Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its related affiliates. This story was originally written for the LJ community HermioneSirius's 2009 Christmas challenge. I claimed "Winter Wonderland" theme, wrote this, chickened out due to lack of beta, and eventually wrote a shorter story for the challenge. Feel free to enjoy this anyway!
December 24, 2000
Gone away is the bluebird
Here to stay is a new bird
Hermione was more than content to spend Christmas Eve by herself, holed up in her small flat off of Main Street in Hogsmeade. With a pot of Earl Grey tea charmed to remain hot and her worn copy of Hogwarts: A History, she had every intention of entertaining herself. A fire in the fireplace, various warming charms, and a pile of fleece blankets guaranteed that she wouldn't have to leave the couch until she had to drag herself to the Weasleys the next morning. It wasn't as if she had anything better to do.
Therefore, when a knock at the door roused Hermione from her reading around six, she was marginally surprised to find Harry and Ron shivering on her doorstep, red-faced and sprinkled with a layer of snow. Ron pinned the Christmas wreath to her door while Harry forced his way inside. Ron gathered her cloak and scarf while Harry began a search for her boots and mittens. Ron tugged the blanket off her shoulders while Harry pulled her into her room and began to rummage through her dresser drawers, finding a replacement for her fleece pyjamas. Both, however, were tossed out of the bedroom while she grudgingly dressed, grumbling under her breath the entire time.
"Mum told us you sent her an owl, declining Christmas Eve dinner," Ron commented from her left as they marched through the thick snow, heaving towards the Burrow. "But we knew you weren't busy, so there's no excuse for holing yourself up in your flat. We're rescuing you from hours of boredom."
"You can hermit yourself away any other time," Harry replied from her right, leading Hermione by the elbow, "But it's Christmas and Christmas is a time for family."
Hermione glared at the snow on the ground. "I don't have any family anymore," she mumbled back bitterly, "Or did you forget? They're in Australia, merrily divorced and happily remarried to different people. Dad's got two stepdaughters and Mum's just adopted a son. I'm perfectly happy spending my Christmas Eve trying to forget that."
Harry sighed, stopping her before they entered the Burrow. "Don't you think I remember that?" A gloved hand reached up to her chin, tilting her face so their eyes met. "Don't you think I blame myself more than anything else? You sent your parents away because of me, Hermione. You erased their memories because of me, you destroyed your family for me, and now you're trying to spend Christmas alone because of me."
Hermione pulled back from him, affronted. "Don't you dare blame yourself, Harry Potter, for circumstances beyond your control. It was my decision to send away my parents, not yours. And I'd do it all over again if you needed me to."
Ron gazed back and forth between his two friends, feeling the sharp tension in the air. This argument was an ongoing, constant rift between their friendship—Hermione had spent the last two and a half years secluding herself away from society, while Harry blamed himself for her hermitism.
Ron sighed at the two and rolled his eyes. "It's a good thing that my family's big enough for both of you berks," he commented dryly, pulling their attention away from the argument. "Hermione," Ron turned to stare at her, "We've said it a million times before. It's not your fault that your parents couldn't make things work. Harry," he focused on his other best friend, "It's not your fault that You-Know-Who was a psychopathic murderer that targeted me and Hermione. He only ever needed an excuse to go after a blood traitor or a Muggleborn. However," he turned so he could glare at both of them, "If we're late for dinner, I'll make sure you two take the blame. Mum's been cooking all day and she went into a frenzy when we told her that Hermione would be coming to dinner." He threw an arm around her shoulders and dragged her towards the front door. "Anyway. Harry and I got you a present that can't wait until tomorrow."
Hermione entered the house warily, careful to keep from tracking snow through the entryway. The front room was strangely quiet and devoid of people. This was enough to put her on guard. "Is it the type of present I can give back if I don't want it?" she asked.
Harry and Ron were saved from answering by a loud clamour that came from the kitchen. A chorus of laughter and a triumphant, childish 'whoop' of success followed it. Then, without warning, a large, furry... something bound into the room, trailed closely by three-year-old Teddy Lupin. Harry hurriedly slammed the front door shut and Hermione had enough time to brace herself before the beast pressed itself between her and the closed door, using Hermione as a barrier from the toddler.
"Harry?" Her voice was evenly paced for a person undergoing simultaneous attack from a three-year-old and a... bear, it seemed like. "What is cowering behind my legs?"
"At least we know it's good with kids," Ron muttered to Harry. He refused to make eye contact with her.
"Before you say no, hear me out, Hermione," Harry responded, pretending he hadn't heard Ron. The placating tone he said it in, the glare he shot Ron, the expression on his face, all of it forewarned her that whatever Harry had to state, she wouldn't like it. And probably wouldn't have much say in the matter.
