A/n: Please be kind. I am a poor unemployed graduate spending her free time writing fanfiction.
This chapter consists of a few cameos I think you'll enjoy, including Promoted!Percy and, wait for it…A NON-CANON CHARACTER?! What has this world come to?!
For those of you wondering why the beginning is so long, let me just say that 1) I wanted to try my hand at writing Percy and B) I may or may not have foreshadowed a few things. Maybe. Or maybe not. It's possibly probable.
WARNING: I would suggest refreshing your brains by re-reading the last chapter, or at least the flashback of the last chapter. I know it's been a while, and since the flashbacks go hand in hand, you may need a reminder of what happened.
Dedication: For my loving baby seester Hannah on her birthday. As mentioned above, I am a poor unemployed graduate spending my free time writing fanfiction, so this is your present. I hope you enjoy it even though it has no monetary value and will only provide about 15 minutes worth of entertainment, depending on how fast you read, of course.
With that out of the way, let me just say: UUUUUUUUUUUUUU-
The Tales of Weasley the Father
By dieselwriter
Chapter 24: The Tale of Letters
"Nigel, this is not that difficult. Read what you have to me again, slowly."
"Sorry," the young man pulled at his collar nervously, skimming over his report again while following in the wake of the Auror down the hallway. "Three witnesses, all claiming to see Scabior—"
"Really? Three? That's two more than I thought we had. Have any of these witnesses identified him?"
"Yes, sir, two of them."
"Two?"
"We haven't been able to cooperate with the third witness, sir."
"What? Why not?"
Nigel averted his eyes to the floor and Ron quickly tried to sneak a peak at the minuscule text scrawled across the notes he was clutching.
"His father doesn't want him involved with the investigation."
Ron glanced at the fidgeting Junior Assistant, confused.
"And why does that matter?"
"The witness is ten, sir."
Nigel and Ron shared a glance before the Auror blinked and shot an arm out in an attempt to nab the report Nigel had been so covetous of, but the young man, quite used to the red head's undermining efforts, held them out of reach.
"You know something," Ron's eyes narrowed in accusation, folding his arms over his chest defiantly.
"The father is willing to testify," Nigel continued as if outbursts such as these were common when conversing with the Auror (and, indeed, it was oftentimes true), "but does not want his son to be involved."
"C'mon, Nigel…I come all the way up here and you're hiding information? I'm hurt."
"For now it's confidential information, Auror Weasley."
"It's Ron, for the millionth time, Nigel. How long have you been my number one go-to Junior Assistant to the Minister of Magic? If I wanted to hear the word confidential I would have asked my brother about the case."
"I'll fail to mention, possibly for the millionth time as well, that I'm the only Junior Assistant to the Minister of Magic," Nigel muttered, but seemed more disheartened than annoyed. "You know I'd tell you if I could."
Ron looked at the sincere Nigel and found, to his great annoyance, that the young man was getting far too good at making him feel guilty for snooping.
"Just one glance. Percy doesn't have to kn—"
"Ron? Ron, that you?"
The Auror froze in his tracks, making out the form of his best mate at the end of the hallway, before turning his back on him abruptly to face the Junior Assistant.
"I'll take a copy of the report as soon as it's available then, Nigel," Ron spoke from the corner of his mouth and tapped at Nigel's papers absentmindedly.
"RON! Lookit! A new letter, just in today—"
"Stall him!"
Ron walked as fast yet casually as he could down the hallway, made a left, and entered the first open door.
"Ron? To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Wincing at this further abysmal luck, Ron shut and locked the door behind him anyway and muttered a Muffliato at the doorway, rather content to face his elder brother than his best friend at the moment.
The witty retort to his brother's inquiry vanished from his mind as something heavy pounded on the door frantically.
"No, no—Percy…Percy, you have to listen to me—" Ron stuttered, shaking his head fiercely as his older brother rose from his seat in concern.
"What is going on?" Percy asked, confusion written all over his face. "Who's—"
"Percy? You in there?"
