#yulefest2018

He shook his head ruefully, running a hand through his mop of damp, black hair. He was disappointed—not with the victory, but with his closest friends. Had he further damaged their already tenuous relationship with his Felix Felicis stunt?

Harry was deep in thought as he exited the Quidditch locker room, making his way to the castle with the last few post-match stragglers. A sinking feeling was bothering him, but he couldn’t quite get a grasp on it as he kept walking. He came to a halt as it hit him, the pieces falling into place.

If his friends continued along this path, he could only see misery. One of them would take it too far and they’d have a big blow up, followed by weeks or months of arguments. He’d get stuck in-between, and it was the last thing he needed with everything else going on. It was selfish of him, but their support was one of the few things he could count on.

He was aware of why each of them was upset, even if they didn’t, and that key information is what made him so uncomfortable. It was like third-year all over again, but the stakes were higher this time considering what was happening outside of the school. Even he had guessed the feelings they harboured for one another and was almost certain that their current fight would end in heartbreak.

He certainly didn’t want to get involved, but he could do something to prevent things from getting worse.

Despite his apprehension, a sense of urgency seized him, as though every minute, every second could make a difference in salvaging whatever disaster his friends were clearly heading towards. He set off at a run, pushing past a couple of first-years, and reached the large interior entryway of Hogwarts, just in time to catch a familiar head of bushy brunette hair stomping up the stairs.

Frantically, he was forced to shout. “Hermione, wait!”

She stopped and turned, giving him a surprised look as he took the stairs two-at-a-time, cutting around some of his fellow students.

“Harry, whatever is the matter?”

He panted and slowed down for a moment, his legs jelly from the effort after already having played an important match.

“I know why Ron’s so upset,” Harry gasped. “Promise me you’ll just stay here for a few minutes while I go talk to him. Then I’ll tell you everything.”

She frowned. “Humph, I don’t even want to think about Ron right now. He’s been acting like such a… Like such a prat!”

Harry shook his head, something spurring him to hurry up as he pleaded with her. “Please, just hear me out.”

She crossed her arms and leaned against the stone rail on the second-floor landing. “Fine.”

Harry didn’t even acknowledge this as he tore up the staircase toward the Gryffindor Common Room. The low rumble of the victory celebration indicated he was close. He turned the corner just as the sound reached a crescendo.

Chants of “Weasley! Weasley!” greeted his ears as he spotted his best friend, who was just about to step through the portrait hole to meet his adoring fans. His cheeks were flushed with pride, his eyes glassy, but Harry had a weird feeling that if Ron entered that party, somehow, things would get even worse between him and Hermione.

“Ron!”

Harry raced to his tall, redheaded friend and grabbed his arm, hauling him away from the doorway. He ignored the chorus of boos and protests before slamming the portrait shut, much to the consternation of The Fat Lady.

Ignoring her loud complaints, Ron rounded on Harry. “What the hell, mate?”

Harry hunched over, placing his hands on his thighs as he desperately tried to slow his breathing.

Ron stared at him, his anger abating as his face turned inquisitive. “Did you run all the way here from the locker room? Did something happen? Is Hermione alright?”

Harry nodded and held up a finger, hoping his friend would give him a minute to recover. He couldn’t help but smile at the fact that Ron’s concern immediately went to Hermione. How had he never noticed it before? Ron had defended Hermione countless times as well. The puzzle pieces seemed to be falling into place.

Before he could process his own lack of observance, he could sense Ron’s impatience, so he straightened up.

“Everyone is fine… Well, mostly. Hermione’s really hacked off at you.”

Ron immediately tensed up and began pacing in the empty corridor. “Yeah, well, I’m hacked off at her! She’s the one that didn’t believe I could make those saves myself during the match… She’s the one that lied about snogging—”

He looked away as his mouth clamped shut, clearly self-conscious at mentioning what was really bothering him.

Harry thought Ron had a point and felt sympathy for his friend. Hermione really hadn’t reacted well to his bit of trickery with the luck potion. It even reminded him of Hermione’s reaction to Ron getting his prefect badge in fifth-year.

What really struck him, perhaps for the first time much to his own shame, was how much his two friends’ actions seemed to impact each other. Ron seemed far more hurt by Hermione’s reaction than he was of Harry’s attempted deception.

“I get it, Ron. I don’t think either of us was fair to do that to you.” He purposely avoided mentioning anything related to the snogging.

Ron nodded, but his shoulders drooped in defeat. The muffled cries of “Weasley! Weasley!” could again be heard through the entrance. Ron looked up, worrying his lip in indecision as his long legs kept him roving back and forth.

“The party will go on for a while,” Harry began cautiously. “It might be worth a few minutes for the two of you to try and patch things up. She’s waiting for me downstairs. Come with me and talk to her.”

Ron’s neck twisted violently back towards Harry and he crossed his arms. “Why is she waiting for you?”

Harry didn’t care for the accusatory tone in Ron’s voice, but didn’t think it was the best time to mention it. “I promised to tell her why you’ve been so mental lately.”

Ron continued glaring, his hands balled into fists as his whole body stiffened. “And what exactly were you going to say?”

Harry coughed into his hand, not wanting to answer. “I was going to tell her about the fight with Ginny, you know, some of the things that were said.” As soon as he said it out loud, he cringed, realizing how much of a betrayal that would be to Ron.

“You’re going to do what?! Not cool, mate. If I found out who you fancied, I wouldn’t go off and tell them.”

The monster in Harry’s chest roared to life and he shook it off, ignoring the distraction. If Ron knew who he fancied… He couldn’t think about the implications at that moment. Instead, he threw his hands in the air. “You’re both ridiculous. You just admitted you fancy Hermione. Just tell her why you’ve shut her out this past week, and maybe… er… things will change between you two.”

Ron’s posture worsened as folded further into himself, his voice resigned in defeat.

“I doubt she even wants to hear it. Not when she’s got a world-famous star interested in her.”

“C'mon, Ron. She hasn’t seen Krum in years. Don’t forget, you’re the one she invited to the Slug Club party.” Harry grimaced as he remembered their awkward conversation in class.

Ron shrugged, his eyes glued to the portrait hole. “She didn’t, not really. She just said she was planning on asking me. Probably out of pity since I’m not good enough to be in the stupid Slug Club. Can’t even remember my bloody name.”

“I don’t think it was out of pity. Besides, you acted like a jealous git! Do you honestly think she’d do anything with that sod McLaggen?”

“Course not, she’s far too good for the likes of him.”

