A/N:

Hi again. Missed me?

First off, and though I know I have no obligation to write since this is only an unpaid hobby, I want to apologise for the long hiatus. Everything was back on track when suddenly, it wasn't.

Between chapters 10 and 11 of this fic so many things happened in RL. I won't go into detail, but know that my head has not been in the best place the last few months, and posting this today is a big win to me. Small steps can walk the hardest trails, so here I go.

As it's been so long, I'm dropping a massive chapter (compared to the length of the previous ones, anyway), so there you go. I hope you enjoy it, and don't forget to let me know what you think. The title of the chapter is a big hint of what you're about to read *wink, wink*

Woops, almost forgot. Thanks to Cheesyficwriter and RomioneB, they're wondermous.

The wizarding world, characters included, belongs to J.K. Rowling. The only thing I own is an opinion that clashes violently against hers regarding trans people and their rights.

It might be the millionth time I've read these words.

Will you fill up a lifetime of scrapbooks with me?

Eyes shutting closed, I savour the now familiar feeling radiating from my racing heart right into my soul. It's like a Cheering Charm: warm and comforting but, at the same time, stimulating, and the only plausible answer to that question makes my lips twist upwards.

Reading the scrapbook had become a daily ritual since I'd brought it home after Hermione and I talked. People would say that living in the past would do me no good, but that wasn't why I'd made a habit of checking it every day – quite the opposite, to be honest.

You see, a part of me was furious with Hermione for ditching me, for pushing me out of her life the way she did. But then, how could I judge her? I, out of all people, could understand how deep insecurities could cave into your senses and the scale of mistakes you could make whilst under its influence. I'd abandoned my friends when they needed me the most because I felt neglected and unloved. Because I'd convinced myself that they didn't need me, that they didn't love me – that she didn't love me.

One could argue that I was under the influence of the locket, yes. But the thing wouldn't have gotten me in the way it did if it hadn't been for my own bloody mind. Solitude and depression had been Hermione's locket, a heavy burden that couldn't be destroyed with a sword or a Basilisk fang. She'd had to go through a long journey to face her fears, accept her mistakes and deal with the guilt.

And how I knew about guilt.

So, to a certain extent, I was pissed and hurt. Because the rational part of me was capable of understanding and forgiving, but the irrational part needed some convincing. Therefore, I'd find myself going through the scrapbook every night to remind my heart that the risk was worth taking. Moreover, I'd added a picture of all four of us (Hermione, the twins and I) to keep in perspective that I was not only forgiving her to get back the love of my life but also the amazing family she'd brought with her – what could be my family. My future.

Almost two months had passed since that day in Hermione's kitchen – two months of healing, forgiving and growing. As for that night, no further words were spoken. After so many years apart, so much wasted time, we both let the hunger we felt for each other take control and fell into what I'm quite sure was the greatest snog I've had in years – maybe in my whole life. But no sex, though. I wouldn't be shagging in her kitchen where the kids could show up at any moment. I am a man of principles, after all. We shagged the next day in my office with no danger of children appearing. I don't think I've ever been happier to work on a Saturday before, mind.

But despite our first two encounters being slightly heated, Hermione and I decided to take things slow, to start over and do it right. We both agreed that, even if we still felt that we were in love with each other, we didn't know our grown-up selves in profundity. I knew that she was still my Hermione, but at the same time, she wasn't. And I had the feeling she felt the same about me. Time doesn't pass in vain, after all.

In the days that came, we spent as much quality time together as possible, having lunch, sharing stories and having dates, even if some were held in Hermione's kitchen after she put the kids to bed. You see, we've made it a priority to protect the twins and to not involve them in what was weaving between Hermione and me until we felt it was safe. Thus, for the first few weeks, any form of affection beyond friendship was a big nono in the kids' presence. But even if we'd tried our best to keep the only friends' charade, the twins seemed to be aware that something had changed the day I found the scrapbook.

At first, they were subtle, sharing knowing glances whenever Hermione and I were together. But as time went on, the little brats exploited their newly gained information by shamelessly teasing me. They had many moves, but my favourite one was this: one of them would ask Hermione something to get her attention as the other would stare at me, flick their eyes to their mum and back to me, then smirk and wiggle their eyebrows. I'd snort and my cheeks would burn red every time they did it.

