REVISED as of May 2017

Chapter 39: The End

"Very good, Mrs. Weasley — just breathe and try your best not to push. I know it's hard," says Simmons, Hermione's trusted, gray-haired midwife, who estimates she has delivered hundreds of babies in her career. "You're doing beautifully, my girl, truly you are."

She is indeed. I'm a wreck, but Hermione seems reasonably calm, all things considered. I can't believe she has the energy to talk right now, but she's been downright chatty for the last few minutes.

"Thank Merlin for the Maternitatis charm," she huffs with a small smile. "It's actually quite cruel that wizardkind can't share it with muggles."

"I couldn't agree more," Simmons answers while still keeping her focus on Hermione's, well … on her job. "I can't imagine giving birth the muggle way, with all that pain and screaming. Which isn't to say labor isn't uncomfortable even with the Maternitatis — it's bloody hard work — but it doesn't have to hurt quite so much, does it?"

"No indeed," Hermione says, still trying to keep her breathing shallow so Simmons can do … erm … whatever it is she's doing down there. I'm so nervous, all I can really focus on is Hermione's face, which is pink and dewy and gorgeous despite all the exertion. She's squeezing my hand like her life depends on it, and I'm so dumbstruck, all I can do is occasionally lean my forehead against hers and whisper nonsensical encouragement. "You're amazing, love. You're doing so well. Almost there." Like I know what I'm on about. Which she must know I don't. All I really know is, I'd happily trade places with her in an instant if I could. She's so little, and yet she's so bloody strong. She'll never stop impressing me, no matter how long I live.

"Very good, Mrs. Weasley," Simmons pipes up, now suddenly looking up at us, and I feel my heart jump. "We're going to start really pushing in a moment. Keep your breathing shallow until I say go, and when I do, I want you to push down hard, all right?"

Hermione nods, her forehead crinkled, her lips puffed out as she tries with all her might to resist the urge to push.

"OK, Mrs. Weasley, now's the moment. Push, darling," Simmons says. "That's good. Very good."

Hermione, meanwhile, is bearing down with all her might, beads of sweat rolling off her brow. She leans forward slightly and I realize that I'm not much help where I am right now, sitting at the bedside and just, well, holding her hand and pressing a cool, damp cloth to her forehead now and then. As I cast my eyes about searching for something — anything — I can do to be more useful, I feel a jolt of inspiration. Kicking off my shoes, I climb into the bed behind Hermione's back and wrap my legs around her bum so she can lean back against my chest, and I hug her about her middle.

"Oh, that's brilliant darling," she pants. "Brilliant. Thank you."

With that, she grabs my knees and pushes again, and I'm in a better position to hold her, pour words of comfort into her ear and feel at least a bit more like I'm carrying some of the load. Which I know I'm not. God damn it, I hate feeling so useless, especially when she's doing something so difficult.

"Wonderful," Simmons says. "Wonderful, my love. We made great progress there, didn't we. Very good progress. Rest for a moment until the next contraction comes, sweetheart."

Hermione sighs and leans back against me, her skin glistening, and drops her head onto my shoulder. I cover her cheek with kisses and caress her belly. "Oh gods, I'm getting tired," she whispers.

"Almost there, love," I whisper back. "You're so strong, so brave. I'm in awe of you, I truly am."

"Well, there's no turning back now, is there?" she says with a laugh between breaths. "It's not as if I can quit and go home."

"True. Neither can I, though. I'm with you the whole way, all right?"

She nods and I can tell from the crinkle in her brow and — blimey — the movement in her belly that another contraction is coming on.

"All right, Mrs. Weasley, let's use this one to our advantage. Push, sweetheart, push!" Simmons bellows.

Hermione leans forward and I lean with her, holding her as she groans through another long contraction.

"We're almost there, Mrs. Weasley, truly," Simmons continues. "Here's the head, darling. I know it's hard, but push again. Keep going!"

It continues like this — excruciating, difficult work, and as Hermione pants and puffs and moans and cries out, I have to wonder … holy shit … if this is what childbirth is like with the Maternitatis charm taking the edge off the pain, how bad must it be for muggles who do without it? I'm reminded, not for the first time, that whoever labeled women The Weaker Sex ought to have been tarred and feathered.

Time goes by … I have no ruddy idea how long … but then, suddenly, things start happening blazingly quick. An orderly rushes into the room, then another, then another — I have no idea how they knew that this is the moment, but they're here now, and I thank Merlin that Simmons has more pairs of hands at the ready, because she's suddenly calling out, "we're crowning!" and soon, miraculously, the baby's head emerges into the bright light of the room.

"Oh, Mione," I say stupidly, unable to find words beyond her name. "Mione, can you see?"

