A/n: I'm utterly floored, guys. Completely and utterly on my back on the floor, staring at the ceiling in delighted confusion. One reason for this view of my off-white dorm ceiling is my glorious reviewers! You guys stepped up and then some to let me know how flufferific the last chapter was! I don't think I've ever gotten so many reviews for an update before! YOU ALL ROCK! And also…
The Tales of Weasley the Father is currently nominated for Outstanding Humor Fic in the 2008 Ron/Hermione Awards!
As such, this chapter is dedicated to whoever nominated me. I'm so glad you, along with all my other fantabulous readers, have been enjoying the story as much as I have enjoyed writing it. THANK YOU!
And without further ado (and to prevent myself from rambling on and on about how honored I am (VERY HONORED) and who in the academy I'd like to thank (ALL MY LOVELIES)), the next chapter:
The Tales of Weasley the Father
By dieselwriter
Chapter 19: The Tale of Girls
It had to be a nightmare.
Ron's hands shook in fearful anger as he stood in front of the window, gaping at the scene playing out in front of his eyes.
The valentine his daughter had meticulously worked on for the better of a week was in his hands. He was staring at it with some kind of fantastical awe, seemingly unable to comprehend its beauty and the care that had been put into it. He gazed up into Rose's eyes, and Ron flinched at his loving look.
"NO!" Ron shouted, pounding on the glass with all his might.
But it was useless; Rosie was smiling at him, holding her hands out to him, walking forward into his arms….
"WEASLEY!"
Ron wrenched himself off the desk, nearly falling out of his chair. His head swiveled to the door, eyes resting on a clearly cross Senior Auror.
"Oh thank Merlin," Ron said, laughing shakily as he placed a hand over his heart.
It had been a nightmare.
"I fail to find the humor in this, Weasley. This is twice now that you have been asleep on the job. The Ministry does not employ you for your nap-taking ability."
Ron grimaced, shamefully staring down at the desktop and surreptitiously trying to wipe off the small puddle of drool he found on it.
"Shacklebolt told me to get this to you," Williams continued.
Ron jumped as a brick landed on his desk.
"What's this?" Ron asked stupidly, still a bit groggy from his nap.
"Came in this morning," Williams answered gruffly, folding his arms and leaning against the doorframe. "From a friend of yours."
"A friend?" Ron repeated, frowning at him before turning to the brick. A small bit of parchment was tied to it.
Brows furrowed in confusion, Ron reached out and freed the note before reading.
"'Release the followers of the Dark Lord…'"
His mouth went dry and he found that he could not finish the rest.
"'And no one will be harmed,'" Williams recited from memory, before unfolding his arms and standing above him. "Sound familiar to you?"
Very, thought Ron, but he remained speechless, staring at the note that was so much like its predecessor. The painstaking effort put into it was obvious; every letter was perfectly aligned and the whole message was centered right in the middle of the parchment. But where the first threat had been put together with a hodgepodge of colors and clippings from various magazines and fliers, this new one had a clear pattern.
"What do you think about this, Weasley?"
"Red," was all Ron could think to say.
The only colours used in the note were a vivid red and a pale goldenrod. The red stood out starkly and reminded Ron of the valentine his daughter had worked so hard on all week.
"And what do you make of it?"
His heart pounding in his chest and Rose's valentine on his mind, he muttered:
"Today."
"That's what Shacklebolt was afraid of," Williams nodded, clearly in tune to Ron's thought process. "He likes aiming for holidays, when people are out and about. We're only lucky he didn't try for New Year's as well."
Ron felt the vestiges of a headache coming on, but something felt wrong about this, although he couldn't quite place it.
"Shacklebolt has stationed Aurors around Diagon Alley as well as Hogsmeade—"
"Where do you want me, then?"
Williams sighed, casting him a sidelong glance.
"Shacklebolt wants you home, Weasley."
Ron's jaw dropped and he clenched the note tightly in his fist.
