A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for the QLFC and Hogwarts. Hogwarts prompts are listed below. :)

Chaser 2: Write about Ron's relationship with his children

Optional Prompts: 2426

(quote) "If you carry joy in your heart you can heal any moment." —Carlos Santana

(word) ferocious

(word) potential

Word Count:

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Those rights go to JK Rowling.

WARNINGS: This fic features a character with memory loss. Please don't read if this will hurt you. I apologize for any inaccuracies, as I've never encountered a person with this particular illness before. Please PM me if anything is glaringly wrong so I can fix it. :)

Enjoy!

Ron Weasley ran his hands through his red hair in frustration. His blue eyes were narrowed distrustfully at the man in front of him. The man's face was drawn with exhaustion, and his messy salt-and-pepper hair was falling into his eyes.

"Ron," the man croaked. "Listen. Your kids are going to be here soon. Please don't push them away."

Ron scowled. "I don't know any kids. I don't know you." The other man flinched, but Ron had no sympathy. He was sick of being in the hospital—he may be having trouble remembering a few things, but locking him up in a room and forcing strangers on him certainly wasn't helping anything. The Healers told him that the potions he was taking were helping him retain some memories, but there was no rhyme or reason to the sudden flashbacks. They were there for a moment, and then managed to slip through his fingers when he tried to hold on to them for more than a day.

"You used to," the man said softly. Then he looked back up, his green eyes imploring. "Do you remember their names? A boy and a girl. You love them very much."

"I don't even remember your name," Ron shot back.

The man lowered his gaze, lacing his long fingers together. "It's Harry," he reminded gently. "Harry Potter."

The name sparked something in the back of his mind, but Ron knew it was no use trying to pull it out; the memory either came by itself, or it didn't at all.

"We went to school together," Harry continued quietly. "We were best mates. We've been through… so much together." Harry took off his glasses and ran a hand over his face, his hair parting to reveal a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. "Please, Ron. Just… be kind to them. They love you."

With one last glance Ron's way, Harry stood up and left to bring Ron's new visitors up.

Ron sighed, relieved the other man was gone. Whenever Harry came, there were always echoes of screams and flashes of darkness at the beginning of the visit, followed by a feeling of safety. It always put Ron on edge—he didn't like how at ease Harry, a stranger, made him feel. He knew that lashing out was hardly fair to Harry, but he felt less vulnerable with the man gone.

A moment later, a young man with red hair brighter than Ron's entered the room, sending him a small, nervous smile.

"Hey, Dad," the man said. "It's Hugo. Rose couldn't make it—there was an emergency with one of her kids. She'll be round in a few hours, though."

A chess board suddenly flashed through Ron's mind, and he closed his eyes. Chocolate frogs and bubble baths, small hands and light laughter—

"Dad? Are you all right?"

Ron opened his eyes, but he didn't respond. He could be rough with Harry, he knew, but something told him not to be short with the man in front of him. He cleared his throat.

"Hugo, eh?"

The boy's blue eyes lit up in excitement, and he nodded eagerly. "Yes! Yes, Dad, it's me. Do you… is anything coming back?"

"No," Ron lied. The visions weren't worth mentioning; he couldn't connect them to anything. However, Hugo was associated with good memories, instead of the mix of good and bad that Harry was.

Ron shifted on the bed, adjusting the white sheets covering him. He glanced back up at Hugo and thought about what Harry had said. They love you.

There had been a time when Ron loved that man too.

Ron looked up. "Is there something you've come to say?"

Hugo's smile dimmed slightly. "I just wanted to talk, Dad. We always did that."

"Did we?" Ron honestly couldn't remember.

"Yeah. Here, I brought you some things." Hugo opened the bag he was carrying and pulled out two thermoses. He held them up. "Pea soup. Mum used to make it. Thought it might be good for the both of us to have something to remind us of her."

Ron took the thermos doubtfully. Part of him wanted to point out that he couldn't even remember his wife, though he knew she had existed because of the ring on his finger. "What er… what happened to her?"

Hugo sat in the chair that Harry had previously occupied. Ron looked at him closely as he accepted the thermos. It certainly wasn't a stretch to think that this was his son—they looked nearly identical, right down to their freckled faces. The only difference was their ages.

