Tree Houses and Daisies

'Ron, just sign it.'

'No.' Ron pulled his robes on in the back room of the shop and went to unlock the front door.

George sighed and followed Ron, brandishing the dark purple-edged parchment. 'Ron, be reasonable.'

'George, I am being reasonable,' Ron calmly replied. It wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation.

In fact, it was a repetition of the same conversation they had at least once a week now for weeks. George lost count months ago. He was starting to get annoyed with Ron's persistent refusals. And he was running out of reasons to try and persuade Ron to sign the contract. George heard a rustling sound behind him, and saw Hermione emerge from behind the curtain that led to the back room. She had come down from the flat upstairs and was on her way to work. She and Ron had moved into the flat more than two years ago.

George glanced over his shoulder at a photograph of him and Fred taken the day the shop opened. Fred would have known how to make Ron sign the bloody thing a long time ago. George knew one reason that would compel Ron to do it. Can I go there? Fred would have done it in a heartbeat. George's gaze drifted to the front door. Ron and Hermione were talking quietly to one another at the door, too softly for George to hear what was said. Ron leaned down to kiss Hermione, and George averted his eyes, feeling like an intruder. When he heard the door close, though, George moved in for the kill. 'You want to marry Hermione, don't you?' Ron jerked as if he'd been hit with a Stunning spell. Bull's-eye, thought George.

'Yeah,' Ron muttered.

'So, sign the papers already,' wheedled George, holding out the parchment and a Self-Inking Quill.

Ron hungrily gazed at the parchment, his fingertips lightly brushing the edge. 'George, it's not that I don't want to do this...'

George took a deep breath, counting to ten. Slowly. 'But?' he prompted.

'But this has always been your dream. And Fred's.' Ron turned as the door opened to admit a young girl. 'Later, all right?' he pleaded in an undertone.

George nodded, but ground his teeth in frustration.

******

The shop closed for an hour at noon for lunch, unless the shop was at sixes and sevens, but that was only when Hogwarts letters went out, when the summer holiday started, and during the Christmas holiday. Ron had already gone up to the flat to make lunch. George was angry at Ron - angrier than he'd ever been. George had been stewing all morning about Ron's latest refusal to sign the papers that would officially make Ron a part-owner of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes - equal to George. It wasn't so much Ron he was angry with, but with his stubborn unwillingness to sign the papers. Both George, and Harry, who owned twenty percent of the shop on George's insistence, agreed Ron had more than earned it. Especially after he'd spent the last four years as what amounted to George's employee.

George walked into the flat and watched Ron put a plate of sandwiches on the table. 'Do you not think you deserve to be more than a damn manager?'

Ron put a sandwich on his plate. 'You and Fred built this. All I do is work here.'

George shook his head, as if he was trying to clear it of cobwebs. He exhaled strongly through his nose. 'Ron. You've done more than just work here for four years. You know the shop and how to run it as well as I do. You work just as hard as I do, if not harder. You've earned it.' George set the parchment on the counter.

Ron looked at the stack of parchment. It seemed to glow in the tiny, dim kitchen. 'I'll let you know tomorrow.' He took a bite of his sandwich. 'And it will be my final answer.' George nodded.

******

Ron locked the front door of the shop after George had gone home for the evening, his mind more on the sheaf of parchment upstairs. He unhooked his robes, and hung them up before going up to the flat.

Ron picked up the parchment. If he signed, it meant he and George would split eighty percent of the shop. It was a lot of money. More than Ron had ever had in his life. The idea of having money like that frightened Ron more than he wanted to admit. There was something comfortable about his financial situation. It was familiar. Ron wouldn't even know what to do with that much money. George certainly hadn't been ungenerous with Ron's pay. Quite the opposite. It was plenty for Ron to live on. But Ron wanted to be able to take care of Hermione before he proposed to her. Not that Hermione needed to be taken care of, really, but Ron wanted to be able to support them both, out of some sense of male pride, he supposed. Ron dropped the parchment back on the counter.

If he signed, on that line under George and Harry's signatures, he could finally ask Hermione to marry him. Ron sat on the sofa and stretched his feet out in front of him, so he sprawled out comfortably with his head resting on the back. Truth be told, there was only one person Ron worried about, and he wasn't here to give his blessing.

Worn out from the tension with George all day, Ron's eyes drifted shut and he fell asleep, waiting for Hermione to come home.