The persistent noise of their fellow Gryffindors continued in the background as indecision seemed to freeze Ron in his place.

Harry’s frustration was mounting as he rubbed his temples. He had never noticed how difficult it was dealing with the two of them. “I’m going to go speak to Hermione; you can come if you want.”

He stalked down the stairs in a huff, his earlier disappointment returning. He racked his brains, trying to think of how to tell Hermione what he’d promised, without embarrassing Ron or revealing too much. Would it simply be enough to reveal that Ron knew about her kiss with Krum in fourth-year, and hope they’d resolve things?

As he spotted the second-floor landing, he could see Hermione impatiently tapping her foot, her wand directing a small flock of yellow birds to fly in an intricate pattern above her. She looked up and caught his eye, the birds disappearing before he got a chance to admire her spellwork.

“Harry, where have you been, I was just about to—”

Thundering footsteps echoed behind him as Harry turned, only to be met by Ron, red-faced and gasping for air. The tension was palpable as he stood in the middle of the stairs, a buffer between his two friends.

“What’s he doing here?”

Ron’s cheeks reddened further as he steadied himself against the stone pillar at the top of the stone staircase railing. “Fine, if you don’t want to talk, I’m leaving. Maybe I can find someone who actually cares about what I have to say.”

Harry could see the wounded look on Ron’s face, so he shot Hermione a warning glance. “Ron, wait.”

The tall redhead huffed in annoyance but remained in place. Harry slowly ascended and clapped Ron on the shoulder. “Just talk to her, alright?”

Ron gave a stiff nod. Harry made his way up, disappearing from their view. He slipped behind a statue on the next landing, overlooking the area where he’d left them. If they couldn’t get their shite together themselves, he would have to do it for them. He peered over and could see them, the length of the stairs separating them.

The silence seemed to stretch for long seconds until Hermione cleared her throat, addressing Ron, who was still frozen at the top of the stairs, purposely not facing her. She was wringing her hands, the anxiety obvious.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione began, her voice unnaturally high. “For doubting your keeping skills. I know how important Quidditch is to you. Maybe I’ve never told you before, but I’m proud that you’re our keeper.”

“Thank you,” Ron answered quietly, still staring out into space. “That means a lot.”

The oppressive tension hung heavy in the air, until once again broken by Hermione’s voice.

“Harry promised he’d tell me why you’ve been so upset.” She paused, as if picking her words carefully. “I just don’t know what happened. I thought everything was going so well since I asked you to Professor Slughorn’s party.”

Ron continued looking away, so she went on.

“Is that what this is about?” Her voice dropped to a murmur. “Do you not want to go with me?”

It was a night of revelations for Harry as he studied them. Had it been their own lack of confidence, fear of messing up their friendship, or their worry of being vulnerable in front of the other that had been holding them back? Had it simply been himself getting in the way? Hermione was normally so sure of herself—he was shocked to see her so shaken, because of Ron.

Ron turned his head slowly towards Hermione, but stared down at his shoes, before taking a step down. “You didn’t actually ask me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You said you were planning to ask me. You never actually did.”

“I’m certain I did.”

“We rowed about McLaggen,” he spat out. “Then we never discussed it.”

“Is that why you’ve been upset?” She placed her hands on her hips and took a deep breath. Harry could see her summoning her courage. “Ron, would you like to go to the party with me?”

Harry couldn’t help but stifle a gasp and hid behind the statue again. He missed his friends glancing up at his perch.

“That’s not what this is about—I would’ve gone anyway. I was actually looking forward to going with you and spending time with you. Just the two of us.”

Hermione climbed a few steps up. “I was, too. If that’s not it, then why? I couldn’t help but notice you weren’t happy with Ginny, or even Harry for that matter.”

Ron made eye contact with Hermione for the first time, his blank face betraying the hurt in his trembling voice. “It’s just not nice to find out you’ve been lied to for two years. Especially when it’s coming from people you thought cared about you.”

Hermione was taken aback, clearly not at all what she’d been expecting. Harry couldn’t help but think she had no idea how much her actions, not to mention Ginny’s and even his own, had affected Ron. They took Ron for granted, and that pained him.

“What… what?” She stuttered, trying to hide the surprise on her face. “What are you even talking about?”

Harry felt ill, his stomach churning with distress. He knew what was coming. Things were going to get worse before they got better.

“Let me paint you a bleeding picture then, as my loving sister did a week ago. You and Vicky, snogging all over the castle in fourth-year. So much for being just friends.”

Hermione was even more confused. “Ginny told you Viktor and I kissed?”

“Yes, she did. Harry and I caught her and Dean groping each other behind a tapestry last week, and we got into a big row. She couldn’t wait to throw it in my face! All those times you told me he was just your pen pal—”

Hermione was visibly angry as she stomped her foot on the stone step. “She had no right to tell you that.”

Harry could see Ron’s shoulders slump once again, his voice tight. “You’re not denying it then? Ginny was telling me the truth?”

“It wasn’t like that! We weren’t ‘snogging all over the castle’ as you put it. He kissed me, once, and I wasn’t really interested… He was nice, and he appreciated me.”

“Then why lie about it? Did you three have a good laugh at my expense? Ha ha, stupid Ron, he has no idea what’s really going on. Always behind. Always last at everything.”

“Don’t say that about yourself! Besides, we haven’t talked about it in years, because I explicitly asked them to never mention it to you! I was just afraid of how you’d react, and I was clearly right to do so.”

He scoffed and pointed a shaky finger at her. “You don’t get to do that. We’re supposed to be friends. You’re supposed to trust me! Even if I absolutely hate the fact that you fancy him, I still deserve the truth.”

Hermione took another step up.

“I don’t fancy him! Just admit you were jealous!”

“Fine!” he roared, also stepping down, narrowing the distance between them. “I was jealous! That was my mistake, not asking you to the ball, and you know what? I still regret how I acted back then. The lie though? That’s far, far worse.”

“How is that worse?” She screamed in retaliation, marching up. “Look at how you’ve been treating me since you found out!”

“I had to find it out from my little sister, of all people! You confided in her! Do you have any idea what that felt like, to have your face rubbed in it, two years later? If things were reversed, how would you have reacted? What if I’d kept something like that from you?”

“Well… I… I certainly would’ve acted better than you did! It was two years ago, and I thought we were moving forward. Why does it even matter now?”

“It does matter!” He jabbed a finger into his own chest. “Maybe if you’d told me the truth… I wouldn’t’ve held this stupid hope that our first kisses would be with each other! That maybe you might even fancy me one day. Seems bloody unlikely now. Fuck!”

