Happy Holidays, @ashleopardd! This is my first time writing fic for someone else, and I really hope you like it!
“Yeah, I hadn’t noticed, thanks.”
Harry and Ron stood in the kitchen of Harry’s new flat. He had moved in three months earlier, but still managed to have boxes laying about and, as Hermione pointed out, not a single decoration up. Ron personally was impressed that Harry had this many boxes in the first place, with how few things he had.
“You’re still coming tomorrow, though, right?”
“Yeah,” Ron sighed. “S’not like I’ve got anywhere else to be.”
“Wow, thanks for that.” Harry raised his mug to Ron in a mock toast before taking a sip. “She’s really not coming?”
“I’ve told you…” and he had told Harry already. Hermione had come to the Burrow for lunch that day, which Ron took as a nice surprise. But, during their lunch, she had told him that because she was just an intern in the DMLE, she would not only have to work very late on New Year’s Eve, but she would also have to work New Year’s Day. She couldn’t spend it with him.
Ron, of course, had forced a smile, told her he wasn’t mad and that he understood and that he was proud of how hard she was working. That last part was true, anyway. He was, as always, proud of and impressed by Hermione. But sometimes he wished she would use her name to her advantage. She had developed a habit of signing messages within the Ministry “H.G,” determined to rise through the ranks on her own merit, and not because of what she had done during the war or the fact that she was one of Harry Potter’s best friends. As much as Harry and Ron tried to point out to her that the reason people knew her from the war was because of her efforts and work there, she insisted that it was different. She insisted that her superiors treat her like any other intern.
Apparently they were listening to her.
After she left back to the Ministry, Ron had gone straight to Harry’s. He knew no one else would be there yet, and, knowing Harry, he wouldn’t have gone out for supplies yet either. And he was right—when he had floo’d in to the flat Harry was sitting in the kitchen with a bowl of cereal, still in his pajamas.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, Ginny probably won’t be here, either.”
“What?” Ron shook his head to clear it. “Why not?”
“Training with the Harpies. Something about the program in Belgium requiring players to not travel within fourty-eight hours of a game or something. So in order to play in the game on the evening of the first, she has to be in Belgium for New Year’s.”
“Well that’s ridiculous.”
They both stood in silence for a moment, both frowning about how their girlfriends would be away for New Year’s. It just seemed so unfair.
“At least you know where you stand with Ginny,” Ron muttered, drinking the last of his coffee before setting the mug on the table.
Ron winced. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “At least, er, at least you know, er,” he tried frantically to think of something else he could feasibly have said, but Harry was looking at him with an unusually concerned expression.
“Are you and Hermione fighting?”
“No,” Ron spat, more harshly than he had intended. “You have to actually see each other to fight, don’t you?” he slumped down into a chair at the table and Harry sat across from him. He sighed. “I know it’s like, her dream or whatever to make a difference and to change all these laws and do all these amazing things, but I wish she didn’t work so bloody hard. She’s barely 20, we’ve got so much time but the way she works you’d think she’s only got a couple of hours left.” He frowned, fiddling with his empty mug. “She doesn’t come round the burrow as often anymore, either. And I never know when she’s home so it’s hard to meet her there, you know?”
“I think she’s still embarrassed by her flat, really,” Harry reminded him.
Hermione had moved that summer, though it had taken a lot of convincing for her to let them help her move her things. It was a tiny flat in Diagon Alley, technically with two rooms if you counted the cramped bathroom. With so many boxes and books there had hardly been enough room to walk last time Harry had been there, and according to Ron it wasn’t much better now.
“To hell with that, we lived in a tent together for most of a year. What’s she got to be embarrassed about?”
“You know Hermione—” Ron scoffed, but Harry pressed on, “—she’s always got to appear in control, you know?”
“I just … I just want to see her, Harry. It’s like she doesn’t even care.”
They sat together for a long while, Ron playing with first his cup and then his sweater cuffs and Harry pretending he wasn’t watching him. Ron knew she cared, of course. It wasn’t like she didn’t show it. Notes owled to him in the middle of the day, his favorite snacks always in stock at her flat, things like that. But it wasn’t the same as having her there. Finally, Harry stood up. “Come on,” he sighed, “these party supplies aren’t going to buy themselves.”
Together the two of them walked down the main road in Diagon Alley, stopping at shops to buy sweets and food and drinks. They stopped by the joke shop to visit George, though he was too busy to chat for very long. Finally, they stopped at the Leaky Cauldron for an early dinner and Harry pretended not to notice that Ron went quiet as they passed Hermione’s building. At a glance, they could see no lights were on in her unit, meaning she was still at work. Ron spent most of dinner frowning into his chips.
“See you tomorrow,” Harry clapped him on the shoulder before flooing home, and Ron followed suit not long after.
By the time Ron got to Harry’s flat the next evening, the party was already going strong. People filled the rooms, mostly Gryffindors from their year at school and their various partners, but with the occasional older former schoolmate or friend from another house to be seen. He walked through the living room, past Ernie and Seamus who were having an apparently serious discussion about broomsticks, until he found Harry in the kitchen with Luna.
