Home for the Holidays (original) (raw)

Author: redblaze
Challenge: Ron and Hermione elope, but have to face their family and friends afterwards.
Title: Home for the Holidays
Summary: After four long years of searching for horcruxes and fighting, Harry, Ron and Hermione come home for Christmas.
Warning: Christmas mush, snoggage, and a few scandalous gifts.
Word Count: 18,278 (yes, you read that right. )
Rating: R
Notes: I have yet to do a challenge piece that was under 15,00 words and this was no exception. . .le sigh. This story was my first stab at post HBP canon and I did have fun with it (obviously.) I'm just sorry it took me so long to finish, but since it is a Christmas piece, I wanted to get it up for the holiday. Also, you might want to know that I used this picture drawn by the talented leelastarsky as my image of what I wanted Ron and Hermione's wedding picture to look like. I always thought it looked like a wedding picture and this challenge was the perfect place to put that amazing picture into an actual story. leelastarsky was kind enough to give me permission to use her drawing as their wedding picture and I hope she's not disappointed by the outcome because my muse certainly did wild things when it was forced to come up with a reason for Ron having long hair and a beard (not to mention an incredibly buff body.) Thanks as always to my wonderful betas, seakays and mrspadf00t1. This was a monster to beta!

On to the story. . .

“I really don’t feel comfortable hiring someone who refuses a background check,” James Roden sighed as he worked on a crude doodle he was decorating his desk calendar with. He used the side of the pencil tip to shade in the woman’s breasts as he tried to decipher the thick German accent of his business partner, who’d been running their most profitable clubs in Berlin for the last ten years. “What’d you say this bloke’s name was?”

James rolled his eyes as he wrote down the name Nor King in big letters, and then started retracing the letters over and over as he listened to Aldo sing the praises of his former bouncer who was probably a wanted criminal. Why else would this Nor bloke refuse a background check?

“Okay, I get it,” James huffed, feeling bored with the conversation. Aldo was usually impossible to please. If he was impressed with this Nor fellow enough to ring up and pester James about hiring him, he must be good. He wouldn’t be the first bouncer that had been hired with a less than stellar background and he probably wouldn’t be the last. “How much do think he’ll cost me?”

James had been lighting a fag when Aldo told him how much he’d paid the bouncer for the work he did in Germany, and he couldn’t help but cough and hope that he’d lost his knack at currency conversion. “That’s almost twenty-five thousand pounds a year. Are you mad?”

Aldo went back to singing the bouncer’s praises, listing the clubs he’d worked for before, all of which were very well-known, but James couldn’t help but notice that they were also spread from one end of Europe to the other. “This chap sure does move around a lot. Are you sure he’s not wanted?’

James still had the phone to his ear when one of the bartenders opened his door, causing his soundproofed office to instantly fill with blaring music from the club below. He covered the receiver and yelled over the noise. “What is it?”

“Some bloke’s here to see you!” yelled Evan, who’d been one of James’s top bartenders for the last two years. He closed the door and his voice returned to a normal pitch. “He says he has an appointment. I didn’t know you set appointments, boss.”

Evan smirked, showing deep dimples that James knew were the cause of many large tips. It paid to have handsome bartenders. If the women were happy, they’d come back and as long as a club had lots of women, the men were sure to be there with their wallets open.

“Name?”

“King.”

“Yeah, yeah, let him in,” James said, and then waved Evan off and went back to the phone. Aldo was still rambling, having not noticed that James had stopped paying attention. “Listen, Aldo, your chap is here. I’ll ring you later.”

James hung up the phone just as Evan opened the door, and once again his office was filled with blaring music. He stood up and was just coming around his desk when Nor King walked into the room. James couldn’t help but grin, and he decided right then that this bouncer was going to be worth every quid of twenty-five thousand he was going to have to pay him.

Nor was a full head taller than James, and while James was a bit soft in the middle, this man was extremely fit. Not that he hadn’t expected that, most bouncers were built like Nor, with bulging muscles and washboard abs. Other blokes might be threatened by a man as tall and well built as Nor, but James was thrilled. It paid to have handsome bouncers too and the one in front of him was sure to gain a fan club quickly.

Unlike Evan, who had a clean-cut look, Nor was every father’s worst nightmare with his well-worn black leather jacket and faded jeans. He sported a neatly trimmed beard that matched his fiery red hair, which hung wild and loose to his broad shoulders. He was a perfect bouncer. His rugged good looks would appeal to the women that came to the club, while his dangerous appearance was enough to intimidate the men who might get out of line.

James stuck out his hand in greeting. “James Roden.”

Nor shook his hand, and James couldn’t help but gape at the size of the hand that had completely engulfed his. “Nor King. Thanks for seeing me, Mr. Roden.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” James said, walking back around his desk and gesturing to the chair facing him. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Nor pulled off his jacket and draped it over the chair, looking comfortable in a faded Led Zeppelin concert shirt that certainly did nothing to hide his muscular chest and arms. James wasn’t certain if the man in front of him had fashioned his "look" to give off an air of casual indifference, or if it just came naturally to him. Either way, the effect was perfect. While you couldn’t always stop a fight by intimidation, it certainly helped in most cases. And for the ones who didn’t catch the hint, Aldo had assured him that Nor had never had any problems handling the rough customers.

“What sort of name is Nor anyway? Is it short for something?”

