As Ron watched George scaling the outside of the castle in a hired cherry picker, he despaired at how Christmas had sprung itself on them. It was always quick- preparations began on the first of November, with the finishing touches usually in place three weeks later- but this year felt abnormally early.
Yet, here they were. The outdoor lights were being strung, Nicola watching over proceedings to prevent anyone from being electrocuted in the twins' efforts to ensure Ottery could be lit up and seen from space. Thirty-eight trees had arrived from Finchley and were sitting on the lawn in pots awaiting positioning inside, much to the horror of Liz who prided herself on maintaining beautiful grass year round. Ron had heard from her twice in the last two days, reminding him they needed moving pronto.
Ginny had taken three days off work to help and they had spent their evenings dragging boxes of Christmas decorations out of storage and assessing the mysterious breakages that seemed to occur no matter how carefully items were packed away each year.
Percy was especially good around this time and Ron always found himself particularly thankful for his brother during these weeks. Christmas was Percy's favourite holiday and it was he who headed up the organisation of the annual Yuletide events such as the carol singing evening and the Christmas craft afternoon they held for the local elderly care home each year.
Ron wasn't quite sure what Percy did when he went to work each day, but his planning skills were second to none and, despite a lot of what Ron did throughout the year being at cross purposes with Percy's wishes, Christmas was the one time they agreed. Primarily because Ron gave Percy free rein, enjoying the release of responsibility, and also because nothing seemed to faze Percy at Christmas.
At the end of November, Harry noticed water running down the wall in the Great Hall and, after professional assessment, it was decided that part of the roof would need to be replaced. Thankfully not a part they had renovated in recent memory, which was always considered a boon, but it did mean that the Great Hall would need to be closed until after Christmas.
Even this hadn't seemed to bother Percy, who effortlessly moved the carol singing to one of the larger chambers, without a word of complaint.
"Do you think we'll ever get the roof to a point where it doesn't need something done to it?" Harry mused as he and Ron had stood outside the castle, watching two men clambering precariously over scaffolding.
"The day that roof is perfect," replied Ron absent-mindedly, "Is the day I retire, mate. Now, are you taking the work experience student today or am I? Remind me."
Cadence had arrived at Ron's office one afternoon at the start of November, having flown from France that morning to start a six-month work experience programme. She seemed nice enough, if a little vague, but Ron was glad when Harry volunteered to take her with him that morning.
Lately Ron had sensed his head just wasn't in the game, like he was coasting a little and the rest of the family were picking up the slack. It wasn't like him. Usually, he was all in.
He jumped as his radio squawked. Above him, George leant recklessly out of the basket of the cherry picker.
"Man down in reception," Fred puffed. "Wedged under giant, blow-up Rudolph. Send reinforcements."
Ron grinned and started towards the castle.
OOO
The email was gaudy, with flashing script and a graphic of two elves mooning, Fred and George's faces pasted over their heads. It promised music, food, copious amounts of alcohol and a visit from Santa.
Hermione, as a rule, did not attend Christmas parties; in her mind, there were just too many things that could go wrong. It wasn't good sense to drink with your work colleagues.
'Or your boss' a snide voice in her head reminded her.
She ignored it and deleted the email, thinking nothing more of it until a few days later when George walked by carrying a wooden drummer boy that was as tall as he was.
"Coming to the Christmas party next Saturday Granger?" he hollered, setting his companion down and flexing his fingers and wrists.
"Sadly, I shall have to skip that one George," she replied, trying to sound as regretful as possible. "I have other plans."
"Missing the Weasley Christmas shindig? Unheard of!"
"I take it that it's quite the event?"
George grinned. "That it is. Booze, babes and bust-ups, that's the name of the game. Plus, there's always a little mistletoe hanging about, so passions have been known to ignite."
When Hermione grimaced, he laughed. Picking up the drummer boy again, George winked and said, "Your loss," before marching back up the corridor whistling.
She had feared this might be the start of an onslaught of people asking her about the party but oddly, no-one did. Throughout the castle she overheard threads of conversation; discussions on what to wear and debates over who would play Santa Claus this year. Yet, no-one broached the subject with her directly.
Though she fought it hard, Hermione felt snubbed. Did people think she didn't like parties? Did they assume she wouldn't go because she was known for being such a workaholic? Was she considered boring?
