The Grangers.
The weather was beautiful again on the following Saturday morning. Ron, standing in the street with Harry, looked nervously at the outside of the Granger's home. It was a nice older cottage with rock masonry and a red tile roof nestled in a pleasant neighborhood. The lawn was meticulously groomed and rimed with pretty flower beds. A winding flagstone walkway led up to the front door.
"Go on then," Harry said, prodding him. "You've been staring at the door for twenty minutes. You might as well get it over with."
"Are you sure I have to do this?" he pleaded. "Maybe I could just write a letter or something."
"Right, and send it by owl I suppose?" Harry said. "I'm sure the Grangers would love that."
"Oh all right," Ron groaned as he started up the walk.. "I'm ready as I'll ever be. Let's go."
When they reached the door Harry stood back a bit and let Ron ring the bell. After a few seconds, it was answered by Mrs. Granger. She looked at Ron and then Harry, blinked, and looked back at Ron. The color seemed to drain from her face and her hand flew to her mouth. Harry didn't know what kind of reaction he had expected, but abject terror wasn't it. Ron looked at Harry, his face showed the same confusion that Harry felt.
"Ronald...," she exclaimed, her voice shaking. "Is something wrong? Has something happened to Hermione? I just talked to her on the phone last night. She seemed fine. I don't understand..."
Ron, already nervous, didn't catch on right away so Harry jumped in.
"No, no, Mrs. Granger," he said, reaching out to her. "Hermione's fine. At least, last we heard she was..."
"Last you heard?" she interrupted accusingly. "What does that mean? Is she missing? She told me it was over, no more fighting..."
Harry cringed. Things were going from bad to worse, but Ron had caught up by this time and moved closer to the near hysterical woman.
"She's fine," he said, his voice firm and calm. "The war is over. There is no more fighting. All Harry meant was, we haven't actually talked to her ourselves, but we have no reason to think that anything is wrong." He stressed 'anything'.
She took a breath, visibly relaxed, and her color started to return. "Oh, I see," she said quietly. "Then, what are you doing here, Ronald?" she asked. "I'm sorry, but I still don't understand."
Ron took a deep breath and glanced at Harry again before answering. "Well, I was wondering if I might have a word with Mr. Granger? A private word?"
Just then they heard the back door slam and a man's voice called out, "Was that the door bell, Dear? Is someone here?" Mr. Granger appeared then, wiping his hands on a rag, dressed in muddy gardening clothes.
"It's Ronald Weasley," she said, still obviously confused but much recovered from the earlier misunderstanding. "He says he wants to have a word with you."
"Ron Weasley? A word with me? How extraordinary!" he said, smiling at Ron. "What are you doing out there? Haven't you invited him in, Dear?"
"Oh my!" she gasped. "I'm sorry, please come in." She backed into the house and held the door for them as Harry and Ron entered the foyer. There was a coat rack on the wall with a built in umbrella stand and a small bench for removing wet boots.
"And you must be…?" Mr. Granger asked, looking at Harry, staring at his scar.
"You must be Harry Potter," she said quietly
"Right," Ron said quickly. "This is Harry Potter, our...good friend." He stumbled over just how to introduce Harry since, in the Wizarding world, it had never been necessary. "Mine and Hermione's good friend, that is."
It was obvious that the Grangers didn't need any further explanation. "How extraordinary," Mr. Granger said, for the second time, and extended his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Potter. Ah… sorry about the dirt, been working in the garden."
"No problem. The pleasure's mine," Harry replied shaking his hand.
"So," Mr. Granger said, looking at Ron again. "You want to have a word with me?"
"Yes sir," Ron replied gravely. He glanced at Harry who gave him a little wink.
"Well, I'm in the middle of some planting out back; that time of year, you know. You could follow me out there; it'd be private enough I think." Then he turned to Mrs. Granger and said, "Why don't you make us some tea, Dear? Ron and I will be along shortly."
"Certainly," she said, still looking at Harry.
"Well, all right then, come along Ron, my begonias aren't going to plant themselves. Ron followed him through the house and out the back door.
"So," Mrs. Granger said coolly, turning back to Harry. "Because of you, I went to bed one night and woke up a year later on a sheep ranch outside Sydney?"
"Err…I guess so…" Harry stammered.
"Right then," she said, as she turned smartly on her heel. "The kitchen is this way."
It had not occurred to Harry when he agreed to come along that he would be spending time alone with Hermione's angry mother. He looked around as he followed her down the hall. The inside of the house was as spotless and organized as the outside. The furnishings were nice but not fancy. There was a pleasant sitting room with a couple of overstuffed chairs, an office with a desk and shelves, all packed with books of course. The phrase 'neat as a pin' came to mind and Harry contrasted it to the Burrow's usual state of barely controlled chaos. He wondered just what kind of home his two friends would end up making.
