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I Do Not Own Harry Potter
All Characters Appearing In This Work Are Fictitious. Any Resemblance To Real Persons, Living Or Dead Is Purely Coincidental.
A Father and His Son
February 2000
The Burrow
It was party time at the Burrow, and for once, it wasn’t anyone’s birthday. This celebration was in Ron’s honor. He’d recently received a pay raise at the Ministry of Magic, where he worked as an Auror. After just a year and a half — or a year, if you didn’t count training — he had already climbed two rungs up the Auror Division ladder, from Auror Junior Grade to Senior Auror Specialist. The promotion brought more respect, more responsibility, and a 500 Galleon increase in pay, bringing his monthly salary to around 2,300 Galleons after taxes.
Ron was enjoying the attention. He was rarely in the spotlight, and though he’d mostly made peace with his insecurities, they still crept up on him now and then. Moody’s old catchphrase — Constant Vigilance — still rang true. It was ironic, really, that a former Death Eater had inspired him to become an Auror in the first place.
But tonight, Ron was content to live in the moment, letting his mum fuss over him like she used to when he was a boy. It reminded him of simpler days, when his biggest worry was staying ahead of the twins’ next prank.
As he strolled sown memory lane, his eyes wandered to the old oak cabinet they’d dragged out of the attic. The wooden doors had long gone, but Dad had fitted glass ones and proper shelves. It looked decent now, and it was far from empty. After the war, with everyone too well‑known to sneak into pubs unnoticed, the family had sort of built their own bar.
What started when Nigel Granger handed Dad a bottle of Scotch back in ’98 had turned into a tradition.And it wasn’t just the Burrow anymore. Most of them had their own homes now, each with a similar setup thanks to duplication and refilling charms. Those charms kept the costs down, but Ron swore they messed with the taste — subtle, but enough that every few months someone still bought a fresh bottle.
Truth be told, they barely drank with their busy lives, but every couple of months someone would make a plan, and they’d end up at a house or even a Muggle pub. It wasn’t just the Weasleys either; loads of witches and wizards were trying Muggle spirits these days.
Hannah had even started stocking muggle spirits at the Leaky Cauldron. The bottles told their own story.
Dad’s Black Label was reliable and respectable. Mum’s Blue Label had that rare, smooth finish she loved.
Charlie swore by Red Label — rough, fiery, reminding him of dragons and Bulgaria. Bill liked Green Label — balanced, cool, Fleur tolerated it.
George, flashy as ever, claimed Gold Label. Percy, nudged by Audrey, leaned toward London Dry Gin, while Audrey herself preferred Bombay Sapphire.
Ron had stuck with Bell’s Scotch — straightforward, working‑man’s stuff. Ginny, sweet‑toothed, loved Baileys. Harry went for Smirnoff Vodka — clear, odorless, red label like Gryffindor, and Vernon hated it, which made it better.
Hermione, like her mum, favored Cognac — refined, serious. Fleur, though seven months pregnant and not drinking now, still swore by her French wine.
Angelina and the Quidditch lot stuck to Ogden’s Firewhisky — strong, unapologetic, wizard‑born.
Neville amd Hannah however preffred Yankee Bourbon.
But while Neville liked Knob Creek Bourbon — grounded, bold. And right beside him, Hannah’s Jack Daniel’s — smooth, social, cocktail friendly, the kind of bottle that made sense for a Hufflepuff like her.
Luna floated toward Bacardi White Rum — light, dreamy — while Rolf her new fiance preferred dark rum, heavier and adventurous.
Ron smirked. It wasn’t about getting drunk. It was about the flavors, the vibes, the stories behind each bottle.
The cabinet wasn’t just liquor — it was family, friends, and the lives they’d built since the war, all lined up on glass shelves.
His thoughts, however, were interrupted by a child’s laughter — bright and sudden, cutting through the haze of memory and pulling him back into the moment.
Across the room, Hermione was playing with little Teddy Lupin, her laughter ringing out as the toddler tried to climb into her lap, giggling all the way. The sight tugged at something deeper in Ron — thoughts of the future, of what came next.
Since the war, everyone had slowly drifted into their own lives. Harry and Ginny were building something real. Ron still saw Harry often, but he spent more time these days with Hermione and her parents, helping her rebuild the fragile bridge between them and trying to understand their world a little better.
Although it had come as a rude shock when they heard Luna, of all people, was the first of their lot to settle down.
Luna — free‑spirited, quirky — had found someone almost as odd as her, though thankfully a bit more normal. Well, normal was relative when it came to those two. But still...
Not that there was anything wrong with Luna, of course. She was a good‑looking bird, he supposed, and Rolf didn’t seem intimidated by the Weasleys and the rest of her friends, Coming from a famous family himself, he held his own.