Though I tried to tell Hermione what her sweet little children were doing to me, she'd always wave me off, saying I was reading too much into their actions and that they were too young to understand – to be playing me like that. Mind you, she had to eat her words when, by the end of August, Rose interrupted a conversation of ours to tell Hermione that she was allowed to invite her, and I quote, "special friend" to their birthday party. After that, we decided to allow flirting in front of the children.

We celebrated the twins' birthday with a family gathering at Hermione's home on the last weekend of August. Despite it being mostly a Weasley-Potter event (the kids hadn't started school yet and thus didn't have any friends), the place was bursting with people, and the kids seemed to have the time of their lives playing with the rest of the brood until it was almost time to bed. It was a blast to see Rose and Hugo mixing with the lot, blending in like they belonged. It made me feel reassured that I was making the right choice by working things out with Hermione.

After everyone left and it was time to put the kids to bed, they gave me the most amazing birthday surprise by asking not their mum, but me, to give them the night night. Being the favourite uncle of half the children in Wizarding Britain (what with six siblings and all), I was more than familiar with the "put kids to sleep" procedure, so I was confident that my skills would leave a good impression on the twins. And with all modesty, I must say, I did a freaking outstanding job.

Turns out Rose was scared of the dark. On any regular night, Hermione would make some bluebell flames, put them in a closed jar and leave it in the room (at a safe distance) to avoid total darkness. But that was not a regular night, not with me in charge. So when Rose gave me the jar and explained the procedure, I decided to find a different solution – to be innovative, you see, nothing to do with me not knowing how to make the damn flames. Anyway, I took the Deluminator out of my pocket, clicked it one time, and a ball of light came out to stay floating over Rose's bed. Opening the jar, I showed her how to catch the light and put it inside, then dimmed the glass (the light was too bright to sleep with) and left it on the bedside table.

There you go. Beat that, Hermione!

When I was about to leave, an unexpected thing happened, as Rose asked me if she could keep the Deluminator to put her light back in it the following day. I was reluctant to give it to her at first. After all, I'd carried it with me since the day it brought me back to the Horcrux hunt. It all started after destroying the locket. Truth is, I was overwhelmed – too many emotions, too fast. I was feeling lost, exposed, ashamed, terrified, but also welcomed, brave...loved. It was too much to handle just minutes from seeing Hermione again, and as we walked to the tent, I felt a warmth that was kind of twinkling from my pocket, and when I checked, there it was: The Deluminator.

And everything clicked.

With a closed fist around the Deluminator, I moved that hand over my heart, letting the soothing feeling that the blue light had brought nights before take over me again. Once calmed, with a tight grip on the Deluminator, I started to repeat in my head: I will never betray my friends again, I will believe in myself, I am worthy of being loved, I can and will be brave, I won't doubt myself again... I will win Hermione's heart. Over the years, I'd carried the thing with me as a reminder of those promises, so I wouldn't get lost again. But come to think of it, I didn't need it anymore. I wasn't an insecure boy, I'd proved to myself many times that I was fucking brave, I'd never failed my friends or family again...and I had won Hermione's heart.

So I lent the Deluminator to Rose until she didn't need it anymore.

From that day on, some things changed. Bedtime with the twins (and Hermione) became an almost everyday thing. I'd also spend most of my free time with the lot of them at their home, after picking the kids up from school or from The Burrow whenever they came out earlier. It was a routine that filled my days with joy, and I don't think I'd ever been happier.

Before I knew it, another month had gone. A whole month with my new surging family, a month falling in love all over again with Hermione – re-enchanting each other and reassuring ourselves that we were meant to be together. A month in which I'd reaffirmed my conviction that even being mad at her, I didn't want to be away from Hermione for a minute longer. Besides, having a former girlfriend trying to win me over had its benefits. You see, one has to make the best out of every situation.

'So that's the famous Happy Book?'

I was startled by Harry's voice as I'd been so deep into my memories that I'd missed the roar of the Floo. Taking a second to recover, I looked up to find the git leaning over my shoulder, having a look at the scrapbook.

'Why is it that you're either oblivious or nosy as fuck, Potter?' I chided, hastily closing the book.

He stood straight up. 'Just wanted to check if it was the same as Ginny told me.' I frowned, and Harry lifted his hands as if defending himself. 'What?! You know Ginny can't be trusted – Hermione should know, anyway. S'not my fault that she told me!'

