"A Christmas Story"
Fic for nyruserra, who commissioned me at the_fund and asked for Fred/Hermione, Post-Hogwarts, fluffy-romance. I can't believe I've finished it so quickly. It's over 3000 words! *is pleased*
Title: "A Christmas Story"
Pairing: Fred/Hermione
Rating: PG13
Summary: It's that magical time of year, and Hermione buys a gift for herself at Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes.
Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes was busy all year round, but like all other shops, business peaked during certain holidays and then some. The twins had commented upon the frequency of Hogwarts students near the end of the year, right around exam periods, and the store was also especially popular on Valentine’s Day. Inevitably, however, it was Christmas that ushered in the customers in hordes accompanied by a stinging wind and flurries of snow.
However, it was now twenty minutes till closing time, and the shop was mostly empty. She would never have a better opportunity.
Hermione took a deep breath and darted in.
***
Thursdays were his day off, but Fred had been called in to figure out what had gone wrong with the Mad Hatters-snobby tea cups that would provide different types of tea and a lengthy discourse on a variety of subjects . The Mad Hatters had become violently aggressive and needed to be dealt with, Ginny had reported to him firmly through the Floo.
He had arrived to discover that her assessment hadn’t been exaggerated. Donning a cheerful apron with dancing reindeer-this could get messy, he thought grimly-he rolled up his sleeves, sent Ginny home, asked her to send George in her place, and set off to do battle. His twin had arrived five minutes ago and it now appeared that George’s presence in the shop quota was up.
“George, I’m not joking. These things are evil. You cannot leave me here to deal with them. You made these.”
“You exaggerate,” said George dismissively. “Anyway, just lock them up and lock up the shop. Today’s our day off; we’ll handle them tomorrow. I have a date with Annabelle Zemeckis, and I don’t intend to be late.” He sniffed himself. “Do you think I overdid the cologne?” George didn’t wait for an answer; he started for the door.
“Close the door, git!” Fred snapped, but just outside the door to the back room, he received the pop of Apparation and silence for an answer. Just as his fingers closed around his wand and he opened his mouth to say Colloportus, one of the Mad Hatters bolted.
Fred lunged after the Mad Hatter hopping desperately for freedom. “Come back here, you stupid, bloody-”
He threw himself on top of it, which, in retrospect, might have looked impressive to the group of young children standing by the counter, but ultimately wasn’t an entirely clever thing to do. He smashed the teacup against the floor, feeling the porcelain crack, and he swore. The mother of the children shot him a dirty look, he returned it in kind, and she ushered her children away.
Fred shoved himself up from the floor, sweeping away crumbles of porcelain embedded in his palms.
And then he saw his little brother’s girlfriend standing frozen a few feet away near the Foul-Mouthed Gingerbread Men.
“Hermione!” Fred kicked the door to the back room shut, hearing the crunch as another Mad Matter broke itself against it, and winced. He brushed his hands down the front of his apron and hurried around the counter.
To his surprise, Hermione blushed deeply and ducked her head down slightly. “Hello, Fred!” she said brightly a moment later, traces of pink still suffused in her face. “I didn’t realize you would be in.”
***
Hermione was mortified to find Fred there-she had been sure that both twins took Thursdays off and left the store in the hands of Ginny or one of their mutual friends.
Fred was looking at her expectantly.
“Are you looking for Ginny?” he inquired. “I came in to fix our Mad Hatters. Figured I could handle the customers at the same time, so I told her to go home. She’s probably at the Burrow.”
“Oh, no,” said Hermione hastily. “I’m not looking for Ginny.” Although, she mourned silently, Ginny’s presence would have been preferable to the twins. And of the twins, she would have given anything for it not to have been Fred. Fred! “I just got off work, and-”
Fred’s eyebrows rose. “Ah, so the Ministry does give breaks. Wouldn’t have known it from what we see of Perce, or rather, the lack of him. Why don’t we ever see you around our humble establishment to sup with us?”
She reddened at the playfulness in his voice. “I’ve been busy. So-ah, how are you? Ron told me the shop is doing very well this hols…”
“Very well,” Fred said cheerfully.
***
Hermione was hiding something.
Fred was sure of this. He was as sure of this as he was sure that one of the more rabid Mad Hatters had just tried to chew his fingers off; he was as sure of it as he was sure that he hated lettuce stew and the thick winter socks his mum kept pressing on him to wear ever since November had arrived.
Fred made his career in mischief. He had subterfuge in spades. He ate up people’s lies and fibs and spat them out like tobacco. His childhood heroes were Hermes, Odysseus, Jack the giant slayer. No one put things past him. Certainly not here, where he was the proprietor of the best mischief-making shop since Zonko’s.
