Disclaimer: Most definitely not my characters. No money being made. Just working out my frustrations over what could have been since it's cheaper than therapy.
Author's Note: There are currently only two chapters of this story at the moment. I have ideas for more, but I do not know when the time or the muse will cooperate so I can write more. In the meantime, enjoy some holiday H/Hr!
Originally written as part of the LiveJournal 2007 holiday H/Hr fest, a_pumpkin_xmas. Check it out for more great H/Hr fic and art.
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The television was showing some talk programme, and Harry could hear the expert psychologist guest's voice as he put together a sandwich in the kitchen: "For single people, in particular, the holidays can be a very isolating time. But even if you're surrounded by family and friends, this time of year can bring more than its fair share of stress, anxiety and rows. Add this to long-standing money worries, family conflicts, work issues or bereavement, and it's no wonder calls to help lines about depression and suicide rise by nearly twenty per cent during the holiday season…"
Too right you are, mate. He brought the tray into the sitting room, ready to eat his meal in front of the telly and watch Fulham get slaughtered by Birmingham in a re-airing of the match the previous Tuesday. He glanced over at the little tree his elderly neighbour had bullied him into putting up. Despite the rainbow of lights and sparkling ornaments, it depressed him…a jarring slice of cheer in his otherwise dreary flat. He hadn't made any effort to pick up the place: piles of papers teetered on his desk, books were jammed haphazardly into the shelves, his robes from yesterday were still slung across the back of the chair that held a sizable pile of clothing.
Why did I even bother? It's not like anyone will be over to admire it with me. Ron was spending Christmas with his family over in the States, where Charlie had been called in to help deal with a sudden northerly migration of Peruvian Vipertooth dragons. The Weasleys had invited him along, but Harry had declined, pleading his always-uncertain work schedule. He didn't want to be reminded every few minutes of the gaps left in the family after the final defeat of Voldemort. Arthur and Molly had lost their oldest and youngest in the terror campaign following Dumbledore's death. And while Harry knew he'd not have started dating Ginny again, he still felt a nagging, guilty sense of things unfinished, things that could never be resolved now she was dead.
Hermione was with her extended family. He had known from the tone of her voice as she talked about it that she didn't want to go, but felt obligated to do so. This would be her first Christmas without her parents, who had fallen in a sweep of murders of Muggleborn families led by Bellatrix Lestrange. Between the time Voldemort had been destroyed for good and the Aurors' capture of the last of the Death Eaters, some thirty families had been wiped out. Harry thought for a moment of those that had deliberately been left alive to suffer the grief and guilt: the Creevey brothers, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Dean Thomas...
...himself. The very first family to be killed had been the Dursleys. Not that he had ever cared about the Dursleys, but the knowledge that they had been targeted because of who he was had eaten at him for a long time. Hermione had spent hours, day after day, talking herself hoarse until she had gotten through to him and helped him dislodge some of the guilt.
And then her parents had been killed, and it had been Harry's turn to bring her out of near-suicidal grief. For months, she had been ignoring her parents' letters because of the persistent demands that she come home, give up this dangerous magic…
A knock on the door made him jump and nearly upset his tray. He took his time reassembling his sandwich and clearing a spot for the tray on the low table in front of him. He was in no mood to answer, having a pretty good idea who was on the other side. There were less than a dozen people who could even approach his door without tripping the wards. Most of them were currently on the other side of the Atlantic.
He took a peek through the ordinary Muggle spyhole in the door. But it wasn't Luna or Neville, as he'd guessed; it was Hermione.
Even as he looked, seeing her bushy hair and fuzzy knitted cap dusted with melting snow through the distorting glass circle, she knocked again.
"I know you're home, Harry. Please let me in."
He sighed and opened the door. "Why aren't you with your family, Hermione?"
"Happy Christmas to you, too," she replied with a sarcastic edge to her voice. She entered and glanced around at the mess. Without even pulling off her wraps, she took her wand out of her sleeve and began waving it. Trash flew into the bin, books shifted and stood at attention, and clothes began to fold themselves and levitate to his bedroom.
