Good Enough

Ron shoved his hands in his pockets, shifting his weight from foot to foot. His mother was knitting two scarves and a blanket and listening to a programme on the wireless, humming along cheerfully as the knitting needles click-clacked away. She'd barely looked up when he'd come in.

"Mum?"

"Yes, dear?"

He cleared his throat. "Could you, er, maybe stop for a minute? I want to talk to you."

Molly put down the scarf she held in her hands, although the other scarf and the blanket she'd charmed to knit themselves kept clicking away. "Is something wrong, dear?" she asked, smoothing the knitted material across her knees.

"Well, er... not wrong, exactly, it's just that... er... "

"Sit down, Ron, before you wear a hole in the floor with your pacing," she said, gesturing to an empty chair.

Ron sat, but he was too anxious, and he stood right back up again. "See, the thing is, Mum, that... Hermione, well...."

"Yes, dear?"

"Hermione's pregnant."

"Really?" Molly's face broke into a broad smile. "Well, I can't say that I'm upset about this, not at all, though I wish you two had been married first – though nevermind about that, I'm sure you'll take care of that soon enough though you've put it off for far too long. A grandchild! Oh!" She jumped up from her chair and enveloped Ron in a nearly bone-crushing hug, then let go of him, positively beaming. "When? Oh, there'll be so much to do!"

"December," said Ron. "Sometime in the middle of December."

"Wonderful!" Molly clapped her hands together in glee. "Finally, a grandchild! I never thought I'd see the day, what with Bill's French girl that's too worried about her figure, and Charlie more interested in his dragons than a family, and the twins with their rubbish, and Ginny travelling all the time, and Percy –" She stopped abruptly at the mention of Percy, her mouth forming a tight line. Then she smiled again, looking up at Ron expectantly. "So, when is the wedding?"

"Er," said Ron, swallowing the uncomfortably large lump in his throat. "Well, see, it's a little more complicated than that."

His mother gave him a look he knew all too well: the Ronald-Bilius-Weasley-Don't-You-Dare-Defy-Me-Stare. "Complicated how? Surely you two will get married now that there's a child on the way?"

Even though Ron had been out of his mother's house for almost a decade, there was something about her tone that made him feel as if he'd just tracked mud and frogspawn all over her kitchen floor and deserved a scolding. "It's just that the thing is, Mum, it er... well I might not be the father, actually."

"What?" Molly shrieked. The charmed knitting needles that had been working busily in midair suddenly crashed into themselves and fell to the floor. "You might not be the father? What sort of rubbish is that?" Her eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms over her chest. "Has she been unfaithful to you? Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

Ron's stomach knotted painfully. "Maybe you better sit down for this, Mum," he said.

"I'm not moving from this spot until you explain exactly what is going on here, Ronald Weasley!" Her voice had risen to a dangerously high pitch, and Ron knew the best thing to do would be to just get the facts out there as soon as possible before things got entirely out of control.

"It's like this, okay? It might be my baby, and it might be Harry's baby. We don't know."

"Harry? It might be Harry's baby?"

"And no, Hermione hasn't been cheating on me with Harry," Ron broke in, before she could say it. "We – the three of us, I mean – we're sort of... a thing. Together."

Molly did sit down then. She looked up at him, her pale face a mask of confusion. "You and Hermione... and Harry and Hermione?"

"And Harry and me," Ron added softly.

"You're gay?"

"No, Mum," Ron said patiently. He'd been dreading this conversation for quite some time, and part of him couldn't believe he was having to explain his sexual preferences to his mother. "I've always liked girls. But Harry's... he's just Harry. And after everything that happened during the war, we just didn't think anyone else would understand. No one knows us like we know each other, and no one knows Harry like Hermione and I do. So it just sort of... happened."

"I see." Molly bent to pick up her fallen knitting, arranging the tangled yarns carefully before speaking again. When she did speak, she did not look at Ron. "I always wanted my children to make something of themselves," she said. "And I had such high hopes for all of you. All the prefects and Head Boys in this family, even a Head Girl... I thought you'd all be something special. But Bill never comes around anymore, and Charlie stays in Romania. Neither of them will ever settle down and have a nice family like they should. Percy is... gone... and the twins waste all their time on that ridiculous store when they could have a real business and do well for themselves. I thought Ginny would settle down nicely with the Longbottom boy but they're always travelling, never see hide nor hair of them, which is a fine way to treat the family that's always supported you all. And just when I think you and Hermione are finally going to settle down and have a nice little family of your own, out of all my children, you tell me that you..." She turned towards Ron then, and made a gesture with her hands as if to include all that business with the three of them as something unpleasant that she didn't want to mention.

