Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Serendipity, or any related characters.

A/N: Well folks, this is the end! Thanks so much for reading this little holiday fic of mine. It was so much fun to write and a nice way to break up all of the angst from my other WIP :D

Thanks so much to my wonderful betas for taking time out of the busy holiday season to look over these chapters for me. You are all absolute gems.

Wishing a happy, safe, wonderful holiday season to you all and a very Happy New Year. I look forward to seeing what 2022 will bring!

The Holiday Prophecy

Chapter Five

Everybody's starting to feel it

Starting to feel it in the air

All of the sidewalks

All of the streetlights

Holiday magic everywhere

Then it hits me

It's officially Christmas

And I'm officially yours

I'm officially wishing

For something not in a store

It's already December

The snow's falling too

Then all of a sudden, it's true

It's officially Christmas

Now that I'm with you

Officially Christmas - Dan + Shay

Hermione

The trip to England couldn't have come at a better time for Hermione, as she needs to distance herself physically and emotionally from New York City. Although this December in her home country isn't quite the same — her first impression is that it's very cold and rainy and not nearly sunny enough — she needs to take this chance to be there for her best friend and 'recharge her batteries', as the Muggles would say. She's already dreaming about snuggling up with a good book beside the roaring blaze of a fire.

After a series of Portkeys that would make anyone's head spin, Hermione finally arrives with Fleur and Bill in the beautifully landscaped countryside. High on a hill on the edge of the picturesque town of Ottery St. Catchpole lies a crooked house aglow with festive lights under a blanket of snow.

"Is that magically produced?" Hermione gazes up at the marvelous structure in wonder.

Bill grins at her. "I told Mum how much you love snow, Hermione. She wanted to make you feel like you were at home, like you would be in New York."

A pang deep in Hermione's chest consumes her, both from the thoughtful gesture and the added touch of the holiday season, which brings with it the memory of what she let go of last Christmas. Taking a slow, deep breath, she shakes away any unwanted feelings — she can't let her negative issues interfere with what is supposed to be a great weekend of celebration.

Bill tells Fleur and Hermione they've made it just in time for tea with scones and jam, closely followed by a series of feasts crafted by very capable hands. Molly Weasley does not intend to let anyone leave hungry.

Christmas lunch is expected to be a long leisurely affair with a full household of Weasley siblings and all the trimmings, including mince pies and elf-made wine. As drinks are passed around with delightful company, and Hermione is mingling with the Weasley family members that keep popping by, she's hit with an emotion that she can't quite describe.

It's not really weighted in any direction — it could be good, could be bad, but she just has that feeling — a premonition, perhaps, that something significant is about to happen.

Yet, she can't stop her eyes from scanning those around the kitchen table, taking in a sea of Weasleys with striking red hair. She starts to count the heads in the room, frowning when she reaches a concluding number that challenges her original assumptions.

Leaning to the side, Hermione whispers in her best friend's ear. "Fleur, how many brothers did you say Bill has again?"

"Enough to fill a household, that's for sure!" Fleur laughs at her own joke.

"And how many is that?"

"Well, there's Bill — my handsome Bill…" The blonde witch rests her hand on her fiance's shoulder and becomes momentarily sidetracked by smiling his way in admiration. Proceeding to point to the heads in the room, Fleur adds, "There's Charlie, Percy, the twins Fred and George, and — well, where's…"

"Where is who?" Hermione inquires, frustration mounting.

Fleur tugs on Bill's sleeve to get his attention. "Where's Ronald?"

"Ah, Ron. Yes, he'll be along shortly. Always late, that one. Harry should be with him, too."

Hermione remains rooted in place, as if someone's cast a sticking charm on her chair. Her heart skips a beat and her knees begin to quake.

Ron. Ron Weasley. Could he be RBW?

Her stomach opens up into a sickly, empty pit. It's not possible. Or is it?

"Well, I sure hope my husband will be with him." A petite woman with a long mane of flaming red hair interrupts Hermione's quiet contemplation, displaying a hard, blazing look on her face.

