Hermione awoke very early on Christmas morning from a dull popping sound and a moving weight on her bed. Alarmed, she grabbed her wand.
"Lumos!"
The figure froze.
A House Elf, clad in a small toga sort of thing, stood hunched over on the edge of the bed, wincing.
"I is sorry, young miss," it begged. "I is not meaning to wake you up."
Hermione stared.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded.
The House Elf brightened.
"I is delivering presents!" the House Elf said proudly. It moved to hold up a brown sack that hung heavily at its side, a strap crossing its chest. "I is just popping from place to place, delivering the gifts for the young master."
"And you can just… pop in from place to place?"
The House Elf shrugged.
"If master tells me, I do as I is told. Sometimes involves popping."
The House Elf seemed to lose interest in the conversation and rustled in its sack, before handing a package to Hermione.
"The young master sends you a gift," it told her. "Here."
Hermione took the wrapped package, glancing at the gift tag.
To: Hermione Granger
From: Theodore Nott
Hermione looked back up at the House Elf.
"Thank you," she told it. "If you see Theo, tell him 'thank you' too?"
At this, the House Elf wrung its ears.
"Please young miss, do not be asking me to do that," it begged. "I is not wanting to admit to young master that I wokes his friend up."
"Oh." Hermione blinked. "Err—that's alright then. 'Thank you' just to you, then."
She nodded at the House Elf, not entirely sure how best to thank one, and the House Elf beamed.
"Thank you, young missy!" it said. "Joyful Yule!"
It disappeared with a soft popping noise, leaving Hermione to stare at the empty space where it had been, before glancing at her alarm clock.
It was just after three o'clock in the morning.
With a groan and a decision to think about House Elves invading her house once she was more awake, Hermione tossed her wand back on her nightstand with a quick "Nox" and promptly fell back asleep.
"Happy Christmas, dear!"
"Happy Christmas, Mum," Hermione said, giving her mother an awkward one-armed hug, clutching gifts in the other arm. Her mother hugged her back and gave her an amused smile.
"Mysterious magical presents in the night again?" she asked, and Hermione flushed.
"Just a few," she said, moving to put them under the tree. "I figured out how some of them were getting here without an owl, though."
"Is that Hermione?" her dad called from the kitchen.
"I'm finally up, Dad," Hermione called back. She settled the gifts under the tree and went to see her father. "Happy Christmas, Dad."
"Happy Christmas, Hermione," her father said, grinning at her. "Excited for your presents?"
"Somewhat," Hermione admitted, flushing. "Some of them are shaped very oddly."
Her father laughed. "Well, we'll get there soon. Let me just finish breakfast up."
Christmas breakfast in the Granger household was traditionally cinnamon-sweet Monkey bread and French toast, which Hermione enjoyed, though her eyes kept straying to the living room and the tree. Finally, her mother made them all hot chocolate and they moved to the living room, where her father turned on the radio to a station playing Christmas music, and the gift-giving began.
Hermione's parents had given her clothes – and lots of them. Not only were there new school uniforms and the black dress-type robes Hermione had tried on, but her mother had clearly gone back and gotten more of the dress-style robes in colors – emerald green, a darker forest green, a deep purple, and a midnight blue. Hermione marveled, running her hands over the smooth fabric, and her mother smiled.
"Madame Malkin put tailoring charms in a few of the areas," she told Hermione. "If you grow a little more, the robes should stretch and resize to fit for at least a little while."
Hermione flushed and her parents laughed, and Hermione set the clothes aside to open the remaining gifts from her parents.
The remaining gifts were a few books – general spell books, it seemed, that her parents had picked out because they seemed interesting. One was on household charms, one on personal grooming, and one on improvised transfiguration. She paged through the first one, finding charms to vanish dust and straighten up untidy piles.
"Are you saying I need magic to keep my room clean?" Hermione asked, indignant, and her parents laughed.
"Your room is fine," her mother assured her, eyes sparkling. "But we thought it wouldn't hurt."
"I have one more thing for you." Her father handed her a thin bendy package, which Hermione took with a quizzical look. Carefully opening the wrapping, she found several groups of paper stapled together, stacked on top of each other in a small pile.
"What's this?" she asked, scanning the titles. "What is 'scotopic sensitivity syndrome'?"
"About a decade ago, a psychologist called Helen Irlen began publishing about a visual syndrome she noticed in patients," her father said. "It was especially noticed in children diagnosed with dyslexia. These are all the papers I could pull about it so far. I don't know much about it, but from glancing at the abstracts, it sounds like this might be what your friend has."
"That's… thanks, Dad." Hermione tried to offer him a smile, and her Dad laughed.
"I know you're probably not thrilled to wade through medical research, but it's about time you read something challenging, isn't it?" he teased. "Come on, let's see what else you got for the holiday."
