“NO! It’s MY turn!” The defiant yell came from the direction of the living room where the radio was softly churning out Muggle Christmas carols. “You always choose!”
“Well, I wouldn’t have to if you just made better choices!” Another voice joined the commotion, this time sharp and very obviously indignant.
By the time they turned the corner, they saw two tiny faces glaring inches within the other, freckles bright against their red cheeks, and wild red and brown hair flying everywhere.
“What could you two possibly be arguing about on Christmas Eve?” Ron walked in with his spatula in hand and a large mixing bowl in the other. Hermione could only look in horror at how close one of the throw pillows have come to the fireplace and at the multiple ornaments, once dangling pristinely on their tree, now hovering in the air, swirling around and around as the tension between the two toddlers remained high.
Rose turned to her parents, ready to complain as always, but this time Hugo beat her to it. “Miss Bossy-Pants Know-It-All is dictatoring the Christmas story AGAIN!” His brown curls seemingly standing taller at his last word, as if emphasizing his point.
“Dictating, Hugo,” Hermione corrected on reflex, but she was already walking towards the two of them, carefully ducking the zooming ornaments which reminded her, much to her chagrin, of the canaries she had sent Ron’s way all those years ago.
“Mummy! Hugo is always calling me names,” Rose stretched her arms out and her large brown eyes shone with newly formed tears. When Hermione pulled her into her chest, Rose muttered, “and he’s always using the wrong words. Hugo is so stupid.”
“NO! You’re stupid! You’re stupid and bossy and think you know everything and you just don’t!” Hugo was stamping his feet and the tinsel rustled as if threatening to unwrap itself.
By now Ron had set down his batter of Christmas cake and had made his way over to the couch. “Kids, you know better than to be mean to one another. What’s really going on?” Once Ron picked up Hugo, the ornaments dropped as if all of the anger had whooshed out of the child.
Both parents settled on the couch and looked expectantly at the child in their arms. “We couldn’t decide who got to pick the Christmas story.” Rose said.
“Who chose last time?”
“Me,” Rose mumbled at the same time Hugo’s small but vindictive voice piped up, “Rose.”
“So isn’t it fair to say, darling, that this year should be Hugo’s turn.” Hermione carefully brushed her daughter’s red hair back out of her face and wiped her cheeks with her thumbs.
“But he always asks to hear about the Laughing Knights,” she protested.
“No, this time it’ll be different,” Hugo insisted. He turned on Ron’s chest so that he was staring at the once again fully decorated Christmas tree. “I wanna hear about Christmas at Hogwarts!”
“Oh, and what about?” Ron mused.
“Teddy always told us about the big tree and Hagrid and the snowball fights, but I wanna hear about your Christmas at Hogwarts!”
By now Rose was also nodding enthusiastically. “Yes! Mummy, Daddy, tell us about your Christmases!”
While the two of them had never purposefully tried to shield their children from what had happened during their school years, they didn’t often speak about their experiences at Hogwarts unless it came up as a light memory. Now, images of themselves, decades younger, rose to their minds and Hermione smiled.
“Yes, I suppose we can tell you about our Christmases at Hogwarts.”
Year One
Hermione’s insides quivered with excitement. She loved Christmas and was looking forward to returning home to see her parents. She had been diligently writing letters back detailing every new spell she learned and every new wonder at the castle, but it wasn’t the same as speaking with them in person. Her trunk was already packed, nearly as heavy as it was when she arrived, and she took a look around her dormitory to make sure she didn’t forget any of her books. Merlin forbid she forgot to finish an assignment. (She only had one left anyway.)
Once she was satisfied she had everything she needed, she picked up the two wrapped presents she had on her desk and began the walk down to the Common Room. It was her first time buying presents for anyone else besides her parents and she was nervous. She hoped they liked it. Harry would, she thought. But Ron, she wasn’t so sure about. He’s had loads of magical Christmases and siblings who must have given him all sorts of extraordinary gifts.
In the Common Room, Ron and Harry were sitting by the fireplace, their eyebrows furrowed in concentration as they watched tiny figurines swing at each other. One figure had his head completely cut off. She watched in fascination as the headless figure hopped off the board, with his head under his arms, still muttering. “That’s barbaric!”
