A/N: I had already started this prompt when the Rita Skeeter article broke. So, here is this finished product that still is potentially Extended Universe possible canon. Take it with a 1g of salt and a lime flavored gillywater and call me next week if symptoms don't improve.

Rated T only because they mention shagging and the occasional coarse word from Ron Weasley.

A/N2: My barrister wanted me to remind everyone: I don't own copyright or IP for Ron and Hermione; The Grangers; or have a rental abode in Australia's Gold coast. I have an abode and a garden. That's dandy enough for me. - DG

June, 1998

Hermione put the kettle on for tea. That was about all she was good for.

The last 48 hours were a whirlwind that Hermione Granger couldn't even wrap her head around. She didn't expect champagne and cucumber sandwiches on her return with her parents. She did hope that there would be some forgiveness for her actions. Even Understanding would have been satisfactory.

It was the first Monday back at work for Monica and Wendell Wilkins at the Griffin University Dental clinic, on the Gold Coast of Australia. They were keeping the facade that Hermione foisted onto them that they took a year off from their practice in England and went abroad to work. Since it was reasonably close to the truth, it wasn't that difficult to maintain the lie.

Unfortunately, they were Robert and Jean Granger, at least at home. They also had a daughter that they were furious with.

They left together this morning, refusing to speak with her when they walked out the door. Two sets of dirty looks were debilitating enough.

Hermione hoped that once they had another day to wrap their heads around what their daughter did to them, and for them, they would be more at ease with the situation. Calm would be nice too.

Well, if you call screaming bloody murder at her calm, or at ease.

Her father wasn't that bad. She'd endured better silent treatment from Ron at school. His silence was almost welcome in comparison to Mum. Mum gave her the rough side of her anger every time she saw Hermione. It didn't matter if what she was saying was true, or accurate, or even factual. It was the obvious hurt that kept Hermione silent in the face of such brutal recriminations that were, for the most part, completely true.

Dad never intervened, like he would when Jean would get too irate at Hermione. That was what hurt the most: that he didn't step in to protect her. He was irate too, letting her feel the brunt of her mother's anger and he was using silence to wound her too.

Last night got to be entirely too much. Ron stepped in while Hermione fled to her room, enduring the berating for her. She heard the echoes of breaking their trust and using magic on them without their consent.

What stood out in echo in her mind was the accusation of We don't know who you are anymore.

That was painfully accurate – that they didn't know their daughter anymore.

Hermione hid in the closet, weeping her soul to disrepair, until she fell asleep. She only stirred when Ron jostled her out of the closet and tucked her into bed.

'Ron,' Hermione said quietly. Ron had been nothing short of amazing these last few weeks.

Ron endured Mrs. Granger's tirade with nary a word, belittling their efforts in the attempt to keep them safe. He stood in her stead while Hermione retreated to her room, cowering in the far corner of the empty closet. Those tears were as bitter as they were the first night they had arrived.

A bitter laugh erupted from her chest. 'You really thought they'd forgive you for what you did? What are you, six again? This isn't you pitching a tantrum in the bookstore because they wouldn't let you have a book.'

She pulled the tea from the cabinet and found just the right amount for them. Next to the tea was the sugar bowl. Ron would rot his teeth from the amount of sugar he loved to heap into the piping hot beverage.

When Ron came up to their room, he found that she'd cried herself to sleep. He'd picked her up and gently tucked her into bed, keeping her company until she settled into a restless slumber.

But today he was being a selfish prat. Or it could be that she was being selfish, too. She wanted a leg over. Normally he had no qualms fulfilling her request. Once he got the first snog in, there was nothing that could hold him back. Those moments when she wasn't racked with guilt or feeling anxious about how to tell her parents what would have happened to them had they stayed in Hampstead Gardens. She had no idea how to convey to them that if she hadn't acted that way, in their best interests, she'd have been dealing with their funeral, not their anger.

Instead, her boyfriend was in her father's study listening to the Quidditch match. This morning, Quidditch won. And it wasn't even his beloved Chudley Cannons. It was a group match, between England and Japan, for the Quidditch World Cup.

