I don't own anything in the HP universe.
Thanks to my beta kabg01.
Christmas was a typical Weasley affair. The Burrow was even more full than usual, due to people coming to stay before Harry and Ginny's wedding, and it was hard to move without knocking over an ornament or ending up with an elbow in a plate of mince pies. Teddy and Victoire were overexcited and full of pumpkin juice and sweets, running from room to room causing havoc wherever they went. Hagrid had brought them over a tree from the Forbidden Forest and although he had declared that it was 'but a tiddler,' the top of it bowed against the ceiling, even though the uppermost six inches had been removed with a severing charm. The traditional golden gnome on top of the tree looked even more disgruntled than usual when the children's antics round the tree caused the branches to sway and bump its crowned head against the rafters. Celestina Warbeck's reedy tones flooded the house, thanks to the early present of a magical gramophone from George.
Ginny and Hermione woke early, and Hermione was struck by the fact that this was probably the last time that she would have to sleep on the uncomfortable camp bed on the floor of Ginny's bedroom. The room already had a deserted air about it, as most of Ginny's things had already been moved to Grimmauld Place, ready for after the wedding the following week. Despite the fact that Ginny often stayed over there with him, Mrs Weasley had never allowed them to share a bedroom in the Burrow. It had been the same for her and Ron, even though they lived together – when they had stayed at the Burrow they toddled off to separate rooms at bedtime and woe betide them if anyone was caught sneaking about after lights out. That would all change once Harry and Ginny were married, and she supposed her and Ron afterwards, although she doubted they would share a room if they didn't have to.
"Happy Christmas," Ginny had yawned as she stretched sleepily. A thundering of little feet past the door alerted them to the fact that Teddy and Victoire at least, were keen to start the day. Despite a deep Christmas wish to remain in bed for at least another hour with a good book and a cup of tea, Hermione followed her soon to be sister in law downstairs to begin the business of Christmas Day.
Mistletoe adorned almost every spare inch of room on the ceiling, or at least that was how it seemed to Hermione. Every time she was within three feet of Ron, George would pop up from somewhere, gesturing upwards with his wand and waggling his eyebrows salaciously at them. Every single time, without fail, Ron's ears reddened and his fingers twitched as though he ached to snatch the offending greenery down from the ceiling but he made no move towards kissing Hermione. It took her almost an hour to realise that George had charmed a sprig to follow Ron around wherever he went. When George wasn't looking, Hermione vanished it before making a show of going to stand right next to Ron by the fire, just to enjoy the look of bemusement on George's face when he went to tease them.
Present opening was chaotic and enthusiastic. Hermione, who was used to a more sedate pace at home with her parents, sat back and watched for a moment as wrapping paper and ribbon was thrown up into the air with shouts of glee, from adult and child alike. She surveyed her small pile of presents with just a hint of sadness that her own parents couldn't be there. She had hidden them too well, even from herself and despite the help of the Australian Magic Board, she had so far been unable to locate them. She opened a book from Harry and a subscription to Bewitching Brides magazine from Ginny. She was surprised to find that a beautifully wrapped box contained a quill stand and matching ink well from Ron and looked over to thank him to find him holding up the scarf she had bought him and grinning at her.
Molly handed her a small package and watched anxiously as Hermione opened it, "It's a copy of a book my mother in law gave me when I was getting married. She'd written out all of the useful household spells and recipes that she found came in handy. I've added a few of my own over time – cheaper cuts of meat, cottage pie, French onion soup. Some of Ron's favourites are in there," she patted the cover.
Hermione recognised the significance behind the gift – the formal invitation for her to become a Weasley wife, and chose to appreciate that instead of letting her initial irritation at the fact that it was her and not Ron that this bible of domesticity had been presented to, show. She pulled Molly into a tight hug and saw tears sparkling in the older witch's eyes when she finally let her go. Ginny held up an identical book with a grimace, making Hermione stifle down a snort of laughter.
