Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Moments in Love	By : Gandalfs-Beard Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Harry/Hermione Views: 175861 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 14
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. All rights belong to Rowling. Nor do I make any money from the story.

Chapter List
- 63
- 64
- 65
All I Need For Christmas

The muddy lawn of Black Manor was a scene of bedlam as Order Members began arriving by portkey with the prisoners freed from the Ministry’s Concentration Camp by the Potters and their friends. The internees milled about as they were gradually debriefed and found accommodations in the many rooms of Black Manor. Madam Pomfrey (who had sneaked out of Hogwarts along with Professor McGonagall), bustled about with the assistance of other Order members, performing triage on those most in need of medical attention.
Harry, Hermione and the rest of the Coven felt a bit useless as every time they tried to help, they were rebuffed at Pomfrey’s insistence that they should all be in recovery themselves after their own traumatic experiences.
“Shoo... shoo, you all need rest and recuperation,” said Pomfrey after she had given them all a once-over and directed McGonagall to dose the Potters and their friends up with calming draughts and find them a quiet place to clean up.
And to be sure, Harry was indeed just going through the motions while lost in a sort of blank fog of emotional numbness. In the end, Dora took charge of the Coven, sweeping a load of calming draughts and sleeping potions into a bag, and they were about to step outside to apparate back to Jennifer’s home when they heard a squeal.
“Gemma,” shouted Clara Dawson, who was hovering at the edges of the throng, trying not to get in anyone’s way. “Over here...”
Gemma whirled around and gasped, surprised to see Clara. She squeezed through the crowd in the parlour and flung herself on her sister, bursting into tears. Clara bit her lip as Gemma sobbed and trembled violently, clinging to her sister for dear life. Overwhelmed with emotion, Clara’s knees wobbled and she began to feel faint.
“You go on Fleur,” said Dora, when she spotted Clara’s distress. “Get ‘em outta here before they fall apart. It’s a madhouse in here... I’ll be right behind you.”
“Oui, Chérie,” Fleur agreed as she corralled the Potters, Daphne, Jennifer, Parvati, and Luna and hustled them towards the entry hall.
Seeing the Potters and the rest of the Coven well in hand as Fleur ushered them out of the parlour, Dora scurried across the room and caught the Dawson sisters before they collapsed. She managed to direct them into the dining room where a number of freed detainees were lying on conjured sofas and cots. Deciding that Gemma needed to just let it all out, Dora gave Clara the calming draught and set them both down on one of the sofas.
Feeling a bit more together after downing the potion, Clara peered worriedly at Dora while her sister kept sobbing.
“Will... will she be alright?” she asked shakily. “What did they do to her?”
Dora frowned uncertainly. She had a very good idea what the Minister’s Death Eaters and Snatchers had been doing to the younger and prettier female prisoners, and she wasn’t really sure how to tell Clara... especially while her sister was crying all over her. Dora was startled when Madam Pomfrey put a hand on her shoulder.
“Why don’t I take things from here dear,” said Pomfrey.
“I... er... I think I’ll stick around for a few more minutes if it’s alright,” Dora replied. “Clara needs t’know what’s goin’ on. It’s just... Clara’s sister...”
Pomfrey glanced at Clara sadly and nodded. “Of course... I understand.” Madam Pomfrey gently rubbed Gemma’s back, getting her attention. “Come along dear... your sister’s not going anywhere and I need to have a look at you...”
Dora gave Pomfrey a grateful look as the nurse led Gemma to a cot nearby and conjured a curtain around it, then she turned her attention back to Clara who was anxiously wringing her hands and peering at her questioningly. Dora took a deep breath to steady herself.
“Er... I dunno really how to say it without upsettin’ you more,” Dora began. “But there’s really no easy way t’say it...”
Clara paled, her eyes widening in understanding and horror. “Did... did they rape her?” she asked.
“Unfortunately, it’s pretty likely,” said Dora, swallowing regretfully. “Probably tortured ‘er a bit too...”
Dora paused and took another deep breath. Clara let out a sob and tears began rolling down her cheeks, but she tried to hold herself together enough to ask the other question.
“And... and my friend Warren?”
Dora shook her head. “Sorry Love... No sign of ‘im! If they took him to the same facility - and that’s most likely - he’s probably dead...”
Despite the calming draught, the last bit of horrible news was just too much and Clara crumbled. Dora wrapped her arms around Clara and held her while she sobbed...

