A/N: Originally written for the Romione Secret Santa exchange on Tumblr. Everything HP belongs to JKR.
The sight of Hermione Granger furiously scratching away with a quill and parchment was hardly out of the ordinary at any time of day, so Ginny Weasley barely batted a half-opened eye as she sleepily made her way to the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall far too early in the morning.
"Ugh, is that your potions essay on distilled nightshade draughts?" she asked unceremoniously, dropping heavily into a seat across the table from her friend. "I worked on it so much last night, I swear I dreamt about it. And Slughorn is not exactly the person I want showing up in my dreams," she shuddered as she scooped eggs onto her plate.
"Hmm? Oh no, I finished that days ago," Hermione replied absently without looking up, striking through the line she had just written with a frown.
"What is it then, revising? Prefects' schedules?" Ginny yawned, gesturing at Hermione's parchment.
"Neither," Hermione answered briskly, setting down her quill. "Actually, I'm brainstorming ideas for Ron's Christmas gift."
Ginny's jaw dropped. "Are you serious? It's barely October!"
"There's no harm in thinking ahead," Hermione said defensively. "Failing to plan is planning to fail. Do you realize how much class work we're going to have this year? I don't want to leave this until the last minute. I'm not sure how long it's going to take to find the right gift."
She looked at her friend, who was still regarding her with a mixture of disbelief and mild concern - probably for her sanity. She sighed. "Not that it's helped much. I've been thinking on it for ages and haven't come up with anything suitable." She frowned, worrying her lip. "I don't suppose you have any suggestions?"
She looked so disheartened that Ginny considered for a moment. "OK, I'm not conceding that Ron is worth this much effort, but maybe I can help you figure this out. You've known the prat for eight years - that's almost eight years of Christmas gifts. How's that gone in the past?"
"Not good," Hermione replied glumly. "If I'm not mistaken, I've gotten him candy, candy, candy, a book, and a homework planner that nagged him," she said, ticking off the years on her fingers.
"He does really like candy," Ginny supplied helpfully. Hermione ignored her.
"And of course I didn't get him anything for the last two years, because of… extenuating circumstances," Hermione continued. She never would've believed any Christmas could be worse than the miserable one she spent at her parents' house during her sixth year, but then the events of last year had proved her spectacularly wrong.
She sat quietly for a moment, meditating on the last few Decembers. The memory of blazing rows and near-death experiences only added to her dejected mood. "Honestly, most of our Christmases have been a bit of a mess," she confided eventually. "We've spent a lot of them fighting, or worse."
"Well, look at it this way," Ginny said bracingly. "The bar is set really low!" Hermione looked at her flatly. "Really, though, you know the kind of stuff he likes. Quidditch. Food that's not corned beef. Clothes that aren't maroon. You."
"I've known all that for years - well, most of that," she amended, blushing faintly, "and it hasn't helped me get it right yet."
""Get it right?' It's not a test, you know!"
Hermione looked down. "I know it might sound foolish. But I want this Christmas to be different, and finding the right gift is part of it." What she couldn't adequately articulate to Ginny was the increasing feeling that this gift - her first to him as his girlfriend - was more than usually significant. A gift that he would love, of course; something personal that would express everything he meant to her, but one that would also make up for the mistakes they had made on previous holidays. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that their track record on Christmas was awful - and she felt almost desperate to overwrite those memories with newer, happier experiences that could block out the hurts of the past.
"I don't know, Hermione," Ginny said doubtfully, "it sounds like you're putting too much pressure on yourself. He'll love anything you get him." Hermione looked unconvinced. Ginny sighed. "Haven't been much help, have I?"
"It's fine, Ginny; I didn't expect you to have an answer. Besides," Hermione continued seriously, "if you really had come up with something, then it would feel like the gift really didn't come from me, anyway. It would practically be cheating."
Ginny stared at her for a moment, before bursting out into laughter.
"Oh, Hermione," she said, shaking her head as she reached for another slice of toast, "never change."
Hermione smiled weakly, but as she watched her friend finish breakfast she was left wondering if the negative associations she harbored for the winter holidays were the real reason she was having trouble thinking of a gift for Ron after all.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox
The earliest hours of Christmas Day were clear and cold in Devon, but the two occupants of a small twin bed in the room directly under the attic at the Burrow were happily insulated from the freezing temperatures. There had been rather a flurry of activity (and discarded clothes) shortly after Hermione had apparated there at midnight, but an hour later a peaceful quiet had settled on the figures illuminated by a number of bluebell flames perched in jars around the room, reflecting the moonlit tranquility of the world outside.
"This was a brilliant idea. One of your best," Ron sighed, lazily running his fingers up and down his girlfriend's back.
"I'm inclined to agree, though I say it myself," Hermione replied, smiling contentedly. She snuggled further into his side, revelling in the warmth of his bare skin. She felt satisfied and comfortable and more than a little sleepy. She had to be back at her parents' house before morning, but surely she could enjoy this for just a little while longer...
"Do you want your gift now?" Ron asked suddenly, breaking the silence that had fallen. Hermione's eyes popped open in surprise, having thought he, too, was on the brink of dozing off.
