Prompt: Quidditch Cup 2014.
When Hermione had first been presented with the idea of going with Harry and his family to see the World Cup, her first inclination was to say no. It was a long time to take off of work, and traveling with two young children by international Portkey didn't sound like a wise idea. But her children had begged, and she couldn't resist the three pairs of puppy eyes they had trained on her. (Rose and Hugo had enlisted Ron, a master of the look of which they were mere disciples.) Ron had also made the practical points that they were overdue for a long vacation, and they could easily afford it. He had also gone in for the clincher, saying what an educational time it could be for the kids. Not that she didn't see through that, but she gave him points for mentioning it.
And while she didn't care a fig for Quidditch in general, She had fond memories of her first Cup, and wanted to give her children a chance to create their own memories as well. It had swelled from there, with all of the other Weasleys except for Arthur and Molly deciding to go. Word got out, and Neville, Hannah, Luna, and her husband decided to attend, as well. It was like a reunion, in a location that had no negative ties to the past. Chances like that didn't happen often, so Hermione agreed to go, although she wasn't thrilled at the idea of staying in a tent. Ron made it his mission to change her attitude (and his as well, he admitted), and had treated her to a highly enjoyable evening in the new tent he bought, to break it in.
The days leading up to their departure were hectic, running around and trying to get everything ready, along with helping Harry with his kids. Harry was a great dad, but handling his brood required a minimum of two adults; at least, it did with James. He seemed determined to live up to the mischief of his uncles, and the two Marauders he was named after, and Harry had once dryly remarked that he was glad he hadn't added Remus as a second middle name. Ginny wasn't having it much better; she owled frequently about the amount of time she was having to spend with Rita Skeeter, claiming that she might be forced to do something drastic before the whole thing was over.
Matches were followed keenly, anticipation rising as the teams were whittled down. To Ron's disgust, Viktor Krum had come out of retirement, and was doing remarkably well.
"Really? At his age? Isn't it about time he traded in his broom for a cane?" Ron had groused when he learned the news, running his fingers through his fresh haircut, styled with his fringe brushed back.
"You know, he's not any older than us now than he was in fourth year. You might want to think of a different insult," Hermione commented, careful not to make a face. She adored Ron, but her feelings didn't extend to the new hairstyle he was trying out.
Ron had grinned. "Well, you're closer to his age than I am." He ducked a flying pillow directed at his face. "Joking! Although with that arm, you could join as a Chaser. Are you sure you haven't been sneaking to Bulgaria for training sessions with Krum?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, stealing his pillow to replace the one she had thrown. "Yes, Ron. You've figured it out; that's what I do on my long lunch hours."
"Figured as much; those are the days I owl Lavender, and we-ouch! Did you have to throw the bloody book?" Ron pouted, rubbing his chest.
"Sorry. Reflex."
She had thought that that had been the end of it as far as Viktor was concerned, until the first time she heard him cackling over Bulgaria missing an easy point. He had blinked innocently at her when he caught her looking at him, and she had decided to drop it, for the moment. She was more concerned with getting the children packed with all of the things they'd need; the match might hold their attention, but the rest of the time had to be filled somehow. Special blankets and cuddle toys had to be kept track of, along with enough books for bedtime. Hopefully, they would spend most of the time playing with their cousins, and wouldn't have time to get up to much trouble. She rolled her eyes at her own wishful thinking.
The day they were to leave, Hermione was checking that everything was in her beaded bag, and that Rose and Hugo had their backpacks strapped on firmly, while Ron double checked the tent. Both of them had been distracted when Harry arrived with his three, a woebegone look on his face. Hermione and Ron froze, staring at the gash on his cheek that looked as if it had been made in the past day.
Hermione gasped, Oh, Harry! What happened?"
Ron came up to inspect his friend more thoroughly. "I didn't think you were working on any cases at the moment. Did something big go down?"
Harry stared ahead, waving them away. "Not work related. Not going to talk about it. Bad enough that I'll die of embarrassment when I have to tell Ginny."
James, who had been chasing Rose around the sofa, looked up at his father. "I love you?"
Harry sighed. "That got you out of being grounded, but don't push it. I can always tell Aunt Luna that you'd like those interpretive dance lessons that she offered."
James looked horrified, the unruly hair that he shared with his father practically standing in alarm. "I'll be good, I promise!"
Ron nodded. "Wise move. I've seen the outfits she'd make you wear for that, and it puts the rig she wore for her wedding to shame."
The trio paused to remember the event; They had known Luna well enough to expect something outlandish, but that outfit had exceeded their imaginations. Bets had been placed on it, in fact, but no one could collect, because nearly everyone had gotten something right, if not quite how they meant it. The only thing that could be universally agreed on was that poor Rolf had looked like he had swallowed a dragon egg when he caught sight of her. But he was a very laid back sort, and able to quickly adjust to whatever Luna threw at him.
