Scattered

It was a perfect afternoon. Hermione couldn't remember the last time she'd felt more complete, as the biggest thing that had been missing in her life had suddenly appeared there in the backyard of the safehouse.

In the past few weeks, it had always seemed as if even the happy moments were tainted. There were always people who should have been there, friends who should have been part of what they were doing. And those people still were missed. But for much longer, there'd been an aching gap in her heart, a feeling she'd learned to live with so well that it had become part of her, a sadness that never quite went away. On one level, knowing her parents were tucked away in safety had been a source of comfort, but an underlying cause of heartache on another. And so she'd told herself that she might never see them again, and she'd found a way to accept that. Having them here, today of all days, was like seeing a wish she hadn't dared make come true.

She looked around the yard with a smile. Charlie had pretty much earned Ron's everlasting gratitude by presenting the boys with a set of Exploding Snap cards he'd had stashed away, and they and Neville were currently engaged in a loud, boisterous match. Her father was having a quiet talk with Bill about Egypt; he'd always wanted to go there, Hermione knew, but had never been able to convince her mum to go.

Hermione watched her mother finish eating and sit back from the picnic table with a contented sigh. They'd talked all through lunch, laughing at the boys. It was the most peaceful time she'd ever spent with her mother, really, in years.

The Grangers were warm and generous people, but reserved; Hermione couldn't imagine her mother shouting at her father, the way Mrs. Weasley did at Mr. Weasley, but she knew both women loved their husbands equally. Her father wasn't so very different from Mr. Weasley, kind and unassuming, infinitely curious about the world. She listened to him now, asking Bill one question after another about Egyptian curses and tombs, soaking in every word as if he were about to embark on a magical journey of his own and was grateful for the pointers. Not so far off from Mr. Weasley, really, and his insatiable obsession with Muggle plugs, cars and gadgets.

The Weasley family had welcomed her and Harry warmly from the moment they'd first met, and Hermione had always been so very grateful for their friendship. Mrs. Weasley had treated her so kindly, always. Ginny was the closest thing she'd ever had to a sister. She hadn't known Charlie or Bill very well until recently, but they'd both made it clear that they'd long since accepted her into the fold. The twins - well, they did try her patience, but she'd grown to understand that they always tormented those they loved, and a heart of gold lurked beneath each outrageous exterior. As for Percy, he had approved of her right from the start, and truthfully Hermione had been fond of him as well, even despite his eventual estrangement from his family. She hadn't approved and had told him so, but a part of her understood: it wasn't easy being the bookish, serious one in a crowd of extroverts, and he'd been looking for his own identity. She knew it was something he felt he had to do and that he'd ultimately change his mind; the Weasleys weren't a family you could ever really break away from.

Nor had she wanted to. She loved the Weasleys dearly. When her parents had gone into hiding last year, Molly had taken great pains to make sure Hermione knew she could turn to her for anything. It had helped, to know she was so cared for. It had given her something to hang onto. But - it hadn't replaced the place in her heart where her parents belonged.

Sometimes she felt like two different people - Hermione Granger, Gryffindor, witch and excellent student, someone who lived in a world most people could never imagine in a million years, a world filled with magical creatures, evil wizards, friends beyond compare and a vast wealth of knowledge she'd been lucky enough to have been granted access to. It was wonderful, and amazing, and sometimes scary being that girl, and Hermione wouldn't have traded it for anything.

Other times, though, she was someone else. Someone Ron and Harry had never known -- Hermione Granger, the bright, precocious only daughter of two smart and sensitive parents who'd always believed in her, always been behind her, rooting her on every step of the way. Hermione, a little girl who'd gone to school and had sleepover parties and loved her grandmother's oatmeal cookies and the smell of her father's aftershave.

Hermione knew she wasn't one person or the other; they were both parts of who she was going to be, each as important as the other. But it was hard, sometimes, to reconcile everything she'd left behind.

"Is Crookshanks behaving himself?" she asked, trying to shake off the wave of strange melancholy that had accompanied her thoughts.

Her mother smiled. "He's an excellent guard cat. He gets up every morning and marches around the house and inspects every corner. I don't know what it is he's looking for, exactly, but I swear, sometimes I think I should offer him a clipboard and a pencil, so he can keep a checklist."

"He's very responsible," Hermione said. "I did ask him to take care of you both."

"Well, never fear, he's doing a very thorough job. I wouldn't know a mouse if I saw one, anymore. And he's especially vicious about spiders. I think he scared one to death the other day, just with a twitch of his tail."

