The Ron-Vent Calendar

by DrSternin

Summary:

A Ron-centric advent calendar for 25 days in December - I’m starting posting a little early to give me a few grace days as I know I'll miss a day or two from being too busy.

Each chapter will be a short slice of life mini-fic centred around a British Christmas food or drink and Ron.

Aiming for canon ships unless true irresistible inspiration strikes and aiming for multiple POV.

Chapter 1: Gingerbread

Ron entered the Burrow, grumbling to himself about how he could not wait to take off these ridiculous magenta robes and reindeer ears, when suddenly he stopped and inhaled deeply. 

 

It was his mothers gingerbread - soft and squidgy - the smell of peppery ginger and cinnamon floating through the air. 

 

His mind was filled with childhood memories of scrapping and arguing and tears over who got the biggest piece as well as warm knitted blankets and hot chocolate while Mum read them a story. To his surprise, he blinked back a few tears.

 

Ron had certainly had an interesting life thus far and life since the war had been both terrible and wonderful but after Hermione and Ginny left for school and Harry for auror training, he had had one of the strangest experiences ever. 

 

It topped three-headed dogs and death day parties and giant spiders in its unnervingness. 

 

You see, for the last two months Ron had lived at home with his parents - alone. 

 

George and Percy and Bill frequently popped by for dinner or a cup of tea and Harry did too, occasionally, when he had a break from training but there where many nights when it was just Ron and his parents. 

 

He had often dreamed of this as a small child - to have the Burrow, his parents all to himself -  but he found it did not live up to hype. 

 

It was occasionally pleasant but more often eerie - the dinner table lacked clatter and arguments over roast potatoes, there was no morning fight over the loo or the shower, no headlocks or trip jinxes to dodge.

 

Admittedly, he did sometimes revel in the peace, especially after a full-day of George plus screaming children in the shop. He could finally concentrate on his chess without someone threatening to tip the board over or look over the home-study materials McGonagall sent without someone constantly interrupting. 

 

But sometimes, in some ways, the stillness reminded Ron of those terrible months in the tent and it felt lonely and unnatural. He found himself thinking frequently of Hermione and her lonely childhood - no wonder she had become so obsessed with reading and studying.

 

Ron followed the smell of the gingerbread into the kitchen and found his mother pottering around. 

 

“Hello dear. How was your day? George alright?”

 

“Yes Mum don’t worry - all fine. You?” He replied automatically but, as he looked at her, a thought struck him - was his mum ever lonely? She was alone at the Burrow most days and his father often worked late.

 

“It was fine, I made some gingerbread for George and Percy coming round tomorrow.” 

 

“I can tell, it smells delicious.”

 

“It’s best left to sit for a day dear, so, even though it smells fantastic now, it’ll taste better tomorrow.”

 

Ron nodded and before he had really thought it through, said: “Can you teach me how to make it?” 

 

His mother looked at him surprised but pleased. “Of course, if you like. Can I ask why?”

 

Ron hesitated. It felt rude to say, even to his Mum, that it was something to do and you seem like you might be lonely too. So instead he said “I’d like to do something nice for Hermione and I - well I - you know the shop has just started clearing expenses so George is going to pay me soon but…” 

 

His mother nodded, immediately understanding. “Oh yes, a gift you make yourself is very special Ronnie. I’m sure she’ll be delighted… although you might not want to tell her dentist parents quite how much sugar is in it.” She laughed. 

Notes:

Nigella Lawsons Gingerbread recipe: https://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/vegan_gingerbread_34867

Chapter 2: Mulled Wine

The world turned on its axis in a flash.

 

Harry had gone round to the flat Ron and Hermione were living in. He felt like he had not seen them properly in ages. After the war, the last eighteen months had been a blur - between Auror training and taking care of Teddy and seeing Ginny whenever he could- Harry felt busy all the time and he normally saw his two best friends occasionally for a quick pint, after work, at the Leaky.

 

But this Saturday, Ginny was travelling with the Harpies, Andromeda had taken Teddy to see her late-husbands sister and Harry had a rare weekend off work. He was looking forward to a cosy winter evening in with his two best friends - just like old times.

 

Then it happened.

 

Hermione was getting some cheese out of the fridge when she turned to Ron, who was stirring a gently warming pot of mulled wine, and casually said: “Ron, darling, can you pass me that cutting board?”

 

Harry balked and immediately turned to Ron so they could share one of their ‘Hermione is being barmy’ faces. But Ron did not look remotely bothered as he passed a little wooden board to Hermione.

 

Harry sat there with the word ‘darling’ ricocheting around his brain. He attempted to shrug it off, along with the weird feeling it brought.

 

But then she did it again! “Ron, darling can you get those mugs down for me?” Harry stared as Ron crossed the room and reached up to the top cupboard shelf for mugs with little holly designs on them and then said: “There you are, love.” Before, casually as you like - as if nothing of note had happened - he leaned in to check on something in the oven.

 

Since when had Ron’s name become ‘Ron darling’?! Since when was Hermione ‘love’?!

 

He thought back over the last year - had they always done this? Had he just been oblivious to it? To be honest, he knew Ron and Hermione were together but had not really noticed it much. His fears of them gazing nauseatingly at each other every second of the day or worse, eating each other’s faces all over the place, had not come to pass.

 

“Here you are Harry.” Hermione interrupted Harry, as she plonked a holly covered mug filled with the dark plum liquid and the aroma of cinnamon and citrus, of mulled wine, in front of him. And she busied herself setting out a little board on the coffee table that she slightly tortuously began arranging with cheese and crackers and pickled onions and grapes.

 

Harry was momentarily distracted by relief that this seemed to be Hermione’s cooking contribution for tonight as Ron appeared to be the one in charge of the lasagne. But then the weird feeling took over again - they’d obviously agreed to divvy it up like this - because Ron and Hermione were living together - as a couple.

 

Harry knew this, had known this, for months, but for some reason as he looked around the little flat - the thought struck him like a bolt from the blue.

 

He wasn’t at the flat Ron and Hermione were living in, he was at Ron and Hermione’s.

 

He took a big gulp of mulled wine.

 

Suddenly he saw it everywhere he looked. The slightly teetering pile of books stacked next to the leather sofa with an orange and black knitted blanket thrown over its arm… The small kitchen table with a little vase of flowers on it that Hermione kept fondly fiddling with it (Had Ron bought them for her?!)…The bathroom with two toothbrushes side by side… The Gryffindor red rug that led down the hall to the bedroom - their bedroom…

 

Harry took another big swig of the mulled wine.

 

“Oi! Easy Harry - you’re meant to savour it - we’re not frantically trying to gulp down all the fire-whisky in the boys dorm before McGonagall catches us anymore you know!” Ron scolded as he came to sit in the lounge with them.

 

At that Ron eased himself on the couch next to Hermione and she automatically leaned into him as he slung an arm over her shoulders as if they did it every day. They probably did Harry realised with a start.

 

“Sorry. It’s just - just really good.”

 

Ron grinned and began explaining how he’d made it. From there, they got on to Ginny’s training and Hermione’s ministry job and how George was doing and Harry had just begun to forget that slightly weird feeling when suddenly Hermione said “Of course, Ron - my poor darling- has been working all hours since the shop has been so busy.” And she reached up and ran a hand over his cheek with that same loving expression that had so disturbed Harry over two years ago when Ron was fretting over the Cattermoles.

 

Harry did not know where to look, he felt himself go red with embarrassment.

 

Neither of them appeared to have noticed Harry’s discomfort except a moment later when Ron stood up and reached for Harry’s mug - “You’re looking a bit flush mate - Want a breather while you eat?”

 

Harry glanced down at the mulled wine, he did not like the idea of going without alcohol tonight. “Nah I’m alright. Just need to slow down a bit - been a while.” He lied.

 

Ron nodded before retreating to the kitchen. Harry watched him pull the lasagne out the oven as Hermione started tossing a salad and he felt a little sadness set in. He gazed down at the shimmering purple liquid and considered his feelings. He didn’t feel jealous, it didn’t feel like it did with Ginny and Dean. It felt more like it did with Ron and Lavender-  if he was completely honest. The prick of irritation this time was tempered by his long-standing affection for Hermione but it was that same feeling - that Ron would have a life, did have a life without him. It sunk in then that Hermione would be a much much bigger part of it than he would. Hell, by the looks of it, George would be a bigger part of it than he would. Things wouldn’t be how they were again.

 

He had so much of his own life - Ginny, Teddy, his job - to be happy about and be grateful for but until this moment he had not really thought about the fact that Ron had perhaps moved on too. That he had his own job, his own relationships that would define his life - his life that still went on when Harry wasn’t there.

 

He went to sit at the table as Ron put a plate of lasagne in front of him and Hermione fluffed the flowers again, flashing a little smile at Ron. He looked at his two best friends and was struck again - they were happy and even though things would never be the same, after all they’d done for him, he certainly couldn’t begrudge them that.

 

He smiled at them: “This is a lovely dinner - best I’ve had in ages - that wine and cheese and pickly thing was great and now this looks delicious.”