Hugo ran his hand through his hair. "Muggle illness," he answered quietly. "You loved her a lot. When she died… that might have been the catalyst for all this."

Ron looked away. The man in front of him had been robbed of his mother and was trying to save his father. The problem was, the man Ron had once been was lost to him. He simply had no recollection of their relationship. How could two strangers ever be as close as father and son?

"You said your sister had kids," he said eventually. "How… how are they?"

Hugo smiled. "They're wonderful. Rose told me that her youngest got sick; she's just going to make sure what her daughter has isn't serious before she comes here." Hugo ate a spoonful of soup. "We all miss you."

Ron nodded. He looked down at his wrinkled hand and frowned. How many years had it been like this? How long had all these people—Harry, Hugo, Rose—come to visit him, only to have him snap at them? He was in his sixties now; would this last much longer?

"It's not that I don't want to remember," Ron said lowly.

Hugo nodded. "I know. You've never left us waiting before."

Ron looked up, surprised. Hugo had seemed so confident, so sure that everything would work out. "I don't know you. You're just another person to me."

"I don't believe that," Hugo told him softly. He put aside his thermos and sat on the edge of Ron's bed, taking out a photograph from his pocket. Waving out of it was a woman with frizzy brown hair that was streaked with grey. Her arms were around a slightly younger Hugo, who looked like his was in his early thirties. Next to him was a woman that looked like a younger version of her mother—this could only be Rose. The last person in the photo had his arms around his family, smiling widely—Ron, just a few years younger.

"That was the day we all went to Hogsmeade for Rose's birthday," Hugo informed him, smiling. "She kept insisting she was too old to celebrate at Honeydukes, but we all knew that she couldn't resist a package of Ice Mice. They're her favorite. Strange, isn't it? I've got some here." Sure enough, Hugo pulled out a package from his bag, eagerly presenting it to his father.

Ron bit into one, but only because he couldn't stand to see Hugo's face fall if he refused it. Still, he couldn't help but be a little cynical through his chattering teeth. "Th-this won't make any-anything come b-b-back, you know."

Hugo shrugged, though he was shivering as well. "C-can't it just be for f-fun?" Hugo's face, though he was very much an adult, lit up with child-like excitement. "Want to p-play chess? I b-b-brought a board."

Ron nodded. Chess was something safe. There were no memories attached to chess—it was all just simple logic.

He was very, very wrong. As soon as he saw the board his head began pounding. He frowned. "Why is 'ferocious' scratched on top?"

Hugo turned a little red. "When I was really young, you showed Rose how to play chess. Mum says I got jealous." Hugo rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I overheard you telling Uncle Harry that she'd be fierce competition when she got older. Erm… then…"

"You carved it in the board," Ron said suddenly. "Because Hermione had that insane game where she would have you look up stronger words for your emotions to describe how you were feeling. But you two always cooled down before you could find a synonym. You wanted to be better than fierce, so you wrote 'ferocious' onto the chess board."

Hugo's eyes were wide. "Yeah," he breathed. "Because I wanted to be better than Rose, and 'ferocious' sounded so much better than 'fierce'. You… you remember that?"

Ron was uncomfortable. That was the longest, most solid memory he'd had all day. "As you said it… yeah," he admitted. Then he warned, "But I won't tomorrow. Isn't that what the Healers keep saying? My days just repeat?"

"Dad, don't you get it? You're doing so much better. I can see it. You'll get through this."

Ron shook his head. He didn't want to think about his illness right then. It made him agitated, and the last thing he wanted was to snap at Hugo and push him away. "Let's talk about something else. Tell me about you and your sister."

Hugo smiled happily, looking overjoyed at the invitation. Ron supposed that he didn't often open up to the boy on his daily visits, and a pang of guilt flashed through him. "Sure, Dad. Erm, let's see… Rose has this impressive Ministry job now. It was a long journey, but you and Mum helped her through it. She wants you to know that you really helped her when things got rough."

"What did I say?" Ron asked cautiously.

"You told her," Hugo responded, "that as great as she could potentially be, only she could bring herself to the place she wanted to be. That she had to take action in order to get where she wanted to go." Hugo's eyes met Ron's. "You said that you learned that a long time ago with Uncle Harry and Mum."

