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Weekends used to be a time of action for Ron. There were cases to work on, criminals to arrest, even paperwork to complete. And on those luxurious work-free days, there were friends to catch up with, drinks to be had, and, if he was very lucky, Quidditch to play.
That was all before.
Now the days just rolled into one. An endless time filled with nappy changes, night feeds, housework, and the overwhelming, crushing sensation of guilt that had consumed him since it happened.
This particular Saturday, Ron lay sprawled on the sofa, Hugo cradled against his chest and noisily sucking on his bottle. Rose was curled up by his feet, her small hands clutching a large, glittery picture book. Really, Ron thought as he gazed at his family, it was the perfect domestic setting. Only it wasn’t. It hadn’t been for a long time.
Three months. It sounded such a small, insignificant period of time. And in the context of life and the universe, it was. But the last ninety-two days had been an eternity for Ron. A time during which his entire world had been shattered, only to be put back together again in a manner that bore no resemblance to the life he had known.
Hermione was dead.
Three words that echoed constantly in Ron’s brain. Every morning when he woke, as he made breakfast, every time he looked at their two children.
Hugo grizzled softly and drew his father’s attention. Ron ran one fingertip over his son’s flushed cheeks and made a shushing noise. It seemed like the first time in days that Hugo’s cries had ceased, and Ron practically held his breath lest they should start again.
Teething was just another of those parenthood experiences that he was having to learn about on the job. All those tasks that Hermione had handled seemingly effortlessly were now part of a painfully slow learning process. Ron knew his mother would be happy to offer her help, but he felt he owed it to his children, to Hermione, to cope himself.
Almost as if his thoughts had Summoned her, the living room fire burst into life as Molly Weasley emerged from the flames.
“Gra’ma!” Rose shot off the sofa, her prized book discarded on the floor.
A broad smile spread across Molly’s face as the small body hurtled into her open arms.
“Hello, Rosie.” Molly ran one hand over her granddaughter’s soft, coppery curls.
“Gra’ma, come sit ’side me.” Rose took hold of Molly’s hand and began tugging her excitedly towards the sofa.
“Not so loud, Rose,” Ron murmured, with a concerned look at his son. “You’ll wake your brother.” He looked up. “ Hello, mum.”
“Teething?” Molly asked with the prescience of one who had raised numerous children.
Ron nodded. He ran one hand through his already dishevelled locks and failed to stifle a yawn. “I don’t know how you managed to do this seven times.”
Molly gave a wry smile. “You should try having two at the same time. I’m amazed I had more children after what Fred and George put me through.”
Even after all these years, the mention of Fred’s name still caused a pang in Ron’s chest. Thoughts of his dead brother quickly turned to thoughts of his dead wife. Something Molly clearly noticed.
“Give him here.” She settled Rose back onto the sofa and held out her hands to take her youngest grandchild.
Ron handed him over reluctantly; the expression on his mother’s face brooked no argument. The space in his arms was quickly filled by Rose’s squirming body. Ron cuddled his daughter close; Hugo was taking up so much of his time recently that he knew she was missing out.
“Have you eaten?” Molly’s eyes narrowed with the question.
Ron bristled at the implication. “I’m quite capable of feeding my children.”
Molly’s expression softened. “I have no doubts about your ability on that score. I’m more concerned about you feeding yourself.”
Ron shrugged. “I had a sandwich earlier.” He shifted Rose into a more comfortable position; really, she was all elbows and knees. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”
“Who were you planning to get to babysit tonight, then?” Molly seemed surprised.
Ron rubbed tiredly at his face, feeling the unshaven bristles scrub at his hand. “Babysit?”
Molly tutted. “Honestly, you’d forget your head if it wasn’t screwed on. It’s Harry’s engagement party tonight.”
“Oh,” Ron replied flatly. “I wasn’t going to go.”
“Don’t be silly.” Molly’s tone was brisk. “Of course you’re going. Harry’s practically family, and he’s your best friend.”
“I haven’t got them a present.”
“I think seeing you there would be present enough for Harry.”
The meaningful look his mum gave him was not lost on Ron, and he felt his resolve begin to crumble. “But—”
“But nothing, Ronald.” There was a sharpness to Molly’s tone that told Ron it was futile to argue. “You’re going, and that’s final. It’s been three months,” Molly ignored her son’s hurt stare, “and it’s time for you to leave the house.”
“I’ve left the house,” Ron protested weakly.
“You Floo over to our house, and that’s it. You haven’t been out that front door since...” The look on Ron’s face caused Molly to trail off. She leant forward and placed a careworn hand on his arm. “Your father and I are worried about you. Cooped up in this house all day long, with only the children for company – it’s not healthy.”
**********
Ron made his way down the long gravelled driveway, a knot of apprehension forming in his stomach. Whilst the beckoning lights of the looming house would appear welcoming to most, to Ron they simply brought back memories best forgotten.
This definitely wasn’t the first time he’d visited Malfoy Manor, but it was the first public outing he’d made since Hermione’s death, and her absence was like yawning chasm at his side.
Even here, in a house that held nothing but bad memories, Ron knew he would not be able to shake her ghost.
Bright light streamed out of the front door, and Ron could just make out Harry’s silhouette against the glare. There was no sign of Malfoy yet, but Ron knew he would not be far behind; you never saw one without the other these days. Another thought that reminded him of what he’d lost. Not simply Hermione herself, but everything she represented. Wife, friend, companion, someone to come home to, and more importantly right now, someone to ease those inevitably awkward social moments for him.
Ron didn’t begrudge Harry his happiness – Merlin knew he deserved it after all this time – but the thought of celebrating the start of Harry’s new life, when his own had come to such an abrupt halt, caused a lump of bitterness in Ron’s throat that would not be easily moved.
