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Author: RinnaMarie Story: The Favour Rating: Young Teens Setting: Pre-DH Status: WIP Warning: None Reviews: 3 Words: 17,912
Eventually, Hermione steered the car onto a winding drive, and the Newick Park Hotel came into view. Ron was immediately struck by how tranquil it appeared. It was a white stone building, three stories in height with two rounded parlors and several lovely trellises. The sprawling lawns were lush and green, and the trellises were decked in ivy. Hermione parked the car, looking awed at the surroundings. “Well,” she said, turning to Ron, “You can’t fault Sasha for taste. This place is really lovely.” “It’s nice, yeah,” said Ron, looking back out of the window. “Are you ready, then?” asked Hermione. Ron took a deep breath. “As ready as I can be, I expect,” he said, smiling at her. She nodded, taking a deep breath before opening the car door. He followed suit, and let his door fall shut again with a click. Hermione opened the boot to retrieve their bags, and Ron shut it for her. He noticed for the first time that her hands were shaking slightly. He put a hand on her arm, and gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. She nodded again, and led him up to the front door. If the lawn and exterior of the house exuded an air of tranquility, the inside was in a state of utter chaos. The moment the door opened, dozens of sounds assailed their ears. Ron could pick out several loud voices shouting, someone crying, high-pitched laughter, and at least one musician warming up some kind of instrument. Everywhere he looked, people were scurrying about, doing one thing or another. A woman with a silver platter filled with cards rushed past, nearly knocking over a small, balding man with a camera. Several small children played noisily on the hearth rug, under the watchful eye of a grandmotherly woman in a lavender cardigan. Hermione led him over to a small knot of people standing near a large picture window. The group consisted of three women and two men, all dressed to the nines and engrossed in conversation. “Hello, all,” called Hermione as they approached. The taller of the two men turned and grinned broadly. “Hello, love,” he said, drawing Hermione into a hug. “Did the car give you any trouble?” “No, none at all,” she said. She turned to the group at large. “I’d like to introduce you to Ron Weasley.” She extracted herself from her father’s embrace. “This is Warren Granger, my father.” Warren extended a hand, which Ron shook. “Pleased to meet you, sir. You have a lovely daughter.” Warren eyed Ron rather critically. Ron paled visibly under the scrutiny. “This,” continued Hermione, “is Alice, my mother.” Mrs. Granger smiled benignly at Ron, and he was struck at how much Hermione resembled her mother. “It’s lovely to meet you, dear. We’ve heard so much about you.” Ron smiled weakly at her. He imagined that everything the Grangers knew about him came from tales from their Hogwarts days, and could only hope that they’d been vague with the family with details about him, as any information they’d given out could potentially blow his cover. Hermione hugged her mother briefly, and continued with the introductions. “These are my grandparents Hillman, my mother’s parents,” she said indicating to the other man and the woman to his right. Mr. Hillman was tall and distinguished, with silver hair and a moustache. Mrs. Hillman was small, and had the same frame and facial shape as Hermione and her mother. Mr. Hillman shook Ron’s hand, and Mrs. Hillman nodded at him. “And this is Grandmother Granger, my father’s mother,” concluded Hermione, inclining her head toward the last woman in the group. The elder Mrs. Granger was small and wizened, with hard eyes and wiry silver hair. She gave Ron a very critical look, and turned her attention back to Hermione. “So you’ve finally found yourself a boyfriend, have you?” she said. “Mother,” said Mr. Granger warningly. “Be civil, please.” “Why should I be?” snapped Grandmother Granger. “She’s twenty-three now, and not married. When I was her age, I was married with baby. Unmarried women at that age in my day were spinsters, left alone for the rest of their lives. Unnatural, it is, to still be alone at twenty-three.” Ron struggled not to laugh at the myriad of expressions that crossed Hermione’s face at her grandmother’s tirade. Fortunately, Mr. Hillman noticed the tension and mercifully changed the subject. “So, how did