"I was going to schedule it for that Friday afternoon but I see you are both booked out. Something I've missed?"
Harry looked up from his clipboard. "That's the cider press. Non-negotiable unfortunately."
They were standing in the general office, grabbing five minutes together before Harry went to meet the latest couple due to get married at Ottery and Hermione headed for the archive. She had wanted to schedule some time for them to get together to discuss the latest recommendations from the grant body but time was a precious resource and one they didn't have much of.
"Cider press?"
Harry rolled his eyes playfully and grinned. "Every year, the Weasleys have a bit of a get-together in the orchard. Arthur built a cider press years ago and we pick the apples, pulp them down and make cider."
"Oh wow. Okay. But you aren't able to drink it there and then obviously."
"Not as cider, no. The process takes a few weeks. The stuff we press on the day goes for fermenting- Fred and George work their magic. But they make a batch of cider in advance so we have something to drink."
Harry paused and then added sheepishly, "I know it sounds a bit daft."
"Not at all!" Hermione interjected, "It sounds lovely. Does the whole family attend?"
Harry nodded. "Pretty much. Usually not Charlie- he's rarely here- but Percy and the twins. Sometimes Bill and Fleur come over from France with their kids. It's great actually. We have a barbecue and get sloshed and the kids love it."
"Love what?" Ron bounded into the office holding a spanner and skidded to a stop.
"Just telling Hermione why we'll not be around next Friday." Ron looked mystified. "The cider pressing? Hello Earth to Ron, are you with us?"
Harry rapped on the side of Ron's head.
"Oh bloody hell, I'd forgotten about that," Ron said, flicking Harry's glasses in retaliation. "Dunno where my head's at lately."
"Well that's no problem Harry." Hermione scrawled a note on the back of her hand with her pen. "I'll look at other dates."
As she turned away, Ron piped up, "Why don't you come?"
Harry fought the astonishment that crept onto his face. Now this was an interesting development. In all the years they had been holding the cider press, no-one outside the immediate family had ever been invited. Nothing forbade any of them from bringing someone along, it just seemed to be accepted that the cider press was something they did as a family, one of the only times it could be just them.
"Come?" Hermione looked vaguely anxious.
"Sure," Ron replied airily, "Why not? My mum and dad will be there. I'm sure they'd like to meet you finally. They've heard so much about you."
'From you' Harry almost responded.
"I… well it wouldn't be right. It's a family gathering. I'm not family."
"Nonsense, you're practically one of us. Whatcha think Harry?"
Hermione gazed at him imploringly but Harry felt a little sport rise in him. Inviting Hermione to the cider press might bring whatever was bubbling underneath to the surface. They had been flirting- in Hermione's case subtly, in Ron's overtly- for weeks now, with Ron always looking for excuses to nip down to her office in search of a manual, some documents, an address he thought she might have.
This might be just the opportunity to see what was really happening, if anything.
"Yeah, excellent idea mate," Harry grinned.
Hermione's face fell but Ron looked delighted.
Slinging a freckly arm around her shoulders, he squeezed her stiff frame.
"Don't look so frightened. You'll love it."
OOO
Ginny unwrapped a candy apple for her smallest son before smacking him lightly on the backside and sending him to play. She glanced back at her husband sprawling on the rug, rocking a glass of cider in his hand and leant back to kiss him on the forehead.
"Can you believe this weather? I can't remember it ever being this warm in October."
"We certainly got the best day for it."
"It's nice we can all get together like this," she murmured, scootching into a cross legged position next him and taking a swallow from her own glass. "It feels like we don't do this anymore."
"We never have time," Harry replied wearily. "Every day we take off is less money in the bank or one more crack in the foundations."
Ginny frowned and met his gaze. "Do you really feel like that?"
"Don't you?"
She stared over the orchard to where her family were gathered around the press, the children playing three-legged races. Behind them, Ottery loomed a dark outline against the sun.
"Yes, I suppose I do. I don't really think about it but, yes. When I'm at the office, I feel bad because I think I should be here more. And when I am here, I'm working on something or other. Being here and not working is odd. Like a guilty pleasure." She snorted derisively. "Which is insane. How did that happen? Feeling guilty for taking time off to see our family."