"Anyway, are you lot ready? I'd like to get there in time to find a good spot to set up the tents," Harry questioned, never breaking eye contact as he scooped up Lily, who had been climbing his leg like a koala.
Ron lifted the striped blue roll that, when unfolded, would pop up into a roomy tent. "Already taken care of. Bill, Charlie, Percy and their lot all left yesterday, and they've saved us a couple of spots. George sent Ange and the kids on ahead, and he'll come this afternoon after he wraps up a few things at the shop."
"Kids, get over here! It's time to go!" Hermione yelled, clapping her hands for attention. Four small bodies scrambled over, knowing from experience that it was unwise to ignore her.
Harry shifted Lily to his left arm, the floppy ears of her blue bunny smacking him in the face as he dug around in the pocket of his jacket. He pulled out a tapemeasure, which was stretched out so everyone could grab hold. Ron slipped the strap of the tent over his shoulder, and put his free hand around Rose, who looked a bit nervous. She grinned up at him, the gap from her newly missing tooth winking at him. He smiled back; Rose was smart enough to be cautious, but brave enough to throw herself into something once she had decided to. The tapemeasure began to glow, and the kids yelled as they began to spin.
Harry and Ron, used to international Portkeys from Auror training, had landed smoothly, Quickly setting Hermione and the kids back on their feet, then getting hastily out of the way as more than one stomach rebelled at the rough treatment. Once everyone had some color back in their faces, they had set off to the far left side of the field, where Bill had said they were staying. The crowds were thick, with sights, sounds, and smells reminiscent of the Cup they had attended twenty years ago. Sellers of merchandise were hawking their wares from their stands, causing the children to crane their necks longingly, ready to pick out souvenirs. Ron and Harry looked wistful as well, but it was Ron who voiced a firm decision that they would go later, once they had set up.
Surprisingly, or perhaps not, it had been Ron who had been strict about the way Rose and Hugo used money. Instead of giving them an overly generous allowance as she had thought he might, he had instead given them age appropriate chores, and if they didn't do them, they didn't get their pocket money. When asked why, he had said that he had always had to earn his, and it had always made him feel like it was really his. It had also made him more careful of how he spent it; it might be on sweets or pranks, but it wasn't blown without thought, either. As he told Hermione, they didn't have to worry about money, and while he didn't want the kids to be obsessed with it, he didn't want them to take it for granted, either. The resulting display of amourous approval had had him smiling for days, and sneaking up behind her to whisper, 'fiscal responsibility,' and 'parental skills' in her ear to rile her up all over again.
One of the perks of being a part of the Weasley family was that they were always easy to find; it wasn't long before they spotted a mass of gingers congregated around a circle of tents, the voices of children at play greeting them as they came closer. Fred spotted them first, and he dashed over to them. The young boy was a mix of both of his parents; he had Angelina's eyes and hair, and George's freckles scattered across his dusky skin, with a tinge of red in his tight braids when the light hit it just right. The grin that he aimed at them brought to mind his namesake, a fact in which his family found a bittersweet comfort.
"Hey, Uncle Harry! There's a surprise waiting for you!" The boy chuckled gleefully, falling into step beside Harry.
"Something tells me it's not a good surprise. Come on, I know you're dying to tell me."
"Well, yesterday when we all got together around the Portkey, we didn't notice we had an extra. Teddy changed his hair to blend in and snuck along, and no one noticed until this morning. Well, none of the adults noticed. Uncle Bill's mad enough to spit."
Harry groaned. "This. This is why my hair is already turning. I don't even have my tent set up yet, and already hell's breaking loose."
"Actually, Ginny set it up last night. She said she couldn't stand another night in the tent set up for the reporters, or she'd end up smashing a bug." Percy informed them, having ambled over from the group of adults.
"I love my wife. And to prove it, I'll try to talk her out of doing anything that'll land her in Azkaban, as soon as I find her."
"I think she's still doing interviews, right now. But I'm glad to see you all made it alright; there's been a few problems with the Portkeys." Percy said, running a frustrated hand through his graying hair.
"What kind of problems?" Hermione asked in alarm, reflexively pulling Hugo closer, before he squirmed out of her grasp.
"Oh, nothing dangerous; just some muddled destinations. Last report was a family of four ending up in Luxembourg. I'm headed off to see if I can help sort things out...try not to mention it in front of Audrey? I had promised I wouldn't bring any work along with me, but this simply can't be overlooked."
"We'll cover for you, Perce. If all else fails, we can ask Teddy to take your place for a bit," Ron teased as he plopped the tent on the ground, making sure he had enough space to erect it.
