I just wanted to say that all of your reviews made me infinitely happy and because of that this chapter was written miraculously fast. Maybe it's the Christmas season... Keep all of the love coming please!

Happy golden days of yore

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Hermione—where is your Gryffindor courage?" Harry asked her exasperatedly, arms crossed over his chest and dish cloth hanging over his shoulder as they stood in her kitchen cleaning up after dinner.

For a week now, Rose had been bugging Hermione for them to start setting up decorations, but though Hermione wanted nothing more than to make her daughter feel her happiest, especially given the season, she couldn't bring herself to face the large boxes stored in their hallway closet, red permanent marker with "Xmas" scribbled on in her father's scrawl looking faded from the years of piled up dust. "What's the big deal, opening a bunch of boxes with old ornaments and a plastic tree?"

"The big deal is that I feel guilty, all right?" She shot back in irritation, slightly raising her voice. "The last time I opened that box I was ten years old—all of my Christmases since then were at Hogwarts or with you and the Weasley's or with Viktor in Bulgaria…" Harry flinched slightly at the sound of her former boyfriend's name, "and with Rose's dad," Hermione scoffed, eyes furrowed from anger, "why bother, right?"

"Then don't you think this could be your opportunity to show Rose what Christmas is like, make your own traditions?" Hermione was quiet, pondering over his suggestion for a full minute or two before she shook her head and sighed deeply. With a tone of voice laced with resignation she finally said:

"What's the point, Harry? She'll leave for Hogwarts in five years and I'll go back to spending the holidays alone." She turned towards the refrigerator, which she opened and tried to distract herself with, but there was no fooling him. When he pulled her by the elbow and turned her around to face him her eyes were pooled with tears.

"Hermione—that's five years from now, think of the now! In the other room is a little girl who watches muggle television, reads muggle storybooks, attends a muggle primary school and believes with all her heart in a Father Christmas or Santa Claus or whatever the fat old man is called!" When she didn't make attempts to interrupt him as she normally would he continued on with his speech, "Remember how magical it was when you first encountered the magic of platform ¾ or arriving in Hogwarts itself? It's that sort of magic for her now, and you don't want her to miss out on it because once upon a time you ruined Christmas and family life for your parents and you're irrationally afraid the same will happen to you…" He locked his electric green eyes with her wide-eyed brown. "You don't always need to carry the whole world on your shoulders, 'Mione—trust me on this one, I know." He watched as her expression suddenly softened and she nodded, lowering her eyes to the tiles of the kitchen floor, burying her fists in the pockets of her sweater.

"Okay." She said finally, nodding. "Okay, Harry." He stared at her curiously, quite not believing he was able to get through to her stubborn mind. But as he waited for her to say something, anything else—but she didn't—he allowed himself to open up in a big, excited smile, green eyes sparkling and the corner of his eyes crinkling in that way that made him look simultaneously childlike and mature. Hermione saw the joy written on his face and hadn't the heart to say no. She tried to hide her own little smile, "I have one condition though, Potter…" his eyes locked with hers in interest and the emotion there nearly knocked her off her feet.

"And what, pray tell, would that be?" He was using the low husky voice that he knew drove her mad as he wiggled his dark eyebrows.

"That you help me paint these dreadful, walls—what's the point of a pretty tree if everything's faded and cracked?" Harry pulled her into his arms, something quite rare outside of moments of emotional comfort, like last week. Harry was naturally affectionate, but was normally just too shy and insecure to initiate. For once she found herself wrapped in a tight bear hug coming from him and then she loudly squealed as he caught her by surprise, raising her from the floor and twirling her around the small kitchen as though they were little children. Her cheeks felt awfully warm and she knew they were probably tomato-red, but when the laughs began to escape her lips out of their own accord there was no stopping him. Her heart pulsed with a happiness that slowly began to melt her heartache and sorrows away. Merlin, how she was thankful for her best friend.

…

The following morning was a Monday, the 28th of November to be exact, which for Hermione meant waking early in the crispy cold of the morning when she'd much prefer the comfort of her bed to cook breakfast and get Rosie dressed and taken to school. She dragged herself out of bed, her snowy-white cat, Nimbus, trailing behind her, far too lazy for a cat named after a Quidditch broom and made her way into the smaller bedroom that had once been her parents' guest room but was now Rose's bright yellow abode.

As Nimbus jumped on top of her daughter's bed, purring as he snuggled his face against her shoulder, Hermione was surprised to find her little girl wide awake, clever eyes open and hands quick to pet their cat.

"You're up already, Rosie-Posy?" The little girl nodded and turned to look at her mum.

"Mummy, I think I know what I want from Father Christmas?" Hermione sat on the edge of her bed and chuckled.