The retort died in my throat as I was cut off by three knocks on the door, followed by George's voice.

'May I come in, little lovebird?' he called in a sing-song tone.

'Come in, you arse!' I called back, laughing at my brother's stupidity as it dawned on me why he was knocking the way he was.

Harry turned from the door to me, curiosity evident in his face. George opened the door and entered the flat carrying a box with the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes logo and kicked the door closed. He then looked up and, taking in our expressions, grinned, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Having our undivided attention (and enjoying it), George made it to the open kitchen to carefully leave the box on the table. When he didn't move from his spot, Harry and I came closer, staying on the other side of the kitchen bar. Harry sat on one of the stools and leaned forward to inspect the box, supporting almost his entire upper body on the table in the process.

'Glad to see you're not desecrating our fine breakfast bar again.' George said as he leaned on the stove to watch Harry jump off the table as if it was on fire.

'For fuck's sake, Ron! When – oh, don't tell me! Merlin, I ate with you here yesterday!' he yelled, causing George to burst out in laughter.

Harry made a disgusted face and started to shake off whatever substances he thought were on the table, making George howl and squat not to fall with the strength of his guffaws. The scene was hilarious, and before I knew it, I was in stitches too, grabbing the profaned table so I wouldn't fall over. Harry kept insulting us as George and I tried to collect ourselves, and after a few minutes, we were able to calm down.

'By the way, dear Potter-in-law,' George panted, 'may I ask how did you get in?'

'The Floo.' Harry said dryly, and crossing his arms, he went on. 'But of course you know that, you twat. Now please don't tell me why you–'

'You see,' George cut him off, the corner of his lips twitching up, 'I stopped using the Floo about a week ago.' He paused and, knowing what was coming, I decided to turn my attention back to the WWW box. Mind you, I'd rather not see Harry's face as he heard what was coming next. I'd just reached the package as George gave his finishing line, 'Merlin knows I could do without landing on my brother's white arse ever again. You should start coming through the door too – and knocking first.'

Harry groaned and started to thank George for scarring him for life. I chuckled to myself as I opened the box and found about a dozen small glass bottles filled with a scarlet liquid. I took one out and read the label,

Got too drunk? No more whines!

Better take All-Back-Wine!

The drink that brings back what the others tried to hide.

I turned to George. Oi! What the hell is this "All-Back-Wine"?'

'What the heavens, you mean, little brother.' George said as he waved off a still pissed off Harry to swipe the bottle from my hand. 'This,' he went on, his tone very much like Professor Trelawney's as he held out the potion on his flat palm, 'is the latest – and maybe most useful – invention of my genius brain: a potion that allows you to retrieve the memories of whatever shenanigans you'd forgotten because you were so pissed that you passed out.'

Harry snorted. 'Why would someone want to remember that?'

'Oh, dear Potterkins, my beloved brother-in-law.' George turned to Harry, 'Are you telling me that the saviour of the Wizarding World has never woken up thinking, "what the hell did I do last night"?'

Harry's face went red, and he hastily looked down. 'I mean, er…' he trailed off.

Looking rather pleased with himself, George continued. 'So, Potter. Can you then swear to me that you'd never wanted to remember your drunken shenanigans? At least to know why you have been given a Bat-Bogey Hex instead of tea in the morning? Mmmm?'

Harry let out a loud snort and looked up. Still blushing, but smiling, he took the potion from George's hand and dropped himself on one armchair. Hunting for another victim, George turned to me.

'What about you, Ronniekins?'

'You know I don't have anyone to hex me, so…' I shrugged.

'Oh, but you have now.' George retorted with a smirk, and walking towards the box, he added, 'And a very talented witch.' He then took another bottle out, and wiggling it in front of my face, he said, 'So you'd better have one of these at hand.'

George tossed the bottle to me before turning on his heels and moving to the sitting area, where Harry sat quietly reading the label. I caught it easily and chuckled as I, too, started to read the instructions and warnings. I could remember Hermione commenting she was helping George with a new product related to memory charms – this must've been it. Racking my brain, I remembered her saying the process to store the events of a day in our heads happened during sleeping, but when drugs were involved, some parts could get blocked because the paths wouldn't be properly made due to the effect of said drugs. She had been struggling to get the charm right, or so she'd said, because having the potion done and labelled meant that she'd figured it out a while ago. Fucking brilliant she was.