"Hermione," Harry continued when she didn't add to the conversation, "I'd like you to meet Dog."
"That thing is a dog?" she asked as she picked up a scrambling Teddy. Balancing him on a hip, she turned around and get a look at the beast. "If I didn't know any better, I would have thought it a mix between a bear and a small pony." The creature looked up at her with pitiful, brown eyes. "When did you get a dog?"
"Uh..."
There it was. The stammer in his reply was telltale enough to know she really wouldn't like the answer. She slowly turned to face Harry with a deadpan expression.
"Not 'a' dog," Ron interrupted with a glare to Harry, covering for his friend by jumping into the fire, "Just... Dog. We couldn't come up with a better name for it yet." She noticed he pointedly did not get closer to the beast and reached down to give the creature a pitying scritch on the head. It pressed its head up into her hand in affection. "However," Ron continued, eyes not leaving the animal, "What Harry's trying to say is that he got the dog a few days ago. Somebody in the Auror department adopted it a few months ago but never had the time to take care of it. Harry saw it and decided to pick up the task."
Hermione sensed a 'but' to the conversation. "But?"
"Ginny's allergic." Harry took over the conversation again, eyes on the floor.
"That's a pity." She looked down to the dog again. "Especially seeing as he looks exactly like—"
"And Ron refuses to take it in because it looks too much like a Grim."
Hermione froze. Seeing the path the conversation was taking, she formed her next response very carefully. "I'm glad Andromeda—"
"Won't take him because she's got enough trouble looking after Teddy."
"Then Mrs. Weasley—"
"Has decided that, after thirty years, she deserves a break from cleaning up after messy, smelly beasts. Even though she loves her children with all her heart."
"Then what are you going to do with him? A shelter?" It'd almost be a pity to let such a friendly monster go homeless. Almost. Not a strong enough feeling of pity that she'd volunteer to take it herself.
"See, Hermione," the pleading tone was back in Harry's voice. Her head shot up in horror and she retracted her hand from the animal's head.
"Absolutely out of the question."
"Hermione!" Harry and Ron chorused this together. She sat Teddy down on the ground so she could place her hands on her hips and prepare for an argument.
"I can't be having with such a huge monstrosity! You've both seen my flat. That... thing would take up half of it. And the shedding. It'd get fur absolutely everywhere. And I work all day. I can't rush home every time it needs walked or when it needs somebody to play with. And I'm not a dog person!"
"Come on, Hermione." Hermione was caught between Harry's puppy dog eyes and Dog's remorseful expression. They were a matching pair. "If I had anywhere else to take him, I would. He's completely house-trained and he's not a puppy anymore. His previous owner placed him at around six years old."
"You haven't had anything to look after since Crookshanks died." Ron's lack of tact made her wince. "After you found your parents, you started to immerse yourself into your work like an insane woman. Then, when we broke up, it was like you fell off the face of the earth. But when Crookshanks died?" He shook his head. "You can't keep secluding yourself off from the world. It's not going to keep you from getting hurt. All it will do is make you lonely and you deserve better than that."
Hermione's eyes drifted down to Dog. Even laying flat on the ground, the animal was big and intimidating. When it saw her shift her gaze down, its tail tocked once, twice. It lifted its head and fixed her with hopeful eyes.
Like watching a dam break, she could feel herself cave in. This beast had nobody else either. They made a pair.
With a great sigh, she knelt on the ground to run a hand through the animal's fur. It rolled over on its back with hopeful anticipation. "Happy Christmas, Hermione," she muttered as she gave in to petting its stomach. Behind her, she missed the shared grin between Harry and Ron as they tugged Teddy away from Dog and his new mistress.
"Get off the bed!"
Dog hadn't been in her flat for two minutes before it'd found all the places it wasn't allowed. It'd rolled in her dirty laundry, snuggled into her pillows, knocked over the trash—in its defense she'd been present and it had been an accident; its tail had been wagging too hard— , it'd located the couch in the living room, and now, it had settled down on her bed, taking up most of the mattress. For a second, towers of books threatened to fall by his movements, but with one last, happy wriggle, it settled down and fixed her with another pitying look.
Hermione sighed. She was too full, too overwhelmed, and too exhausted to fight a losing battle with the creature right now. There had been too much pot roast, vegetables, lemon custard, pudding, biscuits, and mulled wine at the Burrow, just like there'd been too much noise, commotion, and attention. All she wanted to do was pass out and mentally prepare herself for heading back over in the morning.
"As soon as the holidays are over," she grumbled as she pushed it aside to make room for herself, "We are going to start your training. There will be boundaries, so don't get too comfortable sleeping on the bed. This is a one-time thing."