 

Ron and Hermione beamed back at him and Hermione started chattering “Thanks Harry! I spent ages picking out the cheeses and was a bit worried - you’re the first person we’ve properly had round - and so I was worried I’d gotten far too much. And I had, but Ron had the clever idea of putting some of it in the lasagne and he’s going to make some fancy cheese scones tomorrow, aren’t you darling?”

 

“That’s right love, I’ll use that recipe out of that cookbook your parents gave us - what was that bloke called again?”

 

Harry still winced a little internally but he had a feeling it would fade with time. For now though, he took another big sip of the mulled wine.

 

Notes:

https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/wordofmouth/2010/dec/09/how-to-make-perfect-mulled-wine

Chapter 3: Christmas Cake

It was the evening of the 26th of December 1997 and quite fittingly Molly Weasley was going through the motions of boxing up some food. She sniffed loudly and let a few tears slip down her cheeks as she glanced at the carefully wrapped parcels. Each parcel held, wrapped up in shiny foil, a lovingly made turkey and stuffing sandwich, a few roast potatoes and, in this particular one, she had wrapped up a few honey roasted parsnips. They were always Percy’s favourite. Separately a few pieces of Christmas Cake were put in a tin with a little Christmas train scene on the front, Percy had always had a thing for trains. Wiping away a few tears she meticulously wrote ‘Percy' on the brown paper parcel. She had swithered back and forth about sending it to him. Arthur had warned her not to. Any closer association with his family would only encourage them to target him at the Ministry. She couldn’t believe that even You-Know-Who would begrudge a mother sending her little boy some Christmas Cake and a few roast potatoes and parsnips but it was best to be cautious. 

 

Her eyes trailed to the other parcel and she felt her chest thud and her eyes fill with anxious tears. Even if she wanted to defy them all and send this one, she couldn’t, she had no idea where he was. 

 

She glanced up at the Weasley clock and was, once again, relieved to see Ron’s name still pointing to ‘Mortal Peril.’ She never thought that sight would bring her anything like reassurance but it was far better than what had happened a few weeks ago.

 

Ever since he had left home, after Bill and Fleur’s wedding, Ron’s clock hand had switched between ‘Mortal Peril’ to occasionally ‘Travelling’ and back but then, one day in mid-October, just as she was starting her yearly Christmas Cake preparations, Molly noticed the clock behaving strangely. It kept switching between ‘Mortal Peril’ and ‘Lost’. She had pointed it out to Arthur, who told her not to worry, that the clock was probably having trouble keeping up with Ron’s location or the enchantments hiding him. 

 

But Molly knew better, no security enchantment or location could break the clock, something was wrong. Very, very wrong.  She could feel it in her bones. She’d already, to her shame, ignored it once before. 

 

In Ginny’s first year, she noticed that Ginny’s hand kept switching from ‘School’ to ‘Lost’ far more often and for longer into the term than the boy’s hands had. She’d pushed down a niggling feeling that something was not quite right, putting it down to overprotective mothering and a now empty house to sit and worry in. That Christmas she’d taken care to give Ginny lots of tips and tricks for finding her way around the castle. Then, on that horrible day when she had received the letter from Percy telling her Ginny had been taken into the Chamber of Secrets, she’d ran to the clock and broke down in tears as Ginny’s hand pointed firmly at ‘Mortal Peril.’ She’d known then, she’d missed something important - something to do with ‘Lost’. 

 

But, despite her insistence this time around, Arthur and the rest of the Order remained unconvinced that Ron’s hand switching to ‘Lost’ meant anything - chalking it up to her being a distressed mother no doubt. She began to watch the clock obsessively, she would pierce the Christmas Cake, pour over a little brandy and stare at the clock. That became her routine. The stretches of time where Ron’s hand went to ‘Lost’ grew longer and longer until one day it never moved back to ‘Mortal Peril’ at all. She’d wept and raged and demanded the Order do something -anything - but it was to no avail and, despite Arthurs support and anxious scanning of the Ministry systems where he could, the pair of them were written off as hysterical parents. 

 

Then one day in mid-November she noticed that Ron’s hand on the clock began to quiver, very slightly at first, as if it was struggling but then the wavering grew stronger and stronger. She’d knelt in front of the clock and, with her mind, tried to send her baby boy strength, putting her only hope in the power of magic to transcend known realities. Until, eventually, centimetre by centimetre, day by day, Ron’s clock hand moved back to firmly on ‘Mortal Peril.’ Molly and Arthur had cheered and danced round the kitchen -for what they did not know - but her anxious heart felt lighter. 

 

Bill knew something about it. She knew he did. She could tell. She always could when one of them was covering up for the others. For not the first time in her life, Molly cursed herself for not having learned legillimency so she could know exactly what was going on. On one of the rare occasions they saw Bill, Molly pulled him to one side and said, softly and beseechingly, “I don’t care about the details. Is he safe?” Bill had hesitated a moment then given the most discreet nod of the head and that night she’d had the first decent sleep in weeks. The next day she’d felt strong enough to tackle the tricksy business of rolling out the marzipan and covering the Christmas Cake. 

 

Still, she’d waited with baited breath yesterday, hoping and praying that Ron would show up -a Christmas wish come true. But now she was confronting the reality that the lovingly made turkey sandwich and roast potatoes and pigs-in blanket and the oh-so-carefully selected slice of Christmas Cake, a big fat one with plenty of glace cherries in it - Ronnie always had a sweet tooth - would likely go uneaten. She took a deep breath in and out when, suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ron’s hand on the clock begin to move. 

 

She watched in disbelief as the hand abruptly shot away from ‘Mortal Peril’ and began spinning uncontrollably. Round and round, faster and faster it went. Panic gripped her. This had never happened before. “Arthur!” She screamed down the hall.  He came running and so did Ginny and they all stared with her at the blurring whirl of Ron’s hand on the clock when, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped - pointing straight to ‘Home’. 

 

They flew to the front door and flung it open but there was no one there. They called out his name, raced up and down the stairs, checking every room. They panicked as Ginny screamed out and they ran to see Ron’s clock hand inching towards ‘Lost’ again before switching quickly back to ‘Home’ again. They looked all over. Arthur even checked the shed while Ginny and Molly mounted brooms and flew over the Burrows grounds in case he’d landed, hurt, but there was nothing there. 

 

Whatever was going on, Molly had had enough and disregarding Arthurs warnings not to, she apparated to Bills and banged on the door. A tearful Bill answered and immediately fell into her arms. A pale-faced Fleur shook her head sadly at Molly, “He couldn’t stop ‘im. He’s gone.” And she held out a piece of paper, where, through her tears, Molly could just make out, in Ron’s oh-so-familiar scrawl, “I’ve found a way to find them Bill. Thanks for everything, I’ll never forget it. Love Ron.” 

 

That night Molly went back to the Burrow and anxiously watched as Ron’s hand remained firmly pointed on ‘Home.’ She pulled out the Christmas Cake she'd packed for him and examined the small maroon tin with a little Christmas shop scene on the front. Maroon always suited Ron she thought- the word Maroon derived from the French word for Chestnuts- which symbolised Protection, Sustenance, Resilience- Ronnie all over.

 

He’d bounced back, Molly decided. Whatever it was, he’d been knocked down and gotten back up again she told herself firmly. Christmas Cake could be kept for months - she’d give it to him when he made it home. Properly. 

Notes:

It occurs to me that most of what I've written so far is a bit melancholy though hopefully with a bit of a positive message. Let me know if I am being too miserable for Christmas!

https://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/classic_christmas_cake_04076

Chapter 4: Clementines

 

Hermione marked down the date in her mind. The 23rd of December 2013. That was the date her marriage died. 

 

She stared at the culprit in shock. 

 

There, under the Christmas tree - their Christmas tree - that just a few days ago they had decorated with their children - sat what was unmistakably a book wrapped in glittering paper. The small tag simply read For Hermione Love Ron.

 

A book. 

 

A book!

 

 An effing book!

 

Later that evening at the big Weasley family Christmas gathering at the Burrow, after a bit of brandy for courage, she approached Ginny.

 

“Has Ron said, you know, anything to you or Harry about me, about us?”

 

Ginny looked concerned and said slowly “No. Is everything alright?” 

 

Hermione took a deep breathe in and willed the tears in her eyes back as she forced the words out of her mouth “Ron’s bought me a book for Christmas.”

 

Ginny stared at her slack-jawed a minute and then said “What?”

 

Hermione blew out a frustrated breathe and said it more slowly “Ron’s. Bought. Me. A. Book. For. Christmas.”  

 

Ginny carried on staring at her “So? Is that it? Merlin Hermione, you had me scared there.”

 

Hermione folded her arms irritably “Ginny, you do not seem to be appreciating the seriousness of the situation.”

 

Ginny let out a mock gasp, clutching her hand to her heart “No you’re right, this is a catastrophe, Ron bought you, Hermione, well-known reading hater and against all things associated with it, a book.”

 

At that moment Angelina and Fleur wandered over, sherry in hand. “What’s going on?” Angelina enquired. 

