It was no secret that Arthur Weasley was prone to taking his work home with him. Going anywhere near his work shed at home was easy proof of that. He was quite proud of his collection of plugs - proud to the point where he was considering dedicating his last open corner to batteries.
On the many occasions, particularly those that were most exciting to him, his interest in the Muggle ordinary induced eye-rolls and blank stares from his children. He often tried to share his interests with them, but to no avail â“ he always just assumed they were tuning him out. Years later, he would find this mistake in the form of a Ford Anglia; but other than using it for a ârescue mission,â as the twins had so put it, little good came from the mix of his childrenâs interests and magically modified Muggle artifacts. Heâd have to punish the boys for that one â“ and heâd never even get to know how well it flew.
The one exception, however, came in the form of a box of enchanted childrenâs stories that had found their way into his office one autumn night. The box itself, left in front of his desk after his last break, seemed to be made of wood, the once-ornate carvings around the edges worn down to look like small scrapes across the sides. The box itself seemed innocent enough, but Arthur never judged off of looks â“ his job had taught him that much.
Enchanted books were not unusual; in fact, they were very common in households bearing children of mixed magical and Muggle blood. He had always assumed that the magical parent would have wanted to at least make the pictures move to have things a little more interesting. Unfortunately, these articles were prone to getting thrown back into the Muggle world at small, market-like events where he believed that they sold either the lawn or the âgare-ageâ maybe â“ whatever that was.
Regardless of the form of purchase, there was quickly a need for the Ministry to step in and confiscate the items. The counter spell to put them back in their mundane state was fairly simple â“ he could get through the whole box if he came into work early the next morning. Molly wouldnât appreciate it if he was late to dinner again.
His curiosity got the best of him, though, when a book on the top of the pile spat a puff of smoke at him, nearly catching the rest of the books on fire in a shower of sparks. A quick glance at the book was all it took to find the culprit: a very angry looking dragon adorned what was left of the cover. Arthur had never known Muggles to know anything about dragons, and he was rather intrigued to see what their interpretations of such creatures could be.
Before he could open the book, though, Errol swished through the office door and pecked his master on the shoulder. Arthur sighed, taking this as a sign from his wife, and started to pull on his cloak.
As he cleared up his office, however, he couldnât get the books out of his head. Something about the innocent magic and honest intentions associated with the books made him absentmindedly think of the three-year-old little girl that would be waiting for him when he got homeâŚ
Well, sheâs grown tired of our own childrenâs tales, he thought to himself. And sheâs too young for the rest of them. One little story couldnât hurt.
---
Arthur chuckled to himself as he stepped away from the kitchen window, where two shadows danced away in the distance. It wouldnât be long now.
Still, he let his mind drift back in time. It had been nearly fourteen years since he had brought those books home.
Of course, the books had been harmless, just like he had imagined. The dragon might burn his hand every now and then, and some even squirted water in your face, but in essence, they were simply magically modified childrenâs tales.
What he hadnât expected, however, was how it defined those years of childlike innocence that he saw his daughter through. In the years that had passed since the night he read his daughter the first story from his small collection, the books had been a rather mischievous secret between his youngest daughter and her dad. It was a secret that had survived the Second Wizarding War.
He found it odd to be waiting in the moonlit kitchen of his home, well past midnight, to encounter her on another secret, no doubt full of mischief as well. He couldnât help but feel slightly left out as he considered that it was not his secret to share.
âNo, daddy!â sheâd whisper, as if her mother would walk in the room at any moment, after he read her the first few lines of a new story. âShe canât have gold hair! The picture has it red! And stepsisters? The picture has brothers!â
âRight you are, Ginny!â heâd say, finding no reason to hide the pride in his voice. Although he would always change the pictures to have little redheaded princesses for his own little redheaded heroine, changing the words was something of a little reading game. Once the offending word was spotted, a flick of his wand was all the text needed to rearrange itself. âNow, where were we?â
Alas, all good things had to come to an end, and Molly was particularly suspicious of his antics two years later, after Ginny had innocently asked her mother to braid her hair like a princess named Rapunzel. It was a sign that it was time to graduate her to The Tales of Beedle the Bard.
The night he started to clear the books out of her room, he couldnât find the story of Rapunzel anywhere. He knew Ginny was rather fond of it, as the book itself showed battered signs of being well read by an adoring toddler. On top of that, he knew it could find a place in his workshop to hide it, even if it was more for his own nostalgic benefit⌠However, it was nowhere to be found in the trunk under her bed that, if you asked it nicely, would yield the current supply of books instead of her collection of stuffed animals.
Sadly, heâd resorted to assuming that it had been accidentally slipped in with the last stack of books heâd taken back to the office.
An abrupt thump against the doorframe snapped him out of his memories. A figure appeared almost out of nowhere.