Dog snorted in response and rested its head on her torso. With another aggravated sigh, Hermione closed her eyes. In minutes, she'd fallen asleep.
She dreamed. She was laying in bed, warm, content. She hadn't felt like that in ages: appreciated, comforted, like there wasn't a care in the world. It was a happy, perfect feeling. Outside, through the window, she could see snow falling in heavy drifts. Walking through Hogsmeade would be a pain in the morning. Getting to the Weasleys' for dinner would be even more troublesome. She was more than content to spend her day warm and in bed. An arm tightened around her waist and pulled her into a chest. "Love?" It was a masculine voice, one she couldn't exactly place. "Spending all day in bed with you would be absolutely lovely." There was a nuzzle at her ear, trying to distract her. However, she'd spent too much time with Harry and Ron not to hear the 'but' in his voice. "But Molly will have kittens if we show up late." A nip at her throat, followed by a soothing caress. "She'll blame me for my horrible influence over you." He blew warm air across her collarbone. "Hermione Granger is never late. Therefore, I must have done something horrible and rash to make you lose your mind." Dream-Hermione chuckled back. "Definitely something rash, and if Mrs. Weasley knew just exactly what you're doing to my neck, she'd certainly call you horrible." Hermione turned in his arms to face him, eyes closed in bliss. "I, however, am not complaining." He chuckled back, tightening his grip and kissed her softly on the nose. "Happy Christmas, Hermione." She opened her eyes to gaze back into grey ones. Slowly, her smile of contentment fell into a frown and she gently pulled back. "Sirius?" she asked softly, pushing his hair out of his face. "You're supposed to be dead." A look of puzzlement grew across familiar, handsome features. "Dead?" He too pulled away but did not release her from his clutches. "I..." He fell into deep contemplation. "I don't think I'm dead. I'm just... lost." She sighed in response. "I think we all are." She pulled away completely and looked around her room. "Where's Dog?"
Hermione's eyes snapped open and she shot up in bed, eyes darting around the room. A flimsy light streamed in through the window, signalling the start of a cold, snowy day. Down in the bed, laying in the groove Hermione had sat up from, Dog looked up at her solemnly.
She shook her head in confusion. No more over-stuffing herself with mulled wine before bed, she decided. Surrealistic dreams were not her forte.
She stood up and began to prepare for Christmas at the Weasleys. Dog merely huddled into the warm spot she had left behind, falling back asleep.
December 24, 2001
Later on, we'll conspire
As we dream by the fire
Dog half-led, half-dragged Hermione through Hogsmeade as she finished her last minute shopping. Busy shopkeepers paused their transactions to wave at her as she hurried by, familiar with the sight of Dog leading Hermione through the crowds. It had only taken two months for most of the Hogsmeade businesses to warm up to him and a third for them to expect his visits at least once a week. Now, most kept a secret stash of dog treats to slip to him when she wasn't paying attention.
"Let them treat you all they want," she grumbled under her breath, fighting to keep up with the tug on the leash. "They're not the ones who get dragged behind whenever you see a cat. Or a pigeon. Or anybody you recognize. Or something with a good smell, anything that moves, anything that doesn't move..."
Dog paid no heed to her grumbling, following the normal path down Main Street to stop at Scrivenshaft's. The sales associates almost always had a kind word, scratch, and treat to give him. Dog, for being a dog, was rather intelligent when he wasn't rolling in something smelly.
She tugged on his leash, futilely trying to direct him towards Honeydukes. "Come on, you great monstrosity," she muttered, yanking at the lead. "I still need to get Ron's present. I just want to go home, but he'll whinge if he doesn't get something to open on Christmas."
She turned to glare around the street as if it were the reason to blame for Dog's stubbornness. It wasn't the pleasant, snow-filled scene typical for this time of year. Instead, icy, slippery mud made way for the occasional sleet storm. Hermione had taken advantage of one of the afternoon's few clear patches of weather to finish her shopping. Now, however, she regretted having taken Dog along. His curiosity made the trip twice as long and the mud would be a nightmare to get out of his fur.
"Come," tug, "on!" She wrenched on the leash, trying to make the beast move. She was expecting his resistance and, because of it, had placed extra force behind the tug. What she had forgotten, however, were the basic laws of physics: forces come in pairs and what goes in motion, remains in motion...
The icy, slippery condition of the mud sucked at her wellies and she knew what was going happen just before it did. Hermione felt her feet slide out from under her and she flung out her arms to try and catch herself. She landed on her hands and knees, icy mud splattering about her, jarring her bones and clacking her teeth painfully.
Dog hurried over to where she sat in the mud, licking at her face hopefully and checking her for grievous injury.
