A New Arrival

Chapter 5

Ron lay in bed, gazing despairingly at the ceiling. What had got into Hermione's mind that made her invite his parents over to the flat? They had discussed this repeatedly- his parents had always thought that their flat was too small, and he didn't want to encourage this image. The truth was that it was too small. The kitchen was barely big enough to swing a gerbil, never mind a fully-grown cat, and their "second bedroom" was basically just a broom cupboard with a futon stuffed in it and two shelves overflowing with dusty old books. Ron had had many discussions with Hermione regarding the abundance of books in their apartment- they were everywhere! Books in the kitchen, books in the living room--just last week he had opened the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, only to be battered by a barrage of dusty old medical textbooks which his darling wife had placed there "just in case"! In case of what? A worldwide book shortage?

Ron blinked furiously as the morning light flooded through his windows. Hermione had insisted in getting up at seven 'o clock, an obscenely early hour for a Saturday in Ron's mind, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't get back to sleep. Glowering, he got out of bed and began to get dressed. It was just as he was searching for his socks that he began to notice some rather unusual things. Several bottles of magical cleaning solutions lay on the sideboard, next to a very thick book with the words "Madam MacRae's 10,000 Handy Household Cleaning Tips" written on the front above a picture of a plump, curly haired witch who was smiling and waving her wand at a pile of dirty dishes. Ron gazed around, panic-stricken, before noticing a piece of parchment lying on the bedside table, with three of his least favourite words written across the top in Hermione's handwriting--"Chores For Ron." He looked desperately at the door, wondering whether or not to make a break for it, but before he could decide Hermione entered, wearing old robes and a vigilant look on her face.

"Ah, you're up!" she smiled sweetly. "I thought since your parents were coming over tonight that we might as well have a big spring clean! We're going to need one before the baby comes anyway, so we might as well get it over and done with now!"

Ron flicked his eyes towards the window, where his broomstick was leaning against the wall. He could head to Harry's--it would be a good ten minutes before Hermione got suspicious...

Hermione followed his gaze. "Don't even think about it, Mister!" she said reproachfully. "It didn't work last time and it's not going to work today! Come on," she said, shooing him along, "put on some old robes and make a start on that list of chores. Looks like it's gonna be an all day job..."

***

Hermione hummed cheerfully to herself as she placed the dishes in the sink, poured half a bottle of Insta-Clean Dish Liquid over them and watched as the grease melted off. The evening had been a total success. She had managed to tidy almost every room in the flat and, aside from a small debate with Ron over the quantities of garlic she was adding to the meal (what could she say--she had a craving for it!), everything that she had cooked had turned out perfectly. Molly and Arthur had loved the apartment, thought her cooking was delicious, and were absolutely ecstatic about being grandparents. When they had told them Molly had actually squealed so loudly that poor Crookshanks had jumped about a mile in the air, before disappearing under the sofa for the remainder of the meal.

Hermione waved her wand at the now-spotless dishes in the sink. They flew back into their places in the cupboards, closing the doors behind themselves. She walked back into the living room. Ron was hovering next to the front door in an attempt to persuade his mother to stop questioning him constantly about the baby, as she had done throughout the entire meal, and to depart.

"OK, Mum, you really should be going soon," he said, with a rather exhausted smile on his face.

"Oh, nonsense, Ron!" Molly said cheerfully, "Hermione hasn't even seen those adorable baby photos I have of you in my purse." She turned to smile at her husband. "He was an adorable baby, wasn't he, Arthur?"

"He certainly was, love," Arthur Weasley said, with a smile not too dissimilar to Ron's, "but it's gone eleven now, and I really do think we should be leaving--after all, we don't want to wear Hermione out!"

"Oh, that's right, dear!" Molly said, smiling at Hermione. "I suppose you'll be needing plenty of sleep--it's quite exhausting being pregnant!" She rose from the sofa and picked up her cloak. "We'll get going now. Mind you take care of yourself!" she said, waggling her finger at Hermione. "Oh, and by the way, we think the names you've chosen are delightful, if a little unusual. Well, we'll be leaving now. Bye!" She Disapparated out with a pop.

"Don't worry, dear, she's just excited cause it's her first grandchild. She'll calm down in a few months time," Arthur said to her lightly, pulling on his cloak.

Ron raised an eyebrow at his father. "Really?"

"Well, no," Arthur laughed. "But I can always live in hope, can't I? I'll see you both soon, I expect! Oh, and congratulations again!" he said, before disappearing as well.

Ron flumped down on the sofa. "Urgh!" he groaned. "That was the most exhausting dinner of my life! Tell me," he said wearily, "was there actually a period of longer than three seconds where no-one was talking during that meal?"

"Ron," Hermione said, with a rather confused look on her face, "what did your mother mean when she said she loved the names we'd chosen?"

Ron turned scarlet, and Hermione could see that he was desperately trying to avoid the question. "Well, whilst you were doing the dishes, she sort of, erm, asked me if we had thought of any names...and... well, I know we haven't really discussed it, but I told her a few of the names that I like..."

"Such as?" Hermione said, slightly worried by Ron's reluctance to share--surely they weren't that awful?

"Well, for a boy--and this is just a suggestion- but I thought... Camithello, and for a girl, Agnes-Jeanette."

Hermione tried to hold back her laughter. "You were kidding, though, right?" she said, tears of suppressed mirth rolling down her cheeks. "You can't seriously want to call our child that?" One look at Ron's face suggested that he was, indeed, serious about the names.

"You don't like them?" he said, sounding crushed. "I know they're a little... unusual, but what's wrong with that?"

"It's not the fact that they're unusual, it's the fact that they're totally hideous names! Can't we just name our child a normal person name, like Matthew, or Catherine?"

Ron glowered. "But that's so boring! You don't know what it's like to have a boring name!"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "And what, pray tell, do you mean by that?"

"Well, whenever we meet people, and we tell them that we're Ron and Hermione, they always go 'Oh, Hermione! What an unusual name! What does it mean? How do you spell it?' People remember you for your name. I mean," he spat, "what is there to say about Ron? 'Ooh, you have one syllable! How exciting!'"

"So let me get this straight," Hermione said slowly. "You feel that people don't remember you cause you have a boring name, so to save our child from the same fate, you want to call them... Camithello?"

Ron nodded mutely.

Hermione gave an exasperated sigh. "You do realise that if we call our baby that they will get absolutely slaughtered at school? You are fating our child to eighteen years of constant torment before they are old enough to legally change their name by deed poll! Do you want that?"

"No. I guess you're right," Ron mumbled bitterly.

Hermione patted him on the back. "I know it's hard, Ron," she said sympathetically, "but you really should have learnt this by now. I'm always right. Always."