Meeting a Muggle

Chapter 4

Desiree stared at her professor with her mouth open. "Say that again," she muttered in shock.

Professor Gillespie smiled at his best student. "The Grants Committee has rescinded the grant to Gregory Owensbey, as it was found he had plagiarised some work done by an Asian student in the late nineties. Therefore, my dear, you are now the new recipient of the Bookerman Grant and you can spend it on your further education!"

Shaking her head in disbelief, Desiree suddenly flung her arms around her professor and kissed his cheek soundly. "Yes! Oh, Sir, you have no idea of what this means to me! No more production line surgery, no more battlefield butchery! Lab work and quiet seeking of knowledge, learning things that I think will be important to the rest of the world."

The old man smiled gently as he patted her hand. "You are to report to the learning centre tomorrow morning. Your name has been taken off the duty roster but we are going to call upon your skills in certain areas. You are so bloody brilliant with microsurgery, too good to lose really."

"I can live with that." Desiree nodded happily.

Her luck had been in these last few weeks, sometimes in little ways like getting a seat on the tube at rush hour, to big things like getting the grant that had already been given away. When a knife wielding maniac had rum amok in the casualty department, he had tripped and fallen just before he plunged the knife into her. One patient she really thought was going to die had suddenly recovered for no apparent reason and she was able to repair an aneurism in his aorta safely.

"Of course," she thought plainly, "it was all to do with the piece of carved wand she had found in her pocket." She carried it like a lucky piece, putting it in her pocket so she could run her fingers over it when she was thinking or just standing casually. The carving was intricate and delicate, of vine leaves and flowers with a few tiny, exotic birds hidden in the intertwined foliage. It was beautiful and she would have liked to have seen the full piece, before it had been cut off at a 45^o angle.

Mind, it gave her odd dreams too: of comfort and peace, of being held safe in large, freckled fingers, or being twirled and stroked up and down her length. The dreams were odd and left her feeling horny and restless in ways that demanded attention, but not from herself. That in itself was strange as she had never been man hungry and the few encounters she had fumbled through had been totally uncomfortable, certainly not fulfilling. Still, it was that emptiness that drove her to accept Jane Sutton's invitation to go to the Bear Garden for a few drinks after class.

The Bear Garden was not far from Guys and was inhabited by office workers, interns and patients' relatives mainly. Once it had been called the German Beer Garden but the 'German' had been dropped during World War One and later that name had evolved when students had virtually taken it over. The tavern itself was low and rambling, lots of old wood and smoke blackened beams, gleaming brass work and uneven floorboards. What used to be the stables and coaching houses were now accommodation and the stable yard was the actual garden part of the name. Small tables and wooden chairs were scattered over the grass in the heat of the late arriving summer, the fogs and gloom of spring blown away by crisp warm breezes, to let the sun in finally.

They found a small table near the wall and quickly sat down with their drinks before it was lost to another party approaching from the left. The two boys and a girl laughed and asked if they could join them, Jane agreeing readily. Todd, Graham and Suzi were outgoing and happy, making cheerful small talk to which Jane responded as easily and as openly as she always did. Desiree nodded and smiled but didn't say much, too tired to do more than project an air of friendly interest. When Todd realised that the blonde was not interested in him, he switched his charm to Jane and by the end of the first round Jane was hooked. Desiree smiled as Jane gave her the sign and she chuckled to herself when the four of them left, Jane bending to whisper thanks in her ear.

"Enjoy, he looks cute," Desiree whispered back and picked up her nearly empty glass with a sigh that rattled her bones.

"Always the bridesmaid, never the bride," a voice said softly from the shadows under the trees in the corner.

"Excuse me?" Desiree asked, more amused than offended.

"Your friends are hooking up in pairs and you get to be the bridesmaid, or the best man, but there's no one about to be your special someone. Not that it's a crime or depressing or anything, it's just a fact of life."

Desiree chuckled resignedly. "Good way of putting it. So, Best Man, can the Bridesmaid buy you a drink?"

He chuckled and rose, moving out of the shadow into the sun, which immediately turned his hair to blazing fire. "Allow me," he offered, holding his hand out for her glass. "What will you have?" As their hands touched something like an electric current flowed between them, making Desiree jump and her new acquaintance gasp.

