Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world is the property of J.K. Rowling.
The plot is of my own invention.
The Burrow was packed on the twenty-forth of December with the entire Weasley family, with the exception of Charlie. After exchanging gifts, everyone visited until midnight to sing Christmas carols before Flooing or Apparating home. Harry and Ginny left in the early morning hours with Remus and Tonks for London and the Black estate where Diane was waiting. She had been invited to join the Weasley clan but had opted to stay in Harry’s house to rummage through long empty rooms.
Christmas at Grimmauld Place was far happier and more spiritual than any Harry had ever known. Diane and Remus had plotted to take everyone to a Christmas morning service at a nearby Anglican Church; neither Tonks, Harry nor Ginny had ever had the experience of a Christian Christmas service. Remus attended services regularly, Harry knew, as did Diane, but only Diane had asked Harry to attend with her over the previous summer in Salem.
To his surprise, Harry found the service joyful and comforting. But it also brought up long-buried feelings of guilt at not having made religion and faith more a part of his life. Ginny, too, expressed similar feelings and the couple spent much of the Christmas morning brunch discussing whether they should make an effort to participate in the service with Diane at Hogsmeade. All the while, Tonks was acting blasé about the whole subject and receiving scowls from Remus. Harry knew Remus wanted a Church wedding but Tonks flatly refused. But there was some logic in her decision, too, Harry saw. “Joining a church out of a sense of obligation is hypocritical,” she said. “I’ll join if and when I feel drawn to it.” Remus sighed and dropped the subject.
Harry had hired Dobby and Winky to clean up the first floor rooms and cook the Christmas dinner at Grimmauld Place, a sumptuous feast for thirty friends being held that evening. Much to everyone’s delight, the two House-Elves were able to removed the portrait of Mrs. Black from the front corridor wall. Harry and Remus broke up the frame and threw it and the canvas into the large fireplace in the parlor. Mrs. Black’s wailings could be heard as the painting smoked and finally burst into flames, much to the dismay of its subject. That was, many felt, the finest Christmas present the two Elves could give. (The next day Harry also asked them to remove the Black House-Elves busts hanging in the front hallway to improve the atmosphere even more.)
Late Christmas evening, as the guests sat around opening presents and sipping tea, Firewhiskey or brandy, (a gift from Arthur’s new boss,) a curious quiet settled over the gathering. Remus had walked into the room with a very large and heavy package for Harry. “Happy Christmas, Harry. I found these two albums for you locked away in Sirius’s old room. I’m sure he would have given them to you “ if he hadn’t...”
“Yeah, Moony, thanks. I understand.”
Setting the package on the sofa between himself and Ginny, Harry began to open the wrapping. There were, as Remus had noted, two large photo albums. The top one, also the smaller of the two, was ornate with gold and silver filigree, though labeled simply “Potter.” The second one was very plain and bore no particular markings. He thanked his friend sincerely and set the albums aside for later.
Ron, who had chosen to stay in England for the Holidays, was wearing a new shirt and trousers sent to him from the Mellanson family in France, though Ginny suspected that it was from Antoinette. Stylish and bold, the outfit made him look taller and more dashing than any of his brothers, a fact not lost on Ron.
After the gifts were exchanged, Ron joined Harry, Diane and his sister in the drawing room where the old Black family tapestry still hung. They sat around, chatting, and trying to avoid the subject on each of their mind: Hermione.
Only twenty miles away, on the far north of London, Hermione sat with her parents as Christmas Day came to an end. The past few days had been tense and uncomfortable for the young witch; both her parents had asked her about Ron but she had never told them they were no longer dating. But Jane Granger really did not need to be told this, she was keenly aware of her daughter’s emotions and could read her reactions each time the young man’s name was mentioned. Prodding her husband off to bed, Jane moved and sat next to her daughter, placing her arm around her shoulder and encouraging her to snuggle up as she had done countless times over the years.
Hermione did. “I thought I was too old for this, mum.”
Jane looked down at her daughter and stroked her fly-away hair. “You’re never to old for comfort, dear. You and Ron broke up, didn’t you?” A nod. “I thought so. Do you want to talk about it?”
There was a long, still pause where Jane thought nothing might happen. Then she felt tears on her arm. Pulling Hermione in closer she held her tightly and waited.
