A/N: Anyone else feeling festive yet? Thanks for reading!
Hermione
Nine days before Christmas
Bright and early the next morning, Hermione found herself standing at the bottom of the stairs of the Burrow Inn, peering around the corner into the mostly empty lobby space. The day was young enough that it wasn't overly crowded yet, although there was still a gentle murmur from the fellow early birds. She spotted Ron easily enough, slouched on a couch near the now unlit fireplace, dressed in a red and blue flannel and well worn jeans. He was reading the newspaper, looking adorably sleepy eyed as he sipped on a steaming mug. Wait- adorable? She gave herself a mental shake. Where did that come from?
"Ready?" Hermione asked him, seating herself on the plush red couch opposite. Ron glanced at her over the top of The Prophet, grunting and taking another drink of his coffee. "Not a morning person, huh?" She asked brightly.
"Surprised you are," he muttered, turning the page of the newspaper.
"Not always," she smiled. "But I'm ready to begin tackling this list."
"Right, your to-do list." He said mildly, flipping another page.
"Yes," she responded, determined to get going, despite the grumpy start. "Er, how much longer-" She was interrupted by Molly, who whisked over with a drink cart, offering beverages and breakfast scones.
"Enjoying your stay, dear?" She asked Hermione, pouring the tea.
"Definitely," Hermione replied.
"Happy to hear it," Molly said, wrapping up a scone and handing it to her. She turned to Ron, and snatching his newspaper, swatted him over the head with it. "What have I told you about being polite to the guests, Ronald?"
"Stop it, Mum, alright!" He rubbed a large hand over his head, fixing the hair his mother ruffled.
"Sit up straighter," she chastised, handing him back his newspaper before pushing the cart away. She glanced back and smiled at Hermione, before bustling over to other guests.
When Hermione looked back at him, Ron was gazing at her attentively, resting his forearms on his knees. "So I realized," he began, "that we never discussed rates."
"Oh, that doesn't matter," she waved her hand dismissively. "Just send me the bills and I'll pay them. Or, technically, my parents will."
He raised an eyebrow. "Impressive."
"C'mon," she smiled, waving the list again. "We have a lot to do."
"I suppose with such impressively deep pockets, I can hardly decline," he agreed. "Mum has some to go cups by the front desk."
She beamed, bouncing on her toes excitedly. They transferred their drinks and waved goodbye to Molly, exiting the Burrow Inn onto the main street.
"Wow," Hermione remarked, taking in the decorations that had gone up overnight.
"Yeah, we really like Christmas around here," Ron replied, eyeing the blue pixies zooming around the magically enlarged poinsettias lining the road. "And we're in the ten day countdown."
"What other kinds of stuff do you do?" She asked, admiring at the opalescent sheen of the baubles floating merrily.
"More decorations," Ron answered gruffly, putting a hand in one pocket and falling into stride beside her. "Some events. The biggest one is the tree lighting on Christmas Eve."
"Sounds magical," Hermione smiled. "My home town is nothing like this."
"Really?" Ron asked.
"My parents are in Aruba right now," she admitted to him. "They were never very… well, Christmassy."
"Why not?" She snuck a sideways glance at him, feeling a pleasant warmth to see his eyes trained on her.
"They're..." she struggled to find the best words. "They're extremely practical. And strict." She mulled in silence for a few minutes, glad that Ron was giving her time to consider. She glanced at him again and he nodded encouragingly. "They're both muggles, so it's hard to describe their jobs exactly, but they've always worked long hours and prioritized their careers."
"Was that hard for you?" He asked.
"It wasn't so bad when I started at boarding school," she admitted. "I'm not saying my life was difficult, don't get me wrong. My parents have just always pushed me to be the best, the absolute best, at anything I did. They wanted me to have a good job, to work as much as they did, to take pride in my career, and be at the top of my field."
"Those are high expectations," he mused as they continued to walk down the main street. The small town was slowly waking up, and all the owners opening up their shops waved at Ron happily, calling out salutations.
"That actually wasn't the worst part," Hermione answered, kicking at a small pile of snow.
"No?" He asked her, his voice surprisingly gentle.