Harry went off to sort out his stowaway godson, leaving Ron and Hermione to get themselves settled. They sent Rose and Hugo off to play, after warning them not to leave the tents without permission. The tent wasn't as luxurious as they came, but it had two bedrooms, a living area, and small bath and kitchen. The color scheme was warm, blue and chocolate tones, and it was thankfully free of the odor of cat urine. Hermione went to double-check the food supply, while Ron laid out the kids' pajamas for later that night, knowing they would be too worn out to unpack for themselves.
"Think we should go see if Harry managed to save Teddy, or if Bill's already gone cannibal and ground him into steak yet?" Ron asked, tucking his wand into his pocket.
Hermione set out the kettle for later, and joined him by the flap. "You think it's funny now, but you'll be singing a different tune once it's Rose."
Ron shook his head solemnly. "No, because Rose is going to stay eight years old forever."
Brown eyes narrowed. "Ron, you're going to have to allow her to grow up and make her own choices! All we can do is teach her as best as we can, and trust her to-"
He interrupted, seeing she was working up a fine head of steam. "Hermione, I know. I was joking, mostly. I want her to find someone and fall in love and all that; I just don't want her to have to go through all the shit that you did. I'll try to behave, but there'll be times when I see things going badly, and I'll slip."
She reached out to take his hand. "I suppose that's all anyone can hope for; I'll just have to be the sensible one."
With his free hand, Ron pushed back the flap. "Really? Need I remind you which of us cried the first night they spent away from home?"
"Both of us."
"Right. Face it, they're both screwed, and destined for embarrassment."
Harry was already finished, it seemed, as he met them halfway from Bill's tent. "Got everything sorted out. Apparently, he had been joking with Victoire, and hadn't actually meant to come. He was supposed to pull away at the last second, but he tripped, and had to grab hold of the Portkey to keep from falling."
"He does tend to take after Tonks in that regard, doesn't he?" Ron mused.
"Harry! And Ron and Hermione! Over here!" Someone shouted.
A hand waved from a crowd of people, and moving closer, they saw that it was Neville, with two others at his side. One was Hannah, wearing casual Muggle clothing like her husband. The second was Luna; she was dressed as a Muggle as well, but her time period was slightly off. Still, she managed to carry the neon, flower-print kaftan with the small, circular purple sunglasses and matching flower crown, despite the cold weather.
"The Age of Aquarius has come to the Wizarding world," Hermione breathed, earning a smothered laugh from Harry, and a look of confusion from Ron.
They greeted their friends, and Neville invited them to come to his tent to catch up. Once everyone was seated, and the tea had been passed around, Harry turned to Luna.
"Where's Rolf? Didn't he make the trip?"
"Yes, he's here. He ran into a friend he hasn't seen in years, and he and the boys went off together. I hope it does him some good; he was complaining about feeling seasick earlier."
"I can see why," Ron muttered in Hermione's ear, earning a surreptitious pinch on the arm.
The group chatted for a while, the topic eventually turning to careers. It turned out that Hannah was planning to apply as Matron at Hogwarts, both so she and Neville would have more time together, and because she enjoyed working with children, but had no desire to teach.
"Does this mean you're selling the pub?" Ron asked, hoping not; it was one of the few places that could be counted on to put out a tasty meal with huge portions.
Neville laughed. "Nah, we're training up some of the staff to manage it. The salary from the school is alright, but we live off of booze."
They were still chuckling at his joke when the flap was whipped open, and Ginny stalked in, a scowl on her face as she threw herself down next to her husband.
"You look in a dangerous mood. Should I move out of the way?" Harry asked, both amused and concerned.
"Don't give me lip, Potter. I've had all I can stand with trying not to squish bugs today."
"You shouldn't smash bugs, Ginny," Luna said gently. "They're very beneficial, even the nasty, smelly ones that make you sick to your stomach."
"We'll see just how beneficial you think she is once her article comes out; she's caught wind that you're all here, and she's determined to do some sort of expose on the 'Heroes of Hogwarts.' Ginny grumbled darkly.
This was met with groans all around; none of them had ever been wild about that title, and even less pleased with the media attention. Just when they thought the whole thing had died down, it would surge to life again, sometimes making work or daily living more difficult.
"Maybe it won't be too bad, since all the focus is on the Cup right now," Hannah said hopefully.
But, true to form, it was.
Or, if not bad, certainly not good, Ron thought, if Hermione's strangled scream at the breakfast table was anything to go by.
"Rose, you and Hugo go on outside to play," Ron said, knowing his wife needed to let off steam. As the kids dashed out of the tent, he picked up the paper that had been thrown onto the table, and smoothed out the creases so he could read.
"Hm. You know, the rumors used to fly around that Ginny would leave Harry for a Quidditch player; looks like he's had her beat with Krum, all along. He's gonna get more than a little scar on his cheek for that."
Hermione stabbed her sausage in a wince inducing manner.
"And I don't think that this was how Bill wanted to find out how serious things were getting between Teddy and Victoire. Surprised we haven't heard the howling yet."
