Romione❤️ one-shots

Warnings

Extremely sorry for not updating in a really long time... ( I'll try to update more)

ENJOY!

As soon as they'd announced Hermione's pregnancy, the advice had started rolling in. It ranged from Molly's tried-and-true knowledge to Luna's more ludicrous suggestions ("Don't leave the baby unattended outdoors. Pixies love redhaired babies, and they will take her!")

However, there was a common thread of wisdom that ran throughout all of these tips: Life with a baby was amazing and fantastic and new, but also...difficult. And in defense of their family and friends, no one had ever even tried to tell Ron and Hermione that life with a newborn would be easy.

As responsible parents-to-be, they'd tried to heed these warnings—they really, really had. But there was only so much one couple could take, and after hours of listening to horror stories about nappy explosions and spit-up and night feeds from Audrey and Angelina alike, they'd (naively) decided they could manage on their own, thankyouverymuch.

"We'll be fine," Ron had said nervously one evening after they'd left Harry and Ginny's house, the wails of both Albus and James still echoing in their ears. "Our parents did it. Their parents did it. We'll get through it, yeah?"

Hermione had just bit her lip, shrugged, and returned to reading one of her many parenting books. At that point, she'd still been convinced she could research her way out of dealing with the hardest parts of parenting.

And what a fool she'd been.

Because, at the time, Hermione (somehow) hadn't realized something quite crucial—that babies are just tiny humans. And human behavior is one of those stubborn things that cannot always be researched or predicted.

Rose was born on 15th December at 3 o'clock in the morning. She was born nearly two weeks late. In retrospect, this should have been Hermione's first clue that this baby would not be operating exactly in accordance with predictability.

Ron was the picture of a proud father when the healers had finally pressed the squalling bundle into his arms. Mirthful tears had slid unapologetically down his face as he'd gazed at Rose, his eyes filled with such raw love, devotion, and awe that it made Hermione burst into tears, too. He'd cradled the baby like she was the most precious thing he'd ever seen, worth more than all the money in the world, worth more than his own life.

Of course, Hermione felt that way about her baby too, but it was so different to see those feelings reflected on Ron's face—to see him so full of compassion and understanding, like he hadn't really lived until he'd seen their daughter.

And in spite of the complete inappropriateness of her feelings, Hermione began to feel a tad...envious.

She knew that those feelings of envy were ridiculous. Really, truly, she did. Rose was just a baby, after all! She hadn't asked to be brought into this world any more than Hermione had asked to have bushy hair or large front teeth.

Furthermore, Hermione's feelings weren't to suggest that she didn't possess any motherly inclinations. Quite to the contrary, in fact. From the very moment that Rose had been born, Hermione had reached a startling realization that she loved this tiny little red-haired, brown-eyed baby with more fervor, more intensity, than she'd ever even fathomed. It actually scared her a bit, to be honest—the depth, the immediacy to which she'd loved her daughter. The second that she'd come out, Hermione had been filled with a sense of rightness, a feeling that she knew she'd never felt before, an assurance that she loved her baby more than anyone else on the face of the earth. Except for Ron, of course.

But that was the crux of the problem, wasn't it? Since Rose had been born, she'd never been more confident in her love for Ron, in her conviction that they were meant to be together. She adored watching this strong, powerful man hold their tiny baby and whisper quiet consolations, even if said baby couldn't understand anything he said.