Meet The Grangers

[ffictionrec]

Rated: PG
Summary: Ron meets Hermione's extended family for the first time.


“You’re fidgeting again, Ron.”

Ron stilled for a moment, but started incessantly tapping his long fingers on his knee a few seconds later.

“You have nothing to be worried about,” Hermione told him for about the hundredth time that day.

“That’s easy for you to say, you’ve already met them all!”

She frowned as she turned the car onto familiar lanes leading to her childhood home. Ron was being uncharacteristically jittery about meeting all her relatives.

“Plus, you know how to behave like a muggle. What if I let something slip, huh? The Wizengamot will throw me into Azkaban!”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him affectionately.

“As part of the Wizengamot, Ron, I can assure you that we won’t take any such extreme measures. You can rest easy.”

Ron grunted, but didn’t cease his restless squirming.

“Hermione, meeting your parents is one thing. And they still don’t really like me, I’m not exactly looking forward to the rest of your family hating me too.”

“My parents don’t hate you, Ron. They just-“ she paused, searching for words. “It’s me. You know they haven’t been able to fully forgive me yet.”

Ron gazed at her withdrawn expression as she pulled up into the driveway of her parents’ house and took her hand.

“Let’s just get through this together, yeah?” he said with a sigh.

She looked at him gratefully and squeezed his hand.

Once out of the car, Ron nearly groaned in relief, stretching his long legs after sitting in such cramped quarters for the past two hours.

Hermione was already ringing the doorbell and he rushed to her side clutching a bottle of expensive Muggle wine in one hand and a bouquet of orchids in the other.

Sounds of a piano being played and stray laughter floated out as soon as Mrs. Granger opened the door. She smiled warmly at the two wizards standing at her doorstep.

“Hermione, darling,” she hugged her daughter.  “And Ron! Lovely to see you again.”

“You too, Mrs. Granger,” he replied, handing over the wine and flowers.

“Oh, and you brought Cabernet! How…wonderful,” she replied with a tight smile. “We are more of a Bordeaux family, I thought Hermione would know that. Oh but come in, come in! Can’t have you freezing out here.”

Ron and Hermione exchanged a tense glance and stepped in to the warm hallway.

“Your father’s at the piano again, Hermione, dear. And your cousin Amy is here, she’s very excited to meet you. Make yourselves comfortable dears. I’ll be out in a bit,” she was already bustling away.

“You okay?” Ron asked quietly.

Hermione nodded and gave him a smile reminiscent of the one her mother had just given them.

“Yes, Ron. Let’s go face the music, shall we?”

Choruses of Hermione’s, and My how you’ve grown’s sounded when they stepped into the lounge.

“Hermione, dear!” her father got up to hug her.

“Merry Christmas, dad,” she replied hugging him back.

“Hermione, look at you all grown up! It’s been years since I last saw you?” someone exclaimed.

“She’s right, young lady!” a haggard old lady seated on the sofa admonished her. “You go to your fancy little boarding school and forget all about your nan. And look how thin you’ve gotten.”

Ron looked on helplessly as Hermione was engulfed in a gaggle of concerned grandparents and excited aunts who were casting him openly curious glances.

“And why don’t you introduce us to this handsome bloke you’ve brought along with you?”

“Gosh Minnie, he’s good-looking for a ginger fella,” a girl he assumed was Hermione’s cousin said in a loud voice.

Minnie, he stored it away for future use.

“Uh, I’m Ron.”

“He’s my boyfriend,” Hermione supplied helpfully.

“Well, we figured that love,” her nan said in reply. “What I’d like to know is why we’ve never met him before.”

“I-we-um…we’ve been busy with work and -”

“Oh, let them breathe, mum,” Mr. Granger interjected. “They’ve only just arrived. You can drill them all you like over dinner.”

Ron cast him a grateful look as he turned to him.

“Ron, you look well,” he said, clapping him on the back. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’d grown even taller. Say, do you still dabble in chess?”

“Dabble? Uh, yes Sir,” he replied.

“No need to call me sir, Ron. Derek is fine,” he said, steering him away from one of the women who seemed to be heading towards them purposefully. “You see, I’ve taken an interest in the game and I reckon I might be rather good at it. Care to put it to the test?”

He was saved from answering by Hermione’s mother walking in.

“Honestly, Derek. Stop badgering the boy and come help me with the wine.”

“I wasn’t badgering anybody, Sinead,” he mumbled but went after her anyway. “We’ll do it another time, eh Ron?”

