Ch.1
Positively bouncing with excitement, Arthur Weasley dashed through the front door and across the muddy yard to the shed that he affectionately referred to as his workshop. With a final furtive glance at the house he slipped inside, pushed the door closed, and rolled up his sleeves, for in front of him was the most splendid and sacred of Muggle inventions; The computer.
Trying not to break anything in his excitement, he flicked open the lovely Muggle user manual, all thin Muggle paper and those little staple thingies, and inhaled the distinctly non-parchment-like smell.
A computer is a general purpose device that can be programmed to carry out a set of arithmetic or logical operations. Since a sequence of operations can be readily changed, the computer can solve more than one kind of problem… he read aloud.
It sounded so wise and so very Muggle. The first problem would obviously be to make the computer work. It had come out of Hermione room, along with many other things that she no longer wanted or needed in her new life.
Like Arthurs poor son, Ron.
Of course Ron had put a brave face on it. He'd said that they were both ready to move on and that he really enjoyed being a living legend; young, free and exceedingly popular with the ladies. But Arthur was sure that it was all bravado because Ron was like him, neither of them wouldn't know how to brew tea without Molly and Hermione.
Poor Ron.
For a moment Arthur paused to wonder if Ron might like to fix the computer with him. Perhaps they could unlock the mysterious wonders of Muggle technology, father and son, tinkering together in the dusty shed.
Then he remembered that Ron was out watching Quidditch with Harry and George, after which he was giving a talk about fighting Voldemort to the Witches Institute and so wouldn't be back for many hours.
Poor Ron. He filled his days with Quidditch, partying and silly girls who didn't know one end of a knitting needle from the other. He seemed happy enough, as well. Arthur was proud of how brave he was being.
It took a long time to find 'the button'.
One problem was that there was more than one button.
Another problem was that none of the buttons actually did anything.
At all.
That was probably to do with electricity, he wisely explained aloud to the dusty shed.
Arthur prided himself on being somewhat of an expert on electricity.
It could also be a problem with the wires. There were lots of wires, coiled like dusty snakes in the bottom of the box.
Arthur had never been a fan of snakes.
Or wires.
Which was a shame, because he loved plugs and Muggles always seemed so keen to pair plugs and wires together.
"Perhaps, if I connected the 'monitor' to the 'mouse'" he said aloud, eyes checking the words printed before him. "…and the keyboard to the CPU, with all these cables…" It sounded very wise and if he did say so himself, rather magical. "…that should do the trick."
It had grown surprisingly dark while Arthur poked one cable after another into random slots and holes on the computer.
His head collided, not for the first time, with the desk he grovelled under, as the room was lit up by the brilliant glow of Molly's patronus…
"Arthur Weasley! Why I bother to demand children come to the table at a sensible time, with clean hands and faces, when their own father…"
Arthur wiped his hands and face hurriedly on a random cloth, which that sadly turned out to be much dirtier than his hands or face had previously been. Sprucing himself back up with his wand, he locked the computer safely in the workshop and hurried across the dusky yard, Molly's patronus snapping crossly at his heels and yapping as it lit his way.
After a week of sneaky sessions, working on the computer, Arthur made an astonishing discovery.
The plugs each had their own special sockets.
Each plug was perfectly designed to fit that certain special hole.
Muggles, Arthur thought with a giggle, had surprisingly dirty minds.
The discovery helped a great deal with connecting all the bits of the computer together and in a matter of only a few hours he had every plug inserted, even the one on the magically extended 'extension lead', that brought the electricity from over Fern Hill, past the brook, up from little Smugglers Farm, by the style, on the very long extension lead.
Astonishingly, the computer woke up.
Like magic.
Lights flickered and blinked, fans whispered quietly and the flat glass screen of the 'monitor' turned from 'Death-Eater Black' to 'Wise Ravenclaw Blue'.
Unfortunately Muggles did not, it appeared, associated blue with wisdom.
The blue screen was not a good thing.
Also the weeks of setting up the computer were starting to drag and so, reluctantly, Arthur waved his magic wand.
Crookshank's snub-nosed scowl appeared on the screen, with a sweet little message about his mistress not having shut her computer down properly. The computer, or possibly Crookshanks?, wanted to know if Arthur would like to reopen the windows.
Following his wife's advice to always open the windows, Arthur agreed.
The computer seemed happy with this. It took a moment to open every 'window' that Arthur's ex-daughter-in-law's had been using, when the computer had last been in her possession.
Ch.2
Having studied the open windows, and then the computers 'internet history', Arthur felt rather like he'd put his nose in Hermione's personal diary.
And not just her diary either.
Rons.
Arthur was sure that Hermione had not been on the 'Wet and Wanton Witches' website, nor the 'Naughty Nargle'. By the looks of the history, the excessive visits to the 'Pureblood Pillow Princesses' website probably hadn't been Hermione's either.
Laid out before him, Arthur realised, was the sad reason for his son's failed engagement.
