Tree Houses and Daisies

Ron stood in the middle of the Grangers' back garden, his arms around Hermione's waist. 'I have to go,' he murmured against her lips.

'I know.' Hermione didn't relinquish her embrace. Instead, she kissed the hollow of Ron's throat, where his pulse tripped under her mouth. After several more minutes of torture, she reluctantly let go of Ron.

'Good night, Mione.' Ron tipped her chin up and softly kissed her.

'Good night, Ron.' Hermione took a step back and let go of Ron's hand. He smiled at her - a half-quirk of one side of his mouth, and began to turn.

Hermione blinked and he was gone.

She continued to stand in the garden, thinking about the past hour. In a way, Hermione pitied Ron. But only a tiny bit. Her mother had spent the half-hour Ron stayed for a cup of tea asking him about his family, his job. To his credit, Ron answered each question honestly. Before he left, though, Jane invited him over for dinner Saturday evening. Her birthday. It was the first one she would get to celebrate with her parents in ages.

Hermione also thanked whatever deity had inspired someone to schedule a meeting for that antique rose growers society Richard belonged to down at a pub by Oxford. She privately felt Ron was lucky Richard hadn't been home. Ron might still be at the kitchen table, being grilled by her father, like one of the best inquisitors on the Wizengamot. She sincerely hoped Richard would behave on Saturday. Ron could get a bit tight when he was nervous, and was prone to blurting out the first thing that came into his head. But if he was relaxed, Ron could be quite charming, if he wanted to be.

Hermione started when she felt a woolen shawl drape over her shoulders. 'I could see you shiver from the house,' Jane admonished gently.

Hermione grinned sheepishly. 'Just thinking.'

'He's a nice boy,' Jane commented.

'Yes, he is.'

'Definitely not the same Ron you used to write home about,' Jane continued.

'He grew up a lot when we were...' Hermione drew a slow breath. 'Out,' she finished succinctly. 'Plus, he has this book he thinks I don't know about. Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches.' Hermione chuckled.

'Just one question, Hermione.'

'Yes?'

'Has he never seen a toaster before?' Jane asked, perplexed.

Hermione just laughed.

Saturday was going to be an interesting evening.

******

Ron was standing on the top of Stoatshead Hill. He had Apparated there deliberately, wanting to spend some time alone before he got back home. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and began to carefully pick his way down the side of the hill. A thought wormed its way into his head. Ron stopped, one foot suspended in the air. 'Dinner!' he whispered, horrified. Even he knew how atrocious his table manners could be. He hadn't missed the looks of disgust everyone sent his way at more than one meal time. He pulled his wand out, and whispered, 'Lumos,' directing the resulting beam of light down at his clothing. He was wearing a jumper with frayed cuffs. His jeans were in danger of developing holes in the knees, as threadbare as they were, and his trainers were dirty and scuffed. He hadn't bothered replacing any of his clothes since the end of the war, and what he had at home was in more or less the same state. The only good set of clothing he did have were his dress robes, and he had left them at Grimmauld Place last summer.

Ron sighed, and sank to the ground, his head in his hands. He was going to meet Hermione's father, and the last thing he wanted to do was give him a bad impression.

And he needed to find a birthday gift for Hermione. He had given her Christmas gifts, of course, but birthdays were special. Ron smacked himself in the head. 'Damn,' he muttered. 'What in the bloody hell am I getting myself into?' There was no way he was going to risk clothing. He wouldn't know what size, and knowing his luck, he'd get something too big. She wasn't very girlie, rather like Ginny, but Ginny played Quidditch, and you could always get her new shin or arm guards or gloves. Hermione cheered for Gryffindor at school, but that was as far as her Quidditch loyalties lay. Books, she had. Ron wasn't even sure what kind of book she liked beyond school books.

There was no other way around this. Ron was in over his head and he knew it. He needed help.

Ron hauled himself to his feet and brushed the grass from the rear of his jeans. There was only one person who had the remotest chance of helping.

******

'Mum?' Ron stood in the doorway to the sitting room. 'I need some advice.' He made idle figure eights with the toe of his trainer on the worn wood of the floor.

