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"Yeah, 'Mione?" Ronald Weasley asked, peering up from his to newspaper to look at his wife Hermione.
"Could you get me my sweater from upstairs?" She asked politely, placing her book in her lap.
Ron blinked. ''It's the middle of August."
"And?" she asked, non-pulsed.
"It's over eighty degrees outside." He pointed out bleakly
"So?" She asked with a sweet, innocent smile. He'd do anything for that smile.
"Never-mind." He lay his the copy of the Daily Prophet over the arm of his chair, stood, and headed for the flight of stairs that lead to their bed-room to retrieve the requested article of clothing.
He heaved a sigh as he traipsed up the steps for what have must have been the millionth time that day. Hermione, now seven-months pregnant, couldn't make the climb as easily as he could anymore.
It wasn't that he minded getting things for Hermione, he loved doting on her; but he was really beginning to really wish the baby would be here already. Of course, according to Hermione, who was vehemently backed up all the other Weasley women, no-one could possibly want this baby to be born more than she did.
He found the navy blue sweater tossed over the end of the bed, where it had last been tossed by Hermione that morning. She had been quite upset. Over what, he still wasn't quite sure.
He snatched it up with a fond shake of the head before jogging back down the stairs and handing it over to his wife.
"Thank you, Ron." She answered sweetly, giving him another smile. He smiled back. Goodness, he loved this woman.
Hermione's smile widened.
Flopping back into his chair, he picked up his paper, turning back to the quidditch articles while Hermione, sweater wrapped round her shoulders, returned to her muggle novel.
Ron had just finished reading an article on the Chuddley Cannons latest win, when Hermione spoke again.
"Ron, would you get me that bowl of Italian Salad from the fridge that your mum sent over?"
"Sure." He stood again, heading into their small kitchen off the end of the hall, and opened their muggle refrigerator, removing one of the many multi-colored bowls of meals, salads, and desserts that his mum and prepared and sent over.
After about the tenth trip through the floo, bringing the dishes and putting them in the fridge before going back for more, he had considered them both crazy. How could they possibly need so much food in such a short amount of time?
But considering all of the numerous, not to mention bizarre, cravings Hermione had been suffering through lately, he understood.
"Here." He offered over the bowl and a fork.
"Thanks." She smiled again.
He smiled, albeit goofily, back. No matter how long they were together, her smile could still melt his heart every-time.
He sat back down and picked the paper back up.
"Do you know what would be great with this?" Hermione asked conversationally, spearing another leaf of lettuce, "Some of that dressing that we had when we went to the states last year."
Ron blinked owlishly at his wife. "Hermione...I'd have to fly all the way to North America to get that.I couldn't apparete that far. And I don't now anyone who's floo I could travel to there."
She looked up at him. "Well, you have a broom."
He dropped his paper onto his lap. "Hermione, I'm not flying all the way to the states. That's crazy!"
That was a little far-fetched for Hermione, even with her recent mood-swings. Hermione always hated making others go out of their way. Always hated making others do for her, and would insist on doing things her-self. It had been difficult for her, having to sit back and let others take care of her these past several months. It had taken her mum, Ginny, Fleur, and his own mum to convince her to relax.
"Well, I'm sorry, Ron!" She yelled suddenly, struggling to stand, "My hormones are completely out of wack. One minute I'm happy! Then I'm sad! Then I'm cold! Then I'm hot! Or some odd combination of all three! Its not my fault!" Her eyes were already swimming by the time she had finished her rant. She paused only briefly to draw a breath before bursting into quiet sobs.
Ron bit his lip, rushing forward quickly. He never did well with crying women.
He put a careful arm around her, drawing her into a hug. "I know its not your fault, Hermione. I'm sorry."
"Oh, Ron, you're always so sweet, doing what I ask and helping me and I don't deserve you!" She said all of this in a quick ramble before bursting into renewed sobs and turning away from him.
"No, no. You do. You do." He hurried to say, really starting to panic now, "If anyone doesn't someone, its me not deserving you." He whispered, pulling her into another hug and holding her close.
She rested her head on his shoulder, her sobs quieting as she calmed down.
"Hmm?" He started rubbing her back comfortingly, lovingly.
"I'm going to be normal again someday, right?" She grasped his shirt, burying her face into his chest, breathing in his comforting scent of pine cologne.
"Oh, I hope so." He said, half laughing.
"I'll tell you what, I'll run down to Flortence's and see if he has any of that ice cream in you were asking about, yeah?"
Hermione smiled. "Okay."
He smiled down at her, giving her a quick kiss on the lips and then another quick peck on the cheek before snatching up his jacket from over the arm of the chair and grabbing his wand from the end table.
As he slipped his sneakers on and stepped out the door, he mumbled quietly to himself, "Two more months... Just two more months."