AU, Houses Competition. Hermione's family always come over on New Year's Eve. This year, Fred is in attendance. Long-term boyfriend, and a delight in the chaotic household for the evening.

Ravenclaw, HoH, Themed, prompt: Proposal & First line; There was always a point at the (Family name) reunions where things went from boring to fun., WC: 2945

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There was always a point at the Granger Family reunions where things went from boring to fun. Everyone knew that. So, as Fred and I greet the endless flow of people who enter our house without knocking, I'm reminding him of everything that could possibly go wrong tonight. My Uncle Kevin, who drinks too much and usually strips naked. My grandmother, who tends to sing to herself and disrupt the quietness of a moment. My two cousins, who are small and annoying – and who I am also sure will get on amazingly with Fred. As much as I know the evening will end in utter chaos and far too much alcohol, I also know that it will begin dreadfully slowly.

The youngest cousins, Sarah and Jonathan, sit in the corner of the living room, connected to a charger and their faces attached to their phones. Blue light flooding their faces. Completely antisocial. I don't bother engaging with them just yet, as my mother is coming through the door, shouting about the weather.

"Hi mum," I murmur, kissing her cheek quickly and taking the huge casserole dish she's brought with her. She's dressed in a glittery dress, her wristwatch obviously a Christmas present from my father, who smiles politely into the crowd of people currently occupying the kitchen. I know the crowds make him uncomfortable, even though most of the guests here already are his family. He salutes to his brother, Kevin, and mumbles something about going to get the wine. This should be interesting.

"Melissa!" Fred calls from behind me, already armed with a beer. My mother smiles brightly at him as the two move to hug each other in greeting.

That's my cue to leave.

Ignoring the fake, high-pitch laughter of my aunt Carol, I high-tail it outside to see my dad paused by the boot of their Polo, staring at the keys as though very confused. He's having another of his episodes. But, as the word indicates, it's just an episode and not a series of horrible moments where he just can't remember where he is, or what he's doing. I touch his arm lightly, bringing him back to life.

"Alright, Dad?" He nods in response. "Lemme help with that."

Together, we haul the box of wine and case of beer into the house, locking the car behind us. Fred doesn't pause in his light-hearted conversation with my mother, even when I give him a warning look – a look that tells him that the evening started with another episode, and that we might encounter more. But he knows he mustn't make a big thing about it. My parents are incredibly happy together, and no one wants their magical image shattered, even if everyone else sees what's going on.

"You know," Fred starts, bumping my shoulder with his, "this will be a good New Year. Your dad is fine, and there's plenty of alcohol." I smile lightly, turning towards him and stealing the glass of rose from his hand. He grins and winks. "What can go wrong with me here?"

"Literally everything," I laugh easily. Fred frowns ever so slightly and swigs at his beer, glancing at the room around us. "I'm joking. I need you here to liven things up."

"No kidding," he sputters as my grandfather drifts off to sleep in the quietness of the living room. Elsewhere in the house, I hear my uncle, Kevin, talking about his latest collection of wine, and his wife, Carol, interrupting every so often with a dulcet yes, Kevin is quite the intellectual. Specifically, after he says something ridiculously pompous that could be classified as intelligent. In the kitchen, my mother is attempting to tell my cousin, Adrian, the many things that are wrong with the way our carrots have been diced. Dull as dishwater conversation, but the night has just begun.

Our evening slowly begins to increase in entertainment as the little things start happening – you know, the little things that occur when family members get drunk around each other. Earlier, my mother stirred her tea with a cucumber stick, much to the hilarity of the only onlooker, Fred. He then proceeded to tell me, in guffaws of laughter, about her silly act.

"That's nothing," I say, grinning, and waiting for the fun to start. "Wait and see."

"This is why I love you so much," Fred murmurs, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of my mouth. I look up in question, perplexed. "Because of your secret inner evil genius. Now, come on, let's dance."

One of the thousands of reasons I love Fred Weasley so much is that he has this unbeatable and undeniable energy about him. Throughout Hogwarts, he was tirelessly cooking up plots and pranks to confuse and bemuse everyone in the school. Of course, to my focused and academic mind, anything that disturbed my peace was a frustrating distraction. But then I realised that we all need that bit of freedom and joy in our lives, and that I certainly needed Fred's vibrancy against the stark darkness of the world beyond academia.

It was his idea to hang the glowing lights on the staircase bannister, and to set up streaming ribbons around our house. It was his idea that our home should be filled with people for New Year's Eve, and why not bring the family he wasn't so sure of to our slightly more magical world. My wonderful family are all here, as the evening stretches out delightfully before us. Food is eaten gradually, and family members slowly become more inebriated. For once, I'm not entirely bored. Of course, the Granger Family isn't known for being riotous – they're the intelligent people at the end of the road who tend to get ignored unless you listen too closely.

