***Here's chapter 3! Thank you guys so much for your comments and input. I hope you enjoy this next bit, although it's a little shorter than I was hoping. I am in a hurry, though, to get the story on an exciting track. If you have suggestions, suggest them! If you have questions, then ask! Your input is what helps this story get better, so please PLEASE let me know what you think. I am always open to new ideas. Thanks!***
Christmas Eve came in a flurry of fat snowflakes. Hermione had had a nearly peaceful holiday from her troubles, if one didn't count Mr. Weasley's snake attack. He was yet to come home from St. Mungo's, but he was doing fine, thanks in large part to Harry's unnerving new ability. It seemed as though everyone was settling themselves back into their routines with the Order.
Hermione worried, of course, about how Harry was able to cope with Dumbledore's determination to keep him at arm's length during all of this. Her best friend was surly and irritable, and had taken recently to closing himself off from his friends as a way of sorting himself out, she assumed. Seclusion, in Hermione's eyes, was a terrible weapon. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named must have known that this would happen if Harry was adamant with the public about His return. That's why she had elected to stay with the Order this year over break. Skiing wasn't her favorite activity, and her parents had seemed to understand well enough that she was overwhelmed with her studies and needed the holiday to prepare. At least that's what she'd told them.
A heavy sigh escaped her as she shifted her position on the sofa in the library wing that had become her refuge. Most of the Christmas celebrating was happening elsewhere in the headquarters, but Hermione was content to submerge herself in her studies. O.W.L.s were nothing to take lightly, she knew, even if everyone else had put their exams on the backburner for the time being.
A knock sounded from the hallway just outside the library door, and Hermione looked up to see Ginny strolling in. She had a new Weasley sweater on, emblazoned with a large letter 'G' on the front.
"Not in the mood for Christmas this year?" she asked curiously.
Hermione shook her head and closed her Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5, setting it aside. "No," she answered with a guilty look at her friend. "It doesn't feel like this is it. I don't feel like I've had the time this year to enjoy myself."
"I know what you mean," Ginny answered. Hermione looked up at her and trailed her gaze into the open doorway of the drawing room where Harry was hanging bulbs on the Christmas tree Mundungus had procured for them. Ron, Lupin, and Tonks could also be seen standing around laughing and talking, but Hermione knew that it was Harry she was looking at by the way her brows were knitted together. It seemed as though Hermione wasn't the only one with someone occupying her thoughts. The holiday had been handy in lifting everyone's spirits for the time being, but both girls were aware that its effects wouldn't be lasting.
"We should at least try," Hermione resolved. "Harry needs a little Christmas joy. And so does Sirius."
"I think we all do," Ginny agreed.
That evening was a bustle of activity. Songs were being sang (rather loudly on Sirius's end), fresh pies were pulled from the oven every hour by Mrs. Weasley, and presents were already being exchanged by those Order members coming and going from the Grimmauld Place. Hermione found herself easily distracted by the whirlwind of people, food, stories, and laughter that filled the house after indulging in a glass of Firewhiskey.
She hadn't meant to make a habit of drinking, but one or two glasses over the holidays didn't make her a drunkard, she reasoned. Small tumblers of the golden liquid were being freely passed by Sirius and Tonks, and in whose hands they ended up could be anyone's guess.
Her cheeks were flushed with color and her eyes shone bright with the laughter as the twins joined together in a lively dance while everyone sang and clapped along.
It took Hermione a while to let herself relax, and admittedly, she hadn't thought once about Umbridge's educational decrees or Dumbledore's Army, or anything of that sort all night. It was far too difficult to find room in her mind for such worries while sitting in a room full of merriment and high spirits.
Before long, Mrs. Weasley had ushered Ginny up to bed and the twins had slipped out to do Merlin-knows-what. Ron and Harry sat discussing Quidditch on the sofa in the drawing room by the Christmas tree, and the rest of the company were scattered amongst the kitchen, picking at the hors d'oeuvres set out on the dining table or helping themselves to more drinks.
Hermione considered calling it a night, and had just stood up from her cozy seat by the fireplace when Sirius made his way over to her side. He set down his drink on a nearby table and slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers.
"It's so much more bearable being cooped up in here when everyone else is too," he said cheerily, without his usual sarcasm.
Hermione nodded in agreement, sipping from her tumbler and taking in the cozy atmosphere. It looked as though, despite her objections to Sirius's inclusion of Harry in their Order discussions, Mrs. Weasley had taken the time to knit him a scarf. It was swirled fashionably around his neck in an explosion of silver, green, and black. Hermione smirked.
"I think Molly is stereotyping," he said, lifting an end of it and letting it fall again. He joined her in laughing and picked up his glass from the table, taking a large gulp. "I really am appreciative of what you and the others have done to transform this place," he said casually. "It's almost worth making new memories here now."
Hermione drained her glass and glanced at Sirius's changed expression. "You haven't any memories worth recalling?"
He shook his head a little sadly and shrugged. "The best times of my life were spent with James when I was able to leave home. It was escaping, in essence, and I don't know that I ever regretted that."
"I wish it were that easy for me," Hermione said before she could stop herself. "I don't regret being friends with Ron and Harry, but it's hard sometimes. They can face it head on- the mysteries and danger- whereas I…" she sighed, "I want to run screaming some days. I don't feel like I'm allowed to show that part of me. Not while I'm supposed to be the brightest witch of my age."
It was a while that they stood in silence, watching their company slowly make his or her way towards the door to leave. Hermione thought that perhaps she had come off too strong in her honesty, or that maybe he took her words to be the prattling of an angsty teen. She held her crystal glass between her fingers, watching the way the glow from the fire shone through its many decorative facets.
She didn't notice Sirius's eyes trained on her, a thoughtful look on his face. Embarrassment colored her cheeks and had her gaze fixed solidly on the embroidered carpet beneath their feet. Suddenly Hermione felt as though she'd just handed over her diary for Sirius to leaf through.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly, setting her glass down and avoiding eye contact. "I should be off to bed."
Sirius smiled politely and lifted a hand as though to wave goodbye, but Hermione had already turned and moved quickly to the staircase. Kingsley Shacklebolt moved to his side moments later to discuss Mr. Weasley's recovery progress, forcing the image of smooth, flushed skin from his mind.