"Sorry about that," Desiree giggled, "must be the weather."

"Must be, I'll be right back."

Desiree watched him go, admiring the height and size of him, despite being nearly six feet tall herself; she thought he would be taller. His jeans cupped his backside perfectly and the polo shirt moulded over broad shoulders. He was certainly fit but he limped just a little as he disappeared into the bar and reappeared a few moments later with the drinks.

As he came back, Desiree smiled and admired the deep red of his hair, the freckles and deep blue eyes coupled with a slightly snubbed nose gave him the air of a naughty little boy, but the look in those eyes was as ancient and as sad as time itself. The face was familiar too, but she couldn't quite recall where she had seen it.

"Do I have a smudge?" he asked in amusement. "The last girl, who told me I had a smudge, ended up as one of my best friends, still is, when she's not being my mother."

Laughing, Desiree shook her head slightly but the puzzled crease between her eyes didn't go away. "I know you, I'm sure I do, but I can't think from where. Is your last name Weasel or Weasley or ...."

"Ron Weasley," he said cautiously, studying her closely. "Come to think of it, you look rather familiar too," he replied in a similarly puzzled tone. "You don't work at St Mungo's, do you?"

"Guys Hospital, never heard of St Mungo's. You have a blond friend too, Malfoy or something." Desiree's eyes narrowed as she tried to grasp the memory then she gasped. "You were injured, badly injured, stepped on a landmine and lost a few fingers too. Your friend was trying to get you to ... another place but ... missed? Then you disappeared."

Ron stared at her in open mouthed horror as she spoke quietly and earnestly. "You aren't supposed to be able to resist Obliviate," he muttered in low tones. "Oh dear, this does complicate things, horribly."

"Why? Obviously you didn't die of your injuries or anything like that, so no one wants to sue me. If anything, I would say you made a remarkable recovery. In fact you shouldn't be out of hospital, never mind out of rehab, but I guess because of your extra abilities you have compensations. Or have you done a bolt from the rehab centre?" she teased, trying to lighten the conversation again.

Ron blinked at her, wishing he hadn't had the previous four whiskeys on an empty stomach. He really needed a clear head but casting sobering charms on himself would not be the recommended solution. "You aren't panicked by ...."

"Magic? No, I don't think so. I've seen a few miracles in my time, survival against all the odds and death when it should never have happened. I know there is more in the world than I can understand and if I keep my eyes open then the world will show me her wonders, and her terrors, for free."

"Wow, you are something exceptional, aren't you?" Ron breathed in real admiration.

Desiree burst out laughing, much to his surprise. "That's the first time I have been praised for my lack of imagination. Oh, come on, I'm a six foot tall, blonde, Barbie doll with an IQ of 150 and hands like a rock. A healthy dose of cynicism is the only way to survive when most men tend to address your boobs rather than your ideas."

"Well, yes, they do tend to get in your face, you know?" Ron said honestly then clamped his hands over his mouth. "Oh Merlin, I didn't just say that, did I?"

"Yupe, afraid you did," Desiree giggled. "Are you usually so honest?"

Ron knew he was as red as his hair but she didn't seem offended so he took the chance and shrugged as casually as he could. "It's a talent, getting both feet in your mouth at once...." He stopped when he realised what he had just said then shook his head. "Not that that's happening any more." He sighed.

"You're right, it is a talent, and a two edged sword," Desiree murmured, taking his right hand and squeezing gently. Through the glove, she could feel the difference in the fingers even though the glove had been carefully padded to look like it covered a full rack of digits.

He baulked slightly then sighed and smiled sadly. "It takes some getting used to. People react in such different ways, from sickly pity to outright revulsion. I'm always conscious or self conscious as Hermione insists, she's my friend, by the way."

"Married to Malfoy, the girl who told you about the smudge?"

"Oh, you are quick!" Ron grinned as she blushed slightly. "Of the three of us, I was always the tag end and now it's even worse. I'm poor Ron who got his leg blown off in the war."

"Or maybe it's more like the Unkillable Ron Weasley who survived a landmine with only minor damage to one leg!" Desiree put in with a firm tone. "Hey, in relative terms you got off fairly easily, even though you probably don't see it that way. I try to put people back together every day after the urban war has pulled them apart, and I lose quite a lot of them to stabs, shots, cars and plain out mayhem, but you are still alive to tell the tale. Count that as a real blessing, I assure you it is."

