PREPARATIONS AND ARRIVALS
***HERMIONE***
“MUM!” Hermione ran to the top of the stairs and screamed down. She heard a crash and a bang from the kitchen followed by a little yelp. She had startled her mum. “OH, SORRY! I JUST WANTED TO TELL YOU. I’M NOT GOING TO BE HERE CHRISTMAS EVE LIKE I SAID I WAS! OKAY?”
“Where you going, Hermione?” Norma Granger called back. “Ron’s?” she teased.
“YES, AS A MATTER OF FACT, I AM!” she cried back.
“Why, honey, that’s great! That’s just wonderful! Just wait till your father hears! Oh, he’ll be so pleased that you’re finally taking some time for yourself!” Hermione frowned angrily.
“Hey! What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?” she cried in incredulous retort.
“HERMIONE! WATCH YOUR LANGUAGE! AND YOU KNOW PERFECTLY WELL WHAT THAT’S SUPPOSED TO MEAN! ALL YOU EVER DO IS ONE ESSAY OR ANOTHER, ONE RESEARCH REPORT OR ANOTHER! I WOULD LIKE A FEW GRANDCHILDREN BEFORE I LEAVE THIS EARTH, YOU KNOW!”
“MUM! That is NOT fare! Hell, I’m only twenty-one! Just barely old enough to get MARRIED, let alone provide you and dad with GRANDCHILDREN! I don’t even have a bloody boyfriend!”
“My point exactly! Now, go prepare yourself properly, and you may just have a BOYFRIEND by Christmas!” her mum called. It seemed like Norma wanted the conversation to be over, but Hermione wasn’t done.
“What do you mean, prepare myself properly?”
“You know. The steps to good luck: ‘Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, and sixpence in your shoe’. You want all those things, you get started now! Go on!” And that was it. There was finality in Norma’s tone that said that she was finished.
Hermione stood at the top of the stairs, considering what her mum had said. “Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, and sixpence in your shoe.” Well, she obviously already had the something old, she’d need to buy the something new, she could borrow something from her mum or from a friend for the something borrowed, she surely would be able to find SOMETHING blue, and she already had sixpence. Still, her mum was right; she had to get started now if she wanted to be ready.
If Hermione were to be brutally honest, she would have told her mother to sod off and that the steps to good luck were just like the class Divination at Hogwarts: a load of rubbish. Superstition. Nothing more. But Hermione indulged her mother. She always had. Hermione didn’t have to believe in these things herself. Just as long as her mother was happy, she could suffer through it.
***RON***
Back at home, Ron stood at the door and looked around the shabby place. He hadn’t bothered to put up any Christmas decorations, because he hadn’t thought that anyone would be here but him, but without them, the house looked incredibly gaunt and melancholy. 'What will Hermione think, when she comes and sees absolutely nothing in this old house to even give the barest hint of Christmas cheer?' asked a voice that sounded strangely like Ron’s mother.
'Mum’s right. I gotta get a tree…and some stockings, that shouldn’t be hard…and maybe some garland for the mantel…and candles and a centerpiece for the table setting…God, I’ve gotta get to work!'
***HERMIONE***
By the time Christmas Eve had arrived, Hermione was physically prepared. She wore a silver snowflake pin on her scarf that had belonged to her grandmother: something old. She had gone out and bought herself a new sweater, and it killed two birds with one stone; it was made of rich, navy blue cashmere, and it was brand new. Therefore, something new, and something blue. She borrowed a sapphire-studded bracelet from one of her new school friends: something borrowed. And she was getting a bruise on the bottom of her foot from the sixpence she put inside her high black boots.
But even with all this “reassurance”, it didn’t help her emotionally. She held her wand shakily in her hand and Ron’s gift under her other arm, ready to Disapparate from her cozy childhood home and Apparate just outside Ron’s little house on Wiltshire Road.
God, she hoped she had done the right thing…
***RON***
Ron stood in front of the door, admiring his handiwork. Here, he could see the living room off to his right, the kitchen in front of him, and the dining room to his left. In three days, he had managed to turn his empty, gloomy house into a warm, glowing, comforting home.
In the corner of the living room stood a very tall blue spruce pine tree which had been laden with strung popcorn, glowing baubles in every shape, size, and color, and family photographs which Ron had turned into ornaments. On the coffee table were a pitcher of eggnog (complete with mulled mead, compliments of The Three Broomsticks), two crystal cups (fake, of course), and several white candles. A large fire crackled merrily in the fireplace, and garland decorated the top of the mantel from which two large stockings hung. Mistletoe hung from the rafters just in front of the fireplace to finish off the merry room.
In the kitchen, garland laced with frosty red berries that glittered in the candlelight was draped from the pot rack above the island. Gleaming copper pots also hung strategically from the rack and caught the light of the fireplace.