Speaking of…

'Oi, George! So if I take this, I'd remember any time I blacked out, regardless of how long ago it happened?'

'Yippy, yay, yo.' He answered, a smug grin on his face as he turned his head towards me. 'You just have to drink it and try to think of the moment you're missing as if you were searching for something you know you can remember, and it'll come to you.' When he finished, George had shifted to the side, so his elbows were on the arm of the sofa. He intertwined his fingers and rested his chin on the back of his hands, then added, 'Wanna try it?'

I thought for a moment. 'May as well give it a try. Remember Hermione's pregnancy party?'

Both George and Harry laughed. Hard.

'To hell if I can forget!' Panted George, the laughter now subsiding. 'Took both of us to pull you out of the flat when they announced the procedure was to be done and the party was over.'

'Only Merlin knows what came over you, Ron.' started Harry, 'But you were kicking and yelling...what was he yelling?' He asked, turning to George.

'Beats me.' George shrugged. 'Didn't understand shit between all the kicking.'

I was baffled. How was it I was just now getting this vital piece of information? Looking back and forth between the two gits, I urged them, 'Oh, come on! You have to re–'

'WAIT!' Harry cut me off. 'It's coming…' he trailed off, shutting his eyes and wrinkling his brow as if in deep thought. No one dared to make a noise as Harry mumbled words only he could understand. After what felt like hours, he sat up, his face straight. Then with a deep, slurring voice – a terrible attempt at imitating my drunk self, I have to say – he started to yell, 'Ohh, Hermioneeee, I feel it, Hermione! S'not him, it's me! I feel it! I'm the one, I feel–'

Harry choked on his laughter, unable to keep speaking as I felt my face burn in shame. Both him and George were howling, having the time of their lives at my expense. In the light of this new information, I wasn't so keen to find out what I'd done at the party. I pondered if maybe I was better not knowing. But still, there was that feeling that'd been nagging me since I'd woken up the next day – the feeling that something significant had happened. Something I had to know.

I took off the cork and poured a dose of the potion in a small glass as instructed on the label, then swallowed both my pride and the drink in one gulp. Following George's instructions, I focused on the night I needed to remember, and images started to flash in my mind as if I was fast-forwarding through a Muggle film. I saw Hermione crying in her room...the conversation with barmy whatever-her-name-was...lots and lots of drinking...loo door closed...Hermione's bathroom…

'BLOODY BUGGERING HELL! I'M THE TWINS' DAD!'

The instant I uttered the words, the raucous joy that was filling the flat died, and a tense silence enveloped us all. Harry and George turned to me, both seeming to be shell-shocked, with their eyes wide and mouths agape. Seconds ticked by whilst we looked at each other, our eyes the only thing moving in the flat as we glanced at one another. The first to break the silence was George, clearing his throat and frowning before he spoke.

'Okay, people,' he said, sitting straight, 'let's not freak ou–'

'Don't freak out?!' I cut him off, 'Didn't you hear me? I'MA FUCKING DAD!'

The news had induced an adrenaline high that made me feel like I was about to explode. Needing to release some of the excess energy, I started to pace, taking long, angry steps, hands going from rubbing my face to scratching my scalp to hitting any misfortunate shit that had the bad luck to be at reach. I was about to punch the bookshelf again when I was caught mid-swing by a hand grabbing my wrist and turning me around.

It was George, and when I took in his face, he sported a serious but soothing expression that killed all my previous nerves and left me feeling like a little boy needing his big brother to hug him better. And so he did. A big-brother solid hug.

'It's gonna be fine, Ronnie.' He whispered.

I buried my face into his collarbone, and he tightened his grip as another hand squeezed my shoulder. Harry's voice coming from that side, 'It's okay, mate. Let it out, let it all out.'

I wasn't one to cry easily – not even when alone. And it is not that I'd never wanted to, 'cause I had, often, but usually managed to hold it in. This time though, this time I couldn't even breathe with all the sobbing. What was it that made me lose it in such a way? Could it be the shock of the news? Possibly. Or maybe...shit.

It was because I knew that when I told Hermione, I'd lose everything I'd gained the last couple of months – everything I'd ever wanted.

