This Time of Year

THIS TIME OF YEAR

I’d also venture to say that Harry probably never believed in Father Christmas either. Knowing the kind of life, childhood, he had, I’d say that he was made brutally aware of that fact his first Christmas when Dudley got a mountain of toys and Harry got a…shoelace or something along those lines.

Although I never believed in Santa Claus, I still believe in Christmas. The cold, the pink cheeks and red noses peeking over scarves, the snow, the decorations, lights everywhere, everything about the season; Christmas at Hogwarts was beyond my dreams. I also loved the stories that came along with the holidays. Nearly any holiday story would do - the story of the first Christmas, the first Hanukah, the real Kris Kringle…But my favourite holiday story? The Christmas of 1914 in France - football in no-man’s land. On December 25, 1914, the guns stopped firing, the bombs stopped, and a football game was played between the trenches.

The madness stopped for a day. For just one day. And that’s what I’m determined to give them, to give him, this year.

"Professor McGonagall?"

__________

"Oi! Wake up, Harry! Presents!"

Harry slowly opened his eyes, blinking groggily. He was vaguely annoyed at having been woken up; he was warm, comfortable, and having a decidedly pleasant dream…he shook his head, dispelling the last images of said dream. Best not to think about it; it can’t happen. He groped on his bedside table for a moment, locating his glasses. Once he had them on, he looked over at his flame-haired friend who was grinning broadly.

"What’s with you?"

Ron looked at Harry, who still had traces of sleep lingering, in mock-shock. "Harry, I know you’ve got a lot on your mind, but surely you’ve not forgotten the date!"

"Ahh," Harry sighed. "Christmas."

Ron rolled his eyes, "Yes, Christmas, you stupid git. Get up and get unwrapping." With that, he turned back to the small pile of gifts at the foot of his own bed.

Harry sat still for a moment, still looking at Ron. His best friend in the world; still the same tall, gangly, long-nosed, red-haired, short-fused youngest Weasley son that he’d met almost seven years ago on the train. Sometimes annoying, sometimes illogical ("Sometimes? Hermione’s exasperated voice seemed to instantly fill his mind, "Sometimes? Honestly, Harry. You mean all the time!"), sometimes just plain wrong; whatever else he was, he was his friend first. He smiled vaguely as Ron groaned and pulled out another maroon sweater, turning to his own gifts.

He stared at the small pile of gifts on his bed; even after seven years, he still had trouble believing anyone cared enough to think about him at Christmas.

When he saw Ron looking over, about to say something else, Harry quickly picked up one of his gifts and tore off the wrapping.

"Uggh," he groaned, looking at the lurid socks that had just fallen on to his bed.

Ron glanced over, curious. "Whoo-hoo," he whooped, grinning, when he caught sight of the socks. "I’d say those are Dobby’s best yet."

Harry rolled his eyes. He did like Dobby and he appreciated the thought, but really…this was a bit much. One was scarlet with swords; Harry could only guess this was the Gryffindor sword, as the other was gold with the Gryffindor crest on it.

"You know," he said, looking over at Ron. "I wonder if I’ll ever have a secret? Everyone in this damn school is too nosy for their own good."

At this, Ron guffawed in disbelief. "Since the fact you’re the heir of Gryffindor is a bad thing?"

Harry simply sighed; what could he really say? Yeah, actually, it is a bad thing. I don’t want it – here, it’s yours?

He continued to open his gifts – fudge and a new sweater from Mrs. Weasley, new "prototypes" from Fred and George ("I’m not going to touch mine," Ron declared and Harry agreed), a new defence book from Remus, Arabella, and Mundugus…

"Happy Christmas!"

Harry’s head snapped up, watching as Hermione wandered into the room in her old dressing gown and Crookshanks clutched to her chest. He grinned when he saw her dishevelled state, hair in disarray, Crookshanks squashed against her… how old were they again?

She narrowed her eyes at his expression. "What? What’s so funny?"

"Nothing," Harry said, shaking his head and still grinning. "Guess we’re not important enough for Sleakeazy’s?"

Hermione tutted impatiently. "Honestly, Harry. It’s only eight in the morning."

Ron cleared his throat, looking confused. "Excuse me, but what are you talking about? Sleakeazy’s? It sounds like a strip club. Or a brothel."

Harry began to laugh as Hermione glared at Ron, pink creeping up her cheeks. "It is not a strip club, Ronald-"

At this, Harry began to laugh even harder. He never thought he’d hear the words strip club come out of Hermione Granger’s mouth.

"It’s nothing," Hermione snapped, turning her glare back to Harry. "And what’s so funny? It worked, didn’t it? You all acted as if I was a complete stranger. I didn’t think I was that heinously unattractive before."

