A/N: As always, a huge thank you to everyone that's read, reviewed, favorited, or put this story on alert. You are all marvelous people. I can't believe there are already forty of you that get an e-mail every time I post a new chapter. I'm very flattered. :)
Shameless self-promotion time: I have a one-shot outtake I posted about a month ago entitled "More than Books and Biscuits" that is meant to take place between the last chapter and this one. It's obviously not a necessity that you read it, but if you haven't, it does explain a couple of minor plot points that are referenced in this chapter. If you're interested, you can find it on my profile. If not, feel free to forget I mentioned it and I promise not to be offended. Of course, I'd be eternally grateful if you did read it and let me know what you think of it.
Disclaimer: If I am not J.K. Rowling, then I do not own Harry Potter. I am not J.K. Rowling. Therefore, I do not own Harry Potter. I have, however, put this disclaimer into valid argument form (I think) in an effort to study for my upcoming philosophy exam.
"The First Time He (Properly) Met Her Parents"
16 August 1998
Ron was done for. He could see no possible way to survive the night. Even if he managed to apparate without splinching himself, he would surely say something so insensitive or inappropriate that he would meet his death. Hermione was disturbingly unphased by the prospect of his imminent doom. "Honestly, Ron, they're just my parents," she'd said when he'd expressed his concern about what was sure to be the end of his life. "They know we're together, and they've really not got a problem with it. I'm sure it will be a lovely dinner. Mum's cooking a steak."
"They've not got a problem with me?" Ron repeated incredulously. "Oh, good. That's what every bloke wants to hear when he goes to meet his girlfriend's parents. Very encouraging." Hermione had just rolled her eyes before kissing him soundly on the mouth and causing him to temporarily forget his troubles.
It had been nearly two months since the Grangers had returned to England, and Hermione had been splitting her time between helping them re-acclimate, starting on her Head Girl duties by assisting Professor McGonagall in making sure Hogwarts was set to reopen in a couple of weeks, and snogging Ron. Predictably, Ron was only particularly happy about one of those activities. Hermione had not moved back to her parent's home, which had initially surprised Ron until she had tearfully confided to him that she didn't feel as comfortable in her childhood home as she used to. Apparently her parents hadn't been too upset, considering Hermione hadn't spent a summer at home since she was thirteen, but she still felt guilty about the situation. At any rate, although she was still living with the Weasleys, Hermione could normally only be found in the Burrow in the evenings.
While Ron was happy to spend most of his days with George, who was enjoying booming business following the reopening of the joke shop at the end of July, he couldn't help but wish he could just fall into a bubble with Hermione and ignore the rest of the world for a few days (or weeks). Was it too soon in their relationship to go on a holiday together? They'd shared a bed plenty of times now, both craving company and comfort in the wake of the horrors they'd seen. The war may have ended, but the nightmares remained, and Ron had quickly discovered that it was infinitely better to have someone to hold or be held by than to be alone when they occurred.
Although the couple had grown quite comfortable with each other, they hadn't yet taken their relationship to the next level physically. Ron couldn't deny that he would immediately oblige should Hermione ask to go further, but on some level he knew it wasn't the right time. Hermione had admitted, after nearly jumping him one night, that she wasn't ready anyhow, and besides, shagging under his parents' roof seemed wrong somehow. They must know, Ron figured, that Hermione spent most of her nights in his room, but his mum and dad had refrained from interfering in the situation. Well, aside from one very uncomfortable conversation he'd had with his dad a few weeks ago about the contraceptive potion.
To be honest, Ron thought, living at home in general was starting to seem strange. As much as Ron loved the Burrow, he'd reached an age that it really just made more sense to move out. For this reason, he was planning to join Harry at Grimmauld Place in September, by which time they would be done cleaning the place out and getting rid of most of the dark objects that were still there.
Despite not getting to see his girlfriend quite as much as he would like and dealing with the lingering effects from the war, both of which were problems which he had little to no control over, Ron's life was really going fairly well. Of course, that had been before Hermione had announced that her parents would like to have dinner with them before she returned to Hogwarts. Ron had spent the past week worrying and receiving advice from just about everyone. Harry had told him to be himself. Ginny had told him that whatever he did, under no circumstances should he be himself. Bill had advised that he dress nicely, speak politely, and conduct himself as though he were meeting the royal family. This only led Ron to wonder what on Earth dinners with Fleur's family were like.
