Disclaimer: Do I honestly have to have one of these things? Everybody should know I don't own Harry Potter…
Life in the Wheezing Wizard Retirement Home was average and simple for most of its residents. Harry and Ginny Potter usually sat quietly in the parlor, playing chess in their wheel chairs. But on special occasions, the brooms would be taken out, and all hell broke loose as Ginny and Harry attached brooms to their wheelchairs and flew down the halls until they were properly restrained. Their children had become increasingly busy over the years, and had sentenced them to life in this retirement home. They didn't mind, though. Ginny hardly had to lift a finger for food or do any cleaning. All was done for her. Plus, their friends were all here too. They had all agreed at Hermione's fiftieth birthday party that if they were ever to be in need of retired living, they'd all crash here and all crash together.
It was a large house for the wealthiest of wizards. The couples of the house had a room that they shared. It was decorated in shades of red, and the floor of the parlor was marble. The dinning hall was a large room built to resemble the one at Hogwarts, although much smaller, and the wood furnishings of the house were all polished to its residents liking.
"'Mione, honestly, I didn't mean it! You don't look a day over a hundred and fifty-four!" Ron called down the hall, trying to keep up with her. She had a nice motorized wheelchair, while Ron insisted on a walker. He said it 'maintained his youth'. You see, Harry and Ginny's young look had been maintained from all their times spent outside playing Quidditch and other such exercise. Ron had put on some weight, but not so much that he was over weight, just that comfortable grandfather weight.
"That's the problem, Ronald, I'm only one hundred fifty-three!" She coughed and joined Harry and Ginny in the parlor, the mahogany rug on the floor curled up when she ran over it with her chair. She cursed under her breath and backed up, then proceeded slowly over the carpet, carefully, so it didn't fold. Hermione's bushy hair had thinned somewhat, and was now just a nice curly blanket of silver that she kept above her shoulders.
"If you two are going to argue, take it somewhere else, so I can have a victory in peace. Check mate!" Ginny said, and Harry wrinkled his nose. There were several lines on his nose, and Ron called them his 'looser lines'.
"You know, Ginny, one of these days, I'm going to win, and you'll have looser lines." Harry complained to his wife.
"I don't crinkle my nose when I loose. You do."
"Old habits die hard…" Harry said. He pulled out his wand and reset the game, then he turned to Ron, who was only just entering the room and muttering something under his breath about Hermione's age.
"Ron, are you up for some chess?"
"No." He answered sharply. "Not until Hermione admits that she's not one hundred fifty-three. Because we all know that's not true."
"Ron," Harry started, "Why don't you tell us how old you are?" Ron looked taken back by the statement.
"Why, I'm… I'm… oh…" Ron said, as he realized he'd forgotten his own age. Time had been cruel to Ron, or so he thought, but in actuality, Harry had just wiped his mind a few to many times when they were younger, every time Ron would walk in on Ginny and himself.
"Ronald, do you have an apology to make?" Hermione mouthed.
"Sure…" Ron gave a wicked grin, and backed himself up into Hermione's lap, he gave big quick, wet kisses all over her face and neck.
"Ron!-" Hermione tried to defend herself, "Ron, you brute!" She said, but she just grabbed his face and snogged him square on the lips. Not letting him take a breath until she deemed reasonable. Ron's poor respiratory was causing him to pant very hard to a short snog. After that, they had to call in the helpers to get Ron off Hermione's lap because he couldn't get up. He hunched over his walker, and went to go get a bite to eat. Even in his feeble old age he still ate as much as he did when he was a teenager. He actually started eating more after his mother died, and had developed a belly for himself.
Hermione had a basket on either side of her wheelchair, and they were always full of books.
"You'd think after ninety years of reading, you would have read every book out there." Ron said, later that night. Wizard Bingo had just ended in the dinning hall, and Draco Malfoy (Yeah, he was in here too, they had began to accept him more after Rose and Scorpios got married.) had won the game as he always did. Most of the wizards leaving the game were mubling things like, "cheat" and "Rotten Slytherin" and "bleached-hair looser." The last one left something to be said about the old wizards not accepting the fact that hair gets gray.
"There are always new books being written, Ron." Hermione said and smiled at her husband.
"Yeah, but most of them aren't worth reading." He turned around, momentarily letting go of his walker and hunched over to pick up one of the books from her basket. Ron lost his balance as his back gave out and tumbled to the floor, and the world got blurry behind his eyes as his head hit the side of Hermione's wheelchair, and then the floor.
"Ron!" Hermione called in panic, as she threw her book to the side. There was nothing she could do for him, being to weak. "Someone help!" called Hermione, and a few helpers came to lift Ron's motionless body from the floor.