DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and things that are part of the Harry Potter universe all belong to J.K. Rowling, though should she choose to give up ownership of Ron, then I would gladly take him. This particular story, however, is mine.

The day is finally here. It is Christmas Eve and Hermione was about to put her plan into action. The holiday break actually began nearly two weeks ago, but she hadn't had the time to visit the shop until now. She'd wanted to get a head start on her reading assignments for the new term, as well as practicing the more intricate potions she assumed would be on the N.E.W.T. exam. However, if she allowed herself to be truly honest, she'd kept herself busy so that her inevitable heartbreak would be delayed as much as possible.

She usually never assumed the worst of Ron but she really could not help it in this instance. As much as the voice of reason told her otherwise, this newfound pessimism of hers was louder and much more convincing. She simply couldn't unwrap her mind around the idea that he'd found someone else and was too cowardly to end it with her. It was like the Lavender Brown situation all over again, except Hermione was now in Lavender's shoes. She couldn't even bring herself to be angry anymore, instead feeling an overwhelming sense of resignation, like a convicted prisoner about to be hanged.

He was everything to her: best friend, lover, confidante, sparring partner. As important as he was in her life, she could survive without him if she truly had to and were left with no choice. If she was lucky, she might even find love one more time. But she knew she would never be whole again.

It was ten o'clock in the morning and Hermione stood in a secluded alley between Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and another shop. She pulled the invisibility cloak over her head and waited until a small group of people passed by so that she could follow them inside. Immediately she regretted putting off her fact-finding mission until this late date. The shop was full of people buying gifts at the last minute. She may be invisible, but she was still a solid presence. Where exactly was she going to station herself so that no one could run into her?

After much dodging and weaving, she made her way to a small area between a wall and a large barrel of Exploding Snap cards. The cards didn't seem to be as popular as the other novelties the shop sold, so she figured this to be a relatively risk-free spot. It was also conveniently located by the counter where the cash registers were. It was only then that she noticed Ron. Hermione couldn't prevent the smile that escaped her lips. She always felt as if a hand was squeezing her heart whenever she saw him, especially after a prolonged absence. Even though she was filled with impending doom, she experienced the same clutching sensation in her chest.

Has he always been this handsome? She'd known Ron nearly half her life and having spent most of her time with him and Harry, she quite simply never noticed these changes that took place over the years. People say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but it also allowed her to discern the differences in his appearance that she had overlooked due to their close proximity. His facial features seemed sharper and more defined, his jaw line stronger, his cheekbones angular rather than curved. She noted, with appreciation, that his jumper was snug enough so that hints of lean muscle were evident. He'd turned into a young man, but with the hair that always fell over his forehead and the smile that lit up his eyes, he retained the boyish charm.

She watched as he gave his attention to a customer, a boy she vaguely recognized as a Hufflepuff first year. "I wouldn't get that if I were you," Ron advised, gesturing at the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder the boy held.

The child's eyes narrowed. "Why not? Are you selling things that aren't any good?"

"All of our stuff is good. Are you buying for yourself?"

"No. It's for my mate for Christmas."

Ron nodded sagely. "I see. That's not the kind of thing you should get your mate. The Darkness Powder is handy for tricky situations when you need to escape without being seen, but it can only be used once. Where's the fun in that?"

The boy looked doubtful, yet intrigued. "Go on."

"I think you should get him a trick wand."

"A trick wand?"

"Yeah, we have plenty to choose from over there." He pointed to a wall of shelves further away. "I had a lot of fun with trick wands when I was younger." He still did, but Ron didn't feel the need to add that part.

"What's so great about it?"

"Well, it looks like an ordinary wand, but it turns into something else when you use it. My best mate and I had a great fight with these wands," Ron reminisced with a small, satisfied sigh. "Fourth year. During class we were battling it out. Mine had turned into a tin parrot and his into a rubber fish. My parrot's beak ended up slicing off his fish's head and I won. Er, not that you should be wand fighting in class, mind you," he hastily added as he remembered that he was speaking to an impressionable kid.

