CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE:

Bella's POV:

I watched Hermione go upstairs, chewing on my lip, worried. "Don't worry," George Weasley says, from where he's sitting opposite me on the couch. He gives me a tired smile as I turn to look at him. "Hermione's the strongest person I know. She'll be okay." I try to smile back at the thin, tired man, but by the slight twitching of his lips, I'm pretty sure I didn't do a very good job.

I'm about to ask him if there's anything I can do to help her, when a sudden pain flares up in my arm, burning like ice. The cold spreads, settling over me like a blanket, and I can't help but shiver slightly, clenching my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering. "Bella? Are you okay?" Edward asks, anxiously, and I nod.

"I'm f-f-fine."

"Bella," Rosalie has a disapproving look on her face, "you know what Carlisle told you. Don't downplay anything, it doesn't help us take care of either of you." Worry twists inside me, and I cradle my bulging stomach protectively. I was confident that this alien cold must be some sort of aftereffect of the blood magic Harry used to find Hermione, and I didn't want to worry anyone, not when they needed to be concentrating on Hermione.

"Okay, I'm cold," I admit, "Could someone hand me a blanket?" Jacob rolls his eyes.

"Don't worry about it," he tells Edward, who's moving to get the quilt draped over the arm of the couch, just out of my reach. He lopes across to me sitting down beside me, leaning carefully against my side, letting his arm rest along the length of his, putting his other hand against my face.

His skin was so hot it burned, but it was a good burn, and I couldn't help but let out a happy little sigh. I knew Harry, Fleur or George could have cast a heating charm, but I couldn't help enjoying the feel of Jacob's body against my own. Besides, they all looked occupied, Fleur and Harry standing in

the corner, talking quietly, and George leaning back on the couch, his eyes closed. If it wasn't for the iron grip he had on his wand, I'd think he was asleep.

I scan the room, seeing who's still here and who isn't. Leah's vanished, as have Jasper and Maggie, but Seth is stretched out along one of the three-seated couches, eyelids drooping, Rosalie and Emmett are standing next to each other, Rosalie leaning against Emmett, who's wrapped an arm around her waist, Esme and Carlisle are also having a conversation, their lips blurring slightly as they talk too fast for me to hear, and Edward's sitting on the ground by my feet, being careful not to touch me and make me colder.

Then Carlisle is approaching the couch; his eyes on Jacob, not me. "A moment, Jacob?" he asks, in his friendly voice. I feel Jake stiffen beside me, and nudge him with my shoulder, silently trying to convey support or something.

"Yeah?" Jake says, reluctantly, slumping back against the cushions.

"I'm unsure how to word this," Carlisle is speaking carefully, "but my family needs to hunt. I understand that our previous truce is inoperative at the moment, so I wanted your advice. Will Sam be waiting for us outside the wards, ready to hunt us? We don't want to take a chance with hurting any of your family- or losing any of ours. If you were in our shoes, how would you proceed?"

Jacob looks a little thrown. "Er, it's a risk," he answers, after a short pause. "Sam's calmed down some, but I'm pretty sure that in his head the treaty is void. As long as he thinks the tribe, or any other human, is in real danger, he's not going to ask questions first, if you know what I mean. But, with all that, his priority is going to be the rez. There really aren't enough of them to keep a decent watch on the people while putting out hunting parties big enough to do much damage. I'd bet he's keeping it close to home."

As Carlisle nods thoughtfully, I can't help feeling proud of Jacob, who clears his throat uncomfortably, and continues speaking. "So I guess I'd say, go out together, just in case. And probably you should go in the day, 'cause we'd be expecting night. Traditional vamp stuff, you know. You're fast- go over the mountains and hunt far enough away that there's no chance he'd send anyone that far from home."

"I have a suggestion that could make that easier," George speaks up, eyes still closed. "Yes?" Carlisle says, turning to face the redhead.

"Mm, a Portkey. I've never been to the mountains, but I can give you Portkeys that can bring you back here at a moment's notice if something goes wrong, like you're attacked."

"That would be very much appreciated," Carlisle smiles, and George opens his eyes to give a tired smile.

"If you grab me some buttons or something, it'll only take a few minutes."

"I've got some upstairs," Esme says, darting off out of the room for a few seconds, before reappearing, having moved so fast she was a blur. She's holding a container in her hands which I can tell from over here is filled with buttons of all different shapes, sizes and colors.

"Alice won't be happy," Rosalie smiles, leaving me to guess that the buttons belong to the fashionable pixie vampire.