"Home? I belong out there!" he shouted, anger coursing through him as he shot up out of his seat and gestured wildly about the room. "I can talk to him, he knows me—"
"And that's exactly why we don't want you there," the Senior Auror replied rather calmly, given the fact he had an irate Weasley yelling at him. "You've got personal stake in this."
Ron gaped at him.
"Personal stake?" he repeated, looking horrified. "Just because he tried to blow up half of Diagon Alley along with myself doesn't mean I can't do my job!"
"This is not up to debate, Weasley. The Minister of Magic ordered me to send you home. So go."
Senior Auror and Auror stood off, face to face, jaws clenched and eyes narrowed.
"He tried to kill my brother and son," Ron whispered dangerously, talking down to Williams, seeing as how he was a good four inches shorter than he. "I have to help. I can't just let him—"
"Weasley…" his eyes fell to stare at Ron's hands a moment before looking back into his eyes. "We can't use you like this."
Ron swallowed hard, his own eyes staring at his shaking hands, which were a shade paler than the skin on the rest of his body.
"They're fine, I keep telling everyone—"
"Expelliarmus!"
The spell came out of nowhere; Ron jumped in surprise and gasped in pain as his fist was forced open, the note flying out and into the Senior Auror's waiting hand.
Ron tried shaking out his hands to alleviate the sudden stinging and swore under his breath as Williams smiled in grim satisfaction.
"It's residual pain," Williams said, averting his eyes. "You can't force it to go away. It'll go in time, but for now you're off the streets."
Ron's hands still radiated pain, but his eyes fell to the floor with his heart.
"Go home, Auror Weasley."
Williams left the room, and Ron listened to his footsteps fade away.
Residual pain. Ron hated the words he had heard from Healer Casey the day of his release. The skin had been Healed, but the nerves, while no longer damaged, were now quite sensitive to extreme stimuli like temperature and magic. According to Casey, it would take months for the nerves to desensitize themselves.
But Ron didn't have months. Scabior wasn't going to take months to extract revenge.
Ron sighed in defeat. There was no point in trying to disobey Shacklebolt's and Williams' orders; the Senior Auror had found the easiest way to knock him out of the fight. Pulling his wand out of his pocket, he incanted half-heartedly:
"Accio Pain Potion."
Ron winced at the pain the small hand movement caused before turning to catch the small potion bottle that whizzed out of the desk drawer.
It tasted awful but did the trick; his hands no longer hurt. But with one step forward, two steps back: experience taught him that in about five minutes his hands would be so numb as to be unable to perform the intricate movements necessary for proper spell casting.
Knowing this time limit, he grasped his wand in his hand and turned on the spot, thinking of home, of his family eagerly awaiting his return.
What he got instead was nearly a broken neck.
"Hu-go!" Ron shouted, catching himself from a nasty fall down the steps of the back porch. "What have I told you about putting your broom away?"
"He's in the kitchen, Dad!" Rosie called out from inside the house.
Ron rolled his eyes as he picked up the broom he tripped on and carried it into the house.
"Hiya, Auror Weasley."
Ron nearly had a heart attack.
After the nightmare he had experienced earlier, the grinning face of Bobby Benson playing Exploding Snap on his living room floor was a shock indeed. As was the valentine sticking out of his back pocket.
"You're home early, aren't you Dad?" Rosie asked with a curious expression, and Ron blanched at his daughter's face.
She was wearing lip gloss.
Ron said something highly unintelligible and nearly ran from the room with the broomstick, horror blinding him so much that he crashed into a short and lumpy someone in the hallway.
"Dad—Dad…." Hugo panted from down below him, sounding just as upset as he was. "You've gotta save me—"
The doorbell interrupted him and he glanced up into his father's face, looking petrified.
"Please, Dad, you can't answer that. I'll do anything—"
"Hi, is Hugo home?"
Hugo's wide, brown eyes shot to the front door, where his mother stood, opening the front door to a young girl with sleek black hair pulled back into a plait.