"Oh! Harry! Excellent!" Percy smiled at hearing his brother-in-law's voice coming from the opposite side of the door and walked around his desk. "The Minister has been asking for him all week—"
"Is Ron there? Have you seen him? He has to see this! Percy?!"
Percy stopped a step away from Ron, who was leaning his back against the door either in an effort to blockade Harry from forcing his way into the office or else to keep his older brother from escaping.
"Why can't he hear me?" Percy asked, and Ron had to hide a smile at his older brother's near-pout.
"Muffliato Charm," Ron shrugged, unwilling to move and compromise his position in front of the door. "Please, Perce, let me use your Floo and you can go out and accost Harry all you want."
"You know us pencil-pushers in the Minister's Support Staff aren't allotted the luxuries of the Floo network in our budget. Now please move so I can talk to Harry."
"I don't think Senior Undersecretary to the Minister counts as a pencil-pusher—"
"Ron. Move."
"I didn't want it to have to come to this, Percy."
The Weasley brothers stared each other down momentarily as Harry continued to pound at the door and whine about wanting to see Ron. Percy blinked, hesitated another beat and stepped forward slowly. Ron reacted immediately, pouncing on his brother and causing them both to crash to the floor.
"NO! RON!"
"Please, Perce! You can talk to him later!"
Both brothers were of a similar stature, but given the sometimes physically demanding nature of Ron's line of work and the relatively non-vigorous nature of his elder brother's, the minor scuffle was mostly one-sided, the advantage embarrassingly belonging to the younger Weasley.
"The Minister—needs—to discuss—something—with him!" Percy wheezed, trying in vain to climb his way over Ron's shoulder and to the door to let Harry in.
"Discuss it later!" Ron wailed, unwilling to vanquish his bear hold on his older brother.
"Dammit," Harry swore as other disgruntled Ministry employees in nearby offices voiced their irritation over the racket he was causing in the hallway. "Did all the Weasley Ministry employees get off work early or something? Guess I should check the Atrium one more time…"
His footsteps were loud and heavy with disappointment before they disappeared altogether. Ron sighed in relief as he released his brother.
"Never do that again," Percy huffed, out of breath. He grimaced before smoothing out his rumpled robes and returning to his pristine desk.
"So how exactly are you supposed to escape your office in case of an emergency if you don't have a Floo?" Ron asked sheepishly, in a rather pathetic attempt at reconciliation.
"I do not have a Floo so that no one can come into this office that I don't want in," Percy replied, spying the mediocre attempt at civility and not appreciating it, not after such a blatant display of degrading brutality. "In an emergency not involving a younger sibling harassing them I tend to use the Emergency Portkey I have stowed away in my desk."
"Which did me absolutely no good in this situation," Ron grumbled.
"You know, it is very interesting to note that, while I have been trying to contact him all week, my brother-in-law only seeks me out in an attempt to find you," Percy continued to grouse, clearly disappointed with both Harry's and Ron's actions. "You intend to avoid him forever?"
"You make forever seem like such a long time," Ron avoided his brother's judgmental eyes. "But no, not forever, necessarily. I'm thinking the next six or seven years, at least. Depends on how long James is at Hogwarts. Based on those progress reports Gin keeps getting, he won't be graduating for ten years."
"Now don't say that," his bespectacled brother admonished. "Joining the Quidditch team will hopefully instill a sense of responsibility in our nephew—"
"Can we please not talk about it right now? I swear to Godric I've had to listen to Harry drone on and on about his son joining the Gryffindor Quidditch team for over two months now. It's time to give it a rest already."
"Well how would you react if Rose got on the team?"
"When Rose gets on the team," Ron amended immediately, "I shall accept it with all the grace and humility Hermione will force me to display."
"I don't doubt that," Percy relented with a small smile before checking his watch. "Harry's probably at the Atrium by now. If you ask nicely and don't wrestle her to the ground like a barbarian I'd bet Anderson would let you use her Floo."
"So Advisers get Floo access but Undersecretaries don't? Why isn't that a subject of one of your never-ending reports? It'd make them way more interesting."
Ron's cheeky grin was poorly received.
