Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter, the characters, the settings, and the details are not my own. J.K Rowling holds the rights to these wonderful things, and I am in awe of her talent. I own only my original characters, and of those there are not many.
Chapter Seven: Happy Christmas Harry
"Ask him who his mother is. He'll declare the birds/ have eaten the path home, but each of us/ joins night's ongoing story/ wherever night overtakes him,/ the heart astonished to find belonging/ and thanks answering thanks." –Li-Young Lee
Harry stood motionless for several moments. In those moments the mood in the room shifted dramatically from one of high joviality to extreme apprehension. McGonagall's tight lips had become almost non-existent, Luna seemed oblivious but beside her Neville was wringing his hands, Hagrid's smile was dying slowly, and Ron and Hermione looked angry and tense respectively. Harry wasn't sure if he should simply walk out, or hit Snape in the face first and then walk out. A long-fingered hand landed on the back of his neck, and carefully turned his face to Neruda.
The girl had stepped back against the wall, and was tightly holding her own elbows as she stared at the floor. She looked like she was on the verge of tears, and her lip trembled for just a moment before she caught it in her teeth. Harry's anger dissipated, as he realized this wasn't Snape's idea at all. He took a deep breath, and then put his hand on Neruda's shoulders and waited for her to lift her eyes to him. Once he had eye contact he stated, in as enthusiastic a voice as possible, "I'm sorry. This is a wonderful surprise. I just wasn't expecting it."
At this, as if a floodgate had broken open the majority of the crowd across the room surged forward. Ron and Hermione stayed behind controlling their expressions carefully, and Snape stepped around Harry wordlessly and took Neruda's hand and led her into the kitchen. Hagrid got to Harry first, and his hug was hard enough to crack ribs. "Missed ya 'Arry! So much!" Hagrid released Harry into the arms of his former head of house.
McGonagall hugged Harry once, almost as tightly as Hagrid had, before pinching his ear hard. Harry was recoiling and reaching for the wounded ear as McGonagall pulled him into another hug. "Young man, we have been so worried about you. You should have kept in touch."
McGonagall gave way to Neville and Luna, and Harry accepted Luna's light hug gratefully, before shaking Neville's hand. "Harry," Luna dreamily stated, "I brought extra radishes to keep the Nargles away. To make sure this evening went perfectly. The mistletoe and all. I also missed you very much."
Harry took all of these comments and hugs with as much grace as he could muster. He knew he looked like a twat, but he had been completely unprepared to face the very people he had been avoiding for so long. He made several lame excuses, gave more hugs, and then excused himself towards the kitchen. On the way he finally came even with Ron and Hermione, and here he stopped on his own. He knew Hermione must have known about this the other day, and that it was the reason she hadn't brought the holidays up. He wanted to resent her for not warning him, but he knew why she hadn't. He hugged her tightly, and all the tension went out of her body. He turned to Ron, opened his mouth to speak, and instead hugged Ron as well. Then he stepped through the kitchen door.
On the other side Snape was crouched down in front of Neruda with his arms wrapped around her. He looked up at Harry silently for a moment before standing and pushing her forwards to face Harry. There were no tears in her eyes now, but she looked like she was about to face a firing squad. Harry had never felt like a bigger tit in his whole life. He made sure he spoke first, "I was just expecting your father and yourself. You don't know why I haven't seen the majority of the people out there since the war, and you shouldn't. I've been a right idiot, and you've made me take a step towards not being an idiot tonight. I appreciate it even if I reacted badly. Please, come out and have dinner with my other friends?" Harry offered his hand to her, and slowly Neruda took it.
His eyes met Snape's for just a moment, and he saw a variety of emotions there ranging from apprehension to relief. Harry was fairly sure he knew why and he marveled at Snape's generosity allowing people who had hated him so much into his home for Harry and Neruda's sake. If Snape could put aside his issues for an evening Harry would be damned if he couldn't.
The tense beginning of the dinner was soon forgotten. The food was incredible, and the company was intoxicating. Harry eventually forgot all about his years of self-imposed exile as he easily fell into the conversations. Hagrid caught him up on three years' worth of creature collecting, and told him all about the rebuilding of Hogwarts after the war. Luna told stories about the many explorations she and her father had been making, and the work they had been doing with the Quibbler to raise awareness of the many undiscovered species that still existed. McGonagall talked about the restructuring of Hogwarts classes, and then told a rather humorous story regarding Snape's first year teaching and a group of first years that mistakenly thought he was a patient man. During the course of this story Harry watched Snape very carefully. Harry knew from stories the extent of Snape's treatment during his time as Hogwarts Headmaster, and he knew just how difficult things had been between Snape and McGonagall. He wondered briefly how the conversation that led to Snape teaching part-time had gone.
Hermione and Ron shared their own stories, and then when it came to Harry he hesitantly talked about his literary career. The pressure of conversation, as Neruda moved in between guests gracefully dropping off deserts, turned on Snape. Harry waited with almost baited breath to see if the man would take up his portion of the reunion. Instead of talking Snape stood and offered a pitiful excuse of needing to retrieve more wine. He disappeared through the kitchen door and Neruda took her seat quietly.
The conversation lapsed for a few moments, before Hermione turned to Neruda and smiled broadly. "You have to solve a mystery for me. Ever since Harry told me your name I've been wondering, are you named after the poet?"