Ron turned away in frustration and embarrassment, not really caring if anyone heard him. The confession hung in the air as he leaned over the railing. This was all news to Harry, who was certain his friend was contemplating pitching himself over into the black void below. He could hear some of the paintings whispering in the background, but he paid them little heed. Harry was sure they’d witnessed countless fights between teenagers during the school’s long history.

The blood drained from Hermione’s face, the full, painful effect of her secret revealed. Harry could see the tears forming in her eyes, likely from the grief she’d caused. Ron usually wasn’t this open about his emotions, so it was obvious that their friend had been holding in quite a bit during the past two years.

She made her way up, to the stair just below Ron, now in the middle of the staircase next to the railing. She gently laid her hand on the small of Ron’s back, imploring him to talk to her.

“I didn’t know how strongly you felt. I hoped you were jealous, but I didn’t think you would be so hurt. I’m so sorry.” She reached to wipe her own tears, but Ron suddenly turned and got there first, his thumb brushing away the liquid, causing them both to gasp at the touch.

“I’m sorry, too. I just never felt like… like I could ever measure up. You just seemed to always doubt me when it came to, well, everything.”

“I’ve been horrible. I’ve never had the courage to truly express how amazing you are. I was afraid you’d be able to tell how I felt about you. You’re so important to me, and I didn’t want to lose you if you didn’t feel the same way.”

Ron looked apprehensive. “So you settled for a world-famous superstar?”

“The kiss with Viktor meant nothing. I was flattered that someone noticed me, and I was curious about what it would feel like to experience that.”

“I’m curious, too. Would you rather I… I don’t know… Go up there and snog…” His hands made undefinable gestures in the air, trying to find a name. “Lavender Brown or someone?”

“No,” she replied firmly. “I’d rather you snogged me.”

Ron’s lean frame towered over Hermione, even more so than usual due to the stairs, their bodies nearly touching.

“Why?”

“Because I want you to.” Hermione looked up, her expression soft in a way Harry had never seen before as she gave Ron a shy smile. “I really want you to.”

Harry was holding his breath, watching with rapt attention. Was this the moment?

“There’s no going back.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Me, neither.”

In a flash, Ron’s hands cradled Hermione’s face and he bent over, their lips meeting chastely at first. She gripped him tightly and they deepened their kiss, their eyes closing as they lost themselves in a moment they’d both been clearly hoping for.

Harry never thought he’d bear witness to their first kiss, so he looked away. He couldn’t deny how odd it was to see them snogging. It was even odder, he realized, that he somehow knew that one day they would share a first kiss, like it was inevitable.

Harry looked back as they broke apart, their chests both rising and falling rapidly. Ron suddenly stooped down and lifted Hermione up, her happy giggles bouncing off the castle walls as he turned and placed her on the stair above him, reducing their height difference. His hands were still at her sides, and she rested her arms across his shoulders, playing with the hair on the back of his neck.

“What does this mean?”

“It means, Hermione, that I fancy you, and you fancy me.”

“Good, I’m glad we’ve sorted that out then.”

Ron smiled brightly, before taking her hands in his and holding them to his chest. Harry didn’t know his mate had it in him to be so romantic. Must have picked up a tip or two from his brothers over the years.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

Hermione smiled widely, her eyes again tearing up. She nodded vigorously. “Only if you’ll be my boyfriend.”

“Hmm… Let me think.”

She freed herself and smacked his arm, as he enveloped her in a hug. She laid her head on his shoulder and sighed, as if a great weight had been lifted. They stood in the embrace for a moment, enjoying the luxury of finally being able to be completely open with one another.

Harry felt rather uncomfortable, seeing them so playful. Now that his job was done, he felt like he was intruding on such an intimate moment between them. He hid back behind the statue and waited for them to join the party, so that he could follow. A few minutes later, he heard their footfalls and whispers on the steps.

As the new couple passed by the landing where Harry was hidden, they paused. What the hell were they waiting for?

“Harry,” Ron started.

“We know you’re there,” Hermione finished.

Harry stood up sheepishly, scratching the back of head. “Oh, I was just tying my shoelace. Didn’t want to trip on one of these stairs.”

Ron rolled his eyes as Hermione scoffed. There was an uncomfortable pause, all three a bit pink in the face, until Ron reached out and clapped his friend on the shoulder.

“We just wanted to say thanks for, you know, helping us get things sorted.”

“Oh, no problem. I’m glad you’ve made up.” Hermione grasped Harry’s arm. “This isn’t going to change anything, Harry. We’re still going to be there for you, through thick or thin. We’re still your best friends.”

Harry nodded, his heart full of love for them. “Just less screaming at each other and more…” he cringed.

They both blushed again, and Harry could see their hands squeezing tightly in support of one another, making him feel a strange longing for a similar connection.

Ron must have picked up on it and tried to lighten the mood. “Don’t worry, mate. I’m sure some girl will see past the specky git side of you.” He laughed, missing the wide-eyed look shared between Harry and Hermione.

“Yeah, thanks, Ron. I’ll just see the two of you up there?” He hastily beat a retreat and practically ran up the stairs, giving his friends the opportunity to revel in their new relationship.

As he reached the Common Room, the party seemed to be in full swing. Though the Fat Lady was still miffed at him from earlier, she allowed him to enter to a roar of cheers, which stopped rather abruptly.

“Oi, it’s only Potter,” Seamus bellowed. “Where’s Ron?”

“He’s on his way; save your applause.”

Harry enjoyed being out of the limelight for once, so he slid over to the far wall, just in time for the crowd to restart their din.

A few minutes later, the portrait hole opened again, and his two best friends strode in, the blushes on their cheeks and messed hair indicating what they’d been up to after he left them. The roar from the Gryffindors was deafening as the man-of-the-hour entered, finally joining the raucous gathering. Red and gold confetti exploded in the air, covering the gathered crowd.

A loud whistle silenced everyone, and Seamus’s voice rang out once again. “Ron! Are you holding Granger’s hand?”

All eyes focused on their joined hands, the room silent aside from the fluttering of stray paper floating through the air. In a rush of bravado, Hermione reached up and pulled Ron into a kiss, causing the rest of the house to cheer even louder than before, their refrain now switching to “Weasley! Granger! Weasley! Granger!”.

Harry laughed as they were mobbed with congratulations and pats on the back. He heard more than one person exclaim “finally” or “about time”, so it wasn’t just him who had noticed how they felt about each out. He surveyed the room, noting that Cormac seemed to have his usual sour look of arrogant disdain at the whole scene, while Lavender seemed rather put out. He started to wonder why, but all thoughts faded as he saw a different redhead approach.

