By a combination of circumstance and chance, James Potter was nearly a year old by the time he was left alone with his godfather for the first time.

The realisation that this would have to happen came after a typical Weasley family grapevine situation, beginning with Harry Potter being sent away on an Auror mission on the same day that his wife was conducting an interview in Perth. As soon as this had been ascertained, Molly Weasley, Grandmother Extraordinaire, was contacted, but it soon transpired that, with uncharacteristic spontaneity, Grandfather Extraordinaire Arthur had booked a romantic mid-week break in Jersey that coincided with the very day he and his wife were required for babysitting duties.

The bad news continued for the Potters as each and every one of their fall-back babysitting options was exhausted. Bill and Fleur were en vacance in Fleur's ville natale, Charlie remained in Romania (and was, in any case, deemed unsuitable to be around small children), Percy and Audrey were at an International Unity conference in Dover, George ran a joke shop all day long and Hermione, James' godmother and the epitome of responsibility, had a day full of Very Important Meetings.

This left Ron.

Ron was used to babies; he had, after all, eight nieces and nephews. But in the four years over which they had been acquired, he never been left completely alone with one of them. He would never admit it aloud, but they frightened him. He had battled Death Eaters, broken into Gringotts and shouted at Lord Voldemort, but all those things seemed like a trip on a broomstick when he was faced with a small child. They stared so much, and had ridiculously tiny hands, and they always said what they were thinking, which was frankly unacceptable in Ron's view. He lived with a woman: he was now completely thrown by people who said exactly what they were thinking.

Babies were even more terrifying, because they couldn't say what they were thinking. They couldn't tell you what they wanted! They just cried and cried and expected you to come up with the solution, though why they cried so much, Ron had no idea, because in his opinion babies had a bloody easy life. They just ate and slept and got everything done for them.

This wasn't to say that Ron was not fond of his godson, for he was – in small doses. He found it difficult enough to wrap his head around the fact that his sister and best friend had created another person without having to worry about dropping said person all the time. Hermione adored James, of course, and spent much of her free time knitting for him – despite Harry's assurances that she really, really didn't have to.

In fact, Hermione would have loved to have been in this situation, Ron thought bitterly, on the morning of James' visit to Otter House. (That their house shared a name with the form of Hermione's Patronus was a complete coincidence, though it had helped to seal the deal for them.) Hermione would have already come up with a colour-coded itinerary for the day, which she would have then made James memorise and recite back to her.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay?" he asked Hermione hopefully, sitting up to look at her. She was standing at the foot of the bed, pulling on a pair of tights. Ron thought it was rather to his credit that he still found her attractive after watching this process.

"I can't, you know that," she said regretfully, reaching for her blouse. "I've got back-to-back meetings all day and if they go well, we'll have made a lot of progress towards eradicating those last few laws about –" she sucked in her breath to fasten her skirt – "pureblood superiority. Ron, I think you've shrunk my skirt," she added accusingly. "This is really tight."

"Maybe you've put on weight," Ron suggested.

"Maybe you should take more care with the laundry," she snapped, her face flushing an angry pink. "I'll have you know –"

"Shouldn't you be going?" said Ron quickly. "That clock's slow, I think."

This (untruthful) remark effectively cut off what Ron was sure would have been a long and painful tirade, leaving him free to watch his wife hurriedly assemble the rest of her outfit and drag a brush through her hair. Once the brush had been disentangled, she leant over and gave Ron a very nice kiss, especially given her sharpness a few minutes earlier.

"Harry will be here at nine," she said slightly breathlessly, once they had broken apart. "Don't go back to sleep. Don't give James anything to eat or drink other than what Harry gives you. Don't let him in the bathroom. Don't let him out of your sight when he's not in his cot, he crawls at the speed of light. Don't let him near anything sharp, don't let him near the litterbox, don't leave the front door open. And don't laugh at him or mock him. Babies do not understand sarcasm."

"Are you done?" said Ron. "I'm not completely useless, Hermione. I'm sure we'll be fine."

"Yes," said Hermione unconvincingly, "I am too … well, be good, anyway." She blew him a kiss. "Have fun." And then she was gone, disappearing from the bedroom in a flurry of swirling robes and perfume.

Ron lay in bed for a few minutes longer, preparing himself for the task that lay ahead. For all his bravado, he really wasn't sure that he'd be fine at all, but it was too late to back out now … He glanced at the clock. Ten minutes until Harry arrived. Bugger.

He washed and dressed with an increasing feeling of impending doom, hoping with all his might that his parents had decided to return early, or that Ginny's interview had been cancelled. Really, what were they thinking, leaving him with the baby? If anything went wrong, it was his family's fault, not his.

