A/n: Hey guys, sorry about the delay in update. The reason? A few, actually. One is that I wrote another new story (Apple Chunking, if you're interested). Two is that I've been busy packing, cause I'm going to Boston tomorrow. Three is that this chapter is one I've had in my head for weeks, and I wanted to get it perfect. This could in fact be my favorite chapter to date, so I really hope you enjoy reading it.

I might be extending outside of my realm of happy Weasleys a bit here, but it'd be awful unrealistic if I didn't broaden the horizon a bit. So on that note, please enjoy the next chapter.

The Tales of Weasley the Father
By dieselwriter

Chapter 7: The Tale of Privacy

It was peaceful in his house.

Too peaceful.

Ron suspiciously peeked from behind the Daily Prophet he was reading to comprehend this abnormality. From his spot on the couch he could see his children's trainers in the hallway, meaning they were inside somewhere. Hermione had practically been living at the Ministry the past few days, desperately trying to get a pro-Pureblood law eradicated once and for all.

To have his kids in the house without their mother around usually meant explosions, both of the physical and verbal variety.

Ron folded his newspaper and sat in the silence, reveling. These sorts of times were quite rare in any Weasley household.

"HUGO! Is that MY JOURNAL?"

Ron flinched as his daughter's piercing screech invaded his tranquility.

"GIVE IT BACK!"

There was a sudden commotion from upstairs as footsteps pounded overhead. He could hear them thunder their way down the stairs and reach the ground floor as the running finally stopped.

"Ow- Rosie, I'm SORRY! OUCH- OW— I'm saying OW! ROSIE!"

"GIVE IT NOW!"

"FINE! Ow, I can't move my ARMS! Get OFF!"

Ron made his way to the hallway, where both his children were in a jumble at the foot of the stairs. Rosie was red in the face as she clutched her journal in triumph, and Hugo was on the floor next to her, rubbing his arm and glowering at his sister.

Immediately on seeing their father, both children started shouting.

"Dad, Hugo was in my room—"

"Dad, Rosie hurt my arm—"

"He stole my journal—"

"She yelled at me—"

"And was trying to read it—"

"And she hurt my arm—"

"Hold it hold it HOLD IT!" Ron bellowed over his screeching children, causing them both to halt mid-speech.

"You," Ron pointed to Rosie, using his best authoritative tone as he spoke, "do not hurt your brother. And you," he now pointed to Hugo, "do not invade your sister's privacy. Trust me; you do not want to know what she's writing in there."

Brother and sister looked confusedly at her journal before returning their attention to their father.

"I didn't write anything mean," Rosie said defensively.

"Probably not," Ron shrugged, "but that doesn't mean we," here he pointed at both Hugo and himself, "shouldn't disrespect your privacy by reading your diary."

Any respect Rosie had felt for her father was lost in that last word.

"Dad, it's not a diary; it's a journal!"

Ron grimaced, recognizing his wife's influence on his daughter.

"Right, sorry," he said, having lost that battle a long time ago. "If your mother's taught me anything, it's to respect her personal space."

Hugo eyed his father shrewdly.

"That sounds like a story, Dad."

"And that's because it is, son," Ron smiled.

He began amidst the moans and groans of his children.

She's out talking to him, you know. About you. Probably laughing about you.

Ron fingered the locket around his neck delicately, grimacing and ready to fight what he knew was a losing battle with the Horcrux.

'They're discussing what we're doing next,' he thought, not in the mood. His arm gave a painful twinge, but it had been weeks ago since he had Splinched himself.

She's kissed him…how many times now? Ha, you can't even keep count. And that's with you right next to them. How many times d'you think she's done it in private with him?

Determined to ignore both the nasty voice echoing in his skull and the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, he let his eyes wander to settle on the contents of Hermione's magical purse, which had fallen over earlier.

And she's kissed you once. A pity kiss, really, if you think about it. Hard for you, I know.

Ron couldn't help but snort after that particular thought.

'That was clever, really; Fred and George would be proud.'

That's assuming they're not dead yet.

His insides froze as he stared at a small, leather-bound notebook.

So how confident are you?

Her parents had given it to her for a birthday present before their fourth year. Something to keep notes in….

Private notes…don't you want to know what she thinks of you? Of Harry?

