Last year the snow trickled down in wavelike strings. Microscopic crystals stuck against the glass of the little muggle pub on the corner, across from the small town drugstore. He didn't know the names of any of the people in there, but there were certainly a few who wanted to know his. Slurring women, stumbling as they walked, gripped his shoulder to balance themselves and muttered words one by one that left nothing to the imagination. He almost couldn't get out of there quick enough, but as he stepped outside he realized he had nowhere to go. It didn't take the cold to send a chill up his spine while he rubbed his mitten clad hands together for warmth. Wand tight at the small of his back, He stood in the middle of the road, and stared at the lights of the drug store. Why wouldn't he? He had people to run to, but no clue where they were. He leered at the muggle lights and thought about how anywhere else in the world would be better than where he stood. It was the same thought he had weeks prior, listening to the quiet voices of his friends and the patter of the rain.
Last year, he left. This year, she did.
She didn't do it to intentionally hurt him, or without proper cause. School was one of her top priorities, and he knew that long before she entertained the thought of going back. He couldn't blame her. She wasn't sure what exactly she wanted to do now that they could have somewhat normal lives, but when the three of them were offered jobs at the Auror's office, she immediately declined. I've chased enough evil wizards for a lifetime. She said. He couldn't blame her for that either; he silently agreed. However, jobs at a young age are hard to come by, and aurors make good money. Besides, having a steady career at the age of eighteen doing what you'd been doing for the last half of your life anyway, didn't seem like a bad deal at the time.
Kingsley gave him a flat with six months pre-paid rent. The sense of freedom that gave him was enthralling. However, with this new freedom came a new sense of loneliness. He'd never had the experience of eating dinner alone, and having to make his own meals no less. He missed the flying bread rolls being passed from Ginny to George. He missed looking over the table at Harry, and the feeling of Hermione's fingers laced with his under the table. Every other day of his life he had a variety of siblings to have conversation with, or several other Gryffindors just around the corridor, always open for a warm butterbeer. In this new flat, new freedom, he realized he'd given up something much more important to him, something he wasn't quite ready to let go of yet. So within a month, Ron was back in his attic bedroom.
He made an agreement with himself that he would move back into the space when he had someone to share it with. At first he leant towards Harry, however, his best friend seemed to be having a blast by himself without taking a look back. One reckons that after all that man had been through, a bit of peace and quiet was well deserved. Then, though he tried to stray his mind from it, he thought of Hermione. If she were to work for the ministry after her schooling was finished, she couldn't live with her parents in the muggle world; it would be too much of a hassle to go back and forth. He knew Hermione would probably never go for it, and that his mother might kill him for even thinking about living with a girl before marriage, but the more he came to knowing he should dismiss it, the more foreseeable it became.
He could picture himself waking up to find her brewing tea in the kitchen on day, then being the one to make her breakfast the next. He thought of the messy bun she had atop her head every morning that he'd seen her, and how the stray hairs from the struggle to sleep the night before gently brushed the sides of her neck when she walked. He thought about how much of a privilege it would be to be able to spend all day alone with her, doing absolutely nothing on their days off. He wanted to know what if felt like to get together with Harry and Ginny, and not have to say goodbye to the one he regretted letting go every night.
How he hated to say goodbye to her, that morning on Platform 9 ¾ was Hell. That was three months ago, and he hadn't seen her since then. Despite aiding in the war that brought the fall of Voldemort, McGonagall prohibited her from flooing off grounds; she also made a strict rule of no visitors. Ron had a feeling that if the two of them weren't together in the way that they were, then he could make trips no problem. He understood she was just doing her job of 'protecting her students', but it still disappointed him to no end.