"Yes," she says, crying and laughing at the same time, "I can."

"All right, relax again for just a moment," Simmons says, but I can't imagine how anyone could possibly relax at a time like this. I mean, sweet Merlin!

Soon, Hermione's hit with another contraction, and she's pushing with everything she's got. "Here come the shoulders," Simmons says, smiling as she firmly cradles the baby's head. "Keep going, darling. Good job, mum. Wonderful."

And, just like that, the baby emerges, skin purple, covered in red goo, gurgling and sucking in a first lungful of air.

"It's a boy," Simmons announces crisply as she wraps the baby in a cotton blanket, plops him gently atop Hermione's belly, and returns to her work. "Congratulations, mum. Well done. Take a moment to say hello, but let's stay alert for that next contraction. There's still work to do."

Hermione and I are both awestruck, boggled, looking down at this tiny little man who has just entered the world, stretching his arms, waving his fists and throwing his head back to let out an ear-splitting wail as Hermione scoops him into her arms. "Shh, shh," she says, tears streaming from her cheeks. "You've had a long afternoon, haven't you, darling. Well, you're here now. It's all right."

One of the orderlies comes along and snips and seals off the baby's umbilical cord with her wand, then wraps him snugly again in his blanket. I reach out and touch his hand, knowing he'll grab my finger and hold on tight — and he doesn't disappoint. "Welcome to the world, little guy," I manage to say over the lump in my throat.

We're staring at him, caressing him and generally mesmerized by him for what seems like hours but I'm sure it's only a few minutes before Hermione begins to feel another wave of contractions coming on. Since I'm still tucked behind her and determined to continue helping her out, another orderly swoops in to pick up the baby, clean him up and get him sorted while we're busy.

"Well, I'm very pleased to say that Baby Number Two seems ready to make an entrance," Simmons says. "They're not always this quick about it, but I won't argue. It's better to get this done with dispatch."

"Oh Ron, help me, please," Hermione says, and my heart starts pounding.

"What do you need, love? Anything, anything."

"Just, just … oh Merlin … just hold me, all right? I'm running out of steam," she says.

I wrap my arms tightly around her middle and press my cheek against hers. "I'm here, Little Dove, I'm here. You can do this. I know you can. You're the strongest person I know, Hermione. You can do this."

She sobs and drops her head to my shoulder. "I'm trying, Ron, I really am. I just …"

She's overtaken by a contraction, and Simmons shouts, "Push, Mrs. Weasley, push!"

"I can't," Hermione answers weakly.

"You must!" Simmons barks.

Suddenly I realize that what Hermione needs is to lean forward, though she seems to have lost the energy to do it by herself. So I lean forward for her, angling my chest against her back and helping her to get more upright.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley, that's it," says Simmons. "That's bloody good. Keep it up."

I'm totally going on instinct at this point, and scared to death by Hermione's sudden loss of energy. "Mione, love, I'm right here, sweetheart," I say, knowing that I'm basically just babbling nonsense at this point, but I'm too scared to say anything coherent. "I'm right here. We'll get this baby born, Mione. We will."

"I'm all right," Hermione pants, though she sounds so tired.

"The head is presenting," Simmons announces with an edge to her voice. "Rest for a moment, Mrs. Weasley, but let's use this next contraction to finish the job, all right?"

Hermione can only nod. She leans back against my chest, heaving for breath. One of the orderlies comes to mop her brow and whispers encouragement. "You're doing wonderfully, Mrs. Weasley. Almost there."

Hermione nods again, but her head drops back against my shoulder. Blimey, she's exhausted.

Inevitably, almost cruelly, the next contraction comes along, and somehow Hermione finds the strength to lean into it and push when Simmons instructs her to. "We have another crowning baby here," Simmons says brightly. "One more big push and the head will be out, darling. You can do it. We're almost at the finish line. Almost there. Don't give up."

Hermione, meanwhile, is digging her fingers into my thighs — so deeply that I'm sure I'll have bruises there later, but I couldn't care less.

"It's hard work, I know," Simmons says as the baby's head appears. "That's why they call it labor, darling, but you're doing such a wonderful job. The head is out. Let's rest."

Again, we're presented with the incredible and somewhat odd sight of a baby's head sticking out from Hermione's body, but it's the most amazing sight — another little life, another child, half me, half Hermione. Incredible. I'm speechless for a few minutes — I can't even come up with my usual stream of ridiculous inspirational gibberish. But before too long, Hermione's body takes over and she's pushing through yet another contraction. I say a quick prayer that it's the last and, sure enough, the baby's shoulders emerge and, in another few seconds, Simmons is announcing, "It's a girl!"

