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“It's not funny, Ron!” Hermione huffed the sound coming out quit from under her hands.
Ron was bent over the table, the deep timber of his laugh filling the air as he pretended to compose himself. His laughter wasn’t dying down anytime soon, filling the ministry cafeteria. Neither party acknowledged the stares they were getting from the other table. Their coworkers watched as the two war heroes bickered.
“Oh, it's more than funny, Hermione.”
She pursed her lips, finally peaking up from her hands, cheeks still red, “I called him professor!” She whined, looking up at the ceiling like it might give her the answers to the universe, “Everyone already thinks I’m a boot licker! I’m not exactly disproving their theory!” she hissed, crumbling back into the table, her bushy hair falling out of the haphazard bun.
Hermione kept repeating, I love my job, over and over. Trying to convince herself that each day was worth the eventual reward. After she’d gotten back from her Australia venture, Kingsley had offered her a job as an assistant on the council of magical law, which was under the department of magical law enforcement; same as Ron and Harry, she enjoyed being close to them, and the work was enjoyable enough. At first, she felt like she was actually making a difference. Working under Kingsley was wonderful and allowed her an insider's look at the ministry. Now that the initial frenzy of fixing the damage done by the deatheaters was gone, and things had slowed down to business as usual and it all started to feel stagnant.
That and her coworkers' awe of her had slowly rolled into jealousy.
Ron snorted, “I’m sure it's not that bad!”
She frowned, picking up her fork and pushing around the salad, “Someone keeps putting tacks on my chair like we're in primary school!” She watched Ron’s face fall into something dark, the gears grinding as he bit back his earlier statement. Hermione contemplated stopping before she gave Ron enough rope to hang someone with, but she was on too much of a roll to stop it. “And they keep leaving stickers on my reports with little good job, or you get an O! They think I’m a child!”
His look got even darker, “Who?”
“Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you,” she accused, pointing her fork at him, pretending she didn’t find it hot, “We’re adults now, we need to stop getting into fist fights.”
He snorted, giving her a rye smile, “I enjoy how you said we when you really mean me love.”
Hermione went to argue that she meant Harry, too, just as the word Love registered in her mind. Her face turned a bit more crimson as she let his words stop her mood from taking another dive. Her relationship with Ron had been… speculative the last couple of months. Not quite romantic, but definitely more than friends.
She could feel them both dancing around something more, both too terrified to cross the Rubicon of their relationship. Didn’t stop either of them from dipping their toes into the river before jumping away. It was little things like that, little looks, little comments. It wasn’t enough and too much at the same time.
Maybe things would have gone faster if she hadn’t gone straight to Australia to get her parents a week after the war ended, and if he hadn’t been so busy taking care of his family after Fred got injured in the Battle of Hogwarts. They’d spent nearly three months apart, and now it was like a bandage had been placed over the vulnerability they had let loose.
And neither was willing to be the one to rip it off.
Yet.
Both of them were banking on that yet.
Hermione soldiered on, ignoring the look in his eyes and the beating of her own heart, “Everything just feels off there, maybe I’m just new, and everyone goes through this?” she justified, tapping her fork on the table. Ron took a big bite of his pasta, leftovers from Sunday dinner at the burrow. She looked down at her plate, feeling drained. At Hogwarts, she had her boys to deal with people. To keep her from feeling like she had no one on her team, “I just can’t deal with all this alone.”
“Hey, I’m here-” he took her hand, “-and Harry too!”
She snorted, squeezing his hand back, “Probably just you, Harry seems pretty keen on keeping Ginny company during the day.”
“Honeymoon phase, they’ll get over it,” he shrugged off. Ron (somehow) wished that this sentiment were more true than in reality. Harry had told him he refused to be the third wheel to their, as he put it, very obvious old married couple flirting.
“Yeah.”
“Do you think maybe you should just move departments?” he suggested, going back to his food, “I mean, are you happy at your job?”
Hermione felt defensiveness crawl up her spine, “Are you?”
