The Cure for Homesickness

AN- This is just a short one-shot I had to write. I know its way ahead of schedule- Christmas isn't for another few months. But in symphonic choir we're getting ready for our Christmas concert in Disney World, and the carols we're singing put me into the spirit a little early this year and gave my muse a good idea. I might do a follow-up to it, depending on how well it's received and how well the idea I have is written. REVIEWS ARE APPRECIATED, BUT NOT NECESSARY. I AM PADFOOT_PUPPYEYES, AND I LOVE CHRISTMAS!

Disclaimer- JK dealt with lots of criticism and rejection when she fought to get Harry Potter published. She took everything people threw at her, and ended up getting a company to agree to put the books on the shelves. If she hadn't had such thick skin and strong determination, we would never have had the pleasure of reading her incredible series and ideas. I don't have very thick skin. I was hurt just by a bad review on one of my other fics, and now I'm kind of afraid to read my reviews. I don't mind flames, but make it corrective criticism, not pointless insults.

It seemed like it had been years since Hermione had seen her parents, and with Christmas coming up the feeling of homesickness was only growing stronger. So when Ron was injured during an attack and placed in Saint Mungos, and Harry decided that they could take the next two weeks off to celebrate Christmas and relax a little, Hermione was excited. Ecstatic. She hurried to get to Hogwarts in time to ride the train back to Kings Cross, and flung herself into her parents arms when she saw them waiting for her at the station.

Her mum still smelled like cinnamon, and her dad still gave warm and safe hugs. They still looked the same, except for the few more gray hairs they'd gained since last summer, and still questioned her all the way home on what was happening in the wizarding world. There had been a time when they had learned of everything happening at Hogwarts and hadn't wanted to let Hermione return, for her own safety, but that time had come and gone, so Hermione didn't hesitate to tell them all about how Diagon Alley had been attacked, and the ministry had found one of Voldemort's leading supporters, and Harry had discovered a way to destroy Dementors.

“And how is Harry handling all of this?” Hermione's mum asked, a concerned frown on her face.

“Well, he says he's fine, and it's gotten to the point where even if he isn't, there isn't really that much we can do. All Ron and I can do is be there and support him.” Hermione replied, looking out the window. “I think he's staying with the Weasleys this year, but I'm not sure. He came to Hogwarts with me to see me off, and with Ron in the hospital, maybe he'll just want to stay there.” She knew it was likely, but Hermione hoped that that wasn't the case. Things had been awkward between Harry and Ginny ever since their breakup, and Percy was once again living in the Burrow, but if Harry stayed at the castle he'd most likely be alone on Christmas, with only the teachers for company.

“That poor boy.” Her parents may not know Harry, but Hermione knew that the truly did feel sorry for him. Harry had been a large part of her life for seven years now, and she'd told them enough about him that they wouldn't have had any trouble getting to know him.

Hermione sighed and nodded in agreement, even though her parents couldn't see her from the front seat, then changed the topic to something much lighter. She'd see Harry again in two weeks, and it'd be months before she had a chance to be with her family like this again.

But later on, that night, Hermione had trouble sleeping, imagining Harry in one of the Weasley sweaters, walking the halls of Hogwarts, alone.

* * *

Harry sighed and pushed his food around on his plate, occasionally taking a bite or two to make it look like he was actually eating.

The magical feeling that had once surrounded the castle every Christmas seemed to have died with Dumbledore, and even though the decorations were up and the food still tasted incredible, Harry just didn't have an appetite. Excusing himself, he tried to ignore the quiet table full of teachers and the eyes of everyone in the Great Hall on his back.

He wandered the empty halls a little, taking the time to visit some places he remembered fondly. Hogwarts had been his home for so many years, and returning there after so much time away felt bittersweet.

It was creating a heavy feeling in his stomach that had been there for some time now, making him lose his appetite and avoid sleep. When he'd been little, he'd felt it every time he thought about his parents, and sometimes a picture or a story from someone who had known them made the feelings of loneliness and longing return. Longing for what, he wasn't sure. Maybe a home of his own. Maybe just a family.

That heavy, empty feeling only intensified when he slowly entered the empty Gryffindor common room and was hit with thousands of memories. Memories of Ron yelling at Hermione about Crookshanks, memories of Neville trying to keep them from getting into more trouble, memories of Hermione surrounded by books, her frizzy hair tied in a knot at the back of her head. The memories just kept going and going, and didn't stop even as he fell asleep.