“I’ve been such an arse, mum...” That was as far as Hermione got before breaking down.
The mother and daughter sat together for a long time, the silence only broken by the younger woman’s occasional sobs. At least Ron wasn’t her first ’love!’ Jane thought. But that Viktor fellow years ago was too old for her. Still, she had a mighty crush on him…
Over the next hour Hermione told her mother about the growing friendship she’d had with Ron, the combustible relationship they engaged in over the summer, and her breaking off the ‘affair,’ as she called it. Jane sat silently, listening to Hermione’s confession about using Ron to hurt his mother. And the blunt admission to having become sexually active stung Jane, but also gave her a sense of relief, too. She knew her daughter carried an unjustifiable low self opinion of her looks.
“No, mother!” Hermione blurted out suddenly, as if reading her mother’s mind. “There was nothing good about it. I can tell you’re struggling to accept that I’m no longer a little girl, but that wasn’t the way to prove it.”
Not knowing how to reply to the remark, Jane just whispered a soft acknowledgement.
As the night deepened, Hermione’s conversation told her mother what was becoming the true problem in the young woman’s life: confusing feelings towards someone else. It was not much of a surprise, Jane knew, the two had been close friends for years, and their position at school this term had thrown them into even closer proximity. She also knew that her daughter was chasing an unattainable goal. Hermione had fallen in love with Harry Potter, but would probably never be able to have him.
It had taken many days of delicate work, but Michael Allen and Billy Thompson had reconstructed most of the research lost when the ‘magicians,’ as they’d taken to call the Obliviators, had first attacked weeks before. (Of course, neither had any idea that they had achieved this goal.) Both were quite certain now that somehow, in some unknown manner, magic truly did exist in their world and that they were deeply involved in a cover-up to keep it quiet.
Just this past week Allen had been able to restage his attempts to find the Potter cottage at 4 Flower Lane, but with no success. According to Billy’s conversations with the man at Peachey Boarding House, the same thing had happened to the journalist when he had first attempted to locate the home. Interviews with two residents of Flower Lane had also drawn a blank stare from the interviewees. It was an altogether frustrating job, the only real excitement and adventure was their attempts to remain invisible to the law, both normal and magical. Twice Allen felt it necessary to change hotels when he saw a suspicious person lurking about; and a difficult feat it was in such a small town! He was quickly becoming a master of disguises, too.
The week before Christmas, Allen sent Billy home with a generous wad of twenty-pound notes. Storing most of his meager collection of clothing and sundries he’d purchased at al local TK-Maxx, leaving his mobile phone and laptop with Billy, under strict instructions that he not use them, Michael Allen assumed the life of a well-weathered traveler; he purchased a small rucksack and disappeared into the hills of Wales.
In the Mellanson Estate overlooking the Seine River, Charlie Weasley sat in one of the house’s spacious halls with Tré. The room was alive with the chatter of family, friends, lovers and even a few politicians. Tré’s position as a rising member of the French Ministry of Magical Affairs was requiring her to use the family home to host occasional gatherings. The near total destruction of the Ministry building in Paris at the end of the war had left the Assembly without a permanent meeting place, so they regularly met in Vernon. Tré’s parents did not mind, both had been politically active years before and they welcomed the mostly friendly faces as a distraction from the loss of their son.
Charlie’s rehabilitation had been long and difficult, and not without a few scary moments. Twice since Nettie saved his life he had required surgery to remove scraps of metal from his abdomen. One piece had buried itself in the lining of his small intestine causing numerous infections. Until it was found and removed his health had suffered. But with a month without surgery behind him, the formerly stout Weasley was starting to fill back into his skin. After one of her frequent visits, Molly Weasley broke into tears upon returning to her husband. “Arthur, there’s nothing left of him. He’s skin and bones.”
And so he was “ then. But now, on Christmas Day, with the joy of the season, the new friends he had made, and his health returning, Charlie Weasley was a very appreciative man. And he was in love. The long-buried pangs of guilt over Brachia’s tragic death years before had finally been excised from his psyche, thanks largely to Tré’s therapy “ and her love. His only lingering disappointment was with his career. He could probably return to Romania and force the issue of his job with the new management of the Dragon Preserve, but did he really want to do that?
