Hermione hugged her knees to her chest, watching the flames caress the sides of the fireplace with a fond expression on her face. The snow globe on the mantle, which was charmed to reflect the weather outside, was thick with a blizzard, and she could faintly hear the howling winds behind the crackling of the fire. Shivering, she pulled her blanket tighter around her.
Resting her chin on her knee, she thought of her parents.
It was her first real Christmas without her parents, and the jocund season left her feeling torn. The holidays were always pleasant and Hermione had always been enthusiastic about Christmas cheer; but this year, she didn't feel as refreshed as she'd expected.
She knew she had a lot to be grateful for. Most of the people she loved were still alive, and the same couldn't be said for a lot of other wizarding families. The Weasleys were everything a family could hope to be for her. They were all lucky, she knew, and the outcome was certainly more than she'd hoped for.
And yet...
She tilted her head, a bittersweet feeling washing over her. A year ago, she'd been in Godric's Hollow with Harry, mourning his parents. This year, she was mourning hers.
"Hermione?" A sleepy voice came, so softly she wasn't sure if it was real.
She glanced over her shoulder to find Fred standing in the doorway. With nothing but the firelight illuminating his face, he looked like a dream.
Looking at him, she thought again about the war, how they'd almost lost him. How she'd cried, convinced that he was gone, and how he'd been offended that she'd thought something as vitreous as a wall (at least, in comparison to him) could stop him. The memory of his crooked grin made her smile.
He smiled back and sat cross-legged next to her, sighing contentedly.
"Y'know, Hermione," He said, his voice still husky, "Father Christmas won't come if you're awake."
She chuckled. "Hope I don't ruin Christmas for you."
"Ah, Hermione," He said, "I'd take you over a beefy, bearded intruder who eats my cookies any day."
She laughed again, but as she turned her gaze back to the fire, whatever joy he'd caused gradually evaporated from her features.
He watched her, murmuring, "Sickle for your thoughts, Granger."
"I'm afraid I don't know exactly where they are."
He grinned – his goofy, dizzying, contagious grin, and Hermione didn't need more than one glance to reassure herself.
They sat in a comfortable silence, with nothing but the fire and the wind and their steady breathing to serenade them.
After the war, Harry and Ron had spent two and a half months traipsing the continent while Hermione stayed back at the Burrow studying for NEWTs, and George spent his free time rebuilding various damaged locations, which Fred's injuries rendered him unable to do – so Hermione and Fred found themselves spending a copious amount of time together. They had grown closer, and they quickly found an unprecedented sort of connection that made everyone wonder why it took so long for them to find each other.
Fred shifted slightly so his arm brushed against hers, and she touched her forehead to his shoulder, feeling ardently grateful for him.
Sighing softly, shakily, she looked up at the ceiling and spoke with tears in her eyes. "We used to make hot cocoa – my parents and I, I mean. On Christmas morning, we would make hot cocoa and cinnamon rolls and open presents. We'd watch this old Christmas movie with James Stewart – he's a Muggle actor – and then my dad and I would go out to play in the snow. We'd make snow angels, and he'd help me make a snowman that we always called Christopher – I have no idea why, of course – and every year, I'd see Christopher day after day. The way he melted sort of counted down the days to spring.
"There was this one year when I was younger and there was hardly any snow, and I was, of course, devastated – so my dad got the hose and made a giant pool of mud for us to play in..." The tears were spilling down her cheeks by then, her voice wavering, but she didn't stop. "Mum was furious. I thought she'd never speak to us again, but by dinner, everything was perfect again...At dinner, we'd go around and we'd each say our favorite thing about that previous year, and one thing we wanted to do the next year."
Fred didn't know what to say, so instead, he lay his hand on her arm and rubbed his thumb in soothing circles.
Hicupping, she wiped at her eyes. "I'm sorry. We should get to be bed." Then, teasingly, she added, "If we want Father Christmas to come,"
"There's no need to apologize." Fred said as he stood and helped her up. "Besides, I'm pretty sure all he's got for me is coal." He escorted her back to the room she shared with Ginny, and she gave him a long hug before they parted.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Hermione woke abruptly the next morning to Fred shaking her awake. "Hermione!" He said animatedly. "It's Christmas!"
Hermione sat up in her bed, rubbing her eyes. "What time is it?"
"Seven o'clock. Precisely."
"Fred," Hermione groaned. "I went to bed five hours ago."
"Oh, I'm aware," Fred grinned wickedly, "But you see, love, we have an entire day of Christmas festivities planned. We best be getting started unless you want me to oh so rudely barge in on your Boxing Day as well."
With a waggle of his eyebrows and a wink, he ambled back to the hallway.
As Hermione pulled a sweater over her head, being careful not to disturb her sleeping roommate, she wondered what Fred meant when he said he had the day planned out. When she stepped out into the hallway, the aroma of cinnamon tickled her nose. The incessant smile that stole her mouth didn't move until she stepped into the kitchen and found a plate of cinnamon rolls and a mug of hot chocolate waiting for her, along with a grinning redhead.
As the wheels in her brain kept turning, she stared at Fred Weasley in awe.
:::
As soon as they were finished eating (having been joined by George, Ginny, Ron, and Harry), Fred hurried her into her coat.
Hermione watched as Fred pulled his own coat on, speaking to Harry in a low voice. Fred wrapped a scarf around his neck, moving his gaze to Hermione and smiling brightly.
