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Hampstead High Street in the ever-bustling City of London was rife with the chatter and activity of Christmas shoppers. Too engrossed in their shopping lists and conversations about the best stuffing and cranberry sauce recipes, the passing crowd missed the sudden appearance of a stranger in their midst. Unbeknownst to them, a tall, red-headed wizard had just apparated into the nearby alley with a faint pop.
Taking a moment to compose himself, the wizard checked his surroundings to confirm the coast was clear before tucking his wand inside his sleeve. Blending into the crowd as he stepped out onto the high street, Ron Weasley was struck by an immediate and overwhelming sense of festive spirit.
An assortment of baubles, garlands, and wreaths hung above the pebbled high street as excited crowds moved from shop to shop, their paths illuminated by hundreds of glimmering fairy lights. Despite the frigid temperatures, the mass of consumers clung tightly to their shawls, scarves, and jackets, undeterred from their shopping.
Aided by the winter breeze, the smell of roasted chestnuts and fresh hot churros wafted down the street as excited children raced to queue up and buy some. Their eagerness, combined with the scent of the frying batter filling his nostrils, was enough to convince him into joining them. Standing in line, he listened to the various snippets of conversation taking place around him.
“Mum said the elf on the shelf told her I could have a churro,” an excited young boy explained, tugging his father along to join the queue.
“Did he, now?” the father chuckled.
Smiling at the boy’s eagerness, Ron turned his attention to a gaggle of women exiting a nearby shop. They appeared to be discussing a purchase one of them had just made.
“Oh, Dave is going to love that, Sarah,” a blonde-haired woman said.
“Exactly! Besides, you said Dave loves the colour purple,” another woman chimed in.
The woman, who he assumed was Sarah, asked, “But what if he doesn’t like it?”
“What man doesn’t appreciate sexy lingerie?” the blonde chirped back.
Giggling, Sarah held the bag aloft and replied, “You’re right. Thank you, ladies.”
Ron, meanwhile, had turned a violent shade of red upon realising they were discussing lingerie. Looking up at the shop they had just left, his mouth fell open in a comical O at what he saw. Several scantily clad mannequins stood in the shop window, each modelling a different set of women’s undergarments. Hastily turning away before anyone could catch him staring, he tried to focus his attention on the burly man making churros behind the counter.
Try as he might, however, there was no preventing the sudden formation of intrusive thoughts due to the contents within the shopfront. Nor could he stop himself from placing those garments on a certain bushy-haired brunette, who was, at this very moment, awaiting his arrival. Willing himself to remain composed, he tried to counter the tightness forming within his trousers.
“Churros… The burly man… The burly man who’s making churros,” he repeated to himself over and over.
The queue continued to shorten in length as Ron repeated his mantra before the loud rumble of his stomach alerted him to the true extent of his hunger. Soon enough, once his turn to order arrived, the images of Hermione in lingerie evaporated from his mind.
Avoiding eye contact with the burly server, he stepped up to the counter and ordered, “Two hazelnut churros, please.”
When it came to paying for his food, he faced only a slight moment of hesitation with the Muggle money before handing over the correct amount required. Upon taking his first bite, he let out a low groan of satisfaction as the exquisite taste of melted hazelnut chocolate caressed his taste buds. The sweet and cinnamony aftertaste left him warm and content as he made his way down the pebbled street towards his destination—the home of the Granger family.
The brief five-minute walk to the Granger home allowed Ron to make further festive observations along the way.
He passed by a group of carollers who stood outside the local church, serenading the passing crowd with a myriad of hymns and carols. Their harmonised voices carried up the street, aided by the wind, attracting new listeners.
Next, he came across a crowd of children on sledges attempting to slide down a steep hill. He paused briefly to admire its beauty as it stood dusted by a light sprinkling of snow, its peak shimmering with the silvery glow of a Patronus amongst the moonlight.
Before turning the corner onto the street where the Grangers lived, he stopped to make one final observation. This time, of himself.
