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If Hermione had to reprimand one more customer for leaving their drinks and empty ice cream cups on her bookshelves, she was going to explode.
Metaphorically speaking, of course.
She wouldn’t actually endanger the very burnable books and shelves surrounding her, not only because of the absolute abhorrence of such an act, but also because she’d be putting herself out of business. She wasn’t so well off as to shrug off that kind of financial loss.
The tip of her wand made a satisfying thwack as it struck the sign pinned to the front desk stating, “No food or drink.”
“But, ‘Mione, I just bought this–”
“No buts! You should have known better, Ronald!”
Behind her whiny ex-boyfriend stood the twins, both of whom snickered at his misfortune.
“Neither Fred nor George have a problem with my rules!”
Ron scowled. “That’s only because Fred has a cr–”
“Don’t be a git, Ronniekins,” Fred said sharply. His arm dropped across the younger man’s shoulders to angle him back the way they’d come. Sending an apologetic glance Hermione’s way, he added, “We wanted to see if you were free to come over for dinner tonight–”
“–since we won another holiday turkey and could use the help,” George finished.
They were nearly pushed to the door amidst the press of bodies in her bookshop. It was the final week leading up to Christmas, and both witches and wizards swarmed Diagon Alley doing their last-minute shopping. How the Weasleys managed to step away from their own store was a mystery to Hermione. She’d barely found a moment to stuff a sausage roll into her mouth around lunchtime, much less taken a full break.
The last time she’d eaten a meal during a weeknight that wasn’t a frozen dinner or Indian takeout was a couple of weeks earlier at the start of Saturnalia with the Lovegoods. Incidentally, Ronald had been present then, too, since he and Luna were a thing. Weird, but also kind of perfect. She calmed him in a way Hermione had never been able to in all their years together as both friends and, for a short time, lovers.
“What should I bring?” she yelled over the crowd.
“Yourself, silly!” Fred shouted back.
The bells on the door jingled cheerily, signalling their departure and Hermione’s return to mayhem. Her first Christmas as a bookseller was turning out to be so much more than she could have expected.
When Villanelle, the longtime owner of Flourish and Blotts, decided to sell, Hermione had been her first point of contact. The witch wanted to keep the bookshop’s integrity intact. Who else but her favourite and most frequent customer could be trusted? While, yes, there were a string of former managers who might have been interested, the two women shared an unrivalled passion for the written word in all its forms.
For England’s number one supplier of books to end up in the hands of Hermione Granger?
The wizarding world, as they knew it, truly was changing, and she was proud to contribute to the movement in a way that felt more immediate and fulfilling than any amount of paper pushing she’d endured at the Ministry.
It was a relief to retain the loyalties of several publishers and entities, such as Hogwarts. Yes, students were still responsible for their own copies, but Madam Pince made sure to keep her library up to date. The professors, too, each had their own line of communication regarding the newest textbooks.
She was holding one such letter from Professor Charles Weasley.
“Mark,” she said, flagging one of her employees and waving the parchment with Charlie’s neat scrawl, “mind the desk? I need to take care of this.”
“Sure thing, Hermione.” The young man hopped into place, already greeting the next customer in line.
It didn’t take her long to pinpoint the spine bearing the requested title, Migration Patterns of European Dragon Species, 18th Edition. While she delegated many tasks to her employees, Hermione still made sure to keep herself in rotation. She’d meant to spend most of the day manning the till, but this was one order that she wanted to prepare herself.
A half hour later, she carefully bundled the book together with the letter she’d written in magically-reinforced butcher paper and added it to the stack of outgoing mail. If the package included a vivid blue ribbon that matched the colour of his eyes, well, that was simply because Charlie had always been one of her favourite people, customer or not. She couldn’t just fulfill his order without a personal note and bit of flair.
The rest of the day passed quickly enough thanks to the constant rush of customers, and it was with a relieved sigh that she finally locked the door and turned over the sign indicating Flourish and Blotts now closed.
Thank goodness for cushioning charms, without which Hermione knew she’d be limping. That, or collapsed across the nearest surface–in this case, the window’s holiday display. Imagining the shock such a sight would give to any passerby made her snort quietly to herself.
“I’ve got everything handled, Hermione.”
Mark’s comment accompanied his masterful execution of cleaning magic, one that sent a small army of brooms and dust rags throughout the shop. He remained behind the till reconciling the day’s earnings. Another glance showed Regina, another one of her employees, reorganising returned and misplaced books onto their respective shelves.
“Have I ever told you how lucky I am to employ such wonderful people?” She spoke loud enough for both workers to hear.
Regina waved a hand in acknowledgement, while Mark smirked. “Only a thousand times.”
Still, Hermione hesitated. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust them to close without her, because she did. She couldn’t put her finger on the reason why she wasn’t rushing off to meet the boys.
“Are you sure you two will be alright?”
“Just go!” Regina shouted, not even bothering to look Hermione’s way.
