Chapter Text
Christmas, 8th year. Hermione had been invited to the Burrow to partake in Christmas festivities. The war had been over for almost 8 months now, and everyone was learning how to live again.
Hermione flitted to a different corner of the Burrow, impatiently hoping that this time, nothing was following her. She opened the cellar door and quickly looked over her shoulder, hair flying everywhere, before shutting the door hastily. She leaned against the wooden door, inhale, exhale — and relished her newfound peace in the darkness.
“Heyyyy Hermioneee!!”
Oh for Merlin’s sake. She felt her heart pick up the pace as she came to terms with who was inside the cellar with her. She wasn’t nervous, per se, but this was the last person she wanted to have an interaction with right now.
Hermione somehow mustered a reply despite her immediate annoyance. “Ron. Excuse me, I was just grabbing the cloves.” Of course it had to be him in here, blasted out of his mind on whatever the twins gave him earlier. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she saw that he was laying on some sacks of potatoes, his beige jumper blending in perfectly with the background. She also noticed that his jeans had some undetermined stains on them too and couldn’t help but cringe. She and Ron had drifted apart the last few months — after sharing a hasty kiss deep in the Chamber of Secrets that felt mediocre at best. She regretted it as soon as it happened, but for Ron, it initiated an incessant attachment that she was still trying to burn down.
“Come back soooon! I’m always open for businessssss!” he slurred as Hermione beelined out of the cellar and wandered towards a hopefully less petulant area of the Burrow. She fidgeted with the gold charm bracelet her parents gave her for her 16th birthday: a book charm (of course), seashell charm, fleur de lis charm, and a simple bezel wrapped around a clear diamond. It was one of the only tangible things connecting her to her past life since her home in England had been destroyed during the war, and her parents currently didn’t have any of her belongings. Hermione sighed, deep in thought. She was still grieving the complicated loss of her parents. All of her belongings other than the charm bracelet disappeared with her parents; there could be no proof that she existed, it was the only way she could keep her parents safe.
She peeked into the sweet-smelling kitchen and passed the cloves to Ginny who was taking a cinnamon cake out of the oven with her pink oven mitts; Charlie was pouring butterbeer for himself and Cedric (both wearing party hats that came out of Christmas crackers), and Percy was wrapped in a black jumper and black scarf moping by the window trying to get some fresh air. He was still lamenting the loss of Errol, the Weasley family owl. Everyone had their spot in the Burrow, except for Hermione.
Just a little bit longer until she would be back at Hogwarts, surrounded by other forms of stimuli and places to find sanctuary. It wasn’t home anymore, but at least she would be more in control of her environment than she was now. She would be able to use her time for the things she wanted to prioritize, such as her 8th year thesis work. Last month she finally found her research topic: the synchronicity of nature with a focus on the ecological characteristics of Monotropa multiflora, a peculiar plant that was only found in extreme environments. However, Hermione had a profound and strange feeling that she might be able to find it in Scotland. She had always felt drawn to unique plants — ones that nobody knew about, that received no recognition other than measly mentions in dubious scientific papers. She could relate. But she kept on going, just like these plants who survived on rocky cliffs battered by wind and waves.
Her time post-war had been unremarkable and frankly insufferable. There was so much noise around her at all times. The chatter never ceased. Hogwarts wasn’t fun anymore, not in the way she and her friends were all used to. Then again, looking back on her experiences, she wondered: had it ever truly been fun? It seems like it was never even fun back then. She was constantly chasing after two inconsolable boys, putting herself in danger constantly, and having panic attacks about keeping up her grades. Even during the Yule Ball, a time to lean into her femininity and be opulent, she was made a fool. She wondered if the last few months at Hogwarts would be any different.
This Christmas felt like a never-ending nightmare, with Ron drunkenly pestering her about his existential crisis of the day, to Harry asking for publicity advice, to Molly hovering over her while she tried to help in a quiet corner. She wasn’t left alone for a single moment. All she wanted was to be alone, for just a little while.