He smoothed out his clothing, taking extra care to ensure no residual traces of cinnamon sugar or chocolate remained upon them. He then straightened his tie and adjusted the collar and cuffs of his shirt before taking several steadying breaths.
Tonight was a special occasion, and he wanted nothing more than for it to be perfect. Doctors David and Jean Granger had graciously invited him to their now annual winter dinner party. He would be accompanying Hermione as her boyfriend on only their third Christmas together as a couple. A few hours without magic and pretending he was a Muggle like everyone else was all he needed to do tonight. Well, that and ensuring Hermione had a great and memorable time. Fidgeting with his collar once more, he realised he ought to have bought a gift before he picked her up tonight.
Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, he slipped his wand out from inside his sleeve, waved it in a small circle and whispered, “Orchideous.”
A pink hue of light appeared from the tip of his wand before a bouquet of flowers took its place. Grinning with confidence at his successful conjuring spell, Ron tucked his wand back into his sleeve before walking down to house number sixteen. Hiding the flowers behind his back, he raised a large hand to the door, rang the doorbell, and knocked twice before waiting.
A few seconds later, the door swung open to reveal a beaming Hermione Granger, but her smile wasn’t all he noticed about her. She wore a red, knee-length Muggle cocktail dress that hugged and accentuated her form. Its sleeveless arms and plunging neckline caused his face to flush as his eyes raked over her bare flesh. She wore a matching red and gold pendant and earring set, a gift from Ron after graduating from Hogwarts, and clutched at an all too familiar beaded bag.
“Wow!” he exclaimed, holding out the flowers towards her. “You look stunning.”
He watched as she, too, raked her eyes up and down, taking him in before reaching out to take the bouquet from him.
With a blush creeping up her chest and neck, she replied, “Thanks, as do you.”
Placing the flowers into a vase on the table beside the door, she turned back to him, chewing her lower lip as if hesitant to ask her next question.
“Ron, why—is that a Muggle tuxedo?”
“It is,” he replied with an inkling of where her questioning was headed.
“And you bought it yourself?”
Just as he had suspected, Hermione had wanted to know where he had obtained the outfit from.
With a confident smirk, he answered, “I did. Used Muggle money and all.”
This was true. Having returned from an almost month-long Auror mission only the night prior, Ron had realised he had yet to pick out an outfit for the upcoming party. Keen to show Hermione his willingness to become a part of her life, he had enlisted Harry for help in learning about formal Muggle attire.
Harry had educated him about the tuxedos his Uncle Vernon often wore for special occasions and their various styles. Having no further knowledge to compare this suggestion to, Ron had set off for Central London that morning, intending to find a tuxedo that fit his gangly frame. There were various colours and styles on offer, and after many measurements, trips to the changing rooms, and choice swearing, he had picked out his outfit.
He wore a freshly ironed, crisp white shirt accompanied by a slim black tie. On top, he opted for a grey tuxedo jacket with black trimmings adorning the lapels and matching slacks to go with it, as well as his usual winter overcoat. And finally, to round out the outfit, he picked out a new pair of black leather shoes. Despite being flecked with snow from his brief walk, they still shone in the dim moonlight.
“That’s brilliant!” she exclaimed before leaning forward to capture his lips in a heated kiss.
“I love hearing that tone of surprise,” he remarked, returning the kiss with intensity.
If there was one thing he would never tire of, it would be the act of kissing Hermione. Her lips were soft and delicate, yet they battled against his own with a ferocity and eagerness that he knew all too well. Before they got too carried away on her doorstep, they broke apart, leaving her with a look of curiosity upon her face.
“You taste like cinnamon and chocolate,” she declared.
“I may have eaten a churro or two on the way over. Shall we get going?”
Rolling her eyes at his honest admission, she pulled on her jacket and stepped out of the house. Closing the door behind her, she looped her arm with his and said, “Lead the way.”