"I think I heard him come in," Hermione said, looking behind her to see both her son and husband glancing in her direction. "Oh, there he is, come on in, Vi."
Vi Puckle stepped into the house, spotted Hugo immediately, and waved enthusiastically.
"Hi Hughie! Wanna come out and play?"
Hugo shot his father a terrified look.
"Please, Dad, I'll do whatever you want, just save me!"
Ron snorted at his desperately whispered plea and glanced at the young girl's bright blue eyes. She reminded him strongly of another girl he used to know.
"Actually, Vi," he said, shoving the broom into his son's hands. "Hugo and I are going to have a nice chat about how to properly put his things away."
Hugo looked up at him gratefully as Vi looked down sadly.
"But he'll be available to play tomorrow."
The young girl's head bobbed back up, hopeful, as Hugo glared at him mutinously.
"Have a good Valentine's Day, then, Vi," Hermione said, ushering her out the door.
"Thanks a million, Dad," Hugo grumbled as he stomped to the living room, his broomstick clenched tightly in his fist. "Now she'll be back tomorrow."
Ron followed, mouth tight as they passed by Rosie and Bobby's Exploding Snap game. Father and son walked out of the house and down the back steps to the broom shed.
"She's a nightmare," Hugo growled, shaking his head as he stomped to the shed. "Won't leave me alone! Why did Mrs. Puckle decide to let her granddaughter stay with her?"
"She's just watching her until the weekend," Ron replied. "It's only for a few more days."
"But she won't leave me alone!" Hugo emphasized again, opening the door to the shed and tossing his broom into it carelessly. He looked up into his father's eyes, imploringly. "How do I make her stop, Dad?"
Those bright blue eyes flashed across Ron's memory again and he grinned.
"No, wait, stop; I don't want to know!" Hugo said, swatting the air as if battering away his question. He knew what that grin meant.
"You said you'd do whatever I want. That you'd do anything to get rid of her."
"But you didn't!" Hugo replied in exasperation. "She'll be back tomorrow—"
"But I did save you for today, Hughie. And I suppose you could also consider this punishment for leaving your broom on the steps again."
Hugo shivered at the pet name, but could find no protest to that, so he folded his arms and sat down, leaning against the side of the shed and looking seditious as his father launched into another of his stories.
"What were you doing up there with her?"
Ron froze at the sight of his enraged girlfriend, chanced a glance down at Hermione, before looking back at Lavender. His peek at Hermione did not go unnoticed by Lavender; that combined with his panic-stricken features seemed to enrage her completely.
"I don't…I mean, we weren't…" Ron stuttered stupidly, unsure of where to even start. "We were just—"
"I don't want to hear about what you were doing!" Lavender's shriek penetrated Ron's skull and he fell mute. "You shouldn't have been up there with her to begin with! I'M your girlfriend, not her!"
Ron grimaced and stared about the room, determined to look at anyone but her. Most everyone in the room was staring at the pair of them: a vast majority of the females were glaring at him or shooting Lavender sympathetic glances, the younger boys were sniggering at his embarrassment, but quite a few of the older males were giving him understanding glances.
"I'm sick of you being off with her all the time, Ron! Why are you always hanging around her when you're my boyfriend!"
It was a question Ron obviously wasn't supposed to answer, so he said nothing but continued to observe everything but her.
"You know what? It's fine; hang out with whoever you want! I don't…I don't care anymore."
The yelling had stopped; she sounded close to tears. Ron glanced up, feeling like it might be safe to venture a peek, and felt highly uncomfortable as he stared at her watery blue eyes, shining bright.
"I don't want to deal with this anymore. I'm through with you. We're done."
With a final wail, she turned abruptly and ran straight for Parvati, who was waiting for her with open arms. Lavender sobbed on her shoulder and Parvati sent him a disconcerted look before they disappeared up the girl's dormitories.
Ron let out a huge sigh of relief at having it all done with, and turned to Hermione, but she was gone. Glancing around the room, she was in fact nowhere to be found.