George had been perhaps the least helpful of all: "Make sure you don't mention how much you want to shag Hermione in front of her dad. And don't tell her mum that you see where Hermione got her good looks from, because really that's just creepy; only greasy tossers do that. Oh, and if they ask you about your intentions, I'd suggest you just run for the hills since there's really no right answer to that question. I'll let you have some instant darkness powder if you'd like!"
Having internalized none of this useless information, Ron found himself just as hopeless as he'd ever been on the Sunday night that would surely mark his demise. As he stood in front of his mirror and adjusted the itchy but sharp-looking brown sweater his mum had bought him for the occasion, he attempted to calm himself down for what must have been the forty-seventh time that evening. "Hermione loves me," he told his reflection. "Her parents can't possibly hate me. I won't mess this up."
He'd almost half-believed himself until his mirror ever-so-helpfully replied, "You keep telling yourself that, dear."
He scowled at it. "You'd think after eighteen years you'd have a bit more faith in me."
"It's good your sweater isn't orange or maroon," the mirror supplied in what was probably supposed to be a supportive voice.
At that moment, a knock came at the door. Before Ron had a chance to respond, Hermione bustled into the room. "We ought to be leaving in a minute, Ron. My parents are expecting us at six. Oh, see, I told you that sweater would look nice; it was so lovely of your mum to buy it for you. Your hair looks great too, I'm so glad you finally let me cut it," she said, running her fingers through it briefly as she spoke very quickly.
Ron, trying desperately to look as though he had not just been arguing with a mirror, grabbed her by the waist and kissed her swiftly. "What was that for?" she asked, smiling as they broke apart.
"Just thought I should get one more in," he said innocently, taking her hand as they began to walk downstairs.
"Oh, honestly, how many times have we discussed this? You've faced Voldemort; I don't understand why you seem to think this will be what kills you," Hermione said exasperatedly.
"You can't know that it won't be. What if I get tripped up and start talking about how lovely it is snogging you?"
"Don't be ridiculous. At any rate, I don't know that it would matter. They must know that we've snogged, considering we're eighteen and we've been together for more than three months."
"And if they find out I've had my hands on their daughter's bum before?"
"I can't see how that would come up in polite dinner conversation, Ron."
They continued bickering until they made their way to the ground floor, where they were greeted by Ron's enthusiastic mum, who had armed herself with a camera and refused to let them leave without snapping a few pictures. "You'll be glad to have these when Hermione goes back to school, Ron," she said dismissively when he tried to protest.
At five til six, they had at last made their way to the edge of the wards and disapparated. When they materialized again in a deserted park a block away from the Grangers house, Ron had to bend over to fight the nausea from the combination of Apparition and nerves. Hermione rubbed his back comfortingly. "You'll be fine. Just relax and be yourself."
"Ginny told me not to be myself," Ron replied, taking slow steps down the street and weaving his fingers through Hermione's.
"Ginny has a strange sense of humor," Hermione remarked. "I would suggest that you try to watch your language though."
"Right," Ron said. It was easy for Hermione, he thought to himself. She'd been in his parents' good graces since the moment they'd met her, and she'd spent so many summers at the Burrow that she was basically already a part of the family. Meanwhile, Ron had only met the Grangers a handful of times, and the last was in a foreign country at a time when they were far too busy to truly notice that he was in love with their only daughter. Ron fully intended to be a part of Hermione's life for a very long time, and that would be a lot easier if her parents liked him. He needed tonight to go well.
Sooner than he would have liked, they were walking up the steps to the Grangers' door, and Hermione was ringing the bell. A moment later, a smiling Mrs. Granger opened the door. "Hermione!" she said warmly, hugging her daughter and kissing her cheek. "And Ron, how nice to see you again," Mrs. Granger said as she released Hermione and held out a hand for him to shake. He took it, hoping she didn't notice how clammy his hand was.
"You too, Mrs. Granger," he said, using the most confident voice he could muster.