“Is this your doing?” Ginny asked.

“I may have had a hand in it. They just needed a nudge.”

“Well, I’m glad. They’ve been tiptoeing around each other for years—it’s annoying. I wasn’t happy about what I said to Ron before, even if he deserved it, the git. I certainly didn’t mean to mess things up for Hermione.”

“Don’t be so hard on him, I think he’s going to be much more… Open-minded from now on.”

“I hope so. Are you alright with everything, Harry?”

He couldn’t help but feel his cheeks warm from the concerned look on Ginny’s face. “It’s better than them fighting all the time. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen them so happy.”

Ginny squeezed his arm. “You’re a good friend. Well, I’d better go find Dean and then tease my brother and his girlfriend.” She gave him a cheeky grin and left in a flash of red hair.

Harry looked up at his best friends, seeing the joy on their faces as Ron slung his long arm around Hermione’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. She looked up at him proudly and smiled.

A/N: I know the fics are published anonymously but still wanted to add a tiny note. Basically, this is the first fic I’ve written in maybe six(?) years, so apologies if the writing is incredibly rusty. I hope you’re, nevertheless, able to enjoy the Christmassy theme and everyone’s favourite couple.

16th of December 2023

“You reckon Rose and Hugo will be embarrassed to have to deal with their Mum and Dad showing up at their school dance?” Ron asked his wife while absentmindedly adjusting his dark navy coloured dress robes in front of the bedroom mirror.

“Oh, I doubt it,” Hermione laughed while her hair neatly arranged itself in a low bun at the back of her neck at the flick of a wand. “I’m sure they’ll be quite happy to see us as long as you keep off the dance floor.” She stepped forward to adjust her husband’s tie.

“You know, ‘Mione, I’m actually quite excited to go,” Ron smirked, “kind of makes me feel like I’m getting a second chance at this whole Yule Ball thing with you.” He wrapped his arms around Hermione’s waist, as she turned towards the mirror to adjust loose strands of hair around her neck. “Perhaps, I’ll even get a cheeky snog out of you this time unless old habits take place and I end up behaving like a jealous git again.”

Hermione spun around in Ron’s arms to face him with a devious look in her eyes. “I doubt Krum is coming so your chances of a snog are rather high,” she placed her hands on Ron’s cheeks, feeling the prickly stubble under her fingers, “we do, however, really need to get on our way to catch the ministry portkey or Rose will probably deduct house points off us for turning up late.”

***

After hurriedly apparating to the ministry and using an old red umbrella as a portkey, Ron and Hermione found themselves at the front gates of Hogwarts. Hermione, having returned to the castle to complete her education had eventually gotten used to the school and its grounds again following the horrors of the battle but Ron’s visits to the school following its restoration after the battle had been limited to hurried visits through various of the seven hidden passageways and a few nights in the Prefect’s Bathroom.

Now, twenty-five years later, he was returning to the castle as an honorary Order of Merlin First Class invitee alongside his wife and best friend. As the years had passed, he had grown increasingly tired of attending one charity event after another. It was not as if he did not care or believe them to be important, he just felt that the best way for him to remember Fred, Lupin, Tonks, Dobby and everyone else was by spending time with his loved ones in the comfort of his cosy home, or at work with the Auror department ensuring similar terrors could never take place again. However, he had to admit to himself that tonight he was excited – he always really missed his children during term and it had been a while since him and Hermione had had a night off work together that included something other than them just falling asleep in each other’s arms on the sofa.

As Ron walked towards the Great Hall his mind kept wandering back to the last time he had attended a ball in the very same room. The magical ceiling was glistening in a similar way and enchanted instruments on either side of the room were playing cheery winter tunes. If only he could’ve travelled back in time and smacked his 14-year-old self on the head and forced him to make a move on Hermione and ask her to the ball, many things during their year on the run could have perhaps been so much easier. But as he walked a few steps behind his beloved wife, who had just spotted Harry and Ginny chatting with Neville and Hannah Longbottom, he was overcome with the familiar warm feeling that even if their path to each other had not been the most straightforward one, they had gotten there in the end and that was all that mattered. As a content smile crept upon his lips, his thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a familiar voice not so different from his own.

“Oi! Knew you and Mum would be here at the last minute. Had trouble tying your tie? Or got too distracted while getting dressed? Actually, don’t answer that last question I really don’t want to know,” 15-year-old Hugo laughed and hugged his father.

“Watch your words young man, I’ve heard you’ve got a date of your own for tonight. Would be a shame if any embarrassing stories came up within her earshot,” Ron said and ruffled Hugo’s hair.

Rose, Albus and Lily also appeared from the crowd, and once Hermione had hugged both of her children, and Ginny and Harry had greeted Albus and Lily, the group headed to find their assigned seats. As they walked through the hall, towards one of the round tables in the front corner, Harry picked up glasses of bubbling champagne off a tray floating nearby and handed them to his friends.

***

Eventually, the quartet had seated themselves and the chatter bubbling around the room settled down as Kingsley Shacklebolt made his way towards the front of the hall dark purple robes whooshing in the air following his steps. As the Minister reached the enchanted microphone the hall fell silent in anticipation.

“Welcome, everyone. As I’m sure all of you know, this year marks the quarter century jubilee of the Battle of Hogwarts during which Lord Voldemort was defeated thus marking the end of the Second Wizarding War.” Kingsley eyed the quiet room. “Despite all the grieving and ache faced by too many families, it brings me the greatest joy to see everyone gathered in this room tonight. The Ministry, alongside the educational board of Hogwarts, felt that a celebration was in order, to pay special remembrance to those we lost, and to appreciate those around us who fought valiantly for our community to get it where we stand today.”

“The generation now studying within the walls of this castle, has been fortunate to grow up in a safe and tolerant wizarding society. However, we must never forget the price paid and the sacrifices made to achieve this status quo. Through hours of relentless work by our Aurors in the field as well as the numerous officials at Ministry headquarters, we have established a wizarding community that not only takes pride in its inclusiveness, but seeks to teach this moral right here at Hogwarts to ensure a peaceful future to all witches and wizards, regardless of their family background.” Kingsley waved his wand and his champagne flute glided smoothly across the air into his hand. “Therefore, I invite all of you, to raise a toast with me to everyone who has helped shape our future into where it stands today, and to each and every student, present and future, who will wander through the corridors of this castle and contribute to guaranteeing many more generations of peace.”