"A girl," Hermione breathes, panting and wheezing for breath. "One of each, darling. One of each."

I know I should answer, but all I can do is cry, quite honestly. I'm completely at a loss. Two. Two babies. Both healthy. Gods. I rest my cheek against Hermione's and hold her tight, knowing that's all I'm really good for at the moment.

She pats my arm gently. "It's all right, darling," she murmurs.

"Are you?" I croak into her ear. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm perfectly fine now, Ronald," she says with a smile, still heaving for breath. "But there's still a bit of work to do."

After a few minutes more of strain, the placentas are delivered, and Hermione can truly call her work done. Gods, she's incredible. I crawl out from behind her to let her fall back against the pillows, then, with a shaky wand hand, I do a cleansing charm on her head and shoulders, since I know she doesn't like to be so sweaty. Simmons is waving her wand around, too, no doubt healing Hermione's battered and stretched skin and muscle where she can, while the orderlies tend to the babies.

As Hermione is Levitated from her bed and into the loo to be tidied up and changed into fresh pyjamas, both of the newcomers are presented to me, clean, dry and swaddled in fluffy blankets. The orderlies both openly laugh at my gobsmacked expression as they place the babies in my arms and shuffle me over to the armchair in the corner so I can hold them without risking dropping them.

"You'll get the hang of holding two of them soon enough," one of the orderlies says as I settle into the seat and gather myself enough to really look at the babies. Gods, they're both gorgeous. Round, plump, pink-cheeked, both topped off with flaming red peachfuzz. "Yep, you're Weasleys all right," I whisper.

They're both awake and are being remarkably quiet, all things considered. They're blinking and staring, stretching and cooing, almost as if they can hardly believe how much room there is to move now that they're out of that tight, dark space. As I take inventory of their fingers — good, ten each — and watch the peachfuzz atop their heads dry and lighten, Leo springs to mind. I try to imagine ever not wanting these babies, ever signing away my rights to keep and protect them. I wonder what Leo looked like when he was first born, and I wish I could have seen him. I bet he was stunning. I don't know how Rowle and Livingston did it, letting him go the way they did, but suddenly, weirdly, I'm thankful to them. Thankful that they did let him go. Thankful that, no matter how hard or not-so-hard it was for them, they ultimately did the right thing.

I'm lost in these thoughts when Hermione returns to the room, looking fresh and lovely in a clean pink set of pajamas and a flannel dressing gown. Her hair, which had grown matted and sweaty during the delivery, is clean, dry and folded into a neat plait. Her cheeks are still red from the exertion of the day, but she looks newly energized.

The orderlies Levitate her into the bed and magically enlarge it for her. "I have a feeling you're going to need the extra room," one of them says with a grin. Hermione hums her agreement and then stretches out her arms in my direction. "Bring those darlings over here, Ronald," she says. "I need to see them better."

With that, the orderlies slip out of the room, but not before announcing that Simmons will be back in about half an hour to check on us. "Just shout if you need anything at all," the taller one says — crikey, I really should learn their names — "our station is just across the hall."

I'm not quite sure how I'm going to manage it, but somehow I do: I rise slowly, balancing both babies in my arms, then pad toward the bed and extend the arm that's holding our new daughter toward Hermione. "She has your nose," I whisper.

"She does, doesn't she?" Hermione murmurs as she folds the baby into her arms and graces her with that same warm, adoring smile that I first saw cross her face on the day we met Victoire. Hermione loves being a mum. It's a good job she does, because these two are going to be a handful.

She budges over and I join her on the bed, shifting our son so he's facing his mother. "He's a beauty, isn't he?" I say.

"He is," Hermione says as she leans against me, shoulder-to-shoulder. "His hair is lighter than hers, I think, isn't it?"

"Hmm. I think so. Like mine. Hers is more like Ginny's, I think. Deeper. She's going to be a stunner."

Hermione chuckles. "Darling, she was just born. Don't tell me you're already worrying about keeping boys away from her."

I smile and stroke the baby's cheek wish my free hand. "That's the essence of strategy, Hermione. Long-term planning."

Just then, the baby in Hermione's arms starts to fuss a bit, her face reddening, her little fists tightening. "Someone's ready for a feed, I think," Hermione says, unbuttoning her pyjama top. "Here goes nothing," she says, biting her lower lip as she maneuvers the baby into position to nurse.

"You're amazing, you are," I whisper, settling my cheek on top of Hermione's head to watch with wonder as the baby instinctively latches on and begins to suck away. Gods.

"Hardly seems fair," I mutter, not really even realizing that I've said that out loud.

"Hmm?" Hermione hums.