"Of course not," Harry agreed, a cheeky grin on his face. "You’ve always been simply ravishing to me."

"You’re one to talk, Mr. Potter," Hermione shot back, a reluctant grin on her own face. "Some kind of hero you are. Skinny, pale, horrid hair…"

"Guess we’re in the same boat, eh?" Harry smirked.

"Guess so," Hermione replied, grinning.

Ron sighed, climbing out of bed and heading to the bathroom. He hated when they did that – looking at each other, forgetting anyone else was in the room. He sometimes wondered if they realised anyone else was on the planet. He rolled his eyes. The things I put up with.

Harry and Hermione broke their gaze, jumping when they heard the bathroom door close.

"What’s that?" Hermione questioned, glancing at the unopened present still in his hand.

"Oh, umm, it’s from Sirius, I think," Harry said. "I have no idea what it is, looks like a jewellery box."

Hermione raised her eyebrow, wondering what on earth Sirius could have come up with this time. Hopefully something like the penknife he’d gotten Harry a few years ago; that had come in tremendously handy a couple of times.

Harry unfolded the piece of parchment that was lying on top of the box.

Hermione’s head jerked up at Harry’s gasp. "What? What’s wrong?"

"Nothing," Harry managed to choke out, feeling quite odd. It wasn’t sad. Or happy. Or melancholy. It was as if his brain had seized up; he couldn’t even think a word.

He had no idea what to make of this strange, wonderful gift. The necklace itself was nice, but not spectacular. A simple chain with a single pearl. The necklace wasn’t…well, it was the story behind the necklace that…and as for the last part? How did Sirius know?

Harry quickly refocused when he felt the bed dip, Hermione trying to get a look at the gift. He showed her the necklace and she gasped. "Harry, it’s beautiful."

She looked up, trying to decipher the expression in his eyes.

"Yeah," he said, in that same, odd voice. "It is. Umm, it was my mum’s. My dad gave it to her and…" At this he trailed off, unsure of how to continue.

"What is it?" Hermione questioned, knowing that there was something he wasn’t telling her. Hermione reached for the letter and asking, "What did Sirius say?"

Harry jerked back, holding the letter out of her reach. "Nothing," he said quickly. "It’s just that…well, my dad charmed it, so my mum could…well, feel his love basically. He did it with a sort of protection charm and so Sirius thinks…he thinks…"

Hermione’s eyes widened, understanding immediately. "So…both of them?"

"Yeah," Harry sighed, relieved he wouldn’t have to say it. "Yeah. Both of them."

"Well, that explains it, don’t you think Harry?" Hermione asked, still looking into his eyes. "With both of them and…"

Harry said nothing, simply looked at her, thinking hard. How did Sirius know? Am I really that transparent? And I can’t…I just can’t.

Before Harry got any further than that, Ron appeared, fresh from the shower.

"Hey, Hermione. I didn’t notice anything from you in my pile. You think your sparkling company is enough?" Ron asked, laughing.

Hermione looked up with an eyebrow raised and then jumped. "Oh! Oh, yes, that’s why I came in here. Get ready and be downstairs in ten minutes."

With this cryptic message, Hermione was down the stairs, presumably to get ready herself.
Ron looked at Harry, quirking his eyebrows. Harry was still holding the letter behind his back, seemingly frozen. "You okay, there, Harry? What was that from Sirius?"

Harry said nothing and knowing answers weren’t forthcoming, Ron pounced, grabbed the letter, and hopped off the other side of the bed seemingly all in one motion.

This got a reaction from Harry. He jumped up and proceeded to chase Ron around the room. They both seemed to have forgotten about magic; they were simply running around, knocking into things and jumping over beds.

Harry suddenly stopped his pursuit, realising it was futile. Ron would find some way to get his hands on it.

Or maybe he wanted Ron to read it.

When Ron realised Harry was no longer chasing him, he stopped and read the letter. Harry couldn’t read the expression on his face, not even when Ron looked up and stared at him.

"He’s right, Harry. Tell her."

__________

I’ve never believed in Santa Claus. I’ve never believed in the Tooth Fairy, or fairy godmothers, or any other kind of fairy tale creature either. I don’t believe that some little fairy is going to come floating out of the sky with money, simply because you’ve lost a tooth. I don’t believe in fairy godmothers; no one is going to swoop in and give you whatever you want. What I have, what everyone has, is what they’ve earned. Fairy tales? Maybe original tales – getting whatever you want and then having to deal with the consequences. No prince charmings, or princess brides, or evil stepmothers, or singing birds though.

I don’t think Harry would believe in fairy tales either. He is the hero – locked in a cupboard under the stairs for his first eleven years and then he was rescued. And what did he get? Nothing simple, that’s for sure. Yes, now he’s loved and he’s living. He’s also supposed to be our saviour. At seventeen.