Ron nodded mutely and exhaled slowly through his mouth. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he turned back to congregation to find a girl standing a little too close to him. He started, but the girl barely blinked. He recognized her as the same girl who had called him ‘good looking for a ginger’ earlier. She seemed a few years older than Hermione.

“Did I scare you?”

“N-no,” he stuttered. That’s right Ron, don’t let them sense your fear.

“I only came over to ask if you wanted a drink?” she asked coyly, flashing a perfect set of teeth.

“Um, no thank you. I’m fine,” Ron replied politely, trying to emulate Hermione’s best behavior at the many after-the-war “celebrations” that the ministry had thrown in their honour.

“Oh go on Ron. It’s mulled wine. I slaved for hours to make it!” she pouted at him, and laid a hand on his arm.

Instinctively, he pulled away quickly and looked around to see if Hermione had noticed.

“I should really go find Hermione. But uh, maybe later?” he fled the scene before she could say anything else to keep him there.

But he had taken no more than five steps before he was ambushed by yet another relative of Hermione’s. A man he figured was Hermione’s grandfather, laid a wizened old hand on his shoulder and peered closely at his face.

“Boy, what did you say your name was?” he asked loudly and Ron was so startled that he forgot to answer for a moment and simply gaped.

“Is he slow?” he demanded of a woman teetering drunkenly nearby when he saw that there was no reply forthcoming. The woman paid him no mind at all.

“I-I’m Ron,” he mumbled finally, feeling vaguely insulted.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to speak up, son. I’m old,” came the loud reply.

“I’M RON!” he shouted in the old man’s face.

“Ron! Why on earth are you yelling at my granddad?” Hermione appeared next to him, looking like she’d just been through a battle. Her grandmother had followed her.

Ron stuttered his excuses as Hermione cast him a dirty look.

“Ah, don’t you worry yourself, Minnie. He was just talking to your nice young man here,” her granny said kindly.

“Ron, this is Grandma Edith,” she introduced him. “Gran, this is my boyfriend Ron.”

“So, what it is that you do son?” she added, looking at Ron.

“He’s in the police, gran,” Hermione answered for him before he could open his mouth.

“The police? Did you say the police?” the old man nearly shouted again.

“Yes, granddad. Ron works for the police,” Hermione matched his volume.

“Good bloke you got there,” he told his granddaughter, nodding. Hermione nodded back, looking pleased.

“Come Barnaby, let’s go sit by the fire and leave these young ‘uns be,” grandma Edith took him by the arm.

“It’s good to meet you, son,” she added and they hobbled over to the sofas nearest to the fireplace.

“Don’t look so relieved, Ron. It’s not over yet; my nan wants to meet you,” Hermione told him tersely.

“Are you upset? I wasn’t- I only yelled because he said he couldn’t hear me,” he explained.

She shook her head.

“It’s not you, Ron,” she said, sighing. “Come on, we aren’t going to be allowed to stand here on the sidelines for long anyway.”

“Right,” he nodded at her, but didn’t move. Fifteen minutes in, and she was already frazzled. Pieces of hair that she’d painstakingly pinned down were coming undone, and he very much just wanted to take her to her childhood bedroom and ravish her.

“No Ron,” Hermione said warningly.

“What? I didn’t say anything.”

“No, but I know that look in your eye and we’re not going to engage in any such activity in a house full off my relatives. If you thought privacy at the Burrow was bad, trust me, this is much worse.”

“But-“

“No, Ron.”

“I’ll be quick, I promise!”

She scoffed and stalked off, not waiting to see if he would follow.

“No other woman on earth would complain,” he muttered but went after her, back into the fray.

“Hermione! I don’t believe you’ve properly introduced us to your boyfriend,” called one of her aunts, who was sitting next to her nan.

The drunk one, Ron noted.

“I’m sorry, Aunty Dinah,” Hermione replied, taking his hand and pulling him towards them.

“Ron, meet Aunty Dinah, and my nan, Delia.”

“Hello. It’s nice to meet-“ he started to say before he was cut off.

“There’s no need to be so formal with us, darling,” Dinah pulled him down next to her. “Hermione, why don’t you get us some more mulled wine while we get to know this young bloke of yours.”

“Ah, y-yes. Of course, Aunty,” she replied as she looked apologetically at Ron who was wedged in between her aunty and nan.

He looked at her pleadingly but she shrugged and went to fetch some wine and possibly have a drink or two herself.