Ron was startled by the question; the answer on the tip of his tongue was, of course! But the half-inquisitive, half-threatening look on Hermione’s face stopped him. Was he really happy at his job? Being an Auror had been his dream since he was a kid. A dark wizard catcher, hell, he’d even managed to skip over most of the years-long training process due to the war. He liked the field work, being on the move and constantly improving physically was amazing. The downtime was… that part was the thing that made him crazy. Most of the paperwork was mind-numbing, not all of it. He did enjoy the strategics right-ups, and he’d even been praised by a superior for them!
He still remembered how proud Hermione looked at him when he’d told her over lunch.
On one hand, as someone with a Merlin of first class (an honour Ron was still sort of dazed about), he was held to a higher standard than his peers. On the other he was one of the youngest fully-qualified Aurors, still only eighteen, which meant his older colleagues treated him like a baby. He had a high standard of work, but none of the respect that came with it. Something he and Hermione had in common.
Harry loved it all, and Ron couldn’t be happier watching Harry thrive.
But was he doing the same? Or was he still costing? Still keeping to what he was just good enough to do, happy with the small moments he got to shine. Working to be what was envisioned for him?
The thoughts sat in his throat as Hermione looked at him expectantly, “Ron?”
“I don’t-” the realization slowly sank into his features, his eyes downcast, “maybe not.”
Hermione's face upturned in surprise, eyes going wide, “I thought you loved being an Auror!”
“I mean…” he trailed off, “I guess I have a similar problem to you. People expect a lot of me, but they still treat me like a recruit. Like I’m still in training. They don’t treat Harry like that. I guess the whole The Boy Who Lived Again, thing sort of gets rid of some of the nonsense. I also just don’t like most of the paperwork.”
She raised an eyebrow, “Most of?”
“So I just like the strategic right-ups, the rest is awful,” he groaned, eyes going hollow as he thought of the incident report he’d had to write just that morning. Suddenly, the idea of lunch ending and going back to his desk felt like rocks in his stomach instead of meatballs. He saw Hermione’s eyes drift to the clock on the wall and knew she was feeling the same.
“We should look for new jobs!” he blurted out.
She scoffed, “Come off it.”
“I’m serious,” he insisted, the whisps of a plan forming in his mind, “it's almost New Year's, we should make one of those resolutions you told me about, the ones muggles do?”
She bit her lip, “I mean, I’d hate to just leave.’
“Hermione, do you seriously want to spend the rest of your life in the Council of Magical Law?” he asked, waving his hands in the air. Hermione felt her shoulders lock into place as she examined her own thoughts. She’d sort of been drifting for the past couple of months, and she had a feeling Ron was too. They’d spend the whole year of the war living for the next day and nothing else. There was something about the idea of looking for something better that made her not so scared to look passed tomorrow.
She shook her head slowly, a smile creeping onto her face. Ron mirrored her expression, “So where do we start?”
—#0#—
Ron was somehow good and bad at interviews, both with recruiters and reporters. He’d had more experience with the former than the latter- and perhaps he had told a few of them where they could stick their wands, but no one asks that stupid a question out loud without expecting to be punched. That fuck was lucky they weren’t punched. Some words are just fighting words. Like insinuating Hermione was a slag. Harry was still surprised he didn’t end the night with a broken nose. Ron doesn’t really know either. He really should stop getting into fistfights. Besides that, he had a sort of casual confidence and charm that people tended to gravitate to, but that could often lead to informality that could rub certain people the wrong way.
Hermione had more than enough knowledge to back up any question an interviewer asked, but she was the nervous type. While she could express her written thoughts well, she would stumble over words when taking down a test of any sort. She would have described it as her ever-present need to be liked by authority figures. Ron would describe her as a recovering teacher's pet. At least she was trying to be better.
Suffice to say, they both needed practice.
