Boxing Day at the Burrow was a sluggish affair. Everyone had eaten or, in Charlie's case, drank too much the day before and that, mixed with the early morning they had had and the fact no one had anything of importance to do, meant that by ten, Harry and Mrs Weasley were the only ones awake, dressed and downstairs.

Despite now living at Grimmauld Place with Ron, Harry was at the Burrow after they had unanimously decided to spend a few days over Christmas there with the rest of the Weasleys, except Bill, who was spending the festive period in France with his in-laws. Part of the reason they weren't spending Christmas at home was that they both knew that without Fred, the family was going to need as much support as it could give itself. Mostly, however, it was because neither of them fancied cooking a Christmas dinner when they knew Mrs Weasley would be making enough so even the gnomes wouldn't go hungry.

Currently, Mrs Weasley was prepping lunch, even though it would be breakfast for most of them. Harry had offered his assistance several times but she had shooed him away because he was "a guest and shouldn't be expected to help." So, with no one else to talk to and nothing much to do, Harry was sat on the sofa and staring into the fireplace that was framed with more stockings than looked tidy, remembering the events of this day the previous year. Even now, he could feel the cold grip his bones and how his eyes had stung with the bright light of the doe through the darkness. The one thing he couldn't recall perfectly, however, had been the utter defeat he had felt. His wand, his best friend and even his faith in Dumbledore had left him and he had nowhere else to go.

It had only been a year and now everything was so different. Harry closed his eyes and tried to lock this away in his memory. He had been doing this a lot since the war. Whenever he was particularly happy or saw something that made him glad to be alive, he would try and retain every feeling because, one day, he may need a memory to remind him what life could be.

"Earth to Harry?"

Snapping out of his musings, Harry turned to see Hermione stood in the threshold of the living room, wearing a thick coat and a knitted hat and scarf.

"Sorry," he said, shaking his head slightly. "What are you doing here?"

Hermione rolled her eyes as she slowly started undoing her coat.

"Hello to you too."

Harry smiled sheepishly and Hermione shook her head. Once she had removed her outdoor clothes, she sat down next to him and sighed softly. Harry knew the feeling; there was something about coming to the Burrow that was more welcoming than a warm bed on a cold night.

"So," Harry said once Hermione seemed to have warmed up a little, "while it is nice to see you, what are you doing here?"

She tried to look annoyed with him but her nose, still pink from being outside in the cold, twitched.

"Well, I thought it'd be nice to come and see you all-"

"And by that you mean 'Ron.'"

Hermione scowled at him but Harry smiled to let her know that he was only teasing.

"Plus," Hermione continued, looking faintly amused, "my Grandfather is coming around later this afternoon so I've left my mum to have a meltdown."

"Do they not get on?"

"As far as he is concerned, she is the harpy who ruined his son and is likely to break his heart any day now."

Harry chuckled. "And your parents have been together for-"

"Twenty-five years next month."

Hermione's eyes met his in a sideways glance for a split second before she cracked at the serious look on his face. The sound of her laughter over the crackling fire warmed Harry up from the inside. Last Christmas, she had been almost catatonic at times, never truly smiling and barely unrecognisable under the cloud the horcrux placed them both under. Even after the locket had been destroyed, there was always something that wasn't there anymore, an empty space that had once been filled.

It hadn't been until after the war, after the funerals and her parents to return that Hermione had truly became Hermione again.

"So why aren't you helping Mrs Weasley make lunch?" she asked when she had stopped laughing.

"Same reason you aren't, I expect."

"The way she reacts," Hermione shook her head, "you'd think we had said something terrible. We're just offering to lend her a hand!"

"Hey, I know!" Harry said, twisting around on the sofa to look at her properly. "Next year, for Christmas, we'll get her a house-elf and-"

Hermione hit him with a cushion.

"What did the cushion do to deserve that?" he asked, rubbing his arm.

She gave him a look that would've been cold if it weren't for her smiling slightly. "I'm sure it'll live."

Just as Harry was about to point out that most cushions don't appreciate being treated with such violence, he noticed what Hermione was wearing. At first glance, it was simply a scarlet woollen jumper but on front, just to the right hand side, in deep gold, was a small letter 'H'.

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?"

"Is that a Weasley jumper?"

Her reaction was immediate. Her eyes flickered downwards, avoiding his probing gaze, as the corner of her bottom lip was pulled into her mouth while her cheeks flooded with pink. She fidgeted on the sofa before straightening out her jumper.

"Um," she said, looking down as if to check what she was wearing, "yes, it is."

And just as quickly as she had arrived, bashful Hermione left and was replaced by her unfazable counterpart with her jaw jutting out slightly.

"You're wearing one," she pointed out, nodding towards to emerald green wool that he had sleepily pulled over his head a couple of hours ago.

"Yeah," Harry said, "but I usually wear one. This is the first time I've seen you wearing one."

Hermione tried to hide her true feelings and pass the new addition to her wardrobe off as an average present by pursing her lips slightly but Harry wasn't fooled; the happiness was coming off of her in waves.

"Is that your first one?" he asked, knowing she wouldn't be able to keep this up for much longer.

"Yes," she replied primly.

"Oh."

Harry turned to face the fire again but he could still see her fiddling with her cuff.

"She probably had some wool left over," Hermione blurted out suddenly. Her shoulder jerked in a way that might have been a shrug. "I mean, it's hard to buy presents for people in their late-teens, isn't it? And she isn't the sort to just get me vouchers so it was just the logical choice."

"Of course," Harry agreed in mock seriousness. "Very logical."

"Not that I'm saying that I was expecting a present, or this exact present," she continued, shooting him a nervous glance, as if making sure that he believed her, "but the Weasleys have always got me something small for Christmas. I guess this year, with things being – um, different – between Ron and I, they just wanted to get something a bit more personal."

Harry grinned when she stopped to take a breath.

"It's a lovely gesture really and-"

"Hermione," Harry interrupted softly, "she made yours first."

It was hard to tell what emotion was on Hermione's face then as it appeared that three or four had taken her features hostage. She stared at him wide-eyed, clearly struggling to form a sentence or a question.

"Something about thinking that it was 'about time'," he continued with a shrug. "You can tell she took more care as well – she made your 'H' sensible and dignified. Mine's just childish. She always makes more of an effort if when you're not family," he finished with a heavy sigh.

Even though he meant to amuse her, a haze of moisture had formed in Hermione's eyes and she blinked rapidly to break it up before turning away from him. Harry thought that he had offended her and was on the verge of apologising, when he saw a shy smile fighting its way onto her face.

"Well," she said in shaky voice, still not meeting his eyes, "maybe one day I can have a grotty one like yours."

Harry chuckled. "That's up to Ron, I guess."

Normally jokes about her and Ron eloping, usually after an argument, were fairly frequent amongst the Weasley siblings and Harry. There was definitely some cruel satisfaction to be had from the way they would both blush, vehemently deny it but then ruin it all by sharing a stupid smile afterwards that, truth be told, made Harry feel a little queasy. He glanced over at her now, waiting for another cushion to come his way, but instead there was a small smile dancing on her lips and she looked down at her hands, placed delicately in her lap.

"You probably shouldn't hold your breath then," she almost whispered, her voice filled with as much pride as it was happiness and Harry couldn't think of a single thing that he could tease her with, let alone a reason to.

"Well, until then," Harry said, bumping into her lightly with his shoulder, "at least, you won't get cold."

Hermione laughed softly and the two of them fell into a comfortable silence while their eyes traced the flames flickering in front of them, both remembering last year, when protecting them from the cold was all a jumper could do.