AN: Well here we are, the ending of another fic from me. I have absolutely loved writing this, although trying to finish two Romione fics at the same time was quite stressful and often made me feel like I was repeating myself. I loved this; to me it is the epitome of the cheesy Christmas movie and I tried to make it cheesy as I could. If you have any questions or notice any plot holes; just put it down to the magic of Christmas. I hope you're still enjoying your holidays and eating loads of delightful food. As always, please leave me your thoughts and feedback and just remember, if you can't be nice, be constructive xxx

Hermione finally makes it back to 1892, and realises that maybe her desperate need to get back was misguided and maybe 2008 was where she belonged. The question is; will she be able to make it back to Ron?

There was a brief moment when Hermione found herself lying on a cold, stone floor that she thought maybe she had just taken a funny turn. She hoped that when she opened her eyes, she would still in the Burrow with the Weasley family peering over at her. She kept them closed firmly; maybe if she wished hard enough, whatever Christmas magic that had propelled her into 2008 would work just one more time and give her what she really wanted.

And then her back started to ache and the kind voice of Molly Weasley checking up on her never came.

She let out a heavy sigh and finally prised her eyes open, frustrated tears burning in them as she looked up at the heavy stone ceiling. The room was dark now, but there was no doubt about it – she was back in her Potions classroom. A heavy wave of despair crashed over her body and she rolled onto her side, curling herself into a tight ball before letting herself cry.

Ron stared at the spot where Hermione had just stood, not believing she had just disappeared like that. He knew that it could happen, that eventually, she'd find out the way back to her time but he had hoped they'd have a little bit longer first. It felt so cruel that he had finally let himself be happy again, only to have that torn from his grasp. He could hear his family congregating around him, asking questions about Hermione's whereabouts but he just couldn't face answering them; he absolutely did not want to talk about it. Instead, he pushed away from them, tearing the Santa hat from his head before leaving the house without his coat or scarf, his eyes fixed firmly on the gate marking the edge of the Burrow's protective boundaries. As soon as he felt the familiar light buzz of magic caress over his skin, he apparated; not really caring where he ended up.

Eventually, Hermione ran out of tears and finally came to her senses. Her head was pounding and a small knot had formed in the pit of her stomach, weighing down with a bleakness she hadn't felt for a long time. She peeled herself off the floor, eyeing the vials still sat on her desk with misdirected anger; they were the reason she felt so miserable, even though she had been the person to brew the potion in the first place. She'd been given a glimpse at a life where she could wholly be herself and be happy about it, instead of having to hide her personality and desires behind what she now felt were archaic rules about propriety and modesty. She would never experiment with magic again if this was the cruel outcome.

She crept out into the corridor, grateful that the castle seemed quiet. With any luck, she could make it back to her chambers undisturbed and wallow in her misery alone.

Ron landed and found himself on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place. With one tap of his wand, the front door opened and he headed into the house with a heavy sigh.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, he knew that that the house wasn't how he had left it. Every inch of the hallway was draped in garlands; with baubles, holly and mistletoe hung at every alcove and doorway. He moved from room to room, investigating the damage, being assaulted from every angle by the Christmas trimmings, only serving to remind him of the gloom pressing in on him from every side.

Angrily, he summoned the house-elf, who appeared within a second of Ron's call.

"Kreacher? What the hell do you call this?"

The house-elf had looked joyful at his summons but soon shrunk back into himself. He had a coil of tinsel around his neck and he tugged at it nervously as he recognised Ron's mood.

"Mistress Granger asked for it. She sent word for Kreacher to decorate via Master Harry so Kreacher went into the attic and found all the decorations. Did Kreacher do wrong?" The house-elf pulled the decoration tighter, ready to punish himself as his old masters used to make him when he did something that displeased them.

Ron watched the house-elf as he cowered. He summoned all his Auror training and took a deep breath before dropping to his knees, the anger fading from his body. Hermione had asked for this, probably to cheer him up after their talk. He couldn't blame her, or Kreacher; he had been warming up to the idea of actually enjoying his Christmas this year and not letting Lavender ruin his life. He carefully prised the tinsel out of the elf's hands.

