Watching Them Grow

"You fail to recognize that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be."

Ronald Bilius Weasley had never had the easiest life, to say at the very least. After all, being best mates with The-Boy-Who-Lived, and evidently being the youngest son of a muggle loving "Blood traitor," wasn't particularly a good thing when it came to the war of Good versus Evil, or in one case, Harry Potter versus Lord Voldemort. The various adventures and missions he had gone through with his friends were life threatening, more so their very last than anything else and he knew that he would never have to deal with it again and whenever he thought that, he couldn't be happier.

His main priority, even before aiding Harry in defeating Voldemort during the war, was to keep Hermione Granger safe. He was very protective, see, and with a bleeding war going on (people dying every minute, losing family members; sons, daughters, brothers and sisters) who could blame him? Ron knew from the moment he was on the verge of losing her (again!) when they had arrived at Shell Cottage, he would gladly take a killing spell from none other than the Dark Lord himself, if that meant keeping Hermione from harm's way. Of course he would protect Harry as well; what were best friends for?

Oh, he remembers the incident at the Malfoy Manor as if it was yesterday. Sometimes, when he's alone and falling asleep, he could still hear Hermione's pain stricken screams freshly imprinted into his brain, and he could feel the throbbing of his fists as he slammed them against the stone wall in hopes of finding some sort of way out of the dark and eerie cellar he and Harry had been trapped in. If it hadn't been for the poor, shaky house elf, he doubted Hermione would have made it any further than the wretched house. So, when they had been upon the stairwell, looking over at what was happening, he had never been angrier in his entire life time.

At that time, every fiber in his body was telling him that what just happened was wrong, that the foul lady Bellatrix who was responsible for the death of Dobby later on and the harm to Hermione should've been dealt with in the same fashion as they were. Yet to utter a spell would be signing the death warrant of him and the person who had resided on the stairs with him. Harry's common sense over-rid his obligation to make those fools pay for what happened and in the end, Ron's loyalty to his friend kept him from muttering a curse straight away.

It had not worked out as well as they might have planned, when Ron went off his rocker the moment Bellatrix obliged to Greyback's wishes to do whatever he pleased with the unconscious female upon the floor.

He'd seen the way and heard the way Greyback spoke of Hermione; it made him sick to his stomach. It wasn't only the fact that the much bulkier male was a werewolf and desired flesh to satisfy himself, but there was also those sexual hints that laced his words whenever he spoke of her to him. They were filled with lust and relish and it made his skin crawl.

"Reckon she'll let me have a bit of the girl when she's finished with her? I'd say I'll get a bite or two, wouldn't you, Ginger?"

Ron could have sworn that had it not been for the ropes and the lack of a wand, he would have killed him right then and there, in that very spot.

Whilst he had watched her, sat by her side every night they stayed at Shell Cottage, waiting for her to wake up or just willing her to get better and not die on him Ron had developed a hatred for the Malfoy family even worse than he had before. Though at the same time it was more so Bellatrix, but he could not hinder the fact that Lucius, Narcissa and that bloody ferret Draco, had watched while his Hermione, his, was screaming and withering in pain right in front of their eyes, in their home. He didn't care if Harry told him what had happened with Narcissa in the forest, he still hated them all.

He was fine with that Ravenclaw girl two years younger, Astoria Greengrass (sister of Daphne, the bleeding slag), up until he had found out that she was fraternizing with Ferret. In fact, when Ron and Hermione had gotten married and Astoria and she worked in the same Ministry department, she became a family friend. That was thrown out of the window the moment she had said she was engaged to Draco, at least, to him of course. Hermione had refused to throw away a friendship because of that, she was always a bit more understanding than Ron himself.

If you asked him what he thought about him and Hermione getting married, or even being a couple, when he was in the first or second year, he would have automatically told you that you were mental. It was the fifth and sixth year where these feelings had developed, or what his mum would say, rose to the surface from deep down.

