The end of November flowed into the beginning of December, bringing with it the icy days of winter. Christmas vacation loomed over Hermione, and thoughts of going home haunted her like vengeful ghosts. Time seemed to be moving in fast-forward, carrying her into the future where a monster lay waiting—the one from inside the bed rather than from under it. The thought of going home weighed heavy on her shoulders, but aside from being fatigued, she found that she was unaffected. She was a ghost again, faded, withered, and detached—a phantom, appearing to be real, but not actually existing. The past and the present had blended together until they'd become like one. And there was nothing to keep it from slowly easing forward, mixing with—and tainting—the future.
Hermione sat, her mind lost in that vague, faraway place. She didn't hear her two friends approaching, didn't notice as they seated themselves on either side.
"What are you thinking about?" Harry asked, recognizing that distant look, fearing it, despising it.
She languidly awoke from her trance. "Christmas," she told him softly.
Ron's smile was skeptical and his blue eyes were bright and amused. "Yes, because the idea of a jolly fat man giving out free gifts really is something to stew about."
He put an arm around Hermione's shoulder, but she couldn't muster a smile. They didn't know that Santa Claus hadn't visited her home in ages. Father Christmas had abandoned her years before, leaving her in the grips of another father, one whose only gifts to her were bruises and broken bones.
"Aren't you excited?" Harry asked, taking in that familiar haunted look on her face, wanting to understand it, wanting to somehow soothe it away.
"About going home?" she asked. He nodded. Hermione shrugged one weak shoulder. "I'd rather be going to the Burrow as usual." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't everything. She couldn't tell them everything, no matter how badly she burned to…
There were some things they could never know…
Ron smiled comfortingly. "Don't worry, you won't be missing much," he told her. "And my mum will owl you your annual holiday sweater."
Hermione smiled faintly at that. Though her gift from Mrs. Weasley was the same year after year, not a Christmas had gone by where she hadn't adored untying the ribbon, peeling back the paper, and finding the knitted sweater. She supposed it was because she was so unused to presents. Aside from life, her own mother had never given her a thing…
And she sometimes wished Diana Granger hadn't given her even that.
"And we'll still see you," Ron continued. "We're taking you Christmas shopping, remember?"
"Maybe," she told him quietly. It all depended on her father, on his schedule, on his mood. And it depended on her, on how hard the bruises were to hide. She would die of shame before letting her friends see her that way.
The statement caused the two boys to look worriedly at each other. They had spent the last few nights discussing Hermione and making plans to check up on her. Both were concerned that in their absence she would take a turn for the worst. Harry and Ron were determined not to let that happen. Not this time.
Hermione smiled in an attempt to soothe, somehow reading their thoughts. "I have homework to finish," she told them quietly.
"I sincerely doubt that," Ron replied, but he didn't object when she stood from the table.
"I'll see you in a while. You can come up when you want." She leaned down and absently kissed each boy on the forehead. They said nothing, just watched her go with solemn eyes.