As usual, Hermione was convinced that Mrs Weasley had accidentally cooked for a small army, instead of the family that sat around the table. The kitchen had been somewhat fraught due to Fleur's insistence on helping on helping prepare the feast and Harry's bringing Kreacher (who had mellowed considerably over the years but was still unpredictable) to aid the pair of them; and Hermione had avoided it during the preparations for fear of being the extraneous cook who spoiled the broth, even with the help of the Weasley recipe book. So when three entire turkeys were paraded out and placed on the magically enlarged table, it had come as quite a shock. Of course, she had failed to account for the rapacity of the Weasley boys' appetites and there soon remained little more than stripped carcasses and red headed men, leaning back and loosening their belts. The food, of course, was as delicious as it was plentiful and even Hermione found herself feeling sleepy and stuffed at the end of the meal.
She was sat next to George whose eating had been hampered somewhat by having the sleeping Fred, already a bouncing six month old, over his shoulder. He smiled over at Angelina as she patted her belly, swollen by more than just third helpings of Molly's roast potatoes. In true Weasley fashion, Angelina had fallen pregnant almost as soon as she had got over the birth of Fred. She was chattering happily to Fleur who was also pregnant for a second time.
"Molly's going to need an even bigger table soon," Hermione observed, following George's gaze.
George laughed "Are you casting aspersions on my wife's girth?" causing Hermione to giggle and slap him on the arm, "Hey, sleeping baby here!" he protested, despite the fact that Fred was clearly out for the count.
"You want me to hold him while you finish eating?" she asked. George nodded gratefully and she gently lifted the baby from him and cradled him in her arms. His heavy warmth was soporific and she felt herself relax and her arms mould around the baby.
"Suits you," George smiled at her, "and I'm not the only one to think so," he nodded in the direction of Ron. Hermione's head snapped up and she met Ron's eyes as he stared at her, a curiously tender expression on his face. When he realised he had been caught watching her, he looked away, scowling. It was oddly endearing, to see him in the annual Weasley jumper, Christmas hat askew and cheeks pink, grumpily embarrassed that he had been caught looking at his own fiancé. The lining up of Ron's Christmas jumpers chronologically over the last two decades would be an interesting exercise; to see how the arms had grown in length suddenly when he was aged fifteen, to note the jump in size in the 1998 Christmas jumper to accommodate the bulk that he had gained during Auror training, even to cry over the pristine jumper from the year they had been away for the horcrux hunt but that Molly had knitted anyway. Hermione, Fleur and Angelina all got jumpers too now. They had all had to pretend, that first year, that they hadn't noticed that Fleur's had been too big, even though a shrinking spell had clearly been applied to it, and that the colour matched George's exactly. No one ever discussed it but by the way Fleur had put the jumper on eagerly, Hermione knew that she too had guessed Molly's mistake and was keen to show her that the jumper would be worn gratefully, even though its originally intended recipient was no longer around to wear it.
"He's probably just jealous that you've got a whole turkey leg left," Hermione chuckled. George had teased them enough for one day and Ron was rising for it because he had been falling for his older brothers' teasing since he was a tiny boy.
"So, are you glad to be here for another Weasley family Christmas? I imagine it takes some getting used to," George gestured round the cluttered, noisy table to the people that Hermione now thought of as her family. Her heart ached to see her parents but even if she had been able to track them down, she had to be honest with herself and admit that she would have rather have been here, in the Weasley household than the three of them sat round a small turkey back in Cambridge.
"Couldn't think of anywhere I'd rather be," she admitted honestly, "but are you glad to be here?"
George's geniality slipped for a moment, shooting a glance to Angelina, making sure she was still occupied.
"Yeah absolutely," he laughed, but it sounded false.
"Are you? Really?" a concerned hand on his knee now, leaning in to look into his eyes sincerely, "because I know that special occasions can be very hard, when you're missing someone –"
"I'm fine!" George cut her off, his words just a little too loud, his cutlery clattering down onto his plate, halting conversations and making little Fred stir and whimper in Hermione's arms. George took him back from her and whispered in his ear, his eyes trained on the baby.
