Ron put his best efforts into making the rest of the day as light-hearted as possible, and knew Hermione was doing her best to keep smiling along with him. They spent hours on the beach, writing and doodling in the sand which prompted Ron to turn the exercise into rather crude game, spelling out rude words and drawing things which Hermione had to quickly stamp all over before anyone else saw them.

They pushed each other into the sea. They splashed each other. Ron made fun of Hermione's frizzy salt-water hair. Hermione made fun of Ron's instant sun burn and continued to giggle as she dragged him inside to heal his sore skin with dittany.

They fawned over a little black puppy, which galloped towards them and danced around their legs for a long time. Hermione struggled to argue her case when Ron was adamant that they adopt the puppy if the owner did not show up in two hours (which, thankfully, she did).

Just as Hermione retreated back inside the tent to get ready for dinner, Ron couldn't help but thing that he had almost forgotten what it was like to have fun with Hermione. Their time being a couple had been fraught with tears and insecurities and awkward sexual experiments that they had rarely managed an hour of having the fun that they used to have. Back before any of the horcrux mess, Hermione and Ron had spent hours teasing each other, laughing at Ron's corny jokes, exploring Hogsmeade together... Ron's favourite memories were the ones where Hermione came to his house in the holidays, just before Harry did. They had a laugh, talking about Hogwarts nonsense while they did their chores. Sometimes, they'd get close to becoming what they were now. Ron remembered the moments before Harry arrived at Grimmauld Place for the first time, and Ron had almost surrendered to his urge to kiss her, up where they were quietly whispering on the landing, and he could've sworn Hermione would have let him, but Harry's arrival only but a stop to that moment.

"Ron?" Hermione called from the tiny bathroom, distracting him from his thoughts.

"Er, yeah?"

"Are you getting changed?" she asked warningly.

"Of course!" lied Ron, leaping off the bed and staring at the small beaded bag on the floor. "Um, I'm just not sure that I have anything formal..."

"You don't have to wear anything formal, Ron, just not beach shorts..."

Ron peered down at his hairy legs that were bare, thankfully, because Hermione had insisted on buying him some lightweight shorts. He had underestimated the Australian heat when packing.

"So... I have to wear jeans?"

"Yes, something like that."

What the hell did something like that mean?

"But it's boiling, Hermione!" he whined, snatching the bag up from the floor and delving inside.

"It'll be cooler later! Besides, Dad gave you his address. We can apparate there."

Ron sighed, grateful that Hermione had saved them a long walk through the sweltering town. He whipped his shorts and t-shirt off before delving into the bag in search of jeans and a passably clean shirt. He pulled his least-worn pair of jeans out and threw them down on the bed.

As he stood there scrambling to reach a decent shirt in nothing but his boxers, he became aware that he had taken his clothes off without a second thought. It didn't matter if Hermione walked in on him anymore, because she'd seen everything and vice versa. It got him wondering why Hermione was getting dressed in the bathroom like she had when they were on the run. It must be a girl thing. Or a Hermione thing.

He pulled on his jeans and grimaced. They were his tight ones, and he was already feeling too hot.

He took his time finding a shirt. It wasn't that he didn't care if Hermione walked in, it was that he wanted her to.

He heard the bathroom curtain being drawn back. "Ron, could you pass me the..."

He spun round. He didn't notice that Hermione was staring at his bare torso. She was a vision. She'd put on a blue summer dress, a cardigan and a small amount of make up on her eyes, nothing else. Her hair was clipped up. Sexy. Pretty. His.

"Could you, um... pass me the, um, bag, please?" she stuttered, looking down at the floor and smoothing her hair down with her hand. It took a while for Ron to notice she'd spoken. He surged forward and thrust the bag out towards her, startling her a little. She smiled in amusement. "Thank you..."

She started rummaging around in the bag. Ron felt stupid, standing there and staring at her when he knew he ought to say something. It seemed weird to just come out with it...

She pulled out a small green and purple tub.

"You look lovely," he blurted out at last.

It was definitely weird to just come out with it...

She blushed immediately, glancing at him momentarily before grinning at the floor. "My hair's a bit chaotic."

"I like it."

She raised an eyebrow at him doubtfully. "Really?"

