Hullo everyone, here I come with another ficlet! Well, I don't really consider it much of a ficlet, though it started like one, but it's gotten too long. The fact is, it's a Christmas fic, though I don't really mention the holiday, it doesn't even look like it's Christmas... Welp, here you have it, anyways.
I wrote this BEFORE I read Order of the Phoenix. On Christmas 2002, actually, I think. So in here, OotP didn't happen. Yeah, it's AU. I still think it works, though... *shrug*
The names "Helena" and "Gerald" for Hermione's parents are not canon, but I like them, so I use them in most of my fics. Hope Mrs. Jo doesn't suddenly decide to use some other name for them...
And please remember that english is not my native language (this was written in spanish first, actually), so I may have a few translation errors.
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The one who needs it the most
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Gerald Granger, lightly hitting his cup with a fork, walked three steps up so that everybody could see him, and spoke: "Attention, everybody!" Every person in the room turned to look at the house's owner.
Helena Granger, loving wife of the man that had just spoken, was standing behind him, but at the foot of the stairs, so that only the handrail separated them. She couldn't help feeling a bit weird when she saw the mob of redheads that filled her living room. Normally the two of them, and their daughter Hermione, spent Christmas together and alone in their house, but this year was an exception.
When she left her daughter at King's Cross in september, Helena learned that the famous dark wizard, Lord Voldemort, had just risen to power again and that was the reason Hogwarts' defenses would be reinforced, especially for the muggleborn students' well being. Helena and her husband were very worried about Hermione, but she told them time and time again that she had to go to Hogwarts, because it was her obligation (she had been made Head Girl), and that they shouldn't worry at all because no one would be in danger if Albus Dumbledore was there. In the end, both parents had gone back home, a little disheartened that their daughter had to suffer because of them (even though their genes weren't really their fault...), waiting for any news she sent them.
That is why they weren't surprised when, one week later, they received a letter from Hermione. What they weren't expecting was for the letter to bring them bad news, so soon.
Bill Weasley was dead, the note explained. Killed by dark wizards in El Cairo. It was the perfect attack- close enough to hurt the Minister, but far enought so that the Ministry of Magic could not do anything about it. All the Weasleys were very depressed, even Ron, one of Hermione's best friends, and his sister Ginny, had been absent from the second day of classes to that same morning. They both came back really changed-- Ginny wouldn't talk to anybody, and Ron tried to appear normal, but his act wasn't very convincing. And if they were like that, Helena didn't even want to imagine how Molly Weasley was.
The letter ended with a clear petition. Her daughter didn't usually ask for many things, and seeing how awful the situation was, Helena never thought of denying her of it. She only asked of them that, when she came home for Christmas, they let her host a party to help the Weasleys cheer up. Nothing out of the ordinary, right?
Helena didn't know what she was getting into.
First thing in the morning, a dozen wizards from the Ministry appeared at her doorstep, claiming that they had to charm the house for security issues. Her carefully-grown decorative flowers were crushed, but she took it all in stride, everything for her daughter's (and her friends') well-being.
In the afternoon, the couple returned home with Hermione and her best friend Harry. Gerald was barely closing the door behind him, when the doorbell rang. Repeatedly. In fact, it wouldn't stop ringing. Hermione ran to open the door, Harry immediately behind her. On the other side of the door was Arthur Weasley, who looked like he wouldn't grow tired of ringing the doorbell again and again, his wife, and five out of their seven children, taking on account Bill (may he rest in peace). "The red tide," Helena had endearingly dubbed them in her mind since the beginning.
Now, Helena admitted to herself that she admired them greatly. They all appeared to be perfectly fine, from the Minister himself, Arthur Weasley, who wouldn't stop asking Gerald about all the electrical trinkets they had in their house, to Ron, who was, at that moment, getting to know the punch and pumpkin pie a little better. They all looked pretty much normal... except Molly.
Helena didn't know what the woman was going through, and she hoped she never had to know. If she lost Gerald or Hermione one day, she was sure she'd go mad. Molly, on the other hand, had not uttered a word since the single "hello" she politely whispered when she entered the house. She was sitting on a sofa, and had not looked up until now, when Gerald had asked if he could have everybody's atention.