"Hermione, this is my sister, Ginny," Bill introduces and Hermione gives her a timid wave, taking note of the witch who looks as if she might be expecting soon.

"Congratulations! What an exciting time."

"Yes, thank bloody Merlin…" Ginny offers a parting snort before waddling off.

"She's not usually this grumpy." Bill winces. "But, well, she's at the end of her pregnancy."

All of the introductions and conversation distract Hermione as she tries to process the information she's been presented with — or rather, the information she's still desperately seeking.

She has no clue what her face must be giving away, but it's enough for Fleur to squeeze her hand. "Hermione, are you alright? You look as if you've seen a dementor."

"I'm fine, I'm-"

The words remain lodged in her throat as two figures enter the room, one as tall and familiar to her as if she'd seen him yesterday. Time slows down and Hermione vaguely registers her hands reaching out to grip the hardwood edge of the table.

After all this time, he's here. Her mystery man, the man that she's driven herself to the brink of insanity just thinking about, wondering, hoping that she'd see him again…

That man is Ron Weasley.

"Bloody hell."

He stands in the entryway, wide-eyed and mouth agape, appearing as dumbfounded by her presence as Hermione is by his. The entire room grows quiet at Ron's vulgar expression, but Hermione's eyes remain locked on his. The muscles in her mouth are frozen, preventing herself from speaking. So many questions flash through her mind all at once as she struggles to compose herself enough to formulate words, any words.

"It's you." Ron speaks after several heart-stopping seconds.

Somehow she croaks out a response. "And-and you."

"Hermione Granger, how splendid to meet you!" The man with jet-black hair beside Ron steps forward with a massive grin plastered to his face, who she assumes must be Harry Potter.

"Hermione…" Ron shifts his gaze to Harry before whipping his head back to her. "You're Hermione Granger?"

The corner of her lip curls up. "Sorry to disappoint."

"I think I need to sit down." Ron's backside manages to find an empty chair without straying his eyes away from Hermione.

"You two have met before?" The curiosity is evident in Fleur's voice, but Hermione isn't quite sure how to explain their connection without sounding completely mental.

"I suppose you could say that."

"No way." Harry's booming voice fills the quiet space. He turns to Ron. "No way, she is-" Pointing at Hermione, he continues, "and-and you-"

Ron shoots his friend a warning look as if to say not now, silencing Harry in an instant.

"And you're Ron Weasley." Hermione's voice shakes as she finally says his name out loud. "Bill's younger brother."

Something in Ron's demeanor changes, the emotion in his eyes shifting from surprise to a cloudy mixture of disappointment. "Yeah…Bill. Excuse me."

His chair scrapes against the hardwood as he pushes it back before stumbling out of the room. The sound of heavy footsteps carries all the way to the front door before it opens and slams shut again.

Hermione stands. "Wait, where is he going?"

"Ah, I fear this may be my fault." Bill shifts in his seat as he voices his suspicions. "You see, I told Ron that I was bringing someone home for the holidays to share my engagement news-"

"You're engaged?" Molly squeaks, the spoon in her hand clattering onto her plate.

One of the twins sniggers. "Way to let that one slip, big brother."

The statement earns that particular brother a glare from Bill. "As I was saying, I told him that I met someone. I just didn't exactly say who."

A flash of guilt appears on Bill's face as a gasp escapes Hermione's lips, realizing that Ron mistakenly believed that she was Bill's fiance.

"And he thinks-"

"It's you." Fleur finishes her thought before releasing a dramatic cry. "Oh, Hermione, you must go after him!"

Determination sets in as she surveys the entire room for answers. "Where could he be?"

Hermione inhales a large gulp of cold air as she reaches the full height of a bleak hilltop. This area of the countryside seems empty and desolate, with nothing pleasant to look at, especially in the midst of such a festive season.

Although she doesn't really know this man she's chasing after very well, it still doesn't surprise her that he's found the most somber place in the village to hide out.

Harry mentioned it's the perfect place to brood, after all.