"Oh, I mean, you've worked so hard, you're so tired, and now you've got to feed these two little buggers."

"It's all right, darling," Hermione answers. "I don't mind. In fact, it's … well, it's lovely."

I look down and notice the look of utter contentment on the baby's face, and I have to agree. It is lovely.

After another minute in which I silently watch the quiet spectacle of mother and child nursing, Hermione's voice breaks into my thoughts.

"So, now that we've met them, are we still good with the names we picked out?"

I lift our son to my lips and kiss his cheeks, then his forehead, then his nose. Hermione chuckles, and I turn to look at her, tears spilling over onto her smiling cheeks.

"You OK?" I ask.

She nods. "I just love you so much," she whispers.

My heart thumps. Even after all this time, she's capable of making my heart thump. No one else can. "I love you too, Hermione. I can't believe how deep it goes for me, love. Honestly."

I lean over and plant a kiss on her lips. "So this one's Robert, then?" I say as I straighten up.

"Mmm hmm," Hermione says, "after Mum's father."

"Right-o. And this one is Clare, yes?"

"She looks like a Clare to me."

"Me, too."

"Then Clare it is."

"Brilliant."

Just then, Baby Robert starts to kick his legs and grimace. "Uh oh, I think Bobby's hungry too, sweetheart," I say.

"Oh dear," says Hermione. "Well, erm, let's see if we can't work this out, shall we?"

As Hermione unbuttons her shirt the rest of the way, I Accio a few extra pillows from the sideboard across the room and stuff them under her elbows, then carefully lay our boy in Hermione's free arm and help her guide him to her breast. He latches on like a champ and soon I'm boggled by the sight of both babies suckling happily at the same time. "Blimey, are you all right?" I say, leaning across Hermione's legs.

"I'm beyond all right," she says with a little smile. "If you don't mind, I might shut my eyes for a few minutes, though. I'm knackered."

"If I don't mind? Hell, no, I don't mind. By all means get some rest, sweetheart," I say, feeling utterly useless once again. "Forget I'm here."

"Impossible, my darling," she whispers, her eyes still shut. "If my knight in shining armor wasn't here standing watch, I wouldn't be able to sleep at all."

She's being silly — or just a little bit silly — but I don't care. That statement reminds me what I'm here for. To take care of her, to look after all of them. And suddenly I don't feel quite so useless.

Half an hour later on the dot, Simmons returns, examines Hermione, looks Robert and Clare over, and declares that all seems toppermost, which we've come to learn is a Simmonsism for doing just swimmingly. The babies are both done nursing, they're freshly burped and they're now slumbering quietly, Robert in Hermione's arms, Clare in mine. After bustling about the room making sure we have everything we need, Simmons heads for the door. "Oh," she says as she reaches for the handle, "I almost forgot. Mr. Weasley, your mother asked me to tell you that she's just down the hall in the visitor's lounge."

"Oh, wonderful," I answer. "Would you please ask her to send the kids in? She'll understand — we've already discussed how we want this to go."

"Of course!" Simmons says brightly. "I'll escort them down here myself, shall I?"

I decide it's best that I should stand for the coming onslaught, so I hand Clare to Hermione and manage to get to my feet just in time for the door to fly open. With a chorus of shouts and shrieks, Leo, Rose and Hugo pile in through the doorway.

"Are they here? Are they here?" Rosie squeals, her dark red pigtails flapping as she hops up and down. "They are! They're here! The babies are here!"

She launches herself into the bed on Hermione's right side, while Leo jumps in on Hermione's left, laughing. Rosie is so excited, she can't stop bouncing up and down.

"There's two of them, Leo! There's two of them!" Rosie shouts.

"I told you Mum was having twins, Rose. That's means two," Leo answers with a roll of his eyes as he drapes his arms around Hermione's neck.

"Ssssshhhhhh, kids, please, Robert and Clare are sleeping," Hermione says.

"Okay," Rose says in an exaggerated whisper. "Does that mean I can't hold them?"

"Not right now, darling," Hermione answers.

"Please? Oh please, may I hold one, Mummy? It's not fair — you've got both of them."

"Later, sweetheart. Just look at them for now, all right?"

"So their names are Robert and Clare?" Leo asks, leaning his head against Hermione's shoulder. "I like those names."

Hugo, meanwhile, is standing at the foot of the bed, looking a touch forlorn. He's been having a bit of trouble adjusting to the idea that, once the twins arrive, he wouldn't be the baby of the family anymore. I'm sympathetic. I walk over to take him in my arms, but before I reach him, he bunches his fists and grimaces — and, just like that, the petals on every bouquet of flowers in the room, and there are quite a few of them, fall off. This is Hugo's signature Raw Magic move — when he's upset, nearby plants are guaranteed to wilt. The philodendron that Hermione has nurtured from a cutting into an impressive vine inside the lounge has died and been magically revived several times over Hugo's three-year lifetime. Who knows — we may have another Ingenitus on our hands with this one.

