Song for a Winter's Night

A/N: Alright, people. Here is my first festive fic. Coming to you to get you into the Christmas spirit. Five parts, recounting three near-Christmas tales, all having a song inspiration from Sarah McLachlan's album, "Wintersong". Check it out! I had fun writing it and I hope you have fun reading it! Happy Christmas!

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Part One - River.

Hermione stood by the pond at the Burrow. It was frozen solid. If Hermione felt she was more coordinated, she would skate. She briefly thought about the friction of the metal on the ice. She used to love skating, even when she fell. Taking Ginny's advice, she dropped the girl's skates to the newly snow-covered ground. Hermione sat down in the white and pulled her legs close to her chest in order to put them on.

In the distance, she heard the Weasleys decorating the front of the house, singing Wizard Christmas music. It was two days before Christmas and she almost wished she hadn't come. Since she wasn't tied to Ron anymore, it didn't seem right.

She and Ron had a fight a month ago. An explosion, more correctly. They'd exploded at each other, spouting things they'd kept bottled up since first year.

He had suggested they "take a break". At the time, she had agreed. Now, she wished those words had never been spoken.

Skates on, she stepped onto the ice, slightly unsteady. Her feet almost slipped out from under her, but she caught her balance. Much like our relationship. Sometimes, a little shaky, but never failing. They'd been through things like this before. It wouldn't end here. But you've never told him to get out before.

He'd been living with her for as long as she'd had the flat. It had always been their flat. She laughed, remembering how excited he'd been for them to have their own place. It was everything they could do to go out for fun. But when they went out, it more often than not ended the same way. Beginning in dark corners, halls, bushes—it didn't matter where—Ron and Hermione almost always ended in the same state. Just seeing him come towards her thrilled her. But when he had her alone and unseen—caressing, teasing, kissing, loving—she was his. Molded as easily as water into a cup. Her knees were flimsy branches, giving way to his form.

And it wasn't just his carnal treasures. He always made her happy, joyful even. She laughed with him. He was her life. She spent all the time she could with him. When they fought, it always ended in laughter or in nothing. Rarely did they stay angry. So when the explosion was over and she was fuming and told him to get out of her flat, she was surprised to see his eyes filled with tears. He wasn't angry. He wasn't going to fight. And that was when he said it.

"Maybe we should take a break for a while."

And she was speechless. Her mouth wouldn't voice her thoughts. This wasn't real, was it? They weren't actually going to—

"Until we—we sort ourselves out."

What? "Take a break"? Why—

But she didn't say anything. She nodded and sat down on the nearest stable place. Her world had just been turned upside down.

But surely it couldn't be over. Right? She needed him.

She heard his booming laugh from the pond. But he doesn't need you.

She loved him. He said he loved her. This wouldn't—couldn't last forever. They'd been through this before. Every November through December or more for three years now. We'll make it.

Won't we?

--

Part Two - Wintersong.

Ron left me.

This was Hermione's thought as she took watch. She knew what day it was. She'd been keeping track. It was Christmas. Very early on Christmas, but Christmas nonetheless. The trees around their camp, trees were white, their tops covered in snow. The ground was white as well.

Sitting near the entrance to the tent, everything around her reminded her of Ron,—the snow, her blankets, the fire.

Everything. Everywhere.

She tried to remember what it was like when Ron would warm her during her shift or calm her to sleep with his warmth during Harry's. It came to nothing. Nothing could simulate his warmth in the night.

The echoing silence in the forest was an abomination, a reminder that something wasn't right. She went to her only source of comfort. She closed her eyes and imagined Ron. Hermione remembered a moment so many years ago—a snowball fight, a successful avalanche on Fred and George, a victory shout with arms in the air, joy clear on his face. This memory accompanied her with snow and she kept it close to her heart.

She missed him terribly. She wanted him to be here, passing her shift time with him, as he often would on nights he wasn't wearing the locket. She wanted him back.

"Happy Christmas," she whispered to the trees, hoping her words may reach him. She looked up to the sky, seeing a star, wishing she could see him again. She dreamed of him appearing in the morning, opening his arms to her and inviting her to come into them, love in his eyes.

"I love you, Hermione. I've missed you so much," he said, wrapping his arms around her.

"I've wanted you back terribly."

"Don't worry, love. I'll never leave you again. I'll always be with you."

Hermione returned to Earth with a sickening crash. Ron wasn't coming back. Ron wasn't with her. Ron didn't love her.

Ron left me.

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Part Three - Song for a Winter's Night.