The French Ministry had offered him a job working with their beefed-up security details, a necessary addition to their usual complement due to lingering attacks from the few desperate Death Eaters scattered throughout the country. But while he had enjoyed working with the less organized Resistance during the war, he was not sure about dealing with the more formal and controlled Security Ministry. He wanted to talk it over with Tré before making a final decision since she would be affected should he return to Romania. But that could wait. He still had weeks of rest ahead of him before he could do either job.
And perhaps there is a way to do both…
On the day following Boxing Day, Ron and Ginny joined their siblings and parents on an all-day excursion into Diagon Alley. The two youngest Weasley’s were in something of a state of shock, having both received an unexpected Christmas gift from the Ministry of Magic: a large pouch of Galleons each for their part in defeating Voldemort. Other family members had also been awarded money for their roles, (and Harry, Diane and Neville’s Grandmother the three largest shares, though all refused the money.) Braving the holiday crowds was nothing with a heavy purse of money distracting you. All together, the Weasley family had received just over thirty-thousand of the one million Galleon reward for their efforts.
Despite the financial straights of the Ministry of Magic, the new Minister insisted that the reward money for defeating Voldemort be distributed from the treasury. Many of Proudfoot’s inner circle of advisors had cautioned against the move, saying it was rash, noting that the formal investigation into the events of September 11th had yet to start. But Proudfoot was adamant; having spoken with Phoebus Penrose he trusted that Voldemort was truly dead, this time. “The ‘how’s’ and ‘why’s’ would be answered in due course,” the Minister told them.
Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks were out of Grimmauld Place for the day, at Harry’s instance, so Dobby and Winky could work on refinishing the house in their frantic, maddeningly pleasing way. Between the suggestions from Diane, Ginny and Hermione (and ignoring Ron’s insistence that every other bedroom be trimmed in bright orange,) Harry had given the two Elves careful instructions and access to his vault to finance the project. The budget Harry had allowed would hardly dent his inheritance.
In her maddeningly predictable way, Diane reawakened Harry shortly after the Weasleys had departed, plopping down on his bed and pulling his covers off. Rolling onto his stomach, he groaned annoyingly at his friend. “Morning, Di. If you can give me three good reasons to get up at this hour I’ll indulge you, otherwise I’m going to Apparate to some place where I can sleep a few more hours.”
“Ok, Mr. Sleepy-head. One: it’s half past ten. Two: you promised to show me the albums two days ago, and I’ve heard you’re a man of your word. And three: I’m wearing a robe.”
Another groan. “I said three good reasons.” The robe was a concession Diane had made after Ginny had come across her lying with Harry one morning in what one could only call a less-than-modest nightie.
Diane punched his arm. “Get up, Harry! How does Ginny put up with you?”
“The real question,” he muttered, “is how I put up with you!” Harry sat up, shaking the cobwebs out of his head, frowning at the American. “Well, at least you’ll make you husba… mate, er, happy in the morning.” He hid his face, feigning rubbing his eyes.
Diane laughed. “Nice cover-up, Harry. Now look.” Diane reached down to the floor and picked up the two albums Remus had given Harry for Christmas.
“Just a mo, Di.” Harry jumped up and went to the bathroom to do what most people do first thing in the morning. A couple minutes later he returned looking slightly more awake, though still a little scruffy with a day’s worth of whisker growth. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to a folder Diane had brought with her.
“These my love,” she tapped the two books and the folder, “are our demons. I think it’s time we faced them, don’t you?”
“Those pictures aren’t my demons, Di. I’m not afraid to look at them,” Harry said with a touch of irritation.
“I see. Is that why you asked Remus for them, and then hid them under the bed for two days?”
“I looked at them!”
“Liar,” Diane said coolly.
“What? How would you know?”
Picking up the two albums, she tossed them to Harry. “Open it,” she ordered. Harry tried but could not.
“Caught,” Harry muttered, recognizing the locking charm. “Did you do this?”
Diane waved her left hand over the books; Harry knew she had removed the charm. Now, in addition to being caught in a lie, he was humbled by his friend’s nearly perfect control of her powers. Wordless, wandless magic was the most difficult to master; Diane did it instinctively.