Hermione could tell by the gleam in the boy's eye that the dueling idea had already taken root in his mind. She shook her head as she also looked back on the memory of Professor McGonagall yelling at Ron and Harry to pay attention and to act their age. Boys will be boys.

"How are we going to duel if there's only one wand?" he demanded. "D'you mean I have to buy two?"

Ron grinned. "No. You ask your parents to get you the other one for Christmas."

He dropped the Darkness Powder on the counter and took off running, his mind made up. "Dad! Mum!"

"Oi, remember what I said about dueling in class!" Ron called out, though he had a sinking feeling that he'd just corrupted the young customer's mind. He shrugged as he set the powder aside to return to its appropriate place later. Boys will be boys.

Hermione couldn't stop her grin from spreading even if she tried. George was right; Ron was a natural. She couldn't help but be proud of him after seeing him turn one sale into two in a way that wasn't manipulative by any stretch of the imagination. He may have his tactless moments, but he had a natural ease with people that she always envied. She was polite, yes; such behavior is ingrained in her and was a part of her upbringing. But it was one thing to be courteous and quite another to be charismatic. Ron had always been funny and perhaps the appeal that she'd spoken of to George weeks ago was just now starting to emerge for others to appreciate. It was exactly the kind of thing he would pass off with a shrug if she tried to compliment him on it. That's nothing, Hermione, she could practically hear him say. Talking to strangers, big deal. Anyone can do that. She, of all people, would know that isn't true.

She watched as he skillfully dealt with customers of all ages while counting money, handing out change, giving directions to the other employees, and keeping an eye out for shoplifters, all without skipping a beat. The boy from earlier was back, this time with his parents, practically bouncing out of his trainers as he brandished two trick wands for Ron to admire, chattering happily about the many epic duels he and his mate were going to have. Ron and the child's father exchanged a look that spoke volumes about memories of childhood mischief.

"Is this the last of your shopping?" Ron inquired.

"Yes," the boy's mother answered wearily. "Thank Merlin."

"Happy Christmas." He smiled as the boy waved goodbye. He might just take a couple of those wands back to the Burrow, where he would see Harry later. For old times' sake.

It was then that Hermione noticed how tired he looked. She spotted a sign on the counter that boasted of the extended holiday hours. Perhaps Harry was right and Ron had simply been too busy working to return her correspondence. She felt the stirrings of sympathy and guilt, but immediately changed her mind, however, when she saw a giggling group of Ravenclaw fourth years approaching the counter. She glowered at them, crossing her arms over her chest, as they asked Ron if he could sell them the Patented Daydream Charms even though they weren't yet sixteen years old. They didn't seem too dejected when he firmly denied their request; if anything, it made them giggle louder, having achieved their goal of simply talking to him and getting him to notice them. It would seem that George's words had a grain of truth.

She couldn't help but feel annoyed even though he didn't show any reaction to them. She supposed she could identify with the foolish girls; after all, wasn't she just thinking of how handsome he was? But she wasn't in the mood to be generous, not when the reason for her current gloomy outlook and hidden presence in the shop was because of girls like them.

Suddenly, Ron grinned from ear to ear, the same infuriating grin that kept popping in her mind whenever she thought of him wallowing in the admiration she now knew he received from other witches. Hermione followed his gaze and saw the reason for the loathsome smile that only mere moments ago she thought was charming: Ron's brother Bill and his gorgeous part-veela wife Fleur had entered the shop.

A small, superficial part of Hermione had always been jealous of Fleur. She would always prize brains over good looks, but it couldn't hurt to even be mildly attractive. She could still clearly picture Ron's slack-jawed, vacant expression whenever he caught sight of Fleur during their fourth year at Hogwarts. He'd practically drooled over her and would have done anything to get her to pay attention to him. He certainly had no problem noticing Fleur was a member of the opposite sex, even though it took him years to finally see Hermione in the same light. She noticed the Ravenclaw group had stopped giggling and edged away from the counter, perhaps intimidated by Fleur's blatant beauty. She couldn't blame them.