"You did really well Kreacher, the house looks beautiful. You can go back to Harry now; I won't be needing you over the next few days. Maybe give yourself a break, yeah?"

Once he was sure the house-elf wasn't going to hurt himself, he quickly got back to his feet and crossed the room to pull out a small present from a cupboard. He passed the parcel to the elf. "Merry Christmas Kreacher."

He waited for him to disappear again before dragging himself towards the small bar he had set up in one of the corners of the kitchen; he'd never needed a fire whiskey this badly in a long time.

The rest of Hermione's evening passed in a slow blur and at some point, she must have put herself to bed, although all she could remember was the distracting restlessness. She couldn't settle; she tried to write but the words wouldn't come out and reading was completely out of the question.

Everyone got a happy ending apart from her, it would seem and at some point, she'd fallen asleep with the thought at the front of her mind and it had filled her dreams with depressing nightmares.

She woke when the sun crept into the room through her bedroom window; it looked like it was going to be a lovely Christmas morning, although she couldn't think of anything worse than celebrating today.

Nevertheless, if she was stuck in 1892, she should probably just try and get on with her life, however miserable the thought made her. She shivered against the cold air as she got herself out of bed and washed. Every action made her miss 2008 more; the central heating Ron had shown her, how easy it was for her to just draw hot water out of a tap, decent lighting.

Although she had a set of green and red robes she usually wore on Christmas Day, she pushed them aside, choosing another of her black high-necked dresses and a thick, floor-length cloak.

She pulled her hair back into a tight braid and checked her appearance in the small mirror over her desk; she looked pale, with dark circles under her eyes and for the first time since she'd splinched herself, her arm was aching terribly. She felt truly rotten.

Gathering the small gifts she'd put together for her colleagues, she made her way down to the Great Hall for breakfast. The long house tables had been removed, replaced by one round table which had been placed in the middle of the room for a more intimate affair. The majority of her colleagues were like her; single, without a family of their own so they always made sure to make the most of the day with the few students who were left at the castle. She took her seat at the table, next to the Headmistress.

"It's nice to see you down here again, Professor Granger. I understand you've not been feeling very well and have been confined to your chambers. I hope it wasn't the pox?" Professor Mole gave her a warm smile, but Hermione was confounded by the comment.

Maybe she hadn't even been to 2008 after all. If her colleagues thought she'd been sick then maybe everything had just been a fever-induced dream. She tentatively felt her forehead with a shaky hand; she was a little warm.

"I just had a cold, Madam Mole. I'm really sorry I missed my classes…" She pulled some toast onto her plate, although she was definitely not feeling hungry.

How could something that made her feel such spectacularly just be a dream? She didn't understand at all.

"Sometimes, it can't be helped. Now get some food in you, you'll soon be as right as rain. I hear the elves have outdone themselves this year for the Christmas feast. I can't wait."

Hermione continued to focus on her toast, only looking up when another body joined their small group around the table. It was Albus Dumbledore, her favourite student and she gave the boy a small smile.

Suddenly, the realisation of who he was hit her and she dropped her slice of lukewarm toast in surprise. The old wizard at the hospital, the kindly Headmaster of Hogwarts; they were all the same person as this boy, barely 12 years of age. She tried to do the maths in her head, it wasn't logical but at the same time, she knew she was right. She met his gaze and was delighted to see his small blue eyes sparkle with the same sense of mischief she saw in both old men's eyes.

"So you found the Christmas Cheer then, Professor Granger?" The small child looked away from her, concentrating on piling hot scrambled eggs onto his toast.

"Pardon?" She knew what he was talking about, but the question still took Hermione by surprise.

"The Christmas Cheer you were looking for. You found it?" He shovelled the food into his mouth and Hermione marvelled about him as she watched him. She'd always had a sense that he was different from the other children; that his powers were stronger than any of the teachers could really understand, even Professor Mole who was, in Hermione's opinion, one of the greatest witches ever. They'd spent many a break huddled over a cup of coffee in the staffroom, discussing one outstanding thing he had done after the other.

Albus lifted his head briefly from his breakfast to give Hermione another smile before carrying on eating.

