AN: I promised I wasn't going to start posting this until I'd finished Change Your Mind, but it's been a bit of a week, and I needed cheering up. I've already got six chapters of this story written and beta'd, so I thought what the hell, let's unleash it on the world.
I still have the same beta team as always - Adenei9, be11atrixthestrange, cheesyficwriter, smjl & QuickSilverFox who are absolutely AMAZING. But a big shout out also goes out to HSP2020 who gave me this idea!
Anyway, I hope you enjoy it xxx
In which Ron is late for a PTA meeting, and ends up meeting someone new.
The corridors of Ottery St Catchpole Junior School are quiet. Classes finished for the weekend almost three hours ago, and most of the staff have already left. In the hall, the caretaker hunches over his mop, muttering to himself about how small children can never keep things clean. He pushes his long, stringy grey hair out of his face and continues to clean the floor. A janitor's job is never complete. He still has to restock the toilet paper and wait for the blasted PTA meeting to finish before he, too, can go home.
The silence is disturbed as a tall, redheaded man with a matching beard throws open the shiny, blue wooden doors. He winces as they clunk against the walls, but he doesn't stop to see if he's caused any damage. As he hurries down the corridor, his battered trainers squeak on the linoleum. At each door, he pauses and peers in through the small window, groaning in dismay as empty classroom after empty classroom greets him. He moves on, desperate to get to his location before it's too late.
He is tardy, of course. Ever since Hugo came into his life, Ron Weasley has never made it to an appointment on time. Although, it's unfair to put the blame entirely on the eight-year-old. Time-keeping has never been one of Ron's strong points.
Skidding to a stop in front of the last classroom at the end of the long hallway, he crosses all his fingers and hopes he's finally got the right place. Otherwise, he's going to give up and go to the pub, as he really should be doing on his first Friday night without the kid in forever.
Ron places his hand on the doorknob, then peers in through the window. Sure enough, adults perched on precariously tiny chairs pack the brightly coloured room. They all look uncomfortable, the seats having been made for backsides a lot smaller than their current occupants. Through the glass, Ron's best friend, Harry, lifts his head and smirks back at Ron.
The redhead sighs.
Of course, the smarmy git beat him here. He's such a kiss arse, always trying to make a good impression on his children's teachers and making Ron feel inadequate for just doing the best he can. But it's easier for Harry. He has a wife to help him.
A pinched, wrinkled face appears in the window, terrifying Ron enough to make him leap away from the door. His heart starts to race, and it takes him a moment to recognise Headmistress McGonagall. She's aged a lot since he left the school over twenty years ago, but he's pleased to discover she still scares him. He's pretty sure her stern demeanour helped steer him away from getting into serious mischief as a child, so it's reassuring to know Hugo is getting the same treatment.
McGonagall yanks the door open, demonstrating an impressive strength for such an older woman. "Mister Weasley. If you are done making googly eyes at Potter, maybe you would like to join us?"
She gestures for Ron to enter, and he shuffles into the classroom, the tips of his ears burning bright pink.
"Sorry, McGonagall, uhm, Headmistress. Work ran late, and I hit traffic after every turn."
"That so, everyone else managed to make it in time. Find a spot so I can carry on."
Ron lifts his eyes to look around the classroom. There are no spare seats. Would it have pained Harry to save him one? With a sigh, Ron resorts to leaning against the nearest wall, trying to ignore the millions of pairs of eyes staring back at him.
"As I was saying," the headmistress continues, "the end of term summer fete is in four weeks. In your pairs, I would like you to come up with an original idea for a stall. The goal is to raise as much money as possible so that we can start upgrading our rickety old playground over the summer holiday. To make this interesting, I will provide a prize for the parent/teacher duo who raises the most money."
All of the parents in the room have small pieces of paper in their hands, and Ron's stomach lurches. If McGonagall has already paired everyone up, then maybe that will leave him to come up with an idea by himself, or, even worse, he'll have to work with the Headmistress.
For a brief moment, he entertains the idea of just pushing himself off of the wall and walking out of the classroom. There's no way he can work with McGonagall; it'll be too much hard work. It's a volunteer position, after all, and he won't be getting paid for it. At the most, he'll win a spa day or something soppy all the mums would love.
But then Hugo's disappointed face appears at the front of his mind, and Ron lets out a heavy sigh. He can't let the kid down. It would make Ron the worst person in the world, which would suck. There are many worse people in the world than Ron Weasley, like David Cameron, Donald Trump, or Matthew Mistry, Chudleigh Athletic's new manager. But you try telling that to an upset eight-year-old.