He loved food, and he loved Quidditch. She knew she was somewhere on the list, but this morning, she wasn't the most important thing to him. Bacon sandwiches didn't coax him to turn his head.

Ron woke entirely too early for her tastes, at least this morning. She reached for him, hoping he would shag her silly so she could pass out in bliss for another few hours. He whispered to her that he was hoping to catch the match on the wireless he brought with him. She closed her weary eyes when he got out of bed. She heard him rustling around in the room, probably to put on sleep trousers and a jumper in the darkness of their room. But the exhaustion she felt pulled her back down into the bedclothes.

Ron kissed her on the forehead. Hermione fell back asleep.

When she did wake hours later, she did her absolutions in the bathroom, which included a teaspoonful from the bottle of prevention she brought with her. Molly insisted on it once Ron blurted out one night about them shagging. She accepted the bottle without retort, not telling her that Fleur taught her the charms the day after they first made love in his cramped bed.

Sure enough, she went downstairs and Ron was listening to the match. He didn't even acknowledge her existence when she said she was taking a Portkey back to London and shagging Neville in the Hogwarts Great Hall.

Ron was off in another place, listening to the match. Quidditch would be his companion, at least for today.

For the first time in months, Hermione was alone, at least emotionally.

Instead of whining at the injustice of her life, she was standing in her parent's kitchen making a kettle of tea and eventually cooking up breakfast for them. Ron wouldn't mind fried eggs and rashers and toast, since that was all there was in her parent's kitchen. Thankfully her parents had already left for the office so she could, without guilt, use magic to stifle the noxious smells of cooking Ron's breakfast.

Hermione pulled out a pot to make some porridge. It was the only breakfast food she could stomach.

Once the pans were on the stove and heating, she took Ron his cup of tea. He was still completely engrossed in the match, listening to the commentator remarking on the action. She put it down next to him on the side table and walked back to the kitchen.

The pans were ready and she started their breakfast.

"NO! Bloody hell no! You shite for brains flyer! Great Aunt Tessie could have flown better than you did! Argh!"

Ron threw himself on the back of the sofa and ran his hands through his hair. "I can't believe the bugger caught the snitch."

Ron opened his eyes and spied the covered plate in front of him, along with a cup of tea. He looked around Mr. Granger's study and Hermione was nowhere to be found. He checked his watch and saw it was half ten in the morning.

His stomach protested the lack of attention this morning. He'd been awake 7 ½ hours listening to the match.

He took a sip of the tea and realized it was tepid. 'When did she do this? How could I have ignored breakfast? How long has it been sitting here? Why didn't I see her come in?' Ron saw the napkin and the sheen of magic covering the plate. He pulled his wand from his trousers and removed the charm. The smells of a hot breakfast were instantly mouth-watering. He lifted the napkin and saw rashers and fried eggs, in abundance, on his plate. 'Could I have ignored her that much this morning?'

Ron berated himself for missing breakfast and his girlfriend while he tucked into his meal, devouring the four eggs and three rashers and 4 pieces of toast in a tick. "I could use another helping," he thought after draining the rest of his tea.

Ron took the plate with him to the kitchen and Hermione was nowhere to be found. "Hermione, where are you?" He rushed to wash his dishes and put it in the dry rack before racing upstairs to their bedroom. He opened the door and saw Hermione wasn't in their bedroom either.

He checked the loo. He checked the den. He even checked the kitchen to see if there was a note left for him, telling him that she ran away and joined a band of Aborigines.

Ron went back to the study and looked outside. He smiled when he spied her sitting outside, bundled up, reading a book. "Only Hermione would sit outside in the cold sunshine reading a book."

Ron hurried to make another pot of tea. He looked for the sugar for his cuppa and milk for hers.

Once the tea was made, he went outside with the kettle and the cups.

He stopped at the doorway for a moment to take the rustic scene in front of him in.