The two sat on the floor of Ron’s coffee table. Ron’s apartment wasn’t exactly a shoe box, but only a couple of steps up. Not that Ron couldn’t afford anything better, full-blown aurors were well paid. But years of being hyper-aware of money made him a bit more savvy than Hermione had expected of him. He’d even rented a Muggle apartment, which, according to him, was much cheaper given the conversion rates of pounds to gallions. Hermione would bet money that part of the reason was his secret fascination with Muggle things that originally drew him to it.
Hermione herself was saving copious amounts by living with her parents. Their relationship still wasn’t the best, but they’d agreed that living together again, trying to get to know each other again, was probably the only way they could repair what was broken between them.
Hermione took out the book on interview questions, flipping through the pages, delighted that there was a book that could help their problem. Ron sat head in his hands, waiting for her to start this already mind-numbing exercise. It didn’t help that Hermione already seemed to be entertained by the boredom, her mouth quirking upward.
“Ok, common interview questions,” she exclaimed, flipping through the job prep book she had snagged from the ministry's library, “do you want to go first or should I?”
“I’ll go first,” Ron grumbled, forehead creased as he looked up, “get it over with.”
Her smile only widened, “This was your idea!” Her laughter did not help his already regrettable mood. Hermione just composed herself, letting out a few stray giggles as she asked her first question, “ok, tell me about yourself?”
“Really?” he pushed himself off the table, looking straight at her. She nodded. Annoyed, he answered, “My name's Ronald, you can call me Ron. I’ve been working as a full-time auror for nearly six months. I graduated from the Auror Academy early due to my work in the war which I also earned a Meirlin for.”
“That's too much of your resume.”
“You wanted me to be more formal,” he complained, “said I was being too candid.”
“They asked about you, the book says about yourself, like family, or hobbies, nothing too personal, but not repeating your experience.”
He took the book from her hands, reading it over slowly before he snapped it shut, “You answer now.”
“I’m the interviewer,” she said indignantly.
He gave her a smirk, “We’re both practicing.”
She turned to sit primly, hands folded in her lap, all proper like, “My name is Hermione Granger. I’m eighteen years old, and I’m very passionate about justice and enjoy learning new things.”
Ron took a deep breath. “Ok, I’m gonna put this as nicely as I can, you sound too much like a keener.”
She crossed her arms, “Then what should I say!”
“Say you like reading,” he prompted, “it basically says you like learning without outright saying it.”
She rolled her eyes, snatching the book back from him and opening it back up, “What drew you to this job?”
“Skip that one,” he waved away, back to looking bored, “we don’t know what we’re going for yet.”
She pursed her lips, “Maybe we should look into new departments first?”
“Probably.”
“This wasn’t so difficult the first time,” she retorted.
It was Ron’s turn to roll his eyes, “Yeah, because we were basically handed jobs, love.”
She looked like she was about to argue, hand poised to dismiss the thought before the denial died on her tongue. “Skipping, how did you find out about this position?”
“We’re killing this.”
“Walk me through your resume.”
Ron grimaced but sighed and rattled off his accomplishments, Hermione stopping him every once in a while to correct his wording or glared at him when he made a joke. At Hermione's turn, he insisted she try not to look like she was being held at Wand-point.
—#0#—
“Did you get the invite?” Hermione asked, flopping down her tray ungracefully on the table. There was already a line between her eyebrows, a feature usually saved for later in the week. Ron could feel the same thing in his bones. Once the decision to leave had fully set in, the flaws in his workplace became completely blinding.
“Yuppp,” Ron sighed, his own lunch of a leftover chicken, again from Molly, being pushed around, “does that job book thing say how we can get out of it?”
This was the perfect opportunity for them. A good portion of their colleagues and even more of the higher-ups were invited. This was the first big ministry event since the war ended, a lot of the ministry got overhauled, and new officials and heads of departments were keen to show themselves. Given their status as war hero’s those officials would be chomping at the bit to be seen as friendly to them. Which, as far as Ron was concerned, meant he’d have to pretend to care about what some smarmy politicians cared about for an evening.
