A/n: Hey guys, how's it going…? Please don't hurt me; I'm sorry for being late. The economy's been sucking though and I've been trying to find something to make me money after I graduate come May. Not only that, but I've been stuck on another two chapters and I can't seem to work around them. But that's all boring; here's the next chapter, and I hope you enjoy it.

Note: This chapter coincides with Chapters 9-11, specifically 11. I suggest reading that chapter first (or looking it back over again, if you've forgotten about it).

Dedicated to the lovely NellieNotMolly, for actually giving a crap about what happened to Ron's wand. Here's your answer!

The Tales of Weasley the Father
By dieselwriter

Chapter 13: The Tale of Gratitude

"I called dibs, Rosie!"

"Yeah, after I already had it! It doesn't count!"

"Yeah it does!"

"No it doesn't!"

"Yes it does!"

"No it- HEY! Give it back!"

"NO!"

"DAAAAAAAD!"

It was moments like this that Ron knew, despite the fact that he was working at home the next two days to watch the kids while Hermione went to some symposium in Wales, there wouldn't be much of a vacation in store for him.

But that didn't mean he wouldn't hope against hope that his children would resolve their own issues.

"Oh, come on Rosie, I was just kidding!"

"Then give it back!"

"Fine. Here."

"HUGO!"

Ron dropped the paper he'd have to try to read again later as he rolled off the couch and entered the kitchen, where he found an enraged Rosie, a devilishly smiling Hugo, and a sandwich on the counter.

"What's all this about? I thought I told you guys that I had to concentrate on this paper I was reading."

Hugo and Rosie hid their sneer and bared teeth, respectively, to glance up with nervous, hardly innocent grins on their faces.

"Sorry Daddy," Hugo said as he shuffled to the right a bit, no doubt trying to cover up something behind him.

"We didn't mean to interrupt your studying, Dad," Rosie said, dropping her innocent smile to be replaced with a frown. "But Hugo stole the last slice of cheese."

Rosie grabbed her brother and pulled him all the way to the right, exposing said dairy product lying on the ground.

Ron had a hard time hiding his amused grin as Hugo swatted his sister's arm away and looked up at her mutinously.

"Well, it's still good," Ron said, picking it up and splitting it down the middle before handing a half to each child.

"Eww, Dad, that's gross!" Rosie's scowl was replaced by a disgusted look as she stepped away from the cheese. "I don't want it now!"

"What? Five second rule," Hugo said before he grabbed his half and placed it in his sandwich and took a bite out of it.

"Suit yourself," Ron said, following his son's example and eating his daughter's portion.

Rosie had a look similar to his mother's whenever Ron would stuff fried eggs whole into his mouth.

"That is disgusting!" she reiterated, and blanched as Ron pulled a long, curly hair from his mouth that had undoubtedly been from the floor.

"Might be yours," Ron said, dropping the hair on his daughter's head, causing her to shriek and retreat, combing her finger through her unruly locks to get rid of any saliva-covered hairs that might lurk.

"You know, Rosie," Ron said, as Hugo ate his sandwich without remorse, "you should be more thankful about what you're given."

"Oh Merlin," Rosie dramatized, putting her head in her hands. "You are NOT about to tell a story about being thankful for cheese that fell on the floor."

"No, I was gonna just tell you a story about being thankful."

Hugo carefully tried to sidle out of the room, but had about as much success as he had in hiding the cheese on the floor earlier.

"Oh no you don't," Ron said, throwing an arm around his shoulders to prevent him from moving. "You can stay too."

"But Dad, I am thankful for my dirt-covered cheese!" Hugo tried to protest, but to no avail.

"You'll probably need to hear this story too, though, and you might as well hear it sooner rather than later."

And as Rosie and Hugo pondered their abysmal luck, Ron began his tale.

"Auror Weasley, there's someone here to see you."

"Unless it's the Minister again, I don't want any visitors."

"Well that's just too bad," a surprising voice snarled, and Ron glanced from his desk to the door to find his wife trying to squeeze past the dainty secretary in the doorway.

"Sir?" the secretary glanced desperately at him, as she dug her fingernails further in the door frame to keep Hermione at bay.

"It's fine, thanks Denise," Ron said, nodding to the dainty secretary, who sighed with relief before moving aside.

Hermione cast Denise a fierce glare before stomping over to Ron's desk.

"What on earth are you doing here?" she spat venomously.

Ron finished signing his name on a document and putting it in the outbox before looking up at his obviously irate wife.

"Kingsley's been going haggard over trying to find a replacement for the Hogwarts position, and I can't leave until I've sent out secondaries to those inquiring for the job."

"Your sister just had a child and you're in here filling out paperwork?"

Ron took a deep breath before staring at his wife, quite surprised that his face hadn't melted off with the intensity she was glaring at him.

