A short story
“What if my gift to you is the countless times I’ve cleaned up after your kitten?” he asked. “Why just today,” he began, pointing to the living room floor, “she managed to drag sand into the house from Merlin-knows-where and smash bits of wood in it-”
After a long day of work, the last thing Ron Weasley wanted to do was clean up the kitten’s mess. Somehow, by some unfathomable action, the kitten had managed to create a pile of sand riddled with sharp, wooden pieces in the middle of the living room. To top it all off, there was a distinct odor of piss in the air, wafting upwards from the sand.
“Disgusting, Bathildas,” Ron commented, holding the kitten up to his face. His blue eyes looked seriously into the cat’s. “And to think, Rose said you were well-behaved.” He tutted disapprovingly, in a way he’d never had when he’d been Prefect, and set the kitten down. “Luckily for you, I’ll banish your mess, and she’ll never know the difference,” Ron added, winking. With a wave of his wand, the sand, broken wood pieces, and piss disappeared.
“Dad?” came the call from the floor above. “Is that you?” Rose called again, her footsteps audible on the staircase. She glided into the living room, reading glasses perched on her nose, her curly, unruly hair pulled into a tight bun from which wild tendrils still escaped, and a large, brown tome in her hand. “Hi Daddy,” she said, smiling brightly, kissing him on his cheek.
“Hi pumpkin…Did you grow since this morning?” Ron asked, laughing. “You barely had to stretch to reach my cheek!”
“Don’t tease,” she huffed, flopping onto the large chair by the window, her book dropping to the ground. It opened to a page filled with hieroglyphs, ancient scribbles, and drawings on the pyramids. “Did I tell you Professor Longbottom officially classified me as a weed? He said I was growing at an uncontrollable rate.”
“You’re no taller than I was at your age, Rosie. You’re fifteen, you’re supposed to be growing,” Ron replied, settling into the chair next to her, surveying her with kind eyes. She thought she was a horror, with her height, and her slim figure, and her hair, and her sharp, quick mind. A “monster” she’d called herself to Hermione. Ron didn’t see it.
“Almost sixteen,” Rose argued, pushing her reading glasses on top of her head. “Which reminds me, I’d like a good gift this year, Dad…I loved the autographed Cannons poster but it’s a bit unfair that it has to be framed and hung in your bedroom, don’t you think?” she questioned.
Ron laughed, his large mouth spreading into a smile. “I thought it was something we could share,” he protested, still chuckling.
Rose grinned back, lightly hitting his arm. “Share, eh? I doubt you even know the meaning of the word.” In response, Ron reached down and picked up Bathildas, holding her in his lap.
“What if my gift to you is the countless times I’ve cleaned up after your kitten?” he asked. “Why just today,” he began, pointing to the living room floor, “she managed to drag sand into the house from Merlin-knows-where and smash bits of wood in it-”
“What?” Rose asked, bounding up from her chair. She walked quickly to the coffee table, examining the top, then searching underneath it. “There was sand - and wood?” she questioned, looking under the table again, her brown eyes suddenly worried and alarmed.
“Yes, why?” Ron asked, watching as his daughter flitted from couch to couch, searching for something.
“My friend sent me a gift today…owled it…from Egypt,” she said, her voice muffled as she pushed her body beneath the couch. “It was a small chest with sand from the pyramids of Giza,” Rose clarified, untangling herself from the floor. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes a bit wild. “I left it down here to show Mum when she came home.”
“Oh Rosie, I’m so sorry,” Ron said, wrapping an arm around her slim shoulders. “Bathildas must have knocked it off the coffee table. It broke from the fall. The chest might have been reparable, but the sand was…made filthy.”
Rose laughed, even as her eyes filled with tears. “Oh Bathildas, that was not your litter box,” she scolded, cuddling the cat close to her face. A silent tear slid down her cheek, dropping onto the kitten’s fur. “How am I going to tell Scorpius my present was ruined by my rotten cat?”
“I’m sure…he…will understand,” Ron said slowly, his mind spinning wildly at the name of Scorpius. Hugo had mentioned that Rose and Scorpius Malfoy seemed to be friends, but this confirmed it. Ron could feel his heart sinking. From her reaction, it was obvious that Rose cared for the boy.
