All The Right Ingredients - Part 1/2
This fic was originally written for the Checkmated Ron/Hermione Spring!Images Fic Challenge and was posted at the Checkmated archive on June 5, 2009. Due to the current technical difficulties at that archive, as well as a personal ongoing effort to compile all my fic into one place, I am re-posting it here.
It was written as a one-shot, but due to livejournal's posting size limits, I have to post it in two parts here.
Hope you all enjoy!!
Bugger.
Ron Weasley stood at the center of a war zone. Everywhere he looked, a new horrific sight greeted him. He slowly turned in a full circle, despair taking over as he realized that the devastation was total. There was nothing salvageable; not even one had survived.
It would go down in history as The Great Biscuit Massacre of 2001. That is, if anyone ever found out about it…which he would make sure that they never, ever did.
Especially Ginny.
At the thought of what his sister might do if she knew he’d attempted to bake, he grimaced. Turning on the tap, he dampened a dishcloth and began cleaning up some of the flour that seemed to be smeared into every nook, cranny, and crevice of the ancient countertop in Grimmauld Place’s kitchen. Unfortunately, the cloth wasn’t quite damp enough and instead of cleaning up the flour, it turned it into a thick, goopy paste that stuck to the cloth and to the cuff of Ron’s jumper sleeve.
Double bugger!
Giving up on the countertop, he threw the dishcloth back into the sink, where it landed with a dismal sounding plop. He sighed and turned again, taking in the kitchen once more. Broken bits of eggshell dotted the counter, serving as a strange accent to the smeared flour, and the bottom corner of one cupboard bore evidence of a - relatively - more successful part of his efforts. A blob of biscuit dough clung to it, hovering over the counter and looking like it might detach itself when least expected.
Merlin only knew what was forming the sticky puddle on the floor in the corner, and the long kitchen table held five biscuit pans covered with the sad remains of his failed efforts. Some were burnt beyond recognition, others looked nearly normal but he must not have baked them long enough because they’d turned into warm, runny glop and it had been impossible to remove them from the pan. Before he’d discovered this, he’d tried to pick several of them up, so quite a few of them were misshapen and others had gouges where his fingers had sunk through. One cursed batch had actually turned to dust in the oven!
Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger, BUGGER!!!!!
Ron sank into one of the rickety wooden chairs that were crowded around the kitchen table and put his head in his hands, forgetting that he still had traces of flour and melted chocolate on his fingers. He stared down at the tabletop, tempted to just let his head drop down on its worn surface…repeatedly.
What was I thinking trying to do this?!
At that precise moment, he heard the muffled sounds of someone entering the front hallway, followed by the clumping of heavy footsteps as the visitor - undoubtedly Harry - moved towards the kitchen stairwell. As the footsteps grew nearer, Ron shot from his seat and flew around the kitchen gathering up the biscuit pans and dumping them in the sink. He was about to pull out his wand and clean the rest by magic - he’d been so dispirited earlier that he’d forgotten to even try magical cleaning - when Harry rounded the corner and entered the room.
Infinite, apocalyptic bugger!!
“Ron?” Harry’s perplexed voice came from behind him. “You were…baking?”
“Erm…yes?” He muttered as he turned to face his friend, though he wasn’t quite able to look Harry in the eye.
“Umm…why?!”
Ron gestured to the table and Harry pulled out a chair, sitting as Ron slumped into the chair opposite him. At first Ron said nothing, thinking about how best to begin. Finally, he looked up at Harry and sighed. “Have you ever seen Hermione really go nuts over eating something sweet?”
Harry looked puzzled, as if that were not quite the tack he’d been expecting Ron to take. He frowned in concentration for a few moments before shaking his head. “Nah, not really…I mean, she used to enjoy the cake at the end of year feasts, and usually has a slice of your mum’s plum pudding at Christmas…but, wait a minute…you’re telling me that you’ve attempted to take up baking to get Hermione to eat more sweets? Ron, that’s very, um….I think I’m missing something here.”
Ron leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, fiddling idly with the salt and pepper shakers. “Well, up until a little over a month ago, I would’ve said the same as you. She likes the occasional treat but generally would pass sweets by without a second glance, yeah? It makes sense, considering her parents and all. Yep. I would have agreed with you one hundred percent, that is until she finished apprenticing on that last big trial.”
Harry furrowed his brow, looking still more confused, and squinted at Ron with an eloquent, “Huh?”
“Well, that was the final practical part of her apprenticeship, y’know? From now till she finishes, it’s just research work and then her exams, yeah? Well, when I got home from training the day her trial ended, she’d gotten an owl from her parents.” Ron leaned back and laced his fingers together, resting his hands behind his head and propping his feet up on the chair next to Harry. “That owl had brought the most fantastic biscuits I’ve ever tasted. But it was more than that Harry…you should have seen how much Hermione loved them.”
~*~
The bedroom of the small, cozy flat he shared with Hermione winked into view as Ron Apparated home after what had been one of the most grueling days of his Auror training to date. His muscles ached, his head was pounding, and the last round of defensive dueling in his final class of the day had left him feeling like his spine was permanently twisted just a bit to the left.
But he fought against his fatigue as he dropped his rucksack in the alcove near the closet door and stripped his outer robes off, tossing them into the hamper. He had to focus. He had plans…no, scratch that…he had Serious Plans. For as tired as he was, he knew that this was an important day for Hermione. Her apprenticeship in the Ministry Law Program was coming to an end and in just a few months she would be going to work in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She’d decided to follow her interest in Magical Creatures rights and was hoping to work from within the department to improve the lives of all magical beings.
Ron reflected on the things he loved most about her - her passion, her strength, her utter conviction in her beliefs, and her no-nonsense take charge attitude. Not to mention her beautiful smile, mental hair, and sinfully sexy arse. He smiled fondly as his thoughts ranged over the many different aspects of Hermione that he loved. He was a lucky man, and he knew it.
He also knew that the important case she’d been working on for the last two and a half months had concluded today, and that with it the hands-on part of her apprenticeship was now complete. She would be wrapped up in her study - the converted second bedroom of their flat - with her law texts and research papers for the remainder of her apprenticeship, but today was still a big milestone for her, and it didn’t hurt one bit that the lawyer she’d been assisting had won the case.
So. Ron had hatched a plan at lunchtime today when he’d overheard the good news about the case in the Ministry canteen. He’d decided that as soon as he could get home and clean up after training, he would order in from the new Italian place in Diagon Alley that Hermione really liked, and then wait for her to get home so they could celebrate. He usually beat her home by close to an hour, so he should have just enough time to get everything ready.
Now dressed only in his boxers, he grabbed a towel from their linen cupboard and headed for the shower, more than ready to wash away the sweat and strain of a long day. Hanging his towel on a hook, he slid his boxers down so that he could step out of them and fumbled with his other hand for the shower faucet. Soothing hot water thrummed over his aching muscles as he imagined what they could do to “celebrate” later.
A short while later, Ron finished his shower and was standing in their bedroom in denims and an unbuttoned shirt toweling his hair when he thought he heard the faintest whoosh of someone Flooing into their sitting room.
Hm…early eh? No worries.
He buttoned his blue Oxford - Hermione’s favorite - and padded downstairs barefoot. As he reached the bottom of the short flight of stairs, he took in their snug sitting room with its comfy and slightly worn couch that had been a flat-warming gift from his parents, and the small but sturdy polished end tables that had been presents from hers. The reading lamp on the nearer end table was lit, sending a warm and cheerful glow out to mingle with the reddish-orange firelight dancing from the hearth. Ron felt an intense peacefulness come over him as he gazed around the little room. It was awash with life and color, a soothing contrast to the darkening skies and splashing rain that could be seen outside the wide windows. Surprisingly, Hermione was nowhere in sight, though her bag and cloak had been thrown haphazardly on the sofa.
He sighed contentedly. They’d moved into the flat almost nine months ago, but it had rapidly become home. It was small, and often charmingly messy…usually it was filled to bursting with Hermione’s books and parchment, Ron’s brooms and training gear, and assorted family members and friends. It was small, but it was theirs. Crookshanks and Pig rounded out their little family.
Family.
The word brought up a wealth of feelings for Ron. His thoughts took a familiar turn as he headed toward the kitchen in search of Hermione, who still hadn’t appeared. He’d been thinking of the meaning of family more and more often lately, and though he loved what he and Hermione already shared, the idea of proposing, marrying her, and moving from their cozy flat to a cozy house had become his near constant companion recently. But he was stuck on how to ask her. They’d known one another so long that it had to be perfect. His stomach twisted every time he tried to come up with a plan - he couldn’t screw this up.
He set aside his anxieties for the moment, strolling into their kitchen and finally setting eyes on Hermione. She was turned away from him, standing near the sink and hunching over something cradled in her hands. He was just about to slip his arms around her waist and bend down to give her a kiss when the noises she was making stopped him in his tracks.
She was moaning and making a sort of muffled whimper. At first he worried that she was crying. But it took only a few seconds for him to recognize those sounds for what they truly were, and when he did, his face flushed, his trousers tightened, and he felt like making a few noises of his own. But he was a bit perplexed as to why she would be standing alone in their kitchen making sounds he was more used to hearing in their bedroom.
“Erm…hello, love?”
She whirled to face him, eyes widening and cheeks pinkening just the smallest bit. But those facts, which normally would have dominated Ron’s attention, hardly registered. He was totally preoccupied with the fact that his normally well-mannered girlfriend, who prided herself on her behavior, was, apparently, stuffing her face in a way that would put even him to shame.
Her cheeks were bulging and chocolate smears had mixed in with the customary ink stains on her fingers. A wide swath of crumbs dusted her jumper, and there was the smallest hint of chocolate in the corners of her mouth. A partially eaten biscuit dangled from the fingers of one hand, as she held an open tin in the other.
Now, he loved this woman…he truly did…but this was teasing ammunition of the first order. He smirked, and he could tell she knew what he was thinking because her eyes went from barely widened to the size of…well…the biscuits she was devouring.
