Tidings of Comfort and Joy

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…

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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Harry woke the next morning, disoriented when he saw his sitting room instead of his bedroom. Hermione was next to him, but not clinging to him as he remembered. Neither did he remember being tucked in under the blankets. He slipped out of the bed and went to the kitchen. It was his turn to supply breakfast.

Hermione woke to the smell of rashers and toast and padded into the kitchen. She seized Harry’s hand and removed the fork he was holding, laying it aside. Then she drew him into a warm embrace.

“Thank you for last night.”

He hugged her back. “You’re very welcome. How’d you sleep?”

“Very well, though I did wake once and decided to get some covers for us.” She moved back and took his face in her hands. “I mean it. Thank you. It helped a great deal.” She drew him forward and kissed the tip of his nose impishly, deliberately shifting the mood. “Now, what can I do to help?”

Harry followed her lead, trying to ignore the tingle of his skin where her lips had landed. “If you’ll get the glasses from the cupboard and the juice, we’re just about ready.”

As they started eating, Hermione asked, “So, what should we do with the day today?”

“Well, did you know they’ve got ice skating at Hyde Park?”

“Oh dear, I’m rubbish at skating.”

“Well, I’ve never been on skates in my life, so I fully expect you to spend most of the time laughing as I fall on my arse.”

Hermione chuckled, then grew solemn. “I had an idea, but you don’t have to come with me.”

Harry put his fork down. “When you say it like that, I know I’ll probably feel like I must. What is it?”

“I thought about…going to my parents’ grave. Leaving some flowers or something.”

Harry paused. After a moment, he reached over and took her hand. “I’ll go with you, if you’ll go with me.”

Hermione smiled, although her chin trembled slightly. “A fair trade if I ever heard one.”

They decided to visit the graveyards first. They went back to Covent Garden to a flower shop Hermione knew of and bought bright arrangements of ivy and evergreen with red berries and white flowers. Then they Apparated into a copse of woods next to where her parents were buried.

Harry hung back as Hermione approached the graves. She set the basket of flowers between the two flat plaques in the ground and knelt there for several moments. He watched as her head suddenly bowed and her shoulders shook and started forward. But when she lifted her head again and squared her shoulders, he paused. That’s my girl, he thought with fierce pride.

Before he could wonder at the strength of that thought, Hermione was getting to her feet and walking back to him, wiping her eyes with her gloved hands. “Shall we, then?”

He nodded and closed his eyes to Apparate away.

They arrived in Godric’s Hollow a few feet apart; constant practice during what would have been their seventh year had made it possible for them and Ron to always Apparate closer than had been advised by their trainers in Hogwarts. This time Hermione stayed back slightly as they approached the elegant tombstone that listed his parents’ names.

Harry set his basket below their names and knelt on the cold ground. I miss you, Mum. I miss you, Dad. Now that Voldemort is gone and I’m not in fear of my life every waking moment, I think I’m going to miss you a lot more. He glanced back at Hermione, who was intently studying a nearby gravestone so as not to hover over him. But I’ve got friends. I’ve got a future thanks to you.

He stood and dusted off his knees. Hermione came to his side and took his hand.

“You OK?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I think I am. You?”

She gave a small smile. “Getting there.”

***

They Apparated back to London. Harry was surprised to discover that the rink at Hyde Park booked in advance and that they wouldn’t be able to skate there. The attendant kindly handed Harry a pre-printed list of other rinks in London, and Hermione studied it.

“Somerset House and the Tower of London will be packed. Let’s try the one at the Natural History Museum. It’s out of the way enough that it won’t draw as many tourists.”

They took the Tube and found that Hermione’s prediction was correct. They got skates and laced them on, then held onto each other carefully as they made their way to the rink. Hermione was thoroughly disgusted when Harry quickly found his balance and began gliding across the ice, while she tottered and tried to keep her ankles from bending. So totally not fair.

