School Day
Acknowledgements:
As usual, the pre-Betas (moonette, ivy, prplhez8, and story645)
The Brit-picker, andy33, who just needs to be paid (in Pounds of course)
for all his great work. Deena_s beta’d the original story at CM. And a
big thanks to Gufa for being the fastest beta this side of the
hemisphere. Thanks, all!
~
Overhead,
rain roared from the black clouds, sending rivers of water cascading out of the
gutters and into the middle of Diagon Alley. Ron hunched his shoulders against
the wet and pulled his hat lower to protect his eyes from the stinging rain. Working
his way through the sparse crowds, he minded the wet cobblestones and his
footing on the slippery road. He dodged a puddle, ducked under an awning full
of water, and opened the door into the warmth of Quality Quidditch Supplies.
Magical
chimes jangled as the door shut behind him.
“Hey, Ron!”
said the shopkeeper. The thin, balding man smiled, put down the pad of
parchment and quill he was scratching figures with, reached over to a box sitting
on the counter, and pulled out a small pentagram shaped packet. “The usual?”
“Yeah, Richard.
The usual.” Ron shook rain off his things and charmed himself as dry as
possible.
Ron picked the
small packet up as Richard reached over to a rack to pick a Quidditch Weekly
from among the stack of magazines whose covers were a confusing blur of motion
and colour. He slid the copy over to Ron and nodded at the cover, an
illustration from last week’s Puddlemere-French National friendly.
“Get to see
the match?”
At one
point in time, Richard had done fairly well at Quidditch, having been a reserve
Beater for a team on the continent for four-and-a-half seasons. Too many
injuries meant that the shopkeeper was now content to sell Quidditch to the
people of Diagon Alley and sip Butterbeer with his mates down at the Leaky,
when his French-born wife let him.
“Afraid
not,” said Ron.
“How’s
work?” asked Richard. His grey hair contained hints of brown and his large and
crooked nose looked like it had taken more than its share of Bludger abuse.
“Bloody atrocious.”
Ron thumbed through the magazine.
“Why’d you
have to go in?”
“An
interrogation they wanted me to do right then.” Ron flipped past some glossy
photos of the Puddlemere-France match, noting the brooms used by the French
National team, the size of their Keeper, and a trio of comely, flaxen-blonde
French supporters.
“Good
luck.” Richard tapped the Chocolate Frog package.
“What?” Ron
looked at the package. “Oh, thanks.” Ron laid the open magazine on the counter,
took the packet and started to open it.
Richard
looked out the windows. “Funny how it always seems that everybody’s work goes
bad when the weather goes bad.”
“Oh? Not so
good eh?” Ron pulled the box open and ate the frog.
“Business
has been light today. You’re only the third customer this morning—” He started
to arrange some stock behind the counter. “—what with the rain and all.”
“Hogwart’s
started today, too. All the kids would be on the train.” With a flip, Ron
flipped over the card. Card 13: Queen
Maeve “Damn. Typical.” He flipped the card and showed Richard, who shook
his head.
“Sorry.
Better luck next time. So school’s started already?” Richard asked. “No wonder
I didn’t see the older ones. You have kids on the Express, don’t you?”
Ron nodded
his head and turned the magazine to the shopkeeper. “You see this new broom?”
He pointed to a broom advert full of pictures with pretty witches and grinning
wizards in flight.
“That’s the
new Nimbus. It’ll be coming out this spring. Wonderful broom.” He looked at
Ron. “Must have been quite a thing to see them off. What with it being their
first trip to school and everything.”
Admiring the
Nimbus 2015 (‘Reasonably priced E, Well-equipped L, and Fully loaded XL models
available!’), Ron shook his head. “Missed the sodding Hogwarts Express because
of work.”
“Oh!”
Richard stopped and looked at his lone customer. “Tough luck, mate.”
“Yeah,
tough luck.” Ron drew his mouth tightly and changed the topic. “You know
anything about the Nimbus?”
“Well,”
Richard said as he arranged some goggles in the display case between them, “it’s
a fine sporting model, but probably not well suited for international play. I
‘spect all the youngsters will want to fly it, but for my money, I’d stick with
the Firebolts—they’re match proven. Any particular reason why you had to go
in?” Richard turned back, leaned on one arm, and raised his eyebrows at Ron.
