Batteries Included

Ron Weasley admitted defeat on the Saturday before his father’s birthday. “I give up,” he sighed. “We’ve looked all week and haven’t found a thing.” He collapsed in a red chair next to a window in a small café.

His friend, Hermione Granger, sat down across from him, and placed her shopping bags on the table that stood between them. “Let’s not give up so easily,” she replied. “There are still some stores we haven’t checked yet. Why don’t we take a short break here and check those stores later?”

“No good.” He shook his head. “If we haven’t found something by now....”

“There’s still time!”

Ron, however, slumped in his chair even more. He assumed that finding a birthday present for his father would be easy. All he had to do was find the strangest, most complex Muggle device, right? A week later he wasn’t so sure. They had searched through every electronics store in London with no success. What looked interesting was really expensive, what was cheap looked rather dull, and what was just affordable enough didn’t seem to suit his father either. Hermione had an idea to buy a non-electronic gift, but considering that her bags were full of things for herself that idea hadn’t worked so well for Ron.

His father’s birthday was the next day. How could they possibly find a suitable gift for his father on such short notice? Ron felt guilty for not having searched for a present sooner. His father deserved much more than a gift bought on a week’s notice. His father was a hero. Heroes deserved pins and medals. If he could afford them he’d buy the best pins and medals and ask the Minister of Magic to hold a special ceremony to honor Arthur Weasley.

Mr. Weasley had become something more special to Ron since last summer. Before last summer, he had wished his father were something more, even though he loved him. Mr. Weasley had lacked what every boy wanted in his father: power. Power meant bragging rights, security, and a sense of pride, honor, and significance. Certainly the Weasleys were “significant,” if “recognizable” was synonymous with “significant,” but they didn’t have power. Arthur Weasley’s sons couldn’t boast about their father’s achievements like Draco Malfoy once could. Arthur Weasley was merely an insignificant government employee who barely made enough money to support his family. The most insignificant wizard with a Knut more than Arthur would have looked down on him.

What Mr. Weasley did for the Order would add little to his reputation in the future. Though receiving the proper awards for his services he would be just a name in the shadow of great luminaries. Yes, Ron acknowledged his guilt for wishing his father was anything more than what he was, but he resented that the world failed to recognize the things Mr. Weasley had done for the safety of Britain. Mr. Weasley had worked tirelessly to protect Muggles, to protect Harry, and to fight Voldemort. He’d risked his job doing this—he’d risked his job for many things, some of them not as noble (like the flying car)—and his own son, the very one who had almost put his employment in jeopardy—couldn’t even find a present for him! Ron sighed deeply and ran his hands through his hair, placing one hand on the table next to Hermione’s bags. He didn’t notice until moments later that Hermione had placed one of her own hands over his.

“Ron,” she said, “we’re going to find a present. I promise. Don’t let it get to you so.” She stroked a thumb against the back of his hand. On any other day Ron would have reacted to it; today he was indifferent to, though appreciative of, her gesture. He grinned weakly, and clasped his other hand over Hermione’s.

“No. I think we’ve done all we can,” he said. “I’ll just have to own up that I didn’t buy him a gift for his birthday.” Ron looked up to a clock hanging on the wall opposite him. “We should be going back to the Burrow soon, anyway.” Hermione glanced at her watch and nodded.

“I’m sorry, Ron. I was no help. Going into bookstores only to buy things for myself…” Ron shook his head and patted her hand. It was no use apologizing. What was done was done. They may as well relax with the time they had left. Hermione handed him some money to buy drinks with. He returned with two cups of hot chocolate.

They both were walking out the café twenty minutes later when Ron clasped both hands on his head and groaned, “Batterings!”

“What?” Hermione asked.

“Didn’t you say you needed batterings for your seedy player?”

“Oh! You mean batteries for my C.D. player. And, yes, I’d completely forgotten!” Hermione thanked him earnestly for remembering, and they stopped by the nearest electronics store to buy batteries.

~*~

Ron tried not to get up the next morning. He hated facing his father empty-handed, when he knew Bill, Charlie, Fred, George, and Ginny had all bought him gifts. If it hadn’t been for Hermione, who was well aware that he wasn’t sick, he might have gotten away with feigning illness. Somberly, Ron got himself dressed and headed downstairs for breakfast, where his mother, Ginny and Hermione were all chatting with his father. A small pile of presents sat on the table. Ron’s stomach lurched.

“Happy birthday, Dad,” he said, sliding into a chair next to Hermione. His mother, prepared him a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast, and handed it to him, smiling. A breakfast plate had never looked so depressing.

“And how are you doing today, son?” asked his father.

“All right, I guess.” Ron didn’t look him in the eye. “What about you? It’s your birthday, after all.”

“I could do for a few more strips of bacon, myself.” He shot Mrs. Weasley a significant glance. “And some cake, if you don’t mind.”

“You’re not getting any cake, Arthur Weasley, until tonight. When the rest of the family can have a piece,” Mrs. Weasley said firmly.

“Are Fred and George coming, then?” Ron looked to his mother. She frowned slightly.

“Yes. They’re coming, all right.”

“Oh!” Hermione had suddenly placed her hands on her mouth. “Mrs. Weasley…ah, are we still on for the…you know…” Hermione performed some very secret form of communication with her eyebrows. Mrs. Weasley understood clearly. “Ron,” she said, turning to him, “you do have the batteries, right?”

“The batteries? Oh, right!” Ron finished his last piece of bacon and ran upstairs to his room, retrieving the bag with the batteries in it. He hadn’t a clue why she needed the batteries now. He returned downstairs, took out the batteries and was about to pass them to Hermione when Mr. Weasley let out a squeak of excitement. He stood up and rushed over to Ron and Hermione, staring eagerly at the pack of batteries.

“May I see them?” he asked Hermione. She nodded. “Are they new?” Hermione nodded again. Ron and she watched as Mr. Weasley stared at the batteries as if they were rare moonstones. With great reluctance, he handed them back to Hermione.

“I suppose you’ll be needing those for your eklektric devices,” he said sadly, but Hermione’s face had lit up like a light bulb. She looked to Ron with her eyebrows raised and began to shake her head.

“Er, no, actually. I don’t need them. Those are for you!” Ron’s jaw dropped, as did Mr. Weasley’s. “Ron bought them yesterday.” Hermione looked to Ron.

“Happy birthday!” Ron said automatically.

A week’s worth of anxiety went away then. It was worth more than all the power in the world, more inspiring than a pinning ceremony. His father was elated to have such a gift. He never stopped observing them, even until the late hours, when Fred and George began to display their latest gadget. He said it was the best gift he’d received all day.

Hermione explained later that she, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley had intended to use the C.D. player to sing “Happy Birthday to You” to Mr. Weasley, but had figured, when Mr. Weasley examined the batteries, that perhaps he didn’t need a fancy gift like Ron thought he did. “It’s cliché, I know,” she said to him, “but sometimes the most complex problems have the simplest situations. Besides, I’m sure your father would have been honored just to have spent time with you on his birthday, even if you didn’t buy him a present.” And together, Ron and Hermione clapped as Mr. Weasley finished a Muggle song he had memorized over the summer.

The End