Chapter One: Six Years Old
Ron Weasley sat at his desk in his garishly colored office. Hermione argued when he had chosen purple and orange for the walls, but he managed to convince her. The room was darker than normal because of the snow piled on the sky-lights, but dark recessed lighting gave the office a cozy feel (Hermione had had electricity installed throughout the house so her parents would be comfortable when they came to visit). Crackling green flames roared in the oversized brick fireplace, throwing the room into a sickly green glow. Ron pressed the bridge of his nose as the disembodied head in the fire continued to prattle on.
"The mother said she would write the Misuse of Magic Office unless we get this sorted. I've already refunded the purchase and offered to pay for the damage, but she still isn't happy. Although, on second though she probably was less happy when I offered store credit as an apology," George explained for the third time since he had called. "She says she wants to know how this happened."
"I read the owl as well," Ron muttered under his breath.
"Well, I would know for sure you had read it if you had been in the office when it arrived. But no, you took the week off. Selfish arse," George retorted back.
"We were supposed to go on holiday for our anniversary. We haven't gotten to do anything like that since the kids" Ron grumbled.
"That's not my fault," George countered.
"So you're saying you would have flooed anyways while Hermione and I were on a romantic holiday?" Ron challenged.
"Yes."
"We found a bed and breakfast without fireplaces," Ron retorted.
"Hermione has that cell-thingy," George fired back.
Ron moved from pressing the bridge of his nose to pressing on his temples. "You know, it's called good parenting. I gave up a week of shagging to stay here and play Mr. Mum. And I don't need shit from you about what's going on at work," Ron turned to glare at his brother's head in the fire.
"You only shag when you're on holiday?" George asked with mock incredulousness.
"No, that's not what I —" Ron started as his ears turned red.
"And Hugo is staying with mum, so you're only parenting fifty percent of your kids right now. I don't know if I would call fifty percent performance 'good parenting,'" George argued back.
"He's at the Burrow so he doesn't get dragon pox!" Ron defended as he turned towards the fireplace with his hands balled in fists.
"Untwist your knickers," George laughed at Ron's agitated appearance. "Just find the order invoice. I don't know why you take so many of them home with you without copying them first," George thought aloud.
Mumbling curses to himself, Ron turned back to his desk. "Here, I have it, the service order. Shit, it does say for a Skiving Snack Box, I was hoping they had marked it wrong," Ron said as he pulled the order slip out of his padfolio.
"Does it say who packed the order?" George asked.
"No, we got rid of that line three months ago when you said it decreased —"
"Daddy!" Rose called suddenly from her bedroom. Ron instantly stood up and left his office, jogging down the stairs to the second story. He could hear George calling after him.
Ron burst into Rose's room, his hand on his wand. He quickly assessed the room and saw nothing amiss, so he looked at his daughter, making sure she was okay. She still had a slight green tinge and pockmarks, but Hannah Longbottom had assured Ron and Hermione that both would fade in due course. Rose had a book propped on her knees. Her long red hair was tied in two plaits by her ears and she twisted one absentmindedly around her finger.
"Will you read to me?" Rose asked innocently.
Ron thought of his brother upstairs and the issue with the order form. He wanted to get it dealt with so George would stop being such a pain in his arse and he could go back to reconciling the orders with the stock reports like he had been before George had called.
"Please," Rose begged when her father did not answer.
Ron sighed. He could never make her upset, especially when she was not feeling well. "Of course," he said as he moved over towards her. Rose slid to the opposite side of her bed and allowed her father to sit next to her. "What're we reading today?"
"The Tale of the Three Brothers," Rose replied gleefully.
"Why do you like that one so much," Ron asked with a sigh as he opened the worn copy of The Beedle and the Bard. He smiled with pride, as he always did, when he saw Hermione's name emblazoned on the cover.
"Because it's mummy's favorite," Rose replied as she snuggled against Ron's shoulder.
"I don't think that's true," Ron said gently as he thumbed through the pages.
"It's the one she talks about the most," Rose justified.
"It's because it's the only one she thinks is true," Ron replied.
"Well, that makes it the best, doesn't it?" Rose asked.
"Just because things are true doesn't mean they're better," Ron replied as he continued thumbing through the pages until he found the story.
"But you're not supposed to tell lies," Rose shot back.
Ron stopped and thought for a moment, then he laughed. "Well, you got me there, Rose. Do you want me to read Dumbledore's notes as well?" Ron asked once he finally found The Tale of Three Brothers.