~o0o~
Tears sprang to Narcissa Black’s eyes as she assisted Lupin and Emmeline Vance who were also treating a number of freed internees from the Ministry’s Death Camp in one of the other parlours. Many of the released had clearly been imprisoned for some time, nearly skin and bone, and some bore the unmistakable marks of torture with bladed implements, a signature technique of Narcissa’s own sister, Bellatrix.
In yet another room of the manor, Albus Dumbledore struggled to keep himself together as he approached Andrea Mason, the ex-MI5 analyst, as she held her still frightened daughter on her lap. Albus felt his heart breaking when he peered into the young girl’s hollow eyes, so much like his sister’s. Had she been a witch, this would be the girl’s first year at Hogwarts, and Dumbledore felt a surge of satisfaction that Harry Potter had ended the lives of her tormenters.
Andrea Mason cuddled her daughter, grateful that the woman who had introduced herself as Madam Pomfrey had healed Samantha’s injuries and dosed her up with sedatives. She heard footsteps nearing her and looked up; her eyes widened and she stared at the bearded old man in surprise. Somehow he looked much more natural in the gaudy colourful robes than he had in the tie-dyed t-shirt and jeans.
“You... I saw you!” she gasped, “At the nightclub in London. That was the night... the night they took me...”
Dumbledore felt a flicker of pain, recognising her as the woman seated at the other end of the bar. He had to remind himself that even wizards were only human.
“Yes...” he said gently, “I am so sorry! Had I known, perhaps you and your daughter would be safe and sound...”
Andrea interrupted him with a snort, her features darkening. “Don’t be sorry... This is the Prime Minister’s doing! I wouldn’t be here if ‘e hadn’t sicced his dogs on me... They’re the one’s who turned me over to those monsters. It’s your lot who saved me and my girl. Those kids - they saved everyone... everyone who hadn’t already been murdered in any case. They’re real heroes...”
Dumbledore nodded. “They are indeed...”
He paused a moment, considering the appropriateness of his timing, then decided that there really was no good time to make his request.
“Would you be willing to testify to that... to the fact that the Prime Minister’s agents turned you over to the operators of the internment facility?”
“In a heartbeat!” Andrea answered without hesitation. “But nobody would believe me... Wizards running death camps? They’d lock me in a nuthouse if I came forward!”
“No...” Dumbledore shook his head, “I mean testify before an International Wizarding Tribunal. Collusion between the Minister of Magic and the Prime Minister, and the subjugation of non-magical persons is a very serious crime in the wizard world. Your testimony would be critical in holding both the current Minister of Magic and the Prime Minister to account.”
Andrea’s eyebrows shot up as she felt a surge of hope. “Really? You mean the PM himself would be locked up by wizards?”
“Doubtful!” Dumbledore replied. “Unless it could be shown that the Prime Minister himself had unlawfully wielded magic to commit crimes. More likely, the Prime Minister would be turned over to the proper authorities, and his prosecution would be guaranteed by some means of magical intervention in the process - even if it meant having to manufacture evidence which would be accepted in a non-magical court of law.
“However, in this instance, I suspect that exposing the Prime Minister’s non-magical crimes would be enough to see him prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. According to my pupil - Miss Lovegood - you revealed to her while awaiting our arrival that you had evidence against him...”
“Yeah...” Andrea felt another surge of hope, then she groaned. “I did anyway, before the black ops unit took my computer files...”
“Those could be recreated magically if necessary,” said Dumbledore, feeling a swell of optimism.
He had already spoken to the other muggles who had been imprisoned among the muggleborn wizards and witches - and had collected their memories for Pensieve viewing as well. Every last one of the muggle detainees had been presumed political enemies of the muggle Prime Minister or his party, many of them activists for various causes.
With their testimony - and especially Andrea Mason’s - along with the video footage of the raid on the compound, and the physical evidence collected by the Potters and their friends, securing the opening of an investigation of Minister Umbridge by the ICW was a near certainty.
With Ms Mason’s approval, Dumbledore beckoned Severus Snape to film an interview with Jennifer Watts’ video-camera. Having already filmed several interviews with other freed prisoners, Snape had familiarised himself with the operation of the muggle technology. He was extremely impressed that the Potters had mastered the advanced spells necessary to make muggle electronics work with magic instead of electricity.
Meanwhile, Shacklebolt, Hagrid, and Dawlish all kept watch over the Unspeakables captured at the Ministry’s Death Camp - the four who had been rendered unconscious by the Potters and their friends, and the dozen who had showed up for the Night Shift while the Internees were still being evacuated.