“Now, shall we try again?” she asked cheerfully.
“What gives, Di? What’s in that folder?”
“My family, Harry. Pictures, mostly. Did Ginny tell you about the night of my meeting with the lawyers?” He nodded. “Ok, then you know I haven’t been able to face this; it’s been three years since they died.” As if a switch had been turned, Diane’s confidence suddenly failed and Harry saw the scared fifteen year-old who had just been orphaned.
“Ok, you want to go first or should I?” he asked, scooting across his bed and putting his arm around the suddenly frightened looking witch.
“Me first.” Haltingly, Diane placed the thick folder between them and opened it. For the hour they looked through the collection, Diane hardly talking except to point out the faces of some of her school friends who happened to get caught in the pictures. Harry had to work to get her to point out her parents and siblings, but she did. And after a while it became easier, though tears were shed and she had to stop a few times to compose herself.
“Did you always wear your hair long?” asked Harry as the final pictures lay before them.
“Yep, I never really went through one of those short-hair phases. It’s a pain sometimes, but…” Diane trailed off for a few seconds. “You should grow yours out, Harry, like Ron’s. A pony-tail would solve the problems you have with this mess,” she further mussed-up his already messy crop.
“Right, I’ll think about that,” Harry laughed. It was the sort of laugh that said he wouldn’t strain his brain if he ever gave it consideration.
When they finished looking at the last pictures, Diane told Harry, “Your turn.”
The smaller of the two albums, the ornately decorated one, contained a collection of Potter family magical photographs, a few going back almost a hundred years. For the first time Harry met his grandparents and great grandparents, smiling blissfully, some in long out-of-style Muggle clothing. Far from being painful, Harry found it quite interesting and frequently exclaimed about one thing or another: black hair, messy black hair and the like. Diane added observations about eyes and facial shapes.
Next came the other album. It was what Harry thought any typical photo album might look like. He also dreaded it the most. In the lower right-hand corner of the cover were the initials SB, Sirius Black, he supposed. That meant that these were bound to be more personal, and personal equaled pain, as far as Harry was concerned. Diane saw the hesitation and moved over to sit closer to him.
“Come on, Harry. Look at it this way, here’s your chance to introduce me to a part of your life I’ve never known.”
Nodding, Harry opened the cover. Of course, the first photograph was of Sirius and James, arms around the other’s shoulder, laughing and grinning goofily in the wizard photo. The second on was of the four Marauders, obviously taken when they were in their mid-teens. Again, Sirius and James had their arms around the other’s shoulders. Remus stood off to the side, shaking his head as if he would never be able to get a more staid picture. Peter Pettigrew was standing a little behind Harry’s father. His face bore a twinge of jealousy. Figures! Harry thought.
In the margin, in Sirius’s handwriting, was a comment about Pettigrew. He had obviously written it sometime in the year before his death. When Harry read it to himself he felt a flash of shame that Diane had to read it, but she just turned the page.
The next few pages were exclusively of Hogwarts and mainly had James and Sirius as the subject of the photos. Then the pictures, starting about their sixth year “ based on Sirius’s comments “ began to change. For the first time females showed up.
Diane began to laugh as page after page showed a variety of girls who Sirius or James (Harry thought just Sirius) had some interest in. A few had short notes scribbled on them. Here and there, to Harry’s complete mortification, Sirius would write something like, “I’ve had better,” or “James said she was worth it. Can’t imagine why!” And on a few occasions, Harry recognized his father’s scrawl making a rude comment about his best friend in return.
After a few pages of this, Diane muttered something like, “At least they didn’t rate them one to ten.” Harry tried to hurry through, but his friend would have nothing of it. Fortunately things got better in seventh year when Lily began to show up in more and more photographs. There were a series of photos at their Hogwarts Leaving Ceremony, and oddly enough, one of the characters walking past in the background was Snape. He was visible for only a fraction of a second, but it jolted Harry until he refocused on his parents. Lily was behind James, her arms wrapped around his waist, James held her arms to his body and his head turned slightly to receive a kiss. Both were obviously in love.