Gone.

For one stupid, horrible mistake.

She'd never forgive me.

Never.

After a while, once the crying subsided, I disentangled myself from George and Harry to send a Patronus to Hermione, asking if I could come see her – that I had an urgent thing I had to tell her. It felt like forever, minutes extending in a silent waiting as none of us dared utter a word. Eyes stuck to my feet, I could feel Harry and George looking at each other, pondering what to do. However, neither of them tried to get any further information on the parenting situation – probably understanding that Hermione was the first that needed to hear the story – and I couldn't be more thankful.

When Hermione's Patronus came into the room and delivered her positive answer, George turned me towards him, wand in hand, and proceeded to erase the traces of the previous crying. Have to say, though, if my face reflected at any level how I felt, I must've looked like shit. Once he was done, George directed me to the fireplace and patted me on the shoulder as Harry gave me an encouraging nod. I took a deep breath, took a fistful of Floo powder, stepped into the green flames and let out all the air in the form of Hermione's home name.

The second my feet landed in the sitting room, I heard Hermione calling from the bedrooms, saying that she was putting the kids to sleep and asking if I wanted to come in. I declined as politely as possible – not wanting to see them as I didn't think I could keep it together in their presence – then sat on the sofa and waited. Maybe half an hour had passed before Hermione's steps echoed in the room, announcing her arrival.

'They weren't happy that you didn't want to do the night night rou...tine – are you okay, Ron?'

'I'm...er...will you sit?' I patted the cushion next to me, and she frowned in concern as she moved to my side.

She took my hands in hers. 'What is it? Is everyone okay?'

'Yes,' I all but whispered, eyes fixed on our hands, 'it's just...I have to tell you something...and you'll hate me when I do.'

Hermione leaned in to rest her forehead on my temple as she spoke again, her voice worried, 'You're scaring me, love, and not making any sense. Can you explain to me what's ha–'

She was cut off as I reclaimed my hands and dropped to the back of the sofa, rubbing them over my face with more force than was needed. Hermione huffed but remained silent, waiting with more patience than I knew she possessed.

'I need to tell you a story,' I started, dropping both hands to my lap and sitting straight, 'I know this is a weird thing to ask, but as I go, please stay quiet.'

'That hard, huh?' she said, taking one of my hands onto her lap and stroking me on the forearm in a soothing way I didn't deserve. 'I can relate to the feeling.' She finished with a guilty half-smile.

I returned the smile – or as close as one as I could muster – before stopping her hand by placing mine over it. 'Remember your pregnancy party?' She nodded. 'Er...I don't know if you noticed, but when Ginny interrupted us in your bedroom, I was about to kiss you.'

Hermione frowned, looking conflicted, and bit the inside of her lips, fighting the words that wanted to come out.

I chuckled. 'You can answer this one.'

'At the moment, I thought it was just my imagination. I thought I was seeing things because I was about to take a step that couldn't be taken back...you know, with the...the procedure.'

I grimaced. 'Er… well, I… I was. Anyway, after that, I tried to be as close to you as possible so we could give it another go. I was positive that if I kissed you – if I told you how I felt – you'd stop the procedure and give me a chance.'

'I would have, but you didn't tell me anything. In fact, if I remember well, you got horribly drunk and had to be taken home by Harry and George.'

'Yeah, about that…' I mumbled, looking to the side and lifting one hand to scratch the line of my jaw. 'I heard you telling one of your co-workers that I was only your friend and we could never be anything more, so I aborted the mission and got drunk instead.'

'Very mature.'

Despite myself, I let out a loud snort. 'If you think that's mature, wait 'til you hear the rest.' I said, turning back to her just in time to stop her retort, 'No more talking from now on, please.'

Hermione closed her mouth, lips going from a round "o" to a thin line as she nodded at me to continue.

'So, to set the context: I was at your pregnant party, pissed drunk, heartbroken and needing to take a wee...'

'Fuck!' I said, bumping my head on the door of the loo that had just closed on my face. 'Gonna fucking piss myself. Shit shit shit.'

Resisting the urge to start skipping from foot to foot like a child, I made the decision not to wait anymore and head to Hermione's en suite. Rushing to my new destination, I prayed to Merlin, Morgana, Dumbledore and every famous wizard or witch I could remember for the power to hold it in.