~o0o~
The bite of the cold night air and the relative peace and quiet outside Madam Black’s manor was a welcome relief to Hermione. She bit her lip and peered at Harry worriedly as they sat together outside with the others waiting for Dora. Hermione was thrilled that Clara had been reunited with her sister, but she could see how lost Harry looked and wanted to get him home as soon as possible.
Home! Hermione caught herself; she couldn’t quite get over how quickly she had come to think of Jennifer’s manor as home. She felt as much at home there as she did at Number Twelve. Hermione glanced at Jennifer, who was sitting nearby huddled with Daphne and Fleur conversing in whispers.
Hermione felt the sting of an icy raindrop as it hit her burning skin, then another, and another. Apparently everyone was glad to be outside; nobody made a move to get up and return to the house despite the freezing rain as it grew heavier. Hermione put both arms around Harry and leaned her bushy head on his shoulder.

~o0o~
Having just dozed off, Minister Umbridge bolted upright in her bed when she heard her Floo-Alert sound. She glanced at her clock and noted that it was shortly after midnight. Grumbling as she pulled a dressing-gown over her nightie and grabbed her wand, she made her way to the fireplace in her sitting room. She peered at the small picture on the mantle which informed her of an incoming communication from the Ministry and waved her wand, unlocking her Floo. Green flames flared in the hearth and a memo shot out.
Dolores snatched it from the air, knowing that it could not be good news at this time of night. Her lips pursed, and her nostrils flared as her eyes darted through the memo. Furiously, she dressed in a hurry and quickly departed for the Ministry.
“Why wasn’t I informed hours ago?” the Minister barked at the Unspeakable when she arrived at the monitoring station in the Department of Mysteries.
“Only just found out ourselves Chief,” the nervous looking Unspeakable replied. “The Night-Shift at the Welsh facility never responded to our Midnight check-in. We sent a team to check up as per protocol, and they determined that it happened shortly before shift change... Whoever’s responsible must’ve waylaid the Night Shift when they showed up...”
The Minister looked up when she heard the door slam open, and spied her disheveled deputy bursting into the room.
“I came as soon as I heard, Dolores...” gasped Percy Weasley, trying to smooth his frizzy red hair with his fingers. “How bad is it?”
Minister Umbridge calculated quickly in her mind, wondering if her Senior Undersecretary was ready to see everything. He had come a long way from the eager, greedily ambitious, yet naive boy she had initially recruited, even going as far as to torture his own father. He had supported completely the recruiting of Voldemort’s Death Eaters and Snatchers, the ending of the ban on the use of Unforgivables by Ministry personnel, and wholeheartedly approved the purging and incarceration of the Mudbloods and other Undesirables, but was he ready yet for the next step?
Or would he balk when he came to understand the finality of the solution to the Mudblood Problem which she and the Pureblood Supremacists in Operations had been working on for so long? Finally Dolores made up her mind. If Percy Weasley wasn’t ready now, he never would be.
“Well, Percy,” sighed Dolores, “perhaps we should see for ourselves! A team is already in place investigating, we may as well join them...”

~o0o~
Out of the darkness, white flakes whirled around in little flurries, caught in the wandlight of the searchers and the orange glow of burning embers. The snow had begun falling again.
Ignoring the snowfall, Senior Undersecretary Weasley strolled beside Minister Umbridge through the haze of smoke and the devastation at the Ministry’s Welsh detention centre, his face ashen. The fires had been mostly put out, and bits of the compound were still standing, but the rubble where the building had collapsed was still smouldering.
Dolores eyed her deputy approvingly as he registered the right level of shock at seeing the seared corpses of the Unspeakables. Her brows furrowed pensively as she studied his reaction when they came across what appeared to be the partially cremated remains of perhaps two hundred persons piled in one demolished room.
“Well, that doesn’t make sense...” Percy Weasley muttered. “Surely they would have freed the prisoners, not burned them alive. Unless...” Percy’s eyes widened and he swallowed when the implication suddenly struck him. He glanced at the Minister as his breath quickened.
“...Unless they were already dead,” the Minister said softly in a saccharine tone, regarding Percy with her most sympathetic expression. “Yes... it is most unfortunate that it has come to this Percy. There are some who are far too recalcitrant, and who are far too determined to destroy everything which we hold dear.
“There are indeed also many who have proved themselves willing to give up their goals of stealing our identities and our culture, and they are of course being shown all due mercy. But these... these are the remains of those who were deemed as representing the gravest threat to our way of life after refusing to comply with lawful orders and demonstrating a propensity for violent behaviour.