But most of all, Fred was certain of this because Hermione was a truly a terrible improvisational liar.
She was avoiding his eyes, standing there in her dark blue winter coat dusted with snow, blushing, which was not just very fetching but very telling. And she wasn’t getting to her point. If there was one thing Fred Weasley knew about Hermione Granger, it was that she always had a point and she didn’t beat around the bush.
Now, however, she was hiding her point, and he was determined to get it out of her. He was the master of extracting secrets. Hermione had a secret, even if it was just a little one, his curiosity had been piqued, and now he was going worm it out of her with every means possible, even if he had to seduce it out of her.
Fred thought about that for a moment, imagining a truly spectacularly failed seduction, and almost laughed aloud. Seducing Hermione Granger! That ranked up there with Kissing McGonagall and Trying To Seduce Your Baby Brother’s Girlfriend: horrifying and a terrible fates.
***
Fred’s face was bright with amusement, and Hermione cursed whatever luck it was that had sent him.
“I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing then,” Hermione said, hoping he would get the hint. “I’m just going to do a little bit of browsing…”
Fred’s eyes had lit up and his face broke out into a wide grin. “Hermione Granger, not only visiting my shop, but looking to buy a product?” His voice was gleeful; his eyes dancing.
“Fred, please.” Hermione made a face like she had a headache.
“So, what do you want? The Ministry becoming too dull for you? You need a Skiving Snackbox? Surely not a Portable Swamp. Or, look, these are new, we call them Protean Dollops, you just squeeze out a bit-”
“No, Fred!” Hermione burst out, feeling panicky and imagining Fred leading her about the shop, pointing out every possible item except for the one she wanted because probably, he couldn’t imagine her wanting it. “I-I can find it myself! I’ll call you if I need help.”
Fred stood there for a moment, rocking on his heels. At last, he nodded and said, “Well, I’ll let you get to it then. Let me know when you want to ring up your purchase.” He gave her another long look and then nodded, and disappeared into the back room.
***
A while later, Fred was tallying up Hermione’s items. He suspected most of them were gifts for her Muggle family and relations, as they were all fairly innocuous items. Hermione kept glancing at her watch, and he tried to ring up her purchase as fast as possible.
The last item, buried beneath all her other things, was completely unexpected.
“Ah,” said Fred, mind blanking. “For a friend?”
“Yes,” Hermione said in a rush, latching onto the excuse in a way that said she was lying.
“Oh,” said Fred. “Well, then. We made improvements on them, you know…” His voice trailed off and he stuffed the Patented Daydream Charm into the bag.
“Seven Galleons and fourteen Sickles,” he said.
She left Fred standing behind the counter, arms hanging motionless at his sides.
The image of her fuzzy brown head was seared into his mind. A Patented Daydream Charm! What on earth did she want with one of those? And him! Making it into such an awkward moment. Why hadn’t he said something, anything, nodded understandably and teased her about ickle Ronniekins not taking the lead? He should have done anything but stare with his mouth hanging open slightly like a ninny.
He thought about her lying on her bed at home, eyes closed, blissful and serene expression on her face, a smile curving her lips, her cheeks slightly flushed, that brilliant mind whirling away, daydreaming of…
A crash from the back room reminded him of the Mad Hatters that had probably torn apart the room by now, and he dashed back to assess the damage.
Nursing a wounded thumb morosely and thinking of Hermione, Fred was disturbingly sedate when Ron dropped by just as Fred was locking up the register.
His younger brother stomped in, snow falling from him in clumps. As soon as his feet left the Sno-Welcome Mat, the little rug shook itself over, dusted the snow under it, and settled down on top of the snow. After a day of entrants and exits, it was getting rather damp.
“Christmas stinks,” Ron announced with a black look on his face. “I hate buying…gifts.”
Ron was the sort who never knew what to get anyone. His gifts were always sincere, so everyone pardoned him for it. Fred and George prided themselves on being the best gift-givers of the Weasleys. When Ginny was five, she had become the recipient of a gift-giving contest amongst the older Weasleys. All of them had outdone their usual standards, even Ron, but in the end, Ginny had preferred Charlie’s gift over theirs. Fred dismissed this as a deciding contest, seeing as Charlie had provided Ginny with a ride on a Welsh Green dragon, and that wasn’t exactly fair play.
“Don’t know what to get?” Fred asked, thinking furiously about how to bring about the subject of Hermione.
Ron gave a grunt in response and walked around the shop.
“How’s Hermione?” Fred asked casually, finally ditching all ideas as implausible and decided to just go with the upfront way-all subtlety would be lost on Ron.
Ron gave him a blank look. “Dunno. Fine, I guess. Hey,” Ron brightened, “D’you have anymore of those Peppermint Pandas? George let me sample one. It’s brilliant.”