The door to the flat opened several minutes later, and Hermione came inside. She saw Ron sleeping, and quietly put her bag down by the door, and pulled her shoes off. Hermione went into the kitchen to get a butterbeer and frowned at the unfamiliar parchment lying on the counter. She had never seen it before. Picking it up, she rapidly skimmed through the contents, her eyes widening as she came to the end. She carefully set the parchment back on the counter, and turned to look at Ron. His brow was furrowed with something she couldn't identify. Hermione tiptoed to the sofa, and sank next to Ron, leaning into him. She rested her head on his shoulder and waited for him to wake up.

******

Ron was sitting in the tree house, playing chess against himself. He frowned at the board. The last time he had done this, he'd been... What? Thirteen? Fourteen? Ron nudged a white pawn forward, and was about to spin the board around, when a familiar hand swooped down and moved a black pawn. Ron's head snapped up. George hadn't liked to play chess, but every now and then, Ron could persuade Fred into playing a game or two after dinner. 'Well, who else were you expecting, little bro?'

'Are you wound up, then?'

'Why would I be?' scoffed Fred. 'That you lot moved on?' Fred reached across the board, and ruffled Ron's hair. 'I'd be a lot more upset if you hadn't.' Fred looked at the board significantly. 'Your move.'

Startled, Ron glanced down and moved a knight. 'You don't mind me being part of the shop?'

'How long has George had those papers?'

'Oh...' Ron mentally tallied all the weeks George had tried to get him to sign the papers. 'I dunno. I guess about two years, give or take a few weeks.'

'Two years?' Fred shook his head. 'You refused to sign those bloody papers for two years because of what I might think?' Fred asked incredulously.

'Well, yeah.'

'Ron, you're a git.'

'But, I...' Ron spluttered. 'What?!?'

'Ron, I'm dead,' Fred said bluntly. 'It doesn't matter what I think.' Fred moved another pawn on the board. 'Live your life the way you want, Ron, and stop worrying about what I think. Besides, Hermione loves you, for reasons known only to the Department of Mysteries, but she won't wait forever.

'Yeah, I know.'

'Sign the contract, Ron. You've more than earned it.

Ron looked down at the chessboard, more to hide the sudden tears in his eyes, than to make his next move. He moved a pawn, his hand shaking. It was a very high compliment from Fred. 'Thanks, Fred,' he said hoarsely. 'Your move.' Ron looked up. Fred was gone.

******

'Fred?' Ron woke up with a start. He sat up, rubbing a hand over his face, almost expecting to see the leaves of the oak tree outside the windows, and not the shops of Diagon Alley. He felt a weight on his chest, and looked down, perplexed. Hermione looked up at him, her eyes soft with sleep. 'When did you get home, hen?'

'About six-thirty.' Hermione sat up, stretching. 'Dreaming, were you?'

'Yeah. About Fred.'

'You don't normally dream about Fred.'

'No.' Ron rubbed his temples. The nap had given him a headache.

'Is it because of that pile of parchment on the kitchen counter?'

Ron sighed and let his head drop to the back of the sofa again. 'Yeah.'

'Because you think he would mind?'

Ron turned his head and looked at Hermione. 'Not anymore, I don't.' He heaved himself to his feet and went to the small desk in the corner of the sitting room and rummaged in a drawer for a Self-Inking Quill that wasn't broken or still worked. He walked to the counter and picked up the parchment, carrying it to the table.

The quill trembled briefly, as he held it suspended over the line with "Ronald Bilius Weasley" neatly printed underneath. Swallowing, Ron signed his name in his untidy scrawl, under George's round signature and Harry's angular script.

All three signatures flared, then glowed softly for a moment, throwing shadows in Ron's face for a moment, before it faded. The signatures were permanent, part of the parchment now. The contract was nearly like an Unbreakable Vow. It couldn't be broken, unless one of them died, or all three of them agreed to change it.

Ron looked up at Hermione. 'Want to go for a walk?'

'Sure. Just let me go change my clothes.' Hermione darted into the bedroom, and reappeared a few minutes later, wearing a comfortable jumper and jeans. 'Where are we going?'

'Hogsmeade?' It was out of Ron's mouth before he could stop himself. There was something he wanted to see there. He held out a hand to Hermione. She entwined her fingers in his, and he turned, Disapparating them both.

******

They strolled down High Street, talking of this and that. Ron came to a stop to the building that had once been the premises for Zonko's. 'They were going to take over this, you know,' he told Hermione. 'Talked about opening a branch here our sixth year. Never got to it, though, before things went all pear-shaped.' His face grew thoughtful. 'What if...' he murmured, ideas running rampant through his head. 'Maybe one day.' Ron shrugged, and tightened his grip on Hermione's hand. 'Come on; let's go see what Rosmerta's got for dinner tonight. I'm starving.'

