Hey again guys! It's almost time for Christmas :) (A.K.A the longest fluffiest amazingest chapter ever (in this story)) But first I thought I'd give you guys a little bit of a breather from last chapters choppy nonstop action, and from the kids, and write you a little oneshoty-chaptery-thingamabobery thing about Ron discovering his nephew and his daughter have befriended a Malfoy :) If you want, you can skip as it's not that important to the plot, but it was quite fun to write, and I hope you enjoy.
Also! For the Guest (I would PM you, but I can't for obvious reasons) who left the most recent review on this story, no, I don't have a beta, but if you know someone who would be interested I'm in desperate need of one! I'm so sorry guys for grammatical/spelling problems, it's not really my strong suit :( Thank you so much for the review!
This is way too long-on with the story!
Ron Weasley had had a very long day. They'd traced the few remaining outward supporters of Voldemort's regime to the ruins of the Peverill ancestral castle, which had been a personal insult as that particularly property was technically Harry's. Ron's best friend of course hadn't seemed bothered at all, only excited that they'd tracked down the last of the hostile death eaters roaming London. Well there was Malfoy, but Harry insisted he was harmless now, still a prejudiced git, but harmless.
Still they couldn't simply barge into the deatheaters fortress and expect a Christmas dinner and some caroling, maybe a shot of poisoned firewhisky to send them on their way if they were lucky. As the lead strategist for the auror force, though now there was also annoying chipper Calvin to trail him like a shadow, Ron felt it was his job to point out Harry couldn't leap into the action the moment they'd found it, which had meant he had six day's to think of a way in and out taking as many deatheaters with them as they could.
All and all Ron had been forced to turn in very very late, late enough that Hermione would already be out with Ginny, they'd been planning it for ages and he'd grudgingly agreed not to interrupt. So it was Ron Weasley was sitting in a pub, gulping down his second glass of butterbeer, which he'd purchased for old times sake, thinking about his little Rosie, less than five miles away, probably asleep by now, maybe in one of the big red gryffindor armchairs he'd always loved with a book open on her lap. She was so very like her mother, Ron sometimes worried there was none of him in her-except for the hair and the freckles, Rose looked very like a Weasley. Still there were those odd moments, when she argued with Al, when she helped James decorate Teddy with shaving cream, when she swore, Ron knew there was a little of him in her, it just needed a bit of prodding.
The pub was fairly empty, the three broomsticks was very old now, most people found there way to the shiny new Nimbus Bar across the road and most day's Ron probably would have joined them. He was never in Hogsmeade much anymore and he was eager to try it out, but after today all he really wanted was a good pint from Rosmerta and a bit of quiet.
He took a sip of his butterbeer and immediately felt better, the familiar drink made him feel warm through the winter chill that had settled on his bones. Ron glanced down at the Prophet he'd nicked on his way out of work (some things never change), the front page was already littered with news of the evacuation of the Peverell homeland complete with large menacing photographs of the wanted deatheaters glaring up off the page. Ron snorted, they were a lot worse in person, especially one Rodolphus Lestrange who had spent a record amount of time in azkaban and seemed to have completely lost his head-except a large library of dark curses he seemed to have clung to through his madness.
Ron sighed and flipped the page. The cannon's had lost, again, a quick scan of Ginny's sports column confirmed it, but he was forever loyal to his childhood team. He skimmed the paper quickly, a memorial to the death day of Frank and Alice Longbottom, a fluffy piece about some former deatheater that had married a muggle who turned out to be Stan Shunpike, and a rather paranoid letter to the editor questioning the danger of garden Unicorns. He signed and dropped the Prophet, it had improved greatly since what he called the dark days but it was what it was.
There was a high tinkle and the door to the abandoned pub swung open, revealing a rather large crowd of people cloaked in thick layers of dark wool and letting a gust of frigid night air. Ron sneezed, and taking a quick swig of his butterbeer turned to peer at the strangers over the edge of his previously ignored paper. There thick cloaks were drawn tightly over there faces which sent his Auror sense tingling, but they were pulling out a clatter of chairs from the nearest table which held places for about a dozen, all of which they quickly filled, pulling up two extra seats and shuffling to be seated. Ron shifted slowly, checking the robed group from the corner of his eye, to the seat closest to them, tilting his ear towards the small crowd and taking another sip of his drink.