Hermione frowned, “No, we need to go.”
Hermione wasn’t exactly thrilled about it herself. She still wasn’t the best with big crowds and talking to authority figures, but there was nothing to do but try.
Ron gave her a skeptical look.
“To network,” she retorted, opening the container of cheese and meat, “ask what people do, figure out positions we might be good in! Plus, Kingsley invited us. Do you want to refuse a personal invitation from the minister?”
Ron looked pained, but there was no disagreement in his tone, “and do what all night? Shmoze future employers? Hermione, the only reason people go to those parties is for the free booze.”
“Do you want a new job or not?”
—#0#—
Hermione patted down her mother's old dress, trying to feel prepared for what was shaping up to be a rather dull evening. It wasn’t like a school dance or wedding; she had to be professional, personable, and presentable. Pretty was an afterthought in the whole of it all. Her mother had happily lent her an old dress, it was long, a deep red colour, and modest; long sleeves and a high square neckline. She didn’t exactly feel like a princess, but Hermione didn’t need to. She was a bit skeptical of how Muggle she looked. Dress robes weren’t the same as dresses and suits, but she promised her parents she’d try to integrate herself more into Muggle culture. She would stand out a little, but it was a small price to pay for the look in her mother’s eyes.
Who was she trying to impress anyway…
The exact man she wanted to impress leaned against the door to her room, glancing down at his watch before his eyes landed on her. They went a little wide as he looked her up and down. He smiled and gave a little whistle, “You look great.”
She blushed as red as the dress at the casual way he complimented her, tucking a strand of her curls away. Ron looked rather proud of himself as Hermione rolled her eyes, taking his hand to apparat there. They decide to be fashionably late, even if it makes Hermione’s skin crawl a little. According to the book, it was best practice in a big party like this. More people there, more people already talking, more conversations to butt into.
She allowed herself to look him over; he’d gelled his hair and gotten new dress robes. The dark navy robes complemented his features well. Their clothing complemented each other more than she would have suspected. He’d been rather hesitant to spend the money on clothing, but Hermione had convinced him it was necessary for their project.
And because she knew he’d look damn good in them, sue her.
They reappeared at the front of one of the ministry dining halls. According to Ron’s father, it had been one of the duller ones originally, but Kingsley had refurbished it for just this event. There were trees at every corner, red and silver ornaments glimmering in floating candlelight. Hermione bounced on her flats, eyes alight with joy as the nostalgic buzz of Christmas ambiance filled the room. Ron watched her expression, a soft look on his own face. Maybe he could put up with horrible politicians for the night just for that.
The moment was interrupted with a clap on Ron’s back and a loud, drunk chuckle. It took Hermione’s arm in his and every ounce of his interview training not to glare at the man now in front of them.
The man, whom Hermione recognized as a higher up in the department of regulation and control of magical creatures, “Mr. Weasley, Miss. Granger! It's so nice to see you here!”
Hermione pulled Ron away from the man- Aaron Fox or something- before the last of his patience ran dry. She pulled on a strained smile, nodding hello to the man.
“Mr. Fox, it's nice to see you,” she greeted, holding comfortably to Ron's arm.
“Didn’t think you’d show, Mr. Potter was rather adamant on his refusal,”
“Lucky bastard,” Ron muttered under his breath.
Hermione elbowed Ron in the ribs. The noise of pain he let out was tactfully hidden under the blaring band, “We just thought it might be some fun, keep the spirits up.”
He smiled, looking a bit more friendly than before, “Miss. Granger, have you been introduced to any of the office heads of the magical creatures department yet? I heard you had an interest through the grapevine.”
Hermione looked at Ron for a last bit of advice. Ron looked the man over scrutinizingly, trying to find a reason he could be a threat; he couldn’t find one, especially given the large crowd. He nodded, letting go of her arm.