The end of Kingsley’s speech was marked by a stern nod and followed by the bright, glistening sound of hundreds of glasses clinking together. Then, with a swift wave of the Minister’s wand the enchanted instruments picked up a cheerful song and every plate within the hall was filled with a mountain of delicious food.

“Well, I’ll drink to our children being safer than us in this castle any day,” Ron said and emptied his champagne flute in one go.

“You’d better pace yourself,” Ginny smirked from across the table, “doubt your and Harry’s tolerance is at the same level it used to be at twenty years ago when a Firewhiskey bottle was a staple decoration on the drawing room table at Grimmauld’s place.”

“Or maybe,” Ron turned towards Hermione and whispered into her ear, “I’m in need of a bit of liquid encouragement to actually ask you to dance with me.”

Ron placed his hand on her thigh underneath the table as Hermione challenged him.

“Can’t remember heaps of encouragement being necessary the other night while we danced in the living room.” She saw the slightest of blushes creep up her husband’s cheeks, for which she highly doubted the alcohol now circling his veins was solely responsible for.

“So I heard Hugo has a date?” Ginny suddenly asked Hermione allowing her to pretend to ignore her husband’s hand creeping slightly higher along her thigh.

“Oh yes, he told us he was going with one of Lily’s friends. He seemed quite nervous in the letter he sent to us last week,” Hermione smiled at Ginny as they eyed the group of the fifth year Gryffindors to see what their younger children were up to.

“Well, I’m just glad to be at a Yule Ball where the two of you,” Harry piped in and gestured towards Ron and Hermione, “are actually talking to each other. Really would not have fancied another evening of silent treatment and moping on either of your parts,” he continued making both Ginny and Hermione laugh.

“Well, best friend, I’ll have you know my wife and I are both planning to behave just swimmingly tonight,” Ron said in a mock-serious manner to Harry, followed by a collective chuckle among the group.

***

After three delicious courses of dinner and a few shots of Firewhiskey had by Ron and Harry (Hermione and Ginny had forbidden them from sharing the drinks with Hugo and Albus who had eagerly approached the table in hopes of sneaking off with something stronger than Butterbeer), everyone was in good spirits. The dancefloor at the centre of the room had been getting more crowded as the night went on. The band of unmanned instruments at the side of the room was now playing a steady waltz and small enchanted snowflakes were steadily falling from the ceiling of the Great Hall. Ginny and Harry had been among the first guests to enter the dancefloor, but Ron and Hermione were still sitting at the table, attempting to unnoticeably keep an eye on a flustered Hugo who was dancing with his date. Rose and her friends, on the other hand, had disappeared to Gryffindor tower a while back smuggling what looked like quite a few bottles of mulled Christmas wine with them.  

“Boy that daughter of ours is smart,” Ron muttered to Hermione, “reckon if Harry and I had just grabbed a drink and disappeared all those years ago with the lads we could’ve avoided that massive argument.”

“Or, you could have just asked me to the ball with you, we could have had a nice swirl on the dance floor and everything would have been fine. On the other hand, I highly doubt Harry’s diplomacy skills would be half as good as they are today if it hadn’t been for all of our arguing,” Hermione said with a snicker.

“Well, not everyone can have the social skills of our son there,” Ron nodded in the direction of Hugo who was, rather impressively, waltzing with his date, “but I do think I’ll probably need to sneak a dance out of you at some point tonight, so we might as well get on the dancefloor before George and Harry convince me to join them at the bar for another round of Firewhiskey. Can’t guarantee I won’t be stepping on your toes if I have more to drink,” Ron said while standing up confidently, pulling Hermione up with himself and towards the dancefloor.

As the gentle notes of the music twinkled in the air, Hermione and Ron swayed on the dancefloor their steps circling in a soft, waltz-like manner. The confidence gained by both of them over the years, in addition to the familiarity of being close to each other, meant the actual act of dancing required little focus.

As Ron’s palm on the small of Hermione’s back pulled her closer, she shifted her hand from her husband’s strong shoulder to fidget with the soft fabric at the collar of his dress shirt.  The air between their bodies seemed to be getting increasingly more static as the dance went on. Hermione could feel Ron’s warm breath on her cheek and when looking up, she was pleasantly unsurprised to find her gaze met by an accustomed longing in Ron’s blue eyes. With the notes of the waltz beginning to subtly fade, Ron leaned down towards his wife.

"I think one song was enough dancing for tonight,” he attempted to say nonchalantly but ended up catching his breath mid-sentence. “Fancy a bit of fresh air? I think the hall is a bit -”

“ – crowded? Couldn’t agree more.” Hermione blurted and nodded towards the doors.

***

Ron was suddenly very glad of every forbidden night-time-wander around the castle, knowing exactly which direction to head in. He could hear his own blood rushing in his ears and pooling in other parts of his body and by the hastiness in Hermione’s steps alongside him, he knew she was feeling the same way. Eventually, they reached the end of a corridor finding a simple wooden door with a heavy but unlocked pewter latch. After a quick peek behind them, the couple hurriedly stepped into the storage closet.

As soon as Ron closed the door, Hermione’s fingers rushed to intertwine with strands of his hair and pulled him down to a deep kiss. Feeling Hermione bite down on his bottom lip, Ron’s arms snaked around her waist, eagerly lifting her up onto the almost-too-conveniently-for-it-to-be-a-coincidence placed shelf, hiking up the hem of Hermione’s dress in the process.

“God, as much as I loved dancing with you it was really a struggle to keep my hands somewhere appropriate for the public eye. Had forgotten dancing with you gets me all hot and bothered,” Ron breathed placing kisses down Hermione’s neck in the process.

“Mmm,” Hermione hummed kissing her husband’s stubbly chin, “I personally was struggling to keep my thoughts away from how during the ball years ago all I hoped for was a snog in a broom closet with my ginger best friend, no matter how hideous his dress robes –”

“Better not mock the dress robes, might just ditch you here and now,” Ron laughed, the vibrations of his voice sending shivers down Hermione’s spine. “Not that I have even a fraction of the self-control necessary for that,” he continued with his voice quivering as Hermione’s hands traced down his torso, unbuttoning the silvery buttons on his dress shirt.

With his desire developing within him, Ron made a conscious attempt to stay focused as his hands entangled themselves from Hermione’s hair and traced their way to the back of her neck. After eagerly unzipping the fabric of Hermione’s silky dress, Ron pulled the top half of the smooth fabric down to expose a red lace bra, which he knew to be part of a set with matching knickers.