Her mind had not been the same since the war. She used to be so well practiced in occlumency; it used to be easy to escape into different worlds to escape the chaos of reality. But the various battles at Hogwarts through the years, along with being tortured at the Malfoy Manor and coming to moral terms with erasing her parents’ memory had tainted her mind since then and made it difficult for her to focus her magic. She was finding it hard enough to finish her last year at Hogwarts; she could barely keep it together. Of course, nobody noticed. She was cast aside to make way for the War Hero: Harry Potter. His popularity increased, alongside Ron’s, and everyone else involved in the war had been forgotten. She opted out of the many press tours they were involved in. She understood that the tours helped Ron and Harry make a living, but she had the opinion that they were highly sensationalizing their stories and contributions to a mutual effort. Maybe the other heroes who also fought in the war just wanted to move on and despised the attention and reminder of loss. She did too.
“Presents everyone! Gather around the tree and collect your presents!” Poking her head into the various rooms of the Burrow, Molly shepherded everyone towards the sitting room. Everyone except Hermione and Cedric immediately charged towards the tree, fighting to find their presents.
She tried to tune out the screaming and wrapping paper flying everywhere, but knew she wouldn’t be able to hold onto that calming thread for long before it snapped.
George exclaimed, “Fred, that one’s mine! Can’t you read, you dimwitted twat?”
“Mate, you’re the one with an F on your sweater. At least look in a mirror after you get dressed!” Fred retorted.
“Ah, right you are, mate. My bad.” George poured butterbeer on Fred’s chair and staggered away with his presents held tight against his chest.
“Tosser.” They would share their presents with each other anyways.
Hermione rolled her eyes at the interaction; at least one thing stayed consistent, and that was Fred and George’s utter degeneracy.
“Really, Mother?” Ginny's snarky voice floated over to Hermione. “You know I have enough of these ratty things. I’ll just give it to a first-year when I get back to Hogwarts. Thanks, I suppose.” Ginny had certainly gained an attitude since the war, but Molly simply smiled and gave her a cranberry tart.
“I know sweetheart, but it must get terribly cold at your new work study placement in the Owlery, so just layer it with all the other jumpers you have.” Molly smiled at her daughter who started snacking on the tart, crumbs dropping to the floor. Hermione was in disbelief at Molly’s tolerance of the disrespect, but said nothing.
Ginny helped pass out the remaining presents, giving some to Percy, Arthur, Bill, and Charlie. Hermione had taken pride in her wrapping techniques — she’d added a personalized charm to each packet that reminded her of the recipient and included gifts that she knew every person would find useful.
“I anticipated some chaos while deciding to come here, so here’s your present, Hermione.” Cedric handed Hermione a small packet wrapped in lilac paper that looked handmade. “I learned how to make paper whilst staying at St. Mungo’s after my injuries — one of the many crafts they had us partake in,” he said, smiling at her genuinely.
She gently took Cedric’s present; she felt so grateful for his calming presence in all of this. She opened it, careful not to rip the sparkling paper that he delicately made with his own hands. Inside was a pendant with a dried flower encased in it — she knew it to be Rubus chamaemorus. A beautiful white blossom that would eventually turn into an orange berry, commonly known as cloudberry.
She felt a spark ignite in her mind, and her eyes widened in excitement. “Cedric, where did you obtain this? From my research, it only grows near the Arctic Circle. I didn’t know you had travelled there lately.”
“Last year, my father and I went on a few expeditions. I followed where my soul told me to go and I found many answers I was seeking. Although I still don’t know what questions they were answering. I hope to find out soon.” He gave her a tired but content look. She knew he had been through so much the past few years; it was far too much for a student so young who should only have to focus on studies and having a fun time with fellow classmates. She had no idea how he managed to persist and keep living in the moment after it all. He was the most positive influence in her life; his quiet demeanor anchored her to the present.
