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Ron Weasley eased the door shut behind him, careful not to let it creak. The argument already in progress had likely drowned out any sound he might have made It was such a contrast, the dark quiet of the night outside with the loud tension in the air, thick and charged.
“But everyone else is going!” Rose’s voice rang through the corridor, pitched high and indignant. “You can't just suddenly keep me from going because of a technicality. It’s not fair!”
No matter what people say about his daughter and how much she takes after him, she has her mother's flare for arguments. Ron suspects that, despite Rose's insistence that she play Quidditch when she grows up, the legal sphere will be more her game in the long run.
Ron removed his outer robes and kept his workbag in his study. He then loosens his tie and rolls his sleeves, bracing himself for the drama.
Hermione was already arguing back, in that strained tone that Rone knew meant she was about to take out her wand to prove a point, or worse, shout, “I said no, Rose. You can’t just go and have a sleepover without your father meeting Mr Malfoy—”
"But you know him too!"
Ron entered and barely had two seconds to assess the situation- Hermione with her hands on her hips, in her cotton tee and day pants, which meant she hadn't showered yet, and Rose, red curls coiled into one braid, dressed up in muggle tee shirt that had GIRLBOSS splattered across the front and blue jeans. Before he got the chance to announce himself, Rose turned on him, her freckled face flushed with outrage. Her red braid bounced as she threw her hands up in exasperation.
“Finally, you’re here! Tell Mum she’s being ridiculous! It’s just a sleepover at the Manor with my friends!”
"Rose, don't talk like that to your mother," He snapped, crossing his arms. "What is this about a sleepover?"
Rose curled her fingers, blue eyes burning, "I told you about this sleepover weeks ago! It's Al's birthday, and they are having a big sleepover bash at Scorpius'! Mum says I can't go without you checking the Manor-"
"It's for safety—"
"Oh, rubbish, Mum! It's a house! Scorpius lives there; he's not going to sacrifice me to a Lethifold if that's what you're worried about!"
"Rose," Ron warned.
"Everyone will be there but me, Dad." She ended the last bit with a teenage whine.
Ron remembered Rose telling him all about her first day back from King’s Cross, practically vibrating with excitement as she recounted stories about her friends—and, to his surprise, her newfound friendship with a Malfoy. It was her first year at Hogwarts, and he’d been so anxious to have her home again that he hadn’t dared say anything that might dampen her enthusiasm. Instead, he’d focused on treating her to ice cream, letting her talk as much as she wanted.
She was a Gryffindor, and at first, he’d worried about her being in a different house from Al—who had been by her side since they were babies. But Rose had always been able to stand her ground, and she’d proven it now, navigating Hogwarts with confidence. His proud, headstrong Rose.
Harry’s Slytherin son had made other friends, too, firmly rooted in the House of Snakes, and Ron had half-wondered if that influence had begun rubbing off on her. Because—
“You never mentioned the Manor specifically.”
"What does it matter? You said you were happy I was making friends outside my house!"
"It does matter because when you told me, you said it was Al's birthday and therefore I assumed it meant Harry's house, someone we've all known for years." A short glance at Hermione, "We haven't visited Malfoy Manor in years." He didn't bother explaining when or why they had visited before. "And it's not that we're prejudiced against Mr Malfoy—don't look at me like that—you know I work with Miss Parkinson. Your mother is right. We just wish we were better reacquainted so we could be sure you'd be safe. House rules, remember?"
"It's Al's birthday!"
"And it's still the House Rules," Ron finished, eyebrows raised.
Rose glared. Ron chuckled internally, and those blue eyes were definitely piercing his chest. It was humbling how similar they looked when they were upset—ears pink, lips trembling. "You would have let me go if it wasn't for Mum!"
"Rose!" He's not sure where this attitude comes from. They've talked her out of sleepovers a few times before. Being who they are, infamous because of a war and his high-stakes job, safety was always their main concern.