Hermione frowned a little. "I'm glad. But -- he's not unhappy, is he? I don't want him to be worried all the time."

"Oh, no, dear, once the morning inspections are done, he goes off and sleeps in a sunbeam for the rest of the day, perfectly content. Don't worry. Your father keeps him stuffed with treats and buys him a new toy at least once a week. If anything, we're spoiling him rotten."

"I wasn't allowed sugar as a child, and yet you lavish treats on Crookshanks. That doesn't seem fair," Hermione joked.

There was a burst of noise as the Exploding Snap game ended. "Whoo hoo!" Ron shouted exuberantly, standing on his chair. "That's two in a row I won!"

Hermione smiled indulgently.

"You know, I think Ron's gotten taller," her mother said casually, taking a sip of tea.

"Do you think so?" Hermione asked. She felt oddly embarrassed, all of the sudden, as if Ron's height were some intimate detail she shouldn't be discussing with her mum.

Mrs. Granger nodded. "Yes. And frankly, quite as handsome as Bill, if not more so."

"Mum!" Hermione said, hearing herself laugh nervously.

"You don't agree?" her mother asked innocently.

Hermione gave her mother a suspicious look. The Weasleys were a loud, forthright family with many charms, but when it came to the art of insinuation, she thought, the Grangers took home the prize.

"I absolutely agree," Hermione said in an equally innocuous tone. "Except I think Ron is definitely handsomer than Bill. That ponytail is really rather silly."

"Hmmm," her mother replied thoughtfully. "Some women wouldn't think so."

"I've seen the old pictures of Dad with long hair, you know," Hermione said. "I find them a bit frightening, but apparently you liked it well enough."

Mrs. Granger laughed. "I did indeed." She sipped her tea again. "But I think you may be right about Ron: long hair wouldn't suit him at all."

"No, it wouldn't," Hermione agreed amicably, determined not to rise to her mother's bait.

"He looks just right the way he is."

"Yes."

"Downright fanciable, really."

"I suppose so."

"Is he a good kisser?"

"Mum!" Hermione exclaimed, shocked. She caught the smug look on her mother's face and scowled. "You're impossible, Mum."

"I think that's a yes, then."

Hermione sighed and threw her hands up in defeat. "Why do I even bother trying?"

"I don't know, dear, but it's fun, isn't it?"

"I suppose, for you," she conceded. She snuck a last look at Ron; he was much too far away and too engrossed in a new game to overhear anything they were saying. "I can't actually answer your question, though."

Her mother gave her a very skeptical look.

"It's the truth," Hermione protested. "Not, you know... yet."

Mrs. Granger smiled indulgently at her daughter. "You two, after all these years."

"Well, we're slow starters," Hermione offered lamely. "But, well, we are... together, now. It just sort of happened... officially."

Hermione looked down, embarrassed again. She heard her mother sigh and reluctantly raised her eyes, knowing that the teasing was over.

"Your father and I knew this was coming, dearest," her mother said. "You've had a crush on him for years. Don't deny it, silly girl. He's been the same about you for almost as long. But it takes boys longer to understand what it is they want, sometimes. I know it was hard on you, but I think you think he was worth the wait, don't you?"

"Yes," Hermione whispered fervently.

Her mother nodded. "I think he was too. He's a good boy with a lovely family, and he'd do anything for you. I know that. He helped us to be safe, and we'll always be grateful to him for that and love him very dearly."

"I know."

"He loves you, and that means quite a bit to us as well -- because someone who can appreciate you for the wonderful person you are, well, that's the only kind of person that deserves you, Hermione."

She felt her eyes grow wet and wiped away at the tears there before they could fall. "He's a wonderful person too, Mum. I hope I deserve him."

"I know you do," Mrs. Granger said warmly. She sighed, though, and then continued, "I can't deny that I worry a bit sometimes, though. You're just so young."

Hermione nodded. "I know. But I'd feel this way about him no matter how old I was," she said simply.

"I think that's true," her mother agreed. "Because I know that you're the kind of person who, when you give your heart to someone, it's forever. I'm happy for you, Hermione."

They were both quiet for a moment. Hermione never would have imagined that this conversation -- one she'd always known was coming, sooner or later -- would have felt not just awkward and embarrassing but oddly comforting, as well.

"I'm so glad you're here, Mum," she said finally.

Mrs. Granger reached out and smoothed a lock of Hermione's hair back behind her ears. "I am too," she said quietly. "We love you so much. You've always been such a brave and strong girl. I hope we helped that happen."