Molly looked up from her knitting, surprised. 'All right.' She laid the burgeoning jumper down in her lap. 'What about? You don't seem to need any regarding Hermione,' she said lightly.

'I'm having dinner with her and her parents Saturday,' Ron said desperately. 'I don't want to embarrass her.' Ron slid down the wall, so he sat with his knees crooked into a vee. 'I've got all these images of a thousand forks on the table, and I won't know which one to use,' he said miserably.

Molly nodded, and turned to the sagging bookcase against the wall. 'I know just what you need,' she said. 'Accio.' A well-worn children's book landed in her outstretched hand. 'Come sit here,' Molly told Ron, patting the sofa cushion next to her.

Ron pushed himself upright, and flopped on the sofa next to his mother. 'Oh!' He blinked in surprise. 'I remember this. You tried to make me read it when I was seven or eight.' He thumbed through the brightly-colored pages, watching the pictures move as they demonstrated the correct way to hold a fork, which fork to use for which course at fancy dinners, where to put your knife.

'You were always more interested in putting the food in your mouth than in how it actually got there,' Molly said, softening the mild criticism with a smile.

'Yeah, well.' Ron rubbed the back of his neck. 'It's maybe about time I paid attention to how it got there.' He fiddled with the book cover for a moment, and steeled himself for his next question. 'What should I get her for her birthday?'

'That's not for me to say.'

'Mum!' Ron protested.

'If I told you what to get Ron, it won't be from you.' Molly patted his back. 'Believe me; you'll know it when you see it.' She laughed at the theatrical groan Ron directed to his knees.

'I have five days,' he moaned.

'Just don't stress about it. And whatever you get will be fine.'

'Thanks, Mum.' Ron kissed Molly on the cheek. 'I'm going to go up to bed,' he yawned. Ron stumbled to the stairs and slowly climbed them to his room. Harry was already in bed, reading. 'Hey,' Ron said wearily, tossing the etiquette book on his bed. Last night was starting to catch up with him.

Harry glanced up with a smirk. 'I see you found your Cannons shirt,' he said, pointing to Ron's bed.

'Yeah, fancy that,' Ron drawled nonchalantly. He pulled on his pajamas, and went to brush his teeth. Ron slid into bed with a groan. He took in a deep breath. He could smell the faint, musky perfume of Hermione on the sheets. It was better than the freshly laundered bedding at Hogwarts. Ron began to make a mental shopping list. He fell asleep after "trousers" - the first item on the list.

******

'George?' Ron swept the back room carefully.

'Hmmm?' George stood in front of the shelves, with a clipboard in one hand, and quill in the other.

'Could I have Wednesday afternoon off?' Ron asked in a rush.

George looked up nonplussed. 'Whatever for?'

'I need to find a birthday gift for Hermione,' Ron said, picking at a fleck of peeling paint on the broom handle.

'Good luck with that,' George teased. 'Do you have any idea of what you want to get her?'

'Nothing at all.'

George raised an eyebrow and scribbled an address on a scrap of parchment. 'Try there,' he said shoving it across the work table. 'Before everything went to hell last year, I found something there for Katie for her birthday, too.'

'Katie? Katie Bell?' Ron spluttered.

George rolled his eyes. 'What? I can't be friends with a girl? She's a nice girl.'

Ron grunted. 'I always thought Katie had a thing for Oliver.'

'Huh. Oliver's all but married to Quidditch. I don't think he'd notice a man or a woman, even if they were trying to put a Quaffle in the goalpost naked. People aren't people. They're Quidditch players first to him.'

'That explains a lot,' Ron muttered. He picked up the parchment. 'It's a bookshop?'

'Yeah, in Muggle London. They have some really nice books. Fancy, y'know.' George paused and continued delicately, 'The bird that runs the place is really knowledgeable. Just describe Hermione to her. She'll be able to give you a few suggestions.'

Ron's face lit up in relief. 'Oh, thank Merlin. I was afraid I'd have to give her a new copy of Hogwarts, a History. Hers is falling apart.' Ron pocketed the parchment carefully. 'One more thing?'

'I'm not giving you snogging lessons. By the looks of that photograph in the paper yesterday, you're doing just fine.'