Ron had clearly been using the computer to look at naught pictures of witches.
Presumably Hermione had discovered her boyfriend's foolish behaviour at the end of the summer, shortly before their 'amicable spilt'.
Arthur determinedly thought of Ron's behaviour as 'foolish', although he actually felt rather angry. Hermione had used her Googly eyes (Arthur was learning all the slang now) to search for advice on 'coping with relationship breakdown in the public spotlight' and 'how to remain on good terms with your ex-partner's family when a relationship ends'.
Molly had taken Ron and Hermione's separation particularly hard. She hadn't spoken to Hermione since the split and for a brief moment of pure insanity, Arthur considered showing her the computer and its sad history.
Laughing nervously at the sheer craziness of that idea, Arthur checked the shed's door was definitely locked and settled back in front of the intriguing glowing screen.
The last website Hermione went on, before switching off her computer for good, wa . – – – i n – t h e – . c o m
Fascinating stuff.
What the wizards were doing in the water, Arthur could not imagine. Swimming, he supposed, although why they should be, and what interest Hermione had in this sport became increasingly mystifying as the website loaded and he was bombarded with images of happy couples; Witches and Wizards walking hand in hand, flying through moonlit skies on shared brooms, cuddling around their cauldrons.
Why in Merlin's name, he pondered, had Hermione wanted to look at all those happy couples, after splitting up with Ron?
And then the horrible truth dawned on him as the website finished loading and Arthur found himself being asked to create a 'Dating Profile'.
Arthur could not believe it.
In an act of desperation, over his sons abysmal and immature behaviour, Hermione had actually decided to move on.
His daughter-in-law-to-be really, actually and genuinely was not coming back.
Ch.3
Ron was again out at a party and would no doubt be sleeping in the flat above Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes.
Clearly he was assuming that he could do nothing and Hermione would magically come back to him.
Arthur knew better.
Although he was not usually an underhand sort of person, desperate times called for such desperate things and Ron actually losing his one true love was desperate enough.
Determinedly he booted up the computer and loaded 'Plenty More Wizards in the Water'.
The first question was the puzzling, 'What name would you like to appear on your Profile? (Do not use your real name)'
Arthur read this over a few times.
Muggles of course were wonderfully quirky, but was he really meant to rename his youngest son just for the purpose of this mission?
Arthur strongly suspected that his wife, who had chosen Ronald and all their children's names, would not be very happy with him if re-named any of them.
But this was important.
He tried to imagine the sort of name Ron might choose for himself, because the profile he was preparing to send to Hermione had to sound like Ron had written it, otherwise his plan might not work.
Bilius.
Ron's middle name was a good idea.
It was a bit of an ugly name, Arthur conceded aloud, before glanced nervously at the shed door.
'Sexy-Bilius'
Yes, that sounded very good.
That user name has already been taken?
Really?
Who by? Arthur pondered.
A mad man, he presumed, as he had regretted the choice as soon as he'd entered it.
Rampant-Ronald
Rough-n-ready-Ron
Bonnie-Ronnie
Why had all these names been taken!?
What crazy people had they been taken by?
People like him, Arthur had to assume, who had got sick of typing in different ideas.
'Weasley is our Ki', he wrote, yet again.
Why was that too long?
'King Weasley'
Arthur watched the computer thinking… He was always suspicious of things that could think… Unless he knew them well… Like his car… And their sweet family clock.
Hooray! The computer liked 'King Weasley'!
Ron had a Profile Name at last! He was well on his way to reuniting with his one true love!
Happily Arthur selected a photo from The Prophet in which Ron looked particularly dashing, and began to fill in his son's details.
'Hair colour: Ginger.
Eye colour: Blue.
Height: …tall?
This was so easy!
The computer wished to know if Ron was 'interested in meeting Witches, Wizards or both'.
Arthur chuckled indulgently at the screen and selected Witches.
Now came the cunning part of his plan. All he had to do was describe Hermione and the computer would realise that she and Ron were a perfect match for each other and send the estranged lovers on a date. Their they would rekindle their romance and they would be back in the Burrow, planning their wedding with Molly, by teatime.
This wonderful teatime would also be the ideal moment to reveal to Molly why he'd spent so much time locked in his shed recently. She would forgive him, under the circumstances, and be delighted by his hard work. Everyone would be very grateful to him.
Although he was a modest man Arthur could see that his plan was actually brilliant. It was, he thought, something that couldn't possibly go wrong.
Ch.4
A flurry of small lavender coloured paper aeroplanes glided into Daphne Greengrass's office the moment the door swung open at nine o'clock. There were enough aeroplanes to suggest that more than one department had now found out about the escaped Nargles on the London Eye.
Setting aside her half-drunk tea, Daphne opened each aeroplane and carefully speared the trembling missives onto one of three spikes on her desk, dependent on the urgency of the response needed.
Halfway through this task she opened a small yellow aeroplane to find nothing relating to Nargle hysteria at all. For a moment she only blinked at the strange note in astonishment.