"Did I hear them arrive?" came a male voice from inside the house. The voice was closely followed by Mr. Granger, who repeated his wife's greetings in kind. Ron forced himself to meet Mr. Granger's eyes, regardless of the discomfort he felt.
"Dinner's almost ready," Mrs. Granger said as Ron and Hermione came in and took off their shoes in the entryway. "I've got the salads prepared so we can begin straight away. Do you like salad, Ron?"
"Sure," he said, although truthfully he'd never eaten one in his life, having generally opted for large amounts of meat over vegetables.
"Ron eats just about everything aside from corned beef," Hermione supplied as she steered him toward the dining room. Ron gave her what was meant to be an irritated look, but must have not come off as such since she just smiled prettily in return. Moments later, they'd all settled in at what Ron considered an abnormally large dining table for such a small family, and Mrs. Granger had placed the salads in front of them. Ron had just taken a bite of his and had determined that it wasn't bad when the inquisition began.
"So, Ron," Mr. Granger began casually, "Hermione tells us you've been helping your brother get back on his feet."
"Yeah," Ron answered. "We reopened the shop a few weeks ago and business has been great so far."
"And what is it the shop sells again?" Mrs. Granger asked.
"It's a joke shop mainly, but we've got a line of merchandise that we sell to the ministry. Several of our products are really useful for security and such," Ron said, trying to emphasize the last bit. As proud as he was of what Fred and George had created, he didn't think Hermione's parents were necessarily the type that would be impressed by a joke shop.
"Have you been splitting the profit then?" Mr. Granger asked.
"Well George gets most of it, as it's his shop," Ron answered uneasily, "and I'm not going to be around forever. I start training with the Aurors in January."
"I told you about the Aurors," Hermione piped up. "It's really an impressive occupation, and Ron's been allowed in without having to take his NEWTs, which is almost unprecedented."
"Ah, yes. You said they're the magical version of policemen, correct?" Mrs. Granger nodded knowingly as she smiled encouragingly at Ron.
"Do you normally need to pass the upper level exams to be a policeman?" Mr. Granger asked.
"Yes," Hermione said, "it's one of the most selective programs within the ministry. Ron and Harry have only been allowed in because of their extraordinary field experience the past year."
"What classes are you supposed to take to get in?" Mr. Granger asked.
"All the basic ones, mainly," Ron replied, feeling some of his nerves start to dissipate now that they were talking about something in which he took great pride. "Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Defense—there are classes you take within the training program too. Those are mostly job-specific things like stealth and strategy. Kingsley's said Harry and I won't be far behind even though we missed our seventh year as you learn all you'll really need during training. We've been given some books with all the most important bits in it so we can read through that in the meantime."
"So is it a very dangerous occupation then?" Mrs. Granger asked a bit nervously.
"It can be," Ron said, "depending on what's going on, really. The last few years would have been pretty bad, but it should be more day-to-day work now that Voldemort's gone and nearly all his followers are dead or in Azkaban. Some of the positions are pretty travel-heavy, but both Harry and I are training to be in the department for domestic affairs."
"There are desk jobs, too, as you get higher up in the department," Hermione interjected quickly.
"What's Azkaban?" asked Mrs. Granger.
"Oh, sorry, that's our prison," Ron said. "It's guarded by dementors, so it's really quite secure."
"And what are dementors?" Mr. Granger asked.
Ron shot Hermione an incredulous look. Had she really told them this little about the wizarding world? She widened her eyes at him in response, a clear sign to let her answer. "They're just the particularly vicious prison guards. They know plenty of magic that keeps the prisoners in check. There have only been a couple of breakouts in its history, and it's not likely that such a thing will happen again anytime in the near future," Hermione said smoothly.
"I see. So does being an Auror pay well, Ron?" Mr. Granger said, continuing his inquiry.
"Dad!" Hermione protested.
"It's fine," Ron answered quickly, wanting to prove to his girlfriend's father that he was not going to be a deadbeat. "I won't be making much to start out, but it's definitely a decent salary once you're out of training."
"Will you be living at home until you've got some money saved, then?" Mrs. Granger asked.