“Cheeky witch, you planned this, didn’t you?” he chuckled his hot breath lingering in the air for the slightest moment before being captured by Hermione’s lips. Their kisses grew increasingly desperate and Hermione leaned against the wall as Ron’s mouth worked its way skilfully down her chest and then up her neck towards her ear, where he played with her earlobe between his teeth making her feel dizzy.

Hermione’s hands found the waistband of Ron’s trousers under the robes and with swift, rehearsed movements she unbuckled his belt, the sound of metal sharp in the dim air of the storage closet. As Hermione slid her hand downward and picked up a steady pace around Ron’s hardened erection, he placed his hand on her thigh, as an attempt to balance himself.  Ron leaned his forehead against Hermione’s, his lips only barely not touching hers, as his hand found its way to the centre between Hermione’s widened legs pushing aside the delicate lacy fabric. Tentatively, he dipped two fingers inside her warmth, gaining an appreciative sigh in response.

“Really not the time for teasing,” Hermione groaned, pushing herself down onto Ron’s palm, only to find her pining met by a smug smirk on her favourite ginger’s face.

“Oh is it not, now? Are you saying this is what you’ve had on your mind for the whole evening then? Just been thinking of me fucking you in a storage closet? You really should voice these thoughts more often, you know,” Ron replied struggling to keep huskiness out of his voice with Hermione’s fingers altering between gentle caresses and firm strokes along his cock.  

“N-not just this –”, Hermione whimpered as Ron’s skilled fingers picked up their pace and he leaned in to nibble on the sensitive skin around her collarbones, “– need you, closer,” she pleaded sparing the tiniest of thoughts towards whether the closet they were in was soundproof.

Reaching down towards Ron’s length once more, delicately playing around with her fingers, she watched his eyes turn darker with lust. Within moments she found his large hand drawing her towards the edge of the shelf as he positioned himself, teasing her folds with his tip for an excruciatingly long second, before sinking deep into her. Any anxieties regarding the door of the closet being locked, or whether anyone would be able to hear them were long gone from Hermione’s mind as she groaned at the feeling of Ron filling her.

“Not even sure I remembered to tell you how fucking beautiful you looked tonight”, Ron muttered amidst trying to catch his breath while the shelf Hermione was positioned on slammed rhythmically against the wall. “I mean, fuck, you always do but, fuck, did I want to unzip that dress off you before we were even out of the house tonight.”

Ron picked up his pace and slid his hand down to rub Hermione’s clit, resulting in her nails pressing down on the skin on his back, reminding him of the days of being extra cautious in the changing rooms at the Auror Academy if he did not want everyone to see the marks his girlfriend often left on his pale skin amidst their desires.

It did not take long for the rhythm of Ron’s thrusts to become uneven and Hermione slid her hand to the back of his neck, grasping strands of his hair between her fingers in the process.

“Fuck, Ron, it’s too much”, Hermione choked right before her legs tensed around his waist and her centre dissolved into warm pleasure. As she pulled Ron’s lips down for a heated kiss and nibbled on his lip, his moans became increasingly louder and an assortment of profanities rolled off his lips into Hermione’s mouth as his knees buckled ever so slightly at his release.

“God, I love you,” Hermione whispered gently while placing soft kisses on her husband’s sweaty forehead as the pair remained intertwined.

“Love you too,” Ron mumbled, steadying himself and standing up to catch his breath.

After a few waves of wands to clean up, some moments of gentle kisses and Ron eventually managing to convince Hermione that her hair looked acceptably unmessy (“I swear, ‘Mione, if it looked like it normally does post-shag I would tell you! It looks fine, no one will know where we’ve been”), Ron peeked out of the door to check that the corridor was empty.

***

“If only I had actually bothered with Divination at school and been able to see what just happened, perhaps I would have been a lot more convinced of the subject’s credibility”, Ron sniggered, closing the storage closet door behind Hermione and himself. As the couple turned around the corner they were momentarily shocked to bump into Hugo, who looked to be in a hurry.

“Where on earth are you on your way to?” Hermione quizzed him, making a mental note of the fact that Hugo was alone and did not seem to be on his way to the very same closet his parents had just vacated.

“Ehmm, the loo?”, Hugo said his answer sounding more like a question as he eyed his parents with a confused look on his face.

“You sure you’re not just planning on sneaking into that storage closet at the end of the hall for a cheeky snog with your date?” Ron laughed deviously, glancing at Hermione who was attempting to inconspicuously check her dress was looking presentable.

“Storage closet? The only thing at the end of that hall, as far as I know, is a boy’s loo”, Hugo said pressingly and directed a judging glance at his parents. “I reaaally don’t want to know why the pair of you seem to be under the impression there’s a storage closet. On that note, I’m off. I’ll see you later.”

“Cheeky lad. The loo?”, Ron said grabbing Hermione by the waist as they headed down the corridor. “I’ll bet you five galleons that in a few seconds we’ll run into that girl he was attempting to charm with his well-rehearsed dance steps –” but his thought was interrupted when he noticed the expression on Hermione’s face.

“Actually, I don’t think he was lying”, she said a complacent grin creeping upon her still flushed cheeks, “but rather we’ve just established something no one was entirely sure of until today.”

“What’s that?” Ron asked looking increasingly perplexed while inattentively smoothing down the unruly hair at the back of his neck.

Cormac hiccups, rises from his chair, and sways on the spot. A crystal goblet dangles precariously from his hand, one strong breeze away from slipping and shattering on the common room floor.

“Ready to go, then, Granger?”

He takes a few steps towards Hermione, stumbling over his own feet, and instinctively she takes several steps back.

“I suppose,” she replies, unable to help glancing down at her attire as if to confirm this for herself. And she’s not sure she agrees.

She’s in her best dress, yes, the gauzy blush-colored material skimming across her knees. And heels, which are already pinching her feet. But truly? She can’t bring herself to do much more. She’s simply wrested her hair back into a knot at the base of her neck, rather than bother with Sleakeazy; what little Muggle makeup she owns is still wrapped in its original packaging.

Cormac’s not worth the effort.

He drains the contents of his goblet into the back of his throat and tosses it haphazardly in the direction of the hearth, where it crashes against the brick and disintegrates.

Hermione cannot keep the disdain off her face. “What’s wrong with you?”

“S’alright,” he chuckles, approaching her again. “Elves’ll clean it up.”

Blood rises slowly, steadily up Hermione’s neck and into her face as she uses all the willpower she possesses to fight the barrage of disparaging remarks on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she simply vanishes the broken glass with a wave of her wand and marches towards the portrait hole.

