Ryan had picked her up at five PM sharp so by six, prosecco was tinkling into her glass and Hermione took her first sip. The ballroom of the Waltham had been tastefully decorated in opulent metallics; sultry gold silks and dazzling silver orbs lit from the inside. A truly special place to spend New Year.
She watched Ryan from the other side of the room as he made his way back to her. It had been her friend Heather who had suggested the match; she was tired of Hermione attending their get-togethers alone. Ryan played rugby with Heather's husband Tan and was a budding restauranteur- his first bistro had been a runaway success and there was talk of two further opportunities in Brighton and Aberystwyth.
Since the break-up of a very serious relationship eighteen months previously, Hermione had made very little headway in selecting a new partner or even trying out potentials. She had thought that Robin was the one and it had been such a blow to discover that this wasn't the case that, for a long time, dating seemed out of the question. Not that this prevented suggestions from friends. Suddenly everyone seemed to know someone who was 'perfect for you'.
That being said, Hermione felt Helen might actually have hit the nail on the head with Ryan. Athletic, with the strong, stocky frame that nods towards years of rugby and dark, chocolate-drop eyes. He was interested in her work, while being ambitious in his own. And there were the little things, like his being able to choose wine knowledgably or discuss current world events. He always opened the car door for her and insisted she order first. Ryan felt like a safe bet and there was comfort in that.
They had only been on a handful of dates since they first met in November, as Ryan travelled so much for work and truthfully, Hermione had been considering whether or not to allow things to continue. She had felt distracted lately and, humiliatingly, it had been Ron Weasley who had been dividing her attention.
She wasn't sure how he'd gotten there but he felt trapped under her skin and every time they laughed together or shared an in-joke, she had felt the tug of attraction. It pained her now to think about it, not least after the events of the Christmas party and especially as it was clear to her now that she had been desperately trying to convince herself it wasn't happening.
That being said, each time she cringed at the memory of what she had seen that night, she reminded herself that she should be grateful to have witnessed it. It killed off any hopes- unconscious or otherwise- that she had for her relationship with Ron and reminded her that she had a perfectly wonderful man just waiting for her to call.
"Thank you, my lady." Ryan accepted his flute and took a long sip. "Did I tell you how magnificent you look in that dress?"
She smiled and touched the rim of her glass to his. "You might have mentioned it."
"Well you do. Luckiest guy in the room."
"You're lucky we managed to find a break in the weather to run in from the car," Hermione mused, touching a perfect spiral curl by her ear. "Otherwise you would have seen me in a completely different light."
Ryan grinned, the carefree beam of someone whose hair behaved exactly as expected. Getting ready, Hermione had listened with growing dread to the storm circling outside her window. Rain and wind are no friend to the fuzzy haired and she knew that mere moments in such weather would completely destroy the hard work she had put into smoothing her usual bird's nest into attractive springs.
Her curls had been save by a lightening of the weather as they had pulled up to the Waltham, which had given her just enough time to run inelegantly to safety. Even now, above the music and chatter, she could hear the rain pelting the windows, which were hung with iridescent gossamer fabric.
A gong struck in the background and they made their way to their table. Everything was beautiful and precisely designed to enable utter relaxation. Yet, despite the glorious surroundings and the handsome dinner date, Hermione struggled to let go. It was as though her body had left her brain behind in Ottery, still formulating and mulling.
"And the crazy thing is," she said now as their salmon was served, "They have this Spider just sitting in the garage rotting and they won't sell it because they're so sentimental about it."
Ryan looked impressed. "A 1968 Ford Spider. Seriously good looking car. Italian, I think. One of my old business partners had a Sedan but it was nowhere near as cute as the Spider.
"It is a lovely car."
"You've seen it?"
Hermione paused. "Yes… Just the once. Anyway," she babbled on, "The repairs on the roof have proved really expensive and I just wish they would get a grip on reality and accept that sacrifices have to be made. Every little helps! Sorry. It's frustrating that's all."
Ryan gently placed his hand over hers as she smoothed it over the tablecloth.
"It's okay. It's good that you care right?"
She smiled, feeling better. "I do care. Plus, I'm an overachieving perfectionist and the Weasleys are more 'have-a-go heroes'. Perhaps I should just be better at working with that rather than against it."
She could tell Ryan's interest in this line of conversation was waning.
"Anyway," she said firmly, holding up a finger, "No more work talk."
He looked relieved. "Agreed."
