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·༻❀༺·
The waiting room clock was too loud.
Not actually loud, but Ron Weasley was suddenly aware of everything—the steady tick of the second hand, the faint squeak of vinyl every time he shifted, the low, constant hum of the aquarium filter in the corner. He had arrived fifteen minutes early, which in Ron Time was essentially unheard of, and now he was paying for it in nerves.
He dragged his palms down the front of his jeans and glanced at the door again.
Still no Hermione.
Dr. Lavender Brown looked up from her clipboard, her smile polite and professional, though not entirely free of quiet observation. “So,” she said gently, “we’re waiting on your partner?”
Ron exhaled something caught between a laugh and a groan. “Yeah. That’s—yeah, that’s her. She works at City Hall. Some zoning hearing ran long or—” He waved a hand, vague and helpless. “Permits. Budgets. Saving the city from itself. I don’t know. She said she was leaving twenty minutes ago.”
Lavender nodded, jotting something down. “First ultrasound?”
“Is it that obvious?” Ron asked, instantly mortified, the tips of his ears already turning bright red.
“Just a bit,” she said kindly. “You’ve worn a groove into the floor.”
Ron glanced down. He had been pacing. Brilliant.
“I’m fine,” he rushed. “Totally fine. I just—she’s been working too much. I told her she should take her leave soon. The doctor said she could, her boss already approved it, but Hermione’s got this thing where she thinks the city will collapse if she’s not there to personally hold it together.”
Lavender’s smile softened. “That sounds like someone who takes their job very seriously.”
Ron let out a quiet huff. “Yeah. That’s one way to put it.”
Her pen paused. “And you?”
“Me?”
“Work.”
“Oh—right. I run a garage with my brother. Mostly restoration work, from old engines to classic cars.” He shrugged. “Bill handles clients and paperwork. I handle the parts that actually make noise.”
“And you made it here early,” Lavender noted.
Ron snorted. “Couldn’t focus on anything else, honestly. Bill basically kicked me out the door. Said if I missed this, Mum would never forgive either of us.”
Lavender’s smile warmed just slightly. “Sounds like you’ve got good people around you.”
Before Ron could answer, the door swung open.
“I am so sorry, I’m late—”
Hermione rushed in, flushed, hair slipping loose from her bun, one hand braced against her lower back as she caught her breath. “The deputy mayor decided today was the day to revisit the parking ordinance, and—oh. Hi.”
Her eyes found Ron immediately, and something in his entire expression softened.
“You okay?” he asked, already standing.
“I’m fine,” she said, though she took his hand when he offered it. “Traffic, and then I couldn’t find parking because apparently the things I approve don’t actually exist in real life.”
Lavender stepped forward easily. “No worries. Hermione?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Dr. Brown. Nice to meet you.”
Hermione straightened instinctively, composure snapping back into place even as she steadied her breath. “Nice to meet you as well. And again, I apologize for being late.”
“Not a problem,” Lavender said. “Why don’t we get you both settled?”
Ron squeezed Hermione’s fingers. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re ready.”
As they followed Lavender down the hall, Ron leaned closer, voice low. “You’re taking your leave soon. I’m not negotiating this with City Hall.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, though her mouth curved faintly. “We’ll discuss it.”
Ron huffed. “See? This is what I mean.”
She squeezed his hand. “And this is why I love you. You worry enough for both of us.”
He glanced at her, at the gentle curve beneath her coat, at something that still didn’t feel entirely real.
“Someone has to,” he said quietly.
·༻❀༺·
The hallway outside the exam room smelled faintly of disinfectant and soap. Hermione walked beside him in silence, the kind that meant her thoughts were moving faster than her words.
Ron noticed immediately.
His hand lingered at her back, warm and steady, his own head still full of grainy black-and-white images and the surreal certainty that there was a tiny person in there, moving like it already belonged to the world.
“That was… wow,” he said, still half lost in it. “Did you see the way the ba—”
“Dr. Brown is very pretty,” Hermione said abruptly.
Ron nearly walked into the wall.
“What?”