“It simply would not do to have given them the opportunity to escape and join Dumbledore’s rebellion. And you have seen the viciousness the rebels are capable of - the lengths they are willing to go to attain their goals... assassination and murder, lawlessness, destruction, chaos... and a complete upending of the Natural Order. It is sometimes necessary to fight fire with fire - for the Greater Good - do you understand, Percy?”
Percy felt unsteady on his feet, his head swimming. He closed his eyes briefly to steady himself. Percy had supported legally ending the ban of the use of the Cruciatus and the Killing Curses as a means of defending the Ministry and restoring Order against the murderous Insurrectionists, but he had never imagined that Death would be employed as a means of punishment after capture.
Had the Ministry gone too far?
But he had viewed the wanton destruction of the detention centre, and gazed at the broken and charred bodies of the Unspeakables. He had seen their faces frozen in a rictus of pain and suffering; Percy knew that many had died screaming as they burned alive.
His nostrils flared when he thought back to the mutilated corpse of Draco Malfoy which had been delivered to the Ministry. And he had no doubt that in contrast, the Insurrectionists had been offered a merciful ending, clean and painless in a flash of green light.
Percy felt a surge of anger when he realised that the Minister was right - the Rebels would stop at nothing. There was no depth to the levels of their depravity in their bid to spread Chaos and Disorder, Abomination and Filth, polluting wizard-kind with impurity and disease.
“Yes Minister...” Percy said stiffly, slowly nodding as his jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. “I do understand!”

~o0o~
Feeling much better, Hermione let out a sigh as Harry washed her back under the hot spray of water, rinsing the soot and filth away with the suds. She watched the muck and foam swirl down the drain before turning to face her silent husband through the steam in the shower. His eyes still had a distant look about them.
“Penny for your thoughts?” she asked as she wrapped her arms around him, pressing her nakedness against his, and gave him a kiss.
“Hunh?”
“I know you’re still feeling dreadful Harry. Do you want to talk about it?”
“I... I dunno Hermione...” Harry responded, swallowing anxiously. Talking about it was the last thing he wanted to do; he just wanted to forget it, bury the images as deep as he could, never to be seen again.
“Please Harry!” she whispered, tears stinging her eyes as the steaming water cascaded over the pair of them.
Harry felt himself overcome with a wave of vertigo as he gazed into Hermione’s pleading brown eyes. He closed his eyes and began shaking. The visions of horror and depravity, the stink of death... As he felt his wife’s body next to his, her warmth, her life, to Harry’s own surprise the memories were overpowered by a deep sense of shame, and he realised what it was that he was really trying to bury.
“I... I’m afraid Hermione,” he reluctantly admitted as he trembled in her wet embrace. “I... I’m not sure who I am anymore! I killed a load of people tonight, and... and I wanted to... I wanted to see them all suffer and die. I was so angry... angrier than I’ve ever been! ... I know they murdered and tortured people, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.
“That anger... I know that’s why my explosive spells were so powerful... and it scares me because I can feel it still inside of me! ... I hate that feeling Hermione! I don’t want to be like them... I don’t... I’m afraid I’m turning evil... I don’t want to be like them...”
Harry clung to Hermione tightly, trying desperately to keep himself from falling apart and letting the darkness free to rampage and destroy everything he loved.
Hermione was heartbroken to feel Harry so guilt-stricken, so shattered and lost; her tears trickled down her cheeks. She took a deep breath to steady herself, trying to be strong for Harry, trying to think of the right words to reassure him. Then they came to her... a remembered conversation... words spoken by Harry himself following the Battle of Hogwarts.
“But you’re not - you’re NOT evil. You’re a good person. And the fact that you feel remorse proves it! ... We all feel the same way Harry...” said Hermione, giving him another teary kiss. “None of us really wants to kill anyone, even when we feel like we do - even when we know how horrid and deserving of it those disgusting, EVIL people are... I’ll never be able to get what I saw in that Death Chamber out of my mind! ...”
“Nor I...” Harry muttered. “That... that’s why I’m afraid...”
“I know Harry! I know... Yes, you did kill a lot of people tonight. But every time I see that Death Chamber in my mind, it reminds me that there is a difference... You’re not like them - we saved a lot of lives tonight Harry! A lot of innocent lives! We saved that little girl... we saved Clara’s sister... and so many other people... And those butchers and torturers, they won’t ever be able to hurt anyone again.”
“Yeah... you’re right Hermione!” Harry nodded as he struggled to believe it. “I know what we’re fighting for, and I know it’s something I’m just going to have to learn to live with! It’s just... it’s just, what if this feeling never goes away? What if I ever lose control of it? Wh...What if I ever do become ‘consumed by it’ and start to hurt innocent people... people I love?”
