A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Good vibes the last couple weeks, huh? Well…
Please leave me your thoughts after reading, I love hearing from you!
It was a picture-perfect morning in the English countryside, the type of day they photograph to put on the front page of the newspaper. A few wispy clouds floated through the air like bubbles, temporarily dimming the sun before moving aside and allowing its full power to shine down. As the warmth and light hit Ron's face, he smiled. In the grass next to him, Hermione smiled as well as they both looked up from their books, soaking in the last few weeks of the summer while they could.
Over a month had gone by since their second kiss, and in Ron's estimation, things between them had never been better. While they couldn't be together all the time, they found ways to see each other most days, even if they could only spend an hour or so in each other's company. Hermione was insistent on maintaining her summer study schedule, meaning they often passed the hours reading in the shade of the large oak tree by the pond. But Ron had his ways of convincing her to take breaks from time to time, sometimes resorting to throwing her in the water to splash around for a while. Almost always, their swims ended with a snog as their legs tangled together under the surface.
Harry and Ginny joined them sometimes as well, the four of them preparing together for the rigors of their respective academic journeys. With a little help from his best friend, Ron was actually starting to look forward to Auror training, even if he still harbored doubts as to whether it was his true calling. Once they'd had enough reading for the day and managed to talk Hermione into stopping, they would have a fly, play Exploding Snap, or simply stroll around the property and talk. They talked about everything from school to friends to the future, even broaching the more touchy subject of the past. Much to Ron's surprise, it was actually becoming easier to talk about what had happened at the battle, although he still found himself choking up any time they approached the orchard and he caught sight of Fred's grave.
July rolled into August as the days passed faster than he thought possible, the carefree summer dwindling toward its cruel and inevitable end. The closer it got to September first, the more Ron's thoughts drifted to his relationship with Hermione. Obviously, things wouldn't be the same once she returned to Hogwarts, but what would they…be? Would she still be his girlfriend? Would they do some kind of long-distance thing? Communication had never been their strong suit, of course, but he concealed his skepticism from her, not wanting to give her any reason to think they couldn't stay together. Because of course he wanted to stay together. Once he got his first taste of being Hermione Granger's boyfriend, he knew he would never be able to get enough. All he could do was hope that she would be willing to make the same sacrifices he was planning to make in order to maintain their connection.
"Oh, I meant to ask you," Hermione said, pulling him out of his trance as she pushed off of his shoulder. "My parents were wondering if you'd like to come to dinner sometime."
"Oh really?" he responded, a lump forming in his throat. "You mean, as…your…"
She smiled at him and swatted him on the shoulder. "As my boyfriend, of course."
"So they know we're dating?"
"Yes," she said with a suddenly furrowed brow. "That's alright, isn't it? I didn't exactly think we were hiding anything."
"Right, yeah, of course. I didn't mean–yes, that's fine."
"I assume your parents know, don't they?"
Ron shrugged and broke into a grin. "I haven't really brought it up, but I'm sure they've figured it out."
"Honestly, Ronald!" She huffed, still grinning through her supposed anger. "It's been over a month!"
"But it doesn't exactly come up naturally, does it? It's not like we're at the dinner table going, 'Oi, Mum, pass the potatoes, please. By the way, I'm dating Hermione'."
"Well no, of course not! But it doesn't have to be that awkward."
Dropping a light kiss on her lips, he hugged her closer. "Well, we can't all be as smooth as you."
"You'll come, though?" she asked again after they broke apart.
"Sure, I'll come. Although your Dad's a little scary, so just…try to help me along the way, yeah?"
"He's not scary at all! And he's always liked you!"
"Maybe so, but that was before I was snogging his daughter, innit? No guarantee he feels the same way now."
"That's not true! He's a mature, level-headed individual, and he understands that I'm growing up and that these things…happen sometimes. I'm sure he'll be nothing but pleasant."
"If you say so."
"I do," she insisted, closing her book and jumping off the ground before dusting off her shorts. "Now, speaking of snogging, do you want to take a walk with me? There was that little alcove over on the other side of the pond where we said we might…you remember?"