Two days before the party and after venting her frustration by berating the supplier of the clock parts over the phone, she hunted down Haroon who was upstairs in the state bedroom checking on some damage they thought was being caused by mice.
"Anything?" Hermione looked over his shoulder as he crouched.
"Nothing that looks fresh. Maybe they've moved on." He got to his feet and brushed off the knees of his trousers. "Thank God it's nearly the weekend."
"Yes… Are you going to the Christmas party?" She had been meaning to work up to asking him, in case she sounded overly interested, but her brain clearly had other ideas.
"Sure. It's usually a good night. George and Fred make punch- absolutely lethal! And two years ago they wangled someone to bring a live reindeer. They always close the castle early too, so it can get started."
He massaged his neck and started talking about the mice again. Hermione pretended to listen but found herself vexed that he hadn't asked her if she was intending to go. She remained vexed for the rest of the week.
She woke early on Saturday morning, her mind buzzing. When she had switched her computer off late last night, she had been in the middle of a report to the funding body about the utilization of the grant, justifying some of their larger purchases. It wasn't due for another two weeks but the fact she had stopped partway through irritated her.
She rose and dressed, filling her morning and lunchtime hours with her usual Saturday morning tasks: food shopping, workout, batch cooking for the freezer. The report continued to niggle at her and she knew the prudent thing to do would be to drive to Ottery and complete it, while the facts were fresh in her mind.
Yes, she thought, applying a light covering of makeup and changing her sweater, it really would be better to get in and finish that report. It would set her mind at ease, knowing she was ahead of her tasks for the next week.
On arriving at the castle, she opened her office door and casually left it ajar. Unpacking the documents she had so carefully filed last night, she began working her way through them, adding pertinent details to her already extensive report. The task didn't take as long as she had anticipated and she felt faintly disappointed when she gave it a final proof-read and was able to deem it ready.
She took a roundabout stroll to the kitchen, ostensibly to fill the water canister for the coffee maker but also to see who was around. Saturdays at Ottery were usually manned by casual staff; today was no exception and she knew very few of the faces. The office used by Harry and Ron further up the corridor was empty and she didn't want to risk roaming further into the castle. That would look odd.
Returning to her desk, Hermione busied herself with a few of the little tasks that were low on her priority list. Next she delved into her emails, whiling away a solid hour on organizing and streamlining her inbox and reconfiguring her email signature. Staff bustled past her door as they passed through to other parts of the castle but no-one stopped.
At half past five, Hermione stood up and stretched. Enough was enough, it really was time to go home. She had said she wasn't going to go to the party and that was that.
"Hermione?" Haroon tapped the door and peered round. "I didn't know you were here."
"I… was working on the grant report. You know how it is, bit of peace and quiet. What are you doing here?"
"The Delacour collection was arriving back today, remember?"
"God, yes of course. I forgot."
Where was her mind lately?
"Everything go ok?"
He yawned. "Yep, all good. Are you making an appearance at the Christmas party?"
"Um, when does it start?"
Smooth Granger.
"It'll just be getting into the swing of things now. I need to get rid of these packing crates. Will I drop by when I'm done? We can head over together?"
It was like being handed the sun. "Uh, sure. Why not?"
OOO
The McGonagall chamber had been cheerfully adorned with Christmas decorations that had seen better days but still managed to be festive. A few trestle tables had been set up round the perimeter of the room with food and alcohol and people milled around in the centre.
Everyone seemed to have had their own interpretation of what the dress code would be. Some had clearly come straight off shift and were lounging around in their purple fleeces or polo shirts. A few forward-thinking people had brought a change of clothes, resulting in a smattering of smart-casual outfits.
Others had gone a step further. As Hermione entered the room with Haroon, she heard him elicit one of his low whistles. Looking up, she saw Nicola standing chatting to Sylvain. Black, sleek and sleeveless, her dress reached the floor before splitting up one side, revealing a length of bronzed thigh. The firm muscles in her legs were made more prominent by the stiletto heels that wrapped like spider webs around her feet. She had gelled back her short hair, giving her the polished look of a thoroughbred racehorse. Hermione forgave Haroon the whistle.
Haroon made to head towards the pair but Hermione put a restraining hand on his arm.
"Play it a little bit cool Haroon," she advised knowingly and he nodded conspiratorially.