"Very well," Gerald continued when he saw that everybody was watching him, at the same time breaking his wife's train of thought. "I wanted to tell you all a little story," he began. "You know, some time ago, before my father left for a better place, we Grangers had... let's say we had an old tradition."
His wife and daughter looked at him frowning, but that didn't stop him. "It was something very simple: On Christmas' Eve, exactly at twelve midnight, each person has to go hug and kiss the person who they think needs it the most."
They continued looking at him. Hermione y Helena, who were really smart, had already caught on what he was trying to do. The Weasleys and Harry, on the other hand, couldn't be more confused. Mr. Granger didn't know what else to say, he realized subtlety was not an art that the family in general cultivated... after muttering a quick "you KNOW, the PERSON that NEEDS it the MOST," he gave up and started the countdown. "We're only a few seconds short of midnight. C'mon, count with me. Nineteen, eighteen..."
The twins immediately accompanied him on the count, and Ginny and Ron joined in two numbers after. Percy and his dad were a little lost, but little by little they decided to follow. At last the countdown reached the famous "three, two, one...", and for a few instants the voices quieted, not knowing what to do after that.
"Uhhh... Merry Christmas?" Gerald proposed, raising his cup.
His only answer was a stampede of Weasleys that pushed each other to reach the sofa where their mother was. Gerald hugged his wife at the waist and, after simply kissing her head, she laid it on his shoulder, and they both sighed at the sight of the closed red-headed and freckled circle the Weasley family made in the middle of the living room, surrounding Molly, all of them crying, making promises to her, saying everything was going to be okay.
"Love?" now it was her voice that got him out of his thoughts.
"Hmmm?"
"Where is our daughter?"
Gerald looked over his wife's head to the place where Hermione had been standing barely seconds ago. She was obviously not there anymore, but Gerald wasn't worried. Surely she felt that the scene the Weasleys were making was too personal to watch.
Meanwhile, outside, in the backyard, Harry Potter was sitting on the grass, careful not to stain his pants with mud. For some reason he felt he had no right to be there, watching the Weasleys, so he snuck out through the back door when nobody was watching him. He knew the Weasleys loved him like another son, but... he couldn't. He simply couldn't be there.
He was calm, not caring about anything, deep in thought. He wasn't afraid, because he was sure that nothing could happen to him with the many charms the Ministry, and even Dumbledore himself, had surrounded the Granger house with. Still, that didn't stop him from jumping a little when he heard steps behind him.
"Harry, what are you doing outside?" Hermione asked, carefully folding her skirt and sitting beside him.
"Nothing... I just felt it wasn't right for me to be inside," he commented, looking at her for a moment, then at the sky, then at the grass on which he was sitting. He knew Hermione hadn't bought one word he had said, so he added: "It's a very private issue for the Weasleys."
"Mmhhmm," she murmured, closing her eyes and letting her weight fall on her forearms, over the grass, behind her.
"And you?" he asked, trying to avoid talking about himself. "Shouldn't you be inside hugging and kissing someone?"
"Oh, that..." she murmured, noticeably distracted. Her eyes were unfocused, but after a few silent instants, in the blink of an eye, she turned to look at Harry, smiling. "Not really. Dad made all of that up, there was never such a tradition. It was only to give the Weasleys a breath."
Harry blinked, confused. The only thing he could manage was a weird "oh", and he proceded to continue watching the grass like it was the most spectacular thing in the world. He didn't know what was so great about grass, he should be looking at the sky or something, but for some reason he didn't feel comfortable looking at Hermione, and that included looking up at anything. "Well--"
"You know, Harry?" she asked, cutting him off. Hermione always had a tendency to do that, but Harry avoided telling her so, because he didn't want to look at her.
"Harry, are you listening to me?"
"Yes, yes," Harry answered, deciding in the end that he had to raise his head and look at her someday. When he finally did, he realised he had to look really pathetic under the moonlight, because Hermione was looking at him, yet again, with that worried expression that she, in fact, always had when she would look at him. "What?"
"Harry," the girl started, softly now. "Harry, it's not your fault..."