Ron, not needing to be asked twice, tossed his book into the dirt and popped up, grabbing her hand and practically dragging her down the path. "Course I remember…"
A few days later, Ron found himself in the garden of Grimmauld Place, studying with Harry. While it was never officially discussed, Ron had been spending more time there recently, and he even had his own room that he slept in more often than his childhood bedroom at the Burrow. It was odd for him to consider that his idea of home was changing, but living with Harry was a much better time than living with his Mum and Dad, even if Harry's attempts at cooking left a lot to be desired.
Hermione was home with her parents getting ready for the dinner, which they'd agreed would be later that night. While Ron and Harry were ostensibly practicing spells for apprehending criminals, most of the conversation centered on the upcoming evening.
"Yeah, but mate," Ron said, casting Protego to shield against Harry's incoming charm, "at least you grew up with Muggles. I don't think I've ever had a meal outside Hogwarts or a magical house."
Harry shook his head before shooting a non-verbal Expelliarmus Ron's way, which bounced harmlessly off the invisible barrier surrounding his friend. "You're making it seem like Muggles eat so much differently than everyone else. It's still just food. Forks and spoons and napkins and the like, yeah? What's so confusing about it?"
"Shut up, Harry, you know what I mean! I'm not worried about physically putting the food in my mouth! I just wonder…like, what do they do once they're done? At Hogwarts, the dishes just disappear. And at home, Mum and Dad levitate them to the sink and charm them to wash up."
"They pick them up with their hands and the washing up themselves. Trust me, I ought to know, the Dursleys made me do it every day for years. Are you really that clueless?"
"No," Ron responded with a sigh, stuffing his wand into his back pocket. "I guess I'm worried that…that I don't know what I don't know. You know? I just really don't want to embarrass myself in front of Hermione's parents, and I'm afraid I'm going to look like a complete knob because I don't know some basic thing that Muggles learn when they're toddlers or something."
"They're not going to think that. Even if something like that happens, they'll understand. And Hermione…you know she'll help too."
"I know she will," Ron groaned. "But I wish she didn't have to."
"Well, if you two are dating, you're going to have to get to know the Muggle side of her at some point. And that includes her family."
Thinking back, Ron realized that he never really knew that much about Hermione's Muggle upbringing. She'd mentioned things from time to time, most of them quite confusing like the fellytone. But throughout the years, their lives revolved around studying and using magic. It was only natural when they were at Hogwarts, but even over the summers and other holidays, Hermione never talked about what life was like with her parents when she didn't always have her wand handy.
Harry was right, of course. If he wanted to be a good boyfriend, he'd have to figure it out sooner or later. It would be nice if there was a way to ease into it a bit more; meeting her parents was going to be hard enough without having to worry about not doing something barmy in front of Muggles. But he supposed he couldn't be picky, and he knew it was worth it since Hermione seemed so excited over the last few days.
"Reckon you're right. A–And I want to, really I do. She's got this whole other part of her life that I know nothing about, and I should learn."
"That's great," Harry agreed. "I think you'll be surprised how similar magical and Muggle people are. There's not as big a difference as you think. Some things just take them longer and seem more inconvenient to us, but you have to remember that they don't know any other way."
"Right, I suppose so. You and Hermione have told me about some of the mad things they have to resort to without magic."
"Don't get me wrong, I was thrilled when magic became available to me. But Muggle life…it's not so bad. And it's not that confusing."
"Hope you're right. I don't want to make a fool of myself."
"You won't. Well, you might. But I'm sure it won't be a big deal."
He nodded, hoping his friend was right. Hermione intended to keep living as a witch, of course, but he knew how much it would mean to her for him to understand all of her past. If he couldn't…well, he wasn't sure what it would mean, but it wouldn't be good.
"Sure. Anyway, where were we?"
Harry lifted his wand again. "Let's work on Protego Maxima for a bit, okay?"
"Yeah, let's go."