I don’t believe in Santa Claus or fairy tales. But I do believe in magic. It’s real, it’s tangible, it’s indescribable. Harry more than believes in magic – he is magic. He is something indescribable.

That’s what today is going to be about. No Voldemort, no saviours, no fairy tales. Just us, Christmas, and magic.

__________

"Oi, Harry! You coming?" Ron yelled up the stairs.

Hermione, sitting on a chair in front of the fire, winced. "Ron, really. There is no need to be so loud. First, no one else is here. Second, he’ll be down."

"Yeah," Ron muttered, walking over to her. "When he’s damn good and ready."

"Ron. Please? It’s Christmas," Hermione pleaded, her hand on his arm.

He reluctantly smiled back, "Yeah, yeah, okay. I’ll be good."

Several more minutes passed in silence while they both waited for Harry. He came ambling down the stairs, looking at his feet.

Ron rolled his eyes and Hermione narrowed hers.

"Okay, listen up."

Both boys snapped to attention, Hermione could be like a drill sergeant when she wanted to be. She pointed to a sofa and both Ron and Harry sank on to it, staring up at her. She stood above them, glowering.

"Listen up," she repeated. "It’s Christmas, okay? We’re going to have fun today. So, Harry, whatever it was that Sirius wrote, just put it out of your mind for the day. I’m sure we’ll deal with it at some point, sooner rather than later; just not today. So, with that, I give you your Christmas present."

Raising her wand, a wrapped box appeared in front of their eyes. Harry grabbed it and looked at her.

"Well," she said, her eyebrows raised. "Are you going to open it?"

Exchanging looks with Ron, Harry opened the box, pulling out a single piece of parchment. He unfolded it and it only had one thing written on it.

Looking befuddled, Harry and Ron simply looked at her. Finally Harry said, "Today? What?"

Hermione smiled and sat down on the chair beside them. "Today. That’s what I’m giving you. I’m giving you today. Our last Christmas," here she paused, but only for a split second, some might have missed it. Of course, Harry and Ron didn’t. "At Hogwarts."

They still looked confused, looking at her blankly.

"Er…Hermione? What do you mean?" Ron hedged.

"Exactly what I said, Ron," Hermione said, only she didn’t sound exasperated as she normally would have done. "Today, all we’re doing is Christmas. We’re not thinking about anything else. We’re not duelling, or having defence, or thinking about any more damn prophecies or about whatever it is Sirius said or about that necklace and we’re not trying to figure out the grand mystery of Harry’s existence. We’re playing football in no-man’s land."

Ron looked confused at this reference; however, Harry smiled. "World War One?"

Hermione smiled back, pleased he understood. "Today fighting evil is taking a holiday. We’re going to be eleven again. Eating so much candy we’ll be ill, playing in the snow, Christmas tea – proper Christmas tea, I’ve fixed it with McGonagall – and whatever else comes into our heads."

By this point, Harry and Ron were both beaming widely.

Hermione grinned back. "I’m good, huh?"

"I’ll say," Harry replied. "But what about-"

Hermione shushed him. "Don’t worry. I told you, I’ve fixed it all with McGonagall. She agreed. No one is going to bother us or demand anything of us. We’ve got until tomorrow morning."

A few seconds of silence greeted this until suddenly Ron leapt off the sofa, whooping. "Hermione, this is the best Christmas present ever!"

Harry had to laugh at this, as did Hermione. "I see the regression has already begun."

Harry was right. It seemed a regression did take place in Gryffindor Tower that day. Harry, Hermione and Ron began their day by drinking hot chocolate and eating toast. They fixed it all in the fire, sitting by it and just talking. Not about what had been going on, or what was going to be going on, but nothing. And everything. As they hadn’t done in a long time.

"Do you remember the first Christmas you came into our dorm? I thought Ron was going to have a stroke!"

At this Ron turned bright red. "I did not! She’s just…she’s a girl!"

Hermione giggled and Harry raised his eyebrows, "Really? I hadn’t noticed."

"Wait! I thought we already went through this fourth year?" Hermione grinned wickedly.

Both Harry and Ron had the grace to look a bit ashamed. "Well, I mean…umm…"

"Don’t worry. I forgave you a long time ago. Harry, you looked like someone had hit you with a sledgehammer!"

"W…Well," Harry spluttered. "It was a bit shocking, you know. Oh, shut it, Ron! You were just as bad."

"Hey – I was just mad about Krum! I already knew Hermione was the most beautiful girl in the world," Ron drawled, almost leering at her.

She looked at him, sceptical, "Right. I believe that. Like I believe you weren’t mad at me for the Scabbers incident."

