The very last day of the year was marked by another colossal snowfall, covering the safehouse and the grounds of the surrounding area with a veil of peace and silence like a newborn cocooned into a warm blanket. Fresh snow meant fresh excitement for James, and while Hermione watched the snowflakes fall one by one with an inexplicable sense of loss burdening her chest, little stars glinted in James's eyes – he was ready to drag her outside with him the moment it stopped snowing.

"Aunt Mione, let's go!" he shouted, taking her hand, because he knew she will say yes, no matter how much she didn't want to leave the warmth of the house. There was no one else to watch over the boy – Ginny was busy cooking, Ron was out cutting firewood, and Harry, as always, was most likely on some battlefield sighting the Phantom. It was Hermione's duty, although self-assigned, to make sure James didn't feel lonely or left out.

"But it's so cold…" Hermione complained, taking her cup of hot tea closer to her chest, but she was already defeated. "Don't you want to play something else?"

"No, I want to build a snowman!"

And so, ten minutes later they were outside, Hermione shivering from the cold and James rolling three balls of snow from the smallest to the largest. She wasn't of much help to James, she couldn't bend over to help build the balls, and she most definitely could not put them on top of each other, but James still wanted her there if only to watch him do it. It was no fun for him when no one was watching.

At first, Hermione tried to argue that she would be just as great of a spectator watching him out the window inside the house, but James was certain she needed to be in the cold with him to get the full experience, so after half an hour of trying to find common ground with a four-year-old, Hermione managed to get a fair deal – she'll not stay in the house, but will sit on the porch with a mug of steaming tea and at least three blankets on top of her while James resumed his hard work of making a man of snow come to life.

The snowman was gradually coming back to life, as much as it could in such cold, its' bits, and pieces – the eyes, the carrot nose, the branch fingers – finding its place on a body of three distinct parts, and with the finishing touch of a Gryffindor red-and-yellow scarf it did become something—

—slowly the snowman turned to something else—there he was, the Phantom, straight from her nightmares, from her worst traumatic memories, there he stood and watched her, clad in black, with the mask on, his eyes deep voids of black, his expression hidden by the metal of the mask, and he didn't need to do anything, he didn't even need to move from the spot, he already got her attention—

A distinct pop of apparition woke her from whatever nightmare it was. She blinked, and there was no Phantom, only the snowman James just built.

She turned where she heard the popping sound come from, and she saw Harry, wearing his everyday battle uniform – a long dark robe, durable enough to withstand any dark magic attacks with his wand probing from the side pocket. His head was down and his hands… His hands had blood on them.

"Daddy!" James exclaimed when he saw his father, running to greet him.

His son's voice seemed to bring him back from wherever his mind had wandered to. Harry smiled, although still seemed exhausted.

"Hey, buddy, what are you up to?" Harry said, putting on gloves on his hands to hide the sight of blood before picking up the boy.

James pointed at the snowman that was the Phantom mere seconds ago. "Look what I built!"

Harry appropriately appreciated his son's work, then turned to Hermione, his expression falling a bit, even if he was smiling at her. "Hey."

"Is everything alright?" Hermione asked, concerned.

Sadness pervaded his eyes at the edges, while the middle remained neutral. "Nothing, nothing… Mind if I join you after I change?" he asked, pointing vaguely with his head to the bench she was sitting on.

"Of course," she answered.

Harry went in to change and wash the blood off. He came back with a cup of tea in his now-clean hands and sat down next to her. they both watched James build a protective wall around his snowman.

"Will you tell me what happened?" Hermione inquired, looking straight ahead. For some reason she didn't have it in her to meet his eyes now.

Harry, likewise, didn't feel the need to look away from his son.

"Nothing to tell. Just another day."

"Whose blood was on your hands?" she asked.

She saw his head turn to her in the periphery of her vision. "Does it matter?"

Hermione waited for a moment to say, "It does to me."

"It wasn't human blood, if that's what you're concerned about," Harry said with a sigh.

"What blood was it then?"

A beat. "Animal."

"What animal?"

Harry turned away and his voice got an octave lower. "It was dark. I didn't see it."

"But it's daylight."

"My hands got dirty last night. The battle continued on until now."

Finally, Hermione turned to him. "You won?"

"I haven't lost in the past year." He wasn't smiling. He wasn't exaggerating. She realized he was telling the truth.

But there was another thing worrying her. "And the Phantom?"

Their eyes met. Harry's eyes were bright green as the ice on the lake of these woods. "He was nowhere to be found. Only his minions. But I believe one day he will show up so I can kill him."

Hermione flexed her fingers. She wasn't scared of getting her hands dirty. There were things far scarier than blood. "I wish I could help," she said.

She felt Harry's hand on her shoulder. "You're helping enough. You're staying with James."

"I wish I could help you kill him."

The silver ring with the emerald eye that she never took off now was burning her finger to the point of pain even when her hands were freezing – but it all was only in her head. The pain wasn't real and didn't mean anything.

"Maybe you'll get that chance," Harry said. it was a promise of sorts, and that was enough for Hermione.

They were quiet for some time, sipping on the tea they've made exactly how they liked it. It reminded Hermione of the time they spent in the woods right before the Battle of Hogwarts. She remembered it so clearly because it was the last true memory she could rely on, and this moment felt like it too. For Harry, perhaps, this was nothing but a daily occurrence, a concoction of many days like these with different people, just another afternoon drinking tea in the snow, talking about war. For her, this was everything.

James's protective walls were reaching so high that the snowman was barely visible. The snowman was protected from all sides, but it also wouldn't be able to move from that spot or see anything happening around it even if it wanted to. Good, Hermione thought. If she couldn't see it, the snowman wouldn't turn into the Phantom.

