Title of Fic: Missing Letters
Author: B2WM (Wargish Boromir Fan)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: G
Written for the LJ Community ICanDoBetter and its "Voldemort Wins" challenge, which includes:
-Voldemort has won. The world (or at least the parts the Death Eaters have taken over) is under the control of Voldemort and his followers.
-Harry Potter is dead.
-Hermione is a prominent, if not main character.
-There is a character who is knitting. A lot.
-Lavender Brown and/or Hannah Abbott is/are in the story
Of course, Harry Potter and all related characters are the property of JK Rowling.
The needles clicked mechanically, regularly. It gave the little room an almost homey atmosphere. There was a comfort in watching the sweater sleeve form beneath Mrs. Weasley's hands. It seemed a waste that this was the last one. Hermione studied the other sweaters, lying on a shelf near the fire, neatly folded and arranged by size. Each had been embroidered in Molly's careful stitching. A, B, C, F, two Gs. No P this year. She hadn't knitted one for Percy in ages. And no R, either. This would be the first year without one. The first year without Ron. Hermione's hands twisted in the particoloured fabic of Ginny's sweater. She refolded it with guilty, trembling hands after Mrs. Weasley tossed the brown-haired girl a concerned look.
The Weasleys had taken her in with the deaths of her parents, blending in as well as they could with their trademark red hair. Mostly the family stayed on the move, now. There were a few wizarding families that would help hide them, though never for very long. Tonight, they had taken shelter in Hannah Abbot's basement. In the holiday spirit, the little Hufflepuff had snuck some roast goose down to the family, and even scrounged together yarn for Molly Weasley's traditional Christmas sweaters, if in very odd combinations. Hannah, although less naïve than she had been during their time at Hogwarts, was still the same sweet rumormonger at heart, happiest discussing her boyfriend Ernie MacMillan. She limited these stories around Hermione and the Weasleys, now, though. Hannah still felt awkward even trying to talk about their schoolmates' deaths, especially when Mrs. Weasley broke down at the smallest mention of her boys. Hermione couldn't blame her, even though she tried to keep her grief to herself. It was not sensible to cry about something they could not change when there was still so much else to do, Hermione reminded herself. And yet, that did not stop her from weeping. Better to turn her mind to other activities. Giving Mrs. Weasley a half-smile, Hermione attempted to sort the orange yarn from the purple in the tangle of colours that Hannah had brought down. Molly's needles clicked on automactically as she softly returned the girl's smile.
They'd been lucky to get enough yarn to this year to make all these, much less match colours. The Weasleys had gotten used to Molly's odd colour schemes, anyway. A bit of red here and green there would only make them more festive. A bit of red here for family ties, a bit of green for his memory. There was another letter missing, besides the R, really. For six years, Molly Weasley had knitted another sweater, another that would be missing for the first time this Christmas. An H that stood for hope. Whose was she working on now, anyway? Hermione wondered. Perhaps they had found another member of the Order. There was one brightening thought in her wintery gloom.
The Order of the Phoenix had been scattered with Harry's death, many of them killed. Like Ron. Lupin was running off somewhere, but Hermione feared that without his regular potions, he might not be any better off than any other maddened werewolf now. Snape was lost, taken by the Death Eaters and if not killed outright, then given to the Dementors. Dumbledore had not survived long into Voldemort's ascent, hunted down by his former student. Tonks and Kingsley had escaped the holocaust, so far. Perhaps one of them had made contact, or Mad-Eye had made an uncharacteristic loosening of his guard to wish the family a happy Christmas. Hermione doubted the last, though. Mad-Eye Moody was even more cautious after Voldemort's rise.
Molly finished the arm, turning it to sew to the rest of the sweater. "I can't believe I'm almost done, already," she murmured. "Time flies, I suppose."
"There's more in here." Hermione looped the untangled strand of orange about her hands. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to teach me how, whilst we have the time?"
"Hermione, it would be my pleasure." Mrs. Weasley gave Hermione the first real smile she had seen upon the redheaded woman's face in nearly a year. Tying the current project off, she sat down next to Hermione, guiding the girl's hands through the needlework.
The next morning, Ginny found both asleep, next to a row of sweaters. She kissed her mother awake, wishing her a happy Christmas. Her father and elder brothers complemented Molly on her gifts, with Fred and George slipping candies out to the family. "What's this, then?" Bill looked at the twins with amused distrust, knowing that very little got in the way of the pranksters' wry humour. Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes still ran a respectable black market trade.
"Just a little something of our own invention." Fred stated suavely. He ducked under his mother's frown, adding, "it's nothing dangerous." Molly took a delicate bite of hers, smiling as the flavour hit her tongue. Perhaps they would have a peaceful Christmas, at least, this year. "Merry Christmas, Mum," Fred said, slipping his new sweater on.
"Merry Christmas to you, too, dear. And thank you." Molly gathered first the twins, and then her other children into her arms. "Oh, dear, I've still got one more to go, though." Molly's hands flew as fast as any wand-driven needle as she finished the last letter. "But where have my knitting needles gotten off to, now?"
Hermione stretched, shaken awake at last by Ginny and the voices above her. She had not wanted to awaken, afraid that the happy noise above her was simply a dream. Slowly, she stretched and rubbed her eyes, enjoying the rare feeling of comfort. She was pulled to her feet by a passel of redheads, revealing the orange rectangle of yarn she had curled up about. Unevenly stitched, Hermione had nevertheless worked all night on it, trying to get her technique perfect, if not yet the entire scarf. "Happy Christmas," she murmured, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She handed the scarf to Mrs. Weasley; needles still embedded in the end.
"Hermione, why thank you!" The brown-haired girl found herself enveloped in a hug, a sweater left in her hands at their parting. She held it up, appreciating Molly's fine stitching even more after her own awkward attempts. "You are a quick learner, dear, but now I just have to teach you how to tie off your threads." Slowly, Hermione traced the embroidered letter on the breast. An H. There would always be missing letters, but perhaps not all hope was lost.