Chapter 67

Hermione was everything Ron wanted and more. He couldn't even remember a time where he'd looked at her and not thought, "You're amazing."

Sure, they had their differences early on. Even now, they still got into petty arguments over silly little things, but even when her temper flared, even when her face went red from frustration with him, or her hair turned into some wayward, uncontrollable bush when she was stressed… even when he was pretty upset with her… he could always look at her and think, "Merlin, I love you so damn much."

It had been that way forever now. She was the most incredible, intelligent woman he'd ever met. She was so good at everything she did (maybe Quidditch being the exception), and he was so proud of everything she'd achieved to this date. Five years she'd held a job at the Ministry and already she'd been made a Head of an office. It may have surprised others, but it certainly didn't surprise Ron.

She was amazing like that and for some reason, six years on, she still considered Ron to be the person she came home to every night. The one she would unload her difficult day onto (usually Malfoy was being an arse), or tell him about something exciting that happened.

And in turn, he'd tell her about his day and she'd listen. They'd talk over dinner — usually something quick one of them had whipped up after work — and then move into their evening routines, which usually consisted of lots of sofa snuggles and the television running quietly in the background. Sometimes they'd watch it, sometimes they wouldn't.

Since the beginning of the year, their routine had slightly changed when they now had to schedule in time for trying to have a baby. At first, Ron had been excited about it all — one, because he really wanted a baby, and two, because it meant extra time with his wife. In sequential days, over a period of four or five days each month.

Four months in, however, and the thrill of it all had worn off. Even the sex — and there was a lot of that over those four or five days — didn't excite him all that much and put him off for the rest of each month. It almost felt like a chore.

He didn't really know why, because Hermione had reminded him many times since January that conceiving could take some time, but he supposed in his mind he'd not truly considered that being the case for them. After all, his family was known for its ability to… multiply. It was April now, and there was no sign of them having a baby any time soon.

Just that morning, Hermione had told him the bad news. She'd done the test yesterday and this morning, and it came up blank. This month she'd even taken the liberty to get some of the tests Muggles used just to be sure, but they came up blank, too.

"It'll happen, Ron," she'd said, once again soothing his disappointment. He couldn't quite gauge her feelings on the subject, but she was quite clearly not as disappointed as he was over it all. That, or she was much better at hiding her disappointment — which wasn't hard.

She'd just stand up, tuck her wand away and tell him that maybe next time was the time. And then she'd busy herself with getting ready for work and Ron would be left to ponder having to wait another whole month for results.

They could talk about a lot of things, him and Hermione, but he was beginning to think that this topic was the most difficult one they had come across in their relationship, and it was not for the reasons he might have thought. It bothered him that they'd reached four months without any results. He pondered over it, thought about it and sometimes stressed over the reasons why it hadn't happened. While she seemed to think nothing was wrong and that it could take up to six months for it to happen for a lot of couples.

He wanted nothing more than to express his concerns to her. His fear that something was wrong. Not with her, but with him. He had no doubt that her calculations were accurate, but maybe their lack of ability to have a baby was his fault. He didn't know how or what, but maybe there was something wrong with him.

He wasn't sure how he felt about that, or how he would feel if he was to learn that his suspicions were true. He'd be disappointed, he knew that, but he suspected his feelings would also be a lot stronger than just disappointment.

And that was another reason he didn't want to tell Hermione how deep his worry went. She was practical; she acted on logic. If she knew he was really concerned, then she'd suggest they see a Healer, or a Muggle doctor, or both, to put his concerns at ease. He didn't think he was ready for that just yet.

"Are you going to keep standing there like the idiot that you are, Weasley, or are you going to go away and leave me in peace?"

Ron jumped, his gaze turning to Malfoy's irritated face staring back. He'd almost forgotten he'd come to Hermione's office and was standing, lost in thought, at the door after he'd laid eyes on her. She didn't seem stressed today, and he'd been caught up in her beauty.

"Oh, don't flatter yourself, Malfoy," Ron hissed, marching past his desk and over to Hermione's. She'd noticed him after Malfoy had spoken, and set her quill down.

It was a little after five and she still seemed caught up in whatever it was she was doing.

"I've just got to finish this and then I'll be good to go," she said, smiling up at him from her desk. "Take a seat." She indicated a comfortable armchair slightly to the right of her desk. Ron had sat in it many times before, always waiting for her to finish something. Usually, though, Malfoy had already left.

