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Ron grinned as he looked around the kitchen. Clean, even by Hermione’s standards, and with Hermione’s favorite foods prepared on the table. He had been planning this dinner for months; it was a matter of time before Hermione got the promotion she deserved – and today was the day. He had heard, secretly of course, from Harry via a frantic owl that had crashed through the window. Rose giggled and lifted her arms, asking for Ron to pick her up.
He tossed her in the air, and was rewarded by a shriek of laughter. Rose had bits of eggshells in her hair and a smudge of flour decorated her nose from the very important task that he had given to her – mixing the batter for the cake. He laughed and wiped it off. She wrinkled her nose. It was so adorable that he just had to press a kiss to her forehead.
“Daddy, tickles!”
Little Rosie was such a charmer. He didn’t even try to deny that she had him wrapped around her sticky little fingers. He wouldn’t trade her for the world. It was all worth it to give up his position as an auror.
Ron, after turning in his resignation letter, did most of the housework. Before he dropped out of the aurors, it was mostly Hermione. He tried to help, but there was only so much what he could do when he came home at three in the morning and was dragged out of bed at the ungodly hour of six. He barely had the energy to shower before sleep dragged him down onto the bed, face first and practically drowning in drool.
But he did try. He’d get a sandwich or something in the rare occasions that he was earlier than Hermione – nothing that made much of a mess - and cleaned up after his meals. He’d clean, but he was rusty at the spells and only made Hermione angrier when he cleaned their house. He knew she was stressed – her hair was ever frazzled, even in sleep. Bed head didn’t even start to describe the monster growing on her head when she woke up, and he knew from experience that it would take an hour to smooth her hair down by non-magic means. And then the pregnancy came along. It wasn’t unprepared; they had put their heads together and figured out a date that wouldn’t mess up their combined schedules too badly. But then it went to hell. Hermione’s pregnancy wasn’t exactly difficult, but it wasn’t easy. She would cry for hours until he came home and nearly fell asleep on her shoulder while holding her to his chest.
The added stress was too much. They fought. Even though Ron tried not to stress her too much, he only knew to diffuse the situation by leaving, and that hurt Hermione more than any word. He couldn’t take it anymore, and the aurors were losing their appeal. He was so tired. Tired of the constant reminders of war on both criminals he brought in and victims he escorted to St. Mungos. When he went to the next Weasley Sunday Dinner, he saw the dark circles under George’s eyes. The shop had reopened, and George’s workload was increasing. George refused to hire more people in the core running of the shop – Fred’s role couldn’t be filled by a random stranger. Their friends were out in the world somewhere, coping with loss – even when the war ended for once and for all.
It was then that Ron made the decision.
“George.”
George yawned, and his jaw cracked. Ron winced in sympathy. Long work hours tended to do that to everyone.
“S’mething wrong?”
“No, uh. It’s just…”
He was never good with words. With the Aurors, he didn’t need to speak much. He floundered around for another thirty seconds and gave up; deciding to just be straightforward.
“You offered me the position in your shop, a couple years ago.”
“Yeah.”
George’s eyes narrow. He takes in Ron’s posture, the latest stiffness caused by a healing charm. George had always been more perceptive than Fred.
“Auror work not up to your standards, Ronniekins?”
“Yeah. I mean, uh, Auror work isn’t just cut out for me.”
“Why drop out now? You’ve been working there for seven years.”
“It’s.. it’s not really fair for both of us. Me and Hermione. And it’s not like I’m giving it up. I’m just… letting it go. I’m tired, George.”
His shoulders slumped. He was so tired. He had been tired since the War ended seven years ago. No, it began when Ginny was dragged to the Chamber thirteen years ago. He didn’t want his family to worry anymore. The war was over, and he didn’t need to feel this way. Hermione didn’t deserve to spend nights in the armchair waiting for him to come home.
“All right.”
Ron’s head snapped up. He gaped at George. George flashed him a crooked grin.
“The shop needs an extra hand or two, and I,” he paused. Pain flashed in his eyes for a full two seconds, and then crinkled into a full-blown smile. “will work you to the bone, little brother.”
“Didn’t expect anything less from you, Georgie.”
George clapped Ron on the back. He stumbled, and muttered something about stupid older brothers. George laughed and ruffled Ron’s hair, despite Ron having quite a few more inches than him.
“When can you start coming to work?”
“As soon as I can spend my resignation papers filed. A week at most?”
“Have you told Harry?”
“Not yet.”
He winced at the surprise in George’s eyes. He didn’t even discuss this with Harry.
“I was going to tell him after…” Ron made a vague motion with his hands. “You decided if you wanted me or not.”
George just shrugged.
“You’ll need to tell him.”
“I will.”
Ron sighed. He didn’t look forward to that particular conversation, but it seemed that a weight had lifted from his shoulders.
“C’mon. Mum’s calling.”
He followed George into the Burrow, feet lighter than they had been in years.