A few hours later, Ron arrived at the apparition point near Hermione's house. After working with Harry for most of the day, he'd showered and cleaned up, shaving his face and picking out his best dress robes for the occasion. His shoes, new and shiny, squeaked against the pavement as he clambered up the cobblestone pathway toward their front door, the air pleasant with the smell of the rose bushes flanking the entryway.
Standing on the front stoop, he took a deep breath, exhaled, and raised his hand to knock. It seemed like only a second or two passed before Hermione threw the door open and smiled at him. Her smile quickly faded, however, when she saw his outfit.
"Ron! It's…erm, thanks for coming! Come here a second," she said, slipping outside and pulling the door shut behind her.
"Right, you invited me. What the matter?"
"I'm so sorry, I should've clarified. Dress robes are more of a…wizard thing. You don't need to wear them here."
"Oh," he said, his eyes dropping to the ground as his face heated with embarrassment. "Right, sorry. Should—Should've realized that. I suppose I can just lose the robes but keep the dress shirt?"
"Trousers?"
"Ugh, right. Dammit."
Hermione looked around in a vague state of panic, which struck Ron as particularly pointless as a solution was unlikely to present itself in her front yard. It would seem he was stuck with what he had, destined to stick out like a free house-elf.
"I could, I dunno, maybe apparate back and change?" he offered.
Once Hermione realized she had no good options, she turned back to Ron, plastering a smile across her face. "No, it's fine. They surely heard the doorbell. Besides, they know I'm a witch and you're a wizard. I'm sure once they understand the meaning of your robes, they'll be honored!"
It was painfully clear to Ron how much false peppiness she was injecting into her voice to try to make him feel better. In truth, however, he was just an idiot who had no idea how to act in Hermione's world. Of course he shouldn't have worn dress robes to meet his girlfriend's Muggle parents! They'll probably be left thinking he was some kind of nutter!
The door opened again a few seconds later, and Ron's heart sank even further. Hermione's mother was standing there, her eyes darting back and forth between the pair of them, the same inauthentic grin on her face as soon as she saw his robes. To make matters worse, she was dressed in a comfortable blouse and pants, nowhere near the formal attire he had expected the evening would require.
"Ron! It's so lovely to see you again! And in such a handsome…outfit!" she said, pulling the door as wide as it would go. "Please, do come in!"
"Oh, thank you. And thank you for having me."
"They're dress robes, Mum," Hermione said. "They're quite respectable in wizard culture."
"I see! Well, they're lovely, aren't they?"
Ron swallowed and nodded, not having the courage to say anything.
Not off to a great start.
As soon as he stepped into the house, he was greeted by a pleasing floral scent emanating from a candle on the entryway table. The label read Crabtree & Evelyn, which he immediately surmised was a fancy brand in the Muggle world. Everything about the home screamed 'fancy'...everything except the way everyone else was dressed, that was.
Big, plush armchairs, a cream-colored sofa, and a large fireplace filled the sitting room on one side of the foyer, while the formal dining room on the other side featured ornately carved wooden chairs and a long, shiny table. As Mrs Granger led them toward the back of the house, Ron was only vaguely aware of what she was saying, instead taking in one room after another that would never have a place at the Burrow. As they walked, Hermione's mother continually apologized for the mess, which seemed strange to Ron as he literally couldn't find a single thing that appeared to be misplaced. Every surface was spotless and organized, every room very intentionally put together.
While the trip to the back portion of the house couldn't have been more than several seconds, one thought continually popped into Ron's mind.
Why is Hermione happy at the Burrow when she lives in this mansion? If I lived here, I would never leave.
The hallway emptied into a large kitchen with stone countertops and bright white cabinets and appliances. Standing in the middle of the room, an apron around his chest, stood Hermione's father. He looked up from the pot he was stirring when the three of them entered and hurried over to greet them.
"Good to see you again, Ron," he said, sticking out his hand. When Ron accepted it, Richard Granger's grip immediately turned vice-like, squeezing him as hard as a snake. It took everything in his power not to wince as he grinned back at the formidable man, one of the few people he'd met who was taller than he was.
"Good to see you as well, Mr Granger. Thanks for inviting me."
