Okay, this isn't as well written as I would have liked (it's very 'this, this and this happened'), but my laptop is broke so I needed to post on my mum's laptop before she needs to keep using it for work/I lose the inspiration to write plus I find this thing HARD to write on. This is the very END of the prologue-y bit. The ACTUAL STORYLINE starts up next chapter. But of course these chapters were relevent =)

Yay, good comments from Jeremie!
That makes me very happy if YOU think its good

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Hehehe, I'm glad you liked it. I do find it particularly hard to write humour sometimes. None really in this chapter. I just wanted it posted. xD NEXT chapter though


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Aww thanks you! And awesome ^___^

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hi thurrrr. thank you very much for your comments *grins*

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Lol, in my own opinion, I don't like ron. But in this... as an ff i kind of do right now. lol. plus, ron pain is funneh xD

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Chapter Three :: Warning Signs

Baby Hugo settled into life at the Weasley household quite well. Despite Hermione’s original, unvoiced fears, the woman found she loved both of her children exactly the same. Rose didn’t feel jealous of the baby and she certainly didn’t hog any of the attention for herself.

The Weasley house was exceedingly loud by anybody’s standards, which would normally have had a profound effect on the children. In a loud house you find you must be loud yourself just to be heard. But both children were rather content. Hugo was really too young to do anything but sleep, eat and cry. At first, even when he did cry it was on very rare occasions, like the time Ron caused an explosion in the living room when he was testing a new product…

Clamping her hands tightly over her ears, Rose turned to stare wide-eyed at her mother, seeing the woman also cover her ears and roll her eyes in the process. Meanwhile, poor baby Hugo was left lying on his mother’s lap, his comfort and support gone… and it scared him. As the baby screamed and Ron hastily tried to use magic to vent the smoke, Hermione grabbed her daughter’s hand and, holding the bundle that was her son tight to her chest, she dashed out through the front door.

Not long after that, as Hermione attempted to comfort her screaming infant, Ron stepped out of the house, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. Under the fierce stare of his wife, the man flinched.

“Take the kids to Harry’s,” he told the woman, voice loud enough to be heard over Hugo’s crying. He gave the kid a puzzled look, shook his head and stared back at the house. “It’s magical damage, so I’ll have to spend the night fixing it up,” Ron added, looking disgruntled. When it looked like Hermione might protest, the man held up his hand. “I can do it myself.

And so, against her better judgement, Hermione apparated the children to the Potter household after sending word of their impending arrival. It was strange, in her opinion, that Hugo seemed to quieten as soon as he passed into the household.

Staring at her son, Hermione was perplexed. It seemed, to her, very odd that the boy who had not even lowered his voice by a few decibels on the way, totally shut up the second he was back inside. But everyone else, being a little more ignorant of the situation, found it particularly unremarkable. As usual, the first warning sign was ignored.

Even later that night, Hugo wouldn’t sleep, he just stared wide-eyed at everything… until Harry took over. The auror had always been an expert at getting his own sons to sleep, and figured it couldn’t hurt. And just like that, Hugo relaxed into his uncle’s arms, bonding quicker than he had with even his own father. Not even Hermione found it odd this time. Ron wasn’t exactly… paternal. Harry, on the other hand, was so good with his boys that it would have been odd if Hugo had NOT reacted that way.

That was the only time Hugo acted in any way that resembled ‘odd’, for the child grew up like a normal boy would, only much quieter than any of the other children in his family, though that was just Hugo. The boy was different physically too. Almost every child of Weasley decent was born with the flaming red hair (which the exception of Fleur’s children and also Harry’s sons). Oh, Hugo still had red hair, but it was a deeper red than the rest, and he disliked the fact that it made him different from everyone else, even at the tender age of three.

Still, the quiet Hugo was sometimes… interrupted by a very different little boy, the kind of boy who screamed to get what he wanted, and therefore never got it. It was like having a set of twins, each with a different temperament, where you only saw one at a time.

“Mummy,” the young lad squeaked one day, approaching his mother with single-minded determination. The boy had been playing with his toys in the family room (which had managed to survive since that last explosion) when he’d heard his parents talking, mentioning his favourite uncle; Harry. Despite having been able to walk for some time, Hugo was unsteady on his feet, and Hermione watched him with uncertainty as the child used any means of holding himself up until he got to her.

With a proud smile and a ruffle of the boys dark red hair, Hermione focused her attention on her son, gesturing she was listening. “Yes, Hugo?”

Holding his chin up high in what seemed like pride, Hugo opened his mouth to speak, to give his ingenious idea and perfect reasoning.

“I wan’ go live wiff Hawwy,” he announced, ignoring the way his mother raised an eyebrow. That made him angry, and he didn’t like being angry. “‘Cause he’s a daddy I wan’. An’ Dames and Al haff diff’ent hair, like me,” Hugo added as though as an afterthought. It seemed fair enough to him. Hugo liked Harry and Ginny more than he liked his own parents, and why should he be made to stay? Harry’s house made Hugo happy.

“I’m afraid not, Hugo. It-” Hermione started to reply, but it seemed as though Hugo wasn’t having any of it. The young boy threw himself to the floor in a fit of rage, balling his fists up and flailing about, screaming at the top of his lungs. Staring in surprise at first, Hermione soon realised that this was perfectly normal with children; even Rose had had her fair share of tantrums.

But this one was one HECK of a tantrum. It didn’t stop all day. Hugo wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t drink and wouldn’t even go down for a nap. In the end, Hermione admitted defeat and called Harry.

The doorbell ringing was the sweetest sound Hermione had ever heard in her entire life. Forget looking for horcruxes, Hugo in a tantrum was just something she couldn’t deal with. At once, the wild-haired girl flew open the door to see an amused looking Harry. “What’s so funny?” she said irritably, standing aside to let the man through.

“Ohhh, nothing,” Harry replied, stopping at the kitchen and glancing back over his shoulder at Hermione. “Except… this kid has a definite set of lungs. I could hear him from the apparition point.”

Blushing, Hermione stomped away to check on Rose, leaving Harry to enter the kitchen to see Hugo, who had shut up the second he’d heard Harry’s voice. Despite the stern look he was getting from his uncle, three year old Hugo threw himself at the man, looking for comfort as he sobbed gently. Harry wasn’t made of stone, and spent the next hour or four convincing Hugo that everything would be alright, and that he was always welcome to visit, but that the Potter house was very busy a lot of the time.

It was Harry who managed to get Hugo to have a drink of water and something to eat, Harry who persuaded the boy to go up to bed, and Harry who stayed with the boy until he fell asleep. Hermione, on the other hand, was beside herself. Ron came home and tried to comfort her, but Hermione only saw herself fail with her son. A perfectly normal day had turned into a disaster.

And it wouldn’t be the same again. Hugo had formed an attachment to Harry’s family, seeing the man himself as a dad. It wouldn’t be long before it all went pear-shaped.