Yule Renewal

The scenery was bleak in the area north of Lake Superior.

The temperature had risen slightly over the previous few days, so that it hovered just below freezing, night and day. This was bad; the snow was again falling hard and heavy. In the hour it had taken the young man to walk to and from the small 'neighborhood' general store that afternoon on the country road, nearly three inches of snow had fallen on top of the nine inches that had fallen the night before. This, in turn, lay on several inches of old snow. All told, both the Muggle and wizarding weather stations were predicting at least two more feet of snow would fall in the area over the next thirty-six hours.

Harry Potter trudged through the snow, wishing he could use magic to lighten the two heavy bags of food and perhaps even clear the way a bit. He could not risk it in public; he was in hiding. It had been almost a year since he had destroyed Voldemort, and most of the wizarding world wanted to embarrass him with accolades while a few still wanted to kill him very badly. There had been six attempts on his life in the first month of the 'peace.'

Harry was grumbling under his breath as he moved past the houses in the small Canadian town they were hiding out in. The snow was slowly covering up most of the Christmas lights on the houses. Christmas Eve. Harry snorted. When had he ever been able to celebrate Christmas? Nine years of hell at the Dursleys. Hogwarts? The Mirror of Erised; Hermione's Polyjuice error; the fight about the broomstick; the disastrous Christmas Ball; the nearly fatal attack on Mr. Weasley; the burning of the Burrow; the battle of Hogsmeade. That's what the seven years of Hogwarts Christmas memories had for him.

'Christmas,' Harry thought, his eyes burning. "Bah, humbug," Harry muttered. He tried to think of some happy Christmas thoughts: Weasley jumpers; Snape pulling a vulture hat from a magic Christmas cracker; the time the drone toads in the choir had escaped during the Yule concert -- but it did not help. All of the Weasleys were dead or permanently injured. Snape had been tortured to death. Toads just reminded Harry of Neville, who had died in battle right after he had killed Bellatrix Lestrange.

The house was just past the outskirts of the small town, near the cemetery. The narrow dirt road that went past the cemetery dead-ended at the ramshackle house. It had reminded Harry a bit of the Shrieking Shack, if only because it had been long abandoned. He wished Sirius and Remus could be with them for Christmas, but of course they, like so many, were dead. At least Remus had taken Wormtail with him.

Harry tried to kick the wet, sticky snow off his boots on the back porch and then unlocked the back door. "I'm back!" Harry called out, but there was no answer.

"Come on, Dobby! I'm alone!" Harry didn't want to track through the short back entrance hall into the kitchen.

"Sorry, Master Harry," Dobby said, appearing in the doorway to the kitchen. Harry almost smiled at the mismatched red and green socks and sprig of ivy Dobby was wearing. At least someone liked the holiday.

Harry sat the bags on the floor. "Please put these away. I know it's going to snow all night, but if I shovel the snow again now, there will be less later."

"Yes, sir," Dobby agreed.

It took Harry an hour to shovel the sidewalks and driveway, so when he was finished he took another twenty-five minutes to clear off what had fallen since he had started. "Looks like all the dumb bastards who wanted a white Christmas are getting one with a vengeance this year," Harry muttered as he brushed as much snow off himself as he could.

Harry placed his wet boots on a rubber mat and hung his heavy jacket and hat on pegs. He had been working hard between the long walk through the drifting snow and the long time shoveling. His vest, shirt, and jumper were wet with perspiration. 'No,' Harry reminded himself, 'my under-shirt, shirt, and sweater are wet.' He would have loved to have sat in front of the fire in the library, but knew he should take a shower first.

Harry was mostly happy there were no smells coming from the kitchen. Harry looked around from the door and saw to his satisfaction there was nothing cooking. Harry smiled slightly at the memory of teaching Dobby to work the microwave. He and Dobby could eat leftovers tonight, and Dobby could cook the small, over-priced chicken he'd brought for them for Christmas dinner. It was all Harry needed.

It was all he deserved, Harry thought again as he went up the back stairs. More than he deserved, actually. Why should he celebrate, when nearly everyone he cared for was dead or still recovering nearly seven months after the battle? Sirius, long dead. Remus, Flitwick, Parvati, Hagrid -- Harry nearly cried at the thought of Hagrid and the others lost exactly a year before, defending Hogsmeade in the Christmas Eve attack. Dumbledore, Oliver Wood, Tonks, Lavender, Colin, Neville, Fred, Charlie, Ron, and so many more killed in 'The Last Battle.' Percy and most of the other Ministry personnel, soulless, before Dumbledore had sacrificed himself and somehow destroyed the dementors. George, killed defending the Burrow and Mrs. Weasley seriously injured two years ago this same night. Ginny horrifically scarred in the Last Battle and in deep mourning for her family and Neville; Luna perhaps in a terminal coma; Hermione in a mental fugue from killing over a dozen Death eaters after Ron had died at her feet which baffled healer and psychiatrists alike.

