Tree Houses and Daisies

'Just...' Molly hesitated. 'Make sure you take care of things, Hermione. Arthur and I are too young to be grandparents.'

Hermione gasped, then clapped a hand over her mouth, to stifle the nervous giggle that bubbled to the surface. She gaped at Molly in astonishment. First her mother, and now Molly. What was the world coming to? Molly snorted softly at the shock on Hermione's face. 'I'm not entirely naïve about you lot,' she stated. Molly smiled wistfully. 'I was once your age, too, you know. And well...' Molly felt a flush creep up her own cheeks. 'I wasn't much older than you when Bill was born. And Arthur and I hadn't been married that long.'

Hermione felt her mouth drop open as she calculated the months between Molly and Arthur's wedding anniversary and Bill's birthday. Ron had patiently drilled her in his family tree when they stayed at Grimmauld Place last year and she could pluck the dates from her memory on command as surely as she could do the same for her own family. 'I don't think you need to worry about that,' Hermione said faintly.

An owl flew to the window, and tapped on the glass. Molly, grateful for the distraction, went to open the window, and took the Sunday Prophet from the large barn owl. She opened the paper and was greeted with a front-page spread of Ron and Hermione's rain-soaked reunion from last night.

A headline blared, 'Golden Trio Torn Apart? Rita Skeeter has the exclusive scoop.'

Molly looked at Hermione over the top of the paper. 'Forgot to close the gate, did you?' she asked, turning the paper around to show Hermione.

'The wards!' Hermione breathed, letting her head fall against the back of the chair. She had forgotten in the intensity of the moment last night, that if the garden gate was open, it acted like a gap in the wards that surrounded the Burrow, effectively shielding them from the intrusion of reporters. She reached for the paper, and groaned. It didn't help that the large photograph showed Harry walking to the back from the front garden, and was visible in the background, before flicking his wand at the gate, making it swing shut.

Hermione scanned the article quickly, muttering, 'That cow!' under her breath the entire time.

-'It appears as if the famed Golden Trio has been ripped apart due to a scandalous affair between two of its members - Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, writes Rita Skeeter in an exclusive story for the Daily Prophet. Last night, Hermione Granger made a sudden reappearance after her equally sudden disappearance nearly two months ago. Where has she been? 'I can say with complete certainty that Miss Granger left the country and only just returned last week,' confirmed an anonymous Ministry source.

So where did Miss Granger go? Sources say that Miss Granger went to Australia, alone, for an extended holiday, to recuperate from injuries suffered during the war against You-Know-Who.

Has discord developed between the infamously tight Trio? This reporter was outside the Weasley home when Miss Granger made her unexpected appearance. She was greeted by none other than Mr. Weasley for a rather passionate encounter, while Harry Potter could only watch in helpless resignation.

Will Miss Granger be the one to truly break Mr. Potter's heart?

Only time will tell.'

Hermione's hands clutched convulsively on the paper. 'I hate her,' she said vehemently. She made to chuck it into the fire, but stopped as a pop came from the back garden.

Percy ran inside the kitchen, clutching his own copy of the paper. He stopped long enough to take in Hermione's bright red face, and the paper crumpled in her hand. 'Oh, so you've seen it already.' He tossed his paper into the fire. 'I was coming to warn you.' He sat at the table and reached for the last piece of toast. 'I do wish Kingsley could put a muzzle on that woman,' he muttered darkly.

'Put a muzzle on who?' George ambled into the kitchen, still dressed in his pajamas, hair sticking up on one side.

'Rita Skeeter,' mumbled Hermione, thrusting the paper at George, whose eyes widened at the photograph.

'Oh, erm... Well...' George coughed a few times, as if he were trying to clear a particularly large frog from his throat. He looked at the photograph again, and a ginger eyebrow rose slowly as he gave Hermione a frankly appraising look. 'Always the quiet ones,' he said, a grin twitching at his lips.

'It's not funny,' Hermione informed him loftily.

'What's not funny?' Harry came in, with an alert Teddy on his hip. He took the bottle Molly handed him, and sat in the nearest chair. Teddy reached for the bottle, and began to thirstily drink the milk inside.

'This.' George slid the paper across the table so Harry could see it.

'Oh, honestly!' Hermione stomped out of the kitchen with a huff.

'That's a rather tired angle,' Harry commented dryly. 'She did that one my fourth year.' He chuckled and nuzzled Teddy's turquoise hair. 'She's a silly old woman, Teddy,' he informed his godson. 'Never pay attention to a single word she says.'