“Couldn’t
be spared, I suppose.” Ron flipped the pages to an article on recent trends in
match strategy.
“Well, I’m
sure you did your best, but things like that can’t be helped. What with the
organized crime and all. You know, I’m right glad blokes like you do what you
do. Makes me feel safe at night. Thanks.”
“Yeah, no
problem.” said Ron, displaying a stiff and forced smile. Richard’s sentiment
was nice, and it was something Ron should have been more appreciative of, but gratitude
was a poor substitute for seeing his first children off to school for the first
time.
The
shopkeeper leaned over and said in a low voice, “So, I thought you might be in
the know. I heard a number of posh houses were robbed up in
Ron didn’t
mind allowing Richard to be privy to a few work related things, especially
things that would be known by the public in due time. Richard proved himself a
trustworthy enough bloke and even surprised Ron with the gossip he had learned
from other customers or friends. Ron looked up. “Can’t talk about cases that
may or may not be in progress.” He shrugged, working to keep his face neutral.
“Well—” The
shopkeeper looked thoughtful as he watched Ron. “—is the Ministry onto those
blokes?”
“They might
be or maybe they aren’t. Can’t really say. If I did, I’d have to Obliviate you.
Wouldn’t want that now, would we?”
“No, the wife
wouldn’t be liking that ‘t all,” said Richard, smiling. “What’s the office
scuttlebutt?”
“Well, I’ve
heard this rumour that if there were
anything going on that this was a big operation. I’ve also heard a rumour that if there were any crimes
committed, it might have involved almost five families being robbed in the span
of an hour. I’ve also heard yet another rumour
that says the robberies, if there were actually any robberies, might have
been almost perfectly executed. Almost.”
“Almost?”
The shopkeeper smirked as an eyebrow rose. The cuckoo clock behind the counter
started to chirp.
“Pick up
the evening Prophet.” Ron winked and
let his mouth form a satisfied smile as he nodded. “You’ll see.” The Prophet would contain the news that the
Ministry of Magic had apprehended one man in connection with the robberies and
that ‘promising leads’ have been developed. Leads developed after a long
morning of hard and tiring interrogation by a very irritated and angry Auror
who had been called away from his family. “Ring me up, will you? Time to head
back to the salt mines.”
Richard pulled
out a single Chocolate Frog packet, put it into a brown bag, and handed it over
to Ron. “On me, mate.” He smiled.
“What for?”
“What with you
protecting the whole lot of us. Just a token of thanks.”
“No.” Ron
was surprised. “No, I can’t.”
“I insist.”
He shoved the bag into Ron’s hands. “Besides, you’ll be back next week for
another one and I won’t be so generous then.” He winked.
“All right,
Richard, you’re the best. Thanks.” He dropped the magazine into the bag. “Ring
this up, too. Will you? I’ll at least pay for something before I go to lunch.
I’m no freeloader.”
***
Ron scrubbed
his eyes, trying to rub away the fatigue that came from six hours of
intelligence reports, court parchments, and flying memos. Apparently, paperwork
needed to be entered about the evidence in the Taggart case by tomorrow, the
Malfoy lot was restive again with the robberies in Kent, and the coffee fund
was short two Galleons. Inside the dingy office, a clock slowly ticked, the
only indicator of time as there were no windows.
Ron paused
his work, looked up from his parchments, and sighed as he watched the old
wooden clock with a pendulum and roman numerals. He had hoped to have left by
ten in the morning for home or Platform 9 ¾. He was almost eight hours off.
The clock’s
large hand ticked to the twelve position.
He cringed.
A small
window opened in the face of the clock. A tiny figure of a man in chaps and an
oversized hat popped out of the opening and started to wave two miniature six-shooters
at the ceiling.
“Yeeeee
HAWWWW!” the little cowboy shouted with a tinny voice, shooting the tiny guns
into the air. “Y’all know whut time it is? It’s six damn o’clock, pardner! Th’
sun’s a settin’ deep inna heart a Texus!”
Ron closed
his eyes tightly. “Oh, Merlin.”
