Hocus Pocus

Hocus Pocus

Author: Ardelis_fari

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Classification: Romance

Pairing: H/Hr

Rating: PG-13

Author’s notes: I know I said I wouldn’t be posting anything else this year, but I was just reading these Christmas-ish fairytales (especially Michael Ende’s The Night of Wishes) with my little cousin and an idea popped in my head. I just thought I’d give it a go. Please review! I want to know what you all think of it.

And of course a very (belated) Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Summary: On Christmas Eve Harry gets a very unusual visit from, let’s say, a fairy that tells him that his wish is going to come true. The only thing he has to do is to wish for it with all his heart. Harry is rather doubtful, but… Let’s see what happens!

Ok, here goes…

The door of the pub known to wizards as Leaky Cauldron creaked open, letting in a fair amount of wintry chill and a whirl of crispy snowflakes. With it, as if having materialized from all that snow, appeared a man. He dusted off his traveling cloak, looked around himself to see a crowd of regulars engaged in a chat over a pint of butterbear, and then installed himself in a solitary corner of the pub.

It was a bald, short man, even dwarfish. His sizeable paunch above the buckled belt announced his presence in the room even before his short, chunky body got a chance to manifest itself in all its glory. His hands, like forked hazel branches, seemed to attract gold, as he was always seen flipping a gleaming Galleon between his fingers or fiddling with the massive golden chain of his pocket watch. Presently, he took out his watch from the waistcoat pocket, noted the time and grunted satisfactorily.

This gentleman, I feel compelled to call him just that for the lack of a better word, had, apart from his size, another remarkable quality about him. Namely, he somehow always managed to stay unnoticed by those around him and even if he did attract anyone’s attention, chances are that person would think him rather plain and would undoubtedly forget his face in a matter of seconds.

Even now, when a pretty barmaid passed him with a tray of frothy ale mugs held high above her head, he just took one off and put it in front of him. The girl didn’t seem to take any notice at all and continued with her ministrations.

In all, this was a rather peculiar individual.

If one were to wonder as to the nature of his profession, one would most certainly be inclined to picture him bowed above a gurgling cauldron, somewhere at the back of an apothecary, much like one of Slug & Jiggers places that are so common in wizarding London. Or one would imagine him counting silver and golden ingots in an underground vault of the Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Or he could be doing something entirely different, but…no one seemed to wonder beyond that, as his face never left a single trace in the memories of those who chanced to meet him.

The mug before him was already half-empty, when he abruptly looked up and caught the shadows moving quickly across the frosted glass of the nearby window. Soon, the door opened and in came three young people, two boys and a girl. One of the boys was tall and gangly, with a mop of carrot-orange hair and a freckled face. He flopped noisily on one of the chairs and cheerfully greeted old Tom the landlord. The other boy, however, looked entirely different. His emerald-green eyes gleamed behind the spectacles that rested on the bridge of his nose. His jet-black hair was on the longish side and, annoyed, he kept pushing it out of his eyes. Each time one could get a glimpse of his strange scar on his forehead in a shape of a lightning.

The bushy-haired girl that accompanied them pursed her lips and made an attempt to admonish the red-haired boy for a minor crime or blunder he had a misfortune to commit. But the boy just waved her off impatiently and instead beckoned a barmaid.

“Three butterbears, please!” he shouted.

“I can’t believe no one is here yet,” the other boy said. “Are you sure they are coming?”

“Of course, Harry!” the girl smiled sweetly. “Seamus sent a message with an owl this morning and said he’d be here tonight. With Lavender, of course.”

“You don’t like her, do you?” asked the redhead, amused.

“No, Won-Won,” she answered tersely. “And never have.”

Ron blushed to the roots of his hair. “You know how much I hate that name, Hermione!”

“Sorry,” she snorted, “Couldn’t resist. But you have to admit that she’s rather annoying.”

Ron made an indefinite gesture between a shrug and a nod and stared glumly at his bottle. Hermione took pity on him and changed the subject.

“Dean and Parvati are coming too. Neville isn’t sure. And Ginny can’t make it tonight.”

“She’s not coming?” Harry asked in a strange tone that Hermione interpreted as disappointment.

“Nope,” Ron said, taking a large swig, “she’s just been given a position of a Chaser in Holyhead Harpies and she had to go away to Norway for a match against Braga Broomfleet of Portugal. She says she’s the luckiest witch in England, ‘cause her team has the biggest chance of winning the League Cup this year.”

The boys went on to discuss the tactics of an amazing all-female Quidditch team, and Hermione wondered if Harry was upset that Ginny wasn’t coming. She didn’t have much time to elaborate that painful thought, as the door of Leaky Cauldron opened again and a noisy group barged in. Beyond the snow-covered hats and scarves Hermione, Ron and Harry recognized their old friends from Hogwarts. As predicted, Lavender Brown came with her current boyfriend Seamus Finnigan. The pair of them were inseparable these days and Ron was particularly happy, since Lavender was now clinging to someone else. Dean Thomas showed up with his girlfriend of a few weeks, Parvati, who, as Hermione discovered, was as gabby and squealing as her best friend.