Some boyfriend Hermione had snagged.
“That shelf, but don’t touch any if all the samples are gone.”
“What do you get a girl, anyway?” Ron muttered, wandering over and eyeing a shelf of Peppermint Pandas.
“A girl or a girlfriend?” inquired Fred.
Ron shrugged. “Both, I guess.”
“Candy is always good,” Fred offered abstractly.
“Yeah, I suppose,” Ron sighed, clearly disheartened. “Well, maybe I’ll ask Charlie. Are you Apparating home?”
“Give me a minute.”
***
A week later, with the promise of Christmas approaching in less than seventy-two hours, Hermione had not ceased to be the star of Fred’s dreams, which had now become like a sort of ongoing episode.
In his more lucid, pragmatic moments, he told himself that he had no business wondering and inquiring after what Hermione Granger daydreamed about.
However, if there was any time of the year that he wanted to put away Hermione from his mind, December was not it. December was entirely the wrong month to forget Hermione.
December meant Harry and Hermione were invited to dinner every night. Harry usually showed up, but Hermione had family, so she was a sporadic guest. In the past, she usually spent the morning of Christmas Eve and the afternoon of Christmas with the Weasleys, but this year her parents were celebrating Christmas in Australia, so she became a frequent presence.
Christmas Eve, he arrived at the Burrow to find that Molly had already commandeered the kitchen. Hermione was speaking with Percy when he entered, and she didn’t look over even as he gave a loud hello to everyone around and everyone responded with a distracted greeting in response.
There was a quick lunch break from making the Christmas Eve feast-cold sandwiches of cheese and ham and tomatoes and even colder water. Hermione sat between Harry and Ron and talked to Bill.
Lunch was only a short reprieve-they were sent off to clean and decorate the Burrow while Molly continued her cooking rampage. His mum spared a moment from her culinary duties to cause him more grief when he passed through the kitchen: “Fred, are you wearing your thick socks? George wears them.”
“Yes, mum,” he sighed, pulling up his trousers to show her the pair he had put on that morning, the one with somersaulting elves.
“You actually wear those?” George murmured as he walked by, levitating a dish of pot roast before him. “An Illusion Charm, my dear brother. She never checks anymore.”
Fred darted him a baleful look and wandered into the living room, where he caught Ron sneaking gifts under the tree.
“Who’s that for?” he asked.
“Hermione.” Ron stowed the bulky package beneath the tree.
“What are you giving her, a rock?”
“No, books,” Ron snapped.
“What kind of book has six corners?”
“So I’m not very good at wrapping!” Ron exclaimed, face reddening. “What’s it to you?”
“I just thought you’d exert a little more effort when it came to a girlfriend! Honestly, hasn’t Bill or Charlie taught you anything in keeping a girl?”
Ron gave him a look that conveyed exactly what he thought: that Fred was completely around the bend. “Hermione’s not my girlfriend.”
“What? Yes, she is!” Fred insisted irritably.
“No, she’s not! I think I would know better than you!”
“You came by the store to pick up a present for your girl-”
“You said ‘a girl or a girlfriend,’ and I said ‘both’ and I meant two gifts for both, you prat!”
Fred elbowed him for the impudence. Also, he felt rather stupid. “So who’s the girlfriend?”
“You don’t know her,” Ron muttered, yanking Hermione’s gift away from Fred.
“How do you know I don’t know her?”
“I just do!” More scuffling, and then, “Pansy Parkinson!” slipped out. Ron’s eyes were panicky. “But you can’t tell anyone, Fred!”
“You have my word,” Fred assured him. “So you’re not going out with Hermione?”
“No.”
“Oh,” said Fred, enlightened.
***
Christmas Eve dinner promised great things of Christmas Day’s dinner-Molly gave them just a taste of what was to come. Hermione sat at the end of the table, Harry on her right, and talked to Arthur about airplanes and other Muggle appliances. Fred sat at the opposite far end of the table, lathering his cornbread with butter and shaking salt over it and thinking about this new development in which Hermione Was Not Ron’s Girlfriend.
After dinner, he was still thinking on this. He was so distracted that he didn’t even jump into the engaging conversation on Quidditch finals in England, where everyone was asking Harry if he thought his team could beat the Falcons. He was so preoccupied that he failed to notice that slowly, everyone began to disperse as the hours climbed higher and later. When he finally looked away from the dying fire, he saw Hermione closing a book, apparently just having finished reading it. Firelight glazed her hair and softened her face.
She looked around with a slightly dazed look-Patented Daydream Charm aftereffect! Fred’s mind cried-and blushed when she saw Fred.
