Chapter XIV

The Darkest Hour

Ron felt the blood drain from his face at Hermione's words. He felt grateful for the counter he was leaning on, for it was surely holding him up. Pregnant? Hermione was pregnant? All sorts of thoughts and ideas whirled around in his head, but the first and foremost was that this had to have happened during that one violent time they were together in the sitting room the day he left for the second time. Again filled with shame at the thought of what had happened there, Ron looked up at Hermione to see her still chewing her lip as she waited for a response from him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Hermione's teeth released her lip and he saw her eyes start to water as she repeated, "Sorry? You're sorry?"

"Yes."

"Ron, we're going to have a baby and all you can feel is sorry?" There was a catch in her voice as she tried not to cry.

"No," he replied, and he knew he meant it. "I'm not sorry we're going to have a baby. I'm sorry it happened like this."

Hermione studied his face and, after a moment, she nodded. "We could have handled it all better, couldn't we?"

"Yeah." Ron looked at his wife. He took in the shadows under her eyes and the paleness of her face, and watched as she continued to wring her hands in front of her. "Why don't we sit down?" he suggested, going to the table and pulling a chair out for her.

Hermione sat down and Ron sat next to her. For a moment neither of them spoke. Ron watched Hermione's still wringing hands until he was sure they might fall off. He reached out and took her hands in his. Their eyes met and he tried to smile at her reassuringly. A ghost of a smile flashed across Hermione's face.

"So, er," began Ron, "when did you find out?"

"Two days ago," Hermione answered. "I wasn't feeling well and thought it was something left from the troll charm, so I went to see a healer."

Ron nodded as though he understood. Both of them seemed at a loss for words as they wondered where they should start, what they should do, now. He sat quietly, staring at their clasped hands on the table.

Hermione broke the silence this time. "We shouldn't tell anyone, yet, though," she said.

Ron looked up at her, confused. "Why not? Isn't this something we should be pleased about? Something we want everyone to know about?"

"Well, yes. But it's still early days, yet. Anything could happen."

Ron thought about that. Anything could happen. Yes, that could pretty much describe their marriage as a whole, so far. Anything that could happen had certainly seemed to have. It seemed unfair that one more thing could happen now, and he hoped that would not be the case.

"When?" he asked. "When can we tell people?"

"I'm about six weeks along," Hermione said, finding her confident, know-it-all voice that Ron knew so well. He almost smiled as her self-assurance in the knowledge she was imparting strengthened her voice and made it loud and clear. "So," she continued, reclaiming Ron's attention, "we should be safe in about another six weeks. That's about how far along Fleur and Angelina were when they made their announcements."

Ron had no idea "how far along" Fleur and Angelina might have been when they announced they were going to have their babies. It had never occurred to him that something might have happened before they told the family, and the idea that something might happen to his and Hermione's baby was one that made his blood run cold.

He was sitting quietly, thinking about all of this, when Hermione cleared her throat and said, "I think we have a lot we should be talking about now, don't you?"

She was looking at him nervously, and he could feel her hands twitch as she felt urged to wring them again. He almost grinned at that, but instead he simply said, "Yeah, we do. I just don't know where to start."

"Neither do I."

Looking into his wife's big, brown eyes, Ron said, "Hermione, I never imagined we could ever find ourselves here. Like this." He swallowed, wondering if he was making sense.

Apparently he was, because Hermione gave a small smile of understanding and said, "I know. Everything has gotten so very confused. We have so much that we need to work out, but it's just like being at Hogwarts again. I thought we'd moved past that."

"I don't think we'll ever move completely past that, Hermione. It's part of who we are together: 'Ron and Hermione, always bickering.'"

With a small laugh, she replied, "How many times have we been told that we remind people of your parents?" They smiled together in a way they hadn't in so long, that Ron did not think he could remember when it was. Sobering, Hermione continued, "It is who we are, Ron, and that's okay. But we have to learn to look past the fighting. We have to know when to stop and take that deep breath and think about what we're saying and how we say it."

Ron agreed, but he thought there was more. "We also have to learn how to show what we mean and feel as well."

Hermione blanched and Ron knew his words had hit a mark. He also knew she was not the only one who needed to work on that.

Drawing her hands back from Ron, Hermione replied, "Yes, we do."

Hermione sat wearily in front of the fire in the suite at number twelve Grimmauld Place. She was holding a cup of Mother Millicent's Mother-To-Be tea in her hands. It helped with the nausea, and every now and again she would take a sip. While the flames danced merrily in the fireplace, she thought back on her conversation with Ron that afternoon.

It had been clear that he had been absolutely gobsmacked by her news. She had watched his face turn white, and his freckles stand out in abrupt contrast to his skin. For two days she had worried about his reaction. She had thought about it over and over until she felt she simply could not think anymore and then, somehow, she managed to keep thinking about it. Brenna had once told Hermione that she over thought things and this was a clear-cut case of that.