As the newcomers were seated, Tom the bartender appeared before their table.

“Watcha lads! What can I get you?”

“Butterbear,” Seamus said

“Cider for me,” Dean decided.

The girls ordered perry.

“And a bottle of firewhisky for me,” Ron added.

“Ron, I don’t think-”

“Hermione, don’t be such a bore!” the boy cut her short. “It’s Christmas!”

“Yes, but remember what happened last time you got drunk?”

“Everything went arse over tit,” Ron snorted.

Hermione flinched. “I don’t care to use such language. But you are right. You got in a fight and that’s inexcusable.”

“You know what’s inexcusable?” Ron said hotly. “That guy called Chudley Cannons a bunch of emptyheads who don’t even know how to ride broomsticks! So, of course, I smacked him for that!”

“Serves him right!” Seamus chimed in.

Hermione rolled her eyes and then looked pityingly at Ron and Seamus, as if being a Quidditch fan was a nasty disease.

“He’s a Quidditch fan, Hermione. It’s completely normal,” Harry grinned, catching her sour look.

“Well, I hope I’ll never see you turn into a beast like that, Harry!” she huffed.

Harry looked sidelong at Hermione. Her cheeks were still aglow from their walk along Charing Cross Road to Leaky Cauldron. And her eyes were warm and bright, set off by the longest and the thickest eye-lashes he’d ever seen. He went on to study her face for a bit longer, his eyes lingering on the curve of her lips as each breath left them. Her chest rose steadily, up and down, up and down… He suddenly realized that he was staring at Hermione’s breasts and looked away in embarrassment. The group was now discussing the new law that had been passed on by the Ministry of Magic, and Harry excused himself to go to the loo.

As he was exiting the gents loo, on his way back to his friends, Harry was stopped by a mellow voice from the nearby corner of the pub.

“Why, if it isn’t Harry Potter!”

A flicker of annoyance passed over the boy’s face, who was indeed the famous Harry Potter. He turned to the source of the voice and saw a short, unprepossessing man.

“Jolly good Christmas, isn’t it?” said the stranger again.

Harry nodded, trying to figure out how to get out of this conversation without offending the man.

“A very pretty girl you have there, young man,” his interlocutor nodded in the direction of Hermione.

“She isn’t-” Harry stuttered, “she isn’t my girl.”

“But you wish her to be,” the man went on suggestively.

“So what if I do?” Harry said wistfully.

“I say, that can be easily fixed.”

For the second time that evening Harry looked at him intently. The man suddenly seemed to him very enigmatic, though he didn’t know why as he was rather ordinary-looking.

“And exactly how do you propose to do it, sir?” Harry asked bitterly.

The man winked at him mysteriously.

“One has only to wish with all one’s heart.”

Harry raised his brows quizzically. The stranger smiled at him friendly and put his plump hand to the left side of his chest, where his heart must be. Harry thought this was very odd and was about to ask the man to clarify his words, but he was already back on his feet, winding a shawl around his neck.

“Good day, to you, young Potter,” the man lifted his hat, “and Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas,” Harry said, confused.

In a moment, the man was gone and Harry stared, dumbfounded, at the spot where he had stood.

With all one’s heart, Harry thought in amazement. Haven’t I done just that? All these years my love has been unrequited and not a day has gone by where I wouldn’t wish, pray and hope that Hermione would look my way and maybe… What nonsense! Even now I wish for it with all my heart and what good will it do? Tonight I’ll see her walk out of this pub with another guy. She’ll never choose me.

He shook his head sadly and returned to the table.

“Hiya, mate!” Seamus greeted Harry.

The more he drank, the stronger his Irish accent got, until his slurred speech became almost incomprehensible. His girlfriend looked at him adoringly and continued her story.

“And then we saw each other again the next day. He invited me to dinner and admitted his feelings to me. He was so sweet! And of course I was already in love with him. It happened on the Bonfire Night,” she said with a dreamy look on her face. “The double cause for celebration, isn’t it?”

Hermione looked like she had swallowed a pickled onion. Parvati shared her friend’s excitement and put Dean’s arm even tighter around her. Ron couldn’t stand any more of his ex-girlfriend’s rhapsodies and interrupted her by asking Dean loudly about his job. He had a natural talent for drawing and worked as an illustrator for the publishing house called Whizzhard Books.

Harry tuned out of the conversation temporarily and his mind dwelled on the conversation with the strange man. Though he didn’t think much of his advice, he found himself focusing on his deepest wish, his lifelong desire. In the distance high-pitched, unwavering voices of carol singers chanted in unison. Jingle bells, jingle bells…

“She’s gone barmy!” Ron exclaimed, awakening Harry from his fantasies. “She’s given me three jumpers this Christmas! And they are all maroon!”

“Ron, your mum did it with good intentions, I’m sure,” Hermione said, smiling.

“I don’t even have time to wear them all! Guess what Ginny did with hers,” he snickered.

“What?”

“She made a large cozy bed for her pigmy puff Arnold,” Ron guffawed.

“Your mum will be deeply hurt and offended when she finds out,” Hermione pursed her lips again.