"Have you got a boyfriend, Hermione?" my grandmother asks, her hand dropping so low that her sherry almost toppled over onto the sofa. I help her out, smiling placidly.

"Yes, I have, grandma. Fred. The red-headed one," I reply, pointing in the corner where Fred is rolling his eyes at me about something Uncle Kevin has said.

"Ah," my grandmother muses. "I did wonder what he was doing here. Are you two going to get married then?"

I pause. Married? We haven't even spoken about that, what with moving into the house, unpacking our lives into separate rooms, and getting used to life together like this.

"I'm not sure," I say, finally. She blinks back at me, and I know she's already gone into a world of her own. Gently, she squeezes my free hand, and a flood of warmth races through my body and to my heart. Happiness. I'm suddenly filled with absolute joy that she's here, in her wise, old age. I love my grandmother so much - I remember those days when she would comfort me with walks around the garden, when she would tell me you will find your way when I told her about the kids at school, when she would be the constant source of love and hilarity when my parents fought. Not that the latter was often.

"What time is it, Hermione?"

"Six-thirty, grandma."

"Time for some food then, my dear."

With that, she's leading me to the smorgasbord of food, spread over the table in the dining room. Bread, cheese, cold meats, olives, cocktail sausages, pate, crisps, crackers, butter, and every single hors d'oeuvre anyone could think off. After she peels off the first cling film, there is almost an immediate reaction from some of the younger ones at our gathering. My cousins' children race to the table, phones abandoned in lieu of getting something to eat. Plates clatter, cutlery clinks, and food and hunger are discussed in great length. I take this moment to break away from my grandmother as she turns to the children, cutting up bread and pouring plastic cups full of cola.

The rush of happiness and love for my grandmother also came with a certain rawness. I slip away from the livening party, the voices growing louder, to my room upstairs. Five seconds of breathing. I count them on my fingers six times over.

I return to the mass of people, no one having noticed my absence.

People ask me the same several questions a thousand times over for the next hour; how is the food, where did you get it, did you meet Fred recently, what's happening at work, do you like your job.

"I love my job," I tell my uncle, fifteen minutes after he arrives two hours late. Uncle Joe; consistently unreliable, but the life of the party whenever he turns up. He's laughing raucously, even though I haven't said anything remotely funny. I'm grinning, anyway. "I do, honestly. I wish I was doing something more worthwhile, or something that paid better. But I'll get there."

"You will!" he assures me, with a hard pat on the shoulder and a wink. "You're a bright girl, Hermione. Just gotta show 'em."

"I've been trying."

"I know." Joe's voice is softer this time, as though he really understands my qualms about work. How could I possibly explain my line of work? Especially that my dream job is to achieve magical and social equality for mystical and magical beings. I love my family so much, but sometimes it feels lonely to have that part of me hidden from everyone. "Who's this fellow? I didn't think we were pity-inviting red-heads?"

Fred's laughter is rumbling against my side, felt before I can see him.

"You must be Joe," he says, holding out his hand. "I'm Fred. Hermione's boyfriend."

"Hmm..." Joe muses, grinning. "He's good looking. Temporarily accepted into the family." Fred shrugs in acceptance, and both men look as though they've just made excellent friends. "I'll leave you two lovebirds alone. I think it's time we crank up the party!"

As though manifested from the air itself, Uncle Joe pulls out two vodka bottles, wrapping one arm around his brother, Kevin - our resident drunk uncle. He's through one bottle of wine already, face red, sweaty neck, and his glasses slipping down his nose occasionally. Joe sets the bottle out of reach of the younger children, then disappears into the kitchen to fetch glasses of some sort.

"He's fun," Fred tells me, grinning.

"He's the fun."

Things go quickly uphill from that point. Or downhill - it all depends on your perspective.

Fred is dragged into vodka and tequila shots by the lively bunch, while I am paired with the more demure wine-drinking party-goers in the Granger Family. Within forty minutes, Uncle Kevin has pushed the three of us through three bottles of wine, talking of tone and texture in the drink. To me, it just tastes fruity, warm, and, most importantly, alcoholic. And I am aware that I am considerably more drunk than I was half an hour ago. Kevin has this unerring ability to tempt alcohol like a magical, dangling carrot. He also has this habit of getting undressed when he's had too much to drink. With each glass, a button is undone on his shirt.

"I brought some games with me, Hermione love," my aunt, Carol, interjects as Kevin is about to open the fourth bottle. Kevin looks undeterred, but suddenly games seem like the most fantastic idea. Beside me, my mother nods in avid agreement, quieter than usual.

From the relative peace of the dining room, the rest of the house has gone utterly mad.

The youngest cousins - I say youngest, they're eighteen - are on the Bacardi and coke, Fred seems to be drinking everyone except Uncle Joe to the ground, my grandmother is singing to herself, and my father is laughing with Adrian about something immensely hilarious just told between the two of them.