Instead, they toured the room and admired the decorations, coming to stop beside Kate, who was wearing a flashing Christmas tree jumper and two of the full-time café staff Greta and Mickie, both in reindeer antlers.
After a while, they were joined by Harry and Ginny, who looked lean and spikey in a fitted black trouser suit.
"Just came from court," she explained, accepting a large gin and tonic from her husband. "Sorry if I look like I'm going to a funeral, had no time to change." Greta offered her antlers to Ginny, who slid them on and still managed to look all business.
Hermione had decided that she rather liked Ginny Weasley-Potter, despite only having met her a handful of times. She was practical, with an edge that probably came from years of being the long-suffering baby sister of a rowdy family of boys.
If you read between the lines in the reports from the family meetings, it was clear that Ginny drove a lot of the innovation, and it had been her idea to apply for the grant which had accorded Hermione this job. She was quietly impressive, something Hermione strove to be but never quite managed, being just too much of a people-pleaser.
"It's lovely to see you," Hermione said now, "And for the family to throw the party, with the food and alcohol and everything." After a pause she added, "Do all your brothers attend or…?"
The corner of Ginny's mouth twitched slightly.
"Just the usual suspects. Percy comes sometimes, when he can, but he's covering Mum and Dad tonight."
"How are your parents?"
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had been struck simultaneously with a debilitating winter flu that had incapacitated them. The Weasley children had been taking turns to stay with them in their bungalow.
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Driving us mad. Mum won't be told, keeps trying to get out bed then falling flat on her arse. No idea how she hasn't broken a hip. Dad doesn't accept there's anything wrong with him either. They just need a constant presence there at the moment which is difficult. Ever get the feeling of being pulled in six different directions at once?"
"Yes," Hermione agreed, "But usually I bring it on myself so it doesn't count."
"And that's why there's gin!" Ginny took a long swallow from her glass, her sizeable emerald engagement ring glinting in the light. On seeing Hermione's eye drawn to it, she tapped it lightly against the plastic.
"Family heirloom."
Hermione made a face. "My grandmother left me her china tea set."
Ginny grinned. "This one was actually passed down through Dad's family but most of the others are old Prewett family treasures."
"Others?"
"There are seven rings, one for each of us, if and when we decided to get hitched. Mum and Dad collected them over the years as various ancient family members died. Bill gave the pearl to Fleur. Charlie wanted the aquamarine for Jennifer and I chose the emerald."
"It's truly beautiful," Hermione murmured.
"You think that," Ginny replied ruefully, "But you haven't seen the others."
She regarded the ring as it glittered smugly on her finger. "There's four rings left, if my brothers haven't pawned them. A ruby, a diamond, a citrine and an opal. And I think that actually I might have short-changed myself."
"Seriously? While wearing that?"
"You haven't seen Percy's." Ginny paused and then raised an eyebrow mischievously. "You haven't seen Ron's…"
Hermione was saved from responding to this by the boisterous arrival of Fred and George, dressed as elves and riding child-sized tricycles. She moved away from the group as the twins began to hang a giant piñata nearby and a well-intentioned scuffle broke out over who would get to hit it first.
Conversing with Ginny had unnerved her- could she have leaned more heavily on the phrase 'you haven't seen Ron's'? She continued to walk round the chamber until, lost in her overthinking and the noise from the party gathered round the piñata, she bumped into someone. Someone who, on examination, turned out to be Nicola.
"Oh, gosh. Sorry."
Nicola smiled easily. "No worries. Lost in a world of your own there."
"Yes." Hermione paused, knowing she couldn't walk away without making an attempt at conversation- unless she wanted to convey that she was rude as well as clumsy- but at somewhat of a loss for what to say.
"You look nice," she said finally, smiling and hoping it didn't sound false. Nicola really did look wonderful and Hermione felt bad for the little seam of jealousy that glowed within.
"Thanks! I rarely get to dress up- drawback of the trade. I'm so used to boots and combat trousers I forget how to make myself look presentable."
I doubt that.
"The lights at the front of the castle are amazing. Did you help Fred and George with that?"
"Only the really complicated stuff," Nicola replied, fingers toying with her necklace, her eyes skittering around the room as she spoke. "They know what they're doing and they just love being up in that cherry picker. You know boys and their toys."
"You must have known the family a long time."