In fact, Ron was about to propose a truce and visit Malfoy right now. He didn't need to know much, just reassurance Malfoy knew what he was doing, housing three teens was no joke.
But then she had to storm off, "You just want to ruin my life!" her stomping footsteps echoed through the house.
Ron let out a slow breath, another glance to his wife, Hermione had two fingers pressing her forehead, as if she were trying to push back the headache threatening to overtake her. She returned his glance, the fight with their twelve-year-old slowly draining from her shoulders. He gave her a shrug, trying for the solidarity 'teenage hormones eh?', but then she sighed and disappeared into the kitchen.
Ron hesitated to follow, knowing that look. It either meant Hermione needed a hug—or was ready to shout again.
The warm, homey scent of leftover dinner filled the kitchen. Hermione was bustling around the kitchen, wiping the counters, her back to him. At the table, Hugo sat hunched over a half-eaten sandwich, his small fingers absentmindedly pulling apart the crust, and wrapping it with the sliced ham. His curly hair was a tousled mess, it looked like everyone had a rough day today.
Ron softened. “Hey, buddy.”
"Dad!”
Hugo leapt off his chair, at seven years old he was already as tall as his chest. Ron embraced him and kissed his messy red curls, inhaling the sweet scent of freshly bathed hair. At least someone was ready for a hug.
"Dad!"
"I missed you too, buddy!" Coaxing him to sit, "Let’s finish dinner together.”
Hugo nodded, showing Ron his 'bread sticks', an inventor this one, Ron muses.
Hermione finally turned around and leaned by the sink, her arms crossed, shoulders tense. Ron could feel the frustration radiating from her, but more than that, the exhaustion. Arguments and attitudes began this summer. They had expected it, and all the parenting books talked about their teenage years and how they wanted their independence. But Hermione's always been a bit touchy after arguing with her firstborn.
“I’ll talk to Harry tomorrow,” he offered, hoping to soothe the tension.
Hermione nodded curtly and handed him a plate of dinner. Tonight, it was curry, one of the few dishes she makes when she is in a good mood—or was. Ron thanked her and began to dig in as she made herself a cup of tea.
Hugo was eating both bread sticks together at the same time.
These days, Ron Weasley carries a handful of titles. Husband to a fiercely passionate teacher. Proud father of two. Best mate to Harry Potter. War hero and Chudley Cannon enthusiast. And now, the unexpected yet undeniable force behind the wizarding world’s rising political movement—W.A.N.D. (Wizards' Alliance for New Democracy).
Once known for his quick wit and unwavering loyalty, he’s now the voice of the working class, the defender of struggling wizarding families, and the man reframing wizard–Muggle cooperation as more than just an ideal—it’s an economic strategy for the future.
His party’s motto? A Fairer Fight, A Stronger Wand.
No one could have predicted his venture into politics. After the war, he had signed up with the Aurors alongside Harry, spending years learning the law and working through the endless bureaucracy. But something always felt missing. He saw the same old families wielding power, the same cycles repeating. It frustrated him—watching working-class witches and wizards struggle while a privileged few reaped the benefits of a so-called reformed world. A world he and his friends had fought and nearly died for.
Yes, he was given handsome compensation, and an Auror’s paycheck was nothing to scoff at. He could have worked his way up to Head of the DMLE if he wanted. But Hermione’s passion for shaping society and, well, the thought of his own children fuelled something different in him. His frustration turned into action, and before he knew it, he was at the helm of a movement—a grassroots push for economic reform that challenged traditionalist policies and, to his own surprise, started gaining traction.
People had always assumed Hermione would be the one to go into politics. And she had given it a fair try. Ron still remembered those long evenings waiting in the Ministry atrium after work just so he could walk home with her. After completing her NEWTs, she had pursued a career in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, determined to help those in need. Ron had been all for it. She had the ideas, the drive—she spent days in courtrooms and in front of the Wizengamot, pushing for laws to be changed, advocating for the rights of magical beings.