Hermione's father, he had discovered, could have been more frightening than Voldemort, when Ron asked for his permission to marry. Honestly, he had never thought that someone who works with teeth, a muggle no less, could be so threatening. When he tells this to his brother's and brother-in-law Harry that he had been frightened by a dentist, they had never laughed so hard in their life. Apparently.

And all of the sudden, it was three years into their marriage and despite their occupations (she in the Ministry Law Enforcement, and he as one of Harry's deputy Auror's), they began speaking of having children. Ron knew that he hadn't been at all ready to have a child, mentally at least, but he couldn't suppress the fact that he had wanted to bear a family, to have a son – yes, a son; only because he believed he would do better with having a little boy rather than a daughter. So, they had both agreed to try to conceive, and not even two weeks or so later, Hermione had told him quite teary eyed, that she was pregnant.

Besides a few things, like the time where he and her had shared their first kiss, or when she said yes to his proposal, Ron had never been so ecstatic and scared at the same time. He remembers picking his wife up in ferocious hug and spinning her round, before gently settling her down on the couch and checking to see if he hurt her in any way in which she replied with "Oh honestly, Ronald! I'm fine!"

Merlin he never loved that woman so much. (That's a l i e…)

What made things better, was that they were not the only ones who were going to be experiencing being a first-time-parent. Ginny and Harry had announced that they were expecting 2 months prior Ron and Hermione's.

It was only a month later, that Hermione had woke him in hysterics and bleeding from…there, and frantically told him that she needed to be taken to St. Mungos straight away. Of course Ron obligated to her dearest and fretful wishes, and he had waited, pacing outside of the room in which the Healers had rushed in wife into, at 3:30 in the morning looking so pale it appeared he hadn't seen the sun in millennia's. Though he supposed he had known that something was wrong with her in the weeks previous to this event; each day she'd come home from work paler and paler, and each morning she woke up she had said she was beginning to get spontaneous pains within her abdomen.

Ron wouldn't have thought for a second that that would have turned out to be so serious.

He had stayed in the room within St. Mungos with Hermione as long as he could, just holding her close to his chest while she sobbed into his shirt and he buried his face into her unruly curls of bronze hair, tears running down his own cheeks and long, pointed nose. He had never known how sorrowful losing an unborn child could be; now he wished he hadn't. But sooner or later, because she was supposed to be staying overnight so they could figure what had gone so wrong for her to have a miscarriage, Ron was forced to leave, but not before the doctor pulled him from the room and said –

"Mr. Weasley…We can't be for sure just yet, but we believe your wife may be sterile. Perhaps it's because she may have been put under the Cruciatus curse during the war, or hit with some sort of spell? Or it could be simply stress related. We'll be sure to let the both of you know by tomorrow afternoon – will you be here?"

That shouldn't have even been a question.

He apparated to the Burrow straight afterwards, where he was sure Harry and Ginny were, with a face as red as tomatoes and freckled cheeks stained with tears. The second that he stepped foot in the doorway he fell to his knees, unable to help himself, and buried his face into his hands. He remembers the commotion, he remembers his sister and his mum and Harry asking if something had happened to Hermione and he lashed out and punched a hole in the wall and told them straight away that they had lost the baby – of course, he hadn't meant the damage he had done, though.

Their pity was so comical and ridiculous in Ron's eyes that he had to leave; he made an excuse that he needed some air and apparated home straight away and the first thing he had done was destroy the living room, clean it up with a flick of his wand, and repeat. Everything was bits and pieces, shredded and broken, and he hadn't bothered to fix it the last time before he collapsed into a fit of (unmanly-like, but he supposed this was an exception) distressed sobs. Part of him wanted to believe that it was his fault the baby had not survived; he wasn't home enough to take care of his wife like a good husband and he hadn't done anything to prevent Bellatrix from torturing her so many years ago.

