Two Sickles, Sixty-Eight Knuts

Two Sickles and sixty-eight Knuts. And that was all. Two Sickles and sixty-eight Knuts saved by bargaining with the apothecary and the bookseller and the Floo repairman and the grocer until the mortification that Hermione felt at having to do it had faded away into a dull sort of resignation to its necessity. She had grown up in a wizarding world where this sort of bargaining had not been required, but the wizarding world she had entered at eleven was not the wizarding world she now lived in at twenty-nine. It was a world shaped by the war that had nearly destroyed it, leaving behind the necessity of bargaining with merchants and carefully recording every Knut that left their fingers.

Ron was used to this sort of thing, and accepted it with his usual custom; but Hermione was not, and when Christmas Eve arrived and she had only managed to squirrel away two Sickles and sixty-eight Knuts with which to buy Ron a Christmas present, there was little for her to do but put her head in her hands and have a good cry. Her office was closed on Christmas Eve, though Ron's was not, and she had anticipated spending that time searching for the perfect Christmas gift for him instead of looking at the meagre pile of coins on her desk with a feeling of hot disappointment filling her stomach.

This would not be their first Christmas as husband and wife, but it would be their first Christmas without war. It would also be their first Christmas without Harry, and Hermione wanted to do some small thing to offset the loss they both felt so keenly. But as she looked around their tiny flat, for which they paid nineteen Sickles a week and which her mother-in-law would have surely had something to say about, were she alive to see it, she could think of no way to liven up the holiday that was within their means at the moment. Both she and Ron worked at jobs for which they were overqualified and underpaid, adding insult to the injury of having little opportunity to use the repertoire of skills she had proudly built up during her school years.

Having finished her cry, Hermione got up from the desk and wiped her eyes. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of herself in the small mirror above the desk. Perhaps you have seen a mirror of the wizarding sort; they often offer up their unsolicited opinions on everything from the state of one's clothing to their assessment of the weather outside. As the mirror made a clucking sound, an idea began to form in Hermione's mind, sprung up in her consciousness as quickly as if it had been conjured.

"Crying's no good for your eyes, dearie," said the mirror in disapproval, but Hermione paid it no mind. She pulled out the bit of quill she had stuck in her hair to pin it up away from her face, letting the thick mass fall around her shoulders.

Now there were two possessions of Mr and Mrs Ronald Bilius Weasley of which they were inordinately proud and which had not been destroyed by years of travelling and war. One of these was the watch Ron had received for his seventeenth birthday - a heavy gold watch from his parents, with dials for sun and moon phases and dials that calculated planetary alignments and star positions, a traditional gift for wizarding children upon their coming-of-age. The other was Hermione's hair. While she had hated it when she was younger for its bushiness and unruliness, as she aged she was grateful for its thickness and the fact that while other witches her age were bemoaning the fact that their hair had been invaded by renegade strands of grey, Hermione's hair remained as thick and chestnut-brown as it always had, without use of charm or colouring potion. She had let it grow long, the weight of it taming a bit of the unruliness but taking away none of the curl, and the compliments Ron paid her for it on a daily basis gave her no inducement to cut it. The fact that she had seen Lavender Brown in the apothecary some months ago, purchasing ingredients for a colouring potion to cover her grey, could have perhaps been a contributing factor to Hermione's pride as well.

Hermione stood before the mirror for a moment with her hair round her shoulders, quickly planning the course of action in her mind, then hastily pinned her hair up again, pulled on her worn cloak, and left the flat.

A few moments later she found herself in Diagon Alley. Just between Gringotts' Bank and Madam Malkin's Robes For All Occasions was a tiny little shop with a gilt sign reading Mme Cheveux - Wigs, Charms, and Hair Adornments. Mme Cheveux herself was at the door, about to flip the placard on the door from 'open' to 'closed', but Hermione ducked in just in time to prevent her from doing so.

"Make it quick, I'm closing shop," said Mme Cheveux.

"Do you buy hair?" blurted Hermione, before she could lose her nerve. She pulled her hair free from its knot and let it fall, tossing it a little for effect.

The proprietress surveyed her with a critical eye. "Seven Galleons," she said, running her fingers over Hermione's hair. "It would be a bit more were it not so bushy, but it'll make a fine wig just the same."

"I'll take it."