Ron shrugged, unwilling to reveal his fondness for Hermione's bushy hair. "Yeah."

Hermione still looked doubtful. So, he took a step towards her and tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. He loved being able to do that. He loved running his hands through her hair when they kissed.

He placed a soft kiss on top of her head. He loved the smell of her shampoo.

"So that's a no for the Sleakeazy then?" she chuckled when he didn't stop nuzzling her hair. Ron grinned and pulled back.

"I like your hair as it is," he commented, admiring the way the fly-away tendrils of hair framed her face. Noticing his train of thought, he internally cursed himself. It's just hair.

"It's six o'clock," she said abruptly. "We said we'd be there at six."

Ron was suddenly nervous. "Right."

"We should go."

Ron sighed. "We should."

Hermione gulped. "It'll be fine."

Ron smiled at her. "Yeah, it will."

She smiled at him. She reached up and put a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him down to kiss her. She kissed him softly and almost shyly, but when she pulled away she looked decidedly determined.

Ron gulped, suddenly nervous as to what this encounter with Hermione's parents would bring. She laced her hands with his before apparating them to the address that she'd memorised.

oOoOo

Neither Ron nor Hermione were surprised by the Grangers' choice of home. It was large and Victorian, just like Hermione's childhood home. It was white, with a perfectly manicured front lawn and a shiny black car in the driveway. Ron knew little about cars, but could recognize an expensive one. It was impressive...

"Evening!" called Mr Granger, who they found to be waiting in the frame of the open front door even before they arrived. Hermione had squeezed Ron's hand when she spotted him.

"Dad, this house is incredible!" exclaimed Hermione as they walked past the car, up the driveway.

Mr Granger shrugged. "Just a shack in the woods, really..."

Ron looked around. There were no woods nearby. He hated muggle sayings.

"Come in. I'm cooking a roast dinner, proper English grub."

"Sounds nice," commented Hermione politely as they stepped into the entrance hall. Ron noticed Hermione glancing around anxiously, probably in search of her mother.

"She's in the garden..." said Mr Granger knowingly. "...getting some air."

Hermione frowned. Ron delicately placed his hand on the small of her back and kept it there as they followed Mr Granger in to the kitchen. The smell of roast dinner permeated the air and made Ron's mouth water. It had been days since he'd eaten a proper home-cooked meal...

"It's really nice of you to cook for us, Mr Granger," said Ron earnestly. "We appreciate it,"

Hermione smiled proudly, causing Ron to do the same.

Mr Granger blushed. "Well, now, that's alright. It takes a cold-hearted man to refuse to cook for his only daughter and her..." he waved in the direction of Ron, stumbling over the word.

"Boyfriend?" said Hermione.

"Yes, that. Have a seat."

Hermione and Ron sat beside each other at the large dining table, where plates and cutlery were already laid out, along with two bottles of wine. Ron noticed Hermione swallow when she saw them.

"You look very nice this evening, Hermione!" said Mr Granger happily as he brought a dish of carrots over to the table.

"Thanks," said Hermione casually, with a smile.

Ron smiled too. Her bashful reaction to his compliments in the tent were an indication to him that he was the reason she'd gotten dressed in the bathroom. She'd wanted to gage his reaction.

"I hope this is alright," said Mr Granger. "I haven't cooked a roast in... well, since England. I don't know how well this is going to turn out."

Ron saw Hermione frown. He looked at her curiously.

"Mum always does the cooking," she explained in a low voice. Ron nodded in understanding. He guessed that Mrs Granger's refusal to cook for Hermione was little to do with her feeling emotionally overwhelmed. He was rather starting to dislike Hermione's Mum...

"Right..." Mr Granger said to himself, staring at the oven door with a determined look. "Now, for the piéce de resistánce..." he bent down and yanked the oven door open. Ron watched in amazement. There was no fire in the oven, only a loud noise. A mechanical machine was cooking the food without fire. The cloud of heat hit his legs.

"How does an oven get hot?" Ron asked Hermione and her father.

Mr Granger turned to him and grinned. "Go on..."

"...what?" Ron asked in confusion.

"Oh. Oh, nothing, it just sounded like you were going to tell a joke. Um... well, it's electrical, um... I don't suppose you do have ovens at home..."

