Disclaimer: I do not Own Harry Potter or any of the associated characters.
Another Romione Request: 'Older'.
~*MERRY CHRISTMAS*~
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2) Ronmione (Ron & Hermione - Older)
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It was almost a cliche, she thought, gazing about the room filled to the brim with various items of Christmas-ical intent. At least, that's how Ron had put it earlier when he'd had a rather one-sided argument with the Christmas tree and lost, spectacularly, as it toppled over to land on him… twice.
She winced at the memory, it had been somewhat her fault…
To be fair, other things had monopolised her attention at the time that he's valiantly attempted to hoist the faux-greenery upright; and made certain that she forgot to warn Ron that one of the legs on the tree's stand was, well, wonkier than a grundschwap's left elbow talon.
An accident from last year, when they'd been packing away everything, that she may or may not have forgotten to mention (that perhaps involved a little too much eggnog of the alcoholic variety, and not enough supervision to stop her from using the stand to beat the rug with, which had seemed a grand idea at the time).
Ah well, he had survived the experience… although it was a little bit more than simply his pride that had been bruised this time around.
Harry was never going to believe Ron had lost a fight with a stationary object… well, not-so-stationary object… she chuckled to herself, eyes gazing absently into the fireplace where flames danced cheerily like a wild pantomime for her eyes only.
Outside, snow was falling in soft blankets, coating everything in a delightful way that reminded her of brisk winter days at Hogwarts… how the white powder would coat the castle as if it were some sort of tableau scene from the inside of a snowglobe.
Breath-taking, really.
A pang of nostalgia filled her to the core for the merest breath, a strong desire to return to the hallowed halls -newly refurbished since the battle- where everything changed; where their names had become whispered, nay venerated, legend. It was so very silly… you help defeat a Dark Lord, one time...
Still, it helped to keep the students in-line… a healthy balance of awe, hero-worship and fear in their eyes as she walked into each class, from wide-eyed and whispering First Years, to the respectful and somehow still awestruck Seventh Years. Ron always said it was a combination of the legend following her name, and who she was… said some nonsense about her radiating a sense of authority, like a goddess…
Who knew the boy who had once tried to ask her to a Ball with the swoon-inducingly tantalising line, 'So, Hermione… you're a girl...', would grow up to be a man that always seemed to know the right thing to whisper in her ear to set a pleasant blush of embarrassment racing across her cheeks…?
Or maybe it was his warm breath on the back of her neck?
She shivered a little, a little ripple that tingled from one end of the body to the other, and had nothing to do with the cold; not that she could be cold at this point in time. Mrs Weasley had thoughtfully knitted her another sweater in the interim between the announcement, and Christmas… giving it to her early, so she and… well… so they wouldn't be cold.
The soft pink jumper felt like it must have been woven from the clouds themselves, and not in a single place did it itch, like wool was wont to do on occasion…
Originally, it had been a little too big, but… as she absent-mindedly stroked over her growing bump, she realised Mrs Weasley had made it just the right size… that woman was a miracle worker, honestly.
Delicious scents of cooked meats and potatoes wafted into the room from the kitchen where Ginny and George were busy bustling about, refusing to let her do a single thing this year -although she highly suspected it was, once again, Mrs Weasley's influence.
Bill and Fleur were out grabbing a few necessary things for little Victorie, whose teething ring had somehow gotten misplaced amongst the madness of holiday packing; and Charlie was in-bound from somewhere foreign -somehow managed to get himself cursed, meaning that his only option to get here on-time was to catch a Muggle plane.
Apparently, thanks to whatever ancient evil laid the trap the second-oldest Weasely had fallen into, all attempts at apparition tended to have some horrifying side-effects… splinching was the least of the Cursed's worries… at least, that's what St Mungos had said, and none of them wanted to take any chances; not even side-along apparition.
Percy had already been dispatched to get him from the Airport, although the flight wouldn't be in for another forty-five minutes. Hermione had tried to brief him on how Departure and Arrival gates worked, and who to ask for help in locating the right one.. but figured that if he couldn't work it out and panicked, then someone there would probably take pity on him.
If not, she'd send Harry to save them, whenever he and Ron re-appeared, that is.
A strong desire for chocolate ripple ice-cream, despite the weather, had seen the two scrambling out the door at double-time. Oh, not for them, of course… Hermione smiled to herself, but a certain bun in the oven had decided to remind Mummy-to-Be that crushed-candy canes, choc-ripple ice-cream and french fries was the only thing they wanted right now.
Almost the second the words left her mouth, part of a half-formed thought born of distracted snow-watching, the pair were gone… dashing outside into the cold, white world towards the car... before sheepishly slinking back inside seconds later to snatch jackets and car-keys they'd left behind.
A smile formed on her lips, even after all this time, she was still the brains of their little Golden Trio -as people had come to call them; though she'd never say that to their faces…
Ginny was calling out something about gravy, and not to touch something… then there was a loud 'whack' followed almost immediately by a strangled yelp. George came slinking out of the kitchen, looking for all the world like a sad puppy…
She laughed and tossed a candy cane at him, "Cheer up, it's Christmas!"
He brightened immediately, shucking off the plastic wrapping and managing to speak around the sugared sweet in his mouth as he marched across her living room, "Ah, Hermione, you always know how to cheer a lad up, don't you?"
George grabbed her hands gently, mock-bowed and began to take oddly-rhythmic steps to some dance or other, based on music that was clearly in his head… she laughed, tugged back for a moment, then joined in when he began to hum to give her some sense of what time-signature they were dancing to.