The smile on his best friend’s face as he greeted him convinced Ron that he had done the right thing. As much as he had resented his mother’s interference at the time, he was glad now that she had forced the issue. Sometimes he was so wrapped up in his own grief that he forgot other people had lost Hermione too. Harry particularly.
“I didn’t think you’d make it,” Harry said as he pulled Ron into a one-armed hug.
“Mum,” Ron replied, as if this explained everything. And really, it did.
Harry grinned. “I must remember to thank her.”
A house-elf hurried forward to take his cloak, and Ron experienced his first pang of loss for the evening. He could hear Hermione’s voice in the back of his mind as she lectured Harry on creature’s rights.
“She’d have a fit, wouldn’t she?” The corners of Harry’s eyes creased in smile, but Ron could see the apprehensiveness that lay behind.
Ron handed his cloak over with a murmured ‘thanks’ and turned back to his friend. “I reckon she would,” he agreed, and was surprised to find some of the tension ease from his body. Hermione had become a taboo subject for all those close to him – Ron flinched from any mention of her. But maybe what he needed was to talk. After all, if anyone could come close to understanding what he’d lost, it would be Harry.
But now wasn’t the time. “Where’s Malfoy?” Ron enquired as politely as he could manage.
“Draco,” Harry said pointedly, “is upstairs putting Scorpius down. He’s a little upset at missing the party.”
Ron nodded sympathetically; Rose had had much the same reaction earlier as he left home. “How’s he taken you moving in?”
A warm smile broke across Harry’s face. Ron recognised it instantly – he’d seen it on his own face enough times to recognise the pride of a parent.
“He’s been great,” Harry enthused. “I know he’s only young, so he probably doesn’t understand fully—”
“You’d be surprised how much they do understand at that age,” Ron interrupted, thinking of his own daughter who could be startlingly perceptive.
Harry nodded happily. “I know he’s not mine, but I just feel...”
Ron reached out and clasped his friend’s shoulder. “I know, mate,” he murmured. “I know.”
Harry gave a little shake of his head, obviously trying to rein in his emotions. “How’re Rose and Hugo?” he asked finally. “It seems ages since I’ve seen them.”
Ron brightened, as he always did with the mention of his children. “They’re good. Great, in fact. Hugo’s cutting teeth like you wouldn’t believe, and I swear Rosie gets brighter everyday. She’s just like her...”
Ron tailed off, unable to complete the sentence, and there was an awkward silence.
“You’ll have to bring them round to visit, Weasley.” Malfoy came to stand next to Harry, one hand possessively around his waist. “I’m sure Scorpius would love to have someone his own age to play with.”
Ron was stunned. In fact, he was sure he gaped slightly. Even Harry was looking at his partner in surprise.
“What?” Malfoy demanded petulantly.
Ron gave himself a mental shake. “Thank you,” he replied quickly. “I’m sure Rose would like that. Hugo’s too young to be much company for her at the moment.
**********
Ron skirted around the edges of the room, nursing a large Firewhisky. His eyes roved over the assembled crowd, taking in the unusual mix of people. It was hardly surprising, he supposed. After all, it wasn’t every day that the Boy Who Lived became engaged to an ex-Death Eater.
The room was full of happy couples, laughing, joking, and dancing together in a way that tore at Ron’s heart. He’d been part of a pair for so long that he didn’t really know how to function alone anymore.
This was why he hadn’t wanted to come. Not just because he preferred the seclusion of his home, but because he wasn’t ready to have what he’d lost thrown in his face quite so blatantly. Rationally, he knew it wasn’t intentional – these people were just going about their lives, in the same way he once had – but it didn’t make it sting any less.
Ron took a sip of his drink and then glanced at his watch. It was only 9pm. He wondered how long he would have to stay before he could make his excuses. It wasn’t just that he wanted to escape the sickening levels of happiness in the room, he also ached to be back home with his children.
When Rose was a baby, Ron had worked long hours and only got home in time to kiss his daughter goodnight. But then everything had changed, and in the last three months his children hadn’t been out of his sight for more than a few minutes at a time.
It had been over two hours already and Ron felt his chest tighten as a succession of worst case scenarios ran through his mind. He knew his mother was a perfectly capable woman, but then so had Hermione been. And that hadn’t helped her in the end.
Unable to bear it any longer, Ron placed his drink on the nearest surface and headed towards the exit. On the other side of the door he was greeted by a house-elf.
“I need to make a call,” Ron said without preamble. “Where’s the nearest Floo?”
**********
Ron followed the elf’s directions, marvelling at the warren-like corridors of the Manor. Finally he arrived at a set of carved wooden doors. Pushing them open, he found himself inside the library. He glanced at the highly-polished oak shelves laden with leather-bound books, and couldn’t help but think of Hermione’s reaction to such a room.
Then he spotted the fireplace and his mind returned to the task at hand. Crossing the room in long, loping strides, he dropped to his knees in front of the grate. Grasping a handful of powder from the conveniently located dish on the hearth, he leant forward towards the flames.
“Mum!”
Ron took in the sight of his empty living room and felt his chest hitch in panic. “Mum! Rosie!”
The silence that followed lasted only seconds but felt like an eternity to Ron. He was on the verge of clambering through the fireplace when his mother bustled out of the kitchen.
“What the...Ronald, why are you calling? Is something wrong?”
Ron winced slightly at the irritation in her tone, but pressed on regardless. “Wrong? No, nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to check how the kids were.”
“They’re asleep. At least, they will be if you stop making that racket.”
“But—”
Molly sighed. “Ron, I know this is new for you, but I’ve raised seven children of my own; I know what I’m doing.”
