Welcome Home

Welcome Home

Accueillir à la maison

The phone rang at The Burrow. I noted how strange it was to hear a phone ring there, but with all of Mrs. Weasley's children living anywhere and everywhere you could imagine, she found it a necessity to have in the house.

I was sitting down to Christmas Eve dinner at the time. It was very quiet that night (or, at least, as quiet as you could expect for the number of people there), the quietest Christmas Eve I can remember, as everyone knew one very important person was missing, and that one person happened to be the only reason I was there instead of with my family.

Ron.

Of course, it came as no surprise when I got the invitation, after all, Ron and I had been married for two years (though I had been celebrating Christmas with the Weasleys since long before that), and had a one month old son, Jack, or "Trip" as my entire side of the family called him, and still do, because he shares a name with my father and grandfather. (May he rest in peace.)

Unfortunately, Ron hadn't been there. He had been announced Missing in Action three months prior to that night. The entire family had been devastated, as everyone knew that in this war, Missing in Action was almost the same as Killed in Action, and the chances of his survival were slim to none.

However, I accepted the invitation and was greeted with open arms when we arrived. The second I walked in the door, Jack had been taken out of my hands, being passed around from woman to woman, until finally, Harry came in and got him and took him out with the men, and I didn't see him again until we sat down to dinner, which brings me back to the phone ringing, loudly at that, right in my ear.

"Hermione, dear, would you mind picking that up? I can't imagine who would be calling at this time on Christmas Eve," Mrs. Weasley called over the noise.

I did as I was asked. "Hello?"

"Is this the Weasley residence?" the voice at the other end asked.

I didn't recognize the voice and was a little taken aback at the business like tone but answered politely, "Yes it is. May I ask who is calling?"

"This is the war department, regarding Mr. Ronald Billius Weasley."

I felt my stomach drop out.

"We're looking for a Mrs. Hermione Granger Weasley or a Mrs. Molly Prewett Weasley. Are either of them available?"

"Yes, this is Hermione," I replied, feeling the smile slide of my face.

"We're calling in regards to your husband, Mr. Ronald Bill-"

"Yes, I caught it the first time. What about my husband?" I asked, anxious to hear what the man was about to say. The entire table went quiet and looked at me. Forks were frozen in midair. Conversations stopped in mid-sentence. All eyes were on me. This was it. This was the call I'd been waiting for for three months, and I was hoping he was about to say what I had been longing to hear for all that time. And not just me. The whole family had been waiting, and I could feel the weight of their stare.

"We've found your husband," the man said. "He's alive, and he's coming home tomorrow."

"Thank-you," I said, hardly daring to believe it. I heard the receiver on the other end click and lowered my receiver slowly. I turned back around to find that everyone was still looking at me, perfectly still and quiet. Even Jack seemed quieter than usual (or maybe he was just asleep).

"He's coming home tomorrow," I said, finally feeling the smile return to my face.

As one, everyone got up and hugged each other, cheering, and crying, and laughing, and having a good time for the first time in three months. Harry came over to me. We looked at each other for a moment, beaming, then hugged each other. He picked my up and swung me around and whispered in my ear, "He's finally coming home."

Mrs. Weasley insisted on everyone staying the night (how she found room for everyone, I will never know, nor do I think I want to). Ginny and I got lucky enough somehow to share the living room (me because it was closest to the kitchen should Jack wake up, and Ginny because there wasn't room anywhere else).

Ginny seemed to find it easy to get to sleep, but after I had put John to sleep and laid down, I found that I couldn't. I lay on the couch for hours until, around three, Jack woke up, hungry no doubt. It was amazing, Harry had once commented, how very like Ron he was, yet they had never met face to face.

I heard Ginny stirring on the other couch and said, "I'm sorry. I've got to fix his bottle. He's not supposed to be up for another hour."

"No, it's fine," she said drowsily. "You can't control it." She turned over to look at me.

I leaned over the crib and rocked him until he stopped crying, then went into the kitchen to fix his bottle.

When I came back out, I found Ginny holding Jack and whispering to him softly. "And in his seventh year, your Daddy was the keeper again. And he saved more goals than anyone in a really long time." She looked up and saw me leaning against the door frame, then looked back down at Jack and said, "And I'm sure he'll want to tell you about every single one," she paused for a moment and then said, "when he gets home."

"And sing the song," I added, finally coming into the room and sitting next to Ginny.

Ginny laughed. "And sing the song," she repeated. We sat in silence for a few minutes before Ginny looked at me and asked, "Can I feed him?"

I handed her the bottle and then Ginny looked at Jack and said, "It's been a while since we got to do this for either of our girls."

But before she had the chance to tempt him with the bottle, we heard the front door open.

My first thought was Burglars! but I quickly realized who it must be. Technically, it was the tomorrow the man from the war department had talked about.

It was Ron.

Ginny and I looked at each other, but remained silent. The only noise was coming from Jack, who was cooing in Ginny's arms, but she quickly handed him back to me.

There was sound in the kitchen now. Ron obviously thought everyone was asleep. Ginny got up and before I could stop her she walked into the kitchen and said, "Hey, prat, you took long enough!" She crossed the room to hug him and he hugged her back. He hadn't taken off his coat and Ginny shivered as the coldness seeped through her clothes (no one had brought extra clothes with them). Ginny started crying. "Your wife is in there. I'll go get Mum and Dad," she said, and she left, leaving him alone in the kitchen, staring into the living room at me.

I was looking down but could feel his eyes on me, and so I looked up.