She looked at him again, catching his eye as she replied. "No. The worst part was when I succeeded at those things." Ron mulled on this, nodding absentmindedly at a timid looking man who was opening up a flower shop. "You seem to know a lot of people," Hermione remarked, hoping to change the subject.
"My family has lived here a long time," he replied.
"You and your parents?" She asked him.
"I have a decent number of siblings," he gave her a small smile before turning down a side road. Hermione stopped walking.
"Wait, where are you going?" She called at him.
"Your Nan's house," he returned over his shoulder. She stared at his back, exasperated.
"How do you know where that is?" She took off at a jog to catch up with his retreating form.
"You're Nory's granddaughter, right?" He smiled at the incredulous look on her face and shrugged. "Word travels fast around here."
"But what about the list?" She asked him. "Shouldn't we go to the hardware store first?"
"You should probably let your contractor take a look at the property before you start spending money on a solution," he shot an amused glance at her, and she felt her face warm.
"I know enough of the basics," she defended. "I'm confident I'm not totally wrong."
"You are certainly confident," he finished off his to-go mug and dumped it in a trash bin before starting up the walkway to her Nan's house. She was shocked to see they'd arrived already. "And it's probably safe to say that you're rarely wrong."
Hermione gaped at him indignantly as he waved his wand to unlock the house and let himself in. "What is happening right now?"
"We're inspecting the property," he told her, disappearing through the door. She huffed and jogged up the walkway, muttering under her breath about bullheaded contractors. She closed the door behind her, following the sounds of Ron's footsteps into the den.
"You can't just break into people's houses," she told him sternly, watching as he stooped down to inspect the fireplace mantle.
"Needs new floors," he said as an answer. "Definitely paint. But so far, I only see cosmetic issues." He climbed up the stairs quickly. "I'll meet you in the kitchen," his muffled voice floated back down.
Hermione stood in the den, equal parts shocked and intrigued by this redhaired, strong willed man. She spun on her heel and marched into the kitchen, digging into her jacket pocket to pull out her wand. She waved it to cast a light, then waved it again to remove the light layer of dust that had previously coated every surface, before flushing at her own foolishness. What did she care if he saw this house in disarray? That was the whole reason he was here, right?
"New light fixtures of course," the voice came from behind her, and she turned around to glare at Ron, who was leaning in the doorframe. "Updated trim as well, and if you want to sell it for more, we should consider expanding the master closet. But overall, no red flags as far as I can see. Well," he frowned, and looked around the kitchen. "At least until now."
She peered around the space, sighing. "Yeah, I figured. I need to redo all of it, right?"
"I would," he nodded. "Counters, cabinets, appliances, the works. And…" he trailed off, looking at the ceiling.
"What?" She followed his gaze, alarmed.
He lit his wand tip and held it up, squinting at the faded wallpaper in the corner of the room. "That could be water damage," he said faintly, taking a few steps towards it.
"What?" She repeated, this time more concerned.
"We won't know for sure until I can open it up. What room is directly above here?" He asked, turning to look at her.
"The bathroom," she said, feeling her heart sink. "Damn."
"Don't stress yet, let's wait and see," he answered, deluminating his wand. He moved again to stand on the other side of the peninsula counter from her. She ran her fingers over the grooves in it absentmindedly, biting her lip.
"This looks well loved," he interrupted her thoughts, touching the nicks on the counter close to her hand. She was surprised his large callused hands could move so gently.
"It was," she smiled, dragging her gaze away from the closeness of their fingers and up to his blue eyes. "I used to bake here with my Nan at Christmas. She called it the Evergreen Cottage."
"Really?" He asked her, looking surprised. "I grew up here, and I don't remember ever seeing you around."
"Maybe you just didn't notice me," she teased.
"I'm pretty sure I'd remember you," he answered, ears flushing the slightest pink. He withdrew his hand from the counter and cleared his throat. "Baking, huh?"
"Yeah," she nodded. "I'm afraid the lessons didn't stick though, since I'm not any good now."