“He will, but…it was such a lovely present, Dad,” Rose said, her lips trembling, a few more tears leaking out of her chocolate colored eyes. “I wanted it. I wanted to keep it,” she said, swiping at her cheeks. She flopped back into her chair with a sad sigh and Ron said again, “I’m so sorry, Rose.”
“It’s ok,” she said mournfully, reaching down for her book. The tome covered
her lap and she slid her glasses back into place. For a few moments there was silence in the room, as Rose read and Ron fiddled awkwardly with The Daily Prophet, waiting for Hermione to arrive from the Ministry or for Hugo to burst through the back door and regale him with tales from the Potter household.
“Dad?” Rose murmured, her eyes fixed on her book.
Ron grunted.
“Do you remember that perfume you bought, Mum?” she questioned, her finger tracing a circle on the page. Ron watched her finger move round and round.
“What? The one for her birthday last year?” he asked, trying to remember. “Or was that the year before?”
“No, no, not that one,” Rose said, her cheeks flushing as she looked up. “The one you bought her during your school years…”
“Oh yeah,” Ron replied, smiling as the years rushed back. He could remember that terrible Christmas and how nervous he was about his gift. “Unusual, that’s what she called it,” he said.
“Did you ever wonder why she didn’t wear it?” Rose asked, shaking Ron from his musings.
“She didn’t wear it?” he said aloud. “I don’t remember that…”
“Oh!” Rose replied, her face flushing again. “There was an accident; the perfume bottle broke all over the floor...” There was silence as Ron took in this new information. Rose shifted nervously in her seat. “But you still got together,” she said quietly.
“Yes, of course. There was never any question about that happening,” Ron said, speaking confidently from years of marriage, the terror of new romance long gone. “If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be,” he asserted. Rose smiled into her book, looking considerably more cheerful, and Ron suddenly wondered where her question had come from. “Rosie?” he prodded.
“Hmm?” she asked, the smile still etched on her face. He grunted loudly and she looked up. “That’s good advice, Dad.” Her smile spread even wider. “If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.”
After a long day of work, the last thing Ron Weasley wanted to do was clean up the kitten’s mess. Somehow, by some unfathomable action, the kitten had managed to create a pile of sand riddled with sharp, wooden pieces in the middle of the living room. To top it all off, there was a distinct odor of piss in the air, wafting upwards from the sand.
“Disgusting, Bathildas,” Ron commented, holding the kitten up to his face. His blue eyes looked seriously into the cat’s. “And to think, Rose said you were well-behaved.” He tutted disapprovingly, in a way he’d never had when he’d been Prefect, and set the kitten down. “Luckily for you, I’ll banish your mess, and she’ll never know the difference,” Ron added, winking. With a wave of his wand, the sand, broken wood pieces, and piss disappeared.
“Dad?” came the call from the floor above. “Is that you?” Rose called again, her footsteps audible on the staircase. She glided into the living room, reading glasses perched on her nose, her curly, unruly hair pulled into a tight bun from which wild tendrils still escaped, and a large, brown tome in her hand. “Hi Daddy,” she said, smiling brightly, kissing him on his cheek.
“Hi pumpkin…Did you grow since this morning?” Ron asked, laughing. “You barely had to stretch to reach my cheek!”
“Don’t tease,” she huffed, flopping onto the large chair by the window, her book dropping to the ground. It opened to a page filled with hieroglyphs, ancient scribbles, and drawings on the pyramids. “Did I tell you Professor Longbottom officially classified me as a weed? He said I was growing at an uncontrollable rate.”
“You’re no taller than I was at your age, Rosie. You’re fifteen, you’re supposed to be growing,” Ron replied, settling into the chair next to her, surveying her with kind eyes. She thought she was a horror, with her height, and her slim figure, and her hair, and her sharp, quick mind. A “monster” she’d called herself to Hermione. Ron didn’t see it.
