Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. J.K.Rowling does, so if you want him, go ask her to give him to you.
Summary: It's a lesser known holiday, and it reveals the Dark Side of Christmas. What does it mean to Draco and Hermione, not to mention everyone else around them?
A/N: The idea for this story came to me because I heard a sermon in church about the Dark Side of Christmas, and about Childermas. It's not a religious story at all, but it merely takes this idea and places it into context in the Harry Potter world. It has hints of draco/hermione, but the story concentrates more on the aftermath of the war. This is my Christmas fic, and please read and review!
Childermas
Christmas had come and gone, and it was the twenty-eighth of December. Grimmauld Place was silent with grief that had yet to disappear, for the war had ended only a mere week ago, and the hearts of everyone still bled for the lives that had been lost. Hermione, however, was busy in the kitchen, preparing a feast that was ten times the measly spread they had had on Christmas day.
As Hermione placed the last dish on the table, and tuned the radio so that it was playing 'Greensleeves', she called up the stairs for everyone to come down for dinner. Slowly and reluctantly, Harry trudged down the stairs with Ron, both still devastated by the fact that Ginny Weasley had yet to return from the battle. It was highly likely that she was dead, but neither wanted to admit that fact. They told themselves that no news was good news, and waited eagerly for her return, which would never happen.
The remainder of the Weasleys also followed down silently, missing one crucial member of the family – Percy. He had returned to his family and asked for forgiveness from his family, but had died while trying to save his mother from the Death Eaters. It was a noble death, but it was a death nonetheless. Fred and George held each other's hands as they pulled up the rear, silent not only from grief but also from the dark magic that had taken away both of their voices. Perhaps all the loss had been made so much more devastating by the fact that the two happiest and liveliest members of the family could no longer bring the same kind of joy and laughter to the room anymore.
Following some way behind was Tonks, walking alone. Lupin was also one of those sacrificed at war, and Tonks had been so crushed by this fact that she had lost all ability to metamorph. Her messy hair was a dull grey from all the stress of the war, and her eyes were perpetually swimming with unshed tears. But the greatest blow yet was that of the loss of her only child, Teddy. He had only been a baby, but even he had not been spared by the Death Eaters. Tonks wasn't the person she had been before the war – to tell you the truth, she was barely a person anymore.
"We're not in the mood for another Christmas feast, Hermione," said Harry gently and tiredly. He tried to smile appreciatively at the spread Hermione had set out, but failed miserably.
Draco made his way down the stairs at a snail's pace. He was the only one of his family who had turned to the Order, and as such, both of his parents had been killed by people he had allied himself with. Grief was not the only thing that wracked his frame, but guilt as well. He had watched his parents been killed, but he had done nothing to save them. To Draco, he had also lost his one true friend – Pansy. She was oftentimes annoying and clingy, but in the end, she was the only one Draco could really talk to. And now she was gone because she had refused to turn to the Order, and Draco felt responsible for not convincing her. He sat down in his usual seat at the table and stared at the food mournfully.
Hermione forced herself to smile. "It's not a Christmas feast," she said, her voice breaking slightly with sadness. To her, the greatest loss of all was not all the deaths of people that had been sacrificed, but the fact that the people she loved and still had close to her were slowly slipping away. It was almost as if she could see them slowly falling backwards down the slide of grief, slowly making their way to irreparable devastation. "Don't you know what day it is?" she asked in a voice a lot stronger than she felt. When most of the assembled company all shook their heads, Hermione began to feel tears pricking at the back of her eyes. This was not turning out the way she had planned. She was supposed to explain the feast to everyone, but at this moment, Hermione felt as though she no longer was able to do anything of the sort. Getting to her feet, she tore out of the back door and into the small courtyard of Grimmauld Place.