"'Allo, Ronald," Fleur greeted in her heavily accented English. Hermione silently mimicked her and made faces beneath the safety of the invisibility cloak. Ron's idiotic grin was still plastered on his face, but to Hermione's surprise, she saw that it wasn't directed towards his sister-in-law or even his brother. His eyes were trained on a wriggling, pink bundle in Fleur's arms.

Victoire, Hermione thought. It was her first time seeing Ron's niece because she'd been in Australia when Victoire was born and she never had the opportunity to visit Shell Cottage since the baby's birth. Ron had talked about her a few times and mentioned her in some of his letters; the affection for his niece was evident even when the topic was only addressed in passing.

The baby whimpered and kicked but that didn't seem to deter Ron, who continued to hold out his arms for her. "We were doing some last minute shopping and thought we'd drop in to say hello. She's fussy today," Bill warned even as Fleur passed their daughter over. "I hope she's not getting sick."

Suddenly his head whipped around to stare at the exact spot where Hermione was standing. She froze, her heart leaping to her throat. But how did he know? Even as she asked herself the question, she remembered that Bill now had an uncanny sense of smell, thanks to being mauled by Fenrir Greyback a few years ago. Though she knew he couldn't see her, she shook her head and silently pleaded for him not to reveal her presence.

The baby burst into tears, wailing at the top of her lungs. "Maybe she's just tired," Ron remarked sympathetically. "I'll take her upstairs. Can you keep an eye on things for me?" He could tell that the frazzled new parents could use a reprieve. He wouldn't mind a bit of quiet himself, however much peace being left alone with a screaming baby would bring. He headed to the rooms above the shop while Hermione followed close behind, both curious about this new, gentler side of Ron and eager to escape Bill's piercing gaze. He went straight to his room, putting Victoire on the bed while he rummaged for the spare toys he kept on hand for such occasions.

Hermione, grateful for the chance to stretch her legs and move around, idly wandered about the small room. She saw a couple of pamphlets from the Ministry of Magic on his nightstand. Upon closer inspection she saw that they were informational leaflets on Auror training, undoubtedly passed along by Harry, who was now capturing Dark witches and wizards for the Ministry's Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Ron had mentioned his desire to be an Auror to her before, having discussed the matter previously with Harry. She briefly reflected on that conversation, which had taken place a few weeks after the final battle.

"What do you think?" he had asked her cautiously, gauging her response.

She thought it was an incredibly dangerous line of work and chose to remain silent. It was bad enough that she already had Harry to worry about, but she couldn't tell Ron not to do it if it was a goal he intended on achieving. She would never want to get in the way of his dreams.

Sensing her worries, he'd said, "It's just something to consider for later. I'm going to work for George at the shop first. I think right now it's time for me to be with my family. Besides, I think I need to be on my own for a while…to find myself. Does that make sense to you?"

It did. It was exactly why she'd insisted on going to Australia on her own, as much as she wanted Ron's company. It was why she chose to finish her time at Hogwarts while both Ron and Harry had taken different paths. After spending years together and being known as a collective unit, they all needed to make their own mark and establish their own identities apart from the group.

Other than the pamphlets, nothing had changed since the last time she was here. The same Chudley Cannons posters decorated the walls, the familiar framed photos of his family and friends rested on various pieces of furniture. Random articles of clothing were strewn around, Quidditch equipment were piled haphazardly in a corner next to Pigwidgeon's empty cage. It felt nice to be in a place that was the embodiment of Ron after being exposed to a hidden facet of his personality; it helped to reconcile this new image of him with the one she'd always known.

He emerged with a teddy bear that he'd once carried around everywhere as a kid. Even after Fred had briefly turned it into a spider, he couldn't find it in his heart to get rid of the fuzzy toy that brought him comfort. Now he can pass it on to someone he hoped would treasure it as much as he had. "Look what I have," he whispered to his bawling niece. With a flick of his wand he made the bear dance as if invisible strings were controlling it. She didn't seem impressed; if anything, she cried and kicked at the air with more vigor. She had obviously inherited her mother's feistiness.

