Christmas morning was gloomy. It hadn't snowed for several weeks by then, but the leftover snow from the first week of December covered itself with a crust of ice that broke when stepped on. The snow was rumply and frosty, so James couldn't make a snowman or have snow fights. James always wanted to play games, especially in the snow, and even though Hermione was healing well, the non-stop freezing temperatures made her bones and muscles ache, so she considered herself lucky the snow didn't stick – after all, she was the only one who occupied James's free time which he had little of, and she found purpose in that.

Hermione noticed everyone's mood was sour, but they all tried to pretend to be happy for James, or maybe it was all in Hermione's head. Upon closer inspection she realized that Ginny didn't even look her way, didn't even talk to her, it felt as if she pretended Hermione did not exist or maybe she thought if she pretended long enough, Hermione might actually disappear. Ron was being difficult too – lately he had been trying to get closer to Hermione which was something she knew would eventually happen as they were sleeping in the same bed every night, despite Hermione trying to avoid touching as much as possible, but still she found it extremely irritating. Usually when she ignored his advances, Ron would huff to himself and turn his back to her, but he had become more insistent. So now, on Christmas morning, he was also trying not to look at her as if she reminded him of what they once had and what was now lost. Hermione didn't know what she was missing out on, and for the first time she liked it better that way.

Only Harry and James seemed excited to celebrate – the son, naturally, more so than the father. Hermione and Ginny, although barely communicating, managed to decorate the Order's safehouse to bring some festive mood beforehand, so when James woke up, there was a real tree (cut off and brought in by Harry), adorned with magical toys and shiny garlands, with gifts under it just for him. It was a heartwarming sight to see a joyous grin spread across his face when he saw all that awaited him. Even Ginny smiled, which was a rare occurrence.

"Is this all for me?" James exclaimed, unable to believe his luck, still yawning the sleep away.

Ginny laughed, crouching down to hug him. They had all been waiting in the living room, waiting for the boy to wake up in heavy silence which seemed nonexistent now that he showed up.

"Of course, it's for you, who else?" Ginny said.

James's mouth opened as he eyed the tree, its decorations shining in the reflection of his eyes. Harry stood next to his son, encouraging him, "Well, what are you waiting for? Open them up!"

James didn't need to be told twice. He practically jumped on all the gifts and started unwrapping them in such speed only a toddler could keep up with. The first gift, of course, was from Harry and Ginny – it was a magic toy wand that made all sorts of sounds and lit up with different colours, it came with the instruction for fake spells. James tried at least ten of them before moving on to the next gift. Ron had given him a hippogriff plushie which he carried around for the rest of the day. Since Hermione didn't leave this place, she had no chance to buy anything, so her gift was the simplest of all – a book she found in the cellar while she was exploring it on a day she had nothing better to do. James's excitement wasn't as prevalent by then, but his eyes glinted when he saw it was a book – ever since Hermione started teaching him to read, he got more and more interested in the books that were here. He tried to read the title but found it difficult.

"It's A Christmas Carol." Hermione explained. "I loved this story as a kid."

James looked up at her.

"What's it about?" he asked.

"It's about an old grumpy man Scrooge who is just bad to everyone. On Christmas, three ghosts pay him a visit, and he discovers the joy of being a kind." Suddenly, she said it feeling the uneasiness of being watched. She turned to look out the window. There it was, her very own ghost – her own phantom – she had learned to ignore completely. She turned back to James. "You're still a bit small to read it yourself, but I thought I could read it to you before bed."

To her surprise, James ran up to give her the tightest hug. Hermione was caught off guard, but returned the hug. "Thank you, aunt Mione!"

Hermione smiled. "You're welcome, sweetie. I hope you'll like it."

James moved back to his mother, clutching the book close to his chest.

"Aren't you going to ask what we'll do next?" Harry said, smiling down at his son whose eyes widened again.

"There's more?"

"We're going to see grandma, honey," Ginny said.

James looked at Hermione. "All of us?"

Ginny's look at Hermione was the opposite of his. "Yes. All of us," she had to say.

A few days prior Ron was worried Hermione might not make the journey to Mrs. Weasley's flat because of the fragile state of her health, but after some convincing that Hermione truly was a lot better and she would be just fine, Ron had to concede.

The news seemed to cheer up the boy even more than the gifts. He bolted to his room and dress up. They all were ready to walk to the portkey since for safety reasons integrating a floo channel here was too risky. Although Ron walked side by side with Hermione, expecting her to faint at any moment – she appreciated his concern but found it mostly annoying – and even held her tightly in his arms while they transported with the portkey. It made Hermione a bit sick, and her legs wobbled at the knees, but she regained her composure soon enough.

