"I knew we shouldn't have named her Rose," Ron groaned, face buried in his hands. His shoulders slumped in the style of a man defeated. "This is all your fault, Hermione. Rose."

The redheaded Auror was seated at the family's kitchen table, which was tidier than it used to be, now that both of Weasley children were in school, Rosie about to finish her sixth year, and Hugo his fourth. Still, the tabletop was covered in work papers from both of their jobs at the Ministry, not to mention the newest edition of the Daily Prophet, and a scroll of parchment that had been bound with the sky blue ribbon their daughter was fond of.

"What's wrong with the name Rose?" Hermione asked, bemused by her husband's dramatics. She had only just arrived home, Ron having beaten her because she'd been detained by Percy, who wanted to interrogate her about a Ministry issue. "It's a lovely name. I quite like it. And what R name would you have chosen instead? Rosmerta?" She knew it was a low, easy blow, but it was hard to resist. And anyway, he was being absurd. "And what is my fault?"

Ron pulled his hands away from his face and winced. "She wants to bring home Malfoy's son," he said, picking up he parchment before him and then letting it drop back to the table. "She wants to know if he and Al can spend the summer."

"Well, that sounds perfectly pleasant," Hermione replied amenably, leaning over to smooth out the parchment and scan it herself. "About time, even. The boy has been in her letters since her first year, and we have yet to formally meet the boy. Seeing him from a distance at King's Cross or Diagon Alley simply doesn't cut it."

Ron gawped at his wife as if she'd morphed into Uric the Oddball and slapped a jellyfish on her head. "Are you mad?" he asked, aghast.

"No, not the last time I checked. Why?" Honestly, he was being so silly. She hadn't seen him like this in ages. Obviously, he was deeply concerned about something, but what was utterly eluding her.

Ron seemed frustrated, grabbing up the letter again. "Honestly, Hermione, for the smartest witch in our year and possibly all existence, you can be really thick, you know that?" Hermione snorted. Ron held the letter up level to her, as if his point was written there in large scarlet letters, and cleared his throat. "First of all, while I'm sure he's a nice boy, he is Malfoy's son, so we would probably have to deal with him at some point in the picking him up or giving him back."

"Good heavens, no," Hermione commented, giving Ron a droll look. He continued, undaunted.

"Second of all, this is our daughter asking for a boy to come stay in our home. Her home. A boy. Look, Hermione, I know boys, I was one, and you can't trust us!" His freckled nose wrinkled in a way Hermione had long found quite endearing.

"I stayed at your at your house during the summer when we were their age," she reminded him patiently. "Nothing happened. Harry stayed over, and nothing happened with him and Ginny."

Ron looked like he was considering saying something tartly, but instead pointed out, "Yeah, but I was thinking it." Hermione laughed, resting her hand on the back of his neck. "And we had all my siblings around. Would have been impossible not to get interrupted. Here we'd only have Al and Hugo."

Hermione said dryly, "Well, if it would make you feel better, we could invite all of the kids. Freddy, Roxanne, Albus, James, Lily, Molly, Lucy, Dominique, Louis, Victoire—why not even add in Teddy, and Luna's twins? That would be, what, thirteen plus Hugo? That would be even more crowded than your house was. They couldn't possibly get up to anything then, by your reasoning."

"But—it's different," Ron argued desperately, quite obviously aware he was losing ground swiftly.

"Different because this is your baby?" Hermione prodded gently.

Ron sighed, expression becoming misty. "Yeah. I mean…I remember when I first held her, 'Mione. She was so tiny and delicate. Perfect. And we just looked at each other, her with her wide blue eyes, and I thought, 'Bloody hell, how am I not going to break this thing?' After trying not to drop her came trying not to teach her swear words, or—well—not get caught teaching her hexes." At his wife's tart look, he said defensively, "What? The kid had to know how to protect herself from Slytherins!" His face turned morose again. "And now I have to worry about her dating one."

Hermione patted his shoulder. "Has it ever occurred to you that they may simply be friends? I could have sworn Rosie referred to him as having a girlfriend."

Ron waved the thought away. "Not the point, dear. I'm just…I worry about her."

"I know you do," Hermione replied fondly. "And that's why you have to just trust her."

"How did you get so wise, eh?" Ron grumbled, though there was no heat to it.

Hermione just chuckled. "So, young Scorpius is coming to visit us, yes?"

"Yes," Ron agreed, resigned. "But I'll hex his limbs off if he tries anything. That's fair, right?"

"Right. And you know, if you're really that worried, you could give Rose the talk."

"What talk?" Ron asked absently, before he looked up, eyes wide. "What, that talk? I thought you gave her that talk!"

"I did, three years ago," Hermione answered. "But if you'd like to make any additional points, before she graduates would probably be prime time…"

With the exception of Bill, none of the Weasley family was particularly prone to tanning, but what little color he'd had left Ron's face in a horrified drain. "You can't be serious."

Hermione simply smiled. Ron groaned once more. "Fine, fine, I'll talk to her, but I won't like it."

"I doubt she will, either, love," Hermione said amusedly, kissing her husband on the forehead before taking the letter from him. "So, I'll write her back telling her how delighted we'll be to have her friend here."

"Can't believe you talked me into this," Ron noted half-heartedly. "Thank Merlin I love you so much."

Hermione just beamed and took a seat at the table to begin writing the reply message, but paused just as she dipped her quill into inkwell. "You know, you never explained one thing."

"What's that?" Ron asked distractedly, having just picked up the Daily Prophet and, as was his custom, immediately flipped to the Sports section to read his little sister's latest article on the Holyhead Harpies (Ginny's former team) completely demolishing the Chudley Cannons.

"What does the name Rose have anything to do with this?" Hermione pondered, dipping the quill again before starting on the letter.

Ron grimaced. "Flowery names. For some reason, Slytherin blokes just adore witches with flowery names. You remember Malfoy dated that Pansy Parkinson bint for ages, and his mum's name was Narcissa. Snape was obsessed with Harry's mum, Lily. It's something about bloody flower names."