"And what is it, love?" Rose pulled a folded piece of bright green paper from under her pillow and handed it to her mum. Taking it into her hands, Hermione admired the drawing of their little family—herself, Rose, Nimbus and then to her surprise a little black-haired figure that looked like Harry and a boy with bright pink hair next to him who could only be Teddy Lupin, now a Hogwarts 2nd year in Hufflepuff house. "What a lovely drawing, Rose—I'm sure Father Christmas will appreciate it, now let's see what you wrote…" Hermione opened the card and couldn't help but smile at her daughter's sloppy penmanship, typical of six-year-olds and a few cutely misspelled words.

'Dear Father Christmas, My name is Rose Granger, I am 6 years old and I moved from Beljum to here in London. I was not notty this year. My mum said I am a very good girl for eating my greens and beeing polite. I would like also the bigest box of Legos, a painting kit and a book about Egipt with picktures. Please, for my mummy I would like a pretty dress, a lip stick red because I want to see her happy. Thank you! Love, Rose.'

"What do you think?" Rosie asked and Hermione looked up, brown eyes locking with those of her daughter's, fighting the tears that were stinging the corner of her eyes. She bit her bottom lip and mustered a smile.

"I think you did lovely and I'm sure Father Christmas will bring you your gifts, we can put this in the post on our way to school…" Rosie smiled brightly and hopped out of bed, jumping with excitement. "Rose, I have to ask you—do you think mummy is sad?" The little girl stared at her for a moment and nodded.

"Sometimes I get sad too, mummy. But when you were happy you had lipstick and pretty dresses…" Rose's honest words were like a slap to her face. One look at her image in the wardrobe mirror made her realize what Rosie meant. Her hair was frizzier than usual but lacking its usual color and silkiness, it was rather dry and stiff like an old broom. She'd shed several pounds this year, losing her usual feminine curviness; there were dark circles beneath her eyes and her clothes… All she wore was shapeless sweaters, jackets and old corduroys or jeans. She frowned deeply, running a hand through her hair, failing to fix or smooth anything up there. Hermione was thirty-one years old but could very well pass for fifty. She'd never been the type of girl or woman to fuss about her appearance or care much for fashion, but after the war and graduation she had begun to dress with more femininity, wear the basics of make-up, like a lipstick once in a while as well as tend better to her curls, but now… When had she let herself go in such a way?

"Mummy, the clock says 8 o'clock!" Rose informed her several minutes later, already dressed in her uniform and clad in her thick white stockings.

"Umm, all right—you go find a comb and hair tie, darling, I'll get started on breakfast." Rose made a dash for the bathroom and Hermione toward the kitchen where she popped bread inside the toaster and turned and filled the electric kettle. With her wand she levitated the frying pan onto the stove, lit it, threw in a slice of butter and opened the refrigerator in search of two eggs. Upon finding and cracking them inside the pan she accioed the whisk to mix everything up and added a pinch of salt and a pinch of ground black pepper. When Rose appeared in the kitchen, she had the comb and hair tie in hand and set them on the table. "Grab your mug and your milk from the fridge, darling." Rose did as told and prepared her pink milk like her mummy had taught her, careful not to spill.

Hermione set the table and they ate in less of a hurry because Rose's school was just two blocks away.

…

By the time the Granger girls arrived at Rose's school they had successfully slipped her letter for Santa Claus in the post and Rosie was only two minutes late. She kissed her mum on the lips goodbye and ran along, welcomed inside by one of the teachers, and some other kids. Few things made Hermione prouder than seeing her daughter in the adorable red sweater of her uniform and wearing the blue plaid skirt, white stockings, and black buckled shoes. Her little girl was growing right before her eyes, and though it made Hermione happy to see Rose evolve into a beautiful, smart, clever and capable big girl, it made her a little bit sad as well, because time passed far too quickly for her liking.

Hermione walked back home taking the time to admire the clear blue of the sky after several days of non-stop raining. The trees lining the streets of row houses with, brick modern buildings here and there were all autumnal shades of red, orange and yellow and she was also surprised by how many shops and people had already hung up Christmas lights on their windows and were setting up their trees. It was a sight to behold, even in a brighter morning such as this one. She made a quick stop at the corner market and bought a few items missing at home and continued on her short way home.

The flat Hermione lived on was on the fourth and last level of a converted Georgian townhouse with bright yellow doors and window shutters that contrasted with the deep gray of the bricks and white of the window sills. Though technically her home was still considered Paddington neighborhood, she was much closer to the canals of Little Venice, just a few streets over with its lines of colorful boats. It had become quite up and coming and even expensive, this little part of town, but when her parents moved here in the seventies it was very much middle and working class and things had definitely been a bit more run down than they were now.