The little
figure holstered his guns, started to jig, and crooned.
“The stars at night, are big and
bright, Clap clap clap clap.
Deep in the heart of
The prairie sky is wide and high, Clap clap clap clap.
Deep in the heart of
Ron hurled
his quill at the clock. “Don’t you ever shut up?”
“The sage in bloom is like perfume, Clap clap clap clap.
Deep in the heart of
Reminds me of, the one I love, Clap clap clap clap.
Deep in the heart of
The little
figure finished singing, pulled out his guns, fired them into the air, and
looked around. Spotting Ron, it pointed one tiny, smoking gun at him. “Ya still
here? Time fer ya ta git yer butt home, ya mangy prairie dog.”
“How many
times do I have to tell you, watch where you’re pointing that thing? Somebody
could get hurt.” mumbled Ron. “God, what I wouldn’t do for a damn off switch.”
“Don’t git
uppity wid me, ya derned varmit,” retorted the clock. “I wuz jes tryin’ ta help
ya out. Shee—.”
“Uppity? Uppity?
Have you ever thought that maybe I don’t want a contraption to talk back to me?
Maybe, for once, I’d like to have a clock that just told me the time, that
didn’t give me a bad attitude? How’s that for a strange, weird idea?” Ron shot
back.
“It’s
“WILL YOU
JUST SHUT IT, YOU MAGICAL MENACE?”
“I wuz jes’
tryin’ ta...awwwww sheeewwwwt.” The little tin man stomped back inside the
clock and the door closed, although it barely muffled the mumbled curses of a
one inch tall American Texan. Damned souvenirs. Why in bloody hell did Harry
and Ginny have to bring back, of all things, a cowboy clock with a matching attitude?
But the
clock was right. Ron was moody today—moodier than normal. As he shuffled his
files together, the reasons for his impatience turned over in his mind. Usually,
the clock was tolerable, even amusing, but for some reason it wasn’t that funny
today. He put some files into a top drawer, some files into his briefcase, and
touched his wand to the desk lock, resulting in a soft click. He looked at the
photo next to his spectacles.
The photo
showed a mother and a tall father standing behind a park bench. On the bench,
two very similar looking children with auburn hair, no more than eleven, sat
next to each other while a small girl with dark brown hair, about seven years
old, fidgeted as she sat, cross-legged, on the ground in the front. The figures
in the image shifted, practiced smiles, and jostled with each other in the
playful way families often do.
Ron picked
up his glasses and felt an emptiness creeping around inside as he imagined two
empty places at the dinner table tonight, the same spaces that would remain empty
for the majority of the next seven years. Maybe even for the rest of his life. His
imagination also envisioned boats full of nervous and scared students, sliding across
the
Had the
twins found a good seat on the Express? Had they bought a few Chocolate Frogs
from the trolley? Had Anne found more cards to complete her set? Had they sat
with people they already knew? Had they made any new friends? Enemies? Which
house did they get sorted into? Had they sat with Uncle Harry?
Ron shook
himself from his thoughts and packed his briefcase.
With a loud
crack, and the lingering after-affects of the slight Apparation-nausea he could
never shake, Ron appeared in the living room of the Weasley Warren. A fire was
burning in the grate and a few candles were lit, casting a warm glow around the
room. There was an unsettling quiet throughout the house.
After a few
moments, Hermione’s muffled voice was heard from behind the kitchen door, “Ron?”
“The one
and only, love,” Ron called out.
“A bit
late.”
“Sorry. Got
caught arguing with that dam—” Ron corrected himself. “—darned clock again.”
There was a
loud sigh and Hermione’s voice got louder as it moved towards the door. “Sweetie,
Daddy’s home. Why don’t you put away the quills and parchment?”
“Yes,
Mummy,” a tiny voice answered.
Hermione
pushed the door open and said to Ron, “Why don’t you just take that thing down?”
She pushed her small, round spectacles up, and swept back some of her curly
hair. “I still don’t know why you leave it up.”
“Because it’s
a gift and as you’ve said over and over and over and over, it’s the thought
that counts.” Ron leaned over, brushed a few stray strands of her brown hair out
of her eyes, and frowned slightly at them, wondering where time had flown. He pushed
her grey hairs out of his mind as he gave her a smile and a kiss. “How was the
office?”