Nor shook his head as he flopped down in the other seat, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “Nope, it’s just Nor.”

“It’s unusual, but I guess it suits you.” James said, chuckling a little as he pulled another cigarette out of his pack and then offered one to the other man. “Do you smoke?”

“Sure,” he said and reached forward to pull a cigarette out of James’ pack. “Thanks.”

James lit his cigarette and then tossed his lighter to Nor as he leaned back against his chair and studied the bouncer. The beard and sheer size of the man could cause you to miss it, but he was still very young, perhaps not more than twenty or twenty-one at the most. James’s keen eyes spotted a tattoo of Celtic knots that wrapped around the entire span of Nor’s left bicep when he casually ran his fingers through his long hair and took a lazy draw off his cigarette.

“So, Nor, tell me. . .How long have you been doing bouncer work?”

“About three years,” he said as he took another drag off his cigarette. “Give or take a few months.”

“I noticed that you seem to move around a lot,” James asked, still curious about the man’s background. “Is there a reason?”

“Not really,” Nor said, shrugging nonchalantly, which calmed James considerably. Most criminals tensed when you asked them about their past. “Life’s short. I reckon I’ll see the world while I can.”

“You’re young, you’ll settle eventually. How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Twenty-one this past March,” he said as he leaned forward and tapped his cigarette on the ashtray sitting on the desk. “I usually tell the people in the clubs I’m twenty-five. People start fucking with you if they think you’re a kid. I learned that real fast.”

“Eighteen is young to work as a bouncer? How’d you get into it?”

Nor laughed as he leaned back against the chair. “I was doing some construction work for a club in Paris, a fight broke out between two of the other blokes over some bird. I stopped it and got two broken ribs for my effort. When I showed up for work the next day, the owner couldn’t believe it. He said anyone who could stop a fight like that, take a beating for the hell of it, and then show up for work the next day was wasting their time working in construction. I’ve been a bouncer ever since. It’s easier than hard labour and the pay’s better.”

“Hopefully you still don’t take beatings,” James said, arching an eyebrow. “I can’t deal with a bouncer who’s out sick all the time.”

“I’m a lot bigger than I was at eighteen. I learned that lesson too--size does matter. I hate working out, but I do it because blokes like you aren’t going to hire some skinny kid just ’cause he can take a beating. I left home before I finished school. I know I won’t find a better paying job so I stay fit.” Nor smirked, his blue eyes glinting in an unreadable emotion as he took another long draw off his cigarette and lazily blew out the smoke. “ I don’t take beatings often, but I’m not afraid of them either. If a fight breaks out, I deal with it and I’ve never missed a day of work because of an injury. To tell you the truth, nowadays I can usually scare the shit out of them before they start swinging. Fear is a bouncer’s best friend and I use it to my advantage.”

James laughed, totally impressed with the lad in front of him. “You dress like that on purpose. I love it.”

Nor snorted, rolling his eyes as he tapped his cigarette on the ashtray. “Yeah, my wife hates it. She wouldn’t speak to me for a week when I got my ear pierced. But I don’t mind…At least I get to be comfortable when I work. It’s better than wearing a suit and tie.”

“True, true,” James agreed as he put out his cigarette. “Listen, Aldo mentioned that your wife was an excellent bartender. If she needs a job, we have an opening.”

Nor pulled a face, not looking too thrilled at the offer. “I think she wants to get out of working in clubs. It really doesn’t suit her.”

“I heard she was quite talented,” James said, feeling extremely disappointed. Aldo had raved about both Nor and his girlfriend, though it was obvious they had recently gotten married. Poor bloke, tied down at twenty-one. Still it would be nice to hire both of them. “This club is extremely busy, even on weekdays. Our good bartenders can easily take home a couple hundred quid a night.”

“You mean your pretty bartenders,” Nor said, arching one amber eyebrow at him.

“Aldo said she was very attractive” James said, unable to hide his smirk. “If that’s true, she could do well here.”

“I’ll tell her,” Nor said, still looking less than pleased at the idea of his wife working in the club. “But I doubt she’ll be interested.”

“Mention it, that’s all I ask,” James said, as he held up his hands in defeat. “So when can you start?”

“I’d like to know how much I’m making first,” Nor said, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“How does twenty-five hundred a month sound?” James said, wincing internally at paying a bouncer that much, but he had a feeling that Nor would be worth a few extra pounds a month and he wanted him to be happy with the pay. Maybe it’d stop him from taking off in a few months when he got bored and decided to move to another country. “But I’ll expect you to work for it. This club is filled with drunken idiots every night of the week. Unlike the other muscled fools I’ve hired I can tell you’ve got a brain, so I’m making you my head bouncer and I’ll need you here a lot. We’re talking fifty, sixty hours a week.”

“Work doesn’t bother me,” Nor said as he stood up. He took his jacket off the chair, and casually pulled it on. “I can start tonight if you need me.”

~*~

Blinking Christmas lights glowed in the darkness, making the fluffy white snow on the ground reflect the festive colors. Ron walked with a spring in his step, casually smoking the cigarette he had bummed off one of the bartenders at the club as his heavy boots crunched in the snow. He could Apparate back to the hotel, but he had a few things to do and didn’t mind the walk. It’s not like he had to worry about someone spotting him at half past three in the morning. Not that he really worried about it all that much anyway. He’d altered his appearance so much his own mother probably wouldn’t recognize him. With the exception of his red hair, which Hermione had firmly refused to let him glamour to brown, he really bore no resemblance to he kid he was when he’d left home at seventeen.