Harry swung up behind her, laughing. “Hey, this is easy! Just like flying!” Hermione glared at him and he stuck his tongue at her. He took off again and Hermione simply stopped at the railing to watch him. He was smiling so radiantly that several of the people he passed paused to watch him as well.

He went around a few more times, and on the last lap started trying to skate backward. After a few false starts he was quickly skimming across the ice in reverse, then turning easily to go forward again.

He stopped in front of Hermione, who was looking at him with narrowed eyes and her mouth twisting at one corner in disgruntlement. He grabbed her hands. “Come on, hang onto me.”

“Harry, wait…Harry!” She dared not struggle much, lest she pull him down among the other skaters. He held her firmly and drew her along.

“Just go with it, Hermione. Don’t think about it…feel it!” As she began to move more steadily, Harry switched from skating backwards in front of her to going beside her, his hand still firmly supporting her elbow. She gasped as she nearly lost her balance, and Harry moved closer, switching the hand that held hers and putting the other at her waist. “Come on, left…right…” She tried to match his stride, thankful that he wasn’t as tall as Ron or this would never have worked. She leaned into him, taking comfort in his solid presence, as she tried to remember seeing pair skaters on television and copy how they had moved.

He guided her around for a few laps, and then slid away from her slightly, still gripping her hand. She tightened her fingers around his hand, looking at him uncertainly, and found him watching her, nodding his encouragement. Their eyes locked for a moment…his belief in her and her confidence in him flowing back and forth…

And suddenly Hermione was sprawled on the ice, her skate caught in a small tree branch that had blown down from overhead. Harry had kept his feet, but was bent over awkwardly, his hand still clasped in hers. He knelt, trying to shield her from the other skaters that were beginning to crowd around. He saw the awareness growing in her face, of the pain as the wrist of her free hand was bending in a way it had no business doing so.

Harry moved to gather her up, and a voice stopped him. “Wait, son. Not on skates.” The man sent a girl over to the railings, where she waved frantically for help. Harry seethed with the need to get Hermione out of sight where he could fix the break, to spare her every second of pain that he could, and had to force himself to wait.

When two of the skating attendants arrived, walking steadily across the ice in rubber-soled boots, Harry had gotten Hermione in a sitting position and her arm somewhat immobilized with his scarf. The attendants linked arms and Harry and the man got Hermione seated on them. They carried her to a chair and talked about calling for an ambulance.

“No need, my car’s nearby. If she can walk a few steps—” Harry paused briefly to look at Hermione, who nodded even as she bit her lip. “—then I’ll drive her myself. We just need to get these skates off.” Harry let one of the attendants take care of Hermione’s skates while he exchanged his own for his shoes. With repeated assurances to the others that they could handle it, Harry helped Hermione walk out.

“Merlin’s teeth, this hurts!” Hermione hissed when they were out of earshot. Harry drew her into the shadows between two stately columns and took out his wand.

“Good thing I’m not Lockhart,” he murmured, and was rewarded with a chuckle from Hermione, though her face was white and drawn from the pain. He pointed his wand at the break. “Bracchium emendo.”

Hermione drew a deep breath. “Thank you.” She rubbed her wrist where the break had been. “I’m sorry. I should have been watching where I was going.”

“It wasn’t just you, I wasn’t paying attention either. I’m just sorry that the skating is over so quickly, unless you fancy finding another rink and trying again?”

“No, no,” Hermione shook her head. “I’ve had quite enough of skating. And it’s going to be too cold tonight for wandering around. I say we buy what we need for a little Christmas feast and carry it back to your place.”

“All right, but let’s fetch Crookshanks from your flat. It’s only a few streets over from here, isn’t it?”

“You’re right, it is. And I know just the place to buy our food.” Linking her newly-healed arm in his, Hermione led the way.