“Almost sixteen,” Rose argued, pushing her reading glasses on top of her head. “Which reminds me, I’d like a good gift this year, Dad…I loved the autographed Cannons poster but it’s a bit unfair that it has to be framed and hung in your bedroom, don’t you think?” she questioned.
Ron laughed, his large mouth spreading into a smile. “I thought it was something we could share,” he protested, still chuckling.
Rose grinned back, lightly hitting his arm. “Share, eh? I doubt you even know the meaning of the word.” In response, Ron reached down and picked up Bathildas, holding her in his lap.
“What if my gift to you is the countless times I’ve cleaned up after your kitten?” he asked. “Why just today,” he began, pointing to the living room floor, “she managed to drag sand into the house from Merlin-knows-where and smash bits of wood in it-”
“What?” Rose asked, bounding up from her chair. She walked quickly to the coffee table, examining the top, then searching underneath it. “There was sand - and wood?” she questioned, looking under the table again, her brown eyes suddenly worried and alarmed.
“Yes, why?” Ron asked, watching as his daughter flitted from couch to couch, searching for something.
“My friend sent me a gift today…owled it…from Egypt,” she said, her voice muffled as she pushed her body beneath the couch. “It was a small chest with sand from the pyramids of Giza,” Rose clarified, untangling herself from the floor. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes a bit wild. “I left it down here to show Mum when she came home.”
“Oh Rosie, I’m so sorry,” Ron said, wrapping an arm around her slim shoulders. “Bathildas must have knocked it off the coffee table. It broke from the fall. The chest might have been reparable, but the sand was…made filthy.”
Rose laughed, even as her eyes filled with tears. “Oh Bathildas, that was not your litter box,” she scolded, cuddling the cat close to her face. A silent tear slid down her cheek, dropping onto the kitten’s fur. “How am I going to tell Scorpius my present was ruined by my rotten cat?”
“I’m sure…he…will understand,” Ron said slowly, his mind spinning wildly at the name of Scorpius. Hugo had mentioned that Rose and Scorpius Malfoy seemed to be friends, but this confirmed it. Ron could feel his heart sinking. From her reaction, it was obvious that Rose cared for the boy.
“He will, but…it was such a lovely present, Dad,” Rose said, her lips trembling, a few more tears leaking out of her chocolate colored eyes. “I wanted it. I wanted to keep it,” she said, swiping at her cheeks. She flopped back into her chair with a sad sigh and Ron said again, “I’m so sorry, Rose.”
“It’s ok,” she said mournfully, reaching down for her book. The tome covered
her lap and she slid her glasses back into place. For a few moments there was silence in the room, as Rose read and Ron fiddled awkwardly with The Daily Prophet, waiting for Hermione to arrive from the Ministry or for Hugo to burst through the back door and regale him with tales from the Potter household.
“Dad?” Rose murmured, her eyes fixed on her book.
Ron grunted.
“Do you remember that perfume you bought, Mum?” she questioned, her finger tracing a circle on the page. Ron watched her finger move round and round.
“What? The one for her birthday last year?” he asked, trying to remember. “Or was that the year before?”
“No, no, not that one,” Rose said, her cheeks flushing as she looked up. “The one you bought her during your school years…”
“Oh yeah,” Ron replied, smiling as the years rushed back. He could remember that terrible Christmas and how nervous he was about his gift. “Unusual, that’s what she called it,” he said.
“Did you ever wonder why she didn’t wear it?” Rose asked, shaking Ron from his musings.
“She didn’t wear it?” he said aloud. “I don’t remember that…”
“Oh!” Rose replied, her face flushing again. “There was an accident; the perfume bottle broke all over the floor...” There was silence as Ron took in this new information. Rose shifted nervously in her seat. “But you still got together,” she said quietly.
“Yes, of course. There was never any question about that happening,” Ron said, speaking confidently from years of marriage, the terror of new romance long gone. “If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be,” he asserted. Rose smiled into her book, looking considerably more cheerful, and Ron suddenly wondered where her question had come from. “Rosie?” he prodded.
“Hmm?” she asked, the smile still etched on her face. He grunted loudly and she looked up. “That’s good advice, Dad.” Her smile spread even wider. “If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.”