DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and things that are part of the Harry Potter universe all belong to J.K. Rowling, though should she choose to give up ownership of Ron, then I would gladly take him. This particular story, however, is mine.

It was a snowy afternoon as Hermione trudged her way into Hogsmeade. Though it was only the end of November, the holiday spirit is in the air and the jovial mood that only Christmas can bring is almost tangible. It was a feeling she loved and she often wished that there was a way she can bottle it up so she can have it year-round.

Glancing about her, Hermione marveled at how the village was full of laughter and life when just a little over a year ago it had been the direct opposite. The Undesirable posters were now replaced with flowered wreaths and twinkling lights were everywhere, even though the sun was still out. A small group of carolers sang by the Hog's Head pub, their enchanting voices causing passersby to stop and listen.

The palpable energy could be easily attributed to the busyness of the holiday season, but it would be a discredit to the resilience of the survivors who were determined to return to a normal life. Hogsmeade and its inhabitants had recovered nicely after Voldemort's defeat and the end of the war. She walked past the Three Broomsticks and fleetingly thought about warming up with butterbeer, but decided against it. It was sure to be crowded inside. Besides, there will only be one stop in her brief trip today.

She pulled open the door to what used to be Zonko's Joke Shop, now the new and second branch of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Her ears were immediately flooded with the sound of chattering children and random noises that only products in a joke shop would make. It was madness inside and she felt a pang of sympathy for the frenzied parents who would now try to meet their children's demands of Weasley merchandise for Christmas.

In the midst of the chaos was George, now the lone proprietor. He was grinning widely, reveling in the pandemonium as he stood on the stairway that led to the second level. She waved, trying to catch his eye. "George!"

It took a few attempts, but he finally noticed her. "Oi, Hermione!" he called out. "Come on up!" He signaled one of the staff members to watch over the shop.

With much effort, Hermione squeezed her way through the crowd and was somewhat out of breath when she caught up with George, who led her to the space that served as his living quarters. She followed him into the small kitchen.

"I didn't realize it was Hogsmeade weekend," he said, handing her a mug of butterbeer that he'd warmed with his wand. "You're the only student who has stopped by."

She smiled gratefully as she took the drink. "That's because it's not," she informed him after she took a sip. "As Head Girl, I have certain privileges and being able to visit the village whenever I want is one of them."

George took the seat across from her with his own glass of butterbeer. "How could I have forgotten that we have another Head in the family?"

Hermione felt herself blushing. It always disconcerted her, though not in a bad way, whenever she was considered as a member of the Weasley family. She'd known Ron for years and Ginny was like a sister to her, but she could never get used to casual statements like the one George just said. Now that she and Ron were dating, such sentiments meant even more.

"I see the shop is doing well. This store hasn't even been open that long!"

"The Weasley reputation precedes us. Well, I guess it's not 'us' anymore, is it?" George shrugged off the trace of sadness that came over him whenever he was reminded of Fred's death. He understood that the grief would never fully disappear and now considered his habitual struggle with it a part of his daily routine, like brushing his teeth every morning or counting the day's earnings before closing up the shop.

They briefly discussed Hogwarts because George hasn't seen the school since it has been rebuilt, even though he worked in close proximity. It took a year of hard work, but the majestic building was now set to rights. Hermione herself wasn't there the whole time the reconstruction took place, so it was a double pleasure to not only be back at the school, but also to see the finished product. It wasn't as good as new, but the unspoken consensus was that no one wanted it to look that way. It didn't perish in the heat of a major battle, which was another addition to an already impressive legacy, and the survivors felt that the school's future staff and students should always know its place in history. Hogwarts bore its scars proudly.

Out of the three of them, only Hermione decided to finish her final year while Ron and Harry chose other pursuits outside of school. She wanted to continue her education even if she was the oldest seventh year there. After retrieving her parents from Australia, a particularly difficult task that had taken several months, and spending much needed time with them, she was back on the train to Hogwarts on the first of September.

"So, Head Girl, what brings you 'round?" George asked. "Let me guess, you've finally succumbed to my charm and ruggedly handsome good looks."

She snorted before taking another drink. "Come off it."

"It's not that far-fetched! Wouldn't you rather have a wizard who has a hole in his head than in his brain?"

Hermione's lips twitched. "It would depend if the brain is still functional."

George feigned a sigh of great disappointment. "And I thought you were the smart one. I suppose you're here to ask about my baby brother, then?"

She was suddenly filled with nerves. "I'm just—I wonder how he's doing, that's all. I haven't—I haven't heard from him in a while." It has been two months since Pigwidgeon had last flown into the Great Hall to deliver a letter from Ron. The lack of communication and news disturbed her, the silence from his end distracting her so much that she couldn't fully concentrate on her assignments.