Ron shook his head.

Mr Granger sighed. "I've no idea. You'd have to ask an electrician. For all I know, it just gets hot when it's turned on."

Ron smirked and glanced at Hermione, who saw him and rolled her eyes.

"...hmm. Intersting."

"What is?" asked Hermione, distracting herself from Ron's crude humour.

"Magic. It's absolutely fascinating how wizards survive without electricity and things. It makes you think, doesn't it? It puts things into perspective..."

"You should meet my Dad," said Ron.

Before Mr Granger could reply, the back door swung open. In walked Mrs Granger with a face like thunder. As soon as she saw Ron and Hermione at the table, she looked almost embarrassed.

"Is it ready yet, Robert?"

"Yes, dear. Have a seat."

Mrs Granger gulped and walked over to the table. She sat down opposite Ron and grabbed the bottle of wine.

"Wine, Ron?" she said, twisting the cap off.

"Er, sure, thanks."

"Hermione?" she poured white wine into Ron's glass. It made a funny glugging sound.

"No thank you," Hermione mumbled quietly.

"Suit yourself..."

"Right!" exclaimed Mr Granger from the oven. He'd removed the dish. "It might be a tiny bit over-done but it's completely edible!"

He proudly made his way over and plonked the dish into the centre of the table. The three sitting down stared at the blackened meat join doubtfully.

"You've killed it," said Mrs Granger.

"I should hope so!" jokes Mr Granger. "Wouldn't want it alive, now, would we?"

Ron did his best to smile gratefully. He couldn't even tell what type of meat it was meant to be.

Mr Granger served the food in silence, taking each person's plate and piling it with green beans, carrots and roast potatoes. When he carved the meat, it became clear that it was beef. Hermione stared at it as though it were Crabbe and Goyle's polyjuice potion.

As soon as Mr Granger sat down, the atmosphere tensed. Nobody wanted to be the first to speak...

"Where's, um..." Hermione began, looking around. "Where's your son?"

"Oliver is upstairs, in his room," said Mrs Granger. "He's already eaten. He'll be down shortly."

Hermione nodded, passively prodding a carrot on her plate. The atmosphere tensed again. Ron grabbed his glass of wine and took a big gulp. The taste was disgusting and he fought the urge to grimace as he swallowed it. Mrs Granger was watching him with an amused expression.

"How are your parents, Ron?" she asked.

"Fine, thank you," he said in a raspy voice. "They send their best wishes,"

"We must see them again, Jean!" beamed Mr Granger. "I'd love to show Mr Weasley the cars..."

Ron's eyes widened. People had two cars?!

"Nobody wants to hear about your cars, Robert," said Mrs Granger with a cold smirk. "That's not why we invited Ron and Hermione here today, is it?"

Mr Granger frowned. "I suppose not..."

Ron recognised this moment as the sort that Hermione grew up to despise. He grabbed her hand under the table. She squeezed it and did not let go, knowing the questioning was about to start.

"So," began Mrs Granger, looking directly at Hermione. "Are you going to tell us where you've been for the past twelve months or are we going to have to guess?"

Ron caught himself glaring at her. He shook off his irritation and focused on Hermione, who was already flustered.

"Well, um... you remember I told you about Voldemort..?"

"Yes," said Mrs Granger.

"And that he came back to life in fourth year..."

The sentence sounded so strange. Mrs Granger seemed to notice this, but she nodded anyway. Mr Granger looked fascinated.

"Well, Professor Dumbledore started doing this... erm... he started to, um... he had this job to do. It would stop Voldemort seizing power. It would kill him."

Ron saw Mr and Mrs Granger's understanding falter.

"and when he died, he left the job to Harry. Ron and I decided to help him."

"Sorry, I'm confused..." said Mrs Granger sharply, the 'sorry' sounding like a far cry from an actual apology. "Your headmaster had a job to do..."

"Yes."

"...which would kill Voldemort."

"Yes."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Voldemort had accumulated enough knowledge of dark magic to use horcruxes to make him immortal by which he split his soul into seven parts and manifesting them into various objects and we set out to destroy them in order to kill Voldemort."