"I already told Harry, and he understands, Hermione," he tried to reply calmly, but he was interrupted.

"Oh, sure, if it's for the dear Minister, drop everything important in your life to do his bidding—"

"Hermione, it's my job!" Ron replied heatedly, and here he stood up, his ears turning a dangerous shade of red. "Don't make me out to be the bad guy! How am I supposed to pay for that lovely new bassinet for her," here, Ron pointed at his wife's quite pregnant belly, "if I don't have a job?"

"Fine, that's fine," Hermione threw her hands in the air before turning on her heel. "Stay. Do whatever you want. I'll be over with Ginny if you decide to come to your senses."

Ron deflated as Hermione stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind her. He sunk back in his chair, quite used to his wife's violent mood these days.

It didn't help that he'd been working on this recruitment for Hogwarts business for the better of two weeks to scrape a few extra Galleons for their child due in a month.

"Auror Weasley?"

"If it's my wife again, show her the door, Denise."

"Problems at home, Weasley?"

Ron fumbled with the papers he was holding as he looked up to see Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic, smiling down at him kindly.

"S-sir, I'm sorry…" Ron fumbled embarrassedly, quite unsure how to make up for what he had just said. "I just…"

"It's okay, I understand," Shacklebolt replied in his soothing voice, "Potter told me his wife nearly strangled him last week for being five minutes late for dinner."

Ron smiled meekly in return as he tried to surreptitiously organize his desk into a more dignified manner.

"Did you need something, Minister?" Ron asked, hoping he didn't sound as strained as he felt.

"Actually, Pomona Sprout was just telling me of a late applicant for the position of Herbology Professor. She would like to give you her recommendation for the candidate personally."

"But applications were due last Tuesday," Ron muttered wearily, rubbing his temples. "I can't just make exceptions—"

"I know, Weasley, but I think we can make an exception for this one. Just trust me on this."

Ron sighed and nodded his head. He nearly jumped a foot in the air as a large hand was placed comfortingly on his shoulder.

"I can handle the rest of this, Weasley. Go on."

Ron had little say as the Minister practically picked him up with just the hand on his shoulder and gave him an encouraging push toward the door, before taking residence at the desk and ruffling through the papers.

"How on earth can he consider this organized? And I thought Potter's records were bad…."

Ron smiled a bit at the Minister's grumble before leaving the room.

"Auror Weasley," Denise called as Ron passed her desk. "The Minister set up a Portkey for you."

"Oh," Ron said, glancing at the old tea kettle Denise indicated to be the Portkey. "Thank you, Denise."

"Whenever you're ready, sir."

Ron reached out and grabbed the Portkey, and the secretary's office was gone with a pull behind his navel. Colors whirled by and he felt slightly sick before his feet landed on solid ground.

He glanced around at the office, knowing immediately he was not in the right place. Faces of old Headmasters of Hogwarts looked curiously at him as he tried to figure out why he was in McGonagall's office instead of Sprout's.

"Ah, good evening, Mr. Weasley."

Ron jumped a bit, hearing the voice of his old hero, one he had not heard in many years.

"Oh, hi Professor," Ron said, feeling awkward as he waved at the smiling portrait of the deceased Headmaster Dumbledore. "Er, do you know where Professor Sprout is?"

"Minerva has just gone to retrieve her. I told her that I would gladly keep you company until she returned."

"Right then," Ron mumbled, feeling slightly disturbed at talking to a dead man's portrait. "So…how's Hogwarts been? I haven't visited in a while."

"Going along quite swimmingly," Dumbledore beamed. "No one would be the wiser to the fact that we held a monumental battle only eight years ago."

"Has it been that long already?" Ron whistled, glancing out the window to the dark grounds below.

"Hard to imagine sometimes, I know. But how have you been, Mr. Weasley? You are looking a bit under the weather. I hope you have been taking care of yourself."

"I've been trying to," Ron said with a shrug. "I've been trying to support a family is all."

"Ah, has Hermione had the baby then? Congratulations!"

"No, not yet, sir. She's due next month."

"Well, then you are on the final stretch. It always seems to be the most trying."

"I couldn't agree with you more sir."

They stood around—well, Ron stood…Dumbledore just…hung there—in companionable silence for a few moments.

"Is there something troubling you, Mr. Weasley? Apart from Hermione?"

He knew. He always knew. Ron wasn't quite sure why he was still surprised by this.

"Ginny and Harry had their second son yesterday."

Dumbledore blinked serenely at him, and Ron felt the rest of his story get caught in his throat.

"A true blessing for the parents, I'm sure."

Ron nodded as he ran a hand through his hair and glanced back out the darkened window.

"What is the child's name?"

Apparently it didn't matter if the man was only a picture of his former self; he could still read minds just as well as he could when he was walking around with the living.

"Albus."

"Yes, Ronald?"