But Ron's reaction had not been anything like Hermione had expected. She had envisioned him yelling at her for being careless or even asking who the father was. Instead, he had apologized. And what had left Hermione gobsmacked was that he had apologized for how it had happened; for that one fierce night they had been together after his brief return to Grimmauld Place.

Hermione swirled her tea a bit. The motion made her feel a bit nauseated but she swallowed it back down and continued with her rambling thoughts.

Truth be told, Hermione had deliberately goaded Ron that night. She had wanted him in a way she would never have been able to describe, and when he had risen to her bait, as she had known he would, the release was even more powerful and amazing than she could have imagined. At the time, she thought he had felt the same, but now she wondered. Sometimes, when one expected Ron's mind to go in one direction, he amazed a person and went somewhere completely unforeseen. This seemed to be one of those times.

One of the things they had discussed that afternoon was living arrangements. Hermione, suspecting Ron would not be the one to bring it up, had addressed it early on in their conversation. She told him she would go wherever he felt necessary. She would even live above the shop, if need be. Ron had smiled briefly, but a moment later told her he felt that perhaps they should not just jump into living together again. "Maybe," he had said, "we should take this slowly, so we have a better chance of getting it right." It was one of the most mature things she had ever heard him say, and she was even more surprised when Ron had told her to stay at Grimmauld Place. "You don't need any more upheaval in your life right now."

In the end, Ron had kissed her gently on the cheek and she had returned to Grimmauld Place, using the Floo in order to avoid seeing Harry. With so much on her mind, she just wanted to be alone to think and digest and try to work out how to save her marriage, and give this child inside of her two reasonably happy parents.

Hermione put one hand on her abdomen and smiled. A baby. She, Hermione Granger—no, Hermione Weasley—was going to have a baby. She was going to be a mother. The thought pleased and excited her immensely and she hoped the baby would have Ron's good looks and her intelligence. That was not to say Ron was not intelligent, however. That was just hoping that the baby would be exceptionally intelligent. Hermione frowned, grateful this was not a conversation she was having with anyone other than herself, as the wording was all just coming out completely wrong.

With a sigh, Hermione set the teacup down on the table in front of the sofa and yawned. She found she was tiring much more easily these days and, despite the early hour, she decided to head off to bed. For the first night in almost longer than she could remember, she fell asleep easily and with a feeling of hope.

Ron stood at the open window in the bedroom that used to be Fred's above Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. His arms were resting on the windowsill as he breathed in the cold February air. If George had been home, he would have complained to Ron to shut the window, but George was out on a date with the enigmatic and perky Gwendolyn, and Ron had the flat to himself.

It was a good thing, too. He had a lot to think about and it was always better if there was no one around to harangue him about, well, anything and everything.

He thought about that afternoon and Hermione's stunning news. She was pregnant. Hermione, his wife, was going to have a baby. I'm going to be a father. The thought at once alarmed and astonished him. They weren't even making it on their own; how could they possibly make things work with a baby? But, a baby. A small version of Hermione looking up at him and trusting him, needing Ron to do the things a father did; someone who needed Ron.

He wished Hermione was with him now. She had said she would stay, but he had told her to go back to Harry. No, not Harry, he mentally corrected, Grimmauld Place. The baby changed everything. Now, Harry was the least of Ron's worries. Now, Ron needed to concentrate on his wife and child and making sure they had everything they needed and were taken care of properly. Of course, this was something he could accomplish much more easily if he and Hermione were living together. But Ron had decided the shop was no place for a pregnant woman to live, and he did not think moving, if he'd had any idea of where they could move to, would be a good idea either. He wanted to keep things calm for her and he felt the best way was for her to just continue living at Grimmauld Place.

On the other hand, he still could not bring himself to move to Grimmauld Place. In a petty way, he felt it would be giving in; Harry and Hermione would have won. But, even more, he just did not want to feel as though he was compromising his principles. He still did not trust Harry, but his wife did, so he would have to trust her. He, however, was not only not willing to trust his former best friend, he was adamant that he and Hermione not just jump back into things without first acknowledging how they had gotten so bad.

And so Ron stood at the window racking his brain for any possible ideas on how he could work through things with his wife. He did not know how long he had been there when a whooshing sound told him someone had arrived in the kitchen via the Floo. Pulling the window closed, he heard a familiar voice calling, "Hello? Anyone here?"

Bill was setting a box down on the kitchen table when Ron walked in. "Hi, Bill," he greeted his brother.

Looking up, Bill replied, "Ron." He indicated the box, "Fleur sent this over. She thought you might be hungry for some good food rather than what George calls food."

Ron grinned. George's cooking was notoriously bad, and anyone with half a brain made themselves scarce when the single twin got near a kitchen. "George is out with Gwendolyn. But," he added, "I'm hungry."

Bill laughed and asked, "When aren't you hungry?"