They were standing by an apartment complex. It was shabby and old-fashioned but reminded Hermione of the Burrow in a good way. Their gang of six climbed three stories until they reached the flat, trying to be as quiet and as unnoticeable as possible. Mrs. Weasley opened the door and her somber face lit up when she saw them. Mrs. Weasley must've been in her early sixties by then, but a decade-long war aged her even further, and it was noticeable – she looked like an old woman who was about to turn eighty. When she smiled, though, she resembled her real age a bit more.

James, naturally, was the star of the show. He bolted inside first and jumped to hug his grandmother, who was already waiting for him with her arms wide open and a broad smile.

"Oh, how I've missed my favorite grandchild," said Mrs. Weasley, enveloping James in a tight hug.

They all went in after that – first Ginny, then Harry, then Ron, while James tugged at his grandma's skirt, demanding attention for the presents he got. Until it was Hermione's turn – then Mrs. Weasley's smile dimmed.

"Hermione," her voice now had little warmth left in it. Her eyes were vacant of any emotion Hermione could discern, or maybe the shock of being treated so differently than the others stopped her from understanding this reaction clearly.

Still, Mrs. Weasley hugged her, although it seemed to require significant effort, and Hermione answered with a strained smile, feeling Ron's eyes on her and his mother the whole time.

When Mrs. Weasley moved away from her, saying, "Come on, let's go to the kitchen, Bill and Fleur will be here any minute," Ron came to her, whispering in her ear, "Ignore it, she's just surprised to see you, is all."

"She didn't know I was coming?" Hermione asked.

"She knew, but it's still hard for her to believe you're here. You know, we all thought you were dead for years. It is a true miracle you're here. Mum will get used to it eventually, just give her some time."

Hermione didn't like this explanation at all because at the end of the day it left her more confused than before, but she didn't have it in her to try and deduce what was going on in Mrs. Weasley's head. She blamed it all on grief – perhaps seeing her alive when most of her own children were dead was incredibly hard for the poor woman.

The whole flat was small and cold, but clean and decorated for Christmas – Mrs. Weasley had even put up a small Christmas tree to make James happy. They found their seats at the round kitchen table. Hermione sat down next to Harry and Ron sat next to her. There was a high chair for James, but he was busy showing off his gifts, and only then did Ginny finally talked him into sitting down to eat.

Not ten minutes later the doorbell rang again, and three more people joined them – Bill, Fleur and a little blonde girl who must've been their daughter Victoire. The same scenario repeated itself again; Bill and Fleur greeted everyone amicably, but when it came to Hermione, Bill looked at her somewhat coolly, reaching out only his hand for her instead of giving a hug. Fleur reacted differently, somewhat repeating Hermione's very first interaction with Ginny when she woke up from the coma. She watched Hermione with wide eyes, her expression a mix of pity, mortification, and surprise.

"Hermione," she said, leaning over to hug her. "It is very good to see you."

This was the first warm welcome Hermione received, and the smile she gave was genuine. "Thanks. You too, Fleur. I've missed everyone very much."

Fleur reached for the little girl hiding behind her, pulling her forward softly by the shoulders. "This is my daughter, Victoire. She's about to turn five, but you must not remember her at all. Victoire, this is your aunt Hermione."

Hermione smiled at the girl and reached out her hand which the girl took. "I don't remember you, Victoire, but I'm sure you're a great girl," she said. "James told me about you a bit."

Victoire scrunched her little nose. "James lies. He probably said lies about me. And his mama and papa let him."

Fleur hand tightened on her daughter's shoulder in warning when she crouched down to whisper, "You know it's not nice to say that!"

Victoire seemed determined to speak her mind. "But it's true…"

Hermione didn't think much of children's quarrels, but she felt the need to counter it. "Well, James might not have spoken perfectly about you, but you must know, Victoire, that I only form opinions about people based on what I see and hear myself, no matter what others say."

The little girl smiled shyly at that. She wanted to sit next to Hermione for the rest of the night, and Ron had to make space for her and Fleur too. Hermione felt relieved for a reason she didn't want to name. Everybody sat down to eat Christmas dinner, ten people cramped up at a table that could fit four at best, but Mrs. Weasley magically extended it.

"Do you not remember anything at all, Hermione dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked once everyone dug into their meals. It was delicious, and she had a normal appetite for the first time in months, so much so that she had to take a break to answer, not only because the question, cost much of her restraint.