Stomach rumbling, he sloped downstairs – and stopped dead. There in the hallway, taking up most of the small space, were a large red pram and a matching cot. The cot was stocked with various cuddly toys that Ron had seen before in his nephew's presence – a fluffy black dog, a misshapen orange cat that Hermione must have made. The model for the toy was sniffing suspiciously at the wheels of the pram.

"I don't know either, Crookshanks," Ron sighed to the cat, who gave him a disparaging look and stalked off through the catflap.
At that moment, there was a great roar from the living room; starting, Ron fought his way through the baby stuff and through the door, to see a sooty Harry emerging from the fireplace, clutching his son very tightly and looking sheepish about something. Ron suspected that it might well be the fine blanket of soot that now covered the hearth and several inches of carpet.

"Sorry," said Harry, brushing soot from his son. "I would've Apparated but you're not supposed to do it with babies. Mind you, he doesn't really like Flooing either –" he adjusted James' position in his arms to reveal a small but very red and unhappy face beneath a shock of jet black hair – "but there's not much I can do about that. No easy way to get around these days."

"It's all right," Ron assured him, cleaning the carpet with a flick of his wand. "So … d'you have to be off straight away, or …?"

"'Fraid so." Harry pulled a face. "It's not for too long, Ginny'll be back in England at four –"

Four!

"- and you'll be all right 'til then, won't you?" Harry finished, looking apologetic again. "I know it's a lot to handle, but I'm sure you'll be fine. James is really excited about spending the day with his Uncle Ron, aren't you?" He addressed the baby, who still looked grumpy. "Aren't you …? You know, he was talking about it all day yesterday," he added to Ron, his mouth twitching. "Don't know why he's gone all shy now."

"Intimidated, probably," said Ron. "I am very famous."

"That'll be it," said Harry cheerfully. He glanced at his watch. "Boll- balderdash, I'm going to have to go in a minute. Right, I've sent the pram and his cot over –"

"Really?" Ron interrupted flatly. "I hadn't noticed."

"- so just put the cot where you want to, he'll want a nap after he's eaten and he'll tell you by yawning. Everything else you'll need is in this bag. He ate just before we left so just give him a bottle at lunchtime. The bottle's got a Cooling Charm on it at the moment, you'll need to warm it up before you give it to him. If he gets fussy then taking him out for a stroll might be an idea, that tends to calm him down. He likes being read to as well. He's very good at crawling so watch out." Harry drew a breath. "I think that's it. If you have any problems … er, I dunno, really. Contact George if it's something you don't know, I suppose, he's done it all before …"

"Right," said Ron, feeling rather like he had just been told he had to sit an exam with five minute's notice. Except this was far more daunting, because if he failed an exam, it was no big deal. If he lost or killed his godson, there were potential repercussions.

"Better go," said Harry, checking his watch again. He slipped the bag from his shoulder and passed James over to Ron, who felt as if he just been handed a Blast-Ended Skrewt. "All right, see you later, little chap! Be good for Uncle Ron! Bye-bye!"

"Bye," said James, waving a chubby hand.

"Good luck," Ron called, as Harry stepped back into the fireplace, Floo powder in hand.

"You too," said Harry ominously, and then he was gone. Ron stared at the empty grate, deserted for the second time that day. Left alone.
Well, not quite alone.

He stared at his nephew. James stared back, huge brown eyes unblinking.

What did you do with a baby, Ron was wondering. And what did you do with this baby? What was starting to sink in was the fact that this was no ordinary baby. Not only was it his sister's kid and his best friend's kid, but it was a famous kid. The months leading up to James' birth had been closely followed and documented in the most brainless of publications, and his first public outing had been all over the papers for almost a week. People knew this baby.
And he was in charge of it. For a whole day.

"Da?" James enquired, poking Ron's cheek. "Da?"

"Da's not here," Ron told him. "He's gone to work."

James scrunched up his face, turned a vivid pink and opened his mouth. Recognising that a crying fit was on the horizon, Ron panicked; what had Harry said? A walk if he got fussy? Was this fussy?

"Do you want to go for a walk?" he asked James, who was making an odd sort of grizzling noise. "A nice walk? Not for you, obviously, you just have to sit there, but …"

"Pam!" James exclaimed, looking marginally happier. "Pam!"

"In the pam, that's right," said Ron, relieved.

The walk was a hit on all accounts. James gurgled happily as Ron pushed him around the village, pointing at various things that were thoroughly uninteresting, like cats, and beaming at the dozens of little old women who rushed over to coo at him; what was more, by the time they returned back to Otter House, it was nearly lunchtime, for which Ron knew what to do. He retrieved the bottle, warmed it up with a tap of his wand, and gave it to James, who drank like he had never tried milk before in his life. Once the bottle was empty, James started to yawn, quite impressively for such a small person; delighted, Ron moved the cot into a corner of the living room and settled James into it, where he fell asleep at once.

