12 September 2029—Argument
Hermione sighed, removed her spectacles, and pinched the bridge of her nose as she squeezed her eyes shut. "Ron," she said. Her husband did not stop his incessant pacing back and forth in front of their bed. "Ron," she said more insistently.
"No, Hermione, no!" Ron cried, running his hands through his thinning red hair. "Don't try to make me calm down, I'm not going to!"
Hermione was silent for a few moments. "There's nothing we can do," she said gently. "This is what she wants. And it's going to make her happy."
"What does she know about what's going to make her happy?" Ron snapped. "She's only—"
"She's twenty-three years old, Ron," Hermione told him, keeping her tone even, but raising her volume. She replaced her glasses and looked sharply at him. "I won't be the person to stand in their way. I won't lose my daughter over this."
Ron threw his hands up, made a noise of agitation, and dropped onto the bed. Hermione closed her eyes and gave a small moan of pain, laying a hand on her stomach. Ron turned around, horrified.
"Oh, Hermione—I'm sorry, I wasn't think—"
"It's all right," she said, waving one hand as the pain subsided. "It wasn't that bad."
After nearly a month, Hermione was recovering from an assassination attempt. She'd gone to the Leaky Cauldron with several co-workers to celebrate the passage of several new laws regarding the treatment of house-elves and other domestic creatures. Investigations were ongoing as to who, or why, but Hermione's drink had been laced with a fast-acting poison, and though neither Ron nor Hermione would say it, she had come far too close to dying. She was barely a week out of St. Mungo's.
Now, Ron moved a little more carefully to lean against the headboard beside her. "I just…I can't believe that they really are right for each other," he said. "He's a Slytherin, for Merlin's sake."
"He's a Ravenclaw, Ron," Hermione told him. "His father was a Slytherin, not that that should matter," she added arching an eyebrow.
Ron scowled. "I—he—that family tortured you! They could have killed all of us, and they would have—"
"And you think that one boy should be painted with the same brush as his entire family?" Hermione asked. Ron blinked. "Besides, from what Rose tells me, Draco and Astoria are already threatening disinheritance."
Rather than placating Ron, this seemed to make him more annoyed. "Even more reason why they shouldn't! They'll be starting off with nearly nothing—"
"Like us?" Hermione asked, barely concealing a smile. Ron stopped, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly. Hermione continued, lacing her hand in his. "Ron, I'll admit, it's taken a lot of consideration, but I've moved beyond what happened to us all those years ago. If Rosie is going to be happy with Scorpius, and he's willing to lay his family ties on the line to make her happy, I have to believe that they'll work it out."
Ron looked away, but Hermione tugged his hand.
"Be better than his parents, Ron," Hermione said. "Don't cut your daughter off because she fell in love. That's wrong in every way, and you know it. What if your family had objected to us getting married? You're pureblood, I'm a Muggleborn. Your parents could have been just as upset."
"That's completely different," Ron said, though he sounded halfhearted.
"No it's not, Ron," Hermione told him with a soft smile, knowing that she was winning. "I'm not asking you to be best friends with him. But he's the man your daughter loves and wants to marry, and who knows? He could be the father of our grandchildren one day," she said, smiling a little more widely.
"One step at a time," Ron said sternly. He rubbed his face, sighing. "I…all right. You're right."
"Of course I am," Hermione told him. Ron smiled, and Hermione pursed her lips. He came close and kissed her gently.
"I'll write Rose back in the morning, inviting them for dinner," Hermione said, as Ron helped her start to lie down, groaning slightly.
"You all right?" Ron asked.
Hermione smiled and nodded, taking off her glasses and laying them on the bedside table. Ron pointed his wand at the lights, and they went out immediately. Ron sank down under the blankets beside her, and Hermione moved stiffly to lie closer against him. Ron put an arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head.
"How does Saturday sound?" Hermione asked sleepily, relaxing.
Ron sighed, staring up at the dark ceiling. "All right," he said finally. Then he smirked. "I love you both too much for my own damn good. I haven't won an argument in forty years."
Hermione gave a gentle laugh, wincing slightly. "And you won't, as long as I'm around."
"Thank goodness," Ron said. They kissed once again, and went to sleep.
I don't think I said this yesterday, but I'll be saving the wedding for the finale, whenever that may be. :) More people liked that idea. Also, the whole assassination thing is part of a plot bunny that came to my house with some of his thug friends and whacked me with a stick until I wrote him down. I'll be fine, but I'm pretty excited about it (don't worry, there's no Voldy knockoffs or anything, it's just a four/five chapter crisis bit, for as much as I try to deny it, their lives cannot be perfect. *sigh*). Keep your eyes peeled! And as always, you're an amazing group of readers, and I'm incredibly lucky to have you and your support.
Lucy