Snow drifted along the windowsill of the flat in Muggle London. It was a full blown blizzard that blew in from Cornwall and blanketed most of lower England. But the couple in the third floor walkup flat didn't mind a bit. Bright lights showed through their window out into London.
Sunday mornings were the only guaranteed time off the engaged couple managed to share.
And yet, they were sharing Christmas Evening home together. The brunette witch in the kitchen sashayed to the music drifting from the Muggle radio she had in the kitchen while her fiancée was listening to the Wizarding wireless in the living room. Ron was listening to the replay of the Appleby-Exmoor Quidditch match from 1985. A classic! The announcer extolled right before the recast started.
The beef stew on the cooker was almost ready and so was the loaf of fresh bread in the oven. Hermione took her sister in law's advice to heart a few days after their world changed. Fleur was adamant when she told Hermione, Make enough for six and that will be how you keep him content.
She listened and learned, with a few bumps in the road, between those cold desolate days during the War to now, decadent smells of home cooking to warm her hungry fiance's heart. Fleur had been right – more than I originally gave her credit for! – when she offered Hermione advice on those insomnia induced mornings at the Burrow.
"Hermione, I'm hungry. When can we eat?"
Hermione rolled her eyes in consternation. Sunday brunch with the Weasleys was never enough for Ron. It could be a ten course meal and he'd still be hungry at dinner time. The faint click of the radio told her that the match was finished and she needed to plate the stew for him. "It's ready now if you want to eat immediately."
Ron strode into their galley kitchen and took the heaping bowl of dinner from his lover's hands. He gave a peck on her cheek for his dinner and he returned to the living room. "I'll bring out some bread in a couple of minutes."
Ron waved from the couch before tucking into his ample serving of dinner.
Hermione removed the tray in the oven and was greeted with a delightful smell of fresh baked bread. She wouldn't tell him that her mother helped with the proofing of the bread – she only baked it this evening. Then again, I doubt he'll notice.
She ladled out a smaller helping for herself then cut three generous slices of the loaf before her. Crock butter was applied to the hot bread before she would hand over the pieces to him.
"Budge over, will you?" She asked while setting her bowl on the table. "That was a fast match."
"That's why it's a classic. Collins, the Exmoor seeker, saw the snitch almost immediately and it was a race for the win. The seekers chased that little blighter all over the stadium. The Appleby seeker, Erlich, some bloke they picked up from the continent, was on his thatch chasing both of them all over the stadium. It went on for about five minutes, just racing one another around the pitch. Collins didn't watch where he was going and ran into one of the goal poles near the ground and Erlich caught the snitch. It's fortunate for Collins that there were cushioning charms on the posts since 1927 otherwise he would have died from it, probably."
Hermione could only grin at his enthusiasm from a Quidditch match almost fifteen years old. She bit back the urge to fuss at him for waving his spoon around to demonstrate what he was talking about. It was another thing that she came to love about the man next to her.
"So yeah, that match gets replayed so often just to hear the commentators talk about those Cleansweep pros racing around the pitch. The commentary was as exciting as the broom race was."
"You miss playing Quidditch?" Hermione inquired before taking a bite of her stew.
Ron wiped the remnants of his meal out of the bowl with the heel of the bread he had. He stuffed the piece into his mouth and looked a little sad from her question.
Hermione waited for him to reply. Another piece of wisdom from Fleur helped her understand him better. Be patient and let him talk. It'll be worth it, listening to him. She ate another spoonful of dinner while anticipating his reply.
"Sometimes I do, but most of the time, nah. I was a better fan than a Keeper. Harry, he could have gone pro and been amazing. Look at Ginny and how much she's tearing up the pitch every week. Me? I couldn't keep my lunch down most days before a match." Ron stole a glance to his right. "It wasn't until someone helped me realize that there are more important things than Quidditch that the stress went away."
Ron leaned over and laid a gentle kiss on her lips. "If you stuck me on a pitch now, I'd have no problem. But I also have other things that are more interesting than quoting goal stats from 1990."
Hermione grinned back at him. "So what caught your attention now?"
Ron stood up and took the empty bowls from the table in front of them. "You give me two minutes and you'll find out."
Hermione watched him walk into their small kitchen and set the pots and dishes to scrub in the sink. The view was quite nice from where she was sitting.
"Is that a threat or a promise, Auror Weasley?"
Ron looked over his shoulder and winked at her.
"Merry Christmas to me," she thought to herself.