After having Rose, she sought a career change, moving into legal work. Ron had seen the strain she was under, trying to juggle a demanding job and a newborn. He had even been willing to put his own Auror career on hold—it wouldn’t be forever, but his baby girl needed a parent at home. While Harry climbed the ranks, Ron didn’t mind taking more desk duty, coming home by five, and spending time with his child.
Those were the rose-tinted days he looked back on fondly. A simple life. Mornings spent making breakfast, evenings preparing dinner, and later, greeting Hermione at night with tea in hand. It had seemed inevitable that her future lay in the Ministry of Magic.
Then Hugo arrived.
And Hermione made the difficult decision to quite her job. He would never had agreed if Hermione wasn't a hundred percent sure.
Years passed—years of waiting, navigating bureaucracy, watching the same Ministry shenanigans play out. Ron was leading a team. Hermione sought another career change in education. But when no real change came, Ron took up the mantle instead.
Pansy Parkinson, of all people, had become one of his strongest allies. Once a sneering schoolgirl, now a key member of his team. She had lost much of her social standing after the war and started her career as a journalist—an unexpected turn that led to an unexpected passion for the plight of the working class.
It had been hard to believe at first, but Pansy had always wielded her quill for those who couldn’t speak for themselves. She was good with people, sharp with words, and had an instinctive understanding of social structures. Where Ron had the gut instincts, she had the polish.
And as much as it sometimes baffled him, their working relationship… worked.
She stood before him now, in a black blazer and pencil skirt, pointing at a chart laid across his desk.
“These are the list of wizarding companies who are all interested in creating partnership with Squibs to form muggle adjacent bussinesses,” she said, tapping a manicured finger against the parchment. “Highlight wizard–Muggle cooperation and push for those new magical therapy subsidies. Our donations might not be a lot but the numbers are promising."
Ron nodded, rubbing his chin. “We can work with that, if we can show we support families—like mine—it might resonate well.”
They chatted a bit more about some policies, Pansy suggested some strategies for the campaign.
He glanced at his wrist watch and already it was late. Pansy bid him goodbye and he knew he had to review most of the letters tonight before he could leave. His thoughts were already slipping away, wandering back home. He knew what he was giving up but he still hated the hours he had to spend away, the constant pressure to be somewhere else, there was just a lot that one had to do as a small party. He was doing this for them anyway.
He barely had time to settle back into the conversation before a bright silver light cut through the room. The stag patronus shimmered before him, and Harry’s voice rang clear:
“Ron, I just got a Floo-call from Hermione—Rose is at the Manor with Albus and Scorpius. I assumed you’d given permission, mate.”
Ron’s heart dropped. Was that tonight? They had this argument two nights ago and Ron and Hermione had barely discussed a plan of action and Rose decided for herself.
She went anyway.
A familiar prickle of frustration and guilt twisted in his chest. Ron had made it a point to visit Malfoy. He wasn't really upset about rose visiting the manor, but after Hugo, Hermione was easily worried and one thing they both took seriously was their child's safety. He’d let the chaos of work take over. Again.
He grabbed his jacket without hesitation. He'd have to deal with his papers tomorrow.
Ron didn’t waste another second. He hurried down the stairs, left his office, past the smell of fresh bread wafting up from the bakery below, and out into the busy streets of Diagon Alley.
As he turned on the spot to Apparate, all he could think was how familiar this feeling had become—the constant rush, the endless pressure to meet demands, always on a time crunch.
Ron landed in front of the wrought-iron gates of Malfoy Manor, dread curling in his stomach like a coiled snake. The imposing gates stood tall before him, cold and unwelcoming, much like the man he was about to face. He exhaled sharply, bracing himself before striding forward.