Harry sat up, his arm settling across her shoulders. "It's just who we are."
Ginny nodded and he added, "Also, it doesn't feel like a burden most of the time. We have each other. You can tolerate anything if you're doing it with someone, if you have that support."
As he spoke, both sets of eyes moved unwittingly to Ron, who was showing Hermione how to remove the pomace from the press.
Ginny and Harry had been together for so long, they had developed an almost telepathic quality, so when she said softly, "What's going on there, do you think?" she knew that her husband would understand exactly what she meant.
"Not sure," Harry mused, squinting against the sunlight.
"I haven't really had much interaction with our new curator. What's she like?"
He swallowed another mouthful of cider before answering. "Nice. Reserved. Very good at her job. Keen, well-read but I wouldn't say worldly. I don't see her interacting too much with other staff. Mainly she's alone or with Haroon or Ron."
Ginny absently ruffled his hair. "Not his type then."
Her words were absolute but her voice was uncertain. There was something about the softness of the interaction between Ron and Hermione that suggested that no consideration of 'types' was being made.
Ron, for his part, was enjoying the annual Weasley family cider pressing immensely. This year it felt particularly great, though he wasn't quite sure why that was. Probably, he decided, because it was coming to the end of the year and they were tired and it was restorative to get together with the people who knew you best.
He looked over at Hermione who was shovelling the pomace into a bucket held by Fred. She had been sweetly nervous to meet his parents, falling over herself to make admiring comments about the castle, the collections, the weather… pretty much anything she could think of to praise in their presence.
And even though he knew they would, Ron was anxious that his Mum and Dad did like her, because he liked her.
As the afternoon evaporated into evening, they sat together on one of the picnic blankets, a bottle of cider between them. The rest of the family had drifted away, raised eyebrows behind backs between siblings as they left Ron and Hermione to 'enjoy the sunset'.
Hermione was, for once, blissfully unaware of the undertones; having worked herself into a frenzy about being introduced to the Weasley family, she was quietly proud at how well things had gone. Ron's parents had been sweet and interested in the person who was now in charge of their most precious possessions. Bill and Fleur had been welcoming and she'd even managed to converse with Percy, though he had a tendency to stare at her like she was some sort of imposter.
"Was Percy angry I'm here?" she asked Ron now, loosely plaiting the fringes of the rug with one hand. "He was a bit stand-offish."
Ron made a derisive 'hmm' in the back of his throat. "Nah, he's just a bit weird about you getting the curator's job. He was mad keen on this other guy."
"Anyone I know?"
"Michael Carter?"
Hermione was surprised. "Michael Carter is a very well respected curator. He was Keeper of Collections at Longleath."
"Have you ever met him?" Ron asked lazily.
"No. I've heard him lecture though. What's he like?"
Ron snored loudly. "Boring. And he gives Ginny the heebie-jeebies. Percy's all over him but that's only 'cos he can be a bit of a pompous twat at times."
"He didn't come across as pompous. Just a bit serious."
"He's not always pompous. Usually he's fairly level-headed, which is handy because the rest of us aren't. And he's bloody clever. Deals with all of our advertising and press, has a real way with words. If he wasn't so friggin' ginger, I would wonder he was a Weasley at all!"
Hermione was staring intently at the little fat plaits she had made.
"What?"
"I can't believe you gave me the job over Michael Carter."
"Technically I didn't give you the job, it was the rest of the fam. I was in Switzerland, remember?"
"Thanks," she deadpanned and he laughed, jostling her shoulder with his.
"Ah, I'd have given it to you too. You're better looking than Michael Carter by a long stretch."
Hermione beamed. The cider was thrumming pleasingly through her blood stream and, lying back on the rug, she felt blissfully happy.
She allowed her gaze to gravitate towards the man sitting next to her. The autumn sun was, she decided, made for redheads. When Ron turned his face to the light, his freckle-dusted skin glowed, his hair aflame. He was chatting away again and she realised that she didn't have clue what he was talking about.
When he offered her the cider, it took her a beat to tune back in and take it from him. Somewhere along the way, they had stopped using glasses and were now drinking straight from the bottle.
Ron dropped back and turned onto his side to face her, propping himself up on his elbow. Feeling childlike, she did the same.