"I hope you don't need changing," he muttered as he lifted Victoire into his arms again. "I think I'll save that little task for your mum and dad, yeah?" He roamed around the room, bouncing her carefully in the hopes that she'd quiet down. Hermione quickly moved out of the way, fascinated by what she was seeing. She felt like she was observing a stranger she'd known all her life, if that even made any sense. Who was this young man and what has he done with Ronald Weasley?

It seemed that nothing could allay the baby's crying. He'd tried tickling her, rocking her, and distracting her with bubbles he concocted with his wand. It looked like there was only one solution left. "Victoire, don't make me do it," he said pleadingly, looking at his niece's scrunched up face. "I'm begging you."

Do what? Hermione clamped a hand over her mouth. She'd very nearly asked the question aloud. What happened next stunned her and if she hadn't been there to witness it for herself, she would have thought it was a silly dream.

Ron tentatively began to sing. She wasn't fluent in the language, but she could easily surmise that what she was hearing was horribly butchered French. It was a simple tune, probably a lullaby. Her eyes filled with tears as she watched the tender scene. He was the one who couldn't be bothered to read Hogwarts: A History, who would leave his homework until the last minute, who would put off practicing his spells and charms in favor of Quidditch, wizard's chess, and goofing off with his best mate. Yet he'd managed to find the diligence and discipline to learn a song in a foreign tongue to sing to his niece. It was apparent that Ron had grown up in more ways than one.

He sighed with relief when he looked down at Victoire and saw her sleeping, having sung the lullaby three times before she stopped squirming and dozed off. Though he knew he was alone, he looked around furtively before kissing her forehead.

Hermione, quite plainly forgetting her hidden state since she was so absorbed in the moment, dabbed her tears with the cloak and sniffled loudly. In a split second, Ron had his wand pointed at the empty space before him, his expression fierce and guarded. "Who's there?" he demanded, taking care not to raise his voice and disturb the sleeping infant.

She froze, but saw that he wasn't aiming the wand directly at her, just at the room in general. She edged away as he crept towards the open door that led to the hallway, eyes wary and alert. When he saw Bill and Fleur emerge from the staircase he put the wand away. "I'm sorry, I thought I heard something."

Bill glanced unerringly at the spot where Hermione stood. "Did you now?"

"Oh, she's sleeping," Fleur cooed as she took her daughter from Ron. "'Ow did you do it?"

"Er…" His brothers would never let him forget it if he revealed that he spent hours learning to sing a song in French. "You know, I just kind of walked around with her, nothing out of the ordinary."

Bill turned away from Hermione when he saw the bear Ron was holding. "You kept it after all these years?"

He smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, well…I don't need it anymore, so she can have it if she wants it."

Fleur adjusted the bonnet on Victoire's head and took the toy from him. "Of course she does," she said authoritatively. She kissed him on the cheek. "You will make an excellent father someday, Ronald."

He turned beet red as he followed her to the staircase. "We're too young—I mean, I'm too young to—I mean, I haven't even started thinking about…we haven't even talked about…me, a father? We're too young…" His stammering faded away as he descended the stairs on suddenly shaky knees.

It wasn't lost on Hermione that Bill stayed behind. "I hope there is a good explanation for what you're doing," he said. "You don't have to tell me what it is. I'd rather stay out of your relationship; I think you two are old enough to handle things on your own. But if Ron gets hurt, you'll leave me with no choice but to get involved."

"He's not going to get hurt," she told him, her voice hoarse with both disuse and the emotion from earlier.

"All right. We'll see you later at the Burrow, then." He left to join his wife and brother downstairs.

Hermione remained where she was, using the time alone to gather her thoughts. No, Ron wasn't going to get hurt. Bill can hold her to her word. If anyone was going to suffer, it was she.