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“Hermione?”
She doesn’t even open her eyes. Her face, which just seconds ago had been relaxed in sleep, is now clearly tightening in exasperation.
Ron’s used to this, though. They’ve built a whole relationship - a brand-new marriage, even - on her finding him slightly more charming than annoying. And he figures that if he can’t sleep with all these thoughts racing through his head, well then, neither should she. She’s supposed to stick by him no matter what, right? It was in the vows. For better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health... he reckons one anxiety-ridden night definitely falls under all of that.
Hermione mumbles something incoherent in response, and he takes it as his opening.
“Would you divorce me if I lost one of my eyes?”
Her eyes still don’t open. “Yes.”
“You would?”
“I married you specifically because of your eyes,” she continues, words heavy with the last vestiges of sleep and all the patience she possesses, “and would absolutely leave you if you lost one.”
“Hermione, I’m serious.” He sits up, the duvet falling onto his lap, and now her eyes do open. “What about if all my hair fell out?”
She blinks at him. “I’ve met your father,” she points out, “so I’ve already accepted this as a possibility.”
“All right, fair enough. But what if I, like... lost a leg?”
“In what scenario are you losing a leg?”
“Erm, I was an Auror, and now I work for George. It’s a bit weird that I haven’t lost a leg yet.”
She sighs, and rolls onto her back. “There have been a lot of advancements in regenerative potions over the past few years, so chances are-“
“I’m not asking what St. Mungo’s would do, I’m asking what you would do. Y’know, as my wife.”
Assuredly, she nods, like this is a question in a job interview and she feels confident in her answer. “I’d find you an excellent Healer, and I would stay married to you.”
Ron considers this. Pictures himself hobbling around on crutches for the rest of his life, with Hermione dutifully helping him along. “All right, but would it be begrudgingly, or-“
“Oh, for God’s sake, Ron-“
But now that it’s begun, he can’t halt the barrage of horrible scenarios that might befall them, things that might test the vows they so gleefully made to each other last month in Gretna Green. They’ve just committed to each other for the rest of their lives, and now dozens of years stretch out before them.
Ron has not the faintest shadow of a doubt that this is what he wants. But Hermione... well, he knows she loves him, but they’re very different people. He’s ruled by his heart and his emotions, but she’s... logical. Pragmatic. Sensible.
“What if it was both legs?”
“My answer stays the same.”
“Both legs and both arms?”
“You know what,” snaps Hermione, pushing herself up on her elbows, “I’m not going to divorce you over any sort of horrible disfigurement, but I might do if you keep up this line of questioning.”
It’s easy to ignore this last bit. “I’m just trying to figure what your dealbreakers are-“
She frowns at him. “I don’t have any.”
“None?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t be here - I wouldn’t have married you in the first place.” Silence follows, broken only by the rustling of the blankets as she sits up and brings herself eye-to-eye with him. “What’s this really about?”
He shrugs, hoping it comes off casual. “Just wondering how you’d feel about having a husband with a peg leg.”
“A peg leg?” she repeats, goggling at him. “You mean like a pirate?”
“Is that appealing to you?”
She frowns at him. “Don’t change the subject.”
“You’re the one who brought up pirates.” But he’s been arguing with her for more than half their lives, and he knows he can’t do what he used to do: mask his true feelings with sarcasm and witty jabs. All it ever did was come between them. He just has to talk. “I know you love me, and I know you married me. And I’m still not entirely sure why you wanted to, but I’m thankful as hell you did. But...”
“But?”
“You married this version of me. Y’know, young, healthy, whole head of hair, all my body parts intact.” He swallows, mouth dry despite the humid summer air in the room. “But what about-“
“What about nothing,” Hermione interjects, and though her voice is firm, she sounds just as effortlessly confident as ever. “I did marry this version of you, but not just this version of you. I married every version of you.” Something inside him unclenches as a smile crosses her lips. “No matter which limbs you might inexplicably lose in the future.”
“Again, I work for George,” he reminds her with a grin. “It’s not so inexplicable.”
The blankets rustle again as Hermione moves to straddle him. Her soft weight settles on his thighs, fingertips slipping into his hair. “I’ll take my chances.”
Her face tilts down, and he leans it to meet her lips halfway. “So, really?” he says, voice low, fingers toying with the hem of her shirt. “No dealbreakers?”
“None.”
“Even if my knob fell off?”
Groaning, she drops her forehead onto his shoulder. “You’re impossible.”
“You love it.”
“Yes,” she sighs, moving in to kiss him again, “I really, really do.”