"I'm decent," he admitted, surprising her. "It's in my blood, although I'm not nearly as talented as the rest of my family. You've had my mum and sister's scones, so you understand."
She blinked at him in surprise, taking a moment to process the information. "Your sister is… Ginny?"
His ears tinged pink again and he smiled down at her sheepishly, albeit quite endearingly. "Erm, yeah, Ginny is my sister."
"That's how you knew who my Nan was!" She exclaimed, snickering. "Small town gossip, my arse, look no further than your immediate relatives."
He laughed with her, and she found that she enjoyed the sound. "So what's next?" Hermione asked. "You've seen the property, can we go to the hardware store now?"
"I've done a quick walkthrough," Ron shook his head. "I'd like to give a more thorough inspection before we order supplies. Since you're so fond of lists, would you like to accompany me and help document?" He turned towards the door, offering his arm.
"I'd be delighted," she smiled, slipping her arm into his.
"Excellent," he flashed her his lopsided smile. "Let's start upstairs and work our way down."
Several hours and one takeout lunch later, Ron and Hermione sat on the floor of the rundown kitchen, digging through their fast food Chinese boxes and going over the updated to-do list.
"We decided on white trim for the ground floor," Hermone said, using her wand to add a check mark to the list.
"And natural pine for the bedrooms," Ron agreed, shoving a huge bite into his mouth and causing Hermione to snort with laughter.
"Well, this is a much more thorough list than I had this morning," she admitted, reading over it again. "I'm excited to get started."
"I can place an order for the supplies with my contacts this afternoon," Ron told her, putting down the now empty box and rubbing his stomach contentedly. "They'll deliver late tomorrow, so we can get started first thing in the morning the following day."
"Not now?" She asked, disappointed. He shook his head.
"Nah, no point. This is a big order, and it'll take some time to pull together." Hermione slumped back against the fridge, frowning. Ron chuckled.
"I have to wait two days?" She complained.
"Tell you what," he replied, tossing her a fortune cookie. "Let's have some fun tomorrow. The town is holding our annual Christmas bake fair in the afternoon."
"That does sound fun," Hermione said absently, cracking open her cookie. "But I should probably do research tomorrow, you know, to prep for all this work."
"No, don't be like that," Ron coaxed, leaning back against a cabinet and placing an arm behind his head. "Ginny and Harry will be there. You like them, right?"
"I do," she answered, telling herself not to stare at his bicep. Out of desperation to look anywhere else, she focused on the small paper in her hand. You will take a chance on something in the near future.
"Come with me," his voice sounded deeper as it washed over her. She looked up at him again, the large but gentle man sitting on the floor of her Nan's old kitchen, smiling at her.
"Alright," she agreed, feeling the now familiar flutter in her chest as he shot her that patented lopsided smile.
Hermione
Eight days before Christmas
What would her mum say if she could see her now? Hermione stared at her reflection in the mirror of the tiny red and orange room she was renting. Here she was, unemployed and worrying about what she was going to wear to a bake fair with the locals. Yet, Hermione couldn't seem to fully suppress the gentle flutter of her stomach or the excited nervousness manifesting as a small smile on her lips. The locals were a much needed breath of fresh air. She felt so flattered that they'd accepted her, and despite feeling undeserving of the honor, couldn't wait to spend more time with them.
She'd spent the morning reading up on magical home renovation techniques, despite what she told Ron. That was why she was here after all, and she always attacked every challenge she faced. It was almost time to meet Ron for lunch, which they'd agreed to before they went to the bake fair. Why did that make her want to over analyze what she was wearing? She bit her lip, trying to fight the smile again.
Hermione went downstairs, happy to see that Ron was already sitting at a table. "Hey," she said, taking the seat across from him.
"Hi," he smiled. "Ready for your introduction to small town Christmas fairs?"
"Ready as I'll ever be," she answered. "I did find an article about wizarding village traditions and-"
"Blimey," he laughed gently. "I didn't expect you'd actually research."
"I just like to be prepared," she responded, flushing.
"I see that," Ron said, bemused. "I like that about you actually. For today, though, I think that you should just let me show you around."
"I could try," Hermione replied, frowning doubtfully.