Hermione spoke at an alarming pace, the pitch of her voice rising as she did so. From her hand which he held, he could feel her shaking.

Mr and Mrs Granger stared at each other.

"So..." began Mr Granger. Ron was relieved that he'd spoken. "Since we lived in England, you've been looking for these, er... things?"

"Yes."

"It took a whole year?" asked Mrs Granger.

"Yeah," interrupted Ron before Hermione could respond. "It isn't easy, looking for absolutely any object on the planet that might contain a part of a dark wizard's soul..."

"Mum?" whispered a tiny voice.

All four adults turned to face the door. A boy with brown hair as bushy as Hermione's stood in the doorway, in shorts and a t-shirt. He stared at Ron and Hermione curiously.

Mrs Granger sighed. "Yes, Oliver?"

"I just wondered if I could get some lemonade..."

"It's in the fridge, dear."

"Thanks..." he walked straight past the dinner table to the fridge and busied himself with getting a drink. Hermione stared open-mouthed at him.

"Oliver," said Mr Granger nervously. "Come over here for a minute."

Ron heard Hermione gulp. He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. Oliver wandered over, smiling awkwardly at Ron and Hermione.

"Oliver, um... this is Ron and Hermione. Hermione is... um... she's our-"

"She's Robert's daughter," said Mrs Granger.

Everybody stared at her in shock.

She looked calm. She took another sip of wine. "She's managed to track Robert down. Isn't that wonderful?"

Oliver looked at Hermione. "Does that make you my sister?"

Hermione looked white as a sheet. "Yes, I suppose it does," she said weakly.

Oliver smiled at her. "Cool."

"We're having a grown-up discussion, lad," said Mr Granger. "You don't mind disappearing upstairs for a bit while we talk, do you?"

Oliver shrugged and marched out of the door without a second glance.

When Hermione turned back round, her eyes were ablaze.

"Don't have a go at me," said Mrs Granger, taking yet another sip of wine. "What else was I supposed to say? 'Hello Oliver, we have a daughter that we didn't mention throughout the entire adoption process. It wasn't that we were lying, it's just that we forgot she existed.'?"

"No," said Hermione sharply. "But you could've said that we were friends of yours, or something. You didn't need to be that obvious."

"Obvious about what?"

"How angry you are with me."

"Well, excuse me for reacting like a normal bloody person!" exclaimed Mrs Granger. "I am so sorry that I'm not all smiles and giggles after hearing that my daughter erased my memory!"

"I had no choice!" exclaimed Hermione, standing up. "They would have killed you!"

"Who's they?!" demanded Mrs Granger, standing up as well. "Those death eaters again?!"

"Yes, those death eaters! If it hadn't been for me, they'd have tracked you down and tortured you for information and-"

"We wouldn't have been able to protect ourselves? We may not be able to pull rabbits out of hats, Hermione, but we're not stupid!"

"Jean..." warned Mr Granger.

Mrs Granger picked up the entire wine bottle and for a moment, Ron was ready to lunge in front of Hermione, but Mrs Granger merely took a large swig from the bottle.

"I know that, Mum!" cried Hermione, "But would you have let me go with Harry and Ron if I'd told you what I was going to do? No!"

"I still don't know why you were gone for a year! You were smashing up bits of Voldemort's soul, fine, but why did it take a year, why did it need three teenagers to do it when you have your own magical sodding government and why were there people out there who wanted to torture me?!"

"If you just let me explain-"

"You spent sev-seven years at that school and you told us nnnnnnothing!"

"Mum, just put down the wine and-"

"I swear, since going to that school you've been behaving like witches and wizards are superior to normal people and you've been shipping me and your father half way around the world like cattle because you think we're stupid!"

Ron stood up this time. "Hey," he warned. "That's not fair."

Mrs Granger stared at him wide-eyed. "Scuse me?" she slurred.

Ron took a deep breath. "We've just spent a year trying to prove what you've just said about muggles wrong. Just let Hermione explain."

Everyone looked to Hermione. Ron was taken aback by how angry she looked. Her face was red, her eyes glistening with furious tears.

"Give me that," Hermione said at last, reaching out to the wine bottle that Mrs Granger was holding.