"Any friend of Hermione's is a friend of ours! You're more than welcome! Have a seat, please. Dinner needs to simmer a bit, but it won't be long."
Friend? But…I thought he knew. Didn't Hermione say she told them?
"I appreciate it," he continued with an awkward nod. "It, erm, smells great in here."
"Oh, I thank you. Jean here has taught me everything I know," Mr Granger said, patting his wife on the back.
"Maybe at first," Mrs Granger added, "but these days, he cooks even more than I do!"
Mr Granger pulled off his apron and folded it neatly, setting it down on the counter. "Do you cook, Ron?"
"Oh, erm, not really, no. I've watched Mum cook sometimes, but haven't really picked up that much."
"I think it's a wonderful skill to have. Wish I'd learned earlier, to tell the truth!"
Was Hermione's Dad telling him he needed to take cooking lessons? Was he implying that Ron wouldn't be suitable for her if he didn't know how to fry an egg or assemble a casserole? Between spending time with Hermione and starting Auror training, he didn't think he'd have time to add too many other new skills.
"Mum, Dad, why don't we sit in the living room until dinner is ready," Hermione chimed in.
Ron was immediately grateful for the change of location, and even happier when nobody objected. Taking him by the hand, Hermione led him to another well-furnished room featuring leather sofas on either side of a large round coffee table. All Ron could do was hope that neither of her parents noticed or cared, as he didn't particularly feel like getting into the particulars of their relationship.
If they had noticed, they didn't seem to mind. Mrs Granger sat down across from Hermione and Ron, and Mr Granger followed along and headed straight for the bar in the corner, pulling out crystal glasses and starting to fill them with ice.
"Gimlets all around?" he asked, holding up a glass bottle of a light amber liquid.
"None for me, thanks," Hermione said.
"Nor me. Gin gives me a headache," Mrs Granger added.
Turning to Ron, Mr Granger shook the bottle. "Ron? You wouldn't make an old man drink alone, would you?"
"Oh, c–course not. Sure, I'll have one."
Hermione swiveled in her chair, placing a calming hand on his arm. "You don't have to if you don't want to. Do you even know what's in it?"
"That's okay. If your dad likes it, I'm happy to try it."
What Ron wanted to say was that he clearly had no choice and was feeling rather forced. Saying no didn't seem to be an option, especially after Mr Granger made it clear he didn't want to be the only one having a drink. All Ron could do was accept and hope it tasted similar to the firewhiskey he'd recently started to enjoy.
The glass came a few moments later, and Mr Granger held up his own, clinking it against Ron's before taking a big swig. Ron brought the tumbler to his lips and tipped it up slowly, taking a small sip. As soon as the liquid hit his tongue, it took everything in his power not to recoil or look disgusted. It tasted as though someone had taken a Christmas tree, liquified it, and poured it over ice. How anyone could enjoy such a vile concoction was beyond him.
"Delicious, aren't they?" Mr Granger suggested as he sat next to his wife. "Classic British drink. Originally popularized by the navy. They said they drank them to ward off scurvy, but I suspect they just well and truly enjoyed them."
"Oh, right. And, uhh, yes, very good, thank you."
"So Ron, Hermione tells us you've already got a job lined up. Is that right?" Mrs Granger asked, giving Ron an opportunity to put down his disgusting drink.
Finally, an opportunity to impress them.
"Yeah, I'll be starting with the Aurors in a few weeks."
"I don't think Hermione's ever explained to us what an…Auror does."
"Oh, it's quite simple, really. We're the dark wizard catchers. We help to keep everyone safe."
"Law enforcement, then?" Mr Granger asked. "Dangerous profession."
Something about his phrasing made it seem like an objection, a questioning of Ron's entire future.
So maybe less impressive than I thought.
Ron forced himself to swallow another mouthful of his drink as he tried to come up with something to say. "Sometimes, yeah, I guess."
"Although much safer than it used to be thanks to the actions of people like Ron and Harry," Hermione added, shooting him a grin. It was almost as though she knew he needed a little help. Wonderful person, she was. "They were critical to the downfall of You Know Who, and now his followers are being rounded up once and for all."
