Author: There’s a little bit more of background shown in this chapter, I am trying to build off what you already know. This is really the start of everything, we see a bit of angry Fred (interesting?) and a glimpse of how much Ronald means to Fred. The story will improve greatly soon!
Also please don’t hate Hermione; she is a mother and a widow.
“Fred’s nearly home,” Molly Weasley called into the lounge room before brushing away strands of her grey hair that dangled carelessly in her view.
Her whole body had aged incredibly over the last ten years, her skin was wrinkled, especially around her eyes, her hair no longer was ginger, but instead it was completely grey. Her round body ached every morning she dragged herself from bed, but she told herself each day that she wasn’t really old; she would never be like the other old witches that would insist on sitting around the house, day in day out. No, she would work; work like she would have 20 years before.
She turned towards the clock that balanced on a tall pile of books. The clocks hand with Fred’s grinning face ticked over to ‘Home.’ She smiled lightly to herself before walking back into the lounge room.
Hermione was curled up on the patchy couch with a book in her hands, her son, Ronald, sat at her feet, his eyes on the door as he waited impatiently for Fred to walk through it.
Then from behind Molly, Fred entered the room, ruffling his hands in his mother’s hair before pecking her lightly on the forehead.
“How was work?” Molly asked before sitting down on the chair next her wool that was knitting itself into a sweater.
He shrugged before bending down to catch the running Ronald in his arms. Ronald threw his arms around Fred’s neck, laughing loudly as Fred lifted him into the air.
“It was busy,” he said before placing Ronald onto his feet, safely on the ground.
Fred eyed Hermione for a moment. Her bushy mane of brown hair was tied loosely at the back of her head; she didn’t seem to acknowledge that Fred had arrived home as her eyes darted through the pages. She was nearly 30 and her skin had aged before her time, her eyes rarely sparkled and she never used her brains the way she should have.
“Have a good day?” Fred asked cheerily.
She tore her brown eyes from her much loved book. “Ronald and I went for a walk,” she said stiffly, avoiding the real question.
“Dad?” Ronald called from being Fred. “Dad, guess what?” Ronald bounced up onto the couch.
“What?” Fred asked, tearing his eyes off Hermione who began to read again. “What am I guessing?”
“Guess!” Ronald cried out excitedly.
“Hmm…” Fred hummed stupidly, pretending to think harder then he really was. “Did you invent a broom to fly to Pluto?”
Ronald laughed and jumped from the couch. “Don’t be stupid.” He said, wrinkling up his long freckled nose. “I moved a glass… I moved it without even touching it!”
The first sign of magic Ronald ever showed was when he was 7. He tripped and broke a large goblin made vase while he was running naughtily through the house. He got so scared and worried about what his grand-mothers reaction would be, the vase repaired itself. Everyone was so excited that he was a true wizard they didn’t punish him for his wrong doings.
It was Ginny who found Molly in the bathroom leaking a flood of tears, saying mumbled things about Ron showing his first signs of magic at the same age. Since then magic popped out more frequently.
“That’s great!” Fred said proudly, “maybe soon you will be working with George and me at our prank shop.” He winked mischievously.
“Now, now!” Molly said, butting into the conversation. “Don’t get that sort of thing in his head at this age! I think I can see another Prefect in the family.”
Fred shook his head in shame, “please don’t disappoint me like that.”
Ronald chuckled before puffing his chest out. “Only a month until I get my letter for Hogwarts!”
Hermione’s eyes shot from the pages in the old book and were glued on her son.
Fred eyed Hermione before talking to Ronald carefully. “Yes, your right. Only a month.”
“Night mum,” Ronald said after receiving a kiss by Hermione. She ran her hand through his flaming red hair before tucking his blankets in tightly.
Fred smiled lightly at the boy he had fathered for nearly 11 years. To everyone it was like looking after a younger version of Ron, Ronald Elijah’s real father. From his long nose, to his big feet he was Ron all over. The only thing different was his personality, otherwise he was Ronald Bilius Weasley, the Ron they all grew up with.
“Night Dopey,” Fred said before following Hermione from Ronald’s room.
Ronald was given Percy’s room, Percy had not returned to the house since Harry, Ron and Hermione’s 6th year. Although they had read about him trying to wiggle his way into being the Minister of Magic, they had not heard from him since, not that they cared.