you meet our Hermione?” he asked Ron. “Well,” said Ron, taking a moment to mentally review the notes from the car, “We met in Boston. My family moved there years ago from Devon, and I’ve lived there ever since. Hermione was a friend of a friend, so to speak. We were both in school at the time.” Hermione beamed at him. “Ron went to Harvard. He’s a lawyer.” “Did he?” said Mr. Hillman. “Well, it’s no Oxford, but I suppose it is respectable enough.” Ron blanched for a moment, before Hermione forced a laugh and he realised that Mr. Hillman had been joking. The discussion turned to Hermione’s work, and Ron let his attention wander to the children playing by the fireplace. Three little boys, ranging in age from six to ten, were playing with small model cars, and a pigtailed girl of no more than five brushed the hair of a doll nearby. The boys seemed content to crash the cars into each other, and Ron couldn’t help but smile at them. Little boys, it seemed, universally loved to crash things. His nephews all loved to crash their toy boats and carriages into each other, while his nieces all seemed quite content to play with their dolls, like the little girl on the rug. One of the older boys became restless, and started casting around the room for another activity to occupy him. Ron instantly recognised the look on his face, having seen it so often on the faces of his nephews, just before they began terrorising their younger siblings. He watched as the boy fixed his gaze on the little girl and her doll. Before Ron could say or do anything, the boy jumped to his feet and snatched the doll from the girl, dangling it over her head. She stared at her empty hands for a moment, shocked, and stood up pouting. The boy laughed and began swinging the doll over his head. He looked around the room, but no one was paying attention to the exchange. His face cracked into an evil grin, and he took off in the direction of the fireplace. The little girl ran after him, but from the looks of it, she wasn’t going to catch up. Ron cast desperately around the room, praying that someone would notice before the doll met an unpleasant end in the fireplace, which would surely end in one very upset little girl, but none of the adults had noticed the scuffle. Hermione and her parents were still deeply engrossed in conversation, and Ron didn’t want to interrupt them. He looked back at the boy, who was steps away from the fireplace, and without thinking, extended his hand and muttered “Accio!” The doll flew out of the boy’s hand in mid-swing and soared across the room into Ron’s outstretched hand. The room fell silent in an instant, and Ron immediately began kicking himself. What on earth did he summon the doll for? He cursed himself for not letting the little boy throw the doll in the fireplace. He didn’t have to get involved, but his uncle instincts had kicked in and forced him to intervene. Hermione looked at him with fear in her eyes, but before either of them could speak, a woman in a tangerine pantsuit dashed across the room. She scooped up the little girl, who was still crying but appeared to be just as confused as the doll thrower. “Martin, you naughty boy,” she scolded at the boy, while rocking the little girl. “Throwing your sister’s doll around like that. How many times have I told you not to swing things around indoors? You nearly hit that man.” Martin lowered his face in shame, but still bore a distinctly puzzled expression. “You march right over and apologise this instant.” Martin shuffled over to Ron and muttered an apology. Ron handed him the doll, and Martin carried it back over to his mother and sister. The little girl squealed in delight and hugged the doll tightly to her chest. The woman took Martin by the hand and led him from the room. Soft chuckles filled the air as they left the room, and Mr. Hillman clapped Ron on the back. “Amazing reflexes, young man. You seemed to know right where the doll was going to go.” “Yes, well,” began Ron, his face coloring. “Ron is from a large family,” interrupted Hermione. “Lots of children around. I’m sure he’s used to flying toys and the like.” “Ah, yes,” said Mr. Granger. “You’re one of seven children, correct?” The conversation steered toward Ron’s family, and he and Hermione tactfully answered questions as vaguely as they possibly could. Eventually, Mr. and Mrs. Hillman took their leave, citing a desire to stroll around the grounds before the ceremony. Mr. Granger left to escort his mother