In a few short minutes the room was neater than it had been in months. Only then did Hermione unwind her scarf and unbutton her coat.
"Now that there's somewhere to sit, may I come in?"
Harry shrugged, not trusting himself to speak and betray his feeling of being invaded. She sat on one end of the couch. He returned to his chair and put the tray on his knees again. Just as he picked up his sandwich, he remembered his manners.
"Can I get you anything? Tea? Something to eat?"
She shook her head, eyes on the television. "I'll get it myself later. Eat."
He took her at her word and they watched the match progress. Gradually the silence shifted from strained to companionable. Harry finished his meal and took the tray back to the kitchen with an air of virtue, returning with two bottles of butterbeer. Hermione nodded her thanks when he placed one in front of her.
When halftime arrived, Hermione sank back into the couch. Harry raised an eyebrow at her.
"Ready to talk about it?"
She smiled briefly, then her expression turned rueful. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to go home and be alone, but I didn't want to go to Luna's and have to explain and Ron's in the States-"
"You're babbling, Hermione."
She coloured and bit her lip to prevent the reflexive apology. Harry noticed a sheen in her eyes, brightened by the lights from the tree, and realized she was fighting back tears.
"Hey, what is it?" He rose, turned the television off with an absent-minded wave of his hand, and moved to sit beside her. He had barely sat down when she flung herself on him, sobbing. He held her, letting the tears run their course. He knew she would tell him once she'd gotten it out of her system.
Her sobs began to slow down, and now she wasn't clutching him so tightly. He began smoothing her mass of hair back. "Okay, Hermione. Talk to me."
Through inelegant snuffles against his jumper, she spoke. "Aunt Imogene. She's Dad's sister. She cornered me while everyone else was in the kitchen or outside in the snow." She sat up and pulled out a handkerchief to scrub the tearstains from her face, but Harry took it from her and took her hands in his own. He wasn't about to let her distract herself when she so badly needed to talk.
She gripped his hands tightly. "Dad had written her a letter, one he left with the solicitors. In the letter he asked Aunt Imogene to keep an eye on me if they were to die, especially if the circumstances were unusual. He told Aunt Imogene about me, about my being a witch, and about Voldemort."
Hermione drew a shuddering breath and Harry shifted his hold on her hands, their fingers interlocking, and drew her closer. He had a fairly good idea what must have happened.
Hermione continued, "She blames me for Mum and Dad. She started hissing at me, demanding to know why I hadn't given up this power the moment I'd realized that my parents might be in danger. Then she started shouting about how they'd still be alive if I'd walked away, if I hadn't insisted on fighting in a war that wasn't mine to fight, or that I should have protected them better-"
Harry interrupted before she could work herself into sobs again. "We tried to, Hermione. When we couldn't get a proper Fidelius set up, we warded your parents' house and office with everything we had. And the wards did alert us…we just didn't get there in time."
"I know…" Hermione pulled back slightly and touched her temple. "I know it up here. But with my aunt yelling at me, it was hard to listen to my head and tell my gut to shove off. And the more I tried to explain or calm her down, the angrier she got. It got to the point where I either had to try and use magic to calm her down before she brought the rest of the family in to see what the row was about or leave. I left."
"Quite right too." Harry hugged her close again. "I only wish we could have put my aunt and yours together in a cage match for the title of Most Mugglish Muggle Ever."
She gave a startled laugh at the image and gulped. "Just how much telly have you been watching lately?"
"Too much," he replied agreeably. He rose and pulled her to her feet. "Feeling better?"
"A bit, yes. Thank you."
"Good." He hugged her again and she returned it, clasping her hands behind his back and squeezing gratefully. And he knew that the moment she let him go, she'd make ready to leave and go back to her flat, where she'd be alone. Leaving him alone as well. And suddenly he was revolted by the thought of spending the next several days alone, for either of them.
As Hermione let him go and moved toward where she'd piled her wraps, Harry seized her hand. "I have an idea. Let's celebrate Christmas together."