"Astoria!" She called through to the adjoining office, where her younger sister was also wading through a fleet of paper aircraft.
"Who would have thought Nargles, of all things, could have cause so much trouble!" Astoria called back, snatching at the planes still circling her own desk with a butterfly net.
"Are you my own personal Nargle?" Daphne suggested, brandishing the note as she marched through the adjoin door. "What, pray tell, is this!?"
Astoria peered at the creased yellow paper, making its last feeble attempts to flutter away, despite its unfolded state.
"Plenty more Wizards in the Water?" Astoria read, uncertainly. "'We've found your perfect partner…' What is that? Ooh! You've got yourself a date!"
"No, I have not," Daphne assured her. "You, Astoria, have signed me up with a dating agency! Haven't you!"
"I've what?" Astoria did admittedly look impressively innocent, but Daphne knew her sister well. "I didn't sign you up with a dating agency!" Astoria cried, trying not to laugh at her sister's expression. "Daph, I wish I had, but I did no such thing! I didn't know anything about Muggle computers and I did't know witch and wizard dating sites even existed!"
"Everything exists on the internet," Daphne quoted her friend Hermione, looking again at the missive in her hand. "…Who on earth has done this to me? It couldn't be Mummy, could it?"
"On a Muggle computer!?" Astoria laughed. "I don't think so, Daph! Could one of your friends have done it? Hermione probably knows a thing or two about Muggle technology."
Daphne blinked at her, memories suddenly bursting open like little bubbles in the back of her mind.
Recognising her sister's expression, Astoria laughed out loud and Daphne, cheeks now a hilarious shade of pink, dropped into the free chair in front of the.
Smiling like the Cheshire cat, Astoria said, "so I'm guessing this has something to do with the night you took Hermione out to cheer her up?"
"I am still surprised that Champagne is that potent," Daphne complained, blushing pinker.
"I thought it was the fault of your 'delicate disposition'," her sister reminded her 'helpfully'.
"Yes. And that I don't often drink, so it affects me more," Daphne defended. "Also I'm rather small, so there's less of me to dilute a drink in."
"Obviously. But I'm right in thinking you didn't just hideously embarrass yourself in Muggle London... and The Leaky Cauldron... and Diagon Alley, but that you then drunkenly entered the Muggle's virtual computer world to embarrass yourself on a whole new and more permanent level?"
"It was all Hermione's fault," Daphne groaned. "She's shameless! Have you seen the new law she's drafting up on werewolves rights?"
"No, but I shall back it wholeheartedly, purely for the look on Draco's face." Astoria laughed. "So, who is the lucky Wizard and where is he taking you?"
"What?" Daphne, momentarily distracted by Hermione's fierce attitude to the civilian rights of dark creatures, didn't look back at the paper until Astoria tugged at it, bouncing happily in her seat.
"I need to know," she pointed out. "I live vicariously through you now. Is he tall, dark and handsome? And brooding... I do really like brooding."
"Your husband is short, blond and shrill." Daphne reminded her.
"True, but he will brood when I tell him I'm backing Hermione's Werewolf legislation." Astoria said.
"That's not brooding, that's sulking," Daphne opened the paper, scanning it and trying very hard not to laugh.
"…Well, he is tall," she said, finally. "Alas not handsome. Or as he say's 'not technically handsome'."
"That might be modesty," Astoria told her, wisely.
"And he's ginger." Daphne added, her eyes moving back to her sister before something on the paper caught her attention, widening her eyes, comically.
Astoria jumped nimbly from the chair to snatch the paper as Daphne gave herself over to a fit of giggles.
"…King Weasley?" Astoria asked, a touch uncertainly. "You think it's one of The Weasleys?"
"Oh yes!" Daphne laughed so hard that wisps of hair escaped her neat chignon, before she suddenly burst into song.
~o0o~
"Weasley is your king!" Astoria sang merrily, as she swung through her front door. "Weasley is your king! He wants to put his quaffle in! Weasley…"
"Do you mind," Draco snapped, frowning over the top of The Prophet. "There are children present."
The child present, Astoria's ten month old son, was fast asleep, his crib rocked by unseen hands and his ears serenaded by the warbling of a croaky House Elf, singing something less lewd than the final lines of the song Astoria serenaded her husband with before dropping a kiss on his and the sleeping babies heads.
"Had a good day, darling?" She asked, twirling across the room.
"No, terrible." Draco complained, folding his paper, irritably. "And I don't know what you're trying to imply with that stupid song. I haven't spoken to Pansy for months."
"Of course you haven't, darling," Astoria assured him. "Should we invite her round for dinner one Sunday?"
Draco frowned, watching his wife through narrowed eyes as she levitated a table to her side and opened a slim and almost certainly Muggle device from a shopping bag.
With a sullen huff he forced himself out of the chair to stand behind her, arms folded irritably across his narrow chest as he watched her tapping away at small lettered tiles, producing words on the glowing screen.