Hermione stood very still while Mme Cheveux used a careful Trimming Charm all round her head, and fifteen minutes later she was back outside on the pavement again, feeling light-headed in more ways than one and curling her fingers round the weight of the coins in her pocket.

Just up the street, beside Eeylops Owl Emporium was a small establishment that sold an exotic array of magical instruments. The shelves were packed with self-lighting candles, lunascopes, Omnioculars, trunks with secret compartments and alarm clocks that danced. Every sort of fascinating magical object was there, begging to be picked up and purchased and used, but after only a few minutes of searching Hermione found the very thing that was perfect for Ron's Christmas gift.

It was a tiny, gold-rimmed dial that could be attached to his watch to show the Apparition coordinates of any place in the world. All that was necessary was to tap the dial with one's wand and speak the name of the place one wished to go; the dial would provide the precise coordinates for accurate Apparition. Ron had finally mastered Apparition at the end of the war, and Hermione knew it would be a recognition of his accomplishment for him to be able to add this dial to the ones already on his watch. She turned over seven Galleons, two Sickles, and twenty Knuts to the shopkeeper, leaving her with forty-eight Knuts to her name, and carefully tucked the paper-wrapped parcel into her cloak pocket.

When Hermione returned home, her giddiness at having been able to select a perfect gift for Ron gave way to anxiousness about what he would say about her hair, so she set to work with wand and charms until her remaining hair sat in neat curls all atop her head.

"Ron will have kittens," she said to herself, examining her reflection. "But there's no help for it; what could I have done with two Sickles, sixty-eight Knuts?"

"Hair like yours always grows back," said the mirror.

Hermione scowled at the mirror and went to set the table for dinner. Ron arrived home every day at quarter-past seven; today would likely be no exception even with the holiday. Having set the table, she hovered about the doorway until she heard his step on the landing.

Ron looked tired; there were bits of snow in his hair and there was about an inch between the place where his frayed sleeves ended and the tops of his gloves began. He caught sight of Hermione as soon as he'd closed the door behind him, and he stood there for a long moment, looking at her with the most peculiar expression.

"I suppose I don't have to ask what you think of it, given the way you're looking at me," Hermione snapped, more angrily than she intended. Her cheeks burned and she had to resist the urge to stamp her foot in frustration.

"What's happened to your hair?" said Ron slowly, looking as though he'd just had an unfortunate encounter with the Knight Bus.

"I've cut it off and sold it," said Hermione.

"It's gone?"

"Yes, it's gone, what do you think - that I've kept it hiding in the corner?" Hermione's eyes brimmed with tears, thinking that it had been such a waste for her to go to these lengths if Ron's reaction would be only to repeat his question like a parrot. "I've sold it to buy your Christmas present, if you must know."

"You did?"

"Yes, I did," she said impatiently. "But does it matter that much? I'm still me without my hair, aren't I?"

Ron's expression went soft. "Oh, Hermione," he said, before taking her in his arms and kissing her in a manner in which he'd never kissed her before. She felt his fingers in her hair, the unfamiliar length of it making his touch feel different - more exciting, somehow, than she was accustomed to. "It doesn't matter," he said softly, his lips brushing against her cheek, "whether you have short hair or long hair or none at all. There's nothing that could make me love you any less."

He pulled back from her a moment, producing a small, messily-wrapped parcel. "If you'll just open this, you'll see..."

Hermione tore at the paper, letting it fall away with a squeal of delight that quickly turned to sobs that Ron was quick to attempt to soothe. For the package contained a beautiful set of lacquered hair combs - gold-trimmed and shaped like elegant quills, perfect for pinning her once-thick hair back but now completely useless. They were expensive combs, Hermione knew; worth at least a month's rent and possibly more, which is why she had made up her mind that she would never have them. And now she had them, but had no hair to wear them in.

But she kissed him soundly in gratitude, and said, "But my hair will grow back, eventually."

Ron twisted one of the miniature curls round his finger and smiled lopsidedly. "Yes, it will."

Hermione turned to pick up Ron's present from the table behind her, and held it out to him. "I expect I ought to give you your present now."

Ron unwrapped the paper carefully, and when he saw the dial that same peculiar expression came back to his face. He looked at the dial for a moment, running his fingertip slowly along the edge before folding the paper back over it again and putting it in his pocket.

"I sold my watch to buy the combs for your hair," he said quietly, wrapping his arms around her again.