Harry looked at Hermione in confusion, and with disappointment clearly evident she stated, "You didn't read the book I gave you did you? I told you that you should." Behind Hermione Ron was giving Harry a look of sympathetic encouragement. It was like being in school all over. Neruda saved him from further lecturing by cutting in.
"Yes. He is one of my father's favorite poets, and consequently one of mine. I know a good deal of his work by heart."
"Would you recite some?" Hermione asked, beaming on Neruda like she was the star student of the class. McGonagall seemed ready to interfere, but Neruda began to recite first. Her voice was clear and steady, but Harry felt the sadness behind it as she began to recite. He heard the kitchen door swing quietly open as Snape re-entered the room.
"We have lost even this twilight.
No one saw us this evening hand in hand
while the blue night dropped on the world.
I have seen from my window
the fiesta of sunset in the distant mountain tops.
Sometimes a piece of sun
burned like a coin in my hand.
I remembered you with my soul clenched
in that sadness of mine that you know.
Where were you then?
Who else was there?
Saying what?
Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly
when I am sad and feel you are far away?
The book fell that always closed at twilight
and my blue sweater rolled like a hurt dog at my feet.
Always, always you recede through the evenings
toward the twilight erasing statues."
Harry's eyes stayed locked on Snape as Neruda recited, and he was amazed to see that same range of quickly-flitting emotions cross the man's face. There was pain, an incredible amount of pain, and an almost equal amount of concern mixed in with tenderness and affection. Before the next to last stanza Snape's eyes moved to Harry's, and he let the emotions stay plain on his face for another few seconds before recomposing himself. He clapped along with the rest of the room, and Neruda thanked them.
After dinner the majority of the guests left through the front door. Luna and Neville both gave Harry hugs, Hagrid once again crushed Harry to him before extracting a promise that Harry would visit Hogwarts. McGonagall gave him a long look before taking him into her arms and saying she would see him again. Hermione and Ron announced that they would be staying the night, and leaving for the Burrow in the morning. Everyone said goodnight, and the Weasleys headed for the study where Snape had transfigured them a bed. Neruda quietly led Harry upstairs to the guest bedroom. In all his time at Snape's house Harry had never been upstairs, and he was more prepared for the onslaught of pictures of Snape and his daughter that awaited him here. The guest room was tastefully furnished, and Harry was pleased to see it was painted in a soothing blue-green and had a window looking out into the snowy woods.
"Neruda, before you go, I want to thank you again for tonight. I needed this."
She gave him a long and piercing look, one that reminded him again that she was not your average twelve-year-old, before she responded. "Mr. Potter-"
"Please, you have to start calling me Harry."
She hesitated for a moment before responding. "Harry…Happy Christmas Harry."
After the door had closed Harry dropped onto the bed, staring at the bag that Snape had sent up to the room earlier. He had finally reconnected with the world he had abandoned, and it had felt good. When he had walked into that room the first thought in his head was that Snape, Snape of all people, was meddling in his life the way so many others always had. In a way it was still meddling that Neruda had done, but it had come not from a belief she knew better than Harry, but simple love.
She had argued with her father to bring his closest friends together inside his house, and Harry didn't believe for a moment it had been anything but an argument. She had gone to who knows how much trouble to get in contact with people Harry hadn't seen in three years, and then cooked a gigantic meal to feed and entertain all of them. She had done it because she wanted to give Harry the best gift she could, and she honestly had.
Harry knew it wasn't the fault of his friends that the burden of saving the world had been put on his shoulders, and he knew that they missed him, but he just didn't know what to say to them. What had been simply a few months of private time had spanned into years. The mixture of resentment and guilt made it so hard for Harry to put himself out there in trying to reconnect with them that he had simply never taken the chance, and here Neruda came making the whole thing as simple as possible.
There was a quiet knock at the door, and when Harry answered it Snape stood in the hallway looking incredibly uncomfortable. "Potter. My daughter is not the only one to blame for not telling you there would be a large group tonight. If it caused you unpleasantness then I am sorry."
Harry was so flabbergasted by the apology that for a moment he couldn't respond. Finally he replied, "Listen Snape, I was angry at first. I won't disagree with that, but it was a good thing. I'm really thankful actually. To both of you."
"I know that it was…hard for you to approach them after the war. Sometimes when we let old connections go it is more difficult to pick them back up again. It would be good for you to have support from people that love you, but it is ultimately your choice what you do."
Harry couldn't help himself. He smiled, and briefly he touched Snape's hand, "I'm very glad the two of you have invited me into your family for the holidays. There's nowhere else I'd rather be."
With this Snape nodded, and turned rapidly to swoop down the hallway to a door near the stairs. Harry shook his head, some things never changed.
In the morning Harry met Hermione in the hallway. She was headed towards the kitchen, and she looked pale and drawn. "Morning sickness." She said shortly, and followed him towards the kitchen where Harry could smell breakfast cooking already. "Does she always wake up this early?" Hermione asked as Harry pushed the door open.
Harry was about the answer yes when he saw Neruda standing in front of the stove in sleep pants and a tank top. Her back from below her neck to the line of the small shirt was heavily scarred and the scarring traveled across her shoulders and down her arms to her elbows, and Harry felt the cheery words he had been about the speak die in his mouth as his fists clenched shut tightly. He had never seen her in anything that didn't cover her up to the neck and down to her forearms. Neruda turned around, and Harry saw that above the neckline of the tank top there was a tattoo on Neruda's chest composed of Greek symbols. Beside him Hermione gasped, and grasped onto the doorframe.
"That word. You're… You're the oracle!"