“You won’t Harry! I know you won’t... if you don’t trust yourself, trust me! I can feel everything you’re feeling inside yourself Harry... It’s what I feel too... and I’m telling you, that anger, that pain, the grief... it’s not coming from Hate! It’s Love Harry!
“And... and that love will continue to guide your hand - and stay it when it needs to be stayed... you have GOOD instincts Harry! I trust them with all my heart, and so do the rest of your friends!”
Harry turned off the shower and peered at his wet dripping wife, biting his lip, unable to contain himself any longer. The steel and concrete walls he’d been putting up all evening collapsed like wet cardboard as the truth of her faith in him thundered through him like a tidal wave. The surge of emotion swept his senses away and he embraced Hermione tightly again, crushing his lips against hers, tears mingling with the shower water still clinging to his face.
Harry didn’t really understand how or why, but the raging volcanic fury which he’d been trying to contain within himself erupted as a turbulent blend of ardour and grief. Hermione burst as she cradled her husband in her arms, sobbing as she released her own pent up cyclonic mix of passion and sadness.
Together they slid down the slick tiles into the draining puddles at the bottom of the marble tub, limbs entwined, clinging to each other, their anguish flowing away with their tears as they poured their hearts into one another. There was a blaze of light; magic arced like bolts of lightning and the bathroom rocked...

~o0o~
Dumbledore had followed Dora when she had finally arrived to return to Jennifer’s manor with the others. He had sent them directly back to Jennifer’s manor with a Portkey which had been set with a permanent link to Narcissa Black’s manor. Dumbledore had assured them that the Order had things well in hand, and that they had done their bit for the moment.
“Truly, you have all been magnificent,” he had told them with a sad, weary smile. “I don’t doubt that you wish to forge ahead, but for now, you must all rest and recover yourselves while we look after those you have rescued and organise the evidence you have gathered. With this portkey you shall be able to travel back and forth between the manors as needed, at any time, without having to step outside the wards of the estates to apparate.
“As soon as we have things sorted here, I shall recall you when we have made plans to retake Hogwarts, and broadcast everything we have to the public. Please, look after each other well for the next few days, as the battle is just beginning. There is no question that we shall all find ourselves in the thick of things again soon enough...”
Having returned to Jennifer’s, the other members of the Coven were now sharing gentle cuddles, waiting for Harry and Hermione to join them. They were already cleaned up, snuggled under blankets on sofas in one of the parlours near a roaring fire with hot cocoa in their hands, comforting each other, as nobody wanted to sleep apart tonight. They had all seen too much death and horror over the past week or so.
Their tearful eyes widened in astonishment when they felt the entire manor quake. Dora’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, realising that Harry and Hermione had forgotten to mention the link between the accidental release of sex-magic in the Room of Requirement and the Castle-quakes at Hogwarts. But surely they weren’t, right now...?
Luna peered at Dora perceptively.
“It’s not what you think,” she said quietly with a beatific smile. “They’re just healing...”
“Really? How can you tell?” asked Dora, looking intrigued. Parvati, Jennifer, and Daphne peered at Luna questioningly as well.
“I’m not sure really,” Luna replied truthfully. “The vibration I suppose - it just felt like healing.”
Fleur looked pensive for a moment, then she smiled and nodded. “Oui, I sense it too Luna...”

~o0o~
The stars shone brightly through a gap in the clouds above the rolling Dorset hills, shimmering directly upon the rippling surface of the pond in a clearing surrounded by copses of willows and evergreens. The pond and its immediate surrounds were the only area untouched by the first Dorset snowfall in some years. The manor-house nearby and the rest of the estate was steadily building a blanket of white.
But the starlight wasn’t the only thing shining in the glade with the pool near the Elizabethan manor.
From a distance, the silvery glowing creatures flitting among the bulrushes and ferns, illuminating the Greek statuary and stone benches, might have easily been taken for fireflies. But if one were much nearer, and paying much more attention with an open mind, one might have noticed that the tiny luminous figures basking in the purified ambience were much more humanoid in appearance, despite being attached to gossamer wings.

~o0o~
Infuriated by the loss of the Welsh compound, Minister Dolores Umbridge had considered her options the morning following the attack. It was clear that Dumbledore and his people - and perhaps even Potter and his wife themselves - had been keeping busy rather than laying low in hiding. They were no doubt seeking out the other facilities, but it simply was not logistically feasible to hide them completely, due to their very nature. It was only a matter of time before another detention centre was located and attacked.
