Melodies of Christmas
*I'll have a blue Christmas without you
I'll be so blue just thinking about you
Decorations of red on a green Christmas tree
Won't mean a thing, dear, if you're not here with me
I'll have a blue, blue Christmas*
They had all left.
True, they had been forced, but they had left just the same. It was just as bad as if they had left on their own decision, because, either way, he was alone.
Glen Campbell began repeatedly singing the word 'blue', so Harry frowned and shook the small black box. The little Muggle radio had been given to him by Aunt Petunia when Dudley suddenly lost fascination with it. Now Harry knew why he had become disinterested. The thing was a piece of junk. After a few more raps on the tiny speakers, the radio gave in and played 'Blue Christmas' as it was supposed to. Harry set it down beside him and leaned back on the pillow of his bed. Christmastime at Hogwarts was normally such a fun holiday, but without Hermione or Ron it seemed a bore. Casting a glance to the wrapped-up presents at his bedside, Harry shifted uncomfortably. It just wasn't the same. He needed Ron at the next bed over so he could open the present he'd received from him. He needed Hermione in the neighboring dormitory to lecture him the next morning about not studying at all, but then be in perfect Christmas spirit all day long. Harry needed those two, and they weren't here.
It hurt.
Ron's mother had sent an owl last month that said he would need to come home for Christmas. She was worrying that she would lose touch with her children--her many children--as they grew older and wanted them all to spend quality time together. Ron was a little disgruntled at the time, but then warmed up to the idea of Christmas dinner with the entire Weasely crew. Hermione's parents were on the same level as the Mrs. Weasely, so she was dragged home as well. Harry stared around the dormitory. Everyone had gone home. The room felt very, very empty, and since Harry's radio volume wouldn't go above 5, it felt very, very quiet too. His friends would have a wonderful Christmas, one with turkey and trees and presents. Harry was left alone at Hogwarts with four presents and Hedwig.
Blue Christmas indeed.
***
*Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Let your heart be light
Next year on, our troubles will be out of sight
Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Make the Yuletide gay
Next year on, our troubles will be miles away*
What was Harry doing right now?
Ron snapped the leg off of a chocolate frog he'd stolen from Fred's present pile and popped it into his mouth. His troubles weren't miles away, Harry was miles away. Straining to hear the rest of the lyrics to the song, he chewed thoughtfully on the chocolate. Who had Hermione said this was? Judy Tinsel? It had been some kind of decoration. Unexpectedly, the song came to an abrupt end. Ron frowned, trying to remember how to start the music up again. He stared at the buttons on the Cee-Dee Player Hermione had given him.
It was an odd thing, this Cee-Dee, round and shiny. Ron didn't know exactly how to work it yet, and the thing looked funny to him. And there were a lot of buttons. He closed his eyes and pressed a random one. The bells began chiming again and Ron sighed. It was the right button. Ron broke off another piece of the chocolate frog and listened as the woman's voice, clear and bright, flowed from the head-thingys on his ears. Harry probably wasn't having a merry little Christmas. It felt rotten to leave him all alone like that, but Ron's mother wouldn't let him stay. And now Harry was sitting there, in that huge drafty castle, with no one to keep him company.
It felt really rotten.
Ron swallowed the rich chocolate and frowned down at the Cee-Dee player. Garland! That was her name, Judy Garland. Well, her voice was very pretty.
So was Hermione.
No, no, it wouldn't do to upset himself further with thoughts of Hermione. Reaching for a piece of parchment and a quill, Ron began writing both Harry and Hermione a letter. Pigwidgeon had better be up to traveling in the snow.
***
*Ding dong, merrily on high
In heaven the bells are ringing
Ding dong, fierily the sky
Is ridden with angels singing*
It was very cold.
The heater had broken the night before, and now Mr. Granger randomly popped in to stoke the fire. Nevertheless, Hermione was bundled up in a thick quilt next to the radio. Christmas music was her favorite. It was almost as if the sky really was ridden with choirs of angels.
But what about Harry and Ron?
It didn't seem fair to leave Harry at Hogwarts, and it didn't seem right to part with Ron at King's Cross. It wouldn't feel normal to wake up tomorrow morning and not visit those two to wish them a merry Christmas. Tightening the blanket around her, Hermione sighed lightly. It was almost like she'd abandoned them.
No, it wasn't her fault. Harry and Ron did what they had to do, and their Christmases would be no worse than hers.
She did, however, miss them.
Before leaving for the station, Hermione had given them both their Christmas presents. Harry refused to open his until Christmas Day, but Ron eagerly ripped the paper from his CD player. She laughed, thinking of how his family would be so captivated with the new device. The laughter brought the pang of longing back. She wanted to be with Ron more than ever now, wanted to see his freckled face and flaming hair. Hermione closed her eyes, imagining that he was sitting beside her now, listening to the rich chiming of the bells too. A sudden pop of the fire caused her to snap to attention. Then, glancing out the window, she realized it was snowing. Not much, but it was snowing nonetheless. Little crystals drifted slowly from the night sky and clung to trees and plants until finally melting. Before her eyes, the flakes whirled and danced in tiny tornadoes, determined to blanket the ground with their beauty.
