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bookishwenchFor previous chapters, go here.
“I take it things didn’t go well?”
Harry winced as he sat down on the couch and the last remnants of the Polyjuice Potion* ebbed away, leaving him looking like himself again. Hermione cracked her back and shook her head.
“Does anyone else have the sinking suspicion that we’re not actually getting any closer to finding another one?” Hermione said.
“Yeah,” Harry said, “but like we were talking about, would we really want to have two of these things around us at one time? Think how much worse it would be. We wouldn’t stand a chance.”
His forehead hurt for a split second, but Harry brushed it off as another sign Voldemort was having one of his fits of anger against someone somewhere.
“Okay,” Hermione said, “Windsor Castle just doesn’t seem likely. I didn’t pick up on much at all that suggested a connection to the wizarding world. A few pieces of art looked like magical beasts, but they weren’t particularly accurate.”
Harry tended to agree. The fire the day before had resulted in a closure of several parts of the castle, but Harry had simply used the Cloak to go through them. Somehow, he felt that if he were near another Horcrux, he would know. Instead, he just got the smell of smoke stuck in his nose and not much else. Hermione had tried her luck in the areas still open to the public, and though she had very carefully examined a few things, including the Queen’s Beasts, especially the Yale of Beaufort and the Black Bull of Clarence, in the end, there didn’t seem to be any protective spells on them or any other traces of magic.
Ron had remained in the tent for the day, his escapade during the previous day meaning the Muggle form he’d used was now useless, and with the possible exposure of his real face when the Polyjuice had worn off, the risk was even higher since it was possible Death Eaters might have gotten wind of it somehow. Happily, none materialized, but as Harry reminded himself, even with as deeply stupid as Voldemort’s followers could be, it was hard to pick them out of a crowd until it was too late. For all he knew, the place and been crawling with them, lying in wait.
“I made a bit of dinner,” Ron said, gesturing over at the kitchen table, which was practically groaning under the weight of the food he’d taken from Dumbledore’s stash. “Hungry?”
“Yes, now you mention it,” Hermione said, taking off the Horcrux and sighing in relief as it hung from the back of one of the wooden chairs. “That thing literally leaves a bad taste in my mouth. It’s like spoiled broccoli.”
“Maybe the ham and fried potatoes will help blot it out,” Ron said hopefully. “There’s an apple tart for dessert, too.”
“It looks wonderful,” Harry said, then took a bite of the ham, letting himself focus on the taste. “Thanks, Ron.”
“Yes, thanks,” Hermione said, but she looked drawn and wasn’t eating much.
Harry was certain now that the Horcrux was getting stronger somehow. He cracked his neck and tried to wrack his brains for any possible way to destroy the blasted thing.
“Did you find anything interesting in the book, Ron?” Hermione asked.
“No, not really,” he said, but Harry noticed that he very carefully signed the letters y-e-s.
Hermione’s suggestion that they learn the alphabet in Sign Language had been easy enough to follow, and in less than a day, all three of them now had a working knowledge of the letters so they could potentially bypass the Horcrux listening in on their conversations.
“That’s too bad,” Hermione said, keeping her tone heavy and disappointed, but in turn she signed back w-h-a-t. “Could you pass the potatoes, please?”
He did, and Harry noticed Ron slipped her a note at the same time. As she was adding potatoes to her plate, she deftly dropped the paper into her lap under the table. She handed the dish to Harry, then let her hands rest in her lap long enough to unfold the note and read it. She blinked and looked up.
“You’ve done a good job with this,” Hermione said, then added, “It’s a lovely dinner.”
Harry felt her press the paper into his hand, and he carefully looked at it as well. In his usual untidy scrawl, Ron had written one word: “Fiendfyre.”
Harry glanced at Hermione. He had absolutely no idea what Fiendfyre was, but he had a strong suspicion she did. It seemed unlikely Ron would have gotten the answer out of one of her books in a single afternoon without her already knowing of its existence, but her expression was thoughtful. Harry crushed the paper quietly and carefully put it into his pocket.
“By the way, do you know what today is?” Hermione said. “I certainly didn’t.”
“What’s that?” Ron said.
“Christmas Eve,” she replied, shaking her head. “I’ve been so caught up in everything else that I didn’t notice it. I mean, I’ve noticed decorations and things, but those go up so early now, I didn’t realize it was today. I suppose I should have realized it was getting close. The days have been so short.”
Harry blinked in surprise and said, “Is it really?”
“I’ve lost track of the days,” Ron said, looking disturbed. “I honestly thought it was about a week off yet.”
“Same here, but someone left a Muggle newspaper lying about in one of the corridors, and sure enough, that’s today’s date,” she said.
Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Until he’d gone to Hogwarts, Christmastime was always a disappointment for him. He’d sit and watch Dudley open all the presents under the tree that Father Christmas left, and his aunt and uncle would tell him that he hadn’t got any because he was a naughty boy and should try harder. Eventually, he’d stopped caring and just hoped he’d get a share of the Christmas pudding that year. Sometimes he did, if it was big enough. A few times he’d made a list of all the things he wanted to do when he was grown and out on his own at Christmastime, things like pulling Christmas crackers and giving gifts to friends and opening presents. When he’d come to Hogwarts, he’d gotten his wishes and more, and it was really only in looking back that he’d realized how much he’d missed when he was smaller.
Now, for his first Christmas really on his own, he’d dropped the Quaffle and hadn’t got either of his friends a sodding thing. Then again, judging by Hermione’s confession and Ron’s shocked expression, they hadn’t got him anything either, so at least it was all even.
“It’s weird, thinking of it being Christmas when we’re stuck in this tent,” Ron said. “I wonder if Mum and Dad had everyone over this year. Bill and Fleur, Ginny home from school, the twins. Maybe Charlie even came in from Romania.”
The homesickness in his voice was almost too painful, and Harry realized that the one good thing about not having a happy home was that he didn’t miss it.
“I hope my parents are having a good holiday, too,” Hermione said, and Harry knew she was realizing that she couldn’t even comfort herself with the knowledge that they would be thinking of her this Christmas.
Something in Harry snapped. It might not be a perfect holiday, but they might as well make do with the best they had.
“Okay, so rather than being a bunch of stick-in-the-muds, I say we liven the tent up a bit and let ourselves celebrate,” Harry said, trying to smile. “Ron’s already given us a good feast, so we have food. Can we use anything for decorations?”
Hermione looked at him for a moment in disbelief, then shrugged and said, “I’ll look in my bag. There must be something.”
“Right,” Harry said, “and I’ll turn on the wireless and try to find some Christmas music.”
He put the radio on and tried to tune in a station, Muggle or wizard, that was playing upbeat Christmas songs. It didn’t take him long. Right on the WWN, “Deck the Halls” was starting up, and it proved fitting as Hermione took out rolls of bandages and did a spell to turn them green and red and hang them from the tent’s ceiling. Inspired, Ron pulled out some blank sheets of paper from his notebook, folded them up, and cut snowflakes to hang beside them. It was strange, but the tiny changes somehow started to make the tent feel nearly as cozy as the Great Hall during the hols.
“I wonder if…” Hermione said, digging through her bag, then grinning. “Yes! I thought I saw some of these in there!”
She pulled out a packet of gingersnaps and opened it, putting the cookies on a plate on the table.
“These smell like Christmas to me,” she said, smiling.
