"Oh, that was a good one," Ron heard Hermione exclaim as he blearily walked down the stairs, driven from his bed by the smell of pancakes.

"I thought the one of her with the Norwegian Ridgeback was funnier though," Hugo said animatedly, drizzling copious amounts of maple syrup onto his plate. He looked up, noticing Ron in the doorway. "Oh, hey Dad!"

"Morning, Hugo," Ron replied, ruffling his son's hair and ignoring the cries of annoyance. "Has the owl already come with the pictures of Rose at Uncle Charlie's? I thought we were going to open that together."

"Yeah, they're over there," Hugo gestured vaguely toward a countertop, unbothered.

"But there's just your mum's 'puter there," Ron said, frowning. "I thought that was for working."

Hugo rolled his eyes, and Ron knew he'd made a mistake. What that mistake was, he wasn't entirely sure, but he'd definitely made one. It was actually the exact same look Hermione used to give him when he'd not finished his homework on time back at Hogwarts.

Pretending not to have noticed, he took his pancakes and sat at the table, looking pleadingly at Hermione's back for help.

She sighed. "Rose has posted her photos on Facebook. That's what Hugo's looking at."

"Obviously," Hugo chipped in.

"Obviously," Ron repeated glumly. "And you've got your face on this book too, 'Mione?"

"It's Facebook!" they cried in unison, so loudly he jumped.

"All right, all right," he said, raising his eyebrows. "So is this book like the mirror Harry got from Sirius?"

"Yes," Hugo said, just as Hermione said, "No."

Ron frowned, his brow furrowing even more deeply. So Rose had a book that also communicated to Hugo's book on the 'puter. He knew there were all sorts of books on the 'puter, because Hermione sat up reading the screen sometimes.

"Can I get one of these books?"

"Definitely not!" Hugo cried. Ron blinked with surprise at his vehemence.

"Hugo! Be nice to your father," Hermione admonished. "I don't see why not."

"Well I'm not helping him!" Hugo stormed out of the room.

"What the bloody hell was that all about?" Ron asked Hermione incredulously.

"Oh, it's just teenagers being teenagers," Hermione replied breezily, pecking him on the forehead. "I've got to go to work now; don't stay up tonight, we won't finish until late."

"...Bye," Ron called weakly, wondering why everyone seemed to be busy except him on a Saturday morning.

Well. He would find this book on the 'puter. And he would put his own face on it. That would show them. After all, he didn't want to be the Arthur of his generation.

Carefully picking the 'puter up, aware that they were far more delicate than any wizarding sort of toy, Ron settled into his favourite armchair in their lounge, and set the 'puter down upon his lap.

The screen was black. He could vaguely see his own reflection in it, and wondered if that was how the book got ahold of his face. He poked it, gently. Nothing happened.

He glanced down at all the little buttons, and decided that they looked far too complicated to be doing with. They were probably for some sort of advanced muggle magic - not at all useful to Ron.

"Come on," he muttered. He poked the screen again, and left nothing but an ugly smear in the shape of his fingerprint. "Merlin's saggy balls, this is a lot of effort."

He tried tapping the screen in a pattern, then dragging his finger across it to get it to wake up and work like it did for Hugo and Hermione. He shook it, he sang to it, and, at one point, he kissed it.

The bloody 'puter did nothing except look at him blankly.

That was it. Ron was done. With a sly look about, he placed the 'puter on the coffee table, and withdrew his wand.

"No!"

Just as Ron was about to cast the spell to make the damn thing reveal its secrets, Lily walked into the room.

Sheepishly, he put down his wand. "Heya Lils. How's your Dad?"

She arched a brow. "Fine. So's Mum. Now, what in Morgana's name were you about to do?"

"Er… Well… I was trying to put my face on the book, but the bloody thing isn't working," he admitted.

Lily narrowed her eyes, and then her lips quirked up into a mischievous smirk. "You want to join Facebook?"

Ron grinned. "That's the one!"

"Alright… did you even turn the computer on?"