“Go get your man,” Mark teased. His brows wiggled suggestively.
Hermione pointed a finger at him and used the most threatening voice she could muster. “It isn’t like that, but fine.”
“Uh-huh.”
Was it?
❄
She knocked sharply on the twins’ door, one that was independent from their business and only accessed by family and friends. A sudden gust of wind prompted her to shove her bare hands deep into her pockets. She’d forgotten her mittens and knit cap again.
The door was yanked open, revealing a widely-grinning Fred. His smile changed to one of horror when he took in her huddled form.
“Blimey, get in here! It’s far too cold for you to wait outside like this.” He ushered Hermione in, hovering over her in a startling imitation of his mother.
“I’m fine,” she laughed. “Honestly. I wasn’t out that long, and I always Floo home.”
“Hey, Hermione!” George yelled, his head popping out from where she knew the kitchen was.
Ron was nowhere to be seen, but she knew he never ventured very far from the food.
“Let me take your coat,” Fred urged.
She followed as he went to hang up her belongings, catching up on the events of their day and feeling all of the tension that had built up over the past several hours melt away with every laugh and wink. Fred, especially, had a gift for coaxing a smile from her, even on the worst days. He simply had to look at her–a twinkle in his eye, lips curled at the edges just so, Hermione’s name on the tip of his tongue–and her spirit was renewed.
He did so now, the two of them still alone in the hallway. She beamed up at him, like she always did, then stilled as he gently took hold of her hand.
This was new, as was the intense focus of his regard.
“I’d like a moment of your time after dinner, if you can spare it.” He rubbed soft circles against her thumb.
Hermione wanted to push him to say whatever it was that was on his mind now. What was the point in waiting?
She found herself nodding instead. “Sure.”
Fred’s grin returned tenfold, nearly blinding her with its brilliance. She wasn’t sure whether to smile back or feel terrified.
“You two coming?” George called.
It wasn’t until they’d walked up to the table and were met with two sets of raised brows that Hermione realised they were still holding hands. She quickly let go, avoiding looking at Fred. She didn’t want to see what kind of expression he wore.
That didn’t stop her from catching the slow unfurling of George’s grin. Ron retained his typical befuddlement, like he wasn’t sure what it was he’d seen.
“Are you two–” Ron started to say.
A loud clap cut him off.
“Everything looks great, mate. I’m starving!” Fred said far too cheerily.
Thankfully, the diversion worked as Ron immediately pivoted to shovelling his plate full of as much food as possible. She did, however, catch George’s eye several times throughout the meal and tried to put on as unaffected of a front as she could. It was difficult given Fred’s choice to sit alongside her, his elbow occasionally bumping her own. Echoes of each touch lingered.
One thing she didn’t feel that she needed to hide was her appreciation for their cooking. “Your turkey is perfect! Mine always ends up overcooked.” She followed the compliment with another bite of the succulent meat.
“We did learn a thing or two from dear Mum,” Fred said, “though we still make sure to include our own secret ingredient.”
George silently mouthed what looked like “love” at her, then yelped as his twin lobbed a bread roll at his head.
Hermione didn’t know how to react. As much as Fred had always teased her, he was a natural flirt. He always had been. She didn’t have enough fingers to count all of his secret and not-so-secret admirers back when they were students, and she was certain he was even more popular now as a successful business owner who’d lost none of his charm. If anything, he’d refined flirting to an art form.
She rolled her eyes, like she always did. George burst into laughter, like he always did. Ron was too busy cleaning his plate, reassuring in his predictability. And Fred…
Fred was watching her, a soft smile on his face.
Dinner passed far too quickly for Hermione’s liking. She’d always enjoyed hanging out with the twins, but she’d never felt the passage of time so keenly. Before she knew it, she sat alone with Fred, George having whisked Ron away for some last-minute potion brewing that could not wait until the next day.
She’d spent countless hours on their sofa, some of them, she had to admit, because she’d drank far too much. In fact, she was pretty sure the stain she was currently staring at came from an unfortunate reaction with one of their experimental cocktails.
“Hermione…” he started to say, before pausing to take a deep breath.
Fred’s uncharacteristic hesitation brought her back to the matter at hand. She sat up and turned to face him, as he was her. The expression he wore sent her stomach cartwheeling. She probably shouldn’t have had seconds, because now she felt less pleasantly stuffed and more on the verge of feeling sick.
“We’ve been friends for a long time now, and, the more time that passes and the more I get to know you, the more I want, well, more.”
Hermione’s breath caught in her throat.
He reached out to take her hand, which was probably cold and clammy, but he didn’t seem to mind. “What do you say, Hermione? Would you let me take you out on a date?”
She stared at their entwined hands. His were covered in old burns and scars and a not-so-old plaster, likely from one of the twins’ many experiments.
She liked Fred, she really did. She just wasn’t sure if liking him was enough to match his expectations. While she didn’t have too much experience to go off of, Hermione was fairly certain that there was something critical lacking.
