Hermione darted across the narrow alleyway, struggling for breath as the cold air irritated her throat and nose. She walked briskly past the various shops she passed, all of them boarded up and darkened. A light snow came down from the dull gray sky. As the first snowflake fell, a tear rolled down her cheek, feeling warm in the bitter cold. So much had happened in the past few years . . . it seemed as if darkness would be here to stay forever. The chosen one was gone.
Another hot tear fell from her eye; another memory passed through her troubled mind as she walked past a largish store that was boarded up. She paused, not being able to resist the urge to look back at days so long gone. A cold, gray marker stood in front of the door. Bending down to take a closer look, Hermione fished in her pocket for something she had been saving for quite a while, something she had smuggled from the shop standing behind the grave she was now visiting. Successfully retrieving the small object, she placed it on the ground in front of the grave.
The bright-looking candy flower dissolved the thin layer of snow around the grave, then illuminating the engraving on the cold stone:
GEORGE WEASLEY
DIED JUNE 13TH, 2008
FOR A VALIANT CAUSE
REST IN PEACE
Hermione breathed in a whisper to the strange-looking flower, “Tell him that Ron misses him. Tell him that Fred misses him. Tell him that Ginny misses him. Tell him that I miss him,” she paused here, breathing deeply. “And tell him to inform Harry that we all miss him, too.”
The flower dived deep into the ground, planting its roots past some unseen magical boundary “ the boundary into one-way communication with those no longer with us. It would deliver a deceased George the message; rather ironically as George had invented the flower in the first place. He wouldn’t be pleased to find out that Ron had let Hermione take one outside on the house.
Hermione then hurried away, not looking back at Fred and George’s old shop or the dismal grave that rested in front of it, passing through Diagon Alley, not even paying attention to the closed shops, grasping a heavy object in her left hand and her worn handbag in the other.
She exited the row of out-of-business shops and went into the Leaky Cauldron, now closed for good with out even as much as a front door “ Hermione walked out of the old pub and flagged down a taxi “ apparation would cause her to be noticed, now with the new and much more immense dark networking system.
“Where to, ma’am?” asked a scruffy-looking man in the front seat of the taxi. “It’s Christmas Eve, you should be getting home to your family now, yes?” he half-suggested, half-questioned.
“To Downtown Cambridge, please, if you’d be so kind,” Hermione requested in a soft voice.
“Aww, you know, I got a family to go home to tonight too, but I guess I could make the trip “ you have to pay extra.”
“That’s fine,” said Hermione in a calm voice, pulling out a 50-pound note. “Here, take it, just take me to Cambridge.”
“Hey, thanks, lady,” said the driver, mumbling under his breath, “Some Christmas bonus, this is the only one who tipped at all.”
He sped off into the street, the sky darkening. As they passed through brightly lit cities, Hermione felt her spirits rise. The ride was quiet apart from the occasional question from the driver about Hermione’s family, her job, etc. until the very end of the ride.
“So, what do you have in that package there? Looks like a present,” said the driver, smiling and noticing the parcel under Hermione’s arm.
Hermione said briskly, “It’s a present for my friend.” She seemed to not want to talk about it much more then that.
The driver, noticing the change in the atmosphere, said to her, “What is it? I promise I won’t open it and spoil the surprise.”
“Nothing really, just a little gift ““
“Aww, come on, you can tell me,” he pressed, interrupting.
Hermione searched her mind for an alibi. She hadn’t planned to make up a story “ she doubted the driver would notice it. Regretting this and internally cursing, she made up the first thing that came to mind about Christmas: “It’s a fruitcake from my mother. She wants me to give it to the rest of my family.” Leaning forward for effect, quickly adding on to the story to make it believable, she added, “It tastes like dirt and is as hard as a rock. We just tell her we love it so she won’t cook for us over Easter.”
“Aah,” exclaimed the driver, clearly satisfied with this. “It does look like it is pretty hard!” And it was true “ the parcel was very hard and shaped almost like a loaf of fruitcake that had gotten messed up somewhere in the cooking process, with small lumps bulging out here and there. Hermione sighed with relief, unnoticed by the driver.
The driver coasted to a stop outside a downtown shop, and leaned towards Hermione. “Stephan Manning. Pleased to meet you, Miss ““
“Granger,” Hermione completed his sentence for him in a gentle voice.
“Aah, right, Miss Granger. If you ever need a ride somewhere in London, look me up. Have a very happy Christmas Eve.”
As she stepped out from the car in the middle of town, the driver asked, “’you sure this is where you want me to drop you off?”
“Yes, this is fine, thank you,” she replied briskly, striding off into the night, away from the driver, from the outside world.
A moment later, she arrived upon a smallish but comfortable-looking brick house with a fire burning brightly inside and an appetizing smell wafting outside.
Hermione rung the doorbell, and heard a familiar voice inside say, “It’s Hermione! Hey, everyone, it’s Hermione!” Hermione smiled outside the door as the person who possessed the voice flung the door open and held her in a warm embrace.
She was finally home.