Hermione slammed her fork on the table. "How can you joke like that, after all of the awful things she said?"
Ron sighed, seeing that humor wasn't going to be of any help yet. "Hermione, Skeeter's a bitch. You know it, I know it, practically every witch and wizard in England knows it. I don't like what she said any more than you do, but it's not as if anyone is going to believe it."
"But it's outright lies! Potentially damaging ones, at that. Parents could complain about sending their children to a school with a known alcoholic as a professor, and Hannah might be turned down for the Matron position because of this! Where did she even come up with that?"
"Honestly? I think she was sneaking around in her bug form before we got the wards put up, and heard us talking. But everyone on the school board knows them, so I doubt it's going to be a problem. Besides, we lived through Trelawney, just like most of the parents out there. They'll consider the source, and ignore it."
"Ugh. Please don't equate Neville to that woman," she shuddered.
Ron scooted his chair closer. "You're just mad, because she never predicted you'd be a femme fatale."
"Oh, dear god," she moaned. "Don't start. It's bad enough imagining the ribbing I'll get at work when we get back."
"Would that be before or after you check me back into my special ward at St. Mungo's?" Ron asked innocently.
Finally, Hermione smiled, her shoulders beginning to shake as she laughed. "Did living with my bushy hair finally drive you mental?"
Pleased that her mood had lightened, Ron lifted the hair in question, nuzzling her exposed neck. "Mmm. You drove me mental years ago."
Hermione sighed at the pleasant sensations, which were brought to a halt when Rose and Hugo raced back into the tent. Both made faces at their parents' compromising positions, but said nothing about it.
"Daddy, you said we could go pick out our souvenirs today! Can we go yet? Pleeeeeeeease?" Rose begged, with Hugo jumping up and down beside her.
He had hoped for an hour or so alone with Hermione, but they had been patient so far, and he had promised. Sliding the last of his eggs into his mouth, he wiped his face with a napkin, and stood from the table.
"Alright, let's go see if the others are ready to go, too. You coming, Hermione?"
Hermione shook her head. "You go on. I'd like to read a few chapters of my book, since I probably won't be able to during the match."
Her husband looked pained at the thought of reading during Quidditch, but he allowed his children to grab him by the hands and lead him away. With a flick of her wand, she cleared away the breakfast things, then went to the sitting area to lounge on the sofa with her book. although she had it in her hands, she couldn't focus on it very well. Ron hadn't seemed upset by the article, and in a way, that was good. Nearly twenty years ago, and that wouldn't be the case. His self confidence, which had grown wonderfully, would have put him in a blue mood for days, over analyzing and criticizing himself.
Instead, she found herself being enraged on his behalf. The shot about his hair had been bad enough, even if she grudgingly admitted that the style didn't suit him, and gave the impression that he was indeed losing his hair. But it was the other two points that bothered her, along with the way they slyly made Ron out to be the lesser member of the trio, when nothing could be farther from the truth. First, to imply that Ron had taken a step down with his career choice was ludicrous. Even if you ignored the fact that Ron hadn't, in fact, retired from the force, but was still active as head of intelligence, the shop was a money maker. Ron and George were constantly generating new ideas, with George focusing mainly on the creative aspect, while Ron spotted trends that helped improve sales. He also had a knack of knowing which inventions could be turned to a more practical use, which had lead to a contract with the Ministry.
All of that took brains and skill, and reducing those qualities down to those of s salesclerk irked her to no end. But the part that really fried her bacon was the implication that Ron was mentally unstable. Of course the war had taken a lot out of him! He had watched one of his brothers die, for the love of Merlin! Not to mention the severe strain of the hunt, and the guilt he felt over leaving both her and Harry. The war had affected all of them deeply, though Ron perhaps wore it more visibly in his facial expressions at times. But that hadn't stopped him pursuing a successful (double) career, along with raising a happy and healthy family. Ron adored her and their kids, and he was constantly showing it, along with maintaining relationships with the rest of his family. Just because his priorities were right, and he didn't go in for flash, didn't mean that he was mentally impaired.
Ron had matured into the wonderful man that she had always seen underneath the insecure boy, and she hated that others didn't see that, as well. It was obvious she was going to have to get together with Ginny; Rita was getting too big for her display case; she might need a reminder about the confining nature of jars...
Hermione mused off and on for several hours, blinking dazedly when she heard the loud voices of her family arriving, with squeals and whoops signifying that the trip had been a success; and that was just Harry and Ron. The children were even more vocal, all clamoring for her attention at once.
James and Lily were in Bulgarian red, as Hermione had expected; Harry had always supported Viktor after fourth year. Albus was in green, which was surprising, until she saw her own children. Huge t-shirts were over their jumpers, adorned with what looked like every flashing Brazilian badge that had been up for sale. Their faces were painted, and the whole thing was topped off with Luna-worthy hats, along with a banner that each was waving gleefully. Albus almost always went along with whatever Rose did, but she had thought that all of the kids were going to support Bulgaria. She had a sneaking suspicion about what had happened.
