The Final Reckoning

Chapter Thirty-Three: The Grangers

Harry had been pacing for fifteen minutes, alone in the common room, when Ginny and Mrs. Tonks appeared on the girls' staircase.

'Hello, Harry,' said Mrs. Tonks warmly as she descended the staircase, with Ginny just behind.

'Hi, Mrs. Tonks,' said Harry, his agitation rising at the sight of her.

'Harry, are you okay?' said Ginny, seeming to sense his distress almost at once.

'We need to talk,' he said, not caring that he might sound rude.

Ginny and Mrs. Tonks exchanged looks; Mrs. Tonks seemed unfazed by Harry's abrupt manner.

'I'll leave you two alone,' she said, still smiling. 'Happy Christmas to you both. Ginny, I'm sure we'll see each other before next term.'

'Happy Christmas,' said Ginny and Harry together, as Mrs. Tonks left the common room.

'What's up?' Ginny asked, the moment Mrs. Tonks had gone.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, and suddenly found he didn't know what to say.

How on earth could he broach this subject?

So, Ginny, I was heading back here and I saw Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson arguing and they were talking about you. Did you know that when Malfoy is shagging Pansy he's imagining it's you instead?

'Harry?' said Ginny.

'I saw something,' said Harry, steeling himself. 'On my way back here. I didn't mean to...it wasn't intentional...' His voice trailed off and he took a deep breath.

'I saw Malfoy and Pansy talking,' said Harry. 'Arguing, actually.'

'So?' said Ginny. 'They argue a lot. Malfoy told me.' She winced. 'I probably shouldn't have mentioned that.'

'He hasn't told you what they argue about, I'll bet,' said Harry, not wanting to even think about Malfoy and Ginny in a training session, with Ginny's hands on him...

'Well, no,' said Ginny. 'I suppose he'd tell me if he felt like it, but it's not my place to pry.'

Harry felt his anger rising.

'They were arguing about you, Ginny,' he said. 'Malfoy was trying to convince Pansy to let him stay with her for Christmas and when she refused he...he said he could always stay with your family and me.'

Ginny started to speak, and then paused, considering. 'Well,' she said, 'I suppose if Malfoy had nowhere else to go...not that the thought is remotely pleasant--'

'That's not all he said,' said Harry darkly. 'He accused Pansy of being jealous and--' Harry took another deep breath--'he said that whenever he...he has sex with Pansy he's thinking about you.' Harry bit out the last words and felt bile in his throat again.

Ginny blanched. 'Oh,' she said, biting her lip. She looked down at her feet.

'Ginny,' said Harry, 'I don't want you working with him anymore.'

'What?' she said, her head snapping up, her eyes sharp. 'What do you mean, you don't want me working with him anymore? It's not your decision. It's up to Mrs. Tonks--'

'Then I'll speak to her,' said Harry forcefully. 'I mean it, Ginny. This...this is beyond acceptable, okay? Malfoy's obsessed with you and the longer you work with him the worse it's going to get--'

'You can't just determine how I'm to be trained!' Ginny protested. 'For your information, Harry, as loathsome as I find Draco Malfoy he hasn't bothered me once since that night in the kitchen. The only time we see each other is in sessions. And if you think he tries anything in there you're wrong, because Mrs. Tonks is there and she'd never let Draco get away with anything--'

'That's not the point, Ginny!' Harry yelled, grabbing her by the upper arms. 'You weren't there, you didn't see it. Malfoy...he's dangerous. I know he is. Maybe he's not working for the Death Eaters anymore but he's completely messed up and I don't want him spending time around you. Not when you have to get inside his head all the time and absorb...whatever mad emotions he's feeling.'

'Harry, you don't understand,' said Ginny, shaking her head. 'If it weren't for Malfoy I wouldn't have made this much progress. Mrs. Tonks was right--working with someone I can't stand has helped me. I wouldn't be so in control right now, we couldn't be as close as we are--'

'Are you saying,' Harry interrupted, looking stricken, 'that the reason you and I were able to...to be close like that is because of Malfoy?'

Ginny let out a breath and bit her lip again. 'In a manner of speaking, yes,' she said.

Harry let go of her arms and threw his hands up in the air.

'Jesus, Christ, Ginny, do you have any idea how fucked up that sounds?' he shouted.

'Don't yell at me!' Ginny snapped. 'Don't you dare speak to me like that!'

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but he saw the anger flashing in her eyes, the rigidness of her stance, the set to her jaw, and he backed down. He didn't want to fight with her. He hadn't meant to yell. But he had to make her see...

'Ginny, please,' he said, his voice soft and pleading. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell. Just hear me out, okay? I've never in my life been afraid of Malfoy. Never. Until I saw what I saw tonight. And I'm not trying to be a jealous boyfriend and I'm not saying you can't take care of yourself. I've seen you take care of yourself and it's a bit scary, okay? And I'm not trying to get in the way of your training. But the way he was acting...he is obsessed with you, Ginny. This isn't just some unrequited love thing. Pansy knows all about it, she knows he's mad over you, they were fighting about it and he nearly hit her. He said he hated us. Both of us. And then...god, he attacked her and I thought he was going to rape her right there in the bloody classroom but then...she went along with it, Ginny. She was...begging...she went along with it, and...it was sick.'

Ginny looked at him for a long moment; she licked her lips and let out a breath.

'And...you think he was...thinking of me?' she said at last.

'I know he was,' said Harry. 'He hates you, but he wants you, and he's using Pansy to feed whatever sick ideas he's got in his head about you. And I don't like that one bloody bit, okay? I guess I am being an overprotective boyfriend.'

'Harry...I can't stop training with him,' Ginny whispered. 'Not yet.'

Harry started to protest, but Ginny put a finger to his lips.

'I don't want to fight with you,' she said, her eyes filling with tears. 'Can we compromise?'

'How?' said Harry, realizing he had lost this battle.

'You train with me,' she said. 'I was going to have to ask you eventually, anyway.'

