A/N: This is a Father's Day gift for my favorite ginger dad (sorry Arthur, you're a close second). It is a continuation of Of Bros and Babes but I actually began writing this one first. It inspired me to fill in the backstory so to speak.
The early morning light was just beginning to filter into the bedroom, but Ron Weasley had no trouble seeing his wife clearly. His clear-sightedness, both literal and figurative, was legendary in the Auror corp. Perspicacious, that's the word Hermione taught him; she said she loved the way he could always see the things no one else could.
Now more than ever he was seeing clearly: his heart full as he watched her sleeping form. He gently moved an errant curl from her face, careful not to wake her. She needed her rest: a lopsided grin broke over his face she's resting for two now.
The news was so fresh that it still bore the weight of unreality. It was hard to imagine, almost impossible to wrap your mind around, really. He ghosted his fingers across her abdomen with awe. Their child was in there, right now. A child that they had made, together. A child that would have his sense of humor and her sense of determination. A child that would have her nose and his hair. Poor kid…the Weasley hair…at least we can always see you in a crowd.
Ron's thoughts began to run into a future full of firsts: first smiles, first laughs, first words, first steps. He was wise enough to know that parenting would not be without challenges. He chuckled at the memory of the panicked patronus Harry had sent him the first time Ginny left him alone with James. He was sure the Daily Prophet would have paid handsomely for pictures of the wizarding world's toughest Aurors scrambling under the demands of a colicky baby.
In a weird way, he was looking forward to those moments too, terrifying as they might be. He wanted to be the kind of dad their child deserved, the kind of partner Hermione deserved. The image of her holding this baby in her arms was so vivid that he could almost reach out and touch it. She was going to be an amazing mum, and he would make damn sure that they were safe and happy.
Safe. His brow furrowed at the thought. He had dedicated himself to that goal for as long as he could remember. Shell Cottage had been the first time he had vocalized it to her: first in broken sobs as she remained unconscious in the small bedroom that faced the ocean, later in fervent whispers as she tried to assure him that he had in fact saved her that day. Promised you I would always keep you safe. But if he were being honest with himself, it really began long before that day. He had been so young and naïve at the time, assuring himself that his desire to defend her to Malfoy, to walk into a forest of nightmare inducing arachnids for her, was nothing less than he would do for any of his family. It was true, in a way. His career path had been largely shaped by his need to look out for Harry. After seven years, it had been a hard habit to break. Paired with his "war hero" Merlin I hate that! status developed into the idea that joining the Corp was the ultimate way to keep Hermione and everyone he loved safe.
That was the idea that kept him going: through the agony of training. All those long weeks of being away from Hermione, days full of grueling physical and emotional agony. So much had been expected of him and Harry that even the most common of rookie error felt like an epic failure. But, they had made it. Foolishly they had thought that the hardest part was behind them, but they were just then being placed into the crucible: testing their strength through fire.
Those first years had been rank with the ugliness of life. Crimes too horrible to talk about in polite company; victims who haunted his dreams, especially the ones that he found too late, or that were too afraid to leave the violent lives in which they felt trapped. He supposed it did get better with time. He very rarely had nightmares anymore, and he couldn't remember the last time he had felt truly shocked at even the most disturbing cases.
Everyone loved to ask him how he liked his job. He always replied with, "I like making the world a safer place." It was a true answer, a safe answer, but not a satisfying answer. He and Hermione had talked about it more and more frequently in the last year.
"I want you to be happy, Ron," she would always say.
"I am happy," he would always reply, kissing her soundly.
"You know what I mean; you don't have to do this."
"I made you a promise, Hermione. I haven't broken a promise to you since I made that one."
"But the promise was to keep my safe AND happy. You are what I need to be happy, and we keep each other safe, that's just how it's always worked."
"But what about Harry?"
"He has his own Weasley, I'm tired of sharing," how dare she use his own tactics against him!
"You know what I mean. I can't just abandon him."
"Oh Ron, get out of that tent, come off that chess board, Harry is a grown man and he can take care of himself."
"Since when," he grumbled, but they both fought to suppress a smirk at the thought.
"Listen, I will support you no matter what you decide, you know that. I just want you to do what YOU want to do. Not what you think other people need or expect you to do. You've earned that much at least."
Hermione's little sleep-hum, one of the many little things he had learned about her over the years, brought him back to the present. He really did know that she would stand by him no matter what he wanted to do, knew it with a certainty born of love and experience. He also knew, though they were careful not to talk about it, not really talk about it, that she was afraid for him. It wasn't easy to be an Auror's wife-the crazy hours, the dangerous assignments, the calls from St. Mungos- were enough to test any woman. She deserves better.
If he were being completely honest, he would admit that he thought about the danger more and more. Part of him, of all of them really, was so used to the chaos of war and intrigue that he worried that he might not know how to live without it. Isn't it worth the try? For Hermione? For our child? George had made him a very attractive offer to return to the shop, to the business. Ron did enjoy working there when he helped out over the years: seeing the smiles, hearing the laughter. He always felt especially close to Fred when he was there, not in a mournful way, but a little bubbling of happiness. George admitting feeling it too, but they had both been a little pissed on Firewhiskey at the time.
He knew that he could go round and round with this indefinitely using his strategic mind to plan his best course of action; but from the moment Hermione told him, just last night, that he was going to be a father…logic and strategy seemed to have been eclipsed by a far more powerful force. The thought of getting out of that bed and going to a job where there was a better than fair chance that he might not return, seemed like the most mental thing in the entire wizarding world. The whole of the universe was, in that moment, contained within that bed-so small, yet he felt the immensity of it with reverence. Questions that had seemed unanswerable just days ago were now elementary in their simplicity. He could see the future clearly: a future where little bushy-haired toddlers would crawl into this bed with them on Saturday mornings; a future where precocious freckled-faced children would doze off in between them during a thunderstorm; a future where they would all be safe and happy.
Decision made, Ron gently got up and dressed with an Auror's speed and stealth. If he hurried he could be back before she woke, and he could convince her to take the day off to celebrate.