Thinking of home made his heart hurt, especially now that he was back in England. The Burrow was just an Apparation away, but he couldn’t go to them, not yet, and he refused to dwell on it too much. Ron was in too bloody good of a mood to let a little homesickness bother him. Usually he dreaded the holidays, but for the first time in a long time, he actually felt a bit merry.

With a newspaper tucked under his arm, he flicked the cigarette across the street and walked up to the hotel that was their temporary home until they could find a flat. As far as hotels went, this one was posh to Ron. They’d stayed in some real dives when they’d been younger and poor as dirt. Hell, they’d slept outdoors more times than he could count. Unfortunately, money hadn’t really entered into their equations when they’d taken off to find the Horcruxes, and the uproar over their disappearance was more than they had expected. The whole Wizarding world was looking for Harry, so the money Harry had pulled out of his vault before they left had been useless when they found themselves stuck in the Muggle world in order to stay hidden.

Ron walked into the hotel that had a real front desk, a lobby and a nice restaurant on the first floor. Life was certainly looking up as far as he was concerned. They may not be able to go home, but at least they’d be a little more comfortable until they did.

Feeling bold, he went ahead and paid for a second room. He pocketed the plastic keycard, humming a tune that was still in his head from the club and grinning like an idiot as he got into the lift. Ron was going to get lucky tonight and it wasn’t sneaking into the loo, or rolling around on a couch that was too small for his large frame. Ron was going to have Hermione all to himself and that was enough to make any red-blooded wizard smile. He was still a newlywed, after all. He and Hermione didn’t get to enjoy the novelty of it nearly enough.

He fumbled with the stupid key to the room, having never quite gotten used to them and he was very happy when Hermione pulled open the door for him. Her long hair was up in a ponytail, with stray stands framing her face and neck. She wore a faded black tank top, and a pair of old cutoff shorts that had once been her favorite pair of jeans. They had eventually got so worn that no spell would fix the holes in the knees, so Hermione had made them into rather short shorts. Personally, Ron liked them better as shorts, with the frayed edges showing off her shapely legs. Hermione’s thriftiness usually drove Ron mad, but if cutoff shorts were the benefit of her caution, he would deal with her nagging.

Like Ron and Harry, she also had a tattoo on her left arm. The Celtic knots in hers were smaller, more feminine and wrapped around her firm bicep sideways like a twisting snake instead of in a simple band like the boys had opted for. Hermione used to hide it with glamours, but after she had discovered her talent for bartending, she had just stopped bothering. She wasn’t the only female bartender with a tattoo, and in a way it gave her a rougher image that made men a bit more hesitant. So Ron was perfectly fine with it in plain view like his and Harry’s were.

No Muggle could possibly know that the black Celtic markings on their arms were so much more than a simple tattoo. The three of them were connected by the ancient Celtic magic Hermione had woven into the ink they’d used, ink that had contained blood from each of them. If need be, they could always find each other. There was no place that one of them could be that the others couldn’t find them. Considering the lives they lived, being able to find each other no matter what was essential to their survival. Ron secretly suspected that Hermione stopped hiding her tattoo because it was as much of a comfort to her as it was to him. He just liked seeing it on his arm. He felt better knowing that Harry and Hermione were just a spell away. They’d never lose each other.

The three of them would probably hide the marking with glamours when they finally got to go back home, when they were going to be expected to have real lives and real jobs. Hermione wouldn’t be a bartender, Ron wouldn’t be a bouncer, and Harry wouldn’t be a man on a quest, half-mad with his need to destroy the separate parts of Voldemort’s soul. None of them would have to be rogue vigilantes that attacked by night and did what they could to help a world they couldn’t live in. One day soon they’d have the normal lives they were meant to. But lately Ron had started to wonder how easy it was going to be to become a regular wizard again. The Muggle world was really starting to grow on him.

“So?” Hermione said impatiently when Ron just stood at the door admiring her in her jean shorts and faded tank top. “Did you get the job?”

“Who are you talking to?” Ron said, putting on an act of being affronted as he walked into the room. “Of course I got it.”

Hermione squealed, jumping into his arms out of nowhere and Ron had to drop the newspaper he was still holding to catch her. She wrapped her legs around him, her fingers tangling in his long hair as she planted a kiss on his lips. It was really hard to hold back his body’s natural response to her, but he tried because he knew Harry wouldn’t appreciate them shagging while he was still in the room.

“You two disgust me,” Harry said dryly, looking up from the large book he was flipping through to arch an annoyed eyebrow at both of them “I liked you both much better when you were dating other people. Can’t we give that artist boyfriend of Hermione’s a ring? At least she shagged at his place. I can’t even use the shower or sit on the couch without thinking about what you two might have done on it when you think I’m sleeping.”

“Shut up, Harry,” Ron said, and then grinned back at Hermione who was still in his arms. “Guess how much they’re paying me.”

“Twenty thousand,” Harry said from the chair across the room while Hermione was still thinking.

“More,” said Ron, still grinning madly.

“Really!” Hermione asked as Ron flopped down on one of the two beds in a hotel room that would have been nice if the three of them weren’t cramped in it. She was still sitting on his lap, her smooth bare legs around his waist as she idly ran her fingers through his hair, brushing the strands lovingly off his face. “Tell us how much.”