"Is that...?" he began, but couldn't seem to finish his sentence.

"Yeah," I answered, looking back at the baby. "His name is Jack."

I set the baby back in the crib as Ron walked into the room and sat down next to me. I threw myself on him and started to cry. He hugged me back and brushed my hair down with his hand and whispered, "Shhh... It's alright... I'm never going to leave you alone again, I promise..."

When I had calmed down enough, Ron looked at John and said, "Can I?"

I nodded and sniffed, then handed him over, and he said, "Jack."

"Jack Arthur," I said. "Everyone in my family calls him 'Trip' because he's the third. Even Harry calls him that."

Ron didn't say anything, just looked at Jack for the longest time.

Ginny returned a few minutes later, though instead of her parents, she brought Harry. Ron handed the baby back to me, stood up, and walked over to him. They shook hands and then gave each other a brotherly hug.

Before much else could happen, Mrs. Weasley came bustling into the kitchen, hugging Ron for a long while before holding him at arms length and insisting that she make him something to eat.

"Actually, I'm kinda tired, Mum," he said. "I just want to head on home."

"But," Mrs. Weasley began, not keen on letting her son leave, "don't you want to stay and see everyone?"

"We'll be back tomorrow," he assured her.

Everyone had been watching the conversation, and it wasn't until Jack started crying again that I realized that I was still holding his completely full bottle (which, by now, was colder than ice).

Ron walked over and picked up Jack, and I handed him the bottle.

The sight of Ron feeding his child seemed to be too much for Mrs. Weasley, who forgot about cooking him something and started crying.

Ron seized the opportunity and said, "We'll see you tomorrow." We left with Mrs. Weasley calling after us, "Be here by noon!"

We went out to the car (it was always so difficult to travel by Floo Powder with babies) and I put Jack in his car seat, then got in on the driver's side (Ron didn't have his license, and even if he did, I'm not sure if I could trust him to drive after the whomping willow incident), closed the door, started the car, leaned back against my seat and closed my eyes.

"Are you all right?" he asked me.

"Yeah, fine," I said, opening my eyes and brushing the hair out of my face and behind my ear. I put the car in gear and said, "Just tired."

"Do you want to stay?" he asked me.

"No," I replied simply, turning around in my seat so I could back the car out of the drive. I smiled when I saw that movement of the car was already lulling Jack back to sleep. My mother had always said that that worked on me when I was a baby, but I had never believed her until Jack was born.

Ron looked back to. "Is he always up this late?"

"Sometimes," I replied. "But feeding him puts him right back to sleep.

We were silent for a long time, the only noise coming from the radio, which Ron would fiddle with from time to time until he found something he liked, which we would listen to for about five minutes, then would decide he didn't like it that much after all and would promptly go back to scanning stations.

When we got home Ron looked around and said, "What, no Christmas tree?"

"There just wasn't time this year," I replied. "And it wasn't like we were having people over, so I didn't see the point of putting it up."

Ron stood for a few moments, looking like he was deep in thought. "Let's put it up now," he said, as though it was the logical thing to do.

"What? Ron, it's four o'clock in the morning," I replied.

He looked at his watch. "So it is," he said lightly, and made his way toward the basement stairs to bring up the box with the tree in it.

I followed him wanting to protest but knowing that this was one debate I was sure to lose.

He brought up the tree and I brought up the ornaments. He flipped on the radio and turned to a station playing nothing but Christmas music. Jack was still sleeping soundly, so I took him upstairs to our bedroom where the crib was set up and put him to bed. Then I went downstairs to find Ron lost in a forest of Christmas tree branches.

"Where's the stand?" he asked.

"We put it in a different box last year, remember?" Obviously he didn't.

"I'll get it."

I ran back downstairs into the freezing cold basement and went looking for the stand. It was difficult to find anything down here with everything lying around. We should really clean this up I thought to myself. After 15 minutes, I finally found it, where else?, right at the bottom of the giant pile of boxes.

I carried it up the stairs and gave it to Ron (this was his idea after all). He hurriedly put it together and in no time, had the tree up, garland, lights, and all. We started putting up ornaments, when a song came on the radio, White Christmas.

"May I have this dance?" he asked, holding his arms out.

All those months away must have made him crazy. But I found that at that moment, I was willing to do just about anything for him. I took his hands and he spun me around the pine needle strewn floor (when did he learn to dance this well?) to the beat of the song.

When the song was over he bowed to me and I laughed and we got back to putting the ornaments on the tree.

At long last, we stepped back from the tree and admired it. "Wait!" I cried and ran out of the room to get the ornament my mom had given me, Baby's First Christmas.

I put it on the tree and said, "It's perfect." The clock said six o'clock, but Ron didn't show any signs of being tired, so we then walked over to the couch, he sat down, and I laid down with my head on his lap.

I don't remember Ron ever coming to bed, or even going to bed myself (I must have fallen asleep on the couch and Ron carried me upstairs), just waking up there and realizing that Ron wasn't beside me. I was afraid, for a moment, that it was all just a wonderful dream until I heard him whispering softly, "I'm sorry I haven't been around much, mate. It's not my fault though- I do have a good cover story, and I'll tell you all about it when your older. You've had
your mum though, and I'm sure she's told you all the things she's done. And Uncle Harry, too..."

I didn't listen to the rest of the conversation, deciding this was a father-son moment that I wasn't supposed to hear, but when he finally came back to bed I turned over, rested my cheek on his chest, wrapped my arm around him and said, "Welcome home, Ron."

La Fin.