He grinned. "Did you enjoy the Weasley family cider making Hermione?"
"I loved it," she breathed. "You have a wonderful family."
"Well they like you too. Everyone hopes you'll stay."
She frowned. "Why wouldn't I?"
Ron took a swallow from the bottle and set it behind him. "Dunno. Once the two years are up, your job won't be funded anymore. I have no idea what we'll do at that point. If there'll be enough money to support keeping you on. I wouldn't blame you if you suddenly decided to find a nice stately home somewhere with a big healthy budget to support all the great ideas you have. It would be the sensible thing to do, probably."
His voice sounded sad and Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat. She swallowed and looked down at the grass.
"We'll work it out. I'm not going anywhere. I love it here."
"Me too."
When she raised her eyes, Ron's gaze was affixed to her mouth. In the precise moment Hermione realised Ron was going to kiss her, he did just that.
The dying sun bathed them in the last of her warmth as his lips moved on hers, tasting of candy apples and cider.
Hand on his shoulder, she leveraged herself closer and his arm snaked round her back, pulling her in to him.
They lay side by side, her head in the crook of his elbow, his face cradled in her hands. It was the most chaste of kisses really, their bodies barely touching. Yet where the plumpness of her mouth met his and the inquisitive stirring of his tongue touched hers, white heat was building.
Evidently Ron could feel it too; a faint moan escaped from him and he moved his hand into her hair so he could deepen their kiss. Hermione felt herself responding, inching her hips closer to where they could nestle against his and release some of this energy.
The heat continued to build dangerously, the more they kissed the more it seemed that they had to. Eventually, Hermione found it within her to pull back and they parted, breathing hard.
"Woah," Ron murmured on his next inhale and Hermione smiled.
Then there was moment; him staring into her eyes, her hair still caught in his fist and her fingertips pressed into his skin, and they both seemed to pause. It was like being at the eye of the storm- total calm. A split second before the next step had to be taken and the next decision made.
Hermione felt the pressure of her tongue as it pushed against the roof of her mouth and she willed Ron to say something.
"Well," he said finally, looking a little bemused, "I've never done that with an employee before."
And, just like that, the spell broke.
Abruptly, the only part of her brain still capable of rational thought switched on and she sat up. Unconsciously, her fingers drifted to her mouth, tender from their kiss.
Ron scrambled up muttering, "What's wrong?" and she dropped her hand.
"Nothing. Sorry…"
Something knotty and uncomfortable swelled in her throat and chest. She pushed it down hard, taking a deep breath and summoning every bit of courage she had to be dignified. She didn't have much heart for it in the moment but she refused to let herself down.
Turning to Ron she plastered on the biggest smile she could muster.
"Look, Ron. Sorry about that. I don't know what I was thinking."
She searched his face for outrage or upset but he continued to look bewildered and when he didn't reply, Hermione took it as all the evidence she needed that this was the right thing to do.
Getting to her feet, she made a brusque show of dusting herself off.
Using her professional 'Hermione Granger' voice she said firmly, "I hope you won't think any less of me for this Ron. I have clearly had too much to drink. Probably a bit of sunstroke too."
His forehead knitted together in confusion. "What? Hermione, seriously…"
"I know, I know I'm a lightweight," she sing-songed, determined he not be allowed to speak. "You're always saying I need to lighten up and look what happens! Too tipsy to make good decisions. Anyway, I really do hope you'll forget all about this. Pretend it never happened."
"If that's what you want," he replied finally, his voice husky from booze and illicit kisses.
Her back teeth bit into her cheek bluntly as she said, "Yes. Yes, that's what I want. Please."
She spoke so irrevocably that, even though her voice cracked a bit at the end, Ron clearly felt he had no choice in the matter.
"Of course." His voice was stronger now. She moved to start tidying up but he waved her away. "Leave it. I'll do it."
Wrapping her arms around herself, all the warmth now bled from the evening, Hermione nodded.
"Ok. See you on Monday."
Ron gave her a tight smile and she walked back up the hill towards the castle to call a taxi. On the journey home, her teeth continued to work at the pliable skin inside her mouth so by the time she reached her house, she could taste blood.