"I really have to give the dog credit," a cold, mocking voice commented from behind. Hermione closed her eyes in frustration, willing the person to go away. "I've been trying for years to get you to bow down to your betters. It didn't have to do anything."
Hermione gritted her teeth to keep from letting the curse slip out. She turned around to glare up into Draco Malfoy's arrogant, pinched face. "Don't you have better ways to be spending Christmas Eve, Malfoy," she asked him, the sweetness in her voice betrayed by the look on her face, "than insulting me and my dog?" Slowly, she raised herself from the ground. Taking in the damage done to her clothes, she pulled her wand out of her pocket and siphoned off the mud before shooting him a sickly sweet smile. "Or are you just here for the benefit of my fine conversation?" She stepped back so Dog was at her side. "Honestly, I think I'm better off talking to my dog than trying to have a titillating tête-à-tête with you."
His sneer fell into a menacing frown and he took a step forward. His hand drifted towards a pocket where she figured he held his wand. "Just because you—"
The growl at Hermione's side interrupted him before he could continue his sentence. Hermione gazed down to Dog with a similar expression. She'd lived with the beast for a year now but she'd never heard Dog growl. A doggy groan of happiness, yes, or the occasional yip of excitement when she'd been too long in getting home, but never an actual growl. The closest he'd ever gotten was the pathetic whinge he gave whenever he saw Teddy.
While she was thinking about it, she'd never seen Dog react to a stranger with anything less than a tail wag, though he usually opted for a submissive pose in hopes of a tummy scratch. Or jumping up and attacking the person's face with his tongue.
However, to her surprise, Dog was standing at full attention, his ears laid back, muscles taut, eyes bright, and lips tightly curled into a snarl. Hermione strengthened her hold on his leash and grabbed onto the back of his neck for control. "Malfoy, I really wouldn't," she warned the blonde, gaze darting between him and Dog. "I've got seven stones of pure muscle here and I don't think I can hold him back if he wants to attack. He drags me along whenever he sees a bloody cat, let alone attacking a ferret."
Malfoy took another step closer, focusing his wand on the dog. "If he tries to attack me," Malfoy responded with a sneer, "It'll be the last thing he does."
Hermione's grasp on Dog loosened for a moment before it tightened. She put all her weight into pushing the animal back, his growling increased in volume. "If a single spell is uttered in the vicinity of my dog," she responded, her voice cold and sharp, "It'll be the last thing you do."
Malfoy's eyes darted from the dog to her, re-evaluating which of the two posed the greater threat. "I bet you're weighing your chances at hexing the dog and me before I can get my wand." Her voice was soft, quiet. Her eyes were firm and strong. "Let me tell you. It's not a very good chance at all. And nobody would blame me, would they?" She met his gaze coolly. "They're all wondering why I haven't done it already. I only spent the most excruciating half an hour of my life writhing in agony in your Drawing Room while you merely... watched." His wand wavered. She sighed. "Just walk away before we cause a scene. I really don't want to have to explain to the Minister why my dog ripped you to shreds." He contemplated her for a moment before he gave her a final sneer and turned around.
She sighed, watching his retreat, and turned to face Dog. "At least it's reassuring that somebody is here to protect me, as foolish as your attempt might be." She knelt onto the ground, ignoring the mud, and threw her arms around Dog's neck for comfort.
Hermione took a moment to ignore the state of the room. Dog seemed to have destroyed it. His toy basket was upended in the centre of the room, its contents sprawled throughout the flat. The body of a stuffed toy cow pathetically lay on one side of the room while its head, she remembered, rested in her bedroom, on top of her pillow. A deflated toy lamb sat on the hearthrug, its stuffing rolling about like tumbleweeds. A rubber bone was sprinkled about the room in pieces while three rawhide bones poked out from under the couch. And still, whenever she cleaned, she found lime-green remnants of a Frisbee he'd gotten his teeth upon eight months ago. Both of Dog's dog beds, however, remained as empty and pristine as they'd been the day she purchased them.
Dog was slowly taking over her life.
However, she couldn't bring herself to care because she was warm. Finally, she was warm, clean, and absolutely content, sitting on her living room couch. Dog, never having gotten the memo that he was a giant monstrosity, sprawled across her lap, taking up the majority of the couch. In front of them, the fire in the fireplace crackled merrily, cheerily. Idly, her hands stroked Dog's head, sifting through his fur with drowsy content. In the morning, they'd be due at the Burrow for the traditional Weasley Christmas dinner. And later, before they went to bed, she'd remind Dog once again that he wasn't allowed on the furniture. For now, though, she was perfectly content to let the warmth and comfort overtake her, relishing in her privacy.