Harry quickly closed his eyes as if he were in pain, and lowered his head again. Even after seven years, he didn't know what Hermione did to know exactly what he was thinking.
"Harry, could you look at me, please?" she asked, with a certain edge to her words, because she couldn't figure out where Harry's sudden shyness was coming from. It really bothered her. When she saw he wasn't going to pay attention, she continued speaking. "Listen to me, Harry Potter: You know you've got nothing to do with what happened to Bill. It's not your fault that some crazy and megalomaniac wizard has been trying to kill you every year, and much less is it your fault that he chose Bill out of EVERY person in this world as a victim, and you KNOW THAT WELL so don't you dare do something stupid--"
"You just don't GET IT!" he exclaimed, now his turn to cut her off. "Don't you see this is my DESTINY or something like that? That Voldemort is doing all this because he wants ME? I- I... I should have done something, I don't know, I should have finished him off a long time ago... in first year or in fourth, or whatever! Maybe if I had, none of this would've happened and nobody would have to suffer, not me, not YOU, nor- nor the Weasleys..."
Up to that moment, his voice was so shaky that he couldn't speak anymore. Hermione gazed at him with teary eyes, biting down on her lip and without knowing what to say. It was true, maybe she didn't understand, but she wanted to, with all her heart. There was silence for a few minutes, Harry's breathing labored and Hermione trying to stop her tears from falling.
As a last resort, to stop the three words that were stuck in her throat from coming out against her will, Hermione threw her arms around the boy's neck, and hugged him tightly. Harry's shoulders immediately stiffened, she noticed. He was still not used to displays of affection. He was still not used to being loved. Trying not to cry anymore, she whispered eight words in the boy's ear.
"You're the one who needs it the most."
Harry exhaled all the air he was unconsciously holding in a sigh. His body visibly relaxed, and very slowly he put his arms around Hermione's waist. Feeling him do so, since her eyes were closed, Hermione lightly smiled and hugged him tighter.
She was sure the initiative should've been hers, because of all that made-up-tradition stuff, but when the moment came, everything happened so fast that she never knew who had really started it. The only thing she knew was that the space between their faces diminished little by little, and that she felt soft lips over hers. The logical part of her mind waved goodbye at that moment, both of them so engrossed on a kiss framed by the stars, that not even Voldemort, nor the Wesleys, nor anybody in the whole universe would dare interrupt them.
From the window, Helena Granger muttered a shrilly: "Oh, God!" when she saw, with impossibly open eyes, her daughter and her best friend kissing on the grass.
Gerald, standing beside her, chuckled. "Well, really, when I made up this tradition thingie, I didn't think it would bring such consequences..."
"Gerald," Mrs. Granger started, a bit freaked. "Gerald, don't tell me you told Harry that he could sleep in Hermione's room..."
Now her husband was laughing his head off. "Merry Christmas, dear," he said, kissing her rather shakily on the forehead. "Come on, Helena. There's a huge troop in the living room, and I bet they're hungry."
Helena Granger continued her protests but let herself be guided inside by her husband, who kept her far away from that window.
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*~fin~*
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And before you proceed to tell me what you thought of my ficlet, (*cough*SoMuchForSubtlety*cough*), I give you a little omake, that is, a little extra scene that's really a joke, so don't take it seriously.
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omake!
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The logical part of her mind waved goodbye at that moment, both of them so engrossed on a kiss framed by the stars, that not even Voldemort, nor the Wesleys, nor anybody in the whole universe would dare interrupt them.
BOOM! CRASH! EEK!
Hermione (jumping away from Harry): Harry, what is that?!
Harry (cleaning his glasses, unbelieving): It looks like... it looks like a... FLYING SAUCER?
From the UFO a little door opens, and a little big-headed green man comes out of it.
ET (with "robotic" voice): Greetings, earthlings! We come in peace! We wish for you to take us to your leader... the one you call... Gilderoy Lockhart.
Harry & Hermione: *PLOP!*
ET (pulling "out of nowher" Lockhart's "Magical Me" book): We want him to autograph our books!
So... you were saying something along the lines of "nobody in the whole universe"...?