Ron was laughing with his brother when he sobered as he thought of all he had been through lately. "Actually," he said quietly, "there have been times recently where I haven't been hungry."

Bill sat at the table and started to open the box. "Well, hungry or not, this is something you don't want to miss."

Joining Bill, Ron asked, "What is it?"

"I have no idea. It's something French. Fleur wouldn't tell me what it was, but said I would love it and she was right."

Grinning, Ron said, "Your wife is always right."

Bill laughed. "Always," he agreed.

The box was emptied and a wide array of food was laid out on the table. Ron summoned a fork and knife and dug in. As he chewed his first mouthful, he closed his eyes and his face assumed an expression of bliss. "Mmm…"

"That's exactly what I said."

"I am not saving any of this for George," said Ron, taking another mouthful.

"I think that's fair. If he's not here, he doesn't deserve any."

"Mmm hmm…"

There was a healthy spread in the box and Ron made quick work of it. He had not been at the Burrow for a few Sundays and, therefore, had not had anything resembling a decent meal since then. As he licked his fork clean, he vowed to make sure he always made it to the Burrow for Sunday dinners.

When he was done, Ron cleaned the flatware and sent it back to its proper drawer, while Bill repacked the dishes into the box.

Leaning back in his chair, Ron rubbed his stomach, closed his eyes, and said, "That was so good. Be sure to thank Fleur for me."

"She'll be glad you enjoyed it," replied Bill.

There was silence in the kitchen and, after a moment, Ron opened his eyes and looked at his brother. Bill was wearing a serious expression as he asked, "How are things going. I mean, how are things really going?"

Ron did not answer right away. For the most part, his family had left him alone with regards to his troubles with Hermione. He felt they were waiting for him to come to them. Other than the conversation with George when he had first showed up at the flat and the talk with his father at Christmas, he had really not talked openly about his struggling marriage. He thought about Hermione's news that day and wondered if he should say anything to Bill. He knew his oldest brother would have good advice for him. Talking to Bill was almost as good as talking to his dad. But, then, Hermione had told him they should not say anything.

Bill waited quietly while Ron struggled with his mental debate. Finally the younger brother looked up and blurted, "Hermione was here today."

"Well, that's good. Isn't it?"

"She had some news."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"She said I shouldn't," said Ron. "But, I don't know what to do."

"You know, Ron," said Bill leaning forward and drawing his brother's full attention to him. "I'm always here for you. We're all here for you. We know how you and Hermione feel about each other, and we want to do whatever we can to help."

Imitating his wife, Ron bit his lip. There was a brief pause before he said, "Hermione's pregnant."

He thought he saw something resembling shock on Bill's face as the older man sat back in his chair. "How far along?" he finally asked.

"She said six weeks."

"Six weeks." Bill paused and Ron knew he was doing some mental math.

Not wanting his brother to think otherwise, Ron said, "The baby's mine."

"But, you've been separated for three months."

"Yes, but she got sick. When she was well enough to come home from St. Mungo's, I stayed with her for a bit at Grimmauld Place and, well…" Ron's voice trailed off. He couldn't tell Bill about that. He couldn't tell anyone about that. He didn't even think he could discuss what had happened with Hermione.

"I see," Bill said quietly. "So, what now?"

Ron sighed. "I don't know," he said. "I just don't know." He knew it sounded weak. He had to start somewhere but he had no idea where that might be. He tried, unsuccessfully to come up with a better answer for his brother. There was a quiet pause in the conversation and Bill was also apparently lost in thought.

Suddenly, Bill spoke up. "Do you want the child?"

Ron's eyes widened and, stunned, he nodded. How could anyone think otherwise?

"Do you love Hermione?" his brother continued.

"Yes," Ron said emphatically, wondering why Bill was asking such ridiculous questions.

"Then you'll figure everything else out. Marriage is hard. It takes work every single day. There are times when you wonder why you're putting yourself through it. When that happens, ask yourself those two questions again. For me there is only one thing harder than living with Fleur, and that's not living with her."

"I can't just sit there and keep watching her get hurt."

"You can if you have to. And you can help her most by just being there. When you leave you may spare yourself the pain of watching, but she still gets hurt and you're not there to help ease her pain."

Ron's brow furrowed as he thought about this. He was still thinking when Bill spoke again.

"Would you step in front of a curse for her?"

"Of course I would!" Ron answered angrily.

"So, you would do something for Hermione, even though it caused you pain?"

Ron looked at his hands and suddenly felt very selfish. The longer he sat there thinking about it, the more he realized that was what Hermione had been doing for Harry. She was willing to suffer for those she loved, and Ron knew, clearly and without any doubt, that she would suffer for Ron if, in any way, it could help him.

"I'm an arse," muttered Ron.

"Of course you are!" agreed Bill heartily. "You're a man in love with his wife. That means you'll always be an arse in one way or another!"

Ron laughed. "Yeah. You're right about that. But, I still don't know what to do now. I still don't have a clue what my next move should be."

