Exploding Puddings
The soft crackle of the fire filled the cozy living room at the Burrow, where Hermione sat curled up in a chair by the hearth. Outside, the snow continued to fall, blanketing the fields and forest in a pure, glimmering layer of white. The windows were frosted with delicate, intricate patterns, the cold winter air making the warmth inside even more welcoming. It was the sort of winter afternoon that made one want to stay inside forever, a perfect day for tea and company.
Hermione had spent Christmas with her parents, and while she had thoroughly enjoyed the quiet, warm atmosphere of her family’s home—complete with the smells of her mother’s cooking and her father’s gentle teasing—it had been decided that after Christmas, she would spend the remainder of the holiday with the Weasleys at the Burrow. Her parents had been planning to get back to work shortly after the holiday, and her mum had insisted she join the Weasleys for the rest of the break. Hermione had been a little apprehensive at first, not wanting to impose on the Weasleys' bustling, already full house, but the warmth and enthusiasm with which Mrs. Weasley had invited her made it impossible to say no.
Now, just after Christmas, Hermione found herself at the Burrow, feeling perfectly at home despite the initial nerves. She had already helped Mrs. Weasley prepare an enormous dinner earlier that day, and the house was alive with the laughter and chatter of the family, a far cry from the quiet, reserved pace of the Granger household. It had been a bit of an adjustment, but one that she was more than happy to make.
The Burrow itself was even more magical than usual during the holidays. Brightly coloured garlands hung from every corner, and a cheerful Christmas tree sat in the corner of the living room, its branches weighed down with shiny baubles and twinkling lights. It was decorated with an eclectic mix of ornaments—some homemade, some magical, some worn from years of use—each one telling a story. The fireplace was crackling merrily, and there was a lovely scent of mulled wine and freshly baked gingerbread hanging in the air.
Hermione’s fingers absently traced the edge of her Transfiguration book, her thoughts drifting lazily as the warmth of the fire seemed to wrap around her like a soft blanket. The crackling flames illuminated the room in flickers of golden light, casting shadows on the walls of the Burrow. Outside, the snow fell in thick, soft layers, the world beyond the windows a blur of white against the night. The peaceful hush of the moment was a welcome respite from the whirlwind of activity that had been the last few weeks. Christmas had been lovely with her parents, but it had been a busy time—family visits, shopping, festive celebrations. Now, here she was, at the Burrow, the Weasley house, where the festive chaos had its own kind of rhythm. Still, it was hard to ignore how comforting this quiet was, how rare.
Hermione was enjoying the rare quiet of the room, but her thoughts weren’t entirely on the book in her lap. The weight of the book itself felt more like a prop, something to make her feel as though she was still doing something productive, when in truth, her mind was far away—absorbed in the sounds of the Weasley family and the warmth that surrounded her.
"Blimey, Hermione, you’re really getting into that book, aren’t you?" Ron’s voice, warm and familiar, broke through her thoughts, and she lifted her gaze to find him standing in the doorway, framed by the glow of the fire. His expression was playful, but there was a softness in his eyes that made Hermione’s heart give a little jolt.
She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face at the sight of him. "I was just having a quiet moment," she said, her voice soft as she closed the book and set it on the side table. Her fingers lingered on the cover for a second longer than necessary before her attention shifted back to him. "I didn’t want to interrupt the chaos in the kitchen."
Ron’s grin widened, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he stepped into the room. "Chaos? You mean Mum’s delightful festive cooking routine?" He gave an exaggerated shudder, causing Hermione to laugh softly at his dramatic tone. "It’s like being in a whirlwind of flour, eggs, and too many spoons. The kitchen’s always a bit mad, but I think the twins are trying to outdo each other with the number of pranks they can slip into the food."
"I can only imagine what’s going on in there," Hermione said, shaking her head in mock horror. "I’m sure Fred and George are plotting something outrageous."
Ron flopped onto the couch, stretching his long legs in front of him, making himself comfortable as he kicked off his boots. The room was warm, and the flickering firelight made the scene feel even more intimate. He glanced at her with an easy grin, but there was something different in his expression now, something softer, as though he had settled into a more relaxed version of himself. "You should have seen them earlier," Ron continued, propping himself up on one elbow as he faced Hermione. "They tried to convince Mum to make 'exploding puddings.' Mum didn’t fall for it, but it was close."
Hermione chuckled, shaking her head in disbelief. "Of course they did. I’m sure Mrs. Weasley put an end to it pretty quickly."
"Oh, she did. But they’ve got some kind of charm that gets them out of trouble with Mum," Ron said, shaking his head. "You’d think they were born with a get-out-of-jail-free card or something."
"I’m sure they’ve earned it through years of practice," Hermione said with a teasing smile. "Still, it’s probably for the best that I wasn’t in the kitchen. I can just imagine what would’ve happened if I’d been caught up in it."
