Slight humor side, at least I think, of this tale. Something my own father would do.
A Father's Love
"Ron, hurry up, we don't want Rose to be late catching her train!" I called to my husband, who was once again dawdling. My daughter, Rose, was set to leave for Ireland with her 'friend' Scorpius Malfoy on a business venture. She was a scientist for the Ministry and studied various creatures. Dragons, mostly. Scorpius was an auror, and he claimed that the Irish were having some really terrible problems with rogue wizards, but I knew he just wanted to spend some time with Rosie. He had always fancied her.
Hugo was leaving as well, but he to Hogwarts. It was his last year at that blessed school. Next year, he'd be off to training with his Uncle George on how to help run the shop. I'd always been rather hopeful he might take a noteworthy career, but he'd always been a prankster, great chums with his cousin Fred, and together they would take over the wacky Weasley store when George and Lee were through.
The old cuckoo clock my parents had gifted me with long ago chimed the hour, and I stomped over to the stairs and called, "Ronald!" I heard a loud crash and bang in response, as well as a lot of crude language. My children burst into laughter, although I was not amused. "Coming dear," came a sheepish response, finally. I led the procession to our chimney, and as my dear husband came running down the stairs dressed well except for pink bunny slippers, I tossed the floo powder down, and didn't bother to alert him.
Rose embraced us and scurried onto her train. We waved her off, tears glistening in our eyes as our little girl left the safety of our arms and into the waiting ones of science. And a Malfoy, which Ron wasn't too pleased about. But there was not much time to grieve, for Hugo's train was preparing to leave directly.
We caught up with Harry and Ginny, who were sending their last child off to her final year at Hogwarts. Lily Luna had grown into a beautiful girl. Many boys fawned over her, but most of all Seamus Finnigan's son, Patrick. It was wonderful to be reunited with all our old friends, but I felt sad that our children were all grown up and we were getting older. Harry's hair was turning from jet black to grey, and his beard showed hints of white in it. Ginny was getting pudgy like her mum, and the dimples on her cheeks were turning to wrinkles. Thankfully, I wasn't showing too many signs of age, but I knew they were coming. Ron, however, was getting auburn hair and a beard that he refused to shave.
I was glad when we were finally home again, but I soon grew upset at the silence. Ron noticed, and stopped his game of chess with the sofa to sit beside me where I knit at the kitchen table. "Hermione," he whispered. I nuzzled his shoulder and began to cry. "They're gone, Ron. They're not ever going to run about and play knights and dragons anymore. Hugo won't sit up late into the night, crying about monsters in his closet, and Rose won't complain that every boy she sees has cooties. They're grown up."
Ron was vibrating. I thought he might be sharing my grief, but no. When I looked at him, he was laughing. "Hermione, don't cry, please. Look at it this way: our son isn't a wimp like he was for years, and our daughter had gotten her head screwed on straight. And you don't have to worry about little resource consumers raiding your closet and stealing your galleons to buy magazines and candy."
Such is the logic of Ronald Weasley.
It's that time again (R&R).