His pants had ridden up slightly as he sank down into the squishy sofa that could possibly eat him alive. Hermione, sitting primly on the very edge of the sofa, stared at his feet. He caught her looking at his socks.
“Well, I’m off to bed then-”
“I think I’ll go to sleep-”
They lapsed into silence. Right then. Fred leapt to his feet.
“Good night,” they both muttered, and hurried for the stairs.
***
The kitchen of the Burrow was a kind of gastric heaven. On every available surface, there lay food.
Charlie had made roast pork and chicken breasts and corn, and Ginny’s famous mashed potatoes was present as well. Fleur always made some French dish with an unpronounceable name that Fred was never sure whether he liked or not; Bill always brought something exotic, like a Thai dish or Moroccan appetizer. Hermione made gingerbread men spiced with nutmeg, clove, and cinnamon; Harry usually brought something store-bought, this year it was an impressive dish of sweet peas around a turkey that dripped gravy. Ron made a surprisingly good eggnog, dark rum, heavy cream, sweet sugar, and a bit of nutmeg. Molly’s pièce de résistance was an ice cream cake: melting hot dark chocolate capped with cold vanilla-the cake tasted of buttercream, pralines, hazelnut, toffee, and the ice cream part of it was vanilla and caramel swirled together.
People came and went throughout the day, dropping for some eggnog or hot chocolate, exchanging holiday news and greetings and wishes for the New Year. As the day went on, Molly worked harder, firing out directions in the kitchen like a general directing his troops. The smell of food became stronger and crisper, and people stayed longer and longer, happy to just inhale the food.
Christmas dinner was a feast. The first few minutes was filled with deep breaths of inhalations and wide eyes and tall plates and full mouths and quick swallows. Everyone lingered over their plates and remained in their seats, unable to move because a great contentment had settled over them and seized their lazy limbs. And to think, they still had to open presents! May Christmas never end, they all thought.
Two hours later, Fred was entering the living room just as Hermione was leaving it. He was intent on pretending he had not noticed her, so the voice that cried out above their heads surprised them both.
Fred glimpsed Hermione, holding a clementine orange and looking very startled, before his eyes lifted to the doorway above them.
***
“Uh oh. Mistletoe!” sang the sprig of magicked mistletoe from above. “Uh oh. Mistletoe! Uh oh. Mistletoe! Uhohmistletoeuhohmistletoeuhohmistletoeuhohmistletoeuhohmistletoe!”
Hermione clapped her hands over her ears. “Who put that there!” she cried over its tinny voice.
Fred’s heart sank at her expression, already feeling the magical tug towards her. “I’ll make it quick,” he muttered, trying to look as though he wasn’t about to take great pleasure from what so obviously distressed her.
***
“I’ll make it quick,” said Fred, with no amount of enthusiasm.
Hermione’s face burned at the bracing expression on his face. “Since you’re so clearly averse against the idea,” she said waspishly, whipping out her wand. “I’ll save us both since you’re incapable of doing anything right. Incendio!”
***
A burning twig dropped onto Fred’s shoulder; he brushed it off distractedly and watched as Hermione hurried away, red-faced. He took a few steps after her and stopped.
Back in the hall, he heard his father’s aghast voice.
“Where did that mistletoe go? George? Did you do something to it?”
Fred felt as though there were something particularly wrong about that moment, like there was something he should have understood but had failed to grasp completely.
“Arthur Weasley,” he heard his mum’s voice, “Am I to understand you put that mistletoe up there for me?”
And then some mechanism in his brain clicked and whirled and slipped into place. Fred dashed after Hermione. He saw footprints in the snow leading near the backyard where everyone else was playing a game of leisurely Quidditch, and he sped up, breath puffing before him in the air.
“Wait, Hermione!” he panted. “Back there-I didn’t mean-I mean, I wanted-I didn’t not want to kiss you!” he blurted, and waited for her to sort through the negatives.
It didn’t take her long. Understanding changed her eyes.
“Ah, look. Do you mind?” Fred didn’t wait for an answer.
Her lips were soft and pliant beneath his. Fred wanted to memorize the texture, the scent, the sensation. Her hand came up to settle lightly on his shoulders, fingers touching his neck in a way that made him shiver. The clementine orange dropped from loose fingers to land with a soft plop in the snow at their feet. Hermione’s mouth was warm and tasted like eggnog and chocolate, some foreign, mysterious chocolate that was better than anything he’d ever had at Honeydukes. They stood there, sinking deeper into the slushier part of the snow, lips pressed together, breaths mingling.
Head swimming dizzily, Fred managed to ask, “The Patented Daydream Charm. That’s what got me to thinking-well, I mean-what did you want with it?”
