could get up and make her own food.
"Don't make too much," Fred called out to Hermione as she left the room, "We're due at Mum's by twelve."
Hermione re-entered the room with a look of mock horror.
"You're telling me to not make too much food? You? A Weasley? I never thought I'd see the day!"
Fred rolled his eyes before rolling the rest of his body back across the bed so that he could comfortably lie back under the covers, relieved of the burden of producing breakfast.
"Mum's making treacle tart for dessert," he said simply, and Hermione understood. Her mouth was already salivating in anticipation.
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