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heavensquill · 2 years

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Ron & Hermione trying to work out who whacked Santa?! This story universe has EVERYTHING!!!

Ron & Hermione go together like Christmas & …murder? 😂

Here’s my contribution to the Romione Discord Secret Santa for the wonderful HQ 🎅🏻

Ho-Ho-Homicide

Ron bounces on the balls of his feet, leaning up onto his tiptoes to scan the crowd for his daughter. Even though he can see over everyone just fine without stretching, he’s too excited to stand still. Rose is coming home for the holidays, her last as a Hogwarts student, and he can’t wait to see her.

Four months is really too long to go without his daughter being around. He should be used to it by now, considering she’s in her seventh year, but it will be nice when she finishes school and comes home for good.

At least in the meantime, working with Detective Granger and writing the second book in the series she inspired keeps him busy.

Finally Rose emerges from the crowd, rolling her eyes even as she quickens her steps to reach him. “I told you that you didn’t have to meet the train,” Rose scolds as Ron wraps her in a hug.

“Rubbish,” he retorts. “It’s your last holiday home from Hogwarts. Of course I had to meet the train.”

Rose’s eyes flit skyward again as Ron grabs for her trunk. “You’ll be sick of me once I graduate and move home. You do realize I’ll be back in London in a few months, right?”

“That doesn’t make the holidays any less special. I’m running out of milestones here, kid. You’re growing up too fast.”

“I’ll try and slow that down for you.”

They’ve nearly reached the platform barrier when Hermione’s patronus shimmers into view. “I know you’re picking up Rose,” the otter says in her familiar lilt, “but you’d kill me if you missed this one. Meet me at Harrods if you can.”

Rose gives him a curious frown as the patronus disappears. “Harrods is an odd place for a murder.”

It is, and though curiosity jingles his bells, Ron shakes his head. “You just got here. I don't have to go.”

“It’s fine.” Rose shrugs and banishes her trunk to their townhouse with a practiced flick of her wand. “I’ve still got Christmas shopping to do, anyway. I’ve been so busy studying for NEWTS that I haven’t been to Hogsmeade since October.”

“You work too hard,” Ron chastises before slipping his gloved hand into hers and apparating them both to a spot just off a bustling intersection near the department store. The area is packed with hurrying Muggles loaded with shopping bags, and their appearance from the alley goes unnoticed. “I don’t know where you get it from.”

Rose shoots him a cheeky grin as they cross the street. “Someone has to be the responsible one in the family,” she teases. “Speaking of Christmas shopping, what did you get for Detective Granger?”

“You think I ought to get her something?”

It takes Ron several steps to realize Rose is no longer in stride with him, and when he turns to see what’s holding her up, she’s stopped on the sidewalk and staring at him, mouth agape. “You’re joking, right?”

“Well…no.” He hadn’t thought much about it; even as they’ve grown closer, Hermione has kept their relationship in strictly professional territory, and Christmas presents veer decidedly personal. Fueled by his daughter’s continued gobsmacked expression, Ron hurries to defend himself. “I mean, last year we didn’t know each other all that well yet, so I didn’t get her anything then. And then she insisted at the office back in September that no one get her any birthday presents, so I just thought maybe she wasn’t really into gifts and all.”

Rose scoffs and brushes past him, her steps hurried now as she approaches the storefront. “She’s your partner and your muse. You have to get her something.”

“I wrote her a book, doesn’t that count for anything?” Ron grumbles, to which Rose shakes her head and holds out her hand.

“Just give me a bit of cash and I’ll pick something out for her for you.”

Ron snorts. “Nice try, kid. Which one of your troublesome uncles taught you that trick?”

“Aunt Ginny. But I’ll give you all the receipts, I promise.”

“All the receipts?” Ron repeats skeptically, though he reaches a hand into his pocket anyway. “Exactly how many gifts am I buying her?”

“I just thought you might like to have options,” Rose reasons. “We can return whatever you don’t want to give her.”

A sigh of relent escapes Ron’s lips, forming a wispy cloud in the cold air as he hands a few notes of Muggle money to Rose. “Alright, here.”

She squeals and leans up to kiss his cheek before yanking open the front door and scurrying inside, calling over her shoulder, “Thanks, Dad, enjoy your crime scene!”

Ron gives her a wave that goes unseen as he steps inside after her. The heat in the store is almost suffocating combined with the throng of shoppers, and he loosens the scarf around his neck as he scans the area for a sign of Hermione. She didn’t say exactly where to meet her in the store, and with all these Muggles around, he can’t send a patronus back to ask.

Taking in the store’s extravagant display of lights and decorations, Ron makes his way around the ground floor but finds no sign of Hermione. He takes the lift down to the Lower Ground where the entire level is dedicated to Christmas. There’s a crowd surrounding Santa’s Grotto, and it’s not until he’s practically on top of the North Pole scene that he realizes the reason for the horde of attention.

“Santa’s dead!?” Ron blurts before he can stop himself.

There in the middle of the grand Christmas display, surrounded by elaborately wrapped gift boxes and a light-up reindeer with one antler gone dark, is Father Christmas himself, slumped against the base of his green and gold throne. If it weren’t for the Aurors circling the scene, he might have thought the jolly old man just fell asleep on the job.

Hermione’s dark brown eyes shoot daggers Ron’s way as she ducks under the bright yellow crime scene tape and grabs his elbow. “Could you stop talking, please?” she hisses as she pulls him into the restricted area and under the cover of a Muffliato charm. “I’ve already had to Confundus half a dozen Muggle police, and I don’t fancy having to Obliviate children, too.”

Read the rest on AO3

Happy holidays everyone! ❤️💚

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heavensquill · 2 years

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Baking Bad

---- Ron Weasley is supposed to be at the Granger house for a night of baking scones with his girlfriend, Hermione. But after a momentary lapse in judgment along the way, he may risk losing his freedom and future! Can he recover his festive spirit and bring his night back on track? And will Hermione Granger ever learn to bake? Written for @edie-k as part of the 2022 HPRomione Discord Secret Santa Exchange. Your stories have kept me glued to the pages for ages and I hope this keeps you entertained this Christmas.

The dove-grey skyline above Hampstead High Street was descending into darkness as the scarce winter sunlight ran its course for the day. Temperatures had long since fallen past frozen, and the blanket of fog made visibility a challenge. Of course, this did nothing to detract from the usual flurry of last-minute Christmas shoppers who swarmed from shop to shop, laden with parcels and bags. Too engrossed in their gift lists, they, like the year before, missed the sudden appearance of a tall, red-headed wizard in their midst.

Apparating into the nearby alley with a faint pop, Ron Weasley took a moment to compose himself and ensure the coast was clear. Confident that he was in no immediate danger, he tucked his wand into his sleeve for safekeeping and stepped onto the busy high street.

Blending in amongst the crowd, Ron began the now familiar walk towards his destination—the home of the Granger family. Suppressing a smile, he thought back to when he had apparated into that same alley on this same night a year ago for what would be a most memorable evening.

Churros, cheese boards, and sex. It doesn’t get better than that.

Although the Granger annual winter dinner party was scheduled for tomorrow, Ron had agreed to spend a few hours with Hermione to help her prepare. With his memories keeping him warm against the frigid cold, he basked in the beauty of the festive high street as he walked.

---- Read the full story on FFN | AO3

#romione #romione fanfic #secret santa #romione fanfiction #ron x hermione #ron weasley x hermione granger #hermione x ron #ron and hermione #fluff #romance #christmas #baking

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heavensquill · 3 years

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For the first fic of the day, enjoy @adenei‘s Fake Dating! Be sure to follow her for the next chapter :).

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Title: Just Friends Author: adenei Selected Trope: Fake Dating Brief Summary: Ron doesn’t know what to do. Percy and Audrey are getting married, and kindly request that all bridal party members attend ballroom dancing lessons for an elaborate number following the first dance. As if that’s not bad enough, they’re requiring everyone to have a date to dance with. Good thing he’s got a best friend who would do anything for him. Word Count: 1784 (and counting) Rating: M for language (right now) TW: None (as of yet)

—-

Another fucking wedding.

There have been many times when Ron hated having six siblings throughout his life, but he’s sure the last few wedding-filled years take the cake.

It all started with Bill and Fleur the summer before his seventh year. Admittedly, though, theirs was easy. Aside from all the chores leading up to the event, Ron didn’t have many responsibilities.

But then a few years later, Fred and George decided to throw a double wedding with the respective loves of their lives, Lee and Angelina. Since they were both the grooms, best man duties fell to Ron, which kept him so busy he couldn’t even have fun. Percy did offer to help a few times, but the twins were adamant that Percy would ruin the fun if he was involved in the planning. So, it all fell on Ron, who still isn’t sure if the twins were trying to torture him with the tasks.

Harry and Ginny got married a year later, so naturally, Ron reprised his best man role again, but that time was easier since Hermione handled all the organization. He doesn’t know what he’d do without his best friend. She could see his stress as soon as Harry asked, sensing the flashbacks replaying from the twins’ wedding in his mind. They tag-teamed everything, and Harry and Ginny didn’t seem to care.

If Ron is being honest, he’d had the most fun at Harry and Ginny’s wedding once he’d handed the rings over. Not to mention he was slightly disappointed after because Hermione went back to her busy life with the Ministry.

But now, it seems life has saved the worst for last. Ron can’t even use the happy memories of Harry’s wedding to diminish the mounting dread growing in his gut with this one.

He stares at the invitation for Percy’s upcoming nuptials to Audrey Malone. She’s a Muggle he met two years ago in London, and they’ve been inseparable ever since. Audrey’s nice enough, and cool with the whole ‘Percy’s a wizard’ thing, but she wants a full-blown traditional Muggle wedding. Complete with dance lessons for the wedding party and their dates. Dates.

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heavensquill · 3 years

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I love me a murder mystery!

Cuffed

Enjoy @voldemorts-tap-shoes’ creative Stuck Together inspired by Castle for today’s second fic!

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Fic Title - Cuffed Author Name - voldemorts-tap-shoes Selected Trope - stuck together Brief Summary - Castle-inspired AU. Ron and Hermione wake up handcuffed together. Word Count - 7897 Rating - M Any Trigger Warnings - non canon death (it’s a murder mystery)

***

The feeling of consciousness seeps into Hermione, but she doesn’t open her eyes, willing her body to grant her a bit more sleep. Merlin, she feels awful. Her limbs ache from head to toe, and her head is throbbing. She rolls over onto her stomach, trying to get comfortable, when the familiar scent of Ron’s shampoo hits her nostrils, causing a smile to tug at her lips.

Wait. Why is Ron in my bed?

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heavensquill · 3 years

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Hooked already!!