At her utterance, Ron looked up and the right corner of his mouth lifted in a grin. “That’s Wizard’s Chess, Hermione.”
“Well,” she sniffed, slowly placing her presents next to the two boys, before backing away again from the violence on the board. “I’ll be heading out for Christmas soon and wanted to say goodbye.”
Immediately after she said that, she winced. Why did she have to be so formal? Harry looked up, clearly defeated if the celebratory ruckus from Ron’s side of the chessboard was any indication, and waved at her. “Happy Christmas, Hermione. We’ll see you when you’re back.”
Ron nodded enthusiastically and raised his present in the air. “Yeah, Happy Christmas, Hermione! And thanks for this. I, er, hope you’ll like what I gave you.” His ears burned red as he leaned down and produced a poorly wrapped lump. “Sorry, Flitwick hasn’t taught us the charm for wrapping presents.”
Hermione took the box gratefully and smiled. “I’m sure I’ll love it! I hope you like your present too.”
At that moment, the announcement for all students boarding the Hogwarts Express boomed throughout the school and the three of them waved again before Ron awkwardly patted her arm. “Take care,” he said gruffly.
Hermione replayed that moment in her mind as she sat on the train ride home. She couldn’t stop smiling. Her biggest fear when she accepted her offer was that she would struggle to make friends. While it had certainly been no easy feat, she was happy with her coursework, got along with most everyone in Gryffindor, and had two boys who were always getting in trouble, and she went along with it happily. It was certainly a good Christmas indeed.
~ * ~
“What did you get each other?” Hugo asked.
“I think your father gave me a box of sugar-free quills. Your grandparents were very pleased.”
Ron laughed. “You were always going on and on about how they were dentists and how you couldn’t eat sugar. I figured that would be nice.”
“And what about Mummy? What did she get you?”
“Your mother is truly something else. She had somehow managed to magic a full thing of Bernie Botts into Muggle Christmas flavors, like peppermint bark, chestnuts, and even eggnog! I remember showing that one to Mum and she took it away immediately. I caught her sneaking it in later that night, though.”
Hermione giggled as Hugo asked, “What’s eggnog?”
“It is something you will have when you’re much, much older. For now, let’s get you some hot chocolate.” Once the children were settled down with their steaming mugs, Ron began to speak about their second Christmas at Hogwarts.
Year Two
Ron could never sleep in on Christmas. It was the one day of the year where his internal alarm seems to go off without any problem and surely, at about five in the morning, he was already wide awake, listening Harry’s soft breathing. He turned in his bed and silently willed himself to just sleep a few hours more but the thought of what had been going on in the castle and what they were about to due later that day, kept him awake.
With a sigh, Ron heaved off his heavy comforter and slipped on his furry slippers, something he only ever used while the rest of the school was on break. Bloody hell, Seamus would take the mickey out of him if he ever caught Ron with these slippers. He padded his way to the door and down the stairs.
To his surprise, he wasn’t alone. By the fireplace, in her favorite armchair, was Hermione, her head in a thick book. “Morning,” he said, suddenly feeling the urge to turn around so she didn’t see his feet.
She looked up and gave him a small smile. “Happy Christmas, Ron. I figured I would do a bit of light reading before we embark on our mission today.”
All thoughts of embarrassment fled him and Ron dropped into the chair opposite her. “I keep thinking about how we’re going to get those idiots’ hairs.” He shuddered, his face folding with disgust at the thought of having to imbibe any part of Crabbe or Goyle.
“It’s our only way,” Hermione hissed, looking around despite the fact that it had only been the two of them. “We need to know if Malfoy knows anything.”
“The little ferrety git,” Ron muttered. “If he does turn out to be this Heir of Slytherin, I’ll slither in and strangle him in his sleep.”
Despite the gravity of their situation, Hermione chuckled. “I’ve been thinking maybe we should use the Cloak and sneak up behind them. It’s risky but that way we’ll know for a fact the hair is theirs.”
Ron shook his head. “There’s no guarantee they won’t react and elbow us in the face or something. Look at the size of them! We’d be exposed in two seconds. Besides, how are you sure you have Millicent’s hair?”
“Her hair shed onto my cloak while we were dueling. I saw it.”
