don't wake me up, i am still dreaming

In the weeks leading up to her due date, Hermione had done everything in her power to prepare for every possible turn of events for the baby's birth. She had mapped out at least a dozen ways for her to get to the hospital from every one of the few locations that she had been frequenting lately, and she made sure not to expose Ron to more than one or two contingency plans, not wanting to overwhelm him with too many details. She had read up on the various options for birth, on the benefits and drawbacks of using an epidural, on the wide range of labor times experienced by most women in modern day. Short of selecting everyone on the staff who would help her deliver the baby, Hermione had thought of it all.

And yet, never had she really anticipated that her baby would be punctual. The due date was only a rough estimate, she knew, based on imperfect information about her cycles and potential moment of conception. And she'd certainly heard enough horror stories from the women who frequented the Limelight about how they'd delivered several weeks early, or even several days late, with plenty of false labors in between.

So when Hermione woke up in the mirror of the night, drenched in sweat and muscles contracting, she almost assumed that it was a false alarm. Everything had been too calm. Too quiet. It couldn't happen all of a sudden.

Then she realized her sheets were sodden, and with a soft gasp, she reached over to the side and gently shook Ron's shoulder.

"Ronald," she whispered urgently, trying to push herself up into a sitting position as one hand quickly dropped to her belly, stretching protectively over the curve. "Ron, my water broke."