Ron scowled. "D'you think just because none of us have married and 'settled down' like you wanted us to, that we haven't 'done anything' with our lives?" he asked. "Nevermind that we fought in a war and came out alive, and stood by Harry when he needed it, and the twins are making money left and right with their business and Ginny's researching all kinds of new magic on her travels and I'm an Auror – isn't that good enough for you?"

Molly put her hands on her hips and made a disapproving noise. "But what about the rest of your life? This... whatever this is you've got with Harry and Hermione, that can't be real. Love, marriage, family – that's supposed to be between one man and one woman. Not... two men and a woman."

"You can't help who you fall in love with, Mum," Ron said. "It just happens."

"Fine! If you're in love with Harry, so be it! You two were like bread and butter all through school, couldn't have pried you apart with a knife! But you can't be in love with him and Hermione at the same time! It's just not done!"

"Funny that it's been done for about seven years now, if it's 'just not done'," Ron snapped.

Molly ignored this. "And now there's a child involved! What kind of life will it have growing up in that kind of household? I knew there was something not quite right when Harry moved in with you and Hermione, but I held my tongue, considering what Harry had been through, but now I wish I'd said something. It's not right, that's what it is."

"Who cares?" blurted Ron. "Don't you care that it's your grandchild – your first grandchild? Aren't you happy for us?"

"It very well may not even be your child, you said so yourself!"

"If it's not mine, it's Harry's! And hasn't Harry been like another son to you all these years?" A sudden, disturbing thought blossomed in Ron's mind, a possibility he'd never considered before, and it was out of his mouth before he could stop it. "Or were you just looking out for him and encouraging me to be his friend because the Order told you to?"

"Ronald Weasley – how dare you!"

"I thought maybe you looked after him all this time because he didn't have a mum or dad of his own to do it, but now I wonder. If you can't be happy no matter whose child it is, maybe you never really cared about Harry after all."

He choked a little then, remembering all the times that his mother would pass him by in order to fuss and cluck over Harry, and he'd been resentful of it, but at the same time he'd realised that Harry didn't have anyone else to fuss over him, so it was okay, really. It didn't make it sting any less though when she'd gone on at length about how well Harry's dress robes went with his eyes, yet thrust horrid maroon ones at him with hardly a second glance, or when she'd pushed the last bit of pie on Harry after he'd had thirds already and Ron hadn't had seconds, or when she'd insist on double checking that Harry's trunk was packed and never asking about Ron's. This is stupid, he told himself, that was years and years ago and that shite doesn't matter anymore. But it did matter, suddenly – if she'd never really seen Harry as a part of the family yet had fussed over him anyway, where did that really leave Ron?

"Of course Harry's always been one of the family!"

"Then why is this so offensive to you? Why can't you just accept it? We've always been friends, the three of us. We were the only ones who saw what Harry did to Voldemort, and we were the ones who brought him back when the rest of you thought he was dead. And if you care about Harry as much as you say you do, why can't you be happy no matter whose child it is?" Ron threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "Because it's not how you wanted it. You wanted Hermione and me to have a great big wedding you could invite your friends to and talk about for months, and you wanted Ginny and Harry to stand up with us and fall in love, and then everything would be wrapped up in a neat little package for you and everything would be peachy keen. But it didn't work like that, did it Mum? Ginny fell in love with Neville, and I fell in love with my best friends. And now we're having a baby, and if you can't accept that –"

"Ron..."

"Forget it, Mum," he said bitterly. "Since it didn't go the way you wanted it, then you don't have to come around."

Before his mother could say another word, Ron Apparated out of the Burrow.

*****

When he came home, Hermione and Harry were in the sitting room – Harry with a Quidditch magazine, and Hermione with a stack of baby books with names like What A Witch Can Expect When She's Expecting, Magical Midwives, Dr Seers' Birth Book, and The Really, Truly, Absolutely Complete Baby Name Book (325^th Edition).