Following a couple pages of pictures Harry recognized as being Sirius’s personal life and friends outside the Marauders, James and Lily’s wedding pictures appeared. Diane clucked over the gowns and colors, just like he knew Hermione and Ginny would. His own reactions were more sober and he spent as little time as necessary there.
The end of the album was only a few pages away, and Harry thought these last pages would be the most difficult. But there were no pictures of his parents, to his surprise, except one of James looking haggard, and a scribbled note saying something about Auror training and May of 1981.
Harry saw that the final three pages had obviously been added by Sirius (or possibly Remus) fairly recently. They contained pictures of his father’s best friend, obviously post-Azkaban, a couple of himself including one showing him with Hermione and Ron. There were no notes and the final page of the book held only the four corner tabs for the next picture. Harry wondered morosely if Sirius had been working on the album when he’d been called away to the Ministry of Magic.
“Thanks, Harry,” Diane said quietly. There was no response. Patting his back, Harry started to leave.
“Stay,” she whispered. “If you have a few minutes.” Leaning back, Harry fluffed up his pillows. “I need to talk to you about something… actually, someone.” Diane also grabbed a pillow and reclined next to Harry, not looking him.
“Sure, what’s up?”
After a long pause, she began. “Harry, I think you have a… I mean, I think someone has a… Ugh, I hate this.” Diane started over. “Harry, I think Hermione is in love with you.”
The silence that followed was long and unnerving. To both of them.
“Why do you say that, Di?”
“Because of her mannerisms around you, but also by the different ways she acts when Ginny is and isn’t present.” Diane bit her lip, wondering if she’d crossed a line with their friendship.
Harry tool a long time to form his answer. “Yeah, I know she is, Di. I’m glad you told me because I wasn’t sure if anyone else had noticed.” Harry seemed relieved to admit this.
“Are you doing anything about it?”
Harry made a face. “Er “ not much, I guess. When I first started noticing… you know, how she was acting around me, I thought it was just because she was lonely, or she missed Ron. The funny thing is, I think she is becoming interested in him again. She was really touched by him taking her to the Ball.” Running his hand through his hair, a mannerism Diane translated as discomfort, Harry sighed.
“How was she ‘acting around you’?” the American said, her eyebrows raised in curiosity.
Another pause. “Well, she’s been more physical with me than she ever has. Like touching me... o-on the shoulder. Taking my hand occasionally...”
“Harry, I do that. Are you sure it isn’t innocent?”
“No “ yes, but she’s never done that before to me. And she’s, er, kissed me a few times.” Harry was not looking at Diane now, and was wringing his hands nervously.
“A few times?”
“Um-hmm.”
“Mouth or cheek?”
“Huh? Oh, mostly the cheek...”
“Mostly? You aren’t, oh, what’s that word you use... snogging her, are you?”
“NO!”
“Harry, you’re not being very helpful. Try it this way: are you encouraging her by your responses or discouraging her?”
“I thought I was discouraging her, but she may be interpreting my passivity as encouragement. I don’t know, Di. The one time we kisses it was an accident.”
This should be interesting. “How can you kiss someone by accident?”
“Hermione’s taken to giving me a kiss on the cheek some nights, before bed. Once I sort-of turned into her and it ended on our lips.” Diane saw that Harry was perspiring, and he was breathing harder. Guilt? But over his actions or Ginny...?
“Ah, I see. But did you linger there?”
“Probably more than I should have. It wasn’t... I wasn’t... Bugger! It was not what I thought it would be.”
“Oh, you’ve thought about kissing Herms?” Diane asked in an as non-accusative voice she could muster.
“I’ve thought about kissing a bunch of girls, but Hermione? Yeah. Funny thing is, Ginny and I had a talk about this over the summer. Hermione and Ron were dating at the time so it never occurred to me that I might be interested in her.”
“You’re interested in her in what way?”
“No... not ‘interested,’ as in dating... it may be more of a physical attraction... I can’t believe I just said that...”
“Why, are you Superman or something? Hermione is quite attractive, at least when she tries to be.” Diane chuckled recalling a conversation with said bushy-haired witch. Hermione was her own greatest critic of her looks. “I don’t suppose you’ve spoken to Ginny about this, have you?”
Harry just shook his head, paling at the idea.
