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“Achoo! Achoo! Achoo! Achoo!”
Rosie sneezed repeatedly.
She sniffed and buried her snotty nose in Ron’s lap.
Hermione looked up from her paperwork and gave her a disapproving glance but Ron merely smiled at his wife and quickly appeased her his I’ve-got-this-don’t-you-worry-look as he so often did where their daughter was concerned.
While Rosie was indeed incredibly smart, she was primarily a proper daddy’s girl — she’d made that clear on the day Hermione had given birth to her when she’d caused a terrible racket until everyone apart from Ron fled the hospital room (Hermione had buried her head under the covers). The moment he’d picked Rosie up she’d quietened down and remained that way for as long as he held her in his arms. That day, and with the family dynamics firmly decided by a new-born baby, he’d left the DMLE in favour of working with George at the shop, since he couldn’t possibly be an Auror and do night feeds.
Ron pulled Rosie’s face out of his lap and wrapping his arms around his daughter, he lifted her up onto his leg and summoned a box of tissues from the nearby coffee table.
“Here you go, young lady.”
Rosie grabbed a whole bunch of tissues and attempted to blow her nose but wasn’t entirely successful. At barely five years old, her motor skills weren’t quite perfect yet and Ron was happy to assist. He took the used tissues from her and tossed them into the nearby rubbish bin.
“Yay, score for daddy! You’re so much better than Auntie Ginny,” Rosie excitedly bounced on his lap and promptly started coughing terribly.
“Don’t let your auntie ever hear you say that,” Ron chuckled. “She’ll hang me upside down.”
He patted Rosie’s back and waited for her to stop coughing quite as much but when it became apparent that she would need a little more assistance, he got to his feet and with Rosie wrapped around his torso like the little monkey she was, Ron made his way into the kitchen and summoned one of Rosie’s favourite yellow plastic cups. He filled it with some water and perching Rosie on the kitchen counter he watched her as she wrapped her tiny hands around the cup and took a few sips.
“I feel dreadful,” she rasped after emptying half the cup.
Ron smiled — it was evident that Rosie was Hermione’s daughter. He gently pressed the back of his hand to her forehead.
“Hm, yes, you do feel a bit hot, sweetheart. Shall we take your temperature?”
Rosie nodded enthusiastically and coughed again. Ron patted her back and drawing his wand, he waved it over her head and cast a standard diagnostic spell. A moment later Rosie’s temperature hovered above her head — 38.7°C.
“You’ve got a fever, honey, I think it would be best if we put you to bed and wrap you up properly.”
Rosie shook her head vehemently in immediate protest.
“I don’t wanna—”
“I’m not debating this with you, young lady. You’re going to bed and I’ll get mummy to fetch you some Pepper-Up. You’ll be right as rain in the morning and if you are you can come to the shop with me while mummy goes to work.”
“No,” Rosie shook her head. “It makes my ears steam.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Mummy brewed it herself. It’s a new version, it’s got none of the old side effects.”
Rosie petulantly stuck out her bottom lip and crossed her arms over her chest defiantly.
“Humph!”
Ron smiled.
Rosie most definitely had inherited her mother’s brains but her stubbornness she’d absolutely gotten from him — and it was that part Hermione struggled with. She lacked that little extra bit of patience to deal with Rosie’s temper tantrums and although she usually left dealing with those up to him, she’d never once raised her voice in front of Rosie, not even when their daughter robbed her of her last nerve — she had that much sense and Ron admired her for it.
Up until Rosie had come into their lives, he’d always had a rather short fuse but their daughter had rather spectacularly changed all that. With Rosie, everything was easy. Ron knew that other parents disagreed and he didn’t fault them for it, but he — and sometimes he considered it a miracle — had a handle on his daughter. She always tried to get a rise out of him — and he blamed her smartness and unquenchable curiosity for it — but so far, she’d yet to push him over the edge. He doubted she’d ever manage but so long as she had fun trying, he didn’t begrudge her any of her attempts.
“That stroppy attitude is only going to win you my affection, not make me lose my temper,” Ron said and unceremoniously picked Rosie up. He hugged her close to his chest and coughing and sniffing she wrapped her little legs around his waist and her arms around his neck as he carried her back into the living room.
As they entered, Hermione looked up from her paperwork.
“She’s got a fever,” Ron said.
Hermione nodded and rose to her feet.
“I’ll get the potion,” she said.
Ron nodded.
“I’ll take her upstairs and tuck her into bed. She doesn’t want to but we’ve decided that we’re going to be mature and she’s going to listen to her daddy.”
“We decided nothing of the sort, you decided all that,” Rosie quipped up.
“Hm, yes, so I did. I do have a couple of years on you, young lady, and as such I have a couple more rights,” Ron smirked. “When you get to my age, we can talk again.”
He caught the affectionate look Hermione gave him and blew her a kiss. She blushed and hastily looked away while Ron chuckled softly.
“I’ll tuck you in later, wife,” he said.
Hermione glowered darkly but when he tilted his head sideways and gave her his most silly grin, her expression softened and the edge of her mouth curled upwards in a soft smile.
She held his gaze for a moment, then turned away and left the room while Ron climbed the spiral staircase in their living room up to the second floor. He headed down the corridor and nudged the door to Rosie’s bedroom open with his foot and making sure not to step on or trip over one of her many toys, he crossed the room.
