Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns them all.
Written for The Sherlock Competition: "I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee?" "Black, two sugars, please. I'll be upstairs." Sherlock can be very oblivious – Write about somebody who just can't get the hint; alternatively, write about Ron Weasley.
(Obsolescence)
"No phones on the dinner table! How many times do I have to tell you, Rose?" scolded Ron exasperatedly. His daughter wrinkled at her face in distaste and slipped her phone into the back of her pocket. Rose was at that difficult age when she thought all adults were idiots. Hermione said girls went through this phase and she would be all right in a couple of years. A couple of years! Ron didn't think he could stand a few more hours of it.
"So, how was school?" asked Hermione casually to Hugo as she heaped a healthy portion of macaroni and cheese onto her son's plate.
"Ok," said Hugo. He gave an indifferent shrug and did not bother elaborating. Hermione sighed, looking slightly put-out. Ron squeezed her shoulder. Trying to communicate to the kids got increasingly harder as they grew up. But to be fair, asking a nine-year old about how their day went was a loaded question. It was like asking them to explain the creation of universe in one sentence.
Their children had been positively adorable during their childhood years. Intelligent—inherited from Hermione obviously, and well-mannered by most parts. But Rose, just having turned thirteen, had started acting up.
"Rose!" Ron sighed when he saw one of her hands slip underneath the table to continue texting.
Hugo stuck his tongue out at his sister. "You couldn't be more obvious!"
Rose pouted and shoved all her food in her mouth. She pushed her chair back and cleared up her plate. "I'm done," she said, heading upstairs to her room.
Ron shook his head to Hermione. "Was she always like that? Was she? I swear, it's that damn Malfoy's fault."
"Ronald, language!"
"It's okay, Mom. I know 'damn' is a bad word."
Ron shoved a piece of broccoli into his mouth, chewing vehemently as he ranted. "I cannot believe your daughter got sorted into Slytherin. And can you believe she's been hanging out with Malfoy's kid? MALFOY!"
"Ew! Mom, a bit of broccoli flew out of Dad's mouth and it landed in my plate of peas! Can I please just eat the macaroni and cheese and leave the vegetables? It's infected!"
"It flew nowhere near your plate, young man. Finish your food."
"She comes home and all she's done is text on that bloody phone of hers. Whose idea was it to give her a phone anyway?"
"But I'm full already!"
"Hugo, if you're full, you won't get ice-cream for dessert."
"It's okay, I don't like vanilla ice-cream."
"I can't believe your daughter's friends with that little snot!"
"It's chocolate."
"Oh, I don't feel so full anymore."
"Is anybody listening to me?"
"Eat up."
"Anyone?"
Hermione turned to face her husband, but her eye on Hugo, just in case he tried slipping his vegetables onto a napkin again. "Yes, Ronald. I heard you ranting about our daughter and Scorpius again. Just relax. I've met Scorpius, he's nothing like Draco."
"Draco, it's Draco now?" asked Ron with disbelief. What had the world come to? Had he been hit with a Confundus charm?
"If you came to Parents' Day instead of going to the Chudley's Cannons match, you might have gotten to know Scorpius better and realize though Draco's a git, Astoria raised her son pretty decently."
"Are you still mad about that? I swear I didn't know Harry would book premium seats—"
"MOM SAID GIT! MOM SAID GIT!" Hugo jumped off his chair and pranced around the dining table in glee.
"Rosie's left her trunk in the living room. Can you move it back up to her room?"
"I don't see why she wouldn't be able to do it. She's first in her year for Charms. One quick Wingadium Leviosa, and it'd be done," said Ron, swishing his hand back and forth.
Hermione grinned, remembering how irritated she'd been when Ron kept getting the pronunciation wrong. "It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa."
"Of course, dear," Ron smiled cheekily back at her.
Hermione gave Ron a peck on his cheek. "Bring the trunk up for her and use this as an opportunity to talk."
"What, you think little-ol-me could possibly rip her attention away from that phone of hers?"
Hermione chuckled. "I'm sure you'll be fine. Pull your Weasley charm and she won't stand a chance. After all, how else did you manage to get me?"
"Fine," said Ron, conceding.
That settled, Hermione turned her attention to the dishes. Though she could've easily charmed them, she liked doing some things the Muggle way. Ron shook his head. He didn't quite understand Hermione sometimes but didn't love her any less for it.
Ron headed to their living room and his mood instantly deteriorated when he stood on the end of a plug. "ARGH!" he yelped as he hopped on one foot, both hands on the other. He didn't care what Hermione or his kids thought, technology was evil. He shoved the offending piece of wire under the coffee table and picked up Rose's trunk.
Rose had obviously gone through it to take out some things after coming home, because she didn't properly secure the clasp. Books, shoes and clothing fell out of the trunk. Ron kicked it feebly before shoving everything back in.
"What's this?" said Ron, holding a letter in long cursive script with his daughter's name in front. Male-handwriting. Definitely male. He shouldn't. He really shouldn't…
"Ron, have you sent the trunk up yet?" called Hermione from the other room.
"Doing it now!" Ron replied. He shoved the letter into the back of his trouser pocket and hefted the wooden trunk up to Rose's room.
He rapped the door three times before entering.
"Dad, if you're just going to come in right after you knock, you might as well just barge in uninvited," said Rose, her eyes never leaving the screen of her phone.
"I'll remember next time," said Ron, scratching the back of his head. Privacy. Teenage girls wanted their own privacy. Hermione said that. "I brought up your trunk for you."
"Thanks."
"So," said Ron, taking a seat on Rose's bed. "How are things?"
