Geoffrey interrupted her first coffee of the morning with a sharp tap on the door.
"The lights in the Great Hall are playing up. Might be water getting in."
He stared at her, not unkindly but somewhat expectantly. She found that this happened a lot. Despite the fact she had absolutely nothing to do with so many of the aspects of Ottery that kept the castle going, people reported all manner of things to her. She was starting to feel like the responsible adult.
Electrical wiring was definitely not something she could deal with and she told Geoffrey so.
"S'no problem," he replied in that same, level tone. "I've called the electrician. Said it was urgent."
Though it definitely was not her remit, the lighting issue grated on Hermione as she ran through the day's agenda with Haroon. This, despite him reassuring her that the electrical firm they used was on retainer and would prioritise Ottery. Unable to be pacified, she insisted they take the rest of their meeting on foot through the castle so she could see the fault for herself.
As they rounded the corner into the Hall, they came upon a step ladder underneath one of the arched doorways. At the top stood a woman, delicately peeling back the metal guard that wrapped around the light in the centre of the arch.
Hermione glanced at Haroon for enlightenment. "The electrician," Haroon confirmed, gesturing to the woman's feet, encased in heavy, green work boots.
"Hi Haroon!" Leaving the light dangling from the flex, the electrician scrambled down the steps, taking two at a time, and jumped in front of them.
She was tall and muscular, the curve of her deltoids pronounced under her tanned skin. Her blonde hair had been scraped back into a short ponytail. The grey vest and neat but practical cargo trousers in the same shade should have been hideous on anyone, what with the dust, the knee pads and the multiple, bulky pockets. Yet, Hermione mused as she unconsciously gave the blonde woman the once over, the effect was not hideous. It very much suited her strong frame. She looked capable. Sexy even.
Hermione's gaze flicked to Haroon who was grinning like an idiot. Yes. Definitely sexy.
After an awkward pause Haroon managed to regain the power of speech. "Nicola, this is Hermione. She's the new Curator. Hermione this is Nic. The…"
"Electrician," Hermione finished, hoping to stop Haroon from saying anything else in that weird, soppy voice. "Hi, Hermione Granger." She thrust her hand out.
"Nice to meet you. Mind if we don't shake?" Nicola held up her darkly smudged hands. "Greasy."
Hermione retracted her hand and tried to duck the feeling she had been snubbed. "So," she carried on brightly, "Thank you for getting here so quickly."
Nicola shrugged. "No problem. My family have been looking after this place for years. Know it like the back of my hand. Doesn't take long to fix things anymore."
She had clear blue eyes, pale like cornflowers. They danced around as she talked, never lighting on something for more than a few seconds before moving off again. Haroon expressed an interest in a piece of equipment hanging off her tool belt and she pulled it out, showing him the various ways said object could be manipulated; eyes flashing to him, to Hermione, back to Haroon, down to the tool. It felt disconcerting to Hermione.
"Hey Haroon," Nicola said now, punching him lightly on the arm, "Did you see the match last night?"
As Haroon launched into an exuberant blow by blow, Hermione felt her mind wander. Her gaze fell on the tapestry on the south wall. It hadn't made it onto the most critical To-Do list because it had been 'recently' examined and catalogued. But, as it was now becoming apparent that 'recently' had a few different meanings, depending on who you spoke to, it would probably be prudent to take a look.
As she was mentally adding it to the bottom of the list, the door on the opposite side of the room opened and Ron breezed in. Behind him trailed the five work-experience school kids that had arrived that morning, each clutching a pad and pen, purportedly taking notes as he spoke.
The party stopped in front of one of the cabinets and Ron said something in a low voice as he gestured at the antiquity inside. All five of them laughed, dropping their sullen, teenaged scowls for a moment, and Hermione found herself smiling too. Somehow Ron always managed to get the best out of people.
Turning her attention back to the conversation happening next to her, she noticed that Nicola had stilled. Haroon, still rhapsodising, hadn't realised he had lost her attention, but she was looking somewhere else entirely. Hermione followed Nicola's gaze, now not dancing, now very much trained on one spot. One person actually.
She fancies Ron.
Hermione considered herself amused. Not that Ron wasn't handsome; he was. And he was funny, definitely, that was always something women looked for didn't they? He was probably a really nice package, if you looked at him the right way.
Of course, she thought now as Ron led the kids back out of the room, she didn't look at him the 'right way' because he was her boss. You didn't date the person who paid your wages, that was a tacky move that ended with a nasty break up and a one-way ticket to unemployment. And anyway, if Nicola had her sights set on Ron, it was only a matter of time. No red-blooded man would resist the advances of someone as confident and attractive.
As Nicola scaled the ladder again, Hermione gave Haroon a pointed look.
"What?"
"Wipe your chin Haroon," she said, nudging him with her elbow, "I think you've been drooling."
