For my dearest Ash.

Word Count: 1172


"Dad! Come on!" Rose latches onto Ron's arm the moment he steps through the door. "Come on!"

Ron just smiles. He already knows what has her so excited. Still, he has always enjoyed playing games with her. When she was younger, she would giggle and call him silly. Now that she's eleven, she has outgrown his teasing, but that doesn't stop him.

"Come on?" he echoes. "But, Rosie, I just got here. Can't I lie down, have a nice nap? Your mum has been telling me I should try yogurt."

"Yoga," Rose corrects, her eyes narrowing. She knows exactly what he's doing.

"Seems like a good afternoon to start learning."

"Dad!"

He laughs, a little too pleased with himself. Maybe the joke will grow old one day; for now, he still finds it hilarious.

"Let me change out of my work robes," he says, ruffling her hair affectionately.

"Hurry!"

Still grinning, he makes his way to his bedroom. Hermione isn't home from the Ministry yet. Hugo is with her, as he always is. Their son is as attached to Hermione as Rose is to Ron. Ron has tried to get Hugo to go to work with him or spend the day with Ron's parents, but Hugo always insists that he wants to be the next Minister of Magic. Ron suspects Hugo has spent a little too much time talking with Percy.

It doesn't take long to change into a warm jumper and a fresh pair of jeans, but Rose looks impatient by the time he returns. She's practically bouncing with excitement, like she might jump through the roof.

"Have you been outside at all?" Ron asks.

She shakes her head, her beanie falling from the movement. "Of course not." She picks up her hat and tugs it over her head, covering her copper waves. "I was waiting for you."

It has been a tradition for them since Rose was four. Every year, they would spend the first snowfall of the winter together, playing in the snow until they're too cold. Then they would come inside and have a cup of cocoa. This year, Rose had been at school during the first snowfall. This is as close as they can get; the first snow during her winter holiday will have to do.

She slips a gloved hand into his, pulling him along. Ron finds himself laughing. Nothing else can fill her with this much delight.

"Slow down!" he calls. "I don't want to explain to your mother that you've broken your leg by slipping on ice again."

"That was one time!"

"Broken ankle and six distinct fractures, Rosie!"

She snorts, offering him a grin as she looks over his shoulder. "You're the one who always called me an overachiever."

He rolls his eyes but doesn't bother to point out that he has always meant with her eagerness to learn. She takes after her mother there.

They come to a stop in the field by the house. The ground is covered in a thick blanket of white that crunches beneath their boots. Fat flakes continue to drift slowly to the ground. Rose grins and holds out her arms like a bird ready to glide. She tilts her head back, lifting her freckled face toward the sky and poking her tongue out.

"Catch them, Dad!"

In the back of his mind, he can hear Hermione lecturing them about how the water isn't actually safe, and they need to only use water that has been filtered. Maybe he should mention it now. Instead, he follows Rose's lead and sticks out his tongue, catching a snowflake. It melts in an instant.

He's so lost in the moment that he barely even registers Rose stepping away. It doesn't seem significant at all until he feels a sudden cold weight slam against his neck. Ron yelps, reaching out to brush it away, only to realize there are just cold droplets left. It had been a snowball.

"Rosie! Never attack while your opponent's back is turned!"

She sends another one his way. It hits his chest, bursting at the impact. Giggling, she leans down, scooping up more snow. "It's a snowball fight, Dad. Not a duel."

"Fine. All bets are off." Quick as a flash, he forms a snowball and slings it, grazing her cheek and eliciting a squeal.

"Oi!"

"You didn't want rules for this," he reminds her. "It's on!"

She may have her youth and agility on her side, but Ron has one distinct advantage. He has experience. How many times did his siblings drag him into a snowball fight? Fred and George had been the worst and most creative. He still remembers the two of them pouring a bucket of ice and snow down his jumper.

He doesn't know how much time passes, only that his jumper is soaked through, and his teeth are chattering. Rose's cheeks are flushed pink, and she is out of breath and just as soaked as he is.

"I think we should call it a day," he says, gripping the bottom of his jumper and wringing some of the chilly water from it.

"But we've only just started!" she insists.

Ron groans. He is tempted, as always, to just give in. Who cares if he gets a little frostbite? If Rose is happy, that's all that should matter.

Still, he knows he needs to be the responsible one. He would never forgive himself if Rose got sick, even if it was easily cured with a Pepperup Potion.

"Come on," he says, wrapping an arm around her. "It's cold, and I think Aunt Fleur sent us some of the fancy cocoa last week."

Rose's eyes widen at that, a grin tugging at her lips. "The mint kind?" she asks. "Ooh! Or the orange kind? That's my favorite!"

"Only one way to find out."

He smiles as they walk toward the house. Hugo plays in the snow with him sometimes. Hermiome will join him on the porch and watch the snowfall. But neither of them really enjoy it the way he and Rose do. It is their special thing, the best part of winter. Ron can't remember a time when he didn't celebrate that first snow with his daughter.

"What are you going to do when you're older?" he asks as they climb the steps. "You're going to be too old and too cool to play in the snow with me one day."

Rose rolls her eyes. "Don't be daft. I'll be forty and still dragging you out in the snow." She smiles and nudges his shoulder gently. "You're my dad. This is what we do."

He doesn't know if that's true. He remembers a time when he would have been embarrassed to be seen playing with his parents. Unfortunately, it's part of growing up. One day, she won't need him anymore. One day, she'll have a child of her own, and they'll have their little traditions.

For now, though, he has her, and they have this moment, and that is all he needs.