While Mrs. Granger continued into the kitchen, Harry stopped along the hall to look at several photographs that hung there of Hermione at various ages. First were baby pictures; a pudgy, curly haired cherub of an infant. Next, Hermione as a toddler on Christmas morning, surrounded by a sea of toys and dolls, beaming triumphantly at the camera while fiercely clutching a large picture book of Dinosaurs. But the one that really caught his eye was taken on platform nine and three quarters as she was about to set off for her first year at Hogwarts. She was standing with her mother. Hermione had that determined, haughty, look that he remembered, while her mother's smile was strained, worry clearly visible around her eyes. He unconsciously reached up to touch the frame...
"I was terrified, you know," Mrs. Granger said. She had silently returned and startled Harry so much he jumped back, almost knocking over a lamp on the other side of the hall. "That first day we let her go," she continued, apparently not noticing Harry's clumsiness. "We put her on that strange train, with all those strange people. We knew it was best for her, of course, the Ministry people had explained everything. But still, our little girl, going away until Christmas, surrounded by..." her voice trailed off. Harry knew she caught herself before saying something she thought might offend him.
"Looking back," Harry said. "It's hard to believe we were ever that young." He looked at Mrs. Granger who was still staring at the photo. "You know," he went on, trying to be comforting, "she can take care of herself, that Hermione. Always could."
"The kitchen is through here," she said distantly, and turned on her heel and headed back down the hall. This time Harry followed.
The kitchen was bright and cheery with flowered wall paper and white lace curtains. A small eating area with a table and chairs adjoined it in the back and the lace-curtained windows looked out on the garden. The only sound was the ticking made by the kettle as the water began to heat.
"I'm quite sure our Hermione can take of herself," she said proudly, looking out the window. "What I never understood was why she should have to." She turned and looked at Harry as he sat down at the table. "The worst row I ever had with my daughter was about you dragging her into these dangerous situations."
"We have that in common at least," Harry said, not breaking eye contact. "Neither of us could change her mind once she set it. I tried to convince them to let me go alone. Lucky for me, I failed miserably. There's no way I could have done it without them."
"Really," she said, and sat across the table from him. "She never told me that. I just assumed you wanted…an entourage." The look she gave him was so Hermione-like he had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.
"Your daughter is a lot of things, but 'groupie' isn't one of them," he said with a chuckle. She shrugged agreement and smiled at the absurdity of the idea.
"Really," he continued. "I've never met anyone like her. She always knows, instinctively, what the 'right' thing to do is. That's a lot harder than it sounds. It might have been my journey, but she was the compass."
She smiled at him then, sincerely, and looked over Harry's shoulder into the yard. Harry turned and saw Mr. Granger holding one of Ron's hands in both of his and vigorously pumping it up and down. Ron looked very relieved, and was nodding his head to whatever Mr. Granger was saying, then he started dragging Ron back toward the house.
"So?" she asked Harry, nodding in their direction. "What's all this about then?" Harry just smiled as Mr. Granger, with a dazed Ron in tow, burst into the kitchen.
"Ron wants to marry our Hermione!" Mr. Granger blurted out, smiling hugely.
"What!" Mrs. Granger exclaimed as she jumped up, sending her chair flying.
"He's just asked if it would be alright if he asked Hermione to marry him!"
"And what did you say?" she asked behind the hand that had flown up to her mouth.
"Say?" He asked, confused. "I said that it was her decision, of course, but we would be thrilled!"
"Of course we would!" Her eyes welled up as she ran around the table and hugged them both in turns. Harry started to feel he should leave them alone when they were interrupted by the whistle of the kettle.
They talked for a while over tea. The Grangers were delighted, and quite surprised, that they were the first in either family to hear about Ron's plans. Harry could tell that, maybe for the first time, they felt truly included in the world their daughter spent half her life in.
Later, when they were standing in the foyer about to leave, Mrs. Granger abruptly stopped as if something had just occurred to her. "Ron, have you picked out a ring yet?" she asked.
"Still trying to work that out, actually," Ron said, obviously not relishing the thought of that task.
"Wait right here," she said and dashed back into the house.
When she returned she was carrying a small black velvet ring box. She held it out to him and it seemed she might start crying again. "It was my grandmother's," she said. "I was already married when it was passed down to me. Hermione always loved it. I used to catch her wearing it around the house when she was little." She laughed at the memory. "Not much for playing dress-up, that girl, but that ring... I had to hide it eventually. I was sure she'd wear it out into the yard and lose it."
Ron opened the box and looked at a delicate gold ring with three small diamonds set in a line. All he could do was hug her again.
"I'm sure it's perfect...," Ron finally managed to say.
"Perfect," Harry agreed.
"What did you mean before?" Ron asked Harry as they walked away from the house. "Make the moment worthy of the woman? You think there needs to be a proclamation from the Ministry or something?"
"No Ron," Harry lectured, exasperated. "That's not it at all. It's doesn't have to be some big deal. In fact, it shouldn't be too over the top, she'll see right through some phony set-up like that. No fireworks, marching bands, or clowns. Just make it significant for her, something tasteful and subtle. You know, show some class."
"Right, tasteful, show some class… got it," Ron nodded. "No fireworks or marching bands..."