“Now all we need is a Christmas story,” Ron said. “Are there any Christmas fairy tales?”
“A few,” Hermione said. “The first one that pops to mind is Andersen’s ‘The Fir Tree.’”
“Is there anything about feet or shoes in it?” he asked.
Hermione squinted as though she were trying to remember, then said, “No, I don’t believe so.”
“It’s a Christmas miracle!” he shouted happily, grabbing a biscuit. “Not that it would have been a deal-breaker.”
“I should warn you that the story is rather sad, though,” Hermione said.
“Does a kid freeze to death in an alley again?” Ron said seriously. “Because that one really is a deal-breaker.”
“No, no freezing children this time,” Hermione said.
“Then let’s give it a go,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair.
“Once upon a time,” Hermione and Ron said together, and Harry grinned.
“Yes, well, once upon a time there was a very small fir tree that lived in a great forest,” Hermione said. “It was very young, but it was impatient to be a fully grown tree.”
“Most kids are,” Ron said, nodding.
“Yes, but this fir tree took it to an extreme. It lived in a beautiful forest full of pines and other firs, with birds singing in their branches, and small children coming to picnic under the trees. It was an utterly lovely spot, but the fir tree didn’t enjoy it at all because all it could think of was how small it was and how much it wanted to be a great, tall fir like the other trees.”
“Well, no sense in not enjoying a good time when you have it,” Harry said.
“Precisely,” Hermione said. “Then, in the fall, the woodcutters came and chopped down some of the tallest trees, lopping off their limbs and loading them on wagons to be taken away.”
“Okay, that is now a really traumatizing image considering the trees in this are apparently sentient,” Ron said, looking appalled.
“I suppose it is,” Hermione said, “but the little fir tree was more curious than frightened.”
“Curious?” Ron said. “It’s just seen a mass tree murder and it’s curious?”
“I didn’t say the fir tree was especially smart,” Hermione said. “Anyway, it decided to ask the swallows about it when they returned in the spring, for they traveled far and wide and knew many things.”
“So he’s going to ask well-traveled birds their opinion on the tree murders?” Ron said, then paused. “That is a really odd sentence.”
“What’s even odder is it’s completely correct,” Hermione said. “The swallows did indeed return in the spring, as they always did, and it asked them if they knew what happened to the trees that had been felled.”
“So what happened?” Ron asked.
“They didn’t know,” Hermione said.
“That’s pretty anticlimactic,” Ron said, wrinkling his nose.
“But a stork who had just flown back from Egypt did,” Hermione said.
“Right,” Ron said, frowning. “I’ll just accept that at this point. I’ve learned to accept much stranger things by now with these nutty things.”
“Probably wise,” Hermione agreed. “Anyway, the stork said he thought he had seen the trees. They had been turned into masts for sailing ships, and they were graceful and elegant, standing tall in the wind and traveling on the ocean.”
“I admit, I was not expecting that answer,” Harry said.
“Me neither,” Ron said. “I was thinking more along the lines of firewood.”
“The fir tree was entranced and wished even harder that it could grow up more quickly to become a mast and sail upon the ocean,” Hermione said.
“Yeah, but wouldn’t it be dead at that point?” Ron asked.
“One would think so,” Hermione said.
“This is a weird tree,” Ron said, shaking his head. “It makes the Whomping Willow look sane.”
“I miss that tree,” Harry said, then thought about what he’d just said. “Actually, no, I don’t. That thing nearly put me in hospital. Twice.”
“Time passed, and the woodcutters returned when Christmas came near. Once again, they chopped down trees, but these were not so tall. In fact, some of them were even smaller than the fir tree. Their limbs weren’t cut off, but they were loaded onto wagons again and taken away,” Hermione said.
“Christmas trees,” Ron said.
“Yes, but the fir didn’t know that, and it asked the birds what was happening to these smaller trees. The sparrows told him they had peeped in the windows in the town and seen trees like these covered in beautiful decorations, standing in the middle of homes, the central figure in celebrations and parties,” Hermione said.
“Well, they’re not wrong,” Ron said. “It turns out birds are a pretty good source of information.”
“Unfortunately, this made the fir tree even more dissatisfied with its home in the forest, and no matter how much the sunbeams warmed it or the morning dew told him to enjoy its life rather than rushing through it, the only thing it could think of was to grow taller and be taken by the woodcutters to become a beautiful Christmas tree,” Hermione said.
“This kid has problems,” Ron said, shaking his head. “I’m not sure if it’s suicidal, stupid, or wildly ambitious.”
“I’d guess more the last two,” Hermione said. “It did ask the birds what happened to the trees after the parties, and they said they didn’t know and flew away.”
“That should be a bit of a red flag,” Harry said.
“Yes, but the tree didn’t take it that way. It thought that the parties and decorations and songs and splendor that the sparrows described must be only the first of a long line of wonders in store for those trees, and it desired more than ever to hurry up and grow big enough to be chosen,” Hermione said.
“So what happened?” Ron asked.
“A whole year passed, and during that time, the tree had thought of nothing but the woodcutters and being taken with the others to start its life of glamor and adventure,” Hermione said. “And it got its wish. The next winter, it was the very first tree the woodcutters chopped down and threw in the wagon.”
“Careful what you wish for, mate,” Ron said, wincing.
“Precisely what the fir thought, for it was in great pain when it was cut down, and then it realized it would never again see all the birds and rabbits and other trees that had been its friends for so many years,” Hermione said.
“It hadn’t realized that before?” Ron said.
“It seems obvious, but no, it hadn’t,” Hermione said. “It had thought only of rushing towards what it saw as a glorious future, not of what it would lose to get there.”
“I’m starting to think Andersen is using this as a metaphor for something else,” Ron said.
“And you’d be right,” Hermione agreed. “The tree, who now wasn’t so certain of the choice it had made, was bumped around in the wagon on the trip to town. Then, when the wagon stopped at a fine house, the man driving it got out and chose several trees, one of which was the fir tree, to show to the man who lived there. The man said he wanted only one tree and chose the fir, saying it was the prettiest one.”
“So far, so good,” Ron said.
“Yes, the fir thought so as well, for at least now it was out of the wagon. The next several hours passed with many changes for the fir. It was brought into a parlor filled with beautiful books and furniture, and its trunk was placed in a tub full of sand to make it stand upright. The tub was then hidden under a green cloth, and the servants came in with all sorts of decorations that they began to hang on the tree: little paper baskets filled with sweets, gilded apples, nuts, dolls, toys, and dozens and dozens of candles that nestled in its branches. Most wonderful of all, a golden star made of tinsel was put on its topmost branch. At first the fir had been frightened, but then, as it saw all the lovely decorations and heard the servants say how wonderful it would look when all the candles were lit, it began to be very happy and more than a little vain,” Hermione said.
“Christmas trees are pretty,” Ron admitted. “It’s right there. The ones in the Great Hall were always amazing.”
“They were,” Harry agreed. “Even though almost everyone was gone most years, Hagrid and the teachers always made them gorgeous for anyone who had to stay.”
“I think they probably did that on purpose,” Hermione said.
“Why?” Ron asked.
“Well, I always felt rather sad for people who had to stay there at Christmas instead of going home,” Hermione said. “I did it a couple times, but not because my parents didn’t want me home.”
“Mum and Dad only had us stay that one time when they went to visit Charlie in Romania since they couldn’t afford to take the lot of us there,” Ron said. “The rest of the time, we were all welcome at home.”