"I thought you two were going to wear red, like Uncle Harry?" She asked.
"But Daddy would've been lonely, wearing green all by himself," Rose pointed out.
"Yeah, and like Dad told us, Brazil is fun to say! Brazzzzzzzzzzzzil! Bulgaria sounds like the noise Crookshanks makes when he's sick!" Hugo added, with sound effects to match.
From a safe spot near the exit, Harry spoke up. "I tried to talk him out of it, Hermione."
Ron, who had wisely been keeping his mouth shut, glared at his so-called friend. "Thanks, mate. I appreciate the support. Really."
Harry shrugged, rubbing the scar on his cheek, pretending to be interested in the little shirt that Lily had gotten for her bunny.
"Ron, your...whatever about Viktor is bad enough, There's no reason to drag the children into it!" Hermione snapped, her hair bristling around her.
"Weeeeeell, as lovely as it is to chat, I think I'll go say hello to George," Harry piped up.
"You said hello this morning," Ron reminded him.
"Then I'll say hello again. You can never say it too often. Come on, kids. I think there's some board games in one of the other tents." And like the Pied Piper, he led them away, leaving an abashed Ron to deal with his wife.
Hermione put her hands on her hips, leaning forward in battle mode. "This ridiculous hatred you have for Viktor has to stop-"
"I don't hate him."
"-because it's a bad examp- you what?" Hermione spluttered, confused by his quiet statement.
Ron ruffled his hair, before slumping into one of the cushy armchairs, his bright green shirt clashing horribly.
"I don't hate him, Hermione. At least, not the way you think. You were right the other day, when you said that he's one of the best Seekers out there; he's as good as he ever was, and I reckon I'd be a fool to claim otherwise." He paused, searching for the right words. "It's just...it reminds me of fourth year, and what a cock-up I was. He was everything I wanted to be, and wasn't; he was easy to blame when I realized I wanted you, and had probably already lost you. I don't see a Quidditch player when I look at him. I see a pathetic, poor fourteen year old in the world's tackiest dress robes, sticking out worse than he usually does."
Hermione had never really thought of it that way. But now that she did, she understood it wasn't petty jealousy; it was about being uncomfortable about an embarrassing point in his life, and that was something probably everyone had to deal with. Her anger dissipated, and she sank into the chair next to his, reaching out to take his hand that was on the armrest.
"Alright. I suppose I can see your point; just as long as you know that it was never a competition between you, and that even if it had been, you would have won."
Ron looked up, blue eyes hopeful. "So you aren't mad at me?"
She shook her head. "No."
"Because I can take the kids to exchange their stuff; I don't mind being the only one in green. Just me, all alone. No support from my loving-"
Deft little fingers twisted the skin on the back of his hand. "Don't push your luck, or I'll not only take you up on that offer, but I'll make you wear a Krum jersey yourself."
He flashed her an exaggeratedly horrified look. "I think I'd rather wear something that you knitted back in fifth year!"
She leaned over to kiss him. "That can be arranged, too. Should we go find Harry, and tell him it's safe to come out?"
A long, rumbling gurgle came from Ron's stomach. "Yeah, and maybe hit a couple of the food tents, as well. You mentioned wanting the kids to try some of the local stuff."
As he went on to describe how Rose and Hugo had enjoyed their morning, she smiled, walking slowly with him. Twenty years ago, she never would have believed that she and Ron could have come this far; it was amazing what a little maturity and work on both of their parts could do. She didn't care what that blasted article said; Ron was amazing.
Although RIta was still going to be hearing from her...
The day of the match was bright and clear, although still quite cold. The kids were getting used to it, though they had initially been confused about how it could be cold in July. She and Ron were barely able to make them sit still long enough for breakfast, and then they were nearly late when they made it halfway to the stands, and Hugo decided that he needed to go to the bathroom after all. Everyone else had already arrived; Bill was looking dangerous as he kept a close eye on Teddy and Victoire, while Fleur wore a smile of private amusement. Charlie was obviously enjoying his older brother's plight, but wisely, stayed quiet about it. Percy seemed to have been forgiven by Audrey, and was now having a debate about Quidditch rules with his oldest daughter. George was grinning, and whispering something in Angelina's ear, while at the same time reaching over to flick Fred on his ear, who had been about to slip something down the back of his sister's shirt. Neville, Hannah, Luna, and her family were in one corner, and Ron was disappointed to see that Luna wasn't wearing one of her trademark hats. Shame, really; it didn't feel like a proper function without one.
Harry waved them over to the seats he had been saving, and he and Hermione sat down, although Rose and Hugo were too excited to stay still for long. They could see Ginny over in the announcer's box, and they waved, though Ron noticed the way Hermione glared at the older woman seated next to his sister. Ginny was giving her the stink-eye, as well. He shuddered. If Skeeter had the sense that God gave a bug, she wouldn't bother to pack her bags, but slip quietly out of the country.
