Chapter 2: To Mourn Or Not to Mourn

Ron Weasley stared down at the headline screaming up at him from his morning Daily Prophet:

WAR HERO LAVENDER BROWN DIES, AGED 27.

The accompanying obituary detailed how his ex-girlfriend had succumbed to injuries sustained from the late werewolf Fenrir Greyback during the Battle of Hogwarts a decade earlier. For much of that time, the former Gryffindor and DA member, Order of Merlin, First Class, had been housed in St. Mungo's for treatment.

Glancing up at the sound of her soft footfalls entering the kitchen, Ron gazed upon the beauty that was Hermione, his wife of nine years, gliding over to him. Her one hand caressed her belly, which was round and beautiful and carrying their son. Merlin, the woman was particularly gorgeous when pregnant!

Drifting into him, Hermione stroked the hand not cradling her pregnant stomach along her husband's arm. "What is it?" she cooed.

"Rosie down for her nap?" Ron only grunted in reply.

"She's trying to settle…." Hermione murmured, pressing a kiss into his temple. Drawing back, her beautiful brown eyes studied him hard. "Ron, love, seriously: what's wrong?"

Wordlessly, Ron spun around the spread-out newsprint and nudged it towards his wife. He watched carefully as her gaze scanned the headline before she drew one hand to her mouth. He was all together surprised to notice the moisture gathering in her irises.

"Just yesterday?" she pointed a shaking finger to the date of death under Lavender Brown's smiling face: a school portrait from happier, simpler times. Before she had been mauled. Before even she'd had her heart broken….

Ron nodded glumly. "Probably late last night, I reckon." He sighed, slumping a little in his chair. When he felt his wife's delicate fingers move into his long, auburn hair, he turned his head into her touch, needing her presence, her love, near him.

"Hey….." she crooned. "What's going on in that head of yours?" She tried to entice him out of his shell by stooping as much as her swollen belly would allow and stealing a kiss from his lips.

In truth, Ron didn't know what to think. What was anyone supposed to think upon learning an ex-lover had died? Would he mourn? Should he? He didn't know. He really feared revealing any kind of emotion at all, lest he offend the woman he loved, the woman he had married, the mother of his children.

"I…. I don't know what to think," he confessed honestly. "Maybe…. a little regret…" He didn't look to see how she might react. "For not….. visiting her. Or…. picking up the phone…."

He sensed Hermione's dry smirk. "Finally – you pronounce phone correctly!"

He didn't take the opportunity to laugh, even to release some of the tension. "Yeah. Phone. I should have…. picked up the phone…." At last meeting her gaze, he winced. "Does that make me a bad husband?"

"No. No! Not at all!" Hermione chided, soothing. Grunting a little due to the weight she was carrying, she nonetheless eased herself into her husband's lap, sexily straddling him. Taking his face lovingly in her hands, she tilted it up. "It just makes you a wonderful, giving person…" Dipping her head, she kissed him tenderly; drawing away, she sagged against him, letting out a sigh. "I guess….. it just doesn't matter anymore…."

"Yeah," Ron harrumphed bitterly, ruefully. Lifting a large hand, he lovingly brushed Hermione's chestnut bangs out of her face, caressing her cheek. Smiling softly, the spouses leaned in and kissed again, lightly, their unborn baby nestled between them.

"Bloody hell, I love you!" Ron hissed lustily.

Hermione beamed, eyes shining. "I know," she hummed softly.

Suddenly, the telephone rang from where it lay flat on the tabletop. Watching his wife reach for the receiver, her firm and smart bum wriggling in his lap and making him hard, Ron feared she would over-extend.

"Don't strain yourself…."

"Fine, I'm fine," she huffed, dismissing his concern with a wave of her hand. "Just – let me get this – Hello?" A pause. "Yeah, he's here." She passed the phone to her husband, whispering. "It's Harry!"

"Hey there, mate."

"Hey, did you see the paper?" The voice of Ron and Hermione's brother-in-law wafted clearly through the receiver.

"Yeah…. Yeah…. Reading it now…."

"Has Hermione seen….?"

"I just showed it to her….."

"Well…. Neville's going to be spreading the word through our old Galleons – they're talking about posting a DA honor guard at her funeral; it'd be a good excuse for a reunion…."

"Sure; sure, I'll look…" Ron muttered absently. "I'll have to discuss it with Hermione, though, see if she can make it on account of the baby…. And of course, for Rosie, we'll need a sitter…. Sure, mate. Bye." Ron hung up, cringing at how his wife was looking at him, hands on her hips.

"I can go. I want to go!"

He blinked dumbly at her. "Really?"

Shaking her head, Hermione twittered out an amused laugh. "Always the tone of surprise…."

Grinning at her, Ron gripped her by the chin and pulled her into a long, deep kiss; when they broke apart, it was his wife's turn to blink dumbly.

"What…. what was that for?" She sounded slightly breathless.

"Just telling you how much I love you!"

Studying him for a moment, still thunderstruck, Hermione finally softened, beaming. "I love you too." Draping her arms about his neck, she kissed him again, before finally wriggling up off of his lap. "I'll put the kettle on…."

Ron watched her sexily waddle over to the counter, a content smile on his face. For the rest of his life, he would be glad every day that he had made the right choice. That he had chosen this beautiful woman, Hermione Jean Granger Weasley, as his bride, his wife and the mother of his children.