Hermione looked as good as death when he brought her home the next day (to a clean and seemingly untouched sitting room). It appeared as if her eyes, the chocolate brown eyes he had adored so much, lost their sparkle, their glimmer. She was given days off of work, as was he, but instead of spending it together they spent it apart; he sitting on his chair in the living room, and she in their bedroom. He would walk in on her plenty of times, curled up underneath a blanket with a hand on her vacant abdomen and sobbing so dreadfully it broke his heart. At those times he would slide in the bed next to her, bring her so there was no space in between them and just hold her as she cried. Needless to say, there were many arguments regarding the situation – how one adult blamed themselves and the other attempted to convince them that it wasn't anyone's fault but Bellatrix's; Ron would have thought that since he, the one who was rendered useless that night, would be the one complaining that he was at blame here, and not Hermione.

("Mione please don't do this to yourself, it's not your fault!"

"That's a load of rubbish and you know it Ronald! If it wasn't for me wanting to go to Xenophilius Lovegood the day we had we would have never been caught and taken to the Malfoy's and I wouldn't have been tortured!" She pulled her sleeve up to reveal the patch of ragged skin, labeling her "mudblood"

"Bloody hell Hermione, that was years ago! We had no idea that would happen!"

"And what about my work? Do you have an explanation for that one, Ron? You have no idea how much work I had to get done, how much stress I was dealing with! I could have handled it better and told you about the pains when it happened, rather than just think of it as nothing! This is my entire fault and don't you dare pull that card saying that it's not!"

"If it was anyone's fault, it was Bellatrix's and Xenophilius's! He's the one that shouted Voldemort's name, which brought the Death Eaters there when we didn't have a set destination! Bellatrix tortured you out of fun when she could have just questioned you; none of us could do anything about it! It's their fault, not yours. Not a chance in Hell was it yours to even begin with, so don't pull that shit with me Hermione! Please")

The rest of the family had been rather awkward about it, save from Ginny and Harry. Most were sympathetic in which his wife lashed out too, claiming that she hadn't wanted pity or sympathy and instead she just wanted to forget. Ron couldn't have agreed with her more, yet he welcomed the family's apologies with open arms because he felt as if he needed to rely on someone who wasn't going through the same thing as he and Hermione were. Someone like his mother, who had convinced the husband and wife that it was worth trying again.

So, a year later, they did.

Hermione announced she was pregnant a week afterward. Ron had never been so happy, perhaps he had been – but this was a different kind of happy. It was relief, relief that his wife was able to bare children and that the Healer's accusations were wrong. He took her to St. Mungos regularly, as they had asked, and she was put on bed rest from work for all nine months and until she was able to come back (thanks to Percy, who was the head of his wife's department).

And little Rose Elizabeth Weasley; only 4.5 pounds, was born nine months later on the date of November 15, 2005. Ron couldn't have been more nervous when he paced outside of the large white doors, in which his wife's pained screams emitted. The only two people who had been with him was his father, mother, Harry, Ginny and baby James – his companions done the best they can with comforting him and calming him but at the time Ron's legs didn't agree with his mind and he believed he had never paced so much in his life. He was as happy as any man could be when the screams stopped and in the silence came a tiny wail, and the Healer came from the room with a broad smile on her face.

"Congratulations Mr. Weasley. Would you like to see your daughter?"

Ron almost fainted.

There he was, hoping for the son that never had (Hermione and him agreed to wait and see the baby's gender), but being told that he had a daughter. A daughter.

He would have never believed that the small bundle within his wife's arms was his child – that this was all a dream. But as he took her in his own arms from an exhausted Hermione, afraid that he would drop her, and allowed for her tiny, tiny hand to wrap around one of his fingers and stared into her big brown eyes, he knew he wasn't dreaming. From the moment he held her he knew he would do anything to protect her from harm; his little baby girl.

Of course, having a child, a newborn child no less, was nothing too easy. Ron himself had taken off of work in the Auror department, and even had to abandon George with the shop most of the time because he was either too tired, or had to take care of his daughter with Hermione, while she did the necessities he was no good at doing. Night after night he would wake up to loud wailing; he and his wife would take turns attempting to quite her, and no matter how tired, Ron did not mind hauling himself from his bed if that meant that the two most important girls in his life were content.