"I'm sure that's illegal." He sniffed, before going back to his chair.
He sighed and huffed at the room in general, growing ever louder when this got no response.
"…Why don't you pay your mother a visit?" Astoria suggested, without looking up from the glowing screen. "She loves your visits."
"I already have," Draco huffed again. "And she said you're still putting the wrong cream on Scorp."
"Probably," Astoria agreed absently, chewing her lip as she frowned at whatever she'd written. Draco glared at her, for some time, but her attention remained fixed on the glowing screen and she didn't notice.
"…Astoria!" He shouted, finally. "You're using the wrong Nappy Cream!"
"Wrong in what way?" Astoria glanced up at him for a moment and over at the sleeping baby. "Tell the house elves. Would you go on a double date with me, Daph and Ron Weasley, Draco?"
Satisfied that her son was undisturbed by his fathers raised voice she turned back to him. "'Ron', Draco. He was in your year at school?" She prompted, helpfully. "Saved the world a couple of years back?"
"I know who Ron Weasley is," Draco's shuddered. Astoria loved her husband's shudder. "…And I'd rather sell our firstborn to the Goblins."
"I was worried you'd say no," Astoria smiled sweetly at him, before tapping the send button and watching her email fluttering away to find Ron Weasley."
Ch.5
The plan needed tweaking.
Arthur was not sure what the problem was.
He had made King Weasley's 'ideal partner' criteria as wide as was possible.
There was now no girl, nor middle-aged woman, not elderly lady that King Weasley wasn't keen to be introduced to.
Blood purity, hair colour, age, weight, personality; King Weasley just did not care. He would date anything.
And still, still, Hermione was not matched up with him.
King Weasley had changed his own hair colour, height and personality. Short of changing his gender there really was nothing left to try, but the computer, mean creature that it was, still refused to suggest Hermione as a partner for King Weasley.
A touch frustrated, Arthur read through some of the nice replies that other women had written to his son. He may as well have used Ron's name, as everyone seemed to have recognised him from Arthur's brilliant profile.
He was just about to switch off the computer, aware he was in for another lecture from Molly, when one email caught his eye.
To King Weasley from The Ice Princess.
Sorry about the terrible Profile name. Hermione and a jeroboam of Champagne helped me choose it!
Would you like to meet up for drinks on Friday? I'm going to The Leaky Cauldron after I finish work at five thirty?
The thing is, my simply marvellous little sister has to live vicariously through me, as she has a very boring married life now.
Obviously it gets dull for her when I don't do anything spontaneous or comedic for her amusement, so please, King Weasley, meet me for drinks?
Don't be scared,
The Ice Princess (and her sister).
PS The Ice Princesses Sister (is this an even worse name?) will be there to vet you for suitability.
Hermione had helped The Ice Princess choose her name?
So surely, if Ron went on a date with this woman, Hermione would also find out and, overcome with jealousy, she would fight for her man!
Jealous women were scary.
But exciting.
Ron would be powerless to argue as Hermione returned to reclaim him as her own.
The happy couple would be back in the Burrow, planning their wedding.
And Molly would forgive Arthur for spending so much time on the computer in the shed.
Molly was getting frighteningly angry about the amount of time he was spending in the shed.
She would forgive him thought, if he explained what he was doing once his plan had got Ron and Hermione back together.
Happily, Arthur pulled over the keyboard and began to type.
Dear Ice Princess,
I would love to meet you at The Leaky, after work on Friday.
I can't wait.
Sincerely,
King Weasley.
Molly read the little letter on the monitor once again, her face rather pale in the screen's cold glow.
So this was what her husband was doing, sitting in his little shed all evening.
He was not tinkering with plugs or fixing motorbikes to fly.
He was writing letters to women.
He was arranging to meet women.
So many women as well.
It looked like there wasn't a single witch between the age of seventeen and seventy that her mild-mannered husband wasn't interested in dating.
This was what it felt like for the bottom to fall out of your World.
Molly's instinctive response, which she liked to trust implicitly, was to shout, very loudly and very angrily, then use her wand to pick up the strange Muggle contraption, levitate it into the house and beat her wretched husband repeatedly about the head with it.
But the shock had come like a punch to the stomach and now she couldn't quite suck in enough air to shout anything at all.
Her legs felt rather wobbly too.
Come to think of it, her legs and her thighs especially and also, upsettingly, her knees had advanced past 'wobbly' towards 'flabby' in the last few years.
Men didn't find that sort of thing attractive.
And she shouted a lot.
And her stomach looked like she'd carried seven children and also happened to be a very good cook.
That was not very attractive either, she supposed.
But she presumed, or always had presumed, that the love she felt for her husband was mutual and as indestructible as fire.
A fierce passionate fire, somewhat neglected through the raising of seven children, but alive and palpable in their every exchange, in the very walls of their house, in the home-cooked dinners, in every new patch and darn she added to his favourite (and horrible) Muggle jacket.
