Summary: Hormonal, pregnant wife. Slightly daft husband. All-dialogue drabble (105 words).

Notes: Ron/Hermione if you can't tell…er…that's about it, I think.

"I think I'm going mad."

"You're not going mad."

"Yes, I am. I—I cry for no reason at all, I cannot tell you how many times I fantasize about strangling anyone who dares to talk to me, my feet are roughly the size and weight of cement blocks…I no longer walk, Ron. I waddle."

"You're pregnant, love. It's—your pheromones, they're all out of whack."



"My hormones are all out of whack, not pheromones."

"Oh." Beat. "What are pheromones?"

"Something you give off that attracts people to you."


"Say anything about irony and I will smother you in your sleep."