Fourteen Months Old

Thanks so much to my amazing friend Pili204 for her beta work!


Fourteen Months Old


"Ron, what are you staring at?"

Hermione found her husband blocking the entrance to Rose's bedroom.  Looking closer, she realized that he was looking pointedly at the bed that was cozily disposed in the center of the room, where candles emulating Hogwarts' Great Hall's ceiling sent beautiful splashes of glow to the multicolored walls.

But their vibrant girl wasn't there tonight. She was spending the night at the Burrow with her devoted grandparents, who were surely granting her every wish.  Spoiling Rose was something to be expected when she spent any time there.

"She is all grown up," he said with a crestfallen expression.

"What?"

"Rose. She is all grown up."

"Love, she is only fourteen months old…"

"She doesn't need the bars in her crib anymore. In fact, I think she needs a larger mattress, something more appropriate to her actual size…"

"Maybe…" She eyed her husband suspiciously. "This isn't just about the bars, is it?"

"I know we are not old."

At this statement, Hermione frowned.  "No, of course we're not."

"I mean, we are only twenty-six, well you're almost twenty-seven…"

"Sometimes I wonder why I tend to think of you as a gentleman."

"I'm a gentleman!"

"You like so much to point out our difference of months on every possible occasion; that's not gentlemanly at all!"

"You know I have a thing  for older women…"

She hit his shoulder playfully "I know.  I've known since Madame Rosmerta."

Ron laughed and hugged her tightly, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

He loved  that spot.

Trough the years, he had always felt as if all Hermione's essence concentrated there, flowing freely to make all his senses dizzy.

First, it had been the ink smell that kept her company at all hours. Then, as time went by, it has been subtlety covered (but never replaced) by the sweet perfume of her vanilla shampoo.

The most brilliant and humbling discovery had been when that adorable spot had started to smell like him .

"But she never got to enjoy what you enjoy, witch."

"You bet!"

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

"So much."

"I know." She nipped softly at his bottom lip.  "Now, are you going to tell me what is all this fuss about age?"

"It's nothing… it's just that everything is happening so fast since we got together… and now I'm taking off the bars from our daughter's crib and- he paused for dramatic effect- and I feel overwhelmed."

"Oh, Ron…"

And then, doing justice to who he has always been, Ron Weasley just showed that he truly carried his heart on his sleeve.

"And we are not going to be able to go around starkers anymore."

Hermione rolled her eyes and did her best to hide her amusement.  It was also so like Ron to let his southern regions be showed on their respective sleeves.

"What?" she mockingly exclaimed.

"You know, with our little girl running freely from here to there, our… uhm… activities will be… restricted ."

"And that is what is bothering you so deeply?"

"No, of course not!" He looked slightly offended. "But I recognize it as the point when I start to feel slightly older."

"For not being able to go around the house in the nude?"

"No, for not being able to ravish you in every possible secluded corner because… because now our daughter can catch us!"

"Ron, there is always our bedroom. And doors. And locking charms."

"I know, I know… it's just…" he trailed off, obviously frustrated by the lack of appropriate words to explain himself. "I just don't want us to lose spontaneity. That's all," he finished lamely.

But Hermione knew that there was something more under his speech; something his husband feared voicing.

And being Hermione Granger-Weasley – and living up to the considerable amount of stubbornness that the name Weasley had added to her considerable stubborn being - she simply went for it.

"You're trying to tell me something," she said in a matter-of-fact kind of tone, leaving no room for discussion.

"I think I told you something already, Hermione."

"No. You are trying to tell me something and you don't even know it yet."

He scratched his head. "You are not making any sense, love."

"I can read you…"

He shook his head in denial.

"If you're going to say you can read me better than Howgarts: A History, please don't."  He then added cockily, "It's a bit of a chiché by now."

Hermione just stared at him.

And he stared back at her.

And during those few seconds the cheeky atmosphere turned into something undeniably deeper and intimate because, within moments of locked gazes, they were reminded of why they were Ron and Hermione, as an identity.

"You are my history, Ron." She said it softly, knowing that her man had a desperate need to talk, and he required that first push.

And he required it from her.

He shook his head again, this time trying to control the emotion that always threatened to overcome him when his wife said such things. It was the simplicity, the honesty, or just the raw love in Hermione's statements, but he always ended up clinging to her and devouring those delicious lips for long minutes when she became so poignant.

It was either that or melting onto the rug like a sodding pudding.

So after the rigorous snog the situation required, Ron sighed and gave in.

"Okay, maybe I've thinking about something."

"I'm listening…"

"Rose is fourteen months old and we're not old."

"Exactly. I think that we've established those two facts already."

"And you know that I love that we're young parents because we can enjoy her so much."

"Yes."

"And I love being with you. More than anything."

"Yes."

"And I want that in the future, while we still are young, we can keep enjoying ourselves and our kids."

The last word hit Hermione immediately. Kids.

Plural word.

Oh.

"I know we've talked about this before in hypothetical terms but, would you mind…" He stopped for a second and brought her body closer to him. "Would you mind very much to deal with another hungry, demanding, ginger… of mine, of us?"

There it was. His ineloquent, adorable, anxious, and beyond amazing husband had managed to put into words what had been fluttering around her mind since Rose had started walking  a few months ago: Another baby.

"How do you know that ginger will be the colour?"

At this, Ron just laughed. They knew each other so much that he didn't need to seek for further confirmation. He just knew that smile and those happy tears were a positive and more than willingly answer.

"Oh, come on, love," he back off slightly, pointing his ever flaming locks with one hand. "Do you really think that you stand any chance against this?"

Hermione grinned. If only he knew.

"No, I don't. That's the story of my life, you know? I never stood a single chance."


˜˜˜˜˜˜*Fin*˜˜˜˜˜˜