About this story: Christmas is my absolute favorite time of the year and I am one of those hopelessly romantic people who love a good holiday read. I intend for this story to be on the shorter side, but it doesn't mean it'll be without its emotional rollercoasters, fluffy scenes, passionate kisses or angst, I think these elements combined make for an exciting read. Consider this my Christmas gift to you!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe or characters, those are all JK Rowling's wonderful creations and I am not by any means profiting from writing and posting this story.

Chapter One

"Let your Heart be Light"

It was Christmas season once again and Hermione Granger could hardly believe it. The year—one of the hardest in a long time due to her divorce—had flown by and now she found herself in her parents' old flat in Paddington, piles of cardboard boxes and old leather school trunks scattered about nearly every room. November had just only started, the days becoming grayer, darker, and the cold of the season having gradually made its arrival.

She uncrossed her legs clad in plaid flannel pajama bottoms, feet covered in mismatched wool socks, the book she's been reading, quite entertaining now lying abandoned at her side, while on the other, her snowy white cat purred softly in his sleep.

She exhaled heavily as she enjoyed the silence and the peace for once, turning her gaze upwards toward the white of the ceiling. It was daunting, the year ending, the time passing—but it also felt like life recommencing. But she was tired, in more ways than one. Heavens knew how many times she'd had to start over, a new life, a new home, a new school and now… She was starting over but in a place she'd been to already—a place with windows, walls, Victorian fireplace, stains, scratches and cracking paint she was all too familiar with. It brought back memories of a life she had lived so many years ago it was practically a dream. A young little girl of light brown bushy curls decorating a lit-up pine tree in this very room, soft choir music playing in the background while the flash of a camera snapped her photograph. A handsome man with a cleft chin and brown hair wearing a reindeer kitchen apron and a woman of wild curls and dark eyes smiling and laughing as she pointed her where to hang the next ornament.

The life of that little girl came to her in flashes here and there—but between these walls it was unbearably constant. These walls reminded her of an easier, happier time—a time where this void, this particular pull in her chest were inexistent. She'd failed them, she'd lost them, she'd erased them from her life and then erased herself from theirs. All she had were these flashes and this old but lovely flat in Paddington, but what could they possibly have—those who'd once been her mum and dad?

It was only when her lips felt the familiar warm and salty taste of tears that she realized she'd been crying. She was sick and tired of it, being so emotional and so weak. She whipped them away but they still kept falling because the pain was just so unbearable. She let out a sob and it was loud enough to even startle the cat who awoke from his sleep, staring at her curiously. She heard the creaking of an ancient door pushed open and then the muffled thud of socked footsteps from the hallway.

"Mummy…" The voice mumbled out, drowsy from sleep. She turned around to face the little person, her little person and although tears stained her cheeks pathetically attempted a smile of reassurance—though to reassure whom or what she didn't know. The big, doe brown eyes looked back at her and noticed, scrambling towards her, clumsily wrapping those sweet, little girl arms around her neck, burying herself in her mother's form, face hidden within the mess of honey-colored curls. "Don't be sad, mummy, please…" She whispered in a soothing manner that had become to her mother, uncomfortably characteristic.

It shouldn't be Rose trying to comfort her, but the opposite—she was the mother after all. But this year had been too much even for her and no matter how much she tried, there was only so much pain she could hide. Her arms wrapped around her daughter for dear life, tracing circles up and down her little back until both of them were simply and quietly holding one another—no more tears, and as though her little Rose were once again an infant being patiently lulled to sleep.

…

She hadn't heard a phone ring in a very long time but it had that morning as soon as she'd put the kettle on the lit muggle stove. She let it ring one more time and pulled it out of the socket and onto her ear.

"Yes, hello?" She spoke into it, wondering who it could possibly be. No one had been to this flat since 1997, not since last week when she, Rose and the cat finally settled in.

"Umm, yes, hello—I found this number scribbled in an old diary and was wondering who it belonged to—silly, I know, I'm sorry. I just didn't think I knew anyone from England, you see." Her heart nearly stopped as she heard that voice, a voice that a lifetime ago would sing her Joan Baez songs to sleep while strumming an untuned guitar.

"Where are you calling from?" She asked, a full minute later, in a tone of voice just above a whisper. Her heart now beat wildly in her chest.

"Melbourne—Melbourne, Australia. I'm Monica."

"Ah, so it's nighttime where you are."

"Just about, yes. Might I ask your name for reference? Was this number yours already about thirteen years ago? It's just the date here says 1997…"

"Umm, Hermione—my name is Hermione. And yes, this was my home number already."

"Hermione—what a rare, beautiful name! Were your mum and dad fans of Shakespeare, then?" Tears pooled in her eyes at the woman's response and she covered the speaking part of her phone with the palm of her hand, letting out a sob as she held it against her chest. The kettle began whistling in the background and she felt air escape her lungs and herself not being able to inhale properly. She felt dizzy all of the sudden and as she heard the faint cries of 'Hello? Hello?' coming from the voice on the other end everything went black.