Hermione followed Mr. Fox to a group of office heads. She tried to keep her back from straightening too much. She tried to remember Ron’s advice; she wasn’t being held at Wand-point, it’s just a conversation. Mr. Fox took her to a group of older witches and wizards, and with goblets of wine and cups of whisky already in their hands. All of them looked deep in their cups, which was expected with all the ministry-supplied booze everywhere. Hermione briefly wondered if that's where most of the budget went.
Taking a breath, she stepped into the circle of her superiors, a tilted smile on her face, “Hello.”
“Ahhhh, Miss. Granger!” One of the witches bellowed, her whisky glass held delicately in her hands. She was given a similar course of greeting by the other office heads, each with either friendly, intrigued, or enterprising looks on their faces. She didn’t like that last one too much.
The conversation started simply focusing on the newcomer to the group, all of them rounding in on the new war hero’s potential as an ally. Hermione gulped, feeling exactly like a wand was at her temple.
Ron watched her leave for a second before another arm was thrown over his shoulders. Why do people keep doing that? He grit his teeth, finding another wave of patience he didn’t know he had. It was one of his colleagues at the Auror office, one of the older ones with the condescending tone.
“Roooonnnieee!” he drawled, already pissed. Ron pulled himself to standing again, now standing tall enough that the tosser couldn’t reach his shoulders. Adam pulled him towards a group of older Aurors, the same ones he despised, depositing him in the middle of someone's rant about one of the captains. Ron tended to ignore these men as best he could, but currently, Adam, Kasper, Eli, and Camron were running their mouths, and there was no getting out of it.
Ron zipped his mouth as he listened to the four men blabber on about the Gods know what. He was trying to find a segway out of the conversation to go do what he’d come to do in the damn first place! Or go to where Hermione was, he was leaning towards the Hermione option. That sounded entirely more pleasant.
His ears perked up at a rather loud insult being yelled behind him. He turned, his eyes following the sound to a little old lady. She was brandishing a cane at two younger Aurors, looking about ready to hit both of them with it. There were a couple more of his younger colleagues around her, looking ready to run, but too afraid to move. He watched in fascination as the woman's meticulously styled Gibson girl hair bobbed along with her movements.
“Oh, that's bullshit, you gormless pea brains!” she shouted, slamming her cane into the ground. She had gathered most of the hall's attention at this point. Though she yet indicated she cared one bit, “Your stupid asses wouldn’t last half a day on my team, I’d fire you before you could ruin the coffee order!” The older woman dismissed her voice harsh as she scolded one of the Aurors in Ron’s squadron. The man wrinkled his nose as the older woman turned to give a similar beating down to Auror beside her, the other woman straightened her posture like she was a small child being scolded.
“Who's that?” Ron said with a little bit more awe than he strictly should have.
“That's the Head of the S.A.F.E. office,” Cooper commented, taking a swing of his beer
Ron tried to remember what S.A.F.E. stood for, but couldn’t remember for the life of him. A vague memory of his father coming home one night, completely rattled, settled into his mind, “That's Madam Thron?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the little old lady. For someone so feared, he had expected something more outwardly intimidating, but he supposed one could use their voice just as well as their physicality to intimidate. She’d been the S.A.F.E. department head for forty years now, only taking a year hiatus during the war when she’d flipped off the former minister and called him a fucking codergy ole cunt on the way out the door. Which was awesome!
Adam looked a bit disappointed. Ron reckoned he was looking forward to condicend to him again, “You are aware of her reputation, I see.”
Ron dodged Eli’s attempt to throw an arm over him, but he continued to talk, “She tries snipping a few Aurors every year. If I were you, I’d stay far away,” he recommended. Snipping was the term Aurors used for being fired. The S.A.F.E. department and the Aurors worked rather closely. If Madam Thron didn’t like you, the higher-ups didn’t either. “Some people think she can read minds, always gets to the heart of whatever's wrong with you. Wont sugar code it either.”
Ron shrugged dismisively, “Yeah.”
Conner whistled, “There are better birds to take for a spin.”