He catches up with her just as she’s stepping into the corridor and slings an arm around her waist.

“Hey,” he said, Firewhiskey sharp on his breath. “Whaddya say we skip the party altogether?”

Hermione walks a little more quickly, shaking off his grasp.

“I told Harry I’d meet him there.”

Cormac scoffs. “Potter. Don’t you reckon he’s got enough friends already?”

Just two hours, Hermione tells herself. Two hours, then it’s over.

All she has to do is put in an appearance at the party. Just enough of one for the word of her arrival with Cormac McLaggen (who is currently taunting the portrait subjects as they walk) to enter the gossip circuits. News at Hogwarts never fails to travel fast, and it just needs to get back to one specific person for this all to be worth it.

At the thought of - of him - Hermione’s stomach twists uncomfortably. This is not how she imagined this evening would go.

Slughorn’s office is so festively decorated, the walls dripping with bunting, mistletoe hanging from the ceiling, that it feels like an assault. The air is heavy and thickly perfumed, like Trelawney’s classroom, and the guests - not all of whom are students, as the jolt to Hermione’s stomach upon catching sight of a vampire tells her - seem to press in from all sides. The poor little elves bearing trays of food appear in danger of being trampled. The music is loud and cloying and guests have to shout above it, creating a cacophony of discordant sound. Everything in her body is telling her to flee, that this isn’t worth it, that she doesn’t belong here, that he is too busy snogging Lavender Brown to care if Hermione goes to Christmas parties at all, let alone with a lout such as McLaggen.

“Ya wanna drink?” Cormac half-yells in her ear, his massive hand landing on the small of her back.

“Erm-“ She may as well, if only because the room is stiflingly hot. “Just a gillywater.”

“You got it.”

The smile he gives her as he slinks off in search of a serving tray has no warmth behind it, no affection. It’s a mere baring of teeth, a means to an end, and it sets her nerves on edge. As she waits, she scans the crowd, hoping and praying to catch a glimpse of Harry’s dark mop of hair or Luna’s radish earrings. Anyone friendly will do, particularly when Blaise Zabini pushes past her and nearly knocks her into the wall.

Cormac reappears a second later, as she’s still regaining her balance, to press an icy glass into her hand. Hermione goes to take a sip and nearly chokes.

“Are you sure this is gillywater?” she asks, repulsed and sputtering, as Cormac laughs.

“I might’ve enhanced it a bit,” he grins, though at her expression of disbelief, he continues. “Vodka,” he clarifies, opening his robes a bit to reveal a flask tucked inside. “But only a little.”

“Wha - how did you-“

“Just packed it in my trunk at the start of term,” he tells her, brimming with pride at this feat of deception. “I told Filch it was Muggle medicine, an’ he’s so thick, he believed me.”

For the first time in her life, Hermione feels sympathy for Argus Filch.

“Sorry you don’t like it,” Cormac adds flippantly, taking back the glass and drinking from it himself. “One of the elves over there has butterbeer, I think, if you’d rather have that.”

“It’s fine,” she finds herself saying, even though it plainly is not. The party has only just begun; perhaps she can salvage it. “So - er - so what NEWTs are you going to take?”

“NEWTs?” He furrows his brow like he’s never heard the term before. “Oh, I don’t know yet. Haven’t thought about it much.”

Too stunned to reply, Hermione snatches a glass from a nearby tray and, without thinking, gulps it down. It’s pumpkin juice, and it’s sickly-sweet, making her empty stomach churn.

“You look really fit tonight,” he says, eyes roving slowly up and down her figure, his hand returning to the small of her back. “You oughta dress like this more often.”

“Really?” she says skeptically, sure that he’s just spewing lines as they occur to him. “You think I should wear a party dress to class?”

“Yeah.” He chuckles again, his hand now unpleasantly close to the curve of her bottom. “It’d be hot.” Before Hermione can formulate a response - and it is taking all of her brain power to figure out what to say to him - he jerks his chin up to the ceiling. “Look.”

Against all her better judgment, she does, and of course it’s mistletoe hanging above them, taunting her.

Damn you, Professor Slughorn.

“Oh - er-“ Hermione gives a shaky attempt at laughing it off, as if the thought of them acting on the purpose of mistletoe is so preposterous, only to realize his hand is firmly situated on her backside now.

His mouth is on hers a second later, wet and sloppy and tasting faintly of alcohol and, somehow, onions, and his tongue pushes into her mouth, foreign and invasive, and this isn’t who she wants kissing her at all.

“Stop,” she blurts out, pushing his chest, needing distance, more distance, entire oceans would not be enough. “I’m - I’m just going to get one of those butterbeers after all.”

“Alright, I’ll be here,” he drawls, looking sickeningly pleased with himself.

As Cormac leans back against the wall, taking a surreptitious swig directly from his flask, Hermione steps around a small elf bearing a tray of crudités and strides purposefully towards the opposite end of the room. The scene before her has morphed into a sea of faceless bodies and voices that she can’t discern from one another. And then, when she’s sure she’s disappeared into it, become just another body among the many, she pivots on her heel and bolts for the door. She sprints past a bewildered Harry, and maybe in another universe she would have stopped to talk to him, but right now, she can think of nothing but getting away.

She feels cowardly, running rather than doing what she really wants to do - smack Cormac in the teeth. The shame rises in her, bubbling up from the pit of her stomach and into the back of her throat until she nearly chokes on it, wobbling down the hall in her heels, the abandoned corridor a slate-grey blur through her tears. Nothing that has happened tonight has been worth it. Though she set out to hurt Ron - God, actually hurt him, as though he hasn’t been her best friend for the past five years - all she’s done is make herself feel like the sludge at the bottom of the Black Lake.

It takes a near-tumble on a moving staircase for Hermione to shed her shoes altogether. With the stone floor cool under her bare feet, she spits the password at the Fat Lady (who looks offended, but swings open nevertheless) and steps into what she hopes is an empty common room.

It isn’t.

In a corner of the room, illuminated only by the wavering glow of the fireplace, Ron sits alone in front of a chess board. His lanky body is folded in on itself, a leg up to his chest pulled up to his chest, chin resting on his knee. As she hastily wipes the fresh tears from her face, he picks up his head, and his blue eyes land on her.

They regard each other, not moving, not speaking. Just… considering one another.

“You’re back early,” Ron comments, just the slightest trace of vitriol in his voice.

“Yes, well.” Hermione sniffs, trying to fix her face into an expression of utmost dignity. “It was a bit of a boring party.”