"Right now?" she asked with a nervous laugh, pointedly looking down at their bodies covered only with his tatty quilt.
"Well yeah," he replied as if it were obvious. "You're spending Christmas Day at your parents', so otherwise we'll have to wait until Boxing Day, and that's not properly Christmas."
He leaned over the side of his bed as he spoke, feeling around with his hand for something underneath it. Jostled from her comfortable position on his chest, Hermione took the opportunity to snatch his t-shirt off the foot of the bed and slip it on. She pushed herself up, unable to suppress a smile at his boyish enthusiasm for presents.
"You're lucky I brought your gift with me," she commented, reaching behind his back to grab her beaded back from the nightstand. She stuck her arm in elbow-deep and rummaged around as Ron's freckled torso reappeared from the side of the bed, holding a heavy-looking package wrapped in brown paper.
"Not lucky," he retorted. "Betting on the fact that you'd be prepared? Easy money."
Hermione rolled her eyes a bit as she pulled his present out of the bag's depths. Feeling unaccountably fluttery, she held it out to him.
"Happy Christmas, Ron."
"Happy Christmas," he returned with a smile as they exchanged parcels.
"You go first," she insisted, turning and scooting sideways a bit so that they could face one another. As nervous as she was for him to open his present, she still loved the look on his face as he opened a gift.
"If you insist," he grinned, tearing into the shiny paper. Hermione watched apprehensively as he lifted a mass of bright orange knitting from the box.
"I know your mum can knit you anything you could ever want, but I wanted to make you something. Even if it's not as expertly made. But in a color you like, hopefully," she rambled nervously as Ron unwound a long scarf and matching bobble hat.
Ron smiled as he pulled on the hat. "Wicked, a wooly bladder of my very own!"
"Oh, of course you would remind me of that!" she cried, vexed.
Ron laughed as he caught her hand and pulled her in for a kiss. "I'm joking! They're great, Hermione, thanks."
"There's something else, actually," she sniffed, nodding toward the opened box in his lap.
Reaching in, Ron lifted a thin rectangle covered with tissue. His eyes widened as he unwrapped the paper.
"Bloody hell, Hermione, this is the 1978 team! They're legendary! They actually won three games in a row, you know - three! Almost finished the season with a winning record!" he babbled excitedly as a handsomely framed picture of the winningest (for the Cannons) team in a century waved at him enthusiastically. Filling the margins of the photo were signatures of the players as well as a few personal notes thanking him for everything he had done to defeat Voldemort and offering him tickets whenever he fancied seeing a match. "This is just… wow."
"One of the players recently joined the Ministry in the Department of Games and Sports. I read about it in the Prophet; they talked about his career and such," Hermione explained. "I thought you might like his autograph, so your dad helped me get in touch with him. When I did, he insisted on sending an official picture around to the rest of his teammates to sign as well."
Ron continued to stare at the picture in wonder, both at it's apparent existence and at the thought and time Hermione had put into his gift. "It's brilliant, all of it's brilliant," he said, finally looking up at her warmly.
She smiled back shyly, relieved that everything seemed to be going so well. "I'm glad you like it."
Ron stood the frame up on his nightstand. "OK, it's your turn to open now," he said, tearing his eyes away from the picture.
Hermione turned her attention back to the heavy parcel in her lap that she had almost forgotten about. A book, she thought involuntarily as she pulled the loose ends of the ribbon. "Oh," she exclaimed bemusedly as she slid the paper off, revealing a familiar cover. "It's…"
"It isn't," Ron interrupted swiftly, sounding a bit nervous, "not exactly. Open it," he urged.
Giving him a quizzical look, she settled the heavy leather binding of Hogwarts: A History in her lap and slowly opened the front cover. She leaned back in surprise as the pages burst from the book, flying into the air in a rush of rustling paper and light. She watched in awe as the individual pages expertly folded themselves into beautifully intricate paper birds, each one slightly different and emitting a soft glow. The enchanted flock fluttered and danced over their heads in a mesmerizing - and oddly familiar - way.
"The pages are from all different books, not just "Hogwarts: A History. Don't worry," he added hastily, "I didn't destroy any books." He watched her as she watched the delicate objects swirl and dip around them, their warm golden glow reflecting in her eyes. "It was a duplication spell, made exact copies of the pages I wanted. I taught it to Ginny, too - she snuck some of the books from your dorm room and made copies for me. So a lot of them are from magical books, but some are muggle, too."
Still entranced, Hermione reached an outstretched hand toward the closest bird, which fluttered toward her. As soon as it touched her palm, it gracefully unfolded so that she could read the words printed upon it.
"'It is a truth universally acknowledged…'" she began with a smile. "Ron, this is amazing!"
He grinned at the happy look on her face. "I'm just glad you like it. Fin," he commanded, tapping the paper she was holding with his wand. At his word, the paper re-folded itself back into the shape of a bird and launched itself from Hermione's hand, rejoining the circling flock. "It's not really that practical - more of a decoration, I guess, than anything else. I thought you might like the company on those long nights in the library. And the extra light," he added reasonably.