Just like everyone else, Malfoy had also changed after the war. He was more subdued and worked on his own projects most of the time. There was barely any news about him in the papers, save for three announcements, his marriage to Astoria Greengrass, the birth of his son Scorpius and the news his wife was ill. If Harry could let school grudges behind, so could Ron. Hogwart House rivalries were kind of stupid outside of school. People paired off and worked together. But after almost two decades, Ron's stomach still does a weird flip as he marches through the ostentatious gardens leading to Malfoy's front porch.
The moment he knocked, he found Draco Malfoy standing in the grand foyer.
“Weasley,” Malfoy greeted him.
"Malfoy."
"The children just had dinner, Scorpius is showing off his room. Has Rose forgotten something?"
Ron took his hand to shake it once, "Yeah, her parents permission."
A single arched brow raised, "She didn't inform you? Scorpius made it sound like this was agreed upon since their train ride."
"A cheeky misunderstanding, I assumed different."
Malfoy frowned, "Is this because they are in my home?" The way he said it, made it obvious he he was mildly offended.
"It's not you, Malfoy; I'm sure everything's fine. It's just our family rules, we don't let our children sleep over without, uh, being acquainted with the parents, I was going to floo call you. But with everything going on..."
"Ah, yes, Pansy has mentioned your latest projects a few times." Malfoy smirked, "Either your daughter is secretly a Slytherin, or you have your hands full with a rogue lioness."
"Tell me about it. Uh, I don't want to embarrass her, and I really want her to have fun, but-"
"She did break a rule," Malfoy agreed. "Well, better you than me."
"You want them happy...but you have to be responsible." Ron agreed.
When Malfoy led him to Scorpius' room, the colour drained from Rose face, and shock quickly morphed into anger.
"You're not really here to take me home are you? I'm already here!"
Reigning in his temper, "Let's discuss outside, where there aren't any privy ears?"
Rose huffed, throwing back a braid. Albus and Scorpius were both frowning with concern, Malfoy followed Rose's antics with a surpressed smile.
As soon as the door closed, Rose shot off, “Gosh, that was so embarassing dad! Why can’t you let me just have fun with my friends?” she demanded, her voice cracking. “Why are you so… boring like Mum?”
Ron felt something twist painfully in his chest. "Hey, back up, don't start hounding on your mother! All we asked is that you respect our rules and wait for me to give you the all clear."
"But I knew you would make a fuss! Why? It's just the Malfoys!"
“You didn’t get permission, Rose,” he said, forcing his voice to remain calm, though he could feel his patience thinning. “That’s the point. You know you can’t just run off, we've never said you couldn't go, if you had been a bit patient or discussed with me, we could have worked something out, but instead you're running off and upsetting your mother-”
Rose threw up her hands. “Discussing goes no where, Mum is always on my case! You never have time! You didn’t bother to talk to Mr Malfoy, I waited! But then, nothing! I knew Mum wouldn't let me go!”
Ron exhaled sharply. “Rose, I'm sorry I always make you wait for me, my job- ”
“Is always making you busy” she cut in, her voice laced with something more than just anger. “It's always mum or Hugo or your bloody job, but never me!”
"That's not true!" he said, his voice firm, and the flicker of surprise in her eyes made his stomach clench. “I get that you’re upset, but you can't throw a tantrum and say hurtful things just because you feel like it." Godric, he felt like a hypocrite because how many times has he gone off his rockers and said something stupid. He didn't want Rose to repeat his mistakes. "I came by to check on you and give you a stern warning but now I'm thinking I don't want to encourage this behaviour. We need to regroup, we're going home."
"But Al's birthday!"
"Will still be here, in the morning, IF you apologise to your mother," He ended sternly.
Rose crossed her arms tightly, her lower lip trembling, but she didn’t say anything. Ron sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, Malfoy was waiting behind the door.
“Sorry for the trouble,” Ron said, trying not to sound as miserable as he felt. “We’ll head home and I'll drop her off tomorrow morning.”
Malfoy tilted his head, "We'll have a good chat then, so next time this doesn't happen again."
Ron shook his hand, "I'm taking you up on that,"
He placed a hand on Rose’s shoulder, gently steering her toward the door.