"Hey, Hugh," I whisper, kneeling down to talk to him at eye level. He looks up at me, his blue eyes pooling with tears, his flushed cheeks nearly the color of his red hair. "It's OK, buddy. Let's go see Mum, yeah?"

At a time like this, Daddy is chopped dragon liver compared to attention from Mum. I know this. I get it. Hugo's feeling displaced. Probably doesn't help that Rosie developed the habit of calling Hugo "The Babe" a long time ago, and the nickname sort of stuck. It doesn't seem right to stop calling him that, despite the arrival of two new babies. Hugo will always be The Babe to me.

"Come here, Babe," I say, hauling him up so he can get a better look at the babies. "You're going to get to be a big brother now, Hugo. Bobby and Clare are going to look up to you."

"Yeah, you'll get to boss them around," Leo adds.

"Ssshhhh," Hermione says. "Honestly, Leo. Nevermind that. Now, where's my Hugo? Come here, Babe," she says and I hoist him over Leo's head so he can get a kiss from his Mum. It soon becomes clear that a kiss won't be enough — Hugo is squirming to get out of my grip and onto his Mum come hell or high water. Hermione chuckles at the sight of me trying to keep from dropping him.

"Here, I'll trade you," Hermione says, lifting Baby Clare up toward me while I nestle Hugo down on the bed next to Leo. I pick up Clare and then — what the hell, why not — Robert next, and Hugo takes this opportunity to plant himself firmly on Hermione's chest. This causes Leo and Rose to crowd in, too, and soon Hermione is essentially buried in children. Not that she seems to mind. I laugh to myself as I put one sleeping baby in one bassinet, and then the other. It seems the need to matter, to bask in the glory of Mum's embrace despite the arrival of these new, cute interlopers, never quite wears off, no matter how old kids get. Harry pops into my head — I wonder why for a second, and then I realize, it's probably because, with every new baby born into the family, I marvel all over again at how Harry turned out to be such a great person despite the fact that he was raised by people who treated him worse than most people would treat a pet. I'll never stop being amazed by it.

As I plant myself back in the armchair next to the bed, Hermione remembers what I had totally forgotten.

"Daddy, where did you put those pressies that the babies brought for their new brothers and sister?" Hermione chirps from beneath the pile of kids.

"Pressies?" Rosie gasps, beaming and clapping her hands.

Hermione shooshes her again, then continues. "Yes, I do believe they're in the closet there, aren't they, Daddy?"

"Indeed they are," I say, rising to reach into the closet and pull out a shopping bag that contains the results of one of the only positive contributions I've been able to make to this day — gifts that are a quite brazen attempt to buy the kids' affection for their new siblings. Well, Hugo's affection, that is. I thought it might take the sting out of this day for him, and as he unwraps his miniature flying dragon with quite lifelike (though blessedly cool to the touch) fiery breath and watches it bob and dip around his mother's bed, Hugo seems quite satisfied and distracted from the new rivals for his Mum's attention. Rosie is similarly entranced by her Holyhead Harpies figurine of her Aunt Ginny, complete with a working, scale-model Nimbus 2008, Ginny's broom of choice. Soon the miniature Ginny is flying circles around Hugo's dragon, and both children are laughing and sliding off the bed to run after their new toys.

The babies, amazingly, remain sound asleep. "These two wouldn't stir if the Hogwarts Express drove through this room," I say, and Hermione laughs.

"They've been hearing all the noise this lot makes for months now," she says. "They must be used to it."

I look around and realize that Leo has disappeared, and then I remember that his gift — which I bought ages ago at Wheezes — is a toy Invisibility Cloak, one that only works for a few minutes at a time, and soon he's slowly reappearing before our eyes. He hasn't budged from his spot next to Hermione, however. In fact, once he's fully visible again, he lays down next to her and enjoys a cuddle minus Rosie and Hugo.

I turn my attention back to the bassinets next to the armchair and that's when I notice that Rosie has joined me. She climbs up onto my lap and leans against my chest, her cheek pressed against my shoulder as we look at the babies. "They are cute, aren't they," she says quietly.

"I couldn't agree more, Rosie girl."

"I wish you'd let me hold one of them," she says with a pout.

"Maybe later, honey."

"You always say 'maybe later,' and that always means 'no.'"

"'Always' is a big word."