“Rrurhn!!” She half-squeaked, half-choked. Taking a moment to swallow the large lump of biscuit, she tried again. “Ron, um…”
“Hello to you too, love. Enjoying those biscuits were you?”
She gazed at him sheepishly, holding the biscuit tin out to him. It looked like there were half a dozen or so layered in the bottom. Each biscuit was large, perfectly round, and studded with raisins and large chunks of dark chocolate. The dough seemed to be flecked through with some sort of spice and the aroma coming out of the tin immediately made Ron’s mouth water. He plucked one of the biscuits out and took a large bite, quickly losing himself in the sinfully rich flavor. He finished it in a couple of bites, closing his eyes briefly while he savored the taste. He opened them again, realizing that Hermione had been nervously chattering away while he’d been entranced by what he now knew to be the best biscuits he’d ever had.
“-and I got stuck in a committee meeting after the trial to discuss that proposed bill that could potentially restrict the importing of certain foreign magical creatures, and it was fascinating, but I just was so tired and wanted to get home and I hadn’t eaten anything since lunch so when I saw that this package had come from my parents I just-”
She stopped her dithering mid-sentence, having no other choice as Ron planted a smacking kiss on her lips. Pulling back, he said, “Love, s’alright. You’re home, I’m home…you’ve received a tin of the most amazing biscuits in creation…and besides...” He took the tin and her unfinished biscuit and set them on the countertop, then turned back to her, finally sliding his arms around her waist and bending so his lips were close to her ear, “…I’ve got plans for us tonight.”
He lightly kissed the soft skin where her jaw met her ear before shifting to look at her. She was smiling widely at him, and her eyes were twinkling brightly. She looked so beautiful, and so happy, and there was so much love in her expression that it near took his breath away. As he gazed back at her, she arched a brow and spoke teasingly, “Oh you do, do you? What kind of plans?”
“The kind that involve celebrating my brilliant girlfriend having a banner day and nearly being done with her apprenticeship…you know, the usual…a little food, a little wine...” He winked at her. “…the rest of these biscuits, and then persuading you to go to bed early so I can ravish you properly.” He leered down at her playfully as he finished his declaration, and she laughed, winding her arms around his neck and pulling herself closer to him so that now she could whisper into his ear.
“Sounds like you’ve got a very thorough schedule for the evening…but I’ve got a better idea.”
“Oh?”
“Mmm…let’s skip right to the ravishing, shall we?”
He grinned in response and pulled her in for a long, deep kiss that left them both panting when they broke apart. As soon as his head was clear enough, he Apparated them both directly into their bedroom.
“Like I said, you’re brilliant!”
~*~
Ron had gotten more absorbed than he’d intended in telling Harry the story behind his admittedly chaotic attempt at biscuit-baking. But he was pulled out of his memories by a most unusual sound.
“Lalalalalalalalala!!”
He looked at his best friend and found that the sound wasn’t merely coming from Harry’s direction, it was coming from Harry. His best mate was sitting across from him with his eyes squeezed shut, his face screwed up, and his hands over his ears. He was rocking slightly in his chair and chanting repeatedly at a frighteningly high pitch. Ron merely rolled his eyes at his friend’s behavior, and called Harry’s name. But apparently Harry couldn’t hear him, so Ron reached over and picked up a biscuit from the nearest tray.
Excellent, the extra-firm batch, he thought before lobbing it towards Harry.
“Lalalalalalala-ow!!” Harry finally was startled into stopping his rocking and chanting. He sat rubbing his forehead with one hand and glaring at Ron. “Did you have to throw it so hard, mate? Hell, did you have to bake it so hard?”
“Harry,” Ron said calmly, “Hermione and I have been together for three years now. Do you still have to do that every time I talk about our love life?”
Harry looked thoughtful, leaning back in his chair and rubbing one hand over his chin. “You know, you’re right, Ron. I was being silly. We ought to be able to talk about these things like mature adults by now. And I’ll make sure to keep that in mind next time I want to talk about how very very glad I am Ginny’s home from a long road trip.”
Ron shuddered at the thought of what such a discussion might be like and held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, point taken. Sorry if I got carried away…but I needed to tell you about that day because that’s when I finally figured out how to do it.”
“Erm…”
“Not that…blimey Harry, stop taking the piss and let me finish, will you?!”
“Sorry,” Harry muttered, and fixed Ron with a truly contrite look. Ron considered his friend carefully, and continued when he was satisfied that Harry really was sorry.
“I’ve finally figured out how to ask Hermione to marry me.”
Harry’s reaction was instantaneous. “Ron…well, that’s brilliant mate!! I know you’ve been tossing ideas around for awhile,” he paused for a moment, “but…wait…I’m still confused. What does that have to do with your adventures in baking?”
Ron sighed. “Well, that’s the thing. It was those biscuits that gave me the idea for how to ask her. I thought I’d take her away somewhere…arrange a romantic dinner…then for dessert, I’d impress her by having baked her favorite biscuits from scratch…cleverly hiding the ring underneath the biscuits.”
“Sounds like a great plan…except….” Harry trailed off, his gaze roaming around the kitchen.
“Yeah…except.” Ron sighed, once again raking his hands through his hair before finally realizing they were still covered in flour and chocolate. “Bugger!”
“Just out of curiosity, why didn’t you ask your mum to help you?”
“Ha! I thought of that, but you know Mum: she’d want to know why I wanted to learn to bake, and you know what a terrible liar I am. She’d have had it out of me in minutes, and then kept hounding me about whether or not I’d ‘popped the question’ yet…I’d go spare before I’d get to ask Hermione. Not to mention the fact that Mum’d want to know why I wasn’t using her biscuit recipe. No. That would be a total nightmare.”
“So you came here?”
“Not right away…I did think of asking Ginny, but she’d have taken the mickey out of me something fierce, and I couldn’t have gotten away without telling her why either, and she’d probably have told Hermione before I could get the chance to propose.” Ron was on a roll now. “Bill and Percy are as hopeless in the kitchen as I am, and Charlie’s not here, but I’ve only ever heard him talk about cooking over a campfire anyway. Oh, and Dad…well, let’s just say that Mum has officially, and literally, Banished him from the kitchen - for good reason.”
Harry seemed as though he was about to speak, but Ron beat him to it, quelling him with a Look of Doom.
“And before you say it, yes George has actually become quite handy in the kitchen over the last few years…but would you trust him not to mess with what you’re making?”
Harry shook his head. “Of course not…so, you’ve been…what, practicing here? On your own?”
“Mostly. I figured the house would be quiet most of the time, and I wouldn’t bother anyone. Sorry for making such a mess though, mate.”
“No worries. I’m a bit surprised though that Kreacher didn’t try to pop down and clean up after you.”
“Ah, well…” Ron trailed off, feeling the tips of his ears warm and knowing that his cursed blushing was giving him away. “About that….”
Harry quirked an eyebrow at him. “Don’t tell me…”
“Um, well…I had managed to save a small piece of one of the biscuits Hermione’s parents sent her that day, and I brought it here because I thought that Kreacher could figure out exactly what was in it, and that maybe he could teach me how to make them. Stop laughing, mate, or I’ll throw another one at you.”
“Sorry, sorry! I just can’t help imagining the look on Kreacher’s face when you showed up,” Harry said, finally managing to stifle his laughter.
“Yes, well. I’m sure that you’re spot on, but somehow I did manage to persuade him. I thought it would make things even better, y’know? If I didn’t just learn how to make her favorite biscuits, but learned how to make them from a house-elf…there’d be no way she’d turn me down.”
Ron rested his chin in one hand and looked at Harry glumly, digging the fingers of his other hand into the muck that had created a second veneer over the surface of the kitchen table. “But after the first two batches came out…erm…wrong…Kreacher wanted to give up on me. I managed to get him to stay for one more batch, but…”
“But?”
“Erm…I may have singed one of his ears…a bit,” Ron muttered, digging harder at the tabletop and studiously avoiding Harry’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to, but I lost control of the oven, and there were a few…um, flame spurts…after that, he wouldn’t even talk to me, much less help me…”
At this point Ron was forced to stop because Harry had fallen out of his chair onto the kitchen floor, holding his stomach as he shook with laughter. After a few minutes of Harry rolling around on the floor and Ron sitting and glaring at him in stony silence, Harry’s laughter finally sputtered to its end. He sat up but stayed on the floor. Looking up at Ron, he asked, “But why didn’t you go right to the source?”
“How d’you mean?”
“You said that her parents had sent the biscuits. Stands to reason her mum made them. Why not just ask Mrs. Granger?”
“I had considered that…but I thought that the whole ‘Mr. and Mrs. Granger, I’d like to ask permission to marry your only daughter’ conversation would be nerve-wracking enough without having to ask her to teach me how to bake too.”
“Well, mate,” Harry said as he finally pulled himself up and into his chair, “I don’t think you have any choice.”
They both looked around the ruined kitchen and Ron sighed again.
Bugger.
~*~
A week after his disastrous baking adventure in Grimmauld Place, Ron found himself fidgeting nervously as he walked from his Apparition point through the tidy back garden of the Grangers’ modest yet well-kept home. He’d sent an owl to Hermione’s parents the day after his conversation with Harry, asking to visit them on his own. They had sent back a courteous, if somewhat inquisitive reply, and had agreed that Saturday afternoon would be a good time. He paused about halfway to the house, standing pensively in the shelter of a small oak tree, trying to gather his thoughts.
It was with no small amount of trepidation that he’d pulled himself away from the lazy Saturday morning lie-in he was sharing with Hermione, kissing her goodbye and telling her he was off to meet Harry. He had thanked Merlin for the thousandth time that he and Harry had a longstanding tradition of late Saturday lunch at the Three Broomsticks followed by an afternoon fly. He actually did go to lunch with Harry, who’d promised to cover for him should he need an “alibi.” He’d then popped into his small office at the Ministry and changed into the smart jumper and good pair of trousers he’d stowed there on Friday.