“Twenty-five hundred a month,” Ron said, winking at Hermione as he wrapped his arms back around her, pulling her closer. “That’s enough to get a real flat with two bedrooms. None of us will ever have to sleep on the couch again.”

“I’m so proud of you.” Hermione leaned into him, her cheek resting against his shoulder. She sighed deeply in contentment, and then pulled back to look at him, her nose wrinkling in disgust. “You smell like cigarettes.”

Ron laughed. “I was working in the club all night. What’d you expect?”

“I hate that,” Hermione huffed, leaning back against him and wrapping her arms around his neck, her fingers idly tracing patterns on his back. “I don’t mind bartending, making drinks at least requires skill and the ability to combine a certain amount of ingredients in a precise fashion, but I hate the cigarette smoke. Don’t those people know that secondhand smoke is deadly?”

“Forget that,” Harry said, finally closing the large tome he was reading. “Twenty-five hundred pounds, are you shitting me? They’re going to pay you twenty-five hundred quid just to sit there, check IDs and look scary?”

“Right in one! Are they mad or what?”

“Whatever,” Harry said, laughing. “Congratulations, mate! That really is great.”

“Oh, bugger, I almost forgot,” Ron said, lifting Hermione off him and setting her on the bed as he got up. He retrieved the paper he’d had with him and held it up. “Look at what I knicked!”

Hermione squealed and bounded off the bed, but Harry snatched it first, dashing to the other side of the room and settling back on the chair he’d been sitting in. He stared hungrily at the front page, his green eyes, no longer hidden by glasses, scanning the article as he unfolded it. Hermione ran up to him, shoving him to the side and sitting on the arm of the chair to also look at the paper.

“Oh my God, look, there’s an article right here on the front page about you,” Hermione said, pushing at Harry’s arm. “Let me see it, Harry.”

“Bugger off, I grabbed it first,” Harry said, still reading, though he had to turn to the side when Hermione tried to grab it. When she reached for it again, she fell over the chair, landing on Harry’s lap and they both started laughing. Harry held up the paper and looked down at Hermione still sprawled across him as she struggled to grab the paper. “Will you let me read the bloody paper! I’ll give it to you in a second.”

“Next time I’ll knick two,” Ron said, walking up and pulling the paper easily out of Harry’s hand as he still held it out of Hermione’s reach. He took it over to the small table in the corner of the room, and laid it out as a picture of Harry blinked back at him, smiling shyly and making him look so young and clean cut Ron hardly recognized him. “Now both of you can read it.”

Harry and Hermione huddled around the paper, both of their eyes scanning it greedily. Harry groaned just as Hermione gasped and started reading out loud.

“Reports from Germany say that three people were spotted leaving the scene of the latest attack on a Death Eater camp just outside Berlin. While information is sketchy, there was said to be a man of average height with dark hair amongst the trio of revolutionaries that brought down the small camp, leaving eight Death Eaters stunned and bound for authorities. This is just one of many recent reports of vigilantes attacking by night and leaving before authorities can question them. It’s impossible to ignore that the famed Ghosts of Redemption who have intrigued our world for over three years bear stunning similarities to three Hogwarts students who disappeared almost four years ago. While descriptions of the heroic vigilantes have varied somewhat over the years, some facts are always the same. The sole female of the group is always described as slight, one man, exceptionally tall and the third, a man with dark hair and quick reflexes. With this latest report of the Ghosts once again bringing You Know Who’s followers to justice the one question that continues to plague us has to be asked once more. . . Is the Boy Who Lived closer than we think?”

Hermione stopped reading and silence filled the air as the three of them absorbed the information. Ron finally cleared his throat. “Maybe you ought to start glamouring your hair, Harry.”

“Nah,” Harry said, his eyes scanning the newspaper, obviously curious about what else the article said about them. “They’ve already seen it black, and I don’t mind them suspecting us. It’s better than everyone thinking we fled in fear. That hacked me off.”

“The Ghosts of Redemption,” Ron huffed, rolling his eyes. “Couldn’t they have thought of a better name?’

“I like it,” Hermione said, looking up from her continued reading to grin at Ron. “It’s mysterious.”

“Whatever,” Ron said, pulling off his jacket and tossing it on the dresser. He flopped down on one of the beds and pulled his wand out of a discrete holder Hermione had sewn into all his jeans. He summoned the remote and turned on the telly while Hermione and Harry continued to read. He’d already read everything that was of interest, or rather; he thought he had until he saw a game of Muggle football on the screen. He really was slipping. “Hey, Harry, look up the Cannon scores?”

Harry flipped to the back of the Daily Prophet and winced. “Lost two hundred to thirty to Puddlemere. Sorry, mate.”

“Ugh, sorry I asked,” Ron groaned and then went back to flipping through the channels.

It took Harry and Hermione a while to finish with the paper. It’d been a really long time since they’d had news from the Wizarding World and it was nice to have a paper in English. Ron’s French and German were passable, but reading in a different language was beyond him. Only Hermione had mastered the two other languages to the point that she could read the Wizarding newspapers and translate them for Harry and Ron.