Arthur didn't love her any more.
Molly sat down, on Arthur's threadbare chair, and stared at the horrible secrets laid out on the screen for a very long time, feeling very sad indeed.
Outside the shed door, George and Ron landed their brooms amidst the chickens, noisily talking about their Sunday Dinner.
Carefully Molly turned the computer off, straightened her curly red hair and went outside to scold her sons for their careless and late arrival, forced a smile onto her face and went back into the kitchen to see what the roast potatoes were doing.
Ch. 6
It was on Friday afternoon when it eventually occurred to Arthur that he had overlooked how he would convince Ron to go on a blind date with a girl that wasn't Hermione.
Taking an early lunch he left his office in The Ministry building and navigated a bustling Diagon Alley, to Ron and George's joke shop, Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes.
The cluttered shop floor was busy but his youngest son, Arthur was pleasantly surprised to find, was lecturing two startled teenages on the immorality of 'love potions'.
Arthur took George aside to explain 'the plan' and why he had arranged a date for Ron with a girl who wasn't Hermione.
George, without even hearing 'the plan' called Ron over as soon as the sentence 'blind date in the pub' had been uttered.
"Dad has excellent news!" He hollered. "He's only got you a blind date, for tonight, who's hotter than a kitten in a cauldron! …And hello there, young ladies!" he added, dropping himself firmly into Ron's vacated position. "You say you're looking for love potions? Clearly tonight shall be some young man's lucky night! If you would like to step this way, into the more secretive and magical bowls of my delightful shop…"
Frowning faintly at what he dearly hoped was part of a joke, Arthur watched the two naïve girls being escorted through a concealed door before forcing himself to focus on Ron. "It's all part of a plan," he explained hurriedly, "A plan that is a rather cunning, if I do say so myself."
"Is this mum's idea?" Ron asked at once.
"I'm afraid not," Arthur said, surprised to see relief on his son's face. "No. I've had to bodge this up myself but I do think it's rather good."
"And you're sure this woman is attractive?" Ron asked. "Because, you know, your idea of attractive is 'Mum'."
"I'll have you know that there wasn't a chap alive that didn't have his eye on your mother, when she was young." Arthur assured him. "But no, this girl is very good looking, not that her looks are important…"
"It's not one of Ginny's teammates is it?" Ron interrupted nervously. "Because Harry keeps setting me up with them and my idea of a good date does not involve anyone interested in bludgering my balls."
"Obviously." Arthur agreed absently, unrolling a parchment. "No, she is 'above averagely attractive', not that looks are important, as I said, because the purpose of the date is…"
"Looks are important to me, Dad." Ron interrupted him. "So you're sure she's pretty? What does she look like?"
"She has blue/green eyes and long straight dark brown hair. She is a slim, five foot six and a half. Oh and she holds a good position at The Ministry, her family are from Kent and she likes reading and her cat, Hecate."
"Right…" Ron eyed him suspiciously for a moment. "But she's definitely attractive, keen on me and… 'friendly'?"
"I'm sure she's very friendly." Arthur said, wondering if he should explain about her friendship with Hermione, which was the purpose of the date, but as Ron seemed willing to go along with the plan as it was, he decided to keep quiet.
At five thirty the Ministry was, as always, a flurry of activity. Everyone was ended their working day; lights flickering off and doors closing for the night. Astoria Greengrass was hovering annoyingly over her sister's desk, clarifying (not for the first time) that they were still good to go for a drink after work.
"…And Draco might be there," Astoria told her casually, as they stepped out into Diagon Alley, looking at the old buildings which had been magically illuminated with Christmas lights.
The sky was a dark indigo and the air was fresh and cold. Unattended instruments played a jaunty festive waltz and shoppers hurried around them, anxious to find ome illusive gift or another. Everyone was dressed in their Wizarding finest and the picture, Daphne considered, was only one dusting of snow shy from being a Christmas cliché.
"…I think Draco had some shopping to do, for some… some..." Daphne caught Astoria's eyes wandering hurriedly over shoppers. "…for cauldrons!" Astoria cried, as they passed a street vendor selling some fragile looking imports. "Oh, and a…"
"…cat?" Daphne suggested drily, seeing her sister's eyes move over the Magical Menagerie, where an unshaven wizard with ratty ginger hair appeared to be trying to sell snarling hybrid werewolf pups to a nervous shopkeeper.
"…I was going to say a puppy." Astoria told her. "Children benefit from pets… Oh look, here he is now! Draco, darling, why have you brought the baby?"
"You didn't tell me not to," he shrugged, wandering off to gaze longingly at the latest brooms, conveniently gracing the window of Quality Quidditching Supplies.
Astoria's frowned at his back for a moment before appraising her sister. They were both rather rosy cheeked from the cold air and Daphne's expression had grown suddenly suspicious.
"Draco hasn't been shopping" She stated, quiety. "Please tell me you haven't done anything I am about to hate you for, have you?"