"Only bits and pieces, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione answered. "I remember very little of what happened while I was… away, and even less beyond that point."

Mrs. Weasley looked at her with pity – which Hermione assumed was better than indifference – but the mood switch must've been caused by good food and company of family.

"I think it's better that you don't remember, dear. What happened was absolutely horrible, I wouldn't wish that upon my worst—" She stopped in her tracks, unable to finish the sentence. "Well..." And resumed eating as if nothing happened.

Hermione fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat.

"Will she remember everything? That's not possible, is it?" Bill asked coolly, addressing the question not to her but to Harry.

"I hope it is," Harry said. "So far, she's regained very few memories, but I'm sure that once she starts feeling better and is completely healed, we can start legilimency sessions, that should accelerate the process."

Hermione glared at Harry. "You never told me you plan to use legilimency on me," she reproached.

There wasn't an ounce of guilt in his eyes. "Well, if nothing else works, we'll have to try it, won't we?"

Hermione leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms across her chest. She assumed this was the only way, but it still hurt that Harry didn't tell her beforehand and she had to find out in front of everybody where she couldn't control her reaction. She tried to keep her face neutral.

Fleur seemed dissatisfied with that solution as well. "Is it really necessary?"

"Harry knows what he's doing, Fleur," Bill said, putting a hand on his wife's shoulder.

That topic ended there. Everybody moved on to something else, except Hermione – she stayed there. Knowing what was awaiting her made her insides turn. But Harry was right and he did know what he was doing, so if he thought that legilimency was the only way since she wasn't remembering anything that could help stop this war, there was nothing for her to do but agree with whatever he had planned for her.

She forcefully brought herself out of these thoughts and back into the real world where the children were given gifts and the adults watched them with kind smiles on their faces because it was one of the very few things that made sense considering the current state of the wizarding world. Hermione watched it all unfold in a somewhat disconnected state, feeling like she was a separate entity from the rest of them – even Christmas time didn't give her closure or the sense of belonging she craved for so badly. So, she watched the children and their parents, and their grandmother, and their uncle, sitting on the sofa away from the rest. James got more gifts, so did Victoire. Even though the children were apparently hostile towards one another, they found a sort of peace unpacking gifts together. Hermione, once again, didn't think of anything better but to gift a book she found in her grandparent's cellar.

"I hope you haven't read The Nutcracker yet, Victoire," she said and the girl shook her head. "It's about a girl who keeps having dreams about a toy until one day she realizes all of it was real – or so she thinks. It's great to read in wintertime."

"Thank you," Victoire said. James would've hugged her fiercely like he always did, but Victoire was more reserved, and Hermione respected that. The little Weasley girl wanted to get into a corner to read immediately, to which Hermione could relate with her whole heart, but Fleur said she'd allow it only once they got home – Victoire was left greatly disappointed, albeit happy with the book she got.

To her joy, Bill and Fleur decided it was time for them to go half an hour later. They didn't want to come back home too late into the night, having in mind that the war was still raging on. Nobody felt safe, even though they acted like they were. It was time to say their goodbyes, and Hermione was glad for it, because meeting so many people and being in a new environment did not make it easy on her body. Bill was as aloof saying goodbye to her as he was greeting her, but Fleur came to her, taking her hands between her palms and saying quietly, as if not wanting for others to overhear, "Hermione, would you like to come with us to the Shell Cottage? I think it would be better for you there. For your health, I mean."

Hermione smiled sadly. "Thank you for invitation, Fleur, but I'm doing great in the safehouse. By the way, I don't think Bill would be very happy to have me around."

Fleur shook her head. "Bill won't mind, really, he's a little conflicted inside, but he means well."

"I'm sure I'd love to visit when the weather gets warmer, I'm sure the sea will be great then. But for now, as you've heard, Harry has plans for me. I must stay with him."

Fleur squeezed Hermione's hands, her gaze turning more insistent. "Are you sure you won't change your mind? Hermione, Shell Cottage will always be open for you, just say the word, and I'll come take you. It would be so much better for you if—"

She stopped when Harry came close, asking, "Is everything alright?"

"Fleur just invi—" Hermione began, but Fleur was faster than her, "Everything's great, we were just saying our goodbyes…"

With that, Fleur let go of her hands and went back to her family, accompanied by Harry's watchful gaze. When the guests left, he turned to Hermione. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

Hermione considered his question. She looked around the room, then out of the windows. Nothing. All was normal. The Phantom didn't show up once here. And she could swear the constant pain in her body was barely there.

"Good," she said, smiling. She almost meant it.