Shaking his head, Bill replied, "And to think, they call you the best chess player Hogwarts ever saw." With that, he got up from the table and picked up the box of dishes he needed to take home to the Burrow. "No one can decide that but you, Ron. Only you can make the next move."

He moved toward the fireplace and scooped up some Floo powder from an ostentatious gold urn on the mantle that the twins insisted on using to hold it. Stepping into the fireplace and turning around to face Ron, Bill said, "Remember, we're all here and ready to try and help, even if all we can do is listen." Before Ron could reply, Bill threw down the Floo powder and said in a strong voice, "The Burrow!" Then, he was gone.

Hermione sat at her desk and ignored her rumbling stomach. She had a report to get out and there was no time for eating. Trying, unsuccessfully, to continue with her work, she scribbled something on a piece of parchment. She got down a paragraph and then read what she had written. She frowned and read it again. It made no sense, absolutely no sense at all.

With a sigh of exasperation, she flung her quill down on the desk as her stomach rumbled again. Clearly, she would be too distracted to finish this report properly if she did not find some food.

She was just wondering what she should have for lunch, when there was a knock at the door to her office. Grumpily, she called out, "Come in!" As she looked up from the messy parchment in front of her, she found herself smiling as a head covered in bright ginger hair poked around the corner of the door.

"Is there a Mrs. Weasley here?"

Laughing, Hermione replied, "That depends on who's asking."

Ron grinned and walked into the room.

"I thought you might be hungry," he said holding up a large basket.

"Why aren't you at work?" she asked as she eyed the folded blue blanket tucked under the arm that was not holding the basket.

"Because it's lunch time and I need to feed my wife—" his voice dropped to a whisper. "And child."

Smiling broadly, Hermione asked, "And where do you think we're going to have this picnic, in the middle of winter?"

Ron set the basket on her desk and, taking the blanket in both hands he threw it out in front of him to land smartly on the floor next to the desk. Picking the basket back up, he grinned cheekily at his wife. "Right here," he said, waving toward the floor.

With the basket in one hand, Ron held the other out to Hermione. She took it and rose from the chair. Taking two steps to her right, she then sank down onto the blanket and let go of Ron's hand. He sat across from her and set the basket in between them.

Hermione watched as Ron began to unpack the basket. She started to grin as she saw him take out a bottle of milk and two champagne glasses. He looked up and caught her expression. With a sheepish nod of his head, Ron said, "Well, milk can still be elegant, right?"

Laughing, Hermione replied, "Yes. Yes it can."

Ron poured the milk and removed a plate of cheese and crackers from the basket. Setting that down, he reached in again and brought out some uncharacteristically dainty cucumber sandwiches. "These," he said, "are for you. This—" he reached into the basket again. "—is for me." With a flourish, he pulled out a container, the smell from which caused Hermione to gag.

She threw a hand up to her face and covered her mouth. "Ron!" she asked. "What is that?"

Frowning, Ron looked from Hermione's face to the container. "Just some blood sausage."

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to breathe through her mouth. It did not seem to help very much. "Get rid of it," she said, her voice muffled from behind her hand.

"What? Why?"

"The smell. Ron, get rid of it or I'm going to be sick!"

Ron performed a banishing spell, and when Hermione opened her eyes, she saw her husband giving her an odd look.

After quickly pulling out her own wand and clearing the air of the lingering odor from the offending sausage, Hermione said, "The smell of meat. It makes me sick."

"Meat makes you sick?" Ron looked at her with an expression of disbelief. "Since when?"

"Since I got pregnant," Hermione answered. "I'm affected differently by certain smells and tastes."

Ron slumped a bit on his side of the blanket. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I had no idea."

"It's okay, Ron." She said reaching out and resting a hand on his arm. "You couldn't have known."

Hermione watched Ron for a moment. Whatever he was thinking was making him angry. "I should have known," he said and looked up at her. "I would have known if I was living with you."

"What makes you say that?" she asked, looking at him curiously.

"We'd be talking more. I'd have spent a few more meals with you. I just would have known."

Hermione bit her lip. She couldn't deny that if they weren't separated, they might be more closely in tune with each other and he might have been aware of her current reactions to certain things. But this picnic had been so sweet. He was clearly reaching out to her and she felt her heart skip a beat as she looked at his sulky expression.

"Ron, I told you, I'll go wherever you are."

He looked at her for a long moment before answering. "No. I'm not asking that of you. We discussed this the other day."

"I know you're not asking, Ron. I'm volunteering." She seemed to be having a great deal of trouble convincing him she would leave Grimmauld Place. Then another thought occurred to her and she wondered where the little voice in her head was, that it didn't silence the thought. "Unless, you don't want me?"

Ron gave her a stricken look. "Of course I want you, Hermione! How could I not? You're my life and I love you."