“So, Hermione tells me you work for the police,” the statement sounded more like a question.

“Uh-yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Hmm. Scotland Yard, is it?” Delia spoke up, looking at him skeptically.

Ron choked down his anxiety at this and answered in what he hoped was a neutral tone.

“Y-yes. In London.”

He had been prepared well by Hermione, but he had no doubt he’d muck it up if the questioning continued in this vein.

“It must be quite dangerous, eh Ron?” Aunty Dinah said a bit breathlessly. Her hand came to rest on his thigh and gave a throaty laugh.

Ron grimaced at the strong alcoholic smell that emanated from her. She had clearly been swigging something much stronger than mulled wine.

“Oh, have some shame, Dinah,” Delia said crossly from his other side. “Don’t mind her, son. She’s mostly harmless.”

“Uh…right,” he said dubiously, wondering how much worse this could get. To top it all off, he was starving and could barely wait for dinner to start.

Fortunately for him, Hermione came back with a glass of mulled wine and a tray full of finger sandwiches and what she called samosas. His mouth watered at the sight. He grabbed the opportunity to help her with the tray as his excuse to get away from Aunty Dinah’s grabby hands.

“I figured your stomach must be growling by now,” she murmured to him under her breath as he cast her an appreciative look.

“Nan, do you need anything?” she asked. “We’re going to go get some wine for ourselves.”

“Go on, loves. I’m fine,” she waved them off. And with an audible sigh of relief, Hermione pulled Ron to a corner.

“Here, quick before someone else decides to make your acquaintance,” she said, thrusting the plate at him.

He shoved whole samosas and the tiny sandwiches into his mouth in rapid succession, which ended up going down the wrong pipe.

“Ron, when I said be quick, I didn’t mean choke yourself and die!” Hermione exclaimed as he coughed violently.

Someone was thumping him on his back.

“Oh dear! Ron, are you alright?”

“Here, have some water,” someone pressed a glass into his hands.

“Poor bloke. Do you starve him at home, Minnie?”

Even through the haze of chatter and his own forceful coughs, he knew Hermione’s face had probably turned red with anger. He hastily tried to get his coughing under control and gulped down the water.

“I’m fine. Really, I’m-I’m fine,” he tried to reassure them, still wheezing.

Hermione’s nan was looking at him with mild distaste. The girl, Emily, was giggling at his misfortune and the rest were simply staring at him with varying degrees of amusement or disgust. He felt his ears burn.

“Er…sorry ‘bout that.”

“Hmph,” Delia grunted in disapproval.

Ron was sure that he had never felt more embarrassed in his life, and that was saying something. They all went back to their conversations and drinks with chuckles and reproachful looks.

Someone tugged his trousers and he looked down to see a little girl in ponytails holding out a glass cage up to him.

“Do you want to see my tarantula?” she asked innocently, with blinking wide eyes.

Ron forgot how to breathe.

“Hermione?” he said in a strangled whisper, barely able to retain normal brain function. He really didn’t want to make another scene and have Hermione’s family write him off completely.

“Don’t worry Ron, I’ve got this,” she replied quietly, patting his hand.

“Amy, let’s go get you some hot chocolate. We could put marshmallows in them, would you like that?” she asked the little girl sweetly, who nodded.

Hermione straightened and gave Ron a meaningful look.

“Try not to get into trouble for about five minutes, love. We’ll tell them all when I get back, okay?”

Ron nodded mutely, not really listening to her, his eyes fixed on the big spider inside the cage. He watched them leave and heaved a sigh of relief. Spiders were no longer his biggest fear in the world, but they did still unnerve him quite a bit. He didn’t think he would ever be truly over that fear.

He looked around and caught Emily’s eye, who winked at him. Thankfully, one of Hermione’s uncles chose that moment to come over to introduce himself and grill him about his intentions with his lovely niece. Ron was almost glad to be put through the third degree rather than have to deal with the girl’s flirtatious advances.

However, it was still a tedious conversation, and Ron was nearly at the end of his rope when dinner was finally announced. Once they were all seated at the dining table, Ron felt very at home. It wasn’t unlike the Burrow with the children’s noisy babbling, clanking of dishes and everyone talking over each other.

“It must be strange for you to not be with your family on Christmas, eh Ron?” said Derek during a brief lull in the conversation. “You always spend it with them, don’t you?

“Uh, it is a bit. But I’ve spent a couple of Christmases at Hog- er, school too. Besides, Hermione’s family too,” he replied earnestly.

