Christmas Isn't Coming This Year

Chapter 1

Christmas wasn't coming this year. At least, not for Hermione Granger. For everyone else it was another year of being happy that they were alive, their minds barely lighting on the memories of those who had passed on and hadn't had the chance to be there like everyone else got to this year.

She couldn't think…couldn't breathe. It was almost unreal.

He wasn't there anymore. He was just…gone. They didn't know of course. If they knew… God, if they knew they would have her committed to St. Mungo's in an instant. She was nothing but a pile of nerves, and she just couldn't seem to get herself under control.

She looked down at her hands in her lap where they were shaking.

She gripped her fingers even tighter, trying to hold in the emotion that was trying to escape through her extremities. They could never know how it felt.

How it felt to have someone torn off from you like a limb that you never expected to lose. Like a limb that you never realized how important it was until it was gone.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Ron and Harry trying to start a game of Exploding Snap with Bill and George. They were laughing, enjoying themselves. There was some music playing in the background, something that she vaguely recognized, which meant that Mr. Weasley had probably pulled out some of his Muggle music.

She watched as Ginny played with Crookshanks, a ball of yarn weaving its way perilously across the floor around her feet.

She could hear the sound of magical cooking coming from the other room, its sound distinctive from regular cooking as there were more noises coming from the kitchen than there should have been, considering that Molly Weasley was the only one in there.

The smells reached her nose, and she was swept up with nostalgia at some of the scents that greeted her. Gingerbread, hot mint tea, and turkey. All mashed together, the scents were unappealing, but as she separated them out in her mind, each one brought a different memory. The gingerbread reminded her of her mother, when they would make cookies and build a gingerbread house together while her father would try to untangle the Christmas lights in the other room, cursing under his breath the entire time.

The hot mint tea threw her back to memories of Christmas Eve night, sitting at the base of her father's easy chair, both of them sipping the hot liquid and trying not to spill it as her mother would rush by them, quickly placing the last few presents under the tree while Hermione and her father made sarcastic comments at her hurried haze. She could hear her father's tone in her head and see his face, a look on it that her mother detested and told him would ruin his looks one day.

The turkey…of course, the turkey. Christmas Day flung into her memories and she sank a bit deeper into her chair next to the window, almost not wanting to remember those memories.

She had always looked forward to Christmas when she was younger; it had been the one time of year where her parents allowed her to eat as many sweets as she wanted. Not even on Hallowe'en had they allowed her to, and so she had always associated Christmas with sweets and happy memories. At Hogwarts, she had come to love Christmas even more. The lights, the sounds, the smells, the tastes…all of it was truly magical, and for once in her life she had found something that she knew that she had been missing from her life.

But now…it just wasn't the same. After the war, she no longer had a sense of home or security…which was ironic, considering that everyone else seemed to have found it so quickly. Harry had gained a family, and Ron, though having lost a brother, had gained another brother in a sense and he welcomed it. Hermione on the other hand, though Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had told her countless times that she was always more than welcome in their home, never felt…a part of it.

Even when in the middle of the crowded and overwhelming family, she felt separated and apart from them. They were just fine with having what they had, and they all seemed to have found a place for themselves and a purpose to the next part of their lives…but she hadn't.

As her gaze moved towards the panes of glass in front of her, her mind went back to him. She still didn't understand it.

How could he have died? How? They had planned everything so carefully…well, as carefully as one could plan a war. In her mind, he never should have died.

His death was pointless, he didn't have to die.

She closed her eyes, trying not to see the memory of his body in his pool of blood. The redness of it seemed to flood behind her closed lids and she felt a sudden pain in her hands. She opened her eyes at the sudden pain and realized that her nails had broken the surface of her skin, causing thin marks of blood to appear on her palm. She glanced around quickly, hoping that no one had noticed her outward sign of pain. With a quick and wordless spell, the marks were gone, along with the pain.

She slowly unclenched them, placing them palm down onto her legs, rubbing her -not shaking-steady hands along her denim covered thighs, drying the sweat that had suddenly appeared on her palms with no warning. She needed some clarity…some logical thinking.

That was it.

She needed a book.

Carefully, she unfolded her legs from beneath her and made her way over to her bag that was still next to the door. She had a Notice-Me-Not charm on it; to make sure no one saw it and realize that she was leaving. She had quickly decided for herself that there was no way that she could stay for all of the festivities without wanting to scream in frustration, so she had made sure that she had a getaway plan in place ahead of time in case she needed to leave even earlier than expected.

Quickly, she dug into the daypack and pulled out a book and then headed back to her chair, enjoying the feel of the leather between her fingers, one of the few comforts that she still had.

As she let herself fall through the pages, she found herself getting lost in the story. After a few minutes, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up…but no one was there.

After glancing around the rest of the room, seeing everyone in their respective places, she began to feel worried.

She tried to ignore it, and was finally able to let herself fall back to her reading. It was actually fairly interesting, and she knew that she should be enjoying it…but she wasn't.

Hermione slid a bit deeper into the chair, enjoying the feel of the thick cushions surrounding her…and then she felt it again. Only, this time, the hand lingered and the faint aroma of potion spices reached her nose.

