Rain

5. ROSES

I love you less than tomorrow
I need your every minute of the day
Like roses need the rain

(Keahiwai, Roses Need the Rain)

"--were thinking that four would be enough," Ginny ranted. "Certainly not seven!" After the engagement announcement, weddings, babies, and matrimonial bliss were all Ginny--and Fleur, and Dad, and Mum and also Hermione--could talk about. Fred, George, and I seemed to be the only ones not immersed in the subject. (Charlie had permanently moved to Romania.) Now, weeks later, the subjects were still prime focus at the dinner table. One would think we had never had a wedding in our family! Harry, on the other hand, kept his mouth shut, even though it was his wedding, babies, and matrimonial bliss that was currently the topics of discussion.

"Molly and I don't regret having any of you," Dad stated flatly.

"I bet you don't," Fred, who sat beside me, muttered quietly, causing George to snicker. I would have snickered too, if Ginny hadn't launched her next question.

"Hermione, what do you think?" my little sister asked.

I wasn't aware that I was holding my breath until Hermione dropped her folk. She raised her head so slowly that I was afraid that she already had tears in her eyes. How could Ginny do this? I know it had been months since Bryce's death, but Ginny was simply being hateful. "Ginny, would you shut it?" I snapped, glaring angrily at my little sister. "Hermione doesn't want to talk about this."

Ginny--and nearly everyone at the table--shot me a baffled look. "Hermione doesn't have a problem with it at all, Ron," she told me quietly.

"Of course, Hermione doesn't have a problem with it! She only lost--"

"Hermione can talk for herself," said the subject matter, cutting my sentence off before I had change to finish.

I whipped my head in Hermione's direction. "I was just--"

"--leaping before you looked," she finished. "You really should think about what you say, Ron."

She was right. I usually attack first, and ask questions later. And I was just about to launch a detailed explanation of Bryce's death. Still, I would rather not have to discuss my foibles in front of my family. "Can we just drop the subject?" I tried to ask softly, but my voice came out as a squeak.

My wife narrowed her eyes at me. "Admit it: you're the one who's bothered by the conversation." Of course, I was bothered by a conversation about babies. Wonder why.

I hardly noticed the uneasy glances that were exchanged around the table, but I felt them, especially when Fred quickly interjected. "Hermione, the subject has been dropped," he reminded her.

"You're bothered," she said again, ignoring Fred to stare accursedly at me. Her glance softened. "You know, talking about it actually helps one come to terms with the problem."

Damn it, why didn't she just drop the subject? What is wrong with her? "Don't dissect me!" I squeaked, rising to my feet. "I'm not one of your fucking goblins."

Hermione looked hurt, which I completely understood. After the Second War, the goblins hadn't been so forgiving of wizardkind, especially when the Ministry had alienated most of the non-humans during the War. But as they were the best with money matters, many wizards were more than happy to accommodate them, especially the Ministry's Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Beast Division. Goblins took advantage of the situation, requesting anything from new laws to psychotherapeutic sessions. It just so happened that Hermione was temporarily filling the position of Goblin Therapist.

"I'm not trying to dissect you," she said sympathetically. "I'm trying to talk to you."

"I don't want to talk to you!" I barked before whirling around and stomping out of the room. I was so angry that I walked right out the front door of the Burrow before realising that I was actually walking. Stopping briefly to take a deep breath, I almost dissolved into tears right then.

And I would have had her voice not sailed through the air to reach my ears. "Ron, you're doing it again," she said.

I shot a glance over my shoulder to find Hermione standing there. Why could she just drop the bloody subject? Hadn't I dropped it when she had forgotten our anniversary? "IT?" I repeated.

"You're overreacting."

"Oh, forgive me, won't you?" I said sarcastically. "I was almost positive that I had a reason to be angry. I must have been wrong."

"If you don't want your family to talk about babies, you really should tell them. They don't know that we can't . . ." She didn't have to finish the statement. It was the first time we had talked about "Fisk's miracle" so it was only natural that we both felt uncomfortable talking about it.

There was a moment of brief silence in which I was sure that I actually would burst into tears. I saved myself the only way I knew how--my mouth. "Why don't you tell them?" I snapped. "You're so comfortable talking about it!"

"Ron!" was the last thing I heard before I Apparated.

* * * * *

"Harry, I want gardenias." I have to admit that I'm a little jealous of how easily Ginny verbalize her feelings.

"Alright," her fiancé merely shrugged.

For some odd reason, Ginny had dragged Harry and Hermione along to magical London to make some "decisions" for the wedding. I had attached myself to their little entourage because I could. I wanted to feel needed. So far, Harry hadn't made a single decision. ("Harry, I want white." "Harry, I want chocolate cake." Honestly, if Ginny wanted Paris, Harry would happily oblige.)

Now, standing outside of the flower shop, I decided that I had had enough. "Harry, stop being Ginny's bitch," I said.

He sent me a puzzled glare. "There's nothing wrong with gardenias, Ron," he said, turning to Hermione and Ginny for help.

"They're actually quite pretty," added Hermione, darting glances from me to Harry.

"But Harry doesn't want gardenias," I said before turning to my best friend, "do you, Harry?"

He shrugged for the umpteenth time. "Ron, I'm a bloke. To me, there are only two types of flowers: roses and non-roses."

"But do you want roses?" I insisted.

Seriously, if he shrugged again, I would have to kill him. "I couldn't care less," he told me.

"Do . . . you . . . want . . . the . . . bloody . . . roses?"

"I . . ." The poor man didn't know what to do. ". . . okay."

Smiling at my achievement, I turned to the girls. "Harry wants roses," I declared.

Ginny frowned. "Only because you threatened him into it," she said.

I shrugged. "There's nothing wrong with roses," I deadpanned.

"They're plain," Hermione protested. "Besides, Ginny wants gardenias."

"We had roses at our wedding," I snapped.

Harry and Ginny exchanged anxious looks as Hermione gaped, trying to figure out what to say. It was clear to everyone in the vicinity that we were all uncomfortable. "Ron, that's not fair," Hermione whispered.