The pair gossiped back and forth as they climbed the sloping streets of Hampstead Heath towards the party venue. Hermione used the time to update Ron on the latest happenings at the Ministry of Magic and the post-war reforms enacted by Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt.
“The aim is to have a more diverse pool of knowledge to help steer policy for all magical creatures. Our department has been tasked with liaising with the Centaurs in the new year.”
However, it wasn’t just politics they discussed. Keeping a low voice, Hermione detailed the latest office romance rumour that had gone on to become a full-blown scandal. It involved a broom cupboard, a handsy secretary, a ministerial aide, and shockingly, espionage.
“… Then it turns out, she was a reporter from the Prophet trying to get inside information about his head of department.”
Spending months away on a mission at a time, it wasn’t uncommon for Harry and Ron to fall out of the loop with the latest happenings in the magical world. Thankfully, their girlfriends were more than willing to oblige them with summaries to catch them up.
Meanwhile, he used the walk to provide her with a redacted breakdown of his mission and its outcome. He enjoyed, in particular, detailing the tactics he had formulated and their effectiveness in solving the case.
“… It was a simple plan in the end, and everyone did their part,” he concluded.
“And no one was hurt?” Hermione asked, a look of concern across her face.
“Just some minor cuts, bruises, and runny noses from being in the cold.”
At that moment, a particularly heavy gust of wind passed over them, causing Hermione to shudder. Pulling her closer to his side, Ron rubbed the shoulders of her jacket in a futile attempt to warn her up.
Knowing it could get worse once they reached the top of the heath, he stepped back and spoke, “Come here a second.”
Holding his arms out wide, he waited for her to step into his embrace. Under the guise of giving her a hug, he slipped his wand out from inside his sleeve and gave it a quick jab. Soon enough, the effect took hold as he felt a surge of warmth radiate from her small frame.
“Oh,” she gasped. “Was that a fast-heating charm?”
He gave a nod of confirmation before adding, “One from the Auror academy. It was useful this past month, I tell you.”
He couldn’t help but chuckle as she continued to make muffled sighs of contentment. Placing a kiss on the top of her head, he pulled away and took her hand. As they continued their climb to the venue, there was a comfortable pause in the conversation. Hermione’s choice of heeled footwear made the journey precarious. So, determined to avoid slipping in the snow and ice, they diverted their attention to maintaining a steady foothold.
Arriving at the venue, they checked in their coats at the coat desk before walking through a large set of double doors into the main hall. As he took in the sight of the grand ballroom, Ron couldn’t stifle the expletives that left his mouth.
“Holy, fucking shit.”
“Ron! Watch your language!” Hermione chastised, looking around to see if anyone had heard his vulgar outburst.
“I’m sorry, but look at this place!” he awed.
Crystal chandeliers spiralled down from the high-topped ceiling, illuminating the room and amplifying its beauty. Several tables draped in perfect white tablecloths, each laden with golden dinnerware, sat evenly spaced apart within the vast space. Its grandiose matched that of the Hogwarts Great Hall but without the magic.
Dotted strategically around the room were a dozen or so evergreen trees. Their impressive height, towering above even Ron, still dwarfed in comparison to the room. Each tree was adorned with shiny ornaments and swathed in garlands that shone and twinkled amongst the lighting.
A small stage, occupied by a string quartet, overlooked a chequered dance floor in the centre of the room. Reminded of the giant chessboard from their first year at Hogwarts, Ron watched as a handful of the occupants upon it swayed to and fro in time with the music. Making a mental note to ask Hermione to join him for a dance later in the evening, he turned to her, challenging her to disagree.
“Alright, fine. It looks mesmerising,” Hermione conceded.
Pointing out the drinks table, she placed her hand within his and led him towards it. The Grangers had gone all out with their party planning, and he had the sneaking suspicion that this was how Hermione had kept herself occupied in his absence.
“To think,” he said whilst helping himself to a flute of champagne. “I almost didn’t make it home for this.”
