Honestly, Hermione

Chapter Five: Caught Off-Guard

"Ron, are you sure you know what you're doing?" Hermione asked. He was still gently pressing her hand, probing for any broken bones.

"Quiet, 'Mione. I'm an Auror, you know. I can manage a simple healing charm." Before she could protest, he muttered a spell she recognized, and she felt the painful sensation of bones swiftly knitting themselves back together. She would have a few choice words with Ginny later for breaking her hand.

But after a moment, the pain was gone. "There." Ron looked up and smiled at Hermione. For a moment, it was as if they'd never been apart. Then he cleared his throat and stood up straight. "Well. I guess we should go tell everyone it's a boy." He offered her his hand, and she hopped down from the examining table. Hand in hand they headed back toward the hospital waiting room.

Right outside the door, they both stopped. Both were nervous again, and the camaraderie was broken. Hermione wondered what he was thinking. Shyly, she asked, "Ron?"

"Yeah?" he answered softly. Almost eagerly, Hermione thought. It turned her away. What was she going to say?

"Never mind." She dropped his hand and looked away. "Maybe you should go in. They're your family." She didn't want to go in there with Ron. Mrs. Weasley had never fully forgiven her for refusing Ron's proposal, and such a joyous moment - the announcement of Ginny's first child - seemed an inappropriate moment for Hermione to share with Ron.

He rolled his eyes at her. "Come off it, Hermione. You're family."

She thought suddenly that Ron's time in the US had not done much for his manners. Her temper flared. "No, Ron, I'm not. I'm a friend, and your mother barely tolerates me, even though it's been seven bloody years!"

"Don't be stupid. My mother loves you like another daughter - just like she always has." He grasped her arm. "Harry and Ginny chose you and me for godparents. You're not getting out of this. They both wanted you here today. No one's going to say anything different. Don't be a coward."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up at that. "Coward? Coward?!! Ron Weasley, I'm sure you didn't just call me a coward. When have I ever been a coward?" He raised a brow knowingly. She just glared. "You think I was being a coward when I turned down your proposal? My, my, aren't we egotistical," she said with unbelievable sarcasm. "Ron, I was bloody seventeen. And you're the one who ran away, not I."

"Right," he muttered. "Leave it to her to use proper grammar in an argument." Back to her, he raised his voice. "I was seventeen, too, 'Mione. And you did run away. You ran right back to your books and hid there, just like you always do."

"I didn't run back to my books, Ron. I made a choice. I chose to further my education rather than suffer in poverty and ignorance with you," she spat.

"Sure you did. Poverty and ignorance, huh? You, Miss Equal Rights for House Elves, couldn't imagine living without your precious Muggle credit cards? I thought you didn't mind that I wasn't rich like Harry." He stared hard at her, causing her to blush slightly.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," she shot back.

"Really!" He had raised his voice as she did, and now both were close to shouting.

"Ron, even if you're a world-famous Auror, you're still a stupid prat! Now go in there and tell your family that your only sister is now the mother of a beautiful baby boy!" she shouted at top volume. "Move!" She needn't have insisted upon it. At that moment, the waiting room door burst open, and a rush of Weasleys poured out. Fred and George led the pack. Their wise grins caused both Ron and Hermione to blush bright red.

"No need, no need," George told them. "Harry already told us. Wondered where you'd gone, in fact."

Hermione hated the knowing grins that were plastered across the twins' faces. She'd always hated them. Because they only grinned like that when they caught Hermione and Ron in something of a compromising situation. Stupid gits, she thought to herself. Then her quick mind found an excuse. She held up her hand. "Ron healed my hand after Ginny crushed it. That's where we were."

Fred raised his red eyebrows and glanced at his younger brother. "Really? Ickle Ronniekins has become a healer as well?"

Ron glowered. Hermione knew he had always hated when his older brothers treated him like a baby. Apparently some things never changed. "Shut up, Fred," he grumbled.