 

Ginny raised an eyebrow at them “Hermione is being insane, that’s what.”

 

Hermione stamped her foot “Ginny! This is serious! Ron doesn’t buy me books.”

 

Ginny, Fleur and Angelina all looked at Hermione skeptically, in a manner that indicated they most certainly thought she was acting crazy. 

 

“Ugh, let me explain. Ron has never bought me a book for Christmas. Other people buy me books, Ron doesn’t.” 

 

“Riiight.” Ginny said slowly. 

 

Hermione took a deep breathe “For at least the last ten years, Ron has bought me a bottle of perfume for Christmas and this year, a book, what does that mean?!” 

 

“I’m sure it’s nothing Hermione. He just wants a change maybe?” Angelina said, trying to be reassuring.

 

Hermione felt panic set in “That’s what I think too, he want’s a change. Do you think it’s that new accountant they hired to oversee the merger? Oh God, two weeks ago Ron said he ran into Lavender in Diagon Alley - Why didn’t I see it before?! Of course, she’d take any opportunity to get her claws back into him with her stupid smooth hair and - .”

 

Fleur held up a hand and cut off Hermione mid- sentence “Ermione, you are being ridiculous, no?” She said sharply. “Ron did not buy you perfume this Christmas, that’s all.”

 

Hermione felt her frustration reach it’s pinnacle as she burst out “But perfume means I fancy you!” 

 

All three women stared at her again. She sighed.

 

“When we were in Fifth Year, Ron bought me perfume -“

 

Ginny chortled “I remember that - you were horrified - you-”

 

“I was not horrified!”

 

“Well you definitely freaked out, I remember you holding it away from yourself and looking at it like it was a bomb about to go off!” 

 

“Well I was confused, I didn’t know what it meant!”

 

“You sure stank up our room with it - as if old Grimmauld Place wasn’t bad enough back then.”

 

“It didn’t stink, it smelled of clementines!” 

 

Ginny wrinkled her nose in disagreement but said nothing. 

 

“The point is, a couple of years after we were married, we got to talking about it and Ron said he thought he was being blatantly obvious when he gave me the perfume - that perfume means I fancy you - and ever since then it’s been sort of a Christmas tradition.”

 

Ginny chortled again “Does that mean you still buy him one of those god-awful homework planners every year?”

 

Hermione narrowed her eyes, this was obviously getting her nowhere and she stomped off in search of more alcohol. 

 

As she topped up her glass with a healthy splash of wine, she spotted Harry in a quiet corner. 

 

Harry got Ron. Harry would understand. Surely. 

 

She walked over to him.

 

“Alright?” He asked her, though he seemed more engrossed in the plate of food he was holding. 

 

She took a deep breathe in and looked one of her oldest friends in the eye. “Ron bought me a book for Christmas.” She whispered. 

 

Harry barely glanced up from his sausage roll. “You like books.” 

 

She let out a frustrated snort. “Yes, but Ron doesn’t buy me books for Christmas.”

 

“Doesn’t he?” Harry said nonchalantly, admiring the crispy pastry on the bottom of his sausage roll. “Hey, did Ron or Molly make these because -“

 

She slapped the sausage roll out of his hand, ignored his look of outrage and hissed “Harry, will you pay attention! This is serious!"

 

He sighed forlornly, looking at the stray sausage roll now under the table, before turning back to her and sighing again. “Why is it so serious?” 

 

“Because Ron gets me perfume for Christmas. Or at least some kind of romantic gift.”

 

Harry quirked an eyebrow at her “Maybe it’s a romantic book. Maybe it’s some poetry to read to you in the bath or something…” He trailed off, looking mildly disturbed by the thought. 

 

She folded her arms irritably and huffed “Harry, if Ron is going to recite poetry at me then all that proves is that he’s either under the imperious curse or he’s a polyjuice imposter.” 

 

Harry sniggered, before inching away back towards the buffet where a fresh tower of cheese and onion pasties had caught his eye, “Look Hermione I wouldn’t worry about it. I’m sure he just found a book he thought you’d like.” 

 

Feeling fed up, Hermione went out the back door and apparated home. She climbed the stairs to their bedroom and rooted around in the back of the cupboard until she found the little chest she was looking for. There, amidst old letters and keepsakes, sat a little empty bottle of perfume. 

 

Tearfully, she curled up in the chair in their bedroom and held the little bottle close. She inhaled it deeply and she still got a faint whiff of clementine. She’d missed Ron’s signals once before, what if she had again, what if she’d wrecked everything?”

 

She heard the flush of the floo downstairs and Ron calling out her name. She tucked herself further into the chair, not prepared to deal with the reality of what was coming. He appeared in the doorway, looking concerned. “You okay? Are you feeling poorly? Harry said you seemed a bit out of it?” 

 

She shook her head softly but felt her downcast eyes fill with tears. 

 

Ron looked alarmed as he knelt in front of the chair. He reached out to see what she had in her hand and stared in confusion at the little bottle. He sniffed the air “Oranges?” 

 

“Clementines.” She corrected him. 

 

“Love, what’s wrong?” His voice sounded so full of genuine concern and love that a little ray of hope bloomed in Hermione’s chest. 

 

Fuck it. Might as well rip the plaster off. 

 

She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and choked out “I know you got me a book for Christmas.”

 

Ron looked at her in confusion “I - what? Er, yeah I mean sort-of?”

 

“Do you not love me anymore?”

 

Ron looked positively panic-stricken “What?! Of course I do. Of course I love you. What the bloody hell is going on?”

 

She rushed out “Well you never buy me books and you didn’t get me perfume so you obviously don’t fancy me any more and you want to go and start a new life with Lavender or maybe your accountant!”

 

Ron gently prised the bottle out of Hermione’s hand and took both her hands in his. He looked at her seriously “Hermione, I love you, I love you more than life itself and I fancy the pants off you and right now, I’m sorry love but you are being insane.”

 

He squeezed her hands. “I’ll be right back.” He promised as he walked out the room. 

 

He returned a moment later with the offending gift - he held it out to her: “Open it.”

 

She pulled herself together and pushed down the dread in her stomach as, fingers trembling a little, she unwrapped it. She stared at the cover and mouthed out the words ‘A Wizards Guide to the French Alps.’ She opened the cover and pulled out a little envelope that had a brochure for a very posh chalet in it and a portkey appointment for the 12th of January. 

 

She gaped at Ron, who shrugged sheepishly at her. “Sorry for frightening you. I know it’ll be the first year we send both the kids back after the Christmas break and January is so bleak anyways that I thought I’d surprise you with something nice to look forward to. You know, remind ourselves of some of the good stuff about the kids being away.”

 

“So you don’t want to start a new life with Lavender. You want to take me to a French chalet.” She asked stunned but smiling. 

 

Ron grinned back at her “If those are my only two options, I’ll definitely take the latter.” 

 

She punched him lightly on the arm before throwing her arms around him and inhaling the oh-so-sweet smell of clementines.  

Notes:

Obviously clementines don't have a recipe so here is one for a lovely smelling clementine cake https://www.nigella.com/recipes/clementine-cake

Chapter 5: Turkey

 

“Hugo! Come and help me in the kitchen!”

 

Hugo sighed and dragged himself upright and off the sofa at the sound of his father’s voice. He’d been hoping his Mum and sister being out with Nana Granger today might mean he’d get a bit of peace and quiet this evening to nurse his wounded ego.

 

He entered the kitchen and saw his Dad hefting the turkey out the fridge. “Isn’t she a beaut Hugo? 5 kg should be enough for us plus Nana and Granda don’t you think?”

 

Hugo grunted.

 

“Right can you get these carrots and celery and onions all cleaned up and chopped up and I’ll deal with the bird?”

 

“Look Dad can’t we just do this tomorrow? I was in the middle of doing some homework.”

 

He heard his father snort from inside the fridge. “No. I like to do it the night before so it’s less stress tomorrow when there are a million other things that need tending to.”

 

Hugo watched in disgust from the sink as his father started getting the giblets out the turkey.

 

“Ugh that’s so gross!”

 

Ron shrugged “Yeah but it’ll make the turkey taste good.”

 

Hugo screwed up his face.

 

His father smirked at him “What - did you think birds were born a l’orange?”

 

Hugo ignored him and focused on chopping the carrots. Soon Dad left the turkey, washed his hands and started fussing about with some herbs and the kitchen was filled with the sound of methodical chopping.

 

“So why didn’t you tell us you were trying out for the team?”

 

Fan-fucking-tastic.

 

He was going to murder Freddie for shooting his mouth off yesterday

 

The last thing Hugo wanted to do was talk about what an utter failure he was with his hero father.

 

He settled on shrugging.

 

“You’re only 14; there’s loads of time yet if you really want to play.”

 

Hugo snorted and muttered “Yeah right” under his breath.

 

“Or if you don’t want to play then it doesn’t matter -“

 

“I don’t think it really matters what I want.” Hugo snapped “Cut the crap Dad, you heard James yesterday, I got laughed off the pitch.”

