A/N: Revised - 4/04/2020.
AWF
Tom doesn't care for Christmas. Well, he doesn't really care for holidays in general, really. The orphanage doesn't have enough money to make a special occasion out of any of them, so it's just another cold, miserable day with the addition of people with better lives joining in on the festivities outside of the orphanage. It seems to be a common thing for younger children to watch it all from the windows, wishing for a family to celebrate with.
(Before she appeared in his dreams, did he do the same?)
Some of the older kids ̶ (the ones who have yet to lose their hope for the world) ̶ try to make it a happier evening for themselves and/or the younger ones. They try to find solidarity in their shared statuses as the unwanted. Which works, depending on which child they go to. Tom, of course, has ignored their attempts to include him multiple times over the years and they've learned to leave him alone. (It also helps that he scares them.)
Now, however, he spends his holidays at Hogwarts, enjoying the quiet of the castle as only a handful of students tend to remain. But Tom still doesn't actually care for Christmas. With the change in environment and his choice to associate with pure-bloods who have all these unspoken rules, there's an obligation to exchange gifts with even acquaintances. It's polite. But it's also a touch difficult when he's essentially poor.
"I've figured it out," he told her with a slight smirk. (Was it his second year?) "I can deal with the condescending behaviour so long as I don't have to send unnecessary gifts."
Whenever the Grangers go to France to visit Theia's side of the family ̶ (Matthias rarely talks about his relatives) ̶ Hem sees the flicker of envy in his eyes when she tells him about it. It's unspoken that it annoys him on some level; how she has parents that can take her to France whenever they please. It only takes a few hours to travel between countries via various methods of transportation, but in Tom's case, it's not even an option for him. Hogwarts is his only escape.
But family gatherings aren't an escape for her ̶ (she can easily admit that she dislikes them) ̶ so the annoyance is usually discarded quickly.
It's not surprising that Hem isn't all that partial to holidays, either. Christmas, especially. (Does her birthday, whenever that is, count?) Christmas involves presents, after all. (It's always an effective way of making the guilt that's rotting in her bones burn like acid.) There's an expectation for gratitude ̶ (she can't feel that) ̶ and it's only sometimes when she's able to say her thanks ̶ (it's a lie, she's lying) ̶ because it's more common for her to just remain silent.
(Sorry. She knows they're trying. They mean well. But she doesn't care.)
Myles and Juliane ̶ (her grandparents?) ̶ are always nice about it. It's almost annoying ̶ (more people to feel concern over her existence) ̶ how considerate they are. Iris ̶ (Theia's sister, is that it?) ̶ and her family ̶ (the husband, the three children; is she missing anyone?) ̶ however, aren't as accommodating. Hem feels nothing in regards to the rude remarks, but it's always a point of tension because her parents don't appreciate being subtly insulted.
"Vraiment? She still isn't fixed?" questions Iris, who waves her hand in Hem's direction. Which is at the dining table, where she's doodling absently. "I thought the magical people would've done something by now, non? And your eldest still has buck teeth. Aren't you and your husband dentists, Theia? Why aren't they gone? I'd have gotten rid of them immediately if my little girl had them."
Theia glares down at the cutting board, a shiny knife in her hand as she cuts the vegetables with too much force. "Ce n'est pas si facile," is her terse reply. She neglects to say anything more.
Hem has to swim through her thoughts to remember why her parents do this all the time; putting up with the criticisms about all the Granger family's individual ̶ (or collective, depending) ̶ imperfections. It's not fun ̶ (she assumes) ̶ for anyone to be questioned about why they aren't perfect. Theia and Matthias don't even try to respond in the same manner, which is to target the children and blame their faults on the parents. It's petty and it would hurt their niece and nephews' self-esteem ̶ (even if they have inflated egos, kind of like Draco) ̶ if they were to do that. Iris seems to be unaware about that particular fact.
But then she eventually sees that, in the end, they're family. Despite it all. Iris and Theia love each other in their own ways. They grew up together, after all. Bonded as siblings would normally bond. (Why can't she have that?) It's not readily apparent, and the delivery is usually rude, but Iris wants her sister to be happy. Of course, how can she be happy when her daughters aren't perfect? When one is a bookworm with buck teeth, the other a mentally ill mute, and they're both witches?
"Iris was always fond of magic as a child," Theia chuckled over the sound of liquid being poured into a glass. Hem was hidden behind something ̶ (a wall?) ̶ trying to listen to the woman's voice rather than the ringing. "I think… Je ne sais pas, I could be mistaken… But I think she questions why Hemera and Hermione were chosen and her children weren't. Why we weren't."
Yes, Hem thinks. She doesn't care much for holidays at all.
. . .
. . .
Hem and Hermione are the first ones to wake up on Christmas day. It's just as well, it'd be chaos with their cousins awake since they'd try to play with the owls and some of them bite. That would then lead to Iris getting offended and demanding death in French while all the other adults try to de-escalate the situation.
The first avian to arrive is a horned owl that looks half-deranged with its one twitchy eye. It stares into her soul before she offers it some of her croissant.
"Oh, it's from Sally-Anne," says Hermione. The appearance of the owl makes sense, now. "It seems she's given us some…" Hermione squints at the two objects before blinking in surprise. "Are these magical versions of a Walkman? Oh, that's wonderful! I shouldn't be surprised that her family would be able to figure out how to convert muggle devices. Maybe they'll work at Hogwarts, like the radios. Wouldn't that be nice, Hem?"
