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Hermione clips the fox barrette in her curly hair, pinning back an unruly strand as Ron slips her foot into her jelly sandal. The strap tightens against her ankle, a tap on her other shin prompting Hermione to lift the other foot. Cool plastic on the sole of her foot, and it is clad in its sandal, too. Ron pushes himself up from where he’d been kneeling, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. Hermione smiles up at him, giggling when he boops her nose with his index finger.
“Did you pick a cardigan?” he asks. She points to the sofa, where a purple and pink sweater is draped across the throw pillows. He grins, “What a good choice, love.” With a few tugs of Hermione’s hand, they’re standing by the arm of the sofa, her arms outstretched as Ron helps her slip the cardigan over her shoulders. He buttons it before she can ask, knowing how her fingers tend to fumble when she tries.
The nerves in her left arm never fully healed from her encounter with Bellatrix Lestrange’s poisoned knife at Malfoy Manor. They’re damaged; dulled, and though they’re slowly getting stronger, her motor control will never be the same. It’s led to many breakdowns in the kitchen over broken dishes that slipped from her fingers, or containers she just can’t open. He’s taken to doing these things for her whenever possible. She fought him on it at first, afraid to be a burden, but he made it clear that he wanted to help her, and eventually she agreed it really was for the best.
She’s realized that he really does love it, the way she lets him take care of her.
“Do your sandals feel okay?” Ron asks, smoothing Hermione’s sweater. She rolls her eyes, nodding her head before giggling,
“You worry too much, Daddy.” The title just slips out, as it often does when she’s right on the edge of regressing. When her mind is beginning to melt into her hazy, safe littlespace.
“I think I worry the right amount,” Ron counters. “And don’t think I didn’t see that eye roll, missy.” He raises an eyebrow and Hermione blushes, turning to find her tote bag before he can see her sheepish expression. It’s mostly empty; it’s not like she needs to carry much around when Ron is insistent on taking care of her every need, but she enjoys the feeling of the straps on her shoulder. And the compliments she gets when people see the cute illustration (Angelina Ballerina, of course) don’t hurt, either.
“Whatever you say,” Hermione giggles before tugging on his sleeve. “Are you ready to go yet?”
“Almost,” Ron chuckles. “Be patient. I just have to make sure I’ve got my wallet and keys.” He pats his pockets, pulling out the car key before leading Hermione out the front door. He opens her car door for her, always the gentleman, and then clambers into his own seat, tucking his long legs into the sedan. “Alright, which store are we feeling today?”
“Tesco!” Hermione decides after a few moments of deliberation. Ron grins, backing out of the drive with a comforting hand on Hermione’s shoulder.
“Tesco’s it is.”
“It’s not Tesco’s, Daddy, it’s just Tesco,” Hermione groans, bringing up the silly debate they’ve had just about a million times.
“I know, but I like calling it Tesco’s,” Ron fires back, a smirk blooming on his face.
“But you’re wrong!” Hermione exclaims. “Doesn’t that bother you?”
“Not as much as it bothers you, poppet,” the ginger grins easily. They turn into the parking lot, Hermione huffing once more about how ridiculous it is to insist on calling it the wrong thing, and Ron just chuckles again. “You’re fighting a losing battle, Mione.”
“Whatever,” she grumbles, but she lets Ron open her door for her, and by the time he’s helping her out of the car, a hand clasping hers with the other at her elbow, she’s forgotten about it, already enraptured by the excitement of going shopping at Tesco while little. They’ve done shopping sprees while she’s little before, but it’s always just as exciting as the first time. If she wasn’t already mostly regressed during the car ride, Hermione’s definitely little now, her eyes big as she takes in the big parking lot and the storefront while Ron’s hand presses lightly on her back.
His gentle steering leads her to the automatic sliding doors, Hermione’s mind too occupied with getting inside to worry about trivial things like not tripping over her feet. She barely notices Ron grabbing a shopping cart, her hand tucked into the crook of his elbow as she points to the big sign proclaiming “Toys” in the back.
“Can we go there first?” she asks, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
“Of course we can, love. Remember, this trip is for you. You get to decide where we go.” Hermione practically skips to the toy section, getting distracted only once by a service dog. Ron quickly reminds her not to try to pet service animals, no matter how cute they are, and Hermione pouts, telling him that she knew that already and she just wanted to look at the dog from slightly closer.
