Wishing a very happy birthday to the lovely @mina-roman !
Sorry in advance for any Christmas songs you may find stuck in your head
A Thing For Lumberjacks
“Let’s pop in here,” Hermione says, tugging at Ron’s hand to pull him towards the holiday shop. “I need a new tree, mine’s gone out.”
Ron chuckles, but lets her drag him along without resistance. “You mean your lights have gone out.”
“Well, yes.” The bell over the door chimes their arrival, but the soft tinkle goes unnoticed in the low, constant hum of the shop. “But they’re twisted up in the tree, you know. So many of the artificial trees are pre-lit now. The lights fail, and then you have to replace the whole thing. It’s quite a racket, really.”
“Pre-lit?” Ron echoes, following her through the crowded shop as she searches for trees among the myriad decorations available for purchase. “Artificial?” When she turns to look at him, he’s clutching his heart as if she’s said something horribly offensive. “No, no, you’ve got to get a live tree. It’s the only way to go.”
Artificial trees had been the only type to ever grace the Grangers’ living room as she was growing up, and she tells him so. “Besides, I wouldn’t have the faintest idea how to care for a real one. They’re a fire hazard once they dry out.”
“Good thing your boyfriend was raised on a Christmas tree farm,” Ron retorts, drawing out the words.
“Oh, stop, no you weren’t.” They had enough mutual friends at uni to have met on multiple previous occasions, but they’ve only been seeing each other properly for a few weeks, since reconnecting at Susan Bones’s Halloween party. Even so, Hermione is sure she would know by now if Ron’s family farm raised Christmas trees as its main crop.
She halts her search and looks up at Ron, scanning his face for any sign that he’s joking and finding none. “An actual Christmas tree farm?” she questions. “That’s what Weasley Farms is?”
Ron laughs, and the sound warms her down to her toes. “Yeah. What’d you think it was?”
“Well, I don’t know, I suppose. Not Christmas trees.”
He wraps an arm around her shoulder and steers her to the back corner of the shop, where a variety of plastic pines and firs stand glowing and blinking with their pre-installed lights. “Go on, then. Pick out your artificial rubbish, and then I’ll take you out to Devon next weekend so we can get you a proper tree.”
Hermione had no idea what to expect, really. A Christmas tree farm. But she’s sure, had she tried to envision Weasley Farms, her imagination would have fallen far short of the reality.
A perfectly curated forest of evergreen stretches out before her, and Ron’s hand entwined with hers staves off the chill that nips at her nose. Behind them stands a sprawling farmhouse—Ron grew up with six siblings, after all—that maintains its charm despite its size, and beyond that is a small tool shed.
“It’s not much,” Ron says with a shrug, “but it’s home.”
Hermione turns to gawk at him. “Are you serious? It’s beautiful here.”
“Well, yeah, I mean…I think so, but…” He trails off, and a smile spreads on his lips. “Come on, let me show you around.”
The house is surprisingly quiet, though Hermione supposes it’s not too unusual as all the kids are grown, and Ron notes that his parents have probably gone into town.
“They know we’re coming,” Ron says as he leads her to the tool shed. “Mum’s probably at the market prepping a feast for twelve.”
The hinge creaks as the door swings inward. It’s dim inside, but Ron seems to know exactly where to go as he paces a straight line down the front wall and grabs something from near the floor. As he returns to Hermione, she realizes that what he’s holding is an ax.
Giving the tool a puzzled frown, she asks, “What on earth are you going to do with that?”
Ron laughs as he latches the shed behind them. “We’re getting you a proper tree, remember?”
“I—” Hermione stops, lost for words. It seems silly to ask; even if she had gotten a live tree in London, it would have to come from somewhere, but she’s never before considered the logistics. “You’re going to cut it down yourself?”
“Yeah, of course.” He smirks at her. “Unless you want to give it a go?”
Hermione snorts. “No, thank you. We both arrived here with two arms and two legs, and I would like to leave the same way.”
Ron slips his free hand into hers as they make their way to the trees. “Alright,” he says, stopping at the edge. “Pick one.”
“Pick one?” Hermione repeats. “Just like that? Aren’t you going to give me any pointers?”
“Well, what’s your preference? There’s tall trees, short ones, thicker branches…Do you need a solid stem up top? How heavy is your tree topper?”
“I can honestly say I’ve never given so much thought to a tree before.” Hermione begins a slow walk down one of the rows, letting the needles sift through her fingers. She expected them to be tough and pointy, to prick her hand, but they’re actually quite soft, and the scent of pine wafts into the air from her touch. “I don’t know. What sort do you like?”
Ron takes her all through the farm, showing her the different types of trees and explaining the benefits of each. She finally settles on a type that Ron deems the most low maintenance, terrified that she’ll forget to water it properly, and stands back to watch him cut down her selection.
He shrugs out of his coat, tossing it carelessly to the ground beside him, and pushes up the sleeves of his jumper before he raises the ax. Hermione watches the muscles of his arm tense as he chops into the tree with practiced strokes, cutting it down in no time.
As it tips to the ground, he turns and grins at her. “There you go. Your first real tree.”
Hermione approaches him, ignoring the tree as she laces her arms around his neck. “How long do you think we have before your parents come home?” she murmurs.
Ron laughs as he leans in to kiss her. “I had no idea you had a thing for lumberjacks.”
“Mm, neither did I, but…” Her eyes flicker to the tree, and the ax still in Ron’s hand, before landing back on his piercing blue gaze.
His lips meet hers eagerly, and she doesn’t bother finishing her sentence.