Hermione's pulse started to quicken and she could feel it throbbing under her splinching scars, already healing from the dittany she had been using. Her breath caught in her throat and she coughed to clear it before trying to keep her voice steady, not wanting to cause alarm amongst her colleagues.

"Albus? If one wanted to go back, how do you think one would approach it and make it a more permanent solution?"

The child stopped eating, gently laying his knife and fork down next to his plate, pondering his professor's question with wide eyes. The minutes passed by painfully slowly, and Hermione was tempted to shake the answer out of him until he finally spoke up.

"Well, if the potion still exists it would have been growing stronger by the day as corked unstable potions often do. You taught us that yourself Professor. So if you wanted to go back and stay there, perhaps you need to try again and with more conviction? If it's truly what will bring you Christmas Cheer, maybe start there? Of course, if it were to work then I shall miss you. But maybe we'll meet again…"

The twinkle in Albus's eye looked more delighted than mischievous now, and the pair shared an understanding look over the table before he once more returned to his breakfast.

Hermione toyed with the slice of toast on her place as his words ran through her head. Maybe there was a chance she could sort this out. She picked up the bag that had been waiting at her feet, noticing how her hand had started to shake. Slowly, she gave out small presents.

"I'm sorry I missed our usual Christmas Eve gift exchange, but hopefully these will make up for my tardiness…" She let out a shaky breath. "I'm sorry, but it seems I'm really still not any better. I will return to my chambers, least I pass my germs on to the rest of you all. Merry Christmas."

She stood up slowly, trying her best to act normal (but maybe just a little bit poorly). It wasn't until she left the Great Hall that she took off at great speed towards her classroom, not even bothering to go to her chambers first. She only had a modest amount of possessions anyway, and nothing had sentimental value. If she were to be successful, anything she might miss could be replaced eventually anyway.

She closed the door to her classroom firmly behind her and searched the workspaces for the spare vials of her potion. She finally spotted them, sat waiting on her desk where she'd left them just a few days ago. She wasn't sure if it was just wishful thinking, but the gold liquid looked to be shimmering just a little bit harder.

She picked up one of the vials at random and perched against the edge of her desk as she regarded it closely, contemplating her options. She could stay in 1892; with a steady job, a roof over her head and a small circle of colleagues she could usually rely on or she could risk another trip to 2008 and hope that this time it was permanent. She barely knew Ron Weasley, yet her heart had started yearning for him as soon as she'd woken up that morning. Every thought was consumed by him and her lips still tingled with the ghost of yesterday's kiss.

Her eyes lifted from the vial to the Gryffindor crest she had put on the wall on her first-day teaching.

She remembered the words the sorting hat had sung to them; small, nervous 11-year olds, anxious about what house they may end up in. She hadn't had friends when she started school and she had struggled throughout her time to make them, but the Gryffindors had fast become her family.

"You might belong in Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart, their daring, nerve and chivalry, set Gryffindors apart."

When she'd first heard the song, she thought she was destined for Ravenclaw. Her love for knowledge, learning and books were her defining characteristics, or so she'd thought. Although her knowledge of the school had been limited to what she'd heard on the long train journey to Scotland that morning, she thought that Gryffindors were reckless, something she rarely lived up to during her short life.

She'd always wondered if she'd been sorted incorrectly, although apparently, the hat had never got it wrong.

Now it was her time to be reckless. She knew she truly belonged in 2008 and she was positive she was happy to give up everything she had for the chance of a happier life in the future, even if that future wasn't with Ron. The Weasleys, the Potters, the other friends she'd made in her short time there; she wanted to make them her family. They gave her a sense of belonging she'd never felt before, even with her own family, who had started to reject her as soon as they'd found out she was a witch and forced her towards a marriage she was never ready to commit to, despite how much she had adored Cormac. With a fleeting feeling of regret at not being able to say goodbye to anyone here, she uncapped the vial and drank it down in one gulp.

Ron had fallen asleep on the sofa last night; he could tell this from the way his face stuck to the leather armrest. He'd probably drooled, as he so often did when he'd had a few drinks. His head was pounding, his stomach felt like a whole bag of flobberworms had been released in there and something pointy was poking him in his side. Everything hurt.