Now he was beginning to question his sanity. Again. He would have been anxious about asking her parents for their blessing in any case, but adding to his worries was the fact that it had only been within the last year that things between them and Hermione had begun to normalize. They had had a very difficult time readjusting to life in Britain in the year after he and Hermione had found them in Australia and brought them home. The fact that Hermione had then almost immediately returned to Hogwarts for her final year had not helped matters between them.
The year after that, when Hermione had begun her legal apprentice training at the Ministry, she had taken a small flat in Muggle London not far from the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley. Ron remembered that it had allowed her to still be near the Wizarding world, and it had still been fairly easy for her to visit him at the Wheezes, where he had been helping George get back on his feet. But it had also given her the chance to keep a foothold in the Muggle world and work on rebuilding her relationship with her parents.
He thought back to the many stilted dinners Hermione had experienced in her parents’ house, and the many awkward visits they had paid to her flat. At first, Hermione had insisted on going on these visits alone, saying that she needed the time to get them to trust her again, and that it would be easier to do that if she were alone with them. Surprisingly, she and Ron hadn’t fought about that. He remembered her hesitance, and how at first she was seemingly unable to believe he wouldn’t be offended. Finally, he had sat her down and told her firmly, but sincerely, that although yes he did want to go with her and support her, if she needed to do this on her own he understood. He smiled at the memory of the snog she’d given him then. But the smile turned a bit wistful when he also remembered how often she’d turn up at the flat he’d been sharing with George over the Wheezes afterwards, just seeming completely and utterly drained. Sometimes there would be tears, but more often she’d just be very quiet. He’d sit on the sofa and hold her until she fell asleep.
He never pressed her for details, but she often told him anyway. Her parents, it seemed, had understood her explanations of why she had felt the need to keep them safe but they had had a much harder time forgiving her methods. He could still hear her voice, trembling with emotion, when she’d told him that they’d said they would always love her, but they weren’t sure they could trust her anymore. He’d wanted to go to the Grangers’ house that night, more than a year and a half ago now, and have it out with them then and there. The only things that had prevented him were the sadness in Hermione’s eyes, and the fact that she’d begged him to stay with her. He’d tucked her into his bed that night and held her close, watching her sleep as his thoughts kept him awake nearly till dawn.
Yet, slowly but surely, things had improved. He shifted his weight and leaned against the oak tree as a particular memory came to him. Things had been getting better and better between Hermione and her parents. She’d come to his flat one night after dinner with them, her eyes glowing and her cheeks pink. Her hair had been fluttering madly around her face, and Ron hadn’t been able to help reaching out and wrapping her up for a snog and a hug right there in front of George, who’d wolf-whistled at them before Flooing off to parts unknown.
She had been practically bouncing as he’d led her into his room and closed the door. He had seated himself on his bed, watching her as she’d paced back and forth, brimming with energy as she related the events of her evening.
~*~
“Oh Ron.” She turned to him, smiling in a way he hadn’t seen in ages. “I think things are going to be alright…finally…for all of us.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh yes. You know what it’s been like…how they’ve been about, well, everything…but tonight it was so different. We didn’t re-hash the past seven years yet again, and they didn’t want to go through all the things that I’ve revealed to them about what we’ve been through with Harry anymore.”
“Oh?” Things had been difficult with her parents for so long that Ron was skeptical.
“No! They said that they’ve been thinking about everything I’ve told them, and discussing it…and they still don’t like that I kept it all from them for so long, or the fact that I didn’t ask them before I did the Memory Charms-”
“Hermione, how is this good news? So far, it sounds like nothing’s changed!”
She stopped her pacing and strode over to him, sitting on the bed and taking his hands.
“But it has Ron, it has! They didn’t like the fact that I’d tried to decide for them, but they finally have accepted my apology for that and said that they understand my motives. They also told me that, that-” she struggled to continue.
Concerned, he released one of her hands so he could gently grasp her chin and tilt it up.
“They told me that they could hardly blame me for keeping them in the dark for so many years when they had been doing much the same thing.”
“Hermione, what?”
“They told me some things tonight that were very difficult to hear…about them…they’d…before I sent them to Australia they’d been having a rough go of it.” She paused to compose her thoughts and Ron watched her intently. “They’d been considering getting a divorce for about a year when I sent them away… I’d had no idea.”
Ron was quite perplexed. “Again, love, I think I’m missing something. I still don’t understand why you’re so happy about all this.”
“I’m getting there, I promise,” she smiled at him with a genuine twinkle of happiness in her eyes. “They pointed out that they hadn’t told me anything about their troubles because they’d wanted to spare me worrying about them while I was away at Hogwarts. They hadn’t wanted to tell me until they absolutely had do, thinking it would spare me the pain of going through it with them.”
“But, but that’s daft! I’m sorry, love, but it is. Expecting you to just accept it one day when they finally announced it as a done deal?”
She nodded along with him. “I know…but Ron, that’s precisely the point. They’d done the same thing I’d done…we’d all made the mistake of thinking we knew better what would help each other instead of just talking to each other. We’d all made a lot of presumptions.”
“But they’re getting a divorce!”
“Oh…no! That’s the other amazing thing…they’re not. As I said, they told me they’d been unhappy before I sent them away…but because I never knew that when I performed the charms on them and gave them their identities as the Wilkinses, I created identities of a happy couple. They spent that year together in Australia happy, Ron. You know that restoring their original memories didn’t erase the memories from that year…Memory Charms don’t work that way. So, when we brought them back here they still had those happy memories and…they said it was like they’d rediscovered their marriage. They said the whole time since, while I was finishing at Hogwarts, they’ve been rebuilding their relationship, and they’ve decided to make another go of it.” Finally running out of steam, she sat back and smiled at Ron, kicking off her shoes and curling her legs beneath her.
Ron, on the other hand, felt rather dazed by all of this. Something seemed off to him…not about the story itself as such, for, while improbable, Ron had seen the Grangers in Australia when they thought that they were Wendell and Monica Wilkins, and he had seen them in the days after Hermione had first removed the charms…judging by their behavior, he thought that it was very likely Hermione’s story was true. No, what was troubling him was her reaction to everything…she seemed so composed and calm, as though her parents hadn’t just revealed a major secret to her…as if they hadn’t been hypocritical in their treatment of her these last several months.
“Hermione, you seem so…I mean, weren’t you mad at them?”
She chuckled ruefully and ducked her head, blushing at his question. “Ah, um, yes…I, erm…had my first outburst of accidental magic since I first left for Hogwarts. Shattered all the glassware on the dining room table simultaneously. I also may have shouted at them a bit…actually the shouting came first, and it wasn’t just me…we all got a bit heated, and then the glasses exploded. And then, the strangest thing happened…we all burst out laughing. Kind of mad, really.”
“I’ll say.”
“But Ron, don’t you see? That broke the tension…and then we all talked, really talked for the first time in a long time. We agreed that it’s still going to take more hard work, but that we’d forgiven each other, and the most important thing was that we loved each other and we didn’t want to let ourselves grow so far apart again. None of us wanted to reach the point ever again where it was easier to hide things from the other two than talking about them…speaking of which…”
Ron quirked an eyebrow at her.
“…they want to know more about my everyday life in the Wizarding world…they’d really like to meet you, Harry, and Gin. You’re all invited over for dinner next week.”
He’d been gobsmacked, and more than a little nervous at the prospect, and it must have shown on his face for Hermione merely smiled at him and leaned in, brushing a kiss along his jaw and murmuring encouraging words in his ear.
Needless to say, the rest of the night had flown by.
~*~
Shaking himself out of his reverie, Ron pushed off from the tree, straightening up and dusting off the sleeve of his jumper. He moved closer to the house, taking in the scent of the flowers from the Grangers’ garden. The spring air was clean and sweet, and the different fragrances wafted towards him on the breeze. As he rounded the corner of the house and headed to the front door, a particularly strong smell of roses stopped him in his tracks. He noticed a large bank of them planted close to the house and stood still for a moment simply breathing them in. He briefly entertained the notion of asking the Grangers if he could cut a few to take back to Hermione, before remembering he was supposed to be flying with Harry right now and wouldn’t have been able to explain where the flowers had come from.
He continued on, reaching the front of the house and climbing the steps. He rang the doorbell quickly and waited nervously for one of Hermione’s parents to come to the door. He thought of that first time he’d come to dinner here, and thanked Merlin yet again that Harry and Ginny had also been invited on that particular visit. He’d been so nervous he’d knocked over a gravy boat in the kitchen after offering to help bring dinner to the table, and he still swore that he had blushed violently every time either one of Hermione’s parents had spoken to him. Having his best mate and his sister there to distract some of the Grangers’ attention had been a huge help.
But things had steadily continued to improve between Hermione and her parents, and they’d taken quite a liking to Ron as well, a fact that had both surprised and relieved him. Soon he’d become a regular guest at their weekly dinners, but he’d never come here alone before. This was entirely different, and he couldn’t stop his nerves from getting to him. His palms started to feel slightly clammy, and he wiped them discreetly along his trouser legs. This action brought his right hand against his pocket where the small box containing Hermione’s ring was nestled. He had brought it with him because he wanted to show it to the Grangers when he asked for their blessing. He wanted to show them just how serious he was about making a life with their daughter.
His train of thought was interrupted by the front door finally opening to reveal Jean Granger standing in the front hallway and smiling at him. She was a slim woman of slightly taller than average height. Her hair was dark like Hermione’s, but fell in gentle waves to her shoulders rather than the crazy curls her daughter sported. Ron noticed, once again, how many features Hermione and Jean seemed to share: from the sweep of the eyebrows to the jut of the chin, Hermione was very much her mother’s daughter.
“Ron, how good to see you! Won’t you please come in?”
“Oh, thank you Mrs. Granger,” he said, stepping into the hallway and taking a couple of steps past her as she moved to close the door. “How’ve you been?”