âDad!â the startled whisper, accompanied by another few bumps through the room, cut through the silence. The eyes of his only daughter widened and, as she tried to straighten herself up in the dim light of the kitchen, he could tell he was one of the last people she had expected to see on the opposite side of the room.
The nearly grown figure of Ginny, very far from the little girl she once was, approached him carefully.
âOut for a little midnight stroll?â He felt a sly smile creep up on his face.
She ducked her head, as if trying to hide that her cheeks were turning a bright shade of red. The gold lettering on her favorite Quidditch shirt glimmered as she shifted around uncomfortably. âNot really.â
âItâs been awhile since youâve flushed that redâŚâ Arthur thought aloud, still a bit amused. âI take it, then, that you and Harry were not just skipping rocks by the pond?â
âDad!â She screeched again, looking around nervously, her eyes flashing warning signs. He glanced towards the doorway as well. âI didnât exactly want you to find out this way.â
âOh, Iâve known,â he replied calmly, and Ginny gave him a questioning look. âYou forget that, although your mother is rather good at catching any suspicious behavior, I also took part â“ and learned many lessons on trickery â“ in raising your twin brothers. I donât think to this day that George is aware that I could see them disappear down the road from my bedroom window.â
Silence sunk in slowly, not from the implication of Fredâs name, but from Ginny taking a little time to gather her thoughts on how exactly to reply. Arthur was glad that his daughter had inherited his ability to move on from tragedy â“ he could never pretend that his son had never existed, but they both recognized the importance of normalcy in his memory.
In light of all of this, Harry needs a girl like her, Arthur mused to himself. Out of everyone, excluding maybe George, Harry took much of the scope of the tragedy on his shoulders.
Ginny ran a hand through her windblown hair. Or, at least, Arthur hoped that was the reason for the strands tangled behind her ears. He had a feeling he didnât really want to know and chose simply to not think about it further.
âI interrupted you,â she said finally, as if she felt a subject change was necessary, if only temporary. âYou had that look on your face like your mind was somewhere else.â
Arthur smirked once more at his daughter. âI wouldnât call it interrupting. My mind was just thinking about many years ago, when your interest in boys was the extent of the stories that IâŚâ he paused, considering how much of this she would remember, given she was five when the books disappeared. âYou probably donât remember - â
âIn my defense,â she quipped, âI grew up with brothers who made me wonder if Iâd ever find a boy who wasnât a scheming, self-absorbed git.â She stifled a giggle.
Arthur considered this with a grin. âSo you donât think he is anything like your brothers?â
âNo.â Ginny glared at him playfully, moving to sit down near her father at the table.
âGood,â he replied quietly, watching his daughterâs form move in and out of the light until she found the chair, âbecause I donât think this house could survive much longer if yet another boy entered the family who was as prone to trouble as the previous six were.â
âActually, I think heâs as prone to trouble as you can get.â
Arthur had never exactly considered what Harry had done the kind of âtroubleâ he was referring to, but he got her point.
âAre you implying that heâs not the kind of boyfriend that I would want for you?â he joked.
Her hazel eyes grew suddenly serious. âWill any boy ever be exactly what you want for me?â
âNo,â he said, more instinctively than seriously, pausing to gather his own thoughts, âbut, if you canât tell, your mother and I will support you in whatever path you decide to follow. Thereâs no need to hide it from us, you know. Besides,â this time Arthur allowed himself a smile, âI think everyone in this family really enjoys him being around.â
Relief spread across Ginnyâs face. Wordlessly, she stood up and wrapped her arms around her father. She still smelled like his little girl, the one that used to curl up on her parentâs lap and bury her head in one of their necks to hide from her brothers, but there was also a hint of another person â“ a boy, no doubt.
âI may not be little anymore,â she whispered into his ear, âbut youâre always going to be Daddy to me.â
When was the last time she had called him that? When she was ten? It had to have been longer than that⌠How could that much time have passed?
He returned her hug, still trying to place his mind on the time not only Ginny, but also his other children, grew out of the âmummy and daddyâ phase. Picturing all of the faces of his growing kids made him feel suddenly old.
She loosened her grip, and Arthur tried to find words that could adequately finish the conversation. He couldnât find many. Finally, he sighed and looked up.
âThank you,â he hoped the sincerity of his voice came through. âNo matter what happens, know your mother and I love you very much.â
âI love you too, Dad.â Ginny smiled one last time before she turned around to continue up the stairs, a little overcautiously. Arthur smiled despite himself as he heard the door to her room click shut. There were no other footsteps.
âWe arenât angry at either of you, you know,â he said, not exactly to himself. After a short silence, Arthur continued, âI know you two are afraid to be happy. Itâs been a rough month.â
This seemed to work.