“Right. Lucky you.” Ron curled his toes in his slippers and closed his eyes. What he wouldn’t give to have a big bite of his mom’s chocolate muffins right now. “That’s right! We can put some sleeping drought into cupcakes and feed it to them. Those buffoons would eat anything.”
“Should we deliver it to them as an anonymous gift? How do we make sure they eat it at the right time.”
“Nah,” Ron waved his hand dismissively. “We’re just going to float those bloody things in front of them after the Christmas feast and they’ll eat it.”
“That sounds absurd and risky. Wouldn’t they be suspicious?”
He let out a bark of laughter. “Them? Hermione, where have you been the past two years? When have they ever had a thought in their heads other than Malfoy, food, and being stupid? Trust me, we’ll get this done.”
Later that night, when the three of them had gathered in the bathroom, Hermione gave Ron a pat on the shoulder. “I have to give you all the credit for coming up with that idea. Good job.”
Ron coughed. “I’d like to think I can come up with something good every once in a while. Alright, let’s do this, no use delaying.” With that, he dropped the hair into the goblet and watched it turn a putrid green. “Happy Christmas, everyone.”
~ * ~
Both children let out a yell and gagged in unison. “That’s so gross, Daddy! Why did you have to do that?”
“Experiment,” Ron replied smoothly. “We had to make sure our Christmas assignments worked and our potions master had an interesting assignment indeed.”
“Do you want to hear about Daddy’s slippers though?” Hermione cut in.
Even though it was nearly two decades ago, Ron’s ears burned. “How do you -?”
“Ron, those slippers were too cute. They had a little face and each time your father took a step, its cheeks went pink.”
“Your Grandmum enchanted them to do that so my feet would stay warm when I walked.”
“I want one!” Hugo announced, hot chocolate staining his upper lip.
“Sure, young man, once you’ve cleared the mess from your face.”
Rose impatiently patted her mother’s arm. “Okay, what’s next?”
Hermione looked a little sheepish. “Next, we have what we like to call the Crookshanks Crisis.”
As if on cue, the orange cat hurtled itself from out under the tree and landed in front of Ron, shooting him an indignant glare. “Hey, in my defense, how was I supposed to know my rat was a rat in both animal and human form.”
The cat meowled and stalked off again, allowing Hermione time to start the story.
Year Three
It had been an odd start to the year. Ever since she’s gotten Crookshanks it felt like she’s had to choose between the two gingers in her life. She leaned down and petted the big cat absentmindedly, letting its soft fur run through her fingers. Every time Crookshanks came near Scabbers, Ron would holler like his pants were on fire and not talk to her for a few hours. Yet, during the time they were alone during the Hogsmeade weekend, it felt like she had one of her best friends back. They had laughed and strolled around the village, and even, albeit accidentally, held hands, well, had their fingertips brush. But then Crookshanks had bothered Scabbers again and Ron was back to being grumpy.
Now, it was after the Christmas feast and she had ruined it again. It baffled her that the boys couldn’t see the danger right in front of them. Harry knew an escaped convict was coming after him and yet couldn’t see the enticing gift for what it was – a potential trap. Hermione sniffed and buried her face into Crookshanks’ fur, crying as she wondered if she would ever get her friends back.
There was a slight knock at the door. “Delivery for Hermione Granger,” came the familiar squeak of the Hogwarts’ house elf. Hermione stepped down from her bed and went to the door. Sure enough, on the floor was a small, lumpy box. Her name was written on a card in big, loopy letters. The corners of her mouth twitched. She would recognize this presentation anywhere. When she flipped open the card, she read, “Happy Christmas, Hermione. I know we haven’t been speaking lately, but I figured I could get you something for helping me finish my Potions essay two months ago. Cheers, Ron.”
She held back a laugh and a sob. It was classic Ron – brusque, awkward, and also a bit sweet. She opened the package and found a new case for her quill and ink which she had been ogling at Scrivenshaft’s the last time they were at Hogsmeade.
Hermione went back into her room and took out the present she had gotten Ron but never had a chance to deliver. Summoning all the courage she had, she walked up to the boy’s dormitory and left it outside the door. Hopefully he would find it and take it as an apology and peace offering.
