Snow

Disclaimer: I’m not J K Rowling and never will be. Sigh.

Rating: PG

Spoilers: None

Author’s Note: The other day I was thinking about growing up in Montreal and a memory came to mind about Christmas Eve. About walking the quiet streets in the cold. About frosty breath and walking to the neighbourhood park to skate in the dark. About fresh snow falling, glittering in the reflection of coloured Christmas lights.

Snow

Harry never did figure out why he woke up at midnight on that Christmas Eve. There were no sleigh bells, no nightmares, no invasion of his thoughts by Voldemort. He just—stopped sleeping.

Stretching, he reached out a hand for his glasses and padded silently over to the window. A full moon glowed softly in the sky, washing the night in a misty glow. Snow was falling gently, covering grass and trees with a thick dusting of white. In the middle of the grounds, Harry made out a small figure in a bright Gryffindor scarf, busily building what looked to be a snowman.

Hermione.

Harry smiled at the sight. She had always loved snow. Always been the first to run outside at the first sign of it, laughing in delight. Spinning around, trying to catch the elusive flakes on her outstretched tongue. Cheeks rosy with cold, cinnamon-brown eyes sparkling, curls whirling.

Leaning his head on the cold glass, he chuckled as she suddenly dropped back into the snow and began moving her arms and legs rhythmically up and down, up and down. Snow angel. She was making a snow angel.

And right there, right then, on that snowy Christmas Eve as he watched Hermione Granger playing all alone, Harry Potter’s eyes were opened for the very first time. Realisation came not with turmoil and uncertainty, but rather began as a small seed that took root and blossomed in the glow of moonlight and magic that sheltered Hogwarts on this very special night. A calm and quiet contentment settled over him, chasing away the demons that tormented him.

He had to be with her; needed to be with her.

Hurriedly throwing on his clothes and shrugging on a thick winter cloak, Harry ran through the deserted corridors. For once he didn’t need to be careful--on Christmas Eve curfew was lifted and not even Snape would stop him.

He pulled open the heavy outside door of the castle and crept quietly towards her. She was still lying flat on her back in the snow. Harry hadn’t made a sound, but she could sense him coming. Raising herself on her elbows, she glanced behind her.

“Harry.” Softly.

“Hermione.” Just as softly.

“Want to make one too?”

“Uh-huh.” And dropping down on his back beside her, Harry began waving his arms and legs. Before long another snow angel, slightly larger than hers, had taken shape in the newly-fallen snow.

“Harry?’

“Yeah?”

“How come you’re not in bed?”

“I just woke up.”

“What woke you up?”

“You.”

“Me?” she sounded baffled.

“Um-hmmm. You.”

“But . . . “

He could feel Hermione mulling over his answer. Quickly, before she had time to think too much, Harry jumped to his feet and offered her his hand. Puzzled, she reached up and took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet.

For a moment they just stood there, mitten-covered hands joined, gazing down at the two snow angels. Then Hermione raised her eyes to the sky, where several stars shone through a break in the clouds.

“Harry, have you ever wished on a star.”

He thought for a minute. “No, I don’t think so.”

“I used to do it all the time,” she smiled. “When I was a little girl my dad used to take me outside and ask me to pick a star and make a wish. I would close my eyes and dad would take my hand and point at the sky. Whichever star my finger pointed at, that was the star I’d wish on.”

“You’re lucky to have parents like that, Hermione,” he said a bit sadly.

“Yes, I am. And you know what, Harry?” she continued. “One day your children are going to be very lucky to have a father like you.”

Harry was stunned.

“I mean it, Harry. You might not have had a father growing up, but your parents did love you. And despite growing up the way you did, you have turned out to be a wonderful person. You’re caring, you’re brave, you’re loving, and you’re kind. What child could ask for more in a father? So even though you had to grow up without a real family, one day you’ll have a second chance—with your own family.”

Harry swallowed and struggled to fight the tears welling up behind his eyes. Her words had touched him beyond anything he had ever known.

For a long time, the two friends just stood silently.

“Harry?”

“Ummmm?”

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m . . . I’m not really thinking, Hermione. Tonight it’s just about . . . about . . .”

She turned to him then. Her head was cocked to one side as she looked at him, wondering, hoping. Under Harry’s steady gaze, her cheeks, already rosy with the cold, blushed an even deeper pink.