"You have a very feeble discernment of what is interesting. I'll have you know our staff's current involvement with the Scabior case witnesses has been far more interesting than your attempt to escape Harry's detection."
Ron kept his face as neutral as possible despite his elder brother's knowing smile and the inauspicious tapping of his finger on a folder on his desk.
"Revenge is best served in a report," Percy's shrewd smile widened as he picked up his wand to magically open the previously locked door.
"Has anyone ever told you you'd make a great mad Unspeakable? Because, really, the imitation is uncanny from where I'm standing."
"When you see our dear brother-in-law next, you will let him know I'm anxious to speak with him, won't you?"
"Since I technically owe you one for providing a brief sanctuary," Ron said sarcastically, turning from the temptable papers he so wanted to peruse and the brother holding them hostage, "I suppose it is the least I could do. And the least is certainly the only thing you'll be getting from me."
"I've learned to never expect anything more."
Ron waved him off lazily before stealthily making his way to Anderson's office, should Harry somehow still be lurking around. Considering how his best mate had been hounding him incessantly this past month, he could no longer put anything past him.
The short trip down the hallway went without incident, however, and Anderson—being the reasonable Adviser to the Minister that she was—let him use her Floo without him having a need to threaten or otherwise maim her. Not that any attempts of that particularly violent nature would work; the woman was so adept with a wand that it was rumoured she had once taken out the entire Senior Auror Department in a training session.
"I would appreciate it if the next time you need to use my Floo you didn't have Potter attempt to follow like a raving lunatic, Weasley," Anderson swiped her dark fringe away momentarily in order to look him squarely in the eyes. "How he became an Auror with stealth skills like that I'll never understand."
"If it were up to me I wouldn't have him following me at all," Ron replied, stepping into the green flames of her sizable fireplace.
"Make sure to let him know the Minister wants a word with him next time you see him," she said before returning to her work, not bothering to wave him off.
"Will do," Ron said before shouting for home and disappearing from the office. He didn't mention to her how he sincerely hoped that the next time he saw Harry would be as far away as possible.
And as he entered his living room, he realized his best friend wasn't the only thing he wished he could avoid.
Disfigured chessmen were littered about the floor, angrily gesticulating at the two players lounging in the middle of the floor. Hugo was grinning lazily, clearly close to a victory, while Rosie was bent over in frustrated contemplation, trying in vain to make a move that would not end in her demise.
Father and daughter's eyes met at the same time, and both clutched at their chests, Ron in some attempt to grasp a last breath, Rosie to grab the large gold pendant hanging from her neck and hide it from view.
"What are you doing home, Dad?!"
"What is that thing?!"
Their short initial outburst left both Weasleys huffing, unable to verbalize a coherent thought, so the third Weasley in the room made his thoughts known.
"This sounds like a father-daughter conversation," Hugo's victorious grin had faltered, leaving only a trace of amusement. "Why don't I just go see what Mum's up to—"
"No!" Ron shouted before lowering his voice, pointing a shaking, desperate finger at his son. "Sit. Stay. Explain."
The accusatory finger made its way to Rosie, but she remained resiliently silent.
"It's a locket," Hugo answered matter-of-factly for his sister.
The look his father gave him caused him to drop his gaze to the chessmen still alive, not bothering to say anything even as Rosie's king abandoned his sword in an effort to surreptitiously escape from the board and his inevitable defeat.
"Bobby gave it to me as a birthday present last week," Rosie mumbled, finally able to find her voice. The joy such a gift should have caused seemed lost as she judged her father's reaction to such news fearfully.
Ron seemed to understand the gravity his further reaction would cause and sighed heavily, defeated.
"Why don't you go play with your Mum for a bit, Hugo," Ron walked over to the pair of them before ruffling his son's hair.
Hugo didn't seem to need any more invitation than that before he got to his feet and scampered out of the room, not even bothering to try to flatten his now frazzled hair.
"Let's see it, then," Ron said, occupying Hugo's abandoned position and setting the chessboard back up for a new game.