While the whole thing was exciting, it was a bit different than he had remembered it. He wasn't quite as focused on what was happening on the field as he had been when he was a kid; now, he was just as interested in the reactions of Rose and Hugo, watching their faces light up and the team's displays. He wondered if this is how his dad had felt; he'd have to ask when he got home. The Veelas took the pitch, and Ron recalled the effect they had had on him at fourteen. A walking ball of hormones, he had nearly broken his neck trying to get their attention. He could feel the power they were exerting now, and felt himself go a bit numb from the magic. They were pretty, certainly; he wasn't like some of the men he knew, that pretended that other women weren't pretty once they got married. That was bollocks. Just because he was in love with his wife, and had no desire to be with anyone else, didn't mean he was blind.
An elbow jabbed him in the ribs, and he grunted, rolling his eyes at Hermione's unamused expression. Harry saw the movement and leaned forward to catch Hermione's eye.
"At least he's not trying to jump down from the stands this time," he snickered.
"A vast improvement, to be sure," she replied dryly.
Ron wasn't having any. He leaned close, so only she could hear. "Really? Don't think I didn't see you with that issue of Witch Weekly. You know the one; Wizarding World's Top 50 Hottest Hunks. The pages looked a bit worn, as well."
Hermione flushed. "I read it for the articles!"
He patted her on the leg. "Sure, you did. I would never think otherwise."
"Hurrumph."
Smugly, he turned his attention to the match, he and Harry taking turns to explain what was going on. After a while, Luna started passing around some strange looking biscuits. Ron waited until a few people had sampled them; once a minute of two went by with no ill side effects, he allowed the kids to try them, and helped himself as well. He bit into it; it was odd, and slightly fruity, but the taste grew on you. Rather like Luna herself, really. He gave her a thumbs up, and she beamed back at him; she knew he didn't praise food lightly. Harry had his hands full with James, and missed that Albus, usually the quietest of the boys, was about to topple over the edge. With reflexes still sharp from training, Ron reached out and yanked him back, staying outwardly calm. On the inside, his heart was thudding at the close call. That, to him, was the worst part about having kids; they seemed so...fragile, in some ways, as if they could be snatched away from you in an instant. A pale looking Hermione squeezed his hand, and they both glanced at their own children, safely bobbing up and down in their seats.
Thankfully, the excitement after that was confined to the pitch, and Ron felt himself pulled into the game, holding his breath every time someone prepared to score, and cursing when a point went to Bulgaria. Hermione sighed deeply, but didn't bother to admonish him, which he was grateful for. At this point, it wasn't even about Krum; it was about picking a team, and sticking with them until the end, even if you privately thought the other team, or at least a certain key player, was better.
The pressure of a smaller body pushing against him led him to glance down, finding Hermione burrowing into his side. Although she was dressed warmly, it was quite cold, and her lips and cheeks were pale. Pulling his arm out from between them, he draped it around her shoulders, barely hearing the contented murmur that left her mouth. His attention was now unevenly divided between the match and his wife. Hermione was staring straight ahead wearing the same expression he himself wore when forced to attend some of the more serious plays she liked, and she was obviously only taking in the game on a very basic level. She had only ever had any real interest in Quidditch if someone she cared about was playing, and apparently Krum didn't fit the bill. In some ways, he was surprised she had come along at all; the trip could've been passed off as 'Daddy time,' and she could be at work right now, happily working away on her latest caseload.
But she did enjoy seeing him and the kids happy, and while she was passionate about her work, her relationships came first. It had been a hard balancing act to learn, and he had worried at first that she wouldn't be happy. He shouldn't have worried; Hermione wasn't the type to live any way but the way she wanted to, and she hadn't seen the need to give up family for career. She busted balls at the Ministry by day, and fought him for rights to story time at night. And through all the long hours, teething children, frustrated arguments and angry tears, she still managed to make him feel like he did in those moments of their first kiss.
Unable to contain the rush of affection, he ducked his head to kiss her cheek, the cool skin warming under his lips. She smiled up at him softly, and not even that commentating cow could keep him for going in for another. Until it hit both of them what she was saying, and they both scanned the pitch, looking for Krum.
"Do you see him anywhere? At least he managed to stay on his broom," Hermione asked hopefully.
Ron pointed, his long finger drawing her attention to the correct area. "He looks alright, but depending on how fast they were going, a head injury could be pretty serious." He hoped it wasn't; while the thick-browed Bulgarian irritated him, he didn't actually want anything bad to happen.
