Thought process from the fact that JKR is known to like Victor Hugo therefore maybe Hermione does too?
"Daddy?" A six-year-old red-haired girl comes running from the kitchen. Her feet are bare, a simple white t-shirt and jean shorts hug her small frame. Her copper curls fly behind her as she scurries across the room. "Daddy? Why am I Rose?"
"Well Rosie," her flame hired father picks her up, setting her upon is lap. "You're named after the flower. It's prized for its beauty and smell. It's a symbol of love and according to your mum, associated with goddesses like Aphrodite. She was supposedly really pretty. Just like you and mum." A chuckle comes from the kitchen. "I know it's your mums favourite flower too."
Hermione appears from the kitchen, a four-year-old boy beside her. His hair is the same brown as his mothers. "Once everything had calmed down after the war your father and I had a proper date. In muggle London, a place I had been many times with your granny and grandad Granger. A lovely Italian place. He'd insisted I wore a dress, a lovely red swishy one. I still have it in my wardrobe if you wish to see it. Dad wore a suit. A very rare thing indeed." She sinks into the sofa beside her husband, Hugo climbing into her lap. "He had a lovely single rose with him. It made me smile. An old fashion gesture I suppose." She smiles at Ron softly. "Every year on our anniversary we go back there. The single rose is now a bunch."
"June the first 1998, 7pm. Bella Luna. Translates to Beautiful Moon." Ron muses, squeezing Hermione's hand lightly. "You took my breath away that night 'Mione. And every day since."
"So, I'm Rose after mummy's flowers and pretty dress?" Rose pats Ron's arm, diverting his attention from his wife. Ron simply nods at her, smiling. "What about Hugo?" Her brown eyes dart between her mother and brother.
Hugo, about a foot shorter and a cheeky grin reminiscent of his Uncle George, was curled into his mother's side. His socks were half off his feet although he was toeing them off to be like Rose. Hermione every five minutes would pause to pull the green dinosaur print socks upon his feet. This seem to agitate him but amuse his sister and father.
"Well," Hermione looks at her small son, smiling and ruffling his hair that was so much like his Uncle Harry's. "Hugo is named after a muggle author. Victor Hugo was a French novelist, back in the 1800's. He wrote Les Miserables and the Hunchback of Notre Dame, set in Paris. He's my favourite author."
"Mummy's books!" Hugo exclaims. "Me." He nods his head certain.
Hermione and Ron chuckle at this. Rose seemed placated by the answer. "I know Hunchback, mama. Esmeralda." She hops down from Ron's lap twirling her way to the unit containing DVDs. Opening the cabinet, she runs her finger over the spines just like her mother does to books. In finding the animated film she takes the case out, closing the cabinet door. Hopping across the room to the sofa she squeezes beside her brother. Crossing her legs, she points to the characters on the box. Hugo peers at the tanned princess in a white top with dark curly hair and big hoop earrings. He pulls a face when Rose points to the larger funny looking guy in green. "Cosimodo." Rose jabs the man, neither adults correcting her pronunciation of Quasimodo. "He's disabled." She casts Hugo a look to make sure that he was paying attention. "Esmeralda. Gypsy. He rescues her." Rose looks at her mother. "It's bad, mama. Hugo's too little to see it. I like Merida and Punzie better." She nods firmly, her red curls bouncing. Hermione smiles at her daughter in response, nodding. Merida and Rapunzel were definitely more appropriate than the gypsy.
Hugo tilts his head upwards to his mother. "Mama?"
Hermione copies the action downwards. "Hugo?"
He looks at her through dark lashes. "We see your dress? The red one." He bites his lower lip, a habit picked up from his father. Rose's head pops up from looking at the cover, her head switching between her parents.
"Sure thing sweetie just wait with dad. I won't be long." Ron squeezes her hand as the other runs a thumb over their sons' forehead fondly. As Hermione walks off, heading upstairs, the kids spread out. Hugo climbing upon his father's lap as Rose curls into his side. He looks between his two young children, thinking of how amazing they both were. Rose with the famous Weasley hair and her mother's eyes and smart and alert like her too. Hugo with her brown hair but his blue eyes and a smattering of freckles over his nose. He was quieter than his energetic sister. Thoughtful and curious, more hesitant and cautious. They were marvellous.
Meanwhile in their cream and navy bedroom Hermione stands in front of the built-in wardrobe. The left-hand side was hers, the right, Ronald's. Her brown eyes skirt her refection in the mirror. She'd put the weight back on that she lost being on the run and lost the excess pregnancy wait. Back to being healthy. Her curves hidden under a hoodie and jeans. She should look okay in the dress. Sighing she slides the glass rightwards. At the end of the rail within a cover bag encases the fabric. Removing it, she hangs it over the door. Unzipping the garment bag the vivid colour bursts through. Sliding it off she lets it pool to the floor. In seeing the dress, she once again falls in love with it. Stripping quickly, she shimmies into the poppy coloured lace. The curved neckline sits across her collar bones, her shoulders supporting the wider straps. It tapers to her waist before flaring to just above her knees. With a slight tug, she pulls the zip up her back. It still fit.
