This story is NOT a songfic story, but it is named after--and heavily inspired by--the song 'The Ghosts of Christmas Eve' and other songs by the group 'Trans-Siberian Orchestra' off thier album 'The Christmas Attic'.
Also, I'm experimenting with all the flasbacks in this story in dialoge-only format. If some of the dialoge seems odd that's why. I tried to keep things within realistic speech patterns, but on occasion I have had to become a little less so for the purpose of (I hope) clarity of plot. If you review, I would love feedback on this endeavor (which I doubt I will use again; it's a bit unwieldy!)
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The Ghosts of Christmas Eve | ||||
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Category: Post-HBP, Post-Hogwarts Characters:Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, James Potter, Lily Potter, Ron Weasley Genres: Angst, Fluff Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: PG Reviews: 2 Summary: Spending Christmas with his family, Harry recalls the war and the corageous people who died to allow him this night of peace, joy and goodwill to him and his family. Hitcount: Story Total: 4226 Disclaimer: Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. Note the opinions in this story are my own and in no way represent the owners of this site. This story subject to copyright law under transformative use. No compensation is made for this work. Author's Notes: |
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The Ghosts of Christmas Eve “We’re not through our discussion.” “Yes, we are, Ginny.” “No. We are not finished with our discussion, Harry.” “Fine. Where do you want to talk?” “My room, tonight.” I never forgot that conversation. It was during Bill and Fleur’s wedding just before the four–yes the four–of us set off to hunt down Voldemort and his Horcruxes, and I had still believed that breaking it off–temporarily–with Ginny was the right thing to do. She had been so fiery, and had not once wavered in her determination to make me see that she would be better off being with me than without. I was surprised at how much support I got from all of her brothers, save Ron, to keep her safe. Mr. Weasley clearly fought with his reasoning of the war over his desire to keep his children safe, and Mrs. Weasley wouldn’t be happy until all of us–Hermione and I included–stayed home safe, regardless of any destinies we needed to fulfill. I had remained stubbornly against the plan until later that night when Ginny asked me to come to her room with her. I ended up staying with her until she fell asleep, and as her eyes closed, I realized just how much I needed her, at all times, at all costs. I hated putting her in danger like that, but she was right; she could take care of herself, and we would all be very careful…and by the time I woke the next morning, my mind was made up. ~*~ “Guys, I’ve made up my mind about Ginny.” “I thought you already had made up your mind about her?” “Er…not really.” “And?” “I’ve decided to let her come along.” “What? No! Mum will never let her go!” ~*~ Ron had been right, of course, and it had taken a lot of explanations and tears before Mrs. Weasley let us go. ~*~ “Nice campsite.” “Yeah, Ron, it’s just beautiful. We’re in the middle of the Scottish highlands following an unlikely lead, there’re thistles everywhere and not a flat place to set the tent up anywhere.” “I was being sarcastic, Harry.” “Boys can be so thick sometimes, can’t they Hermione?” “You got that right, Ginny.” “I say we let them set the tent up on their own for being so annoying.” “Good plan.” “Actually, Ginny, love, we’re a step ahead of you.” ~*~ “I’m scared, Harry.” “Me, too, love.” “And we’ve got a right to be.” “Funny, I didn’t think you knew how to make a succinct statement, brother.” “Very funny, Ginny.” “I don’t ever want to stop feeling your body, Ron.” “Me either, Mione, me either.” “Come on, guys, we have to go to bed. We still have a madman and a few Horcruxes to find.” “Wait a minute.” “What is it, Hermione?” “It’s Christmas Eve.” ~*~ “So, Potter, you and all your friends still think you can defeat me?” “Of course, Tom, we’ll be celebrating your fall soon.” “My, you are really confident, aren’t you, Potter? Tell me, how do expect yourself and three other brats to bring me down?” “Actually, Tom, I have some friends coming. Perhaps you’ve heard of them? The Order of the Phoenix and the Auror squads?” “Hello, Potter, I see you took it upon yourself to introduce us.” “Good evening, Mad Eye. Care to help me defeat this wanker?” “Be delighted to.” ~*~ “Ron! Ron, are you all right??” “’M okay, Mione, I’m okay.” “Ginny? Ginny? GINNY! Have you two seen Ginny?!?” “I’m here, Harry, I’m okay, shhh, sweetheart, I’m here, now and forever.” “And I’m here for you, Gin, now and forever.” “I’m here, Mione, for you and only you.” “So am I, Ron, always. “Always.” “Always.” “Always.” “Mr. Weasley…Miss Weasley…I…the Death Eaters attacked Ottery St. Catchpole…your parents have been discovered dead.” “You’re joking, Kingsley! For Merlin’s sake, tell me you’re joking!!” “I’m not joking, Mr. Weasley. I’m so sorry.” ~*~ I had held Ginny as she wept, her beautiful hair cascading like water over my shoulders…like now, except she’s not crying and we’re