Ron was not the only person who saw the flash of pink on Hermione's arm.

As Hermione's hand wrapped round the neck of the wine bottle, Mrs Granger's hand wrapped round Hermione's wrist. She let go of the bottle which Hermione now held, and pushed Hermione's cardigan sleeve up.

The MUDBLOOD scar was as raw and red as it had ever been.

"Let go, Mum!" Hermione shouted, but it sounded more like a warning.

In Ron's peripheral, Mr Granger stood up and stared at the scar on Hermione's arm.

"WHAT IS THAT?!" shrieked Mrs Granger hysterically. "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!"

Hermione yanked her arm back and hastily pulled her sleeve back down. Ron immediately wrapped an arm around her waist as she cradled her wrist. Hermione's tears fell onto her cardigan sleeve.

Mr Granger moved round the table to comfort Mrs Granger, whose own tears were pouring down her face as she visibly shook. "WHO THE FUCK DID THAT TO YOU?! YOU TELL ME RIGHT NOW WHO DID THAT TO YOU!"

What, thought Ron bitterly, so you can go and thank them?

"Just one of the many people I was trying to protect you from."

Hermione sounded different. It scared him. She sounded as he imagined she would've sounded if Voldemort had won.

Mrs Granger looked physically sick. There was a long silence before she slowly turned away from them.

"I need some air," she mumbled, before disappearing through the back door.

oOo

Mr Granger disappeared to explain to Oliver what the shouting downstairs was about. Ron wasn't sure what he was telling the boy was true or not, but it hardly mattered. Ron and Hermione were in the large living room when Mr Granger and Oliver came back down. Oliver's arrival was all it took for Hermione to stop sobbing into Ron's shoulder. She'd sat up and wiped her face, smiling apologetically at the boy.

"Are you alright?" Oliver asked Hermione, standing in front of them. The boy's Australian accent was strange in his all-English company.

Hermione smiled again. "Yes, I'm fine. I'm just a bit over-emotional. It's been a long day."

"Oh..." Oliver looked at Ron. "Are you her boyfriend?"

"Yeah," Ron grinned. "I'm Ron."

"Hi, Ron."

"Hi."

Oliver looked back behind him for a moment. "Do you mind if I watch TV?"

"...what?"

Mr Granger craned round Oliver to explain. "He means the television!"

"Oh. Oh! Er... sure." Ron wasn't too sure why Oliver had asked their permission.

Oliver, Ron and Hermione sat in silence while Mr Granger gave an awkwardly fumbling demonstration of how to use the television. Ron tried to ignore the baffled expression that Oliver wore as Mr Granger explained the television to Ron in the simplest of terms. He flicked through each channel, mumbling about signals and programmes. None of them discussed what had happened in the kitchen.

By the time they'd found one of Oliver's favourite shows on the television, about a man and a woman fighting strange green monsters, Ron found himself wondering what Mrs Granger was doing out in the garden on her own. Had she escaped through a back gate? Was she sitting out there crying?

"What was your name again?" asked Oliver.

Hermione pulled herself up from Ron's shoulder. "Hermione," she told him.

"Hermione," he repeated. "Cool name."

Hermione smiled. "Thank you."

Ron's mind went inexplicably to last Christmas, when he'd found Harry and Hermione again. It hadn't mattered that Hermione was furious with him, because at least he'd known she was safe. She was alive and safe. That was all it took to give him hope that she would forgive him.

"Mr Granger..."

"Mmm?" Mr Granger did not take his eyes off the television.

"Can I use your loo?"

"Be my guest,"

"Thanks,"

Ron slid his arm out from around Hermione and gently kissed the top of her head. It was less of a comforting gesture and more of a lucky mantra. Kissing the top of her head gave him a strange feeling of strength, as if being able to kiss her gave him more of a mandate to protect her. She didn't seem too suspicious.

He closed the living room door behind him and tip-toed as delicately as he could with his giant feet into the kitchen. Ignoring the logical Hermione voice in his head that this was a bad idea, he reached for the back door handle.

oOoOoO

A/N Well that took a million years. Please review and stuff.

Sorry it's been so long, I've had exams and I still have a few so bear with. (Bare with?)

And yeah sorry for the cliffy.

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