"I'm sure she'll forgive me," Esme gives a tinkling laugh, handing the box to George who fishes out a handful and spreads them out on the expensive leather couch.

"Portus," he murmurs, pointing his wand at the first one, a pearly button the size of a ten-cent coin. The button glows a bright blue, before fading back to its original color. George repeats this six times on the other buttons, then pushes them in Carlisle's direction. Carlisle picks them up almost reverently, treating them like the finest of diamonds.

"Fascinating," he murmurs, studying them closely, before turning back to George, who has a slight smile on his face. "How do they work?" he asks, eagerly.

"Make sure it's touching your skin then say portus," George explains, before slouching back down on the couch, eyes closing once more.

"When do you think we should go?" he asks Esme.

"Tomorrow," the mother hen vampire replies, after a moment. "It's getting late, and Jacob said it would be safest to go during the day." Carlisle nods and hands out the buttons to those in the room, before exiting, presumably to go find Jasper and Maggie to give them their Portkeys.

The sudden sound of the phone ringing causes me to jump, jolting me from my relaxed state as Jacob's intense body-heat took away the cold everywhere but my arm, over where my arm had been cut, which still felt like it had been doused in ice.

"Hello?" Esme says, after darting over to pick up the phone. Her golden eyes widen in surprise as she listens to whoever's on the other end of the line. "Ah, yes, she- she's-" Esme stutters slightly, unsure what to say, and I give Edward a puzzled look.

"It's Charlie," he murmurs.

"Oh," I say, surprised. The urge to talk to my father hits me, and I can't help but wish I could hear his voice, but Esme's already hanging up the phone, leaving inside me a bitter disappointment.

"Who kicked your puppy?" I hear Hermione ask, and the disappointment quickly fades as I turn to my sister, eagerly.

"How are you feeling?" I ask her.

"Like I was hit by a lorry," she sighs. She walks over to the couch and sits next to George. Alice perches on her other side, arm curled protectively around her waist, and Fleur walks over to sit next to Alice, letting out a little sigh of relief as she sits down heavily on the cushions, her hands moving to her own swelling stomach.

"That's a truck, right?" I ask, still half caught up on what she just said before.

"Yes, Bella, a lorry is a truck. A trailer truck, to be precise." She says slowly, sounding annoyingly amused. I stick my bottom lip out slightly, which makes her smile grow. "So, what did I miss?" she then asks.

"Not much," Emmett answers her, with a roll of his eyes. "Everyone here is boring."

"We were discussing when it would be safe to go hunting." Esme gives a proper answer, shooting Emmett a scolding look, before turning back to Hermione, and giving her a warm smile. "Your friend George made us all Portkeys."

"Mm, you asleep George?" she asks, twisting around slightly on the couch so she's facing George and poking him in the arm.

"If I was before, I'm certainly not now, love." He comments, opening his eyes to give her a half- hearted glare. She pokes her tongue out at him, and he raises an eyebrow. "Really, Hermione? Right here?" Alice glowers at him, but Hermione and Emmett both start laughing.

"I don't get it," I whisper to Jacob, confused. He pats the top of my head.
"Poor innocent little Bella."
"I'm not that innocent," I protest, and then regret saying it, as any trace of amusement leaves his face.

"No," he says, narrowing his eyes at the bulge that is my stomach with enough menace that I fold my arms protectively over it. "No you're not. When's the due date for the little monster, anyway?" I smack the back of his head with enough force as I can muster, but he doesn't even blink. "I'm serious." He says, "I want to know how long I'm gonna have to be here."

I push away my hurt at his statement, instead focusing my full attention on the question, bringing to mind Carlisle's theory. "I don't know. Not exactly. Obviously we're not going with the nine-month model here, and we can't get an ultrasound, so Carlisle is guesstimating from how big I am."

"Normal people are supposed to be about forty centimeters there-" Carlisle continues my explanation, when I run out of words, touching the middle of my bulging stomach, "when the baby is fully grown. One centimeter for each week. Bella was twenty-eight centimeters this morning, and she's been gaining about two a day, sometimes more."

Jacob's trembling slightly, jaw clenched, and Edward turns away, hiding his expression from me. My eyes sting and I blink away tears, looking over at Hermione pleadingly, wanting to change the subject but afraid of speaking, because if I open my mouth I know I'll start crying.

Hermione gets the message pretty quick. "So," she chirps, in a bright, entirely fake sounding voice, "Harry, I haven't had the chance to yell at you yet for going along with Fleur's hare-brained scheme." Harry gives a sheepish look, from where he's standing beside Fleur, and quickly looks at his bare wrist.