Her head was buried in a book, as usual, but she looked miniscule under the blanket on her legs and two jumpers over her torso. She looked reasonably comfortable reclining on the chaise lounge but she was also quite pale still. Ron could only guess at what she went through while he was gone, since she didn't talk about it yet, at least to him.

But her face had changed. It was obvious this morning, at least to his observant eyes, that she had lost weight. Her chin thrust out more. Her cheekbones were harsh on her face. The shadows under her eyes were dreadful. The hair he loved more than anything was still entirely too short for her, making it look bushier than usual.

They'd been through hell and somehow survived. Ron Weasley wasn't going to question their second chance at life.

Ron chuckled to himself before walking the extra ten feet to the table and laying down the tea service.

Hermione looked up and smiled. "Hi."

"Hi yourself. I looked all over for you."

"And here I am," she cheeked back.

Ron made her a cup, pouring just a touch of milk into her tea before handing it over.

"Oh that feels good on my hands. Thank you."

"Well, you did make breakfast."

"I thought you might have been hungry since you were awake so early. Is the match over?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah. The Seeker for Japan caught the snitch after the English one crashed his broom into a goalpost. They won by ten."

"How was breakfast?"

"I could have used seconds, but I'm fine."

Hermione smiled and took a sip of her tea.

"Listen, I know this morning, - "

"It's alright. You wanted to listen to the Quidditch match and I was being selfish. So, I let you have your time listening and I got things done. It's no big deal."

Ron sat back in his own chair. "No big deal? Shagging is a big deal. Bloody Hell Hermione! I waited years to get shag you rotten. No big deal? You're mental."

Hermione gave him the 'you must be kidding' look. "Maybe I am, but hear me out."

Ron sat back in his chair and crossed his arms.

"This morning, Quidditch was more important to you. Yes, I was hurt for a brief moment that you wanted to listen to the match. But I realize you needed a break too, from everything that's happened. For a few hours, Quidditch was your world. You were enjoying yourself." Hermione sat further back in the chaise lounge. "That's why it's a big deal. You didn't have to care for me, or hold me while I cried, or move me around when I fell asleep where I was standing."

Hermione picked up the book in her lap and showed him the binding. "So, while you were enjoying yourself listening to the match, I cooked breakfast, washed our clothes, straightened our bedroom, and was able to get some reading done. I don't know about you, but I'd say that was the most productive I've been in weeks, if not months."

Ron pulled his chair closer and put his hands out where she could reach him. "I was an arse, that's what I was. Sure, I love Quidditch. I reckon I'll bleed Orange, or White and Red, until I'm senile. But missing a morning for a leg over was selfish on my part. Quidditch can wait." He looked at their intertwined hands. "Shite. I waited years, thinking you didn't feel the same way. I cocked up, pushing you aside for a bloody Quidditch match."

Hermione smiled softly. "And you will again and again. I just have to be patient that you will occasionally throw me over for some dancing veela in a set of robes too small for her body. I just have to trust that you'll come back to me."

"Oy! That's not fair. I was 14 at the time. It's been years since I've gone arse over tits over a veela."

Hermione leaned up and kissed his lips gently. "You were, but now you're 18 and still mad for Quidditch. So, from now on, if you want to throw me aside for listening to a match, just say so. I'll make sure I have things to distract me while you're otherwise occupied."

Ron pouted and looked quite adorable. "I'm not throwing you aside. I just – "

Hermione put her finger to his lips. "I'm not mad. Just tell me and I'll go read a book."

Ron pulled her finger to his lips and kissed them. "You think we can get back to what you wanted this morning?"

"I would but I reckon Mum and Dad'll pop in for lunch today, since they left early to eat breakfast out. I don't want them walking in and interrupting anything."

Ron sighed melodramatically. "I'm a git."

"Yes, but as we agreed, you're my git now. You'll get to make it up to me sometime this week. Who knows? Maybe even tonight, once Mum and Dad go to sleep."

"Is that a promise?" Ron brought her hands up to his lips and laid kisses on each of her fingers.

"It is."