"No," Ron said with a small laugh. "That's his name. Albus…Severus…Potter."

"Oh dear, Albus, you say? A bit old fashioned if I do say so myself…I can see why you would be upset."

Ron had always known the old Headmaster to be a bit off his rocker, and he looked at him for a moment to tell him so, but when he looked at the portrait, he could see a knowing grin behind the Professor's beard.

"What has our late Potions Professor done to offend you, Mr. Weasley?"

"I don't have any reason to be offended, sir," but Ron snorted, as if he didn't believe himself. "You trusted him, he helped us on our Horcrux mission…we wouldn't have won the war without him."

"And yet you are upset, Mr. Weasley."

Ron smiled wryly and tried to look at anything other than the creepily twinkling eyes of the portrait.

"Just because he helped us didn't mean I liked him, sir. He cut off my brother's ear and was unwarrantedly vindictive to Harry and Hermione and me all through school."

"Some prejudices are hard to forget," Dumbledore nodded, but he didn't seem angry with him.

"I guess so, sir," Ron shrugged, not offended by the remark.

Dumbledore surveyed the young Auror a little while before breaking the uncomfortable silence that had settled between them.

"Mr. Weasley, would you like to do me a favor?"

"Er," Ron said, glancing up from the spot on the floor he was staring at, "of course, sir."

"Right in that cabinet over there, would you like to get out my old Pensieve for me?"

Dumbledore pointed to a cabinet in the corner, and Ron went over and opened it to pull out the Pensieve.

"Where would you like it?" Ron asked, heaving it over to the portrait.

"Right on the desk is fine, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore replied as Ron lugged the magical basin onto McGonagall's desk. "And now, if you would be so kind, would you tap the bottom of the cabinet with your wand and say the incantation Specialis Revelio?"

Ron swore under his breath, wondering why he hadn't just magicked the heavy basin to the desk, before heading back over to the cabinet and doing what the portrait asked of him.

"Specialis Revelio," Ron tapped his wand on the bottom of the inside cabinet and was surprised as the bottom disappeared, revealing a secret compartment where an assortment of small vials resided, the contents of each glowing an iridescent silver.

"There should be one labeled July 27, 1997. Will you please pull it out?"

Ron fished through the vials, trying to read the messy scrawl of the labels in the dim light. He finally found it, pulling out the small vial and carrying it back over to the desk.

"You may pour the contents into the Pensieve, Mr. Weasley."

Ron pulled the cork from the vial and emptied the memory into the basin. He swirled it around with his wand again, watching as it settled in the liquidy gas (or was it a gassy liquid?) for a moment, before a picture began to form.

"Um, sir? Do you want me to…"

"You do not have to enter the memory, no. But I would like it if you would watch."

Ron peered over the basin, watching the memory unfold, and was unsurprised as Snape appeared on the scene, descending on an unoccupied field in the dead of night.

Or perhaps not so unoccupied, as he walked toward a prone figure on the ground. His head bowed, perhaps in some silent form of grief or reflection.

Ron's breath hitched as he realized Snape was looking down at the corpse of Alastor Moody.

"The Dark Lord sent me to collect the remains of the old duffer."

Ron's blood turned cold just as Snape turned around to inspect the newcomer contemptuously.

"I heard, and I came to help."

"Obviously."

Bellatrix Lestrange sauntered over, a very familiar broomstick and wand in hand.

"Should we take him in pieces?" she cackled, aiming the wand that was familiar to Ron yet did not belong to her.

"I do not think such an uncouth method will be necessary, Bellatrix. Besides, if we are giving the body to the Ministry, they will need it well preserved."

"You never let me have any fun, Severus." But she grinned maniacally, flashing crooked, yellow teeth. "Evanesco."

Moody's corpse vanished, and Snape raised a condescending eyebrow.

"Very impressive, Bellatrix."

But Bellatrix Lestrange was frowning, leering at the new wand in her grasp.

"I don't know, Severus. I thought my new wand might be a nice change, but I think I like my own wand more."

"Why would you want to change in the first place?"

Here, Bellatrix dropped her sneer and replaced it with her wretched grin.

"It's a trophy I won tonight. One of the imposter Potter's wands. I can only imagine how baby Harry would react if he saw me holding this. But it's far too long; I'd rather forgo it—"

Bellatrix went to snap the wand that Ron knew to be his, but Snape interrupted.

"Perhaps I may try it?"

The witch eyed him suspiciously but handed the wand over to him. Snape fingered it delicately, and Ron's skin crawled to know that the Potions Master had ever held his wand so adroitly.

"You got their broom as well, I see," he said without taking his eyes off the wand.

"Yes, and I intend to get full use out of it," she said, hanging onto the broom defensively, as if afraid Snape would try to steal it away as well.

"By all means," he muttered, his eyes still roving the wand. "And what of the imposter?"