"You did," Hermione said, and reached out to take her mother's hand, squeezing it tightly and never wanting to let go.

"Hermione, you know that you can... always come home," her mother said haltingly.

She nodded, feeling miserable. "I know, Mum."

"You and Ron. If you wanted to, you could always... walk away from this. We'd welcome him into our family, just as the Weasleys have welcomed you into theirs."

This time, Hermione didn't wipe the tears away. They fell, one by one, until finally she felt her mother's arms around her, holding her close. Hermione breathed in and out, burying her face in her mother's shoulder, trying desperately to brand this moment in her memory forever. So that she'd never forget how it felt.

"I know you can't, dearest, I know. I'm sorry to have upset you," her mother continued, smoothing her hair. "But it's still something we wanted to say, to make clear, so that you would know you're never alone. We're always here for you. But... we understand. You are who you are, and you can't turn your back on that. We wouldn't have it any other way."

"Sometimes I wish I could," Hermione admitted, feeling ashamed at the thought.

"Of course," her mother said, moving back to look at her face, wiping the last tears away. "Of course you do. Bravery is when we act in the presence of fear, after all, and you're the bravest young woman I know."

Hermione couldn't speak, unable to find the words to express how she felt.

"Are you safe? All of you, here?" her mother asked softly. "That's all your father and I need to know."

"We're as safe here as we can be anywhere," Hermione answered honestly. "That's the most I can promise."

"It'll have to be enough, then."

They sat together for the rest of the afternoon and Hermione tried hard not to think of the minutes sliding past too quickly, racing towards the time when they would have to part again, for who knew how long this time. The day grew cool, though, and the sun began to set, and Hermione tried to brace herself for the inevitable.

"I can see those wheels turning in your head," her father said, sliding into the chair next to her.

Hermione's mother excused herself to freshen up; Ron offered to show her into the house. Bill, Charlie and Neville settled comfortably at the other end of the table, snacking on the leftover food and talking Quidditch in an almost nostalgic way.

"I don't know what you mean, Dad," she said quietly.

He smiled at her gently. "You're trying to think if there's some other way for us all to be together. You're thinking about suggesting we stay here with you."

She glanced up at her father, surprised.

"I know how your mind works, Hermione, better than anyone else's," he said, "because it's an awful lot like mine. But my dear girl, you know it wouldn't work. Your mother and I don't belong in the wizarding world any more than you belong in our world."

"We'd be together," she said in a whisper, knowing he was right but still clinging to an impossible hope.

"And we will be again. I'm sure of it. I've had long talks with Bill this afternoon--"

"Did he tell you what's going to... I mean, did he tell you anything?" Hermione couldn't help asking.

Mr. Granger shook his head. "All he told me was that if there's anything he knows for certain, it's that things will never be the same as they were - but that there are no absolutes. I asked him what he meant, and he told me that the possibilities for the future were endless, but that your mother and I shouldn't think of today as any different from any other time we put you on a train at King's Cross and waved good-bye. He said, where there's a will there's a way. And I agree with him. We'll see each other again."

Hermione wasn't ashamed to admit how moved she was, by what Bill had said, by her father's love, by her mother's support... and by the kindness and devotion of the person she knew had made this entire day possible.

"Is young Ronald behaving himself?" her father asked, following her thoughts.

"Yes, Dad," she told him in a teasing, long-suffering tone.

"Are you?" her father persisted.

"Dad."

"Sometimes I think you're the one I should be more worried about, that's all."

Hermione laughed, playfully swatting her father on the arm.

Ron came back into the yard and she met his eyes, then, her own still shining with unshed tears. He frowned in concern and then saw her smile. He stopped and smiled back, and her heart was almost ready to burst at the love she saw written there on his face.

Thank you, she mouthed silently, but he shook his head -- saying, she knew, that she never needed to thank him for doing what he could to make her happy.

Hermione promised herself that she'd find a way to thank him, regardless, even it meant spending the rest of her life doing so.

Her mother came back out into the yard and her father stood; Hermione joined him and the three of them came together, without a word, for a last embrace.

Charlie stepped forward and handed her father a fork with a slightly bent handle. "It's about a minute from now."

Her parents moved as one to stand where they'd materialized just a few short hours earlier. Hermione felt herself start to shake, trying desperately to remember what her father had said, to make herself believe that this was just like any other parting and that she'd see them both again, someday, someday soon.

Ron's strong arms slid around her, wrapping around her waist and pulling her back up against him, supporting her and calming her, lending her his strength. She clutched his arm gratefully, her eyes never leaving her parents as they waved good-bye one final last time.