'When are you not?' she quipped.

'Good question.' They turned and headed for the Three Broomsticks. Something caught Ron's attention from the corner of his eye. 'Hang on.' He stopped at the shop window, crammed with all kinds of jewelry. That's it! he said to himself, feeling a thrill go up his spine, vowing to return in a few days to purchase it.

'What are you looking at?' Hermione asked curiously.

'Oh. Your birthday's coming up.'

'It's April. You've got months to procrastinate.'

'Hey, I can plan ahead!' Ron protested.

'Yes, you can,' agreed Hermione. 'I thought you were hungry.'

'I am.'

As they headed to the pub, Ron looked back over his shoulder. There was only one more thing he had to do.

Well, two.

******

Saturday morning found Ron in the Grangers' back garden, up to his elbows in dragon dung fertilizer. It was something of a tradition with he and Richard on the Saturdays Ron didn't need to work in the shop. They would putter about in the roses, have lunch, then play chess until dinner, sometimes with Richard's set, and the others with Ron's wizarding set.

Richard watched Ron with concern. There was obviously something bothering Ron, and as much as Ron tried to hide it, Richard knew Ron was rubbish at hiding his emotions. 'Out with it, son. I can hear your mind spinning over here.'

Ron's ears reddened, and he opened a closed his mouth a few times. 'You know Hermione, right?'

'I believe so. For over twenty-two years,' Richard replied, amused.

Ron stripped off his dragon-hide gloves, and dug into a pocket of his jeans. 'Do you think she'd like this?' he asked, holding out a small box to Richard.

Richard raised an eyebrow, and stripped off his own gloves before accepting the box. He opened it to reveal a small gold band, set with a deeply red ruby. To Ron, it was the only ring he could have given her - it was Gryffindor's colors and it was just like Hermione - elegantly unpretentious and beautiful. Both of Richard's eyebrows went up. 'Yes, I do.' He gently closed the box and handed it back to Ron, who tucked it tenderly back inside his pocket.

'So I was wondering,' began Ron nervously. 'May I... Erm...' Ron could feel sweat beading along his upper lip that had nothing to do with the early spring sunshine. 'May I have your permission to ask Hermione to marry me?' he asked in a rush.

Richard gaped at him in astonishment, before he roared with laughter, causing Ron to wilt slightly. 'Jane!' Richard called as he gasped for air. 'Jane, come out here!'

Jane hurried into the garden. 'Are you all right?' she asked concernedly. Richard was wheezing breathlessly.

'Fine, fine.' Richard waved her off, sitting back on his heels. 'Ron here wants our permission to ask Hermione to marry him,' he told his wife, snorting with mirth.

Jane stared down at Ron with the same kind of dubious expression he'd seen so often on Hermione's face when he tried to convince her he had done his homework when, in fact, he hadn't. 'Why would you want to do something so bloody archaic?'

'It's what you do...' Ron replied weakly.

Richard chuckled and slapped Ron on the back. 'Why on earth would you bother asking Jane and me for our permission when Hermione's the one that will have to make the final decision, lad?'

Ron heaved a sigh and sat back, swiping his shirt sleeve across his forehead. 'Because she's your only daughter. Your only child, really. And I respect you too much to make this kind of decision without your input.' Ron shrugged uncomfortably. 'I'd like to have your blessing. That I'm good enough for her.' Ron stared at his hands, the thumb of his right hand, rubbing at a smear of dirt on the back of his left hand.'

He didn't see the look that Jane and Richard exchanged over his head. 'Ron.' Jane crouched down and tilted up his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. 'There's never been anyone else for Hermione, except you.'

'You have our blessing, Ron,' Richard added quietly, knowing that Ron needed to hear one of them say it.

Ron transferred his gaze to Richard. 'Thank you, sir.'

******

Ron woke up early Sunday morning, before Hermione. He was too keyed up to sleep any later. He turned on his side, watching her sleep. Ron had been around Hermione long enough to know she suspected something at her parents' house last night. He, Richard, and Jane were still slightly giddy from that morning, and Ron could see Hermione give them long, speculative glances. Richard had slapped him on the back before he Disapparated to Diagon Alley and wished him luck.

Ron had planned this moment for years, even since she came back from Australia. He knew he should have signed those papers two years ago, when George first offered it to him, but Ron needed to know George wasn't doing it out of pity. Ron snorted softly to himself. Sometimes, even he had to admit he took being thick to a whole new level. Some things never change.