At least the cold was good for something.
***
*There's no place like home for the holidays
'Cause no matter how far away you roam
When you pine for the sunshine of a friendly gaze
For the holidays you can't beat home sweet home*
Right. Home sweet home.
With a snort of disgust, Draco turned from the enchanted porcelain box given to him by his mother. It was bewitched to play old Muggle Christmas music, and this song was the one he hated most. Who wanted to go home for the holidays?
Definitely not him.
Draco tried to ignore the silly music, but in the end had to jump up and close the box. Settling back into his fireside armchair, he watched the flames jump and dance. His father was upstairs in the dining hall, most likely downing as many glasses of eggnog as he could. Then, no doubt, he would give up on the eggnog and head for the liquor cabinet. Draco's lip curled in contempt. Lucius Malfoy didn't take holiday from being an overbearing, violent drunkard. Narcissa, on the other hand, tried to stay as far away from her family as possible. She did give excellent presents, however--excluding the irritating music box. The best present he could hope for from his father was that Lucius would drink himself into a stupor and fall asleep before he could take his aggression out on his son. For a moment, his stoic facade trembled at the thought of yet another beating, but Draco soon recovered. Then the sudden remembrance of Potter and his silly friends, the Mudblood and the Muggle-lover, rekindled the feelings of loathing and resentment. Potter, Granger, and Weasely were probably having a sickeningly sweet Christmas.
Of course.
Potter had everything else that Draco wanted, so why wouldn't he have that? Fame, fortune, and friends. All things that were just out of his own reach. Giving the weak fire an angry jab, he scowled at the embers. The large den was very quiet now, save for the howling of the newly arrived snowstorm and the randomly popping fire. It was just the flames, the snow, and Draco.
Upstairs somewhere there came a dull roar and the sound of a bottle breaking.
Draco quickly got up and opened the music box again, letting the man's deep voice sing anew.
Some home sweet home.
***
*I'll have a blue, blue Christmas, that's certain
And when that blue, blue heartache starts hurtin'
You'll be doing all right
With your Christmas of white
But I'll have a blue, blue Christmas*
*I'll have a blue Christmas without you
I'll be so blue just thinking about you
Decorations of red on a green Christmas tree
Won't mean a thing, dear, if you're not here with me
I'll have a blue, blue Christmas*
They had all left.
True, they had been forced, but they had left just the same. It was just as bad as if they had left on their own decision, because, either way, he was alone.
Glen Campbell began repeatedly singing the word 'blue', so Harry frowned and shook the small black box. The little Muggle radio had been given to him by Aunt Petunia when Dudley suddenly lost fascination with it. Now Harry knew why he had become disinterested. The thing was a piece of junk. After a few more raps on the tiny speakers, the radio gave in and played 'Blue Christmas' as it was supposed to. Harry set it down beside him and leaned back on the pillow of his bed. Christmastime at Hogwarts was normally such a fun holiday, but without Hermione or Ron it seemed a bore. Casting a glance to the wrapped-up presents at his bedside, Harry shifted uncomfortably. It just wasn't the same. He needed Ron at the next bed over so he could open the present he'd received from him. He needed Hermione in the neighboring dormitory to lecture him the next morning about not studying at all, but then be in perfect Christmas spirit all day long. Harry needed those two, and they weren't here.
It hurt.
Ron's mother had sent an owl last month that said he would need to come home for Christmas. She was worrying that she would lose touch with her children--her many children--as they grew older and wanted them all to spend quality time together. Ron was a little disgruntled at the time, but then warmed up to the idea of Christmas dinner with the entire Weasely crew. Hermione's parents were on the same level as the Mrs. Weasely, so she was dragged home as well. Harry stared around the dormitory. Everyone had gone home. The room felt very, very empty, and since Harry's radio volume wouldn't go above 5, it felt very, very quiet too. His friends would have a wonderful Christmas, one with turkey and trees and presents. Harry was left alone at Hogwarts with four presents and Hedwig.
Blue Christmas indeed.
***
*Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Let your heart be light
Next year on, our troubles will be out of sight
Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Make the Yuletide gay
Next year on, our troubles will be miles away*
What was Harry doing right now?
Ron snapped the leg off of a chocolate frog he'd stolen from Fred's present pile and popped it into his mouth. His troubles weren't miles away, Harry was miles away. Straining to hear the rest of the lyrics to the song, he chewed thoughtfully on the chocolate. Who had Hermione said this was? Judy Tinsel? It had been some kind of decoration. Unexpectedly, the song came to an abrupt end. Ron frowned, trying to remember how to start the music up again. He stared at the buttons on the Cee-Dee Player Hermione had given him.
