No Safe Place
It feels like there's no safe place
In a world that's come apart
And the deafening sound of a bursting bubble
Wakes you with a start
Ron knew that his wife was never going to be long in the shower – she never was. She usually stayed long enough in the bathroom to wash her hair and do whatever other mysterious preening that girls did in bathrooms (he'd been married to her for five years and still didn't understand). There was always something else that took priority – making dinner, feeding the baby, putting the baby to bed, tidying up...nothing that he couldn't do himself, but Hermione had never been good about indulging herself. It was why he indulged her – something he'd be doing a lot of over the next few days, if only to satisfy his own worries.
When she stepped back into the bedroom after her shower, which had lasted a total of ten minutes, including drying her hair, her hair was slightly damp still. She'd towel dried it the muggle way, opting to ignore the charm that his mother had taught her the first summer she'd come to visit. Whenever her mind was heavily distracted she fell easily into the muggle customs she'd been raised for the first part of her life with. Towel drying her hair was one of them. Washing dishes by hand was another, as was using the duster in the kitchen drawer he always hid, but she always found.
She looked cleaner and slightly less jittery than when he'd all but forced her into the bathroom for a moments relaxation. She was wearing one of his shirts and a pair of her own pyjama pants, something that made her look ridiculously tiny underneath her mane of bushy hair. For somebody who had given him a tiny baby girl only six months ago, she was tiny. Something in her eyes was still holding onto a greater weight, but as soon as she spotted her baby daughter, sleeping peacefully in her husband's arms, she relaxed and her shoulders dropped.
He didn't make a big deal about it. She had every right to be worried after the day they'd had, even though they both knew that he would rather die than let any harm come to their little Rose. He knew that this feeling wasn't going to disappear any time soon. All the times they'd had to fear for their own lives seemed little in comparison to seeing the life of your child threatened.
"Hi," he whispered as she approached the bedside.
"Is Rosie sleeping?" she said quietly.
He nodded. "Yeah, about five minutes ago."
"Is she ok?" she checked.
He nodded. "She's perfect, as always."
She leaned close to Ron, looking down at her daughter. She always looked so comfortable in her father's arms, sprawled out against his chest as if she had set up a base camp on his shirt. She ran her fingers delicately over the dusting of hair, already destined to be as thick and bushy as her own, and sighed. They were home. They were together. They were safe.
"Hermione?"
His voice broke her away from her thoughts and she jumped a little at the sound even though his voice was barely more than a whisper. Immediately he reached out, placing one hand over her arm. She hadn't had her hair cut in a while, something she was planning this weekend, and it now skimmed the top of his palm where she was leant over slightly, leaving wet trails left over from the shower. She lifted her eyes away from her daughter's head and looking instead at the man who held her.
"Sorry," she mumbled.
Sorry? Hermione rarely apologised. She certainly didn't apologise multiple times in one day, especially not for circumstances that were out of her control and definitely not her fault. He frowned, stroking his thumb over her wrist. "You okay?" he asked. She didn't answer, and he realised immediately it was a stupid question.
"Sit down," he urged, tugging at her hand gently.
"I don't want to wake Rosie," she whispered.
"Mione, you need to sit down before you fall down. Come on," he tempted.
She stayed hovering where she was for a moment before she gave in to his pull. They found themselves pressed against each other's sides, his arm falling naturally around her while the other held their daughter protectively. Attempting to relax, she put her head on his shoulder. In this position, Rose's breath was falling straight onto her neck in a calming lull and she found her eyes closing. She was exhausted but couldn't sleep yet, not until her mind stopped replaying what had happened earlier that day. Instead, she settled on placing her hand on her daughter's back and listening to her soft breathing. The hand that Ron had around her shoulders settled to rubbing up and down her arm slowly.
But the images didn't leave her, they played over and over again with a sinking feeling in her stomach. If a single thing had gone differently today, she or her daughter may not be there in that moment. Hermione was due to return to her job at the Ministry soon, with Ron's mother gladly offering to look after her precious granddaughter Rose while the two parents were working. Molly was pleased to add Rose to her brood of children during the day, especially as she already cared for Victoire, James and soon Albus as well. So with the return to working life so near, Hermione had gone to speak to her boss about any changes she needed to know about, taking baby Rose with her at the insistence of her female co-workers who had welcomed a change from working at the chance to coo over the little red-haired girl.
And it all changed so quickly.
Spells had flown everywhere, the security alerts erupting as finally, the last remnants of the War reminded them all that it wasn't quite over yet. Voldemort may have died years ago, but there were those still loyal to him, attempted to recruit to the cause. It was unfortunate that they had become rather successful at this recruitment as of late, something that made Ron and Harry's jobs particularly dangerous, but today was the first time they'd recruited a Ministry operative. This evening, they would have found out everything about Marcus Darvey and who had turned him, and more importantly, how long he had been supplying information. For once, as an auror, Ron didn't care about those details. He even told his boss, quite loudly, that he didn't give a rats arse about the technicalities, but what he did care a great deal about was the fact that one of his Unforgivable Curses had almost hit his baby daughter in the face.
Ron had taken his family home, both parents shaken and their child nothing more than disgruntled by the loud noises and the agitation of her parents. He'd managed to get Hermione to eat something akin to dinner, opting to be the one to cook while she held tightly to their daughter, pacing up and down wildly and rambling about the madman and what unspeakable things she would like to do to him for almost hurting their daughter.
Ron had watched her out of the corner of his eye, wondering if he was the only one thinking that it might not have been just their little Rosie who would have been hurt. The way Hermione had been holding the baby when the curse narrowly missed them, it was obvious that they would have both suffered.
At that moment, Rose stirred. Her face turned into Ron's chest the in the same way that Hermione's did sometimes, balling up his shirt in her tiny fists. "Muuuuh," she mumbled tiredly.
"I'm here, sweetheart," Hermione whispered, leaning across slightly to kiss her daughter's head. Rose settled instantly, going back to sleep, but not releasing the new hold she had on her father.
"Surely she can't be talking yet," Ron observed.
"No," Hermione informed him. "Not for quite a few months yet, but when she does that it sounds a bit like 'mum', and that's all a mother needs to hear."
"I bet her first word is still 'dada'," he teased.
"Only because you'll train her in the middle of the night," she pointed out.
They fell into another silence, the momentary distraction that Rose had provided them falling into the stillness of the room. Ron tried to focus on the breathing of his wife, the deep even breaths that showed she was still alive, and the similar, smaller and faster ones from his daughter. He had them both in his arms, exactly where they should be, and by some small miracle they were both unharmed. Shaken was fine, they could fix shaken. They couldn't fix dead.
"I was really scared today," Ron whispered.
"Me too," she replied.
"When I got that alert, and then I saw you and Rosie were there I..." he sighed. "I don't know what I would do if I ever lost you," he admitted. "I...if you or Rosie had been hurt or worse..."
"We weren't," she reminded him.
He tightened his hold, but it wasn't uncomfortable. "You and Rosie are my life," he breathed. "I can't lose you."
Hermione placed a kiss to his shoulder. "You won't," she whispered. "We could never be apart from you."
Sighing, he settled his head against hers. "I love you, Hermione. So much."
"I love you too, Ron. Forever and ever."
And even when we're lying together
I make sure she falls asleep first
It seems when things are at their best
My mind seems to wander to things and their worst
So, do I fall asleep and dream of a peace that will never come?
Or do I roll over and let her break the glass around my heart
And set off the alarm?