A/N: Only one more chapter after this! Thanks for reading, let me know what you think.
Hermione
Five days before Christmas
Hermione used the back of her hand to wipe away the sweat dripping down her brow, feeling a few curls, escaped from the pile on top of her head, brushing her shoulders and neck loosely. She gazed up at Ron, who was standing on a ladder investigating the large hole in the wall they'd made to assess the extent of the water damage in her Nan's kitchen.
They'd spent the last couple of days doing demolition on the house, and although aided by magic, which sped up the process significantly, the work was still quite physical. The spells had to be cast precisely, otherwise they risked causing damage where they didn't want it. They'd been crawling all over the house, stripping wallpaper, pulling up carpet, knocking down cabinets, the works. This morning, Hermione had started upstairs with the painting and reflooring spells Ron taught her, and she was covered in both the white dust of plaster, which stuck to her in sweaty clumps, and splatters of the neutral grey paint color they'd chosen for the walls.
"Well?" She asked impatiently, and Ron huffed his answer. He leaned further into the hole, muttering several spells that Hermione didn't recognize. She tried to ignore how good his bum looked in those jeans, placing her hands on her hips and sighing loudly. After several long moments, he swung around and perched himself on the top of the ladder, looking down at her.
"It's not great," he said, wincing. "Looks like there'd been a slow leak in here for a while. We need to do some major structural rework behind this wall."
Hermione gaped, processing the information. "No, that can't be right."
"It's right," he climbed down and came over to stand by the counter with her.
"What does it mean?" She sputtered.
"Some more money." He pushed his red hair, which was clinging to his freckled forehead, out of his eyes. "A few more days."
"How long til I can sell?" Hermione asked, exasperated. "This is already taking more time than I hoped."
Ron examined her, tilting his head to the side. "Let's get some lunch." He summoned their jackets from the rack by the door and tossed one to her. "I think we need a break."
"We have been at this for awhile," she mumbled, pulling the coat on and avoiding his eyes.
They locked the house and walked a few blocks over to a small restaurant of Ron's recommendation. Hermione sat down tiredly in a chair, pulling off her scarf. The server came by for their drink orders, and they sat quietly for several minutes, examining their menus.
"Why are you trying to move so quickly?" Ron broke the ice, although he kept his gaze down on the menu.
"I came here as a favor to my parents," she replied absently. "Mum wants me to offload the property as quickly as possible so I can meet them for Christmas."
"Offload?" Something in his tone made her look up at him, catching his hurt expression. The server came by again, prolonging the awkwardness. After delivering their drinks and taking the food order, he cleared the menus, leaving the pair in an uncomfortable silence.
"Look, I'm sorry," Hermione said, reaching across the table and resting her hand gently on his. "I didn't mean to sound so… self-centered."
"What did you mean, then?" He asked, his eyes searching her face.
"Just repeating my mum's words; she always hated it here." Hermione removed her hand from Ron's and pushed her hair behind her ear, flustered. "I feel like I'm not explaining very well."
"From the top then," Ron encouraged. When she paused, unsure of how to start, he questioned her gently. "You said you used to visit your Nan at Christmas time, but I grew up here and I really don't remember you."
"Nan moved shortly before I was born, I think," Hermione explained. "I have vague memories of coming here and seeing her when I was little, but we stopped visiting pretty early on. Around the time I started boarding school, actually."
"Why?" Ron inquired, scratching at his neck.
"Like I said, my mum hated coming here," Hermione shrugged apologetically. "She thinks it's small and slow, and my parents started working through the Christmas holidays instead."
"That explains why I don't remember you," Ron mused. "If you stopped coming that many years ago."
Hermione nodded. "So Mum wants me to sell the property quickly and go meet her and Dad." The server arrived with their food, and Hermione dug into her burger enthusiastically.
"Seeing your parents for the holidays," Ron continued, pounding the bottom of the ketchup bottle. "That's nice, right?"
"It is. Kinda. I guess." She sighed. "Honestly, I don't really want to go," Hermione admitted, picking at her plate with less fervor. "Is that terrible?"
"Depends," he answered delicately. "What is it that you're avoiding?"
"So, don't judge me." Hermione took a nervous sip of her drink and met the blue wells of Ron's eyes. "There's- erm- something I haven't mentioned yet."