She dreamed. She was sitting in front of the fire, content and dosing lightly. Her hands idly stroked through the soft curls resting on her lap. Drowsily, she opened her eyes and gazed down to the individual whose head she stroked. "You're back?" Her dream-state wasn't as surprised as it had been the last time she had dreamed of Sirius Black. This time, she only expressed mild shock at seeing him lying next to her on the couch. "I'm back," he responded, his voice also at ease and drowsy. "If only for the time being, I'm back." "What's it like, where you are?" she asked, her hands drifting through his curls as she studied his face. The Sirius Black on the couch, employing her thighs as a pillow, was not the Sirius Black she remembered. His face still showed sign of age, but he had a satisfied, carefree look about him, a relaxed demeanour she hadn't seen him wear when he was imprisoned at Grimmauld Place. This Sirius Black was devoid of the stress and hardship of his life. "It's not bad," he responded, angling his head under her hands. "I'm never hungry, never tired. Nothing there to upset me or make me sad. It gets lonely though." Lazily, his eyes drifted open and met her own. "You were the first person I saw since the Department of Mysteries. The only person I've seen." His eyes drifted shut again. "That's why I don't think I'm dead. James would've been waiting for me if I were. He'd be there to call me a great tosser and yell at me for taking my time." "Should I apologize for being the only person you've seen?" she asked him hesitantly. She knew they hadn't always gotten along in their shared history, that their encounters had often involved squabbling and extreme disapproval. "Nah." He chuckled softly, the sound reverberating through her legs. "You've grown up from the annoying little tosspot you used to be." His eyes flashed open again, fixing her with a stare that made her hand pause. One of his arms drifted up from where it lay at his side. He gently pushed a piece of hair out of her face. "Little Hermione Granger's all grown up," he remarked, his hand hovering next to her face for a moment before hesitantly drifting back down. "Little Hermione Granger has grown up," she responded, slight wistfulness colouring her tone. "But she's so lonely," he remarked, quietly, almost to himself. "Little Hermione Granger was never alone. Why should Grown-Up Hermione be any different?" Her gaze darted away and she turned her head to the side, remaining silent, unsure as to how she should respond to his question, unsure if she could. Sirius sat up from her lap, sitting to face her on the couch. He reached over to draw her chin back to look at him. "Why is Hermione Granger so lonely? Why does she pull away from the people who love her?" he asked. "She isn't. She doesn't." She tugged away from his grasp, voice clipped and tight. "She has her dog and that's all she needs." She gazed about the room, eyes darting about to the ignored stuffed toys with concern. "Where is Dog anyway?"
The chiming of the hour roused Hermione from her slumber. She turned to gaze at the clock on the wall before staring out the window. "Happy Christmas, Dog," she mumbled groggily. Dog snorted in his sleep and an errant paw twitched. She settled back down. Teddy would be at the Weasleys' tomorrow. Dog would need all the rest he could get if he were to keep up with the four-year-old.
December 24, 2002
In the meadow we can built a snowman
And pretend that he's a circus clown
Hermione watched Dog chase about, snapping at the snowflakes as they fell. She didn't bother trying to suppress the grin. It didn't matter that Dog was going on past eight years, or that grey hairs were starting to line his face, or even that some mornings, he was slow to start, his joints giving him trouble. When it came down to it, Dog was still a puppy at heart.
"Hermione! Hermione! Pay attention!" Hermione's gaze darted away from Dog to focus on Teddy. The exuberant five-year-old was busily aligning a head to a body, finishing the bust of his snowman. Harry was standing next to his godson, following the boy's commands when they were given.
"Who's this one going to be?" Hermione asked, stomping through the snow to approach them. Dog merrily bounded after her.
"Well..." Teddy surveyed his snowmen army, his critical eye inspecting them all. "We've got a Hagrid" Hermione took note of the pile of packed snow towering above them, a creation that wouldn't have been possible without a wand, "An Uncle Ron," a snowman with no head, courtesy of Dog's overexcitement, "And an Uncle Harry." Hermione nodded in understanding towards the snowman that sported Harry's spectacles. He'd been conned by the five-year-old to hand them over for the sake of art.
"Maybe we should make a Hermione snowman?" Harry's sardonic tone was lost on the child but Hermione picked it up in a heartbeat.
"You can't make a Hermione snowman," she informed them with her best no-nonsense voice. "I'm not a man, so I can't be a snowman. And have you ever heard of a 'snowwoman'? I think not." She studied the snowman base with deep thought before she pulled her wand out of a pocket. With a swish, Hermione conjured a long, gnarled carrot and thrust it into the snowman's head. A second swish conjured a pair of half-moon spectacles, and a third created a pointed, sparkling wizard hat.
