‘You don’t need perfection to achieve success.’ -Me
Hermione Weasley stepped back a few feet from the blazing flames in the fireplace. She looked above the fireplace mantle to where twelve small stockings were hanging. She placed her hand on her stomach, and a smile spread across her face, as she felt the baby kick. The baby, her baby.
She was seven months pregnant. She and her husband, Ron Weasley, had been ecstatic when they found out. They were going to have a baby, their first baby. A little baby girl! She couldn’t stop thinking about it.
She turned her attention back to the twelve stockings. They weren’t the big stockings she had hung at Christmas as a child. They were small, miniature stockings, just for decoration. She wanted the decorations to be perfect. They were having all the Weasleys and the Potters over for Christmas dinner. Hermione had offered to have it here, at her and Ron’s house.
She had the twelve stockings arranged in diagonal patterns, hanging on hooks against the wall above the fireplace mantle. She had insisted on doing the decorations the Muggle way. Just as she had helped her parents as a child.
She felt hands rest on her hips, as the familiar voice of her husband spoke. “Now remind me, why are there twelve stockings? There are only two of us waking up here Christmas morning.”
She turned, smiling at him, and explained, “Because it goes with the Muggle song, The Twelve Days of Christmas. My dad always sang it every Christmas while we were hanging stockings. These decorations have to be perfect.”
She cocked her head, examining the stockings, before deciding she didn’t like the diagonal pattern. She reached up and re-hung them on the hooks. They now lay in a straight line.
“That’s better,” she said, smiling.
“Hmm, I liked it better before,” Ron teased. Hermione, however, didn’t hear the teasing tone. She glanced at him before reaching up and placing them differently. They now hung mismatched, with no certain pattern.
“There, is that good?” she asked him expectantly.
He sighed shaking his head. “Hermione, they were fine before,” he reasoned.
“No, they were too plain that way. These decorations have to be perfect!” exclaimed Hermione.
“Why? We aren’t having anyone but family over. They don’t need to be perfect for our family, Hermione,” Ron said patiently.
“Yes they do! I want to have my first Christmas being pregnant, and having the Christmas dinner at our house, to be perfect!” Hermione cried.
“Hermione, really, it doesn’t need to be perfect for just our family. I mean really, how many people are actually coming, twelve, or something? Not that many, and they are just family. All that really matters is being with family on Christmas, not how perfect the decorations are,” Ron said.
“Well, Ronald, if you don’t remember, seventeen people are coming. Your mum, dad, all your brothers, and their wives are coming. Ginny, Harry, and their son James. Not to mention Bill and Fleur’s kids, Elizabeth, and Jake.” Hermione stopped, thinking about something, before continuing. “Elizabeth is only five, Jake is three, and James is two. What if they found something we didn’t put up, lying around? They are only little kids, they’d eat it. They could choke on it! We have to put all the decorations up, and while we are, they might as well be perfect!” she finished, her voice slightly hysterical.
Ron shook his head, smiling at his wife, who was calming herself down. She always had a need for everything to be perfect. Her being pregnant had, if anything, intensified that desire for perfection.
“Whatever you say, dear,” Ron said, as she started re-hanging the stockings again. He turned to the Christmas tree sitting near the fireplace, in a warm corner of the room. Hermione had insisted on a tree as well. Apparently that’s what Hermione had always done for Christmas.
“Hey Hermione,” he asked, looking at his bushy-haired wife, “what did you do, when you were younger, with the Christmas tree?” Hermione had yet to completely explain how she celebrated Christmas, and what she did with the tree before she found out she was a witch, compared to wizards.
She turned to him, and smiled warmly, turning her attention away from the stockings. She had just taken them all down once more.
“Well, when I was younger, we always had a tree inside. We never went a Christmas without it. I want to keep that tradition up. I mean, I already told you all about what my dad always told me, right?” Hermione questioned him.
