Chapter One: Six Years Old
January 2012
Ron Weasley sat at his desk in his garishly coloured office. Hermione had argued when he had chosen purple and orange for the walls, but he had managed to convince her. The room was darker than normal because the snow had piled atop the skylights, 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—electricity had proven to be a muggle invention that Ron enjoyed as much as his father. 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 fireplace 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, I probably shouldn't have offered store credit," George explained. "She says she wants to know how this happened."
"I read the owl as well," Ron muttered under his breath.
"Well, how would I know you read it? You're not in the office. You picked a really great week to take time off, selfish arse," George retorted.
"Yeah, I'm a huge arse. I cancelled my anniversary holiday so I could stay at home with my sick daughter."
"Being my partner means that I can always contact you."
"I'm allowed a holiday! Anyway, Hermione and I found an inn without a fireplace."
"Hermione has that cell-thingy."
"So you're saying you have no qualms calling me and Hermione while we're on a romantic holiday?"
"If it's related to my Wheezes, no."
"George, can we just figure this out? I haven't gotten any sleep this week, and it's not because of the shagging I had originally planned. Playing nursemaid is exhausting and I don't need shit from you," Ron turned away from the papers on his desk and glared at his brother's face in the fire.
"Oh, you only shag when you're on holiday?" George asked.
"No, that's not what I—" Ron started as his ears turned red.
"That would explain your anger issues, come to think", George added.
"I don't have any anger issues," Ron said aggressively.
"Yeah, apparently," George mumbled. "And Hugo is staying with mum, so don't try to get sympathy from me. You've got one kid you're playing nursemaid to," George argued.
"He's at the Burrow so he doesn't get dragon pox!" Ron defended. His hands began to curl into fists.
"Untwist your knickers," George laughed at Ron's agitated appearance. "Just find the order invoice. I don't know why you take them home with you without copying them first," George redirected.
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 as he ran over to his daughter in her bed. She still had a slight green tinge and pockmarks, but Hannah Longbottom has 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 deatl with so George would stop being such a pain and he could go back to reconciling the order with the stock reports like he had been before George 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 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 something is true doesn't mean it's better than something that isn't," 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. Her pursuit of logical fact was so like Hermione's. "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 and 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 he. 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 little too large for her face.
This tiny little person had saved him in so many ways. If not for Rose, Hermione would have never 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 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.
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 were not stocked close together.. Perhaps this was some nasty prank that one of the staff thought was funny. Ron considered his staff. He refused to accept that any of the people he had hired would think that funny. Ron rubbed 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 no explanation would calm the furious mum who had owled Wheezes last week and nearly every day since threatening to contact the Ministry.
Ron started to search his padfolio for any other orders from the same time period. Not finding what he was looking for, he kneeled on the floor and went through the lower filing drawers 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 leather 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.
"I didn't mean to scare you, daddy!" Rose screamed back in her father's face.
"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 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 now for the time when the order would have been filled. He figured he could talk to the staff who had been working at the time. Maybe if he and George could tell the disgruntled mother that the staff member responsible had been reprimanded, she might be placated. Ron was having difficulty locating the timesheets, and he was growing more and more frustrated. He started running his fingers along the bridge of his nose again.
Rose was staring at the largest photograph in the office located 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 had hired for the wedding.
"Daddy?" Rose asked.
"What is it, Rose," Ron responded without looking up from his paperwork.
"Are you upset with me because you didn't get to go on holiday with mummy?"
Shocked by the insight her question belied, Ron 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 with his children, he decided honesty was best. "I'm disappointed that I couldn't go with your mum, but I would never be upset with you for being ill. That was something outside of your control, Rosie. It's not your fault."
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 all by herself. She has to be sad. And Hugo's probably upset too. He's away from his toys and his bedroom because he's not allowed to 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 kneeling to Rose's level. "No one is mad at you because you aren't feeling well. You know that 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. Rose, no one blames you. We were happy to change our plans so that we could make sure someone was here who could take care of you. Changing plans is just a part of 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 finish up work for the moment. "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 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 warmed, 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 Rosie's wheels spinning again. "What's on your mind?" Ron asked.
"Are you and mum going to break up?" Rose asked suddenly.
"Why would you ask that?" Ron sputtered. He wondered to himself where Rose came up with this sort of thing.
"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 the Burrow would have been the perfect chance for alone time!" Rose exclaimed.
Ron could feel his ears start to grow hot as he recalled the evening Rose alluded to. But he persevered in providing his daughter an explanation. "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."
"But I think you and mum need alone time now. You guys argue all the time," Rose retorted.
"What do you mean we argue all the time?"
"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. He pondered slightly. He did not really know how to tell his daughter in any age-appropriate fashion that bickering with Hermione had begun from the first moment that he met her, that both he and Hermione viewed their bickering as near foreplay. Nothing made him more attracted to his wife than when she blew a lock of hair out of her face and bit her lip while in the midst of trying to make him see her way of thinking.
"What is bickering?" Rose demanded impatiently.
"Well, your mum and I, we just work through things verbally. Different people are always going to see things differently, 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. We're very different, your mum and I."
"But Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur don't bicker, and they're different people," she said, clearly testing out her new word.
"Sure they do, you just probably don't see it. Couples are different from other couples just like people are different. And some married people will figure out their differences with less bickering." Ron paused. "Does that make sense?"
"I guess." Rose sounded unsure.
"Look at nan and grandad. I'm sure you've seen them bicker before."
Rose seemed to consider this. "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."
"But I see you and mum disagree more!" Rose countered back suddenly. Ron rubbed his nose.
"That's because you live with mum and me. You spend a lot more time here than you do at the Burrow or with Bill and Fleur," Ron explained tersely.
"I guess that's true," Rose said slowly. She took a few more spoonfuls of her soup as she looked out the kitchen window. Ron watched her gaze. She seemed fixated on 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 meeting her father's gaze.
Ron silently 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's. "I can't promise that your mum and I will stay together forever."
Rose gasped with shock. So many emotions flickered across her small face. "But—" Rose started.
"I can promise you that I'll always love your mother. But I can't promise something that may not always be true," Ron said as he met his daughters eyes. She started to speak, but Ron cut her off. "Nothing can 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."
Rose 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.
Rose took a tentative spoonful of her soup. "I still don't understand what Aunt Ginny was saying about you and mummy," she said after a moment.
Ron took a steadying breath. "Your mum and I went through one of those rough patches before you were born. We were really young, and we had to take some time to be there for ourselves before we could be there for one another."
"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 pondered this deeply as she lost herself staring out the window again. She looked so much like Hermione as she bit her lip while she was deep in thought. "May I go upstairs and play in my room now?" Rose said after a moment.
"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, then you can go upstairs," he laughed. Rose snatched her bowl and put it gently in the sink and then skipped up the stairs. Ron watched her.
He raised his own wand and sent his bowl to join his daughter's. He would wash up after dinner. He rubbed his hands on his legs and headed upstairs, back to the office. As he climbed the stairs, he thought about the week he could have had with Hermione, holed up in a bed and breakfast, away from the kids and work and the rest of the family, who collectively, seemed unable to leave Ron and Hermione alone for a single moment. 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 a quill.
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 and unreachable by floo. And nothing, not even dragon pox is going to stop me from ravishing you. I have plans for a room without a fireplace and we'll leave your cell phone at home. I'll run my hands through your hair, kissing your neck. We won't wear clothes the whole weekend. We'll get 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 reading this one," he said as he walked over to the alcove window and threw Puck into the snowy air. He watched as the tiny owl disappeared amongst the flakes.