A/N: Welcome! I wrote this story as a break from my other one, and because I've been addicted to Hallmark Christmas movies this year. It's meant to be a fluffy and light hearted read. The angst is barely angsty and the plot will probably fall apart if you poke too hard at it. However, the fluff is about as fluffy as I can make it, so if that's your jam, then I hope you love this. I've written it all, and it's only four chapters, which I'll post over the next couple of weeks. My goal is to spread holiday spirit. :)
Thanks for reading! Enjoy!
Hermione
Ten days until Christmas
"I know, Mum," Hermione said into her cell phone tiredly, yawning and stepping off the train onto the outdoor platform. She shivered, not anticipating the cold wind and large flakes of falling snow. "Listen, I've just arrived so-"
"It's a tiny, dreadful little town," her mother interrupted her. "I couldn't wait to get out of there when I was younger. Fix what you can in Nan's house and take the first decent offer, then get out and come join your father and I in Aruba. My conference is scheduled through the new year, so we can talk about what to do with your life when you get here."
"And celebrate Christmas, I suppose?" Hermione asked grumpily, navigating through the empty station. She was already losing feeling in her extremities. She'd just arrived in Ottery St Catchpole, a small all-wizarding town in the north of England, and she was apparently not dressed appropriately for the weather.
"Not until we've sorted you out," her mother replied icily, and Hermione shivered again.
"I'll be fine, Mum," she protested, but the line was already dead. Hermione stared at her cell phone, feeling irate at the exchange, the weather, and the damned early hour of the day.
It was still dark when Hermione stopped at the foot of the Burrow Inn, gazing at it curiously. It looked as though it had once been a single story, but more floors had been added on here and there, the effect so disjointed that Hermione supposed it was being held together by magic. Despite the gentle yet relentless snowfall, she could see at least three chimneys smoking merrily from the mismatched roof. The sign, reading "Burrow Inn" hung crookedly from beside the old wooden door.
She placed her hand against the red peeling paint of the entryway, annoyed when she had to push her weight against it to get it open. A small bell tinkled as she stepped into the dimly lit space, pausing for a moment to let her eyes adjust. A big unlit fireplace was the centerpiece of the lobby, surrounded by plush red armchairs and couches that at this hour were devoid of people. She felt chilled to her bones as she walked up to the check-in counter. After she rang the bell, she waited impatiently for a few minutes until a plump woman with fiery red hair walked up to the other side of the counter, pulling her dressing gown around her.
"Welcome, welcome," she called, looking sleepy but hurrying to open up a large book. "You're here early," she remarked, although she didn't seem upset by it. She absentmindedly offered Hermione a plate of biscuits as she flipped through the pages. "I'm Molly Weasley; I own this lovely establishment with my family. You might see my husband, Arthur, tinkering around here and there." She looked up and smiled at Hermione, continuing to press the plate of biscuits at her.
"I'm good, thanks," Hermione replied tightly, imagining the nice warm bath she was going to draw as soon as she got to her room. Molly stared at Hermione as though unable to understand her refusal of the proffered baked goods, but she eventually put the plate down and picked up a quill.
"Alright, let's have a look, shall we?" Molly said kindly, pulling on a pair of glasses that hung around her neck by a beaded lanyard. "You must be Ms. Granger?"
"Correct," Hermione affirmed.
"You'll be in our Fire Room," Molly exclaimed, making a check in her book. "How delightful! One of our best rooms. It's up five staircases at the very top, with a splendid view of the town square." She handed Hermione a key attached to a broomstick keychain, and busied herself with pulling together several fliers. "You've picked a wonderful time to visit us, as there are a number of Ottery St Catchpole Christmas events going on this week. A bake fair, ice skating, and-"
"Just the key is fine, thank you," Hermione said politely, looking around her for the staircase. "If you can point me in the right direction?"
"Of course, dear," Molly replied, examining Hermione over the top of her glasses. "At least take these with you, in case you change your mind." Hermione begrudgingly took the fliers from Molly's grasp, eliciting another large grin from the latter. "Stairway is off to the right of the fireplace there. We'll have hot meals ready here in the lobby three times a day during your stay, so please join us for some family style dining!" She waved merrily at Hermione, who turned away and crossed the empty room as quickly as she could manage.
She'd made it up three flights of stairs before literally running into a tall, warm body while rounding the corner of the landing. She lost her grip on the fliers and the key, sent sprawling to land unceremoniously on her backside.
