Harry Potter Returns to Hogwarts

Chapter Two-The Noble and Most Ancient House of Weasley

The first thing that Ron Weasley became aware of that fine Saturday morning was how wonderful his bed felt. The second thing he became aware of was how determined Hermione seemed to get him out of it.

"Up you get," she said, shaking him. "Today's the big day." Hermione bustled from the room, muttering to herself. Ron rose from the bed, bleary-eyed. He had the distinct feeling that this morning would not be a good one, owing to the fact that Hermione was probably on the verge of a full panic attack. Ron allowed himself a good stretch and a yawn before stuffing his feet into his slippers and padding out into the hallway.

Hermione was a whirlwind as Ron made his way into the kitchen. "I've rewritten my speech," she said, scurrying past him. She made her way quickly back to the bedroom and returned in a blur of robes and bushy brown hair. "I didn't want it to be overly long. Wouldn't want the students to get bored straight way, now would I?" Ron watched all of the activity with only mild interest. This, he'd learned long ago, was just Hermione's way.

"Accio cup," Ron said sleepily as he sat down at the table. From the cupboard, a teacup flew straight into his outstretched hand. He drew his wand from the pocket of his pajamas, muttered a groggy incantation and watched as piping hot tea poured from its tip. Ron's skill with cooking spells had always been rather dodgy. Tea was, however, a rather simple one. On days like today, he was especially thankful that he'd at least mastered the ability to prepare his own beverages. The fact that Hermione was still twittering around the house was not nearly as nerve-racking after a mouthful of strong hot Darjeeling.

"Well, I think that's everything," said Hermione, bursting into the kitchen again.

"Good," Ron replied. "Now sit down and breathe for a minute before I pass out from the exhaustion of watching you."

Hermione regarded her husband sternly for a moment. The idea that he'd chosen the worst of all days to offend her rolled around in Ron's mind. He was, therefore, more than a little relieved when Hermione joined him at the table, even though she continued to glare at him.

"Perhaps I have been a bit on edge lately," Hermione said coolly.

"Yeah, like a kneazle on bath day," Ron replied.

"Well, can you blame me?" asked Hermione, sounding hurt.

"No one's blaming you, Hermione," Ron sighed. "Look, you've made it. There aren't any more lessons to study for, no more tests to pass. You've got the approval of that senile old bat McGonagall--"

" She is NOT an old bat!" Hermione shot back fiercely. "She happens to be one of the finest Heads Hogwarts has ever had! It's no easy task following in the footsteps of someone like Dumbledore. And, her mind is still as sharp as ever. In fact, do you know what she told me not two weeks ago?"

"Not a clue," Ron replied, mentally biting his tongue against further sarcasm.

"Do you remember the little incident with the troll in our first year?" Hermione asked sharply.

Ron snickered, "I would hardly call a fully-grown mountain troll nearly bashing our skulls in a 'little incident' ".

Hermione pressed on, ignoring him. "She told me that when she ran into that bathroom and saw the look on my face, she KNEW I was lying! She knew I was covering you and Harry. What's more, she knew why. She told me that she could see even then that I had a bit of a soft spot for you. That's why she only took five points from me and gave you and Harry ten to make up. She was the first one that ever figured it out, Ron! That stuff happened almost thirty years ago and she recalls it like it were yesterday! So don't you DARE call her senile! " As Hermione ended her tirade, Ron could see that her eyes were welling up with tears.

Ron rose from his chair (I should have stayed in bed, I should have stayed in bed) and knelt in front on his wife.

"All right, all right," he said gently, stroking her hair. "She's not an old bat. I'm sorry I called her that. I just meant that you've already accomplished more in thirty-six years than most people do in a whole lifetime. Relax a little and enjoy it. You know, 'eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we shall worry ourselves silly.' "

Hermione chuckled in spite of herself and wiped the tears from her eyes. Ron breathed in internal sigh of relief. He hated upsetting her like that, as he really did love her very much. He just wished she would take it easy on herself. He'd thought on more than one occasion that, if she didn't ease up, Hermione would spend her days aimlessly roaming the halls of St. Mungo's, having fretted herself into insanity.

As Ron returned to his chair and his tea, eleven-year-old Arthur came shuffling into the kitchen. "What's all the noise about? He asked, stretching.

"Dad's being a prat," Ron replied, rising from his chair once again.

"Old news," Arthur commented. He was tall and lanky, like his father. He'd even inherited Ron's red hair and brilliant sarcasm. When it came to academics, however, Arthur was much more like his mother. Truth be told, Ron often thought in relief, the boy was a ruddy genius.

As Arthur came to meet Ron, father and son stared at each other momentarily. Without a word, the two slammed their foreheads into one another and grunted "OY!" in unison. This morning ritual between them, a holdover from Ron's Quidditch days, had been the subject of much consternation on Hermione's part.

"Honestly," she tutted. "It's a wonder the boy was accepted to Hogwarts at all, what with you two bashing skulls over breakfast every day." Her equally ritualistic admonition completed, Hermione gathered up her bag and made her way to the door. "Well, I suppose I'm off," she announced. Ron noticed that she couldn't help glancing around the room as though there were something she could have possibly forgotten. Her eyes completely failed to hide the worry.

Striding over to her, Ron took Hermione in his arms, hugged her tightly and added a kiss for good measure. "I love you," he whispered. "You're going to be great. You're great at everything. You know that, don't you?"

"Not everything," she replied

"Well, all the important things," Ron grinned, suggestively.

For the second time that morning, Hermione chuckled in spite of herself and gave her husband a squeeze round his waist. "Thanks," she breathed. "Having your support really helps." Ron answered with another kiss, this one on top of her head. (where, he noted, there were now a few sparse gray hairs. Ron thought to leave well enough alone and never, under ANY circumstances, mention this to her.)

"I hear the Leaky Cauldron rents rooms fairly cheap," Arthur piped in as he walked through the room.

"Shut it, you," Ron and Hermione retorted together.

The two disengaged from each other and Hermione tracked Arthur down for a goodbye kiss. Ron could hear her in Arthur's room, pestering him over the details of his new scholastic career. "Better you than me, boy," Ron muttered to himself. After ensuring that he and Arthur would be at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters at the appropriate time, Hermione left the house.

"Is she gone?" Arthur shouted from his bedroom.

"Yeah," Ron sighed wearily, flopping himself in to a chair in the living room,

Arthur ventured out to join his father. "Is she going to be like that from now on?"

"No," Ron said, rubbing his eyes. "Only the next decade or so."