“I was just making sure you remembered!” he laughs, her pout soon giving way to a smile as she remembers where they were headed before she got distracted. Hermione makes a beeline for the aisle with the dolls first, reminding Ron that he promised she could get even more furniture for her Teamson Kids doll, Hailey. Ron agrees immediately; even if he hadn’t promised anything, he would still buy her more furniture for her doll. She carries Hailey around with her everywhere when she’s regressed at their flat. It’s adorable, the way Hermione will curl up on the couch next to Ron while they watch a movie, patiently brushing the doll’s long red hair as she murmurs sweet nothings in her vinyl ears.
“Daddy! Look!” Hermione’s excited gasp draws Ron from his thoughts, and he ambles over to where she’s pointing.
“What is it, poppet?” She claps her hands with a squeal and points again. Ron can see her trying to form the words, but it’s obvious her brain is going too fast for her mouth to catch up as she stumbles over words. He looks closer at the box she’s pointing to, smiling when he realizes what it is.
“It’s a closet for Hailey, huh?” Hermione nods, sighing in relief that he’d figured out what she was trying to say.
“Sorry. My words—they got stuck again, Daddy.” She motions with a frustrated grimace to her brain. Ron pulls her into a tight hug, kissing the top of her head before inhaling the floral scent of her shampoo.
“Don’t apologize, baby. I figured it out.” She grins up at him, then turns back to the little play closet.
“So can I get it? For Hailey? It’s pink!” Ron grabs the box and places it carefully in the shopping cart, ruffling Hermione’s hair as she does a happy dance in the middle of the aisle. She’s letting the little girl inside of her peek out more than she usually would in public, but Ron isn’t complaining. He knew if they went shopping during school hours they’d get the toy section to themselves, and he’d hoped that would result in Hermione feeling free to be herself. His wish is granted, and he watches her shimmy to her own melody for a few moments before something else catches her eye.
“Oh, Daddy! It’s a tea party set!” she whispers, grasping the pink wicker carrying case with gentle hands. Ron is a steady presence at her elbow, letting her examine the toy on her own, but keeping his hands ready to catch it if it falls from her grip. “The tea cups are so beautiful,” Hermione adds, awe filling her voice. Ron loves Hermione all the time, but he always feels especially lucky to be hers when he gets to watch her fall in love with the world again, even if it’s a tea party playset that prompted it.
Hermione carefully places the basket on the ground before plopping down unceremoniously next to it. Ron almost reminds her how dirty the floors are, but decides to let it go when he sees her carefully opening the case to look at the toys inside. They’re taped down, so she can’t pick them up, but she traces her fingers over them and taps her fingernail against one of the saucers. It makes a clinking noise and she giggles before turning to Ron matter-of-factly.
“I would like this,” she tells him with a demure smile on her face. He nods readily; whatever she wants, he’ll do for her. And watching her examine the toy with such interest had made his heart explode a little bit, so he’s even more easily convinced than normal.
“Then you’ll have it,” he grins, adding it to the cart. Hermione gives him a kiss as a thank you before leading him to the next aisle at his gentle prompting, eyes scanning shelves as she waits for something to grab her attention. She glances at a few pretend food playsets, brushing her fingers along the painted wood but moving on after a few seconds of careful deliberation. Eventually, she comes to a stop in front of a wooden dairy delivery set, one of her sandals squeaking on the tiled floor. With her good hand, Hermione curls her fist around the handle of the set, gently lowering it to the floor before carefully examining its contents.
“It has a strawberry milkshake!” she tells Ron excitedly, pointing to the pink carton nestled in the corner. “And a pot of berry yogurt, too!” Ron squats next to her, letting Hermione show him the different pieces in the playset before asking,
“Should we bring it home with us, or is it for another day?” Hermione hums, thinking about it for a moment before pointing to the cart, murmuring her thanks when he places it next to the doll closet from earlier. He watches with a grin as Hermione begins to drift towards the art supplies. She points out a few craft kits they’ve done before, asking him if he remembers how much fun they’d had. He grins as he takes in the bright-eyed enthusiasm on Hermione’s face, reassuring her that he’s kept every coloring sheet and craft safe on the top most shelf of his office bookcase.