"Time for games!" Aunt Carol announces to the mob, having summoned Articulate from nowhere. "The aim of the game is to describe the most amount of words without saying the word, anything that rhymes with it, or the amount of syllables. The word can be objects, famous people, places, actions, or random. Correct number of guesses amounts to places moved on the board. First team to the finish line wins."

"It's... Ah... Ah... Something you know, you hold onto!" Uncle Joe calls out to his team of six, the game having been set up almost immediately.

"A breast!" my grandmother hollers confidently, toasting the idea with her sherry. Joe is shaking his head at her, while the rest of us are howling with laughter.

The game is slow and hilarious, with neither team achieving particularly highly - though at this point of the evening, there isn't a single one of us who cares especially about winning. Our family spirit has never had more to it. My mother and father speed through their round, my father only stuttering on one word - cake, Melissa, cake!- and finally it's time for Fred and me.

"Where we went on holiday in May."

"Paris."

"Actor in my favourite movie."

"Owen Wilson." From Marley and Me, the soft git.

"Top thing on your bucket list."

"Skydiving!"

"Times up!" Kevin interrupts, grinning at the pair of us, as we grin at each other. "That was incredible."

Family games continue in uproarious fashion. After Articulate, we play Quelf - in which my mother has to wear her dress inside out, Adrian has to sing everything he says, and Carol makes up a Haiku about cheese - which is perhaps the epitome of ridiculousness. The aim of the game is to complete challenges and perform to get a token to move to the finish line on the board. We are made to list body-part slang, to call to the Lord of the Dice when rolling, and chant between turns. By the end of it, we are all in tears of laughter. My youngest cousin, Sarah, falls off her chair, drunk and crying to herself, singing a song from the Descendants movie.

"Cos my love for you is ridiculous, I never knew that it would be like this..."

"Half an hour to Midnight everyone. Let's pop some bubbly and watch Jools Holland!"

My mother hurries everyone into the living room, picking up the two bottles of champagne on the kitchen countertop. Immediately, the blasting noise from the television fills the house, Jools Holland announcing his next guest with the same gusto he has had for the last fifteen years of us watching it. A glorious family tradition. I'm about to follow the rabble, when Fred's hand touches mine.

"Hermione, would you mind stepping outside with me for a moment?" he asks, face too close and eyes too intense. "Please?"

I nod. "Sure."

The air is colder than I anticipated and almost instantly sobers me. Fred closes the door behind us.

"It is freezing out here, I know. But I don't want to rush this." Suspicious. He sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. Snow has already started to drift down around us, caught in our moment. "I love your family. I love you. So much. Merlin, how do I even start this properly?"

"It depends what you're starting," I murmur. He grins back at me, sheepish. "What's going on?"

"Skydiving is on your bucket list. I wanted to start this New Year together with something that's on mine."

"Fred?" Oh Merlin. He's down on one knee, reaching into his jean pocket. Oh Merlin, no, is he actually going to…? Two breaths, one long moment, and he looks up, popping open the box. Inside it, a simple, glittering, silver engagement ring.

"Hermione, this night with your family has been one of the more entertaining nights of my life. Your family are amazing, and so drunk. It has been, what you describe as, a beautiful chaos. I can't tell you how long I've held onto this little box, waiting for the right moment. But I want to spend the rest of my life in the chaos that is our two families, and to, one day, have our own. If you'll have me." He pauses, as if waiting. I'm frozen to the spot, frostbite, pneumonia, fear, anticipation. "Hermione Jean Granger, will you marry me?"

Yes I say, but my brain isn't engaged and the words aren't coming out, and he's staring up at me. Yes, my mind is screaming at me to spit the damn words out, but I'm frozen to the spot. Snow is falling thickly now, and I can hear the pop of champagne and the glorious laughter inside our house. The rush of warmth, happiness, and love is back, thawing me out. The snow starkly contrasting the bright redness of his hair.

"Yes!" I shout, free of myself. "Merlin, Fred, absolutely!"

He places the ring on my finger, a bubble of laughter bursting out of him. I don't know who's crying more. Eventually we find our way back into the warm house, glasses of bubbly forced into our hand as the countdown to the New Year has begun.

10... 9... 8...

Fred squeezes my hand in comfort. In my peripheral vision, I see my grandmother smiling brightly, having seen the ring adorned on my finger.

7... 6... 5...

The world is a little brighter, and the fireworks are ready. I down the glass of champagne and cough, laughing.

4...

3...

2...

Fred grins at me, leaning his face towards mine. On one, we seal the New Year with a kiss, breaking apart when the group around have started the horrific singing that always accompanies the delightful music of Auld Lang Syne. Together, we clasp our arms and sing.

We'll take a cup of kindness yet, for the sake of Auld Lang Syne.

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Thanks for reading!