"Scout's honor," he smiled.
"Ok… well," she said glumly, feeling as though the perfect distraction that had been this small town was collapsing in around her. "This time one week ago, I was… employed. One of the most promising young lawyers at the Ministry of Magic, in fact."
"And now?" His fork paused halfway to his mouth, Ron watched her expectantly.
She blew out a deep breath. "I quit," she dropped her own fork on her plate with a clatter and leaned back in her chair. Unburdening herself of this great secret made her lighter, because she didn't have to lie anymore, but also worried, because now Ron would know she was a failure. She met his gaze, and he gave her a small smile, waiting in silence. "My entire life, I've done everything my parents ever wanted me to do. I graduated top of my class, got a great job, worked long, hard hours, and prioritized my career over everything else. I became the best. My parents," she bit her lip. "They were so proud of me. And I-" Her voice broke and she trailed off. She picked up her fork again and twirled it in her food absently, waiting in bated silence.
She felt his hand rest gently on hers, stilling her anxious motion. "What happened?" He probed softly. "What made you leave your job?"
"I just hated it," she glanced at him and he squeezed her hand encouragingly. "Although it took me awhile to realize that's how I felt. It was this great, big goal." She waved vaguely. "I spent my entire life trying to achieve it, and when I finally got there… I didn't enjoy it. Not any one particular thing. I kept thinking, once I get that promotion things will be better. Once I win that case, things will be better." Hermione shook her head. "But I got the promotions, and I won the cases, and things never got better. If anything, I hated it more. I think I've been in denial about it for a very long time."
"I'm so sorry, Hermione," Ron told her, his thumb moving along her hand slowly.
"About a week ago, I guess I'd had enough. It's the most impulsive I've ever been," Hermione laughed wryly. "I walked into my boss's office, told her thank you for the opportunity but I was pursuing other ventures, and I walked out. I spent three blissful days alone in my condo in London… and then Mum called."
"Did she know?" Ron asked, removing his hand and picking up his utilsels again.
"No, but I told her," Hermione sighed, following his suit and taking a bite. "She was quite angry. Says I'm a disappointment, and I'm to tie up loose ends here 'since I have the free time,' and then go meet her so she can sort me out. It has nothing to do with being together for Christmas."
"I haven't known you all that long," Ron grinned. "But you don't seem like the type who needs help sorting out her own life."
"She's always been like this, and it's hard for me to push back." Hermione unconsciously drummed her fingers on the table. "I'm unemployed, sure, but I have a decent amount of savings. I spent so much time working, I hardly knew how to spend my money. Eventually, I know I'll need a job and probably a new place to live with a much cheaper mortgage. But, somehow, I don't know… I feel free. Lighter." She smiled. "I'm dreading seeing my parents, don't get me wrong, but at the same time, I feel like something heavy has been lifted off of me."
"We've established already that you're brilliant," he told her seriously. "But if you're half as hard working and determined as I think you are, you're going to figure it out, Hermione."
Hermione paused, taken aback by the sincerity of his compliment. "Thanks," she replied, blinking her eyes rapidly to fight their mistiness.
"No problem," Ron said, and Hermione again found herself quite unable to break their intense eye contact. "Erm," he cleared his throat and checked his watch. "Are you done? We need to get back to your Nan's."
"Yeah, of course," she said, feeling her cheeks heat up. They paid the bill then stood to leave. As soon as they stepped out the door, they ran into two pale faced, bleach blonde men. Clearly father and son, they shared a likeness down to their identical and unpleasant scowls.
The older man sneered at her, while the younger one spoke in a nasally drawl. "Watch where you're going, Weasley."
Ron sucked in a deep breath, and Hermione eyed him curiously. He was immediately on edge, which was very unlike his usual, easy going demeanor.
"Malfoy," Ron responded tersely, placing his hand gently on the small of Hermione's back to navigate around the two men.
"Aren't you going to introduce us to your friend?" The older gentlemen's voice was lower, and he raised an eyebrow delicately at them.
"Hermione Granger," she spoke for herself. "You may have known my Nan, Eleanore Wilkins?"
"Ah, you're the granddaughter I keep hearing about," the younger man said curtly. "I'm Draco, and this is my father Lucius."
"Pleasure," Hermione responded, feigning politeness.
