The Price of Fame
by ChatterChick
Summary: Ron Weasley always wanted to be famous, until he realized the price.
A/N: This was originally posted in a series of one-shots I took down. Thought I'd put it back up because I liked it. Enjoy!
"Daddy, why did that man take our photo?" Rosie asked as she squirmed in his arms.
Ron glanced around the Leaky Cauldron. It was packed more tightly than usual with the holidays quickly approaching. He was holding Rosie, not wanting to be separated from her in the busy inn. There, sitting in the back was a man he recognized from Rita Skeeter's crowd. Honestly, he was just taking Rosie out to help pick out a gift for her Mum.
"Excuse me sir, but did you just take a photo of my daughter?"
"It's a public space." The wizard replied. "And the Weasleys are – "
Yes, he was well aware. Photos of his children were worth a pretty sickle in the gossip columns. There was very little he could do about it just shy of hiding his children away for good. And he and Hermione desperately wanted their children to have as normal a childhood as possible.
"If you know what's best for your health, you're going to erase those photos." Ron warned him. He could feel the familiar warmth creep up the back of his neck. The media was quite taken with Rosie, the adorable, beloved daughter of Harry Potter's best friends. He knew it would only get worse as she aged. He had already seen it happen as Victoire – now a preteen – was dissected by the media. He only wanted to protect Rosie from the brutal commentary Rita Skeeter and her posse levelled with their society pages.
The wizard looked nonplussed as he pulled out his wand. "Are you threatening me?"
Rosie tightened her grip around his neck and Ron knew there was very little he could do at the moment. He couldn't exactly break into a duel while holding a four-year-old.
"She's just a little girl." Ron tried to reason with him. "Surely there are better stories out there."
"Times are rough, Weasley, and that little girl is worth galleons." The photographer reminded him. Turning his attention to Rosie, the photographer asked, "Care to give a comment for the prophet?"
Rosie shyly buried her head into Ron's shoulder as he heatedly spoke for her, "Absolutely not."
Ron remembered secretly wishing for this type of attention when he was a teenager. It was a horrible cautionary tale of 'be careful what you wish'. The public wanted to know every private, intimate detail of his life. They speculated on his career, his marriage, his family. It seemed the spotlight had only intensified after he and Hermione had added children to the mix. The world couldn't get enough of 'celebrity children' these days.
It was sick.
He walked out into the back courtyard that would lead them to Diagon Alley. He tried to remember what brick he was supposed to tap. Normally he would apparate directly into the market, but he knew Hannah would have had his head if he didn't bring Rosie by to say hello.
"Hold my hand," he reminded Rosie as he set her down. "And don't let go."
"How many galleons am I worth?" Rosie was curious as he tapped the brick wall with his wand. He felt her grip tighten as the bricks realigned to form an entrance way.
"I'm not sure," Ron smiled down at her, trying to reign in his anger. This was supposed to be a fun trip with Rosie. They'd pick out a gift for Hermione, visit George at the shop, and then spoil their dinner with ice cream. "Think the goblins would give me your weight in gold?"
Wide-eyed, she looked up at him. "You'd sell me to the goblins?"
He scooped her up again as they entered the busy street. She was still frowning in clear disapproval as he kissed her forehead. "I don't think there's enough gold in Gringotts, Pumpkin."