Ron's face blazed bright red. It clashed horribly with his hair. 'No. Not that. I need to get some clothes...'

George gave Ron a slow, careful once-over. 'Muggle clothing, I assume?'

'Yeah, I'm having dinner with Hermione and her parents Saturday.'

'Ah.' George nodded. 'Trousers, shoes, a nice shirt, and maybe a jumper.' He eyed Ron critically. 'Go for black with the trousers and shoes. Maybe a nice charcoal or dark blue for the jumper, and anything that will go with your hair for the shirt.'

'Did staying at Auntie Muriel's turn you into a pouf or what?' Ron gazed at George suspiciously.

George laughed. 'Ron, you can't turn into a pouf. You just are one. Remember Kenneth Towler from my year? Talk to him sometime.' George shook his head. 'Nah. Auntie Muriel just had a lot of back issues of Wizarding Gentlemen. And there wasn't much to do when we were hiding out at her place.' George turned back to the shelves. 'Just let me know if you need some help, eh?'

Ron nodded and feverishly repeated George's suggestions to himself, trying to commit them to memory.

*****

Ron stood in front of the bathroom mirror, nervously combing his hair. He had asked Molly to trim it for him, and as usual it was a bit shorter than he liked, but at least it wasn't sticking up in odd places. He tried to see his entire body in the mirror, but it was too small, so he settled for balancing on the edge of the bathtub to view the bottom half. Ron looked down and pulled the hem of the jumper, smoothing the wrinkles. 'You look good.' Ron's head snapped to the side. Harry stood in the doorway, dressed in a pair of pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. He had changed earlier after Teddy spit up down his back. Harry's head tilted to the side. 'You look like you're going to school in that get-up, though.'

Ron's eyes widened and he looked back down. He groaned and mentally smacked George on the back of the head. He was wearing a neatly pressed pair of black trousers, not unlike his school uniform trousers, a charcoal grey jumper, and the collar of a dark blue button down shirt peeped over the round collar of the jumper. 'I'm going to kill George.'

'Why are you going to kill George?' Arthur's disheveled head appeared over Harry's.

'I look like I'm in my bloody school uniform!' Ron exclaimed. 'She's going to be mortified,' he hissed.

'You look fine, son. Very smart.' Arthur sidled in past Harry and squeezed next to Ron in the small bathroom. He gently tucked one side of the button-down shirt's collar into the jumper. 'There. You'll do fine tonight.' Arthur brushed some lint off Ron's back.

'Ron!' Molly slid to a stop on the landing, Teddy in her arms. 'You're going to be late!'

Ron looked at his watch, and his face went pale under his freckles. 'Bloody hell,' he muttered, and pushed past the crowd and dashed down stairs. He stopped long enough to pick up a small, brightly wrapped parcel on the kitchen counter. 'I won't be out too late, Mum!' he called up to Molly. He could feel his palms go damp. Ron stopped at the gate and took a deep breath. 'Well, here goes...'

******

Hermione paced in the garden, waiting for Ron. He wasn't late. Yet. But she had to do something to drive out the butterflies in her stomach. Besides, she was early. She went to the trellis arch, and tried to make herself sit on the bench under it. She jumped when the crack of someone Apparating echoed in the garden. Hermione whirled around. Ron stood in the middle of the garden, clutching a small package. 'Hi.' She smiled nervously at him.

The corner of Ron's mouth tipped up in that half-grin. 'Hi. Happy birthday,' he said, leaning forward to kiss her. He looked down at her. 'You look... Wow.'

'What? This old thing?' Hermione held out a fold of the skirt of her dress. It was a dress she'd had for a few years.

'Old or not, you still look amazing.'

'Thanks.' Hermione stood back. 'You don't look so bad yourself.'

'It doesn't look too much like my school uniform?' Ron's voice still held a faint note of anxiety.

'You know...' Hermione looked at Ron, her eyes traveling from his toes up to his head. 'Now that you say something...'

Ron shoved the parcel into her hand. 'I knew it... I can't do this. I'm not good with parents, and now I look like I'm about to go take a History of Magic class. I'm going home,' he moaned.