Ron's involvement in the PTA is important to Hugo, which makes it crucial to Ron. He resigns himself to trying his damned hardest, even if that means working with his old Year Six teacher.
Still, he will ask if there's anyone else he can work with, just in case one of the other parents was almost as late as he was. Ron just knows better than to interrupt McGonagall when she's in full flow.
"Right, if you have any questions, please come and find me. Otherwise, feel free to move the furniture around or find a quiet corner of the school to work from. Just don't make a mess. We have about an hour before Filch will want to lock the school up, so make good use of the time. Dismissed."
Chaos ensues as the parents and teachers move around the room to match themselves up. Once they've found their buddies, the sound of table legs scraping against the floor fills the room as the pairs carve out their own space to work.
Ron swallows hard. It doesn't look like anyone is without a partner, so Ron is going to have to face the music. He pushes himself off the wall and weaves through the other attendees to get to her desk, where she has settled behind a mountain of marking.
He clears his throat to get her attention. "Uhm, Ms McGonagall?"
McGonagall's shoulders slump as she lifts her head from her work, narrowing her eyes at Ron. "What is it, Weasley?"
"I...I don't have a partner," he stutters.
"You were late, and you missed the allocation." She sighs and sets her pen down before making a big show of looking around the room. "Ah, Miss Granger. You don't have a partner, either?"
Ron follows McGonagall's gaze, his eyes finally settling on a woman who looks to be his age approaching the desk. Her brown hair falls down her back in a long plait, and she's wearing jeans with a pretty floral blouse. Although Ron is positive he's never met her before, he feels a strange stirring of familiarity low in his belly. Maybe Hugo has mentioned her name? He's constantly babbling away about school, especially the teachers.
Miss Granger looks friendly enough, though, and Ron breathes a sigh of relief.
"Looks like nobody pulled my name from the hat," she confirms. The tone of her voice is annoying, almost know-it-all-like, reminding Ron of the kids he used to hate in school, but he tries his best to push the irritation aside. It's Miss Granger or McGonagall, and Ron knows who he prefers to work with, bossy tone and all.
"Right, well, Ron Weasley, meet Hermione Granger."
Introductions seemingly over, the headmistress goes back to her marking, leaving Ron and Hermione staring at each other. Figuring he will have to be the one to make the first move, Ron fixes a massive smile on his face.
"So, do you know of any quiet spots around here?"
He didn't mean his tone to come off as flirty, but he takes Hermione's laugh as a good sign, especially as another slight flutter in his stomach accompanies it. He might as well get on with her, seeing as they have a competition to win and an eight-year-old to keep happy.
"Well, when I need to do some thinking, I always go to the library. Follow me."
⁂
Library is not the term that Ron would use to describe the pair of white Ikea bookcases surrounding the multi-coloured bean bags in the corner of Hermione's classroom, but at least it's cosy. The shelves are crammed full of books, overflowing onto the carpet in rickety stacks that look like they might cascade with a tiny kick.
"This is…nice. Not what I'd call a library, though." He throws himself down on a small bean bag with a groan. He closes his eyes, letting the lingering smell of chalk and potato smilies take him back to when he was a child. Not that he would have been found dead hanging around in a spot like this when he was eight.
Hermione chuckles then sits next to him with practised ease. The small confines of the space forces their thighs to touch, something Ron is very painfully aware of. It's been a while since he's been in such proximity with a woman who wasn't a family member or someone from work, so it takes a few calming breaths and the recital of a couple of football stats in his mind to calm himself down.
"It was the best I could do with the limited resources. I used to work in the British Library in London, and I missed it when I moved here. I just wanted to recreate a little corner of that, I guess."
Ron tries to rearrange his body so he's not in contact with Hermione's legs. Why don't these schools have any adult-sized furniture anywhere? He lets out a low whistle once he's finally shaped the bean bag to accommodate his long limbs. "The big smoke, 'eh? That's a bit of a change from Ottery St. Catchpole."
"Yeah, it is," Hermione muses but doesn't offer any further nuggets on why she moved, and Ron isn't too concerned about pushing her for it either. He's here to win the competition, not learn the ins and outs of the teacher's life.
"So… the stall. You have any ideas?"
"Plenty." She settles next to him and opens her notepad, flicking through the pages until she finds the right one. "How about bric-à-brac?"
"Oh, come on. Nobody wants to buy someone else's unwanted shit," Ron scoffs.