“I’m sure Granger’s is a better lay,” Adam said lasciviously, his eyebrows bobbing at Ron.
Ron was going to punch him; there was no getting out of it. This man wasn’t gonna have all his teeth by the end of the night. He had lost that right. The look he gave the drunkard would have signalled his fatal error if he weren’t such an idiot. It seemed the other men in the group were smart enough to understand the utter chaos that was about to ensue.
Ron wasn’t given the opportunity to react; his fist clenching in anticipation only held back by the fact that someone got to him first. The older woman whacked her cane into his shins. The pillock jumped away drunkenly, falling backwards, only not landing on his ass by the grace of Eli.
“That's no way to talk about a lady, you plonker!” she shouted, slamming her cane into the ground.
Conner stood up, alcohol taking over his good sense, “There was no need for that!”
“He’s lucky I got to him and not this young man,” she warned, gesturing to Ron, whose dark expression hadn’t yet wavered, “I’m sure your bruised shin is much preferable to a broken nose,”
Eli, who was still holding up Adam, joined the chorus, “Oh come on- Ronnie- we were only joking!”
Ron didn’t give them any mercy, continuing to glare a the fools. Madame Thron looked approving, taking his arm and leaning heavily on her cane. “Let's go, lad. I’m sure I can make better company than these turnips,” she maneuvered him towards one of the many drink tables, picking up an already poured shot, “Son, why don’t you have a nip, might keep you from getting yourself into a fight,”
Ron took the shot of… well, he wasn’t quite sure, from the woman and down it. She laughed, refilling her own wine up to the very top, “Might as well when those mugs are paying for it,” she said.
Ron bobbed his head, deciding that making conversation with her was his best bet, “You're the head of S.A.F.E. right?”
She shrugged, looking bored as she repeated an obvious script, “strategies analysis and facility enforcement. We’re multi-functional, we keep the Aurors' plans on track and find ways to enforce laws before people think to break em.”
Ron snapped his fingers in realization, “You're where our stratigics reports go to!”
She nodded, taking a long pull from her glass. She handed Ron another shot, and Ron took it, feeling it go to his head instantly. Didn’t Hermione tell him not to drink tonight? He ignored the thought, still intrigued by the figure in front of him.
“You’d be surprised at how bad most of you Aurors are at write-ups. We have a seminar every couple of months or so just to yell at those daft numptys!” she cursed a humf on her lips. Ron remembered the complaints Harry had brought back from that particular disaster. She narrowed her eyes at him as though seeing him for the first time, “As a matter of fact, why didn’t I see you there? I personally did the yelling last month!”
“I was told I didn’t need to go,” he said quickly. His captain had looked tired that day, dismissing him from the seminar and hoisting a whole bunch of redo stratigics papers on him. He had a ball that day.
A light came to her still sullen face, “You Weasly?”
Ron made a stupid sound, “ahhhhh,” feeling that answering might lead to her hitting him instead. “Yes,” he answered cautiously.
Her skeptical expression turned to a sharp smile, and Ron felt he might get eaten.
Hermione continued to fiddle with her hands, feeling claustrophobic as the conversation continued to drift back to her. They asked Hermione about the war, about things that made her throat tight and muscles clench. She bit her lip, trying to do something with her hands as they brought up the Malfoy trail to her. She coughed, giving a strained laugh.
She cursed Lucius Malfoy in her head, hearing Ron’s voice curse him as well. Once the Malfoys’ trial had started, Lucius had realized he wasn’t getting out of it this time. Harry was kind enough to vouch for Narcissa and Draco, but he left no kindness for the elder Malfoy. Lucius decided burning every bridge he could was his best bet, which included her torture. Something she was hoping would stay between the shell cottage refugees. It was humiliating, and people weren’t tactful enough to avoid the subject.