Her dorm mates had all sent nice school-related things – inks, quills, a new planner. Pansy had sent her a set of quills made from a dove feathers, which gave Hermione pause. She wasn't sure if doves were symbols of peace and forgiveness in the wizarding world, but she'd have to check. Even if the gift was some sort of plea for forgiveness from Pansy, Hermione doubted she'd ever be able to trust the girl.
She might eventually forgive, but Hermione could never forget what Pansy had done to her.
Ron had sent her some chocolate frogs, which was nicer than his gift last year (nothing). Hermione had only sent him some Ice Mice this year as she wasn't trying to shame him for being a bad friend, so sweets were more than sufficient. He wasn't even her friend – just an acquaintance, really, who kind of came as an unfortunate package deal with Harry and Neville.
Neville had gotten her a wand holster and polishing kit, which made Hermione smile. Neville had gained a lot of confidence in his classes using his new wand, and she was happy to see him succeed. She'd sent him a muggle book on Gregor Mendel as a gift. With his affinity for Herbology, she thought he might find Mendel's pea experiments fascinating.
Harry had sent her an expandable Geometry set, which had Hermione puzzled until she read the note with it – apparently, Harry thought she had taken too long when making her ritual circle in the snow, and he thought a compass and protractor that she could make as large as she wanted would help. She grinned and set it aside. Though it was a jab at how long things had taken when doing it her way, Hermione had to recognize that he was right, and the set would prove immeasurably useful in the future.
Hermione had sent Harry a thin, battered book on Parseltongue and its history that she'd found when exploring her trunk of dodgy books. A lot of the books she'd 'inherited' from Quirrell were quite old, and their copyright spells had either faded or had never been cast. She'd duplicated the book to send to Harry after scanning it herself, hoping it would offer a comfort to him that he wasn't a freak and instead was lucky enough to have a rare gift. She'd set the original aside to read herself later.
Theo had sent her a set of immaculate potion vials, enchanted to never break. Hermione had sent him a book on muggle disguise, figuring it would amuse him. Hermione set the vials aside and reached for the next package, done up in lurid wrapping paper with an enormous, overdramatic bow.
"Who's this one from?" her mother asked, amused. "Someone with a penchant for drama, apparently."
"Blaise," Hermione said, groaning. "How am I even supposed to get this bow off?"
"He's the one coming around tomorrow to see the show with us?" her father asked.
"If he accepts," Hermione said, distracted. "I just—aha!"
The bow finally gave way, allowing Hermione to tear the ribbon off and shove it aside, tearing into the package with annoyance as her parents laughed.
Once it was open, a smooth wooden box lay in front of her, an elaborate, a Celtic-styled pentacle carved into the top. Finding a clasp, she flipped it open and gasped at what she saw inside.
Blaise had sent her a ritual set – a full, formal ritual set. Hermione let her fingers run over the silver tools inside, recognizing things she had only read about before. There was an athame, a boline, and a seax of her own – she'd be able to give Draco's back to him, now. A small, golden disc with a pentacle inscribed on it was nestled into the kit, and there was a golden chalice included as well. There was incense and candles and even a scourge, and Hermione found herself wondering if Blaise had somehow found this, or if he'd taken it upon himself to create a full kit for her himself.
Either way, it was clearly complete and well-thought out, and Hermione found herself swallowing hard and blinking rapidly. Even if Blaise had sent it to her out of self-motivation and his own desire to do more rituals, it was an incredibly personal and well-thought out gift.
"What else is there?" her mother prompted. Startled from her thoughts, Hermione returned to the tree, selecting another fancily-wrapped gift. Not to her surprise, it was from Anthony Goldstein, who she'd sent a book on Rowena Ravenclaw.
Anthony had sent her a majestic royal blue cloak, and Hermione groaned, reading the invitation to his family's annual holiday celebration.
"Is this the same boy who sent you the cape last year?" her father wanted to know. "Just how well do you know him?"
"You'll need to decline again," her mother mused. "We actually do have plans tomorrow evening this time. But what a gorgeous cloak."
"I know," Hermione groaned. "The issue is that this perfectly matches that dress you got me, so I'm going to want to wear it. And if I wear it, people are going to start presuming certain things."
Her parents teased her at her discomfort while she folded the cloak and set it aside. There was one package left under the tree – a small, silver-wrapped box with a sparkling ribbon. It was significantly small, and Hermione found herself wondering what, exactly, Draco had sent her this year.
Unable to think of anything entirely appropriate for the Malfoy heir once again, Hermione had sent him a large dragon-themed mug she'd found in a muggle shop that wouldn't have looked out of place at a Renaissance Faire. There were dragons depicted in bright silver and enamel on the sides, and the handle itself was the head and neck and body of a purple dragon, its wings extending onto the cup to wrap just under the rim. She figured if nothing else, he'd appreciate the attention, though she severely doubted she'd ever see him using it while at school.