'Hey.' Hermione blinked sleepily at him. 'You're awake early.'

Ron reached over and pushed a curl from her face. 'Yeah. Couldn't sleep.'

'Everything all right?'

'Oh, yeah. Just thinking.'

'Don't hurt yourself,' she teased. 'It's too early for heavy thinking.' Hermione slid out of bed.

Ron watched her leave the bedroom. The ring was hidden in his knapsack. He was going to do it after lunch. His Cleansweep Eighteen was in the broom shed at the Burrow. Hermione wasn't too keen on flying, but Ron felt most at ease on his broom. Plus, it was a good way to find some peace and quiet. 'Hey, Mione?'

'What?'

'Your mum and dad are coming over lunch today, right?'

Hermione appeared in the doorway. 'Yeah. That was nice of you to invite them over.'

'You're sure they don't mind the drive?' It would take nearly three hours for Jane and Richard to get to the Burrow from their home. Hermione still hadn't introduced her parents to more magical means of transportation. 'We could Side-Along them.'

'If Dad's driving, he'll make it with time to spare.'

Ron settled back into his pillow. 'Good.'

'What's gotten into you today?'

'Nothing,' Ron replied innocently. -Everything.

Hermione gave him another speculative glance, and went back into the sitting room. Like her mother, she did the Sunday crossword in ink over a cup of tea. But the Prophet crossword was slightly more precarious than the Times. If you activated the timer charm, you were given precisely sixty minutes to complete the puzzle. If you didn't finish, it would explode in your face. Rather like Exploding Snap cards.

Ron closed his eyes and smiled, humming to himself.

******

After lunch, Ron pulled Hermione outside into the back garden. 'Do you trust me?'

'Of course I do.' She gave him one of her patented narrow-eyed looks.

Ron pointed his wand to the broom shed. 'Accio,' he whispered, and his broom zoomed out and came to a standstill next to them. He mounted the broom, and held his hand out. 'Come fly with me?' She hesitated, biting her lip. Flying was not very high on her list of fun things to do. 'I won't let anything happen to you,' Ron begged. 'Just a few laps around the paddock.' Hermione put her hand in his, and mounted the broom in front of Ron. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her back securely against him, her bottom wedged firmly between his thighs. 'Ready?'

'I guess,' she said, only a slight squeak betraying her nervousness.

Ron gently kicked off and they soared over the trees. Ron looked down at Hermione, and grinned. She was clutching the handle of the broomstick tightly with both hands, and her eyes were squeezed shut. He leaned down, so his mouth was next to her ear. 'Open your eyes, hen,' he whispered.

'Why?'

'So you can see,' Ron told her matter-of-factly.

Hermione whimpered, but slowly opened one eye. They were hovering over the apple tree. She gasped and both eyes flew open. 'You like this?'

'I love it.' Ron urged the broom forward, drifting in lazy figure-eights around the paddock, directing the Cleansweep in a slow dive, so his toes grazed the top of the grass, then back up. 'Mione?'

'Yeah?' Her voice was slightly less shaky than it had been when they started.

'I've known you half my life. And I've said a lot of stupid things to you over the years, and I can't promise I won't ever say anything idiotic again, but I'll try. I love you, Hermione. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You're my best friend, hen. Marry me? Please?'

'Oh...' Hermione breathed. 'I thought Harry was your best friend.'

Ron gaped at her. That was not what he expected. 'Well, yeah, he is, but I don't want to marry him. I think Ginny might have something to say about that, too.'

Hermione smiled. 'I'd say so.' She was quiet for a moment, watching their shadow glide over the grass below. 'Take us down?'

Ron tilted the broomstick toward the ground, coasting to a stop by the tree house. His palms were getting sweaty. Sweet Merlin, is she going to answer me? He climbed off the broom, and helped Hermione down, holding her up when her knees buckled. He sat in the tall grass, Hermione in his lap. 'Mione, for Merlin's sake, are you going to give me an answer?'

'Ask me again.'

'Marry me.'

'Yes.'

'Yes?' Ron asked in disbelief.

'Yes.'

'Oh, thank you,' he breathed, as he gave her a hard kiss. 'Accio.' Ron pointed his wand at one of the tree house windows. Something small flew through the air, and he caught it. 'I hope you like this,' he said, opening his fist to reveal the ring.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. She nodded and held out her left hand. Ron slid the ring on her finger, then turned her hand over, and kissed her palm. 'Do you want to go back?' he asked, jerking his head toward the house.

'Not yet. Let's just stay like this for a bit.'

Ron wrapped his arms around Hermione. 'Sounds good to me.'