Hermione couldn't fathom regretting anything under the roof of the Burrow more than the innocent mention of an "electric toothbrush."

Arthur Weasley had trapped her in conversation for a solid 45 minutes, the dishes from supper long cleared. “It just doesn’t make sense,” he said, leaning eagerly across the table, his expression a sort of elated confusion. “Why on earth would it need to vibrate?”

Ron and Harry were doing a terrible job stifling their laughter. It just sounded like two wounded animals were slowly dying in the adjacent kitchen. Hermione shot them an annoyed look through the doorway. They could have made up an excuse ages ago to pull her away. It was New Years Eve, after all. There were plenty of distractions.

“It’s just meant to clean more thoroughly,” she replied with a weak shrug. “I’m no expert, Mr. Weasley, honestly. I’ve never used one before—they wouldn’t have worked at Hogwarts, and I had so many magical items at my last flat that an electric toothbrush would’ve been just as useless there. My parents use them, but I’m sure I have the same kind of toothbrush you do.”

Mr. Weasley gently inquired, "Hemione, are you sure you've fully reversed the memory modification charms on your parents? If they're using toothbrushes that could violently leap out of their hands at any moment, isn't that worrisome?"

Hermione sighed. To be honest, this kind of exchange might normally have been as amusing to her as it was to Harry and Ron, but after a week at the Burrow, she wanted to strangle nearly every Weasley in sight.

She rose from her chair and said, “It sounds like Harry and Ron might need some help with the—oh!”

“Argh, sorry Hermione!” Charlie Weasley said, stumbling back after he had collided directly into her and sloshed red wine down the front of her jumper. “Let me get that for you.”

“No, no, it’s alright,” she said, barely sidestepping a too-enthusiastic charm that would’ve certainly warped the fabric. “I can take care of it.” The tail end of her sentence was drowned out by a toddler’s slowly intensifying whine from the living room, as Teddy Lupin kicked off his third temper tantrum that day.

“It’s bedtime, Teddy,” Andromeda said, talking through a yawn. “There’ll be lots of time to play in the morning.”

“No! I want to stay up with everyone!”

“Let’s pick a story for us to read.”

“No!”

Mrs. Weasley poked her head out of the kitchen, her hair frizzing in the wake of the washing-up charms. "I'll tuck him in, dear. You two can stay over again tonight.” She moved through the dining room, squeezing past Hermione with a stiff “excuse me” on the way.

Hermione also avoided Mrs. Weasley’s eyes. She’d found Hermione in Ron’s bed that morning. They’d been clothed (somewhat, at least) and dead asleep, but it didn’t matter. They’d done too poor a job concealing that they were adults, comfortable doing what two adults in a relationship do, so now things were irritatingly awkward.

Once it finally seemed like she had a clear path, Hermione made a beeline for the kitchen, colliding directly into Ron, who was still talking to Harry.

“Oi, careful there.” Ron grinned. “Had enough to drink today?”

“You could say that,” Hermione said ruefully, cleaning her jumper with a swift tap of her wand. “I’ve never been so looking forward to a move-in day before.”

“You’re counting down the days?” Harry asked, incredulous. “After the year we’ve had with the Ministry, I’m going to savor every minute of the holidays.”

“Easy for you to say,” Hermione grumbled. “You’ve got a quiet little cottage to go home to with Ginny every night.”

“But we still come here every morning and don’t leave till long after dark.” Harry shrugged. “What’s Christmas without a little chaos? It’s nice.”

“I love the Burrow too,” Hermione said quickly, glancing at Ron. “It’s just that … I only mean that it would be nice to have a break, once in a while …”

“What if,” Ron said, “you and I try to find some peace and quiet, for a bit?”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to pull you away from everyone …”

As Teddy’s tearful, hiccupping “nooo-oooooooo-ooo” drifted into the kitchen while Mrs. Weasley carried him to the bedroom, Ron said, “I reckon I can tear myself away.”

Harry snorted and walked around them. “Let’s see if I’ll have any luck. He liked when I read from Beedle the Bard last time.”

“C’mon,” Ron said, taking Hermione by the hand and leading her through the house and up several flights of stairs.

As they reached the landing where Ron’s room was, Hermione pulled back. “Oh, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, not after your mum found us this morning.”

Ron shook his head. “She won’t find us here.”

He led her into his room, and Ron shut the door behind him, before walking to the bed.

“Ron,” Hermione said, trying to hide her amusement with a look of exasperation.

But instead of turning toward her, he wrenched open the window above his bedframe with a grunt and hoisted himself outside and onto the roof. When he motioned for her to follow him, her expression fell.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “it’s safe, I promise. We won’t go anywhere near the edge.”

Hermione approached him, timidly looking past his shoulder out at the garden below. She could barely make it out in the dark. “Is there anywhere else we can go?” she squeaked.

He smiled apologetically. “When it comes to the Burrow, you have to get creative to find spots where no one will bother you, I’m afraid.”

She knelt onto the bed and, hesitating, stuck her head out the window, both her hands resting on the window ledge. “How broad are the Extension Charms at your house?”

“Er … I’ll have to fetch you the blueprints later, Hermione,” Ron said, holding out his hand.

“I’m just confirming,” she said, taking it, as she moved one leg onto the windowsill, “that I’m not about to step onto a tiny little roof that will barely fit the two of us.”

“I can’t have my future housemate falling to her death,” Ron said. “How would I manage the rent?”

“Very funny.” She eased her feet slowly, slowly onto the shingles, and she hugged Ron tightly as she left the window and stood next to him. “Oh,” she said, relief flooding her, “this is actually quite nice.”

This section of the roof seemed larger, in fact, than it had ever looked from the ground. Instead of slanting, the roof jutted out at a 90 degree angle from the wall, making it easy for the two of them to slide into a sitting position under the window. Ron kept his arm around her shoulders. Hermione could hear the giggles of lawn gnomes as they scurried through the garden, and the whoops of Charlie and Ginny as they set off fireworks below. The sky seemed so vast out here, drenched in stars.

“How curious,” she said. “It’s as if your roof adjusted to accommodate us. It’s just like the Room of Requirement.”

“Huh,” Ron said. "Never crossed my mind. You're spot on, though. The house does seem to shift around for us, all the time.”

Hermione chewed her bottom lip. “I don’t know if our new place will do anything like that. I’m afraid it won’t be much like the Burrow at all. A lot quieter, most likely. I’ll probably have to spend a lot of nights poring over documents in front of the fire.”

Ron sighed. Hermione felt tears spring to her eyes. She was about to mention that they’d still only be a Floo away from everyone, when she realized with a start that he had a look of utter peace on his face.

“It’ll be perfect,” he said.

From the ground below, a jet of pink sparks sizzled up into the sky and burst into the outline of an enormous glittering dragon. It beat its wings, circling high above them.

Ron glanced down at his watch. “Nearly midnight,” he said.

“Are you sure you don’t want to be with the others?” She meant for it to sound coy and flirtatious, but instead it just came out apprehensive, uncertain of his answer.

“Later.” Hermione felt him smile slightly as he kissed her. “Much later.” The shouts below them seemed pleasantly far away, as people chanted, “Ten! … Nine! … Eight! ... ”