Christmas 2002

The Weasleys spent their Christmas at Shell Cottage. When Padma arrived to take over the hospital shift, Hermione changed her clothes and apparated to join them.

She stood outside in the snow for several minutes as she tried to brace herself. The conversation with Angelina had knocked her off-kilter, and she felt as though she were grasping for a sense of control.

She stared at the front door and mentally rehearsed the day. Christmas would be quiet; a far cry from past holidays. Every year everyone was a little quieter and a little more drunk. The year before, Arthur had become overwhelmed by the number of people and had a fit until Molly was forced to leave with him.

Hermione could go through the motions. Smile. Sing carols. Check on Arthur and George. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Oi! Hermione's here!" Fred bellowed when she walked in.

Everyone turned and descended on her. They were all in surprisingly high spirits, cheerful and buzzed. A mug of wassail was shoved into her hands before she'd gotten across the room.

Everyone was decked in Christmas jumpers from Molly.

Hermione surreptitiously lined up vials of hangover potion along the top of the mantel.

Bill was sitting in one corner, quiet among the bustle. Fleur was seated on the arm of his chair, running her fingers through his hair.

Harry and Ginny were squished into an armchair, whispering together. Harry and Ron had returned from another horcrux hunt only a few days before.

"Hermione dear, so glad you made it. This is for you," Molly pressed a gift, wrapped in tissue paper, into Hermione's hands.

Hermione perched on an ottoman and opened it. A green jumper with an H in the middle.

"Thank you, Molly," she said. "This is beautiful."

"Mum! Why are you sticking Hermione in Slytherin green?" Ron said, peering over.

Molly smacked him, wearing an expression of offense. "Ronald! It's emerald green and it's a lovely colour for her skin tone. It reminded me of Harry's eyes."

"Looks like Slytherin green to me." Ron grimaced as Hermione pulled it over her head. "Ugh. Gives me nightmares just looking at it."

Hermione and Molly's relationship was somewhat strained. When Arthur was first cursed, there had been a great deal of hope that Hermione and Bill would collaboratively be able to reverse or break it. Molly had been effusive in her appreciation of all Hermione's efforts. However, as time passed and hope dwindled, Molly withdrew. It wasn't blame, per se. It was simply painful. Hermione represented a deep hope that had failed.

Their interactions were still warm, but they kept them limited.

Hermione knew from second-hand accounts that Molly had vehement objections to her advocacy for the Dark Arts, but it was not a conversation they had ever actually had together.

Hermione wasn't sure if Molly had chosen the colour on the basis of skin tone, or if it was a form of reproof. It wasn't really worth thinking about. She was so tired of pointlessly arguing about it.

She left Ron and Molly to argue and went to find Arthur.

Mr Weasley was sitting on the floor in the corner, going through a lift-the-flap book. Hermione watched him carefully and cast a diagnostic spell on his brain. Arthur Weasley as an adult was still locked away somewhere. The curse Lucius used hadn't driven Arthur mad or scrubbed his memory. The magic had suspended Arthur's mind at a specific point in early childhood. The rest of Arthur was still inside, waiting to get out; Hermione could see it in the diagnostic. But she didn't know how to break through the magic without causing real and severe brain damage.

The lost parts of Arthur's brain were slowly deteriorating. His brain activity gradually shrinking smaller as the disused neural connections died off.

There was nothing Hermione could do about it.

"Arthur," Hermione knelt down beside him, "I have a Christmas present for you."

He looked up from his book expectantly. Every time their eyes met she felt a pang in her chest and an overwhelming desire to offer apologies he couldn't understand. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I can't get you out. I'm sorry I can't fix this.

"I wasn't going to buy presents for anyone this year, but I saw this in a shop, and I knew I had to get it for you." Hermione reached into her pocket and pulled out the gift. "It's called a rubber duck. It will float on water. You can have it in your baths. Or put it in the sink."

Arthur snatched it from her hand and stood up suddenly. Hermione gripped her wand. She'd been knocked across a room by him on several occasions when he'd become overexcited or cross.

"Bill! Bill, do this." His voice was adult, but his words and the insistent tone were childlike. He waved the duck over his head. "In the sink!"

Bill donned the false expression of cheerfulness that he always wore around his father and leaned forward. "What have you got there?"