Hermione sighed. "Well, I suppose you all know. They've had a boy." She looked around at the sea of red heads and nodded once. "Right, then. I'll be off." She was about to disapparate when Mrs. Weasley called to her to stop. She turned to face the Weasley clan. In that silent moment, as Hermione looked over the faces she knew so well, her heart squeezed. For a moment she would have given her entire library to be a part of such a family.

Molly and Arthur Weasley stood hand in hand, even after all these years, love shining in their eyes. All around them, red heads and smiling faces filled the waiting room. Bill, the oldest Weasley, had his arm around his girlfriend Acacia, a red-headed Greek witch he'd met while working for Gringott's in Egypt. Though they still weren't married, they had three children: eight-year-old Max (for Telemachus, of course), six-year-old Bianca, and three-year-old Geoffrey. All three children had hair as red as their parents'. Charlie Weasley had met his wife Irina in Romania. Their twins Elliot and Ekaterina (Eli and Kat) were just seven and already as much trouble as Fred and George had ever been. Hermione thought for a moment about the ruckus they'd raise when they got to Hogwarts in a few years. A ghost of a smile crossed her face at the picture that formed in her mind. Fred and his daughter Anna stood beside George and his wife Mary. Mary was a Canadian with a sense of humor that mirrored George's. They'd met at the grand opening of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes in London. She'd been visiting a friend for the summer. She'd never gone back to Canada, and she was now the proud mother of George, Jr. (who was an overactive eight-year-old) and his five-year-old brother Artie. Percy and his Hogwarts sweetheart Penelope had married (finally) right after Ginny graduated from Hogwarts. So far, Percy was the most prolific Weasley, with four children and another on the way. His children, Paul (4), Priscilla (3), Patrick (2), and Patience (1) were running about the waiting room, climbing about on the furniture - and their relatives - and acting nothing at all like either Percy or Penelope.

And then there was Ron. While not the only unmarried Weasley, he was the only unattached one. In the waiting room filled with 23 members of his family, Ron was alone.

Like Hermione.

She mentally shook her head and focused on Ron's mother. She'd stopped Hermione from going, after all. "Yes?" she asked with a pleasant smile.

Molly noted the trace of sadness in Hermione's face. For a minute she felt sorry for the lonely girl. Being the smartest witch in Britain didn't satisfy the heart, however much it pleased Hermione's brain. "We've got to celebrate, dear. Aren't you going to join us? Another Weasley - ahem," she corrected, "Potter added to us. We're going to the Leaky Cauldron. Won't you come along?"

Hermione flicked a glance to Ron. Wouldn't he be uncomfortable having her there? After all, this was his family, not hers. And what with their past -

"Ah go on, 'Mione," the redhead in question urged. "Come have a butterbeer with the whole Weasley clan. We can catch up. Harry'd want you to come."

Harry? What did Harry matter in all this? Ron was such a - "Oh," she whispered, remembering. Harry. Ginny. New baby. Godparents. Whatever happened to being the smartest witch in Britain? she asked herself. "Oh, honestly," she muttered.

Ron watched Hermione blush and wished suddenly that they were alone. That blush had always done things to him. Seven years hadn't made as much difference as he'd hoped. "Well?" He held out his arm like a gentleman, and she took it. Ron couldn't help but grin. Hermione had always been a sucker for gentlemanly maneuvers.

Arthur Weasley shared a look with his oldest two sons, and they all pretended not to notice Ron's ears turning red. The boy was practically bursting with pride, just having Hermione at his side again! Arthur shook his head and muffled a chuckle. No matter how far Ron went or how famous he became, that Hermione Granger would always be able to turn him into a bumbling schoolboy.

***

Harry was in fine form at the Leaky Cauldron. For a while, at least, he had forgotten all his troubles and the war with the Dark Lord. For now, he was only an exceedingly proud father and husband. "Look," he'd tell the waitress each time she passed their table, pointing to the magical picture of his newborn son he had taken before leaving Ginny and baby James for an hour or two. "That's my son. Isn't he the most brilliant baby you've ever seen?"