This blonde Barbie doll didn't pull her punches, Ron thought with a grin, and she didn't pander to his supposedly fragile ego, or psyche, or whatever. She was passionate about her ideas and was not letting him get away with anything. "You want to get some dinner?" he asked with a fond grin.

It was the last thing Desiree thought would come out of his mouth and it took her by surprise. "Dinner?"

"Yes, food, usually a substantial amount with or without a plate, wrapped in paper or in a cardboard container, if you like, or at a table with cutlery, candles and napkins if that's better."

She giggled, "Fish and chips with salt and vinegar in paper down by the water, you game?"

"You're on!"

They strolled along the embankment, eating fish and chips with their fingers and admiring the lights over the sluggishly flowing water. When the last of the food was disposed of, Ron wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she relaxed against him as they continued to stroll, sometimes in silence, sometimes chatting about subjects as wide and varied as the thoughts that flitted across their minds.

As the summer twilight drew in, they wandered into a pub and settled in a corner to talk and smile, perfectly relaxed and in tune with each other. Later when asked to recount their conversations, neither one could remember half of what they talked about, only that it was the best and most interesting conversation they had ever had, with anyone.

Late that night, Ron walked Desiree up to her flat door and waited while she opened it before leaning in and slowly bending to kiss her. Desiree could have moved away at any time but instead, she raised herself slightly, holding onto his shoulder for balance and kissed him back. As first kisses went, it was tentative and gentle, exploratory and sweet.

As they drew back, Ron sighed in the deepest contentment he had ever felt. "Can I see you again?" he asked softly, cupping her cheek with his good left hand.

"I'm on duty for the next three days but I'll give you my mobile number. Call me and leave a message if I am in surgery. Goodnight Ron, I had a wonderful time, absolutely perfect."

Ron smiled down and nodded. "So did I, thank you, and thanks to you, I ... just thanks."

~~*~~

"Unc Won, Unc Won!" Lysander staggered and giggled as he ran away from Hermione and slammed into his uncle's legs, a bit surprised when there was only one to hold onto.

Ron staggered too but managed to keep his balance as he reached down and grabbed the thirteen month old child under the arms tossing him in the air. "And how's my favourite big boy today?" He laughed as the baby squealed and giggled.

"Brum, whee, Dada Ma go bang."

"Well, fancy that! And were the wee bang brums centred?"

The baby nodded vigorously and both adults laughed as Ron reached forward and kissed Hermione on the cheek. He had apparated into Malfoy Manor, but had given no reason for his unexpected visit, which made Hermione curious. "You're looking glowing," he remarked and narrowed his eyes when she blushed. "Oh he didn't? Congratulations! Wait until I get hold of that Ferret! It is Weasleys that are supposed to breed like bunnies, isn't it?"

"Ronald Bilius Weasley!" Hermione gasped but giggled all the same. "You weren't supposed to guess just like that, and watch what he's chewing on, he's teething," she warned just as the baby clamped down on Ron's dragon hide glove. "I hope that's clean."

Ron removed his finger from Lysander's mouth and shrugged ruefully, "Probably not," he apologised as he passed the baby over and wiped the glove on his robes. "Got a minute?"

"Always for you," Hermione offered then looked more closely at her friend. "You look happy," she almost accused.

"Now who is guessing out of turn?" Ron teased back. "I think I am happy, actually. I--I sort of met someone a couple of weeks ago and we've been seeing each other pretty regularly. She's special."

"Oh, that's wonderful Ron! Who is it, do we know her? Where did you meet her? Come on, spill!" Hermione demanded excitedly, a flick of her finger bringing a house elf hurrying to serve tea and take Lysander off to nap.

"No more SPEW," Ron teased as the house elf disappeared with the child.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Our house elves are all free beings that stay for the wages and conditions. Lucius had completely destroyed the Malfoy colony before he and Narcissa left for the final battle. There were poor little bodies strewn all over the kitchens and cellars when we first arrived. It was so sad."