"How did it go?" Hermione asked anxiously, peering over the top of The Magical Art of Breastfeeding.

Ron didn't answer, but walked right past them both into his bedroom and shut the door. He didn't really feel like talking about what had just happened with his mother. He flopped facedown on his bed and pressed his face into the quilt. There were anxious whispers on the other side of the door, but he ignored them.

A minute later he heard the door open.

"Was it that bad, mate?" Harry asked.

Ron grunted.

"Oh, Ron," said Hermione, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I'm so sorry. I'd hoped your mother would take it a little more positively."

"Yeah, well." Ron sighed, turning his head away from Hermione. "'Love is between one man and one woman, Ron, not two men and a woman'," he said in a bitterly sarcastic imitation of his mother's voice.

Harry made a disgusted sound, but Hermione shushed him. "She's had a hard time since your father died, Ron," she said gently. "Maybe that's keeping her from really wrapping her mind around the idea."

"Dad wouldn't have been like that," said Ron. "It's her only grandchild, you'd think she'd be a little more excited. She's just hacked off that things aren't working out the way she dreamed they would, her perfect little family."

Harry sat down opposite Hermione, stretching out beside Ron and propping himself up on his elbow so that he was face to face with him. "What did you think she'd do, Ron?"

"I dunno. I just thought she'd, you know, be happy. Just happy that we're all okay and in one piece and happy with each other, but I guess that's not good enough for her." That odd choking feeling was back in his throat again, as he remembered the way he'd felt nearly his whole life – that he wasn't quite living up to whatever it was that his mother wanted him to be. The only time he could ever remember her being proud of him was when he'd been made prefect. She'd thrown a little party for him and Hermione at Grimmauld Place to celebrate; but that was a hollow sort of memory, as he'd always felt that it should have been Harry that had been prefect instead of him.

He'd written home during fifth year, to let them know he'd made the Quidditch team. His father had sent his congratulations but all he got from his mother was a warning not to let it bring his marks down because that would ruin his chances at being Head Boy. And when they'd all been at the Burrow before seventh year, when Harry and Hermione got their letters telling them they'd be Head Boy and Head Girl for the coming year, the look on his mother's face had made her feelings clear. Ron didn't actually give a toss about being Head Boy; it was more work than it was worth and he thought it brilliant that Harry could be Head Boy just like his dad. But seeing his mother make such a fuss about Harry and Hermione as head students had stung more than he was willing to admit.

After that, he'd stopped paying attention to what his mother thought about him. He didn't tell her he'd been accepted into the Auror programme; he let her hear it from Tonks and Kingsley and didn't talk to her about work at all. He'd been proud that he'd made it (by the skin of his teeth, but he'd made it all the same) and he didn't want it spoiled by a less than enthusiastic reaction from her.

But as hard as he tried not to let her non-reactions get to him anymore, this one seemed to cut the most deeply. Neither he, nor Harry, nor Hermione wanted to know who was the father of the baby. It wasn't important to any of them; it would be their child regardless of biology. So whether the child carried Weasley genes or not, it would still be their child and thus it would be Molly's grandchild.

Ron groaned and pressed his face to the quilt again. "Can we just... you know, move away somewhere?" he mumbled. "Romania sounds good right about now."

"We're not moving anywhere," said Hermione. She stretched out next to him as well, her small hand sliding up and down his back. "Your mother will come around eventually."

"And if she doesn't," Harry added, "then we'll just concentrate on the rest of the family." Harry's hand slid around Ron's waist, pulling Ron back against his chest, and Ron reluctantly leaned against him. He closed his eyes and let himself forget about his mother's disapproving tone of voice as Hermione's fingers sneaked under his shirt, brushing lightly over his skin.

The rest of the family. "That's what we really are, now, aren't we?" mumbled Ron, as Hermione leaned in to kiss him. "A family?"

"Yeah," said Harry. His breath tickled the back of Ron's neck as he spoke. "The only one I can remember, really." His hand found Ron's, twining their fingers together, and slid their joined hands over Hermione's belly. Just shy of three months gone and having gained little weight due to morning sickness, her stomach was still relatively flat, but Ron was so familiar with the contours of Hermione's body that he could feel the slight swelling there through her jeans.