The dining room was most likely the grandest of all. Ron had polished the old oak table, and it shone like new. It was laden with food that Ron had prepared himself (with his mother’s recipes and the help of magic, of course). A small but tender turkey sat on a silver platter (well, not really silver. Just a polished metal) in the middle of the table along with a few slender white candles; a huge bowl of garlic mashed potatoes was placed at one end with a green bean casserole at the other. Two places were set with glass plates, silver utensils (once again, fake), and a glass of red wine each (this was real. It had been a gift from the now Fred and George, who were now rather wealthy. Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes had been a hit.).
Christmas jazz music wafted softly through the air, which smelled like evergreen.
The large clock above the mantel struck seven. Dong, dong, dong, dong, dong, dong, dong!
Nervously, Ron went from room to room making sure everything was perfect. She would be here any minute. He stood by the door, straightening his forest green jumper and flattening his bright red hair spastically.
'Relax. Everything’s fine. The house looks great.' Ron silently reassured himself.
***HERMIONE***
Hermione was standing on a dead-end road that was lined with many small, cheery, cottage-like houses and ended in a cal-de-sac. Each one had candles in the windows and wreaths on the doors. A thick blanket of white snow on the roofs and windowsills made them all look like gingerbread houses from a storybook. Audible Christmas music could be heard coming from almost every house.
Slowly, Hermione strolled down the street, looking at the brass numbers nailed to each house. 'Number 7…number 7…number7…where are you, Ronald Weasley?' She passed Number 4…Number 5…Number 6…The next one should be…Ah ha! Number 7, Wiltshire Road, Godric’s Hollow!
It sat at the very end of the road, directly in front of her. It was by far the smallest house on the street, but with the snow, candles, wreaths, and “Jingle Bells” drifting on the biting air from inside, it was also the merriest. With her hands shaking with more than just cold, she approached the house, climbed the steps onto the porch, and rang the doorbell…
***RON***
Ding dong ding dong! Ding dong ding dong! sang the doorbell. She was here!
Ron took a deep breath, looked quickly all round the house then calmly opened the front door. He had to remember to breathe.
Hermione looked stunning. She wore a dark brown coat with fur around the cuffs and collar, a navy blue knit scarf with a delicate silver snowflake pin on it, a navy cashmere jumper, snazzy hip-hugger jeans, and high black boots. Her dark brown hair was sprinkled with large snowflakes, and her doe-like eyes sparkled endlessly. She carried a package wrapped in red wrapping paper under her arm, and there was a huge grin on her face.
“Hermione,” he breathed. He didn’t know what else to say.
***HERMIONE***
“Hermione,” said Ron quietly with a rather stupid, open-mouthed look on his handsome, yes, handsome, face. Hermione was sure that she didn’t look much better herself.
God, he was good-looking now. He had grown several inches (again) and was now more than a head taller than her even though her heels were at least four inches high. He had also gained quite a bit of muscle, which was quite a change from the tall but very skinny boy she had known. His face wasn’t nearly as freckly as before, and she could swear he had a little five o’clock shadow. The only thing that hadn’t changed was his hair; it was still as red and as untidy as before.
“Ronald Weasley. Happy Christmas,” she said in return. A real smile broke out on his face. Hermione couldn’t take it anymore. Literally dropping his present, which didn’t do any harm she had put an anti-breaking charm on it, she squealed a little and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.
“Hermione, my God, it’s great to see you!” he exclaimed, wrapping her in a big bear hug. The just stood like that, laughing and saying each other’s names over and over again until she felt a shiver run through him. “Hey,” he laughed, pulling back from her. “Come inside where it’s warm. It’s bloody freezing out there!” Ron picked up the present, pulled her inside, and shut the door quickly.
Hermione went right up to him and touched his face with the palm of her hand. “Oh, Merlin’s beard, look at you, Ron!” She laughed. “You’ve changed so much!” Then she touched his hair. “Well, except for this!” She ruffled the bright red strands.
“Hey, you, cut it out!” he laughed, batting her away playfully. “And you…what happened to the little girl with a frizz ball on her head and a smug grin on her face that so rudely pointed out that I had dirt on my nose?” He touched her hair, too, gently brushing away the snow she had accumulated outside. There was a mysterious gleam in his astonishingly blue eyes.
Hermione laughed like she hadn’t laughed in weeks. “She grew up, just like you.” She looked up, straight into his eyes. He looked down at her, the smile fading from his face. For a moment, she thought she could detect a look of longing in those eyes, a look of intense desire, but it was gone as soon as it had come. Surely it had just been her imagination. Right?
Ron suddenly drew back an inch and cleared his throat. “So, erm, can I take your coat?” he asked, sounding much more nervous than he had a moment before.
Hermione blinked several times but managed a smile. “Uh, sure. Here.” She unbuttoned her coat and turned around. When she felt his hands brush her shoulders for a brief instant as he removed the coat, she realized that he was shaking. Must be cold or something, she assumed, wanting to dismiss this observation as soon as possible. Hastily, she pulled off her scarf and hung it over the coat rack next to the door.