She pins her brown curls to one side, taming it a little. Slipping her feet into black court shoes and securing a slim black patent belt around her narrow waist. She smiles to herself as she checks out her reflection, smoothing invisible creases from the front.
Taking cautious steps downstairs she stops outside the living room door, hearing Ron discussing Disney Princesses with Rose, with Hugo butting in about Princes and fast red cars. Ron had taken the muggle Mr Walt Disney in his stride.
Knocking on the door Hermione peers round it. Her family look up, patiently waiting. "You ready?" They all nod. Opening the door wider she takes a tentative step around it. The kids' mouths fall open soundlessly. Ron's eyes drink in his wife's shapely figure and long legs. Rose nudges Hugo and grins. Hermione takes a couple of steps closer as Ron taps the kids lightly. Hugo shuffles across Rose's lap to the other side of her, not taking their eyes of their mother.
Ron stands. In two large steps he crosses room, taking Hermione's hand. One large placed upon her waist. The other twines with her slimmer one. Their bodies flush as he pulls her close. She intakes a sharp breath, swallowing hard as Ron's blue eyes lock on her brown ones. She follows his lead as he takes a step back then forward again before twirling her around. With their foreheads against each other they slowly dance round the room avoiding furniture. Rose and Hugo both giggle watching their parents dance. Slipping from the couch Hugo faces Rose, holding out a small chubby hand to her. Frowning a little Rose relents, taking it. Copying their parents, they laugh as they spin around in circles.
"You look beautiful 'Mione." Ron whispers, his lips brushing hers softly.
"Thank you." She smiles, closing her eyes reminiscing of that very first date.
Thirteen years ago. Bella Luna. London. 7pm. A younger Ron waits outside for his girlfriend. Dressed in a black muggle suit, white shirt and uncomfortable shiny pointy shoes. He continues to tug at the black tie at the base of his throat. A singe red rose in his other hand. Out the corner of his eye something catches it. It dawns on him that it's his girlfriend. He swallows hard.
As Hermione takes a step out the black cab, she thanks the driver. Tugging at the dress a little to protect her modesty. She looks up in noticing someone watching her. A mop of red hair. In a suit. Her face lights up at the sight. He comes to meet her, offering a large hand, stabilising her from the vehicle as it drives off.
"Here." The tall red head holds the pruned stem out to the shorter brunette. His eyes cast over her. Her usually untameable hair is smoothed and knotted in a fancy thing at the back of her head. Her brown eyes are highlighted in a smoky shadow, gloss upon her full lips. Just enough. The neckline of the dress is demure but flatters her. As his eyes skim downwards, he notes the black leather jacket covers her arms and, that, scar. A thin belt draws in her narrow waist. The fabric skims her full hips, settling just above her knees revealing toned legs supported by high heels. She looked amazing.
"Thank you Ron." Long fingers with a French manicure grasps the green stem. She sniffs the flower, a smile upon her face. "You scrub up well too." She smiles softly." "Even in a muggle clothes." He chuckles at this, offering her his arm.
Inside the restaurant the lighting was dimmed to a soft golden glow. Couples and families scatter the room chatting between themselves. They follow the waiter to a table in the corner. Private in the muggle world. He pulls her chair out for her. Thanking him she sits, taking the proffered drinks menu from the dark-haired waiter. She orders a red wine, a beer for him. They both choose pasta. Ron a rich Bolognese. Hermione a marinara; seafood in a tomato and herb sauce. Both skip the starter.
They both savour the foreign food, chatting easily in between mouthfuls. They avoid certain subjects, focusing on lighter things like future plans. She wanted to work before settling down. He was torn between ministry stuff and helping his brother George in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. They both settled on two or three kids. Hermione an only child wanting more than one. While Ron, one of seven, now six, wanted a quieter life and less than his own large family. They also settled on having pudding. Ron chose the succulent hot chocolate fudge cake with creamy vanilla ice cream. Hermione chose a tart lemon sorbet. As she kept looking at the cake, Ron offers her a bite. The cake was soft and sweet if a little too rich for her liking. His nose crinkled at the slight bitterness of the sorbet that she offered. Both enjoyed sharing the moment though.
Afterwards they order another drink form the bar, his hand upon her knee lightly. Her fingers grazing his forearm, tracing the muscles. Their heads close, whispering in each other's ears.
That night they made love.
The start of their future.
His warm lips and squeezing her hand in his brings her thoughts back to the present.
The red-haired Rose and her little brother Hugo named after their mother's favourite things.