A/N: So, this is the first installment of this little drabble/oneshot series about Ron and Harry being best buds. Hopefully it's funny and entertaining to you guys. This particular one was inspired by a conversation two of my coworkers had. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry or Ron or anyone else. I own nothing. I just do this for fun.

"State your name and purpose, please," says the cool feminine voice within the phone booth. It's been ages since I've used the visitor entrance to the Ministry, and it throws me for a second. Half of my family works here, my wife works here, and I used to, can't I just stroll in?

"Ron Weasley, and I need to speak with Harry Potter."

A visitor's badge is ejected from the coin slot into my waiting palm. Ron Weasley, it reads. Family visit.

Well, yes, technically, but this is less of a 'hey, mate, want to grab lunch?' visit and more of 'you are the only person who can help me' visit. And that's probably not even true, but he's definitely the person I feel most comfortable going to for advice, so it's to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement I go. Hermione's office door is closed, as she's working from home, but I head in the opposite direction down to the Auror offices.

Harry's the Deputy Head of the Aurors, so he has a bit more grandiose of a cubicle than I did when I was a junior Auror here. Mine barely had room enough on the desk for quills and parchment, but he's got chairs and walls and everything. I'd blame all of that on his being the Chosen One, but he's truly an excellent Auror.

"Hey, Ron," he greets me, a bit surprised as he looks up from his case file. "What're you doing here?"

"Oh, nothing much," I reply, clasping my hands in front of myself. "I have a question for you, actually."

"Alright…"

I steel myself. "So… when your pregnant wife is crying…"

To my utter lack of surprise, Harry chokes back a snicker. "Just to clarify," he chortles, and even though I sort of expected this reaction, it still pisses me off, "are we talking about when your pregnant wife is crying or my pregnant wife?"

"Mine," I snap back. "Obviously."

"Just checking." Harry smirks. It's true that Ginny and Hermione are both pregnant, but Ginny isn't due until March and seems to be taking the whole thing in stride once again. "Go on, what happened? Why was she crying?"

"I don't know," I admitted sheepishly.

"Didn't you bother to ask?"

"She didn't know either."

"Hermione, love, I'm home," I call through the house, placing the takeaway bag on the kitchen counter. From the next room, I hear faint sniffling and follow the sound to find Hermione on the sofa, with a mug of herbal tea resting on her rounded stomach and thick tears rolling down her face. "I brought home dinner - what's the matter?"

"Nothing," she whimpers, gesturing vaguely to the television. Onscreen, three golden puppies are gamboling about in a park as a nondescript bloke sets down a bowl of kibble in front of them. "I'm fine."

"But - you're crying," I point out lamely, sitting beside her. "Are you sure you're okay? What can I do?"

"Nothing," she blubbers again. "Just leave me here to suffer."

"Are you hungry?" I attempt. "I brought home that chicken you like, and-"

"What's the point? I'll only be able to take three bites before I'm full and your daughter starts kicking me in the ribs again."

A fresh wave of tears bursts forth from her bloodshot eyes and I am rendered speechless. Pregnancy for Hermione hasn't been the glowing, effortless breeze that it was for Fleur or Audrey or even Ginny, but she's been handling it in her typical Hermione way: with lots of literature on the subject and a fierce determination to see it through.

"Er - okay," I say, running a soothing hand over her arm. "Well, why don't I bring you some anyway and if you don't want it, that's okay too."

"Fine." Her attention snaps back to the television, and her chin starts to tremble again. "Oh, no…" One of the puppy subjects of the commercial is shown, via time lapse, to blossom into a healthy adult dog.

"I love you," I tell her with a kiss to her cheek. "I'll be right back."

As I finish telling the tale of how I ended up eating one and a half chicken dinners last night, Harry looks half-amused and half-befuddled.

"Hermione Granger does not cry at dog food commercials," he states as if the concept goes against all he believes in. "She just doesn't."

"Well, I don't think it was actually that, I think it just set her off, but what do I do?"

"Just be nice to her," Harry shrugs like the thought hadn't occurred to me.

"You think I'm not nice to her?" I say, a bit offended.

"No, I'm just saying - why don't you take her out for a nice dinner or something tonight?"

"Didn't you hear the part about how the baby takes up too much room in her body for her to eat much?"

"I have to say, Ginny didn't really have that problem last time."

"Yeah, well, she's a Weasley." I seat myself in one of the chairs in front of his desk. "And that's part of it too, it's Hermione's birthday on Monday but every time I ask her what she might like to do, I get the same response."

"Which is?"

"We don't need to celebrate my birthday," she mutters around a sip of peppermint tea. "Let's pretend it isn't even happening."