“Look, Harry, stop playing with fire. You have to make up your mind about all this or you’ll destroy your friendship with Ginny... and probably Hermione, too. I think you should talk with Hermione and lay it all out. Just be certain you know what you want before getting together. Mixed signals are a recipe for disaster.”
After still another long pause, Harry responded. “I know I love Ginny, and the love I have for Hermione is not the same. After that one kiss I felt horribly guilty, even though I wasn’t doing it to cheat on Gin. But you’re right, I need to clear this up before the holidays are over. Maybe I should floo over and talk with her now...”
“What are you going to say to her?”
“Good point, it might be better to settle that first. No... I know the answer. God, what a complete wanker I’ve been.” Jumping up, Harry started pacing the room.
Diane seemed to find his description of himself amusing and her smile grew as The-boy-who-lived paced back and forth.. “You might be a... ahem, wanker, as you say, but I don’t think it’s permanent. These things happen, Harry. But now you know what you have to do, so do it.”
Rising, Diane walked up to Harry and embraced him. As the seconds turned into minutes she could feel him relax. Finally, he broke away. “Thanks, Di. I can’t imagine what might have happened if you didn’t confront me.”
“Probably nothing, Potter. Now,” Diane stepped back. “Turn your head to the right.” Harry was confused but did as he was told. Diane walked back to him and kissed him on the cheek. “There, I had to make sure you didn’t accidentally kiss me back.” Her face turned into a mischievous grin.
Harry laughed. “Ok, now get out, I have to change and make some plans.”
“Hi there.”
Hermione looked up from the letter she was writing to Ron and her face broke into a huge grin. “Harry! What a surprise, Happy Christmas!” Jumping up, she pulled Harry into a tight embrace. Over his shoulder she saw her mother grab a quick look at the two of them before disappearing into the kitchen.
“Just thought I’d stop in with your Christmas gift.” Pulling his wand and a small package from his pocket, Harry enlarged the box, but not much. He pocketed the wand and held up the petite parcel. Hermione had seen better wrapped packages in her days, which meant Harry had done the wrapping himself. “Go on, open it,” he prodded.
Fumbling like a little girl, Hermione quickly gave in and tore the paper off. Opening the box she saw a beautiful gold chain and locket. Filigrees of what looked initially like silver crossed the locket, giving it a shining surface. But on closer inspection she saw the glitter was from hundreds of tiny diamond fragments etched into the surface of the pendant.
“Happy Christmas, Hermione.”
“Oh, Harry,” she could barely croak out; her eyes started to tear and she threw herself back at Harry.
Harry gently pried her away, smiling. “You know, Hermione, I love you.”
Merlin! Please don’t be another dream! “You... you do?”
His response was immediate. Decisive. “Of course I do. You have doubts?”
“B-B-But what, what about...”
“Shhh, don’t say anything. Maybe this will answer your questions” Before she could register what Harry was doing, she found their lips pressed together, passionately.
“Harry. Do. You. Mean. It?” she asked between kisses.
Pulling back a few centimeters and cupping her cheeks, he smiled. “Of course.”
“It’s just that I was certain you didn’t... I don’t know, Harry.”
In one swift move, Harry picked her up and started up to her room. Confused, Hermione’s mind questioned his actions, but seeing him look at her made her melt and she immediately forgot what she was about to say. In fact, the message she was getting from Harry told her where this would lead. And soon.
Entering her bedroom, Harry took Hermione straight to her bed and lay her down gently. In the next moment he was on her and they were wrapped in each others arms again, at least until their arms and hands started wandering. It was happening just as she had dreamed about for weeks. Let Harry worry about Ginny and Ron. I have him now! Her emotions had taken over. As pieces of clothing began to be flung aside, Harry stopped and cast spells for privacy on her door. No sounds. No interruptions.
That nagging question from moments earlier reappeared. The door...? My bedroom door? But it hardly made a dent in their efforts to become completely intimate.
A knock. They ignored it.
“Oh, Harry, I...” But she couldn’t think of the words to say, she heard another knock. Bloody hell!
She was distracted again by where Harry was touching her.
A click. The door again.
“Here, Harry, touch me here...”
The door was opening, Hermione now saw it out of the corner of her eye.
