From the Burrow to the Devonport train station was the furthest Hermione had ever Apparated. She couldn't say she enjoyed it, but at least she came through all in one piece. Ron and Mr. Weasley appeared beside her a moment later.

"Alright then," Mr. Weasley said. "Well, you two have a good time. Ron mind your manners and," he added in a lower voice, "pay attention to everything. I want a full report when you get back."

Ron nodded.

"I'll pick you up Sunday, right back here, six o'clock sharp." He pressed something into Ron's hand and then disappeared with a pop.

Ron pocketed whatever his father had given him and then turned to Hermione. "Reckon we better find our train."

"It's this way." She took his hand. She couldn't help thinking how cute he was when he was nervous.

Ron shifted his rucksack on his shoulders and picked up her bag.

The train wasn't crowded so they managed a section of seats to themselves. Ron settled their bags in the overhead storage rack, then sat next to Hermione and took her hand.

"Is it silly to be kind of excited?" Ron asked.

"Of course not."

"I've never been in London outside of Diagon Alley."

"I think you'll like Muggle London. I just hope you like my parents."

"I've always liked them before," Ron said. "I just hope they like me."

Hermione twisted her ticket in her hands. "I hope so too," she said without thinking.

Ron gave her a stricken look.

"I mean," she quickly amended, "I'm sure they will. They always have before." To ease his mind, she snuggled up against him. The train ride took four hours. Hermione read. Ron alternated between looking out the window and watching the gentle rise and fall of her breasts as she read. It was nice to have this quiet time together. There were just enough Muggles in the car that they couldn't discuss the upcoming hunt for Horcruxes, and for that, Ron was grateful. When they finally reached Paddington Station, Hermione hailed them a cab. Ron was completely terrorized during the taxi ride to her parents' house. His eyes were like saucers as the cabbie negotiated the busy streets. He kept hissing things into her ear. "This is mad, we could actually hit some of these people. Muggles are mental."

Hermione kept patting his arm and telling him to relax. She had never seen anyone look as relieved as Ron did when they emerged unscathed on to the sidewalk in front of her parents' townhouse.

Ron looked up at the house Hermione was walking toward and let out a low whistle. "You didn't tell me your parent's lived in a mansion."

"It's not a mansion," Hermione said defensively. "It's a townhouse."

"It's four stories."

"The Burrow is five stories," she said.

"Five lopsided stories," Ron argued.

"Well, their offices are on the ground floor, so that doesn't really count."

"Of course, it counts," Ron said. "It's really nice. All brick?"

"It's really old. Drafty," Hermione said, tugging him forward by the arm. "Like Grimmauld Place, only not so creepy."

"Grimmauld Place is huge." The front door opened, and Hermione's mother hurried down the front steps toward them.

"Oh, it's so nice to see you," she cried as she rushed forward to embrace Hermione. Mr. Granger followed behind his wife and shook Ron's hand heartily before turning to hug his daughter. It struck Ron at that moment that this was it. This was Hermione's whole family, just these three people. It was difficult to imagine. Suddenly, his presence there seemed imbued with a new seriousness. He could feel the butterflies in his stomach clench into a tight ball of nerves.

The first few minutes were hugs and kisses and talk of the trip into London. After that, Ron followed Hermione upstairs to put away their luggage. She led him to the top floor and opened a door. Inside was a big bed with a dark blue bedspread and a window overlooking the back garden and a park beyond. There was a tiny loo off the room. Ron set his rucksack on the bed and looked around. "This is really nice."

Hermione smiled. "I'm glad you like it. Want to see my room?"

Ron grinned. "Sure." He picked up her bag and was surprised to see her open a door just down from his. "Our rooms are next to each other?"

Hermione nodded. "My bedroom has always been on the top floor. It's the best place to use a telescope."

"Of course," Ron said, smiling. "What else?" He set down her suitcase and turned to her. "Won't your parents mind?"

She rolled her eyes. "There are two guest rooms in this house. You can either have the one I put you in, or you can have the pink one across the hall from it, either way, we're on the same floor."

"And your parents don't mind?"

She rested a palm against his chest and looked him in the eye. "No."

The look unnerved him. "If you say so," Ron said and looked around the room. Not surprisingly, it was full of books. The aforementioned telescope was in one corner next to a door that led out to a tiny balcony. The bed was similar to the one in Ron's room, but it had a white bedspread with little yellow flowers. Another door led to a much larger bathroom than the one in his room. "Nice," he said.

Hermione looked around as if seeing the room for the first time. "I suppose. We should get back to my parents though."

Mr. and Mrs. Granger were in the kitchen when Ron and Hermione came back downstairs.

