AN: Romione Week, Day 5: Meet the Family

Hermione has moved to the UK for a new job, and has forced herself out to the local pub after promising her mum that she'll try and make friends.

Hundreds of people pack into the pub, pressing shoulder to shoulder to fill up every inch of available space, yet Hermione has managed to nab a small table in the corner nearest to the warm fire. She's been here for a while now, trying her best to concentrate on the book in her hands as she nurses the sole glass of red wine she's allowed herself. But she's failing miserably as the mishmash of patrons continues to steal her attention.

If she had her way, she would be at home, in her cosiest pyjamas and enjoying the quiet, but Hermione promised her mum she would try and make friends in the UK. After all, it's where she was born and where she belongs, although she is having second thoughts about that the longer the night progresses.

A raucous chorus of laughs rises from the large table against the furthest wall from her. She whips her head around in time to get a peek of a stocky red-head as he ejects himself from the crowd and weaves his way through the villagers, stopping every so often to shake hands with a patron or exchange a couple of friendly words.

She watches with curiosity as the man continues towards the bar but then stops suddenly, his gaze meeting hers and a broad smile crossing his face. With dismay, he makes a beeline for her, and as he draws nearer, she can see that freckles decorate his face.

"Good evening." He stretches out the welcome with a friendly drawl then takes the seat opposite Hermione without waiting for her to extend an invite. "How are you this fine evening?"

Taken aback by his forwardness, she can only stutter, "I-I'm okay."

"Are you sure?" he continues, "because you've looked miserable since you've gotten here and you're reading. Fridays are for fun, not books."

Regaining her composure, Hermione fixes her face into a frown and pulls her book closer to her body protectively. In a haughty tone, she replies, "I happen to enjoy reading, if you must know."

"Well, I bet I know how to cheer you up, and distract you from your stories."

"How?"

"Magic."

He pushes his hand through the air in front of her face in explanation, and she can't help but quirk an eyebrow at his proclamation, even as her heart begins to pound. There's no way this man can know she's a witch. She hasn't even started her new job at the Ministry of Magic. Of course, she's heard rumours of other magical folks in the area, but she's been too busy unpacking to explore the beautiful village of Ottery St. Catchpole fully.

Pursuing her lips together and fighting off her demands for an explanation, Hermione says, "Go on then, give it a go."

With a grin, the man sets his half-drunken pint on the table. He reaches forward, the tips of his fingers brushing across the shell of her ear, pushing back her mess of curls. She holds her breath, resisting the urge to reach for her wand at the invasion of her boundaries but decides that it wouldn't be fair to hex the poor man for trying to brighten her evening.

"Abracadabra," he proclaims as he whips his hand back, revealing a silver coin.

Muggle magic.

Relief fills her body as a loud laugh escapes her lips. There is no way he could know her deepest secret. He's just a local boy trying to chat her up. She chooses to humour him.

"Wow, you're clever. How did you pull that fifty pence coin from thin air?"

He taps his nose. "A wizard never tells," he says before extending his hand, which is empty again. "George."

"Hermione." She shakes his hand.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

She considers his offer but refuses anyway. Although he's friendly enough, Hermione has enough wits about her to know that muggle men in pubs usually have other intentions, and there's no way she wants to finish her first week back in the country with a one-night stand. Plus, her cottage is a mess.

"I'm okay with this one." She gestures to her half-empty glass. "Thank you, though."

Looking crestfallen, George grabs his pint and pulls himself to his feet. He recovers from the rejection quick enough, though.

"Well, when that one runs out, you know where to find me."

With a wink, he struts back to the group, the mass of people reabsorbing him with ease and a loud cheer. Hermione sighs and shifts her attention back to her lonely glass of wine and her book.

⁂

An hour and several chapters later, another figure appears at her table. She puts her book back down, wincing at the clunk of the spine against the wood and looks up, only to see George staring back down at her.

"What do you want now?"

He frowns but takes the empty seat opposite her anyway. "You look all miserable sitting here by yourself and reading, so I thought I'd come over and offer you a drink to cheer you up."

"I didn't fall for it the last time." She sets her jaw into a determined look. "I don't need a drink. And anyone can make a coin appear from behind an ear. It's a slight of hand, the oldest trick in the book."

"You—" George stops himself as realisation spreads over his face, morphing into a cheeky grin. "I have other tricks, too."

"Yeah? You'll have to pull an amazing trick out of the bag to impress me."

Raising his eyebrows at her cool response, he places his half-drunk pint in front of him. Surely it's not the same glass as before? He seems a lot less sober than he had an hour ago. He must be two or three pints in by now.