"We better get going," Ron interjected, and Hermione let him steer her a few more steps away from the Malfoys.
Once they were out of view, Hermione raised her eyebrows questioningly at him. "Who were they? I've not met anyone as unpleasant since I arrived."
"The Malfoys," Ron answered, sounding disgusted. "They're loaded with money, easily the richest family in town, but everyone knows they accumulated their wealth the dodgy way."
"What way is that?" She asked, feeling the noticeable loss of his hand on her back.
"Dunno for sure. The rumor is that they sell dark magical objects," Ron replied cynically.
She shuddered. "That's repulsive."
"It is," he assured her. "They live in this huge manor on the outskirts of town, but there's a constant stream of sketchy folk calling there."
"Here?" Hermione asked, surprised. "Ottery St Catchpole seems so perfect."
"It's far enough away that it doesn't affect us day to day, but they're definitely the pain point of our village. Swaggering around here, all elitist." He shuffled his feet, both hands in his pockets. "I wish they'd bugger off already."
Hermione hated the jaded look on Ron's face, when she'd grown so accustomed to his friendly gaiety. She cast around for something to cheer him up. "Let's go in here," Hermione announced, turning to a flower shop. "It'll cheer you up."
"Is that right?" Ron asked, the faintest smile on his lips.
"Yes," she nodded firmly, opening the door for him. "Flowers make everyone happy." She followed him into the shop, breathing in deeply. "And you can't compete with the smell of a florist," she added. "Oh this shop is lovely."
"You have good taste," Ron smiled. "Neville is the best around."
"Of course you know the owner," she said, rolling her eyes in jest.
"Ron and I go way back." Hermione turned around to see the slightly awkward looking man she'd noticed a few mornings ago. He smiled at her. "I'm Neville."
"Hermione," she introduced herself. "Nice to meet you."
"You're Nory's granddaughter, right?" Neville asked her as they shook hands.
"This town really is small," she laughed.
"Yeah, but it's loving," Neville smiled again. "What can I help you with?"
"We're looking for something that we can grow in east facing windows," Ron answered, surprising Hermione. She looked at him questioningly. "I thought they'd look nice in your Nan's front parlor."
She was touched at his thoughtfulness. "That's a great idea."
"And before you get carried away," Ron told Neville, who'd begun walking enthusiastically into the far corner of the store. "I don't know about Hermione here, but my thumb is not as green as yours Neville, so keep it simple." Neville flushed good naturedly, and changed course.
"He can grow anything," Ron stage whispered in Hermione's ear. His breath against her neck made her shiver pleasantly.
"How about this?" Neville offered them a circular terra cotta pot, overfilling with vibrantly colored plants. "Specially curated," he explained. "This one whistles a bit when you tickle it." He ran a finger lovingly down the spine of a leaf which let out a quiet noise almost like a bird call.
"How sweet," Hermione cooed.
"And this one, you can trim the leaves and use them as garnish on meals," Neville said enthusiastically. As he continued to explain all the various plants to Hermione, she caught Ron's eye in the background. He was watching their exchange with a gentle smile on his face, and she was pleased to see his demeanor returned to normal.
"What were you thinking about?" She asked him a few minutes later, after they'd settled the bill with Neville. They were walking back to her Nan's house, levitating the planter in front of them. "Back there, in the shop?"
"How well you seem to fit in here," he glanced at her, almost shy.
"Don't get used to it," she teased, nudging him with her shoulder. "I'll be leaving as soon as you can get rid of me."
"Yeah," he frowned and looked down at his feet, his mood altogether more serious than she'd anticipated.
Hermione was immediately sorry she'd said it, but distracted almost as quickly by the sight in front of her. "Oooh, I know that statue." She turned down the road by Boris the Bewildered, Ron following curiously on her heels. They stood by the wrought iron gate looking at what she now knew was the dilapidated library.
"It's quite sad," she mused. "I loved the library when I was a kid."
"Yeah, we did too actually," Ron replied, his eyes running over the worn down building. "What?" He asked her, catching her amused smile.
"You just don't really seem like the reading type," she laughed.
He shook his head and chuckled as well. "You'd be right about that, I'm not, not really. But it was inexpensive and great for building a sense of community. My parents would bring us here on family outings. I remember many epic games of hide and seek in those halls."