Ron x Hermione

Kicking off the Romione Trope Fest is a masterpiece of a Sixth Year AU inspired by Dash + Lily, and cowritten by adenei and accio broom! Enjoy, and be sure to follow both @adenei and @accio-broom for the second chapter!

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Title: Ron x Hermione Author: @adenei & @accio-broom Trope: 6th Year AU Brief Summary: It’s no fun being the only single teen in your friend group, and Hermione’s sick of feeling like the odd ball out. But would ever want to date her? She’s trying to come to terms with another year of singlehood when Ginny has an outlandish idea. With the help of Fred and George, they charm a journal and plant it in the library in the hopes of finding a boyfriend. But who will stumble across it, and what happens when she finds out who it is? Inspired by the Netflix series Dash & Lily. Word Count: 3,985 (10 chapters total) Stay tuned for an extra special twist that will be revealed with Chapter 2! Rating: M for language TW: Strong Language

I love being a witch.

When Professor McGonagall showed up at my house on my eleventh birthday, Mum and Dad were shocked. It took a lot of convincing, like summoning glasses from the kitchen and turning the settee into a Scottish terrier, for them to believe magic existed, but I never doubted her for a second. I always knew I was different, even from a very young age, and experiencing the magical world for the first time showed me where I truly belong.

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heavensquill · 3 years

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Just PERFECT!

Heard you're doing some Drabble thingy for February. February has the obvious one, Valentines Day, but every 4 years, it also has a Leap Day. In some cultures, the 29th of February is known as Bachelor's Day or Ladies' Privilege, whereby women are "allowed" to propose to men. So that's the ask. How does Hermione Granger go about it, if at all?

-Ahhhhh HQ this is a fantastic ask, and the best way for me to finish off this 500th celebration. At first I though, well, Hermione will turn her nose up at this, but that's what people expect of her, right? But then I thought maybe....

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this story, and thank you for being such a supportive reader, I always look forward to your comments. Hopefully life will get unbusy for you soon, as I'm desperate to know what happens in your story! 😉

Also, I may have gone well over 500 words for this, but I couldn't cut any of it, and since it's the last one I thought fuck it!

---

The 29th of February sucks. Sure, it doesn’t happen often, but why should Ron have to delay his birthday by one whole day because the earth can’t orbit the sun fucking correctly?

Auror training made the day a million times worse, too. Graduation is so close, and their trainers seem to get a perverse sense of joy from making the recruits hurt. Every inch of Ron’s body cries out in pain. As he apparates onto the doorstep of the tiny cottage he shares with Hermione, his one goal is to get in the bath and stay there until it’s bedtime.

Twisting his key in the door, Ron pushes it open with a weary sigh. But the hallway isn’t as he left it this morning. Darkness shrouds downstairs, apart from a trail of tiny blue lights leading away from the doorstep.

Toeing off his shoes and dumping his bag at his feet, Ron calls out, “Hermione?”

But there’s no answer.

He pulls out his wand, muttering a quick incantation to check the wards are still standing. The reassurance isn’t enough to quell his panic, so he drops to the floor to check the lights. A grin spreads over his face as he recognises what they are straight away.

Hermione.

Excitement races through his stomach like a Niffler chasing gold. Ron scrambles to his feet and hurries down the hallway, following the path of lights. He turns into the front room, his knees buckling at the sight that greets him.

The room is luminous. The bluebell flames sit in jars on every surface, filling every space on the floor. They’re even wedged between the cushions on the sofa. Orbs of yellow and orange float around, bouncing together without making a noise.

And in the middle stands his Hermione. Ron’s heart stops as her drinks her in. Her hair crackles with electricity, and she’s chewing her lip. What’s got her wand tied in a knot?

“Heya love.” He sags against the doorframe. “What’s going on?”

Her hands twist in front of her. “It’s the 29th of February.”

“Yeah, and?”

“Well, Mugglescall it Bachelor’s Day, or Ladies Privilege day. Culture dictates on one day only, women can propose should they wish. The girls in the office were talking about it. It’s all because of some stupid old law that means only men can propose. It’s a load of old tosh. Why should I wait for one day that only comes around every four years? If I wanted to do it, I can do it whenever I want.”

Propose? Is Ron hearing her correctly? His stomach leaps, but he purses his lips together to stop his immediate reaction from slipping out. It’s a sure yes, of course, but he wants to hear all of her ramblings before he says it. Plus he loves it when she gets so wound up she blabbers.

“But,” Hermione continues, “I couldn’t shake the idea out of my head. Sure, we’ve talked about marriage, but we agreed we’d wait until after your training and when we’re a little bit older. But what if I don’t want to wait? What’s the point? We already live together, and it’s clear we plan to be together for a long time. The war showed us life is short, and you’re in a bloody dangerous job—”

Her casual swear ignites the building passion, and he finds he can’t wait any longer.

“Hermione?”

Her head snaps up as he interrupts her. “What?”

“Ask the damn question.”

“Oh.” She tugs her hand through her curls and drops onto one knee. Out of nowhere, a small velvet box appears and she opens it before holding it out to him with a shaking hand. “Ronald Weasley, will you do me the honour of being my husband?”

“I thought you’d never bloody ask!”

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heavensquill · 3 years

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How does she do it?! The Streak continues!

Seeing as I'm asking this anonymously. Can you write a moment where either Ron or Hermione does something or sends something to the other in an anonymous way. Romantic, plutonic or humorous. I'm all for it. THANKS!

Anon, I laughed out loud at this request. An anonymous gift is a great idea from an anonymous asker.

Here is a missing moment for HBP (as always, it is my favourite for a reason). I hope you enjoy it.

---

A chocolate frog is sitting on my pillow.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not offended by it. They’re my favourite treat. But it wasn’t there when I left for class this morning.

I step towards my bed and pause, glancing from left to right to work out if the sweet belongs to anyone else. But my roommates have been with me all day, so it can’t be theirs. A thrill of excitement buzzes through me; I fucking love surprises, and I dive onto the bed to examine the chocolate further.

“Huh, that’s strange.”

There’s torn parchment underneath the box, but all that’s written is, “Sorry”.

Rolling onto my back, I try to work out who owes me an apology, but my mind throws up blanks. Everything’s been hunky-dory—even Lav is leaving me alone. Unless…

I shake the idea from my head—there’s no way it was her. I pocket the treat and the note before sliding off the bed. Forgetting why I came up here, I loosen my tie and head back to the common room.

Harry and Hermione have already grabbed the best spot, and they give me a huge smile as I plonk myself on the sofa.

“Alright?” I dig the chocolate frog back out of my pocket. There’s not a moment’s pause as I unwrap it and tuck in.

“Where’d you get that from?” Hermione asks.

With a frown, I turn my head to look at her. Her cheeks are flushed, and she draws her lower lip between her teeth as she examines me. Curious.

“Was on my bed.”

Harry scoffs. “And you’re hungry enough to dive in without checking for any hidden potions?”

I swear the git is more paranoid since his Chocolate Cauldrons almost killed me.

“It’s a fully wrapped chocolate frog,” Hermione says with a huff. “What harm will it cause, Harry? The box was fully sealed, right Ron?”

“Yes….” I trail off, narrowing my eyes. Why are they acting so weird? It’s like they’ve exchanged roles, with Harry acting like the nagging mum. The only way this might happen is if it the frog was from…

Nope, I refuse to get my hopes up.

“Thanks, Hermione. It’s just chocolate, after all.”

“I thought after your poisoning…” Harry decides not to go there and shakes his head. “Forget it. Do you want a game of chess?”

“Sure!”

I shift over, accidentally pressing my leg against Hermione’s. The witch freezes before relaxing, a coy smile spreading over her lips. She looks like the Kneazle who’s got the cream.

Shit! That craft witch. The frog was from her, wasn’t it? I could ask her about it now, but where’s the fun in that when I can make her squirm during patrols later.

Cramming the last of the frog into my mouth, I settle into the game, although I’m distracted more than once as Hermione makes herself comfortable next to me with her book.

Bloody hell, I’m done for, aren’t I?

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heavensquill · 3 years

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Churros, Cheese Boards & Tuxedos ---- Ron is off to pick up Hermione and accompany her to a winter dinner party. An evening of churros, cheeseboards, smut, and romance await. Written for @cheesyficwriter as part of the 2021 HPRomione Discord Secret Santa Exchange. Your stories have inspired me and provided so much entertainment.

Hampstead High Street in the ever-bustling City of London was rife with the chatter and activity of Christmas shoppers. Too engrossed in their shopping lists and conversations about the best stuffing and cranberry sauce recipes, the passing crowd missed the sudden appearance of a stranger in their midst. Unbeknownst to them, a tall, red-headed wizard had just apparated into the nearby alley with a faint pop.

Taking a moment to compose himself, the wizard checked his surroundings to confirm the coast was clear before tucking his wand inside his sleeve. Blending into the crowd as he stepped out onto the high street, Ron Weasley was struck by an immediate and overwhelming sense of festive spirit.

----- Read the full story on FFN | AO3

#romione #romione fanfic #secret santa #romione fanfiction #ron x hermione #ron weasley x hermione granger #hermione x ron #ron and hermione #ron weasley #hermione granger #churros #cheese board #charcuterie #fluff #smut #christmas party

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heavensquill · 3 years

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Do You Believe In Magic? [Chapter 4]

Do You Believe In Magic?

Let me tell you a tale, dear reader, about a woman I once met on a train. Her name was Hermione Granger, and although intelligent and driven, she didn’t believe in magic, not even on Christmas. In fact, she hated everything about Christmas — snowstorms, travel delays, holiday carols, and worst of all, Hallmark movies. Imagine her confusion when, after our chance encounter on that train, her life transformed into a romantic comedy, forcing her to live the very tropes she hated. Fortunately, what she lacked in holiday spirit, she made up for in ambition, and she was determined to make sense of her nightmare and find a way out. But lucky for me, dear reader, I am also ambitious, and I was determined to have a little fun. ------------------------------

Chapter 4

The snow was still pounding down when Hermione awoke the next morning. Her room smelled vaguely like peppermint and pine, and the faint sound of Christmas music filled the air. To her surprise, she didn't mind the noise. It was well-suited to the new decor of her room — an array of wreaths, twinkling lights, and a pot of poinsettias. Previously, Hermione would have been horrified to awake to a new aesthetic, as it would have indicated that someone entered her quarters in the middle of the night to redecorate. However, this idea only caused her mild concern, which was overshadowed by the fact that she found the new ornamentation rather delightful. Maybe Hermione Granger was beginning to soften to the spirit of Christmas.

Before you scoff, dear reader, remember how I told you to suspend your disbelief? I think it's worth another reminder.