'Remember that, Teddy, my boy,' said George. 'It's very good advice.'

'What's put Mione's knickers in a twist?' Ron asked bewildered as he joined them in the kitchen. 'I just saw her on the stairs and she was in a right state. She just snarled, "That bloody cow," and slammed the door in my face.' Ron sat next to Harry. 'She was fine twenty minutes ago,' he said helplessly.

'Rita Skeeter,' sighed Percy. He nudged the paper toward Ron.

Ron went pale, then his ears began to slowly built up to a genuine Weasley blaze. 'Sod a duck,' he breathed.

'Ronald!' Molly smacked Ron on the back of his head. 'Language!'

'Ow!' Ron rubbed his head. 'Mum! That hurt,' he sulked. Ron rested his elbow on the table, and propped his head in his hand. 'I'll be having a word with them tomorrow. Shouldn't intrude on people's private lives.' Ron scowled at the paper.

'Oh, good morning, Weasleys!' Arthur's bright tone warmed the kitchen. He stopped to babble nonsense to Teddy, who let the bottle's nipple fall out of his mouth to reply in kind with gurgles, the turquoise intensifying a few shades. Arthur looked around the room, noticing the varied expressions on the faces of his family. They ranged from outright amusement on George's end to indignant rage on Ron's. 'What's going on?' he asked.

'Should we?' Percy asked, nudging George.

'Might as well. He'll find out sooner or later.' George handed Arthur the paper.

Curiously, Arthur's gaze dropped down to the paper his son gave him. 'Oh. My.' Arthur blinked a few times. He adjusted his glasses, and squinted at the photograph. 'Well, then.' Arthur cleared his throat. 'Is that all?' he asked idly, as if it were in the normal course of things to find photographs of his youngest son snogging his girlfriend plastered on the front page of the Sunday newspaper. 'Must be a slow news day, if that's all they can find to print on the front page.'

'But Dad,' Ron blurted, aghast. 'She's printed lies about Hermione!'

'Ron, this is Rita Skeeter we're talking about. Most sensible people know she's not exactly a reliable source of news,' Arthur told Ron gently. 'In a few days' time, it'll be lining most people's owl perches.' Arthur picked up the paper and tore the front page off. He casually went to Errol's perch, and spread the paper, facedown on it. He patted Ron on the back comfortingly and lifted the lid off the teapot and peered inside hopefully, checking the amount of tea in the pot. 'Well, this won't do,' he said to himself, tapping the teapot with his wand. In an instant, fragrant steam rose from the spout. 'That's more like it,' he said, Summoning a cup from the cupboard.

Arthur leaned back, sipping his tea. Ron's mouth worked like a stunned fish for several moments, before he jabbed his wand at a cupboard and a frying pan landed on the stove with a clatter. 'Staying for breakfast, Percy?' Ron asked as he began to fry sausages.

Percy looked up, a momentary flash of shock on his face. 'I, uh, if you don't... That is, I could...'

George snickered, but it was with genuine humor that lacked the edge of all the other times he'd laughed at Percy. 'A simple yes or no will do, Perce,' he sniggered. 'And Ron really is quite good. He's been making breakfast on Sunday mornings for a month now.'

Percy straightened his glasses a few times. He looked at Ron, or rather the back of Ron's head, as Ron was busy at the stove. Percy tilted his head to the side, looking for the betraying redness that signified Ron's anger. It wasn't there. He looked back at George, whose expression remained neutral. He adjusted his glasses once again, before saying, 'Yes, I'll stay.'

******

When Hermione came back down to the kitchen, George grinned and let out a piercing wolf-whistle. Hermione impaled him with a look as she sat at the table. 'Good thing for you, I'm going back to my parents' later. Otherwise, I'd sleep with an eye open, if I were you,' she said dispassionately, making a show of polishing her wand. George's smile grew wider. Hermione stuck her tongue out at him, surprised at herself. A year ago, she wouldn't have said anything like that.

Ron set a platter of bacon on the table. 'Very mature,' he commented.

'So, Hermione, now that you're back, what do you want to do with yourself?' asked Percy.

Hermione spread marmalade on her toast. 'I hadn't thought about it, really.'

'Yes, you have,' insisted Ron.

Hermione turned to him. 'You read that?' she asked incredulously.

'Again with the tone of surprise,' Ron said, rolling his eyes. 'Yes, I read it. You were there,' he pointed out.

'Read what?' Harry asked curiously.

'Nothing,' muttered Ron, flushing. He looked at Hermione. 'Tell him, hen,' he said softly.

