Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling. Also, the song 'Never Grow Up,' belongs to Taylor Swift.
A HUGE thank you to Ashling586 for editing this for me. She is a fantastic beta.
A special thanks to Beeezie for her helpful review that broke down what was confusing. Another special thanks to JChrissy for her input/CC as well.
Baby Weasley
Ronald Weasley was sure he had never been more scared in his life.
At one point he didn't think anything could have been scarier than You-know-who. At least that was until Fred had been killed and Ron found out that losing someone you loved and having to bury them deep into the cold ground was much worse than fearing someone.
On his wedding day, Ron learned that fear could find you anywhere, even on the days when you were the happiest, you were never actually safe. That it could seize your heart and make you worry that you wouldn't be a good husband to your future bride.
He even learned that it could be transformed into terror, like it did on the day when he learned his wife, Hermione Weasley, was pregnant.
He worried daily about being a bad father.
He found the waiting only made the anxiety worse.
Ron had spent most of his life waiting. Waiting to be old enough to go to Hogwarts, Waiting for classes to be over, waiting to see if he had landed the big job he wanted, and most of all waiting to build up the courage to tell Hermione how much he loved her and would always love her.
So having to wait nine long months for his firstborn child to be born about drove him crazy.
It only made him feel even more unprepared when Hermione finally went into labor.
The Healers had told him many times that once his wife went into labor to rush her to St. Mungo's. However, he soon found out that when you actually got there, there isn't much of a rush.
No matter what kind of grand entrance you try to make it is not going to cause every Healer in their lime green robes around you to stop what they're doing just to help you.
Instead one of the nurses will get you settled into a room where you wait some more.
Hermione lay in the hospital bed next to him crying out in pain. Big fat tears could be seen rolling down her red face. She screamed out a string of curses as another contraction torn through her body.
Ron stood next to her trying to stop his own tears from falling completely unaware of everything is his wife was screaming at him. All he could think about was that they were having a little girl.
...
He could sense the movement around him, the whispering and the shuffling of feet, but he refused to pay it any attention, his whole focus on his wife.
"Mate," a soft voice, "it's time."
They weren't alone.
In all honesty Ron hadn't realize that there was anyone else in the room. All he could hear were her cries and all he could feel was Hermione's sweating, trembling hand cradled within his own.
He turned to see Harry was standing next to him, his hand placed on his shoulder, trying to gently gain his attention. Looking around he noticed that Ginny was on the other side of Hermione holding her free hand.
Ron's blue eyes focused on Harry's green ones, he looked lost, as if he didn't know how to face Ron anymore, as if he wondered why they were there.
With a small nod of his head, he turned his attention back to his wife.
"Are you ready Hermione?" he asked softly.
But how could she be? How could he be? He was never ready for anything.
...
The birth had been terrible. Five Healers had rushed around the room, whispering spells he had never heard of, talking to each other, and seemingly ignoring the couple.
Hermione had screamed through the entire thing, she had gritted her teeth and cried out for the healers to do something to stop the pain. She had begged Ron to help her, but all he could do was stare into the tearful brown eyes of his beautiful bushy haired, sweating wife and hold her hand.
At one point she had squeezed his hand so hard his wedding band had dug into his flesh and his fingers had turned purple. He had tried to soothe her, tried to wipe her sweating face down with a damp cloth and speak to her in the strongest voice he could muster.
To him the excitement was almost too much to bear.
Imagine, he had said to himself, imagine what she'll look like, imagine her button nose and her toothless smile and her sweet, sweet hands. She was sure to be an exact replica of his wife. However a part of him secretly hoped that his daughter looked just like him. A shade of red hair, a trail of light freckles, and maybe even his blue eyes.
Just one trait, that was all he asked for.
"Hermione, Hermione, you need to—"
"I can't."
"Mrs. Weasley, you need to push—"
"I can't! I can't! Make the pain stop! It hurts…Ron…"
She was having trouble pushing. The Healers kept shouting at her to push, they didn't sympathize with her pain, or her struggle. They had one job and that was to get the child out safely. They would worry about his wife later.
His heart was pounding nervously in his chest as he stood next to Hermione helplessly. He couldn't do anything. He couldn't take the pain away, even though he desperately wanted to. Ron's eyes were fixed on the Healer's. He could barely see through his own sea of tears.
With every scream of Hermione's, Ron cried. With every push, he cried some more. He kept calling her beautiful, he said he was amazed by her strength and soon he'd be able to see their daughter, her small head.