"Oh, I think we’re all better off with you in here with us," Ron said, his voice a little quieter than before. He shifted on the couch, crossing his arms in front of him, and his gaze lingered on her for a moment. She felt a warmth spread through her chest, but she kept her expression neutral, not wanting to overanalyse the moment. Ron’s eyes were fixed on her, though—sincere, focused, and soft in a way she rarely saw.
"I’m glad you’re here, Hermione. Really," he added, his voice carrying a slight weight to it. It was the kind of tone that made her feel like he meant it, like there was more than just casual words behind it. Her heart gave an unexpected flutter at the sound, though she quickly pushed it down, brushing it off as simply the holiday atmosphere getting to her.
Before Hermione could find the right words to respond, the moment was abruptly broken. The door to the living room swung open, and in came Fred and George, their presence practically crackling with energy. It was the kind of chaotic energy that seemed to fill a room the moment they entered, and even though they hadn’t said anything yet, Hermione already had a sense of what was coming.
Fred’s wide grin was impossible to ignore, and the gleam in his eyes was unmistakable. He bounced into the room with that familiar mischievous energy that could never be mistaken for anything else. "Oi, you two!" he called out, loud enough to make sure he had both their attention. "Guess what? We’ve managed to charm the mistletoe to move itself! Now it follows you around, and you can’t get away from it unless you make a wish!"
Hermione’s eyes widened, and she felt the corners of her mouth twitch as she fought the instinct to roll her eyes. Of course Fred and George would come up with something like that. She could already picture it: the two of them laughing hysterically while everyone else scrambled to avoid the mistletoe following them around like some sort of magical stalker.
George leaned casually against the doorframe, his smirk widening as he observed the reactions. "Don’t listen to them," he said, his voice dripping with mock seriousness as he cast a look toward Ron and Hermione. "We’re only offering a festive, loving atmosphere where no one is safe from unexpected kisses."
His tone was so over-the-top that Hermione couldn’t help but laugh, but Ron’s reaction was the one that made her smile most. He rolled his eyes dramatically, a smirk tugging at his lips even as he shook his head in mock frustration. "Typical," he muttered under his breath, clearly unfazed by the usual antics of the twins.
"Fred!" Mrs. Weasley’s voice suddenly rang out from the kitchen doorway, a mix of frustration and exasperation in her tone. "I told you not to mess with that mistletoe charm! Leave it alone!"
Fred threw his hands up in mock surrender, his face the picture of exaggerated innocence. "Sorry, Mum!" he called back, but there was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that betrayed his true intentions. "Just making sure everyone gets into the holiday spirit!" He winked at Hermione, clearly proud of the trouble he was causing.
Hermione could only shake her head and laugh, finding it impossible to stay serious when the twins were involved. Even Ron seemed amused, though he shot them a good-natured glare as he shook his head. Moments like this—filled with spontaneous jokes, bursts of laughter, and playful chaos—made the Burrow feel like home. In the past, Hermione had sometimes felt like an outsider at family gatherings, but now, in this sea of Weasleys and magic, she was starting to realize just how much she had come to cherish these simple, joyful moments.
Later that evening, after dinner had been served and the plates cleared away, Hermione found herself back in the kitchen, a little more relaxed after a delicious meal and a few rounds of good-natured banter. Hermione, never one to shy away from lending a hand, had volunteered to help with the clearing up.
The kitchen was a cozy mess, with bits of wrapping paper scattered around from the earlier presents and the soft hum of a magical fireplace crackling in the corner. Mrs. Weasley, always a whirlwind of warmth and energy, was organizing everything with a determination that seemed to get stronger as the night wore on. She had a way of making everything feel important, every task infused with a sense of love and care.
Hermione was chopping vegetables, her knife working in a steady rhythm, when Mrs. Weasley, noticing her quiet concentration, paused for a moment and smiled warmly. "I’m glad you’re helping, Hermione," she said, her voice a little softer than usual. "You’ve really made yourself at home here. It’s not the same without you around."
Hermione’s heart warmed at the words. She had always been close to the Weasleys, but spending the holidays with them had shown her just how much they truly considered her a part of their family. It wasn’t just about the magic, or the extraordinary things that had happened over the years—it was about the simple, everyday moments. She felt the warmth of belonging deep inside her, something she had often wondered if she would ever find outside of her own family.
"It’s been wonderful being here," Hermione replied, her voice quiet as she carefully chopped the vegetables. "I didn’t realize how much I missed this kind of atmosphere. It’s... so different from what I’m used to, but it feels like home." She gave Mrs. Weasley a small, sincere smile. "Thank you for inviting me to stay."
Mrs. Weasley’s eyes softened, and she reached over, patting Hermione’s hand with affection. "You’re family, dear. You always have been. And it’s a pleasure to have you here."