Barmy Muggles
Author's Note: Originally published on February 15, 2010
Ron fidgeted as he followed Hermione's mum into the kitchen, volunteering to help out in any way he could after the disaster he'd just caused.
"I'm really sorry. It was an accident."
She chuckled and waved him off. "No need to keep apologising, Ron. Besides, that neat bit of magic you did took care of things nicely."
He blushed, but couldn't stop from grinning proudly. "Hermione taught me that one when I knocked over her pumpkin juice one time at Hogwarts. I guess it works on wine, too."
He shuddered, remembering how the dark red liquid had instantly soaked into the flawless white tablecloth—and Mr. Granger's beige shirt.
He could feel his hands shaking slightly as he helped Mrs. Granger remove the large turkey from the oven, nearly dropping the tray before recovering and setting it on the stovetop.
"A bit nervous, Ron?"
"Yes," he admitted, red-faced.
"There really is no need to be. I know we haven't spent that much time together, with Hermione away at school, but you seemed fine around us in Australia."
"Well, Mrs. Granger, I was pretty concerned about Hermione and how she was coping with things. I guess I wasn't paying much attention to myself. You didn't know that we were dating, so to me you were simply Hermione's parents. Now you're Hermione's parents."
"First off, Ron, please call me Jean. Hermione's mentioned that things are a little more old-fashioned in your world, but there's no need to be so formal. We're delighted to have you here for Christmas; we know how much you mean to our daughter."
"Thanks Mrs, er, Jean. Is Mr. Granger fine with... everything?" he asked, waving his arms in the air and nearly upsetting a jug of gravy.
"Don't worry about him; he thinks very highly of you." She laughed. "He was the same way when he first spent Christmas with my parents. He had a case of butter fingers, just like you."
"Butter fingers? What the bloody hell does that mean?" Ron thought.
Jean reached over to grab the aforementioned jug and stepped out of the tidy kitchen. "Please bring the turkey out when you're ready."
Now alone, he looked down at his hand and tentatively raised a finger to his lips, poking out his tongue. It certainly didn't taste like butter.
"What are you doing?"
He hastily wiped his hand on his trousers. "Nothing, your Mum said I have butter fingers, so I was just checking."
Hermione started giggling, which quickly turned to full-blown laughter.
"What's so funny?"
"Ron," she said between pants, trying to catch her breath, "it's a Muggle saying for someone who drops things."
Her laughter was infectious, and he couldn't help but join in, his nervousness melting away. He pulled her into a hug and she brushed the ginger fringe out of his eyes.
"They like you, Ron."
His head leaned forward, their lips inches apart. "Yeah? What about you?"
"I like you, too."
"Good," he whispered as their lips met sweetly.