Frowning, Ron made a bee line for the first set of people he recognized, plopping down beside Dean and Ginny without even really looking at them.
"Either of you see where Hermione went?"
Ginny sent him a glare so fierce that Ron shrank back in fear of being yelled at again. But she said nothing to him as she rose from her seat and sent Dean a cold look.
"Bye, Dean."
She stalked off without a word to him; Dean watched her leave, looking utterly defeated.
"What's with her?" Ron asked in an unconcerned manner; he still vividly remembered catching him snogging his sister, after all.
"She…split up with me."
"Oh!" Ron said, surprised and unable to keep the delight out of his voice.
"Thanks for caring, mate," Dean grumbled, standing up.
But Ron stood and caught his arm.
"What?" Dean asked, looking miserable.
"Do you want a drink?"
Ron blinked in surprise at his own question; he wasn't quite sure why that was the first thing that he blurted out. An apology for his callous behavior or an offer to listen to his woes seemed more appropriate, but as Dean looked up at him, a small ray of hope in his eyes, Ron knew the invitation was the proper way to go about things of this nature.
"Fred and George sent me something for my birthday from their…private stock. It's up in my room."
"We've got classes tomorrow," Dean croaked, but he still had that look in his eyes that clearly said he wanted to accept the offer.
"Yeah, well Hermione told me we were working on turning vinegar into wine in Charms tomorrow. Best to get familiar with some of the materials, right?"
Dean grinned nervously as Ron steered him to the staircase leading to the boys' dormitories. They passed by Ginny, who cast the pair of them a dark look that Ron intercepted in order to spare Dean, as well as Hermione, who had resurfaced to give him a shadow of a smile that Ron returned before heading up the stairs.
They climbed up in silence to the top of the tower and entered, finding the room as empty as Ron had left it earlier. Dean flumped onto Ron's bed unceremoniously while Ron sifted through the contents of his trunk, searching for the bottle the twins had given him as part of his birthday gift.
"Here we go," Ron smiled, pulling out the bottle carefully. "Liquid Kedavra: Concentrated Killing Curse. Guaranteed to kill brain cells or your money back! Brilliant marketing strategy, naming it after an Unforgivable....Oh well, bottom's up!"
Opening the bottle, he took a swig of the Liquid Kedavra.
"Oh shit," Ron coughed, passing off the bottle with watering eyes to Dean, who took it gratefully. "That's strong!"
Dean took a drink for himself while Ron conjured two glasses.
"Holy harpies," Dean choked as well, before shaking his head hard to clear it. "That is strong!"
Dean handed Ron back the bottle, and he poured it out into the glasses. The Liquid Kedavra came out a bright green color, making Ron smirk at the twins' attempt to make it look as authentic as possible.
"Cheers, mate," Ron said, handing Dean a glass.
"Cheers!" Dean replied, as they clinked their glasses together and drank.
After a few gulps of the liquor, both Gryffindors found it easier to get down without choking on it.
"Who're we drinking to?" Dean asked as Ron filled up his glass again.
"To being a free agent again!" Ron said, slopping a bit of the green alcohol onto the floor.
"That's right; no more 'De-e-ean," Dean mimicked the whiny tone of voice Ginny would often adopt when complaining, "Harry getting hit over the head with a Bludger isn't funny!'"
"Damn, wish I could've seen the match," Ron sympathized, taking another shot. "It was fun to hear, but I bet it'd've been funnier to see that."
"It was. Your sister has an odd sense of humor. Seems we can make fun of everyone, but Harry's off-limits to me. But what about you? Lavender's out of your life now, so no more snog sessions. That must be a hard thing to give up."
"Yeah, but no more, 'Do you consider our relationship serious?'"
"Ha, and no more 'I can take care of myself; I don't want you touching me, even if you were trying to save me from falling into a pit of Blast-Ended Skrewts.'"
"No more 'I want to talk about your feelings.'"
"No more 'Don't stick up for me; I can fight my own battles.'"