"Oh yeah, years. My dad serviced the castle and his dad before him, right back to the early days of having electricity in the place. I'm the same age as Ginny so we've all sort of grown up together. Dad used to bring me here to hang about while he worked. I had a massive crush on Charlie Weasley, way back when."
"Oh really? I've never met him. Is he handsome?"
Nicola tilted her head to the side. "Used to be. Him and Bill were the wild Weasleys, you know? Into Metallica and piercings. Charlie was dead exciting, wanting to run off and save the earth and all the animals. Very sexy. But you know how it is with adolescent crushes. Time passes and the boys you used to fancy have gotten older and you wonder what you ever saw in them and the ones you never looked at before are hot all of a sudden."
"Like Ron?"
Why on earth had she said that?
"Exactly!" Nicola exclaimed, grinning and apparently not at all surprised at this suggestion.
Leaning closer to Hermione, she whispered, "Like, out of nowhere! One minute he's this freckly beanpole that you wouldn't play 'Kiss Chase' with and then the next time you look he's grown up and filling out his jeans in all the right places."
Hermione's throat felt dry and she took a sip of lukewarm squash.
"He's certainly very popular."
"Popular and hot. A winning combo right?"
"Does he know how you feel?"
Nicola winked. "Not yet."
Not knowing how to carry on this particular thread of conversation, Hermione stood for a moment in silence and was thankfully saved by Haroon who had come bounding over to offer Nicola a shot of tequila.
Able to move off gracefully, she retreated to the kitchen and spent an inordinately long time preparing herself a mug of coffee. She didn't like that her discussion with Nicola had shaken her so much. It was no surprise that Nicola was interested in Ron; Hermione had picked up on it the first time they had met. So why did the confirmation of the fact bother her so much?
It couldn't be their kiss. Hermione had mentally dealt with that. It was cut and dried, universally deemed a wrong move.
Perhaps it was the fact that in all the time they had worked together, Hermione had not been aware that Ron was in any sort of relationship. She wondered now how such a thing would affect her working relationship with him. Would there still be that friendly banter? The breezy arm round the shoulders. The laughter?
On returning to the chamber, she headed straight for the buffet and lingered next to it, nursing her mug. This was always a safe option for those introverted types that felt awkward making small talk. If you stood in front of the food, there was always something to say.
"You came!" Ron bounced up next to her, just as she had wedged an entire mini-quiche in her mouth and there was a full, agonizing minute where he waited expectantly while she chewed and swallowed.
"Yes. Well your brother made it sound so appealing…"
"Ha. Ha. I know you just couldn't resist. You look nice by the way."
Hermione looked down at her dark wash jeans and fitted sparkly grey sweater, which had seemed so appropriate for a work Christmas party when she had pulled them on earlier. Now, they screamed of being pedestrian and dull. She avoided looking at Nicola and instead smiled patiently.
"Thank you. The chamber looks lovely. You really outdid yourselves."
Ron gave a little bow and seemed pleased. "We do our best. Fred and George do most of it. It's the same decorations every year but we figure no-one really notices the baubles when there's free beer and wine. Do you wanna dance?"
He gestured to the back of the room where stacks of disco lights were strobing neon-coloured beams above peoples' heads as they shook and swayed self-consciously to the music blasting from the sound system.
"Um, maybe later?"
Ron chuckled. "Not really your kind of music," and when she frowned he added, "Techno right? A bit different to 'C'mon Eileen'!"
Hermione nodded, impressed once again by Ron's ability to recall the little things.
"Something like that. Now, you should go and mingle."
She pushed him forward gently and he raised his hands in defeat.
"Okay, okay, I'm out of here. But I'll be back before the end of the night and I want that dance."
He grinned before swivelling on his heel and heading towards a group of students who had been working in the café during the Christmas rush. They welcomed him with wide smiles and slaps on the back and Hermione envied him that comfort and ease with himself. It was a handsome quality.
The highlight of the evening for most people had been a visit from twin Santa Clauses toting sacks full of joke-shop gifts wrapped in newspaper.
Hermione's turned out to be 'Willy Hoopla'.
"Something to relieve stress Granger!" Santa Fred Claus said, winking as he handed it to her.
Later in the evening, she surreptitiously checked her watch and saw that it was just after ten. Part of her felt glad; ten was a perfectly acceptable time to leave a work party, no shame in that. She had shown her face and proved she wasn't all work, no play.
