12 Days of Christmas
A series of ficlets for The Golden Snitch forum 12 Days of Christmas Competition.
Alycat88, Beauxbatons Guinefort
Chapter 1 – On the First Day of Christmas
Prompt
On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,
A partridge in a pear tree...
Write about decorating a Christmas tree
Word count: 622
Hermione heaved a box down the stairs of her parents' house, coughing when the action produced a small mushroom cloud of dust. She hadn't been back to her childhood home since the war ended, unable or unwilling to face the fact her parents were not coming back.
It had remained locked up and lonely for close to eight years now, but with their first child due in just a few short months, she had decided it was time.
"Alright, Hermione?" asked Ron, hurrying over to relieve her of the box, "You shouldn't be hauling boxes downstairs."
She huffed, "Honestly Ron, I'm not a china doll."
"Of course not," he agreed, kissing her on the cheek, "I just don't want you to hurt yourself, or our child."
Hermione resisted the urge to sigh with relief when Ron took the weighty box. Pregnancy had a particular knack for tiring one out.
"What's in this one?" asked Ron, squinting at her father's scrawl on the top of it.
Decorations – special, it proclaimed. Hermione smiled, a lifting of her lips that didn't negate the sadness in her eyes.
"I'll show you," she said, wielding her wand like a knife. It sliced through the packing tape easily and revealed a layer of bubble wrap. She pulled this carefully to the side.
There were four ornaments, sitting in sectioned parts. A glass snowball bauble bought in France in the summer after second year when they went to Dijon. A ceramic koala bought when she was eight years old and they visited her Grandmother in Portugal – they had laughed, koalas aren't Portuguese. A picture of her from her first year of school, grinning toothily and pasted carefully on a piece of cardboard, a gold-spray-painted bow pasta attached to the back. And lastly, a delicate spun glass star that she'd helped her father place on top of the tree, every year without fail.
Even when she went to the Burrow for Christmas, they put up the tree first. Tears prickled in the corners of her eyes. Ron sat down next to her, heavily, and put an arm around her shoulders. She leaned in to his embrace.
"I miss them," she admitted, quietly. Something she didn't allow herself to even think, normally, let alone say out loud.
"You're allowed to," said Ron, "I'd be a bit worried if you didn't, actually."
She cracked a small smile.
"Are there more decorations?" he asked. She nodded. "Then we should take them home and decorate the tree."
He held out his hand to help her up and pulled her to his chest when she accepted his hand.
"I love you," he said, seriously. Her eyes fluttered closed when he kissed her, still causing butterflies after five years of marriage.
In following years, she'd watch Ron with Rose on his shoulders, shrieking with laughter as he helped her place the star at the very top of the tree. She'd show Rose pictures of her parents and herself as she grew up and tell her about how they found koalas in Portugal.
She'd have Harry and Ginny over for a glass of wine and Christmas carols and Ron would roll his eyes when she gently teased him about the spider they came across when he helped her clean the house ready for sale, protesting that he was only trying to help, c'mon Mione, isn't this story old yet?
And she'd cry, a lot, when Ron used every last Galleon from his war-hero reward to engage a private Mind Healer to bring her parents back to her.
But for now, she would shed a tear or two as she hung each glass ornament carefully, and she'd smile each time their baby kicked.
And all would be well.