Being lonely, he decided, was even worse than being hungry.

Only because it wasn't a space you could fill yourself.

* * *

Christmas Eve, a week later, found Hermione awake at midnight. She'd been tossing and turning all night, tired but feeling too guilty and worried to sleep.

She'd just noticed that in her rush to see her family, she'd left Harry's present in her trunk, and because she had no owl, she had no way of getting it to him in time for Christmas. How could she have left him alone in that large and empty castle for the holidays anyway? What had she been thinking?

And that was another thing. Harry was alone for two weeks, and leaving Harry to himself for a long period of time was never a good idea. What if he did something stupid, like attack Voldemort, and she wasn't there to stop him, or at least help him? What if the castle was attacked while she was gone? What if…well, she had hundreds of `what ifs' running through her head, and none of them were good.

And finally there was the feeling that had been nagging at her for a while. Her homesickness had abated as soon as she had seen her parents, and had disappeared for the last several days, only to return last night. But how could she be homesick at home? She had her grandmother's quilt, and was actually sleeping in her room, in her bed, surrounded by familiar things! How could she be homesick?

She'd be wondering for the rest of the night, until she fell into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

The next morning Harry ignored the presents waiting for him in favor of thinking over the dream he'd just woken up from.

Unlike many of his dreams, it hadn't been a bad memory, or a vision of something that was happening somewhere else in the world. In this dream, he'd been there, at Hogwarts, wandering the halls with his invisibility cloak on. He hadn't known where he was going, but he knew where he was as soon as he opened the door to the classroom.

The mirror of Erised was just as he remembered it, and forgetting about his cloak Harry looked at the mirror and was quickly comforted by what he saw.

Just like before, his parents and the other men and women in his family stood behind him, all of them smiling encouragingly. Sirius had his arm slung around James's shoulders, and seemed more alive in death than Harry had ever seen him in life.

“They miss you too.” A soft, calm voice reassured from behind him. Harry knew that voice. It was as soothing as it was exasperating. Harry spun around and fought tears when Albus Dumbledore smiled gently at him.

“But…but you're dead.” Harry managed to choke out, shocked.

“Indeed, I am.” Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling.

“But…but then, why are you here instead of in there?” Harry asked, gesturing to the mirror that showed him his parents and godfather.

Dumbledore merely smiled and said, “I'm here because you want me to be here. This is your dream after all, I don't control it.”

Harry thought about that for a moment, then replied with, “But I want them here too! This doesn't make any sense!”

“It doesn't have to, Harry. This is just a dream.” Dumbledore replied calmly, the twinkle in his blue eyes intensifying. Absently, Harry wondered if that was a spell, of just something that came naturally. “Your parents wanted me to tell you that they are incredibly proud of you, Harry. As is Sirius, as am I. We're always there with you, even in those times like now, when you've never felt more alone. We love you for who you are, and we aren't the only ones.”

Dumbledore's words made him feel like a large weight had been taken off of his shoulders. It did seem like everyone who knew him, who really cared about him, ended up on the other side of that mirror, or on the other side of the veil. It was reassuring to know that there were living people who knew and loved him.

And turning back to the mirror to see his family, he saw something else instead. Hermione was standing next to his reflection, both of them smiling. She was holding his hand, and he was staring at her in a way that said how he felt about her as words never could.

Behind them, the Weasleys were beaming at him, his family was smiling, and several of his friends and professors from Hogwarts were waving at him enthusiastically.

“We know that you miss us, but what has been done has been done, and cannot be changed. We may not be alive, but you are, and you need to stop dwelling on the dead and focus on the living.” Dumbledore walked forward, and put a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. “Remember what I told you when I first found you here. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, Harry. But someday, what you see in that mirror as your strongest desire could happen. Dreams can become reality if you make them happen.” Harry wasn't sure if it was Dumbledore saying that. Towards the end, it had sounded a little more like Sirius. But when Harry woke up, he knew several things right away.

The first was that even in death, Albus Dumbledore was but aggravating and amazing. He still seemed to know everything that was happening, and still never directly answered a question.

The second was that Dumbledore was trying to tell him something. It was obvious what Dumbledore expected him to do, but he had no way of doing it. Hermione wouldn't be coming back for another week, and until then he would be left to mull over the dream, and probably talk himself out of ever acting on Dumbledore's advice.

Shaking his head, he stood up, stretched, and opened his presents. It didn't do to dwell on that dream, especially not now. Now, he needed some breakfast.

