Blinking in the darkness of the room, a brunette rose her head gently off the softness and warmth of her pillow; Hermione rubbed her eyes tiredly, glancing at the slight figure standing at the doorway. She furrowed her brow in confusion before she realized that Hugo was standing timidly, clutching desperately at an already-worn stuffed bear (Ron had denied ever owning it, but Hugo couldn't have made it that ratty that quickly - the boy was only five). The woman's gaze softened as she straightened herself into a sitting position, careful not to wake her snoring husband.
She climbed out of bed without a word, silently roaming to her son's side, pulling him into the hallway. The lights were dim but not gone, and Hermione could see the silent tear-streaks on her son's freckled face. ''What's the matter, darling?'' she asked in her best motherly voice; even after all those years of marriage and, of course, Rose, she couldn't help but occasionally lapse into her strict and bossy tone that she had coined at Hogwarts.
The boy buried himself into her nightgown, sniffing lightly. He mumbled something incoherent and clenched his tiny fists into the lavender fabric of her clothing.
''I can't help you if you can't speak clearly,'' she whispered back, trying to fight a chuckle. Something was bothering her son, and as much as she wanted to comfort him, Hermione couldn't help but think fondly of her husband.
In response, Hugo only gripped tighter, whimpering. He stayed there for a few moments, as if he didn't quite care that he was keeping his mother from returning to the wonders of sleep, and looked up. His blue eyes were wide and glistening with tears; Hermione allowed herself to give the softest look of concern because Hugo was Ronald Billius Weasley reincarnated. And no matter what, she could never say 'no', to Ron.
If she did, he'd look like Hugo. And Hermione would inevitably lose. ''Did you have a nightmare?'' she asked, deciding it best to simply get to the point (as she always had to with Ron). The red-headed boy nodded weakly, worrying his lip. ''What have I told you?'' Her tone was too strict, she decided, and softened the scold with a light smile.
''Sorry,'' he responded, grumbling something under his breath, and Hermione could only hope that it wasn't something that Ron muttered when he happened to stub a toe on a chair (Rose had already picked up on that sort of language).
''And what was it about?'' Prodding seemed best at the moment.
Hugo was silent for a few moments, eyes unreadable. He finally raised his head to meet his mother and opened his mouth. ''You know how I asked Aunt Ginny why Uncle Harry has that cool scar on his head, and you yelled at me?'' he asked, adding the last part with a hint of bitterness. Hermione nodded, cheeks lighting up at the memory - she had apologized to the couple thousands of times, though she wasn't quite sure why; Harry hadn't minded and only laughed about it. ''Well, she told me today and said that some really bad man tried to . . . to kill Uncle Harry and you and Dad! And then I dreamed that you and Dad left me because you didn't want me,'' he added the last part lamely, and Hermione wisely decided against correcting his grammar.
''No, darling, we would never leave you! Your father and I love you and your sister so much. We love having you with us every second of every minute of every hour of every day of every week of every month of-''
''Mum.''
''You don't know how much I love having you work with me in the kitchen, or how much your father loves having Rose play Wizard's Chess with him! And yes, there was a horrible man that wanted your Uncle Harry gone, but he's gone now. And he'll never come back, and you and your sister are safe and loved, and nothing will ever change that! Okay?''
The freckled boy nodded, a light smile crossing his face. His grip on his mother's gown loosened, and he let his tiny hand fall back to his side. ''Mum?'' he asked in a small voice, the one that reminded Hermione of Ron whenever he seemed to be in trouble.
''Yes, darling?'' She had grown quite fond of that name, actually. Hermione pushed back a bit of her hair that, as it had for years, had become quite frizzy due to being slept on. She would, of course, get up much too early in the morning and use various spells to make it smooth (but only for work, of course), but after hours it became too much of a challenge; Ron said he preferred it natural, anyway. He was still a horrible liar.
''Would you and Dad mind if I slept in your room?''
Hermione smiled, showing her wonderfully straight teeth, courtesy of Potions Class, and ruffled her son's vibrantly red hair. He vainly attempted to push it back down but had no such luck. ''Come on, love, let's get back to bed.''
The two walked wordlessly back into the bedroom, and Hugo was the first to snuggle into his father's side; now, more than ever, the two looked exactly like each other. Ron didn't move, eliciting only a grunt in response (he tended to be quite the heavy sleeper). The brunette woman chuckled and slid into bed next to her son, wrapping one arm around his slight frame. In a few years, he would be older and tall like his father; Hugo would no longer want to snuggle into his father's side and would most certainly not want a hug from his mother.
In a few minutes, Hugo had drifted to sleep, and Hermione sat herself up once more to glance at the sleeping pair. Ron's arms were exposed over the blankets, and Hermione could still see the faint traces of three scars running across his biceps. She could never forget the pure terror that she had when he had gotten Splinched. But, of course, she wanted nothing more than to run a tentative finger across his arm, but a child in between them would make things very awkward very quickly. Instead, she trailed one finger across her own neck. The Malfoy Manor incident would never be forgotten, no matter how many years had passed.
And, if Hugo wasn't there at the moment, Hermione might've rubbed the fabric of Ron's pants, hoping that she could imagine the scar from the bite that Sirius had given him. She only got to touch that scar when they were doing other things. And one couldn't do those things with a child in the room. Or house.
Ron was, despite his protests, self-conscious of his scars. He had always been ridiculed for his flaming red hair, his sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of his nose and cheeks, and his lanky height. But Hermione loved them, everything about them.
Because she knew that her husband was brave, her husband was a fighter, her husband had survived everything. And her son had a protector.
And when Hermione trailed her finger across her neck again, she realized that Hugo might very well have two protectors.
A.N.: Okay, so this happened when I was reading a Nicholas Sparks novel, barely listening to my mom watching the first part of the Deathly Hallows. It's sappy and lame, but it's sweet, I think. Either way, I don't own Harry Potter, but I love the whole Weasley family symmetry. I want to work on something Arthur-Percy-centric or Molly-Fred (during George's ear problem)-centric, but they would have to be one-shots, of course. My GLEE fanfictions are still going, after all. Hope you enjoyed!