I've never written Ron before, so bear with me! Hopefully I've captured him right. This one shots about a middle-age Ron and his thoughts on life. Enjoy!

"Fred! James! Stop doing that!" Screamed the youngest of the Potters, at the top of her voice. Lily, who was the exact spit of the mother, had just turned 9 and was obviously exploring the power of her lungs.

Ron smirked to himself; he remembers Ginny doing the same to Fred and George when she was about Lily's age. She still does the same to all her brothers now, and god knows how badly Harry gets it. Ron turned his head to the look behind him; back inside the Burrow, Ginny was doing the washing up, and Harry had his arms around her waist, trying to be a distraction. As he watched them laugh and play, Ron couldn't have been filled with more… pride, he guessed. He was proud of his sister and his best friend, making things work against the odds, struggling through the war and coming out of it at the end, and still able to laugh and joke like normal people.

He turned back to watching the kids. The setting orange sun beat down on his face, as the soft summer's breeze accompanied the inevitable chill of the oncoming night. The trees rustled, the kids laughed and Ron sighed. His ginger hair was thinning, but no grey hairs yet. His skin was pale as ever, with a few wrinkles, and his eyes were as blue as the ocean. He had filled out a bit more, and had evolved from the burly teenager to an aging father.

Although all her cousins were arguing among themselves, as per usual, Ron couldn't help but smile at his 11 year old daughter, studying early for Hogwarts. Rose sat with her legs crossed and her head in her hands on the aging forest green grass, eyes flicking back and forth across the page. A small, content smile was etched on to her face, as her long, ginger hair curled its way down her back. She was the perfect mix of Hermione and himself; her hair was big, like her mothers, but ginger, like her fathers; her eyes were large and blue, like her fathers, but conveyed emotion just like her mothers. She was definitely Hermione personality wise though- Intellectual, bossy at times, ambitious, everything Ron would have wanted his daughter to be.

Hugo on the other hand, was in the midst of a fight; Ron couldn't say he was proud about that, but then again, he suppose he couldn't complain, as he would have done the exact same thing. Hugo had his father's skin and freckles, hair and eyes, and definitely his father's appetite. Anyone could tell Hugo was going to be tall like his father, because even at the age of 9, he was as tall as Albus, who was a tall 11 year old, with eyes just like his fathers. He was standing next to Albus, who was defending his sister to James and Fred, who were deliberately trying to annoy her, like they always do. Hugo was passionate and driven, but also very clueless. Ron smirked to himself; just like his father then.

As he sat back in the chair, amused at the kids arguing, reminiscing about when that had been him, he felt an elegant pair of arms snake their way over his shoulders, clasping round him. A pair of lips kissed him on the cheek.

"Hullo Hermione, love." He whispered, so only she could hear, careful not to distract the kids from fighting among themselves; it was getting to be quite amusing actually.

"Evening Ron. May I ask what on earth you are doing?" She asked a hint of laughter in her voice.

"Watching the kids fight." He said, absentmindedly.

"And why haven't you stopped them?" Oh merlin was he in trouble; but he couldn't resist winding his wife up once in a while. After all, that's how they fell in love.

"It's actually quite amusing." He said, turning to face her, a grin that had smiled a thousand smiles, plastered on his face, "Here. Come watch." He says, pulling her onto his lap. She encircled his neck with her arms, perched on his lap, as they both stopped and stared for what seemed like years at their beautiful family.

She turned to look at him. Even though they had aged, Hermione had never once not been beautiful. Not after the war, not when she was pregnant, not when she was looking after 2 young children day and night, not now. Her silky brown hair with the occasional specks of grey, framed her slightly tanned face, her blue eyes conveying love and passion, just like they did when they first met. He couldn't love her anymore, even if she tried, "I love you Ron Weasley."

"I love you to, Hermione" And he did. He honestly did. And as they both continued to watch the argument in the dying sun of summer, Ron wouldn't change anything for the world.

What'd you think? This one I'm the most nervous about! A review and favourite would mean the world!

Thanks for reading!