"Aren't you scared?" she asked Harry after a while.

"Of what?" he asked, frowning in confusion.

"Of this. Of having this. James, Ginny, another baby on the way…" she looked at him. "I don't mean to judge, I'm just wondering. We're in the middle of a war, aren't you scared this all will be… taken away from you? If the Phantom gets to any of them, he might…" she couldn't finish the sentence, her voice breaking on the last word.

Harry watched her for a long minute, then turned to James. He was quiet, thinking over what she said. it was hard for him to find the right words. But when he spoke next, he no longer resembled a man who knew what he was doing, who had everything under control, who knew for certain he was going to win. He sounded like the opposite. "I am. I'm terrified, Hermione. I'm so scared that sometimes when I wake up at night I'm suffocating because I start thinking of what might happen. But every day I get out of bed, ready to fight for the ones I love with everything I have. You might think that having children when they're very likely to die or be used against me is silly at best, but I must disagree. Ginny, my children – they're what I care about; and I will make sure they get a chance to live in a peaceful world. I will do anything for my family. I don't know if I could do what I do or fight so well if I didn't have to think about them, you know?"

Hermione didn't know. She didn't know anything. Peace was a foreign concept her brain had no chance of recognizing. She couldn't imagine a day when there could be peace.

She was a ruin of war. She will probably never get better, followed by her Phantom until the day she died. But others didn't have to be.

"Yeah," she said. "I understand."

Harry could see she wasn't entirely convinced, but before he managed to say anything else, Ginny's head popped through the doorway. She didn't spare a single glance at Hermione, focusing on Harry instead. "Harry, can we talk?"

Harry nodded, standing up and giving Hermione one last small smile. "See you later."

He went inside with Ginny. Hermione stayed.

Snow was falling again.

New Years eve was calmer than Christmas because they've decided to not go anywhere and stay home instead, so Hermione started to think through whatever James could find entertaining, although she knew little of wizarding customs, and remembered even less. Ron had bought floating lanterns, and Ginny had some exquisite firework spells up her sleeve, so when the time came, the backyard of her grandparents' home was enchanted with magic to the brim. The firework charms took the form of spell-shaped explosions, shimmering magical creatures, or even messages written in bright, trailing sparks. The lanterns interested James the most, he sent at least ten of them into the air with the toy wand he got for Christmas while Harry did the actual magic behind his back.

Ron had even gotten three bottles of champagne from somewhere (he said he got it at the place where the Leaky Cauldron used to be where some shady wizards were selling it illegally, but Hermione believed the truth could be even more illegal, so she didn't question him further). Ginny didn't drink it, so that left Hermione, Harry, and Ron. Hermione wasn't very keen on getting drunk either, especially because she still suffered quite a lot of pain daily, but she supposed one glass couldn't hurt. The Golden Trio clunk their glasses together like the old times, although it was anything but. The toasts were boring – they all wished for the war to end quickly – and the taste of the drink was bitter, so Hermione couldn't force herself to swallow more than one gulp. It still made her head dizzy.

The four of them went outside five minutes before midnight to start with the wizarding fireworks, but all of it was mostly for James, so Harry and Ginny worked on that while Ron and Hermione stayed behind, watching the sky which was unusually clear, the stars all out, twinkling little silvers. Ron kept on looking at his watch, waiting for midnight, and when the fireworks poured from the tips of Harry and Ginny's wands, the stars dimmed until Hermione could no longer see them.

It was Ron's reaction that told her it was midnight, but it took a while to hit home. Ron had been gawking at her while her head was up in the sky for quite some time, then he leaned into her, grabbing her by the waist, then leaned in more, more, until their lips barely touched…

Hermione flinched away from him as if burned by scalding hot water.

"What are you doing?" she asked, frowning, the panicked note barely contained in her voice.

"I'm kissing you," he said matter-of-factly. "It's midnight."

She took a step away from him. "I don't care if it's midnight or not, why would you kiss me!" For some reason, she wasn't even entirely sure of herself, Hermione couldn't fathom why he would want that.

Ron stared at her as if she was dumb in a split second. "Because I'm your boyfriend? I have the right to kiss you."

He started to get closer to her, reaching out his hands her way, but she kept getting away. "Ron, you know what happened to me, why would you think this was a good idea?" she asked, unable to hide the hurt in her voice.

Ron's face turned from determined into angry. "It's not like I'm asking to fuck you, is it? I've been patient with you, but no matter what I do or how hard I try, you pay me no mind. You tolerate me when you need me, you want me to be by your side because you're still too scared to sleep by yourself, but I bet you wouldn't care who sleeps in your bed if you're not all alone, is it? As long as it helps with your nightmares, right?"

By the end of his monologue Ron was red in the face and fuming with anger. Hermione took another step back. Her hands were shaking, but she was still trying to hide it.

"What do you want from me, Ron?" she demanded.

"I want you to be my fucking girlfriend for once!" he spat out.

Hermione look around, realizing they weren't alone after all. Harry and Ginny were looking at them. Hermione sighed and looked back at Ron.

"I'm so sorry that what I've been through has been so hard for you to deal with. You don't have to care about me, and you clearly don't want to."

Ron's eyes widened. "Wait, Mione, wait—"

But she was already headed inside, as far away from him as she could. She heard Harry's voice, "What did you do?" And Ron's, "Nothing, I just wanted to kiss her, and she went all mental—"

And then the door closed, the sounds outside dying. Hermione went to her bedroom and. She curled up on the floor and stared at the sky outside out the window. She heard a knock on the door to her bedroom a few minutes later but she didn't want to talk to Ron or to anyone else, she just wanted to be alone.

She fell asleep sometime later, right there on the floor with her clothes still on. Ron didn't come back that night. Or any other.