He couldn't; Hermione's journal was off-limits. She'd be furious if she came in and found him reading it.

Put it to rest. You owe it to yourself to find the truth.

He could just ask her how he felt; he didn't need to read it. Besides, there probably wasn't anything like that written in it anyway.

You're a coward. You won't ever ask her…you're just afraid to find out.

He wasn't aware of moving until his hands had grasped the journal. He stopped, finding himself, and dropped it back to the floor. He slid beside it, eyeing it and then the locket with increased trepidation.

You don't even know what you want. The truth is right in front of you. All you have to do is read it. Even you can do that much. It's either this or ask her yourself. Be careful on the way out the tent- you might interrupt her and Harry.

The sick feeling was back; he grabbed the journal and flipped open the front page. He ignored the guilt as Hermione's neat handwriting stared up at him from the page.

'The Journal of Hermione Granger. Began Chronicling October 31, 1994,' he read, unsure as to why Hermione had started her journal over a month after receiving it.

Well, that was the day Harry was picked as a Hogwarts Champion, wasn't it? Of course she'd want to write about her love earning such a great honor.

Ron flipped through the book, ignoring the voice and the beginning of the diary entirely. He was intent on getting to the end, where her current and sincerest feelings would reside. However, a word caught his eye as he was flipping.

'Cheat?'

Cheat? On who?

The normally cool, confident voice sounded interested, and slightly nervous, and that spurred Ron to turn back to find the page he had seen that word written on. He found it quickly and read the page hungrily, ready to finally win against the voice.

'I helped Ron cheat today.'

Ron frowned in confusion. He couldn't remember a time Hermione had ever broken down enough to help him cheat on a homework assignment. She wouldn't even let him copy her most of the times, and even then she wouldn't have called it cheating. He checked the date at the corner of the page: September 20, 1996. He thought a moment, trying to remember why that date seemed significant, but decided to turn back to Hermione's script after coming up empty handed.

'McLaggen kept shooting his mouth off, talking about Ron and Ginny. I snapped; I couldn't help it. And there was no way I would let that prat beat my friend, so I Confunded him.'

The journal dropped back to the floor and Ron scooted back several inches away from it. He felt wrong, contaminated; those words had been engraved into his skull, and the only benefit he could see to this new feeling was that the voice had finally been silenced.

It had won once again.

He wasn't even sure what hurt more. Hermione had had no faith in him, feeling it necessary to cheat for him rather than win the position himself. And then there was the fact that he felt exceedingly dense…hadn't he even said that McLaggen seemed Confunded that day to Harry and Hermione? But Ron was pretty sure he knew why it hurt so much.

Friend. He was just her friend. Friends didn't go through half of what they had gone through together. Friends didn't go off on dangerous Horcrux missions. Friends didn't love as much as he loved her.

And it sunk in even more as he remembered what had happened that evening, how he had entered the Great Hall alone, had to double back and demand what his friends were doing without him…he even saw their guilty faces as they said 'nothing' defensively…nervously….

Friend. As long as he sat here in the dark while his two best friends were on the outside, laughing at him and enjoying each other's company.

"You feeling all right, Ron?"

Ron didn't remember sitting back on the bed, but that's where he was when Hermione entered the tent, looking concerned.

"Yeah, fine," he lied easily, but his voice sounded too cold to his ears.

"Oh, okay," Hermione came to take a seat at the end of the bed as he sat up.

They sat beside each other for a few moments, and despite what was written in the pages of Hermione's journal, Ron couldn't help but feel a bit hopeful when Hermione gingerly touched his shoulder.

Her expression turned from worry to slight fear when he turned to look at her.

"Ron…it's my turn."

Ron's heart dropped as she broke eye contact with him and retracted her hand.

"Oh, sure," Ron muttered as he took the locket off from around his neck and, after a slight hesitation, handed it to Hermione. She took it without looking at him and placed it over her head.

"Thanks," she said awkwardly.

"Are you okay?" he asked, as she still looked shaken up about something.

"It's just your…" she looked back at him, into his eyes, as if expecting something else to be there. Apparently whatever she was looking for wasn't there anymore, for she finally seemed to relax. "Never mind…it's gone."

Ron suddenly realized how close she was and stood up abruptly.

