A/N: Set 20 years after the events of Deathly Hallows. These one-shots will not be posted in order but in the order in which I write them. So, to keep it all strait I will be telling how old the charcters are and the number of years after DH.

Hermione and Ron are both 38.

Mine

It was more than she had ever imagined, being with him. He was at his most gorgeous when his lips were pressing hers and he was deep inside her, loving her slowly. It was more than she had ever dreamed. Ron calls her beautiful, he calls everything about her beautiful: her breasts, her face, and her hair. He called her beautiful even when she didn't feel beautiful.

Sometimes she dreams of losing him, that she has lost him to the war that has been over for three years. She wakes up drenched in sweat and has to bite her lip to prevent herself from crying. But he just wraps his arms around her and makes love to her until she's crying out his name in sweet release. When he slides into her, he calls her his.

"You're mine," he groans, his piercing blue eyes dark with arousal.

Hermione could get lost in those eyes, the blue depths would call to her in an erotic, hypnotic song. She feels completely safe in his arms and it's only with him that she can give herself completely. As she wraps her legs around his slim waist and bucks up to meet his hard, deep thrusts, she calls him hers. They belong to each other.

"Yours, only yours," he moans, his lips crashing down to hers in a frenzied, hard kiss as their bodies continue to wither together in the perfect rhythm that they had sat out years ago.

Losing him was her number one fear.

He told her that he wasn't going anywhere, that he'd always be there. Hermione remembers him saying this very thing almost 30 years ago as she stares at the newly dug grave of her husband. Friends and family surround them as the casket lowers into the ground, he's gone forever, he'll never come back to her, and they'll never make love again. 50, that's too young to die. Gathered around her are their children; they had three in their 30 years of marriage. Their eldest grandchild, a redheaded little girl with an impish face, is clutching the long skirt of her robe. Hermione bends and picks up the child, the weight of the three-year-old feeling good in her arms.

"Mum?" Hugo whispers behind her, her son looking at her carefully as Hermione buries her face in the girl's bushy red hair. "I'll take her if you want me to."

"No, I want to hold her."

The little girl clutches her grandmother harder and is confused why Hermione cries, she's too young to understand.

They start burying the casket and all Hermione wants to do is to scream and to throw herself into the hole, too. He can't be dead, he promised her all those years ago that he'd always be with her. It's some grave mistake, he can't be dead. Now she feels like running. She can't face this. She turns her head slightly and watches as silent tears fall down Molly Weasley's face.

50, that's too young to die. 50, that's too young to leave your wife husbandless and your mother with one less son. He can't be dead, he can't. But then Hermione's eyes open and she finds herself staring at the wall of their bedroom, which is illuminated slightly by the light from the muggle alarm clock. Her heart beats like crazy within her chest, but she finds comfort in the warmth coming from the other side of the bed. Ron is still there, Ron isn't dead, it had only been a nightmare. A nightmare set into the distant, frightening future.

Knowing that she will never be able to go back to sleep after the dream, she quietly gets out of the bed, careful not to wake Ron as she wraps the robe around herself. It's an old robe so it doesn't fit around her swollen belly but at least it keeps her arms warm. She feels the baby flutter inside her and puts her hand on her belly as she walks down the hall to check on Rose and Hugo. They are both sleeping soundly and so she goes to the brand new nursery. It's a pretty and gender neutral yellow that she'd picked, although Ron hadn't liked it very much. She hears footsteps on the floorboard down the hall and knows it's Ron.

"Is there anything wrong?" he asks as he walks into the nursery, his own robe wrapped around him.

"Just a nightmare, I'm okay," she replies, as she turns around from the crib and faces him. She walks towards him and he pulls her to him in a hug, and then a kiss.

He holds her for a long time as they sway to their own internal beat. He can tell by the little shivers passing through her spine that it was one of her normal nightmares.

"I'm not going anywhere, 'Mione, at least not for a long time. Not until I'm as bald as can be and you can't see me anymore, which will actually be a good thing, that way you wouldn't see my baldness."

She laughs lightly and holds him tighter.

"I'm not going to care if you're bald."

"And I'm not going to care if you go blind."

"That's always nice to know," Hermione laughs again.

"You're mine, and so I'm not going anywhere," Ron tells her, becoming serious as he strokes her hair.

Hermione nods and buries her face in his robe.

"Come on, we'd better get you back to bed. Soon-to-be mothers shouldn't be wandering the cold halls this time of night," he states firmly before suddenly sweeping her into his arms, and carrying her back into their bedroom. Hermione silently laughs as he does so.

He tucks her back into bed and crawls in by her side. He gives her a long, deep kiss before drifting back of to sleep, his arms still around her.