Hermione draws her lips together in a tight line, and her eye twitches at his use of a curse word. She probably doesn't get to hear it very often, considering she spends most of her life around small children. Although given some of the words that spill out of Hugo's mouth on occasion, he would be surprised if nobody at the school swears.
"One man's trash is another man's treasure."
There's that bossy tone again. It should grate on Ron's nerves, but for some reason, it sends a little buzz of joy to his heart. The confident rise and fall of her voice indicates she always knows what she is talking about, and he finds himself eager to see how far he can push that theory.
"Okay," she continues, "what about a garden sale?"
Ron wrinkles up his nose. "Let's veto any sort of sale. People don't want to spend money on stuff they don't need. That eliminates bottle sales, garden sales, stuffed toy sales. You can cross all of them off your list."
"Alright then, since none of my ideas are any good for you, tell me what you have." She sets her eyes on him with a stern look, waiting for him to prove her right.
Rubbing his hand over his face, he admits defeat. "I don't have anything. I didn't even know what I was attending this meeting for, honestly."
"It was all on the newsletter that came out last week. I should know I wr—"
"Like I have time to read a newsletter. It's probably still buried under all the debris at the bottom of Hugo's bag."
Hermione raises her eyebrows, then sits in silence, tapping her pen against the notepad. His disregard for her newsletter is ticking her off. He would love to challenge her about it, but time is of the essence, and he knows when to toe the line.
Ron sighs. "Look. All I know is that Hugo came barrelling in, shouting about the summer fete and how I needed to get involved. And then he just had to mention that Uncle Harry was helping out, and I guess my competitive side kicked in." He turns his body more towards her, hoping to appeal to her softer side. She must have one; she works with kids after all. "This is important to him, so I promised him I'd work hard at it. Whatever the prize is, he wants me to win it, and I made a promise never to let that kid down."
A smile creeps back across her face. "Hugo Weasley is yours?"
"Isn't it a given? We have the same surname."
"Well, there are so many Weasley's in the school." Hermione laughs, and Ron finds himself joining in too. "Hugo is in my class and is adorable."
"Well, then he definitely belongs to me." His chest fills with pride. Hands down, Hugo is the best thing in Ron's life. "And I guess he's alright. Some of the time. So, back to business, what other ideas are on your list?"
"Ugh. All sales." Hermione tears the page out of her book, an action that causes a flash of pain to cross her face, and scrumples the paper up. "What about a sponsored spelling bee?"
Ron grimaces then checks the time on his watch. He's surprised to see their hour is almost up. "Look, we're obviously not getting very far tonight, and I'm pretty sure Filch will be along to kick us out soon. I need to pick Hugo up from my mum's anyway. How about we take a couple of days to have a think, then maybe we can get our heads back together to discuss?"
"Sure! I'm free most evenings." A slight flush creeps over her cheeks at her admission.
"Alright, keen bean. Me too, but I have a hyperactive eight-year-old to look after. Here, pass me your pad."
Hermione does as she's told with a curious look on her face. Ron scribbles down his mobile number in his almost illegible scrawl, then shoves the pad back at her. He pulls himself back to his feet with a groan. Folding his long, lanky limbs into a child's bean bag was not the best idea at his age.
She considers the number before tearing it out of the book and folding it neatly, stowing it in her pocket. "My phone is in the staff room, but I guess I'll text you my number later or something?"
"Sure." Ron shoves his hands into his pockets then shrugs. "It is Friday night, so don't feel like you have to do it straight away."
Hermione pops onto her feet with a lot less effort but a lot more grace than Ron, flashing him another of her toothy smiles. Her mood is infectious, and he finds himself beaming back straight away.
"Oh, it's okay. I didn't make any plans for the evening, knowing we had the PTA meeting. Although, why the headmistress books them in for Friday nights, I do not know."
"I guess a lot of parents don't have lives. Kids steal them away from you with glee."
He follows her out of the classroom and back towards the blue doors, where the other parents have congregated. When they get to the group, Hermione turns towards Ron with a bigger smile.
"I guess I'll speak to you at some point over the weekend. The sooner we decide what we want to do, the sooner we can get to work and make it the best stall ever. For Hugo, of course."
"Only for Hugo." Ron grins back. "And not because we want to beat the other parents and teachers."
"And especially not Harry Potter, right?"
"Especially not him." Ron winks at Hermione then holds out his hand for Hermione to shake. A small jolt of electricity travels up his arm as their skin touches, although Ron attributes it to the nylon bean bags they were just sitting on. "Good night then."