'It's just an idea, Ron.'

'It's a good one,' he told her.

Hermione sighed. 'I want to work with magical creatures.' She looked at Harry from the corner of her eye. 'Werewolves, centaurs. House-elves.' She shrugged. 'But I don't have N.E.W.T.s, so I'm not sure if I can do that right away.'

'That's it?' guffawed George. 'By the way you were acting; I thought you were thinking about becoming the new welcome witch for St. Mungo's.'

'Considering Kingsley offered all three of you jobs as Aurors without N.E.W.T.s, I hardly see what the issue would be for you to work in the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.' Percy looked up from his plate. 'All you have to do is come see Kingsley. He'll get it set up for you.'

Hermione uncertainly twirled a lock of hair around her finger. 'Are you sure? It's just...' She squirmed uncomfortably. 'It feels like preferential treatment.'

'It's not.' Arthur poured a glass of orange juice for himself. 'All the students from your year are in the exact same position you're in. Kingsley sent out letters to everyone from your year, not just you three.'

'It actually hasn't been a bad thing,' put in Percy. 'It's making a lot of departments use alternate ways to find good workers, besides N.E.W.T.s.'

George choked on a bit of egg. 'Who are you and what in Merlin's name have you done with Percy?'

Percy swiped the last piece of toast from under George's hand. 'Occasionally, I do wash the starch from my pants,' he said, as he deliberately took a large bite of the toast.

'So what would you like to do, Hermione, dear?' Molly asked hastily, trying to change the subject from Percy's pants.

'Build the Centaur Liaison Office into something real, and not a joke. Make up regulations for the humane treatment of house-elves. Repeal the laws that make it impossible for werewolves to live as part of society,' Hermione said promptly.

'I thought you said you hadn't thought about it,' Harry said sardonically.

'Oh, well, I just hadn't planned anything out, really.' Hermione toyed with a bit of egg on her plate.

'Come to the Minister's office any time you want, Hermione,' Percy said gravely. 'I'll get started on your paperwork first thing in the morning.'

'Thanks, Percy.' Hermione felt her pulse begin to hammer in her chest. The mere idea of going into the Ministry brought up all sorts of memories she'd rather not remember. 'I'll... I'll let you know, all right?'

Percy nodded and the rest of the family went back to eating breakfast. Ron noticed the fine tremor that ran through Hermione's hand, as she laid her fork down. He casually laid a hand on her wrist, not at all surprised to feel her pulse racing under his fingers. Ron's hand covered Hermione's and gently squeezed it.

******

The rain from the day before had stopped and the sun deigned to make an appearance. After lunch, Ron ran up to the attic to fetch the diaries from his night table. As much as he had wanted to read Hermione's diary last night, they had been a bit preoccupied with other things. He met Hermione in the back garden. She smiled and took his hand. They headed down to the end of the paddock to an unspoken destination. They didn't need to say it.

Ron followed Hermione up the ladder. She was sitting on a cushion, with her arms around her knees. 'You don't want to go to the Ministry,' Ron told her bluntly.

'No,' she admitted. 'Not yet.'

'It still gives me the willies, too.'

'It does?'

'Yeah.' Ron sat next to Hermione, mimicking her pose. 'I keep seeing that day we went in to get the locket.' He put an arm around her shoulders, and pulled her against him. 'I won't even go in to see Dad.'

'I do want to work there,' Hermione asserted. 'I don't see how Harry goes there every day,' she said with a shudder.

'I don't either.' Ron closed his eyes. 'I asked him his first week how he did it. He said it was like everything else he's done. Because he has to.'

'I just need some time,' Hermione sighed. He leaned into Ron. 'Are you all right? With working at the shop, I mean?'

'Why wouldn't I be?'

Hermione picked up Ron's diary and slowly turned the pages until she came to the entry where Ron spoke about the shop. 'I just want to make sure you're doing it because you want to, and not out of some sense of guilt or something.'

'I'm there because I want to be, hen,' Ron said firmly. 'Really. I'd had enough with the whole Auror thing. This is as far away from that as I can get. And George is really good with me. Doesn't shout or make me feel like an idiot if it takes me a few tries to get it right. Said he and Fred were never perfect the first try, anyway.' Ron brushed a kiss across Hermione's lips. 'Trust me. I'm just doing grunt work right now. But I'm learning.'

'I still can't believe you told Harry. About that afternoon.' Hermione blushed.

'Hey, he brought it up,' Ron said defensively. 'I told him a good place to talk with Ginny would be here, and he's the one whose mind jumped to conclusions.'