'Ron, wait!' Hermione caught his hand. 'You look fine. Please, don't go.'

Ron's shoulders hunched. 'I just don't want you to be embarrassed by me,' he told her softly.

'I could never be embarrassed by you.' Hermione tugged on his hand. 'Come inside.' Ron allowed Hermione to lead him into the house. She looked over her shoulder at him and squeezed his hand encouragingly. 'Don't worry. I've already made Dad promise to ease up on you tonight.' Ron's only response was a strangled sort of gurgle.

Hermione took Ron into the kitchen, where her parents were finishing dinner preparations. 'Look who I found,' she said brightly. 'Dad, you remember Ron?'

Ron surreptitiously wiped his free hand down his trouser leg and held his hand out to Richard. 'Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Granger.' He groaned inwardly to at how shaky he sounded.

'Ah, it's nice to meet you again, Ron.' Richard jovially pumped Ron's hand a few times.

Ron pried his tongue off the roof of his mouth. 'Mrs. Granger.'

'Good evening, Ron.' Jane smiled warmly at him. 'Lovely to see you again. Dinner will be ready in a moment. Hermione, why don't you and Ron go have a seat, then?'

Ron flashed Jane a smile of pure gratitude and trailed after Hermione to the dining room. He sagged with relief. There were only two forks at each place setting. 'Oh, thank Merlin,' he breathed.

Hermione gestured to a chair, and settled in the one next to it. 'What?'

'I kept having horrible nightmares of hundreds and hundreds of forks dancing over the table.' Ron's eyes closed briefly. 'I can handle two. The book Mum had me read only went up to four.'

'You read a book?' Hermione goggled at him. 'What kind of book?'

'Etiquette,' Ron mumbled. 'Table manners.' His finger traced the edge of the napkin folded into a fan-shape. 'Don't laugh,' he pleaded.

'No.' Hermione held up the package. 'May I open this?'

'If you want.' Ron watched Hermione carefully pull the paper off, holding his breath.

'Oh, Ron...' Hermione turned the book over in her hands. It was a copy of Much Ado About Nothing, bound in burgundy leather.

'I told the lady at the bookshop who was helping me that we sort of bickered a bit. She said you might like this.'

'I do.' Hermione opened the front cover, running a reverential fingertip over the textured pages. 'I can't believe you got me a book. A Muggle book, no less.' She cupped Ron's cheek on one hand. 'Thank you.' Hermione pulled Ron's head down for a brief, sweet kiss. 'It's beautiful.'

Ron's head bobbed in bashfully. 'You're welcome, hen.'

******

'So, Ron,' Richard turned to Ron, who was twisting his napkin in his lap. 'I hear you play chess.'

'Yes, I do.'

'How good are you?' Richard propped his chin on an upturned hand, the challenge evident in his eyes.

'I'm all right, I suppose,' Ron replied diffidently, shrugging. 'I can beat Hermione.'

'Hermione doesn't play chess, she moves pieces around the board,' pronounced Richard.

'Thanks, Dad,' Hermione chimed in sarcastically. Ron glanced at her, but she didn't seem ruffled by the comment.

'I only speak the truth, Hermione. Of all the things you can do, chess is not one of them.' Richard's gaze transferred back to Ron. 'Fancy a game?'

'What? Now?' Ron's eyes widened.

'Why not?' Richard pushed his chair away from the table. 'Come on.'

Ron looked at Hermione. 'D'you mind?'

She laughed, shaking her head. 'Go on, go. Dad's been dying to play chess with someone since his regular opponent retired last April and moved to Vancouver to be with his family.'

Ron trailed after Richard and folded his lanky frame to the floor, in front of the coffee table, Richard on the sofa. 'White or black?' Richard asked briskly.

'Black.' Ron picked up a pawn, and turned it over in his fingers. It wasn't his first time playing with a Muggle chess set. His own set stopped shouting advice for the most part when he was ten. And after McGonagall's chess set, anything else was a piece of cake. These pieces weren't trying to knock him unconscious, after all.

