Note: I own nothing herein, but have only borrowed it for a little
while. NMS
A Midnight Clear
With the winter came bitterly cold wind, and clouded days. The
days were now short indeed, and the mirk came early and earlier. Soon
Christmas would be upon them, although it seemed in bitter jest, with so
little to celebrate. On a day mostly indistinguishable from the rest,
Harry kept a solitary watch, and sorted over the thoughts that kept
spinning complicated webs in his brain. There was less news than he
would have wished for, in fact their wireless lay in some dark corner of
the tent, largely forgotten. Perhaps tonight there would be an update!
Harry hunted up the set, and twiddled the dials with the precision of a
watchmaker, certain that he might catch something, if only he could find
his frequency. The little set strained hard to bring a signal, and
nearly did it once, but after a while, static was the only thing coming
through. Harry sighed, lay the wireless down near the tent door, and
resumed his watching, and waiting. Slowly the night became brighter, as
the heavy clouds drifted away, and the stars shone on the world as
history records they did one other Christmas, those many years ago.
He thought just then of those he knew, or those who knew him,
or didn't know him, but still counted on him, and could yet hold him in
their own thoughts and prayers, despite the meanwhile of a long, perhaps
endless, storm of terrible intensity brewing. How could he live up to
all of that? Was it at all fair that he should take the prayers, hopes
and well wishes from those who could ill-afford to give them, when he
could promise nothing in return?
Perhaps it was a trick of the winter air, or perhaps something
else, but the wireless began to draw in some muggle broadcast. Harry
gradually became aware of an unseen organist, who played selection after
selection, each drawing Harry's attention more and more completely. The
pipes and reeds spoke in glorious harmony, the music ebbed and
crescendoed like the tide. Mendelssohn's Spring Song brought a Smiling
Hermione, sitting on the garden with a book in her lap, a laughing Ron,
Quidditch, and the rush of wind in his hair. Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsody
the flash of fire from a Hungarian Horntail's snout, a flash of red as
Ginny Weasley tipped her her chin in defiance, a shimmering stag,
graceful even in battle. Before long he was completely immersed in
thought, and the dark around him ceased to matter.
Harry became aware of a brief pause, and without preamble the
player drew the stops and rolled into "Silent Night." Line after line,
verse after verse, calling to him as nothing had before. Visions of
Christmases passed formed in his mind. He saw the genteel poverty of the
Burrow, and could nearly smell mince pies and eggnog, and hear the
laughter and banter. Then the haughty chambers of the Black house, its
darkness and dank all but driven away by the goodness and warmth of
those gathered there, and all who were seated round the trestle table in
the old kitchen. Now the great Hall of Hogwarts, decorated to the nines,
the boom of the crackers, with their odd trinkets in, and the delicious
feast so carefully prepared by the house elves. All of these, and more,
swirling, spinning, fading at last to Sirius's smiling face, fading into
a night sky so cold and clear you could see the other side of eternity.
Soon, Sirius' face was but a faint outline in a field of diamond stars,
and unwanted tears misted Harry's eyes, softening the sharp points of
light.
In the long while ensuing, Harry would come back often and again
to this particular memory, and it would remind him over and again that
some things are worth dying for.