When their son was born, her usually solemn and austere husband couldn't wipe the proud, goofy grin off of his face if under the threat of an Avada. He held the tiny baby in his arms every second that Hermione wasn't. Which, if she was perfectly honest, was most of the time. She would cradle the baby in her arms, stare down at his face, and will herself to believe that she wasn't going to be a completely shit mother. Several of her other female acquaintances had explained to her that there would be an overwhelming surge of maternal affection that would wash over her when she first looked at her child.