“Mmmmm,
fine, boring. Only a half-day today.” She patted his slightly bulging belly. “It
was just a joke. Why don’t you toss it in the rubbish bin?”
“Because if
I tossed it, I wouldn’t have a souvenir of
She rolled
her eyes. “They were on their honeymoon, not a shopping holiday.”
“I’m still
hurt. And how come it was only one gift? One lousy gift, we gave them loads of
things from our honeymoon.”
“Honestly!
We didn’t bring them anything but the twins.” Hermione chuckled and punched her
husband lightly in the middle.
“Ouch!” He
rubbed his stomach. “Not my fault you couldn’t do the Contraception Charm right.”
“Well, you
try reading a spell book in the dark!”
“Not my
fault your parents are Muggles,” said Ron. “You could’ve been better prepared;
you could’ve asked Mum.”
She snorted
in response. “Right.”
“I thought
you could’ve at least tried out the charm beforehand.”
“Oh,
where’s the fun in that?” Hermione smirked at her husband. “You know, you don’t
have to keep the clock there, you could hang it up out in the shed. I think you
leave it up just to irritate your office mate.”
“Hey, he
bought it for me. Serves Harry right.” Ron slapped his forehead. “Oh! I should
have sneaked it over to Ginny and had her pack it along in his trunk as a bit
of a reminder that some of us are still working while he’s out playing
professor for a year.
“Thought
that we would pop out for something since...” She bit her lip. “Since I hadn’t
planned on anything.”
“You hadn’t...planned?”
He looked at her for a few moments. She
hadn’t planned? She always plans… Then Ron wrapped his wife with his arms.
“My babies.”
She sniffed a couple of times and rubbed away some wetness from under her
glasses. “They’re gone.” She rested her head against his shoulder.
“They’re
not gone.” He rolled his eyes and rubbed her back. Ron said as cheerily as he
could, “It’s not like they’re dead or anything. They just went to school today.”
“I didn’t
think that I’d be—” She took a deep breath and exhaled before pulling back and
smiling up at him. “I just miss them already.”
“It’s okay,”
he soothed, rubbing her back. “Hey, did you tell them I said good bye?”
“Yes.” She
pulled away. “Was it worth it?”
“What?”
“That you
went in so early.” She crossed her arms.
Her shift
in tone was surprising. He neutralized his face. “It was nothing.” He hoped to
head off what he saw brewing in her eyes. “Just an interrogation Shacklebolt wanted
me to take care of.”
Her
forehead knitted. “You didn’t even pop over to the platform for just a few—”
“Hermione,
the bad guys never work according to my schedule.” He inhaled and felt himself
tensing up over the words he knew Hermione was planning to say. “I just have to
be ready to go at any time. It’s part of the job. Nothing can be done about it.”
“Oh? But if
it was a routine interrogation, couldn’t it have waited?”
“Look, d’you
think I intentionally wanted to miss out? You saw Shacklebolt’s damn Patronus barging
right into our kitchen at six bloody A.M.,” he bit off. He wasn’t angry with Hermione
or with Kingsley, but he needed to punish somebody. Malfoy. Ruddy Malfoy. He
was the one who should suffer, not Hermione. Ron sighed and ran a hand through
his hair. “Look, let’s not get into this, okay?”
“Fine.”
“It’s just part
of my job.”
She dropped
her head, “I know, but it’s never ending. Can’t you...never mind. Truce?”
“Truce.”
Ron gathered her up again, slowly rocking her. “Well, did the twins say
anything before they left?”
“No.” She
was confused. “About what?”
He felt a
little let down that . “Oh, nothing.” He let her go and carefully picked up his
briefcase, turning away from her.
“They just
bounded up the train like a herd of elephants; they were so excited about their
first year. They kept running up and down the carriage looking for Uncle Harry’s
carriage. You should have seen—Oh.” She searched his face with concern. “They
did say to tell you good-bye.” Hermione reached out, squeezed, and then rubbed
his arm.
“Of course.
