Christmas at Grimmauld Place

Christmas at Grimmauld Place

Grimmauld Place had the potential to be a beautiful house.

With a spiral staircase that could be decorated with holly and poinsettias and large windows perfect for displaying glowing candles, not only did Grimmauld Place have the potential to be a beautiful house, it had the potential for happiness. But even when Grimmauld Place was occupied with family and friends, the manipulative claws of hatred and greed were still digging into the hearts of its occupants.

It made Hermione Granger sad as she made her way up the winding stairs to her bedroom.

She was used to Christmas.

She was used to the caroling, the laughing, the hugs and kisses from the relatives everybody pretended to like. She was used to wrapping presents with her mother and doing the last minute shopping with her father.

But her parents were tucked away some place for safety reason and she was here, in Grimmauld Place, missing things that she promised herself she wouldn’t missed because of the trouble times and the lack of practicality. Yet, there was that part of her that missed Christmas, a real Christmas, and she wished that she could somehow have those feeling even if it were only for a moment.

Hermione came to the door of the room that she shared with Ginny and stopped. She really didn’t feel like going in, the quiet sadness had spread even to the occupants of Grimmauld Place and the loneliness, although inescapable, was something she had no desire to feel full force.

A door slammed and she jumped.

“Hermione? What’re you doing up?”

Harry. She turned. “I couldn’t sleep,” she whispered. “I was just about to try again.”

“Oh.”

He stood before her with his hands shoved into his pockets and his shirt completely wrinkled. His hair was completely out of control, she mused, but it rather endearing manner. She couldn’t help but allow a small smile to linger on her lips.

“Where are you going?” She asked softly.

“Can’t sleep. I figure I’d go sit by the window downstairs for a bit.”

“Oh,” she responded. She lowered her gaze shyly. Things between of them had grown into some sort of odd routine. They’d talk like always or rather, as much as Harry wanted to talk to her. But between them, as always, there was this inexplicable pull towards each other. It had been easier to ignore at first, but as they grew older, she found herself bordering on a raw sense of desperation. It was no longer because of the threat that Voldemort posed. It was because she was afraid of losing him.

“Do you want some company?” She couldn’t stop the words from escaping her lips.

He said nothing for a while, shifting back and forth on his heels and his gaze intense. Finally, he pulled out his hand from his pocket and held it out to her.

“Come on,” he said.

Her eyes went wide. “Where?”

“You want to keep me company?”

She nodded. “Of course, I do.”

“Then come on.”

He grabbed her by the hand and led her down the stairs that she had come up only minutes ago. She watched as he stopped and pulled off on of Mrs. Weasley’s knitted blankets off of one of the rocking chairs that sat by the fireplace, leading her out onto the back porch step.

They sat on the porch side by side, Harry wrapping the blanket around the two of them and Hermione shivering unconsciously into his side.

“Cold?”

She snorted. “Always the keen observer, Harry.”

He pulled her closer into his side and she burrowed herself into his warmth gratefully, pulling the blanket around the two of them. This was nice, she mused. It was nice… just the two of them sitting here and watching the night, free of the angry and sad constrictions of the house.

“I’m sorry,” he spoke finally.

Her brow furrowed. “For what?”

“For you not being able to spend Christmas with your parents.”

She was silent for a moment. There really wasn’t much to say to him. It would be an obvious lie if she told him that she was happy here or that she didn’t miss Christmas with her parents. She sighed softly and then decided to tell him the truth because between them, there had never been any need for lies.

“I miss them,” she murmured. “But I understand the necessity of me being here and my parents being somewhere safe. Their safety is more important to me than any Christmas dinner and if they’re safe, then I’m happy. There are going to be other Christmases.”

“But what if—”

She shook her head. “I can’t think about the ‘what ifs’ and the ‘maybes’. I can only hope and wish for the small things. I can have faith.”

He swallowed. “I don’t understand you sometimes.”

Hermione looked up. His gaze was searching outwards into the sky and the stars. A rush of warmth went through her body as he tightened his grip on her.

“What do you mean?”

He sighed. “Why do you believe in me so much? What have I ever done to earn your unwavering belief? I mean people die because of the stupid choices that I make. If anything, you should be staying as far away as possible from me and yet, here you are… keeping me company when you should be with your parents, safe and protected.”

“Harry,” she began to protest.

Harry shook his head. “It’s the truth. I’m a danger to you and the people you love, but at the same time—”

Her heart was pounding, she realized. A shaky breath escaped her lips. “What Harry?”

He sighed. “It’s nothing.”

“No,” she said firmly. “It isn’t just anything. At the same time, what?”

He looked at her, his emerald eyes bright with a mix of tears and pain and a little relief. “I— I’m just— glad you’re here,” he whispered. “It’s selfish, but I am.”

“Sometimes,” she murmured as she threw her arms around him and crushed him into an embrace. “Sometimes the tinsel and the presents and those moments that you wished you never grew out of— they don’t matter. Sometimes the place, dreary or happy, full of miserable memories— they don’t matter. It’s the people that make Christmas, Harry. And even though, I wish my parents could be here with me. I have you.”

“But why?” He half-sobbed.

She pressed her lips against his in desperate attempt to bring some level of comfort to him, comfort that he was seeking. His hands were tangled in her hair and she could feel the cold wooden floor against her back. His teeth tugged at her bottom lip and she found herself arching into his heated embrace.

They broke apart breathing heavily.

“I have you,” she whispered again. “You’re alive and healthy and right here. And that is better than anything at all.”

He brushed a kiss against her neck. “Happy Christmas, Hermione.”

A small smile lingered on her lips. “Happy Christmas, Harry.”

Grimmauld Place had the potential to be a beautiful house on Christmas Eve.

But like anything else, to accomplish this, they had to start with the smaller moments. And as Hermione Granger stared up into the cold night sky, she knew that this was one of those smaller moments.

AN: Before I’m lynched to death by Magnolias fans, I’m working on it. Getting back into the mix, I promise. Just a little something I wrote for bingblot for being a lovely friend. Have a Happy and Healthy Christmas everyone!