Ron had never really thought about who he would marry. When he thought back to the days when he and Ginny played dressing up he had always been the groom to Ginny's bride. Of course he never had plans to marry his sister- they weren't that kind of family - but when he thought of a witch he had always thought of a pure blood, or at least a half blood. He had never imagined he would fall for, and marry, a Muggleborn.

There was nothing wrong with it, he never saw an issue with Muggleborns as much has he never saw an issue with black people, Scottish people, or even those odd Muggles who believed magic was a silly game for children.

He had been very nervous about meeting Mr and Mrs Granger, even more so after Hermione had explained the Muggle custom of asking for a girls hand from her father. He didn't know how to speak to Muggles. Mr Granger had been like his daughter however, kind and honest. He had told Ron that he had expected his daughter to marry this boy she had talked about for so many of her school years.

Ron had quickly learned that the Grangers had a much better idea of his own world than he had of theirs. A part of marrying a Muggleborn which he had not counted on.

When Hermione was expecting their daughter Ron had imagined it would all be as it was on the films she had shown him. They would go to Hospital once the waters broke, then there would be a while of a healer telling her to push before the baby would pop out and it would be done.

His ideological view was changed very quickly.

Hermione slept in the white hospital bed, her head back against the pillows and curled ever so slightly into the left corner of the bed. She had rails around her, to stop her falling off the bed. He recalled a charm which had done similar for Ginny when she was two. Hermione wore a gown which had no back, only ties to hide her modesty. The gown was as white as the bed, all of which made the tube in her arm even brighter.

The tube was in her left arm, on the inside of her elbow. It was up only a little from her scar, the word Bellatrix Lestrange had carved into her flesh. Every time Ron saw the word it made him both shiver and his blood boil, but with the tube- a tube filled with blood from a bag attached to a metal pole- he felt worse.

The tube and the bag of blood were part of a transfusion the nurse had told him. Giving that she said no more about the transfusion Ron had pressured he was supposed to know the meaning of the word.

On the other side of Hermione's bed was the baby. Their daughter; Rose. She was also now asleep. The baby was more beautiful than any he could remember having seen before. She had a little pink face, her forehead wrinkled from the birth and her smattering of hair caked in a creamy substance. She wore a simple white baby grow, freshly washed but the glorious smell of the baby herself was better than the smell of clean clothes.

She held her hands up beside her head, as if surrendering. Her fingers were so small but long, not chubby. They were also pale and a little blue, also from the birth.

The little girl looked like a doll, she was too perfect to be living, even though he had heard her screams of protest which rivalled any mandrake. If it wasn't for the strawberry tinge to her blonde hair he would have doubted he could have made this.

There had been a lot of fussing when the baby had came. Ron had been terrified, pacing and pulling at the cuffs of his jumper. He hadn't understood very much other than that Hermione was in pain- too much pain.

There had been an operation, Hermione had been put under some sort of spell- they had called it something to do with Ants- and she had been asleep since. The baby, she had been looking around when they met but after various tests had his daughter yo-yoing back and forth she had fallen asleep in the plastic cot.

Now what happened. Ron sat on the long backed chair on Hermione's left side. He knew not to wake either of them and he'd already organised and re-organised the clothes for the baby to wear on the way home. Rose, he reminded himself, her name was Rose. And her brother had been Arthur.

He swallowed slowly, meticulously. The nurse who had brought Rose in her little cot had asked if he wanted to see his son. He had declined, for the time being, he wanted them to meet their son together, to say goodbye to their son.

Ron sniffed violently, not allowing himself to cry. They had already mourned their little boy, they had known he was dead for a few weeks, for now he had to concentrate on Rose.

As if on cue Rose began to snuffle in her cot. Ron lurched forwards, his heart leaping in his chest as the baby rocked her head back and forwards on the flat cot mattress before she called out with a big wail.

Ron stood, crossing the room before realising he didn't know how to help. She wailed louder and louder. He rubbed his hands on his jeans, looking around for someone else who could help. Rose was so small, so fragile that he worried he could hurt her. He bit his lip, took a deep breath before slowly reaching under the tiny body of the baby ready to lift her.

There was a knock on the door. He jumped, tightening his grip on the newborn as he did so. The door opened and a friendly face peaked round. The face was lined and slightly tired with faint bags under the eyes. The woman's hair was on the edge between blonde and grey, in the same way his Mother's would be if she didn't colour it. The woman at the door was Moira Granger, Hermione's mother.

"Oh look," she whispered coming quickly and quietly from the door, depositing her bags on the floor and leaning over to see the baby in Ron's arms.

"Oh Ron, Congratulations," she engulfed him in a one armed hug, leaning cautiously over the tiny child. She smelled slightly familiar, bookish, like Hermione did.

As if they had shared the thought, Moira glanced over to her daughter who was still sleeping soundly. She gave a sympathetic smile in her daughter's director before walking over and gently kissing the top of Hermione's head.

Hermione stirred slightly but was shushed back to sleep by her mother. Rose, who had fallen into a grumble for the past few moments began to wail once again. Ron felt panic raise in him again, he didn't know how to help her, and he didn't want to look incompetent in front of Mrs Granger.

Before he could wrack his brain for the best thing to do, Moira had crossed over and suggested the baby was probably hungry.

Hungry Right. He had no idea how she had came to that conclusion but giving she'd brought up Hermione to be alright so he was happy to follow her advice. Mrs Granger again seemed to read his thoughts before he could get them out.

"We won't bother Hermione, let her rest, has Rose had any milk yet?"