“She won’t. Ginny’s moving to Wales to train with Holyhead Harpies.”

“She is?” Hermione asked in a strangled voice, flushing a little.

“Yep, that’s what she told me. Mind you, Mum doesn’t know yet.”

As the evening progressed, Harry wondered if he should just go home. It was a pure torture, sitting next to Hermione and willing himself not to gawk at her like a love-sick adolescent. He looked around and saw that everyone was enjoying himself, spending time with their loved ones. Ron was trying to chat up some very attractive barmaid. Seamus was getting off with Lavender, who was giggling shyly, unsuccessfully trying to cover up a love bite with the collar of her shirt. Parvati and Dean were, too, in the world of their own, whispering and holding hands under the table.

All of a sudden, somewhere further down the Diagon Alley a loud bang shook the air. Everyone in the pub jumped, spilling the contents of their bottles and mugs all over their clothes. Glancing nervously at each other, people whispered about a new attack of the resurrected Dark Lord. They all poured out into the street to find out what the source of commotion was. Tom the bartender was leading the way with his wand at ready.

Once outside, they gaped at the star-studded sky that was marked by loud explosions of colour. In front of the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes joke shop its owners, two red-haired twins Fred and George were sharing an identical mischievous grin, gleefully rubbing their hands. They decided to treat the Christmas public at Diagon Alley to this colourful performance, thus advertising their new and improved version of Weasleys’ Wildfire Whizbangs.

Customers of the shops, pubs and restaurants were crowded together, looking up at the sky. There, fiery rockets were turning into all sorts of magical beasts: ashwinders, blast-ended skrewts, grindylows, puffskeins and dragons. Children were pointing at them excitedly, laughing as each animal succeeded another. When a gigantic Basilisk appeared against the night sky the crowd gasped and took a few steps back, but it soon dissolved into this air when a beautiful scarlet-and-golden rooster came into view.

Seamus and Dean were among the first to run out of the pub, their girlfriends and Ron following in the lead. They were now standing in the front, wildly gesticulating and laughing. Ron was shouting proudly that the whole thing was his brothers’ invention. Harry and Hermione were the last to figure out what was going on and they were now standing in the doorway of the pub, bracing themselves against the biting frost.

“Cold?” Harry asked softly, looking at shivering Hermione.

She nodded and Harry instinctively put an arm around her, hardly realizing what he was doing. Hermione’s colour rose and she held her breath. Through her thick jumper she could feel Harry’s strong hand on her forearm and it sent a shiver down her spine. Harry was, however, determined not let go of her. Ever. He thought this was a perfect moment to tell Hermione about his feelings, and he was now mustering all his courage. One would have never guessed that this was the same boy who conquered the Dark Lord and won countless Quidditch championships, for his heart was racing and his knees felt weak.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something for a long time now,” he whispered at last.

“What is it?” Hermione turned to him.

“I don’t know how to begin,” Harry sighed. “I’m afraid you’re going to hate me for what I’m about to say.”

“Whatever can that be?” Hermione wondered aloud.

Harry took a deep breath and blurted out, “I fancy you, Hermione. I always have. Ever since we faced that troll in the bathroom.”

He dared to look at her. A smile tugged at Hermione’s lips as she stared at him at length.

“Well, say something,” he pleaded.

“I don’t know how to. I’m afraid you are going to hate me,” she repeated his words.

Harry’s heart sank. He feared rejection and was cursing himself for disclosing the truth.

“The truth is,” Hermione said breathlessly, “I’ve always had a crush on you. Ever since you saved me from that troll.”

Harry looked at her, dumbfounded. Hermione laughed at the effect her words had produced.

“I thought you didn’t love me,” Harry whispered. “I thought you’d hate me if I told you!”

“I thought just the same. I was afraid to tell you. I thought you still fancied Ginny.”

“Ginny?!” Harry goggled at her. “It’s over between us. We broke up two years ago!”

“But still, I thought…” her voice trailed off as she looked away at the fireworks.

“It’s you I love, Hermione. And I always will,” Harry said fiercely and crushed her mouth with a fervent kiss. Hermione was rather shocked at first, but then she put her arms around his neck and kissed him with equal ardour.

The show with the magnificent fireworks went on for a good quarter of an hour, often interrupted by ululation and loud applause. Harry and Hermione were, however, oblivious to this fact as they were lost in each other, locked in a tight embrace.

Unfortunately for them, the banging of the fireworks was soon fading away and the crowd was dispersing. They broke the kiss and stared at each other in silence, neither of them saying a word. They didn’t care if someone had seen them. But no one had. The crowd took Fred and George’s joke shop by storm and demanded if they all could buy the new product. Only Ron was still standing outside, writing down the name and address of the pretty barmaid on a beer mat.

Harry nuzzled Hermione’s neck and closed his eyes, feeling blissfully happy. There was a vague thought at the back of his mind, an elusive face that he couldn’t quite grasp or place. Harry shook his head and laughed. He knew that whatever that was, it wasn’t important, for he was too keen on making new memories, of a new face with beautiful hazel eyes, in which his own love was mirrored.