"All settled, dear?" Mrs. Granger asked.

Hermione nodded. "Yes."

Mr. Granger cleared his throat. "Well, Ron, what do you say we head down to the pub and catch the cricket match? Let the girls have a cup of tea and bit of chin wag, eh?"

"Um, sure," Ron said, casting a desperate look at Hermione.

She smiled weakly back at him.

He followed Mr. Granger back out the front door.

Her mother clapped her hands together and said, "I'll put on the kettle."

"That sounds good, Mum, I'll be right back." She hurried out after the men.

She called down to them from the top of the stairs. "Dad, may I have a word?"

Just as she'd hoped, he walked back upstairs, leaving Ron on the sidewalk below.

"Dad," Hermione said softly. "Please remember, Ron's not been outside the wizarding world much. He doesn't know beans about cricket, and he really doesn't understand the way things work, so watch out for him."

Her father kissed her forehead. "Of course, darling."

Hermione walked back inside with nerves coiling tightly in her stomach.

Her mother was setting a plate of Hobnobs on the kitchen table. "Sit down, dear."

That was a bad sign. Her mother was in the habit of calling her "dear" when she wanted to have a serious talk. Hermione sat down at the table and her mother took the chair opposite her. "Ron seems like a nice boy."

Hermione nodded and took a biscuit. "He is."

"You two have known each other for such a long time."

"Six years," Hermione said and took the tinniest nibble of her Hobnob.

"But this is the first time you've brought him home, the first time you've brought anyone home."

"About time, don't you think?" Hermione was trying for a breezy tone, but it sounded a little manic instead.

"Nothing's happened has it, dear? You've not brought him home to announce anything, have you?"

The kettle screamed, Hermione jumped, and her mother popped up and took it off the cooker. As her mother busied herself over the tea, Hermione tried to think frantically at what her mother was getting at. Since her mother didn't know about the war, Hermione could only think of two things she might be referring to, marriage or pregnancy. Having just had this sort of conversation with Ron's mother, she was in no mood to have it again with her own. Her mind raced with ways to change the subject, but nothing coalesced before her mother put the tea set on the table.

Okay, Hermione thought, I'll be straightforward and maybe she'll be so relieved she'll change the subject. "Sorry, Mum, no announcements. I just thought you and Dad should meet him and he you. I mean, I've spent loads of time with his family. It just seemed proper for him to spend some time with mine."

Her mother visibly relaxed and poured the tea. "So you're dating then?"

Actually, we've never been on a date, but that's too confusing to explain. "Yes." She dropped a lump of sugar in her tea and stirred.

"I see, well, I-"

"Mum," Hermione interrupted, unable to stand the tension anymore. "What are you getting at?"

Her mother quietly stirred her tea for a moment. "Well, dear, before you left for the Weasley's this summer you brought up that whole business about coming of age at seventeen in the wizarding world, then you come back unexpectedly, with Ron in tow. It makes one think."

Hermione sighed. "Mum, I was only trying to explain how it was I could do magic around the house now without getting in trouble. That's all, and I've already explained about Ron."

Her mother smiled weakly. "It's just we haven't really talked about boys since before you left for Hogwarts, and well, I do hope you're being careful, dear."

No! Hermione thought. No, no, no, no, why is this happening?

"I thought perhaps while you were home, I could make an appointment for you with the doctor."

"Mum. I don't need—"

"Not the regular doctor, a woman's doctor."

"Mum! I don't need a doctor, any kind of doctor. I've explained this. I don't go to regular doctors." What have I done to deserve this?

"I'm just concerned, Hermione. I don't understand the wizarding world. I just want to make sure you're safe."

Oh, just say it, so she'll stop beating around the bush. "I know how to cast a contraception charm, all right, Mum."

Her mother dropped her eyes and poured milk in her tea. "All right then, dear."

There was an incredibly long, awkward silence.

Her mother cleared her throat. "How were your marks this term?"

"Good. I can bring them down if you like. I brought them with me."

"Oh, yes. I know your father will want to see them too."

Hermione walked up to her room hoping with every fiber of her being that Ron was having a better time than she was. She was very concerned that her parents had decided on a divide-and-conquer strategy before they arrived.

xXx

At the pub, Ron was fascinated with the television. Cricket made no sense despite Mr. Granger's attempt to explain it, but the television was brilliant.

"…and that's where the term sticky wicket comes from," Mr. Granger finished. He took a big swallow of his ale.

"Hmm," Ron nodded. "I don't get it."

Mr. Granger sighed. "Hang it all, Ron, I don't really follow cricket myself. I'm a football fan mostly."