Mostly certain that her father wouldn't destroy it now that he seemed so placid, Rosie relinquished her death grip on the golden trinket and handed it over to him.
"It's…nice…" Ron forced out through clenched teeth, fighting the strong urge to grind the locket into golden subatomic particles. The locket itself was the size of a walnut, seemed slightly worn and bore the Hogwarts emblem.
If it hadn't given him the fright of his life, it perhaps could be accurately described as 'nice'.
"Why did you freak out so bad when you saw—er, I mean," Rosie blushed at seeing her dad's narrowed eyes, "it is nice, isn't it? Bobby sent it last week with a birthday card and letter. One of his older sisters gave it to him when she went to Hogwarts."
"That's…nice. You miss him?"
Rose studied him for a moment before reaching out unexpectedly to capture the king that was so desperate to escape and placed him back on the chessboard.
"Yes. He's really enjoying himself, though, and we've been owling each other."
Ron smiled a secret smile but didn't ask anymore questions as he held out the locket for her to take.
"So don't I get a story about the evils of receiving lockets or something?"
The colour drained from Ron's face so rapidly that the small joking smile that had graced Rosie's face was just as quickly replaced with concern.
"Dad? You okay?"
"Yeah," Ron breathed out in a rush. "No locket stories though."
A bemused look crossed Rose's face as she replaced the locket around her neck. "You don't want to tell a story? Are you sure you're okay, Dad?"
"Hey now, I didn't say I didn't want to tell a story," Ron interrupted, his face starting to return to a more normal and healthy shade. "In fact, I'd say I have a relatively appropriate one for this situation."
His daughter grimaced, clearly uncertain as to how she had suddenly gotten herself into this predicament. She didn't interrupt, though; instead she finished setting up her side of the board and ordered her first move while Ron began to talk.
That exceptionally nostalgic feeling was back as Ron stared at Hermione in her Hogwarts robes. The only thing ruining the picture was the tears swimming in her eyes.
"I, uh, came to see you off," Ron said slowly, unsure of what exactly to say but feeling like he should say something. "I was going to come earlier but George turned off my alarm so I sort of…missed the train, actually. But I guess you figured that out."
He hoped Hermione would jump in, but it seemed as though she had gone temporarily mute, so he continued to ramble.
"So you'll be happy to know—well, actually, you probably won't be happy about it…but all the same…you know those thestral things you wanted to see in fifth year? You'll be able to see them now! You know, if you still want to, that is. Not that you'll be able to prevent yourself from seeing them, though, because they'll be pulling the carriages to Hogwarts. Hard to really, you know, avoid seeing. You really can't miss them, to be honest. But they seemed pretty calm, I mean, they do this every year. Hagrid has them trained up pretty well. Yeah, one actually sneezed on me, as you can see," here, he gestured at his soiled clothes. "Still, beats those Blast-Ended Skrewts, don't they? Ha, yeah…so how was the train ride?"
Hermione seemed at an utter loss for words, and Ron rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
"Yeah, well, I don't want you to miss your carriage or anything to Hogwarts, but I just, you know, wanted to see you off. It didn't feel right, leaving things the way we did. I brought you going away gifts, actually, but they, er, got snatched up. Guess you'll have to be a bit faster next time. Not that, you know, I want there to be a next time, because I don't want to have to be getting you gifts. Wait, that came out wrong! I mean…I just don't want to have to be apologizing with gifts. Not that gifts are necessary for an apology…it was just Harry and George giving me advice. Didn't seem to go that well, to be honest. Neither did my mom's advice to be clean, actually. And Hagrid's advice to not be nervous kind of fell through too."
Ron paused again, throwing her a nervous grin, but Hermione didn't seem to want to take any active part in this conversation at all. He opened his mouth to make another comment but stopped, undoubtedly preventing himself from shoving his foot even further into his mouth. Knowing their time was limited, he took a deep breath before saying the one thing he had wanted to say, that had been bugging him ever since she told him of her intentions to return to Hogwarts.
"I don't want you to go."
Ron mentally kicked himself at the choice of words that had tumbled out of his mouth before trying again.