"That's our baby, Ron," said Hermione. Her free hand worked her jeans open, letting them slide their fingers across her skin. "Yours and Harry's and mine, no matter who actually fathered it. And I love you both for it."

Ron knew it was far too early for him to be able to feel any sort of movement (Hermione had been giving them daily developmental updates from What A Witch Can Expect When She's Expecting each morning at breakfast, such as "Today, the baby is about an inch long and weighs about 1/3 of an ounce.") But he imagined for just a moment that there was a tiny little response from within, and it gave him a very warm feeling.

He slid the back of his hand over her belly, up and down from her navel to the top edge of her knickers, tracing the slight curve of it with Harry's fingers still laced with his. Hermione sighed softly, her breath ghosting over his cheek in warm little puffs. Even with her so close and Harry's body curled around his, he still couldn't shake the uncomfortable, disappointed feeling that had lingered over him all day, and when Hermione worked her knee between his, he tensed.

"Hey," said Harry. "It's okay." Harry pulled his hand free from Ron's and moved it up Ron's arm, squeezing slightly, and something about that simple gesture made the lump in Ron's throat return with a vengeance. He felt incredibly stupid for letting his mother's reaction get to him like this – he was nearly thirty, for Godric's sake, it shouldn't matter - but he couldn't help it.

*****

Hermione's pregnancy was calm and uneventful. Ron and Harry accompanied her to her midwife visits, Flooed out for ice cream and Ginger Newts at all hours of the night, reassured her that no, she did not look like the broadside of Greenhouse Three, and listened to her read extensively from the pregnancy and childrearing books that took up eighteen shelves in their study. When she wanted to use only 'educational' shapes and designs in the nursery, Ron and Harry sneaked in a crib mobile decorated with tiny Snitches and brooms and wouldn't let her take it off. Ginny Flooed in from Italy with Neville in tow to throw Hermione a baby shower, and while Hermione and Ginny were in the sitting room with Luna, Parvati, Lavender, and the other girls they'd gone to school with, Harry, Ron, and Neville got their cloaks and went out back to de-gnome the garden. They'd propped the wireless against the house while they worked, and they could hear the girls' high pitched oooohs and aaaaaahs over the chatter of the WSPN announcer. The squeals baffled Ron, as he couldn't understand the fascination with stuffed animals and tiny t-shirts and packages of nappies and lotions. How could such a tiny person need so much stuff?

"So," said Neville, tossing a gnome over the fence and wiping his hands off on his trousers. "Reckon you're tired of people asking you which one's the dad, huh?"

"Yeah," said Ron.

"Doesn't matter really," said Harry.

"Reckon not," said Neville. "Ginny says your mum's being right stiff about the whole thing though."

Ron kicked a rock, sending it skittering across the yard. "Yeah, well."

Harry dropped to his hands and knees and crawled under the hedge to look for more gnomes. "Dunno what my parents would have said if they were alive, so I can't really say," he said from behind the hedge. "But Mrs Weasley's always been a sort of mum to me, so it feels weird that she isn't coming round, you know?"

"What do Hermione's parents think?" Neville asked.

"They're sort of... well Hermione says they're very liberal and open about things, so after the first bit of what-the-hell they invited Harry and me over for dinner," Ron said. "I think Hermione's mum was a bit jealous that she'd have two men about to do things rather than just one. I reckon they're used to there being lots of things about Hermione that they can't tell their friends, what with them being Muggles and all, so it went down a little easier."

"Huh." Neville shrugged a little, then grinned. "Well Ginny and I didn't come straight over here, you know. We went by the Burrow first. Ginny was all up in arms about the way your mum's been acting, and you know Ginny. She gave your mum a piece of her mind, two or three pieces more like, and your mum gave quite a few back."

Ron chuckled a little at the idea of Ginny giving their mum a piece of her mind, but his amusement was quickly replaced by the old familiar hollow feeling. Her tirade must not have done much good, since Molly was not part of the squealing mass of females currently filling their sitting room with a sea of pastel wrapping paper.

"For what it's worth, I agree with Ginny," Neville said. "After all that –" he waved a hand around to encompass all that stuff that happened during the war that no one really wants to talk about anymore, "– I reckon we all ought to get to do whatever it is that makes us happy. We've earned it."