“Just fine, thank you,” she gestured for him to continue into the sitting room, following closely behind him. “But, pardon me if I’m a bit forward here Ron, you sounded rather…odd…in your message to us. Is everything alright with you?” She guided him towards the sofa. “Please, have a seat…would you like some tea?”
“Yes, thanks, tea would be great.”
“Lovely. I’ll just put the kettle on.” She stepped quickly from the room and headed down the short hallway that Ron knew led to the kitchen. “Just relax, I’ll be right back!”
Ron sank into the plump sofa cushions and gazed around the comfortable room, trying to calm his racing nerves. A long, low rectangular table ran in front of the sofa and beyond it two light blue wingback chairs flanked a small round table holding a lamp, a pair of coasters, and a pile of well-worn novels. It was a much more organized and orderly room than the sitting room at the Burrow, but it still had the feel of being loved and lived in. Ron had come to feel at ease here over the course of his many visits with Hermione, and he tried to call on the memory of that feeling now. He took a few slow, deep breaths and slipped his hands into his pockets, fiddling again with the ring box. He turned over what he wanted to say to the Grangers in his mind, losing track of time until he heard Mrs. Granger returning.
“Here we go,” she said, setting down a fully laden tea tray on the long table in front of the sofa and sitting in one of the wingbacks. A teapot and three cups were accompanied by a small creamer jug, a little pot of honey, a bowl with lemon wedges, and a small vase bursting with brightly colored flowers. Sitting next to all of this, Ron noticed, was a plate of the very biscuits that had started his baking woes. He sat up a bit straighter and reached out to take the cup of tea that Mrs. Granger had just poured for him.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
“You’re welcome. Now, Ron, really, you must tell me why you’ve decided to visit today. You know that Paul and I love to see you, but you seem troubled,” she paused, and seemed to hesitate before continuing, “Everything okay with you and Hermione?”
Ron looked up at that, feeling somewhat startled. “What? Oh, yes! No, no everything’s fine with us…really good, in fact. And, well, that’s part of why…um…will Mr. Granger be joining us? I really would like to talk to you both.”
Great Ron, just choke on your own tongue while you’re at it. Could you have been less coherent? Thankfully, Mrs. Granger didn’t seem to notice his distress. She turned and set her cup on one of the coasters on the round table, then reached to pluck one of the biscuits from the tray.
“Oh, Paul will be along shortly. He had to take care of a few small errands in town this afternoon, and he got a bit of a late start. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on? He’ll join us as soon as he gets back.” She smiled warmly at him and offered him the plate of biscuits. “Would you like one? Hermione loves these, and I suspect you might too.”
“Funny you should bring these up,” Ron said as he reached out and took a biscuit off the plate. “They’re part of why I’m here…”
Jean quirked an eyebrow at him in a manner so reminiscent of Hermione that if Ron hadn’t been so nervous, he would have chuckled at seeing the familiar gesture replicated in a different setting. As it was, he simply took a deep breath and tried again.
“When you sent Hermione a package of these last month, I noticed how…erm…enthusiastic she seemed to be about them. I mean she really loves these biscuits…and part of why I wanted to come here today was to ask you if you could teach me how to bake them.” He noticed that Mrs. Granger had opened her mouth to speak, but he thought it was better to get it all out in one go. “I know that seems like a strange thing to ask, but I really need to know how…and I’ve tried figuring it out on my own, but, well, that didn’t go so well, and I ended up with a singed house-elf and…” he trailed off, realizing he was beginning to babble and that Mrs. Granger seemed to be struggling to hold back laughter.
“I see. Ron, if you don’t mind my asking, why is it so important that you learn how to bake these particular biscuits?” Mrs. Granger looked at him shrewdly, and Ron had a feeling that - much like his own mother - she saw far more than he had actually revealed.
“Well, if you don’t mind…I’d actually like to wait until Mr. Granger is here to talk about that…but do you think you can help me? I’ll do whatever it takes to learn how to do this,” he said earnestly.
“I’d love to help you Ron-” she began.
“Brilliant! Thank you so much!”
“-but I can’t.” Mrs. Granger’s smile had turned apologetic, and she was just about to continue when the sound of the front door opening and closing drifted down the hallway, followed shortly by Mr. Granger’s footsteps. Ron’s heart had barely had time to sink to his shoes before Mr. Granger’s voice floated down the hall.
“Jean? You there? Has Ron arrived?”
Mrs. Granger turned towards the door, calling over her shoulder, “Yes, Paul. We’re in the sitting room…come join us for tea.”
Paul Granger rounded the doorframe and entered the sitting room. He was just a touch shorter than his wife, with an open-featured face that normally wore an easygoing expression and wire-rimmed glasses that framed his brown eyes. Unlike his wife, his hair was quite curly and he kept it trimmed short. He paused to give Jean a quick kiss before moving around to sit in the empty wingback. He greeted Ron jovially while pouring himself a cup of tea.
“Hullo there, young Ronald! Now what brings you round to our part of the world today?”
“He’s come for biscuit-baking lessons, Paul,” Mrs. Granger said with a hint of gentle amusement in her voice. “He asked me to teach him how to bake these…” she held up the biscuit she’d taken from the tray earlier. “I was just about to tell him that-”
“Erm…” Ron swallowed down the lump in his throat and put down his untouched biscuit. Mrs. Granger had stopped speaking when he cleared his throat and was waiting for him to continue. Ron looked into the two expectant faces across from him, taking heart from the traces of Hermione that he could see in them. He could do this. He would do this. He must do this.
“I was asking about that, Mr. Granger, but there’s actually another reason I’m here today; and now that you’re here, I’d like to talk to you both about it.” Ron slipped his right hand back into his pocket and curled his fingers around the ring box. “I’m not the best with words, and I don’t really know any other way to say it anyway…so I’ll just say it…” he paused and looked each of them in the eye, “…I want to ask Hermione to marry me, and I’m here today to ask you both for your blessing.”
Ron removed the ring box from his pocket and held it between both hands as he warmed up to his argument. “I know you might think we’re a bit young for this, but it’s been almost ten years since Hermione and I met, and she’s been my best friend just about from the beginning. I can’t lie, we had our rough patches growing up…some of them were really rough…and I’ve made a mess of things more often than I care to think about…but we’ve always found a way through whatever the problem was and found our way back to each other. And I know Hermione’s told you what we went through in that year before the Final Battle. I thought I’d lost my chance that night at Malfoy Manor. I thought I’d lost her…for good…and I made a promise to myself that night. I swore that if she’d just…if she’d make it…that I’d do everything I could to help her be happy and safe…even if she weren’t with me. I’ve thanked Merlin every day since then that she did choose me and that she seems to feel all the things about me that I feel about her.”
Ron paused for breath and chanced a look up at the Grangers, who had remained silent throughout his rambling declaration. He knew there was only one thing left to say.
“I made the mistake once, when we were in school, of being with someone else when I could have been with Hermione. And that, along with everything we went through during the war, was more than enough to prove to me that I never want to be with anyone else. Mr. and Mrs. Granger, I love your daughter more than anything, and I want her to be my wife. I would very much like to have your blessing.” He exhaled slowly. Now that he’d said what he’d intended to say, all of the tension left his body, making him feel like he was filled with jelly. He placed the ring box on the table next to the tea tray and sat back, waiting.
The Grangers were silent for a moment. Mrs. Granger picked up her tea, and sipped it thoughtfully, while Mr. Granger put his down and leaned forward in his chair. They exchanged a wordless, but meaningful, glance before Mr. Granger spoke.
“Well, Ron, I can’t say that we haven’t been expecting this for awhile now. As you guessed, at first we did have some concerns about how young you both are, but we also already considered many of the points you made so…passionately.” Paul stopped, and looked again at Jean, who reached out to take her husband’s hand. She then picked up where Paul had left off.
“We know how much you love her, Ron…and we certainly know how much she loves you. You have been through rather a lot together, and we feel that any two people who’ve managed to come through all that are bound to have a uniquely strong bond.” She took one more look at Paul, who nodded, and Ron felt the first pricklings of hope and giddy relief stir in his chest. “Of course you have our blessing, Ron.”
Ron smiled so widely he thought his cheeks would never stop aching. He rose to meet the Grangers, who’d both come around the table. Jean tiptoed up and kissed him on the cheek, and Paul shook his hand bracingly and clapped him on the back. Ron then showed them the ring, and they all sat back down to finish their tea, making amicable chitchat about a trip to Greece the Grangers were planning and Ron’s work at the Wheezes and the progress of his Auror training. It was only when Ron was about to say his goodbyes that Jean clapped her hand over her mouth, and let out a startled, “Oh!”
“Jean?” Paul asked curiously, “what’s the matter?”
“I almost forgot! Ron, you asked me earlier if I’d teach you how to make these biscuits.”
“Yes. Hermione loves them so much that I had this idea of making them as part of my proposal. I’ve got this plan worked out for how I want to ask her, and the biscuits…well, they’re rather important to the plan.”
“Oh Ron…It’s just that I can’t teach you. Baking has always been the one thing in the kitchen I’m hopeless at.” Seeing Ron’s shoulders begin to slump, Jean hastened on, “But don’t worry! Paul’s a brilliant baker, and these biscuits were actually his own recipe. I’m sure he’d be willing to teach you how to make them!” She smiled brightly, first at Ron, then at her husband.
Ron glanced at Mr. Granger but his attention was turned inwards, visions of him setting fire to various parts of the Grangers’ kitchen and destroying biscuit sheets, kitchen appliances, and possibly causing their oven to explode filled his mind’s eye. Still worse, he imagined Mr. Granger becoming so fed up with him that he took back his blessing. Ron was becoming so wrapped up with these increasingly nerve-wracking visions of his forthcoming baking doom that he almost missed hearing Mr. Granger agree to teach him.