Bellatrix shrugged but her eyes gleamed maliciously.

"No body has been found, but with any luck we'll find it right next to my dear cousin's soon enough."

Ron could not detect if this statement had any effect on the Potions Professor.

"Then I suppose we'd best be off. I'll scout to the north, if you'd like to take the south?"

Bellatrix's gaze lingered on the wand still in Snape's hand, but she shrugged it off as she gracefully swung her leg back over the broom and took off south as he had suggested.

Snape watched her leave with his eyes narrowed, only moving once she was out of sight. He turned to where Moody had been lying only minutes before, kneeling down in the unkempt grasses and laying the wand down amidst the weeds.

"Good luck, Mr. Weasley."

Ron's brow furrowed as Snape stood back up and walked off in the opposite direction his colleague had taken. The memory faded and Ron was left staring at the dark liquid-gas substance swirling in the basin.

"Perhaps Severus Snape was not an exceptionally kind man, but he did have an exceptional character."

Ron jumped and glanced back at the portrait of Dumbledore, who was looking seriously at him.

"He made many mistakes in his life, that I do not doubt; but he had many redeeming qualities as well."

Ron wasn't sure how to respond, so said nothing. Dumbledore seemed to understand as he continued.

"Could you please return the memory to its rightful place, Mr. Weasley? I doubt highly Professor Snape would appreciate others finding out about his personal effects."

Ron nodded and set to work, fishing out the memory with his wand and replacing it in the vial, before returning it and the Pensieve back into the cabinet, not before making sure all of the memories were safely concealed once again.

"I don't…I don't think…" Ron finally said, once the office was back to the way it was before, "I don't think one act of kindness on my behalf can replace all those of him being spiteful and cruel."

Dumbledore's smile returned, clearly unsurprised by his reaction.

"I don't think it should, Mr. Weasley."

"Then…then what does it matter?"

"Perhaps the only thing that does matter, Ronald, is that you love your nephew. Harry had his reasons for choosing the name that he did; you may not understand it, but as long as you love him, that should be all that matters."

If Harry was able to overlook all the horrid things Snape ever did to him, if he was able to see the good that Snape did—not even including saving Ron's wand, for he did not know of it—then maybe that should be enough. Maybe trust and love would have to be enough.

"I can see why Harry named his son after you, sir," Ron said with a smile.

"I am not sure if portraits can blush, Mr. Weasley, but I assure you that if I could I would be."

"I think…" Ron said, feeling suddenly impulsive, "I think I need to go."

"I think that would be a splendid idea. I shall make your excuses with Minerva."

"Right," Ron said, heading over to the fireplace. "But first, Professor…" Ron glanced at the floor, only now feeling embarrassed and his ears undoubtedly turned pink. "Thanks."

"No, I must thank you, Mr. Weasley. Your courage is inspirational."

"I'd hardly call myself courageous, sir," he replied, and now he was certain he could feel heat radiating from his ears.

"Then we must agree to disagree, Ronald. It is easy to be right; it is quite another to admit to one's mistakes."

"I make a lot of them sir; you'd think I'd get used to it by now."

Ron smiled at his weak joke effort, but Dumbledore surveyed him with a look Ron was unfamiliar with. It made him slightly uneasy and he tried to reach for the Floo Powder surreptitiously.

"You are quite a remarkable young man, Mr. Weasley. I'm ashamed I did not get to know you better while I was alive."

"Er," Ron said, freezing as his hand was halfway to the powder and quite unsure how to respond to that. "I'm…sorry?"

Dumbledore just chuckled before Ron's suspended hand.

"Enjoy your nephew, Mr. Weasley, and please send my regards to Mr. and Mrs. Potter."

"Thank you, sir," Ron replied with quite a bit of relief, grabbing a handful of Floo Powder and tossing it into the fireplace.

He did not hesitate as he stepped into the emerald flames and shouted out his destination, ready to meet his new nephew.

"Let me get this straight," Rosie said as Ron finished. "Hugo and I had to suffer through a story about our cousin Al over a piece of cheese?!"

"And what was the moral anyway?" Hugo demanded, confusion written all over his face. "Al's middle name is silly? I already know that one!"

Ron grimaced as his children tried arguing with him over the importance of the story he had just finished telling.

"I'm saying that you should be thankful with what you have, even if it doesn't seem like much!" Ron tried to shout over their protestations, but he was drowned out by Rosie's shriek.

"I refuse to be thankful for cheese that fell on the floor!"

A/n: Sorry the ending's so short, guys; but I thought it went well with the chapter.

Thanks so much to all of my new and lovely reviewers! You guys are awesome and kind and I am so thankful for each and every one of you!

For all those celebrating the holiday, Happy Thanksgiving! And for all of those not celebrating the holiday, Happy Thursday!

-dieselwriter