Ron nodded sheepishly. “I know. It’s just hard.”
Molly nodded. “And it’s not going to get any easier if you Floo home every five minutes. Now get back to the party. And don’t forget to give Harry and Draco my best wishes.”
Thus dismissed, Ron pulled back from the flames. He remained kneeling on the floor for a moment whilst he regained his composure. Rubbing wearily at his face, Ron rocked backwards and got to his feet. He turned to leave the room, resigned to rejoining the happy throng; his mother would kill him if he returned home now.
That was when he noticed her.
On the far side of the room was a dark oak desk, inlaid with green leather. Resting on its surface was the pointiest pair of red shoes Ron had ever seen. Unable to help himself, he trailed his eyes along the body attached to them, taking in the shapely calves, the slash of thigh revealed by a slit skirt, the womanly curves and frankly amazing tits, all ending with a pair of dark eyes set in a strikingly attractive face.
Ron felt a stab of guilt. He shouldn’t be looking at another woman like that. Not now, and certainly never Pansy Parkinson. But he’d looked, and she’d seen him looking, and there was no way he could leave the room now without acknowledging her. Ron had many faults, he’d be the first to admit, but a lack of manners was not one of them.
“Weasley.” Pansy’s voice was virtually toneless, but Ron didn’t notice. He was too busy thinking what to say.
“Parkinson,” he replied; it felt strange referring to a woman by her surname, but he really didn’t think they were on first name terms, not after all this time, and certainly not after their history. “What are you doing here?” Ron flushed slightly at how abrupt the question sounded.
“The same as you, I imagine.” Pansy took a sip of her drink and Ron resolutely didn’t notice the way her full lips curved around the glass.
“Fire-calling my mother?” Ron questioned. “I didn’t know the two of you were close.”
Pansy allowed a small smile to curve her lips. “Avoiding the happy throng out there,” she corrected, with a vague wave of her hand.
“Why would you...you’re not still stuck on Malfoy, are you? Because Harry—”
“We’re not in school anymore, Weasley. Some of us have moved on since then.”
Ron gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment before nodding in acknowledgement. “Sorry,” he murmured.
“Don’t worry about it.” Pansy gave a shake of her head, and Ron couldn’t help but notice the way her hair seemed to gleam in the torchlight.
“So why are you...Never mind, it’s none of my business.”
“It’s okay,” Pansy replied. “It’s not like it’s a secret, or it won’t be for long.”
Ron looked up, surprised at the bitterness in her tone, and behind those expressive dark eyes was an emptiness that he recognised all too well from his own reflection.
“My husband is divorcing me.” Pansy gave a harsh laugh. “Apparently I can’t fulfil his needs.”
“I’m sorry,” Ron replied automatically, unsure what else to say in the face of such frankness.
“Not as sorry as he’ll be when my Solicitor is through with him.”
Ron felt a brief moment of sympathy for her husband – Theodore Nott, his memory suddenly supplied – but then he noticed the faint shadows under Pansy’s eyes, and the way her hand trembled ever so slightly around the glass.
The sound of a bell being run in the distance saved Ron from having to fill the awkward silence that followed. Pansy got to her feet, smoothing her skirt down her thighs. When she looked back at him, it was with a bright smile plastered on her face.
“We’d better get back out there. Draco’s about to start making his speech; he’ll be unbearable if I miss it..” She offered her arm and Ron found himself automatically taking it.
“Smile, Weasley,” Pansy murmured, giving him a slight nudge as they re-entered the ballroom. And as he took in the expressions of surprise on his friends’ faces, Ron found this a lot easier to do than he’d expected.
**********
Ron had never been one for fate, divination, any of that crap really. But as he saw in the first anniversary of his wife’s death seated by his son’s sickbed, Ron found himself wondering if there wasn’t something to it after all.
Hugo was a sturdy child, rarely suffering from the minor illnesses that usually plagued childhood. Which was why Ron had wasted no time in taking him to St Mungo’s at the first sign of fever.
Even his mother had hinted he was overreacting. But Ron knew his son, and he was taking no risks. For once, he would have been happy to be proved wrong, but when the Healer’s diagnosis confirmed his worst fears, Ron felt a cold numbness take hold.
Dragon Pox wasn’t the threat it once was, and as a healthy child, Hugo stood a good chance of emerging unscathed. But watching his son fretful and feverish, crying weakly from the pain, Ron had never felt so helpless, so futile in his whole life.
With Hermione it had been different. It was all over and done with hours before Ron found out. There were no last words, no tearful goodbyes, only an uncomfortable-looking Auror on the doorstep to break the grim news.
Ron gave himself a mental shake. He had to stop thinking like that. He had to be strong, positive – his son needed him. And Ron was not about to fail anyone else.
The sound of footsteps entering the room caught Ron’s attention – though his gaze remained fixed on Hugo’s flushed face.
“How’s he doing?”
“Shouldn’t you be telling me that?” Ron demanded gruffly; he could hear the turning of pages as the Healer went through Hugo’s chart.
“We need to get his temperature down. We had hoped the fever would break naturally by now.” There was a pause during which Ron held his breath. “We’ll need to start him on a course of potions to reduce it.”
“Can’t it wait?” Ron gently brushed the damp hair off his son’s clammy forehead. “He’s only just gone to sleep.”
“I’m afraid not, Mr Weasley. Ron.”
Something in the uncertainty of the Healer’s voice drew his gaze. Ron was stunned to find Pansy Parkinson gazing back at him, her eyes shining with sympathy.