He carefully pulled his cheek from the sofa, wincing at the pull as the leather fought against his efforts, and forced his eyes open, frowning as his sister came into view.

"Go'way Gin…" He closed his eyes again as the wanker with the drum inside his head continued its repeated tattoo.

"We took a family vote and you're not allowed to stay at home and mope today Ronald and unfortunately I drew the short straw in forcing you out…" She poked him hard with the tip of her wand again, disturbing all the flobberworms and for a moment, Ron worried he was going to be sick.

"How much Firewhisky did you drink last night anyway?! It stinks worse than the Hog's Head in here!"

"A small amount, not that it's any of your business…" He pushed himself up from the sofa, willing the room to stop spinning. "I'm not going anywhere…"

Ginny sighed and pushed his legs out of the way so that she could sit down next to him. "We miss her too. For someone who wasn't in our lives for long, Hermione made a huge impact. But I won't allow you to spend another Christmas alone. You deserve more than that." She gave him a sympathetic smile. "Go on, go shower. Otherwise, the whole family will get drunk off your fumes. I can apparate us over then…" She watched as Ron didn't make any effort to move. "James is desperate to see his favourite uncle…" She patted his calf comfortingly.

Ron let out a heavy sigh, but he knew he couldn't let his nephew down. Last year, he'd only been a baby but missing his Christmas was one of the things he regretted the most. He dragged himself off the sofa, ignoring Ginny's triumphant smile, and heading slowly upstairs to the bathroom.

As he passed the spare bedroom, he glanced into it, hoping that maybe Hermione had just been asleep, just hiding from him but the room was still empty; the bag of spare clothes Ginny had brought over still sat in the middle of the floor. He slammed the bathroom door shut behind him, immediately cursing as the sound made his hangover twenty times worse and started to get himself ready.

When Hermione came to, she was yet again lying on a cold floor stone and she made a deal with herself that she'd never pass out again; as everytime she did, something awful happened to her. She opened her eyes quickly – hoping she'd been transported directly back to the floor at the Burrow – but instead she only saw the heavy stone ceiling of her Potions classroom again. She sighed heavily, not noticing the other person in the room until they kicked her feet.

"What, may I ask, are you doing in my classroom" The voice was soft, male and contained but yet the drawl immediately put her on edge. She quickly scrambled to her feet, brushing down her robes. The man standing over her was wearing a set of long, voluminous black robes. He was thin, with sallow skin and a rather large, hooked nose. He flicked his shoulder-length greasy black hair out of his eyes as he observed Hermione.

"What year is this?" Hermione answered the man's question with her own, looking wildly around the classroom. It was just like hers but yet, just like the last time she'd been transported into the future, something wasn't quite right. Her heart started to pound, but she was reluctant to let herself get too excited until she had it confirmed.

"Two-thousand and eight." The man spat the T with such venom, it probably would have hurt Hermione if she weren't experiencing the soar of joy at having her Christmas wishes confirmed. Albus's idea had worked.

"Again I ask," The man paused for a dramatic effect and Hermione almost felt like cursing him for wasting her time. "Who are you?"

"You're Professor Snape aren't you? I am Professor Granger, well I was, I guess I don't have a job anymore! Ron told me all about you. That means I made it back!" She threw her arms around the potion master, hugging him tightly despite the fact he went rigid under her touch. "I have to go, thank you so much! Merry Christmas!"

She left the classroom in a hurry, leaving a confused looking Snape in her wake. She didn't look where she was going since she knew the way out of the castle like the back of her hands and she almost hurtled into Dumbledore on her way out.

"It worked Professor!" She grabbed the old headmaster with both hands, almost whooping with glee. She placed a firm kiss on his cheek before letting go of him and backing out of the Entrance Hall.

"I don't know what you mean, Miss Granger. Have a lovely Christmas!" The Headmaster had the decency to look confused, but the mischievous glint in his eye told Hermione a different story. She ran up the drive, cursing how long it was where once she used to enjoy the stroll up to the gates.