Hermione loved it here and loved the fact that most of her neighbors were the same ones of her girlhood. She loved knowing about everything and every place in her surroundings—even though she was often caught by surprise, like the fact that the place she and her parents would go to rent movies, with its many shelves of videotapes and walls covered with posters was now a vegan restaurant and how the friendly local bookstore owner, Mr. Pierce, had passed away a few years prior and his shop had been sealed closed since. His children were all too busy with their families and different careers to go on with the bookshop but also hadn't the heart to sell the place that reminded them the most of their old dad. The 'For Rent' sign had been up and down the front of the shop for years—as though the very ghost of Mr. Pierce believed no commercial endeavor or person was suitable enough for his little place. No rent there had lasted for more than a couple of months, something Hermione's elderly downstairs neighbor, Mrs. Grant had told her once.

Finally, she arrived at her building and caught sight of one of her neighbors looking out of the window and waving at her. Hermione waved back and pulled her key from her pocket, making her way inside the old elevator with its gold painted manual doors. She pressed the button to her floor and upon arrival was quite surprised to see her front door wide open, music floating into the hallway. Her brows furrowed and she pulled her wand out of her back jeans pocket, making her way inside as discreetly as possible to spot her invader. When her brown eyes fell on the image of Harry Potter clumsily dancing to the music in the middle of her living room, tape covering the edges of the moldings and panels and her furniture covered with old blankets she couldn't help but laugh. She laughed so much her sides ached and she dropped her groceries on the floor. Harry turned to look at her, a goofy grin on his face as he held out a large fan-like paper pallet.

"It's painting day, Granger!" Hermione regained her composure, her cheeks a bright pink and her brown eyes looking more alive to Harry than they had in a long time. She groaned dramatically and covered her face with her hands, shaking her head. Harry pulled her hands gently down and handed her the pallets. "Choose the colors, come on!" He urged and Hermione bit her bottom lip as she usually did when a bit nervous.

She examined the colors for a moment until she got to a light beige shade and an equally subdued gray. Upon pointing to the colors it was Harry's turn to groan and he pulled the pallets from her hands.

"Oh, bloody hell Hermione—NO boring colors!" he emphasizes loudly. "If you make me paint your walls beige, I'll never step foot here again."

"You prat!" She slapped his arms and gave him a playful push before he held her by both wrists and looked into her eyes. "They are not boring colors, Harry."

"But they're not nice or pretty either. I think what you need is color, 'Mione—and I'm far from being any sort of expert. Look, it's Christmas season, you're living with a six-year-old, your furniture is mostly neutral—you can afford some color to make this place represent your personality, to make it brighter and younger like you are."

"What would you suggest then?" Harry smiled mischievously.

"Red—it's your second favorite color… It's very Gryffindor, and it'll look beautiful against all of the white wood, panels and fireplace in your living room."

"Since when have you become an interior decorator?" She teased, shaking her head. Harry rolled his eyes at her antics and showed her the different reds in the pallet. In the end, after his insistence that she point her finger to the one that looked the prettiest her finger landed on 'cherry red', it was still bright, but also a bit subdued and deeper in its red hue. "Cherry red." She whispered, still unsure of herself and this wild choice. Harry smiled and let go of her arms to pull three cans of paint from underneath the table, where they'd been hidden from sight behind the tablecloth.

He spread out newspaper on the floor and opened the can with his wand, careful not to make a mess. When Hermione peered in to look at the color it was, without a shadow of doubt, the exact color she had just picked.

"Harry—" She said with a pause, staring at him, eyes gleaming with curiosity, "Did you transfigure the paint in the can into the one I chose without me noticing, just now?" Harry chuckled and shook his head.

"I had an inkling this would be your choice—it's the exact shade of that dress you wore at Bill and Fleur's wedding…"

"You remembered that?" Harry shrugged and then nodded sheepishly.

"You also have a journal that color, the one you always carry with you." Hermione was quite taken aback by Harry's words. She had never quite imagined him to pay so much attention to the things she wore and such, not when half the time she herself didn't pay attention.

"But the halls and everything else will be Platinum gray, all right?" Harry smiled and opened the second can, it wasn't exactly platinum gray but it was similar enough.

"I figured it'd be this or beige, and thank Merlin it's not beige." Hermione rolled her eyes and huffed, but Harry couldn't be fooled.

"So, shall we paint, my fair lady?" Hermione used her wand to get her groceries stored in their proper places in the kitchen and rolled up her sleeve.

"Oh, bugger off, Harry!" His laughter was infectious.

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