Hermione yawned and rubbed her eyes before pressing herself to a seat. Her feet landed in a pair of fuzzy slippers that were coincidentally awaiting on the floor. She glanced over to her bedside table before remembering there was no clock, nor was there any sense of urgency. There was, however, a Peppermint Almond Mistletoe Mocha steaming from the table. How it arrived there did not cause her any more concern than the thought of a late-night decorator.

Her adjustment to the more peculiar aspects of life in a romantic comedy might appear rather sudden. You might be wondering — how could these odd, impossible nuances fade to the background so quickly? The truth — and I assure that you already know this, is that it doesn't take long for novelty to wear off. There were certain conveniences to Hermione's new world, such as the precise placement of her slippers, the fact that the Peppermint Almond Mistletoe Mocha was still the perfect sipping temperature, and the way time just worked itself out. If you're accustomed to running water, electricity, or even a microwave, you might be familiar with how easy it is to start taking luxuries for granted.

But Albus! Wouldn't she be a little more concerned about her intruder? Hermione has more sense than this!

Sure! But it's Christmas! Even the most logical people were taught to welcome a stranger of the night during the holiday season. I don't know about you, but I baked mine mince pies! You'll find that most people are okay with breaking and entering if the intruder leaves them gifts.

And reader, there was most definitely a gift. On a hanger by the closet draped the most beautiful gown Hemione had ever seen. It was periwinkle blue with just enough lace and sparkle to enhance the glisten of Hermione's eyes when she saw it. She rose to her feet to get a closer look, snagging a robe on the way to wrap herself in warmth.

Hermione was never one for dresses — in fact, she really only dolled up when it was expected of her. Usually, the expectation came in the form of a wedding, or a work-related gala where she had potential clients to impress. But for a boy? Never!

Ron Weasley wasn't a boy, however. He was a man. A man she was pretending to fall in love with. Of course she had to wear the dress tonight. She smiled at the thought of Ron's reaction. If he was as committed to the act as she was, his face would show it, and her stomach fluttered at the thought. It was pretty easy to write off the flutter of excitement as pride in a well-executed plan, but reader, you and I both know what it really was.

A tapping on the door grabbed Hermione's attention. It was softer, somehow hollower than a knock, and the source was much lower to the ground. Confused, Hermione wandered to the door and glanced through the peephole, only to see an empty hallway.

Weird.

Just as she turned away from the door, the tapping sounded again. She put her eye up to the peephole, and again, nothing. She squinted at the empty hallway when the sound came one more time, its source invisible to her.

She tentatively opened the door and peeked outside. When she saw no one, she took a cautious step into the hallway to peer down the corridor. That's when a sharp object suddenly stabbed her ankle, causing her to jump backward.

"Ow!"

She looked at her feet to see a small, scrawny-looking barn owl staring up at her through beady little eyes. Tied to the owls' legs was a rolled up piece of paper. The owl lifted its leg expectantly, so Hermione knelt down to untie it, only slightly confused as to why — or how — an owl was delivering a letter.

As soon as she freed the owl from the letter, it squawked its appreciation and hopped back down the hallway. Hermione gaped after it for a moment, before shaking her head and turning her attention to the note. She unrolled the paper and smiled at the messy scrawl.

Hermione,

I apologize for Pigwigeon. He's in a mood. Keeps telling me that owls aren't supposed to deliver letters, but I keep encouraging him not to sell himself short. He's a smart bird!

Anyway, sorry if he pecked you.

I'm just writing to let you know that we are ready for the ball! Somehow, all the decorations appeared overnight. Call it a Christmas miracle!

That means you and I only have one task tonight — to fall in love! Should be rather simple, don't you think?

I'll meet you at the foot of the stairs whenever you're ready. Can't wait to see you in your dress. I bet you'll look beautiful.

Let's do this!

Ron

Hermione smiled at the note, her cheeks warming in response. She couldn't help but notice something odd about Ron's phrasing. There was no mention of pretending to fall in love — surely that's what he meant, right?

She reminded herself not to overthink it. Of course that's what he meant. Ron said it would be rather simple — and falling in love for real was anything but simple.

Her heart pounded at the thought of what pretending would entail. Maybe a dance or two, some light banter, and possibly a kiss? Her palms began to sweat, and she wondered how it had suddenly become so warm in her room. Was there a glitch in the heating system?

It crossed her mind this time, that her jitters had less to do with the external temperature, and more to do with the thought of kissing Ron, but she pushed that thought away almost as quickly as it arrived. It's no wonder, dear reader, that Hermione denies the existence of magic. It appears she's also willing to dismiss true facts, even when accompanied by hard evidence!

Hermione stood and pocketed Ron's letter before wiping her sweaty palms on her robe. She turned toward the dress and smiled, letting the sparkles distract her from any anxiety about her upcoming date, which in her mind, wasn't a real date at all. Of course not.

"Well. Time to get ready," she muttered to herself as she crossed the room toward the closet and vanity, her stomach fluttering beyond her control.

Hermione spent most of the day getting ready, and surprisingly, dolling herself up was a stress-free experience. This was a miraculous feat considering Hermione's hair usually resisted any efforts to be subdued, preferring instead to swell around her head like protective bubble wrap. Pulling it away from her face into an elegant bun allowed her natural beauty to shine through. When she donned her dress and makeup, the effect was rather pleasant. She still looked like herself, but in an elevated, sophisticated way. A little bit alluring, if you will. But instead of feeling like the dash of lipstick and eyeshadow turned her into a new person, it was just an extension of herself.

And that dress — the periwinkle blue color would look so lovely next to Ron's vibrant red hair, as well as his eyes, the look in which she can't wait to see.

On a final thought, she reached for her bun, and pulled it loose. Her hair fell toward her shoulders, more bouncy and curly than ever. Instead of trying to restrain it, why not let it roam free? The ball was a chance to let her hair down figuratively, as well as literally, after all.

She smiled at her reflection and twirled in the most un-Hermionelike way before slipping into her heels and making her way to the door, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering somewhere between excitement and nervousness. She couldn't tell which one she felt more, and frankly she didn't care. All she could think about was the fact that Ron was awaiting her at the bottom of the stairs.

Hermione gathered herself with a few deep breaths to calm her rising heart rate, then made her way into the hallway.

Overnight, the stairs had been transformed. Garland and tinsel wrapped around the banister and a set of candles adorned each step. Although it should be still daytime, the lighting resembled that of a romantic candlelit evening. She didn't question it. Time was fluid in this world.

She gasped when she reached the end of the hallway. At the bottom of the stairs stood Ron, dressed in a black suit and a periwinkle blue tie that somehow matched her dress perfectly. She beamed when she saw him, and he returned her smile with a sparkle in his eye.

"Hello, Hermione," he called from the bottom of the stairs. "I see you got my letter."

"I did."

Although Hermione knew there were more people in the building — literally everyone was snowed in, after all, at that very moment — they felt like the only two people in the world. She glided down the stairs toward Ron without ever breaking eye contact, and reached for his extended hand once at his level.

"Shall we?" he asked as he linked his arm around hers.

"We shall."

Ron and Hermione continued into the cafe, which was unrecognizable to the one she walked into that first evening. A giant Christmas tree stood by the window decorated in lights, ornaments, and a gnome sitting on top, cackling maniacally to the tune of Jingle Bells. Normally, this would have annoyed Hermione and broken the elegance of the event, but for some reason, dear reader, it seemed to work. Upon closer look, each ornament corresponded to a resident of Ottery St. Catchpole.

"Looking at the tree?" asked Ron.

"Yeah. That gnome is—"

"Tradition," he said, almost with an air of defensiveness.

"I was going to say lovely," Hermione continued, noticing Ron flash a relieved smile. "Do I have an ornament too?"

"Of course."

They approached the tree and Hermione scanned the artwork for something that resembled her. She recognized Ron's ornament immediately — a Peppermint Almond Mistletoe Mocha with the letter R on it. There were others too — a stack of notebooks for Ron's brother Percy, an elegant tiara like the one his pretty blonde sister-in-law was wearing, a set of colorful corks for Luna and a toad for Neville. There were matching sets of playing cards for the twins, a hat and funky beard for Hagrid, and a pair of glasses for Harry.

She was surprised that she recognized who each ornament corresponded to, but she shouldn't have been. Something about this town was so memorable. Everyone seemed to leave their mark.

"Is this one mine?" asked Hermione, pointing at a little red train. In the window of the train was a girl, looking out the window longingly. Beside the girl, you could see the faint outline of a pointy hat and lustrous white beard — myself, dear reader.

"Yes, that one is yours. Do you like it?"

"I love it."

"You can keep it."

Hermione smiled at the ornament, making a mental note to take it with her before the night ended. "Who is that man?"

"Which man?" asked Ron, squinting at the ornament.

"The man next to me on the train."

Ron chuckled. "I don't see a man, Hermione."

"You don't?" She pointed to my outline. "Right there."

"Nope. I don't see it. But I know exactly who you're talking about."

Hermione pondered his response before asking, "Then who is it?"

Ron shrugged. "He's not really a man so much as a spirit."

"A spirit?"

"The spirit of Christmas," Ron said definitively. "It's best not to question it. Just believe."

Hermione smiled at her ornament one last time. Notably, dear reader, there was no eye-rolling, or scoffing. I guess we must have grown on her.

Ron wrapped an arm around Hermione, and the pair turned away from the tree to admire the rest of the decor. Candles, mistletoe, Christmas lights, bells, reindeer, even a sleigh completed the individual decorations, but the full effect was even greater. The butterflies that had been fluttering inside Hermione's stomach all day settled into a comfortable warmth, and she couldn't help but feel like she was at home.

Somewhat surprisingly, attending the ball with Ron Weasley felt rather natural, as if the pair had been friends for a long time. It might have been the help of the free flowing champagne and endless appetizers that led Hermione to feel comfortable enough to nod her consent when Ron tugged her hand toward the dance floor. It had been too long since Hermione had danced with a boy, but under the influence of delicious food, a bit of alcohol, and a whole lot of Christmas spirit, there was no reason to overthink the way her arms naturally wrapped around Ron's neck, or the placement of his trembling hands on her lower back.

Everything just seemed right, even the way Ron's ears turned pink, and her palms began to sweat. Her gaze couldn't seem to decide which to focus on more — Ron's cerulean blue eyes, or his lips, which looked so gentle and soft. She probably shouldn't have been looking at his lips, but to be fair, he was looking at hers too.

Reader, if you're that these two obviously wanted to kiss, you'd be right! Unfortunately, things aren't always that easy.