Arriving home, Rose dashed upstairs without a word, slamming her bedroom door. The sound reverberated through the house, leaving behind a silence heavier than any shouting match. Ron let out a breath, dragging a hand through his hair before stepping further inside. So much for admonishing your teenager and being firm on expectations. Hermione was waiting in the living room, arms folded tightly across her chest. Her hair was damp and she had on her sleep wear at least.
“Well?”
“We talked, and it escalated, she was rude, so I decided to take her home."
"Draco said anything?"
“He seemed more amused than upset,” Ron took off his robes and slumped on the arm chair with a groan, “but yeah, this new attitude… it’s a problem."
"She's acting out," Hermione said lowly. "She's frustrated and she's lashing it out on us."
The twinge of guilt again, "I know, I know I should have made it a point to meet Malfoy sooner, but I got caught up, maybe next time you can-"
"Just because I don't have a desk job doesn't mean I'm not busy." Hermione said so sharply, it caught him off guard.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
"You know I try to manage both Rose and Hugo alone, I love them but mighty magic, they can both be a handful, and you can't just push all the child responsibilities on me,"
"Love, I was merely suggesting-"
"You had one job, to meet Draco, I could have done it yes, but I thought you would."
Heat creeping into his voice. “I’m doing my best. I forgot one thing, I'm sorry, I went and handled Rose because I knew you'd worry, what more do you want me to do?”
She doesn't meet his eyes, "I'm just juggling my job," she pulled back a stray hair covering her face, "and Hugo's therapy and now Rose is having tantrums, it's a lot-"
"And I appreciate you, everything you do, especially for Hugo." Ron wanted to hold her hand, he made to stand. "The campaign is a bit tight—”
“I know it’s important!” Hermione snapped, her voice rising. “I'm not telling you to quit!"
"Then what are you telling me?" Ron asked bewildered.
Hermione sat on the couch, rigid, her hands pressing against her temples. Her breathing was fast and shallow.
Her fingers drifted down to her collarbone, pressing into the skin there, then tracing slow, restless circles against her throat. Ron knew that gesture—she did it when she was thinking, when she was overwhelmed.
For a long, taut moment, they simply stood there, both breathing hard, staring at each other across the chasm that had somehow formed between them.
Then, from upstairs, came a sudden, alarming cry.
All their tension evaporated in an instant. Hermione’s head whipped toward the staircase, and Ron was already moving, both of them rushing toward Hugo’s room.
The moment they reached the corridor, the sight of Hugo trembling violently on the floor stole the breath from Hermione’s lungs.
Rose was already there, crouched beside him, they've been through this before, she knew not to touch him for fear his magic would las out. But her eyes were still wide with panic and she wouldn't leave Hugo alone.
When she saw them her voice was shrill, “The lights flickered and the walls shook and I knew it was happening again—”
Hugo’s small frame was wracked with convulsions, his eyes rolled back, his magic reacting uncontrollably, sending sharp bursts of energy crackling in the air like tiny lightning strikes. Ron cast a protective charm around Rose while Hermione dropped to her knees beside their son, her wand already in her shaking hand.
“He’s having a magical seizure."
Ron was right beside her, his large hands carefully bracing Hugo without holding him down too tightly. He gritted his teeth against the attack of magic- swarm of tiny ants crawling from his fingers to his arms. “We’ve got you, buddy, everything is going to be okay,” he whispered, his own voice thick with controlled panic.
“Rose, get St. Mungo’s on the Floo." Hermione whipped her Patranous. "Harry, it's Hugo, he's having a seizure, please come."
Rose didn’t hesitate. Her panic crystallized into action, and she sprang up, flying down the stairs with single-minded urgency.
Hermione’s wand flicked desperately as she cast stabilizing spells, murmuring incantations under her breath, adjusting as best she could to counteract the erratic bursts of Hugo’s magic.