"Are you sure? We can go to that Muggle restaurant down the street-"

"The French place?!" she exclaims with such incredulity that one would think I've suggested going rock-climbing. "There's too many soft cheeses! I can't eat anything there!"

"Doesn't have to be there," I hasten to assure her. "It's up to you, we'll do whatever you want."

"I don't want to do anything. I shouldn't even go anywhere, I'm the size of a hippogriff."

"I think you look beautiful," I tell her meekly, prompting a skeptical stare.

"You don't have to lie, Ron."

"I'm not! I always think you're beautiful," I insist, and it's the truth. Nine months pregnant in pajamas or dressed up for a night out or just in denims and a jumper, she's always been the most beautiful person in the world to me.

"I don't want to do anything, okay? I just want to survive." She grimaces and places a hand on her belly. "She never stops moving, she's jumping on my bladder again. And now I have to pee."

With my help, she struggles up to her feet and gives a sigh and a weary smile.

"I love you for asking, but I'd really rather stay in."

Harry is once again holding in his laughter, much to my chagrin. "I'm sorry," he smiles, "but I can picture it, I know you lot too well."

"I just don't know what to do," I say again, leaning forward to pluck a quill from his desk. Idly I begin to fiddle with it, breaking off the blades of the feather. "I want to help her and do things for her and treat her like a goddess, but she won't let me."

"I think she's at the point where she's just done being pregnant," Harry says sagely, placing his elbows on the desk. "When's the baby due again?"

"One week from today."

"Yeah, she's just over it. Same thing happened to Ginny at the end. She's probably really uncomfortable and tired and right now, you're just the stupid man who put her in this situation."

"Er - well-" I do a bit of smirking of my own. "She was quite the willing participant, if you know what I mean."

Harry rolls his eyes. "Mature."

"I just mean - at the beginning, you know, she was saying how even though it's tough, it's going to be worth it, and I just wish she'd let me help her a little bit."

It wasn't exactly easy for Hermione to get pregnant in the first place - over a year lapsed from the night when we had reached an oddly mutual decision over mugs of tea to when a Healer at St. Mungo's finally confirmed that we would be expecting a baby girl. We felt, and still feel, insanely lucky to even be having a child at all, and all I want to do is be the world's most supportive husband.

"You married Hermione Granger," Harry reminds me. "She likes to handle things herself and you know that."

"I do, but there's a reason it takes two to make them, right?" I've completely stripped the quill down to its stem and now find myself resisting the urge to snap it in half. "I mean, I think it's amazing what she's doing, I know I couldn't handle it."

"Yeah, neither could I. And just wait until she's actually having the baby," Harry says. "It's quite intense."

"Yeah?"

"I mean, aside from the fact that there's blood everywhere and everyone's screaming and your baby's covered in goo…" Harry's expression shifts from smugness to fond reminiscence. "If you didn't already worship the ground she walks on, you will after that."

I can't imagine being more impressed by Hermione than I already am, but if Harry's right, and I'm sure he is, then I'm looking forward to this even more than I was.

"Don't get me wrong, it's great, but having a baby's an adjustment," Harry adds. "Nothing's the same and that's not necessarily bad, but I thought I was ready and I definitely wasn't."

"But again, this is Hermione. You should see the stack of books-"

"Yeah, exactly, but the books don't tell you everything and I'm sure she knows that."

So it's the fear of the unknown. I can understand that, since the thought of impending fatherhood both terrifies and thrills me, depending on the day (or hour, or minute), but Hermione and I have already been through quite a lot together. After what we survived with the war and trying to help Harry, this little baby, who we wanted and wished for and created as a physical manifestation of our love for one another, can't possibly wreak more havoc than we can handle.

"The good news is that it's you and Hermione," Harry concludes with a proud finality. "So I wouldn't worry too hard about it. You're there for her as much as she'll let you, and that's all you can do, really."

Before I can open my mouth to reply, a bright silver otter comes swimming excitedly into the cubicle and situates itself in front of me. My stomach twists with anticipation: Hermione never sends Patronuses except in times of great urgency.

"Ron," the otter said in Hermione's shaking yet strong voice, "you have to come home as soon as you can, it's time. The baby's coming."

As the otter flickers into nothingness, Harry and I gape at each other before I leap exuberantly out of the chair.

"Er - well-" My mind is suddenly a maelstrom of anticipation and worry and fear and joy. "Talk to you later, then?"

"Good luck, mate," Harry grins as I give him a wave on my way out.

But as I'm bolting from the office, desperately seeking out the nearest Apparition point, I decide that I don't really need luck at all.

Harry's right. We can do anything.

Thank you for reading! Please review :)