Two years later, they had Hugo Alexander Weasley (Ron had finally got a son) – who was born three weeks earlier than he should have been. They went through the same cycle again, this time with two children to take care of. They had found that Rose was dyslexic at the tender age of 10 from the Muggle School in which Hermione had enrolled the children, in which would make it harder for her to study and succeed in her school work when she was just one year older.

Needless to say, it was incredibly hard for Ron to watch his baby girl go off to Hogwarts; he had watched after the train with one hand on the small of Hermione's back and the other resting on Hugo's lanky shoulder, forcing himself not to look like an utter wimp, especially with so many people who looked up to him (he was incredibly famous, was he not?) around boarding their own children off. More or less, he was worried about the sorting. Rose had always been different from her cousins, save Albus, and he was worried that his daughter would end up in another house – opposite of Gryffindor. So, when two days passed and there was no letter, he was beginning to fear that his nightmare had come true.

His daughter, a Slytherin?

Ginny and Harry had come to him and Hermione with a letter from Albus on the third day after the sorting, each wearing slightly fearful expressions when they handed it over. Of course, fearing that something had happened to his precious daughter, he grabbed the parchment before his wife even had the chance to reach for it. He remembers every word of the letter, the unfortunate reminder of reading it over too many times:

Dear mum and dad,

Hey guys, sorry I haven't written as soon as you may have liked but with the beginning of term it's kind of difficult to get some free time. It's really cool here, I love it – whatever James said I have yet to encounter…though there a little incident with Peeves that I'd rather not go over. Let's just say I only had one eyebrow that night; thankfully Madame Pomfrey used some potion to grow it back. But I'm pretty sure you don't care about that and you're just eager to find out what house I got sorted into.

You might not be surprised, but who knows. I did what you said dad, I begged not to be put in Slytherin; but the sorting hat didn't take it into account at all. He said that's where my fate lies, but strongly considered putting me in Gryffindor. I'm really sorry that I got sorted into Slytherin, really I am. Hopefully you aren't mad…But it's not nearly as bad as I expected it to be! The Dungeons are really cool and all, and I'm roommates with Markus Zabini, Richard Nott and Scorpius Malfoy. I have a feeling though, that Scorpius and I are gonna be really good mate's – like you and Uncle Ron! We're already close.

Oh…um, also there's something Rose asked me to add. More like forced me too – she's afraid to owl her parents with which house she's gotten too, but Scorpius and I are working on making her work up the courage. She's, well…she's a Slytherin too, see? No one expected it; you should have seen what happened! It took my sorting 3 minutes, but with Rosie the hat barely touched her head before it shouted Slytherin. Shocking right?

Well, hope Uncle Ron takes the news well. Rosie's scared of his reaction the most.

Anyways, I'll write you guys more often, with longer letters than this – I'm kind of rushing, I've got to get my Defense Against the Dark Arts assignment done so Professor Ambrose doesn't take off house points. And my herbology work…Professor Longbottom (by the way, he says hello) get's a bit loony when homework isn't done. Give my love to Lily and the rest of the family!

Yours,

Albus S. Potter.

He clearly remembered his reaction to scanning the words. "The hat barely touched her head before it shouted Slytherin" kept running through his mind like a broken record, or whatever those stupid muggle items even a day later, he and Hermione had finally received a letter from their daughter, and he tore it open without a second to waste, hoping to hear how she's managing in the very house he didn't want her to be sorted into. But all the letter said was "Dear mum, dad. I'm a Slytherin – please don't hate me. Love, Rose."

Ron couldn't have been more disappointed. Of course the love he had for his daughter lingered on but he couldn't help but feel a sudden detachment now that it was certain she wasn't a Gryffindor. He hadn't written back to her, in fact, he didn't speak as he handed the letter to Hermione – she seemed to accept the fact that their baby was in Slytherin more than he could even comprehend. How could he take the news as easy as she did, when his little girl was placed in the same exact house where all of his enemies were in; were Voldemort was in for Merlin's sake. Hermione told him he was overreacting and that he should accept Rose for who she was, but he refused to believe such a thing. He had not spoken to the 11 year old when she came back for Christmas break.