Ron shook his head and Mrs Granger bit her lip.

"I think we should try and pacify her for a little, if Hermione wakes soon it's best she gets some Colostrum if we can get it to her."

"What's Columstrum?" Ron asked, trying his best to mimic the word Mrs Granger had just said but knowing he'd got it wrong. However Mrs Granger smiled, she was never surprised or annoyed when he didn't know something about the Muggle world, like her daughter.

"It's the very first breastmilk, just after a baby is born it's produced before true milk is made."

Ron felt the tips of his ears reddening, he would never be able to get used to his Mother-in-law talking about Hermione's boobs. As far as Ron was concerned it was bad enough hearing the Muggle Doctors talk about them let alone her own Mum.

Mrs Granger gave a slight smirk at his embarrassment but carried on as though nothing had happened. She offered her arms out to him, offering to take the crying infant.

"Would you like a hand?" Ron found himself nodding and Mrs Granger slid her arms under the body of the little one, cradling Rose's little head so carefully. There was the same look of wonder on her face as Ron imagined had been on his own when the nurse first handed him his daughter. The thought struck him hard, this really was his baby. Bloody hell, he and Hermione had made this baby- and not through a quick shag as George would have you believe. They made a baby through love, and in that moment he felt that not only had his love for the baby doubled in size but so had his love for Hermione.

"I know that look," Mrs Granger spoke softly and fondly. Ron, in his exhaustion brought on by the last twenty four hours, had nearly forgotten she was there at all. Rose was quiet again, propped up against Mrs Granger's chest where she was being held ever so carefully. Ron must have looked startled because Mrs Granger gave him the same reassuring smile as before and carried on talking.

"Hermione hasn't told me much about what happened in the year we don't remember- I don't even know how she came to get that awful scar, though I have my beliefs. I know when she turned up in Australia with you, she'd been through a lot. I knew you had looked after her, kept her safe from all you could. I wasn't surprised when William said you'd asked him if you could Marry our daughter, and I know that look, Ron, she means the world to you."

Ron felt his cheeks blush further, he'd never been good at emotional stuff. Although he had never again denied his love for Hermione since the Battle of Hogwarts, he struggled to admit it to others. Mrs Granger gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder before returning both hands to the baby.

She bit her bottom lip before speaking again, but quieter.

"Her brother-,"

Ron cut her off instantly,

"Artie, his name was Artie. Arthur Harry."

Mrs Granger nodded slowly.

Ron felt a tonne of concrete hit him. He had a daughter, a beautiful baby girl, but he had also lost a son. Artie had died a few weeks ago, yes their close family knew but so many people wouldn't. They hadn't long been to their twice annual Dumbledore's Army dinner- a way to support those who had fought against Voldemort as well as a way to meet old friends.

They had sat at a table with the Scamanders and the Longbottoms. Luna had recently given birth to beautiful twin boys- Lorcan and Lysander. Ron had given Hermione's rapidly growing belly an affectionate rub before telling the group they, too, were expecting twins. Next time they met, in two months time, they would only be carrying one baby with them.

" I'm sorry Ron, it must be very hard for both of you."

"Mum?" The voice was soft, croaky and weak but there was no doubt that it was Hermione's. Ron instantly rushed over to her side, taking her hand in his. The little hand was cold in his, which was clammy from the heat inside the hospital.

"Ron," she smiled, weakly, leaning ever so gently over to where he stood, reaching up to cup his neck in her spare hand, silently asking him to kiss her. He obliged instantly, not even caring about Mrs Granger, and reached over the edge of the bed, kissing her softly, deep and long before finally releasing her with a pop. She smiled weakly at him and began to turn to face him better but hissed in pain and flopped back against the pillows, Ron grabbed hold of his wand, but was stopped by a hand from Mrs Granger.

"Ron, not here."

"But she's in pain. I can fix this, I've seen her do it."

Hermione managed to give her husband a glare at the same time he realised he should shut up. He felt angry at the situation, angry that there was a large wound sewn shut on her stomach and he couldn't at least numb the area to help her.

Hermione swallowed, her ashen face returning to a neutral expression before she held out her hands to her mother. Mrs Granger leaned over, gently sliding the baby into Hermione's arms.

Hermione's mouth opened in awe as she looked over every tiny bit of their beautiful baby. Ron grinned, his family were together, his own family- that he had created. Hermione grinned up at him, tired and sore but delighted with their newborn.

Rose could tell she was back with her mum as, yet again her eyes creased and her mouth opened into an eruption of noise. Mrs Granger proceeded to explain to her daughter that she presumed the newborn was very hungry.

Moments later Mrs Granger had made the excuse of going to buy some food for herself and Ron, allowing the new family a moment of privacy. With a lot of guidance he had helped Hermione guide their daughter onto her nipple and allow her some well earned food.

"She's perfect Ron," Hermione mumbled, staring at the newborn as she drank noisily. He nodded, finding it suddenly very hard to get his words out. Even though, he knew Hermione would understand.

"You've been brave," she continued

"You didn't understand half of what the doctors and nurses were saying or doing, I'm sorry I couldn't explain it."

"I'm just glad you're alright. When they took you to cut open your belly, I thought I was going to stupefy the lot of them."

"But you didn't. You held your temper. I understand that this is hard, all of this, it's a different world for you." Ron shook his head,

"It's no different from when you learned you were a Witch and had to join my world. We're in this together."

Ron had never thought of marrying a Muggleborn, of the trials to come as they danced across the boundaries between the two worlds. He had never thought he would marry a Muggleborn, now he couldn't imagine anything else.