There was a tinkling of glass shattering as Hermione’s champagne flute slipped from her hand and fell to the floor.
“What?” she demanded, rounding on him with a look of fury upon her face as she ignored the broken shards of glass at her feet. “You said no one was hurt. What do you mean, you almost didn’t make it home?”
Ron groaned at his poorly chosen words. Muttering a hasty apology to the server who had rushed forward to clean up the mess, he turned to face her.
“No, no. Not like that.” He led her away from the drinks table before continuing in a hushed tone, “We were being debriefed after the mission, and well, I was struggling to concentrate.”
He could already feel the heat creeping up his neck but knew he would have to give her the details.
“We got our backlog of mail that morning, and I—uh, had trouble focussing after reading your last letter.”
For the second time that day, his face turned a violent shade of red. Meanwhile, Hermione’s look of fury was replaced by one of smugness as she presumably pieced together what had happened.
“And then?” she asked, running a hand across the lapel of his blazer.
Gulping at the seductive action, he explained, “Robards asked me to stay behind and complete the write-ups. Of course, I was too busy thinking about that thing you said you’d do to me when I got back. Robards took my silence as acceptance. In the end, Neville saved me by volunteering.”
She burst into a fit of giggles at his ridiculous predicament, and soon enough, he found himself joining in.
“So, you enjoyed my letter?” she asked, batting her eyelashes and continuing to toy with his lapel.
“Fuck, yes,” he growled.
Emboldened by her sultry actions, he pulled her closer to him, clawing possessively at her hip. He was just in the act of leaning down to capture her lips once more when they were interrupted by the arrival of her parents.
“Ah, Ronald, glad you’ve made it!” David Granger greeted, offering his hand to shake.
Having been caught pawing at the man’s daughter, Ron shifted the flute uncomfortably between his hands, unsure of what to do. Stalling for a brief moment, he eventually returned the handshake and replied, “Thank you for inviting me. This place is amazing, by the way!”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Jean Granger chimed in. “After Australia, being close to family and friends is vitally important to us.”
There was no malice behind her tone, yet Ron watched as Hermione looked down at her feet in apparent shame. The weight of her past actions in wiping their memories was clearly still a sour point for her. Deciding to take charge and steer the conversation elsewhere, he turned to face her mother.
“Doctor Granger, your dress is beautiful. It really matches the festive theme you’ve no doubt worked hard on planning.”
Jean Granger ran a hand down the front of her burgundy ball gown, her cheeks glowing at his simple compliment.
“Oh, Ron, aren’t you a gentleman? Thank you, and I must say, you look rather handsome yourself.”
“Don’t I get a compliment too?” David Granger asked with a mock pout, indicating his matching burgundy velvet smoking jacket.
The act caused Jean and Hermione to chortle. Whilst Ron, never one to pass up the opportunity for humour, decided to play along.
“David, you look simply dapper this—”
Unfortunately, despite the two churros he had eaten earlier, his stomach decided this was the perfect moment to interrupt him with a loud churn of hunger.
“Sorry,” Ron apologised, clutching his stomach in embarrassment. Leaning in, he whispered, “I only just got back from a mission. Haven’t had a proper meal yet.”
Expecting to be told to wait until dinner was served, he was surprised to see a look of concern pass over Jean Granger’s face. She rounded on Hermione, her expression changing to the motherly one he recognised as a signature of his own mother’s.
“Hermione, why don’t you go and show Ron the charcuterie board,” she instructed.
Smiling, Hermione held out a hand for him to take before dragging him over to a table in the corner of the room.
“What’s a shartcuttery board?” he asked.
She pointed to the table in front of them, and his mouth fell open at what stood before him. A veritable smorgasbord of fruits, jams, meats, nuts, and cheeses covered every inch of the formidable sized table.
His eyes lit up with excitement as he awed, “Wicked.”