"Good?" said Rose, finally looking up from her phone to face him. "I'm not in trouble or anything, right?"
Ron shook his head. "No, it's just that you're growing up and Mom and I are having a difficult time adjusting."
Rose frowned slightly but nodded. "I promise not to bring my phone to dinner."
Ron smiled. "That'd be great," he said. "So, what's so fun about this thing?" He tapped the phone in her hand.
Rose giggled. "Dad, you sound ancient!"
"Well, your one looks nothing like mine," Ron pointed out. Just after Rose was born, Hermione made Ron buy a mobile phone. It had the most basic functions and he seldom used it for anything other than calling Hermione in emergencies. Hermione had called the phone 'virtually indestructible' and joked that had Voldemort placed a Hocrux into his phone, they'd have lost the war. After so many years, they could finally laugh and joke (carefully) about the War. It was nice.
"That's because you got your phone, like, ten years ago."
"Rose, just remember to read some physical books," said Ron. "You know, to keep it real."
"Dad!" Rose almost screamed.
Ron felt his face heat up. So much for connecting with your kids by talking like them. "Just remember Rosie, Mom and I love you very much."
She nodded and gave him a hug. "I love you too, but can you please never say 'keep it real' again? Especially in front of anyone else."
Ron chuckled and gave her a pat on the head. "Just remember you're always my little girl."
His fingers itched. He really shouldn't. He had to respect Rose's privacy, if she found out, she might not trust him again—Ron opened the letter and started reading.
My dear Rose,
You are as cute as your nose.
Are you my contact lens?
'Cause I have my eye on you.
Though your hair is red,
I think you look good in blue.
Though people said
You have a very big head
You make me very glad.
Ron dropped the letter as though it had caught fire and his expression befitted that of a main character on Halloween. "WHAT THE HECK DID I JUST READ?" He shook his head in disbelief. A love poem! To his daughter no less! He had exactly one idea on who the sender could be, judging from the Malfoy crest on the stationery. Hermione was right. He'd have to get to know the snot better.
Much better.
Infinitely better before he could allow him to approach his daughter with any kind of intention. Plus, his poetry skill appalled Ron—and he hadn't willingly picked up a proper book since he finished his studies at Hogwarts. Scorpius needed more practice before he could woo Rose with his prose. Without further deliberation—Ron acted on impulse most of the time, he began composing his reply (and it was only after did he realize he made a poor poet too…)
I find your affection
As pale as your complexion
Who dare says I have a big head?
They're better off brain-dead!
Or maybe it's because they're pure-bred
So they're rather inbred.
If your love has awoken
Then you better not be outspoken
You should neither taunt
Or flaunt
That's not what I want in a man
Those traits are better off in a trash-can!
From your darling Rose
"Scorpius sure replies quickly," muttered Ron to himself. It'd been less than half an hour since he discovered the letter and sent his reply. He gave the owl a treat and it flew off into the night sky.
My love I will prove
Towards the sun I will move
To work on a tan
and become as dark as people in Cannes
Those who insult you are thick
I'll help you give them a bloody good kick!
This has nothing to do with blood
Rather that they belong in the mud
I promise not to be slick
Or trick
That is not who I am
And I refuse to be a sham!
Ron shook his head, the boy wasn't a snot, he was more of a sap!
"Dad, what are you doing?" Rose asked, creeping up behind him.
Ron fell flat onto the table and used his torso to cover the letters. "N-Nothing."
The girl frowned. "Really."
"Really, sweetheart."
"Okay then…" she said, turning away. "Mom, where's the ice-cream?"
"In the kitchen!"
Ron straightened himself and leaned into the back of his chair. He tapped his chin. How should I respond? He could try instill more values in the boy. Maybe something like, 'no holding hands until they were twenty' and definitely no kissing!
Ron was quite overprotective of his daughter.
"Aha!" yelled Rose as she snatched the letters from the table. Ron tried to pry them away from her, but she already ran to the other side of the room. Ron groaned. Something smelly was about to hit the fan in three… two… one…
"Dad," said Rose quietly. "What's this?"
"I think I can explain," said Ron in a rush.
"You're writing love poems..." said Rose, her voice quivering. "To someone other than Mom."
"No," said Ron feebly. "It's not like that!"
As Rose kept reading, the frown never left her face. "Rose?!" She glared at her dad, anger replacing the sadness in her eyes. "Why are you signing these under my name?"
Ron held his hands up. "Okay, you caught me. I found the poem in your trunk and wanted to see what kind of boy the snot was before I let him get anywhere near you."
"WHAT?" exploded Rose.
"Scorpius wrote you a poem," explained Ron.
"Uh, no he didn't. Why on earth would he write a letter to me when he's been texting me the whole time?" said Rose, frowning and scanning the contents of the other letters. "And who would send anyone a letter these days? That's something someone your age would do…"
Rose looked up in horror when she saw the Malfoy crest on the first poem. An intelligent girl, she connected the dots almost immediately.
"You…" she breathed out in disbelief.
"What?" said Ron dumbly.
"EW, MOM! DAD AND DRACO MALFOY HAVE BEEN WRITING LOVE POEMS TO EACH OTHER!"
This is based off a prank my friend pulled. She wrote a horrible love poem to our male friend and stuck the note into his lunch-box... and his mom found it. Haha.
Sorry for making Rose a bit of a brat, but it's how I imagined at 12 year old girl would act (when they start finding their parents oh-so-embarrassing.)
I'm curious as to why people think Draco wrote the love poem in the first place. And I'm guessing Ron had really girl handwriting or he learnt how to imitate Ginny's handwriting from an early age so Draco really thought that Rose was writing back to him.