OOO
"Hold out your hands. Both of them. Palms down."
Hermione seemed as though she was about to refuse and probably give him some earache about wasting her time but instead, she complied. Ron pulled two white plastic tubes from his top pocket, like doll sized toothpaste. Removing the lids, he positioned one tube above each hand and squirted a blob of cream onto her skin.
"The prototypes for the hand cream," Hermione surmised correctly.
"Yep. Same formula, two scents. What do you think?"
She smoothed the lotion with her fingertips until it melted away and then bent to sniff each. As she lowered her head, the dark circles beneath her eyes became more apparent and Ron felt a stab of concern.
Everyone had been upping their game recently, trying to think of ways to generate income. Hermione had started giving talks twice a week in the evening on her curatorship and some of the collections. Her willingness to give up her free time- to volunteer to do so- warmed Ron's heart but it was obviously taking its toll.
It was no good telling her slow down- moderation was evidently a foreign concept. And it was definitely off limits to tell her she looked tired. Ron had enough experience with women to know that never worked in his favour, even when it came from a place of genuine concern.
He resolved that the only thing he could do then, was worry about her from afar, send her good vibes and hope that she came to her senses and allowed herself to rest once in a while.
Hermione held up her left hand. "This one."
Ron looked at the tubes, labelled 1 and 2. "Annd, which one was that again?"
"Rose," she replied, taking another deep inhale. "It's always been one of my favourite scents. Though the violet is pretty too."
"Excellent. Rose."
Hermione sat back in her chair, stretching like a cat with a concave spine. "Are you doing a straw poll then? Seeing who likes what?"
"That's a good idea, I should do that!" He held up the plastic containers. "Mind you, Jonna only sent over these little tubes as samples so probably not enough in them." When she frowned, he carried on, "I actually just wanted to know what you thought."
At that moment her face broke into such a soft smile, Ron was momentarily stunned.
How had he managed that?
"I mean, I know nothing about these things," he almost stammered, taking a step back to provide some space between him and whatever it was that was beckoning to his subconscious in Hermione's smile. "It's the family meeting tomorrow and we're going to vote. So I'll vote rose then… Since you like it."
Two days later, Hermione received the minutes from the family meeting and noted, a little disappointedly, that the Weasleys had voted for violet.
OOO
"Oh buggar," Ron mumbled, squinting into the middle distance, "Have you got a pen and a bit of paper?"
They were standing in front of the castle waving off a group of Women's Institute members who had just rounded off their private tour with afternoon tea in the café and were now safely packed onto their bus.
Hermione pulled a little jotter from her fleece pocket and handed it to Ron, who took it with a smirk.
"Of course you do Miss Efficient. You probably don't take a toilet break without writing it down first."
She gave him a sarcastic smile and was about to retort when a loud voice came from behind her.
"Good afternoon Mr Weasley."
A small woman with hair dyed the colour of pomegranate approached them, her gait unsteady but determined. She carried multiple plastic shopping totes, bulging with unseen items, and was wearing sunglasses with a blue sheen. They were large on her delicate face, giving her a bug-like appearance.
"Afternoon, Lilibet. Coming in for a cuppa?"
Lilibet nodded, stopping next to them and examining her fingers caught in the handles of her bags. She flexed them slightly as though they pained her but did not release her grip.
Looking up at Ron's face required her to stretch her neck, like a tortoise emerging from its shell.
"There are now three meters not in use. I saw one just yesterday that had been vandalized with spray paint!"
Ron shook his head solemnly and lifted Hermione's jotter, pen poised above. "Unbelievable. And do you have a number?"
"LIK66342," Lilibet recited from memory. Ron dutifully wrote it onto the paper.
"I'll get onto it immediately Lilibet. You have my word."
The woman frowned, as though doubting Ron's commitment. "See that you do. It's unacceptable. And you know it encourages the wrong sort in our town. Free parking equals riffraff."
Her eyes flicked to Hermione for a moment, considering whether to engage her in the conversation. Seemingly, she thought better of it as, with another nod, she hobbled off towards the open café door.
"What was that about?"
Hermione found herself continually mystified by the characters that Ottery attracted. Every day buses from neighbouring towns stopped outside the gates to let them off. It was as though the concept of having tea anywhere else was frowned upon. How they weren't millionaires through the sale of caramel slices alone was one of life's mysteries.
"That was one of my favourite nutters from Slieve. I like them all in their own way but Lilibet is a special one."
Hermione pointed at the jotter. "And that?"
Ron snorted. "Lilibet is obsessed with parking meters. More specifically, parking meters that aren't working. She thinks it's criminal if cars can park in the town and not be ripped off by the scandalous fares the council charges."
They started walking back towards the garden. "Why does she tell you?"