"God, no!" Astoria laughed brightly, straightening her sister's collar and guiding her quickly into the busy public house at the streets end. "No, of course not! I'm sure I've done something for which you'll be grateful and pleasantly surprised."
Ch.7
The only thing distracting Daphne from the full-blown horror of discovering her sister had set her up on a date with Ron Weasley, was the fact that there were a bizarre number of Weasleys in the pub that night.
There was Charlie, who always helped out behind the bar, when he was back in Britain.
There was also Molly Weasley. The usually indomitable family matriarch, was on her hands and knees and mysteriously appeared to be awkwardly attempting to hide behind a narrow plinth. She looked rather eccentric and very upset.
Arthur Weasley, balding and always rather sweet when their paths cross in the Ministry, was currently perspiring heavily and nervously rubbing his hands together in the manner of a criminal mastermind, or possibly an anxious pervert.
From one of the private function rooms, Daphne could hear Ginny Weasley singing a loud and rude duet at what was undoubtedly the Holyhead Harpies' Christmas Party.
Daphne knew about the party because it was where a rather nervous Hermione was making her first semi-public appearance as the Keepers 'plus one'.
George Weasley, womaniser and joke shop owner, was also in the pub, twirling a bright green Niffler fur bowtie and apparently watching her. He winked, which she ignored before squeezing awkwardly through the sea of busy revellers.
And then there was Ron.
Ron Weasley, a loud and annoying Gryffindor, was currently wearing a rather unattractive Christmas jumper and was sipping Firewhiskey in a private booth. He actually looking slightly nervous.
As his attention moved off the beer mat he was worrying, clear blue eyes moved curiously over her.
He looked pleasantly surprised.
Then there was recognition and memories of foolish school-day rivalries that painted them both rather unattractively.
"Oh, bloody hell!" he exclaimed, irritably. "What is my dad playing at?"
Daphne, who liked to think she was reasonably quick on the uptake, slipped into the booth across from him, straightening her robes.
"Your dad arranged this for you, did he?" She asked, eyes moving away for a moment to frown at Astoria, who was now jiggling an awake and loudly crying baby, while her sour faced husband wistfully checked out a dark haired girl ordering jugs of butterbeer.
"I'm afraid my little sister arrange for me to meet you," she told him. "What on Earth were they thinking? I imagine you must be rather embarrassed."
"Only embarrassed for you," Ron said, with a definite attempt to recover that annoyingly cocky manner she associated with him. "...I did think I might have five minutes before you showed up, with all the shops being open late." He added, apparently in explanation for the Firewhiskey in his hand.
"I'm always punctual." Daphne shrugged. "And I wouldn't want to waste my time with someone who'd prefer a bookshop to my company."
"I meant clothes and… girly shops." Ron said defensively, but then realising he didn't mind, he shrugged and took another large mouthful of the burning drink.
"Shall I come back in five minutes?" Daphne suggested. "When you've downed your Gryffindor courage? I always suspected that stuff was bottled."
For a moment Ron looked confused but then he laughed, a genuine open burst of amusement that made her smile.
"A witty Slytherin," he said. "I didn't think you were actually going to join me. You're staying for a drink, are you?"
"Only to infuriate my sister," she nodded across the room to the howling red faced baby and the sullen mopey husband. "The last laugh will be on her, even if it kills me."
"Bloody hell! That's Draco Malfoy, isn't it?" Ron exclaimed. "I'd forgotten he married your sister. Is that a baby, as well?"
"No, it's just a miniature version of Draco. It sleeps, throws tantrums and fixates on breasts."
"Does your sister want to sit down?" Ron asked, squinting across the room at Daphne's demonic nephew, now arching his back and trying to perform a suicidal backflip from his mother's arms, as Astoria desperately searched for a free table in the overcrowded room.
"Sit with us?" Daphne asked, in alarm.
Ron laughed at her again.
"I meant with you," he said. "I wasn't going to stay."
"Oh," Daphne said, and despite the fact that going on a 'date' with Ron Weasley was probably less appealing than babysitting charming Master Scorpius, she actually felt rather stung.
"I wasn't going to stay for more than one drink." Ron amended, a touch smugly. Daphne ignored it and he settled back into the booth, pushing up the sleeves of his ghastly snowman jumper to reveal swirled battle scars from the much publicised escape he'd pulled off from Gringotts Bank. Not one of the Weasleys was welcome in the Wizarding bank after that.
"Did you hear how I and Harry defeated Voldemort?" He asked, cockily.
"Yes, of course," Daphne assured him. "Did you hear how the Greengrasses kept well out of the fighting, and remained alive, prosperous and solvent, to a man?"
"And to a woman," Ron said absently.
They both thought for a moment of Hermione, who'd clearly left her feminist mark over Ron's rather old-fashioned upbringing.
"…It's Ginny's Christmas party tonight, isn't it?" Daphne said, nodding towards his sister's drunken caterwauling.
Ron nodded.