Hermione smiled back at him. “That’s none of your business, Fred Weasley.” At his disappointed look, she laughed in his ear, pulled him closer to her, and murmured, “But I’ll let you try to kiss it out of me.”
Title: "A Christmas Story"
Pairing: Fred/Hermione
Rating: PG13
Summary: It's that magical time of year, and Hermione buys a gift for herself at Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes.
Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes was busy all year round, but like all other shops, business peaked during certain holidays and then some. The twins had commented upon the frequency of Hogwarts students near the end of the year, right around exam periods, and the store was also especially popular on Valentine’s Day. Inevitably, however, it was Christmas that ushered in the customers in hordes accompanied by a stinging wind and flurries of snow.
However, it was now twenty minutes till closing time, and the shop was mostly empty. She would never have a better opportunity.
Hermione took a deep breath and darted in.
***
Thursdays were his day off, but Fred had been called in to figure out what had gone wrong with the Mad Hatters-snobby tea cups that would provide different types of tea and a lengthy discourse on a variety of subjects . The Mad Hatters had become violently aggressive and needed to be dealt with, Ginny had reported to him firmly through the Floo.
He had arrived to discover that her assessment hadn’t been exaggerated. Donning a cheerful apron with dancing reindeer-this could get messy, he thought grimly-he rolled up his sleeves, sent Ginny home, asked her to send George in her place, and set off to do battle. His twin had arrived five minutes ago and it now appeared that George’s presence in the shop quota was up.
“George, I’m not joking. These things are evil. You cannot leave me here to deal with them. You made these.”
“You exaggerate,” said George dismissively. “Anyway, just lock them up and lock up the shop. Today’s our day off; we’ll handle them tomorrow. I have a date with Annabelle Zemeckis, and I don’t intend to be late.” He sniffed himself. “Do you think I overdid the cologne?” George didn’t wait for an answer; he started for the door.
“Close the door, git!” Fred snapped, but just outside the door to the back room, he received the pop of Apparation and silence for an answer. Just as his fingers closed around his wand and he opened his mouth to say Colloportus, one of the Mad Hatters bolted.
Fred lunged after the Mad Hatter hopping desperately for freedom. “Come back here, you stupid, bloody-”
He threw himself on top of it, which, in retrospect, might have looked impressive to the group of young children standing by the counter, but ultimately wasn’t an entirely clever thing to do. He smashed the teacup against the floor, feeling the porcelain crack, and he swore. The mother of the children shot him a dirty look, he returned it in kind, and she ushered her children away.
Fred shoved himself up from the floor, sweeping away crumbles of porcelain embedded in his palms.
And then he saw his little brother’s girlfriend standing frozen a few feet away near the Foul-Mouthed Gingerbread Men.
“Hermione!” Fred kicked the door to the back room shut, hearing the crunch as another Mad Matter broke itself against it, and winced. He brushed his hands down the front of his apron and hurried around the counter.
To his surprise, Hermione blushed deeply and ducked her head down slightly. “Hello, Fred!” she said brightly a moment later, traces of pink still suffused in her face. “I didn’t realize you would be in.”
***
Hermione was mortified to find Fred there-she had been sure that both twins took Thursdays off and left the store in the hands of Ginny or one of their mutual friends.
Fred was looking at her expectantly.
“Are you looking for Ginny?” he inquired. “I came in to fix our Mad Hatters. Figured I could handle the customers at the same time, so I told her to go home. She’s probably at the Burrow.”
“Oh, no,” said Hermione hastily. “I’m not looking for Ginny.” Although, she mourned silently, Ginny’s presence would have been preferable to the twins. And of the twins, she would have given anything for it not to have been Fred. Fred! “I just got off work, and-”
Fred’s eyebrows rose. “Ah, so the Ministry does give breaks. Wouldn’t have known it from what we see of Perce, or rather, the lack of him. Why don’t we ever see you around our humble establishment to sup with us?”
She reddened at the playfulness in his voice. “I’ve been busy. So-ah, how are you? Ron told me the shop is doing very well this hols…”
“Very well,” Fred said cheerfully.
***
Hermione was hiding something.
Fred was sure of this. He was as sure of this as he was sure that one of the more rabid Mad Hatters had just tried to chew his fingers off; he was as sure of it as he was sure that he hated lettuce stew and the thick winter socks his mum kept pressing on him to wear ever since November had arrived.
Fred made his career in mischief. He had subterfuge in spades. He ate up people’s lies and fibs and spat them out like tobacco. His childhood heroes were Hermes, Odysseus, Jack the giant slayer. No one put things past him. Certainly not here, where he was the proprietor of the best mischief-making shop since Zonko’s.
But most of all, Fred was certain of this because Hermione was a truly a terrible improvisational liar.