As she moved, she fished her wand out of her robe pockets. The Christmas air was cold and despite her thick cloak, she could feel the snow permeating against her skin but she did not care. She just needed to get to Ron; until she saw him again she wouldn't allow herself to completely believe she had succeeded. She needed to hear his confirmation; she only hoped he was as happy to see her.

She finally reached the outskirts of the castle grounds, taking a moment to catch her breath as she tried to decide where to look for him first; the Burrow or Grimmauld Place. Once her decision was finally made, she turned on the spot quickly, hoping she got it right.

Christmas at the Burrow was always a cacophony of sound and an explosion of wrapping paper. Most of the family assaulted their presents, tearing at the paper to see the goodies underneath; apart from Percy who preferred to open his carefully, folding back the material painfully slow. Ron's mum had thrust a bacon sandwich into his hands as soon as he'd arrived, but it hadn't helped his hangover. His concentration was slipping so badly, his brother Charlie had even beaten him at chess - something unheard of in the Weasley household.

Desperate for a break from the ongoing circus before he lost the plot completely, Ron excused himself from the room; quickly wrapping his scarf around his neck and pulling his coat on before heading into the garden. At first, he gravitated towards the small bench which had provided him countless hours of peace and quiet over the years but as soon as he laid eyes on it, he realised it had been tainted with the memories of his kiss with Hermione and he couldn't handle sitting there; at least not right now.

Instead, he pushed himself further down the garden, traversing the large yard with his long strides until he could no longer see the Burrow. He let the thick snow swallow him up, settling on the garden wall when he finally got to it and looking back up towards the white nothingness, in the direction of the house. He wiped a tear away from his cheek frustratedly.

As soon as Hermione got back to Grimmauld Place, she knew she'd made the wrong choice. Kreacher had answered the door, a small Santa hat perched on his head, with a sympathetic glance. She decided to search the house anyway just in case Ron was hiding in one of the many rooms and hadn't told the elf, but he was nowhere to be found. She stopped when she got to the bedroom she'd been sleeping in, remembering that Ginny had left her an outfit for Christmas Day. Realising her standard black dress was inadequate for the inevitable party at the Burrow, and properly massively unappealing for Ron, she quickly got changed, pulling on instead another fantastically cosy jumper and a pair of tight denim jeans. Immediately, she felt more comfortable and able to carry on her mission with a lot more conviction.

Finding her wand amongst the material of her discarded dress on the bed; she took a deep breath and apparated again, this time to the Burrow.

She arrived at the end of the short lane that led up to the front of the house, immediately feeling the warmth radiating from the building. Every light was on, despite the fact it was only midday, and music and laughter spilt from every window. Despite how friendly the family had been yesterday; she didn't feel right just wandering in through their back door. She was grateful for the extra layers she'd put on when she got to Grimmauld Place as the snow started to fall thicker around her. Unwilling to wait any longer, she took a deep breath then rang the doorbell.

Harry lifted his head from the Barbie Dreamhouse he was currently helping Bill put together for his 8-year-old daughter, a frown appearing on his face.

"Harry, that's not the right place for that sticker…" Bill tutted at his brother-in-law impatiently. Bill's daughter was a delight, but just like her part-Veela wife Fleur; had held a magic spell over her father since the day she was born. Anything short of perfect would not do as far as Victoire was concerned. "Why the fuck can't we just use magic to build this thing?!"

Harry turned his attention to the front door before casting his eyes around the room, tallying the bodies. Everyone was accounted for, as far as he was aware, and although Molly and Arthur usually extended the Christmas Day invite to most of the British magical community, they weren't expecting anyone else to join them.

"You do it then mate, I'm going to go answer the door since nobody else in this house can!" Harry shoved the huge sheet of stickers into Bill's unexpecting hands before peeling himself off the floor. He weaved his way through the prone bodies scattered across the living room and eventually made it to the front door, yanking it open. His eyes grew wide as he saw who was waiting on the other side.

"Hermione! You came back!" He looked at the witch, stunned as the rest of the Weasley siblings scrambled to their feet, the sound of Hermione's name forcing them into action. They exchanged knowing glances and smiles between them in the way that only close families could as they crowded around Harry, as happy as him to see the time-travelling witch on their front door step.

Hermione cast her eye over the group excitedly, but the one person she was desperate to see didn't seem to be there.