"Please," Rose said happily. She rested her head on Ron's shoulder. He moved his arm and put it around her. He cleared his throat and began to read.
By the time the second brother had perished, Ron could hear Rose's quiet snores. He tried to sneak his arm out from under her, but she stirred when he moved. He sighed as he looked at her. He decided he could spare a few moments away from his desk and let her sleep.
He looked at Rose and felt the familiar feeling of amazement. She was so beautiful, such a perfect combination of Hermione and him. As Hermione had said countless times, Rose had luckily inherited his hair. His breath stirred the fine bright red strands on her forehead. Even through the green tinge, he could see the smattering of freckles that covered her nose. Other than her hair, freckles, and blue eyes (which Ron could see flickering with dreams under her lids), everything else about Rose was just like her mother. She had the same small, rounded nose and the wide mouth that was just a bit too large for her face.
This tiny little person had saved him in so many ways. If not for Rose, Hermione would never have come back to Ron. They never would have been able to strengthen their love for one another. Rose had also shown Ron how deeply he could love. But she was blissfully ignorant of all of this. She just saw her parents, not two people who struggled with their own problems. Ron tried to remember when he had stopped seeing his parents as just mum and dad, but as their own people with their own problems, completely separate from their children. Perhaps it had been when Hermione had told him what his parents had gone through with their daughter.
Rose sighed in her sleep and turned away from Ron. He took the opportunity to slip away from her. He pulled the covers up to her chin and kissed her gently on her cheek. He turned the lights out as he closed the door to her bedroom, and he quietly made his way back upstairs to his office.
George's face had disappeared from the fireplace. Ron was grateful that he could work uninterrupted. He located the order form and studied it. The Portable Swamp and the Skiving Snack Box were nowhere near each other. He thought about the storage room. He knew the products weren't stored close together. Perhaps this was some nasty prank that one of the staff thought was funny, Ron considered. But it was not really funny to send the wrong thing to someone. Ron started to rub his the bridge of his nose. Maybe the order form had been partially completed with disappearing ink, he thought to himself. But at the same time, he knew that would not calm the furious mum who had owled Weasley Wizard Wheezes last week and nearly every day since threatening to contact the Ministry.
Ron started to search his padfolio for other orders from the same finding what he wanted, he kneeled on the floor and went through the lower filing drawer in his desk. The rustling of parchment made it so he did not hear Rose quietly open the door and pad over to him. She climbed into one of the two purple armchairs in front of the large mahogany desk. Rose studied the pictures on the wall. She fixated on the second biggest in the room which showed Ron receiving his Order of Merlin First Class. She absentmindedly twirled one of her plaits around her finger.
"Merlin's bollocks!" Ron exclaimed when he stood up. He had been shocked to see someone sitting in front of his desk.
"I didn't mean to scare you, daddy!" Rose exclaimed back at him.
"No, no, it's fine, sweetie," Ron said as he placed a hand on his chest to steady his breathing. "What are you doing out of bed?"
"I'm feeling much better," Rose said authoritatively.
"Are you now?" Ron asked with a raised eyebrow as he stood up and walked around his desk. He placed his hand on Rose's forehead. "Hm, you do feel cooler," he thought aloud.
"I'm sick of staying in bed," Rose added helpfully. "Can I stay up here and help you work?"
"Sure," Ron said absently. He removed a giant stack of parchment from his desk drawer and started going through the documents. He was looking for timesheets from the time when the order would have been filled. He figured he could question the staff members to see if any of them thought it would be a good idea to switch the order. Maybe if he and George told the disgruntled mother that the person responsible had been terminated, she might be calmed. Ron was having difficulty locating the timesheets, and he was growing more and more frustrated. He started rubbing his hands through his hair.
Rose had been staring at the largest picture in the office, right behind Ron's head and over the large brick fireplace. It was he and Hermione on their wedding day. Hermione looked beautiful with her bushy hair tamed straight and swept back off her face. Ron beamed in his muggle morning dress purchased just for the occasion. Unlike all the other pictures in the office, this was the only picture that did not move having been taken by the muggle photographer Hermione's parents had hired for the wedding.
"Daddy?" Rose asked.
"What is it, Rose," Ron asked shortly without looking up from his paperwork.
"Are you upset with me that you didn't get to go on holiday with mummy?"
Shocked by her question, Ron quickly put his paperwork aside. He regarded Rose. Her focus was still on the picture above the fireplace. "Why would you ask that?"