Arthur carried it over and shoved the toy into Bill's face until it nearly poked Bill in the eye. Hermione winced.

"A duck! In the sink."

"Right, should we see how it floats?" Bill stood up. Arthur turned on his heel and proceeded to bolt down a hallway toward the bathroom. "No running, Arthur!"

Hermione headed further into the house and found Fred and George outside in the gardens. George was attempting to do a handstand on his crutches. As Hermione opened the door, he lost his balance and fell face first into a snowdrift.

"George!" Hermione went and pulled him out, brushing the snow off by smacking him. "If you're going to do things like this, at least be sober."

"Sorry, Mum." George said jokingly as he let her pull him upright and fuss over him while Fred picked the crutches up.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, and he kissed her full on the lips.

She stared at him astonished.

"Happy Christmas, Herms. A pretty girl deserves a Yuletide kiss. Fred promised his to Angelina, so I drew the short straw and had to kiss the woman who saved my life." He placed a hand across his heart and smiled beautifically.

Hermione shook her head. "You're awful. What if that had been my first kiss?"

George donned an expression of elaborate despair. "It wasn't? Been snogging other patients of yours before me?"

Hermione felt the tips of her ears grow warm and looked away. "Actually my first kiss was with Viktor."

"Crushed my heart, you have." George stumbled back overdramatically with his crutches. "It's because I'm not surly enough, isn't it? Or maybe you only like Seekers."

Hermione shook her head and tried not to think about surliness or Seekers. "I'm going back in. If you must risk your neck after all I've done healing you, at least do it when I'm not looking."

She went back inside and seated herself on the couch in the corner, watching the festivities with a sense of bewilderment.

Charlie was teasing Ginny and Harry, he tilted his head back and laughed. Hermione couldn't remember the last time she'd heard Charlie laugh. Or Ron or Harry.

They were all happy. Happier than she had seen them in years.

As Hermione observed it, a creeping sense of horror came over her.

The cheerfulness brimming inside the cottage was more than Yuletide merriment and alcohol. The house was bursting, nearly vibrating with a sense of hopefulness.

Hermione wouldn't have understood it if not for the conversation with Angelina.

It wasn't just the Resistance. The Order members also believed they were on the way to winning the war.

As Hermione sat in the corner absorbing it, she felt as though she were trapped inside a daydream charm while the world around her burned down.

The Order would never change tactics now; they would never agree to use the Dark Arts. She had done this.

If Draco ever turned on them, or achieved whatever atonement he was in pursuit of and ended his service, the Resistance would start to free fall, and there would be nothing to catch them.

And if the Order ever found out about Draco, in any context... it would likely break the entire organization. The trust in Kingsley and Moody would be shattered.

Hermione felt like she might be sick. She wanted to leave.

She sat in the corner like a statue.

Harry came and dropped down on the couch next to her. They watched the room. Ginny was with Arthur. Ron, Fred, and George appeared to be in the middle of a prank of some sort. Molly was bustling about, setting out food and Charlie was helping her.

"This—is everything I ever wanted," Harry said after a minute. "This is what keeps me going. Every day."

Hermione was silent.

"Are you thinking about your family?" Harry studied her carefully. Hermione gave a short nod. Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. "Someday your parents will be here with us too."

Hermione watched Molly pause to press a kiss on Arthur's forehead and admire his duck.

"They—they won't; they'll never come back from Australia," she said quietly. Harry looked at her with confusion. Her eyes dropped down to her lap. "Extensive obliviation only has a certain window for reversal. Otherwise there is a high risk of acute brain damage. If I were going to reverse the memory charm, it needed to be done before Christmas last year; before the five year mark."

There was a long silence.

"You never told me that." Harry's voice was devastated.

Hermione fidgeted with the sleeve of her jumper and didn't look up at him. "It was easier to just focus on work than to think about it. I knew the risk when I decided to hide them."

"I'm sorry." Harry squeezed her hand. "I'm so so sorry, Hermione."

"It's fine. I've come to terms with the fact that protecting people may mean losing them."

"Well, not me. You'll always be my family."

Before Hermione could say anything, Molly bustled over, holding a camera and dragging Ron with her. "Let's get a picture of you three. Hermione, you scoot over a bit, dear, so Ron can sit next to you. There now. Arms around each other. Harry, try to smooth your hair. Oh, never mind. Smile..."