~ * ~
By now, Hugo was fast asleep and Rose’s eyes were drooping. But when Hermione stopped speaking, she determinedly roused herself. “What about Fourth Year, Mummy?”
Hermione raised an eyebrow at Ron. “Yes, what about Fourth Year?”
Ron cleared his throat. “Well, there was a big ball where we all had to dress up and dance.”
“Did you go with Mummy?” Rose demanded, eyes lighting up at the thought of gowns and dancing.
“Er, no.”
“Why not?”
“Um, well, you see Rosie – “
“Someone else had asked Mummy first,” Hermione cut in. “So unfortunately when your daddy asked, Mummy had to say no.”
Rose pouted and put her hands over her ears. “Then I don’t want to hear it,” she said. “Next Christmas!”
Ron and Hermione shared a bemused smile. The next Christmas was a tough story to tell but Ron was ready to go.
Year Five
It was a pleasant surprise when Hermione showed up at Grimmauld Place. That holiday season had been particularly difficult for the Weasley family but somehow, having Hermione show up out of the blue made him feel better. Between the visits to St. Mungo’s and all of the bustle of activity by the Order, Ron felt drained and unable to believe that he would have to soon return to Hogwarts and take classes and exams and pretend everything was alright.
That morning was a rare one of peace and quiet as if the arrival of Christmas had forced everyone to just relax. Ron walked out from his room, down the staircase, avidly avoiding looking at the heads hanging on the walls, and saw Hermione sitting at the dining table, nursing a cup of tea. “Fancy seeing you here,” he said. She turned to look at him and he noticed that she had cut her hair. It brushed against her chin instead of falling past her shoulders. Absentmindedly, he wished he had gotten her earrings instead. Except, did Hermione even have her ears pierced? Also getting jewelry for a friend was weird, wasn’t it? Maybe as weird as getting perfume, Ronald Bilius, he thought scathingly.
But he already had the present and what’s done was done. “Good morning, Ron,” Hermione said. She tilted her head at the steaming kettle. “Fancy a cup?”
He sat down and placed his head on the table. “Not particularly. I just wanted some air.” When he got closer, he smelled something familiar and felt himself blush. He remembered the exact scent in the store as he was picking it out. There was a brown sugar and floral note to the scent, and an underlying sandalwood that he liked. It fit Hermione and was glad that she used it.
She must have sensed his extra sniff because it was her turn to redden. “I like the perfume very much, Ron, thank you.”
“Sure,” he stammered, not certain how else to respond. Just yesterday she had described it as “interesting” and now she was saying she liked it. But all of that confusion was too much for his tired brain so he resorted to simply feeling happy. “I’m glad you do.”
He closed his eyes and felt a light touch on his forehead, brushing the hair out of his face. Ron smiled to himself and pushed his chair closer, leaning into her touch. Right now was all that he needed. The future could wait.
~ * ~
By the time Ron finished speaking, both of their children were fast asleep. Amidst the now quiet of their living room, Hermione looked at Ron over Rose’s curly hair and muttered, “You know the dirigible plums don’t fall far from the bush. We need to teach Hugo better manners.”
Her husband sent over a sheepish grin. “You can’t say you don’t see a lot of yourself in her.”
She chuckled and shifted so that her feet touched Ron’s stockinged feet and her left hand rested on Hugo’s cheeks. “They’re absolutely perfect and I wouldn’t have them any other way.”
Ron closed his eyes and let out a sigh of content. “Happy Christmas, my love.”
“Happy Christmas, Won-Won.”
Immediately, Ron’s eyes flew open but he relaxed when he saw Hermione smirking mischievously. “Don’t push it,” he whispered. “Next year they might actually want to hear about Year Six.” He stretched his long arm over his sleeping children and touched his wife’s lips. “We’ll just tell them the abridged and heavily edited version.”
Hermione leaned in to kiss his fingers. They’ve had their apologies and healing and the past wasn’t so haunting anymore. Ron silently summoned two mugs of hot toddy and the two of them sipped their drinks as their wands swished and flicked by the tree, wrapping presents for the kids. Contentment and joy settled over the Granger-Weasley household as the clock clicked slowly towards midnight and the promise of a vibrant and chaotic Christmas morning inched closer.