Depends on the music, honestly. And the volume. And whether or not she'd be able to deal with surprises that'll pop up on her because she won't be able to hear anything else. (It seems like a bad idea.)
There's a letter with the gifts; one with a suspicious smudge that looks like dried blood. Glitter piles into her lap when she unfolds it, prompting Hem to stare down at the mess and wonder about the purpose of it all. But her question is answered when the glitter apparently comes to life and rises above the two sisters so that it can sprinkle back down. All over the two of them.
Hem tries not to let the overly bright glimmers in her peripheral bother her while she reads.
Dear Hemera and Hermione,
Happy Christmas! Please, ignore the red stain on the letter. My cousin ̶ do you remember the unicorn one? His name is Cornel ̶ was trying to read my letter and I was not pleased about that, so I tried to get him to shoo, but he stabbed me in the hand with his unicorn horn! Little arsehole. I punched him in the nose, so rest assured; I got my revenge.
I suppose I could've removed the blood, but I thought it added character. Don't you think?
Anyway, I'm fine. Let me tell you a story, yeah?
I was wondering what to get the both of you for Christmas; maybe books and a knife? But I was walking in London with Weston, Easton and Harper ̶ the latter two go to Durmstrang and Easton's Weston's fraternal twin ̶ when I saw people walking with the portable music things. And I thought, 'That's a wonderful idea! Those two probably like music and practicality.' So I threatened Harper to buy some for me.
It took us a few tries to convert it into a more magical object, but we eventually got it. I'm very proud! I mean, I didn't do anything, but I got the idea in the first place. So. It counts. Mum and dad say hi and that they'd like to meet you both. They didn't expect me to make any friends, but I'm always surprising them.
Also, thank you for the liquorice wands, Hermione. And Hemera, my family loves your art. Dad's thinking of sending you some proper supplies so you can experiment with other mediums. He might even commission you! My whole family might. Don't worry, they'll pay you if they do. We're not poor like the Weasleys.
Sincerely,
Sally-Anne
. . .
. . .
"You're still going to attend Hogwarts, aren't you?" Tom queries, holding her to him with more possessiveness than usual. Hem supposes it can't be helped; she's nearly died twice ̶ (the accidental starving bit doesn't really count, in her opinion) ̶ since starting school.
She hums, which doesn't really confirm nor deny anything.
Theia and Matthias ̶ (they deserve to be mum and dad, don't they?) ̶ opted to talk about it after Christmas, away from vitriolic sisters who have a habit of eavesdropping. So, it wasn't until the Grangers came home that they all sat down and talked about it. Hermione was mostly there as moral support, apparently having had a talk about her own education at some point before.
"We're so very concerned for you, my Hemera," Theia stated, placing a hand over Hem's. (Stop that. Stop it. Stop it.) She can't really feel the warmth that another person's touch is meant to have. "And I won't lie to you; we've definitely thought about pulling you out." The woman sniffed, averting her eyes as though she was ashamed to admit it.
Matthias shifted from beside his wife, which brought Hem's attention to him as he leaned forward. "But in the end, it's your decision." He smiled warmly, but she only felt cold inside. "We've already sheltered you enough, and we wouldn't want to sabotage your future as a witch because of our own desires."
"Is that a yes?" Tom asks, his breath bushing against her curls since his face is angled towards her head. If she tilts her head, she'll probably knock his chin.
Hem doesn't reply immediately. But she does eventually mutter a, "Yes," when his body is on the verge of becoming too tense.
"Good," he responds, and she feels his body loosening in tandem with the grip in her hair. "I'm still irritated that you're managing a rather… exciting life," the disapproval is clearer than the white of their environment, "and I suppose you could have transferred to Beauxbatons if your parents pulled you out but still wanted you to learn how to be a witch. But I'll readily admit that, regardless of recent events, I still want you to remain at Hogwarts. There are aspects to the castle that I'm certain only a handful of students besides myself know, after all."
He doesn't know whether Beauxbatons would challenge her potential like he wants. He doesn't know that school as well as he knows Hogwarts; as well as he knows Slytherin and the way it works.
Then Hem realises that the French school wasn't even an option. They didn't even mention Beauxbatons and she knows that they would've done so if they knew about it.
"Dumbledore came to talk with us personally," revealed the man ̶ (Matthias) ̶ as Hem fiddled with the tablecloth. "He apologised, of course; said that he'd endeavour to improve the flaws in the castle's system and that he'd personally hire a trained professional to help you cope with all the trauma. He was even kind enough to say that the trained professional would come here and tutor you himself if you decided to leave."
Something feels off. (He wants to watch her, doesn't he? Keep her in his sights. Can't do that if she's in Beauxbatons. But he can do that if he's using someone else to watch her for him. What does he want? What does he see?) But it could all just be in her mind. (It's not clicking together.)
"Have I wished you a happy birthday yet, Tom?" Hem questions, the words spilling out on their own while the muddled theories of paranoia try to fog up her head. She needs it gone.
"No, Hem, you haven't," he sighs. "Go on, then; astound me with the sheer emotion within your utterly deadpan voice."
AWF
A/N: Reviews are love. Reviews are life. It's never ogre. Thank you for reading.