I’d be excited, too, if Professor-Uncle-Hero Harry Potter was teaching for a
year as well.” He put an unconvincing smile on his face. “So there you go.”
Hermione
opened her mouth to answer.
“Mummy! I’m
done!” a sing-song voice called from the kitchen. Bursting through the door, a
dark blur of long hair rushed out and hugged Hermione, “Mummy! I’m hungry!”
“Hi, Kathy
doll.” Ron smiled at his daughter, bending down to hug her. “How was Grandma
Weasley’s?”
“Fine,
Daddy! We ate curry pies for lunch and we ate lots of apples and we also
coloured with crayons that sparkle and change colour and everything. Then we played
princess and then we rode a broom—” She clapped her hand over her mouth, wide
eyes darting from parent to parent.
“Ron!”
Hermione looked sternly at him, her hands on her hips. “Your father. Can’t you
talk to him about our rules?”
“He won’t
listen.” Ron shrugged with indifference. “Why bother?” He winked at Kathy and
stood up. “Besides, Dad’s teaching important life skills.”
Hermione
said, “Flying a broom is not an important—”
Ron’s raised
eyebrows and mock-questioning look cut her off.
Hermione heaved
a tired sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose, pushing up her glasses as she
did. “You don’t need to ride a broom…” Her voice trailed off. “Oh, never mind.”
“Mummy!”
Kathy grinned slyly at him and turned back to her mother. “I’m hungry. Can we
eat now?”
Hermione
opened her eyes and smiled. “Sure, dear, but let’s give Daddy time to get
settled before we go.”
“Pig! Pig!
Prancing Pig! Can we go to the Prancing Pig?” she squeaked in a drawn-out, high
pitched voice. “I want to go to the Prancing Pig!”
He mentally
cringed at the thought of the fare at the Prancing Pig: lots of heavy, greasy
food. Things the Healer said he should avoid.
“Kathleen,”
warned Hermione. “What did I say about whining?”
The little
girl with braids and freckles pouted and avoided her mother’s gaze.
“Kathleen?”
With a
huff, their daughter repeated by rote, rolling her eyes. “Nobody likes a
whiner.”
“Very good.
Now run upstairs and get your cloak.” Hermione looked at Ron. “Ten minutes then
off to the Prancing Pig?”
He shrugged,
nodded, and smiled. “Sure, ten minutes. I’ll be in the study for a mo’.”
Entering the small room, he was surrounded by the smell of ancient books. He
crossed to the desk and dropped his briefcase there; he’d have to finish re-reading
the interrogation transcripts later that evening, after dinner. He blew out a
breath and looked at more family photos, the ones over the mantel of the small
fireplace next to the leather chair.
It was this
chair that he had spent many hours holding the twins, teaching them reading,
maths, and drawing. He opened the right hand bottom drawer of the desk, pulled
out a small leather portfolio, one given to him by Anne. He opened the
portfolio and leafed through the piles of construction paper crafts, bits of
yarn, magical colourings—the twins first drawings, their first letters, their
first sums. All were carefully tucked away and Ron lost himself in the pile of
memories. He studied the cover of an old, worn book on the history of magic.
There was one page that was darker and more wrinkled than the others, forming a
natural bookmark. Ron flipped open the page and stared at a magical photo of
his best friend, Harry Potter.
“Mum
says that Uncle Harry is a real, living hero.”
“When
I get to Hogwarts, I want to take Defence Against the Dark Arts from Uncle
Harry! Is he going to be at Hogwarts?”
As much as
Ron loved his friend, he had grown a little weary of answering these questions
over the years. He never failed to answer the kids, and sometimes he even did
so with a smile, but it was a smile tinged with a hint of bitterness. Kids had
to have their heroes, he supposed.
Ron slumped
in his chair, yawning. It had not been a very good day. More frustrating words over
work with the person who was supposed to know him the best; sometimes, it felt
like Hermione didn’t understand him like the way she used to. An old nemesis
was still on the loose, wracking the magical community with crime and likely
biding time for revenge. Important evidence had been mishandled and the
paperwork to explain it all was going to be a nightmare of forms, bureaucracy,
and embarrassment. The damned clock got on his nerves. Even the office coffee
fund was screwed up. A few sickles of coffee—he’d have reckoned that Aurors, of
all people, could abide by the honour system. Now, to top it all off, his
arteries were about to be assaulted by greasy, salted pork.