Hermione coughed into her napkin to hide her amusement. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was acting just like every other proud papa. Hermione hadn't ever seen him so...giddy. It was so odd, watching Harry grow intoxicated on butterbeer and the ever-changing sight of his new son in the photo. Harry was usually so serious. Who wouldn't be, in his place? The most feared dark wizard in history hated him and sought to harm him every time they met. And it had been like that since Harry was eleven...ever since he was a baby, when you got right down to it. Now Harry was the captain of an elite international team dedicated to rooting out and destroying the Dark Side. Hermione knew that he lived with a constant fear that Voldemort was going to attack Ginny - or now baby James - in order to destroy Harry, but to listen to him now, he hadn't a care in the world. Hermione almost burst out laughing as her friend accosted the waitress again. "Look at that! He's crying! My son!"

Hermione glanced around the table and noticed that the other adults were trying their best to mask their amusement at Harry's new fatherly pride. Her eyes met Ron's blue ones, twinkling with amusement. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. Then she felt his hand on her leg under the table. She told herself to be offended at such a liberty, but too much butterbeer had slowed her quick mind a bit, and she only reached up and pinched his ear. Hard.

"Oy!" Ron shouted, clapping the offending hand over his ear and giving Hermione a wounded look. "Why'd you do that, 'Mione?"

She crooked an eyebrow, almost daring him to give her a reason to tell. Ron quieted down and became suddenly interested in Harry's photo. Hermione bit back a grin and told herself to let up on the butterbeer before she became addled and lost her edge. She switched to fizzy lemonade (her favorite Muggle beverage - so lucky the new proprietors of the Leaky Cauldron knew a bit about the Muggle world) and chatted with some of the other members of the Weasley clan.

***    

After a couple of hours, Harry decided he had to get back to Ginny. The others were getting a bit tired (it had been a long day), so they all said their good-byes at the Leaky Cauldron and went their separate ways. Once again, Hermione was about to apparate home when she was asked to wait. This time it was Ron. "Give me a hand, will you?" he asked her, gesturing to Harry. "A few too many toasts, I think. He's in no condition to apparate back to St. Mungo's, and I can't fly him back on my own."

Hermione snorted. That was an understatement. Ron had tipped a few pints himself and was only slightly less pissed than Harry. She shook her head. Some things never changed. She wondered if she would always be getting her two best friends out of scrapes. "I'm not flying," she told Ron adamantly.

He rolled his eyes - sort of - and sighed. "How would you suggest we get back to St. Mungo's then? Walk? Take the tube? They don't exactly have a parking lot, even if I did have a car. We have to fly."

"There's no such thing as having to fly, Ron," she argued. "I've somehow managed to avoid it for years. Don't you have a portkey? I thought, being an Auror and all, you'd know where all of them are." She crossed her arms under her chest and fixed him with a sharp stare.

Normally, Ron would have come up with some sort of answer, but he'd switched from butterbeer to cream stout with Harry, and his wits were more than a wee bit addled. "I - you - oh shut it, 'Mione," he sputtered. She was highly amused by this response - such as it was - and waited with an imperious look on her young face for him to say something else. He did. "We have to fly. I have my broom, and I can't remember where the nearest portkey is, alright? So have your laugh and give me a hand, will you? My broom's out back."

"And if I say no?" she challenged, just to see what he would do.

"Then you can explain to my sister why her husband is scattered in bits all through the Floo Network," he said calmly, helping Harry toward the back of the building where his broom was.

Hermione glared after the pair for a moment before giving in. She'd puzzle out later how Ron could make so much sense when he was drunk. It was probably a skill he discovered living in the States. She caught up and propped Harry up on the other side. "I'll do it, but I'm not going to enjoy a minute of this, Ronald Weasley," she warned. He smiled at her, and she fought down the warmth his twinkling blue eyes created in her. Prat, she thought.