"Oh, Hermione!" came the voice of Molly Weasley. Hermione turned to see Ron's mum accompanied by his dad rushing across the dance floor to greet her. "You look beautiful, darling."

Molly threw her arms around Hermione in a warm, motherly embrace that she returned with enthusiasm. Maybe she had forgotten how different a mother's hug felt around the holidays.

"Thank you, Mrs Weasley," she muttered against the woman's shoulder.

"Nonsense! Call me Molly."

She let go of Hermione, giving her hands a loving squeeze before letting go. The look on Molly's face was one of pride, and it made Hermione's cheeks fire up.

"It was lovely to meet you, Hermione," said Mr Weasley with a hug of his own. He then turned toward his son and gave him a clap on the shoulder. "Hold onto this one."

"Erm, thanks Dad."

The older couple linked arms and made their way back to the dance floor. Ron turned to Hermione and opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Harry and his sister, Ginny.

"Glad to see you've made it!" said Harry, who reached for Ron's hand and pulled him into a brotherly hug. "Wonderful job, planning this ball."

Hermione resisted the urge to say she didn't do anything — it was all set up over night, as if by magic, but she figured this would be the time everyone in this town conveniently didn't believe in magic, preferring instead to give her the undeserved credit.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Ginny's sudden embrace. "Not sure how my brother managed to convince you to be his date," she muttered playfully. "Good for him though! Love to see it."

WIth another smile, the couple made their way back into the throng of party goers.

Now alone, Ron smiled at Hermione and winked, sending her heart fluttering. "I think we're doing a pretty good job, don't you?"

"I do too."

He reached for her hand and their fingers interlaced. Just as he was about to tug her onto the dance floor, a snarly voice interrupted.

"What was that, Weasley?"

Ron groaned, and the pair spun around to face Draco Malfoy, sneering at them with his arms crossed. "You're doing a good job of what?"

"Nothing, Malfoy," said Ron. "Stop eavesdropping. It's creepy."

"Pretending, right?" said the silver-haired man. "You two aren't for real."

"What the fork does that mean?" asked Ron.

"Why would a high profile lawyer from the city date a weasel like you?" Malfoy chuckled as he watched Ron's face turn red, knowing he had hit a sore spot. "It's not like you have much to offer, anyway. You're just a barista. And she doesn't even belong here."

"Shut up," said Ron through gritted teeth.

Hermione's hands formed fists in response to Malfoy's taunt. The first pang came from the thought that she didn't belong. Sure, she felt that way at the beginning, and wouldn't have cared to be rejected by this town. But after their welcoming embrace, she wanted to belong.

But even more hurtful, was Malfoy's jab at Ron. Just a barista? He was so much more than that. A few days ago, she might have assumed — mistakenly, dear reader — that Ron's status as a small town barista was beneath her. But after getting to know him, she realized just how wrong she was. How someone like Malfoy, who had presumably known Ron even longer, could think differently was beyond her.

"What is that supposed to mean?" asked Hermione. She stepped forward and stood up as tall as she could.

Malfoy laughed. "You know what it means."

"No. I don't. Please explain."

The silver-haired man studied her for a moment before nodding. "Alright, Granger. I'll bite. I think you're just pretending to like Ron because you're convinced that it's the only way out of this heck-hole. You'd never date a barista. You want someone who makes money. Not lattes."

"They're called Peppermint Almond Mistletoe Mochas," defended Hermione, without flinching at any of Malfoy's words. "And they're delicious."

Malfoy cackled. "Listen to you. You don't even believe yourself."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the man. Everything he was saying was technically true. But why didn't it feel that way?

You and I both know why, reader. And Hermione was just starting to realise! How odd that for someone so smart, it took her this long.

"You're right," she said, eliciting a gasp from the crowd that had formed a circle around them. "I was pretending."

Ron looked questioningly at her, but she ignored him.

"I knew it!"

"But I'm not pretending anymore." Hermione glanced around her, suddenly self conscious of the deafening silence that had overtaken the room. "I thought that if I planned this ball, faked Christmas spirit, and pretended to fall in love, the snowstorm would end, and I would be able to go home." She cleared her throat before continuing. "But I don't want to go home."

From the corner of her eye, she could see a grin break across Ron's face.

"And," she said, her voice wavering, "I think I really did find love."

There were a few whoops and cheers from the crowd when she admitted it, but someone remained unconvinced.

"Bullshark," said Malfoy. "Prove it."

"How?"

"Kiss him."

The idea of kissing Ron made Hermione's heart gallop inside her chest. At that moment, dear reader, she knew she wanted to kiss him. I mean, wouldn't you?

There was one problem. She didn't want to kiss him like that. It needed to be real.

"No. I won't," she said. A pang of guilt washed over her when she saw Ron's face fall.

"I told you!" said Malfoy. "You can't prove it."

"Kissing Ron in front of all of these people just because you told me to would mean nothing. How would that prove anything? It would be like… like kissing YOU."

Malfoy's eyes lit up. "Alright then. If it would mean nothing, then why don't you kiss me?"

"Excuse me?"

"Since it doesn't prove anything, you have no reason not to."

Hermione's throat clenched at the thought of kissing the other man, but he had a point. Luckily, she had a plan. She took a deep breath, then stepped closer. "Okay. You're right."

"Hermione," said Ron through gritted teeth. "What are you doing?"

"Trust me," she muttered back.

"You don't have to do this," he urged. "Please don't do this."

Hermione ignored him, and took another step closer to Malfoy. "Draco," she said sweetly. "Close your eyes. I'm going to kiss you now."

Malfoy eagerly shut his eyes and pursed his lips in anticipation.

The room was silent as everyone watched, wondering what Hermione was about to do. Was she really going to kiss him?

Then to everyone's surprise, Hermione recoiled her still-clenched fist, and slammed it right into Malfoy's face. He stumbled backward and tripped over a decorative log — which had conveniently rolled into its place right behind him — and fell to the floor.

The crowd erupted into applause again, followed by a few more cheers and whoops. Sure, Hermione felt a flash of guilt when Malfoy stood up and ran off with his hands clutching his bloody nose, but it was gone soon after he disappeared through the back door.

"Granger!" said the voice of Ron's brother Fred. "Nice punch!"

Hermione high-fived Fred when his twin George spoke up. "We've wanted to put him in his place for years. Thanks for finally doing it!"

"I guess we needed some of that city grit in this ol' town," came Hagrid's gruff voice. He patted Hermione on the back with such force that he might have dislodged an obstruction, had she been choking.

And then, dear reader, it was as if Hermione's punch had broken the floodgates and unleashed the full extent of Christmas spirit into the room. The party became alive with cheer, the music grew louder as couples rushed onto the dance floor, and laughter filled the air.

And even more notably, it stopped snowing.

Maybe Malfoy had been the barrier to Christmas cheer all along, not Hermione.

"The storm! It's over!" exclaimed Luna, pointing at the clear windows outside. The snow had settled into a beautiful white blanket, calm and peaceful, just waiting to be trampled and played in.

"Snowball fight!" yelled Fred, resulting in a mass rush toward the door.

Ron approached Hermione and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "You were amazing," he said. "So convincing."

Right. Convincing. Lest I remind you, dear reader, she was merely acting.

Upon his contact, Hermione became even more aware of the fact that she did not kiss Ron when she had the chance. She couldn't help but wonder if he thought the same thing.

Now that the doors were opening and closing freely, the cafe had become rather drafty. Ron tugged off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. She was pleased to see that his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and she had the immediate desire to run her fingers along his forearms.

"What do you think?" he asked, interrupting her lustful fog. "Would you like to dance? Or watch the snowball fight?"

Hermione looked outside to see her new friends frolicking away. Harry and Ginny pummelled snowballs at Fred and George, while Luna and Neville laid on their backs making snow angels, paying no attention to their sopping wet clothes.

Inside, Molly and Arthur twirled on the dancefloor, along with Bill, Fleur, Minerva, Charlie, Percy, and a smattering of other Ottery folks, whom Hermione couldn't wait to meet. Hopefully, she'd get the chance to.

Then she looked at Ron, and realized that she did not want to go outside, nor did she want to dance. Her next question was bold. In fact, dear reader, it was so bold that it surprised her. But her experience in this new world taught her a lesson. Hermione was so accustomed to living conservatively in the present as to preserve the future, but who knew if she'd even be here tomorrow? The thought made her heart sink, but it also filled her with determination.

It was now, or never, after all.

"I think I'd like to go back up to my room," she said in a soft voice. She confidently ran a finger up and down Ron's forearm, which was draped around her shoulder, and smiled as his ears turned pink. "Would you like to join me?"

Ron's ocean blue eyes lit up when he answered. "I was hoping you'd ask."

As Hermione led Ron up the stairs to her room, she kept watch on him in her peripheral vision. A part of her wondered if he interpreted her invitation as a bluff.

Another part of her wondered if she meant it that way.

She lifted the hem of her dress over her knees to avoid tripping over the final few steps and could have sworn she saw a look of lust cross Ron's face. If he was still pretending, he was doing a very good job of it.

His hand found its way to her lower back as they turned the corner, causing her arms to break out with goosebumps, and her stomach to flutter like snowflakes. It appeared that she was quite good at pretending, too.

When they reached her door, Hermione turned toward Ron, but she found herself unable to say anything at all. He appeared to be facing the same dilemma, as he shoved his hands into his pockets and his shoulders bounced with a shrug of uncertainty.

"So," she said. "Do you think the Christmas Spirit of Ottery has been restored?"

"Oh, absolutely. But what about us?" asked Ron. "Do you think we were convincing enough?"

Hermione shrugged. "I think so, don't you?"

Ron nodded and offered her a goofy, lopsided smile. "I do too."

And then they just stood there. Ron's hands were still shoved into pockets, and Hermione had one hand on the door, but she made no effort to turn the knob. It was almost as if they were waiting for something, dear reader. If they were expecting this romantic comedy to suddenly end — as that was the entire reason for this charade — they were mistaken. It wasn't time for that yet.

It looked more like they were stalling because they didn't want this story to end, but neither wanted to be the one to suggest it continue. That's okay, dear reader, as I was prepared to help.

"What's that?" asked Hermione as something green and leafy appeared in her peripheral vision above.

"Oh, look at that," said Ron. "Magic."

The mistletoe hung in mid-air just above them, its appearance somehow both commanding and subtle. A suggestion, if you will.

"Should we… erm," asked Ron, motioning toward the mistletoe.

"Well, we have to. In order to be convincing, right?"

"Right. We definitely should, then."

There was a moment of hesitation, dear reader, that could have easily been mistaken as dread, but I knew better. It was nothing but the nervous bashfulness that precedes any first kiss when there's hope for many more.