Or, maybe that was just the romantic in her whose pile of books were filled with the sort of chemistry she’d always dreamt of having in her own happy-ever-after.
Fred, far more perceptive than others often gave him credit for, read her reaction without her having to say a word.
“You don’t have to answer me now. Just…think about it, alright?”
How could she say no to that?
❄
One week later, and Hermione still hadn’t answered Fred.
Not that he’d followed up on his question, because he hadn’t. His patience both relieved her and made her feel the weight of her guilt more with each passing day.
She’d seen him multiple times since that dinner, and not once had he acted any differently than usual. He and George teased her about the holiday display she’d arranged that was made up entirely of festive-themed smut, many of the covers of which included tinsel-adorned witches and wizards and Amortentia-spiked eggnog. Incidentally, that was the table with the highest turnover.
She checked over her reflection in the hallway mirror one more time. Makeup and hair: perfect. Self-knit sweater dress: just the right side of sexy-cosy. Confidence: debatable.
It would have to do.
The second she passed through the Floo into the Burrow, she was inundated with the achingly familiar aroma of savoury and sweet spices.
“Hermione!”
A blur of red, and she nearly fell back into the fireplace with the force of Ginny’s hug. Behind her, Harry grinned, waiting his turn.
Hermione struggled to thump the other witch on the back. “Gin, I can’t breathe.”
“Oh! Sorry about that,” Ginny said, pulling back with a sheepish grin. “I got so excited since it’s been ages since we last saw you, right, Harry?”
Hermione exchanged a look with her old friend as he sidled up to join them. They didn’t say anything for a brief moment, almost sizing one another up, then she was 11-years-old again, hugging her best friend.
“We’ve missed you,” he murmured.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been better about keeping in touch.”
She meant it, too. Life since leaving the Ministry and taking on Flourish and Blotts had her skipping out on far too many invitations. She was lucky to have friends who understood how easily sidetracked she could get.
They led her over towards the sofa, catching her up on their lives and peppering her with questions about her own. The tension she’d carried for the past several days faded away in the warmth and security of their company.
Hermione made a note to see more of her friends more often.
“Hey, you.”
She turned towards the newcomer, immediately recognising the smooth bass of her favourite dragon keeper turned professor. He looked as laid back as ever in the Muggle clothing he’d come to favour over the years. His jeans were worn, but clean, and left little to the imagination in regards to his thickly muscled lower half. The same held true for his upper body, which he’d covered with the softest-looking flannel button-up.
“Charlie!” Hermione jumped up to greet him.
Like his sister, he welcomed Hermione with another hug, only this one lifted her off of the ground both physically and emotionally, just like it always had from when she was a teenager.
Now that she was an adult, though? She wasn’t too embarrassed to admit that his hugs were right at the top of her most-anticipated holiday traditions. Plus, he smelled amazing. Wind-swept pine, fresh rain, and a wisp of mint–perhaps a combination of working outdoors and his soap? Either way, she could breathe it in all day, everyday.
He set her down, but they stayed connected, his hands at her waist, hers resting in the crooks of his elbows.
“Thanks for the book and letter. I figured you wouldn’t be too sore if I didn’t reply until after the holidays, since we’d see each other here, anyway.”
“You figured correctly.”
They exchanged wide grins, completely missing their amused audience. Hermione and Charlie might as well have been alone in the room with how everything else faded away. How long they stood there chatting, she couldn’t say, but it wasn’t until the telltale woosh of the Floo sounded that she remembered where she was.
She glanced over to find Fred staring directly at her, blatant hurt etched into his face. George and Ron stood just behind them, their eyes jumping between the two of them as if watching a Quidditch match.
Without another word, Fred spun away towards the kitchen, leaving an awkward silence behind him.
“Did something happen before you guys came over?” Charlie asked.
“I wouldn’t worry about it.” George cast a long look at where she and Charlie still held on to one another. “He’s got his own shite to work through.”
She knew she should probably step away and follow after Fred to explain that she’d just been catching up with his brother, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave just yet. Charlie wasn’t making a move to step away, either, each of his hands a reassuring weight grounding her to the present moment.
The Floo wooshed once more, and Ron and George hastened to get out of the way. This time, Charlie shifted to make room, but he kept one hand at Hermione’s back, the heat of it soaking right through her dress.
Out popped Bill and Fleur, the former holding a miniature of his wife in his arms who brightened the moment she saw the crowd.
“Uncle Charlie! Aunt Hermione!” Victoire wiggled in her father’s arms, hands outstretched.
“Oi! What about me?” Ginny said indignantly.
“Sorry, Gin. I can’t help that kids simply like me better,” Charlie teased, finally releasing Hermione to accept Bill and Fleur’s daughter into his arms. Hermione felt the absence of his touch as keenly as if she’d been tossed out into the snow. Where had her attachment even come from?