Truth be told, he missed most of watching her growing up. Bill and Fleur had often told him about their experiences with watching their daughters grown into a woman, and while Hermione could relate Ron could not. The relationship between he and Rose had grew so intense that every time they locked up the young girl would scowl and look away and then later on a fight would break out and the latter would leave the house and not come back. Of course, this did not go without a good yelling from a rather frightening Hermione and Ginny. And he knew he had rattled the family with this childish and rather immature act to his own kin, but for some reason he couldn't get over the fact that she was placed in the exact house he did not want her to be in. Ronald Weasley is known for holding grudges, just like Hermione.

Rose grew into a stunning young woman though. At the age of sixteen she's petite like her mother had been, and had inherited Ron's Quidditch genes in which had kept her fit and slender. There was a right amount of freckles sprinkling her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, very light and almost unnoticeable; much like Hermione's. Her hair was a delicate auburn with brunette roots, cascading down her shoulders in elegant waves and curls, and there would be a dimple in her left cheek whenever she smiled or smirked. She could have gotten any boy she wanted, and Ron didn't consider that a fairly good thing, no matter how strained their father-daughter relationship had become.

Hugo was an awkward boy, on the other hand. It wasn't that he wasn't charming, in fact he looked the most like Hermione, with Ron's icy blue eyes. He shared the brown hair of his mother, yet it was more controllable yet undoubtedly curly; and his front molars were a bit larger than normal. Unlike most of his cousins, at the age of 15 Hugo was scrawny and due to the fact that he had gathered the genes for knowledge from Hermione, he had resulted in taking leisure in books rather than Quidditch, in which he had admitted to despising and finding relatively uninteresting. He had the balance of a cat, though, Ron had noticed; the boy could stub his toe on the coffee table and maintain a perfect stride. He barely stuttered, if not at all, and he had no problem with coming up with his blunt retorts.

A trait that both of his children carried.

It appeared that Percy was the perfect choice to be the godfather of Hugo, because with the likes of this one Ron believed that he was heading down the same road. His son was a major bookworm yes, but he did like to enjoy at least some time with his cousins and friends he had made through the four years he had spent at Hogwarts. Yet at the same time, while he had a sense of humor, he took his studious habits to an all new level that even Hermione hadn't – he carried on with S.P.E.W as well. Hugo hadn't done anything to make his blood boil, or even frown (despite when he refused to go to Quidditch games with him).

When Ron was for sure that he would have no child in Gryffindor, and that his only and youngest son would become a Ravenclaw instead, he was disappointed. However, when he had received a letter home from Hugo, saying that he was in fact a lion, Ron practically showered him with pride and perhaps a little bit too much. Hermione frowned at him whenever he spent more time with Hugo, and his daughter scowled and rolled her eyes; Ron, at first, didn't quite catch what their problem was. But though a Gryffindor, Hugo hadn't shown one spark of bravery or courage towards anything at all. He couldn't help but wonder how on earth he managed to land in that house, no matter how proud or excited he was.

To Ron, Hugo was the "Golden Child" of the Weasley/Potter clan. Nothing about that was showing any signs of changing, either.

Ron had been through war, through death, through pain and through fear. His childhood was pestered and fouled by it, yet he had managed to get through it unshaken (for the most part). He had faced a hormonal, very pregnant Hermione, a furious Hermione. Yet here he was, standing in front of his eldest child and only daughter's bedroom door, rooted on the spot. His fist hovered over the wooden platform as he stood there, debating whether to go back into the living room or just go for it. Swallowing thickly, he turned his head to gaze longingly down the hallway; he could see the comfortable chair he had always sat in clear view, but it was inevitable that he had caught his wife's intently watching eyes. She nodded and smiled warmly in encouragement, though it was quite obvious she wouldn't have it if he had decided to bail out on this mission.

So he gently tapped his pale knuckles against the door. "Rosie, can I come in?"