 

Hugo rubbed his eye where the chopped onions were making it burn and muttered “What kind of a Weasley can’t play  quidditch?”

 

His dad frowned seriously at that and Hugo prepared himself for a telling off.

 

“I’m not very good at quidditch Hugo and neither is your Uncle Percy or Uncle Bill.”

 

Hugo stared at his father. “Don’t be stupid, you won two quidditch championships for Gryffindor. Retired undefeated! They hoisted you up and carried you around. You have a song! They still sing that bloody song for Louis and Freddie.”

 

A tight smile appeared on his Dads face “Yeah it’s funny that’s the version everyone remembers but it’s the first version that stuck with me.”

 

Hugo glanced up at him.

 

His Dad was focusing on filling the bird but his ears were red and he wasn’t looking at Hugo as he began to softly sing:

 

Weasley cannot save a thing,

He cannot block a single ring,

That's why Slytherins all sing:

Weasley is our King.

 

Weasley was born in a bin

He always lets the Quaffle in

Weasley will make sure we win

Weasley is our King.

 

“What! Why did they sing that?”

 

“Because I was a really really nervous player Hugo and it was incredibly easy to throw me off. I had no confidence at all and I was absolutely dreadful most of the time. You ask your Auntie Angelina. That thing your Uncle George says about me retiring undefeated is George’s version of being nice - I don’t mind a game in the garden with your aunts and uncles but I’d go to pieces still, I reckon, if I had to play in front of a crowd.”

 

Hugo was shocked “What do you mean you had no confidence -at- you-you broke into the Department of Mysteries, you found the Chamber of Secrets, you were Mums hero! You flew through fiendyfire!”

 

His dad shook his head with wry smile “I know in hindsight it’s hard to understand but it didn’t feel that way at the time.  It felt like all my big brothers and your Uncle Harry were so much better than me - at everything - and all my clothes didn’t fit right and people used to make fun.”

 

Hugo shifted uncomfortably, he sometimes forgot about how poor his father was growing up, he realised with a start that that’s what ‘in a bin’ referred to.

 

He watched his Dad tip the vegetables into the roasting tin and put the turkey on top before covering it up and putting it back in the fridge.

 

“And Uncle Percy and Uncle Bill are no good either?” Hugo asked curiously

 

“Have you ever seen your Uncle Percy on a broom?”

 

“No.”

 

“Well there’s a reason for that.”

 

“And Uncle Bill?”

 

His dad laughed. “I was a bit older when I worked that one out, your Uncle Bill is all style and no substance on a broom. He can do some flashy poses but he’s no good at actually flying.”

 

“Oh.” Hugo pensively dried the colander as as his Dad washed the chopping boards.

 

“Hugh - look if you just like watching quidditch that’s fine. I know you like to follow the stats and the history of the game and everything.”

 

Hugo bit his lip.

 

“Why’d you play quidditch Dad?”

 

“Well, like you, I loved watching it and well my best friend played and got on the team when he was 11 and I felt like I sort of had to to fit in with my brothers and - well the less said about Viktor Krum the better.”

 

Hugo stared at his father.

 

“You know the famous seeker for Bulgaria?”

 

“Who?”

 

His dad snickered. “Nevermind. Come on, we’ll have a Christmas fire whisky and a game of chess eh?”

 

“Really?”

 

Hugo felt really grown up as he watched his dad pour him a small glass of fire whisky. And they settled down at the chessboard.

 

Half an hour into the game and Hugo had made a decent showing but his Dad definitely had him on the ropes when suddenly he had an idea. He casually reached for his fire whisky and said “So, Dad, who’s Viktor Krum?”

 

“Nice try, you little git.”

Notes:

https://www.jamieoliver.com/recipes/turkey/prepping-the-turkey/

Chapter 6: Stilton

 

She heard her mother’s shriek of laughter from the kitchen and Hermione watched with narrowed eyes as her mother tumbled out the kitchen, still laughing, with a plate of fruit and dark chocolate and Ron followed with a cheese plate.

 

Her boyfriend flopped down beside her on the couch but immediately turned to her father and stage-whispered “What do you think Richard - I reckon June’s been at the sherry already? That little stash she’s got pilfered away in the utility room eh?”

 

She watched her father chuckle as her mum leaned over and slapped Ron’s arm with another laugh “oooh behave yourself you cheeky sod!”

 

Her parents then immediately engaged Ron, wanting to hear stories about the shop. She watched her father, tears of laughter streaming down his cheeks, try on various novelty hats from the shop while Ron provided a running commentary and her mother giggled from the armchair.

 

So - the lizard people - were back.

 

Whenever she brought Ron round, her parents stopped being the well-meaning and loving but quite strict and uptight, achievement obsessed people she knew they really were and instead seemed so relaxed and likeable.

 

She had tried to explain this to Ron but she’d ended up sounding like one of Luna’s mad conspiracy theorists from the Quibbler.

 

Hermione was pulled from her pouting when her mother said to Ron “Oh it is so lovely to have someone magical in the family.”

 

Hermione’s mouth dropped open in outrage - who was she then, the next door neighbour?

 

Her mother seemed to catch her eye and said “Of course we know you’re magical too dear. It’s just your type of magic - well, it’s all books and writing long essays and it’s not really all that different is it?”

 

Hermione scowled. She had erased their bloody memories for crying out loud - how was that less impressive than a hat that made you grow a big handlebar moustache?

 

She pushed down her feelings a bit. It was good, she told herself sternly. Her parents, her mother in particular, doted on Ron and  he didn’t get that much at home, she reminded herself as she watched Ron’s ears turn a little red from the attention. And he had made such an effort with them  and that’s what he was doing now - trying to get along, get them to like him, because he cared about her.

 

Feeling determined make more of an effort herself, she followed her mother to the kitchen and watched as she pulled several Stilton and sage canapés from the oven.

 

“These look delicious Mum” she said reaching for one of the mini-scones before her mother smacked her hand away lightly. “Honestly Hermione - these are for the party - we don’t want to run out before the others get here do we!”

 

Hermione sighed but was relieved as her mother handed her some parsley to prepare.

 

A few minutes later, Ron came in: “Can I do anything to help?”

 

“You’re just the person - “ her mother beamed at him “Taste test those for me will you Ron dear.”

 

Hermione could not stop the flash of irritation as she watched Ron pop one of the canapés into his mouth.

 

“Mmm that’s good Junie - is that sage?”

 

“Oh you are clever! Have as many as you’d like dear, I know how hard you’ve been working.”

 

“I’m going to my room for a bit!” Hermione announced to no one in particular as she stomped up the stairs.

Notes:

https://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/christmas_stilton_and_50039

Chapter 7: Snowball

Notes:

TW: Very brief mention of someone being sick

 

“Ugh, Harry have some self-respect - put the snowball down and walk away.”

 

“Shut up George - you don’t tell to me what to do - I’m the chosen one you know…Mmm delicious.” Harry sucked greedily on the creamy custardy mixture in the glass, while Ginny unsuccessfully half stuffed her fist in her mouth to stop herself laughing. 

 

“Well the chosen one sure is a messy drunk.” George grinned at Ron, who rolled his eyes and sighed “Merlin he’s pissed.” 

 

“Oh that was good!” Harry proclaimed having emptied the glass and staggered backwards, knocking over a chair. “Hey - hey snowballs - do you remember that year we all had a big snowball fight at Hogwarts?”

 

Hermione raised her eyebrows at Ron as Ginny leaned on Harry, giggling hysterically.

 

“Right. Time to go home.” She said as sternly as she could muster.

 

“Nooooo… It’s a Christmas party…We need to CELEBRATE!”

 

“Oi! Chosen One - it’s 2am and you lot are the only ones left. Now bugger off cos me and Angie want to go to bed.”

 

Harry grinned “Getting tired in your old age George?” 

 

George scowled and smirked “We’re not going to sleep, you little muppet!”

 

Ginny and Ron gagged but Harry looked outraged. 

 

“I’m taller than you. See!” And he held a loose hand high above George’s head. 

 

Ron shot a sideways look at Hermione “We’ll come back to yours eh?” He said to Harry. 

 

“Yes! That’s it - that’s the answer!  Let’s keep this party going!” 

 

They managed to bundle Harry and Ginny into their jackets and, after Hermione exasperatedly agreed to swap shoes with Ginny, they were on their way home. 

 

Ginny clutched Hermione and leaned heavily on her while Harry seemed determined to take off and kept staggering off in the opposite direction from Grimmauld Place. 

 

“Right, right, Harry!” Ron said as patiently as he could after the third time running down the street to fetch Harry from someone else’s doorway  “Why don’t I give you a lift home eh?” He didn’t wait for an answer before hoisting Harry up and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

 

“Weeeee!” Harry laughed “Oh you know, you have quite a nice arse actually.”

 

“Harry, if you start fondling me, I’m going to throw you in the Thames!” 

 

“I’m not going to fondle you - don’t want to get pecked to death by a flock of canaries do I?” Harry cackled hysterically “Anyways - You know what I know - you know what - she likes your bum - I know  -  I know all about the jeans! I KNOW WHAT YOU DID HERMIONE! I FIGURED IT OUT!” 