'Really?' said Harry. 'But I thought...Mrs. Tonks said I had enough to deal with, or something--'

'You do have enough on your plate,' said Ginny, 'but I suppose Dumbledore wanted you and I to work together eventually, when I got my powers more under control. He thought, and Mrs. Tonks thinks, that I might be able to help you...down the road. When you...face him again.'

'What about Malfoy?' said Harry.

'I have to work with him,' said Ginny, 'but Mrs. Tonks was planning on cutting back the sessions, anyway. So I won't see him as often.'

'I don't like it,' said Harry.

'I don't, either,' said Ginny. 'Look, Harry, if you want, you can escort me to and from the sessions.'

Harry considered this; he wasn't going to convince Ginny to go along with ceasing the training sessions with Malfoy altogether, but he could at least be a presence before and afterward.

'Harry?'

'Sorry,' said Harry. 'Okay,' he added. 'And I want your blessing to hex the crap out of him if I ever see him bother you.'

Ginny rolled her eyes and shook her head. 'I thought you said I could take care of myself.'

'I know you can,' said Harry, 'and Malfoy knows you can. But maybe I want him to know I don't really like him mooning over my girl.'

'Now you're being territorial,' said Ginny, putting her hands on her hips.

'Sue me,' said Harry, grinning. Ginny smiled and shook her head again.

'I'd rather kiss you, you pillock,' she said, and she did, and Harry put his arms around her and forgot that only a few moments ago, they'd been arguing. This was so much better.

'Oi! Stop mauling my sister, would you?' said a familiar voice.

Harry pulled away from Ginny.

'Hi to you, Ron,' he said. 'Hermione.'

Ron looked at Harry, and then at Ginny, and grimaced. 'Maybe there's some spell that gives me a warning so I don't have to walk in on you two.'

'Honestly, Ron,' said Hermione, rolling her eyes at him affectionately.

'Time to go,' said Ron, clearly changing the subject. 'Knight Bus is here.'

'Oh, goodie,' said Harry sarcastically. 'My favorite mode of transportation.'

'Stan Shunpike will be delighted to see you again, 'Arry,' said Hermione cheekily.

'I can hardly wait.'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The four of them loaded themselves onto the Knight Bus; the final stop would be, according to Stan--who was, indeed, delighted to see Famous 'Arry Potter again--the phone booth just outside the Ministry of Magic. From there, Harry and Ginny would meet Mr. Weasley and they would Floo to Order Headquarters; Ron and Hermione, meanwhile, would Apparate at an appointed time to a quiet cul-de-sac in Hermione's neighbourhood where they would be met by none other than Kenneth Towler and Nymphadora Tonks.

The Knight Bus was empty save for the four of them; Ron and Hermione quickly sat down on a bed and clung to the rail bars along the sides of the bus. Ginny and Harry were about to do so when Stan shouted 'Take it away, Ern!', and the driver, Ernie Prang, jerked the bus into gear and it shot out of Hogsmeade Village like lightning.

Ginny squeaked as she and Harry were hurtled backwards onto a bed; Harry landed on top of her and they both grunted.

''Ere, none of that!' said Stan, wagging a finger. 'Public displays of affection are prohibited on the Knight Bus, thank you very much.'

'Thanks,' said Harry sarcastically, pulling himself off Ginny. 'I'll keep that in mind.' He looked down at Ginny. 'You okay?'

'Fine,' said Ginny, pulling herself up to a sitting position. The bus raced south so fast the scenery was nothing but a white blur. Ron looked faintly green and would occasionally put his head between his knees as Hermione rubbed his back and spoke softly to him.

'Next stop, Stratford-on-Avon!' Stan shouted, and just then Ernie lurched the bus to a screeching halt; Harry and the others were dumped unceremoniously onto other beds. Ron groaned and opened a window.

'Are you mad?' Stan shouted, as the bus doors opened. 'It's below freezin' outside, it is!' He started to shut the window. Ron slapped his large hand over Stan's and glared at the conductor.

'If you don't want me tossing my lunch all over you and this fine vehicle, leave the bloody window open.'

Stan sniffed and backed away. 'No need to be rude,' he said, and suddenly a group of about a dozen witches and wizards filed onto the bus. They were all colourfully dressed in Elizabethan costumes and several appeared to be reciting poetry that sounded vaguely familiar. Behind them was a massive trunk that was so large Harry wondered if more people were hiding in it.

'"To be, or not to be, that is the question",' said one very tall wizard with a stentorian voice. He frowned, cleared his throat, and recited the same line again.

An elderly witch with white hair glided past them next; she had a hand to her forehead and was moaning. '"Oh, Hamlet! Thou hast cleft my heart in twain"!'

'Hey, that's Shakespoo, isn't it?' said Ron, grinning.

At this all the witches and wizards--half of whom were filing up the stairs to the second deck--stopped, gave a collective gasp, and turned to stare at Ron.

Hermione groaned and put her head in her hands.

'That,' said the stentorian wizard, 'is Shakespeare, young man. One of the greatest playwrights to ever live. One of England's rarest and most precious treasures, who wrote poetry and prose of such exquisite and unparalleled beauty and--'

'"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day"?' Ron interrupted, sounding annoyed. '"Thou art more lovely and more temperate; rough winds do shake the darling buds of May"...you know, I've heard of Shakespeare, okay? I just...never remember his name, exactly.'

Hermione was staring at Ron; Harry burst out laughing.

'What?' said Ron.

'Well,' said the stentorian wizard, looking at Ron haughtily, 'it seems you are not as ignorant as I thought.'

'Gee, thanks,' said Ron sarcastically.

'Now, now, Nigel,' said the elderly witch. 'It is a rare thing, indeed, for a wizard so young to know any Shakespeare by heart at all.' She beamed at Ron, and by now Harry was laughing so hard he could hardly breathe, and tears were streaming down his face. Ginny was covering her giggles behind her hand. Hermione was still staring at Ron.

'Next stop, Covent Garden!' Stan yelled, and before anyone could take the necessary precautions, the Knight Bus burst away again, and several of the Elizabethan-clad witches and wizards went tumbling. The elderly witch landed squarely on Ron's lap.