“I hate to wake him.” Pansy softly touched Hugo’s flushed cheek. “But we need to start as soon as possible.” She paused and gave Ron a look that appeared to be assessing him. Obviously she found what it was she wanted to see. “The longer the fever runs unchecked, the greater risk there is of strain to his heart.”
Ron felt his own heart clench painfully at these words and gave a reluctant nod. “Okay.” His voice came out as little more than a whisper.
He watched as Pansy removed several glass vials from the cabinet at her side. Clearly his concern showed on his face, as she turned and spoke to him in a voice so soft it was unrecognisable from the girl he had known.
“Would you like to hold him while I administer them?”
Ron felt pathetically grateful for such a small comfort. He leant over the bed and gathered his slumbering child into his arms. Normally the comforting warmth of Hugo’s body left him feeling at peace, but the burning heat of his son's skin this time caused Ron to swallow hard.
Shifting gently, Ron woke him. Hugo fussed weakly as Pansy held the first vial to his lips.
Ron wanted to pull away, to take his child far from things that made him cry in such a wretched manner. As an Auror, he had been witness to many horrific scenes, but the sight of his child’s face, screwed up in distress, was more than he could bear.
“You’re doing great,” Pansy murmured, uncorking the second vial.
Ron looked up and was surprised to find her addressing him. He swallowed fiercely against the lump in his throat. “It’s just...” His voice cracked and he stopped for fear of breaking down completely.
Pansy’s hand settled atop his, where he cradled Hugo. “I know.”
Hugo let out a cry and the moment was gone. Their focus returned to their respective tasks at hand: Pansy to administering the remaining potions, and Ron to calming his distressed child.
Finally Pansy stepped back and placed the last empty vial on the cabinet.
“Is that it?” Ron gently rocked Hugo as his cries subsided.
“Yes. They have a mild sedative effect, so he should fall asleep shortly.”
“When will you know if they worked?”
Pansy sighed softly. “Tomorrow morning at the earliest. If there’s no improvement then, we’ll have to increase the dosage.”
“He’s a fighter,” Ron replied, as if challenging her to disagree.
Hugo’s dark lashes were already fanned against his feverish cheeks as Pansy gently touched his head. “He is that,” she agreed. “He’s tired, too.”
Suddenly panicked at the thought of losing contact, Ron held Hugo a little tighter to his chest. “Let me just hold him for a while, please?”
Pansy hesitated for a moment but then nodded. “Just for a few minutes though. And then you both need to get some rest.”
“I can sleep when he’s better,” Ron growled defiantly.
“You look exhausted. You won’t do him any good if you collapse on us.”
Ron heard the concern in her voice so bit back the sharp reply on the tip of his tongue. “I have to be here.” He looked at her intently, hoping his expression would convey what he couldn’t find words for.
Pansy watched him thoughtfully for a moment, then relented. “I’ll be back to check on you in a couple of hours.”
“Don’t you mean ‘on him’?”
Pansy smiled. “Actually, I mean on both of you.”
**********
“Shh, little man. I know you’re feeling poorly, but you’ll wake your daddy.”
Ron woke with a stiff neck and a dull, throbbing headache. He cracked open one eye and was infinitely grateful for the dim light of the room. It took him a few moments to get his bearings, work out where he was, and who was talking in that low, soothing voice.
His eyes flew open. “How is he?” It seemed to be the only question past his lips just recently.
Pansy paused in the act of sponging Hugo’s tummy. “The fever’s broken,” she replied simply.
Ron felt a weight of tension slip from his shoulders. “He’s going to be okay?”
“I believe so, yes.”
Ron scrambled to his feet, wincing as his muscles screamed in protest. He leant over the bed, eyes wide in horror at the angry rash covering his son’s soft skin.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” Pansy said, answering his unspoken question. “In fact, it’s a good sign. Once the rash appears it means the worst is over.”
As the words registered, Ron sank heavily back into his chair. He’d been running on pure adrenalin for the last few days, and now that his fears seemed to be at an end, he could feel his body shutting down. He dropped his head into his hands and took a few steadying breaths.
“Thank you.” His words were somewhat muffled by his hands.
Pansy stepped closer and placed one hand on his shoulder. “Go home,” she said firmly. “Get some sleep, have a proper meal. Take a shower, even.”
“Are you trying to tell me something?” Ron gave the closest thing to a smile he’d managed in days.
Pansy squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll call you the instant anything changes.”
“I can’t leave him alone,” Ron said, even as his body begged him to.
“Alone? There’s a waiting room out there full of people desperate to see this little one.”
“Oh.” Ron felt stupid. Once again he’d been so wrapped up in his own fears that he’d forgotten the wealth of people who also cared about his son. His mum would be frantic, Harry too, even Rose would be worried about her baby brother. That thought stopped him in his tracks. His daughter. They’d never been apart for this long since she was a baby, and he’d forgotten all about her.
“Would you like me to give them the good news?”
Ron gave Pansy another pathetically grateful smile. He had no idea how she seemed to know what he needed before he did; part of the job, he supposed.
“There are some clean pyjamas there for him,” she said, making her way towards the door. “Oh, and I believe he’s ready to be changed, too.”
**********
Ron cursed softly at the sound of the doorbell. The children had just gone down for the night, and Rose was a very light sleeper. He set down the saucepan and made his way to the front door.
He was a little puzzled as to who it would be. His family and most of his friends would simply Floo. The only people to use the front door were Hermione’s parents, and they never just turned up.
Pansy Parkinson stood on the doorstep, dressed more casually than Ron could ever remember seeing, and wearing an uncertain smile on her face.
“Hi,” he said eventually, after a somewhat awkward pause.
“Sorry to drop by unannounced. Harry told me where you live.”
“Harry?” Ron repeated, still a little confused.