Hermione felt her eyes water. She seemed to cry much more easily these days and she silently cursed her hormones. Had he meant to say she was his life or his wife? Somehow, the word he had actually used had a deeper impact on her than what she thought he might have meant to say. "I'm your…" she trailed off.

Smiling, Ron reached forward. "You're my life, Hermione. I can't truly live unless you're with me. We have to make it work. I'm not whole without you."

There was a catch in Hermione's throat. "I love you, Ron."

"We'll figure this out," he promised. "I'll come see you every night until we do."

"Promise?" she asked.

"I promise." Ron sat back on his heels, and picked up a champagne glass. "Now, drink your milk."

February blurred into March and Ron was as good as his word. He Flooed into the suite at Grimmauld Place every night without fail. Sometimes, when the Cannons had a long game, he was not able to make it until very late, but he still went, if just to make sure Hermione was sleeping comfortably. Often, she would sleep right through his visits, but he would always leave a little something letting her know he had been there.

Once it was a rose he had come across in a shop earlier in the day. The witch who owned the shop had placed a long-lasting spell on it and it was just as fresh and dewy when Hermione woke to it the next day, as though it had just been cut. Another time he left a book on the bedside table: What to Call Your Little Witch or Wizard. Still another, Ron had left a miniature orange jersey with the Chudley Cannons' logo on it and "Weasley" on the back.

During an early conversation on one of the nights before Hermione had fallen asleep, they had decided that Winky knew about Hermione's pregnancy.

"She's the one who brought me Mother Millicent's tea," she told him. "And, when I wake up in the morning there are always fresh crackers waiting for me to chew on before I get out of bed."

"Why?" asked Ron.

"For the morning sickness."

Ron now knew about morning sickness. He had pronounced it stupidly named, once he learned it did not always occur in the morning. In Hermione's case, for instance, it occurred at odd times throughout the day. She found that one moment she felt sick to her stomach and the next she was ravenous.

"How does that help?" he asked.

Hermione opened her mouth to answer and then paused. "You know," she said, "I don't actually know."

"You don't know?" Ron asked in amazement.

Shaking her head wonderingly, she said, "No. I don't."

Ron watched as she got up from the sofa and went to the dining table where she picked up a quill and made a note on a piece of parchment. "What's that?" he asked.

"I'm keeping a list," answered Hermione. "Whenever I have a question, I write it down to ask my Healer-midwife." She looked across the room at Ron. "You should come to one of my appointments and meet her."

Feeling his ears turn pink, Ron replied, "Do you really think that would be a good idea?"

Hermione stood up from her notes and gazed at Ron significantly. "Yes," she said, "I think the two of you should meet before the actual birth." She then gave him a long look before asking, "You will be there when the baby's born, won't you?"

Ron opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. To be honest, he had not thought about it. It suddenly dawned on him that both Bill and Fred had been in the rooms with their wives when the babies were born. "I, er, guess so."

Hands on hips, Hermione glared at Ron and he cringed. "You guess so?" Her voice was a bit more shrill than normal and Ron knew he needed to tread carefully.

"Well, I mean, I hadn't actually thought about it." He shrugged.

"Why not?" demanded his wife, her eyes watering. It was all Ron could do to keep from rolling his own eyes. Hermione had informed him at some point over the past three weeks that her hormones were all over the place, and it left her more emotional than usual. It also meant that anything Ron did or said, was likely to be taken in the worst light possible.

Feeling a bit defensive, Ron said, "Because I haven't thought that far ahead, Hermione. At this point we still can't tell anyone and right now, I'm just worried about getting to that."

Hermione bit her lip. "Oh, Ron, I'm sorry." She returned to the sofa and sat down beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. "I'm sure everything will be fine." Ron felt Hermione's tears begin to soak through his sleeve. He ignored the wetness as his wife continued. "We just can't be too careful, though."

Trying not to sigh at yet another sudden mood shift, Ron said, "I know. That's why I'm just focusing on the next few weeks."

Putting her hand on his chest, Hermione sighed. "The closer it gets, the more excited I become. I can't believe we're going to have a baby. We're going to be parents!"

Ron felt himself smile. Yeah. He was lost in a vision of a small Hermione—they had already argued endlessly about whether it would be a boy or girl—when Hermione said, "Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you get me a glass of water? I'm kind of thirsty."

Returning to the present, Ron blinked and said, "Uh, yeah. Sure." He got up and went to the table where there was usually a pitcher of water and two glasses. After glancing around and not finding them, Ron asked, "Is it in the bedroom?"

"I don't think so, but you can take a look."

A quick perusal of the bedroom did not reveal the pitcher and Ron realized he would have to go down to the kitchen. Bloody hell, he thought. I hate roaming the rest of this place. One look at Hermione, though, and Ron sighed. If she wanted water, he would brave Grimmauld Place, and maybe Harry, to get it for her.

"I'll be right back," he said, hoping she wouldn't notice that he was checking to make sure he had his wand on him.