Ron groaned
loudly and scrubbed his face with his hands.
As he
rested his eyes, he wondered how circumstances had forced him to miss
witnessing the twins boarding the Hogwarts Express that morning. The feeling of
helplessness left him empty and dull.
***
Returning
from dinner they settled into what was left of their nightly routine by getting
Kathleen ready for bed. The brushing, dressing, reading, and kissing was
finished a little more quickly and quietly than usual, which surprised Ron
until he remembered the reason why. Then husband and wife shared a glass of red
wine and some air-clearing conversation in the family room. After questions,
discussion, and apologies that seemed all too familiar, Hermione set off to bed
for the night and he settled himself into the study. There were at least two or
three hours of interview transcripts and reports to review before he could consider
himself prepared for another interrogation in the morning.
Rifling
through the data, he grew increasingly frustrated. There was not a single,
solid clue about what Malfoy was up to, where he was located, or what he was
intending to do next. Ron only knew that several wealthy wizarding families
were burgled last night. Matching up the identity shifting ex-Death Eater with
specifics or locales would be like trying to find two identical snowflakes. At
least the Aurors on the night shift had been sharp enough to nab one accomplice,
as reported by the Ministry to the evening edition Daily Prophet. What the Prophet
didn’t report was the reality that Goyle’s answers were at best, cryptic;
at worst, useless, and, most likely, magically locked away. Ron knew he would be
spending a lot of time trying to wheedle any useful information from the
thick-headed man.
It was time
for a break. He was idling among the books and family pictures for some time before
Hermione poked in her head, hair damp from a shower, into the room and softly
said, “Dear, there’s a Floo for you in the living room.”
Ron
started. “Kingsley?”
“No.” She
smiled. Before Ron could ask another question, Hermione disappeared behind the
door.
He strode
from the study, concerned about the late night Floo. Entering the blackness of the
living room, he turned towards the large fireplace there. The grate held a
swirl of flame that threw green light into the room in jumble of shadows and
exaggerated shapes. Two heads protruded from the fire.
It was
Eddie and Annie.
“Hi, Daddy!”
said Anne. She then yawned.
Eddie
looked annoyed at his sister. “Hey, Dad!”
“Hey, kids!”
Ron couldn’t stop the smile that chased away the evening’s weariness. He took
the first chance he could to say what had been on his heart all evening long. “I’m
sorry I couldn’t make it down to King’s Cross but—”
“Mum said
that you had important work to do,” said Eddie.
“I missed
you at the station,” said Anne. “I really wanted you to be there.” She huffed
and pouted.
“Sorry,
pumpkin. Daddy had to get to work early.”
“Dad! Don’t
call me that,” she hissed through a distasteful look. “And you gave your word
you’d be there!”
“Annie!
Honestly!” Eddie turned to his twin and jostled her with his shoulder. “Dad had
important things to take care of. Move over!”
“No! You
move over!” She pushed back. “This is my side of the fire.”
“Kids!”
said Ron.
Eddie
turned back to Ron, “Right, Dad?” He looked at his father with expectation. “You
were risking your life. Weren’t you?”
“Well,
Eddie, I’m not sure if it was all that important or dangerous. It was just a
visit to some blokes who might know something or two about an important case.”
“Bet you
they were murderers.” Eddie asked, “Were they dangerous? Did you have to fight
them?” He almost looked eager for an answer.
“Oh my!” A
hand appeared over Anne’s mouth. “Did you get hurt?”
“Nah,” said
Ron. “Not these blokes. They were in jail already. Just a few routine things to
ask them.”
“Couldn’t
it have waited?” asked Anne, her concern now covered with a frown. “If they’re
already in jail, they weren’t going anywhere.”
“Funny,
that’s what your Mum said.” Ron smiled. “But, no. Mr Shacklebolt wanted them
questioned right off.”
“Ohhh, that
old bat!” said Anne. “Just because of him I missed you at the station!”