Harry climbed out from behind the hedge. There was a smudge of dirt on his nose. "Thanks, Neville," he said solemnly, offering his hand for Neville to shake. "It means a lot."

"No problem," said Neville. He shook hands with Ron then, and his face turned a little pink. "'Sides. Ginny told your mum that if she couldn't accept this grandchild, don't bother accepting the next one."

"The next one?" said Ron, not understanding.

"Yeah," said Neville.

"You and Ginny?" Harry asked, grinning broadly.

"Yeah," said Neville.

"You and Ginny what?" Ron repeated.

"Are having a baby," Harry said helpfully.

"You got my sister pregnant?" Ron yelped, suddenly feeling at once very disoriented and very old. His baby sister was having a baby? Oi.

"Er, well, yes," said Neville, taking a step back. "I think you've got a pretty good idea how that happens, right?"

Harry clapped Neville on the shoulder. "Welcome to the club, mate."

"I need a drink," said Ron. "And not any of that froufrou fruity shite those birds are drinking in there."

*****

After the baby shower, Neville and Ginny left again for yet another exotic location. They would be gone through most of December, so before they left, Neville quietly asked Harry if he and Ron would check in on his mother and father at St Mungo's from time to time. And that was why, the week before Christmas, Ron was home alone with Hermione when she said that her back was aching and she thought she'd go and lie down for a little while. He was feeling a little sleepy himself, so he went to lie down with her until Harry came home, when they were supposed to go to a Christmas party at the Ministry.

Hermione shook him awake some time later, right in the middle of a very pleasant dream about the Quodpot Girls he'd seen in the latest issue of Quidditch Monthly. "Ron?"

"Mrfle?" said Ron, turning over and getting a mouthful of the pillow in the process.

"Ron!" She shook him again, and he finally sat up, rubbing at his eyes. Hermione was sitting straight up in bed with her hands over her stomach. "I think the baby's ready to make an appearance."

"What? Baby? Now?" Ron jerked fully awake at that. "Now? Today? I thought it wasn't for another week at least!"

A distinctly uncomfortable look passed over Hermione's face, and she did this odd sort of puffy breathing thing Ron vaguely remembered from one of the birthing classes he'd accompanied Hermione to. "Well, apparently," she said, through gritted teeth, "babies don't keep to a timetable any better than the two of you do!"

If Hermione was feeling her usual bossy self, this might not be too bad after all, Ron supposed. "Want me to Floo for the midwife?"

"No, not yet," she said. Her face relaxed and she took a deep breath. "I think it'll be a while yet; that's what Dr Seers says in The Birth Book, chapter twelve – there's no need to Floo for her until they're about five minutes apart."

For some reason, Ron got the distinct impression that this was a Bad Idea. However, he wasn't about to say any differently to Hermione, not with the tone her voice had taken. "Er... well, is there something I can do?" Ron felt quite helpless and wished that Harry was back already, although he was quite aware that Harry was really just as ignorant as he was.

Another one of those very uncomfortable looks tightened Hermione's face for a moment. When she'd caught her breath again, she said, "I think I should get up and walk. Walk with me?"

And so Ron did. They paced up and down their hallway for a bit, stopping whenever she had a contraction. When that happened, she leaned on Ron, pressing her face into his shoulder and letting out a low sort of moan. Her belly rested against his when she did this, and he could feel the way her whole body tightened, working the sort of magic that was far more ancient than anything they'd learned at school. Then they'd walk again. At first Hermione kept up a constant chatter about what this book or that book said to do during labour, but after about an hour of that she was putting more energy into what her body was doing than anything else and the talking trailed off.

"I think it'd be a good idea to Floo for the midwife now," she said.

Ron jumped for the Floo powder and tossed some into the fireplace, calling out the midwife's name. But instead of the answering green burst of flame, there was no response.

He scooped up another handful and tried again, but the fireplace remained silent.

"Er," said Ron anxiously, anticipating a very strong reaction from Hermione. "I think the Floo's broken."

Instead of shrieking as Ron expected, Hermione was silent for a moment, and then asked quietly, "What do you mean, the Floo's broken?"

"No one's answering," he said.

"Maybe she's not there?"

"I dunno," said Ron. "Should I Apparate over and fetch her?"