She was avoiding his eyes, standing there in her dark blue winter coat dusted with snow, blushing, which was not just very fetching but very telling. And she wasn’t getting to her point. If there was one thing Fred Weasley knew about Hermione Granger, it was that she always had a point and she didn’t beat around the bush.
Now, however, she was hiding her point, and he was determined to get it out of her. He was the master of extracting secrets. Hermione had a secret, even if it was just a little one, his curiosity had been piqued, and now he was going worm it out of her with every means possible, even if he had to seduce it out of her.
Fred thought about that for a moment, imagining a truly spectacularly failed seduction, and almost laughed aloud. Seducing Hermione Granger! That ranked up there with Kissing McGonagall and Trying To Seduce Your Baby Brother’s Girlfriend: horrifying and a terrible fates.
***
Fred’s face was bright with amusement, and Hermione cursed whatever luck it was that had sent him.
“I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing then,” Hermione said, hoping he would get the hint. “I’m just going to do a little bit of browsing…”
Fred’s eyes had lit up and his face broke out into a wide grin. “Hermione Granger, not only visiting my shop, but looking to buy a product?” His voice was gleeful; his eyes dancing.
“Fred, please.” Hermione made a face like she had a headache.
“So, what do you want? The Ministry becoming too dull for you? You need a Skiving Snackbox? Surely not a Portable Swamp. Or, look, these are new, we call them Protean Dollops, you just squeeze out a bit-”
“No, Fred!” Hermione burst out, feeling panicky and imagining Fred leading her about the shop, pointing out every possible item except for the one she wanted because probably, he couldn’t imagine her wanting it. “I-I can find it myself! I’ll call you if I need help.”
Fred stood there for a moment, rocking on his heels. At last, he nodded and said, “Well, I’ll let you get to it then. Let me know when you want to ring up your purchase.” He gave her another long look and then nodded, and disappeared into the back room.
***
A while later, Fred was tallying up Hermione’s items. He suspected most of them were gifts for her Muggle family and relations, as they were all fairly innocuous items. Hermione kept glancing at her watch, and he tried to ring up her purchase as fast as possible.
The last item, buried beneath all her other things, was completely unexpected.
“Ah,” said Fred, mind blanking. “For a friend?”
“Yes,” Hermione said in a rush, latching onto the excuse in a way that said she was lying.
“Oh,” said Fred. “Well, then. We made improvements on them, you know…” His voice trailed off and he stuffed the Patented Daydream Charm into the bag.
“Seven Galleons and fourteen Sickles,” he said.
She left Fred standing behind the counter, arms hanging motionless at his sides.
The image of her fuzzy brown head was seared into his mind. A Patented Daydream Charm! What on earth did she want with one of those? And him! Making it into such an awkward moment. Why hadn’t he said something, anything, nodded understandably and teased her about ickle Ronniekins not taking the lead? He should have done anything but stare with his mouth hanging open slightly like a ninny.
He thought about her lying on her bed at home, eyes closed, blissful and serene expression on her face, a smile curving her lips, her cheeks slightly flushed, that brilliant mind whirling away, daydreaming of…
A crash from the back room reminded him of the Mad Hatters that had probably torn apart the room by now, and he dashed back to assess the damage.
Nursing a wounded thumb morosely and thinking of Hermione, Fred was disturbingly sedate when Ron dropped by just as Fred was locking up the register.
His younger brother stomped in, snow falling from him in clumps. As soon as his feet left the Sno-Welcome Mat, the little rug shook itself over, dusted the snow under it, and settled down on top of the snow. After a day of entrants and exits, it was getting rather damp.
“Christmas stinks,” Ron announced with a black look on his face. “I hate buying…gifts.”
Ron was the sort who never knew what to get anyone. His gifts were always sincere, so everyone pardoned him for it. Fred and George prided themselves on being the best gift-givers of the Weasleys. When Ginny was five, she had become the recipient of a gift-giving contest amongst the older Weasleys. All of them had outdone their usual standards, even Ron, but in the end, Ginny had preferred Charlie’s gift over theirs. Fred dismissed this as a deciding contest, seeing as Charlie had provided Ginny with a ride on a Welsh Green dragon, and that wasn’t exactly fair play.
“Don’t know what to get?” Fred asked, thinking furiously about how to bring about the subject of Hermione.
Ron gave a grunt in response and walked around the shop.
“How’s Hermione?” Fred asked casually, finally ditching all ideas as implausible and decided to just go with the upfront way-all subtlety would be lost on Ron.
Ron gave him a blank look. “Dunno. Fine, I guess. Hey,” Ron brightened, “D’you have anymore of those Peppermint Pandas? George let me sample one. It’s brilliant.”
Some boyfriend Hermione had snagged.