"I love it. It's beautiful," she said, leaning forward to kiss him soundly. Ron wrapped his arms around her and scooted back, and a few adjustments and kisses later they were again lying pressed together in Ron's narrow bed, kissing and touching leisurely in the glow of bluebell lights and enchanted paper birds.
"M'glad you're here," Ron murmured as he stroked her side, sliding his hand under her - well, his - t-shirt and pressing a kiss in her hair.
"Me too," Hermione replied softly. "It seems almost surreal, doesn't it? A good Christmas for us."
Ron motions stilled as he tensed beside her. "Yeah, they've been pretty rough for the past few years," he answered after a few moments.
"That doesn't matter now, though,' Hermione put in quickly, trying to block out bad memories that threatened to resurface. "The important thing is that we're together, here. We can start fresh from this year."
"No."
Hermione looked up at him, startled. A sick feeling crawled into her stomach and despite her efforts, the shadow of those last painful holidays seemed to block the warm light overhead.
'I mean, yeah, I want that. But not exactly." Hermione's stomach slowly started to unclench as he went on. "I just… I do want this to be the start of something new, something good with us. Loads of Christmases together. But I don't want to forget the other stuff."
He sighed in frustration. "It's shite, I know a lot of it's shite. But all of it led us here, you know? This year has been… well, that's how I've been trying to look at it, make sense of it. It all happened, but we're here, together. I'm not saying it had to happen the way it did, but it did, and we still have this. It's all a part of us. Even the parts that sucked," he looked down, "...even the parts I'm still sorry for."
"Not just you," she whispered. Their eyes met and she could see the intensity burning there.
"Even if I wanted to change the last couple Christmases, I can't. But when I think back on them, it just reminds me of how lucky I am to be with you."
"It wasn't luck that brought us together, Ron Weasley," she said fiercely, tears stinging her eyes. "I love you."
"Gods, I love you, too, Hermione. So much."
She could feel it in the way he kissed her, the weight of his words imprinting onto her as surely as the pressure of lips and his arms around her and as they embraced, her heart found a little of the peace that had been eluding her for the past few months.
A few minutes later she rested her head on the hollow of his shoulder, squeezing his torso tightly. She looked up at her present again, marveling at the beauty of Ron's gift and the magic behind it. As she did, something unusual about one of the fluttering creatures caught her eye. "That one looks different," she remarked, pointing to a bird flitting on the outskirts of the flock. "It looks as if it's made of newsprint, I think. Did you use one of those articles about us?"
Ron snorted. "Not bloody likely, I'd as soon use that rubbish to wipe my… uh, no, it's not an article," he corrected hastily at Hermione's raised eyebrows.
Hermione stretched her finger out to the unique bird, which seemed to swoop toward her eagerly. After it unfolded, she held the paper close to her nose to scan the tiny newsprint.
"Ron, this is...these are flat listings," she said slowly, looking up at him. Even in the dim light she could see that his face was pale as he quickly glanced away and reached up to run his fingers through his hair. Seeming surprised to find his new hat still on his head, he plucked it off and cleared his throat.
"Yeah, well - I've been helping Harry fix up Grimmauld Place these past couple months, when I could," he said, looking at the hat before setting it on the nightstand. "I'll probably be kipping there a lot this Spring. But I was thinking about getting my own place after that and I thought, maybe, it could be our own place," he finished, finally looking down at her.
"Our own place," she repeated slowly, slightly dazed. Consummate planner that she was, she couldn't say she had never considered the idea - but now that it was presented to her with a discrete time frame, she felt a little shell-shocked. They were still quite young - was it really a good idea? Was it too soon to live together?
She thought about Ron's words, and how their gifts to one another - whether consciously or not - evoked memories of the shared experiences that helped shape their relationship. Knitted hats. A flock of birds. Long evenings in the Gryffindor common room or library, talking and laughing and yes, sometimes disagreeing and fighting, but also supporting and learning about one another. They had seen the very best and the very worst in each other, yet here they were: stealing a few hours together in the middle of the night, because in spite of everything - or maybe because of everything - there was no one else on earth they'd rather be with on Christmas.
Ron was still looking at her apprehensively. She felt her lips curve into a slow smile. "I think it's a brilliant idea."
"Really?" he asked, grinning broadly as she nodded. "Wicked!"
She stretched up to kiss him, savoring the feel of his hand threading through the hair at the back of her neck and the steady thrum of his heart beating beneath her palm. Ron shifted her until she was lying on top of him, some of his sheets coming with her. The movement caused her beaded bag to flop against his shoulder, and he grabbed it and deposited it on the nightstand. As he did, she saw him pick up the picture frame with the arm that wasn't wrapped around her and look at it thoughtfully.
The Cannons players continued to wave, their smiles and thumbs-up suddenly seeming knowing. "You know," he said to her slyly, his eyes full of mischief, "I think this'll look great on our wall. Or right on the center of the mantlepiece, if we have one."
"Oh no you don't!" she shot back, laughing.
"But it's a treasured gift!"
"Well, maybe it can find a home on one of our many, many bookshelves."
The couple continued to bicker playfully, laughter evolving into kisses and eventually more as they established a Christmas tradition they would enjoy keeping for the rest of their lives.