Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series or any of its affiliated characters, places, events, etc. This story is purely for non-profit entertainment. Everything belongs to JK Rowling and/or Warner Bros...I own nothing...and I think you've gotten my point.

A Queen With Her Princess

a Harry Potter fan fiction

by TheAmericanWeasley

She was royalty.

Since their marriage, Ronald Weasley had discovered that he had a bad habit of peeping at his wife in her most intimate moments, even more so once she became pregnant with their first child. There was something so enticing about watching her from a short distance, oblivious to her, with all of her walls down: untamed and raw.

He had never touched himself to it, just looked on with desire—like a boy in a candy shop.

The large bulge in her stomach was what drew his hungry eyes. She was large and beautiful, with the faintest stretch marks on her cream skin that he wanted to kiss and worship. Her navel, protruding with the mass of the baby, was adorable.

Her breasts hung on her chest as two wonderful mountains, her peaks erect and pink. They were large with her pregnancy, and tender.

Just when his nether regions began to spring to life, Ron noticed something else.

Sweet Merlin, she was dripping wet.

Hermione was standing on a towel to avoid the water damaging the floor, as her naked figure dripped an abundance of shower water. She was running a comb through her hair, and grunted softly when she came in contact with a stubborn tangle. Her other hand was on her stomach, lovingly rubbing the life inside her.

Hermione was everything at once: beautiful, royalty, a temptress, a pregnant goddess, a queen.

Yes, that was it. Hermione was a queen, and the child inside her was her princess.

"It's not polite to stare, Ronald," her voice sounded in the quiet room, sounding like a signing nightingale.

Caught in the act, the young man entered the master bathroom, his pale cheeks flushing a bright red, matching that of his hair. He held out his large hands, as if surrendering.

"Forgive me," he began, "I didn't think you would see me."

"You think I don't see you?" she laughed lightly. "I see you all the time. I just don't say anything."

"Why not?"

"It's kind of cute, to be honest."

Smiling, Ron approached her from behind and snaked his arms around her waist, encasing her in his heated embrace. "I'm going to get your clothes wet," she said.

"I don't care," he replied, his right hand starting a journey down her body. "I love seeing you like this." He rubbed her sweet bulge, and placed a soft kiss at her temple. "You're going to give us a princess—and for that I couldn't be more grateful. I must have done something right in life, since I have you as a wife."

She grinned and looked away from him, as if she were stricken with shyness. Ron could see that her face was reddening. "It's amazing that you can still make me blush," she admitted, "I thought I would have stopped after we were married."

Her comment aroused a question in him: "Hermione, do you ever regret marrying me so young?"

"We weren't that young," she reassured, turning her head to her husband again, "I was twenty; you were nineteen. I knew the moment you asked me that I would accept, because I wanted to, I needed to be with you. I have no regrets."

Thankful and reassured, Ron kissed her temple again, his hands drifting further down her stomach as he repeated the word, "Princess," and ran his thumb along Hermione's navel.

"What makes you so sure it's going to be a girl?" said Hermione, breathing slowly into her husband's hair. She inhaled his scent, savoring every aspect of him. The feeling of his calloused hands against her moisturized, stretched skin caused a mild wetness between her legs—a wetness that had nothing to do with the shower she had just taken. "We have no idea, really. Your mother keeps telling me about this spell she found in Witch Weekly that would tell us the sex, but I don't want to know. I want it to be a surprise, I guess."

"It's going to be a girl—I just know it. And I know you've been thinking of names too," Ron mused, "May I hear some?"

"Well…" she began almost shyly again, and titled her chin up to meet his eyes: passion commenced as his intense blue met her pure chocolate. "I've always fancied the name Rose—assuming it's a girl," she added quickly. "You gave me roses when you proposed to me, and it's my favorite flower. I just thought…it would be a nice name."

"It certainly would be," Ron agreed, "It's a beautiful name; I love it already. Unique and elegant at the same time—the kind of name an intelligent girl would have, just like her mother."

She smiled because of the sweetness and sincerity of his tone, and continued, "And if it's a boy, I was thinking we'd call him Hugo, like Victor Hugo. The name sounds attractive to me. You know, the name means—"

"Bright in spirit and mind," he completed for her.

"How did you know that?"

"Believe it or not, I've been researching some names too," he beamed at her, "I think it's an attractive name too, I love it actually."

"Ugh," she moaned softly, pressing both her hands to her stomach. "She's kicking."

"She?" Ron reiterated with a quirked eyebrow, a smirk teasing the corners of his mouth.

"I've decided to assume that your fatherly intuition is correct."

Cupping her stomach once more, Ron was elated to feel the thumps beneath Hermione's stomach, where the spawn of their intimacy resided.

"I think she likes the name Rose," Ron decided. Moving his lips to Hermione's ear, he nipped her lobe affectionately, muttering, "Princess Rose." And moving his mouth to her other ear, he completed, "and Queen Hermione."