Smiling, Harry took hold of her other hand and tugged her slowly towards him.

“Hermione?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“What do you want this Christmas? I mean . . . if you could have anything, anything at all. What would it be?”

She thought for a moment and lowered her eyes briefly. Taking a deep breath, she raised her eyes.

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Well,” she hesitated, “If I could really have anything, I’d want to have . . .” And then, so softly he wasn’t sure if he’d heard correctly, she swallowed and whispered, “I’d want to have . . . you.”

“Me?” he asked, pulling her closer still.

She nodded shyly, dropped her eyes again.

Hermione?” Harry said huskily.

“Ummm?”

“Look at me.”

And then Hermione’s eyes opened wide, as Harry slowly moved their clasped hands behind her back, encircling her waist. Topaz met emerald as the lump in Hermione’s throat plunged down to her feet.

“Hermione?” He was so close she could feel his warm breath.

“Yes?”

“Hermione,” he repeated. And then he was planting fairy-light kisses all over her flushed cheeks, her nose, and her forehead. She moaned softly and closed her eyes, leaning her head back while Harry moved his lips down the column of her throat.

Both of them felt their knees weaken and they sank down as one onto the frozen ground, hands still joined.

Harry released her for a moment to remove his mittens. Then, placing a warm hand on either side of Hermione’s face, he gazed tenderly into her eyes.

“Hermione,” he said hoarsely, “I . . .”

“I know Harry. I do too,” Hermione replied in a soft voice.

The kiss began as nothing more than a tentative whisper of his lips against hers. Heaven.

Hermione let out a soft whimper, instinctively wrapping her arms around Harry’s neck. Keeping one hand on her cheek, Harry unhurriedly slid the other down her neck and then back up, caressing the tender skin behind her ear. When he turned his hand around so that the backs of his nails gently scraped against her skin, Hermione gasped his name out loud and arched backward.

Abandoning her neck, Harry grasped her around the waist and hauled her against his chest. Pulling off her mittens, he enclosed both of her small hands with one of his larger ones, pressing them to his heart, while his lips found hers once again. All hesitancy vanished when Hermione parted her lips and began moving them over Harry’s mouth. The kiss quickly deepened as tongues met in eager exploration—tasting, searching.

They broke apart after several minutes—oxygen-deprived lungs breathing in great gulps of air. Snowflakes sparkled on Hermione’s hair, backlit by the full moon. Lovingly, Harry reached out to brush away a stray curl and tuck it behind her ear. At his touch, Hermione closed her eyes for a moment; then, raising them to meet his brilliant emerald gaze, she looked at him in wonder.

“Harry . . .”

“Hmmm?”

“That was . . . that was . . .” she paused.

“Is this really my Hermione?” he laughed. “I’m supposed to be the inarticulate one here.”

“Prat,” she said softly.

“Am I now?” Harry asked with a secret smile. Slowly, with a single finger he began to stroke; first her eyebrows, then her nose, as if he were memorising each feature.

“A prat, eh?” The finger continued tracing the contours of Hermione’s face one by one.

“Yes,” Hermione whispered. Harry’s magic finger reached its final destination and came to rest on the soft skin of her chin, tipping it up.

“You sure?” And he began rubbing her full bottom lip.

“Shut up, Harry,” she breathed, leaning forward and sealing his lips with hers once again. Harry’s enthusiastic response ended up toppling them backwards into the snow. There they lay, laughing helplessly, looking up at the winter sky.

“Harry! We forgot to make a wish,” Hermione said, pointing to the bright star overhead.

“I don’t need to,” Harry whispered, smiling. “Mine has already come true tonight.”

Telling her could wait for another day, but he thought that perhaps she already knew. For Harry, Hermione was Christmas.

Author’s Note #1: Hermione’s words to Harry about being a good father are taken from a conversation I had with one of my best friends a couple of years ago. She grew up with an abusive father and was terrified to marry and have children in case she did to them what her father did to her. I remember telling her that she would be the world’s best parent because nobody could know better than she exactly what a bad parent was. And you know what? She has two little boys now and is a wonderful mother to them. I always knew she would be.

Author’s Note #2: The sentence fragments throughout this story are deliberate. I was feeling somewhat poetic when I wrote this.