She sat herself down on a bench that was covered by a thin layer of snow, and took deep breaths to calm herself down. It was only then, as her heartbeat began to slow, that she realised how cold it was outside. Cursing the fact that she did not bring a sweater out, yet not trusting herself to be able to enter again into the dining hall of Grimmauld Place without hyperventilating and bursting into tears, Hermione rubbed her hands up and down her arms in a futile attempt to keep warm. She stole a glance at the windows to Grimmauld Place, and realised that she could still feel the anguish that radiated from everyone inside, despite the warm yellow glow of the fireplace or the feast that sat upon the table.
"You look cold," came a voice that made Hermione start. She turned to see Draco standing beside her bench, wrapped up in a black trench coat and offering her red sweater in one hand. Hermione took it gratefully but did not speak. She was not particularly close to Draco, even though they had fought alongside each other during the war. He wasn't her enemy, because Hermione had seen for herself what kind of person he was during the war, and he wasn't a bad one at all. But Draco and Hermione were not friends, and they had never spoken to each other except when it was necessary. Now that it was not necessary, Hermione remained silent.
Draco, however, did not do the same. "It's not a Christmas feast," he said, repeated Hermione's own words. She turned to him, surprised to see for the first time, emotion in his usually cold eyes. He hadn't shed a tear when his parents or Pansy had died, and neither had he let anyone know that he was upset. But as he said those words to Hermione, she realised that he was hopeful for a better future for them all – a hope that Hermione believed she too carried in her heart, although no one else seemed to think the same way.
"Are you just saying that because I said so, or because you really know what day it is?" she asked simply, and they fell back into silence.
After a long period of silence, Draco stopped examining each snowflake as it fell into his open hands, and instead he said, "I didn't think you'd know what day it is."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Hermione asked immediately, half-curious and half-annoyed. She watched as Draco reached into his pocket and took out a short, white candle. "What's that for?" she asked again, as Draco held it out to her. Hermione took it, and they stared it for a long time until Hermione repeated her question.
Draco smiled cryptically at her. "I didn't think anyone would appreciate a feast made by me," he stated, and used his wand to light the candle. As the flame flickered in Hermione's hands, Draco sheltered it with his open palms. "So I decided I'd light a candle to guide them on their way to heaven."
She was captivated by the dancing flame, but Hermione tore her eyes away to look at Draco. "You celebrate Childermas?" she asked quietly, as if afraid a single gust of wind might blow out the flame.
Instead of answering her question, Draco simply gazed at the candle. "Childermas, also known as the Feast of Holy Innocents," he stated. "Marks the day that, according to the Bible, King Herod massacred children for fear that one of them was the King of the Jews, the Saviour of the world." He turned to Hermione, and she felt almost uncomfortable under his hard gaze, as if he was peering into her soul. Perhaps he was – she would never know for sure. "I won't say I celebrate this day. I think I commemorate it," he finally answered, and Hermione could feel a disobedient tear slip out of the corner of her eye. She could feel her hands trembling as she held the candle, and apparently, so could Draco, for he took the candle out of her hands and placed it on the ground before them.
Hermione clenched her fists in her sweater, knuckles turning white. She bore her gaze through a spot of snow on the ground. "Will this ever end?" she asked in a voice that threatened to crack any second. She could not bring herself to say another word, but Draco seemed to understand the meaning behind her words, as well as the reason why she was perhaps to much more torn than anyone else they knew. He took her hands in his and rubbed them to warm them, and Hermione could feel her façade of bravery crumbling. She acted so strong before everyone else not because she really was strong, but because she knew she had to be strong or the others would collapse. But as she sat with Draco, she realised that he not only could be strong enough for himself, he could also be strong enough for her.
"Yes," he said firmly. "I'm not sure when and I'm not sure how, but it will definitely end. They'll get over their grief, as will both you and I. There will come a day when we're all able to sit down together without being forced to remember the misery we can't help but remember now."
She shook her head as tears that had previously been locked up in her heart began to fall freely. "I don't want to forget them," she whispered hoarsely.