"Sorry, are you alright?" Hermione grunted and eyed the large, callused hand that entered her line of vision.
"Watch where you're going, will you?" She asked grumpily, taking the offered hand and allowing its owner to pull her to her feet.
The man in front of her was tall and broad, his faded orange t-shirt stretched across his chest and exposing the freckles all over his pale arms. His hair, which he wore shorter on the sides and longer on the top, was a bright red, contrasting with the subtle auburn of his full beard and mustache. His eyes were what stunned Hermione the most though; they were piercing blue depths on his chiseled face, framed endearingly by smile lines and seeming to twinkle at her.
"Didn't expect anyone else up and about at this hour," he responded, shrugging and throwing her an endearingly lopsided smile. "Ah, dropped some of your things," he said, looking around her at the scattered papers.
"It's fine," she snapped, spotting the broomstick keychain and swooping to pick it up. "I'll just be off, then." She turned to climb the next set of stairs.
"What about your fliers?" The man was already picking them up. "Molly gave you these, right?"
"It's fine," Hermione repeated dismissively, already halfway up the flight. "I don't need them."
When she arrived on the fifth floor, she unlocked the single door and let herself into a brightly decorated room. Hues of red and orange were splashed on every wall, down to the colored quilt on the moderately sized bed in the corner. She sighed, settling herself into the small, orange armchair and opening up her beaded handbag.
Thanks to some advanced charmwork, she'd been able to pack everything she thought she needed inside the purse. She pulled out her bathroom toiletries and a warm change of clothes, cursing the frigid nature of this town. She needed to go see her Nan's house as soon as she could, but she really wanted that hot bath first.
She dumped her stuff on the small sitting table and stood again to open the door in the corner. She found a cramped bathroom with only a tiny shower, tucked into a space where it really shouldn't have fit to begin with. So much for drawing a bath. She sighed again and turned the shower on as hot as she could, before shimmying out of her clothes. She reached a hand in to check the temperature of the water and almost jumped with shock. It was freezing.
She threw on the terry cloth white robe that was hanging near the sink and crossed her arms, waiting impatiently for the shower to heat up. After several minutes of ice cold results, she cursed in frustration and slammed it off. She stepped out of the bathroom and looked around her bedroom before spying a golden rope hanging from the ceiling in the corner by the door. Beelining for it, she pulled the cord and tapped her foot impatiently while it tinkled merrily.
She heard Molly's voice, sounding slightly muffled but amplified to fill the space of her room. "Thank you for calling the front desk, Ms. Granger; how can I help you?"
"The shower is cold," Hermione said succinctly. "I think the temperature regulating spell on this floor is faulty."
"My apologies, dear," Molly exclaimed. "I'll send someone up in a moment." The magical line must have gone dead, because Hermione couldn't hear the low drum of the background noise anymore. She sat down on the bed, flipping restlessly through the Witch Weekly magazine on the bedside table. She only had to wait a couple of minutes before she heard a knock on her door.
Relieved, she jumped up and threw it open, anxious to get the shower fixed. In the door frame stood the same tall redheaded man she'd unceremoniously run into on the stairs. She felt the blood rushing to her cheeks, suddenly aware that she had nothing on under the soft white robe and just how short it hit on her exposed thighs.
"You again," she squeaked, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Ron," he supplied, smiling at her but not moving from his position.
"Hermione," she nodded her head jerkily. She cleared her throat. "Anyways, it's the, ah, shower," she said awkwardly, stepping backwards into the room. "I can't get the water hot."
"My mum said," he replied, giving her a wide berth as he navigated to the tiny bathroom. "The charm is applied to each shower locally. I'll just check on it; will only take a mo'."
His mum must be Molly, she reflected, as she tried to decide where to wait. She almost perched herself on the bed again, but couldn't decide if that would somehow be suggestive. She settled for sitting in the tiny armchair, folding her legs and arms around herself tightly. She listened to the man- Ron- tinker around in the bathroom for a bit, biting her lip to keep from smiling when she heard a thud and a long stream of colorful expletives. He was so large he had to almost back out of the bathroom space.
"You alright?" She asked him, trying to keep her face straight as the tips of his ears flushed the slightest shade of pink.
"Fine, fine," he shoved his wand in his pocket. "Fixed it, by the way. Warm water is flowing."
