Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition Season 8 Round 9
Position: Chaser 1
Optional Prompts: (colour) lime green, (word) eternity, (location) The Burrow
Word Count: 1,416
The Christmas Eve of 1998 seemed to arrive earlier than the previous years. The aroma of Molly Weasley's excellent cooking hung in the Burrow's kitchen, Celestina Warbeck was warbling out of the wireless, and the Weasleys plus Harry and Hermione were all clustered around the house doing different things.
Ron, George and Ginny were playing Exploding Snap at the kitchen table, Mr Weasley was examining a diagram of a spark-plug, Bill was sending an owl to the Ministry, and Fleur was helping Mrs Weasley with the cooking.
In the living room, Harry and Hermione were decorating a Christmas Tree.
"I brought as many decorations as I could," Hermione said, heaving a heavy box full of baubles, tinsel, and garland into Harry's arms.
Harry said nothing and set the box down on the ground with difficulty.
"Harry, are you feeling okay?" Hermione asked, scrutinizing him carefully. "You look a little pale."
"I'm fine, Hermione," Harry said, taking a shining bauble out of the box. "I was just thinking about Fred, Lupin, Tonks, Colin Creevey, and all the other people that died battling Voldemort."
"Harry, it's not your fault that they died the way they did," Hermione said quietly.
"Not my fault?" Harry said incredulously.
"Why yes, I do believe that not all is your wrong-doing," Hermione replied calmly, taking the bauble out of Harry's hands and hanging it on the tree.
"You don't believe?" Harry asked. "Hermione, if I had turned myself into Voldemort sooner, then they may still be here, enjoying Christmas like everyone else."
"Oh Harry," Hermione sighed, now draping tinsel over the tree, "I've said it many times before and so have Ron and Ginny, it's not your fault and you blame yourself for too many things."
"How do you know?" Harry demanded. "How do you know that the ones that died battling Voldemort agree with you? How do you know that they aren't angry with me?"
"The war was everyone's fight, Harry," Hermione said. "They were fighting for freedom from Voldemort's reign. They're definitely not angry with you. In fact, it's more likely that they are happy that the rest of the world can live a life without Voldemort."
"You don't understand," Harry said moodily, trailing golden bubbles along the tree with his wand. "Imagine how I feel, knowing that it's my fault that Tonks and Lupin and the others died because of me-"
"Harry," Hermione said exasperatedly, "If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, it's not your fault."
Harry opened his mouth to retort, but Hermione held a hand up to silence him.
"Harry, no one blames you. Voldemort is the one who is responsible. Tonks and Lupin and Fred and Colin and all the others didn't want to go, but I know with my heart that none of them would ever blame you for their death. And if anyone else does, well, I'll always be by your side, as a friend, for eternity. Like I've always been."
"Are you sure?" Harry asked, not daring to believe her.
"Quite sure," Hermione smiled, lifting the sparkling, golden star out of the box and topping the Christmas Tree with it.
They stood in silence for a few moments. Hermione gazed up at the tree in appreciation while Harry was lost in his thoughts.
"Dinner is ready!" Mrs Weasley announced. There was a sudden rush to the table as everyone sat down and began to eat.
"Wait!" Harry said as Hermione made to walk to the table. She stopped.
"Hermione, I'm still not fully convinced that I wasn't responsible for their deaths." Harry took a deep breath. "But thanks for being my friend through the hunt for the Horcruxes. And thanks for sticking by my side from first-year to now. And for always being there for me this year, even though Voldemort was after me and the Ministry had put a 10,000 Galleon price on my head."
Hermione hugged Harry tightly. "No problem," she said.
"Ouch, Hermione," Harry said, his voice muffled by the amount of Hermione's very bushy hair in his face.
"And that reminds me," Hermione said, her eyes twinkling as she released Harry. "I have an early Christmas present for you. I know that Christmas Day hasn't arrived yet, but you've had a tough year, and I think you deserve this present early."
She summoned a neatly wrapped box with her wand. The box zoomed towards her and she pushed it to Harry, who unwrapped it.
The wrappings fell open and revealed a pair of hand-knitted lime -green gloves.
Harry lifted them out of the box and held them in his hands. The wool was soft and fluffy. Hermione's knitting had certainly improved over time.
"Do you like them?' Hermione said nervously. "I knitted them myself."
"I don't like them," Harry said, grinning. "I love them"
Hermione beamed. "Thanks, Harry."
"Thank you, Hermione. This really cheered me up."
"No problem," Hermione said, as they walked to the dining table together. "Sometimes when you are feeling down you need your friends to cheer you up again."
Harry smiled at Hermione. She could be stubborn and bossy sometimes, but she was a great friend, and one of the few great friends that Harry had.
The village of Godric's Hollow sparkled with fairy lights and the twinkling stars hanging overhead. The smell of Christmas Pudding hung in the air, snow covered the ground like a soft, white blanket, and a carol started up inside the tiny church.
Everyone in the village was celebrating Christmas Eve. The festive atmosphere was contagious; it spread from one person to another, and laughter could be heard from miles around.
The Christmas cheer spread to everyone except for Harry Potter.
Harry walked to the graveyard with difficulty, leaning heavily on his walking stick.
He was probably the only person in the Wizarding World who was spending Christmas in a graveyard, but Harry did not care. He found the gravestone he was looking for without much trouble, for it was made out of white marble that almost glowed in the darkness and contrasted with row upon row of grey stone.
Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley
19 September 1979 - 16 April 2070
'Only true friends will leave footprints in your heart'
Harry knelt down next to the stone as much as his back would permit him to. He pulled up his hand-knitted, lime green gloves that Hermione had given to him all those Christmases ago, shivering as the bitter winter wind blew about wildly. Harry grasped a bit of the marble stone, knowing that Hermione's remains laid under the layer of thick snow and cold earth that he was standing on now. His mind knew that his friend was gone, but a part of him, a part close to his heart, did not want to believe it.
Harry drew his wand out from his robes and moved it in a circular motion in the air. It was a spell that he had learnt from Hermione. A flower wreath appeared. He caught it and laid it on the tombstone.
As Harry stared at the spot where the flowers now lay, memories of Hermione flooding his mind. He saw her lecturing him and Ron on the importance of homework, he saw her appointing him as secretary of S.P.E.W and Ron as the collector, he saw her tapping a homework planner. He saw her handing him lime-green gloves for Christmas.
Harry felt hot tears sliding down his face, and he didn't bother wiping them off. He drew something else from the pocket of his robes, a book about friendship, and laid it down next to the flower wreath.
"Happy Christmas, Hermione," Harry said, the tears still sliding freely down his face. "I hope you like the book."
And as he walked out of the graveyard and through the gate, he came to a conclusion.
His mind knew that his friend was gone, his heart did not want to believe it, but both his mind and his heart agreed on something. He and Hermione would be friends for eternity, no matter what.
fin