Disclaimer: As nice as it would be to claim Ron and Hermione, I cannot. I’m not J.K. Rowling.


In Their Hearts

A few weeks before Christmas, a bushy-haired woman sat waiting for her husband to arrive from his job with the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. He was late again. “The new Minister is sure keeping his employees busy,” Hermione Weasley mused aloud. “They hardly ever get time off.” Ron would even have to work on Christmas Eve.

With the number of accidents increasing lately, Ron was working overtime fairly often. But his job didn’t pay much, and they needed the money. Hermione’s own part-time occupation at Obscurus Books in Diagon Alley didn’t add much to their bank account either, but it gave her time to spend continuing her education. She’d begun her seventh year with a tutor after the war ended, while Ron had chosen to go straight into a career.

Hermione clutched the gold locket her father had given her, a habit she had picked up after he had died of a heart attack. It held pictures of her parents. The locket was damaged now and wouldn’t open, but it was still very special to her.

When Ron finally entered the tiny apartment, he gave her a kiss and asked, “You know what’s coming up? I just realized today how close it was.”

“What?” she inquired curiously, spooning some soup into a bowl for him and heating it with her wand.

“Our first Christmas together,” he answered.

“Ron, we’ve spent almost every Christmas together since we were eleven!” she laughed.

“Yes, but this is our first Christmas as a married couple. It’s special,” he replied seriously. He received the steaming bowl from her and took a seat at the small wooden table. She sat across from him, watching him blow gently on a spoonful of hot soup.

“Well,” she said thoughtfully, “what should we do, then?” When he didn’t answer, she added, “I know we don’t have much money to do special things, but you’re working way too much. And on Christmas Eve, too! Maybe I should get a full-time job so you don’t have to keep working like that.”

“Hermione, you don’t need to quit going back to school for me. You deserve to keep learning. You love that.”

“Yes, but it isn’t fair to you.” Her stubborn gaze never faltered as he scowled at her. After a few moments, he gave up.

“Hermione, please don’t put yourself in my position,” he pleaded. “I don’t have a full education, and I didn’t get to do what I wanted. I took what was left, but I don’t want that for you. You’re brilliant; you’ll be able to get whatever job you fancy once you’ve completed!”

After a short pause, she quietly agreed. “Okay.”

---

The next evening, they searched all over for a tree, and soon a small one was standing in the corner of their living room. It was a feeble and puny thing, even shorter than Hermione, but a Christmas tree all the same. As scanty as it was, it still took up a great portion of the cramped room. The only decorations on it were a second-hand string of white lights and a few battered baubles, but Ron and Hermione still felt a sense of pride in their first Christmas tree.

With the holiday drawing nearer, Hermione still had no idea what to get for Ron. She had been through every shop in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, but to no avail. Quality Quidditch Supplies had gifts he’d be interested in, but nothing within her price range. Finally, she gave up and went home.

Christmas Eve came, and she still didn’t have anything to give Ron. As she stared at the pitiful tree from her perch on their moth-eaten couch, her hand absentmindedly found her locket. An idea popped into her head and she Flooed to the pawn shop in Diagon Alley. Fortunately, it was open for last-minute shoppers. After swapping her treasured locket for a couple of galleons, she dashed out into the street. It was just after three o’clock, but there were only a pair of elderly wizards on the snow-covered pathway. Presumably, everyone else had their shopping done and was home with their families. Most of the stores were closed.

She ran down the street, silently praying that Quality Quidditch Supplies was still open. It wasn’t. The lights were all turned off inside.

“Oh, no,” she cried. Sighing, she flopped down on a bench in front of the shop. “What am I going to do now?”

Just then, the bell tinkled as someone opened the door and stepped out into the cold winter air. The tall wizard fished in his coat pocket for the keys so he could lock up. Hermione jumped to her feet and seized her chance. “Please, sir, could I just buy one thing from you? I still don’t have anything to give my husband and I’m sure he’d like something from in there. I promise I’ll be quick.”

The man turned and surveyed her closely, as if he could spot a criminal simply by looking at them. Apparently deeming her suitable to speak to, he said, “Left your shopping a bit late, eh?” He paused and thought a moment. “Well… I suppose it would be okay, being Christmas Eve and all.”

---

Hermione arrived home just in time to wrap the newly-purchased tin of Fleetwood’s High Finish handle polish before Ron got back. She was sure it would make his beloved old Cleansweep 11 look like new. He works so hard all the time. I wish I could get him a new broom, she thought wistfully. This will just have to do.

As she heard the door to the flat creak open, she hastily stuffed the small package under the tree.

---

Christmas morning dawned sunny but cold. At least an inch of snow had fallen during the night. Hermione got out of bed quietly, not wanting to wake her husband. She tiptoed to the kitchen, shivering as she stepped on the cold linoleum. She wanted to have a nice breakfast prepared before Ron got up.

A red-haired figure appeared in the doorway just as she was setting a slice of toast on his plate. “Happy Christmas,” he greeted.

“Happy Christmas, Ron,” she returned. “Sit down. I made eggs and toast.”

After breakfast, they retreated to the living room. Hermione pulled Ron’s gift and another small package wrapped in red paper from under the tiny tree. Handing Ron his, she waited for him to open it. “Go ahead,” she encouraged.

“Let’s do it at the same time,” he suggested. They both started ripping off the paper to reveal their presents. “Hermione, this is wonderful,” he said, holding up the tin of broomstick handle polish, “but I… I sold my broom to get your gift.”

“Oh,” she said, slightly embarrassed. “Well, this kit to fix my locket a very thoughtful present, but I sold my locket to get your gift.”

They sat in silence for a moment, before Ron started laughing. “It’s a bit funny, isn’t it? They’re useless now.” They shared a chuckle over the thought.

“It doesn’t matter, though, does it? We don’t need these things. Our love for each other is stronger than our love for possessions any day. It reminds me of The Gift of the Magi,” Hermione said.

“What?”

“It’s a Muggle tale, Ron. A very similar thing happens to the couple in the story,” she explained.

“Oh. I’ve never read it.”

“I’m not surprised,” she teased. “I love you, Ron.”

“I love you, too.”

And although they were living in poverty and didn’t have many possessions, they both knew it was true. It didn’t matter what was in their bank account or in their house. What mattered was what was in their hearts.


Happy Holidays!