'Oh!' she cried. 'Terribly sorry, young man. What did you say your name was?'

She didn't seem to be in any hurry to get off Ron's lap.

'Er, Ron Weasley,' said Ron uncomfortably. Hermione had lost her look of surprise and was giving the elderly witch a very amused look.

'A Weasley!' she cried, still sitting on his lap. 'You don't say! Ron Weasley. I assume that's short for Ronald. I'm Imogen Stanton. Delighted to make your acquaintance. Do you know, I knew your uncle, Bilius! Such a lovely man. A bit eccentric, but otherwise delightful. A terrible tragedy, him dying the way he did.'

'Er, right,' said Ron. 'Um...if you don't mind, I...I need to, er, move...'

'Oh!' said the witch, and she climbed off Ron's lap. 'You must forgive me. It's not often a woman of my age has the privilege of sitting on the lap of such a handsome young man.'

Ron's ears went bright red. The corners of Hermione's mouth twitched.

Harry fell over, clutching his sides, which were in pain from his laughing. Ginny buried her head in her hands as her shoulders shook.

'Excuse me,' said Hermione, to the stentorian wizard called Nigel. 'Are you actors?'

'Of course we're actors,' said Nigel impatiently. 'I am Nigel Harrington-Smith. Perhaps you've heard of me?'

Harry and the others looked at him, then at each other, and shook their heads.

Nigel sighed. 'Youth these days. They all know who Celestina what's-her-name is but they couldn't pick out a theatre actor if their lives depended upon it.'

He gave Hermione a haughty look. 'We're a travelling group. Bringing the magic of classic English theatre to the wizarding world of Britain. We open in London in two days.'

'Why can't you lot just Apparate or Floo to wherever you need to go?' Ron asked. 'I mean, I thought the Knight Bus was for emergencies.'

'Well, we would have,' said Imogen, 'but the Ministry has restricted the Floo network, haven't they? All times have to be pre-arranged and there are such inconvenient security measures. Ever since...You-Know-Who came back. And Portkeys are nearly impossible to come by. And Apparating--'

'Not all the members of our company have licenses for Apparating,' said Nigel, lowering his voice and casting his gaze over to a short, stout wizard with a beard, who was taking nips from a silver flask. 'That,' said Nigel, 'is our Polonius. Drunk as a skunk most hours of the day, but a fine enough actor, all told. He's taken the Apparition test over a dozen times and has never passed it.'

'You will come to see the play, won't you?' said the elderly witch, smiling at Ron, whose whole face was the shade of a ripe tomato.

'I love Shakespeare,' said Hermione, smiling. 'Hamlet is one of my favourite plays. We'd love to see it.' She took Ron's hand for emphasis.

'We would?' said Ron, looking appalled.

'Oh, is this lovely young man your boyfriend?' said Imogen, smiling at Hermione.

'Yes,' said Hermione, smiling back.

'Well, you're a very lucky young lady,' said Imogen, patting Ron on the cheek. 'He reminds me of my late husband, rest his soul. I've always had a soft spot for the redheads.'

'Oh, yes, redheads are quite lovely,' Hermione agreed. Ron put his head in his hands and looked like he wanted to crawl under the beds and hide.

'COVENT GARDEN!' Stan cried out, and the bus screamed to a halt, sending several people flying.

After a few minutes of untangling limbs and much confusion, the troupe of actors filed off the bus, followed by their huge trunk, which Nigel levitated. He gave a curt nod to Harry and the others.

Imogen, meanwhile, pinched Ron on the cheek affectionately.

'You take good care of your young lady,' she said, and then she turned to Harry and Ginny. Instinctively, Harry flattened his fringe over his scar. 'Oh! And this must be another Weasley? Are you his sister?'

Ginny straightened out her face and put on her best smile. 'Yes, I'm Ginny Weasley.'

'Oh, jolly good!' said Imogen. 'And who is this fine young man?'

'Neville Longbottom,' said Harry.

'Aw, that's not true,' said Stan, shaking his head. 'He's--'

'Imogen!' said Nigel impatiently.

'Oh, very well,' said Imogen. 'Good night, good night. It's a shame I'm not younger, Ronald. Your young lady would have some competition!'

Ron let out a very uncomfortable laugh and waved weakly as the old witch hurried off the bus and into the dark London street.

Harry, who'd put himself in a state of physical pain at laughing silently, let loose with a howl of laughter the moment the bus doors closed; he was joined by Ginny and Hermione.

'Next stop, Ministry of Magic!' Stan bellowed, and the bus took off again. Everyone fell over, and Harry, Ginny and Hermione were still laughing.

'Oh, mate,' Harry wheezed. 'That was bloody priceless!'

'Since when do you know poetry, Ron?' said Ginny, wiping tears of mirth from her face.

'Yes, since when?' said Hermione.

'What?' said Ron defensively. 'I got you that book of sonnets, didn't I? I may have...read it a few times. It's not so bad, actually, some of that stuff.'

Harry, Ginny and Hermione gaped him.

'Now I know I'm on another planet,' said Ginny. 'My brother's reading and reciting romantic poetry.'

Hermione's face broke into a smile. 'I think it's lovely,' she said, taking Ron's hand. He was staring resolutely at the floor and his ears were still crimson.

'Oh me, too,' said Harry, nodding fervently and grinning. 'Can you recite one for me, Ronnie?'

Ron made a very rude hand gesture, which caused Hermione to say, 'Ron!'

'MINISTRY OF MAGIC!' Stan roared, and the bus hurtled to a stop.

Harry was still chuckling to himself as they filed off the bus and it screeched off into the evening with a bang; he only stopped when Ron swatted him, hard, on the back of the head.

'Ow!' Harry grunted. 'Prat.' He punched Ron in the arm with a laugh.

'Ow,' Ron hissed. 'Git.' He gave Harry a shove.

'Tosser,' Harry retorted, shoving back.

'Boys,' said Hermione and Ginny together, shaking their heads, as Harry and Ron began to wrestle. Ron got Harry in a headlock when there were two loud pops.