And worse than that, it appeared that a number of prisoners had been freed. And if Dumbledore had some of the muggles, then things with the ICW could soon become extremely complicated. It was quite possible that Dumbledore had enough evidence to convince the ICW to begin an investigation.
While International Law prevented the ICW from determining most internal policies and intervening in internal disputes, their power to Sanction wizarding governments and issue International Arrest Warrants, should they have the votes on the responsible committees, could greatly hamper Dolores’s efforts and restrict her ability to travel abroad. Some sort of countermeasure which could cloud the evidence needed to be taken - perhaps at Hogwarts.
Minister Umbridge had restrained the Carrows, much to their dismay, as there were no Mudbloods left at Hogwarts to punish. However, there were still those at Hogwarts who had been close to the Potters and apparently favoured by Dumbledore. It was perhaps time to let the Carrows’ leash slacken - particularly regarding certain Gryffindors, but Dolores decided to wait a few days at least to see what came of the assault on the detention centre. It was Christmas after all.

~o0o~
Incredibly, Harry felt much better when he woke up the following morning. The awful feelings of the night before - which had perhaps even been worse than how he’d felt after Voldemort had ritually murdered the little boy to restore himself - weren’t gone, but they were much more manageable than he had believed possible. He pushed them aside and smiled at Hermione who was stirring next to him on the sofa.
Harry reached out a hand and delicately tucked the stray lock of golden hair which had fallen across Hermione’s face behind her ear. He knew it was all her doing. Without her he’d be a complete mess. Harry looked at the blurry clock on the wall, which indicated that it was getting on for noon, and glanced around the parlour, seeing everyone else either still asleep on sofas, or stirring awake and yawning.
“Mmm... Morning Harry,” said Hermione sleepily as her eyelids fluttered open. “Happy Christmas...”
“Wait... what?” Harry gasped, his eyes widening in shock.
Was it really Christmas already? Harry rubbed his eyes and put on his glasses. Sure enough, Dobby had apparently decorated the parlour with holly wreaths, ornaments, tinsel, and candles while they had been sleeping. Harry groaned, realising that he hadn’t bought anyone any presents.
“It’s alright Harry,” Hermione murmured, guessing what Harry was thinking. “You’re all I need for Christmas. And I feel happy just knowing that we’ve given a lot of people their lives back.”
Harry wasn’t the only one shocked that it was already Christmas. Dora’s eyes boggled when she saw the decorations.
“Blimey! Christmas already?” she muttered.
“Wow! Really?” squeaked Parvati.
Daphne shook her head in amazement, and Luna and Fleur giggled at the expressions on everyone’s faces. Jennifer opened the curtains, gasping.
“It snowed! ... I can’t remember the last time it snowed in Dorset.”
A movement by the parlour entrance caught Harry’s eye, and he just had to laugh when he saw Dobby peeking through the doorway. Dobby had a red Father Christmas hat perched on his head between his bat-like ears, and delicious cooking smells wafted into the room from the kitchen.
“Dobby makes breakfast,” said the grinning house-elf. “Would Master Harry and Mistresses like Dobby to bring food to parlour, or be eating in dining room or kitchen?”
As usual, Dobby’s sumptuous spread lifted everyone’s spirits, and even Fleur couldn’t resist, forgoing her usual croissant as Dobby had branched out a bit with crêpes and quiches. When they had finished, they all felt better than they had for over a week, though the future still loomed uncertainly.
After breakfast, Harry wasn’t sure what to do; despite his improved mood, he still felt restless, and he wasn’t sure that he could just sit and watch TV, or read as Hermione was doing. He was considering training, but he had a very strong feeling that everyone would gang up on him and force him to relax. Hermione looked up from the science fiction book she had found in the manor’s library and saw that Harry needed a more physical distraction.
“Why don’t you have a go at painting in Jennifer’s studio, Harry?” she suggested. “I know you’ve been wanting to try for a while, but you haven’t really had time for it.”
Harry’s face brightened. “Yeah... Yeah, that’s a great idea Hermione. Brilliant! Thanks...”
Hermione followed Harry to the studio to keep him company and plonked herself down in a comfortable lounge chair while Harry set up a canvas and picked out some oil-colours and brushes. It was nearly teatime when Hermione glanced up from her book.
“That’s lovely Harry,” she said encouragingly.
“Thanks...” Harry regarded the splashes of colour on the canvas dubiously, “it’s a rough start anyway...”
“No... really, it’s beautiful,” Hermione insisted.