At the very top of the house was Ron’s old room. Hermione locked the room with many Muggle locks and other countless charms and forbid Ronald from ever reaching that point of the house. Occasionally when she thought no one else knew what she was doing, she would sit outside the room for hours on end.
Fred opened their bedroom door, allowing Hermione to slide through. The average size room no longer held two single beds; instead a large double lay in its place. He pulled his magenta work robes off over his head before speaking.
“We need to talk.” He said firmly, though trying to remain quiet to keep the household asleep.
“No we don’t,” Hermione replied, brushing away his comment.
“He’s got to know!” Fred said through gritted teeth.
Hermione ignored him and pulled her plain nightie over her already clothed body and started to pull things off from underneath. Fred held back on commenting on that he had been pretending for 10 years that he was married to her, why won’t she even bare the humiliation of showing him some sort of flesh.
“Do you want him to go to school without knowing the truth?” Fred asked, pulling off pants and grabbing the tartan flannelette off the bed fiercely and pulling them onto his legs.
Hermione clenched her jaw, flashing her eyes furiously. “He doesn’t need to know the truth!”
Fred forced out a mocking laugh, “yeah, you are completely right Hermione. He doesn’t need to know that I am not his father, and that Ronald Bilius Weasley, who was part of the very famous trio that many, many books have been written in memory of, is really his father. Yet, he doesn’t know who Ronald Bilius Weasley is, let alone know about the stories of you and your two best friends!”
Hermione’s eyes started to glisten with tears. “Shut up,” she whispered.
“Sorry? Shut up? I’m not going to shut up until you speak to him! It’s a month until he gets the letter that tells him that he is about to attend the school that you attended for six years. He will be there soon; you have already waited too long,” Fred growled, making his point clear.
“SHUT UP!” Hermione screamed, a few angry tears rolling down her cheeks. There was no doubt that her pain and anger was heard throughout the one sleeping house.
“NO!” Fred yelled in return, his face beginning to go a dark shade of red.
Hermione grabbed a pillow from the bed and threw it towards him. “Don’t tell me what to do with my child!” She screamed, hot tears flying madly from her shaking body.
Fred clicked from his day dream and span around, knowing who the cry of help was from.
He sped to the front door and threw it open to see the large paddocks of the Burrow, throwing his head around to see where the screaming and tears were from.
And he heard it again, his heart pounding in his chest he ran towards the general direction of the noise. Was he in danger? Is he ok? Is he hurt? The questions raced almost too fast for him to fully know what he was thinking.
He heard another cry of help, and he knew he was closer. Soon, he was close enough to hear the tears of the little boy.
“Ronald?” Fred called out, looking through the trees, tripping over dead branches as he hurried.
“Dad,” he heard the little boy whimper.
Finally though the braches he could see a clump of red hair. Not worrying that the braches were hitting him as he ran through, he reached Ronald in record time.
Ronald was crumpled onto the ground, one of his legs were in an odd angle. Tears were pouring down his little round cheeks, dirt was scattered over his small body as he clutched his left leg.
Fred threw himself by the tearful boy. “What happened?” He anxiously asked.
“I fell,” the little boy said as his bottom lip trembled and he pointed at the tall tree beside him.
“Oh, Ronald,” Fred said, rolling up the pants on Ron’s damaged leg.
It was obvious his bone was snapped cleanly in two, and Ronald started to cry even more just from the sight of it.
Fred pulled him into a big hug; his heart still racing from the thoughts of the danger the little 5-year-old might have been in. Fred had seen some horrible things in his time; he has learnt to expect the worst.
As Fred carried Ronald in his arms all the way back to his house, he watched the little boy dry his own tears, but he couldn’t help but his own eyes become misty. It was then he realised that five years of looking after a boy that was not his own, turned him into a son of his own.
“He’s mine too!” Fred yelled back, punching the pillow she threw at him.
She yet again ignored his comment, and then threw another two pillows onto the ground, “you can sleep on the floor tonight, “she mumbled as she crawled into the comfort of their bed.
Biting his tongue, Fred conjured a blanket just as Hermione turned out the lamps with a swift movement of her hands.
He is my son too, Fred thought to himself as he drifted to sleep.
Well? How did you like it? Were the characters in character? Just remember that Fred is war-torn, and in turn he does show more emotions then just being funny. The story will build up soon, I promise! Please review to let me know how I’m going.