Thankfully, the professor underestimated the Slytherin like qualities the two youngest Weasleys had. It was Ginny's idea initially, as she wanted to see Harry and the rest of the family, without going back home for the holidays. The two boys ended up creating a plan to get themselves over into Hogwarts territory. It was reasonable to assume that the floo channels between the ministry and the school remained open, for business uses only. So, if Harry and Ron could leave from work, there wouldn't be a problem passing through the protective barriers. As for the rest of the family, they'd already made plans to be with Charlie in Romania when Ginny's suggestion arrived. Though he knew it was selfish, he was actually glad the rest of his family wasn't coming; that just meant less people to elude while he tried to be alone with his girlfriend.
When they arrived, the plan was that the four of them would spend the afternoon and early evening together in Hogsmead, then separate into pairs later in the night. Needless to say, that didn't happen.
Ginny decided last minute that her and Harry were going to spend their first Christmas after the war alone together at one of the finer restaurants in town. He felt odd about it, half of him was offended and hurt that his little sister didn't care as much as to see him on Christmas, but the other half of him just cared about Hermione.
Wizarding Christmas' normally consisted of a tree in the living room with several magically litten orbs floating in the branches. Some families, like his, adorned the tree with handmade ornaments as well, though it wasn't necessarily custom. Inside the decorations were marvelous, but outside, nothing really changed most of the time. He remembered what she'd told him about muggle christmas traditions, about how a star was placed at the top of the tree, and electricity was used for the lights both on the tree inside and on the house outside. He wanted to know what that looked like in person, but he would have to wait until next year when, hopefully, they visited her parents.
Until then, he would have to make do on his own.
It took him hours to make the rooms of the shrieking shack presentable. With all the previous werewolf damage, Ron wasn't even aware of when a room stopped and another started, as many of the walls were ripped from their rightful places and had the remains tossed about the room. Looking about, he reveled in how clean he was able to make it. He'd transfigured all the broken furniture into newer versions of themselves and blew out all the dust. The ragged carpet was cleaned and repaired using charms his mother taught him before she left. Sadly, he didn't have enough time to do the top floor, so he obliterated the stairs completely, then closed the gap in the ceiling. He made the bottom floor into two rooms, one small and the other quite large, this was where the tree was. He was able to transfigure an old, broken piano into the world's' most symmetrical piece of nature. He'd been working on making the little flames to hover inside the branches, and was about three-fourths the way up the tree. Hearing a squeak from above, he looked up and smiled. There sat pigwidgeon all prim and proper on the highest branch, resembling an angel at the top of the tree.
"Just don't shit on me, alright?" He asked. The bird simply ruffled his feathers.
His heart was already beating frantically with nerves, but it nearly leapt from his chest when he heard the front door creak open.
"Hi," He said absentmindedly, already beginning to feel perspiration form on his brow in accompaniment with his unsteady heart rate. He didn't see much more than a flash of teeth and hair before he was engulfed in a familiar embrace. Automatically bending down to rest his head on her shoulder, he silently hoped she wouldn't sense his worries through the several layers of clothing the both had on. He recognized her scent immediately, even though it had been ages. She smelt soft, of cinnamon and vanilla. It wasn't something one could pick up on unless they were that close to her, so he hung on tightly. The ache he felt in his chest day after day in her absence told him he missed her, but that same ache returned feeling her in his arms again. He clung to her almost desperately; he didn't want to part as they somewhat swayed on the spot. After what would have been years, she let go.
"Hi to you too," she said, taking his wrist and happily stomping her foot lightly on the ground (as she did so, a faint chunk of snow slid off her jacket and onto the floor). "Oh, it's so good to see you!"
Then her arms were around his neck again, but only for a brief second.
Placing a brief pat on his arm, she moved around him. He watched her from behind as she studied all the amenities he'd added or changed. Her long fingers ran themselves over the backing of the loveseat, but her eyes scouted the back wall, which was titivated with hanging portraits of themselves with family and friends. The once broken window had been renovated and replaced with a panel of frosted glass. The room was warm, and not just in temperature; it was home within the place separating herself from it.
Her silence for more than a few seconds made his insecurities worse. Though he wasn't aware of it until his chest started to burn, he'd been holding his breath since she walked away from him. However, when she turned slightly the burn was extinguished. Her glittering smile was embellished by the fire's flickering flames. Finally, her eyes shifted and met his.