Ron could
almost make out Anne stamping her foot. It warmed his heart to think of another
eleven-year-old, long ago, who used to do that. “Don’t let your Mum hear you
say that.”
“Honestly,
Dad! Mum’s the one who told me.” She rolled her eyes.
“She did
not tell you that.”
“Well…” she
smiled shyly. “I sort of accidentally overheard her talking to Auntie Ginny.”
“And would
this accident also involve a pair of Uncle George and Uncle Fred’s Extra Extendable
Ears?” asked Ron.
Annie just
smiled at the ground and lifted her shoulders.
“I see. Don’t
do it again.” Ron chuckled. “I’m sorry, pumpkin. I’ll make it to the next one.”
“That’s
okay, Dad. I understand.” Eddie seemed to puff his chest up. “Like you always
say, the bad guys never work according to your schedule…” Eddie was obviously
paying attention during some time when Ron hadn’t expected. “…you just have to
be ready to go at any time. It’s part of the job, Anne.”
“Shut it,
Edward. I know that!” She made a ‘tuh’ sound. “Don’t you listen to what dad
says? He said it was a routine—”
“Kids,”
said Ron.
Anne
interrupted, “You never listen to dad!”
“I do too!”
said Eddie.
“Kids!”
barked Ron.
They
quieted down and looked at their father with lowered eyes.
“Sorry,
Dad.”
“Sorry.”
Ron sighed.
“It’s okay. No bickering, at least not today. It’s a big day for you two. Why
ruin it?”
“All right,”
said Anne.
Eddie
looked like he was unimpressed. “If you say so.”
“So.” Ron
looked at one and then the other and felt tension wrap his body. “Gryffindor?”
The twins
looked at each other and dropped their gazes. Their voices were hushed. Ron
felt an empty pit form.
Eddie hung
his head. “Hufflepuff,” he said. “Both of us.”
“Professor
McGonagall wouldn’t even let us appeal.” Anne looked ashamed.
“Well, that’s
good!” Ron put on a brave smile, and masked his disappointment with a cheerful tone. It was far too cheerful
and Ron knew the twins knew. “Hufflepuff is a very good—”
“No, it isn’t,”
snarled Eddie. “Stop feeling sorry for us.”
Annie
wailed, “It’s terrible! I don’t want to be a badger!”
“Well,
look, I’m proud you two made Hufflepuff. You know, being a Hufflepuff is just
as good as any other house.” Ron took a deep breath. “Your mum and I know
several very good Hufflepuffs. In fact, some of our best friends are
Hufflepuffs.” He looked to them, unable to say much more.
Anne couldn’t
contain her laughter and Eddie broke into a wide grin. “Got you!” they cried. “We’re
in Gryffindor!”
“What?” Ron’s
mouth dropped open. When he stopped laughing, he said, “I’ve been had.”
“Oh,
honestly! You really thought that we’d be sorted anywhere else?” Eddie pouted,
being quite put out.
Ron smiled
sheepishly. “Well, I’m an old man—”
“Puh-lease!”
said Annie.
“Sorry.
Forgive me?” Ron hung his head.
“Oh, okay,”
she said, covering another laugh with a hand.
“Thanks!”
Ron winked. “By the way, how did you get Floo powder?”
“Mum packed
a little with us.” Anne shrugged. “She reckoned you would feel quite left out
for not being with us on the Platform.” She yawned again. “Something about
milestones or some other nonsense.”
His heart
warmed with thankfulness for Hermione’s thoughtfulness. He smiled at his
children. “Well, kids, I think you need to get off to bed. It’s pretty late.
Owl me with all the details. Okay?”
“Okay,”
Anne said.
Eddie
whined, “Do I have to?”
Anne
jostled her twin. She hissed, “Eddie!”
“Oh, you leave
me alone!” Eddie pulled away. “Bye, Dad!”
“Bye,
Eddie!”
His
daughter started to pull her head out and then stopped. “Wait, Dad! Jonathan
Gomez got Agrippa!”
“Well,” Ron
whistled. “Lucky him. Who’s Jonathan Gomez?”
Over
twenty-five years of collecting Chocolate Frog cards—now just the occasional
packet at lunch—had resulting in a complete set but for one card, Agrippa.