'Makes you wonder where his mind is,' Hermione smirked.

'I'd rather not.'

'Did you really think I'd never come back?'

Ron stiffened a bit. 'Not really. I mean, I didn't think you'd stay in Australia, but I...' He shrugged. 'I wasn't sure you'd come back to me.'

'Why wouldn't I?' Hermione pulled away slightly.

'I don't know!' Ron pushed himself to his feet and began to pace. 'Maybe with some time and space, you might think you made a horrible mistake and was only going to come back to tell me you just wanted to be friends.'

'Ron, I...' Hermione stood and stepped in the middle of Ron's path. 'I meant what I said. That I wanted to have a nice, normal life with you. I'm sorry it took so long to get back. I hated that I had to stay there for nearly two months. I didn't think it through. I just thought, "Oh, well, then, I'll go restore my parents' memories, and we'll be back in Oxford within a week".' Hermione aimed a kick at one of the cushions. 'Somehow, it didn't occur to me, that they would have lives, and I was going to have to uproot them.'

She began to pace around the confines of the tree house. 'I hated every day I was in Australia,' Hermione confessed in a whisper. 'I love my parents, but they're not my home anymore. You are.' She stood directly across from him. 'The only thing I wanted, after that day I reversed the memory charm on my parents was to come home.'

Ron stared at her for a moment. 'How is it you can make me feel like the most enormous prat in the world, and love you for it?' Ron collapsed back onto the cushion. 'Wait, don't answer that.' He rooted around in a box, and found a Self-Inking Quill. He opened up his diary to a blank page.

13 September 1998

I'm not very good with words. You know that. I've lost count of the number of letters I've tried to write to you and ended up tearing into tiny pieces, throwing in the fire, or feeding Ginny's Pygmy Puff.

I missed you so much I couldn't sleep. I missed talking to you. I missed seeing you sit next to me at meals.

This is my home. It's where I grew up. I can point to the exact spot where I was sitting when Fred turned my teddy bear into a spider when I was three. Or I can tell you how Ginny, the twins and I all got dragon pox from Percy. I can show you the spot in the paddock where I fell off a broom the first time I was on one, and broke my front tooth.

But ever since you came here before our fourth year, when you're not here, it doesn't feel like home.

I know the spot on the sofa where you like to curl up and read after dinner. I can tell when you've been washing your hair, because the bathroom smells like lemons. I know you like marmalade on your toast, but strawberry jam on scones. You like milk in your tea, but not your coffee. And you talk in your sleep, but only when you're sleeping peacefully. You haven't talked much, lately.

You're a bloody good dancer. I wish we'd been able to dance more at Bill's wedding.

And one day, Hermione, I'm going to marry you.

I love you. With all the certainty that the Cannons will finish last.

Ron blew on the ink to dry it, and handed the diary to Hermione.

******

Ron walked Hermione to the gate, her knapsack slung on his shoulder. It was getting dark, and Hermione had promised her parents she would be home for dinner. 'Let me see you home,' Ron said. 'Please?'

'Why?' Hermione looked at him, slightly startled.

'It's what blokes do with their girlfriends,' Ron said matter-of-factly.

'Oh. Well, all right, then.' Hermione held out her hand. 'I'll Side-Along you this time, so you'll know where to go next time.' Ron took her hand in his, and she turned.

They reappeared in the neat back garden of the Grangers' house. Ron slowly turned in a circle. The myriad roses glowed in the fading sunlight. The evening breeze carried a hint of the sun-warmed scent of roses. The back door opened and a woman with Hermione's hair, barely confined in a clip came out to greet them. 'Hermione, you're back.' Jane gave her daughter a hug, and with an arm around Hermione's waist, looked up at Ron. 'Ron Weasley.' She held out a hand.

Ron shook Jane's hand, feeling more than a bit awkward, towering over the petite women. 'Mrs. Granger,' he said, ducking his head.

Jane smiled at him. 'I'm sure the last thing you want to hear is "My how much you've grown," but my how much you've grown since the last time I saw you.'

Ron gave Jane an embarrassed sort of grin, before he remembered his manners. 'The roses are beautiful, Mrs. Granger.'

'Oh, that's not any of my doing. Hermione's father is the one who does them.' She took Hermione's knapsack from Ron unresisting hand. 'Would you like to come in for a cup of tea before you go back home?'

Ron looked at Hermione, who wore a hopeful expression. He looked at Jane. 'Yes, I'd like that very much.' He followed Jane and Hermione inside the house.