She slid her finger under the gift wrapping to tear it open, revealing a small box. The box was velvet-covered again, like the one he'd sent last year, Hermione felt her heart thudding in her throat as she eased open the hinges.
"Oh wow," her mother breathed. "Is that an emerald?"
It was, Hermione knew. There was nothing else the brilliant stone could be, even if she'd never seen one in person, and she carefully tilted it out of the box into her hand.
Draco had sent her a teardrop-cut emerald, the facets all perfectly cut and brilliant. The stone seemed to glow with a deep green color while somehow simultaneously looking somewhat transparent, and Hermione wasn't even sure how that worked. More than anything was the size of the stone – it was nearly the length of her thumb long, and as wide as her thumb to the first knuckle at the fullest part of the teardrop.
It was stunning.
"But what is she supposed to do with that?" her dad was arguing. "Keep it in a pretty box to look at?"
"She can do whatever she wants with it, but I imagine she'll get it set," her mother told him. "You don't just hoard loose stones. You put them into a pendant or necklace or some piece to suit your style."
Oh, Hermione thought, as she realized Draco's brilliance.
It wasn't jewelry. He had undeniably sent her a rock, pretty though it was, and no one could make an argument to the contrary.
But it was, so clearly, was.
It was jewelry, but not, just like the silver Slytherin crest he had sent her the previous year. The Slytherin crest, though, as beautiful as it was, was still just a pin. This, though… Hermione had no idea quite what to think of the extravagance of this gift.
"Are gems like this normal, in the magical world?" her father wanted to know, and Hermione swallowed and shook her head a little to clear it, looking up.
"I'm not sure," she admitted. "I know the goblins are master metalsmiths and mine for jewels, so probably? I think I read that jewels are good carriers for enchantments, so they're probably a lot more common than you'd see here."
"Oh, is this one enchanted?" her mother asked.
"I don't think so," Hermione said, "but I don't really know how to check."
"Well that's nice of him, giving you a beautiful blank canvas to customize to your taste," her mother said, pleased. "And clearly very generous of him as well."
"Yes," Hermione agreed. She glanced around. "Is that all?"
It seemed it was, which disappointed Hermione slightly. She'd sent Snape a gift of dark chocolates and a black jumper, but he'd sent her nothing in return.
"Not quite," her father said, reaching for the end table. "This arrived by owl this morning."
He picked up a flower and handed it to Hermione, and Hermione blinked.
"…a rose?"
"A rose," her father confirmed.
It was a rose, and quite pretty – the thorns charmed off and the petals a beautiful mix between a light pinkish color and a sort of lavender shade. It smelled rich and lovely, and Hermione suspected an Everlasting charm had been laid on it before it was sent through the mail. A small bow of white ribbon sat halfway down the long stem, but it was attached to nothing.
"Did anything come with it?" she asked, turning to her father. "Who sent it?"
Her father handed her a small scrap of parchment, one eyebrow raised while his lips twitched in amusement. Hermione took it eagerly and read.
To Hermione:
Ribbon-wrapped as white as driven snow;
Sent as straight as e'er was the crow;
To one as sweet a damask rose.
- Cedric
Hermione's eyes widened.
"Cedric sent this to me?" she said, astonished. "Cedric Diggory?"
"Who's that, dear?" her mother asked, and Hermione shook her head.
"He's… he's just some Hufflepuff," she said, baffled. "I met him recently, when I visited their common room. He's two years above me."
"Did you like him?" her mother said slyly, and Hermione flushed.
"I mean, he's very fit, but we argued when we first met," she said. "I didn't think I made an impression. I'm just some random second-year."
Her father laughed.
"You realize you leave an impression everywhere you go, Hermione?" he teased. "Especially when you're arguing."
Hermione's cheeks burned. "Still!"
"Quite classy, this fellow," her father commented. "Simple, but classy. I like it."
"But what does it mean?" Hermione wanted to know.
"I don't know much about flower language," her mother said, smiling, "but his note is a deliberate misquote of Shakespeare. The original is 'Lawn as white as driven snow; Cyprus black as e'er was crow; Gloves as sweet as damask roses', if I remember properly."
"How do you know that just offhand?" her father wanted to know.
"It's from A Winter's Tale," her mother shot back. "It's where we found the name Hermione."
"Oh…"
"So he's subtly letting me know he knows muggle culture?" Hermione said, frowning as she toyed with the rose. "Referencing the play with my name?"
Her mother laughed.
"That, and he's calling you 'as sweet as a rose'," her mother said, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. "Don't over-analyze it, Hermione – a boy called you sweet and sent you a rose. Even without knowing whatever flower-language says it means, it's clear he likes you. Poetry and flowers are the language of romance."
"But I barely know him!" Hermione objected.
"It seems he wants to get to know you better," her father smirked, needling her. "And you didn't send him a gift, did you? Let's hope you haven't already blown your chance with him."
"Dad!"
Her parents laughed as Hermione fussed at them, her cheeks setting her face aflame.