"Because you seem grumpy," Rose supplied quietly.
Ron thought for a moment. As he normally did, he decided honesty was best. "I'm disappointed that I couldn't go with you mum. But I would never be upset with you. You didn't plan on getting ill," Ron explained.
Rose did not look convinced. "But I'm the reason you couldn't go," she said sadly. "I'm sure mummy's mad at me. She's away and she's all alone. She has to be sad. And Hugo's probably upset too. He's away from his toys because he can't be near me!" Rose sounded more and more hysterical as she ranted on.
"Rosie, calm down," Ron said as he stood from his desk and moved to the armchair next to Rose. He moved the armchair she was sitting in so that she faced him. "No one is mad at you because you aren't feeling well. You know Hugo is happy with nan and grandad. You know nan is stuffing him with sweets. And mum has traveled alone before. She gets to sleep in a big bed all by herself and she doesn't have to worry about my snoring keeping her awake. But Rosie, no one blames you that all our plans had to change. That always happens in life," Ron said as he gently grabbed Rose's chin and made her look at him instead of the wedding picture. She still did not look convinced.
Ron decided it was time to get away from his desk anyway. "Do you want some lunch. Nan sent over some soup for you and I," he sighed.
Rose's face lit up at the mention of food. "Yeah," she said happily. Momentarily distracted, she jumped from the armchair and grabbed her father's hand, guiding him down the stairs to the first floor and the kitchen. Rose climbed into one of the chairs at the kitchen table as Ron removed the soup from the fridge and used his wand to send pots and bowls zooming around the kitchen. Once the soup had warned, two bowls and two pieces of bread settled themselves in front of the father and daughter pair. Rose eagerly tucked in.
Once her appetite was sated, Ron could see her mind start wandering again. "What's on your mind, Rose?" Ron asked warily.
"Are you and mum going to break up?" Rose asked suddenly.
"Why would you ask that?" Ron asked with shock. Sometimes he had no idea where his daughter's mind came up with these notions.
"If you don't go on holiday for your anniversary, you won't get to spend alone time with mummy. Like that one time, when I wanted to sleep in your bedroom, but you said that you and mummy needed alone time. Well, a holiday with me and Hugo at nanny's house would have been the perfect time for alone time!" Rose exclaimed.
Ron could feel his ears start to burn as he recalled the one evening that Rose could not fall asleep in her own bed and had sought refuge in Ron and Hermione's room. But he persisted on in his explanation to Rose. "There will be other times that me and mum can go away. And think of all the alone time that we'll have when you and Hugo are at Hogwarts in a few years," Ron added as the thought occurred to him.
"But I think you and mum need alone time now. You guys argue all the time," Rose retorted, not calmed by Ron's explanation.
Ron had to shake his head to try to keep up. Rose was switching justifications so quickly. "What do you mean we argue all the time?" Ron repeated lamely.
"You and mum are always arguing," Rose said defiantly.
Ron shook his head. "We don't argue, we bicker."
"What's the difference?" Rose demanded, her interest piqued. He pondered silently. He didn't really know how to tell his daughter in any appropriate manner than his bickering with Hermione had begun from the first moment that he had met her, that now he saw it as a form of foreplay. Nothing made him more attracted to Hermione than when she blew her hair out of her face and bit her lip as she yelled at him. Ron had learned long ago that make-up sex after a disagreement with Hermione was some of the best sex he could have.
"What is bickering?" Rose demanded after Ron had not yet supplied her an answer.
"Well, your mum and I, we just work through things verbally. We don't always see eye to eye, but that's what makes me love your mum so much. She shows me a different way of seeing things, a different way of looking at things." Rose seemed to ponder Ron's explanation.
"But Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur don't bicker," she said, trying out her new word.
"I'm sure you've seen nan and grandad argue," Ron quickly countered with a bit of frustration. Why did his eldest brother always have to one-up everyone else with his perfect marriage and perfect parenting abilities?"Right?" Ron prodded.
Eventually Rose nodded. "I guess I've seen nan and grandad fight," she said tentatively.
"Of course you have! Nan is always telling grandad off when he hides in the shed," Ron said defensively.
"But I see you and mum disagree more!" Rose countered back suddenly. Ron rubbed his hands in his hair. Rose truly was Hermione's daughter.
"That's because you live with mum and me. You spend a lot more time here. You don't see nan and grandad as much," Ron explained tersely.