Hermione couldn't quite manage a smile. The corners of her mouth curled faintly as Ron and Harry's heavy arms wrapped around her shoulders. There was a blinding flash.

"That will be lovely. We haven't gotten a picture of you all together in years." Molly went over to take a picture of Bill and Fleur.

Ron snorted as he watched his mother posing Fleur and then tugged at one of Hermione's curls that had slipped free from her braids. "A hair out of place; I guess you aren't a Slytherin after all."

Hermione gave a faint smile. "That must have been why the Sorting Hat stuck me in Gryffindor. It's probably why Harry didn't get sent there either."

She and Ron both looked over at Harry's tangled head of hair. He looked as though he'd been electrocuted and tried to hide it with pomade. Half of it appeared to have been combed at some point, but the rest stuck up and pointed in various directions.

"What did you do to it?" Hermione said, shaking her head in disbelief.

Harry flushed. "I had it combed. And then Ginny and I—erm, snogged."

Ron made a gagging sound. "Snogged." He scoffed. "That's my baby sister. Just thinking about you two makes me wanted to gouge my eyes out."

"Trust me, I've wanted to," Hermione muttered. "I swear, neither of them know basic privacy or locking charms."

Harry looked horrified.

"Ronald," Molly said from across the room. "I want to take a picture with all the siblings! Come over to the tree. Stand next to Ginny."

Hermione and Harry watched Ron amble over and pose for the family photo. Hermione felt as though her chest were being crushed.

Harry glanced over at Hermione, and she noticed his expression shift slightly before he spoke. "When this is over, I hope things will go back to the way they were."

He stared at her, and his eyes were young and old at the same time. A lifetime of memories were evoked by those eyes. Hermione's heart caught in her throat as she stared back at him.

She started to open her mouth to say she wished that too. Because she did. She would do anything to somehow emerge on the other side of the war and still have something left.

But before she could say it, Harry caught hold of her hand and gripped it. "You're my family. And I'll always be yours. I know we've fought with each other a lot lately. But I know everything you wanted to do was because you were trying to protect us. I just can't stand the thought of seeing what Dark Magic would do to you. I don't know how to fight to win this war without you, and Ron, and the Weasley Family being there with me on the other side of it. I wish I'd told you this sooner, but I want us to fix things now. You've always looked out for me, better than anyone. I want you to know that I know that."

Hermione's eyes flooded with tears and her whole body shook.

Harry, you don't even know all I would be willing to do for you.

She opened her mouth and then closed it, swallowing what she wanted to say.

"We haven't won yet, Harry," she finally said in a hoarse voice.

"I know. I know we've still got long way to go, but I don't want to wait to say this." Harry took a deep breath. "I haven't looked out for you, and I'm sorry for that. I've been so worried about everyone going on raids, I never stopped to think about how it was for you. Ginny and I were talking, and she mentioned how awful it is in your hospital ward; that all you see is the very worst of every battle, over and over again, and I'm really sorry, I never realised—when Ron and I fought in the past, he always had his family and I always had you, but with this fight about the Dark Arts, he and I were both so focused on the Resistance that we didn't think about you. The three of us were always strongest together. I want us to be that way again. What do you say?"

Hermione stared at Harry and wavered.

Her friend. Her best friend. Her very first friend. She would do anything for him. Anything to protect him.

Anything.

Even give him up.

You already made your choice. If you try to have this, you'll only hurt him more when he finds out what you did. You'll only hurt yourself more if you let yourself believe it's real.

She swallowed and slowly pulled her hand away. It was like crashing in slow motion. Knowing and doing it anyway.

"I don't think I know how to be friends with you anymore, Harry." Her voice was low and firm.

Harry stared at her, his eyes wide and stunned. "What do you mean?"

Hermione stared down at her hands. A cold, creeping sensation spread through her. "We—we haven't been friends in years, Harry," she said matter-of-factly. "When exactly did you last treat me like your friend? When have you even walked into the hospital ward when it wasn't to visit someone else?"

"I—"

"I became a healer to try to protect you and you abandoned me for it."

"I—didn't. Hermione, I'll admit I could have done better, but it's not like Ron and I been having some sort of jolly time without you."