Ron grimaced. Frankly, he had no idea if he'd managed to turn it on, and Lily seemed to realise that. She picked the 'puter up and placed it on the dining room table, beckoning him over. Ron settled himself next to her, and hoped that she was a more patient teacher than Hermione.

She pointed to a small button with a round circle bisected by a horizontal line. "This is the 'on' button," Lily said, gesturing.

Ron pressed it, and the screen lit up!

"Windows? A window to what?" he asked.

"The rest of the world," Lily said, for some reason rubbing her hands together and chuckling.

Three and half long, and what Lily called 'painful' hours later, Ron was the king of the book.

He cracked his knuckles, and hovered his index fingers over the keyed bored. "There's nothing boring about this at all!" he declared gleefully. Squinting at the magic little letters, he typed his first message to the world: 'Hello!'.

He pressed 'post', and the 'puter pinged as tiny little owls inside it took his message and sent it off to all of his friends - at the same time. At the moment, according to the book, that was only Harry, who'd accepted instantly.

'Hey, Ron.' The message came back almost immediately. 'Joined the dark side of parenting, have you?'

How did Harry type so fast? Ron had taken ages just to find the "h". His 'puter pinger again before he could reply.

'Hey Uncle Ron! *smiley face* Do you want to see Rose's holiday pictures?'

Ron searched for the sender of the new box, only to find a picture of a certain redhead with a grin identical to the one currently plastered on her face.

"Thanks, Lily," Ron replied. Honestly, he had no idea why Harry and Ginny complained about their youngest. She was the sweetest member of their family.

"Absolutely no problem," Lily said cheerfully. "Now, see that little box at the top? You search for Rose - type 'Rose Weasley', then click on the little picture that looks just like she does."

Ron did as he was asked, smiling as he saw the happy face of his eldest. It was a photo Ron had taken himself on her birthday. He clicked, and a new box opened up with some of Rose's information. But Ron wasn't looking at her birthday, or the number of friends she had.

No, Ron Weasley was staring at what Lily helpfully reminded him was Rose's 'background photo'. A 'background photo' of his nineteen-year-old daughter kissing none other than…

"MALFOY?" Ron roared, throwing the offending 'puter away from his sight.

"Uncle Ron!" Lily yelled back, lunging to catch it before it broke. "That's Aunt Hermione's computer! All of her work is on there!"

"I DON'T CARE," Ron fumed, his face turning a mottled purple. "I'M GOING OVER THERE RIGHT NOW."

"Uhu? Where, exactly?"

"Right to the source," Ron ground out, holding out his arm.

Lily took it without a second's thought.

"There's no way in hell I'm missing this," she said, her grin widening.

"This is not a laughing matter," Ron said shortly, turning sharply on the spot.

They reappeared outside the gates of the Romanian Dragon Reserve where Rose had been holidaying.

"Oh yeah, this is a great idea," Lily drawled, but Ron was too angry to care about her about her sass.

"MALFOY!" he bellowed. He marched straight through the gates, ignoring the Dragonologists calling after him. Lily trailed several steps behind him, distracted by the various dragons around them.

There he was, stumbling out of a tent, shirtless and pale and the slimy, sneaky, Slytherin he'd always been. How dare he. How dare the snake wriggle his way into his daughter's… Ron didn't want to finish that thought.

He drew his wand. "You," he growled.

"Draco!" Rose shrieked, throwing herself between them.

"Rose. Move out of the way. It's for your own good."

Malfoy appeared to be blinking sleep out of his eyes, even though it was past noon, but that didn't stop the horrendous smirk that was smeared across his face.

"Problem, Weasley?"

Ron looked at the foul little ferret, cowering behind his beautiful daughter, and wished that Hermione was there to punch the git. Then he realised that she must already know about it, as he'd sent her a friend request not ten minutes ago.

He sat down, defeated. Maybe Hugo was right. Maybe he should never have put his face on that bloody book in the first place.

He was certainly regretting it now.