Without saying another word, George stares at his glass. Suddenly the liquid within it bubbles and expands, and Hermione's jaw drops as it fills itself back up again.

"How?"

"Impressive, right?" he interrupts.

There's no way that's muggle magic.

"How did you—?" Her question falters again as her stomach churns with nerves. If she says the wrong thing now, she'll risk giving away what she is. Taking a deep breath, Hermione arranges her thoughts and quickly regains her cool.

"Oh, nice try," she says. "But I know that you can buy trick glasses in that pound shop down the road. You'll have to try harder to impress me next time, George, because I still don't want to have a drink with you."

"Ah, but I'm not George, I'm—"

"Fred!"

Another man appears at the table, and Hermione looks up in surprise. This one is taller than George, skinny and gangly instead of stocky and short, although he has the same flame-red hair and freckles decorating every inch of his pale skin. Her heart catches in her throat as the deepest sea blue eyes stare back down at her, full of kindness with a flash of mischief, too.

The newcomer continues, "You're on your stag do. What would Alicia say if I told her that you abandoned us to chat up another girl? Actually, forget I asked. She'd have my balls for earrings and you'd get off scot free, as you always do."

"Fred?" Hermione asks, her confusion growing. "But you told me your name was George?"

A wicked smile crosses Fred-or-George's face, but before he can open his mouth, the taller man throws his hands up in the air before saying, "Oh for fucks sake. It's the twin-tag-team-thing, isn't it? George has a girlfriend, too. What are the pair of you like?" His hands land on his hips, and a sympathetic look crosses his face as he turns his attention back to Hermione. "I'm sorry about them. They're a pair of twats. They didn't try to show you any magic tricks, did they?"

"Nothing all that impressive." Hermione's confusion clears, and she can't help the small smile that crosses her face.

"Well, you can't blame us for trying." Fred holds his hands up in mock surrender. "A pretty girl like Hermione shouldn't be sitting here alone on a Friday night, and we thought we'd get her over to the table for you, Ronnie. How long has it been since your last girlfriend? Fifty years?"

The tips of Ronnie's ears turn bright pink, and he leans down close to Fred, mumbling to him. Their conversation goes back and forth, making Hermione feel like she's at a tennis match, even though their words are inaudible over the din in the pub.

Eventually, the taller man wins. Fred gets to his feet then bows low towards Hermione. "If you need any further cheering up, then come and give us a visit." Out of nowhere, he pulls out a violent orange business card then slides it across the table towards her with a knowing look. "We cater for wizards and witches."

His words steal her breath away, even as her heart pounds furiously against her rib cage. How does he know? Fred retreats as dismay fills her heart, and Hermione fixates on how much trouble she'll be in before she's even started in the Department of Mysteries. Before she can fall too deep into her self-loathing, a cough distracts her and brings her attention back to the man left standing at the table.

"I'm sorry about them. My brothers can be a pain in the backside, and there are so many of them that they're hard to keep track of, especially the twins."

"There are more of you?" The question falls out of her mouth, her curiosity now piqued.

"Uhm, yeah." He reaches up to rub the back of his neck. "Seven of us, actually. Mum and Dad too, of course. I'm the youngest boy, there's Ginny too, although we banned her from coming tonight. I'm surprised you haven't spotted us sooner. We're loud, especially when we meet up with our mates, but we all look after each other. Means there's always a party, though. Are you new here?"

His nervous babble is endearing, and the guard that Hermione put up against the twins comes tumbling down. Although she promised herself that she was here to focus on a new job, she can't help but feel a stirring of attraction towards this man.

"Yeah, I moved here last weekend and start a new job on Monday," she admits. "At the Ministry—, uhm, Scotland Yard."

He raises his eyebrows then leans down, assaulting her with the thick earthy scent, mixed with undertones of cinnamon, sage and beer, igniting her nerve endings and sending a flood of desire right to her core.

"Funny that," he murmurs, "because I'm sure my boss told me that a Hermione Granger would be starting at the Department of Mysteries next week. There can't be too many Hermione's working at the Ministry."

Hermione gasps as his eyes grow dark with desire. "How did you—?"

"Ronald Weasley," he tells her. "Head of Strategy. Auror Department. We'll be working closely together, or at least that's what Robards says."

"Oh."

Ron gives her a lop-sided grin which fills her heart with warmth and immediately puts her at ease.

"Well, I guess I'll see you around." He salutes then strolls back to his friends.

Hermione smiles, then takes a large gulp of her wine to calm the residual nerves her conversation with Ron gave her. Maybe moving back to the UK wasn't such a bad idea after all?