"Once upon a time, there was a – well – Harry Potter. Heard of him? No kidding."

"Ron, would you tell them a real story?" Harry shouts from the living room where he's having drinks with Hermione and Ginny.

"It is a real story!" Ron shouts back, then turns to look at the little black haired boys in front of him. "Anyways," he continues, "Harry Potter got a letter in the mail one day. He opened it up as fast as he –"

"That's not how it happened," one of the black haired boys says, lifting himself up on his elbows indignantly. "Dad told me the whole story."

"Did he now?" Ron frowns. "Well then, I'll fast forward. One year at school, Harry was playing – er – chess with his –"

"Wizard Chess, you mean," the boy says as his brother looks at him, somewhat exasperated.

"Yes," Ron says, his ears turning slightly pink. "Yes, he was playing Wizard's Chess with his best mate Ron Weasley. Then, when they weren't expecting it, Herm–"

"What do you mean, when they weren't expecting it?"

The other boy rolls his eyes. "Just let Uncle Ron finish the story," he says quietly.

Ron clears his throat. "So, they were playing Wizard's Chess when not unexpectedly, Hermione came into the common room carrying books for them to st–"

"Since when did you and dad study?" the two boys ask in unison.

Ron scowls.

"You kids are told too much," he mutters. "Fine. I'm going to tell you a different story."

"Oh good," the older boy says, relieved. "That one was boring."

Ron glowers.

"Once upon a time," he says, "there was a beautiful princess who lived in a room of the tallest tower of a castle that was guarded by a fire-breathing dragon, who, unexpectedly, was a girl. One day, a talking donkey –"

"Hey! That's the Shrek story!" the little boy shouts, his voice a mixture of excitement and disappointment.

"Jeez, you guys," Ron says dispiritedly, standing up and moving over to their bookcase. "I'll read you a book then."

As he peers at the books, giggling erupts behind him. Rolling his eyes, Ron attempts to find a suitable book to read to the less than ten year olds, but to no prevail, as usual. Finally, his eyes settle on one of Harry's old textbooks, which was currently acting as a bookend.

"Ready?" he asks, turning back to the boys, Intermediate Transfiguration in his hands. Both boys nod, and Ron flips to the introduction. "There are many uses for transfiguration," he recites, grinning slightly, "when used appropriately. This text will exemplify –"


Ron laughs. "Shall I go get your aunt?"


He continues to laugh as he proceeds down the hall to the sitting room where Ginny was walking around with the coffee.

"Are they asleep?" Harry asks as Ron sits down on the loveseat.

"Nope," he says, still smiling. "I told them their aunt would go up and tell them a story."

"Are you that bad of a story teller?" Hermione asks, as Ginny shakes her head, retracing Ron's path to the bedroom.

"Well, I didn't think I was that bad," he replies, taking the coffee Remus passes him. "But I guess they've heard all the stories about us, watched Shrek one too many times, and don't really enjoy Transfiguration."

Of course, by now Hermione is ogling him just as she did while they were in school. Mouthing like a goldfish, she can't seem to find the words to best put Ron at right. Finally though, she sighs exasperatedly, settling herself back in the armchair, muttering something about, "why the hell did I marry you?"

Harry himself shakes his head, grinning. "You tell better stories than I do," he says to Ron. "Mine are always about stupid things. Last one was about a yellow boat and a kid fishing, and then his mom came with milk, and he asked if he could go for a ride…"

Ron rolls his eyes. Hermione shakes her head. Ginny shouts from the bedroom, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU KNOW ALL ABOUT THAT? THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A SECRET! HARRY! WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN TELLING YOUR CHILDREN?"