Hermione gazed back at the two with a sense of accomplishment. "Have you ever heard about Professor Dumbledore?" Harry asked Teddy, picking up the cue. Teddy shook his head in response and Harry began to lead him away, heading farther down the meadow as they talked.
"Don't forget!" Hermione called back after the two. "Molly said dinner would be ready in half an hour!" She waited for some sort of recognition from the two boys and huffed in annoyance when she received none. "If somebody has to go searching for you, it'll probably be me, and I won't be happy!"
Harry stopped his conversation with Teddy long enough to wave a dismissive hand after her. "Yes, Mum," he called back.
"Yeah, Mum!" Teddy chorused.
Hermione huffed in irritation, the breath coming out as a fog in a cold. She turned back to Dog, calling him in. She was slightly mollified when he listened. At least one of her boys paid attention to what she had to say. She led the way back to the Burrow, taking a moment to relish the feeling of being wanted, being accepted. It'd been a while since she'd felt that way. Dog, it seemed, basked in the glow of friendly faces and she was beginning to think it was rubbing off on her, too. This year, for a change, she'd gone to the Burrow for Christmas Eve dinner without Harry and Ron dragging her along. And, she had to grudgingly admit, it felt better this way.
She dreamed.
It didn't matter that she'd gone to sleep tucked into warm, fleece sheets, Dog blatantly ignoring the pillow set up for him on the floor and taking up more than his fair share of the bed. Now, she dreamed that she was back in the field outside the Burrow. She was surveying the snowmen she, Teddy, and Harry had made earlier in the day, admiring the arts' characteristics.
In between the Dumbledore and Harry snowmen, however, was an extra figurine, one that they hadn't made. She tramped through the thick snow to observe it closer. She didn't have to get far before she stopped up short and rolled her eyes.
"You conjured it black robes?" her dream-self asked out loud.
There was a snickering from behind. She turned around and Sirius grinned down at her, a sly look over his features. "Snow-Snape wouldn't be Snow-Snape unless he fluttered about like a big, black bat," he responded sagely.
"I also see you gave him a potato for a nose. That's a little unfair, don't you think?"
Now he outright cackled. "And Snow-Snape definitely wouldn't be Snow-Snape, Hermione, if he didn't have a giant beak with which birds of prey could perch."
She sighed and rolled her eyes at him. "Boys will be boys," she muttered, only slightly sourly. "And they never grow up, do they?"
He sidled up to her and threw an arm over her shoulder. "You wouldn't appreciate me if I were all mature-like. It was always up to Moony to do the growing-up for all four of us. Jamie, Pete, and I never had the time for such shenanigans."
"Even Peter?" she asked, curious as to the lack of fire in his voice.
"Yeah. Pete." He fell silent and she waited for him to continue. He sighed deeply, looking out at the snowmen in contemplation. "I've been... here," he gestured about wildly at the landscape, "for a while now. I've had a lot of time to think." He paused and thought for a moment. "I've had a lot of time to forgive," he added.
"You're ready to forgive the man who killed Harry's parents?" she asked. "The man who brought about James and Lily's deaths?"
Sirius smiled down, the expression only slightly bitter. "I think it's more important that I'm ready to forgive myself. I spent the longest time hating myself, questioning fate and why things had to work out the way it did. I hated Dumbledore, I hated Snape, I hated myself, I hated Peter. I hated Remus for getting the opportunity to teach you lot at Hogwarts, or for being able to fall in love and start a family. I hated the Weasleys for being so close-knit and loving. I hated you," his eyes met her own, "for being able to grow up with Harry, for being so close to him and being there for him." Abruptly, he drew her into his arms and hugged her tight.
He held onto her for several minutes, head buried into her winter cap before he spoke again. "After a while, though, I began to realize that hatred wasn't getting me anywhere. It's so easy to hate, yet it's so much harder, so much more challenging, to forgive. I forgave Peter for being weak, but I forgave myself for not being there for him. I forgave James and Lily for dying, Dumbledore for not being able to protect them, Snape for being a big, greasy git, Remus for surpassing me in life, the Weasleys for breaking what I thought was the status quo, you, for watching Harry when I couldn't." He paused. "Me, for never living up to my expectations. For my flaws. For my inability to move past my hatred, for my weaknesses, for killing James and Lily. I forgave myself."
Hermione let him hold her for a few more moments, allowing him to compose himself. Eventually, he drew away from her but did not release her completely. She angled her head to the side and studied the snowy landscape while he studied her.
"Hermione." Slowly, she turned back to meet his gaze and cocked her head to the side in a silent gesture for him to continue. "I've already forgiven myself." He reached down to cup her face in a gloved hand, tilting her head up. "When is it your turn to forgive Hermione?"
The question was akin to dumping icy water down her back. Hermione froze in his embrace before she quickly pulled away, nearly toppling in the snow.
