Chapter Text
"Hermione," he rumbled into her ear, using his best seduction voice, the one that had worked countless times in the past.
"Hmm," she responded, her eyes never leaving the heavy, leather-bound book open in her lap. She was propped up by pillows on her side of the bed. She looked pretty to him in one of his t-shirts, which was three times too big for her, no make-up, and her kinky, frazzled hair piled on top of her head. She was biting her lip in concentration, seemingly enraptured by the text, which Ron Weasley deemed snooze-worthy based on the age of the book alone. It always amused him that this was his wife's idea of "light reading," rather than the sorts of books that had pictures of barrel-chested, long-haired blokes like his mother and sisters-in-law left lying around their houses.
But then, he didn't fall in love with Hermione and marry her because she was ordinary. Quite the opposite, in fact.
"Hermione, I'm gay."
She didn't look up from her book.
"I'm leaving you for Draco Malfoy. He's part Veela. We're going to live with the mer-people in the Black Lake."
She made another noncommittal noise as she turned the page.
Merlin's saggy left nut-sack, what would it take to make him more interesting than her bloody book?
"Hermione, let's make a baby."
At those words, the book finally lowered, her eyes shooting to his. "Wh-what? Are you serious?"
"Why not? Harry and Ginny already have a—"
"Ron, if this is about Harry 'one-upping' you—"
"No, no, it's not that," he insisted. "I've been thinking about it for a while."
"You have?" Those brown eyes that he loved so much bore into his curiously.
"Well…yeah. I mean, haven't you? I see the way you are around James and our other nieces and nephews."
"Yes—I mean—I've thought about it, but, Ron, we've discussed this. Our careers…it's just not the right time."
"When will it be the right time, Hermione?" he asked her quietly. "We agreed to wait 'cause we were so young when we got married, but it's been five years."
"Ron, I'm only twenty-five. Lots of women much older than me ha—"
"And our careers are gonna be around for a while still. We might have to do what other couples do and just take a chance, just dive in. Unless you were thinking we could wait 'til retirement, assuming you can still get pregnant at fifty—"
"Ron," she cut in, shutting her book with a thud and sitting up straighter. "I…I don't know if I'm ready. The department needs me now more than ever. We're on the very verge of—"
"There's no reason you can't keep working," Ron cut in quickly. "I mean, yeah, you might have to take a few weeks off to have the baby—believe me, I'd do that part for you if I could, love, but my plumbing don't work that way—but there's no reason you can't go back to work soon after—and I can help. You know that on days I'm not on a field assignment I hardly ever have to make an office appearance. Good thing about my best mate-slash-brother-in-law being my immediate superior. And Mum says she would be happy to help, too."
She stared at him for a moment, clearly somewhat stunned. "You've really put a lot of thought into this, haven't you?"
He grinned at her, feeling somewhat sheepish. "I prepared my arguments ahead of time. I knew it's the only way I could actually beat you in a debate."
There were several moments of silence as she continued to regard him, biting her lower lip in apparent thought.
"Hermione, you do still want kids, don't you?" He hated the fear in his own voice. It was never a deal-breaker: He would've married Hermione even if she'd expressed a desire to be a cat lady, but he couldn't deny his own desire for children. He really hoped she still wanted the same thing.
"Yes," she replied quickly, reaching for his hand and squeezing reassuringly. "Yes, I've always wanted children with you, Ron." She paused before saying slowly, "If I agree that we can try, I'll need you to swear an oath on Hogwarts, A History."
"Come again?"
In response, she shifted, picking up the old, worn copy off her nightstand and taking his hand, placing it on the leather. "An oath," she repeated, trying to seem serious even as a grin cracked her pretty face. "Repeat after me: I, Ronald Bilius Weasley…"
"You're joking, right? You want me to swear on Hogwarts, A History."
"I'm serious. If you wish to fertilize my eggs—"
"You make it sound so romantic."
"—then you'll make the oath."
He shook his head, a lopsided grin breaking across his face as he said, "I, Ronald Bilius Weasley…"
"Agree to change nappies without being urged to do so by my wife…"
"Agree to change nappies without being urged to do so by my wife," he repeated obediently.
"Furthermore," Hermione continued, "I agree to take out the trash every evening without being asked to do so from this moment on, and I will no longer leave my shoes in the middle of the den for my wife to trip over…"
"Hermione, I really don't see what that has to do with—"
"My eggs, Ron. If you want them—"
"Wait, are we still talking about having a baby, or breakfast?"
When her eyes narrowed at him, he let out a chortle: "All right, all right. I agree to…not let my wife nag me about taking out the trash, or whatever it was, and to pick my shoes up off the floor, because apparently my wife doesn't look where she's walking…"
She tried valiantly to glare at him again, but she was grinning widely now. "I suppose that's close enough."
"Excellent," he said as he threw aside the oversized volumes that covered the bed, climbing on top of her and kissing her as her head fell back against the pillows. "Do we start now, then?"
"Well, even if I go off the potion now," she said a bit breathlessly, her hands wandering beneath his t-shirt, "it might take a week or two for the effects to wear off completely."
"Ah, well. I don't suppose some practice will do us any harm…"
"No, I don't suppose it would," Hermione agreed as he pushed up the hem of the shirt she wore as a nightgown before peeling her knickers from her hips, and he found her warm and wet and pliant beneath his searching fingers...