Even as she said it, Hermione doubted herself. It was impossible to think of anything else these days, the castle and the Weasleys had so invaded her life. Still, she and Ryan gradually became caught up in conversation with the other diners at their table and her responsibilities slowly melted from her shoulders as the prosecco flowed into her glass.
The salmon was followed by pork cheek and then langoustines, each dish more spectacular than the last. Their glasses were never allowed to dip beneath half full and Hermione felt the happy glow of the alcohol in her cheeks, not to mention the warmth of Ryan's hand as it rested pleasingly on her knee under the table.
The beef fillet had just arrived, the conversation lively, when Hermione felt her bag buzz next to her foot. Discreetly, she pulled out her phone and checked the screen. Harry Potter.
Ryan turned his attention to her and frowned as she stood.
"Can't it wait?"
"Sorry. I'll be right back." She gave a duck of apology to the other guests at the table before making her way to the back of the room, swiping the screen of her phone as she did so.
"Harry? Can you hear me?"
"Hermione? Sorry to ring you so late. I shouldn't be ringing you at all…"
He tailed off and Hermione heard real regret in his voice.
"It's alright. Is everything okay?" A despair had started to grow in her stomach as she spoke. Harry wouldn't be calling if everything was okay, therefore something had to be wrong.
"It's not actually." No, of course it wasn't. There was a pause and then, "The roof in the Great Hall has collapsed. Like, really collapsed."
Hermione felt her knees give a little and she propped herself against the wall next to the bar, unable to respond.
"I realise there isn't anything you can do. Ron told me not to even call you. He'd kill me if he knew."
Indignation helped her regain her voice. "Ron asked you not to call me? Why?"
There was a crackle on the line. "… sure, really. Think he wanted you to have a night off. Look, I thought you should know…. you'll be facing when you come back to work."
Harry's voice was starting to fade in and out. Hermione glanced back to where Ryan was gesturing at the meal on the table in front of her empty chair. She had a decision to make and, oddly, it felt like a critical one. As though this one choice would make many more.
Even as the cogs in her mind turned, she already knew what she would do.
"Sit tight, Harry. I'll be there as soon as I can."
"No!" Harry exclaimed foggily over the poor connection, "Don't leave the party. We can manage. I just thought you should know."
"Who is there with you?"
"It's just me and Ron. Ginny has the kids and everyone else is out of the country."
"What about Mr. and Mrs. Weasley?"
"… had to leave them. Ginny… with the kids maybe..."
Hermione felt her spine straighten. "I'll be there within the hour. You're needed elsewhere."
She spoke with such authority that Harry seemed to understand it was pointless to argue.
As she threaded a path to the table, her glorious meal and her picture-perfect date, Hermione tried to think of the best way to break the news. In the end, she went with honesty.
"Ryan, I have to leave. The castle roof has fallen in."
If she was expecting him to somehow understand the importance of this news, she was disappointed. Ryan just looked mystified.
"So? Why do you have to go? You can't fix it."
She sat down next to him, avoiding the curious stares of their neighbouring diners. "Obviously I can't fix it but I have to be there. It's my job."
As she gathered her pashmina over one arm, he grabbed her wrist with his hand. "You aren't serious? Hermione."
His tone was so outraged that, for a second, Hermione questioned herself. Was he right? Was she behaving ridiculously, hotfooting it to Ottery, rushing in like some big saviour when there was nothing at all she could do?
Her sense of duty scrubbed these thoughts aside brusquely. It didn't matter that she couldn't fix a castle roof. The compulsion to be there was too strong. Even just being there was more vital than being here, she realised.
"I'll call you. I'm so sorry Ryan."
As she stood, he stood with her. "How will you get there? I can't drive, I've been drinking." As if to prove a point, Ryan took a swallow from his wine glass.
"I'll get a taxi." She pulled her arm from his grasp and made her way from the room.
The receptionist stared at her as if she had lost her sanity, ordering a taxi on New Year's Eve, in a rain storm, away from probably the most decadent party within a hundred-mile radius. Hermione didn't think about the cost of the double fare as they drove through the dark, slick streets, passing pubs radiating cosy amber light and revellers under golf umbrellas. All she could now think about was reaching the castle. It was all that seemed to matter.
On arriving at Ottery, she headed straight for the Great Hall. Her spiked heels made staccato cracks against the stone floor as she rushed, the length of her dress caught up in her hands so she could move faster. All sorts of scenarios were running through her mind, each one more awful than the last. All the work that had been put in, Jesus the money they had spent. The Great Hall was days away from reopening; the possibility of all their effort being laid to waste made her stomach churn.