******

After an hour and a half, Ron stared at the board. He shook his head and used a blunt forefinger to tip his king over. 'Bugger me,' he exclaimed softly. He looked up at Richard, bemusement warring with admiration on his face. 'I haven't been beaten since...' Ron trailed off, thinking. 'Since I was fifteen, sixteen, I think.' Ron lined up the white pieces next to the board, and passed them to Richard. 'I want a rematch. Next Saturday.'

'Three o'clock suit?'

'My brother's shop is open until five,' Ron replied, with a small shake of his head.

'Dinner, then. Next Saturday. We'll play chess afterward.'

Ron's eyes narrowed. 'How 'bout I bring my set?'

'Why? Is it special?'

Ron laughed. 'You could say that. It belonged to my grandfather Weasley. I'll have to warn you, the pieces may not like you at first, but you seem to know what you're about, so they'll listen to you.'

'What do you mean, "listen to me"?' Richard asked curiously.

'Wizards' chess. The pieces talk, move. When you capture a piece, it's rather... War-like.'

'Brilliant!'

Hermione leaned against Jane, a cup of tea in her hands. 'I think Dad found a playmate,' she told her mother in an undertone.

'It's like two peas in a pod,' Jane said dryly, watching her husband and the lanky teenager discuss chess moves. 'But I draw the line at Ron coming over and asking if Richard can come out and play.'

'That makes two of us,' Hermione chuckled.

Richard carefully packed the pieces into their velvet-lined box. 'So, you've known Hermione a long time.'

'Yeah.'

'How do you feel about her?'

Ron felt his heart skip a beat. 'What do you mean?'

Richard looked at Ron over the rims of his glasses. 'How do you feel about her?'

Ron bit his lip. He leaned across the coffee table, whispering urgently, 'I went shopping for clothes. I hate shopping for clothes. I'd rather dance with an Acromantula than go shopping for clothes, but I went to a shop, and let some swotty salesclerk cluck over me like a mother hen for an hour. Just for her.'

'What's an Acromantula?'

'A very large talking spider with poisonous pinchers,' Ron promptly replied. 'And I hate spiders even more than I hate shopping.' Ron fiddled with the hem of his new jumper. 'I want to spend the rest of my life trying to make her as happy as she is tonight,' he confessed.

'How old are you?' Richard pushed his glasses up his nose. 'If you don't mind me asking.'

'Eighteen. I'll be nineteen in March.'

'You're awfully young, to be that sure of yourself,' Richard commented, twirling a bishop.

'I beg your pardon, sir, but after the last seven years, especially last year, age is only a number.' Ron's eyes dropped to the hem of his jumper again. 'I've been childish, but I haven't been a child since I went into the Forbidden Forest to talk to a nest of Acromantulas to find out what had hurt Hermione.' Ron shook his head. 'Wait. No. Since Harry, Hermione and I went to try and stop You-Kn-... Voldemort from getting the Sorcerer's Stone our first year.' Ron grinned abashedly. 'That's a story for another time, though.'

******

Ron stood in the middle of the Grangers' back garden, Hermione's arms around his neck. 'Did you have a good birthday today?' he asked, kissing the corner of her mouth.

'Mmmm-hmmmm.' She turned her head, and captured his mouth with her own. 'You and Dad seemed to get on well.'

'He beat me.' Ron still sounded stunned. 'The only person who used to be able to beat me regularly was Bill, and he hasn't done that since my fifth year.'

Hermione smiled. 'It's good for you to lose every so often. Isn't that what you told me my first year?'

'Ahhh. Trust you to remember something I said seven years ago.' Ron's fingertips skimmed over the skin of Hermione's cheek, brushing a curl away from her face. He kissed her with all the pent-up longing of the past week. 'Coming to lunch tomorrow?'

'Absolutely.'

Ron tried to step away from Hermione, but he couldn't do it. 'Mione, one of us is going to have to let go, or you're going home with me.'

'Would that be so bad?'

'No, but your dad might kill me.' Hermione sighed, and let her hands slide away from Ron's shoulders. She started to step away, but Ron held her close for a moment. 'Happy birthday, hen.'

With that, he let her go, and stepped back. Hermione closed her eyes when he started to turn, and when she opened them, he was gone.