Ron stayed grounded, his presence steady, his hand on Hugo’s arm reassuring even as the boy’s body jerked.
“Stay with us, Hugo… come on, son,” he murmured, leaning close. He hated seeing Hugo like this. All shaky and pale and his magic now cutting the curtains.
The next moments blurred into a flurry of magic and desperation. Footsteps thundered up the stairs, Harry and Ginny before arrived with the Healer on duty. The Healer wasted no time, kneeling beside Hermione, joining her in stabilizing Hugo’s magic with precise counterspells and whispered reassurances.
The wild sparks in the air dimmed. The violent trembling eased. Slowly, Hugo’s small body slackened, the storm within him dissipating. The room exhaled with him, though he remained unconscious.
The Healer pressed two fingers gently to Hugo’s pulse before looking up.
“We need to get him to St. Mungo’s. Now.”
Rose made being a dad easy. She was such a bright child, full of life and energy. Ron fell in love with his role as a dad. He and Hermione talked about having a family and Rose made their dreams come true. For almost seven years, Ron's life revolved around his girls. Catering to their everywhim and need.
When Hugo came, Ron learnt that being a dad...was scary. As soon as he as born, Healers asked to keep him overnight to monitor him. First it was his heart palpitations, then his uneven movements, as a baby he would randomly twitch and jerk in his bundle, then it was his cries. Sometimes for two days straight and then notihng for a week.
They call it Magic Instability Disorder, where his magic has developed into a form of cancer, and hurting him instead of protecting him. Hermione cried for weeks, although the Healer said there was nothing she did to cause it, she still blamed herself. Ron's world was bleak. He loved his son even before he met him and the thought of such uncertainty scared him. There were treatments, ways to ensure he could have a normal life as much as possible. When he was a babe he needed constant monitering, Hermione was adamant to be the one who quite her job to take care of him.
"I can't spend my days in an office if I know he is hurting." She argued. And Ron admired her dedication to their family. It was an adjustment, to everyone. A new routine to help keep the dream alive.
They had multiple scares, hospital visits, new tests to understand the disease. Hugo's condition delayed his speech and mental development but he still bloomed into a happy child. Hermione began voicing her interest in education, in helping children like Hugo, and so she began her training as a teacher. For a while it felt manageable, Ron thought everything was getting better.
Perhaps the routine had been so comfortable, Ron missed the cracks, the mould on the walls growing.
The hospital room was sterile white, filled with the faint scent of healing potions. The soft beeping of monitoring spells filled the silence, a steady rhythm that felt almost intrusive in the otherwise quiet space. Hermione sat on a chair by Hugo’s bed, her arms wrapped tightly around Rose. Both mother and daughter taking comfort from each other, tear-streaked, and emotionally drained.
Ron sat in the seat beside them, his own heart aching. Hugo's episodes nearly always reminded him how fragile and how close he was to loosing that he held dear.
The Healer tapped on her notepad to announce her presence. All three of them looked up.
“Hugo needs more regimented therapy,” she began. “We can monitor him here for a few days, but we think the problem isn't going away. The disruptive magic is contained in his left arm for now, but we think we need much more concise action, for his sake.”
"When you mean concise?"
"We're thinking a magical surgery."
Hermione gasped. Ron's stomach fell. They were hoping to avoid that for as long as possible.
"Even if we do this surgery it's not guaranteed his seizures will stop will they?" Ron asked.
The healer gave him a pitying smile, "No, sir, with a rare disease like this, no it's not guaranteed."
Hermione nodded mutely, her fingers moving absently through both Rose and Hugo’s curls, her breath unsteady. Rose buried her face against her mother’s shoulder.
Ron scooted his chair closer to do the same. Hand on Rose's back, another on his unconciouss son's leg.
"I'm sorry mum, dad."
Ron rubbed slow circles in comfort. "We'll talk about that later... it's all passing clouds now."
"But I feel awful." Her lips quivering.