The door groaned loudly as she hauled it open. Inside, Harry and Ron were lugging a massive roll of blue tarpaulin towards the back of the room and they looked up.
Her eyes found Ron's face, already smudged with dust, and he did not look pleased to see her.
His head whipped to Harry as he dropped his side of the roll. "I told you not to ring her."
"I know. I ignored you," Harry replied mildly.
Ron turned away as she walked over to where they stood, fixing his attention on the rear wall.
"Go back to the party Hermione. There's nothing you can do."
The frost in his tone was cutting and unexpected. Harry shrugged as she looked to him for answers and she felt her jaw set.
"What happened?"
"The repair job obviously wasn't as good as we had hoped," Harry said, rubbing his eye wearily. "Or we just didn't account for this much rain. Either. Both. A chunk of stonework might have fallen from higher up… Who knows?"
"The insurance. The insurance will cover it." Her voice sounded hugely more confident than she felt.
"Yeah. Hopefully. The lost revenue though. We're meant to be holding a wedding here in six weeks…"
Ron remained silent, mouth a straight line on his face. Hermione lifted the hem of her dress again and stepped gingerly towards the corner of the room. Jagged cracks had formed in a corner where two walls met the ceiling high above her. The open timber was already black with rainwater and a hole the size of the family Land Rover was just discernible against the night sky.
Directly below were the remnants of the roof and ceiling; slate tiles mixed with the brick, plaster and massive wooden splinters they had brought with them when they fell. Numbly, she pushed a rock over the carpet with her satin toe. Their beautiful red wool carpet, primped and preened to the last fibre, was sodden with water and dust. There was a crack in one of the display cabinets containing some of the castle's ancient documents and the glass housing an antique jewellery box had smashed altogether.
Hermione gently lifted it, allowing the shards of glass to fall away like deadly glitter. Failing to see anywhere safe to put it, she resorted to cradling the jewellery box in her arms.
Nothing was said for a long moment.
Finally, Hermione murmured quietly, "At least it's stopped raining."
"FUCK!" Ron's yell hurtled around the room and came back around, slapping Hermione and Harry who both jumped as though physically struck. No-one responded and the profanity hung in the dusty air in despair.
Eventually, Hermione turned to Harry. "Go back to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley Harry. They shouldn't be by themselves. Ron and I will take care of whatever needs done here."
"I insist," she pressed on, sensing he was about to protest. "I'm here now, where I need to be. You go be where you need to be."
Slumping dejectedly, Harry nodded. "I'll be here first thing tomorrow."
He half-heartedly slapped Ron on the back, who barely acknowledged the gesture as his eyes bored into the wreckage across the room. As the door squeaked shut behind him, a difficult, bloated silence enveloped them.
Hermione desperately looked for what to do next, despite part of her being sunk in the hopeless feeling that it didn't matter what they did next. This couldn't be easily fixed.
She looked down at the box in her hand and then to her dress, already sopping at the bottom and gathering dust. She should change. That was one thing she could do. After that… Well, they would figure it out.
Once she had removed her dress and shoes and changed into a boiler suit and wellies, Ron's mood seemed to shift. Not friendly exactly, but tolerant. They worked in silence; Ron rolled in the wheel barrow and began shifting the smaller debris, while Hermione removed the antiquities currently within ten metres of the hole in the roof. It was tedious, filthy work yet neither made a noise of complaint.
Ron watched Hermione file the documents from cabinet five, her white gloved hands moving back and forth to the metal box with laudable efficiency, given the late hour. He felt shitty about being horrible to her when she arrived. God knows, the first person he had thought to ring was her, even before Harry. It was right she was here, as part of the group of people who protected Ottery.
Still, when she'd opened that door he hadn't been able to stop himself. Seeing her in the flesh reminded him of something he'd been avoiding thinking about: that she had been somewhere else. With someone else.
And there it is. The real reason you're so pissed. What a dick.
Ron threw a spliced slate tile into the wheelbarrow and began wheeling it out into the yard, disgusted with himself. It was ridiculous to be cross with Hermione for choosing to spend New Year at a beautiful party in a glamourous hotel with someone who didn't have a crumbling legacy chained around his neck. The Waltham Hotel versus this place. No competition.
