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Ron paced outside the closed door of his daughter’s room, fiddling with his tie and hoping he hadn’t ruined his good robes with his nervous sweating. Hermione came up behind him, still wearing her regular clothes – but her hair was done in a swirling updo that Ron thought was beautiful, although he didn’t understand it. She took his hands and smiled, stopping him from pacing anymore.
“She’s twenty-five, Hermione,” Ron whinged. “She’s too young to be getting married. She’s too bloody young.”
“She’s six years older than we were,” Hermione replied with a smile. “Twenty-five is a regular age for someone to get married, even a little bit older than average these days.”
“Yeah, but she’s my daughter!” Ron cried out, his face turning red and his eyebrows furrowing. “Twenty-five isn’t old enough for little Rose.”
“She’s the most mature twenty-five year old I’ve ever known. She’s finished her studies, she’s got a brilliant career ahead of her, and she is madly in love.” Hermione rubbed her husband’s shoulder. “You know she’ll be fine.”
“I know,” Ron turned away and looked at his feet, kicking an invisible spot on the floor. “I’m just not ready. I’m not ready to admit that she’s an actual woman. I’m not ready for her to stop being a Weasley…”
“She’ll always be a Weasley, Ron.”
Ron turned back to face Hermione. “I’m really not ready for her to be a bloody Malfoy! I should’ve known, as soon as I told her to stay away from that ponce’s kid – she said she would, and you remember that, right? – I should’ve known this would happen!”
“I thought you’d gotten past this breakdown years ago, Ronald,” Hermione replied with a groan. “Scorpius has shown that he is nothing like his father was – and Draco, for that matter, is nothing like he was either. Rose couldn’t have found herself with a better man, Ron, and you know that.”
“I know, I know,” Ron said, waving his hands frantically. “It’s just hitting me that she’s going to be someone’s wife. It doesn’t matter who she marries or when or anything like that; it’s just a lot to deal with.”
“I understand completely, Ron.” Hermione hugged Ron tightly. Whispering into his ear, she told him: “if I didn’t have to take care of you, I’d be just as much of a mess as you are. She’s only twenty-five.”
Ron smiled. “Thank you, Hermione.” When the hug ended, Ron took his wife’s hand and, after knocking on Rose’s door, walked inside the room to congratulate his daughter.