"And will that be part of your responsibilities going forward, Ron? Mrs Granger posed.
"Sure, that's part of the job. There are loads of other things too, though. A-And Hermione's being modest. She helped a lot as well."
With the mention of Hermione's involvement in the war, her parents exchanged a nervous glance. He hadn't meant to bring up a sensitive subject, and he realized at that moment that he had no idea how much Hermione had actually divulged to them. For all he knew, they didn't realize how close their own daughter had come to dying.
"I see," Mrs Granger said. "Well, it's nice that they're accepting your application without you technically finishing school."
"Right, yeah, I suppose they just figured…given the circumstances…"
"Did your professors offer you the opportunity to come back to Hogwarts?"
"O-Oh," he stammered, suddenly second-guessing all of his life choices. "Well, sure, Professor McGonagall was happy to have me back. But…well, I suppose I'd had enough. And when the Aurors felt I was ready…it just made sense."
"Ron's probably going to be the most knowledgeable candidate they've had in years when practical experience is taken into account," Hermione said.
He appreciated what she was trying to do, but it didn't look like it was making much difference.
"Of course! I'm sure he'll be brilliant!" Mrs Granger added, giving the knife one final twist.
The room fell silent, Ron's embarrassment mounting by the second. If making a good impression had been his goal, he was failing spectacularly. It was clear as day that they were unimpressed with his choice of career as well as his decision to forgo the rest of his education. So on top of his dressing like a fool, not being able to cook, and holding a conversation no better than a baboon, he was giving her parents the impression that he was lazy and unmotivated.
What a hell of a start.
A moment later, a sharp ringing noise cut through the quiet, and Ron jumped out of his seat, drawing his wand from the pocket of his robes. It only took a second for Hermione to reach out for him, pulling him back down with a concerned look on her face. She didn't seem alarmed at all, which only confirmed that the sound was not at all uncommon in Muggle houses and nothing to be worried about.
"No no, it's quite alright!" Mrs Granger exclaimed, rising from her seat with her hands up as though Ron were trying to arrest her. "It's just the phone. I'll go get it. Back in a second."
Returning to his seat, Ron quickly stashed his wand and stared at the floor, trying to avoid what was surely a shocked expression on Richard Granger's face. 'What kind of idiot is dating my daughter?' he must be thinking, and Ron couldn't blame him. It was never clearer to him that he didn't know a thing about the world in which Hermione was raised. Perhaps it was even leading her to have second thoughts about him. The whole night just kept getting worse.
"I keep forgetting there are no telephones in the magical world," Mr Granger said, trying to break the tension. "It must seem like a strange way to communicate."
"Right," Ron agreed. "Maybe a little."
"Although I'm not sure how you all manage with the owls. Must be a bit messy."
"Sometimes."
"They're not so bad, Dad," Hermione said. "I wasn't so sure at first either, but they're really quite efficient…most of the time. And rather quaint, I think."
"Yes, well. To each their own."
"Exactly."
Hermione's tone was more severe, as though she was warning her father to be on his best behavior. As a result, he opened and closed his mouth a few times before coming up with a more benign line of questioning.
"So, Ron. Much of a football fan, are you?"
Eager to find something over which he could actually connect with Hermione's father, he quickly searched his memory for anything he could remember about the sport. He knew there was a ball and players could only use their feet. Or was it their hands? Maybe one of them could use their hands? It was all rather stupid, especially since they stayed on the ground the whole time. Just as the silence was stretching on too long, he recalled the name of the team his former roommate Dean Thomas supported.
"Yeah, I like it. Big West Ham fan."
"West Ham, you say? Fair enough, team on the rise. But they're nothing to my Arsenal boys. Won the league and the FA Cup this season. Back on top where we belong, right Hermione?" he said with a chuckle.
"Dad, you know I haven't the faintest idea."
"Nobody could stop Bergkamp this year. He simply scored at will. Remind me, Ron, who was the leading scorer for West Ham?"
