Chapter Nineteen

The only argument so far that had sparked from the new baby was naming her, Hermione had wanted something from Shakespear just like she had been named, Ron had wanted an older fashioned Weasley name, in the end they had agreed to write a bunch of names down and draw one from a bowl.

The Winner, Rose.

Time Skips:

Six months after giving birth Hermione finally had her figure mostly back to normal, she wasn't an overly vain person but she had always taken care of her body. Her breasts were still swollen from milking, she had experimented with the passion fruit to increase the milk amount for her new daughter. Thankfully it had worked a treat as long as she didn't go overbored, they even managed to bottle some of the excess for future use as Rose got a little older.

As the warmth of Ron's embrace wrapped around her, Hermione's thoughts drifted to the life they'd built together. The island, once a prison, had become a sanctuary where their love had flourished. She felt a pang of guilt thinking about Harry and the boys, but it was overshadowed by the undeniable connection she shared with Ron. His hands, calloused from years of building their home, rested gently on her hips, a reminder of the strength and care he'd shown her. The baby, now sleeping peacefully in her crib, was a testament to their passion, a blend of their love and necessity.

Hermione’s fingers tightened slightly around Ron’s forearm as she gazed at Rose, her daughter’s tiny chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm. Moonlight spilled through the open window of their villa, painting silver streaks across the crib’s wooden frame. She wonders if Rose will ever have the chance to meet her older brothers, a shiver passed down her spine as she suddenly realised her oldest James would currently be attending his first year at Hogwarts.

Merlin even Sirius would be almost nine now as well, these thoughts always played on her mind from time to time, she hadn't seen her boys in years, Hermione during her pregnancy began writing a diary detail her life with her sons, every memory she had of them documented in great detail, a way to make sure she never lost those moments to time.

Ron's lips brushed against the curve of Hermione's neck, warm and insistent, as his arms tightened around her waist. "What's wrong?" he murmured against her skin, his breath sending shivers down her spine. She could feel the steady thump of his heartbeat against her back, the faint scent of salt and sun still clinging to him from their afternoon swim.

Hermione exhaled shakily, her fingers still gripping his forearm as she tilted her head to give him better access. "Just thinking about the boys," she admitted, her voice thick. Ron's kisses slowed, turning tender where her pulse fluttered—open-mouthed and soothing, the way he knew she liked.

Hermione's breath caught as the weight of time settled heavy on her chest. "Just realizing James would be at Hogwarts now," she whispered, her voice trembling like the first leaves of autumn. Ron's arms tightened around her, a silent anchor against the storm of emotions.

"God, I feel old," Hermione admitted, her voice tinged with a mix of sadness and humor as she gazed at Rose sleeping peacefully. Ron's arms tightened around her, his warmth a comforting shield against the weight of time and memories. "You're only thirty-four, Hermione," he murmured, his breath brushing against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. "And you're still the most beautiful woman in the world." His words were a balm to her soul, soothing the ache of longing for the life they'd left behind. She leaned back into him, feeling the strength of his body, the familiar scent of salt and sun clinging to his skin.

Hermione felt Ron’s body shift behind her, the warmth between them deepening as his hips pressed closer. The unmistakable hardness of him brushed against the curve of her backside, and she inhaled sharply, her fingers tensing against his forearm. The guilt—always lurking—flickered, then dimmed beneath the heat pooling low in her stomach.

Ron exhaled raggedly against her neck, his breath uneven. “Sorry,” he muttered, though his hips didn’t pull away. His fingers flexed against her waist, restless.

She swallowed, her pulse quickening. “Don’t be,” she whispered.

Hermione arched back against him, the thin fabric of her nightdress doing nothing to mask the heat between them. Ron's calloused hands slid up her sides, his thumbs tracing slow circles just beneath the swell of her breasts—teasing, testing. She could feel his cock twitch against her as she ground back instinctively, drawing a low groan from his throat.

Hermione's breath hitched as she felt the familiar pressure of Ron's hardness against her entrance. She reached back, her hand gently pressing against his hip to halt his progress. "Wait," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own heartbeat. With a flick of her wand and a soft murmur of "Silencio," she cast a sound-suppressing spell around Rose's crib, ensuring their daughter's sleep wouldn't be disturbed. Turning back to Ron, her eyes met his, filled with a mixture of desire and guilt. She could see the understanding in his gaze, the unspoken acknowledgment of the life they'd built together.

Ron’s breath was hot against her neck as his large hands slid down her thighs, gripping firmly to lift her leg onto his hip. The movement arched Hermione’s back, pressing her bare backside flush against his arousal, the thick length of him straining against the damp cotton of his shorts. She gasped as his fingers dug into the soft flesh of her thigh, spreading her just enough to feel the blunt pressure of his cock nudging at her entrance through the thin fabric of her nightdress.