As he tipped the debris onto a growing pile outside, Ron was glad he hadn't asked Hermione to spend New Year with him. For some insane reason, he had gotten it into his head that she would be alone, had never considered the possibility of a date or, even worse, a gala dinner and overnight stay in a five-star hotel.
It was arrogant to assume or wish that she had no life beyond the castle walls. As he navigated the narrow corridor back to the Great Hall, Ron decided he didn't want Hermione's life to end when she left work each day, not really. Part of what made her interesting and fun to be around was the fact that her whole existence wasn't tied up in Ottery.
He realised as he entered the hall again, that he had very much enjoyed becoming close to someone outside the Venn diagram of Weasley clan and Ottery Castle. He hadn't had that experience for a long time.
Ron set the wheelbarrow down with a grunt and when Hermione stood from where she was crouched sweeping glass he raised a hand.
"Enough." She turned her head towards him, weary and smeared with soot. "We can't do any more tonight. Let's stick the tarp underneath the hole and hope it doesn't rain again overnight. I'll deal with this in the morning."
It seemed as though she was set to argue, but then her shoulders dropped and she nodded and together they covered the carpet.
Hermione felt a twinge in her lower back as she straightened to standing and gritted her teeth. A shiny lock of hair, meticulously styled hours earlier, slid into her vision and she pushing it back impatiently. The knees of her boiler suit were damp, her hands slippery and grubby with grime and a shard of glass had impaled itself in her finger.
Ron's face was blank, save for exhaustion.
"I'll put the kettle on," Hermione said finally and headed towards the kitchen without waiting for Ron to reply. He joined her there a few minutes later and flopped down at the table to thrust his head into his hands.
"What a bloody night." He was silent for a moment before adding, "Thank you. For coming here tonight."
His voice was muffled but she heard it all the same.
"It seemed like you didn't want me to be here."
Ron rolled his head up. "I know. It seemed like that didn't it? But I did."
Hermione turned and crossed her arms. "So why the theatrics earlier on?"
He grimaced. "I know. Out of order. I just… felt bad that you had to leave the party. You shouldn't have had to spoil your night for this place."
"Why not? I share responsibility for looking after Ottery. I care what happens to it."
Frustration bubbled in her solar plexus. She couldn't figure Ron out. Sometimes she felt so close and included, a real part of the Ottery family, just like Harry had said that first day. At the time it had felt like he was paying lip service but over the months, she had come to really feel like one of them. Just as invested in the castle's future.
Then, in times like these, she felt ostracized and pushed away. An outsider scrabbling around on the fringes, begging to be let in. She wasn't a Weasley, but did that really matter? Sometimes, it felt like nothing and then, at moments like this, it felt like everything.
Ron answered quietly, "I know you do."
Part of her was spoiling for a fight but the rest was too tired and crestfallen by the turn her evening had taken to start it. Instead, she wordlessly whisked milk and churned it into chocolate powder.
When she set it in front of Ron he smiled appreciatively, perhaps the first smile of the evening.
"Yes. That's what we need." He started to take a sip and then set the mug down again. "Hold on. Don't drink yet."
He rose from his chair and retrieved a plastic bag from a cupboard above the draining board. Returning, he dipped his hand inside and sprinkled a handful of tiny pink marshmallows onto the froth atop Hermione's mug.
"You know where all the treats are, don't you?"
"Well, yes but don't tell anyone," Ron stage-whispered, flinging marshmallows into his own hot chocolate. "They're Mag's. She shouts when she sees me nicking them."
Anxiety stabbed Hermione. "Oh God Ron, put them back!"
"Relax," he laughed, shovelling another handful straight into his mouth. "I paid for them! Well, Ottery funds paid for them. Anyway, let's not split hairs. She'll never know."
As he dropped back into his chair next to her, the clock chimed the hour faintly.
"Midnight," Hermione said a tad gloomily, as her mind's eye filled with images of a glittering party, exploding with excitement and spectacle as the clock struck twelve. It felt mean-spirited to be sad about being here; she had chosen to leave the Waltham. She hadn't given it a second thought. But in the sodden, filthy aftermath of clearing away the remnants of all their hard work, she found it hard to reach for happier thoughts.
As if sensing the hunch of her posture, Ron laid his hand on her forearm and when she looked up from her mug he said softly, "I really am grateful you came Hermione. You didn't have to and you did anyway. And that means a lot to me."