Another part of her felt disappointed. She hadn't seen Ron since the gift giving and that had been hours ago. Despite her total, utter dread at the prospect of dancing in front of her work colleagues, she had hoped she would see him again before she left.
She tuned back into a conversation between Helene and a woman whose name she couldn't remember about the early success of the Ottery hand cream but it was hard to concentrate. The temperature in the room was rising steadily and her sweater had become uncomfortably melded to her skin. Even now she could feel droplets of sweat undulating down her back lazily.
Excusing herself, Hermione made her way through the darkened building to a side door which led to one of the smaller courtyards.
Only accessible from the main driveway through a diminutive archway built into the surrounding wall, the courtyard was mainly used by Liz to store stacks of oversized terracotta pots. Staff rarely came here which was why Hermione liked it so much. Sometimes she would bring her coffee out here and just sit. Often, a cat would be basking in the sun or sheltering from the cold and she would tickle its tummy and think over her latest project or problem.
The night air felt good on her flushed cheeks and she gathered her hair away from her neck. The full moon was partially hidden by cloud cover which made it feel even more private than usual and she walked a little further from the door, breathing in the cold winter wind.
Gradually, she became aware of the soft shuffle of feet on gravel and caught movement at the corner of her eye.
A couple were entangled next to the arch. His hands were flat on the wall either side of her head, propping himself up as they engaged in energetic, drunken kissing. Her hands, meanwhile, roamed over him, sliding up his chest, down his back and coming to rest on his arse. It was an athletic display of alcohol-fuelled hormones and Hermione almost laughed out loud, remembering her conversation with George.
Not wanting to disturb such enthusiastic endeavours, she made to leave, when the cloud in front of the moon cleared, bathing the courtyard in bright, clear light. In their amorous tussle and unaware of their iridescent spotlight, the pair stumbled a little. The woman moved to correct herself, the split in her dress revealing a long leg, before her hand travelled back up and into his hair. His red hair.
With horror, Hermione realised it was Nicola and Ron. Clamping her lips together in case she let out the yell of surprise welling in her throat, she backed very slowly away, taking minute, soft steps on the tips of her toes so her heels wouldn't touch the concrete. Fortunately, they were much too involved in what they were doing to notice her. Still, she didn't allow herself to breathe until she was back inside the castle, soundlessly closing the door behind her.
Her body now felt very cold, as though ice water was surging through her veins, and a shot of adrenaline made her feel lightheaded for a moment.
Drawing in a huge breath she counted to ten before blowing it out. She repeated this five times and on the fifth exhale Hermione felt better, not to mention a tad foolish.
So she'd seen her boss having a drunken fumble with the castle's electrician. Big deal. Stuff like that happened all the time at Christmas parties. Ron was a free agent and Nicola couldn't have been more clear about her intentions.
It was Haroon she felt sorry for. He'd be gutted when he found out all his flirting was in vain. Yes, it was Haroon who would lose out here.
Straightening her shoulders, Hermione walked back to the kitchen. An impromptu poker session had begun. Haroon, Geoffrey and Becky were intently staring at the cards in their hands, Mag was acting as dealer and they were using chocolate buttons as poker chips.
"Come give me a hand Hermione," Becky called as she walked in. "I think these two are cheating."
"Accept it Bex," Haroon whooped, rapping his cards on the table with aplomb. "You're just shit at poker!"
Though she very much felt like ramming on her coat and hotfooting it out of there as quickly as her feet would carry her, Hermione forced herself to sit next to Becky and maintain the pretence that she was having a good time.
Every time the kitchen door slapped open, she would keep her eyes resolutely on the cards in the centre of the table, but neither Ron or Nicola made an appearance.
Exactly one hour later, she rose, gave a large, exaggerated yawn and made her excuses to leave, offering a slightly worse-for-wear Haroon a lift home. This proved to be a gargantuan mistake, as all he could talk about was how fantastic Nicola had looked in her side-split dress. Thus, Hermione felt it was her duty to counter every complimentary thing he said with something less so.
"Dude, you really don't like Nic!" Haroon exclaimed incredulously as she pulled up outside his flat.
Hermione looked at him kindly. "I just think you should keep your options open. You're a catch Haroon. Don't settle."
This seemed to appease him, for he smiled, kissed her cheek enthusiastically and got out of the car, wobbling up the path and letting himself in through the door with a chipper wave.