Pansy grinned now. “Yes, Harry. You know, dark-haired, glasses, scar on his forehead? Engaged to my best friend.”
Ron allowed a chuckle to escape his lips. “I know who he is, thanks. I just wondered...what can I do for you?”
“I just wanted to see how Hugo was getting on now he’s back home.”
“I didn’t know St Mungo’s made house calls.” For the life of him Ron couldn’t help but tease.
A faint blush stained Pansy’s cheeks, but she stuck out her chin defiantly. “They don’t. I do.”
“You’d better come in then.” Ron stepped back and gestured inside. “You not working today?”
Pansy stepped into the hallway and Ron saw her eyes flickering to the happy family pictures on the walls. “I’ve just come off shift,” she replied, trying and failing to stifle a yawn.
“Have you eaten?” Ron asked as he led the way through to the kitchen.
“Not since lunch,” Pansy admitted. “It’s been hectic at work. Accident at a nearby potions lab.”
“There’s plenty,” Ron indicated the saucepans with a nod of his head, “if you want some.” He smiled wryly. “I’ve never quite got the hang of portion sizes.”
“I’d like that,” Pansy replied simply. “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing fancy,” Ron said, turning up the heat with a flick of his wand. “I don’t exactly get much time to cook with those two demanding attention.”
Pansy pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and perched at the table. “How are they doing?” she enquired, and Ron’s could hear the genuine interest in her voice.
“You’d never know Hugo’d been sick.” Ron didn’t pause in stirring as he replied. “He’s as placid as ever, and he’s starting to regain some weight. Though I don’t think he’ll ever be quite so chubby-cheeked again.”
“Probably not,” Pansy agreed. “Once they start crawling, they tend to lose the baby fat anyway. Is he sleeping okay?”
“Like a log.” Ron grinned. “He likes his sleep, does Hugo.”
“I bet Rose is pleased to have her daddy back.”
Ron removed the pans from the heat and began draining them over the sink. “You’re not kidding. She barely lets me out of her sight these days. She’s really taken to mothering Hugo as well. I caught her trying to change his nappy yesterday.”
Pansy sat back in her chair and laughed.
“It’s easy for you to laugh,” Ron grumbled. “You weren’t the one who had to clean up the mess.” He finally relented and allowed a smile to curve his lips. “They were both covered. I had to Scourgify them before going anywhere near.”
This time Pansy didn’t laugh alone. For a few moments the cosy kitchen echoed with the sound of both their laughter.
“That’s one of the things I miss most,” Ron admitted eventually. “Having someone to share moments like that with.”
Pansy nodded sympathetically, as she wiped tears of laughter from her eyes.
Way to ruin the moment, Weasley, Ron chastised himself mentally. He couldn’t remember the last time he had allowed himself to relax like that, and he’d had to go and ruin it. “There’s some wine in the fridge, if you want to open it?” Ron said, deciding to ignore his brief lapse. Then he stilled. “Not that I usually drink around the kids.”
“Relax, Weasley. No one’s going to think you’re a bad parent for having the occasional drink. I should think you need it after the year you’ve had.”
“Weasley? What happened to Ron?”
Pansy set the chilled bottle down on the worktop. “I wasn’t sure if that still applied,” she admitted.
Ron dug in a nearby drawer and produced the corkscrew. He placed it in her outstretched hand. “You saved my son’s life,” he said softly. “I think that entitles you to use my first name. Unless you prefer it this way, Parkinson?”
Pansy laughed. “It’s actually still Nott at the moment, so I’d rather you didn’t.”
“The man must be an idiot,” Ron replied, and was surprised to find that he meant it.
“Daddy.” A sleepy-looking Rose made her way into the kitchen. Her eyes widened at the sight of Pansy. “I know you,” she said, her small face scrunched up in thought.
“What are you doing out of bed, missy?” Ron asked, crouching down to his daughter’s height.
“I’m thirsty,” Rose replied, her gaze still fixed on Pansy. “You’re from the hospical,” she pronounced triumphantly.
Pansy smiled and nodded. “Yes. I looked after your brother.”
“Is he sick again?” Rose turned worried eyes on her father.
“No, Rosie.” Ron ruffled his daughter’s curls. “Pansy just came to say hello.”
Rose sidled closer. “Hello.”
“Hello, Rose.” Pansy crouched down alongside Ron. “Those are very pretty pyjamas.”
Rose looked proudly at her pink, flowered outfit. “Gram’ma got me them. They’re roses,” she added, jabbing one of the flowers with a pudgy finger. “Like me.”
Ron got to his feet again and headed to the sink. “I’ll get you a drink of water, but then you have to go back to bed.”
“Awww, can’t I stay up for a little bit, daddy. Please.”
Ron smiled down at his daughter. The sight of her pouting face almost had him relenting. “It’s way past your bedtime,” he said, handing her the beaker. “You’ll be grumpy tomorrow if you don’t get to sleep soon.”
Rose took the glass. “Won’t,” she replied mutinously.
“Bed,” Ron replied, “there’s a good girl.”
Rose’s expression dropped. She clutched the beaker tightly and turned towards the door. She got halfway across the room before she stopped. “Will you come and tuck me in?” she asked.
Ron was surprised to find it was Pansy being addressed, not him. “You don’t have—”
“It’s okay.” Pansy got to her feet. “I don’t mind.”
Ron watched as Rose took Pansy’s hand and led her from the room, the sound of their low conversation drifting back to him. He supposed he ought to feel hurt, rejected by his daughter in favour of a virtual stranger. But Rose was growing into a proper little lady now, and he knew that however much he loved her, there were things she needed that he couldn’t provide.