"You don't know what you're asking," she whispered, continuing to back away.
"Don't I?" There was a sharp challenge in his voice.
She turned on her heels and began to stalk off, placing distance between them. "Where is Dog?" she demanded, changing the subject and glaring at the falling snow. "He should be here. I never go to the Weasleys' without him."
Hermione woke up in a cross mood to an owl tapping at her bedroom window. She paid the owl its customary knuts and glared at the "Happy Christmas!" headlines written across the Daily Prophet's front page.
"Bah humbug," she muttered, tossing it down onto the floor as she readied herself for the customary Christmas dinner at the Burrow.
December 24, 2003
He sings a love song,
As we go along...
"Mum?"
She'd spent fifteen minutes trying to compose herself for this phone call. She'd done her best to stave off the tears, pinching herself until they went away. She'd gone through half a box of tissues and she'd blown her nose until it hurt. However, picking up the phone and dialling the number brought the tears to her eyes again. She prayed she could hold off the breakdown just a little bit longer.
"Hermione, sweetheart, what's wrong?"
Even half the globe away and on the other end of a telephone, Hermione's mother was able to read her emotions well. Hermione could feel her face crumpling and the tears beginning afresh.
For ten months now, she'd been back on speaking terms with her parents. She'd finally worked up the courage to Apparate to Australia and removed the Memory charms she'd placed on them.
For a while, they hadn't been happy with her choices, had been shocked and hurt, but she'd suffered through the anger and despair. In the end, they had reconciled. While they were unwilling to give their previous marriage a second try, having found new happiness in their new lives, Hermione's parents were thrilled to have her back.
Hermione had forgiven herself and, once again, she had a family to call her own.
Right now, she was grateful to have her parents back. This wasn't a conversation she felt she could have with Harry and Ron. Not yet, anyway.
"It's..." a fresh wave of hot tears poured down her face and Hermione fought back the sob. "It's Dog. When I went to wake him up this morning, he wouldn't get up. He hasn't moved to go outside, he hasn't touched his food. He's listless. I think he—" This time Hermione did sob. She couldn't keep the sound back and it was painfully forced out of her lungs. "I think he's dying."
They were the hardest words she'd ever had to utter in one of the most difficult conversations of her life. She'd only had Dog for three years, but she couldn't imagine a life without him. She'd never be able to replace him; no animal could come close to what Dog had been for her.
"Sweetheart," her mother's soothing voice replied over the phone, trying to console her. "You admitted yourself that you didn't get him until he was older. Big dogs don't live as long as smaller ones."
Hermione bit down on her knuckle to try and gather her bearings. Her mother was right. For a dog Dog's size, nine or ten years was the average life expectancy. When she'd gotten him, Harry had said that he was six years old but even the previous owner hadn't been sure. Hadn't she watched him slowly age? Hadn't she seen the grey fur replacing the black, watched him grow increasingly lethargic?
"Are there any spells you can cast or anybody you can take him to?"
Hermione shook her head before remembering her mother couldn't see the action. "No." She cleared her voice, trying to talk more evenly. "I looked up whatever spells I could and nothing's worked. I'm afraid to give him any potions and most places are closed for Christmas." She sniffled into the phone. "I Flooed Hagrid to ask for advice, but he told me the same things the spells did. Dog's just... old." She choked out the last bit, feeling the words stick in her throat.
"Oh, Sweetie." Hermione's mother sighed over the phone. Hermione could hear the frustration in her voice. "I really wish you'd had me come back to England for Christmas. At least I could be there with you, to hold you."
"It wouldn't have done any good." These words sounded bitter even to her own ears.
"You gave Dog an excellent life, Hermione. You've been an excellent mistress and Dog couldn't have asked for any better. It's time for him to move on."
"It hurts." Hermione closed her eyes, letting the tears fall freely. "It hurts so much because I love him so hard. He's turned my world up-si-down, he's made me a better person. I don't want him to go. I need him. I can't live without him."
"It'll hurt you more if you keep him when he's ready to leave. Don't make him stay if he's ready to move on, Sweetheart."
She sniffled into the phone receiver, fighting with a tissue to wipe away her tears and blow her nose. "Why did I have to love him so much if it's going to hurt like this? Why couldn't he have just died in his sleep so I wouldn't sit here, watching him hang on and not being able to do anything about it?"
"Sometimes, Hermione, it is better to have loved and lost than never loved at all. You said it yourself: you're a better person for having loved Dog and I'm sure he is a better dog for loving you. Would you really be willing to get rid of all your love, just to get rid of the pain?"
Hermione sniffled again. "No," she whispered.
