This is a story written for the Potter Complex 2024/2025 championships.
Read the start here: https//s/14422877/1/Checkmate-DavidoDaVinci
Hermione Granger took a deep breath as she resumed her way to the Gryffindor Common Room. She had to put on her best face, the face of cheer she'd practised, for her newfound friends' sakes. They deserved a happy Christmas. They didn't need her ruining it. So she pushed her annoyance at the celebrations of gift-giving and caroling and the like to the far back of her mind – the best she could, at least, because she'd reached the Fat Lady and was reminded of the season through the new password ("Mistletoe") and then, when she stepped through the hole, the festive decorations in the Common Room, with students playing games in every corner, with talks of Christmas gifts and family and food and the train ride home. A huge Christmas tree stood near the fireplace, and Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil were stringing fairy lights into it, whilst a frustrated Seamus Finnigan was wrestling with the tinsel he'd tried to charm to find its way up the tree by itself, but which had wrapped around his head instead.
"Oi, Hermione!"
She turned to see Ron and Harry come down the stairs leading up to the boys' dormitories. They hurried on over to her and she led them to the least busy corner of the Common Room, so they could talk with a little more privacy.
"Any luck in the library?" asked Harry when they came to a halt, looking at her with a hopeful expression.
She shook her head. They'd already searched all the books they could think of in the weeks before, right up to yesterday, but still – she'd gone back on the morning the train was to take her back to London because she had to know she'd really checked everything, now that she'd be without the library for weeks and it fell upon Ron and Harry to find Nicholas Flamel. That, and it had offered her a nice distraction from the oppressive cheer of the Great Hall.
"This is hopeless," Ron muttered. "Maybe he's just not in them at all. Doesn't have to be in a book, does he?"
"Of course he has to be – he's got to be famous," Hermione snapped, glaring at him. "His name wouldn't be tied to whatever's being guarded by that three-headed dog otherwise."
"She's right," Harry said quickly, shooting Ron a look.
"Thank you," she said. "So that means you'll keep looking? And you'll let me know—"
"Yes, yes," Ron grumbled. "We'll send you an owl if we find anything."
"Good. Just—" she hesitated, then added sternly, "just don't do anything reckless while I'm gone. I'd rather not come back to find you both expelled."
"Honestly, Hermione," Ron muttered, rolling his eyes.
She didn't press. She couldn't, really; Harry interjected to ask her if she wanted to join them for breakfast.
"I've already eaten," she lied smoothly. "Besides, I should go finish packing. The train will be leaving soon."
She wasted little more time in that festive Common Room after that. She had nothing to pack, really, she'd finished days ago – she just couldn't stand another minute surrounded by all that holiday cheer. But as she climbed the spiral staircase to the girls' dormitories, she felt a pang of guilt. She'd lied to her only friends. Several times. Whatever would they think of her when they inevitably found out?
But try as she might, she couldn't shake the feeling that Christmas was little more than a distraction from the things that really mattered, like finding out who Nicholas Flamel was and what Snape was up to.
The journey back to the Muggle world was a blur. She had crammed into one of the horseless carriages that stood waiting outside of the castle. She'd shared with two seventh-years who were too preoccupied with their own conversation to pay her much mind, but this suited her just fine; she had no intention to discuss holiday plans with anyone.
They'd rattled across the snow-covered grounds towards the train station, where she'd climbed into an empty compartment. Soon after, a chattering group of fifth-years asked if they could share. She'd agreed, despite herself, but they left her alone, preferring to talk about Quidditch strategy amongst themselves.
She had opened Hogwarts, A History and tried to read, but even that could bring her no solace. Her eyes just skimmed the words without truly understanding them. So she discarded the book and tried to get a headstart on the Christmas cards she still had keft to write, but she couldn't find the words to put on paper.
When the trolley came round she bought a box of chocolate frogs and a pack of those every-flavour beans – to wrap up and send to Hogwarts as gifts for Harry and Ron, so that she wouldn't have to go shopping for them in the Muggle world. She wasn't sure what they'd want, anyway. Sweets could never go wrong.
By the time the train pulled into King's Cross, darkness had fallen.
The platform was bustling with parents waiting to collect their children. Hermione dragged her trunk onto the platform, scanning the crowd for her parents.
It didn't take long for her mother's familiar voice to call out, "There she is!"
Hermione turned to see her parents waving enthusiastically near the barrier.
Her mother rushed forward, pulling her into a tight hug. "Oh, you've grown so much! Look at you!"
"I haven't grown that much, Mum," Hermione replied, though she couldn't help but smile. It was nice to be back. But also a little weird.
Her father took her trunk from her and put an arm around her shoulders. "Come on, love, let's get you home. You must be freezing!"
The journey home was filled with conversations about Christmas and Hermione nodded politely, answered when asked something, but mostly kept to herself. Every minute closer to home was one further removed from Hogwarts, from the wizarding world, from the mystery of Nicholas Flamel. Every minute closer to home was a minute closer to Christmas and fake generosity.
Home was just as she'd expected (and remembered) it to be: cozy, festive, and smelling faintly of cinnamon and cloves. A Christmas tree stood in the corner of the living room – not nearly as extravagant as the ones at Hogwarts, but it served as just as big a reminder of the holiday season, as did the radio, which played cheesy Christmas songs.
"It's good to have you home, Hermione," her father said, setting her trunk by the stairs.
"It's good to be home," she replied, and she did mean it. She did. And yet, she couldn't quite shake the sense of unease.
The days leading up to Christmas passed quickly. Hermione helped her mother string lights along the banister, write Christmas cards to distant relatives, and wrap presents with crisp corners and neatly tied bows. Just like she had last year. It was as if she hadn't been gone at all. The only difference was that now, if she told them about schoolwork, she was met with blank stares or faint smiles. She could not ask them for help (nor, as Ron had suggested, ask them about Nicholas Flamel). She could, of course, explain to them the basics – and she did – but it just wasn't the same. Just the same, she couldn't exactly tell them a giant troll had almost smashed her to death, or that a teacher had tried to seriously injure a friend of hers, or that a three-headed dog guarded something very valuable or very dangerous, and that that very same teacher was after whatever it was guarding, and that he had likely also been responsible for that troll. How could she even begin to explain all that?
On Christmas Eve, friends of her parents stopped by for "mulled wine and a good time", and Hermione had taken it as her sign to go to her room, where she sat cross-legged on her bed, thinking about Harry and Ron. She'd sent their gifts with the school owl that had come asking for them, and she hoped they'd like them. She also hoped they hadn't forgotten to keep looking for Nicholas Flamel despite the holday activities. But were they being sensible, or were they sneaking around again, risking death – or worse? How was Harry holding up with Snape there?
Hermione sighed. She knew she should enjoy the break, should be grateful for the quiet and the warmth of her family's home. But her heart ached for the familiar halls of Hogwarts, for the library and the common room and even the chilly corridors … and as the days progressed and she left Christmas well behind her, she found herself counting down the days until the train would take her back to Hogwarts.
A Hogwarts without trees and garlands. A Hogwarts with a mystery to solve.