at the Burrow, sitting in front of the most beautiful Christmas tree I have ever seen. Ginny’s eyes are closed, her breathing slow and contented, but I’ve been her husband long enough to know that she isn’t sleeping. I can’t think of a time I’ve been happier. Our sons Matthew and Sirius are sleeping in Ron’s room with their twin cousins Michael and Brian, and our daughter Shea is nestled in Ginny’s old bed. Michael and Brian have a sister on the way, as the healers have confirmed that Hermione is carrying a girl, but she’s not been born yet, though her due date is near. They’ve already given her a name–Emmanuelle Hope Weasley. Ginny and I had cried–it was one of the few times I have–when we heard the name. Shea’s full name is Shea Lillian Molly Potter, after two of the strongest women Ginny and I ever knew who both died to give us a chance at a happy life, but we had not considered exactly what my mother and Molly Weasley’s sacrifices meant, making Hope one of the most beautiful names I’ve ever heard. I look over where Ron and Hermione are seated. Her head is resting upon his shoulder, and he is resting his head on hers, snuggling her close, despite her very pregnant belly. “Ron, I’m so happy,” Hermione says. He smiles broadly and kisses her. I follow suit. “Happy Christmas,” Ron says to no one in particular. “Happy Christmas.” We respond in unison. “Yes it is, let’s dance.” Ginny says. Ron points his wand at his old family wireless and the music of an American holiday music group, the Trans-Siberian Orchestra plays their song ‘The Ghosts of Christmas Eve’ softly out of the speakers. Ron gets up and extends a hand to Hermione, and I mirror him. The four of us begin swaying to the music together, cherishing a moment of pure happiness such as we haven’t felt since we were young, and all going to Hogwarts together. After a few moments, Ginny drifts over to Hermione and they begin to dance together. Not wanting to loose the magic of the moment, Ron and I partner together. We don’t feel awkward doing this; it’s just an extension of the closeness that the four of us share. We look over and smile at our women. Ginny is dancing cheek to cheek with Hermione, and I can see in her face that she wants to be closer to Hermione, but is abetted somewhat by her stomach. As the song winds down, Ginny returns to me, and Hermione to Ron, and we just stand there as the final strains of music die away, holding each other. Ginny and I don’t move, but when I surface from a particularly passionate kiss with Ginny, I see that Ron has moved to the mantelpiece of the fireplace, looking at a specific picture. “I love you, Mum. I love you, Dad.” Tears spring into Ginny’s eyes and she starts to cry softly. A definite lump comes into my throat as well. Hermione snuggles into Ron’s side. It’s ironic that Hermione’s parents, the ones who, as Muggles, were in the most danger in this war, would be the ones who came out of it alive. Ron and Ginny weren’t the only ones who lost parents in the final battle. “Ginny,” Ron says, coming over to us and seeing Ginny’s tears, “don’t. This is how Mum and Dad would have wanted to pass on; giving us a shot at living a happy life.” He embraces her, brushing her tears away with his thumb. I can see that like how Ron and my brotherly bond has been at it’s strongest in the last few months that have succeeded a war that was almost four years long, so is Ron and Ginny’s brother-sister bond, and my own brother-sister bond with Hermione. I walk over to her, and put my arms around her. She nuzzles her head in my shoulder, and we kiss each other’s cheek. Ron’s right. ~*~ The following day, we all enjoyed ourselves attacking our gifts, but mostly watching Matthew, Sirius, Brian, Michael and Shea attack their gifts, and occasionally, each other, as a Christmas day exuberance fills them with the desire to roughhouse with each other. At around three o’clock, Hermione began experiencing the first few contractions, and at eleven that night, after a long and painful labor, and living up to her name, Emmanuelle was born, bringing hope to us all. Ron is definitely right. ~*~ “Ronnie, I want you to know something,” “What, Mum?” “If you want to get Hermione the perfect gift for Christmas, then all you have to do is remind her how much you love her. Remind your children that if you die giving them a shot at a happy life, then you will not have died in vain, as your father and I would do. Just having you around is the best present I could ever get for Christmas.” “James, do you think that if Voldemort does manage to kill us, that Harry will still be loved?” “Of course. If we’re not around, with any luck, Padfoot and Moony will be, and I just know that even if they aren’t, I can just tell that there will be someone who will take Harry into their hearts. If he grows up to have your personality, he will be an easily loveable kid, and I for one, want to see that. Do you know what I want for Christmas, this year, love?” “What?” “I don’t want any gifts; I just want us all to be together around the Christmas tree, you, me, Harry, Padfoot and Moony, celebrating the fact that we love each other. I love you, Lil.” “That’s what I want, too. I love you, Prongs.” THE END |
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