“I think that would be fun, eh Ron? Can you make it back for your first lesson next Saturday, same time?”
“Sure…thank you, Mr. Granger,” Ron said weakly.
Bugger!
Part 2 HERE.
It was written as a one-shot, but due to livejournal's posting size limits, I have to post it in two parts here.
Hope you all enjoy!!
Bugger.
Ron Weasley stood at the center of a war zone. Everywhere he looked, a new horrific sight greeted him. He slowly turned in a full circle, despair taking over as he realized that the devastation was total. There was nothing salvageable; not even one had survived.
It would go down in history as The Great Biscuit Massacre of 2001. That is, if anyone ever found out about it…which he would make sure that they never, ever did.
Especially Ginny.
At the thought of what his sister might do if she knew he’d attempted to bake, he grimaced. Turning on the tap, he dampened a dishcloth and began cleaning up some of the flour that seemed to be smeared into every nook, cranny, and crevice of the ancient countertop in Grimmauld Place’s kitchen. Unfortunately, the cloth wasn’t quite damp enough and instead of cleaning up the flour, it turned it into a thick, goopy paste that stuck to the cloth and to the cuff of Ron’s jumper sleeve.
Double bugger!
Giving up on the countertop, he threw the dishcloth back into the sink, where it landed with a dismal sounding plop. He sighed and turned again, taking in the kitchen once more. Broken bits of eggshell dotted the counter, serving as a strange accent to the smeared flour, and the bottom corner of one cupboard bore evidence of a - relatively - more successful part of his efforts. A blob of biscuit dough clung to it, hovering over the counter and looking like it might detach itself when least expected.
Merlin only knew what was forming the sticky puddle on the floor in the corner, and the long kitchen table held five biscuit pans covered with the sad remains of his failed efforts. Some were burnt beyond recognition, others looked nearly normal but he must not have baked them long enough because they’d turned into warm, runny glop and it had been impossible to remove them from the pan. Before he’d discovered this, he’d tried to pick several of them up, so quite a few of them were misshapen and others had gouges where his fingers had sunk through. One cursed batch had actually turned to dust in the oven!
Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger, BUGGER!!!!!
Ron sank into one of the rickety wooden chairs that were crowded around the kitchen table and put his head in his hands, forgetting that he still had traces of flour and melted chocolate on his fingers. He stared down at the tabletop, tempted to just let his head drop down on its worn surface…repeatedly.
What was I thinking trying to do this?!
At that precise moment, he heard the muffled sounds of someone entering the front hallway, followed by the clumping of heavy footsteps as the visitor - undoubtedly Harry - moved towards the kitchen stairwell. As the footsteps grew nearer, Ron shot from his seat and flew around the kitchen gathering up the biscuit pans and dumping them in the sink. He was about to pull out his wand and clean the rest by magic - he’d been so dispirited earlier that he’d forgotten to even try magical cleaning - when Harry rounded the corner and entered the room.
Infinite, apocalyptic bugger!!
“Ron?” Harry’s perplexed voice came from behind him. “You were…baking?”
“Erm…yes?” He muttered as he turned to face his friend, though he wasn’t quite able to look Harry in the eye.
“Umm…why?!”
Ron gestured to the table and Harry pulled out a chair, sitting as Ron slumped into the chair opposite him. At first Ron said nothing, thinking about how best to begin. Finally, he looked up at Harry and sighed. “Have you ever seen Hermione really go nuts over eating something sweet?”
Harry looked puzzled, as if that were not quite the tack he’d been expecting Ron to take. He frowned in concentration for a few moments before shaking his head. “Nah, not really…I mean, she used to enjoy the cake at the end of year feasts, and usually has a slice of your mum’s plum pudding at Christmas…but, wait a minute…you’re telling me that you’ve attempted to take up baking to get Hermione to eat more sweets? Ron, that’s very, um….I think I’m missing something here.”
Ron leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, fiddling idly with the salt and pepper shakers. “Well, up until a little over a month ago, I would’ve said the same as you. She likes the occasional treat but generally would pass sweets by without a second glance, yeah? It makes sense, considering her parents and all. Yep. I would have agreed with you one hundred percent, that is until she finished apprenticing on that last big trial.”
Harry furrowed his brow, looking still more confused, and squinted at Ron with an eloquent, “Huh?”
“Well, that was the final practical part of her apprenticeship, y’know? From now till she finishes, it’s just research work and then her exams, yeah? Well, when I got home from training the day her trial ended, she’d gotten an owl from her parents.” Ron leaned back and laced his fingers together, resting his hands behind his head and propping his feet up on the chair next to Harry. “That owl had brought the most fantastic biscuits I’ve ever tasted. But it was more than that Harry…you should have seen how much Hermione loved them.”
~*~
The bedroom of the small, cozy flat he shared with Hermione winked into view as Ron Apparated home after what had been one of the most grueling days of his Auror training to date. His muscles ached, his head was pounding, and the last round of defensive dueling in his final class of the day had left him feeling like his spine was permanently twisted just a bit to the left.
But he fought against his fatigue as he dropped his rucksack in the alcove near the closet door and stripped his outer robes off, tossing them into the hamper. He had to focus. He had plans…no, scratch that…he had Serious Plans. For as tired as he was, he knew that this was an important day for Hermione. Her apprenticeship in the Ministry Law Program was coming to an end and in just a few months she would be going to work in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She’d decided to follow her interest in Magical Creatures rights and was hoping to work from within the department to improve the lives of all magical beings.
Ron reflected on the things he loved most about her - her passion, her strength, her utter conviction in her beliefs, and her no-nonsense take charge attitude. Not to mention her beautiful smile, mental hair, and sinfully sexy arse. He smiled fondly as his thoughts ranged over the many different aspects of Hermione that he loved. He was a lucky man, and he knew it.
He also knew that the important case she’d been working on for the last two and a half months had concluded today, and that with it the hands-on part of her apprenticeship was now complete. She would be wrapped up in her study - the converted second bedroom of their flat - with her law texts and research papers for the remainder of her apprenticeship, but today was still a big milestone for her, and it didn’t hurt one bit that the lawyer she’d been assisting had won the case.
So. Ron had hatched a plan at lunchtime today when he’d overheard the good news about the case in the Ministry canteen. He’d decided that as soon as he could get home and clean up after training, he would order in from the new Italian place in Diagon Alley that Hermione really liked, and then wait for her to get home so they could celebrate. He usually beat her home by close to an hour, so he should have just enough time to get everything ready.
Now dressed only in his boxers, he grabbed a towel from their linen cupboard and headed for the shower, more than ready to wash away the sweat and strain of a long day. Hanging his towel on a hook, he slid his boxers down so that he could step out of them and fumbled with his other hand for the shower faucet. Soothing hot water thrummed over his aching muscles as he imagined what they could do to “celebrate” later.
A short while later, Ron finished his shower and was standing in their bedroom in denims and an unbuttoned shirt toweling his hair when he thought he heard the faintest whoosh of someone Flooing into their sitting room.
Hm…early eh? No worries.
He buttoned his blue Oxford - Hermione’s favorite - and padded downstairs barefoot. As he reached the bottom of the short flight of stairs, he took in their snug sitting room with its comfy and slightly worn couch that had been a flat-warming gift from his parents, and the small but sturdy polished end tables that had been presents from hers. The reading lamp on the nearer end table was lit, sending a warm and cheerful glow out to mingle with the reddish-orange firelight dancing from the hearth. Ron felt an intense peacefulness come over him as he gazed around the little room. It was awash with life and color, a soothing contrast to the darkening skies and splashing rain that could be seen outside the wide windows. Surprisingly, Hermione was nowhere in sight, though her bag and cloak had been thrown haphazardly on the sofa.
He sighed contentedly. They’d moved into the flat almost nine months ago, but it had rapidly become home. It was small, and often charmingly messy…usually it was filled to bursting with Hermione’s books and parchment, Ron’s brooms and training gear, and assorted family members and friends. It was small, but it was theirs. Crookshanks and Pig rounded out their little family.
Family.
The word brought up a wealth of feelings for Ron. His thoughts took a familiar turn as he headed toward the kitchen in search of Hermione, who still hadn’t appeared. He’d been thinking of the meaning of family more and more often lately, and though he loved what he and Hermione already shared, the idea of proposing, marrying her, and moving from their cozy flat to a cozy house had become his near constant companion recently. But he was stuck on how to ask her. They’d known one another so long that it had to be perfect. His stomach twisted every time he tried to come up with a plan - he couldn’t screw this up.
He set aside his anxieties for the moment, strolling into their kitchen and finally setting eyes on Hermione. She was turned away from him, standing near the sink and hunching over something cradled in her hands. He was just about to slip his arms around her waist and bend down to give her a kiss when the noises she was making stopped him in his tracks.
She was moaning and making a sort of muffled whimper. At first he worried that she was crying. But it took only a few seconds for him to recognize those sounds for what they truly were, and when he did, his face flushed, his trousers tightened, and he felt like making a few noises of his own. But he was a bit perplexed as to why she would be standing alone in their kitchen making sounds he was more used to hearing in their bedroom.
“Erm…hello, love?”
She whirled to face him, eyes widening and cheeks pinkening just the smallest bit. But those facts, which normally would have dominated Ron’s attention, hardly registered. He was totally preoccupied with the fact that his normally well-mannered girlfriend, who prided herself on her behavior, was, apparently, stuffing her face in a way that would put even him to shame.
Her cheeks were bulging and chocolate smears had mixed in with the customary ink stains on her fingers. A wide swath of crumbs dusted her jumper, and there was the smallest hint of chocolate in the corners of her mouth. A partially eaten biscuit dangled from the fingers of one hand, as she held an open tin in the other.
Now, he loved this woman…he truly did…but this was teasing ammunition of the first order. He smirked, and he could tell she knew what he was thinking because her eyes went from barely widened to the size of…well…the biscuits she was devouring.