When she was done Hermione settled next to him on the bed they shared, while Harry went back to reading the book he’d had on his lap when Ron had shown up. Ron knew that he was researching the Muggle orphanage that Voldemort grew up in, which they strongly suspected was connected to the last Horcrux. They’d been disappointed to find the Orphanage in ruins, and therefore almost impossible to quickly search. Not that Ron was surprised. Helga Hufflepuff’s cup had taken them close to two years to finally locate. Ron had wanted to wear the bloody thing around his neck after the hell they had gone through finding it and then destroying the Horcrux inside it.

“Why aren’t you reading?” Ron asked, surprised that Hermione was relaxing when she usually spent all her waking hours either working or researching.

She sighed in exasperation. “I already read it and I had a very good theory, but Harry wants to read it himself. Who knows, maybe he’ll see something I didn’t.”

“What’s your theory?”

“Well, Charles Spurgeon started the orphanage. He was a famed Baptist minister and I think Voldemort might have hidden the Golden Griffin in the church where he preached. What better place to hide a part of your soul than a church?”

“Yeah, Voldemort strikes me as really religious,” Ron said sarcastically. “I don’t think he’d put it in a church.”

“That’s what Harry said,” Hermione said, sounding annoyed with both of them. “But we are talking about his soul here. He may be more superstitious than you think. It’s connected to the orphanage like the cave was, and it’s the last place anyone would look.”

Ron shrugged. “Maybe.”

“I’m going to go to the church tomorrow,” Hermione said as she brushed a few strands of wispy hair that had escaped her ponytail away from her face. “It’s going to be near impossible to search it in daylight, because it’s still quite popular. We’re going to have to break in at night in order to really spend time looking.”

“Of course we are,” Ron said dryly. “You know, if I ever get tired of being a bouncer I could take up as a burglar. I’ve almost perfected breaking and entering.”

“We’ve only got one more,” Hermione said, her voice both longing and hopeful. “We’re almost home.”

“Yeah, but you’re forgetting that little chore of defeating Voldemort once we get rid of the last one,” Ron said, hating to be practical and kill her hope. “We’ve still got a long way to go before we can go home.”

“I know.” Hermione rested her head on Ron’s shoulder as he watched the football game, which wasn’t nearly as exciting as Quidditch, but acceptable enough to hold his attention. It was several minutes before she spoke again. “Did you ask the owner if they had any openings for me?”

Ron was silent, pretending to watch the football match when she nudged him for an answer. “Yeah, they have an opening,” he sighed, wishing she hadn’t asked. “But you don’t want to work in another club. Let me work, you’ll have more time to help Harry.”

“I can work and help Harry at the same time. We’ve both been doing it for four years,” Hermione said, sounding exasperated. “I wouldn’t work full time, but it’d be nice to have some extra money.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “We’re married now, why not let me be a proper husband?”

Hermione was silent long enough to make the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and he instantly regretted the statement. He did have plans of getting shagged before the evening was out, and the last thing he needed was Hermione hacked off at him.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” Hermione said stiffly, her voice icy.

“Good plan,” Ron said, willing to let the argument go. Funny, he had thought their bickering might subside a little once he finally got a ring on Hermione’s finger. He turned to her, meeting her eyes for a long moment. “I, um. . . Got another room. It’s just a few doors down.”

“Why would we want to move?” she said, her voice mystified. “We’re settled here. Is it bigger?”

“No,” he said slowly, looking to Harry who was engrossed in his reading and lowering his voice. “I got one just for us. Harry can stay here.”

“Oh,” she said, and then bit her lip, also looking to Harry.

Ron instantly saw the guilt on her face and had to fight the urge to groan out loud. Harry was his best mate. He never once regretted his decision to leave school and go with him to search for the Horcruxes, but he had gone through hell to get Hermione to the point they were at now. They had each spent years dating Muggles because they were both so sexually frustrated that they needed an outlet. They never admitted it, but they both knew it was because they didn’t want to cause Harry to feel uncomfortable with them dating when the three of them were stuck in such close proximity all the time. But the tension and passion between them had finally been too much. Guilt or not, Ron had been bloody tired of one-night stands with birds he’d met at the clubs, and he’d been even more tired of Hermione’s boyfriends. He had proposed very soon after they had become intimate and Hermione had surprised him by saying yes. The past many years had made them very aware of how fragile time and life were. Enough was enough; they were married now. They were allowed to stay in their own room for one night.

“Say yes,” Ron growled. “Harry will be fine. He doesn’t need us to mind him.”

“You know that’s not it,” Hermione argued. “It’s rude to just go off and leave him here alone.”

“I can hear you,” Harry said, not looking up from his book. “Get out of here. . .A break from watching you two groping each other sounds good to me.”

“You don’t mind?” Hermione asked, still sounding worried.

“If I minded would I have performed the binding ceremony?” Harry said, finally looking up and arching an eyebrow. “I am aware of what married people do, Hermione.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t go.” Hermione still hesitated, and this time Ron did groan out loud. “It really is a waste of money.”

“Ron’s making enough,” Harry said, and then went back to reading. “Piss off.”

“Thanks mate,” Ron said, seizing the opportunity and grabbing Hermione’s hand as he rolled off the bed. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

Hermione was still sputtering about needing to gather her things as he pulled her out the door with nothing but the clothes on their backs. He fumbled with the key when he reached their room, and Hermione huffed and took it from him.