A figure materialized, like he was coming from behind a curtain. A bespectacled teenager, a few pieces of grass still visible in his hair, stared back at Arthur with a pained expression on his face. Harry Potter pulled the Invisibility Cloak from his body and carefully arranged it in his arms.
âI didnât mean to eavesdrop and I wasnât sure how much Ginny had told you. I⌠er⌠sheâŚâ Harry explained hastily, struggling for the right words. âThis all happened a little fast. We didnât want to upset anyone⌠and Iâm not familiar with many of the wizarding traditions on the matter. Not that itâs a good excuse.â
The two looked at each other and shared a smug smile. The grip of tensions was released. Here Arthur Weasley sat, the man who made a living for any knowledge of the Muggle world, with a boy who wanted nothing more but to know about the magical world.
âPermission or not, I doubt my input in the matter would have had much effect on what Ginny would do,â Arthur couldnât help but grin once more at his daughterâs independence. âBesides, itâs been a long time coming, now hasnât it?â
The corners of Harryâs mouth tugged his face into a smirk. âItâs more like it took me long enough.â
âI believe that there is actually a bet between George and Ron on the matter. Iâm not supposed to know about that, either, so that might be something we keep from MollyâŚâ
The two quietly laughed. As Harry straightened up, as if to make the journey back to Ronâs room, he turned and looked, suddenly serious, towards Arthur.
âThank you, Mr. Weasley. For everything.â
âSometimes I think I should be the one thanking you for all you have done for us, Harry,â Arthur smiled knowingly. âBut I will ask you one favor, if you donât mind.â
âAnything.â
âDonât be too much in a hurry to grow up. Be teenagers. I know Molly and I arenât the best example of that⌠But we lived in a time where we couldnât be kids,â Arthur explained, his memories going back to a time where they didnât know if their world would make it to tomorrow. âI know youâre not kids anymore â“ life made you grow up pretty quickly these past couple of years â“ but why not try to enjoy the idea of being young and in love for a little while? Well⌠within reason, at least.â
Arthur could feel heat creep up on his cheeks and â“ judging from the look on Harryâs face â“ heâd caught the implication.
After a brief moment, Harry said, âThe whole idea of a future is still pretty new to me. I think we all would like a chance to slow down for a little while.â
With that, the younger of the two took the cue to start his journey up the stairs, leaving Arthur alone once again. He couldnât help but ask Harry to let Ginny hold on to that little bit of being a kid. It was still hard to let go of the little five-year-old with those bright, excited eyes, and the exhilarating anticipation that took over when heâd bring a new picture book home from work.
It was those memories that he clung to as he made his own way towards the stairs and into his own bed.
Gone were the days of Muggle fairy tales and father-daughter secrecy, but that didnât stop Arthur from hoping that one day his little girl would get to be in one of those storybook endings. Maybe she already was â“ only time would really tell.
---
The next morning was a rather quiet one, with the normal crowd of adults - usually ready by this time to Floo to the Ministry - taking advantage of the weekend chance to sleep in. Arthur stood outside of his workshop, wide-awake and determined to get something done to the motorbike on his day off.
He strode over to his bench, the colors of a brightly wrapped package reflecting the sunlight outside. There was no bow, but the paper was like a prism in the light, sending color into just about every corner of the drab shed.
Curiously, he picked up the parcel and pulled the paper away, feeling his breath catch as a note fluttered to the ground. He caught it before it hit the dirt floor.
I know you think I did, but I could never forget. Like I would ever let you get rid of my favorite book, even if Mum had to find out.
The note wasnât signed, but the swirly handwriting was a dead giveaway. Arthur turned his attention back to the small book, turning its worn pages gingerly in his hands. The movement spells had faded over the years, and the poor man at the bottom of the tower was stuck jumping up and down instead of making much progress up the long braid.
It seems, however, that Ginny had made sure that there was no question that the princessâs hair was still a shade of fiery red.
Storybook Ending by LittleJM
Story Notes:
This went from "character building exercise" into a full-blown one-shot. I love the dynamic that surrounds the Weasley family - it's such an interesting and diverse group of relationships to write about.
It's been a long, long time since I've written anything substantial, and this is one of my first full-length HP one-shots. I hope you enjoy!
Chapter Notes: As I mentioned in my Story Note, this started with an exercise on my part to pull Arthur Weasley out of the "oblivious to everything" cliche that I feel that sometimes fans think he falls into. Many, many thanks to Laurel (Mischief Managed) for looking this one over and helping the story flow!
As a disclaimer, I am not, nor do I claim to be, an owner of any of the HP characters. I am just a fan who writes this as a hobby!
Chapter Endnotes: Thanks for reading! All constructive feedback is appreciated - I'm always looking for ways to make things better!