 

Ron and Hermione exchanged a confused look and Ron shook his head, shifting Harry more comfortably on his shoulder. “Nevermind. Nearly home now.”

 

They managed to get them into Grimmauld Place. Ron put Harry down in the hallway and he swayed on the spot but grinned at them  “Kreacher! Kreacher! Snowballs all around!”

 

Hermione looked incensed “Harry it is half two, you’re not waking -“

 

But she sighed as she watched Kreacher bustle off to the kitchen and she realised it was too late.

 

Hermione furiously threw off the stilettos Ginny had made her wear and got Ginny onto the couch where she promptly fell asleep with her mittens still on. 

 

“Do you think we should stay?” Hermione whispered to Ron as Harry hopped about, struggling with getting his shoes off. 

 

Ron bit his lip. “You know he can get a bit emotional and maudlin after he’s had a few, might be an idea since she seems completely out of it as well?” He nodded at his sister, whose mouth was now completely open in a loud snore. 

 

Kreacher came in at that with four snowballs. Harry thanked him profusely before promptly starting to gulp one down. 

 

“Harry NO!” Hermione scolded 

 

“Oh, oh I don’t feel well.” He groaned

 

“Come on, come on” Ron dragged him to the downstairs loo and watched the bright yellow snowball come straight back up. 

 

Ron sat on the bathroom floor, letting Harry lean back against him. Hermione came in and handed him a cool cloth and glass of water. 

 

“Alright mate, have sip of water.” Ron held the cloth to Harry’s forehead and cheeks. 

 

Unsurprisingly, Harry suddenly got emotional but what he said did surprise Ron and made him go rigid. Eyes closed and leaned back against him, Harry tearfully told Ron “You’re my best friend - my best friend - my WHEEZY - honestly mate - that locket didn’t know shit - it was just talking complete shit mate - What does old billy-no-mates Voldemort know about it - NOTHING!”

 

Hermione’s eyes went wide and she looked at Ron, confused. 

 

“Come on, he’s pissed, let’s get him to bed.”

 

But Harry had opened his eyes and was still awake - unfortunately - “You haven’t told her?!” He said turning in place so he and Ron were nose to nose. 

 

“Told me what?” Hermione asked, sounding suspicious.

 

“Ooooh I can’t say - nooooo, nah uh.” Harry made a motion as if pulling a zipper over his mouth. He put both his hands on Ron’s cheeks and squeezed and said seriously “I promise I won’t say anymore except to say that I should have told you about the jeans back then - I SHOULD HAVE SAID - then maybe it wouldn’t have happened.” And with that Harry leaned against Ron’s shoulder and closed his eyes as his breathing slowed. 

 

Hermione was staring at them but bit her lip before leaning down and helping Ron stand up while still largely supporting Harry’s weight. Ron staggered with Harry over to the opposite couch from Ginny and unceremoniously dumped him on it. 

 

She didn’t say anything and just nodded with a hesitant smile when Ron said he was going to take a quick shower. Once he’d left the room, her mind, which was slightly hazy from the booze and the lateness of hour but still brilliant and over-analytical, kicked into full gear and she was immediately transported to herself the night Ron returned to the tent. “And it went just like that?” Ron looked mildly panicked when Harry jumped in “Well it - it screamed.” 

 

She sipped on one of the remaining snowballs -  that look on Ron’s face settling in her brain and making her anxious and cross with herself, why hadn’t she seen it before? That look - Harry jumping in - she should have pushed, she should have realised! 

 

Ron returned rubbing a towel over his head and made a face at her drinking the snowball “Ugh, those things are so sickly. So ready for bed?” 

 

His ears were bright red, he was nervous. She just looked at him a moment and he sighed. “Come on, let’s get into bed and I promise I’ll tell you everything but I’d rather not do it in front of The Twits here.” He said nodding at Harry and Ginny.

 

He gave her a tight smile and looked so uncharacteristically serious that she took another big sip of the snowball to calm her nerves,

 

She reached out and took his hand and together they headed to bed where, safely tucked under the covers, secrets would be shared and tears would be shed and whispered promises and soft kisses would banish the past. 

Notes:

https://foodism.co.uk/columns/snowball-cocktail-guide/

Chapter 8: Pigs in Blankets

“George, look I know that we’ve been obsessed with whether or not we could do this but I’m beginning to wonder if we need to stop and think if we should.”

 

George sighed “Alright Ronniekins, what’s got your knickers in a twist now eh?”

 

“Well, I’m beginning to worry that we’re descending into full on perversion here. I mean the lickable gravy flavoured wrapping paper already felt like messing a little bit too much with nature, the customer focus groups were quite…mixed…some of them were too enthusiastic in my opinion… but this …” 

 

“Ronnie, you said, and I quote, why doesn’t anyone eat pigs in blankets year round, they’re orgasmically good?”

 

“Yes, I said that - but I’m not taking the blame for this - you made the link - and now well - look the Wonder Witch product line has to tread a fine line, especially with marketing and -“

 

“They make pigs in blankets flavoured crisps now, Ron.”

 

“That’s quite different from a pair of knickers George!! And I mean just look at this copy you’ve come up with: “For the pig under the blanket in your life” ;“Pigs in blankets: go on, put the whole thing in.”; “Pigs in blankets: small, tight, and begging to be eaten.”

 

“What’s wrong with that?”

 

“Are you going to tell Mum about it because I’m sure as shit not doing it! And she’s going to see it, George, we’ve got a whole interview with Witch Weekly coming up about the Wonder Witch product line and I’ve negotiated a load of advertising space in the run up to Christmas and well, of course, this is going to be what they focus on.”

 

“There’s no such thing as bad publicity little brother.” 

 

“Just because something sounds catchy George doesn’t mean it’s true!” 

 

“You worry too much.”

 

“And what if people we know buy it? I mean it’s already disturbing enough that Neville came in twice in the same week and -“

 

“Will you relax? I gave all the staff a picture of Harry and Ginny - they know they're banned from buying anything in the Wonder Witch line  -  and I set it up so that any order to Grimmauld Place has to go to me for approval.”

 

“Well…that’s something I suppose.”

 

Notes:

https://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/pigs_in_blankets_63316

Chapter 9: Parsnips

He had practiced his gingerbread and his Mum had the idea to wrap it up in a pretty tin but George had just paid him and he had three days to figure out what the hell to buy Hermione for Christmas.

 

Ron worriedly peeled parsnips, what was he going to do? The perfume a few years ago had clearly been a dud and it was their first Christmas together - he couldn’t blow it. 

 

What had he gotten Lavender for Christmas? A pair of mittens wasn’t it? Her hands were always so bloody cold… 

 

Ginny sauntered over. “And why exactly are you massacring that parsnip?”

 

Ron looked at the parsnip that was now half grated all over the counter.

 

He sighed. Did he want to talk about his love life with his sister? Not particularly.

 

“Just thinking about stuff.”

 

“And your brain broke?”

 

“Haha.”

 

“What’s up?” Ginny said softly as she joined him in peeling the mountain of parsnips.

 

He looked at her “What’s up with you?”

 

“It’s Christmas, I’m feeling benevolent.”

 

“As opposed to your usual malevolent?”

 

“That’s right. I’d encourage you to take advantage of it while it lasts.”

 

“Fine. I’m worried about what to get Hermione for Christmas.”

 

“Since that perfume bombed huh?” 

 

“Yeah. I - I got Lavender some mittens for Christmas but Hermione has - has quite warm hands so…”

 

“It’s good that your being thoughtful but I’d stray away from practicality and more towards romantic. And definitely not inspired by your ex.”

 

Ron shuddered guiltily at the memory of the ‘my sweetheart necklace.’ “Yeah probably not. I’m going to make her some gingerbread but -”

 

“That’s sweet, that’s romantic - baking her something. You don’t need anything else. There’s nothing better than making someone something yourself.”

 

“So Harry’s getting another poem for Christmas then?” 

 

“Careful, I can flip to malevolent like that-“ and she jabbed him in ribs.

Notes:

https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/honey-roasted-parsnips

Chapter 10: Hot Chocolate

 

Harry thanked the girl behind the counter and gripped his hot chocolate close. 

 

It was bitterly cold outside - why on earth Ron and Hermione thought the middle of December was a good day for a walk along the beach was beyond him. It was close to Shell Cottage anyway and Harry felt a bit uncomfortable, it reminded him of those dark days after Malfoy Manor and Dobbys death when he would escape the overcrowded cottage and contemplate his own demise, looking over the horizon.  

 

“Ready to go?” Ron asked, pulling Harry from his dour thoughts and fidgeting impatiently.

 

“Are - are we not stopping?” 

 

“Nah come on there’s a nice spot just up the hill.”

 

“Oh, er.”

 

But Hermione had already opened the cafe door and was standing there, tapping her foot, waiting for them.

 

Harry muttered quietly under his breath about his insane friends as he clomped up the hill after them, already convinced this ‘nice spot’ would not be anywhere near as nice as the cosy cafe.