Neville was retelling the accident for Albus, gesticulating wildly as he went through the motions. With the way he described it, it looked like Krum might only end up dazed. Thankfully, that was the case, and he was fit to continue; the sportsmanlike side of Ron was happy, but he couldn't help feeling a bit down about what this did to his team's prospects. He sighed. Always doomed to back the loser...at least, in Quidditch. As time wore on, however, he grew more hopeful; the Snitch didn't look to be caught anytime soon, and Brazil was doing pretty well. He was just about to risk a small cheer that wouldn't jar a dozing Hermione, when he heard it.
"KRUM HAS THE SNITCH! BULGARIA WINS!"
Instantly, the whole box was on their feet; Harry was jumping around with his kids, looking about fourteen again; Ron, however, was using every creative swear word at his disposal, completely ignoring Hermione smacking his arm. So close! He had been so bloody close! And now he was going to have to deal with Harry, the smug little git!
Hermione did her best to distract Rose and Hugo from their father's muttering, which she was relieved to see was more a matter of sports fan sulkiness, rather than actual hostility. Years of practice thanks to the Cannons had her nodding and repeating the same soothing words as ever, rolling her eyes whenever she saw one of her sisters-in-law grinning at her in sympathy. George, predictably, had a go at Ron, but Angelina brought him up short with a few whispered words. He took a break from being grumpy to say goodbye to Neville, Hannah, Luna, and Rolf, all promising that they would have to get together again soon.
It was decided that they would all have a giant family dinner in Bill's tent, which, thanks to Fleur, was large enough to handle the job. Teddy, although pleased with the win, was looking a bit gloomy at the prospect of facing his grandmother, and his hair reflected this by turning a nondescript shade of brown. Just when Hermione had thought that Ron's mood had been lightened with food, Rose and Hugo took that opportunity to join Harry and a few of the others in loudly calling out the Bulgarian team's chant, and had somehow managed to get someone to Charm their shirts red, instead of green.
"Oi! What made you two little traitors give up on Brazil?" Ron teased them, looking amused by their fickleness.
"Viktor Krum! He's the most amazing Quidditch player ever!" Hugo breathed, his awed expression almost exactly matching his father's, twenty years previously.
Rose nodded. "Did you see him? He made it look so easy! And he's pretty cute, too," she added thoughtfully, causing laughter to break out around the table.
"Got your mum's taste there, Rosie! Although she didn't date him for long," George grinned, stretching across the table to join the conversation.
Hermione shifted uncomfortably as her kids looked at her, eyes nearly popping from their sockets.
Hugo reached out a hand to touch her, as if maybe a bit of celebrity had worn off on her. "You dated Viktor Krum?"
Rose's face wrinkled in confusion. "Then why are you married to Daddy?"
"We went to a dance together, and there wasn't much more to it than that," Hermione said firmly, noticing the way Ron's shoulders slumped at Rose's poorly worded question, the hurt that flittered across his eyes quickly hidden. "Just because you go out with someone, doesn't mean you marry them. And Viktor was nice, but not very...interesting." Nice, but lacking the passion that Ron had, the ability to match her anger, and probably in other ways as well.
Rose and Hugo stared at her as if she had said something as outlandish as Luna, looked at each other, shrugged, and went back to eating. Ron had turned to say something to Bill, so Hermione concentrated on her food, although not before trading a knowing look with Harry. He must have seen the look on Ron's face, as well. Somehow, she was going to have to address it.
An hour later, after giving dinner plenty of time to settle, they began to Portkey home, in the same groupings as they arrived, Ginny coming along with Harry and the kids. They landed in Ron and Hermione's sitting room, and, once they had regained their balance, scooped up their sleepy children, and Flooed home. Ron, thinking that Hermione was getting the kids settled, decided to take the first shower, so she could soak in the tub later, if she wanted to. He stood under the hot stream of water, his mind far busier than his hands. One of the things he had always struggled with had been his insecurity. It had nearly cost him his best friends, because of the locket, and he was lucky that things hadn't ended worse than they had. After the war, things and gotten surprisingly better; he knew where he stood with Hermione, and in helping his family after Fred's death, and eventually joining the Aurors, he began to feel more sure of himself. The more confident he was, the easier success came to him, in both his relationships and his careers. Still, every once and a while, the old, nagging doubts set in.
He twisted the taps, reaching out for one of the fluffy yellow towels that Hermione liked. he patted himself mostly dry, wrapping it around his waist as he stepped out of the steamy bathroom and into their bedroom, the cooler air making goosepimples rise up on his skin. With a shiver, he moved to the dresser, but stopped in front of the full length mirror. In the dim light, he eyed himself critically, paying especial attention to his hair. To him, it looked the same as it always did; could it be thinning without him noticing? He might have to try that Muggle stuff Harry joked about, or try to see if he and George couldn't whip up something of their own. Next, he assessed his eyes. They didn't look all too happy at the moment, but did he really look mentally ill? Aside from the sporadic bouts of depression that he shared with most people his age that had gone through the war, he thought he was alright. The body was third on the list, and he twisted and turned, scrutinizing it from all angles. Viktor bloody Krum might be what women (and apparently eight year old girls) went for, but he didn't think he was doing too badly for himself, aside from his pasty, freckled hide. He didn't have rippling muscles; no matter how he ate, or what sort of exercises he did, he was always on the bony side. The muscles he had were lean, and didn't really stand out.