* * *

The presents had been opened, and Crookshanks was batting at some tinsel and ribbon under the tree while Hermione and her parents were eating breakfast. Her dad was butchering carols, her mum was trying to get him to be quiet, and Hermione…well, Hermione was doing what she'd been doing for a while now; thinking of Harry. Of how he was probably eating his Christmas breakfast alone.

Hermione's parents were as smart, if not smarter than, Hermione and they knew their daughter well enough to know that she never acted like this on Christmas. Normally she was going on a mile a minute about the books they'd gotten her, or scolding her `singing' father with her mum. It was extremely unusual for her to be so quiet.

“Hermione? Is everything all right?” Her brown eyes shot up to look at him in surprise.

“I'm sorry, what did you say?” She asked politely, seeming to be just waking up. That was unusual as well. Normally, Hermione was a morning person and had no problem getting to sleep at night.

“Are you feeling okay? You seem a million miles away.” Her father asked, concerned. Her mum, smiling slightly as she connected the dots, shook her head.

“A million might be a bit of an exaggeration, but then I'm not too sure how far Hogwarts is.” She said softly, chuckling when her daughter's startled and embarrassed eyes focused on her. “I believe your old headmaster gave us that worn shoe several summers ago, in case something happened and we needed to get to you school quickly.”

Hermione, remembering the portkey Dumbledore had given her family just before sixth year, argued, “But that's for emergencies. And besides, I'm fine. I see Harry all the time, I barely ever get to come home! I'm fine here!” Even as she said it, she realized how ridiculous it sounded. She should be better than fine with spending Christmas with her parents!

“Love, you know you're always welcome here, but I'm not sure that this is your home any longer.” Her mother replied, standing and taking her daughter into her arms. For a moment, her mother's words hurt. What made it worse was that they were true. She'd grown up, and while she hadn't outgrown her parents this wasn't home anymore. It was time to find a home of her own.

“Go to him.” her mother whispered into Hermione's still-frizzy brown hair. “We understand. It's all right.”

“Thank you.” Hermione murmured into her mother's shoulder, before pulling back, brushing away a few tears, gathering Crookshanks and running up the stairs. She was dragging her trunk behind her within moments, and kissed her father on the cheek before saying, “Hogwarts,” disappearing and leaving nothing but her unfinished breakfast to show that she had been there.

“I don't get it.” Dan Granger said, confused, as his wife smirked at him while she sat back down at the table. “Where's she going?”

Grinning, Emma Granger took a bite of egg and shook her head. “I love you, dear, but there are some things I don't think men are supposed to understand.”

“Huh?”

“Exactly.”

* * *

Harry wiped the tears off of his face before they could freeze, and ignored the bitter cold that kept stinging his face. Dumbledore's white tomb made the snow around it look dirty. Everything around him, even the forest, was peaceful and silent.

It was hard, in times like this, to remember that he wasn't alone.

And then someone's arms were wrapping around him, giving him the warmth and comfort he desperately needed. He had someone murmuring words of comfort into his shoulder, and someone who smelled of vanilla in his arms.

Then, Hermione's brown eyes, tinged red from her crying, met his for the briefest moment. She had dark circles under her eyes that showed how little she'd slept, and snowflakes were stuck in her eyelashes and bushy brown hair.

She'd never looked more beautiful.

And as he kissed her a moment later, he could swear he heard phoenix song coming from the forest, and for the briefest of moments he considered the possibility that Dumbledore could manipulate things even after his death.

There was a faint echo of laughter that rang through the air over the grounds. Smiling over Hermione's shoulder, Harry murmured, “Now you're just showing off.”

“What was that, Harry?” Hermione asked, breaking their hug but taking his cold hand in her own. Harry just shook his head, his eyes portraying his amusement.

“Nothing.” He suddenly considered just how impossible it was that she was actually there. For one, apperation was difficult because the ministry was restricting the number of people allowed to apperate. For another, she was supposed to be with her family on Christmas. He'd seen her get on the train and go back to London. “What're you doing here?” He asked, confused and concerned. She had been crying; maybe something had happened.

Hermione's smile reassured him, even if it only confused him more. Absently, Harry noticed that his loneliness had vanished and been replaced by a warm, comforting feeling.

As Hermione carefully considered her answer, she noticed that Harry still smelled like hot chocolate and pine. The homesickness disappeared instantly. “Coming home, Harry.”

After all, home is where the heart is.

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