Marvelling at his own success – after all, weren't his brothers and sisters always complaining about looking after their babies? Clearly he had some kind of gift – Ron fixed himself a couple of cheese toasties and returned to the living room to eat, as he could see the cot from the sofa.

Really, he didn't know what he had been worried about. He had made it almost four hours now, with only three to go, and both he and James were both alive and well! Perhaps, he mused, he should offer his services to his siblings more often.
For a fee, of course.

To Ron's pleasure, James slept for an hour, leaving Ron to catch up on some paperwork and read the comics in that morning's Prophet. But when James did wake up, he very quickly established that playtime had now begun. From the moment Ron set him on the floor, he was off – he shot across the room on his hands and knees, moving faster than Ron would have ever thought a baby could, despite Harry and Hermione's warnings – and propelled himself into the hall. Cursing, Ron hurried after him before he could discover the catflap – but he needn't have worried. Something was blocking the catflap.

Crookshanks and James were nose to nose, each staring at the other in complete fascination. James giggled and attempted to put his arms around the cat – Ron started forwards, but then, to his utter disbelief, Crookshanks purred and allowed it. He even looked as if he was enjoying the hug.

"Unbelievable," Ron muttered.

James looked around, beaming. "Big tat," he informed Ron.

"Big grumpy tat," Ron corrected, "though apparently not any more."

Crookshanks shot him a look that was pure malice. Unsettled, Ron grabbed James and took him back into the living room, shutting the door firmly behind them. What they would do now, he didn't know … unless … the bookcase caught Ron's eye. It was mostly filled with old, thick tomes of Hermione's, but on the top shelf there was a slim, pale blue book. The Tales of Beedle the Bard – Hermione's translation.

Harry had said James liked being read to … why not?

Thrilled with his genius, Ron grabbed the book and settled himself on the floor, holding James firmly in his lap. He flipped through the book for a moment before settling on Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump; that had, after all, been his favourite as a kid.

He soon found himself quite immersed in the story, putting on different voices for each character, which James loved; he clapped his pudgy hands together and exclaimed with delight at random moments. Both of them were so involved, in fact, that neither of them heard the front door opening; it wasn't until a shadow fell across them that Ron looked up.

"Hermione!"

Hermione smiled winsomely and immediately stretched her arms out to scoop James up for a cuddle. "Hel -lo – who's gorgeous! You're gorgeous! You are! How have you been?"

It took Ron a few seconds to register that she was addressing him – with the last question at least.

"Oh, you know," he said modestly. "We managed. Had a good time." He frowned, realising that it was only half past two. "Why are you home?"

"It's lovely to see you too," said Hermione, pulling a face at James, but she didn't sound cross. "Roger Squires was called away to Belgium on urgent business and we couldn't do half the meetings without him, so we did the morning lot and then postponed the rest."

"What?" Ron spluttered, outraged. "You've been free since this morning? Why didn't you come home?!"

"I went to St. Mungo's," said Hermione. "And I thought you were having a good time?"

"We were, but I still reckon – hang on. What? You went to St. Mungo's?" The book slipped from Ron's limp fingers and landed on the carpet with a soft thud. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong." A small, mischievous smile was playing at Hermione's lips; she had a strange glint in her eyes. "Nothing is wrong at all. In fact …"

"Spit it out," said Ron, growing worried.

"I'm pregnant."

The room spun. Ron stared at his wife, blood rushing to his head, pounding in his chest. "You what?" he demanded.

"I'm pregnant," Hermione repeated. "You know, I'm going to have a baby – like this," she added, gesturing to James with a perfectly straight face. "It'll take nine months – well, about eight now actually – and then I'll have to –"

"You –" Ron stumbled unsteadily to his feet, reaching for Hermione's free hand. He needed to feel her, to know that this was really real … "You're really going to have a baby?"

"That's the plan," said Hermione gently, squeezing his hand.

"Wow," said Ron.

A great rush of euphoria was building inside him. He was going to be a dad! Finally, he would be a figure of great wisdom, an authority figure – he was going to have a kid! A kid he could teach to fly a broom, and write letters to at Hogwarts ...

"Oh no," he said suddenly, as a thought occurred to him. "What if it's like us? What if it has to go around solving dangerous mysteries all the time?"

"We'll cross that hurdle when we come to it," said Hermione reassuringly. Grinning, Ron leaned in and kissed her.

"We're going to have a baby."

"Bab," James chipped in.

Ron beamed at his godson. In a year's time, he could be spending the whole day with his own child … and, to his surprise, he found that that thought wasn't scary at all. It was positively exciting.

Babies, he thought, as it turned out, weren't really so bad after all.

I WROTE SOMETHING THAT ISN'T SAD! Yay me.
The baby caring stuff is probably not accurate, as I have never owned a baby, so feel free to correct me.