“Yeah,” Harry said. “I wasn’t. I didn’t really care, though. Christmas at Hogwarts was better than Christmas at the Dursleys anyway.”
“I think that might have been the case for some of the other students who stayed, too,” Hermione said. “That’s what made me sad, thinking they didn’t have someone who wanted them home. I asked my mum and dad once if you could visit over Christmas, Harry, and I wanted to ask you too, Ron, but they were a little, well, uncomfortable with the idea of my bringing a pair of boys home.”
Harry and Ron looked at each other.
“That’s silly,” Ron said. “What? Did they think the neighbors would jump to conclusions that you were some kind of a tart or something?”
“I suppose they didn’t want gossip, yes,” Hermione said, blushing. “I’m sure it would have been different if I’d asked for Ginny or Luna to stay.”
“Is this that whole patriarchy thing again?” Ron asked suspiciously.
Hermione blinked and then said, “Probably, now that you put it that way.”
“I’m learning,” Ron said, smiling.
“Yes, well done,” Hermione said, looking slightly thrown that her own parents fit into the scope of the issue. “In any case, the tree waited excitedly for what would happen next, wondering if the other trees would come to see it or if the sparrows would look in the window at it.”
“Okay, the birds make some sense since they were the ones who told him about Christmas trees to begin with, but how exactly are the trees supposed to come to see him? Do they walk about much?” Ron asked.
“Only if they’re Ents, I suppose,” Hermione said, giggling.
“What?” Ron and Harry both said, completely confused.
“Ents are talking, walking trees in a Muggle book about magic,” Hermione said.
“Sounds interesting,” Ron said, looking intrigued. “Do you think you could do that one next?”
“Oh no,” Hermione said, shaking her head vehemently. “I am not going to explain Tolkien to you. We’d be in this tent for twenty years before I finished.”
“Okay,” Ron said grudgingly. “So what did happen to the tree.”
“Well, the candles were all lit,” Hermione said.
“And the tree went up in flames?” Ron asked.
“No,” Hermione said, then Harry thought he heard her mutter under her breath, “not yet, anyway.”
“Do Muggles still use candles on trees?” Ron asked.
“No,” Harry said. “They’re all electric lights now. They’re pretty, though. Some of them are even different colors.”
“Clever of them,” Ron said. “So what happened after the tree didn’t go up in flames?”
“The doors to the parlor were opened, and the children came into the room and stopped still in wonder to look at the beautiful tree,” Hermione said.
“Bet it liked that,” Ron said to Harry.
“It did, and then the candles were put out and the children came running forward to see what presents awaited them in the tree’s branches,” Hermione said. “They very nearly toppled the tree over in their eagerness to plunder all the good things it held.”
“Yeah, reminds me of Christmas at home,” Ron said, smiling. “Mum tries to get us to slow down and go one at a time, but it never happens. It’s more like the Gryffindor table during a feast. In five minutes, there’s wrapping paper all over the floor and everybody’s yelling about what they got.”
“The scene is pretty similar,” Hermione said. “After the presents were done, the children really paid no attention at all to the tree since it was now quite plain. Instead, they clambered for a story from one of the grown-ups at the party.”
“That sounds familiar too,” Harry said, grinning at her.
“A man got up and sat under the shade of the Christmas tree and offered them their choice of a story, either ‘Ivede-Avede’ or ‘Humpty Dumpty,’” Hermione said.
“What’re those?” Ron asked. “Andersen seems to mention other stories in his stories a lot.”
“He does do that,” Hermione said. “I don’t know about ‘Ivede-Avede’ since the children didn’t choose that one and Andersen never told it elsewhere as far as I know, but you’ve never heard of Humpty Dumpty?”
Ron shook his head, but Harry nodded.
“This one I did hear,” Harry said. “It’s a poem, a nursery rhyme, about a fellow who sits on a wall, falls off, and breaks to bits.”
“That’s cheerful,” Ron said, looking sickened. “What is wrong with you people?”
“Humpty Dumpty is probably supposed to be an egg,” Hermione said. “It goes, ‘Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty together again.”
“Why would someone try to use horses to put an egg back together?” Ron said. “It doesn’t seem like hooves would be much good there.”
“No,” Hermione admitted. “Different people have come up with different hidden meanings for it. One theory is that Humpty Dumpty was a cannon in a tall tower that was knocked down, which would explain the horses and men trying to put it together again. Other people say it’s supposed to be about someone who’s drunk, since Humpty Dumpty was used a long time ago as the name of an alcoholic drink and as a slang term for someone who was clumsy, which would explain the idea of falling down again. A few Muggles even think it was Richard III, with the name being a reference to him being humpbacked. But most people today think of him as an egg.”
“Uh-huh,” Ron said. “It’s still weird, Hermione. Also, that’s a really short story for the kids to get on Christmas.”
“Yes, but the man told a longer story of Humpty Dumpty falling down a flight of stairs but eventually rising to marry a princess, or so Andersen says,” Hermione explained.
“Well, it’s better than falling off a wall and being smashed to bits by horses wielding glue pots,” Ron said, and Harry snorted.
“There’s an image I won’t forget soon,” Hermione said with a sigh, “no matter how hard I try. In any case, the fir tree listened enraptured to the story, and though the children begged to hear the story of ‘Ivede-Avede’ as well, the man said no, one story was enough for the night, and the tree was left to hope that he would hear that story tomorrow. Not long after, the party ended, and the children were sent up to bed, leaving the tree alone in the room.”
“The party didn’t really last very long,” Harry said.
“The fir tree must have thought the same thing, but it was confused. It thought that the next night, it would be decked out in splendor again with toys and presents and candles, and the children would return, and the man would tell another story,” Hermione said. “It really thought that, forevermore, every night would be just as wonderful and spectacular.”
“I’m guessing that’s not what happened,” Harry said.
“No,” Hermione agreed. “The next morning, the maids grabbed the tree and carried it up the stairs to the attic, throwing it in a corner.”
“They kept their tree up for only one day?” Ron said. “We usually have it until at least New Year’s.”
“The Dursleys usually took theirs down a few days before because they liked having a New Year’s party and there wasn’t enough room with the tree,” Harry said.
“We used to keep ours up until Epiphany on January 6,” Hermione said, “but in the old days, it was pretty common to remove the tree quickly. It could dry out and cause a fire if it was used another day. Plus, some people think it’s bad luck to have so much as a needle of the Christmas tree still in the house on the first day of the new year.”
“Why?” Ron asked.
“Something about bringing the bad luck of the old year into the new one,” Hermione said, shrugging. “I still think it was really a way of making sure they didn’t set fire to the house with a dried up tree being lit again.”
“So the tree winds up in the attic,” Ron said.
“Yes, the maids put it in a dark corner with no sunlight, and tree couldn’t understand it. Eventually, after sitting and thinking all alone for days on end, it came to the conclusion that because it was winter outside, the people couldn’t replant it, so they had put it somewhere safe until spring when it could be brought back to the forest again,” Hermione said.
“Wait, what?” Ron said. “It thinks it can just go home again?”
“Yes,” Hermione said. “It missed the birds and the other trees, and even a hare that used to annoy it by jumping over it when it was younger, making him feel small. Only now when it was alone in a dark attic did it realize how beautiful the forest was and how little it appreciated its life when it had a chance.”