He tried to catch Hermione's eye, trying to silently ask her why he was still here, but she was paying Ron no mind.

Malfoy stayed five more minutes before he silently stood up and collected his personal belongings. He didn't speak to Hermione or Ron as he shoved some things into his bag and walked out without a word.

Ron waited a few more moments to ensure Malfoy wasn't coming back, and with a quick glance at Hermione — whose head was still down — he stood up and walked over to Malfoy's desk.

It was the picture frame that had caught his eye. It was new. Malfoy usually kept his space spotless and devoid of any memorabilia of home or his life outside of work. Hermione said that he came in, he did his job, and then he left. It was the same every day.

But now… now there was a picture on there. It was of Malfoy and another woman, and they both looked happy. Malfoy was actually smiling.

"Ron…" Hermione said in warning as Ron reached forward to pick up the photo.

He retracted his hands quickly. "That's his wife, then?" he said to Hermione.

"I assume so," was her only response.

A few weeks back there'd been a one page article in the Daily Prophet about a super-secret wedding that had taken place at Malfoy Manor. The only reason the Prophet knew about it was because Malfoy's wife's sister, Daphne Greengrass, worked as an editor there and she'd approved the location to be mentioned. There were no pictures involved, but the article had stated that Malfoy had married Astoria Greengrass quietly back in February.

"Do you remember her?" Ron asked, coming to sit back in the armchair. "I mean, I kind of remember Daphne, but her sister I don't. Not even seeing the photo of her brings back any memories."

"She was three years younger," Hermione said.

"Right…" Ron glanced back over to the photo. "He claims he wants to be seen in a more positive light now, but goes out and marries another Pureblood from a well-known family. Seems like a smart move."

Personally, Ron couldn't understand why anyone would sign themselves up to marry a Malfoy, but it wasn't his place to judge that. Better her than him, he reasoned.

A few moments later, Hermione dropped her quill and sat back in her chair, rubbing her eyes.

"All done?" Ron said, smiling. "Can we go?"

"I've just got to file this and then we can go." She picked up her wand and gave it a short wave at a cabinet behind her. A drawer opened. With another wave, the thing she'd been working on zoomed neatly into a slot in the drawer and it slammed shut again. Hermione stood up and turned to Ron.

"You seem happier than you did this morning," she commented.

"Yeah, well…" Ron shrugged. "It just means it's another month of lots and lots of sex with you." He forced a smile.

"Ron!" Hermione hissed, glancing to the door as if Malfoy or her junior, Maia, might walk in at any moment.

This time Ron didn't need to force a smile. "Relax. No one heard. Can't have anyone here knowing that Hermione Granger is most commonly the one to initiate any intimacy with her husband, can we?"

"Oh, be quiet," she said, grabbing her bag with a hint of a smile. "I'm so ready to go home. It was just so much filing today."

"I thought you liked stuff like that?" Ron said, following her from her office.

"I do like being in the courtrooms, though," Hermione confessed. "And these new robes have been bothering me all day."

"I like them," Ron said.

"They're itchy."

"Then charm them to not be itchy," Ron said, to which Hermione said nothing. Clearly, she'd been so busy and caught up in her work that she once again had failed to take care of her own comfort.

"And they call you smart," he teased. "Come on, let's go home." He took her by the hand and dragged her to the lift that would take them to the atrium.

Once home, they both went upstairs to change out of their work robes. Ron didn't particularly mind the Auror ones. They were designed to not drag too much extra weight around, but Hermione sighed with relief as she took off hers.

"They're a nice colour," Ron acknowledged. "Even if they are itchy."

Ignoring him, Hermione took out her wand from one of the pockets and pointed it at her robes. They didn't look any different than before, but after a moment, she ran her hand over them and smiled. "Now they feel silky," she said cheerfully.

Ron smiled, pulling a shirt over his head and slipping on comfortable pants. He waited for Hermione to do the same, acknowledging the fact that only a few months ago, he definitely would have appreciated this moment more. But those five days of every month wore him out and left him feeling very unmotivated during other times where he once might have tried to convince her to keep her clothes off.

He looked down at the intricate patterns on their duvet.

"Are you okay, Ron?" Hermione asked.

"Yep," he said. "Just… thinking."

"About?"