The candle on her desk was getting low. It was late. Snow was falling outside her room. And for the first time in four years, she was spending Christmas with her parents. She'd spent Christmas with Ron for so long, she hurt to think she wouldn't be able to hear him saying "Happy Christmas". In the silence of her sleeping house, she could almost hear his voice.

What she wouldn't do to hear him snoring in his chair at Hogwarts or talking at the Burrow. Frankly, she would take him yelling at this point. She missed the sound of his voice. She missed their fights, their conversations, their friendship. She wanted to be with him for Christmas.

She was sure when he accepted her invitation to Slughorn's Christmas party that they were getting somewhere. He did like her. He might even love her the same way she loved him. She should have been the one he held, kissed, touched as his own. Not her. Not Lavender.

She'd be happy just to hold his hand. Especially tonight. Especially Christmas.

Accompanying the lone candle were letters of his summer correspondence:

I miss you.

I can't wait till you get here?

Are your presents ever gonna let you go?

I hope you are safe at home. I wouldn't want you to be unprotected there.

Mum asked about you. She wants to know if we're still on for tomorrow.

Wanna go to the pond with me?

Wanna sleep in the den tonight?

Hermione had misread every intention. The invitations, the worrying, the nagging,—she'd misinterpreted all of it. She'd read more into than was there. They were—they were nothing. She was nothing. If only she could know that somewhere, he was missing her, she'd be content. If only she could know their friendship wasn't an utter lie, she could sleep. She could blow out her candle and anguish over something else.

She wanted to be at the Burrow, laughing with Ginny, talking to Harry—anything to keep her mind off this. She wiped her face, realizing that she'd been crying for a good while.

This wasn't going to get better. It could only get worse.

She wanted Ron.

But there was nothing she could do about it.

--

Part Four - Christmas Time is Here.

Returning from her memories, she heard Christmas songs again, wafting from the cheery family. She realized that although Christmas was meant to be a joyful time, it wasn't her best in her youth. She used to love Christmas. What had happened?

She looked down and noticed her feet were moving of their own accord. She stopped and looked up at the sky turning dark, night mixing with day. It was her favorite time of day, even if it only lasted for a short while. Twilight.

She saw a lone star in the sky, and remembering the rhyme from her childhood, she whispered the familiar words. "Star light, star bright. First star I see tonight. I wish I may. I wish I might. Have the wish I wish tonight." She wanted desperately for them. For them to me them again. "I want us back. I want us to be one unit. I want us."

Snow began to fall around her, perhaps a sign of her wish being accepted. She didn't know if it would be accepted, but she knew, somewhere, it had been heard.

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Part Five - River.

She wanted to skate away. Away from the Burrow, away from Ron, away from her memories, away from the pain.

I want to get away from everything.

And as she thought these words, her legs came out from under her. As if in slow motion, she knew she wouldn't be able to right herself this time. She braced herself for impact. But she never hit the ice. She turned her head.

Ron was holding her up. His hands were holding her up. He had saved her.

"Are you alright?" he asked, pulling her to her feet and holding her up by pressing her against him. Making her knees work less.

"Fine." She couldn't do this. Not now. Not with things the way they were. "You don't need to hold me."

"Okay." He pulled away, clearly wishing to respect her wishes, but she began to fall again, and he held her again. The conversation stilled.

"I heard your wish."

She became ice in his arms. She stilled all movement. Even her brain stopped. "You did?"

"Yes," he said quietly.

"Oh."

"I can grant that wish, if you want."

She didn't think but for half a moment. "Merlin, yes," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him with all the feeling she had from the memories of them. And he kissed her back, matching her passion.

His kiss burned it all away.

And all her wishes disappeared into the utter perfection.

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A/N: Lord, the symbolism. And I used to hate it. I'd like to take this time to say I'm really sorry about all the bitching I did and that I hope I haven't pissed my English teachers off. You guys seemed to love me. And I'd like to thank people for pointing out to me that as much as I bitched about symbolism in English, I sure do write a lot of it.

Damn. And I thought I was doing so well.

Although! I would like to say this: Isn't the point of symbolism to choose what things mean to you and pull those things out? Symbolism is a personal thing and I still do believe it shouldn't be shoved down our throats. So, there, English teachers. We should choose our own meanings from our own experiences.

So maybe what I mean is this: I'd like to know what this story meant to you and what you gathered from it. What did you see in the story and what things did you find that you found symbolic?

If this seems like a useless English thing that you despise, ignore it. Enjoy the story. But I want to know what you thought.