"What, you mean just the two of us?"
"Why not? I don't have anywhere to go, you've been told you're not welcome at the only place you had to go. I say we stick two fingers up at the lot of them and make our own Christmas."
Hermione blinked through her tears, a smile beginning to break through. "All right, let's do it. What shall we do first?"
Harry looked around the flat. "For starters, we need some proper decorations." He looked around for his wand, and Hermione Summoned it for him. He smiled his thanks as she handed it to him and pushed up the sleeves of his jumper. "Engorgio!" The little tree on the desk began to grow, and Hermione quickly levitated it to the floor before it could punch a hole in the ceiling. She eagerly joined in, conjuring garlands of holly to hang from the shelves.
They covered the tree with decorations, from shining gold and silver baubles to shimmering icicles made with real water and Flash-freezing Charms. Holly and ivy dripped from the shelves and fairy lights winked on the ceiling. When they were done, Harry grinned and started a soft snowfall in the room, which made Hermione collapse into giggles.
Harry tossed a handful of snow at her. "Oi, you. Do you want to stay here? I know your place is cleaner…"
She shook her head and took her shrunken satchel from a pocket. "There's no need. Luna is taking care of Crookshanks for me so I don't have to hurry back. And you're closer to the shops. I think we should go get presents for each other tomorrow."
"Presents? But we traded presents before Ron left."
"I know, but I have an idea."
***
December 23 began cheerfully. Hermione woke first and tidied Harry's sitting room once more. She Transfigured the bed back into a couch and freshened the trimmings in the room. Harry was still asleep after she'd showered, so she ran down to a nearby café for hot chocolate and fresh cinnamon buns for breakfast. She laughed as Harry stumbled in, his hair as wild as she'd ever seen it. He responded by mock-growling at her, and she swiftly pushed the plate of buns at him.
An hour later, they left Harry's flat, well wrapped against the wind and walking close together, heading for the Tube station. They made their way over to Knightsbridge, and at a corner, Hermione stopped Harry.
"All right. First rule, we meet back here in two hours, corner of Sloane and Pont Streets."
Harry nodded.
"Second rule, you can't spend more than twenty pounds."
"Okay."
"And third, it can't be an obvious gift."
"Er…you mean I can't get you a book?"
"That's right. You already got me a perfectly wonderful book. Two if you count the fact that you gave Ron the idea for his gift for me-"
"Hermione!" Harry protested.
She gave him a look and he blushed. "Thought so. Anyway, that means I can't get you anything related to Quidditch, so we're on even ground. Something not obvious. Think you can handle it?"
Harry looked down the street at the cheerful window displays and the shoppers bustling about in the cold sunshine. "Well, even if I can't, it's better than moping around the flat by myself. Two hours, twenty pounds, and I'm taking you to lunch, your choice."
"Deal."
***
When they met up again, Harry was hard put to keep the smile off his face. His gift for Hermione was already wrapped and tucked into a pocket of his coat. He glanced around and spotted the bobble on her brown knitted hat coming along Pont Street. As she drew closer, he could see the shopping bag in her hand and the beaming smile on her face. Her expression so matched his own that he felt an intense wave of gratitude to whatever had inspired him to suggest they spend the holiday together.
She darted across the street to meet him. "If you're still buying lunch, I passed an Indian restaurant that smelled heavenly. Does that sound all right?"
"Better than all right." He held out an arm. "Lead the way. Shall I take that for you?"
"All right, but no peeking! And where's yours?"
"You'll find out Christmas morning."
"Beast." She wrinkled her nose at him.
They had a splendid lunch and then went to Diagon Alley for the afternoon. They took turns putting on airs of great patience as they visited Flourish & Blotts and Quality Quidditch Supplies. They stopped and greeted former classmates and current co-workers, and Harry made a large contribution to the witch outside of the cauldron shop who was collecting to supply toys to the war's orphans.
As the sky began to darken, Harry looked a bit uncertain. "Well, where to now? We can go back to the flat and find something on the telly or maybe some good music on the wireless…"
"I have a better idea. Come on, back to Muggle London."
