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Arthur sipped his lemonade and settled back into his chair. It was a fine summer day at the Burrow, perfect for reclining under an umbrella and enjoying the sunshine: the sun was bright and hot, the few fluffy white clouds in the sky were so sparse as to seem ornamental, and the garden was in full, riotous bloom. He couldn't remember such a perfect day in recent memory, and it seemed a crime not to go out on the hill behind the house and enjoy it.
Plus, courtesy of his grandchildren, he even had a floor show.
At the bottom of the hill, Rose and Hugo had somehow managed to get Ron's wand away from him. While neither of them was old enough to do more than make some colored sparks and rude noises with it, they were showing tremendous aptitude at keeping out of their father's considerable reach; Ron, red-faced, turned round and round and couldn't quite lay a finger on either of them. When he did manage to catch Hugo round the waist and haul him off his feet, the boy adeptly tossed the wand off to his sister, who dove under a shrubbery and crawled out the other side before Ron had got to his knees on the grass.
Their shrieks--mostly of laughter, some of rage--floated up the hill, to where Arthur was curiously disinclined to help.
Eventually Ron did get his wand back, of course, and used it to levitate both children in the air, something they didn't seem to mind in the least. "All right, that's enough!" he roared. "Both of you, back to the house! Granny Molly is cooking your tea, and you won't eat if you don't wash up!" Once he let them down, they both ran giggling towards the house, their shrill cries of Higramparthur! ringing long after their passage. Ron, by contrast, plodded up next to Arthur's chair and collapsed in the shade of the umbrella. "Those little scamps are going to be the death of me," he declared wearily.
Arthur chuckled, and passed down the lemonade. "You're suffering under a terrible curse, Ron."
"Oh?" Ron asked, before chugging down the glass.
And in the interest of preventing a spit-take, Arthur waited until he'd stopped swallowing to say, "You've had children who are exactly like you were at that age."
Ron squawked, and swatted him on the leg.