"I mean, looking back on all these years…we've never really…been apart, you know? We were at school together, we had most of our holidays together, and now, just when we finally have us," here, he gestured the two of them being together by pointing at himself and then her rapidly, "somewhat figured out, it feels like it's getting broken up. I mean, the last time we were apart…"
Ron grimaced as he felt his ears heat up, knowing exactly when that time was and not liking it. Hermione snapped out of whatever stupor she had been in and hugged him tightly.
"It's nothing like that," she stated into his bogied sweater, talking with such conviction that Ron found he wouldn't even know where to try to argue the point if he thought her wrong. "It will never be like that."
"You say that now," Ron joked halfheartedly while resting his chin on top of her head, a comforting habit he had picked up this summer. "I'm really going to miss this."
"Me too."
"I'm sorry about not coming earlier. I meant to, really, but George messed it all up."
"It's fine."
"But I still don't want you to go," Ron reiterated, even though he knew by now that it was futile.
Hermione stepped out of the hug to look up at him, and Ron heard his sister's threat echo in his head as he took in the tear tracks on her cheeks.
"I'm still going."
And that was that.
To Ron, another year at Hogwarts would seem worthless, just as to Hermione, flowers, sweets, and clean clothes meant nothing in comparison to just having him here, supporting her despite his own selfish wishes to magically bind her and drag her back to his flat.
"I know."
And damn it all if he didn't love her for it. He really was going to miss her.
"Hermione!"
Both jumped at hearing Ginny's shout from across the platform, reverberating off the large locomotive and solid walls.
"The carriages are leaving! We've gotta go!"
"I guess," Ron tried to give a smile but gave it up quickly and shrugged sadly, "I'll see you around, then."
"I'm going to miss you," she whispered, blinking back more tears as she hugged him tight again.
"Yeah, I know," he returned, his cheeky grin failing given the lump that was suddenly and annoyingly constricting his windpipe.
"Now, Hermione!" Ginny yelled again urgently, ducking her head out of the doorway momentarily to shriek at someone outside. "IN A MINUTE!"
"Check your bed," Hermione said breathlessly, pulling away again.
Ron didn't have much time to contemplate that particular statement before she was standing on her tiptoes to give him a mostly satisfying goodbye kiss. His only complaint was that it was too short; too soon, she pulled away and was running across the platform to meet up with Ginny, who was still berating whatever unlucky soul was waiting for them in the carriage outside.
Hermione paused at the doorway to wave at him enthusiastically; he returned it but felt he could not muster the same amount of zeal she had. She disappeared a moment later, right on the heels of his sister, and Ron let out a melancholy sigh.
It was therefore a rather depressing and empty-handed walk home, not that he expected things to turn out any differently. That didn't mean he didn't feel dispirited all the same.
"That sounds like the shuffling footsteps of a brother defeated," George shouted from the back room when, ten minutes later, Ron found himself walking through Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.
Ron didn't even bother acknowledging his brother's call; he slowly trudged up the stairs to their flat above the shop, not bothering to remove his trainers or dirty sweater when he walked into his room and fell face-first into his bed.
...Which was a mistake, given a quilt had obscured a plate and he bumped his chin rather hard on it. Swearing, he threw the plate and the half-eaten, three-day old sandwich on it to the floor. A screech resounded as the plate clattered on the hardwood and Ron shot out of bed, surprised to find a small, tawny owl glaring at him from his bedside table.
"What do you want?"
The bird ruffled its feathers indignantly but didn't make a sound; it instead waddled across the table and jumped the short distance to the bed. Ron watched it as it headed to his pillow and nudged at a letter he had failed to notice before.
He reached a lazy hand and grabbed at the letter, making the owl fly back to the table in alarm. Recognizing Hermione's absurdly tidy scrawl on the envelope, he nearly ripped the note in his haste to read it.
It was the most un-Hermione letter he had ever read. All formality seemed lost and the painstakingly neat address on the envelope was hardly comparable to the still readable but rapidly written note.