When at the bathroom door, the sodding knob kept avoiding my hand, refusing to cooperate. The struggle continued, and I was pondering if taking my willy out the window and giving it a go was too much of a desperate move when I managed to turn the fucking knob and get in, throwing open the door with much more force than was necessary.

As balance wasn't my forte at the moment, entering the bathroom and closing the door ended up being two complex and delicate tasks, and I had to waste precious seconds – or minutes, who knows – to ground my feet. Once I felt confident enough to move, I slowly twisted on my spot until I was facing the toilet, eyes landing on a translucent plastic cup resting on the ledge over the vase. It had a blue cap and was filled with a weird semi-white substance that looked like – shit.

Grunting, I made it to the toilet and proceeded to empty my very stressed bladder. Once ready and with the zip back up, I turned my attention back to the cup. The sodding cup. I could see the little shits, the teeny-tiny vickys, mocking me – telling me how big of a loser I was. I had an urge to grab the fucker and throw it out the window, but I knew I couldn't do it. It was Hermione's choice, she had made it, and I was the loser, after all. So instead, I released some frustration by yelling at the little fuckers before going to wash my hands, trying every one of the decorative soaps that "are not for washing, but for the smell" as a way of revenge.

There you go. My evilness can only be compared to Voldy's.

I was blindly groping for the towel after washing my face to see if I could sober up some, when I knocked something off the ledge. Whatever I had dropped bounced down the side of the toilet and landed close to me and, out of instinct, I turned my head to the source of the sound. As I pointed out before, balance was really not my forte, so moving my head with the eyes closed made me lose my footing, and I had to take a step back to avoid falling on my arse.

And of course – of fucking course – my sodding foot landed on the shit that had just fallen.

Hastily, I dried my face with the sleeve of my jumper and looked down to assess the damage. Of all the things I could have expected, my lovely new shoe covered in other man's juices was not something I would have ever seen coming. But I was a Gryffindor, and an Auror, so I was prepared to face the impossible. Thus, fighting the incoming throw up, I took my wand and scourgify-ed the entire shit off my shoe, the floor, and the cup.

Bloody hell! The cup!

Finding no other way out than to restore the contents, I unzipped my trousers for the second time in less than an hour and proceeded to...well, to do what I had to do to obtain what I needed. Once ready, I left the cup where it was before I'd come and left to rejoin the party.

The party kept going for about an hour after my impasse until Ginny announced we all were to go home for the procedure to be done. The moment I saw Hermione waving at everyone who was leaving, it hit me. What I had done. I had to tell her, she couldn't go into the thing not knowing what she was up for. How could I've been so stupid?

I tried to reach her but kept stumbling and falling back on the cocktail table whilst people walked out of the flat. Growing impatient, I took one of the plastic cups from the table – lucky me, it was one decorated with tadpoles in different sizes and textures – and pointing at the cup in my hand, I tried to gain her attention.

'Hermione! Hermione! S'not him, Hermione! It's me!' She looked at me, tilting her head to one side, 'I filled it, Hermione!' I continued, now wiggling the cup to make my point. 'S'not him, it's me! I FILLED THE CUP! I'm the one!'

George and Harry appeared and stood beside her and, turning their attention to me, I saw George leaning into Hermione's ear and telling her something that made her expression turn into a grimace. A moment later, Harry and George had grabbed me by the arms and were dragging me out the flat. But I couldn't go without telling her, so I kicked and fought and kept yelling until I heard Harry muttering 'sorry, mate' before falling unconscious.

When I finished the story, I looked at Hermione, waiting for her to process everything. She was still next to me on the sofa, but we were no longer holding hands. Somewhere in the middle of my speech, she had moved to the edge of the cushion and was now gripping the edge with such force that her knuckles started to turn white. Her head was hanging down, eyes fixed on the floor, and I could see how tense her entire body was.

'Hermione.' I started but didn't continue as her head snapped up, though she was still not looking at me.

'Hermione,' I tried again, 'I'm so, so sorry.'

'You're sorry?' she questioned, her voice strained and at the verge of crying. 'Merlin, Ron..I–I don't...my kids!'