She didn’t know why she was in this group anyway; she had an interest in magical creatures right but from the look of the people around her, they didn’t care much for that. The one time she brought up S.P.E.W. they seemed to think she was making a joke. She’d even gone into a bit of a spiel about how supportive Ron had been about it lately- and she was being ignored again.
She stepped away from the group and had an excuse on her lips about getting a drink as she practically ran off. There was a growing blurryness to her eyes as she wandered her way to the bathroom. She took a few deep breaths, rushing to turn on the cold water shoving her hands under the stream.
Why did she think this was a good idea? Why’d she think she’d get to have a future here? A good one where people actually like her, and don’t just want her dead- this was the stupidest-
Her spiriling thoughts were cut off by, of all things, a compliment, “I love your dress.”
Hermione’s programmed politeness kicking in, “Thank you.”
“Colour suits your eyes,” the soft voice continued, “bold statement, I like it.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you Hermione Granger by any chance?”
“Yes,” she answered, a bit more manual control coming into her voice, “um, sorry, just feeling a bit off,” she excused, still staring at the water as it filtered through her hands.
“I don’t like parties much either,” she commented, continuing as though Hermione had responded, “Is your boyfriend around, suffering with people I like, always makes it better. My husband is knocking about the place somewhere!”
She didn’t have the heart to correct her, just laughing as she continued pouring cold water on her hands. She blinked away some of the blurryness, seeing the washroom and her own reflection for the first time. She noticed the woman's dress for the first time, she was wearing a Muggle dress. Royal blue in its grandeur, it screamed pay attention. Greying from blond hair down with a delicate ring of pearls around her neck, it was very Muggle and somehow that made Hermione's shoulders loosen.
“Yeah, I’ll find him soon,” she accepted, taking more of the oddly familiar woman, “was just having a word with some higher-ups in magical creatures.”
She rolled her eyes, “They’re something alright,”
“Yeah,” she found herself agreeing, a comment one made about ourselves ringing in her ears. The water rolled down her hands, reactivating her nervous system slowly till the sharp sting of it finally hit her, and she pulled away. More of reality pulled at her mind as she realized how rude she’d been, “Oh, I’m so sorry I didn’t ask your name!”
“No worries, dear,” she said softly, leaning against the bathroom counter. She held out her hand for Hermione to shake, “Grace Burbage, nice to meet you! I’m the head of the Muggle liaison office.”
Her last name struck a chord, and Hermione went through a mental list of casualties that lives in her brain; the list stopped its seemingly endless scroll at the name Charity. Her old Muggle studies teacher, “Burbage…”
She smiled sadly, “Yeah, that one.”
Feeling as though Ron’s spirit had possessed her, she said, “War’s a bitch.”
“It really is,” she laughed, surprise evident in both their faces. Hermione held a cold hand to her mouth. Grace chuckled, “I heard from Mrs. Nealing that you were looking for a new job?”
“How?” she falttered, she hadn’t said a word about leaving her job to the librarian, “I thought I was being discreet!”
“Sweetheart, no one who takes out, job hunting in the ministry is happy with their job!”
Hermione shuffled out of the bathroom, dazed and a tad bit confused as to how she’d gotten in this situation in the first place. She looked for red hair in the crowd and found Ron near the exit, nursing a cup of ice water, his face a little red.
She went over to him, tripping over her feet in excitement. He smiled brightly at her expression. At a second glance, he noticed her red, cold hands and the slightly harried look in her eyes, but she looked too excited for him to comment.
Later.
She tucked herself into his side, pulling them through the exit door, ready to get out of the claustrophobia of the hall. Ron didn’t stop her, following her to an Apparition point and disappearing to Ron’s apartment. She took off her slippers before plonking herself down on the couch and rubbing her eyes. Ron sat on the ground near her head, bumping foreheads, Hermione’s hair falling from the couch cushions.
Ron started rambling, the booze having gone to his head, “Hey, I did what I said I would! I didn’t get into a fight, I was this close-” he closed his pointer and index finger together, “-But I didn’t!”