His legs almost collapsed underneath him as he caught sight of her tiny hands, ten fingers and ten toes, but then the healers had dashed her away.
...
Ginny was trying to get her to walk forward, but every step Hermione took was a struggle. Ron squeezed her hand, pulling her forward. He couldn't stop walking; he couldn't bring himself to stop at the middle of the aisle where his entire family was watching him. They were a blur, a mixture of red and brown haired strangers.
Hermione didn't let go of Ron's hand as they walked with Harry and Ginny. The walk seemed to last forever, and he noticed the hollow faces of the Weasley, Potter, and Granger family as they walked past. The others hadn't said much, there had been plenty of tears but no one had understood.
Saying sorry didn't change anything. Ron had laughed bitterly when someone asked him earlier if he needed anything.
What he needed they could not give him.
Of course, Hermione and Ron hadn't said much either. They didn't talk as they got dressed that morning, sifting through black clothing. Silently they found themselves walking outside, to smell the fresh air, and trying to see the world through everyone else's eyes.
They saw no color. They heard no noise. They were both empty. All Hermione and Ron Weasley wanted to do was see their daughter.
...
The first time Ron had laid eyes on her all he could think was that she was beautiful, perfect. His cries were loud, as were Hermione's, who lay back in pain, asking for her daughter.
The Healers were rushing around them.
The Healers were telling them that them had to calm down.
They were forcing a potion down Hermione's throat as her cries reached a new level of hysteria. They were rushing around in a blur of lime green, casting spell after spell, shouting at each other.
The room that was once sparkling white, turned dark as Ron watched them crowd his daughter.
"You must be quiet, Mr. Weasley."
Suddenly it hit him; their angel wasn't crying.
...
Ron squeezed Hermione's hand again as they pushed past Harry and Ginny, standing alone in front of the small mahogany casket in front of them.
His free hand reached out to touch the smooth wood of the closed casket and then fingered the white flowers that rested on top.
He wasn't able to cry. He had no more tears.
...
They hadn't understood what the Healers had meant. Cry? Why was she supposed to cry? Why should that have been her first sound in the world?
Ron was crying for her. Hermione screamed next to him.
It was an endless scream of no. Three Healers worked to calm her down while two others hid their daughter from his vision.
He hadn't meant to, but his hand dropped from Hermione's and he walked slowly towards the two Healers who looked to bright in a room that was filled with darkness.
Ron's watery blue eyes fell on his daughter, an exact replica of his wife, save for a few small differences here and there. She had Weasley traits, the red hair, the nose and he swore a few freckles.
He reached out for her, even as the Healers told him not to, and cradled her tiny still body in his arms.
He felt her tiny toes.
His fingers touched her tiny fingers, waiting for her to grip his.
This was their moment. The moment that all fathers spoke about when they met their child for the first time. Harry had talked about it for months when James was born and then Albus.
"His little hands wrapped around my finger," he said with a grin, "it's so quiet in the world…"
Ron waited, he was always waiting. He found himself trying to force her little hands onto his fingers.
The Healers were trying to gently take the baby from him as Hermione continued to scream in the background.
Still, Ron waited for her to grip his finger. He was whispering to her, trying to convince his daughter to grip him. He promised her anything she could ever want. Toys upon toys, books if she was like her Mum.
He imagined the future, momentarily, a grown girl dressed in a beautiful flowing white dress on her wedding day, on his arm and whispering to her, telling her about the first time he had ever held her.
"Your little hands wrapped around my finger," he would say, brushing a strand of stray red hair out of her face, "it was so quiet in the world…"
Tonight. Today. Tomorrow. She would smile at him, she would call him Daddy, and it would just be the two of them, there would be no one else in the world at that moment.
Ron waited, as tears rolled down his cheek, for the small grip to come.
But it never did.
...
Hermione was softly crying next to Ron, he could no longer keep it together and fell to his knees in front of his weeping family next to his daughter's final resting place.
The grass was wet underneath him, the sky was dark around him, and his heart kept breaking inside his chest.
He never got to take his daughter home. He never got to kiss her forehead and wish her goodnight. He would never have a conversation with her, never get to know what her first word would have been, and she would never take her first step towards her father.
He would never get to watch his daughter grow up.
Author's Note: This was based on Taylor Swift's song 'Never Grow Up,' and was for EverMalfoy's Taylor Swift Song Quotes' Challenge.
My quote was: 'Your little hands wrapped around my finger, and it's so quiet in the world tonight."