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Hermione walked aimlessly down the corridor, marveling at the decorations that filled the halls. It was as if nothing had changed; how was she supposed to act as if nothing had changed? As if it were any other year, any other Christmas, as if the world hadn’t been turned upside down. As if she were supposed to just carry on, celebrate like the other students were doing.
She had finally allowed Ginny to erect a small tree in the corner of her Head Girl’s quarters, although with only a week until Christmas, she didn’t see much point. Ginny had asked her, a week before she put up the tree, why she hadn’t decorated already, and the simple answer was that Hermione didn’t know why. She only knew that she couldn’t. Couldn’t bring herself to conjure the miniature evergreen, wouldn’t adorn it with little magical baubles. It had been the same at Halloween; she’d been genuinely surprised to walk into the Great Hall one morning to be greeted with the same army of levitating jack-o-lanterns that had lit the Hall since her first year at Hogwarts, and had politely declined Luna’s invitation to carve pumpkins, one night in the Ravenclaw common room. Her heart wasn’t in it. She just couldn’t.
In her rare moments of introspection, she thought that it was less to do with the holidays themselves, and more to do with the passing time that the holidays signified. If it was Halloween, that meant she had been back at Hogwarts for two months. Christmas meant another six weeks had gone by. But nothing was changing. Time was going by, but nothing was changing .
In the beginning, after the war, there had been a great deal of devastation, but there had also been hope. Voldemort had been vanquished, and everything after that was supposed to have been simple. They should have started to heal. Her parents should have been found. Nearly eight months had gone by since Voldemort’s defeat, and what exactly did they have to show for it?
She had bought gifts for Ron, and Harry, and Ginny, but the joy she used to get from shopping for the people closest to her had been replaced by a perfunctory sense of duty to do it. It was Christmas. She bought gifts at Christmas. But the parcels hadn’t even left their shopping bags, still stuffed under her bed without any wrapping, and they were now a mere two days from Christmas. Worse, she was due to catch the train home with Ginny in a matter of hours, and she had yet to tell anyone that she was planning to stay at Hogwarts for the holiday. It was the same with the tree; she knew that she should go to the owlery, send a message to Ron. But actually forcing her feet to make that journey was another matter entirely. Letting Ginny decorate a tree in her room felt like a small concession to her sensibility, compared to the monumental task of putting on a cheery face for a full-on Weasley family Christmas—her first, no less.
She knew they were hurting too, that the loss of Fred had caused an ache that would only diminish and never fully disappear, but that was part of it, too. She didn’t want to be more of a burden to them, to Ron. It would just be easier, better for everyone, if she stayed here and started revising for her NEWTS.
She found herself nearly back to Gryffindor Tower when she ran—almost quite literally—into Ginny. “Where have you been? We’re going to miss the train.”
“I’ve, er—“ Hermione’s heart pounded, as the moment she’d been avoiding for weeks was suddenly upon her. She had stalled and stalled until the absolute last possible moment to break the news to Ginny, knowing that wouldn’t make it any easier to say or hear but doing it anyway. “I’ve got to stay here,” she blurted. “Head Girl business.”
Ginny put her hands on her hips. “Do you know how many of my brothers have been Head Boy?” she demanded. “That’s not a thing, Hermione, why are you lying to me?”
“I’m sorry, Gin. Happy Christmas.” Hermione wondered if the words sounded as hollow to Ginny as they did to her as she turned and hurried into her quarters, leaving Ginny dumbfounded in the hall.
It was barely five minutes past when the train should have arrived in London when there was a knock on her door. Out of curiosity more than anything else, Hermione hauled herself off of her bed to answer the door and was surprised to find Ron there. “How did—?”
“McGonagall’s Floo,” he replied, sounding a bit breathless, and she wondered if he had run all the way from her office. “Could I—?” She stepped aside to let him enter, but her heart was hammering again. He had to be upset about her not spending the holiday at the Burrow, but she hadn’t imagined that he would come here to persuade her otherwise.
“What are you doing here?” Hermione asked, folding her arms across her chest, an unconscious attempt to shield herself from whatever argument they were surely about to have.
“I’m worried about you. Gin’s worried about you, too. What’s wrong?”
She sighed heavily. “Oh, Ron, I’m sorry, I just—“ She blinked back the tears and shook her head. “I couldn’t—I don’t—“
He took a tentative step toward her. “Did I do something?” She shook her head firmly, and he took another step. “Is it alright if I…?” He opened his arms and she stepped into them, closing the gap between them.
“It’s not you,” she promised softly, burying her face in his scarf. “I just don’t feel like celebrating. I don’t feel very festive, I suppose.”
Ron kissed the side of her head and his arms tightened slightly around her. “Can’t say I’m exactly looking forward to the day, either. It’s hard to feel like there’s anything to celebrate, without the family all together.”
Hermione pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry. It just got so overwhelming, and I felt like I would rather just ignore the holiday altogether. I haven’t even wrapped any of the gifts I got. I just...I don’t know. Didn’t want to.”
“You know…” Ron touched his lips to her forehead, and she could feel them moving as he spoke. “It’s okay that you’re not okay. Even at Christmas.”
“It’s not. Everyone else is fine.”
Ron shook his head. “Everyone’s not fine. Some people just hide it better.”
Hermione sighed. “I just don’t think I can handle the Burrow this year. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry for taking care of yourself. I understand. Would you, um...like some company? Not celebrating?”
“What about your family?”
Ron shrugged. “I’ll owl them. It’s okay if you want to be alone. You can tell me to sod off.” He grinned at her, and she couldn’t help the tiny smile she gave him in return. “But if you want me to stay, I’ll stay. We don’t have to do anything special. Or anything at all, really. You don’t have to pretend for me.”
Hermione sighed and snuggled back into his arms, noting as she did that a sprig of mistletoe had appeared above them. The castle was relentless in its holiday spirit; ‘tis the damn season, Hermione thought wryly. She vanished the mistletoe but kissed Ron anyway. “Happy Wednesday, then,” she said softly.
“Happy Wednesday,” he echoed. “So, what do you do on an absolutely ordinary Wednesday?”
“Well…” Hermione looked up at him, flooded with relief that he understood her, even when she didn’t quite understand herself. “There’s always the library.”