This was actually supposed to be posted sometime around New Year, but essays got in the way.

The prompt for this story was given to me by njchrispatrick.

Warnings: kinda dark.

Disclaimer: Not mine!

Enjoy!

A Requiem for Christmas

December, 25

He was surrounded by people, obnoxiously loud noise, and flashing, vivid colours. It was too warm, too busy and the room they had all gathered in was too cramped. He had been sitting there for who-knows how long, the cup of tea Mrs. Weasley had pressed in his hands what felt like hours ago had long gone cold. The remaining Weasleys and their partners, the Order members that has survived the war and some friends that were invited bustled around him, talked to one another, laughed with each other, playing with the gifts they had been given and were generally having a good time. A baby cried somewhere and someone went over to coo at it in an attempt to silence it. He couldn't bring himself to care.

He felt empty. Tired. Hollow. And it was just too much. He didn't feel sad, or depressed. He was no longer mourning for those who had died just six months ago. But neither felt he happy, or elated. The gifts he had been given were thoughtful, and had they been given to him a year ago he would have enjoyed them immensely. The bustling and overall busy house would have made him feel wanted and appreciated. But not now. Now, he couldn't even bring himself to smile at Ginny, his girlfriend of over five months. He felt as if everything that happened around him was not really happening. As if he was separated from the others by some invisible, intangible veil that muffled sounds, colours, and even emotions.

He stood from the colourful, but old couch he had been sitting on and made his way out of the overflowing room. He paused briefly in the kitchen to detachedly empty and clean his teacup before he left the Burrow all together. He didn't go far. Just far enough away from the house until he could no longer hear the voices and music, and could no longer see the large amount of colourful lights someone had used to decorate the exterior of the house.

He sat down upon the rock placed near the small pond and stared out over the water into nothing. He didn't feel the cold that was slowly seeping into his bones. He didn't feel the wind ruffle his hair or the snow that dampened his clothing. He felt nothing.

He stayed outside until Andromeda came to get him so he could say goodnight to Teddy, his hands had gone blue by that time.

oOo

December, 26

He stood for the closed door, debating if he should ring the doorbell or not. Dudley had invited him to visit them on Boxing Day, claiming that though they had never been particularly close they were still family and it was time they started acting like it.

The Weasleys and Hermione had encouraged him to go, had pushed him out of the door even. But he hadn't even been able to make himself care. He no longer felt the intense dislike he used to feel when he thought of his muggle relatives, nor did he feel sorry for them that they had been forced to move. He even doubted that he would have felt anything had he been told that they had died. Not now, not in the state he found himself in.

He raised his hand towards the doorbell and let it rest there, not actually pushing the bell, nor letting it droop down. In the end he lowered his hand and stepped away from the door. He pivoted around and walked away until he reached the junction between their private property and the public pavement.

He turned around once again to stare at the door, at the brand new car gleaming on the drive, at the colourful tree and the lights Vernon had hung outside of the house, at the invitingly warmth and cheer that the house seemed to ooze.

He disappeared with a soft pop after a couple of long seconds. He had no right to be there.

oOo

December, 27

He had been sitting on his favourite couch in his one-person flat, just looking outside of the window towards the dull, grey, dusky, unremarkable sky that reflected his current mood perfectly – it was soft grey, not dark, not light. No rain, no sun, just unremarkable, detached, dull – when Ginny had flooed into the room. She had taken one look at him and his lack of attention on her nicely clad form – the short, black dress she wore was both stylish and tight in all the right places but in no way slutty or overly expensive – and her mood had plummeted from expectantly towards annoyance.

"Why are you still wearing your pyjama's?" she asked, her tone of voice broadcasting how tightly she controlled her annoyance. He listlessly shrugged in response, not actually caring that he was still wearing the same clothing he had slept in. Or that he had yet to take a shower. Or brush his teeth. Or eat.
"It's nearly six o'clock," she stated sharply, "you promised me we would have dinner together at the Leaky Cauldron. Why aren't you dressed?"
He didn't bother to respond. What should he tell her, that he didn't feel like showering and dressing in daywear? That he didn't feel like going out with her to eat somewhere? That he didn't feel like eating at all?

