"For heaven's sake, Hermione, it's not as though you're pregnant!" Ron threw out. Just then, an image popped into his head: of his Hermione, her stomach round and voluptuous and great with child. Carrying his child. Their child. In yesteryear, a younger Ron might have panicked at the thought; now the possibility nearly caused him to overcome with lust and attempt to take Hermione right over this table so they could make a baby there and then. At the moment, seeing his girl holding and fawning over a baby that wasn't hers or theirs was making him damn bloody aroused.