Team: Ballycastle Bats
Position: Beater #2
Words: 2991 words before the Author's Note
Pairing: Hermione/Ron/ + Rose - family fic
Prompts: addiction, too short, week day, didn't we have fun though? [dialogue]

Other Guidelines: additional prompt - luxurious

"It smells good in here."

Hermione looked over her shoulder, holding her mixing bowl in hand as she gave her daughter a smile. "I thought you and Lily were staying together at your apartment tonight?"

Rose shrugged. "She got asked out by a guy she's been in love with for about as long as I can remember, so I told her to go. Besides, I was kind of glad, you know? I sort of wanted to stay the night here anyway." She dropped her purse on the kitchen table and walked over to see what her mother was making. When she realized it was treacle tart, she frowned. "What's wrong with Dad?"

Hermione smiled slightly as she put her bowl down, wiping her hands on her apron. "He's had a rough week. Uncle Fred's birthday was yesterday, you're getting married tomorrow, and he's just in a funk. But don't worry, sweetheart. He's promised me that he'll snap out of it by tomorrow." She dug around one of her lower cabinets in search of a baking pan, grumbling as she shuffled the other pans around. "Now where did your father put that blasted pastry pan! This is exactly why I hate it when he puts dishes away. Heaven forbid we put things back where we find them."

Laughing at her mother, she tucked her long, curly red hair back behind her ears. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course you can."

"Do you even like being in the kitchen? I've watched you bake my whole life and you never seem to really enjoy it."

Hermione shrugged. "I don't hate it. I don't love it, but I don't hate it."

"Then why do you do it?"

"Because I married a Weasley," Hermione retorted with a laugh. "Hugo isn't much of a comfort food kind of person. He might look like your father but he has my personality – complete with an unhealthy addiction of avoiding problems by sticking a nose in a book. But you, much like your father, will sit and brood until someone brings you something packed with sugar. For your father, it's treacle tart. For you, it's - "

"Snickerdoodles!" Rose exclaimed.

"Exactly," Hermione replied with a laugh.

"I remember when I gave Scorpius his first snickerdoodle," Rose said with a fond smile. "It was in first year, right after I accidentally burnt the ends of my plaits with a spell that backfired."

Hermione chuckled. "I remember getting that owl. I could see your tear stains on the parchment."

"And you wrote me back and said, it could have been worse, your backfired spell could have had you vomiting slugs. Love, Mum, and attached it to the top of a tin full of snickerdoodles," Rose replied. "When I found Scorpius in the library that night, I let him try one, and he loved them." Sighing, she drummed her freshly manicured nails against the countertop. "Sometimes I wish we were little again."

"Believe me, your father feels the same way today," Hermione replied, laying the crust inside the pan, then carefully placing the tart mixture on top. "He was looking at old photo albums of you kids earlier when he got home from work."

Rose frowned again, her shoulders dropping slightly. "He likes Scorpius, right? I mean, I know he says he does, but does he really?"

"He really does," Hermione reassured her daughter, sliding the tart into the oven and casting a spell on the dirty dishes to clean themselves up. She removed the apron from her body and tossed it on the counter, looking right at her daughter. "He's in the study if you want to talk to him."

Shaking her head, Rose walked over and sat down at the kitchen table. Her head was running a mile a minute. She couldn't believe that by this time tomorrow, she and Scorpius would be having their first dance as husband and wife. She startled slightly as her mother joined her, snapping her from her thoughts.

"Here," Hermione said, sliding a large mug of tea over to her daughter.

"Thanks," Rose replied. She took a sip and held the mug close to her with both hands, the heat feeling good against her cold hands. In her opinion, spring could kick into gear at any time as there were still spots of snow on the ground in certain shaded spots of her parents home in Ottery St. Catchpole. It was still cold outside, being April and all, but her Grandma Molly promised that there would be enough charms placed to keep the tents warm. "Were you scared? Before you married Dad?"

Hermione nodded. "I was a bit scared and a bit nervous. Are you a bit scared?"

"And a bit nervous," Rose admitted, not looking her mother in the eye.

"When your father and I finally figured out that we wanted to be together, I remember flying back from Australia with Grandma Jean and Grandpa Richard. I was scared to see your father at the airport, because I hadn't seen him for most of the summer. And we were sitting there in the airport, talking about him, and Grandpa Richard asked me if I was scared to take the risk to see if your father and I would actually work out as a couple, and I said yes. You want to know what he told me next?"

Rose nodded and took a sip of her tea. "Please."