Hermione threads her fingers through her tangled, windswept hair, clearing her vision enough to see Ron, to fully see him for the first time in awhile…and he's looking right back at her. The lingering sadness in his eyes makes her heart sink to her stomach — it's as if someone just killed his Crup.

She lets out a slow controlled breath and attempts to loosen her body movements in order to step even closer, although her hands remain clenched at her side by subconscious demand.

Burrowing her nose into her scarf, she musters up the courage to initiate the conversation. "It's freezing out here. You couldn't have run off to someplace warm?"

He doesn't immediately answer, and the awkward silence compels her arms to wrap around her torso. She holds her palm out, half expecting to find snow, and is disgruntled when given the reminder that they're no longer in the city.

If this is supposed to be a climactic moment in her life, it certainly doesn't feel like it.

"Hi, Ron." Hermione says to him on an exhale, unable to contain the short burst of laughter that rumbles out of her mouth. "Wow. Ron. The fact that I can finally say your name is…oddly strange."

"Well, finding you with my brother was strange, wasn't it?"

The disdain is so evident in his tone that she figures he must be seething inside. Her heartbeat accelerates in speed, holding onto the hope that his anger must mean he cares, right? That maybe their night out together meant as much to him as it did to her.

Ron drags a rough hand across his mouth before turning away from her, his head falling forward. Everything about his stature indicates a defeated man, and Hermione wants more than anything to ease his worries.

"You've got it all wrong, you know."

"Have I?" Ron speaks to the air, still remaining with his back to her. "Haven't I just made a fool out of myself for a whole year?"

"I'm not the girl."

"What are you on about?" He starts pacing the length of the hill, not yet willing to meet her gaze. "O'course you are. Don't tell me you've somehow been obliviated within the last several months-"

"No, Ron." Hermione takes another step forward, her voice softening. "I mean, I'm not the girl Bill brought home with him."

His head makes a sharp turn in her direction, finally looking at her — really looking at her. "What?"

"That would be my best friend, Fleur Delacour, who your brother is madly in love with. Not me. Besides, how could I be when my thoughts have been so consumed by another Weasley entirely."

A cascade of emotions flood through Ron's face and Hermione spies a visible lump rolling down his throat. He lets out a huge exhalation of pent-up breath which somehow morphs into a chuckle.

"Well, that's a bit of a relief." A single tear rolls down his cheek as he sniffles between his words. He swipes it away faster than it appeared using the back of his hand. "Bloody hell, why am I crying right now?"

Hermione's heart nearly leaps out of her chest watching Ron display such vulnerability. She wants more than anything to be closer, to have him in her arms, but she's even more scared that he will retreat.

"It's a lot to take in. I know that."

"Hermione Granger." The way her name rolls off his tongue sends a flurry of flobberworms swarming through her stomach. "You just took a position at the Ministry."

"I did."

He raises a skeptical brow. "You knew I was an Auror."

"I did." Hermione draws her bottom lip in between her teeth. "I had hoped that we'd run into each other again."

"And then...you're here."

"I am."

Ron rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks turning a distinct shade of red similar to his hair. "We met again before our year was up."

"Even though I've been waiting for it, hoping for it, wishing for it even…" Hermione pauses for a moment, trying to find the right words. "No one is more surprised than I am."

"Bloody prophecy," Ron mumbles under his breath, but Hermione still hears him.

A question sits at the tip of her tongue. "If we hadn't met last Christmas — if today was our first meeting, what do you think would've happened?"

The intensity of his gaze could burn a whole straight through her body, that much is certain. "I would've never let you go."

Hermione squeezes her eyes shut, searching for the power to believe that a second chance is possible.

"But instead I've made myself miserable for a year because of you."

The venom he spits through his words forces her eyes open again, and she staggers back. "Wh-what?"

"The idea to stay apart was complete rubbish." Ron runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "I've felt all kinds of fucking things this entire fucking year that I've never felt before and I hate it."

"I see." Hermione clasps her hands behind her back, staring at the ground. "So what are you saying?"

"I dunno. M'not sure what the right decision is here."