She banished the feeling with a kiss to sweet Victoire’s cheek and a hug to each of the girl’s parents.
“Hermione, that dress is stunning on you! Did you knit it yourself?” Fleur gushed, holding her at arm’s length to inspect Hermione from head to toe.
“I did,” she answered, pleased that someone as fashion forward as the French witch would notice, much less compliment her.
“Magnifique!” Fleur cried.
Bill hummed in agreement, though his besotted eyes never strayed far from his wife. No matter how often Hermione saw the two of them together, their love for one another never seemed to fade in the slightest. They were just as passionate for one another now as they’d been a decade earlier.
Any further discussion was tabled as Molly yelled for them to come to dinner. The awkwardness from earlier returned once Hermione took her seat and saw who surrounded her.
Harry on one side, Charlie on the other.
Across from Harry was George, which meant…
Fred sat across the table from her, and she didn’t miss the way he glanced towards Charlie before fixating on her once again.
“Hermione,” he said quietly. “You look lovely.”
“Thank you. You’re looking well put together, yourself.” She inwardly grimaced, hoping she didn’t sound as off-kilter as she felt.
She honestly did think the twins looked dapper wearing matching bow ties in their signature orange that they’d paired with navy button-downs. They’d always exhibited a natural flair for style.
His eyes softened.
“Care for some wine, love?” Charlie held the bottle aloft, waiting for her response and not realising the bomb he’d set off with his casual endearment.
The softness vanished, leaving in its place a clenched jaw.
That was how the entirety of Christmas Eve dinner passed, Hermione feeling somewhat like a Quaffle being tossed back and forth. Most everyone acted like their usual selves, but there was no disguising Fred’s hot and cold reactions to nearly anything she and Charlie did together.
Which was a lot.
Because she loved chatting with Charlie–about the time he spent in Romania, his experience teaching Magical Creatures at Hogwarts, the writing he thought he might want to publish someday–and he never seemed to run out of questions and interesting topics for her. Talking with him was as effortless as breathing. If only she could enjoy the moment without worrying about upsetting the wizard across from her.
By the time dessert rolled around, Hermione was more than ready to call it a night. She excused herself to the loo, and, when she finished washing up, she exited only to run directly into an unexpected barrier.
“Fred?”
He looked sheepish, but determination lined his shoulders and the gaze he leveled at her. “Can we talk?”
It was foolish of her to think she could get by that evening without some sort of confrontation. She’d hoped, at the very least, to avoid any possible awkwardness over these two days. Still, she respected and cared for Fred.
“Of course.”
Only, when they turned towards the nearby stairs, they found themselves unable to move.
“What the–”
“Oh, for Godric’s sake.”
She followed Fred’s line of sight to a devious bit of foliage hanging above their heads.
Mistletoe.
Her stomach dropped. There was no getting around magical mistletoe; nothing short of the simple act that it required would remove the hold on them.
He was apologetic as he turned his eyes back to her. “I swear, I had no idea that was there.”
“I believe you.”
He twisted to the side enough to mutter under his breath, and she thought she caught a curse and something along the lines of “not like this.”
“Fred, I promise. It’s okay. Let’s just do what it asks and move on.” She punctuated her statement by placing each of her hands on his shoulders.
He froze, eyes widening and giving off the distinct impression of a Mooncalf.
She’d keep that comparison to herself.
It wasn’t until she leaned in, rising up on her toes, that he gathered his usual confidence. She sucked in a breath when he wrapped an arm around her, tugging her close, and used his free hand to cup the back of her neck.
They were really doing this. They were going to kiss.
Even though they were only doing so because of a silly bit of magic, and Fred had been hinting towards a more romantic relationship, all Hermione could feel was panicked.
She didn’t want to kiss him, after all. She cared for him, yes, but as a friend. Not as a lover. Not even close.
“On second th–mmf!”
She’d waited too long to speak. Fred’s lips locked onto hers with the sort of firm determination she supposed other witches would swoon over. The slant of his mouth, the strength of his hold on her, even the slight sweetness that still lingered from the lemon tarts, all were objectively pleasing. Just not for her.
When Fred finally pulled away, it was with a wrinkle between his brows and a realisation mirroring her own.
“I, uh…”
“I think we’re better off as friends.” The words poured out of her as they should have a week ago.
He winced, rubbing at the back of his head. “That bad, huh?”
“Not at all!” she rushed to reassure him. “I was actually going to agree on a date, but now…”
Her hands slid from his shoulders to her sides, and she took a step back, the magic released.
She needn’t have worried.
Fred might look disappointed, but he’d come to the same conclusion as she. “There wasn’t any spark, was there?”
Hermione shook her head.
Circe, this was awkward.
“How awkward is this situation?” he said, echoing her sentiment.
When she burst into laughter, it only took him a beat to join her. He wiped at his eyes as she struggled to catch her breath.
“Friends?” He held out his hand.
She scoffed. Ignoring his hand, she pulled him down again, this time to press a kiss to his cheek.