"Oh, well, all right then," he said, not trying hard to mask his discomfiture. "I better go take the next watch."

He didn't bother to turn around to gauge her reaction…she'd be happy, at any rate, to have Harry back in her company once again.

Told you so.

Ron stopped at the entrance of the tent to look back at the locket fearfully.

You can't get rid of me that easily.

Hugo and Rosie stared at their father in poorly disguised shock.

"I don't believe it," Hugo said breathlessly after a moment.

"Now you see the dangers of snooping?" Ron said, surprised but pleased at his son's reaction.

"What? No, I can't believe Mum cheated!" Hugo replied in awe.

Ron grimaced and rubbed his temple, wondering how little his son had paid attention once he had learned of that particular fact.

"Keep your eye on that," Ron said, looking his daughter straight in the eye as he tapped the cover of her journal. "And you," he said, turning his attention to Hugo, "keep your eye out of it."

Rosie smiled smugly and went upstairs back to her room as Hugo sulked after her. Ron watched them, wondering if any of his stories would ever teach his children anything.

"You read my diary?" a voice behind Ron said, and he turned around quickly to find Hermione standing by the front door. She had snuck in during Ron's story, and he had been far too engrossed with it to pay attention. Her face was unreadable.

"I thought it was a journal," he said half-heartedly.

"It is," she said, coming up to him. "You never told me you read it."

"I wasn't myself when I read it."

Hermione placed her hand in his.

"Come on, I want to show you something."

She dragged him up the stairs and into their bedroom. She let his hand go as she rummaged through her dresser.

"I'm sorry I read it," he said as he sat on the bed, knowing this apology was many years too late. "It was a complete invasion of your personal space, and I shouldn't have—"

He was interrupted as Hermione tossed a small book into his lap.

"Read the last entry," she said seriously.

Ron looked at his wife nervously before turning to the journal in his hands. It was in surprisingly good condition, given how old it was. But it was something he should have suspected, given how well Hermione took care of her things.

He flipped open to the first page, intent of flipping to the end, but was held up as he stared at the new edition to the introduction.

"End Chronicling November 1997?" he asked, unsure as to why his wife had picked that time to end her journaling.

"Read the last entry," she repeated in response.

He returned his attention to the notebook and flipped through it. The word 'cheat' passed by and he couldn't help but stop at the page that had haunted him.

"Friend?" he asked, pointing to the word on the page. He didn't look up as Hermione responded.

"If you had just read another page or two you would have known that I alternated between calling you 'my friend', 'my Ron', and 'my pain in the arse'. I couldn't decide between the three which was most appropriate."

This realization hit him like a ton of bricks and he immediately complied with her earlier wish for him to turn to the last page. Nothing was written on it, so he turned back and tried to find the page last written on.

He found the page, realizing that the last quarter of the book hadn't been written in at all.

"Why didn't you finish it?" he asked Hermione, but her look clearly said that he was to do nothing but read the last entry.

The date was written in the corner, followed by one short sentence. He stared at the page, noticing that, even by Hermione standards, the script was pristine. Tear drops were the only blemish at the bottom of the page, but still unable to smudge the writing located near the top.

"I've lost…" he tried to read it but his throat constricted around the last words. He only wished his past self had been able to read this page instead.

"November 1997," Hermione said, coming over to sit beside him on the bed. "I've lost my Ron."

Hot tears had snuck into his eyes on hearing her broken voice, and he hugged her fiercely.

"I didn't know the date…" Hermione said, sniffling.

Ron hugged his wife tighter as he cast his gaze to the doorway, only now remembering that he had not shut it on his way into the bedroom. But the door was shut now, and knowing that his daughter was writing in the confines of her room, that left only his son responsible.

He smiled as he kept his wife held taut to his body. Maybe there was hope for his stories after all.

A/n: Well guys, there ends another chapter. I sincerely hoped you enjoyed it just as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Next update might be slightly delayed, since I'm leaving tomorrow to spend a week in Boston. I'll try writing when I have time, but I'm not sure how much time I'll have.

Thanks to all of my reviewers; I wouldn't be here without you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Please take the time to review; it's really the best motivation for a writer when they know their work is appreciated. ;)

-dieselwriter

Edit: Yeah...Thanksgiving is not a British holiday...D'oh! XP It bugged me so I fixed it.