The wind bit at Hermione's cheeks as she made her way through Diagon Alley, a list of Christmas gifts crumpled in her hand. Snowflakes fell softly from the sky, dusting the cobblestone streets and the roofs of the shops with a light layer of white. The air was crisp, and festive decorations hung in the shop windows, adding a cheerful glow to the bustling street. But despite the bright lights and merry carolers, a heaviness settled in Hermione's chest. She couldn't shake the memory of Frank's face when she had mentioned Christmas that morning.
She had been excited—hopeful, even. The boys deserved a proper Christmas, with presents under the tree and the warmth of family around them. But when she had suggested decorating the house and shopping for gifts, Frank's reaction had been... unexpected.
"We're not celebrating Christmas," Frank had said flatly, his voice laced with bitterness. "Alice isn't here."
The words had hit Hermione like a blow. She had tried to reason with him, tried to remind him that Christmas wasn't just about who wasn't there but about celebrating with the ones who were. But Frank had been unyielding, his pain and anger evident in every line of his tense posture.
And so, Hermione had gone shopping alone, her heart heavy with the weight of Frank's refusal.
Hermione sighed as she stepped into a toy shop, her breath fogging up in the cold air. The cheerful jingles playing inside seemed at odds with her mood, the festive decorations clashing with the heaviness she felt after that morning's conversation. She wanted so desperately to bring some joy into the boys' lives, especially after everything they had been through. But Frank's refusal to celebrate Christmas weighed on her heart.
As she browsed the shelves, picking up toys she thought Harry and Neville might like, her mind kept drifting back to Frank's words. He was hurt, that much was clear. But why would he want to deprive the boys of a happy Christmas? Harry had already lost so much, and Neville... well, Neville needed something joyful to hold onto as well. They both did.
With her arms full of toys, Hermione made her way toward the counter, trying to shake off the lingering sadness. She reminded herself that there was still hope. Augusta might help her convince Frank that Christmas was worth celebrating.
Just as she reached the counter, Hermione suddenly collided with someone, nearly dropping the gifts in her arms. A pair of strong hands reached out to steady her, and she looked up, ready to apologize.
"Oh, I'm so sorry—" she began, but her words trailed off as she recognized the familiar face.
Molly Weasley!
Hermione blinked, shocked to see her in the middle of this small town.
The older woman smiled warmly. "Oh, dear, it's quite alright! Let me help you with those." She gently took some of the toys from Hermione's arms, her eyes twinkling with kindness. "I haven't seen you around here before. Are you new to the area?"
Hermione nodded, still trying to process the coincidence. "Yes, I'm... staying with the Longbottoms for a while. I'm Hermione. It's nice to meet you."
"I'm Molly!" She beamed, her smile wide and genuine. "It's lovely to meet you too, dear. Do you have children?" she asked, glancing down at the toys Hermione was holding.
Hermione nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Yes, I have a little boy, Harry, and I'm also looking after Neville Longbottom. They're almost two years old."
Molly's eyes lit up with delight. "Oh, that's wonderful! My son Ron's about the same age. He could certainly use some more friends his age. You must bring them over for tea one day. I'd love to meet them."
Hermione's heart warmed at the offer. "I'd love that, thank you. I'm sure the boys would enjoy it too."
Molly reached into her bag and pulled out a small scrap of parchment, quickly scribbling down an address. She handed it to Hermione with a smile. "Here's the address to the Burrow. Just drop by whenever you like."
Hermione took the parchment, feeling a sense of relief wash over her. "Thank you, Molly. That sounds lovely."
"Likewise, dear. It was a pleasure meeting you." Molly gave her a warm pat on the arm before turning to leave, her cheerful presence lingering in the air.
As Hermione watched Molly walk away, she couldn't help but feel a little lighter. The unexpected encounter had lifted her spirits, and for the first time that day, she allowed herself to believe that things could get better.
But as she returned to the Longbottoms' manor, the weight of Frank's grief settled back over her like a heavy cloak. She couldn't ignore the sadness that lingered in the corners of the grand house. The shadows of loss were ever-present, and no matter how much she tried to push them away, they always seemed to creep back in.
She placed the bags of gifts by the staircase, her thoughts drifting back to Frank. It seemed the shadows of the past were still too strong to overcome.
Still, as she stood there in the quiet hall, she clutched Molly's note a little tighter, reminding herself that there was still hope. Maybe, with time, Frank would see that too.
She found Augusta sitting in the drawing room, a cup of tea in her hand and a thoughtful expression on her face.
"Augusta," Hermione began, setting the bags down by the door. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"
Augusta looked up, her sharp eyes taking in the sight of Hermione's flushed face and the bags at her feet. "Of course, dear. What is it?"
Hermione hesitated, unsure of how to broach the subject. She took a deep breath and plunged ahead. "I spoke with Frank earlier about Christmas... and he said he doesn't want to celebrate because Alice isn't here. I just... I thought maybe you could help me convince him otherwise? For Neville and Harry's sake."
Augusta's expression didn't change, but her eyes grew distant, as if she were looking at something far away. She took a long sip of her tea before setting the cup down with a quiet clink. "I understand why Frank feels that way," she said slowly, her voice measured. "It's... difficult to celebrate when someone you love is missing."
Hermione bit her lip. "I know it's hard, but... Harry and Neville need something to look forward to. They need the joy of Christmas. Don't you think?"