***

Like the previous evening, they ended up in Hermione’s bed. This time they cheerfully pulled Muggle crackers apart as they munched on Turkish Delight and mince pies. Harry was wearing a red paper crown and Hermione had a silver pasteboard tiara. They groaned over the inane jokes in the messages, crumpled the papers up, and tossed them for Crookshanks to chase. At one point Crookshanks managed to bat his prey under a set of shelves and Hermione went to retrieve it. Harry moved over to the telly to find one of the BBC broadcasts of holiday concerts. It took him a moment to realize that Hermione hadn’t moved from his bookcase.

“Harry?”

“Hmm?”

“Could I ask you something?”

“Of course.” He turned to her and paused a moment. Hermione was holding a small picture that belonged on the top shelf, along with several others of friends from Hogwarts. This one was of him and Ginny, taken at his seventeenth birthday party just before he, Hermione and Ron had departed to start their desperate search for Voldemort’s Horcruxes. In the moving photo, the image of Ginny was clinging to Harry, playing with his hair, and flirting like mad, while the image of Harry was looking rather embarrassed over it.

“Do you think about her a lot?”

Harry paused a moment, studying Hermione. She was tense, her shoulders rigid, even though she’d asked the question nonchalantly. She was looking at the photo with her lips pressed together.

He came over to her and took the photo from her. “I think about her in the way I think about most of the people who died. They cross my mind sometimes—her more than most because of Ron and the rest of the Weasleys.”

“But you were dating in our sixth year. And I know you thought about her during the months we spent trying to destroy the Horcruxes.”

Harry put the picture back in its place. “We wouldn’t have lasted if she’d lived, if that’s what you want to know. She was an escape for me, someone I could pretend to be just a normal guy with, so I could forget about being the Saviour of the Wizarding World for a while.

“I could go into her world, where everything was calm and peaceful on the surface. But she wouldn’t go into mine. For one thing, I wouldn’t let her in. For another, she didn’t try to get in. When I broke up with her after Dumbledore’s funeral, I was ready. I had all the arguments set out for why she couldn’t come with me—the same arguments you and Ron wouldn’t even let me begin to use—and she never asked. Not once.”

He looked straight into Hermione’s eyes. “I don’t know if I ever properly said it, but thank you. Thank you for sticking with me through it all, even when I didn’t want you there. Thank you for making it possible for me to defeat him.”

She blushed, her eyes shining with tears about to fall. Harry paused, looking at her as if he wanted to memorize every detail…the way the fairy lights made her eyes glisten and her hair shine…the way she was about to bite her lip to keep the words from coming, from downplaying what she had done for him and for the wizarding world.

He wanted to kiss her. Instinctively he wanted to reach out, take her face in his hands, and plant his lips on hers. And he thought perhaps she was feeling the same pull. He knew she wouldn’t do it, though. Hermione was reason and logic personified and would come up with a hundred reasons not to cross that line, not the least of which was risking the precious friendship they had, or upsetting the balance they had with Ron…

And then, as he had done so often in his life, Harry followed his instincts.

He felt Hermione draw back slightly in surprise, but he followed her and refused to lose contact with her warm lips. He slid one hand behind her neck and into her hair and felt her hands creep up to his shoulders. Encouraged, he parted his lips and even as he was about to touch his tongue to her mouth, asking to be let in, her hands flew up and tangled in his hair as she deepened the kiss.

Harry felt his knees turn to water as they continued to plumb the depths of each other’s mouths with their tongues. He pushed her against the wall and pinned her there, continuing to snog her passionately as he fumbled to reach under her jumper.

Hermione tried to push his hands back and finally jerked her head to one side, breaking off the kiss. “Harry, wait. Wait!”

He pulled back, breathing heavily, and propped himself with his hands to either side of her, keeping her in his arms. “Why?” he gasped. “Don’t you want this?”

Her expression melted into an apology even as her eyes burned into his. “I do—” Harry eagerly moved to resume snogging, but she ducked under one arm and out of his embrace. “I do, but I don’t want us to rush anything and ruin this before it’s begun.”