Ron wasn't sure how to respond.

"I brought you down here to talk about Hermione."

"Oh." Ron nervously drank some of his ginger beer and wished he could have the real stuff. Only Muggles made a bloke wait until he was eighteen before he could order a pint.

"Look, I understand that she's grown up now. I can see that. And I understand the need for privacy at your age. It's natural not to want to share everything with your parents."

Oh, no, Ron thought. What the hell is he on about?

"But when she came home last summer, injured with a note from Madame Pomfrey and potions to take, she lied to us." Mr. Granger's jaw was clenched. "I can see from the scars on your arms that you've been injured as well."

Ron moved his arms under the table. "Sir…"

"After she came home like that, I sent a letter to Dumbledore. Great man, Dumbledore, I was very sad to hear of his passing."

Ron nodded.

"The short of it is, I've been getting The Daily Prophet."

"What?" Ron asked, shocked. "The ministry lets you do that?"

"Of course, it's very restricted. It arrives late at night and I have exactly an hour to read it before it disintegrates, but I'm starting to understand, I think."

This is a bloody nightmare, Ron thought. What did I do to deserve this?

"It seems to me, that," Mr. Granger continued, "there's a war beginning in your world and that sometimes it spills over into mine. Am I reading that right?"

Ron looked up at him. For some reason, having Mr. Granger say those words gave them a weight and a resonance they'd never quite had before. "Yeah," Ron said quietly. "You're reading that right."

"My God." Mr. Granger let his head fall back against the booth where they were sitting. "And you're caught up in it, you're both caught up in it, with the Potter boy?"

Ron brought his arms back up on the table and looked down at the thin white scars covering them. "Yeah. Yeah, we are."

There was a long silence and then Mr. Granger said, "I don't suppose there's anything you could do to keep her out of it."

Ron shook his head. "She'd only hex me, and then there'd just be one less person to help."

"I know she won't listen to me on the matter."

"You've spoken to her?" Ron picked at the paper coaster under his drink.

"No. Once she lied about how she got hurt, I knew there was no point in bringing this up with her. That's why I wanted to talk to you."

"I'm sure she just doesn't want you to worry, sir."

"It's my right to worry. Just as it's your parents' right to worry over you. She's my daughter, my only child, it's my right."

Ron nodded. He genuinely felt bad for Mr. Granger. "Does Mrs. Granger read the Prophet as well?"

"No. She doesn't even know that I get it. There's no point in worrying her."

Well, I guess I see where Hermione gets it then. Ron took a sip of his ginger beer.

"She's worried Hermione's come home to tell us she's eloped or worse."

Ron spewed his drink.

Mr. Granger laughed. "Caught you on that one."

Ron wiped his mouth.

"Her mother was so concerned this morning." He imitated Mrs. Granger. "Oh, why is she coming home so suddenly? What if she's pregnant?"

Ron's eyes widened. Mr. Granger ignored him and continued.

"What if they've run off and got married?" He took another drink of his ale. "And I just kept thinking, let it be that, don't let her be coming home for one last visit before the war."

Mr. Granger's words hit Ron like a punch. Bloody hell, is that what this is for her, a drink before the war? "I'm sorry, Mr. Granger."

"But she's talented though?" Mr. Granger asked. "She can handle herself?"

"She's brilliant; best in our year. Maybe best in the school," Ron said with pride.

"She was always precocious, although, we didn't always know how to handle it. It was a relief, really, when Dumbledore showed up the first time. She was only ten then. Did you know that?"

Ron didn't. He shook his head.

"She'd had a bit of a tangle with an older girl at school. Mysteriously, this girl suddenly ended up in the middle of a moor over a mile from there."

Ron suppressed a grin.

"Strange things happened around Hermione her whole life. One time, when she was two, she threw such a tantrum that every dish in the house broke, all at the same time without anyone so much as breathing on them."

This time Ron did laugh. "Ginny did that once. I think she was three though."

Mr. Granger nodded and had another swallow of ale. "I suppose your parents took it in their stride. Scared the hell out of us."

Ron nodded sympathetically. "Actually, with us, it's kind of a happy moment in a weird way. Up until that point, my parents didn't know if Ginny was magical or if she was a Squib."

Mr. Granger looked at him. "Squib?"

"Muggle child born to magical parents." Ron said uncomfortably.

"I suppose that's pretty disturbing to you lot."

"Well," Ron said, thoughtfully. "It's just, you know, the kid won't really be part of the magical world. Most Squibs end up living among Muggles, which kind of separates a fam…" He suddenly realized what he was saying.

Mr. Granger finished his ale. "Let's go back."