…

When she opened her eyes, everything was unbearably bright. She blinked a few times until images became clearer and she recognized the room she was in as that of her… She closed her eyes as soon as she realized what happened that lead to her being in here. That familiar voice on the phone, the kettle whistling, the rare and beautiful name, Melbourne and Shakespeare. She covered her face with her hands in silence, hoping this was all a dream.

She heard the door click all of a sudden and turned to see who it was. Her eyes softened upon taking in the familiar face, albeit a slight bit changed what with the dark beard that made him look a number of years older.

"I knew you had a flair for dramatics, 'Mione but I didn't think it would come to this," he motioned, with a playful smile trying to mask the real message coming from his lips. She sighed and he sat on the foot of the bed, hands rubbing her foot somewhat soothingly from above the plush covers.

"Rosie called you?"

"Owl. It's a good thing you taught her to read and write."

"She's six years old, Harry and goes to school already."

"That's right, she's six years old. Don't you think it's a bit too early to be scaring her as you did? Hermione, she was distraught thinking you were dead!" He admonished, eyebrows knit together. His voice was low and steady but she could see the fire in his green eyes—he was angry at her and disappointed as well.

"It was my mum on the phone Harry." She told him, brown eyes sharp and filling with remorseful tears. His own eyes went wide as he heard her say the words and processed what they meant.

"Y-your mother?" Hermione nodded. "Did she remember you?"

"I honestly don't know—probably not, anyway. She said she got curious upon finding the number scribbled in an old diary, she recognized it being from England but didn't remember who it could possibly belong to." He leaned forward and took her cold hand in his, caressing it with his thumb. She successfully repressed the sob aching to escape her voice, but her voice was filled with emotion as she once again spoke: "This place, this flat—it brings back so many memories Harry, memories that I've repressed for so long because they were far too painful. I lost my parents, not due to the war, Harry, but due to my fault, my mistake. I didn't perform the spells correctly and I failed in trying to reverse them—you don't know how much it hurts, Harry—I don't have my mum and dad anymore because I failed." She was full on crying now as he scooted upwards on the bed and pulled her into his embrace, arms wrapping protectively around the best friend he'd never seen so fragile. "I failed, Harry and now she'll forever be Monica and will never know I'm her daughter…"

"I'm sorry I was cross with you…" He apologized, fingers running through her silky curls. "It wasn't just Rosie who was scared upon seeing you, but I was too." She sniffed and nodded ever so slightly against his chest and he couldn't help but plant a kiss on her forehead. "And you were only eighteen Hermione, you were fucking brilliant and got us all out alive—you were just a girl who did what she thought was best to keep those she loved safe. You did not fail, on the contrary, it worked far too well." A few seconds later it seemed his words seeped in as she whacked him on the arm, sobs subsiding, and Harry knew that with time his best friend would be okay. The year hadn't been easy on either of them.

"Where's Rose?" She asked, finally, as he rocked her like a baby in his arms, her cheeks red and sticky from her emotional meltdown.

"Oh, in the living room, probably—we were watching 101 Dalmatians…" He informed her, "with popcorn and everything."

"Coca-Cola too?" Harry nodded and laughed soundlessly and she appreciated the sweet vibration of his chest against her face, her fingers finding their way up towards his face on their own account, burying themselves in his new beard. The dark hair there tickled the soft skin of her hand and Hermione decided she liked it. For a split second that treacherous part of her brain made her wonder how that beard would feel like grazing against her cheek and down the delicate curve of her neck. She shuddered against him and Harry wrapped his arms tighter around her, thinking her to be cold. "I could really use that drink now, Harry." Hermione informed him and he immediately loosened his hold on her, the two shifting apart and shuffling out of the bed. The soft pink blush that colored his cheeks didn't escape her as they made their way towards the living area.

"Mummy! You're better!" She heard Rosie exclaim upon seeing her, the mess that she was and jumping off the couch to hug her thighs. Hermione pulled her daughter into her arms, the girl's legs wrapping around her hips and arms around her neck and showered her with kisses.

"Yes, I'm feeling better—I'm so sorry to have scared you, petal."

"It's okay, mummy." Harry came back from the kitchen carrying two mugs filled with Coca-Cola and another mug filled with pink milk that he levitated, holding his wand between his teeth. Hermione chuckled at the scene as Rose squirmed from her hold and happily took hers from thin air. It was mid-afternoon as she peered outside from through the window and as the three settled onto the comfortable couch, a large plush blanket covering their legs, Hermione was able to relax, all of the heavy and sad feelings seeming to melt away, even if just for a moment and there was no other way she'd rather be. He handed her a mug, their fingers accidentally brushing and the feel of the cool fizz of the drink felt like a godsend in her mouth and down her throat.

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