"Hermione's there," he said. He paused, the glass touching his lip. "You're friends, aren't you, with Hermione?"
"I haven't seen much of her lately, but yes. Our work often overlaps."
"Good friends," Ron muttered darkly, taking another sip of the Firewhiskey.
Daphne's lip twitched, despite herself.
"Not that good." She said, sweetly.
Ron looked back at her and Daphne waited for that unselfconscious laugh to erupt from him again, rather sorry when it didn't arrive.
Clearly she would have to try harder.
Ron smiled at her expression. "So, what can I get you?" he asked.
"Red. Shall we share a bottle of wine?" she suggested. "That would seem date like, wouldn't it? ...Do you mind me asking," she added, a moment later, "what your mother is doing? She looks awfully uncomfortable."
"My mum?" Ron swung round, eyes scanning the busy pub.
His brother, George, waved cheerfully at them and winked again.
His father hunched lower at his table, definitely trying to look inconspicuous.
His sister's off-key voice continued to drift in from the next room.
And Molly remained, badly hidden, on her knees behind the pillar.
"…Initially I thought she was spying on our 'date'," Daphne explained. "But she doesn't seem to be looking at us," she waved both hands at the oblivious and unhappy woman, who's attention remained fixed on the other side of the room.
"I… don't know," Ron shrugged. "Cleaning maybe?"
They both stared at her for a moment longer, before Ron shrugged and, hands thrust into pockets, he jaunted over to the bar, whistling like he was still sixteen.
Daphne watched him hard, so as to ignore her sister, now trying to get her attention.
Ron returned with the wine and two glasses. He wasn't a big wine drinker, as he told her, but he'd manage well enough.
Later he laughed when Daphne noted that he had.
It was same, open good humoured laugh; the same smile that remained as he listened to her brief and, to her own ears, rather boring explanation of her job. She told him about her cat. Then there didn't seem to be much else to discuss, something she admitted, feeling suddenly rather boring.
Ron told her ruefully that his life was anything but boring. His split with Hermione, while totally amicable, had been splashed over The Prophet, with every effort made to make it sound as messy as possible. Reasonably famous, he had his fair share of attention from women, but he still felt he hadn't found what he was looking for.
Daphne found him surprisingly sweet.
Unfortunately, with the wine finished they spent an impassioned hour arguing rather fiercely over their very different stances on the Wizarding War, in which Daphne's family had maintained a low profile and refused to take sides, while Ron's had pulled their children into the heart of the battle and had buried one, and seen two more horrifically maimed.
They probably would have parted on polite but bitter terms, were it not for the sudden arrival of Hermione, Ginny and the entire drunken Holyhead Harpies Quidditch Team.
Spotting her mother hiding behind the pillar, Ginny marched over to find out why 'she' was being spied on.
Then, quite out of the blue, Mrs Weasley started crying.
Suddenly all the Weasleys, as well as an exceedingly anxious Hermione, apparently worried that her split from Ron was the cause of this breakdown, rushed over to comfort her.
Feeling rather like a spare-part, Daphne went back to her sister.
Astoria and Draco, along with most of the pubs patrons were enjoying this entertainment.
"They're just a very emotional and passionate family," Astoria explained quickly, as her sister reached the table. "That makes them very good for people like us, Daph. We're very calm and sensible."
"Don't expect me to feel very calm and sensible. I've just found out that you really did impersonate me for the purpose of setting me up on a date with Ron Weasley!" Daphne snapped at her.
"But it was going so wonderfully," Astoria defended herself. "And opposites attract and…" the words ended abruptly as Draco choked on a mouthful of Firewhiskey.
"Ron Weasley has dumped Hermione Granger!?" he proclaimed with a gleeful smirk.
"Yes, and been on a date with Daphne for the past hour and a half," Astoria snapped, slapping him rather enthusiastically on the back, considering he was no longer choking at all. "Why do you think we've been sitting in here?"
"I had wondered," Draco admitted. "Well, well. Haven't you just made my night. Hermione has been dumped! Do you know she once punched me in the face? They're like animals, these Muggleborns."
"Yes, Hermione told me all about punching you," Daphne said. "Apparently you cried like a little girl and ran away."
"No, I did not!" Draco spluttered. "I walked away, because she was a girl. If she'd been a boy I'd have had my friends beat her to a pulp!"
"Very manly," Astoria assured her husband, with a blatant snigger.
Draco didn't notice, eyes on the cluster of Weasleys. "…So now Hermione is dating the Holyhead Harpies Keeper." Astoria added, watching him take another mouthful of Firewhiskey.
"I thought that was an all-female Quidditch team," Draco observed.
The two Greengrass sisters waited, their expressions matching, as he filled his mouth again, the cogs turned slowly inside his little head.
With reassuringly humorous timing, Draco choked again, while his wife laughed hard at his expense.