"You did all this?" She wondered, as if the only reason for asking was to ensure she wasn't dreaming it all.
"Well yeah," Ron shrugged, "I thought we should have somewhere decent to spend the holiday. Luckily, Harry wasn't as clever as I was to claim it first."
"Decent?" She questioned, "This is lovely, Ron."
There she went, saying his name again with that slight upturn of her mouth when she spoke, the one that caused slight wrinkles at the corner of her eyes. He took a breath and his heart turned into a more pleasurable kind of frantic. He didn't want to make himself a fool, so he downplayed his churning stomach and grinned back at her, nodding.
"Thank you, I appreciate it."
"I see you brought a friend with you?" Hermione nodded to the small owl at the top of the tree. He looked as she did, and couldn't help but think that Pig was somehow smiling too.
"What can I say? He wanted to come." He followed her as she approached the tree. Her delicate hand disappeared within the branches, only to pull out a gleaming silver teardrop that oversee over her palm. "Yeah, I was working on them when you walked in."
"You can play with these you know." She said softly, letting it dance around her palm. It then bounced it's way up her wrist and across the back of her hand as she turned it over. With one look at him, she blew on the glowing ember and it drifted over to him. It was his initial reaction to catch it, and he didn't have time to think about the consequences of the flame hitting his skin. However, it wasn't at all what he expected. It was cold, like a small gust of outside air. It hovered over his palm as well, before he sent it back over to her. She guided it back and it disappeared into its original hiding place.
While she focused on returning the orb to its home, Ron moved behind her. He couldn't help himself anymore, he just needed to feel her. His arms snaked around her waist in a warm embrace, and he rested his chin easily on the top of her head. He heard a chuckle, and then her hands laid themselves over his forearms, following them down in search of his to hold. When they reached them, he could nearly close his hand completely around hers. She was so small compared to him, and he loved it. He loved being able to pick her up and have her shriek at the height. He loved setting her on the counter, and still being able to look down at her. They were only the same height when Hermione was two stairs ahead.
She leant her head back against his collarbone with her eyes closed peacefully, grinning comfortably. It was the first time he saw her truly calm since the beginning of their second year. He was able to move around her hair to place a kiss on her cheek, and she exhaled loudly in satisfaction.
"I'm impressed with how you did the little lights." She addressed him, pointing at the lowly illuminated tree. "Seems you were silently taking lessons from me last year."
He could feel his stomach, once riddled with butterflies, sink to the floor and his breath caught in his throat. His pulse picked up speed again. This was not like last year, no year would ever be like last year. When she turned to face him, he stepped away and out of desperation to keep her mind away from the lonesome Christmas he'd made her endure, he began rummaging through one of the decoration boxes on the table. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her staring at him from the center of the room.
"I lit that fire using one of the spells in the book you have me for my birthday. I used it a lot when I was by myself, you know, the book. It has a lot of useful spells in it when it comes to household stuff. Not that I'm incompetent and don't know how to do household charms, because I've been around them for years, but it certainly was nice to refresh my memory without having to write mum every single day." Now he was just babbling, which he tended to do he got uncomfortable. He couldn't look at her in fear she would figure out that he was trying his hardest to avoid the topic of him leaving. "I have a really nice marble fireplace in the apartment I've got in reserve for when I'm ready to move in again. I'm not ready to move in though," He gave a shaky laugh as Hermione stepped forward. She held a look of confusion, but a smile nonetheless. "So, anyway, I've got tea in here somewhere. I can heat up water without a stove or kettle too, but you knew that."
"Well yeah, you were the designated tea maker while we were in the tent." She acknowledged, shrugging innocently. Ron's hands stopped shuffling for a moment after she spoke, but continued again until he found two mugs and several packages of tea. Waving his hand over both containers, they filled to the brim with steaming water.