At the last two words, she lifted a hand to her chest, just above the heart, and gripped her blouse, the other one going across her stomach into a self-hug. She stood up and started to pace the room. For something to do, I stood up too and rounded the sofa to stand at its back. After a while, Hermione stopped in front of the hallway and looked towards the bedrooms. I couldn't see her face from my position, but I didn't need to do that to know she was crying, as her back took feeble shakes in her silent sobbing. I refused to start crying again, so I took deep breaths to collect myself as I waited. Some minutes later, she turned to face me, locking her red, glassy eyes with mine.

'When I saw Hugo's hair… I couldn't believe it.' She started, her voice soft and weak as if she were about to break into tears again, 'But I did some research, and it turns – it turns out that, though chances are small, non ginger people can have ginger kids if the gene runs in the family. So I reached out to Victor and asked him if he had some ginger family. It turned out he had his Mum, and I had my grandmother...So I thought, I thought it was some bad joke of fate, that life was mocking me.

'And I thought that was it, but then… Rose's eyes. Victor has blue eyes, so I wasn't at all shocked when they settled on a blue shade, but again – it was almost the exact same colour as your eyes.' She sobbed. 'And I've spent five years thinking it was some – some twisted way of life of punishing me. When it turned out, it was always... you.'

A wave of guilt washed over me, and I had to clear my throat in the hopes to make my voice work before I spoke. 'Hermione, I'm so sorry… I… I don't know what to say.'

'How long have you known?'

'I just found out – George gave me the blackout product he's testing, and I remembered.'

'You have to think of a particular memory to remember, Ron. Why this one? Why did you look at that precise moment?' The question came out strong and angry, a contrast to her previous tone.

'I've always had this feeling that I'd done something big that night, but as hard as I tried, I've never been able to remember.'

'Why didn't you ask any of us if you'd done something?'

'I hadn't been hexed, so I figured whatever it was, it wasn't a big thing.' I explained. 'So I never...I never even thought of asking. And now, when George gave me the potion, I thought I'd remember some fun stupid thing but...blimey, Hermione! I never expected this.'

'You never expected this?!' She huffed.

'I am so sorry–'

She sighed. 'Please stop being sorry about being the father of my children...'

'I'm not sorry about that! Rose and Hugo – they're the only good, perfect things that came out of this mess. I'd do anything to be part of their lives, even if I'm just Uncle Ron forever. Hermione, please don't take them away from me–'

'Why would I do that?' She cut me off. I expected Hermione to be furious at me, but instead, her voice came out sad – hurt even – as she added, 'Is that...is that what you think of me?'

I shook my head. 'No, I – shit!' I stammered, then lifted my hands to join them at chest level and pleaded, 'Hermione, I'm so sorr–'

'STOP SAYING YOU'RE SORRY!' she yelled, immediately covering her mouth with her hands, as to shut herself up after her outburst, and half-turned her body in the direction of the bedrooms.

Several seconds passed as we both stood quiet, listening for any sign that the kids had been woken up. When no sound came out, Hermione let out the breath she'd been holding and turned back to me, dropping her hands at her sides.

'Mum?'

Hermione winced as Rose's worried voice came from the hallway. 'Go back to bed, Rosie. Uncle Ron and I are talking about grown-up things.' She tried to make her voice clear and even to soothe Rose, but Hermione sounded nasal and shaky from all the crying, despite her effort.

'Are you crying? Why are you sad?' Rose questioned as she walked to Hermione, who, giving up the pretence, squatted to hug her daughter. Clenched into her mother's arms, Rose peeked over Hermione's shoulder to look at me. 'Uncle Ron, why is Mummy sad? Are you sad too? Why are you crying?'

Lifting one hand to my cheek, I felt the wetness left by the trail of tears I hadn't noticed falling.

'Do you need a hug, Uncle Ron?' Rose's words cut me like a knife.

Uncle Ron.

But I wasn't Uncle Ron.

I was her dad.

Her dad that had just met her two and a half months ago. The dad that had missed five years of her life – the five bloody years of her whole life.

It was too much. Too many emotions at once. I felt like I was about to burst out crying, screaming, maybe even laughing at the cold play that life had made on me. I had to get out of there before doing – or saying – something stupid that could ruin any chances of forgiveness. I couldn't risk being part of the kids' lives on my temper.

Not capable of uttering a word, I just took out my wand and Apparated away.

The last thing I saw was Rose's confused and worried little face before I left.