Here, at the tender age of eleven, Jonathan Gomez had achieved the pinnacle of
Chocolate Frog Card collecting. Likely Jonathan would trade the coveted card
for a Morgan Le Fey or other ruddy common card. What a waste.
“Jonathan
is a boy we met on the Hogwarts Express,” said Anne. “We couldn’t find Uncle
Harry’s compartment, so we just found one with a couple of other first years.”
“Did you
get to see Uncle Harry?”
“Don’t
interrupt me!” Annie said, raising one finger.
“Oh, sorry!”
Ron held up his hands.
“We didn’t
see him until the Welcoming Feast. Anyway, I was saying—”
Ron felt
like that it was Hermione was talking to him rather than his daughter. She rambled
on.
“—we met
Jonathan and Ro, that’s Rowena Roberts, in the carriage along with Melvin
Longbottom and Hazel O’Toole. Most of us were sorted into Gryffindor, except
Rowena—she was put into Ravenclaw. I felt sorry for her that we were all
separated, so I talked to her after the Feast for a while. She’s a nice girl. I
think we have Potions together, that will be nice, too. I’m looking forward to
flying lessons on Thursday with Professor Wood. Oh, did you know that the
Sorting Hat asked about you?”
“Oh,” he
was surprised. “No, I didn’t. What did the Hat say? All good, I hope. Were you
polite?”
“Tuh! Of
course! Well, the Hat said,” her voice became gravelly, a mock-imitation of the
old hat, “‘Ah, the daughter of Ronald and Hermione Weasley. Not surprising in
the least, not surprising in the least. Let’s see...You are very much like your
father—witty, loyal, brave. How is he?’ And I answered, ‘Very well, thank you.
Although I don’t think he’s that witty, at all.’ The Hat had this evil laugh,
but then said, ‘You have the cheek of your father, the intelligence of your
mother, and the boldness of both. You will be a fine addition to,’ And it
shouted, ‘Gryffindor!’”
“Ha!” Ron
smiled, pride filling the gaps of distance and separation. “Well done, Annie.”
“Well, that’s
all I wanted to say, but I’ll write more when I remember.” Daughter returned
her father’s smile in a way that was remarkably more like her twin uncles than
Uncle Percy. “Oh, one more thing, I’ll figure out a way to trade for that
Agrippa—I’m going to ask Uncle George to help. And when I get it, I’ll swap you
for a broom.”
Ron was
barely able to croak out, “Sure, pumpkin! A Nimbus 2015, for sure.”
“Daddy!”
she whined, making a face at the nickname. “It had better be the XL model.
Bye-bye! I miss you already!” Anne blew Ron a kiss and yawned again.
“Bye-bye,
dear!”
The fire
popped out and the room was darkened, leaving Ron with a hint of sulphurous
smell in his nose and with reddish afterimages of his son and daughter in his
eyes. They were their first to attend Hogwarts. He stood and turned to find the
dark shape of his wife standing in her bedclothes, watching with a smile. He
shuffled over and put his arms around the terrycloth robes and gave her a good
long hug. After a few quiet moments, he kissed the top of her damp hair and
breathed in a long whiff of scented shampoo as he nuzzled her.
“Long day, love?”
she murmured.
Ron thought
back to early this morning, seemingly ages ago. There was a Patronus, an
emergency interrogation, a soggy visit to Diagon Alley over lunch, long hours
at the desk, a really bad dinner, and more work.
It had been a long day.
A day that tested
his ability to juggle the needs of the Department of Aurors against the needs
of Hermione, Eddie, Anne, and Kathy—his family. A day that was a wearying battle,
one among the many in the constant striving to be a good father. A day that stained
his conscience with the feeling that his middling efforts simply didn’t—couldn’t—measure up to great men, great
fathers.
But then
there were the moments, the moments where his focus and centre was found,
seemingly at random, amongst all the clutter of life—the moments where Ron realized
the value of all that hard work, all that time, all that love.
And he
realized that it was all worth it.
“Yeah,” Ron
said, softly. “Yeah, it was.” He kissed his wife’s nose and forehead again and
again, closing his eyes as he whispered in the dark, “Thanks, love, I needed
that.”
~