"Alright." The uncertainty of their situation forces her breathing into an irregular pattern. "Well, I don't start my new position until the New Year. If you'd like to talk, I have a feeling you'll know where you can find me."

As she's walking away, she pleads in her head for him to call out to her.

Come on, come on, come on.

But he doesn't.

Whitehall, London

Ron

She's here. She's REALLY here.

Out of all the scenarios where he pictured meeting his mystery woman again, having her show up at the Burrow as equally puzzled as him was not one he had in mind.

Her name is Hermione. He reckons he never would've guessed that one even if he went through an entire list of names beginning with H. Which he most assuredly did not do...absolutely not.

In a few weeks time she will be moving to London to take up a position in his office. Whether they manage to work out their shit or not, they will be working together. His stomach is in knots thinking about it.

"You unimaginable git. Where have you been?"

Harry claps Ron on the back, bringing him to the present. His gaze has been so fixed on the peacock blue ceiling in the Atrium of the Ministry, and it's peculiar that he's never noticed before how the golden symbols move and change.

"How did it go with Hermione yesterday?" Harry prys for more information when Ron doesn't immediately answer, and he knows his pesky best mate won't stop until he learns all the details.

"I...uh...I let her go."

"You WHAT?"

"Keep your voice down, Potter."

"You mean I had to listen to you drone on and on about this woman for a year, and when you finally see her again you decide to just let her leave?"

"Well, when you put it like that-"

"What the fuck happened?"

"I don't know, Harry." Ron's edge of irritation returns as he speaks in a clipped tone. "I'm just so bloody confused. I'm so angry — angry at the lost time we could have had, a tad embarrassed for how I acted at the Burrow...just storming out of the place like that..."

"It was an honest misunderstanding."

"Yeah, but it's one that never should've happened because we shouldn't have listened to that loony Seer. Hermione never should've suggested that we try this little experiment to stay apart."

"But you two did meet again." Harry lifts one shoulder, offering Ron a small smile. "That's pretty amazing."

Ron scoffs, scuffing his trainers against the polished wood floor. "Yeah, more like completely mental."

"So what's really going on here?" Harry leans against the fountain with his arms crossed. "Are you mad at Hermione for suggesting this experiment or are you mad at yourself for going along with it?"

"I dunno. Maybe it's both."

"Well, if you wait too long to figure it out, then neither one of you is going to be happy. And that's just bollocks, isn't it?"

It's an unusual day when Harry bloody Potter has to be the voice of reason.

New York City

Hermione

He's not going to show up.

Hermione's feet restlessly jiggle beneath the bench she's sitting on. If it wasn't attached to the ground, she's sure it would topple right over, taking her along for the ride.

A deep longing fills her bones as her eyes dart back and forth across the rink. The tips of her fingers and toes hurt, and not just from the cold. The waiting period is almost as unpleasant as walking through the crowded city.

Two hours. Nearly two hours she's sat unmoving from this very spot — waiting, yearning, aching, needing Ron to show up.

The festive lights and the mass of people are a constant reminder of where she is and where she sat on this exact bench a year ago as Ron tended to her wounds. She's so scared of failing this prophecy, but perhaps she is more scared of accomplishing something great. Silly, isn't it?

All she needs is for Ron to prove that they've subjected themselves to short-term pain for what she hopes to be long-term gain.

But as the rink's closing time draws near, and Ron is nowhere to be found, her patience is tested by his lack of presence. Her body grows tense as she realizes she's wasted the last two hours daydreaming about what her reunion with Ron could be like instead of actually meeting him. Well, they've already had their reunion, haven't they? As surprising as it was.

It's not like Hermione to have to wait. She reckons she can attribute some of her petty frustration to boredom, as she's not used to letting her actions be driven by chance. A chance encounter with one Ron Weasley that, if he doesn't show up, then they will have failed the prophecy like a cauldron exploding in their faces.