Ron decided that he liked her much better than her husband. Mrs. Granger seemed very tactful and genuinely interested in what he was saying, whereas Mr. Granger had a tendency to be rather blunt (not unlike himself at times, he supposed). "No, Harry and I are actually moving into the house his godfather left him next month. It's the perfect situation, really, as we won't have to pay rent."
"They will have to make their own food, though," Hermione said, clearly trying to lighten the conversation some. "I'm certainly curious to hear how cooking goes for them next year."
"This coming from the master chef," Ron teased.
"Oh, hush. It's not like I had much to work with last year," Hermione replied, nudging him with her foot.
"No, I don't think even my mum could have made those blasted mushrooms taste good," Ron laughed.
He noticed a moment too late that the Grangers looked a bit uncomfortable at the casual reference to their daughter living with two boys for a year. Ron caught the glance that Hermione's parents exchanged; he guessed that Mrs. Granger was willing her husband to let the moment pass without comment. He was used to this type of wordless conversation; he and Hermione had grown quite skilled at them through the years of trying to communicate about Harry without him catching on.
Hermione cleared her throat and abruptly changed the subject, "So how is it going at the practice? Mum told me you've gotten most of your old clients back."
"Yes, we're lucky to have such a faithful clientele. Many of them have been more than understanding about our little holiday," Mr. Granger responded, and Ron breathed a sigh of relief as the subject changed to dentistry, something he was perfectly content to know nothing about.
The evening hadn't gone terribly so far, Ron thought to himself. It was clear that there was some tension between Hermione and her parents, especially her father, although he couldn't quite place the exact cause of it. After a few more minutes of polite dentistry chatter, Mrs. Granger cleared the salad plates and retreated to the kitchen to bring in the main course. Mr. Granger used this opportunity to resume his questioning of his guest. "So, Ron, how are your parents doing? It's been awhile since we've had a chance to chat with them."
"They're well," Ron said simply, not sure how else to respond.
"I'm sure they're pleased you're going to become an Auror," Mr. Granger commented.
"Erm, yeah," Ron said a bit uneasily, not knowing where Mr. Granger was going with this. "They're probably just pleased I won't be living at home forever," he added, trying to inject a bit of humor into the conversation.
"Tell me, Ron, Hermione says the field experience you gained in the war is what's given you the inner track for your career. But surely your parents weren't pleased you got that experience?" Ron blinked slowly, wondering where the hell that question came from. Surely this wasn't a socially acceptable thing to ask, even in the Muggle world? Hermione looked incredibly uncomfortable, as though she was using all of her willpower not to interrupt.
"Well obviously they'd rather we'd not have had to fight in a war," Ron answered slowly, "but I think given the circumstances, they know we made the right decision. It's just a coincidence that it's helped me out jobwise."
"Aren't they a bit wary though, of you entering into such a risky field?" Mr. Granger pressed on, and Hermione looked as though she was about a second away from bursting in.
Ron, however, felt it wasn't too invasive of a question, and answered, "Well yeah, but they also know I can take care of myself. I've done so since the day I went to Hogwarts, and chances are my day-to-day work won't be nearly as dangerous as some of the stuff we faced last year."
"But surely you all realize that just you're magical doesn't mean you're invincible; Hermione told me about your brother. I just mean that none of us would want the same thing to happen to you or Harry," Mr. Granger's voice was calm, as though he thought he was being reasonable, but his words were harsh.
"Dad!" Hermione exclaimed, unable to keep herself quiet any longer.
"I saw my twenty year old brother die, Mr. Granger, and he wasn't the only one that we lost that night. I know all too well that nobody's invincible," Ron said fiercely, actually feeling himself shake with the effort of using all of his strength to keep his temper in check. Surely Mr. Granger knew he didn't want to talk about his deceased brother over dinner?
"Ron knows what he's doing, Dad," Hermione added in a voice that Ron found slightly intimidating. Mr. Granger, however, did not appear to concur.
"I'm not trying to offend anyone; I'm simply stating the facts," he said calmly.
"Well, I suppose you and I have different ideas of what is fact," Hermione responded coldly. The room settled into an awkward silence, and Ron did his best to pretend he was somewhere else, anywhere else.
