Hermione and Ron heal, but it takes time, a long time before she'll make love to him again, try again. It doesn't take as long for her to get pregnant though, and she tells him, the moment she is suspicious of it. But they aren't happy like they were before. Instead, they're cautious, and they tell no one.

This pregnancy doesn't even last as long as the first. She wakes up, in the middle of the night in pain again, and she knows. She cries out, and Ron wakes at the first sound, like it always does for her nightmares. But this isn't a nightmare, its real, and it takes him a moment, so much longer than her, to realize it. Their sheets are stained with blood, and Ron has to wipe the sleep from his eyes and pick Hermione up, help her clean up, and then curls up with her on the couch as they cry, this time together, for he cannot hide his tears this time.

When morning comes, he sends an owl in to Kinsley, saying he can't go into work, Hermione was too ill to be left alone. It wasn't a lie, he thought recklessly, not knowing what else to say, for they had told no one. Had kept it a secret this time, and this time it would be their pain alone to bear. He knew it had to be that way. He knew she didn't want the pity, it was enough that Ginny didn't know how to handle Hermione last time, when Hermione couldn't hold James for longing for her own child. The pity had been in everyone's eyes, and he didn't want it either. No one could know.

After sending the owl to the Ministry, Ron went to his and Hermione's bedroom. He took out his wand and cleaned up, put everything back together. The blood that had stained the sheets, he thought...that had been theirs...theirs... The thought brought him to tears, and this time, it was him that needed comforting, and Hermione heard him from down the hall, so she gingerly walked down, and saw him, the sheets now bleached white, but too white, they looked magically cleaned, and she knew it, and he knew it. She kneeled down next to him and the sat, pulling his head against her breast.

They cried together that evening.

And the next, and the one after; they could only feel the pain when they were alone, and Ron could not hide from the Auror department forever.

The time passed, slowly, painfully, mournfully, and Ron wondered if he'd ever make love to Hermione again, if he'd ever get to do anything other than listen to her cry herself to sleep. Because nigt after night, that's all that happened.

One month passed before he kissed her again, full on the mouth. He'd had enough of the gloom that filled his household, and he came home one evening to find her sitting distraught in front of her desk, a pile of paperwork in front of her. She hadn't so much as glanced up from her work when he entered the room, but nevertheless, he went over to her and tilted her face up to his and kissed her. Blimey, he thought, he'd missed that.

For a moment, she didn't react, but them, slowly, hesitantly, she kissed him back, let him deepen the kiss, caress her cheeks, her ears, her hair, her neck. He withheld his hands from working their way downward, but he kissed her with all the gentleness he could muster anyway.

"Mourning's done," he whispers when he pulls back. And she's breathless and slightly taken aback, like she used to look when they first dated and kissed. "I love you, Hermione, regardless of if we can have a child or not. I love you." He finishes his statement with another kiss, this one shorter, but harder, and she kisses him back almost right away this time.

"I'm not ready to try again," she tells him, when they break apart.

He understands what she's saying, knows he'll have to be patient even longer, so he starts turns away, angry that she cannot heal as fast as him. It's an illogical argument, of course, and he knows it, but he's too ...too...something to care. But she doesn't let him leave, instead, she grabs his wrist as he is turning, and brings it to her lips, kissing it, then placing his hand on her cheek, she says, "I will be ready... Just not tonight."

He turns back to her and kisses her again, his touch still gentle as before. "Promise?" He asks. He's leaned down so he's level with her, and his voice is husky and deep.

"I promise." She let's him know in response with not only the words, but with another kiss. "I love you." She tells him, when she pulls back, and he murmurs the words back to her, meaning them with all his heart.

More time passes, and sometimes Ron feels like its a year after the war again, and they aren't married, and he's still self-conscious about every move he has to make. But then he remembers all that has happened, that they did win, that they are overcoming all adversity and making the best of the situation following what transpired during those terrible times.

He brings her flowers one night, just for the hell of it, a little over two months after the baby was lost. They're roses, her favorite, red and white - red means true love, Ginny had told him, and white, purity and innocence - it seemed appropriate, though she'd been confused as to why he was asking about flowers, but she answered anyway and let him know. And then he'd gone to the muggle store and bought them for her...and now he was here, standing in the kitchen and Hermione was standing in front of him.

"I brought these for you... I thought you'd like them," he knew he sounded as clueless as he had five years ago, but he knew he was, so why fake anything different.

"Well I'd hope they weren't for anyone else," she replied, but her lips curved upwards in a smile, so he knew she was joking. But she smiled so infrequently lately that he had to, just had to, so he walked forward.

"There's the smile," he said, and he was close to her, so close to her and they both held the roses, between them, and he leaned forward even further, closing the gap. The roses were pushed aside onto the counter in the kitchen, and then he was kissing her, and she was kissing him back, and his hands moved up from holding hers to her face, and then down her shoulders, her arms, her back. And she moved her hands too, drawing him closer, closer, ever closer, until there was no space left between them.

Somehow, a long time later, Hermione woke up, tucked against Ron's warm body, her hair tickling her neck and one of his long-fingered hands splayed on her waist and back. She breathed in the scent of him, and realized how much she had missed being this close... She loved him, she knew that...had known it for a long time, that was nothing new. But what they had forged through these losses was different, a kind of intimate trust that went beyond that of the golden trio, beyond that of even two lovers, they were more than that, though she didn't have the right word for it.

Sighing, she snuggled closer to Ron, and his fingers moved slightly against her bare stomach. She didn't need to tilt her head up to see the face of the redhead that she knew she loved, it was ingrained within her memory, and she knew despite their arguments, that a love like this could not be disputed or destroyed. They'd try again...well...they already had tried again... And she knew, despite the fact that it could take a while, they'd continue trying, because, well, that's just who they were.