Chapter 15: Patrice's Problem
Christmas morning arrived. Hermoine tore through her presents from her Hogwarts friends. Ron had sent her six chocolate frogs, which she quickly stashed under her bed, and a framed picture of Crookshanks. His tail swished, the result of the magic photograph. Harry had sent her the "Big Book of Wizarding Legends. . . .from the Phoenix Order to the Zadu-Lan Curse!". There were about forty stories, ranging from twenty to fourty pages. It was fatter then her Potions text book, and that was saying something! Hermoine pushed all her presents under her bed, except Hagrid's fruitcake. This she would throw out. She enjoyed Hagrid, but his cooking was rather. . . iffy for her liking.
Hermoine headed downstairs. It was still dark, but golden beams of sunlight were starting to chase away the last of the night. Hermoine plugged in the Christmas tree lights, and started the kettle. She prepared the tea, and waited for the screech of the kettle to call her parent downstairs.
She didn't have to wait long. Her parents were eager to start opening gifts. It had been a long time since Hermoine had sat with her parents to open gifts. She had to admit how much she missed being with them. She missed Ron and Harry terribly, but with her parents it was different. She hadn't even been aware of what she was missing.
Hermoine's hand paused over the last parcel. It was big, and square, almost as long as her arm span. The card was addressed to Hermoine in unrecognizable handwriting. The wrapping paper was a beautiful golden colour that caught the rays of sunlight and sparkled like crystals. Hermoine ripped the tape, trying not to tear the gorgeous paper.
It nearly fell out of her hands as Hermoine lifted up the gift. It was a painting, almost perfectly life-like, framed with a golden frame. It was a family portrait. Hermoine stood between her two parents, a shy smile on her face. Her mother and father beamed in the picture. Her father wore a navy blue suit, and her mother a long, sweeping navy blue gown. Hermoine's gown was a soft wine coloured gown with a v-neck.
Her father lifted the painting out of Hermoine's hands.
"It's absolutely gorgeous," he whispered. "We must get this hung. Who could have done this splendid thing?"
"Patrice!" Hermoine suddenly realized. "Only Patrice has that kind of skill."
"How could she have done such a life-like portrait in only two days?" her mother wondered aloud. Hermoine silently wondered that as well.
They all took their gifts to their rooms. Hermoine felt suddenly guilty when she realized that she had not given as nice of a gift to Patrice. She had bought her art supplies, four new brushes, some new wizard's paint and a small set of old fashioned water-based paints. Patrice's gift seemed to be much more from the heart.
The telephone rang as Hermoine came down the stairs. She heard her father answer it.
"Oh, that's terrible," her father's voice exclaimed. Hermoine looked up in surprise. She hoped nothing was wrong. "Yes, I'll be right over. No one should be alone today."
Hermoine heard her father shut the door.
"Who was that, mum?" Hermoine asked. Her mother shrugged.
"I hope nothing is wrong with Mr. Tammer next door," her mother added as an afterthought. Mr. Tammer was an elderly man who lived alone. His relatives usually came on the holidays, but Hermoine hadn't seen the car out front.
The door came open. Hermoine gave a gasp. Patrice was being lead in by her father.
"Thank you, Mr. Granger," Patrice said softly. She looked like she had been crying. Hermoine went over to the other girl.
"Are you alright, Patrice?" Hermoine asked. Patrice nodded, but her eyes were filling with tears. Hermoine knew she was not alright.
"Come on up to my room, Patrice," Hermoine coaxed. Patrice nodded, letting her coat drop to the ground.
Hermoine looked Patrice up and down. She shut her bedroom door, and locked it.
"What's wrong, Patrice," Hermoine asked softly.
"My mother-" Patrice began to sob. She put her head on Hermoine's shoulder, and began to wail. "She's missing!" Hermoine held Patrice close.
"Oh, Patrice, I'm sorry." Patrice continued to sob quietly.
She reached onto her shelf, and pulled off a stuffed rabbit. The ears were loopy, and the fur wasn't fuzzy anymore in some places. Hermoine pressed her beloved toy into her friend's arms.
"Take Mr. Fuzzy Wuzzy," Hermoine urged. "He helped me through my Grandmother dying, and he'll help you get through this. Your mother will be fine." Patrice sniffed. Hermoine handed her friend a tissue.
"Thanks, Hermoine," she croaked. Her voice was still charged with tears. "You have no idea what this means to me."
"Any good friend would stand by you."
"You can't tell the others," Patrice whispered. "Please. I don't want people to talk about me."
"Maybe she'll be found by then," Hermoine replied hopefully. Patrice nodded woodenly.
"I'll be back, Patrice, armed with hot chocolate and my mum's ginger bread cookies. How does that sound?" Patrice smiled tearfully.
"I could use some comfort food right about now," she admitted.
"Okay then. You stay here, and tell Mr Fuzzy Wuzzy all about your problems. It helps, believe me. Then, I'll be back with the comfort food."