After a tense moment, Mrs. Granger entered the room with the steak. She seemed to sense the strain between her husband and daughter and quickly began a polite conversation about Hermione's imminent return to Hogwarts, which carried the group through dinner and the following pudding without any additional conflict. After they'd finished eating, Hermione and Ron followed Mrs. Granger into the kitchen with the dishes while Mr. Granger retreated to the sitting room. Once they'd set the dishes on the counter, Mrs. Granger addressed Ron, "I don't know what happened while I was getting the steak, but please know my husband means well, Ron."
"He brought up Ron's brother, Mum," Hermione interjected. "It was the argument about the Aurors again." Ron shot her a questioning look—had Hermione's dad really said these things before and not bothered to tell him?—but she just shook her head at him, indicating that they'd discuss it later.
Mrs. Granger nodded understandingly, "You know your father tends to voice his opinions loudly. You got that from him, Hermione. Unfortunately he hasn't got much of a filter. Why don't you go chat with him while we finish up in here, Ron?"
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Ron asked uncertainly.
Mrs. Granger responded confidently, "Just talk to him. I can't pretend we've been pleased to learn about everything that's gone on in your world these past years, but I know he'll come around more fully once he gets used to it. It just takes him awhile to see things from someone else's perspective, so I think you ought to go give him yours."
Ron gulped and nodded, exchanging a nervous glance with Hermione before following Mr. Granger into the sitting room, where he took a seat on the opposite side of the room from the elder man and diligently avoided making eye contact. Mr. Granger almost immediately flipped on the telly to avoid the inevitably awkward silence. Ron didn't mind in the slightest; he'd become rather enthralled with the muggle contraption during the trip to Australia. Although he had no idea what the rules of the game projected on the screen were, he marveled in the novelty of watching a continuous moving picture. Ron thought privately that he'd have to buy one for his dad once he could afford it, because this was probably the best thing the muggles had ever come up with.
After five minutes of staring at the TV in silence, Mr. Granger cleared his throat. Ron looked in his direction, but the elder man was still looking at the television. Without meeting Ron's eyes, he began to speak: "I'm sorry if I came off as insensitive earlier, Ron. You must understand this has been a lot for us to take in."
"I know," Ron said honestly, "but Hermione's right. I know what I'm getting into, and I know the risks involved." He swallowed nervously, knowing that this was likely the most important discussion he would have tonight. It didn't matter that Mr. Granger had offended him earlier; he still craved his approval. He had to prove that he was good enough for Hermione. That was really the only reason he had kept his cool thus far.
"It is a respectable occupation. The police are a very important part of our society. It just worries me to hear that my daughter was in the center of what sounds like a brutal war, and the man she's clearly in love with has chosen to pursue something so dangerous so soon," Mr. Granger said, speaking carefully.
"I understand, Mr. Granger. I know it's traditionally not the most stable career, but the thing is part of the reason I'm doing it is for her. I never want to see her get hurt ever again," Ron said, speaking more confidently than he had all night as he recalled the promise he'd made to himself following the events at the Malfoys' last spring. It had been that night that he'd become sure of his future, if he were to have one—something he wasn't sure of at that point. But he'd known that he never wanted to feel that helpless again, and he never wanted to hear her scream like that again.
Mr. Granger had a faraway look in his eyes as he responded in a resigned tone, "She hasn't told us nearly everything the three of you went through, has she?"
Ron shook his head. He knew Hermione had purposely omitted some of the more ghastly details of the war from the story she'd told her parents, specifically her torture and the gorier bits of the last battle. "No, she hasn't."
Mr. Granger nodded, begrudgingly accepting what he'd been told. Ron could see clearly now why there was so much tension between Hermione and her parents; they truly didn't understand how much their daughter had seen and endured since she was eleven. Realistically, Ron supposed they probably couldn't understand. He felt a pang of sympathy for the Grangers then, realizing how it must have felt to discover that their daughter had suffered and they hadn't been able to do a damn thing about it. He'd felt similarly when he'd been trapped down in the cellar, listening to her screams and being able to do nothing but bang on the walls and shout himself hoarse…abruptly, Ron shook himself out of his unpleasant reverie. He felt he needed to say something more. He had to prove himself.
