Chapter Text
Hermione Granger stepped through the Portkey with a soft thud, her feet landing unevenly on the snowy ground outside the Burrow. She stumbled slightly, gripping the handle of her suitcase for balance as the spinning world slowed to a halt. The icy air nipped at her cheeks, painting them a bright pink, but the cold felt almost comforting—a sharp contrast to the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in her mind.
The crooked, glowing house before her stood as it always had, full of warmth and life, but tonight, the sight of it tugged at something deep within her. Two months in Melbourne had taken more of a toll than she cared to admit. She had gone with the hope that restoring her parents’ memories would rebuild the bond between them. But reality had been harsher. Her parents remembered her now—everything she had done, everything they had forgotten—but the closeness they once shared felt irreparably changed.
Conversations had been polite but strained, hugs careful but distant. Every shared meal had felt like an effort, an echo of something lost. Hermione had left Australia feeling more disconnected than ever, her heart heavy with the knowledge that the relationship she longed for might never be the same.
Now, standing on the snowy doorstep of the Burrow, Hermione tried to shake off the weight of that realisation. This was where she needed to be. The Weasleys had always been her second family, and with Christmas just days away, she hoped their love and chaos could bring her the sense of peace she so desperately craved.
Focus on this, she told herself firmly, tightening her grip on the suitcase. The Burrow. Christmas. Family.
With a deep breath, she stepped forward and pushed the door open.
The warmth of the Burrow wrapped around her instantly, carrying with it the aromas of roasting turkey, freshly baked bread, and Mrs. Weasley’s famous Christmas pudding. The house hummed with the kind of energy that could only belong to the Weasleys—laughter, clinking silverware, and the faint crackle of the fire in the sitting room. It was chaotic and comforting all at once, and Hermione felt her shoulders relax slightly as she shut the door behind her.
“Happy Christmas, Hermione!” Molly Weasley’s voice called out from the kitchen, and before Hermione could even respond, the matriarch appeared in the hallway, her apron slightly dusted with flour and her cheeks pink from the heat of the oven.
“Happy Christmas, Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione said, smiling warmly as she stepped inside. She barely had time to set her suitcase down before Molly swept her into a tight embrace.
“Oh, it’s so good to have you back,” Molly said, squeezing her firmly. Hermione melted into the hug, letting the warmth and familiarity of it soothe her frayed nerves. It was the kind of embrace she hadn’t realised she needed until now.
“It’s good to be back,” Hermione murmured, her voice catching slightly. Molly pulled back, her sharp, motherly eyes lingering on Hermione’s face.
“And how are things with your parents, dear?” Molly asked gently, her tone soft with concern.
Hermione hesitated, the question hitting close to home. “It’s been... harder than I thought,” she admitted quietly. “They’re adjusting, but it’s not the same.”
Molly reached out and gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “These things take time, dear. I’m sure they’ll come around. And until then, you’ve got us. You’re part of this family.”
The words struck a chord in Hermione, and she nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. That means a lot.”
“Come in, come in,” Molly said, patting her arm and leading her toward the kitchen. “Everyone’s been waiting for you!”
The kitchen was alive with movement and sound. Fleur and Ginny were arranging desserts on the counter, Percy and Bill were deep in conversation by the window, and Mr. Weasley was tinkering with a small, enchanted music box near the fireplace. The table was already set, the turkey roasting in the oven, and the chatter of the Weasleys filled every corner of the room.
Hermione’s gaze landed on Ron almost immediately. He was by the counter, helping his mum with the gravy. When he turned and spotted her, his face lit up with a grin so wide it made her chest tighten.
“Hermione!” he called, abandoning the ladle and crossing the room in a few quick strides.
Before she could respond, he swept her into a hug, lifting her slightly off the ground. She let out a small laugh, startled by his enthusiasm but warmed by his affection.
“Ron,” she said as he set her back down, her arms still loosely wrapped around him. Despite their frequent arguments—arguments that often left her exasperated and had Harry playing referee—she adored him. Even though their relationship often felt like more work than it should be, moments like this reminded her why she was still trying.
“I missed you,” Ron said, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. His blue eyes were soft, his grin boyish and charming, though Hermione noticed the faint twitch of his fingers where they rested on her shoulder.
“I missed you too,” Hermione replied, her voice sincere. She meant it. Even with all their flaws, she missed him.
“You look great,” Ron said, his grin widening as he tucked his hands into his pockets. “Australia must’ve agreed with you.”
Hermione chuckled lightly. “It had its moments,” she said, though her tone hinted at the weight she was still carrying.
“Well, you’re back now,” Ron said, slipping an arm around her shoulders as he guided her toward the table. “And Mum’s going to fuss over you until you can’t eat another bite.”
Hermione laughed softly, allowing herself to relax.