Daphne went back to the Weasleys' table, to avoid actually getting in a fight with her brother-in-law and mostly to be sure that Mrs Weasley was actually alright, which she appeared to be, as she was now giving her very flustered husband a thorough telling off, while their adult children looked on, their reactions ranging from George's drunken laughter, to Ginny's obvious embarrassment.
It took a lot to embarrass Ginny Weasley, but apparently her parents still managed.
While Daphne had the chance, she apologised to Ron for criticising his family's choices in the war. Ron assured her he that never held a grudge and brought her another drink.
And so, while the rest of the Weasleys argued loudly, and Astoria and Draco bickered at their private table, Daphne took Ron, his ugly Christmas jumper and his lovely genuine laugh, out of the Leaky Cauldron and back into the now quiet Diagon Alley.
She couldn't help but think that the glittering street would still look better with a flurry of snowflakes, but all the heavens could rustle up was a fine drizzle of London rain.
They walked together down the cobbled lane to Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes.
Daphne admitted she'd never set foot in a joke shop before and wasn't sure she liked the concept at all.
Ron told her about the narrow miss involving Romilda Vain and the drugged chocolates in his sixth year, and they bonded further over their mutual belief that Love Potions should be banned.
It turned out to be a very nice evening.
Ron cooked them a smashing Warlock Pie in his exceedingly messy flat above the shop, and they talked, sometimes argued, and mostly laughed.
They laughed a lot.
It was unexpectedly fun. Ron pointed out that he found it quite exciting to actually get to know someone that you hadn't grown to adulthood with.
And Daphne assured him that it was very interesting to talk civilly with a reckless Gryffindor war hero.
~o0o~
That drizzly evening in December was memorable to many of the parties involved.
It was the first of many 'proper' dates that Arthur and Molly Weasley enjoyed over the following months.
It was also the night that Hermione punched Draco Malfoy in the face, for the second time.
Technically it was, of course, Ron and Daphne's 'first date'.
Between the two of them, they consider their first date to be an evening they spent in a small Muggle wine bar, the following week. This being because they had arranged their one for themselves and by themselves.
Everyone else, of course, stuck with the technical date and neither Ron nor Daphne minded even a little bit. They were both rather fond of their eccentric and polar-opposite families, and secretly longed for the days when they could mark special birthdays and anniversaries by insisting that both families came together in the same room, with lots of alcohol and hopefully a camera or two.
Ch. 8
"These things are meant to happen in threes," Daphne pointed out, purely in the hopes of making him laugh. "So, maybe Hermione will sock Draco in the jaw again tonight?"
Ron didn't disappoint her, looking up in surprise and laughing out loud.
The spring had come around again and they were waiting in the sitting room of Draco and Astoria's manor house, for the argumentative couple to finish quarrelling or as they liked to call it 'getting ready'.
Ron's ugly Christmas jumper had long ago been replaced with other ugly non-Christmas jumpers and Daphne's rather anxious expression had been swapped for an almost constant smile.
Of course Ron was still a rather annoying Gryffindor, who owned a joke shop and a family that no one in their right mind would want to marry in to; and perhaps Daphne was still a slightly too sensible Slytherin, who didn't have enough interests outside of her job; but without a shadow of doubt they were better and happier people just for being with each other, and that, they were both sure, was what any relationship should be about.
"...So, I was thinking it might be funny to put Astoria on that dating website," Ron said, nodding to the slim laptop Astoria had left on her desk. The same laptop she'd bought to set up their date the previous year. "Do you think Draco would mind?"
"He might mind a little bit," Daphne stated with mock seriousness. "Besides, your father, rather earnestly I might add, advised me to keep you away from Muggle computers. He thought they might 'encourage a rather foolish-side of your nature'?"
"Really?" Ron looked up in surprise. "I don't know where he got that from. I've never even been on a computer in my life. The ridiculous amount of time Hermione spent on hers 'encouraged a rather pissed-off side of my nature' though. Merlin only knows what she found that was so exciting to look at."
"Who knows," Daphne lifted her narrow shoulders in a shrug and opened her sister's laptop. It lit up at once, asking for a password. "But I definitely think Astoria would definitely benefit from a taste of her own medicine."
"And Draco called my mum fat," Ron shrugged. "I have no moral qualms about setting up funny dates for his wife."
"Splendid," Daphne flashed him a sparkling smile as she correctly guessed that her sister's password was Scorpius' name and date of birth.
"Ooh look, Muggle magic," Ron chuckled, watching as the screen light up again.
And then filled with some very surprising images.
For a moment they both stared in horrified surprise.
In the corridor Astoria and her husband became audible, still bickering.
Springing back to life as the door handle turned, Ron closed the laptop very quickly.
"Right." He hissed. "Gosh... Bloody hell!"
"Yes.. I think our meddling may not be needed." Daphne conceded, trying to blink away the photographs that suddenly seemed burnt onto her retinas.
"Yes, your right." Ron agreed.
"…But we might need a confundus spell." Daphne added.
"Oh, absolutely not," Ron said, laughing suddenly. "I will never look at Draco in the same light again!"