"No it's not. It's only—" she stops to count her fingers with an annoyed look on her face. "It's only six letters, Daddy."

I can't help but laugh, though I know I shouldn't. "Sometimes I think you're your mother all over again," I say as I kiss the top of her head. And that's not such a bad thing, I think.

After a few more cuddles, Hermione signals that it's OK to let in Mum and the rest of the family that we know are most likely crowding the waiting room. I send a Patronus out there, and in they stumble — first Mum and Dad, followed by Harry and Ginny, with James and Al in tow. I stand to introduce them all to Clare and Bobby, and afterward Mum fills us in on the roll call of people she's already Flooed with the news of the babies' birth.

"Charlie's Portkeying in tomorrow, and George and Angie say they'll be by after the shop closes," Mum announces. "Fleur and Bill and the kids will Floo over when he gets off from Gringotts. Oh, and Hermione dear, your parents are driving down from Cambridge right now. They wanted to have the car with them, though Merlin knows why they would. Side-Alonging seems so much easier."

"I think they don't want to be a bother," Hermione says, clearly amused by the sight of my Dad trying to decide which baby to pick up and hold first.

"So, you decided to have this lot in hospital after all," Harry says to Hermione as he stoops over the bed to wrap her in an enormous bear hug.

"Well, that wasn't really my choice — it was Anton's," says Hermione, still holding Harry tight as he kisses her forehead. Once he straightens up and settles himself on the edge of the bed next to her, she continues. "It was all well and good to have the others at home, but with twins, he felt it was just too risky."

"I for one am very glad," says Mum as she picks up Clare, and that's when I notice that Dad has decided to go with Bobby, for now, and he's contentedly rocking him in his arms and holding him up to admire him in the late-afternoon light filtering in through the window. "I've got nothing against home births, mind," Mum adds. "After all, Ronnie was born at the Burrow — though that was just because he was in such a hurry to be born, he didn't give us time to Floo to St. Mungo's. But with your medical history, I do think Anton was right to be sure you were here in case there were any complications. Delivering twins can be tricky."

"As you well know," Hermione says with a smile.

Ginny looks around the room and notices all the shriveled floral bouquets surrounded by fallen flower petals. "Aha," she says, "I see that my favorite nephew named Hugo has been at it again," she says, stooping down to give Hugo a tickle and then waving her wand to magically restore all the bouquets to the state they were in before Hugo's bout of Raw Magic offed them up beyond recognition. Once they're all back to normal, she stops to read the cards. "I can't believe all the flowers you've received — these must have landed while you were in labor!" she says.

"Most of them did," Hermione says with a laugh. "Ron reported to HQ that he wasn't coming to work, and that seemed to set off a stream of congratulations."

"I'll say," Ginny murmurs. "Let's see … oh, this arrangement from Bernie and Shirley is gorgeous," she says, reading the card and then turning to the next vase. "And Kingsley outdid himself with this one. And — sweet Merlin! Adina and Keith got the news all the way in Australia already?"

"Apparently they did," Hermione says. "And somewhere over there — I think it's on the credenza — there's a letter from Adina saying that they're expecting, too! She's due in November. Look for it!"

Ginny squeals in delight, finds the note, then sits on the edge of the bed opposite Harry to read it. "Oh, that's just wonderful," Ginny says, reaching over to take Hermione's hand and give her a kiss on the cheek. "But let's talk about you, dear sister. You certainly don't look any worse for the wear after delivering twins, Hermione," she says with a grin.

"Thank you," Hermione answers, "but honestly, it wasn't that awful."

"Could have fooled me, love," I say. "I was worried for you now and then."

"It beats the tent," Hermione says with a wink in my direction. I can't help but smile back at her.

The others miss the joke. I don't blame them — it's always been a private one between me and Hermione, and my mind goes back to the first time she ever said it. Rosie had just been born — blimey, that was six years ago now — Leo had an ear infection and was therefore awake and screaming for a good part of the night, Crookshanks had gone missing for a day or two (though he turned up rather nonchalantly a few days later, eager for a treat and a cuddle with Hermione), and Professor Vector had earlier that day sent Hermione a particularly heavy spell formula to decode for their ongoing book project. Bottom line: Hermione had good reason to be tired and frazzled, but she was neither that night. In fact, as she finished feeding Rosie and then helped me get Leo settled down for the night, I noticed that she looked a bit tired around the edges but she was otherwise fairly serene.

When I marveled at it, she said, "It beats the tent."

"Huh?"

She laughed and took me by the hand as we retreated to our own bedroom. "You never think about it? Then tent, I mean," she said as she folded back the covers and patted the mattress next to her.