"Oh. Right. W–What was his name?" Ron stuttered.
"Dad, you know about Quidditch," Hermione jumped in. "I've told you about it before. Wizards follow Quidditch like the Brits follow football. Ron supports the Chudley Cannons."
"Oh, is that right?" Mr Granger said, clearly feigning excitement. "Are they a particularly good team?"
"Not really, no," Ron stated. "But they're getting better! Didn't finish last in the league this year, so…"
"Aha. Well, there's always next year, right? Chudley, eh? Western part of the country?"
"That's right. That's where my parents live."
"Beautiful land. And the people…salt of the earth, warm folks. Not everyone around this neighborhood is a rich snot, I assure you, but there are plenty of fuddy-duddies. I'd love to visit your area; it really does wonders to slow life down sometimes, don't you think?"
"Erm…I suppose," Ron asked, recognizing the backhanded compliment immediately and feeling his blood pressure rise.
"And who knows, perhaps you could take me to one of these Quidditch matches."
"Right. Course, any time."
Ron glanced over toward Hermione, a scowl on his face. Her tight-lipped smile and shrug were little comfort compared to the avalanche of shame rushing over him in waves.
How could he have been so blind before? Hermione grew up in one of the poshest areas of the country while his family barely scraped by, relying on magical flourishes to have enough room for everyone to sleep. The more he thought about it, the more he couldn't understand why she liked him in the first place, especially once she saw where he lived. She should wind up with some stuck-up guy with a nice suit and a fancy car, not with a school dropout like him.
"Richard," Mrs Granger called as she reentered the room, "that was the lawn service. They said they'd have to reschedule next week on account of the August Bank Holiday."
"I see," he responded. "Well, not much we can do about it, is there?"
"No, I suspect not. And it also looks like your lamb is just about ready. I'll bring it to the table if everyone can migrate to the dining room."
"Perfect, Jean. Ever had lamb and rosemary, Ron?"
"Don't think so, no," he said, knowing full well it was an expensive dish that never graced the Burrow's dinner table.
"Lovely texture. It practically melts in your mouth. I think you'll really enjoy it. It was always one of Hermione's favorites growing up."
He led the three of them down the hallway, Ron and Hermione trailing behind him. Recognizing his discomfort, she grabbed his hand, and when he spun toward her, she mouthed, 'Sorry'. In response, he simply smiled back and shook his head. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he couldn't handle spending time with her family.
One of the pewter sconces at the end of the hall was flickering, and Mr Granger stopped to take a look. He fidgeted with the switch, eyes lighting up when he recognized the problem.
"Ahh, this little bugger keeps giving us problems. I'm sorry, Ron, you must excuse us, bit of an issue with these old houses. Be a chap, though, and hand me a Phillips head screwdriver from the top right drawer?"
His hand waved in the vicinity of a server along the wall of the corridor, and when Ron pulled the drawer open, he was faced with a stack of long, thin pieces of metal. Something about the word he'd used reminded Ron of a gift that Harry had given his father for Christmas a few years prior, but he couldn't remember which was which for the life of him.
Fortunately, Hermione immediately picked up on his consternation and reached into the drawer, pulling out a strange-looking wand with a fat handle and a skinny tip that was shaped like a cross. With a guilty look on her face, she handed him the tool, which Ron passed on to her father.
"Good lad, good lad."
The flickering stopped a moment later, and Mr Granger handed back the screwdriver. Ron replaced it in the drawer and continued into the dining room. At some point in the past half an hour, it had started raining, and fat, wet drops were coating the window panes. The dreary weather mirrored his mood, and he slumped down in his assigned seat.
Hermione sat down next to him, noticing that he was mentally exhausted. She picked up his hand again, giving it a quick squeeze before picking up her napkin and spreading it over her lap. Usually, her touch was all he needed to feel better. At the moment, though, he was seriously wondering if he'd be better off simply apparating away straight from the table.