"Do you even remember that we were supposed to go out on a date today?" She nearly barked, her eyes narrowed into slits and her hands on her hips, "do you even care?"
He looked up from the window and towards her, his eyes no doubt dull and lifeless. He just blinked at her, too detached from reality and his emotions to even know how to respond. Was he even supposed to respond?
"Do you even care for our relationship?" she suddenly asked loudly, "do you even care about me?"

He knew that he should reassure her that of course he cared for her, for their relationship. Of course he wanted to go out with her. But he couldn't bring himself to do so.
Her eyes started to water and she hiccupped lightly as she forced out through clenched teeth, "a relationship has to come from two sides. And you are currently the one that is causing ours to fall apart."
He turned away from her. What did she want from him? He couldn't- didn't-. He sighed tiredly.

"Ours is falling apart," she shouted loudly at him as she marched towards him, "and you don't even care! You never care nowadays! What is your problem!"
"Nothing," he responded dully as he turned his gaze once again towards the unremarkable weather outside. It was dark now. The only light in his room came from the hearth she had used to enter his room.

"Then why don't you get dressed?" she nearly snarled as she shook his shoulders, "and we'll discuss this like normal people."
He just shrugged again, but he didn't break away from her hold, nor did he care for the bruises he would no doubt have.
"Or better yet," she shouted, "I'll go back home and I'll give you the change to come after me. If you do not appear within an hour, I'll assume we're over!"

She released him with one last shove and left the same way she had come with a shouted, "the Burrow!". The last thing he saw of her were the tears that had started to trail along her cheeks.

He just remained seated, his feet tucked underneath him, his gaze fixed on the dark square that was his window.

oOo

December, 28

That morning he had finally felt capable of doing something. He felt still detached from the rest of the world, but he felt as if he should do something.

So he went to Godric's Hallow. To visit the house Voldemort had destroyed that Halloween so long ago, and to visit his parents' graves. Maybe that would make him feel better. Or at least make him feel less detached. Once again connected to others, to Ginny. He used to remember loving her, but it felt so distant now.

He appeared in front of the cottage he had used to call home. A very, very long time ago. So long ago that he couldn't even remember it. He did remember the scene with Nagini though, but it felt as if it had happened to someone else. As if he had just received a memory, but with the emotions dampened. As if he as the viewer just went through the motions.

He turned away from the house and moved towards the cemetery where his parents were buried. He felt slightly hesitant as he neared their graves. Not because he was nervous, or afraid, but more that he feared that he would feel absolutely nothing. He had always respected his parents. He had always been grateful for their sacrifice after he had learned about it. And he had always, always been saddened by their death. Always, even when he hadn't known about magic.

And to feel nothing now, it would taint their memory. And he didn't want that, they deserved better.

He stopped walking just a couple of feet from their graves, having moved their without realising it. He just stared at the now familiar words of their names, the dates and the sentences near them. Just stared.

He hadn't thought to bring flowers. Wouldn't have found any that would have survived the weather, anyway. But he quickly realised that he would have liked to actually lay flowers on their graves. That the sight of their graves actually did make the sadness well up. He did miss them. And he would always miss them. He sank to his knees in front of their graves and bowed his head even as he raised a trembling hand to touch the gravestone. For the first time since days – weeks? – did he feel something. He burst out in tears.

And for the first time since they had died did he let himself mourn for them. Not for the loss of his parents, his caretakers, the persons that should have taken him away from the Dursleys, the heroes of the Wizarding World. But as the person they had been. The ones he had never known, and would never know. His parents.

oOo

December, 29

Loud knocking on his door woke him up. He groped for his wand and cast a Tempus as soon as he had found it. Quarter past 10, in the morning. He frowned thoughtfully as he tried to remember if he had agreed to meet with anyone, but came up empty.