Hermione stepped out of the fireplace, after having taken the children to spend a few days at the Burrow, as she had arranged with Molly before they left on their trip. Her mother-in-law hadn't felt like travelling for the Cup, but she wanted to spend some time with the grandkids, and hear how they had enjoyed it. And this was how she came to find Ron, standing in nothing but a towel in front of the mirror, looking about as displeased with himself as he had the first time they had made love.
"Your hair isn't really thinning, you know. It was just the way you were wearing your fringe," she said quietly, after observing him a few moments.
Ron whirled to look at her, the surprise at being caught evident by the way his ears began to burn. "Oh. Well. Maybe I'll go back to wearing it the old way," he muttered. "Kids already asleep?"
Hermione shook her head, coming further into the room. "No, I took them to the Burrow. Didn't I tell you they were staying there a few days?" She had hoped that this would earn her a lecherous leer, but he only gave a small smile.
"That's good. They'll enjoy that."
Seeing that this was going to take a while, she grabbed his arm, and pulled him to sit on the edge of the bed. "Ron? Something's wrong. You've been acting off since dinner, and you're letting whatever it is get to you."
A sigh escaped him; he knew she'd catch on sooner or later. "D'you think it was a mistake to go work with George?" He blurted.
The question startled Hermione, until she connected the dots. "Ron, that article was trash! Don't you believe a word of it!" She said fiercely. "We've already talked about this. You were too easily recognized to be very active in the main branch, and you're more suited to intelligence and tactics, anyway. And with the kids, it was a safer move for people to think you'd retired. The shop is the perfect cover, and as maddening as George can be, you know you love working with him."
Ron nodded; everything she said was true. "I know. And I'm happy doing what I do, I really am. It's just...sometimes it comes off looking like I just gave up, while you and Harry kept going. I don't want the kids to think-"
"We can't tell them what you do; they're far too young," she reminded him.
His hands gripped the edge of the towel tightly. "I know that! I wouldn't risk their safety just to stroke my ego, Hermione!" He snapped.
Gently, she reached up to cup his jaw, so she could meet his eyes. "I know you wouldn't. I meant that we would tell them someday. But love, they wouldn't care for you any less if you had fully retired, or never even made it farther than a clerk. Children's heads are easily turned by people like Quidditch players; but that's never going to change how they feel about you."
The truth and love in her eyes shone with an intensity that made Ron close his own. "I know," he admitted hoarsely. "I just don't want to let them, or you, down." He opened his eyes, smiling weakly. "After all, it's not easy following up to a world-class Quidditch player."
"It's true that I like Quidditch players," she admitted slowly, bringing her face close to his. "But only really good ones," she whispered, covering his mouth in a lingering kiss.
Pulling back, she saw that the light in Ron's eyes had returned, and her words were getting through to him. "So, good Quidditch players that are also balding, mental shop clerks is what tickles your fancy?"
Hermione scooted back on the mattress as he began to pull himself over her, his towel hitching higher on his thighs.
"No. I prefer stunning gingers with keen business sense, and strong family values," she countered, kissing along his jaw.
"What, are you saying you don't want a Seeker to spot your Snitch?" He asked, his hands edging her shirt up.
"Seekers are nice," she allowed, "but Keepers are the ones that know what to do with their hands."
Ron laughed, diving down to kiss her. The weight that had started to settle on his shoulders was being lifted, as it always was when he talked things out with her and got his head on straight. The kids were at the age where they would start to have heroes besides him, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Those kinds of heroes wouldn't be there for them on their first day of Hogwarts, or late at night when they were sick. They wouldn't be there for their first heartbreak, or any of the other milestones in their lives. Rose and Hugo would roll their eyes and heave sighs when they had to deal with him, but if Harry's kids were anything to go by, celebrity didn't count for much. All he could do was love them, occasionally embarrass them, and wait for them to see that he wasn't quite as much of a tosser as they thought.
It wouldn't always be easy, and his feelings were bound to be hurt some. But he had Hermione to remind him that he might not be in the public eye, but he was living a life he could be proud of, and one that made him happy. Twenty years ago, he had gone to his first World Cup; the same year he had started wanking over a girl he thought would never give him the time of day. And now here he was, with a career choice that satisfied him, and that very same girl stretched out under him, looking at him with such a mix of love and lust in her eyes that made his breath catch. To hell with Skeeter; she could write all of the lies she wanted about him from now on.
The truth of his life was too hot for the presses to handle.