Instead of focusing on advanced spells and complicated potions, she spent her time searching her memory for a clue that Ron might be mad at her. When was the last time they had argued? Bickering was second nature to them and a natural part of their relationship, perhaps even vital. Their last argument, if Hermione could recall correctly, was during the Easter holidays at the Burrow. They had been outside so that their voices wouldn't carry. She'd forgotten what it was about; surely it was over some silly, inconsequential thing. She did remember, with astounding clarity, that Ron had diffused it by admitting he was wrong, apologizing, and then yanking her into the broom shed for some mindless snogging. Needless to say, they had lost track of time in the small, dark space, immersed only in each other. It had been Harry who found them hours later, a disarray of tangled limbs, mussed hair and various states of undress. Her mortification was only barely overshadowed by the feeling of acute relief that Mrs. Weasley wasn't the one who opened the door. To this day she still had no idea who was more embarrassed out of the three of them. They could laugh about the moment now, but it had taken about a week after the incident before Harry could look her and Ron in the face.

Hermione could feel the blood warming up her cheeks and hastily drank more butterbeer. It did nothing to cool her suddenly rising temperature. The memory was vivid; she could all but feel Ron's hands all over her, kissing her with an intensity that he reserved for her alone. She could only hope that George didn't notice that her face was suddenly flush with color or ask why she looked overheated.

There had been no harm done with that argument and shortly after the holiday she was on a plane to Australia. They briefly saw each other again before she returned to Hogwarts and Ron went over to Diagon Alley to run the flagship shop, having been assigned there rather than the Hogsmeade branch since George wanted to oversee the new shop himself and felt that Ron would be able to manage the more established location.

They corresponded regularly during the following months, their letters full of longing, humor, and details of their daily lives. But abruptly she'd stopped receiving anything from him and she couldn't figure out why. What made it more puzzling was that his last few notes hadn't tapered in quality or length, which would have given her an indication that something was amiss; the letters simply disappeared altogether.

At first, she'd worried that Ron had fallen ill or perhaps he somehow injured himself while at the shop. But she'd be one of the first to hear about him getting hurt or being bed-ridden. As important as her N.E.W.T. year was, if anything happened to Ron she would drop everything to rush to his side.

Then she figured that another girl must have caught his interest. Diagon Alley was even busier than Hogsmeade; he'd be up to his ears in witches, temptation within reach while she was all the way at Hogwarts. But Ron wouldn't do that, she'd kept insisting to herself whenever the nagging doubts arose. He would never…or would he? The idea that she might not trust him shocked her. Love and trust went hand in hand. How could she love Ron and not have faith that he wouldn't stray? These thoughts grew more and more persistent as each day went by without a word from him.

"If you would have bet me a thousand Galleons that Ron was a talented salesman, I'd have said yes in a trice and been a thousand Galleons richer," George remarked, snapping her out of her reverie. "But I was wrong."

"What?" she said, confused.

"The man is a natural, Hermione! The sales charts don't lie. Ever since he started working there, the numbers have gone up. Products are quite literally flying off the shelves! Of course, my and Fred's genius mustn't be overlooked, not to mention that my baby brother is somewhat considered a war hero and therefore is supposedly a celebrity, I reckon there's a certain appeal to that…" George trailed off thoughtfully.

Hermione nearly shuddered with relief. So it wasn't infidelity that made Ron stop writing her. Relief quickly gave way to annoyance. He was too busy with the shop…and busy being a total thoughtless arse! Couldn't be bothered to pick up a quill, could he? Was it too unreasonable for him to write Hello, Hermione, I'm very busy working, I'm not breaking your heart into a million pieces or anything, don't worry! She certainly wasn't asking for much!

Her irritation with Ron didn't stop her from defending him from George's mild and meaningless jabs. "Ron has a certain kind of charm, that's probably why you're selling more products."

"He has something," George remarked. "Whatever it is that causes witches to drape themselves all over him—"

"WHAT?" Hermione exclaimed.

George nearly dropped his mug at her outburst. "Calm down, Hermione," he said cautiously. The murderous look in her eyes made him uneasy. "You're taking it the wrong way."

"Oh, am I? Please explain how I can possibly misinterpret what you said!"

"When I said witches, I meant old witches…like Auntie Muriel!" he backtracked. When Hermione continued to stonily glare at him, he desperately added, "And they can't help but drape themselves all over him when they can hardly stand on their own two feet!" He could tell that she didn't believe him.

Her imagination went into overdrive. She quietly seethed as she thought of Ron, grinning like the bloody idiot he was, surrounded by star-struck witches stupidly fawning over him at the pretense of buying Skiving Snackboxes and Pygmy Puffs. He would enjoy the attention, wouldn't he, she thought miserably. He'd stepped out from the shadows of his brothers' achievements at last and no longer needed to bask in Harry's reflected glory now that he'd made his own mark. The spotlight would finally be his alone.

"Thanks for the drink, George," she said as she stood up. "But I'm afraid I have to get going now. I have a letter to write."

"Wait, Hermione!" But there was a faint popping sound and then she was gone, having Disapparated to just outside the school gates. George cursed. He needed to get a hold of Ron to do damage control, to at least warn him about the oncoming attack of an irate witch. But one of his employees came to retrieve him just then and any thoughts of his younger brother were pushed aside by a demanding customer who wished to purchase his entire stock of Extendable Ears.