"Uhm hi everyone… is Ron here?"

"He went out for a walk…" At least three Weasleys spoke at the same time, then Ginny pushed her way to the front of the group. "I don't think he went far, he's probably around the back…"

"Oh, okay. Thanks, everyone!" Hermione started to turn, but she was stopped by Ginny's voice again.

"Hermione?" Ginny waited for the witch to turn her attention back to her. "We're glad you came back…" She gave Hermione her biggest, reassuring smile. "Good luck!"

"Thanks… I think…" Although still horrifically nervous, Hermione felt boosted by Ginny's kind words and quickly moved around the side of the house to get to the garden. She had no doubt that the rest of the family were probably racing through the downstairs to get to the backdoor to watch what happened next and the thought filled her with joy. She'd love to be a part of this extremely large, incredibly nosey, and noisy family and the thought that she may have already been accepted, despite her short time in this period was reassuring instead of off-putting.

She headed into the garden, looking first to the bench where she and Ron had sat last night and shared a kiss, but it was empty so she carried down further.

Ron sighed heavily. He was starting to get cold and moping outside was doing nothing to improve his mood. He pushed himself off the wall, shoving his hands into the pocket of his jeans to keep them warm before slowly wandering back to the house.

Hermione stopped in her tracks as soon as she laid eyes on him. Her heart was pounding, and she resisted the urge to just throw herself at him; he looked so sad, she felt his pain deep down in her soul and she desperately wanted to make him feel better.

"So I wasted all that Christmas Cheer for nothing then?"

Ron stopped walking suddenly as the familiar voice reached his ears and lifted his head quickly from where he had been watching his feet drudge a path in the thick snow. He felt as if every breath had deserted him as his eyes finally settled on her; her head of curls catching the snowflakes as they fell and her cheeks turning rosy red from the cold.

"You're here?" He could barely believe it and he quickly took the few steps forward to close the gap between them. He just had to make sure she was real, and reached out with gloved fingertips to trace over her cheek and across the thin bridge of her nose, evoking a giggle from her. "How?"

"I made it back to my time; it turns out you were the person I was meant to help find Christmas Cheer and when I saw you wrestling with your nephews, I knew you had found it. But in helping you, I realised I didn't belong to my time. I had never felt like I'd fitted it; not really and when I woke up back in 1892, I felt miserable. I had to come back to where I belonged…"

"And is this where you really belong? Hermione, you're from another time. We've barely known each other three days…"

"Oh…" She stepped away from him, her heart pounding with the realisation that she may have made the wrong decision and effectively messed up her life for good. "Do you not want me here?"

"No, wait, that's not what I meant!" He scowled at himself and cursed under his breath. He was no good at this stuff and was absolutely ruining this moment. He let out a puff of air and ran a hand through his long hair then down through his beard. "It's bloody brilliant that you're back, I just can't believe that you're here. It's just… wow!"

A wide grin emerged on her face, and she stepped towards him once more. She felt his hand cup her cheek and she rested her head against his palm, feeling relief at the warming sensation that radiated even through the material of his glove. She leaned in towards him stopping just before her lips touched his.

"Then do something about it…" Her grin turned into a wicked smirk although her voice was barely above a whisper.

Ron could feel her warm breath against his cheek as it sent all the blood circulating around his body south. He didn't even need to think twice as he finally captured her lips with his in a kiss that so was soft and sweet and everything he'd been dreaming of since they last kissed yesterday. He moved his other hand up to her face, sliding his fingers into her hair and pulled her closer to him. He brushed his thumb against her cheek, not thinking that it could get any better until she slid both arms around his waist and settled against his chest, the warmth of her body telling him that she was really there and that this was real.

When they finally parted, he rested his forehead against hers; his thumb still stroking it's pattern against her cheek. He could hear his family clapping and whooping from the back door and he rolled his eyes, though it didn't knock the soppy grin from his face.

"Merry Christmas, Hermione…" He gazed down at her, still unbelieving that she was there.

"Merry Christmas, Ron!" She kissed him again and everything was alright in the world; she knew that this was where she was meant to stay and that she'd made the right decision. This was home.