Ron woke up the next morning and rolled over to look at the clock, seeing that it was actually afternoon. Sitting up, he realized that he was alone. Grumbling, he got sorely off the bed and headed for the kitchen, not bothering to dress. Harry was there, fully clothed and wearing an apron, standing over the stove and stirring something that smelled delicious.

"Morning."

Harry turned around and looked at Ron. "Afternoon… love… why are you naked?"

"Why am I not naked?" Ron sat down at the kitchen table and stretched, yawning.

Harry shook his head, smiling, and turned back to the stove. "I'm making soup. It'll be done soon if you want lunch."

"That would be lovely." Ron scratched his leg and watched Harry, turning over their dinner conversation in his head. "I'll get dressed."

When he came back down, there were two bowls of soup on the table and Harry was sitting at his, blowing gently into it. Ron sat down across from him and thanked him before grabbing a spoon and sloshing soup into his mouth, enjoying the burning sensation in this throat.

"I was thinking… about what you said last night… about adoption."

Harry looked up, biting his lip. "Yeah?"

Ron frowned a bit. "Well… I was just… wondering… I've never heard of a wizard orphanage. Have you?"

Harry shook his head, looking down at his soup. "N-no… "

"Yeah." Ron leaned back and looked at Harry. "You want to adopt a Muggle."

Harry sighed and swirled his spoon around in his soup. "Maybe. I don't know. I mean… we… we could try and find a wizard or a witch in a Muggle orphanage."

"How?"

Harry leaned back and looked at Ron. "Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts?"

"Yeah. They find magical children. I don't exactly know how, but they find Muggle-borns, they found my mum and Hermione and Dean and all the rest, and they found Tom Riddle – he was in an orphanage."

Ron frowned more. "You want to adopt a Tom Riddle, do you?"

"No," Harry sighed again. "Ron, I just… let's at least ask Minerva, okay?"

"But I haven't even said I want to do it yet." Ron looked away from Harry, knowing he wouldn't be able to handle the look of devastation on his face.

"You… you don't want to?" Harry's voice was low and desperate.

"No, I mean, yes, I mean… just give me more time to think on it, okay?"

Harry nodded and went back to eating his soup. Ron did the same.

When he was finished, Harry took his bowl to the sink and began washing it. Ron, after slurping the last bit of soup off his spoon, stood and wrapped his arms around Harry's middle and kissed the back of his neck gently.

"I love you, Harry."

Harry smiled despite himself and turned around in Ron's arms. "I love you, too."

Ron grinned and kissed Harry tenderly. "Are we okay?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded and kissed the tip of Ron's long nose. "We're okay."

Ron squeezed Harry tighter before letting him go. "Good." He left the kitchen and headed for the living room, plopping himself down in his favourite chair to think. He had always wanted a family of his own, a big one with lots of kids and maybe a few pets. His own childhood had been enormously happy – he'd grown up with five older brothers and a younger sister that he and the twins would bother, when the twins weren't busy bothering him. At Hogwarts, he had pined after Hermione and imagined the family they would have together – loads of kids, brave and smart. He had always liked the idea of himself as a father, but that was back then, when the reality was far away. Now, nearing thirty and living with Harry, the reality was closing quickly in on him, and he was frightened by it. What would he actually do with so many children? How could he manage both work and parenthood? How could he give them what they needed – food, clothes, love, attention, advice, support? And Harry… Ron didn't even know what Harry wanted. The two of them had been helping to raise Teddy Lupin for the past decade, but that wasn't enough for Harry. It wasn't enough for Ron, either, but he had given up hopes of his own family when he gave up Hermione for Harry. And now Harry wanted to adopt. It wouldn't be their child, it wouldn't be Harry's and it wouldn't be Ron's. Ron had been fantasizing about his own clan of red-haired children since before he could remember.

Harry broke into Ron's thoughts by tossing an apron on his face. Ron smiled and threw it back across the room at Harry, who was sitting on the couch.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Ginger hair."