She smiled at him gratefully, delicately adding the pendant to the gold chain around her neck. “Thank you kindly, Cedric. This means more than you know. I truly do hope I can visit the Arctic Circle at some point. I think it would do me good to escape to some isolation for a while.”
“I know you would love it there, because you were meant to be somewhere more desolate. Not in a sad way, but in a peaceful way. There’s nothing like it. No distractions, no noise, just you and the expanse before you. If you’d like, I can take you to some places this summer. I’ll share my list with you when we get back to Hogwarts.”
Hermione nodded and settled into her seat, happy for the reprieve with Cedric before she had to return to her current reality. She glanced towards the bottom of the Christmas tree, expecting more presents to be hiding under the branches. There were none.
She looked to Charlie, who was cozy in his new Molly Weasley Special: a chunky knitted jumper made with navy blue yarn and had red sleeve cuffs. Classic. She didn’t think that Molly knew that Charlie’s owl liked to take apart the sweaters to use as nesting material.
Her eyes moved downwards — there were no unopened presents by her feet. She skimmed the rest of the room, looking for any presents that haven’t been opened yet. Why was panic rising in her throat? She felt tears come to her eyes in embarrassment. She started picking at her nails to distract herself, a bad habit she picked up while studying for OWLS. Did they forget about her?
She looked back to Cedric, who was staring mistily across the room while standing beside the piano. She sensed that he felt uncomfortable in the unfolding situation. Hermione had shared a lot of her deepest thoughts with Cedric over the past few years; she wasn’t close to him in the beginning of her time at Hogwarts, but ended up visiting him regularly when he was recovering at St. Mungo’s. He was highly empathetic, and she could tell by his forlorn look that he was feeling some type of way about this situation.
“Oh, Hermione dearest! Here is your present. I managed to finish this just last night for you!” Molly boasted, thinking that this was a compliment — indeed it was the opposite.
Molly handed her a round present wrapped in old Daily Prophet pages. It was the only present without festive wrapping paper (the spell to cast a wrapping charm was so simple a first-year could do it). Hermione opened the packet and held up a long knitted tube. “It’s a broomstick warmer! I know how much you love quidditch,” Molly mused, looking incredibly flush. Ron and Harry were now averting their gazes rather deliberately.
“Well, thank you Molly. I’m sure I’ll put this to good use.” Perhaps as a noose, undoubtedly.
She was struck by the realization that she’d never felt this terrible at the Burrow before. She remembered being in first year and visiting the Burrow for the first time, being so entranced by the colours and sounds and smells and overwhelming love bursting through the walls. She wasn’t sure what happened. Nostalgia is a mind’s trick.
Ron turned red and gazed sideways at her. “Hermione,” he started to say then looked away again, “I didn’t have a chance to get you a present. You know how busy it’s been for me and Harry lately with work and answering our fan mail, and… yeah, we’ve been totally knackered!” Hermione did take note that Ron didn’t get anyone a present, neither did Harry.
“Yeah Hermione, plus with all my Ministry mandated paperwork,” Harry stumbled and Cedric scoffed, walking away from his safe piano corner to get some British charcuterie. “I’ve barely had any time to deal with everything else going on. I’ll get you a souvenir once I’m back from playing quidditch in Ireland!” Hermione nodded and smiled — she knew this was a false promise, just another to pile on to the many others made on her birthdays and past Christmases. “Of course, Harry, thank you.”
“Plus, we know you don’t like clutter! So really, us not getting you a present is a present in itself,” Ron stated, looking pleased with himself.
She gave him a polite, tight-lipped smile. Get me out of here. “Of course Ron, no hard feelings. I know how tremendously difficult life has been for both of you. I appreciate the sentiment.”
The Burrow had lost its warmth.
Little did Hermione know that counties away, there was a young blond-haired wizard feeling similar inner turmoil, desperately hoping for some quiet of his own.