Harry took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to beat down the impulse, the need to take her in his arms again and lower her onto the bed that was sitting so conveniently behind her.

Seeing that he was going to listen, Hermione took his hands and drew him to sit on the edge of the bed. “I want this, Harry. I’ve wanted it for a long time. But please…we have to take it slowly. If we mess this up by moving too fast, if we don’t give Ron and the others time to adjust…we could make a mistake that could end our friendship forever. And you mean too much to me to risk that. I can’t not have you in my life, Harry, even if that means never kissing you again.”

She took his face in her hands. “Can you do that for me?”

Harry turned his head and buried his lips in the palm of her hand. He heard the slight gasp in her breath and felt her hands tremble. Smiling slightly at the knowledge that she was as aflame with desire as he was, he replied, “I’ll do whatever it takes for us to be together, Hermione.”

She grimaced. “Then you can start by taking yourself into your room to sleep. It’s getting late.”

“My room? But it felt so good to sleep next to you last night,” Harry protested.

“I know. And that’s why I want you a safe distance away tonight.” Hermione pulled him to his feet and gently but firmly pushed him toward his bedroom.

“Not even a good-night kiss?”

She darted in for a quick kiss to his cheek. “Good night, Harry.”

***

Harry spent one of the longest nights he could remember, tossing and turning and unable to think of anything but Hermione lying in the bed in the next room. He got up when light began to filter through the curtains and tried a cold shower. He went into the sitting room to find Hermione asleep with a book by her side. Harry picked it up, curious, and found that Hermione’s solution had been to bore herself to sleep with a copy of Middlemarch that had been left by the previous tenant. Smiling, he replaced the book and went into the kitchen to scrounge up breakfast.

He had finished preparing bangers and eggs when Hermione wandered in, her eyes sporting dark circles underneath. “Happy Christmas, Harry.”

“Happy Christmas. I see you slept about as well as I did.”

She smiled ruefully and went to put the kettle on. Harry reached over and pulled her into a hug, which she returned. She kissed him and slipped away to fetch mugs from the cupboard.

“Breakfast and then presents?”

Harry nodded in agreement as he transferred the sausages from pan to plate. They ate companionably, speculating on what Ron and the Weasleys might be doing today in faraway California. Harry cleared the table while Hermione poured out the last of the tea to carry back into the sitting room.

They had set their presents under the tree. Hermione looked at the small box wrapped in shiny red paper and wondered what Harry could have possibly found for her. She reached under the tree and brought out the larger box for him. “You first.”

“I won’t argue with that,” he replied cheerfully, and began tearing off the snowflake-patterned paper.

Hermione watched, a little worried now that Harry was actually opening her gift. He lifted the lid of the box and looked for a moment, then tossed the lid aside. He drew out the jumper and let it unfold, looking at the rich, tapestry-like blend of blue, green, gold and burgundy wool. And though he was troll-level stupid when it came to clothes, even he recognized the name on the tag.

“Wow, Hermione. This is…” He held it up under his chin. “Are you sure I’m ready for the runway?”

She laughed. “I did think it was time you had some really nice clothes. You still wear those old castoffs under your robes half the time. And while I know Mrs. Weasley knits with love, a handmade jumper with a dragon on it’s not exactly what you’d wear to a fancy restaurant.”

He set the jumper down and held up the beige trousers she’d bought to match. “You cheated. There’s no way these cost less than twenty pounds.”

“Oh ye of little faith! Don’t you know how much stores slash their prices for the last shopping days?”

He gave a crooked smile. “Guess I went shopping in the wrong place, then.” He leaned down and plucked the small box from under the tree. “Your turn.”

Hermione unwrapped it carefully, untying the bow and pulling the paper off slowly to keep it in one piece. She could sense Harry’s tension as he watched. Inside was a velvet-covered box that could only hold jewellery. She opened it and gasped.

It was a silver bracelet, heavy with sparkling charms. She pulled it out to get a better look, breathing, “Oh, Harry!”