"Mr. Granger?" he ventured bravely. The elder man finally turned his head to look at him, and this gave Ron the courage to continue: "I just—I want you to know that you can trust me. With Hermione, I mean. She—she's my best friend, and now she's a lot more than that, and—just know that I'm gonna take care of her. Y'know, in those rare times she can't do so for herself."
Mr. Granger chuckled. "That sounds like my Hermione. Hardly ever needs help and doesn't want to admit it when she does."
"What's that?" came Hermione's voice as she entered the room with her mum.
"We're just talking about how amazing you are," Ron said with a wide grin as she sat down beside him on the couch. She raised an eyebrow at him, but he shook his head dismissively, indicating that he would explain later. He felt more comfortable now—every time he saw Hermione and remembered that this magnificently mental and brilliant girl was in love with him, he couldn't help but feel like the most confident man on Earth.
The rest of the night passed much more peacefully than the dinner itself had. Mrs. Granger showed Ron several old photo albums featuring pictures of Hermione as a child, which had him laughing and her scowling. When the time came for Ron and Hermione to leave, he'd earned a hug from Mrs. Granger and a firm, sincere handshake from Mr. Granger. Things hadn't gone anywhere near perfectly, but Ron had survived, and he felt like he'd done quite well for himself. As he and Hermione walked hand in hand toward their apparition point, she asked, "What happened between you and my dad?"
"We came to an understanding," Ron said simply. "I think it's just hard for them to accept all we've been through, y'know?"
"It has been," Hermione agreed.
"Are you ever going to tell them everything?"
Hermione bit her lip in consideration. "I'm not sure. I just—the less people that know about Malfoy Manor, the better," she said earnestly. "They've already had such a hard time really accepting magic, especially my dad. I don't want them to have to deal with that side of it."
Ron nodded, understanding. The night at the Malfoy Manor was tied for the worst night of his life, and he knew and understood that even if she had wanted her parents to know, it was likely Hermione didn't want to relive it in any capacity. He knew she'd used the dreamless sleep potion for the duration of their stay at Shell Cottage to avoid seeing it in her sleep, and he was all too familiar with the reality that she still occasionally had nightmares about it.
After a moment, Hermione's voice broke through his thoughts, "My mum really likes you, you know. She opens up to people more easily than Dad does, and she thinks you're funny."
"Yeah? Are you sure she wasn't just drawn in by my incredible good looks?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows.
"I'm at a loss for why she thinks you're funny," Hermione replied, making a grand show of rolling her eyes as they reached the park.
Ron smiled and turned to face her, grabbing the hand he wasn't already holding in the process. "You know you love me," he said cheekily, leaning in closer.
"Yes, I do," she responded just before she closed the gap between them.
When they broke apart several minutes later, Ron rested his forehead against hers before observing, "We've become entirely too adorable. It's gotten to the point where it's nauseating."
She laughed before adding, "We haven't had a real row in ages. People are probably getting concerned."
He chuckled before kissing her once more. "Don't need to row with you anymore," he said. "I can get your attention this way instead."
"You've always had my attention," she responded earnestly, and Ron couldn't help but flush and smile in glee. He didn't care if he looked like a tosser; he was so damned lucky, and this "honeymoon period," as Ginny called it, was completely bloody brilliant. His relationship with Hermione had truly been the brightest part of what had been a fairly dark few months.
"Shall we go?" he asked.
"Take me home, you daft man," she responded before sliding her arms around his neck and taking him slightly aback by kissing him thoroughly once more. Ron's last coherent thought was that, perhaps, being a few minutes late arriving home was okay if it was for something as wonderful as this.
A/N: Fun fact about this chapter: Characterizing Hermione's parents was one of those unexpected challenges that arose while writing. I tried to show that Hermione gets her personality from both of them—an interesting mix of her mum's tactfulness and kindness and her dad's tendency to be a bit of a blunt know-it-all. I think some parts of the conversation might have come off a bit awkward, but that's how it was meant to be—at least to a degree. As always, I'd be delighted to hear what you think.
Logistical note: Today is my last day of classes for the semester, and on Tuesday begins the hell we call final exams week. Since I'll obviously be fairly busy, it might be a few days longer than normal before I can get the next chapter posted. It is completely written as of now, but it does need some more editing. However, rest assured that it won't be longer than a week's wait. Thanks for reading. :)