Ron reached for the opened bottle of wine and poured two glasses. He took a sip and gave a slow shake of his head. It was quite a surreal moment -- him in the kitchen preparing dinner, while Pansy Parkinson, of all people, was in the next room, tucking his daughter into bed. His eyes drifted to a Muggle snapshot on the windowsill, and Ron couldn’t help but wonder what Hermione would make of it all.
**********
Ron stood on the well-manicured lawn of Malfoy Manor, and watched as his children romped on the grass, joined by the birthday boy and several of his friends.
Now that Harry was resident at the Manor, Ron and his family were regular visitors. Within hours of that first meeting, Rose and Scorpius had become thick as thieves, with Hugo eagerly tailing behind as their loyal follower.
Four years old. In less than a month’s time it would be Rose’s turn, and Ron was not looking forward to the hordes of small children that would be running riot through his house that day. Ron couldn’t quite believe how quickly the years were passing by. It seemed barely five minutes since he was running about in the garden with his brothers, teasing Ginny, and hiding from the twins’ latest prank.
Rose and Scorpius went tearing past at that point, heedless of the small boy trailing in their wake. Hugo hurried to keep up with them, but stumbled and fell. Ron started forward at the first cry from his son’s lips, but before he had time to cross the lawn, someone else reached Hugo first.
Ron watched as Pansy appeared and scooped a disgruntled Hugo off the ground. She settled him on one hip and gently brushed away any trace of tears. Ron smiled at how easily Hugo’s mood changed. Both of his children saw Pansy regularly enough that they were more than comfortable in her presence. Whilst making no effort to assume a parental role, Pansy had effortlessly carved out a place in their lives.
“She’s great with kids.”
Ron turned in surprise and found Malfoy – Draco, he corrected himself – standing at his side. “Pardon?”
“Pansy,” Draco nodded in the direction of the lawn. “She’s great with kids.”
Even now that he was married to Harry, and their children were best friends, it was rare that Draco ever conversed with Ron on a one-to-one basis. Mainly to reduce the chance of arguments, Ron supposed.
Ron turned back to where Pansy was now swinging a giggling Hugo in her arms. “Yeah,” he agreed. “She is.”
“It’s a shame she doesn’t have any of her own,” Draco continued, his eyes now fixed on his best friend. “Although, it’s probably a blessing she didn’t have any with Theo.”
“Wanker,” Ron muttered – he’d heard enough from Pansy by now about her so-called marriage to have formed a strong opinion of Theodore Nott.
The look Draco gave him next was approving. “Indeed,” he agreed. “I just wish she would find someone who treats her like she deserves.”
Ron murmured his agreement, but couldn’t ignore the small part of him that protested the prospect of Pansy finding someone new. Any man in her life would be unlikely to approve of her role in his family, and the thought of losing her friendship left Ron cold.
“What she needs is someone who won’t lead her on, letting her believe they have something, but with never following through on it.”
Draco’s words finally penetrated Ron’s brain, and he finally understood the reason behind this rare conversation. “I’m sure Pansy’s capable of deciding what’s best for her,” he replied stiltedly, just the hint of a glare in his gaze.
Surprisingly, Draco did not seem bothered by Ron’s response. Rather he just nodded, seemingly satisfied he had got his point across.
“What are you two up to?”
Both men turned to find Harry approaching them, a chuckling child in his arms.
“Just catching up, aren’t we, Ron,” Draco said lightly, leaning in to kiss his husband’s cheek. “Come to Papa.” He turned his attention to the smiling girl and held his arms out.
The little girl lurched forward, much to the amusement of both her parents. “Careful, Lily,” Harry murmured, as he placed her in Draco’s arms.
“I’ll take her for a bit,” Draco said, bouncing lightly. “You keep Ron company.”
Harry leant in and kissed his daughter’s cheek. He paused and gave a slight sniff. “I think she might need changing,” he said.
To Ron’s astonishment, Draco simply shrugged. “No problem. I’m getting to be something of an expert nowadays.”
Ron watched as Draco disappeared through the French windows, murmuring sweet nothings to his daughter as they went. When Harry had first told him they were planning to adopt, Ron had been sceptical at best. Although Draco already had Scorpius, Ron had always assumed that house-elves were largely responsible for his upbringing.
“What?” Ron turned to find Harry watching him curiously.
“I guess I just never expected him to be so hands-on,” Ron admitted reluctantly.
Harry chuckled. “You’re kidding. It’s all I can do to prise Lily out of his arms some days. And Pansy’s as bad. Those Slytherins are complete Hufflepuffs where family is concerned.”
Ron gazed over his shoulder to where Pansy, aided by Hugo, was now mercilessly tickling Rose. “Yeah, so it seems,” he murmured.
Ron started at the feel of Harry’s hand on his shoulder. He turned back to face him in surprise.
“It’s okay to move on, you know?” Harry said, his eyes bright with concern. “Hermione wouldn’t mind.”
**********
With the curtains drawn, and the only light in the room coming from the fire, and an ugly-looking lamp on the side table, Ron sank down onto the sofa. He leaned to the side and picked up the large tumbler of Firewhisky he’d placed there in readiness. His other hand lay on the surface of an ivory silk covered photo album.
He stared for long moments at the album, his fingers skating over its delicate covering. Hermione had chosen it. Ron had preferred something plainer, more understated. But, as ever in their marriage, he had acquiesced.
Ron took a deep gulp of his drink, hissing as it burnt a path down his throat. He flipped open the cover and steeled himself to confront his past.
At moments like these, Ron wished for the stillness of Muggle pictures. The sight of Hermione, exquisite in ivory satin, beaming up at him with the smile of a bride-to-be was hard enough to bear. But the pictures that followed – her walking down the aisle, their first kiss, the first dance – were shattering.