"She has it in her head that we have some sort of sway in this department. Or, maybe it's more that she thinks we're responsible for the town's upkeep. Yeah, maybe that's it. She sees us as the rich family on the hill and takes it upon herself to let us know when the parking meters aren't working. So we can fix it."
"And can you? Fix it?"
Ron grinned and tore the paper from the jotter, launching it into a litter bin as they passed. "Absolutely bloody not. In fact, I go out of my way not to. Slieve town council is a collection of money grabbing weasels. They never engage with us unless they want something or they feel it's in their interest so I'm only too delighted to remove some money from their thieving pockets."
Hermione smiled, despite feeling slightly conflicted about the uncharged parking. "I take it Lilibet doesn't know this?"
"Nah," he replied, holding the door for her, "I don't let on. When I see her I write the machine number down- she memorises them God help us- and tell her I'll get right on it. Eventually, the council fixes the machine and Lilibet is satisfied. Then it all starts again. She's mad as a hatter," he ended cheerfully.
OOO
Two weeks later, Hermione puffed into her office first thing, threw down her handbag and wrenched the window open as wide as she could physically get it, before taking a long swallow from her water bottle.
September was proving to be the hottest month of the year thus far; the whole country seemed to be shimmering with heat. While this was lovely at the weekend for barbecues and riverside walks, it was proving unbearable during office hours, especially when your office was located in an old castle that exsanguinated heat in the winter and held onto it with an iron grip in the summer.
The few electric fans that existed within Ottery were reluctantly shared on rotation and Sylvain had taken to cooling himself with a beautifully printed silk fan as he stood smoking in the courtyard.
Hermione had brought a standing fan from home but had yet to find the perfect distance from her desk. Thus, she had to choose between actually feeling the cool air emitting from the blades and not sending the paperwork on her desk twirling into mini vortexes every time it rotated towards her.
She flopped into her chair, grumpy after a poor and sweaty night's sleep. Squarely in the middle of her desk sat a stack of post with a little cardboard box on top. Reaching behind her, she flicked on the coffee maker and moved the box to one side. Methodically, she reviewed the letters; opening each one, digesting the information and then filing it in one of her mail trays.
Pouring a dark brew to compensate for her lack of sleep and sour mood, Hermione turned her attention to the box. There was no address or postal stamp so it hadn't been mailed. It was fairly light and fit easily into her palm so it certainly wasn't the clock parts she had ordered weeks ago that still hadn't turned up.
With a fingernail, she popped the lid and, pushing aside cerise tissue paper, found a blue glass jar inside. She smiled as she tipped the jar into her hand. Obviously this was the new Ottery Castle hand cream, so fresh from bottling it didn't even have a label. A kindness on Ron's behalf no doubt, a jar of her own.
She unscrewed the top, expecting a punch of violets and was momentarily confused by the heady scent of rose.
She stared at the jar in growing horror. The Weasleys had plumped for violet, not rose. How could such a mistake have been made?
Her stomach knotting uneasily, Hermione was reaching for her phone when she noticed something wedged inside the box, peeking round the tissue paper.
She pulled out a piece of white card, read it and then paused. Frowning, she sat forward and re-read the words.
Hermione's Special Blend
As a thank you for your help on the hand cream project
Sorry there'll only ever be one
She sat back in her chair and took a breath. Ron had ordered a jar of rose-scented hand cream just for her. Because she liked it best.
Suddenly Hermione's chest felt very full. She set the jar onto her desk and stared at it.
She desperately fought against the free-wheeling of her mind, batting down sweet thoughts about Ron and his goodness. Ron's generosity was legendary within Ottery; he was thoughtful without ever giving it too much thought. This was exactly the sort of thing he liked to do.
Yet, Jonna had been clear about how expensive it would be to generate a single jar. Hermione's mind peeled away at the poorly-formed, filmy idea that this was something more than what it appeared and the sense that it felt more.
She swiped along the top of the open jar, gathering a splodge of hand cream onto her fingertip. With great care, she massaged it into her skin and inhaled the scent. She thought of the rose petals falling from Ron's hand as he told her the story of his family's fortune and of his laugh as he gunned the little red Spider through country roads. Cool air wafted from the fan and she could almost feel herself sitting in the car next to him, hair tossed in the breeze.
After indulging the sweet thoughts for a moment, her mind moved to considering how to best acknowledge the gift and wondering if she should give him something in return. Then again, that would be too much wouldn't it? She wanted to convey thanks in an appropriate way.
Again, she reached for the phone and again she stopped, unsure of what she would say. What she might say.
In the end, she settled for an email, a simple two lines to say she received his gift and was very grateful.
Immediately, an email came back: a single smiley face with an exclamation mark.
Hermione felt herself grin and slid the jar into her drawer. Not quite stare decisis after all.