Outside, the cold wind nipped at Hermione's face. The pristine field of untouched snow looked like a picture from a calendar, and she felt a twinge of regret, knowing that they were about to ruin it.
But the feeling didn't last long. Before she could voice it, Fred playfully shoved her into the snow, and she shrieked in surprise. She struggled to pick herself up, but before she could, Fred had flopped down next to her.
"Hermione," he said, "stop squirming. You're giving my snow angel a gimpy wing."
Hermione stared at him for a moment, as if she was trying to figure out if he was real, and she couldn't help it – she burst into laughter. Fred watched her, waiting for it to subside, but her giggles only grew higher in pitch and longer in duration. He propped himself up on his elbow. "Hermione," he began, but before he could even finish his thought, she'd lobbed a chunk of snow at his face.
He blinked. Snowflakes fell from his eyelashes as he did, gently descending his cheeks, and he cracked a grin.
"Merlin," He said, "If we could get you on a broom, you'd make an excellent Chaser."
It wasn't long before he'd retaliated and they each recruited back-up – George joining Fred's team and Ginny joining Hermione's. Although Ginny had a good arm as well, she and Hermione were no match for two former Beaters – that is, until Hermione retrieved her wand, and even when all three Weasleys joined forces, Hermione's resilience charms proved to be the true champion.
Once they'd surrendered, Fred roped her into building a snowman with him. Hermione had never built a snowman with magic, but she quickly caught on – surprising absolutely no one – and the final result was an exact replica of Hagrid, flawless right down to the texture of his beard.
"Should we call him Hagrid?" Fred asked. "Or would that be blasphemous to your traditions?"
Hermione grinned at him. "We're calling him Christopher." She said with finality. Fred nodded in agreement, and they both stood back to admire their work.
:::
Inside, Harry was waiting with a crooked smile and a copy of It's A Wonderful Life. Hermione was certain she'd cry. She ushered everyone onto the couch and, for the following two hours, hushed anyone who spoke.
When the movie ended, they exchanged gifts. Hermione received a hairbrush that was charmed to never get stuck from Ginny, a book about the parallels between Muggle literature and wizarding literature from Harry, sugar quills from Ron, and the usual navy sweater from Molly and Arthur.
She got to Fred's gift last. Eyeing him suspiciously, she tore the festive paper from the box – and froze.
It was a customized writer's kit, complete with anti-smudge parchment, a set of quills (both self-inking and self-writing), and an instant book-binding kit. She smiled knowingly. Fred was the only person she'd told about her aspirations to write a book, and clearly, he hadn't forgotten.
Hermione shoved her gift for him into his hands.
"It's nowhere near as thoughtful as your gift," She told him, "but I hope you like it."
Fred unwrapped the gift with uncharacteristic care, chuckling when he found a blanket, adorned with bludgers and broomsticks.
"It's charmed to fit itself to whoever uses it." Hermione explained, blushing slightly, "So you can't complain about your blankets being too short anymore."
He laughed. "It's perfect."
:::
When dinnertime rolled around, Molly called everyone into the kitchen. Throughout the meal, Hermione couldn't stop smiling. She felt silly for feeling so sorry for herself the night before. She was truly lucky to have this family.
When dinner was finished and the plates were put away, Hermione stood in the doorway to the living room, watching contentedly as Harry and Ron started a game of wizards' chess and Arthur and George fiddled with the Muggle television.
Fred appeared next to her. He grinned down at her and said, "So, Hermione, did you have a good Christmas?"
"It was incredible. Really, Fred – I have no idea how you managed to pull all that off."
He gave a one-shouldered shrug. "It was easy. I'm sorry it wasn't exactly how you described it."
With the way he was leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded, the corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly – she wondered how she'd ever overlooked him before.
"Now, the best thing I did this year...I'd say it was almost getting crushed by a wall." He said. In response to her perplexed look, he continued, "See, if I hadn't been crushed by that wall, I would've been well enough to go out and help George with the clean-up. And if I'd done that, I wouldn't have gotten to spend so much time with a certain Hermione Granger. My goal for next year is to do this again - today, I mean. Your turn."
She didn't say anything. She couldn't.
"Maybe if I'm feeling particularly cheeky, my goal for next year will be to get myself a girlfriend." He said, winking at her.
"Fred..." She said finally, "Why did you do it?"
He shrugged. "Well...I couldn't stand how sad you looked talking about your parents last night...And you're the last person in the world who deserves to be sad. I might not be able to bring them back, but I thought this might at least cheer you up." His grin twisted into a childish smirk. "Did it work?"
"Yes, it did," She said softly. And before she could talk herself out of it, she added, "I'm very lucky to know you, Fred."
He beamed at her. Then, "Oh – I almost forgot," He reached into his pocket for his wand. "There's a part two to your gift."
"Part two?" She echoed, but before the words had left her mouth, he'd flicked his wand and, with a jingle and a shower of golden sparks, mistletoe appeared above them.
Hermione's eyes darted from the berries to the Weasley twin in front of her, a sudden pounding in her chest, a buzz filling her ears -
And before she could stop herself, she'd grabbed the collar of his shirt, yanked him down, and pressed her lips to his.
He kissed her back, grabbing her by the waist, and she melted into him, suddenly feeling very warm. She pulled away, and he was grinning at her like she'd never seen him grin before.
He leaned to kiss her again, softer this time, less intense. When they parted, he rested his forehead against hers, breathing her air back to her.
"I liked your traditions," He said, his voice low, husky, "but I thought maybe we'd start a few of our own, too,"