Hermione paused by the water fountain, adjusting the strap of her bag with unnecessary focus. “I said Dr. Brown is very pretty. Objectively. Don’t you think?”
Ron stared at her, caught completely off guard. “Uh. I mean. She’s… I guess? She’s a doctor. They’re usually… competent?”
Hermione’s mouth twitched. “Ron.”
“What? I’m being honest,” he said, already flustered. “She’s nice. Professional. Very good with the—wand thing. Ultrasound wand. Which—bad phrasing. Sorry. I’m still nervous.”
Hermione huffed a quiet laugh, but it faded quickly. “You didn’t notice at all.”
“Notice what?”
“How pretty she is,” Hermione said, softer now. “She’s… put together. Glowy. And I look like I wrestled a filing cabinet on my lunch break.”
It clicked then.
Ron stepped closer, gentle, turning her toward him. “Hey. What’s this?”
Hermione swallowed. “It’s stupid. I just—my hair’s a mess, my face is puffy, I cried over a stapler this morning, and then there’s Dr. Brown looking like she stepped out of a magazine. I know you love me, I’m not accusing you of anything, I just…” Her voice wavered despite her irritation with it. “I don’t feel very attractive lately.”
Something in Ron’s chest tightened.
“Hermione,” he said softly. “You’re growing our kid. If anyone gets a pass for looking like they lost a fight with office supplies, it’s you.”
She snorted. “That’s not romantic.”
“Right. Okay. Let me try again.” He leaned in slightly, voice lowering. “Dr. Brown is pretty in the way a well-designed chair is pretty. Nice to look at. Does the job. But you—” He glanced briefly at her stomach, then back to her eyes. “You’re you. And you’re beautiful in a way that makes my brain stop working. Which, to be fair, isn’t new.”
Her shoulders eased, tension loosening.
“You’re terrible at this.”
“Yeah,” he said easily. “But I’m consistent.”
She leaned her forehead briefly against his shoulder. “I just feel strange in my own body.”
“I get that,” he said quietly. “But for what it’s worth, I think you look incredible. Puffy, glowy, terrifyingly competent. Still the hottest person in any room. Even ones with very pretty doctors.”
She pulled back, studying him. “You really didn’t notice?”
Ron blinked. “Honestly? I was too busy trying not to miss the part where our kid started kicking like it already owns the place.”
That did it.
Hermione smiled, the edge finally gone. “Okay. I’ll take that.”
He nudged her shoulder. “Good. Because I’m absolutely taking credit for passing the test I didn’t know I was taking.”
“Barely.”
“But I passed.”
·༻❀༺·
The parking lot was washed in late-afternoon light, the kind that made everything feel too normal for what had just happened inside.
Hermione stopped by her car, keys fumbling slightly in her hand. Ron lingered beside her, not quite ready to let the moment end.
“So,” he said, rocking back on his heels. “Back to City Hall to save democracy, or are you finally going to listen to your loving husband and go home?”
She smiled, tired but real. “One more meeting. It should be quick.”
Ron considered arguing, then let it go. “I’ll take ‘one more meeting’ over a surprise four-hour committee session.”
She stepped closer, the space between them softening. “Thank you for coming.”
“There was nowhere else I was going to be.”
She kissed him—soft at first, then lingering, her hand catching in the front of his jacket like she needed the contact. Ron kissed her back with careful certainty, like it still surprised him that this was his life.
When they parted, he rested his forehead briefly against hers.
“Hey,” he said. “Before you disappear into municipal chaos… are you craving anything? I can cook. Well. Attempt to cook.”
Her eyes warmed. “Something comforting. Pasta. That lemon sauce you make. And garlic bread.”
“Done.”
“And maybe… the rosemary potatoes?”
Ron grinned. “Now you’re just making it interesting.”
She squeezed his hand once more. “Text me when you start. I’ll leave on time.”
“On time,” he echoed, hopeful but unconvinced.
She rolled her eyes, blew him a kiss, and drove off—leaving Ron in the sunlight, already planning dinner like it mattered.