“Another name for it is a cheese board,” she explained. “It’s popular at Muggle parties because it lets you eat without being too messy or fiddly. You can still interact with people and move around in an open space.”
Leaning down to inspect the products on the table, Ron took note of the cheese items he recognised.
“I see Gouda, cheddar, and Parmesan. What’s this one?” he asked, pointing to a pale, white circle he couldn’t recognise.
“That’s Brie. It’s a soft cheese with an outer layer of flavoursome rind. Here, let me show you.”
Grabbing a napkin, she took a moment and pondered the available options before making her choice.
“The goal is to find a balance between the cheeses and your cracker or bread of choice. You want to taste the savoury flavour of the meat whilst maintaining the sweetness of the fruit, pickles, and jam. Use the nuts, berries, and olives to play with the texture inside your mouth.”
Ron found himself breathing heavily at her explanation. How was it possible for her to make cheese sound sexy?
He watched, enthralled, as she opted for a cracker, applied some fig jam and a generous helping of prosciutto to it before cutting a slice of the Brie and placing it on top. Turning to him, she held out the combination for him to try with an encouraging nod.
Leaning down, he took the whole offering in a single bite. Before Hermione could withdraw her hands, driven by boldness and arousal, he left a lingering kiss on the tips of her fingers. His tongue lapped up the remnants of jam from their tips before he began to chew.
There was a sharp hiss and intake of breath as she reacted to his sensual act. Flashing her a devilish smile, he allowed himself a moment to savour the taste. The salty crunch of the cracker, melded with the bitter hint of juniper on the meat, worked in perfect tandem with the sweetness of the jam. The rich, buttery flavour of the new cheese was the cherry on top as he released a low guttural moan at the taste.
“Wow!” he exclaimed before asking, “Can I try to make one for you?”
She gave him an eager nod and waited as he considered his combination. Seeking to impress her, Ron tried his best to recall the advice she had given him only moments ago. With a great deal of care, he selected a piece of rye bread, buttered it with the Brie and topped it with a liberal helping of cheddar, bruschetta, and an overzealous dollop of sun-dried tomatoes.
Holding it up to her mouth, he watched as she too swallowed the whole helping in a large, single bite. Caught off guard, he allowed his hand to linger in the air for a few moments before she placed a delicate kiss against the palm of his hand. The action was enough to light a fire within him. His heart rate increased as beads of sweat began to form across his forehead. The now-familiar tightness in his trousers returned as questions fired off inside his head.
Was she the one turning him on, or was it the cheese? How had he never considered feeding someone to be so erotic?
As their eyes met, she gave him a defiant yet knowing look, as if she knew the results her actions were having. Licking her lips, she turned her focus back to the cheese boards. Over the next few minutes, they each came up with variations for the other to try. Tuning out the other party-goers around them, they revelled in the intimacy of sharing and feeding each other various combinations of food.
Only when they had eaten their fill did the irritable coughing of an annoyed old woman snap them out of their bubble of bliss and cause them to move away.
“What a horrid old witch,” Hermione snapped once they were out of earshot.
“Really?” Ron inquired. “Because I happen to like witches of the older variety.”
The pointed look he gave her caused something to break within her resolve. Grabbing his hand, she led him away from the party, towards the entrance to another section of the ballroom. Ron stumbled as he tried to follow along, unsure of where they were headed. Opening the door, she shoved him inside and followed behind him.
“Hermione, I think this is the cloakroom—Oomph.”
She had pounced on him the moment she had closed the door, crashing her lips to his and cutting him off. As if by instinct, his mouth opened to give her access as they deepened their frenetic kissing. Her hands clawed at his blazer, encouraging him to pull it off. Needing no further invitation, he shuffled himself out of the sleeves and dropped the garment to the floor. No sooner than he had done so, her delicate hands were roaming across the space between his abdomen and belt buckle, begging to gain access to his flesh.
“Someone’s eager,” he chuckled, breaking away and pausing their frenzied make out.