"I guess that's true," Rose said slowly. She took a few more spoonfuls of her soup while she looked out the kitchen window. Ron watched her gaze. She seemed fixated by the falling snow. "I just don't want you and mum to ever break up. I heard Aunt Ginny and Uncle Harry talking about a time when you were broken up," she confessed quietly without turning away from the window.
Ron cursed his sister and brother-in-law. They had a strange knack for being overheard at the worst possible time."Rosie, look at me," Ron commanded. She turned away from the window, but refused to make eye contact with her father. "Rosie," Ron said again. She finally turned her blue eyes towards her father. "I can't promise that your mum and I will stay together forever."
Rose gasped with shock. Ron could barely discern the emotions flicking quickly across her face. "But —" Rose started.
"I can promise I'll always love your mother. But I can't promise something that may not always be true," Ron said as he met his daughter eyes. Rose started to speak again, but Ron cut her off. "Nothing will ever make me stop loving you, your mum, and Hugo. You won't understand how deeply I love the three of you until you're a mum yourself. But there's a lot of things that happen in life that we have no control over. And you can't predict how someone you love is going to behave. You also can't always know how you'll behave when something happens. And that uncertainty, that's where people run into problems, when life can get in the way of how much you love someone. So the only thing you can do is always love the people you care for, always be there for them, and try to be there with the kindness and respect they deserve."
Ros studied her bowl of soup as if she were deep in thought. She did not say anything.
"Do you know what I mean?" Ron asked after a moment.
Rose turned towards her father and nodded her head. "I think so, daddy. Are you saying that even when bad things happen, we still have to be there for the people we love?" Rose asked.
"Yeah, in a way," Ron said. He smiled to himself. He could feel pride bubbling up at the way he had handled this conversation.
Rose still did not seem to fully understand as she stared at her bowl of soup. She took a tentative spoonful. "I still don't understand why Aunt Ginny was talking about when you and mummy were broken up," she said after a moment.
"Your mum and I went through one of those rough patches before you were born. We didn't know how to be there for one another because we were really young," Ron explained as he felt his ears burn.
"But you know how to be there for each other now, right?" Rose asked with a stern expression.
"We do our best," Ron offered.
"So you won't ever break up," Rose countered.
"Not if I have a say," Ron promised.
Rose seemed to ponder this deeply as she lost herself staring out the window again. She looked so much like Hermione when she was deep in thought. Seeming to come to terms with her father's confession, she turned to him, a sweet smile on her face. "May I go upstairs and play in my room now?" Rose asked eagerly.
"Let me feel your head," Ron said in mock sternness. Hannah had assured he and Hermione that Rose would recover quickly, and that when the greenness started to fade, she would be an energetic six-year-old again.
Rose obediently stood up and walked over to her father. He placed his hand on his forehead and feigned deep thought. Rose bit her lip anxiously. "You feel fine. Take your bowl to the sink and go on upstairs," he laughed. Rose snatched her bowl put it gently in the sink and then skipped to the stairs. Ron watched her happily.
He raised his own wand and sent his bowl to join his daughters. He would wash up after dinner. He rubbed his hands on his legs and headed upstairs, back to the office, back to the grind. As he climbed the stairs, he thought of the week he could have had with Hermione, holed up in a bed and breakfast, away from the kids and the rest of the family, who collectively seemed unable to leave Ron and Hermione alone. He and Hermione would have lost themselves in each other in a week full of love-making and late night conversations. As he sat at the mahogany desk, he absentmindedly reached for a piece of parchment and his quill. He started writing to Hermione.
My dearest Hermione,
Rose — she's feeling better by the way — was asking the strangest things today. I haven't heard from mum, which I'm taking to mean the Burrow is still standing and Hugo is behaving himself.
I miss you. When you get back, we're planning a weekend away, somewhere far away and unreachable by floo. And nothing, not even dragon pox is going to stop me from ravishing you each moment. I have plans for a room without a fireplace and we'll leave your cell phone at home. I'll untie your hair and let it rest on your shoulders, kissing your neck. We won't wear clothes for three days. We'll get the room service in our bathrobes.
Come home soon, we miss you.
With Love,
Ron
He folded up the letter and walked over to his owl, Puck (another miniature Scops of which he was quite fond), and tied the letter to his eager foot. "Do me a favor and don't get intercepted. I could do without the press," he said as he walked over to the alcove window and threw Puck into the snowy air. He watched the tiny owl disappear amongst the flakes with a smile on his face.