Warning: Corny, sappy, story alert!
He Loved Her
Love is resilient. - J.K. Rowling
Ron Weasley wasn't really sure what it was about his wife (and how he did love saying that. His wife. His) that made him fall in love with her every time he looked at her; or how he got tongue-tied when she stared at him with a particularly menacing gaze; or even how he stopped thinking sometimes when he saw her fingers dancing across that strange Muggle mechanism (computer, she called it. He still didn't understand how it worked or why in the name of Merlin she wanted it) with her eyes completely focused on something that he would most likely never understand.
All he knew was that he did love her.
He loved the way she brushed the knots out of her hair in the morning, only to frown when the brush made her hair bushier than it was when they woke up (secretly, he liked it bushy, and hated it when she fixed it with some strange girl thing for special occasions).
He loved the way she graciously accepted everything the Ministry threw at her, even while she was most likely cursing them in her breath for the amount of work they tried to force on her.
The way that she tucked Rose in each night, kissing her softly on the cheek.
And the way she put her hand on Rose's chest some nights, just to make sure she was breathing (he would never admit to doing the same to his wife sometimes as well, just to make sure she was real).
The way she would fight through a fire, just to save a trapped cat.
Her determination.
Her eyes.
Everything.
Yes it was true.
Ron Weasley loved Hermione Granger. It may have taken him years to realize it, but it was true. And if she gave him just a tiny bit of that back to him, that was all he asked for.