It was an odd thing, this Cee-Dee, round and shiny. Ron didn't know exactly how to work it yet, and the thing looked funny to him. And there were a lot of buttons. He closed his eyes and pressed a random one. The bells began chiming again and Ron sighed. It was the right button. Ron broke off another piece of the chocolate frog and listened as the woman's voice, clear and bright, flowed from the head-thingys on his ears. Harry probably wasn't having a merry little Christmas. It felt rotten to leave him all alone like that, but Ron's mother wouldn't let him stay. And now Harry was sitting there, in that huge drafty castle, with no one to keep him company.
It felt really rotten.
Ron swallowed the rich chocolate and frowned down at the Cee-Dee player. Garland! That was her name, Judy Garland. Well, her voice was very pretty.
So was Hermione.
No, no, it wouldn't do to upset himself further with thoughts of Hermione. Reaching for a piece of parchment and a quill, Ron began writing both Harry and Hermione a letter. Pigwidgeon had better be up to traveling in the snow.
***
*Ding dong, merrily on high
In heaven the bells are ringing
Ding dong, fierily the sky
Is ridden with angels singing*
It was very cold.
The heater had broken the night before, and now Mr. Granger randomly popped in to stoke the fire. Nevertheless, Hermione was bundled up in a thick quilt next to the radio. Christmas music was her favorite. It was almost as if the sky really was ridden with choirs of angels.
But what about Harry and Ron?
It didn't seem fair to leave Harry at Hogwarts, and it didn't seem right to part with Ron at King's Cross. It wouldn't feel normal to wake up tomorrow morning and not visit those two to wish them a merry Christmas. Tightening the blanket around her, Hermione sighed lightly. It was almost like she'd abandoned them.
No, it wasn't her fault. Harry and Ron did what they had to do, and their Christmases would be no worse than hers.
She did, however, miss them.
Before leaving for the station, Hermione had given them both their Christmas presents. Harry refused to open his until Christmas Day, but Ron eagerly ripped the paper from his CD player. She laughed, thinking of how his family would be so captivated with the new device. The laughter brought the pang of longing back. She wanted to be with Ron more than ever now, wanted to see his freckled face and flaming hair. Hermione closed her eyes, imagining that he was sitting beside her now, listening to the rich chiming of the bells too. A sudden pop of the fire caused her to snap to attention. Then, glancing out the window, she realized it was snowing. Not much, but it was snowing nonetheless. Little crystals drifted slowly from the night sky and clung to trees and plants until finally melting. Before her eyes, the flakes whirled and danced in tiny tornadoes, determined to blanket the ground with their beauty.
At least the cold was good for something.
***
*There's no place like home for the holidays
'Cause no matter how far away you roam
When you pine for the sunshine of a friendly gaze
For the holidays you can't beat home sweet home*
Right. Home sweet home.
With a snort of disgust, Draco turned from the enchanted porcelain box given to him by his mother. It was bewitched to play old Muggle Christmas music, and this song was the one he hated most. Who wanted to go home for the holidays?
Definitely not him.
Draco tried to ignore the silly music, but in the end had to jump up and close the box. Settling back into his fireside armchair, he watched the flames jump and dance. His father was upstairs in the dining hall, most likely downing as many glasses of eggnog as he could. Then, no doubt, he would give up on the eggnog and head for the liquor cabinet. Draco's lip curled in contempt. Lucius Malfoy didn't take holiday from being an overbearing, violent drunkard. Narcissa, on the other hand, tried to stay as far away from her family as possible. She did give excellent presents, however--excluding the irritating music box. The best present he could hope for from his father was that Lucius would drink himself into a stupor and fall asleep before he could take his aggression out on his son. For a moment, his stoic facade trembled at the thought of yet another beating, but Draco soon recovered. Then the sudden remembrance of Potter and his silly friends, the Mudblood and the Muggle-lover, rekindled the feelings of loathing and resentment. Potter, Granger, and Weasely were probably having a sickeningly sweet Christmas.
Of course.
Potter had everything else that Draco wanted, so why wouldn't he have that? Fame, fortune, and friends. All things that were just out of his own reach. Giving the weak fire an angry jab, he scowled at the embers. The large den was very quiet now, save for the howling of the newly arrived snowstorm and the randomly popping fire. It was just the flames, the snow, and Draco.
Upstairs somewhere there came a dull roar and the sound of a bottle breaking.
Draco quickly got up and opened the music box again, letting the man's deep voice sing anew.
Some home sweet home.
***
*I'll have a blue, blue Christmas, that's certain
And when that blue, blue heartache starts hurtin'
You'll be doing all right
With your Christmas of white
But I'll have a blue, blue Christmas*