Hermione took a step forward to chose her cup and bag. As she dunked her tea by the string and wrapped her hands around the warmth she asked, "I know you told me about your flat when you got it, but do you think you could talk about it a little more. I want to picture it."
Happy to get as far away from the topic of last year as possible, he rose the hot liquid to his lips. "Basically you walked into a large room as soon as you went through the door. There was a big, black couch and a coffee table to the right, as well as the fireplace, which was white marble. On the right was a closet, but once that ended it opened up into a fair sized kitchen. Black cupboards and white marble countertops with some grey back splash. Past the sitting room was one bathroom, and then there was another bathroom which connected with the bedroom."
A joyful noise escaped her throat. "I can imagine it, though I must say, I didn't picture your style as so...sharp."
"It's not, but it came with the place and it certainly is not ugly." He took another sip of tea before setting it back on the table. He could see Hermione studying him over the brim of her cup, which is why he didn't stare at any one place too long. There was a long pause, and just as he was beginning to feel confident again, his name sounded.
"Ron?"
"Yeah?"
"You didn't put the tea in your mug."
"What?"
"You've been drinking hot water."
Sure enough the bottom design of the mug greeted him with ease through clear liquid when he looked down. He shrugged and shook his head. "That's what I wanted."
"Who would want hot water?"
"Who would think putting dried, dead plants in their water would be a good idea?" He retorted respectfully. "I want to meet that guy and talk about his mental processes-"
"Is there something going on with you?" Her eyes squinted as she naturally tilted her head with blatant concern.
"No, I'm just nervous because I haven't seen you in a long time and I don't want to mess this up." Technically, it wasn't a lie. She set her cup down and took his hands in hers, closing the gap between them.
"There is nothing you could do to mess this up." She insisted, looking deep into his eyes. "What you've done here is, to say the least, beautiful. I know we haven't seen each other in a while, but I still love you. So as long as you feel the same way- you do feel the same don't you?" Her face fell suddenly and the grip on his hands lessened. That was not was not what he wanted.
"Yes, yes! Absolutely," he rushed. "Don't doubt that for a second. God, I missed you. I thought I was going insane."
Hermione looked down and laughed coyly before gazing back up at him. "Good, you scared me for a second. But not that we have that taken care of, can I give you your gift now?"
Before he could accept or deny, she spun on her heel to go back to the door. There, her bag laid peacefully and she opened the flap to pull out a white envelope decorated with a classic red bow. After doing so, she held the package between her thighs as she peeled off her gloves and removed her jacket. Underneath was a deep burgundy sweater, one that closely resembled his own. He began to wonder if that was the reason why she was wearing it.
He could tell she was trying to withhold a smile when she handed it over to him. He smiled at her and took it gratefully when she handed it to him. "Thank you." He opened the flap slowly, and the closer he got to revealing what it was, the harder time she had trying to reserve her joy. He was curious to see what would elicit this reaction from her, but he was having fun seeing her in such a manner. Ultimately, he pulled a small, rectangular piece of official looking paper covered in blocky text. He squinted to read the fine print, but the words didn't make sense. "Wow, thank you Hermione, but," He paused and peered up at her beaming face. "What is it?"
"It's a plane ticket." She responded happily.
"As in muggle transportation?" He was far more confused than he'd ever been.
"Yes-"
"To where?"
"Australia." His expression changed entirely from that of confusion to that of shock. "I know you said you wanted to go with me and I said no, but I thought about it and I really do want you with me when I have to find my parents. I'm going to need the help and, I think it would be good for us to just get away for a while-" He cut her off with a hug. She knew how much this meant to him, she knew how much he wanted to accompany her and she knew how disappointed he was when she said she wanted to do it alone. He told her it was alright, because it was her decision to make and he wasn't going to try and push her, but he was certain she could decipher the sadness in his voice. But now he was going. It proved to him that she trusted him enough to another continent, and that she felt he was worthy enough to help her on her quest. The butterflies in his stomach were back.