The dissonance between her brain and her heart is literally driving her mad. Her brain is telling her to give up — that she's being downright unreasonable by sitting here in the freezing cold for far too long. But her heart…

Hermione doesn't have time to wonder about the state of one of her most vital organs. It stumbles over its rhythm as her gaze lands across the rink. A pleasant twist rises in her gut as an unexpected warmth heats up her face.

Ron is here.

He hasn't yet caught sight of her, and she's filled with a sudden urge to scream his name using a Sonorous charm. For once, Hermione thinks it's a shame that using magic in the presence of muggles is severely frowned upon.

The wait for Ron to notice her is agonizing, and she's only somewhat aggravated that he hasn't thought to look near the bench they once shared. Just as she's starting to feel lightheaded from the scattered thoughts, he finds her.

Hermione's breath hitches as she holds his gaze without moving her eyes away. His azure blues have a magnetizing effect on her for an inexplicable reason. Her hands are shaking so bad that she's not sure she could even properly grip her wand if she needed it.

Although she's been waiting for this moment, as soon as Ron starts moving towards her, panic sets in. What does she do? What should she say? Will she say the right thing this time? Are her lips chapped? They feel chapped-

Oh, Merlin, he's still coming.

Hermione is afraid that his excuse for his late arrival will be something as trivial as getting stuck in traffic — he's a wizard, for Merlin's sake. Mentally chiding herself, she needs to learn not to make snap judgments of his character without really knowing the truth.

Ron pushes his way through a crowd of people, picking his pace up to a jog until he's just a few steps away from her. He comes to a full stop, lips parted as he struggles to catch his breath, and Hermione takes note of the disheveled state of his ginger hair that falls into his eyes.

For a moment, all is silent between them, like they're gauging each other's reaction. All this time she spent wondering if she'll say the right thing, with the intention of letting the truth out of the bravest part of her soul, what comes out of Hermione's mouth is,

"Where have you been?"

If he's at all upset by her outburst, she can't tell. Instead, the corner of his mouth lifts up and he takes one more large stride in her direction.

Hermione releases a puff of visible air out of her mouth. "I've been waiting for you for two hours and all of my extremities are frozen."

Ron keeps walking towards her at an agonizingly slow pace. His tranquil eyebrows are raised and free of any frown lines, emanating a confident, assured presence that sends a rush of blood straight to her core.

Her heart is positively racing in her chest as she catches a whiff of his scent, somehow a mixture of peppermint and maple syrup. Lightning crackles through her veins from the anticipation of what's to come.

"What-what are you doing?"

Ron doesn't say a word as he reaches out to cradle her head between his hands, bends down, and pulls her lips against his for a soul-searing kiss that Hermione feels from her head all the way down to her toes. She grasps onto his shoulder blades to steady herself, melting into his embrace as the muffled voices, the singing carolers, and the bright lights disappear around them.

She's never experienced something so immaculate and passionate in all her life.

All too soon, he releases his gentle yet firm hold on her, leaving Hermione gasping for air amidst his all-consuming kiss. His thumb grazes the soft contour of her swollen mouth. "Are you about done yet?"

"No." She eyes him for a long, breathless moment. "I-I just wanted to say...thank you for showing up."

Tears of gratitude fill Hermione's eyes, desire coursing through her heart as he twirls his finger around one of her longer curls. He cocks his head to the side, studying her for a moment before resting his forehead against hers.

"So, do you believe in prophecies now?" A crooked smile appears on Ron's face.

"It was a lucky guess, really."

The words are barely out of her mouth before Ron's lips descend upon hers once more with hungry intention, this time blurring the line between an appropriate display of public affection, and well, something that might be best kept in private.

Although the prophecy may have spoiled that Ron and Hermione would end up together, what the crystal ball did not entail is the details in between — Hermione finally got her Hogwarts: A History book back, after Ron insisted that he lost it, a joke that was not well-received. They would be married just a year later at Christmastime, surrounded by their most beloved family and friends. Shortly after they would have two wonderful kids, Rose and Hugo, and live a long, happy life of bliss together —with a few bickering matches along the way — always remembering their time spent in New York City with snow falling all around.

Yes, it's all very magical, isn't it?