Hermione smiled up at him from the sofa and said, "I'll be here."

Ron made it down to the kitchen without incident. He knew he could have called Winky and asked her to get the water, but Hermione would have been annoyed. She could not avoid what Winky did on her own or on Harry's orders, but she hated, especially at that time of night, to disturb the house elf if they could do something for themselves.

After locating a pitcher and two glasses, which he quickly filled with water, Ron glanced around to see if there was something he could find to eat on the way up the stairs. He was careful with food around Hermione, but found himself hungry more often simply because he was afraid to eat anything in front of her in case it might make her sick.

He had just picked up some slices of bread, thinking they weren't likely to upset his wife's stomach, and put them on the tray next to the pitcher and glasses, when he heard the door behind him. Closing his eyes, he wondered at the likelihood that it could be Hermione, wanting to know what was taking him so long.

"You've been here a lot, lately," said a voice that was definitely not Hermione's.

Ron turned to face Harry. Don't let him get to you, he thought. "Yeah. So?"

"So nothing," said Harry, picking up a bottle of butterbeer and removing the top. "It was just an observation."

The two men stared at each other for a moment. Finally, Ron said, "I need to get this back upstairs." He had just turned back to the tray when Harry spoke.

"Are you back together?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Harry it was none of his business, but when Ron turned back to his former best friend, the expression on his face was not one of malice, but of concern.

"We're working on it," was all he ended up saying.

"Good," said Harry, "because she needs you." He pushed away from the counter he was leaning on and walked back to the stairs. As he opened the door, he called, "Good night, Ron."

Speechless, Ron stared at the door for two full minutes without moving. What the bloody hell was that? he thought. Harry was almost human!

Finally, he shook himself free. Waving his wand at the tray, he said, "Locomotor tray." The tray floated up in front of him, and Ron guided it out of the kitchen and up three flights of stairs.

When he entered the suite, Ron found Hermione sleeping softly on the sofa. He set the tray on the table and then went to her. "Hermione," he whispered, touching her shoulder. When she didn't respond, he shook her gently. Hermione continued sleeping and Ron straightened. He turned and went into the bedroom where he drew back the sheets on her side. Then he went back to the sitting room and very carefully lifted his wife in his arms and carried her to bed.

Hermione blinked in the sunlight that drifted in through the window. Rolling to her side she opened her eyes and looked around the bright bedroom. She smiled at the evidence of Ron everywhere: a shirt over a chair, some change he had tossed on the dresser the night before, his smell in the pillow next to her. It had been just over a month since she had told Ron about the baby and it seemed as though they were slowly coming back together, as though rifts were quietly healing.

He had been spending more and more time at Grimmauld Place and she found him leaving more of his things there. Reaching out to grab a cracker off the bedside table, she thought about how he had spent the night on a few occasions. In fact, it had been almost a week since he had returned to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes at the end of an evening. They had even shared the bed, and while they had only slept, Ron's presence beside her had brought Hermione comfort and a sense of rightness.

Nibbling on the cracker, she was glad it was Saturday and she would not have to go into work. She had been feeling a bit off. A few days earlier, at her last appointment, she had told Healer Morris that she had almost felt like she was having cramps. They had discussed that spotting and mild cramping were actually quite normal signs in early pregnancy and the Healer-midwife had told Hermione not to be overly concerned.

"Of course," she had continued, "if the symptoms persist or become more intense, I want you to contact me right away."

Hermione had nodded but felt relieved to hear it was normal, and when she had started spotting the day before, she had reminded herself of the Healer's words and felt reassured.

Finally out of crackers, Hermione got up and wandered into the sitting room. Here, Ron's renewed presence in her daily life was also apparent. There was an empty bottle of butterbeer on the mantle and his broom was tucked into a corner, while a muddy pair of shoes sat next to the fireplace.

She had known he would be gone by the time she awoke, as the Chudley Cannons were playing the Wimbourne Wasps today and there was always a lot for Ron to do in preparation for a match. A glance at the dining table, however, showed that he had left her a note, and she went to read it. She grimaced slightly and put her hand to her abdomen, blocking out a cramp as she read Ron's note.

Good morning, sleepyhead,

Let's hope the Wasps catch the snitch quickly. I'd much prefer to be here with the two of you.

Love, R

He had actually signed his name, but all that was legible was the "R" and Hermione smiled. He didn't even care if the Cannons lost, just so he could come home to her and the baby. Still grinning, she made her way to the shower to begin her day.

Hermione was in the shower when she was seized by a much stronger cramp than the one in the sitting room. She looked down and gasped when saw a stream of blood trickling down her leg. Turning off the water, she grabbed a towel and, after covering herself, ran to the fireplace to Floo Healer Morris.

Healer Morris listened carefully as Hermione described what was happening, and told Hermione to get to St. Mungo's as quickly as possible. "We just need to check and see what's going on," she said, reassuringly. "It's probably nothing, but we need to be sure."