 

He looked up to see Hermione and Ron had stopped outside a muddy field with an old granite barn and a couple of other smaller outbuildings in the middle of it. Harry stared at it, looking for some clue as to why Ron and Hermione were practically bouncing up and down with excitement.

 

The grey granite blended in with the grey day and the building looked ramshackle. It was all quite unexceptional.

 

Merlin help him, if Hermione had somehow co-opted Ron into this and he was going to have to listen to some god-awful History of Magic lecture she had planned…

 

“Isn’t it great?” Ron asked him, his lopsided grin on full show  “Look you can still see the beach!” 

 

Harry squinted and indeed through the mist and the grey he could make out the beach. 

 

“I - yeah - look at that…”

 

“So you like it?”

 

Harry stared at his friends whose faces, ruddy from the cold, were looking at him expectantly and took a time-saving sip of his hot chocolate.

 

“Sure yeah - yeah it’s a nice spot - be nicer on a warm day mind you.”

 

“That what we think too!” Hermione squealed a little.

 

“ Well, we’re glad you like it because-“ and Ron, still grinning, put an arm around Hermione who Harry was alarmed to see was beaming but had tears in her eyes “- because this is going to be our home.”

 

“I -what?”

 

“We’ve bought it, we’re going to live here.”

 

Harry glanced at the old stone building, it looked like one strong gust of wind would blow the several sets of barn doors completely off.

 

“You’re going to live here?”

 

“Well not right away Harry, honestly.” Hermione rolled her eyes but was still grinning “- we’ve got a few months lease left on the flat and then - see Mum and Dad are going travelling for a few months-  so we’re going to stay at theirs and get this place sorted in the meantime.” 

 

“Come on, we’ll show you!” And Ron jovially led the way towards the barn and unlocked several rusty padlocks and opened the door. 

 

“See these doors will all be windows and we’ll add a great big fireplace there and that’ll be the living room and we’ll connect it through to the outbuildings so it’ll be like an L shape and then see how tall it is -  we’ll put in an upstairs and a beautiful bannister so that part can be mezzanine…”

 

Harry did not know what a mezzanine was. Since when did Ron know what a mezzanine was?

 

He looked around at the dusty floor and the grim walls and took a sip of his hot chocolate, wishing he’d asked for a shot of whisky or amaretto or something in it. Merlin, to think he and Ginny thought redecorating Grimmauld Place was too big a hassle... 

 

“That - that seems like a big project?”

 

Hermione grinned at him “Are you a wizard or what? Don’t forget we have magic Harry - I mean have you seen the Burrow? It’s not unusual for magical families to make adjustments to their homes.”

 

“Right but -“

 

“And then -“ Hermione interrupted him and Harry noticed that once again she was tearing up. She glanced questioningly up at Ron who wrapped an arm around her while simultaneously shrugging and grinning as he responded “Tell ‘im.”

 

“And then - end of this summer - we’ll be married in the garden.”

 

“I - you - married?”

 

Hermione ripped off her glove and showed him her hand with a sparkly ring on it. 

 

Harry gaped “Congratulations! - Oh my - congratulations guys!” 

 

Hermione hugged him and Ron gripped his shoulder and grinned like a maniac. 

 

Once the rush of the surprise had worn off, Harry took another big sip of the hot chocolate - the warmth mixing with his happiness for his best friends and his worries about their plans. He looked out the barn doors at the muddy field- there was no way in hell Molly Weasley was going to let this particular wedding happen, he decided. 

Notes:

We'll definitely return to this story in a few other mini-fics

https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/wordofmouth/2012/jan/12/how-to-make-perfect-hot-chocolate

I actually can't stand most 'proper' hot chocolate - I find it too sickly - if you're like me, instead stick a normal sized mug 2/3 full of semi-skimmed milk (or oat or whatever your desired milk alternative is) in the microwave for 90 seconds and then stir in 2 to 3 teaspoons of Twinings hot chocolate mix and add marshmallows as desired.

Chapter 11: Yorkshire Puddings

With his first batch of practice gingerbread a success, Ron mulled over the last year and decided it would be a good idea to learn how to cook.

The sense of achievement and delight he got from making the gingerbread took him aback much like how working at the shop - which was supposed to be a stop-gap to help out George while he did his NEWTS study from home - had surprised him too. 

 

Ron couldn’t and wouldn’t replace Fred, he’d thought at best he could be someone for George to bounce ideas off of and a helping hand in the stockroom or front of house when needed. But both he and George were evidently amazed at how well Ron took to, as George called it, the boring side of the shop. Fred and George had brilliant creative ideas but did not always have the head for logistics or efficiency or strategising.

George had been pleased when Ron had brought them much closer to clearing expenses by noticing that their ordering and delivery of product ingredients was all over the place and needed a better system. He had his eye on the currently chaotic customer mail-order system next.

It was almost like chess, you needed to see the whole picture and what you wanted to achieve and carefully set up the pieces accordingly - always remaining flexible but with a strategy in mind. 

 

Likewise George was, well, a big personality, and, while Ron was no-people pleaser himself, he operated as something like a buffer between George and the staff - giving George someone he could properly blow off steam with (or at, on occasion) and giving the staff someone who could be relied on to draw up a workable shift schedule ahead of time and actually listen to ideas and problems without being micro-managing. 

So things at the shop were going really well and he felt like he had a purpose - he was helping his family and he was doing a good job.

Not that he was being paid at the moment but George had promised they’d pay themselves soon as the shop had just started clearing expenses properly.

And having been a bit lonely, often at a bit of a loose end hanging round the Burrow by himself and with the memories of burnt mushy fish and stewed soggy mushrooms fresh in his mind, he asked his Mum if she would teach him to cook properly. 

 

Molly was delighted, apparently none of Ron’s other brothers ever took an interest and are content to live off fry-ups and cheese on toast.

Despite both mother and son approaching the task with enthusiasm, it was not all smooth sailing. It did not take long for them to be reminded of their similarities - both being short-tempered and insecure - and Molly Weasley really doesn’t like giving up control in the kitchen. More than once, one or both of them ended up in a sulk. 

 

Today was a good day though and they set about making sausages, mash and, most importantly, Yorkshire puddings. 

 

He measured and mixed the batter carefully under his mothers watchful eye and had just popped it in the fridge when she called him over to the window.

 

“Ronnie - come and look - it’s snowing!” 

 

They stood side by side, watching it fall through the window. 

 

Molly reached out and rubbed his arm affectionately “We’ve got a bit of time while the batter sits, why don’t we have a cup of tea?”

 

Ron noticed that his Mum seemed to like this part, where they had some time to kill while something cooked or rose, and they sat and chatted over a cup of tea. 

 

“So how’s Hermione doing?” 

 

“She’s well, well as well as she can be - worrying about exams already.”

 

“Ginny said they’re going to Horace Slughorn’s Christmas do together.” Molly said carefully.

 

“Yeah, that’ll be nice for them. Shame for Ginny that Harry couldn’t get time off the aurors.” Ron said a bit awkwardly

 

His Mum looked at him a moment “Well your father never liked him - Horace I mean - whenever you boys complained about Professor Snape, he always used to say that at least Severus was horrid in an obvious way.”

 

Ron looked at his hands, avoiding looking at his Mum as he said softly “I quite like it at the shop you know. George - George has said he likes having me there too but - but do you think that she’ll … that it makes me unambitious?”

 

 His Mum smiled at him “You know, I always worried a bit about you - born between the tw -  George and - and Fred -“ She sniffed a minute “- and Ginny. All three of them were always so boisterous, so sure of themselves and you were so easygoing in some ways and so sensitive in others - made it easy for them simultaneously rile you up while getting their own way a lot of the time… But I also knew you’d come into your own. Arthur always said you reminded him of his father, Grandad Weasley, easygoing but stubborn; witty but easily embarrassed; insecure but brave…”

 

Ron felt his ears go red. 

 

“Horace Slughorn was not impressed by your father or your grandfather but both of them are impressive men no?”

 

Ron nodded

 

“And -“ his Mum gave him a knowing look “ -your grandfather inspired your grandmother, Cedrella, to give up her titles and her money to run off with him. And your father, well your father got Molly Prewett to elope with him.” She raised an eyebrow at him and Ron laughed. 

 

She grinned at him “And just like Yorkshire Puddings, they grew best when no one was looking directly at them.”

Notes:

You mustn't open the oven door to look at the Yorkshire puddings when they're rising ;)

https://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/yorkshirepudding_81824

Chapter 12: Christmas Pudding

 

 

George relaxed back in the chair putting his feet up on the desk.

 

This was the life.

 

He was the big boss - no Ron nagging him every five minutes:

 “George you still haven’t signed those forms .”;

“George stop crumpling up the delivery invoices and claiming its ’modern art’ we need to keep them.”;

“George you can’t do that - I don’t care what Charlie thinks is cool, it’s illegal to breed dragons.”

 

As if he hadn’t ridden a dragon out of a bank robbery for Merlin’s sake.

