By the time they were out of the hospital, Ron would probably be bald with stress.
Harry’s green eyes danced with amusement as his best friends reaction – they’d all been through that, they knew how it felt. George looked like he’d done this a million times over, and had put his feet up on the coffee table and was filling out the crossword in the Daily Prophet with the wrong words purposely. Mrs Weasley was chatting up the local Healers and nurses, ones that knew her by name because of the many times she had sat in the waiting room with her children and their respective spouses.
“I’m sure she’s fine, mate,” assured Harry, breaking the silence.
“How long does this take?” asked Ron with a note of hysteria in his voice.
“Not too much longer, I hope,” piped in Ginny, bouncing baby James on her knee. “This nasty little blighter took twelve hours.”
“Is she alright in there? Why can’t they let me in?”
“Something about a mothers privacy – bollocks,” scoffed Ginny. “I wanted Harry there but the Healer practically shooed him out.”
Ron sunk down into a chair.
“Do not worry over eet, Ron,” soothed Fleur, “I am sure ‘ermione will be fine.”
Just after Ron had nodded to what Fleur had said, a Healer in white robes came into the waiting room, accustomed to the sight of having so many red-heads in one area.
“Mr. Weasley? Ron Weasley?” The man in question jumped to his feet immediately.
“Yes, that’s me – is she okay?”
“Perfect,” the Healer grinned, showing off a row of white teeth. “Would you like to see your child?”
“Yes, please,” replied Ron anxiously, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. His wife looked exhausted, her eyelids flitting open and closed.
When she saw him hovering in the doorway, Hermione grinned and beckoned him over to where a bundle of blankets was nestled in her arms. “Meet your daughter, Ron,” she whispered, and the little girl blinked at him, and the first thing Ron noticed was that she had Hermione’s eyes – a lovely, chocolate brown. A smattering of freckles covered her minuscule nose and she had a dusting of red hair.
“We have a Rose,” he whispered back, staring at the bundle in astonishment, mentioning the name they had agreed on for a girl weeks previous.
“Hold her,” said Hermione, and Ron leaned down to carefully – very carefully – take the bundle from her arms. The little girl started crying, and Ron looked to his wife with panicked eyes. “Rock her back and forth, very gently,” suggested Hermione, and Ron complied. Rose stopped crying, and looked at her father with wide eyes.
Ron never knew you could love someone so much by just laying eyes on them.
Set in the next-generation, circa 2008.
Nothing is owned by me. All belongs to JK Rowling.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
A little outtake on what Rose's birth might have been from Ron's point of view. Enjoy!
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