No…no, no, no. She was hallucinating. That was the only explanation for what was happening to her. It was all a hallucination. She quickly closed the book, clasping her hands tightly around the leather cover, certain that it just might crack beneath her hands.

She shut her eyes, trying to block it all out, but doing so only seemed to heighten the feelings. The fingers were strong and firm, yet gentle. The smell was thick, but light. A dichotomy of contrasts, and she was sure that she was about to go crazy.

She knew those fingers…she knew that touch. She knew that scent. In fact, she was probably the only person in the world who knew him in any sort of intimate way at all, and not by purpose of any sort of design, but merely by accident. She had run from the room with the boggart in the small cupboard that she'd been practicing with for the final exam, her eyes filled with unshed tears, and she had run into him by accident. His initial grip had been fierce as he'd shoved her away from his person, a sneer on his lips, his eyes dark…and then she'd glanced up and seen him look briefly over her shoulder and, for the first time in her entire time of knowing him, she'd seen his gaze actually soften. The sneer had faded and he'd lifted his other hand and muttered "Riddikulus," and then made a brief twist of his wand. She hadn't looked back, but she'd heard the faint sound of the creature disappearing from existence.

Hermione had been very aware of the fact that they were still standing fairly close together, more so than would be polite. There truly had been no more than two or three inches between them, and she had been able to smell the lingering hint of wolfsbane and a flower that she could not identify lingering on his robes.

Their eyes had then caught.

The grip on her shoulder had then lessened and he'd given her a look that she had never seen before. His eyes had been almost soft. He'd said nothing. He'd seen what her fear was. Her truest fear. The fear of being rejected by Harry and Ron, her fear of being shunned and left to her life on her own; her teachers, too, annoyed by her presence, merely wanting her out of their classrooms in order to be relieved of her presence.

Why that should garner any sort of kindness from him, she hadn't known at the time, but after the Final Battle she finally understood. After seeing the memories, she finally understood.

And now, feeling the firm yet gentle hand on her shoulder once more and the smell of potions spices in such close proximity, it all added up to one person, but that was absolutely impossible. Absolutely impossible.

She shrugged her shoulders, attempting to rid herself of the sensation. It dissipated and she sighed in relief.

Hermione slowly opened her eyes, still trying to convince herself that none of it was real. However, in the back of her mind, there was a niggling doubt of thought. Maybe—no, no maybes. She loosened her grip on the book in her hands, only then noticing that they had been shaking.

Listening carefully, she registered that Ginny was still in the same room. The sound of Crookshanks' tiny paws scrabbling on the floor attempting to grab at the yarn that Ginny was still tormenting him with was very audible. She waited a few seconds, hoping that she might leave the room, but she didn't. If she started looking around the room, Ginny would notice, and knowing her she would ask what Hermione was doing, and when she would try to reply, Ginny would know immediately that she was lying.

Being careful not to look obvious, she slowly rotated in her chair, sliding forward so that she could maneuver around the armrest. She gave a brief glance over her shoulder, trying to make it look like she was merely stretching her neck.

She couldn't help but smile at Ginny grinning like an idiot at her feline's antics as he tried to yank the yarn out from under her hands.

Then Hermione felt it again, this time on her other shoulder. She swiveled her head, and of course was met with nothing but empty air.

This was getting ridiculous! She had to move around, keep herself from getting too stationary.

And that was when Hermione realized…she wouldn't be staying for any of the evening. She had to leave now. She quickly cast the spell over herself, creating an image of the way she was sitting at that moment, a projection of sorts that would fool them into thinking that she was still there. She found herself undeniably grateful at that moment that she wasn't a part of Molly's clock, where it wouldn't have mattered what she did, Molly would have been able to follow her wherever she went without having to lift a single finger.

She then cast a Disillusionment charm over herself, shivering slightly at the cold feeling that ran down her spine as the charm took hold.

She grabbed her bag from beside the door, and then cast a special charm that allowed a person to go through objects, one that she had looked up and learned specifically for this purpose. She walked through the wall next to the front door. She was not going to give them even the slightest hint that anything was out of sorts.

As soon as she made it beyond the boundaries of their house, she Apparated.

She felt her feet hit the ground and looked around. Yes, she was safe. She had been slightly worried that the anti-Apparition wards around Harry's inherited home might still be up, but it seemed that they had been removed, which was lucky for her. She took the charms off both herself and her bag and headed towards the kitchen.

Her stomach was feeling rather empty as she hadn't eaten anything since the previous night.

She doubted that there was any actual food in the kitchen, but it was at least worth a shot. She stepped into the kitchen, heading straight for the cupboards.

Suddenly, she felt it again. A tingling on the base of her neck…as if she were being watched.

She ignored it, grabbing a box of chocolate biscuits from the first cupboard that she opened. She sat down at the table, clearing off some of the dust that had gathered from it not being used in these many long months since Voldemort's downfall.

As she bit into one, the chocolate flavor coating her tongue, she suddenly found that her appetite had disappeared. What she needed was an escape, not food…and then she smiled as an idea formed in her mind.

Part 1/6