“Okay, you’re right, this is sad,” Ron said.
“Eventually, a family of mice came by, and they talked to the tree, asking it what it knew of the world, especially if it knew anything about the pantry and cheeses in it,” Hermione said.
“At least they’re talking to it,” Ron said. “What did the tree say?”
“It said it knew nothing of the pantry as it had never been there. Instead, he described in detail the woods where it had grown, speaking of the wind and the rain, the sky and the trees and animals, and the little mice listened and said, ‘Oh, how happy you must have been there!’” Hermione said in a squeaky voice that made Ron smile for a moment.
“But it hadn’t been,” Harry said. “It was always dissatisfied.”
“Yes, and now the fir realized that and regretted it, vowing not to take the forest for granted when it was planted there again,” Hermione said.
“But it won’t be,” Ron said.
“No, but it didn’t know that,” Hermione said. “Then it told the mice of his glorious time as the Christmas tree, and this impressed them too, though they kept calling it an old tree. It took offense at that, saying it was not old at all and many trees were far older than it was. The next night, more mice came, and it told them again of its life in the forest and of the grand party, and the following night still more came to listen.”
“Sounds like they’ve got a rodent problem,” Ron said.
“Possibly, because eventually some rats showed up,” Hermione said. “They listened to the fir’s stories and weren’t impressed at all, even when it told the story of Humpty-Dumpty. The tree thought silently that if Humpty-Dumpty had fallen downstairs and yet had eventually married a princess, perhaps it might as well, and it remembered a lovely white birch tree in the woods that had been very graceful and looked like a princess to it.”
“The fir tree fancies a birch tree?” Ron said, then tilted his head. “They do look rather pretty. I think I’d prefer a willow, though, but just an ordinary one. Not the Whomping Willow.”
Hermione gave him an odd look and said, “I’m starting to think we’ve all been in this tent too long when you begin listing your tree preferences.”
Ron blushed but shrugged.
“The rats asked the fir if it knew any stories about bacon, and when it said it didn’t, they left,” Hermione said. “The little mice, who were swayed by the rats’ opinions, scattered as well and did not come back, leaving the tree alone.”
“This tree can’t catch a break,” Ron said.
“It sat and reflected on the happier times in its life, even on the times it had spent with the little mice, and hoped that one day good times would come again,” Hermione said.
“I have a bad feeling that’s not going to happen,” Ron said.
“No, it’s not,” Hermione admitted. “One day, some men came up to the attic and dragged the tree back downstairs. For a wild moment, the fir thought that at last it was to be decked in beautiful candles again or planted in the wood, but instead it was taken to the courtyard and put in a pile with the other rubbish to be burned.”
Ron stared at her in horror.
“Andersen needed serious psychological help,” he finally said.
“One little boy came running up to the tree and pulled the golden tinsel star from its topmost branch, pinning it to his jacket and laughing with his playmates. Then, the men came back and set fire to the tree, which sighed with regret over the choices it had made, each sigh coming out as a pop from the wood as it burned, until it last it burned up entirely, and that was the end,” Hermione said.
“Now I need serious psychological help, too,” Ron said. “This is what Andersen thought of as a Christmas story?”
“I suppose,” Hermione said. “I think it was more of a criticism of children who were trying to grow up too fast and weren’t enjoying the wonders of the time when they were still young.”
“Okay, he’s got a point, but Merlin’s pants, that’s a depressing story,” Ron said.
Harry hadn’t spoken for a while, but when he did, he said quietly, “I miss Hogwarts. I don’t think I ever really appreciated enough how wonderful it was to be there with everyone else.”
“Yeah,” Ron said soberly. “I miss the ghosts, the curtains on the beds, the teachers, the lake, the food—”
“I had a feeling you’d get to that one eventually,” Hermione said with a bittersweet smile. “I miss the library, of course, but I also miss the flowers in the greenhouses and the trunk at the end of my bed and the fire in the Gryffindor common room.”
All three of them were quiet for a long minute before Ron said, “Do you think we’ll ever get those days again? That this will be over, and we can go back to what it was like before?”
Harry didn’t have the heart to say no, but if he’d said yes, he knew he would probably be telling a lie. Hermione said nothing as well.
“Yeah,” Ron said into the silence. “That’s sort of what I thought.”
“But that doesn’t mean there won’t be other good days ahead,” Hermione said. “That’s where Andersen is wrong. We’re not going to get shoved in an attic for the rest of our lives until we die. Think about what you really want to do when we get to go home.”
“I want to see my family,” Ron said, then his face changed, becoming more determined. “No, I’m going to see my family.”
“And I’m going to get my own place,” Harry said. “Both of you will be welcome any time, and I can do what I like and not be made to feel like I’m in the way.”
“And I’m going to hug my parents and my cat and sleep in my own bed again,” Hermione said firmly.
The three of them looked at one another.
“And I’m going to appreciate the time we have together right now,” Ron said. “If I had to be stuck in this stupid tent for months on end with anybody, I’m glad it’s you lot.”
“I might even miss this place when it’s over,” Harry said, then laughed. “Maybe we can all go on a yearly camping trip.”
“Only for a week, though,” Ron said, returning his grin, “and maybe not right away.”
Hermione looked between the pair of them, her eyes misty, before saying, “Happy Christmas, and it’s going to be a better new year. I just know it.”
She drew Harry into a hug and surprised him by giving him a kiss on the cheek, then turned to Ron and did the same to him.
“Good night,” she said, heading towards the nook where she slept.
“We can decide where we’re off to in the morning,” Harry added. “A lot of places will be closed on Christmas Day, anyway.”
“Yeah,” Ron said, rubbing his cheek as she left. “Night, Hermione. Thanks for the story.”
She disappeared behind her curtain, and Harry turned to Ron and was just about to say something about where they might head next, when they both heard Hermione loudly mutter, “Oh, to bloody hell with it! You only live once. I hope.”
To Harry’s surprise, Hermione pushed back the curtain and strode across the room, walking directly to Ron, who stood up to ask what the matter was. Before he could get a word out, Hermione looked him straight in the eye, then kissed him full on the lips. He squeaked in surprise as she drew back.
“Wha?” he asked intelligently.
“I apologize if that was too forward, but—”
The rest of the sentence was lost as Ron had already wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into a longer kiss. Harry tried desperately to dissolve into ether but only succeeded in sitting there with his mouth hanging open, unable to blink. When they broke apart at last, Hermione patted Ron’s face once gently with her hand.
“Yes, well, good night and merry Christmas,” she said awkwardly, then went back to her nook again, drawing the curtain.
Ron continued to stare at empty air, not moving, until Harry finally tapped him on the shoulder and he nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Eh, you alright?” Harry asked.
“You bet I am!” Ron finally said, smiling brilliantly. “Bless that stupid dead fir tree! That was the best Christmas present ever!”
Harry chuckled and laid down on the couch that was his bed. He tried not to think how many problems this might bring, but one thing was certain. Life was about to get more interesting.
A.N. So, two things kind of get decided in this chapter. For a long time, I've had the occasional reader ask if Ron is still going to leave in this version. The answer is now a solid no. They also didn't wind up going to Harry's parents' graves on Christmas Eve, so Harry's wand never gets damaged. Finally, I always felt that Hermione and Ron's relationship would have kept moving forward in spite of everything else if only he hadn't left. Hence. ;-)
“I take it things didn’t go well?”