"I'm sure you were a handful," Hermione speculated, imagining a clan of redheads tearing through the shelves.
"We definitely were," he smiled at the memory. "It is sad to see the library like this now."
"I think so too," she agreed, frowning pensively.
"What, starting to invest in our town?" He nudged her gently.
"You could say that," she smiled. "It's crazy to think about how much more time I could have spent here, growing up. I wish I'd known."
"Why don't you get to know more now?" Ron inquired. "The annual ice skating rink is going up tomorrow. It's a big town event, kind of like the bake fair." His eyes searched her face, as they stood in front of the old library in the cold, just a hair closer to each other than they needed to be. "Will you go with me?"
"Yes," she breathed, barely having to think about it.
"Brilliant," he grinned. "C'mon, we have plenty to do this afternoon." She followed him back to the main road, trying to hide the smile on her lips.
Hermione
Four days before Christmas
Hermione could not believe it was snowing again, as she laced up the rental skates to go out on the rink. This time, she and Ron had accompanied Molly and Arthur to the event. Hermione was worried it was going to be filled with awkward silences, but Arthur had an unrelenting stream of questions about muggles, once he realized she was muggle-born. He was curious and good natured, and she enjoyed explaining things to him. Ron was very sweet with his mum, who had a tendency to lovingly nag her children, and got his sense of humor from his father. Hermione again felt blessed to be included in this family's holiday traditions, especially when compared to the reception she expected with her own. She supposed with running an inn, they were accustomed to incorporating strangers into their lives, but she was pleased to be one of them all the same.
"Ready?" Ron asked her, walking over awkwardly with his own skates already on.
"Er," she frowned at him. "I have mentioned I'm not good at this, right?"
"Often and with feeling," he flashed her the crooked smile that made her stomach somersault. "So let's go." He offered her his gloved hand, and she stared at it doubtfully. Ron laughed, waving his hand in front of her. "C'mon, Mione, I promise I won't let you fall."
She started, caught off guard by his use of the nickname. She placed her hand in his, letting him help her to her feet. "Mione?" She asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
"Oh, sorry," he said sheepishly as they bumbled their way to the ice. "Do you not like it?"
Her mum would hate it, Hermione knew, but instead she smiled up shyly at Ron. "It's perfect."
"Good," he grinned. They were at the front of the queue now, and Hermione stepped onto the ice carefully. She hugged the wall, holding it as she moved away from the door and around the perimeter of the rink. Ron, who was a much better skater, kept pace with her patiently. When she'd moved far enough away from the entrance to not encumber traffic, she came to a stop and leaned against the wall, looking around.
The center of the rink had a roaring bonfire, which crackled pleasantly as the skaters all moved clockwise around it. She supposed either the fire or the ice must be enchanted, because although it gave off an intense heat, the fire didn't melt the ice. The outside of the rink was lined with ornately decorated Christmas trees, and the inside was packed with people, some flying by as though born on skates and others more Hermione's speed. The snow continued to fall, dusting everyone's hats and hair, as bubbles that never popped floated overhead, flashing like Christmas lights. A live band played holiday music in the corner, elevated magically on a platform that seemed to sparkle.
"What do you think?" Ron asked her, leaning himself against the wall next to her.
"This is lovely," she murmured, taking it all in.
"I knew you'd like it," he exclaimed. "You can't stay here all night though." He extended his arm.
She sighed, but looped her arm through his and let him lead her away from the wall. They skated around the rink a couple of times, Hermione grinning, despite herself. The air was pleasantly crisp in her lungs, and the spirit of the crowd was contagious. She clung steadily to Ron's arm, telling herself it was to keep from falling, and not because she enjoyed the feeling of his broad body so close to hers, or his bicep underneath her hand. She snuck a look at his face, admiring the hard line of his bearded jaw in profile.
"There's Luna," Ron said excitedly, shaking her from her reverie. "C'mon, I think you'll like her." He led her over to exit the ice, and they sat at a small table with Harry, Ginny, and a blonde woman that turned out to be Luna. They chatted amiably for a few minutes, before Ron and Harry excused themselves to go get a round of hot chocolate.
"Spiked again?" Hermione asked Ginny once they'd left.
"If you like," Ginny chuckled. "We enjoy celebrating the holidays with spirit, as it were. But it's very good hot chocolate either way."