Ron was the one to lean in first. One of his hands found her waist while the other reached behind her head, his fingers tangling into her hair. There was a brief smile on Hermione's face before their lips met and warmth spread through their bodies.

Hermione's arms wrapped around Ron's neck, and she gave in to his gentle press, which guided her body against his. Every moment of the last few days had felt so out of place, so wrong, yet this kiss was nothing but perfection. All thoughts of mistletoe and pretending faded to the back of her mind as the kiss turned from chaste and innocent into something a bit more heated. Ron pivoted so that Hermione's back made contact with her door and pressed his firm body into hers as their lips found a rhythm. Maybe by its own accord, her hand slid from his neck to the doorknob, threatening to turn it at any moment and cause them to tumble into her bedroom.

I'll have you know, my lovely reader, that some not-so-innocent thoughts were running through Hermione's head. One, that the butterflies she'd been denying were very much real. Two, that there were some needs her career just couldn't satisfy. And three, Ron's dress clothes looked amazing on him, but they'd look even better crumpled up on the floor by her bed.

The click of the doorknob alerted Ron to the possible escalation of events, and he broke away. He glanced at the handle, then back at Hermione, who looked at him with raised eyebrows. Red spread up his neck and into his ears, and his eyes sparkled with delight and anticipation.

"Are you sure?"

Hermione nodded.

"You're really committing to the act, you know."

Hermione tangled her fingers into his hair. "I'm not acting."

Ron pressed his forehead to hers. "You're not?"

She shook her head. "No. Are you?" Her voice was a whisper now.

Ron smiled his lopsided smile. "Fuck no. I was never acting."

Swearing normally offended Hermione — but the novelty of Ron's exclamation only took her by surprise. She had become so used to hearing nonsensical versions of common curse words that it caught her attention. "Ron… you swore!"

"Must be a climactic moment," said Ron before pressing his lips back against hers.

With that, dear reader, Hermione turned the knob the rest of the way, and the pair burst through the door and into her bedroom.

Unfortunately, I'll need to pause here, my friend. Although I'd love to continue the story, I have no choice but to leave you with your imagination, because this tale is for general audiences, and I can assure you what happened in that bedroom was most definitely not.

But I will tell you one thing — I think they found their magic.

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heavensquill · 3 years

Text

AO3

FFN

Serendipity - the art of finding the pleasantly unexpected by chance. The last thing Ron Weasley expects on his holiday to New York City is to meet a mysterious woman during a fateful encounter. Can one evening truly change everything? Magical AU.

Read a sneak peek excerpt here and use the links above to access the full second chapter.

The Holiday Prophecy

Chapter Two

Maybe We Are

Hermione

The timeless tradition of the holidays is simply enchanting.

Hermione Granger plans to take full advantage of the wintery weather as she pulls on her favorite olive green fleece earband — she finds it wise to dress warmly — before departing her flat, preparing herself to be a part of the city masses. She may even grab a cup of hot cocoa to keep herself warm.

It’s a holiday haven in New York City this time of year, and she finds herself transfixed by the illuminating lights that are framed by the twinkling skyline. A part of her wonders just how many people are out there looking at the same view, completing their holiday shopping at nearby markets, and eating seasonal treats from food stalls.

Well, she knows of at least one person.

When she saw the pair of olive green gloves in the window display that perfectly matched her earband, she knew she had to have them. Even if it meant giving a gift to herself in a season meant for gifting others, it couldn't hurt to treat herself every once in a while, could it?

What she didn’t expect to happen next was to meet a handsome stranger who sends an instant flutter of electricity through her body as their hands touch, both happening to reach for the same pair of gloves.

She honestly didn’t know it was possible to feel so giddy, nervous, excited, and confused all at the same time. It takes only a matter of minutes for the mysterious man to make her realize that she hasn’t smiled or laughed this much in years. The thought alone makes her light-headed and unsure of what’s happening, or if the feeling is actually real.

Did she just jump right in as the main character of one of her favorite Muggle romance films? The fact that she’s read countless romance novels is not counterintuitive, although she'd rather get through the evening without falling into a romantic cliché.

Sure, he’s physically attractive, has an amazing sense of humor, and gorgeous blue eyes that — no, Hermione. Calm down.

Instead of listening to her inner voice, she finds herself captivated by the little white specs in his flaming red hair from the falling snow, causing her heart to beat faster than normal.

It was that initial attraction that drove Hermione to suggest going ice skating, preferring in that moment to enjoy the activity with someone else even though she’s usually perfectly content going alone. She’ll count it as the most impulsive invitation she’s ever made.

Finish reading here:

AO3

FFN

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heavensquill · 3 years

Text

Chapter 2

“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going,” she cries, looking up to apologize and her breath hitches in her throat. Of all the people she could have run into, it’s Airplane Guy. “Oh. It’s you.”

He offers her a tight smile, making sure she’s steady on her feet before he lets go. The loss of contact leaves Hermione feeling chilled, despite the warmth of her chunky sweater.

“Er, yeah. You should watch where you’re going.”

“I know, I realize that now.” Honestly, was he not listening to her the first time?

No, he was busy catching your fall.

Any guesses on how this is going to play out?

Read on AO3 || FFN

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heavensquill · 3 years

Text

Sunday 13th October 1996, 08:45 am

Dear Diary,

I had the most marvellous dream last night. In it, I got back from Ballindalloch castle super late only to find my best friend (or ex-best friend) waiting for me. Instead of fighting, as we have been for the past week, Ron and I made friends. We even had a bit of a cuddle, too.

Oh, wait.

It wasn’t a dream. It was true, and it happened. RON AND I ARE FRIENDS AGAIN.

Well, at least, I hope we are. I could get down to the common room to find that everyone is still ignoring me, but it all felt real last night, despite the ridiculously late hour. There is no way it could have been a dream.

I still can’t believe everything that happened yesterday. It was the craziest Saturday I have ever experienced. From the awful dress fitting to the disastrous dinner, Ron talking to me when I got back last night washed all of that away. We have fixed the rift between us, and if anything, my friendship with him is stronger than ever.

Of course, I’ve not seen him yet today, so that could all change when we lay eyes on each other, but I hope not. Maybe the magic is in the fact that I decided to open up to him last night, and we now have a shared secret?

Will Ron & Hermione continue to fix their friendship? And what news is waiting for Hermione at the Great Hall that morning?

Read this chapter on AO3 | FFN

Or start from the beginning on AO3 | FFN

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heavensquill · 3 years

Text

Do You Believe In Magic? [Chapter 3]

Do You Believe In Magic?

------------------------------

Chapter 3

Hello again, my dear reader! It's good to have you back! I know you're anxious to see what happens next, so I won't ramble. Now, where were we?

That's right — Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley have finally agreed to work together to plan a Christmas ball, and find a way out of this darn romantic comedy. Should be easy enough, right? I guess only time will tell.

Let's jump back in.

Hermione didn't mingle much after breakfast, as she preferred to sit back in an armchair, snuggle up in a blanket and watch the snow fall with a book in hand. She cosied up next to the window and tried to ignore how empty the room felt since Ron had left, but I can assure you, dear reader, that the thought crossed her mind a few times that day. In fact, the red-headed barista was so present in her head that when she heard a gentle knock on the door, her stomach fluttered.

She dog-eared the book and rose to her feet, gliding briskly toward her door. You might find it strange how there were no sighs or huffs from our protagonist, but the interruption was far less annoying to her than you'd think. It was safe to say that her feelings for one Ronald Weasley were changing.

Of course she wouldn't admit it yet, which is why she misattributed the sinking feeling that hit her stomach when the door opened to reveal a small crowd of smiling, eager faces. They were dressed from head to toe in red and green, their sparkly and striped clothing givinggave them the appearance of candy cane elves. To Hermione's confusion, every one of them was carrying a toad.

"Hello—"

"Just hear those sleigh bells jingle-ing, ring-ting tingle-ing, too—"

Hermione slammed the door shut and the singing silenced. She took a moment to assess what she had just witnessed. Not only were these carolers singing the most annoying Christmas song that had ever been written, but the toads were singing too. How was that even possible?

Just to check, she cracked the door open again.

"Come on, it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you—"

She shut the door once more. Yes, the toads were definitely singing.

Hermione turned back toward her cosy armchair and her book, only for a knock at the door to stop her in her tracks.

She cautiously turned back to the door and wished there were a peep hole so she could see who it was. The carollers took the hint, didn't they?

She opened the door and peeked outside, only to be met with music again.

"Outside the snow is falling and friends are calling "yoo hoo" C'mon, it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you."

"Oh for forks sake," she groaned before slamming the door again.

The second she sat down to open her book, theher door pounded with another knock.

"Are you serious?" she said, aware she was mostly talking to herself. She shook her head and flipped her book back open.

The knock sounded again. These carollers were really determined. If she stayed put, they'd go away. She was sure of it.

Another knock came, louder and stronger this time. Hermione ignored it and kept reading.

They'll go away.

After a few seconds of silence, when she was sure they had given up, she heard another knock. This time softer, more tentative.

With a groan, she stood up, tossed her book on the side table, and marched to the door.

"Stop singing—" she said as she yanked the door open, but her words halted when she realised the frog choir had disappeared and she was standing face to face with Ronald Weasley.

"Hiya, Hermione!"

"What are you doing here?"

"Just poppin' in."

"Where's the choir?"

"What choir?"

"The toads!"

"Oh, haha. I knew you'd love them."

Well, not really. "I was just— nevermind," she said.

Nothing made sense here.

Before she could get the chance to invite him in, Ron brushed past her into the room, and had a seat at her pre-warmed armchair. "Are you having a nice time?"

Hermione crossed her arms at her chest. Sure, she was having a lovely afternoon. Reading beside a snowy window had given her a good reprieve from the hustle and bustle of everyday life, but she would never admit it to Ron. She was still stuck here against her will, after all.

"A little boring, actually," she said.

"Is that so?" asked Ron as he flipped through her book before tossing it back on the table. "Well, that's perfect actually. If you need something to do, we should get this ball planned, don't you think?"

Oh right. The ball.

"When is the ball going to be, anyway?"

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?!"

"Yeah."

Hermione scoffed. "That's hardly enough time."

"Sure it is!"

"What are you talking about? Planning a ball is a big endeavour. There are decorations, invitations, entertainment, and I don't even have a dress."

"We'll figure it out!" said Ron cheerfully as he rose to his feet. "Now, let's eat. You're late for dinner."

"How was I supposed to know what time dinner was?"

"The carollers."

"What?"

"C'mon." Ron brushed past her and motioned her out the door, offering no further explanation.

Hermione glanced longingly at her cosy armchair before giving in to the inexplicable tug she felt in Ron's direction and followed him down the hall.