He relaxed and smiled. “I know you don’t usually wear any jewellery, but I was poking through this one shop and saw some parents choosing a charm to add to their daughter’s bracelet and it just hit me.”

Hermione was turning the bracelet over in her hands, looking at each of the charms he’d chosen. There was an open book, a cat that looked quite close to Crookshanks, a quill, a tiny castle, and an hourglass. “Is that…?”

“Closest I could get to the Time-Turner, yes. There’s room to add more charms. Like the one that’s under the pasteboard there.”

“Goodness, there’s more?” Hermione pulled the pasteboard up to find a tiny silver Christmas tree, studded with red and gold stones and a wee gold star.

“One for our first Christmas together, if you will,” Harry leaned forward, sliding one hand up her neck to cup her cheek, and kissed her gently.

Hermione leaned back for a moment. “The first of many more,” she replied, and returned his kiss firmly.

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.

Huge thanks to Paracelsus for looking this over and ironing out wrinkles.

--------------------------

Hermione’s master plan became evident a few hours later, when she pulled out the leftovers of the very large dinner from the night before. Harry had wondered at the time why they were making so much food. But when he realized that preparing a quick lunch with a few heating charms would mean less time taken away from talking (or snogging), he moved with alacrity to serve the plates.

As they were eating, a shadow flitted across Harry’s window. They looked up to see a familiar owl sail by, an envelope clutched in her talons.

“Hedwig!” Harry cried, leaping to his feet to let her in. He glanced at the familiar handwriting on the envelope. “So this is where you’ve been the last week! You didn’t have to do that!” The snowy owl ruffled her feathers and leaned into Harry’s hand as he scratched under her neck.

“What is it?” Hermione asked.

“It’s a letter from Ron!”

“Oh, my! Hedwig, you shouldn’t spoil him so.”

Hedwig twisted her head until it was nearly upside down and gave Hermione a look that said I’ll do what I like.

Harry was opening the letter and a photograph fell to the floor. He picked it up and burst out laughing. Hermione looked at him, bemused, and he passed it to her.

The picture was of Ron, Charlie and the twins, all posing and flexing. That alone would have made Hermione chuckle, but they were all dressed in some ridiculous outfit with rounded helmets and some kind of strange pads that distended their shoulders. The jerseys they wore had oversized numbers printed on them.

“What in the world are they wearing?” she asked.

Harry was scanning the letter, still shaking his head and grinning. “Seems that Charlie’s gotten to know one of the dragon-wranglers from America. He’s a fanatic for football, which is not football as we know it. I think it’s something like Quodpot. Eleven players trying to get the ball past a goal.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard of that. So, is that the uniform they wear? It looks silly.”

“I think all that stuff is for protection. They can hit each other pretty hard.”

“So what else does Ron say?”

“Here.” Harry handed her the parchment. She began reading in Ron’s loopy handwriting:

Dear Harry,

I wish you’d decided to come with us – we’re having a great time. I think this was the best thing we could have done; Mum and Dad are usually too busy to stop and think about Bill or Ginny long enough to get upset.

I’m starting to wonder if I should try and join Charlie in working with dragons. I know we all stopped taking Hagrid’s class after fifth year, but I bet if they let Charlie coach me I could pick it up. Most of the people that Charlie works with are pretty cool. Not that I don’t enjoy working with Fred and George, but I kind of feel like I ought to be doing something more for myself.

Alex is the guy that took the photograph; he’s mad for this Muggle game called football, only it’s not the kind of football like in Dean’s weird poster in our dormitory. These players really go after each other with their taggles and they wear all these silly things to protect themselves. I think this would be a laugh as a costume for the Twelfth Night Ball—we’re all still going to that, right?

If you see Hermione or any of the others, tell them hello for me. I should be back right after New Year’s; Dad is set on going to someplace called Time Squared that night.