"Behave yourself," her father teased one last time, and her mother laughed. Hermione couldn't help smiling in return, and then they were gone.

Hermione took a deep breath and wiped the last remnants of tears from her eyes. She turned in Ron's arms and stepped back from him slightly to look at the others in turn.

"Thank you," she said simply. She reached out and hugged Charlie. "Thank you for doing this for me. I hope it wasn't too much trouble."

He shook his head. "It wasn't. And besides, you keep forgetting what I told you. You're family, Hermione, no thanks are necessary."

She looked up at Ron then, trying to think of the words to express to him just what this day had meant to her. "It was a wonderful birthday, Ron. Thank you."

He blushed, surprising her. "Well, it's not exactly entirely over."

Hermione was confused. "What do you mean?"

"He means that's our cue to make ourselves scarce," Bill said, taking out his wand and, with a few quick movements, getting rid of the picnic remains and the gazebo tent. "We lads are heading out for awhile. Happy birthday, Hermione," he added, kissing her lightly on the cheek. He gave Ron's shoulder a brotherly squeeze and headed towards the house. Charlie and Neville followed suit, and soon they were alone.

Hermione gave Ron a quizzical look. "What's this about?"

Ron tried to look offended. "You've forgotten about our date?" he asked.

She felt horribly guilty; she had. "Ron, after what you did -- bringing my parents here -- I haven't been able to think of anything else."

"That's okay," he said. "Charlie did that, though."

She wasn't buying his modesty. "It was your idea."

He opened his mouth to argue, she assumed, but then seemed to think better of it. "Well, I knew they weren't going to let Ginny come. And then I was thinking... you didn't ask for your parents because it probably never occurred to you that it was possible. But when I told Charlie I was your parents' Secret-Keeper and knew where they were, he said it was. While you were volunteering at the library yesterday, we Apparated to -- well, where your parents live now. Actually, Charlie had to Side-Along Apparate, it was wicked," he added with a grin. "Anyhow, he fashioned a portkey for them to come here today, and then he made the one for them to return. It was easy, really."

"It was still the best birthday present anyone's ever given me."

Ron smiled widely. "Guess I shouldn't have bothered to get you an actual gift as well, then," he teased.

"You certainly needn't have," Hermione murmured politely.

He laughed. "You're so very well-mannered, Miss Granger, but I know you're dying to know what I got you."

She laughed with him; it was useless to deny, especially when for years she'd opened every one of his gifts with a mixture of nervous anticipation and glee.

Ron reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wand. "Just give me a moment," he said, taking a few steps away to stand in the center of the yard. "Amor Celebritas," he said, with a circular wave of his wand.

Hermione stood nearby, her eyes wide with wonder. As Ron's wand came to a completed circle, their small backyard was transformed. Twinkling lights were scattered throughout all of the bushes and trees and the air was slightly warmer, with a light wind still breezing by in the most wonderful way. A wooden swing for two appeared off to one side, with thick cushions and a blanket. Almost at her elbow there was a tiny, ornate table holding two lovely long-stemmed goblets filled with what she guessed was champagne, and a somewhat large square-shaped package, wrapped inexpertly.

He frowned. "I couldn't get the wrapping part quite right."

"Are you joking?" she said breathlessly. "Who cares? Ron, this is beautiful."

He shrugged shyly and picked up the goblets, passing one into her hands. "I know that turning eighteen is a bigger deal for Muggles than it is for wizards," he said. "Or at least that's what Harry told me once. So, happy birthday," he said, tipping his glass to clink against hers.

Hermione took a small sip, enjoying the feel of the champagne more than the taste, really. "You just be careful, there," she teased. "Now that we know you can't hold your liquor."

Ron groaned. "I'm never going to live that down."

"Oh, no. Bill filled me in on what a mess you were the rest of the night. Also I've heard you're going to have to suffer through the effects all on your own next time. I think that's a splendid idea," she said, grinning.

"You're cruel," he said. "But even I can handle one glass of this stuff." He set his champagne down, though, and picked up the wrapped gift, holding it out to her. "Any guesses?"

Hermione set down her own glass and took the gift from him. It was heavy; she smiled. "Well, it's obviously a book," she said, and began removing the wrapper. "You do know what I like best."

"That's true," he said, smiling somewhat smugly.

She tore through the last of the paper and froze, whatever teasing words she had been about to say lost to her.

"I'm sorry you had to go this long without it," he said.

Hermione ran her fingers lovingly over the embossed title, again and again.

