The whole house has long been decorated for the upcoming holidays. Bill placed a huge ceiling-high Christmas tree next to the fireplace, which he carefully watched and watered if needed. Hermione joyfully took out all the decorations from the attic that they had managed to collect during this time. She also got a few boxes from her parents years ago.
He remembered what a fantastic feeling it was to hang baubles on the Christmas tree with her once again. Each place was carefully planned to create, at the end, a symphony of perfection.
Bill knew Hermione loved harmony, loved to plan everything and for everyone. Her day had to have tasks arranged together like puzzles.
The holidays were just such a time that she had been waiting impatiently for the whole year. As soon as December started, the house was swarming with ornaments, cinnamon-scented candles and warm, white lights.
And this year's holidays would be even more magical than previous ones. Until now, two red and yellow socks with the H and B logos were hung on the fireplace. This year, an additional pair was hung - a sock, much smaller than theirs, with a small heart embroidered on it.
Everything was going so well, as planned. Christmas tree, decorations, baubles, socks on the fireplace…
In December, Hermione entered her second trimester and they decided to announce the happy news to the whole family. They agreed it would be best to inform everyone at Christmas breakfast. Until then, they decided to keep the information a secret.
Hermione realized she should slow down and not work like crazy at the Ministry anymore. Bill kept telling her that too, telling her to take better care of herself. She just nodded her head and smiled and said she would. Starting tomorrow.
And tomorrow still wasn't coming.
It finally showed up. As brutal today.
A few days before Christmas Eve, Hermione remembered leaving the Ministry, then —- darkness fell. She only regained consciousness in the hospital, although it was strange, because she was standing next to the hospital bed, watching everything more as an outside observer.
The first thing she noticed was Bill's pale face, staring down at her, the one lying on the bed, with undisguised terror. His eyes were like an open book to her and she saw in them all the worst emotions that were hidden deep in the soul. Additionally, he was holding her hand tightly, as if she was about to go disappear.
And she hadn't left, no , she was lying there, looking up at him. She reached out and wanted to touch him, but then she realized… This is what dying looks like.
A dozen or so seconds later, everything was just a blur.
The room was dim, only the remnants of burned out candles smoldered on the table. There was silence, but in that silence he could hear his own heartbeat. Huge tears were running down his cheeks, he didn't even try to wipe them off.
His face was white in the reflection of the mirror - no - he was actually cadaverous. The image seemed blurry, with no clear edges. He blinked a few times and looked at his reflection again and saw the void. A vast desert of despair. He lowered his head and leaned against the sink.
His hands were shaking, vibrating against the cold porcelain, and he couldn't control them. The ring on his ring finger blurred like that hated face in the mirror. He fell into uncontrollable spasms and began to laugh hysterically.
In an instant, it felt as if control of his own body had been taken away in the hospital and had not been returned until now. As if someone had ripped some important piece out of his heart - even two - and left it to slowly bleed out.
If the problem was a bleeding hand, a patch could be applied. But how to stick a plaster on a heart torn from grief and pain? How to measure the suffering of a person who had everything, only to have nothing after a while.
Nobody.
A shattered whisky bottle, shards of glass on the carpet, and a darkness engulfing his soul.
It was all now, today, at his fingertips. Completely trivial, unimportant, petty things.
His gaze shifted to the fireplace, on which all three socks still hung, and he felt his heart tighten and sank. The weight of all events fell on his shoulders. Bill shivered as he walked over to the fireplace and with trembling hands removed all three socks. There would be no holidays this year. Not in this house.
Maybe someday, maybe tomorrow.
In fact, he wanted tomorrow to come and cover today with shroud. Once and for all.