“She’s right you know. The palette is gorgeous, and your brush strokes are strong,” asserted Jennifer, who was standing in the doorway with Luna. “Are you sure you’ve never painted before, Harry?”
“Only runes and symbols before now,” said Harry. “This is the first time I’ve ever had a go at painting a picture. It’s more... er... ‘impressionistic’ than I wanted it to be,” he laughed. “I don’t really have a clue... I don’t know enough about oil painting techniques to do anything more realistic.”
“Well I’d certainly recognise the place if I ever saw it Harry,” Luna chimed in. “Where is it supposed to be?”
“Er... I dunno really!” Harry scratched his head and bit his lip pensively, reddening. “I... erm... I just sort of made the landscape up! Anyway... I suppose it’s teatime then?” he deflected.
“We’re taking a picnic to eat by the pond. Do you want to join us?” said Luna, picking up on Harry’s embarrassment at being praised for something he was uncertain of.
“A picnic? In the snow?” Harry gave Luna a funny look, and Hermione was equally perplexed, but Jennifer excitedly responded.
“We’ve just been outside for a walk and I can’t believe it... there’s snow everywhere except by the pond. Come and look.”
“Er... yeah, alright then,” Harry quickly cleaned up and they all headed for the pond behind the manor.
After trudging through the snow covered gardens as light flakes continued to fall, Harry and Hermione were stunned by the scene. It looked more like spring by the pond, flowers blooming, Dragonflies buzzing about and skimming across the shimmering surface of the pool, and the temperature increased as they passed through the edge of the snow into the green zone.
Everyone sat by the water’s edge happily munching the Christmassy snacks that Dobby had packed in the basket for them: sausage rolls, cheese straws, and mince pies, rounded off with mulled wine and eggnog to wash it all down.
Jennifer noticed the book that Hermione was reading as they sat by the water’s edge with the rest of the Coven.
“Stranger in a Strange Land ? Do you like Robert Heinlein then?” asked Jennifer after finishing her sandwich.
“I’ve never actually read any of his works before. When it comes to fiction, I’ve mostly just read the literary Classics and some British children’s literature.” Hermione turned a bit pink at the admission. “Besides classic science fiction like Jules Verne and HG Wells, I’ve only read a bit of Isaac Azimov and few others. This book caught my attention because of its reputation as a modern classic...”
Several emotions flickered across Jennifer’s features before she grinned.
“That was one of my father’s favourite books,” she said. “I don’t think Mum liked it very much though - I thought it best not to tell her I’d read it. I prefer some of Heinlein’s books for kids. Honestly, I always thought that one was really weird and sexist, but maybe I was just a bit young for it. I dunno... either way, it strikes me a bit as a teenage boy’s sex fantasy,” Jennifer concluded with an eye-roll.
With more than a bit of curiosity, Harry picked up the thick book and flicked through it as Dora looked over his shoulder and the others glanced to see what they were talking about. A wry little smile crept to Harry’s lips when he noticed from the bookmark that Hermione appeared to be nearly finished with it already.
“I know what you mean... I’m not quite sure what to make of it either,” Hermione confessed. “It’s got some really interesting ideas that seem ahead of its time - ahead of our time even - but some of the attitudes of the characters towards women and gay men are more than a bit dated, which is really odd considering its overall message... But not so odd considering it was written in the 1950’s I suppose... It’s a real mixed bag.
“My Auntie Joanne likes this book, and according to her it inspired some of the communal values and open-mindedness about sex and religion in the counterculture movement of the late 1960’s... that’s why it caught my interest when I saw it on the bookshelf. I know you can’t just assume that because a character in a book says something, it means the author believes it... but still...” Hermione trailed off ambivalently.
“So what ees it all about then?” asked Fleur.
Jennifer answered with another grin. “It’s about a man brought back to Earth after being raised by Martians. He’s sort of got magical powers that the Martians taught him, and he ends up starting a sort of ‘sex-cult’ where everyone loves each other and they all learn Martian magic...”
“Oh... that sounds right up my alley then,” Dora chortled. “Maybe I’ll give that book a go when you’re finished with it Hermione...”

~o0o~
Dolores was just about to sit down to Christmas dinner by herself when the Floo-Alert sounded. She was a bit surprised when the picture on the mantle above her fireplace indicated the imminent arrival of Percy Weasley, but she supposed she really shouldn’t be.
“I’m sorry Dolores,” said her glum looking deputy as he stood in the hearth surrounded by green flames. “I hope you don’t mind. I... I didn’t really have anywhere else to go.”
“Of course not dear! I’m delighted to have you. Come in... come in... Please, sit, join me for dinner.”
