All I Wanted For Christmas

Harry looked glumly into his punch. The Great Hall had never looked so beautiful, but he was in no mood to appreciate the view. He had never felt worse in his life.

It seemed like every year, he thought that things couldn't get any worse.

But they always did.

His fingers tightened around his goblet, shattering the fragile crystal. Harry winced, but he was too far gone in his thoughts to care.

"Harry?" said someone gently. It was Hermione, her cheeks flushed from too much spiked punch.

"Hey, Hermione," he said with forced cheer.

"Are you all right?" she said. She took out a monogrammed lace handkerchief and pressed it to his hand, muttering a soft healing spell. She tutted softly, fussing over his hand, wrapping the small white square around it.

He looked at her with dead eyes. "I'm just tired, Hermione."

She nodded, placing her hand on his. "I know, Harry. I know. But it'll be over soon."

His hand clenched around her fingers. "I don't get it, Hermione," he said. "I keep on asking, why me? Sometimes I think it would be better if..." His voice lowered. "If I had just died along with my parents."

Her other hand flew to her mouth. "Don't you dare talk like that again, Harry Potter," she said. "Don't you dare."

He shrugged.

"Harry," she said, pulling him up, "I want you to go to Dumbledore. He'll tell you..." her voice faltered. "He'll tell you what you want to know. I want you to talk to him right now."

"It's not going to change anything," he said, near tears. "Ron's still-"

Hermione's eyes were suspiciously bright. "Don't, Harry. Please."

He took a deep breath. "Maybe I will talk to Dumbledore."

She smiled approvingly at him. Harry looked behind her. "Your date's waiting," he said wryly.

Hermione self-consciousltucked her hair behind her ears. As she turned to greet the pale blonde boy, Harry slipped away, leaving Malfoy's handkerchief behind on the chair.

*

[JKR]

"I know how you are feeling, Harry," said Dumbledore very quietly.

"No, you don't," said Harry, and his voice was suddenly loud and strong. White-hot anger leapt inside him. Dumbledore knew nothing about his feelings.

"You see, Dumbledore?" said Phineas Nigellus slyly. "Never try to understand the students. They hate it. They would much rather be tragically misunderstood, wallow in self-pity, stew in their own-"

"That's enough, Phineas," said Dumbledore.

Harry turned his back on Dumbledore and stared determinedly out of the opposite window.

"There is no shame in what you are feeling, Harry," said Dumbledore's voice. "On the contrary... the fact that you can feel pain like this is your greatest strength."

Harry felt the white-hot anger lick his insides, blazing in the terrible emptiness, feeling him with the desire to hurt Dumbledore for his calmness and his empty words.

"My greatest strength, is it?" said Harry, his voice shaking as he stared out at the Quidditch stadium, no longer seeing it. "You haven't got a clue... You don't know..."

"What don't I know?" said Dumbledore calmly.

It was too much. Harry turned around, shaking with rage.

"I don't want to talk about how I feel, all right?"

"Harry, suffering like this proves you are still a man! This pain is part of being human-"

"THEN-I-DON'T-WANT-TO-BE-HUMAN!" Harry roared,. "I'VE HAD ENOUGH, I'VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON'T CARE ANYMORE-"

He turned back to Dumbledore.

"Let me out," he said. He was shaking from head to toe.

"No," said Dumbledore simply.

For a few seconds they simply stared at each other.

"Let me out," Harry said again.

"No," Dumbledore repeated "Not until you hear what I have to say.".

[/JKR]

Harry crumpled down into a miserable heap on the floor. "I don't understand," he whispered. "I don't understand anything. I don't understand why Ron-" his voice trailed off.

Dumbledore said quietly, "I confess... I rather thought... that you had too much to deal with. The war-"

"BOLLOCKS!" Harry roared. "I want to know... damn you... I want to know...Ron..."

Dumbledore was silent as he listened to Harry's weeping.

"I'm sorry, Harry," he said finally. "I should have realized... how important it was..."

Harry raised tear-filled eyes to his. "HE'S MY BEST FRIEND! Don't you get it? Don't you know how I-" he cut himself off, looking away. He couldn't bear to look at Dumbledore. He couldn't bear it.

Dumbledore said, "I confess... I rather thought... you had too much to deal with."

Harry glared. "I'm not falling for that stupid speech again! It's my last year at Hogwarts. You of all people should have known... should have understood..."

"Next time-"

"There isn't going to be a next time!" Harry yelled. "It's my last year, there isn't going to be-" he broke off, his chest heaving rapidly. "Do you understand?"

Dumbledore started. "Of course," he said slowly, as if just realizing it.

"Just tell me," Harry demanded flatly.

Dumbledore heaved a large sigh.

"I had nothing to do with it," he said quietly.

"LIAR!"

Harry stamped his foot in rage.

"Harry!" Dumbledore said sharply.

"I. WANT. THE. TRUTH," Harry yelled.

"You can't handle the truth!" Dumbledore stalled desperately.

Harry glared. "Try me," he said, very slowly. "Tell me what I want to know. Why? Why Ron?" His fingers clutched spasmodically at his robes. "Why couldn't it have been..."

His voice trailed off. Dumbledore was looking at him with a strange expression in his eyes. It was a mixture of empathy, love, and... pity?

Pity, Harry fumed inwardly.

"Why couldn't it have been me?" Harry said.

Dumbledore held up his hand. "Listen to me, Harry." He paused, as if gauging his words carefully.

Finally, he spoke.

"The Yule Ball King," he said slowly, "was determined by votes, gathered from the students. It was your schoolmates who elected Mr. Weasley, not I."

Harry stared incredulously. "I don't believe you," he said finally.

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "I'm sorry, Harry."

Phineas Nigellus snickered.

Harry nodded, too humiliated to speak. Finally he scrambled to his feet.

"Thank you for being up front with me," he said.

Dumbledore nodded sympathetically. "I hope you'll still be able to enjoy the rest of the ball," he said.

Harry gave a spastic wave and left the room. Ron was waiting outside, his Yule Ball crown held in clenched fingers.

"Hey, mate," he greeted Harry. "I've spoken to Hermione... and I... and I want you to have the crown," he finished in a rush.

Harry flashed him a jovial smile. "What are you talking about, mate? You're the Yule Ball King, enjoy it!"

Ron frowned. "But Hermione said-"