·༻❀༺·
The townhouse kitchen smelled like garlic, lemon, and something faintly on the edge of burning. Ron stood at the stove, wooden spoon in hand, brow furrowed in deep concentration like this pasta sauce might personally betray him if he didn’t watch it closely enough.
He was halfway through taste-testing (again) when the front door flew open.
“HELLOOO, DOMESTIC GODDESS—oh good, you’re cooking,” Ginny’s voice rang out, bright and entirely too energetic for someone who had absolutely not knocked.
Ron jumped. “Bloody hell, Gin—use the doorbell like a normal person.”
Ginny waddled in, very pregnant, a colorful baby wrap strapped across her chest and shoulders, her firstborn son snug and dozing against her back like a tiny, grumpy backpack. She kicked the door shut with her heel.
“I used my hands earlier today. They’re on strike now,” she said cheerfully. “Also, Hermione texted me.”
Ron stiffened immediately. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine,” Ginny said, peering into his pot like she owned the place. “But apparently the doctor today was a total smoke show.”
Ron blinked. “The—what show?”
“Smoke. Show,” Ginny repeated. “As in: distractingly gorgeous. As in: Hermione feels like a swamp goblin by comparison, which is rude and untrue, but pregnancy brains are jerks.”
Ron groaned. “I told her I didn’t even notice.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Ginny said. “You could be in a room with a supermodel and still only see Hermione. It’s kind of gross but also ideal husband behavior.”
The baby on her back made a small snorty noise. Ginny reached behind her without looking and patted him like this was her full-time job. (It was.)
“So,” she continued, turning her attention back to Ron, “tonight, you are going to be extra gross with Hermione.”
Ron’s ears went pink. “Define ‘gross.’”
“Affectionately disgusting,” Ginny said. “Compliments. Touch her back when she walks past. Kiss her for no reason. Tell her she’s beautiful even when she’s in her work clothes and looks like she’s about to fall asleep standing up. Make it obvious.”
Ron nodded, serious now. “Yeah. Okay. I can do that.”
“Good,” Ginny said, stealing a piece of garlic bread from the counter. “She’s growing a whole person and still running the city. The least you can do is worship her a little.”
Ron huffed a laugh. “When you put it like that…”
Ginny adjusted the wrap on her shoulders, the baby shifting slightly against her back. “Trust me. When you’re pregnant, your brain tells you the wildest lies about yourself. Your job is to be louder than that voice.”
Ron glanced toward the doorway, imagining Hermione coming home, tired and brilliant and still somehow the center of his gravity.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I can be louder than that.”
Ginny grinned.
·༻❀༺·
Hermione’s car headlights swept across the driveway as she pulled in, the engine ticking softly as it cooled. For a moment, she didn’t move. Her hands stayed loose on the wheel, her forehead resting against it, eyes closed as the weight of the day finally settled into her bones in a way she couldn’t ignore anymore.
The front door opened before she even reached for her seatbelt.
Ron jogged down the steps, hoodie sleeves pushed up, his expression already shifting from concern to relief the second he saw her. “Hey. You made it.”
“I made it,” she echoed, the words softer now, like they mattered more than they should.
He opened her door before she could protest and immediately started gathering things—her bag, then the other one, then her coat, because stopping halfway clearly wasn’t an option tonight.
“Ron,” she laughed, breath catching around the edges of it, “I do have arms.”
“Not using them,” he said without hesitation. “They’re on leave. Doctor’s orders. Mine.”
She shook her head, fond and a little helpless, but didn’t argue when he slipped an arm around her and tucked her in close as they walked up the path. His hand settled at the small of her back, steady and warm, guiding her like he was making absolutely sure she got inside in one piece.
Inside, the house wrapped around her instantly—lemon, garlic, rosemary, something rich and familiar that made her shoulders drop before she even realized it.
Ron nudged the door shut with his foot and turned to her with exaggerated seriousness. “Okay. Important question. Bath first, or food first?”
Hermione paused, the choice landing heavier than it should. Her body answered before her brain could catch up, exhaustion pulling at her in quiet, insistent ways.