'Ah,' said Mr. Weasley, 'I see the young men here are being their usual mature, grown-up selves.'

Remus Lupin stood just behind Mr. Weasley, smiling.

'Er, hi, Dad,' said Ron, letting Harry out of the headlock. Harry winced and cricked his neck; Ron was stronger than he was and had a brutal grip.

'Hi, Mr. Weasley,' said Harry. 'Professor--I mean, Remus.'

'Hello, boys,' said Mr. Weasley. 'And girls,' he added, hugging his daughter and Hermione. 'Remus is going to take Ron and Hermione to the designated Apparition point; you two will come with me. We're on a tight schedule, I'm afraid, so...'

'Right,' said Harry, and he turned to Hermione. He felt a lump form in his throat. The girl who was like a sister to him was, nonetheless, taking the boy who'd become his brother away from him for Christmas for the first time since they had met. Really taking Ron away. Harry suddenly hated the idea of not spending Christmas with Ron. He saw tears shimmering in Hermione's eyes, and the apology written there, and he knew she understood what he was feeling. And he couldn't blame her for what was happening, even if it stung.

She hugged him tightly as Ron embraced Ginny.

'Be good,' Harry heard Ron murmur to his sister.

'Never,' said Ginny, a smile in her voice.

'We'll miss you, Harry,' said Hermione as she clung to Harry. 'But we'll be back together soon.'

'Take care of yourself,' said Harry, and he meant it. Hermione pulled away, and moved to hug Ginny, and Harry and Ron stood apart, glancing at one another.

'So...' said Harry.

'Have a good Christmas,' said Ron, haltingly.

'I will,' said Harry, with more conviction than he felt. 'Have fun with the Muggles, yeah?'

'I'll try,' said Ron, shrugging, and finally, he looked directly at Harry. 'Listen...Harry...'

His voice trailed off. Harry knew exactly what Ron meant to say.

I'll miss you too, mate.

'I know,' said Harry.

Ron nodded, and held out his hand. Harry took it, but then they hugged quickly, in the manner of young men, and broke apart. Harry looked up at Ron.

'Be careful,' he said.

'You, too,' said Ron.

'Ron, Hermione, it's time to go,' said Lupin softly. Ron cleared his throat and gave Harry a nod.

Then he turned and hugged his father.

'See you soon, Dad,' he said, and he pulled away.

'Owl your mother,' said Mr. Weasley. 'Frequently.'

'I will,' said Ron.

'We have to go, Ron,' said Lupin gently.

Ron looked at Harry again, and then nodded at Lupin before he took Hermione's hand. They both waved to Harry before following Lupin down the street; Harry, Ginny and Mr. Weasley watched as they turned into an alley. There were three sharp pops, and Harry knew Ron and Hermione were gone.

'Let's be off, then, shall we, Harry?'

'Sure,' said Harry, feeling heavy of heart. He followed Mr. Weasley and Ginny into the beat up phone box that would take them into the Ministry and one of the fireplaces.

'They'll be okay, Harry,' said Ginny, taking his hand and giving it a light squeeze. He felt a flood of reassurance enter him, and he smiled weakly at her.

'They'd better be,' he said.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ron clutched Hermione's hand as they made their way from what was clearly someone's back yard into the softly lit street up ahead.

It was a pleasant looking street, with neat, elegant row houses that spoke of financial comfort, if not outright wealth.

'Where are we?' Ron asked, gazing at the street sign.

'Tennyson Street,' Hermione whispered.

'I know that,' Ron whispered back. 'I meant...where in London are we?'

'Uxbridge,' said Lupin. 'The Grangers live at the other end of the road.'

'Let's go, then,' said Ron anxiously, not keen to stand around on a Muggle street in the dark, even if it did look like a friendly, welcoming sort of neighbourhood.

'Not yet,' said Lupin, checking his watch. 'We're just a bit early. We've got two minutes before Tonks and Kenneth arrive. They'll be escorting you.'

'I'm sure we can walk down the street just fine,' said Hermione.

'We'll wait here,' said Lupin firmly, in a tone that brooked no argument. Hermione and Ron both fell silent, and for the next minute and a half, Ron felt every second passing. He was so lulled by the relative quiet of the street that when Kenneth and Tonks arrived with two loud cracks in the air, Ron jumped slightly.

'Easy, Ron, it's just us,' said Tonks, grinning. 'Everything okay, Remus?'

'Everything's fine,' said Lupin, smiling at her and giving her a very quick hug. 'I'm heading back to headquarters. Someone has to feed Buckbeak.'

He took Tonks's hand and gave it a squeeze before he Disapparated.

'Right, you two,' said Tonks, turning her attention to Ron and Hermione. 'Let's go.'

Kenneth Towler nodded to them both.

'We'll have to carry your stuff manually,' he said, and he picked up one end of Ron's trunk. Ron caught the other end and clutched Pigwidgeon's cage in his free hand, as Tonks and Hermione struggled with her trunk and Crookshanks' cage.

It wasn't a long walk to the end of the street, and yet their progress was slow, not only because of their luggage, but because Tonks and Kenneth made a point of checking every shrub, every corner, every alleyway very carefully. By the time they reached Number 26, Tennyson Street, they had been walking nearly ten minutes.

'All clear,' Tonks said briskly, and she marched smartly up to the front door and rapped on it with her knuckles, and then pressed a button next to the door, which caused a faint but noticeable chiming to come from somewhere inside the house.

It was nearly half a minute before Ron heard footsteps approaching the door, and they were noticeably cautious.

'Yes?' came a female voice from behind the door.

'Tonks and Towler,' said Tonks briskly. 'We're here to talk about the bridgework along the upper right central.'

'What?' Ron muttered, casting a confused look at Hermione, but before she could answer, Mrs. Granger's voice floated through the door.

'The upper right central, are you sure?' she said.

'Oh, damn,' said Tonks, in a strangely flat, almost rehearsed sounding voice. 'Of course. I meant the upper right cuspid.'

Ron gave Hermione a bewildered look as the sound of a doorknob turning hit his ears.

