Everyone turned and descended on her. They were all in surprisingly high spirits, cheerful and buzzed. A mug of wassail was shoved into her hands before she'd gotten across the room.
Everyone was decked in Christmas jumpers from Molly.
Hermione surreptitiously lined up vials of hangover potion along the top of the mantel.
Bill was sitting in one corner, quiet among the bustle. Fleur was seated on the arm of his chair, running her fingers through his hair.
Harry and Ginny were squished into an armchair, whispering together. Harry and Ron had returned from another horcrux hunt only a few days before.
“Hermione dear, so glad you made it. This is for you,” Molly pressed a gift, wrapped in tissue paper, into Hermione's hands.
Hermione perched on an ottoman and opened it. A green jumper with an H in the middle.
“Thank you, Molly,” she said. “This is beautiful.”
“Mum! Why are you sticking Hermione in Slytherin green?” Ron said, peering over.
Molly smacked him, wearing an expression of offense. “Ronald! It's emerald green and it's a lovely colour for her skin tone. It reminded me of Harry's eyes.”
“Looks like Slytherin green to me.” Ron grimaced as Hermione pulled it over her head. “Ugh. Gives me nightmares just looking at it.”
Hermione and Molly's relationship was somewhat strained. When Arthur was first cursed, there had been a great deal of hope that Hermione and Bill would collaboratively be able to reverse or break it. Molly had been effusive in her appreciation of all Hermione's efforts. However, as time passed and hope dwindled, Molly withdrew. It wasn't blame, per se. It was simply painful. Hermione represented a deep hope that had failed.
Their interactions were still warm, but they kept them limited.
Hermione knew from second-hand accounts that Molly had vehement objections to her advocacy for the Dark Arts, but it was not a conversation they had ever actually had together.
Hermione wasn't sure if Molly had chosen the colour on the basis of skin tone, or if it was a form of reproof. It wasn't really worth thinking about. She was so tired of pointlessly arguing about it.
She left Ron and Molly to argue and went to find Arthur.
Mr Weasley was sitting on the floor in the corner, going through a lift-the-flap book. Hermione watched him carefully and cast a diagnostic spell on his brain. Arthur Weasley as an adult was still locked away somewhere. The curse Lucius used hadn't driven Arthur mad or scrubbed his memory. The magic had suspended Arthur's mind at a specific point in early childhood. The rest of Arthur was still inside, waiting to get out; Hermione could see it in the diagnostic. But she didn't know how to break through the magic without causing real and severe brain damage.
The lost parts of Arthur's brain were slowly deteriorating. His brain activity gradually shrinking smaller as the disused neural connections died off.
There was nothing Hermione could do about it.
“Arthur,” Hermione knelt down beside him, “I have a Christmas present for you.”
He looked up from his book expectantly. Every time their eyes met she felt a pang in her chest and an overwhelming desire to offer apologies he couldn't understand.
“I wasn't going to buy presents for anyone this year, but I saw this in a shop, and I knew I had to get it for you.” Hermione reached into her pocket and pulled out the gift. “It's called a rubber duck. It will float on water. You can have it in your baths. Or put it in the sink.”
Arthur snatched it from her hand and stood up suddenly. Hermione gripped her wand. She'd been knocked across a room by him on several occasions when he'd become overexcited or cross.
“Bill! Bill, do this.” His voice was adult, but his words and the insistent tone were childlike. He waved the duck over his head. “In the sink!”
Bill donned the false expression of cheerfulness that he always wore around his father and leaned forward. “What have you got there?”
Arthur carried it over and shoved the toy into Bill's face until it nearly poked Bill in the eye. Hermione winced.
“A duck! In the sink.”
“Right, should we see how it floats?” Bill stood up. Arthur turned on his heel and proceeded to bolt down a hallway toward the bathroom. “No running, Arthur!”
Hermione headed further into the house and found Fred and George outside in the gardens. George was attempting to do a handstand on his crutches. As Hermione opened the door, he lost his balance and fell face first into a snowdrift.
“George!” Hermione went and pulled him out, brushing the snow off by smacking him. “If you're going to do things like this, at least be sober.”
“Sorry, Mum.” George said jokingly as he let her pull him upright and fuss over him while Fred picked the crutches up.
Hermione rolled her eyes at him, and he kissed her full on the lips.
She stared at him astonished.