Harry winced as he sat down on the couch and the last remnants of the Polyjuice Potion* ebbed away, leaving him looking like himself again. Hermione cracked her back and shook her head.
“Does anyone else have the sinking suspicion that we’re not actually getting any closer to finding another one?” Hermione said.
“Yeah,” Harry said, “but like we were talking about, would we really want to have two of these things around us at one time? Think how much worse it would be. We wouldn’t stand a chance.”
His forehead hurt for a split second, but Harry brushed it off as another sign Voldemort was having one of his fits of anger against someone somewhere.
“Okay,” Hermione said, “Windsor Castle just doesn’t seem likely. I didn’t pick up on much at all that suggested a connection to the wizarding world. A few pieces of art looked like magical beasts, but they weren’t particularly accurate.”
Harry tended to agree. The fire the day before had resulted in a closure of several parts of the castle, but Harry had simply used the Cloak to go through them. Somehow, he felt that if he were near another Horcrux, he would know. Instead, he just got the smell of smoke stuck in his nose and not much else. Hermione had tried her luck in the areas still open to the public, and though she had very carefully examined a few things, including the Queen’s Beasts, especially the Yale of Beaufort and the Black Bull of Clarence, in the end, there didn’t seem to be any protective spells on them or any other traces of magic.
Ron had remained in the tent for the day, his escapade during the previous day meaning the Muggle form he’d used was now useless, and with the possible exposure of his real face when the Polyjuice had worn off, the risk was even higher since it was possible Death Eaters might have gotten wind of it somehow. Happily, none materialized, but as Harry reminded himself, even with as deeply stupid as Voldemort’s followers could be, it was hard to pick them out of a crowd until it was too late. For all he knew, the place and been crawling with them, lying in wait.
“I made a bit of dinner,” Ron said, gesturing over at the kitchen table, which was practically groaning under the weight of the food he’d taken from Dumbledore’s stash. “Hungry?”
“Yes, now you mention it,” Hermione said, taking off the Horcrux and sighing in relief as it hung from the back of one of the wooden chairs. “That thing literally leaves a bad taste in my mouth. It’s like spoiled broccoli.”
“Maybe the ham and fried potatoes will help blot it out,” Ron said hopefully. “There’s an apple tart for dessert, too.”
“It looks wonderful,” Harry said, then took a bite of the ham, letting himself focus on the taste. “Thanks, Ron.”
“Yes, thanks,” Hermione said, but she looked drawn and wasn’t eating much.
Harry was certain now that the Horcrux was getting stronger somehow. He cracked his neck and tried to wrack his brains for any possible way to destroy the blasted thing.
“Did you find anything interesting in the book, Ron?” Hermione asked.
“No, not really,” he said, but Harry noticed that he very carefully signed the letters y-e-s.
Hermione’s suggestion that they learn the alphabet in Sign Language had been easy enough to follow, and in less than a day, all three of them now had a working knowledge of the letters so they could potentially bypass the Horcrux listening in on their conversations.
“That’s too bad,” Hermione said, keeping her tone heavy and disappointed, but in turn she signed back w-h-a-t. “Could you pass the potatoes, please?”
He did, and Harry noticed Ron slipped her a note at the same time. As she was adding potatoes to her plate, she deftly dropped the paper into her lap under the table. She handed the dish to Harry, then let her hands rest in her lap long enough to unfold the note and read it. She blinked and looked up.
“You’ve done a good job with this,” Hermione said, then added, “It’s a lovely dinner.”
Harry felt her press the paper into his hand, and he carefully looked at it as well. In his usual untidy scrawl, Ron had written one word: “Fiendfyre.”
Harry glanced at Hermione. He had absolutely no idea what Fiendfyre was, but he had a strong suspicion she did. It seemed unlikely Ron would have gotten the answer out of one of her books in a single afternoon without her already knowing of its existence, but her expression was thoughtful. Harry crushed the paper quietly and carefully put it into his pocket.
“By the way, do you know what today is?” Hermione said. “I certainly didn’t.”
“What’s that?” Ron said.
“Christmas Eve,” she replied, shaking her head. “I’ve been so caught up in everything else that I didn’t notice it. I mean, I’ve noticed decorations and things, but those go up so early now, I didn’t realize it was today. I suppose I should have realized it was getting close. The days have been so short.”
Harry blinked in surprise and said, “Is it really?”
“I’ve lost track of the days,” Ron said, looking disturbed. “I honestly thought it was about a week off yet.”
“Same here, but someone left a Muggle newspaper lying about in one of the corridors, and sure enough, that’s today’s date,” she said.
Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Until he’d gone to Hogwarts, Christmastime was always a disappointment for him. He’d sit and watch Dudley open all the presents under the tree that Father Christmas left, and his aunt and uncle would tell him that he hadn’t got any because he was a naughty boy and should try harder. Eventually, he’d stopped caring and just hoped he’d get a share of the Christmas pudding that year. Sometimes he did, if it was big enough. A few times he’d made a list of all the things he wanted to do when he was grown and out on his own at Christmastime, things like pulling Christmas crackers and giving gifts to friends and opening presents. When he’d come to Hogwarts, he’d gotten his wishes and more, and it was really only in looking back that he’d realized how much he’d missed when he was smaller.
Now, for his first Christmas really on his own, he’d dropped the Quaffle and hadn’t got either of his friends a sodding thing. Then again, judging by Hermione’s confession and Ron’s shocked expression, they hadn’t got him anything either, so at least it was all even.
“It’s weird, thinking of it being Christmas when we’re stuck in this tent,” Ron said. “I wonder if Mum and Dad had everyone over this year. Bill and Fleur, Ginny home from school, the twins. Maybe Charlie even came in from Romania.”
The homesickness in his voice was almost too painful, and Harry realized that the one good thing about not having a happy home was that he didn’t miss it.
“I hope my parents are having a good holiday, too,” Hermione said, and Harry knew she was realizing that she couldn’t even comfort herself with the knowledge that they would be thinking of her this Christmas.
Something in Harry snapped. It might not be a perfect holiday, but they might as well make do with the best they had.
“Okay, so rather than being a bunch of stick-in-the-muds, I say we liven the tent up a bit and let ourselves celebrate,” Harry said, trying to smile. “Ron’s already given us a good feast, so we have food. Can we use anything for decorations?”
Hermione looked at him for a moment in disbelief, then shrugged and said, “I’ll look in my bag. There must be something.”
“Right,” Harry said, “and I’ll turn on the wireless and try to find some Christmas music.”
He put the radio on and tried to tune in a station, Muggle or wizard, that was playing upbeat Christmas songs. It didn’t take him long. Right on the WWN, “Deck the Halls” was starting up, and it proved fitting as Hermione took out rolls of bandages and did a spell to turn them green and red and hang them from the tent’s ceiling. Inspired, Ron pulled out some blank sheets of paper from his notebook, folded them up, and cut snowflakes to hang beside them. It was strange, but the tiny changes somehow started to make the tent feel nearly as cozy as the Great Hall during the hols.
“I wonder if…” Hermione said, digging through her bag, then grinning. “Yes! I thought I saw some of these in there!”
She pulled out a packet of gingersnaps and opened it, putting the cookies on a plate on the table.
“These smell like Christmas to me,” she said, smiling.