“Shut up and kiss me. Or are you going to disobey your elders?” she ordered, yanking him back towards her by his tie.
He managed to squeeze out the words, “No, ma’am,” before her lips crashed back onto his.
She had now successfully managed to extricate his shirt from inside his trousers. Running her hands up and down his chest, she peppered his jawline with small, dainty kisses. Suddenly, he let out a wild hiss of pain and pleasure as her fingernails raked across the expanse of skin on his chest. She repeated the action again, but before he could let another hiss, she silenced him with her mouth upon his.
As their tongues swirled for dominance, Ron tangled his fingers into her bushy hair, grateful that she had opted against doing it up tonight. There was nothing hotter than a wild, untamed Hermione Granger, bushy hair and all. When his fingernails grazed against her scalp, she let out a small squeak of pleasure and demanded, “More.”
Buoyed by her words and actions, he trailed several wet kisses down her exposed neck before suckling playfully at her clavicle. Her moans of pleasure further intensified his desire as he spun her on the spot and yanked her back flush against his chest.
“So,” he nipped at a random spot on her neck, “about this thing, you said you’d do to me,” he continued with his ministrations, punctuating each word with a nip.
When she offered no reasonable response in reply, he moved his hands up to grasp at her chest. Cupping each breast, he gave them a firm squeeze and repeated his statement.
“So, about this thing, you said you’d do to me.”
Again, rather than giving him an answer, she instead squirmed as he tightened his grip against her chest.
“Well, I think I’ll just have to try a little harder to get the answer out of you,” he growled.
Spinning her back round to face him once more, he tucked his arms behind her thighs and hoisted her off the ground. Holding her aloft, he backed her up and slammed her against the wall as he attacked the bare expanse of skin her dress left exposed. She let out a scream of pleasure and instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer and clawing at his back with reckless abandon.
Ignoring the pain of the scratches, he focussed on wearing her down. Determined to win the battle, he wanted nothing more than for her to admit out loud what she had planned for him. A vulgar and wanton Hermione Granger that only he could experience was an almighty turn on. Hitching up the hem of her dress, he kneaded roughly at her thighs, his fingers trailing dangerously close to her centre.
Her head fell into the crook of his neck before she latched her mouth to his Adam’s apple. Their intense moans and garbled affirmations of want and love reverberated around the room. The air was fast turning hot and sticky, and the musky smell of desire wafted around the room. Knowing he was close to breaking her, Ron pushed aside the thin barrier of fabric and slid a finger across her core, making her hum in pleasure.
Continuing to circle his finger whilst kneading the flesh of her thighs, he growled, “Say it. Tell me what’s in it for me, and I’ll give you what you deserve.”
“I—uh, was going—going to taste you—ride you,” she breathed. “Anything you wanted, I was going to do. For you—only you!”
Satisfied with the answer, Ron picked up the pace with his fingering motions as she bucked into his hand. With a final swirl with the pad of his thumb, she came undone and writhed against him, clinging to him as she let out a muffled yell into his shoulder.
Feeling his legs start to weaken, he gently lowered her to the floor and allowed her a moment to compose herself before pulling her in for a tender kiss.
“Thank you,” she panted.
Chuckling at her very polite approach to what they had done, he replied, “That was very fun.”
Tucking his shirt back in and grabbing his blazer off the floor, Ron felt his stomach give another low rumble.
“Do you reckon we can try some more of those cheeses on the charcuterie board?” he asked.
Hermione turned on her heels, walked to the exit and pulled the door open. Turning back to face him before stepping out, she offered him one final sultry wink and quipped, “Well, I did just enjoy some Devon blue. Maybe I’ll sample more of it later at home?”
She stepped outside and walked down the hall, her hips swinging enticingly as a gobsmacked Ron watched on. His last thought as he bounded out of the room to follow her was that Muggles deserved a lot more credit than they got.
Their ability to make Christmas feel magical without the magic was downright impressive.