“Bath,” she admitted. “If I sit down to eat, I might not get back up.”
“Say less,” Ron said immediately, already moving. “I’ve got it. Bubble bath? The rosewater one?”
“Yes, please.” She leaned into him for a second, letting herself take the support. “You’re being very… attentive.”
He pressed a kiss to her temple, easy and sure. “I’m being correctly attentive.”
She watched him go, slipping off her shoes slowly, one at a time, leaving them by the door without caring where they landed. For a moment, she just stood there, in the quiet of their kitchen, listening to the soft sounds of him moving down the hall—tap turning, cabinet opening, the low rush of water filling the tub.
It felt… grounding. Ordinary in a way that steadied something in her chest.
“Hey,” he called. “The water's warming up. You, um—” There was a pause, like he was choosing his words carefully. “You look really beautiful today. Even tired. Especially tired.”
Hermione closed her eyes briefly, that familiar, aching warmth spreading through her at the sound of it—unpolished, earnest, entirely him.
“Thank you,” she said, softer than before.
He leaned around the corner, grin already breaking through, clearly pleased with himself. “Dinner’ll be here when you’re done. I’ll keep everything warm. You go be a goddess in a bathtub.”
She laughed, shaking her head as she made her way toward him. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” Ron said, completely unbothered. “But I’m right.”
By the time she reached the bathroom, steam had already started to curl into the hallway. The lights were dimmed just slightly, not dramatic, just enough to soften the space. Ron was crouched by the tub, testing the water with his hand like it was the most important task he’d been given all day.
“Not too hot,” he said, glancing up at her. “You said last time it felt like lava.”
“That was one time,” she said, though her voice had already gone quieter, softer.
He stood, brushing his hands off on his hoodie, then hesitated for just a second before stepping closer. His hands found her arms, gentle, grounding, thumbs brushing lightly over her sleeves like he was checking in without saying it out loud.
“You okay?” he asked.
Hermione nodded, but leaned into him anyway.
“I’m just tired,” she admitted. “It was a lot today.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “It was.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. The room was warm, the air thick with steam and something quieter underneath it—something that had been building all day without either of them naming it.
Ron reached up, slower this time, and tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered for a second longer than necessary, brushing the curve of her jaw, the side of her neck.
“You should get in,” he murmured. “Before it cools.”
Hermione nodded again, but her hand came up to catch his wrist before he could pull away.
“Stay?” she asked, not quite looking at him.
There was no hesitation. “Yeah.”
He helped her without making it a thing—turning slightly so she had space, steadying her when she stepped closer, his hands warm and careful, familiar in a way that made everything feel a little easier to carry.
The water lapped softly as she settled in, a quiet exhale leaving her the second the heat wrapped around her.
Ron hovered for a moment, then sat on the edge of the tub, one hand resting absentmindedly along her shoulder, fingers tracing slow, absent patterns against her skin.
“You want me to grab you anything?” he asked. “Water? A snack? The book you keep pretending you’re going to read?”
She smiled, eyes half-lidded already. “Just you.”
That did something to him—visible, immediate.
He leaned down slightly, pressing another kiss to her temple, slower this time, lingering just enough to shift the air between them.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “You’ve got me.”
Hermione turned her head just enough that their foreheads brushed, her hand lifting from the water to rest lightly against his wrist, anchoring him there.
The moment stretched—soft, quiet, but charged in that familiar, unmistakable way.
His thumb traced a slow line along her shoulder.
Her grip tightened just slightly.
And the space between them narrowed, not rushed, not urgent, just inevitable.
Ron's fingers traced the curve of her shoulder, slow and deliberate, as Hermione leaned into his touch. The water lapped gently around them, steam curling in the dim light. Her eyes, heavy with exhaustion but bright with something else entirely, met his.
"Are you sure?" Ron asked, his voice barely a whisper. "You've had such a long day."
Hermione nodded, her hand moving from his wrist to cup his jaw, thumb stroking the light stubble there. "I'm sure," she murmured, leaning in to press her lips against his. "I need this. I need you."
