well fuck.

Date: November 9th, 2020 Location: The Weasley-Granger Household @sixthbrothcr

A owl from the Ministry arrives for Hermione just before dinner about the upcoming festival being hosted in the name of the Technomagical Initiative. Weeks ago, she had expressed concern over the hypocritical nature of the event, but had ultimately agreed with the decision to support Muggle technology in Wizarding Society in a controlled environment. Without Muggles there to spread magic to the internet, they should be safe - though she can’t help but still worry herself over what the public will say.

They’ve been brutal about her reign as Minister so far, despite inheriting a Ministry less-than-equipped to deal with the outbreaks of breaches in the Statute of Secrecy. She skims the owl as quickly as she can while Ron brings the plates of food over to the table, her fingers (which are already tinted black from the ink she’d used all evening since coming home) itching to reply back right now. The event is tomorrow, after all!

She glances up at her husband, however, and frowns. Ron has made it clear his disapproval at just how much work she’s brought home with her since her new appointment. Hermione’s heart races with the anxiety of not writing back, but she sets the letter down anyway and smiles at Ron as he sits.

Not only is it a good idea to enjoy the evening before the festival - where she’ll have to be on all day, Minister Granger-Weasley, rather than just Hermione Granger-Weasley - she also has some news about Draco Malfoy she doubts Ron will appreciate to bring up. She pushes the letter aside subtly, keeping it out of her vision line. “How was your day, love?” she asks, pulling her plate towards her. The food that Ron cooked on his own because she wasn’t home to help.

     Ron can’t help the frown that appears when the Ministry Owl bursts through the window and Hermione acts as if it’d just delivered her first meal in 3 days. He can almost see her fingers twitch to open it, even though he’s about to set their plates down in front of her. It used to be adorable, watching her squirm to read an owl when she’d just started to work - and he’d had to tell her to settle down and relax! 

     But now he’s torn between annoyance and frustration that he’d had Draco at his doorstep the night before to prevent their children from getting in trouble with the Ministry. The Ministry she’s bending over backwards for. 

    Still, he says nothing, pulling up in his chair before grabbing his cutlery. An elbow on the table as he begins to eat, he notices her push the letter away and feels his heart lighten. It gets a bit better even when she calls him love, and he can’t help the affection on his face when he looks back at his wife. He likes when she’s home for dinner. 

          “ Could’ve been better. ” He has spent an evening with Malfoy in the recent days and run in with Lavender fucking Brown. His luck was pretty much shit. “ Well actually, it is better now that I’m home. ” 

Draco almost feels badly for clearly distressing Ronald Weasley so much – it’s not as though the children are in immediate danger, at least not to their lives. (And Rose, even less danger than Scorpius; Draco is under no illusions  that should their transgression be discovered, Rose will face a far lighter penalty than will Scorpius, for all that breaking those laws was her idea.) But he’s too worried for his own son to focus on that– and furthermore it’s Weasley, so any guilt that empathy might have inspired in him is faint and fleeting.

At least those sacred words – it’s about the children – are enough to get him inside; say what one might about Ronald Weasley (and Draco could give quite an oration about the man’s flaws and shortcomings, should anyone ask) but at least his priorities are in the right place where his children are concerned. It’s the thing that turned the neutrality of disinterest and distance between them into an awkward, uneasy true over these last few years: their children are friends, so they have to deal with one another. Never like this, though…

Draco slides inside, smoothing his robes more out of nervous habit than from concern that Weasley, of all people, is going to judge his fashion choices as wanting – although they are, today; Draco is prepared for a journey to an unfamiliar world. He’s dressed for the occasion in dull gray robes that reach no further than his knees and sturdy Quidditch breeches and tall black boots beneath – clothing that, he assumes, won’t look out-of-place in the gauche and tasteless Muggle streets that abut magical society. He’s even got his wand holstered in his sleeve, out of sight, rather than dangling from his belt, and the only jewelry he’s wearing are his ubiquitous silver rings and a simple pendant necklace that carries a useful Curse, just in case it’s needed. One can never be too careful among Muggles, after all…

“They’re all right, as far as I know at least, and going to Hogwarts won’t help.” Draco may not like Weasley, but he’s not going to bait the man with needless delays when he’s worried about his daughter; he may be petty, but he’s not that cruel. He has a son himself, after all; he knows what it is to fret for a child’s well being. “They’ve…” Draco hesitates, remembering that Weasley was once an Auror and a Gryffindor and for all that his self-righteousness has always been tempered with ruthlessness, he might still balk at such a thing as this – especially given his wife’s current political situation…especially given who is tangled-up in the problem alongside Rose, and who might make an easy scapegoat…

“I’m here to ask for your help,” he says instead of explaining further, at least not yet – not until it seems safe. “I – we – need to fix something before the children get in trouble for what they’ve done, and I don’t know that I can do it without you. But…it’s illegal, both what they did and what we’ll have to do to take care of it.” Draco swallows, meeting Weasley’s eyes uncomfortably. “I need your word that if you choose not to assist me, you’ll at least keep quiet about it rather than reporting them to the Ministry. Please.”