I've tried writing this letter twelve times but none of them seemed right. I just wanted to let you know that I'm really sorry about our fight. In no way did I mean to relate my return to Hogwarts with you helping out George. That came out wrong, and I apologize for not thinking it out before saying it. That being said, it hurt to hear you think that I'm wasting my time trying to finish my education. I know you think I know everything, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. I'm jealous of you and Harry, really, because you already know what you want to do with your futures. Getting career advice back in fifth year seems a lifetime ago, and after this past year I've learned that I'm no sooner to knowing what I want to do for a career now than I was back then.
I love you. Every day I'm here I'll wish you were right next to me, trying to copy off my notes. Ginny said she wouldn't mind taking over in your place, and I know she was joking, but it really made me realize that Hogwarts won't be the same without you. I'll miss you every minute I'm here.
We're pulling into Hogsmeade Station now, so I suppose I'll be talking to you soon. Don't worry about missing me at King's Cross; I'm sure George is somehow to blame. I figured you two living together would cause something like this to happen at some point. Poor timing, but that seems to be the way it usually works with us. I love you, and hope to hear from you soon.
Ron smiled, reading the letter over again before walking over to his desk (stepping on his momentarily forgotten molding sandwich in the process) and setting to work on his response, ignoring the disturbing squishiness between his toes.
"So every day while your Mum was gone we wrote each other a letter. Mum's tended to be much longer than mine, but I think she appreciated the effort more than anything else."
Rosie pursed her lips in frustration before narrowing her eyes at him.
"You planned this all out, didn't you?"
"Planned what out?"
But Ron's supposedly innocent question was at odds with his command of his rook to make the final move.
"Checkmate."
"Bugger," she scowled as her king once again dropped his sword in defeat to run off the board. "I knew it. You planned out this game to last as long as the story did, and then you'd defeat me to drive home your moral, whatever it was."
"Moral? All my stories don't have to have a moral. They can just be stories sometimes, you know."
His daughter raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"Moral of the story: don't forget where you leave ancient half-eaten sandwiches."
"Moral of the story," Ron amended, rising to his feet, "loser cleans up the board."
"Dad!" Rosie complained, even as she grabbed onto her escaping king. "Not fair!"
"You asked for a story and a moral," he shrugged, nonchalantly heading towards the doorway in order to find his wife and figure out why exactly he hadn't been warned about this locket business beforehand. "Seems plenty fair to me."
Rosie grumbled but was interrupted as the fireplace roared to life with emerald fire and a dark-haired, soot-covered individual stumbled into the room.
"Ron! I finally found you!" Harry beamed widely even as Ron grimaced. "I saw you earlier, but just missed you! Lookit what James just sent! He's just briefed me on some of the drills Campbell had them practicing yesterday—you remember Captain Campbell, don't you?"
"Nooo," Ron moaned at the unfortunate intrusion, but Harry seemed to take his reply as an answer.
"Doesn't matter; he has to be scouting professional Quidditch teams. Just look at these—"
"Uncle Harry?" Rosie tried to interrupt, seeing the obvious distress her father was in. Her uncle, however, did not.
"—Flying patterns! There's no way a fifth year would be able to come up with this stuff on his own. Ginny's gonna have kneazles when she sees this! He's trying to get them started on—"
"Uncle Harry!"
"—Blind Reverse Passing! Can you believe it? I mean forget just regular Reverse Passing…Blind Reverse—"
"Uncle Harry!"
Both Aurors cringed at the penetrating shriek. Harry winced at his niece, but she looked up at him unapologetically.
"Do you like my new necklace?"
Her uncle stared at the locket, stunned into momentary (and blissful) silence.
"Do I…what?"
"My new necklace. Do you like it?"
The exhilarated grin that greatly resembled a runner's after having just completed a marathon could have been considered a figment of the imagination, given how quickly it had been replaced with the stunned, lost look Harry now sported.
"Uh, it's, er….well I…Yeah! I mean, er—" he stumbled over his words, turning quickly to Ron to gauge his reaction. "Do I like it?" he hissed in a very loud whisper.