“Um, well, I forgot. Could you explain it again?” he asked
Hermione smiled, and nodded. “Well, when I was younger, my dad told me all about Christmas. What he said was that on Christmas night, Santa Clause, or Father Christmas, or Saint Nick, he has many different names. Anyway, he flies across the world, in a big sleigh, led by reindeers. He stops at each house, and slides down the chimney. He comes and leaves presents, in the stockings, and under the Christmas tree for all the good girls and boys. But if the boy or girl is on his naughty list, he brings them coal. Dad said I should always be a good little girl unless I wanted coal.
“Before Christmas night, we would decorate the Christmas tree with lights and ornaments. It was a tradition of ours, I did it with my parents as long as I can remember,” she concluded, smiling fondly at the memory of her childhood Christmas.
“Oh,” Ron breathed. He picked up some long beaded string, and draped it on the tree crookedly. “Like this?” he asked.
Hermione shook her head, “No, do it more like this,” she said. She draped the beaded string around the tree, neatly, weaving it and out of branches.
Ron nodded, and copied her actions with more of the red and green beaded string. After a while, the evergreen tree was draped with the beaded string, glittering in the light of the room. She smiled appreciatively at it.
“Okay, now for ornaments!” she grinned cheerfully.
They spent a while pulling ornaments out of a big cardboard box Hermione had, and placing them on the tree.
Occasionally, Hermione would start taking down various ornaments, and putting them back up in different spots, muttering ‘perfect’ after she did it.
Finally, Hermione pulled out an angel from the bottom of the box. She handed it to Ron, who stood on tiptoe, and placed it on the top of the tree.
He was just stepping back, when Hermione said, “Wait!”
“What?” Ron asked her.
“Move the angel,” she commanded.
“Huh?”
“The angel, move it to the right a little bit.”
He nodded and leaning up again, he tilted the angel to the right. He was just about to step back for a second time when…
“No, no, move it to the left.”
Ron nodded and obeyed.
“Now move it down a little bit so not so much branch is showing,” she ordered.
He did.
“Okay, now lean it forward a little bit.”
He did so.
“Okay, good, that looks alright,” Hermione said. Ron started to walk away form the tree, when Hermione continued, “No, actually move the angel just a bit “ hmph!”
Hermione was suddenly cut off by Ron firmly pressing his lips against hers.
He pulled back and sighed. “It’s fine Hermione. That’s good enough. I hardly think my mum will be contemplating the position of the angel on top of the tree when she comes.”
She crossed her arms and tried to frown, but failed as the corners of her mouth twitched. “Fine,” she gave in, “But I just wanted it to be perfect.”
“I know, love, but it’s fine to me. You don’t need everything you do to be perfect. It’s beautiful the way it is. Even if it’s not perfect,” Ron reasoned.
She sighed. “Yes, I guess you’re right, but those stockings…” she turned to the fireplace, and looked at them. “I need to re-hang those.”
Ron laughed at his wife.
He retreated into the kitchen, deciding a warm drink would be good, and asked Hermione, “You want some hot chocolate?”
“Yeah, sure,” she called back.
Several minutes later, she stepped back, a hand on her swollen stomach, looking at the mantle. The stockings were scattered randomly, no particular order, on the hooks. She smiled, and turned, hearing footsteps, to see Ron walking back in the room, two steaming mugs in hand.
“Thanks,” she said, taking the mug of hot chocolate he offered her. She settled next to him on the couch, his free arm around her. They both looked up to the newly re-hung stockings.
“Perfect,” Ron murmured, kissing the side of her head.
She grinned at him. “Not everything needs to be perfect. It’s beautiful the way it is. Even if it’s not perfect. A wise wizard told me that.” She stopped and grinned playfully. “Okay, so maybe he wasn’t that wise!”
“Hey,” Ron said, mocking a hurt tone. She giggled.
“I love you, Ron.”
“I love you too, Hermione.”
“And Ron?” she said, her gaze falling upon the Christmas tree.
“Yeah?” he responded, following her gaze.
“The angel’s crooked.”
A/N:: Okay, what did you think? Any comments, concerns, questions, anything? Tell me in a review! I'd really like that! Thanks for reading, though!