Ron

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’d forgotten about the ball.”

Harry nodded, taking the letter as she handed it back to him. “I had, too. But…at least, we could go together?” He looked at Hermione hopefully.

She brightened. “That’s true! We’ll just need to talk to Ron when he gets back.”

Harry reapplied himself to his lunch. Hermione stared thoughtfully into space until he spoke, “Hermione? Are you in there?”

“Oh, sorry. I was just wondering what kind of costumes we might wear, since it’s fancy dress.”

Harry paused, his hand with the fork wavering in the air. “Fancy dress?”

“Of course, Harry. Twelfth Night, you know.”

He groaned, and Hermione patted his arm consolingly. “Don’t worry. If you like I’ll try and come up with something very simple. Or we could go all out and disguise ourselves so cleverly that no one will recognize us.”

Harry perked up noticeably. “I like that idea. Easier to slip away from the crowds and snog.”

Hermione’s brow wrinkled in thought again. “That would be easier if Ron had a date, though.”

“Who in the world could we find as a date for him? Not even helping defeat Voldemort made Lavender forgive him for sixth year and you know she’s complained the ears off the Patil twins and half the girls in our year.”

Hermione shrugged and carried her plate to the sink. “I’ll try and think of people in the Ministry that wouldn’t have crossed Lavender’s path.”

Harry was going to reply, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. “Who in the world…?” He stepped over to the door and peeked through the spyhole. “Huh. I wonder what this is about.”

He opened the door. “Hi, Luna.”

***

Luna drifted in, looking around at the tree and decorations. She spotted Hermione in the kitchen alcove and smiled. “Hello. I got your note. I thought I’d be sure that Crookshanks was here, since there are wizards who steal kneazles and try to use the fur for potions to help them slip past the wards at Gringotts.”

Hermione smiled a little uncertainly. She had grown to like Luna very much, but the girl’s tangents still unnerved her at times. “He is here, thank you. That was very kind of you to check.”

Harry moved to take Luna’s cloak. “We’ve just had lunch and there’s plenty. Would you like some, or some tea or pudding?”

Luna moved to sit and replied absently, “Tea would be lovely. So would pudding.”

Hermione went to fetch plates. “We’ve chocolate cake and treacle tart and there are a few mince pies left.”

“Cake, please. I tend to avoid treacle tart since it’s been discovered to be a powerful aphrodisiac, especially in wizards. You might be careful around Harry for the next few hours.” She looked pointedly at Harry’s generous portion as she addressed Hermione.

Hermione giggled at that one and glanced at Harry, who was turning red. She replied with a studied archness, “Oh, I don’t think I’d mind that at all.”

Luna looked surprised as she accepted tea and cake from Hermione. “Really? Does this mean you two have finally gotten together?” She looked from Hermione, who was now also blushing, to Harry, who was trying not to choke on his mouthful of treacle tart. They both nodded, and Luna jerked her head once in satisfaction. “Good.”

Talk turned to the rest of the holiday. Harry and Hermione would be back at work after Boxing Day, he with the Aurors and she in her office in the Department of Magical Law. Luna was helping her father finish an issue of The Quibbler that would feature the twelve newest threats to the wizarding world in the coming year. As she was describing a predator called the Pig-Footed Bandicoot that could decimate the Jarvey population within a decade if not stopped, Crookshanks leaped onto the table and swiped Ron’s letter to the floor with one flick of his tail. Luna leaned over to retrieve it.

Looking at the photograph, she smiled. “Goodness, I didn’t know Ron and his brothers played Shuntbumps.”

Harry laughed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they did when they were young, but they’re actually dressed as American football players.”

Luna took another look. “Oh, of course! Those are the uniforms for the San Diego Chargers. I understand they’re doing quite well this year, even though they’ve had some key injuries.”

Harry and Hermione gave each other startled looks, then Hermione noticed how Luna continued to study the photo. A smile crept across her face as Hermione had an idea.