"We won't forget them," Draco replied simply. "But we won't have to remember the sadness we felt when we lost them; only the happiness we once had will stay in our minds. They sacrificed their lives so that we can live, and I don't intend to let their sacrifices be for nothing." He brushed a tear away from Hermione's cheek, and as his fingers touched her face lightly, she looked up at him, seeing him as she had never seen him before. "Childermas is the time where we live for those who cannot, love for those who will not and bless those who are not," he explained.
Hermione smiled. "You're different from how you were before," she said suddenly.
"I'm exactly the same," he replied. "You just never knew me. And I guess I never really knew you." He patted her hands kindly and comfortingly. "I'm really glad we talked," he said in a whisper that was barely audible if not for the fact that he and Hermione were so close to each other.
"Me too," whispered Hermione in reply, and she edged forward ever so slightly to meet Draco's lips with her own. It was a gentle, chaste kiss, and Hermione pulled away after a second, only to find that Draco was hugging her to him so tightly she couldn't resist. Not that she wanted to resist. So she leant into his chest and wrapped her arms around him, and they stayed there for a very long time – exactly how long, neither of them knew. All they knew that it was easier to deal with the misery when they were with each other, because a kindred spirit just made everything seem less despairing.
As they pulled away from each other, still holding each other's gazes, Draco opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted abruptly by Harry, who was running through the snow to find them.
"Hermione," he said quickly. "Malfoy told us that today was Childermas, so we went and checked it out while you were gone. And we'd all just like to thank you for preparing this feast. I think we really do need this." Harry's eyes were definitely not as bright as they had once been, but at least they held some sort of life in them, compared to the dull gaze he had been found with in the past week.
Strangely enough, Hermione found herself torn between happiness and sadness. She was really glad that her loved ones seemed to be back on the road to recovery, but she really wanted to know what Draco had been about to say to her. "You go ahead first, Harry," she said with a smile, and Harry obeyed instantly. As she and Draco got to their feet, Hermione turned to stop him from walking away. "What were you going to say to me?" she asked urgently, but Draco merely feigned ignorance and began to walk away.
"I wasn't going to say anything," he said, a small smile playing on his lips. Hermione elbowed him, urging him to tell her, and Draco sighed. "If you must know, I was merely going to tell you that the candle had been blown out," he said, and though Hermione was inclined not to believe him, she gave him the benefit of the doubt.
"That's not true," she replied softly. "The fire's still burning in here." And she turned to place a hand on Draco's chest, indicating his heart.
He pulled her hand away, but he held it as he said, "If you keep doing that, I might fall in love with you." He glanced through the windows at the glowing fire in the dining hall. "That's too cheery for an occasion like this one. It's not a celebration we're having, but a commemoration."
Hermione silenced him with a finger placed to his lips. "Childermas is the time where we live for those who cannot, love for those who will not and bless those who are not," she said, using his words against him. "I'm going to live my life again, Draco," she whispered silently. "And so are you, and so I everyone else." With that, she turned and walked into Grimmauld Place while Draco followed a few steps behind her. They took two seats next to each other at the table and began to dig in. Though the table was silent save for the sound of forks hitting plates, Hermione could sense that the people gathered there were all willing to work to regain the lives they had cast away after the war had ended. And that, perhaps, was the greatest blessing that had been received in the holiday season.
"I lied," whispered Draco suddenly. "I wasn't going to tell you the candle was out. I was going to tell you that it really means a lot to me that you remembered Childermas."
With a smile, Hermione nodded. "It means a lot to me too," she replied.
"And I really want to fall in love with you," he said again.
Hermione didn't turn her gaze away from her food, but she smiled. "Me too," she mouthed.
Christmas had come and gone, and it was the twenty-eighth of December. Grimmauld Place was silent, but not with grief that had yet to disappear, but with the hope that one day everyone could remember the loved and lost as the people they had been, and not the holes they had left in everyone else's hearts. Childermas is the time where we live for those who cannot, love for those who will not and bless those who are not.