"No more Won-Won."
Ron grinned broadly at his own revelation, feeling at peace.
"No more De-e-ean," Dean answered with an equivalent tone of awe, before downing the rest of his glass and holding it out for a refill.
Well over half the bottle of Liquid Kedavra was consumed before the two of them lay down on their backs on Ron's bed, staring up at the canopy.
"You, you know," Ron said, eyes unblinking, "I wasn't ever really mad at you specifically dating my sister. I was just upset that she was dating in general. She's my kid sister, you know."
"I know," Dean hiccupped, a drunken smile on his face, "and it's okay, mate. And you're…you're a really great mate."
"You're a pretty okay bloke yourself, Dean. Just don't start dating any other members of my family."
"Nah, Ginny was the only good-looking one of the lot."
"Oh god, we are not talking about that."
Dean giggled.
"Well it won't be long before some other guy's after her. Just giving you fair warning."
"I don't want to think about it," Ron closed his eyes and shook his head side to side. He stopped the motion abruptly as it made his head spin.
"I'm gonna miss her," Dean said, his smile fading. "She really was a firecracker."
"I don't want to hear it!" Ron clapped his hands over his ears. "And you can do way better than my sister. She's too bossy for her own good."
"Yeah, but it was kinda refreshing—"
"What're you two doing in here?"
Ron and Dean glanced at the door, where Seamus Finnegan was standing, looking appalled.
"Enjoying our freedom!" Ron laughed at his own joke as he shoved the bottle of Liquid Kedavra into the air victoriously.
"You've been getting pissed without me?" Seamus looked even more upset as he walked forward, glaring at Dean. "Why'd you leave me out of the festivities?"
"Ron's idea," Dean slurred, giving his friend a goofy grin. "Come join us!"
"What're we celebrating?"
"Why do we have to celebrate something to drink?" Dean asked, laughing as he rolled over to give Seamus room to sit on the bed. "Can't we just drink for the hell of it?"
"Well you two apparently can," Seamus answered, examining the remains of the bottle Ron handed him.
"Dean and I've both broke up with our girlfriends tonight," Ron said, but gave a look of feigned contemplation as he put his chin in his hand. "Or, rather, our girls have broken up with us."
"Same difference," Seamus replied, uncorking the bottle. "Well, mates, a toast! Courtesy of me cousin Fergus: Here's to a long life and a magical one. A quick death and an easy one. A pretty witch and an honest one. A cold pint—and another one!"
"Here here!" Dean and Ron cheered as Seamus drank.
"Great Merlin's ghost!" Seamus' eyes grew huge as he gave a wet cough. "Your brothers know how to make it strong, Ron!"
"They probably made it with Bill in mind," Ron said, a distant memory of his eldest brother and the twins going through two bottles of Firewhiskey one summer night surfacing in his mind.
"They'll probably do good business with this stuff," Seamus said, taking another swig. "I'll have to send for some—"
"Um, guys? Am I interrupting anything?"
All heads swiveled to the door, where Neville Longbottom stood, looking highly unsure of himself.
"Neville! Come join me!" Seamus roared, throwing his hands out invitingly. "These two tossers haven't left us with much, but it's a start!"
"I don't really drink, Seamus," Neville said, but Seamus was already off the bed and dragging Neville further into the room. "Besides, we've got classes tomorrow—"
"Yeah, and do ya know what we're studying?" Ron interjected, eyes alight at the very thought. "Turning vinegar into wine!"
"Brilliant!" Seamus shouted, shoving him aside to make more room on the bed for Neville. "Here, another toast, courtesy of Fergus!"
Neville looked even more uncomfortable as the bottle was forced into his hands.
"Here's to witch's kisses, and to Firewhiskey, amber clear; not as sweet as a witch's kiss, but a damn sight more sincere!"
"Here here!" Dean and Ron cheered again while Neville stared at the lot of them with fearful eyes.
"Really, guys, I can't—"
But it was a bit out of his hands as Seamus grabbed the bottle and forced it into his mouth, upending it so Neville had no choice but to drink.