The cafe was bustling when Hermione and Ron arrived. To Hermione's reluctant delight, Ron rolled up his sleeves to display his freckly arms and threw on an apron, motioning her to have a seat at the counter.

"First thing's first. We eat!" said Ron as he disappeared behind the doors to the kitchen.

Moments later, he re-entered the cafe holding two steaming bowls of soup, pulled up a chair with his foot, and took a seat.

"What is this?" asked Hermione.

"Christmas Soup."

"What is Chr—" Hermione opted not to finish her question, as she knew she wouldn't get a satisfactory answer. If she didn't get any details, it's probably because they didn't exist. "Nevermind."

Ron was already devouring his soup as if he hadn't eaten in ages. Either the soup was delicious, or he had the appetite of a hippopotamus.

She tentatively took a bite, bracing for the unknown. Much to her surprise, the soup tasted like an explosion of Christmas — it was a hearty tomato base, bolstered by perfectly cooked meat and veggies, and topped off with hints of cinnamon, cardamom, and peppermint. "Oh my god."

"It's good, isn't it?" asked Ron with a mouthful of food. Part of her wanted to scold him for talking with his mouth full, but oddly, she found it rather charming.

This place really was wearing her down, wasn't it?

"Delicious," she said. "What's in it?"

"Chef can't give away his secrets."

"You made this?"

Ron nodded.

The thought crossed her mind right then, the seemingly innocent 'I could get used to this' before she shook it free from her head. There would be no getting used to any of this. She was getting out of here, no matter how good the soup was.

"Well, it's really good."

"Do you want to know the special ingredient?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Sure."

"Magic."

"I wish I hadn't asked."

Ron laughed before continuing to devour a few more spoonfuls of his soup. "I don't know how you can taste my Christmas Soup and continue to claim that you don't believe in magic."

"Because I don't want to," she said, full well knowing it was as childish as the belief in magic itself. "Anyway, aren't we supposed to be planning this ball?"

"Yes," said Ron as he scraped up the remaining soup from his bowl. "Let's plan this ball."

Now, reader, I don't want to bore you with the ball-planning details, as these endeavours contain too many logistics overall. Plus, spoiling the details now would take away the magic of tomorrow's reveal, and we can't have that! I'll have you know that if this were a movie, I'd opt for a montage set to an upbeat tune, including snippets of longing looks between them and unrestrained laughter. Wouldn't that have been nice? But alas, I chose a different method of storytelling. Silly me!

Allow me to take this opportunity to let you into my head. Don't get too excited — I still hold the deepest caverns of my mind hidden from all. Like Ron, I can't just let everyone in on my secrets, whether those point to a subset of my more unconventional abilities, or my special ingredients for a really good soup. Rather, I would like you to know my motivation for trapping Hermione in this shirt hole of a romantic comedy. This is more than an experiment for me. Sure, it's fun to play my hand when it comes to others' fates, but this goes far beyond that.

You might recall me asking you an important question at the beginning of this tale — whether or not you believe in magic. Do you remember your answer?

If you answered no, then I doubt your stance has changed. Like Hermione, you prefer to see the world as a series of discernable questions. You might think that people, like Ron, who claim to believe in magic simply lack curiosity and are looking for simple explanations to the world's mysteries.

If you answered yes, that you do believe in magic, you likely identify with Ron. You see the world as a place of wonder, full of things we cannot explain. Instead of looking for answers, you're the one coming up with questions. You might think Hermione's worldview is narrow, and that her death grip on a scientific framework limits her understanding. I also doubt you've changed your stance.

My goal is not to change anyone's opinions. Sorry if I misguided you before — I needed each and every one of you along for the ride. The truth is, neither stance is wrong — they're just different pieces to the same puzzle, and I want to show you what can happen when people like Ron and Hermione work together.

It's as simple as that.

Anyway, enough about me. I know I tend to drone on! Let's get back to our unlikely duo.

One montage later…

"We're done. I think it's time to celebrate!" Ron crouched behind the counter and opened a lower cabinet to retrieve a large tinted bottle. "Would you like a drink?"

"Yes please," she said, maybe a little too quickly. At this point, dear reader, Hermione needed a very stiff drink. Planning a ball was not easy! "Also, we're not done."

"We're not?" Ron said, pouring two glasses and sliding one across the counter to her.

"We made a deal."

Ron raised his eyebrows in question as he brought the glass to his lips.

"You have to help me out too."

"Oh, right. About getting out of this whole romantic comedy thing."

Hermione nodded. "Do you have any ideas?"

"Yes," he said. "But you're not going to like it."

"If it gets me out of this heck hole, I am sure I'll love it."

Ron pulled up a barstool and took a seat. "Okay, Hermione. You've watched romantic comedies before, haven't you?"

"Unfortunately. Although I try to avoid them."

"And why is that?" he pressed.

"Because I hate them."

"Why?"

He was beginning to remind her of a child searching for the limits of a parent's knowledge — or patience. "Are you really asking me that?"

"Yep. Even though I already know the answer."

"FIne. I'll bite. I hate them because they're unrealistic, not to mention shallow and contrived, and they conform to the false notion that all women need a man in order to be happy. And they're so predictable. Here's a girl, all jaded, career-driven, and independent. And here's a small town boy, traditional and down to earth. They fall in love, and the girl decides her independence doesn't matter. They all end the same."

For someone so intelligent, Hermione didn't even seem to realise that the answer was right in front of her.

"They all end when the protagonist falls in love," says Ron. "There's your answer."

"Are you suggesting I simply fall in love?"

Ron leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head. Her eyes made a figure eight as she scanned his arms. "Yeah. That's what I'm suggesting."

"Well of course. So simple! I'm supposed to fall in love and realise the magic of Christmas," groaned Hermione. "But that's not going to happen. So what else?"

Ron took a contemplative sip of his drink while watching her through narrowed eyes. Hermione had to avert her gaze to avoid shuddering under his penetrating stare. "You could pretend."

"Pretend to fall in love?"

Ron nodded. "With me."

Hermione felt heat rising to her cheeks. "Do you think that would work?"

At this point, Hermione didn't know who was responsible for her twisted fate, but she was correct to be sceptical about whether or not she could be convincing.

After all, I am not easily tricked.

"It's worth a try, don't you think?"

Hermione considered him for a moment. He was a reasonable person to pretend to fall in love with. He was handsome in an unconventional way, and they definitely had the right chemistry for the makings of a romantic comedy. There was just enough banter to keep things playful and interesting, while also providing her with a challenge.

Plus, whoever trapped her here was obviously a fan of the genre, thus willing to suspend their disbelief and enjoy the fictitious roller coaster of an unlikely love story. It wouldn't be that hard to convince someone so naive that she was indeed falling in love with Ronald Weasley.

Or so she thought.

"Alright then," she said. "How do we do this?"

"Well, Hermione. You can start by going to the ball with me."

"The ball — tomorrow?" she asked with a raise of her eyebrows. "I wasn't planning on going."

"You have to go! You're coordinating it."

"Well, I don't want to go!"

"Not even with your prince charming?"

Hermione scoffed. "I don't have a dress."

"Don't worry about that."

"Don't worry about it? What am I going to wear?"

"Again, Hermione. This is a romantic comedy, so why would details like that matter? There will be a dress tomorrow, just like magic."

"I don't believe in—nevermind," she added, knowing her finished thought would just attract an argument. "Fine. I'll go to the ball with you."

"Are you going to make this difficult?"

"What do you mean?"

"You don't sound excited. Remember, you have to at least pretend to be falling for me," he challenged.

"And you have to pretend to be charming me," she fired back.

"Alright," said Ron as he rose to his feet. "Let me ask you again."

He leaned across the table and reached for her hands. The moment their fingers interlaced, Hermione felt a jolt of electricity. Although her skin felt hot to the touch, she nearly shivered, and the tiny hairs of her arms stood on end as if alerting her to the presence of danger. And they were right to do so — at this point in her still-undeveloped career, an attractive, charming man was the equivalent of danger. At least she'd become used to convincing herself of that.

She did not want to feel this jolt, as it was her intent to keep up the pretense that she was pretending to be attracted to Ron. But it didn't matter — the spark was there, and it was undeniable. Ron glanced at their tangled hands with an unreadable expression on his face, and Hermione found herself wondering if he felt it too. Was he thinking the same thing? Was he attracted to her? Did he also interpret their connection as danger, a threat to the charade they've agreed upon?

Probably not, she thought. He was more likely thinking that her hands looked weird. Or felt rough and calloused, evidence that they were more accustomed to pencil pricks and papercuts than being held and caressed. He probably thought her arms tensed up when he touched her because she felt uncomfortable — and she did, but not for the reasons he might have assumed.

Even in the unlikely event that he felt the same spark, he probably didn't interpret it as danger. Ron Weasley was clearly open to love. He befriended her the moment she arrived, meeting her aloofness with open arms. He believed in the magic of Christmas. He would probably find love because he was willing to look for it. Even right now, his cerulean blue eyes were focused on her and she could see that she held all of his attention. There was a warmth in his gaze she wouldn't find in the big city. He might as well have worn his heart as prominently on his sleeve as his nametag on his chest.

The realisation tugged on her heart — she didn't dare risk her focus when it came to taking the correct steps in the correct order to build her life, but a very small part of her envied his openness.

"Hermione, are you still here?"

"Sorry," she spluttered. "What?"

Ron laughed. "It looked like you escaped for a moment."

"Oh. I was just thinking."

"About?"

"Nothing."

Ron's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but the affecting expression was more playful than accusatory. "Sure, then. Can I ask you again?"

"Ask me what?"

Oh, reader. She really was flustered, wasn't she?

Ron chuckled and wiggled his fingers, reminding her that her hands were still at the mercy of his. The resulting sensation made her think her stomach was drowning in its own weight, as if she'd somehow swallowed a bowling ball.

"Hermione Granger. Will you go to the ball with me?"

It took all of her effort not to look away. But she couldn't admit to the intensity of his gaze — looking away might have given away the fact that she was pretending. Or it might have suggested she wasn't…

Either way, she met his eyes with her own and tried to ignore the fact that her palms were sweating. "Yes, Ron Weasley. I'd love to."

"Perfect," said Ron with a radiant smile. Then, he did something that she wasn't expecting nor was she prepared for. He pulled her arm toward his face and pressed his lips to the back of her hand, leaving her skin burning with desire. "I can't wait."

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but no sound came out. Thankfully, Ron didn't seem to notice that she was at a loss for words. He gently let go of her hand, stood up, and stretched. The stripe of pale skin between the hem of his shirt and his jeans intensified her inability to speak.