 

After all he’d been through, he’d imagined his little brother to be a bit more rock and roll about things. But, despite appearances, it had become clear to George over the last three years that Ron ,despite his uncertainty, quite liked order.

 

And suddenly the obsessive chess playing and the constant lists and rankings of quidditch players, Ron’s prickliness at ever being compared to Percy and, hell,  even him fancying Hermione of all people became a bit more explicable.

 

Annoyingly, it seemed to be quite good for business though and they’d expanded quite aggressively into new markets.

 

But a few months ago, Ron had come to George saying Hermione’s parents wanted to take them away skiing the week before Christmas. George had waved off Ron’s worries that it was one of the busiest times of the year, promising him that he was sure the place wouldn’t burn down without him. And he was right, the last two days had been fine.

 

George bit into a mince pie and sighed contentedly, this week was going to be sweet. He snickered to himself - Hermione had explained what skiing was - he could just imagine Ron’s ungainly limbs trying to manage that.

 

Unfortunately he was interrupted a minute later when Bianca came in “er George we heard Ron is away, I was just wondering if I could have the desk near the window?”

 

“Sure, whatever.”

 

“Thanks!”

 

Piece of cake.

 

But then a few minutes later another knock “Er George can you come here a minute?”

 

“What is it Verity, I’m very busy.”

 

“It’s the puddings, they’ve all- well they’re going off.”

 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

 

“Just come see.” And she hurried off down the hall

 

He sighed and followed her onto the shopfloor, he jumped when suddenly a loud unexpected bang went off and someone shrieked.

 

He ran forward to find a young woman completely covered in bits and pieces of Christmas Pudding.

 

They were supposed to set off a little firework when you lit them but it looked like it had exploded inside the pudding.

 

“I’m so sorry, here Verity give this woman a voucher - and”

 

But he was interrupted by another one going off and another round of screams.

 

“Don’t panic folks it’s all under control” he said loudly whilst whispering to Verity “quick help me grab some and we’ll take them out the back.”

 

But then another one went off and the sickle inside shot straight at the window and the glass got a massive crack in it.

 

George groaned. “Alright alright we need to cushion them! Bury them! Throw some of those cloaks over it and - I know, I know - I’ll write them off and - and - that’s it - snow!”

 

“Quick who here can make snow?” Only one other person raised their hand.

 

“Okay you and me are going bury this unit under snow.” He told the young lad who looked apprehensive and in the end George did most of it himself.

He missed Ron, Ron could make snow without even really trying - apparently Lavender had gone on and on with some divination bullshit about Ron being a water sign.

 

He sighed as he looked at the cracked window and the ruined cloaks.

 

Paperwork.

 

Martin the accountant.

 

Fan-bloody-tastic

 

He dragged himself upstairs to the offices but suddenly he heard screaming and shouting from their mail order division.

 

He ran to see what was going on to find Fiona stood on the desk by the window threatening to hurl a potted cactus “Bianca you’ll get this desk over my dead body!”

 

“What the-“

 

They both turned to him and started shouting accusations at each other.

 

“Seriously all this over a desk? Right nothing changes then!”

 

Bianca burst into tears and George sighed again.

 

Three hours of handholding and HR paperwork later, he finally turned to the window and the stock that needed writing off.

 

There was a frantic knock on the door.

 

“Busy!”he yelled irritably

 

“George! George it’s an emergency!”

 

He threw the door open and looked at the back of one of product development guys who was hurrying down the hall. George took a deep breathe and followed.

 

“It’s the dragons Mr Weasley! The miniature ones you approved for testing this week - they’ve turned on us -“

 

“For Merlin’s sake there’s only a handful of them - how hard-“ but George stopped short as he gaped at the product testing room where tiny dragons zipped and zoomed everywhere.

 

“They’ve found a way to breed!”

 

“But that’s not supposed to- “

 

“Life finds a way sir!”

 

“Right my god, let’s get the hazmat suits -“

 

“ We’re beyond that George, we need to contact the control of magical creatures service!”

 

Ron was going to kill him.

 

George laid on the floor of the upstairs office and stared at the mountain of paperwork.

 

It was late, he should be at home having a beer with Angie but no, he was waiting for Martin the accountant to help him with the insurance forms.

 

He couldn’t complain, Martin was Mums cousin and he did them a solid with his fees. But he was a complete berk in George’s opinion.

 

The office door opened and Martin took in George laid on the floor with singed clothes and paper strewn everywhere.

 

Martin sighed.

 

“Ron’s not here.” George said irritably, already on edge.

 

“Clearly.” Martin said snottily.

 

George resisted the urge to sneakily feed him a canary cream.

 

He finally got home and collapsed into bed. When he woke up the next day, he bounced back. So they’d had a bad day - so what! Today was a brand new day.

 

Five minutes after office hours started, George heard a knock at the door.

 

“Come in! Robin what can I do for you?”

 

“There’s been a theft sir!”

 

“What?! What’s happened?”

 

“It’s my yogurt George, someone’s taken it out the fridge-“

 

George sighed and leaned back in his chair.

 

He wasn’t paying Ron enough.

 

Notes:

https://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/traditional_christmas_38771

Chapter 13: Chestnuts

Harry opened his eyes and blearily took in the room. He realised he still had his glasses on. 

 

Why was he on the living room couch?

 

Why was Ginny asleep with her mittens on?

 

Why were there glasses filled with curdling custard on the coffee table?

 

He tried to sit up and groaned.

 

Oh that’s right. George’s Christmas party. He vaguely remembered coming home with Ron and Hermione last night.

 

He staggered to the kitchen and gulped down some water as he rattled around looking for some hangover potion.

 

Luckily there was some stashed behind the cereal from their last big night out.

 

Right. Need to eat when you take hangover potion.

 

Harry made a face at the cereal. Protein. He wanted protein. 

 

He glanced at the stairs.

 

Was Hermione still here?

 

Could he get away with asking Kreacher to make him a bacon sandwich without a lecture that his pounding head would have no patience for?

 

Unbidden, a memory of Hermione, wide-eyed in the bathroom came to him for some reason.

 

Why would Hermione be staring at him in the bathroom?

 

Harry shrugged it off. He sighed as he turned on the grill and went and got the bacon out

 

Bacon sandwich, cup of tea, hangover potion - in that order - he reminded himself. 

 

As the bacon sizzled, Harry heard stomping down the stairs that he’d recognise anywhere and Ron slouched into the kitchen in his boxers.

 

Harry grunted at him. 

 

“Awake are we?” Ron turned the kettle on and Harry groaned

 

“Grrr too loud!” 

 

Harry watched as Ron turned to make the tea.

 

Something about Ron’s arse….

 

The jeans!

 

He’d brought it up last night hadn’t he?

 

That was it, that must be why Hermione had looked at him wide-eyed!

 

Harry looked over at Ron as he buttered two bacon sandwiches “So I think I said something last night I shouldn’t have?”

 

Ron raised an eyebrow at him. 

 

“Shit. How mad is she?”

 

“S’okay, she’s not mad. We dealt with it last night”

 

Harry stared at Ron “What do you mean dealt with - actually no I don’t want to know.”

 

“I’ve barely had a wink of sleep.”

 

“Ugh Ron, I thought we had an implicit agreement that unspeakable things remain unspeakable…”

 

“What? I did too but then you opened your big mouth last night didn’t you?”

 

“Look it’s hardly the end of the world.”

 

“No, like I said it’s probably good that it’s all out in the open - to be honest I think it’s made us stronger.”

 

“Riiiight. Okay.”

 

“So don’t worry about it."

 

“I mean I could have said a lot more, it could have been a lot worse.”

 

“Yeah, you really pulled my chestnuts out of the fire there mate.” Ron said sarcastically. 

 

They stared at each other. 

 

“What’re you talking about?”

 

“What’re YOU talking about?”

 

“The jeans…”

 

“You were going on about this last night - what is this thing with the jeans!?”

Notes:

Double Trouble today as I missed yesterday.

 

https://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/mont_blanc_chocolate_and_19432

Chapter 14: Chocolate Coins

Ron anxiously stood just inside the entrance of Diagon Alley, tapping his foot and rubbing his hands together to keep the cold away. 

 

To distract himself he watched the little stall at the side selling seasonal sweets - peppermint humbugs and marzipan fruits and piles of chocolate coins. 

 

Looking at the those little glinting coins twinkling under the lights, he remembered coming here as a child, he and Ginny excitedly crowding round the cart before their mother ushered them away, gently but firmly. 

 

It had taken awhile but he and Ginny, in time, learned that they were not like some of the other children who came to Diagon Alley who could point and smile at teddy bears and toy trains and their parents would buy them. They could point and smile but their mother would smile gently and say ‘not today.’ Eventually they stopped pointing. 

 

One new toy at Christmas and on your birthday - and not this years latest toy either but maybe last year or the year before. Sometimes there’d be a charity shop haul, like when Bill and Molly brought them a huge pile of comics and books that had been sold off for a few Knuts, but those where few and far between. A welcome treat but not an expected one. 