"Well it's bloody chilly for this McGonagall!" Ron straitened at the sound of his old professor's name, and cautiously he turned to see a man to his far right tugging off his robe. When he saw the face under the cloak he grinned with relief, he would recognize the long round face lined with it's orchestra of scars anywhere, if Neville was with them, they couldn't be half bad.
Following Nevilles example the rest of the crowd began to pull off there thick clothes, Ron recognized Minerva, Flitwick, and, he grinned, Hagrid along with Neville and a great huddle of people he recognized, though he'd never met them. The teachers of Hogwarts, all stuffed into the three broomsticks on a chilly Friday evening, it must be some sort of staff meeting, Ron realized, scooting slightly closer to the overrun table.
He wondered if he should say hello-Hermione probably would have and he hadn't seen Neville in ages...but, he thought, it would be treacherous to give up such an opportunity to find out what the teachers of Hogwarts got up to when they weren't tending to the students...
The loud voice he'd heard before interrupted his thoughts, and in that split second Ron decided he might as well eavesdrop for a bit, even if it was only for old times sake.
"So, may I ask why you've dragged us all out here Minerva, why couldn't we simply hold our meeting in your office?" It was coming from an imposing woman with sharp, aristocratic features and a mane of long dark hair.
"Because Joelle," Professor McGonagall, as Ron still thought of her as his teacher, said in the clipped tone that always meant she was angry, her mouth thinning, "I thought it might be fun to do something in the spirit of the holidays." The woman named Joelle grumbled something under her breath, but didn't speak again.
"So," McGonagall, Minerva, Ron corrected himself in his head, he was 37 years old for Merlin's sake. "Would anyone like to start?" It was less of a question and more of an order Ron thought smiling faintly, his old Professor hadn't changed a bit.
"We haven't talked much about our firsties," Neville said with a grin, Ron suppressed a laugh, making steaming butterbeer go up his nose, which sent him into a rather odd fit of coughing and laughing that got him several odd looks from the other inhabitants of the bar, he quickly stuffed his face under the prophet, the last thing he needed was to be recognized spying on the Hogwarts staff.
"Well there's Rose Weasley," The squeaky little voice of Filius Flitwick chimed making Ron's head shoot up.
"As much like her mother as someone could get that one," Professor McGonagall said fondly, a rare smile creasing her wrinkled face, "Top in every class."
Ron took a large gulp of butterbeer, it was all he could do not to beam with pride, his little Rosie was top of the class, not that, he thought with a grin, he'd ever doubted she would be with her mothers brains under all that Weasley hair.
"Not mine," Said that smooth low voice again, the dark haired woman Joelle, was smirking, her hand raised slightly, her elbow resting on the table. Ron's hand's clenched into furious fist's, he was very tempted to kick this Joelle woman were the sun doesn't shine, but he reminded himself that injuring his daughter's teacher in a pub was probably not his best course of action.
Still he was hoping one of the other teachers might give her a piece of their mind, but to his surprise, maybe Neville...he twisted to look at the herbology Professor, but to Ron's surprise he was grinning as broadly as Yaxley.
"Yes another from my house takes that prize doesn't he?" Neville said, leaning back in his chair.
"It wouldn't be little Scorpius Malfoy?" Flitwick said, eyeing Joelle curiously. Malfoy! Ron thought, his fist's shaking so much the table started to teeter, his forgotten butterbeer sloshing in his cup. How dare that little bastard beat his Rosie, he didn't deserve to beat her at anything, well no one did, but Malfoy? Why did it have to be Malfoy's son?
Yaxley nodded in the tiny professor's direction leaning in to address the rest of the table. "The boy's a natural, I've never seen anyone pick up dueling so quickly, he could probably beat most of my second years and I haven't even trained him properly yet."
"Our you quite sure it's Malfoy were talking about," said another voice, this one low and gravely and coming from a stocky man with beady black eyes.
"Now Basil-" Neville said, but the new man cut him off.
"In transfiguration the boy has shown him to be nothing but the arrogant snake his father was. I have no idea how he managed to trick his way into your house Longbottom-or how he's faking this "talent" Yaxley, but,"
"That's quite enough Basil," Minerva said loudly, gaining the attention of several of the people remaining in the pub. Rosmerta, who seemed to have collapsed on duty shifted in her sleep. Ron was happy someone was putting this Yaxley woman in her place, but he couldn't help start at the fact that Malfoy had made Gryffindor. There was no way to trick the sorting hat, after four years of Auror training Ron understood the ancient magic that powered it and it was impossible this kid could've tricked it, but how else would the little bastard have made it in? And he had to admit, this Basil guy sounded an awful lot like Snape...