The kiss deepened slowly, naturally, as Ron shifted closer, one hand sliding into her damp hair while the other traced patterns along her back. Hermione's free hand moved underwater, finding his thigh and pulling him nearer.
"Let's get you out of here," Ron said against her lips, helping her stand. Water cascaded down her body as she rose, and Ron's breath caught. Even pregnant, she was magnificent—softened in places, rounded in others, with a glow that seemed to radiate from within.
He wrapped her in a thick towel, his hands lingering as he dried her skin with reverence. A droplet of water clung to the curve of her collarbone, and he leaned down to kiss it away gently before pressing another kiss to her shoulder. “Beautiful,” he murmured softly. “So beautiful.”
Hermione's fingers worked at the hem of his hoodie, tugging it upward. "You're wearing too many clothes," she teased softly.
Ron chuckled but obliged, letting her pull the hoodie over his head. His hands found her waist, pulling her close as their lips met again. The kiss was different now—hungrier, more urgent despite its gentleness.
In the bedroom, moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting everything in soft silver. Ron guided her to the bed, easing her down before stretching out beside her. His hand traced the gentle curve of her stomach, fingers splaying across the slight swell there.
"Does it feel different?" he asked, his voice hushed.
"A little," Hermione admitted, covering his hand with hers. "Tender sometimes. But not in a bad way." She shifted, pulling him over her. "Just be gentle with me."
"Always," Ron promised, bending to kiss her again.
His hands explored her body with newfound tenderness, mapping changes both familiar and new. Hermione arched beneath him, her soft sighs filling the quiet room as his lips trailed down her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts—already fuller, more sensitive than before.
"Ron," she breathed, fingers tangling in his hair as his mouth closed around one peaked nipple. The sensation shot through her, sharper than usual, more intense.
He lifted his head, concern in his eyes. "Too much?"
"No," she gasped. "God, no. Don't stop."
Ron smiled against her skin before continuing his exploration, his hands and mouth worshipping every inch of her. When his fingers slipped between her thighs, she was already wet and ready for him.
"Please," she whispered, hips rising to meet his touch. "Now, Ron."
He positioned himself carefully, mindful of her instructions to be gentle. As he entered her slowly, they both gasped at the sensation—the same, yet somehow different. Deeper. More meaningful.
"Okay?" Ron asked, stilling once fully inside her.
Hermione wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer. "Perfect," she murmured against his ear. "Move with me, love."
Their rhythm was unhurried, almost languid, each movement deliberate and full of meaning. Ron supported his weight on his elbows, careful not to press too heavily on her stomach as they rocked together. The intensity built gradually, a slow burn rather than a flash fire.
Hermione's hands roamed his back, her breath coming in soft pants against his neck. "I love you," she whispered, the words muffled by his skin. "I love you so much."
Ron's response was lost in a groan as he shifted slightly, changing the angle. Hermione cried out softly, her body arching beneath his as pleasure washed through her. He repeated the movement, watching her face as she neared her peak.
“Look at me,” he murmured, the command softened by the way his voice dipped.
Hermione’s eyes fluttered open, hazy, unfocused at first, before settling on his. She held his gaze as the last waves of sensation moved through her, slower now, quieter, until they both finally came back down to something steady. Ron followed shortly after, breath uneven, his face pressed into the curve of her neck as everything eased.
They stayed like that for a while—tangled, warm, unmoving—letting the moment settle into something softer. Ron’s hand drifted instinctively to her stomach, resting there, his thumb brushing slow, absentminded circles.
By the time they pulled themselves up, the house felt different. Quieter. Like the edges of everything had softened.
Hermione moved more slowly now, not just from exhaustion, but from that loose, grounded calm that lingered after. Her hair was still damp at the ends, one of Ron’s old hoodies wrapped around her like it belonged there. Her cheeks held a faint warmth, her expression gentler than it had been all day.
Ron followed just behind her, carrying the moment in a different way—quieter, steadier, like something inside him had settled into place.