Usually these albums were hidden in a trunk in the loft, along with the other possessions of his wife’s that Ron could either not bring himself to dispose of, or was saving for their children one day. Were it not for Hugo and Rose, even the family pictures that adorned the walls would have been consigned to this fate.
Only on special occasions like today would Ron punish himself in this manner. For still being alive, for moving on, for not having...but that was another issue entirely. One he resolutely pushed to the back of his mind.
Ron took another large gulp of his drink and chanced a look at the clock. 8pm. This time ten years ago, he thought. He’d been swirling Hermione around the dance floor, in front of family and friends, ready to start the rest of their lives together.
As he reached for the bottle to refill his glass, the fireplace burst into life, causing Ron to drop it in his surprise. “What the hell?” he muttered.
Pansy emerged from the Floo. He greeted her with a fierce glare but, before he could express his displeasure, he found himself immediately on the defensive.
“What are you doing?” Pansy demanded, taking in the scene in front of her with a look close to disgust.
“Nothing.” Ron picked the bottle up off the floor and returned her glare with interest.
“Sitting in the dark, getting pissed on your own is not nothing,” Pansy retorted. “You want your children to see you like this?”
Ron straightened up at the accusing tone. “They aren’t here. Not that my children are any of your business. ”
Pansy flinched visibly. “Oh really.” Her tone and expression were ice cold and Ron began to panic slightly. “I’ll just leave you to wallow then shall I?”
Pansy spun on her heel. “Wait!” Ron got to his feet quickly, knocking the album onto the floor in the process. “I didn’t mean that,” he said desperately, running one hand through his hair.
Pansy turned back around slowly. “What did you mean then?” she asked calmly.
Ron shrugged. “I don’t know. You just caught me at a bad time; I didn’t mean to lash out.” He sank back down onto the sofa, elbows on his knees, hands cradling his head.
Pansy came closer and perched on the sofa at his side. She reached down and picked the album off the floor.
“Today would have been our tenth anniversary,” Ron replied, his head still buried in his hands.
“I’m sorry,” Pansy replied softly. “I didn’t realise.”
Ron shrugged. “No reason you should have, is there? Not like we were close then.”
Pansy placed a hand hesitantly on his shoulder. “But we are now?”
Ron finally looked up. “Yeah,” he said roughly. “I reckon we are.”
“Then talk to me. I’ve bent your ear about my troubles with Theo often enough.” Her hand began stroking slowly up and down his back. “You must really miss her at times like this.”
Ron reached out and took the photo album from Pansy’s hands. “I was the happiest man in the world that day,” he started, gazing down at the moving images. “I couldn’t believe she’d agreed to marry me, of all people.”
“She always was a smart girl,” Pansy murmured.
Ron smiled. “She was that. Always had her nose in a book, learning something new. Rose’ll be just like her.”
“She looked beautiful,” Pansy commented, tracing her finger over one of the pictures.
“I miss her so much.” Ron winced at how broken his voice sounded.
“Of course you do,” Pansy soothed. “You loved her.”
Ron nodded slowly. “I did. But...” He trailed off here, fearful of giving voice to his thoughts.
Pansy shifted a little closer. “But what?” she asked softly, her thumb rubbing circles on Ron’s shoulder.
“I wasn’t in love with her.” Ron looked up with these words, the guilt at what he had just admitted written all over his face.
Pansy opened her mouth, but Ron cut off her words with a shake of his head. “You can’t say anything to make it better,” he said bitterly. “It wasn’t like she didn’t know. Things were never the same after we had Rosie.” Ron shut the album and dropped it on the floor by his feet. “It didn’t come naturally to her, being a mother. She loved Rosie, she really did, but it was just such hard work for her.”
“Was it post-natal depression?” Pansy asked, ever the Healer.
Ron shook his head. “No. She just wasn’t that maternal. Hermione was always the doer in our relationship; she hated being stuck at home raising a baby, and she resented me because I was at work.”
“Couldn’t she have gone back, though? You could have got a nanny. Or your mum would have helped, surely?”
Ron laughed bitterly. “That’s just the thing. Hermione was such a perfectionist – she couldn’t accept that there was something she couldn’t do well. And asking for help was like admitting failure.”
“So why did—”
“We have Hugo?”
Pansy nodded.
“I thought it was because we both wanted another child. We agreed that Rose needed a brother or sister.”
“But,” Pansy encouraged.
“But Hermione didn’t. She admitted to me after Hugo was born that she’d never wanted to have another child, that she felt trapped. But she knew our marriage was falling apart and she thought having Hugo would save it.” Ron laughed again, but there was no humour in his tone. “Just something else she couldn’t bear to fail at.”
“I’m sorry,” Pansy said, her fingertips stroking the hair on Ron’s nape.
Ron shook his head. “I’m not. I know it sounds an awful thing to say, but it gave me my son, and I wouldn’t change that for the world.”
“You have to forgive yourself,” Pansy said decidedly. “Sitting around like this, wallowing in guilt over something you couldn’t help, isn’t doing you any good.”
Ron turned to face her, his eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s easy for you to say.”
Pansy pulled her hand away sharply. “Actually, no it’s not. Theo may not have died, but I do know what it’s like to have your world fall apart around you. But you have family and friends who love you, and two beautiful children; it’s a lot more than some people have.”
“Now who’s feeling sorry for themselves,” Ron replied, a touch sourly.
Pansy’s expression closed in on itself. “I think I’d better go,” she said stiltedly. “Before one of us says something we both regret.”
“Pansy!” Ron was on his feet in an instant and grabbed hold of her hand.