"Well, we've got a big day ahead of us. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah," croaked Hermione. "Have a good night."

Ron rounded the corner of the counter toward the barstool where she sat. She might have imagined it, but she swore she could feel his hand gently stroke her hair as he passed behind her on his way to the stairs.

It was a beautiful sight to watch him walk away.

This is fine, Hermione thought to herself. And reader, she was right. It was fine. All she had to do was get through this ball, and act like she was falling in love with Ron. Then she could convince whoever trapped her here (hello, reader!) that she had finally opened her heart for the holidays. She knew, without a doubt, that she could escape this particular trap.

However, there was one tiny flaw in Hermione's plan — her assumption that fans of the romantic comedy genre (such as myself) are fools.

She greatly underestimated me. I am not a fool, and I am not easily convinced. And no one, not even Hermione Granger, can truly escape the magic of Christmas.

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heavensquill · 3 years

Text

Do You Believe In Magic? [Chapter 2]

Do You Believe In Magic?

Chapter 2

Why hello, dear reader, we meet again! I hope you're enjoying the story so far. Hermione Granger is quite a grinch, isn't she? And Ron? Well, suffice it to say that back in my day, I would have found him charming too. To be honest, if I weren't an old man, I'd be jealous! I've experienced my fair share of romance, and I can assure you that the butterflies of a new love interest never get old.

Speaking of butterflies, let's dive back into Hermione's story, shall we?

She awoke to the pitter-patter of snowflakes against the window and the smell of bacon wafting up from the kitchen below. The winter sun peeked through the curtains, leaving blinding-white streaks along the hardwood floor. At first glance, the room looked simple and rather plain, but it was brimming with character upon further investigation. The floorboards had a slight creak to them, suggesting wisdom and experience beyond their years. The curtains draped elegantly from the windows — a hint of extravagance. A simple nightstand next to the bed held a glass of water and a short stack of classic novels for light bedtime reading, tying the room together with practicality and personality. How fitting for our protagonist!

Hermione was tangled in a soft and fluffy comforter, and her hair splayed across the pillows, taking up almost as much room as the rest of her. Despite feeling well-rested, she groaned and turned away from the window, her eyes landing on the nightstand beside her. There was no clock because, in this world, time was of minimal importance. But Hermione didn't know that and wasn't the type to appreciate the value of living in the present moment. Frankly, she expected a clock. It had been years since she woke up to anything other than the sound of an alarm, and the feeling of not knowing what time it was sent a wave of panic through her body.

"Oh, short," she muttered to herself.

At the sound of her nonsense expletive, memories of the previous day came flooding back; the old man on the train, the cosy cafe, the endless snowstorm, and the red-haired barista. Her stomach fluttered at the thought of the barista, but she wrote it off as anxiety.

It wasn't anxiety, dear reader.

She slipped out of bed and caught her reflection in the mirror. Rather than messy, her curly hair looked playfully dishevelled, and she was wearing a long, thin, satin nightgown. Too thin — she could see the outline of her breasts underneath the fabric. Curious, Hermione studied her image — she didn't own anything like this, and she didn't remember putting it on the night before. In fact, Hermione remembered falling asleep in a pair of raggedy old sweatpants and a t-shirt. How did she end up in a nightgown?

The nightgown hugged her curves perfectly, and the sheerness of the fabric was subtle. It acted more as a hint than a flaunt, walking the delicate balance between innocent and enticing. Her reflection gave her a jolt of confidence which annoyed her beyond reason. You see, dear reader, Hermione was all about holding up the middle finger to unattainable beauty standards, so the fact that she felt rather sexy in a Hollywood-approved way didn't sit well with her.

Before she could unpack all of that, there was a knock at the door. Hermione spotted a french terry robe hanging next to the closet, grabbed it, and wrapped it tightly around her body.

Although she shouldn't have been surprised, she jumped when she opened the door to see Ron's freckled face and lopsided smile. "Morning, sleepyhead!"

There they were again — butterflies. Hermione acknowledged them as a pang of annoyance.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice prickly.

There was a flash of disappointment across Ron's face, but with a quick shake of his head, it morphed back into his signature grin. "Not a morning person, are you?"

"What time is it?" Hermione ignored his question — it was rhetorical, wasn't it? As you might remember from our conversation on the train, she wasn't a huge fan of small talk.

"What do you mean?" asked Ron, looking confused. "It's time for breakfast." He motioned down the hallway toward the stairs, where the smell of bacon was growing stronger.

"I'm not hungry."

It was a lie — she hadn't eaten dinner the night before, and her prickly nature could have been the result of hunger. But she felt the need to reject Ron's offer. Maybe, if she didn't engage with this alternate reality, it would simply go away.

"Sure you are," said Ron, unfazed by her reaction. "Also, there's a town meeting downstairs, and your attendance is expected."

"What? Why? I don't even live in this town."

"Yes, you do," said Ron, his voice matter-of-fact. "At least for now." He nodded to the window, which offered a clear view of the snowy roads, reminding her that she couldn't leave.

Hermione huffed and crossed her arms. To her annoyance, Ron responded with a chuckle as though he thought her anger was cute.

She forced a smile, unwilling to show more anger and risk another belittling laugh. "What time is the meeting?"

"Whenever you arrive."

With that, Ron closed the door, leaving Hermione gaping after him. Why would they wait for her, a stranger to this town — Ottery St. Something?

Shrugging, she shook her head and stumbled to her closet. With one last look of longing at her reflection, she slipped out of her nightgown to change into something more appropriate for a town meeting.

Half an hour later, Hermione entered the cafe to find a rather large gathering of people seated at the tables. Her eyes went to the entry door — still blocked by snow — and she wondered how everyone had arrived. Did they stay at the inn too? Or was there a secret passageway she didn't know about?

Hermione scanned the crowd. The first person to catch her eye was a girl around her age. She was pale and freckly, with striking red hair that fell to her waistline, and she wore an emerald green sweater with the letter G on it. She must have been Ron's sister, as the resemblance was uncanny.

The girl caught her looking and offered up a bright smile. Hermione wasn't used to the kindness of strangers, and her first instinct was to look away. When she did, she noticed quite a few red-headed figures in the crowd. Two doppelgangers with a mischievous glint in their eyes stood at the far end of the room. A lanky, bespectacled man sat hunched in a chair with a pen and notepad as if planning to document the meeting. Next to him sat a scruffier fellow with a thick beard and bandages on his arms. Across the table, a well-built man with a flawless jawline draped an arm around a woman with platinum-blonde hair. Something was mesmerising about the woman — she seemed to emit a certain glow, an attractiveness that elevated her above normal human looks.

This was Ron's family, no doubt, and that must be the type of woman they went for. Hermione's shoulders slumped, and not from the weight of her thick, cable-knit sweater. It wasn't that Hermione fancied Ron — she just met the man the day before, and she hardly knew him. Rather, the sight of the blonde goddess with a similar red-haired man gave her a feeling of inadequacy, a harsh contrast to the way she felt in front of the devious mirror just moments ago.

"Hermione! Over here!"

Hermione looked up to see Ron waving at her, gesturing to an empty seat next to him. With a shrug, she tiptoed across the room to take a seat, making sure to soften her steps to prevent the infuriating sound of the Christmas bells jingling on her jumper.

Yes, dear reader, Hermione was wearing a hideous holiday jumper, complete with an embroidered pine tree and bells hanging off the fabric to mimic ornaments. Its bright red colour contrasted beautifully with her dark skin, and the result was a look of cheerfulness and approachability. You see, Hermione was rather intense, a trait fit for London, but potentially off-putting to the wholesome folks of Ottery St. Catchpole.

She sank into the chair next to Ron and crossed her arms — a poor attempt to hide the monstrosity.

"Nice look," whispered a smirking Ron.

"Shut up." She probably thought it was all his doing — who else could have replaced her clothes with hideous themed jumpers? Surely, not the old man on the train. At this point, I was sure that Hermione had forgotten about me.

To her annoyance, Ron laughed at her response before standing up to address the crowd.

"Welcome, everyone! I'm so pleased you could make it! Breakfast and coffee will be ready soon, and until then, please direct your attention to Minerva."

Ron gestured toward an older woman across the cafe. She was sitting in a chair that was much too large for her frame and wore her hair pulled back into a tight bun. At first glance, she appeared withered and frail, but something about her suggested that she was not one to be underestimated. Hermione had to admire how everyone dutifully turned toward her in anticipation.

Minerva glanced around the room, seeming to make eye contact with everyone present before speaking. Then, she cleared her throat and spoke with purpose.

"Welcome new and old friends. Many of you already know me, but just to introduce myself to the fresh faces in the room, my name is Minerva McGonagall, and I am the mayor of Ottery St. Catchpole."

As soon as she spoke, everyone's eyes turned to Hermione, and once again, she felt a wave of self-consciousness.

"What is your name?"

Hermione's palms began to sweat — she hadn't anticipated introducing herself, and public speaking wasn't her strength. As if by instinct, she looked over to Ron, who offered an encouraging nod.

"Hello, Mayor McGonagall. My name is Hermione Granger." She tried to make her voice sound firm and confident, but it wavered.

"Lovely to meet you, Ms Granger. What brings you to our town?"

Hermione cleared her throat. "Well, my train broke down. I was on my way back home to London."

"I'm so sorry to hear that," said Minerva. "I hope Mr Weasley offered you a warm place to stay."

"He did, yes." Hermione didn't have to look — she could almost feel Ron beaming beside her.

"Yeah, he did!" shouted a voice from the other side of the room. Hermione looked up to see one of the red-headed twins chuckling.

"Get some, Ickle Ronnikins!" said the other, and the two bumped fists.

"BOYS! That is no way to treat our town's guests! You'll make a bad impression." Another woman with identical hair now stood from her seat, her arms folded sternly across her chest. She turned to Hermione. "Ms Granger, I hope my dear Ronald offered you some refuge — in a separate bedroom, of course."

The crowd turned to Hermione as though anticipating a confirmation. "Separate bedroom, yes. I don't even know Ron."

"You're sitting awfully close to him," came an airy voice. Expecting another red-head, Hermione turned to the speaker and was surprised to see a pale, eccentric-looking blonde staring back at her. She wore a cork necklace and a pair of spiky pink glasses that resembled cartoon spiders. "I think your subconscious knows him — maybe you met him in a past life. Or you might be attracted to him—"

"Let's just get on with the meeting," said Hermione, interrupting the blonde mid-thought. She didn't need this group of strangers to hear some crazy, completely untrue account of how she might be attracted to Ron.

Reader, I guarantee that you're not the only one noting her defensiveness.

