1998
“And so it is a part of my
Courageous plan to leave
With a broken heart
Tucked away under my sleeve
I wanna go home for Christmas
Let me go home this year.”
(Maria Mena, Home for Christmas)
Hermione was sitting on the sofa in the Burrow’s living room with Ron’s head resting on her lap. He was crying. He had been for a while. It was well past midnight and Hermione couldn’t remember when everyone else had gotten up and left them. She just remembered Ron breaking down pretty soon after that.
It was Christmas Eve and everyone came together at the Burrow, trying to celebrate as normally as possible. If it weren’t for the empty chairs at the dinner table or the missing Weasley jumper, Hermione could have almost convinced herself that it was just a normal Weasley Christmas. But it wasn’t.
She almost felt out of place at certain times, feeling like an intruder in the family, wanting to leave them, to give them space to properly grieve by themselves, but Ron wouldn’t let her. He had held on to her hand for the majority of the day and hadn't left her side at all. Hermione made sure to not leave him out of her sight either. She knew this day was going to be hard for him. With the loss of his brother, the memories of last year's Christmas and the distance they had faced with her at Hogwarts and him at Auror training, she knew she needed to be there for him.
Besides, with Hermione around for emotional support, Ron seemed to manage quite well during the day. He helped Molly set the tables and prepared dinner with Harry, Ginny and Hermione and didn’t even complain about it. Hermione was proud that he seemed to be coping quite well. All of this crumbled when George didn’t show up. Everyone knew there was only a slim chance, but there was still hope. When he didn’t come to dinner, that hope slowly faded and when the clock hit 10 pm and there still was no sight of him, the hope died. The family slowly retreated into their respective rooms, knowing they all needed their own space and that’s how Hermione found herself in the position she was in now - on the sofa and Ron crying in her lap.
At first, she seemed overwhelmed, admitting to herself that she was never truly good at comforting someone the right way. After a while, however, she realised that her presence must have been enough for Ron and she just let him cry his heart out.
Her right hand was threading through his hair, while her left was drawing small circles on the back of his neck. The sound of his sniffles broke her heart, but she knew that he needed it. Ron rarely showed this side of him, and when he did - he deserved to just let himself go and have someone be there for him. And that someone had to be Hermione, so she promised herself. She hated being apart from him for the past 4 months. Hated that she couldn’t be there for him in those exact moments.
Ron shifted slightly and began to sit up slowly, avoiding Hermione’s gaze at all costs.
“You can look at me, you know,” she chuckled.
“I probably look like a mess, Hermione,” he retorted.
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
“Ron,” she said, placing her hand on top of his, “please look at me.”
He did as she said because for some reason his stubbornness would sometimes just fade away at the sound of her voice. Hermione looked at him, his cheeks and nose coloured red, but his eyes drew her immediate attention. His bright blue eyes were not just breathtakingly beautiful, but also the gate into his very soul. Hermione was able to read every single emotion just by looking into his eyes. And right now, she saw pain.
Hermione turned so her body was facing him and spoke, “Tell me what’s going on in that brain of yours.”
Ron hesitated but knew she wouldn’t let him leave until he had talked to her.
“Nothing and everything at once,” he replied.
“Fill me in,” she smiled at him.
He chuckled, “I wish I could, but there is just so much going on.”
“I have time, you know.”
“I have just been thinking about Fr… him a lot. I wish he was still here and then I think about how I could have done more, how I could have fought better. If I hadn’t left you and Harry, how we maybe could have found and destroyed the Horcruxes sooner and how that might have saved his life.”
She just let him talk, never taking her eyes off of him, noticing how his eyes have shifted from pain to guilt.
“I resent myself for it. Not as much as I used to right after the battle, but still. I wish I wouldn’t have been such a bloody idiot. And now look at me. Crying into my girlfriend's lap like I haven’t done enough to you already. I am literally pathetic.”
“Are you done?” Hermione asked gently.
Ron nodded in response, squeezing her hand slightly.
“First of all, you are not pathetic. You are loving, and caring and would have sacrificed yourself for anyone you loved. In fact, you actually tried to sacrifice yourself for me. Harry and I have forgiven you for what happened in the forest and I’ll tell you that it wasn’t your fault for the rest of our lives if it takes that long for you to believe it.
“Secondly, you are allowed to cry to me. I am your girlfriend for a reason and I’d rather have you cry to me than anyone else because then I can make sure you are feeling better afterwards.
“And finally, you are allowed to feel sad because of Fred. He is your brother and you lost him, but you are not allowed to feel guilty about it because it was not your fault.”
By now Hermione was tearing up as well and the grip of their intertwined hands had tightened.
“I love you Ron, and I won’t stand for you talking yourself down like this.”
And then she felt his lips on hers. It was a gentle kiss and she found his hand on the side of her neck as she deepened it. When they broke apart they remained close to each other, foreheads touching.
“Thank you, Hermione,” Ron whispered.
“Someone had to say it,” she replied.
“Leave it to Hermione Granger to put me in my place, once again,” he chuckled.
“It’s what I do best.”
“Merry Christmas, love.”
Hermione leaned in again and they shared another slow kiss.
“Merry Christmas.”