A/N: This was inspired by quite a lot of persons; my mother, who gave me the idea for the story; Fata Morgana, who suggested that I should write something as a Christmas gift for her; and all the fanfic writers who have inspired me.
Dedicated to Fata Morgana, one of my bestest friends.
Merry Christmas everyone!
Coming home for Christmas
by Waterfall
The Burrow was teeming with life. Standing at the stairs and looking down into the living room, Harry thought it looked like a sea of fire moving around. The level of noise and the heat that spread through the whole house certainly did nothing to dispel his imaginings.
All the Weasleys had come home for Christmas, some of them bringing their girlfriends along. Not only the ones he knew but also aunts and uncles, cousins, and even a second cousin from Denmark. Now they were all gathered in the living room, which had been magically enhanced for the occasion, gossiping about people he didn't know and discussing events he'd never heard of.
Like any normal, happy family, Harry thought sadly, feeling suddenly left out. They all looked so happy! Why couldn't his Christmases have been like this - a time of joy and laughter, spent with his mother and father and all their friends? Eyes brimming with tears he stubbornly refused to shed, Harry turned away.
"Oy, Harry!"
Before he had taken more than two steps Ron was by his side, dragging
him down and into the redheaded crowd. "Where do you think you're going?"
his friend asked cheerfully.
"I was just..."
"Intimidated?"
Having been spared the burden of coming up with a good excuse, Harry
nodded. Smiling, Ron put his arm around his shoulders. "Don't worry. They
won't bite. Well, maybe uncle Brocklehurst, but he's promised to behave..."
"Are you sure?" Harry laughed, hastily rubbing his eyes when Ron discreetly
turned his head away and looked for his mother.
Maybe I will have a normal Christmas after all...
~*~
Even the Christmas tree in the reception area and the decorations on the walls couldn't dispel the tight, closed in feeling. No amount of incense could wipe away the stale smell of illness; the loud Christmas music couldn't silence the cries and sobs coming from the locked cells. It was Christmas at St. Mungo's, and Neville hated it.
"Here, mum. Here's your present." He put the parcel into her hands, taking no notice when she remained still. Then he turned to his father, who was staring blankly at the wall. "And here's yours. I'll open it for you." The paper made a loud, crinkling noise as he unwrapped the parcel; apart from the Christmas carols coming from the hallway it was the only sound that could be heard.
"Look, it's a pair of slippers! You wanted that, didn't you? Your old
ones are completely worn out." Putting the slippers by the chair Neville
gave his father a hug before he turned back to his mother. She hadn't moved.
"Here, I'll open yours as well." His voice was soft and low, filled
with love. "Have you looked out the window?" he asked her while unwrapping
the present. "It's snowing... isn't it pretty?"
~*~
"Hermione, hurry up!"
"I'm coming, I'm coming!"
Putting her wand in her purse, she ran to the car, almost slipping
on a patch of snow-covered ice. It was cold outside, the clear sky full
of stars.
"What kept you?" her mother asked, a little annoyed.
"Oh, nothing special," Hermione answered, holding the purse securely
against her body.
The church was the same as always, warm and welcoming, filled with the
sound of voices and the crisp music of the church bells. Closing her eyes
she took a deep breath, feeling the calmness flow into her. This was something
no wizard could ever understand - or wanted to understand - because for
them Christianity was connected with murder and evil.
If they could feel this they would know.
No sumptuous Christmas dinner or twelve Christmas trees could ever
measure up to this.
Hermiones family had never been regular churchgoers, but every Christmas Eve they went to church without fail. Deciding to stay at Hogwarts with her friends had been hard, and the decision had not become easier with time. Instead it had become harder, just as it had become harder and harder not to worry about her vulnerable Muggle family.
"Are you all right, dear?"
"Hm?" Lost in her thoughts it took a while before Hermione noticed
that her father was talking to her.
"You were far away... where did you go?"
"Not far - I was thinking about Christmas."
Her father smiled tenderly at her, and tucked her arm into his.
"I'm glad you decided to come home this year."
"So am I."
She smiled back at him, her knuckles whitening as she gripped her purse.
~*~
It is cold.
Draco shivered slightly, and moved closer to the fireplace. The gigantic
hall was almost empty, except for himself and one of his mother's wretched
cats that seemed to take no notice of the cold. The snow outside reflected
the moonlight, and made the hall look even colder. Not even the huge Christmas
tree placed in the middle of the room could disperse the hostile feeling
that seemed to echo through the house, making the house elves hide in the
kitchen and Draco hide inside himself.
He was alone, and that was just fine with him.
Rather alone than with him... I'm glad I wasn't invited to
the stupid ball.
Shrugging, Draco walked over to one of the great windows, and looked
out. The world was transformed tonight; everything dark and filthy was
covered with snow. The firelight threw sinister shadows on the walls inside,
but outside it coloured the snow and danced along the icicles hanging from
the trees. It reminded him of her.
Under the tree there were piles of presents, still untouched. Most of them were for him, and he didn't care. He knew their contents, and he didn't care. It was the same kinds of presents that he got each year, expensive but impersonal. Not paying them any attention, he leaned against the window and looked out at the reflected firelight. When he closed his eyes he could see her, her hair as a waterfall down her back, her eyes twinkling with joy. If he tried hard he could almost feel her touch.
Alone in the mansion, abandoned by his parents, Draco Malfoy smiled.