"Don't you dare call me that ever again." Came the harsh reply that made Ron flinch and frown. He reached for the doorknob anyway, his question unanswered, and creaked the door open to peek his head around. However as soon as he did, there was a flash of light and he jumped out of the way just in time. The hex hit a picture across the hallway, a picture of the entire Weasley/Potter clan, and had knocked it completely off the wall and into ruins. He gulped and looked back at Hermione, who didn't appear to notice him in his time of desperate need.

"May I, err…please come in, Rose?" He tried again, this time more slowly and punctuated as he peeked around the door once again. His daughter was sitting on her bed, clutching a fluffy green pygmy puff stuffed animal tightly to her chest.

"Why not." She said, and for the first time he had realized her voice had been thick presumably from crying.

Ron gulped once again as he entered the room and ran a hand through his mop of ginger hair, closing the door behind him. There was a penetrating silence and he glanced around him; he hadn't been in her room for years and it appeared over time it had grown more and more…girlish. It was tidy, with a working desk and drawers, a couch and a few chairs, a wizarding TV that's only used for Quidditch games all over the country…she had quite a few Slytherin banners hanging around her bed post, and her bulletin board was filled with pictures of her, Albus and that Malfoy boy together. He was aware of the trinkets and the pillows that supported her house; that showed her pride for being within the pit of snakes rather than the pride of lions that made up most of the Weasley's. His gaze lingered upon a moving picture in a elegant frame standing on her bedside table.

It was she and Malfoy junior in the picture. Their arms were wrapped around each other's waists and smiling up at the camera that had been held in the boy's free hand. His daughter's head was on Malfoy's chest, and the two were smiling so broadly in their Slytherin robes that it almost made his lips twitch in a grin, instead of anger.

"Is there something you wanted, father?" She asked, sniffing.

Ron turned his attention back to her and walked over to her bed, sitting at the end of it. She curled up to make room, hugging the stuffed animal closer to her. It was battered, so old that the fake fur upon it was beginning to shrivel and lose its color. "D'you remember when we got you that?" He asked her softly, that grin finally finding his face. "Me and your mum spent the whole day at Diagon Alley looking for something for your fourth birthday, that you'd absolutely love and all we managed to get was that bloody thing. And when you opened the present you hugged you were so excited that you got it….named it Tubby-Wubs right away." He chuckled slightly at the memories.

"You and that thing were inseparable. You dragged it bloody everywhere you went – to the store, to the Burrow or the Potter's, even when you came down to eat breakfast you'd have it in your tiny little arms. When James accidently…"

"Set it on fire I was absolutely devastated" Rose finished for him, picking at the battered fuzz of the plush toy but at the same time, refusing to meet his eyes. "Yeah, I remember."

"I didn't think you'd keep it as long as you did." He added, scratching the back of his neck. He was getting off topic, but quite honestly, he couldn't help himself. This was the longest conversation the two had ever had together, and he didn't want to ruin it by saying something stupid. "I'm surprised you haven't taken it to Hogwarts."

"Really, there was never a reason for me too. Mum said you picked it out, and after the sorting incident I wanted nothing to do with it." Rose answered, her voice surprisingly firm. "I'm not even sure why I'm holding it now."

"Can I tell you something?" She asked after a short period of silence. "Without you arguing with me, or without you interrupting me?"

Ron simply nodded.

The steadiness in her voice surprised him as she began to speak, finally meeting his eyes. "Through these past six years, all I ever wanted was for you to be…to be proud of me. Just once I wanted you to boast about how your daughter became prefect in fifth year and then again this year; all I wanted was for you to cheer me on just as you cheer on James and Fred and every other bloody cousin that I have when you attend a Quidditch match with the Gryffindor's against us. It would have been worth the embarrassment those things would have brought to me to know how proud you are, and not in the privacy of our own home but out in public."

"I never wanted to be a Slytherin up until the day I was sorted. I didn't ask for it; I never asked to break the Weasley family tradition! But you should know more than anyone else, where exactly I had inherited my pride from, and my uncanny ability to turn most things into quarrels. How I hate that even though I am most of the time, I hate admitting that I'm wrong and even more being the first to apologize. To think I received it all from you is almost comical, considering that it's exactly what made me, me, and into the daughter that you disapprove of.