“Rrurhn!!” She half-squeaked, half-choked. Taking a moment to swallow the large lump of biscuit, she tried again. “Ron, um…”
“Hello to you too, love. Enjoying those biscuits were you?”
She gazed at him sheepishly, holding the biscuit tin out to him. It looked like there were half a dozen or so layered in the bottom. Each biscuit was large, perfectly round, and studded with raisins and large chunks of dark chocolate. The dough seemed to be flecked through with some sort of spice and the aroma coming out of the tin immediately made Ron’s mouth water. He plucked one of the biscuits out and took a large bite, quickly losing himself in the sinfully rich flavor. He finished it in a couple of bites, closing his eyes briefly while he savored the taste. He opened them again, realizing that Hermione had been nervously chattering away while he’d been entranced by what he now knew to be the best biscuits he’d ever had.
“-and I got stuck in a committee meeting after the trial to discuss that proposed bill that could potentially restrict the importing of certain foreign magical creatures, and it was fascinating, but I just was so tired and wanted to get home and I hadn’t eaten anything since lunch so when I saw that this package had come from my parents I just-”
She stopped her dithering mid-sentence, having no other choice as Ron planted a smacking kiss on her lips. Pulling back, he said, “Love, s’alright. You’re home, I’m home…you’ve received a tin of the most amazing biscuits in creation…and besides...” He took the tin and her unfinished biscuit and set them on the countertop, then turned back to her, finally sliding his arms around her waist and bending so his lips were close to her ear, “…I’ve got plans for us tonight.”
He lightly kissed the soft skin where her jaw met her ear before shifting to look at her. She was smiling widely at him, and her eyes were twinkling brightly. She looked so beautiful, and so happy, and there was so much love in her expression that it near took his breath away. As he gazed back at her, she arched a brow and spoke teasingly, “Oh you do, do you? What kind of plans?”
“The kind that involve celebrating my brilliant girlfriend having a banner day and nearly being done with her apprenticeship…you know, the usual…a little food, a little wine...” He winked at her. “…the rest of these biscuits, and then persuading you to go to bed early so I can ravish you properly.” He leered down at her playfully as he finished his declaration, and she laughed, winding her arms around his neck and pulling herself closer to him so that now she could whisper into his ear.
“Sounds like you’ve got a very thorough schedule for the evening…but I’ve got a better idea.”
“Oh?”
“Mmm…let’s skip right to the ravishing, shall we?”
He grinned in response and pulled her in for a long, deep kiss that left them both panting when they broke apart. As soon as his head was clear enough, he Apparated them both directly into their bedroom.
“Like I said, you’re brilliant!”
~*~
Ron had gotten more absorbed than he’d intended in telling Harry the story behind his admittedly chaotic attempt at biscuit-baking. But he was pulled out of his memories by a most unusual sound.
“Lalalalalalalalala!!”
He looked at his best friend and found that the sound wasn’t merely coming from Harry’s direction, it was coming from Harry. His best mate was sitting across from him with his eyes squeezed shut, his face screwed up, and his hands over his ears. He was rocking slightly in his chair and chanting repeatedly at a frighteningly high pitch. Ron merely rolled his eyes at his friend’s behavior, and called Harry’s name. But apparently Harry couldn’t hear him, so Ron reached over and picked up a biscuit from the nearest tray.
Excellent, the extra-firm batch, he thought before lobbing it towards Harry.
“Lalalalalalala-ow!!” Harry finally was startled into stopping his rocking and chanting. He sat rubbing his forehead with one hand and glaring at Ron. “Did you have to throw it so hard, mate? Hell, did you have to bake it so hard?”
“Harry,” Ron said calmly, “Hermione and I have been together for three years now. Do you still have to do that every time I talk about our love life?”
Harry looked thoughtful, leaning back in his chair and rubbing one hand over his chin. “You know, you’re right, Ron. I was being silly. We ought to be able to talk about these things like mature adults by now. And I’ll make sure to keep that in mind next time I want to talk about how very very glad I am Ginny’s home from a long road trip.”
Ron shuddered at the thought of what such a discussion might be like and held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, point taken. Sorry if I got carried away…but I needed to tell you about that day because that’s when I finally figured out how to do it.”
“Erm…”
“Not that…blimey Harry, stop taking the piss and let me finish, will you?!”
“Sorry,” Harry muttered, and fixed Ron with a truly contrite look. Ron considered his friend carefully, and continued when he was satisfied that Harry really was sorry.
“I’ve finally figured out how to ask Hermione to marry me.”
Harry’s reaction was instantaneous. “Ron…well, that’s brilliant mate!! I know you’ve been tossing ideas around for awhile,” he paused for a moment, “but…wait…I’m still confused. What does that have to do with your adventures in baking?”
Ron sighed. “Well, that’s the thing. It was those biscuits that gave me the idea for how to ask her. I thought I’d take her away somewhere…arrange a romantic dinner…then for dessert, I’d impress her by having baked her favorite biscuits from scratch…cleverly hiding the ring underneath the biscuits.”
“Sounds like a great plan…except….” Harry trailed off, his gaze roaming around the kitchen.
“Yeah…except.” Ron sighed, once again raking his hands through his hair before finally realizing they were still covered in flour and chocolate. “Bugger!”
“Just out of curiosity, why didn’t you ask your mum to help you?”
“Ha! I thought of that, but you know Mum: she’d want to know why I wanted to learn to bake, and you know what a terrible liar I am. She’d have had it out of me in minutes, and then kept hounding me about whether or not I’d ‘popped the question’ yet…I’d go spare before I’d get to ask Hermione. Not to mention the fact that Mum’d want to know why I wasn’t using her biscuit recipe. No. That would be a total nightmare.”
“So you came here?”
“Not right away…I did think of asking Ginny, but she’d have taken the mickey out of me something fierce, and I couldn’t have gotten away without telling her why either, and she’d probably have told Hermione before I could get the chance to propose.” Ron was on a roll now. “Bill and Percy are as hopeless in the kitchen as I am, and Charlie’s not here, but I’ve only ever heard him talk about cooking over a campfire anyway. Oh, and Dad…well, let’s just say that Mum has officially, and literally, Banished him from the kitchen - for good reason.”
Harry seemed as though he was about to speak, but Ron beat him to it, quelling him with a Look of Doom.
“And before you say it, yes George has actually become quite handy in the kitchen over the last few years…but would you trust him not to mess with what you’re making?”
Harry shook his head. “Of course not…so, you’ve been…what, practicing here? On your own?”
“Mostly. I figured the house would be quiet most of the time, and I wouldn’t bother anyone. Sorry for making such a mess though, mate.”
“No worries. I’m a bit surprised though that Kreacher didn’t try to pop down and clean up after you.”
“Ah, well…” Ron trailed off, feeling the tips of his ears warm and knowing that his cursed blushing was giving him away. “About that….”
Harry quirked an eyebrow at him. “Don’t tell me…”
“Um, well…I had managed to save a small piece of one of the biscuits Hermione’s parents sent her that day, and I brought it here because I thought that Kreacher could figure out exactly what was in it, and that maybe he could teach me how to make them. Stop laughing, mate, or I’ll throw another one at you.”
“Sorry, sorry! I just can’t help imagining the look on Kreacher’s face when you showed up,” Harry said, finally managing to stifle his laughter.
“Yes, well. I’m sure that you’re spot on, but somehow I did manage to persuade him. I thought it would make things even better, y’know? If I didn’t just learn how to make her favorite biscuits, but learned how to make them from a house-elf…there’d be no way she’d turn me down.”
Ron rested his chin in one hand and looked at Harry glumly, digging the fingers of his other hand into the muck that had created a second veneer over the surface of the kitchen table. “But after the first two batches came out…erm…wrong…Kreacher wanted to give up on me. I managed to get him to stay for one more batch, but…”
“But?”
“Erm…I may have singed one of his ears…a bit,” Ron muttered, digging harder at the tabletop and studiously avoiding Harry’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to, but I lost control of the oven, and there were a few…um, flame spurts…after that, he wouldn’t even talk to me, much less help me…”
At this point Ron was forced to stop because Harry had fallen out of his chair onto the kitchen floor, holding his stomach as he shook with laughter. After a few minutes of Harry rolling around on the floor and Ron sitting and glaring at him in stony silence, Harry’s laughter finally sputtered to its end. He sat up but stayed on the floor. Looking up at Ron, he asked, “But why didn’t you go right to the source?”
“How d’you mean?”
“You said that her parents had sent the biscuits. Stands to reason her mum made them. Why not just ask Mrs. Granger?”
“I had considered that…but I thought that the whole ‘Mr. and Mrs. Granger, I’d like to ask permission to marry your only daughter’ conversation would be nerve-wracking enough without having to ask her to teach me how to bake too.”
“Well, mate,” Harry said as he finally pulled himself up and into his chair, “I don’t think you have any choice.”
They both looked around the ruined kitchen and Ron sighed again.
Bugger.
~*~
A week after his disastrous baking adventure in Grimmauld Place, Ron found himself fidgeting nervously as he walked from his Apparition point through the tidy back garden of the Grangers’ modest yet well-kept home. He’d sent an owl to Hermione’s parents the day after his conversation with Harry, asking to visit them on his own. They had sent back a courteous, if somewhat inquisitive reply, and had agreed that Saturday afternoon would be a good time. He paused about halfway to the house, standing pensively in the shelter of a small oak tree, trying to gather his thoughts.
It was with no small amount of trepidation that he’d pulled himself away from the lazy Saturday morning lie-in he was sharing with Hermione, kissing her goodbye and telling her he was off to meet Harry. He had thanked Merlin for the thousandth time that he and Harry had a longstanding tradition of late Saturday lunch at the Three Broomsticks followed by an afternoon fly. He actually did go to lunch with Harry, who’d promised to cover for him should he need an “alibi.” He’d then popped into his small office at the Ministry and changed into the smart jumper and good pair of trousers he’d stowed there on Friday.