"Thank you," she replied, jumping up excitedly. Ron's blue eyes never left her face, which was a credit to him, she considered, as she felt the short hem of the robe brush against her legs again. "Well, I'll just…"
"Right," he started, then moved to the door. "Enjoy," he called, as he exited and shut it quickly behind him.
An hour or so later, and this time dressed much more appropriately for the still falling snow, Hermione stepped out of the Burrow Inn and walked down the main street of the tiny town. She could almost see the charm in it, she thought, now in the sunlight. The street lights were magically decorated with flashing lights and flying reindeer, and all the businesses on the main square seemed to have fully embraced the holiday spirit. There were elves dancing in windows and fairies zooming around dining areas. The streets were littered with Christmas discount signs and all the patrons seemed to know each other, calling amiably across the hustle and bustle of Tuesday morning. One of the hazards of a small town, Hermione supposed, was knowing everyone else and their business.
When she came across an unlit and rundown building, hidden just off the main square behind a statue of Boris the Bewildered, she found herself genuinely surprised at its state of disrepair, inconsistent with the rest of the village. It had a large, vaulted roof and old fashioned columns around its perimeter. The two stone lions who were perched on either side of the front double doors seemed to be napping instead of standing guard. The white paint was faded and the stones were all chipped. She stood at the rusted wrought iron gate, one mittened hand resting on the tops of the stakes as she frowned at the building uneasily. Why had it been so neglected?
She shook off the feeling and continued walking towards her Nan's house, referencing the map Molly had given her before she'd departed. Thinking she could use a boost, she ducked into a crowded bakery, enjoying the warmth that enveloped her and surveying the menu. After waiting in the line for a few minutes, she approached the counter to find a young woman with fire-engine red hair and friendly brown eyes beaming at her from behind it. What was it with this town and redheads? Hermione smiled, mildly amused, before stepping up to address the woman directly.
"A small mocha latte and raspberry scone to go, please," she ordered, digging in her purse for her money bag.
"Haven't seen you around before," the woman replied as she punched the items into the register. "I'm Ginny, and this is my husband Harry." She gestured to the man behind her, who had messy jet black hair and striking green eyes behind round glasses. He wiped his hands on his apron and approached the counter as well.
"Hermione," she replied, smiling back. Their happiness was infectious.
"What brings you to our little bakery?" Harry asked her, sliding an arm around Ginny's waist.
"My Nan lived here," Hermione explained, trying to pass Ginny her money and move the line along. "Eleanore Wilkins."
"Oh, Nory," Ginny cried affectionately, reaching to grab Hermione's hand instead of the money. "We were so sorry to hear about her."
"I- ah- thank you," Hermione replied, caught off guard by Ginny's genuine nature. "We'll definitely miss her."
"She was a wonderful woman," Harry added, nodding somberly. "Used to come in here every day for, what was it, honey?"
"Your scones," Ginny smiled up at him, and he kissed her nose. "Raspberry actually," she continued, looking back at Hermione with a knowing smile.
"Really?" Hermione asked. She'd honestly had no idea what kind of scones her Nan had preferred, but it warmed her to learn they were the same as her own favorite.
Ginny nodded sincerely, then waved away Hermione's hand, still gripping a handful of sickles. "First order on the house, for relatives of sweet Nory."
"Thank you, again," Hermione sputtered, rather at a loss for words. She took the receipt and stepped to the side to wait, watching with interest as Ginny and Harry continued to interact personably with every patron who walked in.
When Harry handed her her bag and to go cup, Hermione thanked him profusely before blurting out, "I saw an old run down building." Harry stopped and looked at her, cocking his head to the side a bit. Hermione felt her face growing hot. She had no idea what had made her say it. "A block or two from here," she continued, lamely. "I was just curious…"
"That used to be the library," Harry told her, somber. "The owner went bankrupt and left town. Building's been abandoned ever since."
"How dreadful," Hermione replied, feeling remorseful. "I'm sorry I asked.
"I'm sure someone will find a good way to use it," Harry said encouragingly, before grinning again. "Enjoy the scone! Hope we see you soon."
Hermione waved and exited the bakery, sipping on the hot latte while she walked the last couple of streets to her Nan's old home. It wasn't until she was standing directly in front of the house that things began to look vaguely familiar. She opened the old wooden gate and walked up the worn stone path, seeing that the windows and doors were boarded up. Her Nan had actually passed away a couple of months prior, but Hermione's mum paid for someone to manage the estate sale and weatherproof the house until such a time that they could "deal with the property."