“Now all we need is a Christmas story,” Ron said. “Are there any Christmas fairy tales?”
“A few,” Hermione said. “The first one that pops to mind is Andersen’s ‘The Fir Tree.’”
“Is there anything about feet or shoes in it?” he asked.
Hermione squinted as though she were trying to remember, then said, “No, I don’t believe so.”
“It’s a Christmas miracle!” he shouted happily, grabbing a biscuit. “Not that it would have been a deal-breaker.”
“I should warn you that the story is rather sad, though,” Hermione said.
“Does a kid freeze to death in an alley again?” Ron said seriously. “Because that one really is a deal-breaker.”
“No, no freezing children this time,” Hermione said.
“Then let’s give it a go,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair.
“Once upon a time,” Hermione and Ron said together, and Harry grinned.
“Yes, well, once upon a time there was a very small fir tree that lived in a great forest,” Hermione said. “It was very young, but it was impatient to be a fully grown tree.”
“Most kids are,” Ron said, nodding.
“Yes, but this fir tree took it to an extreme. It lived in a beautiful forest full of pines and other firs, with birds singing in their branches, and small children coming to picnic under the trees. It was an utterly lovely spot, but the fir tree didn’t enjoy it at all because all it could think of was how small it was and how much it wanted to be a great, tall fir like the other trees.”
“Well, no sense in not enjoying a good time when you have it,” Harry said.
“Precisely,” Hermione said. “Then, in the fall, the woodcutters came and chopped down some of the tallest trees, lopping off their limbs and loading them on wagons to be taken away.”
“Okay, that is now a really traumatizing image considering the trees in this are apparently sentient,” Ron said, looking appalled.
“I suppose it is,” Hermione said, “but the little fir tree was more curious than frightened.”
“Curious?” Ron said. “It’s just seen a mass tree murder and it’s curious?”
“I didn’t say the fir tree was especially smart,” Hermione said. “Anyway, it decided to ask the swallows about it when they returned in the spring, for they traveled far and wide and knew many things.”
“So he’s going to ask well-traveled birds their opinion on the tree murders?” Ron said, then paused. “That is a really odd sentence.”
“What’s even odder is it’s completely correct,” Hermione said. “The swallows did indeed return in the spring, as they always did, and it asked them if they knew what happened to the trees that had been felled.”
“So what happened?” Ron asked.
“They didn’t know,” Hermione said.
“That’s pretty anticlimactic,” Ron said, wrinkling his nose.
“But a stork who had just flown back from Egypt did,” Hermione said.
“Right,” Ron said, frowning. “I’ll just accept that at this point. I’ve learned to accept much stranger things by now with these nutty things.”
“Probably wise,” Hermione agreed. “Anyway, the stork said he thought he had seen the trees. They had been turned into masts for sailing ships, and they were graceful and elegant, standing tall in the wind and traveling on the ocean.”
“I admit, I was not expecting that answer,” Harry said.
“Me neither,” Ron said. “I was thinking more along the lines of firewood.”
“The fir tree was entranced and wished even harder that it could grow up more quickly to become a mast and sail upon the ocean,” Hermione said.
“Yeah, but wouldn’t it be dead at that point?” Ron asked.
“One would think so,” Hermione said.
“This is a weird tree,” Ron said, shaking his head. “It makes the Whomping Willow look sane.”
“I miss that tree,” Harry said, then thought about what he’d just said. “Actually, no, I don’t. That thing nearly put me in hospital. Twice.”
“Time passed, and the woodcutters returned when Christmas came near. Once again, they chopped down trees, but these were not so tall. In fact, some of them were even smaller than the fir tree. Their limbs weren’t cut off, but they were loaded onto wagons again and taken away,” Hermione said.
“Christmas trees,” Ron said.
“Yes, but the fir didn’t know that, and it asked the birds what was happening to these smaller trees. The sparrows told him they had peeped in the windows in the town and seen trees like these covered in beautiful decorations, standing in the middle of homes, the central figure in celebrations and parties,” Hermione said.
“Well, they’re not wrong,” Ron said. “It turns out birds are a pretty good source of information.”
“Unfortunately, this made the fir tree even more dissatisfied with its home in the forest, and no matter how much the sunbeams warmed it or the morning dew told him to enjoy its life rather than rushing through it, the only thing it could think of was to grow taller and be taken by the woodcutters to become a beautiful Christmas tree,” Hermione said.
“This kid has problems,” Ron said, shaking his head. “I’m not sure if it’s suicidal, stupid, or wildly ambitious.”
“I’d guess more the last two,” Hermione said. “It did ask the birds what happened to the trees after the parties, and they said they didn’t know and flew away.”
“That should be a bit of a red flag,” Harry said.
“Yes, but the tree didn’t take it that way. It thought that the parties and decorations and songs and splendor that the sparrows described must be only the first of a long line of wonders in store for those trees, and it desired more than ever to hurry up and grow big enough to be chosen,” Hermione said.
“So what happened?” Ron asked.
“A whole year passed, and during that time, the tree had thought of nothing but the woodcutters and being taken with the others to start its life of glamor and adventure,” Hermione said. “And it got its wish. The next winter, it was the very first tree the woodcutters chopped down and threw in the wagon.”
“Careful what you wish for, mate,” Ron said, wincing.
“Precisely what the fir thought, for it was in great pain when it was cut down, and then it realized it would never again see all the birds and rabbits and other trees that had been its friends for so many years,” Hermione said.
“It hadn’t realized that before?” Ron said.
“It seems obvious, but no, it hadn’t,” Hermione said. “It had thought only of rushing towards what it saw as a glorious future, not of what it would lose to get there.”
“I’m starting to think Andersen is using this as a metaphor for something else,” Ron said.
“And you’d be right,” Hermione agreed. “The tree, who now wasn’t so certain of the choice it had made, was bumped around in the wagon on the trip to town. Then, when the wagon stopped at a fine house, the man driving it got out and chose several trees, one of which was the fir tree, to show to the man who lived there. The man said he wanted only one tree and chose the fir, saying it was the prettiest one.”
“So far, so good,” Ron said.
“Yes, the fir thought so as well, for at least now it was out of the wagon. The next several hours passed with many changes for the fir. It was brought into a parlor filled with beautiful books and furniture, and its trunk was placed in a tub full of sand to make it stand upright. The tub was then hidden under a green cloth, and the servants came in with all sorts of decorations that they began to hang on the tree: little paper baskets filled with sweets, gilded apples, nuts, dolls, toys, and dozens and dozens of candles that nestled in its branches. Most wonderful of all, a golden star made of tinsel was put on its topmost branch. At first the fir had been frightened, but then, as it saw all the lovely decorations and heard the servants say how wonderful it would look when all the candles were lit, it began to be very happy and more than a little vain,” Hermione said.
“Christmas trees are pretty,” Ron admitted. “It’s right there. The ones in the Great Hall were always amazing.”
“They were,” Harry agreed. “Even though almost everyone was gone most years, Hagrid and the teachers always made them gorgeous for anyone who had to stay.”
“I think they probably did that on purpose,” Hermione said.
“Why?” Ron asked.
“Well, I always felt rather sad for people who had to stay there at Christmas instead of going home,” Hermione said. “I did it a couple times, but not because my parents didn’t want me home.”
“Mum and Dad only had us stay that one time when they went to visit Charlie in Romania since they couldn’t afford to take the lot of us there,” Ron said. “The rest of the time, we were all welcome at home.”