Dolores directed Percy to the dining room table which was well decked out with what appeared to be a splendid looking feast considering that she didn’t have any house-elves. Percy offered his appreciation as Dolores poured him a glass of wine and set up a plate of dinner for him, but he seemed more than a bit lost and distant.
Dolores took her own seat and for a while they ate in silence; she peered at Percy patiently. Finally, after the second glass of wine, Percy managed to open up a bit about what had him so distraught.
“It’s Penelope,” he said morosely. “I think it’s over between us. Penelope says she needs her space,” Percy grumbled as he picked at his dinner, rolling some peas around on his plate, “...to work out what she wants out of life or something - says she doesn’t know who I am anymore, and that she needs to sort out whether it’s me or her that’s changed...”
“There, there dear. Never mind, Percy,” said Dolores sympathetically, gently patting the back of his hand. “I’m sure she’ll come around eventually. And if not, please believe that you are quite the catch. Any young pureblood witch would be very lucky to have you for their own. There are plenty of fish in the sea. Perhaps some more elf-wine dear...?”
“Oh... er... yes please!” Percy blushed slightly, considering Dolores’s words as she poured some more wine into his glass.
Dolores was probably right, he decided after draining the third glass of wine. Penelope and he had been having difficulties for quite some time; they had been growing more distant ever since he had joined the Ministry in fact. And things really hadn’t been the same between them at all after Percy had put Hermione Potter on trial alongside her husband. The fights had become more and more frequent.
Percy narrowed his eyes, thinking that perhaps he was well shot of Penelope if she harboured sympathies for Rebels and Muggleborns. He took a sip from his fourth glass of elf-wine as he turned his attention to the evening news on the Wiz-Vision. The news of the incident at the Ministry’s Welsh detention centre had been suppressed of course. It wouldn’t do for the Ministry to look weak, or for news of Dumbledore’s successes to receive any free publicity...

~o0o~
Having polished off a Christmas Feast of turkey with all the trimmings, Harry pushed back his empty plate with a pleasantly full feeling and took a swig of his hot apple cider. Some of the others were still eating, but Harry thought he ought to take a break and save some room for the many desserts that Chef Dobby had prepared. Thinking that it must be nearly time to check in with Dumbledore, Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out his mirror. He had barely touched it when the Headmaster’s features appeared.
“Ah... Harry, you’re available. Excellent!” said Dumbledore. “I trust you and Mrs Potter and your friends are managing to have a Happy Christmas despite all?”
“Yes sir!” Harry peered eagerly at the Headmaster, who looked as if he had some news to impart. “Yeah... just finished dinner. How’s your... er... Christmas going?”
“As well as can be expected under the circumstances,” Dumbledore sighed. “We are doing our best to meet the needs of all those you rescued, and provide them with a measure of the Christmas Spirit. Needless to say, it remains a daunting task for the most traumatised among them...”
Hermione poked her bushy head over Harry’s shoulder with a concerned look. “How are Clara and her sister doing?” she asked.
“All things considered, the Dawson sisters are remarkably resilient,” Dumbledore replied. “Though of course, recovery will take some time for Gemma Dawson, and the apparent loss of their friend Warren is no doubt devastating. I suppose one could hold out some small hope that he may yet be found at one of the other facilities...”
As she took a bite of her roast potato, Dora perked her ears and she glanced at the Potters when the prospects for Gemma’s recovery was mentioned.
“In any case,” Dumbledore went on, “get as much rest as you can. Mrs Potter, I am relying on you to see that Harry takes his need for downtime as seriously as he takes his training...”
There were a few giggles around the table at that and Harry’s face reddened.
Dumbledore continued as if he hadn’t heard, “...as he and the rest of you will only have a few days at best. The Order and I are sorting out the evidence and making preparations, and all should be ready to move by the morning of New Year’s Day. The time has come to...”
“...Retake Hogwarts?” Harry interjected hopefully.
“Indeed Harry!” Dumbledore couldn’t help but smile and a twinkle returned to his eyes for the first time in days. “I will be contacting you early on New Year’s Eve to finalise arrangements. Now, by all means, please continue to enjoy the excellent feast that Dobby is no doubt providing for you!”
A wave of excitement rippled around the table as Dumbledore’s visage faded from the mirror. Harry felt a surge of hopefulness which he doubted could be matched by any other news. And that’s when Luna dropped the bombshell.
“Ginny’s going to be joining us for Boxing Day,” she said, grinning from ear to ear...
- 63
- 64
- 65
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Moments in Love