"You won't regret it," he promised her, looking so sincere that she soon found herself smiling again.
Molly came by with plates of shepard's pie and goblets of eggnog, greeting all the guests with equal enthusiasm. Hermione raised her eyebrow as they cheersed, watching all the patrons partake in the beverage so early in the day. "Is this alcoholic?" She asked, smelling the contents of her goblet.
"First tradition," Ron grinned. "Day drinking. And since you've agreed to let me show you the authentic experience…" He held out his glass expectantly and she shrugged, tapping her goblet to his and taking a swig of eggnog.
"Don't forget we're closed for dinner tonight, dear," Molly told her about twenty minutes later, as she and Ron stood by the front door of the inn. "So Arthur and I can enjoy the festival ourselves."
"She's not likely to forget, is she, mum?" Ron asked her, rolling his eyes. "She'll be out with me and Ginny."
"Do you have a jumper?" Molly asked her, ignoring her son's jibe.
Hermione looked doubtfully down at her outfit. "Er, no, I thought this would be warm enough."
"No, that won't do," Molly tsked, disappearing into another room behind the check-in counter. She emerged quickly with something knitted and maroon, handing it to Hermione. "I always keep some spares back here for guests. It gets very cold after the sun sets," she added sternly.
"Ok, mum, I think we're ready," Ron said gently, wrapping his arm around Hermione and turning her towards the door. "That's enough of your doting." He led Hermione firmly outside, keeping his arm around her a fraction of a second longer than he needed to before they began walking down the street towards the fair.
"Is this an R?" Hermione asked, having unfolded the jumper and held it up in front of her. "For Ron?"
"Yeah," Ron nodded, pulling a beanie hat onto his head and down over his ears.
"Why does she have your jumper?" Hermione asked, folding it back up and tucking it into her small beaded bag. "Surely she doesn't still do your laundry?" She smiled at him teasingly.
"Nah," Ron nudged her with his shoulder. "She makes one for all of us every year for Christmas. There are dozens of maroon jumpers with R's on them floating around this town by now."
"Does she live at the inn?" Hermione asked interestedly.
"Yup, always have. I grew up there, in fact," Ron said.
"You grew up in the Burrow Inn?" Hermione repeated, slightly surprised.
"Yeah, I mentioned siblings right? Well six of us meant a nice six bedroom inn as a retirement plan for my parents." Hermione loved the way he smiled when he talked about his family. "It keeps them busy and makes a decent living."
"Which room was yours?" Hermione asked, fascinated.
"Er, actually the one you're staying in," he answered, tucking a hand into his pocket.
"Oh- OH," she responded, feeling her face heat. "What about now?" She asked, trying to refocus the conversation.
"I have my own flat," he answered. "Only a few blocks away. But I like to spend time at the Burrow, especially around the holidays, to help out my parents."
"I guess everything around here is only a few blocks away," Hermione mused.
"You're catching on," he smiled. By then they'd arrived in front of Ginny and Harry's bakery. Ron pushed open the door, ignoring the tiny squeak of 'sorry, but we're closed today' from the elf sculpture on the frame.
"Oh good, you're here," Ginny greeted them as she promptly shoved boxes into Ron's arms. She had flour on her apron and cheek, and her red hair was held in its knot on the top of her head with her wand. "Help us carry stuff, will you?" She gestured to the stack of containers and plywood near the door. "We need to get going if we want to get the booth set up in time. Hi Hermione, so good to see you again." She smiled distractedly and gave her a quick hug.
"Happy to help," Hermione replied, returning her embrace.
"No hugs for brothers, huh?" Ron teased. "Just for people you've met once?"
"I already like her more," Ginny called over her shoulder as she jogged behind the counter. She disappeared into the stock room, yelling for Harry.
Hermione turned to inspect the pile, picking up a box experimentally. "They've been charmed to be lighter," she appraised, feeling how deceptively little the container weighed.
"S'pose so," Ron said, watching her over the top of the box he was still holding. "We only need to go a couple of blocks, so she usually levitates most of them to get there."