"Fancy a walk, Hermione?" Ron asked in oddly strangled tones. She looked over to see him looking frantically between her and George and her heart sank. Too late she realised that she was doing the very thing that George didn't want. Still, her hackles were raised that Ron, the crown prince of unsubtlety, wanted to lecture her on tact. She nodded curtly and followed him to the porch and watched him shrugging on his coat, noticing how broad his shoulders were nowadays. He could almost be more suited to playing beater in Quidditch now.
She buttoned up her own coat and tried not to smile as he pulled his ancient Chudley Cannons hat onto her head and made a show of adjusting the ear flaps studiously. She also tried to ignore how the feeling of his hands on her hair made her heart beat faster. When he wrapped the cashmere scarf that she had bought him around his neck he ran his hands over the fabric, admiring its soft warmth.
When they reached the gate, she couldn't hold in the tension any longer, anticipating a blow up, "I know what you're going to say so you may as well get it over with," she snapped, knowing how petulant she sounded.
He grimaced down at her, his blue eyes shining above his cheeks made rosy by the cold, but didn't take the bait, "For what it's worth, I think he really is fine. Just….don't treat him like one of your potions experiments is all. Reckon I wouldn't like it. When I went to stay with Bill and Fleur at Shell Cottage, you know, when we fell out, they kept trying to talk to me about how I felt. As if I didn't know I'd been an idiot. It just made me wish the ground would swallow me up."
"Should I say something to him do you think?" Hermione looked uncertainly back to the house.
"No! He'll be mad enough that I've told you. If you start trying to talk to him about it again, he'll hex my bollocks off. I promised him I wouldn't tell anyone, remember?"
"But it's not right Ron! You should have told me. It was unfair of him to ask you not to but it was even more unfair of you to keep it from me! Did you really think that little of me?"
"I was scared, alright? I was worried that if I did anything wrong, he'd do it again. And I was worried that you'd think less of me, or worry that I might do something like it. And I was scared you'd try and talk me out of my decision to give up being an Auror - properly, not just because I was being stupid. And then I'd buckle because I'm a selfish bastard some of the time and I really really wanted to be an Auror," his big hands were clenched into fists by his sides but he was still speaking quietly, looking down at the toes of his boots.
"You could have told me. You should have told me," she took a tentative step closer and grabbed hold of the cuffs of his jacket, looking up into his downcast face.
"I know, it was just like, the further I went along with the lie, the angrier we both got and the harder it was to tell you the truth,"
"I suppose we must have had other problems, otherwise this one thing wouldn't have got between us," Hermione squinted over the silvery white landscape. Her memories of their break up had crystallised into key events – the night Ron had moved out and the embarrassing, overly dramatic falling out at the gala were as clear in her mind as they would have been in a pensieve – leaving all of the childish snits, the sulking and the failures to communicate a vague blur. Would they have grown up a bit, learned how to be adults together instead of children ravaged by war? Or would their relationship have limped on to the same conclusion, even without the catalyst of Ron's well meant deception.
"I suppose so," Ron agreed dejectedly. He looked wretched, obviously also reliving their previous problems and letting old doubts and insecurities start whispering to him.
"When we're…" Hermione swallowed thickly around the word that stuck in her throat, "married. I mean, I know it's not a real marriage or anything, and you don't have to like me but I still think it would be better if we got on, not just for us, for everyone else really…" she trailed off, aware that she was babbling and had completely missed the point of what she was trying to say.
Ron seemed to have understood anyway, and nodded to her, the winter sunlight shining golden on his eyelashes, "We'll have to talk to each other properly and not stomp about sulking like a pair of prats,"
"Succinctly put as always Ronald," Hermione blushed. They tramped in companiable silence for a few minutes, the only sound the crunching of their boots in the freshly fallen snow. Hermione tried not to sneak glances at the way the blue of the scarf brought out the colour of his eyes.
"I got you something," Ron said shyly.
"I know, and thank you for the quill stand, it was very thoughtful," Hermione smiled.
"No, something else," his ears reddened and he stuffed his hands deep into his pockets as kicked up small piles of snow, "Wanted to make up for not getting you a proper birthday present,"
"You don't have to get me anything," she insisted. After all, the cashmere scarf she had bought him was hardly a grand gesture. She'd only bought it on Christmas Eve and wrapped it on the off chance that he had bought her something. That and the fact that the colour of it had reminded her so perfectly of his eyes.