'Password,' Tonks explained.

'Dentistry terms,' Hermione elaborated.

Suddenly the doorstep and the four of them were bathed in light. He turned his attention to Mrs. Granger.

'Come in,' she said, looking fondly at Hermione.

The four of them hustled quickly into the house; Hermione was snatched up by her mother, who hugged her tightly.

'I'm fine, Mum,' said Hermione, sounding as though Mrs. Granger was cutting off her air supply just slightly.

'I know,' said Mrs. Granger, her eyes welling with tears. She released her daughter and looked at Ron with a watery smile.

'Welcome, Ron,' she said, and she pulled him into a tight hug. Ron went red in the face and hugged her back.

'Thanks for bringing them,' said Mrs. Granger, as she pulled back from Ron and addressed Tonks and Kenneth.

'Our pleasure,' said Tonks. 'We're around until morning.'

She turned to Ron and Hermione.

'No heroics,' she said sternly. 'If anything happens, send out some red sparks and we're here in a flash.'

'Right,' said Ron, and his hand immediately went inside his robe pocket for his wand.

'Mrs. Granger,' said Tonks, 'about that...er...rifle--'

'Rifle?' said Hermione, looking horrified.

'What's a rifle?' Ron asked.

'It's a type of very large gun,' said Hermione, her voice a bit shaky. 'It's a deadly weapon.'

'I know you don't think we should have it, Tonks,' said Mrs. Granger, ignoring her daughter for the moment, 'but Warren insists, and he's spent the last three months practicing.'

Tonks was looking at Mrs. Granger with sceptical eyes; clearly, whatever this rifle thing was, Tonks didn't like the idea of the Grangers having one, but in the end, the young Auror nodded.

'Fine,' she said. 'Just be careful with it. We're off.'

Tonks gave Ron and Hermione quick hugs; Kenneth nodded to them both, and they went out the front door to start their patrolling shift.

The moment the door clicked shut behind Kenneth Hermione whirled on her mother.

'Dad bought a rifle?' she asked, her voice shrill.

'Hermione,' said Mrs. Granger, in a tone full of warning. 'Before you fly off the handle, you should know it hasn't been easy for either of us...dealing with...whatever this is. We don't have your skills, darling, and as much as we appreciate the...security system your people have worked out for us, we don't like feeling defenseless. So yes, your dad bought a rifle.'

Hermione bit her lip and looked at her mother sadly; Ron was immensely curious to know just what a rifle was, but somehow, now didn't seem like the time to ask. Clearly it was some sort of Muggle weapon. He stepped out of the way to let Hermione hug her mother again, and let his eyes take in the rooms surrounding him.

It was clear that the Grangers were comfortably well off, if not wealthy. Everything about the decor of the house suggested elegance, without extravagance. The floors were polished hardwood; there was a small but beautifully appointed fireplace in the living room, which was decorated with a curious but stylish mixture of feminine, floral chairs and a decidedly masculine leather sofa. Several bizarre but interesting paintings lined the walls; Ron noticed that only one of them seemed to have any sort of recognizable shapes in it--it appeared to be a family portrait of some kind, only none of the occupants in the painting moved or spoke. There was a lovely antique baby grand piano in the corner of the room--Ron knew such instruments existed in the magical world but of course, magical pianos didn't need people to play them. The piano lid was shut and almost littered with photographs, all of them--at least as far as Ron could tell from this distance--of Hermione at various ages. He made a mental note to look at all of them later. He then turned his eyes left and saw what had to be both an office and a library.

The office was a bit darker and more masculine looking than the living room, but from the moment he saw the rows and rows of books crowding the dozen or so bookshelves, Ron knew where Hermione had inherited her obsessive reading habits.

In the centre of the room was a rich looking walnut desk, also piled high with books. To the right of the desk was a massive credenza upon which were placed several strange looking devices; he instantly recognized one as a fellytone; another was a sleek, charcoal grey panel on which brightly coloured shapes moved and contorted on some sort of screen. Ron felt his eyes drawn to the strange panel.

'Ron?' came a disembodied voice.

'Ron!' said Hermione sharply, and she grabbed him by the arm and tugged him back into the foyer.

'What?' said Ron, blinking.

Hermione looked at her mother, who was gazing at Ron with an expression of concern.

'Don't mind him, Mum,' she said. 'He's never seen a computer before.'

'Oh,' said Mrs. Granger, still looking at Ron, her expression dubious.

'Sorry,' Ron mumbled, feeling very stupid. Well, it wasn't entirely his fault! He'd only been inside one other Muggle house before--that of Harry's dreadful relatives--but they didn't have an office on the first floor with a strange polluter or contooter or whatever it was.

'Well, Ron,' said Mrs. Granger bracingly, 'this will be an education for you, then. Hermione tells us your family is...entirely magical.'

'Er, yeah,' said Ron, his voice sounding croaky. He quickly cleared his throat. 'I mean, yes, ma'am. The whole family is magical. Well, except for a really distant cousin who's an accountant, only I've never met him.'

'Ah,' said Mrs. Granger, smiling gracefully. 'Well, Warren and I will be very interested to hear about your family, Ron. Of course, your father has told us quite a bit already.'

'Right,' said Ron. 'My dad's got a bit of a Muggle obsession.'

Oh, you did not just say that!

'I mean,' said Ron quickly, 'he's just...really fascinated by how...how Muggles...do stuff.'

Oh, god. Oh, god.

'Oh,' said Mrs. Granger, smiling warmly. She seemed to be trying to draw him out a bit, and not make him feel too uncomfortable, but her efforts only succeeded in achieving the opposite.

There was a silence that made Ron's insides twist.

Say something funny!

No, on second thought, don't say something funny! Don't be yourself! Are you mad? You'll sound stupid and offend Hermione's mum and...

'Hermione!'

The familiar sound of Warren Granger's voice brought Ron out of his nervous stupor. He blinked again, in time to see the slight form of Hermione's father embrace her tightly.

'Hi, Dad,' said Hermione, pulling back from him.

