Hello! Another story for the 34 Stories, 106 Reviews Competition! *applause* Thank you, thank you very much! This pairing was Hermione/Ron and the genre was Hurt/Comfort.
Warnings:... None? Small spoiler for OotP (Book 5), and spoiler for the end of DH (Book 7).
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Hermione Weasley used to be able to say that, after having as many shocks as she had, nothing would seem as big or traumatic as it would have been before she met her husband, Ronald Weasley, or her best friend, Harry Potter. Yes, she used to be able to say that to those who asked, and some would nod in agreement. Mothers, on the other hand, would simply tell her, "You never know what might hit you!" She hadn't believed them. But, then again, she had never been sitting at home anxiously awaiting her husband's arrival after a trip to St. Mungo's. It had been the first time she had gone since Arthur Weasley had been attacked by Nagini, Voldemort's serpent. Oh, yes, Hermione had news. News she hadn't expected to hear for years, though she should've expected it, she assumed. It was quite common, she supposed, but she just never thought it would happen to her until she was ready.
Hermione, sitting in her favorite plush, Gryffindor-red arm chair by the fire, was tapping her foot to a nameless show-tune. One pale hand was resting nervously on her stomach, rubbing occasionally, while the other was clenching the arm of the chair tightly, though a silver band sparkled on her ring finger. Her front teeth were biting down on her lower lip, and brown eyes kept darting around the room, only to rest on her stomach or the fireplace, begging and dreading for it to flare green. No, most things were never planned, but she had hoped this would be one of them. There was always the chance her husband wouldn't approve, wouldn't want her, it, them. But that couldn't happen, at least she tried to convince herself. Ron loved kids, he was the sixth out of seven, and had always wanted a big family. Who said he would throw them out?
But, still, Hermione was, quite frankly, a nervous wreck. So when the fireplace finally flared green, she gave a startled jump. A tall, red haired man stepped out of the flames, brushing off soot from an official set of Auror robes. The woman's breath increased ever-so-slightly at the sight of her husband, Ron. Blue eyes glanced up, a ready smile on his face that faded at the, dare he say it, scared look on his wife's face. Concern swept over his features, and he strode forward, not minding the dirt that scattered across the sitting room floor. Ron kneeled in front of his wife, both hands going to her shoulders as he peered at her face.
"'Mione, what's wrong? Did something happen? Are you o-" Ron's worried voice was cut off by bushy brown hair. Hermione had flung herself forward, still sitting on the chair, just hugging her husband and burying her face in his neck. She wasn't hysterical, yet, but her breath had sped up and her body was shaking almost uncontrollably.
"I'm sorry, Ron! I didn't know this would happen, it will ruin all of our plans, our future, I'm sorry! I didn't think, I didn't expect, I didn't know!" She cried out in a desperate tone, begging for forgiveness for a crime her husband didn't even know yet.
"Hermione, Love, what happened?" Ron's voice was colored with panic, and Hermione pulled back so her arms were resting around his neck, but she was sitting farther back in the chair. One hand untangled itself to wipe some stray tears, and her voice shook as she spoke.
"I-I'm p-p-pregnant, Ron." Ron blinked for a second, and Hermione bit her lip as she prepared for the blow. But Ron… A large grin spread across his face, and he leaned forward, pressing kisses over the surface of her stomach.
"Only you, Hermione." He murmured against her tummy, fluttering kisses over it. Ron paused for a moment, looking up to lock eyes with his wife, still smiling wide.
"They're ours, they're staying." And then, he leaned farther up to capture the lips of his wife, expressing his love in a single kiss. For, despite belief, sometimes love is as simple as the meeting of two souls, of two lips.
... Not my best work. Oh well.