Hogwarts, a History.

She was unable to resist opening up the book and flipping through the pages, just needing to make sure it was the same beloved text, and it was, it was.

"After we left your parents, Charlie and I took a little detour into Diagon Alley. Flourish & Blotts is still there; I thought that you'd be glad to hear that," Ron added.

Hermione gasped, reaching out and grabbing Ron's arm. "You shouldn't have -- Ron, that was ridiculously dangerous. I can't believe you risked being seen--"

"Charlie did a glamour charm on me, and one on himself -- made the spell Bill taught us look like baby stuff," he said quickly, trying to reassure her. "I looked like a completely different person. I swear. You wouldn't have known me. Or Charlie."

She sniffed. "I still think it was frivolous."

Ron was determined. "Charlie had Order business there. He wouldn't tell me what it was, but I think he was meeting a contact. So he had to make the trip anyhow."

"But you didn't have to!" she said heatedly. "You could have been hurt or... and just for a silly book!" She immediately regretted her words, hating the way she knew she sounded, berating him as if he'd done something wrong instead of something thoughtful and wonderful. "I'm sorry," she whispered, moving forward to bury her face in his chest. "You know I love it. It's just that I wouldn't be able to stand it if something were to happen to you."

He held her for a moment and then gave her a gentle squeeze. "Nothing's going to happen."

"You can't know that."

He stayed firm. "I do know that we were perfectly safe in Diagon Alley. I swear it." He sighed. "Hermione, love, I understand, though, I do. But let's not think about any of that right now."

She nodded and set her book down carefully. "Thank you," she whispered, going up on tiptoe to kiss him softly on the cheek.

Ron smiled and, with a quick flick of his wand, music filled the yard again. This time the song was soft and low, and after listening for a moment, Hermione laughed delightedly. "How did you know I loved this song?" she asked wonderingly.

"Your father told me," he said, and held out his hand. "Will you dance with me?"

She didn't need to answer and simply stepped forward into his arms, wrapping her own around his neck and turning to rest her cheek against his chest. His hands were warm on her back and when they began to move together it was more of an embrace than a dance, really; they were only barely swaying to the music. Hermione closed her eyes and reveled in the feeling of being wrapped up in him.

"What else did my father tell you?" she couldn't help asking.

Ron laughed silently; she could feel it softly rumbling through her own body. "Oh, he told me how much he and your mother liked me, and how glad they were I was here with you and how grateful they were about the whole Secret-Keeper thing. And then a nice long bit about how relieved he was that you were dating a boy they knew would respect you and who they could trust. You know, all the usual things a father tells the boy he suspects has been imagining his daughter naked."

"Stop it," she said, trying not to laugh. She leaned back in his arms and glared at him, somewhat unconvincingly, however.

"You asked."

"You're just lucky I didn't tell him where you've been sleeping," Hermione said, grinning mischievously.

Ron blanched.

She smiled and leaned back against his chest. "Don't worry. My parents love you."

"I'm glad," Ron said, and she knew he meant it.

"I love you, too," she said softly.

Ron pulled slightly away from her again, her hands sliding up to her shoulders. "I know."

He brought his hands up to cup her face tenderly. Her eyes drifted closed just as his lips met hers, a soft, warm caress. She pressed herself up against him and he kissed her again, and again, one kiss blending into another until it seemed as if his lips never left hers, never stopped. She felt as if her feet had left the ground and he moved to bury one hand in her hair and rest the other on her back, anchoring her to him.

"Ron," she murmured, breathing him in.

Her lips parted naturally and his tongue found hers, softly, adoringly, not invading her mouth but as if he'd found a lost treasure and never intended to let it go. She smiled even as he continued to kiss her, catching her lips between his own one last time.

"What?" he whispered, smiling in return.

"Nothing," she said. "Nothing at all... just..." She shrugged, unable to express how happy she was. She lowered her arms and wrapped them around his waist, never wanting to let go.

He grinned and leaned his forehead against hers, his hands trailing up and down her arms. They stood that way for awhile, with the music floating over the nighttime air and the white lights sparkling in the trees above them.

"I know I wasn't the first boy to kiss you," Ron said finally. "And you weren't the first girl I ever kissed either. And I'm sorry about that."

She smiled and shrugged, then leaned up to cover his mouth with hers, lightly, whispering against his lips, "It's okay."

"It is because... Hermione..." he said, smiling at her so softly that her breath caught in her throat, she was so overcome by him, "you may not have been the first, but I promise you'll be the last."