She led him back into the city and they began walking south on Charing Cross Road. As they went the crowds began to grow, and Harry realized there was something to see in Trafalgar Square. They squeezed around a building corner and Harry's mouth dropped open.
A huge tree, full of lights, stood next to the fountain. Lights in the water made the splashes glimmer in ruby and emerald showers. A choir stood at the foot of the tree, just beginning to sing "I Saw Three Ships". Hermione glanced at his face and smiled. She leaned forward to murmur in his ear, "The tree comes from Norway. They send one every year as a thank-you for England's help in World War II. There's a different choir here every night, raising money for charity."
They worked their way to a collection point and deposited some coins, and then moved on. Harry was astonished repeatedly as Hermione led him to yet another dazzling array of lights, another sumptuous shop-window display, or another huge tree. They walked for hours, on winding paths from Covent Garden to Regent Street, stopping in a café for hot drinks when they felt the chill.
Finally, Hermione paused in front of a row of several restaurants. Harry stopped short in surprise. "What is it?"
"You may be too entranced to notice, but your stomach just growled louder than Fang. I think it's about time to eat, at least, and maybe head back if you're tired."
"I don't feel tired, but it is getting colder. Heading back sounds good."
"And it's my turn to buy, so what's your fancy? Italian? Fish & chips? Chinese? A pub?"
Harry looked down the row. "Italian. A big hot plate of pasta would be perfect."
"Buono, Italian it is. And we can take dessert back to your place."
***
They sprawled on the re-Transfigured bed, in jumpers and track pants, the remains of tiramisu on a plate between them. Harry's sitting room was dark except for the fairy lights everywhere. They had been chatting amiably, listening to holiday music in the background from the wireless. Harry got up to take the plate to the kitchen.
"Ow, I hurt! How far did we walk today, anyway?"
"A good four or five miles, probably. But it was worth it, wasn't it?" Hermione asked anxiously.
"Oh, it was. I've never seen anything of London at Christmastime, not even on the telly. It was beautiful. Thanks for sharing it with me."
Hermione looked down to hide a blush, and Harry carried the plate away to give her a moment. When he returned, Hermione was standing at the window, looking out at the night. He came to stand behind her and put his hands on her shoulders.
"I know it's not the same, since you lost them when you were a baby…how do you deal with it, Harry? When it's the holidays or their anniversary and you can't stop feeling the holes where they ought to be?"
Harry wrapped his arms around her and she leaned into him. "I dunno, Hermione. It's not like I ever really got a chance to mourn them. The Dursleys never let me ask questions, and once I learned how they died it was straight on to Hogwarts, and, well...there were an awful lot of distractions."
Hermione choked between a laugh and a sob. "Distractions, indeed." She turned away from the window and scrubbed at her eyes with one hand. "I'm sorry. It just hit me suddenly…I'm never going to have another Christmas with my parents. They won't be there on my wedding day. They'll never know their grandchildren. They won't be there for anything I might accomplish."
Harry pulled her to the bed and got her to lay down with him, pulling a rug up around the two of them. Cradling her in his arms, he let her cry for a few moments before speaking.
"They're with you in spirit, Hermione. I've seen enough manifestations of my parents to know, without a doubt, that they're aware of what goes on in our lives. They take pride in our success, get angry or upset when we're threatened. They just can't be here physically."
"I miss them."
"I know."
They fell silent and Harry watched the lights dance in the room, thinking about what might have been if his parents had lived. After helping Hermione deal with her grief over the summer, he sometimes wondered if he hadn't had the better deal. His memories of his parents were hazy at best; what he missed when he thought about it was the idea of his parents. Hermione mourned real, actual people, parents who had been there all her life; she knew exactly what she was missing.
Hermione sighed and shifted against him, and Harry realized she'd fallen asleep. He listened to her quiet breathing for a while, and wondered how he might slip out to his own room without waking her. But it was perfectly comfortable where he was…rather nice to sleep under the fairy lights…ought to turn the music off…