Hermione opened up her beaded bag, peered into it, then held it out to Ron. "Here, I have some room." He raised his eyebrow, but she smirked and gestured for him to get on with it. The two of them maneuvered the container into the beaded bag, which despite appearing to be significantly too small, accepted its new load readily. Ron whistled, then stared at her with wide eyes.
"Did you…" The voice came from behind her, and she spun around to see Harry and Ginny at the counter, looking flabbergasted.
"What?" She asked nervously. "It's just an Undetectable Extension charm."
"We know," Ginny said, slackjawed. "That's extremely difficult magic."
"It's very impressive," Harry croaked. "Did you do that yourself?"
"Er, yeah," Hermione wrung her hands, worried that she'd done something to ruin the rest of the day. "Before I came here. I thought it would help with all the work I might need to do at Nan's."
They looked at each other for a few more moments, before she heard Ron's voice from behind her.
"So you're also brilliant?" She looked over at Ron, who was positively beaming at her. "Now I know we should keep you around. C'mon, let's get the rest."
She felt a surge of gratitude towards him, and they began to pack the boxes into her beaded bag. Ginny and Harry helped, and soon they were walking out of the store front and towards the main square.
"Sorry about before," Harry told her as they walked. "The bake fair is fun, but a little stressful for Gin and I. Your bag is absolutely amazing, and you are such a good friend to help us."
"Thanks Harry," Hermione smiled at him. "I appreciate you letting me join you! I'm looking forward to seeing more of Ottery St Catchpole's traditions."
"Oh you wait," Ginny looped her arm through Hermione's, walking next to her happily. "They don't call it the most wonderful time of the year for nothing."
A couple hours later, Ginny and Harry's booth successfully set up, Hermione found herself wandering the bake fair with Ron. They drank spiked hot chocolate and tried increasingly outrageous confections, stopping in all the booths. Ron knew everyone, and seemed to be well liked, Hermione thought. She laughed harder than any time in her recent memory when he braved some Red Hot Snowflakes and steam poured out of his ears. She met another of Ron's siblings, his brother Bill, who was walking around with his wife and two small children. They explored the pocket of pine trees that had been magically conjured in the middle of the square, and decorated to look exactly like Narnia. She squealed with excitement and explained all the details of the book to Ron as they walked through the tiny forest, and he followed along with her enthusiastically, eyes twinkling.
Later that evening, when the sky opened up to a gentle dusting of large snowflakes, Hermione found that she didn't mind them as much as she had a couple days ago. She felt metaphorically high on the activities of the day, and literally a little tipsy as firewhiskey warmed her pleasantly from the inside. She smiled blissfully over at Ron, who was sitting on a bench beside her and laughing at his nephew's antics. His face was pleasantly pink from the cold and drinks, and snowflakes settled artistically onto his hat and shoulders, completing the idyllic picture.
"Thank you for bringing me today, Ron," she told him. "This was absolutely perfect."
"It was fun, wasn't it?" He stretched his arm behind her on the back of the bench, beaming. "I love this time of year."
"It's pretty hard to resist, when it's like this," she agreed. "And I'm glad your mum made me pack this jumper after all."
She thought his eyes seemed to darken a bit as he cleared his throat and told her huskily, "me too. You look good in it." She flushed, feeling drawn to his crystal blue eyes as though they were whirlpools.
A snowball smacked the side of his face unexpectedly, covering both of them in snow.
"Wha-?" Ron sputtered, looking around wildly. Bill was roaring with laughter, helping his children make more snowballs. "Oh, it's on," Ron grinned, jumping out of his seat to retaliate. "C'mon." He grabbed Hermione's mittened hand in his own and pulled her to crouch behind the bench, gracing her with his full crooked grin. (Third time today, but who's counting?) "How's your aim?"
For the briefest of moments, Hermione hesitated, unbidden images of her mother's reaction to the situation pushed to the front of her mind. She could hear the lectures about being unfocused, her appalling behaviour in public, her unprofessionalism. She bit her lip, catching Ron's expectant gaze, corners of his mouth tugged up as he waited for her answer.
"Abysmal," she answered him, breaking into a smile. "I'll make them, you throw."