"Night, Ron."
⁂
By the time Ron pulls up outside The Burrow, a farmhouse on the outskirts of the village, he has over a million ideas in his head. But the journey is short, and he is distracted by the sight of Hugo waiting for him, his face pressed against the glass of the front window.
The front door opens as soon as Ron is out of the car, and a miniature redheaded version of Thor throws himself at Ron's legs.
"Hey Thor, where's Hugo?"
"I am Hugo, silly!"
"Okay, Hugo-Thor. Are you ready to go home? It's almost your bedtime."
"Let me just say goodbye to Nanny."
Hugo rushes off, and Ron collects the child's belongings from the living room. As soon as Hugo is back, Ron calls out, "Bye Mum, thanks for having him."
"Anytime, love," a voice shouts back.
"Did you do the TPA meeting?" Hugo says from the backseat of the car, once Ron is pulling away from The Burrow.
"Do you mean the PTA meeting? Yeah, I went. I told you I would." Ron's eyes flit up to the rearview mirror to check on the child.
"Are you going to do a good stall? Are you going to beat Uncle Harry?"
"I hope so, kid. You'll never guess who I'm working with?"
Hugo gasps. "Is it Mr Hagrid? No, wait…oh no! Did you get paired with Ms McGonagall?" His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. "She scares me."
"She scares me too, buddy. But it's not Mr Hagrid or Ms McGonagall. One more guess."
"Miss Granger? I really really like her!" Hugo's eyes light up.
"Do you loovvvveeee her?" Ron teases.
"No!" The tips of Hugo's ears turn pink, and he hides his face with his plastic Mjöllnir. "She just tells us really good stories about the Norse Gods and wizards and witches. And when she's telling us about school stuff, it's not boring. I'll be sad when I have to leave her class next month. She's much better than Mrs Sprout was."
"Ah man, but she'll still be in the school, right? And I bet whoever you get next year will be just as fun."
"I bet I'll get Snape." Hugo lets out a mournful sigh. "He's mean."
"Well, if we win the prize, then we'll get to split it with Miss Granger, right? So it might be something fun, and you can spend a little more time with her. Why don't you think about what we can do? We're going to need a massive idea to win this one."
"Okay!"
A look of concentration falls over Hugo's face, something he certainly didn't inherit from anyone on the Weasley side of the family, apart from Percy, and the kid definitely isn't Percy's. Ron lets the routine of driving the short distance home wash over him. He doesn't pay any notice to the familiar scenery that rolls past. He, too, has drifted deep into thought.
⁂
The battle to get Hugo bathed and into bed is more arduous tonight. He is a champion at dragging out the inevitable, asking why and how about even the most trivial things. His topic of conversation tonight is about the summer fete, but instead of giving Ron any valuable ideas, Hugo fixates on what the other parents might be planning to do. Eventually, Ron tucks Hugo and Mjöllnir into bed with a kiss.
He hasn't even given Hermione a second thought until he settles on the sofa, a large glass of red wine in hand. He turns the TV on, but he doesn't have long to get into the programme before his phone chimes. Sighing, Ron digs in his pocket and pulls it out, frowning at the unknown number displayed on the screen. He presses his thumb against the home button then swipes on the message to open it.
Hey, it's Hermione from the PTA. I hope it's not too late to be texting you? Anyway, I promised you I'd send you my number, and here it is. Enjoy your evening :-)
Surprisingly, a smile crosses Ron's face as her name pops up on his screen. He saves it in his phone book under 'Miss Granger' then sets his glass back down on the coffee table with a slight clunk, so he has both hands free to text back.
Not too late at all. I'm a bit of a night owl actually. Still no ideas, but I promise I'm going to do some serious thinking. I'll text you tomorrow or Sunday if I come up with anything.
He presses send then tries to concentrate on the TV again, but his attention flits more than once back to his phone. Hermione's response doesn't take long to arrive.
No ideas here either, well, apart from the ones you rubbished. I'm going to get an early night. I look forward to seeing what you come up with! ;-)
Ron reads the message then throws his phone to the side with a chuckle after putting it on silent. With one ear trained on the quietness of the house, just in case Hugo needs him, Ron lets himself sink further into his battered sofa, ready to finally lose himself to a brainless sitcom. He'll definitely think about the stall tomorrow. After the week he's had, he needs to just clear his mind and relax for a bit.
After all, how difficult will it be to come up with a successful idea?