 

Of course when they were adults they understood that their parents had done the right thing in that situation, prioritising food and warm, if a bit ill-fitting and sometimes ugly, clothes. 

 

But as Ginny and Ron grew they noticed, once their siblings were out in the world, that Bill obsessively liked to look  ‘cool’ and ‘contemporary’, that Percy prioritised smart workwear and new glasses and a neat haircut so that he always looked ‘polished’, that Fred and George would buy the most garish but obviously obscenely expensive designer gear - both toys and clothes.

 

Charlie alone seemed not to care, he lived in a small cabin, his tee-shirts and jumpers as raggedy and ill-fitting as when he was a boy. “What’s the point?” he’d say “It’ll just get covered in muck and dragon dung soon enough.”

 

Despite working for a bank, Bill was a curse-breaker, not a bean counter, and he and George and Ginny were terrible with money. Anything that was in their pocket was fair game for spending - when every pay check still felt like an unexpected windfall, it was hard to reign yourself in. Harry had the means and the attitude to be indulgent but Fleur and Angelina eventually managed the money in their households. 

 

Charlie often seemed to have no idea how much he even earned but, given he spent so little, it didn’t really matter. 

 

Percy was tight, he’d count and budget meticulously and he and Ron would sometimes obsessively go over investments and ‘the future’ - a scary abstract thing against which money needed to be hoarded. The first few pay checks Ron had gotten had sat in his vault untouched, panicked and terrified it’d be gone before he knew it, but as he got more comfortable with the shops finances and the thought and strategy that went into it, it transferred over to his own. 

 

Still sometimes he felt uneasy. 

 

Hermione’s parents were wealthy with a big posh house with three bathrooms (one for each of them!) and they liked to go to fancy restaurants and on ‘nice’ holidays to places like France and Portugal. Hermione didn’t have designer tastes but she also didn’t seem to really think much about dropping some galleons on a new pair of shoes or a set of books or fancy quills just because she liked the look of them.

 

It unnerved Ron sometimes, he never wanted her to go without but how was she so confident as to what was reasonable to spend? 

 

And that self-doubt would follow him for many years, whenever he went round to Hermione’s parents or to a business meeting for the shop or to an evening event - Were these clothes alright? Were they the right sort of thing? Were they too fancy or not? Did they fit okay? 

 

It drove Hermione mad until, unknown to Ron, an unprompted comment from Fleur about how Bill often did the same thing made her connect the dots.

 

Ron’s thoughts, as they often did lately, had turned a bit sentimental as he remembered Ginny in pigtails, the pair of them staring wide-eyed at the veritable treasure trove of sweeties. Business was going very well, George had offered him a proper partnership earlier this year and as a result Ron had spent a lot of time mulling over his life. He’d accepted the partnership, making a long-term commitment to George and the business and it had got him thinking a lot about the past and the future. 

 

He walked over to the sweets stall and bought two small bags of chocolate coins.

 

Just in time, Ginny came round the corner and he grinned at his sister as she hurried over to meet him.

 

“Alright what’s this super secret, clandestine meeting for?”

 

“You haven’t told anyone?”

 

“No - I told Harry I was going out to buy ‘lady things’ and he asked me no questions.”

 

“Here.” And Ron handed her the bag of chocolate coins. 

 

“Thanks! Unless this is a bribe…”

 

“No, not a bribe but I do need your help.” Ron took a deep breathe “I want to buy an engagement ring.”

 

Ginny shrieked and a few chocolate coins went flying as she threw her arms around him.

Notes:

I have never felt the need to home make chocolate coins (surely that is precisely what factories are for?!) but here's a recipe from Jamie Oliver should the urge to get creative strike
https://www.jamieoliver.com/recipes/chocolate/chocolate-coins/

Chapter 15: Shortbread

Minerva McGonagall was feeling cheery. She’d just stopped off at Hogsmeade to make sure her students were all behaving themselves and to pick out a lovely tin of shortbread to share with the staff for Christmas.  

 

She was on her way to purchase some new quills when she passed Madame Puddifoots and shook her head in gentle exasperation at the sight of love-sick teenagers making eyes at each other. But then she stopped, round the back of Madame Puddifoots she heard the unmistakable sound of hysterical giggling and enthusiastic snogging. 

 

She sighed.

 

Time to be the bad guy.

 

She straightened her cloak and put on her most stern face and haughtily rounded the corner. 

 

“Alright break it up, when you are here you are representing the School and-“

 

Minerva’s voice died in her throat at the sight. 

 

She noted, despite nearing thirty, Ronald Weasleys ears still went bright red when he was embarrassed.

 

He stood in front of his companion who seemed to be frantically adjusting her robes.

 

“Professor, er lovely to see you.”

 

Hermione peeped out from behind Ron.

 

Minerva had not seen her look so mortified since she panicked in her third year DADA exam. 

 

“Mr Weasley. Ms Gr - Mrs Weasley. How nice to see you.” She said awkwardly

 

“Yes - yes we were just - just doing some Christmas shopping, had a bit of lunch.” Hermione’s voice was unusually high.

 

Minerva decided to have some fun “I see. I don’t think you’ll find many shops back here.”

 

Hermione’s voice reached a new level of shrill “No. I was - we were just -“

 

Ron interrupted “No, we just got a bit turned around, that’s all.”

 

She raised an eyebrow “I see.”

 

“You know us, still always getting mixed up and turned around and into trouble.” He rolled his eyes jovially at her.

 

“Indeed. I do hope Mr Potter isn’t going to jump out from under his invisibility cloak.”

 

“Absolutely not!” Hermione squeaked. 

 

“Well, let me accompany you back to the main road where all those other people, those impressionable young minds are.”

 

Biting her cheek to keep her lips from twitching she led them, shamefacedly, out onto the main road. 

 

“Well it was lovely to see you both, I do hope you can find your way from here.”

 

They both mumbled in response. 

 

“Bye bye” and she turned to leave, letting herself grin now and then full on chuckle as she heard from behind her.

 

“Oh Merlin, oh sweet Merlin. What do we do?”

 

“Nothing. What do you think she’s going to do? Take house points? Write to my Mum? Relax.”

 

“Relax? She just nearly caught us -“

 

“Nearly caught us? We’re married for Christ's sake. I bet she just did it for a laugh.”

 

“Didn’t you see the look on her face, she was so disappointed, she -“

 

“Hermione she was having us on, you ask Harry he’ll -“

 

“Ron, no I forbid you from telling Harry about this - and George as well - no way - we’d never live it down.”

 

Minerva smiled as she tucked the shortbread further under her arm, she’d been meaning to have a word with George about some of the more disruptive WWW products, perhaps now would be a good time to pop in?

Notes:

https://realfood.tesco.com/recipes/spiced-christmas-tree-butter-shortbread.html

Chapter 16: Stuffing

Ron looked up from the turkey and stared.

 

Rose often quite liked helping him in the kitchen but the enthusiasm with which she was smushing the stuffing together with her bare hands was bordering on feral.

 

Sixteen year old girls were, famously, not exactly Ron’s speciality but between attacking the stuffing and the constant alternating blasts of Taylor’s Swifts ‘We are never ever getting back together’ and the dreaded ten sodding minute version of ‘All too well’ from her room in the wee hours - he had an inkling something was amiss.

 

He glanced at his mother-in-law and raised his eyebrows pointedly at Rose as she growled while smushing the stuffing viciously with her fist.

 

June smiled at him indulgently as if she was in on some hilarious secret but then returned to making the custard.

 

He was on his own then. “Alright Rosie?”

 

“Fine Dad.” She growled out

 

“I was just wondering what that poor piggy did to offend you?”

 

Rose glanced down at the stuffing she was still smushing and narrowed her eyes “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not. A. Damn. Thing.” She punctuated each word with a smash of the fist.

 

“Er, alright…”

 

June spoke up “Rosie, if you’re done with that, can you go and get me a packet of biscuits out of my case upstairs?”

 

Rose stomped over to wash her hands and left the room.

 

“What was that about?”

 

June smiled that smile at him again “I don’t know. What I do know is that when Hermione was Roses age, we were so excited that she was coming home for Christmas but she spent the whole time moping in her room, playing “Unbreak My Heart” on repeat and when we asked her to help with cooking she just about massacred anything she was given.”

 

June paused and raised her eyebrows at Ron who could feel his ears glowing

 

“I especially remember I was making some lavender and rosemary shortbread and asked her to prep the herbs - well she stripped them so viciously they ended up everywhere, then she used the mezzaluna like she was torturing the lavender petals for information…”

 

Ron cleared his throat.

 

“Keep being open but if she wants to talk, she’ll talk otherwise you just have to trust her and that’ll all work out - one way or another.” And June winked at him.

 

Rose returned with a bag of amaretti.

 

“Thanks dear, now would you be able to help me with this? I need these amaretti biscuits smashed to pieces?” June smiled knowingly at Ron.

 

And Roses eyes lit up as Ron silently handed her a heavy wooden rolling pin with a wink…

Notes:

https://www.nigella.com/recipes/panettone-stuffing-squares