"I know, I wanted to," he stopped walking now and turned to face her, pulling a sloppily wrapped parcel from his pocket. Hermione raised an eyebrow at the wrapping, remembering the neat package that her earlier present had been in,
"I got the witch in the shop to gift wrap the other one," Ron huffed out an embarrassed laugh, "still, it doesn't matter does it - you're going to open it just the same,"
Hermione nodded in agreement, sliding her finger under the crinkled spellotape. She could tell it was a book without even needing to remove the packaging. Her mind raced, wondering what book he might be embarrassed about giving her in front of his family. Possibly something on the marriage law or something. If it was something on marital relations or something, she thought she might die. When she saw the title, her brows knitted together in confusion: Pride and Prejudice.
"S'not a first edition or anything," Ron mumbled self-consciously, "And I reckon you've already read it,"
"Have you read it?" Hermione wondered if he had chosen it at random or if he actually knew the story.
"Nah but I've seen the film on one of those VDV thingies. It just….well….it just seemed a bit like us. Like he can be a bit of an arse and keeps messing up and saying the wrong thing. And she won't give him a chance. It's like, they can't stand each other but you know they're going to come good in the end – just because of how much they wind each other up," she saw him scratch the back of his neck as she squinted up at him against the weak winter sun. She kept forgetting how much taller than her he was.
She longed to ask him whether that was what he thought was going to happen – that they would "come good" in the end – but she realised that she was just gazing up into his blue eyes. He took a step closer, half a step really, and inclined his head down towards hers, a silent question in his face. Panicked embarrassment flooded though her and she forced a laugh,
"And where have you been watching DVDs? Don't tell me your dad's got a cinema set up in that shed of his?" She blurted out the first thing in her mind just to hide the fact that he had looked like he had been trying to decide if he wanted to kiss her, and she didn't know what she'd do if he did.
"I was seeing a muggle born, she wanted to watch it. She didn't warn me it was about six hours long. That earned me some major brownie points, I can tell you," he grimaced but there was a hint of boastfulness in his tone, as though he had forgotten it wasn't Harry or one of his brothers that he was talking to.
"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed abruptly, feeling like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over her. She knew that Ron had been popular with the ladies - she hadn't been able to avoid seeing news about it but that didn't mean she wanted to hear about it.
Ron, even with his limited emotional insight, seemed to realise that he had said the wrong thing and rushed to make amends, "That's not all though," he urged, "Look at the bookmark!"
Frowning, Hermione looked down at the book in her hands, letting it fall open. The bookmark was just an old luggage tag, possibly from Ron's Hogwarts trunk. It wasn't until she lifted it out of the book to examine it more closely that she saw, dangling from the dirty string, a gold band.
"It's a ring," Ron explained uselessly.
"I can see that," Hermione murmured in reply, but she was smiling.
"I thought you might like to wear it, you know, when we get married. Or now, if you wanted. It's not got any charms on it or anything. If you don't like it I can change it or take it back," his tone was almost defiant, as though he was expecting a refusal. Hermione cradled the delicate golden circle in her hand, weighing it, marvelling at the small stone which changed colour depending on the angle it was viewed.
"It's a magical diamond," Ron elaborated, "I was going to get you something goblin made but then I thought you might not like that. They're quite rare – apparently they have to be mined by wizards and the first light that has to land on them is the full moon, or something. It can go back," he repeated.
Hermione wondered if it was the ring that Draco had seen Ron buying, all that time ago, or if he had returned that or given it to someone else, and this was a new one. She knew that she'd never ask him. She slid it off the string and onto her finger, turning her hand first one way then the other, to see how the light reflected off it.
"Thank you," she said simply and without panicking, or over thinking it, reached up and kissed him softly on the cheek. Ron looked like he had been hit by a bludger.
"You like it then?"
"Yes!" Hermione laughed, and she slipped her small cold hand into his warm one, "now let's get back, I'm freezing and you know your mum will be waiting for us before she lights the Christmas pudding,"