"Very well. Let's get on with it," said Minerva, clearing her throat. "I've called this meeting to share some unfortunate news." She paused for effect. "Christmas is in danger."

Hermione scoffed. What was with this town's Christmas obsession? She looked to Ron, whose eyes were wide and worried. Then, she scanned the crowd and noticed that everyone else was wearing similar expressions of concern.

"What do you mean? How do you know that Christmas is in danger?" came the frantic voice of a man with a kind, round face. He sat next to the eccentric blonde and clutched a bulbous potted plant in his hands, similar to how a child might carry a teddy bear.

"Well, Mr Longbottom," said Minerva. "You might have noticed the snowstorm has shut everything down. Unless we stop the storm, Christmas can't happen."

The man nodded in earnest as if Minerva's explanation made perfect sense.

"Why is this happening?" asked the entrancing woman beside one of the red-heads. Her accent took Hermione by surprise, as Ottery St. Catchpole felt like a town that hadn't had visitors in a while.

"It appears that as a town, we are lacking Christmas spirit. We need to remind ourselves of the magic of Christmas."

Hermione wanted to laugh, as clearly, this was some sort of joke. Someone as admirable as Minerva couldn't possibly believe in all of this nonsense, could she? She surveyed the crowd again to gauge the group's reaction. Most were nodding in agreement, while a few folks scanned the room with suspicion as if trying to identify the grinches of the group.

"So, what do we do about it?" asked a black-haired man next to Ron's sister. Her boyfriend, possibly.

"My next point. Let's discuss. I'm open to all ideas."

Murmurs overtook the crowd as everyone turned to their neighbours to brainstorm. Hermione took the opportunity to whisper to Ron. "I'm a bit confused. Can I ask you a few questions?"

"Of course!"

"Is she claiming that the snowstorm happened because the town doesn't have enough Christmas spirit?"

"Yes, she's definitely implying that," nodded Ron.

"Do you believe her?"

"Of course I do."

Hermione groaned. None of this made any sense, and she had some questions. "Okay, then tell me this. If a completely full train broke down, why am I the only fresh face here? Where are all the other travellers?"

Ron shrugged. "How would I know?"

"Where else would they go?"

"Not sure!"

Ron was very unhelpful.

"Okay, if you can't answer that, I have another question. How did everyone get here if we're all snowed in? The doors to the Burrow won't even open."

"Good point!"

"So, can you explain—"

"Hermione!" interrupted Ron. "Just suspend your disbelief."

Suspend her disbelief? Hermione couldn't possibly! "Seriously? You're being infuriating."

"As are you."

"How so?" she challenged.

"You're in a romantic comedy. A Christmas one, nonetheless. Stop expecting everything to make sense, and just go with it. Enjoy it."

Unfortunately, dear reader, Hermione was not one to just go with it. She preferred for her reality to make sense.

"Attention!" came Minerva's stern voice once again. "I'd love to hear what you've come up with."

The murmurs settled down, and the crowd turned their attention back to Minerva.

"What about carolling!" said the man with the plant.

"That's a lovely idea, Neville."

"I think we all need more coffee, mulled wine, and eggnog!" shouted a large, hairy man that Hermione had somehow just noticed.

"Rubeus! Nice of you to join us!" said Minerva. "I think more coffee, mulled wine, and eggnog is definitely necessary."

"Where did he come from?" whispered Hermione.

"Shhh."

"Obviously, we need more mistletoe," said one of the twins with an exaggerated wink.

"I had a feeling you'd say that, Fred."

"What about a tree-decorating event in the town square?" asked the eccentric blonde. "Or cookie-baking? Dad makes the best dirigible plum cookies."

"Wonderful, Luna! Your father's dirigible plum cookies are definitely something."

"The crazy, never-ending snowstorm won't prevent a tree-decorating event?" muttered Hermione to Ron.

"Just go with it," he responded through gritted teeth.

"Ahh, Ms Granger!" said Minerva. Hermione's face grew warm under her stare. "Do you have an idea to share with the group?"

"Oh, sorry, I don't—"

"Hermione and I would like to host a gala," interrupted Ron, with a wink at Hermione. She hated how the ridiculous exchange made her stomach flutter with butterflies.

Oh, sorry, reader. I meant anxiety.

Murmurs erupted again at Ron's suggestion. As Minerva studied the pair, Hermione could feel the growing excitement in the crowd. "Now, that's an idea. It's been a while since we've had a gala."

"I love it," said Ron's sister. "We could include tree decorating, cookies, festive drinks, and even mistletoe. It combines everyone's ideas and will surely bring about more Christmas spirit!"

"Ginny makes a great point," said Minerva. "It's decided then. Hermione and Ron will host a yule-tide gala here at The Burrow. Let's call it the Yule Ball!"

The crowd erupted in applause at Minerva's decision.

Hermione cleared her throat when the applause settled. "I don't mean to be such a negative Nancy, Minerva, but can I ask you one question?"

"Sure, Ms Granger. Go right ahead."

"How the hark will a ball stop a snowstorm?" She groaned at her filtered word, which only gave her statement less weight. "Will this fix anything?"

Minerva considered her for a moment, searching for the best way to formulate her answer to a sceptic.

"It will if you believe."

Hermione was quick to retreat to her room when the meeting ended, not bothering to stay for breakfast or discuss her non-existent gala plans with people she already disliked. She let the door slam behind her and collapsed on her fluffy white comforter with a soft plop. Her stomach growled, reminding Hermione of the tacky lion that adorned the door to her room. She wanted nothing more than to eat, but it wasn't worth it. You might know by now, reader, that Hermione Granger was very stubborn, and if that meant engaging in a hunger strike to wake herself up from this nightmare, that's what she would do.

Her stomach rumbled again. It didn't help that she could still smell bacon and hear cheerful chatter downstairs.

After a few moments of wallowing in self-pity, there was a knock at the door. It sounded just like Ron's knock from this morning, and her insides did a little cartwheel.

"What?" she called toward the door, her voice muffled by a pillow.

"It's me, Ron. I brought you some breakfast."

"I'm not hungry."

At that very moment, her stomach growled its loudest yet, alerting Ron to her lie. "Clearly, you are. Just let me in and have something to eat, please?"

There was something soft in his voice. Concern. It lacked the playful tone she'd come to associate with it.

"Fine, come in."

The door creaked open, and in walked Ron. He carried a tray with two plates of food and two cups of coffee. "May I sit?"

Hermione pulled herself to her feet and made her way to the two-seater breakfast table by the window, where Ron was already setting up their meal. "Sure."

The pair took their seats, and within seconds, Hermione's mouth began to water. Ron dove right into his meal, which Hermione took as a cue to jump in as well. It was delicious. Every bite tasted like magic — not that Hermione believed in magic. She devoured her meal even faster than Ron, who was widely known for his fast-eating. Hermione wondered if Ron cooked breakfast every morning and if it was always this good. If so, it would almost be worth sticking around for a few days — almost.

"Wow, you must have liked that," said Ron through a mouthful of food. "I'll take it as a compliment."

"Thank you for bringing me breakfast," she said, laying down her fork. "It was delicious."

"You're very welcome."

Silence ensued as Ron continued with his meal. Now that she had eaten, Hermione's sombre mood had lifted. She felt a pang of regret remembering their interactions over the last few hours. Ron had only been friendly.

"Sorry I've been rude to you since I arrived here."

"No worries at all. Nothing a delicious breakfast and a cup of Christmas cheer can't fix." Ron nodded toward the coffee mug, wafting with a nutty, minty aroma. Of course, a Peppermint Almond Mistletoe Mocha.

"This town loves Christmas, doesn't it?"

"Sure does. Everyone is very excited about the Yule Ball. You should have heard the talk downstairs."

"About that," said Hermione, thankful that the conversation was naturally veering in this direction. "I don't want to host a ball. I just want to go home."

Ron dropped his head to his free hand and rubbed his temple in frustration. "You understand that you can't go home until after the ball, right?"

"No, I don't."

"It's simple, Hermione," he continued, pointing his fork at her to punctuate his words as an impaled piece of bacon flopped around. "The storm won't stop until after the ball, which means your train won't be able to leave until then."

"That doesn't make any sense. We can't control the weather."

"This is not a normal snowstorm," he said in a forced calm voice. "This is a romantic comedy. Things work differently."

"Ron. With all due respect, what you're claiming is impossible. You want me to suspend my disbelief and just choose to believe in the 'magic of Christmas'," Hermione said, making air quotes around the words with her fingers, "but I can't do that. There's another explanation to all of this, and I'm going to find it."

Ron leaned back in his chair, crossed his forearms, and smirked. Hermione had to look away - darn those butterflies!

"That's exactly the problem," he said. "You don't believe."

"Of course not."

"That makes sense! That's gotta be your quest."

"My what?"

"Your quest! Don't you ever watch romantic comedies?"

"Not if I can avoid it."

"In every rom-com, the main character needs to learn something before they can fix any of their problems. By helping me plan this ball, you will learn whatever it is you need to learn. Then you'll be able to get out of here. I'm sure of it."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I don't believe you, and I'm not going to help you. I'm sorry."

"Why not?"

"What's in it for me? Other than completing my quest."

"Alright, Granger. I'll humour you. You said you're a lawyer, right?"

"Well, somehow, you already knew that, but yes."

"Why did you choose to become a lawyer?"

Hermione shifted in her chair — Ron was approaching a touchy subject. "To help people."

"Is that what you do? Do you help people?"

Hermione averted her eyes, but her pinkening cheeks gave her answer away. She was well aware that she used her hard-earned law degree to help corporations find tax loopholes so that rich people could get richer. It wasn't the reason she'd gone into the field, and someday, she hoped to use her position not to bolster CEOs, but to make the world a more equitable place for those less fortunate. She just needed to work her way up first. Hopefully, the guilt would get easier to bury.

"I will someday," she said, but her voice sounded weak, less confident.

"Someday could be now."

"What do you mean?"

"You could give back to the town by doing something nice for us. Helping a small-town guy like me might ease some of your corporate guilt, don't you think?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, and she couldn't help but crack a smile. It was a manipulative tactic, and it took her by surprise. Maybe she had underestimated Ron as an intellectual rival.

"Fine," she said. "Out of pure kindness, I will help you plan your ball. But only if you help me find a way out of here."

"Deal." Ron grinned his annoying, lopsided smile and extended a hand. When Hermione grabbed it, it sent a wave of electricity down her arm. His large hand seemed to fit hers perfectly, morphing to the shape of her fingers in a way that felt safe and protective. Hermione didn't need a man to feel protected, of course, but that didn't stop her from admiring the way his skin expertly blended rugged roughness and gentle tenderness.

And you can bet, dear reader, that there were butterflies.

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