"Hey, watch it! We didn’t know then, plus it did look like Crookshanks did him in!" Ron yelled, indignantly, his face becoming pink.

Hermione sniffled dramatically. "My poor, poor Crookshanks!"

Harry laughed out loud at this. "Poor Crookshanks? That’s rich."

"Thank you, Harry," Ron cheered.

"Where is my baby anyway?" Hermione looked around, realising she hadn’t seen him since she’d left him in their dormitory that morning.

"No doubt he’s up to no good," Harry shrugged. "He’s scariest cat I’ve ever seen. Do you know that when I don’t do my work correctly he just sits on the table and stares me down? I think you’ve given him orders."

"I most certainly have not," Hermione replied, looking quite pleased and proud of her cat. "He’s simply that smart. Plus, you two could use it, you know. I still can’t believe Trelawney’s accepting those predictions from you two."

"Yeah, well, she’s been giving us the same song and dance for years," Ron put in. "Why shouldn’t we do the same to her?"

"Because she’s your professor!" Hermione exclaimed.

Harry glanced at her. "That’s why you screamed at her and stomped out of class, never to return?"

Ron snickered and they watched as Hermione tried to come up with an explanation.

"Okay, fine," Hermione huffed, looking extremely put out.

Harry and Ron looked at her incredulously, not about to let this opportunity go. "So, we’re…" Harry prodded.

"Yeah, Hermione. We’re what? I believe the word you’re looking for starts with an r?" Ron picked up the argument.

Hermione looked at them and realised that they weren’t going to let it go, they looked way too pleased with themselves. "Alright…you’re…ughh…you’re right."

Harry and Ron practically howled at the look on her face, as if she was in intense and unrelenting pain.

And so it went.

After they tired of their cocoa and toast, they decided to head outdoors for the untouched snow. As they passed through the empty corridors of Hogwarts, they speculated about what their classmates were doing. They were the only three in the castle, besides the professors. All students had been advised to go home for the holiday; it was understood that it might be the last one that some would ever see. However, Harry, Hermione, and Ron stayed. For more preparation and for one last Christmas together; they were their most important family. They hoped it would be the last of their first Christmases together, but they couldn’t be sure. This way, they could also continue research, training, and preparation.

Once outside, they had a massive snowball fight. Hermione, not wanting to give an inch after the "you were right" moment, used magic to help her attack. Ron had the same idea and pulled out his wand, covering them both. However, this only made Harry pull out his wand. He moved over to Hermione and kept up the fight while she built a wall for a bit of protection.

They continued to scream and attack and laugh until Ron finally held up a white flag of surrender that had suddenly issued from his wand. "OKAY! Enough! I’m buried over here!"

When he saw that he was getting no sympathy from either of his friends, he muttered something about changing and headed back for the castle. But he was grinning.

"Ahh," Harry sighed, as he flopped back into the snow. "That was the most fun I’ve had in a long time."

Hermione looked down at him. "Well, that was the general idea."

"Really? I had no clue," Harry replied. "However, I do have a clue that this snow is cold and wet, and it’s probably not the best idea to be lying in it."

Hermione laughed as she helped him up. "I always knew you were smarter than you let on, Harry."

"Yeah, yeah, take the piss," Harry grinned. "It’s fine."

They both looked up as it began to snow again. Violently.

"Wow," Hermione breathed. "It’s beautiful."

"Yeah, it is," Harry said. "It’s like a storybook. A fairy tale."

At this, Hermione looked at him. "A fairy tale? Hmm. I was thinking about fairy tales earlier, actually."

"Really?" Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, about how they don’t really exist," Hermione said, looking up once again.

Harry was silent for a moment. "Why do you say that? It sounds awfully depressing."

"Actually, it’s not," Hermione smiled. "At least, I don’t think so. I just think that life’s more complex than "Once upon a time, there was a princess. She got herself mixed up with and/or otherwise hoodwinked by Someone Evil. The prince came, slay and/or otherwise incapacitated said Evil, and kissed the princess. They lived happily ever after. The end." Life’s just much more than that."

Harry gazed at her, taking in her story and saying nothing.

After a few more moments of silence, he finally spoke. "No one ever asks the princess, do they?"

Hermione looked at him, her eyes widening in shock. "Asks her what?" she practically whispered, in a voice not her own.

"Anything," Harry whispered back.

For several moments, Hermione could say nothing. They just stood there in the swirling snow, seemingly oblivious to it.

Finally, Hermione regained her powers of speech. "No, they don’t. You forgot one thing though."

"What’s that?"

Hermione almost smiled at Harry.

"They don’t ask the prince either, do they?"