“So where’s your date?”

Now, there is definitely vitriol in his voice, but it doesn’t even sting the way it used to, the way it did after that fateful Quidditch match in November. It just makes her miss him and the warmth he used to have, the playful teasing, his sharp-tongued wit that never aimed to wound.

Hermione opts for honesty. “I left him there.”

Ron’s brows lift, briefly, and he nods. “I see.”

“And where’s yours?”

The dim light in the room is not enough to mask the ruddiness growing in Ron’s face. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I think we had a fight-“ there is a thud as his foot drops from the edge of his chair to the floor- “and she chucked me.”

“You think?”

“No, I know she chucked me.” He cringes. “She made that part clear.”

“Oh.” Despite everything, there is a little flutter of excitement in Hermione’s stomach that she can’t quite ignore. He’s single again. “You don’t exactly seem gutted over it.”

Mouthing, he attempts to piece together the words. “I - it just - well - she’s-“ He shrugs, resigned. “No. I s’pose I’m not.”

He does not look proud of this fact. His eyes are cast down to the chessboard - it appears he’s challenged himself in a match - and he’s fidgety, fingertips drumming on the edge of the table, as is his habit when he’s feeling guilty.

The fireplace crackles and hisses, flames dancing up against the soot-stained brick. Between them, the silence pulses, growing stronger, threatening to suffocate them.

And then they both speak at once.

“Why did you-“

Ron freezes, stunned, and then chuckles; the stretch of his lips lights up his whole face.

“No, no, ladies first,” he says with a wave of his hand. “You go.”

Swallowing, Hermione steels herself. She could turn, and walk up the stairs to her dorm, and she would probably end up never speaking to Ron again, but even just being in the same room is making her ache from missing him.

“Why did you get so mad at me?”

“Because,” he says in a tone that implies she should already know, “you acted like the Felix was the only reason I could play a decent Quidditch match-“

“Not that.” Hermione pads across the worn carpet floor, shrinking the gap between them. “You were already so mad at me before that happened, and I still don’t know why, I don’t know what I did - it was like you woke up one morning and decided you hated me-“ Her throat constricts, her voice breaking off.

Hurriedly, he shakes his head, as though eager to dispel the notion. “I don’t hate you.”

“You could’ve fooled me.”

“I don’t hate you,” he repeats, rising from his chair. “I’ve never hated you.”

“Then why - what happened?”

“It’s-“ He won’t meet her eyes. “It was nothing, really-“

“It must have been something,” she snaps back, infuriated, “and I want to know what.”

“It was stupid-“

“I don’t care!” she cries. “I want to know why you suddenly couldn’t stand to look at me, why you’d treat me like that - do you know how mean you’ve been to me lately?”

“How mean I’ve been?” He holds up a large hand, the back of it facing her. “I still have scars from the canaries, thank you-“

“And what about in class today?” she counters. “You think I liked being imitated like that?”

She can barely get the words out without choking on them: the recollection of the cruel laughter from Lavender and Parvati makes her want to sink into the floor.

“Yeah, that,” says Ron, not quite meeting her eyes. “I’m sorry about that.”

“As you should be.”

“Well, I am!” The flush in his face deepens to a boiling red. “It was an arsehole thing to do, I - I mean, I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

“I told you, I just want to know why you were so mad at me-“

“I wasn’t mad,” he says, with a brittleness in his voice that Hermione isn’t sure she’s ever heard from him. “I mean, okay, I was, but - but I was kinda just… just hurt, more than anything.”

Ron looks lost, almost hopeless, and fearing that he might just escape to his dorm never to be seen again, Hermione takes a step closer to him.

“But why?”

“I told you, it’s stupid-“

“I want to hear it.”

He gulps; he looks as though he’s about to walk to his own execution. “Basically… I didn’t want to be what I was to you.”

The words float through her brain without registering meaning. “Wh - what?”

“I didn’t want to go to the party with you if it was just, y’know, like a pity invite-“

“Pity?” she repeats, stunned. “You think I invited you out of pity?”

“I just reckoned you should go with who you actually wanted to go with-“

“Who I wanted to go with,” says Hermione, her voice trembling with the effort of maintaining some shred of control, “was you. Only you.”

“But I thought you were just - just asking as friends, so I wouldn’t be left out, ‘cause Harry pretty much had to go-“

“No,” says Hermione, desperate to be understood. He needs to know, she decides, with a rush of adrenaline that makes her hands shake. She has to tell him, and it has to be now. “It wasn’t just as friends.”

It’s Ron’s turn now to step closer, until just a foot of space separates them. In this big, empty room, all she hears are his low, shallow breaths. She thinks she might even be able to hear his heartbeat, quick and urgent, matching her own.

She’s a Gryffindor, and she knows that means she should be brave - and she is, when it comes to fighting dark wizards. But this vulnerability, and knowing, despite everything that’s just transpired between them, that Ron could still crush her heart… it requires a different kind of courage, and she has to summon it from deep within.

“And I’m sorry about the canaries,” she adds, “I really am, but when I saw you kissing her-“

“I should never have kissed her.” His words come out in a breath. “She wasn’t who I wanted to kiss.”

Hermione’s breath catches in her lungs as he moves closer, now just a sliver of glowing firelight between them. For the briefest half-second, Ron’s tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“Who did you want to kiss, then?”

Finally, he looks straight into her eyes. “You,” he says firmly. “Only you.”

Then he’s leaning towardss her, fair eyelashes fluttering against freckled cheeks, and he’s so close, just inches between them, then millimeters, then a brush of breath against her lips-

And she jumps back. “You can’t kiss me now,” she says frantically, almost tripping in her haste. “I’m sorry, you just, you can’t-“

His face falls. “But-“

“Cormac kissed me,” she confesses in a rush, “and it was awful and disgusting and I didn’t want him to at all - and if I kiss you now, it’ll be tainted by him.”

Biting her lip, she watches as he processes this, and prays she hasn’t ruined it entirely.

“You’re barking,” he says finally, brimming with affection. “D’you know that?”

“Then so are you.”

Low chuckles rumble out of him then, like he can’t help himself, and it’s contagious, and Merlin, it feels good to laugh with him again.

“Am I allowed to hug you, then, at least?”

In response, Hermione steps into his embrace, closing her eyes as her cheek settles against the heavy wool of his jumper. He smells faintly sweet, like butterbeer, and his arms hold her close and tight, like he plans on never letting go again.

“What were you going to ask me?” says Hermione quietly, her words muffled against his chest. “Before?”