“Yeah,” Harry said. “I wasn’t. I didn’t really care, though. Christmas at Hogwarts was better than Christmas at the Dursleys anyway.”
“I think that might have been the case for some of the other students who stayed, too,” Hermione said. “That’s what made me sad, thinking they didn’t have someone who wanted them home. I asked my mum and dad once if you could visit over Christmas, Harry, and I wanted to ask you too, Ron, but they were a little, well, uncomfortable with the idea of my bringing a pair of boys home.”
Harry and Ron looked at each other.
“That’s silly,” Ron said. “What? Did they think the neighbors would jump to conclusions that you were some kind of a tart or something?”
“I suppose they didn’t want gossip, yes,” Hermione said, blushing. “I’m sure it would have been different if I’d asked for Ginny or Luna to stay.”
“Is this that whole patriarchy thing again?” Ron asked suspiciously.
Hermione blinked and then said, “Probably, now that you put it that way.”
“I’m learning,” Ron said, smiling.
“Yes, well done,” Hermione said, looking slightly thrown that her own parents fit into the scope of the issue. “In any case, the tree waited excitedly for what would happen next, wondering if the other trees would come to see it or if the sparrows would look in the window at it.”
“Okay, the birds make some sense since they were the ones who told him about Christmas trees to begin with, but how exactly are the trees supposed to come to see him? Do they walk about much?” Ron asked.
“Only if they’re Ents, I suppose,” Hermione said, giggling.
“What?” Ron and Harry both said, completely confused.
“Ents are talking, walking trees in a Muggle book about magic,” Hermione said.
“Sounds interesting,” Ron said, looking intrigued. “Do you think you could do that one next?”
“Oh no,” Hermione said, shaking her head vehemently. “I am not going to explain Tolkien to you. We’d be in this tent for twenty years before I finished.”
“Okay,” Ron said grudgingly. “So what did happen to the tree.”
“Well, the candles were all lit,” Hermione said.
“And the tree went up in flames?” Ron asked.
“No,” Hermione said, then Harry thought he heard her mutter under her breath, “not yet, anyway.”
“Do Muggles still use candles on trees?” Ron asked.
“No,” Harry said. “They’re all electric lights now. They’re pretty, though. Some of them are even different colors.”
“Clever of them,” Ron said. “So what happened after the tree didn’t go up in flames?”
“The doors to the parlor were opened, and the children came into the room and stopped still in wonder to look at the beautiful tree,” Hermione said.
“Bet it liked that,” Ron said to Harry.
“It did, and then the candles were put out and the children came running forward to see what presents awaited them in the tree’s branches,” Hermione said. “They very nearly toppled the tree over in their eagerness to plunder all the good things it held.”
“Yeah, reminds me of Christmas at home,” Ron said, smiling. “Mum tries to get us to slow down and go one at a time, but it never happens. It’s more like the Gryffindor table during a feast. In five minutes, there’s wrapping paper all over the floor and everybody’s yelling about what they got.”
“The scene is pretty similar,” Hermione said. “After the presents were done, the children really paid no attention at all to the tree since it was now quite plain. Instead, they clambered for a story from one of the grown-ups at the party.”
“That sounds familiar too,” Harry said, grinning at her.
“A man got up and sat under the shade of the Christmas tree and offered them their choice of a story, either ‘Ivede-Avede’ or ‘Humpty Dumpty,’” Hermione said.
“What’re those?” Ron asked. “Andersen seems to mention other stories in his stories a lot.”
“He does do that,” Hermione said. “I don’t know about ‘Ivede-Avede’ since the children didn’t choose that one and Andersen never told it elsewhere as far as I know, but you’ve never heard of Humpty Dumpty?”
Ron shook his head, but Harry nodded.
“This one I did hear,” Harry said. “It’s a poem, a nursery rhyme, about a fellow who sits on a wall, falls off, and breaks to bits.”
“That’s cheerful,” Ron said, looking sickened. “What is wrong with you people?”
“Humpty Dumpty is probably supposed to be an egg,” Hermione said. “It goes, ‘Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty together again.”
“Why would someone try to use horses to put an egg back together?” Ron said. “It doesn’t seem like hooves would be much good there.”
“No,” Hermione admitted. “Different people have come up with different hidden meanings for it. One theory is that Humpty Dumpty was a cannon in a tall tower that was knocked down, which would explain the horses and men trying to put it together again. Other people say it’s supposed to be about someone who’s drunk, since Humpty Dumpty was used a long time ago as the name of an alcoholic drink and as a slang term for someone who was clumsy, which would explain the idea of falling down again. A few Muggles even think it was Richard III, with the name being a reference to him being humpbacked. But most people today think of him as an egg.”
“Uh-huh,” Ron said. “It’s still weird, Hermione. Also, that’s a really short story for the kids to get on Christmas.”
“Yes, but the man told a longer story of Humpty Dumpty falling down a flight of stairs but eventually rising to marry a princess, or so Andersen says,” Hermione explained.
“Well, it’s better than falling off a wall and being smashed to bits by horses wielding glue pots,” Ron said, and Harry snorted.
“There’s an image I won’t forget soon,” Hermione said with a sigh, “no matter how hard I try. In any case, the fir tree listened enraptured to the story, and though the children begged to hear the story of ‘Ivede-Avede’ as well, the man said no, one story was enough for the night, and the tree was left to hope that he would hear that story tomorrow. Not long after, the party ended, and the children were sent up to bed, leaving the tree alone in the room.”
“The party didn’t really last very long,” Harry said.
“The fir tree must have thought the same thing, but it was confused. It thought that the next night, it would be decked out in splendor again with toys and presents and candles, and the children would return, and the man would tell another story,” Hermione said. “It really thought that, forevermore, every night would be just as wonderful and spectacular.”
“I’m guessing that’s not what happened,” Harry said.
“No,” Hermione agreed. “The next morning, the maids grabbed the tree and carried it up the stairs to the attic, throwing it in a corner.”
“They kept their tree up for only one day?” Ron said. “We usually have it until at least New Year’s.”
“The Dursleys usually took theirs down a few days before because they liked having a New Year’s party and there wasn’t enough room with the tree,” Harry said.
“We used to keep ours up until Epiphany on January 6,” Hermione said, “but in the old days, it was pretty common to remove the tree quickly. It could dry out and cause a fire if it was used another day. Plus, some people think it’s bad luck to have so much as a needle of the Christmas tree still in the house on the first day of the new year.”
“Why?” Ron asked.
“Something about bringing the bad luck of the old year into the new one,” Hermione said, shrugging. “I still think it was really a way of making sure they didn’t set fire to the house with a dried up tree being lit again.”
“So the tree winds up in the attic,” Ron said.
“Yes, the maids put it in a dark corner with no sunlight, and tree couldn’t understand it. Eventually, after sitting and thinking all alone for days on end, it came to the conclusion that because it was winter outside, the people couldn’t replant it, so they had put it somewhere safe until spring when it could be brought back to the forest again,” Hermione said.
“Wait, what?” Ron said. “It thinks it can just go home again?”
“Yes,” Hermione said. “It missed the birds and the other trees, and even a hare that used to annoy it by jumping over it when it was younger, making him feel small. Only now when it was alone in a dark attic did it realize how beautiful the forest was and how little it appreciated its life when it had a chance.”