His warm touch caused the hairs on her arms to wave up excitedly, betraying her solemn mood. She wanted to shake him off and get a bit angry at the whole situation. Even if it was of her own making. Somewhere, a righteous part of her was yelling that she shouldn't be here at all.
Her mouth opened- she wasn't sure what was going to come out- but before she could speak Ron jumped to his feet again.
"Come on! I know something that'll cheer you up. Bring your mug."
Hermione followed him through the dim castle corridors, relying on his instinctive knowledge of each curve and turn. Ottery was unfamiliar in the dark and had none of its grandeur; rather it seemed poky and cold.
He took them to the uneven stone steps that led to the curtain wall and she understood then why he had snagged blankets from the back of the kitchen door as they left.
"Perhaps," Hermione began as they started up the staircase, "Given the absolute shitshow we've just been through, going up to the roof and back into the weather… Perhaps that isn't the best idea Ron."
"Rain's stopped," he threw back over his shoulder, "And anyway, you can tell me when you get there whether or not it was worth it."
Wrestling open the door at the top, he stepped out onto the wall and raised his arms like a magician over the black beyond.
"Ta-dah!"
Hermione squinted, trying to fathom what he was showing her. Suddenly a cascade of hot pink sparks bloomed in the sky and she understood.
All across the surrounding towns, as far as the eye could see, firework displays were exploding; little pockets here and there of luminous, fizzy light popping and spluttering. It was a surreal experience to see it from this angle, looking down on all the action instead of looking up at only part of it.
She felt Ron drape one of the blankets over her shoulders.
"When we were younger, we'd come up here every New Year's Eve and watch the midnight fireworks," Ron murmured, his voice carrying clearly through the still night air. "Every year we'd beg Mum and Dad to take us to an actual firework display, so we could see them close up. Never happened- there were too many of us and Mum was always afraid the twins would get ideas and do something mad."
He sighed. "So we'd end up on the wall every year. Actually, it was much better. I always forgot how much better it was. 'Cos you got to see all of the fireworks, not just a tiny piece."
"It's lovely." Hermione breathed in the faint scent of smoke, all at once glad she was here. Not in her fancy dress. Not at a party. Not with Ryan.
She turned to look at Ron in the dim light of the uplighters. "Happy New Year Ron."
He grinned. "Happy New Year."
The kiss he planted on her cheek seemed somewhat spontaneous, given the force at which it was administered, but Hermione was glad of it just the same. Spontaneity with Ron had been difficult recently. Since the night of the Christmas party, seeing him wrapped around Nicola, things had been strained between them, which she despised because this shouldn't be the case.
She'd had her chance to kiss Ron and she had, quite rightly and properly, chosen to end it. If he should then choose to kiss someone else, well she should only really be grateful shouldn't she? That there could be no going back, no chance for a second chance.
The problem, as Hermione saw it, was that sometimes, when she was with him, Ron Weasley could make her forget herself. Forget her place. When they worked side by side and they were laughing and their voices dropped into that low register that only they could hear, the position of boss and employee melted away. They could be friends. They could be lovers.
A rocket whistled upwards nearby, before exploding with a tight bang.
"I wonder where we'll be this time next year."
It was an odd thing for Ron to say; generally, he wasn't one for concerning himself with the future, preferring to reside firmly in the present.
"What makes you say that?"
He shuffled next to her, adjusting his blanket. "I dunno. There's something about this year that feels significant. Like this is the big one, the last chance to make it work."
Angst spiked in Hermione's blood. "Do you think so?"
"Well, we can't go on like this forever. You've seen the figures; you know where we're at. Reopening the castle fully might have stemmed the tide a bit but now that's… a no-go. Fixing the roof again will suck up everything we have spare, while we wait for the insurance to pay out. And after that…"
Ron paused for a moment and then added, "Anyway, I don't need to tell you. You know as well as anybody. Let's go back downstairs and dry off."
Hermione refused Ron's offer to stay in one of the residential bedrooms overnight, refusing even to allow him to drive her home and preferring to pay another inflated taxi fee. She could feel the pull of his company, a warm, happy feeling at the thought of spending the rest of the night here with him and she needed to remove herself from his strangely powerful sphere of influence.
Standing in her kitchen an hour later she made tea, her dressing gown belted over her ruined evening dress. As she bobbed the teabag in the mug, she felt no happier but she did feel more in control of herself.
Ryan's phone went straight to voicemail so she left a tired, apologetic message and curled up in bed. That night she dreamed of water, fireworks and redheads.