Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series belongs to JK Rowling. I'm making no profit off of this fic.
AN: Rated K, as there's nothing to warn for in it, unless you haven't read the Harry Potter series. Just a small look into Hermione's thoughts concerning herself and Harry.
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Christmas Wreaths for Three by luvsanime02
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Sometimes, Hermione felt so very small compared to Harry Potter.
And not because he was the Harry Potter: the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, Undesirable Number One, or whatever ridiculous moniker the wizarding world wanted to anoint him with next.
When she was younger, Hermione had read the history books that told of a toddler with amazing powers which no one ever seemed to know how to properly describe, and how he had saved the entire British magical community from a reign of terror that had lasted eleven years.
She'd met a boy on the train coming to Hogwarts who had looked unbelievably small in overlarge clothes and ripped trainers and sellotaped glasses, and been shocked at the lightning scar on his forehead. For the first time since she'd opened those books, it had really sunk in that the character she'd read about was a real person. Hermione had felt small in his presence that day.
Classes had started, and she was just as clever about magic as she'd been concerning science and maths, and just as hated for it, and she'd been so crushed all over again, lying on her comfy bed at nights and crying softly into her pillow, thinking back to her primary school days when she'd dreamed of meeting others who were as different as she was. The letter had come, and she'd been so, ever so, happy, believing that her magic had been the reason for their cruelty and the way her classmates had seemed to almost automatically shun her. The realization that it really was her after all, that there was something about Hermione herself that caused her to be friendless, made her stomach clench hard in a ball of defeat.
Then, one day, her back to a wall and head between her knees, her eyes swollen almost shut for crying, and that was how Hermione had thought she was going to die, snot on her skirt and her head pounding. The arrival of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley hadn't even registered right away through her horror. The arm tugging frantically on hers might as well have been a gentle breeze for all the attention she'd paid it. And then Harry's arms were around the troll's neck, and Ron was performing the spell from class brilliantly. The troll was knocked unconscious, and before it had quite registered with Hermione that she was safe, the professors had shown up. She'd taken a look around the room, as though seeing it for the first time, had registered Ron frozen in place and Harry looking cornered, and had taken a deep breath before stumbling forward. The two boys had rescued her, and now she would rescue them, no matter how small and insignificant she felt underneath everyone's gaze.
But later that night, in bed, Hermione had recounted the way the three of them had all thanked each other embarrassedly, and she'd felt warm, and had decided that maybe feeling small sometimes was alright, if she got such brave friends out of the whole mess.
And from there, everything had just escalated. She'd set a professor's robes on fire to save Harry, and later followed him and Ron into a series of traps they'd been so very lucky to escape from. She'd stolen potions ingredients from a professor, and told so many lies she'd lost count ages ago. Broken promises to others, broken the law, and flew on hippogriffs and thestrals, following after Harry from one mad adventure to the next.
By now, they'd saved each other's lives in battle, kept secrets just between them. Hermione had been the focus of ridicule and scorn for years, and had even been forced to run from the ministry, for merely being associated with her best friend.
She'd erased her parents' memories to keep them safe. She'd said that she'd stay, and chosen to honour that vow, feeling miserable and tiny and helpless after Ron left.
Still, no matter how small or scared Hermione felt in dangerous situations involving Harry Potter, she wouldn't trade her life for anything. But this-
Hermione's hand is shaking ever so slightly as she raises her wand, the incantation flashing through her mind with no conscious thought directed toward its existence, and Harry catches the wreath as it materializes. There's snow in her hair, and her toes are numb, have been for weeks now, and even disguised in Polyjuice, she feels so exposed.
It could be her, next year, staring at two names on a white grave, unable to feel her mother and father's arms wrapped around her ever again, and something in Hermione chills further, maybe even further down inside her than a Dementor can reach, because that's not the worst thought.
She could be standing right here, all alone, with no grave to mourn over, but coming back to this place anyway, and how silly is it that the thought of standing here a year from now, but with Harry no longer beside her, is what causes the tears to finally fall from her eyes?
Harry's kneeling down to place the wreath gently against the cold marble, and now he stands beside her, and she's never felt so alone, facing the awful possibility of an endless future of Christmas wreaths for three and no one to stand next to her. There would just be an empty space instead of his warm presence.
Hermione reaches for him, her arm wrapping itself around his waist, tightening, holding him there. She feels his arm settle just as tightly around her shoulders, and wonders what he thinks of her shivers, if he can hear her teeth chattering in fright at the sight of that white headstone and the possible future that it represents.
Sometimes, Hermione feels small when in the presence of Harry Potter, because danger really does follow him wherever he goes. But as they stare silently ahead, Hermione thinks of a future without Harry beside her, the two of them standing together shoulder to shoulder.
Honestly, she'd rather feel small.