“Sit,” he said, nudging a chair out for her with his foot.
Hermione gave him a look that hovered somewhere between amusement and surrender, but she sat anyway, easing down with a soft exhale. “You’re very bossy tonight.”
“Correct,” he replied easily, already turning back to the stove. “And I’m right about it.”
The kitchen came back to life in small, familiar sounds—the low hiss of the oven, the gentle clink of dishes, the faint scrape of a pan being pulled free. Ron moved through it easily now, shoulders relaxed, like he’d slipped back into something instinctive.
Hermione watched him for a moment, chin resting lightly in her hand, something warm and unreadable settling in her expression.
“You’re hovering,” she said.
“I’m not hovering,” Ron answered, without turning around.
“You moved my chair closer to the table.”
“That’s efficiency.”
“And you keep checking over your shoulder to make sure I’m still here.”
That made him pause.
He glanced back, caught, then shrugged like it wasn’t anything. “Just making sure.”
Hermione’s mouth curved, soft and small. “I’m still here.”
“Good,” he said, just as quietly.
A moment later, Ron set a plate in front of her—rosemary roasted potatoes, crisp at the edges, golden and steaming, the scent of garlic and herbs curling warmly through the air. Simple, but exactly what she’d asked for.
Hermione picked one up, turning it slightly between her fingers before taking a bite. She closed her eyes for a second.
“Okay,” she said. “These are really good.”
Ron brightened immediately. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She looked up at him. “Crispy. Properly salted. You didn’t ruin them.”
“High praise,” he said, grinning as he sat across from her.
They ate slowly, conversation slipping in and out without effort. Hermione talked about her meeting—lighter now, less tense—and Ron listened the way he always did, like every word mattered, even when she insisted it didn’t.
At some point, her movements slowed.
Then stopped.
Ron noticed immediately. “You done?”
Hermione nodded, blinking like she was trying to stay present. “I didn’t mean to be this tired.”
“Hey,” he said gently. “You had a long day.”
She leaned back, eyes drifting closed for a moment longer than usual.
Ron stood before she could protest, gathering her plate, then his, then the glass she’d barely touched. “Don’t move,” he added, already heading to the sink.
“I wasn’t planning on it,” she murmured.
By the time he finished rinsing the dishes, Hermione had curled slightly into herself in the chair, one hand resting absentmindedly over her stomach, her breathing slow and even.
Ron dried his hands and walked back over, quieter now.
“Hey,” he said gently, crouching beside her. “Let’s get you to bed.”
She blinked at him, disoriented for a second, then nodded. “Okay.”
He helped her up, one arm steady around her waist, guiding her without rushing. The house had gone still, the kind of quiet that only came at the end of a full day.
At the bedroom door, Hermione paused, turning slightly toward him.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?” he asked.
Ron noticed the way she hesitated, like she was trying to make something bigger fit into smaller words.
“For today,” she said finally. “For… all of it.”
Something in Ron softened again, settling warm and steady in his chest.
“Yeah,” he said. “Anytime.”
He helped her into bed, adjusting the pillows without thinking, pulling the blankets up carefully around her. Hermione shifted onto her side, already halfway to sleep, one hand reaching for him without looking.
He took it immediately.
“I’ll be right back,” he said quietly. “Just turning things off.”
She hummed, too tired to respond properly.
When he came back, the room was dim, the house fully settled. Ron slipped in beside her carefully, and she instinctively moved closer, fitting against him like she always did.
His arm came around her without thought, resting warm and protective across her middle.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Hermione’s breathing evened out first, her body going heavy with sleep, her fingers loosely curled into his shirt.
Ron stayed awake a little longer, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything—the screen, the movement, the quiet, impossible reality of it.
His hand shifted, resting gently over hers.
“Hey,” he murmured, not sure if she could hear him. “We’re doing okay.”
Hermione stirred slightly, a soft, sleepy sound in response.
Ron smiled to himself, pressing a light kiss into her hair.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “We’re really doing okay.”
And eventually, with her warm and steady beside him, he let himself fall asleep too.
·༻Fin༺·