to her room for a bit of a rest, and Mrs. Granger was called away to assist her sister with something. Before leaving, she pulled a key from her handbag and handed it to Hermione. “For your hotel room, dear,” she said. “But we’re not staying the night,” Hermione said, trying to hand the key back to her mother. “Nonsense,” said Mrs. Granger. “Rania held it for you, in case you should decide not to drive back tonight after the reception. Besides, you can use it now for a bit of a lie-down, or to freshen up.” She smiled sweetly at Ron. “It was so lovely to finally meet you, dear.” She kissed Hermione’s cheek and left the room. Hermione sighed. “Well, that was…” “Stressful,” said Ron. “I’m sorry. I knew something like that would happen.” “No,” said Hermione, looking surprised. “Actually, it was wonderful the way you caught that doll.” “Caught it?” Ron asked. “Hermione, I used a Summoning Charm.” “Well, I know that, and you know that,” she said. “But to everyone else, it looked like the doll just slipped out of Martin’s hands and flew across the room. It didn’t look at all like magic, I promise.” “Are you sure?” said Ron. Hermione smiled at him. “Positive.” She looked around the room again. “I suppose we could head up to the room, then. I mean,” she said, blushing slightly, “if you want.” “Couldn’t hurt,” said Ron, “to keep me away from the Muggles.” He grinned at her. Hermione laughed. “Oh, I don’t know. You’re doing fine so far. But no more Summoning Charms, okay?” “Deal,” he said, and picked up their bags. Hermione led the way out of the parlor and up a sweeping staircase. “What room are we looking for?” he asked. “The Tulip Room,” she said, looking up and down the landing. “It’s this way, I think.” They wandered down the plush hallway, until they found the door to the Tulip Room. Ron’s jaw dropped when he entered it. The first thing that caught his attention was the gigantic four-post bed in the centre of the room. The walls were painted a soft creamy colour, and the linens and bedclothes were richly coloured and looked extremely soft. Hermione strode across the room, and gave a pleasant little sigh as she sank onto the bed. Ron dropped the bags next to the door and walked over to the large window. Drawing back the sash, he looked out on the extensive grounds and gardens of the estate. “Wow,” he said softly. He turned back to Hermione. “This place is bloody fantastic, you know?” “Yes, I agree wholeheartedly,” said Hermione, rolling over on the bed. “Come feel this bed, Ron. It’s the best bed I’ve ever felt in my life.” Ron joined Hermione on the bed, sinking into the soft fabric. “Wow,” he said again. “I mean, this is… wow.” Hermione giggled. “My sentiments exactly.” She wiggled around for a moment, feeling the softness against her skin. Ron watched her, struck again by her beauty. Her bronzed skin seemed to glow against the deep burgundy of the bedclothes. Her hair was fanned out around her head, her eyes were closed and she was smiling broadly. Ron reached out a hand to touch her face, before realising what he was doing. He drew his hand back quickly, giving himself a mental shake. This was Hermione, after all. His other best mate. Yes, she was a beautiful woman, but it was still Hermione. Yes, she was writhing around on a lush bed, looking like something from a fantasy, but it was Hermione. That was it, he thought. It was just being in this room, being at an elegant hotel, being in a bed that was causing him to have inappropriate thoughts about his best mate. He stood up quickly, and Hermione opened her eyes. “Where are you going?” she asked, sitting up in the bed. “Um, to use the toilet,” he said. He jerked a thumb in the direction of the toilet. “Private bathrooms, you know.” “Oh, alright,” said Hermione. She let her head fall back against the stack of pillows. Ron closed the door behind him, and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He had to get a grip on himself. This day was going to be enough of a challenge without having randy thoughts about Hermione. He took a few deep breaths, and looked out the window adjacent to the bath. The stunning gardens wound out for about a mile in every direction, filled with azaleas and daffodils, and dotted with Royal ferns. The place really was quite stunning, he though. As he left the toilet, however, a little voice in the back of his mind whispered that the gardens had nothing on his companion.
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