"Grandpa Richard said that it was good that I was scared," her mother said. "Because if I wasn't afraid of losing him, then I was never meant to have him." She leaned back in her chair, her arms outstretched and hands cupped around her mug as it sat on the edge of the table. "I don't really think I understood what he meant then. I mean, I understood what he meant in theory of course, but the reality, well, that came later."

Sighing, Rose took a minute before looking up at her mother. "He's giving up so much to marry me. I know his parents finally agreed to come, but his relationship with them will hardly be the same again, and I just…I feel like he's losing so much and that maybe he'll resent it one day, and in return, me."

"That'll never happen."

"You don't know that, Mum."

Hermione shook her head. "I was sitting at this very table listening to that young man ramble and stutter for a good minute before pulling it together the night he asked your father for your hand. If your father had even the slightest bit of doubt that Scorpius could one day break your heart, he would have said no."

Rose's eyes were wide. "Wait just a minute. He asked Dad if he could marry me?"

"He asked me first, but only so he could have a human shield in the room when he asked your father," Hermione said with a chuckle.

"When he did ask Dad...what did Dad say?"

Hermione smirked. "The same thing Grandma Richard said to him the day your father asked him if he could marry me – If I said no, what would you do?"

"And Scorpius said?"

"Marry her anyway," Hermione recanted with a sweet sigh. "It's okay to be nervous, sweetheart. But don't be scared. Be excited! You're about to share your life with a man that adores you, and not everyone gets to be so lucky." She nodded her head in the direction of the kitchen staircase that led upstairs towards the study. "Why don't you go check on your father?"

Rose nodded, taking her mug with her. She kissed her mother's cheek in passing and trudged up the stairs to the study. It was really her mother's study, a luxurious work of art that her father created just for her – more of a library than a study - but over the years her father soon had a desk of his own inside, across the room from her mother's. She drummed her nails against the door lightly.

"Hello, Rosie."

"How did you know it was me?"

"You've knocked on doors that way since you were little," Ron said with a laugh. "Hugo doesn't know how to knock, and your mother gives one blunt knock before barging in." He looked up from the old leather couch he sat on, an open photo album in his lap. "Everything alright?"

Rose nodded. "Just thought I'd spend my last night as a Weasley at home."

"You'll hardly stop being a Weasley."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah…I reckon I do," Ron said.

She took a seat next to him on the couch, and leaned against him as soon as he opened up an arm to her, draping it around her shoulders. "What are you looking at?"

"Pictures of you," he said, pointing to one of a five-year-old Rose sitting on top of her father's shoulders, slumped over the top of her father's head, moments away from a sugar coma with an empty candy floss bag in her hand. "Your mum was furious at me when she realized we'd eaten the whole thing."

Rose stifled a snort. "If she'd ever try it, she'd understand how delicious it is."

"And how hard it is to stop after one bite."

"Exactly," Rose agreed. "Speaking of delicious, she's baking you a treacle tart as we speak."

Ron nodded. "Your mother is too good to me. Don't think I don't know it."

"I feel bad," Rose confessed. "I didn't even think about this week being a hard week with Uncle Fred's birthday and all. Of course, I sent Uncle George a card - "

"It's okay, Rosie," Ron interjected, giving her a squeeze. "You aren't forgetting Uncle Fred, you just don't know a life with him. You don't need to feel bad about that."

"I know, but Mum said you were a bit sad about it this week."

"I just miss him, is all," Ron reassured his daughter. "But I'll always miss him." He kissed her temple and clapped a hand on her knee. "Do you leave for your honeymoon right after the reception?"

Rose nodded. "We're flying on an airplane to Greece, because Scorp is obsessively fascinated by them and has always wanted to ride one. So Mum helped me brew up a couple of calming draughts last week because I'm going to need them. I hate airplanes."

Ron shuddered. "I agree. Those bloody things cannot be safe. How your mum can fly on one of those and not a ruddy old broom is beyond me."

"That's exactly what I told her! I wish airplanes were like carnival rides. Then I could claim to be too short to ride."

"You could," Ron replied with a chuckle. "When do you fly back?"

"We're there for sixteen days, I believe. I don't know; I didn't make the reservations. Scorp said something though about flying back on a Monday because flights were cheaper during the weekday maybe? I don't remember much of anything once he started going on about the type of airplane we'd take. He's such a geek about Muggle things. It's no wonder Grandpa Arthur adores him."