Now he was beginning to question his sanity. Again. He would have been anxious about asking her parents for their blessing in any case, but adding to his worries was the fact that it had only been within the last year that things between them and Hermione had begun to normalize. They had had a very difficult time readjusting to life in Britain in the year after he and Hermione had found them in Australia and brought them home. The fact that Hermione had then almost immediately returned to Hogwarts for her final year had not helped matters between them.
The year after that, when Hermione had begun her legal apprentice training at the Ministry, she had taken a small flat in Muggle London not far from the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley. Ron remembered that it had allowed her to still be near the Wizarding world, and it had still been fairly easy for her to visit him at the Wheezes, where he had been helping George get back on his feet. But it had also given her the chance to keep a foothold in the Muggle world and work on rebuilding her relationship with her parents.
He thought back to the many stilted dinners Hermione had experienced in her parents’ house, and the many awkward visits they had paid to her flat. At first, Hermione had insisted on going on these visits alone, saying that she needed the time to get them to trust her again, and that it would be easier to do that if she were alone with them. Surprisingly, she and Ron hadn’t fought about that. He remembered her hesitance, and how at first she was seemingly unable to believe he wouldn’t be offended. Finally, he had sat her down and told her firmly, but sincerely, that although yes he did want to go with her and support her, if she needed to do this on her own he understood. He smiled at the memory of the snog she’d given him then. But the smile turned a bit wistful when he also remembered how often she’d turn up at the flat he’d been sharing with George over the Wheezes afterwards, just seeming completely and utterly drained. Sometimes there would be tears, but more often she’d just be very quiet. He’d sit on the sofa and hold her until she fell asleep.
He never pressed her for details, but she often told him anyway. Her parents, it seemed, had understood her explanations of why she had felt the need to keep them safe but they had had a much harder time forgiving her methods. He could still hear her voice, trembling with emotion, when she’d told him that they’d said they would always love her, but they weren’t sure they could trust her anymore. He’d wanted to go to the Grangers’ house that night, more than a year and a half ago now, and have it out with them then and there. The only things that had prevented him were the sadness in Hermione’s eyes, and the fact that she’d begged him to stay with her. He’d tucked her into his bed that night and held her close, watching her sleep as his thoughts kept him awake nearly till dawn.
Yet, slowly but surely, things had improved. He shifted his weight and leaned against the oak tree as a particular memory came to him. Things had been getting better and better between Hermione and her parents. She’d come to his flat one night after dinner with them, her eyes glowing and her cheeks pink. Her hair had been fluttering madly around her face, and Ron hadn’t been able to help reaching out and wrapping her up for a snog and a hug right there in front of George, who’d wolf-whistled at them before Flooing off to parts unknown.
She had been practically bouncing as he’d led her into his room and closed the door. He had seated himself on his bed, watching her as she’d paced back and forth, brimming with energy as she related the events of her evening.
~*~
“Oh Ron.” She turned to him, smiling in a way he hadn’t seen in ages. “I think things are going to be alright…finally…for all of us.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh yes. You know what it’s been like…how they’ve been about, well, everything…but tonight it was so different. We didn’t re-hash the past seven years yet again, and they didn’t want to go through all the things that I’ve revealed to them about what we’ve been through with Harry anymore.”
“Oh?” Things had been difficult with her parents for so long that Ron was skeptical.
“No! They said that they’ve been thinking about everything I’ve told them, and discussing it…and they still don’t like that I kept it all from them for so long, or the fact that I didn’t ask them before I did the Memory Charms-”
“Hermione, how is this good news? So far, it sounds like nothing’s changed!”
She stopped her pacing and strode over to him, sitting on the bed and taking his hands.
“But it has Ron, it has! They didn’t like the fact that I’d tried to decide for them, but they finally have accepted my apology for that and said that they understand my motives. They also told me that, that-” she struggled to continue.
Concerned, he released one of her hands so he could gently grasp her chin and tilt it up.
“They told me that they could hardly blame me for keeping them in the dark for so many years when they had been doing much the same thing.”
“Hermione, what?”
“They told me some things tonight that were very difficult to hear…about them…they’d…before I sent them to Australia they’d been having a rough go of it.” She paused to compose her thoughts and Ron watched her intently. “They’d been considering getting a divorce for about a year when I sent them away… I’d had no idea.”
Ron was quite perplexed. “Again, love, I think I’m missing something. I still don’t understand why you’re so happy about all this.”
“I’m getting there, I promise,” she smiled at him with a genuine twinkle of happiness in her eyes. “They pointed out that they hadn’t told me anything about their troubles because they’d wanted to spare me worrying about them while I was away at Hogwarts. They hadn’t wanted to tell me until they absolutely had do, thinking it would spare me the pain of going through it with them.”
“But, but that’s daft! I’m sorry, love, but it is. Expecting you to just accept it one day when they finally announced it as a done deal?”
She nodded along with him. “I know…but Ron, that’s precisely the point. They’d done the same thing I’d done…we’d all made the mistake of thinking we knew better what would help each other instead of just talking to each other. We’d all made a lot of presumptions.”
“But they’re getting a divorce!”
“Oh…no! That’s the other amazing thing…they’re not. As I said, they told me they’d been unhappy before I sent them away…but because I never knew that when I performed the charms on them and gave them their identities as the Wilkinses, I created identities of a happy couple. They spent that year together in Australia happy, Ron. You know that restoring their original memories didn’t erase the memories from that year…Memory Charms don’t work that way. So, when we brought them back here they still had those happy memories and…they said it was like they’d rediscovered their marriage. They said the whole time since, while I was finishing at Hogwarts, they’ve been rebuilding their relationship, and they’ve decided to make another go of it.” Finally running out of steam, she sat back and smiled at Ron, kicking off her shoes and curling her legs beneath her.
Ron, on the other hand, felt rather dazed by all of this. Something seemed off to him…not about the story itself as such, for, while improbable, Ron had seen the Grangers in Australia when they thought that they were Wendell and Monica Wilkins, and he had seen them in the days after Hermione had first removed the charms…judging by their behavior, he thought that it was very likely Hermione’s story was true. No, what was troubling him was her reaction to everything…she seemed so composed and calm, as though her parents hadn’t just revealed a major secret to her…as if they hadn’t been hypocritical in their treatment of her these last several months.
“Hermione, you seem so…I mean, weren’t you mad at them?”
She chuckled ruefully and ducked her head, blushing at his question. “Ah, um, yes…I, erm…had my first outburst of accidental magic since I first left for Hogwarts. Shattered all the glassware on the dining room table simultaneously. I also may have shouted at them a bit…actually the shouting came first, and it wasn’t just me…we all got a bit heated, and then the glasses exploded. And then, the strangest thing happened…we all burst out laughing. Kind of mad, really.”
“I’ll say.”
“But Ron, don’t you see? That broke the tension…and then we all talked, really talked for the first time in a long time. We agreed that it’s still going to take more hard work, but that we’d forgiven each other, and the most important thing was that we loved each other and we didn’t want to let ourselves grow so far apart again. None of us wanted to reach the point ever again where it was easier to hide things from the other two than talking about them…speaking of which…”
Ron quirked an eyebrow at her.
“…they want to know more about my everyday life in the Wizarding world…they’d really like to meet you, Harry, and Gin. You’re all invited over for dinner next week.”
He’d been gobsmacked, and more than a little nervous at the prospect, and it must have shown on his face for Hermione merely smiled at him and leaned in, brushing a kiss along his jaw and murmuring encouraging words in his ear.
Needless to say, the rest of the night had flown by.
~*~
Shaking himself out of his reverie, Ron pushed off from the tree, straightening up and dusting off the sleeve of his jumper. He moved closer to the house, taking in the scent of the flowers from the Grangers’ garden. The spring air was clean and sweet, and the different fragrances wafted towards him on the breeze. As he rounded the corner of the house and headed to the front door, a particularly strong smell of roses stopped him in his tracks. He noticed a large bank of them planted close to the house and stood still for a moment simply breathing them in. He briefly entertained the notion of asking the Grangers if he could cut a few to take back to Hermione, before remembering he was supposed to be flying with Harry right now and wouldn’t have been able to explain where the flowers had come from.
He continued on, reaching the front of the house and climbing the steps. He rang the doorbell quickly and waited nervously for one of Hermione’s parents to come to the door. He thought of that first time he’d come to dinner here, and thanked Merlin yet again that Harry and Ginny had also been invited on that particular visit. He’d been so nervous he’d knocked over a gravy boat in the kitchen after offering to help bring dinner to the table, and he still swore that he had blushed violently every time either one of Hermione’s parents had spoken to him. Having his best mate and his sister there to distract some of the Grangers’ attention had been a huge help.
But things had steadily continued to improve between Hermione and her parents, and they’d taken quite a liking to Ron as well, a fact that had both surprised and relieved him. Soon he’d become a regular guest at their weekly dinners, but he’d never come here alone before. This was entirely different, and he couldn’t stop his nerves from getting to him. His palms started to feel slightly clammy, and he wiped them discreetly along his trouser legs. This action brought his right hand against his pocket where the small box containing Hermione’s ring was nestled. He had brought it with him because he wanted to show it to the Grangers when he asked for their blessing. He wanted to show them just how serious he was about making a life with their daughter.
His train of thought was interrupted by the front door finally opening to reveal Jean Granger standing in the front hallway and smiling at him. She was a slim woman of slightly taller than average height. Her hair was dark like Hermione’s, but fell in gentle waves to her shoulders rather than the crazy curls her daughter sported. Ron noticed, once again, how many features Hermione and Jean seemed to share: from the sweep of the eyebrows to the jut of the chin, Hermione was very much her mother’s daughter.
“Ron, how good to see you! Won’t you please come in?”
“Oh, thank you Mrs. Granger,” he said, stepping into the hallway and taking a couple of steps past her as she moved to close the door. “How’ve you been?”