Never once had I doubted your love, but your support. Not even today when you had decided to scream your disappointment toward having me as a daughter saying that I was mocking the family name by showing up with a Malfoy as a boyfriend during Christmas family dinner tonight, in front of everybody. Not even then."

Rose took an uneven breath – while she was speaking her voice had grown faster and faster and he had a hard time keeping up. He cleared his throat, attempting to remember everything he had been thinking of in the past few days.

"I'm sure I've never told you this, or your mum never told you this…but, my biggest fear in the world was that I would let you down someday." Ron stated uneasily, his stomach twisting as he glanced into his daughters tearing golden eyes. He ran a hand over his face, "Merlin Rose, I did let you down – in ways every father dreads and fears of doing. I blamed you and accused you of unfathomable things, of the sorting choice which was completely out of yours hands. From time to time, whenever we argued; either under our own roof, or the Burrow or even at the Quidditch pitch of Hogwarts, I've made a fool of myself. And I will never forgive myself for that." He reached over and grabbed her smaller hand in his own, his lips pressed in a firm line as he pondered on what to say next.

"Though it didn't seem like it, I was always so proud of you. From the moment you landed position as the best Hogwarts Keeper, to the moment where you made prefect again this year and passed your O.W.L's with flying colors. You've always had a budding intelligence just like your mum, despite being dyslexic, which always made me so proud. I've always had problems with holding grudges Rosie; when me, your mum and Uncle Harry were growing up, Slytherin was always the bad guys. Slytherin was known as the evil house back then and it's not something that's very easy to get over, especially when your daughter lands in it. I never wanted it to end up like this though, I never thought it would."

She stared at him for a while, as if she was comprehending every word he had said just like he had been when she was finished speaking. Yet while she remained silent, Rose had scooted over and put her arm around his waist, cautiously leaning against him and resting her head on his shoulder – he gradually put his arm around his daughter's slim shoulders; the closest he's ever been to her in years.

"It doesn't need to end this way, we don't need to stay like this daddy. I think this is the most I've talked to you in years without screaming or yelling; we've already accomplished something. And Slytherin isn't bad anymore, you can't concentrate on something that was in the past and let it affect you now in the present. Especially now that I'm exclusive with Scorpius, you can't keep looking back on their family. They've changed, I've seen it for my own eyes."

"You know" Began Ron as he rested a chaste kiss upon his daughter's forehead. "You remind me so much of your mother when you say things like that."

"So does this mean that you're willing to start this all over?" She asked him, sounding incredibly sheepish and childlike.

"Well you know what they say, Rosie. If at first you do not succeed…" Ron trailed off, awaiting for Rose to finish the sentence for him.

"Hide all evidence that you tried" She gave a small laugh, the dimple on her left cheek showing as she smirked.

He nodded and chuckled, his relief was almost so overpowering that for a moment he felt lightheaded. "Exactly; so, yes, I am more than willing to start a new beginning and try to forget about what's happened in the past. But…that doesn't mean I have to warm up to that Scorpion lad just yet"

And for the first time in six years, father and daughter smiled at each other.

This by far is the longest fic I've ever written yet. Lol. Apologies if this is rubbish – I pulled an all nighter Monday night with my friends to get an early spot into Pottermore (which I did! :) Validated my account and waiting for the welcome email. Message me if you want my account if you got in too!) And we figured it would be much more fun to stay up rather than wake up at the alarm – we had one just in case. Anyways, I wrote this one up during that time period and spent today revising and adding some things since I was busy sleeping yesterday, haha.

If you want, I'll do another part to this for the Malfoy family (in either Astoria's or Draco's POV), so I'll keep the status as "In Progress" Until I deciede on what to do. It's your choice if you want one! The obvious pairing here is Rose/Scorpius, and if I do, do a second part to this there will definitely be a scene involving the two of them together as a couple. :)

See that button down there?

You know what to do;)