Hermione ambles through the crafting section, putting a make-your-own bug hotel kit in the cart before wandering into the outdoor toys section. She looks uninterested in most of it. Ron has seen firsthand how hard it is for her to play with most of the outdoor kid toys, since most of them require both hands. She’ll be fine for a few minutes, but then her bad arm will get tired and act up, and it usually leads to a meltdown. Ron does everything he can to help her avoid them, but there’s not much he can do when her arm stops working right. Even the doctors couldn’t fix it, and he’s not even close to a doctor. All in all, Hermione tends to stay away from outdoor toys, finding them not worth the hassle.
So Ron is surprised when Hermione seems to pause in front of a big, brightly colored box. It’s definitely something outdoorsy, and she tilts her head to the side, bottom lip caught between her teeth, reaching out a tentative hand to brush along the picture on the front. Ron hangs back a little with the cart, not wanting to startle her or stop her from considering the toy, excited that she seems to have found something she likes. She eventually moves on to another toy, but she doesn’t seem to truly examine anything else, and she keeps glancing back at the box that had caught her eye. Ron moves a little closer and takes in the image on the box. It’s a water and sand activity table shaped like a tree, with platforms in the leaves and little spouts going from section to section. It even has a little water wheel.
Ron can see why it must have caught Hermione’s eye. It’s cutesy and bright, and it doesn’t require fine motor control to play with. It’s the type of toy that you splash around and make a mess with; the kind of toy that’s all about sensory play rather than precision. It’s perfect for Hermione—the kind of outdoor toy that she can play with, stress-free.
But for some reason, Hermione is pretending not to like it, and Ron can’t tell why. She’s usually very upfront about wanting things—hell, the way she asked for the tea set earlier is proof. So why is she avoiding Ron’s eyes as she pretends not to notice him examining the activity table?
“Poppet, isn’t this water and sand activity table so cool?” he asks, hoping she’ll admit her interest in the toy with a little encouragement. But she just shrugs, glancing up at him before breaking eye contact.
“Don’ know,” she mumbles, clenching and unclenching the fabric of her cardigan in her good hand. Her left hand is shaking by her side, twitching like it often does on bad days. Ron lets out a sympathetic noise and wraps his arms around her, kissing the top of her head.
“Mione, love, maybe I’m wrong, but I thought I saw you looking at it a few minutes ago.” When she doesn’t respond, he adds, “If you don’t like it, that’s okay, but if you want it and are too scared to ask for it, I want to remind you that I don’t want you to feel scared to ask for anything.” It takes her a moment, but the curly-haired woman eventually lifts her head from where she’d buried it in his shoulder to whisper,
“But it’s for ones who are ‘ittler than me.” Ron looks down at her in surprise. Of all the worries for her to have, he hadn’t expected that to be her hang up.
“Hermione, remember what we talked about a little bit ago? About how toys don’t have certain ages that are allowed to play with them?” She nods, and he continues, “What did I say when you were worried about using a bottle, do you remember?”
“You said—you said that if I wan’ed it, I could use it even if I wasn’ feelin’ as small as a baby. ‘Cause it’s for any ‘ittle.”
“Good girl, little one! That’s exactly what I said,” Ron praises, reveling in the blush that spreads across Hermione’s cheeks. “So don’t you think the same is true for this activity table?” Hermione bites her lip before slowly nodding.
“T’at makes sense, I guess.” She fidgets with the end of her cardigan for a few more seconds before her face lights up. It’s almost as if a switch has been flipped in her mind. “Wait! T’at—t’at means I can play wi’ it even when ‘m not feelin’ super ‘ittle?” Ron chuckles; this is obviously one of those moments when his words didn’t fully compute until Hermione thought about them more, but he doesn’t mind—he loves watching her eyes light up when something finally clicks.
“Yeah, it does! You can play with it whenever you want, even if you aren’t little at all!” Hermione bounces on the balls of her feet, hesitation gone as excitement for her new toy takes over.
“Even when I’m not ‘ittle?” she gasps.
“Uh-huh!” Ron laughs, and he loads the big, cardboard box into their cart. Hermione immediately starts leading them towards the checkout, too excited about her new toys to shop any longer, and Ron follows along, happy to do anything Hermione asks if it means she’s got that sweet, childlike joy on her face. The kind of joy that means she’s healing.
And if he has to vacuum sand out of the rug later because she treks some inside after testing out her new toy, so be it. Hermione is happy. Ron is happy. Everything is alright. And that’s enough for him.