Prompt: Christmas Movies

Ron and Hermione

"Ron, what are you doing out here?"

Hermione was bundled up in her big winter coat—she called it a parka—and snow boots over her pajamas. She dodged out onto the terrace of her parents' home with her arms folded to keep warm and the furry hood of her parka thing pulled up over her bushy hair. There was something comical about that. Like her head had been attacked by a beaver or something, but Ron knew better than to say that aloud.

"Did I wake you?" he asked, as she came over to the stone wall he was sitting on.

This was not like the stone wall that fenced the Burrow. The one at home was a bit higgledy-piggledy, with sharp stones in shades of gold and brown jutting out here and there. This one was made up of smooth, gray rocks constructed uniformly.

"No," Hermione said. "I woke to go to the bathroom, and you weren't there. What are you doing out here?"

Ron shrugged. "Just thinking…about those movies you had me watch tonight."

"The Christmas movies? Are you still worried about the talking ducks?"

They'd watched something called Mickey's Christmas Carol—which, by and by, did not have any carols in it—but did have talking mice and ducks. Not even magical animals could talk! Well, he supposed that Scabbers could talk after a fashion; and Ron supposed that Professor McGonagall was a cat in some weird way. But those examples didn't count, they were people.

"No, I've come to terms with Muggles being nutters," he said with a shrug.

"Honestly, Ron—"

He waved her off. "I'm just taking the mickey, Hermione, relax."

Hermione huffed, her breath visible on the cold air. "So, if it's not the ducks, then what are you thinking about? It's A Wonderful Life?"

For a moment, Ron didn't say anything. Because, of course, she was right. That movie had been bloody long (parts of it, he'd dozed off), but then George Bailey had jumped off a bridge to save a perfect stranger, and something magical happened. Hermione had cried through the last hour of the movie, but if Ron was honest, he'd have liked to cry, too.

"It is a really good movie," Hermione said, snuggling into his side.

"I used to wonder that, you know," Ron said, staring out into the snowy garden. "What if I was never born? Wouldn't everybody's life be better?"

"Oh, Ron," Hermione gasped.

He'd been the sixth son in a poor family. His arrival just made everybody's lives a little more strained. And all of his brothers were bloody exceptional. Right from the start, Bill had set the wand high with his winning smile and powerful intellect. Then Charlie was charming and athletic. Percy was smart and driven, though at least he was a bit less charming. Then the twins—well, there were two of them, weren't there? What had Ron added to the family? Other than another mouth to feed and feet to shod?

Wouldn't the Weasleys be better off with one less son?

Until there was one less son, and the family wasn't better off. Not by a long shot.

"You have to know—" Hermione was saying.

Ron turned to her and kissed her. "I do," he said in little more than a whisper. "I do now."

Sometimes he still wasn't sure what he had to offer a family full of brilliant people, but he knew that having one less Weasley in the world was the worst thing that could happen. Besides, what would happen if he weren't around to save Harry's arse all the time? And Hermione? She'd just be wasted on a stupid git like Viktor Krum. So, Ron figured, his life must have value and he didn't need some half-mad angel to help him see that.

He had Hermione. And that was enough.

"It's midnight, you know?" Hermione said.

Ron looked at her expectantly.

"It's Christmas morning, of course."

He smiled and kissed her again. "Merry Christmas, Hermione."

"Merry Christmas, Ron."