“Always.”
Then, she shoved him before rushing to the stairs.
“Last one to the kitchen does the dishes…by hand!”
If anybody noticed her and Fred’s coincidental return, or how they suddenly seemed at ease with one another, they didn’t say. It only took George one glance between the two of them to shrug and go on as if they’d never disappeared at all.
“Do you really need to leave, Hermione? Why don’t you stay the night since you’re coming over tomorrow, anyway?” Ginny asked, sticking her lower lip out.
“Where would I even stay? All the rooms are full,” Hermione reminded her.
“I don’t mind taking the couch. You usually take my room, don’t you?” Charlie sidled in next to her.
“Yeah, Hermione, why not sleep in Charlie’s bed?” Ginny said with a smirk. The edges only widened at Hermione’s glare.
She tossed her hair and turned towards the better Weasley.
“That’s kind of you, but I really ought to make sure Crookshanks gets fed, or he’ll be a nightmare.”
“Ah, one must never keep a half-Kneazle waiting.” His eyes sparkled, and Hermione allowed herself for the briefest of moments to imagine what it might be like to come home to Charlie Weasley, Crookshanks curled up on his lap.
“Never.”
❄
Christmas Day dawned bright and clear, not that Hermione had the pleasure of waking up that way.
No, she woke up with the horrible sensation that she was being suffocated to death. Her eyes opened to darkness and a mouthful of fur.
“Gerroffme!”
Crookshanks took his sweet time standing and stretching on top of her, flipping his tail up and giving her an eyeful of his arsehole.
“Happy Christmas to you, too, you menace.”
“Mrow.”
Only a handful of minutes later as she brushed her teeth, he started yowling, no doubt in front of his empty food bowl and on the verge of death.
Did he thank her when she finally fed and gave him fresh water? No. He didn’t even pay her any mind once she was dressed and ready to leave, choosing instead to curl up in his bed on the windowsill.
This time, Hermione went with a more outdoor-appropriate outfit: jeans, her current favourite jumper with “Reader” in large letters across the front, and the full array of snow boots, puffy coat, mittens, hat, and muffler. Several years of Christmases spent at the Burrow had quickly taught her that the family loved their snowball fights and holiday Quidditch matches. Warming and drying charms only went so far.
“The Burrow!”
Only Arthur sat in the living room, still wearing his pajamas and cupping a comically large mug. “Happy Christmas, Hermione.”
“Happy Christmas, Mr Weasley!”
He clicked his tongue. “How many times must I ask you to call me ‘Arthur’?”
“Happy Christmas, Arthur,” she corrected, before swooping in to give the elderly man a kiss on the cheek. “Is there any more of that cocoa you’ve got there?”
He jerked his thumb towards the kitchen. “More than enough.”
As she walked through the house, Hermione could already see Bill and Fleur playing with Victoire outside, having charmed a snowman to hop around the yard. She expected to find more than just Molly in the kitchen, but maybe everyone had stayed up far later than expected.
It wasn’t until she was situated with a mug of her own that Molly let her know that everyone had suited up for a game of Quidditch before breakfast.
“Already?” Hermione was aghast. This had to be some record. She couldn’t remember them ever playing this early in the past.
Molly shrugged. “The boys had some bets they couldn’t wait to settle.”
Now the uncharacteristic decision made sense. If there was something to win or lose, then of course they’d choose their favourite sport as the deciding factor. Fred and George did this sort of thing all the time, though the other Weasleys were just as guilty from time to time.
She wasn’t quite ready to brave the cold this early in the day. It was a good thing she always brought along a few books when spending the day out.
Hermione curled up in the corner armchair, soon lost in another world.
❄
She would need to find out the results of Cecelia and Eric’s 3rd-act breakup later. The tumultuous scene she’d been reading was forgotten as a small figure came barrelling into the living room trailing snow and a rush of cold air behind her.
“Victoire! Come ‘ere right this minute!” Fleur said sternly.
“But Maman, I’m thirsty–”
“Listen to your mother.” Bill levelled his daughter with a sharp eye. Victoire hastened to obey.
At the sound of their return, Molly popped out of the kitchen carrying a tray of steaming mugs. Arthur continued to snooze on, wholly undisturbed by the commotion.
“Perfect timing! Fleur, be a dear and take these drinks out to the pitch. They’re overdue for some refreshments.”
Fleur was in the middle of vanishing the snow still clinging to her daughter, her own outerwear already hung up and boots removed. She didn’t answer immediately, eyes flicking over to her husband.
Before Bill could offer to take his wife’s place, Hermione stood.
“Actually, Molly, why don’t I just take those?” She stretched, relishing the first movement she’d made since curling up to read. “I could use the fresh air.”
The older woman blinked and paused, as if reconsidering her request. Then, she returned her attention back to her daughter-in-law.
“I apologise for jumping on you like that, Fleur. I should have asked for a volunteer.” She sounded like she meant it, too.