Life with the Weasley family constantly in it had changed only a little after the Battle, the hole that Fred left was almost healed… but still raw enough around the sealing edges that no one poked too harshly. Bill had taken to his little monthly problem with the same calm optimism that he handled everything else; and Fleur didn't mind in the least.
Ginny and Harry occasionally became a little overbearing in their affections towards one another, but they were still in the Honeymoon phase, so it was something to be expected… or at the very least, tolerated. Ron often bemoaned the fact that they had never been that mushy-gushy…
A fact that his siblings only too-gleefully refuted, stating they were TWICE as bad!
She often found her cheeks burning at the insinuation, finding nothing in her memories to suggest correlating evidence with their recollections of their own Honeymoon period, but then again… rose-tinted glasses were a thing for magic and muggle folk alike. They probably had been insufferable… but at no point had they stooped to baby-talking, or nick-names.
Well, not in public…
"Ve are 'ere!" came the melodious voice of Fleur as she strode through the front door, a heavily-swaddled little Victorie in her arms and a small shopping back bearing a baby-store brandname on it's side, dangling from the crook of her left elbow. "Zey only 'ad ones with silly faces, but per'aps she is too young to be upset by zis, yes?"
Hermione nodded thoughtfully over George's shoulder, which seemed to be the right response, and Fleur continued into the house. Well, it was technically Hermione and Ron's home, but seeing as it was their turn to host Christmas festivities this year (it really wasn't, they should be at Bill and Fleur's this time, but no one wanted to make Hermione travel any great distance at this stage of pregnancy… and Mrs Weasley would have a fit if she had tried to apparate anywhere) everyone was staying with them.
The house was big enough, a clever undetectable extension charm here, some muggle-proofing there… and suddenly you had a house big enough for twenty guests to stay simultaneously!
"Would you believe what we found while we were out?" called Bill, apparently dragging Ron and Harry with him as he stepped inside and shut the door against the cold. "Someone forgot to put enough antifreeze in the engine, and the car decided to have a spectacular meltdown half-way across town."
"N-n-n-not ou-our f-f-f-f-fault, st-stu-stupid M-Muggle contra-contra-contraptio-... things!" Ron stammered, shuffling over to Hermione with a bag that looked to contain the longed-for ice-cream treat. "Alwa- Always n-n-needing s-s-omething different, n-never hav-have to put antifr-freeze in a br-broom!"
Hermione laughed, releasing George, who immediately started dancing with a cold and rather bewildered Harry…
She pecked her husband on the cheek, "Thank you for getting me this, I don't know why I want it… but I do…" she glanced in the bag at the tub of her frozen treat, smiling broadly. "I'm going to need a spoon."
"And probably some of these, too!" replied Ginny, striding into the room with a bowl of fresh-from-the-oven french fries and a large metal spoon. "See, this is why I was making them, not for you you giant greedy guts!" she directed at George, who eyed the spoon warily.
Hermione slipped him a few chips when Ginny's back was turned, and he slunk off to enjoy ambushing some other random family member into his imaginary dance competition or whatever that was before. Harry, now released due to the commotion, followed Ginny into the kitchen to see if he could lend a hand and saying something about their collective parents arriving soon enough…
Bill made an off-hand comment about Mr Weasley and her parents stopping off for drinks on the way here, before slipping into the corridor that led to the bedrooms, where Fleur was obviously trying and failing to soothe a fussy, wailing Victorie.
She glanced to the clock, noting that at this point Charlie's flight should have lande-... and there was the phonecall she'd been waiting for. "Hello?" she said in a voice used mainly to calm homesick first-years, listening patiently as Percy flipped out on the other end, lost somewhere near Departure gate 106, and not sure what to do.
Having used that very airport several times, going on holidays with her parents over Christmases past, she managed to calm the third-eldest Weasley down and give him generally accurate directions to Arrival Lounge 47.
He hung up moments later, having spotted Charlie and promising to pick her up some Butterbeer on the way home.
She preened a moment, laughing internally at the fact she somehow became the Weasley-whisperer somewhere along the way… and then decided to snuggle into the armchair nearest the fire. Her tired ankles letting her know just how much they appreciated the very millisecond she placed them on the footrest…
For a while, Hermione mixed her mad concoction of chocolate, candy canes and chips, savouring the flavour until it became almost unbearable and she had to put it down or risk being too full for Dinner later. Someone came and took it away, but she didn't see who… too busy staring into the calming flames of the fireplace and wondering on what the future held.
How odd it is that Christmas is a time that invokes such thoughts and dreams… she mused, languidly.
All too soon, she started to doze, listening to the bustling preparations for Christmas Dinner and thinking about the impending arrival of the rest of the family. Well, all that would be coming this year, she smiled, hand resting on her bump…
Soon.
There was something about a Weasley Family Christmas that had to be seen to be believed… but spectacular to experience, and Hermione couldn't think of any better tradition to pass on to their little-one-to-be than this.
She fell asleep content in the knowledge that when Ron or Ginny came to gently wake her in a few hours, everyone would be here, the table set, and nothing would be on fire.
...hopefully.
~)0(~
THE END
Another little request for Christmas, I shall work on the other ten at a time that is not past 3am in the wang-dang-doodle morning.
Wrote it in a rush of plotlessness, please let me know if there were any mistakes or issues.
Goodnight, hope you like it.
~*SailorSilvanesti/Phoenix Fire*~