For a long moment, Augusta didn't answer. The silence stretched between them, heavy and uncomfortable. Finally, Augusta sighed and looked down at her hands. "You're right, Hermione. The boys do need something to lift their spirits. But... it's hard for me too. Christmas was always Alice's favorite holiday. Without her... it just doesn't feel the same."
Hermione's heart sank. She had hoped Augusta would be more supportive, but it seemed that the weight of grief was too much for her to push past. Still, Hermione wasn't ready to give up. She couldn't let the boys go through Christmas without any celebration.
"I understand," she said quietly. "But maybe... maybe we could start small? Just a few decorations, maybe a tree? It doesn't have to be anything big, but... I think it would help the boys."
Augusta gave her a long, searching look. "I'll think about it," she said finally, her voice tinged with exhaustion. "But you'll have to speak with Frank. He's the one who needs convincing."
Hermione nodded, even though she knew how difficult that conversation would be. "Thank you, Augusta."
With a heavy heart, Hermione gathered her bags and headed upstairs to store the gifts she had bought. As she placed the toys in a hidden corner of her wardrobe, she tried to steel herself for the conversation she knew was coming.
Later that evening, Hermione found Frank in his bedroom, staring blankly at a crumpled picture in his hand. Hermione tried not to look, but she caught sight of Alice's joyful smile in the photograph. The flickering flames cast shadows across Frank's face, highlighting the lines of grief and exhaustion etched into his features. He didn't look up as she approached, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames.
"Frank," Hermione said softly, sitting down beside him. "Can we talk?"
He didn't respond at first, but after a moment, he let out a weary sigh. "What is it, Hermione?"
"I know you're hurting," she began, choosing her words carefully. "But... I think it's important that we still celebrate Christmas. For the boys' sake."
Frank's jaw tightened, and he finally looked at her, his eyes dark with pain. "I told you, Hermione. We're not celebrating Christmas. Alice isn't here, and without her... it doesn't matter."
Hermione felt a pang of sympathy, but she pushed on. "I know you miss her. We all do. But Christmas isn't just about who's missing—it's about who's still here. Harry and Neville need something to hold onto, something to make them smile."
Frank shook his head, his expression hardening. "You don't understand, Hermione. Alice was Christmas. She made it magical. Without her... it's just another day."
Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat. She had hoped to get through to him, but it seemed that his grief was too deep, too consuming. "Frank, I'm not asking you to forget her. I'm just asking you to let the boys have a little bit of joy. That's all."
He looked away, his shoulders slumping. "I can't, Hermione. I just... I can't."
Hermione's heart ached at the finality in his voice. She wanted to argue, to fight for the Christmas she knew the boys deserved, but she could see that Frank was too lost in his grief to listen. Forcing a small smile, she nodded. "Alright, Frank. I won't push you."
She got to her feet and left the room. Just as she was about to walk away, she heard him speak again, his voice thick with emotion.
"I'm so sorry, Alice... I don't deserve to be happy without you."
Hermione's breath caught in her throat. She knew she shouldn't listen, but her feet stayed rooted to the spot, unable to move. She inched closer, just enough to see Frank sitting at his desk, his back to her, holding a crumpled photograph in his hands. His shoulders were slumped, the weight of his grief visible in every line of his body.
He continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "Every time I smile, every time I have fun with the boys... or with Hermione... it feels wrong. Like I'm betraying you. How can I be happy when you're not here? How can I deserve that?"
Hermione's heart twisted painfully at his words. She hadn't realized just how deep Frank's guilt ran, how much he was struggling with his emotions. Seeing him like this, so vulnerable and broken, made her chest ache with sympathy. She wanted to reach out to him, to tell him that it was okay to find happiness again, that Alice wouldn't want him to suffer like this.
But she couldn't move. She felt like an intruder in this private moment of grief, and a part of her knew that Frank wouldn't want her to see him like this. So she stood there, silent and hidden in the shadows, watching as he stared down at the picture of Alice, his fingers tracing the edges of the creased photograph.
"I miss you so much," Frank whispered, his voice cracking. "But I don't know how to go on... I don't know how to live without feeling guilty every day."
Tears pricked at Hermione's eyes as she listened to his confession. She had never seen this side of Frank before—so raw, so utterly consumed by his pain. And yet, she understood him more in that moment than ever before. He wasn't just angry or bitter; he was lost. Lost without Alice, and struggling to find his way back.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Hermione quietly backed away, not wanting to intrude any further. She tiptoed down the hall, her heart heavy with the weight of what she had just witnessed.
As she reached her room, Hermione sat on the edge of her bed, her mind spinning with everything she had heard. Frank's words echoed in her head, his grief and guilt settling in her chest like a stone. She had always known that he missed Alice deeply, but she hadn't realized just how much it was affecting him, how much he was holding himself back from finding any kind of joy.
And suddenly, the task of bringing Christmas magic into their lives felt even more impossible. How could she fight against grief that ran so deep? How could she convince Frank that it was okay to smile again, to let himself be happy, when he was so convinced that he didn't deserve it?
Hermione wiped away a stray tear and took a deep breath. She didn't have all the answers, but she knew one thing for certain: she wouldn't give up. Not on Frank, not on the boys, and not on the hope that maybe, just maybe, they could find some happiness again—even if it was just a flicker of it.
But for now, all she could do was wait. Wait for Frank to be ready to let go of his guilt, to see that it was okay to find joy in the little moments. And until then, she would be there, ready to help him find his way back—no matter how long it took.