"Blimey, what is that?" Neville spluttered, wiping his mouth off on his sleeve.
"Liquid Kedavra!" Seamus said, grinning wide at Neville's appalled reaction. "Have another, Neville; it goes down a lot easier the second time around."
"And a hell of a lot easier the tenth time around!" Dean giggled again in a very un-Gryffindor-like manner.
"No, really, I can't," Neville backed away, looking panicked as Seamus advanced on him.
"An owl with one wing can't fly, Neville."
"What does that mean?"
"It means drink up!"
It was hours later that Ron woke up, feeling rather groggy and very thirsty. But getting to the pitcher full of water on his nightstand would be very difficult, since the prone bodies of Seamus, Dean, and Neville were slumped around him, snoring loudly.
"Have a good night, Ron?"
Ron blinked heavily at Harry, who had a broad, proud grin on his face.
"Huh?"
"How was your night?" Harry asked, smiling wider at his obvious disorientation.
Ron thought on the drinking with his classmates, on his breakup with Lavender, on Hermione's shy grin, and he returned Harry's beam.
"Brilliant."
"Can drinking too much pumpkin juice really make you act like that, Dad?" Hugo asked, eyeing his father curiously.
Ron looked away with a small grin; he'd had to alter some of the details of the story or risk Hermione's wrath.
"Yes, son, pumpkin juice should only be drank in small quantities."
Hugo stood and stretched out his limbs.
"And, during any point in that story, did you remember my problem with Vi?"
Ron grinned and ruffled his son's hair.
"I thought about your problem the entire time I told that story."
"So what exactly is the advice?" Hugo groused as he tried to fix his hair.
"The advice is a simple one. It's not about what you want, and it never will be. Girls decide most everything in a relationship, so the only way you're getting rid of her is if she decides to give up on you."
"So what you're saying," Hugo said, contemplating, "is that I should annoy Vi so much that she'll decide to leave me alone?"
"What? No, I didn't say—"
"That's brill, Dad!" Hugo beamed up at him.
"Brill?" Ron crinkled his nose, never having heard his son use the term before.
"Yeah, you know, Dad, brill. Brilliant. I heard it from Bobby."
"I don't like it."
Hugo, smile still in place, just shook his head and started back up to the house, and Ron followed, watching the back of his son's head and wondering if Bobby was getting to him too.
Upon entering the living room, Ron was surprised to not find Rosie and Bobby at their game.
"Where's Rosie?" Ron asked, tendrils of fear working their way through his body and settling in his gut.
Hugo shrugged and ambled off towards the kitchen, no doubt drawn to the smells of dinner wafting through the house. Ron took a detour into his bedroom and sat on the bed with a sigh.
His hands were completely numb now, and he couldn't help it as his thoughts floated to Scabior and what he could be doing right now.
"Your belt doesn't match your shoes."
Ron started, sitting up to stare around the room; he had thought the room had been empty.
"Yes, you; your belt and shoes don't match."
Realizing it was the mirror talking to him, Ron looked down at his brown belt and black shoes and swore.
"Why didn't you tell me that this morning?" Ron demanded, his clumsy hands fumbling with the belt buckle.
"I tried to, but you were too busy complaining about some valentine to notice."
"Damn…stupid…belt!" Ron grumbled as he fought a losing battle with the accessory.
"Want some help?"
Ron jumped again as Hermione approached him with a smile.
"Yeah, thanks."
Hermione's small, precise hands spent no time unclasping the buckle.
"It's been a long time, hasn't it?"
A hopeful something flared inside Ron as he looked down on his wife, working on sliding the belt off from around his waist.
"You can say that again."
Hermione stared up at him in confusion, belt in hand.
"What are you talking about?"
"Uh," Ron glanced around the room as his ears burned, "what are you talking about?"
Hermione looked down at the belt uncertainly before her eyes went wide and she blushed profusely.