Her father agreed. "Believe me, my brothers and sister are grateful for that at times. I can only stand in the shed with Dad's Muggle treasures for so long." He flipped through some more of the photo album, stopping at a picture of Rose and a very pregnant Hermione at Hyde Park. "That was taken the day before Hugo was born," he said. "Your mum wanted one last day, just the three of us, and despite her swollen ankles and feet, we went into Muggle London and took you to the park to feed the ducks and walked for most of that afternoon. I kept telling her that we could go back, but she's a stubborn bird, and didn't complain once."

Rose closed her eyes for a moment, vaguely remembering the events of that day. "Was that the same day I fell on the sidewalk and scraped up my arms because someone put my shoes on the wrong feet and failed to notice?"

"In my defense, your mum was in charge of making sure your shoes were sorted on the right feet," Ron replied. "She knew I was rubbish at it."

Rose rolled her eyes. "I remember Mum putting dittany on the scrapes when we came home and crying because it burned terribly."

"Yeah, but didn't we have fun though? Before all of that?"

She kept her irritated face for a second, then cracked a smile. "Of course we had fun. We always had fun."

Ron smiled. "We did, didn't we?"

"We did," Rose confirmed. "Then Hugo came along and turned into the world's biggest tattle. Bloody snitch."

"He's certainly a mummy's boy," Ron commented with a wry chuckle. "But then again, I reckon I was a bit of the same way growing up. It happens when you're the youngest son…or the only son. Look at Albus."

"Aunt Ginny only likes him best because he looks just like Uncle Harry, and doesn't bring horrid objects home from Uncle George's shop," Rose added. "I already warned James that if I see anything that even looks like a Weasley Wizard Wheezes treasure at the wedding or the reception that I will tell his mother, and she will end his existence."

If anyone were to keep that sort of threat as a promise, Ron knew it would be his sister. He closed the photo album and slouched down a bit in the corner of the couch, Rose shifting and falling slightly along with him. He smiled as he felt her snuggle up to him, just like she used to do when she was a little girl. Hermione would often lament when Rose was a baby that she liked him best, and while he would always assure her that Rosie loved them both, he secretly enjoyed knowing that he was the preference when Rosie had a choice. He kissed the top of her head and heard her sigh. "Feeling alright?"

She shrugged. "Just tired. I haven't slept well all week…with the excitement and all."

Ron nodded, kissing the top of her head again and dragged the knit afghan from the back of the couch and draped it over her body. It didn't take long for Rose to fall completely asleep, lightly snoring. Ron let her sleep there for several more minutes, enjoying the fact that his daughter could still seek comfort from him, even now as a grown adult. He was excited for her to begin the next chapter of her life, but a small part of him would always be wistfully wishing she was the little girl who would look at him as if he could do anything.

Carefully, he was able to get up from the couch and with the help of his wand, levitate Rose up just enough to scoop her into his arms. He met Hermione in the hallway, giving her a sideways sort of smile as she gave him the same. She opened the door to her daughter's childhood bedroom and turned down the blankets. She moved out of the way, retreating towards the door to watch as her husband put their daughter to bed, covering her up and kissing her temple just like he used to do. Hermione had been rather impressed with how her husband had handled his daughter's impending wedding, a testament to how much he'd truly grown over the years.

"Hey," Hermione whispered as Ron came back to her.

"Hey," he replied softly, bending down slightly to kiss the tip of her nose. "I think the excitement of wedding week has worn her out a bit, eh?"

Hermione chuckled quietly. "Well, somethings will never change. At least she's in bed early tonight. We have a long day tomorrow." She grabbed his hand and led him downstairs, where there was a small dessert plate already filled with a piece of treacle tart and a glass of pumpkin juice waiting for him on the table. She let go of his hand and hugged her arms around his middle. "You're such a great father," Hermione told him. "I couldn't have asked for a better dad for Rose and Hugo."

"You're probably right," he teased.

Hermione playfully swatted his chest and let go, but Ron grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to him. He leaned in and kissed her lips, his arms wrapping around her middle. Picking her up the moment he felt her arms around his neck, he hugged her tightly, then pulled back to look at her. "Thanks for always taking care of us," he said. "And me…especially this week."

She smiled and pecked his lips. "You're most certainly welcome."

He put her down and smacked her bum, earning a feigned glare of irritation from his wife, and sat down at the table. Taking a bite of his treacle tart, he instantly felt better as he chewed and swallowed the sweet, sugary treat. "This is fantastic."

"I'm glad you approve."

"We may need to hide what's left, so I can eat it tomorrow, once it hits me that Rosie is a Malfoy."

"I already have some securely tucked away for that very purpose," Hermione promised him.

Ron grinned. "You really are the most amazing wife."

"Not really," she said. "I just happen to know my husband very well."