Ron knew, all of a sudden, that Hugo was referring to a time when he had loved Hermione but hadn't done anything to reach her. The hate and jealousy he had felt then was strong, as was his loneliness. Then he recalled the wave of relief that had washed over him when he realized that his feelings were reciprocated. He nodded slowly, taking a moment to marvel at the fact that that one action—his return to Harry and Hermione on their journey in seventh year (he still couldn't remember what they had been looking for, exactly) and his effort to be better for her—had irrevocably changed his life. The words he'd said that prompted her to kiss him had set into motion the rest of his life. It was incredible to think about.

"I remember," he told Hugo. "Not all of it, mind you, but some."

Hugo's smile was so bright, one would have thought Ron had just given him the world. "That's brilliant. Things are looking up."

Ron offered a hesitant smile of his own. "Maybe they are."

The two men talked for many more hours, Hugo regretfully informing his father that Rose wouldn't be able to make it that night. "Her kids aren't well," he explained with a frown. "She'll stop by tomorrow, though."

"That's all right," Ron assured him. To be honest, he wasn't sure if he could handle another visit as enlightening as this one had been; he wanted to take everything one step at a time.

Hugo seemed to sense this and changed the subject. Their conversation ended only when the hospital was about to close. Hugo shooed away the St. Mungo's Healer, promising her that he would be going shortly. He hesitated as he looked at Ron, then bent down and gave him a quick hug. Ron patted him on the back, overwhelmed by the familiarity and love packed into the gesture. All too soon, Hugo pulled away, wished his father goodbye, and left the room.

Once the door had shut, Ron leaned back against the pillows on his bed and closed his eyes. His chest tightened with worry—he didn't want to forget his day with his son.

He turned to turn off the lamp with a heavy heart, but stopped when he saw what was on the bedside table.

He picked it up. It was a Chocolate Frog, still in its wrappings, and taped to the bottom was a small scrap of parchment. Ron peeled it off and unfolded it, his eyes scanning the words written there.

Dad—

You always snuck me one of these whenever I was ill, much to Mum's disapproval. I thought I'd return the favor.

Hugo

Ron smiled, popping the frog into his mouth and looking at the card. Agrippa, he thought excitedly. Haven't got one of those.

When Ron woke up the next morning, a Healer was already in the room.

"Hello, Mr. Weasley," she greeted. "You must be wondering why you are here—"

"No, I remember," Ron interrupted. "Is… is my son coming today?"

The Healer's eyes widened in surprise. "I—I'm not sure. But Mr. Potter is here to see you."

Ron relaxed. If Hugo couldn't come that day, Harry would pass the message along. "Bring him in, please."

Five minutes later, his wish was granted. Harry poked his head in, looking at Ron with a mixture of hope and anxiety.

"Hello, Harry." he murmured.

The previous day was a blur to him, with large chunks missing. But he knew their names. His hand tightened around the parchment in his hand, bearing Hugo's signature. Things could get better—he wanted them to get better. Maybe the man he had been wasn't completely lost.

Harry let out a laugh, elated. "Hello, Ron. It's been a while."

The two talked for a long time, and though Ron could barely keep up with the conversation, the look on Harry's face was worth it. When the other man got up to leave, Ron asked him if Hugo would be stopping by that day.

Harry shook his head regretfully. "No, he's going to stay with Rose's sick kids so she can take a turn visiting you while her husband's away on business."

Ron nodded. He was eager to see his daughter, but there was something he had to tell his son. "Okay, then. If you see Hugo, tell him I love him."

Harry grinned. "I will."

Ron smiled, content. There was a chance that he would forget all this had ever happened the next day, but he had hope now that things could change. It was a risk, but one he was willing to take. He couldn't wait to see his family again.

Hogwarts Prompts:

Writing Club:

Character Appreciation: 16. (restriction) main character must be a pureblood

Disney Challenge: Songs 2. What's This — Write about someone getting lost

Showtime: 11. Off to Hell We Go — (emotion) excited

Amber's Attic: 3. The Exorcist — (food) pea soup

Lyric Alley: 20. Whatever makes you happy

Lo's Lowdown: Theme 1. Family

Film Festival: 7. (dialogue) "If you see [name], tell him I love him."

Autumn Funfair:

Bingo: Ice Mice (3)

Gris-Gris Bag:

(character) Ron Weasley