"Of—course." Hermione couldn't breathe. She kept speaking in the cruel, relentless voice she had learned from Draco. "You've had no time. Obviously the DA members take precedence; for the sake of unit cohesion. If you hadn't been so busy, I'm sure everything would be different. You would have been able to offer some kind of acknowledgment over the years. But since you had no time, you had no choice but to pat Ron on the shoulder after he called me bitch in front of the entire Order. After all, he is your dueling partner." Her tone was acrid.

"You were saying we should use the Killing Curse." Harry's voice was bitter and incredulous.

Hermione gave a faint laugh. "I still want you to."

There was a stunned silence. The whole room had fallen quiet. Harry was speechless for a full minute. "Still?"

Hermione gave a short nod.

Harry shook his head slowly as though he couldn't believe it.

"I'm a realist, Harry. I want this war to be done. I don't want the Order to think it won and then have everything start all over again in fourteen years, the way it did last time." Her tone was hard. Tired.

She knew exactly where to cut.

Her heart hurt, her chest too. It felt as though there were something burning inside her abdominal cavity. If Harry were still holding her hand, he'd feel that she was shaking.

"Do you have any idea what Dark Magic does to a person?" Harry's voice was furious.

Hermione kept her expression cold. "Of course I do; I'm a healer. It's my part of speciality. And I'm telling you, it's worth the cost. I'm not telling you to use Dark Rituals or drink unicorn blood, I'm just saying kill people who are trying to kill you. Are you really thinking you can just put him in prison somehow? Do you actually think you'll defeat him with an expelliarmus? Are you willing to bet your life on it? Ron's? Ginny's? The entire Resistance? It is worth it to kill him and his supporters. Do you somehow not hate them enough yet to manage that?"

"I don't. Because it will never be worth it," Harry snapped. "We won't win that way. I can't fight that way. When I fight I'm thinking about all the people I love. How I'm protecting them and how I want to see them again. What is the point to any of it, if winning just means watching you and everyone else die slowly instead? Every battle is a test. Not giving into hatred is a choice. You don't get to choose both Love and Hate. I won't be like Tom Riddle in order to win. The lesson of the first war is that Love trumps all when people believe in it. We have to choose between what's easy and what's right. If we get it wrong we'll never defeat him."

"You're accusing me of wanting easy choices?" Hermione was legitimately stunned.

"You want to use the Dark Arts because they'd be more 'effective'. Yeah, I'd say that's clearly a choice of easy instead of right." Harry was pale, his fists clenched until the knuckles showed white. "The fight between Good and Evil is a test. You haven't just failed it, Hermione, you're trying to take the whole Resistance with you. I thought for a while that it was because you spent so much time with Snape. But I'm realising now, it's you. You actually believe it."

Hermione didn't have to pretend to be enraged or bitter any longer. She scoffed in his face. "Of course I believe it. Think of Colin, Harry. Think of how Colin died in front of you and then multiply it. Multiply to include the casualties from every battle and raid in the last THREE YEARS. That—," she gestured sharply around herself, "—has been my life since the moment I came back from training. That is how your friends are dying."

"You don't need to tell me, Hermione." Harry's voice was shaking, and he leaned toward her, his teeth flashing. "They were my friends. I trained them. I fought with them. I carried them back. I would die for them. I would do almost anything to have saved them. But when it comes to Light and Dark Magic, it matters. It's never worth giving into the Dark Arts, no matter what you think you'll get from it. The Order is going to stay Light."

Something inside Hermione snapped. "You're not Light if you let people sacrifice themselves in order to keep your hands and soul clean." She sneered at him.

Harry turned pale.

"How dare you?" he finally said in a voice that vibrated with rage. "How fucking dare you? I have never—I would never—ask anyone to die for me. All I have ever wanted was for people to stop dying because of me. I don't want to be the Chosen One. I don't want this fucking war. All I ever wanted was a family. The people in this room are all I've got. My parents are dead. They sacrificed themselves believing in Love over Hate, and you're saying what? That they were wrong? That if they'd just been as smart as you, I'd still have them? My godfather is dead. At least your parents are alive somewhere. I don't even have that scrap of consolation. I would die to win this war with a smile on my face. I will fight for as long as it takes. But I won't let people poison their souls. I won't tell them to go there. I won't set that kind of an example for the Resistance."