But his opportunity never came. A moment later, Hermione's mother arrived with a large platter of steaming meat. She set it down on the table in front of her husband, who reached for the large carving knife and started slicing into the large joint. The first and largest slice was put on Ron's plate, after which he served everyone else, beaming at his creation the entire time. Regardless of how the evening had been going thus far, any thoughts of escape evaporated when the succulent aromas of cooked lamb hit Ron's nostrils. It smelled wonderful, and he knew that he'd likely have trouble controlling his outsized appetite.
Once everyone had their meat, potatoes, and green beans, they all recited a quick poem thanking some god Ron had never heard of and tucked into their dinners. Throughout the meal, Richard and Jean Granger couldn't stop bragging about Hermione. Top of her class, best in her year, and on and on the adulation went. For his part, Ron was quick to agree with them whenever he could, figuring that praising their daughter was always the right move.
"After she's done with Hogwarts," Mrs Granger said, a proud glint in her eye, "I expect she'll be Minister for Magic within a decade."
"Mum, stop it!" Hermione cried, although the smile spreading across her face told a different story. "I'd just be happy with a good job."
"You'll surely have a good job, and I suspect you'll have a great one! With your intellect, though, it won't be long until you move up the ranks," Mr Granger lauded.
"She's got my vote, that's for sure," Ron said.
"Oh? I didn't know those were elected positions," Mrs Granger replied. "How fascinating."
"No, Mum," Hermione added. "Just a figure of speech."
"Ahh, I see. How clever!"
The tone was as patronizing as it was insulting. Had it gotten to the point where they felt he couldn't even participate in normal conversation without needing feedback like a four-year-old?
Ron suspected that he was being overly sensitive. After all, how likely was it that his girlfriend's mother was intentionally insulting him after she'd invited him into her home? But the whole night had been absolute crap to that point, and nothing about their interactions had given him the impression that either of the Grangers particularly liked him, so it was hard to give them the benefit of the doubt.
"How about you, Ron?" Mrs Granger continued. "Is there a path forward with your position?"
"Sure," he replied, setting down his silverware. "Harry and I will start out as junior Aurors, but hopefully we'll move up to full Aurors within a year or two. Then, if we do well enough and have the support of the other Aurors, we can go up for Head Auror down the line."
"Head Auror! Sounds impressive!"
"It's not Minister for Magic, but it's a well-respected post."
"Well," Mr Granger piped up, "there can only be one Minister, and she's already sitting at this table."
"Dad, stop! Both of you are being ridiculous!" Hermione pleaded.
It was obvious by her parents' expressions that they had no intention of slowing down, however. The pride they took in their daughter's accomplishments was admirable, but every time they brought up how bright she was, Ron couldn't help but hear them chastising him as unworthy of her affection.
By the time Mrs Granger cleared the plates and brought out the trifle, Ron was barely able to keep up with the flow of conversation. He wondered if his reputation amongst the Grangers would ever recover. What about the evening could possibly leave them with the impression that he was an acceptable partner for Hermione?
And when he got to thinking, it made him wonder why he had ever been so sure himself. She was smart, he was average. She was destined for greater things, he was lucky to have a job. She was driven and motivated, he was…well, truthfully, it wouldn't bother him if he never moved up the ranks. Moving up meant more responsibility, and who needed that?
To make matters worse, even though Hermione had embraced the magical side of her existence, she had a completely separate life with her family…a life he knew nothing about. A life he couldn't comprehend even with her sitting next to him and explaining it. A life she would probably want to maintain a connection with in the future.
So where did that leave him? And even if she decided to still include him in her life, what if her parents were right? What if he was just…mediocre? Hermione had such a bright future ahead of her, and the last thing he wanted to do was slow her down.
That's silly though, right? I care about her more than anyone, and she seems to feel the same way. So why should it matter if she has a fancier job or I don't know what a screwdriver is?
But as much as he wanted to believe the words bouncing around in his head, what had started out as a small nagging in the back of his mind had evolved into a huge, blaring warning sign. Something about their burgeoning relationship seemed wrong. Incongruent. Permanently mismatched at a fundamental level.
"Ron?"
Hermione's voice came from his side, pulling him out of his stupor. He looked up at her, blinking his eyes to push away the stinging feeling that was starting to build. "Hmm?"