__________

I’ve never believed in Santa Claus. I used to believe in perfection though. Perhaps because that is the one thing I have reached for my entire life. I wanted to be the perfect daughter, the perfect student, the perfect friend, the perfect prefect, perfect everything. I’ve always wanted perfection.

It hasn’t been until recently that I’ve realised what an illusion perfection is. Nothing is perfect. There is no perfect love. Or perfect friend. Or perfect daughter. Nothing can be, nor should be, perfect. If something is perfect, what is there left? Perfection is hollow.

I think Harry realised this forever ago. His vile cousin Dudley was held up to him as the model of perfection. Even a child could see that is not so. Harry realised that perfection is hollow a lifetime ago, yet he still strives.

I’ve never believed in Santa Claus and I don’t believe in perfection. However, I do believe in possibility. Not the possibility of perfection. But of possibility itself.

And that is what today is all about.

__________

"Oi, Harry! You still in there? You still with us?" Ron asked, waving his hand in front of his friend’s face.

The two were sitting in the Common Room, waiting for Hermione to finish changing out of her wet robes.

Harry blinked and looked up quickly. "What? Oh, yeah, yeah, I’m fine."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Do I look that daft to you?" Here he hesitated, unsure if he should continue. "What happened out there?"

"Nothing," Harry said, avoiding his eyes. "I just spaced out for a minute. I’m fine."

"Sure, Harry," Ron replied, the words practically dripping with sarcasm. "You’re fine."

Before Harry could retort, Hermione came down the stairs, walking over to them.

"Ready?" she asked, briskly.

Harry practically jumped off the couch, "Absolutely."

Hermione looked at him, bemused. "Don’t get so excited there. It’s just tea."

Suddenly, Ron began to laugh. Harry and Hermione looked over at him, bewildered, to see him holding his stomach and pointing at Hermione. Harry looked confused for a moment and then he too began to chuckle. Apparently, Dobby had found time to knit something for her too.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Come on, it’s not that bad."

Ron looked up, tears rolling down his cheeks. "Oh, yes, it is. It’s almost as bad as Harry’s socks."

At this, Hermione’s eyes widened indignantly. "It is not! And I am Head Girl. Besides, I think it’s really nice that Dobby made me something. Did he get you anything?" she asked, scathingly.

"Actually, he did," Ron said, pulling up his pants to reveal a pair of orange socks with Bludgers whizzing around on them. "I like them."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "You would. When are you going to realise the Chudley Cannons are the worst team in Britain?"

Harry began to chuckle again as Ron sucked in a horrified breath, apparently too offended to speak.

Hermione simply raised her eyebrow at him and smiled pleasantly. "Well, if we’re all done laughing at my jumper, can we go now?"

Still Ron said nothing, sweeping past them and storming out of the portrait hole. Harry and Hermione followed, Harry chuckling and Hermione still smiling.

When they got to the Great Hall, it was just like Christmases past. The twelve trees were decorated and snow was falling from the enchanted ceiling, warm and dry. However, all the house tables were gone, leaving only one table. Actually, it looked very much like their third year, the only other time they had been alone for Christmas. Their professors were already sitting there, chatting pleasantly it seemed.

The three walked over to the table and sat down, Ron pointedly refusing to sit next to Hermione, still smarting from her Cannons comment. Hermione rolled her eyes but was smiling as they all exchanged greetings.

Tea proceeded much as it had every other year, with the exception of the Yule Ball. Crackers were pulled, the delicious food was appreciated, and good cheer ruled the day.

Indeed, it seemed to Harry as if everyone was being very careful about the topics of conversation. They exchanged Christmas stories, good-naturedly teased Hermione about her jumper, and generally laughed a lot, but there was no discussion about the outside world. Nothing was said about Professor Snape’s absence and no one brought up Draco. Hagrid and Dumbledore weren’t mentioned. It seemed that anything to do with the current situation outside the castle walls was taboo. Not that Harry minded; in fact, he greatly appreciated it. However, he couldn’t help but wonder at it and glanced at Hermione out of the corner of his eye. She said she’d fixed it all with McGonagall. They were playing football in no-man’s land. Thanks, Hermione.

Several hours later, full to brimming with laughter and food, they stood, ready to head back to Gryffindor Tower. As they stood, though, Professor McGonagall called out to Harry.

"Oh, Mr. Potter, I almost forgot. I have something here for you," she said, getting up and handing Harry a package wrapped in simple brown paper, with a letter on top.

Harry looked at her quizzically. "Professor?"

"It’s something that Professor Dumbledore left with me, should anything…happen to him," she said, swallowing and clearing her throat. "He instructed me that he should like you to have it. So, happy Christmas."

Harry looked at her with wide eyes, until he felt Hermione’s hand on his elbow.

"Come on, Harry," she said gently, tugging on his arm. "Thank you, Professor."