“That shelf, but don’t touch any if all the samples are gone.”
“What do you get a girl, anyway?” Ron muttered, wandering over and eyeing a shelf of Peppermint Pandas.
“A girl or a girlfriend?” inquired Fred.
Ron shrugged. “Both, I guess.”
“Candy is always good,” Fred offered abstractly.
“Yeah, I suppose,” Ron sighed, clearly disheartened. “Well, maybe I’ll ask Charlie. Are you Apparating home?”
“Give me a minute.”
***
A week later, with the promise of Christmas approaching in less than seventy-two hours, Hermione had not ceased to be the star of Fred’s dreams, which had now become like a sort of ongoing episode.
In his more lucid, pragmatic moments, he told himself that he had no business wondering and inquiring after what Hermione Granger daydreamed about.
However, if there was any time of the year that he wanted to put away Hermione from his mind, December was not it. December was entirely the wrong month to forget Hermione.
December meant Harry and Hermione were invited to dinner every night. Harry usually showed up, but Hermione had family, so she was a sporadic guest. In the past, she usually spent the morning of Christmas Eve and the afternoon of Christmas with the Weasleys, but this year her parents were celebrating Christmas in Australia, so she became a frequent presence.
Christmas Eve, he arrived at the Burrow to find that Molly had already commandeered the kitchen. Hermione was speaking with Percy when he entered, and she didn’t look over even as he gave a loud hello to everyone around and everyone responded with a distracted greeting in response.
There was a quick lunch break from making the Christmas Eve feast-cold sandwiches of cheese and ham and tomatoes and even colder water. Hermione sat between Harry and Ron and talked to Bill.
Lunch was only a short reprieve-they were sent off to clean and decorate the Burrow while Molly continued her cooking rampage. His mum spared a moment from her culinary duties to cause him more grief when he passed through the kitchen: “Fred, are you wearing your thick socks? George wears them.”
“Yes, mum,” he sighed, pulling up his trousers to show her the pair he had put on that morning, the one with somersaulting elves.
“You actually wear those?” George murmured as he walked by, levitating a dish of pot roast before him. “An Illusion Charm, my dear brother. She never checks anymore.”
Fred darted him a baleful look and wandered into the living room, where he caught Ron sneaking gifts under the tree.
“Who’s that for?” he asked.
“Hermione.” Ron stowed the bulky package beneath the tree.
“What are you giving her, a rock?”
“No, books,” Ron snapped.
“What kind of book has six corners?”
“So I’m not very good at wrapping!” Ron exclaimed, face reddening. “What’s it to you?”
“I just thought you’d exert a little more effort when it came to a girlfriend! Honestly, hasn’t Bill or Charlie taught you anything in keeping a girl?”
Ron gave him a look that conveyed exactly what he thought: that Fred was completely around the bend. “Hermione’s not my girlfriend.”
“What? Yes, she is!” Fred insisted irritably.
“No, she’s not! I think I would know better than you!”
“You came by the store to pick up a present for your girl-”
“You said ‘a girl or a girlfriend,’ and I said ‘both’ and I meant two gifts for both, you prat!”
Fred elbowed him for the impudence. Also, he felt rather stupid. “So who’s the girlfriend?”
“You don’t know her,” Ron muttered, yanking Hermione’s gift away from Fred.
“How do you know I don’t know her?”
“I just do!” More scuffling, and then, “Pansy Parkinson!” slipped out. Ron’s eyes were panicky. “But you can’t tell anyone, Fred!”
“You have my word,” Fred assured him. “So you’re not going out with Hermione?”
“No.”
“Oh,” said Fred, enlightened.
***
Christmas Eve dinner promised great things of Christmas Day’s dinner-Molly gave them just a taste of what was to come. Hermione sat at the end of the table, Harry on her right, and talked to Arthur about airplanes and other Muggle appliances. Fred sat at the opposite far end of the table, lathering his cornbread with butter and shaking salt over it and thinking about this new development in which Hermione Was Not Ron’s Girlfriend.
After dinner, he was still thinking on this. He was so distracted that he didn’t even jump into the engaging conversation on Quidditch finals in England, where everyone was asking Harry if he thought his team could beat the Falcons. He was so preoccupied that he failed to notice that slowly, everyone began to disperse as the hours climbed higher and later. When he finally looked away from the dying fire, he saw Hermione closing a book, apparently just having finished reading it. Firelight glazed her hair and softened her face.
She looked around with a slightly dazed look-Patented Daydream Charm aftereffect! Fred’s mind cried-and blushed when she saw Fred.
His pants had ridden up slightly as he sank down into the squishy sofa that could possibly eat him alive. Hermione, sitting primly on the very edge of the sofa, stared at his feet. He caught her looking at his socks.