He glared at Hermione and she could feel the waves of rage coming off him. It reminded her, in a horrible way, of Draco.

"Ron was right," Harry added after a moment. The rage in his tone was suddenly gone, he sounded closer to devastated. "You are a bitch. You really don't understand the point of the Order."

"To protect the wizarding and Muggle worlds from Tom Riddle and his Death Eaters," Hermione said quietly. "That is the purpose of the Order of the Phoenix."

She stood up and stared down at Harry; memorising him with her eyes for a moment before she looked away. "But I suppose you're right, I am a bitch. I don't think there's any use denying it at this point." She gave a choked laugh. "It seems to be the one thing everyone consistently tells me. I hope you're right about the war, Harry. I really hope what you're doing is enough."

Hermione turned on her heel and walked out of Shell Cottage.

She walked through the garden and into the hills beyond. She kept walking. Her heart was beating so hard it hurt. The blood pounding in her ears was so loud she could barely hear the wind; though she felt the cold of it slicing against her cheeks.

Finally she stopped and looked around at the endless white surrounding her. It was a beautiful Christmas. Hermione couldn't remember the last time it had snowed on Christmas Day.

Her hands and feet were numb with cold. She wanted to stay there. Stay there and freeze. It couldn't possibly feel worse than she already felt.

She didn't want to think about how awful she currently felt. How much her head hurt. And her heart. It felt like a chasm in her chest. As though someone had sawn through her sternum and pried the bone apart with a retractor, the way the Muggles did for heart surgery. She was ripped open and it just—hurt. Agony cold as winter inside herself.

If she looked down, there would be blood in the snow.

"Hermione!" Ginny's voice cut through the wind.

Hermione turned.

"Hermione..." Ginny waded through the snow toward her. "What's wrong? What are you doing?"

Hermione stared dully at Ginny. "Doing?"

"You did that on purpose—I could tell—so Harry would be mad and let you leave. Why? He and Ron are all you've got. They might forget that half the time, but I know it. What are you doing? What is it you're afraid of? Even before Harry went over. You were sitting on the couch looking like you were attending our funerals. What's wrong?"

Hermione stared mutely as Ginny; shivering in Slytherin green.

Ginny reached out and cast a warming charm on her.

"I—," Hermione's voice started and then failed for several seconds.

"I can't do this anymore, Ginny. I can't pretend things will be alright. Even if we won tomorrow morning, I'm not going to change my mind that we could have done better. The Dark Arts could shorten the war and save Resistance fighters. If Harry expects me to be standing next to him smiling when this is over, he should have that illusion shattered now."

Ginny stared at Hermione. Her lashes had ice crystals caught in them, glittering in the light. Her hair was blown back by the wind, exposing the scar running along her face; the months had faded it somewhat, but the cold made it appear more stark against her pale skin. The disfigurement made Ginny's prettiness more startling.The contrast of elements made her striking. A tragic type of mesmerisation.

"You—you don't expect to be with us," Ginny said slowly, her eyes were wide and sober. "After the war."

"I have given myself to this war, Ginny. When it's over—there won't be anything left of me."

Ginny shook her head and reached toward Hermione. "Don't say that—Hermione—"

"Ginny, if I am offered another empty word of encouragement, I may snap." Hermione's voice was flat. She drew a sharp breath, then exhaled and watched the condensation vanish into the sky. "I can't—I don't have the energy to pretend for all of you. I'm too tired."

Ginny opened her mouth to reply, but Hermione apparated away.

She went back to Grimmauld Place and hid in the library.

She felt frozen the next day as she worked. She didn't want to talk to anyone. She felt as though her heart had broken. She could occlude the mental aspects, but she hadn't realised just how much grief could physically hurt.

Moody found her working on potions.

"Granger, Severus wants to see you tonight."

Hermione turned to stare at Moody with a guarded expression. "Why?"

"To discuss your progress."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "I thought you kept him informed."

Moody's expression didn't change. "He has questions he wants answered."

Hermione felt a faint sinking sensation in her stomach. "What time?"

"Seven."

"Alright, I'll be there then." She turned back to her cauldron. She didn't look back at Moody as he stood appraising her for several seconds before he turned to leave.