Dead House-elves were only one of the hazards the mansion held for anyone not born to the place. It had taken Hermione, Draco and a squad of Aurors and Ministry officials a couple of weeks to make the south wing of the place habitable. The rest of the contamination was being removed as an on-going project. At Hermione's insistence a member of the wizarding law firm who represented the Malfoys was on hand at all occasions to supervise the team from the Department of Mysteries. She had caught one official red-handed when he was removing a very nice ruby and diamond tiara from Narcissa Malfoy's jewellery box. If an item was legitimately a Dark Object then it was removed for study, valued and catalogued. Like everything they found, it remained Malfoy property, regardless of its provenance.

"I'm sorry," Ron said softly, knowing how much trouble his own depart had caused in the beginning.

"Humm, so was I, but eventually a couple of surviving elves came back and we negotiated. Now they are free elves, and yet they stay. Enough of this, enough sadness. Tell me about your girl."

"She's beautiful!" Ron declared aloud, and then smiled mischievously. "A six foot tall blonde Barbie Doll, she called herself on the first afternoon we met. Took me a while to figure out what a Barbie Doll was, but then I had to laugh. She does resemble the doll quite a lot."

"Oh Ronald, you haven't hooked up with a total bimbo have you?" Hermione asked in exasperation.

"No, I said she resembles a doll, but she has a mind like a steel trap, and is a doctor, of all things. She's a surgeon actually, although she has just been given a grant to pursue some sort of genetics research thing. Does that make sense to you?"

"Yes, my mother was telling me about the Muggle leaps forward in ... Ronald Weasley! You're dating a Muggle-born. Good Lord, I never thought you would." Hermione giggled then stopped when she realised he was not laughing. "What?"

"Desiree is not a Muggle-born Hermione, and I really didn't think it would make that much difference to you, of all people," he commented, temper stirring.

"Oh for Heaven's sake Ron, lighten up. I don't care if you have taken up with a centaur, if that makes you happy. So what if she's Muggle-born, she obviously makes you smile again, and that is what is important to me."

"She's a Muggle, Hermione, not magical in the slightest bit, from a whole family of not at all magical people, who live in Cheshire and have no idea I even exist yet." Ron rose to pace jerkily while Hermione watched him struggle for words. "What do I do? What do I say to them? How do I behave? What do I tell them?"

"Yes, I see. How much family does she have? Parents and one older brother, okay, is the brother married? Fine, then it's only three people you need to worry about. Look talk to your Desiree and see how she wants to approach her parents. Maybe she will have some idea of how they will react to you. Maybe she will not want you to say anything at all. And you had better brush up on your Muggle studies. A good thing your Dad had so much Muggle stuff so it's not all totally new for you."

"I already started on that. See what I have, it's a mobile phone, neat huh?" He fished inside his robes and pulled out the small flip phone triumphantly. "She gave me her mobile number and I had absolute fits until I asked Harry what it was. He took me out and we bought this phone. Took some fancy charms to keep it working around magic, but once I figured out the charms, it was just too easy. See, I can send a message and she can reply later when she gets it, and it's clean, no sticking your head in the fire to talk."

Hermione laughed and shook her head as she let him demonstrate his new toy, marvelling at the new enthusiasm and vibrancy in her friend. He hadn't looked this happy for literally years and she was so glad for him. They had all been worried about Ron since he had been released from St Mungo's.

At times they had worried about how much he had taken to drinking, never having had a strong head for alcohol. And he had been so close-mouthed about everything, never losing his temper and exploding as he usually did, instead, going off into sullen brooding silences. Then there was the issue of his lost limb, something he never discussed at all, nor alluded to in any way. Even when the healers had told him it was not possible to regrow it; Ron had taken the news with a flat, emotionless expression. Oh, they had found out that Remus had created a temporary leg for him when the werewolf had sneaked Ron out of St Mungo's to go and buy a wand. However, nothing more was ever said and Ron was always very careful to wear the same shoes on both feet, even though he had liked to go barefoot in the summer at the Burrow. He never did now, no matter how hot the weather turned.

Now he was full of laughter and mischief, almost like his younger self, speaking enthusiastically of his new duties and new office, complaining about the amount of 'homework' he had to do these days. When Draco apparated in from work they had a wonderful evening. Sipping fine wines, they dined well on the best the Malfoy kitchens had to offer. There was plenty of laughter and absolutely no talk of war or death. Hermione sipped fruit juice and joined in the laughter, welcoming its calming powers and wishing they were all there to partake of the simple joy and healing.