“Ron!” Harry grinned broadly as Ron approached them. “My friend Ron,” he giggled as he stood up to hug him tightly.
“Woah there, mate,” Ron smirked and guided Harry back to his seat.
“Wrong Weasley kid, save the groping for Ginny.” Harry shrugged and giggled again.
“We played a drinking game,” Luna explained serenely. Her glass, Ron noticed, was only about half empty. “I don’t think Harry’s very good at them, you know.”
“Nah, I reckon he’s not,” Ron nodded, smirking as Harry feebly tried to defend himself. “Listen, don’t let him have any more for a while, okay? We don’t want our host to get too drunk tonight.”
“Psh,” Harry smiled, “You’re not my boss.”
Ron grinned back. “No, but with Hermione not coming, someone has to be the responsible one here.”
Luna looked up at him, a slight frown on her face. “Oh, is Hermione not coming? She seemed so excited when I talked to her last week.”
Shaking his head, Ron sighed, “She’s got to work.”
Hours passed and the party progressed around him. Ron kept an eye on Harry, who was having his drinks monitored by Luna and as a result was now more tipsy than drunk. He chatted with old school friends, catching up with ones he hadn’t seen in a while and making plans with the ones he saw more often. All in all it wasn’t a terrible night, though he was starting to get sick of the pang he felt whenever anyone asked where Hermione was.
“Thought you two were attached at the hip!” Parvati Patil teased him.
“Yeah, well,” Ron shrugged and moved on.
Around ten that night, a great cheer erupted from the front room. Fearing that something major had been broken, Harry and Ron hurried in only to find Ginny pushing her way through to find Harry.
“Ginny!” Harry shouted, throwing his arms around her. “I thought you weren’t going to make it?”
Ginny smiled broadly, resting her head on Harry’s shoulder with one arm around his back. “Yeah, well, some of the veteran players threatened to not play tomorrow if they couldn’t get home to see their friends for New Year’s and since the Gryffins aren’t really a big deal team they kind of needed the Harpies to play. So they lifted the ban until after our game!”
“That’s great, Gin,” Ron patted her on the shoulder. “You still starting tomorrow?”
“Should be,” she nodded, looking a little nervous now.
“You’ll do great, you always do,” he assured his little sister.
She looked touched and a little surprised. “Thanks, Ron.” Then, hearing her name being shouted by someone in the next room, walked away.
The fun of the party started to wear off for Ron as it got closer and closer to midnight. Someone had fixed a giant magical clock to the wall in the living room that was counting down the minutes. Around 11:30, Ron noticed that some people were starting to pair off or try to find someone to kiss at midnight. He wondered what he would do. Cheer, he supposed, with the singles in the room. The thought didn’t leave him very happy.
At about ten minutes to midnight, he found himself sitting in a great, cushy armchair not unlike the ones that had been in the common room at school. Harry and Ginny had settled themselves on one end of a couch with Ginny sitting on Harry’s lap, and Luna was standing in the doorway, smiling softly to herself. He saw other faces he had known for years throughout the room, as well as the occasional work friend of Harry’s. He settled himself in with his glass, getting ready to cheer in the new year.
At one minute to midnight, some of the overly ambitious (or drunk) in the room began to count down.
“Fifty-seven … Fifty-six … Fifty-five …”
Ron supposed he would see Hermione for dinner the next night, after she got off of work. If she wasn’t too busy.
“Thirty-three … Thirty-two … Thirty …”
He took a long drink from his glass and didn’t look around when a door opened nearby. Some couple was probably slipping away from the crowd and he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know who it was.
“Twenty-five … Twenty-four … Twenty-three …”
The closer it got to midnight, the more people seemed to be joining in. Looking around at all the people staring up at the clock, he felt like his heart stopped.
Hermione was there. Taking off her jacked and hanging it neatly in the closet as she toed off her boots, being completely and utterly Hermione, she was there. She looked around as the count passed twenty, growing more feverish as the moment approached. Spotting him, she smiled, looking almost embarrassed and made her way over to him.
He reached a hand out to her and pulled her into the chair onto his lap, snaking one arm around her and staring at her as though he thought she might vanish.
“I thought you weren’t going to be here,” he said.
“I’ve got news,” was her response.
“I’ve been promoted. That’s why they had me work tonight and so much for the past couple of weeks. I’m a real employee now!”
“Hermione! That’s great!” he squeezed her hands, not wanting to pull her so close that he couldn’t see the look of pride on her face.
“It’ll be fewer hours for a higher salary. It’s going to be so much better,” she beamed. “And I was thinking, er, if you’re interested…” she trailed off, her voice being swallowed by the counting around them.
“Seven … Six . . Five … Four …”
“Do you want to move in with me? I’ve missed you and, Ron, I love you.”
Ron gaped at her. The chanting around them broke into cheers as the clock on the wall struck midnight. Then Ron pulled Hermione close and kissed her, again and again until she made him stop, reminding him they were in a room full of people.
“I know I haven’t been a very good girlfriend lately, Ron, but I want to be with you. I want us to live together and spend every evening together. F-for as long as we can stand to.”
He simply looked at her. “Well, Miss Granger, that could be a very long time.”