He rose from his bed as the knocking became more insistent and slowly walked towards the door – still in his pyjama's, his wand raised. He opened it quickly, only to lower his wand as he came face to face with Ron and Hermione. He hadn't seen them since Christmas, and even then he hadn't paid them much attention.

"May we come in?" Hermione asked, a soft smile on her face.
He stepped to the side to let them pass by without saying anything, and closed the door behind them as soon as they had entered his flat.
"How have you been?" Hermione asked him as she removed her scarf and dried her coat with a flick of her wand. Ron followed her example and it didn't take long before both of them were seated on his favourite couch with a mug of warm tea in their hands.

"You didn't answer my question," Hermione pointed out, before she flicked a quick, disapproving gaze towards his clothing. He just shrugged in response as he sipped from his own tea.
"We missed you these last couple of days," she continued as it became clear that he wouldn't react beyond the shrug, "especially Ginny, she has been bawling her eyes out since you stood her up."

He closed his eyes briefly in despair. He had not meant to hurt her, but he just couldn't bring himself to care.
"I know," he answered hollowly, "I have been… off."
"Off," Ron nearly barked, "you hurt my sister because you've been off!?"
Irritation shot through him. The first time Ron spoke and he had criticized him?

"Yes, I've been feeling off," he stated, his irritation bleeding through into his voice.
"Why didn't you tell us?" Hermione stated gently, but all he could hear was the slightly patronizing tone she always had if she knew something they did not.
"Because I didn't feel like it," he stated bluntly, "I was doing just fine."
"You weren't fine!" she cried out, the loud noise rather sudden, "you have been distant for weeks. To both us, your best friends, and to Ginny, your girlfriend! Everyone is worried about you!"
"She would forgive you if you came with us now and told her you were sorry," Ron told him, but it sounded as if he as just repeating something someone else had said to him, "she really loves you. And you love her just as much!"
"She really misses you," Hermione added, her eyes hopeful.

He took a calming breath to make sure he wouldn't start shouting at them. He had been detached for so long, his brief bout of sadness the day before had already cost him a lot of energy, and he was quite sure that becoming angry now wouldn't make him feel any better.
"I've been fine," he stated flatly, "just a bit off. I just want to be alone for a while."
"But-," Hermione started, but he interrupted her.
"I'll talk to Ginny once I feel like I can," he stated irritated, "and I can't right now."

He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes tiredly with a single hand, "just leave me alone for a while, let me sort myself out. Please."
He didn't need to see them to know that they shared glances.
"Of course," Hermione said softly, "we will see ourselves out."

They rose from his couch and made their way over towards his hallway; Ron as irritated as he himself seemed to feel and Hermione slightly dejected.
She stopped just before she could enter his hall, "Ginny really does love you. And she really does miss you. But she will not wait forever!"
With that remark she entered his hallway and closed the door between the two rooms. It didn't take long before he heard his front door open and close.

He was once again left alone.

oOo

December, 30

He strode briskly through the familiar halls of Hogwarts. It hadn't taken long to rebuild the building, not with every single adult – mainly British, but also some foreign – wizard or witch willing to do nearly anything to bring the school back to its former glory. He ignored the moving staircases with their trick-stairs, the many wondrous paintings that greeted him cheerfully, and the overall Christmas cheer that was still around.

The sights that had once left him with awe did nothing for him now. The familiar sights just made him feel even more empty and tired than he already did. People had been so desperate to remake everything the way it was that they hadn't taken into account that one couldn't just supress the memories that went with the sights.

He stopped at the top of one of the moving staircases, debating if he wanted to talk one last time with Dumbledore – just to ask him how he had continued on after he had defeated Grindelwald – or visit the Chamber of Secrets. He hesitated for a while longer before deciding on the second option. He wasn't in the mood to be social.

He quickly made his way over towards the entrance – while making sure that no one saw him entering the girls' lavatory, before lowering himself down into the pipe that brought him underneath the school. Ron had done quite well in repairing the damage they had done in their second year, and it didn't take long before he stood inside of the famous – though unknown – Chamber of Secrets.