"Thank you." He murmured in her hair. He could feel her hands on his back, and he signaled that they needed to part. "Now it's time for yours."
He opened the closet door and pulled a blue box from the shelf. He carried it over to her as if the object inside was unsteady. Setting it down on the table, he turned to her. "Don't worry, he hasn't been in there for long."
With her brow furrowed, she undid the ribbon and lifted the loosely fitting lid. At first, she was blank, but then she looked at him as if she were about to cry. "Is this really-"
"The one and only." Ron leaned against the table, glad he was able to make her so happy. "We actually have a mutual respect for each other now."
Hermione pulled a lump of ginger fur out of the box. The cat's smushed face turned to Ron, and began purring as soon as his ear hit Hermione's chest. She bounced her long lost pet on her hip, cradling his head and scratching him under the chin. "I can't believe you found him. I thought he found a new muggle family when we were living in the woods on the run."
There it was again, his fear, chasing him. He would have to fight it sooner or later.
"I'm sorry, Hermione."
She let the cat down, and the creature landed softly on his little padded feet. "For what, giving him back to me is one of the best things I could have asked for?"
"Not that," He dismissed. Crookshanks rubbed up against his pant leg with his tail perched high in the air. "I mean about last year, and the one before that actually. They were the only Christmases we didn't spend together and that was because of my attitude attacks. I've noticed that you keep bringing up the Horcrux hunt and I just want to make sure that you're not flashing back to last Christmas or think that I would ever do that again. I don't want my past actions to ruin this one."
"Is that why you've been acting odd?" She questioned softly. "We went over this already, a long time ago, I know it wasn't really you. And I'm not thinking about that at all. How could I, with everything you've got going for us right now?"
He sighed and lightly touched her face. "You're right, I'm being unreasonable."
"And the fact that you're worried so much shows me just how much you really care about how I feel and that means so much to me." She whispered, moving closer and loosely draping her arms around his waist. He gave a slight grin, then leaned forward to press his lips to her forehead. "I want you to know that."
The sound of scuffling drew both of their attention. Crookshanks was in the middle of the floor, pawing around the red bow Hermione had placed on her envelope. The two laughed as they watched him, until Hermione took her boyfriend's hand and guiding him to the room floor, where they sat and played with the animal. It was mainly Hermione, as Ron had been playing with him for the past couple weeks since he'd found him, and he felt she was entitled to play with her newly found pet. Besides, he had a better time watching her anyway. The steady flames that illuminated her pale face danced across her features as if they were being conducted by her smile, or the light in her eyes. He suddenly imagined Crookshanks as their child. Is this what it would be like watching her as a mother? His mind switched to the three of them in a large room with a black couch, white marble fireplace, and a closet by the door. He wouldn't mind Crookshanks waking him up now and again, as long as Hermione was there to play with him.
"You know how you were saying that you wanted to imagine the flat I was in?" He asked. She shifted her gaze from the cat to him and rested her hands in her lap.
"Yes, why?"
"Because I missed a key piece of the scenery for when I go back." He paused. "You. I know you still have to finish school and everything, but I was hoping that maybe after- I dunno- you could come live with me? I'll be out of training by then, and Crookshanks could come too."
He was giving reasons to persuade her, but he wasn't sure why. He wasn't even sure why he asked; he knew she was going to say no. That's the way Hermione was, she was very traditional, like his mother. She was also very independent, she didn't feel as though she needed someone's company, she could get by on her own. It was a shot in the dark, but even when you're shooting blind, there's always a greater chance of hitting something than if you don't fire at all.
Her chest rose from a deep breath, and a look of admiration and love radiated from her eyes. "I would love that."
His heart skipped a beat, even more so when she leaned forward and brushed her lips against his, something they hadn't done in three months. Everytime she kissed him, it was like re-experiencing the first. He was just as shocked, because over and over again she proved that he was the one she chose. It wasn't Krum, or Cormac, it was him, and that was the best gift he could have asked for.
"Merry Christmas, Hermione."