Nodding, Hermione got up off the floor and rushed to get dressed. She was on her way out of the bedroom when Winky walked into the sitting room with breakfast. The house elf took one look at Hermione clutching her abdomen and banished the tray of food.

"Mistress Weasley!" cried Winky. "What is wrong with Mistress?"

"I just," Hermione started, trying not to panic now. "I need…" her voice trailed off as she looked up and saw Harry in the hallway. Her eyes started to water. "I need to leave Ron a note," she finally managed, and headed to the dining table.

She flipped Ron's note over and grabbed the quill next to it that he had used to leave her words of love while she was still sleeping. She quickly scribbled him a note telling him to meet her at St. Mungo's, and dropped the quill back on the table.

When she looked up, Harry was standing behind Winky in the doorway to the suite. "Hermione?" he asked, his green eyes worried.

She shook her head. "I need to go," she whispered and quickly made her way to the fireplace.

Ron grimaced at the sight of the Cannons' Seeker. Devon Mack's face was covered in blood and his nose was three times its normal size. He had taken a Bludger to the face just before managing to catch the Snitch. The Beater for the Wasps had evidently thought the Bludger would prevent Mack from catching the small golden ball, but he had been wrong. In the end, though, it didn't matter because the Wasps still won. Standing to the side in the Cannons' locker room, Ron listened absent-mindedly as Wally Wervin, his face bright red and his cigar trailing ashes as he emphasized his points with slashing hand movements, raged at the team, ignoring the Seeker's mashed face.

Sighing, Ron wished Wervin would finish his rant and let them go. The game had been a long one and he really wanted to get home to Hermione. He smiled at this thought. Things had improved greatly with his wife. He had even been spending the nights with her, and now he could not imagine returning to the flat above Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes for any reason other than to gather what few of his belongings remained there.

They had begun to discuss how to tell their respective families about the baby, now that the time was getting closer. Ron felt they should have Hermione's family over to the Burrow on a Sunday after the weekly visit to Ginny and they could have a celebration. Hermione felt they should just let it be known to people as they came into contact with them.

"Weasley!"

Ron jumped and all pleasant thoughts of Hermione and the baby were shoved to the back of his mind. "Yes, sir," he said, from his place leaning against a wall.

"First thing Monday morning, I want you to begin scouting new Seekers! We need someone who's going to know when it's NOT time to catch the Snitch and end the game!"

Avoiding Mack's expression, Ron replied, "Yes, sir."

"That's it!" yelled Wervin, as a button popped off his robes. "Get out of here! All of you! I don't want to see your ugly faces again until you remember just how Quidditch should be played!" The team dispersed under the angrily waving arms of its owner.

Pushing himself away from the wall, Ron went straight to the fireplace. He couldn't wait to get home.

The minute Ron stepped out of the fireplace in the sitting room at Grimmauld Place, he knew something was wrong. For one thing, it was too quiet. For another, dark had fallen outside and there was no light anywhere. Holding his wand out in front of him, Ron muttered, "Lumos." He waved the wand in front of him and looked around the sitting room. He almost passed over the note on the dining table, but some instinct told him to give it another look.

Holding his lighted wand out over the parchment he read Hermione's hastily scrawled note. "Merlin's beard," he muttered before returning to the fireplace. It seemed like forever before he stepped out of the fireplace at St. Mungo's.

He was greeted by a bored voice that informed him visiting hours were over.

"My wife," he said, "Hermione Weasley. She came here today."

The reception witch checked her records. "Maternity ward," she said. "But visiting hours are over, Mr. Weasley. You'll just have to come back tomorrow."

"Like hell!" he bellowed, and the witch looked up in surprise. "You'll tell me where I can find the maternity ward, now!"

After a brief pause, the witch said, "Ward twenty-three," and pointed him in the right direction.

Ron ran down the halls of the hospital, ignoring various Healers and assistant Healers who were outraged by his behavior. He finally skidded to a halt in front of a pair of doors that read, "Ward Twenty-Three, Maternity." He took several deep breaths before putting a hand out and pushing the door open.

There was a large desk in front of him with two witches sitting behind it. One of them looked up at his approach. At first she had the same disapproving look on her face that the reception witch on the ground floor had had. As Ron got closer, though, her expression softened as she realized he was a father filled with fear.

"Can I help you?" asked the witch softly.

"My wife," said Ron. "She was brought here today. I wasn't home, I don't know…" his voice trailed off.

"What is her name, dear?" prompted the witch.

"Hermione," he said, quickly glancing down at parchment resting on top of the desk, thinking maybe it held some answers. "Hermione Weasley."

The witch turned away and checked a different parchment. "Ah," she said as she turned back to Ron. "Mr. Weasley, why don't you have a seat in that room over there," she indicated an open doorway to the left of the desk area. "I'm going to have your wife's Healer come and speak to you."

"I want to see my wife," Ron insisted.