"Wow, is it that time already? I gotta go- my wife's due to be having morning sickness -which, by the way, has a misleading name because she spends about half the day throwing up, not just mornings- right about now, so I better be off. Bye guys!"

"Harry!" Hermione shouts, but Harry's already twisting on the spot and vanishing. George lets out an amused snort and Hermione elbows him.

"'e eez right, you know," Fleur speaks up, letting out a loud, melodramatic sigh, "During zee first few months, more often zen not, I was vomiting all day. Victoire eez lucky I love 'er so much," Fleur rubbed her stomach.

"It's actually not called morning sickness anymore, experts refer to it as NVP, which stands for nausea and vomiting during pregnancy," Hermione lectures us, absently, still scowling at the spot where Harry stood a few moments ago, before sitting up straighter and spinning around to face Fleur. "Wait, Victoire?" she asks, eagerly, "you've thought of a name already?"

"Oui," Fleur gives her stomach a soft look, "seeing as we found out zat I was pregnant so soon after- " she pauses for a moment, "after eet, Victoire seemed zee obvious choice."

"It means victory, in French," Edward explained to me, seeing the puzzled look on my face. "Oh," I nod, "that makes sense."

"What about you, Bella?" Fleur turns to me, "'ave you thought of any names yet?" My cheeks redden slightly as everyone's eyes are suddenly on me.

"Um, well, at the moment my favorite name is EJ," I mumble.
"EJ?" Edward asks, softly.
"Yes. Little Edward Jacob," I blush harder.
"What if it's a girl, though?" Hermione raises an eyebrow. "Got a back-up plan?"

"Well, I thought maybe... Elizabeth."***

"Elizabeth?" Edward asks, softly, face shining. I blush.

"Would that be okay?"

"Yes, it would definitely be okay." He assures me.

"As long as the middle name's Hermione." Hermione adds, and I smile at her.

"Actually, I was thinking Carlie- Charlie and Carlisle."

"Fine," Hermione sighed, but her expression was playful.

"What would you name a baby?" I ask her, curiously.

"Psyche (SY-kee)," Hermione answers, without pausing even for a second, "Eirene (Ee-REH-nee) or Circe (Sur-see) for a girl. Romulus for a boy, in honor of Remus."

"The girls' names are Greek Mythology," Alice says, curiously, "I thought you'd be more likely to go with Shakespeare, like your own name."

"Everyone always assumes that I was named after Queen Hermione from A Winter's Tale." Hermione says, amused.

"You're not?" This is a surprised Carlisle.

"No, I'm named after Hermione, the daughter of Helen of Troy, or Helen of Sparta, whichever you want to call her. My mother adored Greek Mythology." Hermione finishes quietly.

"Circe... the goddess of magic. That certainly fits." Rosalie comments.
"Mm, I like Psyche better," Alice muses, "goddess of the soul, mind and spirit."

"If I had a son, I'd name him Fred," George says, quietly. Hermione's eyes widen in shock, hearing him say the name of the twin he lost, but that's the only reaction she gives. "I'd also probably name a daughter Freddie." He gives a tired smile at that. "A final prank, naming a girl after him."

"I think that's perfect" I start to say, but I break off mid-sentence, sucking in a sharp breath as pain lances through me. In the same second, Edward had ripped the blanket out of the way. My body felt like it was convulsing, my back arching off the sofa. "He's just," I managed to pant out, "stretching." And then I had to keep my teeth locked together, because otherwise I'd scream. Oh god, oh god, oh god, I chanted in my head.

"Carlisle?" Edward calls out, in a low, tense voice.

"Right here," Carlisle says, but I shake my head stubbornly, breathing hard and shallow as my heart raced in my chest.

"It's okay. It's over. Poor kid doesn't have enough room, that's all," I defend my little EJ, "he's getting so big."

"Do you need one of the pain relieving potions Harry brought?" Fleur asks. I shake my head, before letting my eyelids droop. I feel tired, now. Woozy, almost, and definitely ready to fall asleep.

"Are you okay, love?" Edward asks, gently, cupping my face with his cold hands. "Mm," I make a small humming noise. "Jus' tired."

"Go to sleep," he murmurs, stroking my hair. Then he starts humming my lullaby, and before I know it, I'm gone.

***Note: in this story, Bella isn't Renée's biggest fan, so I thought it wouldn't make sense for her to want to name her daughter after the mother she's not close to.