'You're looking a bit thin again,' said Dr. Granger, shaking his head.

'She never eats enough,' Ron blurted. 'I'm always telling her to--'

'Ron,' Hermione said, through gritted teeth.

'What?' said Ron. 'It's true. If it weren't for me reminding you, you'd skip half your meals just so you could study all the bloody time.'

Hermione let out a little gasp, and Ron realized that, once again, his mouth had spoken before his brain had a chance to catch up. He blanched and looked at Hermione's parents, both of whom had raised eyebrows. Ron's white face went red again, and he marvelled at how quickly his face could change colour.

I just swore in front of her parents. I just swore in front of her parents!

IDIOT!

'Er,' he said, hoping to salvage the situation even as his brain was screaming at him to just shut up, 'that is...pardon my language. What I meant to say was--'

Dr. Granger cut him off by laughing, and to Ron's extreme surprise and relief, the older man grabbed Ron's hand and gave it a hearty shake.

'Don't be so nervous, Ron,' said Dr. Granger, clapping him on the shoulder. 'We're glad you're here, and we're glad you're looking out for our little girl.'

'Dad,' Hermione groaned. 'Honestly, I'm not--'

'Now, Hermione,' said Dr. Granger fondly, releasing Ron's hand, 'you'll always be my little girl, whether you like it or not.'

'You're embarrassing her, dear,' said Mrs. Granger, and she turned to Ron and Hermione. 'You must both be exhausted from travelling. Why don't you come in and we'll get you settled? Ron, we only have one guest room, I'm afraid, and it's on this floor, but it has a bathroom just outside so you'll have some privacy.'

'Thanks,' said Ron, and he bent to pick up his trunk, but Hermione beat him to it; she pointed her wand at his trunk and muttered the Locomotor spell. The trunk levitated ahead of them and down a hallway.

Dr. Granger looked at his daughter fondly.

'I wish I knew how to do that,' he said. 'Would have saved my poor back years of difficulty.' He and Mrs. Granger followed the floating trunk down the narrow corridor.

'Are we supposed to use magic in front of them?' Ron whispered, following behind Hermione, who had taken to levitating her trunk as well.

'It's fine,' Hermione whispered back. 'I checked on it a while ago. The Ministry is relaxing restrictions a bit for Muggle-born students who are of age.'

Ron didn't have time to wonder just when Hermione would have found the time to look up the latest Ministry laws, in the midst of all her studying and code-breaking, when he found himself at the threshold of the guestroom.

'Wow,' he blurted. It was easily the nicest room he'd ever seen, and yet he couldn't say quite why. It was nothing spectacular, and it wasn't even all that large, but again, the decor spoke of simple, understated elegance, with lovely dark wood furnishings and a few more strangely beautiful works of art hanging from the walls. Ron bit his lip. The room was far, far too nice for someone like him to sleep in it.

'Is this all right, Ron dear?' said Mrs. Granger.

'Yeah,' said Ron. 'I mean, yes, thank you. It's...it's really good.'

He groaned inwardly and wondered how many more stupid things he could say, but Mrs. Granger didn't seem to notice. His trunk went floating neatly into the room and landed smoothly at the foot of the bed. Ron realized he was clutching Pigwidgeon's cage.

'Er...where should I put Pig?' he asked, holding up the cage. Pigwidgeon immediately started hooting excitedly and fluttering about like a fluffy grey snitch.

'Pig?' said Mrs. Granger, looking at the tiny owl. 'Forgive me, but...he doesn't look much like a pig.'

At this, Hermione and her parents laughed; Ron quickly joined in and relaxed a bit.

'His name's Pigwidgeon,' he said, shrugging. 'But I'm lazy and I just call him Pig. I don't think he even answers to Pigwidgeon anymore.'

'Hermione mentioned your owl,' said Mrs. Granger, smiling fondly. 'You can put his cage on the dresser; I've put down some newspapers. Does he...have any particular dietary needs?'

'Dietary needs,' Ron repeated. 'No, he...well, he eats insects and...and spiders and the occasional mouse. I usually let him out at night and he goes and catches things on his own--'

'Ron, we can't leave the windows open at night,' said Hermione.

'Right,' said Ron, but he suddenly realized he had forgotten to pack owl treats.

'I brought the owl treats,' said Hermione, looking at him archly. Ron grinned sheepishly.

'Thanks, love,' he said, without thinking.

Once again, his mouth had gotten away from him! Hermione's parents exchanged another look and Ron might have hit himself on the head if doing so wouldn't make him look worse. As things were going he figured he'd be lucky if the Grangers didn't chuck him out of the house within 48 hours of him arriving.

Hermione, for her part, didn't look embarrassed by Ron's verbal slip. If anything, she looked pleased, because she was giving him that soft, doe-eyed look of hers that normally left him weak-kneed. Now, in the presence of her parents, it only made him feel more nervous.

There was another uncomfortable silence, and Ron quickly forced his brain to retreat to the subject of his owl.

'Pig's got owl treats,' he said, his voice unable to decide which octave it wanted to rest in. 'That and some water is fine.'

'Very good, then,' said Mrs. Granger, glancing at her husband. 'Hermione, let's get your things upstairs, shall we?'

Ron watched as mother and daughter left the guest room; instinctively he started to follow, but suddenly he felt a gentle pressure on his wrist. He turned to see Hermione's father looking up at him.

It was in moments like this that Ron realized his height was no advantage; Dr. Granger was regarding him...not with suspicion, but with the familiar gaze of a father with a teenage daughter. Ron remembered the last time they had talked, how he had promised Dr. Granger that he would look out for Hermione. Back then, Dr. Granger had looked at Ron first with scepticism, and then with trust.

The sceptical look was back, and it made Ron squirm.

'Do you mind if we talk?' said Dr. Granger.

Yes!

'No,' said Ron, his voice nearly failing him again.

'Have a seat,' said Dr. Granger, in a gentle but insistent voice.

'Yes, sir,' said Ron, sitting down at once. Dr. Granger remained standing and looked him straight in the eye.