A horrid smell hung inside the damp Chamber, the smell of decomposition and decay and it didn't take long to find the source. The once mighty basilisk had been reduced to some bones and decaying flesh. It looked smaller than he remembered it being. He carefully made his way towards the place he – and Ginny – had nearly died, the same place he had killed a young Voldemort.

The blood and ink was still present, though some of it had started to seep into the cracks of the stones. The moist had made sure that it wouldn't dry out, but it couldn't stop the decay. The very sight of the ink mixed with blood brought back the events of that night six years ago. The smell of old ink and badly preserved blood hit his nose and brought back the unpleasant memories of the dungeons underneath Malfoy Manor.

He stumbled back a couple of steps as his senses started to overwhelm him. He shouldn't have come back here.

oOo

December, 31

It was the last night of the year. And, coincidentally, it would have been the birthday of Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort. He didn't know why, but he had felt obliged to visit Riddle's grave.

The Ministry had wanted to display the body somewhere public to show off how well they had dealt with the deceased Dark Lord, but he had stopped them the moment he had heard about their plan. He had won their war for them, so he got to decide what would happen to Voldemort. And he had chosen to bury the man in the Forbidden Forest. The Ministry had complained – and rather loudly at that – but he had just pointed out that the people currently in charge had done nothing to stop the war and then nothing during the war. He had also pointed out that, no matter how archaic, according to their own rules Voldemort's body belonged to him as the spoils of war. They had shut up quickly after that.

That had also been one of the last times that he had truly felt alive.

"They are trying rather hard to forget about you," he told the blank tombstone softly even as he gently lowered himself beside it. The surroundings were dark, cold and sinister, but he didn't feel cold, nor did he feel fear. He just felt hollow and sad, as if something was missing from him and he would never get it back.
"Everyone is acting like nothing ever happened," he stated blandly, "as if the people who died during the war just dropped dead out of nowhere. And nothing has changed. Werewolves are still treated like animals, Muggleborns are still seen as second-rated citizens, goblins are still forced to go without magic."

He dropped his head against the cold granite of the tombstone and moved until he was nearly curled around it.
"I know it sounds odd, but I actually miss you for some reason," he continued even as he huffed out a bitter laugh, "I don't miss the attacks, or the pain in my scar, or my fame or infamy. But I miss feeling useful. I miss the feeling that at least someone cared if I lived or died, though I guess it was just the latter in your case."

He moved his head until he could look at the sky, or the parts that were visible through the leaves at least.
"I feel as if my reason for being alive has suddenly vanished with your death," he stated flatly, "it's almost as some part of me died with you."

He forced down a broken sob. It was the first time that he truly, clearly stated what was wrong with him.
"I feel detached and empty ever since that day," he choked out as he bowed his head. He didn't care for the scrape he gained by that action, near did he care about the cold that seeped into him from both the ground and the granite.
"And I can't seem to figure out why. It went so well at first. I was seen as a hero, I cared for my friends, I loved my girlfriend. But even back then did I feel as if something was missing. And it only became worse."

He fell silent as tears started to create pathways down his cheeks.
"I miss you," he repeated even as he rose and kicked against the headstone, "and I don't even know why!"

"I guess you won after all," he said bitterly even as he looked down upon the tomb, "though not in the way anyone would have guessed."
He looked up towards the sky once again, "happy birthday, Tom, I hope you are finally happy wherever you are."

"I hope you are happy now," he choked out, even as he once again sank down to rest next to the headstone.
"I hope you are happy now," he repeated softly.

oOo

He was found that evening, just before old became new. His body was curled around a lonely, blank tombstone, his head resting lightly on top of aforementioned headstone. He had turned blue and his body was frozen into the position. But a small smile could be seen on his lips and his face appeared relaxed.

For the first time in months did he seem at peace.

I hope you guys enjoyed this story

~Marwana