A/n: So apparently (according to mugglenet) today is the 10 year anniversary of the Voldemort's downfall. And I thought, hey, this needs to be celebrated! Yayz for Harry!
So this is just an experimental set of fics to really help me get in gear with writing dialogue. For some reason I'm pretty okay with my action but my dialogue…meh. And this was totally based off my earlier fic, Knights with Firewhiskey. Is it necessary you read that before this? No. Should you read it anyway? Uh, ya (it's good, or so I hear).
Summary: "Who knew all of Ron's screw ups in life would result in helpful advice? Unfortunately for him, his children don't always appreciate his pearls of wisdom."
Setting: Beginning and end take place at Casa de Weasley (ole!), flashback during…5th year, I guess. But every flashback in this fic will deal with a different time period, so don't hold me to that.
Disclaimer (in internetz): i dun ownz teh hpz, cuz dey jkz. noobzftwlolbbqzomg.
Rating: Guh, G for now, cause this is rather safe writing. Although…not sure if it will stay this way for long (cause I am EVIL!).
Final A/n: This is multi-chaptered, if just for the sole purpose I can get back into writing for fun (I've had to write WAY too many papers for my stupid literature class…he won't even let me write about Harry Potter! Jerk…). Also this will hopefully be able to get me into a practice of updating more often (NOT once a month…more like once a week). This is assuming, however, that I will continue getting good (or usable at least) ideas aflowing.
And Hannah, I'll be working on Hugo and Rosie becoming, as you so bluntly called them, butt munchies. They kinda are in this chapter, but I intend to expand on their characters in the chapters to come.
The Tales of Weasley the Father
Chapter 1: The Tale of Names
It had been a long day at the Ministry for Ron, and all he really wanted when he went home was something good to eat, a hot shower, and a warm bed.
Unfortunately for him, he had quite a different fate awaiting him when he emerged from the Floo covered in soot.
"Oi! What is this?"
The two red-faced children turned toward their father, and began yelling at the same time.
"Rosie called me slug butt!"
"Hugo started it! He said I was a—"
"That's not true! Rosie—"
"All right, all right, that's enough!" Ron called above his two irate children in as authoritative a voice as he could muster. "Where's your mother?"
Hugo crossed his arms defiantly and looked out the window. Rosie sneered at him, but answered, "Mum's out front, talking to Mrs. Puckle."
Ron rubbed his eyes wearily. "What'd you do this time?"
"Well, it started when Hu—"
"I didn't do anything!" Hugo interjected hotly. "Rosie was chasing me through Mrs. Puckle's geraniums—"
"Well that's because you called me a troll!" Rosie replied.
"You said I was a—" Hugo began to exclaim, but Ron interrupted.
"Hey! What have we said about the name calling, guys? This is getting ridiculous!" Ron exclaimed.
Both of his children glared at the other.
"She started it," Hugo muttered, and Rosie sent him a dirty look.
Ron sighed deeply. "Do you guys know what name I call your mum?"
Both Rosie and Hugo looked to their father with mild interest.
"She doesn't have a nickname," Rosie answered quickly.
"And do you know why?"
The two children looked at each other, as if expecting a joke from their father.
"Let me tell you about the time I gave your mum a nickname…."
Hermione looked up from her Potions essay to see Ron staring at her from the couch.
"Ron, I can't concentrate on this essay when you're watching me."
Ron didn't break eye contact. "You know, Hermione, your name is too long."
"Well," Hermione twilled her quill in her hand, "what do you suppose I should do?"
"You need a nickname," Ron replied nonchalantly.
"But I like my name."
"Nobody wants to say a name with four syllables, though. It takes too long."
"No one else is complaining. I think you're just getting too lazy to say the whole thing," Hermione said, trying to turn back to the essay.
Ron moved from sitting on the couch to the armrest. "How about Hermy? Grawp likes it."
"I refuse to be called Hermy. Sounds too close to Herman."
"So Herman is out of the picture too, eh?"
Hermione sent Ron a look that made him recoil slightly.
"Okay, okay, no boy names, I get it. How about…'Mione?"
"Four syllable names are out of the picture, but three syllable nicknames work?"
"Yeah, good point…the best nicknames are two syllables and under. Will Mio work then?"
"Me-oh?" Hermione grinned. "No, that's not going to work. That's something a lazy cat would say."
"I hear Crookshanks saying it all the time," Ron grinned, and Hermione rolled her eyes and tried to get back to her paper. "Well, what did Vicky call you? He probably couldn't even pronounce your name…" Ron adopted a gruffer, deeper tone. "Herm-own-nee. Hermy-ow-nee. Herm-o-ninny…."
Hermione blushed a bit but didn't reply.
"Ah, those are really lame though, and are twice as hard to say as your original name."
"Does that mean you're going to give up and just go back to my original name?" Hermione asked hopefully.
Ron got up from the couch and strode over to Hermione. "You know, I used to call you a know-it-all all the time back a few years ago. Maybe I should just start calling you that again," he said, picking up one of the books on the table.
"But I don't know it all…if I did I wouldn't have to worry about this essay so much," Hermione replied, grabbing her book back from Ron.
"But calling you a know-some-of-it-all isn't nearly as catchy. Plus it belittles those of us who thought we knew some-of –it-all. See, I could have considered myself a know-some-of-it-all until you called yourself one; now I'll have to be categorized as a know-very-little-of-it-all. It's degrading."
"Fine, I'm a know-it-all; can I finish my paper in peace now?" Hermione replied shortly.
"Yeah, sure, I was on my way to bed anyway," Ron replied, stretching his long arms as he headed toward the staircase leading to the boys' dormitories. "Goodnight, know-it-all."
Ron halted at the staircase, turned around and looked at Hermione. She kept her head down determinedly, quill scratching across the parchment.
"So, moral of the story?" Ron asked his no longer interested children.
"Don't interrupt mum while she's studying?" Rosie asked distractedly.
"Mum's not a know-it-all?" Hugo said, pulling at a loose thread on his sleeve.
"Never trample Mrs. Puckle's geraniums?"
Both children turned around to see their mother standing in the doorway. They each turned to look at their feet, ashamed.
"Sorry, mum," they said together, a long-practiced habit.
"Well, you don't have to apologize to me, but you will have plenty of time to say sorry to Mrs. Puckle. You're helping her tend her garden all next week as punishment."
Rosie and Hugo both groaned.
"Now go wash your hands, it's time for dinner."
Ron watched as his children raced each other out of the room and down the hall. He then turned to his wife, eyebrow raised.
"That was not the moral of the story," he said, crossing his arms.
"I'm sorry; I came in late. I assumed it had to do with respecting other people's property?"
"No," Ron muttered halfheartedly. "It had to do with name-calling."
"Oh, were they calling each other names?" she asked. "Well, they're kids, they'll grow out of it soon enough. You did eventually, and look how you turned out."
"Well, thanks, little know-it-all."
"You're welcome, Ronald."
Love it? Hate it? Want more of it? REVIEW (please).
P.S.- Technically Mrs. Puckle doesn't belong to me. Here's a bit of HP trivia…does anybody know who she belongs to?