A/N: I didn't know how to finish this. So I didn't. I don't particularly like Ron.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters in it.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

March 1, 2019

Thirty-nine years old- it seems like only yesterday he was twelve, illegally flying a car through London with Harry; or fifteen, studying for OWLs with his friends (not really studying); or twenty-one, on his wedding day, watching her glow like the moon as she walked toward him.

For the first time in thirteen years, he's celebrating his birthday without his children. They're in Hogwarts, a new generation, causing mischief and complaining about work. For a few moments he wishes he could be Peter Pan, always young, but nothing good would have come out of that, would it? Hermione had read dozens of Muggle classics to their children, and he always admired the novel Peter Pan- not Peter so much, for being a conceited boy... but the idea.

He remembers, wistfully, his times at Hogwarts. He remembers defeating the troll and becoming friends with Hermione for the first time. He remembers the complete and total fear that clutched his heart when he heard his sister's fate. He remembers watching Harry's hateful glares towards Sirius Black melt into soft admiration. He remembers the jealously that consumed his when Harry was chosen by the Goblet of Fire. He remembers... well.

Now is all that matters, anyway. He wishes his children were with him. At least one of them- Rose, a prodigy smarter than her mother and more fiery than both her parents. And Hugo, a small but strong little boy who tends to be sweet like his great-grandmother, Cedrella.

"Ron," he hears from behind him. Hermione has snuck up and snakes her arms around his waist. "Ron, happy birthday."

"Thanks," he murmurs, voice devoid of emotion.

"Really, though, you ought to be happy. Hugo's detention isn't a crisis at all. In all honesty I'm surprised it took this long for his Marauder-gene to kick in." She giggles, and ruffles Ron's hair. "We're so old..."

"I'm older..."

"Ron, you're thirty-nine years old today. A few months, or even years, one way or another makes no difference anymore."

"I'm older than Harry..." he mumbles.

Hermione laughs. "Yes, dear, a few months older than Harry."

Ron smiles and glances over to the wall. A family portrait. It had been drawn at a Muggle fair in America. Rose was ten, and Hugo was eight, and they are all sitting perfectly still in the picture. He remembers Hugo squirming, but really, it had only taken five minutes for the simple drawing. In it, Ron and Hugo have far too many freckles and Ron thinks he is towering over them too much. Muggles are weird, but, there you go. Hermione had insisted.

"I miss them, too," she whispers, hugging him 'round the shoulders. "But just imagine, what is Hugo doing right now? He must've already done in a troll... and I'll bet Rosie is shoving her Patronus down somebody's throat."

Ron doesn't think she's right- at least, he hopes she isn't. He wants them to be safe. He doesn't want them to go through what he and his friends had to.

"They're having fun, Ron. And with all that work, I'm sure it's hard. We'll see them for the Easter holiday, at least. And an owl will come."

A/N: How do you want it to end…? I could add an extra chapter, I guess.