“Okay, you’re right, this is sad,” Ron said.
“Eventually, a family of mice came by, and they talked to the tree, asking it what it knew of the world, especially if it knew anything about the pantry and cheeses in it,” Hermione said.
“At least they’re talking to it,” Ron said. “What did the tree say?”
“It said it knew nothing of the pantry as it had never been there. Instead, he described in detail the woods where it had grown, speaking of the wind and the rain, the sky and the trees and animals, and the little mice listened and said, ‘Oh, how happy you must have been there!’” Hermione said in a squeaky voice that made Ron smile for a moment.
“But it hadn’t been,” Harry said. “It was always dissatisfied.”
“Yes, and now the fir realized that and regretted it, vowing not to take the forest for granted when it was planted there again,” Hermione said.
“But it won’t be,” Ron said.
“No, but it didn’t know that,” Hermione said. “Then it told the mice of his glorious time as the Christmas tree, and this impressed them too, though they kept calling it an old tree. It took offense at that, saying it was not old at all and many trees were far older than it was. The next night, more mice came, and it told them again of its life in the forest and of the grand party, and the following night still more came to listen.”
“Sounds like they’ve got a rodent problem,” Ron said.
“Possibly, because eventually some rats showed up,” Hermione said. “They listened to the fir’s stories and weren’t impressed at all, even when it told the story of Humpty-Dumpty. The tree thought silently that if Humpty-Dumpty had fallen downstairs and yet had eventually married a princess, perhaps it might as well, and it remembered a lovely white birch tree in the woods that had been very graceful and looked like a princess to it.”
“The fir tree fancies a birch tree?” Ron said, then tilted his head. “They do look rather pretty. I think I’d prefer a willow, though, but just an ordinary one. Not the Whomping Willow.”
Hermione gave him an odd look and said, “I’m starting to think we’ve all been in this tent too long when you begin listing your tree preferences.”
Ron blushed but shrugged.
“The rats asked the fir if it knew any stories about bacon, and when it said it didn’t, they left,” Hermione said. “The little mice, who were swayed by the rats’ opinions, scattered as well and did not come back, leaving the tree alone.”
“This tree can’t catch a break,” Ron said.
“It sat and reflected on the happier times in its life, even on the times it had spent with the little mice, and hoped that one day good times would come again,” Hermione said.
“I have a bad feeling that’s not going to happen,” Ron said.
“No, it’s not,” Hermione admitted. “One day, some men came up to the attic and dragged the tree back downstairs. For a wild moment, the fir thought that at last it was to be decked in beautiful candles again or planted in the wood, but instead it was taken to the courtyard and put in a pile with the other rubbish to be burned.”
Ron stared at her in horror.
“Andersen needed serious psychological help,” he finally said.
“One little boy came running up to the tree and pulled the golden tinsel star from its topmost branch, pinning it to his jacket and laughing with his playmates. Then, the men came back and set fire to the tree, which sighed with regret over the choices it had made, each sigh coming out as a pop from the wood as it burned, until it last it burned up entirely, and that was the end,” Hermione said.
“Now I need serious psychological help, too,” Ron said. “This is what Andersen thought of as a Christmas story?”
“I suppose,” Hermione said. “I think it was more of a criticism of children who were trying to grow up too fast and weren’t enjoying the wonders of the time when they were still young.”
“Okay, he’s got a point, but Merlin’s pants, that’s a depressing story,” Ron said.
Harry hadn’t spoken for a while, but when he did, he said quietly, “I miss Hogwarts. I don’t think I ever really appreciated enough how wonderful it was to be there with everyone else.”
“Yeah,” Ron said soberly. “I miss the ghosts, the curtains on the beds, the teachers, the lake, the food—”
“I had a feeling you’d get to that one eventually,” Hermione said with a bittersweet smile. “I miss the library, of course, but I also miss the flowers in the greenhouses and the trunk at the end of my bed and the fire in the Gryffindor common room.”
All three of them were quiet for a long minute before Ron said, “Do you think we’ll ever get those days again? That this will be over, and we can go back to what it was like before?”
Harry didn’t have the heart to say no, but if he’d said yes, he knew he would probably be telling a lie. Hermione said nothing as well.
“Yeah,” Ron said into the silence. “That’s sort of what I thought.”
“But that doesn’t mean there won’t be other good days ahead,” Hermione said. “That’s where Andersen is wrong. We’re not going to get shoved in an attic for the rest of our lives until we die. Think about what you really want to do when we get to go home.”
“I want to see my family,” Ron said, then his face changed, becoming more determined. “No, I’m going to see my family.”
“And I’m going to get my own place,” Harry said. “Both of you will be welcome any time, and I can do what I like and not be made to feel like I’m in the way.”
“And I’m going to hug my parents and my cat and sleep in my own bed again,” Hermione said firmly.
The three of them looked at one another.
“And I’m going to appreciate the time we have together right now,” Ron said. “If I had to be stuck in this stupid tent for months on end with anybody, I’m glad it’s you lot.”
“I might even miss this place when it’s over,” Harry said, then laughed. “Maybe we can all go on a yearly camping trip.”
“Only for a week, though,” Ron said, returning his grin, “and maybe not right away.”
Hermione looked between the pair of them, her eyes misty, before saying, “Happy Christmas, and it’s going to be a better new year. I just know it.”
She drew Harry into a hug and surprised him by giving him a kiss on the cheek, then turned to Ron and did the same to him.
“Good night,” she said, heading towards the nook where she slept.
“We can decide where we’re off to in the morning,” Harry added. “A lot of places will be closed on Christmas Day, anyway.”
“Yeah,” Ron said, rubbing his cheek as she left. “Night, Hermione. Thanks for the story.”
She disappeared behind her curtain, and Harry turned to Ron and was just about to say something about where they might head next, when they both heard Hermione loudly mutter, “Oh, to bloody hell with it! You only live once. I hope.”
To Harry’s surprise, Hermione pushed back the curtain and strode across the room, walking directly to Ron, who stood up to ask what the matter was. Before he could get a word out, Hermione looked him straight in the eye, then kissed him full on the lips. He squeaked in surprise as she drew back.
“Wha?” he asked intelligently.
“I apologize if that was too forward, but—”
The rest of the sentence was lost as Ron had already wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into a longer kiss. Harry tried desperately to dissolve into ether but only succeeded in sitting there with his mouth hanging open, unable to blink. When they broke apart at last, Hermione patted Ron’s face once gently with her hand.
“Yes, well, good night and merry Christmas,” she said awkwardly, then went back to her nook again, drawing the curtain.
Ron continued to stare at empty air, not moving, until Harry finally tapped him on the shoulder and he nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Eh, you alright?” Harry asked.
“You bet I am!” Ron finally said, smiling brilliantly. “Bless that stupid dead fir tree! That was the best Christmas present ever!”
Harry chuckled and laid down on the couch that was his bed. He tried not to think how many problems this might bring, but one thing was certain. Life was about to get more interesting.
A.N. So, two things kind of get decided in this chapter. For a long time, I've had the occasional reader ask if Ron is still going to leave in this version. The answer is now a solid no. They also didn't wind up going to Harry's parents' graves on Christmas Eve, so Harry's wand never gets damaged. Finally, I always felt that Hermione and Ron's relationship would have kept moving forward in spite of everything else if only he hadn't left. Hence. ;-)