“Ron—” His name left her lips in a shuddering exhale as he pushed the hem of her nightdress up, baring her to the warm night air.

His fingers tightened on her hips as he dragged the damp cotton of his underwear down just enough to free himself, the hot weight of his cock pressing against her bare skin. Hermione bit her lip as his blunt tip teased her entrance, slick from her arousal. "God, you're already so wet," Ron growled, his voice rough with need.

She arched back against him, gasping as the thick head of him caught on her folds, stretching her just enough to make her thighs tremble. Ron’s breath was ragged in her ear as he pushed forward, inch by agonizing inch, his grip on her thigh keeping her open for him.

As Ron's hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing over the nipples that had grown sensitive from months of breastfeeding, Hermione let out a soft gasp. "Ron," she whispered, a mix of reprimand and amusement in her voice, "the milk is for Rose." Her words were barely audible over the sound of their ragged breathing, but they brought a momentary pause to his exploration. Ron's fingers stilled, and he pressed his lips to the back of her neck, his apology unspoken but evident in the gentle pressure.

Yet, the pause was fleeting. Ron's hands resumed their caress, more tender now, as if in acknowledgment of her reminder.

As the minutes stretched into a gentle rhythm, Hermione and Ron moved in perfect harmony, their breaths synchronized like the waves outside. Hermione kept her gaze on Rose, whose peaceful form in the crib was a stark contrast to the storm of emotions swirling within her. Ron's arms wrapped tightly around her, his hands tender yet possessive as they rocked together. The warmth of his chest pressed against her back, and his lips occasionally brushed against her shoulder, sending shivers down her spine.

His fingers tightened on her hips as he pressed deeper, the stretch deliciously unbearable. Hermione’s breath came in ragged gasps, her nails digging into the forearm Ron had wrapped around her waist. The heat of him filled her completely, his thick length dragging against her walls in slow, deliberate strokes.

"Fuck—you feel even better now," Ron groaned into her ear, his voice rough with need. His free hand slid down her stomach, fingers finding the slick ache between her thighs, circling just where she needed him most.

Hermione arched against him, her head falling back onto his shoulder as pleasure coiled tight in her belly.

A gentle gurgle from the cot caught Hermione's attention, momentarily distracting her from Ron's relentless rhythm. She turned her head just enough to see Rose's tiny fists twitch in sleep, those perfect rosebud lips smacking as she dreamed. The sight flooded Hermione with such fierce tenderness that her thighs clenched reflexively around Ron's thrusting hips, drawing a ragged groan from his throat.

"Fuck—" Ron's fingers dug into her hips as he stilled, his cock twitching deep inside her. His breath came in hot bursts against her damp neck. "Is she okay?"

Hermione nodded, swallowing hard as she watched their daughter's chest rise and fall in peaceful slumber.

Ron's lips brushed her ear as he resumed his thrusts, each slow roll of his hips drawing a breathy gasp from Hermione. "She's as beautiful as her mother," he murmured, his voice thick with reverence. His fingers traced the curve of her hip possessively before sliding up to cradle the weight of her breast again, this time avoiding the tender peak with deliberate care.

Hermione's thighs trembled as he angled deeper, the thick stretch of him coaxing a broken moan from her throat. She could feel every ridge, every pulse of him as he filled her completely, his breath hitching when she clenched around him in response.

As Hermione lay there, wrapped in Ron's arms, she couldn't help but think about the future. She imagined Rose growing up on the island, learning to walk on the sandy beaches and play in the crystal-clear waters. But alongside the joy of watching her daughter thrive, Hermione felt a pang of worry. What if they never escaped? Would Rose ever know the wizarding world, her brothers, or the life they left behind?

As Ron's hips continued their steady rhythm, Hermione's thoughts drifted to Rose, her mind painting vivid pictures of their daughter's future. But then, like a wave crashing over her, a realization struck her—Rose didn't have to grow up alone, didn't have to be the only child left to navigate this isolated paradise. The idea blossomed in her mind, intertwining with the pleasure that pulsed through her body.

As Ron's rhythm slowed, Hermione's thoughts crystallized into a silent resolve. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck, the steady pulse of him inside her, and the gentle way his fingers cradled her breast. The idea of another child, of giving Rose a sibling, took root in her mind, nourished by the love and longing that filled the space between them. She imagined Ron's face lighting up at the news, his hands cradling a newborn, and the joy that would fill their little island home.

Hermione's pussy twitched around Ron's thick length at the pleasant thought—a slick, involuntary flutter that made his breath catch. His thrusts stuttered, the swollen head of his cock dragging deliciously against her inner walls as he buried himself deeper with a choked groan.