'I like you, Ron,' he said, after an excruciating few seconds of silence. 'You seem like an honest, decent sort, and you appear to come from a good, steady family.'

'Yes, sir,' Ron said again, swallowing, waiting for the inevitable 'but' that always followed the beginnings of such speeches.

'But,' said Dr. Granger, right on cue, 'I would by lying if I said I wasn't concerned.'

'Sir?' said Ron, his hands unconsciously gripping one another in his lap.

'My daughter cares for you a great deal,' said Dr. Granger. 'Indeed, she talks about you all the time whenever she's home, in letters...'

He paused, as Ron blushed furiously.

'She has very strong feelings for you,' Dr. Granger went on.

'Yes, sir,' Ron managed.

'And I can tell you have strong feelings for her,' Dr. Granger continued.

'I do,' said Ron, his voice suddenly fervent.

Dr. Granger paused, and took a breath.

'I know you think you're in love with Hermione--' he began.

'I don't think it,' said Ron at once. 'I know I am.'

Stupid! You just interrupted her father!

But Dr. Granger didn't acknowledge the interruption. Instead he fixed a pointed gaze on Ron.

'You're seventeen, Ron,' he said. 'A seventeen year old boy. I used to be one, and...forgive me, but seventeen year old boys are not generally the most...reliable when it comes to these sorts of things.'

'I'm not like that,' said Ron, struggling to keep a defensive tone out of his voice.

'I'm sure you don't believe you are,' said Dr. Granger.

'I'm not,' said Ron firmly. 'Hermione knows I'm not.'

'Hermione is a seventeen year old girl,' said Dr. Granger. 'And seventeen year old girls are not always the wisest when it comes to these sorts of things.'

Ron opened his mouth to protest, but Dr. Granger held up his hands.

'Ron, I am grateful that you are Hermione's friend,' he said. 'And I trust you to look after her. I mean that, and I meant what I said a little while ago. I'm grateful she has you on her side. But I am concerned. You are both very young and...her mother and I wonder if it's such a good idea for you to be so serious about each other at this age. Hermione has her whole life ahead of her. She's a brilliant young woman and as her father I want what's best for her.'

Ron swallowed and felt his ears burn as he braced himself to hear the inevitable.

You're a nice enough kid but you're not good enough for my daughter. You're poor, you're impulsive, you can't take care of her in the way she deserves to be taken care of, you're not smart enough...

'I don't want anything to stand in Hermione's way, you see,' said Dr. Granger. 'I don't want anything...or anyone...to hold her back from the bright future she deserves.'

Ron felt his stomach tie itself in knots, and a sharp pain zinged through his chest. It didn't matter that he knew something like this was coming. It still hurt. Because it was at least partially true.

He'd never be good enough for Hermione. He'd never be rich. He'd never be as smart or as capable. He'd never be able to buy her all sorts of nice things or give her a beautiful home like this one...

Because that's what you want, isn't it? A home, a life, with her?

Yes. Even if she'll always be too good for me.

But he'd never hold her back, and it was these words, and the accusation they contained, that made Ron defend himself.

'Sir,' he said, 'can I say something? I mean, may I say something?'

'Of course,' said Dr. Granger.

Ron took a deep breath. 'I love Hermione. And...okay, yeah, it's pretty intense, how I feel, but...it's how I feel.'

Well, that was eloquence personified.

Ron hurried on with his clumsy monologue.

'Hermione is my best friend and I love her and...and she loves me and you have no idea how lucky that makes me feel. And I know I'm not rich, and...well, I did used to be pretty lazy about school stuff only Hermione nagged me so much--I mean, she, encouraged me so much that I've been doing a lot better in school and, well...I can't be completely miserable if I'm Head Boy, right? I mean, I know I'm not brilliant like Hermione and...well, I work hard but there's probably only so many things somebody like me can do, you know, as a job, and Hermione can do whatever she wants because she's so smart and she works so hard--too hard if you ask me. And...'

He sighed. What was he trying to say? There were so many things he wanted for himself, and Hermione was one of them. She was the main thing.

It's not about you. What do you want for her?

'I just want Hermione to be happy,' he said finally. 'No matter what.'

Dr. Granger looked at him for what seemed like ages, as if he were studying him.

At last, he spoke.

'I do believe you mean that,' he said.

'I do, sir,' said Ron.

Dr. Granger sighed, and then to Ron's amazement, he smiled sadly.

'The thing is, Ron, she seems to be happiest with you,' he said.

Ron fought the urge to smile; instead he nodded.

'This is difficult for me,' Dr. Granger went on. 'Hermione is my only child, my daughter. Fathers...tend to be very protective of their daughters. Perhaps someday, if you have a daughter you'll understand.'

Ron swallowed as the vision of him and Hermione holding the newborn baby girl flooded his brain.

'Yes, sir,' he managed.

'You see, Ron, for a long time I was the only man in Hermione's life,' he said. 'She...didn't have many friends in primary school. Well, she didn't have any friends. She was just so intelligent and...different. It was hard for the other children to relate to her; she intimidated them and they resented her for being so clever. So they were cruel to her, as children can often be. When we got this mysterious letter from Hogwarts, well, it was a bit of a relief. It meant that Hermione would finally be able to go to a place where she'd be welcomed for being different, instead of being...shunned.'

Ron swallowed again as a lump in his throat formed; he was painfully reminded of first year, when he'd cruelly called Hermione a nightmare.

'When Hermione wrote to us and told us she had finally made some friends,' Dr. Granger was saying, 'you have no idea how happy we were. It isn't right for a little girl not to have friends, to have to rely solely on her parents for things that are best left to friends. And it didn't matter that to us back then that her two best friends were boys. You were all children. But now...it's different. You're her boyfriend. And she's not a little girl anymore, no matter how much I want her to be. And she doesn't...need me anymore, in the way she used to, because she has you. You're the man in her life now. And...that is a very hard thing for a father to accept.'