Rosie weight almost nothing, or so it felt like, and as such, Ron had no trouble bending forward to pull her duvet back without dislodging her. He sat on the bed and tried to help her change into her pyjamas, although she was adamant that she was old enough to undress and dress without his interference. Her frequent coughing fits made it rather difficult and after a few failed attempts to get out of her long-sleeved pink shirt, she finally surrendered and wisely allowed her dad to help.
A few minutes later, and just after Ron had tucked her into bed, Hermione appeared in the doorframe with an unlabelled potion phial. She levitated it over to him and Ron plucked it out of mid-air. He uncorked it and handed it to Rosie, who eyed it with complete disgust.
“I don’t want to drink this.”
“Ah, but you’ll do so anyway because you want me to tell you a story,” Ron said and Rosie scrunched up her face.
“That’s b— bi— no, bri-something.”
“Bribery,” Hermione said. “And yes, it is, darling, however, if I was you, I’d accept. Your daddy tells the best stories, you do know that, don’t you?”
Ron chuckled.
Apparently, Hermione had learnt a thing or two from watching his interactions with their daughter.
Rosie pulled a face but dutifully downed the potion anyway, then handed the empty phial back to Ron, who shuffled to sit beside her and pulling her close against his side, he wrapped her warm blanket tightly around her.
“That’s my good little princess Rosie,” he praised.
She curled up at his side and resting her head somewhere between his chest and his stomach, she threw one of her tiny arms around him and hugged him tightly.
“Daddy,” she mumbled.
Ron wrapped one arm around his daughter and running his fingers through her thick flame-red hair, he smiled at Hermione, who still stood in the doorway, half leaning against the frame.
“Ready for story time?”
“Yes,” Rosie nodded excitedly.
“Alright, so this is the story of Little Roy and his Little Red Nose, it looks just like yours,” Ron said and tapped Rosie’s bright red nose.
Hermione chuckled and Rosie lifted her head and frowned.
“Is Little Roy sick too?”
“No,” Ron shook his head. “Your nose is all red from you blowing it too much all day. Little Roy’s Little Red Nose is all red because the sun burnt it on one hot day in late spring. That day Little Roy went on a big adventure to discover the joys of magic…”
“I already know magic,” Rosie said, with as smug an expression as a nearly five-year-old child could muster.
Ron smiled.
“Ah, but I’m sure I've got a few things I can still surprise you with, sweetheart,” he said warmly. He combed his fingers through Rosie’s hair again and out of the corner of his eye, he noted that Hermione was now sitting on the floor in the doorway with her knees pulled up to her chest. She’d wrapped her arms around her legs and was resting her chin on her left knee.
Apparently, their daughter wasn’t the only one who liked it when he made up stories on the spot.
“OK then, but before we get started, we’re going to need a red nose, so that you’ll know exactly what Little Roy’s Little Red Nose looks like and also so you can squeeze it whenever you feel like it,” Ron said.
Looking around the room, he summoned one of Rosie’s smaller teddy bears and waving his wand, he swiftly transfigured it into a squishy red clown nose. He pulled it apart and the moment he stuck it onto his own nose Rosie started giggling quite uncontrollably. She reached out and squeezed his nose and each time she did, he made a strange sound, a mixture between an old-fashioned car horn and a calf’s bleat. Rosie laughed and coughed and sneezed and he helped her blow her nose. He then settled them both into a slightly more comfortable position and began his little story.
For the next half hour or so, Ron told his daughter the fantastic story of a little boy with a bright red nose and his journey into the fantastic world of magic — a world quite different to their own magical world. He made up fantastic creatures, that didn’t exist in real life, and told her of a magical place far, far away.
Every time Rosie got excited about something she’d squeeze his red squishy clown nose and he’d make that strange sound that had her giggling in her arms but as he gradually ended the story, Rosie grew more and more tired — the Pepper-Up potion was finally taking effect and by the time he finished his made-up tale, she was fast asleep. Since she was sleeping half on top of him, Ron didn’t dare to move and decided to doze next to his daughter for a while.
Hermione, who’d stayed to listen for the whole story, slowly got up, stretched, and walking up to him, she bent down and gave him a kiss.
“I’ll make us some tea,” she whispered.
“I’ll be down in a while,” Ron said.
He caught Hermione’s left hand and placed a soft kiss on top of her thin wedding band, then let her go. He napped beside his daughter for a while, then carefully disentangled himself from her embrace, tucked Rosie in and gently slipping his squishy red nose into her small hand, he kissed her forehead and left the room. He made his way downstairs and into the kitchen and leaning against the doorframe, he watched Hermione bustle around the room for a minute or two, then decided to make his presence known and walking up to his wife, he hugged her from behind.
Ron pressed a kiss to her cheek and hugged her tight.
“Let’s have another one,” he whispered and she turned in his embrace.
“Where’s that sexy red nose of yours?” she asked with a wicked glint in her eyes.
“I’ll charm you another one if you indulge me later tonight,” he chuckled.
Hermione looked at him and he noted the cheeky glint in her warm brown eyes.
“I’ll happily indulge you later tonight but just so you know, we already made another one.”
Ron’s eyes widened.
“Seriously?”
Hermione nodded.
“I’m sure.”
Ron took his wife’s face into his hands, pressed a warm sloppy kiss to her lips, then wrapped his arms around her waist and spun her around the kitchen.
“You, Hermione Granger, are the best woman that ever happened to me,” he said.
Hermione laughed.
“Don’t let your daughter ever hear you say that. The moment she’s old enough to do magic, she’ll hang you upside down.”