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Rose is three. She squeals when Ron opens the door and lets her out into the snowy front yard, her little legs carrying her with a surprising amount of grace. It's a miracle she doesn't fall; even as an adult who has experienced a lot of snow, Ron has to take extra care as he navigates along.

"Daddy, Daddy!" Rose calls. "Look!" She scoops up a handful of snow and tosses it into the air, giggling.

Ron watches, unable to resist a smile. "Very good, Rosie!" he calls, and he tells himself he'll teach her how to make snowballs when she's older and more coordinated.

Rose is five. Ron feels his heart race with concern when he sees his daughter plop onto her back in the snow, so afraid she's hurt herself. He abandons all concern for himself and rushes forward, only to find his daughter giggling, so proud of herself as she pushes out her arms and legs.

"Look, Daddy! Snow angels!"

"Very pretty, Rosie," he laughs, relief washing over him. He really does worry too much, but he can't help it. His children mean the world to him, and Rose has such a special place in his heart.

"You make one too!" she demands.

And he has no other choice. Ron lies in the snow, moving his arms and legs. He hasn't done this since he was a kid, and it almost feels silly now, but he finds himself smiling. It's nice, really. Maybe he should play in the snow more often.

Rose is nine. She moves too quickly for Ron to keep up, and there's no warning before the snowball crashes against the side of his face. "Oi!" he calls out, whipping around to find his daughter giggling.

"You're too slow, Daddy," Rose says with a smirk.

Ron makes a face. "Oh, I'll show you too slow."

With that, he bends down, preparing to scoop some snow. All it takes is one moment of distraction, and his daughter, still laughing, sends a flurry of snowballs his way. Sometimes, he thinks she takes a bit too much after George, and that Fred would have absolutely loved her. Mischief seems to be her middle name some days.

"That wasn't nice, Rosie."

She just beams, eyes alight with excitement. "War isn't nice, Daddy, and I've just declared a snowball war against you."

"Yeah? You're on!"

Rose is eleven, and she isn't home. Ron knows she has to be at school, but he finds himself missing her like crazy when the snow begins to fall.

"Winter holidays start soon," Hermione reminds him, like she can read his mind.

He sighs. Of course she's right. Still, Rose is growing up. She's probably been making lots of new friends, and she won't have time for Ron when she comes home. This is the worst part of being a parent, he thinks, knowing that one day his kids aren't going to need him.

"Daddy?" Hugo skids to a stop in front of him. "Can we build a snowman?"

He reaches down and ruffles his son's hair. "Of course, kiddo."

She's fourteen, and she doesn't come out of her room. Ron will never admit it, but he's been sitting in the living room, hoping the freshly fallen snow outside would ignite that spark of excitement she always felt as a kid.

He hears her door open. A moment later, she passes through the living.

"Hey, Rosie? Wanna build a snow fort?" he asks.

She looks at him like he's asked her to do something totally bizarre, like tap dance at the bottom of the ocean. "Dad, please. I'm not a little kid anymore."

And with that, she makes her way to the kitchen, and Ron tells himself that it's fine, and his heart most certainly is not breaking.

She's eighteen, and she slips away with Scorpius at one of Draco's winter parties. When she returns, she's practically glowing as she takes Ron's hand.

"What is it?' he asks. "Is everything okay?"

"More than okay," she answers, brushing snowflakes from her hair. "Scorpius asked me to marry him, and I said yes."

This is it. She really isn't his little girl anymore. His precious Rosie is all grown up now, and his heart has definitely shattered. Still, he swallows down the pain he feels, smiling down at her. "That's great," he says, kissing her forehead. "I'm happy for you."

She's twenty, and the wedding is in the morning. Ron has just put the kettle on when she appears in his kitchen, bundled up and smiling sheepishly.

"Tomorrow's the big day," he says. "Fancy a cuppa?"

Rose shakes her head. "Dad…" Her eyes shift to the window where a fresh blanket of snow covers the yard. "What do you think? For old time's sake, can we build a snowman?"

"You sure you wanna do that with me? I won't cramp your style or anything?"

She laughs and throws her arms around him, kissing his cheek. "Of course not. You're still my favorite person."