“It’s not that hard, Ron,” she said, sticking the key in the door and then opening it. She held up the key as he walked in after her. “See the little arrows, just make sure they are facing down and--”

Ron cut her off by kissing her, using his bulk to his advantage as he kicked the door closed and trapped her against the wood. He groaned out loud at the feel of her pressed against him. Hermione whimpered, and he thrust his tongue past her parted lips, drinking her in as his hands slid under her tank top to cup one small breast through the very sensible cotton bra she was wearing.

He ground himself against Hermione, wanting her to know how much just touching her turned him on. Her head lolled to the side as his lips trailed down the smooth line of her neck.

“We really should talk about Harry,” Hermione said with a breathy sigh.

“Lets talk about all the wicked things I’m going to do to your body instead,” Ron said, not to be distracted, his other hand running up her shapely thigh, finally gripping her arse. “I really like these shorts.”

“Please just listen to me for one minute,” Hermione said, gently pushing him away. “I have an idea.”

Ron groaned in frustration, but he knew better than to argue when Hermione was being this stubborn. “Okay, let’s hear it.”

“What if we went home,” Hermione said quickly, holding up her hand when Ron opened his mouth to argue. “Only for one day. It’s Christmas and we haven’t seen our families in four years. I’d like to tell them that we’re married and if Harry and Ginny happen to rekindle something--”

“And then we’ll have to disappear again,” Ron said, hating to be the voice of reason. He wanted to go home too, if even for one day. “What purpose would that serve Harry?”

“It might give him hope,” she said, a sad smile forming on her lips. “I think he’s losing it, Ron. He’ll never be able to defeat Voldemort if he’s forgotten why he’s fighting. Seeing Ginny again might give him what he needs.”

“Do you think he still loves her?” Ron asked, mystified. They hadn’t dated that long, and it had been a very long time since they’d left home. Still, he had to admit, Harry had only had a few fleeting encounters with Muggle women that were too short to even be considered a relationship. He hadn’t even seen Harry look at a woman in a long time. It was possible he still harbored feelings for Ginny. “And what if she’s married or something? Four years is a bloody long time.”

Hermione shrugged. “We’ll still get to see our families on Christmas. I think we all need that. I’m starting to wonder why we’re fighting too. We’ve been disconnected for too long.”

“Cor, Hermione, we’d have to be really careful. Christmas is the last time we should be considering going home,” Ron said, biting his lip and really pondering his wife’s idea. “It’s risky.”

Hermione fisted her hand in his shirt and pulled him down until he was eye level with her and smirked mischievously. “Since when do we let that stop us?”

Ron smiled back at her, feeling a pulse of lust shoot through him. “I think I’ve been a bad influence on you.”

“Very bad,” she said, her voice playful once more as she leaned into him until their lips where a breath apart. “You’ve almost completely corrupted me.”

“Almost?” Ron said, arching an eyebrow. “How bout’ we see if I can do the job properly, Mrs. King?”

“Sounds good to me,” Hermione said, and then captured his lips boldly, making Ron groan as her tongue pushed into his mouth.

Thoughts of Harry and the enormous issues that always plagued them drifted from Ron’s thoughts as his wife’s body arched into his seductively. He could think about all that later. For now, he was suddenly feeling very. . .Festive.

~*~

Fred and George Weasley sat in their office in Diagon Alley. It was perhaps a bit over- decorated even for the holiday season. Their artificial fairies looked real, glowing in bright colors of red and green as they danced around strings of exploding popcorn that would go off at different times. The singing Christmas lights that were draped over the windows and around the edges of the ceiling were currently engaged in a cheery chorus of Jingle Bells. Their mother always wondered how they could possibly think in all the chaos. She just didn’t understand that Fred and George thrived off this type of insanity.

Life was good. They now had fifteen stores spread across Europe, all thriving. Even with the darkness that had descended on the Wizarding World, people still needed to laugh. It couldn’t all be death and war, all the time. While their shops were becoming very well known, what wasn't common knowledge was the fact that they were developing dueling aids for both the Ministry and the bands of Phoenix fighters. These witches and wizards seemed to feel better fighting on their own instead of being hamstrung by the strict regulations set forth by the Ministry.

Fred and George didn’t just donate their time, having gone out on missions with the Fighters themselves, but their products as well. Whatever profit was lost was more than made up for the galleons they had earned on the products they’d sold the Ministry of Magic. Fred and George certainly had no problem sticking it to them. They were ruddy worthless anyway and they certainly drained a good amount out them in taxes every year.

Neither of them were married, though Fred and Angelina had tossed around the idea. George was still happily single, flitting from one bird to the next, and enjoying his life as a bachelor immensely.

The war had worn on them of course, but over all they really couldn’t complain. Christmas time was upon them and they were feeling very cheery as they sat at their desks, facing each other. They were working on a new line of adult products that were supposed to help spice up the bedroom. With any luck, they’d have them out by Valentine’s Day.

“We could put a mild aphrodisiac in champagne,” George mumbled, writing down the idea on the parchment in front of him. “It’s a bit bland, but you know sometimes it’s the simple stuff that’s the most popular.”

“Too right,” Fred said, also writing down the idea. “You know, I went into one of those Muggle adult stores with Angel, ruddy brilliant ideas in there.”

The two of them were instantly engrossed in plotting, chuckling merrily as each idea became a bit more outrageous than the next. Being on somewhat of a roll, they were extremely disappointed when their secretary opened the door to their office, setting off the exploding popcorn. They had to wait until the smoke cleared before they could speak over the noise.