“Just fine, thank you,” she gestured for him to continue into the sitting room, following closely behind him. “But, pardon me if I’m a bit forward here Ron, you sounded rather…odd…in your message to us. Is everything alright with you?” She guided him towards the sofa. “Please, have a seat…would you like some tea?”
“Yes, thanks, tea would be great.”
“Lovely. I’ll just put the kettle on.” She stepped quickly from the room and headed down the short hallway that Ron knew led to the kitchen. “Just relax, I’ll be right back!”
Ron sank into the plump sofa cushions and gazed around the comfortable room, trying to calm his racing nerves. A long, low rectangular table ran in front of the sofa and beyond it two light blue wingback chairs flanked a small round table holding a lamp, a pair of coasters, and a pile of well-worn novels. It was a much more organized and orderly room than the sitting room at the Burrow, but it still had the feel of being loved and lived in. Ron had come to feel at ease here over the course of his many visits with Hermione, and he tried to call on the memory of that feeling now. He took a few slow, deep breaths and slipped his hands into his pockets, fiddling again with the ring box. He turned over what he wanted to say to the Grangers in his mind, losing track of time until he heard Mrs. Granger returning.
“Here we go,” she said, setting down a fully laden tea tray on the long table in front of the sofa and sitting in one of the wingbacks. A teapot and three cups were accompanied by a small creamer jug, a little pot of honey, a bowl with lemon wedges, and a small vase bursting with brightly colored flowers. Sitting next to all of this, Ron noticed, was a plate of the very biscuits that had started his baking woes. He sat up a bit straighter and reached out to take the cup of tea that Mrs. Granger had just poured for him.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
“You’re welcome. Now, Ron, really, you must tell me why you’ve decided to visit today. You know that Paul and I love to see you, but you seem troubled,” she paused, and seemed to hesitate before continuing, “Everything okay with you and Hermione?”
Ron looked up at that, feeling somewhat startled. “What? Oh, yes! No, no everything’s fine with us…really good, in fact. And, well, that’s part of why…um…will Mr. Granger be joining us? I really would like to talk to you both.”
Great Ron, just choke on your own tongue while you’re at it. Could you have been less coherent? Thankfully, Mrs. Granger didn’t seem to notice his distress. She turned and set her cup on one of the coasters on the round table, then reached to pluck one of the biscuits from the tray.
“Oh, Paul will be along shortly. He had to take care of a few small errands in town this afternoon, and he got a bit of a late start. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on? He’ll join us as soon as he gets back.” She smiled warmly at him and offered him the plate of biscuits. “Would you like one? Hermione loves these, and I suspect you might too.”
“Funny you should bring these up,” Ron said as he reached out and took a biscuit off the plate. “They’re part of why I’m here…”
Jean quirked an eyebrow at him in a manner so reminiscent of Hermione that if Ron hadn’t been so nervous, he would have chuckled at seeing the familiar gesture replicated in a different setting. As it was, he simply took a deep breath and tried again.
“When you sent Hermione a package of these last month, I noticed how…erm…enthusiastic she seemed to be about them. I mean she really loves these biscuits…and part of why I wanted to come here today was to ask you if you could teach me how to bake them.” He noticed that Mrs. Granger had opened her mouth to speak, but he thought it was better to get it all out in one go. “I know that seems like a strange thing to ask, but I really need to know how…and I’ve tried figuring it out on my own, but, well, that didn’t go so well, and I ended up with a singed house-elf and…” he trailed off, realizing he was beginning to babble and that Mrs. Granger seemed to be struggling to hold back laughter.
“I see. Ron, if you don’t mind my asking, why is it so important that you learn how to bake these particular biscuits?” Mrs. Granger looked at him shrewdly, and Ron had a feeling that - much like his own mother - she saw far more than he had actually revealed.
“Well, if you don’t mind…I’d actually like to wait until Mr. Granger is here to talk about that…but do you think you can help me? I’ll do whatever it takes to learn how to do this,” he said earnestly.
“I’d love to help you Ron-” she began.
“Brilliant! Thank you so much!”
“-but I can’t.” Mrs. Granger’s smile had turned apologetic, and she was just about to continue when the sound of the front door opening and closing drifted down the hallway, followed shortly by Mr. Granger’s footsteps. Ron’s heart had barely had time to sink to his shoes before Mr. Granger’s voice floated down the hall.
“Jean? You there? Has Ron arrived?”
Mrs. Granger turned towards the door, calling over her shoulder, “Yes, Paul. We’re in the sitting room…come join us for tea.”
Paul Granger rounded the doorframe and entered the sitting room. He was just a touch shorter than his wife, with an open-featured face that normally wore an easygoing expression and wire-rimmed glasses that framed his brown eyes. Unlike his wife, his hair was quite curly and he kept it trimmed short. He paused to give Jean a quick kiss before moving around to sit in the empty wingback. He greeted Ron jovially while pouring himself a cup of tea.
“Hullo there, young Ronald! Now what brings you round to our part of the world today?”
“He’s come for biscuit-baking lessons, Paul,” Mrs. Granger said with a hint of gentle amusement in her voice. “He asked me to teach him how to bake these…” she held up the biscuit she’d taken from the tray earlier. “I was just about to tell him that-”
“Erm…” Ron swallowed down the lump in his throat and put down his untouched biscuit. Mrs. Granger had stopped speaking when he cleared his throat and was waiting for him to continue. Ron looked into the two expectant faces across from him, taking heart from the traces of Hermione that he could see in them. He could do this. He would do this. He must do this.
“I was asking about that, Mr. Granger, but there’s actually another reason I’m here today; and now that you’re here, I’d like to talk to you both about it.” Ron slipped his right hand back into his pocket and curled his fingers around the ring box. “I’m not the best with words, and I don’t really know any other way to say it anyway…so I’ll just say it…” he paused and looked each of them in the eye, “…I want to ask Hermione to marry me, and I’m here today to ask you both for your blessing.”
Ron removed the ring box from his pocket and held it between both hands as he warmed up to his argument. “I know you might think we’re a bit young for this, but it’s been almost ten years since Hermione and I met, and she’s been my best friend just about from the beginning. I can’t lie, we had our rough patches growing up…some of them were really rough…and I’ve made a mess of things more often than I care to think about…but we’ve always found a way through whatever the problem was and found our way back to each other. And I know Hermione’s told you what we went through in that year before the Final Battle. I thought I’d lost my chance that night at Malfoy Manor. I thought I’d lost her…for good…and I made a promise to myself that night. I swore that if she’d just…if she’d make it…that I’d do everything I could to help her be happy and safe…even if she weren’t with me. I’ve thanked Merlin every day since then that she did choose me and that she seems to feel all the things about me that I feel about her.”
Ron paused for breath and chanced a look up at the Grangers, who had remained silent throughout his rambling declaration. He knew there was only one thing left to say.
“I made the mistake once, when we were in school, of being with someone else when I could have been with Hermione. And that, along with everything we went through during the war, was more than enough to prove to me that I never want to be with anyone else. Mr. and Mrs. Granger, I love your daughter more than anything, and I want her to be my wife. I would very much like to have your blessing.” He exhaled slowly. Now that he’d said what he’d intended to say, all of the tension left his body, making him feel like he was filled with jelly. He placed the ring box on the table next to the tea tray and sat back, waiting.
The Grangers were silent for a moment. Mrs. Granger picked up her tea, and sipped it thoughtfully, while Mr. Granger put his down and leaned forward in his chair. They exchanged a wordless, but meaningful, glance before Mr. Granger spoke.
“Well, Ron, I can’t say that we haven’t been expecting this for awhile now. As you guessed, at first we did have some concerns about how young you both are, but we also already considered many of the points you made so…passionately.” Paul stopped, and looked again at Jean, who reached out to take her husband’s hand. She then picked up where Paul had left off.
“We know how much you love her, Ron…and we certainly know how much she loves you. You have been through rather a lot together, and we feel that any two people who’ve managed to come through all that are bound to have a uniquely strong bond.” She took one more look at Paul, who nodded, and Ron felt the first pricklings of hope and giddy relief stir in his chest. “Of course you have our blessing, Ron.”
Ron smiled so widely he thought his cheeks would never stop aching. He rose to meet the Grangers, who’d both come around the table. Jean tiptoed up and kissed him on the cheek, and Paul shook his hand bracingly and clapped him on the back. Ron then showed them the ring, and they all sat back down to finish their tea, making amicable chitchat about a trip to Greece the Grangers were planning and Ron’s work at the Wheezes and the progress of his Auror training. It was only when Ron was about to say his goodbyes that Jean clapped her hand over her mouth, and let out a startled, “Oh!”
“Jean?” Paul asked curiously, “what’s the matter?”
“I almost forgot! Ron, you asked me earlier if I’d teach you how to make these biscuits.”
“Yes. Hermione loves them so much that I had this idea of making them as part of my proposal. I’ve got this plan worked out for how I want to ask her, and the biscuits…well, they’re rather important to the plan.”
“Oh Ron…It’s just that I can’t teach you. Baking has always been the one thing in the kitchen I’m hopeless at.” Seeing Ron’s shoulders begin to slump, Jean hastened on, “But don’t worry! Paul’s a brilliant baker, and these biscuits were actually his own recipe. I’m sure he’d be willing to teach you how to make them!” She smiled brightly, first at Ron, then at her husband.
Ron glanced at Mr. Granger but his attention was turned inwards, visions of him setting fire to various parts of the Grangers’ kitchen and destroying biscuit sheets, kitchen appliances, and possibly causing their oven to explode filled his mind’s eye. Still worse, he imagined Mr. Granger becoming so fed up with him that he took back his blessing. Ron was becoming so wrapped up with these increasingly nerve-wracking visions of his forthcoming baking doom that he almost missed hearing Mr. Granger agree to teach him.
“I think that would be fun, eh Ron? Can you make it back for your first lesson next Saturday, same time?”
“Sure…thank you, Mr. Granger,” Ron said weakly.
Bugger!
Part 2 HERE.