And Cornelius Fudge, claiming peace had descended, while Lucius and Draco Malfoy had tried to kill him three times after their official, and then still-in-effect, pardons.

Harry had left when Fudge tried to brand him a murderer for killing the Malfoys in self-defense. It had caused Fudge's fall from power, but Harry could not stay and help pick up the pieces. He was too much of a magnet; everyone wanted to use him, but he couldn't help the few remaining people he cared most about. Harry had left Britain on his eighteenth birthday.

Harry's only link to the outside world, besides the Muggle and wizarding radio, was Dobby, whom Harry put his trust in.

Harry showered and went down the front stairs. To his right were the front parlor and behind that the dining room, neither of which he used. To his left, the library stretched the entire side of the house, some 60 feet. The room, like most of the house, was mostly empty, but Harry found a tiny morsel of comfort sitting in front of the large fireplace. 'I hope Dobby has lit the fire, or at least laid it,' Harry thought, opening the door. 'A fire and some of the sherry would be nice.'

Harry was confronted by a Christmas tree. Fat and ten feet high, with fairies dancing around the top. It had strings of blinking Muggle lights, and another few dozen fairies were making their home inside. The lights, fairies, and tinsel made up all the decorations. It was an amazing splash of color in the gray and brown world.

"Dobby!" Harry yelled, still looking at the tree, which even had presents -- presents! -- under it. "I told you! You were not to get or decorate any tree!"

"He didn't," a soft voice said from the dark end of the library.

"We did," a more determined voice said.

"We did check the tree for nargles," said a third.

Harry had turned on the voices at the first word, his wand ready for the attack, but of course he did not actually hex the speakers. There stood the last three people on earth he really cared for.

The cruel scars on Ginny's face had nearly disappeared. Luna looked weak and pale, even for her, but she was awake. Hermione stood straight, even if there were lines of pain around her eyes and mouth which had never been there before.

"How. . . ." Harry asked.

"Hermione's aunt knows a cosmetic surgeon," Ginny said. Hermione's parents, like so many parents of Muggle-borns, had been killed.

"I woke up, because I could hear you calling for me, for us really, in your dreams," Luna said.

"It took a lot of work to call me back," Hermione said, "to accept Ron's death. To accept so much death. To accept that . . . we are all expert killers. But then I heard Luna call me back, and she reminded me that we all had at least one thing left, maybe more."

"We all have you, and each other," Ginny said.

"We few, we happy few; we band of sisters who follow Harry Potter," Luna misquoted. She smiled her ethereal smile. "In another existence, we shall meet all we have lost."

"While in this existence, we have each other, and we should have you with us," Ginny said firmly.

"Especially for Christmas," Hermione stated, equally firmly.

"Three witches, friends and sisters," Luna agreed.

Harry threw himself at his three remaining friends, and drew them into a hug. For the first time in his life, Harry cried tears of joy.

"Master Harry is not angry at Dobby?" Dobby asked a few minutes later, worriedly.

Knowing his faithful elf's penchant for self-abuse, Harry assured him. "Everything is fine, Dobby -- except I expect we need more food."

"Mum sent along an entire dinner for twelve," Ginny assured Harry. "We're fine for days!"

Hermione went over and checked the fireplace. She opened the flue and started the fire. "We don't know exactly where we are, since Dobby wouldn't tell us, but we'd like to stay for a while, if it won't inconvenience you."

"It won't," Harry assured her.

"Don't be silly, Hermione," Luna said serenely. "We all know exactly where we are."

"And where the blazes are we?" Ginny demanded.

"Home," Luna said simply.

All four smiled at the sound of that.

"And you stand right over here, Mister Potter," Ginny instructed.

"Alright; why?"

Ginny pointed up at the mistletoe.

"What's the matter, Harry?" Hermione asked, standing up. "Afraid?"

"No reason to worry," Luna assured him. "I checked it. No nargles there, either."

"Thank you, Dobby," Harry said.

"Happy Christmas, Master Harry."

Harry smiled. 'Maybe, just this once, it will be,' he thought.