Ron looked up at her as she came to sit beside him. Why was it so hard to tell her how he was feeling about everything? Over the course of their relationship, he'd found it rather easy to talk to her about anything. Even when he was fed up with her work habits, upset that she hadn't even acknowledged him in weeks, knowing that there was a chance their relationship could end, he'd told her. This, though, was… different.

He shrugged. "I just… you know I always feel a little disappointed when you test. That's all."

She smiled sympathetically at him. "I didn't think you were actually okay."

"I'm okay," Ron insisted. He forced a smile. "There's always next month, right?"

Wasn't that what she always said? There's always next month. And for some reason, by the time next month came, he was filled with enthusiasm and excitement once more — as if none of the previous disappointments had even happened.

He kept telling himself that this time will be the one.

She smiled at him, taking his hands in hers. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Are you alright?" he asked her.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because it affects you, too. Everything that's happening; or, everything that's not happening. You're always the one to assure me it's alright, but —"

She silenced him by kissing him. "It'll happen," she assured him. "There's no reason it won't. We've just got to be patient. How about we cook together tonight?"

They were in the kitchen, Ron washing the vegetables, when it occurred to him that she'd not actually answered his question. She had given him her usual, reassuring answer, but it didn't mean that she felt it. The fact that she'd avoided it told him that maybe their feelings weren't so different after all.

He turned to ask her about it, but was distracted by two large Ministry owls landing on their window sill in the kitchen. Each had a letter attached to their legs.

Dropping the vegetables in the sink, Ron opened the window and extracted the two letters. One was addressed to each of them.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, coming to stand beside him, peering at the letters.

"No idea," Ron said, passing Hermione the one addressed to her. "Looks important, though."

There was silence while they both opened their letters and unfolded the parchment. It was a formal letter — that much was obvious.

To Mr Ronald B Weasley,

This is a formal invitation inviting you to attend this year's Order of Merlin ceremony as we present the awards to their recipients. We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected to receive an Order of Merlin, First Class, for your services during the second wizarding war and contributions to the Ministry and wizarding world after.

Please tell us of your intention to attend by no later than April 28.

The information regarding the event is listed below.

Date: May 2, 2004

Location: Ministry of Magic, function room, level 2

Enter via the visitor's entrance.

Sincerely,

Kingsley Shacklebolt

Minister for Magic

Ron read the letter twice, not quite believing it the first time. When he looked up, he saw that Hermione's expression resembled his own doubts about this being legitimate. But the seal was, and it would be easy enough to check the next day at work with Kingsley.

He sat the letter on the bench. "Is this… for real?"

Hermione's eyes were still scanning her letter, probably reading it for the fifth time. Then she nodded. "I believe so."

"Hermione…"

"I know…"

An Order of Merlin, First Class, was the absolute highest honour a witch or wizard could receive. There was nothing better, nothing that made someone stick out more, than this award. And there was a letter sitting before him that told him that he, Ron Weasley, would be awarded one in two weeks — on the sixth anniversary of the war.

"I don't think…" He shook his head. No, he couldn't say what he was about to — that he didn't deserve it — because that would be insulting Hermione, who'd contributed so much more than he had or ever could.

"Of course you've earned it, Ron," Hermione said anyway. "Gosh, this is so unexpected. So…"

"Good?" Ron offered.

Hermione smiled. "Good, yes." She read the letter again. "And such an honour!"

"We are up there with Dumbledore," Ron said, and he couldn't help but smile at that. Dumbledore had been a genius and now Ron's name was going to be next to his. And so long as he didn't do anything stupid in the next few weeks, no one would be able to take that away from him.

He was a recipient of an Order of Merlin, First Class. Forever.

"Should we let the others know?" Hermione asked.

"Not yet," Ron said, pulling her towards him. He felt her relax into his arms. "Let's celebrate, though. Didn't your parents give us that really expensive bottle of wine? Do you think now is a good time to open it?"

Smiling, Hermione pulled away from him. "Now would be an excellent time," she said, and she went into the dining room to retrieve the bottle.

Ron had gone back to the vegetables when she returned, carrying two glasses as well. He beamed at her.

With a day that had started off rather disappointing, it had ended very well. And he was sure after he and Hermione got some wine into them, it would end even better.

As far as I know, it was never specified whether they ever received awards for what they did, but I came across the head canon once and really liked the idea, so I have included it in this story! I hope you all liked!