"No!" said Hermione, grabbing at his hand. "Don't go!" Then her face screwed up in another contraction, and she made a sound that was very much unlike the carefully-controlled panting she'd been doing earlier.

Just then, they heard the jingle of keys at the door and then Harry stepped into the living room. "I'm back," he said, pulling off his gloves. "Would have Flooed home, but apparently some idiot tried to smuggle an illegal shipment of Jarveys over the border and clogged up the whole system. They said it won't be fixed for hours – I took a cab home." He slipped off his cloak but caught sight of them before reaching the cloak rack, freezing in his tracks. "Hermione? Are you all right?" he asked, dropping his cloak and hurrying over to them.

Hermione shook her head but didn't say anything, instead tightening her grip on Ron.

"Can't Floo the midwife," Ron said, rubbing Hermione's back and feeling quite incompetent. "Go get her."

Harry didn't have to be told twice. His cloak was back on and he was out the door before Hermione's contraction was over.

She leaned against him, breathing heavily and looking a little scared. Ron hadn't seen Hermione look anything less than confident in a very long time.

"I'm getting tired," she said quietly.

Her hair was sweaty and clinging to her face; Ron pushed some of it back out of her eyes. "D'you want to lay down?"

Hermione shook her head and began to sway back and forth a little, still leaning on him. It was sort of like a slow dance in a very weird way. "No," she mumbled against his shirt, "I read in The Witch's Womb that it'll all go faster if I stay on my feet as much as possible."

"Er, faster?" he said. "D'you think maybe we can slow things down a little till she gets here?"

She didn't answer, but instead clutched his shoulders again, a raw, hurting sound coming from low in her throat. He kept up the swaying motion she'd started a minute before, and she didn't seem to mind. Maybe it was helping a little. Ron couldn't really tell. All he could really do was let her hold onto him, try not to get in the way, and hope Harry got back with the midwife very, very soon.

"That definitely was less than five minutes," said Hermione, when she could speak again. "And –" she broke off, looking down at the exact moment Ron felt something warm and wet splash against his shoes. "Sorry," she said, looking embarrassed. "I think my water just broke."

Hermione's face was flushed red from exertion and embarrassment, and Ron thought she'd never looked more beautiful. He thought it might be because she was doing something that she hadn't learned how to do out of a book – oh she'd read about it all right, but she was acting more on instinct than on book knowledge, and it was something he rarely saw in her but loved when he did. "S'ok," he mumbled, kicking his soggy shoes away.

Very shortly after that, it became quite apparent that this baby wasn't going to wait much longer. The contractions were very close together, nearly on top of each other, and Ron began to panic. Where the sod was Harry with the midwife? he wondered as he helped Hermione onto the stripped-down bed. He didn't want Harry to miss anything, and he certainly didn't want anything happening without the midwife around!

"I don't – think – this baby – is going to wait – much – longer –" Hermione panted, bracing herself against the pile of pillows Ron had crammed between her and the headboard. Her face was screwed up in concentration. "Can you just – look?"

So he did, pushing the hem of her loose robes up over her thighs. His stomach gave an excited, half-terrified flip-flop at the tiny bit of the baby's head he could see. All he could think of was oh my God, that's a brand new person right there, and he reached out his fingertips to touch it. Ron forgot all about the fact that the midwife still wasn't there and that he had no idea what the hell he was doing when Hermione gave a hard, grunting push and there was the baby's head, right there in his hands. Then shoulders and the rest of her body, and then their daughter was born, squalling and flailing her arms and legs madly in all directions and making sure everyone knew exactly what she thought about this whole birth thing.

That was when Harry burst through the door with midwife in tow, looking like he'd just flown a five-hour game. He stood there with his mouth hanging open as he stared at Hermione and Ron and the baby.

"Is that her?" Harry asked, stepping closer, as the midwife conjured up blankets and assorted other things, bundling up the baby and putting her in Hermione's arms.

"No, we just found this random baby while we were out for a peaceful little stroll and we decided to bring her home," said Hermione tiredly, but she was smiling as she said it.

"Wow," was all that Harry could manage to say, and that pretty much summed up Ron's feelings on the matter. Ron couldn't believe that Hermione had pushed a whole, brand new person out of her body like that, with no real help from anyone, a real person with ten fingers and ten toes and a smattering of light brown fuzz covering her perfectly round, perfectly smooth head.