“Wha’ is it?” Fred snapped as Diana, who was just a few years younger than them, entered. She was mellow enough to deal with the chaos, and organized enough to keep them both in line. It didn’t hurt that she was also stunning, with long black hair that hung down to her lush hips. George had been talking about asking her out on a date for the past six months. “We’re on a roll here!”

“Sorry,” she said, not the least bit disturbed by the Fred’s outburst. “There’s some bloke here who says he knows you. I told him you were working, but he’s persistent.”

“What’s his name?”

“Nor King. . .He’s a bit dodgy looking.”

“Nor King?” George said, shaking his head at Fred. “Never heard of him? You?”

“Nope,” Fred said and went back to his parchment. “Tell him to come back later. We were just getting somewhere.”

She sighed, looking disappointed. “I don’t fancy telling him that. I told you, he’s right scary looking.”

“Is he giving you a hard time?” George asked, sitting up straighter and eyeing Diana. “I’ll handle it if he is.”

She rolled her eyes, tossing her hair behind her as she turned to leave. “I’ll deal with it.”

When the door shut, more exploding popcorn went off and George went back to his parchment as the sound echoed around their office. Distracted now, he sketched the name Nor on his parchment, wondering what the bloke could have wanted and feeling a bit guilty for letting Diana deal with him on her own. She was so lovely to look at, and he thought of her more than he would ever admit.

He traced the letters NOR back and forth as he thought about Diana and the way she looked in her red sweater. His quill was still tracing the letters when something struck him. He flipped the letters of Nor, writing out the name Ron King on the parchment.

His head shot up just as Fred burst out. “Nor King!”

“It’s him!” George said, jumping out of his chair the same time Fred did.

The two of them got stuck in the doorway, their bulk to their disadvantage as Fred stepped back to let George through. They scrambled out to the store that was packed with customers and salespeople, stopping at Diana’s desk that was behind the counter. “Where is he?” they said in unison.

“I sent him packing,” she said, pulling a face at both of them. “You don’t know that fellow do you?”

“Where’d he go?” George said, hardly able to breathe at the thought of Ron actually being in the store. Their whole family had been looking for him for four years. The idea of sending him away made his chest hurt. Ron, Harry and Hermione missing had always been the one black cloud that had hung over their success. He’d lost track of the number of times he and Fred had wished they’d been kinder to their youngest brother in their youth, that they’d given him more of a reason to trust them before he’d just run off with Harry. They never doubted that they’d had a good reason for leaving, but it would have been nice to know what it was. “Did you see which direction he took off in?”

“How can I see anything past this mess?” Diana said, lifting her hand to the insanity that was their store during the Christmas season. “But he just left. You should be able to catch him.”

The two of them took off, roughly pushing their way past the customers until they were out and looking up and down Diagon Alley wildly, standing on their toes looking for the tall, lanky form of their youngest brother.

“His hair is probably glamoured,” George said breathlessly. “He’d stick out like a sore thumb otherwise.”

“I’ll go this way,” Fred said, gesturing down one end of the street. “You take the other.”

“You lads looking for someone?” a low voice asked in a thick German accent.

Fred and George turned, seeing a very tall, muscular man leaning casually against the wall, wearing sunglasses and smoking a cigarette. His red hair was long, hanging almost to his shoulders, and his beard was the same strawberry colour as their brother Charlie’s. He was dressed in a scuffed black leather jacket and muggle jeans, making him look extremely out of place, but he didn’t seem to either notice or care.

“Yeah, have you seen a chap about your height come out of the store,” George asked. “He’s young, freckled, sorta thin.”

To their surprise, the man doubled over, laughing hysterically. Fred and George stared at him, each pulling a face. He was probably mad. His appearance certainly didn’t put it out of the realm of speculation. He looked right dodgy.

“What’s your problem?” George asked. “Did you see him or didn’t you?”

“Hold on,” the man said, holding up his hand, his accent now suspiciously gone as he continued to laugh. “I’m trying to retain the memory of actually pulling one over on you two.”

It was then that they both recognized the laugh, perhaps a deeper pitch than it had been, but still distinctive. They stared at the man in awe as his laughter drifted off. He ran a hand through his long hair and then took another casual drag off his cigarette as one red eyebrow arched over the rim of his sunglasses. He was still grinning and that’s what really gave him away. It was hard to forget that smile, even half hidden under a neatly trimmed beard.

“Oh my God,” Fred said, tilting his head to study the man better, his voice quiet and amazed. “Ron?”

“Shhh,” he said, looking back and forth down the alley. “I don’t look that different. Can we go back to your office? I feel sort of exposed out here.”

Understanding that causing a scene could put them all in danger, they both nodded. “Yeah, come on,” George said, and then turned back towards the store.

Fred walked next to Ron, looking up at his large frame, shaking his head and speaking under his breath. “What sorta glamour did that? We’d sell out of it if we could package it.”

He smirked as he flicked his cigarette across the street. “This isn’t a glamour. It’s just me.”

“You’re kidding?” Fred gapped. “You were rail thin when you left.”

“You do what you have to survive,” Ron said, his voice suddenly sad as he walked into the store and looked around at the masses of people, their arms full of gifts. “Looks like you lot are still doing good.”

“Yeah,” Fred said, the success not feeling quite so great at the moment. “You’ve had a hard go of it, haven’t you?”