I jumped in, wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and shrugged as I crossed my legs to get comfortable. "To tell you the truth, love, I've been busy trying to forget about the tent ever since the war."

"I hear you but, well, I suppose it's different for me," she said, sinking down into my arms and settling her cheek upon my chest. "Those months in the tent … honestly, they were some of the lowest times of my life. So many nights, Ronald, I laid alone in that tent dreaming of you, wishing for a life like the one we have now. And those dreams came true, didn't they. It's hard for me to resent one minute of the noise and nuisance when my dreams of this life kept me going, kept me sane, through the hardest times I've ever faced. So … when I feel myself getting overwhelmed, getting frustrated, whatever, I just tell myself, 'It beats the tent.' Works every time."

I nudged her chin with my thumb and forefinger, and she looked up at me. "You're brilliant, did you know that?" I whispered.

She smiled. "So I've been told."

"And yet you married me."

She stretched to plant a kiss on my chin. "More proof that I'm the smartest witch of my age," she murmured.

We made love that night — the first time in what felt like weeks, but I knew it had only been a few days — and I savored the feeling that she was happy, that the life we'd found together was the life she wanted. I damn well knew that it was the life I wanted, but it felt especially good to know that her needs were being met, that someone as marvelous and intelligent as she is could be satisfied sharing her world with me. Thinking of it now makes me crave alone time with her all over again. As nice as it is to have visitors … well …

Just then, there's a quick knock, and the door cracks open to reveal the face of one of the orderlies. "Excuse me, Captain Weasley, someone from the Auror Department is here to see you," she says.

"Right — tell him I'll be right there."

"Oh, Ronald, you can't possibly be working today of all days," Mum says in a scolding tone.

"Can't help it, Mum. There's a hot case — Harry knows — it's coming to trial in the next few weeks, and we're taking a lot of depositions. I told the staff that I couldn't be disturbed while my wife was in labor. But, uh, I reckon somebody knows we're in the clear now," I say with a wink to Hermione.

"Go ahead, darling. I'm not going anywhere," Hermione replies with a grin.

"See that you don't," I answer, and step outside.

I don't immediately recognize the Apprentice Auror who's waiting for me in the hallway, but judging by the way his face drains of color at my approach, I figure he's pretty new.

He stands at attention and I look him over. Merlin, are we recruiting 12-year-olds nowadays? Did I ever look this young?

"At ease, Auror," I say, and he deflates somewhat, looking relieved. "What do you have for me, erm—"

"Monteith, sir. Brian Monteith."

"Monteith. Very good. So, uh, what do you have for me, Monteith? Out with it."

It never fails to surprise me how frightened some of these new recruits look when I talk to them. I'm not the kind of guy who flies off the handle or barks out orders. I keep telling Harry he's got to stop putting the fear of God into these kids now that he's in charge of the training program. Bloody hell.

"Yes, sir. Longbottom asked me to inform you that we brought Draco Malfoy in today for questioning under Veritaserum. It turns out he was financing the operation, as you suspected. He's been escorted to Azkaban."

This is good news — damned good news. We've been tracking a smuggling ring for months now, a group of wizards who are illegally importing counterfeit galleons and trafficking squibs as slave labor, frequently in the sex trade. Sick stuff. The toughest question to answer was where the money was coming from to pay for this network and, going on a hunch, I decided we should ask Malfoy some questions about it, since some of the arrests we made early on were onetime associates of his old man's. Sure enough, the hunch seems to be paying off.

"I appreciate the update, Monteith. Well done."

"Oh, and uh, sir, uh, Longbottom also asked me to tell you congratulations, and that he and his wife will be stopping by tomorrow to meet the new babies," Monteith says. Then a startled look comes over his face and he rapidly blurts out, "Oh, I should say congratulations too, sir."

I laugh, and suddenly Monteith seems a little lost. Clearly this wasn't the reaction he was expecting. "Thanks, Monteith," I say, clapping him on the shoulder and reaching out to shake his hand. "Thanks a lot. Stand down, Monteith, and head back to HQ, all right?"

"Yes, sir."

I watch him as he strides away from me, seemingly as fast as his feet will carry him, and I turn to head back to Hermione's room, shaking my head.

"Oh, Mr. Weasley!" someone calls from behind me. I look and see that it's Hermione's Wizengamot assistant, Sally, who, as usual, is practically running and seems perpetually to have her arms overstuffed with parchments, notebooks and ledgers.

"Hi, Sally, good to see you," I say, stooping to help her pick up a few papers that have drifted out of her grip.

"I was picking up some records for the new children's mediwizard clinic legislation that Mrs. Weasley is writing, and I thought I'd stop by the Healer's station to ask how she's doing," Sally says, smiling as she pushes her glasses up on her nose, a motion that causes her to drop another sheaf of parchment.