For once, Ron couldn't think of anything to do but grin.

*****

"Now, this is a Christmas tree," Ron said to the tiny bundle in his arms. "It's covered in lots and lots of things that you're far too young to be messing with right now, but isn't it pretty? See?" He shifted his daughter a little higher on his shoulder and reached out to jiggle one of the branches, making the fairy lights sparkle. Little Katherine blinked and yawned and made a sound that could have either been a burp or a giggle, he wasn't sure which.

"She can't really focus on anything yet, Ron," said Hermione from her spot on the sofa. "It says so in Your Magical Newborn that babies can't really focus much for the first week or so."

"Oh, what do those books know," said Harry dismissively. "She's a genius. She's probably already looking for the Snitch by now. See? She likes that shiny gold ornament up there." He reached for a little golden star and plucked it off the tree, dangling it in front of Katherine's nose.

Katherine sneezed.

"I think she's more of a Quaffle kind of girl, Harry," said Ron, wiping Katherine's nose with the corner of her blanket.

"Well, while you two argue over what spot she'll play on the Gryffindor team down the road, I think I'm going to have some lunch." She got up and headed for the kitchen while Harry continued to tease Katherine with the golden ornament.

There was a knock at the door, and Harry put the ornament down. "I'll get it."

A moment later, Ron was very surprised to see his mother in the doorway with a small package in her hands. "Happy Christmas," she said uncertainly.

"Happy Christmas, Mum," he said, pulling Katherine's blanket a little tighter around her.

Harry cleared his throat. "I'm going to see if Hermione needs any help with lunch," he said quickly, before ducking out.

Molly hovered in the doorway for a moment before stepping cautiously into the room. "Here," she said, holding the package out to Ron. "It's just a little something for the baby."

Ron looked at the package and then at Katherine, wondering how he was going to juggle both of them; but Molly took the baby from him with the sort of ease that only comes from handling a great many babies for a great many years.

"Hello there," Molly said softly, touching the tip of Katherine's little button nose with her finger. She sat down on the sofa and settled Katherine more comfortably in her arms. "Aren't you just a beautiful little thing?"

It gave Ron an odd feeling in his chest to look at his mother holding his daughter like that, when he thought it was something he might never see, so he looked down at the package in his hands instead. He wondered briefly if he should let Hermione open it, but she'd given it to him and not Hermione, so he peeled open the paper.

Inside was a tiny pink jumper with a 'K' knitted into the front.

He picked the jumper out of the wrappings and sat down beside his mother. Molly looked at the jumper in his hands, then began to unwrap Katherine's blankets, and together they eased her tiny arms into the jumper. It fit perfectly.

Two seconds after they put it on her, Katherine put her fist in her mouth and began chewing on the sleeve.

Molly laughed. "You always chewed on your jumper sleeves when you were small," she said. "You and Charlie and Ginny. Never could keep your sleeves clean. You'd chew through them faster than I could make them, sometimes."

Before he could stop himself, Ron blurted, "Why were my jumpers always maroon?"

Molly looked down at Katherine and readjusted her blankets. "Because I thought maroon looked good on you," she said. "It looks so nice with your hair."

Ron felt so stupid for saying it, but it was something he'd always wondered, and now seemed as good a time as any. "I never liked maroon."

She met his eyes then, and he felt her hand against his cheek. "I know. I knew it then, too. But I liked the way you looked in maroon, and so I kept making them that colour. I thought that if I made you enough of them, you'd learn to like it. Maybe you'd see what I saw."

"What did you see?"

Molly shook her head a little. "It doesn't really matter what I saw, because that wasn't really what you wanted to be."

"Oh." Ron didn't really know what to say to that, so he did the only thing that seemed to make sense then; he put his arms around his mother's neck and hugged her, being careful not to squash his daughter between them. Katherine squirmed a little anyway, and he let go, looking away so he wouldn't see his mother wiping at her eyes.

"But when I look at you and see what you've become, and not what I wanted you to be," she added softly, "I couldn't be more proud of you. And not for being a prefect, or being an Auror, or delivering this baby, but just because you're you."

*****

The next day, a large grey owl brought a package for Ron. Inside was a hand-knitted jumper in a deep, brilliant blue, with a large white 'R' on the front.