They were helping Harry onto the broom, and Hermione was trying to get him to sit up for just a minute. "Honestly, Harry! Couldn't you have managed to stay just a little bit sober? Ginny's going to have your ass in a sling if you arrive in her room like this." She looked up, noticing that both her friends were giving her clear-eyes looks of mingled shock and amusement. "What?" she asked.

"My ass in a sling, 'Mione?" Harry queried. "Strong language." He tsked at her, then practically fell on Ron, laughing.

Ron laughed, too. "My, my. You have changed. You sounded like an American for a second."

She glared, masking her embarrassment at using such vulgar speech. "Well, it's no thanks to you if I did."

He stopped. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Seven years without a single word, Ron? You owled everyone else often enough. You even sent e-mails to Harry and Ginny! I have a computer. Have had. And Ginny gave you my address twice. I even sacrificed my pride and sent you an e-mail once I wrangled your address out of Harry. You never even wrote back! Not one single word! We've been friends since we were eleven years old, and you couldn't even send a 'Got your message. Thanks,' to me? What kind of great prat are you?" She was practically shouting, but she didn't care. There was no one else in the alley, and if there were others around, then Ron could suffer in public.

"Like you really wanted to hear from me," he roared back. "You were all cozy with your bloody books, hiding from the world in your stupid ivory towers of higher learning."

Ivory tower, Hermione corrected silently.

"Bloody hell, what was I supposed to say? 'Dear Hermione, still love you, miss you madly, can't manage to hate you even if you broke my heart, could you please continue to crush my hopes by keeping up correspondence with me? Fondly, Ron.'" He was staring at her with blazing anger...and seven years of repressed heartbreak...in his eyes. His chest was heaving as they faced each other, toe to toe.

"Yes!" Hermione yelled back. "That would have been a good start! But no. You just couldn't set aside your pride for a second, could you? No. Not the spectacular Ron Weasley, master of wizard chess and Quidditch keeper extraordiniare. Better for him to slink off and nurse a broken heart and not give another thought to me. Oh, no! You didn't give a single thought to me, did you? Never thought how almost all our old friends turned their backs on me, just because I didn't want to get married when I was only seventeen, did you? Never cared for a second what your family thought of me. Didn't care that Percy and Charlie and Bill and your mother thought I was nothing but a selfish tease for refusing you after - after...everything..." She was thankful for the night sky that hid her blush at mentioning her intimacy with Ron. "Nothing seemed to matter to you but your own precious feelings. Poor ickle Ronnie, spurned and forlorn, must take his wee ickle heart off to America -"

"Honestly," he muttered, disbelieving. "Only one way to stop this," he said under his breath. Then he grabbed Hermione by the arms and pulled her to him for a kiss.

Hermione was too shocked at first to push Ron away. And after a second, she didn't want to. She'd missed this more than she wanted to admit. Ron let go her arms and instead encircled her waist, holding her closer to him. Slowly her arms snaked up and around his neck as she deepened the kiss. Somewhere in her mind she began debating as to why she'd given this up. At the fore, though, was the thought that she and Ron seemed to fit together almost perfectly. And every place their bodies met, her skin burned with repressed memories...and desire. When Ron broke their kiss to catch his breath, Hermione waited only an instant before claiming his lips again. Something tightened in her middle, and she dragged her fingers through his wavy red hair. Memories were getting stronger and clearer as she kissed Ron. In her mind's eye, she could clearly see him that day they first made love, and later in the third floor corridor at Hogwarts, and most intriguing, their one tryst in Hogsmead seventh year.

A quiet cough intruded on the pair, and they parted to face Harry, who chuckled. Hermione noticed that he was hovering in the air on the broomstick he hadn't been able to even hang onto a minute ago. He seemed quite sober now, while Hermione and Ron both felt more than a little intoxicated with desire. Then Harry spoke.

"Took you long enough."