He wonders if this was a bad idea. He wonders if he’s going to have to hex Ron Weasley in his own home, and hope he can weather whatever consequences that’s going to entail – but Draco knows that he won’t hesitate, either. If the man forces his hand, he’ll go for his wand and leave Weasley trussed-up like a spider’s meal for Granger to discover later while he tries to clean-up his son’s mess alone. He’d do anything for Scorpius, after all…including get himself sentenced to Azkaban in his son’s place.

     Malfoy wants him to keep a secret from Hermione? A secret for Malfoy from his best friend and life partner? The sound of it is bloody mad, but the seriousness in Malfoy’s tone is intense and he’d shown up on his doorstep for help out of all people. Then again, who else was he supposed to rely on, some slimy former Slytherin to help him out? Did Malfoy even have friends anymore? Ron didn’t know or really care. 

    Except it’s about the kids. And despite that his main concern were always going to be Rose and Hugo, he didn’t mind Ferret Jr that much. Besides, if he didn’t agree with Malfoy he’d just fucking tell Hermione anyways. What did he care breaking a promise to a former Death Eater? He wasn’t Harry. 

     Besides, apparently it was referring to illegal activities to fix something his kid did, and there’s a pit in his stomach that he has a very accurate suspicion of what the fuck Rose went and did. “ Fine, I won’t rat you out. ” 

The Duty of a Dad

LOCATION: Granger-Weasley Home, London DATE: November 5, 2020 @sixthbrothcr​

Draco didn’t want to be here today. In truth, he didn’t ever want to be here – but today, especially, he would have rather been anywhere but standing on the threshold of the Granger-Weasley household, bracing himself to knock and do something he definitely didn’t want to do: ask for help.

Worse, it was the Weasel’s help he was asking for, not even Granger’s – but Granger was the last person he wanted involved right now. Fortunately, being Minister of Magic kept the woman busy enough that Draco hadn’t needed to come up with any “clever scheme” to keep her out of the way…unfortunately, there was no way around involving her husband…so he took a deep breath and knocked.

“Weasley,” he said, not bothering to waste his time forcing a smile – their children were away at Hogwarts, there was no need to pretend to an amiability that neither of them felt – his hands visible at his sides and clearly empty. He’d holstered his wand immediately after Apparating; it was better to err on the side of caution when interacting with these people. One never knew what might make one of them twitchy…and he was coming as the bearer of bad news already. The last thing he needed was to start the conversation with an exchange of hexes.

“It’s about the children…we need to talk.” Draco glanced over his shoulder at the street behind him, then met the annoyingly-tall ginger man’s eyes again. “Preferably inside.”

     Ron’s in sweatpants and a t-shirt, cooking dinner for two - though the person who makes it two will be warming it up when she gets home. Not that he minds, he understands completely that Hermione doesn’t have a shop that closes at precisely 6pm every evening. He’s been doing this for years now, but it’s the absence of his kids that makes it so much lonelier. Only a bit over a year ago, Hugo would be sitting at the kitchen table, telling him all about some superhero that he’d imagined. Ron’s favourite was one with tentacle arms. It made him shiver, and think of the scars that wrapped his upper arms - though he doesn’t know why that made him affectionate towards the freak drawn in crayons. 

     The knock at the door wasn’t exactly strange - he’d trained his mum to knock long ago when she’d begun to barge in unannounced almost daily in the early days of his marriage to Hermione. Something that had been awkward and annoying for a twenty-something bloke who was almost always trying to seduce his new wife or a while. Therefore when he opened the door to find Malfoy of all people on the other side, his brows practically touched his hairline and he frowned almost immediately. 

     He was about to ask what the fuck he was doing here, when he mentioned the children. 

Row | Lavender & Ron

cast: @everlastinglavender​​ and @sixthbrothcr  place: Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes  date: 6 November 2020

Lavender always felt uneasy about being in this shop, knowing who the co-owner was. She avoided Ron possibly the easiest of the trio and it was felt the weirdest to see him. Lavender doesn’t like Hermione at all but Ron she once dated and so seeing him fills her with regret. Also usually brings out her childish side. Regardless, Juniper loved a lot of these products and she loved her son more then anything she hated so she was here. She picked up Weather in a Bottle which she assumed Juniper would enjoy and she picked up three bombastic bomb and a Fanged Flyer. She found all the things she was looking for quickly and soon got on the queue, relief setting in. Although as her eyes scanned the room, she got tense again, seeing Ronald. “Oh look, it’s Mr. Granger,” she said obnoxiously. 

        It was one of those days that Ron was a bit, well, bored. The busy ones where a queue would line up and it would be the same thing over and over. Greet the customer, make them feel special for choosing such a fantastic product, really it’s one of my favourites!, then ring it into the cashier, take the money, say goodbye, repeat with the next customer. 

       It was mundane, and he had zoned out long ago to think about whether he’d bought seats to Ginny’s next game, and if Harry might be going as well for a bit of a boy’s night (also it was clear that Hermione wouldn’t be joining them - what was the point in even asking?)        That is until he picks up Weather in a Bottle and starts his usual monologue, “ Oh, I love this thing! My son once let out a tornado in my wife’s office and the look on her face was bloody hilarious. ” The story is genuine though, and the smile on his face at the memory of toddler Hugo and Hermione’s wild frenzy to clean up makes him smirk. That is until he looks up at the actual customer and it’s fucking Lavender Brown. The smirk fades into a scrunched look of confusion, and he dramatically looks round the shop.