As they reached the table, someone called out to her.
“Mione!”
The nickname caught Hermione off guard, and she turned toward the voice. Harry stood near the fireplace, his green eyes bright and his grin warm. Her stomach fluttered slightly, though she quickly told herself it was just the joy of seeing her best friend again.
“Harry,” she said, smiling. He looked different—his shoulders broader, his posture more assured. There was something more substantial about him now, but it wasn’t until he crossed the room and hugged her that she felt her breath catch.
Harry wasn’t usually one to initiate hugs, but now his arms wrapped around her tightly, firm and steady. Hermione froze for a split second, startled, before returning the embrace. She felt the strength in his grip, the way his chest pressed against hers, and the faint scent of pine and something subtly warm—like firewood—lingering on him.
Her cheeks flushed immediately, and she scolded herself for noticing the slight shift in his muscles beneath her fingers. When he pulled back, her heart was racing.
“It’s been too long,” Harry said, his voice soft but warm as his hands lingered on her shoulders. His eyes scanned her face, a playful glint sparking in them. “Australia clearly agreed with you. You’re looking... well, radiant. Spent the whole time lounging in the sun, did you?”
Hermione blinked, caught off guard by the teasing comment. The warmth in his tone, paired with the unexpected compliment, made her cheeks burn even hotter. She laughed nervously, trying to brush it off. “I suppose I caught a little sun,” she said, quickly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Well, you’re glowing,” Harry added with a grin, clearly enjoying her flustered state.
“You alright there?” he asked after a beat, his voice light but teasing. “You look like you’re about to turn into a pumpkin.”
“Of course,” she said quickly, her heart still racing. “Just tired from the trip.”
Harry chuckled softly, letting his hands drop. “Well, it’s good to have you back, Mione. Things are never quite the same without you.”
Her chest tightened at his words, and she nodded, unable to meet his gaze for long. As she turned toward the table, she caught herself glancing back at him briefly. Something felt different, but she didn’t understand why.
The Burrow’s dining room was as lively as Hermione remembered—filled with clinking dishes, bursts of laughter, and the warm hum of overlapping conversations. The long wooden table groaned under the weight of Mrs. Weasley’s impressive spread. Platters of roast turkey, crispy potatoes, steaming vegetables, and an array of sauces were passed around as the family settled into their seats. Fairy lights twinkled above them, and the faint scent of cinnamon lingered in the air from the nearby Christmas tree.
Hermione had taken her seat beside Ron, who had pulled out her chair with an exaggerated flourish that made her laugh despite herself. Harry sat directly across from her, flanked by Ginny and George, who were deep in a debate about the practicality of enchanted Christmas crackers. The mood was light and joyful, and for a moment, Hermione allowed herself to bask in the warmth of it all.
“Dig in, everyone!” Molly announced, beaming as she placed the final dish on the table—a large, glistening Christmas pudding.
Conversation erupted as everyone began filling their plates. Ron immediately piled his plate high with turkey and roast potatoes, pausing only to nudge Hermione’s arm and whisper, “Make sure you get some of Mum’s gravy—it’s the best part.”
Hermione smiled, reaching for the gravy boat. “I’d never miss it.”
Across the table, Harry caught her eye and grinned. “So, Mione,” he began, his tone light, “how’s your appetite after all that ‘lounging in the sun’ down under?”
Hermione flushed at the callback to his earlier comment, but she quickly composed herself. “I’ll have you know, Harry, I was working hard,” she replied, narrowing her eyes in mock indignation. “Not all of us have time to laze about and wait for adventure to find us.”
George snorted into his drink. “Adventure follows Harry around whether he wants it to or not. Poor bloke can’t even sneeze without a dark wizard turning up.”
Harry rolled his eyes, but the teasing grin remained. “Fair point,” he said, glancing at Hermione. “Still, you do look like you brought a bit of summer back with you.”
Hermione felt her cheeks heat again, but before she could respond, Ginny’s voice cut in sharply. “Harry, pass the potatoes, will you?”
He complied, his attention shifting, and Hermione busied herself with her plate, hoping no one else had noticed the awkward flush creeping up her neck.
As the meal progressed, Hermione found herself fully immersed in the lively energy of the Weasley family. Bill shared stories of his latest work at Gringotts, Fleur chimed in with her charming accent, and George regaled everyone with tales of his latest product experiments. Laughter erupted frequently, especially when one of the enchanted crackers exploded prematurely, showering Percy with glitter and tiny, chirping birds.
Hermione felt a pang of guilt as she realised how much she had missed this—the love, the chaos, the feeling of being part of something bigger than herself. The weight she had carried from Australia felt a little lighter here, surrounded by people who truly cared about her.