"Oh, no! Well, I mean, yes, I suppose, but I was referring to, you know…you being hurt and all, and me, er, taking care of you."
She was a brilliant shade of scarlet as she continued to stare down at the belt.
"It doesn't match your shoes, you know," she added as an afterthought.
"Yeah, I know," Ron said, wondering how the woman he had been married to for many many years now could still make him feel like an insecure teenager at times.
"I've been trying to research that hand for you."
"Really?"
Hermione nodded; this was the first time she had mentioned doing anything of the sort. Ron himself had been playing catch-up with his other work at the Ministry after his week-long hospital stay and had therefore little opportunity to do any sort of research.
"Not much," she corrected, obviously not wanting to get his hopes up, "and I haven't really found it yet, but there are some mentionings to it in A Complete Guide to the Dark Arts and a More Complete Guide to Avoiding Them. They reference a few, well, darker books that I've been having trouble getting my hands on. But I'll keep working on it."
"You're brilliant, you know that?" Ron said, bringing her in for a hug.
"I've been told once or twice before, yes," she said with a grin.
They stayed like that for a while, arms wrapped around each other, before Ron was struck with a thought.
"George isn't working today, is he?"
"Not that I know of…Angelina said they were going to a dinner party, so probably not. Why do you ask?"
"No reason," Ron replied evasively, but Hermione pulled back to look him straight in the eye.
"Scabior's not planning another attack?" she asked, her tone subdued.
"Maybe," Ron said avoiding her wide eyes. "I've been forbidden to go check things out."
Hermione continued to watch him for a few more seconds before coming back for another hug.
"Just let me get information on him, Ron, just give me a little time. We'll figure it out, just like we always have."
He hugged her tighter, letting his nose prowl through her bushy hair, inhaling her scent.
"MO-O-OM! WHEN ARE WE EATING?"
Ron snorted into her mane at hearing his son's voice echo from the hallway. But that reminded him of something.
"Where's Rosie?" he asked, sounding far too innocent.
"Oh, well," Hermione pulled back, her cheeks flushed once again. "She's helping Bobby set the table for dinner."
It was Ron's turn to go red.
"He's staying for dinner?"
"Yes, and please don't bring up that valentine Rosie made for him again. She'll be so embarrassed."
"Brill," he muttered sarcastically.
"Brill?" Hermione repeated, looking confused.
"Brill. Brilliant."
"I don't like it," Hermione said, still frowning. "Why not just say brilliant if that's what you mea--"
Ron silenced her, feeling completely reckless and elated at her agreement, by grabbing her and kissed her soundly, lifting her off her feet.
Hermione gave a squeal of delightful surprise and, after they had separated, said with a breathless laugh: "It has been a long time."
"Happy Valentine's Day, Hermione," Ron grinned widely, leaning in for more.
"MO-O-OM! DA-A-AD! I'M HUNGRY!"
Ron huffed at Hugo's untimely interruption but Hermione chuckled, grabbing Ron's hand and leading him out of the hall.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Ron."
A/n: Whew, this was a beast of a chapter. I was up at five a.m. thinking about how to end the thing. And I apologize for the delay in getting out this chapter, but I've got a few things coming up that had to take priority. Better late than never, as I always say!
And that flashback had major extensions done, namely because I thought drunk Gryffindors would be a fun thing to write. It was! Next time I'll have to include Harry.
All toasts (courtesy of Seamus courtesy of Fergus) are modified versions of classic Irish drinking toasts. I didn't come up with them, but I did substitute a few words to my liking.
I realize Rosie's not had a lot of action for a while now. Next chapter will definitely feature more of her, I promise. And for those wondering: yes, there will be a chapter titled Men at some point. Not sure what I'll write for it yet, but I'm sure it will be fun.
Right, I think that covers everything. Thanks again as always to my reviewers; I hope you all enjoyed this newest installment! You're all brill!
~dieselwriter
P.S.: Happy (rather belated) Valentine's Day! Will you be my (again, belated) valentine? :3