Hermione cast a spell to pry the front door open, coughing at the cloud of dust that kicked up. She stepped into the entryway and waved her wand again to illuminate the ground floor. From what she could see, the house was quaint and very run down. She doubted her Nan had been able to spend much time maintaining it towards the end, and the wear and tear of normal living was apparent. Hermione walked slowly from room to room, eating the scone (which was jaw droppingly fantastic) and trying to remember anything about the space from the time she'd spent here as a child.
There was the fireplace where Nan had read to her on Christmas Eve. It was stone, and looked so cold now, so different from her memories of it blazing merrily. Here was the floorboard where she'd carved her initials, hidden behind her Nans' couch. There was the corner where the Christmas tree had usually stood. This was the kitchen where they'd bake cookies. Her Nan had a stool and an apron just for Hermione, and they'd always ended up coated in flour.
She paused in the kitchen, running her hand over the grooved and chipped counter tops. This kitchen was sentimental, but had no market value. She probably needed to gut it and renovate. She drank the last of her coffee, and feeling her stomach rumble, she decided to make her way back to the Burrow.
When she arrived, Molly handed her a plate of home made food for lunch and tried to usher to sit in the lobby with the other guests, but Hermione politely declined.
"Would it be alright if I just ate this upstairs?" She asked, accepting the plate.
"Of course, dear," Molly replied. "Just leave the plate in the hall when you're done."
"Thank you," she turned to leave, before having an idea and looking back at the innkeeper. "Molly," she asked, hesitantly. "I think I'm going to need to do some renovating and construction on an old property while I'm here. Do you have any recommendations for someone who can help me?"
Molly's round face lit up excitedly, and she patted Hermione on the arm affectionately. "Yes, dear. I know just the wizard to help." She smiled mischievously, "but you will have to eat in the lobby after all."
"Why's that?" Hermione asked.
"He's sitting right over there," Molly pointed behind Hermione, who turned to see Ron sitting alone at a booth in the corner. He was looking out the window, the light playing across his features favorably.
Hermione sighed, then thanked Molly. She took a deep breath and walked authoritatively towards Ron, before she lost her nerve. "Mind if I join you?" She asked him, sliding into the corner booth.
"Suppose you already have," he replied, smirking and taking a bite off his fork.
"I've just discovered I have a lot to do while I'm in town," she rambled, extracting a neatly written list from her bag.
"Did you?" Ron asked mildly as he picked at his plate with his fork again.
"Yes," she murmured, looking through her list again. "And I was wondering, well…"
Hermione was surprised when she looked back up to Ron and found him watching her attentively. "Did you want something?" He asked her, a small smile on his full lips.
"Ah, yes," she sputtered, licking her own lips and flicking her gaze back up to his eyes.
"And?" He asked her after a pause, looking amused.
"Right," she exclaimed, offering him the to-do list. He took it curiously, and examined it while she continued talking. "I need to do some work on my Nan's house, and I would like to hire a contractor to help. I asked Molly for a recommendation, and she said you're the best around. Might be nepotism, but..." she shrugged good naturedly, and he graced her with a lopsided smile that was equal parts fleeting and disarming.
"What's this then?" He asked her, holding up the list.
"All the things I could see when I was there this morning," she explained. "To give us a head start."
"Why do you ask an expert's help if you're going to try to do his job for him?" Ron asked her, eyes twinkling.
"So you'll do it?" Hermione asked him excitedly. "You'll help me?" He took another big bite of lunch, taking his time to chew while she bounced in her seat, watching him impatiently. "Oh come on," she exclaimed as he took a long drink from his glass.
He chuckled, turning his head to look at her. "Alight," he handed the list back. "I'll do it."
"Great," she said, relieved, and tucked into her lunch with newfound vigor. "Can we go today?"
"Why are you in such a rush to leave us?" He asked, polishing off his own plate and leaning back in the booth.
"Not a rush, so much," she muttered, avoiding his gaze.
He studied her for a few minutes, before announcing, "I can't today, anyways. Prior commitment, you know. But how about we get started first thing in the morning?"
"Alright," she agreed, disappointed that she had to wait. "Meet me here at seven?"
"It's a date," he told her, winking and standing up with his dishes. He sauntered away, whistling merrily.