"Would you like another slice?"
"Oh," he said with a sigh, eyes darting to her decidedly confused-looking parents. "No, I'm fine, thank you. I–It was delicious, though. Very good."
"I'm so glad you liked it!" Mrs Granger replied. "My mother's recipe."
All Ron could muster was a half-hearted, "Ahh."
A few minutes of small talk later, Mrs Granger started clearing the dessert dishes, and Ron seized the opportunity. He stood up from the table, pushed in his chair, and sighed. "Well, I probably should be going. Thank you so much for dinner, though. It was delicious."
"You're sure I can't tempt you with a nightcap?" Mr Granger hinted with a snicker.
"Oh, none for me, thanks. Early morning tomorrow. You know, promised I'd help Mum, so…"
"Say no more," Mrs Granger said, bustling over to him and giving him a stiff hug. "I can always appreciate someone who prioritizes their mother."
Mr Granger joined them a few moments later, capturing Ron's hand in another crushing grip. "All the best, Ron. We hope to see you again soon."
"Thank you both, I appreciate it. Everything was wonderful."
"Safe…erm, travels," Mr Granger said, clearly still confused about the concept of apparition.
Hermione took his hand and led him toward the front door. "I'll walk you out."
As he nodded to her, he waved goodbye, taking one last glimpse around the house. The place oozed class and pretension. It was a miracle, Ron realized, that Hermione was as grounded as she was. The even bigger miracle was that she would go for someone as poor and apathetic as him. Excellence was a given for the Grangers, and Ron couldn't help but wonder if he would ever measure up.
He was silent as they passed a few houses and turned down the alley toward the apparition point. His mind was spinning trying to figure out what to say to his girlfriend of the past few weeks, trying to understand what she was thinking. Perhaps she was deciding whether he was even worth the hassle.
"I'm sorry," she finally offered, giving his shoulder a rub. "I know they can be a bit much sometimes."
"Nah, it's fine," he murmured. His eyes were still downcast toward the wet sidewalk, watching his feet move one in front of the other with the rhythmic cadence he just couldn't seem to find in his own life.
Even his feet were depressing him. That's how far he'd fallen.
"With me being their only daughter, they have a tendency to try to…well, show me off when possible. And I'm sure they were nervous, too. First time meeting you as my…you know."
"Right, I know," he said. "'S fine."
"Hey." Hermione grabbed his lanky frame and spun her toward him, ducking her head to force herself into his view. "Are you sure you're alright?"
Was he? Would he ever be? And was 'alright' for him ever going to be 'alright' for her? Too many questions, too many insecurities were caroming around in his head. He couldn't think straight; he had to get out of there.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Probably just need a good night's sleep."
She studied him intently, her narrowed eyes boring through him, trying to decipher his hidden meaning. Hermione was one of the most insightful people he'd ever met, and she often knew him better than he knew himself. He felt certain that she would call him out and force a long conversation about his feelings, which was the last thing he wanted.
If she caught on, though, she didn't say anything. Instead, she pulled him into a hug and kissed him on the cheek. "Alright. Well…thank you for coming. It really means a lot to me."
After quickly embracing her, his arms fell slack at his side, and he pulled out his wand, preparing to cast the spell that would return him to the comfort of his new sanctuary at Grimmauld.
"I'll send a Patronus tomorrow?" she asked.
He nodded. "Sure, talk to you tomorrow."
With that, he turned on his heel and felt his body compress down, the sickening feeling eventually subsiding a few moments later when he landed hard on his bedroom floor. Looking around, the bare space didn't quite seem like home yet, but anything was better than where he'd been.
He sat down on the bed and considered searching for Harry to talk about the evening. But the only thing he wanted to do was sleep, or at least try to. The next day would surely bring an avalanche of questions and soul-searching, but for the moment, it could wait. He was so worn out that he could barely stand, instead tipping over onto his side, swinging his legs up onto the bed, and closing his eyes, praying that he'd be delivered from his torment into sleep sooner than later.