"I've found Scorpius," Neville said, his face red with restrained anger, "To be nothing like his father, he's a very sweet boy with a fair bit of talent, if anything he reminds me of-well-Harry." Ron started, ready for one of the others to contradict his friend, but most of them nodded, even Yaxley gave a swift tilt of her head. Ron eyed Basil who was sneering at his co-workers in a very Snape-ish way, but McGonagall's voice tore him away from the transfiguration professor.
"If were on the subject of Mr. Malfoy we may as well talk about Albus Potter." Ron's brow creased as he leaned in to the long table, was something wrong with his Nephew? His frowned deepend, had he gotten in a fight with this Malfoy kid, he swore if that snake hurt his Albus...
There was a tinkling laugh from Flitwick. "Seeing as you never see one without the other?" Hagrid, who'd been awfully quiet let out a booming laugh, Ron frowned, were the two boy's so opposed they were constantly around each other? And why was everyone laughing?
"I don't think I've ever seen two people get so close so quickly," Joelle said grinning for the first time since they'd entered the pub. Wait, Ron thought, slightly frantic now, does she mean-
"Except maybe there fathers," McGonagall said, "And perhaps the Marauders."
"It's a bit creepy really," Hagrid said, his black eyes twinkling through his gray beard, "Ye see it's like Malfoy and Harry are back again they look so much like there old dad's, but then they go and there laughin' and shovin' eachother and grinnin', I just hope lil' Rosie can keep em from gettin' in two much trouble."
Ron slammed his mug on the table. Malfoy-Draco damn Malfoy's damn son, was his nephews best mate? And what the hell did this Scorpius kid think he was doing with his daughter!
"I wouldn't get your hopes up," Neville said, smiling knowingly. "She's a Weasley as well as a Granger, trouble runs in her veins." Ron felt a surge of pride through his confusion but it quickly dispersed. All of the kids at Hogwarts-and his daughter chose Draco Malfoy's son! The one person he'd expressly told her to stay away from! You had this coming the moment you pointed him out on the platform, a little voice whispered in his head, but his Rosie wasn't like that! She wouldn't do something just to disobey him-she was just a little girl! His...his little girl. She deserved so much better than some pureblood slimeball-she was she was a Weasley, Weasley's didn't get along with Malfoy's, it was a written law!
"I don't see why they shouldn't be friends-I don't even know how they managed it, they've been inseparable since they hopped off the train and it fairly obvious their parents didn't introduce them..."
Ron stood up, his chair screeching against the hard floor, his prophet still abandoned on the table. He'd had enough of this, this, whatever it was! He tugged his robe over his face, Malfoy's smug ferrity face swimming across his vision. It was very cold outside of the pub, and the snow immediately clung to his winter cloak, the frost biting at his exposed skin. He had half a mind to storm over to Hogwarts right now and take his Rosie away from that, that, Malfoy. He was FUMING, he didn't have to stand for this, he was Ron bloody Weasley by Merlin's pants, he should he should-
Do absolutely nothing.
He slumped against the worn bricks of the Three Broomsticks, the cold snow leaking through his robes. He buried his head in his hands, a strand of his ginger hair now peppered with gray falling over his left eye. What was he going to do? Harry had always been the one who was good at this kind of thing, Harry had always been the savior, the one who could accept people no matter if they were werewolves, or enemies, or he thought glumly, scrawny little redheaded boys without any money.
What if Harry hadn't been his friend? What if he'd abandoned him for someone who was richer or more powerful, someone like Malfoy? Ron couldn't even bear to think about it. Harry-Harry and Hermione, they were the reason he was who he was today. And they were the reason, he thought bitterly, he had to give this Mafoy kid a chance.
The face of his little Rose swam in front of his eyes, her freckles and her Weasley hair and her mothers pretty brown eyes...You can't protect her forever, that logical little voice muttered in his ear. He clambered to his feet, checking his watch. Hermione would be home by now, and Hugo would be back from shell cottage, he smiled, just slightly at the thought of his family. Maybe this Scorpius wouldn't be so bad. He'd made it into Rose's good books hadn't he?
Ron swung his old work bag over his shoulder, thinking of dinner at the burrow, with Harry and Ginny and His own little family. And with a grin spreading over his worn face, Ron Weasley turned on the spot.
Did you guys like it? Do you want to see more things like this, or not really? Leave me a review or PM me at Magiclulajane :)