She looked at his fingers from upside-down, eyes squinting, “Why are your fingers touching?”
“Someone else hit him before I could,” he exclaimed, looking all too pleased at his new loophole, “I choose to take that as a win!”
“Are you drunk?” She was too giddy to be mad at him.
“Maybe a little,” he confessed, rubbing the back of his neck before he remembered his good news, “I have a job interview in a couple of days, or like a trial day at a new job!”
Hermione took his hand, her smile beaming, “Ron, that's amazing! What division?”
“S.A.F.E., strategies analysis and facility enforcement. It's still under magical law enforcement, so field work is still on the table. It's basically just more of everything I like about being an Auror, but more!”
Hermione laughed, “I got an interview too! The head of the Muggle Liaison Division was insistent that I should apply as her assistant.”
Ron’s eyes lit up like stars, and somehow it felt more like Christmas than the trees ever did. He laughed loudly, leaning into her forehead more, their noses brushing, but just pulled away before their lips could do the same.
—#0#—
Both their new jobs had been going extraordinarily well. Grace and Hermione were two peas in a pod, and the new job allowed Hermione to connect even more with her Muggle side. The department also wouldn’t dare mess with the big boss's assistant and a war hero all in one. Ron adored Madam Thron, and he thrived under her take-no-shit attitude. An attitude she highly encouraged the rest of her office to adopt as well, much to the humiliation of a lot of his old colleagues. The switch came as a surprise to everyone except Harry, who had been following the development through his breaks with Ron.
Christmas at the Burrow was loud, getting even louder with all the people who kept being added to the family. Hermione’s parents being the latest of the bunch to be added. Spouses, and soon grandchildren, courtesy of Fluer, were rustling through the expanded living room, yelling out stories and starting mini arguments. The whole house was decorated in tinsel and evergreens, with the occasional magic mistletoe over the doors and windows. The tree was glittering with red and gold, everyone was wrapped in soft wool sweaters, and the world was right again.
Somehow.
Ron had asked Hermione a question to start all this off, Did you want to stay like this forever? It was a good question, one that got both of them to do what they needed. Maybe he just needed to apply it in other places.
Hermione stood in the doorway to the living room, watching their mothers have a conversation about Celestina Warbeck while their fathers talked about the radio. The chaos was homie and warm, and she took a deep comfortable breath. He stood behind her, taking up the other end of the doorframe. He watched her seeing her face relax into a smile for the first time in forever, not be forced upwards into one, but to a natural curve at the ends as her whole body relaxed into it.
Ron bumped her shoulder, bracing himself to jump headfirst into the freezing cold Rubicon.
She spoke before he could, “Thanks, Ron,”
“For what?”
“For making me go for that promotion,” she shrugged, her expression lazy as she watched the twins toss around a fireball. She smiled, thinking of an odd joke, “though I think we might need a new resolution.”
Ron’s eyebrows knit together, “But aren’t you supposed to do them before the new year?”
“No, they’re resolutions for the new year,” she explained, her laughter like a tinkling bell.
“Oh,” he said, his expression thoughtful, “then I think my resolution is to keep you in my life.”
She let out another laugh, her face heating, “You’re supposed to do something that makes your life better.”
“You make my life better by just being in it,” he told her, voice far too casual for the sentimental admission. At the look on her face, he paused, “You know that, right?”
Her voice couldn’t manage to stay that smooth, “You know it's the same for me.”
He didn’t even need to agree.
Ron pulled her away from the doorway and towards the window till they were both under the mistletoe, its magic keeping them in place. She looked up with her beaming smile, answering any doubt he had about her feelings for him. He leaned down, and she moved up, and their second kiss broke the spell above them. It wasn’t like their first. That was rushed and desperate, caked in mud, sweat, and blood; today, the air was filled with cinnamon and laughter- actually a lot more laughter than strictly necessary as there was cheering from the other room and handfuls of money being tossed around.
When they broke apart, they were laughing too, and it was a merry Christmas indeed.