“Well, I’m off to bed then-”
“I think I’ll go to sleep-”
They lapsed into silence. Right then. Fred leapt to his feet.
“Good night,” they both muttered, and hurried for the stairs.
***
The kitchen of the Burrow was a kind of gastric heaven. On every available surface, there lay food.
Charlie had made roast pork and chicken breasts and corn, and Ginny’s famous mashed potatoes was present as well. Fleur always made some French dish with an unpronounceable name that Fred was never sure whether he liked or not; Bill always brought something exotic, like a Thai dish or Moroccan appetizer. Hermione made gingerbread men spiced with nutmeg, clove, and cinnamon; Harry usually brought something store-bought, this year it was an impressive dish of sweet peas around a turkey that dripped gravy. Ron made a surprisingly good eggnog, dark rum, heavy cream, sweet sugar, and a bit of nutmeg. Molly’s pièce de résistance was an ice cream cake: melting hot dark chocolate capped with cold vanilla-the cake tasted of buttercream, pralines, hazelnut, toffee, and the ice cream part of it was vanilla and caramel swirled together.
People came and went throughout the day, dropping for some eggnog or hot chocolate, exchanging holiday news and greetings and wishes for the New Year. As the day went on, Molly worked harder, firing out directions in the kitchen like a general directing his troops. The smell of food became stronger and crisper, and people stayed longer and longer, happy to just inhale the food.
Christmas dinner was a feast. The first few minutes was filled with deep breaths of inhalations and wide eyes and tall plates and full mouths and quick swallows. Everyone lingered over their plates and remained in their seats, unable to move because a great contentment had settled over them and seized their lazy limbs. And to think, they still had to open presents! May Christmas never end, they all thought.
Two hours later, Fred was entering the living room just as Hermione was leaving it. He was intent on pretending he had not noticed her, so the voice that cried out above their heads surprised them both.
Fred glimpsed Hermione, holding a clementine orange and looking very startled, before his eyes lifted to the doorway above them.
***
“Uh oh. Mistletoe!” sang the sprig of magicked mistletoe from above. “Uh oh. Mistletoe! Uh oh. Mistletoe! Uhohmistletoeuhohmistletoeuhohmistletoeuhohmistletoeuhohmistletoe!”
Hermione clapped her hands over her ears. “Who put that there!” she cried over its tinny voice.
Fred’s heart sank at her expression, already feeling the magical tug towards her. “I’ll make it quick,” he muttered, trying to look as though he wasn’t about to take great pleasure from what so obviously distressed her.
***
“I’ll make it quick,” said Fred, with no amount of enthusiasm.
Hermione’s face burned at the bracing expression on his face. “Since you’re so clearly averse against the idea,” she said waspishly, whipping out her wand. “I’ll save us both since you’re incapable of doing anything right. Incendio!”
***
A burning twig dropped onto Fred’s shoulder; he brushed it off distractedly and watched as Hermione hurried away, red-faced. He took a few steps after her and stopped.
Back in the hall, he heard his father’s aghast voice.
“Where did that mistletoe go? George? Did you do something to it?”
Fred felt as though there were something particularly wrong about that moment, like there was something he should have understood but had failed to grasp completely.
“Arthur Weasley,” he heard his mum’s voice, “Am I to understand you put that mistletoe up there for me?”
And then some mechanism in his brain clicked and whirled and slipped into place. Fred dashed after Hermione. He saw footprints in the snow leading near the backyard where everyone else was playing a game of leisurely Quidditch, and he sped up, breath puffing before him in the air.
“Wait, Hermione!” he panted. “Back there-I didn’t mean-I mean, I wanted-I didn’t not want to kiss you!” he blurted, and waited for her to sort through the negatives.
It didn’t take her long. Understanding changed her eyes.
“Ah, look. Do you mind?” Fred didn’t wait for an answer.
Her lips were soft and pliant beneath his. Fred wanted to memorize the texture, the scent, the sensation. Her hand came up to settle lightly on his shoulders, fingers touching his neck in a way that made him shiver. The clementine orange dropped from loose fingers to land with a soft plop in the snow at their feet. Hermione’s mouth was warm and tasted like eggnog and chocolate, some foreign, mysterious chocolate that was better than anything he’d ever had at Honeydukes. They stood there, sinking deeper into the slushier part of the snow, lips pressed together, breaths mingling.
Head swimming dizzily, Fred managed to ask, “The Patented Daydream Charm. That’s what got me to thinking-well, I mean-what did you want with it?”
Hermione smiled back at him. “That’s none of your business, Fred Weasley.” At his disappointed look, she laughed in his ear, pulled him closer to her, and murmured, “But I’ll let you try to kiss it out of me.”