While Molly got along a lot better with Fleur these days, she still had moments where she slipped backwards, letting her demanding nature get the better of her. She’d had a particularly hard time of it following Hermione and Ron’s breakup, oscillating between outright spite and a cold shoulder. The rift was eventually mended, thanks in no small part to the rest of the Weasley clan’s steadfast friendship with Hermione.
“On second thought,” Molly continued, “I can take these over myself–”
“Nope!” Hermione lifted the tray away before the other woman could take a single step. “I meant it when I said I needed the air.”
It wasn’t a complete lie. Hermione hadn’t gotten her steps in for the day, yet. What she left unsaid was her approval of Molly’s quick realisation of where she’d erred and attempt to remedy the situation. Saving the older witch a trip through the cold was an easy way for Hermione to show her gratitude.
She nearly regretted the sentiment once she actually stood outside in the brisk wind.
Merlin’s balls, it was cold. How could they play in this kind of weather? If not for the warming charm, the drinks would have likely turned to slush by the time Hermione made it to the pitch. As it was, they continued to send up their tantalising wisps, enveloping her in a heady sweetness with just the right amount of spice.
The second she stepped out into the open space, they swarmed her.
This must be what it’s like to be a Snitch, or maybe a Quaffle.
“Bloody hell, that’s good,” Ginny hissed, after taking a particularly long draw of her cider.
A series of agreeable noises followed her statement, the rest of the players too absorbed with their own drinks to actually speak. It wasn’t until they’d finished, returning the empty mugs to the tray she still held, that they broke the silence.
Starting with Charlie, who winked and lifted the tray from her hands. “It’s a good thing you showed up. I was starting to get bored of winning.”
“Oi, don’t say it like that,” Ron protested.
“How else is he supposed to say it–”
“–when it’s true?”
The twins laughed at their younger brother’s pout, their cheer friendly rather than mocking. At the sight of the matching grins, Hermione remembered the previous night. The kiss.
Did Fred feel any differently than he had then?
He glanced at her wearing the same grin as always, and if his eyes were a tad softer than before their kiss, it was only natural. They’d always share that moment, and he would always hold a special place in her heart.
Which felt lighter now. Hermione returned her attention to Charlie.
“And what does the winner think he’s doing with that tray?”
A gust of wind hit them, sending the dark copper curls sticking out of the other man’s helmet into disarray. Despite that, his glacial eyes remained fixed on Hermione, as immovable as they were breathtaking.
“Carrying it back to the house.”
“We haven’t finished our game yet!” Ginny yelled, outraged.
“I was gonna ask Bill if he wanted to take my place,” he shouted back without looking away from Hermione once.
“You don’t need to do that for me, Charlie.” She tried to take back the tray, but he darted effortlessly around her as if still on a broom.
“I know, but I want to. You can watch the game with Luna.” He pointed towards the treeline, where a figure sat beneath a large evergreen. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
Hermione took his suggestion only because she wanted to catch up with her friend, not because she was waiting for him to return. It had been too long since she and Luna had sat down with just the two of them now that Ron was in the mix, not that Hermione minded. She mostly missed the girl talk and, most especially, Luna, herself.
The other witch always had a way of seeing to the heart of matters. While that could be disconcerting at times, at others it was exactly what was needed.
Like now.
“It was lovely chatting, Hermione. I’m going to head back inside to help Molly.” Luna abruptly stood to brush loose snow off herself.
Hermione hurried to follow. “Oh, let me come along–”
“That won’t be necessary. In fact, you’ll be quite pleased in the end if you stay here and wait for Charlie.”
“I’m sure he won’t mind. We’ll probably pass right by him on our way back.”
The other girl shook her head firmly, her light blue eyes piercing straight through her like they always did. Eyes that seemed to see beyond this plane and into the next. Luna often spoke of energies, auras, and bonds. Hermione didn’t subscribe to any of it herself, but she no longer discounted the uncanny coincidences that always followed the other witch as assuredly as the tides to the moon.
“Consider listening to my advice your Christmas present to me.” Luna seemed to glow from within, a smile teasing the corners of her mouth. “Alright?”
Well, how could Hermione say no to that?
She sank back down to the blanket and watched as Luna flit off, her golden tresses trailing behind her like fairy dust.
Hermione didn’t have to wait long. A handful of minutes later, she saw two more figures appear at the edge of the pitch, one peeling off in her direction. She yanked a book out of her pocket and pretended to be absorbed.
“You’re still here.”
Like the most decadent of hot cocoa, Charlie’s voice sank into her, reeling her eyes up. Her book lay forgotten in her lap as she drank in the view.
He still wore his Quidditch kit beneath his winter cloak, the collar around his neck undone. Charlie was a jaw-dropping blend of brawn and grace. How he balanced the two opposing forces, she had no idea. Whether he was on a broomstick, handling a dragon, or wielding the quill that wrote her such detailed and entertaining letters, he never failed to seize control to take what was his.