“What, Ron?” Her voice sounded weary and it made Ron’s heart clench.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I didn’t mean...it’s just...”
“I know.” The tightness had faded from her tone now, much to Ron’s relief. “I’ll come round tomorrow, yeah?”
“No.” Ron tightened his grip on her hand. “I mean, I don’t want you to go at all.”
Pansy smiled faintly. “That’s the Firewhisky talking.”
“It isn’t.” Ron shook his head emphatically. “I’ve only had the one glass.” He stepped closer and placed his free hand on her waist. “Don’t go.”
“Ron,” Pansy’s voice shook faintly as she spoke, “I don’t think this—”
Ron released her hand and placed a finger on her lips. “Don’t think,” he murmured. “I’ve been doing enough of that lately for both of us. That’s what’s taken me so long to do this.”
Before Pansy could enquire as to what this was, one of Ron’s hands slid into her hair, while the other slid around her waist, pulling her tight against him.
“What—” Any further words Pansy had been planning to say were cut off as Ron pressed his lips to hers.
The soft touch of Pansy’s lips moving insistently against his own, the soft curves of her body pressed against his, and the feel of her hand tight against his neck, pulling him closer, all combined to make Ron feel alive for the first time in what seemed like forever.
He kissed her harder, deeper, almost wishing he could climb inside her and never leave. It was intoxicating.
When they reluctantly broke apart, Ron pulled back and gazed down into Pansy’s eyes, which were suspiciously bright. “Is this okay?” he murmured softly.
In reply, Pansy simply cupped her hand around the back of his head and pressed their lips together again. This time it was her tongue darting into his mouth, her fingernails trailing down his back, her soft whimpers vibrating against his lips. And when she took his hand and began pulling him towards the bedroom, Ron simply followed.
~~~Epilogue: Seven Years Later~~~
“Come on, Dad, we’ll miss the train.” Rose danced excitedly along platform 9 ¾’s, much to her family’s amusement.
Ron followed behind, a little red-faced from the exertion of pushing the laden-down trolley. “Bloody demanding women,” he huffed, with a sideways look at his wife.
“Hush you.” Pansy gave his arm a light slap
“Are you sure she needs this much stuff?” Ron indicated the numerous bags and trunk with a nod of his head. “I don’t remember taking this much with me.”
“A girl needs plenty of outfits, Ron,” Pansy replied, sharing a conspiratorial wink with Rose. “There’s no such thing as too many clothes.”
“You’re telling me,” Ron muttered under his breath, thinking of the bulging wardrobes in their bedroom at home.
“Don’t worry, Dad,” Hugo said, turning round from his perch on top of the trolley. “I promise my trolley will be a lot easier for you to push.”
Ron gave him a playful swat. “You’ll be pushing your own. And get off there, will you? It’s heavy enough as it is.”
“Oh, look! There’s Scorpius!”
With that cry, Rose was gone. Ron looked up and saw Harry and Draco approaching. Harry gazed askance at the trolley. “I know, mate,” Ron grumbled. “Give us a hand getting them on the train, would you?”
Between them Harry and Ron loaded their children’s baggage onto the train. Draco and Pansy supervised as they liked to call it, while Hugo and Lily chattered excitedly about when it would be their turn to board the train.
Moments later, Rose returned with Scorpius in tow. She ran up to Ron and flung her arms around him, hugging tightly. “I’ll miss you,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
“I’ll miss you, too, Rosie.” Ron gave his daughter a kiss on the cheek.
“Euurrgh, Dad.” Rose pulled back, wiping her face. “I’m too old for that now.”
“You’ll never be too old for that,” Ron replied, tugging her forward again and repeating the action.
“Pansy,” Rose complained. “Tell him.”
“What makes you think he’ll listen to me?” Pansy asked, chuckling at their antics.
“Because you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger,” Rose replied simply. “Uncle Harry says so.”
“Oh, does he?” Ron glared at his best friend. Harry blushed vividly, while the other members of their party burst into gales of laughter. “A bit like Draco does with you?” Ron demanded.
Ignoring the adults, Rose stepped closer to Pansy. Pansy crouched down to her height. “I’ll miss you the most of all,” Rose whispered, flinging her arms around Pansy’s neck. “Take care of Daddy and Hugo for me.”
“I promise,” Pansy murmured in reply. “Just be sure to write regularly. You know how your dad gets.”
Rose nodded. She looked briefly at her father. “You’ll break it to him gently, won’t you? When I don’t get sorted into Gryffindor.”
Pansy chuckled, and pressed a quick kiss to Rose’s cheek. “I’ll do my best,” she said.
“Hey!” Ron protested. “How come she still gets to kiss you?”
“She?” Pansy demanded, standing up and fixing her husband with a glare. “To whom are you referring exactly, Ronald Weasley?”
“Umm, no one?” Ron replied hopefully. “Oh, look, the trains about to leave. Come on, Rosie.”
Pansy smiled indulgently at her husband’s antics, before giving her step-daughter one last hug.
As the train pulled out of the station, taking away his firstborn child, Ron suddenly felt a rush of compassion for his parents, who had had to face this moment seven times. He’d never given it a thought at the time, other than to be embarrassed by his mother’s emotions, but now it was coming back to haunt him.
“She’ll be fine,” Pansy whispered, taking hold of his hand.
“I know,” Ron replied gruffly. “I just didn’t expect it to be so hard.”
“It’ll be me next,” Hugo piped up excitedly. “In another two years.”
Ron let out a groan. “Don’t remind me.”
“And just think,” Pansy said, placing his hand on her swollen tummy, “in eleven years we’ll get to do it all over again for this one.”
~~Finite~~