Ron opened his mouth to speak, and found that he couldn't. It was true, he didn't fully understand what Dr. Granger was going through. How could he? But to know that Hermione had been friendless as a child cut Ron to the quick. It had been the same for Harry, hadn't it? Growing up different, magical children stuck in a world full of people who couldn't or wouldn't understand them, and even feared them, and at long last, grew to hate them for being different? Ron knew not all Muggles were like this, of course, but still...for the first time, he fully appreciated--even more so than when Hermione had tried to explain it to him--just how difficult it was to bridge their two worlds.

'Warren?'

Ron and Dr. Granger looked up to see Mrs. Granger and Hermione standing in the doorway of the guest room. Hermione had a very worried look on her face, but Mrs. Granger looked mildly amused.

'Ah, Alice,' said Dr. Granger, whose cheeks went pink. 'Ron and I were just discussing--'

'Chess,' said Ron.

'Yes, chess,' said Dr. Granger.

'Warren, dear,' said Mrs. Granger, 'you don't play chess.'

'Well, no,' said Dr. Granger, 'but our daughter says Ron is quite the prodigy at it and I thought, why not learn?'

'I see,' said Mrs. Granger, giving her husband a rather knowing look. Ron caught Hermione's eye and she glanced at him, then at her father, then back at him. Before Ron could give her a reassuring smile, Mrs. Granger spoke again.

'Dinner's ready,' she said. 'I expect you're quite hungry, Ron.'

'Oh,' said Ron, 'I'm fine, really.'

And as if on cue, his stomach gave a very loud rumbling. Ron's ears went red, and he grinned sheepishly.

'Well, I'm starving,' said Dr. Granger bracingly, as Ron stood up.

'Hermione, dear, help me in the kitchen?' said Mrs. Granger. 'Ron, would you mind helping Warren set the table?'

'No, ma'am,' said Ron. Hermione gave him one more look before she followed her mother down the corridor. Dr. Granger started out the door, with Ron just behind, but seemed to change his mind at the last second, and turn back to Ron.

'Ron,' he said, 'listen. Perhaps you might keep what we talked about just between us.'

'Okay,' said Ron. 'Sure.'

'It's just...Hermione's fairly stubborn, as I'm sure you know,' said Dr. Granger.

Ron hesitated before he nodded, just slightly.

'I don't want her getting after me about doing my concerned father routine, you understand,' said Dr. Granger.

'Yes, sir,' said Ron.

'Oh, and Ron?' said Dr. Granger, grinning broadly. 'Keep on being good to Hermione.'

'Of course,' said Ron.

'Just remember, I own a rifle, and I'm not afraid to use it.'

Ron blanched as Hermione's description of a rifle came back to his mind.

Dr. Granger suddenly burst out laughing and slapped Ron on the back.

'Sorry, I just couldn't resist,' he said.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ron climbed into the soft, inviting bed alone, and knew he wouldn't be able to sleep well tonight. He supposed he should have expected this; not only was this a strange house, but Hermione wasn't with him. Earlier in the evening she had whispered that she would sneak downstairs to see him, but he had demurred, quite vehemently. Dr. Granger could joke all he wanted; Ron knew that if he caught his daughter in bed with her boyfriend--even fully clothed--that the rifle would be put to use. Ron still didn't know how rifles worked, as he'd been too frightened to ask, but it couldn't be anything good, if the Grangers honestly thought it was an effective weapon against a Death Eater.

Ron reflected on how things had gone tonight, on his first full night in a Muggle household.

All told, it had been relatively incident free. He'd unpacked and settled himself in, he'd owled his parents to let them know all was well, he'd eaten his fill at dinner, he'd had a nice enough conversation with Mrs. Granger. Yes, all things considered, it had gone well.

But for the little matter of the kitchen disposal, and his left hand.

Everything was progressing just fine; the dinner they had was pleasant and the conversation relatively easy, if a bit stilted. It was when Ron offered to help with the dishes that things went wrong.

Mrs. Granger was scraping the plates into the sink, which struck Ron as odd, but then he remembered that Muggles couldn't just vanish their rubbish. He watched as the remaining bits of food slid down the drain. Then Mrs. Granger hit a switch and suddenly there was a great rumbling noise in the sink. Ron let out a little shriek like a girl and dropped his fork, and Mrs. Granger let out a shriek of her own when the fork went straight into the spinning, grinding pit where she'd just put all the scraps.

There had been a horrible, screeching sound of grinding metal and then Ron stupidly tried to grab the gyrating fork, only to get stabbed in the palm by fork tines and bleed all over the place. And of course, the wound had so startled him, and really was quite painful, that he'd screamed bloody murder and Tonks, Kenneth, Hermione and Dr. Granger had come running as Mrs. Granger quickly flicked some switch and caused the disposal to come to a whining halt.

It was Tonks who fixed the disposal, and Hermione patched up his hand, and Ron had never felt so stupid in his entire life.

Now, lying in bed with a bandaged, throbbing hand, he realized that however fascinating Muggle gadgets might be, some of them were just scary. He began to drift off, hovering between wakefulness and sleep, and a niggling voice in the back of his mind reminded him he hadn't meditated at all today, but he ignored it, dwelling on everything he'd been through today.

Don't even think of touching Hermione when her dad's around. He says he was kidding about that rifle thing but I don't think he was.

Her mum's not that bad. She's got weird taste in food, though. What was that thing she made? Chicken tagine?

I am never going near a disposal thingy again. That thing's a menace. Muggles are mad to have something like that in their houses. It's worse than the Monster Book of Monsters.

Relax, it could have been worse...

Ron felt his eyes close, and he was drifting still further...

It was being in a strange bed that did it. That made Ron--normally a heavy sleeper--sit up sharply and grab his wand from beneath his pillow. That, and the loud snapping sound just outside his window. He stared out the window, clutching his wand, looking for a sign, any sign, of something...an intruder?

After several minutes, Ron saw the form of Kenneth Towler pass by.

Of course. Idiot. Aurors. They're patrolling the house.

Ron let out a breath he hadn't been aware of holding, and sank back down into the bed. His last thought before his head hit the pillow was that he wondered how Harry and Ginny were doing. Ron was still clutching his wand when he fell asleep.