“Harry, Harry! Someone’s opening my bedroom door...” Wait a minute... She finally made the connection. Harry Potter has no idea where my room is! How...?
Into her room walked Ron and Ginny, chatting as if their sister and best friend weren’t present. Then others followed: her mother, Molly Weasley, smiling politely... No! Hermione screamed, trying to cover herself. But she looked up. It was no longer her friend, Harry, pressing himself upon her, hurting her. He was no longer kissing her neck, he was biting it. Hard...
“Hermione, are you alright?” Jane Granger asked, her head poking into her daughter’s room.
“Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry, I was having a nightmare.”
“Breakfast is ready, and Harry’s Floo’d, he’ll be over at ten.”
She couldn’t say anything.
The dream. AGAIN! The same one she’d had at least once a week for the past two months. Sitting up, she shook the cobwebs of sleepiness and guilt from her head and went into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. This has got to stop...
“Hi there.”
Hermione looked up from the book she was reading and her face broke into a huge grin. “Harry! What a surprise, Happy Christmas!” Jumping up, she pulled Harry into a tight embrace. Over his shoulder she saw her mother grab a quick look at the two of them before disappearing into the kitchen.
“Just thought I’d stop in with your Christmas gift.” Pulling his wand and a small package from his pocket, Harry enlarged the box, but not much. He pocketed the wand and held up the petite parcel. Hermione had seen better wrapped packages which meant Harry had done the wrapping himself. “Go on, open it,” he prodded.
Hermione froze for a second. Opening the box she saw a beautiful gold chain with a Hogwarts shaped charm. Filigrees of what looked initially like silver crossed the locket, giving it a shining surface. She knew, though, that they were hundreds of tiny diamond fragments etched into the surface of the pendant.
“Happy Christmas, Hermione.”
“Oh, Harry,” she could barely croak out; her eyes started to tear and she threw herself back at Harry.
Harry gently pried her away, smiling. “You know, Hermione...”
“NO, HARRY! Don’t say it, please” she interrupted.
“Huh? Wha’d’you mean?”
Suddenly embarrassed, Hermione plopped into a chair. “I’m sorry, Harry, what were you going to say?”
“I was about to tell you that Diane reminded me I hadn’t delivered your Christmas present. I hope you don’t mind me dropping in like this...”
Smiling, in relief and joy, Hermione just shook her head. “Thank you, Harry, it’s lovely. Did you get my gift?”
Sitting across from his friend, Harry nodded. “Yes, thank you. Look, Ron, Ginny, Diane and I want you to join us for dinner tomorrow. Interested?”
“Yes! Thank you. Are we eating out or... Don’t tell me Ron’s cooking.” Hermione asked suspiciously and then hiding her face dramatically. Both laughed.
“No, Di is, though I never know when to trust her. We may end up having boiled bootstraps.” They smiled, knowing the American’s propensity for pranking her friends.
“And, er, Ron said he wanted to talk to us about something important.”
Hermione’s heart lurched. “Oh my, it sounds important. You don’t suppose he’s going to move to France after all, do you?” Although she tried, Hermione couldn’t help but betray the anxiety she suddenly felt. But Harry was smiling. He knows, whatever it is.
“No, that’s not it, though I had my doubts, too. He’s changed a lot since he returned.”
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” she said after waiting for Harry to spill the secret. But he changed the subject.
“Look, Hermione, what say we take a stroll around the block. I’d “ er “ like to talk to you about something.” Harry tried to smooth his hair down nervously.
Slumping back into her chair, the bushy-haired witch shook her head. “Sure, but you don’t have to talk about ‘us,’ Harry, I was way out of line, I’m so sorry.”
Harry watched her carefully, with an expectant look in his eyes. Good, she knows. But she had to say more, too.
“I didn’t mean to treat you that way. I guess I felt you were the only person who would give me any comfort.”
“There are a lot of people at Hogwarts who’ll do that, if you’d let them... Herms.” She answered with a playful slap on his arm.
The morning passed quickly after they finished talking. Jane Granger invited Harry for lunch but he already had a date with Ginny. Before leaving, Harry gave Hermione a hug. She released him, but stopped herself from kissing his cheek, smiling instead.
“Tomorrow, then?”
“Tomorrow.”