Harry said nothing, staring at the package in his hand. He turned and left the hall with Hermione and Ron, leaving their professors staring after them.

The walk back to Gryffindor Tower was silent, with Harry still looking at the package and Ron clenching his jaw, studiously avoiding Hermione’s gaze. She couldn’t think of anything to say to ease the tension, so she wisely said nothing.

When they got back to their Common Room, they all sat down around the fire. Hermione and Ron watched as Harry cautiously opened the letter.

There was silence as Harry read the letter and passed it to Hermione without saying a word. Ron read the letter over her shoulder and then they both looked up at Harry, eyes wide. Harry but said nothing, but got up and headed for the stairs.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Hermione called, looking at him worriedly.

Harry smiled, a bit sadly it was true, but it was still a smile. "I’m going to put this upstairs. We’re playing football today, remember?"

With that, he turned towards the stairs, leaving Hermione smiling after him.

"Lucky bastard gets everything, don’t he?" Hermione heard Ron mutter under his breath.

She whipped around, her eyes flashing dangerously. "What exactly did you just say?"

"Nothing," Ron muttered, avoiding her eyes.

"Ron, you promised," Hermione shrilly reminded him, wondering why he could not let it go for one day. And wondering why they kept having to hash this out. Ever since the Triwizard Tournament.

Ron sighed, "But he does, Hermione, don’t deny it."

"Ron," she exclaimed in disbelief. "Are you really that daft? Harry gets everything? Everything what? A dark lord with a fixation? No parents? The entire world relying on him? A prat for a best friend? Having to have this same fight over and over? What?"

"He gets all this recognition and everyone knows him and he’s got so much money he doesn’t know what to do with it and everyone loves him and he can do no wrong apparently and he’s even got you! He’s got everything!" Ron hissed, red from lack of oxygen.

Hermione took a step closer, fuming. "Yes, Ron, he does have recognition and money and talent. He has everything you’ve always wanted. But did you ever think that maybe you’ve got everything he wants? A family; a bit of normalcy; people who love you for who you are, not the fact that you’re Harry Potter? You have got to stop this! We need you; it won’t work without you. And as for me – did it ever cross your mind that maybe the only reason you’ve ever wanted me is because you just want what he has? You always have. And…he had me a long time ago."

Hermione stopped at the expression on Ron’s face. She thought it was just shock at her having said something aloud that they had been dancing around for so many years. But Ron was looking past her, over her shoulder at something. Hermione turned around and saw Harry was standing at the bottom of the stairs, mouth gaping open and staring at them both.

Hermione sighed and closed her eyes. We were supposed to be playing football today, not having melodramatic fights.

Then she surprised both of her friends by smiling.

"Honestly, Harry," she said, looking straight into his eyes. "You knew."

__________

I’ve never believed in Santa Claus. I’ve never believed in contentment either. This may have something to do with my wanting to attain perfection, but I don’t think so. I have realised the flaw of perfection and given up my belief in it. However, I still do not believe in contentment. To me, to be content means to give up, to stop striving for something better. The human condition is to want. Constantly wanting. Not desperately, but wanting to do something else or something more or simply something different.

I have been content for brief periods. When I first got my letter telling me I was magic. After finally making true friends here. Immediately after our adventures, when we come out with all limbs and appendages intact. However, I have never settled into contentment. Maybe that’s a better way of saying it – I don’t believe in becoming too content; to settle into contentment.

I think Harry wishes for contentment. He has never had the opportunity to settle into it. He was whisked away from the Dursley’s and immediately found out he had a deadly enemy. He was being hunted by Sirius, whom we thought was a murderer. He was the fourth champion. He found out he was the heir of Gryffindor; therefore, it was not just Voldemort after Harry, it was Salazar versus Godric once more.

I don’t believe in Santa Claus and I don’t believe in contentment. But I do believe in happiness. I believe everyone can be happy, Muggle or wizard, rich or poor, man or woman. Great gestures or everyday things; there is always some happiness in life to find.

Happiness is all I want for Harry.

__________

"Oi, Harry," Ron said, prodding Harry in the back, trying to get him to move. His friend had been standing there immobile for several minutes. He looks like a sodding statue.

As Ron’s prodding continued, Harry looked up dazedly. He turned around and looked at Ron, searching his eyes.

Ron rolled his. "Yes, Harry. You heard correctly."

Instead of running after her as Ron had expected, Harry walked over to the couch and put his head in his hands. Ron went and sat down beside him, looking at him quizzically.

"Oh," Harry moaned into his hands. "What am I going to do?"

"Well, mate, you’ve got two options," Ron said, looking vaguely amused. "You can ignore what just happened and regret it for the rest of your life. Or you can go get her and live happily ever after."