“You’re not awful, Rosie,” he reassured. “We’ve all just been… under a lot of pressure.”
Rose sniffled, lifting her head just enough to meet his gaze. “I didn’t mean to make things worse,” she mumbled. “I just— I didn’t think.”
Hermione kissed Rose’s forehead, brushing a stray curl from her face. “We’ll figure this out, love."
The three of them huddled together in a quiet embrace, pressing close, drawing comfort from each other. They had been splintering at the edges, but here, in the stillness of the hospital room, they felt like one piece again.
Harry and Ginny dropped by, then it was Ron's and Hermione's parents. They recieved more devastating news that Hugo's magic was disruptive enough and concentrated enough in one area, they hope the removal of his arm would help him improve. It was all emotionally draining.
Ron thought about his work, about his time in office and his family.
“I love you,” he blurted, the words coming thick with emotion. “Both of you. I know I get things wrong, I know I’m not always around the way I should be, but I love you more than anything.”
Hermione lifted her gaze, exhaustion shadowing her faace. “I know,” she said softly. “And I love you, Ron. I love this family. Things that I said...” she exhaled, rubbing her temples, “I don’t want to resent any of you for what's happening, it's just... it's been a lot, for both of us and it was unfair of me to unload it on you.”
Rose was dozing on Hermione's shoulder, Ron held his wife's hand and pushed a strand of hair that fell atop Rose's sleeping face. “You can’t keep swallowing everything and not exploding. You should unload.” he said, a lopsided grin breaking through the tension. “We can take turns and do this. Stop assuming I won’t help you. I’m on your team.”
Hermione let out a breathy laugh, something fragile but real. Her fingers curled around his, squeezing lightly. “I know,” she whispered. "I'm sorry i have trouble asking help."
"I'm sorry I make you feel like you have to ask."
They both leaned in and kissed.
The turmoil and worry calmed some.
When they pulled apart, Rose made a sound of protest. “Ugh. Did you have to do that here?”
Ron chuckled, ruffling her hair. “Sorry, love. But your mum’s brilliant. Can’t help myself.”
Later that evening, Hugo finally stirred, his breathing slow but steady, and the Healers reassured them he’d be fine. The surgery was scheduled. The weight pressing down on their chests loosened, but exhaustion clung to them both. Relieved but still shaken, Ron and Hermione slipped out to a small waiting area just outside his room, letting Rose sleep properly ona guest cot, the quiet of the corridor wrapping around them like a fragile cocoon.
Her fingers were cold, her grip loose. He turned her hand over gently and pressed his lips to her knuckles, eveyr digit of her fingers, letting the warmth of the gesture linger.
“I’m sorry, ‘Mione,” he murmured. “I know this has been hard on you—on us.”
"It's been hard on all of us."
“You’re right,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I hate leaving you alone with all this. I’m always worried about Hugo, too… and I thought, maybe if I worked harder in politics, I could make your dreams come true, in a way, for us. But it was costing us a lot.”
Hermione squeezed his hand. “I don't regret changing careers, if the roles were reversed, I'm positive I would be as obsessed about work as you are, probably more." She placed a hand on his chest. "I'm so proud of all the work you've done."
"It doesn't have to be all i do now." He's decided. “I’m going to step back,” he said softly. “Let Pansy take the lead for a while.”
"Ron-"
"Hugo needs us, it's not forever, I will still be part of the party, but Hugo and Rose need both of their parents."
Hermione wiped her eyes using the back of her hand.
"Love?" Ron asked.
"I'm relieved but I also feel like I failed?" she blinked wetness from her eyes. "Logically I know this is the right thing to do, but I wished... I wished I could do it alone and support us."
"It was never your burden to bear alone." Ron denied. "That's not fair on you or the kids, we're a team. The Weasleys, we're a team."
Hermione smiled wetly. “Thank you,” she whispered. “We’ll figure out how to manage… together.”
Ron nodded, shifting closer, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead.
"You and me love."