“Well, I’m glad you could make it. I was half expecting you to cancel tonight, Hermione,” said Mrs. Granger primly. “After all, it’s been, what - about six years since you spent the holidays with us?”

Ron felt Hermione tense beside him, and he saw guilt flash over her face. But it passed soon and her features settled back into the pleasant countenance she usually put on during formal occasions.

“I’m glad to be here, mum,” she said simply and changed the subject to the delicious turkey.

The rest of the dinner passed mostly without incident, discounting Ron spilling wine on the table and the brief moments of utter panic when someone asked him which unit of the Metropolitan Police he worked in.

Once everyone had their fill of the main course, Hermione elbowed him gently and gave him a meaningful look. He grimaced and gulped down the last of the wine in his glass and stood up with Hermione, clasping her hand. His nerves were back full force.

“Ahem,” began Hermione. “We have something to tell you.”

“Oh god! Oh no, Hermione. Goodness, you’re pregnant, aren’t you?” Mrs. Granger exclaimed.

“Wha-“

“Oh, I should’ve known. You have put on some weight, after all. And you haven’t had a single sip of wine all night. Spending all those summers at that boy’s house, what else could I expect?” she was mostly just talking to herself now. Derek seemed too bewildered to say anything but pat his wife softly on the back. The rest watched with open astonishment.

Hermione’s hand squeezed his tightly and he tried to squeeze hers back to pass on some strength that he frankly found lacking in himself at the moment.

“First off all, mum, that boy is standing right here,” she nearly spat. “And second of all, I’m not pregnant.”

“Y-you’re not?” her mother said tentatively.

“No. That was definitely not what I was about to say.”

“So, you’ve eloped, is that it? You went off and got married without so much as a by your leave and now you’ve come to inform us? Well, thank you, Hermione, for-“

“Mum!”

“No, no. Congratulations, darlings. I’m glad-“

“Sinead, darling. Let her sp-“ Mr. Granger tried to interject

“How can you be so calm, Derek, when our daught-“

“Mrs. Granger, we didn’t-“ Ron made an attempt, but Hermione had clearly had enough.

“Mum, we did not elope,” she said firmly and loudly. “And before you can come up with another clever idea to use as an excuse for criticizing me, just listen for a minute.”

Mrs. Granger looked at her daughter in shock. But at least, she was no longer interrupting her.

“Right,” said Hermione, satisfied. “I wanted to introduce Ron to all of you tonight, because he’s - we’re…uh, we -”

“We got engaged,” Ron announced.

“Last week,” Hermione elaborated.

A few delighted gasps were heard around the table.

“Congratulations!” yelled Aunty Dinah from the other end of the table, which set off a hearty round of back clapping and congratulatory remarks.

However, Hermione was anxiously waiting for her mother to say something, whose eyes were filling up with unshed tears.

“Oh Hermione,” she said and got up to wrap her arms around her. “Oh, I’m so happy, darling.”

“You are?” Hermione sounded weepy herself.

“Of course I am, darling. This is great news. The best!” she pulled back and wiped her daughter’s tears. “Ron! I couldn’t ask for a better son-in-law.”

She pulled him into a tight hug reminiscent of his own mother.

“Thanks, Mrs. Granger,” he said, faintly surprised.

“Call me Sinead,” she said with a smile.

Ron grinned back at her and nodded.

“What’s going on?” Hermione’s grandfather asked confusedly.

“They got engaged, granddad,” Emily shouted and Hermione switched the ring she was wearing on her index finger, facing inwards, to her ring finger and stretched out her hand to show everyone.

They all ooh’d and aahh’d over it. Someone brought out the dessert and opened another bottle of wine, complaining about the lack of champagne and the Granger household became brighter and more boisterous than ever.

“Visit again soon, dears,” Sinead called from the porch as they waved from the car before driving away.

“Well, that wasn’t too bad,” Ron said.

“Not too bad? I’d like to see what you’d call ‘too bad’, then.”

“Oh, come on, Minnie. All’s well that end- OW! Woman, that was uncalled for,” he exclaimed, rubbing his ear where she’d boxed them.

“Call me that again, it’ll be a bat-bogey hex. I learnt from the best,” she replied smugly.

Ron grunted in acquiescence. Ginny and Hermione being best friends had not been good for his health.

“You do know we’re going to do this all over again tomorrow with your family,” said Hermione.

Ron sighed, his good mood dissipating slightly.

“There better not be any tarantulas,” he muttered darkly.