"Then I think Dog's still around so you can say goodbye. He wanted to make sure he could before passing on. He's holding on for you, Hermione."
She'd fallen asleep crying over Dog, feeling him lick at her tears, trying to get her to stop bawling. She'd tried telling him that it was okay, that he was moving on to a better place. That he shouldn't worry about her and that it was time for him to say good-bye. Eventually, though, her tears had lulled her to sleep with her head resting on his stomach.
She dreamed. This time, she was alone in her apartment, stranded, sitting in the middle of her bed. It felt empty without Dog's reassuring presence and, even in her dream, she could feel the tears trail down her cheeks. Life was going to be so lonely without Dog. He'd given her a reason for living when she'd thought she'd lost it. Curling up into a ball, dream-Hermione gave into her tears, the sobs wracking her body. When she was on the telephone, Hermione had told her mother that she couldn't live without Dog but she hadn't explained that she wasn't sure of Her bed dipped underneath her and a cold, wet nose pressed under her elbow. A large, furry head forced its way under her arm and a hot, moist breath blew onto her cheek. Hermione lifted her head to stare at Dog. He wasn't how she remembered him. His tail wagged merrily. His body was full and muscular, his coat sleek and shiny. His face was devoid of the aged grey and his eyes were bright, exuberant. He nudged at her cheeks and licked up her tears. "Go on, you big beast," she told him, her voice shaky. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him hard before letting go. "I know you're still here because you're concerned about me but I'll survive. I'll find some way to keep on living. I'm not sure how, but I'll find some way. I survived over two decades before you came, I can survive another hundred more." He licked at her chin. Out of ordinary peevishness and familiarity, she added, "And get off the bed. You know you're not allowed up here." Dog jumped down and wagged his tail once, twice, before trotting out of her bedroom and leaving her. Dream-Hermione sighed deeply, feeling another tear drip down her face. She turned away from the door, not wanting to see her beloved pet leave. A bark from behind, however, made her jump. She whirled back around, mouth open to yell at Dog, to tell him to leave already, when she froze. Dragged in by his sleeve, Dog tugged a confused-looking Sirius Black into her bedroom, stopping just before her. He barked again and nudged Sirius forward, pushing the man onto her bed. Dog's tail wagged expectantly, silently communicating with Hermione with an expressive, meaningful look. "Hermione?" Sirius asked questioningly, yet Hermione refused to turn away from Dog. "He gets to come with me?" she asked the animal. Dog barked in response, cheekily licked her face once more, and trotted out of the room. "Hermione? What's going on?" Sirius asked, confused. He reached down a hand and Hermione took it. "That was Dog," she explained, her eyes trained on the empty doorway. "He was my life and he died tonight. I think he just left me the second-best Christmas present I've ever gotten."
The chiming of a clock woke her up. Hermione pulled her face out of the lifeless fur, lovingly stroking it once, before looking for the source of noise. It was midnight, Christmas morning. Dog was gone.
There was a rustling from behind and, hesitantly, Hermione turned around. Sirius Black slowly, groggily opened his eyes and blinked. She knew that she should have been surprised to find him lying there but, for some reason, she wasn't.
"Hermione?" he asked. His voice was confused, hesitant. She smiled at him reassuringly.
"Happy Christmas, Sirius Black," she responded.
"Is this a dream?" He ran a hand through his hair before holding it out in front of him to gaze at it. "It all feels so real."
She reached out to take his hand. "It was a dream, but we're awake now." Sirius let her pull him into an embrace and she buried her head into his chest. His arms wrapped around her tightly, his look of confusion turning into a look of awe.
"I think that dog saved me." His voice was still befuddled, incredulous. "I thought the Grim was supposed to be an omen of death but I think he brought me from behind the veil."
"That Dog loved me. You just happen to be an added bonus." She ignored his comment about the Grim; he hadn't met Dog, he didn't know any better, and she couldn't explain.
He buried his face into her hair. She could feel his lips kissing at her scalp. "I don't think I know how to survive outside of a dream world," he whispered.
"Neither did I, until Dog came along. Both of you have taught me how to live. Now, it's my turn to exchange the favour."
Hermione pulled away long enough to look him in the eyes. As if by mutual agreement, they moved together until their lips met. The kiss held the promise of a future.
"Happy Christmas, Sirius Black."
"Happy Christmas, Hermione Granger."
From a place that was neither life nor death, intelligent, chocolate eyes watched Hermione and Sirius with happiness. With a couple wags from a tail, the creature jauntily turned face, its black fur shining magnificently. It stopped every few feet to sniff at different smells and, at one point, lifted its leg to create a new one. Playtime was over, however, and it had a job to do. Merrily, it trotted off into the darkness, gradually fading away until nothing was left... Walking in a winter wonderland.