What would it be like to be the object of his obsession, and why did the idea of that excite her?
She willed the question into silence as she smiled up at him. “I’m still here.”
He sank down onto the blanket beside her, close enough for their legs to brush up against each other. The motion was innocent. No different from the way she sat with any of his other siblings. Yet, she felt his proximity as sharply as if he’d laid skin to skin.
She wanted to put space between them. She wanted to press closer. She wanted to know if he felt the way she felt.
Shouts and movement at the corner of her eye indicated the matches had commenced, but Hermione was too busy trying to identify the strength of attraction that had been conspicuously absent with both Ron and Fred. What made Charlie so different?
“Feeling thirsty?”
She almost snorted. Maybe she was more obvious than she thought.
Then, Charlie pulled out a large thermos.
“Yes.” She inwardly winced at her squeaky reply. Smooth, Hermione. She cleared her throat to try again. “Yes, please. That would be lovely.”
Was it just her, or did his eyes flash just then?
He unscrewed the lid, filling it near to the brim. “We’ll have to share,” he said huskily. “I hope you don’t mind.”
Their fingers brushed as she took his offering, and she very nearly dropped it at the zap of energy that raced up her arm.
Static. That’s all it was.
The large gulp she took instantly warmed her from within. Rich, tangy, the perfect amount of heat.
She silently passed the cup back to Charlie. The exposed skin of his throat bobbed as he drained the remainder in a single pull.
“Damn, that’s delicious,” he muttered.
He immediately poured another cup full to share with her again. Then, a third.
“So, your book...” Hermione had been dying to hear more ever since he’d first brought it up. “Tell me about it.”
Charlie launched into describing the research he’d continued to do in his free time along with his teaching. Being a professor at Hogwarts gave him a first-hand look at the sort of material students had at their fingertips. His own experience as a dragonologist, both intellectually and in the field, afforded him even more information. There was a wealth of knowledge available to those who sought it out, but there was still room for improvement.
“You want to write a handbook for teachers?”
He nodded enthusiastically. “I know you never met him, but Professor Kettleburn was an amazing teacher. I know you’re partial to Hagrid–”
Hermione was quick to correct him. “I love Hagrid, but his talents lie outside of teaching.”
She’d never forget the months they’d spent on Flobberworms.
“I agree. There’s no better Groundskeeper, and there’s no one I’d trust more to watch my back in the Forbidden Forest. Other than you, of course.”
She pursed her lips at the addition. “From one teacher’s pet to another, flattery doesn’t get you extra credit.”
“What does it get me?” he teased.
Hermione pretended to consider before answering. “I might look the other way if I catch you out of bed after hours. But, just the one time.”
If he grinned any harder, she’d be tempted to poke at the dimples beneath the scruff of his cheeks.
Clearing her throat, she opened her mouth to return to the original topic. “What does your handbook entail–”
“Watch out!”
The screech from afar jerked her attention upward. The first thing she noticed was one of the twins flattened against his broom and speeding towards them. The next thing she saw and took far too long to identify was the Bludger heading straight for where they sat, rapidly increasing in size. Fred, George, whoever it was, wasn’t going to make it in time.
Rather than throw herself to the side, her gut instinct was to shove Charlie away. Which was laughable, really. There was no way he’d let her take a hit for him, much less shift at all from her feeble attempt to move him.
The second she seized hold of his cloak, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders to yank her behind him and lifted the thermos, muttering a reinforcing charm. Her entire body shook from the force of his swing making contact with the weighted ball.
“Are you okay?” His hands swept over her, checking for what, she didn’t know. Still, concern showed in his eyes as he prompted her for a reply. “Love? Say something. Please?”
“I-I’m okay. Just shocked, I think.”
He sighed with relief, then, to her increased surprise, he pulled her into a hug. “Thank goodness.”
The comforting blend of scents that was only Charlie swept over her, and, combined with his embrace, Hermione felt right back at home.
“Shite, are you two alright?” It was Fred.
Hermione started to pull away to reassure him, but Charlie beat her to it.
“We’re good. Try to move like you actually play the game, though, yeah? You can tell the others I said that.”
She let out a breath of relief at the light-hearted barb. The two exchanged a couple more harmless insults, which ended when Fred apologised to her, specifically. Through it all, Charlie kept one arm firmly wrapped around her shoulder. Rather than get jealous, or try to embarrass them the way she knew he wouldn’t hesitate to with his other siblings, Fred eyed them almost thoughtfully as he flipped his bat one-handed.
Much like George had the day earlier, Fred bobbed his chin at her inquiring look.
He shot off without a backward glance, leaving her alone with Charlie once more.
Now that he’d confirmed her safety, Hermione thought he’d let go of her and return to their discussion. He did pull away, but, instead of settling back into place on the blanket, he stood.
Disappointment surged before she clamped down on the unwelcome emotion.
“Let’s go.” He held his hand out.