Harry laughed at Ron’s choice of wording. "Don’t let Hermione hear you say that."

"What?" Ron said, scrunching his eyebrows. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing," Harry said, sighing. "Just something she said earlier."

They sat there in silence for several more moments, Harry staring into the fire, Ron staring at him.

"So…" Ron said.

"So what?" Harry asked him. "I can’t, so I guess it’s the first option."

Ron sat up straight, his eyes flashing. "What did you just say? Are you bloody serious?"

"Yes," Harry said defiantly, as if challenging Ron to contradict him.

"Harry, what in the bloody hell are you talking about?" Ron exclaimed, jumping up and glaring at Harry.

"Exactly what I said," Harry responded, standing up as well. "I can’t go after her, so I guess I’m going to regret it for the rest of my life."

"What do you mean you can’t go after her? Why the hell not? Did you not hear what she just said?" Ron questioned, his voice rising with every question.

"Yes, I heard what she just said," Harry gritted out through clenched teeth.

"Then why aren’t you running after her?" Ron demanded. "And don’t say that you can’t because you damn well can!"

"I can’t," Harry whispered, dropping his gaze.

This stopped Ron’s tirade as he stared at Harry, bewildered. He looked like he was being torn apart. "Why not?"

"Look at me, Ron! Look at who I am! You’re both already in this deeper than anyone else. Deeper than anyone ought to be! And what if I don’t get out of this? What if I don’t get lucky this time? I might be gone in a few months! She deserves more than that. She should have someone who can promise to be there. With her. For her. By her. She deserves someone who can at least promise her tomorrow. I can’t even promise her the next minute!" Harry exclaimed, tears standing out in his eyes. "She needs more than me."

Ron smiled grimly. "I don’t think Hermione needs anything. But she wants you. And you want her. So go get her."

Harry sat down heavily again. "Why are you even doing this? You want her too."

"Yeah, I’m aware Harry," Ron replied sardonically. "But did you not just hear what I said? She wants you. I’m not completely oblivious, you know. And you two have loved each other since I can remember."

When Harry still said nothing, Ron sighed. "Please don’t make me hurt you. I’m serious. You can’t worry about that stuff right now. The only thing you need to think about right now is the fact that Hermione is somewhere wondering what the hell is taking you so long."

"Still, though…" Harry trailed off, looking anguished.

"Harry," Ron sounded dangerously close to exploding. "I’m not really enjoying this, you know. I’m trying to convince you to go to her, and thus officially ending any chance I ever had."

Harry looked up, an apology in his eyes, seeming to realise the same thing.

Ron continued, a cheeky grin spreading across his face, "And your misguided sense of chivalry is getting on my last nerve."

Harry started to laugh as Ron began to chuckle as well. However, he stopped laughing abruptly when he saw Harry going towards the stairs, not the portrait hole.

"Whoa! What are you doing? She went that way," Ron said, pointing out towards the door.

"Yeah, I know," Harry said, smiling. He raised his eyebrow. "But don’t you think I should take her Christmas gift as well?"

__________

I’ve never believed in Santa Claus. I’ve never believed in miracles either. There are no miraculous events. Things can always be explained. With logic or science. Or magic. Some might say that magic in itself is a miracle, but it’s not. Magic is a tangible force in the universe. It has always been here and will continue to be here for time immemorial. Some can harness it; some can sense it; some can do neither. But it is here; it is a force in the world. So even if logic or science cannot explain things, magic can.

I don’t think Harry believes in miracles either. His whole existence, the simple fact that he’s alive, was supposed to be a miracle. However, it was a sacrifice and his blood that explained that miracle. It was amazing that he lived; it was something wonderful. But it wasn’t a miracle.

I don’t believe in Santa Claus and I don’t believe in miracles. But I do believe in love. Love is the reason behind Harry’s existence. It is because of his mother’s, his parent’s love, for him that he is here.

I can only hope that love will help to keep him here this time.

__________

"Oi," Ron sighed to himself as Harry bounded down the stairs and ran out of the Common Room. He knew he had done the right thing; he knew that they loved each other; he knew that they should be together; he knew that he didn’t love her the way Harry did; he knew she didn’t love him the way she loved Harry. Still. Happy Christmas, Ron.

Harry was running through the hallways, knowing with certainty that Hermione had headed outside. You’re a genius, Potter. She took her cloak when she left. Laughing to himself, feeling lighter than he had in a long time, he sped across the entrance hall. He pulled the doors open, seeing a black-cloaked figure in the dancing snow.

Hermione was lost in her own world. She was, remarkably, feeling perfectly calm. She had always assumed that if Harry found out or if she somehow blurted it out, she would be nervous or mortified. She just felt patient. She was simply waiting. Waiting for Harry. His wild hair, his grin, his courage, his nerve, his slender body, his glasses, his green eyes. Harry. She smiled to herself.

