AN: This is my first FanFiction story. As much as I'd love to be, I am not JK Rowling. I do not own any of the Harry Potter franchise, including the characters, places, terms, or anything, nor am I associated with the franchise in any way. I really wish I could be, though. Please enjoy, and reviews are lovely!
It was a quiet evening, just after dusk, as the final sliver of orange sunlight was cast through the window of a small cottage in the countryside. The fading light landed perfectly on a bassinet in the center of a yellow nursery, where stuffed bunny rabbits and teddy bears guarded the doorway and a mobile of owls and broomsticks hung from the ceiling.
A lanky figure, wearing a pair of Quidditch boxers and an old white tee shirt, kneeled on the wooden floor beside the cradle, a mop of messy orange hair falling across the young man's eyes as he gazed at the newborn sleeping soundly in the tiny cot. A lighter dusting of the same ginger hair covered the baby's pale head, and beneath those papery eyelids were warm brown eyes, the same brown eyes that the man had grown to love over the years.
"Daddy loves you," he whispered to his precious daughter, his large hand hovering above her forehead, contemplating with himself whether or not he should reach down and stroke it softly. He decided against it, for the possibility of waking the child was too strong, and his wife had just finally gotten to sleep.
The baby stirred under his hand, her mouth falling into a dreamy O shape, a stream of drool slipping onto the blankets beneath her. The man laughed to himself; his daughter had taken after him with the drooling, or at least she seemed to have at the moment. Then again, he thought to himself, didn't all babies drool?
"Daddy will always protect you, and take care of you," he said to the baby girl as she slept on. "Mommy and Daddy will never stop loving you."
Floorboards creaked out in the hallway as the final bits of daylight vanished and darkness settled everywhere. He picked up his weapon, the wand he'd lain on the floor only minutes ago, and turned slowly to face the door.
"Lumos," he spoke quietly, but fiercely; he would not let anyone harm this child, he'd just vowed so. However, the light emanating from the tip of his wand showed not an intruder, but his wife, clad in his old Chudley Cannons shirt and her pajama shorts. A sigh of relief flew from his lips. "Blimey, Hermione, you scared me," he said, as she walked into the nursery slowly and turned on a lamp, casting a yellowish light on the room.
She sighed. "I'm sorry, Ron, but I just can't sleep," the brunette began to explain, taking a few more steps towards him. "I can't fall asleep knowing that Rose is in here alone. It doesn't seem safe, even if they're –" Ron knew that she was referring to the Death Eaters who had survived the war, " - all in Azkaban now." She kneeled beside him slowly, still sore from giving birth a few days earlier. Ron pulled her into his arms and felt her snuggle into him warmly.
"No one will hurt her, 'Mione," Ron said softly, rubbing the back of her hand smoothly with his thumb. "The war's been over, and we're all safe." Sometimes Ron found that he needed to repeat this to himself, to reassure himself that it was true. Hermione buried her face into his chest.
"I still worry, Ron," she said, her words muffled against his body. "Is this what your mother felt like, having seven children during wartime? Like at any moment something could go wrong, one of them could be," Hermione couldn't bring herself to say killed, not after what had happened to Fred; it'd been seven years since he'd died in the Battle, but the memories still stung like they were fresh wounds. "Hurt?"
Ron inhaled deeply, smelling her shampoo. "I think that's what every parent is thinking right now, love," he answered equally softly. "Everyone's still afraid. But we just need to go on like it's alright, that's the only way it can become alright." He stroked the scars on his wife's forearm, the permanent reminder that the war was real, that it hadn't been merely a nightmare that they'd woken up from one day. Ron could feel three letters like brail, OOD, and shivered involuntarily.
Hermione looked up into his eyes, drinking in the clear blue, and bit her lip nervously. "Can we take Rose into our room for tonight? I think I'll sleep much better." Ron nodded, and leaned down to kiss her, taking her chin in his calloused fingers and tilting it up gently so she could meet his lips. After pulling away, she embraced him tightly, wrapping her thin arms around his frame. "I love you, Ronald Weasley." She sighed.
"And I love you, Hermione Weasley," Ron answered, returning the embrace and kissing the top of her head. They stood together, and Hermione drew her wand from the band of her pajama shorts, pointing it at the bassinet where Rose still slept soundly, and prepared to do a levitating charm, when Ron took her hand gently. "Let me," It was more of a plea than an offer, and she smiled and nodded. Ron pointed his own wand at the cradle.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" The baby's cot lifted gently from the stand and hovered in the air; Ron kept absolute concentration so he would not let it drop. He walked it steadily down the small hallway of their cottage, until he'd reached their bedroom, where he let it settle into another stand set up beside their bed. Rose had not stirred during her entire journey, even as Ron leaned over to kiss her forehead goodnight. Hermione beamed at him proudly as Ron turned to her.
"You know, a friend once told me, it's Levi-OH-sa, not Levio-SAH," he smirked. Hermione grabbed him, and kissed him full on the mouth, like she had in the Chamber of Secrets seven years earlier, before they fell onto their bed, pulling the quilts over their bodies, and fell asleep tangled in each other.
For the first time in ages, Hermione felt safe again.