"Do you always think about yourself that way?"

Ron laughed. "No, I meant… Harry, it's weird trying to adjust the notion of family."

Harry frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

"My family… we're the Weasleys… we've all got red hair. I've always… imagined my children to have red hair."

"I haven't got red hair," Harry muttered indignantly.

Ron blinked. "I'm not blind."

"Your mum practically adopted me the moment she saw me on the platform. Your whole family has treated me like I'm one of them – especially you. And I haven't got red hair."

"That's different."

"How?"

Ron looked down at his socks. "Alright, it's not different. I'm just a little spooked by this whole thing. I don't quite know what to think."

Harry's expression softened and he gestured for Ron to join him on the couch. When Ron was sitting next to him, Harry put his hand on Ron's leg and his head on Ron's shoulder. "What's so scary about it?"

"Well, it's… it's a bit much, isn't it?"

Harry looked up at Ron. "What?"

"Kids, pets, food, clothes, money… it's a bit much."

Harry smirked. "Ron, you're not making any sense. You're thinking too much."

"That's a first." Ron sighed and caressed Harry's hand with his own. "I want a lot of kids, not just one. You have to be willing to spend some of your parents' money on them. They'll need a lot of clothes – kids grow fast – and a lot of food – kids eat a ton – and we're sending the lot of them to Hogwarts."

Harry flung one leg over Ron and straddled his lap, kissing him. "You're a good man, Ron Weasley."

Ron smirked. "Oh, thanks. You're the Boy Who Lived and the Chosen One and I'm a bloody good man."

"Don't talk like that." Harry nipped roughly at Ron's earlobe.

Ron wrapped his arms around Harry and sighed into his chest. "Let's go talk to McGonagall, shall we?"

Harry grinned and pulled Ron up, apparating them to their bedroom. "Get dressed. I'll send an owl and let her know we're coming through the floo system."

"I am dressed." Ron watched, amused, as Harry found some parchment and began scribbling frantically on it.

"Get your bloody shoes on, Ron. And fix your hair, please." Harry rolled up the parchment and walked over to the owl cage in the room, where two small, brown owls were looking up at him, hopeful. "Who wants it?" He laughed as they both squeaked, reaching in and pulling out the younger one. "Here you go, Muff, you silly bird. Take it to Headmistress McGonagall, straightaway." Muff flew out the window as soon as the note was tied to his leg.

"How's my hair?"

Harry turned around and found himself staring at a brown-haired Ron. "You're a bleeding idiot, you know that?"

Ron chuckled and swished his wand, making his normal hair colour return. "Yes, yes, I know that. You only tell me every day."

"Well," Harry rolled his eyes playfully, "you only remind me every day. Ready?"

"Give Muff half a minute to get there, mate!" Ron walked over to the window and grabbed at Harry's arse affectionately. Harry blushed. "What's that?"

"What's what?"

"That," Ron brushed his fingers over Harry's red cheeks. "That blush. What's it for?"

Harry grabbed at Ron's arse with both hands, squeezing gently. "You turn me on." His voice was deep and thick.

Ron cocked one eyebrow up on his brow. "Do I really? Never would have guessed that."

Harry snorted and squeezed him harder. "You know you do."

"Maybe… but you turn me on more." Ron leaned down and kissed across Harry's neck.

Harry smiled and brushed his hand across the front of Ron's trousers. "Is that so?"

Ron pulled back a bit. "Yeah… but not right now. It's too soon – I haven't recovered from last night just yet."

Harry laughed and stepped away. "You need to recover? You're getting old."

Ron scowled and slapped Harry's arse, hard. "I'm only half a year older than you are."

Harry reached up and grabbed Ron's face forcibly, kissing him roughly. "Come on," he broke off and pulled Ron out of their room and back to the living room, "let's go." Grabbing a fist-full of powder from a bowl on the mantle, Harry stepped into the fireplace. A moment later he was gone, and Ron was standing alone, still in his socks.