Harry approached, watching her. She had her head thrown back, her tongue out, catching the snow. He stood still for a moment, just taking her in. He wondered how this had happened. He loved her. He couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t. Even if he hadn’t known it himself. She was part of him. Her laughter, her concern, her intelligence, her logic, her slim body, her bushy hair, her brown eyes. Hermione. He smiled to himself.

He continued to smile as Hermione opened her eyes and saw him. "Did you know that you can taste snow, if you want to?"

Harry raised his eyebrow, looking sceptical.

"It’s true. If you catch a snowflake and just concentrate on the feeling, just concentrate on it, nothing else, they have a definite flavour," Hermione smiled and turned her face back to the sky.

Harry smiled and turned his face up, putting out his own tongue.

"Hmm," he said after a few minutes, his voice amused. "You’re right. You know what else?"

"What’s that?" Hermione asked. Harry could tell she was smiling.

"If you listen hard enough," he began, taking her hand in his, "you can hear music."

Hermione squeezed his hand, laughing. She opened her eyes and looked at him. His hair darker and his eyes greener against the background of white.

"Really?"

"Really," Harry told her. Snowflakes were catching on her lashes and her cheeks were pink in the cold.

"What’s it sound like?" Hermione asked him.

"Well, I think that depends on who’s listening. Now say, Malfoy? He would definitely hear Wagner. Without a doubt."

Hermione smiled. He was right; Malfoy would hear Wagner. "Well, what do you hear?"

Harry turned his face back to the sky and shook his head, "I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve listened closely enough until now."

Hermione squeezed his hand again. "Neither have I."

They stood there for a few more minutes, heads thrown back, eyes closed, holding hands, listening to music only they could hear.

"I love you."

"I know."

A few more minutes passed in silence; hands holding, smiling to the heavens, eyes closed.

"I love you too."

"I know."

Still more silence; hands held tighter, smiles wider, eyes still shut tight.

"You know I didn’t get a present from you this morning, right?" Hermione asked, grinning to herself.

"Actually, Miss Smarty Pants," Harry said as Hermione laughed. "That’s why I came out here."

Hermione looked at him. "Is it now?"

Harry said nothing, just looked down and drew something out of his pocket. It was the box that Sirius had sent his mum’s necklace in. Hermione’s mouth gaped open.

Harry saw her expression and grinned. "What?"

"J-Just…" Hermione trailed off, looking at him.

Harry stopped grinning and met her gaze. "Sirius thought I might like to give this to ‘someone.’ He was right, of course. His specific instructions were ‘Harry, just tell her.’"

Hermione’s mouth curved into a smile. "So that’s why I couldn’t see the note?"

Harry smiled, looking sheepish. "Well…yeah. I don’t know who I was fooling."

"Me neither."

They smiled at each other through the snow until suddenly Harry jerked back to reality, opening the box.

"Happy Christmas, Hermione," he said as he lifted out the necklace.

He placed the necklace in her palm, the chain tangling between their fingers. They both looked at the necklace. This was his life. Thank you.

"Do you want me to put it on?" Harry asked, picking up the necklace once more.

Hermione nodded mutely, turning around. Harry draped the necklace around her throat, closing the clasp.
Hermione turned around, eyes wide, her fingers touching the pearl. "Harry," she gasped, amazed at the warmth.

His hair darker and his eyes greener in the background of white; snowflakes were catching on her lashes and her cheeks were pink in the cold.

He smiled, "I know."

He tasted like magic, like Christmas; she tasted like snowflakes, like Christmas.

"Happy Christmas, Harry," Hermione whispered, pulling back. Their foreheads resting against each other, looking into each other’s eyes.

He smiled. "You know what Ron says? He says that now we can live happily ever after."

Hermione’s laughter rang out across the grounds, getting lost in the swirling snow.

__________

I’ve never believed in Santa Claus. I do believe in Christmas though. I’ve never believed in fairy tales, but kissing Harry feels like a happily ever after. I believe in magic. I didn’t believe in perfection, but his hand feels perfect in mine. I still believe in possibility. I didn’t believe in contentment, but here with him, I can’t imagine wanting something different. I continue to believe in happiness and I certainly believe in love. I’ve never believed in miracles, but sitting here, hand intertwined with Harry’s, enveloped in warmth, emanating from my chest, the likes of which I have never felt before, laughing with Ron as we wile away our last few hours before the day and life and death intrude upon us feels like a miracle.

I believe in Christmas, magic, possibility, happiness and love. I may believe in fairy tales, perfection, contentment and miracles. I believe in playing football in no-man’s land.

I still don’t believe in Santa Claus.