“The game’s not over yet.” Still, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to lift her to her feet.
The buzzing she’d noticed earlier returned. He didn’t let go, choosing instead to thread their fingers together. Hermione wasn’t sure what that meant, but she wasn’t going to complain.
“It will be soon.” He pointed outward with his free hand.
At some point during their little Bludger incident, it had started to snow outside their little canopy of trees.
Lightly. Picturesque.
“We should get back before it gets worse,” he continued.
Hermione didn’t want this moment to end, the falling snow an additional magic to what she felt here, with him. She wasn’t sure when she’d get another chance to chat with Charlie in this way. She could admit to herself now that the letters they exchanged meant more to her than she would have acknowledged earlier.
The words were on the tip of her tongue. All she had to do was speak them. Ask if he might feel as she did.
She took a step towards him and promptly slipped.
In true Charlie fashion, he didn’t let her fall.
Strong hands caught her at the waist, propelling her backwards until she leaned against the trunk of the tree. He braced a forearm above her as he caught his breath.
“That’s the second time you’ve saved me,” she teased.
He huffed a quiet laugh. “Does that mean I’ve got to look out for a third?”
“Trouble comes in threes?”
“More like good things,” he whispered, almost like he was talking to himself and not her.
She heard him loud and clear.
Now that they were pressed up against the tree trunk, they were mostly hidden from view. If Hermione felt tension before, it was nothing compared to what thrummed between them now. The hand he’d left at her waist scorched through the thick fabric. His eyes, usually the clearest blue, darkened to a near black as he leaned into her. She couldn’t help but stare at his lips and imagine the way they might taste pressed to her own. Where was that cursed mistletoe when she needed it?
Sod it. She didn’t need a magical plant.
“What are you waiting for then?” she goaded him.
A startled smile spread across his face, light sparking within the depths of his gaze. “Hermione Granger. Are you asking me to kiss you?”
Delighted at the playfulness, she met him in kind. “Would you rather I beg?”
He shook his head, tucking the smile away in mock seriousness. The arm above her dropped, the backs of his fingers brushing across her cheek before burying themselves at the back of her head, angling her, protecting her.
He waited only a second more, eyes checking hers for any hesitation and finding none. Then, tightening his hold, he swooped in.
The instant his lips met hers, heat slashed through her as thoroughly as if she’d been dunked in a hot spring.
This was what she’d been missing.
A sense of belonging. Coming home.
Two pieces slotting together with a deafening click of finality.
Hermione wasn’t so much overwhelmed as she was lifted upward alongside him, their souls spiralling together in a dance that was uniquely theirs. She wouldn’t have believed it were she not experiencing the reality of their magic at this very moment. True love. Soul mates.
It was all real.
Who needed air when they had one another for sustenance?
Okay, that was an exaggeration, because they definitely did need to breathe.
They broke apart with a gasp, blessed oxygen flooding into her lungs alongside pine and mint. For all of his powerful mass, Charlie looked just as staggered as she felt, his chest shuddering with the force of discovery. Even separated, she could feel the now palpable bond holding strong. There was no pretending otherwise, not that she would want to.
Charlie’s forehead pressed to hers as he cupped her face in his hands, an expression of wonder on his face. “I had a feeling, but I never dared hope…”
She fixated immediately on the first part of his sentence. “You had a feeling about us?”
A rueful tilt of his lips sent a pulse between her legs she vowed to explore later.
“Working with dragons and other magical creatures, I became a lot more sensitive to older forms of magic.”
Hermione raised a challenging brow. “Are you likening me to a magical creature?”
This time, he did laugh. “Labels aside, we’re all magical creatures. I’ve always felt drawn to you, and getting to know you intellectually only magnified that.”
Any trepidation she might have felt about fate and magical bonds mistaken for love melted away.
“I feel the same.”
“Good.” His eyes dropped to her mouth. Hers shifted behind him.
“I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
He nodded, already beginning to lean into her.
“Charlie?”
“Hmm?” He was so close, each exhale a teasing reminder.
“We have an audience.”
He looked up at her in confusion, then turned to face what she’d noticed before him.
His siblings floated on their brooms just above them, elbowing one another and, in some cases, exchanging coins. Hermione couldn’t help looking for one particular redhead. When she did find Fred, it was to see him off to the side wearing a sad, but knowing, smile. Cupping his mouth he made clear what he’d hinted at earlier.
“It took you two long enough!”
The others laughed in agreement, even Ron. How they’d managed to pick up on her and Charlie’s feelings before either one of them annoyed Hermione, but, maybe, just maybe, she could admit that she and Charlie had a habit of losing themselves in their passions.
“Shove off, you wankers!” Charlie yelled, gesturing rudely at them.
“They’re not exactly wrong,” Hermione said.
“Yeah, well, they could at least give us some privacy this once,” he grumbled, turning back to pull her into his arms as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
She supposed it was, now.
From this Christmas until forever.
❄