For Poiuyt, who requested Hermione trying to teach Rose, Hugo and Ron to ride a bike. Hope you like it!
Please review! And if anyone has any requests, I'd be happy to take them!
It was silly really, to be afraid of a bike.
He was Ronald Weasley. He'd fought You-Know-Who, destroyed Horcruxes and braved an angry Molly Weasley. He had his own Chocolate Frogs card. And yet, here he was, scared of a bloody bicycle.
He watched Rose and Hugo zip across the empty expanse of road, making wide circles around each other and whooping with delight. Hermione stood in the middle, laughing and attempting to take pictures of them with the Muggle camera she had bought in the shop down the road.
It had been her idea of course, this bike riding business. She was determined that Rose and Hugo would have childhoods that reflected both of their parents' upbringings, both magical and Muggle born. So far she had begun subscribing to the local Muggle newspaper (dull, with dreadful pictures that didn't move and altogether too many articles on gardening), started shopping in the Muggle supermarket (dull again, and besides, they didn't sell Chocolate Frogs, only Mars Bars) and had taken him to a football game, which she had tried to convince him was like Quidditch for Muggles (hideously dull, and nothing like Quidditch).
But that had all been bearable, really. Honestly, he didn't even mind driving too much, even though every time he drove he was faced with a barrage of angry honks from other drivers for some reason.
And besides, cars didn't summon up the same level of sheer mortal terror he felt when he looked at the bike. It was a rickety old rental in a garish shade of red that Hermione had picked up from the rental shop down the street.
Alright Ron. You can do this. Do it for Hermione.
He tentatively swung one leg over the bike's seat. The bike gave a sharp squeal and began to lurch and wobble underneath his weight and he sprung off in an instant, backing away from the bike. From a safe distance he eyed it warily, as if it were one of Hagrid's beastly pets ready to spring at a moment's notice.
Noticing his catastrophic first attempt, Hermione walked over to him, struggling to contain her laughter. He scowled.
"Need a little help?" she asked, righting the downed bike and barely holding back a giggle.
"I'm doing fine. I was just- er, taking a rest. You know. Stretch a little and all that. Keep the muscles limber."
Oh God, what was he saying? It was like he was fifteen again and every time he opened his mouth to speak to her, absolute dribble came out.
"Of course," she said, smiling. "But when you're done…stretching, just remember that you need to pedal, Ron. Otherwise, you're not going to go anywhere."
"I knew that," he said indignantly. What did she think he was, a complete fool?
Though granted, he didn't know how to pedal.
After a few more disastrous attempts where he had been nearly certain he had fallen hard enough to break a bone, he felt like he had gotten the hang of the pedaling. Slowly, he began to make his wobbly way down the road.
"Look, Hermione!" he shouted, turning back to wave to his wife and the kids. "I'm doing it!"
Hermione gave him a weary little smile, the sort you'd give to a small child who had just realized that the person in the mirror was not their twin, but rather their reflection.
This bike riding business was actually turning out to be mildly fun. He pedaled faster, the road flying past in a blur underneath his feet. Now he knew why Muggles liked bike riding so much. It was like their version of flying: the wind whipping past your face, the rush of scenery around you, the tree getting larger and larger in front of you.
Tree?
Ron didn't have time to swerve before the bike crashed into the tree and he rolled over into a low ditch on the side of the road, where he landed on his back with a groan. This time he was certain that his arm, or at least a finger or two, was broken.
Hermione was over in an instant, helping him up and brushing off his worries of broken bones without even looking at his arm. It seemed that he was fine, but the bike, unfortunately, was not. Its red frame was crumpled in the front, the handlebars twisted in odd directions. Ron rubbed his throbbing head, where a lump was beginning to form.
From now on, he'd stick to brooms.