His wife. Ron snapped out of his grief long enough to remember that there was a childless mother in room 311 that needed him. He walked quickly back down the hallway, and opened the door to the darkened room. Hermione lay in the same position he had found her in earlier, her features grotesquely framed by the moonlight. He cautiously approached her bedside, for once, at a loss for words. There were no words in this situation he thought to himself. Ron saw that his wife's hair was still wet with moisture, her face still stricken with pain from the loss, her breasts still swollen with milk for their child.
Carefully, Ron climbed into the bed with Hermione, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her to him. She began to weep, a weeping that came from so deep down in the soul that the dead themselves could hear it, and would cry as well. Hermione's entire body shook, but she said nothing. She didn't know what to say. Her baby was dead, her body had betrayed her daughter, killing her in the womb. It was her fault. She hadn't taken care of herself the way she should have. Just yesterday she had been upset with her baby for being too active, and when it stopped she was overjoyed for the rest. She didn't realize that when the baby stopped moving, she had died. She…a daughter…a desperately wanted, hard to get, daughter. Hermione's heart ached, and she shrunk further into her husband, who she had come to realize was holding her.
The muffled sounds of the hospital staff and her family were beginning to fill the room, and she didn't know if she was ready to be consoled for a loss she had not yet fully acknowledged. A sea of red hair filled the room, and they took a seat in various corners. Nobody spoke, but Ginny and Molly's cries were quite audible. The lone brunette approached her bedside, and she didn't know that she could look him, or anyone else in the face. She was ashamed. She had killed her child. It was her fault.
"I'm so sorry Hermione." Harry said, kissing her forehead, as she turned away from him, not yet ready to hear those words.
Silence again, and the nurse injected her with something. The nurse looked to Ron, who looked questioningly at the staff member. "It'll help her sleep, and it'll start…well, it'll stop the lactation process…eventually." Hermione's eyes were already starting to blur. Her body ached and was sore from the labor. What a cruel trick of nature, to go through giving birth, only to have the baby be dead. She moaned as she drifted off to sleep, a mournful tone in her voice, one that seemed to be begging for death to claim her as well.
Ron slowly got out of the bed, covering Hermione with extra blankets, as her body shivered from a cold that didn't really exist in the room. He exited to the waiting room, and his family followed. Ginny could barely tear her eyes away from Hermione and her now flat belly, but she did as she felt her mother's pull. They all took a seat, waiting again for Ron to speak.
"I've named her Bella Grace for the sake of the death certificate. Mum, I'll need to arrange the funeral." He said, his voice shaky, as Harry placed a comforting arm on his best mate's shoulder. "I don't know what to say to her. How can I comfort her for a loss like this, when I can't quite bring myself to fully accept? She's my wife, but I don't know what to do for her." Harry again gripped his friend tightly.
"That's right Ron, she's your wife. She's Hermione, and she feels too much, all the time, and thinks too much, all the time, and right now, she's going through the worst possible loss anyone can experience. I don't know what you say to her, but I do know how important it is for you to just be there with her." Harry said, trying to find the words. "She's my best friend mate, and I don't know how to make her pain stop. No magic can take this away. I know you're hurting too, but part of the burden of being a man is having to be the stronger one."
"Hermione wouldn't see her. She refused to see our daughter. How could she not want to see her? She was so beautiful, the perfect unification of Hermione and me. She had these intensely blue eyes, and fuzzy brown hair, that no doubt would give Hermione fits to fix as she got older. Her nose, just slightly turned up, like her mother's, and she had my lips. Look at her…my perfect little girl! Why can't Hermione look at her." Ron yelled, throwing the picture down in front of his family, angry with his wife for her lack of interest in their daughter.
Molly stepped in, examining the photograph, and pulling at her son's head to rest on her shoulder. "You're right Ron…she is perfect…Bella Grace, the perfect name. But sweetie, you can't get mad at Hermione. Let her grieve in her own way. You'll show her this photo one day, and she'll be grateful, but not now. It's all too raw for her. I'm sorry son, but you cannot, nor will you ever understand the emotion that goes into bringing a child into this world. She's just gone through a painful delivery with disastrous results. She's prepared for nearly 9 months to bring a life into this world, and all she's brought is death. She needs to know that you don't blame her for that, because I promise you, she is blaming herself right now. It's the reason she couldn't look at her daughter when she was born, and can't bring herself to acknowledge her now. Give her time Ron, give her support, and most importantly…give her love." Molly Weasley always knew what to say for her children, and she always seemed to lessen the pain when she spoke.