This is chapter 8 for this story:
http://thepetulantpoetess.com/view…Ron turned and looked at her. He hadn't especially wanted to have this job, but since he was a capable Auror and not many people knew about the falling out of their friendship, he hadn't had a choice. He tried not to show the concern that he had for her. Despite the fact that she had married that greasy git Severus, he didn't want to see anything like this happen to her.
Putting up a ward that would alert him if anyone tried to enter the room, he reluctantly walked over to her bed. The paleness of her face shocked him.
"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly.
"I'm fine," Hermione replied curtly, not forgetting how her friends had been treating her. She attempted to sit up, grimacing as she did. "Well, maybe not completely fine."
Ron noticed her struggle and gently helped her to sit up. "If you are up for it, I would like to ask you some questions about the attack." He was careful to keep his voice businesslike and not to let any emotion into it.
Hermione's face contorted in pain and she looked toward the button that would call the Healer. Realizing what she was going to ask for, Ron added, "It would be better if your mind is clear without being mucked up by pain medicine."
Sighing, Hermione looked at him. "Okay, ask your questions."
"What do you remember of the attack?" Ron asked, taking out a parchment and a Quick Quotes Quill.
Hermione's forehead furrowed in thought, and she sighed again. "I don't remember that much. I remember going home after seeing Nicoletta off, and then I heard a noise in the house. I was almost to the door when I was attacked."
Ron watched as the Quick Quotes Quill wrote down what she had said. "So you did not see your attacker?"
"No. But the Healers said that both the baby and I are doing fine," Hermione replied, a bit of coldness in her voice.
"You're pregnant?
Again?" Ron asked, feeling surprised.
"Yes, I'm pregnant again," Hermione replied, frowning at him. "And Severus and I are very happy about it."
Ron tried hard not to roll his eyes. "Well, I think I have all the information that I need. If you think of anything else, please contact the Auror office. My shift here is almost over and then someone else will be standing guard." Ron started walking toward the door and mumbled something about, "Another kid of the greasy-haired git…" not knowing that Hermione had heard him.
A gasp came from behind him. "Why can't you be happy for us? Do you hear me belittling your marriage or the fact that you are on your fourth child? You know, our children are friends. They are even in the same House together."
Ron heard Hermione's voice rising in octaves and finally dissolve into tears. Turning around, he went back to her side. "Hermione…"
"No, just leave me alone. You are never going to change. Never!"
Just then two Healers entered the room, and one of them escorted him out. "You are here to guard her, not to upset her. I am sorry, but you need to leave."
As Ron left the room, he looked back to see Hermione's tear streaked face buried in her hands.
Later that evening, Ron was wrapping up his paperwork in his office when his door banged open, and a figure in a billowing black robe entered his office. Ron didn't have time to draw his wand before the figure picked him up by the collar and pushed him against the wall.
"How dare you upset my wife!" Severus demanded, holding his wand up against Ron's throat.
"Wha-" Ron started, but the hold on his robes by Severus left him little room to breathe, let alone speak.
"If I only had the guts I had years ago, I'd kill you right here, right now. But I will tell you this, Ronald Weasley. If you
ever come near my wife or my child again, you will wish you had never been born. I may be a greasy-haired git," Severus said, his black eyes glittering with malice, "but look at what you have done to your friendship. You are a fool, Ron Weasley. A damned fool."
Ron felt the grip on his robes loosen and dropped to the ground, feeling his ankle turn under him. He watched as the figure left his office and struggled to his feet. His fists clenched at his sides, but he didn't know who he was angrier at: Snape or himself.