“That’s a lovely pin, Hermione,” Ron said, looking at it closer. “My grandmum had one sort of like it when she was alive. She left it to her sister, my grandaunt, I guess you could say. Must be really old,” he noted, appraising the pin.
“Oh. Thank you. Yeah, it was my grandmum’s. I thought it was pretty,” she mumbled. Then she noticed the house.
***RON***
Ron watched as Hermione’s beautiful eyes lit up suddenly. A grin spread slowly across her face. She was looking right at the living room.
“Oh…Ron, look at it! Oh, it’s beautiful!” she breathed, walking slowly into the room. She went right up to the tree and started examining the ornaments in delight. “Oh! It’s out first year at Hogwarts! Damn, my hair was dreadful!” She was pointing at a clay wreath ornament that Ron had made himself. In the center was a moving photograph of her, himself, and Harry. She was right about her hair. As she had gotten older, it had slowly tamed down, but in this picture, it made up at least three quarters of her entire head!
“Yeah. But those were the days, huh? No one was greener than the three of us were, and you know what they say: ‘Innocence is bliss’,” Ron noted, also gazing at the picture. He was standing right behind her, looking over her shoulder. His body couldn’t have been more than an inch away from hers. There was an intoxicating scent wafting about her…a fruity musk…not heavy, but clean and sensual. Then it hit him; it was the perfume Ron had gotten her for Christmas in their fifth year! She still had it? Was that a good sign?
Still, he mentally patted himself on the back for picking out a good scent.
“You’re so beautiful, ‘Mione…” he thought. She whirled around.
“What?” Ron stepped back a full step, completely embarrassed. He hadn’t thought. He had spoken aloud!
“I said…erm… the picture’s so beautiful, ‘Mione,” he said quickly. She frowned for a moment, but then she smiled.
“Yeah. It is,” she said. Hermione pause for a moment, looking around. “Oh, Ron, the dining room!” she squealed, heading for the dining room.
“Oh, wow, Ron, did you do ALL of this? All by YOURSELF?” Hermione marveled over the food.
“Yeah. Well, I had my mum’s recipes and my trusty wand, of course, but otherwise, yeah. I did…” He opened his arms wide and walked slowly in a circle, gesturing to all of the magnificent decorations. “All of this. In three days.” She looked at him with wide, adoring eyes. “Two for the tree and decorations. One for the food.” Then he added much more quietly, as his ears turned bright red, “All for you.” She cocked her head and looked at him, a little smile on her face.
“Ron, this is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” she said quietly. This time, the hug he received from her wasn’t one of excitement, but one of warmth. She wrapped her arms slowly around his neck and pulled him close. He hugged her back, drinking in her closeness. God, she DID smell good. He allowed himself to press he face ever so gently into her hair and take it in.
***HERMIONE***
First Person POV
If I had to choose one way to spend eternity, it would be in Ronald Weasley’s arms. He felt warm and strong when he let me hug him, and there, wrapped in his tight embrace, I felt completely safe. Never again would a thought of how Lord Voldemort had tortured Harry, Ron, and myself before Harry had managed to defeat him enter my mind if I were to stay in his arms.
He smelled good to me… It was like…the essence of his soul only in the form of a scent. I know, you’re thinking, “She’s a little off her rocker”, but there was no other way to describe it.
I could feel his face in my fair. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, actually just the opposite, but I DID want to eat sometime that night, and I knew that if he stayed this close to me for much longer, neither of us would be eating anything anytime soon. So I retracted an inch, and he took the hint, so he removed himself from me. I felt the safeness melt away, and I felt cold and lonesome without it, but I held my ground.
Dear Merlin, why did he have to have this affect on me? Why?
***RON***
First Person POV
Hermione was pulling back from me. Oh, no. What did I do? Had I been too forward with her? Did she not feel the same way about me as I did about her? Was I going too fast?
I removed myself from her reluctantly but still rather hurriedly. If she didn’t want me that close, than I had to distance myself quickly before I ruined her whole evening.
I looked down at her. Her delicate cheeks sported a rosy, romantic blush, and her full, pink lips revealed a very, very shy smile. It was barely even there, but Ron had become an expert at reading her facial expressions over the years, and she was indeed smiling.
God, she was stunning.
'Wait,' I thought. 'If she’s smiling, then maybe she DIDN’T want me to pull away. Maybe she was just moving.' I sighed audibly. 'Girls are so complicated. No wonder I never had a steady girlfriend like all my mates at Hogwarts. I don’t think I could have taken the stress. '
Author’s Note: I know, I know. Long chapter. But it didn’t feel right to break it up. Then the chapters would be short. ANYWAY, REVIEW! I got lots of responses when I THREATENED you last time, so I say again, REVIEW, OR YE SHALL FEEL MY WRATH! Sorry. Being evil always works.