Ron didn't answer; he merely offered a somber frown, which was a silent contrast to the laughter begging to bubble out of his mouth. Lacking adequate support from his best mate, Uncle Harry faced his niece and fumbled for an answer.
"I don't…not…like it," he finally got out, his eyes shifting to everything in the room but her.
"But…?" Rosie gave the best disheartened face she could muster, given her father was giving her two broad thumb's up right behind her uncle's back.
"I think…er…oh, look at the time! Is it five already?" Harry proclaimed, making a production of checking his wrist (neither Ron nor Rosie bothered to point out that he was not wearing a watch on it). "I really should be getting home! Ginny probably has dinner waiting on the table—"
"Why would you want to hurry home for that?" Ron mumbled as he stuck out his tongue, easily remembering the last disastrous attempt he had made at stomaching his sister's cooking.
"All the same…we'll talk tomorrow, Ron. Later, Rose-toes!"
Harry made posthaste to the fireplace, and Ron and Rosie barely had a moment to reflect his sentiments before he disappeared. Ron shrugged it off and turned to his daughter, beaming.
"I owe you one, big time. You're brilliant. You know that, right? Because you really are; you're a star. And I'm not just saying that because I'm your father."
"James might've mentioned it yesterday," Rose shrugged off the compliment, but her neck burned scarlet with Weasley pride. "It's not like Uncle Harry's the only one to get letters from him, after all."
Ron raised an eyebrow, curious for the first time in about a month about a letter coming from his nephew.
"You've been writing to both James and Bobby?"
"Well yeah," Rosie said, as if it were obvious. "James said Campbell's been underutilizing their Beaters. They don't even know what a Bludger Backbeat is! Molly's been hinting about Ravenclaw's Beater-heavy offense, too—"
"Ravenclaw? I thought Gryffindor was scheduled to play Hufflepuff first?" both of Ron's eyebrows shot up this time. "And since when have you been talking to Molly too?"
"Molly said that half the Ravenclaw team came down with a bad case of dragon pox, so the school decided to reschedule their match for March. And Molly's my cousin; of course I talk to her. She's the one who taught me how to do a decent Backbeat to begin with."
"Why are you so interested in Hogwarts Quidditch all of a sudden? And how have you found time and owls to correspond to all these people?"
"Since Bobby's been wanting to get on the Gryffindor Quidditch team and since I'm related to nearly half the team. And he and James and Molly all have their own owls; I use them. In fact, Bobby's letter's due any minute. If you're done with the interrogation, I should go wait for Leopold up in my room."
"Leopold?" Ron wrinkled his nose at the name, ignoring her jibe at his prying.
"I think it's a cute name for an owl," was all Rosie said before traipsing out of the room, on her way to her bedroom.
One glance around the room told Ron why she was so eager to escape; chessmen body parts were still strewn across the room, including Rosie's rather violent queen, who was trying to attack his shoe with the leg of her king.
"RO—SIE!" Ron screeched out into the hallway. "You forgot our moral!"
"New moral: Dads who owe their daughters favors clean up the board!"
Ron couldn't deny it (as much as he wanted to), given that he had said so himself that he owed her one. Of course, that didn't mean he couldn't try forcing this chore onto one of his other children.
"Oh Hugo…!"
A/n: -UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURGH!
This chapter was painful to write at times. But some of it wasn't...those wondering if it's possible to launch yourself into a bed and ram your chin on a hidden plate with a half-eaten sandwich on it...yes, it is. And it hurts. It's so much easier to write when it comes from personal experience.
And it's a sad day in the Muggle world; there are nine fics about the Sorting Hat (NINE! How do you even begin to write a fic about a freaking HAT?!), yet in all my searching I found (arguably) one about poor old Nigel Wespurt. Well, at least I include him in my fic, even if he isn't exactly all…ya know…canon. XP
Once again, happy birthday to my wonderful sister, and apologies to every single one of my wonderful fans for the long wait you had between updates. If it makes you feel any better, this chapter was slightly longer than the usual.
All right, I'm done; get on with the complaining.
~dieselwriter