***

After spending part of the afternoon giving his flat a thorough cleaning, Harry felt that he and Hermione more than deserved time to enjoy themselves and dragged her out for a walk. They went to Hyde Park again, this time to watch as kids tried new bicycles and scooters and other large toys on the swept paths, enjoying the unexpectedly sunny day.

They were strolling along hand in hand, headed slowly toward the Marlborough Gate. Hermione laid her head on Harry’s shoulder for a moment, and he grinned and kissed the top of her head through her knitted hat. They were passing a playground when a child’s shrill voice shrieked, “Hermione!!!”

They turned toward the voice in surprise and saw a small girl with a fairer version of Hermione’s bushy hair running toward them and shouting, “Daddy! Daddy! It’s Hermione!” She charged into Hermione, nearly knocking her flat in a hug.

“Sophia?” Hermione gasped, trying to get her air back. Then a man was approaching them. He held out a friendly hand to Harry as Hermione was still trying to loosen the child’s grip.

“Matthew Granger. I’m a cousin of Hermione’s. And the limpet is my daughter, Sophia.”

Harry shook. “Harry Potter.” And with the briefest of pauses, surprised at his sudden feeling of shyness, he continued. “Hermione’s boyfriend.”

Matthew’s eyebrows rose. “Really? Hermione didn’t mention that she was seeing someone. But then, Aunt Imogene drove her off so fast that she didn’t really get the chance.” He reached down and tickled Sophia to make her let go and lifted her up. “Sophia, go play.” He set the child down and she ran off agreeably. He watched her go, then turned back to Hermione. “Since you left too soon to know, Dad gave Imogene a right ticking off for what she did. I expect you’ll be getting a letter from Dad in a few days, but since I saw you first, you are hereby invited to any and all Granger gatherings in the future.”

Hermione closed her eyes in a desperate attempt to keep the tears from spilling over, and Harry put one arm around her and pulled her close. Matthew reached out to touch her, glanced at Harry, and drew back. He continued, obviously trying to lighten the mood, “And if Imogene decides to start something, we’ll all sit on her. Simultaneously.”

Hermione did giggle at that, wiping her eyes and moving away from Harry slightly. “Thank you, Matthew. I really needed to hear that.”

Now Matthew put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it briefly. “You’re very welcome. Think you can make it tomorrow? Both of you, of course.”

Hermione hesitated, and Harry asked, “What’s tomorrow?”

Matthew looked back at Harry, who noticed that he had the same warm brown eyes as Hermione. “The Grangers usually spend Boxing Day together at someone’s house. Everyone brings leftovers so they won’t go to waste, there’s a bit of trading of gifts behind closed doors. The women sometimes go shopping and leave the men to watch the football or races.”

Harry was torn. On the one hand, he and Hermione only had one more day to themselves before they had to return to work. On the other hand, it sounded like something that Hermione needed to do, to reconnect with her family and work past the aunt’s hideous behaviour. He squeezed Hermione’s hand. “Sounds like fun?”

Hermione glanced at him, easily seeing through him. And while she had no desire at all to face Aunt Imogene again, it would have to happen sooner or later. The alternative was to abandon her Muggle family and she knew that she shouldn’t cut those ties.

Matthew ducked his head, trying to draw Hermione’s eyes to him. “Please? I’m really looking forward to dog-piling on Imogene.”

Harry laughed. “I want in on that if it happens.”

She rolled her eyes at him and nodded. “All right, Matthew, we’ll come. When and where?”

“Midmorning as usual. Mum and Dad’s place. Have you been there yet? They’re still in Chiswick but over a few streets from before.” He gave her the address and Hermione assured him that they’d be able to find it.

They said goodbye, with little Sophia streaking over for one last round of hugs. She included Harry without a trace of awkwardness, but Hermione noticed Harry’s blush. She was surprised at her own urge to snog Harry senseless right there in the middle of the park.

She practically dragged Harry back to his flat.