"Yes, I understand," answered the witch gently, "but you should speak to Healer Morris first." When Ron did not budge, she held out her arm to again indicate the room, "It will just be a moment, Mr. Weasley, and then you can see your wife."

Realizing he was not going to get any further information from the witch about Hermione's whereabouts, Ron, dragging his feet, went to the room she was pointing to. At first, Ron sat down in one of the chairs covered in bright orange faux dragon hide. The stillness, however, was too much for him to bear and he got up. After standing motionless for a moment, he walked to the window and stared out into the darkness.

Ron's mind was filled with all sorts of images of bad things having happened to Hermione. Maybe Harry had hit her with another jinx, maybe he should have allowed her to move to Diagon Alley when she had brought it up, maybe this whole thing was just too much stress and more than she could handle. He had no doubt, since he was standing in the maternity ward, that there was something wrong with the baby, and his insides knotted as the wait to see the Healer lengthened. Please, he thought, let Hermione and the baby be all right. Please, I'll do anything.

At the sound of a soft footfall behind him, Ron turned and was momentarily confused to see George's Gwendolyn standing in the doorway. She was looking at him with compassion on her face and it suddenly became clear why she was there.

"You're Hermione's Healer?"

Nodding, Gwendolyn replied, "Yes." She indicated the orange chairs, "Ron, let's sit."

Mutely, Ron made his way over to the chairs and did as he was told. Gwendolyn sat beside him. "Ron," she said quietly, "Hermione's had a miscarriage."

Ron closed his eyes and felt tears slip from beneath the lids and down his cheeks. "Is she okay," he finally managed.

"She'll be fine. She's resting comfortably, now."

"What happened?"

"I think it started a few days ago," said Gwendolyn. "She had some cramping, but that can be very normal in early pregnancy, so we weren't too worried. It grew stronger this morning and she was bleeding. The miscarriage was well underway when she got here and we gave her some potions to help her along."

"There was no way to stop it?" asked Ron.

Shaking her head, Gwendolyn replied, "No, I'm sorry. Sometimes nature just has to take its course."

"Why?" Ron demanded, starting to feel angry. "Why did it happen?"

"Miscarriage is not exactly uncommon, Ron. There are a lot of things that could go wrong with the development of the cells and it's almost impossible to know the exact cause."

"Could it be stress?" Ron asked. "We'd been having a hard time until recently. Could that have done it?"

"I doubt it," said Gwendolyn. "It's just one of those unfortunate things. There's no reason you and Hermione can't try again in a few months."

There was a pause and Ron tried to take it all in. "It's nobody's fault?" he asked.

"No, Ron. It's nobody's fault."

Ron nodded and sniffed. "Can I see her?" he asked. "I just want to see Hermione."

Gwendolyn nodded. "Of course. I'll show you to her room."

They stood up and Ron wiped his nose on his sleeve before following Gwendolyn from the little room and down the hall to see his wife.

Hermione lay on her side in the darkened hospital room. Despite a sleeping potion that had been administered to her a few hours earlier, she was wide awake. She sniffed and bit her lip to keep from crying again.

She had been greeted at St. Mungo's by Healer Morris who had quickly taken her to an exam room. A number of diagnostic spells later, the Healer had regretfully informed Hermione that she was miscarrying. "I'm so sorry," she had said. "But we'll help you through it."

Hermione had been moved to another, more comfortable room, and given a series of potions. She knew one of them had been for pain, but the cramping was still intense. Throughout it all, she had cried and wished for Ron. Healer Morris had sent someone to try and reach him at the Cannons' stadium, but they had been unsuccessful.

As daylight had dissipated, they had told her that the worst was over, the miscarriage complete. She thought it appropriate that her child was gone as the day ended. Her Healer-midwife told her they would keep her overnight for observation, and that she should get some rest.

She sniffed again as she thought of Ron. How could she tell him she had lost their baby? How could she tell him it was gone and that she had failed him? She had failed them both.

Hermione heard a soft knock on the door behind her. She did not bother to respond. The door opened and she heard a soft whispering, followed by the footsteps of someone trying to be quiet. The person sat gently down on the bed and just as he put his hand on her shoulder, she caught a whiff of his scent. Ron.

She turned and sat up as he said her name. "Oh, Ron," Hermione sobbed. "I'm so sorry."

Ron's arms enveloped her and she buried her face in his chest. She vaguely heard him say, "Don't be sorry, Hermione. I'm the one who's sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't here for you."

Wrapping her arms around her husband, Hermione finally allowed herself the luxury of tears. She had worked so hard at holding them back all day, so that she could fully concentrate on what was happening and maybe find out why. She had paid close attention, but never did discern the why.

Now, Ron was here, and she could give in to her tears, and maybe, just maybe, the why was not quite as important. "I love you, Ron," she muttered into his jumper. "I love you."

Ron stroked her hair and replied, "I love you, Hermione, more than anything. And I'll never leave you again."