But as the dishes were cleared and everyone leaned back in their chairs, Harry turned to her with a genuine curiosity in his green eyes. “So, Mione, how was Australia? Besides, you know, all the hard work.”
Hermione blinked, surprised by the question. It was the first time anyone had directly asked her about her trip, and it took her a moment to gather her thoughts. “It was... challenging,” she admitted, her tone softening. “But also, beautiful. The beaches, the wildlife—it’s like nothing you’d ever see here. I didn’t have much time to enjoy it, though.”
“You should’ve taken a break while you were there,” Harry said, his voice gentle. “You’ve earned it.”
Hermione’s smile faltered slightly. “I suppose I felt like I didn’t deserve to. Not when there was so much to fix.”
Harry’s expression softened, but before he could say more, Ron chimed in, a little too loudly, “Oi, you didn’t miss me too much, then, eh?”
Hermione turned to him, startled by the sudden interruption. “Of course I missed you, Ron,” she said quickly, though she couldn’t help but notice how he hadn’t asked about her trip until now.
“Good,” Ron said with a grin, though his tone carried a nervous edge. “Because I missed you loads. Didn’t I, Mum?”
Molly, who had been listening nearby, smiled indulgently. “He did mention it quite a bit, dear,” she said, her voice fond. “I think we all got a bit tired of hearing about how quiet it was without you.”
Hermione laughed, the tension easing as Ron slung an arm around her shoulders. “See? Told you,” he said proudly.
When the table had cleared, and everyone began getting up for seconds, Ron jumped to his feet. “Stay there, Hermione,” he said quickly. “I’ll get you a plate.”
She blinked at him in surprise but nodded. “Thank you, Ron.”
As he moved toward the serving dishes, Hermione stood to stretch her legs. When she returned, she absently slid into the empty chair beside Harry instead of her own seat. It wasn’t until she noticed the sudden hush around the table that she realised her mistake.
Ginny’s eyes bore into her from across the room as she was making her own plate, her expression cold and sharp. The tension in the room was palpable, and Hermione felt her face heat in embarrassment.
“Oh! I’m sorry,” she stammered, quickly standing. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine,” Ginny said tightly, though the daggers in her gaze said otherwise.
Harry chuckled softly, leaning toward Hermione. “You’re meant to be over there, you know,” he whispered, his voice warm and teasing. The faint tickle of his breath against her ear sent a shiver down her spine, and she felt her cheeks burn even hotter.
Ron returned just in time, a plate piled high with food in his hands. “Oi, Hermione, switching seats already?” he joked, though his tone was lighthearted. “I’m not that bad to sit next to, am I?”
Hermione forced a laugh, quickly moving back to her original seat. “Of course not. Thank you for the plate.”
She avoided looking at Ginny as she sat down, focusing instead on the food in front of her. But she couldn’t shake the lingering awkwardness, nor the strange fluttering in her chest from Harry’s whisper.
As the evening wore on, the conversation began to lull, and the atmosphere grew quieter. Hermione noticed Ron shifting nervously beside her, his knee bouncing under the table. He seemed unusually fidgety, glancing at her every so often before quickly looking away.
When he suddenly stood, the movement startled her. “Er, everyone,” he began, clearing his throat loudly. The chatter around the table died down as all eyes turned to him.
Hermione’s heart skipped a beat as she looked up at him, confused by the serious expression on his face. “Ron?” she said softly.
He reached into his pocket, his fingers trembling slightly as he pulled out a small velvet box. Hermione’s breath caught in her throat, and the room seemed to hold its collective breath with her.
“Hermione,” Ron said, his voice shaking but steady enough to carry across the room. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, and I know it’s what I want. You mean everything to me, and I can’t imagine my life without you.”
Hermione’s chest tightened, her heart pounding as he opened the box to reveal a delicate gold ring. The flickering light of the fairy lights danced across its surface, casting tiny reflections that seemed to mock the whirlwind of emotions coursing through her.
“Will you marry me?” Ron asked, his blue eyes filled with nervous hope.
Hermione froze. The room seemed to blur around her, the faces of the Weasley family a distant haze. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her, waiting for her answer, but her mind was blank. This was supposed to be a joyful moment, the kind she’d dreamed of. She loved Ron. She was sure she did. So why did her chest feel so tight, and why was there a voice in the back of her mind screaming that something was wrong?
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
The room erupted into cheers, and Ron immediately pulled her into a hug, spinning her around as the family clapped and cheered. But even as his arms wrapped around her, Hermione felt a pang of doubt deep in her chest.
She forced a smile, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. Across the room, her eyes met Harry’s. His expression wasn’t one of celebration but quiet concern, and for a fleeting moment, Hermione felt as though he could see right through her.
As Ron kissed her cheek and the family celebrated, Hermione’s mind raced with a single, haunting thought: What have I just done?