The crackling fire in the Gryffindor common room cast a warm glow across the room, but to Hermione Granger, it felt distant, its heat unable to penetrate the cold weight that had settled in her chest for months. The usual bustle of students preparing for the holiday break surrounded her—laughter, farewells, and last-minute gift exchanges—but the joy of the season felt muted, dulled by the ever-present grief she carried inside.

It had been months since Harry's trial. Months since the world learned that the Boy Who Lived had been lost, not to death, but to darkness. Hermione had spent those months in a state of denial, refusing to believe that Harry—her best friend—was truly gone. Even after the Dementor's Kiss, even after the finality of that cruel act, a part of her still clung to the hope that somehow, something of him remained.

But time, relentless and unforgiving, had begun to wear down that hope.

Across the room, Jimmy Potter sat alone, staring into the flames. His face was a reflection of Harry's—so familiar it ached to look at him—but it wasn't the same. Harry had always been the one to smile through the pain, to hold everything together when it felt like the world was falling apart. Jimmy's eyes held none of that light. There was only exhaustion, a weariness that Hermione knew all too well.

They had all been holding on to Harry in their own ways—her, Jimmy, even Ron. But the weight of that hope had grown too heavy, and now, Hermione was beginning to understand that letting go wasn't the same as giving up. It was survival. It was healing.

She glanced down at her lap, where three small boxes sat neatly wrapped in red paper with golden ribbons. They had been meant for Harry, each one a Christmas gift she had bought in the years since his disappearance. Every year, she had held onto the belief that he would return, that there would be a moment when she could finally give them to him and laugh about how silly it all seemed. But that moment was never going to come. Harry wasn't coming back, and no amount of wishing could change that.

For the first time, she didn't feel guilty about accepting that.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione stood, clutching the gifts to her chest as she crossed the room. Each step toward Jimmy felt heavy, but not as heavy as it would have months ago. There was a clarity in her now, a resolution that had slowly built itself inside her over the past few months, growing stronger as she came to terms with what had happened.

"Jimmy?" Her voice was soft, careful.

He looked up at her, his expression guarded. He already knew what this was about—they had avoided this conversation for long enough, but there was no more hiding from it.

"I need to give you these," Hermione said, holding out the boxes. "They were for Harry. Every year, I kept buying them, hoping… well, hoping that things would be different. But I can't hold onto them anymore."

Jimmy stared at the gifts, his face unreadable. Slowly, he reached out and took them from her, his hands trembling slightly as they brushed against hers. The silence that followed was thick with unspoken words, the weight of their shared grief pressing down on them both.

"I thought maybe you could keep them," Hermione said quietly, her voice steady despite the ache in her chest. "Not because I think you'll ever be able to give them to him… but because I can't keep pretending."

Jimmy's jaw clenched, and for a moment, Hermione thought he might refuse, that he might tell her it was too soon, too painful. But instead, he nodded, swallowing hard as he placed the boxes beside him on the couch.

"I don't know if I can ever give them to him," he admitted, his voice hoarse. "But I'll keep them. For you."

Hermione smiled sadly, grateful for his understanding. "That's all I can ask."

For a moment, they sat together in silence, the crackling of the fire filling the space between them. Hermione glanced toward the window, where the snow had begun to fall softly against the darkened sky. It felt fitting, in a way. The world was moving on, continuing its cycles, even if they weren't ready to.

"I still miss him," Hermione said after a while, her voice barely above a whisper. "But… I think I've finally accepted that he's gone. I just didn't want to admit it before."

Jimmy didn't respond right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, heavy with emotion. "I miss him too. Every day. But you're right. He's gone."

Hermione's chest tightened at the words, but she didn't flinch away from them. For so long, she had refused to speak those truths out loud, but now, there was a strange relief in finally saying them. Harry was gone. And no matter what had happened—no matter the crimes or the curse that had taken him—he had been her friend. The boy she had loved like a brother.

"I won't forget him," she said softly, more to herself than to Jimmy. "But I think… I think I can let him go now."

Jimmy nodded, though his gaze remained fixed on the fire, the flickering light dancing in his tired eyes. He didn't have to say anything—Hermione knew he understood.

As she stood to leave, her heart ached with a bittersweet sense of closure. She wasn't moving on—not fully—but she was finally ready to stop holding onto the past. The gifts, the hope, the waiting… it was all behind her now. She had to let it be.

Across the room, Ron watched her, his expression torn between concern and something else—relief, maybe. They had fought so many times over this, but now, seeing her take this step, Hermione knew he had been right. It was time.

As she walked toward the portrait hole, she paused one last time by the fire. The warmth of the flames brushed against her skin, and for the first time in years, she felt it—a small spark of peace.

Harry would always be a part of her, but she no longer had to carry the burden of what might have been.

It was time to live again.