"She's doing tremendously, Sally," I say, bending down to scoop things up for her yet again. "In fact, come on in and meet the babies."

I push open the door for her and Sally joins the group, oohing and aahing over Clare and then Bobby.

I hang back by the doorway and watch the scene unfold. Actually, I'm pretty much focused on Hermione, sitting as she is with Hugo once again wrapped in her arms — he must have reclaimed his spot on his Mum's lap — chatting merrily with Sally and taking a moment to look at one of the parchments that she carried in. I don't know where Hermione is getting the energy to deal with all these visitors — in fact, I should probably chase everybody out soon — but she seems to be genuinely enjoying herself. And I'm enjoying watching her.

As it often does at times like this, my mind goes back to the very first night that Hermione and I became a couple, way back in the Common Room. Good lord, was that 12 years ago already? I do believe it was. Gods, look at us now, with a five kids and a couple of nephews running around this room. All because I awakened my inner Gryffindor that night all those years ago and finally found the nerve to tell Hermione how I really felt.

"Hermione, if I kiss you right now — honest to Merlin, that's it for me," I told her that night. "I'm done. I wouldn't have had the bollocks to tell you this a year ago, but I can say it now. If you let me kiss you, that seals the deal for me, I swear, because I'm going to want it all. I'm all in, Hermione, all in. If I kiss you, then I'm yours and you are most undoubtedly mine and that's it, from here on out, until the day I drop dead. No more doubt, no more second-guessing, no more kid stuff."

Turns out I was wrong about the doubt and second-guessing. There was still plenty of that shite to come. But most of what I said that night was spot-on. Going all in … best decision of my life.

~ Finis ~

oooOOOooo

A/N — I started this fic, my first ever, in late July and six months and roughly 275,000 words later, I'm finishing it. I can hardly believe that I originally envisioned this as a one-shot. Holy smokes!

I thank you all for reading, and I extend a very special thank-you to all of you who have taken the time to review along the way. I have treasured each and every review and private message.

There are so many more places that I could go with this story, but I felt it best to end it here. Who knows … I may come back and add chapters at some point in the future. But for now, I'm feeling inspired to pursue a different Romione idea: Namely, what would have happened if Hermione *hadn't* kissed Ron during the final battle? I know it's probably been done to death but … I'll do it my way.

In the meantime, I also plan to circle back to Chapter 1 of this behemoth and fix various typos, etc. So this might be worth re-reading someday, since it will be a cleaner read at some point, I hope.

I also have a novel I told myself I'm going to try to finish this year. We'll see how that goes. Wish me luck.

In the meantime, if you enjoyed this story, please, please, please leave a comment — and spread the word, won't you? There aren't enough Romione shippers in the world. I think it's incumbent on us to proselytize!

Take care, folks, and cheers!

Holly.

P.S. — Friends, I just started a new Romione fic called "One Punch: A History." Where "All In" explores the question of what might have happened if Ron and Hermione had started their romantic relationship sooner, "One Punch: A History" explores what would have happened if Hermione had never kissed Ron in the Room of Requirement. It's shaping up to be an angstier story but don't worry - I can't keep our favorite couple apart for long! Check it out, won't you? xoxo

P.P.S — Finally, folks, I would be remiss if I finished this fic without acknowledging the enormous intellectual debt that I owe to TMBlue, who provided the inspiration not so much for the first chapter of this story but for the multi-chaptered behemoth that followed. You see, she wrote something so beautiful, so innovative, so awesome many, many years ago - the first chapter was published in 2009 - and it stayed with me over the years even though she never finished it and it was last updated in 2011. That story is called "With Me," and it introduced (to me, at least) the idea of Blood Marriage as well as the idea of Ron having powers that go beyond what a wizard might normally have. Her story is genius, and I am heartbroken to acknowledge that it's unlikely to ever be finished (though it might upset her that I've said so). That said, what's there is worth reading - and I don't usually recommend unfinished/abandoned fics, but this one is *that* good. My desire to imagine an ending for that story is what inspired me, many years later, to revisit and reinterpret some of her ideas, and they landed here in "All In." That said, TMBlue is still a very active writer - in fact, I consider her the unparalleled master of the one-shot. She can convey in one or two sentences what it takes me paragraphs to encapsulate. More than once, as I slogged through "All In," I would read something new from TMBlue and curse the gods for making her so wonderful and me so ... well ... not. I had to turn to jesrod82 more than once on these occasions for injections of courage and reassurance! Anyway, if you haven't read TMBlue's work, I implore you to surf over to her page RIGHT NOW and begin. Thanks, all!