Though despite being engaged, the vouple couldn’t seem to fix a date for the wedding. Always saying something like right after the next expedition. Typical Luna — even settling down had to be done her own way.
Still, Ron preferred his women bushy‑haired. But as long as the two were happy, that was what mattered. besides from what he heard the two were quite successful in their own right. Well she was a Ravenclaw afterall so she wasn't hurting for brains.
The same to a lesser extent was true for the rest of the DA as well
Arthur Weasley, seated across from his youngest son, noticed the faraway look in Ron’s eyes.
“You seem to be thinking deep thoughts, son,” he said with a smile. “Why don’t you share them with me? I hear dads are good at that sort of thing.”
He chuckled at his own joke, then added, “So tell me — is living on your own everything you imagined it would be?”
Ron chuckled. The war had aged his father too — his eyes were more tired, his hairline retreating faster than ever. Despite his best efforts, time was catching up with him.
After the war, Arthur had been content to return to his beloved Muggle artifacts, but Kingsley had other plans. By executive order, he’d promoted Arthur to Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, even giving him a seat on the Wizengamot. The new role came with more responsibility — and a significant pay bump.
Ron sighed and emptied his glass of Firewhiskey, the warmth lingering in his chest. Almost before he could set it down, Blinky — the new house-elf Molly had inherited from Aunt Muriel — appeared at his elbow with another.
“Thanks, Blinky,” Ron muttered, accepting it with a nod.
The elf gave a proud little bow and vanished with a soft pop, leaving Ron to his thoughts and the slow burn of the drink in his hand.
Across from him, Arthur swirled a modest glass of amber Muggle Scotch, the kind that came in a square bottle with a tart label. “Nigel — Hermione’s father — gave me this last Christmas,” he said with a smile. “Said it was one of his favorites. Not as strong as Firewhiskey, mind you, but smoother. Less bite, more warmth.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Firewhiskey, eh? You really are growing up, son.”
Ron chuckled. “Yeah. Feels like it.”
Arthur nodded, his gaze drifting toward Hermione and Teddy. “It’s been a long road. But you’ve come through it stronger. I’m proud of you.”
Ron leaned back. “To be honest, it’s everything and nothing like I imagined. Hermione and I didn’t have enough saved for our own place, so we moved into a Muggle two-bedroom flat in London with Harry and Ginny.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow. “That sounds… cozy.”
“It is,” Ron said. “Ginny had a few conditions — splitting rent and chores four ways, that sort of thing. But Harry was very clear about one thing: the hall and kitchen are common areas and must remain free of any, uh, extracurricular activities.”
Arthur chuckled. “Something tells me you weren’t thrilled about that rule. You were always the most protective of your sister.”
Ron grinned. “Let’s just say one Bat-Bogey Hex was enough to convince me to respect Ginny’s privacy. I’ve trained myself to believe that when they’re alone in their room, they’re doing nothing more risqué than playing Exploding Snap.”
He took another sip. “Right now, our share of rent and expenses comes to about 150 Galleons a month.”
Hermione’s laughter rang out again, and both men turned to see her scooping Teddy into her arms, showering him with kisses. Ron’s expression softened.
Arthur followed his gaze. “You know, with your recent pay rise, maybe it’s time to start thinking about putting down roots. Hermione’s a lovely girl, son. She won’t wait forever. Don’t let your insecurities keep you from happiness. I’m sure there are plenty of wizarding jewelers who’d be happy to—”
“No, Dad,” Ron interrupted. “I’m doing it the Muggle way. I’ve already put a down payment on a ring. Found the perfect one in Muggle London last week. It set me back a bit, but Hermione’s worth it. The bloke at the shop was nice enough to set up a monthly installment plan. In three months, the ring will be mine.”
Arthur smiled, pride shining in his eyes. “I’m proud of you, son. Just remember — love counts for a lot in marriage, but it’s not everything. Set a goal. Build a stable life for her. You know, Aunt Muriel left you that six-bedroom mansion in Godric’s Hollow. Why not restore it and move in once you’re married?”
Ron blinked. “Whoa, Dad, slow down. I haven’t even proposed yet. You’re starting to sound like Mum. If you’re looking for a project, why not use some of that gold Auntie Muriel left you and Mum to renovate the Burrow?”
He smirked. “It could use a few upgrades. And with the way things are going, you’re going to have at least half a dozen grandkids — maybe more. Us Weasley kids are a randy lot. You and Mum might end up with a dozen grandkids. Thirteen if you count Teddy. Merlin knows how many more if you include Luna and Neville.”
Arthur laughed. “I get the picture, son. Though while your mother and I might be eagerly awaiting grandchildren, I’m sure poor Hogwarts is dreading the arrival of so many little Weasleys at once!”
Father and son looked at each other — and burst into laughter at the thought of the chaos to come.