Ron put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it affectionately. “Don’t feel bad. I’m glad you’re doing well.”

It struck Fred that Ron hadn’t just changed outwardly, turning out to be both taller and far more muscular than they had all imagined, he’d also grown up. He wasn’t a kid anymore, and it didn’t escape his attention that Ron had craftily avoided giving any indication of what his life was like now. That only made him wonder once again what his life had been like for the past four years, and ponder what it could have been that drove he, Harry and Hermione to run away. It had to be more than just Voldemort being back, none of them had believed that. There was something more, but what?

“No interruptions, Diana,” George said was he opened the door to their office, gesturing for Fred and Ron to enter.

Diana’s gaze was suspicious as she narrowed her eyes at Ron, tilting her head to study him, but Fred didn’t worry on it too much. He’d trust Diana with his life and he had a very strong feeling that she may end up eventually being much more to their family than a secretary. George was mad for her.

Fred cast both a Locking and Silencing charm on the door and then both he and George turned to Ron, who pulled off his sunglasses and looked back at them. It was obvious why he’d worn them, without them he looked a bit more like the brother they remembered.

“Wha’. . .Why did. . . Oh, fuck it,” George said, and then pounced on Ron, hugging him tightly. Ron returned the hug with a vigor that was surprising as he patted George on the back affectionately. “We missed you!”

Not to be left out, Fred also hugged his younger brother who was now so much bigger than him, but what did he care? It’d been a long ruddy time since he’d seen him, and he was healthy and alive and there, when he’d been gone for so long.

“How’re Harry and Hermione?” Fred asked once the three of them finally pulled apart, three sets of eyes glassy, though they each did a very manly job of fighting actual tears. “Nothing’s happened to them?”

“No, they’re fine,” Ron said, shaking his head and running a hand through his long hair distractedly as he blinked his eyes a few times. His voice sounded choked and it wasn’t surprising that it took him a bit to speak again. “It was just easier for me to slip in by myself. I can usually pull off going into the Wizarding World without being recognized. They still need Glamours, but I look different enough to go without.”

“I’ll say, cor, but you look different,” George said, shaking his head. “I would have never recognized you.”

“I noticed,” Ron said, smirking as he pulled off his jacket and draped it over the chair. He turned back to his brothers; neither of whom missed the tattoo that wrapped around his arm, making him look even more intimidating. It was a bit hard to wrap their brain around the fact that the man standing in front of then was the same scrappy brother they had tormented for so many years. He shook his head, and then pulled them both into another hug, causing them to nearly bang their heads together. “I never thought I’d say this. . .But I missed you two!”

“Are you home for good?” Fred asked, his own voice choked. “Please say you are.”

Ron sighed, stepping back and pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. “I wish I could.”

“Whatever it is. . .We’ll help you,” George said desperately. “No one’s been the same since you lot left. We’re family, Ron. You should have let us help.”

“Look,” Ron said, taking a cigarette out of his pack and then putting it back into his jacket hanging on the chair. “Like we said in our letter. . .We do have to do this on our own. It’s what Dumbledore wanted and we’re doing a fair job with it. That’s more than I should tell you, but there it is.”

“We thought it might have had something to do with Dumbledore,” Fred said, shaking his head as Ron lit his cigarette. “You don’t know how hard we looked for you. All of us. . .”

“I do know,” Ron sighed as he took a drawl off his cigarette and then shakily blew out the smoke. “Sorry, you don’t mind if I smoke, do you? I’m a bit nervous.”

“No,” Fred said, and then transfigured his quill into an ashtray and pulled up a chair next George’s desk. “You want a drink? I think we could all use one?”

“You have one?”

“Of course!” George said, leaning over Ron as he sat down and reaching to his bottom drawer to pull out a bottle of Ogden’s and some glasses. “It can’t all be work.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Ron said, laughing and quickly downing a shot that George poured for him, hissing at the burn. “Cor, Muggles don’t know what they’re missing! This is the good stuff!”

Fred eyed him, hating that he was smoking, but he was too bloody glad to see Ron to say anything. “So you’re living with Muggles then. . .I noticed those are Muggle cigarettes you’re smoking.”

“Listen,” Ron said, leaning forward and tapping his cigarette on the ashtray. “Don’t tell Hermione that I smoke when you see her. I only do it sometimes, but she’ll still have my arse.”

Both twins chuckled as they sipped at their own drinks, not missing that Ron had once again avoided admitted anything, but amused anyway. “Got you on a tight leash, does she?” George said.

“She better,” Ron said, taking another long drawl off the cigarette and lazily blowing out the smoke as he smirked. “It’s sorta her job . . . Seeing as she’s my wife.”

Fred and George both coughed on their whiskey.

“Y-you’re kidding?” George gasped when he found his voice.

“Nope,” Ron said, holding up his left hand, showing off a simple silver band that shimmered with a glint of magic. “Harry did the binding ceremony just a few months ago.”

Fred laughed. “Oh, mate, you are so dead. Mum’s going to go spare when she finds out you got married and she missed it.”

Ron sighed. “I know, that’s sort of why I’m here. We both feel a bit guilty, and we wanted to tell everyone,” he leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially. “We can’t stay for long, but we’re all homesick and I have a plan if you’re willing to help.”

Fred and George didn’t even have to exchange glances before they answered in unison. “Absolutely!”

Click for part II of the story. . .