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oakstone730) wrote2013-08-26 11:05 pm
One-Shot: Christmas in August
Heed the warnings!
I went for a walk tonight and saw a house, obviously unoccupied and probably foreclosed. In the yard there was a spruce tree still decorated with bright, shiny Christmas ball-ornaments. It struck me as so painfully sad: the thought of the former residents of the house and their holding onto hope as they decorated the tree, probably with the heartbreaking knowledge that they were soon going to lose their home. So, I got depressed and wrote this in my head and tapped it out as soon as I got home. Completely un-betaed.
August 26, 2013
The priority alert landed in the centre of Hermione’s desk and all the other magical memos and reports flew to the side. The scarlet red envelope had the appearance of a howler, but Howlers and regular-owls could never penetrate the security of the Unspeakables floor nestled at the lowest levels of the Ministry building.
Hermione glanced at the clock mounted on the wall and duly noted the time as she sounded the alert that would summon her on-duty team and then cracked the seal on the envelope. A year ago her heart would have already been racing with excitement at the thought of another high priority assignment, now it was just a matter of form. She quickly scanned the content and then slowly read through it again, there was no doubting the address or the significance of the message.
Standing up she mechanically transformed her robes into Muggle clothing, a pair of jeans and a gauzy long-sleeve blouse suitable for the hot August weather London was enduring. Her hand reached out for the edge of the desk as a sob threatened to rip through her but she held it in and forced herself to stand up straight.
“Where are we off to?” Connolly asked from the doorway, the rest of the five-member team coming in behind him.
“Muggle clothing, Connolly, the rest of you.” Hermione was glad her voice sounded far calmer than she felt. “Fidelius protection has failed on a wizarding home in the middle of a Muggle neighbourhood. We are to Obliviate the Muggles who have seen it and put up protections until the house can be warded again.”
“They call us in for an everyday Obliviate? Whose house is it? What’s the address?” The rookie Harrington was ready first, dressed in a red Muggle dress and high-heeled black pumps. Muggle-born she hadn’t required any additional training to blend in like some of the other department newest members.
“12 Grimmauld Place.” Hermione checked for her back-up wand and then pulled open the bottom drawer of her desk. Reaching to the far-back her fingers felt around until they found the cold metal of the iron-key. She slid the key into the pocket of her jeans and turned to her team.
“Connolly, Harrington you’ll secure the perimeter keep anyone from entering until we finish the Obliviate. Smythe and Winchester, you’re up for the Obliviate. Keep it minimal. Once you have the people on the street, you’ll need to do all the neighbours in the attached homes, although I expect that if they are actually home they will be out on the street wondering how a building grew overnight. I’ll go in and secure the building and set up temporary wards until a permanent solution is found.”
“Alone?” Bart Smythe said in surprise. “Protocol requires—“
“Not necessary. There is no one living in the house.” Hermione heard the quaver in her voice and fought to tamp it down.
“Whose house is it?”
“It was the last known residence of Harry Potter.” Hermione started handing out the Notice-Me-Not pins and ignored the looks on their faces. It took a lot to surprise this group but knowing that they were heading to the home of Harry Potter who had disappeared from the Wizarding world over a year earlier was enough to catch them off-guard.
They apparated into the park across the street from the house. The Notice-Me-Not pins prevented anyone from noticing their arrival, not that it mattered, all eyes of the large crowd gathered on the pavement were gaping at the sight of the large home squeezed in between houses number 11 and 13.
Hermione stared up at it also; she’d last been in the house on Harry’s birthday. Wandering through the empty rooms and reminiscing with bittersweet tears about what should have been a laughter-filled day of celebrating.
Forcing her feet to take the first step towards the door, she pushed past the Muggles and walked up the steps. Two Muggle policemen were pounding on the door and Hermione managed a bright smile as she tapped one on the shoulder.
“You’ll need to standback, Miss. We don’t know what’s—“ The taller of the two policeman had turned to address her.
“Actually, I believe this will help.” Hermione pulled the iron key out of her pocket and held it up. With her wand hidden in the sleeve of her other arm she made the quick motions of the Confundus charm. “Why don’t you gentleman speak with the woman in the red dress? She’ll explain everything.”
Any other time, she would have smiled as they blinked blankly at her and then turned and went down the steps without saying another word. She turned and faced the door, willing her hand not to shake she slipped the key into the lock and turned.
Hermione took three steps before her brain registered what her eyes were seeing. Hundreds, no, thousands of tiny white Christmas lights, woven down the entire staircase up to the first floor landing and beyond, up to the top floor. Lights that hadn’t been there a month ago.
“HARRY!” She screamed his name even though she knew he couldn’t be there, not anymore. “Oh, GOD. HARRY!” She turned and flung open the door to the front room, the room that Draco and Harry had thrown huge parties for their co-workers, or sometimes intimate brunches for just friends. The room had been bare a month ago, dust-clothes covering all the furniture.
Today, the white sheets were gone, the furniture was polished to a high-sheen and in the centre of the room stood a Christmas tree that nearly touched the eighteen-foot ceiling. Muggle ornaments filled every branch, fairies danced in and out and around the tree casting a soft glow from their wings. Under the tree stood packages and presents, some addressed to Harry and Draco and some to the Weasleys, all wrapped in bright-colour paper. Hermione felt the sob rip through her as she recognized them all from her attic, where she had stacked them the week after Christmas.
After.
Hermione turned and looked up the staircase, knowing that protocol dictated she should have a team-member with her, but this was something she had to do alone. She went up the staircase, the riser on the third step from the top creaking with painful familiarity. Resting her hand on the balustrade of the first floor landing she took a deep breath and counted to ten before releasing it, repeating the breaths until her hands stopped trembling.
The door to Harry and Draco’s bedroom was closed, and Hermione’s hand never felt as heavy as it did as when she turned the doorknob and pushed the door open.
He was lying on the bed. His dark curly hair contrasted sharply against the white crispness of the pillowcase, the hunter green of the formal robes, his wedding robes, appeared a size too large against the gauntness of his frame. He’d lost weight, probably a stone if not two, since she’d seen him last. Hermione studied his face; it was tan and weathered, and serene. The terrible lines of grief that had made him seem far older than his years had gone. Harry’s eyes were closed and there was just a faint hint of a smile on his lips.
She knew he was gone but she forced herself to go through the motions. Stealing herself she stepped across the room and touched her fingers to his throat, searching for a pulse that wasn’t there. Hermione cupped her hand against his jaw and leaned forward to kiss his cheek.
There was a noise at the doorway and she turned to see Harrington, her wand arm extended but seeing Hermione looking at it she lowered her wand.
“He’s dead.”
Hermione nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“Suspicious death?”
“No.” Dying of a broken heart wasn’t listed under the category of Suspicious Death.
“You knew he would be here.”
Hermione nodded as she forced herself to take two steps back from Harry, “Yes. Fidelius charms only fail when the owner of the home and the last descendant of the ancestral family is dead. Draco Malfoy, Harry’s fiancé, was the last descendant of the Black family, he was killed last year. Harry had no heirs.”
“That was such a tragedy. Losing his fiancé a week before the wedding, a week before Christmas.”
“They are together now.” Hermione looked back one last time at Harry’s body on the bed. His hands were clasped to his chest, the light flickered on the gold of his wedding band, a perfect match to the ring that Harry slipped onto Draco’s finger before the casket had been sealed.