"My dad says that Firewhisky leaves your brain susceptible to Wrackspurts," Luna told her sagely, blinking her great big eyes slowly.
"Wrackspurts?" Hermione asked.
"They float in through your ears and make your brain go fuzzy," Luna explained.
"Are they real?" Hermione felt confused. "I've never heard of them."
"Dad says they are," Luna shrugged.
"Erm, Luna's dad is our mayor," Ginny supplied for Hermione. "He started the magazine that Luna still runs."
"Oh, an editor," Hermione remarked, feeling impressed. "What's your magazine called, Luna?"
"The Quibbler," Luna responded, and Hermione had to turn her snort into a cough. Ginny kicked her pointedly under the table, and Hermione had the decency to feel abashed.
"I've read one before," Hermione said, mustering her politeness. "It's very...er... interesting." Luna beamed, and Ginny winked and smiled at her.
"Hot chocolate?" Ron asked, handing over a takeaway cup and sliding into the seat beside Hermione.
"I have the Firewhisky," Harry grinned, placing a flask on the table.
Hermione had a wonderful time that evening, getting to know Ron's friends and family like she had the night of the bake fair. After a while drinking and talking, they'd all gone back on the ice, with Ginny and Ron getting into a humorously competitive race that had Hermione in stitches. Luna was odd, but endearing, and she'd helped Hermione get up after a particularly embarrassing crash without laughing at her. Ron let her lean on him some more, and she felt by the end of the night that she'd gotten marginally better at ice skating. Or maybe, just better at not caring that she was bad at ice skating.
They left the event in a large group that slowly dissipated, people turning off towards their homes and waving merry goodbyes. Finally it was just Ron and Hermione left, his parents having long since left the rink. They strolled down the street in a friendly silence. Hermione looked up, admiring the stars twinkling above in the clear night.
"I feel like I've said this a lot recently," Hermione smiled up at the sky, then turned to look at Ron. "But thank you."
"No problem," he grinned back at her. "I'm glad you've been enjoying yourself." They arrived at the Burrow Inn, Ron stopping at the door and leaning against the frame.
"I just realized, you don't live here," Hermione exclaimed, blushing. "You didn't have to walk me back."
"I don't mind," he held his hand out to her, which she accepted tentatively. "It's a nice night."
"It is," she agreed demurely, allowing him to tug her gently towards himself. Ron snaked his other arm around her waist, and her breath caught at their proximity. She gazed into the blue depths of his eyes, admiring the snowflakes perched on his pale lashes.
"I think my family likes you," Ron informed her quietly.
She smiled shlyly, asking, "they do?"
Ron flashed his lopsided smile, dropping his voice. "I know I do," he whispered, lowering his face towards hers. He paused just inches from her lips, their breath mingled. He was waiting, she realized, and was surprised that she didn't hesitate in her decision. Hermione raised to her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his. He reciprocated gently, the arm around her waist drawing her against him. She felt her heart flutter as his lips moved over hers, and put her arms around his neck to pull him closer.
The great heavy door to the Burrow Inn creaked open, causing Ron and Hermione to jump apart quickly. Arthur held a lit wand, squinting sleepily into the night. "Who's there?"
"Hey Dad, just us," Ron told him, his voice sounding strained. "I walked Hermione home from the rink."
"Oh, right," Arthur looked between them. "Ok, then, I'll just…" He trailed off, looking uncomfortable.
"You know, I'll come in with you," Hermione piped up, forcing a smile. "Thank you again for a nice evening, Ron." She glanced at him, clearly reading the disappointment on his face. "See you tomorrow?"
"Er, yeah," he returned. "See you tomorrow."
"Great," she responded, her voice oddly high pitched. She walked past Arthur into the inn, and beelined up the staircase.
A/N again: I hope you liked this chapter! This is probably an unnecessary disclaimer, but I feel inclined to mention that I do believe the Malfoys are really much more complicated characters than I've made them out to be here. In the spirit of "Hallmark movie," I should warn you that they are extremely one dimensional in this fic, and I'm using them as easy antagonists for my very simple plot. So please, don't feel too upset if you think I've reduced them as characters- I think I have too! I hope you can still enjoy the feel good holiday story, for what it's worth. :)