Challenge: Sunlight Hurts My Eyes' The Fault In Our Stars Competition on HPFC; Cheeky Slytherin Lass's Fanfiction Scavenger Hunt Competition on HPFC

Characters: Ron Weasley, Rose Weasley, Hermione Granger/Weasley

Prompts: Hazel 1: I fell in love with you the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once; 9. A fic between 700 and 900 words using the prompts sentimental, purple and hospital wing.

Word count: 718

A/N: Someone (anonymous. It was a guest, apparently) asked why I always portray Ron as being a bad guy towards Rose. I'd like to apologise for this: in no way do I actually think he'd be such a horrid father, I simply needed a plot drive for the one-shot series I've been working on in relation to Tris's Bookshelf Challenge. That said, I don't like Ron as a character: though I understand his motivations, I've always seen him as quite a one-dimensional character.
Anyway, to apologise for my actions, here's the first of a series of one-shots - 4, I think - with Ron as a 'nice guy'.

When Hermione had first announced her second pregnancy, Ron hadn't exactly been sure how to react. He wanted children, at least two, because he'd had a large family and wanted that to become a sort of tradition. When the first pregnancy had ended bloodily and miserably, though, he'd seen Hermione's grief. For months, she had barely spoken to anyone, isolating herself in her depression. Ginny had explained to him that Hermione saw it as the first time she'd failed, though it was not her fault, and that all he could do was stand by her.

So, when she announced that she was two months along in another pregnancy, Ron reluctantly resigned himself to a repeat of that trauma. The sight of a half-formed human was fresh in his mind, the broken cries of his wife even more so.

So he convinced himself to hate the unborn, faultless creature, because if this one was lost too, if it hurt Hermione like the last, then he had to be the strong one, for her sake more so than his.

Regardless of how much he wanted her to have this child, he didn't want the love of his life to be hurt like that, not again. He couldn't see it again. And so, he couldn't afford to be sentimental.

Four months into the pregnancy - two months after he had been informed. Not that he was counting, of course - Hermione distracted him from the joke shop paperwork he'd been attempting to do for George. She had gasped, confusion evident on her face. After an moment of hesitation, her hand fluttered to her stomach, a wondrous smile on her lips.

"Ron, come here."

Warily, he obliged. If the thing was hurting his Hermione, well...

"Put your hand here," she instructed, guiding him in the action. If she noticed his trembling, she didn't say anything. She rarely ever commented on his nerves, even if they did happen to be extremely obvious.

The television droned in the background, the show Hermione had selected to be the soundtrack to her reading blaring some muggle news. He assumed, since his hand was on her stomach, that she wasn't actually interested in the football victory to her fathers' favourite team.

"What'm I -"

"There!"

He frowned at her, not understanding. Then his gaze drifted downwards, and he swore to himself that he had felt - could feel - something moving. "Did -"

"She's kicking!" Hermione beamed. "She's kicking, Ron, isn't that just wonderful?"

Ron said nothing, tuning out the beginnings of one of her famous rants. A slow smile began to work its' way onto his face, and with it, he felt his hold on his hatred begin to fade.

He decided that he hated hospitals - even the hospital wing, he fumed inwardly, irritable.

Hermione could probably come up with a more eloquent way to express the sentiment, but he didn't care. He thought hate was a perfectly good word to explain how he felt about a building with a soundtrack of screaming and crying, and a scent of disinfectant so strong that it made breathing difficult.

Hermione was one of those hundred or so screaming individuals right now. She was clutching his fingers in a grip as strong as that of death, so intent that he suspected his fingers would shatter.

A whimpering, similar to that of a kitten, added to the din, and the grip on his hand wnet slack as Hermione promptly succumbed to the drowsiness caused by the pain-numbing potion. She was sleep deprived, after all, and couldn't be expected to remain alert after such exertion. Even for -

"A baby girl," the healer cooed, bringing a bundle of purple something up to Ron.

"Rose," he corrected automatically, nose crinkled in disgust that almost immediately faded as he peered down at the thing in his arms.

She was tiny and plump, her features minuscule and almost too soft to discern, blending together. The eyes were obvious, though, bright blue like his. And the hair - light red, strawberry blond, really. Red, later, he thought, smiling faintly. Rose became the centre of his world within a heartbeat of his meeting her tiny curious gaze.

Ron Weasley fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once.